Not this one either, she huffed. Slamming the useless book, Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy, closed neglectfully. Madam Pinch made a noise of abuse as she glared at the sheepish student. She mouthed an apology, voice muted to limit her offences. She'd spent hours reading every book available for any information on Sirius Black. She dragged her fingers through her fraying curls and peered at the towering pile of worthless tomes. Her pile of books to be read, was a pile no more. She'd exhausted all wizarding resources at Hogwarts. The largest public library in Britain and Europe, a feat she'd imagined impossible.
She could scribe inches upon inches of parchment on Phineas Nigellus Black, until the day magic died. Including his historic hatred of his role as Headmaster, and the dreadfully dull policies he'd implemented such as 'Corridor Courtesy: Single file and Saving Lives'. She had gained nothing about Sirius Black III. Aside from his genealogical roots, she knew nothing of the mass murderer. Not even his year of birth could be found.
Everyone knew of him, but no one spoke of him. Everyone knew of his story, yet no one told of it.
She'd been petrified the previous year, though somehow this would be her worst Hogwarts moment. Literature had failed her. No. She banished the thought. There had to be something here on him. A register of Hogwarts students or a book of betrayal. The wizarding Judas covering the largest space of the text. All she needed was a scent to follow. A thread to tug.
It had been so incredibly straightforward to investigate her muggle ancestors, that she'd entered this challenge with a poor mindset. Obviously, the circumstances were wildly different, though her previous method of research should have applied here. It was implausible, really. There was not a single book detailing the first wizarding war, nor a single excerpt on the heroes or the defeated. At home, she had a stack of documents on her grandfather, and his role in the war efforts. An array of medical inquiries, bundles of battalion information, newspaper articles… Hermione Granger was a damned fool. The hot scent she begged for, invaded her nostrils.
Of course, there would be excerpts on him in newspaper archives. He'd been a prisoner. Surely, his trial would have been heavily reported? She could just examine the daily prophet archives, then she'd be a step closer to filling the pesky gaps. Now, where such scripts were to be found was beyond her scope. Though, she knew of one witch, who just might.
She grabbed her tower of shame to return them to their rightful homes before seeking the famed librarian. Giving an exuberant display of her reverence towards the hallowed books, as she gently put them away and lovingly stroked their spines in goodbye. All gestures of appeasement to the stiff-necked literature devotee, she'd offended earlier. She walked slowly to the librarian. Her beady yellowed eyes grazed the aisles, seeking miscreants with ill-intentions. She carefully considered what she would ask her, while harbouring no suspicion on her person. She would not outright explain why she needed a text of the entire black family. Truthfully, she only needed information on Sirius Black. Again, she did not need to know that.
She'd made an executive decision to exclude Harry from this. His Hogsmeade breakdown, while entirely understandable, had opened her eyes to the tortured soul possessing her raven-haired friend. She'd bring him the conclusion of her research. He was owed as much. Though, she would not have him needlessly consumed by his personal demons in her quest. Harry was currently catching snitches under the watchful Oliver Wood, and there he would stay.
"Madam Pinch?" She whispered, the woman whipped her head to the forsaken, with a curled lip. It was now or never. "I was wondering if you could help me find something – I need to find newspaper articles, from the years 1980 to 82 – possibly, 83. Could you help?" She asked, weaving her head to catch attention, as the woman snaked her head about in tandem with her all-seeing eyes.
"You'll be needing to contact the newspapers. Excuse me," she side-stepped the deflating witch to pursue any lurking vulnerables. There was no stopping Hermione, this was not the end of their discussion. She followed her, as she thundered down the library, her feet mysteriously leaving no noise behind. A charm, perhaps. She'd have to research that, it could be predictability useful with Harry Potter as a friend.
"Maybe I could access previous students' records? Is that at all possible?" Madam pinch halted, her scrunching eyes stormy. It was more information then she'd like to give, but she held her towel firmly, giving in was unthinkable.
"Hogwarts records are strictly controlled by Head of houses – Miss Parkinson, push your chair in – I am no house-elf!" She fumed. Hemione fought a burgeoning turmoil, as she sought her 'Plan P', as the previous iterations were devastating. She'd have to begin numerical naming, as she was devouring letters at an alarming rate.
