Chapter 39: Asking the Right Questions

January 1st, 1996

Draco didn't quite know what to think of the Priestess.

He was currently sitting in her tower room in Durmstrang, swirling his fork in his dinner. As usual, she had prepared a meal before their meeting. While they dined together, Draco and the other leaders reported on their work with the Factionists. She, in turn, asked questions before issuing further orders.

There was nothing all that strange about this arrangement, he supposed. His father often met with his subordinates over dinner. It helped to establish bonds and showed you were generous enough to share from your table. Still, Draco felt a sense of unease when he met with her, and he was struggling to pinpoint why.

Perhaps it had something to do with her odd mix of traits. She was obviously quite powerful and cunning, to the point that she reminded him (to his chagrin) of Harry Potter with more charisma. She commanded blind loyalty from her followers, and they would readily give their lives for her. The Factionists believed in their benefactress, and she was delivering on her promises. Each day, they grew closer to making free England a reality.

But at times, she seemed to fade to the point she was only half-present. When they met privately, which happened on occasion, she was different. She'd speak to Draco in riddles, her eyes searching his for understanding, and then abruptly lapse into a hostile silence. She often spent her time, while he gave his report, staring at a giant mirror in her room. Her fingers would tap against the arm rest, as if irritated she wasn't free to be alone with her thoughts.

At the moment, though, she was quite animated, excited by the recent turn of events. The other leaders had been dismissed for the day, and only Draco remained, sitting at her small coffee table.

"Draco," she said, pouring him a bit more tea. "We are in a position to move forward to the next step, and I believe you're ready for your first group of informants. However, we first need to make a change of plans. My followers have been focused on collecting information about the philosopher's stone and the source of magic. You and a few others will be looking for something else."

"What do you mean?" asked Draco.

The Priestess picked up her cup and added two sugars, stirring slowly. "There are prophecies that the end of the world is coming. Let's assume they're true. We need to figure out why, when, and how we can stop it. I firmly believe that the evidence we seek is in one of two places. I'm already exploring one, now you are tasked with exploring the other.

"If it turns out the prophecies are misinterpreted, then we can move forward with our original plan. But if not, we must be prepared. Draco, you must guide your new team toward this avenue of questioning, even if it means you must sacrifice other information in the process."

Draco frowned, hiding it behind a sip of tea. There was only so much intel they could collect, usually no more than the answer to 3 questions at a time. He understood why they needed to change tactics, but his mother was living on borrowed time. He needed to find out where the philosopher's stone was, and soon, so he could heal her.

The Priestess stirred her cup thoughtfully. "Normally, I wouldn't concern myself with seers. Over the centuries, there have been quite a few prophecies regarding the end of the world. They're not common, but they're far from rare. I've always dismissed them as fearmongering, as they never amount to anything.

"However, I have heard a few of the recent prophecies, and something about them doesn't add up. I think we're missing some important piece of information, and we need to find out what it is before the Ministry does. It's very important to influence the bend of the prophecy. You must be my eyes and ears, Draco, where I cannot go."

Draco nodded, trying to resign himself. His mother could not live in a world of ash—finding out how to save the world was a priority. Not to mention, he was being given a great responsibility-at a very young age at that-and he wasn't about to botch it up by voicing his opinion.

"I know a school is not an easy place to gather information, but I believe you are ready," continued the Priestess. "Seek out our spy in Hogwarts. He will help you to choose the right candidates to begin training. One last thing, Draco."

Leaning back against her seat, the Priestess regarded him with an intense gaze. In an instant, Draco was doubled over against the shock of electric pain that rippled through his body. He panicked, bracing himself helplessly against the earthquake of energy that threatened to shred his bones. She hadn't cast any magic, not that he was aware—but he had the distinct feeling of being cut through by a saw.

Spots blooming behind his vision, he looked down, and saw a small, round ring on the table between them. The Priestess made a motion with her hand. "That is your first taste of its power. It will get easier over time. Go ahead, touch it."

Draco didn't move for a moment. It was only her fixed gaze, quiet and unmoving in its expectation, that drove him to eventually pick it up. It was cool to the touch, and it felt and looked like an ordinary object.

