A/N. This is unedited and un-beta'd. I reserve the right to correct spelling and grammar errors in my own sweet time, as I'm feeling super lazy again, lol! Soz not soz
P.S, I don't ask for unsolicited Beta's, so please don't offer them. Just saying :)
Hermione reached over and tapped the little ceramic cuckoo on the head, ceasing its incessant chirupping at a stroke. The transfigured alarm clock, which had been strutting its iridescent feathers around the bedside table for the past ten seconds, threw Hermione an admonishing look, clucked its beak moodily, then skulked off to preen itself in the first shafts of light of the new day.
Hermione yawned and stretched, star-fishing as far as her arms and legs would reach, which admittedly wasn't very much. She was no-ones idea of leggy. The stretch was exuberant, a little too much so, as she was hit by a sharp, burning pain across her chest.
"Ow!" she winced, tenderly rubbing at the neck of her nightgown.
Grumpily, she pulled herself from bed and yanked her nightie over her head. From the top drawer of her table, she fished out a jar of salve and made her way to the full-length mirror near her wardrobe. Her naked reflection stared back at her. There, running from her left shoulder to the middle of her breastbone, an angry, deep purple scar stood stark against her pale skin.
"I don't think that will ever fully heal," said the mirror, as Hermione began gently applying the gloopy, greyish paste to the still-raw tissue.
"No," Hermione agreed with a sigh. "There's just too much Dark Magic running through it. Only the wizard who cast it could fully repair it. And I'm not likely to go knocking on his door cap-in-hand any time soon. I just have to be thankful Madam Pomfrey was able to stop it spreading further than it did."
"Indeed," said the mirror. "The last thing you would have wanted it to do was cut one of your boobs in half. I don't know if that boyfriend of yours is the vain sort, but scars are bad enough as it is...half-boobs might just be a deal breaker for some."
"I don't think that I like you knowing anything, being as you're just a mirror," Hermione frowned. "I don't trust things if I don't know where their brains are."
"Then you can't have much trust at all, in a school full of teenagers," the mirror remarked, sardonically. "What a morose life you must lead."
"Oh, go boil your fat frame!" Hermione huffed, turning away from her own cross reflection.
She sat on her bed and chewed her lip anyway, fussing over the mirror's comments. Harry wasn't vain, he was perfectly modest. But he was still a boy and, despite being one of the better ones, what if he did find her scar repulsive, when the time came for her to finally show it to him? The thought made her shiver...she wasn't sure she'd ever have the courage to do that.
But the notion was now stuck with her, pinned just behind her forehead. For Harry would surely want to, wouldn't he? He'd want to see her...to see her naked. The very thought made her blush in the early morning twilight. He might have already thought about it, he might even be dreaming about it, right now, as Hermione sat on her bed and fretted over the possibility.
Her scar throbbed at that moment, and Hermione pulled her nightie back on. The cotton stuck to the sticky salve paste but Hermione had no mind for that. She reached back into the drawer of her bedside table and pulled out her journal, along with her wand, and quickly dispelled the Privacy and Concealment charms on the leather-bound book.
Hermione placed the open journal between her knees and she flopped back against her headboard, a self-writing quill already poised on the next page.
"Dear Diary," Hermione began, setting the quill to movement. "Had another row with the mirror, but it made a good point this time - what will Harry think when he sees me naked, along with that hideous scar on my chest? Will he be disgusted? Will he run a mile? I bet he's already thought about me with my clothes off...typical boy, and all...I don't want to disappoint him by being so marked.
"But, what am I saying? Harry has a scar! Okay, so it isn't right across his body, or in an intimate place, but he's the last person to give me grief about a scar, isn't he? He might even be gentle with me. I think I'd quite like him to soothe it, to apply the balm to my skin. Ooh...that's too hot a thought for this time of day! Honestly...what's gotten into me lately?
