Hermione Granger: The Horns of a Dilemma

Hermione Granger

"Wait," Hermione said. He needed to stop, so she could tell him.

But who needed to stop? What did she need to tell him?

Something solid and real had dissolved into mist. She tried to remember, to hold on to those tendrils of thought. But they evaporated in the sunshine. She felt wrung out, her nose stuffed up and tingling as if she'd been crying, or trying hard not to cry. What had she been doing? She'd been waiting at The Blind Mouse and ended up in this alley, somehow.

She had the strange feeling that someone was watching her. Turning, she found nothing but a brick wall, featureless except for an old poster peeling at the corners. Her hand flexed, and she realized she was holding something: a new encoded note in the notebook used for her meetings with the Phoenix. She let out a breath. That explained the memory loss. She must still be in Brigadoon, close to wherever they'd met.

Had she done it? Had she returned with the identity of the Phoenix? She pulled the vial out of her pocket. Empty. Heart racing, she raised her hood and hurried out of the alley, finding her way back to The Blind Mouse. Molly and Ron were gone, so she settled at a new table in an outdoor area facing the square. Ordering a cuppa, she began the decoding spells, impatient to understand what had happened.

Scanning the decoded note didn't reveal any name. And then she caught a line that froze her breath: I told the Phoenix about Dumbledore's task.

She gripped the note for so long that the paper grew soft from the warmth and dampness of her hands. A familiar frustration rose. What happened in that meeting? What changed? She took several long breaths, reminding herself that her curiosity was not nearly as important as keeping everyone safe. And despite her lack of memory, it was clear she wanted to keep the Phoenix safe.

A huddle of yellow-robed prisoners entered the square, stumbling blindly. The black hoods they wore were more like sacks, completely covering their faces. They clung to one another, shackled wrists twisting to grab onto a nearby sleeve.

It was all designed to keep them helpless and easy to recapture should they try to escape. They couldn't run blind, and they couldn't hide in their bright robes. Their only chance was if someone helped them. Some passersby in the square gave them glances of curiosity or sympathy, but then went on their way.

Two Death Eaters flanked the group, sending stinging hexes at anyone who drifted too far in the wrong direction. They were like blind horses led with the whip.

In the old days, the resistance would have the group followed, and struck at the earliest opportunity, freeing everyone. Now, all Hermione could do was hunch in her seat and try to look inconspicuous. She had to watch, as leaving now would force her to cross paths with the Death Eaters. Instead, she studied them. They moved like the Carrow siblings, and the blunt cruelty was certainly their style.

A prisoner stumbled and fell. The black sack rippled around his head like something alive, a macabre version of the Sorting Hat. He twisted, dust latching onto his robes as he struggled with his bonds. The sack bunched and squeezed around his neck. The mushrooming of his breath under the sack grew smaller as his chest spasmed. Amycus Carrow laughed.

Hermione had re-coded her notes, but she stared at the impenetrable symbols anyway, pretending to read them. There was very little chance that prisoner was someone she knew. Not Remus or Neville. But all she could see were Remus's defeated eyes as he gave in to the transformation. Or Neville, who'd gained confidence and determination, yet never lost his heart. Would he be able to keep that as a prisoner with no hope of rescue? She focused on the slashes of ink on the page and tried to imagine another version of herself writing them, reassuring her and advising patience. Telling her to drink her tea and carry on. It didn't help. She stuffed the notes into her pocket, her fingers brushing the handle of her wand.

None of the patrons nearby were eating, either. Some sat with forks halfway to their mouths, lines of strain visible in the tendons of their hands. But they did nothing. What made her different from the rest of them? She was ignoring someone's suffering in the hopes that she wouldn't catch a Death Eater's eye.

Alecto Carrow was less amused by the prisoner's writhing, rapping her wand against her leg in a twitchy staccato. "Was told not to kill you. But nobody said anything about cruciatus."

Hermione was up before she could think, shouting a stunning spell.

Alecto Carrow fell, her body frozen with her wand jutting out.

She cast expelliarmus on the remaining Carrow and slashed out with her wand, cutting the prisoners' chains. They tore at the writhing sacks on their heads, stumbling as they ran. Everyone else ran, too, plates and mugs crashing to the floor.

She dove under a table for cover. A blast shook the table and the wood above her cracked, a white seam racing down the middle. She scrambled away as the halves fell on either side of her. Keeping low, she wove between the tables and made it to the side street where an iron fence blocked her way.

A klaxon shrieked, alerting other Death Eaters in the village to respond. The Carrows had recovered and were running towards her.

She focused on the weld marks on the fence. "Diffindo, diffindo, diffindo." The charm sliced through the fence, and she sent iron bars hurtling towards the Death Eaters.

