Harry & Hermione: Collaboration
As in all things in life, that which is dreaded comes to pass much sooner than ever imagined. Harry’d asked enough questions to know what was involved, but he wasn’t exactly looking forward to tackling the Unforgivable Three.
The seven other trainees were already seated in the long room that served as their lecture/practice room when Harry slipped into a chair near the back. His direct supervisor, Millicent Mulroney, flashed him an encouraging smile as John Dawlish took charge of the room.
–Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards. There’s no denying that dark wizard catchers are placed in a quandary when confronting adversaries in the field. How much force to use? Too little and your quarry escapes. Too much and you’ve branded yourself as much a law-breaker as he.
–You’re all here today because the Auror Department has confidence that you will not misuse your unique position. But there’s no denying that sometimes Aurors justifiably have to cross the line. No one here expects you to refuse to defend yourself. We are not in the business of martyring ourselves at the hands of criminals. And since dark wizards have already crossed that proverbial line, there will be times that you will have to defend yourself in kind.
–But violence should always be a last resort. Subterfuge and guile are much better weapons. And they don’t have a magical backlash.†Dawlish’s flinty eyes surveyed the faces before him. –I don’t suspect they taught you that expression at school, did they? Not standard practice. Not in this country. But anyone who’s dabbled in the Dark Arts will have experienced its side effects. Anyone care to take a stab at what we mean by ‘magical backlash’?â€
Dorothea Donovan, the sole female trainee, raised a tentative hand. At Dawlish’s nod, she supplied, –It’s like your conscience. Dark magic will make you feel sullied. Not that I speak from personal experience, mind you.â€
–Essentially correct,†Dawlish affirmed. –Dark magic seeks to bend you to its will. Just like a harmless spell can leave you with a sense of accomplishment, the satisfaction one gets from dark magic is equally seductive. But make no mistake, most dark magic is fueled by those primitive impulses that we all share, but do our best to keep in check.
–Hatred. Jealousy. Anger. Revenge. Who among us has not felt these things? But the difference is that dark magic is prompted by the very things that we consider to be most abhorrent and brutish.â€
–Is that why demonstrations always seem to involve insects?†Kirby Keale suggested from the second row. –At least that’s how Mad-Eye demonstrated it.†Despite being three years older and a Ravenclaw to boot, Kirby was the closest thing to a mate that Harry’d encountered in the six months he’d been on the job.
Dawlish appraised Kirby through slitted eyes. –If you’re referring to his tenure at Hogwarts, need I remind you that was actually Barty Crouch, Junior, a deranged Death Eater intent on causing havoc.â€
–All the more reason no one suspected it wasn’t the real Alastor,†Millicent supplied wryly.
–Indeed,†Dawlish concurred. –And yes, Mr. Keale, your observation is right on the mark. That remains one of the major reasons all manner of vermin are used in training. Revulsion tends to soften the guilty backlash.â€
Ben Bridgefort, a thirtyish chap who oversaw the trainees, joined Dawlish at the front of the room. –I won’t lie to you,†he issued. –These next weeks will feel like a crucible of sorts. Lots of challenges and unexpected turns. But in the end, each of you will emerge stronger and more resilient for it.â€
–What about those who dissolve into puddles?†Thea countered. It was difficult to tell if she was testing the waters or genuinely concerned. Harry had not yet learned to interpret her quixotic personality.
Millicent returned a throaty laugh. –That’s what we’re here to prevent. Trust the method; we’ve all been through it ourselves.â€
On a day that Harry’d thought couldn’t get any drearier, Dawlish announced, –Today, we will be practicing on rats in the sewers which run below the Ministry structure.â€
It had seemed a simple enough assignment, that of Student Exterminators. In reality, it was cold, rank and nauseating. Perhaps it was the oppressive atmosphere, but it was all Harry could do to keep from losing his toast when his Avada Kedavra hit home for the first time. The muffled sounds of retching that echoed from other tunnels testified that many of his colleagues had not been so lucky.
Even a long, scalding shower followed by a generous tumbler of Firewhiskey couldn’t wipe the memory of that day. And it only got worse.
Breakfast was particularly boisterous that morning and it wasn’t just the upcoming match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Despite being surrounded by scampering monkeys, Hermione didn’t let her concentration waiver. Years of eating at the Gryffindor table had honed her concentration skills.
The rattle to the left indicated that Dean was engrossed in the Daily Prophet which she’d discarded in favor of a personal letter. By his deep belly laugh, she could tell he had found the feature about the ‘Recent Rumpus in Reading.’
Well, that’s certainly the headline she would’ve chosen. The editors of the Prophet had been less imaginative.
INVESTIGATORS INSTEAD OF EXTERMINATORS
Responding to a desperate plea from one of the locals,
agents from the Department for the Control and Regulation of
Magical Creatures led a predawn raid on the tiny hamlet of
Goose Egg in East Reading.
–It’s just Farmer Braithwaite’s goats. They’re mighty
contentious about strangers,†was the consensus of opinion
at the local pub, The Grimy Gorgon.
But Lillian Lowell was not so easily dissuaded. –The man’s
been half-barmy since his wife passed on. Only his
livestock for company. I tell you he’s been coaxing his
donkey to breed with a centaur. No animal could jump fences so.â€
Without any concrete evidence, Ms. Lowell’s earliest
reports were discounted as nothing more than malicious
conjecture. Or possibly a displaced chameleon ghoul --
noisy, but ultimately harmless.
–Her latest report of an unearthly abomination
alighting like a comet on her roof finally drew enough
attention to warrant further investigation,†a Ministry
spokesperson confided. –The Ban on Experimental
Breeding expressly prohibits any interference with
hippogriffs. They’re temperamental enough as it is. Can
you imagine one that’s as cantankerous as a donkey to boot?â€
Ms. Lowell, however, was less than pleased with the
response she ultimately received. –If Macnair had still
been in charge, he would’ve sent someone from the
Disposal of Dangerous Creatures Squad.â€
Quite taken aback, the head investigator issued a rather
shirty response, –Madam, we don’t go chopping the head
off of every obnoxious rooster!â€
–Then how to you explain the sudden decline in rat
population?†she decried rather crossly. –Hippogriffs are
inordinately fond of vermin.â€
–And you’re certain this creature flew onto your roof?â€
–That misbegotten beast had my post owl, Flaubert,
shaking like a pigeon in a snowstorm,†Ms. Lowell attested.
