This chapter takes a very dark turn, and I have changed the story's rating to reflect that.
This story is now rated 'M'.
Harry, Ron and Ginny spent the next week visiting Hermione in St. Mungo's. She was very active, assisting Frackenburger with research during the day and re-discovering the many delights of the wizarding world at night. At her behest, Harry and Ron made over a dozen trips to Flourish and Blotts, hauling back a rather eclectic selection of books, ranging from dry academic analysis of goblin revolts in the 13'th century to cheesy veela romance novels. Hermione claimed the latter was a mistake, but Ron swore he saw the edge of one peeking out from beneath a set of pillows. After a very short yet brutal argument, Ron capitulated, admitting that he had probably made a mistake.
On several evenings, the group apparated to Diagon Alley. Hermione, covered by Harry's invisibility cloak, wandered with them through magical streets, barely able to contain her excitement at the wonders surrounding her. Later, she would remember these promenades as one of the happiest times of her life; once again, she was able to experience the fantasy that her 11-year-old self had lived through. This world of magic and sorcery, of quirky magical bookshops and apothecaries carrying rare potions' ingredients, of stores and stalls selling all sorts of wizarding paraphernalia - this was her world, and she belonged here.
The pinnacle of all joy, however, came at end of the week. A quick jerk, followed by the momentary darkness and disorientation of side-along apparition, and she opened her eyes to a majestic castle backlit by a blazing sunset. Its spires reached for the heavens, caressing the darkening hues of the evening sky. Flags depicting a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a serpent rippled under a frosty northern wind, while sharp-beaked creatures soared on outstretched wings between its many towers.
It was then, with a sharp pang of sadness, that she saw parts of the castle were damaged. Courtyards and quads were blackened in places where fire once roared; several towers had crumbled and were never rebuilt; walls were pockmarked with signs of destruction.
"Four years, still not done," Ginny remarked bitterly, looking at the unfinished state of repairs.
"It's slow going," Harry sighed. "You remember how bad it was."
They had all contributed their time to the school's reconstruction, but the damage had been great.
"Still," the red-haired girl protested, "the Ministry keeps upping taxes for rebuilding efforts, and that's in addition to all the fines and seizures on Voldemort affiliates. So where's all that money going? Why isn't Hogwarts restored yet?"
Harry and Ron shrugged; it was a good question.
The never entered the castle, but spent their time lazing by the lake, skipping stones over the clear waters, until the giant squid got fed up with them and started throwing the stones back.
Later that night, when Hermione was tucked in her room at St. Mungo's, Frackenburger's diagnostic spells cocooning her form, she remembered that she had seen Hogwarts in her dreams during those horrid months in the muggle world. She fell asleep with a smile on her lips.
Only one thing disrupted these placid days. In moments of spare time, Hermione's thoughts would incessantly turn towards Draco. It was because she owed him a debt, she told herself, and was unhappy with how they left things. So she borrowed Harry's owl and quilled a letter to the blond wizard, explaining where she was, and would he visit her? He declined, claiming he was indisposed, and she frowned when she read his curt reply; why was he avoiding her? She had half a mind to just show up unannounced at his estate, but time wasn't on her side. Maybe, she thought, when all this dreadful business was over, she could bake him something as a thank you? Then she recalled the luxurious breakfast spread she had been treated to, and her mood darkened. She and her plebeian ideas and stupid cakes had no place in-between all that opulence. She spent the rest of the day snapping at Frackenburger and then Ron, leaving both men bewildered.
Still, Draco persisted on her mind, no matter how much she tried to push him away. Frustrated, she promised herself that she would resolve the issue as soon as possible.
But that would have to be postponed, as Frackenburger finally concluded a series of simulations in his projector tank. The results were definitive; the spell, they agreed, could be safely lifted, and announced this to the rest of the group on the next day.
The four of them - five, including the doctor - gathered in Hermione's room. It had been easy for Frackenburger (as head of a department) to procure it, and now it looked almost homely, with stacks of books and writing materials spaced between whirring medical machines, the projector, and various diagnostic equipment.