Halfway down the side street, a flurry of yellow crashed into her, nearly knocking her off her feet. The dust-covered prisoner stumbled against a leather goods shop, still struggling with the sack over his head.

"Come on." She grabbed his arm and dragged him along.

The square quickly emptied, doors slamming as residents locked themselves in. She raced through the streets, turning left and right blindly, hoping to lose her pursuers as she got lost herself. She skidded to a halt behind a thick-trunked sycamore tree that grew through the pavement. Running feet thudded in the distance, but she couldn't determine their direction.

The sack let very little sound through, so she didn't waste words and focused on disenchanting it. After several spells, it finally slumped, wriggling lifelessly, although it was still secured to the prisoner's neck. The loose shackles were quick work, as she'd unlocked many before this.

The prisoner coughed, yanking and tearing the sack. "This is humiliating. And hot."

Her heart dropped. She cast a releasing spell and ripped the sack off his face. "Malfoy."

Draco Malfoy panted, red-faced. His eyes widened. "Granger? What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? What about you?" She gestured at the sack, now flopping brokenly on the ground.

Malfoy rubbed his neck as he looked down at it. "Oh. Misunderstanding."

"You don't expect me to believe—" She stopped. The footsteps were slower, more methodical now. And closer. "It isn't safe here."

Glancing down the street, his red face slowly paled. "Where can we go?"

She drew back. "Who said anything about 'we'?"

He looked like a kicked puppy. "Come on, Granger. I don't even have a wand."

She studied him. "What happened to the invisibility cloak?"

He didn't meet her eyes. "Same as my wand. Taken without so much as a request." He leaned forwards. "I would've returned it."

"I'm sure."

"This isn't my fault." He pounded his fist on the ground, glaring at the sack. "None of this is my fault!"

"Oh, shut it." She checked around the corner and recognized the street. Ron and Molly were out there somewhere, and she needed to make sure they were okay. They'd agreed to meet back at the square, so they'd likely head that way. She looked back at Malfoy, pale except for bright splotches of color on his cheeks, and sighed. "Don't make me regret this."

They made a circuitous route back to the square. All the doors were shut tight. But there was the tromp of running feet coming from the east. She huddled in a doorway, trying to determine if they were getting closer.

"Why don't we just leave?" Malfoy hissed.

"I'm not leaving without my friends. But go right ahead." She gestured down the street. It would be safer if she didn't drag Malfoy along. "It might be your father out there. He's looking for you."

Malfoy gnawed on his lip. "He can't help me." He glanced at her, looking a bit lost. "You saw him? How did he look?"

She remembered the battle at Dumbledore's house. "Homicidal."

He wiped his sweating face with his palm, wrinkling his nose as he shook away the droplets. "It's war, Granger, and you've got a target on your back. With my luck, some curse meant for you will ricochet and hit me." But he didn't leave her side.

The thudding got louder, and fighting exploded upon them. A window shattered overhead, and they dodged to avoid falling shards. Rounding a corner, they collided with a cushion of air. She recognized it as a dampening shield Molly had developed.

"My dear!" Molly briefly dropped the shield to help her up. "I'm glad you're all right." She glanced at Malfoy in his prisoner robes, but didn't offer more than a glare. "When we saw everyone running from the square, we headed straight there. We thought you might be in trouble."

Ron didn't stop with a glare. "What's he doing here? Don't tell me he's on our side."

"Not even the remotest chance, Weasley," Malfoy said.

"Well, there are your mates," Ron said, gesturing in the direction of the advancing Death Eaters. "Why don't you—"

A blast hit Ron in the shoulder. He fell to his knees.

"Ron!" Molly shouted. She sent a blast at the Death Eater heading towards them, knocking him flat.

"S'alright," Ron said. "Shield took most of it."

"The village gates are west of here," Hermione said. "If we—"

"Can't get through," Molly said. "The Dark Guard set a perimeter and are closing in."

"Then we need to hide."

Molly's mouth thinned to a flat line. "They've started the countdown."

Hermione's throat tightened. Only residents moved with Brigadoon. Once the countdown was finished, the village would disappear, and they'd be left in an empty clearing surrounded by the Guard. "Once it leaves, we can apparate. If we can buy ourselves a few seconds—"

Ron shook his head. "Brigadoon leaves in pieces. The anti-apparation spell lingers until it's completely gone. We'll need minutes, not seconds."

A Death Eater curse came close, shattering the wall of the shop next to her. Someone inside screamed.

"Outnumbered," Molly said. She gazed at Ron, her face hardening, and Hermione could tell what she was thinking. They were all going to be captured, or worse. That wasn't the face of someone who was going to lose another son.

But Hermione wouldn't let Molly risk her life. Not if she could help it. "Head for the gate. I'll get the Guard to follow us."

