Ron woke to the distinctive scratch of quill writing on parchment. He identified the noise even as he lay there blind to the room…he'd been friends with one Miss Hermione Granger for far too long to not recognize the sound.
By opening one bleary eye he was able to confirm his guess. Hermione sat next to him on the wide bed, bathed in a wide ray of sunshine from the window. A large open book rested on her legs, which were crossed Indian-style beneath her. There were several sheets of parchment scattered around on the bed, all containing various snatches of text in Hermione's handwriting. She wrote on yet another that was pressed into one side of the book. Obviously she'd been at it for awhile.
He opened his other eye, making no other movement that would betray his wakeful state.
She'd already changed into a dark pair of pants and a long-sleeved jumper, though her feet were clad only in socks. Ron smiled into his pillow. It was so like her to avoid sitting on the bed with her shoes on.
He continued to watch her as she scribbled fervidly on. Her hair was unbound today; it hung down to frame her face in loose curls. The sun shining behind her had a halo effect, turning her chestnut tresses a luminescent gold. His fingers itched to run through the wavy tendrils as he had last night. He restrained himself, however, so that he could take the opportunity to just watch her for a moment. He reckoned it was only fair after yesterday morning.
His gaze rested contently on her face, which was alight with inspiration. There was almost a glow about her, and the animation in her eyes was a welcome sight. Finally, the reason for her obvious excitement dawned on him. "You've found something, haven't you?" he asked.
Hermione jumped. Ron was surprised when she uttered a little laugh at her edginess. It seemed as if he hadn't heard her laugh in ages, and he smiled broadly in frank admiration.
To his amazement Hermione turned a delicate pink and dropped her gaze. A moment later she appeared to recover, however, and she said, "You startled me. I didn't know you were awake."
"Just," Ron replied absently. He was still far too perplexed by her intriguing response to his grin. Had she actually blushed? What was that all about? Maybe the vibe he'd sensed between them last night wasn't all in his head, he thought hopefully. Maybe –
"Well, you're just in time," she interrupted his train of thought. "I have found something."
She eagerly scooted closer to him, a fistful of parchments in her hand. He sat up to look over her shoulder and ended up so tantalizingly close that the ends of her hair tickled his arm. He tried to concentrate on what she was showing him, he really did, but the scent of her fresh, clean skin filled his nostrils.
"I knew I'd seen these symbols before," she started. "Do you remember back in second year when Harry learned he could speak Parseltongue?"
Of course, Ron did. How could he ever forget? It was Harry's ability to speak Parseltongue that had gained them entry to the Chamber of Secrets, where Ginny languished in unconsciousness after being used by Tom Riddle to accomplish his evil deeds. Beyond that, Parseltongue was an extremely rare gift, and one usually given to Slytherins, to boot. As a Gryffindor, Harry had once again proven to be the exception.
He nodded, and Hermione went on. "Well, at the time I did some research into the language, because I thought it might help Harry. And…well, because I thought it was interesting."
Ron suppressed a smile. Of course she had.
"Anyway, I didn't find too much beyond what everyone knows…except for one very obscure reference to a written form. There was an excerpt of text, and that's how I recognized the symbols."
Ron frowned. "A written form of Parseltongue?"
Hermione nodded, and he knew he must look like he thought she was pulling a fast one on him. "Hermione, snakes don't read."
"Precisely!" she exclaimed, as if he'd just nailed the solution to a difficult equation. "What use would serpents have for a written language?"
"You can't write without hands," Ron agreed, unsure of where she was going with this.
"So I always wondered why there would be a written version. It made no sense. I could only assume that it was purely for reasons of documentation. But now it makes perfect sense!"
"It does?" Ron asked.
Hermione turned slightly to look over her shoulder at him, not even appearing to notice how close they were. "Who speaks Parseltongue, other than Harry?" she asked.
Ron tried to focus, finding it difficult because he certainly noticed how close they were. He fought the urge to clear his throat. "Voldemort," he offered as she watched him. He gathered from her expression that she wanted him to continue, so he went further, following the chain. "Slytherins. Bad guys…Death Eaters?"
"It would be perfect for their purposes…a nearly unbreakable code that no one knows how to speak, other than them. They can communicate without fear of anyone learning their plans. Ron, probably only a very few people even know that there is a written version, but that's what this is." She held up the original etching she'd done of the markings on the amulet. "It took me all morning to track down the one book that does more than allude to it."
Ron was caught up in her excitement. "You said it was a nearly unbreakable code…"
"Well..." She paused, holding out her hand. "Accio book!" The book she'd left on her side of the bed flew into her arms. The loose sheet of parchment was still wedged between the pages. She pulled it out and angled it so they could both see her neat, ordered writing. "The translation's probably a little sketchy in some areas due to the limited source material, but I think it must be close."
