Author's Notes: Yes, you may read this chapter, but only after you answer me these questions three. Question the first…
…What is your favourite colour?!
Let's hear it for Monty Python.
***
"What the bloody hell do you mean they had an accident?!"
"Mister Brady!" Professor Granger snapped. "You will not use such language in my classroom!"
"Sorry Professor," Max Brady intoned dismissively, his handsome young face still scarlet with anger. "But we need Roger to play tomorrow! He's the best bloody Seeker we've had since the great Harry Potter!" Max suddenly bowed his head solemnly. "May his broom always be swift," he added.
Hermione let out a strangled, frustrated sound, leaning back in her stiff wooden chair. Max Brady, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and also the object of many seventh-year girls' affections, was not the only student to fire questions at her today. Rumours had begun spreading like wildfire around the school about Roger and Paul's whereabouts, not even twenty-four hours after the Hogsmeade incident.
"I'm afraid," Hermione said slowly and patiently after a deep, calming breath, "that Roger will not be well enough to play tomorrow. And yes," she said quickly as Max opened his mouth in outrage, "I'm just as disappointed as you are that he will not be able to play. But a student's health is far more important than a victory for Gryffindor, so you'll just have to find someone else."
"Someone else?!" Max cried, deeply offended. "Someone else?! Professor, do you have any idea what it takes in order to train a member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team? We're a well-oiled machine, ma'am, and someone else can't just be introduced to the team like that!" He smacked his fist into his palm for effect.
"Well, you'll just have to make do," Hermione said shortly. "Goodbye, Mr. Brady."
"But - "
"She said goodbye, Brady. Last time I checked, that meant get lost, you little punk," a voice stated wryly from the doorway of the classroom. Both Professor Granger and Max started, their heads snapping around to find Diana Drago leaning against the doorframe. The Potion Master's long, straight black hair spilled onto her shoulders, and a cynical smile that didn't quite reach her steely, ice blue eyes played across her ashen face.
"You'd better get your behind in gear," Drago said casually, strolling over to Hermione's desk, "if you want to find a new Seeker for that 'well-oiled machine' of yours. If not, you may just have to forfeit to Slytherin. And we wouldn't want that to happen, would we?" Her red lips were drawn into a sweet smile.
Max gave the Slytherin Head the best look of contempt he could muster and stomped out of the room, muttering under his breath. Diana smiled again and perched herself on the edge of one of the empty desks in Hermione's classroom, carelessly swinging her legs back and forth. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes and bent her curly head, returning to the marking she was doing.
"What an inopportune time for Roger to have an accident," Diana commented casually. "Just when the Gryffindors were beginning to get cocky, they're going to lose miserably tomorrow. How sad."
"As you can see I'm rather busy," Hermione interrupted, setting down her quill and giving Diana a matter-of-fact look.
"Oh, I'm not bothering you, am I?" Drago replied in mild surprise. "Professor Granger, you should've said something." She grinned wickedly and hopped off the desk as Hermione picked up her quill again, resuming her work.
"So do tell…what's with all the secrecy? Two students injured, extra supervision in the halls, passwords changed…" Diana counted them all off on her fingers. "Almost makes one think that there's something going on."
"Maybe," Hermione replied irritably, setting down her quill once again, "the Headmaster realized what poor security we have around here and decided to step it up a bit."
Drago stared at her, unimpressed. "Really, is that the best you can come up with? And to think I heard that in your Hogwarts days you were quite the little genius…wonder what happened…"
Hermione clenched her quill more tightly, and set it down a final time. She wasn't going to let this woman get the best of her. "Oh, I'm sorry...did you not go to Hogwarts?" she said with fake surprise. "Ah, yes, that's right…you weren't accepted! I had forgotten," Hermione smirked. She felt triumphant as Diana's face briefly clouded, but it was quickly masked by her usual sarcastic expression.
"Oh, very clever Professor," Drago retorted, folding her arms. "It must just kill you that I got my education elsewhere, yet I'm a teacher here, doesn't it?"
"Hmm," Hermione mused, pretending to be thoughtful. "Now, why didn't you get a teaching position at Durmstrang? Oh yes, because the Ministry closed it down. What a shame that was."
Some foreign emotion flickered over Drago's face, but once again she replaced it quickly with a sneer. "Touché, Professor," she said with a smirk. "My, my, haven't we gotten saucy? Must be that red-headed Auror you've been hanging around with," she commented before beginning to stroll out of the classroom. "Pleasure talking to you, as usual!" the Potions Mistress called as she exited the room.
Hermione rolled her eyes, picking up her quill again. Although she had hated the comment about Ron, she couldn't help feeling slightly pleased with herself. Two could play at Diana Drago's little witty comeback game. The shadow of a satisfied smile tugged at the corners of Hermione's mouth as she finished marking the papers.
***
The stars studding the enchanted ceiling were pale that night at supper. Hermione could not help catching snatches of the students' chatter, which wafted over to the Head Table.
"…they're both such idiots. I wouldn't be surprised if they did something stupid and ended up breaking half the bones in their bodies – "
"I heard that the Slytherin Quidditch team beat them up…"
"I think they both caught some sort of rare tropical disease!"
