Chapter 20 -The Poet of Beguilement Sings (Part I)
I did promise you one last chapter, but on reflection it turned out so long that I have grasped the nettle and posted in two parts. Expect the final part to be posted on... Halloween! [How cheesy?]
I will state once again the tremendous help I have had from my beta readers Bexis and George, and any errors in this piece are mine alone.
As I do not pair off Hermione Granger with Ron Weasley, I am patently not JK Rowling, and sadly am doing all of this for free.
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Thy dawn, O Master of the World, thy dawn;
For thee the sunlight creeps across the lawn,
For thee the ships are drawn down to the waves,
For thee the markets throng with myriad slaves,
For thee the hammer on the anvil rings,
For thee the poet of beguilement sings.
The water was warm, comforting, but tinged a slight shade of blue-green, sunlight diffused through lemon juice.
Hermione found it easy to drift aimlessly through the liquid. She was in no hurry and had nowhere to go. Occasionally she thought about swimming towards the surface - she really should, she knew - but the effort was too great, and she never seemed to make any progress upwards.
Her brain told her she really should be drowning. She had nearly drowned once, hadn't she? Half-remembered experiences of mouth, nose and lungs filling with water, the unspeakable pressure within her chest. When was that? Why was that?
Paradoxically, breathing was no harder underwater than in fresh air. That made no sense, but Hermione did not care. It was so calm, so peaceful, that she found herself slipping away, back into the warm embrace of sleep.
So quiet...
Occasionally some dull muffled sounds traversed the liquid, reminders that someone or something else existed in this submarine world, somewhere on the fringes of her hearing. If she concentrated, they sounded like voices, calling to her. Strangely familiar, she could not place them. She would twist and turn, agonisingly slowly, but there was no-one there. So she would drift back into the arms of Morpheus.
At least these voices sounded friendly, if concerned.
There was another voice, strikingly different. It cried out what sounded like "Abracadabra!" and her world flashed with a sickly green pulse before lapsing into a darker hue. Hermione feared that light, recognising the subliminal threat if not the evil sound's identity. Hearing it she would strike out frantically towards the surface, but it proved beyond her reach. As she approached her goal the darkness closed in and the weight in her mind would loom over her and drag her back into the depths...
She was safe here. No one would find her.
Not even Harry...
'Harry?'
Hermione broke surface...
The first fact her subconscious registered was that she was no longer comfortably warm and snug. A heavy, dull pounding pain rose sharply in the back of her head. The hurt was overwhelming, almost as overwhelming as the desire to surrender, to submerge once again, take flight back from reality.
This time she fought back.
Every part of her body ached, throbbing from the migraine-like pain in her head to the tips of her fingers and toes.
Fingers..?
Someone was holding her right hand... or was it her left? It was so difficult to tell...
Her eyelids were weighted down, hours of sleep lacing them closed. Slowly, despite her eyeballs complaining vociferously at the ingress of light, she forced them open.
A thin slit of blinding white light almost drove her back to the sanctuary of oblivion, but she fought that almost irresistible response.
Dark shapes loomed, stark against the unexpected brightness, barely moving.
After a few seconds Hermione thought she recognised the closest silhouette, one gently holding her fingers in his, softly caressing them.
"Daaaaah..." That one word crumbled into a parched croak, her vocal chords and lips struggling against disuse.
"Hermione?" The profile shifted concernedly, then turned swiftly. "Harry! Go fetch Emma and Poppy!"
The sound of people scrambling to their feet accompanied movement in the shadows, but all that was forgotten as Hermione's eyes slowly focussed on her father's familiar face. She tried lifting her abnormally heavy head off the pillow. Dry lips endeavoured to part again but were forestalled.
"Ssh! Don't try to talk. Thank heaven you're back." Her father's shadow moved slightly to his right. She heard the chink of china on glass and, in the unnatural stillness, the muffled gurgle of poured liquid. "Here." Her limited vision was suddenly filled by the solidly reassuring shape of a simple glass of water.
It continued to be a tremendous effort to raise her head from the horizontal; her neck ached like nothing experienced before and her head felt more like the weight on a pendulum.
Thankfully, her father's right hand slipped gently beneath the nape of her neck and gradually raised her head up to meet the glass held in his left. First she felt the cool of the glass pressed against her parched lips. Then, passing between her lips was the most delicious-tasting water she had ever sipped; cool with a metallic tang that was a balm to her dry throat.
Having drunk her fill, Hermione allowed her father to lower her head back onto the pillow. Her eyes were acclimating to the light, and father's familiar features were clearly visible, etched with concern.
"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.
Even lying down, Hermione felt quite exhausted by the effort of just raising her head a few inches. In even the short time she had been conscious, her entire body felt battered and sore, inside and out. Even the inside of her eyelids ached abominably. She wanted to ask after the lorry that had run her down, but even those few words seemed beyond her capacity. Instead she shook her head; that movement of only a few millimetres sent her head spinning once more.
She felt a gentle squeeze of her fingers. "It's good to have you back, poppet."
Hermione, despite sharp pain in her head, and the dull ache everywhere else, started piecing together the shattered shards of her circumstances. Even though her view comprised primarily a ceiling, plainly she was sequestered in Hogwarts's hospital wing. Ever since her name emerged from that goblet, she had grown all too used to crisp, cool sheets and the gentle scent of sterilised instruments.
How she came to be here was another matter. She tried searching the temporarily misplaced jumble that was her memory, but that just induced another knife blade-sharp flash of cranial pain that made her wince.
Further quiet contemplation was ruled out when she heard the ward's doors burst open and the sound of feminine feet clattering across the marbled floor. Suddenly her mother's face loomed over her, showing a mixture of hope overcoming fear. Then her recumbent upper half was engulfed in a hug of the type obviously passed from mother to daughter.
"Unnh!" Hermione exhaled a painful breath as her mother spoke loudly into her right ear.
"Oh, my baby! Hermione!" Hermione felt renewed discomfort as she was squeezed even tighter. "I thought we had... might lose you." If her mother was not already weeping, she sounded imminently on the verge of tears.
Hermione managed to wring out one critical word, her teeth on edge. "Hurtssss..."
Her mother recoiled as if administered an electric shock. "Oh! No! Oh, poppet, I'm sorry." She released her grip on her daughter but scarcely moved back. "I'm just so... well, we thought for a..." Emma Granger sniffed. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue fished from her handbag. Her look flicked over briefly to her husband, then back onto their only child. "It is just... I thought you'd never wake up - that we wouldn't see you again!"
For a moment Hermione held the ridiculous thought that they had been watching over her in bed for... how long..? Such ruminations ceased as another less familiar but still welcome figure in Madam Pomfrey bustled over. "If you would kindly let me examine my patient," she said, business-like. Unwillingly, Emma Granger moved no more than a few inches away from her daughter.
A quick visual observation. "How are you feeling, child?"
Hermione repeated her previous statement. "Hurts... all over."
The nurse nodded her head thoughtfully. "Yes, I'm not surprised," she said briskly. "You are lucky to be alive." She shook her head. "Surviving those curses on top of that snakebite; you can count yourself to be singularly fortunate, young lady." The edge in Pomfrey's words was blunted by a smile that she was unsuccessfully suppressing. "Give me a moment."
Hermione reeled at the nurse's comments. Curses? Snakebite? She cast her mind back, ignoring the migraine-like stab of pain that caused.
"Here." A draught of sea-blue potion, bubbling away, appeared in front of her eyes. She tried to move her aching arms, but her mother batted away her slow movements.
"Let me." Her mum sounded so much more clinical, her professionalism starting to impose itself on her parental concerns. Her father assisted by once again raising her head gently, Hermione at first sipped, then started to gulp down, the potion that her mother brought to her lips.
It was thick, glutinous even, and, in stark contrast to the awful taste of most potions she had been given, this tasted slightly of pears.
"There." Madam Pomfrey kept a beady eye on her Muggle helpers. "It will be some time before the pain subsides, but I mixed in some Sleeping Draught, which will help you rest."
Hermione slumped back into her pillow. "How long..?" she asked.
Her parents exchanged glances. "It's been two days and a night since... well, since you returned from that horrid maze."
