A Hundred Storms
Chapter Eleven: We Drank a Toast to Time
We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to time
Reliving in our eloquence
Another 'auld lang syne'...
-Same Old Lang Syne, by Dan Fogelberg
The trio tossed back their glasses and set them back on the table, all making similar faces as the strong liquid warmed them to a degree the butterbeer never could.
"Alright then," Harry said in a businesslike voice. "Let's hear it, Hermione, tell us about the ghost."
"Maliceptor," Hermione corrected him automatically. "Ghosts cannot touch you."
"You sure it wasn't Malfoy?" Ron asked, digging into one of the numerous dishes Rosmerta had provided.
"It's not entirely out of the question," Hermione said, conceding to common sense. "But I personally do not feel any malice from him at present time."
That wasn't entirely true, of course. Hermione felt quite a bit of malice radiating off the blond wizard on a regular basis, but the vibe was missing that homicidal flavor Hermione had grown accustomed to. She was fairly certain he wasn't her attacker, but it would be foolish to eliminate him altogether from her list of suspects.
"Explain to me again what a Maliceptor is," Ron asked her. A jaded part of her brain registered that he was trying to butter her up, but she was happy to oblige his request.
"It's basically a malicious poltergeist," she said. "Peeves, while annoying and disruptive, would never intentionally aim to hurt anyone too severely. A Maliceptor, on the other hand, feeds off of the negative energy caused by its summoner. All it knows is hate and anger, and that is how it lashes out and receives its power. Generally one is summoned quite on accident by a particularly troubled adolescent, but a very skilled sorcerer could also call forth a vicious Maliceptor.
"Sorcery is generally frowned upon nowadays," Ron turned to Harry to explain. "The last known serious group of practitioners were the Death Eaters in the first war. Things never reached the fever pitch this time around, so as far as I know, no one has been practicing illicitly. You need to obtain a license and follow through training with a mentor to practice now."
"Maybe you should keep watch on Malfoy," Harry said uneasily. "Find out if he has been learning any tricks from his father and doing some conjuring he shouldn't be."
Hermione frowned. "Malfoy would have to be beyond exceptional," she argued. "Not to sound vain, but sorcery is well beyond my own skill and those twice our age. It takes decades of dedicated application and devotion to reach the skill one needs to summon spirits of any sort."
"Or one could simply be a teenager," Harry countered.
"An adolescent," Hermione corrected. "No older than 16. When a witch or a wizard comes of age, they lose that tendency to do accidental magic. Why do you think the Trace comes off when you turn seventeen and are considered an adult in the wizarding world? I could make you as upset as I pleased, but you would not be able to give me so much as an accidental nosebleed. No, one needs to be younger than 17 and at least twelve to have the ability to contribute the emotional magical turmoil needed to create a Maliceptor."
"That's convenient," Ron said snidely.
"Would you really rather Malfoy be trying to kill me?" Hermione asked sharply. "Honestly, Ron."
Harry broke in again, heading off the approaching storm between the two. "That's all well and good to know where they come from, Hermione," he said quickly. "But again, what are we going to do about it?"
Hermione deflated a little. "Sit and wait, unfortunately," she replied. "There are no other solid facts to go off of, and for all we know it might have been an isolated incident."
"Do you believe it was an isolated incident?" Harry asked skeptically.
"No," Hermione replied truthfully. "Not with our track record."
"I still reckon it's Malfoy," Ron said again. "We didn't believe Harry when he was convinced Malfoy was a Death Eater, and look where that got us."
"That was almost three years ago, Ron," Hermione said impatiently. "Besides, we know he didn't become a Death Eater because he wanted to, Voldemort played him."
"That's no excuse," Ron argued for the hundredth time.
Hermione looked at him sharply. This was an argument she was familiar with and was ready to settle once and for all. "Do you mean to say," she asked coolly, "that if Voldemort had abducted your mom and dad and there was no way to free them, youwouldn't do everything in your power to try to keep them safe?"
"I wouldn't go as far as Malfoy did," Ron argued vehemently. "I wouldn't kill anyone."
"Wouldn't you?" Hermione asked him softly. She was legitimately curious.
"I would," Harry said without hesitation. "I would do anything to keep my family safe, and the Weasleys are my family, and you, Hermione."
Hermione smiled at Harry and then turned back to Ron. "I violated my parent's minds to keep them safe, and I would do it again, especially knowing what I know now."
Hermione stopped herself short. She hadn't meant to go that far, but she was loath to keep anything from them. She couldn't really understand why, but the revelation Draco unfolded regarding the demise her parents so narrowly escaped caught in her throat. Harry and Ron were looking at her curiously.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked gently.
Hermione didn't want to tell them. This was personal on a level she hadn't had time to come to grips with, something she wasn't sure she understood yet. She shook her head and shrugged.
