Chapter 55: Determinism
It was late that evening when Hermione was called in to McGonagall's office. Speaking the password, she trudged up the steps into the familiar room. Even with her boost of speed, her steps thudded heavily, struggling upwards. She'd been on her feet all day, tending to scared classmates and suppressing her own fears.
Hermione opened the door to see Madam Bones sat in McGonagall's chair, alone. In front of her was the ever present paperwork, as if it was an extension of herself.
The door slammed loudly behind her, and she jumped. Madam Bones did not flinch, but she said, with a thin smile, "Please sit, Hermione."
She took the seat in front of her mentor, trying to hide how uncomfortable she felt. It was a conditioned response. Hermione rarely had a one-on-one session with Madam Bones that ended well.
Her mentor tented her fingers, regarding her a moment before speaking. "Hermione, I wanted to ask you about your relationship to Boris Krum."
"Umm…" Hermione's fists pressed against her knees, her knuckles white. "He attended my Saturday afternoon classes last semester. He stopped in December after…he kissed me, and I pushed him away."
Madam Bones' expression remained neutral. "Since then, have you had any contact with him?"
Hermione shook her head. "We've avoided each other, even in our shared classes. Why do you want to know?"
Madam Bones dipped her quill in ink, jotting a short scribble onto a piece of paper. She drew another paper from her pile and showed it to Hermione. "Did he ever wear anything like this?"
She peered over, examining the image of the necklace. Its pendant was a golden oval, and in its centre a ruby jewel.
Hermione opened her mouth to say no, but she stopped, giving it a closer inspection. "I don't know if he wore this pendant," said Hermione, pressing her finger to the page. "But he used to wear a gold chain around his neck. Could that be related?"
"Perhaps. I've had other students mention the chain as well." Madam Bones sat back, studying Hermione. "I also heard that Boris and Harry did not get along well."
"No," said Hermione. "Harry was jealous of Boris's friendship with me."
Madam Bones said nothing for a moment. "Did you ever care for Boris romantically?"
She met her mentor's gaze, sensing intuitively that the question was meant to leave her mind unguarded. Her mentor was using Legilimency. "I kissed him. But we were never close, friends or otherwise." Hermione bit her lip. "What is it you really want to know?"
"I want to know," said Madam Bones, her voice softer than normal. "If you're still on our side."
"What?" Hermione frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Madam Bones made another note—flick, swish, done—and turned back to Hermione. "Boris Krum did not return to school this year. He is a major suspect in the kidnapping of two girls. And you, Hermione, were romantically involved with two boys who are being investigated by the Ministry."
"Wait…Harry too? But…"
"Yes, Harry as well." continued Madam Bones. "I need to determine that you've not been corrupted, that your mind is still your own."
The room fell into silence as Hermione weighed these words.
"And…if it weren't?"
Madam Bones—a woman built of iron and raw grit—deflated like a popped balloon, slumped against the chair back. "We would be doomed, then. A lot of people are counting on you, Hermione, myself included. You're our only way to stop this war."
She was still reeling from this when her mentor dropped another bombshell. "I believe it would be best for you to avoid Harry's company for a while. I know you care for Harry, but—"
"Madam Bones," Hermione felt herself trembling—with fear or anger, she couldn't tell. "Is this about the prophecies? I know he's rumoured to end the world, but that could interpreted in a lot of ways—"
"There are thousands of prophecies," said Madam Bones, her voice severe. "Dating back to his birth and growing exponentially until now. They are not vague verses open to interpretation. Harry will be responsible for a cataclysmic, apocalyptic event that will destroy the world. If we did not constrict his movements, if we let him grow in power, then it would be a certainty."
Hermione couldn't stand it, cutting her off. "Madam Bones, is this a test? Are you trying to make me stronger by forcing him away?" Her body was shaking now. "Because if this is what you're doing—"
"This is not a test. I am concerned. For you." Her voice rose. "Hermione. Everything I have done has been out of concern for you."
Hermione shook her head, her voice small. "Why? I don't understand. What is the point of telling me that everything I do is wrong? All this year you've overworked me, berated me for every single flaw and forced me to bend over backwards to please you. Yet you never once said a kind word to me, so how am I supposed to believe you now?"
Tears started in Hermione's eyes. She didn't want to cry—not in front of her—but the tears spread like a virus.