Ministry officials report that their cunning dragnet
revealed a bevy of ornery tomcats which had settled in the
bucolic hamlet comprised mostly of wizarding folk. After
being subjected to vigorous questioning, the furry suspects
have been scheduled for neutering. Further plans are to
disperse them in areas with problematic rat populations.
–Some lonely hayseed with an overactive imagination,†Dean opined to the others who had gathered to chuckle at the photo of the stymied look on Ms. Lowell’s doughy face.
–A residual of the horrors attributed to the Death Eaters,†Hermione supplied without looking up.
–That’s true,†Ron volunteered as he heaped his plate with bacon. –Armies of fantastic creatures such as heliotropes and --â€
–That’s a species of flower,†Hermione laughed. –I think you mean heliopaths.â€
Joining the group, Luna elaborated, –Dwarf yetis adapted to more moderate climates. Or so The Quibbler reported months ago. But even Father recognized it was nothing but a filler piece intended to make people laugh.â€
–Must’ve backfired then,†Dean put forth. –All such stories do is tap into people’s subconscious fears.â€
–Mum says people often find it just as difficult to adjust to peacetime as to war,†Ron mumbled between mouthfuls.
–No truth to the rumors?†a jittery third-year wondered.
–Nothing but an amalgamation of our deepest fears,†Luna concurred. –That nice gentleman from the Kamchatka Preserve confirmed that no yeti populations had been disturbed.â€
Hermione stifled a giggle, noting inwardly that Luna could make the most incongruous pronouncements. Not to mention that the mangy lion headdress she was wearing appeared to have lost a battle with a maypole!
Catching Hermione’s eye, she whispered, –I thought the daisies in his mane would refresh his look for spring.â€
Hermione nodded helplessly then fixed her eyes on the letter before her to keep a straight face. She reread the final paragraph once more, smiling at the sheer possibilities.
Catching sight of the handwriting, Ron muttered through his eggs, –What did Harry have to say?â€
–Nothing much,†Hermione shrugged. –Mostly talked about the potions he’s been brewing. Says your mum’s a great teacher.â€
Ron nodded absently as he devoted his full attention to shoveling porridge into his mouth.
–Trying to beat the world’s record, mate?†Dean offered up as he surrendered his newspaper into the hands of a gaggle of curious Ravenclaws.
Hermione gave Dean a long-suffering look. –He’s convinced they’ll start Quidditch warm-up without him.â€
–They bloody well better not,†Ron huffed. His knife was a blur as he made himself a butter and marmalade sandwich. –I’m the effing captain!â€
–You won’t be if you choke on your breakfast,†Hermione warned as she moved the pumpkin juice out of reach. –Drink without swallowing first and you’ll create a first-class clog in your windpipe.â€
Looking about to make certain Filch was nowhere in sight, Dean pulled a Muggle sports bottle from his pocket. –Here, fill this with juice and squirt it into your mouth while you walk down to the pitch.â€
Ron grimaced at the lid that looked remarkably like a brightly colored nipple. –Er, thanks,†he stammered. As soon as Dean demonstrated the proper usage, Ron turned to Hermione, –Joining us this morning? Spring rains have let up -- temporarily, anyway.â€
Hermione graced him with an indulgent smile. –Just one last stray assignment I need to finish first.†She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss before rising to her feet. –I’ll be there in time for the opening whistle.â€
She barely took in the maroon wallpaper which had faded to a deep rose, the gold stripes having darkened to a coppery brass. Intent on her objective, Hermione flew through the Gryffindor Common Room and into the small, private bedchamber she had been allotted as Head Girl.
The soft sunshine streamed in through the open window. She didn’t remember unlatching it before going down to breakfast, but there was very little that could deter a determined Crookshanks. Probably enjoying the abundant wildlife that early spring always coaxes forth, she considered in passing.
She dug in the corner of her steamer trunk, revealing the secret compartment where she kept her most private -- and embarrassing -- possessions. With surprising gentleness, she eased aside the threadbare blush rabbit from Easters long past. The tiny cut glass vial glowed with menace from the shadows. Even in the daylight, the contents sloshed a violent purple that reminded Hermione of radioactive plums.
What did Ginny really think she would do with love potion of all things? Sure everyone got a chuckle when Hermione unwrapped the tiny parcel at Christmas and obligingly joined in with the laughter. No one could say that she couldn’t take a joke.
–Just in case someone needs a nudge from time to time,†Ginny had breathed in her ear.
As intended, it had made Hermione studiously avoid looking in Ron’s direction. But beneath the embarrassment, the burn in her cheeks displayed her irritation. Why it had taken all her willpower to keep from retorting that it was Ginny herself who needed some pharmacological assistance in snaring the Boy-Who-Lived-In-Her-Heart-All-These-Years-Don’t-Think-The-Rest-Of-Us-Don’t-Know-It.
Returning to the deserted study table before the hearth, Hermione took a moment to still her hammering heart. She’d have to compose her entreaty just so. Dipping her quill purposefully into a new bottle of ink, she set to scribbling intently.
It was too soon to feel the pinch between her shoulder blades; a glance at her watch showed that only twenty minutes had elapsed. The Gryffindor team would still be doing their obligatory drills around the pitch. The match itself wouldn’t start for another hour at least.
So if that tingle wasn’t guilt, what was it?
She could just as easily have spoken the words aloud as there was no one else in the common room.
No one except the portrait of Dumbledore trying to peer over her shoulder with a impish twinkle in his eyes. If Ron were here, he’d be grumbling that if their former Headmaster was so intent on reviewing their work, the least he could do was offer up spelling suggestions.
Leave it to Ron to make light of a disturbing sensation, she thought with an affectionate smile.
