/
Hermione woke early the morning of their first trip of the term into Hogsmeade to meet with Nott to work on Felix Felicis beforehand. The potion was coming along nicely, albeit slowly, and as it progressed, they were spending increasingly more time together in the cramped room they'd been designated for brewing their liquid luck.
Hermione still didn't trust him (and he'd made it clear he certainly didn't trust her)— at least not outside of that cramped store room— and they continued to find at least one new way to insult the other with every meeting, but they'd also somehow managed to fall into a sort of mutually shared civility, a cautious sort of academic respect, even.
As she passed through the all but empty Gryffindor Common Room, she glanced out the window and saw a cold, stormy October day.
At least we'll get to leave the castle for a bit, she considered, thinking a Butterbeer after her meeting with Nott sounded exactly like what she would need.
"You're late," Nott announced as she entered the tiny room. Fortunately, the small storeroom contained a small window, which they tended to leave open for ventilation; however, at this stage in the potion, the ventilation was doing very little to clear the air— the room was foggy with a pungent, bluish vapor.
Hermione coughed, "You're early."
"Never too early for Felix— now come here, quick."
Hermione dropped her bag on the floor and moved to stand beside Nott. Three cauldrons were bubbling atop three separate flames— three separate attempts at Felix. It was lucky Slughorn had quite the stock of ingredients, especially ones so rare, and even more lucky he'd been so willing to give them up. Knowing just how tricky the potion was to brew, and their high likelihood of failure, they'd decided to create three batches with the hope at least one would be successful.
"One and three are looking spot on, but two…" Theo said, his unusually furrowed brow betraying his worry.
Hermione peered into the cauldrons with trepidation, as she did each day, never quite certain what she would see, but tentatively hopeful. Today, cauldrons one and three were deep blue, and sparkling, like a starry night sky. To Hermione's dismay, cauldron two looked as black and menacing as a moonless midnight.
"Quick— pass me the tincture of thyme," she instructed.
Theo immediately rummaged through their store of ingredients.
"It must've gone too cold— we'll need to be more careful about leaving the window open," Hermione explained as Theo handed her the tincture.
She turned up the flame ever-so-slightly, then measured a small amount of the tincture into her hand. She rubbed it between her palms to warm it, then carefully dropped it into the midnight liquid. They waited with bated breath for a moment before, to their immense relief, the potion turned the same shade of deep blue as the other cauldrons.
"Crisis averted," Nott said as he wiped his brow.
"For now," Hermione said, releasing her breath; she hadn't been aware she'd be holding it.
"I think I'll hang around here today," Nott said as he casually leaned against the wall beside the open window. He rolled up his sleeves, and Hermione saw the skin on the inside of his forearms was smooth, free from Voldemort's Dark Mark.
He's not a Death Eater, she thought, and felt another wave of relief wash through her. She wasn't sure exactly why she really cared, however.
"You're not going to Hogsmeade?" She asked with polite curiosity.
"Don't you think that Felix is just a little more important than stuffing your pockets with sugar quills from Honeydukes?" Theo asked sarcastically.
"Of course I do, but we don't need to—" Hermione crossed her arms in exasperation.
"—I think one of us should keep an eye on the temperature in here today, make sure that's sorted," Theo interrupted.
Hermione nodded, that Butterbeer sounding more and more tempting with each passing minute spent in the same room with Nott.
"If you want to go to Hogsmeade, I could stay… it's not very nice out today, anyway," she knew her offer sounded feeble.
Theo smirked, "Thanks, but the Hogsmeade trips have never had much appeal to me anyway."
In truth, Theo had never been on any of the trips into the little town just outside of Hogwarts' grounds. He tried not to wince as he remembered how his father had refused, quite firmly, to sign his permission slip the first and only time he had ever worked up the courage to ask.
"But I wouldn't say no to a bit of smuggled Firewhiskey."
Hermione uncrossed her arms, her expression softening.
"If I smuggled Firewhiskey into the castle, believe me, I'd keep it for myself, Nott. Merlin knows I need it after all the time I spend in here with you and partnered with Malfoy in Healing," Hermione said as she slung her bag over her shoulder.
"My, my, Granger— I thought you were a prefect!"
"Good-bye, Nott!" She exclaimed as she left him grinning by the window, his hazel eyes filled with mirth.
"I'd also accept a bottle of the Hog's Head's finest Daisyroot Draught!" he called after her.
/
Hermione met Harry and Ron in the Great Hall for breakfast, and Ron wasted no time in regaling her with the tale of the morning's escapades.
"... and then there was another flash of light and I landed on the bed again!" Ron grinned, helping himself to sausages.
Hermione had not cracked a smile during this anecdote, and turned to Harry with a darkly significant, and worried, look. Much to her dismay, Harry seemed as keen as ever to use the book, inside and outside of class.
