A/N: Sorry for the last update...RL is keeping me busy. Also, THANKS to all my reviewers, old and new, English and Spanish! You make my days brighter! :)
Jayanti Nair, I have answered your question at the end of the update.
Enjoy!
Chapter 29: Back To School
Hermione's day was filled with people coming to her to inquire how she was doing. Some expressed genuine concern snd some downright pity. Some of her peers had an overly-active imagination and had assumed that Hermione was fully paralysed. One of the Gryffindors went as far as asking her if she had suffered a memory loss similar to Gilderoy Lockhart. Lavender and Parvati kept throwing her glances in a manner they thought was surreptitious. Hermione heard them speaking of her scars and burst out in the corridor. After a well-worded speech on 'objectification of women', the two girls had their mouths sealed and looked appropriately ashamed. Even Ron looked abashed for his earlier similar implications.
The Slytherins seemed too exhilarated at her return, after all they had a good gossip to keep them entertained. Malfoy and Nott wore a superior expression on their faces whenever they met eyes with her. Malfoy bothered her too much, Hermione realised. It was not school days-rivalry with him anymore. He knew about the bond, he knew too much for Hermione's liking. And probably, so did the other children of Death Eaters. Looking at the Slytherins, she felt like her heart was sinking at the constant reminder of the depth of the matter. But she managed to quickly recuperate, mostly owing to her hectic schedule.
"Malfoy knows?" Harry whispered to her during Charms.
Hermione looked ahead at Ron and Neville—who were both busy sniggering over something—before replying. "Yes. Nott, Crabbe and Goyle, also. And Parkinson, too, I think."
"Son of a-"
"Harry!"
"-Death Eater," he amended with a smirk.
Hermione elbowed him but couldn't help the smile. For some reason, the knowledge that she had someone whom she could talk to filled her with immense relief.
After the Charms class was over, Hermione made her way to Professor Flitwick. She thanked him for the Charms that he had put on her Chair. The Professor responded modestly and kindly. He even offered giving Hermione an extra lesson or two after the classes if she was facing any problem in the topics that she had missed.
Almost all her her Professors had showed concern towards her condition. They had all offered to give any extra help she needed. Hermione had been respectful while giving the numerous narrations of her condition to her teachers. They meant well, she knew, even if the constant looks of pity infuriated her. Professor Sprout even gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze when she had entered the class. The lady had seemed genuinely glad to see Hermione back. Though Professor Slughorn seemed too guarded and agitated around her. He kept—not too subtly—glancing at her every time she added a new ingredient to her bubbling potion, as if any minute, her cauldron was going to burn to flames. Susan Bones, who had partnered up with her for the lesson, spent half her time tiptoeing around Hermione, just in case she did something that might break the frail Gryffindor. But at the end, Hermione could not blame the others. People seldom know how to act in such situations. At least they weren't downright derogatory as most of the Slytherins were.
In each class, Hermione could only occupy the last seat, much to her chagrin. Her Chair fitted well with the desk but it could not fit between two rows. Harry and Ron were happy with the development as they loathed sitting in the front rows, which Hermione often forced them to.
After lunch, she had to report to the Hospital Wing to work with Madam Pomfrey. Hermione had something of a plan in her mind, a new project that she wanted to work on, with the Medi-witch's help.
But before that, the last lesson before lunch was Defence. With Professor Snape. While she knew he would have to put up an act, she was dreading attending the lesson. The kind of camaraderie that they had come to find in the last week—or the camaraderie she thought they had come to find—would be disturbed by his pretence in class. Not to mention Harry. If his temper forgot his promise and blurted something out, it would be doom for them.
The Slytherins and Gryffindors lined up outside the Defence classroom. The door was shut and nobody was suicidal enough to barge in without the Professor allowing them himself.
Hermione was fiddling with the straps of her bag to ease her nerves. After constantly pulling at them for good measure, she suddenly knew why all her satchels reduced to shreds in a matter of weeks.
"I'm sure the Greasy Git would be nasty to you," Ron said bitterly.
"Ron, drop it," she rolled her eyes.
"He better not to be," Harry muttered under her breath.
