For the Greater Good
The next morning, Harry took the first of his mock exams. He expected he did well, but he was a bit worn out from studying the last few days. At lunch that day, he didn't say much to Hermione, and he was hoping she didn't take offense. He was just tired.
It had come to his attention, at some point while he was reading alone, that he wasn't used to spending so much time with another person. Maybe he needed to pace himself.
But that afternoon, when she called to talk to him, he still made the effort to get ready and go meet her in his lab. When he arrived, Hermione stood at the table, setting something up.
"Harry," she said, her voice touched with excitement. "Come here, I want to show you something."
He joined her at the table, observing the blown up balloons waiting there, almost like she was planning a party.
"Umm, so I was practicing this spell while duelling the other day, and, well, I was thinking it might be useful for other things. It's called the "Take my Breath Away," spell."
"Oh?"
"Basically, it collapses a person's lungs by sucking out the air, making it impossible to breathe. It's supposed to incapacitate the opponent."
"Sounds awful."
"Right, but watch this," said Hermione, taking her wand and pointing at the balloon. "Accipe Spiritum."
The balloon collapsed on itself, the air sucked away. Harry realized a split second later what she was thinking.
She smiled expectantly. "Do you think we could make a vacuum chamber?"
Like all good ideas, Harry's shiny new experiment started off with the grandest of expectations. He would conquer first the vacuums of Earth, great and small, and then onward to the vast vacuum of space. It would not be an easy road, and he would have to make sacrifices along the way. Yet the path lay stretched out before him, new and untrodden, if he could only take the first few steps.
Like most of his good ideas, it ended with him chucking the entire experiment on the floor.
He exhaled an exasperated breath, then ran a hand through his hair and whirled around, as if seeking answers in the back of the room. Maybe he could repair it, try again with renewed confidence…oh, who was he kidding? It wasn't like he hadn't tried and failed to create a vacuum chamber before. The definition of insanity was doing the same thing and expecting a different result, and he wasn't quite sure he was ready to become a mad wizard yet.
With his decision made, it was time to hide the evidence. After one more kick for good measure, he magicked away the broken pieces of his vacuum chamber and vanished them into the ethereal non-being state. Their history professor had said the vanishing spell was invented to get rid of human waste, so as far as Harry was concerned his experiment was right where it belonged.
Wow, bitter much? said Ravenclaw. Looks like someone didn't eat their Coco Puffs this morning.
He glanced over at the table where Dean and Padma had been working on the Remembrall. His saving grace was that they were in class at the moment. If they had been in the room, he would have had to explain why his experiment was in smithereens, and that would have been the worst thing, the very worst thing.
Harry left the room, heading nowhere in particular. He'd really wanted this experiment to work, especially after Hermione went to all the trouble of setting things up for him, but he'd known from the beginning it was hopeless. He was starting to believe his vacuum chamber experiments were destined to fail, and not just because of availability bias based on his prior fruitless efforts. No, this experiment in particular seemed like a researcher's version of Kobayashi Maru—an impossible test.
During his aimless wandering, Harry found himself close to Remus's workshop, and decided he might as well annoy him. He knocked on the door, and entered saying, "Remus, in all your wizarding studies, have you ever heard of the work of Aristotle on physics?"
Remus barely looked up from the pile of papers on his desk. "No."
"Well, here's my recommendation then. At around Year 4, all wizards should get an introductory course into Aristotle, and then a few months later, bring in a modern physics expert who actually knows real science and doesn't spout such nonsense as 'nature hates empty space' and 'fire wanna go up up.' Maybe then wizards will realize the giant hole in magic where logic ought to be, and then some of the smart people might actually do something about it.
