"We'll get this fixed," he said. "You'll have regular use of your magic back in no time. I'm quite sure of it." He stood up and squeezed my shoulder, bidding me to "Sleep well, Miss Granger," as he did.

By the look in his eyes as he left, I realized that there was one more thing that Tom had told me the truth about: Dumbledore lies.

Severed Threads

It had taken the better part of two days before Madam Pomfrey was content to let me out of her sight. Most of the first she spent reviving Tom's other victims. The second she spent having me take yet more potions. I tried asking her what each was for and she answered for one or two, but for the vast majority she waved off my questions with a firm assurance that "It will help, dear." She outright ignored me the one or two times that I'd asked her what, precisely, it would help with. Eventually, I gave up.

I was glad to see the back of it by the time I got out, carrying a box of potions that I'd been instructed, in no uncertain terms, to take one of each evening. I suspected most of it was for my sudden decline in magic, the rest for my sudden onset of internal bleeding a few days ago. Not that she'd explained, of course. I figured most of them were for the magic. She wouldn't have let me leave if she thought me prone to internal bleeding.

The Gryffindor common room looked just like I'd left it. Cozy feelings oozed out of every inch. My eyes were drawn immediately to a chair backed into an out of the way corner that I'd always sat in when I wanted to talk to Tom. I mentally pinched myself; he had used me. I refused to miss him.

Something of an uncharacteristic hush fell over the common room as I stepped through the portrait hole. I tried to ignore it. Quick steps brought me up to the girl's rooms and my own bed. Lavender and Parvati were perched up on Lavender's, and their own conversation ceased when I walked in. I saw them give each other some sort of significant look out of the corner of my eye as I methodically unpacked my things, but I refused to let them rush me. Once I'd finished up I turned to leave, only to be stopped by Lavender.

"Hermione! I've been so worried, I'm so glad you're okay," she said. She had concern painted across her face. It looked about as real as her make up.

"Funny," I said as flatly as I could manage. "I'm pretty sure I've been disappearing in the middle of the night for months and neither of you noticed a thing. Bit late to start caring now."

My piece said, I made my way out of the room. I heard Parvati say, "Don't know what you expected from her, really," as I closed the door behind me. Shaking my head as if to get the thoughts out, I made my way down the stairs. She wouldn't get under my skin. I wouldn't let her. As soon as I emerged back into a much emptier common room, I was intercepted by Harry and Ron.

"'Mione!" Ron called out as they approached.

"Neville told us you got out," Harry said. "How're you feeling?"

"Glad to be out of hospital," I said. I debated stopping there, but our promise was too fresh in my mind. "There's more, but…" I glanced at the stragglers sitting around the room. "I'll tell you both later. In private, okay?" Harry gave me a quizzical look, but nodded.

"Right," Ron said. "Harry and I were just about to head to dinner. Come on." They opened up the portrait hole for me and I followed. "Bet you're starved, can't imagine they've been feeding you right."

I let out a small laugh. "The food in the Hospital Wing's exactly the same as the food in the Great Hall. Honestly."

"I think Madam Pomfrey likes you more than me," Harry grimaced. "She's never let me have anything good."

"Maybe because I don't see her all that often."

"You see her more than I do!"

The good natured bickering was a welcome distraction, and carried us all the way to the great hall and the Gryffindor table. I'd almost managed to forget everything that had happened when Colin Creevey stood up to leave just as I sat down. I grimaced and gave him an apologetic look he didn't see.

"What's up?" Ron asked, his plate already half full.

"Colin." I nodded over.

"Yeah, he didn't take it well when we told him," Ron said. "Probably thinks you're still out to get him."

"You two told him?" I hissed. "If he knows, everyone will know by now!"

Whatever Ron was about to retort with was swallowed as he looked at something over my shoulder. Following his gaze led me to the face of our house ghost hovering just behind me. "I wanted to talk to you, Young Miss Granger."

I blinked and turned to more fully face him. "I'm sorry for what happened, but you really must understand I didn't—"

"I'm well aware of that, you know," Nick said. "No, I just wanted to let you know that everyone it affects knows that it wasn't your fault."

