Chapter Seventeen
JOSEPH MARKS
"You're good at that," said the elderly Ms. Granger reluctantly. She paused in her own activity and sounded very disappointed. "You've done it before."
"Er, I have," said Harry, unsure if he'd chosen the right response. She'd come over early that morning when Mr. and Mrs. Granger had left for work. She was there to watch Angelica, but she had been keeping a very close watch on Harry and Hermione as well. She felt the best way to handle them was to put them to work. They'd cleaned, they'd cooked, they were baking still. In an attempt to separate them, Harry had even been sent outside to do some yard work.
Hermione's grandma stopped her methodical cutting and peeling. Her latest task was cooking dinner. She had Hermione measuring ingredient for biscuits and Harry peeling potatoes.
"Where? Don't tell me your kind doesn't have some kind of nonsense magic-" Ms. Granger spat the word out as if it left a bad taste in her mouth (which upon recollection, Harry decided that it probably had) "-to do such a mundane task for you. Hard work doesn't exactly seem to be one of your greatest values."
"I used to cook at my aunt and uncle's," said Harry. He focused his energy on not getting angry with the elderly woman. Instead, he began to peel the potatoes at an alarming rate, leaving deep marks on the cutting board each time he diced one up. Hermione glanced up, alarmed.
"Humph," muttered Ms. Granger. She still looked at him with contempt. "Why not use the nonsense you practice? Isn't that what it's for?"
"They were Muggles," said Harry, not bothering to substitute a "proper" term. He narrowly missed chopping off the end of his finger. "They didn't want to be associated with anything... abnormal."
"And they associated with you?"
"Didn't have a choice in the matter," said Harry. "They're the only relatives I have."
"Tragic," said Ms. Granger, but a smile seemed to be playing on her lips. She went back to her own cutting and peeling. "It's good to know that there are some decent folks out there with good, clean values."
"Decent folks?" said Hermione. Harry stopped, looking up. He'd never seen her look so angry. "Do you know them?"
"Excuse me?" asked Ms. Granger absently. "I don't need to know them. I know they have their ideals in the right place."
"Of course," said Hermione through clenched teeth. "Abuse is an ideal we should all hold dear."
* * *
"What was that all about?" demanded Harry. He forced himself to take a deep breath, forcing the anger out of him. He wasn't angry with Hermione. He almost wanted to be, but he didn't have it in him.
All through dinner, Ms. Granger had been eyeing him like he had three heads. She'd gone off on the wizarding world no fewer than fifteen times during the meal. Before that, she had started complaining that neither Harry nor Hermione had a trace of respect.
"Your parents didn't raise you to be ungrateful," she had barked to her granddaughter, "so I can only assumed you've picked up that nasty habit at that nasty school of yours. Hand in hand, isn't it? And you-" She'd waved her finger at Harry menacingly, and he was strongly reminded of his Aunt Petunia. "-you obviously speak poorly about your relatives. The poor souls! Even I wouldn't have had it in my heart to take such abnormality in my home. Respect."
After dinner, Harry and Hermione had retreated upstairs as soon as they had been excused. She'd headed straight for her room, but Harry had decided to shower first. Angelica had decided to fling a handful of mashed peas across the table. For a baby, she had great aim: Harry had green goop in his hair for the rest of the meal. Now, he was standing in Hermione's doorway. She was stretched out on her bed, the canopy drawn back on all sides. When she saw Harry, she looked up, and slammed her reading material-the enormous grade five Standard Book of Spells-shut.
"What was what all about?" questioned Hermione. She sat up quickly, and Harry knew her question was just to stall time. He sighed and crossed the room. She scooted over to make room for him on the end of the bed.
"What you said to your grandmother about the Dursleys," said Harry, "when we were preparing dinner."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I told the truth, Harry. She was acting like they were the most wonderful people on earth! What else was I supposed to do?"
Harry tightened his grip on one of the bed poles. "How did you know?" he said finally. Hermione softened.
"I've always suspected it, Harry," she said quietly. "There isn't much I'd put past the Dursleys. They just seemed like that kind of people."
"Seemed?" questioned Harry.
"I'm positive that they are now," said Hermione, and she blushed. "I-I saw all those marks on your back the other day, Harry, and I can only think of one thing that could have created them."
Harry felt himself reddening, and he averted his eyes. Hermione was looking at him with so much concern that it made him feel guilty. She didn't need to be worried about him. She had more than enough to deal with already.
"Yeah," said Harry. He couldn't think of anything else to say. "It's not a big deal."
"Not a big deal?" said Hermione. She sounded very put out. "How can you say that, Harry? You have to go live with them this summer! You can't go back to that! You should have said-"
"I'm not going back there this summer," interrupted Harry. He smiled lightly. "They don't want me back-they owled at Christmas just to tell me so. Ron's already said I could stay at the Burrow."
"Or you could stay here," said Hermione, but she added quickly, "If you wanted to, of course. I could see how the Burrow would be-"
"If your parents didn't mind," said Harry, "I'd like that. Maybe I could spend half the summer with you and half the summer with Ron."
Hermione smiled, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. His hand found hers, and their fingers intertwined. "How long has it been going on?" said Hermione quietly.
"As long as I can remember," said Harry hesitantly. He reached up and pushed a loose hair away from his eyes. It was getting a little longer that he would have liked, and he thought that he might need to get it cut soon.
"And I'll bet he never touched a hair on Dudley's head," said Hermione. She sounded completely disgusted.
"Never," said Harry. He shifted a little. "Let's not talk about it."
"I'm sorry for bringing it up," said Hermione sincerely. Harry smiled at her, and he cleared his throat.
"What did you think of Sirius's visit last night?" he asked, changing the subject.
"He cares about you a lot, Harry," said Hermione.
"And you don't think that could cloud his judgment?" said Harry. He quickly explained, "I mean, I know he wouldn't lie about promising my mum, but he was so insistent-"
"I know what you mean, Harry," said Hermione thoughtfully, "and I've considered the possibility. Sleep wasn't any easier last night after he left than it was before."
"Tell me about it," muttered Harry, and he smiled at her. "Next time I'm having trouble sleeping, I'll just come bother you."
"Looking forward to it," said Hermione. "I don't know-sometimes I think he goes out of his way to protect you, Harry. It's obvious he blames himself for your parents' deaths, and he always mentions how much you're like James. Maybe he feels that he can the past by protecting you now."
"He's my godfather, though," said Harry, but he understood at once. He sighed. "I don't want to go behind his back, but I'm not willing to just forget about it. If we just research-without acting-is that so bad?"
"And nothing says it will amount to anything," reasoned Hermione. She gently pulled her hand out of his. "It's up to you, Harry."
"Whether we keep going or not?" Hermione nodded. "Let's keep looking. There's no harm in looking, right?"
"Right," said Hermione. "No harm in looking," she echoed.
"We'll be fine as long as we don't act on anything we find," said Harry, "and we probably won't find anything anyway."
"So there's no problem," said Hermione, finishing the circle of thoughts. There. That was settled.
