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So far... The reborn Hermione launched the Cathesis League to fight Dark corruption, and Crest defensive training at Hogwarts where she and her friends are now in their third year. In search of links to Black Arc members, they visited Bestiamare, a craft works tannery on the island of Hearnsay, but returned with no solid information. Now read on...
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Chapter 82
A Need To Press Forward
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On the Carpet
The return from the island of Hearnsay was clouded with disappointment. Apart from Ginny, who had seemed unusually chirpy as they sped their Thestrals back through the rain, there was a sense of failure. To feel certain that Arcanists had been in the Bestiamare craft works in recent years, yet to not know who they were, had been disappointing. The couple of tiny shreds of sea dragon hide were not enough. There'd been no other trace or clue, and yet Adney's message clearly indicated there had been dark activity at the tannery in the recent past.
On landing within the Forbidden Forest, Luna, Neville, and Ginny headed towards Hogsmeade while Hermione flew invisibly into Hogwarts castle, relaxing her natural caution perhaps a little too hastily...
"Ah, there you are, Miss Granger!" McGonagall's voice was calling up the main staircase. "I've been searching high and low for–"
–She paused a few steps up, staring, then resumed her ascent. The professor wore a puzzled frown as she drew level with Hermione at the top, and was studying the young girl very carefully. "You know, for a moment down there, I... I thought your hair looked... wet."
"Wet?" laughed Hermione, rather too heartily. "I've been here in the dry all morning."
"So I was informed by Madam Pomfrey. ... Inside, you say? Where exactly, may I ask? I've looked in all your usual haunts – ah, yes, and I asked Sir Nicholas to seek you out too."
"Oh well, our ghost does favour the Gryffindor side of the castle doesn't he? Fact is, I've been attempting to get in the Ravenclaw reading room but... well, I couldn't work out the – you have to answer a conundrum, you see. I tried and tried..."
"That does surprise me," said McGonagall. "Someone as bright as yourself. What was the riddl–"
"–I'm not bright enough it seems" – Hermione cut in quickly – "What did you want to see me about, Professor?"
"Not I – the Headmaster wishes to have words with you."
Hermione's eyes briefly widened in surprise. "Professor Dumbledore? Me? I wonder what on earth he could want to talk to me about."
"Perhaps it's about how bright you don't seem to be," said McGonagall cryptically, and there was a fleeting glimpse of something in her expression that Hermione could not quite fathom. "Come with me."
The Deputy Headmistress led the way. "Walnut Whip," she intoned when they reached the gargoyle that guarded access to the Head's tower. As the stone statue was grinding aside, McGonagall remarked in quite a flat tone to Hermione, "Go on up – you were expected twenty minutes ago."
Hermione scuttled up the winding stairs, wondering if she'd been detected outside the castle during the last hour or so. She reached out to knock – the door flew open – Professor Bagshot stepped out sideways calling back into the room, "Thank you, Alb– OH!" The cry, as she almost fell around Hermione, was accompanied by her hand thrusting something hastily into a pocket of her robe – far too swiftly for Hermione to see anything but a flash of blue as the old lady sped past and down the stairs without another word.
The Headmaster was at his desk in the middle of writing with an extravagant phoenix quill on parchment that looked older than he was. Startled by Bagshot's cry, he turned the sheet over on his blotting pad and slid an inkpot on top to anchor it down. "Ah, Miss Granger, do come in."
"Is there a problem, Headmaster?"
He gestured towards the chair on the other side of his deck. "With yourself? None that I know of – although for some curious reason there are several teachers who have been expecting you to exceed 'Exceeds Expectations' in your tests."
Hermione's brows furrowed in puzzlement as she sat down. "Why? Why would they expect me to be better than average in any subject other than Potions?" She hid her hands below the desktop to hide the fingers that were twining nervously.
"Why indeed...?" The Headmaster gazed tranquilly at her expression as though waiting for her to continue–
"–Disaster, Albus!" cried one of the portraits on the wall above the Headmaster. "A potion spillage in the hospital wing is spreading fumes down the corridors!"
"Thank you, Armando." Dumbledore was instantly on his feet. "All of you pictures hurry to warn the heads of house: they must keep doors tight shut for a while. I shall attend to the vapours myself."
His move to the door was remarkably brisk for one so old. "I shall not be long, Miss Granger. Do not be alarmed during my absence." Then he was gone.