"Oh, my dear girl." Madam Bones reached forward, her hand stopping halfway across the desk. "I was not trying to hurt you; I wanted to save your life. After all, you are destined to save all of ours."
Hermione sat there, stupidly blinking. Words completely escaped her.
"You must be wondering why I believe this, and I could tell you it was a prophecy," she sighed. "Because that is true—it is the first thing that drew me to working with you. It said your destiny will be a great one—fated to destroy the enemies of light, leading the people to a great future. But that is not the only reason I believe in you." She folded her hands. "I have worked with many powerful wizards and witches, and I can tell you have the seeds of their greatness—intellectual abilities, physical stamina, and an intense work ethic. But you are missing one thing, and it is crucial—you are not tough enough to handle the responsibility."
Madam Bones shifted uncomfortably, as if she wished to stand but couldn't. "The world knows you as the Girl-Who-Revived, a strong witch who can annihilate her enemies. But from our training, that is not what I see. It takes a certain kind of disposition to fight dark wizards. I have it, Mad Eye has it. Most Aurors don't have it, at least not right away, but they will in time. Even Dumbledore had it, though not enough of it. I dare to say that if he had developed this disposition sooner, he could have defeated his enemies much more quickly, and saved more lives."
Her smile seemed a grimace. "You, Hermione, do not have the luxury of time to toughen you up. Someday soon, Britain will be at war, and you will have an important role to play. Whether you like it or not, you will become the standard bearer, and that comes with a price. Dark wizards will see you as a threat, and devise strategies to take you down. Others will try to use you. And believe me, Hermione, if they are determined, then none of your speed or strength will make a bit of difference. I myself know what it feels like—to take a stand, and to watch everything you loved be cut down before your eyes. Something like that…" She cleared her throat, averting her eyes. "I cannot prepare you for it. But I did everything I could."
"So I have to suffer," said Hermione softly. "And you don't want it to break me."
"All of us who fight will suffer," she said. "But you need to be strong enough to lead them."
Hermione let out a breath.
"Do not worry," said Madam Bones, reaching across the table for Hermione's hand. "I will be here to guide you. I firmly believe in your potential, and you have already grown so much. We will do this together."
Hermione felt something warm blossom inside her at the promise of Madam Bones' support. In spite of everything, she still craved her approval, like a perfect row of checkmarks on a test. Or maybe it was just relief that she wasn't fighting with her allies anymore.
"Can you…umm…" said Hermione. "Will you tell me about the prophecies? I want to hear them. I need to know as much as you can tell me."
Madam Bones nodded and told her what she knew.
Harry woke up early that morning, his sleep fitful. He stared blankly at the room before him, filled with sleeping boys who seemed like hazy ghosts in the pale light of dawn.
He dressed and went down to his lab. There was a lot to do to prepare for tonight, his first meeting of the Defence Army. He needed to reference a few books on battle tactics in his lab's library, but also, the lab was his home. More than anywhere else, it was where he belonged.
He was writing something in a notebook when he heard the door open. He turned to look, and…there she was.
"Hi Harry," Hermione said.
Harry gazed at her. The light from the morning sun came in such a way that she looked brighter than everything else in the room.
"Hermione," he said, then nothing more. As if he hadn't been thinking of their next conversation every second, planning every word.
She crossed the room to him, looking as exhausted as he felt. Her eyes were rimmed with red. "I need to talk to you."
He set down his quill. Somehow, he knew. "You're leaving."
She nodded. "I'm going with Cedric and Madam Bones to the Ministry."
"When?"
"This morning, probably."
Harry ran a hand through his hair. He didn't know what to say. "How long?"
"I don't know, but I don't think I'm coming back."
He froze, his paranoid mind completely interpreting it wrong.
She rushed to reassure him. "I mean, I may not come back to Hogwarts, or to Beauxbatons next fall either. Madam Bones said my mock test scores were almost perfect, and she can sign the papers saying I passed my exams. I can join the Aurors officially by this summer."
Harry's jaw was working as he processed everything. His mind grasped for some clever argument that would convince her to stay, but he knew it was pointless. This was her choice, and the fact that it terrified him didn't factor in.
"I…don't want you to go," he admitted. "I've sort of got a grudge against Madam Bones, and I don't trust her or Mad Eye to take care of you. But…" he sighed. "I understand why you made the decision. If they'd have let me, I would have gone with you, though I get the sense Madam Bones doesn't want me anywhere near her Aurors."
