A/N: Trigger warning! Jasmine will now have to tell people about the abuse she experienced in the graveyard/ritual scene. This is less intense than the last chapter, but there are references to magical torture, physical abuse, threats of rape, and a bit more.
Recommendation: This chapter's recommended fic is "...And Love" by apAiden. Hermione Granger is given one last chance to say the words she was too scared to say back in her first year. Will she be able to do it? H/Hr.
Chapter 49 - Behind Green Eyes
Thursday, March 18, 1995, Very Early Morning.
The Knight Bus arrived at Hogwarts much faster than normal thanks to its direct route. Once it stopped in front of the main gates, Stan walked out with Jasmine still in his arms. He stared up at the gates, not having expected to find them shut and locked. "'Ello?" he called out. "Is anyone there?"
A massive figure approached out of the darkness and quickly resolved itself into Hagrid, carrying his enormous crossbow and looking meaner than anyone had ever seen him. "Who are ye, there, and wha' do ye wan-" He stopped in mid-word when he saw the bundle being carried by Stan. "Jasmine!" he cried out.
Stan stumbled back in fear as Hagrid wrenched the heavy gate open with one of his huge, dustbin-lid-sized hands and he quickly tried to explain, "I'm the Knight Bus conductor, 'onest, and she called us in a village named... what was it again, Ern?" he called back in a slightly squeaky voice.
"Little Hangleton!" came the old driver's answer.
"Yes, that's right, Little Hangleton! She insisted that we come straight 'ere, not to St. Mungo's! And 'ere we are!"
Hagrid's face softened just a bit as he listened to the young wizard's story. "Wha' do I owe ye for tha trip?" he asked gruffly.
"Nothin'!" Stan answered, happy that it no longer looked like he was about to be squashed. "It was the least we could do. She's the Girl Who Lived, y'know! She even remembered my name!"
Hagrid nodded and said, "Thanks ta both of ye. I'll be sure ta let tha headmaster know how helpful ye were." He reached down and carefully took Jasmine from Stan's arms. Relieved of his burden, he tipped his cap to the half-giant and jumped back into the bus, which disappeared with a crack.
"Oh, Jasmine," Hagrid said softly as his long gait quickly ate up the distance to the castle's main door, "Wha' happened to ye? Who did this to ye?"
Unexpectedly, Jasmine opened her eyes. "Hagrid?" she asked in a weak, tired voice that he had to strain to hear. "Voldemort. Ritual. Resurrection." Then, just as suddenly, she closed her eyes and was unconscious again.
"Tha's bad news, tha' is," Hagrid muttered. "Let's get ye ta Madam Pomfrey, then I'll go tell Dumbledore wha' ye said. He'll know wha' ta do,"
The hospital wing was empty, which was fortunate because Hagrid's bellow as he came through the door would have surely woken anyone there. It certainly roused Madam Pomfrey, who charged into the main patient area ready to tear strips off of whoever was shouting. It was only the sight of Jasmine Potter — bloody, bruised, and draped limply in Hagrid's arms — that stayed her wrath.
"Finally," she said, "she's been found! Bring her over here, quickly now. What do you know about what happened to her?"
"Nothin'," Hagrid replied. When she scowled at him, he hastily added, "She was just brought in on the Knight Bus, and they didn't know nothin' neither."
She harrumphed and began casting diagnostic spells to determine what was wrong with the young witch and what needed to be addressed first.
"I need ta tell Dumbledore," Hagrid informed the school healer, who merely nodded as she concentrated on her patient. In a moment he was gone, and Pomfrey began to catalog all the different things that her spells could find wrong.
"Confusing Draught... blunt force trauma to the face and abdomen... the Cruciatus curse!" She almost shouted the last, she was so upset. "What sort of monsters would cast that on a child!" With practiced movements she forced several potions down Jasmine's throat then began casting a series of spells on the witch and the bed that she hoped would help with her healing and pain.
Not long into her spellwork she was interrupted as several people entered her hospital. Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall she expected, but the presence of Cornelius Fudge and Amelia Bones was enough of a surprise that she had to start one of her healing spells over.