"Was this spell, by any chance, another one from the Half-Blood Prince?"
Harry frowned guiltily at her.
"Always jump to the worst conclusion, don't you?" Ron interjected.
"So I'm right," she sighed and pushed her eggs around on her plate. Again, Harry was acting rashly, disregarding his own safety, and now, Ron's too.
"Hermione, I—"
"So you just decided to try out an unknown, handwritten incantation and see what would happen?"
"It was a laugh!" Ron interjected, upending a ketchup bottle over his sausages. "Just a laugh, Hermione, that's all!"
"Dangling people upside down by the ankle?" said Hermione. "Who puts their time and energy into making up spells like that?" She was beginning to question the intentions of the Prince.
"Fred and George," said Ron, shrugging, "it's their kind of thing. And, er—"
"My dad," said Harry.
"What?" said Ron and Hermione together, in surprise.
"My dad used this spell," said Harry. "I—Lupin told me."
His answer seemed to appease Ron, but Hermione looked at Harry skeptically. There was definitely something Harry wasn't telling her, and she couldn't deny she felt disheartened by it.
When did we start hiding things from each other? Hermione wondered.
"Maybe your dad did use it, Harry," she said, "but he's not the only one. We've seen a whole bunch of people use it, remember? Dangling people in the air. Making them float along, asleep— helpless."
She watched as understanding blossomed behind Harry's eyes.
"The Quidditch World Cup," he said quietly. She nodded in grave silence, wondering if perhaps Malfoy would soon be among that group of hidden figures, dangling people in the air— or worse.
"That was different," Ron said robustly. "They were abusing it. Harry and his dad were just having a laugh. You don't like the Prince, Hermione," he added, pointing a sausage at her sternly, "because he's better than you at Potions—"
"It's got nothing to do with that," she retorted.
In truth, it had bothered her a little at first, but mostly because Harry seemed to be using the book with reckless abandon. She worried for his safety— as if he didn't have enough threatening his life. "Not everything is black and white…"
She could tell Harry was holding on to the idea that the Prince could've been his father, and she couldn't blame him for it. With Sirius gone, Lupin occupied with an Order mission, and Dumbledore absent most of the time, there wasn't much left to connect Harry to his past— to his parents — no one to guide him through this war.
"I just think it's very irresponsible to start performing spells when you don't even know what they're for… you don't know what the Prince's intentions were."
"I don't see where you get that from," said Harry heatedly. "If he'd been a budding Death Eater he wouldn't have been boasting about being 'half-blood,' would he?"
By the change in Harry's expression, she could tell that Harry had just realized he'd poked a hole in his own theory; his father had been pure-blooded.
"The Death Eaters can't all be pure-blood, there aren't enough pure-blood wizards left," she said, unrelenting. "I expect most of them are half-bloods pretending to be pure. It's only Muggle-borns they hate, they'd be quite happy to let you and Ron join up."
Hermione imagined Harry and Ron, Dark Marks burned into their arms. She winced; it was bad enough imagining Malfoy as a Death Eater.
But he is one, her mind whispered.
"There's no way they'd let me be a Death Eater!" said Ron indignantly, a bit of sausage flying off the fork he was now brandishing at Hermione and hitting Ernie Macmillan on the head. "My whole family are blood traitors! That's as bad as Muggle-borns to Death Eaters!"
Not quite. It was hard for Hermione to imagine Voldemort murdering a family of pure-bloods simply for being born that way, but she didn't really think now was the best time to say so.
"And they'd love to have me," said Harry sarcastically. "We'd be best pals if they didn't keep trying to do me in."
This made Ron laugh, and even Hermione found herself smiling, albeit grudgingly.
"What's so funny?" Ginny asked, appearing beside them.
"Me as a Death Eater," Ron said casually, as if he were talking about the weather, buttering another piece of toast.
"Hilarious," Ginny said, sounding confused. "Hey, Harry, I'm supposed to give you this."
It was a scroll of parchment with Harry's name written upon it; Hermione recognized Dumbledore's thin, slanting writing.
The Headmaster had been as absent as ever the last few weeks, and although Harry kept she and Ron up-to-date with that Dumbledore showed him in the Pensieve, Hermione could tell Harry felt quite abandoned. She continued to wonder what the wizard was up to exactly. She hoped he didn't return to the castle with another dead, decaying hand.
"Thanks, Ginny... It's Dumbledore's next lesson!" Harry exclaimed, pulling open the parchment and quickly reading its contents. "Monday evening!"
"Want to come to Hogsmeade with us Ginny?" Hermione asked brightly.
"I'm going with Dean— might see you there," she replied, waving at them as she left.
Filch was standing at the oak front doors as usual, checking off the names of people who had permission to go into Hogsmeade. The process took even longer than normal as Filch was triple-checking everybody with his Secrecy Sensor.