"This whole thing has given me a new set of topics to worry on, though. We've been dating nearly a month, we've kissed and cuddled and its been great, but when do we go further? It'll have to be me that initiates it...Harry, bless him, is too noble for his own good sometimes. He'd never violate my boundaries. But I don't know what in the name of Merlin I'm supposed to do. It's not as if I've been running round with every boy in Hogwarts since I was thirteen. I'm no Ginny Weasley."
Speaking of Ginny Weasley...
Hermione's attention was drawn to the edge of her bed as she paused for thought. There, still spread open from the previous night, was Harry's Marauders Map. He'd given it to her to offset her paranoia about his Special Curriculum classes with Dumbledore. Hermione couldn't settle until she knew Harry was safely back in their dorm, and the map allowed her to follow his little dot until she was sure he was ensconced and recovering in the room across the hall.
The Map had also become something of a guilty indulgence for Hermione. Harry didn't know this, but Hermione would often just lay there and fixate on his dot and his name, wondering what he was doing, what he was thinking. Increasingly, these thoughts had been invaded by an altogether naughtier sort, too, but they were all sorts of new, and far too embarrassing, to dwell on just now. Hermione was getting far too attached to simply looking at Harry's name and dot and drifting into all kinds of girly daydreams that simply weren't Hermione Granger-esque.
They were the sort of things that might shock Hogwarts Castle to its core.
Hermione had been doing exactly that the previous night. Dumbledore was personally Apprenticing Harry in Alchemy, in addition to his school classes, and much of their session work was time-specific. So Harry was gone late, and told Hermione not to wait up. Which she totally ignored. But she liked to let Harry think he had some measure of influence over her, so she agreed like a dutiful little girlfriend, only to stay up anyway and watch his progress through the night via the Map.
Hermione had been watching Harry's little dot-self sleep, smiling to herself at all the silly thoughts chasing each other through her head about him, when she finally dozed off herself. So the map was still open on the bed. Harry was still in his room, asleep of course, as it wasn't yet 6am and he didn't get up until the last possible second if he could help it. In fact, all the students were still clustered in their dorms, as the morning curfew hadn't been yet lifted and it was against the rules for students to be out of bed.
But someone was breaking those rules...doing a passable impression of Harry, in fact, and stealing through the deserted corridors.
And that someone was one Ginevra Weasley.
Hermione scowled at the little dot, following its progress through the castle. It looked like Ginny was on the Second Floor corridor, but it was tricky to tell as this was the time of night when different bits of the castle went to visit one another. It was the main reason for the curfew - stairs and corridors could change place and, far from getting lost on an unfamiliar floor, students could get lost miles under the school and be trapped down there.
They might not be found for years.
But Ginny seemed to have no such trouble. She had come to a stop in an unmarked room. The Map was great at pointing out classrooms and dungeons and towers, but it failed when it came to the more mundane store rooms and maintainence closets. Ginny was in one of these just now, doing Merlin-knows what, and Hermione was transfixed by her.
And then, just like that, her dot abruptly vanished.
Hermione audibly gasped as it happened. She even picked up the Map, fruitlessly flipping it over as though Ginny's name might have somehow sunk through to the other side. Hermione turned it the right way up and scrutinized the spot where she'd last seen Ginny. It was a nondescript room. There was only one thing for it, she'd have to go investigate herself.
It was the sort of thing a Prefect ought to do.
Then there was the added incentive of catching Ginny breaking the rules. It would be the sweetest thing to punish her for even the most trivial misdemeanor. That's assuming she was still there. If Hermione knew how the Map worked correctly, a disappearing dot meant that a person had physically left the boundary the tracking spell covered, which in this case was the castle and its grounds. Ginny was nowhere to be seen within that perimeter, so the logical conclusion was that she was no longer in Hogwarts.
But that, itself, was a highly illogical prospect.
Hermione was dressed and on the way within minutes, Map in one hand, wand in the other. She passed through the empty Common Room, out of the Portrait Hole and hurried along the draughty corridors. She kept shooting glances at the Map, in case Ginny should happen to reappear. She didn't, however, and soon Hermione found herself in the right place, her own dot exactly where Ginny's had popped from the Map barely ten minutes earlier.