She double-checked that it wasn’t Peeves peaking out from behind a sofa cushion. The pesky poltergeist knew no bounds when it came to creating discord. With no one about to criticize her sanity, she indulged in a hasty Homenum Revelio incantation to confirm she was entirely alone before exiting through the portrait hole.
Even though her brain grasped that Dumbledore and Snape were both gone, she found that their very essence had become embedded in these walls. She doubted that either of these extraordinary wizards had been so conflicted about their final actions to return as ghosts, yet so pervasive was their memory that she fully expected to come face to face with them when she turned into a deserted corridor.
Taking the nearest staircase at a good clip, she couldn’t resist thinking what an uproar Peeves could create if he impersonated either one of their former Headmasters. Luckily, she doubted that shape-shifting was part of a poltergeist’s bag of tricks.
Horace Slughorn looked up from the breakfast tray in his private office. Who would want him on a glorious spring day such as this? Why if he were only twenty years younger… The wistful daydream fizzled as the knock came again.
–One moment, please,†he cried. –Not as spry as I once was!†His pinched eyes blinked quizzically at his visitor. –Why, Miss Granger, imagine seeing you so early. Isn’t your young man flying this morning?â€
–I’ll catch up with him. Needed to discuss something with you first.†She declined his offer of tea but insisted he finish his scones while she settled herself in the wing-backed chair opposite.
–I’ll try not to feel boorish while you talk away,†he offered congenially. Over the rim of his teacup, his eyes sparkled with curiosity.
Hermione sat up straighter then cleared her throat. –I wish to collaborate on a potions project. Something which you haven’t assigned.â€
–Since you’re here alone, I take it that Mr. Weasley won’t be your usual partner.â€
–Not this time. I wish to collaborate with Harry Potter.â€
Slughorn’s face lit up at the mention of the Boy-Who-Lived. –I hadn’t realized Harry was returning in mid-term. We’ll make him feel welcome, no doubt. But has he been keeping up with his lessons?â€
–He’s been working one-on-one with a tutor. But I wanted to conduct the experiment, as it were, away from school grounds. That’s why I needed your express permission.â€
–I would think your Head of House could give you permission to travel at the weekend.â€
While no one would question why she was returning home a mere few weeks after Easter break, Hermione had felt she owed it to her Head of House to be more forthcoming. Not that seeing Niffer wouldn’t be a big bonus; all the books said that infants were so changeable at that age. –Professor Vector said I needed your approval in this case.â€
–Ah, you expect to turn in your project for my review,†he surmised.
–Not because I’m looking for extra credit,†she was quick to point out. –But for your learned opinion. It would mean a lot to Harry as well.â€
Chuffed at the compliment, Slughorn inquired, –Will the two of you be working on your own? Or will there be someone on hand in case of unforeseen circumstances?â€
Hermione took his continued interest as a positive sign. –Harry’s been training with a Potions Mistress by the name of Molly Weasley.â€
–A relation, I take it?â€
–Ron’s mother actually. I’m surprised you don’t remember her, sir. She said she’d learned under your watchful eye.â€
–Let me see…. A redhead like the rest of them?â€
–Yes.†Then realizing her oversight, Hermione added, –Only you likely knew her by her maiden name, Prewett.â€
–Of course.†By the professor’s nostalgic smile, it was clear he remembered his former student. –She was a freight train on a rampage. Always the first to finish with a great economy of motion. Did she go on to earn her credentials as a Potions Mistress? She certainly had the talent.â€
–Marriage and family intervened.â€
–That can be a full-time occupation -- or so I’ve heard,†he chuckled. –Excellent choice on Mr. Potter’s part, though. Now what exactly were you planning to brew?â€
–Harry’s already completed the brewing but he needs a partner for the testing and creation of the antidote.â€
–Ah,†Slughorn nodded eagerly. –Antidotes are very important for an Auror to master. Is that still Harry’s ambition?â€
–Minister Shacklebolt arranged for him to start training at the Ministry while completing his NEWT requirements little by little.â€
–What a delightful compromise. Now what exactly will be the focus of your project?â€
–Amortentia.†Hermione held her breath for the professor’s reaction.
–Love potion?†Slughorn’s tone conveyed his disappointment. –Seems a subject that might appeal to a first or second year -- not that they could master its capricious preparation, mind you. Is that really the best you can do? It seems so…â€
–Jejune?†Hermione finished handily.
–Well, yes, essentially. Forgive me for saying so.â€
–Not at all, Professor,†Hermione allowed in her most politic voice. –I fully expected you’d react that way. That’s why I took the liberty of drafting a preliminary proposal. We have a unique angle to explore.â€
Hermione waited patiently as Slughorn perched his gold reading glasses atop his nose. She was assured that her words had captured his imagination when he accidentally set his teaspoon to rattling against his saucer.
guarantees that –one drop will have him turning his head,
two will garner you an invitation to the next dance, and
three? Well, wedding proposals have been known to
happen. Note of caution: Effects are temporary; any plans
or unions cannot be considered legally binding until the
potion dissipates.â€
asked ourselves. Possibly nothing drastic as the makers of
the product would be facing a myriad of lawsuits.
Can a person’s slavish devotion coerce them to do
another’s bidding, all in the name of love?
mind addled enough for a lovers’ suicide pact?
The dismay on the professor’s face was unmistakable. He licked his thin lips nervously then issued lowly, –You intend to subjugate the main intent of a love potion. Set it on its side, as the expression goes. If you succeed, and that’s a very big IF, you will have created a substitute to the Compulsion Charm.â€
Hermione pressed her advantage, –More than that, Professor. We’ll have created a legal alternative to the Imperius Curse.â€
Slughorn’s shock was apparent as he jerked to his feet. Only a quick Levitation Charm on Hermione’s part kept the breakfast tray from toppling onto the thickly tooled rug.
–Wherever did the two of your get such a notion?†he demanded. –Such a diabolical scheme is worthy of… a Slytherin.â€
–Coming from you, sir, that’s a rare compliment indeed.†Without missing a beat, she added, –Harry credits the inspiration to your own introductory lesson in our sixth year. You said that Amortentia was the most dangerous potion in the room.â€
–Only because many would prefer to keep the private contents of their hearts just that,†Slughorn clarified.
