*AUTHOR'S NOTE TO THE READER*
Once again, Harry Potter and all associated content remain the property of Ms. J. K. Rowling and Warner Brothers, respectively.
Good luck with this chapter. As in the rest of the story, all of the characters are from the Harry Potter universe, and have been acknowledged by J.K. Rowling at some point. So if you come upon a jabbering Septimus Weasley, don't say I didn't warn you.
CHAPTER 4 - THE SORTING HAT'S REQUEST
"If I say it myself, Harry, I've always been able to charm the people I needed."
(C of S - pg. 310)
The entire Great Hall was silent.
And then Albus Dumbledore began to speak, and everyone leaned forward in their seats.
"Miss Granger has in fact spent the past four years attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Hermione looked up in shocked confusion, but luckily Professor Dumbledore was too busy surveying the many reactions of the students to notice. Hermione tried to drop the expression of surprise, but inside, she was completely panicking. Surely those three sisters hadn't told Dumbledore she was from the future?
A deep voice boomed from the Gryffindor table, "But that's not possible!" and Hermione heard several others voicing their agreement.
"We would've recognized her."
"Look, even old Pringle seems surprised, and I'd bet my last knut he knows every student that's every set foot here, even them's that have already graduated!"
"Yeah mate, and I've never heard of her name before, either. Grangie, wasn't it?"
"No, it was Granger you dolt head."
Hermione slowly slipped her wand into her hand, prepared to use it should a sudden get-away become necessary.
Professor Dumbledore waited until all his audience had once again quieted before continuing.
"This summer, Hermione Granger, who had just finished her fourth year at this school - " more speculative whispers arose " – signed up for a study at the Department of Mysteries. The study was for the avexi avectum curse, more commonly known as the Isolation Spell." Most students looked fairly confused, with the exception of an older girl sitting at the Slytherin table and a solemn-looking boy at the Ravenclaw table who was sporting the Head Boy badge.
Hermione was just as stumped as everyone else.
Professor Dumbledore adjusted a pair of half-moon spectacles resting on his rather large nose before explaining.
"Now, for those of you who have never heard of the Isolation Spell let me give a brief-" Hermione heard a cough from the High Table, "-explanation. There was, at least until this summer, no proof that the curse worked, and it's only mentioned in a few old, very rare texts. The curse acts on two parties; the primary subject, in this case our own Hermione Granger, and the secondary subjects. The secondary subjects include anyone who has ever known, met, or even heard of the primary subject. Now interestingly enough -" there was another cough from the High Table, this one a little louder, and Dumbledore glanced up. "Right, in the interest of time, I won't go into further detail. The affect this curse had on Miss Granger was unexpected, according to the Unspeakables who ran the study, first of all because it worked perfectly, but secondly because the counter-curse did absolutely nothing. Avexi avectum erased almost all of Miss Granger's connections with people – that is to say, she still has her memories, but the people in the memories are blurred, so that she knows no one. It also erased other's connections to her – anyone who had ever had any contact with Miss Granger, or even with just her name, will no longer remember her. Their memories have simply excluded her, making it as if she had never existed."
The room had gone completely silent once more, and many people were giving Hermione strange looks, similar to the look Hermione herself was giving to Professor Dumbledore. If he noticed, he gave no indication, because he continued on after a moment of silence.
"Luckily, the Unspeakables did take one precaution before administering the spell, and Miss Granger has three aunts whom remain unaffected by the curse, and thus were able to give me all of Miss Granger's necessary information and history, including her past school records. But besides these three people, it is as if Hermione Granger never existed. And now I know you are all anxious to get to the feast – but let's wait a moment to see where Miss Granger will be sorted, as we have no memory of where she was before. Miss Granger, if you could please sit on this stool-" Dumbledore gently took Hermione by the arm, and led her to the Sorting Hat. She noted gratefully that the stool seemed to be a bit bigger than it had been when sorting the first-years. She took a seat, and Dumbledore swept the hat onto her head. Hermione waited patiently, but inside she was a bundle of nerves, desperate to get out of the spotlight and sort through the confusing nightmare that was Dumbledore's speech.
