Chapter 42: Interviews
Hermione gazed uncertainly at the nurse who was poking her—for the fifth time—with the needle to draw her blood.
"Do you know why it's not coming out?" asked the younger nurse, addressing her supervisor watching them. "Deep veins, maybe?"
"Err…no," said Hermione. "It's like I said, my skin has magical properties. It tends to regenerate around needles."
"Well…" the supervisor pursed her lips. "We need to get the blood somehow for testing."
Hermione sighed. "Yes, I know. Here," she said, drawing a deep line on her arm with her fingernail. Blood poured out. "Collect that."
As they mopped it up with gauze strips, Hermione grimaced. This was why she disliked hospitals. Her physical form was too weird for anyone to know what to make of it. Physically speaking, she knew that she was fine, but her blood would tell the magical instruments a whole different story.
They would say that she was part troll, constantly transfiguring herself into the shape of Hermione. If one part of her was cut off, then theoretically, it could grow back (or even grow another Hermione, though she really really hoped not). She was also part unicorn, which meant blood could not be drawn except by a magical blade…or, in this case, by alicorn fingernails.
She didn't even know if she could get sick, but if she ever did require emergency care, then good luck to the doctors ministering to her.
There was a knock on the door, and Professor McGonagall entered, accompanied by the man that had rescued them earlier.
"Hermione, are you feeling better?" asked McGonagall.
She nodded and sat up. "Are Harry and Dean okay?"
"They're both recovering well, don't worry." McGonagall smiled and turned to her companion. "I want to introduce you to Remus Lupin. He works in the research department for the Ministry of Magic."
Remus Lupin inclined his head, the lines around his eyes crinkling as he smiled at her. "Hello again," he said, with gentle, sincere warmth. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better. We would like to ask you a few questions, if you're feeling up to it?"
She agreed, and they took seats beside her.
"First of all," said Remus. "Please tell us everything you remember about today's Hogwarts quest. Start from the beginning."
When McGonagall and Remus Lupin entered his hospital room, Dean couldn't help feeling a little awkward about it.
For one thing, he still felt pretty woozy from the treatment at St. Mungos. According to the medical reports, his body was suffering the effects of "temporal displacement," which made no sense. However, when the healers described the symptoms, they sounded like radiation poisoning, and that was definitely worrisome. The healers cast a litany of healing spells on him, and whatever they'd done made him feel like he'd aged ten years in one day.
For another, both his Headmistress and a researcher from the Ministry of Magic were in his room, while he was clothed in a medical gown, asking for hisstatement on what happened. And they wanted him to be completely truthful.
"I'm not sure how much help I'll be," said Dean, struggling to sit up. "It was my first time attempting the quests, so I don't really know what's normal. But…I suppose there were a few things that seemed off."
"Don't worry about if it's useful or not, just tell us what you can." McGonagall clicked her pen. "In what way were the quests unusual, Dean?"
"I'm not sure the best way to describe it, but do you know what a record skip is? There were several moments like that. Like in the fight I had with a velociraptor, I was pummelled in 10 seconds and I don't even remember it happening." He rubbed his forehead. "But the weirdest part was when it seemed like my memory was playing tricks on me."
"Tricks?" Remus frowned. "Can you elaborate?"
"So, at one point we were trying on clothes in a store. Hermione goes to the changing room, and a second later I hear a blood curdling scream. I dropped the clothing and ran over there, worried I would find her bleeding on the floor. But then she comes back out looking just fine."
"When did this happen?" asked McGonagall.
He took a moment to think. "A little before we heard the flying monster roaring the first time, though it's hard to remember. Honestly, I'm not sure how much of what happened was real. I mean, fighting evil creatures is something you expect in role playing games, but I'm pretty sure I was impaled by a unicorn, right after Harry and I almost…" He swallowed. "Right after we almost tried to kill each other." He gazed up at the two of them, fearful. "Is that supposed to happen in a quest?"
"Can I go yet?" asked Harry impatiently.