Hermione was in a muddle. She recalled a crowd, a dark night pierced with flashes of light, some horrendous vision that purported to be a wizard, and the black hair and green eyes...
An urgent fear overwhelmed both the ingested potion's sedative properties and the pain wracking her body. Surely she had caught his name earlier? Where was he? "Harry..?" Hermione slurred.
"Well he's here..." Emma looked around "... somewhere." She looked perplexed for a moment. "Must be here." She shrugged. "Strange; he hasn't left your side since you were brought in here, even to eat, now the moment you're awake he's disappeared." She shook her head. "Weird."
"Not weird..." Hermione's eyelids grew heavy again, and her mind submerged once again into unconsciousness. "He's Harrrrryyyyzzz..."
The last word was almost lost in a very unladylike snore.
* * * * *
Hermione's next awakening, a few hours later, could not have been more different. This time her bed was occupied by a highly active mind with knowledge to match, not a sleepy child fighting intense pain.
Upon waking, instead of being interrogated by her parents, it was the patient who asked all the questions. Her parents could confirm that in the moments after Hermione's collapse, the world had become a madhouse. They described wizards frantically firing spells at one another, the sense of utter panic that seized many around them. But they could not comprehend, let alone recount accurately, the magical happenings. Thus they were unreliable witnesses concerning who was who and what was what, particularly as they had focussed almost solely on their badly wounded daughter.
Hermione gathered that her mum and dad had spent the last forty-eight hours in an agonised bedside vigil, leaving only to take turns at fitful snatches of sleep. At least, they could reassure her that Harry Potter was alive, mostly well, and had resisted being confined to bed despite his own barely less serious injuries.
What they could not explain was the continuing absence of the lad himself.
Hermione had gradually realised that she was not the only inhabitant of the hospital wing. Medical screens hid the bed in the far corner from prying eyes. Her father told her it was Fleur Delacour, and that judging by the sombre aspect of both the Delacour family and the Frenchwoman's attending healers, her condition was probably even graver than Hermione's. Madam Pomfrey offered no insight, just a shake of her head and a reminder of patient-healer confidentiality.
Otherwise, Hermione gleaned that Hogwarts was effectively in lockdown. From what her parents told her, no-one, magical or otherwise, had been permitted to leave, save the Minister - "the one wearing that strange green hat" - and his immediate bodyguard. Not that either would have left their daughter's side, but Dan and Emma had been told in no uncertain terms that they were staying in Hogwarts.
It was only some hours after the Grangers had retired for some much needed rest, both mental and physical, that Madam Pomfrey finally relented and allowed Hermione other visitors.
The doors burst open and a gaggle of Weasleys entered, trailed by a very nervous-looking Neville and an unruffled Luna. Ron, Ginny, Fred and George headed straight towards Hermione's bed. After a moment's hesitation, Bill nodded once in her direction, before disappearing behind the screens around Fleur's bed, joining a small group including Monsieur and Madame Delacour. A visibly torn Molly hesitated, then decided to follow the majority of her brood.
"Don't crowd the poor girl," the Weasley matriarch scolded her kids lightly. "Poor Hermione's supposed to be resting." Hermione found her solicitude and fond looks ironic; Molly had called her a 'scarlet woman' only a few weeks ago.
"How are you, dear?"
"Better, thanks, Missus Weasley," Hermione replied civilly as her younger visitors lapsed into what passed for quiet.
"Good, good," Molly appeared rightly nervous. "I think I'll just go and... see how poor Fleur is getting on." She slipped away in an uncomfortable silence.
Once Molly's back was turned, Hermione allowed herself a frown.
"Sorry about that. It's not been easy for her," George said quietly.
"Not for any of us," Fred joined in, behaving more seriously than Hermione had ever seen him, or his twin for that matter.
"Had to stay here," George added. "Can't get back to the Burrow."
"Had to owl the Ministry. Dad's had to cook his own dinners." Fred paused. "Probably burned the Burrow to the ground by now," he said with mock solemnity.
That, finally, broke the ice. All her visitors wanted Hermione to reveal what had happened in the maze, and to dispel all the wild rumours that she and Harry had actually confronted He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself. Hermione, however, had her own agenda, comprising two essential questions.
The first, and to her mind least important of the two, was what happened after she had collapsed.
Strangely, five pairs of eyes focussed immediately on Ron. "What?" he cried defensively.
"You started it all," Fred observed.
"No I didn't," Ron protested.
"You did," George jibbed.
Hermione could feel her head growing woozy with Weasley family arguments. "Will someone please just tell me? What did Ron do?"
"He only went and Stunned Barty Crouch," Ginny commented tartly.
"Which one?" Hermione wondered aloud. She noticed all six of her visitors giving her strange looks.
They did not know.
"The old guy, you know, the one who forced you to take part in the Tournament," Ginny commented. "Honestly, Hermione, are you sure you're not still concussed or something?"
Hermione ignored Ginny's little jibing and turned on Ron. "You Stunned Barty Crouch?" she mouthed incredulously.
Ron threw up his hands. "You bloody well told me to," he blurted out.
"I most certainly did not, Ronald Weasley," Hermione summoned a little of her old fire. "I asked you to watch him."
"I did watch him," Ron protested. "Just like you said. You and Harry all of a sudden reappeared, you muttered something about Barty Crouch and Mad-Eye, and collapsed. Then everything went crazy... the whole place erupted in spell fire."
Hermione remembered that vaguely. Barty Crouch - the older model - had been standing at Fudge's shoulder. Moody - well, Barty Crouch the younger - had drawn his wand. For an instant Hermione had feared he was about to Curse her, but his aim shifted. She saw some flash just as darkness consumed her.
Even now Hermione had to bite her lip to fight the memory. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it.
"What happened?" she asked Ron wearily.
"Well, one moment Mad-Eye was standing there, looking at you, the next he's only gone and fired the Killing Curse straight at Rufus Scrimgeour!"
"Rufus Scrimgeour?"
"He was head of the Aurors," Neville added quietly.
Ginny shivered. "No-one could believe it. It was pandemonium. Everybody started casting at anyone and everyone."
"What happened to Prof- I mean Moody?" Hermione asked.
Ron shook his head in frank, if bewildered, admiration. "Harry took him down with a Stunner." He shook his head again. "Mad-Eye Moody going berserk like that..."
"Yeah," George observed. "Who'd have thought it?"
"A paranoid like Mad-Eye going insane; no-one could have predicted that," Fred finished dead-pan.
"The aurors were like headless chickens. Two of them jumped on Harry while Mad-Eye was being dragged off," Ginny added.
"And Barty Crouch?" Hermione fixed Ron with that stare.
"I was watching him, just like you wanted," said Ron. "As all Hell's breaking loose, with Fudge panicking like a first-year, I saw Crouch draw his wand and point it straight at Fudge's back."
Hermione recalled another close-range spell that downed someone. She had forgotten about Viktor.
"Anyway," Ron continued, "I thought he was about to cast straight at Fudge, so I fired off a Stunner. From that distance even I couldn't miss."
"And no, he didn't," George observed with a rare touch of brotherly admiration.
"Old Barty went down like a sack of spuds," Fred added.
"That ingrate Fudge ordered Ron's arrest," Ginny joined in. "Not until McGonagall and other witnesses convinced him that Ronald had saved him from being cursed that they let him go. Fudge was in such a state he nearly tried to Apparate from the grounds."
"Yes," Luna observed dreamily. "The nargles are strong with that one."
No-one quite knew how to respond to that comment.
To Hermione's surprise, the least likely member of the group asked the key question. "So, Hermione, what's up? I mean: Moody; Barty Crouch; even Peter Pettigrew? Harry says You-Know-Who is back." Neville paused. "Most don't believe him, but some do, and I... I want to do what's right."
Hermione paused before replying. "Yes," she said gravely. "Voldemort's back." She felt a momentary flash of irritation at the winces her comment evinced. "He's now in corporeal form." That drew further dismayed gasps. With that, she launched a slow, steady retelling of the events culminating in that grisly ritual and the unbelievably fraught duel between Harry and the Dark Lord.