"Well this is an interesting mind – obviously a Gryffindor though. Hardly needed to put me on for that." A sharp voice resounded through her head, breaking through Hermione's Dumbledore-induced haze. Was the hat actually talking to her? Harry had mentioned something about this once, but she hadn't given it much thought at the time.
"Yes, I occasionally converse with the students, although it is somewhat rare, and usually to help them pick the house that their subconscious mind has already chosen." Hermione's mouth dropped open slightly, but the hat gave her very little time to marvel and digest this newfound information, by continuing straightaway, "In your case, however, I'm afraid I have a bit of an ulterior motive. You see, in approximately three minutes, Albus will ask you to take me to his office. I believe he's planned a little meeting, he's quite fascinated by what the Sisters told him. Humph. Never fall for a pretty smile, no matter how literally dazzling. At any rate, the favor I need should be simple for a witch like you: in short someone will try to take me at some point this evening, someone who has no business doing so, and you must make sure they do not succeed! Normally, this wouldn't be an issue, but the person of interest is frankly rather powerful and it's better to be safe than sorry, wouldn't you agree?"
Hermione nodded her head absently, missing the curious glances that were being shot at her from the crowd as she focused her attention on the hat. "Good. I'm glad we're on the same page. Knew you were clever. Once I get to Albus' office, I should be safe, but I want you to make sure I get there without passing through any strange hands. You're smart, I'm sure you can think of some way to protect me. Transfiguration is always a nice touch, and won't affect me at all. That should avoid the worst of his planning, if only temporarily. Alright, hurry it up now, and good luck Hermione – I really do hope we can chat again soon - GRYFFINDOR!" This last word was shouted for everyone to hear, and Hermione dazedly got off the stool, clutching the hat tightly in her right hand, amidst loud cheering from the Gryffindor table.
Dumbledore raised his hands with a flourish. "And on that note," his voice boomed over the clapping, "Let the feast begin!"
Attention turned to the tables as delicious dishes suddenly appeared. Many of the students seemed quite enthusiastic, and even Hermione's stomach gave a low rumble. Her cheeks reddened, but no one seemed to have noticed.
"Hey Hermione, come sit over here! You're a Gryff now!" Hermione was a little unsure what to do. Was this the person who was trying to steal the Sorting Hat? It would probably be best to hide it now, and Hermione realized that this could be a good opportunity. She began to walk towards a redhead who wore a huge grin on his face as he gestured towards an empty seat, planning on how best to trip without being too noticeable, but she was stopped in her progression by Dumbledore's hand on her shoulder.
Hermione, who had been so concentrated on trying to fall and make it look like an accident, was caught off balance, and pitched forward to tumble rather ungracefully to the floor, where (not being the sort to waste an opportunity) she muttered two spells in quick succession. She slipped the sorting hat, now a small ring, onto her finger, even as a crumb on the floor transfigured into a splitting image of the loquacious hat. She rubbed her sore bum as Dumbledore turned a bit red and the boy who had called her over gave her an even larger grin.
It hadn't been part of the plan to stumble that obviously.
Oh well. I should be embarrassed, but I can't find the energy to care. At least I got the time I needed to hide the hat.
Hermione assured Dumbledore for the fifth time that she was perfectly fine, and could not suppress the small sigh of relief that escaped when he finally turned to address the boy.
"I apologize, Mr. Weasley, but I'm afraid you'll just have to wait until tomorrow to become acquainted – or possibly reacquainted – with Miss Granger. She is going to my office so that we can form a suitable schedule."
The redhead cocked his head with a pout, addressing Hermione. "Alright then. Only here five minutes and you're already elusive and mysterious. Have I mentioned that I like my girls elusive and mysterious? And I like them with brown hair, and brown eyes, and curls, and pink li-" He was cut off when the girl next to him slapped him on the shoulder.
"Septimus, you couldn't charm a quaffle to fly with a line like that. Honestly, I thought I'd taught you better -"
The girl threw Hermione a look that plainly said sorry-about-my-idiotic-soon-to-be-ex-friend and Hermione turned away to hide a smile, which Professor Dumbledore caught and returned with one of his own.
