Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the characters, locations, or cleverness. It all belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. Studios.
The first day of classes at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sped by in a flurry of emotions, confusion, and questions. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley remained quiet and secluded, despite the many glances and outright questions they received. They were immensely troubled by their best friend, Hermione Granger's, sudden struck illness. Moreover, they were becoming annoyed by the nosey students.
Word had gotten around faster than a snitch set loose on a quidditch pitch. By the second class of the day, nearly all of Hogwarts had received some word or rumor of the fallen, young Gryffindor girl. Harry and Ron had to continuously snub a gossipy Lavender Brown, flanked by the Patil sisters. They also had to work diligently to evade Colin Creevey, who had immediately fallen into a reporter-like state the moment he had caught tail wind of the events.
Somehow, the two Gryffindor boys managed to trudge through the day and focus just enough to keep their hawk-eyed potion's master at bay. As soon as the day had come to an end and the Great Hall dispatched the students from their dining hour, Harry and Ron made a bee-line for the infirmary. They would have visited sooner, but quidditch tryouts would take up their afternoons from now until winter.
The boys quietly entered the solemn infirmary room; Hermione was still the only patient present in the sanction. Madam Pomfrey stood by Hermione's bed, her hand pressed to the girl's pallid flesh. She turned and faced the two Gryffindors with a nod.
"Don't stay too long now, Miss Granger needs her rest and I am very sure you have your own studies to tend to," Madam Pomfrey said chidingly before walking off into her office and shutting the door.
Harry and Ron silently rushed to Hermione's bedside, both taking a seat on either side of her at the foot of the bed. Harry reached for her hand, clasping it in his; her fingers were still freezing. Ron seemed torn between holding her hand, and not getting too close. Awkwardly, he slowly reached out his sweaty palm and held her fingers lightly.
"How long do you suppose it'll be before she wakes up?" Ron asked, clearing his throat and trying not to allow the blush to creep up further from his neck.
"I don't know… I am hoping soon, though. Don't you think it's weird?" Harry asked, turning to Ron with a puzzled face.
"What do you mean?" Ron hadn't yet put the pieces together.
"The Head Prefect positions changing, the new Ground Prefect positions, the Prophecy, Hermione getting sick, Malfoy being helpful—and Dumbledore wasn't even in the Great Hall for dinner tonight. I don't know what it is, Ron, but something just isn't right." Harry spoke with his eyebrows furrowed in thought and rising suspicions.
"Now that you mention it, I didn't see Dumbledore at dinner—come to think of it, I haven't seen him since this morning when we first came to see Hermione. What do you think it means?"
Harry's brows furrowed even closer together as he allowed his thoughts to consume him. Whatever is going on, I have feeling that Dumbledore knows, but isn't telling us.
Harry knew how secretive Dumbledore could be—not to mention how easily he could keep those secrets hidden: the Headmaster's face and voice—which would often be dead giveaways of a normal person—were hardly ever readable. He could recall his previous years spent at Hogwarts. Many times before he had been subject to being let in on some of his mentor's secrets, but this was different. Harry had a feeling that Dumbledore wouldn't voluntarily tell them what was going on. If that's the case, then we'll just have to find out for ourselves.
Quickly standing up, Harry released Hermione's hand abruptly and stared out her window into the darkening courtyard. "Come on, Ron."
"Harry? What is it?" Ron eased up off the bed with a look of worry and confusion.
"We need to get to the bottom of things. Dumbledore knows something we don't. We have to find out what it is!" Harry exclaimed. Ron nodded stiffly, taking one last glance at Hermione before letting her hand slip from his and hit the white sheets.
The two boys immediately gained a fast paced step and nearly sprinted for the door. As they reached the exit, Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office. She immediately became startled, clasping her hand to her chest as she stared wide-eyed at the two running out the door.
"My word…" Madam Pomfrey said under her breath as she looked out the door at Harry and Ron sprinting around the corner and out of sight. She moved to shut the door left ajar and went back to tend to her work once more.
Harry and Ron rounded the corner speedily—the thought of running into someone was in the back of their minds. They needed to see Dumbledore now and nothing was going to stand in their way, not even—
Harry slammed into a body as he rounded the corner, causing Ron to slam into his back and send the three beings tumbling to the cobblestone floor.
"Ow!"
"Hey, watch it!"
"Gerroff me!"
The boys finally pulled themselves out of the mess of tangled limbs, leaving the victim on the ground free to move. Resituating his glasses upon his nose, Harry looked down to apologize and help up the stranger.
Malfoy sneered from his place on the ground and stood up at once brushing off his robes, disgusted of who had the run in with.
"Oh, Malfoy, it's just you," Ron said lightly with a shrug of his shoulders, suddenly uncaring of who they had just plowed into. Draco's sneer etched even deeper into his face.