"Harry," she shot him a pointed look in warning.
"What?" Ron frowned. "Can't we be worried for you?"
She sighed. Before Hermione could respond to that, a shot of light collided with Hermione's Chair. The flash of magic was simply deflected by the numerous Anti-tampering Charms already placed on it, and was rendered useless.
"Rather anti-climatic, I'd say," Hermione snorted, genuinely unbothered. She knew who had sent the hex.
"Oi, Malfoy!" Ron shouted. "Looks like cleaning toilets isn't doing you much good."
At the corner, the group of Slytherins was snickering, enjoying themselves. Ron's comment did nothing to affect the smirk pasted on Malfoy's face.
The blonde spoke, completely ignoring Ron, "Another soldier down, Potter. Who will save your sorry ass in the war now?"
That comment had all the students gapping and gasping. Nobody talked about the upcoming war in the open, especially in the tone that clearly depicted one's alternative inclinations.
"You better worry about your own self right now, Malfoy," Harry shot back. "With your father in Azkaban, there'll be nobody to hear about your broken neck if I come to send a hex your way."
Their Gryffindor class-fellows laughed. Ron smirked and clapped a hand on Harry's back. Hermione, too, couldn't help feeling a little smug.
"At least I have a father," Malfoy bit out. "And a Godfather."
"At least mine died martyrs," Harry said from between clenched teeth. "Unlike your Death Eater-infested-family, licking Voldemort's arse."
The group of Sixth years around them practically yelped, their faces blanched at the feared name. People who had little to do with the war still very much avoided the dangerous topics. Such flagrant implications regarding the war and Voldemort startled them.
"You don't dare!" Malfoy said in a dangerously low voice. In Hermione's eyes, Malfoy's wince did not go amiss at the dark wizard's forbidden name.
"Why? Having second thoughts about your career option?" Ron snickered.
"That's enough, you two," Hermione murmured to her friends.
"Yes, Weasel, listen to your little friend," Nott smirked. "Who will defend her if we come to our own. She can hardly raise a wand."
The Gryffindors might have done much more than retorting with words when thankfully they were interrupted before the quarrel could heat up more than it already was.
"Inside!" Professor Snape barked as soon as he opened the door, cutting the altercation short. The students gasped and the ones who were standing closer to the door jumped a step back at the intensity of the man's tone.
Malfoy snapped his mouth shut, but the smugness didn't wipe off. Harry and Ron threw glares at him as the blonde made his way inside, followed by his cronies. Nobody pointed out what Malfoy was saying or the hex he had sent Hermione's way, to the Professor.
"Little Slytherin bastard," Ron muttered heatedly.
"He's not worth it, Ron," Hermione shrugged. After what all she had heard coming from the blonde, his words today did little to bother her. That though itself was sad, but true all the same.
Hermione sat in the last row along with Harry, while Ron sat with Neville in the row just ahead of them. Harry and Ron were still fuming, even Neville looked extremely chagrined. One glance at the Slytherins revealed a smirking Malfoy.
"I'm telling you, Malfoy's gotten the Dark Mark," Ron turned back. "In fact, I think that entire lot is Marked."
"No surprises there," Harry muttered.
"Hush now," Hermione shushed them.
"How can you remain so unaffected after what that ferret just did to you!" Ron huffed.
"I am not unaffected," she said firmly. "But what's the point in giving Professor Snape a chance to catch us talking about the Slytherins?"
"Yes, Snape just needs a chance at getting to us," Neville mumbled, though timidly. "I'm sure he saw what Malfoy did."
"Wouldn't have been the first time," Ron grunted, turning away from them.
When the Professor claimed his position in front, the low murmurings died out. The man looked every bit formidable, as if he left the side Hermione knew back in the Infirmary.
His scowl was in place, one that had been missing from quite some days when he came to visit her. Vaguely, she realised how the last few days had drastically changed her perception pf the man.
"Place your essays on your desks," he ordered.
Hermione fished her parchments out from her bag and put them in front of her. She had a thick stack to give for checking. Harry, too, copied her actions and placed a slightly crumpled parchment in front.
