Part 2
Her nightgown was stuck to her body with dried patches of sweat. Hermione's lip curled at the evidence of her labor. As disgusting as she felt, it was worth it. The wards were finally open to her after several weeks of labor. Getting past the wards had been more of a challenge that she'd expected. Bill had used some very esoteric methods mixed with just enough ingenuity to render most standard techniques of ward breaking useless. As this was not a subject that Hermione had studied in great depth, it had taken her far longer than she had anticipated. This was because she checked and double checked each prospective step for fear of triggering the wards. Although part of her chafed at the delay, the puzzle the wards presented had been just the thing she needed to escape Harry's distressing decline.
She and Ron had both devised ways to blot out the travesty going on before them. While Hermione had hidden herself in her growing library of books, researching ways to defeat the wards, Ron had buried himself in past issues of Quidditch magazines. Failing that, he had actually volunteered to play guinea pig for the twins. Hermione shook her head. If she hadn't been convinced that her plan was right before, then she was now.
Harry's condition had deteriorated far faster than anyone had anticipated. He had become a virtual zombie. He fumbled and shuffled through the house, his eyes burning eerily bright within the dark circles that framed them. The line between sleeping and waking had blurred. Visions and night terrors preyed on him in daydreams as well as in nightmares. Snape had been somewhat successful with his modified Dreamless Sleep. Every four days the modified version allowed Harry a precious five hours of peaceful rest. It was not enough.
Every time Dumbledore came to Grimmauld Place, Hermione had to restrain herself from flinging herself at him to beg him to do something. Thankfully, Mrs Weasley took it upon herself to do just that. Dumbledore's words of reassurance fell flat. He was trying, Hermione knew that. He had tried all manner of spell, ward and even a few curses to stop Harry's pain.
The old wizard wore his failure in the stoop of his shoulders and the lack of a twinkle in his eyes. Still, Hermione felt the stir of resentment in her heart. Dumbledore had seen the extent of Harry's pain, yet he refused to even consider searching for a Dark solution. The connection between Harry and Voldemort had been created through the Dark Arts. It made perfect sense that the solution to blocking it would be found in the Dark Arts. But no, Albus Dumbledore would never 'sully' himself in such a fashion. Hermione was beginning to believe that he'd see Harry dead for the sake of his precious morals.
A creak sounding behind her sent Hermione's mind reeling back to the present. Pulse hammering in her ears, she waited for one of the Order to sweep down upon her. When no one immerged from the shadowy hallway behind her, she heaved a sigh. Fresh splotches of sweat stained her nightdress but she was safe. Silently cursing her own nerves and crotchety old houses, Hermione struggled to her feet. Her joints were stiff from sitting on the floor for so long. Her muscles were as contrary as her joints and did not wish to unclench. She felt as though she'd forgotten how to stand, let alone move.
Once she had regained control of her body, Hermione nervously placed her hand on the door knob. As much as she trusted her own work, the wards Bill had erected had hidden some nasty surprises. Still half expecting to sprout boils or be rendered senseless, she swung the door open. Stale air wafted out and over her. It was redolent of parchment, ink and dust; something libraries everywhere had in common. It had the heavy quality that only silence and solitude could give but the familiar scent instantly put her at ease. As she moved forward to stand beside the closest stack, Hermione could feel a low hum of magic radiate from the books. She shivered half with excitement and half with apprehension, as trailed over spines and traced the polished hardwood shelves. Her silent communion was abruptly brought to a halt by a flare of light behind her.
Rendered even more hawkish by the heavy shadows cast by the harsh light, Snape's visage glowered with gargoyle like intensity. He rose with a single elegant movement. For a moment he paused allowing the shadows to frame him before gliding forward. The slow stalk made the hair rise on the back of her neck. Snape radiated a sheer force of personality that few could match. That was what cowed Neville so effectively and although she was loath to admit it, Hermione was not as immune as she would have liked. The Professor's approach sent her stomach into freefall and her heart leaping into her mouth. She had been discovered.
"Bravo, Miss Granger. Congratulations indeed, for meeting my low expectations. How like a Gryffindor to abandon all caution when the goal is in sight."
"P-professor Snape?" Hermione blurted and winced at her less than eloquent reply.
"Did you really think getting past the wards would be so easy? Did you think that the Weasley boy would be the only one to safeguard the library? Pitiful. To think you're lauded as the greatest witch in a century."
