Chapter 106: Friday, July 19, 2002

"Without accepting the other person's thinking, you cannot further your own interest."

-Harri Holkeri

Hermione's eyes burned from exhaustion as the familiar curved handwriting blurred together. Her ink stained fingers clenched tightly around a quill as she scratched notes into parchment, disbelief peppering every word she read.

There was no cure for the Dementor's Curse. Not only was there no cure but Dolohov and his cronies had been trying to produce one since its creation.

The pages of this journal held dozens of items listed and then crossed off. Felix Felicis, Rejuvenating Draughts, Phoenix Tears, Unicorn Blood...all scribbled in different amounts and tweaked into potions that took months to brew, only to be proven ineffective. Every gruesome detail of the transformation process etched as short-handed notes that all came up to the same answer: A muggleborn would live the remainder of their life as a creature—damned to stealing bits of happiness and feasting on souls to feel human again. However, due to the differences in magical signatures, a pureblood would die.

And, as Hermione read and annotated the findings of Dolohov, she realized he was getting desperate.

She slammed the journal shut with a groan, scrubbing her face with her hands. Two weeks had passed and there was no progress being made with the curse or Justin's health. At the rate he was deteriorating, she was afraid he wouldn't make it to Christmas. He was almost always unresponsive, suspended between the early stages of a painful transformation and the lingering humanity that clung to his breath. It had happened so much more swiftly than Hermione could have foreseen.

She had to have missed something, allowed a detail to slip through her fingers and fall through the cracks. Something that may have answered the ever pressing 'why?' that bubbled at the forefront of her mind.

A soft knock on the door pulled Hermione from her frustrated ponderings. She looked over her shoulder to see a sleep-disheveled Remus leaning against the wood. His eyes blinked heavily as a hand moved to scratch across the cotton tee shirt covering his chest, his pyjama bottoms hanging low on his hips—still a few inches too short above his ankles.

"I'll be to bed soon, I promise," Hermione murmured, a soft smile on her face as she took in his appearance.

He shook his head, his honey coloured waves falling into his eyes. "I just had a thought."

"At…" she looked up at the clock on the wall before continuing. "Half three in the morning?"

Remus smirked and ducked beneath the door frame, crossing into the room. "It was a rather jarring realization—it woke me up."

Hermione arched an eyebrow in question at him, "Oh?"

He hummed and sat in the chair across from Hermione, reaching over to pull the journal toward him, his index finger tapped against the page that was open. "There's nothing in here that says why Justin would be transforming so much quicker, right?"

"Nothing," she confirmed.

"Right. But, you said there were potion phials in the room where he was being held. And, Pansy said he had begged not to drink anything more?"

Hermione nodded, "That's right."

"What if...what if they've somehow...altered his blood status?"

Hermione's brows pulled together, "As in truly altered it? That's highly advanced...I don't even know what that would be considered...magiscience? Alchemy, maybe?"

Remus shrugged, "I'm not sure, either. But, if they're interested in the properties of Metamorphmagus blood for turning Werewolves out of cycle, who's to say it wouldn't work for altering whatever it is that makes a muggleborn's magic different? If it alters your blood completely...there's a chance it could change your very blood status, isn't there?"

Hermione's mind began racing; thoughts moving faster than she could grasp to make sense of them. She stared down at her notes, not really reading any of them, for several minutes until a thought that made any kind of sense took hold.

"Dolohov is desperate," she whispered, pulling the journal away from Remus to flip it to the pages marked with failed attempts to cure the curse. "Look—here, he's tried a million different things to counteract the curse for purebloods. He's even got research on the Fountain of Fair Fortune—"

"That's what Snape had written in the original journal, wasn't it?" Remus asked, his eyes scanning over the pages she had opened to.

Hermione nodded, "Yes. Aside from the Philosopher's stone, there's no other way to guarantee life despite ailment and the Philosopher's stone was destroyed in 1991."

Remus' head snapped up, his eyes meeting Hermione's as his jaw slackened. "Destroyed? I thought it was fabled. I mean, everyone heard that Nicholas Flamel and Dumbledore were friends and that Flamel had retrieved the stone but—"

"Destroyed," Hermione repeated. "I know for a fact it was. Harry, Ron and I were sort of...involved in that."

Remus' head fell back as he let out a huff of laughter, "Of course, you were."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "It doesn't matter. What matters is that I know it was destroyed, so unless Dolohov has found this mythical fountain, I don't think he's looking for ways to counteract the curse anymore. If you're right, he's looking for ways to change blood status."