Hermione stared at the emptying portraits, visualising them all scurrying to other paintings throughout the castle to sound the alarm amongst the staff. The room became silent. Not even–
–The young girl twisted sideways to glance at the empty perch near the door. "Aah..." A tiny movement in the ashes below indicated that Fawkes, the Phoenix, was about to be reborn in a few–
"–Huh!" puffed Hermione to herself. Have I really been so distracted by a harmless visit to the Headmaster that I never even noticed the bird burst into flames? And his and McGonagall's curious attitude: wasn't it natural they'd discuss their students at staff meetings? She herself had done the same when she'd taught here so many year ago in her previous future. And yet...
Her gaze swept slowly around. Something was very odd about all this. What had Bagshot attempted to conceal? And why had Dumbledore furtively concealed th–
–Hermione leaned forward, attention now fully on the upturned parchment on the Headmaster's desk. She counted upwards to steady herself but lost count as her mind raced. Even Dumbledore couldn't possibly get to the Hospital wing, cleanse the fumes, speak with Pomfrey, and be back in less than four or five minutes. Fawkes's ash-filled eyes had not yet even surfaced. The picture frames remained blank...
After memorising the exact positions on the desk, the inkpot she carefully slid to one side – by hand to avoid leaving any trace of her magic. She blew gently to lift one corner of the parchment so there would not be even a suggestion of her creasing it – but her breath wafted the sheet right off the desk where it drifted down to the floor. She sprang after it, bumping the desk with her hip; the inkpot wobbled... but remained upright. Hermione drew her wand... then put it away again and, instead, lowered herself flat on the carpet to puff one edge of the parchment up. Gently she slid under a thumb and caught it, then stood up, squinting at Dumbledore's hurried writing:
Amelia, Further to the suspicions we shared earlier, we're positive now of his innocence because she observed him for two hours in an empty classroom practising defensive spells at the time of the outrage. Yet we cannot prove this without revealin–
–The message had broken off abruptly. That must have been the moment I came in here and interrupted Dumbledore! Hermione turned the parchment over and moved it back to where it had lain on the blotter, then secured it with the inkpot once more before resuming her seat.
He must be writing to Amelia Bones about Nott! "But whom did he mean by she...?" Hermione murmured to herself. He couldn't have been referring to Professor Bagshot – she didn't come to the castle until a week or so after Gemma's murder. ... Perhaps someone else might have asked her to pass on the information? If so, why could they not testify? Who were Dumbledore and Bagshot trying to protect?
"Nobody..." came Dumbledore's voice from the doorway, as if he'd been reading her mind. "Nobody hurt at all, and the school is safe once more from noxious fumes."
Hermione watched him take his seat, his eyes towards his unfinished letter. Despite the relief in the Headmaster's tone, his face looked very grave.
"Good to hear," Hermione said sympathetically, "but such a dangerous potion shouldn't be–"
"–I absolutely agree, Miss Granger. This is a very unusual situation indeed. Can you imagine two separate bottles breaking and their contents combining? Such concoctions must be stored far apart. So..." He appeared even more distracted for a few moments.
"My test results," said Hermione. "We were discussing my very average academic progress. Personally, I was quite pleased with my achievements, but if you think–"
Whether Dumbledore was still worrying about the potions accident or something else, Hermione could not tell, because his frown had deepened. He sighed. "There is... disappointment, I confess, amongst my staff. One so bright as yourself..."
"Probably I'm not as smart as they... assessed."
"I see..."
An awkward silence ensued between the two of them; it seemed to go on and on, punctuated only by the feeble scratchings and scrapings from the ashy Phoenix chick, and the grunting snores of the portrait of Armando Dippet over Dumbledore's head which sounded rather forced. Hermione wondered how he could have returned and fallen asleep so quickly. She herself felt a strange mix of guilt and doubt and a kind of regret she had overdone her efforts to not draw attention to herself by performing so insignificantly in class tests.
When she could stand the Headmaster's disappointment no longer she said, "Professor Dumbledore, I'm really sorry. I'll try harder, really I will. You deserve more from me."
"Thank you for saying that... Hermione," said Dumbledore quietly.
For a short while, deep in thought, he studied the sincerity in her eyes, then, very gently, said, "I must ask you though, whether there is anything you'd like to tell me. ... Anything at all?"