The Professor strode down the class, collecting the essays, with the usual air of curtness. When he eyed the bundle Hermione had to offer, his lips curled downwards in a show of disapproval.
"Contrary to the beliefs you harbour, Miss Granger, I do not prefer squandering my very limited spare time in grading essays students turn in at their own leisure." He picked up the latest essay from the stack, snatched Harry's parchment with a sneer, and walked away.
"How dare he say that! Doesn't he get you couldn't give your work for grading before!" Harry bit out. "And you said he's changed-"
"Shh, Harry," Hermione shushed him, keeping the bundle back inside. "He has to pretend."
He huffed. "Whatever you say, I don't believe him. The least he can do is to mark you on your papers."
"He wouldn't have done that for any student, Harry," she reasoned.
"Yeah, but you're different!" He was annoyed.
"I'd hate taking special favours from him, in the light of this situation," she said firmly. "In fact, I might have been offended had he offered to mark me. Anyway, I just wanted him to check my essays for mistakes."
"What're you both talking about?" Ron turned back.
"Discussing what a royal git Snape is," Harry rolled his eyes.
"Harry!" She nudged him. "Don't. He's-"
"Ha! Nothing new there," Ron snorted. "You really finished all the assignments we got in the last two weeks, Hermione? Are you insane?"
"Really, Ron?" She rolled her eyes.
Honestly, she thought, she didn't expect Ron and especially Harry to suddenly start being respectful to the Professor. Even he disliked the two. Well, perhaps somethings can't be changed.
"Anyway," she changed the subject, "I have a plan for the thing with Professor Slughorn. Meet me in the Library today and I'll explain."
"What are we planning to-"
"In the last class," the Professor started, sounding rather bored. "We had discussed how to throw Non-verbal disarming spells at your opponent. Today, you will demonstrate your skills, as dismal as they might be, in class. Pair up. One of you will disarm while the other holds a Non-verbal Protego Shield up."
The class erupted with excitement. Since the DA days, most students adored practising Defence. Even those who earlier despised sending a Shielding Charm ahead, for the drain of energy it caused, were now mostly exhilarated to flaunt their skills, honed by Harry's tutoring.
"I didn't get a chance to practise my Non-verbals," Hermione clicked her tongue.
"Oh, c'mon, Hermione, you don't need practice to ace this," Ron said, making her roll her eyes again. They got to their feet and sent their furniture to assemble by the walls, in order to make space. Hermione sent her desk away, wondering nervously how she would participate in the activity while in her Chair. Her movements would be restricted. Shielding also entailed ducking the spell sent towards one. Moreover, she had little practice with holding up a Shielding Charm by Non-verbal means.
Nott had been right, she had—temporarily—lost her ability to defend herself. All her own doing.
She partnered up with Harry who gave her an encouraging smile. "Will you disarm first or defend?"
"Disarm," she decided. At least, that way she would not need the fluency of movements. She would like to push the humiliation to the end.
Harry agreed. He worked on conjuring a shield Non-verbally, while Hermione began trying to focus on the task of disarming her friend.
UUUUUU
Granger could send strong disarming spells, Severus noted as his gaze traveled around the classroom. Her Non-verbals were empowered by her ability to perform Wandless Magic in the throes of intense emotions. Otherwise, after remaining parted with her wand for two weeks, sending a series of Non-verbal Expelliarmus would have been relentlessly tough.
Potter's Non-verbal Protego was not as feeble as he had expected. At least, the brat held some semblance of chance again the Dark Lord. The boy better work on his Defences if he had the entire Wizarding population of Britain to save.
Severus silently assessed the performances of his other students.
Longbottom was performing exceptionally with his disarming. Though Severus would never admit it, the boy deserved to earn at least ten points to his House. Severus could see Potter's ally in the boy, a strong attacker and perhaps an even better defender, if he kept up with the practice.
Weasley, on the other hand, was again putting the greater part of his strength into holding his wand upright rather than in holding the shield. The boy often committed the same folly. Weasley would be at the forefront in the war, along with Potter. The boy needed some training if he wanted to outlive the war in one piece.