Two large presentation boards, covered by parchment and posters, stood against one of the walls. Obscure calculations, diagrams, arrows and different-colored notes filled their expanse. Ron and Harry couldn't make head-or-tails of it, and Ginny didn't even try, plopping down on the bed instead.
"Whow there, careful, pregnant girl." Harry grinned.
Ginny growled and curled her hand into a fist, which she then promptly waved in her husband's general direction.
Her sudden pregnancy had become a bit of a running joke between them, with Ron and Harry finding it much more amusing than the witch. The reason behind it was that while Hermione was reasonably concealed within the hospital's walls by Frackenburger's authority and Harry's cloak, the rest of the gang had no such protection. Naturally, their continued visits to St. Mungo's had drawn interest and speculation, and it had all come to a head on the third day when a group of journalists blindsided them at the entrance.
"Mrs. Potter! Mrs. Potter!" A raven-haired reporter from a certain tabloid jumped up and down from excitement. "Can you confirm reports of your pregnancy? Are congratulations in order?!"
A gaggle of voices followed her question, any possible answer drowning in the commotion. Ginny, thinking quick on her feet, realized this was the perfect cover for the true nature of their visits. So, instead of shoving the recorders and flashing cameras up some very dark places (places proper ladies shouldn't think about, she reminded herself), she just batted her eyes and smiled ambiguously.
The next morning, Witch Weekly ran a three-page spread on Ginny's supposed fragile state, weaving together baseless rumors, assumptions, and 'unnamed sources close to the family' with the deftness of a spider on steroids. They managed to cover Harry's life as well, reminding their readers of his tragic childhood ('Those muggles forced him to breed snakes and drink snail juice, I seen it meeself,' states Mundungus Fletcher, who has remained a very close friend to The Boy-Who-Lived.'), as well as providing freshly captivating information from the war ('Several researchers continue to speculate that Harry Potter is You-Know-Who's secret bastard child...').
The Daily Prophet, its editors restrained by the unfortunate fact that they represent a much more reputable source of information, limited themselves to only a front page cover (continued on pg. A3).
It was a brilliant plan, really. Right up until a deluge of mail swamped the Potter family residence, spearheaded by Molly Weasley's excited owl. The elder witch floo'd in only moments later, running to her baby girl, gushing with delight, and tears of happiness streaming down her face. It was awkward. Ginny, dressed in only a nighty, had been forced to play along and pretend she really had conceived. She was not looking forward to telling her mother the truth. Honestly, by this point, it was easier to just get pregnant then explain the nuances of the situation.
"So, Doctor, is it true then?"
Only a deaf man would have failed to detect the eagerness in Harry's voice. They all were thrilled to hear this news: that Hermione was safe, that the dark magic could be burned away, and that she could come home soon. But for the two aurors it was more than that. Retrieving Hermione's memories meant they would be one step closer to whoever did this to her, and their instincts were tingling with anticipatory vengeance. The hunt would continue, and they would apprehend whoever did this, be it Voldemort himself.
Frackenburger took a sip of Pepper-Up potion before responding. He looked every bit his age now. Dark circles rimmed his bloodshot eyes, and several lines of fatigue cut through an unshaven face. He had invested much of the last week into studying Hermione's condition, often sleeping in short increments of time on a couch in his office.
"Indeed, Mr. Potter. The magic should be simple to lift. In fact, it has significantly deteriorated on its own. Without intervention, it will leave Ms. Granger's system within a month."
"Well, that doesn't sound too dangerous, then." Ginny noted hopefully.
"If that were only so. This is the most complex spellwork I have ever encountered," Frackenburger countered. "You too, in fact, although you fail to realize it just yet."
"Well, you'd be surprised, doc," Ron interjected, a bit offended by the condescending tone.
"No, Mr. Weasley, I would not. The dark magic of a horcrux, to which you are no doubt referring, is child's play by comparison."
"And, how would you know about them, exactly, Professor?" Harry asked sharply. While the legend of the Deathly Hallows had been widely circulated in post-war society, the horcrux hunt remained a well-kept secret. Or so he thought.
Frackenburger hesitated a little before answering.