Pity, the house of black was historically Slytherin – Snape would never give her access to the files. The road was narrowing further, the paths distorting ahead of her. She fought the overwhelming need to throw a tantrum. A rare thing, but the build-up was tinkering.
Madam Pinch had forgotten the girl following her, bumping her as she turned to continue patrols. Hermione caught her arm, delivering her final plea.
"Are there any other records I could access?" Madam Pinch hmphed affronted. Swatting her arms away as she'd freshly caught her meaty game. Two loitering students meandering towards the restriction section. Her deviously toothy smile was the last she saw of her, as she vanished like puffing smoke.
The towel curled pathetically on the floor, her insides shrivelling with the force of the high decibels of her internal shrieks. The debate to continue was dwindling, as the roadblocks sank on her in quick succession. The fighting energy she inherited, was depleting with every footfall as slid to the exit.
.
Ron would call her dramatic, and rightfully so. Not possessing the answers was not the end of the world. It certainly was no excuse for her indulgent sulking. She'd spent the last few hours debating her purpose in life, atop the vacant Astronomy Tower. Honestly, it was not the lack of answer. It was the loss of a part of her identity, dramatic it may be. She was the intelligent witch. The brilliant witch. The witch with the answers.
Yes, nobody had asked the question yet. When they did, she was sure to lose that part of herself. Chipped away, sinking into the great wide abyss. Honestly, it was ridiculously childish. No person was omniscient. Though, she felt damn near close to it. Pride was a sinfully fickle thing.
Her wounded pride led her up the shifting stairs to the deserted tower, with the strict intent of pathetically moping. She stayed carved into a corner of the tower pouting. Remaining until the sun drew lower and the crescent moon rose higher against the inky backdrop.
Once, she'd stayed far past curfew, she crushed the rebellion under her heeled boot. She dropped to the last step, narrowly avoiding missing the trick step below. Callous wandering was unlike her. She was far too distracted by her doubting mind. Foolishly wishing the story of Black would take shape by pure, unadulterated concentration.
"Devious creatures, don't you think?" an airy voice, belonging to a tall girl with brilliant silvery blonde hair. Well, anyone above 5"5 was tall to Hermione. She religiously preyed to the puberty monster to endow her a final spurt
She'd not noticed the invasion of the young girl, as she ambled the windy cavern of her mind. So distracted was she, she'd barely noticed the girl had no shoes. Dirty, her brain pounced. She was standing in the middle of the corridor hazardously, as she watched the faintly lit ceiling with a vacant expression.
"Sorry – creatures?" Hermione squinted at the high arching ceiling, as night enhanced the masking shadows. She couldn't see anything at all. She may need to see the mediwitch tomorrow. Her intelligence may be withering, but she'd be damned if she let her eyesight fall, too.
"I rather enjoyed those earrings – the niffler feathers were a rather unique touch. Have yours gone walkabouts, too?" She breathed, each word high in oxygen, ever so lulling and light. She looked at Hermione with a handsome warmth, the paled azure was entrancing. She evoked a warm feeling – as though being seen for the first time after a life of seclusion. So fallen was she, she'd almost forgotten the fluttery girl had spoken altogether. She shook her head, an action that stung the draining witch.
"Sorry, again. Eh – I don't wear earrings. A walk? what do you mean?" She asked slowly, her fingertips brushed her earlobes with a delicate. What happened to her earrings? Or, good god, her shoes. Hermione was facing an impossible task to not cringe every time her bright yellow toes caught her eye. The flimsy girl appeared as though Hermione had stolen her sunshine.
"That's a shame. I think Gold – yes, rose – would complement your courage nicely. Is there something you needed from me?" Gold? Hermione was utterly baffled. What was this blasted woman talking about? Hermione's earring deficiency clearly disgraced her, as the pale turquoise eyes studied the ceiling once again.
"What? No, I don't need help. Do you need help?" Professional, a mind-healing, perhaps. The blonde serving serene smiles, while spouting riddling nonsensical sentences needed something. She would describe this encounter as a calming confusion. Hermione felt unease when she spoke, while gentled by her soothing smile, all at once. It was somewhat disorientating.
"Oh well, that's nice. Nobody helps me," she said, a sad smile cracking her façade, as she policed the empty sconces above once more.
