Chapter Twenty-One
SAMARUS PERICLE
There was something all wrong about the air in the Gryffindor common room.
Harry didn't know what it was, but as he climbed through the portrait hole into the familiar room, he was confronted with an unfamiliar feeling. He glanced at Ron, who was wearing a slightly confused expression, and it suddenly dawned on him what was out of place. Never before had the room been so thick with tension.
They hadn't been back in the tower for half a second when a large exclamation cut through the momentary silence. Judging by the sound of it, it wasn't the first to disrupt the calm.
"You're rude, you're ignorant, why, you're insufferable! Do you ever think? Do you even possess such capability?" A furious Ginny Weasley was eyeing Seamus Finnigan with absolute disdain. She had backed Harry and Ron's Irish year mate against the wall. "Oh, people like you just make me so mad!"
"What do you think he did?" asked Harry lightly. Ron's expression went from horrified to angry.
"I swear I'll kill him if he's done anything to hurt her!" growled Ron. "That's my little-"
"Easy there, Weasley."
Harry and Ron turned to see Dean approaching them. A very pale Neville was tagging along behind him, clutching the side of his head. He looked to be in pain.
"What's going on?" inquired Harry, instinctively grasping Ron's shoulder. After five years of friendship, he was quite good at knowing when Ron's temper was about to get the better of him.
"Your sister has good aim," said Dean while motioning towards Neville. Ginny had just unleashed another fury of insults at Seamus. He kept taking careful steps away from her, as she seemed to be trying to corner him. "Caught Neville here in the side of the head with Hogwarts, A History."
Neville's hand left his temple. Sure enough, a large bump was swelling up at his hairline. "Seamus ducked," he moaned.
"The three of us and your brothers were playing Gobstones," explained Dean when Ron opened his mouth again. "Ginny was sitting nearby, reading that monster, and Seamus said something, and the next thing we all know, she was letting him have it?"
"What did he say?" questioned Harry. Ron seemed to be relaxing, so Harry dropped his hand from his friend's shoulder. Still, Ron was eyeing his younger sister in a manner that suggested he was skeptical about the explanation.
Dean shrugged. "I really don't know what set her off," he said honestly.
"Aye," said Fred in a ridiculous accent. Harry and Ron turned again, this time to see the twins approaching from the opposite direction that Dean and Neville had. Both wore apprehensive looks. "I do think the Irish laddie offended our fiery younger sister in some way."
"You don't say," said Ron.
George grinned. "Poor bloke," he said. "The Weasley redheads are known for having a bit of an-er, temper."
"Weasley redheads?" Harry smirked. "Isn't that being a bit redundant?"
Fred and George grinned simultaneously. Harry had focused his attention on them, but George cast one final look at his youngest sibling. He let out a low whistle.
"I think that's over," said Fred. "She just slapped him."
"Well done, young Ginvera," said George, giving a mock salute in her general direction. His gaze shifted to Ron. "Do you have any idea what's gotten into her lately?"
"She's been acting strange for so long that I wouldn't know," said Ron darkly. A small crowd of Gryffindors had assembled to witness the fight, but now only a few spectators remained. Dean and Neville made a beeline to a dazed Seamus.
"She has?" questioned Harry. He wasn't quite up to speed with the situation. He'd left most of his thoughts and attentions back at the hospital wing with Hermione.
"You haven't noticed?" asked Ron. He was giving Harry a strange look. "Wasn't I just telling you the other day about how she bit my head off when I asked to borrow a quill?"
"Oh, yes, I remember," said Harry. He did remember, now, but only vaguely.
Fred began to snigger but quickly changed it into a hacking cough. The twins shared a knowing look, and George stated, "Of course-"
"-We don't expect you to notice much of anything when a certain Gryffindor female is present," continued Fred. He quickly added, "But since we've decided not to get involved-"
"-We'll be in our room if you need us," finished George quickly. With one last look at their sister, he disappeared into the boys' dormitories behind his brother.
"What are they talking about?" questioned Harry.
"Who knows?" said Ron loftily, but Harry knew his hand wave was some kind of pretense. However, he didn't press the issue, choosing instead to give a common room a quick scan.
Ginny had flopped rather dramatically into one of the overstuffed chairs by the fire as Dean prodded Seamus up the stairs. Neville was trailing right behind. Once they disappeared into the dormitory, Harry's attention wandered back to Ginny. For whatever reason, she hadn't the air of victory he expected. Rather, she looked impossibly upset.
"Are you going to talk to her?" Harry asked.
"You can," said Ron.
"She's your sister," reminded Harry as he raised an eyebrow. Ron just shrugged.
"Harry," said Ron lightly, "the last time I talked to her was two weeks ago. I haven't bothered talking to her since because she accused me of prying into her personal life. I asked her she'd seen Fred, Harry. I nearly got slapped for it. I'll be going upstairs now. Are you coming?"
"In a minute," said Harry, and Ron shrugged. He, too, disappeared into the boys' dormitories. Harry took a deep breath, and, shoving his hands in the pockets of his billowing robes, he approached Ginny.
"Ginny?" Harry said softly. When she looked up, he immediately noticed that her eyes were red. She was crying.
"I don't know where Hermione is," said Ginny automatically. "I think she's still in the-"
"Hospital wing," interrupted Harry. "Yeah, she is. Ron and I just visited her. She's all right, but Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping her until morning."
"That's nice," said Ginny absently. She looked away again, hugging her knees to her chest.
"Everything all right?" asked Harry. He perched on the arm of the chair next to her. She didn't respond, so Harry tried again, "Is everything all right?"
"Everything is just fine!" snapped Ginny. She narrowed her eyes accusingly at him. "What do you want, anyway?"
"To see if you're okay," said Harry. "Are you?"
"I am," Ginny spat pointedly, "but it's not like you care."