"I'm sorry but I was just curious," Hermione replied, struggling to control her expression.
"Really, Miss Granger, given how many misadventures you've participated in, it is shocking that you haven't developed the ability to lie effectively. At least you should have concocted a more believable excuse by now," Snape scoffed. "I am not a fool, Miss Granger. You're here for the Potter boy. Tell me, does he know what you intend to do?"
"No," Hermione whispered, knowing he would read the truth of her words on her face or perhaps even from her mind.
"I don't suppose Precious Potter would approve of his friend pawing through books on the Dark Arts, would he? Then again, this isn't the first time you've played in the Dark, is it?"
Fear oozed through her veins. How did he know? Was Snape going to report her? It was bad enough that he'd found her in the library, let alone somehow guessed at her forays into the Dark Arts. Her panicked mind began to frantically wonder how he found out. Had she somehow betrayed herself? No, no, she had been too careful for that- it had to be a lucky guess. She couldn't let him trap her into betraying herself!
"That's none of your concern, Professor! I did come here because of Harry, your right about that. I know Dumbledore has tried everything but the Dark Arts. Because he doesn't want to get his hands dirty, Harry is-"
"Silence, you foolish little girl! You have no idea of what the Dark Arts can do!"
"I've seen enough," Hermione stubbornly defended.
"If you had, then you would respect Dumbledore's refusal to use them. As ignorant as you are, it is true that there is nothing more Dumbledore can do. Maybe the solution to Potter's current difficulties does lie with the Dark."
"Then why haven't you done something?" Hermione burst out in frustration.
"I hold no love for Potter but if I was free to do so, I would already be searching for a way to block the connection."
Hermione's eyes widened at that. If he was 'free' to do so? That implied he was being forced into inaction. Snape's eyes were cold and verging on scornful as she frantically searched them for any indication that what she was considering was true. That he quickly averted his gaze told her everything she needed to know.
Fueled by her small revelation, Hermione felt her mind begin to spin. Snape had been Dumbledore's spy for many years. Again and again Snape proved his himself but in the early days, before trust had been built... Hermione shivered as she wondered just what Dumbledore might have demanded in return for his testimony at Snape's trial. Or what he might have required to ensure the loyalty of his newest spy. Her bright and shiny faith in Dumbledore had long since tarnished but this further glimpse into the man made her skin crawl. It served to remind Hermione that sometimes there was a very fine line between Dark and Light.
"And if you were to research such a thing, where would you start?"
This time black eyes flickered with something that might have vaguely approximated approval.
"If I was considering such research, then coercive magical bonds would be a good place to start. Occulumancy, curse scars and curses affecting mental functions would also be useful to learn more about."
"Anything else?"
"I would remember to check for secondary wards," Snape sniffed and then swept out of the library.
With stunned amazement, Hermione stared into the shadows that Professor Snape had vanished into. It was so like the professor to have the last word. As childish as Snape's actions were, her face was still burning with anger and embarrassment from his parting dig. When she had recovered from her fit of pique, she noticed the stack of books beside the chair the professor had been sitting in. Not quite believing what she saw, Hermione began to sort through the books. Each one was on the topics the professor had mentioned. Deciding it would be better not to question it, she cracked open the first book.
Desperation was eating away at her nerves like acid. Two weeks had passed since she had opened the wards. Hermione had read everything Professor Snape had left for her and then launched into her own campaign of ransacking the stacks for further material. Everything she read lead to dead ends or created ever more complicated questions she couldn't answer. Perhaps most alarming was that Hermione was painfully close to exhausting what resources the Black Library had to offer. The truth was that Hermione was beginning to doubt that any library had what she needed.
Curse scars were very rare. Most spells simply weren't strong enough to linger in such a way. Usually a spell manifested itself for only a short duration. For example, a slashing curse cut the flesh but the curse itself ended once the damage was done. No remains of the curse lingered in the wound. Even those curses that had a more prolonged existence faded as their purpose was fulfilled or as the body and aura renewed and repaired itself. What examples of curse scars Hermione had found, were interesting but nothing at all like what Harry experienced. Harry was, after all, the only one to survive a full blown Avada Kedavra. It was a curse cast by one of the most powerful Dark Lords in history, no less. Once again, Harry's uniqueness was the cause of his suffering.
