"Hello?" Hermione said uncertainly.
The Sorting Hat was upon her head and still so large it fell down past her eyes. If she hadn't just been left all alone in Professor Dumbledore's office, she'd feel awfully silly right now with how she must look.
"You'd look awfully silly, too," the Hat spoke inside her head, making her jump.
"Oh! Oh," she laughed out loud. "You can read my thoughts, right?"
"Mmm," was the only amused answer she got from the Hat.
Hermione fumbled to unroll a piece of parchment upon which she'd written some questions for the Hat. She wanted to make sure she didn't forget anything and, if need be, had something with which to take notes.
"So," the Hat spoke, startling her. "You want to know if all Slytherins are purebloods, eh? You also crave to know what I've all said to your friend, Harry Potter, when he was revealed to be the Lead Light. You'd like to know just how I work and how I was made and--my, my, you do seem to have ever so many questions flying about your mind."
Immediately taken off guard, Hermione felt the Hat was very rude indeed to assume she was about to ask all these questions. Just because she wanted to, didn't mean she would.
"Oh, yes, I'm sure you think me quite presumptuous for discerning your motives and thoughts; to you, I'm positively unctuous! So, then—what will it be? Are you going to let me know you think I'm rude or tell me to just get on with the answers before I grow crude? I was in the middle of a nap, you know, and the sooner I can answer your niggling questions that lay upon you lap, the sooner I can get back to my kip."
"Right," Hermione said carefully. What a know-it-all, she thought to herself as she prepared to ask her first question.
"Nope."
"What?" she asked. Bugger, the Hat heard me.
"Well, yes, that too," the Hat said smartly. "But I meant no, not all those placed into Slytherin house are purebloods. That was your first question, unless you meant to stall." Before Hermione could ask for more in the way of an explanation, the Hat expounded, "I sort using virtues of character first and ancestry second, if at all. You'd be surprised how very many come here and, their true ancestry, do not recall."
"What?" The Hat was speaking in a smug and singsong voice that seemed to taunt Hermione with all it knew—and it knew a lot; she had no doubt. Here she was, one of the few people who she knew to have taken the Hat's warnings to heart and who was consciously persisting to help cross the boundaries of the houses. Wasn't the Hat the least bit grateful?
The Hat laughed. "A hat can't be grateful, you silly girl."
Hermione fumed at being called 'silly'. "Well, most hats aren't snarky and smug or poking around inside one's head now, are they?!" she snapped back.
The Hat tsked. "Oh dear me, I did touch a nerve, didn't I?"
"Can I get on with my questions?" Hermione said curtly. She wanted to get down the exact science of just how students were sorted.
"But you've already been given the answer," the Hat said tiredly. "I tell you all plain and clear what qualities shall be found in those of each house every year. What more can you ask to know?"
"You told us Slytherin prized only those pure of ancestry!" Hermione said, pushing the hat back so she could properly see her notes in front of her. "Right here! Two years ago! You said—"
"I know what I said and it's true, he did prize those students dearly. But, where Slytherin resides now, he's in no position to force me to Sort by his rules, clearly! I wasn't given a brain just to carry out orders like a foot soldier and to sift through without subjectivity. I have facts and I have knowledge—two things that may be mundane if not for the fact that I also have a brain.
"And a purpose! I'm bound to my duty; to protect the vision of the school upon which it was founded. I do the bidding of the one who made me. I've watched and learned as each year's gone by. Slytherin House would be a very small--thought fine--house indeed if all who called it home had to trace an ancestry free of muggles, immemorial through time."
"So there could even be muggleborns in Slytherin!" Hermione said under her breath as she made a note.
"Indeed," conceded the Hat. "So long as their ambition for power and success is foremost in their hearts and spine; a Slytherin is never one who hasn't chosen to be a Slytherin. Never, since the tradition has started, has a student been Sorted and felt, that from where they truly belonged, they'd been parted."
Hermione was scratching with her quill, taking notes verbatim. "And how—"
"I have no idea how I was made, as at the time, I wasn't made."
Hermione's shoulders slumped in disappointment.
"However," the Hat said, "I do have the memory from when I was still being made. Would you care to see?"
Hermione had barely realized she was going to agree when she felt the Hat tighten about her brow, slip down over her eyes and then, suddenly, with a rushing sound, a bright silver light appeared before her eyes. She then saw a tiny window in the brim of the Hat appear and open up, pouring out light and, as she tried to peer into the light, she felt herself pitch headfirst through the opening, into a whirl of light and shadow.
She felt her feet hit solid ground, and stood, shaking, as the light and shadows resolved into shapes around her.
She knew immediately she was in Hogwarts. This circular room she was now in, was the very same room she had just, apparently, left. It was Headmaster Dumbledore's office—but no—wait, it wasn't. There were no portraits of old headmasters snoozing on the walls. There were no comfortable wing back chairs in which she knew she'd just been seated.
"You're positive this shall work?" a lilting female voice called out, making Hermione whirl.
There, across the room, beside a tall window that showed a bright and sunny summer day outside, stood a very tall, silver-haired and prim looking woman who was warily facing a man who stood with a sword drawn that was now pointing at the floor.