–Harry was looking for a practical application is his chosen field, I suspect.â€
–But to come up with such a revolutionary approach… Why, it’s brilliant, is what it is!â€
Barely containing her excitement, Hermione issued, –So I have your approval to collaborate on this venture?â€
–Only because I can’t get away myself! But don’t get ahead of yourself. It might not work as you intend. And I’m going to need a more detailed outline of how you plan to test your premise. I don’t want anyone hanging from the parapets to test the suicide angle!â€
–I promise we’ll concentrate on less drastic reactions. Induce coercion in something that might be embarrassing but nothing more.â€
With the indulgent smile he reserved for the highest-ranking members of the Slug Club, Slughorn posed gingerly, –What are you going to tell Mr. Weasley? He had a rather close encounter with a commercial love potion himself, as I recall.â€
–But the real danger was caused by the tainted mead. Not that anyone doubts it was an innocent mistake on your part,†Hermione hastened to add.
–True, but no one should count on her young man to make that distinction.â€
–I see what you mean, Professor. I’ll give Ron such a technical explanation that he’ll tune out my words within seconds. That is, if he even asks for details.â€
–Just so you’re prepared. I’d hate to see your project derailed before you even got started. And one more thing, Miss Granger. You’ll need to brew a batch of your own. Amortentia can be fickle unless you present your own brew to someone else.â€
Woe is Romeo, Hermione chanted inwardly as she noticed how deftly Slughorn had sidestepped that obstacle without showing his cards. –Do we have all the ingredients on hand, sir?†she posed, welcoming the added challenge.
–Mostly. I’m certain Professor Sprout will let you harvest some rose petals from her private hothouse.â€
Hermione nodded eagerly. Neville had told her about the restricted greenhouse where the professor cultivated exotic flowers; but the closest she’d been to seeing it with her own eyes had been when she admired the vibrant bouquets that graced the Headmistress’ office.
–Did Harry happen to mention what rose varietal he used?†Slughorn posed.
–Bluebird.â€
–Really? I must give Miss Prewitt, er, Weasley, credit for knowing her subject.â€
–Isn’t that what you used when you brewed some for our class?â€
–Merlin, no!†Slughorn shuddered at the notion. –Peach or salmon are best used when young, uninitiated love is involved. I didn’t want to start a riot on my first day!â€
A week into the practical training, Harry was called into Dawlish’s office. The heavy door shut ominously behind him of its own accord.
Better to confront things head-on, Harry spoke up, –Is it something I’ve done?â€
–Do you see Bridgefort standing in the wings?†Dawlish shot back. –As Trainee Supervisor, he’d be present if you were scheduled for a dressing down.†The veteran Auror slid a leather dossier towards the edge of the desk. –Sit down and read it. Cover to cover.â€
–Shall I take it to my desk?â€
–Not this report. Still hasn’t been declassified.â€
–Then the other trainees…â€
– …are being motivated in a different manner. Please feel free to note any discrepancies you find in my report. None of the others were eyewitnesses to these events.â€
With trembling fingers, Harry turned the pages of the official dissection of the Battle of Hogwarts. The translation of those desperate moments into lifeless facts was just as flat as one of Binn’s lectures; yet with Dawlish’s meticulous examination of the wands, the disjointed memories of that nightlong battle threatened to suffocate him. So many details that his mind had been too exhausted to fully comprehend at the time.
Poor Parvati had suffered enough as his date to the Yule Ball; she hadn’t deserved such an ignoble death at the hands of a remorseless cur like Travers. Harry had seen the cruelty that lurked in the back of that blackguard’s eyes. At close quarters. Close enough to enslave him with an Imperius Curse. Why hadn’t he ordered the effing toerag to hide himself until the next millennium? Surely, there were crevasses within Gringotts to accommodate a snake like him.
Harry didn’t recognize the name of Cho’s killer, but that didn’t lessen the anguish he felt over another young life snuffed out. Her tremulous smile dissolved into Colin Creevey’s effusive grin. That one had always been more than willing to tackle anything that came his way.
So Bellatrix had been saddled with the Dark Lord’s own wand in the end. He felt a surge of anger that the vile witch had killed her own niece. Probably taunted poor Tonks at the end, too -- but no official inquiry could ever unearth such minutia. How differently that confrontation might have played if the enemy had known that Harry’s phoenix-core wand had been hanging in pieces.
The interrogation of Avery and Macnair was nothing but a recitation of facts already supplied by Lucius Malfoy. Harry could just imagine the unsavory pair’s frustration at Malfoy agreeing to assist Kingsley’s administration. Then it jumped out at him from the transcript: Scabior snarling that Lucius had managed to circumvent the worst of the fighting.
–That blighter was licking his wounds when the
ramparts were being demolished by an army of clumsy
giants. Left the rest of our flank to dodge the falling
boulders. Then Dolohov got a lucky break. On the other
side of a crumbling gallery, he comes face to face with the
werewolf, bold as brass.â€
The interviewer clarified: –Do you mean Fenrir
Greyback?â€
–Naw,†Scabior scoffed. –The other one. The one who
thought himself better than all the rest.â€
–I’ll need a name for the official register,†the interviewer
urged.
Scabior gave a strangled laugh. –Expect you would.
Antonin waved the rest of us away, claiming he had a
score to settle with this Lupin fellow. Took him a while to
gain the upper hand, only to be cut down by that tiny
professor not…â€
Harry knew the rest. He’d been there in that makeshift arena, battling Voldemort while others continued to fight along the periphery. He’d always had a vague idea of how those events had unfolded; his imagination had certainly dredged up enough variations in the intervening months. But seeing it in stark black and white was another thing all together.
He tossed the offending pages to the floor as he slammed his other fist against the wall. The sting of unyielding stone was nothing compared to the pain that rose like a tidal wave to blind him.