She was heard in reverent silence, broken by the odd hushed exclamation of fear or amazement, and the occasional low whistle of admiration from the three Weasley brothers, especially over her Reductor Curse at Voldemort. She did keep some details from her transfixed audience, mostly her hexing of Viktor and her belief in the true identity of the wizard who had been their Defence instructor for the last nine months.
When she described the final moments in the churchyard, there was genuine admiration in Ron's, Fred's and George's eyes. "Wow..." Ron breathed admiringly. "You took down Lucius Malfoy..?" Hermione nodded. "That's... bleedin' brilliant, Hermione!" His voice rose from hushed to jubilant in a handful of syllables.
"Like son, like father," George added with a broad wink.
"And a bloody big snake as well!" Fred grinned.
"Yes," Ginny muttered. "But Harry faced down... Whatsisname." She glared almost defiantly at her elder brothers. "And a basilisk when he was only a second year. He's a real hero."
"But don't forget that Hermione here blew You-Know-Who's arm off," countered Ron.
If Hermione had not been so tired she too might have objected to Ginny's phrasing.
"Harry never mentioned he'd fought... you know...?" Neville observed quietly.
Hermione caught the short, sharp look he sent Ginny. 'Strange,' she thought: 'I'd almost think Neville was enamoured of her.'
"You know Harry," Fred replied. "Hides his light under a bushel, that one," he added knowingly.
"Except where Quidditch is concerned," George corrected his twin.
That exchange forcibly reminded Hermione of her second urgent question. "Where is Harry?" she asked plaintively. "Why isn't her here with you?"
'With me' was what she meant.
With the exception of Luna, five pairs of eyes that had been locked on her for a good twenty minutes suddenly could not meet hers. Finally the majority fixed on one reluctant subject.
Ron was acutely aware that he was once again the sole focus of attention. "What?" he cried defensively.
"Ron?" Hermione asked urgently. "What is it?" A note of rising panic infused her words. "What's happened?" Did something..?
Ron gestured protectively with his hands. "Nothing's happened Hermione - at least, nothing bad." He quailed under Hermione's determined gaze. "You know what he's like."
"Something must have happened," Hermione shot back, worrying her lip again. "Otherwise he'd have been here by now. You said the Aurors had him."
"Yeah, but they soon let him go soon enough. McGonagall saw to that." Ron looked to his Gryffindor friends and family, but no-one stepped into the breach. He grimaced and carried on. "Harry's Harry. All he told me was that You-Know-Who was back and that you'd saved his life..."
As Ron's tale petered out, Hermione found her patience slipping. She could tell Ron was hiding something. "Out with it, Ronald," she growled menacingly, or as menacingly as one could from a hospital bed.
"He blames himself," Ron said quietly. "Said it was all his fault you'd nearly been killed."
Hermione stared in disbelief at him, and as Ron raised his head to meet her stare, she could see how drained he looked. "Wouldn't say how, but pretty much told us you'd been putting yourself on the line for him all this year. Guess that means the Tournament."
She had to protest. "But Harry shouldn't..."
"Doesn't matter," Ron continued. "You see, he stayed up here every minute you were out of it; wouldn't even come down for meals." Hermione guessed Ron considered that to be the supreme sacrifice.
They both ignored Ginny's disgruntled 'humph!'
Ron was obviously uncomfortable but Hermione thought him determined to get this right for both of his close friends. "When he came down and told us you'd woken," Ron continued, "we talked for a while." His knuckles went white as he gripped his fist. "It was weird... he was so damned relieved you were okay. None of us knew how bad you were hurt, and no-one who did was telling. But it was a sort of sad mood, y'know? Told me he didn't think you'd ever want to see him again, and he doesn't think he will..."
"But... but, that's - ridiculous!" Hermione spluttered. "How could Harry possibly think that?"
Ron glanced at his comrades for some help. Neville figuratively stepped forward. "We were only allowed up here for a few minutes when you were still unconscious," he said even more quietly than his normal undemonstrative tone. "Although we guessed it must be bad, Harry was constantly here, every moment. He must have known for sure. He knew what had happened; we didn't. And he would have picked up how your mum and dad were feeling - and maybe from McGonagall or the nurse." Neville sighed. "He didn't have to but he saw it as his... duty... or perhaps punishment..."
"Punishment?" Hermione felt her tear ducts starting to flood. She knew how much weight Harry took on those wiry shoulders. How could he feel that? Had her parents said something about..?
A new fear started to seize her.
"Tell him," she said in a suddenly thick voice, "tell him that he should think no such thing." It was suddenly very important that she saw him. Neville and Ron both nodded. "I want..."
This agonised discussion was interrupted when Bill, wearing a gravely serious expression, came over from Fleur's screened bed. "Are you okay?" he asked, looking nowhere near okay himself.
"I'm fine, Bill, thanks - if a bit tired." Hermione's attention was diverted by the sight of her parents returning. They were intercepted by Molly, who engaged them in what she assumed was some exchange of parental sympathies. While Hermione had good reason to be cool towards the Weasley matriarch, her dad and - especially - her mum were just grateful for contact with anyone who shared their perspectives.
"These miscreants wearing you down, eh?" Hermione returned her attention to Bill. The thin smile on his gaunt face did not reach his blue eyes.
"How is Fleur?"
Even that sorry facsimile of a smile disappeared, chased away by a worried frown. "Not good. They've stabilized her but she's still in some sort of coma." For a second his expression flittered with hope. "I don't suppose you know what kind of curse she was hit with?" he almost pleaded.
Hermione felt that great weight descend upon her shoulders once again. "I'm sorry Bill, I don't." She was genuinely sorry: not only for Bill's sake, but for the French girl she had grown truly to like. "When I came across Fleur she was already down. Just... just how bad is it?"
Bill shook his head sadly. "Merlin, I'd thought I'd seen everything in my line of work, but never this curse. Poppy says it feeds on her magical core. She wants to send her to St. Mungo's but it's too dangerous for Portkey or Side-along Apparition. Her parents want to take her home, back to France, the moment they can." His eyes flashed with momentary anger. "When I find the wizard who did this they'll be sorry!" Fred and George uttered some muffled comments echoing their elder brother's.
Hermione wondered who the attacker could be. She could not believe Viktor or Cedric would or could do something so heinous. Barty Crouch junior was certainly evil enough, but could he could have made it that deep into the maze without 'Moody's' presence being missed?
"Harry told me what happened," Bill continued. "He's - what the -"
The hospital wing's double doors swung inwards and crashed against the walls. Striding through was the Auror Dawlish with whom Hermione had already had a couple of run-ins, accompanied by three others. Trailing in their wake was that loathsome Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, dressed head to toe in garish shades of pink. When it registered that Hermione was back in the land of the living her face sported a triumphant parody of a smile. "Ah, good! At last we can put this nonsense to bed!" She started to march across the floor towards Hermione's bed.
Emma and Dan Granger, startled by this sudden interruption, started to move to block the newcomers' advance on their daughter. "Excuse me, but who are you?" Missus Granger asked as politely as she could under the circumstances.
Umbridge ignored the attempted interception. "Place the suspect under arrest, Dawlish."
"What?" Dan Granger coloured purple with a mixture of outrage and confusion.
Umbridge turned to deal with this annoying interruption. "Ah yes... you must be the Muggles." She breathed such contempt into that last noun that nobody, and certainly not the Grangers, could mistake her opinion of non-magical humans.
"If you mean Hermione's parents, then yes, that's us," a swift to anger Emma shot back. "And who the hell do you think you are?"
Umbridge smiled sweetly. "I'm the person who is going bring justice to this sorry little mess your daughter has made for us all."
One of the Aurors moved to block off an enraged Dan.
"This little bitch -" Another Auror had to physically restrain Hermione's even more irate mother "- has spread enough of her lies to blacken the Ministry's good name," Umbridge continued.
"I have never lied," Hermione shot back, not entirely truthfully. "And the Ministry hardly needs my help wallowing in the mire."
"So much cheek... well, we shall see." Umbridge pulled out a vial from inside her robes. "I shall uncover the truth with this."
Hermione guessed immediately what the clear liquid was. It was Bill who confirmed her fears. "Veritaserum? On a schoolgirl?"
