Content Warning: Somewhat graphic depiction of a decomposing corpse.
I've worked in some headcanons about what Hindu mages might believe, but most of what I know about Hinduism comes from internet research— please lmk if I've gotten something wrong I'll do my best to fix it.
22/08/1994
"Laws are spider webs through which the big flies pass and the little ones get caught."
- Honore de Balzac
Non-consensual mind-altering magic is a clear violation of personal autonomy— but what if someone's continued autonomy is a clear threat to the autonomy/health/lives of others? M could have cursed us in the back, or signaled his father's friends— and I had to ensure that neutralizing the threat he posed wouldn't create an even greater threat to my continued health and autonomy. And it's not as if he was actually hurt. All I did was minimize his ability to retaliate.
25/08/1994
"Justice without force is powerless; force without justice is tyrannical."
- Blaise Pascal
When a large and powerful segment of society is inclined to subjugate, exile, or murder you, and your designated protectors prove inadequate, any action necessary to preserve the life and freedom of yourself and your loved ones is arguably justifiable— and the argument can wait until after your life and freedom have been secured.
Though Parvati and Padma had not seriously considered even trying to live as two distinct witches until some time after Their ninth birthday, the vexingly arbitrary confinement of snake-speech to only one of Their bodies had planted the seed of dual identity where superficial things like names and clothing had failed.
Their sorting had merely been the formalization of a decision to expand Their knowledge, skills and ability to function at a distance from one another (so that the body they'd chosen to be Parvati long-term could play the social games while the more studious elements of Their personality ran the labs). After almost three years of living apart, they no longer felt quite so much like one actress playing two roles at once, but summers spent sharing their childhood rooms did (to borrow one of Hermione's many useful muggle-isms) sync Them back up to a degree.
Thus when the Platinum Ponce invaded the doorway of their compartment for his annual round of Potter-baiting, it took Them a second to remember which body was supposed to let the offended, protective feelings rise up and which was supposed to sit back and carefully observe. Parvati was fingering her wand and contemplating which beauty charm to horribly misuse if/when he started dropping slurs when Padma's sharpening focus drew her gaze to Hermione— who had gone very still, and was watching Malfoy with the sort of single-minded intensity They had only ever seen her aim at particularly dense texts and accomplished older witches. Her right hand was crooked at the subtle-yet-precise angle of someone preparing to flick their wand from its hidden holster (one of which They had gifted her for her previous birthday), her shoulders tense, her gaze so unwavering she didn't even notice both of them looking at her.
"Everything alright?" Parvati quietly asked once he'd left.
Hermione stared at the closed door a moment longer, but the stiffness went out of her shoulders, and her full lips curved into a slow, smug smile.
"Yes," she murmured. "Yes, I think it is."
Parv and Padma locked eyes across the compartment.
At the start of the summer Their friendship with her had seemed to be flourishing (even if they did need to work on her poorly-hidden envy/jealousy/both over Padma and Harry's gift and the bond it fostered)— but since then Hermione's letters had been both less frequent and shorter than they'd been the summer before. She'd owled a steady stream of insightful questions about Harappan thaumaglyphs and dance-based ritual, of course, and continued to exchange recommendations on feminist/antiracist/muggle fantasy literature with them, but that was really the bare minimum of a Hermione Granger correspondence— and she'd written very little else of substance.
Blaming the shock of the Pettigrew/werewolf/Dementor debacle (which They'd thankfully gotten all the thrilling details of with none of the personal risk), they'd tried to be there for her— only to receive repeated assurances that she was as well she could be under the circumstances and that really the best thing for her was more time with her family, whose full schedule of muggle vacation activities was the reason she had to keep declining their invitations to chez Patil.
Apparently muggle vacation activities didn't involve much exposure to sunlight.
Parvati took the worry while Padma took the suspicion, but before They could decide how to start the questioning, Hermione spoke up.
"Right. Now that that's out of the way—" She shot a scornful glance at the door Malfoy had vacated, and with a wordless wave of her wand levitated her trunk down off the rack. "—I have gifts."
She set it on the floor with barely a thump, licked her thumb, pressed it to the sturdy steel latch of her trunk, and murmured. "L'shem-shamayim ephathá."
Parvati saw a faint yet distinct pulse of light as it unlocked.
"You would all do well," said Hermione, flipping a braid out of her face as she opened the lid and started digging around inside, "to wear these under your clothes and keep them as secret as possible for the best effects."
She then pulled out a muggle purse, unclasped it, and dumped four very shiny objects and a tangle of slender jewelry-chains onto the seat between her and Parvati. They were each the same double-thumbed hand shape as the little silver pendant Hermione always wore, but several times larger and engraved with a hexagram Parvati remembered her calling…
"The Magen Davíd?"
"The Shield of David, yes," Hermione said for the boys' benefit, then gave Parvati and Padma a hesitant look. "I know it may be a… strange thing to ask you to wear, but I as the one doing the enchanting I had to use a symbol with strong meaning to me personally— and they're really just a first draft of sorts; I'd be more than happy to repeat the process with symbols of your choosing, and of course more magi involved in the ritual the stronger the protection, theoretically—"
"Hermione," said Parvati, "these look—"
"—amazing." Padma left her seat entirely to pick one up and scrutinize it— "Oh! I can feel something! Sort of a…warmth— and the engraving is so precise. I bet Babbling would give you extra credit for these."
"You made these over the break?" Asked Harry, accepting the one Hermione handed him. "I didn't know Missus Tonks was teaching you enchanting, too."
"She did have some very useful tips, yes." Hermione returned the purse to her trunk and locked it back up. "Go ahead, put them on."
If Harry noticed how she'd dodged the question, being given a gift meant much more to him than whatever she was hiding. Ron definitely hadn't noticed— he probably hadn't heard a word since the amulets came out.
"Wicked…"
Parvati and Padma exchanged another glance before putting on their own— and were distracted only briefly by the faint sort of hugging sensation it brought on.
It wasn't until the carriage ride from station to castle that they noticed the next oddity. Hermione not speaking on such rides wasn't strange— but there was no book in her lap this time. Her face was turned toward the window, but her eyes weren't tracking the raindrops rolling down it; she seemed to be staring at nothing in particular— and not in a relaxed manner either, but rather with what looked like… anxiety? Anticipation? They couldn't tell.
It was by watching so closely that They saw the shiver that went through her at a seemingly random point during the ride, and the brief flutter of her eyelids before she firmly closed them, leaning back into the upholstery with a quiet sigh and a slight smile on her lips.
"Mione?" Asked Ron. "You alright?"
No reaction.
"Hermione?" Harry leaned forward, a worried crease between his brows.
"Hmm?" She blinked dazedly, and abruptly stiffened when she noticed them all watching. "What?"
He stared at her for a moment with that intense, emerald-eyed Seeker focus (which They kept their appreciation of firmly on the Padma side), glanced nervously at the other faces in the compartment, then asked: "Have you been sleeping enough?"
Parvati and Padma exchanged a Look.
After that it was the way Hermione watched Moody at the welcoming feast— like he was a fascinating but also particularly vexing puzzle. She ended her scrutiny of him with a pained wince, and screwed her eyes shut for a moment before looking at her plate for the first time.
As Moody's lessons proved far too… engaging to spend watching another student —especially since he always noticed and was overfond of hexes— her observation of Hermione's observation of him was restricted to meal times and occasional passes in the halls.