* * *
"...And the next thing I knew, Sirius was sitting on top of Percy, and one of the books in the box he was carrying fell back down and nearly knocked him out!" Ron finished. He was regaling them with the best moments of his vacation as the Hogwarts Express chugged furiously towards its destination. "Of course, Sirius was lucky that ol' Perce wasn't capable of killing him on the spot, but that's beside the point."
Harry and Hermione laughed appreciatively, enjoying Ron's light-hearted stories. They'd told him about Hermione's arduous grandmother and Sirius's visit, and Harry's description of the many McGregors had made Ron start laughing about his own family. Now, they listened intently to his account of the Weasleys' stay in Belgium.
Unlike Harry and Hermione's vacation tales, very little of what Ron said was serious. The only thing he said that didn't lead to laughter was his description of Percy's new job at the Ministry. It was highly secretive and very dangerous, as it even had Ron's easygoing older brothers, Bill and Charlie, uncertain. Mr. Weasley refused to share any details about it with the four younger children, and even Mrs. Weasley seemed in the dark as to what her son was doing. Still, Ron had enough humorous stories to share that time wasn't lost on such uncertainties.
For Harry, at least, it was a relief to sit back on the train and listen to Ron. He'd enjoyed himself during his weeklong stay with Hermione, but there was a lot about it that he didn't care to think about it. Ms. Granger had become more unbearable with each day of their stay, and she seemed to think insulting their education at Hogwarts an acceptable practice.
There had been a few days early in the week that hadn't been very comfortable for Harry. After their talk on Monday night, Harry had once again had trouble sleeping, but he hadn't acted on his word and gone to Hermione. It dawned on him that she was aware of what he had kept guarded for longer than he could remember. While it had been a bit unnerving at first, Harry eventually realized that it was Hermione he was dealing with. He stopped worrying-as much.
And then there had been the events of the night before. Harry had resolved not to think about it, but he was having trouble keeping that promise to himself. He still wasn't sure what to make of it. He'd actually fallen asleep easily that night-his things were packed, and he was ready to wake up early the next morning to head to King's Cross. When Hermione had started screaming desperately, that had changed.
As of late, she still insisted it was nothing more than a simple nightmare, but Harry knew better. He'd seen the intense fear and pain in her eyes, and it wasn't a memory that left him quickly. Hermione's parents had also woken at her cries, and she had recoiled and shrieked when her father and Harry had tried to approach her.
It was in that moment that Harry had begun to understand what effect that night in the forest had had on her. Her parents, of course, didn't have the same knowledge that Harry had, and remained puzzled. Hermione hadn't been able to explain her fright, and Mr. Granger had gone so far to pull Harry aside when they reached the train station.
"Harry," he had asked, rather hesitantly, "is there something going on with Hermione that we should be aware of?"
Harry had lied. "Of course not, sir," he had said. "At least, there's nothing that I'm aware of. If you're talking about last night, I believe Hermione when she says she had a nightmare. She wouldn't lie." Harry had assured himself that this was strictly true. Hermione had had a nightmare. He just hadn't let on about its source.
"If you say so," said Mr. Granger reluctantly, and he looked at his daughter with a worried expression. He'd turned to Harry with a pleading expression. "Harry, I know it sounds ridiculous, but will you watch out for her? I'm just worried about my little girl."
"I already do, sir," Harry had responded sincerely. "Hermione's my best friend."
"Keep it up then, will you?" said Mr. Granger. "And keep in touch, regardless. It was good having you. You're always welcome at our home."
Harry had had to go then. It was ten till eleven, and he and Hermione weren't even on the platform yet. They were still coming and going from Platform Ten and One Half, and little explanation had gone into the matter. Nevertheless, they had walked through the barrier and settled into the same compartment on the scarlet steam engine as Ron. The best part of the next hour had been spent catching up about vacation, which was what they were doing now. Ron was recounting the final day in Belgium when the compartment door slid open. The three burly Slytherin boys that entered brought back certain memories of three other Slytherins that had always interrupted their trip in the past.
"Potter. Weasley," sneered the shortest of the boys. It was Gregory Flint, and what he lacked in height, he made up for in width.
"We thought we should get acquainted before next weekend," said one of the other two boys. Harry was pretty sure his name was Moon and that he was a Chaser. The three boys shoved roughly past Hermione, shoving her into Ron.
"Watch it," warned Harry. "Why are you here?"
"We're just expressing our hellos, Potter," said the third boy. Unlike the other two, he actually sounded like he might posses a brain somewhere within his oversized head. "We don't want you to have any hard feelings after this weekend. Of course, I doubt you'll have time-you'll be too busy mourning in the hospital wing, won't you? Haven't seen you practicing as much as you did last year. Learned to fly yet, Weasley?"
"My broom was cursed," spat Ron. His eyes flashed, and Harry saw him reach for his wand.
"Sure," sneered Moon. "That's what they telled us, too, and we still stayed on our brooms. You just can't fly."
"Told," corrected Hermione. "If you had paid attention, you would know that the curses put on Harry and Ron's brooms were much stronger."
The third one piped up again, and Harry finally remembered his name: Marks. "Sticking up for your boyfriend, Mudblood?" He was studying his hand. "Of course, it's hard to tell which one of them that is. From the way I hear it, you've been snogging both of them-"
"That's not true!" exclaimed Ron. As an afterthought, he added, "And don't call her that!" He and Harry were standing on either side of Hermione, almost as if she would be protected between them.
"What? Mad that you're not getting your fair share?" asked Marks. "I wouldn't be too disappointed. You really should reconsider your choice in friends, Weasley. A pure-blood of any type-even one as pathetic and inbred as you-shouldn't associate with Mudbloods and half-bloods."
"Don't insult my friends!" roared Ron. "SENDROVUS!"
The burst from Ron's wand blasted Marks against the wall. His cronies rushed to his assistance, but he pushed them away. Harry couldn't help but think of the way Crabbe and Goyle had always acted towards Malfoy. Marks looked furious.
"You'll pay for that, Weasley! RICTUSEMPRA!"
Marks was still a bit disoriented from his bounce off the wall, and the jet of silver light hit Hermione, not Ron. She doubled over in pain, and Harry had to grab her arm to keep her from falling. That was more then enough. The war was on. He and Ron retaliated at the same time; Ron's Jelly-Legs Jinx hit Moon at the same time that Harry's Furnunculus curse hit Flint. Hermione had recovered from Marks's blow, and he began to howl as boils popped up on his face. He haphazardly started shooting spells out at no one in particular, and Harry began to choke as one of them prevented him from breathing. Suddenly, there was a second opening of the compartment door.
"FINITE INCANTATEM!"
Moon and Flint sprang back up, and Harry was very thankful that he was able to breath again. However, the relieved feeling disappeared when he saw Snape standing against the wall of the compartment. Harry's mind began to race. He didn't know why Snape was there, but he knew that there would be hell to pay.
"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" screamed Snape, turning red with fury. "This train is a method of transportation, not a dueling arena! What are you doing?" No one dared speak, which just angered Snape more. "Well? ANSWER ME! Miss Granger, you always have a response. Why don't you enlighten me as to what has occurred here?"