"Mr. Potter," he finally said, choosing his words carefully. "In certain circles, the secret behind You-Know-Who's resurrection - if you could call it that - is very well known. I do not have the specifics, of course, and no one should hold knowledge of such vile magic, but the gist… well, the story has been whispered among-"
"Among certain groups," Harry finished for him. "Pureblood groups, I understand? Those never caught directly supporting Voldemort, but unsatisfied with current standings?"
"Mr. Potter, please. I refuse to discuss politics, my job is my life. In any case, I believe your friend is more important than your auror duties, yes?"
Harry, feeling chastised, nodded. Not only was now an improper time for distractions, but Frackenburger was harmless; he just cared about brains. Possibly, too much, but then we all have our vices.
"As I was saying," the doctor cleared his throat. "This is the most complex spell, well, it's not a spell, per say, not a spell indeed…"
"If I may, Professor?" Hermione interrupted, seeing as he had started to ramble. "What Dr. Frackenburger is saying, is that this is not just one spell. It's several dozen, layered one upon another. Together, they form a cohesive whole, whose purpose we don't yet fully understand, although we have several theories. On an individual level, however, we have been able to identify some of their functions. I won't bore you with specific details, but…"
"Oh, Ms. Granger, you're not sharing the most groundbreaking news!" The doctor, giddy with excitement, broke in. "You see, we were able to replicate its structure in the projector. Then, we introduced a toxic environment, and observed it exhibiting an aversion to harmful stimuli! This is phenomenal!"
"Hermione, translate that to english, please," Ron said.
"We tried to kill it and it defended itself."
"Wait," Ginny knit her brows in concentration. "Isn't that, like, impossible? One of the fundamentals of magic is that it can't create life. Or do you mean like a snitch that's been charmed to avoid capture?"
"No, Gin, I'm afraid it's not like a snitch. Objects can be imbued with certain magical properties, true, but this is so much more than that. It's reaction… it's almost like it possessed an intelligence. When faced with danger, its response was preemptive in many cases: it restructured itself, it fought off the threats, and, if that wasn't successful, it made numerous copies and tried to escape containment. Presumably, to infect other hosts. Survival through propagation, if you will."
Now Harry looked troubled as well. "You mean… like a virus?"
"Exactly, Harry. This is, for lack of a better term, a magical virus."
"And, it's purpose?"
"Like I said, we're not sure. So far, we only know what some of its parts are programmed to do."
"And what exactly is that then?"
Frackenburger jumped in again at that question.
"Well, Mr. Weasley, the spell is structured in such a way that once it enters the host, it targets several key components. Look this way."
The doctor pointed to the projector tank where the form of a brain was represented by white, translucent lines. Between them, streaks of gray and black floated, like an oil spill on water.
"This band, for example," he said, pointing to a particularly thick spiral in the tank, "connects to the brainstem, where it leeches off the host's magic, effectively forming a parasitical relationship. Here," his finger moved a little, "we see it stretching to the amygdala. Then the frontal lobes. The hippocampus. And many more." His index finger singled out a dozen more bands of magic stretching throughout the image.
"And that means…"
Hermione answered this question.
"The virus has the ability to cause auditory and visual hallucinations. It can also mess with your emotions; for example, by stimulating the amygdala, it may cause sudden bouts of intense fear or anger. The spread of the disease to the frontal lobes is also a very troubling matter. That's the part of your brain that contains your personality; it's literally who you are. We think it can influence that. It feeds off its hosts. That means it's self-sustaining: it dies only when the host dies. Basically, it can control your emotions, make you see or hear things that aren't there, affect memory, and it might be able to change the fundamental traits that determine your personality. And that's only the parts that we've deciphered."
"Damn," Ginny whistled. "That's one piece of work. But, wait a minute. If it's as terrible as you say it is… why are you fine? I mean, it just affected your memory, right?"
"Very perceptive, Mrs. Potter. Indeed, Ms. Granger's symptoms are but a fraction of the virus's true potential. The issue is that this virus is inactive. Only a small portion of all the spells within it are currently operational; the rest lie dormant."
"And how would it become active?"