Her research into coercive spells was a little more successful. There were several spells that could accomplish similar things to what Harry was experiencing. Hermione had absorbed everything she could on the different levels these spells worked on and which parts of the mind were targeted. From her research she could see many parallels between that family of spells and Harry's experiences. Sadly, the spells she read about were nullified with a simple counter-curse. That would never work for Harry.
The other topics, both those suggested by Professor Snape and those she discovered on her own, were equally frustrating in their lack of results. With days passing ever so quickly, Hermione had set aside more and more time to read, something she had previously been careful to moderate for fear it might seem suspicious. To hide the long hours she was spending on reading, she had even purposefully argued with Ron. Feigning teenage indignation, she shut herself in her room where she had stored several volumes from the library. Despite her best efforts she'd found nothing. The dread that there might not be a solution was beginning to haunt Hermione's every waking moment. Nothing she had found gave her a way to turn off the connection.
Hermione scrubbed at eyes that were beginning to fill with tears. Her bed was covered with carefully organized piles of notes. They stood as mute testament to how hard she had worked and how impossible her task seemed. Hermione bit her lip, she couldn't think like that. She couldn't give up when Harry was depending on her. Why couldn't she find a way to block the wretched connection? Sagging back into her pillows, Hermione forced herself to calm down and look objectively at the problem.
Everything Dumbledore had tried and everything she had researched, had been aimed at finding something that would block the connection. Blocking the connection had seemed the logical solution. It would certainly be the best solution for Harry. Unfortunately, those efforts had failed. There just wasn't anything that work for a curse scar of Harry's magnitude. Hermione paused. The solution seemed logical and they had done their best to find its solution but she was beginning to wonder if that single-minded focus had blinded them to another solution.
Stimuli from Voldemort's mind were essentially flooding Harry's. If it was impossible to block the flood, could it be diverted?
Her hope revived on shaky wings, Hermione began tearing through her notes. Finding the pages she began to reread. The wizarding world held a rather odd mishmash of ideas about the human mind. They were often more focused on the results of using magic than they were in understanding why. Indeed, muggle scientists were further along in many ways. For all their lack of knowledge, Hermione couldn't argue that the spells, curses and potions she'd read about were certainly affective. Some were so effective that it was frightening. There were far more subtle curses than simply the Imperious.
Once she had gained a thorough overview of mind controlling magic, she had given up reading about specific spells. As varied as the spells were they couldn't block Harry's connection and so she'd ruled it unnecessary to read further. Now she was hoping they might hold the answer. Unfortunately, the books she needed weren't the ones she'd secreted away in her room. As it was still early afternoon, she would have a long wait until the Order left or retired for the night.
Hours passed and Hermione could barely contain her nervous energy. Again and again she rifled through the books and notes she had on hand. She must have driven Crookshanks mad as he pointedly left after she started pacing the floor. Dinner had been agony. Most of it passed in a blur but Hermione forced herself to sulk and glare at Ron to maintain her cover. All the while she felt guilty for the hurt and lack of comprehension on Ron's face and the evil eyes sent her way by the twins and Ginny. Harry was oblivious to it, far too sunken into his private hell to notice anything around him. Mrs Weasley had even resorted to feeding him like a toddler. When the few Order members present at Grimmauld Place during the day left, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Mrs Weasley and the others had gone to sleep an hour ago.
The library was just as she left it. Barely sparing a glance to the shelves she had once stared at with hunger, Hermione immediately began pulling books from the shelves. She placed the books on the desk that sat in the corner. The desk was not immediately in view, if by chance, someone should enter the library. Hermione hoped that if someone did intrude that she would have time to conceal herself and her books.
So immersed in the spellbooks Hermione almost fell to the floor when a hand grasped her shoulder. Stomach churning with her fright, she stumbled around, legs knocking against her chair to face the person who had disturbed her. The dour and always disapproving features of Professor Snape made Hermione flush in embarrassment. Having him catch her unawares twice was the beginning of a trend Hermione couldn't help but dislike. She was certain that he frightened ten years of her life away every time. The professor with drew his hand and crossed his arms over his chest. His raised eyebrow was all he graced her with.
"Professor Snape? Is there a problem with the wards?" Hermione asked.
"If you were so foolish as to disturb the wards after all this time, it would be on your own head. I simply wish to be informed of your progress."
From his tone, he demanded progress and yet expected her to have failed. Herminone's pride smarted but she clenched her jaw closed. As much as she wished to argue that she was doing perfectly well, she couldn't. Not only was she only able to research because of his good will, in all honesty, her progress was pitiful. She had expected to find a solution by now. The inherent arrogance of that assumption made Hermione want to cringe.
