Chapter XX: A Matter of Trust

There was a tension in their classroom that night. Harry still wanted her opinion on his parseltongue ability, but he sensed that it wasn't the time to ask. Nor did it seem wise to push her on what had happened between them; she was happy enough not to go off and find somewhere else to sleep, and let her guard down enough to be reading in his presence, so he left things as they were. Still… There was a tough conversation brewing on the horizon that he wasn't looking forward to, but was eager to put behind them. Assuming it went well that is.

After a curt goodnight - Hermione was staying awake longer to read - Harry retired to his store cupboard. For the first time, it truly felt like sleeping in a cupboard. The pile of linen and cushions he was calling a bed was lumpier than ever with the thought of returning to his dorm bed in his mind, never mind that he heated his dorm bed for its softness. The door he normally left wide open was only ajar by an inch, so as not to impose on Hermione who hadn't vacated the middle room yet. The walls closed in around him, their shelves looming as if threatening to topple and crush him in his sleep.

It was little wonder that when he dragged himself out of bed the following morning, he was not well rested, nor in the best of moods. He barely spoke to anyone at breakfast, not that many were looking to speak to him; only Luna and Neville said hello, with Ginny conspicuously absent. The hall was full of whispers; he couldn't make many of them out, but what he heard he didn't like, and the grimace Hermione wore beside him told him enough about the rest.

Only one student didn't look glum, or conspiratorial: Draco Malfoy was constantly shooting glances over at Harry, his smug visage growing each time.

"It has to be Malfoy," Harry announced his presence.

Hermione had heard him coming into the library - his left shoe had been making a particular squeaking for a week - but he still managed to catch her off guard with that opener.

"What did he do now?" she sighed.

"He's the heir. I'm sure of it," he asserted, taking the chair across from her.

"You've got evidence?" Hermione asked, lowering her voice. If Harry had found something, even just something circumstantial, maybe that would be the beginning of the end of the whole mess. He could prove both their innocence… Or be framing Draco. If he had something concrete…

"Well, no," he answered, "but I'm going to."

"Oh? How?"

"Ah… I was sort of hoping you could help with that?"

"You've got a plan of some kind then? What do you need me to do?"

This was getting Hermione excited. The worst part of the whole heir business was that there was nothing to be done about it; she was being ostracised and she couldn't properly defend herself, she could only wait for the faculty to figure it all out. Being part of the solution would be a dream come true - literally; she had dreams in that vein every week.

"Well, the plan is, or what I was thinking anyway, was that if I could get into the Slytherin common room and hide under my cloak, I might overhear Draco bragging about how he's the heir, and then we could go to the headmaster with that."

Hermione gave that a moment to sink in, and another for Harry to add some amazing twist that would make his plan good. Then she dropped her head into her hands despairingly.

"So, let me get this straight: Your master plan is to get inadmissible evidence of Draco claiming to be the heir, and all you're lacking is knowledge of where the Slytherin common room is; a way to get in once you find; a way to steer Malfoy into talking about the heir; and presumably a way to not get in massive trouble when you reveal what you've done to Dumbledore?"

"Yeah… I did say I need your help with it," Harry muttered.

"Harry, you don't need my help, you need divine intervention for that to work!"

"Well unless you've got a better plan, I can't just keep doing nothing," Harry declared, his frustration boiling over.

Rubbing her temples soothingly, Hermione considered his statement. As ridiculous as his plan was, she agreed with the sentiment behind it; not only did they have to worry about the ostracization, but even once McGonagall sorted much of that out there would still be the real heir loose in the school, and Hermione would be a natural target. On that point, she believed the only thing keeping her safe for the time being was that it was convenient for the real heir to let others shoulder suspicion. If people stopped believing she or Harry were the heir…

That thought had been bouncing around in her head for weeks, but this was the first time her inner monologue stated it so clearly. Something needed to be done, and as much as Harry's plan sucked, she didn't have a better one. Maybe with enough tweaking…?

"Alright Harry. Leave it with me, I'll see what I can do."

"Thought you thought the plan sucks?" Harry grumpily reminded her.

"It does suck," she asserted, "which is why you are not going to try it, until I've found a way to make it workable."

There was a long pause, then Harry said guiltily "thanks, Hermione. So… any ideas?"