"How about you two watch where the bloody hell you're going. I have already gotten enough trouble out of your little Mudblood, I don't need you two adding to my problems," Draco said heatedly.
"What are you talking about, Malfoy? It was your doing in taking her to the infirmary," Harry retorted back, a deep frown set into his face. They were already losing time to get to speak with Dumbledore before curfew fell.
"I don't have to explain anything to you, Potter. I have other business to tend to," Draco spat, ready to rid himself of his current nuisances.
"You'll bloody well think you don't have any explaining to do," Ron said through clenched teeth as he took a step forward, rolling up the sleeves on his jumper. Draco took a hesitant step back. He knew the red head's wand skills weren't much to be applauded over, but he was much larger than Draco in stature, and everyone knew that the Weasleys could throw one hell of a punch when angered enough.
"Ron—come on," Harry spoke up, grabbing his friend by the arm and tugging him back slightly. Ron turned at looked at Harry in confusion.
"Harry, this bastard deserves—" Ron began hotly.
"We can't waste anymore time," Harry shot a glare at the Slytherin. "Let's go."
Ron reluctantly nodded before shooting daggers at the Malfoy heir. He was far from finished with him, and Draco knew it as well. The frustrated Gryffindors then rushed past Draco in a flurry of hushed conversation. Draco stood and watched as the two rounded the next corner toward the moving staircase.
Looking around the deserted hallway, Draco then turned down the corridor that Ron and Harry had just left from. Ever so quietly, he opened the doors to the infirmary and closed them back—allowing himself the courtesy of a small visit.
Ron and Harry had luckily reached Dumbledore's office without any further obstacles. The two stood outside the entry way of the eagle statue.
"What do you suppose the password is?" Ron turned to Harry, still slightly breathless from their sprints.
"Dumbledore has a habit of changing passwords constantly," Harry said as he stood, looking around—seemingly to be hoping for the answer to pop out of thin air. Before Harry could utter a guess, he saw McGonagall striding down the hall.
"Professor McGonagall!" Harry spoke loudly, his voice ringing in the halls. Professor McGonagall quickly detoured from her path, approaching the two bystanders.
"What is it Mr. Potter? Is it so urgent that you must shout like a banshee through the corridors?" McGonagall chided calmly, looking around to see if anything had been disturbed from his voluminous outburst.
"We need to speak to Professor Dumbledore immediately." Harry said quickly.
"It's extremely important," Ron added in, taking a step forward to back his best friend up.
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, if it is concerning Miss Granger, then it'll have to wait. The Headmaster has busied himself a great deal to find out the cause of Miss Granger's sudden illness, so I ask that you please leave and comeback later when it will be more convenient for—"
"We know the reason is because of the prophecy!" Harry spoke boldly of their newfound conclusion. Neither of the two Gryffindors were sure of this theory, but everything seemed to be pointing in that direction, serving as the only lead they had so far.
McGonagall's nose flared out ferociously as her lips thinned beyond what the two thought possible. "Mr. Potter, Miss Granger may have graced you kindly with that information, but matters are serious. Practically screaming it from the rooftops will do nothing more than worsen Miss Ganger's situation," McGonagall said under and imperative, hushed tone.
"But Professor, something just isn't right. We want to know what's wrong with Hermione, please. Maybe we could help Dumbledore somehow," Ron tried to reason with the old witch.
Professor McGonagall tilted her head down slightly, releasing an elongated sigh, "Mr. Weasley, anything that can be done now is beyond our help. The Headmaster is working diligently to uncover remains to be answered. The best we can do is allow him the time to sort these manners out; all we can do is have patience and wait to see what happens."
Ron and Harry nodded in defeat. They both knew that their chances of getting to speak with Dumbledore were slim—but they seemed to grow even thinner by the minute. If Dumbledore hadn't yet come up with a solution, then things were even worse than what Harry could've imagined. McGonagall then nodded to the boys before turning to continue on her way.
"Professor," Harry called out, "if there is anything we can do to help…"
"I will, Potter, I will," McGonagall, smiled slightly in acknowledgement of his request and continued on her way. Even during the times when he had no choice but to wait for answers, Harry Potter still remained ever so persistent. This trait, though, had been something that his mentors continued to greatly admire: his will to keep fighting despite the odds that continued to stack against him.
Minerva McGonagall had known Hermione Granger was a quick-witted, ready student since the first time she had stepped foot into the Transfiguration classroom. The professor had always greatly admired the girl's ambition to learn and succeed—never questioning her decisions. But now, with the way things of turned—and with what Dumbledore had confided into her before dinner—she began to question Hermione's will power.
