Author's Notes: In the old school version of this fic, this chapter had a slight error. It seemed that the students were sent to their common rooms, and five minutes later, they were magically getting out of class in order to cause commotion and get in the trio's way. Of course, I fixed the error for this version, but just to defend myself, there was an explanation for the error that occurred in the old version. To quote Harry Potter and the Prisoner of A Cabana:


"Plot device, Seamus. Plot device."

Enjoy. ^_^

***

Hermione awoke late the next morning. She had slept fitfully, and awoke feeling a bizarre sense of relief, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Hermione lay there in bed, quite comfortable and warm. Lazily, she stretched her arms over her head – and then she remembered the conversation with Charles from last night.

A fresh wave of guilt washed over Hermione, who reminded herself that it was for the best. It was far crueler to let Charles continue to think that she loved him, when she did not…could not. Not particularly in the mood to go down to the Great Hall and face Harry and Ron after what had happened last night, Hermione rolled over in bed. After a few seconds of unsuccessfully attempting to fall back asleep, she promptly decided that avoiding her friends would not accomplish anything. The three of them had work to do. Reluctantly, Professor Granger clambered out of bed, and was soon on her way to the Great Hall.

A few students were scattered around the Great Hall, enjoying buttered toast, pancakes, and sausages - the house-elves' breakfast specialties. Hermione quickly spotted Ron and Harry, who stood out like sore thumbs; Ron's bright red hair was blatantly obvious anywhere, and the two of them were far taller than any of the students. They were sitting at the Gryffindor house table ("I'd feel too weird sitting with the teachers at the Head Table," Harry had confessed the day before) and were speaking in low voices. They seemed to be startled when Hermione sat down.

"Sorry," she said in a business-like tone, reaching for a slice of toast and buttering it, "I slept in."

"Slept in?! It's only eight o'clock!" Ron began incredulously. Harry shot him a look, and he quickly shut his mouth. The two of them were strangely quiet for the rest of breakfast, speaking to Hermione in slow, quiet voices, and being oddly formal. At one point, Ron started speaking about the Ministry, and then abruptly looked like he had swallowed something sour and never finished his sentence.

"So I was thinking we could talk to Diana about the poison theory today," Hermione said casually out of nowhere.

Ron promptly spit out his coffee, spraying the scalding hot liquid all over Harry, who swore and jumped to his feet. A few curious glances were thrown their way as Harry mopped up the front of his robes, now stained an ugly shade of brown, with a napkin.

"What?" Ron managed to splutter after recovering. "No!"

"Why not?" Hermione exclaimed, sounding a bit hurt. Beside her, Harry's eyes flashed; it was obviously a warning to Ron, who pursed his lips together and looked guilty.

"I dunno," he murmured lamely. It seemed as if both of them had been be trying to dance around the delicate subject of the break-up, afraid of mentioning anything to do with Charles, or of angering or hurting Hermione in the slightest. Hermione slammed down her fork, looking irritated. Ron and Harry both cringed.

"I'm all right, you know," Hermione said, annoyed. "You don't have to keep treating me like I'm going to burst into tears any second now. I'm fine, really."

"Oh…we weren't…" Harry trailed off as Ron turned red and suddenly became very interested in the Gryffindor table. But they both started acting considerably more normal after that. The subject of Diana was dropped, and the rest of breakfast was quite pleasant, if uneventful.

***

She paused at the entrance, shivering in the chilly corridor. An icy cold draft stealthily made its way up from the darkness beneath the stairs. She took an abrupt step backwards as the draft extinguished one of the few torches dully illuminating the stairway. The cold seemed almost unbearable now.

Setting her jaw stubbornly, she made up her mind. What had to be done had to be done. Bravely, she took a small step onto the first step. Her foot wavered uncertainly over the next one. There was a strange ringing in her ears, which slowly morphed into a piercing shriek, a dying scream. Inhaling sharply, she took a step backwards, and breathed again as she found herself safely back on the landing. She stared into the inky darkness below her. It stared back at her, as if daring her to set foot down there. She bit her lip until she tasted blood; she had come so far this year, only to be daunted by a place, a shadow of a memory.

Why wouldn't her feet move? They must have been frozen to the spot by that air…that frigid, stale air coming from below her -

"Professor Granger?" said a sickly sweet voice in her ear.

Hermione clapped her hand over her own mouth to keep from screaming. Eyes wide, she turned around to see Diana Drago standing on the step behind her, a smirk on her face.