"I haven't found anything to block the connection," Hermione began. "I don't think that I will."
"So you're giving up?" Snape sneered in a tone that suggested that he wasn't surprised.
"Not exactly."
"What do you mean, not exactly?" the man snapped irritably.
"Nothing I've found will break the connection between Harry and Voldemort but... maybe that's the problem. Everyone has been so focused on breaking the connection, I don't think anyone has considered another solution."
The potions professor was silent for a moment. His already thin lips compressed into a determined line. Hermione suddenly regretted telling him her theory. She was grateful for his help but that didn't mean Hermione felt at ease with him. That was clearly the way he liked it.
"Explain, Miss Granger."
"I don't even know if it is possible yet," Hermione cautioned and Snape impatiently gestured for her to continue. "If we can't block off the connection, then it might be possible to direct it else where."
"Have you ever considered a career in the mediwizardry, Miss Granger?" Snape asked.
"Mediwizardry, sir?" Hermione asked a little bewildered by the sudden change of subject.
"Yes. You might find it useful to do some research into the field, particularly the mental disciplines used by mediwizards. To better understand your career options, of course."
"I'm sure it will be most educational, sir," Hermione replied dryly.
"I might even have a book you would find enlightening."
With his usual dramatic flair, Snape exited the library. A few moments later Hermione heard the front door open and then close. Snape's not-so-subtle suggestion had her somewhat confused but Hermione did not doubt that it made perfect sense to the potions master. He was not the kind of man to throw out useless suggestions or lead her on a wild goose chase with so much at stake. Not quite certain that Snape intended to return that night, Hermione began searching the Black library for texts on mediwizardry.
Surprisingly the library held quite a few books on the subject. This sent a chill up Hermione's spine. The Black family hardly had an interest in healing and Hermione was certain the philosophy regarding their presence in the collection, was something along the lines of 'all the better to torture you with, my dear'. Hermione felt more than a little satisfaction at being able to use them for their intended purpose. It was remarkably similar to the petty satisfaction she felt in 'defiling' the Most Noble House Of Black with her mudblood presence. Not that it was something she dwelt on... much.
She was flipping through a book on mental disorders when Snape returned to the library. Hermione was thankful that this time she had heard the swish of his robes. The large volume he extended without preamble lacked any markings that hinted at its contents. It was old, she could tell that much from the worn leather cover.
"This book is one of its kind and very previous to my line. It holds the work of one of my ancestors. He was very interested about the mental maladies that afflict wizardkind. Return it to me in pristine condition."
Snape did not need to threaten. It was all there in his eyes. While Hermione was aware of how much trust Snape had placed in her, she couldn't help but feel a little resentful. She would never harm a book! Hermione managed to mumble out an appropriate reply but her focus was on the tome the potions master had handed her.
"I'm sure you will find the appropriate diagnostic spells in the texts you've already collected. The rest you'll have to do yourself."
The meaningful stare made Hermione swallow hard. The potion master's white knuckled fists, told her that he was pushing the limits of what he could tell her or help her with. She nodded and he stalked out of the library. Hermione's previous concerns about the headmaster returned with vengeance. Just how far would Dumbledore go? Little resolved itself from the chaotic jumble of her doubts.
Resolutely, Hermione opened the large book and immersed herself into the writings of what seemed to be a madman. It was not exactly a book but rather a journal that detailed the experiments of Serid Snape. Apparently, he had been obsessed with the various manifestations of mental disturbance of both natural and magical origin. To Hermione's horror, his methods were to draw the madness of the target into his own mind. His intention was to refine or create better curses based on his experiences. While Hermione was certain that Serid was mad to begin with, his lunacy only increased as he continued his experiments. Finally the journal petered off into incoherency.
First hand accounts of madness were undeniably interesting but that wasn't what Hermione found herself absorbed by. Instead it was the spell Serid had constructed to absorb the madness of the subject. A connection to the subject's mind was first created, using a standard spell mediwizards used to diagnose and treat certain kinds of curses and mental disorders. Then Serid's curse was cast, essentially lifting the patters of the disorder from the subject's mind into that of the caster.