Remus nodded, "It's the only thing I can come up with that makes any sense. Why else would they need all that Metamorphmagus blood? Wanting an army of Werewolves is one thing, but Werewolves still have minds of their own. They aren't all going to blindly follow Dolohov."

"It's not just the Werewolves they're trying to alter though, is it? If they can alter muggleborn blood, then they can alter pure and halfbloods as well."

"To change them into something...not as pure?" Remus asked, his brows knit together in confusion. "That would go against their entire agenda, wouldn't it? I mean, if they're using it to alter muggleborn blood, that's one thing. They can use that as propaganda to prove there's a difference in muggleborn magic but—"

"But, it is different, Remus. Haven't you seen it, yet?"

"Hermione, I think maybe you need to get some rest," Remus mumbled. "I know it's looking bleak, but that doesn't mean that the Death Eaters are right."

She shook her head, "That's not what I'm saying. Well, not exactly. I think magic protects the soul differently from purebloods to muggleborns. Pureblood magic is ancient, it's been around for millenia, passed generation to generation—aside from the occasional squib, of course—so, it's like the very magical signature knows it's going to survive."

"But, with muggleborns it's new."

Hermione nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. "Magic in a muggleborn is a phenomenon. It's not passed down, it's not from some ancestor who had a fling with a wizard. It occurs randomly—that's why siblings of muggleborns aren't always magical. Magic will protect the soul to an extent but, if the magic is in danger of being diminished, it will attack. Kill the body, release the soul, and move on. But, in a muggleborn, the soul is the ancient life source. So, the magic protects the soul."

"Transforming a muggleborn into a Dementor because it keeps the soul intact."

Hermione flipped a few pages in the journal and pointed to a passage, "Here, look. Dolohov realized that the curse was turning the muggleborns, yes. But, instead of it doing the same to the pure or halfbloods, it was killing them. We saw it happening before our own eyes with Harry," Hermione leaned back in her chair and frowned, "Dementors take the soul of their victims, not the magic. They're trying to connect to a lifeforce in any way they can."

"That still doesn't explain why Dolohov would be searching for a cure. Do you think he's gone this deep into it?" Remus asked.

"I don't think so," she admitted. "But, he can't go brutally killing his own army of followers simply because of some friendly fire now, can he?"

"You think the curse rebound and hit some of his own?" Remus questioned.

Hermione shrugged, "Wouldn't be the first time a curse was casted by an inept dueller and hit the wrong target. And, I'm certain he wouldn't want to be turned into one of his own creatures by accident. Wouldn't you agree?"

"So, he's gone as far to try and alter blood status and find a fountain mentioned in a children's story to help him. Well, clearly he hasn't gotten the results he wanted."

"No, I don't think he has."

"What's this all mean then?"

Hermione sighed, shoving a hand through her hair before rubbing her tired eyes. "I don't know. All I know is that if you're right, and Justin has been dosed with something in an attempt to change his blood status, that would explain why he's declining so much more rapidly than he should be."

"Fuck me," Remus breathed, his shoulders slumping forwards as his hands came up to scrub at his face.

"We've got to figure out a way to stop this," Hermione whispered, closing her eyes and letting her head fall into the cradle of her folded arms on the tabletop. "He's dabbling in things he doesn't understand and can't control. He's going to kill us all and then wipe out the magical community as a whole at this rate."

"He's a fucking meglomaniac who doesn't understand the consequences of his actions. We ought to let him wipe his whole army out."

"It's not just them who are going to be wiped out," Hermione said, straightening up to look at Remus. "And I really don't wish to see you or anyone else I love getting killed or turned into anything against their will."

"Little late for that, love," Remus sighed. "But, maybe we can figure something else out. We can contact other people, get in touch with foreign allies. I'm sure there is someone who knows something out there."

"I certainly hope so."

Remus pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, leaving them there until stars burst behind his eyelids. He was no stranger to sleep deprivation—the days surrounding the full moon typically meant he either slept constantly or not at all. Not to mention, the inability to sleep after last Halloween or the years he spent at Hogwarts, pulling all-nighters to revise. He was certain, should he sit down and take the time to work the maths out, he had spent far less time asleep than the average person.

That fact, however, did not help when his eyes were bleary and he had been flipping through muggle encyclopaedias for so long that the words were beginning to melt together.

While Hermione spent the last few days researching the effects of Metamorphmagus blood on an average witch or wizard's DNA, Remus began looking for clues that could lead to the Fountain of Fair Fortune being real. After all, Hermione, Harry and Ron had explained that the Tale of Three Brothers had been true—so, who was to say the Fountain couldn't be based in truth as well?

Dolohov seemed to think it was, anyway.

"You know, me Da used to tell us muggle stories about things like this," came a thick, Irish accent from the opposite side of the table.