It was enough to form a hypothesis. Parvati, being her Housemate, did the observing; Padma did the research.
.:.
It wasn't until All Hallow's Eve, watching the fascinated awe on Hermione's face (which the blue firelight lent a rather fetching sort of glow to) and the way her (bright, clever) eyes examined not only the Goblet but the air around it that their hypothesis was confirmed.
"How long," she asked casually, "have you been an Aetheraisthete?"
Hermione took a moment to tear her secret sixth sense, apparently off of whatever was happening in the aether around the Goblet, and blinked at her several times before the words seemed to sink in. She cringed slightly, then glanced around and flicked out a muffling charm before saying: "About… seventeen months?"
Parvati, understandably a bit hurt about being left in the dark for so long, did not stop to remember what had been happening about seventeen months ago, and was about to say something less-than-sensitive when Dumbledore started his speech.
Sitting beside Hermione, of course, put her in the perfect position to see Harry's face when his name came out of the Goblet.
"Did you see anything… indicative?" She asked as they were herded back to the Tower. "When it spit out his name?"
"Quite possibly." Hermione's tone strongly hinted at the barely-restrained urge to punch something. "Aetheraísthēsis— and I do appreciate the research you've done, but I also have to concede that it's a bit of a mouthful, so Magesight is fine even if it is a tautology— and Hebrew actually has a term for the people who possess it: Ayin Baruch , meaning Blessed Eye , which is still a bit reductive, but—"
"Hermione. Harry's name. Goblet aura."
"Yes, I know— but what I getting to is that Magesight doesn't come with any innate understanding of what all the colors and textures and odd little ripples actually mean— I have to figure that part out on my own." She finished with a cross little huff.
"No wonder you've been so busy," Parvati said, trying and failing to sound casual and unconcerned.
"I— yes." Hermione's glance towards her was distinctly guilty-looking. "I've found several different texts on the phenomenon, but they're almost entirely anecdotal, and it seems to be highly subjective— like if you stood two of us next to each other and cast a spell we'd see different things. So yes. It is rather a lot of work to make it useful. Excuse me."
She then darted off up the stairs to the dorms, leaving Parvati amongst their gleeful housemates.
Parvati settled in next to Lav and passed the time watching the byplay between their jubilant housemates and Ron's little huddle of jealous Jarveys (that was going to get ugly fast— and knowing Hermione, she'd be caught in the middle. Parvati needed a game plan).
By the time the portrait swung open the party was in full swing, muggle music blaring out of Lily Evans' old record player and upperclassmen sipping from flasks while the Weasley Twins took wagers on what sort of thrilling dangers the Tasks would consist of. The instant Harry showed his face it got quite a bit louder— for about a minute.
First the music cut out. Then an utter thunderclap of a voice blasted through the cries of protest:
"ENOUGH!"
In the corner of her eye Parvati saw the hearth-fire flared up as if there were a bellows behind it, sending several people scrambling back— but the lion's share of her attention was firmly fixed on Hermione.
She stood with one foot on her trunk atop one of the study tables, wand in hand, curly mane bristling, eyes gleaming with reflected flame—
"Oi!" McLaggen turned away from the unfortunate girl he'd been talking at to shout: "What's the big —"
"Shtok!" Hermione hissed with a flick of her wand; his mouth snapped shut, and seemed to resist his efforts to open it again. She cast a challenging glare across the room, but everyone seemed either too curious as to what the girl who'd taken on an entire pack of pureblood prats almost single-handed (with a wandless, fiery protego at the end) might do next. Shouting on top of a table was already a bit of a wild card for her.
"Harry," she said with a calmness that belied the fierce look in her eyes, "since you found out you were a wizard, how many people have tried to kill you?"
Dozens of heads swiveled, and for a second Harry looked like he wanted the castle to swallow him up— but then he rallied, straightening up and clearly focusing on her instead of the crowd as he called back: "Just the people?"
"Good point," Hermione replied. "Magical beings, then."
Harry looked down at his hands, and started counting. With each finger the silence grew heavier, the crackle of the hearth louder, the tension thicker—
"Five," he said, "since I don't think Lupin was trying to kill us so much as he was trying to get something to eat— and so were the Dementors, in their own way."
A phantom chill fell over the room. Everyone but the firsties remembered the cold malaise that'd hung over the grounds last year. The incident at the Quidditch game. The Dementors' aura had worsened a few unlucky students' exam stress into full-on breakdowns.
"Oh, also Lockhart tried to obliviate me and Ron, which would've gotten at least one person killed if he hadn't done it with a broken wand."
"So six," said Hermione. "Two of them Professors. And now— this."
Parvati had never heard Hermione so furious, or that note of disgust in her voice—
"A fourteen-year-old somehow entered into a tournament famous for deaths and maimings despite age restrictions cast by the most powerful wizard in Britain." She took a very deep breath. The fire swelled again. "So. If all you're looking for is an excuse to party, I suppose an indirect murder plot aimed at your fellow Gryffindor is as good as any. If you would like to help ensure that Harry survives this —"
She held up a roll of parchment—
"—you can write down your name, year, and what skill you can teach that might help him on this."
She stooped to set it on the table beside a quill and inkwell. Then she gave the assembled Gryffindors another stern look, a terse nod, climbed down, and marched out of the common room (by the path that quickly cleared for her), casually levitating her trunk along at wand-point. "Come along, Harry. We'll figure this out."
He made to follow, a sort of stunned expression on his face— then paused with one foot out the portrait and looked around in search of…
"Ron?"
Ah.
Lav's grip on her wrist tightened at the impending Drama. Had it been anyone else at the epicenter Parvati would've been right there with her— but Ron was a good friend when he forgot to be jealous, and jealousy from his first friend was the last thing Harry needed right—
Ron turned away.
The worst part was that Harry didn't even look hurt— just baffled. Thankfully the Twin Terrors jumped in before Ron could change that, each clapping a hand on one of Harry's shoulders and steering him out of the portrait. Ginny wasn't far behind.
Parvati shrugged off Lav's hand, wove between several upperclassmen, and followed as quickly as she could.
Down the staircase and around the bend, she found Hermione leaning heavily against a wall, staring off into space and taking very deep breaths in front of three worried Weasleys (Harry seemed to have reached capacity for feelings).
"I can't believe I did that," she murmured.
"I can't wait to tell Tonks," said a Twin. "Our little Firebug, misusing furniture and disrupting student bonding activities."
The other wiped away an imaginary tear. "She'll be so proud."
Harry snapped out of his fugue and wrapped her up in a hug— which was really a bigger sign than anything else of what a total cockup of a day he'd had. Even after almost two years of friendship, Harry almost never initiated contact like that. Parvati wrestled down the flicker of jealousy she felt at not having hugged Hermione first— Harry'd been her friend for longer, after all, and he was the one she'd quite dramatically gone out on a limb for.
(It was only natural to be a bit jealous; Hermione gave excellent hugs.)
That was when Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and, curiously enough, Neville Longbottom came around the corner, determination and worry on their faces.
"Right," said Hermione —who had pulled back from the hug when Parvati wasn't looking and had slipped that poised assertiveness back on over whatever she was feeling deep down— "This way."
Then she turned and marched away down the corridor, trunk floating obediently along at her side.