–Was that really necessary?†he railed at Dawlish’s dispassionate features. –COULDN’T YOU HAVE FOUND A MORE SUITABLE WAY TO TELL ME THAT MY CLOSEST…†His voice caught as the full import of the loss broke over him.
–Hate me if you will,†the seasoned Auror returned gruffly. –But you had a right to know.†The sound of shuffling papers indicated the man had picked up the damnable report and placed it back on his desk. –And, yes, you did need to learn of it in this manner. Think of me as an uncaring bastard, but now you’ll be able to call forth that rage if you have cause to dispatch an opponent in the line of duty. The most unforgivable curse of all calls for a malignant show of dark magic. Anything less and you’ll become the victim instead.â€
In a quieter tone, Dawlish continued, –Don’t you think the other trainees have suffered personal losses of their own? Not as catastrophic perhaps, but everyone’s family was touched by this dark war. As cruel as our methods may seem to you right now, I assure you that no trainee Auror escapes this step in his training. Bridgefort was so certain that you’d never be able to work with him again that he asked me to intervene. Was he correct?â€
Harry shook his head morosely. Dawlish was right to some extent: he hated them all right now. The entire ruddy Auror Department, down to the janitors who cleaned the corridors at night.
But most of all, he hated himself.
In his mind’s eye, the craggy face of Antonin Dolohov swam into focus, the man’s unkempt beard shining violet in that sickly fluorescent light. He’d had the tosser at wandpoint, for Godric’s sake! And how had he responded? Administered a pathetic memory wipe as if the lowlife was nothing but a hapless Muggle who’d ventured too far afield.
Not even that! Hermione had been the one to scramble Dolohov’s memories. He’d just stood there and watched. Merlin, he was useless. If he had any gumption, he would’ve made that skunk choke down the cappuccino in that squalid cafe. He doubted there was any antidote.
But no, he’d trussed the blighter up like a prize turkey! How’s that for courage in the face of adversity?
Never had cause and effect stood out in such stark reality. If only he’d cut Dolohov down, no one would have questioned whether it was self-defense. Instead, he’d let the opportunity slide through his fingers like a slippery Snitch.
For the first time, Harry understood -- really understood -- how Sirius and Remus had felt when confronted with Pettigrew’s twitchy features. No wonder their first impulse had been to kill the traitor right there in the Shrieking Shack. But Harry’d derailed that as well, erring on the side of…caution? Certainly not mercy. No, it had been an aching curiosity to know the truth. About his parents. About himself. Perhaps so that his godfather could finally find some fairness in a world gone mad.
Had that also been a pivotal moment in his life? Had everything hung in the balance as he dissuaded Sirius and Remus? Would it have been an act of revenge or justice? Moral compasses are impossible to calibrate in a time of war.
Or had it been inevitable that Wormtail would escape his captors that night? Pettigrew’s presence had been instrumental in Voldemort’s resurrection, there was no denying that.
Had it all hinged on Trelawney’s prophecy after all? Bugger that! Dumbledore had told Harry that the Hall of Prophecies was filled with predictions that never came to pass.
Well, there certainly hadn’t been any prophecies centering on his escape from Bill’s wedding. No instrument of Fate to circumvent free will on Tottenham Court Road. Would taking the less ruthless path continually backfire on him?
Some Chosen One he’d turned out to be….
Harry’s shoulders were still shaking with silent sobs when he felt Dawlish’s presence hovering nearby. –Take the rest of the week off, Harry. Go spend time with family and friends. And please don’t tender your resignation just yet. Believe me, we’ve all stood in your shoes.â€
Whatever else, Harry was determined to avoid sharing his anguish with Andromeda. Despite Dawlish’s advice about family, seeing little Teddy tonight would just be too painful. If ever there was an occasion to slip into his stores of Dreamless Sleep Draught….
Instead, he confided in Mrs. C who was still at her desk when he let himself into the flat. One look at his haggard face and she set the kettle on. Then added a measure of brandy to his cup for sweetening.
–Care to talk about it?†she offered.
Harry shook his rumbled head. –Nightmares made real,†he muttered.
–The Unforgivables,†she commiserated. –It never gets any easier, you know. Best thing to do is to engross your mind in something else. You got a reply from Hogwarts today. It was Hermione that you wished to collaborate with, wasn’t it?â€
Harry nodded absently, but his eyes lit up at the bundled parchment that was wound with simple twine. Not only had Hermione agreed to his proposal, it looked like she had outlined a prospectus already.
Her words sprang to life from the page, the loopy stokes of her quill conveying her pent up excitement. In his mind, he could hear her voice running at breakneck speed as it did when she get caught up in a new concept.
He was relieved that Hermione hadn’t thought his idea fell too much into that nebulous ‘grey’ area: not exactly Dark Arts, but underhanded enough to question the motives of anyone who employed such duplicity. Granted, much of what the Auror Department did in order to bring dark wizards to account could be considered ambiguous. At least Hermione had matured enough to not see everything in black and white as she had done during her first months at Hogwarts.
Energized, Harry grabbed a stray bit of parchment and scrawled a hasty reply. No, this weekend was not too soon. As it happened, he had some free time. He didn’t need advance warning; Molly wouldn’t give it a second thought that there would be two of them at his Saturday morning tutorial. Why she’d be thrilled that he’d been inspired to take his Potions lessons to the next level.
He dashed off his signature and neatly rolled the note into a thin cylinder. Then with dismay, he remembered he no longer owned an owl. –Mrs. C?†he cried.
In the next heartbeat, he sprang to his feet. Vaguely Harry recalled telling her that he wasn’t in the mood for some greasy fish and chips and to go on without him.
He Summoned his jacket and dashed out into the hallway in one fluid motion. Thank the stars that the stubborn woman insisted to taking the lift down to the lobby.
Luckily, the corridor was empty when he caused a sharp burst of air to catch the ‘down’ button. The hydraulics reacted in slow motion, rumbling the brass doors apart to reveal her surprised expression.