"Yes, I do," Harry replied softly. He folded his hands together in his lap and began fidgeting nervously. "You're Ron's little sister, of course I care."
Apparently that was the wrong answer. Ginny's eyes flashed angrily at him, and Harry recoiled under her gaze. "What?" she demanded suddenly. "You owe him a favor, so you offered to talk to me for him? That's rich, Harry!"
"Ginny-"
"Oh, what?" said Ginny. "What? Am I supposed to feel flattered that famous Harry Potter is concerned with me?"
"Ginny-" said Harry. He stopped, half expecting her to cut in. When she didn't, he took a deep breath. "I have no idea where that came from, but I wasn't expecting anything. I can see why Ron didn't want to talk to you, and I'm starting to wonder if I was crazy for being concerned."
"A little late, aren't you?" said Ginny hotly.
"What?"
"I said," said Ginny, "a little late, aren't you?"
"What d'you mean?" Harry wanted to know.
"Play ignorant," said Ginny. Her voice was getting higher with each word she spoke. "Fine! It's not like I care. Not a one of you understands-"
"We don't even know what we're supposed to be understanding," said Harry patiently.
"I can't tell you because you won't understand!" said Ginny, hopping to her feet. Her eyes flashed angrily at Harry, and one of her hands moved into her pocket. Harry warned himself to watch his mouth, having a feeling she might be preparing to hex him into the next week.
"You don't know that for sure," tried Harry. "Give us a chance. You could be surprised, you know."
"You just don't get it, Harry," said Ginny. She stepped towards him, and he found himself stepping backwards just as Seamus had a few minutes before. Suddenly, she laughed rather dryly. "Not like you get a lot."
"Now is not the time to start slamming me," said Harry quietly. He didn't even realize he was looking down and away from her until he looked back up. "You know, you can tell me if something's wrong, Ginny. We're all friends, right?"
Ginny let out a strangled sort of laugh. "That's just it. `Harry's such a good friend. Harry's such a good listener. Harry always knows just want to say.' If you ask me, it sounds more sleazy than sweet."
Now, Harry was staring at Ginny as if she'd suddenly sprouted a third leg and a row of tentacles. He was trying to identify what had turned the conversation into an attack on his character. It seemed as though she was mocking him, but he didn't know what about.
"Er," said Harry. He had been planning to say something a little more eloquent.
"Humph," said Ginny. "I always overestimated your intelligence then."
She turned so quickly that her fiery red hair nearly whipped Harry in the face. He reached out and touched her shoulder as she began to head in the direction of the girls' dormitories.
"Ginny, wait," said Harry. "What are you talking about?"
"You are so stupid, Harry," said Ginny. He chose to ignore the comment.
"Come on," pleaded Harry, trying to get her to turn and face him. She wouldn't. "At least tell me if you're okay."
There was a long pause, and Ginny finally turned around, her eyes filled with tears. "What do you think?" she said quietly. "How long did it take you to notice?"
With that, she stalked up the stairs and disappeared in the direction of her room. Harry was left standing in the middle of the common room, stunned, wondering what had just happened. When he finally moved, he realized that, once again, a good amount of his fellow Gryffindors were gawking at a scene Ginny had created.
* * *
"Well, look on the bright side," Ron was saying a few minutes later, "she didn't hex you. She and Hermione do live together, after all. Merlin only knows what she's been taught."
"That's a lovely reassurance, Ron, really," said Harry dryly. "Personally, I enjoyed being called sleazy the most."
"She's got you down," said Ron with false sincerity. "You should probably start reexamining your character, Harry. Sleazy guys just don't have a place here, but we can't exactly send you to the Slytherins."
"Maybe you'll be sent with me," proposed Harry. "Ginny seems to be operating under hatred for everyone. Who knows? Maybe it's that we're all sleazy."
"Was it really that bad?"
"You're the one that didn't want to talk to her in the first place," Harry pointed out. "Next time, I'm going to follow your lead. You're obviously much wiser than I am."
"It all comes with age," said Ron pompously. His falsely superior tone made perfectly mocked the one his brother Percy so often used. "I guess I expected that she'd go easy on you."
"Why?" asked Harry curiously.
"Because she likes you," said Ron. "Come on, you know how big of a crush she's had on you for the last four years. That kind of thing just doesn't go away."
"Maybe," said Harry. He turned Ron's words over in his head several times until he stopped hearing Ron's voice. Instead, his mind was taken back to a night many months before. `Ginny's completely enamored with Viktor Krum now,' Hermione had said. "Maybe not."
"Something like that," said Ron, but he was grinning. "It's good if she doesn't, you know. That way, there's no competition when-"
"When what, Ron?" questioned Harry. "Do I even want to know?"
"Probably not," said Ron. His grin had faded. "I wonder what's wrong with her, though. She is my baby sister, after all. It's my responsibility to look after her."
"I guess," said Harry uncertainly. He was about to suggest Ron try talking to her when something screeched loudly at the window. Exchanging a confused look with Harry, Ron crossed to the window, opened it, and allowed a dark colored bird to fly in. It grasped some post in its beak, and it circled Harry's head twice before dropping an envelope into his hands and flying back out the window.
"What's that?" asked Ron. It looked normal enough; Harry's name was written across the back flap of the standard envelope. Harry tore the flap up with his thumb. However, instead of opening, the envelope disintegrated. A few pieces of paper fluttered to the floor.
"Have you ever heard of a disintegrating envelope?" asked Harry. His voice was hushed.
"No," admitted Ron, but Harry bent down to pick up the pieces of paper anyway. Ron peered anxiously over his shoulder.
"Say, they're pictures!" said Ron.
There were four of them, all standard wizarding developments. The first showed a newborn Harry in the arms of an exhausted looking Lily. It wasn't unlike the first pictures in the album Hagrid had assembled for him.