Kind intentions, but now everyone was looking at me. "Thank you Nick, that means a lot. Though, couldn't we have had this conversation somewhere else?"

"Nonsense!" he crowed, undeterred. "You've nothing to be ashamed of! Young Mister Colin will come around eventually, I'm sure of it."

I was blushing by then, desperate to be anywhere but there. "Thank you, Nick. It's good to know that."

"Of course, anytime! I'm happy to help." He gave me a congenial smile and floated off to bother someone else.

Ron, at least, had the good grace to look sheepish whenever I glared at him through the rest of the meal.

The next morning came, and with it Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was surreal to be returning to classes like nothing had happened. Even more so knowing that we still had weeks before exams. I was glad for the distraction even if it meant Lockhart—I had long since stopped calling him Professor outside of class, another thing Tom had been right about—but it still seemed more than passing strange.

Harry, Ron, and I were making our way to class when we saw something that had us more than a bit confused. The door was open. Lockhart always kept the door closed so that he could rock up late from breakfast and have the attention centered right on him. This time though, it was just open. We walked in with a curious look only to see something even stranger: Headmaster Dumbledore sitting at Lockhart's desk with a wary looking Lockhart standing next to it. The Headmaster surrounded by pictures of Lockhart was a more than strange sight, but he just smiled and nodded us towards our seats.

Once everyone had shuffled in, Lockhart walked back to close the door himself. Another oddity. He always did it with a flick of his wand, sometimes on his second or third try.

"Good morning everyone!" he said with what I'm sure was meant to be a winning smile. "We have a visitor today! The good Headmaster has decided that with all the awful things that have happened to some of our students—I'll not name names of course," he looked directly at me then, "that he would like to evaluate to make sure everyone's able to catch up! Defense is important after all. You never know when something comes up that needs, well, defending against!" He reached up to wipe some sweat from his brow. "To that end, we're going to be doing some review until exams. Everyone stand up and pick a partner. Anyone left as the odd one out can partner with me!"

Harry grabbed my arm as soon as he told us to pair off. I looked over to him ready to tell him that I'd be fine before I noticed the look in his eyes. Ron, too, had already walked over to Neville. Ah. They'd discussed this. I wanted to get mad at my boys—I could handle myself after all—but, well… I understood where they were coming from.

"Good, good, everyone's found a partner," Lockhart called the attention back to him. "Now I'm sure that you all remember the Disarming Charm, but review's the word of the day! Your incantation is 'Expelliarmus', and your wand motion is like so." He whipped out his wand and demonstrated a motion that I knew for a fact was incorrect. "I want you all to take turns practicing against each other. Your Headmaster and I will supervise."

I turned to Harry, already not looking forward to the class. Cries of 'Expelliarmus' echoed around the room, none followed by the sound of spellfire. "Do you want to go first?" I asked. He shrugged and raised his wand.

Harry jabbed his wand at me, doing his best to recreate what Lockhart had done to no avail. I looked over at Lockhart. Seeing that he was distracted by what I can only assume was an attempt to kiss up to the Headmaster, I put a hand up. "Stop, Harry. That's not the motion. Like this, see?" I swirled my wand in the way Tom had had me do a thousand times. "Expelliarmus," I said, but nothing happened.

He gave me a smile, and tried the motion again. "Like this?"

"No, no, more like this," I said and demonstrated again. It only took him one or two more tries before he managed a jet of light that knocked the wand out of my hands.

"Well done, Mister Potter!" Dumbledore suddenly said from his spot at the desk, drawing the attention of the class. "A showing like that is worthy of some house points, wouldn't you think, Professor?"

Lockhart looked between us and the Headmaster for a moment before piping up, "Oh, yes, of course! 5 points to Gryffindor. Each! In fact," he took a second to wipe some sweat from his brow, "Since you two were the first to cast it, why don't you help teach the rest of the class? Harry, you take the left side of the room! Miss Granger can take the right. Back to it, everyone!"

"Er, whose left?" I heard Harry ask as I walked over to the other side of the classroom.