"Soon," said the healer. "First, I'll have to give you a clean bill of health. Now, hold still, I need to listen to your heartbeat."
Harry suffered through this process, as he considered non-resistance would make things pass more quickly. The healer told him that Hermione was awake and doing well—and no, he couldn't wander over to check, sit down and rest already.
He couldn't help feeling keyed up, though. He was annoyed the healer wanted him to sit still, annoyed by the healer's aftershave and his slow speaking cadence. The examination was taking forever. Harry kept feeling like he had to run, do, act or change something, and it was only after the doctor made him stand up-and he almost collapsed-that he realized something was wrong.
"I'll need to keep you overnight," said the healer, writing something on the chart. "Temporal displacement affects everyone differently, but it usually targets your mental state and your magic. So while you rest, don't try to cast any spells, handle any sharp objects, or attempt to fly a broom."
"Well, obviously. Do you have a lot of patients try that?" asked Harry, aghast. "Nevermind, don't answer that. Evidently someone has if you're forced to give that disclaimer, and I don't need another reason to despair over humanity."
"Well, there's a reason some people end up in hospitals more than others." The healer smiled, shook his head, and made a final note on the chart. "Stay here, relax, and try not to annoy anybody, okay?"
Indignation flared in Harry, but he remained silent. The Zen Harry project was off to a rough start, but it's not like he was going to just give up. Harry tried an old technique. One, two, three, four…
He was still counting when McGonagall and Remus Lupin came to ask questions. At this point, Harry had been considering what he would say for about an hour, so he was ready.
"I have every intention of cooperating fully with your investigation," said Harry. "I know it's extremely important, so I'll do my best to honestly answer all your questions. But I also have information I'd like to request from you in exchange, Remus Lupin."
"From me?" he asked, and Harry nodded. Lupin blinked, his hair falling in his eyes. Something pinged in the back of Harry's mind, finding it odd the researcher was so surprised at being asked for information. Finally, Remus stuttered out a response. "Well…it's a reasonable request, I suppose. I can't promise I'll tell you everything, but by all means, ask."
Harry tried to be thorough in his explanation. He talked about what he saw, and also what he suspected had happened. No details were left out. It took a long time for them to get through their questions, and which point the sun was descending towards the horizon. As much as Harry tried to remain calm, he felt his impatience grow with every second.
"Thank you, Harry," said Remus Lupin, closing his notebook. "Your explanation was extremely helpful. Please let me know if you remember anything else."
"Right," said Harry. "Now, it's my turn to ask a few questions. I've been open and honest with you, and I'm expecting the same courtesy."
Remus Lupin nodded. "Of course. Go ahead, Harry."
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. A damning piece of evidence occurred to him.
He won't tell you anything. Your honesty, and your agreement, they give you no actual leverage. When faced with a situation where relaying information to children would be uncomfortable, adults make excuses. And if Remus refuses to cooperate, then I will snap, and I will say something caustic and spiteful, and he'll feel justified in not telling an immature boy anything.
"Harry?" asked Remus gently, a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Are you well?"
He shook his head. "Not really. Can we postpone this to another time?"
Remus nodded, his eyes meeting Harry's with a gaze of concern. Something about the look made Harry feel uncomfortable, and it took him a moment to process why. Harry quickly looked away, but he feared it was too late.
I don't appreciate that, Harry wanted to say, but realized this wouldn't give him any leverage either. Reading someone's mind wasn't illegal, or even frowned upon. Harry coughed, settling into bed and closing his eyes. Better to let Remus Lupin think he was a tired, sick boy, than reveal he was an Occlumens. He just hoped Remus hadn't seen anything Harry didn't want him to see.
"Rest well, Harry," said McGonagall, as she and Remus left. "I'll come check on you in the morning."
A few minutes after ten pm, there was a knock at the door of Hermione's room.
She rubbed her eyes, blinked, then sat up expectantly. She'd been dozing for the last few hours, convalescing even though she didn't really need to, and feeling sort of sad and lonely.