"Wait a minute," Malfoy said. "I never—"

"If you can get through the gate, we'll meet up at the old headquarters by the cairn up north. You remember the one?"

"Hermione, no," Ron said.

She focused on Molly. "We have a better chance if we split up, don't we? If you two can reach the edge of the forest, you'll be able to attack the Guard from your cover."

Molly nodded, gripping her hand. "We won't let them take you."

Hermione gave her a squeeze back, then ran towards a crossroads. Two Guards were there, wands raised. She cast several stunner spells and headed down another street.

Malfoy stumbled after her. There was a sound like a thunderclap. Malfoy yelped, nearly running her over.

She dragged him into a side alley and over someone's low garden wall. A stone obelisk stood in the middle of the garden, kept clear of shrubbery, but an overgrown hawthorn hid them well. "How many followed us?"

Malfoy panted. "Two, I think."

She crossed to the other side of the garden. "Not enough. Molly will have her hands full."

"Not enough?" Malfoy fell behind the hawthorn like a rag doll. "I'm going to get captured again, thanks to you."

"It's thanks to me you escaped at all." She glanced at him. "You never told me why you were a prisoner."

He huffed. "You're right. I didn't."

Boots thudded past them, only a few meters away. She counted to ten, then got up. "Come on. We'll let them see us at the crossroads up ahead."

"Let them see us?" Malfoy scrambled to his feet and backed away. "You can be a martyr for your little rebellion. I'm getting as far as I can from here."

She was inclined to let him go, and good riddance. But he knew more about what happened to the cloak than anyone else. And Malfoy wouldn't last five minutes on the run without a wand. Him getting sent to a prison camp might be karmic justice, but she couldn't wish that fate on anyone. Not even Malfoy. "We've got to keep the Death Eaters away from the others." She scanned the nearby crossroads. The area was familiar. "I know someone who might help us."

"Oh?" Malfoy wavered, glancing from an alley back to her. "And who might that be?"

xx

Aberforth poked his nose through a gap in the shutters. "Quiet, the both of you. You're frightening the goats."

"Let us in," Hermione said.

He opened the shutters fully and leaned on the windowsill. "And why should I do that?"

"Because if we get captured," Malfoy said, "we'll say you were our accomplice, and they'll come after you, too."

She elbowed Malfoy hard in the ribs. "I'm sorry," she said to Aberforth. "He's an idiot."

Aberforth chuckled. "You don't say."

Millicent's muffled voice came from behind them. "We should do the thing with the runes."

His mouth twitched, and he disappeared from the window. The door clicked open. "Come on, then."

Malfoy slammed the door behind them and peered out the window. "I don't see any sign of them."

Millicent gave Hermione a nod and ignored Draco entirely.

Aberforth settled into his chair. "You'll see 'em soon enough." He opened a closet and levitated a stone obelisk to the center of the room.

It looked like the obelisk she'd seen in the walled garden earlier. Covered in carved runes and vaguely in the shape of a pointed witch's hat, it had a moving stone wheel on its face. The wheel slowly turned, ticking its way towards a rune she remembered.

"Brigadoon is leaving behind you and your troubles. Won't be long now." He pulled on his pipe thoughtfully. "You've gotten yourselves into quite the pickle."

Malfoy glared at Hermione. "It wasn't my idea to get them chasing after us."

"But can you help us?" Hermione glanced between Millicent and Aberforth. If Ron was right, it would be dangerous in the minutes after Brigadoon moved. If the village moved slowly, in pieces, it meant very little cover and no easy way to escape. It would be a race to avoid capture until they could apparate away. "Can we disappear with you?" She thought of Ron and Molly, racing through the village. "All of us?"

Aberforth leaned back, tapping the pipe's mouthpiece against his lower lip. "Only if you were official residents of Brigadoon."

"Just a moment," Malfoy said. "The idea is to escape this little mudhole, not live here."

Aberforth raised a bushy eyebrow. "If my home offends you…" he flicked his wand, and the door swung open.

"Don't listen to him," Hermione told Aberforth. "What would we have to do?"

There were shouts and knocking further down the street. Aberforth gazed curiously out the window, the tips of his white hair floating in the breeze. "A commitment to a resident is required," he said. "Or we'd have every frightened duck in the kingdom living here." He scratched his beard. "What about six kilos of mohair fiber? If you agree to supply three each, you would be considered residents under my care. When your duty is fulfilled, you can be on your way."

"Where on earth," Malfoy said, "are we supposed to—"

"He has a goat farm, you pompous twit. We'd work as his farmhands."

"Farmhands?" Malfoy had the exact expression of a flopping goldfish. "Work?"