Hermione let out a gasp reflexively upon seeing them but then, as she said, "I'm sorry!" and expected them to turn to see her there, she was baffled when they seemed to be completely ignorant of her presence.
The man, a very tall, thin, wearied-looking wizard with grey hair that was cut very short, smiled disarmingly as he raised his sword to the woman's temple. "Shant hurt a bit," he said. "Unless you sneeze. Now hold still—"
"No!" Hermione cried out. She wasn't sure what was happening but a sword to the head couldn't be a good thing. "Stop right there!" she said warningly although her voice shook as she made to draw her wand.
But the strangely familiar man and woman paid her no heed. The tip of the sword was now touching the temple of the woman and, from it, a silvery wisp clung to the sword tip and was now being pulled away from her head.
Hermione recalled it was just like Professor Dumbledore had done when he withdrew his memory of Professor Trelawney giving the prophecy. This man was removing a thought from the woman's mind with his—Hermione gasped again. The sword! He was using his sword just like a wizard or witch would use a wand and it was exactly like the sword she'd seen in Harry's hands!
She gasped again and covered her mouth as she realized it could be none other than Godric Gryffindor himself holding his very own sword and using it like a wand to withdraw memories from, and Hermione was sure now from the pictures in Hogwarts: A History, Rowena Ravenclaw.
As the silver strand slipped from her temple, Gryffindor swung the sword over to point down into what appeared to be a much younger and less ragged looking Sorting Hat. Hermione stepped closer, her hands still covering her mouth in awe, as she watched the silver flow from the sword like liquid mercury into the hat.
"That's you done," the man announced.
"And Helga's done," the woman said as she rubbed at her temple and watched, fascinated, the sword dip in and stir the insides of the hat. "You're positive this shall work?" She didn't sound convinced.
"The portraits were a success, were they not?" he said as he moved gingerly to seat himself in a stiff-backed chair.
"Perhaps we should engage them to do our bidding?" she suggested. "Mm, I suspect Helga's still partial to the idea of Spectral Court. Hmm, I always did think it'd be good to remain as a ghost."
Gryffindor shook his head as he leaned back. "No, no, I am certain it is far wiser for one single entity to be used. If we had four portraits scattered about the castle then each would have a different view of the school's needs. Ghosts—I think would lend themselves too prone to bias. No, one item that oversees and hears all—that is what we need; one item that is enchanted and can apply our wishes with adaptable intelligence. Besides, we have no portrait of Salazar. He refused to relinquish any part of himself for such a frivolity. Not even a thought...but I understand, to him, they are quite rare."
Ravenclaw gave him a disproving look and asked, "How will his house persist if we cannot have his thoughts to define his students?"
"Did I ask you only for thoughts on your students? No—I asked for your thoughts on each of the four houses we've established. The thoughts from the three of us will have to suffice."
"It doesn't seem fair," she said musingly.
Gryffindor snorted. "Is it fair he left us to continue without him? If all were fair we'd have done out with his house by now. He's not here and he claims he's left the means to perpetuate his teachings here but we've seen no evidence of that. It's been nigh a score since his face was seen near here! If anything, we're doing a favour of a deed by keeping the house on at all! Half the lot you'd never take and, while a fair few have courage in spades, they lack the temperance of honour that makes bravery so admirable a virtue and so," he laughed, "I surely do not want that sort. Helga—her lot would suffer if made to live and learn with the cutthroats Salazar favoured. If his sort are to be taught here, the house must remain. It's either that or let the lot fend for themselves."
"I don't fancy that," Ravenclaw muttered with a dark look.
Hermione, who'd crept nearer without knowing to get a closer look at the Hat, was fairly certain that this was what Harry had described when he'd been in a pensieve and when Tom Riddle's diary had drawn him into a memory. She was in a memory that the Hat was showing her. The fact that she was standing just a few feet away from two of the very founders of Hogwarts made her nearly quake with awe and excitement. She'd read so very much about them.
A bell tolled from somewhere outside the open window and she saw Lady Ravenclaw sigh and briefly lay a hand upon the broad and leather clad shoulders of Gryffindor saying, "I still don't understand how such a thing shall endure, but I do suspect you're keeping something from me. Lucky for you, Godric, I trust you with my life and the future of this school. When it comes to that, I know you care." She then turned and swiftly glided from the room.
Hermione peered ever closer at the worn looking wizard who was the legendary founder of her house. She watched as Godric Gryffindor sat in his chair, his hand still gripping the hilt of his silver, ruby-encrusted sword as he peered off into the distance. "Mihi cura futuri," he mumbled as be leaned forward over his hat.
Creaking with age, he stood back up so as to use his long sword to stir the hat's contents. Hermione was close enough to see the silvery mist of a liquid swirl about. With care, he touched the tip of the sword to his own temple and drew out a long silvery strand of thought, humming along to the far away notes of a familiar high-pitched song. As before, he dropped it down into the hat and swirled. "Concordia!" he intoned as a silver glow radiated down his sword and then into the hat. The flash of silver burst and was then gone, leaving the hat sitting there, upside down and appearing to be, all in all, quite empty.
