The Lady of the Chamber believed that all the races, even the distant Fae, would contribute to her Lightning Speaker's cause.
-Sayern nar-Hazozh (History of the Treaty), translated circa 1952
The Ravenclaw team had scheduled their first meeting of January for their ride on the Hogwarts Express, one of the few times that they knew their schedules lined up. Hermione, upon arriving, spent a few minutes talking with Harry and the others before boarding the train and searching for her fellow champions. She found Luna and Penelope awkwardly sharing an almost-empty compartment. The younger girl was contentedly perusing a copy of her father's magazine; the older had taken out a Muggle thriller. The former was so absorbed in her work that she didn't even notice Hermione's entrance; the latter glanced up every minute or so and displayed visible relief when she saw that someone had arrived who could act as a shield between her and Loony Lovegood. Luna's prestige in Ravenclaw had risen a bit since the second task, but she was still rightfully considered an oddball.
Hermione had asked her about that, whether or not it hurt. Luna had just commented that as long as no one was hurting her, she didn't particularly care what they thought. It had actually made Hermione a bit jealous—what she would have given for that serenity back in primary school.
Not surprisingly, the conversation quickly degenerated into a who's-studied-the-most competition. The Ravenclaw task was next, and though they didn't know what it would be, it didn't take a genius to figure out that the challenge would rely a lot on intelligence and learning. That meant that the Ravenclaws had, for the most part, spent their holidays in a frenzy of books and spells, mumbling trivia and creating flashcards and studying as hard as they could.
Luna and Hermione had been just as absorbed in their studies as the others, but they'd had an extra challenge to hurdle. Luna had seen the break from school as a break from Dumbledore, the best chance she had to learn Occlumency before it was too late. Her mental shields had progressed at a phenomenal rate, leaving her teachers Hermione and Harry astonished. They weren't sure if it was the girl's Fae heritage or just something about the way her mind worked, but she was incredibly difficult to probe.
Harry estimated that the second year would surpass even him (and by extension Voldemort himself) by the end of February. Then he'd started mumbling about the implications of that and whether or not he could integrate his extra memories into his own shields. No one would expect him to have two sets of recollections, just like no one would expect to find a downright Cretan Labyrinth in Luna's head.
Leaning back in her chair, Hermione let her smile fade away. She had a feeling of…she didn't know what. Fear, certainly. Dread, but also anticipation, expectation. She knew in her bones that within the next few months, something would have been fundamentally changed.
The girl shook herself. Of course something would change. Their meeting with the ambassadors was scheduled for the middle of April. That meeting would make or break them. But try as she might, Hermione could not convince herself that the meeting was the only thing which would change.
Stop it, she told herself. You're not a Seer. You can't see the future. It's just silly to feel this awful foreboding….
But thoughts of Blaise led to thoughts of his chilling prophecies, the raven and phoenix in the desert. His inexplicable urge to bargain with the Fae. And Trelawney had predicted it too, had said that Dumbledore would soon make his move against Air, against Hermione.
The Ravenclaw clenched her fists. Her palms, damp with sweat, were broken open by short nails.
Perhaps her feeling of foreboding wasn't so foolish after all.
But, Hermione reassured herself, she might get some answers tomorrow night beneath the full moon and sunset light. At the very least she'd be able to ask her questions, to articulate her fears. Perhaps this time the pumpkin-eyed knight would be inclined to answer her. If not, she had another plan.
The conversation around her degenerated into speculation as to the nature of the next task, as all conversations between champions (and most of the rest of the school, to be honest) inevitably did. As usual, the Ravenclaws made no progress: they had received no new hints, no clues as to what was going on. It made them rather sulky. Ravenclaws to the bone despised nothing more than not knowing.
By the time the Hogwarts Express reached Hogsmeade, Hermione's dread had returned full force. She felt like she'd downed another Potion of Panic. Her thoughts pounded against her skull like butterflies against a net. What if Dumbledore had learned the truth? What if he knew who she was, who her friends were? What if he had found or was about to find Founder's Isle? What had he been up to over break? Did he know that his attempt to Imperius Sirius had failed? Surely he must. But if he knew that the plan had failed, how would he respond?
Yes, that was the crux of the matter: what was their enemy planning?
Dinner was a nightmare. She could hardly force the food down, which made her worry about looking suspicious, which made her ache to glance up at the teachers' table and see if a pair of twinkling blue eyes were watching her. But indulging that urge every five seconds would be too suspicious, would make Dumbledore realize that something was up if he hadn't already figured that out. The effort Hermione expended not looking caused her hands to twitch.
