"I don't really remember..." Hermione explained to Fred at breakfast. "My father wanted to talk to me, I fainted in his office, next thing I knew I was in the hospital."
"What did he want to talk to you about...?" Harry asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Wandering the corridors alone is strictly forbidden," she sighed with an eyeroll. "if I'm not in class or detention I'm to be in my dormitory, if I'm caught he'll pull me out of classes and personally tutor me. You know, the usual."
"Usual?" Ron choked before a meaningful glance with each of the twins. "I take back everything I ever said about Mum being overbearing!"
"No, you don't," George teased.
"And we don't either," Fred shrugged. "You'll understand when you meet our mum, Hermione."
"Terrifying!" George finished. "But at least we didn't spend eleven years locked in a dungeon."
"I didn't spend eleven years locked in a dungeon, George," she admonished with an eyeroll. "I was allowed to roam the castle once in a while. Did you think I astral projected to teach you card-counting?"
"I thought it was a jail-break!" Fred laughed.
"Why's he tightening his grip?" Harry asked. "It's like he expects something to happen."
"I'm sure he does," Hermione sighed lowering her head to the table. "If he can be believed, I almost died three times before I was two. I think the incident with the troll spooked him."
"Well," Ron said pushing her plate closer to her. "If you're not leaving meals early any more maybe you can have more than a single slice of toast."
"You sound like my father..." Hermione grumbled.
"No," George mused.
"He sounds like Mum!" Fred finished.
Ron's ears turned pink and he turned to his own plate.
After classes Harry, Ron and Hermione worked on their charms homework together in the more or less empty Gryffindor common room. Fred, George, Lee and Angelina were out somewhere, and others were milling about in the very rare November sun. Hermione explained how mind-effecting charms worked in theory, and how those and simple physical charms were related when Harry changed the subject in a low voice leaning in. "Erm, Hermione," he said. "If the troll incident spooked him, why is he forbidding you from leaving the tower now? Why not back then?"
"Honestly, Harry!" Hermione snapped. "You're not still seriously on about my father chasing whatever the cerebus is guarding?"
"Are you still on about Quirrell?" Harry said.
"On about Quirrell? What the hell are you talking about?" Hermione sighed.
"You can't deny it just because you're embarrassed you were wrong!" Ron snapped. "You're the one who insisted it was Quirrell after the artifact!"
"Artifact?" Hermione asked. "When did we decide it was a magical artifact?"
"You did!" Ron groaned. "When Harry described it."
"Wait!" Hermione whispered. "You saw it?"
"Wrapped in parcel paper, I already told you!" Harry snapped. "Are you going to have me go over the whole day again? I thought pointless interrogations was your father's hobby!"
"What the hell are you two talking about?" Hermione cried.
"Fine!" Ron yelled. "Stay in bloody denial!"
What the hell were these two talking about? Hermione had never suggested Quivering Quirrell was some mastermind out to get whatever the cerebus was guarding. Why would she? And Hermione had no recollection of interrogating Harry on anything...Were they messing with her? Would they be so frustrated if they were just messing with her? She bit her lip and sighed putting her head on the table.
"You really don't remember," Harry whispered. "Do you?"
"I don't seem to recall agreeing to share custody, headmaster" Severus said with a raised eyebrow. "It's for the girl's own good."
Severus had met with Dumbledore over tea to discuss the stone's protections, or lack there of. He had told Dumbledore he needed to speak with him on the matter. And Dumbledore invited him up to his office for tea, like a good Brit. Cold out? drink tea! A difficult conversation with your boss? tea! Erase your daughter's memory in order to protect her, betraying the only person to ever trust you and don't know how to cope with the guilt? Well, Severus suspected he just wasn't British enough for that to work.
"I wouldn't dream of lecturing you on parenting," Dumbledore explained. "But I do believe there'd be no harm in letting her attend her best friend's first Quidditch match. Nor is there any harm in you taking a break and enjoying the sunshine."
Severus turned his thoughts to the grey skies all week. "Unless something drastic happens tomorrow, I don't believe any of us will be enjoying the sun."
Dumbledore smirked and peered at him over his glasses. That man always made him feel like a child. "Do what you will, Severus, it was simply a friendly suggestion."