At the forefront would also be Granger, he reminded himself. If Severus lived that long. Though he highly doubted that his covers would remain intact until the final confrontation between the boy and the Dark Lord. And if Severus died before that, Granger would, too.
How tragic would that be—dragging the girl out of her suicidal tendencies, only to let her die alongside his own self.
But if they did live to witness the final confrontation, Granger would, no doubt, fight at the forefront. She needed to ace her skills, too. Severus, though, might still be asked to somehow keep his covers up, instead of taking part into the fighting by the Order's side.
Asked by whom? Albus would be dead till then...
Minerva? Severus held his colleague and the future Head of the Order in high regards. She was, indeed, a witch with such prowess to give the Death Eaters a run for their galleons. But Minerva was not Albus Dumbledore—and Albus Dumbledore was mostly omnipotent. Mostly. And ever since Minerva's hospitalisation after her confrontation with the Aurors who had came to collect Hagrid, Severus did have suspicions about her depleting health with her ageing.
Severus brought his attention to his Slytherins. It was just as imperative to assess the strength of the enemy. Severus had carefully ignored the altercation that had taken place outside the door. He had opened the door before the tension escalated further. Screaming the Dark Lord's name in the corridor and goading a batchmate about the war could have ended up quite gruesomely.
Draco was easily surpassing his current partner, the Bulstrode girl. The boy's skills were gaining improvement significantly. That was not good news for them to have a budding Death Eater gaining strength and fluency. He had a doubt that Bellatrix had trained her nephew in summer, most probably to aid him with whatever task he was given by the Dark Lord to accomplish.
Nott was a little less miserable that Crabbe at his Non-verbals. Goyle was committing the same mistake as Weasley. But Nott had grown out of the folly after a few classes. The Parkinson girl was another matter to ruminate over. The girl would soon be Marked. Her father had been immensely proud when the Dark Lord had assigned the girl to be Marked sometime during Yuletide. What Severus could not fathom, however, was how Parkinson could let his daughter into the same doom after losing his first wife at the hands of an enraged Dark Lord.
To think Severus was once a willing part of that clan of lunatics... At least, he was lucky enough not to have a living member of his dysfunctional family whom the Dark Lord could prey on, as a means of punishment.
But he would not have minded had that member been his Father. Perhaps, watching Tobias Snape writhing under the Cruciatus would have helped Severus to get some relief from the haunting memories of watching his Mother writhing under her husband's belt.
Get a grip, Severus. He mentally shrugged himself out of the darker realm of thoughts He had a class to teach, and later, a war to fight.
When Weasley's wand flung from his hand and collided with the Finnigan boy's head, knocking him off balance briefly, his Slytherins erupted in snickers. That was Severus' cue to lay insults, not that he didn't enjoy delivering the scathing remarks.
"One would imagine, Mr. Weasley, that after spending more than five years in a Wizarding institution, learning to control your magic, you would know that an Expelliarmus could not countered merely by having a vice-like grip on your wand, but by protecting yourself behind a well-conjured Protego," he said silkily. "Perhaps, that was expecting too much out of you."
When the Slytherins sniggered rather loudly as Weasley's face turned an unhealthy shade of red, he said, "Ten points from Gryffindor for disturbing the class."
From the corner of his eyes, Severus saw Granger maintaining a firm grip on a flustered Potter's arm. Severus turned away with a smooth flourish of his cloak.
"As if he's been a bloody dab at Non-verbals from his infancy." The Weasley boy muttered at a volume he assumed to be low.
Severus ignored the comment. Had he been in a nastier mood, Weasley would have been serving a detention with Filch for the rest of the week. But as it turned out, Severus was in a better mood—fortunately for the boy.
He returned to the front of the class to resume his observations.
Granger's Protego was durable. But due to her inability to defend herself with agility, even Potter's deliberately feebler Expelliarmus were finding her at a loss. According to Poppy, Granger would take around two months to regain her use of legs. That would be manageable.
He could see the desperation growing on her face every time Potter managed to knock her wand off. The desperation was mingled with embarrassment as Potter also had to hand her wand back because Granger could not bend. Severus hoped it would not serve to trigger Granger's state of depression.