Hermione looked around, scrunching her brow. She was opposite the once-disused girls' bathroom. It wouldn't hurt a look, she thought to herself, pushing open the door before she even had time to consider a protest. The room was plush and new, compared to the other toilets dotted around the castle. The cubicles had all been renovated and updated, the sinks pristine and gleaming. Even Moaning Myrtle had vacated the premises, and who knows where that bothersome spectre might be haunting these days.
On instinct, Hermione made her way to the sink which had once concealed the hidden entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. The taps had been changed to accommodate the new sinks and everything looked sealed and safe. As well it should. Hermione nodded to herself, curiosity sated, and moved back into the corridor.
The room opposite turned out to be a store room, though Hermione couldn't remember it being here before. She looked around the low-hanging gloom, her eyes trying to adjust to the awkward shapes and angular shadows. She kept one eye fixed on the Map...for it just wouldn't do for Ginny to lurch out of the darkness and take her by surprise. Harry would never let her live it down.
Soon, things began to come into focus, helped by the castle torches, which all erupted into life bang on 6am. The room was flooded with flickering light, allowing Hermione a better look at its contents. This was clearly a general maintainence room. There were pots of paint and stiff rollers, broken brooms and sweeping brushes, rows and rows of loo roll, and more toilet seats than Hermione had ever seen in one place before.
Then something caught her eye. A cracked sink, leaning against a wall, hidden behind a rack groaning under a mass of gardening tools and impossible lengths of hose. Hermione moved towards it, cocking her head as she assessed it. The sight made her heart stop a moment. She recognised that sink...that tap...
The little serpent carved into it was unmistakeable...
What in the name of Agrippa was that doing here? Hermione stowed the Map and cast Lumos from her wand, to inspect the sink more closely. There was no doubt, this was the sink...the one which had once led to the Chamber deep below the school, and the fierce beast housed within. But Hermione had been wrong about one thing...it wasn't simply leaning against the wall...it was connected to it.
Hermione blanched. She felt around the fittings, fingering the point where they disappeared into the brickwork. Disappeared...but that would mean...
"It goes somewhere, Harry! It must do. And, somehow, Ginny went there too!"
Hermione was alive, bright-eyed with exuberance. But Harry was fighting an angry worry in his belly.
"And you just came here...alone?" he asked lowly. "Have you lost your mind?"
"I...well," Hermione replied, thrown and flustered by Harry's firm stance. Clearly, she'd been expecting unequivocal support for her actions, not Harry's condemnation. It was a bizarre role-reversal that confused her a moment. "Perhaps I wasn't thinking..."
"No, you weren't," said Harry, crossly.
"I just had to find out where Ginny had gone to," Hermione argued.
"And what if it had been a trap?" Harry returned. "What if she'd lured you here, then you disappeared without a trace? I'd have had no idea and you might have been lost to me forever. It's an action so reckless it's worthy of...well...me! And that's rarely ever been a good thing."
"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione mumbled.
"Just don't do something so thoughtless again," said Harry, his tone softer. "I just couldn't stand to lose you...I don't know what I'd do..."
Hermione smiled shyly, telling off over. She reached over and touched Harry's arm. "Okay. I wont go running off on my own again. But you can't either. That's the deal."
Harry grinned back. "But that's taking away one of my most alluring traits! Girls like a boy who comes with a bit of danger. Or so I've heard."
"I prefer my boyfriends alive and in one piece," said Hermione, drawing close to Harry's side. "This is an equal partnership...one rule for all."
"If you insist," said Harry. He kissed Hermione on the top of her head. "Well, as we're here, tell me what you've found out."
Hermione kicked into high gear. "I looked all around the sink and the walls," she began, pacing with restless energy as if to emphasise the point. Harry could only watch; he did do love to see her in on a mission mode. "The pipes go deep into the walls - but I don't know how far - and that's not all. If you press close, like here," she grabbed Harry's hand and guided it to the cold stone, "you can just about make out a small groove. If you didn't know to look, you'd never spot it."