"One can only guess. Another spell, perhaps? A magical artifact? Ms. Granger and I have only had a week for research; given more time, maybe an answer can be found. The good news, however, is that the magic has begun to break down. In a passive state, this virus appears capable of existing for only several months - maybe half a year - within a host. Then atrophy sets in, and it slowly withers away. Which is why Ms. Granger has been experiencing repetitive flashbacks. Her memory, most of it anyway, has begun to return on its own."
"Most of her memory?"
"That's what we think. Some things may have been lost irreversibly, especially around the time when the virus was 'fresh'. We'll see."
"Looks like you'll finally know more than Hermione, Ron," Ginny grinned. "And all it took was her losing all her memory."
"Oh, shut up, Gin."
"Doctor," Harry interrupted the bickering siblings. "Last time we spoke about this, you mentioned that Voldemort was the architect of this magic. Are you still confident in that claim?"
"Undoubtedly, Mr. Potter. But, this virus is capable of self-replication. It's possible that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named created it many years ago, and his construct simply outlived him. Alas, we can only speculate."
The group fell silent, digesting this hoard of news. Frackenburger waited patiently for several minutes.
"Any more questions?" he finally asked, and seeing them shake their heads, turned to Hermione. "Ms. Granger, are you ready?"
"Wait, Professor, Hermione," Harry held his hand up. "You're sure about this?"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Potter. There's no need for worry. In its weakened state, this spell is unable to resist, and there should be no adverse effects following its removal. Ms. Granger?"
"I'll be fine, Harry."
Harry saw Hermione walk over to the chair next to Frackenburger and sit down. She looked just like she did before exams in school: tense despite hours of preparation and study. She gave them all a small, nervous smile, and they reciprocated with words of encouragement. She closed her eyes. Frackenburger raised his wand, and...
She gasps, remembering the birthdays her parents held for her, the sparkling candles on sugar-free cakes, the tenderly wrapped presents. Usually, it's just the three of them. She doesn't have many friends, most children her age choosing to ignore or belittle the strange, precocious girl. They don't understand her obsession with learning, her willingness to raise her hand first in class.
Unexplainable things happen near her sometimes. "Weirdo!" other kids yell, pelting her with dirt. But her parents are always there, loving and supportive. They take her on trips, going as a family to fun, exciting places. They indulge her curiosity, always motivating her to grasp new fragments of knowledge. She loves them very much, and they return the affection wholeheartedly.
Oh, how evilly she repaid their kindness, she thinks with regret.
But then - the letter! She's eleven, and a whole new world welcomes her with the promise of a new beginning. She meets new friends, masters new subjects. She cheers for Harry as he catches the snitch; she spends nights at the library, surrounded by dusty tomes, writing essays on scrolls of parchment.
The years flash by, growing darker, more troublesome. A shadow overtakes the horizon, but with her friends, with Harry and Ron, she can face anything. She'll do anything for her boys, and together they run and fight and run again! A mistake happens, a slip of the tongue, and she's writhing on a cold floor in agony, a mad, cackling voice booming above her. "Mudblood filth!" it hisses with glee, and pain explodes in arm, as a blond boy looks upon her with haunted eyes.
The last months of the war flicker before her; the last battle looms. The bitch that tortured her lies on the ground, dead and gone. Harry, torn and bloodied, stands in the center of the room, triumphant. Bodies all around, blood, blood everywhere, but they won! The menace is gone, it's just ashes spread over mud.
The next several years tumble in like leaves carried by a turbulent wind of returning memories. She tries to heal from the war, distancing herself from Ron. She can't manage to be part of a relationship; physical closeness and intimacy are repulsive to her, and it takes over a year to muster the strength for such a simple act as a hug.
This is strange, a part of her thinks. There isn't anything in her past to justify such trauma, is there? Is something hidden deeper? Something she locked away from herself?