Remus sighed. "Harry, I'm actually kind of occupied at the moment—"
"See, the thing is, I'm not an unreasonable stickler for Newtonian physics. I read fantasy books, I know that most magic systems have rules that are inconsistent with modern science. Still, I don't think it's too much to ask that the rules be consistent. If magic relied on Aristotlean physics, then fine, I can work with that. But instead it's a hodgepodge of different philosophies, ideas and random whims that have no common vertices with each other, as if a group of kindergartners got together one Saturday and wrote these rules while high off apple juice. And I'm expected to sit here and unravel this monstrosity while the rest of wizardkind sits on their—"
"Harry, I don't know if it ever occurred to you during all your endless blithering, but not everything is about you." Remus thumped the desk with his fist, punctuating his argument. "Do you see me sitting here, working at a deadline, while you hop in whenever you like and chatter mindlessly on and on? Now how is that fair?"
Harry froze, staring at Remus Lupin. The older man's face crumpled as he put his head in his hands. "I'm sorry, Harry. I have a lot of people making demands of me at the moment, and yours was the final straw. But that's no excuse. Again, I'm sorry."
Harry shrugged his shoulders, and didn't say anything for a long moment. It was almost a familiar feeling, being snapped at by an adult he admired, though what did it say about him that he sought out mentors with anger issues?
Then again, he had been asking for it.
"It's my fault, I shouldn't have intruded," admitted Harry. "And I should have listened when you said you were busy. I'll be more careful in the future."
Remus sighed, then shook his head. "Merlin, look at me. I'm so tired I can barely see straight. I think a rest is in order; the deadlines will still be there later." He opened his desk drawer and drew out a pipe, lighting it with a snap of his fingers. It was such a little thing, that bit of wandless magic, but it was beyond the scope of most graduates of Hogwarts. Harry's first year self—which haunted a part of his brain—regularly pestered him about the number of things he still hadn't checked off their five year plan. Destroying Azkaban, for instance, or becoming Master of Death or at least munchkining magic enough to create a consistent cash flow to his bank accounts.
Harry's face clouded. Was his younger self just an overconfident kid obsessed with his own hubris? And even if he was…did he have a point? Harry's plans weren't progressing like they should be. Maybe it was time to reassess, to make a new five year plan. Insanity, after all, is doing the same thing over and over…
"Don't look so surprised, Harry," Remus said, lifting the pipe. "We all have our vices."
"Oh…sorry, it's not that," said Harry. "Actually, I have a question. Muggles have a term known as a polymath, and it's someone who's extremely skilled in multiple disciplines. It's not easy to achieve this, you have to be a prodigy or a voracious learner. So, I was thinking, how difficult is it to become skilled in multiple magical disciplines? And if you could pick a few to specialize in, which would be the most useful to learn together?"
Remus drew on his pipe, then shook his head. "It's not common to become an expert in more than one discipline. To be successful, you have to specialize, which means you need to take a master who will train you in all they know."
"Because of the interdict of Merlin," said Harry slowly. "High level spells can only be transferred between living minds."
Remus nodded. "Some people can spend their lives learning magical lore, but few are successful, in part because their work is fundamentally incompatible with our way of life. You see, wizards are taught from a young age to fear magical knowledge." He settled in his chair. "Oh, to study our spell books is fine, and to make small discoveries in magic is acceptable. But great excavations into forgotten tombs, seeking long lost lore, studying ancient artefacts? It is not encouraged, as those adventures typically do not end well. Dark magic likes to hide in forgotten places, corrupting the good and turning them into beasts." He studied Harry. "Dumbledore was one of the few who successfully walked the path of a scholar, and maybe you could too, as the Boy-Who-Lived. But you will not have many allies or friends. It is a lonely journey."
"Oh, is that all?" said Harry cheerfully. "Well, that's fine, I already have all the friends I need. Now that we're done with the mandatory cautionary tales, can you tell me how I might get started on this forbidden quest?"
Remus smiled thinly. "Tell me, since I'm the threshold guardian trying to hold the hero back on his appointed journey, does that mean I count as a player character or not? PC or NPC, that is the question."
Harry blinked in confusion, then frowned. "Hey, it's not polite to read someone's mind without their permission."
"Next time I'll ask," said Remus, smiling. "So what do those terms mean, anyway?"
"Umm, it's a bit tough to explain. If you can think recursively enough to ask about your own sentience, you're probably a player character," said Harry. "An NPC would be something like Professor Binns." Or Minister Fudge.