"And what, exactly, are we spotting?"
"Oh, come on, Harry!" Hermione cried, impatiently. "It's obviously a doorway, or a passage of some sort. Maybe leading down into the Chamber. I thought - now don't laugh - but what if the entrance could be moved? Set up somewhere else, if you see what I mean? The stairways move, doors pretend to be walls, what if the Chamber could be accessed just by setting up the sink at another location?"
"It's possible," said Harry, smoothing the faint groove in the wall. "I mean, if you think about it, there are loads of subterranean spaces beneath the school. The Chamber, the passages where the Philosophers Stone was protected, even the Lake goes under the school apparently. And, my mum was rumoured to have a secret lab somewhere deep under the school. Hermione - there could be a whole network of tunnels and chambers down there...they could be hiding anything!"
"And, of course, the Map wouldn't show them!" Hermione cried, triumphantly. "Your Dad and Sirius and the others made the Map -"
"- and they had no idea these Chambers existed -"
"- so they couldn't include them in their tracking spell -"
"- which means if someone went into one -"
"- it would be like they vanished from the school!" Hermione whispered, gathering her breath.
"And that's exactly what happened to Ginny," Harry mused.
"Just like before," said Hermione. "And, also like before, the Marauders Map wouldn't show where she was. You have to think that all those years ago, when Riddle's Diary possessed Ginny, the Weasley Twins would have gone straight to the Map to try and locate her."
Harry nodded in agreement. "The question is...where has she gone? And how? She can't speak Parseltongue, so far as we know."
"No..." Hermione began darkly. "But that never stopped her before..."
Harry felt a dark chill race over his flesh in electrifying pinpricks. "What it is you think?"
"I've been dwelling on what Professor Abraham said to you, about the residual effect handling the Philosophers Stone might have left on you," Hermione began, sitting down on an upturned mop bucket. "If that were true, it might be the same for other enchanted objects. Ginny was in possession of the diary for months. How did you say Riddle described it - Ginny Weasley poured her soul into me, until I was able to pour a little of mine back into her?"
Harry swallowed hard, astonished and speechless that Hermione had felt his words as worth memorising as a textbook. He felt in exalted company.
"Something like that, yeah," he returned, quietly blushing in the gloom.
"Well, what if some of it is still there?" Hermione went on. "She never was fully purged, so far as we know. What if, when Voldemort was reanimated, something switched on in his new body? A sort of connection to Ginny? You know he can access your mind, probably because a residue of his magic still exists in your scar, but what if the same is true of Ginny? Tom Riddle doesn't strike me as the sort of wizard who wouldn't try and exploit something like that."
"And now he doesn't dare enter my mind anymore, because it hurts him, he's exploring the link to Ginny instead," Harry replied, thinking fast. "She's using the Parseltongue Voldemort has awoken in her, opening this portal to wherever it goes and...doing whatever she's doing in there."
"Which we must assume is something sinister," Hermione completed. "As why else would it be so clandestine?"
Harry nodded, rubbing his chin in contemplation. "The other question is, why is the sink still here at all? Why not just throw it out when the toilet was renovated? I can't believe that's just a coincidence. You keep the one sink that lead to one of the biggest secrets in the whole school. Yeah, come on."
"But who would keep it?" Hermione asked. "Who would want to go to the Chamber of Secrets?"
Harry froze suddenly, his pulse stopping in his neck. "Perhaps someone who was investigating Voldemort, someone studying him for weakness. Someone who knew that just how difficult it would be to kill him."
Hermione gasped. "Dumbledore! You think he was trying to get information on those Horcrux things?"
"Why else would you keep the portal?" asked Harry. "It's the only link he had to Riddle..."
Then his voice tailed off. Harry closed his eyes, trying to master his rapid breathing.
"What? What is it?" asked Hermione, rising to Harry's side in her anxiety.