"You're blocking the entrance to my classroom," Diana pointed out wryly. There were a few snickers and giggles from the class standing behind her. They had obviously been waiting to get into the dungeons for quite some time now. Embarrassed but not fazed, Hermione haughtily climbed back up the two steps she had worked so hard to get down, scowling at the murmuring, giggling students. Their whispers quickly seized as they noticed the Arithmancy professor glaring acidly at them.

"Could I have a word?" Hermione asked Diana, trying to keep her cool.

She had decided that she was an independent adult, and that she did not need Ron's permission to ask a fellow teacher for help. So Hermione had purposefully strolled down to the dungeons after breakfast, only to find herself still frozen at the entrance half an hour later. And all for nothing…Diana had not been down there anyway. As Hermione stared at the dark-haired potions mistress, she almost saw the phantom of a frightened young girl desperately trying to ignore her father's screams. Hermione blinked and shook her head to clear it, and there stood Professor Drago again, a sneer painted on her lips.

"I suppose," Diana answered offhandedly. She turned to her class, which consisted of Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. "Get down there and set up your cauldrons. You'll need to chop those dead spiders from yesterday into a very fine dust, so get started. Yes, even you, Parsons," she snapped in the direction of a contemptuous-looking Slytherin boy with slick, black hair. "Frankly, I don't care if your daddy has loads of gold, you're gonna chop spiders like the rest of them."

Professor Drago glanced around expectantly at the other students. "I'm sorry, perhaps I wasn't clear. I said chop!" she ordered. The students hurried down the dreaded stairs, and Diana returned her attention to Hermione. "And what brings Professor Granger to the second dungeon step today?" she asked, smirking.

The fresh memory of the same woman, years before, rocking back and forth and shaking in fear was the only thing that kept Hermione from strangling her. "I came to speak to you about Professor Dumbledore," she replied shortly.


A strange look flickered over Diana's face, but quickly disappeared. "I hear they took him to St. Mungo's," she said emotionlessly. "Took them long enough to figure out that Pomfrey isn't fit to take care of a sock, never mind sick people."

"You and I both know that the headmaster isn't sick," Hermione said quietly, arms folded.

Diana started, surprised, but quickly recovered. "What exactly are you implying, Granger?" she demanded coolly, arching an eyebrow.

"I'm implying that you're not quite as stupid as you look," Hermione retorted, surprising even herself.

Diana looked mildly impressed by her challenging tone of voice. "You think Dumbledore's loony cursed him." It was a statement, not a question.

"No, I think that the loony poisoned him," Hermione responded. A strange look of realization slowly seemed to cross Diana's face, but it was hastily replaced with an expressionless look once more.

"That's impossible," Diana said curtly. She then spun around and started down the stairs, clearly indicating that the conversation was over. But Hermione was not so easily brushed off.

"You think it's him too, don't you?" Hermione called. Diana froze on the steps, and slowly turned to face Hermione again.

"Who?" she asked in a cool, but strained voice.

"Your father," Hermione said quietly.

Diana breathed in sharply, a look of surprise and fury on her face. "How do you know about my father?" she hissed, her ashen cheeks now flushed.

"That's not important," Hermione replied dismissively. "Why do you say it's impossible?"

Diana hesitated, her eyes searching Hermione's face, as if trying to decide if she was trustworthy or not. After seeming to fight an internal conflict, she finally spoke. "My father couldn't make a potion if his life depended on it," Diana told her. A bitter smile played across her face. "Which is why I went into the field."

"But there is a potion?" Hermione said breathlessly, her eyes alight. "A poison…that could…"

"Yes," Diana answered after a long silence.

Hermione looked about ready to jump up and down in excitement. "Really? Amazing, I've never heard of one, and all the books in the library - "

Diana gave a cold, harsh laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "That's because you've been reading the wrong books. The restricted section here is nothing compared to the books we were required to study at Durmstrang," she said sourly. "There are some things they didn't teach you here - some things that kids shouldn't know…" She smiled grimly. "Karkaroff was my headmaster for only a few years. He ran off during my third year, but it was enough."

Hermione was itching to ask Diana all about the poison (and if there was an antidote). Her thirst for knowledge and her eagerness to aid Dumbledore were combining together to make her very impatient. But she didn't dare interrupt her colleague.

"There is a poison," Diana continued quietly, "which causes a slow, painful death. It eats away at a person - their health, their sanity, their strength - until finally, unconsciousness is almost a relief. The victim slips into a comatose state. But the pain doesn't end there…they suffer in their own sort of hell, trapped inside their own mind, their own pain. And then death…" Diana's cold eyes met Hermione's again, and they actually looked afraid. "Death is never far off after that."