Serid's curse was a brilliant piece of work but it wasn't what Hermione needed by a long shot. It did, however, point the way. The journal also detailed how Serid had created it, including the complex arithmantical decompositions of elements that made up the curse. Hermione could easily identify the contributing theories and influences but that was about all. She was a gifted student at arithmancy but to alter a spell was graduate level work. With a small spike of annoyance, Hermione wondered since when she was afraid to try something. Hadn't she brewed Polyjuice Potion in second year? That was easily graduate level work. She wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing!
Even if her ego was growing to positively Slytherin proportions.
Hermione felt somewhat disconcerted at how easy it had been to curse Harry into an enforced slumber. She sighed a little. Perhaps she was a little guilty of buying into the whole 'Boy Who Lived' myth. Sometimes it was hard not to when she had seen with her own eyes how many scrapes Harry managed to survive. No matter how you looked at it, he had tremendous luck and some of the abilities to back it up. Thus, when she'd cast the sleep spell on him, Hermione had expected him to jump up and yell 'protego' before the curse could hit. He hadn't.
Now he was locked into sleep, unable to wake from even the most terrifying nightmare. This wasn't a torture that Hermione wanted to inflict on Harry but tonight it was necessary. It had taken nearly a week to complete her work and adapt the spell. She had then spent two nights resting and recuperating before she dared to look her work over. Serid had given her a blueprint and all she had to do was fill in the blanks.
With the Black library at her disposal, she had been able to do just that. Not that it had been easy. She had made calculation after calculation to estimate which spells would mold together the best. Then she had slowly merged them with yet more arithmancy and then spent long hours over dusty Latin dictionaries to fight the best form of incantation. The wand movements had been just as challenging. During the week it had taken, she had slept as little as Harry. Her work was an amazing success, except for one small detail.
The cobbled together spell was a combination of a dark spell and Serid's curse. The Dark Arts spell Hermione had used, was used to usurp control of a subject under the Imperius, from the one who had originally cast the curse. Not only did the spell's underlying construct match up well with Serid's spell but Hermione felt that using a spell specifically used with Unforgivables would give her a better possibility for success. They were closely related and similar in construct. That Dark spell would allow her to grasp the link forged between Harry and Voldemort. Of course, it was the second part of the spell, Serid's curse, that would allow her to wrench the unconscious part of the connection away from Harry.
That is where things became a little complicated. Serid had created his curse to take madness into his own mind. Everything about the curse was directed towards bringing about that specific conclusion. There was no way of changing the recipient unless she wanted to create a spell of her own. That would take months if not years. Harry didn't have that long.
Standing over Harry, her thoughts were no clearer and she still wavered on the brink of making a decision. Hermione had even considered going to Dumbledore. She had told herself that he was a great wizard and surely he could find a way to alter the spell but Hermione remained silent. She doubted he would change his views on the dark arts even when a solution to Harry's pain was within reach. It was also likely that she would be punished severely for dabbling in things that Dumbledore thought better left alone. That left her with a spell she feared to implement.
She had seen how Harry had suffered from the connection with Voldemort. Anyone who took that connection into themselves would suffer just the same. The problem was that Hermione knew only too well the concept of 'acceptable losses'. While that was a theory she had come to accept as a reality of war, being confronted with it when applied to her was another thing. Hermione was now struggling to reconcile what she believed with her instincts of self-preservation.
She had considered finding someone to cast the spell instead of herself. That line of thought hadn't gone far. How could she ask someone to sacrifice themselves if she couldn't find it within herself to do just that? Besides, the spell Hermione had created was untested and could have serious consequences. She knew the risks and she couldn't say that of someone without her intimate knowledge of the spell. She was already stretching her ethics as far as they would go by casting it on Harry who had no opportunity to agree or refuse.
With the risks so heavily outweighing the benefits, Hermione might have even considered not using the spell. Sadly, Hermione didn't have to know the prophecy Harry had hinted at, to guess Harry's survival was essential for the war. Anyone with an ounce of sense would have guessed there was something important about Harry with the way Voldemort was targeting him. As it was, Harry couldn't even hold a coherent conversation, let alone battle Voldemort. If it was Harry who would win the war for them, then she knew what she had to do.
Raising her wand and drawing on all her Gryffindor bravery, Hermione began to cast.
Her knees almost buckled at the strange sensation of Harry's brain functions filled her mind. The mediwizard spell was somewhat disconcerting but Hermione quickly mastered control of it. It was amazing how such a common spell was so absolutely essential to what she intended to do. Unless she could find the connection then it wouldn't matter what spell she cast.