But Harry didn't look at her right away. He was trying to hold a vision in his mind...an image of a blackened hand, and a cracked ring...
"It was a Horcrux, just like the Diary," said Harry slowly, as he explained his vision. "Dumbledore wore it...just like Ginny wrote in the book. And if the very act of her writing was enough for that portion of Riddle's soul to possess her..."
"Then wearing the ring was enough for a Riddle soul fragment to possess Dumbledore!" Hermione breathed in horror. "Merlin forbid!"
"And if Ginny can be possessed or influenced so easily, as she was tonight, what's to stop Dumbledore being equally as vulnerable!" Harry cried. "Come on! We have to find him!"
And with that they raced from the store room, bolting along corridors and diving through tapestries, ignoring the angry calls of unwary students to happened to get in the way. They hurtled along past the Transfiguration classrooms, vaulted the shallow steps of a spiral tower staircase and eventually came to rest on the parapet outside the Headmaster's office, where they could clutch at stitches in their sides as they recovered their breath.
Oddly enough, they weren't the only ones there.
Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall has swung around the corner mere seconds before Harry and Hermione arrived. Both wore matching looks of grave determination. Madam Pomfrey was soon joining them.
"What's happened? What's going on?" Harry panted.
"An alarm triggered," McGonagall explained. "The Headmaster has collapsed and lost consciousness. We are trying to access his rooms now."
"Do you know the password?" Snape asked.
"No, you?" McGonagall replied.
"It is probably another damned Muggle sweet," Snape hissed. "Mars bar! Skittles! Opal Fruits!"
"Oh, stand aside," said Pomfrey, bustling forwards. "The Headmaster installed a special override of the security enchantment. Medical emergencies only."
"And why would he need to do that?" asked Snape, suspiciously.
Pomfrey threw him a shrewd look. "Because he's a hundred and fifty, Severus! Now, out of my way!"
Snape obliged, and Harry took a bitter satisfaction at seeing the hated Potions Master put in his place. But any such notions were overshadowed a moment later, as the gargoyle slid away on Pomfrey's command and the party streamed into the room.
For there, writhing on the floor as if in the throes of some sort of fit, was Dumbledore, looking somehow every day of his ancient years.
"Albus!" McGonagall breathed, clutching at her chest.
"Severus! Minerva! Help me to hold him steady!" Pomfrey yelled as she dropped to Dumbledore's side. The Professors obeyed as Pomfrey began muttering diagnostic spells at a staggering rate. Snape, too, had drawn his wand and was uttering at speed under his breath, a fact that only Harry seemed to have noticed.
"What's happening to him, Poppy?" McGonagall urged.
"I would say a seizure, but I can find no evidence of toxins or malign spells in his system," Pomfrey replied.
"I agree," said Snape. "The Dark Magic in his injury has not spread either. This is something else."
Just then, Dumbledore breathed pointedly, as if trying to speak.
"Did you catch that?" asked Snape, who had heard it too. "Anyone?"
Four heads shook in the negative. Then Dumbledore breathed again.
"Albus? What is it?" asked Pomfrey, gently. "We're here, you're safe."
It was an odd thing to say, Harry thought, and it made him move closer. Then he understood...for tears were streaming down Dumbledore's face.
He wasn't having a fit or a seizure...he was simply consumed by inconsolable grief.
"Albus...what is it?" McGonagall asked, softly. "Can we help?"
Dumbledore suddenly snatched out, grabbing McGonagall by the robes and tugging her down. When he spoke, his voice was louder...but its tone was so broken the sound cut to Harry's very heart.
"I...I...tortured him, Minerva!" Dumbledore wept. "I cut...I sliced...Horace...my old friend! Forgive me!"
McGonagall glanced up briefly and met Harry's eye in a flash of understanding.
"I'm sure you had no choice, Albus," Minerva soothed. "You wouldn't have -"
"There is always a choice!" Dumbledore snapped. "And I took the easy one! Just like...just like..."
