It was noon by the time they made their way downstairs. The Manor was still; Ron and Harry, accustomed to the Burrow's never-ending hustle and bustle, found this disconcerting. It felt… empty, and, in the hushed silence, it was difficult to imagine that a terrible dark wizard quartered here once, and Death Eaters walked the same halls.
Navigating the labyrinthine corridors, they soon came to one of the Manor's small dining rooms, colored in shades of pearl and baby blue.
Linny had insisted that they eat before departing, and a dangerous glint entered her eyes when Harry, unwilling to abuse Malfoy's hospitality (if his begrudging permission to stay could be called that), began stammering excuses. Without missing a beat, the headstrong house-elf, like a mother scolding an impudent child, proceeded to shame the famed wizarding world's savior. The miss, she declared, required a proper meal, and how dare this scar-faced wizard deny her sustenance when the poor girl is obviously famished! Harry's positions, weakened by such an unexpected advance, were then completely overwhelmed when Hermione's stomach emitted an audible growl, and he was forced to capitulate, lifting a white flag, ceding both brunch and his dignity to a simple house-elf, as Ron would jokingly point out later.
A wide table was set with a variety of food buffet-style. Linny, her face split with an ear-to-ear grin, welcomed them, bowing deeply, before disappearing with a small 'pop'. Picking up plates, they piled on heaps of food, a bit stunned at the cornucopia laid before them. In a way, it was almost reminiscent of Hogwarts' feasts.
Hermione was on her way to the table to take a seat when she spied a platter full of peaches. They were perfect: golden globes of summer sweetness, ripe and tasty. One look at them caused a pool of acid to puddle under her tongue. She quickly looked away. She hated peaches.
"Look, 'Arry! Lobster! Blimey, lobster for brunch!" Ron sounded both envious and incredulous as he lifted up a rose claw and gave it a sniff. "How is it that we win a war, and Malfoy loses it, and he's still richer than the three of us combined?!"
Hermione, nibbling on a piece of buttered toast with jam to get rid of the acidic aftertaste, glanced up at the mention of Draco's name.
"Oh, where is he, by the way?" A rosy blush creeped over her cheeks as she realized the blonde had completely slipped her mind. While she was dining in his house, no less!
"He left early in the morning," Harry responded. "He has his, uh… mandated trips to muggle London."
"Yeah, part of his probation, isn't it?" Ron added. "Spending time with muggles, learning about 'em an' all that shite? Bloke probably knows 'em as well as you two by now." The last part was almost unintelligible as he took a great bite from a waffle heaped with cream-topped strawberries. "Mmm, this is delicious."
Harry, poking at a square-cut bit of melon with a fork, watched his friend gobble down copious amounts of food. His expression was a little odd, and Ron, hastily chewing through the last couple pieces, raised his eyebrows at him.
"What's wrong, mate? It's all good, even if it is Malfoy's."
Harry's fork stabbed the melon, piercing it right through and hitting the plate with a clink. "It's just… the strangest feeling hit me. I mean, look at us! The three of us, in Malfoy Manor, having brunch! In the generational seat of pureblood supremacy! Not four years ago, we were dragged here, locked in the dungeons, and Hermione…"
The girl glanced curiously between the two of them when Harry cut himself off. She had already figured out many things, but some - like what exactly Harry was referring to right now - were still a mystery. She held her questions, however, figuring that asking them would just be a waste of time. Her memories would be fully restored soon anyway, so she could wait.
"How many Death Eaters sat at this very table?" Harry continued meanwhile. "How many plans to kidnap, torture and kill were hatched right where we sit? And now we're the ones sitting here, eating. I don't know. I look all around and I'm reminded that so much of the evil we fought was born in places just like this."
Ron stared at all the bounty before him: the cold cuts of turkey and ham, piles of golden waffles and pancakes, eggs, both scrambled and boiled, glistening peaches and apricots, strawberries, blueberries, blood-red cherries so ripe they were bursting with flavor, and a whole platter of cheeses. It was an extravagant display.
"I dunno, Harry," he replied. "I get where you're coming from, but… all I see is food."
. . . .
. . . .