Hermione held her breath as Filch ran the sensor over her, wondering if the necklace would trigger any alarm; she saw Harry felt the same, his expression one of nervous curiosity.
But they needn't have worried; nothing happened and Filch moved along the line without much more than a grunt. Hermione felt a surge of relief.
"What does it matter if we're smuggling Dark stuff OUT?" demanded Ron, eyeing the long, thin Secrecy Sensor with apprehension as Filch stood on his toes to reach the scanner to the level of Ron's head.
"You don't need to scan his skull Mister Filch— I can assure you, it's empty," she remarked and Harry laughed out loud.
Ron rolled his eyes, ignoring them both, and turned back to Filch, "Surely you ought to be checking what we bring back IN?"
His cheek earned him a few extra jabs with the Sensor, and she and Harry laughed harder, seeing him still wincing as they stepped out into the wind and sleet.
"Maybe it'd be good if Filch found the necklace… y'know, then maybe someone would actually figure out how to get it off you," Harry mumbled through the scarf over the lower part of his face, once they were safely outside the castle in the blustery cold.
It was freezing outside, and the road to the village was full of students bent double against the bitter wind. More than once Hermione wondered whether they might not have had a better time in the warm common room, or, quite desperately, even back in the cramped classroom with Nott and Felix, but when they they finally reached Hogsmeade, Hermione's mood lightened as Harry looped his arm through hers, pulling her close.
After noting with disappointment that Zonko's was closed and boarded up, they made their way toward Honeydukes this way, staggering side-by-side in Ron's wake.
"I'm sorry, Hermione, really— and I will be more careful…" Harry began tentatively.
Hermione seriously doubted this, but appreciated him saying so.
"…but I really don't think the Prince is as bad as you think he is."
"Or she—" she interjected.
Harry gave her a skeptical look, but did not argue.
"Well that's the thing, we just don't know," she continued, "It's all a bit gray, don't you think? The Prince? I just don't want you to try a spell, thinking it'll be all right, and then it gets you or Ron, or someone else, hurt," she said, managing a small smile as they entered the crowded shop. "Let's just forget it for now, Harry, and try to have a good day."
Safe inside the warmth of Honeydukes, Ron turned to see Harry and Hermione speaking in hushed tones to one another, their arms still intertwined, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. They rapidly parted.
"Oh— look at these new extra large sugar quills!" She exclaimed, using the first thing she spotted as a diversion, but she needn't have bothered, as Slughorn suddenly appeared beside them.
"Harry, m'boy!"
"Oh no," muttered Harry.
Hermione winced, reminded of Slughorn's most recent dinner— the horror of the professor's comments about the necklace, but more than that, she remembered how close she'd been to Malfoy, the feeling of his arm against hers, the sensation of his intense gaze scanning the exposed skin of her collarbone— the scar that was, rather unfortunately, their secret now. She shivered, and not from the cold that swept through the open doorway as another student crammed into the shop.
Professor Slughorn was wearing an enormous furry hat and an overcoat with matching fur collar, clutching a large bag of crystalized pineapple, and occupying at least a quarter of the shop.
"Harry, that's two of my little suppers you've missed now!" said Slughorn, poking him genially in the chest. "It won't do, m'boy, I'm determined to have you! Miss Granger loves them, don't you?"
"Yes," said Hermione helplessly, rather distracted by the image of Malfoy's piercing gaze, "they're really—"
"So why don't you come along, Harry?" Demanded Slughorn.
"Well, I've had Quidditch practice, Professor," said Harry, who Hermione noticed had been purposefully scheduling practices every time Slughorn had sent him a little, violet ribbon-adorned invitation.
The only benefit to Harry's avoidance had been Ron not feeling quite as left out.
"Well, I certainly expect you to win your first match after all the hard work!" said Slughorn. "But a little recreation never hurt any body. Now, how about Monday night, you can't possibly want to practice in this weather..."
"I can't, Professor, I've got—er—an appointment with Professor Dumbledore that evening."
Lucky, Hermione thought.
"Unlucky again!" Cried Slughorn dramatically. "Ah, well... you can't evade me forever, Harry! I'll see you on Monday though, right Miss Granger?"
"Yes, thank you professor."
And with a regal wave, he waddled out of the shop, taking as little notice of Ron as though he had been a display of Cockroach Clusters.
"I can't believe you've wriggled out of another one," said Hermione, shaking her head. "You know I had to sit between Malfoy and Nott last time?"
She saw Harry scowl at this and could not deny she felt a bit of pleasure at his response.
"The dinners might not be so bad if we went together—" She paused as she caught sight of Ron's perturbed expression at again being ignored by Slughorn. "Oh, let's get those Deluxe Sugar Quills!"