Harry felt Hermione slip her hand into his as she folded close. She was trembling next to him.
But Dumbledore was shouting suddenly, leaping up in restless anxiety, talking to unseen entities.
"No...no...no!" Dumbledore shrieked. "Not her! Anyone but her! Take me, Merlin! Spare Ariana!"
Harry threw a look at Hermione, but she looked as equally as confused as he was.
"Yes, Aber, yes," Dumbledore went on, throwing off Pomfrey as she tried to sedate him. "The goat...fetch it quickly...while we still have time..."
And with that, Dumbledore crumpled to the floor. Pomfrey and Snape surged forwards, but there was a flash of fire above Dumbledore's head. Fawkes emerged from it, landed gracefully on the Headmaster's shoulder, trilling out one, quavering note. Harry felt it stir beautifully in his very bones, energising him from his very core.
But Fawkes wasn't done. He rested his plume against Dumbledore's head, his claws dug deep into the folds of the Headmaster's robes. There was a strange energy about the room, pulsing out from Dumbledore and Fawkes in powerful waves. It was as if the Phoenix was somehow infusing its Master, attempting to revive him. It went on for several minutes, until Fawkes angled his head up with another vibrating call, then took flight back to his perch.
Harry looked at Dumbledore. The ancient wizard seemed calm now, the wrinkles in his face waxed and easy. Whatever drama they'd all just witnessed, it seemed to have passed now.
"Professor?" Harry ventured, stepping close to McGonagall.
His Regent turned to him. "Go now, back to breakfast with both of you," McGonagall ordered in her undefy-able tone. "And tell no-one of what you've seen here. I will come and see you once we know more."
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione had suddenly taken his arm from behind and dragged him bodily from the room.
Minerva's promise proved to be hollow, as neither Harry nor Hermione saw her for a whole week. Her Transfiguration classes became simple revision periods, overseen by the Grey Lady of Ravenclaw. She was a more entertaining ghost-Professor than old Binns, regaling the class with tales of all her lovers, which the girls in particular seemed to enjoy. Even Hermione giggled and snickered at some of the stories of her conquests, until Harry rapped her on the head with a sheet of rolled up parchment for acting so peculiar.
Hermione's birthday present-redeeming day came and went and was in all a pleasant jaunt. Most of the students were understandably envious, not only that Harry and Hermione were able to leave the castle, but also that they'd snagged tickets for the hottest gig in town. It surprised more than one person in the Great Hall on Saturday evening, when Harry and Hermione strode in wearing matching black t-shirts emblazoned with atmospheric, artsy Weird Sisters legends.
"How did you get tickets?" Katie Bell moaned over dinner. "Those tickets sold out months ago!"
Hermione grinned at the Gryffindor Senior Prefect. "Harry just mentioned his name and they were tripping over themselves to squeeze in an extra VIP box. It's about time that nonsense Boy-Who-Lived moniker came in for something useful we reckon!"
"Yep," Harry agreed, swigging on a big tankard of Butterbeer that Dobby had 'persuaded' the other elves to sneak up to him. "Its good to be me...sometimes."
"Well, I'm wickedly jealous," said Katie. "Have a good time, won't you?"
And they did. Having their own box was great. It meant they could sing along and jump about crazily and bang their heads to the crashing music, only cracking their own heads into each other. Which was just too funny and made them fall about in hysterics. Or perhaps they were both suffering with mild concussions.
They were having a ball, and Hermione even eased up and allowed Dobby to bring them Goblin Ale. And by eased up, that meant she only frowned once. Or twice. She sipped on cider made by a rare clan of serene Cornish pixies, but as she was legally of age she was allowed to buy it from the bar herself. It was strawberry and lime flavoured, made her cheeks turn a cute shade of red, and also made her say things to Harry which made his cheeks burn even brighter than her own.