"What the bloody hell is that stuff?" Mister Granger demanded. A brief scuffle ensued as Dan unsuccessfully tried swatting at the vial.
"It's a truth serum," Hermione replied in cold fear. "Magical version of Scopolamine." She knew she held secrets that, if unlocked, would spell trouble not only for her, but for Harry, and several others.
"She'll soon be singing like a Jobberknoll," Umbridge observed snidely.
"I forbid you to use that on my child!"
Umbridge managed the remarkable feat of looking down her nose at the taller woman. "Muggles," she said slowly and deliberately, "don't count." She passed the vial to Dawlish, who appeared eager to be involved. "Administer a good strong dose."
Hermione started shrinking back in her bed, while her friends moved grimly to block off Dawlish's advance. She was defenceless herself without a wand, no better than the Muggles that Umbridge despised so transparently.
"Emma! Call that Booth woman!"
Daniel Granger's words made Umbridge hesitate for a second. Hermione knew that there was a Muggle who counted. But that split-second of relief evaporated as soon as it had formed. Emma had pulled out her mobile phone and punched in a speed-dial.
"Hem, hem," Umbridge trilled superciliously. "You Muggles reach for your lawyers like proper wizards do for their wands. That -" She pointed to the unresponsive mobile "- won't work here."
Emma shook the impotent device. "I take it you did charge the bloody thing?" Dan added unhelpfully.
Hermione could have told them. The ley lines converged around Hogwarts not dissimilar to a spiral; aligned with the Earth's magnetic field, it effectively prevented any Muggle electrical device from functioning in the area, as well as disguising the castle from radar and satellite coverage.
"How dare you!" This shrill intervention arose from an unexpected source. Molly Weasley bustled over, her wand out and face reddening indignantly.
Umbridge appeared momentarily nonplussed by this. "I'm sorry, how does this have anything to do with you?"
Molly stopped inches before running down the toad-like apparatchik. "How dare you ignore a mother's rights," she shouted in that voice that Hermione had only heard before in Howlers.
"Stay out of this," Umbridge warned. "The world needs to see this little liar's tall tales for what they are."
Molly's intrusion brought Fred, George, Ron and Ginny into a makeshift cordon between Hermione's bed and Dawlish. Two burly Aurors held back Hermione's parents who made quite a racket of their own as they sought to prevent the potion being administered.
"If those damned Muggles don't shut up, shut them up," Umbridge scornfully ordered the Aurors.
Amidst all the struggling, heaving bodies Hermione heard Bill mutter a warning, then saw Dawlish blinking in shock as Molly Weasley's wand hovered unwaveringly under his nose. "Don't you dare!" she hissed.
"Way to go, Mum!" Fred whispered adoringly.
A strange tableau unfolded within seconds in front of Hermione's eyes. The one unoccupied Auror drew his wand on Molly. Within a split second Bill's wand was drawn and pointed squarely at that man's temple, a look of sufferance on his resigned face.
The Aurors holding back the Grangers shoved them away and concentrated on this new threat. They found themselves facing down a further five wands, four in Weasley hands, one belonging to Neville Longbottom.
Only Luna Lovegood remained calm, watching everything with remarkable detachment.
Umbridge puffed herself up. "I should have guessed from the colouring," she spat, her own wand drawn now. "You're one of those despicable Weasleys."
"Hey!" Ginny bit back.
"Weasley through choice," Molly stated proudly. "Born a Prewett!"
"I'll see you pitched into Azkaban for this!" Umbridge was beside herself with indignation. "Your bumbling husband will be thrown out of the Ministry and I'll make a point of expelling the rest of your brood from Hogwarts!"
"You can't do this," a shocked Emma Granger said in mounting disbelief, her rational liberal beliefs unprepared for such blatant disregard of rights. "We... we'll call the police..."
"We are the police, you stupid Muggle!" Dawlish spat out. Hermione saw her parents almost physically recoil at this cavalier treatment of law-abiding citizens of another world.
"Ginny, Ron," Molly said coolly, with that innate skill of a mother to observe her children while looking in a completely different direction. "Put away your wands. You're too young to be involved. You too, Fred, George."
"No bloody way," Ron said. Hermione saw him tighten his grip on his wand.
"Language, Ron," his mother responded automatically. "I can handle this."
"Really!" Umbridge crowed sarcastically. "One dowdy housewife and her ne'er-do-well offspring against four Aurors?"
"Why don't we all relax and lower our wands?" Bill said with sangfroid that escaped Hermione for the moment, and one that surely he did not really believe.
"Nobody here's going to give any child a potion against the express wishes of a mother," Molly screeched as her wand now swung to cover Umbridge.
"I think you'll find..." Umbridge started to respond but the rest of her words were lost in a blinding flash of silver light and a cloud of what resembled glittering smoke.
"Wands will not be drawn in this hospital." Her vision may have been momentarily impaired, but Hermione could not mistake the authoritative voice.
"Headmaster," Luna said as calmly as if she was sitting lazily in the sun. "It's good to have you back."
"Thank you, Fawkes." Hermione thought she saw the merest scarlet flash of a phoenix departing. "It is good to be back, Miss Lovegood." The smoke cleared magically fast and Dumbledore stood there. Hermione could now understand why he was said to be the one wizard that Voldemort feared, the vanquisher of Gellert Grindelwald. The room buzzed with the impression of amazing forces of wizardry barely restrained.
"You!" Umbridge at least did not appear particularly intimidated, although Dawlish's wand was wobbling and his three colleagues started to edge away.
"I am so sorry I was not here to greet you, Dolores," Dumbledore spoke conversationally. "As I am sure you are aware, I was 'detained' at the Ministry. Fortunately matters seem to be resolved there."
"As soon as the Minister learns of your escape from custody, you'll be back behind bars," Umbridge snarled unattractively. "In Azkaban, this time..."
Dumbledore ignored the threat. "I think you will find, Madam Undersecretary, that the Minister is fully aware of my movements." He shot Missus Weasley a look of slight disappointment. "Molly, I would appreciate it if all wands were sheathed. It sets such a poor example for the students."
Abashed, Molly slowly lowered her wand. "Ron, Ginny, Fr - Oh, didn't you hear the Headmaster?" she hissed in embarrassed tones. She gave Bill a glare. "I expected better of you, William."
At that moment the doors opened again and two commanding figures marched in with determined strides. Hermione recognised the tall, coloured Auror by sight. He appeared annoyed at the spectacle before him. The witch she had never seen before. A square-shouldered woman who looked like she broached no nonsense, she glared at Umbridge through a monocle. She obviously knew the Undersecretary and just as plainly was not particularly enamoured.
"What," she demanded haughtily, "is going on here?"
"That foul toad was about to give my daughter truth serum," Missus Granger stated indignantly.
"Veritaserum?" The grey-haired woman seemed momentarily shocked. She glanced at Dawlish, who apologetically dropped his eyes, and then at Molly Weasley, who immediately confirmed the statement with a curt nod of the head.
"I'm doing this for the Minister, Bones," Umbridge hissed.
"Spare me that guff, Umbridge," Madam Bones shot back coldly, the missing honorific a mark of her suppressed anger. "You have no authority to go about administering any potion to a minor without express parental permission, unless acting in loco parentis. I assume you did have permission?"
"She most certainly does not," Mister Granger answered abruptly, his seething hatred of Umbridge unmistakeable in his voice.
As the exchange ratcheted up, Hermione whispered to Bill. "Who's this woman Bones?"
"Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," he replied equally sotto voce.
"Related to Susan Bones?" Hermione noted Bill's bafflement. "The Hufflepuff?" she added.
"Yeah," Ron added. "Sue's her niece or something."
The dark-skinned Auror also oozed with cold anger. "Just who gave you the authority to use my Aurors, Madam Umbridge?" he demanded in deep bass tones.
"Your Aurors, Shacklebolt? You presume too much."
"On the contrary," Bones observed icily, "Auror Shacklebolt has been made Acting Head Auror following Rufus's murder. He has jurisdiction in this matter, whereas you do not."
"Might I suggest," Dumbledore interjected, "that this discussion be resumed in the far more discreet and comfortable surroundings of my office? I could do with a cup of tea... and have missed my lemon drops."