Remus looked up to see Seamus flicking through the pages of the open story in The Beedle and the Bard, a half eaten apple in his other hand.

"Yeah?" Remus asked, "Did it involve a sacrifice of blood, sweat, and tears to find?"

Seamus let out a snort of laughter and pulled up a chair, straddling it backwards and crossing his arms over the back of it before biting into the apple. He swallowed loudly before continuing, "No, not exactly. You heard of the Fountain of Youth, though? Sounds a bit like this, don't you think?"

"The Fountain of Youth?" Remus repeated, pulling his brows together.

"You've never heard of it?"

Remus shook his head, "No, I have. Vaguely. I can remember hearing my mum tell tales about it as a kid."

"Well, accordin' to my Da, it's a real thing. Some Spanish bloke found it in North America centuries ago. Don't know if it was actually magical, mind. But, could be worth looking into since you're checking muggle references anyway."

"Yeah, thanks Seamus. I'll keep that in mind," Remus nodded, sighing as he sat back in the chair, stretching his neck side to side in an attempt to loosen the knot that was beginning to form from being hunched over for so long.

"You think this is really the key, then? This magical fountain?" Seamus pressed.

"Dunno," Remus admitted. "But, it's the only thing that hasn't been crossed from the list or found completely unreliable."

"Is it reliable if it's a myth?"

Remus snorted, "That's fair. But, then again, the Three Brothers was just a story—or so we all thought. And yet, James, Sirius and me," he refused to mention Peter by name "We hid beneath a true Cloak of Invisibility for seven years at Hogwarts."

"Cloak came in handy for Harry, Ron, and Hermione quite a bit too, I reckon." Seamus said, a small smile on his lips. "They always thought they were so clever, sneaking about. As if none of us had worked out what that cloak was for."

"You and Neville shared a dorm with Harry and Ron, right?"

Seamus nodded before schooling his features into a solemn expression. "And Dean. He was my best mate, he was."

Remus knew that look. The look of pain in mentioning someone you loved so dearly who you could never see again. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "How long has it been?"

"Eh," Seamus looked up to the ceiling, as if calculating the very minutes. "Just over two years. Dolohov got him in an ambush. We lost a fair few people that day, actually. None of them hurt as bad as Dean, though."

Remus bobbed his head, "I feel like I've got a hole in my chest since they...Lily, James, and Sirius…" He trailed off, taking in a slow breath. "I feel guilty sometimes, because it's like I forget to miss them. Things have been so hectic around here, I don't think about them as constantly as I did before."

Seamus tossed his apple core across the room, a thud sounding when it landed in the small bin in the corner. "I know what you mean. But, that's part of it, innit? Just allowing yourself to move on with life. For the record, you aren't the only loon that took Luna's advice and had a good shout in the woods."

Remus felt his mouth turn up as he breathed a laugh through his nose. "Good to know it works for other people, too."

Seamus stood and clapped Remus on the shoulder, "Good talk, mate. Listen, if you need help in anything a little more...explosive, shout, yeah? I'm not too keen on reading until my eyes go dry, but if we need to blow a wall up, I'm your guy."

"I'll keep it in mind. Thanks, Seamus."

Hermione stared at the golden runes that danced above Justin, keeping track of his vitals and the state of his magical core. So much time had already been lost from the time he had been captured at St. Mungo's—nearly eight weeks.

His skin was void of his usual rosy glow. Instead, it was replaced with a waxy, greying tone that was pulled taut against a once rounded face that had sunken in. He had lost an alarming amount of weight in the last eight weeks, his collar bones protruding from his chest. Pansy could barely look at him without leaving in tears.

Not for the first time since his rescue, she thought of Caradoc Dearborn. A shell of a man strapped to a chair in a wing of the Ministry being guarded by Mulciber and the Carrows. His jaw contorted into a caricature of a mouth, his dark skin ashen and marred by open wounds and half-healed scabs. The groans of agony that emitted from deep within his chest as he writhed against his binds.

Hermione had done nothing.

Left him behind to transform into a monster. Allowed Dorcas to inform his wife and child that he had been found, but not returned. That there was nothing they could do.

Nothing she could do.

Hermione pushed a hand through her hair, wincing as her fingers caught on a mass of knotted curls. She was growing so tired of not being able to do anything. She—who always had an answer for everything. Who always knew where to look and what to do. Who knew what potions would heal what ailments. Who had literally mended a severed spine to keep Blaise alive. Who had healed more broken bones and lacerated muscles than she could count…

She was completely empty handed and so out of her element. She had wisps of ideas that disappeared like smoke in the wind before she could fully grasp them. Nothing tangible to hold on to, nothing to offer. Who was she, if not the person who knew what to do?