The words tumbled out of his mouth in a torrent, –I need to post my reply!â€
–Tonight?â€
He nodded. –I want it to be there with the morning post and Hogwarts is a good distance.â€
–Won’t find any post owls in this neighborhood,†Mrs. C acknowledged as the lift doors eased shut. –Diagon Alley would be your best bet.â€
–Doesn’t that post office close --â€
–I was thinking of the Leaky Cauldron,†she cut across. –Tom always keeps a few cages in the back room for emergencies.â€
He didn’t question how she knew. It would be a brisk mile walk, but he knew better than to suggest they Apparate. The night air would help to clear his head anyway.
–About your suggestion for dinner…â€
–Yes?â€
–After we post the letter, what say we duck into that Thai establishment on Charing Cross Road?â€
–The one that’s always thronged with Muggles?â€
He could tell by the lift of her eyebrows that she was intrigued. –You always say you don’t get much opportunity for spicy food. My treat.â€
–Have any pound notes on you?†she posed pragmatically as they exited into the lobby.
Harry’s eager steps ground to a halt. How could he have forgotten that minor detail?
She chuckled deep in her throat. –Just be glad I was all set to stop by the grocer’s tomorrow. You can add it to my next paycheck.â€
Anticipation filled Hermione like a drug, crowding out the last strands of nervousness at something new and untried. She would have to tread very carefully to keep this clinical trial, for that’s what it surely was, from being biased by her overwhelming desire for success. It wasn’t as if she was competing with Harry, but she would need to catch him unawares. Hardly the easiest of tasks when he’d be trying to do the same to her.
Here’s where her thorough knowledge of her subject could be put to use, but she had to guard against revealing her true intentions with the slightest nuance. Harry was not Ron, she reminded herself forcibly. He wouldn’t be lost in his own cozy world; oh no, he’d be on the lookout for her first misstep.
She couldn’t risk any allies, she decided. Neither Molly nor Andromeda could be forewarned. Hopefully, they’d have enough sense not to interfere; but if they did, she’d have to take that into account. Weaving a layered plot with so many intricacies was not within her nature; luckily Professor Slughorn had insisted on reviewing her experimental protocols earlier that day.
–I can’t poison him outright,†she’d begun. –Not only it is unethical, but also dangerous.â€
–Food allergies are nothing to be trifled with -- even with an antidote at hand,†Slughorn concurred. –But who’s to say you have to go that far?â€
–How else can I establish that love can lead someone to ignore a potentially life-threatening situation?â€
–Perception versus reality, it’s the crux of the Amortentia Potion. If he’s just willfully consumed something he thinks is bound to make him ill, that alone is confirmation that the spell has overridden his common sense.â€
–In other words, it doesn’t have to be true. He just has to think it is.â€
–Precisely,†Slughorn smiled. –Isn’t that what a love spell does?â€
She concentrated on her objective as she descended the steps leading from the Entrance Hall. Even in the dim corridor, the colors from the over-sized bowl of fruit seemed particularly garish after the battle scars had been repaired. The pear responded to her touch almost immediately. With a hammering heart, she pulled the door handle leading into the cavernous kitchens below the Great Hall.
With the supper hour long past, the archways in the low ceiling created even deeper shadows. The ruddy glow from the immerse hearth set the burnished copper pans to glowing like miniature suns. The restful silhouettes of house-elves relaxing at cards was disrupted the moment they caught sight of her.
–Oh, miss,†they implored, encircling her from all sides. –Is it a bedtime snack you’re after?â€
–The Head Girl has to keep her strength up if she’s to study into the night…â€
–Craving sweet or salty?â€
–How about a combination of both?â€
–Oh my,†Hermione tendered softly, –I hadn’t expected to disturb so many of you…â€
–It’s no bother, miss,†an authoritative elf insisted as a snap of his long fingers lit the lantern above their heads. –Magnum at your service. Perhaps a spot of tea?â€
Before he’d even completed the sentence, a delicate porcelain pot and mug appeared soundlessly before her.
–Sugar or lemon?†inquired a robust elf who introduced herself as Pinny.
–Milk, if it’s not…†A small jug appeared next to the teapot.
–A favorite of the Headmistress,†an elderly elf gave her a toothy smile, sliding a plate brimming with warm ginger snaps.
–Thank you,†Hermione accepted genially, beginning to feel overwhelmed with the attention. –I feel silly drinking alone…â€
–It’s not proper, miss,†Pinny simpered.
–Yet, I can see you were all sipping from mugs of your own when I walked in,†Hermione observed.
Therein followed a hasty conference accompanied by much mutterings and a fair amount of arm waving. In the end, the taller elf bowed lowly before her, –We have decided to compromise by joining you at table, miss. This kitchen is home to us elves, but it can be off putting to outsiders.â€
–Spooky…†an ancient elf crooned at her elbow as he hoisted himself onto a stool.
–Now don’t go giving her nightmares, Cretin,†Pinny scolded from the other side.
–Just one look at ‘im,†a youngish elf sniggered.
–Watch yer manners, Pitch,†Magnum warned sternly, taking the lead once more.
Hermione’s smiled winningly into the gallery of protuberant eyes which surrounded her. Honestly, it was a bit like the glowing orbs of the nocturnal lemur colony at the Regent’s Park Zoo.
–I came to offer you something in trade,†she began. –Especially seeing how busy your days are.†She ignored the mumbles of disquiet as she withdrew a bundle from her book bag. Carefully, she laid out her collection of knitting needles and numerous balls of brightly colored yarn. –It was a misguided hobby of mine and I wish to give it up,†she offered in all humbleness.
Magnum nodded solemnly as he raised his luminous eyes to hers. –And in return?†he pressed.
–I need your assistance with an assignment, a somewhat unorthodox endeavor.â€
–Never been much for book learnin’,†Cretin tendered.
–I was hoping you’d bake me a pair of pies,†Hermione elaborated. –I’ve the recipe right here. But you must be sure to use these two ceramic dishes from my mother’s kitchen.†It was essential that Harry think the pies were her own handiwork.