Parvati was surveying Hermione's new additions to the old dueling hall —two more archery-style targets, a bookcase she'd somehow installed beside the study table, and what looked very much like a muggle spring mattress in the corner— when a red flash lit its walls. She turned just in time to see Harry topple over backwards, only to slow just before hitting the ground at a silent wave of Hermione's wand.
"Oi!" Ginny drew hers. "What gives?"
Hermione ignored her in favor of frowning pensively at Harry's unconscious body for a long moment before muttering— "Oh, of course!"
—and turning to the rest of them. "Which of you can cast an effective stunner? I need to test something."
The Twins and Quidditch players raised their hands. She surveyed them intently for a moment, then nodded to herself and raised her wand. " Rennervate."
Harry twitched awake with a gasp, blinked several times, and sat up. "Bloody… Hermione, what—?"
"You're welcome," she said sternly, "for breaking your fall. A real opponent wouldn't have."
"...'spose not, no."
"Nor will whatever insane hazards they're going to fill this tournament with give you a heads-up before they strike."
"Constant vigilance?" asked Harry, climbing to his feet with a tired, strained smile.
"Precisely." Hermione gave an approving nod. "Johnson, please stun him."
Harry leapt to his feet with surprising speed, but that was all he managed to do before Angelina's spell struck him in the side— and burst into quickly-vanishing sparks.
Harry, still fully conscious, raised a hand to his chest. "Whoa!"
Hermione perked up like she'd just won twenty points. "Did you feel something?"
"Yeah, the necklace—"
"Amulet, Harry, it's an important distinction—"
"—it warmed up a bit."
She nodded as if this was only to be expected (which knowing her it probably was). "Good. Now, have you read the journal I gave you?"
"Not… all of it. Yet. But I have been practicing!"
Hermione pursed her lips. "Good. I know it's a lot, but if your Patronus is any indication you should be fully capable of casting everything in it."
"How do you know?" Harry asked.
She paused a moment, casting a brief glance at the others in the room— and holding Parvati's gaze for a moment before she met Harry's again, something vaguely challenging in the set of her jaw.
"Because I can," she said, wand already raised.
Harry lunged out of the way of her silent disarmer, flicked his own wand from its holster—
"That's more like it— now shield! Slæsik! Levicorpus! Accio necktie! Bombarda!"
The curse rang through the room like a cannon-blast; Ginny whooped, one of the twins shouted for him to go right while the other told him to go left, and Angelina started layering charms on the door. Alicia shot an impish look at the others and hexed Harry in the bum.
Parvati struggled not to smile at the squawk he let out.
"Situational awareness, Potter!"
After another few moments of Hermione debunking pureblood supremacy —at some point she'd cast something that muffled her incantations without draining one whit of strength from her spells— Harry managed to turn the tables, walloping her shield with several hexes and slipping a sneaky underhand disarmer past when it wavered. Her wand flew from her hand; the volunteers cheered.
Parvati wondered if they saw the frustration that flickered over Hermione's face as she staggered back— or how she started to reach out with her empty wand hand before closing it into a fist and letting it fall to her side.
"Better," she said with a tight smile. "And thank you, Spinnet— he needs practice facing multiple threats at once; Harry, your ability to chase the snitch without crashing into other players should, hopefully, translate at least somewhat."
"Well now," said one of the Twin Terrors, "we can—"
"—most certainly—"
"—help with that."
Hermione nodded. "Fred and George, you have a talent for the unexpected— especially delayed-effect spells with reactive triggers. Would you mind providing… an obstacle course, of sorts?"
"Aye aye, Professor!"
Hermione let out a disapproving little huff, but the tightness of her shoulders was beginning to lessen.
"And the rest of us?" Parvati asked. "What should we do?"
Hermione shot her a grateful glance, then surveyed the other volunteers, biting her full bottom lip…
"Well," she said, "I'd certainly appreciate some help researching what goals and dangers the Tasks have historically consisted of so that we can form a better idea of what sort of skills Harry will be best served by practicing— I've already identified several relevant texts."
"I can do that. Padma too."
"Excellent. Ginevra—"
That got a scowl.
"—I'm told you have something of a talent for hexes?"
Ginny crossed her arms. "What of it?"
"Please use it on Harry."
Ginny grinned. Harry gulped, and retook his stance.
"What about me?" Said Neville. "W-what should I do?"
Parvati didn't recognize the look on Hermione's face then— something strained and uneasy and gone too quickly to study.
"Plants," said Hermione. "You're quite knowledgeable about magical flora, Neville; any insight you might have into what sort of plants the Tournament organizers are likely to use as obstacles or traps could be potentially invaluable."
"Potions too," said Harry. "I know you only struggle with them in class because Snape's such a berk."
Parvati glanced at Hermione, expecting her to tell him off for rudeness.
Hermione was still watching Neville with that odd, almost queasy look again— until she noticed Parvati's gaze, and smiled at her before turning back to Harry.
"Good. Now, let's see how long you can maintain a shield under fire. Does anyone have a problem with casting blasting or bludgeoning spells?"
Interesting avoidance of the word curse, there—
"Only that I've never tried before," said Ginny.
"Just use the strongest hexes you know, then."
Something about Ginny's brief frown and the look in her eyes as she nodded seemed odd to Parvati, but she was quickly distracted by Hermione easily bossing several sixth years around.
"Everyone, wands up. We'll cast from right to left, starting with me, staggered by several seconds. Ready?"
Harry planted his feet, raised his wand, nodded.
Several minutes later, as they all caught their breath, something occurred to Parvati.
"Hermione?"
"Hm?"
"You'd be able to see if Moody was possessed or something, right?"
Hermione did not immediately answer. Everyone turned to her. She winced.
"Don't look at me like that," she told Parvati. "Possession should, in theory, be fairly obvious to me, but it's not as if I could— you know, when Quirrel was around. And Moody's aura is… a lot. The man is absolutely layered in protective charms and enchantments, which do this weird thing when they overlap, on top of a faintly alarming amount of curse damage and more than a few elements I can't recognize at all. I get headaches if I look at him too long."
"Wait, back up," said Johnson. "How can you…"
Hermione shot Parvati a half-hearted glare, and sighed. "I see a broader spectrum of magic than is usually visible to the human eye. Wards and personal auras and such. As for how , I'll let you know when I have a solid hypothesis— very few people have survived a Basilisk's glare, you know, even fewer have written about the side-effects, and none of those writings say anything about suddenly developing magesight . At least not the ones I've been able to find so far."
It was rather fun, Parvati thought, to watch people who rarely spoke with Hermione try to parse all the information she could pack into a single breath.
"You have magesight?" Asked Neville, a strange, amused little smile on his face.
"…yes," Hermione replied. "What? Why are you making that face?"
"Well, it's just—" he ducked his head and shuffled his feet. "It's a bit funny, isn't it? Some Purebloods endure awful marriages and try all sorts of rituals and potions and things in hopes of having kids with gifts like magesight, and… well—"
"Some swotty little mudblood gets it by accident," said Hermione, smiling queerly. "You're right, Neville. It is rather funny."
She'd dropped the slur so casually that it took a moment for the shock and discomfort to hit— but hit it did. Parvati repressed a cringe. Some of the others didn't. Ginny actually twitched.
"Hermione," said Harry, somehow managing to look both sad and indignant, "you shouldn't talk about yourself like that."