"Poor Hermione," sighed Luna, patting her on the shoulder. "You've been bitten by a lugga-lugga over break."
Fear made her snappish. "I think I'd remember that, Luna." She regretted her tone instantly. "I'm sorry."
"I know." A small hand squeezed her shoulder. "Lugga-lugga bites often make the sufferer say things she doesn't mean. They also cause completely irrational paranoia."
Hermione thought of one of her father's favorite sayings: It's not paranoia if they're really after you.
"Completely irrational," Luna repeated.
"Of course." Despite herself, Hermione smiled. Not a wide smile, actually rather small and sickly, but it was enough to banish some of the nervousness lingering in her gut. She managed to eat after that, though still not much. A pity—the meal, mashed potatoes and pork roast, was one of her favorites.
The simple act of eating calmed her further. It was proof that she was alive, that she would go on, that she had to prepare for her future. Her fluttering heart slowed until its beat was strong and steady.
Luna beamed at her. "See? I told Daddy that potatoes were a good antidote for lugga-lugga bites, but he didn't believe me. How silly of him."
"Quite," Hermione agreed. "But I wonder why that is?"
"I have no idea," the younger girl confessed.
They spent the rest of the meal discussing everything they knew about potatoes. The girl across from them, a mousy-looking fifth year named Delilah, joined in their conversation when they started exchanging potato-themed recipes. The conversation was simple and mind-numbingly ordinary, and it banished the last of the fear from Hermione's system. It was, she noted wryly, rather difficult to feel afraid whilst discussing various ways of cooking the common spud.
She almost wished that they could keep talking about food, about cooking, about anything safe and open and honest, but duty called. Supper ended, even the deserts called back to the kitchens, and the students rose. It was time for the weary students to go to bed.
Well, most of the weary students.
Hermione and Luna slipped away from the crowd. The two girls made a beeline for an abandoned classroom, one of the many that Hogwarts's pupils had used for centuries for secret confidences.
A few spells later, the girls didn't have to worry about eavesdroppers. Hermione settled herself in a chair; Luna sat on the floor. Her silvery eyes were even larger than normal, bulging a bit with excitement. Harry and the others weren't there yet, but that was all right. Hermione was more than capable of explaining almost everything on her own.
And explain she did. She started with the tale of her first year, how, after discovering that Hagrid planned to raise a fire-breathing dragon in his wooden hut, she had been introduced to Slytherin's not-so-monstrous Monster herself. The Ravenclaw freely admitted her initial terror (Luna patted her on the back and assured her that she understood. Banshees had been spreading nasty rumors about the Lady for centuries), her reluctance to go back, her relief when Harry told her that Slytherin had been Muggle-born himself and therefore had no interest in killing anyone based on blood purity.
That was when Neville, who had arrived a few minutes ago, took over. He explained the circumstances of his own first meeting with Saysa, his confusion and pleasant surprise, before trailing off into silence. The next part was Harry's to tell, but their leader wasn't there yet. "Harry said he'd be here, right?"
"They all did," Hermione confirmed. She glanced at the door, but there was no sign of the three missing Slytherins. Fear clenched her gut. She rose to her feet. "Do you think something's happened?"
"Probably not," Neville answered. "They were going to sneak out after settling in, remember? I bet it's just taking them longer than they expected to unpack, that's all."
"All three of them?"
A frown creased Neville's brow. "Maybe they decided to all come down together?"
"Oh dear." Luna wrung her hands together. "I'm a bit worried about them. Are you worried, Hermione, Neville?"
"A bit," the older Ravenclaw confessed. She felt a bit sick. "Neville, the Marauder's Map is back on Founder's Isle, right?"
"Right. Padfoot's making a version for the island, remember? And I think he wanted to add the Chamber of Secrets to the original too."
Hermione nodded, biting her lip. "Should we go check on them?"
"There haven't been any explosions."
"Sorry?"
Luna beamed. "There haven't been any explosions," she repeated.
Hermione glanced at Neville, who looked just as confused as she felt. The Gryffindor shrugged. She's closer to you, he seemed to say. You ask her.
"Why would there be explosions?" Hermione dutifully queried.