This hospital room reminded her of her stay in the Hogwarts infirmary. It was after she "attacked" Draco and was held by the Ministry in a prison cell, which drained her to the point that she needed medical attention after her release. Harry wasn't allowed inside her hospital room, so he'd sat outside her door all day, reading and waiting for her to come out. She'd been depressed at the time, and hadn't realized how sweet it was of him to wait for her. Now she found herself hoping it was Harry at her door, impatient to see her and make sure she was alright.
But the door opened, and it was only Remus Lupin and McGonagall. Hermione tried to hide her disappointment behind a smile. "Headmistress, Mr. Lupin. How is everything?"
McGonagall smiled warmly, the stress behind her eyes momentarily lifted. "Hermione, I have some good news. The healers have cleared you to leave tonight, and the boys tomorrow morning."
"Of course," said Hermione. "Umm, can I go see Harry and Dean before I leave?"
"In the morning you may, if you decide to stay the night, but I think they're both resting now." She sighed heavily. "I'm sorry to bother you so late, but can we ask a few follow up questions?"
"Sure," said Hermione. "What do you need?"
The concern was heavy on McGonagall's brow as she sat down. Her wand wearily cast a spell, muting the sounds in the room. "Have you noticed anything peculiar about Harry's behaviour recently?"
Hermione blinked. "He's busy, and I don't see him as often as I used to. Other than that, he's normal…well, as normal as he's ever been." She added, with the smallest hint of a smile.
"What is he busy doing?" asked McGonagall.
"Research, experiments." She shrugged, her gaze lowering. "We haven't talked enough recently for me to give more detail."
"I see," said McGonagall. "Is he working on these projects alone?"
"I think so," said Hermione. "He doesn't work well with most other students; he thinks they get in the way. He tends to lose track of time when he's working, forgetting to eat. He has a little cot in his lab for sleeping."
Hermione glanced over at Remus, who was studying her, but not in a way that felt intrusive.
"One more question," said McGonagall. "In the past, has Harry ever researched or shown interest in spells that affect memory?"
"Umm…spell memory, like storage? Yes. We worked on that project together. Human memory manipulation, I don't think so."
The concern on her face deepened, and Hermione was about to ask why when someone knocked at the door. "Oh," said Hermione. "I think that's the food I ordered, I'm sorry."
"That's okay, I think that's enough for today," said McGonagall, rising. "Thank you, Hermione."
McGonagall waved her hand, and the quieting spell lifted. The door opened to reveal a nurse carrying a tray of food, Tonks trailing behind her. "Heyo, friend of mine, I thought I would…" She trailed off, staring at the guests in the room. "Sorry, I uhh…"
"Remus Lupin, this is Nymphadora Tonks," said the Headmistress, waving a hand in her direction. "She has a habit of changing her appearance, but you can always recognize her by her tendency to get into mischief."
"Nymphadora," said Remus Lupin, inclining his head. "A pleasure to meet you."
"Heh, that's…umm…hi there," she said, blinking at him. "Call me Tonks."
"Tonks." He spoke the word as if tasting it. "What an interesting name. It suits you."
"We must be going," said McGonagall. "We'll leave Hermione in your care, Tonks. Make sure she gets back to Hogwarts by tomorrow morning."
Tonks nodded, turning on her heel to watch them leave the room. She stared after them for a long moment.
"Tonks? Are you okay?"
She turned back to Hermione, hands scrunched up to her face. Every part of her had turned some shade of pink. "He's…so…adorable! Tell me everything you know about him!"
Remus took a seat in Minerva's office, but she couldn't help pacing.
"I've been working at this school for more than half my life, Remus," she said. "I've been through two Wizarding Wars, and seen more than my fair share of strange and unusual things. But this, this…" She sighed, putting her hand on her forehead. "You deal with magical oddities on a regular basis. What do you make of all this?"