"Oh, honestly." She rolled her eyes. "It's fine, Harry. I've built up a tolerance. Really, I'd rather people call me mudblood to my face than smile at me and whisper it behind my back. At least that way I'll know who my enemies are. Imagine what Malfoy might accomplish if he was capable of subtlety. Or cunning."
Parvati quite agreed with Harry's expression of dawning horror, but… "We're getting sidetracked. Moody's aura— you're sure there's nothing… malicious about it?"
Hermione let out a frustrated huff. "Not that I've been able to see, no."
But, said the look in her eyes, that doesn't mean it isn't there.
"Oh," she said with a blink— and then a glare directed slowly and methodically at everyone except Parvati and Harry. "I've kept the magesight a secret for a number of reasons, would like it to stay secret, and have an old Viking fire-crotch curse I'm curious at the precise effects of."
She then aimed her wand at the Twin Terrors, who had perked up and clearly had something obnoxious on the tip of their tongues, and commanded: "Do not."
"Ah, but what'll you do to us if we do?" Asked one.
"Sure to be interesting, it is," said the other.
"A right treat to puzzle out, Forge."
"Right." Hermione pointedly turned her back on them to face Harry. "Break's over. The Tasks won't pause for you to catch your breath. Everyone back in line! Ready— Bombarda!"
An hour later, as they staggered back to the common room, Hermione was the only one who didn't seem ready to pass out.
"'Potter stinks?'" Parvati channeled Naani Jija, aiming her most regally unimpressed look at the pompous little bully. "What are you, six?"
Several people snickered.
Malfoy's corpsey pallor was one of his elusive redeeming qualities; you could always immediately tell when you'd hit the mark by how pink he got. Also the way he puffed up like a bleached pigeon.
"Oh, hello Patil," he said as if he'd just noticed her —which given that Harry was present, might well be the case— "Have you found out how he cheated the Goblet yet, then? The name of whatever competent wizard helped him, perhaps?"
Honestly, was Malfoy the Elder this unsubtle?
"Why so curious?" Parvati asked. "It's far too late for you to enter."
Malfoy's flush deepened. His jaw clenched.
"That is what all this is about, is it not?"
His hands closed into fists, and his face twisted into a sneer. "You'd do well to mind your tongue. House Patil may be well-established on the Subcontinent, but here in Britain you've barely a foothold. It would be a shame to preemptively sour any potential arrangements between our Houses."
Parvati's stomach turned at the thought of what a teenage pureblood boy might mean by arrangement — but the mental image of Lucius Malfoy swanning into their parlor only to see one of his mates' old party-masks mounted as a trophy quickly turned her disgust to amusement. "More than dear old daddy already has, you mean?"
The Prat's face began to transition from pink to red. "You dare blame my Father for actions he was cursed to perform? How uncouth. I don't seem to recall you resisting the Imperius when Moody cast it, and that was with plenty of warning."
Neither had he, but this whole conversation was gauche enough without pointing out the obvious.
"True," she said in a weather-discussing sort of tone. "How did you do it, Harry?"
"Oh." Harry's disgruntled expression had eased into the beginning of an amused smile, but he didn't fully take his eyes off the prat. "It wasn't that hard. I'll tell you about it after class, yeah?"
Malfoy definitely would have started slinging hexes if not for his recently acquired fear of sudden transfiguration.
Hermione looked like she was waiting for him to try.
Thankfully some Durmstrangers marched around the corner, distracting everyone (but mostly various Slytherin suck-ups) long enough for Parvati to link arms with her two friends and drag them away.
"Thanks," Harry said as they climbed the stairs towards Charms. "That was sort of brilliant."
"Think nothing of it," she replied. "Taking him down a notch is its own reward. Oh, and well done."
"What?"
"Not letting him provoke you. That's what he wants, you know. Blowing up at him would be letting him win. And really, it's only words."
"This year," Hermione said grimly. Her expression matched her tone— jaw set, lips pressed in a flat line, almost glaring at the steps ahead. "It's only words this year."
Ah.
Parvati winced.
"And only because his father has probably told him to make a better-than-awful impression on the foreign students," Hermione went on. "As if any self-respecting Français would want anything to do with a Wiltshire Malefoi."
She stopped abruptly on the top step, turned on her heel, and pinned them each in place with her fierce gaze. "It may only be words now, but one day he won't have Professors watching what spells he uses anymore. He won't have to answer to anyone except officials he'll be able to bribe or lead around in circles due to legal loopholes created to let people like him go unpunished for all manner of crimes. One day he'll have real political power — and I think it's fairly obvious how he'll use it. Doing nothing to stop that is 'letting him win.' He needs to be shown the error of his ways."
Parvati, torn between an angry sort of excitement, mounting concern over where exactly Hermione was going with this, and a recurring admiration for how righteous fury flushed her cheeks, fluffed up her curls, and made her eyes seem to—
"But how?" asked Harry. "It's not as if he'll listen to anything we have to say."
Parvati mentally shook herself, nodding. "And outscoring him just makes him worse. Outdoing him magically just makes him worse."
Hermione scowled, passion fading into fist-clenching frustration, and sighed. "I'm still working on that."
"Well." Parvati glanced at Harry, who looked equally lost for words and bit apologetic about it. "We'll… let you know if we have any ideas?"
"Yes, alright." Hermione nodded pensively, then blinked herself back to alertness and smiled an uncharacteristically mischievous sort of smile at Parvati. "Have I mentioned how glad I am that we're friends now?"
"Enjoying seeing my bitchiness aimed elsewhere, are you?"
"That's not—" Hermione paused, shooting her a wary look. "...I would have said cattiness."
Parvati feigned a wistful sigh. "One of these days I will hear filth from your mouth, Granger."
"Give me a way to break Malfoy's indoctrination and I'll say anything you like."
"...Anything?"
"If, Parvati."
The possibilities were endless. And the thought of hearing some of the cruder muggle slang in Hermione's Bossy Professor Voice was… intriguing. Because it would be funny, of course. Why else?
.:.
Two days later, Parv stood on the moist tiles of Moaning Myrtle's lavatory, trying to wrestle down her mounting anxiety without accidentally shoving it at Padma, who was helping Hermione scrutinize the sinks. The midmorning sun slanting down through the windows couldn't quite dispel the chill she felt at the memory of Harry's tale.
"Maybe we should get a Professor," she ventured.
"Why?" asked Hermione. "Ah, there it is."
"What do you mean, why?"
Hermione looked up, stepping aside so that Padma could stand in front of the marked sink, and gave Parvati a mildly exasperated look. "I mean that none of the Professors have gone out of their way to get Harry out of all this or to prepare him to survive it, and they'd most likely try to stop us from entering the Chamber. Whatever else has happened down there, it's the site of Harry's greatest and most unlikely triumph to date— his slaying of a much stronger enemy. We won't find a more appropriate site for this. Besides, we'll only be scouting it. Harry said the entrance caved in, after all, so we might not even see the Chamber itself. But in case we do —"
"Satchel," said Padma.