After poking around the shop for a while, and, unable to waste any more time to simply avoid the bitter cold outside, they made their way to the Three Broomsticks.
Butterbeer at last, Hermione thought in relief.
They bundled their scarves back over their faces and left the sweetshop. The fierce wind was like knives on their faces after the sugary warmth of Honeydukes. Standing just outside the Three Broomsticks, they spotted two men. One was very tall and thin, one short. Hermione recognized the tall one as the barman who worked in the other Hogsmeade pub, the Hog's Head. As she drew closer with Harry and Ron at her side, the barman drew his cloak more tightly around his neck and walked away, leaving the shorter man to fumble with something in his arms. They were barely feet from him when she realized who the man was.
"Mundungus!" Harry exclaimed, recognizing the man as well.
The squat, bandy-legged man with long, straggly, ginger hair jumped and dropped an ancient suitcase, which burst open, releasing what looked like the entire contents of a junk shop window.
"Oh, 'ello, 'Arry," said Mundungus Fletcher, with a most unconvincing stab at airiness. "Well, don't let me keep ya."
And he began scrabbling on the ground to retrieve the contents of his suitcase with every appearance of a man eager to be gone.
"Are you selling this stuff?" asked Harry, as they watched Mundungus grab an assortment of grubby-looking objects from the ground. Hermione frowned, knowing most of the items were likely stolen, or otherwise obtained through less-than-savory means.
"Oh, well, gotta scrape a living," said Mundungus. "Gimme that!"
Ron had stooped down and picked up something silver.
"Hang on," Ron said slowly. "This looks familiar—"
"Thank you!" said Mundungus, snatching the goblet out of Ron's hand and stuffing it back into the case.
Hermione recognized the silver goblet right away, from Grimmauld Place. She drew her wand, but Harry beat her to it.
"Well, I'll see you all—OUCH!"
Harry pinned Mundungus against the wall of the pub by the throat. Holding him fast with one hand, he pulled out his wand. Hermione flanked his right, pointing her own wand at the thief.
"You took that from Sirius' house," said Harry, who was almost nose to nose with Mundungus.
Hermione could smell Mundungus' unpleasant smell of old tobacco and spirits. "That had the Black family crest on it," she said.
"I—no—what—?" spluttered Mundungus, who was slowly turning purple.
"What did you do, go back the night he died and strip the place?" Harry snarled.
"I—no—"
"Give it to me!" Harry's voiced echoed even above the howl of the wind.
"Harry!" whispered Hermione fiercely, shooting him a look. "Keep your voice down— there are too many people—" She saw Mundungus had started to turn blue, but she couldn't really fault Harry, except for his lack of discretion.
There was a bang, and gasping and spluttering, Mundungus seized his fallen case, then—CRACK— he Disapparated.
Harry swore at the top of his voice, spinning on the spot to see where Mundungus had gone. Hermione shook her head in silent anger and disbelief.
"COME BACK, YOU THIEVING — !" Harry shouted.
"There's no point, Harry."
Nymphadora Tonks had appeared out of nowhere, her mousy hair wet with sleet.
"Mundungus will probably be in London by now. There's no point yelling."
"He's nicked Sirius' stuff! Nicked it!"
"Yes, but still," said Tonks, who seemed perfectly untroubled by this piece of information. "You should get out of the cold."
"But Tonks, wait— how have you been?" Hermione glanced around, then whispered, "And Lupin too? We haven't heard from him."
Hermione did not miss the sudden change in Tonks' expression, the sadness in her eyes. She said nothing.
"Is everything— okay?" Harry asked quietly, his concern for Tonks and Lupin finally tearing away his attention from Mundungus.
"What—? Oh, yeah… everything is okay. Look, we can't talk about it here and now anyway. Go inside, get out of this cold."
Ron led the way into the pub, but Harry and Hermione held back.
"You can talk to us, Tonks, you know…" Hermione tried to encourage. She watched as Tonks smiled sadly, and Hermione was almost sure the Auror was on the brink of tears.
"We like your mum's class," Harry offered. Hermione knew he was trying to support her in the only way he could manage.
"That's great— mum's brilliant, I'm sure you know that though. Now go on… it's packed in there already."
Reluctantly, they entered the Three Broomsticks. The moment they were inside, Harry sighed, then burst out, "He was nicking Sirius' stuff!"
"I know, Harry, but please don't shout, people are staring," whispered Hermione. "Go and sit down, I'll get you a drink."
This is why he failed at Occlumency, Hermione thought, frowning. She hated to think poorly of Harry, and considered that no one was perfect, after all.
I'm certainly far from it, she thought, knowing she too hadn't hesitated to draw her own wand on Mundungus.