The second photo showed a rather skinny seven-year-old Harry. It didn't have the same happiness to it as the first, as it was obviously taken during his time with his aunt and uncle. Harry was lugging large bags of garbage out of the house, and, if one looked closely enough, he would notice the shiner around Harry's right eye. Harry thumbed quickly past the picture before Ron saw.
The third picture had been taken in Diagon Alley, probably in the days before his third year had started. A smaller Harry was walking down the street with Hermione and Ron on either side of him, back to the camera. In the photo Hermione had slipped on an uneven place in the sidewalk, and both boys quickly moved to prevent her from falling.
The fourth and final photo depicted a lazy summer afternoon at the Burrow. It had been taken during the previous summer, as Harry had a plaster cast on his arm. He and Ron and Hermione were sprawled out in the grass under the shade of a large, knobby tree. As a light breeze mussed Hermione's hair, she scowled. The boys just laughed, and she, too, eventually started giggling.
"I wonder who sent them," said Harry, speaking more to himself than Ron. He reached out into space, forgetting for a second that the envelope had self-destructed, just like a note out of one of Dudley's cheesy spy movies.
"No note?" asked Ron.
"No note," confirmed Harry. He turned the small stack of pictures over in his hand. He didn't remember them being taken, a thought that unnerved him a little. Then, he noticed the word scrawled across the back of the first picture. He quickly shuffled the picture to Ron and glanced at the other three pictures. They, too, each had a word written on the back.
"Tread carefully young Potter," read Ron when they had each looked at the back of the photos. The look he shot Harry was slightly nervous. Harry swallowed hard.
"Which should I be more worried about," said Harry lightly. "The fact that someone's taken pictures of my back or the fact that I've been told to watch my back?"
"That's one to think about," replied Ron uneasily.
* * *
"There, there dear. Just let it all out," said Madam Pomfrey soothingly. "Once everything's out of your system, you'll start feeling better in no time."
Hermione flopped weakly against her pillows, her trembling hands still clutching the pan handed to her by the school nurse the hour before. She shivered, wishing she were back in the lonely comfort of the Gryffindor tower. If she had to be sick, she preferred to do so without an audience.
Madam Pomfrey's cool hand pressed against her forehead again. "You're burning up," she said, not really to anyone in particular. Her wand arm extended, and she summoned a cool washcloth. "I thought you were simply exhausted... no idea... didn't even consider a physical illness!"
"Isn't there some kind of charm to cure this?" Hermione pleaded. "Relivesa? Easium? Anything?"
"You know your healing charms," said Madam Pomfrey, almost proudly. Hermione felt something cool and wet on her cheek. "And I've performed the charm, dear, twice now."
"It hasn't helped," said Hermione dejectedly.
"No," said Madam Pomfrey. "Magic has saved your life twice this year, but it was at a cost. Your body has built up a resistance to healing."
Hermione nodded numbly. Another wave of nausea grasped her, and she noticed that the nurse had charmed her hair into a loose ponytail. When she finished heaving, she felt empty, and the sick feeling in her stomach seemed to subside. A dull, throbbing headache took its place.
"Do you think it's over?" said Madam Pomfrey gently. Hermione nodded weakly and rolled over. The cotton pillowcase was cool, and she reached down to pull another blanket up from the foot of the bed, but Madam Pomfrey's hand stopped her. "You have a fever. It's best we not add to it. I'll be back in a moment."
Hermione didn't say anything. Her eyes followed the nurse as she disappeared from the curtained area with the dirty pan. The stench was gone, and Hermione felt some of her tension leave. She'd been sick like this twice before since they'd returned to school from the holidays, but she wasn't exactly forthcoming with the information.
Hermione didn't know what was wrong with her. Mentally, she was a wreck. Her earlier breakdown in front of Harry and Ron had been clear evidence of such. She hadn't been sleeping, her appetite was gone, and she was pushing herself harder academically than she ever had before. Schoolwork had always been Hermione's foolproof way to release stress. It really wasn't a surprise that she had made herself physically ill. The curtains rustled.
"Here," said Madam Pomfrey, handing her a glass of water. She didn't let go of the cup entirely, as she seemed to notice the tremors that continued to shake Hermione's hands. "Small sips. It'll get the taste out of your mouth, and if you do get sick again, it won't be as painful."
One small sip was enough for Hermione. She shakily placed the cup on the nightstand, smiling apologetically when a little bit splashed onto the wood. "I'm tired," she said. It wasn't true, and as much as she liked the school nurse, she didn't want her around. In reality, being alone was the worst possible thing for Hermione, but the only person she found comfort in had been shooed away hours ago.
"Of course you are," said Madam Pomfrey. She was walking around the enclosed space, pushing the curtains back. "It's not as private, but I want to keep a close eye on you tonight."
"It's fine," said Hermione. "What time is it?"
"A little after midnight, dear," said Madam Pomfrey. With the last curtain pushed into the wall, she bent down at Hermione's side and patted her hand. "It will be morning before you know it."
"I'm sure," said Hermione, but her words betrayed how she felt. It had been so long since she'd had a night's worth of peaceful sleep. For weeks now, morning had always been a long time coming. "Good night."
"No classes tomorrow," said Madam Pomfrey critically. She touched Hermione's forehead with maternal care. "Good night."
The nurse entered her office, shutting the door quietly behind her, and the infirmary was very quite, very still, once more. A slight groan came from one of the beds on the far side of the wing as the Hufflepuff boy shifted in his sleep. He'd severely broken his ankle while attempting some Quidditch play Hermione hadn't understood. The Ravenclaw girl in the corner had fallen down a flight of stairs and hit her head.
Hermione seized the last blanket folded at the foot of the bed and brought it up to her chin. She didn't really see any harm in the weight of one additional blanket. Her mind drifted dully through the day's events without inching any closer to sleep.
