A/N: Many thanks go out to my wonderful beta, anogete, for her hard work on this chapter. Thanks also to my lovely readers and reviewers, all of whom give me the courage to keep posting!
Obligatory: None of these things belong to me; they all belong to JKR. I just like to have a bit of fun with them, and no profit is desired.
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At breakfast on the first day of classes, Hermione eyed Harry with suspicion as he rubbed his forehead absentmindedly, a grimace quirking at the corners of his mouth.
"I thought that had stopped," she whispered, looking around to see if anyone else noticed. The only other person who seemed to be paying any attention was Ron, though he was largely concerned with stuffing food into his mouth.
"I thought so, too, but for some reason Voldemort has seen fit to stop blocking me out." Harry abandoned the rubbing briefly to try to force himself to eat.
"Have you not been practicing your Occlumency?" Hermione frowned as Harry nodded a guilty no. "Harry, you must! What if he finds out about the Horcruxes? That won't do at all!"
"So what if he does find out about them? There are only two left, and with any luck I'll find them before he finds me." Harry stabbed the sausage on his plate in an attempt to distract himself from the burning in his forehead.
"Which ones are left?" Ron decided that now was the time to interrupt before Hermione's righteous fury got the best of her.
"I'm not quite sure now. Dumbledore thought Nagini might be one, and then something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's. I have no idea what it could be, though." Harry quit fighting and returned to rubbing his scar.
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between the three friends at the mention of Dumbledore and the discussion of the Horcruxes, a topic Ron and Hermione knew it was best not to dwell on with Harry, for it usually ended with him storming off in anger.
"Erm, so… anyone know anything about the new Potions professor?" Ron cleared his throat and hoped that his topic change would successfully end the discomfort they were feeling.
"McGonagall's made him Head of Slytherin House, but I haven't heard much else about him. He seemed a bit odd at the feast, though." Hermione thought back to his uncomfortable stares.
"What is it with these Potions masters being Slytherins? Don't any of them like Transfiguration or Charms or something?" Ron glared up at Professor Caveo, who seemed to be ignoring everyone as he quietly sipped his coffee.
"It's really the only other field that lends itself readily to dark things, I'd imagine," Harry commented, rubbing his scar more persistently.
"Well," Hermione interrupted, looking at her watch, "speaking of Potions, I suppose we'd better get to the dungeons."
"Wonderful," Ron muttered, stuffing one last forkful of food in his mouth and picking up his bag.
The class was whispering amongst themselves when Professor Caveo swept into the room and slammed the door. All of the students abruptly stopped speaking at the sound, and were all reminded of a certain former Potions master who had begun classes in a similar way. Ron and Harry both let out irritated sighs, but Hermione dutifully picked up her quill and sat poised to begin taking notes.
Caveo was tall and, once again, wore all black robes. The long brown hair that had been hanging around his shoulders at breakfast was now tied neatly behind his head, straining his handsome yet forbidding features. His searching blue eyes surveyed the class with grim satisfaction as all looked at him with some trepidation.
"As you no doubt know," Caveo began as he paced in front of the class, "my name is Professor Eli Caveo, new Head of Slytherin House and your Potions master for the remainder of your time at Hogwarts. I have reviewed the lesson plans of my predecessors from previous N.E.W.T. classes and have decided, in consultation with the Headmistress, to change the curriculum somewhat. In light of recent events, we both feel that it would be most beneficial for you all to acquaint yourselves with extremely dark potions in the event that you should find yourself faced with one."
Beside Hermione, Ron groaned, "They're all Slytherin and they're all obsessed with dark magic. Aren't any of them normal?"
Hermione shot Ron an irritated look and went back to listening to Professor Caveo.
Caveo pointed to a cauldron in front of him that was full of a boiling dark green liquid that smelled like vomit and emitted a thick brown smoke. "Can anyone tell me what this is?" Hermione predictably raised her hand. "Yes, Miss Granger, is it?"