"I'll take your friendly suggestion under advisement," he replied coldly. "But with that poor girl's luck, she'd be struck in the head by a stray bludger."
"I doubt you would let such a thing happen," Dumbledore chuckled. "I feel like you'd be at the girl's side if she so much as got a paper-cut."
"Hallowe'en should adequately disprove that theory!" Severus pinched his temples. "Can we please get back to the matter at hand? Why are we protecting the Stone with games and puzzles? Why is the lock not enchanted? It's only a matter of time a first-year student uses a spell taught in their classes to unlock the door and have Fluffy bite their little head off. We know the honour system doesn't work here. In fact, I'm amazed the Weasley twins haven't gotten themselves killed in the name of mischief. I'm certain your announcement about the corridor causing death enticed as many as it frightened off. Is it not better to simply guard the philosopher's stone with impassable enchantments rather than purposefully passable?"
"Parenthood has made you paranoid, Severus," Dumbledore chuckled again. "Actually, no, you've always been cautious. That's why I know I can trust you."
"Am I to be flattered or insulted?" he asked knowing he didn't deserve such a great man's trust.
"Neither, Severus," he said. "I simply speak the truth. I imagine Hermione is very lucky to have such a vigilant father watching out for her."
Did he know? Severus's stomach tied itself in knots and he couldn't erase the image of Hermione's tear-filled eyes looking up at him with a distinct mixture of anger, fear and despair that he had never seen before. It was as if her whole little world came crashing down around her in a second. No, not as if, it did come crashing down around her. He was her father, he was supposed to protect her not attack her. Yet he had to, she was too much at risk if he let her keep the memories. He wondered if she would ever understand? It didn't matter, as far as she was concerned she simply fainted, and there was no way to contradict that. Why did he care if he disappointed her? She was safe, that was all that mattered. Of course he wanted a good relationship with his daughter, he wanted her to have faith in him, to be proud of him, but those were luxuries he couldn't afford. If wishing for her safety makes me the bad guy, I don't care.
"But I do need to remind you that you agreed to look out for another child," Dumbledore looked at him over his glasses and once again making him feel like a child.
Severus hadn't not been looking out for the Potter boy. But he knew he was right, a Quidditch match was a perfect place to have an "accident". How could he not think of it? All Quirrell needed to do was enchant a bludger, hex his broom, launch a rogue object his way, no one would even realize it was murder if he was sly enough...he had to be there to ensure nothing happened. Keeping the boy alive might begin to prove more difficult. Why the hell did McGonagall assign him a role on the Quidditch team? Not only was he too young, but he was a target for anyone who might support Voldemort. Fine, he'd go. He wondered if there was anyway for him to insist Quirrell sit next to him. That would make his life so much easier.
"If you think there's a chance of him being attacked you should consider cancelling the match," he suggested.
"I suppose you think I should put the boy under strict orders not to leave Gryffindor tower outside of classes and meals?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrow.
"I know what you're doing," Severus groaned. "Your criticisms of my parenting choices aside; yes, I do believe the boy would be better off under those circumstances."
"Do you think any orders can contain James and Lily Potter's son?" Dumbledore chuckled.
"Point taken, sir," he sighed.
"I hate to ask..." Harry started.
Hermione rolled her eyes and magically dried the ink in her letter to Hiro and set it aside. "Ask Harry, I promise not to bite your head off again."
"I still can't believe you don't remember any of it," Harry shook his head. "Do you think you hit your head when you fainted?"
"Maybe," she mused.
Forgetting everything to do with Quirrell and the artifact seemed awfully suspicious, and convenient for Quirrell if she was at all right. But the last person she spoke to before she fell unconscious was her father. He had done some pretty terrible things in the past under the impression they were to keep her safe. See, eleven years locked in a dungeon...sort of...but she simply refused to believe he would use a memory charm on her. Why would he? No, she hit her head, it explained the memory and the headaches.
"I'm just glad you still remember all the goblin rebellions!" Ron scoffed. "I can't believe how many their are!"
"Is that all I am to you?" Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. "There's more to me than the ability to remember class-readings, you know!"
"Yeah," Ron agreed. "You're also fun to destroy in chess!"
"I also happen to be a very gifted catastrophizer!" Hermione laughed. "Sorry, Harry, what did you want to ask?"