The dark, empty shadows of the hat then whirled and suddenly, everything went dark as Hermione felt her stomach flipping and churning. She tried to blink but felt something against her eyes and, upon reaching a hand up to feel about her head, she felt the Sorting Hat.
Whipping it off her head, she looked about breathlessly. The Headmasters were snoozing in their portraits, Fawkes was preening the feathers beneath one wing as he sat upon his perch and a lone silver instrument upon a spindle-legged table sputtered and puffed softly in the otherwise empty office. The Sorting Hat, now lifeless and looking as patched, ragged and frayed as ever, lay draped over the arm of her chair; it was now emanating a slight snoring sound and seemed to be rising and falling with each snore.
Her mind awhirl with many new questions, Hermione hastily gathered her stuff and tore out of the office. She was off to the library.
"You're serious about this?" Ron said with a grimace.
Harry nodded. "Yeah, it was the first thing Dumbledore had me do this summer. It really helps. It's actually easy. Just, you know, make up lists and stuff."
Since Dumbledore had told Ron that learning to control his now ingrained thoughts from dominating his mind would be an awful lot like learning to overcome the control a Boggart has on one's mind, Harry explained to Ron that what a Boggart was really doing was a sort of Legilimency and perhaps learning some basic Occlumency could help Ron control his thoughts. Ron had been immediately wary of having to learn Occlumency, which he knew from Harry's experience, had been a long and arduous skill to learn.
"You don't need to have a complete and total occlusion of your mind," Harry said. "Remember how I explained in the DA about linking the memories a Dementor makes you relive to something else that helps fuel hope and your Patronus? It's like that. You'll need to order your thoughts about...well, everything." He grimaced. "But then when it comes to the thoughts that kind of get stuck on replay, you need to kind of rewire them to something else that gets you off that train of thought. Break that loop, so to speak. You get me?"
Ron looked sceptical. "Er..."
Harry pushed open the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts office where he'd suggested they try to work. As it was a Saturday, he felt it was a sure bet to be free of any lingering or lurking Snape. "Here," he said as they entered the office and made themselves at home. "Just start with a scrap of parchment. Make a list. Something easy to start with—'things you like' perhaps. Then move on from there. You'll probably need to do 'things about me that brass you off' eventually and some lists about Hermione, too."
"Things I like..." Ron mused. "You mean like food? I love bacon. And puddings. And treacle tart, bangers and mash--any kind of bangers, really."
Harry rolled his eyes as he took the seat behind the desk. "Ron, the point isn't to sort out your stomach, but your mind. It might help to stick to thoughts and not go off on food. Unless that really is all you think about?"
Ron looked almost affronted. "A mind will go mad if it ain't got food for fuel! Whaddya have there?" he asked, nodding at the thick wad of scrolls Harry pulled from his bag.
"Essays to mark from the third years and then I have a beast of an essay for Dumbledore to research, those Charms theorems still to do, a weekly report to get out to McGonagall and," Harry sighed, "I also need to meet Padma after dinner tonight in the library for our impending Potions disaster--I mean class."
Ron whistled and made a face that said he was clearly happy he still had things like Herbology and Divination.
"And mind you," Harry added, "this is a week where not much has happened in the terms of the war. Everyone's busy with all the changes at the Ministry. Remus—I haven't heard from him once. Hermione heard more from her parents about Remus' doings then most anyone." It because both Remus and Moody had been so busy with the changing administration of the Ministry, that neither had been able to report more than a brief, 'everything's fine' or even make the trip to Hogwarts for a weekly meeting of the Inner Council.
It felt, to Harry, like a dynamic time where things were shifting about and strategies being adjusted. He had no doubt Voldemort was off in his little lair, cursing at anyone who neared him and plotting about something. But now, Harry felt he was plotting just as much.
Harry planned to help Ron get a handle on the scars left by the brain attack. Harry planned to do twice the amount of research Dumbledore had assigned for Harry's introduction to Blood Alchemy (he wanted there to be no possible excuse for this training to be delayed). He planned to build and improve his skills as a Metamorphamagus. He planned to master the art of Legilimency and really, he thought this was one of the most exciting things he planned. He'd already seemed to slip by Dumbledore's defenses once and, as long as the headmaster thought Harry was still stuck on deciding upon a projection, Harry felt Dumbledore would never suspect Harry's attempts to repeat this small success.
"Oy," Ron asked as he rummaged in his bag. "What report is due for McGonagall? I don't recall that. Did I miss it?" He cursed. "I probably did. If she wasn't so bloody boring I might be able to stay awake in there. What does she expect though in a class at eight o'clock when any decent fool is still in bed?"
"Er, no," Harry said as he scratched behind his ear. "It's a report she has just me doing." Ron didn't yet know about Harry's Metamorphmagus training and that fact suddenly made Harry hope this revelation wouldn't inflame Ron's jealousy or envy. Again. "You, er, you know how my dad was an Animagus?"
Ron nodded slowly, confused.