The passing month had been a struggle for her. There had been good moments, but mostly bad. Hermione had always been able to confront difficulties head on, despite her slight insecurity. Now, her spirit broken, she barely had the courage to be inside her own head. Some Gryffindor she was.
On the other hand, she was getting better at forcing unpleasant thoughts aside. Hermione willed herself to think of something nice as she fluffed her pillow again but blushed slightly at what automatically came to mind, so she allowed herself to think about Potions that afternoon.
It had started normally enough, but her head had soon begun to ache, and she'd suddenly felt a chill. However, the same thing had happened for ages now every time she went into the dungeons. She remembered hearing something a few minutes before fainting, but she couldn't remember what. She couldn't even remember whether she'd understood the words at the time or not.
Hermione dimly remembered coming to in the Potions classroom, but her next clear memory was asking Ron where Harry was. They'd been a few feet outside of the hospital wing, Ron's arm locked securely around her to support her. Madam Pomfrey had shooed him out in no time, but he and Harry had returned as soon as she would allow. Hermione's guys, as Lavender and Parvati were prone to refer to them. She'd tried so hard not to break down in front of them, but she had felt considerably better with their reassurances.
And, between Ron's exit and the boys' entrance, there had been Snape's brief visit. The Potion master's concern had been unsettling, frightening even, and Hermione had made a mental agreement with herself to forget about him. She didn't want anyone to know; she didn't want their pity. She really just wanted one of them to memory charm her into blissful ignorance.
Hermione felt slightly guilty as soon as the thought crossed her mind for the second time that day. However, it didn't last long. Her attention shifted as the door to the hospital wing swung open. It was Professor Dumbledore, stepping with obvious caution to make sure his boots made little sound on the hard floor. Still, the briefest of echoes wasn't lost on Madam Pomfrey, and she emerged from her office at once.
"Albus!" she hissed. "It's nearly one! These students need their rest!"
"I know they do, Poppy," whispered Dumbledore. "I needed a word with you."
"The other professors have their words with me during visiting hours," said Madam Pomfrey crossly. "We can talk in my office. I don't want to wake the children, especially Miss Granger. Such a fragile little thing she is."
"Really Poppy," said Dumbledore, and Hermione could tell he was glancing around at the few occupied beds. He chuckled slightly and waved his hand. "It smells so sterile in there that I can hardly stand it."
"The students-"
"The students are fast asleep," said Dumbledore reassuringly. "How is Hermione?"
"Ill," said Madam Pomfrey. "She's running a fever and has been for several hours now. I thought it was only exhaustion at first, but she's most definitely ailing."
"And the necessary healing charms have been uneffective?"
"How did you know?"
"Dear Poppy, surely you know there is little that occurs within these walls that escapes me," said Dumbledore kindly. "There are also the rules and laws of magic to consider. Severus made me well aware of the aftereffects of the Forveret Bursen counter potion before you administered it."
"She's weaker than even you realize," said Madam Pomfrey sternly. "The poor dear's been through unimaginable horrors. I beg you to reconsider your decision."
"My decision?" questioned Dumbledore. He sounded almost amused. "Are you referring to my insistence that Miss Granger remain at Hogwarts, with her classmates, for the rest of the term?"
"I truly feel that a... quieter environment would be to her greatest advantage," said the nurse. "She's still at the top of her class, brilliant beyond her peers. She would have no trouble catching back up next year if she were to be sent home for the remainder of the term to recuperate."
"And miss her O.W.L.s?" said Dumbledore. "Now, Poppy, surely you believe me when I say I would never jeopardize the safety or health of a student. If I did not believe that this is the best place for Hermione, would she be here?"
"Albus-"
"We're not in pleasant times anymore," said the headmaster. "She is a target, you know. It is best if she is here."
"About the boys-"
"Mr. Potter and the youngest Mr. Weasley?"
"Who else, sir?" said Madam Pomfrey. "They're reluctant to leave her side, especially Mr. Potter. One must wonder if she needs that excitement at the moment."
There was a brief pause. Hermione pulled her covers tighter around her. She felt a bit guilty, listening so intently about something she obviously wasn't supposed to here.
"There is little wrong with friendship," said Dumbledore at last.
"They are but children," said Madam Pomfrey sadly. "It pains me to see the watch they keep over their fallen friend. There is something about the love children have for each other. Nothing else in the world is quite so pure and innocent-"
"But children they aren't, Poppy," interrupted Dumbledore. "They have seen the world, and they have witnessed its cruelty. Harry, left alone in the world, his childhood stolen. Hermione, her innocence lost. Ron-"
"It's that-that prophecy!" spat Madam Pomfrey suddenly. There was a rage in the nurse's voice that Hermione had never heard before. She could hear the step the nurse took toward the headmaster. "It's that horrible prophecy, is it not? Do not tell me you believe in that nonsense, Albus!"
"There's no need to get hysterical," said Dumbledore calmly. "I believe in the-"
The door opened again, and this intruder did not take Dumbledore's care of preserving silence. He simply barged in, his footsteps reverberating heavily against the stone. Madam Pomfrey's voice rose after his entrance.
"Severus! There is no need to cause such racket! The students-"
Snape ignored her completely, heading straight to Dumbledore. Hermione shifted silently on her bed, squinting in the darkness, trying vainly to figure out what was happening.
"Sir," said Snape quickly. "Bom has delivered an urgent message for you to me. You were not in your office at the appointed time."
"I will send him my apologies," said Dumbledore. "Is there really reason to materialize among the ill during their much-needed rest?"
"It is Pericle, sir," said Snape sharply. "He was found dead in his home early this evening. Overdose on black brackish, to be exact."
"Old Samarus?" The disbelief in the old headmaster's voice was obvious. "It cannot be, Severus. The man is friend. He is no user..."
"With all respects, sir, the man was a friend of yours," said Snape briskly. "Blood tests do not lie. I believe it is the work of-"
"Of course it is his work," said Dumbledore absently. "Poppy, will you please give us a moment?"