"It's not possible, Dumbledore," she could hear Fudge ranting, "I tell you, it's just not possible. You-Know-
Who simply cannot be alive. He was killed years ago. He's gone. Gone!"
"Patience, Cornelius," Dumbledore responded calmly, "We will soon find out what happened to her, and then we can judge what the truth is."
Neither of the two witches appeared to be interested in the argument; instead, they were entirely focused on Miss Potter, something that Pomfrey approved of. "What is her condition?" Madam Bones asked, preempting another round of quarreling between the two headstrong wizards.
"It's not good," Pomfrey reported, "but she will get better, that much is certain."
"Can you tell us what happened to her?" Bones asked.
"Yes — the time since her injuries has been short enough that I can still get clear results on what she experienced," Pomfrey said, "although the exact order of the events isn't entirely clear."
"That's fine," Bones responded, waving that issue away, "just give us a list of what you do know and in the order you think most likely."
Madam Pomfrey picked up the parchment that had recorded the unconscious witch's most recent medical scan, noting that all four of the newcomers were watching her intently. "First, she was given at least one if not two doses of Confusing Draught, the effects of which should have lasted from shortly after she went missing until several hours ago."
"So she might not be able to tell us much about where she was or what was happening?" suggested McGonagall.
"Not until a bit after it wore off, no," agreed Bones. "Please continue."
"Around the time the potion wore off, or maybe shortly thereafter, she was subjected to severe blunt force trauma to the head, face, and abdomen. I picked up evidence of a moderate concussion, a broken jaw, some broken teeth, and several cracked ribs. All but the concussion and teeth have been healed, although not very well and not by a healer. The healing spells were rough, not practiced."
"Bludgeoning hexes?" Bones asked.
"In a couple of cases, yes," Pomfrey answered, "but not in all. I suspect she was beaten physically, and more than once." All four adults winced in pain at that.
"Anything else?" Dumbledore prompted, seeming to recognize the healer's reluctance to continue.
"Yes," she said heavily. "I'm afraid... well, she was put under the Cruciatus curse. Twice, and for an extended period of time in both instances, judging by the extent of the damage and the amount of Dark Magic residue I'm seeing."
This news elicited several shocked gasps and Dumbledore closed his eyes in obvious distress.
"You're certain about that?" Fudge asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I'd stake my Healer's Certificate on it," Pomfrey answered grimly. "The signs of even a poorly cast Cruciatus are always clear. In Miss Potter's case, the residue and damage are consistent with either a very strong wizard putting her under two or possibly three times for several minutes each, or multiple moderately strong wizards doing it several times. Because I can only discern the magical signature of four people in total, though, I think the former is almost certain."
"Four people?" Bones asked.
Pomfrey nodded. "One of those signatures is Miss Potter herself. I'd guess the healing spells, though I never taught her any. Another is mostly faded away and doesn't seem to be linked to any damage. Two more are recent, and only one looks connected to much damage — that's the one which I think is responsible for the Cruciatus curse."
"Could you put this all in an official medical report and sign it?" Bones asked.
"Of course," the healer responded.
"Can we wake Miss Potter to get her version of events?" Dumbledore asked.
Madam Pomfrey frowned. "I wouldn't recommend it. Even without the Cruciatus curse exposure, she needs rest. She's almost completely magically exhausted, suffering from some blood loss, and has deep bruising all over her body."
"I don't like it," Madam Bones interjected, "but unless waking her will cause more harm, we really do need to get her testimony so we can catch whoever did this. The longer we wait, the more time they have to get away."
"Very well," Pomfrey said, "but not for any longer than absolutely necessary. As it is, she'll need to be in here for at least forty-eight hours." She administered another potion which caused the young witch to begin to stir and then moved aside, though not too far away.
Jasmine slowly rose to consciousness and immediately wondered just how often this was going to happen to her. Thankful that she seemed to have her wits about her this time, she began a mental checklist to determine her situation. Good news, she thought, is that everything seems to be present and working; bad news, everything hurts so bad that I want to cry.
Not knowing how much time she might have, she focused on the sounds that were starting to become clear around her. There were a couple of voices from either side of her, one of which sounded familiar and seemed to be arguing that Voldemort couldn't possibly be back. OK, not Death Eater Central, then, she concluded with more than a little relief. But not necessarily a friendly audience, either.