Hermione didn't know how to respond. Had Dumbledore heard whisperings of Cathesis and her involvement in it? Or pieced together some of the strange jigsaw of events that had occurred at Hogwarts only since she had arrived two years ago?
Moments passed...
"No," said Hermione, "there isn't anything, Professor."
There seemed to be acceptance in his nod, yet something else hidden too. "Very well then. You may go."
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A Remarkable Reassessment
The sky had remained grey during Hermione's interview with the Headmaster and the rain still lashed down relentlessly, but she'd agreed to join her friends in Hogsmeade for lunch so out she went. Travel cloak on, hood up, and a warming glow charm surrounding her, she hurried through the hissing deluge towards the tavern lights that beckoned through the midday gloom.
"Where's Ginny?" said Hermione, as they sat down to hot pies and warm Butter Beer in the overcrowded clamour of The Three Broomsticks.
Harry jabbed a finger in the direction of the private rooms. "Still with Andr–"
–Ron started to his feet. "Wha–?"
"–Calm down," said Harry, "it's all part of the plan to return at different times, remember? Hermione held back to give Luna and Neville here plenty of time to get here first, and Ginny is–"
"–Actually, the Headmaster wanted to see me anyway."
"He did? What for?" said Ron suspiciously.
Hermione explained what had happened, answering all their questions, and particularly Luna's, in great detail.
"Defensive spells? Are you sure?" said the girl who'd twined tiny creatures into her long blonde hair. "So Theo wasn't practising dark curses on his own, but just the spells we've been teaching him?"
"Mmm... that's right," said Hermione, thoughtfully.
Neville nibbled around the pastry in his hand. "Doesn't exactly sound like he was training for promotion in the Dark Arc, does it?"
A tiny, squeaky snarl came from Luna's jungled tresses which she hushed with a murmur before saying, "I do hope the Headmaster didn't have nice clean blotting paper."
Hermione pulled a face. "What does that matter? What's really import– what are those things in your hair, Luna, for goodness' sake?"
"It might be very important. The stripey ones are Tiger Lilies, and that proud one flaunting his exotic mane is a Dandy Lion of course."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I read the original message so–"
"–which the Headmaster was still writing, you said? So the ink would still be wet?"
Hermione nodded. "Yes, but... Goodness! The blotting paper was clean except for a doodle in one corner."
"The fool..." Luna frowned deeply and stared up at the ceiling as she licked crumbs off her fingers. "Why would–"
"–No, I meant... to a Muggle, a 'doodle' is a little drawing you scribble while thinking about other stuff."
Luna' head jerked back down to stare intently at Hermione. "What... what was the drawing?"
"Erm... a fish hook – no, probably a crane hook, you know, for lifting heavy things."
"Facing which way?"
"Luna! Does it really matter which way?"
"Well if you saw a left facing hook from your side of the desk then that would be a reversed question mark from the Headmaster's side, wouldn't it?" Luna stirred more chocolate ice cream into her strawberry flan before scooping up another spoonful to eat. "But if it was scribbled I suppose it might mean anything..."
"No, it was quite neatly and elaborately drawn actually."
"Aah... well there you are then."
Hermione looked to the others for some kind of explanation, but their faces were as blank as her own expression. Harry was grinning, enjoying the interaction between intellectual and intuitive thinking.
"If it was neat, then it wasn't a real doodle," said Olive, who, as usual, sat quietly beside Ron and rarely said anything. "They're usually scribbled in an absent-minded kind of..." She tailed of lamely. Ron patted her arm reassuringly.
"Exactly," said Luna. "Professor Dumbledore carefully drew an especially-intricate question mark on a piece of parchment, and then blotted it with some intent. The rest of his blotting pad was clean so the message to Amelia must have been already dry so–"
"–so he wasn't actually writing when I arrived!" cried Hermione. "Luna, you're a genius!"
Ron almost stopped chewing. "Er... yeahb, bub... whab dub ord dat meab?"
"It means," said Hermione, "that Professor Dumbledore prepared it all beforehand just for me! I bet there hadn't even been a potions accident in the hospital wing! He probably arranged for the portraits to give him that message so he could dash off and leave me alone for a few minutes in his room."
"And to test if you really were smart enough to work it all out!" cried Harry.