Hermione took a nervous gulp of air. "Yes, sir. That's a Burning Potion, and when someone is doused with it, they show no outward signs of damage, but are slowly tortured by the feeling of the affected skin being on fire." She shivered and stared at the cauldron.
"Correct, Miss Granger. I would like you to turn to page fifteen of your texts and begin work on the antidote. At the end of class, you will all test the effectiveness of your potion on yourselves. I warn you that permanent damage can be done to the nerves by the Burning Potion if the antidote is not administered quickly, so I suggest you take extra care in preparing it."
All of the students looked at each other warily as they eyed the disgusting liquid in the cauldron, and then imagined fearfully the consequences of failing the assignment.
"He's mad, he is," Ron whispered as they collected the ingredients listed in the book. "What kind of class is this?"
From behind them, the voice of Professor Caveo came low and threatening. "This is a practical class, Mr. Weasley. You must all learn the effects of the potions you may no doubt come in contact with at the hands of dark wizards. Five points from Gryffindor for questioning the teaching of a professor."
"Sorry, sir," Ron muttered, quickly deciding to hate Professor Caveo without reserve.
The class went about quietly preparing the antidote, a rather difficult potion that required nearly a dozen carefully prepared ingredients. Caveo watched on from his desk with wicked delight, glancing at the boiling brew that sat in front of him every time someone looked up to meet his gaze.
"He's absolutely barking mad!" Ron gasped for about the fiftieth time that day as he sat studying with Harry and Hermione in the Gryffindor common room later that evening.
"He's right, though," Hermione stated calmly as she practiced wand movements for Charms.
"What do you mean he's right? I can still feel a bit of a tingle in my hand from that blasted Burning Potion. He practically tortured us with that stuff, Hermione! He's even more sadistic than…" He broke off, looking hesitantly at Harry, who was buried in a Defense Against the Dark Arts text.
"It's okay, you can say it," Harry growled, slamming the book shut and staring at the ceiling. "I am not going to sit here and sulk every time you mention Snape. He'll get what's coming to him, and it's going to come from me, if I have anything to say about it."
Ignoring Harry's determination to bestow a horrible death on Snape, Hermione looked up at Ron. "He's not sadistic, Ron, he's absolutely right. Do you think curses are the only thing Voldemort has at his disposal? No. And now that Snape is back with him, he will surely be brewing things just like the potion we saw today."
"You seem awfully determined to defend him, Hermione. Taking a liking to Slytherins now?" Ron's jealousy at her every mention of another man since she had spurned his affections that summer was growing more infuriated with every week that passed.
"Honestly, Ronald, don't you read?" Not waiting for his obvious response, she continued. "First of all, his teaching methods aside for the moment, I happen to know that Caveo is an absolutely brilliant scholar. I've been reading some of his theoretical articles on Potions, and it's obvious that he's incredibly intelligent and talented. As for the rest, yes, I think he's right. We need to be prepared for everything, and if that means my hand has to feel like it's burning from time to time, I am perfectly willing to accept that. I would advise you both to do the same."
"She's right, Ron, so shut up about it," Harry groaned as he began rubbing his scar again.
"Honestly, Harry, you need to work on your Occlumency. This is ridiculous!" Hermione was exasperated.
"I know, Hermione, I know. It's just strange. This morning he was absolutely furious, and now he's happy. Really happy. The way this man cycles through emotions, I think it would do him good to see a Muggle therapist." Harry's gaze settled thoughtfully on the fire in front of them.
"Still, I don't see what good it does you to keep experiencing his emotions, Harry. It's only going to get you in trouble. He could be reading your thoughts right now!"
"Hermione, please, stop it. What's he going to see? That I accidentally turned a pigeon into a toad today instead of a chicken? That my dinner tasted good? That I can't work out what the last Horcrux is? Trust me, there isn't anything exciting there for him." Harry narrowed his eyes at Hermione before softening his expression. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I've just got a lot on my mind right now, and I would hope that the two of you are on my side."
"Of course we are, Harry. How could you think otherwise?" Hermione reached out to pat his hand, forcing another scowl from Ron.