"No, there weren't." Luna shook her head, blond locks rippling. "And there shouldn't be. If the Spider had gone after the Speaker, there would have been explosions. We'd have heard them, we're close enough to the Slytherin Common Room that we would have. Or we would have heard the screaming when people who heard the explosions heard the explosions. But since it's been so quiet, Harry and Blaise and Daphne are perfectly all right." Her head bobbed up and down, up and down. "So what happened next?"
Hermione and Neville exchanged nervous glances. That... actually made quite a lot of sense.
"Harry can tell it in more detail, but to make a long story short, he got the Sorcerer's Stone…."
The Slytherins still hadn't arrived by the time Hermione and Neville finished their tale. On the plus side, though, there still hadn't been any explosions. Or screams. Of course, those might have been taken care of by some kind of muffling spell….
"Should we go looking for them now?" Neville wondered.
Hermione wanted desperately to say yes. She wanted to sprint down to Slytherin territory, burst through the door, and hunt down her friends. She wanted to find them safe and sound and ready to be scolded for worrying her like this. But she'd spent enough time keeping secrets that she realized how unwise such a course of action would be. If something was wrong—if her foreboding had been prophetic, if Dumbledore knew—then they might be walking into a trap.
"I'll go to Founder's Isle," she said. "For the Map." She reached for the key that always hung around her neck. The ivory was cool and dry, a stark contrast to her hot, sweaty hand. "Ad Insulam Fundatorum."
The island was dark, but a quick lumos fixed that. Hermione, now wearing the form of Pallas Dhar (she took it by instinct whenever she arrived on Founder's Isle), scurried towards Sirius's cottage. Her heart thudded in her ears, the only noise on the quiet island until the sharp rap of her knuckles against wood shattered the silence.
"Coming!" Dudley's voice called. Hermione-as-Pallas heard footfalls, a youth jogging towards the door. Then the footsteps stopped, and Pallas leaned forward as Dudley opened the door. He blinked owlishly at her. "What're you doing here?" A blush. "Not that you shouldn't be here. It's just weird. You don't—you don't normally come here at night."
The Ravenclaw let herself smile at him. "I know, and I'm sorry if I woke you up."
"You didn't."
"Who's there?" Sirius's voice shouted.
"It's Pallas Dhar!" Dudley hollered back.
"Pallas?" Sirius rounded the corner, one eyebrow lifted. "What're you doing here?"
"May I take a quick look at the Marauder's Map, please?"
Sirius flicked his wand. Moments later, a scrap of parchment whizzed into his hands. "Sure. Come in though. It's cold out there."
Pallas stepped inside. As Sirius had said, it was indeed cold outside, as it usually was during January in the Hebrides. The cottage, though, was toasty and cozy, both a house and a home. She strode across the room.
"I solemnly swear I am up to no good."
Hermione's eyes made their way to the Slytherin dorms. To her surprise and relief, she found Daphne's dot right away; Harry's and Blaise's were nearby. The Ravenclaw released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her friends were surrounded by other students. The Slytherins had gathered in the middle of the Common Room, surrounding a dot labeled Horace Slughorn.
Her heart slowed as a small smile graced her face. A House meeting, an unexpected House meeting had delayed them that was all. But just to be safe, she turned her gaze to Dumbledore's office. There he was, the Spider himself, sitting at his desk with Fawkes nearby. The last of the tension drained out of Hermione's shoulders.
"Thank you," she breathed.
"What's going on?" Sirius asked.
Pallas became acutely aware of Dudley's curious gaze. Her friends' secrets might be wearing thinner by the day, but that was no excuse to start telling the truth to everyone she encountered. So she lied. Well, technically it was the truth, but it still felt, still tasted like a lie. "We had reason to believe that the Spider was up to no good, but he is in his office. We were wrong." A tight smile formed. "Fortunately. I'm just getting paranoid. I'm sorry for bothering you."
Sirius's face lined with worry. "Has he been active lately? I mean, after what he—after he tried to Imperius me." The Animagus's voice was tight, though he forced a smile onto his lips, a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"No. Like I said, I was just being paranoid."
"Nuh-uh." Dudley shook his head. "What's that saying?"
Pallas thought of her family, then of Dudley's family locked away in Azkaban. Sirius might have been legally free, but Dudley was not, possibly never would be. Had he been a rotten bully, a thug and a brute too spoiled and entitled to realize what he was doing was wrong? Yes. Dudley himself admitted it. But he was a child, and few children deserved to be tossed to the dementors. Yet that was what would happen to him if he were captured by unfriendly wizards: he'd be thrown back into a higher-security cell, possibly with a special guard that would prevent his too-loyal cousin from coming for him again.