Shacklebolt glared at his Aurors. "A superlative idea, Headmaster. My men will withdraw to the Ministry where we will have a full debriefing." His voice, so different to Dumbledore's, equally brooked no disagreement.
Umbridge fumed not so silently. "I will have all your jobs for this," she foamed. "You've all been taken in by this little trollop and her web of lies."
Bones, who had been ready to depart, turned in her tracks. "I'll match my job security against your, Dolores, any phase of the moon. You will find that the atmosphere at the Ministry has changed remarkably. Cornelius himself asked me to come to Hogwarts. I'm to investigate everything that has occurred this year, to evaluate whether there are sufficient grounds for potential prosecutions, as well as certain claims being made on behalf of Sirius Black. I shall interview Miss Granger myself to ascertain the veracity of her story." One eye glittered coldly behind the monocle. "No potions will be necessary."
"I would suggest, ladies," Dumbledore interjected, "that Miss Granger's testimony awaits tomorrow, when she is better recovered from her ordeal." He spared her a glance, and Hermione could have sworn that his eyes had regained their characteristic sparkle.
"And you will be hearing from our lawyers!" Dan Granger shouted. Hermione was sure Umbridge paled at the prospect of another round with the formidable Cherie Booth.
Thoroughly outgunned, Umbridge had no choice but to accede, which she did with her customary bad grace. As he prepared to lead the two female Ministry officials to his office, the Headmaster promised Hermione he would return "anon" to provide an update on events within and without Hogwarts. Once he, Umbridge, Bones and the Aurors departed, the tension around her bed receded, with deep exhalations and suddenly relaxed shoulders.
"Thank you, Missus Weasley," Hermione said. Her parents, literally shaking with relief, were quick to add their own appreciation of Molly's actions. The Weasley matriarch beamed, though flushed with equal parts excitement and embarrassment. She replied that, as a parent, she could do no less.
Gradually the little group around Hermione's bed broke up and drifted away, her parents being the last to leave. The warm afternoon passed slowly, without books to read, essays to write... or Tasks to prepare for.
Professor McGonagall popped in for a few minutes to see how her favourite student was improving. Few words were spoken about the recent nightmarish events, as if an unspoken deal had been made, but Hermione could see sadness in the older witch's eyes. There was no disguising, either, McGonagall's' pride that one of Hogwarts' own had triumphed in the Triwizard, and one of her own Gryffindors to boot. The professor even commented how much she would have loved to see the look on "that despicable creature Umbridge's face" when the news broke.
Hermione privately doubted she was the Champion, but that was the least of her concerns.
When Hermione asked about the annual exams, she was surprised. The normally academia-obsessed Professor smiled, and reminded her that she already had the option of missing the tests without any penalty. The teacher almost laughed at Hermione's scowl.
The evening dragged on as slowly as the hours before. There were no other visitors - no Cedric, no Viktor to plead forgiveness from...
And no Harry.
That cut was the cruellest of all, and it smarted. Hermione just wanted to hug him, then shake him until he accepted none of this was his fault. But, confined to bed, she was in no position to do anything.
Hermione was in an introspective mood when Dumbledore returned. The Headmaster Transfigured one of the uncomfortable chairs into a plush wing back chair in a dazzling covering that clashed with his robes, then settled down for the long haul.
"Madam Pomfrey informs me that you are making a full recovery." Dumbledore paused. "It is a rare piece of good news in these troubled times."
Hermione nodded.
"We found the remains of Voldemort's familiar in the cemetery at Little Hangleton. Mister Potter had provided details of your injury and sufficient information for us to trace the scene. Hagrid identified the snake as a magically engorged common European adder, vipera berus."
Hermione felt a spark of gratification in recognising the snake's species.
"Venomous, but rarely fatal, when dealing with a normal specimen. Unfortunately you were injected with a far greater dose than normal. In such cases time is of the essence, and without Mister Potter's information... well, let us just say that you were remarkably fortunate. Remus put you in stasis as soon as possible, and Madam Pomfrey was able to provide Professor Snape with precise details on the anti-toxin potion required. It is one of the rarer potions we have found needed at Hogwarts."
Hermione felt her mouth go dry. She had known the snakebite was serious, but not how close it had been.
"The venom is haemotoxic in nature, so you also received multiple draughts of Blood Replenishing Potion until Professor Snape had the antidote finished. I am assured that you will suffer no lasting ill-effects." Dumbledore looked over the top of his half-moon spectacles at her. "Some good news, at least."
"I took a look at my leg," Hermione said. "You couldn't tell I'd been bitten."
"Not unusual with this variety of venom, although given the amount injected... well, magic has its beneficial side effects." His expression then darkened. "I am told by Mister Potter that you endured the Cruciatus Curse."
"Yes," Hermione replied. "Twice."
"Twice?" Dumbledore's expression was the most severe she had ever seen him sport. "I think I had best sit back and allow you to tell me everything that happened."
"Starting when?"
"I think we shall start at the beginning of the Third Task."
So Hermione started her lengthy tale: All the obstacles; discovering Fleur; the Boggarts and the mirror versions of herself; her shameful deceit against Viktor; and Cedric relinquishing the prize to her.
Dumbledore listened quietly, occasionally nodding his head or asking a question. He seemed more interested in Hermione's impressions than the events themselves.
His attitude changed when Hermione's story reached Little Hangleton and its graveyard. Then Hermione found her story often became a series of questions from her to him. Dumbledore would theorize but seldom offer a concrete opinion.
Hermione finished with her return, gravely injured, on the Quidditch pitch, just before her whole world turned black.
Dumbledore sat quietly in his armchair, his recently-returned twinkle again absent from his eyes.
"You... you do believe me, don't you, sir?" Hermione asked.
"Beyond all doubt," the Headmaster replied. "It confirms the confessions we obtained under Veritaserum from Bartemius Crouch Junior and Peter Pettigrew, of which you could not possibly be aware."
Hermione absorbed that fresh snippet of information, before an urgent need for more came to the fore. "There's a lot I don't understand, Professor," she admitted. "What happened after Harry and I returned? What was Mister Crouch doing? Where's Harry?"
Dumbledore held up his hand to stem her tirade of questions. "Like you, I shall start from the very beginning, for that is usually the best place to commence the journey...
"Bartemius' son was, as you know, one of Voldemort's most loyal followers. It almost destroyed the father to sentence his only child to Azkaban. Many said that his cold exterior was due to the loss of his political career, but I believe that his son's actions and his part in it left but a hollow shell.
"When Bartemius' wife fell mortally ill, beyond all hope of a cure, she begged him to allow her to replace their son as a last favour. Bartemius pulled in some favours and arranged a last visit to Azkaban. Mother and son took Polyjuice potion and assumed each other's identities. The Dementors were fooled, and father and son left the cell, never to return. The mother died shortly afterwards, her end perhaps accelerated magically. The Ministry and the rest of the magical world believed Bartemius Crouch Junior was dead.
"Bartemius believed he could control his son with the Imperius Curse. With his house-elf's assistance he managed to keep his secret for several months."
"Did no-one suspect?" Hermione asked.
"One, a witch in Bartemius' department, Bertha Jorkins. She confronted him at his home." Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "Silly girl. If only she had brought this to the attention of the Aurors, or even myself. That error would cost poor Bertha her life."
Hermione detected regret in Dumbledore's statement. She reminded herself that to the Headmaster Bertha Jorkins was not just a name but a young witch and student.
Then again, Hermione could think of several occasions over the past months where she might have profited from the same advice.
"Whatever Bartemius cast that day destroyed Bertha's mind. She was never the same witch again.
"Bartemius did not notice that his son was building immunity to the Imperius. The son, in the guise of his mother, cast the Dark Mark at the recent World Cup while he was not fully under the spell.
"Only days later, Voldemort arrived on the Crouchs' doorstep. He had captured and tortured Bertha in Albania. She revealed her suspicions about Bartemius, that the Triwizard Tournament would be held at Hogwarts that year, and that Alastor Moody was assuming a teaching role here."
"V - V - Voldemort killed Bertha Jorkins, didn't he?" Hermione asked. Dumbledore nodded, hesitated for a second, then continued.