"Any chance you can get that book back from Snape? There's no reason for me to hesitate, but you are his daughter, so it would be easier for you to ask than one of us."
"Sure," Hermione said. "It was signed out in my name anyway I'll just-crap!"
"Hermione?" Ron and Harry asked.
"I'm so, so, so sorry, Harry!" Hermione shrank and dug her nails into her hands. "I just, erm, well, I, erm...Dad told me that if he caught me in the corridors he wouldn't hesitate to pull me out of classes!"
"Right," Ron said. "You told us Monday, I can't believe we forgot."
"It's fine!" Hermione said. "I'm not sure if he can really make good on that threat...maybe I will go. He does seem to hate you. Yeah, I'll-"
"Stay here and get Ron straight on the Goblin rebellions while I get the book," Harry said. "I'd sooner deal with one stupid comment from your father than have you pulled out of classes."
"Really?" Hermione squeaked. Damn it! I must sound insane. She still felt legitimate surprise when others did things for her.
"I wanted the book in the first place," Harry shrugged. "I'll be back."
"Still not willing to see Pomfrey about that leg?" Filch asked leaning against the staffroom table.
"No need," Severus said wrapping fresh bandages around his mangled leg. Two weeks and it still hurts like hell! "I am more than capable of handling this on my own. " If I couldn't, I would have already lost the leg.
"It certainly looks like that," Filch grumbled.
"You sound like my eleven-year-old," he rolled his eyes. "Though I suppose if someone had to find out, I'm glad it was you. No one else would have believed it."
The two shared a rare and meaningful glance. The two had a strained relationship since the day he started, both more or less hated by the rest of the staff, they were on fragile amicable terms with one another. That fragile bond built on a mutual frustration with the rest of the school meant Filch didn't pry for details, simply accepting he was trying to prevent an intruder from entering the corridor, and agreed to inform him when he saw movement at night. Though they still exchanged venom at each other from time to time. But outside Dumbledore, this was the closest thing either had to an adult friendship, so they tolerated it.
"The blasted thing has three heads," Severus grumbled. "How was I supposed to keep an eye on all three?"
A small form peeked through the door caught in his peripheries and he turned to see Potter staring at him, his face pale and mouth slightly agape. The boy must have heard every bloody word...how could he have been so stupid? He could erase the memory, but he couldn't do that in front of Filch, nor could he take Potter to the hospital wing claiming he fainted. Everyone knew the two didn't get along. Suspicions would be high.
"POTTER?!"
"I, erm, was just wondering if I could have my book back, sir?" he said in an uncharacteristically small voice.
So Potter and Hermione had something in common after all. They both had an incredible knack for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.
"LEAVE!" he shouted.
All he could do was hope he had no clue what he was talking about, but he did wonder if Potter had an idea of what lie behind the locked door. That face, something had been turning over in his mind, and it was more than the shock of seeing a bloodied, mangled leg. He would have to keep a better eye on the boy.
"Shit!" he spat.
"Look," Hermione told Harry. "I know my dad hasn't been very nice, but he wouldn't do it! You don't understand the respect he has for Dumbledore. He would never steal from Dumbledore! Dumbledore trusts him! I'll personally-"
"I can't imagine he admires Dumbledore that much," Ron said. "And he seems to tolerate him more than trust him. Honestly, Hermione, do you think every teacher is a saint?"
"He's my father!" Hermione snapped. "And if you don't buy that Dumbledore trusts him I trust him!"
"Hermione," Harry whispered. "The man locked in you in a literal dungeon for eleven years. Just because he raised you doesn't mean you should trust him unconditionally."
"Hark who's talking!" Hermione seethed. "Your aunt and uncle locked you in a cupboard for eleven years! And for the last time, I was not locked in a dungeon for eleven years!" At least not technically...
"Which is why I am the best person to tell you that!" Harry snapped. "Can you honestly tell me that what Snape's doing is that different from the Dursleys?"
"Yes!" Hermione cried. "The Dursleys were trying to tear you down because they can't stand magic. They were trying to be harmful. My dad doesn't hate me. I almost died, Harry! Several times! Ever since I was little I could see the fear in his face when he had to leave me. He's worried!"