"Interesting. I think I understand. And, to answer your question Harry, I think the usual way these quests get started is the Call to Adventure."
Harry couldn't tell if he was being made fun of or not, but Remus was still smiling as he continued. "So, let me give you some options. If you want a quest that is high risk, high reward, go for potion making. For strength of character, study transfiguration. If you seek the road to glory, play Quidditch." Harry made a face, and Remus chuckled. "Don't knock it, your father could have made a killing in the pitch, you'd have never had to worry about money." He paused, considered. "Though he always did have a strong sense of justice. He would have made a great Auror."
Harry waited as Remus retreated into memory, making sure not to interrupt him this time. "Anyway," said Remus, his voice catching. "If you want to make a difference in the world, study biology. If you want riches beyond your wildest dreams, study runes and warding. And if you wish to become a mad wizard, study how magic works at the Department of Mysteries."
"Ahh," said Harry. "You're offering me a job."
"An apprenticeship," said Remus. "And I'm only suggesting it. You'd get to study great magical lore with a group of companions who are just as zealous about learning as you. It wouldn't be nearly so dangerous as the explorer route, and the salary isn't bad either. You would be giving up some freedom, and it's not as glamourous as the life you could seek as the Boy-Who-Lived. But it is an option."
Harry looked out the window, at the clear sky beyond, and thought of all the students who were biting their nails waiting for their OWL scores, hoping they could make it into advanced classes, to eventually become great doctors, lawyers, and potioneers. No matter the career, their first choice would be his settling.
It wouldn't be easy to settle for a Ministry apprenticeship, but it wasn't necessarily a bad idea, either. It all depended on how it fit into his new five year plan.
"Two questions: What do you mean by 'loss of freedom'?" asked Harry. "And second, am I to take it I would be apprenticed to you?"
Remus chuckled. "Merlin, I hope not. You'd be getting the short end of the stick in that regard. No, you'd be apprenticed to someone much older and wiser. As to loss of freedom…" Remus took another drag of his pipe. "As I said before, knowledge is considered very dangerous. You will be researching powerful and ancient artefacts, using them to unlock the secrets of the universe. There will be days it makes you feel as if you hold the entire world in the palm of your hand. But once you no longer need this knowledge, they will take it from you."
"I'll be Obliviated, you mean."
"Yes. Which, I'll admit, is hard to accept. But they do not take anything that must not be taken, and your life is probably happier for not knowing all the myriad ways the world could end."
Harry had a lot of concerns about this. Obliviating your top researchers seemed like a bad move all around, and he'd no idea how they were ever able to make progress on subsequent experiments. Obviously, Harry wouldn't even consider accepting the job until he felt his Occlumency was up to scratch and he'd found some way to backup his knowledge outside himself. Still, outside these obvious issues, Harry had one question that he felt needed an answer.
"Are you happy there?"
Remus paused, letting the pipe linger in the air.
"Yes, I am. Even if no one will ever read my accomplishments in the paper, I do what I love every day. There are a lot of places I could go to be miserable, a lot of paths to misery and poverty, and I am glad I chose this road instead. However, I am an unusual case, Mr. Potter. It's up to you to make your own decision."
"Well…I'll consider it. I appreciate you giving me my quest, even if it is just a nine to five in the Department of Mysteries." Harry smiled wryly. "A regular job. And to think, my younger self would have done anything not to be normal."
Remus shook his head. "Rest assured, you will never be normal, Harry Potter, whether you want to be or not." He sighed, relaxing heavily into his chair. "Now, why don't you stop wasting time with an old man, and find some students your age to collaborate with?
Harry left, fully aware it was an excuse. He could tell Remus wanted to be alone.
While Harry hadn't gone so far as to use Legilimency, he got the sense Remus was telling the truth. He really was proud of his work, and that brought him joy. And yet, it was clear Remus was also deeply unhappy. It might not even be anything he could control, some dark shadow over his life.