"Pettigrew Stunned Bartemius, and, in a reversal of fate suggested by his son, was himself placed under the Imperius Curse by a far more powerful wizard. He became a tool in Voldemort's plan."
Impatient, Hermione chimed in. "What was the plan?"
"Voldemort needed a faithful follower inside Hogwarts, one whom I also trusted implicitly. Crouch Junior and Pettigrew surprised Alastor one night, and the son again assumed a false identity."
Hermione nodded her head slowly. She had deduced that Moody was not Moody, and was almost certainly the younger Bart Crouch, but had lost consciousness before her theory was proven. Confirmation was gratifying.
"But you already knew that, did you not, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore gave her a kindly look. "Onlookers said you cried out that Professor Moody was Barty Crouch. Those sympathetic towards you ascribed that notion to shock or your injuries."
Hermione explained about the hipflask, the simultaneous dual appearance of Moody's name on Harry's Marauders' Map - the existence of which did not seem to surprise the Headmaster - and other pointers.
Dumbledore nodded. "Well done, Miss Granger. I wish I had been more... observant. It would have caused you a lot less pain."
For the first time, Hermione began considering the failings of others over the last few months. For good and sufficient reason she started keeping score.
"You will be pleased to know that the real Alastor Moody is alive and, if not well, at least on the road to recovery. He was found inside a magical chest in the Defence of the Dark Arts' master's room."
Hermione's attention briefly turned over her early encounters with the evil impostor until the Headmaster's next words refocused her attention.
"As we had considered, but discarded as unlikely, your identification by the Goblet of Fire resulted from nefarious activities, but not as intended. It was to have been Mister Potter's name that was produced." Again, Dumbledore favoured her with a gentle smile as he peered over his glasses. "Your spell cast over the summer, as the old Muggle saying goes, threw a large spanner in the works. Harry Potter was to participate in the Tournament, win the prize, and meet his fate in that churchyard - alone."
"But what was the point of using the Goblet at all? Why such a long-winded plan leaving a lot to chance?" Hermione demanded. "Why didn't Moody - Crouch, whoever - just grab Harry at the first opportunity and Portkey him to Voldemort? They had plenty of chances."
"Precisely why I originally, and to my great regret, judged such a plot as unfeasible." Hermione tallied another self-admitted failing from the Headmaster.
"However, their plan had other aspects to consider. The ritual that you witnessed, necessary to reincorporate Voldemort, could only occur on one of the solstices. There were political threads woven in as well. Voldemort desired revenge upon Mister Potter, and in as public a manner as possible. The purpose of the Triwizard Tournament was to foster European wizarding co-operation. What better way to wreck this project than to return the champion dead on our own doorstep? The Ministry could not conceal such an outcome - indeed, despite their best efforts, the Daily Prophet's last two front pages have featured little save the Tournament's unfortunate dénouement."
That reminded Hermione of her intended role: herald of Voldemort's return and bearer of Harry's passing.
"They could not achieve that by December," Dumbledore continued, "and Voldemort ultimately viewed the summer solstice as far more propitious in any event. Of course, they could not know how their plan would be... derailed, is that the right term? I do like the railway imagery.
"As Bartemius Junior told us that night, speaking as Alastor Moody of course, only a powerful wizard could Confund a magical artefact as old and strong as the Goblet of Fire. Young Master Crouch was that wizard, deceiving the Goblet that the Triwizard had become a Quadwizard competition, with only one entrant from a fourth, fictional academy.
"Imagine his surprise when out popped the name of a Muggle-born witch, not the Boy-Who-Lived."
Hermione vividly recalled Moody's - no, Crouch junior's - anger in the antechamber minutes after the Goblet had revealed her name.
"News of his botched plot would inevitably reach young Crouch's Master. He freely admitted being desperate for a substitute. He was not only frustrated but furious with you once he had divined the basis for his failure. There was no way to inveigle Mister Potter into the Tournament as a competitor. Even if, as he initially suggested, the draw were invalidated and the Goblet persuaded to reissue with names, any production of Master Potter's name would likewise have been ruled invalid. He was hoist by his own Levicorpus, the very binding manner of the choice supposed to ensure Harry's participation" - Hermione noted the use of Harry's forename - "had instead been used to your disadvantage."
Before continuing Dumbledore removed his glasses and gave the bridge of his bulbous nose a squeeze.
"Once again, I failed you. The events of that post-Halloween Defence lesson following Halloween were a signal that something more was awry. Alastor's methods can be crude, but never cruel. His attack on you in the guise of a lesson was uncharacteristic. Crouch admitted he was burning with vengeance, especially on someone with your ancestry, and I now believe he may have done worse had events not intervened."
Events had not intervened, Hermione recalled: Harry had.
"But all that doesn't make sense, Professor," Hermione interjected. "Professor Mo - I mean Crouch -trained me for the rest of the year. If he wanted me dead, all he needed to do was nothing, just sit back and watch."
"I would remind you, Miss Granger, that you completed the First Task unaided by Master Crouch, to your great credit," Dumbledore replied with evident pride in his student.
"Only just," Hermione muttered.
"Indeed. Still, with your having overcome the First Task, Bartemius remained without any means of meeting the challenge set him by Voldemort and the problem caused by yourself. He confessed that being almost resigned to Voldemort's punishment when he noted a certain... closeness between you and Mister Potter at Christmas."
Hermione blushed, although there was no need to.
"Knowing, from personal experience, that Harry would strive to protect you, he decided to make you the lure to reel him in."
Hermione gasped, knowing all too well that gap in Harry's defences. She wished now he had not cast that Patronus.
"He would also gain a measure of personal revenge against you."
Hermione nodded, remembering her feelings in the graveyard.
"They were," continued Dumbledore, "still facing one major problem."
"How I would finish the Tournament and win the damned trophy," Hermione said bitterly.
Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "Your decision only to do the minimum necessary to survive - a most rational and in many ways brave stance - was quite an obstacle. However, Bartemius, using his controlled father, saw that poor Igor's complaint was overruled and your participation continued." Dumbledore looked sharply at her. "I think we both doubted that final vote. I suspected magic had been used, but refused to suspect Alastor. Another time I failed you."
Hermione added that 'failure' to her tally. Only Dumbledore could ultimately persuade her parents… or overawe them.
"Bartemius determined that your chances of winning the Tournament were slim to non-existent." Again Dumbledore regarded her sharply. "That is not intended as a criticism, Miss Granger. Voldemort believed that Mister Potter's chances were not great, and the prospects of an under aged witch were even slimmer."
"I think you summed it up about right," Hermione observed sourly.
"Indeed. You needed help that the School was not permitted to give." He halted for a moment. "Perhaps the rules should be rewritten for the next Tournament to allow aid that has undoubtedly been provided surreptitiously in the past.
"To return to the events, Bartemius decided you would receive unofficial training by Professor Moody."
"To help me through," Hermione commented.
"Partly," Dumbledore replied, "but also to assess your limits, to ensure that you posed no threat to Voldemort." He smiled for a moment. "They gravely underestimated both your talents and your courage, Miss Granger.
"He also encouraged Mister Potter's assistance, both as a blind for his own behind-the-scenes efforts, and as a ploy to deepen the friendship between you."
Hermione's heart fell at that. Had the mutually developing affection with Harry merely been nothing other than a Death Eater ruse?
"The skirmish involving young Mister Malfoy and his colleagues was a test of your mettle. Had you failed, he would have abandoned you and the Tournament for some other stratagem. You succeeded and I once again failed, taking it as Alastor misjudging his students' capabilities, treating it as an Auror training exercise gone awry.
"He also used it to test your resistance to the Imperius Curse."
"I wondered about that," Hermione said moodily. "He told me that I'd thrown off the Curse. Yet I couldn't in the graveyard." She felt even lower now. "I never did, did I?"
"I am afraid not, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said kindly. "Bartemius worried that you might, but also needed to examine your conduct under the Curse, how obvious it might be to others.