She'd always admired and appreciated Harry's fierceness, his willingness to defend those he cared about without a second thought, to stand up for others— it was one of the things she respected most about him— but his rashness, his failure to listen to reason at times, his limited ability to keep his emotions in check, and his impulsive choices and lack of tact, they'd led him, led them, down dangerous paths— had even led them to failure, to death.
She told herself that she trusted Harry entirely.
Don't I?
Then why were you so insistent on brewing your own Felix Felicis? A small, skeptical voice whispered in her mind. She shook her head.
Hermione stepped up to the bar, but no one paid her any mind; Madam Rosmerta, the barmaid, was busy helping other customers. As Tonks had warned, the pub was about as busy as Hermione had ever seen it, with everyone trying to escape the brutal weather outdoors. She eyed the shelves behind the counter, colorful and glistening with bottles of every color and shape.
Hermione thought of Nott, holed up in a blue, smokey room alone with Felix, toiling all day over three bubbling cauldrons.
He probably didn't even have anyone at home to sign his permission slip, Hermione thought, knowing Nott's father was currently in Azkaban, and that his mother had passed away.
Her brown eyes continued to scan the shelves, stopping only when she spotted Ogden's Firewhiskey. There was one small bottle of the spirit on display, but Hermione figured there was probably plenty more beneath the counter; it was one of the more popular Wizarding spirits of choice.
No one will miss one little bottle.
Hermione didn't allow herself time for second thoughts. She gripped her wand, and, without uttering a single word aloud, cast a summoning charm.
The bottle soared across the bar and into her hand. She hastily shoved it into her bag. Hermione glanced to her left, then to her right; it appeared no one had noticed a thing.
Suppose I'm the reckless one now, Hermione smirked. And a bit of a thief. What was that Slughorn said about me being in Slytherin? She bit her lip, unsure if she should be smirking or grimacing.
It was about another ten minutes or so before Rosmerta took her order and delivered not three, but six Butterbeers; Hermione reasoned it had been that kind of day. She left enough money to cover the cost of the Butterbeer, plus an outrageously generous tip, to cover the cost of the Ogden's of course.
Harry was still fuming when she returned to their table.
Ron raised an eyebrow in surprise as she set down all six Butterbeers.
"What?" She questioned, grinning. "Two each. It's been that kind of day, don't you think? After Mundungus— unbelievable."
This seemed to tear Harry away from his fury, as he smiled at her gratefully as she sat beside him, even wrapping his arm around her lower back as he took a swig from his bottle. She did not shy away from the gesture, but she had to admit it felt a little odd.
"Thanks, Hermione— can't the Order control Mundungus?" Harry whispered furiously. "Can't they at least stop him stealing everything that's not fixed down when he's at headquarters?"
"Shh!" said Hermione desperately, looking around to make sure nobody was listening; there were a couple of warlocks sitting close by who were staring at Harry with great interest, and Zabini was lolling against a pillar not far away. She noted with curiosity that it seemed Malfoy hadn't come to Hogsmeade— she realized she hadn't seen him once all day.
"Look Harry, I'd be annoyed too… plus, it's your things he's stealing—"
Harry gagged on his Butterbeer; it seemed he had forgotten that he owned number twelve, Grimmauld Place.
"Yeah, it's my stuff!" he said. "No wonder he wasn't pleased to see me! Well, I'm going to tell Dumbledore what's going on, he's the only one who scares Mundungus."
"Good idea," she whispered, pleased the Butterbeer seemed to be calming him down. Her mind began to wander to thoughts of Malfoy— where he might be, and what he might be up to.
"Ron, what are you staring at?" Harry asked.
"Nothing," said Ron, hastily looking away from the bar, but Hermione knew he was trying to catch the eye of Madam Rosmerta, for whom he had long nursed a soft spot.
"I expect 'nothing's' in the back getting more firewhisky," she said, grinning broadly.
Ron hid his grin behind another swig of his Butterbeer, and Harry laughed out loud, wrapping his arm around her more tightly, Mundungus apparently forgotten.
She tried to shake thoughts of Malfoy from her mind.
By the time all of their bottles were empty, Hermione's cheeks were sore from smiling so much. It had been a long time— what with N.E.W.T.s, Felix, Malfoy and Nott, Slughorn's suppers, Dumbledore's private lessons, and Quidditch practice— since she, Harry, and Ron had had any fun, just the three of them.
She turned to Harry, and saw with pleasure the green eyes behind his glasses were clear and bright.
Like Malfoy's, she thought. But with Malfoy there's always something more…
"Hermione, you— er— you've got something—" Ron said, pointing to his own upper lip.
Harry turned to face her, and before she knew what was happening, his hand was soft and warm on her cheek as he used his thumb to gently wipe away a bit of lingering Butterbeer foam on her upper lip.
"Oh—" was all she could manage as Harry smiled at her, his cheeks flushed. The sensation of his thumb on her lips had been… well, she wasn't sure. She hadn't pulled away, at any rate.