"Is there an antidote?" Hermione finally choked out, her chest heaving as she took deep, calming breaths. To think that the headmaster…that Albus was having to suffer through that…

"There is only one antidote," Diana said flatly, "and that is to kill the poisoner. The thing that makes the potion so harmful is the final ingredient - the blood of the killer. The murderer and the victim are bonded together once the victim has consumed enough of the poison; the murderer can eventually control his victim's pain, decide when the coma begins…even decide when they die. It only ends when the bond is broken…when one of them is killed."

"What….what's this poison called?" Hermione asked, her throat dry.

"Euphoria," Diana answered. She suddenly shook her head, the grave look on her face fading. "But it's impossible. Clever theory, Granger, but the brewing of the potion…it's far too complicated. And the ingredients needed…it's impossible," she repeated firmly.

"Just because your father failed Potions?" Hermione exclaimed, a little too loudly. Her eyes slowly became very round as she thought of something. "What if…what if he had help?"

This thought took a moment to sink in for Diana, but when it did, her face contorted into an expression of horror. Slow, painful understanding dawned on her. "Donovan…" she said hoarsely, suddenly paler than usual.

Hermione swallowed painfully, a lump forming in her throat. Never had the threat against the headmaster, against Hogwarts, felt so real.

***

"That's powerful Dark magic," Harry said grimly. "Anything that bonds the killer to their victim is. This guy would have to be pretty sick…"

Harry and Hermione were sitting at the end of the Gryffindor house table, waiting for Ron to finish his last class of the day. The enchanted ceiling was already beginning to turn a dark orange colour, streaked with hints of pink and yellow. Hermione had already told Harry everything she had learned (though she didn't mention where she had learned it from, and thankfully, Harry hadn't asked yet), speaking in a hushed tone but attracting many curious stares from the Gryffindors nonetheless. Perhaps it was the fact that two adults - one who just so happened to be Harry Potter - were sitting at their house table.

"I'm here," Ron announced, sliding onto the bench and settling himself next to Hermione. He glanced from her to Harry; their faces were both grim.

"What is it?" Ron asked, lowering his voice and bending his head a bit, until all their heads were huddled together across the table. Hermione repeated everything she had just told Harry, conveniently leaving out where she had acquired all this information, making it sound as if she had just stumbled upon the knowledge. Once she had finished, Ron's face was pale but a look of fury and loathing was reflected in his blue eyes.

"Antidote or not, I'd kill him anyway," Ron growled furiously. "That sick - " A string of swear words followed. Hermione nudged Ron forcefully in the ribs as a group of Gryffindor third-years started giggling uncontrollably.

"Wait a second," Ron abruptly said as he rubbed where Hermione had elbowed him. He slowly turned to her. "How did you…" he began slowly, but Hermione's face gave it away. "You asked her, didn't you?" he accused loudly.

"So what?" Hermione shot back defensively. "I found out what we needed to know, didn't I?"

"What does she think, Hermione?" Harry cut in before his two friends could start bickering.

"Diana suspects her father too," she replied in a soft voice. "But she said that Euphoria is very complicated to brew, and that Potions was never her father's strong point - "

Ron gave a derisive snort.

"But," Hermoine continued, ignoring him, "he could have had help."

"Donovan Owens," Harry said flatly. "I knew the Ministry shouldn't have just given up on those two so easily…oh yeah, they escaped into the forest and we haven't heard from them in awhile, so they must be dead…"

"Shh, Harry," Hermione murmured as Diana swept past them, towards the Head Table. She looked as cool and collected as ever, Hermione noted, as if their conversation a few hours ago had never happened.

"So?" Ron prompted them, obviously itching to take action now that they were one step closer to helping the headmaster. "What do we do now?"

Hermione was thinking very hard; her eyebrows were furrowed, her forehead was wrinkled in thought, and she was absently chewing on her bottom lip. "I don't know," she confessed after a few moments of this. "I suppose if we found out how they were poisoning Albus…or how exactly they got into the castle…we'd be one step closer to - "

"Where is the food?" a Gryffindor boy beside them complained loudly, breaking Hermione's train of thought. "It should've been sent up here half an hour ago!"

True to his word, the enchanted ceiling was now completely dark, and stars were beginning to emerge from the blackness, twinkling down at them. Harry stared at his plate, as if expecting it to do something.

