Chapter 20: Heroes and Villains
"What is this called again?" asked Hermione, staring uncertainly at the woman hacking away at her cuticles.
"A manipedi," replied Susan. "Isn't it fun?"
Beside her, Cho and Katie giggled, clearly enjoying themselves, while Hermione wore a nervous frown. She might have been more comfortable if she didn't feel so sorry for the beautician. Hermione's nails were not normal—they were made from Alicorn horn and impossible to cut by hand. Even magical solutions were tough to find.
Not that the witch in front of her seemed to care. She scrubbed her nail file with an expert's precision, and once or twice Hermione thought she could see progress, but it was probably just wishful thinking.
Her cuticles were normal, at least, so the beautician had switched tactics and was trimming those to perfection.
When they got the bill, Hermione blinked to make sure she was seeing correctly.
"Two galleons?" she croaked, estimating it at around 100 pounds. "But the treatment was only supposed to be one..."
Then Hermione remembered all the extra things her friends had asked for that they'd cajoled her into trying too, saying, "Get this one, the colours change every few hours!" and "It'll make your skin glow and your pores invisible!" If she'd known the cost, she would have realized she didn't need invisible pores.
And then, with a wave of her hand, Hannah snatched Hermione's bill and said, "Put it on my tab, Mari."
Hermione gaped at her. "You can't, Hannah!"
"It's okay!" said Hannah, smiling. "I get a discount, you know, if I spend more. Besides, I've already decided I'm treating you today, and nothing you say will make me change my mind."
The four girls—Hannah, Hermione, Cho Chang and Katie Bell—all left the beauty parlour looking about as pretty as when they went in, but feeling a lot better about themselves. Hermione kept rubbing the smooth skin on her hands, smiling at the moon and stars painted on her nails.
They went across the street and got green tea smoothies—which Susan declared was the best thing for after the salon—and then sat down in a booth to chat.
While Katie regaled everyone with a story about her horrid summer vacation, Hermione couldn't help glancing at Cho Chang. She smiled easily, her eyes gentle and expressive, which gave her an almost childlike aura. Hermione wondered if that was what Harry liked about her, or maybe it was her slight frame and long, shiny hair.
Cho Chang glanced at Hermione, who jerked her head away to pretend she hadn't been looking. Hermione knew her jealousy was stupid, especially since he'd already said he wouldn't be dating either of them.
And yet, he'd been living with Cho Chang in Ravenclaw for 5 years, but he'd only been around Hermione for less than 2, and next year she'd be back at Beauxbatons. Cho Chang was an intelligent and accomplished witch, someone Harry could befriend when Hermione was gone. Maybe he would decide the Noble House of Potter needed an heir, and of course he'd pick her because she was cute and slim and…well, normal. Hermione wasn't sure if her modified biology would allow her to have children at all.
Katie gasped. "My purse! I think I forgot it at the shop."
Everyone stood to follow her to the salon, as Katie described all the places she could have left it and all the things inside she was afraid were gone.
Hermione heard a small pop behind her, and then a horn honking loudly. She turned to see a young woman holding an infant, standing directly in the path of an oncoming truck.
Hermione had to act fast. She'd tested at 800 kilometres per hour, around the speed of a jet plane. However, she couldn't just launch herself that fast, or she'd crush them, but too slow and they'd be crushed by the truck.
So, she did what she'd trained for in practice. She ran to the spot instantaneously, skidded against the pavement, then grabbed the woman to sprint them both away from the eighteen wheeler's looming bumper. The truck swerved, missing them by inches as Hermione fled to the sidewalk and deposited them among the curious onlookers.
"I'm sorry—ahh, I'm so sorry!" cried the woman.
"Don't worry, it was no trouble. I'm just glad you're…"
Hermione glanced down at her shirt, where there was a giant wet spot.
"She spit up on you," admitted the woman, dabbing Hermione ineffectually with a duck print cloth. Then, smacking her forehead, she laughed and drew her wand, "Everto. Sorry, I forget sometimes, since she drools so often I have to clean it by hand." The lady beamed at Hermione, adjusting the child's position in her arms. "Thank you so much for saving us! We apparated in and I must have gotten the location messed up. Ahh, I should have listened to Jessie and just taken the tram."
"Would you like to sit down?" asked Hermione, noticing how flushed the woman looked, and how her step rocked a bit.
