Chapter III: That Insufferable Boy

Dear Hermione,

That was a question that I never expected. You have been intentionally vague in putting it - how do you know something happened, and from whom? I have asked your mother, but she doesn't believe that she mentioned anything about that day.

In 1981, we still lived in Bideford. It was the night after Halloween when I saw what appeared to be an explosion far away, on the isle of Ynys Dewin. It was storming that night, so nobody wanted to sail to see what happened - because of the storm and because of the rumours. Perhaps legend is a better word than rumour here, because in the last couple centuries, according to local folklore, the island has been inhabited by sorcerers, and it's said that queer mists covered the isle every time someone tried to sail towards it. When I returned, the old folks told me that I was the only one that ever went ashore in living memory.

I didn't let their tales stop me, so I rowed on a boat to the isle. It is an odd thing to remember, for I only remember the house, not the rest of the island. But a great deal of the house was in ruin, and I found there the bodies of a man and a woman, cruelly murdered. I'll spare you the details, but it looked as if Jack the Ripper himself had its fun with them. The boy was uninjured thankfully. I wrapped him in his blanket, and took him back to the house, announced the authorities, and that week someone came for the boy.

Seeing that you asked me this a couple weeks after you returned to Hogwarts, and considering the strange tales surrounding the island, I presume that explosion was magical in nature. Is he boy a wizard you've met at Hogwarts? If you've met the boy, do tell me how he's fared since.

Your mother sends her love,

Dad

That wasn't quite the explanation she expected, Hermione thought, as she finished reading her father's letter. As far as she was aware, that Halloween was when Longbottom defeated You-Know-Who. She presumed that Death Eater attacks stopped afterwards, but it seemed it was not so. Enlightened and confused in equal measure, Hermione did what she always did when in doubt - she went to the library.

After borrowing a few old numbers of the Daily Prophet, she found out more. It seemed that after the Dark Lord fell, a couple of Death Eaters attacked the Potters and killed the parents, leaving only their boy alive. She couldn't parse any reason why the Lestranges, who seemed to be some of the You-Know-Who's closest followers, and Argo Pyrites attacked them. It would have made more sense before, not after, even if James Potter was a "blood traitor", married to a Muggleborn (so Harry Potter was not a Pureblood after all). Neither of the Potters were Aurors, or worked in any of the Ministry's departments. Growing even more curious, she checked a few other numbers of the paper, and she only saw mentions of James Potter's father, one calling him an old friend of Nobby Leach, who was the first Muggleborn Minister for Magic, and repeated annoucements of donations to various causes, those for Saint Mungo's being the largest. One fact was quite strange though. Fleamont Potter's donations were often going to the same causes to which Abraxas Malfoy donated, were mentioned after his, and were twice as large. For a feud between two sorcerers, that seemed a weird way to attack the other, but it was certainly better than violence.

That was a mystery solved, but as she left the library, Hermione had a stark realisation. She didn't need to write her father, nor to look through old numbers of the Prophet. It was a waste of her time, better spent studying. She could have learned all this from Potter himself, if the boy hadn't been so frustratingly vague.

She hadn't had any opportunity to scold Potter for sending her on wild goose chases, because, as usual, Harry Potter was nowhere to be seen outside class. Except for the meals, which he attented almost everytime (but spent his time eating and avoiding conversation), and occasionaly flying his broom with wild abandon (though he didn't play Quidditch), he wasn't seen around the grounds of the castle, in the hallways or participating in the many clubs the school had to offer. And he didn't spend a great deal of time in the library. When he did, he went straight for whatever books he wanted, made copious notes, had the books returned and left with great haste.

She resolved to catch up with him today after potions, if she could indeed catch him. Potions this year were more bearable, Professor Snape finally leaving the school for greener pastures. The new Potions master, was Horace Slughorn, a jovial wizard, who used to teach the class before Snape had taken the post. And Professor Slughorn had a better appreciation for talent than him, complimenting her work in a most approving manner.

They where making the Draught of Peace now, the Professor helpfully suggesting that they should make use of it, for it was OWL year, and nobody needed anxiety to ruin their hopes for good grades. Of course, it had the drawback that if you did not have the skill to make it, you would have a failed concoction and no cure for the anxiety messing up a potion provokes.

To make sure that she'll have the time to talk with him, with an apologetic look towards Ron, Hermione went to partner up with Potter. Potter had always done his potions without a partner, since the first year - the students' number was odd, so he was left out, by his own choice - he never sought out a partner.

They did not have the opportunity to talk during the class - the potions was fiddly enough to brew without the need for distractions. Both of them were concentrated on their own cauldrons, and despite being partners, they each prepped their own ingredients and did their work as separatedly as possible. Hermione could do nothing but the admire the preciseness of Potter's every action. Beyond that, and she cursed herself for somehow not noticing until now, Potter had a stopwatch and a notebook, timing his every action to the second, and stopping to log them on the notebook, jotting down each and every step of the brewing, and its time. And he did not bother with a quill, but used a ballpoint pen.

When the potion was done, the professor looked on their work, with nothing but words of praise. Yet he had much more than that for Potter: "Marvelously done, Mister Potter. You're certainly your parents' son. Those two were the most prodigious students I've ever had. Well, the two of them and Severus - three in one year. an amazing coincidence. But I dare say none of them brewed a better Draught of Peace than yours."

She could agree that Potter's Draught was perfect, but resented the overt and overlong praise of the Professor.

Once class was over, she started packing her Potions equipment, but Potter tardied, scribbling some more in his notebook. When she left the classroom, she had to wait for him a few minutes. When he finally left, he walked with a brisk path, and even as she waited, she had to run after him.

"Wait a minute, Potter" she yelled after him.

"What do you want, Granger? I've no time to lall about. Be quick about it." said Potter, stopping.

"But neither of us take Divination, so I don't see why you're so hurried."

"I've got places to be, stuff to do. You're divagating, Granger. What's the purpose of you accosting me in the halfway? I know you're a Prefect, but I've hardly had any time to break rules since I left Potions."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Potter. Except being frustratingly vague, but that's not against school rules. Why couldn't you just tell me that my father saved you when you where a toddler?

"Nothing in life is easy, Granger, and there's no fun in making it any easier."

"Well, you certainly don't make things easier. That book you recommended - it's not in the Hogwarts library. I asked Madam Pince and she said that it was removed a long time ago"

"Oh." answered Potter, quite dumbly. After a brief pause, he continued: "I suppose I could loan you my copy." And with that, Potter rummaged through his book back and took out an old and weathered book, and handed it to her.

She took it and opened it.

"That's centuries old...and it's all in Latin"

"Nothing in life is easy, remember? Besides, if you don't want to read it in Latin, your best bet is French, and even they translated only five volumes to date. And you're right about its age - the manuscript it's from the eleventh century, written in Carolingian minuscule - but that was the only copy my family library had. And you may very well find an use for that Latin dictionary after all."

"I'll take great care of it" said Hermione, reverently.

"Well, do return it when you've decided on giving up parsing it. It's not the easiest text to read. You could ask me for help then, I owe at least that to your father."

The mention of possible failure emboldened Hermione. She left, with a quick thanks, determined to understand the text, even if it was in some weird and hard to understand handwriting, and entirely in Latin. The work would be worth it if it meant she did not need ask for help from that insufferable boy.

Who knew making a spell was such a bother. But Potter obviously made a few of his own, being so knowledgeable about it, and she wouldn't prove herself his lesser.