Harry shifted as he unrolled the third years' essays. "Well, it seems I have some skill at self-transfiguration, too."
"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed in awe. "You're an Animagus, too!?"
"No, no," Harry protested. "Nothing like that." He grimaced. "I'd probably be something like a great bloody snake if I were. Nah, I can do some stuff like Tonks--as a Metamorphmagus."
Ron's mouth dropped open again and worked soundlessly.
"None of the really cool stuff yet," Harry hurried to explain. "Just basic hex reversals without a wand or spell. It's helped in Healing, too. I can heal myself with it a bit. All the stuff we're working on now in Transfiguration--the spells to do human transfiguration--I've gone trhough most of them and all those for self-transfiguration over holiday. McGonagall's got me working on my morphing skills instead now and I have to give her a weekly report with the progress, exercises and training I do for it."
"You spent your entire holiday break studying Transfiguration of all things," Ron said with disbelief.
"It's a whole lot easier when Moody's teaching half of it under the pretext of stealth and disguise tactics," Harry said with a shrug. "And it wasn't my whole holiday. I had plenty of time for--well, for other stuff," he finished evasively as Ron turned a bit green. "But once I realised I'd be able to do the things Tonks does, it seemed a lot more exciting."
"Oh!" Ron said with a wicked grin. "Can you do a Snape face yet? That was best when Tonks would do that one! Go on--lemme see!"
Harry laughed. "I'm not very good with changing from my normal state to--"
"Oh go on!" Ron urged, grinning.
Laughing, Harry leaned back, closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. Ron, though, kept urging him to hurry up and get on with on it. "Ron! I can't do anything if you don't let me concentrate! I haven't done anything this hard before."
Ron, chastised, quieted down and watched with rapt attention and Harry screwed up his face once more and attempted to morph. After several minutes where Harry did a fine job of looking extremely constipated, he let out his breath and said, "Anything?"
Ron, disappointed, shook his head. "Nothing, mate. But you might be a bit greasier."
Harry scoffed and chucked the nearest book at Ron's head. It felt good to be laughing with Ron, Harry thought for about the twelfth time this week. He hadn't realized how much fun he used to have when they were just together. As Harry worked though marking essays (which were woefully lacking in any original insight on how to vanquish Dementors), he barely felt like it was even work what with Ron's comments every other minute making him laugh.
"Ooh! Here's a short list, Harry—'Reasons I love Divination'! One—Lavender always talks about Uranus, two—incense makes you stoned, three—who doesn't love to dream up twelve thousand ways to die?"
Harry laughed yet again and then said, "There you go, Ron. Make a list of ways you'd hate to die. It's probably the same as half the predictions you've made for Divination." Ron made a face at Harry. "What? I've made that list. Don't knock it. I had a list of the best ways to go and the worst. It was a tough one." Ron still looked like he didn't believe Harry. "It was! At first I had the Killing Curse down as one of the best ways--I mean it's instantaneous and you don't even have time to feel a thing. But, on the other hand, it's instantaneous. You don't get a chance to get in a last word or anything. I think I finally decided the idea of being caught unawares was worse than having death be painless and moved it over to the 'worse' list."
"What was the worst way?" Ron asked warily.
"Death by having your flesh gnawed away," Harry said definitively. "You know, like say you're trapped under a tree and can't move for weeks and so, flobberworms decide to slowly gnaw away at you while you're still alive. Starting at your toes."
Ron shivered. "That is utterly demented," he said disgustedly. "Spiders would be worse. They've got all those--" he shuddered again, "--legs!"
Harry just nodded. "I decided drowning would be a rotten way to go, too. Just being trapped and suffocating without any air to breathe. I was bad enough when I was underwater and the gillyweed started to wear off--Ron, what's the matter?"
Ron had gone pale and had wrapped his arms around himself as if he were freezing. "S-stop--just stop," he said haltingly.
Harry wasn't sure what to do or what he'd said.
Ron shuddered yet again and, looking highly embarrassed, said, "Just don't mention...suffocating."
Harry nodded, understanding. "Okay, but, er, if it's a touchy subject, I suggest you definitely do that list then. Anything that sneaks up on you like me mentioning...that, needs to be sorted out."
Ron nodded grimly and, with renewed focus, returned to making lists that Harry suggested. Harry felt rather proud of the way Ron took to it after he got going. It hadn't been easy when Harry had first started, as he hated having to admit so many things he'd rather ignore about himself. But, with Ron, Harry imagined it was even more difficult as his fears and paranoia were distorted irrationally, obscuring the truth from even himself.
After a hurried dinner amidst the now-standard level of gossip and whispers that followed Harry wherever he went, he left Ron with the Gryffindor Quidditch playbook and headed off to meet Padma in the library. As he walked, Harry wondered where Hermione had gone off to all day. He knew she'd arranged to go to Dumbledore's office earlier to pick the brains from the Sorting Hat but he'd not seen her since. He suspected he'd find her right where she usually disappeared to: the library.
When Harry entered the library, he was nearly bowled over by a furious looking Madame Pince who was obviously off to shush some scandalous students who had dared to either carry on a conversation or—shock of all shocks—use her precious books for their own nefarious purposes—such as reading.