Hermione ignored him, and returned to her reading; or tried to. She'd lost her place, her concentration, and the will to rediscover either. Theoretical work on a segmented protego could wait until more urgent matters were resolved.

"Give a girl a second to think," she requested as she brushed her papers aside, "and go find me a book or two on magical disguises."

Harry was perusing the shelves for the book Hemione had requested when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Startled, he spun about, arms raising and hands balling into fists, to find himself face to face with Ginny.

"Hey," she squealed, stepping back in alarm.

"Oh, uh," - he adjusted his robes to play off his fighting stance - "hi Ginny."

He noticed she was holding a battered old book to her chest, and pointed to it.

"Checking a book out?"

"What this, no this is… A friend. A friend's book, that is," she stuttered, clutching it tighter, then slipping it inside her robe.

"Right," Harry said. "What brings you to the library then?"

"It's… I wanted to talk to you. About the snake thing."

Harry's heart fell. Everything about her demeanour told him that she didn't want to be there - that she was scared. His friend, his first ever friend, was scared to be in his presence, and all because he could talk to some stupid snakes. Freak indeed.

"Go on then," he said bitterly, breaking eye contact and bracing himself for the pain of the rejection that was surely coming.

"Right, yeah, um… I was just wondering if you'd heard any other snakes around? You know, in the castle?"

"What?"

"Are there any snakes in the castle?"

I, um," - Harry's brains scrambled to put itself back together, and act like a normal human being in front of the girl who was apparently still his friend after all - "I don't know… Why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's nothing… I'm asking for a friend really."

"Oh. Same friend as the book?" - Ginny nodded after a second - "So why does your friend want to know?"

"He's, he's… afraid of snakes."

A little memory bubbled to the surface: A whole duelling club of students staring at him in shock and revulsion, except for Ginny Weasley, whose eyes were filled instead with fear. And not, clearly, fear of him.

"So, your friend," he said with a knowing wink, "wants me to keep an ear out for snakes?"

Ginny's eyes were starting to fill with tears, though she thrust her chin up, trembling. Jesus, she's terrified of the thought of a snake! She nodded once when her voice failed her with a squeak.

"I'd love to help, but honestly I wouldn't know a snake if I heard it. All just sounds like English to me."

Harry gave her a regretful smile. Her eyes widened, and all of a sudden she turned and fled, as if a fifty foot snake was rearing up behind him. He glanced over his shoulder instinctively - nothing there. And Ginny was gone as well.

Well, that was bloody weird.

Hermione was in her office, working her way through the book Harry had found, when there came a knocking at the classroom door. To the rhythm 'shave and a haircut', no less, and conspicuously lacking the 'two bits'. There were too many little puzzles in that to unwrap, so Hermione walked to the door, readying her wand just in case. With Harry out somewhere, leaving her there alone, her heart was already beating a little faster than moments before.

Tap ta-ta-tap tap, it repeated.

Hermione found the doorknob by the strip of cloth she'd tied to it for precisely that purpose and opened it, inwards, stepping back a few paces as she did.

"Hello Hermione Granger," Luna intoned pleasantly.

"Oh, Luna. You had me worried there."

"I'm sorry. Did I do something wrong? You did invite me to visit."

"No, no, come on in," Hermione offered, waving her left hand beckoningly as her right stowed her wand.

"I can't come in, Hermione, not until…"

Tap ta-ta-tap tap.

"Until…?"

Tap ta-ta-tap tap. Why is she still knocking? The door is open. And what's she waiting for… Oh.

Hermione reached out and found the edge of the door, formed a fist and rapped: Tap tap.

"Thank you!" Luna squeed.

Hermione hated that word - squee - but no other description fit the noise from Luna's mouth. Luna bounced past, floorboards creaking, and threw herself into a chair which protested louder than the floorboards, to the point Hermione was amazed neither it nor Luna broke; the chairs were old and not at all cushioned.

"Why couldn't you enter before I knocked?" Hermione ventured, breaking the golden rule of not asking because some things Luna did were just too strange to leave be.

"Wrackspurts," was the matter of fact reply. "They get scared off whenever an understanding is reached, and you had lots needing scaring. You still have quite a few, but it's tolerable now."

