Disclaimer: I have been sitting here pondering what it would be like to own the Harry Potter universe (which I don't, by the way). I suppose it would mean that I could sleep in a lot and spend a considerable amount of my time writing and talking about Harry Potter, all while making deplorable sums of money. Heck, I do that stuff for free!
A/N: I have very little to say this time. I know, I know, you're all terribly disappointed that I'm not going to ramble on for four paragraphs before I get to the actual story, but you'll all just have to be strong! I hope you enjoy reading the chapter, because I enjoyed writing it. I felt that Chapter 4 was semi-intense, and we all needed a little break. I also had a specific image in my head that was making my smile, and this felt like a good place to fit it in. Without further ado, on to the chapter!
Chapter 5: The Night of the Fallen Textbook
"You and Malfoy are what?" Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, where a hell of a migraine was beginning to form. It was late, and the Gryffindor common room was all but empty, so Hermione was curled up in one of the prized armchairs by the fire. Ron and Harry sat across from her. Ron seemed utterly perplexed by Hermione's concise explanation of the previous day's events, and his incomprehension had resulted in several interruptions and this final disbelieving query, which was beginning to grate on her already frayed nerves. Harry, by contrast, had remained silent throughout the story, and his knitted brows and slight frown bespoke perfect comprehension and a profound concern.
"Ron, darling, this has been a very long day for me," she said from behind closed eyelids. "Please don't make me repeat myself. I love you dearly, and do not want to kill you." Ron scowled at her, and Harry's lips twitched with a small smile, though his bottle-green eyes remained dark with worry.
"Why didn't you tell us about this right away?" Harry asked. His voice held the faintest trace of reproach, and Hermione felt a twinge of guilt.
"For a while, I didn't understand what was happening. Once I did, I thought I should try to talk to Malfoy first. He's in this mess, too, you know." At this, the boys shared a malevolent glance.
"I'm still not sure he didn't do this on purpose," Ron grumbled sullenly, crossing his arms over his chest.
"He most certainly did not, Ron," she exclaimed with exasperation. "He's no happier about this than I am."
"Is there any way to fix this?" Harry wanted to know. "An antidote, a charm, some kind of spell?"
"It's a very rare phenomenon, Harry. Only eleven cases have ever been reported, so there hasn't been much research into the subject, and no cure has ever been found." She hesitated slightly, unsure if she should tell them about Delilah James and her missing journals. She felt another twinge of guilt as she remembered Harry's reproachful gaze as he'd asked her why she'd kept things from them. "I did find a reference to a woman who managed to . . ." She groped for the right word, unsure of what it was herself. " . . . block the effects somehow."
"What do you mean, 'block the effects?'" Ron wanted to know.
"It was a very vague reference, and from a secondary source, as well. I think she found a way to hide her feelings from the man she was connected to." Both boys brightened at this prospect.
"How did she do it?" Harry asked.
"I don't know!" Hermione replied, almost wailing in frustration. "She never revealed her method, and when she was married her personal journals were lost." The three remained silent for a while, contemplating Hermione's predicament.
"What did Malfoy do when you told him about the journals?" Harry asked suddenly into the silence. That morning's events in the library flashed through Hermione's mind, and she looked into the fire to avoid their gazes, fearful that they would see in her eyes the grief that Malfoy had so inopportunely brought to the surface.
"I never really got a chance to tell him. I went to find him, and I could tell he was still angry, and confused. I was almost beginning to feel sorry for him. Then he opened his mouth and couldn't resist acting like a prat, as usual." Her eyebrows furrowed, and she stared into the fire thoughtfully. "I'm starting to wonder if that's his defense mechanism when he's feeling insecure." She looked up, and Ron and Harry were staring at her as though she'd grown another head, stripped down to her knickers, and begun dancing around the fireplace.
"What?" she asked.
