New Information
~o0o~
Madam Pomfrey arrived back at the Hospital Wing, muttering under her breath about foolish pranks, and escorting an uncomfortable looking Demelza Robins. The Chaser looked up from the stretcher levitating next to Madam Pomfrey and met Hermione's eyes; her silent sigh of exasperation telling Hermione that she was fine but that Madam Pomfrey had been fussing like this for quite some time. The two of them passed and went to settle Demelza in a hospital bed.
"Miss Granger."
Hermione turned and noticed Professor McGonagall enter the room. The Headmistress was wearing her favourite, emerald robes and her hair was pinned in its usual bun, yet there had been a change in the woman since the war; a weary expression hidden behind layers of other emotions, but still there if you looked. And Hermione looked. She saw. The sympathy for the woman who'd fought in two wars and seen generations of her children fall in battle was great. Hermione didn't wish that on anyone. Luckily, Minerva McGonagall was strong and unbending; her will to live on a true inspiration for many.
"Professor McGonagall," Hermione responded. The other woman approached and Hermione asked respectfully what she wanted.
"No doubt you witnessed what happened to poor Miss Robins," said Professor McGonagall. "She is not the first to be put under such a cruel spell nor do I believe she'll be the last, unless we put a stop to these pranks once and for all. If you and the other Prefects would join me for a brief meeting in my office after dinner tonight, perhaps we can find whomever it is responsible, or at the very least keep everyone informed and on the look-out."
"Sounds very good, Professor," said Hermione.
Professor McGonagall nodded. "I will see you later then, Miss Granger."
Hermione watched as she departed— most likely to inform the other Prefects of the meeting—and waited a while longer before Madam Pomfrey came to her side and granted her a vial of 'Sleeping Draught'; the Mediwitch not letting her leave until she was assured once more that Hermione wouldn't take more than necessary. Hermione then departed to dinner, eager to meet up with her friends and hear about what had happened during practice (in terms of development in their techniques and increased chances of winning and not necessarily about the sport itself). Hopefully Ginny would feel better than before, despite what had happened to Demelza. When Hermione entered the Great Hall, however, it would appear that she would have no such luck.
"Bloody bastards!" Ginny cut aggressively into her roast, the impact threatening to split the plate in two.
"Ease up a bit, Gin," urged Dean who was passing by with Seamus. "Demelza's fine and will be back from the Hospital Wing tomorrow."
Ginny pointed her fork at him. "Someone's sabotaging the teams and you don't care?"
"'Course I care, but let's just be thankful it wasn't worse. You getting all worked up isn't going to solve anything."
"Worked up? You—" Ginny stopped as she noticed Hermione enter for the first time. "No matter, let's talk about this later."
Everyone else nearby at the Gryffindor table looked relieved, not immune to the tension that still followed the ex-couple whenever they disagreed. Seamus pulled Dean with him further along the table and Ginny made room for Hermione to sit down between her and Neville. "Where have you been?"
"Er, Hospital Wing."
"Draco Malfoy is in the Hospital Wing, isn't he?" asked Luna who sat at on the other side, scaring Hermione—not for the first time— with her knowledge. No one was supposed to know about Malfoy's affliction, yet here was Luna blurting out something that would draw attention to the Slytherin. The worst part was that she never even seemed aware of the impact her words had.
"Actually, Professor McGonagall—"
"Oh, Hermione, you've got to be careful," interrupted Ginny.
Hermione stopped her explanation of what Professor McGonagall had instructed her to do and knitted her eyebrows at her friend. "Careful?"
Ginny waved her fork with a piece of roast and potato on it. "You sneaking off to meet the ferret while he's sick might spur some nasty rumors. D'you know what they're saying about us all?"
"No," answered Hermione, thankful that Ginny was focusing on the gossip part rather than the reason why Malfoy was in the hospital in the first place. "I stopped reading that garbage a long time ago."
"Me too," said Neville.
"Don't you two know that you should keep an eye on the enemy?" asked Ginny, sounding like she had been tasked explaining things to children. Part of Hermione wondered if perhaps she'd had a bit of influence on the other witch just like Ginny'd had on Hermione herself. It made her both glad and concerned.