When Granger lost her wand for the sixth time in a row, Severus saw Draco and Nott pausing their practice to spectate that of the Gryffindors'. Potter said something to Granger that he could not hear. In response, the girl shook her head almost frantically. The pair resumed the activity.
When Potter managed to send her wand flying two more times in quick succession, the two Slytherins sent elaborate smirks in Granger's direction.
Then, it happened in a flash of seconds. One moment, Granger's shield could not handle the penetration that Potter's magic was causing; the other moment, her invisible Protego shield glowed white, so bright that the piercing flash had stars appear in front of the spectators' eyes, including Severus'. The class erupted in hissing.
After he blinked a few times to regain his focus on the scene, he saw both Draco and Nott off their feet and on the floor. Their wands, along with Potter's, were thrown across the room.
Silence fell. Every eye and gapping mouth was turned to Granger, who in turn looked just as astounded at her own skilful display.
One shield had managed to disarm three wizards. That was an exceptional show of Wandless magic, a form raw at that though.
Draco and Nott leaped to their feet and rushed towards the girl in two strides. Potter and Weasley came forward to shield the girl behind themselves, not even realising that out of those five, three didn't even have their wands in their possession; and out the two who did have, one was next to useless and the other had just disarmed three wizards with a single Non-verbal Protego—sitting. If anybody did need protection, it was certainly not Granger.
Before a verbal exchange could take place between the students, Severus stalked to the ground, wearing a formidable and cold expression on his face. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for daring to show unsolicited superiority in class and attempting to injure your peers, Miss Granger." It sounded incredibly ridiculous even as the words left his mouth. Granger deserved earning way more than twenty points for the performance.
"Attempting to injure?" Weasley repeated incredulously. "She only disarmed them! If they can't even remain standing, It's not her fault! You're taking twenty points for that!"
"And ten more for your insolence and disrespectful behaviour, Mr. Weasley," he added smoothly.
That left the boy speechless. But that didn't restrain Potter from smirking at Draco. In return, the boy glared at his nemesis.
"Two soldiers down, Malfoy?" Potter whispered with self-satisfaction, that was contagious enough to have Weasley and Longbottom in, too. Severus didn't understand the allusion, though.
"Enough." He stated. "Back to the task." That dispersed the group. Though Draco was still muttering furiously to Nott.
Severus glanced at Granger, her face was pale. If she continued to stand against the children of Death Eaters in the open, the Dark Lord would get suspicious. Severus could not claim every such incident to be a pretence on the girl's part to remain in character before Potter. She met his eyes briefly. Severus could see the realisation already having struck her.
UUUUUUU
"Are you alright?" Harry asked her, although he was the one unconsciously rubbing the wrist of his wand hand.
"Are you?" She asked instead.
"Yeah. And it was damn good!" He grinned.
"I'm going to be in trouble for this," she sighed. Malfoy was throwing ugly glares her way. How did she always forget what role she had to play before the Slytherin! She could not jeopardise the entire plan by her sudden bouts of Wandless Magic.
"What do you mean?" Harry frowned. He looked around to see if Ron was listening. But Ron and Neville were practising again. "Are you in trouble with Snape? Will he hurt you for this?"
"No!" She kept herself from rolling her eyes. She was getting tired of defending the Professor to Harry, even though she knew her friend was only concerned. "I told you, he will never hurt me."
"It's hard to believe," he muttered to himself. "Then, what is it?"
"I have to show that I've turned against you and to their side," she explained. "I'm miserably failing to put that front up."
"I was thinking about what you said actually," he said with uncertainty. "Voldemort thinks I'm unstable, right?"
"Yes, he is made to believe that," she nodded.
"I can help you, you know," he offered. "I mean, I can seem to be unstable in front of Malfoy, if that helps us at all."
Well, letting Harry know of the truth could have merits for them. She did not contemplate that aspect before. "That sounds like a good idea, Harry. But I'll have to discuss it with Professor Snape."
"You can also create real memories with me, rather than Snape projecting as me," he offered.
"Can you act?" She asked immediately. That would have numerous plausible memories for Voldemort to view! Having told Harry was a wonderful idea!