"Ron," she said, looking up at him again with her cheeks flushed from the thrill of the intellectual hunt, "the inscription on the amulet is about a place called Captarum. It sounds like a fortress of some sort, but Voldemort must have found it and is using it as one of his bases. I found one literary reference that refers to it as 'the holding cell for the taken'. That could mean prisoners, right?"
"Hermione, you're brilliant," Ron said earnestly. "I could kiss you."
Hermione went very still; she didn't even so much as blink as she continued to look up at him. Ron cleared his throat and looked down at the parchment. Blimey, what was wrong with him? He had to get back on track quick.
Whatever you do, he told himself, just don't look at her.
Because with her wide, searching eyes, her excited flush and parted lips, she looked entirely too kissable just then.
"We need to take this to Dumbledore," he said to the parchment. He felt rather than saw her nod, and then the bed shifted beneath him as she slid off it. He still didn't dare to meet her eyes, so he led the way out the door.
VV
Several familiar faces and quite a few that were unknown to them looked up at the interruption when Hermione and Ron barged into Dumbledore's outer office.
The door swung shut behind them as they strode into the room. "Professor," Ron said urgently, "we need to speak with you."
They had come to stand before the central table, at which the former Headmaster of Hogwarts was seated. To his left and right were Professors McGonagall and Lupin, respectively. There were quite a few other tables, also, lined up along the walls of the room; each boasted two or three more magical academics and members of the Order of the Phoenix. Hermione felt their stares resting heavily upon her, and she reflexively clutched her book and parchments more tightly. "It's about the amulet Ron brought back last night," she added.
There were murmured grumblings from around the room, which subsided reluctantly when Dumbledore raised one hand in entreaty. "Please, Professors."
He looked at Hermione in silent inquiry, indicating that she should continue. For her part, Hermione was suddenly wondering if perhaps it would have been prudent to knock, first. Then Ron nudged her forward and she cleared her throat. "I apologize for the intrusion, Professor Dumbledore, but it's very important. I made an etching of the markings from the amulet Ron discovered, and have been researching what they could mean. It's Parseltongue, sir."
"There is no written form of Parseltongue," came a voice.
All faces turned as one to the speaker, a wizened old lady whose salt and pepper coloured hair was sculpted into an elaborate beehive that was perched precariously on top of her head. A solitary yellow and black striped bee buzzed around her in a lazy, circuitous flight path. "Everyone knows that." Her voice was dry and dusty, as if it hadn't been used in quite awhile, and there was a condescending air to it.
"I'm sorry Professor, but if that's the case, then everyone's wrong," Hermione said firmly.
The voices were louder this time as everyone turned to mutter to the person next to them. More than a few of the whispers were harsh, angry sounding. The professor sat straighter, peering disapprovingly at Hermione over her the top of her spectacles. "I beg your pardon?" she said frostily.
Hermione opened the book to reveal the loose parchments pressed between the pages, searching through them for the one containing the finished translation. "It wasn't easy to track down," she admitted. "I searched every book from 'Standard Languages of the Wizarding World' to 'The Torturous Text of Twisted Tongues'. It's not noted in any volume devoted to listing wizarding languages. It's almost as if every possible place one would normally think to look for it had been erased. It wasn't until a hunch led me to the zoology section of the library that I finally found it in 'Viper Vernacular'. It's Parseltongue, all right, and I was able to translate it."
Next to her, Ron bridled in her defense. "Trust me, Professor, if it's anything to do with books, Hermione's the expert."
"And you've done all this since last night?" another disbelieving professor asked.
"Actually, I did most of it this morning," Hermione answered matter-of-factly. "Once I was able - "
The Headmistress of Beauxbatons interrupted. "Professor Dumbledore, I really must protest. We are on a tight schedule, and zere ees seemply no time for zees. Zee child's imagination has obviously run away with her."
"This child," Professor Lupin interrupted, his voice deceptively mild, "is the brightest witch of her age I've ever met. If she says she's found the answer, then she has. And I for one am more than willing to listen to any idea that may help us discover Harry's whereabouts." He smiled kindly at Hermione, urging her to continue.
Grateful for his encouragement, she did so. "The markings mention a place called Captarum...from the Latin meaning 'of the taken', which I believe must be one of Voldemort's bases. Professor Dumbledore, I think it's where he keeps prisoners."
There was another stir, this one the greatest yet. The whispers had become an all-out rumble. Once again Professor Dumbledore was forced to silence the room. Hermione and Ron looked around, surprised by the reaction to the name of Voldemort's base.