"They," she said nervously, gesturing to the Slytherins, "came in, taunting Ron and Harry about the Quidditch match-"
Snape didn't look interested anymore. He sneered. "Twenty points from Gryffindor, each, for starting a fight. Get out of here, boys. Five points each from Slytherin for being ignorant enough to retaliate."
"Professor," said Ron angrily, "that's not fair! They started it!"
The corners of Snape's mouth turned up into a smile as he ushered the three Slytherins out of the compartment. They looked contented with Gryffindor's loss of sixty points. "Do you really think that is of my concern, Weasley? Come to think of it, in addition to those sixty points, you will serve detention with me tonight, immediately following dinner... I have the perfect task for you."
He left, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione could only stare at each other, dumbfounded. Snape shouldn't have even been on the train in the first place, but he'd lost Gryffindor points and assigned detentions. Already, the stretch of term from Easter to summer was looking rather bleak.
* * *
During a successful lesson, Professor Binns put, on average, half the class to sleep. If the topic was particularly boring, as it was that day, that number increased significantly. As the ghostly professor droned on about the rise of Middle Eastern witchcraft in Britain, Harry had to suppress his laughter as Seamus began snoring loudly on his right. Finally, he gave in and snickered. Two rows ahead, Ron's head was lulling on his shoulder, but Hermione, who was sitting on the front row, was scribbling notes furiously. Binns had separated the three of them after Harry and Ron had continued a great debate about Quidditch well into the start of class.
"...and ended in the late nineteenth century. Tomorrow, we will examine the lingering effects of the trend and begin our study of wizardry in Asia. Any questions? Yes, Miss Granger?"
Sure enough, Hermione had politely raised her hand; however, she didn't have a question about jewels of magic or proper practice laws. "I thought we had a double class today, Professor," she said gesturing at the clock. "If so, class is but half over."
"Ah, yes, Miss Granger," said Binns, and he reached a ghostly hand to his equally ghostly glasses. "As I'm sure you already know, the O.W.L. exam entails the knowledge of material beyond your daily curriculum. Because it is included directly after the historical aspect of the exam, I received the duty of reviewing traditional wizarding customs and knowledge with you."
There was a groan from the handful of students still awake, but Harry snapped shut his textbook and actually took out his quill and some parchment. In the front of the classroom, Hermione was doing the same. Having not grown up in a wizarding family, Harry was actually interested in the subject. Even those that had were preparing to take notes, so Harry nudged Seamus to wake him up. Hopefully, Binns wouldn't make the topic as boring as he had Shatha Banita, the witch contributed with integrating Middle Eastern practices into traditional European witchcraft.
"Er," said Binns, and the ghostly hand was on the ghostly glasses once more. He shuffled some of the papers before him. "Ah, here it is. I have obtained a list of questions that appeared on last year's exam. I will call on you to answer each one. At the end, I will open for any lingering confusions. Understood, yes? Section one, question one..."
Twenty minutes later, Binns was up to section three, question seven. Harry had been wrong in hoping that it wouldn't be as boring as the usual notes they took. "What birthing phenomenon occurs as many as six times more often for wizards and witches than for Muggles?" Much to Harry's surprise, Ron raised his hand.
"Twins," he said grimly. The whole class laughed, and Harry couldn't help but snicker when Seamus punched his shoulder to point out the confused look on Parvati Patil's face.
"I always knew that one wasn't the brightest," said Seamus. His words were spoken very quietly, but Binns still managed to hear him.
"Perhaps you'd like to answer one, Mr. Finnigan?" said Binns. "Section three, question eight. According to Wizard Survey Yearly, within how many years out of school do most wizards and witches marry?"
Seamus, who had grown up with a Muggle father and a magical mother, squirmed. "Seven?"
"Incorrect. Mr. Potter? Venture a guess?"
Harry frowned. He thought of Ron's older brothers, Bill and Charlie, both of whom were in their twenties and unmarried. "Eleven?" said Harry, doing some quick figuring.
"Two," said Binns. "Maybe one of you can tell me this. Section four, question one. What is the average lifespan of a wizard? Who typically lives longer, a wizard or a witch?"
"One hundred sixty," said Seamus hesitantly. It was a good guess. Binns's eyes moved to Harry.
"A wizard?" guessed Harry. Up until now, almost everything had been opposite of what he knew it to be in the Muggle world, and he knew that Muggle women traditionally lived longer than men."
"A witch," said Binns. "Section four, question two. How many children are in the traditional wizarding family?"
"Three?" said Harry, wishing Binns would ask someone else. Hermione and Ron had been sending him apologetic glances, and Harry knew he'd guessed correctly when Ron started nodding eagerly.
"Very good," said Binns. He droned on. "Section four, question three. At what age must a witch or wizard register as an elder of magic? Anyone? Yes, Miss Brown? No, the answer is one hundred fifty-one. Now, can anyone tell me what an elder of magic is? Anyone? Well, according to rules set by the Ministry in seventeen fifty-two..."
Harry's voice raised in the collective group sigh as Binns launched into a dissertation of things that weren't in anyway related to wizarding customs. Before long, Ron was snoring loudly from the third row, and Dean had fallen off his chair in slumber. Harry felt his eyelids getting heavier as Binns droned on. It was a completely normal History of Magic class for a completely ordinary day.
* * *
"Ron, that is truly disgusting," said Hermione with a shudder. Dumbledore had chosen that week to indulge his love of Muggle food by having meals from different countries each evening. Tonight, the theme was Italian, and Ron was sticking his tongue out and twirling it around to get a long spaghetti noodle into his mouth.
"Thank you," said Ron, finishing the display with a long slurp as he sucked the end of the noodle into his mouth. Harry shoved a bite of pasta into his mouth to stifle his laughter, and Hermione just glared on disapprovingly.
"I can see why your poor mother gets so frustrated," said Hermione. "I know she didn't raise you to have manners like that!"
"You're a real stickler for this manners thing, aren't you?" said Ron thoughtfully. He was using the edge of his fork as a knife to chop a meatball in half.
"I think," said Harry, closing his mouth to chew. Hermione gave him a smile of approval. "I think that Hermione is just trying to point out that your manners just keep getting worse."
"It's all very progressive," echoed Hermione. She was fiddling around with her fork, swirling the noodles around in the sauce, but she wasn't really eating. "What do you think Snape has in store for us tonight?"
They had not served their detention the night before but not for lack of trying. Snape had snarled into his classroom an hour behind them, looking particularly surly. He told them to come back the next evening at the same time for punishment, and then he had nearly chucked a glass jar at them for they left too slowly for his liking. In all actuality, they hadn't hesitated a second after he pardoned them for the evening.
"I'm just glad they don't allow physical torture anymore," declared Ron. "Could you imagine being hung from the ceiling by ankle chains? Dad finally showed us his marks from his days here last week. Fred and George were complaining about having to plunge toilets, so he felt it was time to show them a real punishment."