"Miss Potter," came a soft, kindly voice that she immediately recognized as belonging to the Headmaster. "I know you're awake. I also know that you must be in significant pain. I'm very sorry to force this upon you, my dear girl, but we need to get some questions answered before we can let you sleep again. I promise we'll get through this as quickly as possible."
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and blinked hard at the brightness around her. "Sorry," she heard Madam Pomfrey say as the lights quickly dimmed. Professor Dumbledore was sitting next to her bed, looking very tired and sad, but before she could say anything she suddenly convulsed from the pain. Crying out, she rolled away from the headmaster and vomited onto the floor on the other side of her bed.
"I don't know how much help she'll be," Pomfrey said as she rushed over and vanished the sick on the floor. "She's going to be in severe pain for several days at least."
"There's nothing you can give her?" the familiar voice she heard before asked. Whoever it was, she now knew it was a man, and he was on the opposite side of her bed from Dumbledore.
"No, that's one of the reasons why the Cruciatus curse is an unforgivable," a new female voice responded. "It has no treatment. Not even standard pain potions will help. Victims are forced to endure the aftereffects for however long they last, whether it's hours or days. Pain, convulsions, nausea, and more. The faster we can do this, the better for her it will be."
Oh, great, Jasmine thought sourly. That's all I needed to hear...
Suddenly there were hands and arms around her shoulders, attempting to help her up, and she hissed in pain, trying to hold back a scream as she struggled to twist away. "No!" Pomfrey said sharply. "Don't touch her unless you have to!"
"What is it? Why not?" Jasmine heard a voice she recognized as Professor McGonagall ask as she curled into a fetal position, facing away from her and Dumbledore while she quivered in agony.
"With exposure this bad, almost any touch is excruciating and will be for a while," Pomfrey answered. "All her nerves are raw and over-sensitized. She'll need low light, the blandest of food, low sound levels, and as little touching as possible. I've already cast special charms on the bed and her hospital gown to reduce the sensations she receives."
"I had no idea," came the previously familiar voice. Jasmine started to open her eyes again, and once she could focus, she thought she recognized the shape of Minister Fudge. Without her glasses, though, she couldn't be sure.
"It's not widely known," Pomfrey explained, "because it's so rare for anyone to get such a massive exposure and live."
"Miss Potter," came the unknown woman's voice, "my name is Amelia Bones. I'm head of the DMLE, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Would you be willing to answer a few questions?" she asked kindly.
Jasmine nodded carefully. Bones? she thought. I remember a Bones. That's Susan's aunt. McGonagall said good things about her.
"Bones?" Jasmine asked. "Susan?"
"Yes," came the pleased reply, "Susan is my niece, and she contacted me as soon as she heard you were missing. She seems to think very highly of you." A ghost of a smile crossed Jasmine's features at that.
"Now, do you know where you were taken to when you were kidnapped?" Madam Bones asked.
Jasmine shook her head. "Stone floor, couldn't move," she said.
"According to Hagrid, the conductor of the Knight Bus said he picked you up in Little Hangleton," Dumbledore interjected. "Does that name sound familiar?"
Jasmine shook her head, and Bones called out, "Shacklebolt, make a note to interview that conductor."
"Shunpike," Jasmine said softly.
"Got that?" the woman asked, and Jasmine heard a murmured response from somewhere behind her, where Dumbledore was sitting. "What's the first thing you remember clearly?" she then asked Jasmine.
The auburn-haired witch thought hard for a few moments, trying to clear the cobwebs so she could focus on memories that all seemed disjointed for some reason. "Picked up from floor... hit or something, then nothing. Later, at night, I woke up tied to a grave marker in a cemetery."
Jasmine took a few deep breaths to get the pain under control again. She didn't want to look weak. She didn't want to let her agony show through, at least not any more than was necessary. That was one thing she had learned from the Dursleys: never let them know just how much pain you're in.
