6 – Ne Touchéz Pas
Hermione took a final look at herself in the mirror, pulling on the back of her blouse to keep it from bunching up under her cardigan. If only her one summer suit hadn't been so wrinkled. She didn't have time to look up that spell for pressing clothes and . . . .
It didn't matter. She was just meeting a portrait – a woman who'd been wearing the same dress for probably more than fifty years. Her school girl insecurities came back so easily. Why did these blue blood bigots made her feel so inferior? She frowned at her own reflection. Hyacinth was a half blood. Would she still be a snob?
She threw her head back, straightened her shoulders. She'd survived battle with Death Eaters. She could do this. She might be a mudblood, but she'd been raised with good enough manners, knew how to introduce herself to her parents' friends, could converse politely with their business associates. She looked at the clock on the mantle in her room – almost ten o'clock. Apparently, ten in the morning was a respectable time for a social call.
The others were waiting for her in the hall. Shacklebolt led, walking quietly, not wanting to wake Mrs. Black. After they were all in the sitting room, Kingsley cast a silencing charm behind them, as well as another charm Hermione didn't recognize. A mass of grey smoke emerged from his wand, and formed itself into a wall of sorts. It must have been an obscuring charm.
She looked over to the tapestry and was surprised to see that, once again, it looked like just a tapestry. No door was visible, even though it'd been there every time she'd come into the sitting room since it first appeared.
"The door's gone." She blushed when she realized how obvious that was.
"Hmm. How did you get it to appear before?" Professor McGonagall moved her wand over the tapestry. It glowed blue, showing it to be a powerfully magic item. The unicorn gave her an offended glare, but the dragon reared up, waving its wings and shot a small blast of flame toward her. McGonagall jumped back and might have lost her balance if Shacklebolt hadn't reached out to steady her. "Oh. Oh, dear."
"Hermione?" Shacklebolt reminded her of the question that had been asked.
"I just . . . ." she tried to remember back. "I just finished a quote when the unicorn started it."
"May I ask . . . what kind of a quote was it?" Shacklebolt was rubbing his chin, considering the two animals which were now both glowering at them.
"It was Shakespeare . . . a Muggle author." Hermione hadn't even thought about that before, but what a strange thing for an enchanted item in the Black house to know. "Me, poor man, my library was dukedome large enough." The three adults exchanged puzzled glances; apparently the quote wasn't widely known in the wizarding world.
"Let's try something." Kingsley was the first to speak. "If we all leave, and Hermione comes back in, alone, then maybe the door will be there again."
"Or you might get another chance to complete a quote," said McGonagall, nodding.
"Looks like you might be on your own here, not that you haven't gone into more dangerous places than this without adult supervision." Mr. Weasley seemed to know she was nervous. She appreciated his words, even if she wished someone could come with her. How silly – it was just the library, what she'd come to think of as her library. Of course, that was part of the problem – it wasn't really her library at all.
Sure enough, after they'd all gone through the smoke back into the hall, and Hermione re-entered, glad the smoke was staying in place, the door was there, just as it had been before. She crossed to it quickly, walking confidently, not allowing herself to over think this.
The torches along the walls of the library lit themselves, as usual, as soon as she entered. She paused for a moment to enjoy the leathery scent of the room. The portrait of Hyacinth was just to the left of the one window in the room. Hyacinth was gazing off into space, occasionally shifting to check her nails.
Hermione approached, then hesitated as she noticed that Hyacinth was wearing beautiful navy silk witch's robes. Of course. How could she have forgotten and dressed Muggle? Nice Muggle, but still. This summer she'd kept her school robes packed away and it'd been so warm she'd mostly been wearing jeans and t-shirts. Had she forgotten she was a witch? Should she run up to her room and change?
No. It was time to do this.
She cleared her throat. "Excuse me? Miss Black?"
Hyacinth looked up at her with a start. Her face looked open and puzzled, but then she pulled her expression back into a blank and haughty one.
"Have we been introduced?"
"I'm afraid not. As I appear to be the only one the library will allow in at the moment, I'll have to introduce myself. I am Hermione Granger – at your service." Hermione gave a quick almost curtsy bob, then immediately felt like that was silly.