They made a brief stop at Grimmauld Place to retrieve Harry's invisibility cloak before apparating to St. Mungo's. The reason behind this was that foul play was still the lead theory behind Hermione's disappearance and memory loss, so they had agreed to keep her discovery a secret for now. Thus, Hermione, wedged between her two friends like a piece of cheese in a sandwich, shuffled through the wide oak doors that connected the hospital's designated apparating area to the main building.
Covered by the cloak, she had to deftly sidestep a group of witches and wizards that practically mugged Harry and Ron for autographs when they appeared in the lobby. Harry seemed a bit flustered by this, while Ron took it in stride, smiling, laughing and even giving a peck on the cheek to several lucky girls, who swooned with delight.
Needless to say, there was no waiting in line for the great Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, Heroes of The War.
10 minutes later, they were ushered into a cabinet on the third floor; Hermione, still concealed, spied a plaque on the door that read: M.W. Frackenburger, Head of Nueromagic. Trying her best to suppress a very unladylike chortle at such a ridiculous name, she stepped through the door. The owner of the office, a portly man in his 60's with sideburns that belonged in the 18'th century, stood to greet them.
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley. A pleasure!" he said, extending his hand. "I was just notified you required an emergency consultation- oh, I say!" The last bit was directed at Hermione, who had removed the cloak. "Where did you… ah, most fascinating! An invisibility cloak! Very rare, very rare indeed. My great-grandfather had one; lost it in a game of cards, sadly, as well as half the family fortune. Rather excitable fellow, I've heard; why, one only had to mention bridge, and he… but, of course, you are not here to indulge an old man's tales. Ms. Granger, unless my eyes deceive me? Please, please, have a seat."
They sat and Hermione, for what seemed like the fifth time within a single day, repeated her story; the doctor, withdrawing a Quick-Notes Quill from a breast pocket, asked several clarifying questions during her tale.
"I see, I see," the professor hummed when she was done. "Well, from the description of your symptoms alone, it sounds like a regular class 3 obliviate charm. Any professional in the field would recognize it for the emotional volatility alone. Another distinctive feature is the gradual degradation. You mentioned increasing amounts flashbacks and dreams, yes? That's the structure of the charm slowly breaking down, allowing you glimpses into your past. This is very good news for you, as a patient. It's completely reversible. I'll have to confirm the diagnosis first, though. If I may?" His hands made an impatient motion towards to her.
At her grateful nod, Frackenburger, instead of reaching for his wand, quickly got up and, quicker than a cheetah pouncing on a gazelle, circled his desk and grasped her head.
"Err... Doctor?" Harry's bewilderment mirrored her own.
"Yes, yes, just remain still, dear." Hermione flinched as he started to prod, jab and rub her skull.
"Mmm, such wonderful texture. The proportions are marvelous, it takes only one look at the forehead to see that." His chubby fingers reached around to part her hair, and then cupped the back of her head. "And those ridges on the occipital bone, so smooth, so defined, yes... they speak to a great mind, you know. You aced your NEWTS, yes?"
Hermione, starting to feel rather violated by the suddenly physical examination, grunted an affirmative.
"Of course you did. Your intelligence is well known, well known indeed. And its roots are right here. Such beauty. Such grace." His voice took on a whimsical quality, and he was still fondling her head. "Tell me, Ms. Granger, have you considered becoming an organ
donor?"
"I beg your pardon?" she replied with a sense of increasing alarm.
"You have a phenomenal mind," he explained, as if it were the most obvious thing the world. Which, it was, but he was drawing a very disturbing implication from it.
"Truly phenomenal, indeed," he repeated. "It would be a criminal act to lose it in the case of your likely demise. Unlikely! Pardon me. Unlikely demise, of course. I have a collection of sorts here, at the hospital. Adding your brain tissue would be a great, great honor."
"You… you are being serious?!"
"Ms. Granger-Hermione. May I call you that? The research value alone from a brain of your caliber would be incalculable! As a woman of science, you must understand that! Additionally, we accept all financial responsibility for removal, transportation and storage. Your loved ones won't have to worry about a thing."
Finally removing his hands, he returned to his desk and smiled genially at her. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that the trio's eyes were as wide as saucers; Ron looked like he was about to burst out laughing.
"My loved ones…" she repeated dumbly, shocked.