The three sat in silence over their history books and Hermione wondered if motive really did make a difference. It had to. Harry described his childhood and no part of it sounded like hers. Sure, Hermione was isolated, but she was talked to, held, read to, tolerated, told she was loved. Harry enjoyed none of those things and she did, even if it wasn't always reliable. And as desperate as she had been to see other children, she wasn't offered like some sacrificial lamb the way Harry was. These things mattered. Her father's intentions mattered. They had to!
"That was brilliant, Hermione!" George came up from behind her.
"Though I'm beginning to-" Fred changed tone as the two saw there faces. "What's going on?"
"Did Ron say something stupid again?" George mused.
"No!" both Ron and Hermione snapped.
"Bad timing," Fred said. "We'll talk to you-"
"Fred," Hermione sighed. "It'll bother me if I don't know. What was so brilliant?"
"Telling Quirrell that I was looking for him," he laughed.
"He's been after us all week," George explained.
"He can't tell the two of us apart," Fred smirked.
"So, naturally, Fred said he was me when Quirrell found him!"
"And George simply told the truth!"
"That is brilliant!" Ron agreed with a laugh.
"Not still on about Quirrell then?" Harry scoffed.
"We had no clue what Hermione actually wanted us to do," Fred shrugged.
"But we thought that would be in line with something she'd expect!" George said.
"So what'd he do?" Fred asked.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Hermione groaned. She didn't remember any of this! Even if Quivering Quirrell of all people did something to get on her bad side, she'd do something about it herself. She wouldn't sick the twins on someone. She didn't even know she had that power until now. Oh the power of pity.
"What did Quirrell do to earn your wrath?" George smirked.
"When did he start?" Hermione asked.
"He said I was looking for him Sunday evening," Fred mused. "Why?"
Sunday...that was when she fainted. Must have been something that she forgot...why did she forget everything about Quirrell and the artifact? If Hermione did sick the twins on him, she thought she'd remember why she would do something like that. She closed her eyes and clasped her hands together, digging her nails into the backs of her hands. What happened? This was giving her a headache. She rubbed her temples.
Harry and Ron joined in on the interrogation until Hermione's head hit the table. Hermione stared at the lot of them, three pairs of blue eyes and one of green boring into her. They wanted answers she just didn't have. She wished she did. She wished she remembered about the artifact, she wished she remembered why she suspected Quirrell, but it was gone. Nothing more than a line or two in her journal at most-her journal! She hadn't been reliable, but maybe she wrote enough about it to make sense of it and shake suspicion off her father! Hermione vowed to start writing in it nightly.
"I'm not feeling well," Hermione rubbed her temples again. "Sorry, but I don't remember. I hit my head when I fainted."
She left the four to weak well wishes from each of them. She noticed Ron and Harry exchange a meaningful look and she wondered if they had the same suspicions she did.
"Lumos," she whispered as she opened her journal from beneath the covers of her bed.
Under the covers, in the dark, curtains drawn. Hermione wrote her journal in Elvish, Goblin and Japanese alternating between entries. She felt so paranoid, but she didn't trust her father not to read it when she lived with him and she felt like Pavarti and Lavender would definitely read it to make fun of her if they could. A million measures made her feel safe. Maybe her father's paranoia rubbed off on her?
She noticed just how infrequently she wrote, there were few entries since Hallowe'en. Few was generous, fourteen days past and she'd written three times. She started on Hallowe'en when she saw Quirell's name.
I don't like the way they looked at each other. It was like Dad wanted to rip Quirrell's head off, and Quirrell looked like he was ready for it. I don't know what happened, but it sent chills down my spine. I'll have to keep an eye on the two of them. Somehow, I imagine Dad'll have me committed after the troll...goodbye, freedom.
The next meaningful entry was from the previous week.
Harry says he met Quirrell on Diagon Alley the day the vault was broken into. Hanging around the third floor, following close to Dad when he was spotted on the third floor on Hallowe'en... Dad tells me to stay away from him, and now he's at the Leaky Cauldron the same day the vault was broken into? It has to be him. I need to believe this! Because if it wasn't Quirrell after the artifact...
Goddamnit, Wednesday Hermione! she thought bitterly. If it wasn't Quirrell then what? Couldn't she have written more? What was even the point of keeping a damn journal if it didn't give her back her memories when she lost them? What had she considered? The worst part was the last entry had said nothing of any of this. It was short, and either completely meaningless or entirely meaningful depending on what she was trying to work out.