Harry just shook his head as he avoided her and turned down the first aisle he could to search out either Hermione or Padma or both. He'd gone up and down several aisles before nearly being run over by the mad librarian again.
"The nerve of some students! Outrageous!" she was muttering under breath as she stormed past.
Harry, with a sudden idea where he might find Hermione, followed Madame Pince as she wove between several stacks of ancient books and came out at one end of the restricted section where there was now a teetering pile of books.
"These are not some disposable old scraps of parchment!" she grumbled as she took an armful of books off the pile and stalked back to her counter with them. "Should be treated with care and not just tossed aside like shoddy sweets wrappers!" Harry could swear he saw her almost soothingly stroke the cover of the books she picked up, trying to assuage them of their heinous mistreatment.
"Hermione?" Harry called out in a whisper after Pince had left.
He stepped around the now slightly shorter teetering pile of books and unhooked the rope barrier to let himself into the restricted section.
"Hermione?" he called again in a whisper. Nothing. He could, however, hear books being slid on and off of shelves and the rustle of several pages quickly being turned. He followed the sound until he came to the back-most row and there he saw her.
Hermione was kneeling right in the middle of the aisle upon the floor, partially hidden behind a growing pile of books. He walked towards her, amusedly observing her mutter at the book in her hands, close it with a snap and then hastily shove it back into its place on the shelf before yanking out the next book off the shelf.
Her hair was pinned up in a way that indicated she was in a determined mood and didn't even have the time or patience to be bothered by stray strands of hair. She didn't notice as he stood right behind her and watched her fail to find whatever she was seeking in yet another book. She still didn't notice as he dropped his own rucksack to the floor quietly and then kneeled behind her. She did, however, respond with a startled gasp as he leaned forward, catching the back of her neck, just behind her left ear, with his mouth. His hands slid around her waist and pulled her back against him.
"Har-ry!" she said as she tried to shake him off and turn around at the same time. "Harry, I—"
Her words were lost in a muffled jumble as Harry caught her mouth with his and suddenly he became very aware of just how long it'd been since he'd kissed her breathless. (Days, at least. Felt more like months.) If he were pressed to admit it, Harry just might admit he had a bit of a fetish for how Hermione looked when she was all frazzled with her attention attuned to something all innocent and academic. Although, now that he thought about it, that really paled in comparison to how hot she made him when her mind was attuned to things not so innocent or academic.
New aim to add to my list of plans: secure more private time with Hermione, Harry thought to himself as he felt all sorts of body parts second that idea.
Finally, she managed to break free from his mouth and, although looking a bit dazed, she quickly refocused on their surroundings and crossly scolded him in a frantic whisper, "Harry! What do you think you're doing?! Trying to get us kicked out here? Madwoman Pince has been in and out of here all afternoon and on my case! Bloody woman, I swear! Oh, she'd just love to have a reason to kick me out of here."
Harry's eyes widened as Hermione swore. Most un-Hermione-like, he thought as he slowly backed away.
Hermione surveyed the small explosion of books that seemed to surround her and then lighted on Harry as she rushed out, "Oh, you'll never believe what I found out! Harry—the sword—Gryffindor's sword? It's a wand! You can use it like a wand! I saw him today! And Rowena Ravenclaw, too! Oh, the Sorting Hat—you were right—it's brilliant!" She scowled. "But rude! Oh, I do hope it will show me more, but it showed me and there was the sword and he used it to pull thoughts from Ravenclaw's head and oh! Then he used it to cast a spell and I've been through every book on magical sources and—"
"Hermione," Harry tried to interject before she began to positively levitate with excitement or something.
"There's like, nothing on it!" she said with disgust. "Nothing but wands and even that's limited. But it has to be possible! There's so little of anything from the founders' era—for all I know—"
"Hermione," Harry said, this time chancing to grasp her by the shoulders.
She only looked into his eyes with a more intense fervour. "Harry—it was incredible. Oh, the detail! I was right there! And with Godric Gryffindor and Ravenclaw themselves!!"
Well, Harry thought, that was it. She'd gone around the bend. And such a clever, nice girl. Pity.
"I saw a memory, Harry. Like a pensieve. Or like you described Riddle showed you in the diary. The Hat showed me. The Sorting Hat was able to show me a memory!"
"Ah," Harry said with relief. "So you don't really think you saw two, thousand year old founders wandering about?" Thank god.
Hermione went on to explain in full (and now coherent) detail of her adventure with the Hat while Harry sat back and listened.
"And you know what else Gryffindor said, Harry? He said 'mihi cura futuri'; 'my care is for the future.' I looked it up. And then he bound his own memory into his hat and that had to be the one the Hat showed me. The Hat is meant to help the school. It is its duty to guide the school. So we should take its advice even more—"
"Hold on," Harry interrupted. "I thought you said it was bound to its duty; to do the bidding of the one who made it? To protect the vision upon which the school was founded?" Harry had actually been paying quite close attention to Hermione's account with the Hat. After all, he had more than just a passing knowledge of the Hat's abilities and the sword of which she spoke.