"More than that," said Luna, taking another bite of chocolate strawberry and munching it slowly before continuing, "he hopes that you can solve the problem that he cannot."
"Of proving Theo's innocence? How? And why me?"
Harry said, "He's not stupid. Strange things have occurred at Hogwarts since we started here, and you have been at the centre of many of them. Remember your stance against Snape's teaching methods and we all nearly got expelled? And how oddly he behaved when we returned from non-being? There's plenty of–"
"–That's bad. If he's evaluating me, then who else might? It's crucial that I remain unnoticed for the time being."
"I doubt any of the Slytherins are sharp enough to see through their bigotry against Muggle-borns," said Harry.
"Perhaps I need to try to accelerate our progress at the Ministry and eliminate more of the enemy this year – but how, and who?
"There's one person we're forgetting," said Luna.
"Who's that?" said Neville.
"Bathilda Bagshot. What if th–"
–She broke off as she saw Ginny waving from the bar with Andrew packed against her by the boisterous throng of customers driven indoors by the storm. Ron scowled but raised his near-empty glass and gestured for a refill. Hermione turned to see where they were looking. "Better start talking about the weather. Kirke mustn't hear any of this."
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Success At Last
Ginny caught her first Snitch for Gryffindor on a dull day towards the end of November. As the team strutted proudly off the pitch, all the House were rapturous, especially since they'd defeated Slytherin in the process. Andrew almost kissed Ginny, but his last-second hesitation coincided with her swerving aside in a huff. They both recognised he'd failed the moment, and while the girl was swept up in the fervour of the Quidditch success, he, by not pressing forward, found himself at the back of the throng.
He was a sham in his spotless Quidditch robes – all dressed up as a spare, but sidelined, never used in the actual game. He followed the real players to the changing rooms. No shower was needed for the not-wanted boy, yet he felt unclean as he donned his normal school robes. Should he wait for the others? He hesitated.
They came out smelling of roses, cheering, singing, joking. He skunked away before they noticed him. Bitter the feeling of unworthiness; deep the pit into which he had slid. His thinking had been noble enough – ask, not take – but the moment had been all wrong for that. The boy wished now he'd yielded to spontaneity – but in front of all the others? Especially her brothers?
Filch had a backdoor into the castle. Andrew headed that way, hoping it would be unlocked so he could sneak in and avoid the staring faces in the Entrance Hall. It was a desperate hope. The day had begun so full of bright promise but now clouds had hidden the sun. He rounded the corner of the castle close in, his shoulder rubbing the stone wall as he stepped into obscurity. The path was rougher here and his feet crunched over coarse dirt and gravel as he quickened his pace. It was a hard road for a thirteen-year-old boy with delicate feelings.
"Andrew!"
The soft, feminine voice coming from behind punched a surge of excitement low in his stomach – yet to his mind came panic.
She called, "What you going this way for?"
He'd stopped walking but could hear Ginny's footsteps approaching so he had to turn. "Oh, I erm... j–just was ch–checking something in the uuh... greenhouse for homework. Weather's too cool f–for – just in case, you know – congratulations, by the way! It's good – was good – is – you were – the team were great!" His smile was stiff, almost painfully so.
"We messed up, so what?" She was near him now, a flowery scent arriving just before she did.
"Sorry?" he said.
"You and me. Takes two to tango. Want to try again?"
Her warmth reached him at last, then her hands on his.
He faltered. "I planned on asking you nicely not..." He faltered again. "I wanted it to be polite so you'd know I–"
"–Change of plan," she said. "I'm here now."
He'd stopped breathing. No, he realised, he was breathing short, fast, and heavy but not getting any oxygen. Her face drew near to his. Their lips touched briefly; he had the impression she wanted to play down that first contact to ease his tension – it certainly wasn't the birth-of-a-new-universe he'd hoped for. Yet although physically there'd only been a soft touch, inwardly his heart skipped as if released from a trap, and the sun began to emerge again to brighten his hopes.
"Try again," she said, as if it were Quidditch practice. She'd no experience, but she'd long observed, with great interest, plenty of smooching.
They kissed eight point five more times including a near miss; he counted them all into his lasting memories, wondering if they meant as much to her.
"Merlin! Don't know why they just call this snogging," said Ginny, as she gradually began to 'get it.'
"Needs a nicer word," he agreed, bracing his legs so he didn't sink weakly down.