Hermione wondered vaguely if his cheeks were beginning to hurt from all of the smiling.
"Miss Granger, I'm assuming that you still remember where the Transfiguration office is located?" Hermione nodded her head (she'd found herself nodding a lot lately), hoping that it was still in the same spot.
"Excellent. I need to have a quick word with our gamekeeper, Mr. Ogg, and then I'll be right along. I'd be very obliged if you would take the Sorting Hat along with you, but don't worry about the stool, I'll grab that. Feel free to dig in without me when you get there– I believe the house elves have laid us out a marvelously delicious spread." Professor Dumbledore went to clap her one last time on the back, but checked himself just in time (obviously not wanting a repeat performance of her fall), and gave her a little wink instead, swishing away in his bright robes.
Hermione watched him as he walked up to the head table to chat with a scary-looking man who sported a pointedly crooked shoulder. The ring on her finger twitched impatiently, and Hermione stopped watching Dumbledore and walked out of the Great Hall. Her mind, as ever, was whirring with plans and ideas, in an attempt to bring the focus away from the anger she was feeling towards her so-called "aunts."
How dare they? Of all the most ridiculous alibis! How could they not even ask for my opinion? First, they give me two bizarre tasks, not only barely explaining the first one, but also insisting that I will need to discover the second on my own! And that short one just winked when I told her that doing so would be impossible, and then told me not to worry, that I'd know the Indifference Child when I saw him. Not that they even let me remember what I'm supposed to do from there. Then, they drop me off in front of my old headmaster, in a different time, without as much as a brief by-your-leave! And that stupid alibi! They could have at least told me about the Isolation Spell before leaving me to the wolves! Honestly! I just want to wring their awful little golden–
Hermione's internal tirade turned into a cry of surprise as she ran into someone, and began to fall to the floor for the second time that evening. Just before she hit the ground, however, a swift pair of arms reached out to grab her, hauling her upright. Heart pumping, Hermione closed her eyes. Someone's hands were on her shoulders, and it took her a few seconds to realize that the same someone was trying to talk to her.
"Miss? Miss? Are you alright?" Hermione slowly opened her eyes, and blinked stupidly at the sight before her, positive her sanity had finally cracked, because looking back at her was the face of a younger but most definitely recognizable Antonin Dolohov. She'd studied his face in the paper, on the day of the Mass Breakout from Azkaban.
But it was not his face that scared her. It was his voice. It was the same voice that she'd silenced in the Department of Mysteries, the voice of the man who had hit her with a stunningly painful curse, and there had been blood, so much blood–
The same voice that now held more than a little concern, as Dolohov (for she was convinced it was he) looked down at her worriedly.
"I'm…I'm fine, thank you so much," Hermione replied in a shaky voice, unable to stop herself from backing away from Dolohov. His eyes were strange, and they were making her uncomfortable. They were an impossibly light shade of brown, and they were focused on her with a confident intensity.
"It was not a problem. My name is Antonin Dolohov. Forgive me, but are you new to Hogwarts? I only arrived at the tail end of Professor Dumbledore's speech, and I'm afraid I quite missed the beginning." As Dolohov raised a querying brow, Hermione received yet another shock as a piercing knowledge shot through her entire being. Her mouth fell open with recognition, because all of a sudden, she knew beyond a doubt that the person standing before her was the Indifference Child. If asked, she would not have been able to say how she came to this knowledge; it was simply there, and as true to Hermione as sunlight in the morning.
Alright, so I've established that Anotnin Dolohov, Death Eater-extraordinaire, my would-be murderer, is the infamous Indifference Child. Now, if only I could remember why that's even significant, and what on earth my second quest has to do with him!
Dolohov eyed her glazed expression curiously and cleared his throat. Hermione blushed red, trying to remember the question he had just asked her.
She put a hand to her head, feigning dizziness (which was not exactly a difficult act to pull off at the moment) and looked up at Dolohov with what she hoped was a sufficiently befuddled look.
"Pardon?" she squeaked out, blushing even more at the high-pitched sound of her voice.