I looked to Dumbledore. He just winked at me with a smile and a twinkle in his eye before turning back to Lockhart. "How long ago did you say that you taught them this spell?"

True to instruction, I spent the rest of the class helping people cast the charm. Mostly, it consisted of me pointing out that the spell was in the Standard Book of Spells to those who hadn't figured it out yet, personally helping the people who couldn't get it on their own from there, and growing steadily more frustrated. It was such an easy spell!

Really, I wasn't sure if I was more annoyed with other people's difficulty casting it or my own.

Neville was the only one that I didn't mind helping. Half of spellcasting is confidence, and he always needed a boost. Eventually, the class ended with most everyone having managed to cast the charm and Lockhart looking like he'd rather be anywhere but where he was.

"Miss Granger, a moment if you please," the Headmaster called as I was leaving. I walked up to the desk, telling Harry and Ron to go on to the next class without me.

"If you don't mind then," Lockhart said, "I've got some papers to grade. Seventh year Defense. Absolutely riveting stuff." He didn't wait to be excused before he left.

Once the door shut, it was just Dumbledore and I. "Good showing, Miss Granger. I should have known you'd study the book front to back. I do hope you didn't mind my little intervention. I just wanted to ask: Have you had any progress in your recovery?" I shook my head. "In that case, I believe that I have a way to help with your current problem."

"I was planning on working on it on my own, Headmaster," I said, and I truly was. I knew for a fact that there were ways to bolster one's magic. I just had to do some looking around. Surely they weren't all as illegal as Tom had implied. The Ministry couldn't be that barbaric.

"Of course, of course. I'd expect nothing less. Still, I would appreciate it if you could come by my office tomorrow morning. As with most things, two heads are indeed better than one—even if mine is getting a mite bit full of fluff." He gave me a smile that I didn't return. I wasn't sure how much of it—or of anything, anymore—was Tom's influence and how much was my own instinct, but something about Dumbledore put me ill at ease.

He reeked of the same sort of false sympathy almost everyone but Harry and Ron had shown me since I got out of hospital. He was the Headmaster, and Albus bloody Dumbledore besides. There were a thousand and one ways that he could have prevented Tom from happening, and those were just the ones that I knew about. He wasn't incompetent, and so the only reason I could come up with for why he hadn't done so was simple apathy. I didn't buy him suddenly caring now that everything was done with.

I didn't say any of that, though. Instead I nodded and said, "Of course, sir."

"Splendid. I trust you know where the entrance to my office is? Good. Tell the gargoyle all about your enduring love of butter toffee, and he'll let you right in."

"Yes, sir. Is that all?"

"I think so, yes. Don't let me keep you, Miss Granger!"

With muttered goodbyes I left the classroom behind to find Harry and Ron waiting for me outside. Seeing they'd bothered to wait brightened my mood more than a bit. "I'll tell you about it after classes," I said, and we left for our next.

The rest of the day's classes turned out to be lectures and assigned essays. Seemed that Dumbledore had sent word ahead. I didn't expect it to last, but the gesture was appreciated. After dinner, I kept Harry and Ron awake until the common room had mostly cleared out. Giving another furtive look around from my place in my corner, I checked one final time that the coast was clear.

"Harry, could you go grab your cloak?" I asked.

He gave me a searching look. "Sure, why?"

"Because I want to make good on our promise, Harry. I know somewhere private." He didn't seem convinced. "It's where I've been disappearing to."

Ron started. "I thought that was Vol—"

"Not," I interrupted, "Not always, Ron. I can't even say most of the time." My gut twisted. "It's taboo, but the place isn't, alright? Trust me."

"'Course," Harry nodded, and ran up to grab his invisibility cloak. Thus armed, I led us out the portrait hole and through the castle shushing the boys all the while.

I'd made this trip a number of times before without Harry's cloak. I had been working on enchanting a cloak of my own with a disillusionment charm when Tom had… Well. It wasn't a terribly hard journey alone. With Harry and Ron, though, it would have been a rather different story. I'd never noticed before, but the boys were loud. They dragged their feet, whispered when they thought nobody could hear, and my shushing them dragged me into the noise. Still, we made it to my private wing without incident.