"I know you are. So why don't you show it and stop fighting with me and each other? We all need to be together now more than ever." Harry's eyes darted between Hermione, who was still regarding him with concern, and Ron, who now sat with his arms crossed over his chest in haughty annoyance.
"You're right, Harry. I'm sorry. We'll try to be good, won't we, Ron?" She gave Ron a wry smile.
"Absolutely," Ron replied, though his tone was less than convincing.
"Good. Now, I'm knackered, so I'm going to bed. I'll see you both at breakfast." Harry made for his room, followed by Ron.
Hermione sat with her thoughts for a moment before going to her room to practice wandless magic. That night, her determination caused the parchment to fly almost immediately into her hands, and she was quite pleased.
She had fallen asleep with a text on Legilimency open in her hands. All summer, in addition to tireless N.E.W.T. revision, she had been learning about any and every weapon they would need in battle. She was mainly hoping to master a more obscure branch of Legilimency, Silent Speech (which older texts referred to as Pseudo Legilimency Minor), which would allow her to talk to her companions in the event of a struggle. Now that Harry's scar was burning so persistently, however, she hoped to use the information in the books to persuade him to let her help him with Occlumency.
Once again, she was standing before Snape and Dumbledore when the Killing Curse was fired, only this time she could see Harry standing motionless, regarding the scene. Though he was perfectly still, his eyes burned with hatred and rage, the same rage with which they had been filled all summer when he would explain, at great length, what he would do to Snape if he found him.
Hermione strode towards the lifeless body of the former Headmaster and looked down at him, trembling as she surveyed him.
Abruptly, his twinkling eyes opened. "It's all in his head, Miss Granger. It's all in his head," he insisted quietly as he motioned with his gaze towards Harry.
"What do you mean, Headmaster?" she muttered into the darkness of her room. She sighed deeply. She was far too tired to skip sleeping again, but she had no idea what to make of what Dumbledore had said. Hermione laughed at herself. What did she think, that he was actually speaking to her in her dreams? Nonsense. Dreams are just a manifestation of things already in our thoughts, so what would the statement possibly mean to her? What was in Harry's head?
"What exactly is in my head?" she mumbled into her pillow. "And why am I talking to myself? Out loud? Good Merlin, I've lost my marbles!" With one last laugh at herself, she drifted back into sleep, a sleep that was thankfully unhampered by the undead sending her ridiculous messages about Snape and Harry.
The next Monday found all of them much the same. Harry was still rubbing his scar, Ron was still cursing Caveo ("and the two foot long parchment on the Hive Potion he rode in on!"), and Hermione was still immersed in the study of anything and everything magical on which she could get her increasingly powerful hands. She hadn't told anyone, but she had now mastered Summoning and Banishing charms without her wand. It wasn't as if she had time to tell anyone if she'd wanted to, of course, as every spare breath was spent defending Professor Caveo, whom she'd come to like, occasionally speaking with him after class and prodding him into getting her a pass to remove books from the Restricted Section of the library.
"Something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's…" Harry muttered at his breakfast.
"Harry, look, I know you don't want to hear it, but I really think we should work on your Occlumency. Please consider it?" Hermione eyed him with sisterly concern.
"What do you mean, 'we'?" Harry asked as he glanced at her cautiously.
"I mean I will help you. I studied Legilimency over the summer, and while I haven't exactly tried it yet, I'm sure I could be of enough use to at least help a little." She sighed at his look of apprehension. "Honestly, Harry, I already know most of the bad things in your head. Don't you think it's worth at least a try?"
Harry thought for a moment before relenting. "Okay, I will try if it means that much to you. Just promise me one thing, okay?" he implored before lowering his voice and glancing between Ginny and Ron, who were talking about Quidditch. "Don't tell anyone anything you see that might be… upsetting."
Hermione giggled. "I won't tell anyone, but if you try hard enough you might find that I won't be able to see them at all."
Harry laughed and chanced a glance at Ginny. "That sounds like motivation enough for me!"