Magnum’s gaze washed over the recipe. –All the ingredients are on hand, except for these nuts in the crust. Could we substitute almonds perhaps?â€
–Perfect!†Hermione agreed. –I was counting on it, as a matter of fact. My friend has a bit of an allergy.â€
Pinny leaned over to review the instructions for herself. –Don’t you worry, miss. My first mistress couldn’t digest pine nuts, either, though she loved the taste. The teeniest pinch of anise seeds ground up with the almonds and the unique flavor is preserved.â€
With many words of gratitude, Hermione accepted a stack of shortbread cookies cut in the shape of Scottish terriers. The elves insisted she take enough to share with her dorm mates.
Returning the next evening, she was surprised to find three pies waiting for her. Two were the lemony ricotta cheesecakes that Harry’d introduced her to in Greece, but the other was unexpected.
–Treacle tart, miss,†Cretin offered with a wide grin. –A little bird told us…â€
–Don’t be such a romantic fool,†Pitch admonished playfully. –The Potions Professor confirmed miss would be working with Harry Potter --â€
–-- and there was a bit of a stampede,†Pinny giggled.
–In the end there were more cooks than pies,†Magnum allowed with formality. –Some insisted that Harry Potter would never forsake his favorite treacle tart, so there you have it.â€
Hermione accepted the elves generosity with good grace. After having expanded a small evening bag to carry a full-sized wizarding tent, adapting her pie carrier to magically hold three pies was nothing.
Two days later found Hermione sitting in the damp basement of the Tonks residence. It was an unsettling combination of pantry and archaic laboratory that was surprisingly similar to how Muggles perceived a witch’s secret lair to be.
Aghast, she looked down at the pages of feverishly written words before her. –You are a worm, Harry Potter!†she hissed.
Across the room, Molly Weasley looked up from the pastel baby jacket and booties that her three sets of magical needles were crocheting before her.
Hermione ignored the startled expression on Molly’s face. Concentrate on your knitting, Grandmomma; nothing to see here. The woman wouldn’t be issuing any reprimands for objectionable language; Hermione would see to that. Profanity was the refuge of the unimaginative.
–No, make that a paramecium that spawns among the refuse of all the higher life forms,†she seethed. Her face burned with shame as she hastily turned the parchment face down before her.
Her reaction just made Harry’s lips curl into a self-satisfied smirk.
Feeling as if her head would explode, Hermione added, –Or better yet, the slime from which your primordial ancestors crawled belly-first onto dry land!â€
Her eyes narrowed with pent up rage as Harry grinned even wider. A carved turnip on All Hallow’s Eve wouldn’t dare look so cheeky!
Ten minutes ago she would’ve done anything to please him, regardless of how insensitive and none-of-your-ruddy-stinking-business his demands had been. If he wanted to know every sordid detail of why she’d fallen for Ron, then she was only too willing to provide them; whatever it took to convince him that it was all behind her. How could she resist his sparkling emerald eyes?
But the antidote had taken care of bringing her back to reality.
Harry reached for the parchment only to have her snatch it out of his reach. –Don’t you dare! You’ve no right to any of that!â€
–How will I know…†he began to protest only to have her cut across.
–You’ll just have to take my word for it!†she railed back.
–Not a very scientific approach,†Molly noted from the sidelines.
Hermione felt the color burn all the way down to her hair follicles. She wasn’t about to share any of that with Ron’s mother, of all people! At least Harry’d had the decency to whisper his request into her ear so no one would overhear.
–It’s all right.†Harry gave a wry laugh. –The i’s dotted with little hearts was enough to convince me.â€
–Don’t fret, dear,†Molly remarked. –I was once a silly schoolgirl myself, you know.†Her light-hearted laugh just made Hermione wish that much more that she could strangle Harry with her bare hands.
–Hermione just doesn’t like being compared to Lavender Brown is all,†Harry teased, jumping out of her reach.
She considered sending a well-aimed Incendio towards the backside of his trousers. –There’s still time to turn the tables,†she warned under her breath, rewarded when Harry glanced nervously in Molly’s direction.
–Anything I should know about?†he mouthed so only she could hear. His penetrating look conveyed so much more.
Catching his import, she shook her head to the negative. Her relationship with Ron had been relatively chaste. Nothing in her fervid confessions would’ve caused an uproar, but it was still achingly personal. Harry and Ginny, on the other hand… Given half a chance, she could make Molly’s eyebrows retreat into her hairline.
He stopped her before she could plot revenge. –You had your best shot at me already. And terror trumps embarrassment any day. Had me convinced I’d gone into a full-blown allergic reaction. I actually saw the hives erupt all over my face in the mirror!â€
Hermione couldn’t help giggling. He’d been so gullible really. One shot of love potion and he was falling all over himself to sample the cheesecake she’d baked –herself†the night before. Then she’d feigned shock at his reaction and apologized for grabbing the wrong colored dish in her haste that morning. Surely, he didn’t think she’d forget about his pine nut allergy! She’d even produced an epinephrine injector pen she’d taken from her parents’ first aid kit.
–Admit it,†Molly interjected. –You both managed to prank each other admirably. Now shake hands like good sports and write up your results. As far as I can tell, both potions and antidotes worked perfectly.â€
–Thanks for the compliment,†Hermione mumbled as she hastily stuffed the accursed parchment into her satchel. Before Harry could protest, she added, –It’s not as if anyone else witnessed your imaginary hives. If all I have to go on is your reaction; you’ll do fine just to document the same for me. Don’t make me the laughing stock of the school, please.â€
Wordlessly Harry agreed, saving her from having to explain about the harridans from Slytherin who’d pounce at the chance to spread unsavory rumors about the Head Girl. –I’ll consider the treacle tart an apology of sorts,†he allowed.
–You needn’t have worried, neither of you,†Molly announced proudly. –I had a handy box of bezoars in case of an emergency.â€
–Would that have worked with an allergic reaction?†Hermione inquired as her innate curiosity rose to the fore.
–Don’t see why not,†Molly supplied. –An allergy is just another term for something that poisons the body of those who can’t tolerate it.â€
Hermione couldn’t fault the logic there, although she doubted that an epi pen could be used to counteract a magical poison.
–What are you playing at, Potter?†The folder landing atop Harry’s desk was like a slap to the face.