He sighed, his brows furrowing as he rummaged through his pockets. Something about Remus always looked a bit careworn and older than his years. Even as a student, he was more introspective and patient than his peers, regardless of the stereotypes about his affliction. It was partly for this reason that she saw him as an equal, despite their age gap.
Remus's hands closed on what they were looking for, and he drew out a pipe, his hand trembling slightly. "May I smoke?"
She waved her hand dismissively, and he lit the pipe. As an apprentice to the Unspeakables, he was a workaholic by necessity, as their shifts ran 30 hours per day for months at a time. The stress broke most candidates, and Remus had been pressured harder than most, for reasons that he had no control over. Minerva wasn't about to deny him a small creature comfort.
"Well," Remus adjusted himself in the chair, drawing the pipe to his lips. "It has been a few decades since my time at Hogwarts, but I agree with you. Spontaneous duplication is very odd, and alarming. As it turns out, it's also not an isolated incident."
Remus Lupin flipped through his notebook, then read off a page. "Alexander Birchtree, age 47, was out walking his dog when he stopped to tie his shoe. He looked up to see his doppelganger running past. Alexander called out, but the doppelganger rounded a corner and disappeared."
Minerva stopped pacing as he flipped to another page. "Francesca Barton, age 14. She saw her sister on the couch watching the television. Then she saw on the tv screen her sister performing in a live production occurring six hours away."
Remus closed his notebook. "Spontaneous duplication usually only occurs when a victim has done something to cause it, like experimenting on a time turner. But these people are Squibs."
"Squibs? All of them?"
"Several of them. We still don't know why. The instances of duplication are minor, but unusual enough that the Unspeakables are looking into it. So far, there's nothing as serious as what happened in the Hogwarts quest."
Minerva rounded her desk and sat in her chair. "Any idea what could cause spontaneous duplication? Besides Harry's interpretation, I mean."
Remus smiled. "Ahh yes, Harry's 'crossing between dimensions' theory. No, I think you're right, his idea is impossible. The Ministry tried something once, but it…well, it doesn't actually work. Even if it did, it would require far, far more power than we have access to. Like, several suns' worth."
Minerva frowned. She didn't like the idea of the Ministry experimenting with time and space, if there was even the slightest chance it could lead to something like what happened in Hogwarts last year.
"Well, whatever's happening with the Hogwarts quests, they've clearly stopped following the rules." Minerva said. "Harry says he used portkey to escape, but that shouldn't have worked, if the quests truly exist within the wards of Hogwarts. Furthermore, his portkey should have led to a university campus in Scotland, not a bus station in Yorkshire."
"True. Unless they weren't in Hogwarts," Remus said. "Or the portkey isn't what saved them."
Minerva froze, blinking. "Remus?"
Remus smoked for a moment, his voice reverent. "The quests are old, Headmistress, and a powerful construct that has the ability to manipulate vast quantities of space. And as you are aware, anything that powerful infused with magic will eventually gain some…unusual properties. One would almost call it an awareness. It almost makes me wonder if…"
He blinked slowly, his gaze far away, then shook his head. "Well, anyway, that's all conjecture at this point. I don't think we'll be able to pin down anything until we determine exactly what these quests are." He let out a half smile. "But I imagine, with your heavy workload, that you haven't had time to make progress on that large shelf of magical quest items behind you."
Minerva arched an eyebrow, watching him take a drag on his pipe. Most students who attempted the Hogwarts quests won a few interesting items. Some of them—a rare few—uncovered treasures that they used to go on heroic adventures, or pioneer great magical inventions. Remus had been one of them, a blessing that had saved him from a life of poverty that was usual for those who carried his curse.
She watched his eyes roving her treasures, noticed how bloodshot they were, and the unhealthy pallor to his skin. The quests couldn't save him from everything.
"Your shelf is growing too, from the looks of it," said Remus, peering closely. "Is that a…brick of white powder up there?"
She nodded. "I've tested it in every way possible, sent it to experts in the field, and I still have no idea what it is."