The nurse retreated into her office without a second word. Dumbledore waved his hand again, and Hermione instantly felt herself growing unbelievably tired. She knew some kind of spell had been cast, and she had to fight to stay awake. Samarus Pericle was the oldest of the Minister of Magic's advisors. He had seen a place in the administrations of seven Ministers and was thus known for his ability to charm each successive of government. There had been a long article in the Daily Prophet just one week before that identified him as the only selection expected to hold his position if Sagesse Bom advanced from temporary.
"Will Sagesse be given the power of appointment?" said Dumbledore at last.
"He was given only two referrals, and the council barred both," said Snape. "It is a wonder they approved him in the first place, considering the care they take not to back him."
"Who?" demanded Dumbledore.
"Arthur Weasley, sir," said Snape grudgingly, "and Mundungus Fletcher."
"Who is the thirteenth?" Dumbledore wanted to know.
Hermione was finding it more difficult to think with each passing moment. It took her the several seconds of Snape's pause to remember what a thirteenth was. It had been years since she'd memorized the highest offices in the Ministry of Magic. The thirteenth was a man appointed to take the place of any advisor whose replacement was not approved.
"Lucius Malfoy, sir," replied Snape.
* * *
Drug overdose death of Ministry advisor startles community
Samarus Pericle, second elect advisor to the Minister of Magic, long time advocate of the failed Wizarding Alliance Act and chairman of Wizarding Youth Outreach, was found dead in his home late yesterday afternoon. Linked to an overdose on black brackish, Pericle's death has been classified as suicide. He leaves not relatives but a political legacy that will surely remain unmatched.
Pericle, an 1880 graduate of Hogwarts, found steady employment with the Ministry starting at the age of 23. Appointed during the second term of Matthias Miller, Pericle became the youngest advisor ever to sit on the Minister's Council. He held office through the terms of seven successive Ministers of Magic and celebrated his hundredth year as an advisor in 1992. He was expected to be included in current Minister of Magic Sagesse Bom's council upon permanent instatement.
"Samarus has the understanding and intellect of any man who witnessed the rise and fall of two Dark wizards," said Bom in an exclusive Daily Prophet interview last month, "but his application of knowledge sets him apart. I look forward to continued work with him should my office be extended beyond temporary status."
Serving the position of eighth elect in one prior administration, fourth elect in three and second elect in two, Pericle would most likely have been the first elect in a permanent Bom Council.
Pericle's name has been brought to worldwide attention in the magical community on several occasions. While known for his unyielding support of Albus Dumbledore after the fall of Grindelwald in 1945 and continued efforts to expand the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department, Pericle is most noted for his involvement with the Wizarding Alliance Act.
The 1981 act, written shortly after Harry Potter's defeat of You-Know-Who, failed after just two years. Meant to further promote wizarding cooperation through shared logs of Dark Arts activity and unified resistance training, American and Asian resistance halted its success. Still, Pericle's devotion to the cause remained steadfast even after its failure to gather additional evidence for Death Eater trials.
"The intent behind the Wizarding Alliance Act was never to gather more evidence against accused Death Eaters," said Pericle in 1984. "It was all about prevention of future tragedy. 108 innocent lives, both magical and Muggle, were lost in the first three months of [You-Know-Who's] reign alone. That number could have been cut in half if cooperation had existed between Ministries when it came to sharing information about Dark activity. It could have been reduced even farther if surrounding nations had defense forces trained to the same extent as British Aurors."
However it is Pericle's other position that is being scrutinized today. For the past eight years, Pericle served as chairman of Wizarding Youth Outreach, an organization that tries to defer magical youngsters from drug use while offering a treatment and second chances to users wanting to abandon their drug habits. It also seeks stricter and timelier punishment for makers and distributors. Pericle has long been a passionate voice against the use of black brackish in particular.
"Drug use is on the rise in the youths of our society," said Pericle in a fundraising speech earlier this year. "It accounts for over half the deaths of teenage witches and wizards, yet many refuse to acknowledge it as a problem. Yesterday's users were the troublemakers and rebels of society, but that is not true today. Viewed as a challenge to brew, black brackish has become the drug of choice to many able-minded individuals..."
Unlike most common wizarding drugs, black brackish has no Muggle equivalent and can be brewed at home. It accounts for most teenage addictions and almost half of all drug related deaths. Known for its salty taste, black brackish excites some while calming others to an almost comatose state. The sale of black blackish ingredients is estimated to be the largest illegal market in magical Britain, second only to dragon breeding.
With his very public stance against black brackish, Pericle's cause of death is most surprising.
"There is no doubt in my mind or the mind of any other medical professional that the toxic material found in Mr. Pericle's bloodstream is [black brackish]," said Doctor Edward M. Rodgers, a Ministry employed coroner, "nor is there any doubt that it was the cause of death."
Rodgers went on to say that, judging by the amount of black brackish in his bloodstream, Pericle was a hardened user. He also acknowledged that someone as well versed in the drug's effects as Pericle would be taking such a quantity with the intention of suicide.
"Mr. Pericle was highly educated in the drug that caused his death," said Rodgers. "He knew how much he was taking, and he knew that it would kill him. His death was intentional."
Six other Ministry coroners confirmed Rodgers's findings just as thirteenth Lucius Malfoy was sworn in as Pericle's replacement. While it is only the second time in history that a thirteenth has actually taken office, the public's main focus at this hour is still the deceased Pericle.
"Samarus was the perfect neighbor," said Margaret Williams, whose family has lived next to the deceased for the last seven years. "He brought presents to the boys every Christmas and took them to Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley for their birthdays. I always trusted him because of his involvement with Outreach. Now, I don't know what to say. I don't want to believe what everyone else is."
In a unanimous vote that included Lucius Malfoy, the advisors decided that an inquisition into Pericle's death would be unnecessary. All plan to attend his funeral on Saturday.