"Yes, and, if you're troubled by the funeral, don't be. Removing a brain causes no disfigurement whatsoever, giving you the option of a wonderful open casket ceremony! No one will be the wiser."
"I'll… I'll be sure to take that under consideration. Could… we have a couple minutes to discuss this amongst ourselves?"
"Ah? Of course! I'll give you the room, have a nurse prep an OR. Just step outside when you're ready!"
The second he was out of the room, Ron fell to the ground in a roaring laugh.
"Her-, Her-, Hermione," he choked out. "The look on his face when he was-"
Harry chuckled as well. "He was reaaalllyyy into it."
"Oh, be quiet. I feel positively violated as it is."
"Ooohh," Ron suddenly moaned in a poor imitation of Frackenburger's voice, making a fondling motion with his fingers. "These ridges on your Acclipital bone, Ms. Granger. They're sooo good. Oh, yes, Ms. Granger, YES-"
"It's occipital, and it's really not… not funny" Despite her protests, she giggled at Ron's antics. "That man is the very definition of obsessed. 'I would be honored to house your brain tissue', honestly."
"Does remind you a little of someone though, doesn't it?" Harry raised his eyebrows suggestively, and then crooned in a high-pitched voice, "Oh, this new edition of Hogwarts: A History is so big,-"
"-And, it has a whole new chapter on house-elf history!" Ron picked up with a wide grin, wiping tears from his eyes. "Touch it, Harry, feel how hard the cover is! Feel the grooves-"
"Oh, shut it, you two! You're worse than children." It didn't take a genius to figure out who they were ribbing, and it was not amusing, not at all, even if there was a traitorous smile plastered across her face.
"Alright, alright, that's enough!" She was forced to deal out some good-natured punches to stop their mirth. "Mark my words, I get my memory back - I'll have my revenge!"
"Just don't make us study, please."
She huffed and rolled her eyes. Despite her act, however, it felt so amazing to be with people who, even in spite of their teasing, meant the best for her. Their conversations flowed naturally, and she knew she could share anything with them.
"But, in all seriousness, he's head of nueromagic. He has to know what he's doing, right?"
"He's eccentric, sure, but the nurse downstairs said he's the best in the field. What do you think, Hermione?"
"I shudder to think he'll have his way with my brain," she replied, holding up a fist to wipe the smirks from their faces. "It's very dear to me! But, I think he's competent enough, so yes. I'm ready. A little anxious to get it over with, actually."
Offering words of encouragement, Harry and Ron followed her outside, where Dr. Frackenburger was waiting, pacing excitedly.
"All ready then? But where is…?"
"She's here," Harry explained, making a gesture to his left.
"Ah, the cloak. Of course. Follow me, then."
"The procedure in non-intrusive, but I will put Ms. Gr- the patient to sleep," the doctor explained as they walked. "A resting mind is much more easier to screen, as the readings aren't clouded by conscious thought. With luck, I'll confirm my initial diagnosis, and we'll follow up with treatment."
"And that would take…?"
"For a class 3 obliviate, an hour or two at the most, Mr. Weasley. Your friend will wake up as if from a long dream, access to all memory restored. Ah, here we are!"
He led the group into a well-lit OR with an empty gallery on one side. A sterile-white chair stood in the middle of the room, adjacent to
a large tank filled with a wispy liquid. It reminded Harry of a pensieve, but it was much larger.
"A projector!" Frackenburger eagerly explained, seeing the confused glances of the young people. "I will be able to literally project Ms. Granger's brain activity within its depths, allowing for three-dimensional observation and study. An ingenious creation. One of my own, actually, if I may so humbly add!"
"Now, Ms. Granger, if you would be so kind," he said, handing her a vial filled with some pink salts. "Three sniffs will do! Careful, no more! It has a very potent soporific effect, very potent indeed. So, three sniffs, and into the chair, and you'll wake up refreshed and, hopefully, in full possession of all your memories."
Hermione, suspiciously glancing at the vial in her hand, tugged on Harry and Ron's elbows, pulling them close.
"Do keep a leash on him, will you?" she whispered urgently. "Make sure he doesn't get too… excited."
Ron grinned; Harry nodded solemnly, but a mischievous twinkle in his eyes made her glower threateningly. That did the trick, and both boys quickly promised to do their best.