Dolohov quirked his eyebrow again, but humored her request.
"I said, my name is Antonin Dolohov. I arrived just in time to hear the end of quite an impressive speech. Professor Dumbledore is known to be slightly flamboyant, but it seems in your case, he may have reason to be overenthusiastic. Where have you come from, Miss-?" he paused, and Hermione realized he didn't even know her name.
I think my face is now redder than Ron's hair.
"I'm so sorry, Mister Dolohov, my name is Hermione, Hermione Granger. Thank you for saving me from another embarrassing fall, that would have been the second in the last five minutes. In all honesty, you didn't miss much. Perhaps I will see you tomorrow in classes and could explain then? I'm actually in somewhat of a hurry; I've got to go to Professor Dumbledore's office, he's expecting me." Hermione gave him a nod of dismissal and began to walk away. She had barely gone two steps when she felt a strong hand grasp her arm.
"Wait, I'm sorry… but I believe you dropped this?" Hermione, annoyed, turned around and promptly colored again. Dolohov held out the hat she'd been carrying.
Oh well, at least I didn't forget the actual sorting hat.
Hermione glanced down at her finger to ensure that the transfigured sorting hat had not been moved. She was relieved to see the silvery ring that sparkled back at her.
Dolohow was regarding her with a carefully hidden amusement.
"Listen, why don't I accompany you to the Transfiguration office, Miss Granger? I would love to hear what I've missed. And unless you're a fifth year, or a Slytherin, I doubt I'll be seeing you in classes." He gave her a friendly grin, and held out his arm.
Hermione smiled hesitantly and gingerly took his arm.
What's the worst that can happen? If Dolohov's the so-called Indifference Child, it's probably not a bad idea to get to know him better. And it's not like he's flinging around Unforgivables at the moment. Who knows? Perhaps the young Antonin Dolohov isn't as bad as his future counterpart
Dolohov smiled back, and they began walking down the long hall together.
"I'm a fifth year." Tom glanced at the girl walking beside him. He wasn't too concerned that he was acting completely outside of Dolohov's character. The girl wouldn't know the difference, since apparently she had no memory of anyone.
"Ah, so perhaps I shall see you in classes tomorrow after all. I'm a fifth year as well. But tell me, how did you end up here, and why was Professor Dumbledore going on about the avexi avectum curse?" Tom asked politely. Of course, he already knew the answer, having listened to Dumbledore's dramatically long-winded speech. Still, he was interested to see how the girl herself understood the spell. He had felt a twinge of anger when he realized that the spell must have affected him as well, because the girl was completely unfamiliar. Having her explain the circumstances would serve two purposes; he could gain a better understanding of the situation, and he could begin to organize a new mental dossier on yet another student. It paid to pay attention to details.
It was hard for Tom to repress a feeling of smugness as he discreetly checked beneath his robes for the sorting hat. It had been careless of her to drop something so precious around a stranger; she now carried a fake sorting hat of his own creation, while the actual relic was tucked safely away in his robes. Mission accomplished. Tom was feeling decidedly pleased with himself.
The girl next to him looked thoughtful as she began to answer his question.
"Have you ever heard of the studies that are conducted in the ministry?" Tom gave a brief nod and an encouraging smile.
Dolohov would not be happy if he saw how I'm using his body. This mouth feels like it hasn't cracked a smile in quite some time.
"Right then…well, apparently, at the beginning of this past summer, I signed up for a study with the Department of Mysteries." Tom was only half-listening as he studied her body language. She was walking quite briskly, but her strides were short, because she was somewhat small. She couldn't have been much more than five feet. Her hair was like a living entity; incredibly wild, a huge mess of brown curls. The occasional corkscrew ringlet clashed with golden pieces of frizz and a wispy side-bang that she was constantly swishing out of her eyes.
Her eyes, he had noted earlier, were very sharp, and quite large. They almost looked too big for her face, especially with her nose. It was sharp, small, and slightly upturned towards the tip. Her mouth was a subtle dark red, ravaged from a lip-chewing habit that Tom immediately recognized; his own lips were constantly chapped from the same obnoxious tendency. It contrasted sharply with her pale skin, milky-white, except for right now, because she was blushing, and Tom suddenly realized she'd become aware of his scrutiny.