She wasn't sure if it was the Cruciatus curse itself or if her screams had damaged her throat, but talking hurt, and she couldn't keep her voice from coming out raspy. "One man working on a huge cauldron and two men nearby. One... one... he…." Her voice trailed off into sobs. After a moment, she managed to choke back the humiliation enough to get out, "He grabbed me."
"Grabbed you how?" Fudge asked.
When Jasmine closed her eyes and tried to curl in on herself even further, unable to maintain her facade of strength any longer, Madam Bones cleared her throat and said, "I think maybe we'll return to that question and get more details when there aren't so many people in the room." After a pause, she added in a no-nonsense tone of voice, "And when there are no wizards in the room, either."
Jasmine could hear people shifting uncomfortably in their seats before Madam Bones spoke again, this time in a softer voice and from a much closer distance. "It's alright, dear, we'll get back to that later when you feel more comfortable. What happened next?"
After taking a few deep breaths, Jasmine opened her eyes and continued, "I think I was punched and knocked out again. I woke up later, when the moon was higher in the sky."
"Do you think you can estimate how high the moon was?" Bones suddenly asked. When Jasmine nodded, she said, "Good, we might be able to get approximate times from that. Please continue."
Jasmine proceeded to explain what happened with as much detail as she could remember. When she was done, she could clearly hear Minister Fudge muttering that "You-Know-Who couldn't possibly be back" and about "conspiracies to undermine confidence in the Ministry." Jasmine's stomach gave a lurch, and it wasn't her previous nausea returning.
She remembered that this was the same Minister of Magic who had refused to believe her about Sirius and wanted to subject her godfather to a summary execution without his ever once having been put on trial, insisting that she and her friends had been confunded before dismissing their testimony. She remembered that he had arrested Hagrid simply so he could be seen to be doing something. She also remembered what Professor McGonagall had said about him: that what he cared most about was keeping his power and looking good.
So long as he perceived that the truth was against his personal interests, he'd deny her testimony about Voldemort — especially if Malfoy were still alive and able to poison him against her. This meant that Jasmine needed for him to see that helping her counted as "doing something" and would make him look good, without contradicting how he saw the world. At least, not too much.
Thinking quickly, she propped herself up painfully on one elbow. "Minister?" she asked in a soft yet determined voice. She instantly had everyone's attention. "I was only a baby during the war that killed my parents, so I obviously wouldn't recognize Vol... er, You-Know-Who's face if I ran into him on the street."
When she saw she had his interest, she continued, "So I can't say that I recognized the face of the dark wizard who climbed out of that cauldron. All I can tell you is what he claimed about himself." Fudge slowly nodded, seeming to understand what she was getting at. She wanted to slap him for being so venal and corrupt, but she bit back her anger and resolved to revisit this at a later date — maybe as part of a discussion with Hermione about why it wasn't worth staying in the magical world.
"Minister," she continued, "I was kidnapped by dark wizards. I was beaten by dark wizards. I was... I was molested by dark wizards." Everyone winced at hearing her state aloud what they had been trying to step gingerly around earlier. She hated saying it, because saying it made it so much more real, but it seemed like it was a price she'd have to pay to get enough sympathy to put him on her side.
"Finally, I was tortured and nearly killed by dark wizards. Does it really matter what the real name of one of them is?" Especially since Voldemort isn't actually his real name anyway, she added silently. Now there's an idea... I wonder what would happen if the DMLE started hunting for a dark wizard named Tom Riddle?
"She's absolutely right," Madam Bones said, stepping back into the conversation. "Serious crimes were committed here, there's no question about that. The Cruciatus curse alone will put someone in Azkaban for life, never mind all the rest. You don't want the press to find out that you didn't take this seriously and refused to investigate. You don't want the press to report that you allowed dark wizards to get away with molesting and torturing the Girl Who Lived, do you?"
Fudge paled considerably at that. "N-n-no, no, of course not! Never!" he stuttered out. "Of course this must be investigated. Use whatever resources you need!" He paused to catch his breath, then added, "But I don't want anyone inflaming the public with nonsensical stories about You-Know-Who coming back to life, do you hear me?"
