Harry Potter & the Sword of Truth

Chapter Two: The Mother Confessor Awakens

Hermione's Dream:

For a reason that Hermione could not figure out, she was being chased by men in unfamiliar military apparel. "You can run but you can't hide, Mother Confessor!" said the man leading her pursuers. "No one else in this world wears a dress like yours, you're hardly inconspicuous!"

Dress? Hermione thought in confusion. Lo and behold, when she looked down she found that she wore a form-fitting long-sleaved white dress that was long enough to brush her ankles, tho it was cut from the hem to the waist on each side so that it did not impact her movement as she ran. She also noticed that her hair was now sleek and black, cascading flawlessly down to her mid-thighs.

She was so distracted by her appearance that she didn't notice the D'Haran soldiers gain on her. Just as she realized that they were about to catch up with her, she woke up with a start.

The first thing Hermione noticed on waking was that she still wore the dress that she had in her dream. The change of her hair was also carried from her dream into reality. She ran down to the common room and right up the stairs into the boy's dormitory, desperate to be comforted by her boyfriend.

She hadn't yet reached Harry's bed when she was noticed by the last person she wanted to see her like this. Ron.

"What're you doing here, Hermione?" the redheaded boy asked groggily. "What's with the dress? What happened to your hair?" Not in the mood to deal with Ronald's lack of tact, she grasped him by the throat, guided entirely by instinct. She then felt a power release. It was like a silent clap of thunder. Ron's pupils became smaller as Hermione's widened. "Command me, confessor," Ron said in a dull tone.

"Go back to bed and leave me be for now," snapped Hermione. With haste, Ron obeyed, returning to his bed and shutting his eyes. Within seconds, she could hear his annoying snoring. "What the hell just happened?" she asked of no one in particular.

You used your power, Mother Confessor, said a voice in her head. Confessors have the power to destroy a person's mind and make them the Confessor's puppet. The only way to reverse this is the death of the Confessor.

"So I just destroyed Ron's mind," Hermione asked with wide eyes. "What will be the consequences of this? Will I get in trouble? Will I be expelled?" She was practically hyperventilating.

Calm yourself, Mother Confessor, said the voice. The use of a Confessor's power is completely legal and even encouraged in some situations. If anyone did object, the First Wizard would deal with them.

"First Wizard?" asked Hermione in confusion.

There are orders of wizards. Most wand wizards are wizards of the Third Order. Some of them, like Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, and Filius Flitwick transcend the norm and become wizards of the Second Order. Very few ever transcend into the First Order, Albus Dumbledore, Gellert Grindewald, and Tom Riddle being the only ones to do so in recent history. As the Seeker of Truth, as well as a Child of Prophecy, your soul-mate, Harry Potter, has the potential to be the forth wand wizard to do so this century. To do so, he must master Wizard Fire, a wandless form of fire-element magic that is similar in effect to what wand-wizards call Fiendfyre, only it is completely controllable. To transcend to just the second order, conversely, one must invent their own piece of magic. One must do both if they wish to be in contention for the coveted title of First Wizard.

"What are you doing here, Hermione?" asked the groggy voice of the person the voice in her head was talking about.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, embracing him and burrowing into his embrace. "I am now truly the Mother Confessor, the first of my race to exist in this world."

"Did you get any cool powers?" asked Harry excitedly.

"Ask Ron," Hermione said dryly.

"What?" Harry asked, confused.

"He got a taste of my new power when he interrogated me when I came up here," she told him.

"What did you do?" asked Harry.

"My power destroys a person's mind and makes them into my human puppet," admitted Hermione. "Ron is the first to experience it."

"He probably did something to deserve it," said Harry. "Can it be reversed?"

"Not unless you want me to die," said Hermione frankly.

"For Ron?" asked Harry incredulously. "He can stay a brain-dead puppet for all I care!"

"Is there anyone you would kill me to release?" asked Hermione, curious.

"No one in this world," Harry promised. "Now if we had any children, that would change."

"My children will, without fail, be Confessors," said Hermione. "The power of Confessors cannot affect other Confessors."

"Then there will be no one worth your life to me," promised Harry solemnly.

888

"Miss Granger, what on Earth are you wearing?" asked Professor McGonagall as she spotted Hermione in her white Confessor's dress at the breakfast table.

"I am the Mother Confessor," replied Hermione simply. "This is my dress."

"What on Earth are you talking about, Miss Granger?" the Professor asked in a confused tone.

"Minerva," Professor Dumbledore called. "A moment."

Dumbledore and McGonagall had a conversation in hushed tones while the students watched in wonder. Finally, McGonagall returned to the Gryffindor table.

"The Headmaster has informed me of what a 'Confessor' is," said Professor McGonagall. "See that you don't let anything happen to that dress, whether due to a spell or potion. While your magic as a Confessor will repair the dress, it will hurt like nothing short of a Cruciatus as it does so."

"Thanks for the advice, Professor," Hermioine said graciously.

"My pleasure, Mother Confessor," said the Professor before returning to the staff table to have what looked like a heated discussion with Professor Snape.