"Well, uh, I'm glad of that," Hermione said, going by Luna's satisfied tone as much as her words.

"That makes three of us."

"Three?"

Breaking the rule again. It'll never end at this rate.

"Yes, three," Luna asserted, with a concern in her voice, as if Hermione was the one failing at counting. "Me, you, and daddy. Daddy's not here, obviously, but he's always happy when there's less spurts about, so he counts."

"Right, that makes perfect sense," Hermione sarcastically replied as Luna's weirdness began to grate on her.

"What's wrong?" Luna quizzed, suddenly inches from Hermione's face.

"Who says anything's wrong?"

"You did, just now."

"I'm sure I didn't."

"Well not with words, silly. Do you not listen to yourself? Or," Luna gasped, "did you forget how to? That would definitely explain the wrackspurt infestation!"

"It's not that... Can we just-"

Luna interrupted her by wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling in for a hug. Hermione caught a faceful of silken hair and a lungful of violently clashing aromas - plum, aftershave, and something sour she couldn't place. Hesitantly, she wrapped her own arms around the girl; the experience was rather pleasant. Luna's robes were as silky as her hair, and the bare skin on her shoulders was freezing cold... and bare?

"Umm, Luna? Are you wearing a nightie?"

"Oh, yes, do you like it?"

"Why are you in a nightie? Did you walk all the way from Ravenclaw tower like that?"

Hermione worried she may have to have a word with her friend about that. As a first year it was innocent enough, but if it carried on into third year, the boys would notice. Assuming she didn't die of hypothermia before then.

"Well, yes. What else am I meant to wear?"

"Your robes?"

"My robes are in the wash."

"And your other robes? You have more than one set, right?"

"I used to," Luna said dejectedly. "But then they disappeared, along with my shoes."

"Disappeared?"

"Mm-hmm. At first I thought it was the nargles again, but they wouldn't need robes that big, and I finished my necklace the week before..."

Hermione pulled out of the hug, gripped Luna by the shoulders, and asked in her most serious tone, "Luna, did someone steal your things?"

"That does seem likely," she sniffled. "I don't know why they would be so mean? Why are they so mean to me, Hermione? What did I ever do to them?"

Luna fell back into an embrace, now clinging and desperate. Hermione had to take most of her weight to keep them upright.

What am I meant to do with this?

Emotional support was not Hermione's forte, she would be the first to admit. Through her lack of childhood friends she had ever been the one on the receiving end, usually from her mother, and her memories of such events were most unhelpful; they focused on her own sadness, not what had bee ndone to help her through it. All she could do was stroke Luna's hair gently, hoping she would find it calming as Hermione did.

No, not all I can do.

Providing a shoulder to cry on was all well and good, but the best remedy to sorrow was an actual remedy - a solution to the problem. An infected tooth can only be treated with painkillers for so long before the root has to go under the drill. Luna could sob away all night and it would achieve nothing.

"Have you told professor Flitwick you're being bullied?" Hermione asked, addressing the problem for what it was.

"No."

"You need to."

"They'll just be meaner if I do, and Flitwick's too busy to care about Loony Lovegood. Nobody cares about Loony."

"Don't call yourself that! I care!" Hermione snapped fiercely. "And Harry cares too."

Luna buried her face deeper into the robes she was soaking with tears, and Hermione almost missed her muffled reply.

"Why?"

The depth of sadness in that one word sent Hermione's heart lurching. First it fell, hard, to wallow in misery in the pit of her stomach, but it didn't stay there long. Another feeling was rising, demanding to be heard - to be acted upon. Anger. Anger at Luna's bullies; at a world that would see such an innocent soul hurt so; and at herself for having no good answer to the question.

Why do I care about Luna? Why does Harry?

Reasoning it was easier to delve into someone else's psyche than her own, and that she had plenty of time to get this right - Luna was showing no signs of going anywhere - she fought down her emotions and addressed the second question, rephrasing it. What does Harry see in Luna?

Selflessness? Luna had been asking what was wrong with Hermione when she was clearly on the edge of her own breakdown.

Loneliness? What she knew of Harry's home life said that would strike a chord.

That she was bullied for being different? That had started the first day, at the sorting - and Harry had taken a stand immediately. So that's the crux, but why? What had inspired Harry to act for a girl he barely knew; to take her side when the world seemed against her; to forsake his own comfort so she wouldn't feel alone?