Parvati sighed, and reached into the satchel to retrieve the industrial potions masks they'd owl-ordered— three face-covering pieces of leather with buglike glass-lens eyeholes and squat metal cylinders affixed over where their mouths would go, used for brewing highly toxic ingredients without having to re-cast a bubblehead charm (the magic of which could interfere with more temperamental concoctions). Hermione had insisted they were repurposed muggle 'gas-masks', and rather archaic ones at that, which led to a very interesting tangent about the largely uncredited adoption of muggle inventions and its potential implications for the future of the magical world— but they had eventually agreed that the masks should be more than sufficient to protect them from any potential stench from the gargantuan viper that was probably still rotting down there.
Parvati had nothing against vipers in particular, or any other sort of snake. Some of her best friends were snakes, as a child. Snakes she-and-Padma could carry around in Their pockets or wear like scarves— not ones that could kill them with a look or swallow them whole! And they'd certainly never investigated the corpse of one of those friends.
Padma looked back over her shoulder to meet Parvati's eye, and took some of the anxiety off her heart.
Then she turned to the sink and hissed.
A muffled rumble shuddered through the tiles. With a grating scrape, the marked sink sank into the floor and the others slid forward, exposing the dark pit Harry had described.
Padma walked up to it, carefully bracing herself on the masonry beside a mirror, leaned forward to peer down the pipe, and hissed again.
Nothing happened.
"What is it?" asked Hermione.
"One moment. British snakes don't talk quite the same, and their vocabulary for architecture is… primitive." Padma thought for a moment, then tried something Parvati's tragically un-blessed ears couldn't distinguish from the first hiss.
Nothing happened.
"Really, Padma, a bit of muck is a small price to pay. I'll charm it off myself if you—"
Another hiss. A continuous, stony scraping echoed up out of the pit like the death-rattle of some massive stone guardian as stairs emerged from the sides of the pit, spiraling down into the darkness.
Hermione huffed. "It'll take longer this way."
Parvati shot her a look. "Have you ever tried to charm cave-slime out of those curls?"
She had the good sense to look abashed. She'd wrestled her mane into one of Angelina Johnson's charm-reinforced hairbands, but there was no way the resulting puff of corkscrew curls, waves, and general volume was going to avoid the gunk entirely.
"Right then," she said. "I suppose I'll go fir—"
But Padma was already climbing down. Hermione pursed her lips and followed. Parvati took several very deep breaths as her curl-puff descended out of sight, drew her wand, and stepped into the pit.
It did, in fact, take quite a while to reach the bottom. Hermione let out exactly three(3) passive-aggressive little huffs about it, but did conjure one of her little blue flames to light their way. Parvati lost all sense of time; she was tempted to check her watch, but was afraid only a few minutes would have passed.
Then the staircase stopped spiraling and straightened, leading them down a bend in the pipe and into the dim, claustrophobic antechamber Harry had described. Other than Hermione's flame, it was lit only by faintly glowing veins of some sort of crystal spiraling up the four pillars that supported its low ceiling— and dead ahead was the ancient vault-like door, barred shut by seven iron snakes.
And no rubble whatsoever. Not even a crack in sight.
They stopped there. For a long moment, no one spoke.
"D'you think… the Professors came and fixed it, maybe?" Parvati asked, hating how meek she sounded.
"Why would they?" Hermione said somewhat absently, mind clearly already working away at it. "We are beneath the castle— perhaps to prevent any structural issues?"
"That," said Padma, "or they want us to explore down here."
Parvati was in favor of this theory. It decreased the likelihood of putrefying snake stink.
"Or," her other half added, "it repaired itself. The castle is self-renovating, after all— that's how the entrance ended up in a girl's lavatory."
She sounded perfectly, swottily eager. Only Parvati, who was spiritually conjoined to her, could have told that she was stalling.
"Well." There was an odd, sort of flat quality to Hermione's voice. "One way to find out."
Parvati glanced over to find her staring intently at the snake-barred door, one hand clutching her wand and the other tightly gripping the strap of her bookbag. The sight of righteously bossy, hex-slinging Hermione faltering in fear was so jarring that Parvati's own nerves suddenly seemed quite unimportant.
"Hey," she said softly—
"Yes, sorry, just— thinking." Hermione pulled her mask on, tightening the straps around her head. The result was rather eerie. "Ready?"
Parvati followed suit, and immediately hated it. It felt like she was helping something eat her face. Something faintly musty and with very little respect for her range of vision. Muggles had fought in these?
Padma hissed, and then hurriedly masked up as a heavy metallic groan filled the antechamber. By the time all seven snakes had retracted her nose and mouth were well-protected from potential stench.
The door ground open, spilling cold, damp air onto Parvati's exposed neck and hands and revealing…
More darkness. Great.
Even Padma, practically buzzing with curiosity as she was, faltered at the sight. Parvati took another deep, somewhat stifled breath, pocketed her wand, and stepped forward to take her hand. The other hand she offered to Hermione, who hesitated for only a heartbeat before seizing it in a grip so tight it should have been uncomfortable. It wasn't.
With her free hand, Hermione raised her wand and silently sent a torch-sized ball of flame floating into the darkness— and promptly squeezed Parvati's metacarpals even tighter when it illuminated two giant serpentine heads looming high to either side of the path ahead.
"Just statues," said Parvati, "remember? Harry described this."
"Right. Yes." Hermione's voice was oddly muffled by the mask, her clever eyes obscured by the gleam of reflected firelight on its lenses. "Statues. Of course."
Then she stepped over the threshold, tugging Them along by Parvati's hand.
The flame, it turned out, was unnecessary. The moment they set foot inside the Chamber, a pale greenish glow filled the stone serpents' eyes— and two by two the eyes of every pair that flanked the walkway, all the way to…
Parvati's stomach turned.
"Well," said Padma. "Good thinking about the masks."
It lay in the middle of a vast, dark stain on the stone. Massive ribs curved up out of the mounds of moist gray flesh that had spilled from gaping holes and rips in what was barely recognizable as a scaly hide.
Lumpy black slime had oozed from its jaws as well, sticking between its wicked fangs, and from the empty eye-sockets—
Parvati turned away and focused on her breathing. Why didn't she skip breakfast? She'd known what they might find here. Oh, she could not vomit inside this mask…
"It's been two years," Padma said, because the bint had stuck her with the revulsion so she could focus on the curiosity. "Should it not be… at least a bit closer to fully skeletal by now? Especially in such a dank environment…"
The only reply she received was footsteps on stone.
Parvati peeked over her shoulder to see Hermione walking way further into the Chamber, slowly gaining speed and confidence until she was properly marching towards the mess.
Parvati-and-Padma followed in synchrony, filled with morbid fascination and worry, keeping nausea at bay by focusing on Their friend's rigid back and stiff strides— which came to an abrupt stop right at the edge of the stain as Hermione raised her wand and… paused. Cast nothing. Just stood there for a long moment, aiming at its oversized skull.
Then she lowered her wand, murmured:
"Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha-olam, ha-gomel l'chayavim tovot she-g'malani kol tov."
— and started pacing back and forth.
Her free hand fiddled with her hamsa necklace, and then tugged on a stray curl. Parvati should have offered to braid her hair before this. It would have put them both a bit more at ease, and Hermione's hair was always a treat to play with, so different in texture from her own—
"Right. Time to clean this up."
"What do you need us to do?" Asked Parvati at the exact same time as Padma asked "How?"
They looked at each other. Padma, her face obscured by leather and glass, raised an eyebrow pointedly enough for Parvati to feel it.
"A basic trifontano-resonant continuous conjuration ritual."