Potions was as painful as ever as they brewed an antidote to a potion that would bring on anaphylactic shock. Hermione shook her head in exasperation as Ron muttered about what a lunatic Caveo was. The professor always had his own vials of the antidote on hand should anyone's potion fail to relieve them of the agony of the dark potion they were studying, though Ron insisted this was to prevent McGonagall from catching wind of the "bloody torture" he had inflicted on them in class.
That night, in her room, Hermione instructed Harry to clear his mind and bottle the edge of his emotions. He was clearly uncomfortable with these lessons, but Hermione was not about to give up when the fate of the Wizarding world probably rested on Harry being able to keep Voldemort out of his mind.
"Are you ready, then?" Hermione asked with a comforting smile.
"I suppose." Harry held his breath and looked at her as though she was about to give him an injection of something, but he nodded his head when she held up her wand.
Hermione took her own deep breath and cast, "Legilimens."
Suddenly, images from Harry's mind started flashing through her own, images of his confrontation with Professor Quirrell, his journey into the Chamber of Secrets, seeing Dumbledore with his shriveled hand clutching a ring, a threatening and hissing Nagini, finding the real Horcrux locket at Number 12 Grimmauld Place…
"Stop!" Harry gasped, rubbing his forehead in earnest.
Hermione couldn't speak. She initially hadn't been sure that she would be able to do Legilimency, but suddenly there she was, seeing into Harry's mind, seeing his thoughts of the Horcruxes, and it had almost overwhelmed her.
It's all in his head, she heard in her own thoughts, as she watched Harry trying to compose himself.
It's all in his head.
The Horcruxes.
All in his head.
"Good Merlin," she muttered to herself.
"What?" Harry demanded.
"Nothing, just… well, I did Legilimency! I didn't think I would be able to," she lied as she mulled over the uncomfortable thoughts she was having.
"Congratulations," he grunted. "I think I'm going to need to practice a bit more on my own, though. This was a fairly exhausting attempt, no offence."
"None taken," she replied, grinning. "I'll see you at breakfast, then?"
"Of course! Goodnight, Hermione." Harry left her room, still rubbing his forehead.
Hermione was left with her thoughts. Was it possible? Could the ever-elusive final Horcrux really be that obvious? Could it have been right there all along in Harry's scar? It started to make sense. No, it wasn't ideal putting it into a sentient being who had free will, but Voldemort had been desperate enough to make one out of Nagini, why not Harry? It may not have even been on purpose. He could have been planning to put it in something else after killing Harry, killing the boy who threatened him with a prophecy, but when the curse backfired, it could have implanted itself in the mysterious scar. After all, normally the Killing Curse left no external signs other than death, so certainly the scar must have some significance. Could it be the final piece of the Horcrux puzzle?
'Hold on a minute,' Hermione warned herself. 'I am getting these ideas from my dreams. I couldn't possibly know where a Horcrux could be."
But it makes sense. It's all in his head.
Hermione tossed and turned in her sleep that night, seeing Dumbledore's face, surrounded by the cloud of uncertain memories, over and over again as he urged her on, saying, "You've got it, Miss Granger. It's all in his head. You've got it."
If Dumbledore thought she'd got it, she certainly thought she'd lost it. Even if it did turn out to be true, she had no idea what to do with this information. Could she tell Harry that he would have to die to make sure that none of the Horcruxes ever got back to Voldemort? Or was there a way to destroy the Horcrux while leaving Harry's life intact?
Dumbledore would know. Before the thought even crossed her mind, she knew for sure that she'd gone mad. No matter. Everyone already thought she was mad.
Hermione had no more dreams for another couple of weeks, but her thoughts were still occupied with Harry's potential Horcrux scar. After classes one day, Hermione could take it no more and went to visit her old Head of House and present Headmistress in her office. She had always admired McGonagall, and even if she didn't think that she could explain her concerns to her, she thought she could at least get some perspective that she desperately needed.
"Stonehenge," she offered to the door of the Head office, and the gargoyles slid aside and allowed her up the stairs. Once there, she raised a tentative fist to the door and knocked quietly.