"Madam Bones has some…negative opinions about you," said Hermione. "When we talked yesterday, she said I should stay away from you. I told her very politely to shove it."
He snorted softly, then moved a step closer to her, lingering. "I'll…write to you."
She smiled, so quickly he couldn't tell if she meant it. "Okay."
He gazed at her, though her eyes remained fixed at a spot on the floor. The elephant in the room loomed between them. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. For…everything."
She shrugged her shoulders. "It's okay."
"No, it's not," he said emphatically. "I should have an answer for you, but I don't yet. And I'm sorry to leave you waiting, especially now that you're going away. I wish I weren't leaving things like this between us."
"Harry, really, it's okay. I understand." She smiled, and it was soft and genuine. "You're cautious about these things, so I know you need to take your time. In fact, I've been doing some thinking, and I'm grateful to you."
"Grateful?"
"That night," she gazed at her hands. "We both…wanted each other. I know how easy it would have been to give into that impulse, no matter the consequence." She shook her head. "But you didn't. You were honest and set boundaries, to protect me from getting hurt. And then you didn't try to sugarcoat it, you told me exactly what was going on, and I…" She blinked away tears. "As much as it hurt, it was the right thing to do. It means so much to know that you cared for me, even if it would only be as friends."
His heart tensed painfully, and his hands gripped the desk hard. "Hermione."
"What?"
He didn't speak for a few moments, two sides of him at war with each other. Harry could imagine her in her room, crying, trying to think of any reason why it would be okay. Most girls would have gotten angry, called him a cold-hearted freak. But she tried to understand him, refused to blame him…
Harry caved, his self-restraint losing the war. "After all you said about boundaries, I'll understand if you say no. But please…before you go, can I hold you?"
She gazed at him for a second, then nodded. Harry crossed the last few steps to her, wrapping her in his arms. She felt so warm and alive, and he gripped her tighter, wishing he could keep her here. Maybe it was selfish, but he wished the world didn't need her to be a hero.
The orange glow of the morning sun spread over them, casting her brown hair with reddish gold. He rubbed her back gently, feeling a bit of guilt over whether this was acceptable for friends…then realized he needed to stop kidding himself. They'd already crossed that line. It was all he could do not to turn his face and kiss her.
Her thoughts echoing his own, she said, "Wouldn't it be easier if you were a girl, or if I was a boy?"
"Maybe," said Harry. "But if one of us were gay, we'd have a whole new problem."
She chuckled, so soft he barely heard it.
"I'm going to miss you," he said.
"I know," she sighed. "Me too."
After a final squeeze, Hermione pulled away. She picked up her bag.
"You're leaving now?" he asked.
She nodded. "I think it's time. And you know…maybe some distance between us will be a good thing."
Harry knew she was right, but it hurt to hear that, all the same. Even now, he felt empty standing apart from her.
"Stay safe, Hermione," he said. "I promise I will write to you."
She nodded. "I will too."
Hermione kissed his cheek, and then she left him.
April 9th, 1996
Draco entered the Priestess's room, the lethargy of his brain still hounding the edges of his thoughts.
The Priestess did not sit in her accustomed chair. This time, she stood at a window, facing the grey world below.
"Draco." Her voice felt cool and calm, like a running brook. "Come here."
He approached her, feeling wary and strangely numb.
She smiled at him with gentle concern, then pulled him into a hug. "I am so sorry for what happened. You did the right thing."
Draco froze, arms stiff by his sides. He had spent the last week trying to pull himself together. The last thing he needed—or wanted—was his Priestess to undo all the work and leave him a sobbing mess. It wasn't proper, it wasn't right…
The Priestess smelled of cinnamon, and her embrace felt warm and comforting. Why did she have to share Romilda's dark curls? Draco had to squeeze his eyes shut tight, holding back tears.
The Priestess pulled away, a look of sympathy on her face. "Tell me everything you learned, Draco."
His hands shook as he pulled out his sheaf of papers. Clearing his throat, he began reciting. Romilda had done her duty—this information was a treasure trove. It went on for pages, and the shift in his focus calmed him. "Harry's mind was difficult to gain access to. Much of the information was not as complete as we would have liked. I don't know how to explain this, but I received the sense that Harry's magic is bound."
"Bound?" the Priestess repeated, a wary look crossing her features.