Aberforth got up and beckoned Millicent to join him. "I'd do most of the work." He patted the stone obelisk. "Shearing an angora is a distinct pleasure I haven't done in a while. And I wouldn't expect you to know any shearing spells." He looked Malfoy up and down. "Or which end of a wand to hold."

Millicent pointed to runes running down the side, giving Malfoy a stony gaze. "Every household in Brigadoon has an obelisk and the runes are customized to—"

"Fascinating, really. Love a good cultural lesson."

Millicent and Aberforth stared at Malfoy for a beat, then shared a look. Millicent turned to Hermione and continued. "It's a pact, fulfilled with six kilos of mohair fiber. A drop of blood below this rune will seal it."

She'd seen goats Aberforth owned, healthy with thick coats. It couldn't take that long.

The wheel showed only a few minutes remaining. "What about the others?" she asked. "Can you find them?"

"I can't make any promises on that account. There isn't much time left."

She went just outside the door, out of sight of Malfoy, and cast her patronus, sending them a message. We found a way to stay in Brigadoon. We'll be with Aberforth at the Rattle and Horn, the cheese shop a few blocks north of the square. Find us if you can. The silver otter wiggled its body and scampered off. The shouts of Death Eaters were closer, along with rapping at regular intervals. They were searching houses.

She re-entered the shop. "All right. I'm ready."

"Granger," Malfoy said, "Don't be stupid. Nobody hides fugitives for a pile of hair."

"I'm sure you wouldn't, Malfoy." But she hesitated, glancing at Aberforth. "How long will it take?"

Aberforth shrugged. "I have spells to encourage fast regrowth of the coat. I always make sure my goats are nice and warm for the winter. Don't you worry."

That wasn't exactly what she was asking. But the shouts were more distinct now. Too close. She held out her hand. "Pin?"

Aberforth conjured a sewing needle.

She pricked her index finger and placed it where Millicent indicated. The obelisk warmed to her touch and her finger tingled.

"Our business isn't finished," Aberforth said, "until you both seal the pact."

"Not for all the gold in Gringotts," Malfoy said. "I bet you've got it in for both of us."

"Hmm. Well, I hope you like the feel of a prisoner sack over your head. I hear they're cozy." Aberforth leaned out the window and let out a pierce whistle.

Malfoy, looking decidedly pale, grabbed the needle and gingerly jabbed himself. He poked his finger under the rune, grimacing.

The twin spots of blood faded into the stone.

Hermione rubbed her hand nervously. The tingling spread from her finger to her palm and grew stronger.

Aberforth slammed the door shut and grabbed each of them by the shoulder. "That's all settled, then."

Hermione tried to pull away, but he was squeezing tight enough to hurt. The pain was too much, like her shoulder had become a wet dishrag, wrung out of shape. It shot down her ribs and arm, spreading quickly.

She crumpled to the floor. Aberforth kept pushing, until she felt like she was being compressed into a tight little ball.

Her heart went cold. He'd done something to them. And Millicent helped him. She'd trusted them both. And stupid Malfoy had been right. Why didn't she learn? She tried to shout, but couldn't find her voice. Her neck felt stiff and swollen. In the corner of her eye, Malfoy writhed and twisted into impossible shapes. Her bones warped, bending and shrinking. Her jaw pushed forwards, cheeks tingling as they stretched. White hair sprouted from her arms, curling in thick clumps.

A long-forgotten passage came to her, from Ranatus Plio's Speculations on Sly Spells:

"Witches and wizards making blood pacts should exercise caution. Many a witch or wizard has found themselves in an unfortunate state by making certain assumptions, such as how they would fulfill their pact. Some of these unfortunates have tales of woe that are still passed on today. Even muggles tell a fabled version of Alain Dulac, the young wizard who agreed to supply a potions master with fourteen ounces of frog slime, and soon found himself significantly shorter and greener."

Her elbows snapped forwards into knobby knees, and her hands compressed and flattened into split hooves. Thick white hair covered her body. She looked up to see another goat staring back at her. The only part of Malfoy that remained was the glare he locked on her.

"Baa," he said.

There was an angry rap at the door. Three Death Eaters stood there, wands out. "Have you seen—" began one.

"Sorry," Aberforth said. He waved at the stone obelisk's wheel, which had ticked over and gone still. "Time's run out."

The room started to hum and vibrate, like a plucked bowstring. Her bones rattled. The Death Eaters sank into the floor and out of sight. No, she corrected herself, Brigadoon is the one that's rising out of sight.

The hum reached a high pitch, then faded away to an echo. An eerie silence settled on the shop.

"Didn't I tell you," Aberforth said, leaning down to meet her gaze, "that you'd be safe as residents?" He patted her back, rubbing the strands of her coat between his fingers. "Lovely, just lovely. Let's get you two acquainted with your new family."