"Yes, come in, Miss Granger!" Hermione opened the door and stepped inside cautiously. "And how can I help the Head Girl this evening?"
"I'm sorry to bother you, Professor, but, well, I sort of needed to speak with you, but now I'm feeling a bit silly…" Hermione tried to control her rambling, but the words were coming out more quickly than she could control them. She glanced up at an empty portrait on the wall to her left.
"I think I know how you feel," McGonagall replied with a sigh, her own gaze following Hermione's.
"Sorry, Professor?" Hermione was shaken from her reverie by the unusually soft words of the Headmistress.
"I think you're here looking for answers, Miss Granger, about the confusion that's going on around us. You want to know if Harry will succeed, if we will win, but it seems that not even Dumbledore has the answers to those questions anymore." McGonagall took off her glasses and rubbed her nose.
Hermione wasn't sure if McGonagall had gone mad or if she was reading her mind. "Professor, where is Professor Dumbledore?"
McGonagall took a deep breath and examined Hermione before admitting to her next words. "He has been gone from the portrait for over a month, and before that he was always soundly asleep in the chair. I thought perhaps that he was skulking around the other portraits, but I've had all the ghosts and all the other portraits out looking for him, but he isn't anywhere. It's his duty as a former Headmaster to report to me when he's needed." At this, there were mumbles of agreement from the other portraits. " So I can only conclude that…"
"He's gone," Hermione finished. "But he said he would always be here so long as there were people at Hogwarts loyal to him."
"It is most troubling, to say the least. I simply can't explain why he wouldn't be here. I take it you were hoping to speak with him, Miss Granger?"
"I was, Professor, though I'm not sure what I really wanted to say to him. I suppose I just wanted to see him and see if that somehow made me feel any better." Hermione looked guiltily into her hands before continuing with the other reason for her visit. "Professor, may I ask you something rather personal? I understand if you won't answer."
"I will certainly consider your question. What's troubling you?" McGonagall peered at Hermione through the spectacles she had just placed back on her face.
"I suppose I was just wondering if you think about it, Professor, if you think about the night that Professor Dumbledore…that is to say, Professor Snape…" Hermione wrung her hands in embarrassment, suddenly wondering what it was that had brought her here in the first place.
"Of course I do, Miss Granger; I think that we all probably do. But that isn't quite what you wanted to ask me, is it?" McGonagall's stern expression softened considerably.
"Well, it's just that I don't really know what happened that night, Professor, and I suppose there's part of me that doesn't want to believe that it's real. I've been having these dreams about it, dreams I can't really understand." Hermione pressed her fingers to her eyes, trying to force the images from her dreams back from their usual place at the front of her mind.
"Tell me, Miss Granger, in your dreams, does Albus talk to you, or does Snape look like a mad, raving lunatic?" Hermione's eyebrow quirked at McGonagall's description of Professor Snape.
Hermione laughed, now a bit more at ease. "Both, actually. I suppose it just bothers me that the only account I have of it is from Harry, and he's not exactly unbiased."
McGonagall looked at Hermione for a moment before standing and walking to a cupboard behind her desk. From it, she retrieved a large box and set it down in front of the Head Girl before taking her seat again.
"Do you know what is in this box, Miss Granger?"
"No, Professor." She was, however, dying to know.
"This is Albus' Pensieve. Much though I loved him, I have little desire to wallow in the depths of his memories these days, but I do not want to get rid of something that was so important to him. I know that our little experiment with the Time Turner didn't work out so well for you, but I think that perhaps you could make better use of this." McGonagall shuffled some parchments on the desk.
"You're…you are giving me Professor Dumbledore's Pensieve?" Hermione was wide-mouthed with shock.
"That I am, Miss Granger. You have always been one of my best students, and I know that sometimes what we see and what the truth is are two entirely different things. Use it to search your dreams, or your classes, or what you will. I suspect that you will share it with Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, as I believe that, things as they are now, they could do well with a little reflection. I would also like to give you this." McGonagall handed Hermione a vial full of a silvery substance.