"Now," she said, tenting her fingers. "There are three important things I want you to remember about seeking confidential information through legilimency."

"First," she said, raising one finger. "You have to ask the right questions. Ancient power is useful, but it's pointless if you can't activate the memories you need. Be familiar with the person you're speaking to, and target their wells of knowledge. In this way you will make the most of each encounter.

"Second, you need to ask the right people. Choose someone who is worth your time, but be aware of your limitations. I wouldn't target McGonagall on your first go, for example, and sometimes underlings know as much as the headmistress on certain matters. Do not, of course, touch Obliviated information unless you want your informants in chains or dead. Otherwise, you need to ask as many people as possible, and no one should be able to guess you're the one who's asking."

"I understand," said Draco, holding her ring in his hands. He knew he wasn't the first to use her magic for this, knew he shouldn't act too much like he couldn't handle the responsibility. But…

He had not expected that much power from the ring, and knew it was the sort of magic that was perfect for exploitation by dark wizards. It made him feel very, very nervous. He looked down at the ring, tried to imagine himself using it, and drew a complete blank.

"How do I...get started?"

She smiled, with a delicate lift of her shoulders.

"Simple. Just follow rule number three. Make some friends."


[Memory 1]

January 8th, 1996

Romilda had been in a rotten mood lately.

First off, she'd been forced to spend Christmas with her dad, who insisted on taking her ice fishing on the lake, while her teeth chattered at 15 below zero. She would have much preferred spending Christmas with her mother, but she was still wrapping up a case out in Mozambique. Romilda had begged her mum to let her portkey into the village, but her mum had launched into an explanation as to why it was far too dangerous, and Romilda had finally given up.

Now, Romilda was back in school, but even though she was no longer a human popsicle, her mood hadn't improved. She was just settling into bed when she realized that the problem was that Hogwarts was a colossal waste of time. Aside from Apparating, she'd already learned everything she'd wanted to learn from her professors. The rest—mind magic, lock picking, detective charms and the other important things—she'd had to study on her own.

Lying back on her pillow, she stared at the picture above her head of Lockhart. Her childhood dream had been to find a man who would whisk her away to all kinds of adventures. Life was too short to spend it cooped up in a drafty old castle, like some sad sleeping beauty.

Romilda turned over, and noticed there was an owl tapping at the window. She opened the window, took the offered letter, and unsealed it.

Dear Ms. Romilda Vane,

My name is Mr. Black, and I am excited to offer you an amazing opportunity to be part of the adventure of a lifetime. I recently became acquainted with your mother, and she has told me great things about your potential in journalism. My organization is in need of inquiring minds such as yours to help us unearth information, and these secrets may be instrumental in changing the world.

First, let me tell you a little about our project. In the Wizarding Community, there is a lot of information—such as spells, potions, and charms-that has been lost over time. My company has recently acquired a means of gathering this information, and with it, we hope to restore the magic that has been lost. However, we need your help to do it.

Before we schedule an interview, please answer this brief questionnaire (see second page) about yourself to show that your talents meet the needs of the position. Secondly, please write a letter of intent to explain why you'd like to pursue it as a career. Please reply no later than January 12th if you would like to be considered for this position. Thank you for your time, and I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Sincerely,

Mr. Arthur Black

Romilda stared at the letter for a good long moment, then burst into laughter.

That was themost ridiculous thing she'd ever read in her life. First of all, Mr. Black had neglected to even provide a name for his company. Second of all, even if he'd really met her mother, it doesn't make any sense to send unsolicited job offers to a minor. I mean, really, this was basic level stuff for con artists.

On the other hand, his offer sounded mildly intriguing. She would indeed like to know more about how to uncover secrets that could "change the world." If she was lucky, she could keep this letter exchange going for a while before he started asking for money.

After a few seconds of internal debate, she got out her quill and started writing. After all, it wasn't like she had anything better to do.


"This is ridiculous," sighed Katie Bell, setting the letter off to the side. "The Arcadians are booked through August. That's the 5th band that's told us they're unavailable."

Daphne frowned, and took another sip of her coffee, even though it was already past 8:00 pm. She had a feeling this planning meeting would take a while.