Thinking that too much thinking can be counterproductive at times, Hermione uncapped the vial, taking three sniffs, - no more, no less - and, swaying slightly, reaching the chair, promptly collapsed onto the rigid leather.
Her last thoughts were of Draco. She had to find him and express her gratitude for helping her. Her really deserved it…
His patient comfortably asleep, the doctor rubbed his hands together with an almost mad delight.
"Now then!" he exclaimed eagerly, and his wand emitted the first sparkle of a diagnostic spell.
Frackenburger's wand work efficient, Harry had to give him that. The old professor yelled out a whole string of complicated spells, his form taut, his wand darting as quickly as the biting sting of a fencer's rapier. A soft, shimmering glow started to fill the tank in front of them, and dazzling, electrifying lights danced within. They darted to and fro with blinding speed, slowly growing in number and consistency, forming vague shapes and scintillating structures. It was one of the most pure and beautiful things Harry had ever seen. Hermione's brain, he thought with irony, a part of him now understanding the eagerness Frackenburger had expressed upon meeting her.
Frackenburger's voice rose in volume and intensity; his wand a dazzling blur. A power coursed through him, bowing magic to his will. Harry's hair stood on end, as static formed in the room. With one great shout, the doctor made a cutting movement with his wand, and all the gathered energy rushed towards the center of the room.
Frackenburger, his face streaked with sweat, sagged to the floor. He was panting, but declined Ron's offer of assistance. He righted himself and looked at the image in the tank.
It was still white. Nothing changed for several moments.
And then…
A darkness formed within. Like a mold, it spread, dimming the light, consuming its very spirit. It felt ominous, like a storm on the horizon. It reeked of forbidden magic.
"This is not an obliviate charm."
Harry, worried, shared a confused look with a Ron before turning to the exhausted doctor.
"Then, what is it?"
Frackenburger sighed, rubbing his temples, catching his breath. "Mr. Potter," he wheezed, "I have worked here, at St. Mungo's, for 36 years, 20 of them as head of my department. I have seen all sorts of head trauma and injuries, and I've specialized in dealing with spells and curses that target the mind. This is, most undoubtedly, a most heinous curse, but I have never seen anything like it."
Ron was about to interrupt, demanding to know how treatable it was, but Frackenburger spoke first.
"I can, however, tell you who cast it."
"Well, don't keep us guessing then!" Ron practically yelled after several seconds of silence. "Who is it?"
Frackenburger sighed wearily. When he spoke, his voice was heavy and distant.
"Several years ago, the number of patients coming in for treatment was… well, you two know how it was. Everyday, new bodies, tortured, cut, mutilated. Many victims of the cruciatus, many turned into puppets by the imperious. Minds burned, memories wiped. All treated by me and my team. You see, both those unforgivables are prime examples of nueromagic, as they target centers in the brain."
He paused, taking a deep breath, and Harry noticed that the doctor's fingers were trembling lightly.
"It's a funny thing, mind magic," he then continued. "Very intricate, very precise. Most other branches of magic, like charms or transfiguration - they don't need that. It's just raw will, power, incantations and wand waving for them. You cannot differentiate one stupefy from another, for example. They're all the same. But the mind is such a delicate medium, and the spells that alter it so definitive, that each caster's influence will be just a little bit different. Just enough variation to set apart one person from another. Like fingerprints, each curse on the mind can be traced to a specific person."
His eyes turned hollow as he spoke, raw pain flashing over his face as he remembered the hoarse screams of his tortured patients.
"Among those who were sent to us for treatment, there was a group we could never heal. The curses on their minds were so potent, their suffering so great… euthanizing them was a mercy, a true mercy, indeed…" He shuddered, chilled by the haunting memories. "They were all victims, as we found out later, of one man. His spells possessed a certain signature, a taint that was instantly recognizable. We feared it so much, because someone hit by this man had almost no chances of survival. I would recognize his spells anywhere. Just as I recognize it now, in Ms. Granger."
"And he was…" choked out Harry, dreading the reply.
"A man you know all too well, Mr. Potter," the doctor answered sadly, and Harry paled, his scar suddenly burning with a long-forgotten pain.
"Voldemort," he hissed.