It's the Butterbeer, she told herself.
Ron pretended to busy himself by looking for Rosmerta again.
Only a short time passed before they once again drew their cloaks tightly around them, rearranged their scarves, pulled on their gloves, then followed Katie Bell and a friend out of the pub and back up the High Street.
It was a little while before Hermione became aware that the voices of Katie and her friend, which were being carried back to her on the wind, had become shriller and louder. It seemed as though they were having an argument about something Katie was holding in her hand.
"It's nothing to do with you, Leanne!" she heard Katie say.
Hermione saw Leanne made to grab hold of the package Katie was holding; Katie tugged it back and the package fell to the ground.
At once, Katie rose into the air— not as Ron described he had done that morning, suspended by the ankle— but gracefully, her arms outstretched, as though she was about to fly.
Hermione's stomach lurched; any joy she'd felt in the Three Broomsticks was suddenly gone.
Something's very wrong… very, very wrong…
Katie's hair was whipped around her by the fierce wind, but her eyes were closed and her face was quite empty of expression.
She, Harry, Ron, and Leanne all halted in their tracks, watching.
Then, six feet above the ground, Katie let out a terrible scream. Her eyes flew open, but whatever she could see, or whatever she was feeling, was clearly causing her terrible anguish. She screamed and screamed; Leanne started to scream too and seized Katie's ankles, trying to tug her back to the ground.
She, Harry, and Ron rushed forward to help, but as they grabbed Katie's legs, she fell on top of them; Harry and Ron managed to catch her but she was writhing so much they could hardly hold her. Instead they lowered her to the ground where she thrashed and screamed, apparently unable to recognize any of them.
Hermione looked around; the landscape seemed deserted. She knelt beside Katie and began casting every spell she could think might help.
"Nothing's working!" She looked to Harry desperately.
"Stay here!" He shouted over the howling wind. "I'm going for help!"
Hermione tried to remain calm as Harry ran toward the castle, doing her best to focus on any spell she thought might work. Katie continued to thrash and scream.
It wasn't long before Harry returned, Hagrid thankfully by his side.
"Get back!" shouted Hagrid. "Lemme see her!"
"Something's happened to her!" Sobbed Leanne. "I don't know what—"
Hagrid stared at Katie for a second, then without a word, bent down, scooped her into his arms, and ran off toward the castle with her. Within seconds, Katie's piercing screams had died away and the only sound was the roar of the wind.
Shaken but determined, Hermione had the wherewithal to hurry over to Katie's wailing friend and put an arm around her.
"It's Leanne, isn't it?"
The girl nodded.
"I'm so sorry, but we need to know— Did it just happen all of a sudden, or—?"
"It was when that package tore," sobbed Leanne, pointing at the now sodden brown-paper package on the ground, which had split open to reveal a greenish glitter. Ron bent down, his hand outstretched, but Harry seized his arm and pulled him back.
"Don't touch it!"
Harry crouched down and Hermione moved closer as well, her arm still around Leanne. A very familiar-looking ornate opal necklace was visible, poking out of the paper. She swallowed.
Not another cursed necklace. Malfoy…
"I've seen that before," she said immediately, giving Harry and Ron significant looks. "It was on display in Borgin and Burkes. The label said it was cursed. Katie must have touched it."
She looked up at Leanne, who had started to shake uncontrollably. "Do you know how Katie got hold of this?"
"Well, that's why we were arguing. She came back from the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks holding it, said it was a surprise for somebody at Hogwarts and she had to deliver it. She looked all funny when she said it... Oh no, oh no, I bet she'd been Imperiused and I didn't realize!"
Leanne shook with renewed sobs. Hermione patted her shoulder gently.
"She didn't say who'd given it to her, Leanne?"
"No... she wouldn't tell me... and I said she was being stupid and not to take it up to school, but she just wouldn't listen and... and then I tried to grab it from her... and — and -" Leanne let out a wail of despair.
"We'd better get up to school," said Hermione, leading Leanne. "We'll be able to find out how she is. Come on..."
Harry hesitated for a moment, then pulled his scarf from around his face and, ignoring Ron's gasp, carefully covered the necklace in it and picked it up.
"We'll need to show it to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said. Harry nodded in silence.
As if on cue, Harry said exactly what she had been thinking— what she realized she did not want to admit.
"Malfoy knows about this necklace. It was in a case at Borgin and Burkes when you were in there, Hermione, but it was there four years ago, too. I saw Malfoy have a good look at it while I was hiding from him and his dad. This must be what he was buying that day when we followed him! He remembered it and he went back for it!"
It's not impossible, Hermione thought, frowning, trying to work out why she didn't want it to be true.
"I—I dunno, Harry," said Ron hesitantly. "Loads of people go to Borgin and Burkes... and didn't that girl say Katie got it in the girls' bathroom?"