The Beauxbatons common room was currently a mess of party materials, including clothing swatches, different types of dishware, and a large assortment of flowers. The girls had transfigured some of it earlier, then—like a kid with ADHD—they'd transfigured more before making a decision on the rest.

Their planning committee consisted of fifteen students from various houses, though only half showed up. Susan Bones and Ginny were in the corner, rehearsing a few dance steps. Parvati had taken Romilda's place for the dance, since neither she nor Lavender were present. Marguerite had shown up for ten minutes before going to bed.

"Is there anyone else we can call?" asked Parvati.

"Umm…well, there's always the Beasts," said Katie. "But that's scratching the bottom of the barrel."

"Ginny," said Susan, turning to her, "Doesn't Ron play in a band?"

Ginny snorted. "Yes, but he's not good." She pulled a scrunchie off her wrist and twisted it into her hair. "He never practices since all he does is snog Lavender."

"Eww, isn't she into séance stuff now? What does Ron even see in her?"

Ginny held out her hands over her chest, and some of the girls snickered. Daphne felt a burning sensation in the back of her throat, and took a sip of her coffee.

"They're soo gross," complained Ginny, rolling her eyes. "I can't even hang out in the Gryffindor common room anymore. I'd rather listen to Luna ramble about Snortblats."

"You know, Luna's into the séance stuff too, just like Lavender," said Katie. "They both got in trouble with McGonagall for doing stuff in the dungeons. Luna tells me things sometimes, but it's seriously weird."

Just then, Boris Krum stepped into the room, turning to look at everyone. "Aren't you coming?" he asked matter-of-factly. Then, he walked back out, closing the door behind him.

"Err…what just happened?" asked Susan.

Ginny glowered. "It's a secret Durmstrang party. Everybody's going to be there. Anyway we don't have to go." A few moments later. "Okay, we'll go, but only for a few minutes."

Daphne hung back, taking a minute to finish her coffee, while Parvati stayed behind to fiddle with clothing swatches. She was debating skipping the party and going to bed early, when Lavender sat down on the couch beside her.

"Oh. Where did you come from?" asked Daphne.

"I was upstairs," said Lavender. "In the Beauxbatons dorm."

She sounded cheerful enough, but Daphne could see the girl was shaking, staring at the closed door.

"Anyway," she continued. "Do you mind contacting McGonagall for me?"


A screeching wind whipped Cedric's robes as he braced himself against the wall, hanging on for dear life. It pulled him relentlessly down to his Death—aka a wall of sharp spikes-that had risen from the stone walls to impale him.

All around him, heralding his demise, was a wild cackling sound, "Mwhahaha! Fly my little birds, fly!"

A second voice resounded. "Take that, you harpy!" followed by a chaotic boom.

Cedric groaned, wondering how Hogwarts wasn't a pile of ash at this point. Were all their duelling sessions like this?

He'd expected this kind of duelling behaviour from Tonks, of course. She once dyed her clothing different colours right before class, and with a completely straight face, asked her students why they were giggling.

But Hermione, who was supposedly on Cedric's side, was just as terrible. Her hair whipping violently in the wind, she clawed her way along the wall, hurling chunks of stone at Tonks. The chunks of wall exploded, forming tendrils which shot out and tried to ensnare Tonks. "Ohh, kinky," said Tonks, swatting them away with her wand. "But you need to buy me a drink first."

These girls are crazy! thought Cedric.

But that wasn't even the worst part. When Tonks cast the spell that could only be described as a Vortex of Doom, Cedric barely had enough time to cement himself to the wall. He'd only been able to affix it to his robes, and they were ripping, in the worst places.

Cedric gripped the wall hard, trying to ignore how his underoos were about to be put on display. He felt a hand bracing his arm, and turned to see Hermione, a frantic look in her eye.

"Cedric!" cried Hermione. "We need to stop Tonks! If you could…"The wind picked up, and she said something else he couldn't hear.

"What?" cried Cedric.

"We need to-before we-"

Abruptly, the wind died, and the two Aurors in training, who had been stretched horizontal, plunged in a sprawl of arms and legs onto the ground.

"You guys are so cute," said Tonks, hands cupped under her chin. "Now kiss."

