The week after they returned from Ottery-St-Catchpole, Hermione worked ahead as much as humanly possible. She finally deciphered the purpose of the dolls in the box. By caring for them, she actually learned how to care for herself. The Sleekeazy's worked so well on Bushy's hair she tried it, tentatively, on her own. The results were so good, she ended up budgeting for it even at the expense of her book allocation. The Densminui and Densaugeo charms let her fine-tune Bucky's teeth. Very tentatively, she envisioned a Densminui affecting her front teeth. She didn't see or feel anything different, but at least it did no harm. After a week, however, her mother asked her in a worried tone if she was playing at magic on her teeth. Hermione told her, truthfully, she was using a very slow magical treatment, but she could stop.
Her mother fretted, but finally agreed she could continue. No one wanted the braces discussion to be revived.
As for Loony, her dolls had been right; the new dolls could talk. I'll say they can talk, she thought, bemused. She'd made a habit of holding Loony every night as she went to sleep. She was woken by a quiet, whispering voice.
I" am a witch, I really am, I realize I'm unusual and I have no friends and that's just what someone like that would say, but I really do have magic, I have powers, I am a witch, I really am ..."
Loony talked a great deal after that. Fortunately, she didn't expect to be talked back at. She wanted Hermione to listen. Hermione made pretty clothes for her, and, like Bushy, her billowy blonde hair benefitted from the Sleekeaszy's.
A few days later, her dolls told her the new dolls had joined in reading and taking notes. That was funny. Hermione hadn't felt any more drain on her power than usual.
She wouldn't, Genius explained. The new dolls used their own power, not hers.
With Hermione not having to contribute to note-taking, it was time to read the books.
She'd been so distracted, she started over with the Philosopher's Stone. By the time she reached the end, she was a bit more confused.
Ron, in particular, confused her. She'd already discovered he was smarter and sneakier than he appeared. Yet, in the final chapters, he'd behaved like a total idiot. Well, he was an eleven-year-old boy, and not a particularly mature one. He should have made Harry the King, obviously. And if he knows chess, which I would assume he does, he should know better than to make anyone a knight or bishop. Make me and him the rook pawns, those things never die. She also wondered if he deliberately played for a knight sacrifice, to make the adventure grander. It would, however, be a lot more sinister if he'd opted for that because someone told him it was safe - or relatively safe - to do so.
She had been both right and wrong about Dumbledore. He was quite evil, true, but even more deranged than evil. He took terrible chances for the opportunity to test Harry, or kill him without getting his hands bloody. It reminded her of the hundreds of letters idiocy. She still had to give Ron plaudits for keeping his head with the troll, overcoming his ego, and getting the spell he'd been so beastly over to work the first time he needed it. Indeed, she didn't know what compelled Harry to charge in to save her in such a heedless fashion. He didn't even know a spell to cast, although he'd had the best possible attack point with his wand up its nose. Then again, her running off to cry all day in an isolated place no one knew could help her in? Nonsense. The whole troll thing was more sinister than heartwarming.
Her paranoid mind wouldn't let her discount the idea that everything had been a farce, that the Stone wasn't really in the mirror, and that Ron had been either coached or controlled. She really didn't believe Dumbledore was responsible for the effect of touching Harry on Quirrel. If anything, she reflected, if he had transferred the protection to Petunia, Vernon and Dudley, he'd probably drastically weakened the protection on Harry, whatever it was. Maybe if Harry had been with the Longbottoms or Sirius Black, when Quirrel touched Harry his body would disappear in an explosion immediately, as it had in 1981.
Since she'd read ahead on Snape, she really didn't mind Gryffindor winning, though a less perverse, more caring Headmaster wouldn't have done so all at once, but awarded all points the day before, saying they'd be explained after the point recipients woke up and were on their feet.
What sort of person lets the colours go up, then yanks it away at the last minute? she wondered. A narcissist. It was a word she'd found in one of her father's books, and it fit.
She did a very quick read of all the books, but it was too much to take in. She did, however, read the Epilogue 19 years later, twice. It was utter rubbish. When she mentioned that, Plain, Shy and Clumsy all referred her to the sixth book, but agreed. It was comforting no one would die that she cared about for three years, but with a basilisk, that wasn't completely assured. As she read, she tried to imagine how events would have fallen out had Luna's mother been saved, had Harry met her family before Hogwarts, had Sirius Black been free and wielding the power of the Black family.
If Harry was not only the Boy-Who-Lived, not only the last of the Potters, not only the last of the Peverells, but also the heir to the Black family, well, let's assume somehow Sirius could arrange protection for him, but virtually none of the events she read about would be unchanged, and many would never occur at all.
A very close reading of the books was too exhausting with the rest of her schedule, so she decided she'd compromise: in the future, she'd read slowly for both information and pleasure.
Meanwhile, the notes were accumulating.