Hermione nodded; her brow furrowed.
"That's not the same as protecting the school," Harry said as he recalled the Hat's words on the night he'd been named Lead Light. "I clearly recall the Hat claiming it was bound to...well, to help me." He quickly added, "But I don't think it meant me, I think it meant the Order."
Suddenly realizing they were in the very public library of Hogwarts, Harry looked about before leaning back in towards Hermione and saying, "Hermione, I don't think the Hat is only on about doing good for the school. I think, and maybe I'm wrong, but didn't the Hat's song, the one it sang to the Order that night, didn't it sound more like Gryffindor left the Hat to do more than just sort students once a year? I mean, it was like the whole need to use the Hat to Sort the students was almost a ruse to keep the Hat around for something else altogether."
Hermione studied his face as she thought furiously. "You mean the Order?" She began to nod. "Dumbledore did say the Hat was the 'head' of the Order, remember?" She let out a strangled cry of frustration.
"Hermione," Harry said calmly. "Why didn't just ask the Hat to clarify? What did you do—run out of there as soon as you had a head full of things to look up? It doesn't even sound like you're sure what you're trying to uncover..." Harry trailed off at the guilty look that had crossed her face.
Hermione crossed her arms defensively. "I don't like asking the Hat questions," she pouted.
Harry raised an inquiring eyebrow.
"It's such an insufferable know-it-all," she mumbled.
Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing. She pouted even more at what must have been very poorly concealed amusement on Harry's face. "Oh, don't be like that," he said and pulled her towards him.
She scooted nearer and let him hold her to him and he let the grin break out upon his face.
"It doesn't even let me think through my own thoughts so I could decide what to say. It's frustrating. Flustering!" she said into his chest. She sat up then. "I was hoping to find any books written by Gryffindor or about him. I wanted to learn about the sword and how it could work like a wand. You need to know that."
He quite agreed and had already made a note in his mind to look into it himself.
"I wanted to learn how thoughts are stored in a pensieve—the Hat must have worked like a pensieve at once. I did find out the pensieve was credited as being invented by one of Gryffindor's daughters, I believe, but that wasn't until after Gryffindor had been dead for several decades!" She sighed heavily and Harry thought she looked extremely weary. "You're right. I wasn't very focused when I rushed in here to the library. Look how many books I've tore through," she said gesturing about.
Harry nodded. "Right. You went to the Sorting Hat to find out if Slytherins were really all purebloods. Remember? We were wondering why Tracey didn't return school this term."
"Right," she said. "They're not."
Harry smiled. "Told you so. Listen," he said slowly. "I can't believe I might actually be the one to say this, but perhaps you could have just asked Snape? He might have answered you. Even McGonagall might have just told you this."
Hermione's jaw was hanging open. "Harry! You're the one who suggested I go talk to the Sorting Hat!"
Harry grimaced. "Yeah, but I didn't realize one talk with the Hat would cause you to go spare with the knowledge that there were so many things out there you didn't know anything about."
After helping Hermione direct all the books back to their shelves, Harry took a look at his watch and knew he was now late to meet Padma. "Right, I need to get moving to work on Potions. We're one of the two presenting next week. Although, how just two of us will manage to give a four-person presentation just hasn't been quite worked out yet."
Hermione looked ready to volunteer her help but Harry turned her around and steered her towards the exit. "No, you've been in here all day. You missed dinner completely."
"But—"
"Nope. Unless you've gone primal, I've heard your stomach growl at least twice. Hey—if you head down to the kitchens for a bite, you can make house-elf friends," he reminded her tantalisingly.
This served to make her quite amenable to the idea of heading off to the kitchens and as Harry watched her go, he thought, those elves are so going to spell my pants with Shrivelling Hexes.
After Harry found Padma, he realized he had merely just traded in one frantic and nerve-wracked woman for another. Last term, each of the four members of their group in Potions had worked on a separate portion of their term project and now, since Tracey was no longer at school and Millicent Bulstrode had been so inconveniently moved from their group (and oh so unkindly refused to offer up any of the work she'd done), Harry and Padma were being forced to make up half of their impending presentation in a mere few days.
Padma wasn't coping well with the stress. She was alternately disgruntled about having to do the work of two people and stressed at the fact that their presentation was the first to be given. Live. To the whole class. And Snape. Harry had lost track of the number of times she'd charmed her nails longer just so she could chew them off again.
It didn't help that Mandy Brocklehurst, who seemed to have an endless supply of assorted sugar quills that she seemed to enjoy more if she licked rather than sucked, kept stopping by to 'take a break'. Judging by the way Padma kept getting more and more annoyed each time she stopped by, however, Harry had to guess that Mandy rarely ever decided to take a break by chatting with Padma.
"Harry," Padma said, leaning across the table to cut off Mandy's obscene ministrations to her glistening cherry-red sugar quill. "See this? We have to present at least two alternative pathways that would be neutralized by the antidote. I still think the enteric is the one to demonstrate live."