They have to be wrong. I refuse to believe it's him. Could it be?
Friday Hermione was just as useless as Wednesday Hermione! That was it. Hermione resolved to write in much more detail moving forward, but she needed to know. Denial was comfortable, but what if she knew too much? What if someone wiped her memory? You're being stupid and paranoid! She emerged from her gold and scarlet cocoon placed her journal in her bag, which she slung over her shoulder and swayed as she made it down the stairs.
"I'm sorry, guys," she said returning to the table.
Guilt fell on her shoulders as she saw Lee and Angelina had joined the four in a game of Exploding Snap. Laughter rang through the common room and she hated her self when she saw the easy, rosy smiling faces of her friends. They were having fun until six sets of eyes turned to her rubbing her temples in concern.
"Are you okay?" Harry asked.
"I've had this headache all week," she murmured. "I'm really sorry, can one of you take me to the hospital wing?"
The six of them exchanged concerned glances before staring at her as if she announced she were dying.
"If not it's fine!" Hermione nervously laughed before hissing in pain. At least the headache's real.
"All week?" Ron asked. "I hope it's not serious..."
"It's a headache, Ron," she said. "I'm not dying. I can probably take myself. Yeah, I should just go, my father can't pull me out for seeing after my health." I hope. It's after hours...
"You're barely standing," Fred looked at her swaying.
The swaying started as an act, before she saw them all gathered together having fun. But now she was legitimately dizzy. God, Dad's right, I'm pathetic!
"I'll take her," a voice said behind her.
Hermione turned to see Percy Weasley standing behind her, cleaning his glasses, standing kind stiff and erect. Was that boy ever at ease? He was nothing like his brothers, he shared the flaming red hair, the freckles and behind his glasses were the same blue eyes, but like Hermione, he didn't seem to understand how to relate to others. Which is why they were all very surprised that Perfect Prefect Percy had volunteered to head out after hours.
"I'm a prefect," he reminded them. "They'll probably think she's putting on an act if anyone catches you lot taking her. Come along, Hermione."
"I'm so, so sorry, Percy!" Hermione moaned again.
They hadn't even gotten half-way there before the entire world spun and Hermione had to sit to catch her breath. Percy looked around uneasy before it became obvious the dizziness wasn't going anywhere soon. He put her on his back, which is where she was as they made it to the floor of the hospital wing.
"It's fine," Percy said. "Fred's right, you're very light, so it's no problem."
"Why are you being so nice to me?" Hermione asked. "You could have had me go on my own."
"Just because I don't join in on my brothers' schemes doesn't make me unfeeling," he told her. "I simply don't buy into that nonsense. And I don't think you do either. You seem to have some sense about you."
"Sorry, Percy," Hermione bit her lip and buried her face into Percy's shoulder. She wasn't sure how to respond to him. Percy didn't seem to be half the unfeeling construct Ron, Fred and George made him out to be. But he could be so harsh at times, like anything unexpected terrified him. Hermione should have been more sympathetic to that. But one question remained. "But I'm...me...other than those six, and I still have no clue what they see in me, erm, nobody's nice to me." I might deserve it... "Why are you being nice to me?"
"Might have slipped your mind, Hermione," Percy shrugged. "But I don't seem to be liked either."
The walked their way in silence with Hermione's face still buried in his shoulder when she heard Filch's voice call out.
"Nine o'clock is after hours, aren't we in trouble?!" he grinned.
"I'm taking her to the hospital wing, Mr. Filch," he explained. "It'll be straight there and back."
"Get going then," he spat.
Just their luck, they had almost made it there before she heard the last voice she wanted to hear call out.
"What happened?!" her father snapped, nearly ripping her from Percy's back.
"She said she had a headache that wouldn't go away all week, sir," Percy explained.
"All week?" his voice softened and grew distant.
"Yessir. On our way to the hospital wing she got dizzy."
Did he buy Hermione was unconscious? Maybe he wouldn't grill her for not going to the hospital wing sooner, or ask her if she'd been remembering to eat. Or tell her that if she took better care of herself she wouldn't be wasting Pomfrey's time. She had no clue what to expect, but all of those seemed likely. She felt him adjust as he cradled her closer to him.