"An additional problem arose. Young Mister Crouch, although despising as turncoats his Master's former followers at liberty, nonetheless maintained informants in low places. One of those alerted him that you were to be killed. What he told us in the hospital wing on the night of the Second Task, was fairly close to the truth. Lucius Malfoy had indeed hired Walden McNair with the sole aim of killing you."
Hermione had heard this before, but it was still shocking to have it confirmed. She wished she had cursed Lucius when she had the chance, rather than settling for a boot to his groin.
"Strange as it may seem, Bartemius Crouch Junior became your protector."
"Yes," said Hermione. "He told me so bluntly."
"Indeed?" Dumbledore stroked his beard, deep in momentary thought.
"Something along the lines of he'd rather have killed me that night."
"That was what brought Professor Moody to the hospital wing that evening. He was anxious lest you had retained a memory of the real him from the forest."
Hermione tested that memory. "I thought something was odd; he drew his wand as you entered the Pensieve."
"Did he now?" Dumbledore ruminated. "I daresay he would have hexed us all had he had seen his real face in your memories. He also imprisoned Miss Skeeter after discovering she was an illegal Animagus."
Hermione swallowed hard. "Actually, Professor, I caught her," she admitted. Or at least cast the spell, she thought.
She received the Headmaster's curious look. "It may have been prudent to inform me of Rita's activities, but it is of no great import."
"He told me he would have a word," Hermione said quietly. "Try to rein in some of her wilder reports."
"Instead she found herself in the same predicament as the elder Barty Crouch," said Dumbledore. "She had witnessed a Hogwarts' teacher, outside an official class, cast an Unforgiveable on a student, then an Obliviate, so that you would not recall the outcome." Dumbledore paused. "I suspect your memories contain odd gaps where they have been erased. Have you been suffering from regular headaches, Miss Granger?"
Hermione nodded. "I thought it was just stress," she muttered.
"You had reason enough to believe so," Dumbledore observed. "However, young Bartemius could not let Miss Skeeter go free. If she published that story I would have been forced to dismiss him from Hogwarts.
"Instead Rita was once again set to writing her lurid brand of prose, although this time it was following Voldemort's agenda while under the influence of the Imperius Curse. On one occasion Barnabas Cuffe was also subjected to the same Curse. A slow drip of stories that began to show the Ministry in a bad light, sowing the seeds of doubt in the public's minds. And, of course, with Bartemius fully aware of Sirius Black's circumstances, Rita had her biggest scoop in years, rendering me absent when most needed."
Hermione was downcast. "I'm sorry, Headmaster. I should have come to you."
Dumbledore sighed. "If you have made a mistake, it was to trust a man I also thought was one of my oldest friends. It was I who was blinkered, not you. The Prophet supplied the ammunition, but I was indeed guilty of the crime of which I was charged. But I get ahead of myself.
"There was, however, one obstacle that could not be overcome: Viktor Krum. Mademoiselle Delacour was not seen as a serious threat, and could be dealt with; Mister Diggory, a Hogwarts student, was accessible to our Defence master. But Viktor Krum, already the favourite to win the competition, could not be compromised. In desperation, Bartemius was ultimately forced into an act he dreaded: contacting his old comrade, Igor Karkaroff.
"I suspect that Igor refused him. Either that or Mister Krum rejected Igor's approach, which may have sparked their increasing enmity. I know that Igor's own Dark Mark, like young Barty's, had been regaining prominence, and he undoubtedly feared that if Voldemort did return, those who betrayed him would not have long to live."
"That makes sense," Hermione muttered. At Dumbledore's raised enquiring eyebrow, she elucidated. "One day, just before our Potions class, Karkaroff was determined to talk with Professor Snape. It could only have been that."
"Correct, Miss Granger, although he refused to tell Professor Snape who was involved. Another lost opportunity… As it was, Igor was sadly prescient. Bartemius Crouch killed him to ensure his silence."
Hermione had a horrible thought. "I... I think we saw it happen." Dumbledore glanced sharply at her. "Harry and I..."
"That would be a serious matter were you eye-witnesses to a murder and did not come forward," Dumbledore said quietly.
"No. No!" Hermione rushed to clarify the situation. "On the Map... we saw Crouch's name with Karkaroff. We thought he was using a Time Turner again, like I did, that it was the older Crouch. Then Karkaroff's name disappeared - we thought he'd used a Portkey. But he was never seen alive again"
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "It would also explain why you so vehemently protested Mister Krum's innocence. Bartemius removed some of Igor's hair, took Polyjuice potion, and returned to the Durmstrang ship. However he was unable to separate Mister Krum from the other students before the effects wore off. Instead he ... planted, is the Muggle term, I believe... planted evidence that implicated Mister Krum and then allowed information to percolate through to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
Hermione felt like a fool once more. "We took the Map to Professor Moody..." she groaned.
Dumbledore noted the comment but let it pass. "Both you and Mister Diggory saw Professor Moody on the night before the Third Task."
It was a statement, not a question, but Hermione nodded.
"Bartemius placed you both under strong Compulsion Charms."
"Why not the Imperius?" Hermione questioned. After all, she now knew, as had Moody-stroke-Crouch, that she was susceptible.
"Cast by a powerful wizard, a Compulsion Charm is a very strong spell indeed. It does not offer the complete control of the Imperius Curse, but its insidious affects are far less obvious to experienced wizards. My absence at the start of the Third Task was not assured, nor could Bartemius risk an Imperius with Professors McGonagall and Flitwick present, let alone Madame Maxime.
"That Charm latches onto an existing emotion or belief, seizes it and amplifies the effect. You would agree, I believe, that you are normally quite competitive academically."
Hermione nodded. It was true, and no longer confined to scholarly pursuits.
"Apart from Viktor Krum, Bartemius had to overcome your stated intention to dismiss yourself from the Third Task as soon as your obligations under magical law were satisfied. His Compulsion Charm took advantage of your competitive nature and all but forced you to compete to win.
"Mister Diggory's compulsion was different. He always admired your mettle. Thus, he was to cede victory to you, while doing anything to stop Mister Krum or Mademoiselle Delacour from winning."
Pieces of a horrible jigsaw fell into place inside Hermione's active mind. Her actions and thoughts inside the maze had virtually been driven by that hyper-competitive voice in her head, as had her shameful felling of Viktor. Then an even worse idea sprung to the forefront of that mind. Cedric's absence...
"Professor," she said in a small, worried voice. "It was Cedric who cursed Fleur, didn't he?"
Dumbledore suddenly appeared a lot older. "Indeed," he confirmed in a low voice. "He also knows that he was prepared to kill Viktor Krum at the end. None of this is public knowledge, and for Mister Diggory's sake I would ask you to keep it confidential."
The Headmaster sighed. "Cedric Diggory is in a very dark place at the moment. He can remember with perfect clarity casting the spell, and meaning to. Those thoughts plague him every waking moment. He can never forgive himself. With the Ministry's consent I have sent him home, under Amos' parole, for counselling. However, I doubt any treatment exists, short of Obliviation, to wipe away that memory." Dumbledore fell silent.
After a few moments quiet, Hermione asked another long-standing question. "Will Fleur recover?"
Dumbledore remained grave. "Her condition is stabilised. Young Mister Crouch identified the Curse, a particularly malignant form of sapping one's magical core. With luck and the best of care Mademoiselle Delacour will recover." Again he hesitated. "Whether fully or not, only time will tell."
Hermione had reviewed her own acts in the maze. Her desire to win and then glorying in victory now disgusted her. "I'm no winner," she declared.
Dumbledore regarded her with pride. "On the contrary, Miss Granger, you have been declared Triwizard Champion, officially and without objection."
"No." Hermione shook her head. "After what happened to the three real champions?"
"The Triwizard Cup itself declared you as such. When examined after the event, the trophy's own magic had already engraved your name in its plinth."
"I... I don't understand..." Hermione muttered. "Crouch must have done that for some perverse reason. I don't deserve anything..."
"Miss Granger, you succeeded in the first two Tasks fairly and squarely," Dumbledore pressed. "The Third Task was an ordeal in its own right that you survived, let alone the aftermath. The Ministry itself has no choice: the magical contract that bound you to the competition equally binds them to accept the result. You need to accept that the whole wizarding world now knows you, not only as the Triwizard Champion, but as the witch who defied Voldemort."
