Chapter 14:
Wednesday Evening, October 28th…
Harry knocked softly on Hermione's door. The door was open, and Wednesday night was her night to be the `Head On-call'; there's no where else she was supposed to be, but he didn't feel like he could just walk in, either. Granted he should've consulted the Map but he hadn't. Not everyone can think of everything one-hundred percent of the time.
Monday afternoon's Quidditch practice had been cut short once it had been determined that someone had jinxed all the saddles with Bat Bogies. Seeing as how all the players involved had already been pranked `by a professional', no points had been allotted. Harry could list a number of ways he'd rather pass a Monday evening other than washing sliminess out of his Quidditch cords.
Tuesday's prank, though, was funny. Professor Trelawney wrung her hands and bemoaned to anyone and everyone over the lack of connection to `the great beyond'. The points for that prank went to Hufflepuff; Susan Bones successfully proved that Hannah Abbott was the one who successfully switched the Divination professor's favorite tea leaves for coffee grounds.
Never would've thought of that one, Harry mused.
The leading `Hooligan' was the one who had successfully pranked every single House and a variety of Hogwarts professors.
Surprisingly enough, that particular Hooligan had been less then active as of late.
I suppose even an accomplished Hooligan deserves a day off.
Harry knocked again on the Head door.
Still no answer.
This time, he peeked around the edge of the door.
Now he knew why she hadn't answered him.
Curled underneath what he considered `their' blanket, was a completely asleep Hermione.
Books were strewn across the low-lying coffee table. Perfectly hewn rectangles - made out of something that looked like bone or antler - were neatly stacked in groups of three. Crumpled bits of parchment littered the floor. A well-chewed quill listed in her right hand. Her head was cushioned by a combination of her arm and the arm of the couch.
Guess Head Girls deserve down-time, too.
He turned on his heel. No need to wake her. He'd find some time tomorrow to speak with her.
His gaze flicked to the schedule mounted behind her desk.
Then again, maybe I won't.
According to her calendar, all her time between the end of lessons and dinner had been allotted to one thing: Ministry Meeting.
As long as I get to talk to her before the Fall Ball, that's all that matters.
Harry pulled the door shut behind him and headed for Gryffindor Tower.
*~*~*~*~
Thursday Morning…
Harry Potter ran around the lake in the morning. Draco Malfoy flew.
It was during the post-dawn hour that he worked on his Snitch-seeking skills. No distractions, no one to see him give himself up to the joy and thrill of streaking across the broad expanse of the Hogwarts grounds.
Sweaty but pleased with his morning work-out, Draco set a course for the Pitch. From there, he'd stow his gear, shower, and head to breakfast.
That was the plan.
A strange glow radiating from one of the more remote western turrets had him changing his flight path.
He smoothly navigated his way though one of the empty window casings. Draco dismounted from his broom and propped it against the nearest wall. Wand easily accessible, he set to climbing the stairs, and aimed for the source of the light he had seen.
Two flights later, a door stood ajar. With his palm and fingers spread wide, he gently pushed the door open while keeping himself as out-of-sight as possible. Carefully, he peered into the room.
A single female sat cross-legged on the floor, her back to the door. Her hair hung in a high ponytail. A shaft of morning light, from a smallish, east-facing window, fell squarely on her. Her arms were out-stretched, palms to the floor. Underneath one palm rested a piece of parchment. Under the other palm, well-carved rectangles were arranged in seven groups of three.
Fully extended fingers wriggled, flexed. A set of shoulders squared. From the movement of her jumper, she seemed to have taken a deep breath - and held it.
Draco felt his own breath hover in his chest as he watched.
Come on Granger - let's see if you're worth all the fuss.
Her back deflated, her pent breath released.
Golden energy flowed along one arm and connected to the parchment. Golden energy flowed her other arm and connected to the rectangles.
Draco knew that it was one thing to channel magicks, but could she create the necessary connections to transfer the summoned magicks to a place where they'd take on a magick of their own? Had she found a way imbed her perceived Runes, what he assumed were written on piece of parchment, into the medium she'd chosen, the rectangles?