Hermione looked a little green, and Harry saw her push back her plate. He raised an eyebrow at her; she had done the same thing at dinner the night before and all the meals in between. Harry shrugged it off; Hermione had never been a big eater.
"He'll probably just have us helping with the most vile potion he can imagine," said Harry, "or doing manual labor. Neville's always insisted he has a talent for creating some whenever there's a detention to be served."
"I'd rather it be manual labor than a vile potion," said Hermione absently. It didn't take much for Harry to catch the meaning behind her words.
"Chamber pots," muttered Ron. "Trophies. So many things in this school to clean."
"Lupin said that he once had to polish the floor in here," said Harry, waving his arm around to gesture that it was the entire Great Hall. "Sirius said it was one of the many times that he managed to get caught up in the fallout of one of his and Dad's pranks."
"He's so nice," said Hermione, almost defensively, "and I have a feeling his friends did everything in their power to try to corrupt him."
Ron laughed. "Seriously, what do you think Snape'll have us doing?"
"That is for me to decide, Weasley, and for you not to question." Three heads turned to see Snape standing behind them, a smirk playing on his face. He motioned, quite sinisterly, for them to stand. "Move along now. It was very obvious you're done with dinner."
Harry and Ron and Hermione all stood quietly, but it didn't stop the majority of other Gryffindors at the table from staring at them. They had all heard about the fight on the train, and it hadn't failed to outrage any of them. George, Fred, and Lee had been engrossed in a deep conversation since receiving the news. Whatever pranks they had been plotting had been forgotten, and it seemed as if they were devoting their full time and energy to making the Slytherins pay.
"Something hanging you up there, Granger?" said Snape as they followed him down to the dungeons. Hermione had stumbled on one of the stairs in her haste. None of them had dared to talk. Snape had just shot Harry a nasty look when he grabbed Hermione's arm to help her regain her balance, so she dared not answer him.
Much to all three students' surprise, Snape passed right by the Potions dungeon; in fact, they kept going right on past all of the main dungeons. The professor guided them around corner after corner, into what seemed like a labyrinth. Finally, he paused in front of an old, rotting wood door. He proceed to unlock it, not with magic, but with a key buried deep within his pocket.
"This," said Snape, stepping in and gesturing around the room, "is where all the official Hogwarts documents are kept. Of course, before you get too excited, those official documents are a thousand years' worth of maintenance records, school purchases, and minutes from the board of governors."
"What do we have to do?" asked Ron bravely. Snape studied him for a moment, and he laughed.
"This room is very unkempt, if you haven't noticed," said Snape, "and I don't like things in my domain being so messy. I want everything taken out, dusted off, and packed neatly back into its proper box. Then, you are to label each box according to contents. When you've finished all that, you are to order the boxes chronologically within subjects and stack them like bricks against the wall."
"What?" screeched Ron, unable to help himself. "That'll take all night!"
"I know," said Snape. He withdrew his wand. "Accio," he said, almost lazily, and he was holding three wands in his hand a moment later. "It'll take even longer without magic."
* * *
"I can't believe he's making us do this!" moaned Ron. He was alternatively biting his finger and shaking his hand vigorously, so it was obvious he'd gotten another paper cut.
"He's Snape," reminded Hermione. Harry crossed the room to help her lug a box into a free area. "I just find it horribly unfair that we're not only being punished for something we didn't really do. I think he had this mundane task in mind when he gave us detention. He just didn't want to do it himself."
"And I didn't think he was as bad he used to be," grumbled Harry. He reached a hand up to rub his aching shoulder. Snape had been right about the documents; they were only bills and reports and things that he couldn't imagine anyone wanting to keep around, especially not for a thousand years. Harry couldn't think of anything that would make the job fun or even worthwhile, but Hermione had pointed out that the right kinds of documents would aid them in their search.
Ron was sitting on one of the file boxes now, starting to scoot things of similar subject into the same area. Hermione surveyed the scene in front of her and sighed.
"I guess I assumed wizards would have a sophisticated filing system," she said, wiping her hands on her robes, "but this is even worse than anything Muggle I've seen."
"I'm sure that's saying something," said Ron. As tall as he was, he had to do a bit of reaching to place the last heavy box on top of the stack. It took seven stacked on top of one another to reach the ceiling.
"Oh, it is," agreed Harry. He handed another box to Ron to boost up onto the piles accumulating against the wall. Suddenly, he caught glimpse of something brightly colored in one of the far corners of the room. It stood out in the dank dungeon with its flickering candles, and he wondered why they hadn't noticed it before. Harry pointed. "What's that over there?"
"The blue thing?" asked Ron, walked over in its direction. "I don't know. I just pulled a couple of boxes from around it. What is it?"
"Would I have asked if I knew?" said Harry, and Ron made a face. Hermione was curious, and she had already crossed to where Ron was standing.
"It's not like all of the others," she said, tapping the closest box. She fingered the lid carefully. "Think anything is going to pop out when I open it?"
"Probably not," said Ron. "Besides, even if it did, would it be that much worse that the pranks my brothers have pulled on you in the past?"
"True," said Hermione. Still, Harry joined her and Ron at her other side. She pulled the tightly stuffed on lid off carefully, and, much to all their relief, nothing popped out, jumped, or died when it happened.
"Just more files," said Ron, sounding bored. He was uninterested again, going back to his work stacking boxes.
"Just more files," repeated Hermione, but she was eyeing the contents critically. She finally pulled out one of the scrolls, reading the first few lines. "This isn't exactly another stack of maintenance records."
"Then what is it?" asked Ron, but Harry could tell he wasn't too concerned yet.
"It looks like a list of teachers," said Hermione. She continued to unroll the scroll, and Harry leaned against her as he peeked over her shoulder.
"How's that possible?" Hermione said, pointing, first to the date on the paper, and then at the list of names and positions. "This is from 1949, but it says that McClaggitt was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I always thought that was Dumbledore's position."
"It was," said Ron. The interest was back. He scampered over, fishing another scroll from the packed box. "I heard him talking about it with Professor McGonagall once. He taught her at one point."
"That would have been in the late thirties or early forties" said Hermione. She thrust something into Harry's line of vision. It took him a second to focus on it; his eyes were starting to blur with sleep. "See? He had the position the next year, in 1950."
"And in '45 and '46," said Ron, "but it's McClaggitt in '47 and '48."
"I thought he defeated Grindelwald in 1945," said Harry. He bit his lip and added hesitantly, "And didn't he teach Transfigurations, not Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
Hermione looked at him, exasperated. "How many times must I tell you to read Hogwarts, A History? Dumbledore taught both, each for a number of years. He was a professor when he defeated Grindelwald and had been for-wait!"
"What?" said Ron. He was still pulling scrolls out of the box and checking positions and dates.
"Hogwarts, A History!" exclaimed Hermione as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I could have sworn it said that Dumbledore never left after coming back as a professor! If he didn't teach for three years, that would be leaving!"