Cedric extricated himself and scrambled back to the wall, while Hermione glared at Tonks, who hovered in the hair as if on an invisible magic carpet, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"So," said Hermione, an irritated glint in her eye. "Are you going to explain why you stole my spell?

"First, it's not stealing if you leave your spell book open, translations and everything." She shrugged nonchalantly.

"I was trying to get your help—"

"Second of all," said Tonks. "Since you two haven't had much time to train together, I reasoned this would be an excellent opportunity to build solidarity while clocking in some training hours. Remember, I am still your defence teacher."

Cedric cringed under Tonks' smirking gaze, as he hastily tried to mend his shredded robes. Hermione avoided looking at him, for which he was grateful.

"Third of all," sighed Tonks. "I didn't stop the Vortex. Sadly, right before you and Cedric rose to defeat the evil monster lady like the shining paragons of humanity you are, the Vortex went kaput all on its own."

"Okay," said Hermione, exhaling slowly. "So the spell lasted for about…five minutes. Thank you, Tonks, for another informative yet incredibly terrifying training session."

"Anytime, dear," said Tonks, whipping out her Auror mirror. "Now shoo, I have to talk to Mad Eye."

While Tonks was talking to Alastor Moody, Hermione searched the wreckage for her wand. Cedric heard a cooing noise as an owl fluttered in through a hole in the wall and landed beside him, a small yellow envelope in its beak. Smiling, Cedric opened it, patting the bird's head before it flew away.

"Alrighty!" said Tonks, shoving her mirror in her pocket. "Who's ready for round 2? I promise I'll keep the body morphing to a respectable level this time."

"Afraid I'll have to pass, Tonks," said Cedric. "While I appreciate the training, I really do, I have to go help Cho with shoe shopping for the Spring Festival."

Not to mention, he thought. Some of us have PTSD from last year, and you're not helping.

"You're…going shoe shopping with her?" Tonks let out a long sigh. "Oh, Hermione, it looks like we met Cedric a few months too late, didn't we? I hope Cho appreciates you, is all I'm saying."

"Hey, don't rope me into your fantasies," said Hermione. "I hope you have fun, Cedric!"

"Ha ha, thanks," said Cedric. "Well, see you girls later."

As Cedric was leaving, he heard Tonks responding, "I wouldn't rope you into my fantasies if yours weren't so boring."


It wasn't long before Hermione left the room, thoroughly convinced that Tonks just liked to make her suffer. It was beyond annoying, but more to the point, it was just plain embarrassing she'd been beaten by her own spell. Why did all their training sessions have to be so intense?

Hermione had been walking for a few minutes when she realized she had no idea where she was. She stopped, scanning her surroundings for clues or a helpful portrait to guide her back. Strange. She had been following a feeling of expectation, as if Adventure was calling…

She quirked a smile, and then drew out her Auror mirror. Harry didn't pick up, so she left a video message. "Are you busy? If you're not, I'll see you at the quest entry point." As she sent the message, she realized she hadn't actually talked to him in weeks. One more try couldn't hurt.

She called him again. "Harry, I really do hope you can come. It's not half as fun if I'm not competing with you. Besides, we did agree on meeting once a week, and we haven't done that yet this week…or last week, actually. So, this week we should meet twice, right? And, anyway…I hope you can make it!"

A third message. "Sorry, umm…I just wanted to say, even if you're not coming, please tell me! I miss you. You also don't have to meet me twice, just once is okay."

She hung up and resisted sending another message, because this was getting ridiculous. Why was she second guessing everything she said to him?

From further down the hallway, she heard voices. Curious, she walked towards them. Most likely, it was portraits having a conversation, which sometimes was fun to listen to. Turning a corner to a dusty alcove, she saw the painting: a boy with black, curly hair, playing near the cliffs by the sea. He was bouncing a golden ball, humming softly to himself. He stopped when he saw Hermione, the ball falling to the ground.

His eyes grew wide. "Maman?"

Hermione blinked, then shook her head. "Non, je ne suis pas. Comment t'appelles-tu?"

He smiled a toothy grin. "Je m'appelle Anton." Anton rambled more, but it was in an accent she couldn't recognize. After a few more fruitless attempts, the boy eventually picked up his ball and left.