She knew of Hermione's kindness towards other students and her valiant acts against the dark forces in her previous years, but would she still be able to stand for everything she has believed in, even now? Even if it meant being thrown head first into the ever-growing darkness that threatened to pull them all under? Over her many years at Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall had seen many strong, upstanding students brought to their knees by lust for power and poor decisions.
The notion that Hermione Granger would give into such whims so easily would make any professor at Hogwarts laugh their way out of their classrooms, but when looking pure evil in the face, what choices could she make? The strong-headed Gryffindor wasn't one to fall on her knees in defeat, but what could she do when faced with imminent death? What would she do? Only time could tell.
Minerva McGonagall would not lose faith in the muggle-born girl. As long as she still has the will to fight, she will succeed. With her worries beginning to float from her mind, the Transfiguration professor made headway for her quarters to turn in early. The week ahead was sure to be a daunting one.
The night passed by just as quickly as the previous day, and soon the sun was shining down on the grounds of Hogwarts. The Great Lake glittered beneath the soft rays of the early morning. The birds chirped, greeting the day.
A small canary sang a light-hearted tune as it fluttered through the air weightlessly. The tiny bird passed the quidditch pitch, weaving around the towers of the castle. Upon soaring over the courtyard, the young creature perched itself on the sill of the infirmary window, pecking slightly at the glass. The bird watched as the figure in the bed beside the window slowly began to jostle in its slumber.
The light shining into the infirmary was amplified by the thick, glass window, causing the blinding rays to beat down onto Hermione's lidded eyes. With a slight groan, she began to move—the numbing feeling slowly fading from her body. Her ears perked slightly when she heard the clacking of shoes hitting the floor as they neared her bed. The figure placed something on the stand beside her bed. Hermione's eyes fluttered open.
Her sensitive eyes followed the blurry figure bustling about until they adjusted, revealing Madam Pomfrey who was readying medication at Hermione's bedside. The medical witch picked up two glass vials and held them to the light, examining their contents for the right measurement. Upon hearing the sheets rustle beside her, Madam Pomfrey excitedly turned her attention to her only patient.
"It's about time, Miss Granger, we were beginning to think—" Madam Pomfrey dropped the two vials she had in hand—allowing them to crash to the floor, spilling the contents. Her hands immediately flew to cover her mouth as a shocked expression flashed across her face for a moment. Hermione made quick work of pushing her strengthening body up to sit up straighter out of concern. She winced slightly from the work pressing on her stiff muscles.
Madam Pomfrey quickly regained her composure, leaning down to aid Hermione by fluffing her pillows and fixing her crooked sheets. She gently pushed back down on Hermione's shoulder to keep her from rising from the bed even further.
"Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione questioned worriedly.
"Oh, it's nothing, dear. Don't you worry," Madam Pomfrey spoke with a smile, "Now, lie back and relax, I'll be right back." Hermione watched in confusion as the medic walked faster than normal out of the infirmary doors—leaving her alone.
Hermione shoved the thin bedding off of her body and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Being careful to avoid the spilt medicine and broken glass, she slowly stood up and turned to look out her window.
She saw a small canary that was perched on the window sill— appearing to have been watching the scene unfold. She smiled slightly; canaries had always been one of her favorite birds to watch. Seeing a canary left her surprised, though. Canaries were birds that were usually always domesticated—doomed to a small cage in a confined room. Seeing one in the wild was unheard of.
Hermione quickly retrained her thoughts and noticed by the light settling upon the courtyard that it must be the early morning. She ran a still stiff hand through her mess of curls—snagging knots along the way. If my looks were enough to frighten Madam Pomfrey, then I am afraid to see how bad my bed head truly is. She then made her way toward the infirmary bathrooms—her bare feet hitting the cold floor. She pushed open the door to the girls' restroom and immediately made her way to the sink.
She turned on the tap on cold, and cupped her hands to gather the water. She splashed her face a few times to help waken her senses. After she thought her duties to be a success, she blindly searched for a fresh, clean towel out of the cupboard standing beside the amenities. She quickly wiped the water from her face and looked up into the mirror.
What greeted Hermione next was something that shook her to her core. Her hand flew over her mouth as a slight gasp escaped her lips. She now knew why Madam Pomfrey had looked at her in shock. She now knew why she had turned tail and left.
The eyes that met her gaze in the mirror were not those of which she knew. Looking back at her were not the familiar dark, warm brown eyes she had learned to love. For now staring back at her were two icy, gray irises that were not her own.
A/N: Thanks for reading everyone! I really hope you enjoyed it! I know that plot movement is going kind of slow, but I don't want to rush it-I may miss out on dropping important hints and information! Well, I stayed up all night writing this chapter, so I am going to try to catch up on some well deserved sleep. If you guys have any questions, comments, or suggestions, please feel free to message me!