But that thought flits away, and she's treated to recollections of her professional endeavors, as she buries herself into work at the Ministry. She can make her world so much better! She will eliminate prejudice, fighting for the rights of those who can't protect themselves! Muggleborns or magical creatures - it doesn't matter! She frowns on the despotic, suffocating terms placed on many purebloods by the new Ministry. It's a failure of justice, and both the guilty and innocent are smited by the oppressive fist of the law. But before she can focus her attention on that, a new threat rears its head – this time, in the muggle world. She spends weeks and months chasing elusive threads, finally quitting her job at the Ministry. More time passes, and she's closing in. Just a little more information, and she can bring this to Harry and Ron; together, just like old times, they can overcome any obstacle, wipe away any evil. But, something happens, and she's lost… lost… lost... A train. A blond wizard. The Manor. And she's here.
She breathes out slowly. They have to hurry. So much time has been already lost, because she was so foolish and kept things to herself. She'll fix that tonight. She'll tell them everything. She'll—
Without warning, something else creeps forward. Something hitherto banished to a tiny, dark crevasse in the very rear of her mind. A memory she has suppressed for years, never sharing the story with her friends, coping in her own ways. It slithers in like a foul, slimy worm, bringing with it the nauseating stench of moldy wood and rotting vegetables. It carries the image of a dark cellar and a silver-masked figure towering above her. The feel of gnarled, dirty fingers tearing at her robes, leaving ugly, finger-shaped bruises; the sound of her hoarse screams sinking into wet dirt, as she desperately tries to fight off her assailant, but he's too big, and her wand just out of reach, and she's begging for him to stop, for anybody to help her, please, please, oh- No.
No.
That nightmare will not invade her mind again. Her stomach is heaving, and she wants to vomit. She bites her lip, a coppery, metallic taste invading her mouth. Taking short, quick breaths through her nose, she clenches hands into fists, fingernails digging crescent-shaped indentations into her skin. She pushes the memory back, back behind lock and key.
She has fought this battle for years, and won every time. It will not hold power over her. It will not!
She feels a hand on her shoulder, and a worried, caring voice speaks.
"Hermione, are you alright?"
She opens her eyes and lies to her best friend.
"I'm fine, Harry."
Harry blinked.
Hermione had shuddered, an anguished moan escaping her lips. He'd reached out instinctively then, wanting nothing more but to shoulder some of her suffering. Her past had bad memories; reliving just Bellatrix's torture must be agony. Still, Hermione had been able to overcome that trauma once. She could do it again, with all of them for support.
But then she opened her eyes, and he took an involuntary step back. The girl that stared back at him was not the Hermione from 5 minutes ago. An ocean of torment raged within this girl's caramel orbs, and her body sagged as if the sins of the whole world anchored her down. Is it her memories, he wondered? He couldn't remember a time when she displayed so much pain.
Then Harry blinked, and his friend was back, smiling at him with warmth and affection.
"I'm fine, Harry," she said, and touched her arm. "Just some old wounds resurfacing. I'm ok."
"Of course, 'Mione," he replied, soothed by the thought that her distress was short-lived. "You know, we're all here for you. Anything you need…"
"Harry! I know. And, I'm truly grateful. But, now's not the time for hug-therapy. Professor," she turned to Frackenburger. "Congratulations. Your spell was a success."
The old man preened.
"Well, don't sell yourself short, Miss Granger! Your assistance was welcome, very welcome indeed. If even a quarter of my staff had half your perception, inquisitiveness and work ethic, we'd clear out all out the cases in a month!"
"I was motivated," she replied, but dipped her head accepting the praise.
"Wait. Wait!" Ginny and Ron exclaimed. "So… it fully worked? You remember everything now?"
No one caught the tremble in her voice when she replied.
"Yes," she said. "Everything."
Her friends, bless them, cheered, erupting in a round of celebratory rowdiness. Harry and Ron clapped Frackenburger on the back, exclaiming they always believed in him, and he should come by the Burrow, meet Molly and Arthur! Ginny ran up to her, hugging her tightly. Looking at them, Hermione was almost happy. And if there were tears in her eyes, they were ones of happiness. Right?
The boys were getting carried away, meanwhile. She had the distinct feeling Harry and Ron were about to invite Frackenburger for a drink or two (or three) down at the pub, and she had to put a stop to that.