"He's right, it is late," Harry mused. "Wonder what…"

"Oh no," Hermione breathed, clapping a hand to her mouth. A dazed, dreamy expression had come over her face - it was the kind of look she had just before she made a connection in her speedy brain. Before Harry and Ron could ask her what it was, the door to the Great Hall burst open. A pale Minerva McGonagall walked briskly into the Great Hall, her left eye twitching sporadically. The three adults at the Gryffindor table hastily stood up to meet her, and the teachers seated at the head table quickly hurried over to the deputy headmistress.

"Calm the students, and then get them safely up to their common rooms," she whispered urgently, her lip trembling slightly. "There's been another attack."

Hermione went very still, and an alarmed Ron clenched his fists. "Where? On who?" he demanded.

"In the kitchens," McGonagall replied hoarsely as a few teachers hurried off to speak to the prefects, and calm the alarmed students. "One of the house-elves has been Petrified."

Hermione took in a shaky breath. Professor McGonagall had said exactly what she had feared. Harry's eyes widened as he suddenly made the connection as well.

"Oh no," he groaned. "Dobby."

Hermione glanced over at the mass of alarmed students and caught a glimpse of Rowan Richardson. The red-haired seventh-year was staring back at her, pale as a ghost.

***

"All this time, it was right in front of our faces!" Hermione moaned in frustration. She had calmed somewhat since the initial shock of hearing about the attack, and now she, Harry, and Ron were following an extremely tired and troubled Professor McGonagall towards the kitchens. Apparently, the house-elves were all in a state of panic, and McGonagall seemed to think that Hermione - who had always had a way with the house-elves - could calm them. This worked out extremely well, as what the three of them really wanted to do was question the elves.

"The whole time, we were wondering how he could've poisoned Dumbledore," Harry fumed as they headed towards the kitchens, "and it was so obvious! Everything he eats comes from the kitchens, and you know the house-elves - they're so eager to help that they wouldn't have asked any questions if someone waltzed into the kitchens and asked them to slip something into Dumbledore's food. He probably made up some story about it being Dumbledore's medicine or something - "

"Will you two explain to me what in the blazes you're talking about?" Ron hissed, glancing up at McGonagall. She soundlessly turned a corner, apparently too pre-occupied in her own thoughts to take heed of their whispered conversation. Professor McGonagall didn't need to be worried any more than she already was, with two attacks and a deathly ill headmaster on her hands.

"Dobby, Ron!" Hermione whispered back. "He had to tell Harry something, remember? Obviously Alonso Drago's been giving the house-elves the poison, telling them that it's for Dumbledore. And they're such simple-minded creatures, so willing to help…they wouldn't have suspected anything, the poor things…"

"But Dobby obviously did," Harry continued grimly. "Dobby's not like the others. He'd caught on. He was going to tell me…argh! Why didn't I take him seriously? I never did go down to the kitchens to talk to him - "

Harry abruptly stopped talking as the four of them stopped in front of the fruit portrait. Hermione winced as she heard the unmistakable sound of elfish wailing over top of the clatter of breaking dishes. A nerve was bulging in McGonagall's neck as she reached out and tickled the pear.

The Transfiguration professor, along with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, cringed as utter pandemonium greeted them. A group of house-elves were huddled in the corner, attempting to console a wrinkly brown thing that was undoubtedly Winky. Her wails carried over top of the frequent, high-pitched screams being emitted by several of the creatures. Many had flattened themselves against the walls, their already huge eyes even large and terrified, and their small bodies trembling violently. And in the midst of it all, Peeves was zooming around the kitchens, trying to make an already horrible situation even worse, and reveling in it. Cackling evilly, he was throwing dishes, pots, pans - anything that made a loud noise when dropped - at the screaming house-elves, who had begun to fling themselves under tables and chairs for cover.

"Peeves!" McGonagall hollered furiously over the din, wisps of brown hair falling out of her tight bun. "Get down here this instant!"

But it seemed Peeves was having too much fun to listen even to the temporary headmistress - if anything he increased the volume of his cackling and jeering, and threw down a rather enormous glass bowl which shattered spectacularly and caused glass to go flying everywhere.

"Goddamn polter - Phantasmal Petrificus!" Ron suddenly bellowed furiously, pointing his wand in Peeve's direction. A strange, pearly white light burst forth from his wand and passed right through Peeves, who was laughing hysterically at the thought of a spell harming him. However, just as he thought Ron's curse had harmlessly gone right through him, Peeves suddenly froze, still doubled over from laughing. Unmoving, he floated to the top of the kitchens in that same strange position, finally floating right through the ceiling. A few of the bolder elves ventured to peek out from whatever they were using as cover, parting their bat-like ears, which had been covering their eyes, so that they could see if Peeves was truly gone.