"I'll take her in, Mr. Weasley," he said. "You should return."
"Fainted again?" Pomfrey asked as her father set her on a bed. "You carried her in here with your leg like that?"
His leg! Hermione should have at least attempted to walk, so he would have made some snide comments, but it was better than his leg falling off. She couldn't remember how he hurt his leg. Trying to remember made her headache worse.
"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you," he seethed before whispering "Shit."
"Sit down," she instructed.
"Percy Weasley brought was carrying her on his back. Claimed she had a headache all week and got dizzy."
"I won't ask about the leg as it seems you are trying so hard to hide it," Pomfrey groaned. "But I am treating it."
"My daughter..."
"Is in good hands and is leagues better off than you! Now, let me see it!"
"I'm having flashbacks to my childhood," he groaned. "There!"
"Severus, what the hell happened?"
"What the hell happened to no questions?"
Pomfrey set to work, admiring the medical magic he'd already used, stating that if it wasn't for that she expected it'd be gone. She admonished him for carrying her in again and said that even with the neglect and damage she could have him up and healed by morning. He took her advice and for a moment Hermione was terrified he'd be staying overnight, but she soon heard him move.
"Should I be insulted?" Pomfrey pouted as Hermione felt the blanket over her straighten and form a cocoon.
"Be insulted if you're insulted," her father brushed locks of hair away from her face. "I don't really care. Regardless of my appreciation."
"The girl is fine!" she sighed. "Go, get some rest."
He left and Hermione let her eyes flutter open as Pomfrey prised her mouth open with a finger.
"What...?" Hermione groaned faking disorientation The room still spun, so she didn't have to work too hard.
"You're in the hospital," Pomfrey explained. "Drink this."
Hermione examined the bottle she handed her. It was dark and Hermione's vision wasn't the best at the moment. She couldn't identify it.
"I'm not going to poison a patient in my care or my most vindictive co-worker's daughter!" she snapped. "Drink it, child. Headache all week! Should have been here before it got so bad."
"Erm, sorry," Hermione obeyed. "Thanks."
"When did it happen?" she asked.
"Off and on since Monday," she admitted. "I must have hit my head pretty hard when I fainted." Please tell me I did! Please!
"Hit your head?" Pomfrey laughed. "Oh no, dear. You didn't even hit the ground when you collapsed. You were lucky your father was there, not even a bruise."
Didn't even hit the ground? Lucky my father was there? This can't be happening!
"How's your head?" Severus asked before the morning commotion.
"I'm fine, Dad," Hermione insisted getting out of bed. "Or do you doubt Madam Pomfrey can work miracles?"
"Don't let her overhear that," he said resting a hand on her head. "She's already convinced she's the second coming of Merlin."
Hermione covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. It seemed less sincere than usual.
"Do you know what triggered it?" he asked.
"Eye-strain is the most likely culprit," she mused, but something was off in her voice. "You know how obsessive I get."
"That I do," he sighed. "You need to be more careful, Hermione." Forgetting to take care of herself, reading till her eyes gave out, sure there might have been something she was hiding-no, she was definitely hiding something-but it was still true.
"Yessir," she said, chewing on the inside of her cheek.
"And stop doing that," he said. "You'll just create more work for poor Madam Pomfrey."
"Erm, sorry!" she stopped and played with the ends of her hair.
What is going on in that little head of yours, girl? He thought to ask, but knew he wouldn't get a straight answer. "I have some good news for you if you're released today."
"Oh?" Hermione asked.
"As it seems I am the only person who understands how little importance Quidditch holds, I have to attend the match," he said. "Enjoy the rare free Saturday if you're not dragged there yourself. Though knowing the Weasleys, I imagine you will." If I wasn't confident you'd be surrounded by hundreds I have no clue what I'd do!
"The whole day?" Hermione nearly squeaked in disbelief.
"Assuming you don't go off trying to get yourself killed," he sighed. "Yes. Don't do anything stupid."
"Define stupid?" Hermione cocked an eyebrow.
"Hermione!"
"Right, erm, sorry. Nothing stupid, sir."
"This is so exciting!" Ron nearly died holding one end of Dean's Potter for President banner.
"Yeah," Hermione laughed.