Madam Bones nodded and said, "I will limit myself to where the evidence leads. It matters not whether it was some delusional wizard who thinks he's You-Know-Who, an old follower of his who is trying to bring him back, or — Merlin forbid — an actual resurrection of the Dark Lord. The investigation and procedures will be the same." Fudge didn't look entirely happy with that, but he accepted it anyway.
Shoving his lime green bowler down on his head, he announced, "I'd better be off. I'll leave you to it. I want daily updates on the investigations, Amelia. Daily updates!"
Once he was gone, escorted by Dumbledore, Jasmine laid back down on her side and Madam Bones let out a long sigh of relief. "I just hope he holds onto that attitude, otherwise he may try to undermine our investigation."
"That will probably depend on whose advice he listens to most," McGonagall said. "Albus', or…."
"Malfoy's," Bones finished for her. When Jasmine started snickering, she asked, "What's so funny, Miss Potter?"
"That wizard I hit with a fireball?" she asked. When Bones nodded and indicated for her to go on, she continued, "That was Lucius Malfoy." She heard deep chuckling from behind her; craning her neck, she saw a tall, black, balding man in auror's robes writing on a piece of parchment.
"Which spell did you use?" McGonagall asked.
"Sphaera Ignea," Jasmine replied.
Madam Bones blinked in surprise. "Well, that'll leave a mark — assuming he survived. The scars it creates aren't quite cursed, but they are close. It might help to place him at the scene and allow me to arrest him. That's also a very powerful spell, Miss Potter — I'm surprised you could cast it."
"She could cast a corporeal patronus already at the end of her third year," McGonagall said, sounding every bit like a proud parent. "She used it to chase off the dementors that were here guarding the castle from Sirius Black."
"How many?" Bones asked.
"All of them, I believe," McGonagall deadpanned.
Jasmine heard a low whistle from the auror, presumably the one called Shacklebolt. "Very impressive," he said in a deep, resonant voice. "Most adult witches and wizards cannot even cast a corporeal patronus, much less use it to fight off dementors."
"Indeed," Madam Bones agreed, now even more impressed with the young witch than she had been previously. "Let's finish this interview, then Miss Potter can get the rest she needs." Auror Shacklebolt quietly excused himself and walked over to the doors to stand guard.
Over the course of the next hour, Jasmine retold her story twice, answering numerous questions about the events she could remember. They even spent a bit of time talking about Sirius Black: once Jasmine revealed that the Death Eater who sacrificed his hand was Peter Pettigrew, Bones opened a whole new investigation, albeit one that would be kept as secret as possible given the Minister's past attitudes and actions on the matter.
After the interview was finished, Madam Bones took Professor McGonagall over to Madam Pomfrey's desk so she could speak with the other two witches with a little privacy. "You two know Miss Potter best," she began, "What can you tell me about her state of mind, both before and now?"
"What do you mean?" Madam Pomfrey asked with a frown.
"Has she ever been given to telling tales or attention-seeking behavior? Is she rash and impulsive? How does her current mindset compare to normal?
McGonagall huffed and said, "She's never been anything like that!"
Pomfrey agreed, saying, "In fact, from what I've seen she does all she can to avoid attention."
"Exactly," McGonagall said. "She absolutely hates her fame and would do anything to be rid of it. It offends her that others fawn over her because of something that killed her parents, forcing her to grow up as an orphan. And from what I understand, it wasn't a happy childhood." When Madam Bones was finished writing that down, McGonagall continued, "Now as to being rash and impulsive, I'm afraid that's been true at times — she is in Gryffindor, after all," she added with a rueful twitch of her lips. "However, in my experience it's usually when adults fail to act in a situation where she thinks she knows best."
"So you're saying that she'll go to an adult for help first, but act on her own if adults don't help?" Bones asked.
McGonagall pause for a moment, then said slowly, "In the past, yes. Recently I've been made aware of the fact that she's become disillusioned with the adults in her life. Myself included, to my great regret. As a consequence, I suspect that her willingness to trust adults has dropped considerably, and it was never all that high to begin with."
Bones' eyebrows went up in curiosity, wondering what might lie behind such a statement. "It sounds like you have a few interesting stories that I should hear."
"Perhaps," McGonagall conceded, "but she should be there. They are her stories, after all."