Calling it a 'private wing' was something of a misnomer, to be fully honest. It made it sound much more impressive than it truly was. Locked behind a wall that wasn't really there was a little cubby hole that Tom had told me about which featured a portrait of a pompous looking knight who would open up if you greeted him by his full name (Sir Fabeon Ander Ambleton the Third) and with proper respects (a curtsey and a 'Pleased to meet you' served me well). Behind Sir Fabeon was a short hallway leading to an empty room and a stairwell to the floor below. The bottom of the stairs opened up to two suits of armor set up on either side of a rotating wall who would happily spin for you if you greeted them in the same manner as the portrait above (their names respectively being Andrew Ander Ambleton the Seventh Esquire, and Dave—the difference was that Dave had a feather on his helmet; Fabeon had called him a dandy once.). It wasn't incredibly secure, but I wasn't likely to be stumbled upon by anyone save a determined professor or wandering ghost.

"Well," I said as we passed by Sir Fabeon. "This is it." The room itself was relatively unimpressive. Even less than normal, considering I'd come by the night before to clean it up of anything that gave me that nasty vow-breaking sickening feeling at the thought of showing to anyone else. The main features were a slightly-singed scarecrow holding a stick that I'd fashioned from old clothes and brooms and a now slightly emptier bookshelf that had just appeared in the room one day. That patticular addition had prompted no small amount of paranoia on my part. A few chairs and a lone desk were shoved to the side from when I'd borrowed them from a couple of the abandoned classrooms around the school.

Despite the meager accommodations, Ron was looking at it like he'd just discovered magic for the first time. Even Harry seemed impressed. "This is where you've been hiding all year?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, it is. It isn't much, but it's private, and you said no more secrets, so…"

"It's brilliant is what it is!" He said and turned to Harry for support.

"It's nice," Harry allowed.

"Nice," Ron scoffed. "The common room is nice, this is amazing!"

I blushed despite myself. "It's just a few chairs and things."

"Well, yeah," he said, "but it's a hidden room! I knew Hogwarts was meant to have a ton of 'em, but I've never seen any!" I thought for a moment that that was probably the point of them, but refrained from bursting his bubble. "You reckon anyone else knows about it?"

"I bet Dumbledore does," Harry said.

I nodded. "I can only imagine. I've warded it up so I'd know if anyone else came in, though, and nobody has. It's private enough."

"It's like you've got your own Chamber of Secrets," Ron said. He missed my flinch. Harry didn't.

"Hey, Ron, let's sit down, yeah?" He pulled out a chair and sat. Ron and I followed his lead after a moment. "So, Hermione, what did Dumbledore want with you?"

I sighed. "That's… not an easy question to answer."

"Not like we're goin' anywhere," Ron said. Harry nodded.

"Right, well. You both know all about what To— what Voldemort did to me, right? That he was taking my life to bring himself back?" More nods. "Well, after Snape stabbed him… I don't think I got it all back. Between Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey's reactions, I think he took some of me with him." I was quite proud of how my voice didn't catch.

That was met with concerned looks at each other, then at me. "What do you think he took?" Harry asked.

I took a deep breath. "My magic," I said, and looks of concern turned to looks of alarm. "Not all of it!" I was quick to correct. "But it doesn't quite… respond right. It's sluggish. Madam Pomfrey wasn't able to help me with it, I don't think, and now the Headmaster wants to try. That's what he wanted to talk to me about."

"He thinks he can help?" Ron asked.

"He says he can," I said. "I don't think that I believe him, though. I don't think he does either."

"What do you mean?" Ron said. "He's Albus bloody Dumbledore! He can do anything!"

Harry cut in. "So in DADA earlier, you were actually trying to cast the spell?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I was. It's… I did some experimenting last night. Even when I do it perfectly, it still takes me a few tries to do even really simple spells."

"Well, we'll help you, won't we Harry?" Ron said. "Whatever you need us to do, we'll help. Taking magic from a witch… It's awful. Voldemort shoulda just stayed dead."