"Oh, just the basic sort?" Parvati softly snarked. "No problem, then."
"Well, it is rather simple. We just need to stand as the points of a triangle around it, all cast fire spells, and focus our intent to stoke the fire until we've achieved the desired effect." Hermione crossed her arms. "…it won't be blasphemous at all for you to chant the Praṇava, will it ? Given the, ah… condition of the body?"
Her demonstrating basic knowledge of Hinduism and caring enough to ask shouldn't have been as touching as it was, but years of Their schoolmates unsubtly regarding Their faith as primitive superstition at worst and a quaint little quirk at best had buried the bar.
Hearing her pronounce their language so well was also rather nice.
"All magic is a veneration of Kali, Granger." Padma walked over to stand beside her, Parvati close behind, footsteps loud on the wet stone. "And using magic to cremate a deadly enemy that nearly killed you is a grander veneration than anything else we've done at this school."
Hermione's wand hand twitched as it always did when she wanted to write something down. "It's so nice to have a friend that's eloquent."
Parvati did not object to her use of the singular; Hermione knew that They were not, strictly speaking, two separate people. She didn't truly understand it, but only twin magi truly could.
"What if the incantation I'll be using is a bit… warlike?" She asked.
"Elucidate," said Padma.
Hermione shifted a bit uneasily. "It tried to kill me. I survived, and was empowered —however indirectly— by its failed attempt. And I'm going to claim whatever survives the ritual as a trophy to commemorate that."
A… trophy.
What had she been doing over the summer?
"I suppose you are entitled to… spoils," said Padma.
"Without you Harry never would have found this place at all," Padma agreed.
"Precisely!" Said Hermione, bringing one hand to her face as if to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, only to encounter mask and quickly return that hand to her side. "Thank you. It's… not a problem then? My intent won't clash with your mantra?"
"Hermione," said Parvati, "have you seen any depictions of Kali?"
"…ah."
"If we invoked Her specifically while you were focusing on your own magic, that might cause some problems," said Padma. "There are some fascinating accounts of Christians with ulterior motives trying to perform rituals with Hindus— yes, we'll see about getting you some copies, but I digress; we'll keep our mantras non-specific."
"Thank you," said Hermione, clearly exercising considerable restraint with regards to the mentioned literature. "Shall we?"
They deposited their bags on the least moist spot of floor in their immediate vicinity and returned to the edge of the Stain.
"Stand a bit closer?" Hermione asked. "Shoulder-to-shoulder should be fine."
They did so.
"Good. Now I need you to walk exactly twenty-six paces diagonally to either side of the…"
"Mess?" Said Parvati.
"The mess. In as straight a line as you can manage."
They walked, and in walking came to appreciate how the masks limited their peripheral vision— but it only delayed the inevitable.
Parvati had to look between the Basilisk's rot-stained ribs to see her other half, and over stained stone and a soupy spill of no-longer-meat to see Hermione.
"Perfect!" Her voice echoed oddly off the wet stones and cavernously vaulted ceiling. "Ready when you are!"
Parvati-and-Padma scourgified the stone at their feet, laid out their robes, removed their shoes, and settled into half-lotus facing the corpse. Then they closed their eyes and began to breathe deeply in unison. Relaxing their muscles was almost subconscious. Both bodies felt the almost the exact same sensations— cold ground beneath their legs and cold air on their skin, the clinging of the masks and the musty, faintly chemical smell, the echo of dripping water…
Their synchronized heartbeats.
They parted their lips, and sang the closest their mortal forms could to the Primordial Sound.
"Ōṃ…"
The vibration began in Their chests, slowly spreading outwards to resonate through their every nerve, from the tips of their toes to the crowns of their heads.
"Ōṃ…"
It pulled Their consciousness inward, focusing them entirely on their flesh and the intangible, ambidextrous Self within: a single sprout of the universal soul blessed with two bodies— two minds with which to think and two mouths with which to speak, four eyes and ears to perceive and four hands with which to act…
"Ōṃ…"
Parvati and Padma were but an elaborate dance. They were living, breathing wands; tiny conduits for the divine. It filled their every cell and spilled over, resonating with Itself in the dank air, cold water, dreaming stones— and the brilliant little spark of It standing equidistant from their bodies, who raised her wand and uttered:
"Ek hæbbe geoferbīdende þek.
þauh mek huntōdes, hēr ek standu ond hēr þu rotast.
þīnabreoðanung mek hæbēþ gestrengþed, ond þīn bainu bēunþ nū mīn."
Grim satisfaction rang in the air as her voice grew in volume and power, a harsh rhythm to Their harmony.
"þīngæst hæbēþ gelæfed ond þīn blōd hæbēþ gedryged." The air thickened, taut as a bowstring, stirring Parvati-Padma to action— "Naiwwit þīn belīfþ beutan elding fuires ūre!"
Flame spewed from three wands like the breath of tiny dragons. Peeling hide and putrid flesh caught fire with a sizzle.
They stopped casting, but kept chanting.
"Ōṃ…"
"þīngæst hæbēþ gelæfed ond þīn blōd hæbēþ gedryged— naiwwit þīn belīfþ beutan elding fuires ūre."
The flames spread as if oil-fed over the foul spillage and climbed the mounds of meat into its half-hollow ribcage, spewing fumes into the air.
"Ōṃ…"
"þīngæst hæbēþ gelæfed ond þīn blōd hæbēþ gedryged— naiwwit þīn belīfþ beutan elding fuires ūre."
With every repetition they burned brighter, flaring blue and green and even purple as they devoured the rot. The heat was monstrous, threatening to singe their skin— but the discomfort was only physical.
"Ōṃ…"
"þīngæst hæbēþ gelæfed ond þīn blōd hæbēþ gedryged— naiwwit þīn belīfþ beutan elding fuires ūre."
Soon thick, oily smoke shrouded the carcass, billowing up into the vaulted heights, and in its depths formed fleeting, hazy shapes— faces there and gone in a blink, what might have been bodies writhing in and out of view and many, many eyes staring down at them.
Padma-Parvati lost Herself in that swirling haze and the many-colored inferno from which it flowed; there was nothing but light and heat and the Sound ringing Her bodies and spirit like bells.
.
.:.
When it was done, there were only blackened bones rising from a mound of ashes... and poking out of those ashes, each easily a handspan wide and seemingly unmarked by the flames, were countless green-black scales.
Parvati-Padma could only stare, lightheaded, every limb leaden and every nerve buzzing. The silence was deafening.
"Oh wow," Hermione said faintly, swaying where she stood. "Baruch HaShem Harry stabbed it in the mouth."
Then her knees buckled, and she fell to the ground. Parvati-Padma stumbled up and rushed over, nearly tripping over Their own feet as blood rushed back into exhausted muscles. With Parvati She watched Hermione's chest; with Padma She felt for a pulse.
Her chest rose; her heart beat. The Twins let out a sigh of relief.
On a whim She reached for the straps of Hermione's mask with Parvati, then paused to look up at the ceiling— which She could actually see again, albeit through a slight haze. There must have been vents somewhere, or at least a crack in the masonry somewhere… but just because the smoke was gone didn't mean the stench was.
One way to find out.