Bones nodded and made a note to revisit this, assuming she could make the time in the near future. She had a feeling that she was going to be very, very busy.
Just as she was asking Pomfrey for an official copy of the medical report, the doors to the hospital wing burst open, and a frizzy brown blur rocketed across the room. Shacklebolt tried to grab whoever it was, but they were moving far too fast and launched themselves straight into Jasmine's bed, where she was now on her back.
"Jasmine!" came the strangled, sobbing voice as a witch with bushy brown hair seemed to burrow herself as deeply as possible into Miss Potter's side, her head buried in Miss Potter's shoulder.
Madam Pomfrey gasped in shock and moved to separate the two, but McGonagall grabbed her arm firmly and held her back. "But the pain she'll be in!" Pomfrey hissed.
"No, wait," McGonagall said, watching the pair expectantly. So three witches and one wizard watched in amazement as the newcomer wrapped the injured witch in a bear hug that looked like it would have crushed most normal humans. Instead of screaming in pain, however, Jasmine Potter simply returned the hug and sobbed softly along with her.
"But…" Pomfrey tried to say, "Miss Potter should be in agony right now."
"She looks like she's comfortable and relaxed for the first time since we got here," Madam Bones observed.
McGonagall nodded. "That's Hermione Granger, Miss Potter's best friend. They've been through everything together, and it was Miss Granger who originally alerted us to Miss Potter's disappearance."
"Ah," Bones responded. "So she's the one Mad-Eye has to thank for Dumbledore finding him in time. Even an hour later and those curses would have settled in enough that there would have been no way to treat him."
"Will he be alright, then?" Pomfrey asked.
"Ehh," Bones said noncommittally. "The healers won't say exactly, but they are optimistic that he should mostly recover. It will be a bit before we know how much." After another moment studying the two younger witches, Bones said, "I'm done here, at least for now. I'll leave Shack to watch over Miss Potter. He and someone else will switch off providing guard duty for her until she's released from the hospital wing. If I need more information, I'll let you know so we can schedule a time, OK?"
"I know it's against the rules, Poppy, but I recommend letting Miss Granger stay," McGonagall said once Bones had left and the hospital wing was quiet again. The only sound was the soft murmuring coming from Jasmine Potter's bed.
Poppy Pomfrey sighed and said, "I was thinking about doing that anyway. I suppose I won't have to put Miss Potter back to sleep, too. I did let Miss Potter stay long past curfew when Miss Granger was petrified, so I might as well let Miss Granger return the favor now."
"Really?" McGonagall asked, surprised.
Pomfrey nodded with a slight smile on her lips. "Oh, yes, and she never realized that I knew she was there. She thought she was being so clever, doing something to make herself invisible the entire time; but students never know about the pressure charms on these beds that tell me when a patient wakes, when they get up, when they get into bed... and when someone else is in bed with them."
"Oh?" McGonagall asked, her eyebrows climbing.
"No, not like they are now," she answered with a dismissive wave, "but Miss Potter normally leaned down heavily on Miss Granger's bed — sometimes even putting her head down and sleeping herself, judging by the snoring. Naturally, my charms registered the weight change, and I knew it was her."
After a moment of silence, Pomfrey continued, "Despite all that, though, I never realized they were so close." McGonagall simply nodded, not wanting to risk giving anything away.
Pomfrey looked at McGonagall out of the corner of her eye, guessing that there was more going on which the older witch knew about. She didn't ask, though, because whatever was really going on only seemed to be helping her patient. She knew from her experiences in the war that Cruciatus victims took a while to recover, but Miss Potter was already looking a lot better — better than the healer would have expected even with a couple of days of bedrest.
After a few minutes she turned down the lights in the main patient area almost to nothing, then fixed some tea for herself and Minerva. She had the feeling that her colleague didn't intend to leave her lionesses alone, not even with her.
Jasmine and Hermione lay cuddled against one another, each reveling in the other's warmth and presence. Both had been desperate and afraid, not knowing what the future would bring and scared that they wouldn't see the other again. Now that they were together, though, they didn't want to let go.