The feeling in her chest returned, and with it came understanding. Of her own reason for liking Luna: She saw so much of herself in the girl, so how could she not? Of Harry's protectiveness: If he felt what she was feeling (and she suspected he felt it more strongly than she) then how could he not act upon it?

"We care because you're like us, Luna," she whispered. "We know what it's like, and we're going to help you through it."

Luna didn't reply - only tightened her grip further, in what Hermione presumed to be a thankful gesture. She was glad of the lack of response, because her mind was busy elsewhere.

Her mind was busy because, when it put two and two together, there it was, clear as day: The reason Harry had stood by Hermione, thrown spells at Patricia, and spoken to a snake without hesitation. The same reason she was going to show Luna's bullies the staggering magnitude of their error. The reason she wouldn't abandon Harry over anything less than total proof he was the heir.

Her heart wouldn't let her do any less.

After Luna had finally released Hermione from the hug, she guided her into the study, lent her a robe, and settled her down on a more comfortable seat. Returning to her desk, she opened the book back to the page she had left off on, restarting her copy-quill.

"Don't think I'm ignoring you," she told Luna, "I'm just skim-reading something for Harry. Well, for both of us I suppose, it's just Harry's idea."

Her fingers started to trace over the paper. With her quill set to 'skim' mode it only picked up words of a defined length or more - six letters in this case. There was no real way to 'skim read' braille otherwise. Any words that seemed important, such as incantations, should be caught by that net.

"What are you looking for?" Luna asked blearily, still getting over her post-tear sniffling and swallowing.

"We're hoping to-," Hermione started, then hesitated with letting Luna in on what was quite a big secret. For all of a second. "-sneak into the Slytherin common room and find out what they know about the heir. Harry reckons it's Draco Malfoy, and as unlikely as that is, I can't think of a better suspect."

"Why don't you use polyjuice potion?" Luna said sweetly.

"Polyjuice? Umm..."

Something about the name rang a bell, but Hermione couldn't quite recall it.

Memory palace time, then.

Hermione had been building a memory palace as a way to recall information at the edge of her mind since before her blindness; after it, it had doubled as a way to practice visualising her surroundings and a distraction from the boredom of a summer without magic. Envisioning her palace - the Library of Alexandria, because what else - Hermione entered. Academic knowledge first room on the left, potions in the corroded cabinet, transformatives top shelf, take down the vial of polyjuice and give it a swirl. One swig and she'd be spending the next hour or so (or was it two?) as a doppelganger of whoever's hair she had added to complete the brew.

"That's brilliant Luna! We could even interrogate Malfoy if we're careful, and pick the right people."

"That sounds exciting. I could ask him about the quillswans on the Malfoy estate, and make a lovely Quibbler article all about it," Luna dreamed aloud.

"You could...? You weren't part of the plan."

"That's okay, Hermione, because I am now."

Any instinctive thoughts of protesting quickly faded from Hermione's mind; this was tricky business, and a little more help couldn't hurt. Whether Luna had it in her to convincingly act as a Slytherin was something she could test at a later date.

"Alright. Welcome aboard then. First port of call, can you get me a book that covers polyjuice potion?"

"I'd love to!"

Luna jumped up and came to the desk.

"How do you stop this quill?" she asked.

Hermione absently waved a hand to cancel its work - it fed off her magic, for longevity's sake, so ending the process was as simple as dismissing one of her own spells: Cut the magical flow. The residual energy went into levitating it into its case, which was the sort of casually complex charms work that showed Hermione just how far above her level Flitwick was.

Thank you," Luna beamed, picking up the book, only to drop it back onto the table slightly closer to Hermione. "I found one!" she cheered.

Hermione jumped a little, then chuckled at her friend's antics and her own oversight - the hundred page tome on all manner of magical disguises was certain to contain a polyjuice entry.

"How would we cope without you, Luna?" she said with amiable sarcasm.

"I don't know," Luna replied, audibly tapping her chin in thought, "but let's not find out."

"That sounds like a good plan to me. Now, how about helping me fix a naff one?"

"It would be my pleasure, Hermione Granger."

AN

I wrote a long author's note, then closed the tab without saving it. So no authors notes this time.