"Yes—yes, I would," she replied, and Hermione took her to the coffee shop and ordered her a drink. Hermione couldn't help the warm surge of pride at being helpful as she handed the cocoa to the lady, who sipped gratefully and said, "You're such a kind girl, just like all the newspapers say. Why, my sister won't believe me, that I was saved by the Girl-Who-Revived!"
Hermione flushed and said, "I just wanted to help."
"Can I shake your hand?" asked the lady, clasping Hermione's warm hands in hers. "Your family must be so proud of you, and I hope someday my daughter might be like you. You're a beacon, Miss Granger. Don't stop giving us hope."
Hermione left to rejoin her friends, but she was quiet for much of the afternoon. The warm pride had left her with a sudden realization. She'd been focusing on all the wrong things. Being an Auror wasn't about pleasing Madam Bones, or logging enough duelling hours, or earning points with adoring fans. It was about helping people who needed her the most, and she was going to spend her life doing that, no matter what.
It was weird how life had a habit of testing resolutions as soon as she made them.
The last three days had been brutal. Hermione had been required to do a lot of Triwizard prep work, which meant spending six hours each day underwater. And on top of this, it was clear Madam Bones had asked her co-workers to babysit her, as Auror Lee was constantly watching her work instead of focusing on his own. That meant it took twice as long, and everyone was upset and annoyed.
Hermione, for the umpteenth time that week, plunked down at the Hufflepuff table for dinner. She had become a regular guest, but she could tell by the looks that she was wearing out her welcome. She couldn't help it that she didn't want to talk and that she looked like death. She needed that delicious pie, and didn't care what she had to do to get it.
"Umm…Hermione?" asked Neville.
"What?"
"You're…umm…pouring ketchup in your soup."
She glanced down to see plops of tomato goo in her chicken soup. Oops.
Moving the ketchup bottle, she squirted it on her chips and, with a wave of her wand, sent the soup back to the kitchens.
Neville set down his spoon. "Are you alright, Hermione? We're worried about you."
Hannah, who sat diagonally across from her, leaned forward, her gaze concerned. "He's right. You've not been yourself."
"I'm just a bit tired, that's all," said Hermione. She would have explained more, if not for the fact that she was dangerously close to the loopy state where she would reveal secret tournament information.
She saw a few Hufflepuffs sneak glances at the Ravenclaw table, probably expecting to see a sullen, sulking Harry. Hermione sighed—they would always assume her problems revolved around him. Admittedly, sitting beside the boy who'd rejected her wasn't the best thing for her at the moment, but the main reason she'd defected to Hufflepuff was the food.
A Slytherin girl passed behind Neville and dropped a book. "Oh no!" she cried. "It looks like I'll need to…"
She bent down, just as Neville turned to help, and then she quickly jerked back to her feet, her hand smacking into his head.
"Oww!" he said, rubbing his nose. "Are you…?"
The girl shrieked and ran off.
Neville frowned after her. "That's the third time this week. Every time I see her, something weird happens. Maybe I'm just bad luck?"
"Oy, isn't that girl part of Ginny's group?" said one of his friends. "What's she doing on the Hufflepuff side, anyway?
Neville watched her return to her seat, and then ducked his head back to his food. "Yeah. Weird."
A few moments later, Hermione felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Harry. "After dinner, can I talk to you?"
Outside the Great Hall, in a little used corridor, Hermione found Harry leaning against the wall.
"Busy day?" asked Harry, hands shoved in his pockets.
"Yes," sighed Hermione. "I wish I could talk about it, but, you know, secrets."
He nodded. "I know. But, if you want to complain in vague terms, I'm here to listen."
Hermione smiled. "Thanks, Harry."
"Well, I can see you look tired, so, I'm guessing you're not up for research tonight. Want to do some light reading? I found some interesting books when I went into town last week. Or we could play a game. Michael Corner has cards we could borrow, and I heard the Hufflepuffs have an entire game closet."
Hermione looked at the floor, a knot twisting in her stomach. If she tried to bring up the fact that spending so much time alone with him was making people talk, he would say that their opinions didn't matter. She didn't know how to tell him that being treated like she was special—reading and working together, telling secret private jokes—was no longer comfortable. She wished she could wave a magic wand and make things normal again, but it didn't work like that.
What really sucked was that her best friend was trying to cheer her up, but the only thing he could do to help was leave her alone.
"I'm really tired," she said. "I'm going to turn in early."
He was silent for a moment, then nodded, as if he'd expected that. They started walking back out into the main hallway. "Umm…before you go," said Harry. "I wanted to ask you one thing. I found this quest, and I don't know where it goes, but there's one riddle that stumps me—"
"Now, there's the two students I've been looking for," said a voice behind them, clapping them on the shoulders. Hermione jumped, and Harry's wand found a way to his hand. Slughorn's voice continued. "Why don't you both meet me in my office in 5 minutes?"