Thirteenth to take place of second elect
It was decided early Tuesday that thirteenth Lucius Malfoy would be sworn in as the second elect on the Minister's Council. Malfoy will be taking place of the deceased Samarus Pericle and is only the second thirteenth to take the place of an advisor in Ministry history.
The remaining eleven members of the Minister's Council rejected both referrals from current Minister of Magic Sagesse Bom, whose temporary status extends through August. First elect Harris Barker released a statement shortly after Malfoy was sworn in, identifing Arthur Weasley and Mundungus Fletcher as Bom's recommendations.
"When given the choice between Weasley or Fletcher, knowing that you could have Lucius Malfoy if you rejected them both," said Barker during this morning's press conference, "it's not much of a decision to make. Don't get me wrong because I don't speak bad about my colleagues, but I strongly feel that Muggle sympathy has no place in the Minister's Council. The same goes for former Aurors. They've made it perfectly clear that they want nothing to do with the rest of the Ministry, so they most certainly shouldn't be allowed to take our offices."
Recommended as thirteenth by former Minister Cornelius Fudge, Pericle held the elect position of the only advisor to vote against Malfoy's appointment. Pericle was also the only advisor from Fudge's Council not to criticize Bom directly following his appointment.
Pericle's death, ruled to be the result of a drug overdose, has generated more public outcry than Malfoy's appointment. Malfoy contends that this is how it should be.
"I was both shocked and saddened by the news of Samarus's death," said Malfoy during the Ministry press conference. "It will be difficult to take the place of such a great man, but I will accept the responsibility and perform to the best of my ability."
Malfoy was sworn in this morning around one o'clock, but an official ceremony will be held this evening at eight. He will be attending the event alone, but he acknowledges that his deceased wife will be with him in spirit.
"Narcissa passed away in early September," said Malfoy, "but she asked that her death be kept private."
Sources say that grief for his mother may have prompted the actions of young Draco Malfoy that led to his expulsion from Hogwarts last autumn. The senior Malfoy went on to say that the boy had been justly punished and that such family issues would not get in the way of his duties as an advisor.
* * *
Together, the articles on Samarus Pericle's death and Lucius Malfoy's appointment covered every inch of space on the front page of the Daily Prophet's Tuesday edition. Much to Madam Pomfrey's annoyance, the delivery owl had flown into the hospital wing without hesitation to drop the paper at Hermione's bedside. Her mind still filled with questions about the night before, Hermione had wasted no time reading both articles.
"Your fever's down," said Madam Pomfrey. As Hermione read her morning paper, the nurse had been checking her over. "Anything interesting going on today?"
"No," lied Hermione. She doubted that the nurse would be too pleased to hear that she'd overhead most of the conversation between her, Dumbledore, and Snape the night before. Actually, Hermione wasn't sure how much of it she had heard; she had a feeling that her sudden exhaustion had been brought on by a sleeping spell cast by the headmaster.
"Well," said Madam Pomfrey, glancing up to the clock on the wall. "Breakfast is almost over. I doubt it'll be any time at all before Misters Potter and Weasley will be here to see how you're doing."
Hermione hoped the nurse was right. Alone, she didn't know what to make of what she'd overheard last night, but she had a feeling that Harry and Ron could help her make sense of it all. She could practically see their reactions already. Ron would probably be quite proud of her for having the nerve to listen in; Harry would think for a long time and make her give him all her ideas before coming up with any of his own.
"They have class though," said Hermione pointedly. "Then again, so do-"
"Yes, of course, you're supposed to be in class today, too," said Madam Pomfrey, her voice suddenly taking on a stern tone. "You can ask the boys to bring you your lessons."
"Professor McGonagall hinted that we would have a quiz today in Transfigurations," Hermione tried desperately. "Surely I shouldn't miss that."
"McGonagall is your Head of House, is she not?" said Madam Pomfrey, eyeing Hermione critically. "And she was most concerned about your well-being yesterday, was she not? Surely she will understand your need for rest today. Now, what would you like for breakfast?"
"I'm really not that hungry," said Hermione honestly. She slumped back against her pillows and folded the Daily Prophet very carefully. She placed it on the side table, knowing that Harry and Ron would probably want to read it later.
"I asked what you wanted for breakfast, not whether you wanted breakfast," said Madam Pomfrey sternly. She lifted herself from the chair she'd summoned to Hermione's bedside. "Is your stomach still upset? Maybe some toast?"
"I'm really-" Hermione faltered under the nurse's glare. "Toast would be lovely."
The nurse had no sooner left than the hospital wing door swung open. Sure enough, Ron walked through, followed closely by Harry. A more careful inspection of them on Hermione's part saw that Harry's occasional prodding was the only thing propelling Ron along. The redhead seemed to be more asleep than awake, and Hermione couldn't help but smile. He wasn't exactly what you'd call a morning person.
"Good morning," said Harry brightly, hugging Hermione tightly before dropping down on the bed next to her. Ron sat down next to him, but he continued to stare off into space.
"Is he okay?" asked Hermione.
"Er, I think so," said Harry at last. "Just a little tired, aren't you, Ron?"
"What?" said Ron, suddenly alert. He looked around the hospital wing before settling his eyes on Hermione. "Weren't we just in the Great Hall?"
"We were," confirmed Harry, an amused smile on his face. "Did you miss the part where we walked down to the hospital wing to see Hermione?"
"Must have," said Ron, not catching the sarcasm in Harry's voice. Hermione had to keep from giggling when Harry grinned at her. "How are you feeling?"
"Much better," said Hermione. She was, actually, feeling better than she had the night before.
"Doing better, too?" Harry wanted to know. Those intense green eyes of his locked on hers. Sure, both boys were obviously concerned with her well-being, but Harry's concern had a whole different air to it than Ron's. Hermione was very relieved to be able to hold his gaze for once when she nodded. Harry touched her hand, and his awkward gesture was surprisingly comforting. "Good."