They stayed the night in the Leaky Cauldron, taking separate rooms, despite the huge temptation to accept when toothy Tom offered them a couples' suite. They then spent Sunday ambling around Muggle London, taking a trip on the London Eye, wandering through Westminster Abbey, and trying to work out the four icons in the seat moquette of the Central Line tube trains.
As the evening drew in, talk inevitably turned to the troubles at Hogwarts, with Dumbledore's funny turn at the top of the list of topics.
"He was so guilty about what he did to that Slughorn bloke," Harry said, as they ate chocolate-smothered crepes in Covent Garden. "He wasn't like that when he did it, mind."
"I think we must be right about their residual possessions," Hermione mused, her mind on Ginny as much as Dumbledore. "Maybe that part was more prominent during the torture, but every now and then the real Dumbledore comes out."
"I'm not sure who the real Dumbledore actually is," Harry commented. "He's acting so strange lately, its like he's swinging from one pole to the other. And that's just the acts we know about. I still have no idea what he was after in my vault."
"No, that's true," said Hermione. "Though I think that Ceremonial Shroud might be a good shout. There's definitely something about that we don't know, something Dumbledore hasn't told us."
"Or is likely to tell us," said Harry. "I wonder where he went? That Healer didn't look like one of the St. Mungo's crowd."
"No, nor would I expect Dumbledore to be taken there," said Hermione. "If Voldemort has infiltrated the Department of Magical Medicine as deeply as we suspect, it would be very dangerous for Dumbledore to throw himself under their care. He could be assassinated in his sleep. That's why our private Common Room is littered with pretty much all the books that the library has on Healing. If anything happens to you, I'm fixing you myself."
"My own personal nurse," Harry grinned. "I hope you have a good bedside manner!"
"You'll just do as you're told and that's that. Easy, see?" Hermione replied chirpily.
Harry butted his head affectionately against her shoulder. Then he turned to her with a serious look. "That wasn't the only book I saw you'd checked out."
Hermione shifted her weight guilty. "I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean."
"Have you ever told a fib that anyone's believed?" Harry asked, pointedly. "Secrets of the Darkest Arte? Otherwise known as the Big Book of Horcruxes. Did you think I wouldn't see?"
"Honestly? No," Hermione replied flatly. "You're aren't known for being the most observant, especially where books are concerned."
Harry huffed at her. "How did you even get it? That must have been in the deepest, darkest corner of the restricted section."
Hermione looked away shyly. "You don't take Potions with Snape any more. He set us a task last week, to brew a tricky little potion. The prize was something called Felix Felicis."
"What's that?"
"Er...liquid luck," said Hermione, flushing madly. "Well, I won -"
"Obviously," said Harry, supportively.
"And I got the potion," Hermione continued, blushing deeper from Harry's compliment. "After what happened with Dumbledore and Ginny, I just had to get this book. So I took a sip of Felix, headed right up to Pince, and asked. She even went and got it for me. I guess it was just my lucky day!"
Harry chortled at that. "Hermione Granger breaking rules...I'm actually proud of you. You truly are my girl through and through."
"Well, that's not in any doubt," Hermione replied with a sexy grin. "But, anyway, I got the book, made a copy, then returned the original before any suspicion was raised."
"Okay. So after this blatant petty crime, did you learn anything useful?"
"A ton, actually," said Hermione. "I've been trying to process it all. There's a lot more going on here than either of us realise."
"Go on," Harry urged, intrigued.
"The long version or the abridged?"
"How about the highlights?" Harry teased.
"Well, the first thing I found is that there are absolutely no records of a Horcrux existing before Voldemort, not one," said Hermione, smugly. "How's that for starters?"
"How can that be?" asked Harry. "If there's a textbook on them..."
"Then someone must have given instructions to create them, exactly what I thought," said Hermione, smiling that Harry had cottoned on so fast. "And the book is a creation guide. It's a very complicated and gory process involving ritual and cannibalism, but that's just window dressing."
"Maybe you can tell me as a bedtime story," said Harry, without thinking.