She looked down at her feet, and quickened her pace a small amount.
Suppressing a predatory smirk, Tom took pity on the girl. It would be much harder to gain her trust if he kept embarrassing her all the time.
"That is a fascinating story, Miss Granger, and I'm sure that within the next few days, many people will be asking you to repeat it. However, they may not realize something I cannot help but notice. How are you dealing with this whole debacle? It must be terrible for you; I feel angry having my memory tampered with by the curse, but it has affected your entire existence."
The girl looked up at her, and he caught a strange flash of contempt in her eyes. He noted it carefully, determined to analyze her responses more in depth in the quiet of his dorm room.
"Yes, it is remarkable the affect a curse can have on a person's life… or death for that matter." Here she shot him another look that Tom reluctantly recognized as anger. Somehow, he was making a mess of gaining her trust, although he didn't understand why; did she in fact have some memory of Dolohov that the curse had not erased?
"It's kind of you to consider my feelings in the matter, but really, I am somewhat indifferent. If my knowledge of magic had been tampered with, I would probably be much angrier, but at present I am somewhat resigned to the loss of my relationships. I suppose I asked for it, in a way; who would be stupid enough to sign up for a study at the Department of Mysteries, of all places?" Here she gave a bitter laugh, and Tom switched tactics by putting his arm around her shoulder and speaking earnestly when she stiffened beneath him.
"Forgive the sudden intimacy, but I don't think it was stupid of you at all. It sounds like you volunteered bravely, and for a good cause, too. I suppose what I'm really trying to say is that I admire what you've done. I can't think of many witches who would be brave enough to submit to the wands of Unspeakables. They're a frightening lot at the best of times." He paused for affect, waiting for his words to sink in, and was gratified when she relaxed slightly against him as they began to near Dumebledore's office. They approached the door and the girl gave him a shy smile before gesturing towards the office.
"Well, here's my stop. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mister Dolohov, and refreshing to hear your kind words, even though you haven't quite convinced me that I'm not a brainless idiot for going through with that study." She laughed, a high, rich sound that seemed to warm the air. Tom found himself returning her smile without his the usual prompting of his calculating deliberateness.
"It was a pleasure to meet you as well, Miss Granger, and I must insist that you call me Antonin. If we were friends before, I hope that we can become reacquainted, and if we weren't… then obviously I was the idiot." Tom bowed, pleased to see her returning blush.
I will need to be having quite a long chat with Dolohov tonight if I am to use this new friendship to my advantage…
Tom lifted his chin triumphantly as he felt the comfortable wait of the sorting hat beneath his robes. He muttered a quiet spell to ignite the mark on Dolohov's arm – it was time to end the ridiculous Polyjuice charade and get down to business. He then headed down towards a room in the dungeons, previously designated as their meeting point. It would feel good to get back into his own skin.
Hermione closed the door to Professor Dumbledore's office firmly before leaning against the doorframe and letting out a sigh of relief. Dolohov was a bit intense.
She slowly pulled the sorting hat off her finger before transfiguring it back to its' normal self. She then turned to the fake sorting hat and whispered the same spell under her breath, the spell that was supposed to turn it back into a simple bread crumb. Hermione was surprised however, when the fake sorting hat did not turn into the crumb she had expected, but rather into a simple black thread.
She studied the thread with narrowed eyes, questioning the integrity of her spellwork, but quickly hid it behind her back as the door burst open and Professor Dumbledore entered. As he invited her to sit, and her mind began whirring with all of the deceptions and tall tales, the unbelievable reality and the extravagantly presented falsities of a day that seemed to be lasting a century, the stray thought that contained her curiosity at the small black thread was buried beneath a deluge of other, seemingly more important matters. After all, she now had a professor to fool, a castle of stares to endure, and two impossible missions to complete.
Hermione thought longingly of the bed that she was sure awaited her up in the Gryffindor girl's dorms. Mentally sighing, Hermione pasted on a polite smile as Professor Dumbledore offered her a pumpkin biscuit.