"Course we'll help," Harry said. "Don't doubt it."

"Ron, Harry, that's," I started, failing in my attempts to not tear up. "Thank you. I've been so awful to you this year, it means so much that you're willing to help. Let me just, let me make it up to you." I stood up and gestured around the room.

"Back sometime in November, I realized Lockhart was worthless. I've been studying for DADA on my own since then. That's what that's for," I gestured at the broom-and-rags dummy. Whipping out my wand, I tried to cast the disarming charm. It took on my third try. "It's a target dummy, see? I figure that I can help you out like I always used to, at least enough so that you pass your exams."

"A secret room all to yourself and you use it to study?" Ron said, "I just don't understand you sometimes, 'Mione."

"I dunno, do you think we could skip Lockhart's class to practice here?" Harry asked.

"And get detention? I think not. Besides, what if the Headmaster shows up again?" That stopped the boys in their tracks, neither seeming particularly inclined to disappointing the Headmaster. "But every other time, we can use the room to study up if you like. I know a fair bit about Defense Against the Dark Arts," I said, carefully not saying how much I knew about the other side of that particular equation.

"I think it's a good idea," Harry said. "I mean, do you really want to have to rely on Snape next time something happens? I don't think Voldemort's going to just leave us alone anytime soon."

"Fine, fine, but this place needs a name," Ron said. "Can't have a secret training room without a name!"

That particular conversation carried on for nearly an hour before we finally managed to reach a decision: We'd call it Hogswatch. Nobody was happy about it, but nobody was too annoyed either. The nature of compromise, I supposed. Even still, I left Hogswatch with a heart far lighter than it had been when I'd entered, criticizing myself for ever doubting my boys.

I stepped into the Headmaster's office with unabashedly wide eyes at the state of it all. Books lined the walls. Whizzing, hissing, spinning, and smoking trinkets sat on near every flat surface, each with some purpose known only to the wizard sitting at a short table flanked by two chairs shoved off to the side.

"Miss Granger," he said, "It's good to see you came."

I collected myself. "You summoned me, sir."

"That I did, that I did. Please, come sit." I did so, setting myself looking across from him over the table. "I hope you don't mind if we jump straight to business?" I shook my head. "Splendid. Or not, as the case may be. You see, Miss Granger, may I call you Hermione?"

"If you like, professor," I said tentatively.

"You see, Hermione, as I'm sure you've no doubt figured out, and I'm going to simplify to the point of inaccuracy for the sake of ease: your magic has been… damaged."

"Damaged, sir?"

"Damaged. This isn't a terribly uncommon thing to happen. Imagine a muscle, if you will. Let's say it's one of the muscles in the arm of a quidditch player. A Chaser, even. Imagine for a moment that after taking a hit from a particularly ornery bludger, our Chaser overexerts themself. They throw the quaffle too hard, and their muscle strains. Eminently recoverable, they'll just need some rest. This would be comparable to a first year trying to cast a spell beyond their capabilities—they'd overexert themselves. In both cases, there are tools to help and the patient would be advised to relax. Simple matters, an inconvenience at worst. I want you to imagine, then, what it would mean for a muscle to tear completely."

"The arm would still be usable," he continued, "but only for all the other muscles present. Doing so might even make the tear worse. There are far fewer tools to help here, and fewer still who would know how to use them. That is what I believe that Tom did to you."

I tilted my head some. "How can magic 'tear', sir?"

He hemmed and hawed for a moment. "As I said, it is an oversimplification to the point of inaccuracy. Like declaring that gravity is what happens when things go down, or that magic is made out of spells. I had hoped to save a lecture until later, but I can't imagine you'd be satisfied with that, would you?" He took a look at my face. "I thought not. I can't say I'm disappointed; I have so little time for teaching nowadays. Besides, I believe you have a right to know. What do you know about magical cores, Hermione?"

"Well," I said, "They're the way we connect with the magic of the world, and they're what let us cast spells. I know you can also feel them with practice." Tom had mentioned it in passing, and I'd been made to do my own research.