"I won't ask you what happened," Hermione said eventually, "Not yet, at least. I will want to know, but I'll give you some time, OK?"
"Thanks," Jasmine whispered in relief.
"What do you want to know?" Hermione asked. "I'm sure you have all kinds of questions."
"When is it?" Jasmine asked. "How long have I been gone?"
"They haven't even told you yet?" Hermione fumed. "It's early Thursday morning. Like, 3AM early."
They were both quiet for a moment before Hermione continued, "You were taken late Tuesday afternoon. Do you remember Tuesday?"
Jasmine thought about that, then concluded, "Not so much, no. What happened?"
"It was Moody," Hermione said. "Except not really. It turns out the real Mad-Eye Moody had been captured by an escaped Death Eater that everyone thought was dead. Kept the poor man locked up in an enlarged room in his own trunk, if you can believe it! Kept him alive for his hair to brew polyjuice."
"All year?" Jasmine asked incredulously. "Yet another Defense teacher wanted me dead, this time a Death Eater, and Dumbledore never noticed?"
"Apparently not," Hermione said dryly. "I heard that he cast some slow-acting dark curses on Moody before abducting you after our class on Tuesday. Once I knew you weren't in the castle, I raised the alarm, and I think they managed to find Moody in time before the curses settled in completely."
"Is that it?" Jasmine asked.
"Well, that and I've been a complete wreck ever since I realized you were gone," Hermione said. "I haven't been able to eat, sleep, do anything, really..." Hermione sighed. "When you were gone, it was like I couldn't function. I've never felt like that before, and that scared me almost as much as your absence did. Eventually, once I calmed down from my initial panic, it occurred to me to send Dobby and Winky after you; but when I asked, they said they couldn't find you. They thought that there was dark magic or something blocking you. It really upset them. So I told them to check every couple of hours, and a few minutes ago Dobby told me you were back."
Jasmine gave her girlfriend a quick squeeze and leaned over to kiss the top of her head. "I love you, Hermione," she whispered. "I was afraid I wouldn't get a chance to tell you."
Hermione pulled her head back so she could look into Jasmine's green eyes. Smiling, she said, "I love you, too, Jasmine."
Thursday, March 18, 1995, Early Morning.
Albus Dumbledore sat alone in his office, pondering recent events while sipping a cup of very, very strong coffee. He preferred tea normally, but right now he desperately needed the caffeine just to stay awake, let alone think coherently. Fawkes, the lucky bird, was snoring on the perch in the corner. Dumbledore was certain that birds couldn't actually snore and that Fawkes just did it to annoy him, but he hadn't figured out how to prove it yet.
The primary subject of all his thinking right now wasn't the sleeping habits of phoenixes, though, it was Jasmine Potter. When she had turned up missing thirty-six hours earlier, he was certain that it was part of the plan of whomever had entered her name into the Triwizard Tournament. This had been why he had insisted that she compete, removing any hints that champions had a right to withdraw within seventy-two hours from being named if they wanted. Only her participation in the tournament gave him a chance of drawing out the culprit and catching them.
Except I didn't catch them, did I? he thought reproachfully. I was expecting the culprit to make their move later in the term, so I wasn't paying close enough attention and he removed her from the castle. My school! Right under my nose! And wherever she was taken, she was held under such protections that even the blood tracking devices couldn't find her. Not even Fawkes could locate her, and I didn't think that was possible. It had been years since he was last that angry, and it was made all the worse that he had no other target for his anger but himself. Then, to top it all off, Moody had laid into him — even as the healers were working on him in his sickbed! — for not being able to tell that his "old friend" had really been a Death Eater on polyjuice.
I'll never be able to live that embarrassment down — Alastor will certainly see to that, he thought ruefully.
So in the final analysis, it looked like he'd put young Miss Potter in danger for nothing. His purpose had been good and his reasoning had been sound, but he'd failed so completely that it had all been for nothing — and she was the one who had paid the price. She was the one who had suffered, not him.
And what a price she'd paid. He had been ecstatic when Hagrid had burst into their meeting to tell him about Miss Potter being brought to the castle. He might have wished for a more private notification so he could find an excuse to get rid of Amelia and Cornelius, but Hagrid had been so excited that Dumbledore could hardly fault the poor man. When they had arrived at the hospital wing, though, he nearly wept when he saw her broken body lying on the bed. And then to watch her writhe in pain, simply from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus curse!