"That was amazing!" Hermione said breathlessly despite herself, turning to Ron. "I didn't know there was a spell that could harm a poltergeist!"

Ron looked quite pleased with himself, but his smugness was short-lived; his expression changed to a solemn one as Harry spoke.


"Where…where's Dobby?" Harry asked as he glanced around, his voice betraying the fondness he had for the strange elf, no matter how much the creature seemed to annoy him. Winky started wailing again.

"Oh, don't go mentioning Dobby; you'll upset them," Hermione murmured, taking a step forward. "It's all right," she told the elves in a soft, soothing voice. "Peeves has gone away now."

"Dobby's been taken to the hospital wing," Hermione heard Professor McGonagall tell Harry quietly. "Madam Pomfrey nearly had a heart attack when we told her he was Petrified too…but she's agreed to take care of him."

The house-elves were now slowly coming out of their hiding places and were gathering around Hermione, still shaking badly. Re-adjusting their Hogwarts tea towels, they seemed to suddenly be embarrassed by the way they had just behaved in front of their new mistress, Professor McGonagall.

"W-we is sorry Professor M'Gongal had to see that," one of the females squeaked, shivering. "The h-house elves is not d-doing their jobs for you. No worries, no worries…w-we is cleaning up this mess straight away, s-sirs and misses…"

"No, no, it's all right," Hermione said warmly, in the same soothing tone. "Ron and Harry will clean this up for you," she assured them, gesturing to her friends, who already had their wands out and had put several broomsticks to work sweeping up the debris. "I'd like to have a word with you all…"

The house-elves, however, were looking shocked and appalled that the two humans were cleaning the mess. A few of them made a move to go help, but Hermione's steady gaze kept them where they were.

"Now," Hermione said gently, after allowing the elves a moment to calm down somewhat. "Could you tell me what happened to Dobby?"


A few of them squeaked and hid their eyes behind their overlarge ears again. Winky started sobbing again. Hermione bit her lip and tenderly reached out to rub Winky's head, behind the ears. She'd discovered this was a helpful trick for calming the excitable house-elves, and soon Winky was only sniffling quietly.

"Pappy saw what happened, miss," one house-elf spoke up shyly. After murmured agreements, an extremely wrinkled house-elf was brought to the front of the group, hobbling on a stick that looked as if it had once been a long, wooden spoon. Hermione noticed that his eyes were partly shut, and he seemed to be gazing around through his half-closed lids in a good-natured sort of way, as if he didn't really know where he was.

"Eh?" Pappy squeaked hoarsely. His voice seemed to not be as high-pitched as the voices of the other house-elves. He was obviously very old. "Oh, Dobby, Dobby…" he wheezed in realization. "Oh, yes…Pappy is telling Dobby to be staying away from that Draco, but Dobby isn't listening!"

The broom Ron had been controlling suddenly clattered to the ground, making a few of the house-elves squeak in terror.

"Malfoy?" he shouted incredulously, his eyes flashing.

"No, no, the Draco that is always giving Dobby Professor Dumblydore's medicine!" one of the elves piped up bravely.

"Medicine?" Hermione said slowly. Harry had guessed correctly. Harry had also stopped swishing his wand around, and now he, Ron, and Professor McGonagall were listening, transfixed, to the group of elves clustered around Hermione.

"The purple medicine," Pappy told her matter-of-factly. "The one Dobby is putting in Professor Dumblydore's food."

Professor McGonagall's eyes widened, and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Dobby is going to light the fires in the dungeons," Pappy told Hermione gravely, leaning heavily on his stick. "And Pappy is being sent to go gets Dobby, because it is almost supper-time! And then Pappy is seeing Draco pull out her magic stick, and Dobby…" he blinked heavily, looking grave. "Dobby go boom," he said solemnly, making a motion with his hand as if to indicate someone falling down. Winky started to cry softly again.

"Do you mean Drago, Pappy?" Hermione asked kindly, trying to keep the sense of urgency out of her voice. "A man named Drago? What does he look like?"

"Not he, miss, she!" a tiny, female elf squeaked helpfully. "Draco, miss, Draco! The potions Draco! Professor Draco!"

"Diana Drago?" Hermione breathed, astonished. The elves all bobbed their heads in unison.

"Pappy is telling Dobby to stay away from that Draco!" Pappy repeated again. "And now that lady is hurting Dobby! Poor Dobby is freezed!"

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That'd be a really good cliffhanger if the next chapter wasn't posted immediately after this one. Darn.