With one pair of hands She carefully rolled Hermione onto her back while using the other to summon a robe, ball it up, and wedge it under her head. Then She unbuckled the straps of the mask on Parvati, pulled it off, and cringed as She inhaled the sharply bitter, thoroughly burnt-smelling air. There was still a definite note of sickly sweetness in it as well, but at least it was breathable— though She might not have been the fairest judge, what with one of Her noses still protected. The stench did, however, help Her start sorting Herself out. So did talking.
"Do I—" said Padma, "we think we should rennervate her, or just… let her sleep for a bit? If this is from exhaustion…"
"But what if it's not just exhaustion?" asked Parvati.
Padma rose shakily to Theirher feet and went over to search Hermione's book-bag for anything she might have brought to help. Something stung her fingertips rather painfully, so she summoned the other robe and dumped out its contents: several textbooks bristling with color-coded tabs, one of those handy muggle pen-cases and some notebooks, a quill-and-ink case, a silver-clasped journal bound in maroon leather and marked only by several concentric rings of runes engraved on its cover, and a cute little box of neatly-labeled potions, which she grabbed and hurried back with.
Parvati removed Hermione's mask, revealing a sheen of sweat on her ochre-hued brow. The girl shifted in her sleep, nose and lips twitching as she smelled the tainted air, but it wasn't enough to wake her.
Parvati tried to be gentle with the Rennervate.
Hermione's eyes fluttered open, big and brown and panicked for an instant before she saw Them leaning over her. Then she noticed the smell, scrunching her nose in disgust as she lifted her head off the rolled-up robe— only to wince and squeeze her eyes shut.
"Merde." Her voice was hoarse. They hadn't brought any water. "I'm sorry, you two…"
"It's alright," said Parvati. "You just over-channeled, right? It's not anything serious?"
"No no… I mean yes." Her eyebrows pinched together. "Over-channeled. Got a bit overzealous, that's all."
There was nothing for it, then— she'd just have to sleep it off. Thankfully it was a Saturday, so they had…
…plenty of time.
Hermione opened her eyes again, and went still when she found Them staring down at her.
"…z'there something on my face?"
"Oh no," said Parvati, "just a bit of sweat. You know, from whatever the bloody hell that was."
Her eyes darted nervously between their faces. "I told you what it was."
"You described the method," said Padma. "Which is not the same thing and you know it."
Hermione had the good grace to look sheepish about it, at least. "It was an Anglo-Saxon ritual for the cremation of a vanquished aggressor."
All Their frustration and hurt about the secret-keeping flowed into Parvati as Padma perked up in curiosity. "Andromeda Tonks taught you that?"
Hermione's gaze flicked away from them. "Madam Tonks has taught me many things. Such as the bubble-head charm, which actually isn't that difficult— d'you want me to—"
"Hermione," They said.
Reluctantly, she met Their gazes, so obviously nervous Parvati couldn't help but take her clammy hand. Hermione sighed, and closed her eyes for a brief moment. Then:
"I learned it from a portrait of Auriga Æthelræd Black."
They… took a moment to absorb that.
"She was bored, you see, and found me interesting enough, so she asked for stories of the modern world in exchange for her knowledge of proper, old-fashioned witchcraft."
"Madam Tonks keeps portraits of… her ancestors, in her house?" They asked.
"No," said Hermione. "But her cousin does."
It was a bit silly, in hindsight, to fear that the friends who'd just followed her into a potentially collapsing secret murder chamber and joined her in a destructive ritual would condemn or report her upon learning of her independent studies.
But their reassurance, though such a relief she'd nearly passed out again like some fainting Victorian damsel, failed to fully dispel Hermione's nerves. Oh, they'd smiled and nodded and held her hands, yes— but she'd seen the surprised, troubled look in their eyes. The glance they shared, which seemed to say We need to discuss this later.
There was also how quiet and awkward the trek back to the dorms had been. Hermione wanted to think it was all in her head, to blame it on their collective fatigue, but…
Well.
The Dyrnwold Patils might have been staunchly opposed to blood purism, but they were one branch of a family that had been magical for centuries. When Padma had first started talking to snakes, they'd had no shortage of literature to tell how best to nurture it and what hallowed career-paths it opened for her. They had texts in their library that predated the Norman Conquest.
Could such blessed people truly empathize with her thirst for knowledge? Could they truly understand why she would take such risks to acquire it?
So.
When Parvati stepped into the loo while she was brushing her teeth the next morning and cast a silencing charm on the door, Hermione failed to fully occlude her apprehension.
"Morning," said Parvati. "Did you sleep well?"
Hermione nodded, and used the few moments it took to spit, rinse, and dry her face to further suppress the urge to fidget (maintaining one's composure at all times was one of several things Andromeda and Auriga were similarly adamant about, though only Auriga seemed eager to teach a still-developing mind to magically manipulate itself). By the time she was done Parvati stood at the next sink over, inspecting herself in the mirror.
"Better than I have in weeks," said Hermione, heart racing. "And you?"
"The same, actually. We should do things like that more often. Rituals, I mean— not burning up rotten corpses. Pretty sure the uniform I was wearing is a lost cause."
"Oh." Hermione glanced at the closed door behind them. "Well, the adjoining chambers should be clear of any such surprises."
Parvati nodded. "How do you figure?"
"Well, given that the Basilisk's scales survived hours of the hottest flame we could conjure, I think it's safe to say that the same magic that made it so tough also hindered decomposition— and there are very few other creatures with the same level of resilience. So anything else that died down there should be naught but dry bones by now."
"'Naught but dry bones'?" Parvati shot her a smile. "Exactly how much time did you spend chatting with that portrait?"
Deep breaths.
"I'm not sure," She said as nonchalantly as she could. "It's not as if I made a point of measuring."
"Hmm." Parvati prepped the toothbrush Hermione had courtesy-trapped her into using by gifting it (tooth-cleansing charms couldn't possibly be as effective without thorough knowledge of dental health, which the vast majority of magi lacked). "Well, I like it. Makes you sound like a poet or something. Now, before the others wake up— what's next?"
Hermione blinked, and forced herself to meet Parvati's dark eyes. There was no judgment in them, no hint of unease in her expression. She could have been talking about a group project.
"What?"
"Our next step? Now that we've dealt with the mess?"
And that was apparently that— for the moment.
Later that day, they stepped into the old dueling hall to find the youngest Weasley panting for air as she hurled hex after hex at one of their targets— the condition of which strongly hinted at the use of cutting and piercing curses as well. She was so wrapped up in this she didn't even notice them enter until they were several steps through the door— at which point she spun towards them with startling speed, wand up.
She quickly lowered it and gave a curt nod. "Alright, Granger? Patil?"
Her face was flushed a splotchy pink, and gleaming with sweat.
"Hello, Ginevra," Hermione replied, as calling her Weasley would get confusing fast.
This provoked a pinched look. "Just Ginny. Or Gin. Please."
"Of course," said Hermione. "Which of the two do you prefer?"
Ginevra shrugged.
"Well, Ginny, we have a gift for you."
The girl's eyes flicked nervously from her to Parvati and back. "What for?"
A special occasion seemed a bit cheeky for the moment, so Hermione just went ahead and pulled the basilisk scale out of her bag.
"Here."
Ginevra stared at it for a beat. Then her eyes widened and she took an abrupt step back, the flush draining from her cheeks.
"It's only more of these and some bones left down there now," said Hermione.
Ginevra's gaze snapped from the scale. "You—? Down there?"