Hermione felt a depressing feeling. Similar to watching a broken bird fly on chapped wings. The meaning of her words was terrible, however, the tall witch seemed unmoved by them. That meant nothing to Hermione, however. After all, weren't appearances commonly regarded as deceiving? Thin veils we dawn, hiding the scrambling chaos within.
"I could help you," Hermione offered, meekly. The witch's eye twitched slightly, as though she realised she'd been speaking a bit too candidly. Her cheery smile did not disarm Hermione this time. The deadened senses beginning to shake from their snooze.
"Unless you've goblin hairs handy, I don't reckon you could help, I'm afraid," She said, a wistful tone in her voice. Hermione scrunched her sloped nose tightly.
"Goblin hairs?" She asked, her a thin crease forming in between his eyebrows.
"Yes, they're good at warding away pesky Nargles. They won't dare steal with Goblins nearby," her blonde eyelashes fluttered, disguising her bright eyes momentarily. What in the name of Merlin were Nargles? She blinked away the mayhem of the disingenuous speech.
Hermione was beginning to feel as though she were a part of a game. Without laying her emblem on the board, she was embroiled in a match with zero knowledge of the rules. The riddling back and forth was the only indication that she was being played for a fiddle. She needed to swerve the conversation back on track. Allowing the girls' neon balls of lunacy to tumble where they may, while the adults played the real game. She squinted eyes at her. Knowing trickery was afoot helped her thin her thoughts.
The girl wore a shaggy electric blue bracelet. Ravenclaw, maybe? Equally telling, were her yellow painted toes. Suggesting she was facing a shrewd badger. She shuddered remembering her naked toes. She despised bare feet. Off-track, once again!
A wild thought occurred. Perhaps the opposing colours were another calculation. A magician's misdirection. Her thinning cheeks, as the shed the layers of childhood suggested she was in early puberty like herself. A possible year-mate, even. She relived the memory of her sorting ceremony like a flickering slideshow behind her curtained eyelids. Abbott, Hannah…Brown, Lavender…Longbottom, Neville…Lovegood, –
" Luna! Isn't it?" She asked, free and loud. Fastening a smug victory smile on, to boot. The girl looked taken aback, as retreated from the leery witch imperceptibly. Hermione tried to control her grinning, she truly did. She was without success, judging by the furious blinking from the identified Ravenclaw. Fitting, she thought.
"In the waking hours, yes, I am Luna," she stuttered. Oh, for Godric's sake. She was ignoring that. Waking hours. Really?
"Yes, well. You should not be alone in the corridors passed curfew. Black could be about," she ploughed on, with a presidential smile. The juxtaposition of her concerned words and the helpless grin was confusing, but she meant her every syllable. Never mind, that she was being hypocritical as she was alone, too. Irrelevant, she thought.
It seemed as if all of Hogwarts had forgotten the attack of the Fat Lady. Well, except Percy. He was personally affronted this occurred during his regime, a besmirching mark on his white ledger as he started to treat each corner as an enemy. Instructing all the students to travel in packs lead by older students. His words fell on deaf ears. The older students all had suddenly jam-packed schedules, unable to adhere to their supposed leader.
"None of us are ever really alone, are we? Lonely, yes. Though, we're never truly alone in this world," with a pensive regard to her imaginings on the sconced ceilings.
The cloying heartbreak rebounded. It dawned on her then, the ditsy mask she projected was one of safeguarding. Come to think of it, she'd never noticed the witch till now. She knew most of the Ravenclaws by looks. They either applauded her or silently cursed her. Yet, she'd never received an intrigued smile or hateful glance from this girl in the Great Hall. Hermione felt terrible for being so irritated by the Ravenclaw. She was truly the worst, sometimes.
"Besides, you're here now. Though you could have always been here. Have you always been here?" She returned, bouncing on her heels with a cheerful smile. Hermione knows the witch had known she had only arrived a moment ago. She allows it anyway, wanting to locate the heart of this encounter, above all else. Even if her facial muscles ached with tics.
"Are you, Luna? Lonely, that is." The staunch Brit within was cringing at her outward display of emotions. It couldn't be helped. Shouldn't be helped, really. She didn't fumble as her engaging round eyes stared beyond Hermione.
"In the waking hours? Sometimes...why are you wandering around?" She deflected, but Hermione had found the heart. She would be remiss to put it down, now.