You really do have a penchant for tortured mentors, don't you? said his Ravenclaw side. Hopefully this one won't sacrifice himself heroically at the end of the year, leaving you with nothing but memories and dashed hopes—
Orrr suggested his Hufflepuff side hopefully. Maybe he's just lonely and wants a girlfriend?
Upon consideration, Harry was exceptionally glad he left the room before he got it into his head to ask Remus about his personal problems. He might be starting a romance, sure, but that didn't mean he had to abandon all his principles and start talking about personal feelings at the drop of a hat.
An alternative hypothesis for Remus's unhappiness coalesced in his head, stopping him in his tracks. He turned back in disbelief. No. It couldn't be.
Counting backward from Easter, Harry shook his head and kept walking. It's the wrong time of the month, anyway.
When Hermione was done with her mock exams, she found herself in Harry's lab. He wasn't there, but she saw signs of recent activity, and figured she'd get some rest while she could. If she went back to her common room, there was a 99% chance someone would beg her to help them pass this test or their life was over and they couldn't disappoint their parents again and Professor Flitwick was so mean and would fail them if they got even one question wrong, etc. Hermione just had to stay away from the temptation to be Helpful.
By the time Harry returned to his lab, Hermione was reclining on the couch, curled under a throw blanket. With a book open on her lap, she was absorbed in staring off into space.
She sat up at his entrance, beamed at him. "Hey. Any progress on the vacuum chamber."
He let the door close softly behind him, eyes darting aside. "Err…no," he said. "I scrapped the project."
Her face fell. "Why?"
"I hit a rough patch and decided it wasn't worth the effort." He paused for a moment. "But umm…thank you for showing me that spell and giving me the idea. I may try again after we finish our other projects—like, you know, saving England." Harry joined her on the couch, and she scooted over to make room. "Speaking of which…" He took out his wand, cast a few privacy spells. "Any updates on the newspaper translation?"
She stretched leisurely, yawned a little. "You know, in between studying for OWLS and NEWTS at the same time, duelling every day and completing Mad Eye's homework assignments, I think I've had an estimated 5 minutes of free time for sleeping."
He flushed. "Right. Sorry for asking, I—"
"Although, it turns out I do have a time turner and a Pepper-Up potion spell, which gives me maybe an extra two minutes. So I decided to help you a little bit."
"Thank you?" said Harry.
Hermione smiled; she could never resist teasing him. "There was an incident in Belfast. The neighbours called in a noise complaint, and the police investigated. Upon entering the premises, they found an old man dead on his sofa. His stereo was blasting as a teenage boy danced around the room, soaked in blood." Hermione shifted to her side, facing Harry. "People are speculating he might be the serial killer who's been plaguing the area. After a bit of research, I figured out that his alleged victims are mostly old, retired wizards, and the teenager is probably a squib."
It was strange. They were talking about murder and serious things, but Hermione felt a sense of comfort in the conversation. It was interesting research, it was useful, and it just seemed like the sort of thing she ought to be doing with Harry all the time.
He seemed to brighten too, his eyes alight with excitement. "That fits with my theory," said Harry, turning and putting an arm on the back of the couch. "I've been doing my own research, and all the evidence points in the same direction. The dead Squibs aren't victims at all. They're allied with the Factionists, and they're hunting wizards."
"But if they aren't magic users," asked Hermione, frowning. "How are they doing Legilimency?"
"Someone in the Factionists must be dosing them with a powerful enchantment. It's not like the Squibs can't use magic, they're just not strong enough to perform spells. Unless…" Harry paused. "Maybe they're giving the squibs magical abilities, somehow? Using a ritual, perhaps? No, but that wouldn't automatically make them skilled at Legilimency, would it..."
"Well, not skilled exactly," said Hermione. "They keep going insane."
"Right and that's…weird, to say the least. The Factionists are essentially kamikazeing their own followers. That definitely increases the possibility that there's brainwashing involved." Harry sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "The next step would be to start interviewing surviving victims. Unfortunately, I don't think McGonagall will let me leave the school to buy orange juice, much less get within ten meters of a criminal investigation. Maybe Auror Tonks might have more luck? Her shapeshifting could come in handy."