Harry paused in the middle of the word he was writing. "What? What do you mean, 'demonstrate live'?"
Padma attempted to look innocent and businesslike. "Well, there exists a standard antidote already and we've just come up with an alternate. It makes sense that we're expected to demonstrate our alternate's efficacy. We'll have the other antidote on hand in case ours fails."
"You mean like pick a handy volunteer from the class audience?" Harry asked hopefully with a wan smile.
She didn't. So, that night Harry had yet another thing to fret about before he could fall asleep. He knew she was right. He knew that Snape would settle for no less than a live demonstration of their potions and if the presentation completely failed to involve poisoning Harry in some way, it was a sure bet that Snape would likely dock points just on principle.
As he blearily wrote in his journal, he also began to muse about what Hermione had said about seeing Gryffindor use his sword like a wand. Does this mean I technically have two wands? He knew this wasn't even legal. Does this mean I have one...wand-like thing that doesn't share a core with Voldemort's?
He recalled the two times the sword had appeared, for all intents unbidden, in his had and, at these times it seemed to have replaced his wand that he'd been holding. Was the sword in his wand and not actually within him as Dumbledore had suggested? Maybe the sword simply had the ability to merge with a wand and then be used both as a sword and as a wand?
With his curtains pulled shut tight and the sound of his dorm mates' snoring cut off by a Silencing Spell, Harry pulled out his wand and held it appraisingly in his hand. It didn't feel heavy enough to contain a sword. He thrust it out and waved it in a circle, almost expecting the sword to appear. It didn't; but he did get a small spray of golden sparks lazily trailing out of it. He'd have to add this to his list of things to work on.
With a last thought that he wished the Sorting Hat had shown him exactly how the sword could be used, he drifted off to sleep as the faint sound of phoenix song rose from within.
Four days later and after reaching the point where he barely cared anymore about his Potions presentation, just so long as it was over with, Harry found himself casting numerous Display Charms onto a blank screen behind Padma as she orated their presentation. With every new display, they neared the dreaded end where Harry was then supposed to be their 'test subject' for their synthesized poison antidote.
It was only a mild poison that created a toxic build-up of selectively bound free protein in the lower intestine and, if left unneutralized, would cause an uncomfortable and prolonged bout of vomiting up live salmons.
"As you can clearly see," Padma lectured, "the binding half of any ribosylating toxin shall be cleaved by our antidote whether it's already attached, free, or even bound to a target protein. We will now demonstrate the efficacy of this mode of inactivation. Harry?"
But Snape, likely disappointed he didn't get to force Harry to be the test subject since he'd already volunteered, wanted to torture Harry at least a little bit before letting him get on with being poisoned. "Potter, answer me this—from which ingredient does your antidote get its cleaving ability?"
"Kelpie mane." That was easy.
Snape crossed his arms and stepped menacingly towards the front of the class. "Adsorbing factor remediation?"
"Milkweed seed—"
"Prepared?"
"—ground fine—and mucus of flobberworm."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "Specific target of dissolution?"
"Lower intestine." Harry elaborated before Snape asked another question. "Premature release is inhibited by the addition of liverwort, which ensures the enteric charms will not erode until reaching the acidic levels. Sir." Heh.
Harry saw the sallow fingers of Snape's hand drum upon one of the desks before he fired off another half-dozen questions, each of which, Harry answered with ease. With resignation and a look of promised revenge, Snape conceded by saying, "Enough—Patil, administer Mister Potter's poison already."
How long has Snape waited to say that? Harry could only wonder. With their antidote in one hand and their poison of choice meeting Snape's approval, Harry downed the stoppered flask of pink poison that held the rancid aroma of mouldy dog's breath.
Harry then had to stand up, open his robes, untuck his shirt and lift it up to allow everyone to observe his stomach. It started with little twitches just minutes after ingesting the poison and he needed to wait until it progressed to full out undulation until he could be sure the toxic agent of the poison had attached and was in effect. Only then was he allowed to administer their antidote. Hopefully it worked or he'd soon been littering the dungeon floor with live salmons.
"Ooh," Mandy Brocklehurst said as she finally seemed to take interest in their presentation. "Is that a happy trail I see?"
"Miss Brocklehurst!" Snape snapped. "Ten points from Ravenclaw! How many times do I have to remind you no sugar quills allowed in the laboratory!"
Thanks to Mandy's intensive scrutiny of his exposed physique, Harry now felt supremely uncomfortable and impatient for the poison to get on with it already. He caught Hermione giving Mandy a smug look before the first swoop of something flipping inside his stomach made him almost hurl just from the sensation. Snape, being cruel by nature, made Harry wait a full minute more to be sure he wasn't just faking and finally, salivating heavily, Harry was allowed to administer the antidote.
Now the feeling that there were things flipping about in his stomach changed to the feeling that those things were dissolving and, after one final wave of nausea, Harry felt his stomach relax back to normal. A smattering of polite applause from several classmates concluded their presentation along with Snape's dour look of supreme disappointment as Harry and Padma returned to their workstation. And then Harry promptly threw up.
"There's no salmon! There's no salmon!" Padma pointed out frantically.