"You would."
Hermione frowned as she pushed mashed potatoes around on her plate. Roger and Paul's 'accident' had become a hot topic of conversation, she noted. They would have to come up with a better story, she decided uncomfortably. She still didn't like the fact that they were hiding the truth not only from the students, but also from most of the staff.
Professor Granger's thoughts were interrupted as, to her surprise, Dumbledore stood up, looking grim. Ron, sitting a few seats down, leaned over and gave Hermione a questioning look down the table. Hermione shrugged and glanced up at the Headmaster.
"I know many of you have been questioning the whereabouts of Roger Ramone and Paul White," Dumbledore began. There was a murmur of agreement from the students, followed by a hush as they stared up at the Headmaster, eager for information. "I assure you that they are in no danger, and that they are both healthy; however, I would ask that none of you seek to pester them. They need their rest. You can expect them back at school in no more than a few weeks."
"Why can't we see them?" a blonde fourth-year, rumored to have a crush on Paul, whined pathetically.
The famous twinkle flashed in Dumbledore's eye. "I hear they're highly contagious," he responded innocently. Whispers immediately broke out amongst the students. Dumbledore held up his hands for silence.
"Also, I would like to remind all Hufflepuffs to see Professor Willows about the password change in their common - " Dumbledore abruptly stopped, his eyes briefly turning glassy. Hermione and Ron simultaneously made a move as if to stand up, but Dumbledore simply shook his head to clear it.
" - common room," Dumbledore finished. He stood there for a few more seconds, and then collapsed to the floor.
"Albus!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed shrilly, leaping out of her chair at the same time as Ron and Hermione. The rest of the teachers also stood in alarm as Ron, Hermione, and Minerva quickly knelt by the frail form of Albus Dumbledore. Ron took his pulse as Hermione fretfully brushed a few strands of snow-white hair out of the headmaster's closed eyes. The sound of chairs scraping against the floor was heard as several students stood up, trying to see what had happened. Frightened chatter broke out.
"Headmaster?" Hermione said as she gently shook Dumbledore, straining to keep her voice calm. "Albus!"
"Hmm?" the sound came from Dumbledore's lips, though his eyes remained closed. Slowly they opened, their cold blue depths distant. A small sigh escaped Dumbledore; then, clutching McGonagall's robes, he struggled to get up.
"Easy there, Dumbledore," Ron said firmly, trying to get the older man to lie back down. Dumbledore pushed his hand away and sat up. Grabbing his cane, the once commanding and powerful wizard shakily stood.
"I believe supper is over," he announced hoarsely to the student body. There were more whispers, followed by the sounds of chairs being pushed back once again as students took the hint and began trickling out of the Great Hall, their eyes still fixed on the Headmaster.
"Albus, you need rest," Hermione said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Dumbledore stared forward at the exiting students, unblinking and indifferent.
"Yes," he said emotionlessly. "I'll be in my chambers." With that, the Headmaster turned and slowly made his way around the Head Table, hobbling out of the Great Hall.
"Shouldn't someone - " Ron began.
"No," McGonagall interrupted, almost sadly. "He won't let anyone help him," she finished as the staff silently watched his retreating form.
Before Hermione knew it, Ron was dragging her to the library. Still worried about Dumbledore's condition, she allowed herself to be dragged along, unconsciously chewing her bottom lip. They found the library empty; evidently, a strict curfew had also been enforced for the safety of the students, and all were securely in their common rooms.
"…Why are we here?" Hermione said blankly, seeming to have just noticed where she was. Ron disappeared in the Restricted Section and returned with a pile of books.
"I learned this from a friend of mine," Ron said with a slight grin. "When in doubt, go to the library." He dropped the books in front of Hermione, grabbed the one on top, then plopped himself into the chair next to her and flipped it open.
"What are we looking for?" Hermione asked as she stared down at the books before her, confused. "Something for the Headmaster? He's sick, Ron, there's nothing we can do about - "
"No, no," Ron answered, shaking his head. "We're doing some research on everybody's favourite threatening note-writing lunatic." A grim look briefly shadowed his freckled face. "And Dumbledore…he's probably just over-stressed, that's all. The guy has to run a school with the knowledge that a murderous nut wants to kill him. I'd eventually pass out too."
These words comforted Hermione slightly. He's right. The Headmaster isn't sick, she told herself firmly. The poor man is probably just worried and stressed out. That's all…
"So what are we looking for?" Hermione asked, breaking her own train of thought.
"Names," Ron replied, beginning to flip through a book with a quill in hand and parchment ready. "Names, names, names. Anyone who was associated with Voldemort."
Hermione flinched at the name.
"Most of them are either dead, or in Azkaban," Ron continued. "But there's a handful still running around out there. I want to know who they are, and where they are."
"A suspect list?" said Hermione shakily. She had, perhaps, watched one too many Muggle detective dramas on television with her mother as a child.
"Through the process of elimination, yes. Might be a tad lengthy, but…it's worth a shot."
Hermione paled as she stared down at the books in front of her.
The Death of Darkness.
You-Know-Who: A Dark Legacy.