"Yes, in the sense that it's constricted, but I'm not sure how. I don't think he's aware of it."
As she ruminated, a light crossed her face. "He is bound by an unbreakable vow."
Examining the memory, Draco thought this made sense, though it was quite a leap in logic. "Also, his magic resonates strongly with Hermione's. It's like they're related, or something."
"Hmm. That is strange, but very intriguing." Her dark eyes grew introspective and shrewd, as she shifted through her own thoughts. "I will ask a question, and I'd like you to search the memories for an answer. Do you, or do you not, see a mirror in any of his memories? Not like a bathroom mirror; it will be unusual and significant."
"Umm…" Draco searched his mind. "No."
"What about a place he frequents, but always alone?"
"His closet…his back room in his lab…he's alone quite often, but usually experimenting. Romilda got some information on those experiments, including the ones on the Source of Magic, if you're curious."
"Not really. Go on."
Draco turned to the last page. "The last is Lavender's prophecy. It was a jumbled mess and very difficult to piece together, but I've done as much as I can. It is about the end of the world. Do you want to hear it?"
She ran a manicured finger across her lower lip. For a long moment, she contemplated. "Before we do that, I need to inform you of something. In the case of my death or inability to lead, you will take my place."
He froze. "What?"
"You are the best for it," she said. "Everything that is mine would be yours. The ring of truth, a measure of my power, as well as the entire company of the Factionists, will be at your disposal. It has been set up for some time, but you must agree to this verbally."
Draco considered this offer. In his ten year plan, Draco would eventually gain political power in England, master the secret lore of the Priestess, and rule the Wizengamot as a shadow figurehead. But could he handle all of that now?
His father would tell him to be cautious, to consider all his options, but Draco didn't see that he had many others. If he said no, the Priestess might never offer him this chance again. Besides, she wasn't a fanatical dark lord who Crucioed her followers for every infraction, so he trusted her not to be completely foolish. "Yes, if that's what you want."
"Good." Her lips were pale, pressed in a tight line. "Now, speak."
Draco began, speaking each halting verse as it was written on the paper.
"Mid the fair light of the moon
A choice is made
On a dark night of woe
The price will be paid
Here there was a gap, Draco could feel it. But he did not know what went there. He went on.
Vows will be broken
And souls shall be…"
"Stop," she said, holding up her hands. Draco froze, unable to move.
"Speak no more," she said, her voice trembling. "I am not to know any of this."
She turned from him, striding away to a far window, gaze fixed on the faded world. She cast a wordless spell, and then stood in silence. "Yes. It is right. My conscience is clear."
She turned back to Draco. "You will lead them. And I—" She stopped mid-sentence, her mouth open. Her voice made a small squeak as she tried again. Then, she shook her head. "I am not to be a part of this. Not anymore. Goodbye, Draco. Perhaps we will meet again."
With that, she turned and walked out the door, closing it behind her.
Draco stood in the room she vacated, his mind slowly catching up to what just happened.
"Is this a joke?" he asked the empty room.
No one answered, save the ticking of the clock.
It took a few more seconds before it really hit him.
She'd left him in power.
Just now, that is what happened.
Draco's shocked brain tried to consider the implications of this. Thousands of followers at his disposal. Ancient Lore…
He went around the room, searching for this "Ancient Lore" she possessed. Maybe it would give him some clue as to where she'd gone. His search turned up empty until he checked the window casement and there, behind the curtains, was a book, a ring, and a key. He understood, intuitively, that this was a key to the room.
Draco stared out the window, at the world shrouded in mist below. He felt he could be in the clouds…where was he, anyway? Why would she leave him here, in the middle of his report? Was the prophecy really that important?
His mind ran over the rest of the prophecy, wondering if there was some clue hidden there.
Vows will be broken
And souls shall be freed
But what once was undying
A monster will be
A dragon, an heir, and a queen
What happened once, again must be
For the one to save the world
Will surely destroy it.
He frowned. It was different than most prophecies he'd heard about Potter. And whenever he thought of it, his mind kept running back to Romilda's final vision of Luna in her room, standing before a painted image of her classmates. There were words inscribed along the bottom, shrouded by the night sky and the moon.
Draco slumped down into a chair, running a hand through his hair. There were things to do, and he couldn't handle it alone. But before he started upending his entire world…he needed to think.