The golden energy linked to the parchment twinkled and became rose-colored. The rose-color started to seep across to the golden energy that flowed to the rectangles. Slowly, the golden hue was pushed, pushed, pushed back. What looked like… letters… lifted from the parchment, drawn by the rosy tide, and drifted towards Granger's other hand.
She slowly tilted her fingers, like she was oh-so-gently shaking something from them and rotated her wrist. The letters floated down, down towards the rectangles.
Her head tipped back. He could see her brow, furrowed with concentration.
Her eyebrows twitched.
The first of the letters settled on the first grouping of rectangles.
Her eyebrows twitched again. The furrows on her brow deepened.
The rosy glow faltered; became more golden.
Granger tipped over, slumped to the floor. The power that once radiated from her - gone.
The runes that had oh-so-briefly appeared on the rectangles vanished and reappeared on her parchment.
Draco strode forward. Kneeling down, he pressed two fingers to the side of her neck. Her pulse was there, he didn't know any more than that.
There was nothing he could do to her. He could, though, do something for her.
He threaded one arm underneath her knees and the other he snaked along her upper back. Pushing with his legs, he stood.
Carefully, he treaded down the stairs. Wandlessly, he summoned his broom. Perched side-saddle, with Granger still unconscious, he made for Hospital.
*~*~*~*~
Ron, as usual, had devoured more than his fair share of kippers, eggs, and sausages at breakfast. Harry, though, had barely touched the food on his plate.
That was the only thing that seemed normal.
Dean and Ginny were still out-of-sorts. He was out-of-sorts with Hermione. Ron was out-of-sorts with Luna. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Malfoy, Snape, as well as a number of other professors, were absent from breakfast. There was a certain level of tension in the Hall; everyone was suspicious of everything. There was only today and tomorrow for any Hooligan to pull any last pranks. Everything and anyone was suspect.
Lee Jordan had been accused, and subsequently proven innocent. Harry hadn't even paid attention to that one, it was so preposterous. As if! Jordan was a nice enough bloke, but given the fact that he didn't exactly perform spectacularly on his O.W.L.s, how could anyone have thought he could've pulled off any kind of prank involving the Slytherin robes or Snape's sheep or the booby-trapped Quidditch equipment?
All he wanted to do was get to class - Charming the Charmed with Flitwick - early enough to speak with Hermione.
A gentle, but urgent, tug on his trousers had Harry looking down at his knee.
"Morning Dobby."
"Harry Potter - you must come quickly."
Instantly on the alert, Harry connected his hand with the sleeve of Ron's robe.
Ron's attention lifted from where he was walking and fixated on someone walking towards Harry.
McGonagall bustled up to where they stood. A tenseness pulled at the edges of her face and her hands were clasped together in front of her stomach.
"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, I need speak with you for a moment."
*~*~*~*~
How he was expected to sit in class - two classes! - while Hermione lay in Hospital was beyond him.
Ron Weasley was a lot of things, but patient wasn't one of them. Especially when his `sister' was being diagnosed by a specialist floo-ed in from St Mungo's as some ghost droned on and on about stuff that happened ages ago.
The only reason why Malfoy possessed the ability to walk up-right was because Winky - via Dobby - confirmed that it was the Slytherin prat who had found Hermione and brought her to Madame Pomfrey.
Harry - Harry was another matter. The lad did what he did best - he sat in his seat and brooded.
Between morning classes, Ron had found a way to slip a note to Ginny, inviting her to join him to see if they could get in to visit Hermione after lunch.
For Ron, that time couldn't come soon enough.
~*~**~*~
"Hermione - you should have seen it!" Ginny leaned forward in her chair, trying to convey the hilarity of the moment to her very still friend. "Here we are, sitting down at lunch, and Nearly Headless Nick announces to everyone that he'd been pranked!"
Ron nodded, confirming Ginny's story. He glanced at Harry, who stood off to the side, backside propped against the nearest wall. Harry's eyes were on Hermione, his lips pursed into a thin line, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
This was the third time in seven years they'd been in Hospital, visiting Hermione. The first time, she'd been petrified. The second time, Dolohov had hit her with that spell. That had been a sketchy time. Ron knew for a fact that Madame Pomfrey had drafted a letter to Hermione's parents, sharing her condolences. Thankfully, that letter had never been sent. He didn't know how Hermione survived that one. Harry did, but he never told anyone the details. Ron was always convinced that the reason why he didn't was because his mate didn't want to relive that night. Fair enough. It wasn't like Ron ever shared the grisly details of their escape from the acromantulas. There are some things a bloke just doesn't want to revisit.