"We can check it tomorrow," said Ron impatiently. His hands were buried in scrolls and parchment scraps. "I think there's something else down here-"
He pulled out a very thick, leather bound book. It looked ancient; a title had been stamped onto the brown material once, but only a few flakes of gold remained now. Before his friends could stop him, Ron flipped the book open. The title page had been ripped out, and a bookplate glued heavily onto the inside cover identified it as belonging to Sagesse Bom. A few loose papers fell to the ground. Ron picked one of them up, trying to unfold it.
"Something's screwy with this," he said, handing it to Harry and picking up another. Neither Harry nor Ron were able to unfold and read any of the papers. At the same time, Hermione was trying to page through the books, but the everything but the cover was being held firmly shut-probably with a very powerful magical bond.
"It's been enchanted with something," said Hermione finally. It was almost as if she had to state the obvious for it to be accepted. "What do you think it is?"
"I don't know," said Ron, but Harry started talking at the same time.
"I don't know what it is, either," said Harry, and he tilted the box so he could tap the preexisting label on the box, "but I think this might tell us what it's all about."
"Confidential, Concealed, and Corrected with Cover-ups," read the bright tag.
* * *
No one spoke for several minutes after reading the label on the box. Hermione's eyes darted about uncertainly, and Ron took a few steps back. Finally, Harry wiped his hands on his robes, standing from his kneeling position.
"It probably isn't what we think," said Harry. Still, he was eyeing the box cautiously. "If it was important, Snape wouldn't have put us in a position to stumble across it."
"But what if Snape didn't know about it?" said Hermione. She had reached into the box, laying each scroll flat on the cold dungeon floor, one on top of the other. Bom's book had long been placed off to the side, almost out of sight.
"Is there anything going on in the dungeons that Snape doesn't know about?" said Ron. "He's right in saying that it's his domain."
"It hasn't always been his," said Hermione. "This box could have been here ages before he was-there's nothing from even the last twenty-five years down here. I doubt he's spent too much, if any, time down here. Considering it had been shoved back in a corner, he probably isn't aware it exists."
"But why is it down here?" questioned Harry. Ron had crossed the room, swinging the door open. "It doesn't fit. If it is some kind of secret, wouldn't it be hidden?"
"Harry's right," he said finally, shutting the door. "The door plaque even says `Storage of Maintenance, Purchase, and Meeting Records.'"
"Well, it would be hidden, indeed, then," quipped Hermione. "Let's say this box is what it says-confidential and concealed. If someone was looking for confidential information, would they start looking in a room full of accounts and minutes?"
"It would explain a lot," said Harry slowly, abandoning his previous theory. "This is an official room for record keeping. Why would it be in such a state of disarray? The files might be mundane, but they are important, and they are history. That box can't be that old. Bom wasn't here that long ago-"
"-If you consider the span of Hogwarts's history," finished Hermione, and he grinned at her. "The records in this room don't even reach to the time your parents were in school, Harry, and Bom wasn't that much older than them. For his things to be in the box, it would have been added after the room was filled. Everything would have been shuffled around to fit it in here, and that would explain its state of disarray!"
"Exactly," said Harry, glad she had cottoned on to his observation. Ron was also nodding along, but his expression was more reserved.
"But what about the other records?" said Ron carefully. "They're older. I went through seventeen boxes of minutes from those years. Why put them with Bom's belongings? Why not hide them sooner? Why hide them in the first-"
"Why not destroy them if you're just going to conceal them? There's a lot we don't know, Ron," said Hermione. She looked wistfully. "If only we could read that book, those papers..."
"Well, it's obviously magic keeping them shut and folded," reasoned Harry, "so there has to be some kind of counter spell. If we had enough time, and our wands, we could probably figure it out."
There was another long silence. Harry could almost see the wheels turning in Hermione's head as she contemplated how many school rules that would potentially be breaking. Ron had already grinned, and Harry knew his best friend had no objects to the suggestion.
"Maybe-" started Hermione, but she was cut off. A faint clanking sound was coming from one of the nearby dungeons. She froze, very still. It was probably just Snape checking in on them, but...
The next thing Harry remembered was feeling a warm hand on his face, which was cool due to the usual chill of the dungeons. He suddenly realized his eyes were closed, and he heard someone saying his name frantically.
"Harry!" It was Hermione. His eyes flew open, and she looked visibly relieved. He was lying on the floor of the dungeon, a box poking sharply into his side. Ron was standing next to Hermione, and he looked equally concerned. "Are you okay? What happened?"
"I'm-" Harry's voice to his forehead, and he was suddenly aware of a second sensation. His scar was throbbing with blinding pain, and he was having trouble forming thoughts. He felt Hermione's hand move to cover his own, and she, quite forcefully, moved his hand away from the cut. The pain started to subside. "What happened?"
"We heard a noise," said Ron, "and your hand flew to your scar. You were shaking, and then you collapsed."
"Oh Harry!" burst Hermione before he had a chance to speak. "Are you okay? I was-I thought..."
"I'm okay," said Harry, cutting in, but he need Ron's help to stand up. He couldn't remember anything, and he felt exhausted. "Really, I-"
Just as suddenly as they had heard a noise in the dungeons, the door swung open. Snape sauntered in, looking extremely annoyed. He wasn't dressed in his usual robes; instead, Harry was pretty sure he'd been asleep. He and Ron moved together quickly to block the box they discovered from sight.
"What's going on? Can you not handle a simple task?" sneered Snape. "I heard you scream, Granger."
"I-we," stammered Hermione meekly. "We heard something clanking around in the distance."
"Nonsense," Snape scoffed, and he looked particularly displeased. "I don't know if you are aware, Miss Granger, but people do make residence in this part of the castle, including myself. Now, I would appreciate it if you would show your consideration and keep the noise to a minimum!"
"Professor," said Ron bravely, but Harry elbowed him violently to keep him from saying anything else. Snape just smirked as Ron clutched his side in pain.
"Potter," said Snape, "I'm pleased to see you finally exercising whatever dribble of intelligence you possess. Now get back to work!"
He scrambled out of the room, slamming the door so violently that Harry was sure the resulting noise was louder than any scream Hermione had mustered. His legs had stopped shaking, and he took the few steps to her. She was standing very still, looking stunned. Harry touched her arm. Her skin had lost its earlier warmth; it was exceptionally cold and clammy.
"Don't let him get to you, `Mione," said Harry helpfully, throwing an arm across her shoulder. She didn't respond, and Ron walked over to her other side, patting her back reassuringly.
"Yeah, `Mione," added Ron, "you can't let him start affecting you now. You've spent too many good years building up resistance!"
"It's not-" said Hermione, but her voice wavered. She shrugged away from them. "It's not that. It's just-it's just nothing. Let's get this done already."
* * *
"Hey, look in the stands," said Ron as he flew beside Harry and hit his arm to get his attention. It was the next afternoon, and they were up in the air over the Quidditch pit, practicing for the Saturday rematch against Slytherin. Angelina was zooming around Fred and George at the moment, dodging each Bludger they sent at her, a drill Ron had just completed.
"Why?" asked Harry, scrunching his face up as he peered directly at the area under the Gryffindor banner.