"Tonks is swamped with work," said Hermione. "Besides I don't…well Aurors aren't exactly the same thing as police detectives. There's a separate division of the Department of Mysteries for that."
Harry scratched his chin, not seeming deterred in the slightest. "Hmm. I can ask Remus to figure out who is leading the investigation. Then I could try to get in contact with him. I should have enough political clout as the Boy-Who-Lived for a Floo call, at least. If the detective is taking his job seriously, he wouldn't miss the chance to interview the Factionists' Public Enemy Number 1."
Hermione nodded, noticing he didn't ask her to make the call, even though as a Ministry employee and England's youngest heroine she probably had a better chance of getting that interview. "And you'll ask him to…give you details about the case?"
"No. I'll ask for a private consultation first. And then…" He tapped his foot, eyes trained on the window. "I could play dumb, act scared of the big bad terrorists, and use Legilimency to get the information I want. Or I could try to trick him into a binding magical contract. Life debts must be repaid, and if shared agreement of a debt can trigger it, then I might just have to convince him that I saved his life to activate the magic bond. Unbreakable vows are too expensive, I think that requires something like offering up your firstborn in marriage, maybe sacrificing a goat—"
"You know," Hermione mused. "The simplest solution is to a problem is often the correct one. Why not just be honest?"
"Who says I won't be honest? I just won't be transparent. Bottom line, adults don't take kids seriously. He'll take one look at me, see I'm young and therefore naïve and stupid. Also, as the 'Destroyer of Worlds' I'm not exactly trustworthy, so worst case scenario I need a plan in case he completely clams up."
Hermione took his hand in hers, squeezed it. "Whoever the detective is, they're fighting to protect the nation, and they're trying to protect you. Don't forget to respect the person in your quest for the truth. In fact, you could even use their honour to your advantage instead."
He blinked, then squeezed her hand back gently. "So the way it works is I have to consider every strategy, then discard the ones that are too dark lord-y. I promise my default plan isn't blackmail." He turned to her, gave her a grateful smile. "It's strange, I feel this sudden compulsion to share all my plots with you, to make sure I'm not trying to squash anybody by accident."
"Do you have a lot of plots going at the moment?"
"One or two," he said. "I'm completely stumped by one of them, so maybe you can give me some clarity on it later. But enough scheming for now. Are you reading something interesting?"
She glanced down at the massive tome in her lap. The front cover displayed a dark hero fighting a tentacled Cthulhu monstrosity. She could see the tentacles thrashing, the rain sliding off them as they parried and dodged. The cliff was sharp and steep, and with every clash of lightning the hero and villain were drawn closer and closer to mutual destruction.
"I suppose it could be considered interesting," answered Hermione. "It's a collection of biographies about the great heroes of the Wizarding world."
"Ahh. What do you think of it so far?"
She bit her lip, her fingers tracing the edges of the page. "Well, the book focuses on the moral struggle of being a hero, and how the darkness tests their resolve. Normally, I'd like reading about that, but sometimes this author seems to revel in the despair. It's like…they're looking at everything from the darkest lens possible and calling it reality." She frowned. "There's a section about Dumbledore here too, called "The Greater Good," but I can't bring myself to read it. I just…prefer to see him as a gentle old wizard, I suppose."
"If you don't like the book, why are you reading it?" asked Harry.
"Mad Eye told me to," said Hermione, blinking slowly. "He gave it to me last month, told me I needed to finish reading it by this Wednesday. I've been slacking, so I'm trying to read it now, but...but…" Hermione broke off in a huge yawn, covering it with her hand. "Sorry."
He gave her a pointed look. "Now, I'm no expert on the military," said Harry. "But from my understanding, real soldiers are supposed to evaluate orders, even question them. If you really don't want to read this book, just tell Mad Eye, or at least ask him to explain why. And if he gives some pat answer like, 'Because I said so' then do the right thing and ignore his order."