Harry and Hermione glanced at each other as he walked away. Despite Slughorn's genial tone, they both knew that wasn't a suggestion.
Five minutes later, Harry and Hermione sat beside each other in the emerald-tinted office of the Head of Slytherin. The chairs were stuffed and upholstered in a psychedelic green and brown, a pattern leftover from the 1970s. Pictures on the desk showed Slughorn shaking hands with various famous individuals, and on his walls, an assortment of awards, diplomas, and pastoral art. A deer leapt over a river in the painting before him, as if running from the hunting parties in the picture beside it.
"Would you care for a spot of tea?" asked Slughorn, pouring a steaming cup. "I always prepare lemon tea after dinner. It helps with digestion and getting a good night's rest."
Hermione looked at Harry, then shrugged and accepted the cup. Harry followed suit, though he did do a cursory potion test. Slughorn calmly sipped his tea and studied them both.
"You've grown to be fine young students. Miss Hermione Granger of Beauxbatons, the Girl-Who-Revived and Auror-in-training, and Harry Potter of Hogwarts, the Boy-Who-Lived and a burgeoning scientist. The two of you make a handsome pair."
Harry sat in silence, waiting for him to get on with it. Normally, he might have played around a bit with sarcastic comments, but Hermione was here so he didn't.
"In fact," said Slughorn, leaning forward. "I heard from one of my students that you're working on a very intriguing project. But I'd like to hear it from you- is it true you're trying to create a Spell of Identity?"
It didn't take long for Harry to figure out who told Slughorn, but he decided there would be no harm in discussing their experiment. As he explained it, he looked to Hermione for input, but she kept her eyes trained on her lap.
"Ahh," said Slughorn, tenting his fingers. "That is an excellent idea, and exactly the sort of thing young Ravenclaws ought to be doing. Unfortunately, the Slytherins beat you to it by about 30 years."
Harry sighed. "Yes, well, I figured there might be a similar spell already in existence. If there weren't, then I don't know how magical researchers can do their work with any sort of efficiency."
"Oh, you would be surprised. Only fifty years ago, my co-workers made do with the crudest of sorting spells to identify most objects, relying instead on building a great memory for the attributes of each substance and potion. I never was one for memorization, and neither was my friend, Phineas Scarpin. He worked for several years at the Ministry. Did you know that they have a giant book that includes the name and description of every magical item located within England?"
Slughorn waited, expecting an answer. "Question," said Harry, leaning forward. "Do you mean all the items located in England at the time of the book's writing, or every magical item currently located within its borders? I mean, does it keep updating continuously?"
"No, yes and yes," responded Slughorn. "It's one of the ways that the Ministry can keep track of illegal magical contraband. My friend Phineas worked within the customs department, and it made things quite difficult when he confiscated something but couldn't figure out what it was. So he concocted a few strategies to simplify his work for him."
Professor Slughorn drew a potion from his desk, and poured a small amount over his pen. The potion dripped onto the desk, and Slughorn said. "The pen, as you can see, was a gift from a Muggleborn student and is non-magical." Slughorn turned and dripped a bit more of the potion over a lamp. "Item: Green shaded lamp," said a woman's voice. "Place of purchase: Flourish and Blotts. Item code: 29472—"
Horace cast 'Scourgify,' and the voice ceased. "It works on any magical item in the room. You're free to test it if you like."
He passed the potion to the space between Harry and Hermione. Before Harry could touch it, Professor Slughorn cast a yellow spell over the potion, which Harry recognized as the "Don't steal this," enchantment.
Not that Harry would have done that, but it wouldn't have been very Slytherin to do otherwise.
Harry glanced at Hermione, holding out the potion, but she just shook her head and took a sip of her tea. She really must be tired if a magical solution to their research couldn't interest her.
Harry examined the bottle, "What happens if I pour it on myself?"
"It will burn a little," said Professor Slughorn. "But it won't set off the spell, since wizards don't count as magical items."
Harry suspected he wasn't the only wizard who'd tried to enchant his body parts. Were those…err…items not included within the database? What about his robe pocket? These were questions he couldn't test around Horace Slughorn, or think too loudly in his presence.
"I'll test it later," said Harry, handing back the potion. "After I make my own."
"How will you do that, my boy?" asked Slughorn.