"Captarum doesn't exist," the professor with the beehive said. "It's a myth."
"If it's not real, then why do all of you recognize the name?" Ron wanted to know.
"You are hardly the first to have come upon the name, child. Every hundred years, or so, some foolish young person goes off in search of the legendary Captarum, no matter how many people warn against it. None have ever returned."
"Well, that doesn't mean it's not there," Hermione said logically. "In fact, it seems to me to indicate more that it is. They found it, and something kept them from returning."
"Wild speculation!" the professor said haughtily.
Finally, Professor Dumbledore spoke. "Speculation or not, thank you both for the information. We will deliberate and choose the appropriate course of action."
"Professor," Ron said, "I'd like to be on the team sent to find Harry."
"Impossible," the Beauxbatons Headmistress declared. "Zere will be no action until we have examined zees alleged 'translation'."
"Well how long is that going to take?" Ron demanded.
The professor with the beehive snootily peered down her nose at them. "You cannot rush into these sorts of things, boy. We can't base a rescue operation on ill-conceived notions and guesses."
Hermione felt heat rush into her cheeks. This was getting ridiculous. It was almost as if they didn't want to find Harry. "Then I suppose we should all just stand around and do nothing, then?" she asked. "It's been four days already. The longer we stand around talking, and not doing anything about it, the more our chances of finding him diminish. We have to go now!"
Her voice had risen in pitch and volume, and by the end she was nearly shouting. She knew she was on edge, and that it was becoming apparent to everyone, but she couldn't help it. Why were she and Ron the only ones who seemed to care about their missing friend?
The professor with the beehive was angry now; her eyes were narrowed and her lips were pinched. The bee circling her head buzzed loudly as it darted about, agitated. "You will do as you're told," she snapped. "I don't know how things were done at Hogwarts, but here experienced wizards do not take orders from little girls!"
Hermione felt Ron tense beside her as he took a breath, no doubt in preparation for the heated tongue-lashing he was about to give. She was surprised, however, when Professor McGonagall interrupted, her own eyes flashing a warning. "At Hogwarts we encouraged students to take the initiative to think on their own and solve problems, Professor Ladenfield, and that is precisely what Miss Granger has done. And for your information, this 'little girl' has seen more action over the past seven years than you've seen in your lifetime. Or perhaps you're merely upset because she solved the puzzle of the amulet, while you were just telling us that you couldn't even be sure the markings were a language at all."
Professor Ladenfield's expression wasn't cold anymore…it was flushed with fury, but she said nothing in response. Dumbledore held up his hand again in entreaty. "Please. Let us save hostility for the forces against us."
He turned to Hermione and Ron. "Do not misunderstand, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley. We are grateful for the information that you've provided. But Professor Ladenfield is correct in that we must verify your findings, and determine the proper course of action. I'm afraid that sending a team today is out of the question."
Their faces fell, and Dumbledore's own expression softened. "You have both been through far too much, already, and I'm certain that I speak for everyone present when I say that I am concerned for your well being. You should both rest, and let us manage it from here. Trust that we will not cease in our efforts until we find Mr. Potter."
They had no choice but to relinquish Hermione's translation before turning to leave. Their emotions were running high with frustration and disappointment, and Hermione was surprised when Ron was able to contain himself until they were in the hallway. The second the door shut behind them, he exploded. "They won't cease in their efforts!" he exclaimed. "Well that's encouraging. They didn't even know it was writing, until you told them. They're not going to get anywhere!"
"I know, Ron," Hermione said. She placed a hand on his arm in an effort to calm him.
He went on as if he hadn't heard her. "Harry could be there. He could be hurt. And we're just supposed to stay here on holiday, and let them 'manage' it? Not bloody likely!"
"You're right," Hermione said, and nearly smiled when Ron turned his wide, blue eyes on her.
"I am?" he asked in obvious surprise. "I mean, you're not going to argue with me about doing what Dumbledore told us to do?"
Hermione shook her head. "It's like you said, Harry could be going through anything right now. He might not have the time it takes for them to decide to go after him. He needs help now."
"Why can't they see that?!" Ron exclaimed. He started off at a fast pace, and Hermione trotted a bit to catch up with him before falling in step.
"Luckily, they didn't confiscate all of my papers," Hermione said as she rifled through the pages of her book. "They have the finished copy, but not all of my work. We still have the information, including the coordinates to Captarum."
"Great," Ron said, holding out a hand. "I'll need that."
Hermione looked at him in confusion as they reached the top of the stairs. "What do you need it for?"
Ron's face reflected her perplexed expression. "So I can go find Harry," he said, in a voice that said his reasoning should have been evident.