Followers and Foes: A Lengthy List of You-Know-Who's Closest Supporters and Worst Enemies.
She cleared her throat and, with a shaky hand, bravely opened The Death of Darkness as Ron furiously scribbled down name after name beside her.
Hours passed slowly and painstakingly. Every name Hermione wrote, every book she opened, filled her with a foreboding fright she couldn't explain. Every book was a reminder of the terrifying things she, Harry, and Ron had faced together, every page a reminder of the Dark Lord's dying shrieks. Yet with every book she finished and cover she slammed shut, Hermione felt an unexpected surge of triumph as she conquered her fear. Finally, in the pre-dawn light and with heavy bags under their eyes, Professors Weasley and Granger compared the lists they had compiled.
"Jordan Everett," Hermione called out, yawning.
"Azkaban," Ron replied, his eyes-half closed as he thought. He opened them to watch her scratch out the name with fluorish.
"Ethan Fortinbras."
"Back on our side. Claims he was under the Imperius curse. Keep him on the list."
"Donovan and Samantha Owens."
"Samantha's in Azkaban. Donovan's assumed dead, but his whereabouts are still unknown…keep him."
"Gerald…" Hermione's eyes widened slightly as she saw the last name. She tried to stifle a giggle, and failed. She'd been up all night, her head hurt from reading the tiny print in the texts, and she was feeling slightly delirious. Gerald's last name was the catalyst; despite everything, the collected professor began giggling hysterically.
"What?" Ron asked, furrowing his eyebrows. He snatched the piece of parchment and stared down at the name. "Gerald Dumfart? You made that one up!"
Tears were now streaming down Hermione's face as she continued laughing madly, arms folded across her stomach. She managed to shake her head "no" between fits of fervent laughter. Ron started chuckling too until the two professors were nearly falling out of their chairs laughing.
Ron wiped tears from his eye as he slowly recovered. Gasping for breath, Hermione did the same. Both grinned at each other until Hermione realized how foolish she must have looked and quickly glanced down at the parchment again.
"It's late," Ron finally said, still wearing a grin. "We're both bloody tired, and probably delirious. We can finish this later."
"No, no it's all right," Hermione insisted, trying to compose herself by smoothing her hair. "There's only a few names left on this piece of parchment."
Ron smiled brightly and nodded. "All right. Go. And I've never heard of Gerald Dumfart, so you should probably keep him."
Hermione snorted and glanced back down at her list. "Okay. Adrian Thayer."
"Deceased."
"Alonso Dra - " Hermione abruptly stopped and examined the name more carefully, her eyes wide. She didn't remember writing this one down. Then again, she'd been half-asleep, and she didn't remember writing a lot of names down. But this had to be a bizarre coincidence.
"Alonso what?" Ron demanded, suspicion sneaking into his voice, as if he had already guessed. Hermione wordlessly pushed the piece of parchment across the table.
"Alonso Drago," Ron said bitterly, circling the name. "Should have known."
"Do you know of him?" Hermione asked in a small voice.
"No, but I think we can all guess who he's related to. It's not as if it's a common name."
"Diana's…what? Brother? Father?"
"Father, most likely," Ron replied, shaking his head furiously. "I told you. I knew that woman was no good."
"Ron, don't assume…I mean, sure she went to Durmstrang and there's a slight possibility that her father…" Hermione trailed off. Why was she defending Diana? She wasn't exactly fond of her.
"She went to Durmstrang?" Ron cut in, a strange glint in his eyes. "Well, that pretty much seals the deal, doesn't it?" he said wryly, folding his arms.
"Not everyone that came out of Durmstrang turned bad!"
"Sure, that's why they shut it down."
"Viktor went to Durmstrang and he turned out just fine!"
Ron paused and glanced up, a familiar, cold look in his eyes. "Ah yes. Viktor Krum. How could I forget?" he stated, not bothering to keep the biting tone out of his voice. "How is old Vicky?"
"Oh for goodness sake Ron, don't start this again!" Hermione exclaimed as she pushed back her chair and stood up, flustered. "I haven't even spoken to him since he started playing Quidditch full-time!"
Ron took a deep breath and also stood up, but slowly. "Sorry," he said quietly, noting the upset look on his friend's face. "It's late, and we're tired, and likely to say things we don't mean. So let's just go to bed."
The young witch's shoulders slumped as she nodded in weary agreement, her eyes heavy with fatigue. She allowed Ron to walk her to her room, one arm entwined with hers.
"Good night, Ron," Hermione said with a weary sigh as they stopped in front of her room. Ron nodded and slowly untangled his arm from hers.
"'Night, Hermione. Get some rest," Ron responded quietly. He hesitated, appearing as if he was going to do something but then changed his mind. Sticking his hands in his pockets beneath his robes, he nodded to her then shuffled off in the direction of his room.
Hermione paused outside her door for a few moments, watching him walk away, before shaking her head at herself and walking into her room.
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Aw, tender moments! But if you're like my beta, Night Zephyr, and have a really dirty mind, you probably read a lot more into, "So let's just go to bed," than should have been there and may or may not have gotten all excited. C'mon, kids…this is a family story! ^_~
Quick, review like the wind!