"Anyway," Ginny continued, "I was mostly joking, but still—the things they say in those papers . . . Did you know that I'm allegedly carrying Blaise Zabini's lovechild?"
Hermione and Neville snorted into their pumpkin juice, while Luna smiled and mumbled something about how that would make the Nargles very happy.
"Honestly, as amusing as some of those things sound," said Hermione, "Shouldn't we say something? Stop them?"
"What do you mean?" asked Ginny.
"Well, we're fine now, but what if these things result in something horrible? I'm surprised you haven't gotten hate-mail, like I did during the tournament."
"I remember that, that was awful," said Neville. Luna nodded in agreement.
"I think you're right, Hermione, but I should be fine," said Ginny. "Mum and Dad helped set up a thing where my mail has to go through a safety check before being delivered. Being the Chosen ones girlfriend isn't without its risks."
"You never told me this," said Hermione, frowning.
Ginny shrugged.
"I think Gran did the same for me," said Neville.
"Daddy's been very protective since the war," said Luna.
Hermione groaned. "So apparently this has always been a possible thing? And no one thought to tell me this before I got my hands mutilated years ago?"
"It goes through our parents," said Ginny, "and yours are Muggles so it might not be possible for you to do it the same way. I could ask Bill to arrange something for you if you'd like?"
The thought of not having to fear her own mail any longer was a comforting thought, and Bill was a professional Curse Breaker . . .
"That would be great."
The rest of dinner proceeded with small talk and sticking to light-hearted subjects, trying to distract Ginny from thinking about Quidditch again. Luna provided plenty of subjects, seeming to have realised what was going on pretty quickly. While she spun tales Humperdingers and Whizzy Whazbees (Hermione assumed that's what they were called, she sort of tuned out after a couple of minutes) Ginny's spirits seemed to lift. Neville was caught by the others glancing at the Hufflepuff table at times, but none of the girls said anything, feeling generous today. Hermione, meanwhile, reminded herself of the appointment set with Professor McGonagall. She searched the room for the other Prefects, but oddly enough she couldn't find them. Or perhaps she just didn't want to. Whatever the case, Hermione was soon excusing herself from the others and making her way up to the Headmistress' office.
"Wizard Chess."
The gargoyle moved to the side and allowed Hermione entry. She climbed up the stairs expecting to be met by some other Prefect but was surprised to find that she was the first one there. Not seeing the point in coming back later, she strolled around looking at the various things kept in the office. There weren't as many as Professor Dumbledore had kept during his time as Headmaster, but it was interesting regardless. Her steps paused in front of a cabinet.
Tom Riddle . . . Tom Riddle . . . Tom Riddle . . .
"I asked Minerva to let those be."
Hermione jumped and searched for the source of the voice that had just spoken. She found two blue eyes twinkle at her, a kind smile accompanying them. "Professor Dumbledore."
"Good evening, Miss Granger. It's been a long time, I hope you're doing well."
"I'm fine," she said, aware that some bitterness had seeped through her statement. Despite the high regard she'd always held her old Headmaster in, she couldn't help but feel miffed about his question. He'd sent them out to war, and now he was asking her if she was doing well?
A brief flicker of comprehension passed behind those half-moon glasses and Hermione knew the old wizard understood, as his expression then turned a bit sorrowful.
Good.
There was a snort to Professor Dumbledore's left.
"At least you're still alive, Granger," Professor Snape spat.
"Now, now, Severus," Professor Dumbledore chided. As the greasy haired wizard folded his arms and went back to sleep, Professor Dumbledore returned his attention to Hermione. "You mustn't pay attention to Severus at the moment. He's been ever so grumpy the past couple of days."
Hermione didn't say anything.
Professor Dumbledore tilted his head slightly more to the right. "If you don't mind me saying, I find it curious that out of all things residing in this office, you would find interest in the vials."
Hermione swallowed; her defiant stance wavering for a moment. How could the wizard still emit the air of an all-knowing being when he was a portrait, for Merlin's sake?