"Apparently, the Hooligan did something - somewhere - that prevents Nick from phasing though solid objects. You should have seen the way Nick - with all the dignity he could muster - ask Filch to open the door for him so that he could leave!" Ginny's laugh was genuine, but thin.
Ron straightened in his chair. "But that's not the best part!" He hated the forced joviality he heard in his voice but kept going. "Dumbledore, after acknowledging Nick's situation, tells the ghost that there's nothing he can do to help him. Why? Because his office had been turned upside down!
"Literally - upside down!" Ginny reached for Hermione's hand and gave it a squeeze, just as she would if Hermione weren't in a healing trance. "Talk about being able to hear an owl hoot in an empty barn! It was brilliant!"
Ron watched Ginny flick her gaze at Harry, ostensibly to give the lad a chance to join in on the conversation.
Which he didn't.
Nonplussed, Ginny blinked.
Ron finished where she left off. "And get this - Dumbledore wasn't miffed. In fact, as McGonagall tells it, he was impressed with the complexity of it all. He seems to think that the Hooligan instigated the need to change all the passwords just so that when the new passwords were put into effect, a `back door', so to speak, was created which the Hooligan used to invert everything in his office." He drew a deep breath and let it out. "Wait until we owl Fred and George about this! They're going to go mental!"
The sound of multiple pairs of shoes approaching Hermione's bed made Ron's apprehension level grow.
He, Ginny and the still-silent Harry each turned and looked at the four people, Pomfrey, McGonagall, Dumbledore and the specialist from St. Mungos, now grouped around Hermione's bedside.
It was McGonagall who addressed them.
"Miss Granger would want you all to be in class."
Ron stood and wiped his palms on his pants. "Rightly so." Ron snapped a look at Harry and then checked with Pomfrey. "Until after dinner, then?"
The school nurse nodded. "But not too late."
He tucked his chair back to its rightful spot. Ginny had already stepped around the bed. Harry had yet to move.
Ron shot Harry a look - come on, mate, snap out of it!
That got through to his friend. Barely.
"Right - later, then," Harry murmured.
At least the lad remembered to use words, Ron thought.
Ron fell in-step with Ginny, Harry trailed behind them. He knew all three of them were straining to hear what was being discussed about Hermione's condition.
"… not in any danger."
"… expect a full recovery."
"Should be back in the dorms by tomorrow…"
"… never seen a case in someone so young where her core magic fed off her body to sustain itself."
It was McGonagall's voice that carried the furthest.
"What could have caused this?"
That was something Ron knew he, and most definitely Harry, wanted to know.
*~*~*~*~
Late Thursday night, after curfew…
Harry knew he had a tendency to brood. Okay - more than a tendency. He did the `sullen' thing rather well.
That's why he was sitting in the dark, in the Common Room, staring at the slowly ebbing fire.
He'd been thinking about it all day, literally.
Some how, some way, for some reason, Hermione had landed herself in Hospital. No one had done anything to her. She hadn't been attacked. No one ambushed her. No one even laid a finger on her. Well, Malfoy did. But it was to help her, not hurt her.
It was eerily like what happened Third Year when she had that blasted Time-Turner. The girl nearly wore herself out, all because of a bloody secret. Only now, she did over do it. Spread herself so thin that her magic wore out her body. And she still didn't say anything to anyone about why she did it.
Not that she could, seeing as she's still in a healing trance.
Harry shifted deeper in to the cushions. He knew that if he went to bed now, all he'd do was huff, puff, and keep his room-mates awake with his tossing and turning.
The thing he learned about his brooding is that, generally, he ended up sussing out whatever it was that needed sussing. Granted Hermione helped with that - a lot - but seeing as how she was the source material, and given her current state, he couldn't exactly draw her at the moment.
He turned his thoughts outward.
His gaze fell on her knitting basket, still heaped with balls of yarn in silver, green, blue, black, yellow, gold and red. All the colors of all the Houses.