–I’m not sure,†he stammered, uncertain what had gotten Stu Savage so riled.
–Don’t play coy with me,†Savage snarled as his finger poked at the topmost sheet in an accusatory manner. –Did someone forge your signature?â€
Refusing to be intimidated, Harry took his time reviewing the pages before him. A few paragraphs in, he recognized Hermione’s rephrasing of their potions project. Savage had a copy of the version she’d turned in for Professor Slughorn’s approval.
Harry met the older man’s eyes evenly. –My partner revved up the wording when she presented it to her potions instructor. She always goes the extra mile to impress her teachers; that’s why she’s Head Girl.â€
Dawlish stuck his head around the partition. No doubt to check if wands had been drawn, Harry thought wryly.
–I think Stu here is mostly concerned that this study has been registered as your intellectual property. The stamp from the Ludicrous Patents Office is unmistakable.†Dawlish directed Harry’s attention to the small, embossed square with a cartoon wizard shaking his head. –Stu went to register it for our use and was rebuffed.â€
–I have no concerns if the Auror Department wants to build on my ideas,†Harry supplied. –Why would I have brought it up otherwise? As a back-up method to Veritaserum it makes perfect --†His mind’s eye dredged up Hermione’s woeful face as she’d apologized for mixing up the two pies. Anyone in his right mind would’ve realized she was setting him up to take the mickey, but the love potion has addled his brain to the point that he was thoroughly malleable.
–How will you overcome a detainee’s reluctance?†Dawlish posited. –They’re naturally suspicious of anything we do.â€
–It’s all there in the summary.†Harry patted the manuscript for emphasis. –Twice I was befuddled enough to ignore the truth that my brain was yelling at me. Once when I continued eating something I suspected would make me violently ill; and secondly, when my friend insisted she had switched the pies in error. Trust me, anyone consuming a love potion before questioning will want to pour out their darkest secrets just on the promise of a smile.â€
–Copyrighting your work is the height of arrogance!†Savage argued.
–The patent prevents Stu from having your project declared for our exclusive and confidential use,†Dawlish elaborated. –A necessary first step, I’m afraid.â€
–I’m certain my project partner won’t mind,†Harry mollified. –I can send her an owl -- â€
–That won’t be necessary just yet,†Dawlish interceded.
–I’d like to know why this whelp is yanking our chain,†Savage grumbled. –Why dangle this morsel before us, eh, Potter? Isn’t the salary they pay you enough?â€
–I think that’s the true issue, Potter. Aurors work for the good of wizardkind in general. Your action seems a bit, well, self-serving.†Above his smile, Dawlish’s eyes were as unyielding as steel.
–Such actions would befit a Slytherin to the core, yet didn’t you always market yourself as a Gryffindor?†Savage taunted. –Switching sides on us, Harry-Boy?â€
–Ah, Bridgefort, how nice of your to join us,†Dawlish issued as the Supervisor of Training eased himself into the already cramped cubicle. –Have to wonder if you’re giving this lad too much leeway in completing his studies if he has time to register a patent right under our very noses.â€
–Is this true, Harry?†Ben Bridgefort’s thick eyebrows pinched in surprise. –I thought you wanted to be one of us.â€
–I do,†Harry insisted. –I truly didn’t mean to ruffle any feathers. Registering the patent was the last segment of Hermione’s assignment, a condition imposed by Professor Slughorn who personally accompanied her to the Patents Office. All I did was sign where instructed.â€
Hermione had also recounted that Slughorn had been intent on grandstanding before one of his former pupils in the Ludicrous Patents Office. –It was almost as if he was trying to flirt with that Vermillion woman,†she’d confided. –Ugh, she could be Rita Skeeter’s younger sister with her long, lacquered nails.†But Harry wasn’t about to relay that portion of the tale to his superiors.
–Of course,†Dawlish relented, –I remember Horace well. A bit of a dinosaur, really, but totally harmless. That explains the Slytherin tactics.â€
–Must’ve been before my time,†Ben confided directly to Harry. –Can’t imagine Severus Snape getting so personally involved in a student’s assignment. Not unless his collection of medieval crucibles had been disturbed, that is; what else would the man use for his afternoon tea?â€
The chorus of dry chuckles helped to dissipate the charged atmosphere enough for Harry to concede, –Look, gentlemen, if it’s so much of a problem, you’re under no obligation to use my ideas.â€
–But they very much want to capitalize on your inspiration,†the mellow tones of Gawain Robards came from beyond the wall of dark suits.
Hastily, Bridgefort backed out to allow the Head Auror to join the conclave.
There was a grim twist to Robards’ lips as he added, –They just don’t want to have to do the paperwork to obtain the requisite appropriation. As for the patent, I suspect Horace was guaranteeing that all parties to the discovery got due recognition. He may come off as a pompous buffoon at times, but the man is extraordinarily fair-minded. Take it from someone who knows: I was in Slytherin back in the days when he was my Head of House.â€
–Begging your pardon, sir,†Savage protested, –but we shouldn’t have to pay an employee as if he were an outside consultant.â€
–Perhaps not,†Robards countered, –but I warrant Harry here didn’t test his potion hypothesis on our premises -- nor did he use ingredients from our storerooms, either.â€
Robards shot Harry a warning look to stay silent. It was not common knowledge that a portion of his tutors’ wages were being paid directly by the Ministry. Kingsley had insisted that Harry was entitled to the same paid education he would’ve gotten at Hogwarts; otherwise, the wizarding world would fall short of their obligation to him.
Dawlish gave a resigned shrug. –I’ll get started on the proposal to justify the added expense. In the future, do try to earn a rise in the normal fashion, Potter. The savings in paperwork alone will endear you to your co-workers.â€
Within moments, the high-powered Aurors emptied out of Harry’s cubicle, leaving the air quivering with electricity. It took the bewildered lad a few extra minutes to conclude that the Ministry of Magic had just offered to pay Hermione and him for the use of their ideas.
Now he would finally be able to offer Mrs. C that rise in salary she so richly deserved.