Professor Dumbledore smiled. "Remember, Miss Granger; our memories help define us and are a big part of who we are."
"Are you saying I shouldn't forget what happened during the war?" Hermione asked, but it was too late because Professor Dumbledore had fallen asleep.
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The meeting seemed to drag on forever and Hermione found it difficult to pay attention; the back of her mind still going over Professor Dumbledore's words. The fact that he was in the room didn't help in the least— his presence too big to ignore— in spite of the portrait being asleep. She wanted to take it down and shake it until he answered in a less ambiguous manner.
"Hermione," said Hannah Abbott, "what do you think?"
The brunette blinked. "I think it sounds great."
"All right, then we'll put the Quidditch gear under surveillance before each practice and if that leads nowhere we'll ask for permission to inspect the dorms."
"I still think it's a waste of energy; there wouldn't be anything to find!" argued Anthony Goldstein.
"Not necessarily true, since there might be some parchment showing the instructions of the enchantment in the rooms," said Ernest Macmillan.
"Yes, but isn't the chance pretty small?" asked a Slytherin Prefect whose name Hermione didn't know. It was one of the younger ones.
"It's better than nothing," said Ernest.
"Back off, Macmillan," said Pansy Parkinson, speaking for the first time since the meeting started.
"Don't tell me what to do, Parkinson!"
"Enough!" Professor McGonagall looked over her desk to all the present Prefects along with the Head Boy and Head Girl. "You have all brought forward excellent points and ideas and I will take them all into consideration. Now, I'll discuss the rest with the Head of Houses tomorrow and we'll alert you to any decision made regarding this matter. In the meantime I ask you to keep an eye out for suspicious activity near the Quidditch gear and pitch. Thank you, you are dismissed."
A bit disgruntled over the abrupt dismissal they walked down the staircase, Hermione looking over her shoulder one last time at Professor Dumbledore's portrait. She thought she might have seen him look back but she was out of the office too quick to know.
"Hey, Hermione!" said Hannah, walking up to her along the corridor.
"Hello, Hannah."
The Hufflepuff girl slowed down as she caught up and matched her pace. "You don't happen to know where Neville is, do you? He wasn't at the meeting."
Hermione slapped her forehead. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I forgot to tell you; Neville couldn't make it to the meeting, he's helping Professor Sprout with something."
Hannah smiled at Hermione, both in amusement over the forehead-slapping and also with fondness over Neville. "Of course he is. I swear he spends more time in the greenhouses than the actual castle. Too bad though that he missed this meeting, though I suppose he wouldn't have if it wasn't important."
Hermione hummed in agreement. Neville took his responsibility very seriously and with Ron gone it had only made sense for it to be the Longbottom heir to be the other Eight Year Prefect. She recalled with a twitch of her lips what had happened right before school had started again. When the owl had come bearing the badges. Neville having been made Prefect had chocked no one but Neville. He'd stared at the 'P' for minutes before Ginny had yanked it out of his hand and threatened to throw it away if he didn't stop gaping. Neville had stopped.
Hermione said goodbye to Hannah and the other Hufflepuffs as they descended to their common room; the Ravenclaws having already departed for their tower a long time ago. She didn't know what to say to the Slytherins, but any thought of waving the small ones goodbye was quickly diminished by Pansy Parkinson's stare. Pansy's dark hair flew as she turned back to the others—no longer looking at Hermione, but focusing on the younger Slytherin Prefects— and her robes billowed around her before disappearing down the stairs out of view.
Even though Hermione harbored no warm feelings for the other witch, she couldn't deny that the protectiveness Pansy showed for her Housemates was reassuring. Perhaps there was a heart there deep down, lurking under the layers of which had been responsible for taunting Hermione all those years and reasons which had made her attempt to sell out Hermione's best friend.
She'd been scared . . . We all were so scared . . .
Hermione wouldn't forgive Pansy for her actions anytime soon, but she hoped they could attempt to be civil in the future at least.
"Hermione!" Neville appeared from behind the portrait hole as soon as she entered. "What happened at the meeting?"
They walked together to the sofa by the fire and Hermione settled down with an exhausted huff while Neville remained standing.