"I know you were not just considering the idea that Malfoy acts like a spoiled, arrogant git because he's insecure," Ron exclaimed disbelievingly. He leaned forward in his chair and took one of Hermione's hands in his, looking at her as one might look at a very small, rather stupid child. "Listen very closely, Hermione. Malfoy acts like a prat because Malfoy is a prat. Now is no time to go developing a soft spot for poor, misunderstood, filthy rich, Muggle-hating future Death Eaters." Hermione shook her head to dispel whatever mutinous thoughts had been brewing there.
"Absolutely not. Of course Malfoy's a prat. I know he's a prat. I was just saying that -- " She jumped suddenly in her chair and put one hand to her forehead, and Harry looked at her in mild alarm.
"You okay, Hermione?" he asked.
"I'm fine, I just . . ." She rubbed her forehead gingerly. " I thought I felt something hit me." She looked up into the empty air above her head as though expecting to see the offending 'something' hovering above her, waiting to have another go. Harry and Ron exchanged knowing looks.
"You've had a long couple of days, Hermione," Harry said, getting up from his chair. "Why don't you go to bed? Tomorrow's a weekend, so you can sleep in and in the morning we'll figure something out, okay?" Hermione looked at him out of the corner of her eye, still rubbing her throbbing head. She was not known as the cleverest witch in her year for nothing, and she knew when she was being patronized, but it struck her suddenly how very tired she was, having had almost no sleep the night before. Also, she was really in no mood to relive the memory Malfoy had experienced that morning, and she knew that if she told them what had happened, they would want to know the details. She nodded at Harry's suggestion and rose from her chair as well.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said wearily as she mounted the stairs to the seventh-year girls' dormitory, thinking morosely about the headache she was going to have in the morning. Because her back was to them, Hermione did not see Ron and Harry watching her until she was out of sight, identical frowns of worry on their faces.
"Damn it!" Malfoy swore as a thick textbook fell from the top shelf of his bookcase and bounced off his forehead. He pressed one hand against the tender spot and kicked the offending object viciously before returning it to its place beside the book he had actually been reaching for. He pulled the correct volume from its orderly place and returned to his desk, which was buried beneath a mountain of notes and books he'd taken from the library.
It was late, and Malfoy was both tired and unusually irritable, but he was not going to allow Granger to outdo him in this, too. He had spent all afternoon and most of the evening searching for whatever it was that she had been intending to tell him before the incident in the library. If she knew something valuable, than he was damned well going to know it too, and he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of telling him.
Every book he'd found that mentioned the Partis Sensus potion was depressingly vague about the side effect referred to in some texts as the Iunctus Mens Effect. Malfoy grew more annoyed with each reference to the phenomenon, which seemed to grow progressively more cryptic and evasive each time he came across one. Even the name began to grate on his nerves. Connected minds, indeed! Academics could be so melodramatic.
The closest he'd come was a book on magical side effects, which seemed to lean somewhat toward paranoia and conspiracy theories, in Malfoy's personal opinion. The potion and its side effect were both in the index, but the correct page was missing, and seemed to have been torn out fairly recently. Malfoy knew instantly who had done it, and briefly considered stalking up to the Gryffindor common room and murdering the insufferable know-it-all. The thought cheered him momentarily, as he realized that this would effectively break their bond, but the plan's impracticality and the fact that it would most likely be an unpleasant experience for him quickly caused him to reject the idea.
He was now resorting to one of a small collection of books that his father insisted Draco take to school with him. They were academic writings, all very rare first-editions that were more useful as status symbols than as research materials, but Malfoy was growing desperate. Perhaps Twentieth Century Potions Masters: Their Work and Theories would shed some much-needed light on his predicament.
He was almost absent-mindedly browsing the table of contents, not really believing he'd find anything, when he did a double-take and blinked sleepy eyes at one specific entry. Chapter 3 of the book was entitled "Cractacus Hopper and the Iunctus Mens Effect." He flipped quickly to page and began to skim the words written there. The grin that crossed his face was so unlike his usual smirk that people who didn't know him well might not have recognized him.
If he was not mistaken, he had just outdone Hermione Granger.