"You're not paranoid if they're really after you. That is the saying." She didn't give voice to the thought pounding through her skull: none of us are paranoid. We can pretend all we want, laugh about it until tears prick our eyes, but none of us are paranoid. Not while they're after us. "Good night."
It wouldn't be a good night, she knew. Both the Animagus and his Muggle ward would have nightmares, but what could she do? She hesitated at the threshold, paused. "Sirius. Dudley. Dumbledore is in his office. He doesn't know about Founder's Isle. Neither do the dementors."
Dudley flinched.
"We know," Sirius mumbled.
Pallas nodded slowly. "I know you know. I'm just… just reminding you." She clutched her key, the only article of clothing which had made the transformation with her. Pallas never wore the robes of a Ravenclaw schoolgirl; she was dressed in simple, loose-cut robes of dove gray. No one was entirely certain where their Fae form's first outfits had come from, but they were real clothing. They didn't know where their school clothing went, either. Probably to the same place where Animagus forms were kept. "Good night again." Then, to the key, "Bring me back."
The ancient magic, spun by the Founders themselves, cut through Hogwarts's wards like a knife through warm butter. She landed in the same empty classroom whence she had departed. Neville and Luna jumped at her entrance. The Gryffindor settled down with a sheepish grin, hand loosening around his wand. Luna simply stared. "So that's what the illusion looks like," she observed. "It's very thorough."
"The Winter Queen did a good job," Hermione acknowledged, switching back to her usual form. She wondered what the glamors looked like to Oisin's descendent.
"She did," Luna agreed.
"What happened?" Neville asked.
"It looks like the Slytherins have been called together for some kind of all-House meeting," Hermione explained. Tension drained from her shoulders. She'd known it before, but saying it made it more real, more concrete. "Everyone is gathered around Professor Slughorn in the Common Room. Dumbledore isn't there. He's in his office."
Neville smiled. His wand slid back into his pocket. "Oh. Good. I wonder what the meeting is about."
"Probably the Tournament," Luna declared.
"The entire House?"
"Why not?"
"Good point," Neville admitted. "But I suppose we'll just have to ask about it in the morning."
"If Hermione can wait that long before learning something," Luna teased.
Relief made the older Ravenclaw a bit silly. She playfully pushed the younger girl's shoulder. "Of course I can."
Neville, grinning, shook his head. Hermione mock-pouted.
She slept well that night, untroubled by dreams. She'd been wrong about the Slytherins; her awful sense of foreboding had not been fulfilled.
At breakfast, though, it became painfully obvious that the Slytherins had not been discussing the Tournament of Houses—or, if they had, the discussion had kept them up all night. The green and silver table's inhabitants were dead on their feet, their faces pale, their eyes underscored by dark bags. Hermione took one look at them and made a beeline for Daphne. "What happened?"
"Someone pranked the beds," the other girl grumbled. She was in a bit better condition than the others, her hair neatly combed instead of tangled, but she was still obviously exhausted. "There were Dungbombs everywhere, and fireworks, and one of my teammates ended up in the Hospital Wing with his hair burned off and no eyebrows. Whoever it was jinxed the beds so that when someone sat down on them, all the Dungbombs and fireworks would go off at once. A few of the beds, the ones belonging to Champions, had other enchantments." Her lips thinned. "Fortunately, none of the Bed-Wetting Curses were triggered."
"And you don't know who did it?" Hermione gasped.
Daphne sighed, lowered her gaze. "I have my suspicions," she confessed, too quiet for anyone else to hear her in the noisy Great Hall. "Harry wards his bed. Most of the warded beds were ignored, but the saboteur or saboteurs went to extra lengths to get to Harry. They put a Bug-Attracting Charm on the floor beneath his mattress as well as enough Dungbombs to evacuate a battlefield."
In Hermione's opinion, even one Dungbomb was enough to evacuate a battlefield. Those things smelled. But she knew better than to say so. She glanced over at Mark, who was talking with his Gryffindor friends. They beamed at him, laughing uproariously whenever he made a particularly striking gesticulation.
"Poor Harry."
Daphne sighed. "I know."
Sorry it's so late in the day! But (at least in my time zone) it's still April 19. I'm not technically late!
Next up: Hermione confronts the knight and (maybe) we see the next Task. Maybe. You'll know for sure on May 10. Until then, adieu!
-Antares