"Umm…I suppose I'll ask you to teach me how."
"I'm not sure I can do that," said Slughorn, shaking his head. "I am quite a busy man. My only free time is reserved for my extracurricular activities, such as the Slug Club."
Harry had figured that was where it was going. "I suppose if a student were to join your Slug Club, you might have time to slip them the potion recipe over dessert?"
"Oh, I could do more than that," said Slughorn. "I could even personally instruct a student on how to brew it. As long as they've attended a few of my dinners, of course."
"Which days?" asked Harry, resigning himself.
Slughorn beamed. "We have a meeting tomorrow evening. I do hope to see both of you there."
"That's Thursday," said Harry. "Hermione has Auror dinners on Thursdays."
"Ahh, is that so?" said Slughorn, rapping his fingers against the table. "Well, then I suppose there's no harm in moving my meetings to Sunday evenings for the duration of the semester. Are you free then, my dear Hermione?"
She didn't react to the term of endearment. "Yes, I am," she replied.
"Good," he said, and stood up from his chair. "I expect to see you both at 7:00 pm. Have a pleasant evening."
Once the door closed behind them, Harry said, "Of all the professors in Hogwarts, I honestly didn't expect it would be Slughorn who would have the answers."
Hermione said, with a soft, regretful smile, "I guess this means we're not working on the project anymore."
Harry turned to her, feeling a similar regret washing over him. "Well…think of it this way. We learned a lot about spell creation in the process, which we will use on future projects. I have plenty more ideas for experiments that we can work on together, and you can pick the next topic of research."
"You're right." She shrugged. "Still, I think we could have solved it eventually, on our own."
Harry felt a pang in his heart. "Yes. I'm sure we could have."
Sometimes it wasn't fun to have the adults solve your problems for you.
They walked on in silence for a few moments, while Harry racked his brain for something to talk about.
"So, Slughorn's dinner party," said Harry. "That should be…interesting."
"I know. Perhaps we'll get another long lecture about following our dreams."
"Or even better, a long lecture about how all of Slughorn's prized students followed their dreams, while we sit in rapt silence for 45 minutes."
Hermione smiled. They reached the corridor where they normally separated for their dorms. The hallway around them was empty. "Hey Harry?" she said.
"What?"
Hermione hugged him. "Thanks for being a good friend."
Surprised, Harry only just barely returned the hug when she released him. "Goodnight," she said, and walked away.
After the students left, Horace sat back in his chair, taking a sip of his tea.
At some point during their visit, Horace had discovered that the rumours of Harry's flight ability were true. He also realized, through a few careful experiments, that Harry was a skilled Occlumens. There were always tells—for example, a student wouldn't put up such a careful wall against their true thoughts unless they knew they might be searched. He'd been coaching Blaise in occlumency, but Harry was beyond his level, as if he'd been practicing for years.
Horace smiled and flicked his wand, the opening strains of a Strauss horn concerto filling the room.
The boy was smart, but he missed details on occasion. For example, he'd neglected ask after the other means of determining the identity of a substance—the one that involved charm work, and which could examine magical artefacts within a human person. It was useful for detecting the…more common means of smuggling contraband.
Perhaps Horace would tell him later, if Harry continued to attend the meetings. Horace really hoped he would, as he had great aspirations for the boy. He knew people who would be quite interested in meeting him to discuss career prospects.
As for Hermione Granger, he couldn't get a read on her at all. He'd tried several times, but she'd kept her eyes almost exclusively on her tea cup. It was mystifying how a girl who seemed entirely devoid of Slytherin cunning could keep eluding him. Unless, that's what she wanted him to think. Maybe the trick was to get him to underestimate her, so she could trap him unawares.
Slughorn shook his head. No, that couldn't be right. He'd taught so many Slytherins that he knew what real cunning looked like, and she would be an unskilled user at best. In fact, if he examined her carefully, he realized she reminded him quite strongly of a young Gryffindor he used to teach. He smiled at the memory. A bright, noble witch who was both a great leader and good friend. Hermione was a bit more reserved than she had been, but no less brave.
And Harry, now that he thought about it, reminded him of someone too.
Horace stiffened, the room seeming to grow degrees colder. With a shaking hand, he whisked away the tea, while the music continued in lilting tones.
Perhaps it would best to put this reminiscing out of his mind. He glanced at his clock, which read 8:30. Time for his nightcap.
As he poured the wine, Horace turned to more pleasant thoughts. He would have to call up his old friends and ask about their Christmas plans. It was going to be an exciting party this year.