"It's nice that she told us about this now, and that we won't find out the first time something happens to your dress," said Harry.

"It is," said Ron. "If I saw Mistress in such pain, I'd feel compelled to stop it. Which, if I heard right, would be impossible, and so I would be compelled to punish myself."

"Merlin, Mione, you turned Ron into a freckled, red-headed house elf!" exclaimed Harry. "Dobby might have a new friend!" Hermione and Harry shared a hearty laugh. "What happened to the Hermione that despised every form of slavery on principle?"

"She became a Confessor," replied Hermione. "It's hard to despise something that is pretty much your very nature. It is a Confessor's nature to enslave."

"Just like it's in a seeker's nature to seek the truth," mused Harry.

"Exactly," said Hermione.

"Classes should be interesting," Harry noted. "Can you even use regular magic anymore, Hermione?"

"I'm not sure," said Hermione. "Let me check." Hermione drew her wand.

Be cautious, Mother Confessor, said the voice from earlier. If you try to use a spell that's too powerful to determine in your friend's eyes that you cannot use spells as you know them, you could cause any number of reactions. Just not the spell that you try to cast. A Confessor's core is too chaotic for a Confessor to use her magic in any of the standard spells that wand wizards have come up with. Rowena Ravenclaw, the last Confessor to live in this world, invented spells and rituals that Confessors could perform. She left her spell-book in the Room of Hidden Things.

Wait a minute, Hermione thought back. I thought I was the first Confessor to ever be born in this world.

You are the first Mother Confessor prospective, corrected the voice. Regular Confessors have less power than Mother Confessor prospectives. If more than one Mother Confessor prospective is living at a time, then the oldest or most powerful Confessor is deemed Mother Confessor. Regular Confessors wear a black dress, not unlike a formal witch's robe. Mother Confessor prospectives wear a gray dress, except for the Mother Confessor herself, who wears a dress of pure white. As you are currently the only Mother Confessor prospective living, you are thus the Mother Confessor, and you likely will be until you die or pass on the title to another Mother Confessor prospective.

If I can't do normal spells, then what is the point of trying to do one now? Asked Hermione.

It will assure your friends of the fact, explained the voice.

Nodding, Hermione pointed her wand at nothing in particular and incanted: "Lumos!" Nothing happened.

There are spells known today that were developed by Rowena, or a Ravenclaw confessor before her, said the voice. The killing curse, Avada Kedavra, is one of them. As are the other two so-called unforgivables.

"Alright, I'm going to try something crazy," said Hermione, pointing her wand at Ron, knowing that he wouldn't have the mind to care about what she did to him. "Crucio!" Ron writhed in pain for a moment before she lifted the curse. "So Rowena's spells work for Confessors, but spells invented by normal witches and wizards do not."

"Rowena? You mean Rowena Ravenclaw?" asked Harry. Hermione nodded. "That explains so much."

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione.

"I always knew there was a reason why the penalty for using an unforgivable on a free witch or wizard was life in Azkaban rather than the Dementor's Kiss or a trip thru the Veil of Death," replied Harry. "It makes sense if one of the founders was the one to develop those spells. Witches and Wizards in Britain still revere the founders of Hogwarts. As it is, I'm surprised the penalty for using them is so severe."

"How many people who use the unforgivables on their fellow witches or wizards actually get convicted and sent to Azkaban?" reasoned Hermione. "None, if you don't count those who went to Azkaban for far more compelling reasons. Lets face it, the penalty for the Unforgivables is only on the books, it isn't actually enforced, or hasn't been for so long that the last time it was has been lost to the annals of history."

"Is that why you decided to cruciate Ron in a room full of witnesses?" asked Harry pointedly.

"Oh, relax! Ron hardly counts as a free wizard!" Hermione exclaimed. "He's practically a human house elf, except house elves actually have minds of their own and sort of have free will. He also doesn't have the mind to care about the curse I just cast on him. He is completely devoted to me. I wouldn't have done it if I had thought he would have actually suffered for real."

"Merlin, Hermione, you really have changed," said Harry. "The Hermione I knew would have never had the gumption to watch the face of a friend in pain that she herself caused. Frankly, your new self is dead sexy, but a little cruel."

Hermione made a sexy pose. "I know I am. You remind me of just how attractive you find me every time we're alone. Quite frankly, if I didn't need you to satisfy my bloody teenage hormones, I'd insist you call a sex addiction hot-line."

"Ditto," said Harry. "You are at least as addicted as I am, admit it!"

"So what if I am?" asked Hermione. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing now," replied Harry. "But when we're alone..." He trailed off with a smirk.

"You complete man-whore!" accused Hermione mirthfully.

"Your complete man-whore," Harry shot back.

"Touché, my love," said Hermione. "Touché."

"Get a room…" began Fred.

"…you two!" finished George.

"That's the plan," Hermione told them.

"Then stop planing on it…" began Fred.

"…and just do it!" finished George.

"Fine!" exclaimed Hermione, taking Harry's hand and leading him from the Great Hall.

Harry and Hermione showed up at Transfiguration that morning with disheveled clothing and wide grins. Professor McGonagall gave them a stern look but said nothing.