Hermione scratched her head. A French painting, in Hogwarts? But why would it be here? When she had more time, she needed to investigate this corridor, there might be other interesting finds.

Turning back, she followed the feeling of adventure, when she heard the sound of footfalls. Harry? He came after all? Her heart skipping a beat, she followed the sound, hoping to surprise him. But when she caught up, she bumped into someone else who was definitely not Harry.

"Woah! Sorry, Hermione I was-"

"Dean? What are you doing here?"


Harry stood at the quest entry point, balancing his wand on two fingers and trying not to freak out.

This would be his first Hogwarts quest with Hermione since before Christmas. He had been hoping their first time back—if it ever happened—would be fun, lighthearted, and with minimal awkwardness. However, considering his ability to form coherent thought around her was severely limited, he saw approximately zero percent chance of that happening.

Harry dropped his wand, fumbling as he picked it up. He'd considered declining Hermione's invitation in order to work on his new project. But after listening to her third message, he didn't have the heart to say no. If she wanted to see him, then he was willing to go through a little awkwardness for her sake.

But he wasn't going in unprepared, oh no, especially since some of his component parts refused to be rational.

You know, this is an excellent opportunity, commented Science, gleefully rubbing her hands. Not only do you get to complete a quest, now is your chance to finally confess your love! We should—

Woah woah, wait, love? balked Ravenclaw. We never agreed to this, and besides, it's a severe crush at best.

You think about her approximately 98% of the day, retorted Science. You adore every little thing about her, fantasize about a future together, and secretly think you would be lucky if you found someone half so intelligent, kind and funny to be your wife.

I…umm…

You've tried avoidance, cognitive restructuring, and working yourself to the brink of exhaustion, which has all been completely pointless. Yesterday you spent two hours pacing in the lab, staring at that sweater she left draped over a chair arm and fantasizing about her wearing it and nothing else.

Err…that was…a low point, I'll admit.

Besides, our component parts have considered the pluses and minuses of a relationship, and calculated that Harry would be at least 50% more productive if Hermione was his girlfriend. Slytherin, back me up here.

Leave me out of this, grumbled Slytherin. I also told you we had way too much work to do in the lab to worry about this quest, but no one ever listens to me.

Science continued on. Now, Hermione has called for you, and it is time we took action. You need to Ask the Question.

WHAT?! shrieked Ravenclaw. Not THE Question!

Ravenclaw paused, expecting agreement, but received only silence.

I…kind of agree, ventured Hufflepuff. I mean, it's been awful avoiding her, and if spending time with her draws us closer…then…why don't we just let it happen?

You're kidding...Gryffindor?

Umm, honestly, I'm still kind of stuck on the sweater thing.

You know what, fine, sighed Slytherin. If it makes these pointless conversations end, I'm all for it.

Yes, now you're talking! exclaimed Science. Now, I'm sure it's occurred to you we're going to be alone with her for a long time, perhaps in dark cramped spaces. So maybe…just maybe…we can act out Dream Sequence #37? You know, the one where—

There was the patter of footsteps on the stairs, and the sound of Hermione's laughter. Harry's heart pounded as he straightened up, trying and failing to act natural. He tried to remember how he'd planned to greet her, attempting to smile.

As she approached, Harry heard another, deeper laugh joining hers, and then two people rounded the steps. Hermione had tears of mirth in her eyes, gripping Dean's arm to support herself. Dean, in turn, was so focused on making Hermione laugh that he didn't notice Harry.

Hermione stopped when she saw him, her eyes widening.

"Oh, Harry!" said Hermione. "I didn't expect you! You didn't call me, so I thought..." She blinked, then smiled. "Well, now we can all go together! It turns out Dean likes adventuring too, so when I told him about the Quests, he asked to come along."

Dean looked at Harry, the merriment in his eyes fading. The two boys stared at each other for a moment before Dean smiled good-naturedly. "Great, the more the merrier! I'm sure I'll learn a lot from you, Harry. Let's go kill some orcs!"

"Yeah!" cried Hermione.

Harry, his heart at war with itself, didn't say a single thing.


Author's note: Be careful about time stamps! They'll become important later on.