She frowned, looking perplexed. "Maybe you're sort of right, Harry."
"I am at least 99.5% right," he said, then, after a few moments. "How is…your scar, by the way?"
His voice was gentle, and she looked up to see a cautious gaze fixed on her.
"It's been healing," said Hermione. "And it doesn't hurt as much."
He nodded and turned away, but didn't say what he was thinking. There was worry etched into his features, masquerading as annoyance. She smiled, a wave of appreciation washing over her. With all the demands placed on her, she knew she could always rely on Harry to be her emotional safety net. He didn't care if she was perfect, or if she rose above every challenge with top marks. His main concern was that she was safe and happy.
He wouldn't always agree with her choices, and he wasn't afraid to tell her so. But he also wouldn't stand in the way of her making them.
Hermione gazed down at her lap, fidgeting. She felt nervous and happy and confused all at once, and she wished for some way to express that. Something that wasn't just a hug, or some kind words. She wondered if Harry wanted that too.
"Harry, umm…so the only problem with your plan is I won't see Mad Eye until Wednesday, which is my reading deadline. Even if I don't finish, I have to at least give it a solid attempt. But honestly I'm…umm…a little nervous to read this book alone. Do you want to…read it with me?"
He stared at her, and she felt like facepalming. I sound like an idiot, she thought. 'Oh Harry, please save me from the big scary book.'
But she had a suspicion that this was exactly the sort of thing he wanted to hear. And if her intuition was correct…
After a momentous silence, he said, "Well, if that's what it takes to soothe your conscience, I'll help you read it."
He scooted closer on the couch, leaving an inch between them. She closed the gap, their thighs touching. "Do you mind reading aloud?" she asked, her voice small. "So you can censor any really scary parts?"
I sound like a ginormous idiot.
Not that Harry seemed to notice. His face lit up, and he shook his head, laughter in his voice. "Why, this must be a really formidable book to scare Ms. Granger. Is it covered in pig's blood?"
"Chicken's blood," she said, and he laughed again.
DING! said her meter. DING DING DING!
"Okay," she said, her heart racing. "You can start whenever you're ready."
Harry wasn't entirely sure why Hermione was cuddling next to him, but he wasn't about to botch it up by questioning it. When your computer program keeps crashing, and it suddenly starts working, the first thing you do is stop messing with the code. As far as he was concerned, this was definitely a step in the right direction, and he was content to just enjoy it and see where it led.
As if of its own accord, his arm found its way around her shoulders. She smiled and leaned in, the warmth of her suffusing into him. Again, no questions.
Clearing his throat, he turned to the indicated page and read aloud. It was a letter, from Dumbledore to Grindelwald, penned during their school years.
"Gellert—
Your point about Wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLE'S OWN GOOD - this, I think, is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given power and yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibilities over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we surely will be, this must be the basis of all our counterarguments. We seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no more. (This was your mistake at Durmstrang! But I do not complain, because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)
Albus"
"Huh," said Harry. "I didn't realize they were once so close."
Harry knew the story of Grindelwald, of course. Every Wizard in Britain knew of his rise to power, his campaign to enslave the Muggles and establish a magical hierarchy. Everyone had heard of that fateful day where Dumbledore duelled Grindelwald, fighting for three days and nights until the grey wizard collapsed in utter exhaustion, saved by his Phoenix. But in all the history books, this was their first meeting. Dumbledore didn't interact with Grindelwald at all until the war was almost over.
Harry kept reading. The two men met as schoolmates at Godric's Hollow in the 1890s, and they were inseparable ever since. Dumbledore's letters to Grindelwald showed his enthusiastic acceptance of all of Grindelwald's ideas—including his desire to seek eternal life.
Harry almost slammed the book down.
"Are you serious?" he cried.
"What?" asked Hermione.
"Dumbledore used to badger me about my desire for immortality, claiming that it would turn me into a dark wizard. I must have argued with him for hours over it. He didn't even pretend to understand my point of view, which now I see he obviously did." Harry snorted. "Although…I guess considering how things turned out with Grindelwald, I can't blame him for doing a 180 and going full on deathist. Assuming this book is accurate, of course."