"Do you often lose things, Luna?" She swerved her question without finesse. Safeguarding her secrets, as she worked to collect the little droplets the witch had left behind. She hoped they were lost. She truly did. Though, she'd a feeling 'Nargles' was a synonym for cruel classmates. She'd be watching the Weasley twins closely. If this were one of their thoughtless designs, there would be trouble. She did not anticipate the unsuspecting witch of possessing Slytherin qualities. A cunning that could drive the sorting hat to the breadline.
"My father could help you," she said, the added distraction of her cheery yellow toes flexing. An assault to her mind and senses, as flashing yellow lights glared against her windscreen. What could her father help Hermione with, exactly? Her golden eyes laced with suspicion, as her feline eyes sharpened.
"What are you talking about?" An untraceable poison lacing her tenor. The witch gave a smile that revealed her molars, as Hermione wrinkled her nose unattractively. Hermione realised without a doubt that this no Hufflepuff before her. How she ever thought so was laughable. The loosely defined Ravenclaw was not as ditsy as projected, she thought. As she witnessed her steal the control brazenly. Hermione did not like this one bit.
"Newspaper archives. My father runs The Quibbler – we've got a room full of archives, all the way back to the eighties. I could ask for you, if you like," Hermione hugged her instantly. Briticisms be damned. The witch tensed before relaxing into the hug. She relinquished the control with exuberance. All in favour of her fulfilling desires, and the added self-assurance.
She should be wondering how she had not noticed the prying eyes in her library. Frankly, she was too elated to ruin the glimmering hope she'd been offered. She should be questioning the legibility of a news source, run by the sire of the imaginative girl she was bound to. However, when one has reached the end of their rope, they simply tied a knot and held on for dear life. So, the philosophers say, anyway. Who was she to question them?
She won't lie. It still niggled at her mind, working its way into her blissful trance with whispered words of conspiracy.
Irrelevant, she forced. A poor man should never turn away warm soup when their hunger is unsatiable, and she was positively famished. She pulled back from the wide-eyed angel with a bouncy laugh. She should be scolding herself for her coarse familiarity, but she was repressing it. The witch was smiling softly, too. Therefore, her senses had not been too offended. She hoped, anyway.
"That would be absolutely brilliant, Luna. Really amazing, – I – I can't thank you enough," she said, her voice was breathy, with expounding joy. Luna smiled at her with warmth, and a conciliatory nod as she recovered from her shock. Understandable, she thought. She had pounced on her, a perfect stranger.
She opened her mouth to continue the raining praise, before noticing the flashing of bright white eclipsing Luna's face. She whipped her head around, spotting the advancing couple and their lighted wands.
Hermione's exhaled her fleeting breaths. She'd already gotten one detention. A farce, to be sure. She'd forced the claws of her DADA professor to dole out her penance. If she gets a second one this week, the fabric of her reality may tear. Of course, she was out past curfew and would be deserving of it. Luna concealed herself behind Hermione, condensing herself further to the naked eye. Hermione had resigned herself to her just fate. Could she subject Luna to the same? She'd just given her something special, was her reward to be punishment?
She grabbed Luna's hand, dragging her down the dimly lit corridor. Luna accepted without hesitation, as Hermione was the strongest horse left in the race. She looked left and right, as she mentally stoked the cooling coals, forcing the mental churning. She sifted through her catalogue, organising her arsenal of spells and devising an escape.
Hermione forced Luna behind a sturdy column, with a risky first attempt at a Disillusionment charm. She tapped Luna's head with a clean mind, as she chanted the fifth-year charm. It was murky try, as her taller form camouflaged to the stone behind her. The stone lost its grainy stone texture, Luna's body was a blur though easily spotted if you looked close enough. It was disappointing but would have to do. She twirled her wand three times around her own head, and chanting. Cursing her pronounced gulp, as the feeling of a cool liquid washing her body began. She could only hope the cover of night would work with her shoddy spell work.
"It's not your job to question, Severus," said the Headmaster, like a parent explaining morality to a disobedient child.
"I have always known what my job was Albus, your reminder is unnecessary," sniped Snape. His thin hair snaking over his slick forehead.
"I wish it were so. In any case, I do not need to explain myself. Nor should you come to me with bias, and no evidence, whatsoever," he said, his statement hard and final. Hermione absentmindedly leaned into their conversation as they strolled through the wide corridor.