One thing was for certain. All those decisions he had to make, he had a specific window of time to act on them.
Halloween was coming. Once that past, open season on Harry Potter commenced. Every year for the past six years, the bulk of his yearly worries commenced at, around, or just after Halloween. Which was why he was grateful that this Hooligan competition occurred when it did. How could he appreciate the fact that someone silenced McGonagall when a very specific meglo-ego-maniac was out for blood? Or laugh with Ron over the state of Slytherins' robes when said friend had all his senses trained on watching his back? Let alone sit and just talk with Hermione about inane topics like Shakespeare's comedies and Ernie Macmillan's propensity for wanking when all of her attention would be turned to how to best keep them all alive?
He needed to think less morbid thoughts.
Like how to earn back the points that Snape had been taking away from Gryffindor since start-of-term. Even if his team won all their games this year, they'd still be hard-pressed to win the House Cup.
He reached down into her basket. His hand disappeared, as did his wrist. Most of his forearm followed. Then, he felt what he was searching for - a nice, tasty, butterbeer.
He popped the cap and sipped. His appreciation for magic never ceased to grow. Only Ron would hide something considered contraband inside Hermione's knitting supplies. It was a perfect cover.
Now, if Gryffindor could win the Hooligan's points, we'd have a fighting chance.
He sipped some more.
Fat chance, there, Potter - not without Hermione are you going to figure that one out.
He put down his bottle and harrumphed at himself.
Oh yeah - well just because she isn't here doesn't mean she can't help me.
From a nearby table, he reached for a stray length of parchment and an errant pencil.
Hermione makes lists, I'll make a list.
He started with the obvious: the pranks.
Hufflepuff
Dumbledore
Ravenclaw
Gryffindor
Slytherin
McGonagall
Trelawney
Nearly Headless Nick
Snape
He stared at what he'd written. Something was off.
He mentally clapped himself on the forehead.
That's right - Trelawney had been pranked by someone else.
He started again.
Hufflepuff
Dumbledore
Ravenclaw
Gryffindor
Slytherin
McGonagall
Nearly Headless Nick
Snape
He tapped his pencil against the names on his list.
Nothing.
Nothing came to mind.
Except that he knew he was looking at something. He just couldn't put his finger on it.
Not yet, anyway.
What if the order of the pranks is important?
He started again.
Hufflepuff
Snape
Ravenclaw
McGonagall
Slytherin
Gryffindor
Nearly Headless Nick
Dumbledore
Gah! Something was there - why couldn't he see it?
The butterbeer and the list-making worked on breaking his sullen mood. Now, he had a Snitch: find the Hooligan and claim those points for Gryffindor.
He tucked his list into his pocket.
In the morning, I'll show this to Ron. Maybe he'll see what I'm missing.
Friday, October 30th
For the second time in two days, Draco found himself answering the same questions. This time, Potthead was the one doing the asking.
"Listen, Potter - I've already given a full accounting to Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, and Pomfrey. Not to mention that specialist."
"I don't care, Malfoy. Tell me again."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, I was the one who found her. No, I have no idea what happened. To me, it looked like she was doing her Runes. Something went wrong. I took her to Hospital."
Weasley crossed his arms and tried to glare at him. It really was a pathetic attempt. The red-haired Gryff might be a smidge taller, but lacked the finesse that came with brains, beauty and breeding.
"Careful Weasley - hate to see you burst a blood-vessel or something." Draco drawled.
Harry put out a hand in an attempt to make Ron stand down.
"Malfoy-" Harry started.
"I know what you're going to say." Draco felt very, very, bored. Pothead never asked the more interesting questions. He doubted if the Boy Who Lacked even knew what those were. "I'd say that Granger enjoy herself more on my broom than yours."
He couldn't resist - he had to see if Weasle-bee could actually turn purple.
He rolled his eyes again. Leave it to Weasle-bee to only turn a deeper shade of red.
"Look - I don't know why she did it. She should've known better. School's been in session for how long? She wouldn't even be close to attempting a Rune transfer, regardless of how much research she did."
He should've known that Potter couldn't put the pieces together. Why he even tried to attempt to impart anything on the dark-haired boy was beyond him.
Draco waved at the space between him and Pothead. "We're done here."