"Yep," said Ron. He looked thoughtful, and, a few seconds later, he deadpanned, "Well, we have to go to class in just a second, but Harry wanted to work in a quick good-bye first; we're sending him to live with the Slytherins first thing afterwards-"
"What?" screeched Hermione. She looked properly horrified, which sent Ron into a fit of laughter. Harry whacked him good-naturedly upside the head.
"He's just kidding," said Harry quickly. He glared at Ron. "Prat," he muttered, and he glanced back up at Hermione, grinning apologetically. "Ginny is operating under the impression that I'm sleazy. She told me so last night. Ron here seems to the think that the possession of such quality merits automatic removal from Gryffindor and transfer to Slytherin."
"It does," said Ron, regaining his composure. He looked Harry over. "What makes you so sure you aren't sleazy, Potter?"
Harry paled.
"You are most definitely not sleazy," said Hermione, almost affectionately. "You're rather sweet, actually."
Harry blushed, and Ron clapped him hard on the back as he laughed. "Sweet, eh?"
Hermione chose to ignore him. "Why was Ginny calling you sleazy in the first place?"
Ron, glancing at the clock, hurriedly informed Hermione of Ginny's fight with Seamus. Then, Harry jumped in and told her about his own clash with the youngest Weasley. Had he been paying more attention to Hermione's change in expression as his part of the story progressed, he might have noticed the slight blush that rose to her cheeks midway through.
"So now I'm just more confused than ever," finished Harry, Ron nodding vigorously at his side.
"Hmm," said Hermione. She was the one that actually lived with Ginny, and she hadn't realized that the younger girl's problems had gotten so out of hand. She had a vague suspicion as to what her outburst was about, but she couldn't say anything. One part of it Ron wasn't supposed to know about, the other she wasn't sure if she wanted Harry to.
"Oh, and that wasn't even the most exciting thing that happened yesterday," said Ron suddenly, and he gestured to Harry. In a motion that seemed rather reluctant, Harry opened his bag and thrust a thin stack of small papers in Hermione's directions.
"Someone sent me those," said Harry carefully. Hermione realized at once that they were photos, and she thumbed through them slowly, taking her time in looking at each individual snapshot. When she had studied all of them, she looked up at Harry and Ron questionably.
"Flip the over," urged Ron. This time, Harry did the vigorous nodding.
"Young tread Potter carefully?" asked Hermione from under an arched eyebrow. Harry's fingers brushed against hers as he took them from him.
"Not quite," said Harry, shuffling the picture into a different order. He handed them back to her.
Now, the words scrawled on the back of the photos read, "Tread carefully, young Potter." Hermione glanced up as she read the last word of the message.
"See, last night, Harry and I were trying to figure which part of it he should be more worried about," said Ron. "He seems to think that message alone was creepy enough, but I think it was the stalker photos that really gave it that quality. Then, of course, there was the envelope it all came in. Disintegrated."
"It did what?" said Hermione sharply. She was vaguely aware that she had let the photos flutter down out of her hand. "The envelope disintegrated? Ron! Don't joke! That could be very powerful Dark magic! You really should-"
"-Go and tell Professor Lupin, we know," said Harry quickly. He turned to Ron and hissed, "I told you not to scare her!"
"I'm still here, you know," said Hermione impatiently, "and you should tell Professor Lupin! Don't you think so?"
"Not really," said Ron, rather cheerfully, "but we kind of expected you to think so."
Harry punched his shoulder. It was beyond the friendly manner in which they usually teased each other, and Hermione could sense that. Whatever point he was trying to make, he seemed to make because Ron shut up.
"I don't know how many more things we're going to be able to add to the list of weird things that have happened this year," said Harry heavily, "because I'm pretty sure it's nearing maximum capacity. We have to figure out what's going on, and I really don't think we have that much longer to do it."
"In other words, we have to get cracking," said Ron.
"Why do you think we're running out of time to figure this out?" Hermione wanted to know.
Harry shrugged. "I just do. I can't really explain it... don't you guys know what I mean, though? Something's not right, and we keep say it's not right, but we still have no idea what that something is. I don't know about you, but that leaves me feeling a bit unsettled."
The faint sound of a bell ringing cut Harry off. The two boys shared grimaces, knowing that they were late to their Herbology class. At about that moment, Madam Pomfrey also pushed through the door to the hospital wing, presumably back from the kitchens.
"We'll have to talk later," said Harry quickly.
"Yes," agreed Hermione. "I have some news for you two as well."
"Hold those thoughts, then," said Ron, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
"We'll try to come down at lunch," said Harry, doing the same thing, "but if Filch catches us sneaking through the halls again..."
"Please don't get yourselves killed by a Squib and his demonic cat," requested Hermione. Ron was already halfway between her bed and the door, but Harry reached down and hugged her tightly again.
"I have a slight suspicion," whispered Harry into her ear, "that what's bothering Ginny now is what was bothering her months and months ago. I just have a feeling about it, `Mione. Everything's connected, isn't it? Everything. Ron needs to know."
And before Hermione could give that any kind of consideration, he kissed her forehead and was gone.
Harry had taken great strides to catch up with Ron, so the two of them had gotten to their Herbology class at the same time. Professor Sprout had been more than a little displeased with their lateness, but she'd pardoned them with a warning when they'd told her where they'd been. It was funny-all of the teachers seemed to have a bit of a blind spot where Hermione was concerned.
* * *
For the next hour, Harry and Ron repotted some odd-looking orange seedlings with an unpronounceable twelve-syllable name that Snape had requested for use with his advanced sixth year classes. They made conversation with the two Hufflepuffs working with them, Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones. Harry liked the Hufflepuffs enough, but they could be a pretty boring lot.