Something twisted in Hermione's gut as she began to experience a sense of déjà vu from the morning before. She stopped walking, forcing him to stop and face her. "So that we can go find Harry," she clarified.
Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, not this again," he said with exasperation.
"You can't be serious!" Hermione cried in disbelief. "How can you complain to me about how the council's wrong to not let us go, and then turn around and expect me to stay here?"
Either he didn't see the similarity, or he chose to ignore Hermione's logic. She was sure it was the latter. "You're not coming," he said firmly.
"You can't keep me here!" she exclaimed, as her eyes began to sting.
"What is wrong with you?" he replied.
To his credit, Ron did appear confused, but Hermione was beyond caring by this point. Who did he think he was, running around making decisions for her suddenly? And just when exactly had she ceased to be part of the team? "What's wrong with me?" she repeated angrily, "That's what I'd like to know. This is just like yesterday. Why can't you trust me to help you? What have I done wrong?"
Ron looked dumbfounded. "What are you going on about, not trusting you? It's nothing to do with trust."
"Isn't it?"
Her voice was shaky, and Ron's brows drew together as he finally realized there was some other issue afoot, here. He stepped closer to her, and Hermione struggled to contain herself. She wanted to understand his reasoning. She wanted him to explain it to her. But mostly she wanted to throw herself into his arms and just hold on while everything else faded away.
"Hermione," he started. "What - "
"Herm-own-ninny!"
Ron stopped, and Hermione tried to reign in her emotions. They turned as one toward the source of the interruption.
Viktor Krum stood on the staircase several steps below them, looking up. "Everything is all right?" he asked uncertainly.
Hermione sketched a weak smile. "Yes, Viktor, everything's fine. Ron and I were just talking."
"Yeah," Ron nearly snarled, "and we'd like to get back to it. So if you wouldn't mind sodding off…"
"Ron!" Hermione reprimanded him, shocked.
He didn't meet her eyes, and after a beat she turned back to the other boy. "I'm sorry, Viktor, really. What was it that you needed?"
Viktor looked uncertainly from her to Ron, then back again. "I vas just vondering…the children vere hoping for another flying lesson today." He smiled winningly at her, turning Hermione's smile into a more genuine one. "I thought I vould see if you vere available to teach with me again."
Ron had watched the exchange silently after his outburst, hid eyes narrowed, but he could obviously hold himself back no longer. "No, she can't!" he claimed.
Hermione rounded on him immediately. "Excuse me?"
Viktor's expression chilled as he stared at Ron. "I believe that is Herm-own-ninny's decision to make."
"Believe whatever you want," Ron snapped. He didn't even appear to notice that he'd grabbed hold of Hermione's arm possessively. "But Hermione's coming with me to find Harry today, so you'll just have to handle your broomstick by yourself. And for the record," he bit out, over-enunciating, "it's 'Hermione'. Her-my-on-ee. Got it?"
Viktor looked back to Hermione for confirmation. Torn between triumph and fury, she tried to keep it all in check as she answered his silent question. "It's all right, Viktor, but I will be away today, so I can't come with you."
"Very vell," Viktor huffed, and shouldered past them. After a moment of watching him walk away, Ron appeared to finally notice that he was still gripping Hermione's arm. He let her go and stepped away, not looking at her again as he asked in a surly voice, "So, are we leaving, or what?"
"I just need to collect a few things from my room," Hermione said stiffly.
"Fine." Ron was just as formal, suddenly. "I'll get our gear and meet you at the hearth."
Hermione watched him head down the hallway, then turned and quickly made her way in the opposite direction. The first turn in the corridor brought her to the object of her search. Viktor stood waiting there for her, leaning against the wall. He straightened when he saw her. "Did it vork?"
Hermione smiled at him gratefully. Even though she'd awakened him at a very early hour, Viktor had graciously listened to her proposal and agreed to help. "It did," she said. "Thank you for your help, Viktor. I'm sorry he was so rude to you. We're just both so worried about Harry that we can't think rationally, it seems."
Viktor raised an eyebrow. "I do not think that vas the only reason he vas angry with me," he said doubtfully.
Hermione bit her lip, uncomfortable in the face of Viktor's accurate perception. How could she explain Ron's animosity toward Viktor when she didn't understand it herself? "Whatever his reason," she said, "it was uncalled for."
Viktor's expression cleared, and he smiled at her. "Whatever his reason, I am certain at least that he vishes to protect you. I hope that you vill be careful, today."
"I will, Viktor, and thank you again." She touched his arm lightly, then headed off to gather what she needed. Whatever happened today, she was determined to find answers.