"Oh," replied the portrait. All was silent for a moment and Hermione began to wonder what, if anything, she should say next. "Miss Hyacinth Brocklehurst Black." Hermione wondered if she had purposefully omitted saying 'at your service.' "Granger did you say? I don't believe that I'm familiar with any Grangers."
Of course not. "No, I don't expect that you would be. I grew up in Hampshire."
Miss Black's eyes grew wide. They both knew that wasn't a wizard town.
"You're muggleborn then?"
"Yes." Hermione kept her answer short. She wanted to see what Hyacinth would do with that. The silence stretched on. Hermione decided to wait her out. Sooner or later the silence would make her uncomfortable.
But she didn't want to stare at Hyacinth. She wanted to appear patient, not rude. Her eyes wandered to the large vase next to the chair in the painting. It was dark brown, almost black. The carving revealed golden orange clay beneath the darker finish. There were rows of figures – soldiers, animals, alternating with rows of neat Greek letters. The runes would blend right in, visible only to a discerning eye.
Hermione frowned, trying to remember the Greek alphabet, wondering what message was already inscribed on the vase. It was so realistically painted. She stepped closer to see if she could decipher any of the Greek words.
"Ne touchéz pas!" scolded Hyacinth. Hermione jumped. She'd almost forgotten about the lady in the portrait; she'd been so entranced by the vase.
"Excusez-moi. Je cherchais a votre beau vase."
"You speak French?" Hyacinth sounded surprised. Why couldn't a muggleborn know a different language? But Hermione kept her tone carefully neutral.
"Yes. My mother loved to travel in France. We spent several summers there."
Hyacinth apparently had no problem with staring. She studied Hermione openly, so Hermione met her gaze.
"Are you living here now? Here at Grimmauld Place?"
"Yes."
Miss Black raised her eyebrows, asking for more. "You are a guest of the Blacks?" Hyacinth sounded as though that was unlikely, and she was probably right.
Hermione decided it was time to explain things. "I don't know how much you've followed . . . current events. At the moment there are very few Blacks left. As far as I know, none with the surname 'Black,' since . . . well, since the last heir passed. His name was Sirius and he left the house to my friend, Harry Potter." Hyacinth's eyes opened wider at Harry's name. She wasn't completely unaware of the world. That would make things easier. "At the moment there's a . . . a war going on. Harry, myself and several others are living here for now."
"I thought the house seemed busy of late. Is that why I hear such horrible shrieking from Mrs. Black? Walburga, that is, in the hall."
"Actually, yes. She's not very happy with having us here."
"I imagine not." For the first time Hyacinth smiled. Hermione was amazed at how much prettier it made her. "Anything that displeases Mrs. Black can only be a good thing in my book. Now, what can I do for you?"
Hermione knew her relief showed on her face. As she explained to Miss Black the proposal to pass messages using her vase, Hyacinth nodded.
"Of course, my dear. I'm happy to help. Honestly, it isn't even my vase, only a prop the painter brought to make me look more classic. What do you think? Did it work?" Miss Black struck a formal pose.
Hermione smiled. "The effect is charming."
When she left, a half hour later, she was feeling much more positive about this whole scheme. All that remained was for the contact to speak to Hyacinth in her other portrait. Hyacinth agreed to spend more time there to make the connection easier.
Hermione had only been back in her room for a few minutes, when there was a call to respond to an attack in Surrey. She and Harry met in the kitchen and were dispatched on their next mission.
"How is it possible that this place has been locked up for more than a year?" Hermione gazed around the crowded room, amazed at all of the strange items in it. Something was screeching and it hurt her ears. She surveyed the room, anxious to silence it.
"No idea," answered Harry, who didn't even seem to hear the noise. He stepped toward an old mirror. It seemed to show his reflection, but something about it was off. Distracted from whatever was shrieking for a moment, Hermione's eyes scanned back and forth between Harry and his reflection. Somehow the Harry in the mirror looked better – taller? braver? - than in real life.
She gave her head a little shake. It wouldn't do to spend too much time worrying about any of the magical items here. The small living room was full of interesting looking objects and she had a feeling the other rooms were too. The first thing she needed to do was stop that horrible noise before she got a headache.