Feeling rather than seeing, Hermione skimmed through Harry's brain functions. She could feel the hum of activity that governed Harry's breathing and unconscious bodily functions. Then her attention drifted to the flurry of activity that told her he was dreaming. There she found something strange. It was cool and tangled through different parts of his mind. Gingerly Hermione followed the threads of this strange presence and found herself pull away from Harry's mind. As she did so, the spell begin to waver. Before the mediwizard spell failed she pulled herself back to where the cool strands touched Harry's mind.
Her stomach filled with butterflies, Hermione once again raised her wand. With practiced movements, she swished, flicked and twirled as she spoke the incantation to her modified spell.
Molly Weasley had become used to the screams that woke her in the night. In some ways it was no different from the twins' early years. They had woken her up nearly every hour of the night. A little Pepperup Potion in the morning and she was fine. Molly only wished that Harry's troubles were so easily solved. The poor dear was so brave but anyone could see he was suffering beyond human endurance. When screams once again broke out in Grimmauld Place, the Weasley matriarch was already out the door and down the hallway before she realized that the screams were far too high in pitch to be Harry's. Her heart started pounding double time as she swung Harry's door open. While the screams might not have belonged to him they were certainly coming from his room.
A cloud of bushy hair fanned the floor, framing the writhing girl. The sounds being ripped from her throat were high and piercing. Thin limbs twitched as muscles clenched and released as if being pulled by an inept puppeteer. Molly fumbled with her wand for the first time in three decades as she cast 'enervate'. To her relief, the spell managed to leave her wand without error. It hit Hermione but still the girl screamed.
In growing panic, Molly ran through her list of mediwizard cures and counter curses. Her repertoire was quite large after dealing with the mishaps of seven mischief making children but nothing she did seemed to help. Seeing that her wand offered no remedy, Molly instead embraced the girl, murmuring comforting things. Slowly, of her own accord, Hermione slowly stopped her thrashing. The screaming had also died down to whimpers. Molly might have thought it was over except for the glassy eyes that gazed out sightlessly. As she watched Hermione curled into a fetal position and seemed to fall into unconsciousness. Molly was hesitant to release the girl but she had to see to Harry. She had been so focused on what was happening to Hermione she hadn't even glanced his way.
To her amazement the boy was sleeping. Not only was he sleeping but it seemed that Harry wasn't plagued by the nightmares that had tormented him. His body was limp and his face no longer clenched in a grimace. Molly fingered her wand with indecision. She wanted to wake Harry and ask him what had happened but this was the first peaceful rest he'd had in weeks. Finally she gathered the covers closer to the boy and took a blanked from the bed and placed it around Hermione.
She had no idea what had happened but the seeping cold of dread had gathered in her heart. Although she'd said nothing, Molly had noticed the hours Hermione had spent in her room, locked away from the rest of the household. This she had attributed to the quarrels Hermione had with Ron and pain of watching Harry's decline. Molly had decided that as long as Hermione appeared for meals she would not say anything. Hermione was the well behaved and reliable sort. Indeed she had relied on the girl to restrain the boys on several occasions. Now Molly was beginning to think that she should have said something. Exactly what Hermione had done, Molly didn't know. She did suspect that it had something to do with Harry and his nightmares. Finally, Molly locked the door and hurried down to the floo.
"Mum, what was all the screaming? That wasn't Harry!" Ron asked as he rubbed his eyes blurrily.
"Go back to bed, Ron. There was just a little accident."
"An accident! Mum-"
"Go to bed, Ronald."
"Fine!"
Molly watched her youngest boy stomp back to his bedroom. For once she was thankful for teenage temper tantrums. Hopefully he would have a good sulk and then go back to bed. She felt a little guilty for purposefully provoking her youngest son into a teenage snit but she didn't want her youngest boy to fret over something he couldn't do anything about. They were so young and they were dealing with too much as it was. As a mother she would fight tooth and nail to keep them from more pain. In her opinion they had taken on too much responsibility as it was.
To her aggravation, it took her longer than she expected to contact the Headmaster. From the sleepy expression he tried to hide, Molly guessed that Dumbledore had been asleep. She regretted pulling him from bed but it was an emergency.
"Molly, what is it my dear?" Dumbledore asked through the Floo.
"There's an emergency. I-I don't know what Hermione has done but she's in a bad way. Send Poppy through to us and you had better come as well."