"We've claimed the Chamber for independent study, which required a bit of cleaning."
Ginevra continued to stare at her, making no move to accept the gift.
"Cleaning," she said weakly.
Hermione nodded. "Would you like to see it?"
The girl's nose flared, and her eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Will you take this, or should I put it away?"
"Why?"
Hermione crossed her arms. "Why what?"
"Why would you give me— that?"
"It's a memento of your survival. The Basilisk and diary are gone, and you're still here."
Ginny looked back down at the scale again. Her throat bobbed. Then she took a deep breath, stepped forward, and plucked it from Hermione's hand.
Hermione busied herself repairing the savaged target to give the girl some privacy. She really had done quite a number on it. Who had taught her whipping curses?
"What—" Ginny's voice cracked. She cleared her throat and shuffled her feet, scale clutched tightly in both hands. "What about the Chamber? Why should I go down there?"
Hermione parted her lips to answer, then paused. She considered the determined pinch of Ginny's brows and the wary look in her eyes.
Then she said:
"It's the best ritual space I could think of to create more powerful protections for Harry, and we need another ritualist."
Ginny took another deep breath. "Protections?"
"Specifically another amulet, or something similarly portable. The one I made over the summer might be able to repel a few stunners and bludgeoners and such, but the Tournament isn't going to be that gentle. He needs something stronger, and I need help to make it. The Twins—" —Hermione nodded at Parvati, who had drifted over to pretend to browse the bookcase in the corner— "have already agreed; Padma is one of Harry's best friends and Parvati is her other half, but you…"
—she had to pause for breath—
"…know what it's like to be in mortal danger better than any of us except for Harry, and he was the one who rescued you from it. Perfect for a protective ritual. Also, I think you might like to see what we've done with the place. We happen to need a tie-breaker on where to put the Basilisk skull."
"You…" Ginny shook her head. "So… he's part of this too? Harry?"
"Only as the recipient of whatever we manage to create," said Hermione. "He doesn't need to be involved in the ritual— he already has enough on his plate, and I don't think he'd particularly want to revisit the Chamber."
She also suspected he might have some reservations about animal sacrifice, which could be inconvenient.
"I'm asking you because— well, I already explained." Hermione gave her best attempt at an encouraging smile. "There's no one better for this, Ginny."
This for some reason caused the girl to avert her eyes, hands clenching tighter around the scale.
"Wait," she said. "If Harry's not involved, how'd you get into the Chamber?"
"Padma can talk to snakes," Parvati called across the room. "Comes from our mum's side of the family, back in India— nothing to do with Slytherin."
"They have an ancient tradition of using it for healing and protection and such," said Hermione, gamely resisting the urge to correct her about the Founder's real name. "It's rather fascinating. She and Harry have bonded over it."
"Bonded over it," Parvati mimicked, sashaying back over. "Okay, Professor Granger. Ginny, what do you think about putting a sofa on top of the Basilisk's skull? We can get a ladder or something."
Ginny's lips twitched. "How're you gonna get a sofa down there?"
"Team transfiguration. Into… I don't know, a rug we can roll up, or something."
"We could transfigure it into something smaller," said Hermione. "All the fluff inside the cushions should make density less of an issue."
Ginny still looked reluctant. Parvati turned and fixed her with the same sort of assessing stare she aimed at Hermione before Makeup Experiments (the toll she demanded for long study sessions).
"Imagine hanging Harpies' merch down there," she said. "Imagine putting muggle band posters all over Tom Riddle's super secret bad-boy clubhouse. And a gramophone! With muggle records!"
Ginny smiled in a way that was ominously reminiscent of her twin brothers.
"I'm in."
.:.
"You learned blood magic from a Black Family portrait," she said three hours later, voice and expression equally flat.
Hermione drew herself up with all the affronted dignity she could on such short notice. She'd hoped that Ginny's apparent taste in curses might be indicative of an open mind, but—
"And?" Parvati asked primly from her end of the sofa (which was for the moment beside the skull, rather than atop it).
"It's dangerous," said Ginny.
"So is this school. But it's not giving us the knowledge we need to protect ourselves from that danger, and unlike many of our peers, Hermione can't just stroll into her family library and find that knowledge, and those who can would probably curse her for even asking to see theirs! We wouldn't, but all the more serious grimoires in our house are Hindu-specific, and only a fool would attempt a sacrificial ritual traditionally devoted to a deity they don't worship. She did what she had to do to better protect herself and her family. If you can't accept that, then I don't think we have anything else to say to each other."
Hermione's first reaction was shock. She'd never seen Parvati be so… fierce. It was like watching a princess on some BBC drama take a scheming villain to task, all righteous, elegant eloquence— except the princesses on the telly never had lovely brown skin or auras like an angry sunrise. And she'd certainly never wanted to hug any of them so strongly.
"And you," she blurted.
Parvati turned to her, righteous glare fading, aura shifting into cooler shades.
"My friends, I mean," Hermione clarified. "To protect my friends, too."
"Well," Parvati (unfortunately) composed herself again, and pulled the amulet Hermione had made for her out from under her shirt. "I think you've done wonderfully so far."
The urge to hug grew too strong to resist. Parvati was stronger than she looked, and smelled of sweet jasmine and fresh laundry. Hermione found herself reluctant to pull away, but there was still the issue of Ginny— who now looked a bit timid, all flushed and slouching again.
"You're not wrong," Hermione said gently. "Sacrificial rituals can be dangerous. That's why I've researched them so thoroughly, and spent so much time listening to a portrait that insulted me every other sentence. To minimize the risk. I know what I'm doing."
It took Ginny a few minutes to find her voice again, but it turned out her problem had been more with the source of the knowledge than the idea of animal sacrifice (which Hermione, who knew more about House Black's excesses than most, had to admit was fair).
After she rather vehemently insisted that growing up on a farm had cured her of any aversion to 'a bit of blood', and the Twins explained that their family regularly paid homage to the spirits of the land by way of goat-offerings, they moved on to the question of what exactly to use. They were limited to what roamed the school grounds, after all, and for best results needed a beast whose sacrifice could be symbolically protective somehow.
Ginny broke a long moment of silence with the word: "Acromantulae."
Hermione was equal parts frustrated she hadn't thought of that and a bit surprised the Ginny had; judging by the look on the Twins' faces, it was even Dharmically sufficient.
The girl shifted uneasily and crossed her arms at their stares. "What? They're a threat to students, yeah? So wouldn't that make a better sacrifice than, say, a deer or something?"
"But there's a whole colony of them," said Padma, while Parvati made a moue of disgust. "How would we catch one alive without getting swarmed?"
"A diversion," Ginny said easily— and then leaned back slightly, wide-eyed, as all three of them leaned towards her.
"Go on," the Patils said in unison.
She fidgeted a bit, wet her lips, and spoke.
The youngest Weasley, it seemed, was full of surprises.
Notes:
Again, if I've written something ignorant/insensitive please do give me a heads up.
Aetheraisthete— from aether, the intangible 'Fifth Element' some ancient Greek philosophers believed filled the universe beyond the terrestrial sphere (it was what the Gods supposedly breathed instead of air) & aísthēsis, meaning perception/sensation.
The Hebrew Hermione recites in front of the Basilisk corpse is the Birkat Hagomel, a prayer of gratitude for surviving something dangerous.