"May I?" he asked, and Minerva nodded her consent. He approached the shelf and picked up the brick, weighing it in his hands. A peculiar look crossed his face, and he set it back down. "Huh. Interesting. You know, I've always wanted to study the Hogwarts quest items."
"You're more than welcome to, Remus, whenever you have time. I'm surprised the Ministry hasn't already made studying the quests a priority."
"Well, I suppose technically they have." He exhaled heavily, sinking back into the chair. "I just finished giving them my report before our meeting. They want a researcher to look into the malfunctioning Hogwarts quests, see if there's any important information there." He averted his eyes. "While I'm here, they also want me to keep an eye on a few other things."
"I see." A moment of silence. "What sorts of things are they most concerned about?"
"Youalready know, Minerva," he said quietly. "You've seen into Harry and Hermione's minds, and you've read the prophecies. You know why they want me here."
"Well," she said, clearing her throat. "Very well, then. I'll do my best to help you."
Remus took a drag of his pipe, saying nothing. Minerva understood why this had to happen, even regarded it as inevitable. Even so, it bothered her. She couldn't help feeling like overreliance on prophecy was leading them on a wild good chase. Harry had done nothing wrong…well, nothing THAT wrong, at least. He could be a troublemaker, but Hogwarts always had those. Of more concern, in her opinion, were the dangerous revolutionaries they still hadn't caught or unmasked.
"Well…anyway…there was one thing I wanted to ask you," said Minerva. "I have a student named Lavender, a young Seer. She came to me a few weeks ago, sobbing, and asked me to Obliviate her of all the prophecies. Standard protocol dictates that it only be Obliviated after the entire prophecy has been preserved. But her prophecies are unusual—they're fragments, and difficult to transcribe. Do you know if the Ministry actually has a new Hall of Prophecy? I'd rather not make the poor girl wait until I've finished transcribing by hand."
Remus shrugged. "I wish I could help you, but they don't tell me much at the Ministry beyond what I need to know. I'm a Master of Strange Artefacts, and that's about it." He took a slow drag on his pipe, turning his penetrating, yet kind, gaze to her. "Why does she want to get rid of them?"
"She's being bullied, and she wants it to stop. She feels the only way is to take away her visions."
"Oh. Well, then, if it were me," said Remus softly. "I'd say protocol is protocol, and do what I think is right."
He sighed and stood up. "I've got a few things to wrap up back at the Ministry, but I'll return in a few hours."
"I'll have a workroom ready for you in Hogwarts," said Minerva, as he walked a few paces to the doorway. "And Remus for the record…I'm glad they chose you."
He blinked then smiled, in a way that seemed almost sad, and closed the door behind him.
[January, 1996]
Romilda sighed as she glanced at the parchment in her hands. Her eyes involuntarily flitted to the window, seeking an owl.
It was late, almost time for curfew. She shifted in bed, her impatience growing every moment. She'd gotten four letters from Mr. Black so far, each one saved in the hidden compartment of her nightstand. She charmed it every six hours, mortified that anyone would find out what she was doing with her stationary.
She sometimes imagined what her pen pal would look like. Huge ears, obviously, and balding, sitting alone in a poorly lit office. His definitely sounded like a fussy old person. How ironic it would be if Mr. Black wasn't actually black, but a white, pale albino.
[Draco, who was lying in bed with his eyes closed, frowned deeply. How could his writing sound like a fussy old man? The white and pale hit close to home, though…]
An owl fluttered in with a new letter, and Romilda rushed off her bed to grab it, letting out a little squeal of delight as she flung herself onto her bed. "Let's see what you've got for me today, Mr. Albino Man."
[Draco could not see her face—since he was looking through her eyes—but he could sense her emotions. She was smiling, giggling softly as she read the letter, thinking of this moment as the highlight of her day. He snorted, feeling mollified. Fussy old man, indeed.
Draco was gaining a new understanding of how thought worked. It was not always linear, but constantly bouncing around from past to future. A memory here, imagined scenario there, and even moments of time where literally nothing comprehensible happened. It was hard to decipher at first, but the more time he spent with Romilda's thoughts, the more comfortable he felt there. There was something very Gryffindor about it—warm, bright and confident.]