"Very good. I don't believe that the subject is covered until your fifth year, and even then only in passing. For most, it's a background assumption: It's enough to know that it's there and that it's from there that magic springs. It's also horribly incorrect. We will need to be a bit wiser than all that for what we're going to be attempting. Do you know where it is that magic comes from, or rather, what it is that makes it powerful?"

"It's connection, sir, to the world around us and to the lives our ancestors lived."

The Headmaster gave me something of an appraising look. "An answer worthy of any pureblood. I prefer to phrase it somewhat differently. Connection isn't wrong, precisely, but not a theory I subscribe to myself. This is one of those subjects that scholars get hot under their collars about, you see. There are things in this world with power, Hermione. Life, death, chaos, order, time, and yes—connection. Though most call it either tradition or legacy. More scholarly debate that I fear is as much political as it is actually scholarly. I prefer the term legacy myself."

He waved his wand, and six colorful glowing orbs appeared in the air beside him. "Everything that exists is bound to some or all of these things to varying degrees. They are rather uncreatively named the 'Powers'. You'll note that each of these is rather strongly tied to another. Life and death, order and disorder—sometimes called logic and emotion—and finally time and legacy." As he spoke, lines of light drew themselves between the orbs to illustrate, and they began to spin around each other. "Each pair is something of a circle in themselves, cause leading into effect leading into cause. Life leads into death leads into life, chaos falls into order only to collapse back into chaos, and time causes legacy which pushes time ever onwards. As you might imagine, you and I are rather strongly bound to Life. You much more than me, I'm afraid; the benefits of youth. We are also bound to death, and time, and each of the others. These powers exist even when we can't see or interact with them. They simply are.

"Now, you're likely wondering how this matters for your particular condition. Your 'magical core' is a way to describe the bindings we have to the Powers and the mechanics of our access to them." The Headmaster waved his wand again, and the silhouette of a person appeared. Glowing lines drew themselves out from the 'Powers' to the person, causing the silhouette to glow. "Allow me another metaphor. Imagine, for a moment, two faucets right next to each other. They are connected to the water line in such a way that only one of them has any access to water at a time. By twisting on the pipe, you are able to move access from one faucet to the other. Let's say, however, that the valve is rusty. It takes time and effort to twist it. Still following?" I nodded. "Good. As you moved the valve, the first faucet would lose water pressure, from jet, to stream, to trickle. Simultaneously, the other faucet would do exactly the opposite." As he spoke another silhouette appeared, and a branch split from the line connecting the Powers to the first silhouette to join with the second. The first silhouette dimmed, and the second brightened.

"So," I said, and his eyes lit up a fraction. "If I'm meant to be one faucet and Tom, erm, Voldemort the other, then the water would be my core? That is, my bindings to the Powers?"

"Just so. And what do you suppose would happen if someone took a rather large rock, beat aside the one turning the knob, and smashed Voldemort's faucet?"

Ah. "No more of my connection to the Powers would be taken, but they wouldn't be turned back either. And Voldemort's faucet would still be spewing water everywhere."

"Precisely." The Headmaster banished his illusion with a flick. "Our task becomes, then, to gain access to the water spraying all over the floor and pipe it into your own sink. Or to end this strained metaphor, to gain access to the power you should have by 'catching' all your frayed binding. You can at least rest assured that your connections to the Powers are still all there, they're just slightly severed. The magic's spilling out around you, as with our faucet metaphor. I'm quite sure that if you were to go into a muggle home, they'd find many of their modern contrivances—electricity, is it?— would stop working. Much as if you were to bring them over to Hogwarts."

"Can these bindings be reconnected?" I asked. "Can we manage it so the magic's going into me like it's supposed to, instead of all around me?" Failing all else, I could research on my own now I had a better idea of what was going on.

"Of course," the Headmaster said, "and I'm confident we'll find a way to do that in time. For now, however, I'm afraid we must make do with a stopgap. I've taken the liberty of pulling a few books from our library for you. Tell me Hermione," he leaned in, "what do you know about ritual magic?"