With ten minutes of class left, Sprout announced it time to clean up, and the students began stripping off their gloves and wiping dirt from the tables. Harry was being particularly careful about his task, which was to move the repotted seedlings onto a sunny shelf along the green house wall, because Sprout had warned that the seedlings periodically got the urge to pop up from the dirt and bite.
"Very good, Harry," said Sprout as he slipped the last tray of plants into the respective spots. Her praise was cut short by a tortured scream, and she rolled her eyes as she waddled off to pull one of the plants off of Neville's hand.
"I wonder what Herms wanted to tell us," said Ron as he and Harry lined up at the greenhouse door. They both stepped out of the way as Sprout pushed a still-moaning Neville through the crowd of people and back in the direction of the school.
"Just tell her it was one of the orange seedlings," called Sprout after him. "She'll fix you right up."
Harry waited until their round-faced year mate was out of sight before responding to Ron. "We only have to get through Transfigurations," reminded Harry. "We can visit her during lunch."
"Double Transfigurations, no food," Ron moaned. When he realized Harry was glaring at him, he quickly added, "But, of course, worth it to see Herms."
"She doesn't like Herms," said Harry.
Ron shrugged at the same moment the bell rang. "You call her `Mione sometimes. No different."
"It's different because-"
"-You like her," finished Ron, and he rushed on, "and she likes you, so it's okay to have little pet names."
"I don't like `Mione," insisted Harry. "Not like that I don't."
"It's whatever you say, Harry," said Ron, and he quickly walked a few paces ahead of his friend. Harry made a mental note to strangle him in his sleep sometime in the near future. Harry grumbled under his breath as he caught up with Ron.
"FIGHT IN THE HALLS! FIGHT IN THE HALLS!"
Harry looked up with a start to see Peeves suspended in the air, chortling madly and pointing around the bend. He zipped straight into the wall, presumably to come out on the other side and watch what was happening. Shooting Ron a sideways glance, Harry hurried around the bend behind the ghost, and Ron followed him.
"WILL YOU TAKE A LOOK AT THAT?" screeched Peeves. He clapped his hands together and grinned evilly. "Taking a beating for Gryffindor, that one is! Should I cheer for Slytherin? Should I cheer for Gryffindor? FIGHT IN THE HALLS!"
Judging by the crowd of students assembled at the end of the hallway, Harry guessed that the people fighting were both younger. No one in the assembly looked older than twelve. He shot Ron a nervous glance as they approached. Technically, they were supposed to break up such things as prefects, but rarely had they performed their duties in the past. Then again, never before had such a situation arisen.
A tiny blond girl with tears in her eyes broke away when she saw Harry and Ron. She was dressed in Gryffindor colors, and Harry vaguely remembered helping her with her Defense homework once at the beginning of the school year.
"They're hurting him!" wailed the little girl. "He's my little brother and they're hurting him! Please make them stop!"
"Er," said Ron, and Harry caught sight of what was going on. He was reminded of his own confrontations with Malfoy over the years, but he never remembered their disagreements getting quite so bloody. One young Slytherin boy was holding the Gryffindor in place as another Slytherin pummeled him.
"Stop it!" bellowed Harry, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. "There is absolutely no fighting at Hogwarts!"
Ron had broken through the circle of observers and attempted to pull the boys off each other. Harry cringed as his friend received a misdirected blow. Eventually, Ron backed off, but the boy didn't.
"Do something!" wept the little girl again. Glancing between her and the boy, Harry took a deep breath.
"SENDROVUS!"
Harry cringed as the Slytherin boy flew back into the wall, already imagining the kind of punishment he would probably get for injuring a first year. Ron was able to pull the Gryffindor boy from the other Slytherin's grasp. He looked rather like a blonde Neville Longbottom.
"Excuse me, what is going on here?" demanded a stern voice. The first and second years moved back against the wall in fear as they saw Professor McGonagall approach. A very concerned Nearly Headless Nick floated behind her, and Harry had the feeling that he had gone for her at the first hint that a fight was brewing.
"Breaking up a fight, Professor McGonagall," said Ron. His hand was still at his jaw. He whispered to Harry, "For an eleven-year-old, that kid sure knows how to throw a punch."
"Oh dear," said McGonagall. She had apparently just caught sight of the little boy. "Miss White, would you be so kind as to help your brother to the infirmary? Thank you. Potter? Weasley? Can you explain this to me?"
"I don't know who they think they are," said an angry voice, "but he hexed me!"
It was the boy that had actually been attacking the Gryffindor. He was burly, with dark hair and eyes, and Harry felt as if he was gazing at a younger version of someone he knew.
"Marks," said McGonagall, and Harry could feel his heart sink. She raised an eyebrow. "Potter and Weasley are prefects, and I trust that they were merely carrying out their duties as such. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore will be interested to hear about it, but I suspect he will be more interested in being told why you have picked a fight with White three times in the last week."
"He's a worthless overweight git!" sneered Marks. He stomped his foot.
"Fifty points from Slytherin," said McGonagall, "detention for a week, and you will visit Professor Dumbledore's office at his earliest convenience. Everyone else-no, not you, Baddock-get to class before I take off points for turning this into a regular spectacle!"
Harry and Ron turned in the direction of McGonagall's classroom, but she stopped them.
"Both of you, good job," said McGonagall hesitantly. "Fights are not easy things to deal with, and I'm proud of you both for handling it so well. Tell the rest of the class I'll be a few moments late; I'm going to check on Mr. White."
Harry and Ron nodded obediently, taking off down the hall. It was Ron who spoke first, turning to Harry ashen faced.
"Marks-the older one-is going to hear about this, you know," said Ron shakily. "He'll want to kill you, Harry."
"Yes," said Harry. "Tell me something I didn't know."
And he took a deep breath, wondering how much trouble he'd just made for himself by squelching someone else's.
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