The door creaked open, and Romilda quickly stuffed the newest letter under her pillow as Angelina walked into the dorm. When Angelina ignored her and flopped onto her bed, Romilda realized she was being ridiculous. It wasn't like she was doing anything wrong. Still…maybe it was too early to let everyone see.
Shrugging off her concerns, Romilda went to the bathroom and got undressed—
[Draco sat up in alarm, the memory swirling into an unstable mess. He swallowed, and tried to will his heart to stop beating so fast. He was not going to be immature about this. There was probably nothing to see, anyway, she wouldn't dwell on her own body…
Unless, she walked past a mirror…or…decided to sh-shower…]
Romilda quickly undressed and put on her nightgown, pausing just a moment to inspect the acne spot on her arm. She considered popping it, but decided it wasn't worth the hassle.
[Draco let out a breath. He needed to figure out how to fast forward, in case he ever did see her showering. That didn't make him stuffy, just not rude. Though, he had noticed that it was hard to feel anything that Romilda didn't feel, when he was in her memories. Seeing a memory of her completely naked might evoke nothing but boredom.]
Romilda was wetting the comb to brush her hair when she paused, staring into the mirror, thinking about how top heavy she looked with her bushy hair and wide shoulders. Briefly, the image flashed in her mind of all the times she'd looked into the mirror and felt disappointed.
She wondered if Mr. Black knew what she looked like. She knew he was older than her, which was a good thing, but she hoped he wasn't too much older. Maybe around 30. She wondered if Mr. Albino Man would think her dark skin was pretty.
Another thought occurred to her. What if he wasn't a con-artist at all, and he had a real opportunity for her? What if he could get her out of Hogwarts?
Her heart pounded, surprise and fear coursing through her. It was a tantalizing kind of fear, though, one with electricity that spread through your fingers and toes. She blinked, catching sight of her own shocked face in the mirror. She stuck her tongue out.
This was ridiculous. She wasn't going to get caught up in mushy feelings. He was just a con-artist she was playing mind games with, and when they grew bored of each other, they would stop talking. That's the way it always worked.
[Draco marveled at how well the influence charm was working. Its subtle magic within the enchanted parchment had been what convinced her to keep writing to him. He could have written about bird faeces and she would have responded.
Although Draco wouldn't do that, of course. He was a man of culture and breeding. And it's not like he didn't put thought into these letters. He took his job seriously, though even he had to admit, he'd spent maybe a little too much time on the last letter. At this point in her memories, she wasn't even an informant yet, and she still hadn't given him any useful information.]
She continued brushing her hair, thinking of how her mum used to comb it out after a bath. Stay still, child, do you want a rat's nest? She always brushed too hard, that's why Romilda squirmed and ran away. Her mother couldn't seem to understand that her daughter's hair wasn't as soft and smooth as hers. Romilda used to stretch her hair out until it hurt her scalp, hoping it would stay just a little straighter.
The image popped into her head of the mystery man running his fingers through her hair, and telling her it was the most beautiful he'd ever seen.
Merlin, you're delusional.
She finished getting ready for bed, then climbed under the covers. She looked up at the picture above her head of Lockhart, but this time, when she closed her eyes, she imagined her Mystery Man's face in the place of the adventurer. A smile came to her lips.
Maybe just one fantasy was okay.
[Draco shifted uncomfortably. He knew the charm influenced behaviour, but did it also affect their thoughts? There wasn't even that much in the bottle, he couldn't have overapplied it. Maybe he should stop using the charm, see if that fixed things? She might still talk to him, just because she wanted to…
Not that it mattered, at this point. They no longer exchanged letters. He'd gotten what he wanted.]
Romilda fell asleep, her last thoughts of the Mystery Albino whisking her somewhere far away.
[Draco paused for a moment, then pushed through the memories, trying to get closer to the present time.]