"I do not need evidence when their allegiance to one another is widely established. It was foolhardy to bring him here," Bring who? She was concentrating on the jittery man. He schooled his loss of patience with the Headmaster, flattening his tensed hands against his sides.
"As I said, I do not need to justify myself to you, Severus. Your unfounded opinions are duly noted," but the dismissive tone, accompanied by his disconnected eyes demeaned his words. Who were they discussing? She was seeing a side of Snape she'd never seen before. An anxious side. A version with no correlation with the honed man she knew. Knew of.
"I fear your wilful ignorance shall doom us all, Albus," Snape stopped dead in his tracks. Hermione moved closer again, forgetting Luna completely. The defender of light whirled around to reproach his Potions professor. His features flat were unassuming, while his irises became glacial. He looked to the grease-layered man for a moment with a brutal gaze, that could cripple the world's most fragrant flowers.
Hermione was on edge. Her investment was high, deriding her normally infallible wits as she crept closer. Edging further from the safety of the gritty pillar. His eyes lacked their usual heat. She imagined those eyes were a regular haunt to Grindelwald, as he decayed in Azkaban.
The headmaster's eyes flickered over the shoulder of her scraggy professor, staring through her subpar spell. His eyes narrowed as he examined the blurring landscape before him. Not only had she been caught galivanting after hours, but she'd been caught with burning ears. Eavesdropping on the private conversations.
"Goodnight, Severus," he dismissed, carefully quiet, an implicit command hidden within. He did not break his connection with the concealed Hermione. She could swear he could see her eyes as he centred her blown pupils.
Snape looked over his shoulder, to the scene behind him. Hermione cringed with the utter embarrassment. The esteemed man glared behind him with disgust before his caped robes swam around him as the air assaulted the fabric while he snaked away without farewells.
Hermione had almost forgotten she was disillusioned, his penetrating gaze was too convincing. She could not find her voice as it was buried in an open grave, covered by her shame and concealed by her embarrassment. She didn't bother to look for Luna, not wanting to reveal her location. She prayed she'd been wiser than she.
"It is rather late…" he spoke, shattering their connection to look around the aged halls. She knew it was impossible for him to identify her. Though, he'd probably known by the poorly practised spell that it was a younger student. She prayed for Luna, once more. Hoping her charm was better than she remembered. "…I think I should head to bed, too…" his shrewd eyes squeezed her again, flaying her quickly. "Goodnight, Miss. Granger," he said, his eyes easing in their cruelty as she wheezed softly.
She'd never doubted her headmaster's capabilities. After all, he was renowned for his immeasurable skill and famed for his duels. He was the man and the legend in one. She'd never doubted him, though to believe is vastly different than to see. The man did not linger. Effortlessly imparting his superiority, he granted her a final challenging glance, before resuming his paced walk.
Once she saw the last of his dusty sky-blue robes, she dropped her spell with a wheezed finite incantantem. Luna came into view, after performing her own counter-spell. Having wisely remained in her position during the exchange. At least, she'd known Professor Dumbledore was not completely absolute.
Luna had been spelt into submission, too. Aware of what occurred but unable to describe it. They stayed like that, silently appealing one another. At least Luna was of a like mind, she thought. Harry and Ron could see what they saw, without truly seeing it. Luna's agape mouth understood.
"Thank you," Luna said, to the sacrificial lamb before her. She was sure that there would be some sort of consequence, even if she could not see it. Maybe, her silence was as good as punishment for the wizard. His identification of her was one of those unspoken threats, he gave Snape earlier. He was not to speak of what she'd heard. Not that she could, she had no idea of what she had seen, exactly. Though, she was not the only one who'd witnessed it, now was she?
"No point in both of us being caught," she conceded, alternating her footing where she stood.
"Still, thanks," she reiterated. The serious expression did not become the Ravenclaw. She much preferred her self-invented vacancy, to her bottomless gratitude. She bowed her head in recognition, rather than dull acceptance. The blonde witch understood, mimicking her efforts with a nod of acknowledgement.
"See you around?" she asked, uncertainty in the barely-there break.
"Of course," she said, a proud beam on her lips as the witch's eyes recommenced their gleaming shine. The comforting return of warmth was her optimistic beacon, that something good had happened tonight.
They spoke their farewells in kindness and recognition, before departing as unlikely allies.