"Er...yes, if you like," Hermione stuttered nervously. "But anyway, the curious thing is that the book has no author, and I can find no evidence that anyone knows who actually wrote it. I've cross-indexed with Flourish and Blotts and the Central Library of Britain, but there is no credit to the author anywhere."
"Now that is odd," Harry agreed.
"It gets odder," Hermione went on. "The text is even more curious, as lots of it seem to be written in German. Occasional words and phrases, especially in relation to the aim of Horcrux creation in the first place. The author seems to call a wizard who successfully manages to 'purify' his soul - essentially by splitting it through sacrifice - a lebensborn. I know I've heard that phrase before, but I just can't place it."
Harry scowled, thinking hard. But he was no linguist. He had no greater idea on the meaning of lebensborn than he did of sauerkraut.
"But, Hermione," Harry asked. "How can splitting a soul 'purify' it? Especially if you have to make a sacrifice. I'm pretty sure you don't have giving up chocolate frogs in mind, do you?"
"No, Harry," Hermione replied, pityingly. "I'm talking major sacrifice - a blood sacrifice or something similar. As for the purification part, whoever wrote the book was quite clearly insane to an alarming level. Their idea of pure is on a par with our idea of totally screwed up in the head!"
"Ah, I see," Harry grinned.
"But the whole thing got me thinking about Dumbledore's rant in his chambers," Hermione continued.
"How so?"
"Well, the book focused primarily on splitting the soul and implanting into another living thing," said Hermione. "In a backwards sort of way, it made a twisted type of sense."
"In what way?" Harry asked.
"The book seemed to suggest that such an act would allow a wizard to control the beast into which he implanted his soul," Hermione explained. "That would certainly be useful. Imagine, if you placed a soul fragment into a bird. It could travel thousands of miles to spy for you."
"Or you could use a dragon, for controlled protection?" Harry offered.
"Precisely," said Hermione. "It would certainly have its uses...assuming you didn't mind either the act of murder or of splitting your soul in the first place. The end would justify the means in such cases."
"And where does Dumbledore fit into this?"
"I'm not sure yet," said Hermione. "But he said Aber...and I'd bet my broomstick he was talking about his brother."
"You don't own a broomstick," Harry pointed out.
"Okay, I'd bet your Firebolt," Hermione corrected, adding when Harry looked at her with raised eyebrows, "what's mine is yours, after all."
Harry just grinned at her. "And if you won this bet and it was his brother, what does that mean?"
"It means, dear, that Aberforth's inappropriate charms on goats might just have more to them than anyone's ever imagined."
Harry sat back and considered that. It was at times like this that he truly marvelled at the power of his girlfriend's brain. It worked in ways his own was simply incapable of, he was quite sure of that. Hermione Granger was simply a force of nature.
Harry was just glad she was his force of nature.
"There's one other, slightly worrying piece of information I've uncovered so far," Hermione added.
"This gets worse?"
"Depends how you view it," said Hermione.
"Go on, hit me one more time," said Harry, bracing himself.
"Horcruxes can only be created using Parseltongue," Hermione stated. "Riddle can obviously speak it, but whoever wrote that book must also have been able to. And it isn't a common gift. Even Riddle would have had to be taught to speak it in conversation."
"But he couldn't have written the book, if that's what you're suggesting...not if he needed it to make his first one?"
"Maybe not...unless he wrote it as he went along, or added to it as he carried out multiple splits, " said Hermione, darkly. "It's quite possible he invented Horcruxes, Harry. But if he didn't, and he just wanted the book to research the effects the multiple splits, it raises an intriguing question."
Harry looked at her wide-eyed as comprehension dawned. "If he didn't invent Horcruxes...but already knew the basics...who taught him?"
"Precisely..." said Hermione quietly. "Is he the teacher...or the student?"
"And who else is involved...that speaks German?"
Hermione tipped her eyes at him, happy that he was now on the same page, to join in her confused thinkings in the topic. Harry sighed as he stuck a finger up at the world.
As if things weren't confusing enough already.