They kept reading to where it detailed the eventual fallout of Dumbledore and Grindelwald, ending in a disastrous three-way duel which accidently killed Dumbledore's sister. Then, as they read about Grindelwald's war coming to a head, they learned what the prison camps were for.
"Grindelwald's plan was threefold," said Harry. "First, he wished to investigate human durability under high stress circumstances. He restricted the prisoners' diet and forced them to do manual labour. Not performing well enough led to beatings. The prisoners were given rough cots on which to sleep, their rooms overcrowded and filthy, to maintain a constant state of stress." He felt Hermione tense against him. "In the mornings, the prisoners would be lined up for hours, and some would be chosen to die at random. Those prisoners would often be taken for experimentation, their bodies cut open before and after death."
Hermione made a mumbling sound, shaking her head.
"The second part of his plan was…" Harry's eyes flicked to Hermione. "To produce magical fuel for the war effort. It is suspected this was why he ordered the construction of gas chambers. His spell—or ritual, rather—required a mass death."
Hermione shuddered. "That's horrible."
Harry felt a strong compulsion to stop reading and just hold her. He almost did, but then his arms couldn't seem to move, and maybe she didn't want that anyway? She'd asked him to read, not be a human pillow.
The next section was an unnecessarily graphic depiction of gas chamber execution, which Harry dutifully skipped. "Finally, the third goal of Grindelwald's plan was experimenting on how to prolong human life."
Harry paused, going back to make sure he read that correctly.
"Horcruxes," continued Harry, "were the means that Gellert Grindelwald theorized would make someone immortal. He spent years studying their nature, eventually passing that knowledge down to those he mentored, including one Tom Riddle, who would later become the Dark Lord himself. It was in Grindelwald's gruesome labour camps that he perfected the horcrux spell.
"While the specific means of creating a horcrux are interdicted, three key components are necessary. First, an object is chosen as a horcrux—it can be anything, including a living creature. Second, a victim must be sacrificed by Avada Kedavra. Third, the ritual's castor imprints a copy of their own soul on the horcrux, tying them to life in the case of their death."
Harry fell silent, turning this information over in his mind.
This line of thinking feels just…a little bit dirty, said Hufflepuff.
Well, obviously, it's morally wrong to use this method as written, said Slytherin. But it can be improved on! What about sacrificing a ghost? Or a blank human clone? Or if we could measure the amount of energy in a "soul," then could we substitute with another energy source?
Hermione lifted her head, studying his expression. "You're thinking really hard about this formula."
He shrugged. "I'm considering the possibilities." He squeezed her shoulder. "But ethically sound ones, I assure you."
She sighed. "Just promise you won't go all Grindelwald on me."
"I won't," he said, then he felt something strange. A shift in the magic of the castle, and all of sudden, he realized—
Wait…what did he realize?
"Harry? What's wrong?"
He frowned, feeling this sense that there was somewhere he had to be, but the urgency to move died as swiftly as the knowledge of where he was supposed to go.
Hermione gazed at him in concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
He cleared his throat. "Did you…feel the castle's magic call out to you just now?"
"No," said Hermione. "What do you mean?"
"I thought I felt…something. Sort of like a Hogwarts Quest," said Harry, his voice forelorn. "But then I realized they're all gone."
"Well, for now," said Hermione. "Isn't Remus working on fixing them?"
Harry shook his head. He felt a profound sense of loss, almost of panic, but it was tempered by a note of finality. There was nothing to be done, nothing left to do. He stared down at his right hand, squeezing his ring finger so hard it hurt, like metal against bone.
"I just…really hope I'm not forgetting something," he said.
Hermione closed the book slowly. "You're scaring me a little," she said. "I knew this book was bad news. Let's go and—"
She made a move to stand up, but Harry stopped her with a frantic tug, pulling her close to him. They stayed together for several long seconds. "Harry, you're shaking. What's wrong?"
"I…I'm scared."
"Why?"