"I can hear you having a crisis in there," Ron's voice came from the other side of the door. "You want to open up?"

Hermione blinked several times, quickly swiping the tears that had spilled over as she contemplated what to do. She sniffled, "It's unlocked."

After a moment of fumbling from the other side, the door creaked open and Ron stood in the opening, a tray held in his hands. "Mum was here, made dinner. I didn't see you in for breakfast or lunch so I thought I'd bring something up."

Hermione forced a small smile, "Thanks, Ron."

He hummed, setting the tray on the bed next to her. "Any progress?"

She shook her head, "Nothing. He's stable," Hermione motioned to the glittering runes floating above Justin. "But, there's no improvement."

Ron sighed and fell heavy beside her on the thin mattress. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her into a half hug. "Prof—Remus has been sat up with books thicker than I've ever seen for days. Keeps mumbling on about the Fountain of Fair Fortune. Harry seems to think it's real, too."

Hermione rested her head against Ron's shoulder and let out a pitiful puff of air. "I wish I could count on that," she admitted. "But, I don't think it is. Snape didn't find it. Dolohov has given up looking for it… It seems ridiculous that a children's story from that book could hold any truth—let alone two of them."

"Yeah," Ron said, with a chuckle. "I can't imagine Babbity Rabbity's Cackling Stump holding any truth."

Hermione smiled and then sighed, "No, I'd think not."

A comfortable silence settled over them, the only sound disturbing them being a shallow rise and fall of breath from Justin's chest. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she and Ron had sat alone together without the looming threat of attack at any given second. Although, if she supposed, the threat of attack wasn't entirely off the table. It was just far less likely to happen under the protective wards offered from Hogwarts and the enchantments put into place by Bill and Harry.

Finally, after several long minutes, Ron broke the silence. "You know this isn't your fault, don't you 'Mione?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded against his shoulder. "I know."

"If you know that, then why are you acting like it is?"

Hermione pulled away from him and narrowed her eyes, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ron sighed and gave a half shrug, "Just that you've been hiding away since we brought him back with rings under your eyes and mumbling to yourself every five seconds."

"I do not mumble to myself," she said, under her breath.

"You're mumbling right now," Ron pointed out, his eyebrows raised in amusement as he stared at her.

She rolled her eyes and shoved his arm, "I just...I want to be able to help."

"And, you can't." Ron said, simply.

Hermione frowned, but nodded in agreement. "I can't."

"You can't solve every problem on your own, you know that don't you?"

"Of course, I do."

"Are you sure?" Ron countered, "Because, it hasn't really been your strong suit, you know."

"What hasn't?"

"Team work," Ron answered. "It's not a bad thing, really. You always just want to find the answer first...have it ready for when someone needs it. I know that, so does Harry. And I reckon Remus and Malfoy and probably everyone else you spend any time with."

"But…?" Hermione urged, sensing there was more to this little speech than just calling her out for wanting to gather information.

"But," Ron said, stretching out the word as he shifted on the bed, pulling a knee up and turning to face her. "You can't be the only person to find things out. Sometimes there isn't really an answer, you know? Sometimes we just have to kind of...figure it out as we go."

Hermione huffed, indignantly. "Figure it out as we go," she repeated. "Name one instance that has actually worked out for anyone."

"We spent eight months in a tent literally just figuring it out as we went, Hermione."

"Yes, but that was different!"

"Was it?" Ron challenged.

Hermione glared at him for several seconds before pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and shaking her head. "No, I suppose it wasn't."

"We knew next to nothing," Ron said. "We had a manky old book, a deluminator and a snitch. And we just...you just...figured it out as we went." His shoulders lifted slightly before they sagged forward.

Ron had a point, she couldn't deny that. They had certainly been flying blind when it came to searching for the Horcruxes. They had no idea about any of the locations and every move they made was typically based on a hunch. The problem now, however, was that there wasn't even a hunch. Hermione didn't have an inkling of an idea of what she could do to find answers—to find a cure. To save Justin.

All she knew was that Dolohov was rapidly running out of ideas and becoming desperate. That he was collecting supplies of Metamorphmagus blood for testing—whether it was on werewolves, muggleborns or purebloods she had no true idea. And that there was a chance that the one thing that could help them create an antidote or cure or whatever to this bloody curse was sitting within the very same pages of the children's book that helped them years ago.

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a/n: Happy Saturday! So, like.. listen.. My 30th birthday is this monday (the 19th) and all I'm saying is comments/reviews and faves make a really excellent gift. :)

xo