They gazed at each other as a new discovery and a changed regard. Nothing would be the same after this. He was finally liberated to search her face without looking away; she felt free to let him. They stared intently.
A long time.
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McGonagall's Change of Heart
After lessons the following day, Harry hesitated ... peeked around the second-floor tapestry to take the usual short cut up to Gryffindor Tower ... then pulled back with a smirk and a whisper carefully mouthed at Hermione. "Let's – take – the – other – way."
Hermione frowned as she retreated with him. "Ginny and Andrew?"
"Yeah, and they're not comparing homework notes neither!"
He grabbed at Hermione's hand suddenly and stopped with a strange look upon his face and a hungry smile fighting for the corner of his lips. "Tell me again what McGonagall said."
Moments of thoughtfulness passed, followed by a sigh, as one surrendering an unnecessary confidence. "It seemed to me, Harry, a lost memory took McGonagall's gaze far, far away, and she's relented as much as she dare."
He swung her arm gently to encourage her. "And...?"
"I've already told you."
"Tell me again."
It was her turn to smile. "As students, we're now permitted to be friends together in public, and even hold hands in a discreet kind of way – not suggestively nor overdoing it or anything; everyone knows we're a couple anyway."
"And...?"
"An occasional friendly hug is allowable – like a greeting or farewell, you understand."
He nodded.
"Positively no kissing when and where we might be seen or discovered – store cupboards included, and not even handholding or over-friendliness in my lessons or anything associated with my teaching. She warned me there would be dire consequences if there were any kind of scandal."
"Like cancelling your Potions classes and returning to Snape's? That's dire alright. So... let's go you-know-where to erm... compare our homework notes."
"Where you lead, I will follow, O Master." Smiling, Hermione lowered her head in mock obeisance and off they went together.
But soon Harry was looking puzzled. "It's along here isn't here?"
"We already passed it."
"Ah, right..." Harry swivelled around. "It's certainly not very noticeable even without magic."
"Exactly. I don't think even Dumbledore would sense anything there – not that he'd have any reason to come this way or linger. The stone blocks you duplicated are real stone while they last."
She took him through the solid wall.
"You'll have to teach me that immateriality spell, Hermione." He dumped his school bag on their back-to-back desks and lit a couple of candles, still taking joy in his effortless magical skill and power. The carpet was thick and a pleasing scarlet and gold; he cleansed it without really needing to.
"I don't think it's possible to learn immateriality, Harry. Even books did not help me. I spent years working on other related charms before I stumbled on an enchantment which perfected itself over many months. There's nothing similar in history that I know of, and a good thing too. It would be far too dangerous in the wrong hands and dark wizards must never know of it. Although..."
"What, Hermione?" His fingertips drew out one of the chairs for her to sit upon.
"In a strange way it shares similarities with the Patronus Charm because good, loving protective thoughts are necessary to invoke it. I wonder if Death Eaters and Dark Arcanists could even manage it. Perhaps I should study more works on the Patronus. It's a fascinating topic and ... what, Harry?"
"Nothing."
"You've got that faraway soppy smile you have when I'm trying to talk sensibly and–"
"–I like to watch the animated look on your face when you're absorbed in thinking."
She took in a deep breath. It was wonderful to be loved.
"Harry..."
His smile faded into puzzlement. "Hermione? Are you... crying?"
"It's taken so long ... I waited a lifetime without hope ... now you're here."
He reached out as he sat beside her. "I'm here."
Their embrace was a melting together, a cessation of thoughts.
"In a strange way, that felt like our first real kiss," she said, eyes still glistening in the candlelight.
"No looking over our shoulders, just us together, unreachable by any other."
The conversation drifted to lesser things: the homework they'd put off for a while, the next day's lessons, the coming Christmas holidays – the mundane glorified by their heightened awareness of each other's presence.
Sighs do not carry through stone.
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—oOo—
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Author's Notes
Two months since the last chapter! My pc crashed out yet again and I ended up buying a new one which I'm still configuring even now. But I have continued to add to this story - but clawing forward bit by bit - twenty minutes one day, then ten a few days later. This chapter is the result of two months' effort. I'm determined to keep pushing it to its conclusion though, but after that I reckon I'll stick to short and medium stories where I get swept along with ideas!
Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)
– Hippothestrowl
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