Harry had to agree he was relieved to see that, too.
Snape stalked over at once with a disgusted look on his face and, as soon as Harry saw him looking disdainfully at Harry's new floor decorations, Harry whipped out his wand, incanting, "Evanesco," to clear away the mess.
At which, Snape smirked. "Five points from Gryffindor soiling my floors and another five for failing to preserve what might have been a valuable sample specimen."
Harry's jaw dropped indignantly but he snapped it shut before he could lose more points. Up next and preparing for their presentation were now Ernie, Neville and Malfoy. Harry, steamed now over Snape's gratuitous docking of points, barely paid attention to the lecture given mainly by Ernie as Neville handled the displays. Malfoy seemed quite unconcerned with his group members and spent a great deal of time making silent gagging faces in Harry's direction.
As Harry cooled down, he began to notice just how bad Neville seemed to be shaking as he cast Display Charms. In fact, it occurred to Harry that the past week and half, he'd seen Neville only rarely in their dorm and that, when he did see Neville, he seemed to have regressed back into the clumsy and nervous wreck Harry hadn't seen for well over a year.
He seemed fine over holiday when he was at the Celebration, Harry mused. But Ginny said he had been named as a one-time candidate for the prophecy in that article the Prophet ran last week. She'd said Neville wasn't dealing well with all the attention.
He watched as their lecture concluded and Snape started in on grilling Neville much like he'd grilled Harry with rapid-fire questions. Unfortunately, Neville was not fairing as well as Harry had.
"Are you telling me you do not know, Longbottom, the side effects of deadly nightshade?" Snape hissed, obviously smelling weakness. "How about the neurological effects of belladonna?"
Neville was positively white. "It's not...I don't think..."
"No, you don't think, do you?" Snape said scornfully before rounding on Malfoy. "Malfoy! What do you have to contribute to this display of ineptitude?"
Malfoy snapped to attention and said, "Professor, I'm in prepared to demonstrate that our synthesized Healing Factor Formula has a greater efficiency and efficacy than the equivalent charm in reversing a common hex." Malfoy whiled then to face the wary-looking Neville and barked out, "Sit, Longbottom!"
Neville looked completely unprepared for this as Malfoy waxed on about the various hexes and curses that they believed their potion could heal and reverse.
"Hold still, Boy Who Bumbles," Malfoy muttered at Neville as he cast a Boil Hex on him twice; once on the back of each hand. On one hand, Malfoy cast a rather poor Boil Pop Charm that resulted in pus spraying Neville in the face. On the other hand, Malfoy had him dip it in a beaker of their formula. Luckily for Neville, it worked and, as the bell rang to signal the end of class, he used it to heal his other, still oozing, hand.
As Harry packed up to leave, he heard Malfoy say with false innocence, "Oh, is the class over already? I had so many other salient points to make."
No one was listening to him and Harry could swear he even heard Snape mutter, "Pity," as they all hastened to leave the dungeons. As Harry caught up to Hermione on the way out the door, he still heard Malfoy going on to no one in particular.
"I wanted to explain so many other things. You know, things like examples of hexes that are not compatible with this formula. Er, oh, I had a list, I wonder if I recall any? Oh, yes! Detondere!"
At this, Harry felt a breeze rustle through his hair and he reached up then to bat at whatever was ticking his head as he shot a glare back at Malfoy.
"A simple Shearing Hex is one the formula can't help," Malfoy said brightly to Ernie who was walking beside him and looking like he had no clue why Malfoy was suddenly speaking to him like he was a friend.
"Harry—" Hermione grabbed his arm and Harry stopped dead. As he passed his hand over his head, in a motion that should have had his fingers running through his hair, he found that there was no hair whatsoever there. It had all been shaved clean off and was now fluttering to the floor, no longer attached to his head.
"Ew!!" came the distinctive voice of Pansy Parkinson from directly beside Harry. "Potter's molting!" Harry saw her now disdainfully pluck a lock of black hair from her robe and flick it to the floor in exaggerated disgust.
"Malfoy!" Hermione yelled back at him.
"Mudblood!" Malfoy mocked as he laughed riotously in the middle of the hallway
"You know the rules about magic in the corridors!" she said crossly before returning her attention to Harry. "Was it really just a Shearing Hex?"
He nodded, still running a hand over his bare skull, which, incidentally, reminded him immediately of Kingsley.
"Come on," she said as she grabbed his arm and led them into the nearest empty classroom and shut the door. "Fix it before someone comes in."
Two minutes later, Hermione was running her hands through Harry's slowly but steadily lengthening locks. With each pass of her hand and scrape of her nails upon his scalp, Harry felt more and more convinced that now was as good a time as any to practice some advanced Locking Charms and add a new locale to one of his not-updated-often-enough lists.
REMINDER: You can find chapter files, a discussion forum, and other dedicated and outrageously Potter-obsessed readers at my Yahoo group for this fic. There is a link on my bio page to the group. The Yahoo group name is: HPAoF. Cheers!
Oh, oh!! And I finally got the song file from Chapter 18 to load. It's in the group's File section.