"I forget you're half blind, even with your glasses," muttered Ron. He and Harry were flying in quick circles around the field. "I think Hermione came out to watch."
"Really?" asked Harry, and he craned his neck as they passed by the stands on their next lap. Hermione was sitting in the first row, but she seemed more concerned with studying from the large textbook in her lap than the happenings on the Quidditch field. Even so, Harry was glad to see her.
They had had Potions that afternoon, and she'd grown very pale the second they started descending into the dungeons. Harry at first contributed it to their lack of sleep the night before, but at the end of the lesson, there was no denying she looked very ill. She'd seemed to improve once they were back in the Gryffindor tower, but Ron had talked her into resting for a while. In the meantime, they had headed outside for Quidditch practice.
"Everyone! Over here!"
At Angelina's call, Harry and Ron flew to the center of the court. Harry turned lazy loops in the air as they waited for the rest of the team to assemble.
"We're going to have company in a moment," said Angelina. She shot Fred a disapproving look as he continued to fly in circles around her, whistling. When he calmed down, she continued. "I've asked the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw teams to join us for practice this week. After the particularly disgusting display of Slytherin's lack of sportsmanship on the train-not to mention Professor Snape's equally disgusting display of bias-I think that playing against other teams would be very beneficial. No one wants to see Slytherin win Saturday."
Harry stopped fidgeting around on his broom as Angelina shot them a sympathetic look. She and Fred had still been awake when Harry, Ron, and Hermione had stumbled into the Gryffindor common room a little after three that morning. Ron hadn't been able to look at his older brother without laughing all day, which caused Fred to scowl repeatedly. Angelina was a little more embarrassed by the situation. Fortunately, no time was left to discuss either matter, as the Ravenclaw Quidditch team had just arrived on the field and were starting to take flight.
"Hey, Johnson!" called a familiar voice. Harry saw Cho Chang flying gracefully towards the Gryffindor team. He'd hardly seen her all year, so he expected to feel a tinge of nervousness in his stomach now that she was so near. Harry watched her for a second, but nothing happened. He was quickly distracted by Ron's obvious discomfort as Anna took the field. She glared at him as she flew behind Cho. Ron turned and flew behind Harry. It wasn't in his character to hide from anything, and Harry knew that whatever had ended things between them had to be serious.
For the next thirty minutes, Angelina and Cho had both teams running exhausting drills up and down the fields until they begged the two girls to let them start playing for real. The Ravenclaw team had always been good, but Harry could see that it had improved under Cho's direction. He'd witnessed the long hours they spent on the field long after the other teams had gone in for dinner. As he flew, almost lazily, around the field in search of the Snitch, it dawned on Harry that Ron had given one of Anna's reasons for fighting with him as him spending too much time practicing Quidditch. It suddenly didn't make sense to Harry; the Ravenclaws had practices twice as long as the Gryffindors.
Harry dived and looped through the air as his eyes scanned the field for signs of the tiny, flying ball. He charged off at the sight of something gold, but Cho didn't follow. He quickly realized it was just a reflection from someone's jewelry and flew back to the outskirts of the field, very embarrassed. He made a mental note to stop in at the hospital wing that week and have Madam Pomfrey check his glasses.
The practice was well into its second hour when Harry got his first glimpse of the real Snitch, glittering a good fifteen to twenty feet above the actual game play. Cho, who was dodging the Bludger that George kept sending in her direction, didn't notice as he pulled straight upwards. He could hear the cheers of his teammates as Ron put in his fifth Quaffle of the practice game, and he knew they hadn't noticed his sudden movement. He was gaining on the Snitch...
Five seconds later, he closed his hand on the struggling gold ball, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid collision. Cho had rocketed upward and nearly knocked him off his broom. Harry felt a little dizzy as he flew slowly back to the ground to his cheering teammates.
"Excellent, Harry, just marvelous!" exclaimed Fred, clapping him on the back so hard that Harry almost tripped.
"Do that again, and you don't have a thing to worry about come Saturday," said Cho, shoving her bangs roughly out of her eyes. "Sorry about that collision, Harry."
"No problem," said Harry with a grin. He managed to escape the crowd of players for a long enough time to replace the struggling Snitch to its box. Ron pulled away from the others as well, jogging over to Harry.
"I love this broom," he exclaimed happily as he caught up with his friend. "I know it's not your Firebolt, but it really beats the school Comet Two Sixties."
"Good," said Harry, giving his other teammates one last glance as he and Ron headed off to the locker room. George and Fred were engaged in lively conversation with the Ravenclaw Beaters, and he thought he could hear them exchanging tips on previous Slytherin defensive strategy. "Five goals! We really don't have anything to worry about if you do that Saturday."
"Thanks. I wish I would have seen your lift," said Ron wistfully. "As we were coming down, George kept swearing he saw Krum do it at the World Cup."
"Yes," said Harry, rather shortly. His stomach lurched. The last thing he wanted was to be compared with Krum. He was about to question why Ron felt like bringing him up when it dawned on Harry that Ron didn't know what Krum was and what he stood for. They were in the locker room now.
"Dinner?" questioned Ron as they changed out of their Quidditch robes. "I'm starved."
"It's that time," said Harry, checking his watch. He was very thankful to have it working again. It had been broken all through the holiday, stuck at 3:06, and he hadn't the means to fix it at Hermione's house. "Let's go straight to the Great Hall."
"Tonight's China," said Ron. He sounded a bit forlorn in his next statement. "I'm fine with that, but I heard Dumbledore tell Flitwick that Thursday would be Japan-raw fish and everything. I'm scared."
"I don't blame you," said Harry as they walked up the hallway in the direction of the Great Hall. "I saw Hermione after you pointed her out."
"Yeah, because you need to get your eyes checked," joked Ron, pushing open the doors of the Great Hall. "Do you think that means she's feeling better?"
"I hope so," said Harry, scooting into his usual seat at the table. Ron followed suit. "She didn't look good at all during Potions."
"No," agreed Ron, "she didn't, but I'm trying not to get too worried about it. She's probably driving herself crazy trying to figure out how to open that book-"
"-And the significance of the list of professors," said Harry. "You're right."
"That's our Hermione," said Ron, not bothering to close his mouth as he chewed thoughtfully on a mouthful of fried rice.
And Harry would have dismissed it without a second thought, but that was before Hermione didn't show up for dinner.
* * *
"Where do you think she is?" asked Harry nervously as he and Ron walked toward the Gryffindor tower after dinner. "Do you think she's still out in the stands?"
"Nah," said Ron, and Harry could tell he was nervous, despite his collected tone. "It's too dark. Even if she got caught up in studying, she would have come in because she couldn't see out there anymore. She's probably just in one of the common rooms, studying away."
"Yeah," agreed Harry. They were at the portrait hole and about to give the password when they heard voices that seemed to be coming from a nearby stairwell. He and Ron shared a quick glance, just as one of the voices launched into a stream of curses. There was a loud thud. Without another word, Harry and Ron headed in the direction of the noise.
"We just want to know why we wasn't invited to the practice," a burly voice was saying.