Even if she hadn't identified her attackers, that alone would have told him that Voldemort had regained his body. Gellert and Bellatrix were the only other people he knew who could cast a Cruciatus like that, and he'd have been notified if they had escaped their prisons. Of course, he had placed a couple of floo calls to check anyway, just to be sure.
Yet despite her state, Miss Potter had rallied and handled the Minister with a degree of political savvy he would not have credited her with. He of course had immediately recognized what direction the Minister was leading himself in with his muttered complaints about disloyalty and inciting panic, but he lacked any means for redirecting the man's thoughts — his mind had already been too poisoned by the likes of Lucius Malfoy.
Miss Potter, though, hit upon a truly inspired solution: focus on the crime, not the criminal. Cornelius can continue to deny the truth until he's blue in the face, but unless he wants a scandal over mistreating the Girl Who Lived, he has to allow the investigation to go forward. It's not ideal, he conceded, because the Ministry isn't preparing itself the way it should be, but it's better than nothing — and nothing is exactly where we were headed until Miss Potter spoke up. I suppose I should contact my allies on the Wizengamot and in the Ministry to warn them to keep a careful eye on Cornelius, just in case he tries something anyway. And maybe Madam Bones can be persuaded to initiate some preparations, in secret if necessary.
It shamed him a little that a fourteen-year-old witch who hadn't even taken her OWLs yet had succeeded so handily where he was floundering — and not for the first time, either. If this, too, is the consequence of Miss Granger's influence, then perhaps I was too hasty in my decision to try to separate them, he realized. I may not find her influence to be entirely to my liking, but it's usually the results that are most important, not the means. I'll just have to keep an eye on Miss Potter to ensure that her problems with anger don't get any worse.
It seemed likely that he'd been making quite a few mistakes recently, more than he'd care to admit; and many probably centered around Jasmine Potter to one degree or another. It was something he'd have to think about. When time permitted.
Dumbledore sighed and sipped some more of his coffee, his blue eyes dull from exhaustion and worry, and he wondered how he was going to make it through the rest of the day. He hadn't been able to get any of his regular work done while dealing with the missing Miss Potter, and now he needed to start up the Order of the Phoenix again.
We need to begin working against Tom, but he's regained a body much sooner than I had anticipated. I'm not nearly as prepared as I'd like to be. I'll be on my knees for half the day trying to contact members of the old crowd who can still help, he lamented. Then I need to identify some trustworthy younger people who can contribute as well. We'll also need a secure place to meet…. Hmm, I wonder if I should try getting in touch with Sirius Black? He'll be anxious to help his goddaughter, and he might have access to a Black family property which we can use.
Dumbledore took another sip of the hot, bitter drink as his thoughts returned to Jasmine Potter. Should I start training her? he wondered. I had hoped to give her more time to enjoy her youth. Once she starts, there will be no going back. Once you start learning the more dangerous spells needed for combat, you lose your innocence, and nothing is ever the same. Then again, it's arguable that she's already started — and under the guidance of Miss Granger. Without her help over this past year, I suspect that Miss Potter wouldn't have known enough to escape alive. I was definitely wrong in trying to separate them; instead, I should probably try to keep them together… provided I can reign in their more violent impulses.
As for other kinds of training, it's definitely too soon to introduce her to members of the Wizengamot and Ministry, he decided. Then there's the prophecy…. I expect Tom will want it as soon as possible, so it must be protected. Miss Potter will need to be informed about it, but when?
One thing was certain, though: she'd have to be kept safe this summer. He may have made some mistakes with her, including providing inadequate protection in the castle this year, but he wouldn't fail to ensure her safety with her family after term ended. Not with Voldemort running around in a new body now. He'd ensure her protection, whatever it took.
Off in the corner, the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black "awoke" from his feigned sleep and quietly slipped out of his frame. It seemed to him that he wouldn't miss anything significant if he left at this point, and he had an important report to make at #12 Grimmauld Place.