"Leanne, Ron," Hermione interjected, shooting the shivering and sobbing Leanne a sympathetic look. "And she said she came back from the bathroom with it, she didn't necessarily get it in the bathroom itself—"
"McGonagall!" said Ron warningly.
Sure enough, Professor McGonagall was hurrying down the stone steps through swirling sleet to meet them.
"Hagrid says you four saw what happened to Katie Bell—upstairs to my office at once, please! What's that you're holding, Potter?"
"It's the thing she touched," said Harry.
"Good Lord," said Professor McGonagall, looking alarmed as she took the necklace from Harry. "No, no, Filch, they're with me!" she added hastily, as Filch came shuffling eagerly across the entrance hall holding his Secrecy Sensor aloft. "Take this necklace to Professor Snape at once, but be sure not to touch it, keep it wrapped in the scarf!"
They followed Professor McGonagall upstairs and into her office. The sleet-spattered windows were rattling in their frames, and the room was chilly despite the fire crackling in the grate. Professor McGonagall closed the door and swept around her desk to face Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the still sobbing Leanne.
"Well?" she said sharply. "What happened?"
Haltingly, and with many pauses while she attempted to control her crying, Leanne recounted what had happened. By the end, Leanne was so overcome, there was no getting another word out of her.
"All right," said Professor McGonagall, not unkindly, "go up to the hospital wing, please, Leanne, and get Madam Pomfrey to give you something for shock."
When she had left the room, Professor McGonagall turned back to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
"Why is it when something happens, it is always you three?"
"Believe me Professor, I've been asking myself the same thing for six years," said Ron humorlessly.
Hermione saw the corner of McGonagall's mouth twitch, despite the serious circumstances.
"What happened when Katie touched the necklace?"
"She rose up in the air," said Harry, before either Ron or Hermione could speak, "and then began to scream, and collapsed. Professor, can I see Professor Dumbledore, please?"
"The Headmaster is away until Monday, Potter," said Professor McGonagall, looking surprised.
"Away?" Harry repeated angrily. Hermione shot him a warning look.
It's not McGonagall's fault Dumbledore doesn't tell you anything.
"Yes, Potter, away!" said Professor McGonagall tartly. "But anything you have to say about this horrible business can be said to me, I'm sure!"
"I think Draco Malfoy gave Katie that necklace, Professor."
Hermione winced. Ron looked as though he'd rather be anywhere else at the moment.
"That is a very serious accusation, Potter," said Professor McGonagall, after a shocked pause. "Do you have any proof?"
"No," said Harry, and Hermione gave him her best disapproving look.
Undeterred, he continued, "but..." and he told her about following Malfoy to Borgin and Burkes and the conversation they had overheard between him and Mr. Borgin. Hermione was thankful he left out any mention of her snooping around the shop, and her confrontation with Malfoy.
Hermione considered now might be a good time to tell McGonagall about the necklace still clasped around her neck, and the scar it had given her, but for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to mention it.
Her better judgement told her the cursed opal necklace had been Malfoy's doing— it seemed there were too many coincidences. But she felt almost certain the object he'd discussed with Borgin was not the opal necklace… and just because Malfoy had seen the necklace in the store, didn't mean he had bought it— just because she was almost certain he was a Death Eater didn't mean that he'd been behind the incident…
Did it?
It all seemed so gray… as gray as Malfoy's piercing gaze, which Hermione had now seen conflicted, fearful even, on more than one occasion. She remembered the subtle softness of his voice as he'd asked her why she hadn't told anyone about her scar, and the moment of understanding they'd shared in Professor Tonks' class.
But there were still his angry glares, the snide comments about Harry and Ron, the threats of retribution-not to mention five-years worth of wretchedness- and of course the platinum necklace, still light and cool against her throat.
When Harry had finished speaking, Hermione saw Professor McGonagall looked slightly confused.
"Malfoy took something to Borgin and Burkes for repair?"
"No, Professor, he just wanted Borgin to tell him how to mend something, he didn't have it with him. But that's not the point, the thing is that he bought something at the same time, and I think it was that necklace—"
"You saw Malfoy leaving the shop with a similar package?"
"No, Professor, he told Borgin to keep it in the shop for him—"
"But Harry," Hermione interrupted, "Borgin asked him if he wanted to take it with him, and Malfoy said no—"
"Because he didn't want to touch it, obviously!" said Harry angrily, as if they closeness they'd shared in the Three Broomsticks was now completely forgotten.
"What he actually said was, 'How would I look carrying that down the street?'" she said cooly, undeterred.
"Well, he would look a bit of a prat carrying a necklace," interjected Ron.