"Weren't, Moon, weren't. He's right though, Mudblood, we want to know why we didn't get an invitation to play with the team. Well? Why is that?"
"I don't know," said a small voice. Harry recognized it immediately.
"Hermione," whispered Ron, pulling open an invisible doorway that led down to the dungeons.
"Yes you do!" It was Marks. He and his two lackeys had Hermione cornered on the landing. She looked terrified. Flint grabbed her arm violently as Moon clamped a hand down over his mouth. There was an audible pop, and it was followed by a crack. "We know you were at the practice, Mudblood, and everyone knows your guys are on the team. What's their strategy going to-"
Harry didn't know what came over him. He could feel the anger boiling in the pit of his stomach. Ron was reaching for his wand, but Harry just put his hand out. There was a burst of light as the three Slytherins bounced away from Hermione, and Harry was left with the same sensation he had after he'd blown up his Aunt Marge. Hermione whimpered, gripping her hand and wrist as she grimaced in pain. She was at Harry's side in a moment, and he wrapped a protective arm around her immediately. Ron looked stunned, but he was grinning at his best friend.
"What," said Harry coolly, "do you think you're doing?"
"We just wanted to know why we-" piped Flint, but Marks silenced him with a heavy hand.
"It isn't any of your business," said Marks with a menacing smile, "but we're a little curious, we Slytherins are. We're feeling awfully hurt, too, because we weren't invited to practice with the Gryffindors this week. Why's that, Potter? Why are you practicing with the other houses? I don't like the sound of that. I'm sure Snape would be very disappointed to hear how the rest of the school is ganging up on Slytherin."
"And you think we give a rat's ass if Snape's disappointed?" Ron shot back. He was still glancing at Harry with awe.
"You seem to care about your little Mudblood friend," said Marks. His statement was a clear threat.
"Don't call her that," growled Harry. He had his wand out, now. He wasn't going to rely on uncontrolled magic in the name of those three.
"You shouldn't be talking pure-blood pride, Marks," said Ron, matching Marks's sneering tone. "I'm more of a pure-blood than you are."
Marks turned red with anger. His two friends were still staring at Ron and Harry in disbelief, but he had enough sense to take out his wand. "Rictusempra!"
"Expelliarmus!"
Marks hadn't been fast enough for Harry. His wand flew out of his hand, and Harry caught it cleanly. He held it calmly for a second, and then he tapped it with his own wand as he muttered a few choice words. The piece of wood shot out of his hand, rocketing off in another direction.
"Try to find that, Marks," said Harry coolly. "Seekers aren't the one that need to have speed and agility. It'll be good practice for Saturday. Now get out of my sight."
Marks had to nerve to spit at Harry's feet as he walked up the stairs, Flint and Moon on his heels. Harry grabbed Ron's arm to keep him from firing any spell at the three with their backs turned before turning to Hermione. She was even paler than she had been earlier that afternoon, and she was trembling. Ron reached out to her, and she shrank back.
"Are you okay?" said Harry, gently releasing her. She nodded despite the obvious tears welling up in her eyes. "Let me see your arm."
"It's fine, Harry, really," said Hermione very quietly.
"Broken," said Ron in disgust. "Wait till I get my hands on those-"
"Ron," warned Harry, knowing what kind of word was about to come out of his friend's mouth. He turned back to Hermione, gently putting his hand on her other arm. "Come on, you need to see Madam Pomfrey."
"No," said Hermione stubbornly. "I'm fine."
"No you're not," said Ron. Harry just chose to ignore her weak protests as he guided her up the steps. They were halfway to the hospital wing when Hermione finally burst into tears. A couple of passing Hufflepuffs gave them an inquisitive look, but Harry chose to ignore it. The rest of the trip to the hospital wing was filled with Hermione's weak protests and stammered apologies.
"Oh dear," said Madam Pomfrey, sighing when she saw Ron open the door. "What have you managed this time-Hermione? What's happened to you?"
"A few members of the Slytherin Quidditch team decided to assault her in the stairwell," spat Ron angrily. Madam Pomfrey was already guiding Hermione to an empty bed, even more careful in her motion than usual.
"This is a bad break," said Madam Pomfrey grimly. She looked up to Harry and Ron, narrowing her eyes. "That's enough. Hermione needs her space. The two of you can run along-"
"No, please," interrupted Hermione. "They can stay."
Madam Pomfrey's face softened. "Sit, then," she said, tapping Ron's shoulder quite forcefully. "Oh, you poor dear. In that location, I wouldn't be surprised if there were some lingering effects..."
She kept on muttering as she withdrew her wand, taking Hermione's arm gently in her hand. She had to perform her charm three times for the bone to mend, and Hermione's expression was still pained. Madam Pomfrey applied a charm of temporary relief before disappearing off to get something stronger. Harry and Ron were immediately at her side.
"What happened?" asked Harry, his green eyes filled with concern. "They didn't do anything else to you, right?"
Ron snorted. "Harry, I think they did-" He stopped, and Harry knew what he had been about to say. The look on Ron's face told Harry that he understood.
"They heard that Angelina had asked the other house teams to help you practice," said Hermione softly, "and they knew that they couldn't approach any of you for information. They saw me coming from the stands, so they decided I'd be as good to harass as any-"
"I'm sorry, Hermione," said Harry, taking her hand, and Ron was nodding earnestly.
"It's not your fault," said Hermione. She tried to flex her wrist and grimaced in pain. She looked up at Harry and Ron with serious eyes. "I just want to see them lose. They can't win on Saturday. They just can't!"
* * *
A few minutes later, Madam Pomfrey returned. After fussing with Hermione's injured wrist for quite some time, she proclaimed, "There, there... that should do." As the mediwitch stepped away from Hermione to exam her work, Hermione dropped her hand to her lap obediently. The school nurse had put many pain relief charms on it, but she'd still decided that wrapping it was necessary. "Now, you aren't to use it for anything until this time tomorrow, understood?"
"I haven't finished all my homework yet," said Hermione, and she shot Ron a death glare when he started to snigger. Madam Pomfrey looked at her critically.
"It's going to be sensitive for several days as it is," said Madam Pomfrey sternly. "You're not to use it."
Hermione looked crestfallen. "It's just a break-"
"Just a break?" said the witch, but she stopped suddenly. "Well, yes, I do see your point, but it's more complex then that. Your system has been through so much in the last few months, and you've started to build up immunity to healing charms. Rest it! That's the only way to be sure."
"But my homework! I have two scrolls worth of information on the rise of curse use in the Dark Arts and I've only copied half of-" Hermione looked horrified.
"You can dictate, and I'll write," offered Harry. Madam Pomfrey looked very pleased with him, and it was a nice contrast from the annoyed look she usually had for him and Ron.
"But-"
"It's Professor Lupin," said Ron, sounding exasperated. He knew what she was going to say. "He won't doubt it's your work. If you don't believe me, just go ask him now."
"Fine," said Hermione, and Harry offered her a hand when he stood. Madam Pomfrey lost her pleased expression.
"You're not leaving yet," she said, stern once more. "You never told me who was responsible for this."