Disentangling herself from Ginny, Hermione summoned all of her strength to don the impenetrable façade she had hid behind for years. Compartmentalization was just another skill, acquired over time. Her friends didn't know the side of her that cried in raw pain on lonely nights, and she would keep it that way. Some things, you can't share; some things, you hide.
"Guys!" she yelled, trying to pierce through the happy commotion. "Ron! Harry! Hello! RON! Oh, bugger- Gin, hand me your wand?"
Ginny obliged, and a set of fireworks exploded with the force of a small cannon. That got the men's attention.
"What the bloody hell-" Harry began, covering his ears, but she cut him off.
"I'm sorry, everyone, we will celebrate later, I promise." She spoke, quelling the protests from Ron. "Right now, however, it is critical I tell you what happened to me, and the case I've been working on for over 18 months. This can't wait. We'll go to my house, I'll show you everything I've gathered. We have to pack and go. Please," she added and turned to Frackenburger. "Can I have a private word, Professor?"
The doctor nodded, and they stepped out into the hall. There were no other patients here; this area was part of Frackenburger's department, and it was deserted, enchantments barring it from the rest of the hospital.
Frackenburger turned to her with a fond gaze, and noticed a rare moment of indecisiveness in the intelligent girl. Whatever it was, he was more than ready to listen, a part of him secretly hoping that she would accept his recent offer of employment. Hermione was a natural with memory spells, and studious to boot; individuals like her were a priceless commodity. She would overtake the inept med students wasting their time in these halls within half a year; in five, she would have her own team, he had no doubt about that, no doubt indeed.
"What is it, my dear?" he asked kindly.
Hermione observed the tired man in front of her. He was a brilliant researcher and a diligent teacher. But he was also a man. And men are susceptible to weakness. He was part of this story now and a valuable asset. His work would be critical to healing the hundreds of people already infected. He also seemed to genuinely care for her. But would those feelings hold over time? The corruption inside the ministry reached far. Would he become a weak link in the chain if it grazed him? Could she trust him not to betray them?
The thought that the frail man in front of her was capable of deceit seemed ludicrous, but she had learned not to take any chances.
"There is a path," a dark, damaged part of her whispered. "A way to guarantee his loyalty."
Hermione twirled Ginny's wand between her fingers. Would she need it?
She had many teachers over the years, but her most influential one was the war. It taught her several brutal lessons, cementing them in the corners of her mind. There is no room for compassion when you're fighting for your life, is one. It just gets naive little girls caught. Another is that it's usually simpler to kill your enemies. Stunning spells often create problems, while killing ones do not. Harry and Ron don't know this, but Avada Kedavra comes easily to her. Crucio does too. She has enough anger to channel a fair share of dark curses. Has this broken her soul? She doesn't know. Maybe. Or maybe she was broken first, and this is just the result. She doesn't think about such things. They lead to sleepless, drunk nights, and nightmares when her exhausted body finally succumbs to the clutches of sleep.
In this state, she considered the option before her. Imperio. He would be hers, a puppet dedicated to finding a cure. It would also deter any potential betrayal, his loyalty to the cause ensured by potent dark magic.
"Do it," a dark voice hissed in her mind. "Just one spell! One! It'll be harmless, he won't be hurt. You have so much to gain…"
She looked down at Ginny's wand, her fingers clutching it with intensity. It would so easy. But it was Ginny's wand. She would be putting her friend at risk by using it to cast an unforgivable. And friends were her tether to sanity.
"Ms. Granger?" Frackenburger prompted, unaware that his fate was being determined.
Hermione made a decision.
She hugged him.
"I just wanted to say how thankful I am for all your help," she whispered.
"Oh, nonsense, nonsense! I haven't had this much fun in years!" There was a tremor in his voice, and, when she let go, he wiped his eyes.
"Pardon an old man," he said.
She smiled, and they returned to the group. 20 minutes later, Hermione, Harry, Ron and Ginny disapparated, leaving Frackenburger alone in an empty room. He didn't mind: he had a fascinating magical structure to study.
A long night lay ahead.
Draco hasn't been seen in some time. That will change.
Also, thank you for your reviews. Seeing someone cares enough to comment on your story means a lot.