"But... Cedric could have - should have - won," Hermione objected. "If he hadn't been bespelled - "
Dumbledore remained placid but firm. "Mister Diggory has waived any complaint he may have, and is consumed by his own... issues. The Delacours are thankful that their daughter is alive thanks to your promptly summoning help -"
"Viktor did that," Hermione declared.
"I understand that, despite the compulsion, you brought Mademoiselle Delacour's with you through the maze?" Dumbledore pressed. "Had you left her, the Healers believe that her Veela-based magic would have become exhausted, causing major failure of her internal organs, leading inexorably to... well, she was lucky that you did what you did. Madame Maxime is understandably furious with the Ministry, but especially me, for allowing any student to suffer so grievously, but the magical contract binds Beauxbatons to the result as well."
Dumbledore shook his head, plainly blaming himself. "She is right to be so angry. I have let down so many people."
"And Viktor?" Hermione had been almost as dismayed at the Bulgarian's absence from her bedside as Harry's. Then again, he was probably in a volcanic Balkan temper at being cheated of his prize.
"Ah, yes." Dumbledore looked happy to change the subject. With a swish of his wand a vellum envelope appeared in mid-air, hovering just in front of Hermione's nose. "Mister Krum asked that I pass this to you once you had recovered."
She saw her name in Viktor's bold script. Taking hold of the envelope, she tucked it away on the small bedside cabinet. Feeling too guilty to read it, she busied herself with other questions.
"What happened to you, Headmaster?"
"It was an excellent plot to remove me from the scene of the action at the most critical moment, as it were. Rita's piece really should win an award of some kind." Dumbledore smiled ruefully. "After the Head Auror arrived with the charge that I had aided a convicted criminal evade justice, I could do no more than plead guilty and go quietly. I was ill inclined to run, and if they believed they had the only suspect, others may not be pursued.
"I was residing in an uncomfortable dungeon at the Ministry, when Auror Shacklebolt arrives, unlocks the cell door, and takes me to see two wizards long believed dead. Bartemius Crouch Junior and Peter Pettigrew had just been apprehended on Hogwarts' grounds. Madam Bones had asked that I review their testimony under Veritaserum.
"It was, in the end, an excellent little plan drawn up under the most stringent of circumstances, taking advantage of any unforeseen break, even if the larger plot broke down. Your return was the cue that Barty Crouch's endgame had begun. As 'Alastor Moody' he murdered poor Rufus in plain view of everyone. That alone would have spread panic and uncertainty. Bartemius Crouch Senior, under the Imperius, was to have assassinated the Minister himself. I understand that your final contribution was to alert young Ronald Weasley to prevent this.
"That was their plan. With the Ministry effectively leaderless, Voldemort and his followers intended an immediate assault upon the Ministry itself, to seize it or at least to inflict as many casualties as possible. I suspect I would have been found dead in my cell. From there, he would have struck at Azkaban to free his remaining old followers.
"And it very nearly succeeded. Had it not been for the extraordinary actions of one young witch and two young wizards, Voldemort would have decapitated the entire British magical establishment and commenced a reign of terror across the country."
Ignoring yet another compliment, Hermione demanded: "What of Voldemort? What about Malfoy and the others?"
"The Ministry has been forced to accept the reality of Voldemort's return. Mister Potter has given testimony and his Pensieve memory. For corroboration we have two confessions under Veritaserum, and a score of witnesses to Rufus Scrimgeour's murder and Cornelius' own narrow escape. As to full acceptance, Cornelius still clings to the fiction that Voldemort has not been reincorporated, and has barricaded himself inside the Ministry.
"Your own account may well be the straw that breaks the Thestral's back. In that regard the Ministry has Lucius Malfoy in custody. He was found with a broken jaw and other, more painful, injuries in the graveyard at Little Hangleton, along with a painfully flaring Dark Mark." For the first time in seemingly hours the spark returned to his eyes. "So far he has asserted immunity from prosecution as a Wizengamot member, and inability to answer any questions due to his physical condition. I believe he is only delaying the inevitable. As for Voldemort's 'Old Crowd', they have disappeared from the scene. Gringotts are claiming client confidentiality, but information to hand indicates many vaults have been emptied since your return to Hogwarts.
"The Daily Prophet has already run an editorial raising the question of Voldemort's return, although they still lack the courage to name him. Voldemort was determined upon maximal publicity for his return, although not with this result." Dumbledore sighed. "Rita Skeeter is no longer Imperiused and cannot be silenced forever, not on this story. Your return with a wizard believed to be dead, the assassination attempts, and Mister Potter's declaration of Voldemort's return, all occurred in full view of senior foreign wizards and the European magical press. Even if the Minister could somehow silence the news at home and muzzle large numbers of well-connected wizards present, which he cannot, it is now internationally-reported news.
"As for Voldemort, we have one dead familiar and a large cauldron being tested for residue. Efforts are being made to gain more information."
'Professor Snape,' Hermione thought.
"Your testimony will be the keystone in the arch," Dumbledore continued. "Some in the Ministry, as you have seen, who will cling tenaciously to their ignorance, but the façade has collapsed. The matter will be seen through. With your permission, and that of your parents, I propose to invite Madam Bones to conduct an official interview tomorrow."
"I'm ready to tell the truth," Hermione replied.
"Good. Then I will leave you to your rest."
"Before you go, Professor," Hermione asked urgently, "are we in trouble? Harry, Ron and me, that is? About Sirius, I mean."
"I do not believe that anyone, save myself, will suffer repercussions over Mister Black. The Ministry now has far more important matters to address."
"So, is Sirius free, then?"
Dumbledore stopped. "As you know in your own case, the wheels of magical justice grind exceedingly slow, but not fine at all. Currently, Sirius Black remains technically an escaped felon, but Auror pursuit has been scaled down given the new priorities. As you no doubt intended, with Peter Pettigrew in custody serious questions have already been raised about the events of thirteen years ago. I assure you that a move will be made to pardon Sirius for all crimes. That does not necessarily absolve me from a charge of aiding and abetting a fugitive from justice, but I have broad shoulders."
He turned again to leave, but with Hermione looking like she was about to explode, he hesitated. "Was there something else, Miss Granger?"
"You've told me about what happened, but how did Harry arrive at the graveyard?"
"Ah!" Dumbledore looked momentarily at a loss. "I suspect that is Mister Potter's story to tell, not mine."
"Is Harry alright," Hermione added urgently. "Just he hasn't been up here since..."
"Mister Potter is doing as well as could be expected."
Hermione's impatience did finally explode. She had waited for what seemed like hours for the Headmaster to inform her of Harry's state and whereabouts. "Then I demand to see him. He's not been barred from seeing me, has he?"
"I regret that I cannot order Mister Potter about," Dumbledore replied with a thin smile. "That does not, and has not, worked well… I shall certainly inform him in no uncertain terms that you are asking for him."
It was time to lay things on the line. "Headmaster, you know as well as I that my parents will try to remove me from Hogwarts. I don't want to go without seeing Harry."
Dumbledore winced, paused, and finally smiled one last time. "I am sure that soon enough you will find him at your side again. Goodnight."
* * * * *
The poetry at the start of the chapter is taken from the James Bond film "On Her Majesty's Secret Service" quoting Teresa (Diana Rigg) to Blofeld (Telly Savalas) just before the film's climax. This was itself based upon a poem from James Elroy Flecker's play "The Story of Hassan of Bagdad and How He Came to Make the Golden Journey to Samarkand." Whenever I read a Harry Potter fan fiction where Hermione is in her late twenties or early thirties, I picture Diana Rigg from that film. Best Bond girl - ever!
This chapter includes a little of the dialogue from chapter #30 of "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire."
An adder's venom is haemotoxic: it prevents blood coagulation, causing haemorrhaging, and the probability of severe injury to internal organs and possibly death through internal bleeding.
A mobile phone is British for a cell phone. The idea of the ley lines converging at Hogwarts and coinciding with the Earth's magnetic field was stolen from beta reader Bexis' "Harry Potter and the Fifth Element" and is the best reason yet why Muggle electrical devices do not function at Hogwarts.