As much as Hermione dreaded the corridors and meals, this was a new sort of crowding. She was shoulder to shoulder, crammed between Ron and Hagrid with unknown people in the row behind her. She dug her nails into her palm to stop herself from mentally shutting down. She wanted to so bad. Hermione always imagined she would enjoy being surrounded by people, but the energy, the shouting, the bodies, Hermione wanted to shrink until she was nothing. A Gryffindor afraid of crowds? I'm so pathetic!
"You've must've seen loads of these!" Ron beamed. "I've always wanted to see one live!"
"From me hut, Ron," Hagrid said. "Very different here in the stands."
"What about you, Hermione?" Ron asked. "You grew up in the school right?"
"I don't think so!" Hermione let out a laugh. "Dad hates quidditch. I thought I did too from what I've heard and read, but it has bought me a free Saturday."
"He didn't bring you to a single match?" Ron asked incredulously.
"I was a sick kid," Hermione lied. "I'm sure he was just concerned it would be too much excitement for me." This is too much!
"I wonder what your-" Ron started but was cut off by the Gryffindors filing out on to the pitch. "Look!"
"Pleased you made it," Dumbledore chuckled.
"I didn't have anything better to do," Severus shrugged sitting beside the old man.
Dumbledore was right, the grey November skies turned clear and blue, as if to herald Potter in. Whatever gift Hermione had for predicting probabilities, she had nothing on Dumbledore. A sunny day in November, in Scotland.
"You'd think you'd attend a match when your house was involved," McGonagall tutted. "But it seems after years of not being able to attend, you still wish you weren't."
He did prefer spending the hours of match-time alone with his child. What parent wouldn't? It was a reliable four times a year where he wouldn't be called upon and he was permitted the rare glimpse into that little mind of hers. Which only became rarer as she got older. Though after Sunday he hardly blamed her. Parental angst aside, he was here for a reason.
"Aren't you co-announcing with Jordan?" he asked scanning both the staff and student stands. "Seems like a full house. Where's Quirrell?"
"I do imagine he will show," Dumbledore said in such a way that he imagined Quirrell was already there.
After a cheeky exchange suggesting the other's team would crush theirs, McGonagall took off and Severus glued his eyes to Potter. Nothing was going to happen to that boy. Everything was going to be fine and he will have wasted an afternoon. He looked forward to lording that over Dumbledore next time Gryffindors played. Too damn bright and too damn crowded.
Irony was a cruel, cruel mistress. Severus had settled in to his boredom when the game progressed as usual for perhaps an hour when it happened. Amid the clear blue sky he saw Potter jerking around, he braced himself against his broomstick as much as he could, but his legs flailed about like a ragdoll. At first, he thought the boy lost control until the broomstick tried to buck him off!
"Shit!" he gasped.
The stands erupted with panic, and Severus started muttering the first countercurse that came to mind. He couldn't save Lily, but he could save her son.
"Shit!" Hermione squeaked watching in horror as Harry clung to the rogue broom. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"
"I don't get it!" Ron said peering through Hagrid's binoculars. "What's going on?!"
"Can I see those?" Hermione whispered.
He passed her them and Hermione scanned the crowd. Please don't be him! A knot formed in the pit of her stomach and her chest tightened as she settled on someone reciting a spell maintaining eye-contact. He didn't even blink..
Hermione shut her eyes and opened them again, but the greasy, dark-haired pale form of her father still stared at Harry like breaking eye-contact would kill him. No!No!No!Shit!Shit!Shit!
Hermione leaped up from the spot handing the binoculars to an agape Ron. She fled the stands like a girl possessed and hid behind the stands. She would run the perimeter of the pitch to avoid detection, but she had to be fast. She sped past the empty perimeter not taking in anything but the direction her feet took her and the burning in her lungs.
She was so oblivious that she crashed head first into Quirrell's side, sending them both to the frosty grass. He stared at her in shock for a moment, his eyes wide open, mouth agape and face paled as if the Dark Lord himself threw himself into him rather than a little girl barely half his size. She didn't have time to ask why he watched transfixed from the perimetre or why he looked so frightened. He was Quivering Quirrell after all.
"Shit! Sorry!" Hermione cried forgetting her language and ran off before feeling fingertips brush her arm, too late to grab her. Probably wants to chastise me. That's why. Nothing sinister...