"Oh, Ron," said Hermione despairingly, "it would be all wrapped up, so he wouldn't have to touch it, and quite easy to hide inside a cloak, so nobody would see it! I think whatever he reserved at Borgin and Burkes was noisy or bulky, something he knew would draw attention to him if he carried it down the street— and in any case," she pressed on loudly, before Harry could interrupt, "I asked Borgin about the necklace, don't you remember? When I went in to try and find out what Malfoy had asked him to keep, I saw it there. And Borgin just told me the price, he didn't say it was already sold or anything—"
"Well, you were being really obvious, he realized what you were up to within about five seconds, of course he wasn't going to tell you—anyway, Malfoy could've sent off for it since—" Harry argued.
"That's enough!" said Professor McGonagall, as Hermione again opened her mouth to retort. Harry glared at her, then directed a rather pointed look at her necklace.
"Potter, I appreciate you telling me this, but we cannot point the finger of blame at Mr. Malfoy purely because he visited the shop where this necklace might have been purchased. The same is probably true of hundreds of people—"
"— that's what I said—" muttered Ron.
"— and in any case, we have put stringent security measures in place this year. I do not believe that necklace can possibly have entered this school without our knowledge—"
"But—"
"— and what is more," said Professor McGonagall, with an air of awful finality, "Mr. Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today."
That explains it, Hermione thought. She hadn't seen him anywhere all day. Harry gaped at McGonagall, clearly deflating.
"How do you know, Professor?"
"Because he was doing detention with me. He has now failed to complete his Transfiguration homework twice in a row. So, thank you for telling me your suspicions, Potter," she said as she marched past them, "but I need to go up to the hospital wing now to check on Katie Bell. Good day to you all."
She held open her office door. They had no choice but to file past her without another word.
"Why didn't you tell McGonagall about your necklace Hermione?"
"Yeah…" Ron said, as if only now remembering that Malfoy had clasped an unremovable piece of jewelry around her neck.
"I didn't think it was important," Hermione said evasively.
"Right. You just didn't want to add any evidence to my argument," replied Harry shortly.
"So who do you reckon Katie was supposed to give the necklace to?" Ron interjected, much to Hermione's thanks, as they climbed the stairs to the common room.
"Goodness only knows," she replied. "But whoever it was has had a narrow escape. No one could have opened that package without touching the necklace."
"It could've been meant for loads of people," said Harry. "Dumbledore—the Death Eaters would love to get rid of him, he must be one of their top targets. Or Slughorn— Dumbledore reckons Voldemort really wanted him and they can't be pleased that he's sided with Dumbledore. Or—"
"Or you," Hermione said quietly.
It could've been you. She felt her chest constrict tightly, and suddenly the anger she'd been feeling toward Harry transformed into fear.
"Couldn't have been," said Harry dismissively, "or Katie would've just turned around in the lane and given it to me, wouldn't she? I was behind her all the way out of the Three Broomsticks. It would have made much more sense to deliver the parcel outside Hogwarts, what with Filch searching everyone who goes in and out. I wonder why Malfoy told her to take it into the castle?"
"Harry, Malfoy wasn't in Hogsmeade!" She said, and she found herself actually stamping her foot in frustration.
What about Polyjuice? She thought suddenly, a part of her admitting Malfoy was certainly capable of brewing such a potion— and knowing Nott was most definitely more than capable.
"He must have used an accomplice, then," said Harry. "Crabbe or Goyle-or, another Death Eater— come to think of it… what about Nott?"
"Nott isn't a Death Eater," Hermione said immediately, unable to stop herself.
Harry and Ron looked at her curiously.
"I've seen his arms— in the library. He rolls up his sleeves," she lied quickly as Harry's eyes narrowed. "No Mark."
She considered it wasn't an outright lie. She knew Nott did roll up his sleeves, he'd done it just this morning… while he was working on their Felix Felicis. At any rate, she knew he did not have the Mark.
"He could still be helping Malfoy. Where was the git today anyway?"
Dutifully working on the three batches of Felix Felicis I haven't told you about, Hermione thought, grimacing at her deception. Or, at least that's what he told me he'd be doing…
Suddenly, it occurred to Hermione that she had noticed Malfoy and Nott in each other's company more often this year than years past, and she hadn't really been paying all that much attention in the Three Broomsticks, not from the moment the Butterbeer had touched her lips anyway… she supposed Nott could have managed to get that necklace to Katie undetected…
There's an owlry in Hogsmeade… Hermione thought, a sudden feeling of dread washing over her.
"I've got to go," she said abruptly, turning on the spot.
"Wait!" Harry called, "Where are you—"
"Library!" She called back breathlessly, "I forgot I have a Runes essay due on Monday!"
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A/N: There is a lot of HBP's original text in this chapter, and I debated condensing it, but I felt it was important to the overall plot. Anyway, I hope you're enjoying this fic. Thank you for reading and reviewing!