"Calm down and explain this to me again."
"I was woken up by screams but they weren't Harry's. I found Hermione on the floor having some kind of seizure. Nothing I did seemed to help her. When it was over I checked on Harry. Albus, he's sleeping! Sleeping peacefully!" Molly cried.
"Are you certain that a mediwitch is needed? Poppy isn't one of the Order," Dumbledore cautioned.
"You know I'm no slouch with medimagic but nothing I've cast seems to help! This isn't some childhood ailment or prank!"
"Very well, I'll contact Poppy and Severus, then I'll be there myself," Albus replied with a worried frown.
Molly counted every minute until the headmaster flooed through with the others. Madam Pomfrey seemed a little disoriented but quickly regained control of herself, projecting the familiar competent professionalism that made Molly respect her so. Severus was scowling as usual but Molly recognized something almost pensive in his expression.
"Molly, where is young Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked.
"Upstairs in Harry's room. I left her on the floor because I didn't want to disturb her. She finally stopped screaming and I didn't dare wake her."
"Severus, why don't you take Poppy to check on Miss Granger and Mr Potter?"
As with many of Dumbledore's requests, there was little room to argue. Molly watched as they left and then turned to face Dumbledore. He was clearly tired but was dressed and seemed more awake than he'd been when she flooed him. Molly was struck by how old he seemed. Dumbledore rarely looked his age but worry and the burdens of war were making their mark.
"Can you tell me exactly what happened, Molly?" Dumbledore asked.
"I've told you all I know. I woke up and found Hermione collapsed on the floor. I ran through a variety of medimagic and counter curses but nothing worked. Finally I just rocked her and she fell silent. It was as if she was so exhausted, her body just couldn't scream anymore."
"Was there anything else?" Dumbledore pressed.
"No. She's been acting a little strangely but I brushed it off. All the children have been having a hard time seeing Harry so miserable. I-I just thought..." Molly drifted off and then shook her head. "I should have noticed something was wrong, Albus! Hermione has been locked up in her room almost all the time. I should have known!"
"Don't blame yourself. Miss Granger has always been rather independent and studious. I didn't suspect anything, either. Come now, sit down while I check our Miss Granger's room."
Albus Dumbledore sat on the edge of the parchment strewn bed. He cradled his face with his hands and took a deep shuddering breath. All about him was evidence of what Miss Granger had been working on. Originally it had been neatly ordered and placed in clear view on the middle of the bed. He suspected that she had done this intentionally in case something had gone wrong. With all his heart Dumbledore wondered how he could have missed something of such magnitude going on right beneath his nose.
Time and time again he had heard from his staff just how determined and stubborn Hermione Granger was. Albus had been rather proud of the bushy haired muggleborn that had set pureblood preconceptions on their ear by simply existing. It had been a blessing from the gods that she was in Harry's year and then later became friends with him. Dumbledore had relied on her soft heart and level headedness to see Harry through his most difficult periods. She had never let him down until now.
The Dark Arts were an undeniable temptation for any intelligent and powerful witch or wizard. They had all the allure of the forbidden and they lived up to the promises of power... at a price. Invariably the Dark Arts hardened the heart and the proffered power corrupted. As a young man Albus had found his resolve not to delve into their mysteries tested severely at times. He had struggled but in the end he had prevailed. Others were not as resolute in their convictions and Albus had seen more than one promising individual destroyed by their curiosity. Tom Riddle was the perfect example. The boy had such talent and power but he had squandered it on his pride. Now Hermione Granger was following the same path. Dumbledore only hoped that it was not too late and she would be able to see very foolish her actions were.
Somehow the stubborn witch had broken into the Black Library. Albus sighed. He knew he should have done the wards himself but there had been so many far more important things to do at the time. As a result, Hermione had then spent a significant amount of time researching all the Dark Arts had to offer in regards to mind control and who knew what else. It was simple to guess what her intentions were. Dumbledore knew that she hated seeing Harry so tormented. In a way he wasn't surprised that she would go to such lengths to try and help him.
Her research might have ended up going nowhere except for one thing- the book lying so innocently beside him. Cold anger slowly replaced Dumbledore's disappointment. Severus had no place supplying the girl with texts on the dark arts and certainly not anything written by that madman Serid. He had trusted the dark Slytherin and Albus was greatly displeased to see his trust abused. He would deal with Severus later. Now he needed to see speak to Madam Pomfrey.