"I think so," he said hesitantly.
"It is a very feasible idea, Harry," Hermione gave him a smile. "Good thinking."
"If I can do anything at all to help you through this, I'll do it," Harry said earnestly. "You just remember your promise."
Hermione's smile turned sad, but she nodded. "I will."
She surreptitiously ran her thumb over the invisible band on her finger, sending a signal to the man.
The Professor's head shot up towards her. Hermione had to convey him to ask her to wait, or Ron and Neville would have suspicions if she stayed behind in Professor Snape's class on her own.
"Miss Granger," he called, having understood her motive of signalling, "You will stay after class."
"What's his problem!" Ron huffed.
"It's alright," she shushed him.
"The Git needs to get a life!" He muttered bitterly. "He's always after ours."
"What was that?" Harry whispered as he took his defensive stance.
"We can communicate," she told him.
"How?"
"There's band- a ring on our fingers, under a glamour," she flexed her third finger. "Through that. We can only send signals though."
"Wedding rings?" He asked, slightly incredulous.
"Something like that," she said with an uncomfortable feeling that hearing the word 'wedding' usually elicit.
"Wasn't that an order he just gave you?" Harry eyed the Professor with suspicion.
"I asked him to, sort of," she rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I'll disarm again."
They practised for another half an hour before the bell for lunch went off. The Gryffindors filed out of the classroom hurriedly, none wanting to remain in the presence of their terrifying Professor any longer than strictly required. Though the Slytherins took their own sweet time to pack their belongings.
"We'll wait outside," Ron offered.
"I'll be fine, Ron," she said assuringly. "He doesn't bite."
"You never know with his ilk," he muttered.
Neville gave her a sympathetic look before following an angry Ron and concerned Harry out of the classroom.
So much for having a quite conversation with the man... She did not even want to think how Ron would react when she'd have to tell him about the bond. There would be bloodshed.
Hermione made slow progress in keeping her belongings in her bag, waiting for all the students to leave. Malfoy was the last to leave after throwing a disgusted glare in her direction for one last time. Hermione ignored him.
The Professor shut the door with a flick of his wand. Hermione moved her Chair to sit opposite to him.
"Miss Granger, why did you send a signal?" He asked.
"There was something important I had to discuss, Sir," she replied. "And as we're not meeting until Wednesday, I thought it's better if we talk now."
"Very well. What did you want to tell me?"
"Harry wants to help," she told him. "He wants to help with the memories. As well as with keeping a pretence of being unstable to support our story."
He narrowed his eyes in rumination. "How much does Potter know?"
"About the bond and about tricking Vol- Tom Riddle," she answered. "He knows about the fake memories we're creating to show Riddle."
"And he is convinced?" He raised a brow.
"He said he'll talk to Professor Dumbledore once," she said truthfully.
"Does he know about the...exact nature of the bond?" Hermione sensed some hesitation in question that went far beyond the literal meaning.
"I told him only what was necessary for him to have an understanding," she replied. "I have practised discretion where it was due."
That answer seemed to have conveyed what he was wanting to know. "Very well. Ask Potter to accompany you to my office on Wednesday, after dinner. We shall discuss the plan in detail and see if he can be of any help."
"Alright," she agreed.
Then he turned his attention to the stack of essays that he had collected earlier. Again fiddling with the strap of her bag, Hermione waited.
He looked up, "Was there anything else?"
"No, Sir," she said a little awkwardly. "May I go?"
He nodded before picking up his quill.
"Er... Sir..." Hermione bit her lip. "You...have to...let me leave."
His head shot up, he was wearing a frown until it transformed into discomfiting embarrassment. "My apologies, Miss Granger. You may leave the classroom whenever you like."
She nodded with an awkward word of excuse. But his voice stopped her.
"And, Miss Granger, you may ask Potter to accompany you to my office, only if you want to," he added hurriedly.
"Alright, Sir," she nodded, biting her lip again. She turned her Chair around and headed to the door.
Only if she could show Harry the side of the Professor that she was privy to...
UUUUUUU
After lunch, Hermione found herself in the Hospital Wing again, but not as a patient—for a change—but as a trainee.