"Oh, it's not a big deal," said Hermione quickly, and both her friends glared at her.
"Joseph Marks," grumbled Harry.
"Gregory Flint and Samuel Moon," added Ron. He looked at Madam Pomfrey helpfully. "All three are overgrown Slytherin gits-"
"I'll be contacting Professor Snape," said Madam Pomfrey. The three friends were heading to the door now. "Do take care, Hermione, I don't want to see you again this year... and keep those friends of yours out of trouble!"
Ron shut the door behind him. "It seems like she knows you," he observed.
"Really?" said Hermione briskly. "I only spent seven weeks with her for company, you know."
"We came and visited you!" exclaimed Ron. Harry chuckled, and Hermione finally started laughing. Then, suddenly, her face grew serious.
"My bag!" exclaimed Hermione frantically. "It's still down on the stairs, and all my books are in there!"
"Relax," said Ron. "It's not like anyone would want all those books you lug around with you constantly. You go and talk to Lupin about that paper, and I'll get it for you."
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Ron had doubled back down the opposing corridor without another word. Hermione looked at him curiously and opened her mouth, but Harry put his hand lightly on her shoulder and pulled her back.
"He's acting... a little strangely," said Hermione casually.
"Yeah, he is," agreed Harry. He was still staring down the now-empty hallway, too, but he had an explanation for Ron's behavior. "I think he's still upset about practice today. You could practically feel the tension any time he or Anna flew near the other. I don't know what happened between those two, but I wish they'd at least work through the open hostility."
"Ginny says she won't even look at her in Potions," said Hermione, walking close to Harry as they headed to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. "They're in the same group, so it's naturally very frustrating."
"Why don't they have to have Potions with the Slytherins?" complained Harry. "We always do!"
"Trelawny could probably asked the fates for you," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. "That woman is seriously batty. She was coming down from her tower when I was heading out to the Quidditch pit and nearly ran into me. She said, `Oh, it's you! I knew, of course, the fates have been rather insightful on you lately. They're very worried that you will miss out on your heart's desire.' Please!"
Harry chuckled. "Heart's desire, you say?" he questioned. "Doesn't surprise me. It's her new favorite. `Everyone is yearning for something; the fates have been persistent about it lately; Harry, you must come to terms with all that is inside of you!' The only thing that's stopped me from walking out is that I'm curious as how I'm going to die this week."
"Strangulation," said Hermione, a sly smile on her face. Harry looked at her, the words turning over in his head. She sounded a bit morbid. "I was there when you created that chart, you know. This week, you're dying of strangulation. And I seem to remember something about angry, enchanted kitchenware attacking Ron on Thursday."
"Neville came up with that one," said Harry proudly. "He predicted melting his fifteenth cauldron."
"Oh, he did?" Hermione paled. "Poor Neville! No wonder he looked so shocked today in Potions!"
Potions. Harry stopped short, looking at her. "You're okay now, aren't you?" he said anxiously.
"What?" said Hermione. She seemed to be fidgeting. "Of course I'm okay. There wasn't a time when I wasn't."
"Is your hand going to be okay?" They were outside of Professor Lupin's door now. Harry was looking at his friend intently, wishing she wasn't so stubborn. She didn't have anything to be afraid of if she admitted something had been wrong. He wasn't going to judge her.
"Oh, it already is," said Hermione, but she didn't make any attempt to move it around or prove it. "I appreciate your concern, but you really don't have to help me with my paper."
"Madam Pomfrey wouldn't have told you not to use your hand if it wasn't necessary," said Harry, and he pushed open the door to the classroom. The decision had been made, and Hermione could only follow him. Harry looked at her, his voice low. He smiled slightly. "Besides, it's not like I mind helping you, `Mione."
"Thank you, Harry," said Hermione gratefully. Her eyes scanned the dim classroom. "Professor Lupin?"
"I think he's in his office," said Harry, gesturing to the closed door. He crossed the room, Hermione on his heels, and knocked softly.
"Yes?" said Lupin after the door swung open. He smiled brightly when he saw Harry and Hermione. "Harry, Hermione, come in! What brings-Hermione, what happened to your hand?"
"A couple of oversized Slytherin gits," said Harry as the kindly professor ushered them into his office and shut the door behind Hermione. He raised an eyebrow at them.
"I trust that Severus has been made aware?" said Lupin as he sat down at his desk.
"Yes," said Hermione.
"Not that it'll do any good," grumbled Harry. "Slytherins can do no wrong in his eyes."
"Harry," said Lupin slowly, "I know your opinions of Severus, and I also have my own, but he is my colleague and your professor, so I must ask that you show him the proper respect. Now, what brings you here?"
Harry felt a tinge of pink rising to his cheeks, and he mumbled a quick apology.
"Madam Pomfrey asked me not to use my hand until tomorrow evening," said Hermione sighing heavily, "and Harry offered to write my ideas out for me."
"On the curse paper?" questioned Lupin. "I don't see that being a problem. Better Harry than Ron, right?"
"Ron's handwriting is..." Hermione's voice faltered, and Lupin laughed appreciatively. There really wasn't a word that accurately described it.
"No, that will be fine," said Lupin. "I'm actually glad the two of you stopped in. I've been meaning to ask you about your holiday. Padfoot tells me he visited you. How did that go?"
Hermione and Harry glanced at each other uncertainly, and the next few minutes were spent with Harry relaying Sirius's story. Lupin's hand rested on his chin. He scratched it absently for a second.
"All of it true," said the professor seriously. He looked away, and Harry could almost see the memories of the times and people that had been gone for so long. He chuckled sadly. "Voldemort's influence had been a controlling influence in our lives for so long, Harry, and it was hard to see the precious little good that still existed. I don't want to embarrass you, but you were one of those things."
Harry looked away, and he felt Hermione hand touch his arm lightly. Lupin was looking away again, and he cleared his throat. "None of that," he said firmly and finally. "Sirius was right. Love is a very strong emotion, Harry. Even with all it has done for you, I still don't think you comprehend the extent of its power."
"I-"
"One day," said Lupin patiently, "you will, but you can't yet. Perhaps you should get on with your work?"
"Yes, we really should," said Hermione, and Harry nodded alongside her. Lupin rose from his chair and ushered them back to the door. He looked pained, as if his brief speech had pained him. The memories of things that Harry didn't know or understand clouded his eyes.
"Professor?" said Harry finally, when they reached the classroom door. "Is everything okay?"
Lupin smiled sadly. He glanced down the hall. Peeves had just zoomed down the corridor and seemed to be heading in the direction of the dungeons. "One day, you, too, will see these halls as I remember them," he said wistfully. "You'll do a lot of living in your years, Harry, but never so much as within these walls."
He shut the door softly behind Harry and Hermione, leaving them to ponder that. The walked back to the Gryffindor tower in silence. Without thinking, Harry found himself putting his arm around Hermione, and she did not object.
Some things were left unspoken because the right words didn't exist, others because they were never meant to reach the surface. Whatever paralleled to both extremes ceased to exist-except for in memories.
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