I don't know, he thought, then realized it was a lie. The answer echoed in the depths of his spirit, like a death rattle.
Because if I win the game, then you lose.
"Remus is so sweet," sighed Tonks. She was stretched out on her stomach on the floor, papers scattered around her. "But he's so hard to get a hold of. A few days ago, when he came to visit the Headmistress, I was able to accost him for a few minutes. I told him a few stories, you know, like I do, and he smiled at me with such warmth. It was so beautiful and genuine."
"You've got it bad, Tonks," said Hermione, shaking her head.
"Oh, I know." Tonks finished marking a paper, set it aside. "But he's going to notice me, one way or another. Even if I have to chase him all over England."
Hermione sat beside Tonks as they worked on their end of year assignments. Tonks had exams to grade, and Hermione had her extracurricular studies. Her current book "The Hero's Journey"—that one she didn't like—was almost completely finished. And that was because, instead of telling Mad Eye she didn't want to read it, she'd decided to skim it instead. But only titles and first paragraphs, that was it. She wasn't taking any chances.
She flipped through the book, briefly skimming the section about George and the Dragon before she alighted upon a new section.
"He did mention I could stop by his office tomorrow," Tonks said, perking up. "It's just to drop off some papers, but if I tell him the Sasquatch story I could stretch it to at least twenty minutes—"
Hermione shrieked, flinging the book across the room.
"What?" asked Tonks, watching Hermione scramble away like it had stabbed her.
"That picture," she croaked, her mind spinning too fast to think straight. She pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead, as if to make it slow down.
Tonks reached for the book, turning to the page Hermione had stopped at. She stared, then took a breath and let it out. "Hermione, let's talk about this."
"Don't you understand?" cried Hermione, her whole body trembling. "That's me! That's what I really am, Tonks!"
Tonks put a steadying hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Take a second. Breathe."
Hermione tried taking slow breaths, but it didn't help in the slightest. Mad Eye gave her that book to send her a message, only it was the opposite of what she'd thought. She wasn't the hero of the story, she was the monster.
"Why would Mad Eye do this to me?" Hermione pulled on her hair. "Why would he make me find out this way?" A sudden idea rocked her, and she whirled on Tonks. "Did you know about this?"
Tonks did not speak for a long moment. Then, she nodded. "It's restricted information to Aurors. Mad Eye told me a few years ago."
Hermione let out a choking noise, and Tonks braced her shoulders. "But it's not the same for you. You're not going to suddenly turn into a…" Tonks trailed off, but Hermione's stomach dipped at what she meant to say. "Listen, whatever you are, it doesn't change who you are. Remember that, Hermione."
They talked for some time, Tonks explaining what she knew and trying to console her. But no matter what Tonks said, Hermione couldn't shake the thought that this would one day be her fate. Whatever magic that kept her living and breathing would fail, and darkness would consume her. She was living on borrowed time.
Hermione didn't sleep that night.
The girl was impossible.
Boris watched Romilda, who slept on the bed in his private chambers. She needed to rest for at least 14 days, due to an outbreak of "dragon pox." She'd supposedly been sent back home with her parents to recover.
In reality, she had never left Boris's room. He was the one in charge of guarding her, in case she woke up acting like a fool again. They couldn't risk discovery before she'd learned to control herself.
Boris sighed. Romilda reminded him of his younger brothers—strong, confident, and monumentally stupid. Boris knew that he himself could not stand the power of the ancient ring, which is why he took no part in it. The sensation of being out of control was all too familiar for him, but at least he had a charm to help with that. There was nothing he could do for her except let her sleep for the next few days.
He tapped his foot, irritation setting his jaw. It wasn't fair. This was Draco's fault, so he should be the one monitoring the idiot. Boris felt insanely restless if he couldn't roam outside. It was where he belonged, not cooped up in here.
He turned back to the sleeping girl, then readied his wand. He cast a spell to bind her, and another to keep her asleep. It would knock her out for at least an hour.
He stepped outside to get some fresh air, locking the door behind him. He'd come back with food for both of them.