Madam Pomfrey had asked her to check the stocks first. She had spent the better part of the hour checking the storeroom and preparing a list of all that was needed to be restocked. Hermione put the expired potions separately into a basket. That basket would be rechecked by Madam Pomfrey.
She looked at the long and demanding list of potions and salves that would go to Professor Snape to brew. She wondered if teaching was truly his passion or he was simply an employee of the school due to the upcoming war and adhering to the Headmaster's wishes. Because considering the quality of potions he brewed and his mastery, he would have earned a fortune brewing for medical institutions.
Thinking about the Professor, she recalled her project. Hermione left the storeroom and approached the Medi-witch in her office.
"Ma'am," she said to the Medi-witch, "Could you help me come up with a Healing Charm for frequent headaches?"
UUUUUUU
The Hogwarts Library was seldom filled, until the students were under the grilling pressure of approaching exams, of course. Though Ravenclaws—and Hermione—often found refuge among shelves of books, not many others did.
And especially not Ron and Harry. But that evening, both boys were—willingly—sitting by a table, along with their bushy-haired friend. Their table was the farthest from Madam Pince and the other occupied sections, giving them privacy. Along with that, a well place Muffliato did the trick.
"So you have an idea?" Harry leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.
"I think I do," Hermione grinned. She pulled out a book from her bag and put it between the three friends.
"Advanced Potions?" Ron narrowed his eyes. "Are we brewing Polyjuice again?"
"No, we're not brewing," she confirmed. "I found a spell in this book-"
"There are no spells in this books," Ron interjected.
"This is an old copy that Harry had found in the Potions cupboard," she explained. "Whoever it once belonged to, had created some spells and scribbled them here."
Ron flipped through the pages with interest while Harry was already familiar with the copy. "So you found a spell here?"
"Yes," she took the book back and opened to a marked page. "But..." She lowered her voice despite the Muffliato, "I think it's...dark magic..."
"Wicked!" Ron perked up. "How d'you know?"
"Because the spell that I'm telling you about is...a bit like the...Imperius Curse..." She said hesitantly.
Harry took the book and read the spell that was scribbled on top of the page in ink. "Mentis Imperium. I've never heard of it before."
"Neither have I," Hermione said. "I think it's a variation of the Unforgivable but because it's not a commonly known spell, there are no restrictions from the Ministry."
"Merlin's pants!" Ron grinned. "This bloke must be a genius to have created such spells! Do you whose book it is?"
"Somebody who's called the Half-blood Prince," Hermione opened to the very first page.
"Pretty dramatic, isn't it?" Harry snorted. "Anyway, I think this should work."
"No, first we need to see how it works," Hermione said. "One of us will try the spell, while the other times until the effects wear off."
"Hey, don't you think Dumbledore ever used the Imperius on Slughorn?" Ron asked.
"I don't think so," Harry said. "I never asked though. Do you think this will work?"
"Let's try," Ron said. "I'll time it. Hermione, you should do the spell on Harry. He can fight the Imperius. If you're able to keep him under this spell long enough, we can keep Slughorn under it, too."
"Right." Harry pulled his chair and sat facing Hermione. "Go on, Hermione."
Ron, too, cast a Tempus to record the time, and gave her a thumbs up.
She exhaled a long breath to prepare herself, a little agitated before using a dark spell. "Ready, Harry?" At his nod, she slipped her wand out and pointed it towards Harry. "Mentis Imperium!"
And right before her sight, Harry's green eyes took up a glassy appearance. The shine in the emerald-like orbs dulled and a sheet of haze covered them. The very visible impact was how his movements stilled, his head dropping, his shoulders slumping, as if he had absolutely relinquished his control over himself.
But just as Harry's body went stoic, Hermione could see his jaws tightening in a show of struggle. Clearly, Harry was trying to fight off the efforts.
"Order him, Hermione," Ron prompted. "He might come out of it soon."
Hermione nodded. "Harry, I want you to extract your...memory of the first day of Hogwarts and give it to me."
She watched warily as Harry's fingers flexed, his hands jerked, conflicted whether to do as he was told or use his instinct and fight against Hermione's commanding voice.