Hermione and Harry had gotten past all of the wards and were standing in Mad-eye Moody's house at last. It wasn't any bigger than Professor Snape's house, although it was in a nicer neighborhood – Philby Lane in the quiet village of Appleby, so normal that it was hard to picture Mad-eye here. The house was red brick, with a steep tiled roof, and a pathetically patchy lawn. Kingsley had given them a list of the wards he knew protected the house, and Hermione had detected, and disarmed, two others before they could finally enter.
"Harry, I think we can expect more wards on his most valuable possessions. Check everything before you touch it."
"What about invisible and hidden things? How will we know when we've gotten everything?"
Hermione bit her lip. "Remind me to do a magic-detection sweep of each room. That should show us where anything else is hidden."
"Is this a foe glass?" Harry wondered, looking again at the mirror.
"It wouldn't show you if it was. You were never a foe of Mad-eye's."
"But since he's . . . gone, would it still show his foes or someone else's?"
"I think it'd still be his, unless it's been . . . well, reset somehow. But everyone who appeared in the foe glass looked creepy. Your reflection doesn't look scary at all." She wondered if Harry saw himself in the mirror the same way she saw him.
The noise was definitely coming from the middle of the room. She walked past the mirror and over to a small table which had two spinning, shrieking objects on it. Sneakoscopes. She cast a silencing spell on them and let out a relieved breath when it actually worked.
"Wow – your reflection is actually kind of glowing," Harry pointed out, still entranced by the mirror.
"Yeah. I think we better just pack it up. We can study things more thoroughly once we've gotten them back to headquarters."
"Sure. Hey – did you check for portraits yet?"
"There aren't any in here. I bet he didn't trust them."
Luckily, they had come early in the day. It was going to take a full day to catalogue all the various magical items in this small house. Most of them would be left in place to be moved later. Only those things which seemed dangerous or immediately useful were to be packed up for them to take back to Grimmauld Place. They worked together on each room. There were only 5 rooms – the living room, Moody's bedroom, a guest room, bathroom and a kitchen.
The kitchen, like Snape's, seemed to be more potions laboratory than kitchen. Hermione checked for wards, and frowned as the far wall of the kitchen glowed with a bright green. She opened the first cabinet she came to. The bottom shelf contained an impressive array of teas, each in its own labeled tin: Assam, Darjeeling, Earl Grey, . . . . Alphabetized. Hermione smiled. Then there was a row of small lead jars, also labeled. She picked one at random to read its tiny label – then abruptly put it back.
"Oh my gosh!"
"What?" asked Harry, who was studying a strange contraption that covered the kitchen counter on the other side of the room.
"He had basilisk venom. Right next to his tea." Hermione's voice had dropped in horror.
"Take it. It's dead useful."
She reached up to the jar again, shook it, then carefully removed the stopper, and peered inside.
"Oh – it's empty."
"Figures. Doesn't this look like a still? You think Mad-eye was making moonshine?"
She glanced over, laughing. "Yeah. Maybe." She smiled. "Trust him to be full of surprises." She examined the other lead jars, picked up another and shook it, then another. "He did have some Acromantula venom and some Manticore venom. Should we pack these up?"
"Yeah. Hate to poison someone who just wanted a spot of tea."
"I'm starting to think that his eye wasn't the only thing mad about him, but at least he was organized. That should help with keeping track of everything. Oh, look – a whole jar of bezoars!"
"Take those." Harry spoke while getting down on his knees to look through the lower cabinets.
Hermione called out the items in each cabinet, while her charmed quill made a list of all of them for her. Harry did the same to the lower cabinets, marveling that Hermione had managed to charm his quill to listen only to his voice so that they could both work without interfering with each other.
"Harry, come here. There's a strong magical presence here – on this wall. Any ideas how to get to whatever's hidden here?"
"You already tried 'revelio'?"
"Yeah."
"Hmm." Harry ran his hand over the bare kitchen wall, then shivered. "Hang on – I can feel something. Wow – that's powerful. No idea how to get it to reveal itself though." He stood with her for a few moments, then said "I'm going to get started on the spare room. You come when you're ready."
Hermione didn't move. She didn't acknowledge what he said at all, but he went anyway. He was used to her intense concentration.
But a few moments later he called "Hermione – you have to come see this."