"Is this a memory?" Hermione held the vial up to the light.
"It is from Aberforth, Albus' brother, from a conversation the two had shortly before the night of the attack. I know what is troubling you, Miss Granger, and I hope that perhaps this can settle some of your conflict."
Hermione regarded the two gifts for a moment before carefully placing the memory in the pockets of her robes and shrinking the Pensieve box, storing it in the other pocket. "Thank you for your candor and these gifts, Professor. I will certainly put them to good use. Good night, Headmistress."
"One more thing, Miss Granger," McGonagall called as Hermione turned to the door. "Professor Caveo has told me that you are quite gifted in Potions, and while it does not surprise me, you can imagine that this is the first I've heard of it. He understands that you are considering becoming a Potions mistress and has offered to assist you with more complex work outside of class. Would you be interested?"
Hermione's eyes glittered with pride and excitement. "I would be most interested, Professor. It would be an honor to work with Professor Caveo!"
"I shall set it up. Plan to be in his classroom tomorrow directly following dinner. Good night, Miss Granger."
"Good night, Professor."
In her room later that night, after telling Harry and Ron about her quasi-apprenticeship (about which Ron commented, "What, are you going to test the effectiveness of his latest disemboweling potion?"), she stared at the Pensieve and the memory McGonagall had given her. She had decided not to tell her friends about the gift just yet, selfishly wanting to see the memory and judge it for herself before involving any others in her treasure.
With a deep breath, she coaxed the thick memory into the bowl and hesitated a moment before diving in.
She found herself standing in a small room, occupied by a table and two elderly men seated on either side of it. One was Albus Dumbledore, and the other his brother, Aberforth, who was absentmindedly petting a goat sitting next to him. Hermione gasped when her eyes settled on Albus, though, as he looked world-weary and distraught, something she had never seen as a student at Hogwarts. It was obvious that the events going on around the time of this conversation were wearing him thin.
She moved closer to the table to listen to the brothers speaking.
"I just don't know what I am going to do about him, Aberforth. I knew that this time would come eventually, but I suppose that I hoped I could keep delaying the inevitable." Dumbledore took off his half-moon shaped spectacles and rubbed his nose, his eyes closed in despair.
"Surely you don't think he's turning?" Aberforth gasped incredulously.
"It happens little by little every day. I always knew that the dark was there, haunting him, but every time I am near him I can sense it more and more, and it wears on me."
Aberforth studied his brother. "Is there any saving him, if you're right?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "He was saved once. I do not know if I have the strength to see it done again."
"Hogwash, Albus! Would you really see him lost after all of this time? After everything he himself has lost?"
"You know I would not wish it, my brother, but despite what everyone thinks about my omnipotence, I am not all-powerful. It will ultimately be his choice." Dumbledore put his glasses back on and gazed into his glass of brandy thoughtfully.
"And you think he will choose the dark?" Aberforth cocked his eyebrow suspiciously.
"If it chooses him, his choice may only be giving into it, or death." Dumbledore took a deep swig of the drink.
"He's young yet, Albus; he may have the strength to save himself." He returned to petting the drowsy goat. "Why don't you just talk to him about it? Stop all of this ridiculous speculation without direct evidence of what's really going on!"
"I know you think that's best, but in order for all to continue as planned, he must believe that I have complete trust in him. If he thinks that has faltered, all our work will be for nothing." Dumbledore drained the glass and passed his hand over it so that it refilled.
"Codswallop! How do you know he hasn't figured it out all ready? He's certainly not a fool!"
"If he has, he has not trusted me enough to bring it up in our time together. He may not even realize what's going on inside himself enough to know that I suspect it. We are all, alas, fools when it comes to what's in our hearts." Dumbledore drained his glass again and stood to leave. "In any event, it is my duty to see that the plan moves forward. I will not sacrifice it for an old man's fears."
"Even if those fears are right and destroy the plan anyway?" Aberforth shot up and stood to challenge his brother.
"Just so."