Watching his every action, Hermione quickly conjured an empty vial to store the said memory. She waited, looking from Ron to Harry, in agitation. She couldn't help but wonder if Harry was in pain... Maybe they shouldn't have used a dark spell in the first place! As Harry struggled, Hermione bit her lip, rethinking her decision.
He was still fighting between obeying and disregarding the order. She looked at Ron, "I think we should stop this."
"No," the red-head said. "Order him again."
Hermione looked at her friend with uncertainty. "It might be a bad idea, Ron."
"We need to help Harry get that memory from Slughorn, Hermione," Ron stated. "Don't back off now. Just order him again. He wouldn't like us to step back."
She looked at her friend, his body jerking in agonised movements, although his face remained calm and still. "Harry," she said quietly, "Extract the memory."
Along with Harry's struggle, she could feel the draw on her magic, too. This spell was more powerful that she had anticipated. It was taking more out of her reserves than any spell usually did. With that she realised that they were short on time. If Harry didn't move quickly, she might not be able to keep herself focused to carry on.
"Harry, do it!" She said more firmly than before. "Do it now, Harry!"
And then it happened, Harry pulled out his wand and placed the tip on his right temple.
"It's working," Ron breathed.
"I just hope it doesn't cost him anything..." She murmured.
A glowing strand of memory, the colour of which one could not decipher, clung to the wand tip in the boy's hand. With the same agonised motions, he pulled the strand away from his temple, a part still attached to his mind.
And at that moment, inexplicably, Harry stopped. His movements stilled. Just as the strand had been extracted half way, it was consumed into his mind again.
"What's happening?" Ron frowned.
But Hermione knew what was happening—Harry had fought against the spell, because she could no longer feel the draw against her energy.
He blinked several times and shook his head, wincing. "What the..."
"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione whispered, fearful of his response.
He rubbed his forehead rather harshly, still shaking his head and breathing raggedly. Hermione placed a hand on his knee, "Harry, how do you feel?"
Both friends watched their bespectacled friend in anticipation, a silent conversation passing between them.
"Should we take him to Pomfrey?" Ron asked, unsure.
"No, no," Harry held up a palm, his other hand busy rubbing his temples. "I'm fine." He looked up, "What happened?"
Hermione and Ron looked at each other in confusion. "We did the spell," she told him. "Don't you remember?"
"You did that?" Harry was still blinking to refocus his eyes. "What did I do?"
"You fought it, Mate," Ron said, sounding amazed. "Wait, what's the last thing you remember?"
"Er... That you were going to do the spell," Harry replied.
"Great!" Ron perked up. "It means, if we try it on Slughorn, we won't even remember that we did something!"
"Now I know why this spell was created," Hermione mumbled, looking at the tattered book. "People remember that they were put under Imperius. But with this spell, they won't realise anything."
"This bloke was a bloody genius!" Ron remarked.
"But just imagine how many times he—or she, whoever this person is—might have controlled people without their knowledge," Hermione said. "I don't think we should get indulged in such dark magic..."
"Hermione," Harry said, "It's just a one time thing. C'mon, you know we need that memory from Slughorn."
She sighed. Yes, they needed that memory. Yet, her instincts told her not to take aid of dark magic. She looked at Harry who was silently pleading with her.
"Come on, Hermione," Ron insisted, too. "We'll do the spell if you don't want to..."
"No," she shook her head. "I've done this once and it's better if I do it again. No reason for all of us to do dark magic."
"Thanks, 'Mione!" Harry grinned.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't call me that!"
Harry laughed, and soon the other two joined in. Mostly, they were excited to undertake another 'secret mission' as the Troublesome Golden Trio.
A/N: Please review! I'll try to update sooner this time. :)
Jayanti Nair: Hey, thanks a lot for reviewing! It's always a pleasure to hear from my readers, especially when they have all the nice stuff to say! :) As for your question, yes, Hermione is young and she might have 'that problem'. It's a good idea, in fact, but one that I've not yet written about... But thanks for your idea because now I'm thinking of adding something on those lines in the later chapters. Hope you're liking the plot so far. I would love to hear more from you! :)