He couldn't, though, resist one last remark.
"Weasley - please tell me those spiffy, ruffled, maroon dress robes still fit. I never know when I might need a handkerchief or something to dry my hands."
*~*~*~*~
Harry and Ron watched Malfoy saunter away.
Ron clenched his fist in an attempt to keep them from wrapping around Malfoy's neck. "Mate, next time you're on the Pitch…"
Harry nodded in complete agreement. "I'll definitely make sure that I ram him into the stands."
That settled, they walked towards the Quad. As usual, the place was full of students. None of whom paid any attention to them.
"Do you think he was telling the truth - about Hermione?" Ron squinted due to the sun suddenly breaking though the cloud-cover.
Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno. Maybe. Probably. I can't see what he'd gain by lying."
They stopped when they reached the balustrade. Each swung their legs over and balanced their backsides on the stone ledge, their feet dangling free.
Ron tugged at his tie and grimaced. "Man, did I hate those blasted dress robes."
Harry had to laugh. "Mate - you looked horrendous."
Ron was in full agreement. "And how!" His feet bounced against the stone railing. "Thank Merlin those days are behind me."
"Got yourself new robes?"
"Yep - the twins took me shopping before school started." He clearly liked what he bought. Then he pulled a face. "Kinda odd, shopping with your brothers."
Harry looked pointedly at Ron. "I dunno about that… I kinda don't mind it so much."
Each grew quiet for a moment, each caught up in memories. So much had happened that year, and every year before and since. A lot of ground lay between them, brothers indeed, and Hermione.
Harry spoke first. "I saw Hermione this morning."
Ron shot Harry a side-ways glance. "Me, too. She's going to be in classes this afternoon. Then she has a meeting." A corner of Ron's mouth quirked. "What's that about?"
Harry paused, not sure how to answer. He opted for the most honest answer he knew. "That's for Hermione to say, I suppose."
Ron obviously didn't like not knowing, but what could he do about it?
"Guess that's fair enough."
They both went quiet.
This time, it was Ron who spoke first.
"You know this is all going to change, right?"
Harry knew exactly what Ron meant. He had the same exact thoughts the night before.
"Yeah - I know." He resisted the urge to sigh. "The calm before the storm, as it were."
"You're right, there." Ron ran a hand through his ginger hair. A wry smile spread his cheeks. His tone abruptly changed to that of optimism. "Might as well enjoy this while it lasts - right?"
"Fair enough." Harry matched Ron's grin. "Speaking of which…"
Harry delved into his pocket and pulled out his list from the night before.
"You know how Snape's been-"
"-an absolute git? Siphoning off points from us every chance he gets?"
Harry scowled. "Yeah - that." He unfolded the bit of parchment and passed it to Ron. "I say we find out who this Hooligan is, bust them, and take their points. That way, Snape won't single-handedly cost us the Cup."
"Wicked!" Ron's grin grew conspiratorial. He took the paper from Harry's hand and read it. "Gah - still can't believe that the Hooligan had the stones to get Dumbledore!"
"I know- right?"
"It's kind of ironic, you know. Dumbledore turned your world upside down - literally - and the Hooligan turned Dumbledore's world upside down - literally."
Harry never thought of it like that.
"You think that the secret to finding the Hooligan is in this list?"
Harry didn't need to nod to tell Ron he was right.
"Makes sense." Ron fingered the paper. "Everyone has a signature - something that identifies them, whether they know it or not. Someone like this, their gonna want some sort of recognition. Just the way it goes, even if they don't mean to." He carried his train of thought further. "Like me and my chess-playing. Or Fred and George with their pranks. You and your `I-fancy-her-but-I'm-not-going-to-do-anything-about-it-but-everything-I-do-has-something-to-do-with-her."
Harry grumped. But not too loudly; there was some truth to what Ron had said.
"All we have to do is figure it out." Ron flicked the paper. "Shouldn't be too hard. Not for two dashing blokes such as ourselves."
Harry fed off of Ron's confidence. "Absolutely."
Ron leveled a warning look at Harry. "Gotta keep one thing in mind."
Harry grimaced as Ron jutted his chin at the crowded Quad.
"We're not gonna be the only ones with our eyes set on the Hooligan."
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