"It's nothing," she said. "I just wish they knew that what I did, I did for them. The point is, Ron, that you never really know how far you are willing to go or what you would do until you're pushed to that limit. Maybe then you wouldn't judge so harshly."
"I beg your pardon, Hermione," Ron said in a mildly amused voice.
Hermione just glared at him while Harry looked warily back and forth between his two friends. It really was nothing short of magic that they had refrained from killing one another all these years. Harry secretly thought Ron was mental for believing that their clashing personalities could amount to anything resembling romance. However, Harry conceded to himself, stranger things had happened.
Harry broke through the silence. "You have yet to answer my question, Hermione," he reprimanded in a teasing voice. "What are we going to do about the latest thing bent on destruction?"
"I told you we are just going to have to wait and see," Hermione said irritably, tearing her glare away from Ron.
"That isn't good enough," Harry replied calmly. "I don't want you strolling around Hogwarts like a sitting duck.
"I will not be a sitting duck," Hermione said angrily. "I let my guard down; that will not happen again."
"You have to let your guard down sometime," Harry said gently. "Remember the last time you refused rest?"
"Wait, what?" Ron interjected, looking at Hermione and back to Harry. "What are you talking about?"
"Nothing," Hermione said shortly.
"It was while you were with your family," Harry continued, avoiding the glare Hermione had shifted from Ron to Harry. "When Hermione came to stay with me. She wouldn't sleep."
"That's all?" Ron obviously thought the story didn't merit a second telling.
"Harry had to force dreamless sleep down my throat," Hermione said curtly. "With a Body-Bind. When he says I wouldn't sleep, he means that I was up for days and days at a stretch, borderline manic. I had nightmares and spent all my time studying warding spells and defense curses."
"You think she's scary normally," Harry said in an exaggerated stage whisper. "You should see her when she hasn't had her beauty sleep."
Harry's attempt at humor successfully restored the relaxed atmosphere between the friends.
"I'm sorry, Hermione, I didn't know," Ron said seriously. "I wish I could have helped."
"You were needed at home," Hermione said. "And Harry managed, eventually. He's kind enough to omit the nasty hex I put on him before he finally could get the Body-Bind on me.
Harry shuddered. "Don't remind me," he said playfully.
Hermione turned serious. "I will sleep," she promised. "I told you I even left a supply of the potion with Madam Pomfrey, as well as a bit of the other kind, just in case." She didn't need to elaborate what other potion she referred to; her friends already knew.
"As for the Maliceptor," Hermione continued. "I have my room warded. It is impenetrable, if I do say so myself. If it would make the two of you feel better, I can have Peeves try breaking through it. Merlin knows he would love to try, but I am very sure it will hold against unwanted visitors, corporal and otherwise."
"We trust your judgment," Harry said. "But you know sitting around and waiting isn't what we do best. Isn't there anything that we can do to stop it?"
Hermione shook her head. "It isn't as simple as that. It depends on what exactly is causing the problem. The source may be a child who has no idea what he or she is doing."
"Or it could be caused by another homicidal lunatic bent on death and destruction," Ron said dryly.
"Melodrama does not suit you, Ron," Hermione said in a dangerous tone.
"He does have a point though," Harry said fairly, for he agreed with Ron. "Is there a way of, I don't know, tracking down the source without the source actually coming to any harm?"
Hermione thought for a moment. "There's a potion," she said slowly, gathering her thoughts, "that is used to catch wizards who let loose dangerous enchanted objects into the Muggle world. I'm sure your dad is familiar with it, Ron. You basically dip the enchanted object into the potion, and the wizard or witch who cast the spell turns a very bright and unbecoming shade of purple for fourty-eight hours. It's a long shot, but maybe if I can douse the Maliceptor with some of the potion, it will do the same thing to the source. I'm not sure if that will help us identify them if they are not nearby, but it's worth a try. If anything, the potion is relatively harmless in the event my adversary is a child."
Neither Harry nor Ron could resist grinning at the image of their formidable friend facing off against a particularly angsty, pimple-ridden twelve-year-old year old. She was scary in their Polyjuice days when she herself was only twelve. War and age had matured her into an incredibly dangerous individual armed with all the knowledge she could get her hands on.
"I think it's an avenue worth exploring," Harry said. "Is the potion difficult to make?"
Hermione let out a very unladylike snort. "Hardly," she scoffed. "I can have it ready in a week.
"Good," Ron said, looking pleased.
"It gives us something to go on, in any case," Harry said.
"It still might be nothing," Hermione said without much conviction. "It was only the one time. Maybe the thing was after Malfoy."
"One can only hope," Ron said enthusiastically.
Hermione let the comment go. With all the unpleasant discussions out of the way Hermione settled into her comfortable seat and enjoyed the rest of the afternoon with the two most important people in her life.