Finally she arrived behind the teachers' stands and Hermione prepared herself for the impossible, and summoned the bluebell flames she had created. Sure, they didn't burn as hot as real flames, but that meant she setting her father's robes aflame would only serve as a distraction. It took him a moment to recognize it, and she heard a string of curses from him, which was her cue to coax the flames into the jar she kept in her pocket. Hermione watched for a moment between the stands and noticed Harry regaining control of the broom. Hermione placed her shoes in her bag, and crept away as slowly and quietly as she could, steering clear of Quirrell.
"What did you do?" Ron whispered in amazement under the cheering Gryffindors.
"What I had to," She drew her legs up to her chest. "I don't want to talk about it."
Ron's eyes grew again in size and opened his mouth before dropping it.
Hermione buried her head in her knees and tried to push down the nausea. Now that the danger was gone Hermione could feel every inch of her body, every bit protesting its own existence. Sure no harm came from it, but she attacked her father. Her only living family, she set him on fire. Who did that? But she had to...Hermione now had to live with the knowledge that her father wanted to kill her friend. Tried to kill her friend. What was she supposed to do with that information? Was that why he erased her memory? Because she was on to him?
"Blimey," Hagrid said. "You'd think she was the one who nearly died. You alrigh', Hermione?"
"I left the stands to be sick," Hermione lied. Why is lying so easy? "And I did exactly that. On Quirrell." He'd never deny it. "It was so embarrassing!"
Harry eyed her with suspicion from beside Hagrid, and Ron had given her the same look. They knew there was more to the story, and she had to find away to help them without implicating her father.
"You mean Fluffy?" Hagrid asked when Harry said he suspected someone (he glanced at Hermione at the 'someone') was trying to get whatever the cerebus was guarding.
"Fluffy?" Ron scoffed incredulously. "You named that thing?"
Hagrid explained to them that Fluffy was being lent to Dumbledore to keep the philosopher's stone safe. He didn't mean to tell them that. There were several times Hagrid said "I shouldna' told yer tha'!" during the whole thing.
"Who do yer think is tryna steal the ruddy thing, anyway?"
"Whoever just tried to kill Harry!" Hermione cried before either boy could implicate her father.
"What?!" Hagrid gasped. "Someone tried ter kill Harry?"
"The broomstick!" she snapped. "It was clearly jinxed. I know a jinx when I see one."
"Because you read abou' them I suppose?" Hagrid sighed. "Ya could have bin mistaken. Only very powerful dark wizards could jinx a broomstick from tha' far. A studen' couldna have done tha'."
"We don't think it's a student after the stone," Harry said. "We think it's-" he looked at Hermione. "a teacher."
"A teacher?! Blimey, Harry!"
"Someone jinxed Harry's broom!" Hermione seethed. "You emptied the vault, it was broken into by someone who knew it was there!Someone probably let the troll in as a distraction to get it, and now someone's trying to kill Harry! Because he knows too much!"
All three of them could agree on this before Ron of all people turned to Hermione. "How do you know it was a jinx? I mean, you don't know who the caster was, so you didn't see it being cast."
"A benefit of being raised by a paranoid prat is that he got me to memorize all sorts of ways to recognize a hex," Hermione shrugged. "He's thorough, I've got to give him that."
All three of them stared at Hermione like she had grown two additional heads herself. She'd never once spoken about her father that way. It was as if they expected she was incapable of recognizing his faults. Hermione turned her attention to her, very cold feet. She didn't want to be caught drying her socks, so now she had soaked feet in her shoes. It was easier to think about that than where to go next. Harry saved her there:
"We know someone's trying to steal it, Hagrid," Harry said. "We'll just find out on our own if you don't tell us. Could be dangerous."
"Will ya stop tryna meddle inter thing's yer have no business meddlin' in! I'm no' tellin' yer about anymore about Fluffy, the stone, Nicholas Flammel or anythin'!"
Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged a meaningful glance to another groan from Hagrid.
"Don' do anythin'," Hagrid said. "I's no' safe, yer lot."
"We can't, Hagrid," Hermione shrugged. "Not with my father stalking us."
Hermione had no idea how true her words were as they left the hut, assuring Hagrid they would be well behaved. Not until Hermione saw a familiar set of yellow eyes peering at her from a near by tree branch.