"What happened to you?" she asked instead of answering his previous question. The boy was covered from head to toe in dirt.
"Ah, it's nothing, just repotted some things." At her frown he continued, "That wasn't the only thing Professor Sprout asked me, if that's what you're thinking. She er . . ."
Hermione waved her wand and vanished the dirt as best she could from Neville so he could sit down.
"Thanks."
"So what did Professor Sprout want?"
Neville appeared caught between being terrified and ecstatic at the same time. "She . . . she's asked me to return to Hogwarts after graduation."
"Oh. Oh."
Neville grinned. "She wants me to take over after she retires in a few years, so I'll be training and teaching a little under her guidance following the summer."
"Neville that's incredible!" Hermione hugged him tight. He in turn patted her awkwardly on the back until she let go.
After a minor celebrating (Neville didn't want to tell anyone quite yet so it was mostly just the eight years sending him congratulations and no more) and informing Neville on the happenings of the meeting in the Headmistress' office, Hermione retreated from the Gryffindor common, having already decided upon arriving back at the tower that she needed the sleep. She settled the 'Sleeping Draught' on her nightstand and got ready for bed.
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The next day Hermione woke up feeling rested but thoughtful. The sun was still rising when she pulled her curtain aside, rubbing her tired eyes, and did her daily routine of removing silencing charms around her bed. Though the draught was left untouched on her nightstand—meaning she'd had a well enough sleep— something just didn't sit right with her. It wasn't until she was seated at the breakfast table that she first suspected why.
Vials.
Dumbledore had spoken about the vials. He must have. He'd spoken about memories but it had been in relation to the vials on Tom Riddle, hadn't it? So was there more to memories and vials than Hermione thought?
It was worth checking out and if the issue kept pestering her mind when she really should be focusing on her N.E.W.T.s she'd take her own advice and just shake the portrait until it revealed what it had meant. Possible expulsion be damned. Once in the library where she had planned on spending her Sunday anyway, Hermione set aside her study materials to browse for a moment in the small section devoted to memory charms and the like. She shuddered a little reading the titles for books on memory removal charms, recalling that that's where she had found the one used on her parents. . .
Memory restoring . . . Memory altering . . . Memory creating . . . Memory preserving!
Finally reaching the arm-full of books concerning Pensieves and memory vials, Hermione scanned for something that might pertain to what Dumbledore had spoken the day before, but it didn't take long to realise that the old wizard was no less cryptic in death than he'd been in life.
"Bugger," Hermione muttered, having gone through several theories in her mind already. A part of her had hoped . . . but no, there was no way to bring the dead back. No way.
An enormous and heavy sigh left her lips and Hermione could feel the weight on her shoulders simply increase, rather than leave her as the air left. Her eyes started to burn and she feared tears wouldn't be far behind. This is what happens when you get your hopes up, she told herself. Stupid.
She viciously swiped under her eyes, blinking for all she was worth and attempted to steady the rampaging current that was her emotions. So much hurt. So much pain. She didn't want it. She didn't need it. She didn't want to think about it.
And then, as if her prayers were about to be answered, a light shone in through the wall of the library. The light stopped in front of Hermione and she rose hastily, not caring about the brief wobble it created, but stood mesmerized by the light. This light. A light she'd thought she might never get to see again.
It had been a long time since she'd seen the patronus, but she'd know it anywhere. The Jack Russel terrier bounced on the spot for a while before settling in proud manner, as if it knew that the message it was about to present was important. The thought of being happy Ron had sent her a message didn't even enter her mind, because as was the case anytime someone sent a patronus her way, her first thoughts were inevitably: What happened? Was anyone hurt?
The words spoken next only reaffirmed her fears.
"Hermione—Harry needs you—come to Grimmauld Place now."
~o0o~
A/N: Hello, my dear readers! I hope you're doing good! I've been fueled by your ever so lovely reviews as always and HOLY CRAP WE PASSED 300? THANK YOU! YOU'RE THE BEST!
And so many cameos in this chapter, it's insane! We've got other students and McGonagall and Dumbledore! Wow!
Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Until next time!
/Primrue