She started. It took her a moment to put his words together after they reached through her fog. Then she went. She peered into the guest room and her eyes widened. It was a library! There were books everywhere – stuffed in bookshelves on every wall, and piled like termite mounds throughout the room.
She started with the bookshelf directly to the left of the door – best to be systematic. "Harry," she whispered, feeling as though she were in an ancient cathedral, "don't move anything. Look – they're organized, too." She pointed at the labels on the shelves in scrawled black letters: Blood Magic, Marks and Tattoos, Ministry History, Pureblood Traditions, Wards. She could spend weeks, months, in here. She stepped over to the Pureblood Tradition section - 'A Comprehensive History of the Pureblood Families of England,' 'Land Tales: a Look at the Great Properties of Witching Britain,' 'Blood Not So Pure: the Biggest Secrets of the Oldest Families.'" She grinned, pulling that last one from its shelf and skimmed through the Table of Contents. Hyacinth's story might be in here. Sure enough there was a chapter on the Black family, another on the Malfoys.
"This whole stack is on Concealment Spells!" Harry wasn't normally as excited by books as Hermione was, but his eyes were bright. He began to read off some titles: 'They'll Never Find It: Hiding Things That Need to Stay Hidden,' 'Beyond the Fidelius Charm.' Maybe these can help us with whatever's hidden in the kitchen."
Hermione scanned around the room and noticed that even the stacks on the floor were labeled. Reluctantly, she put back the book she'd been skimming.
"Harry – this room is a treasure, but if we start looking through the books we'll never get through." She waved her wand, looking for more wards or spells on the books. Several sections of the shelves gave off the tell-tale eerie green glow. "The quickest way to deal with this is to divide up the room. You take that side, and all of the stacks from the middle of the room over. Then we'll go through and look at each title in our section. When we get back we can save those memories in a Pensieve and we'll have a full catalogue. If you see anything you think we should take back today, just mark it with a 'flagrate.'" She started to slowly read each title. "Oh, and Harry – if you see me getting distracted, make me move on." He grinned and they got to work.
They got through the library reasonably quickly. Harry only had to remind Hermione to keep moving a few times, and she only had to remind him once. Hermione thought they'd be able to get the whole house done and still be on time to the Order meeting that evening – until they stepped into the last room – Mad-eye's bedroom. Snape's had been little more than a monk's cell – with a bed and dresser, nothing more. But Mad-eye's was as stuffed with interesting gadgets as the rest of the house had been. Hermione sighed. If they worked quickly, and skipped dinner, maybe they could make it.
"Hermione," Harry moaned. "Maybe we should just come back tomorrow."
"We can't tomorrow. We're supposed to practice duelling, and Shacklebolt is coming by in the afternoon to see how well our training is going. Then I promised McGonagall I'd work on some tutoring schedules for the returning Hogwarts' students. It'll be days before we can get back. Let's see how much we can get done in the next hour."
Harry shrugged and they got to back to work.
Hermione was cataloguing the items on the tallest dresser. So far she recognized an astrolabe, an abacus and a slide rule. Why would Moody be interested in maths?
"Hermione?" Harry's voice had a slightly-panicked edge to it.
She looked over. He was kneeling on the far side on Moody's bed, facing away from her. "You okay?" she asked.
"Um . . . not exactly."
She slipped the list she was making into her pocket. She didn't trust this house enough to just set it on the table. For all she knew, one of these knick-knacks might eat it. When she got closer she saw that Harry was gripping the drawer pull on Moody's night stand.
"Won't it open?"
She reached toward it to add her strength, but Harry shouted "NO!" and pushed her roughly away with his free hand. "Don't touch it!"
"Why? What . . . ."
"My hand – it's stuck! And it's starting to burn. Ouch!"
So – they didn't finish the room and they were late to the meeting. They tried to sneak in, but every eye in the room followed them as they slipped into the kitchen, grabbing the only empty chairs, which couldn't be near the door, but were way down by the end of the table. One was next to Neville, where Harry sat. Hermione set a small bowl of pickled murtlap down next to him, before hurrying to sit next to Fleur, whose pregnancy was just starting to show.
