Hermione Investigates
CHAPTER 6
I wrapped my right arm around Mr. Dung's chest, and used my left hand to jab my wand into his neck. He seemed too startled to react at first, and when he did struggle, it was rather feebly. Wizards weren't used to physical confrontations; I remember how Malfoy had freaked out after I punched him in the nose a couple of years ago. Nor could he Apparate away from me. If I understood the phenomenon properly, any attempt to Apparate would simply take me with him
Ginny, seeing that her diversion, had worked, grabbed her blouse off the bush and crossed the street to us.
Meanwhile, fear of my wand seemed to force Mr. Dung to keep still. He must have reasoned that the Ministry for Magic would probably let concerns about "underage magic" slide if I caught a thief in the process. But I still worried about Apparation. Suppose he teleported himself, and me, to a hideout where friends of his were. I could not Apparate back and I might end up at the mercy of some very unpleasant people.
Well, there was a way to block that. "Accio Wands."
The wand came out of his pocket and poked me rather painfully on my hand, but I still managed to hold onto my prisoner. It didn't matter, because Ginny picked it up.
"There!" I said. "You can use that until we get your own wand back."
"You can't take my wand!" Mr. Dung said, outraged.
"Why not?" asked Ginny, sounding genuinely puzzled. "You took mine."
"I think losing a wand may be more traumatic for men," I suggested, thinking aloud. "It's a phallic symbol."
"A what?" asked Ginny.
"Um, rather not explain right now. Maybe later, when we're exchanging girl talk."
"Let me go!" Mr. Dung blustered. "I've got friends-"
"Oh?" I asked. "Who? Voldemort?" I was in luck. In this exchange, we might not only get Ginny's wand back, but get a clue to Voldemort's location, or at least proof that he was alive again.
But now it seemed to be Mr. Dung's turn to be puzzled. "V-Voldemort?" I actually felt his body shudder. "No!"
"Who then?" I jabbed his neck again with my wand. I wouldn't have the nerve to torture him with a spell, but then he didn't know that.
Unfortunately, the dilemma of whether to divulge his friends' identity seemed to spur into action. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain on my foot as my prisoner stamped on it. He was wearing heavy boots and I was wearing soft trainers that provided little cushioning effect. I screamed and lost hold of him, and he started running down the street. Ginny started after him, then stopped, flustered. I could understand why. She was holding her blouse in front of her chest, but from behind her back was bare except for her bra strap. She couldn't build the nerve to chase somebody down a street, attracting attention, while half dressed.
"Don't worry, Ginny," I assured her. "He'll be back. After all, we've got his wand."
When my parents came home from their dentistry practice that evening, I explained away my injured foot by explaining that I had accidently dropped a heavy tool on it during my chores. It also gave me an excuse for not having finished the chores that required standing or walking. After dinner, they advised me to lie down on my bed and get off of the foot. Ginny accompanied me to my bedroom. I took advantage of the privacy to explain about Freudian symbols. "One of Freud's theories was that men might perceive any long, thin object as a symbol of a certain part of their anatomy. Pencils, swords, towers, and in our case wands. But he warned his followers not to get carried away with the idea. He said that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."
"Cigar?" asked Ginny, then she blushed. "Oh, I get it. Haha."
"Wizards never talk about that?"
"I haven't heard them do it, and it does sound like something Fred and George would joke about. Though, of course, I'm just a fourteen-year-old girl, so they might not do it in my hearing. Where did you hear it?"
"I read a lot. Muggle books as well as tomes on magic."
I thought about wizards' span of knowledge. Wizards went to special schools – Hogwarts or Beauxbatons or Durmstrange – where they were taught by wizards, who had themselves been taught by other wizards. It cut them off from Muggle intellectual currents. Concerning technology, it probably didn't matter; wizards had their own magical ways of getting things done. But there were other disciplines that might be useful for them to know, and they weren't learning them. Biology, physics, political theory. I was going to worry about that for quite a while.
As sunset passed by, we turned to a more immediate concern. Mr. Dung wanted his wand back, and he would guess that it was hidden in my room. The best way for him to get it back was to break into the room during the night. And while he was in our bedroom, he might be tempted to – do other things. Ginny was starting to regret having exposed so much flesh to him this afternoon. We needed to be prepared.
We would stay awake, and keep out dayclothes on to decrease our vulnerability. Ginny thought our two wands might be enough for self-defense, but I worried that Mr. Dung might have obtained another wand from somebody else, or even use the one stolen from Ginny. He might also be more adept at offensive spells. So I hobbled to the kitchen and got out a powerful halogen torch, which my parents and I had used when camping out in the forest of Dean. I made sure that I could find the ON switch by feel, in the dark. Then we blacked out my room and waited. To keep ourselves awake, we exchanged some rather ribald girl talk that I would rather not repeat here.
Around 11:30, we heard footsteps outside my window – indeed, the intruder seemed rather incapable of walking silently. We heard a whispered Wingardium Leveiosa spell and the window rose, confirming that the intruder had a wand and could do magic. I waited until the intruder had stepped inside with one leg, then turned on the halogen torch aimed directly at the bloke, temporarily blinding our attacker.
"You!" I said, startled.
The intruder was not Mundungus Fletcher.
It was Nympadora Tonks.
TO BE CONTINUED.