She pulled out a parchment and her quill and started to take notes, mostly to help her frazzled mind focus. They'd been in such a rush at Moody's that they'd forgotten to check the last room for extra wards. After trying everything they could think of to free Harry's hand, and with the heat of the handle steadily increasing, Hermione finally used the severing spell that George had used on her hand. Harry had insisted that she do it, but she still felt ill at his scream, then at the blood that had been all over. She'd numbed his hand as quickly as she could, then healed it, but the skin was both torn and burned, and even after being healed it was red and swollen. So she'd insisted that they duck into the cellar to grab the murtlap.
She watched as Harry held his hand in the bowl, his relief obvious in his face. Shacklebolt gave an exasperated shake of his head, then returned to explaining the various options for what to do with Hogwarts, now that what should have been the start of the new school year was almost upon them.
The first time this subject came up Hermione had wanted to reopen the school as usual this term. However, it was just too dangerous. At the moment, they held the school, with many of its security wards back in place, but without Dumbledore, Moody, or Snape, they couldn't reconstruct all of the previous enchantments. A school full of children would be a tempting target, particularly since they would be largely half-bloods and muggleborns. Most of the old pureblood families had already engaged tutors. Then several parents had written to say they'd allow their children to attend only if all Slytherins were barred. All in all, reopening the school as usual was simply not worth the risk.
What to do with it then? They had to keep some sort of armed presence there, including alarms to summon help if the Death Eaters attacked again.
Now they were discussing how to allow the few students who had no other options to return to a modified teaching/tutoring system. Harry was adamant that they had to find a way to make it safe for those children, who were mainly muggleborns, but included at least a few war orphans. Hermione was eager to help with their educations in any way she could, and Ron backed them both up.
By the end of the meeting, Hermione, despite being completely knackered from their busy and too eventful day, was enjoying the feeling of the three of them working as a team again, even if it was only in the rowdy discussion that erupting during the meeting.
Finally, Shacklebolt declared that they'd settled enough for the night and they all began filing out of the room. Shacklebolt and Mr. Weasley paused to ask Harry how their mission had gone. Ron and Hermione lingered nearby as Harry explained why his hand was still soaking in the murtlap. Ron seemed impressed by Harry's new injury.
"Sir," Hermione asked. "Harry and I were wondering . . . well, there's so much there, so much that could possibly be helpful. How is it that no one's been there until now? It's been a year now since . . . well, since we lost Professor Moody."
"We just found the place. We'd actually given up," Kingsley said.
"Dumbledore had been Moody's secret keeper," Mr. Weasley explained. "Moody wasn't much for having guests. Dumbledore's passing meant that everyone who knew the location was now a secret keeper, but we couldn't find anyone who'd ever been there."
"Then, just a couple of weeks ago, I was talking to Arabella Figg." Kingsley smiled affectionately at the mention of the sweet squib lady. "We've finally convinced her to move to a safer location and I was helping her get moved in." Hermione noticed that he didn't mention where she was. He hardly ever volunteered information if it wasn't somehow necessary, although sometimes, like now, he'd answer questions. "Anyway, she mentioned how fond Moody had been of her cats. It turned out that she'd visited his home. She gave me the address and we were in."
As they left, Harry and Ron started to go upstairs. Hermione hesitated. "You go on up. I've got something I have to do."
Harry nodded, but Ron stopped. "What? Can't you do it later?"
"No. I don't think it'll take long. I'm not sure." Hermione looked up at Ron, who was scowling at her.
"What's with you lately? If you're not off with Harry on some secret mission, then you're off doing some other secret stuff."
"There's a war going on, if you haven't noticed."
"I noticed and I've noticed that you never have time for me." Ron's arms were folded across his chest. Harry was already gone up the stairs.
"I never have time for you? What about . . . ." Hermione didn't want to get into a fight, not right now, not here in the hall. "Ron, I'm sorry. This is important."
She turned and headed into the front sitting room. The truth was, she was dying to see if Hyacinth had talked to their contact. She hated to admit it, but that was much more exciting than hanging around with Ron.
She had to see if she'd gotten her first message.
French Translations: Ne touchéz pas – Don't touch that. Excusez-moi – Excuse me. Je cherchais a votre beau vase – I'm looking at your beautiful vase.
AN – I know exactly where I'm going with this story (perhaps to a ridiculous degree), but I'm trying to decide if Ron and Hermione should end it with a shout or a whimper. Any suggestions?