“beyond wandpoint” 080a by gingerbred
“11 11t Tuesday - Evening in the Castle” Part 1
Hermione, the Bloody Baron, Neville 7G, Irma Pince, Theo Nott 7S, Daphne Greengrass 7S, Dennis Creevey 4G, Hunter Hutchinson 4S, Ella Wilkins 6S, Harper Hutchinson 6S, Pansy Parkinson 7S, Newton Kurz 4H, David Chang 4R, misc Ravenclaws 4R, Albus Dumbledore, Portrait Phineas Nigellus Black, Portrait Dilys Derwent
Mentioned: Ron 7G, Peeves, Professor Minerva McGonagall, Colin Creevey 6G, Kevin 'Kev' Peterson 5G, Harry 7G, Ginny 6G, Romilda Vane 5G, Dhanesh Devi 6G, Kiera Kilkenny Devi 6G, Tracey Davis 7S
Originally Published: 2018-07-06 on AO3
Chapter: 080 part 1
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.
Hermione stalks from the Headmaster's office muttering dark things about insufferable men and stupidity. There's not nearly as much feeling to it as there would have been without the Draught, but she's still rather annoyed. At least on principle. There's a certainty now that the real annoyance will come later, and how, and as with most things, she's endeavouring to get a jump on it.
The results aren't remotely satisfactory, but presumably healthier than the alternative.
It's almost impossible to become particularly irritated on Peace, not that it stops her from trying. Not at all. In that, she's almost a model Gryffindor. The generally accepted impossibility of a thing is hardly an argument against attempting it in the Tower. But she's left with a feeling she should be brimming with righteous indignation that just... doesn't seem to want to take shape.
That would probably be irksome, she can't help thinking, were she capable of being irked. Obviously, were she capable of being irked, she probably wouldn't have to be annoyed about not being more annoyed either. She decides the Draught takes some getting used to, and resolves to stop fighting it as much. Somehow this seems to be defeating the point.
The stupidity bothering her right at the moment, of course, in stark contrast with that which had actually irked her no end when she began her trip to Professor Dumbledore's rooms, is purely her own. She can't believe she's been taken in by the wizened, conniving old...
Well, yes. Him.
Hardly speaks for her to have fallen for that.
Again.
Later when she's lying in bed, after the Peace has worn off, and she's failing to fall asleep, she'll draw the comparison between herself and the Professor and be hard pressed to say which of the two of them had demonstrated more stupidity today. It really was a close thing. Her frustration with her own unsatisfactory performance, however, will tip the scales in his favour. It had truly been a poor showing on her part. Very sad indeed.
Had she not had the Draught in her currently, had she been more upset, perhaps her muttering would have been more explicit, she might have gone into just a little more detail. As it is, the Baron, who floats along invisibly beside her will draw a few incorrect conclusions about the men who've upset the witch this evening and just whose stupidity she might mean.
Closed mouth individual that he is, it goes without saying - much as his thoughts, in fact - that that won't become all too apparent as he keeps his own counsel in this as in most things. Which isn't to say it won't provide the motivation to... manage certain situations as he proceeds to in the days to come.
Quite thoroughly distracted by her thoughts, Hermione's steps never falter as she enters the library, and the Baron is pleased to note she hadn't hesitated. He supposes he... hopes...
Yes, it does feel a little like hope, he thinks.
Well, then he hopes she won't allow recent events to sour her on the facility. He suspects that would be a grave misfortune for the apparently quite studious bondmate of the Head. The very fact she had been on her way to the library when the initial incident occurred, on a Friday evening it should be noted, would seem to speak to that scholarly nature.
He approves.
He settles in to wait for her to reemerge. He has no... plans for the evening until the Slytherin Prefects begin their patrols. He had happened to overhear a couple of Hufflepuffs making arrangements to... meet in one of the alcoves after curfew; he expects that should prove... fruitful. The portraits have reported that Peeves has made himself at home in the vicinity of the Gryffindor tower. He suspects he knows why, and after the disgraceful display on the part of certain Estrays today, he is more than willing to let that... play itself out.
In fact, if that situation continues overlong, he may have to encourage Peeves to... keep his focus.
Peeves is capable of focusing on a thing with all the sharpness of a damascene blade the Baron had once owned - not that he can think of it without a still perceptible flinch - and yet the poltergeist is every bit as capable of forgetting his business from one minute to the next. In this, although presumably very different in nature and certainly in capabilities, Peeves is not that different to the Baron, the Friar, or even Miss Ravenclaw, not that the Baron likes to think of... her.
This ghostly diffusion, this drifting of attention comes with age, and they are all... quite old. But with a bit of concentration, with a modicum of encouragement, well, Peeves' attention can be directed, much as his own can.
No, if the thoroughly objectionable idiocy from today is ongoing, if the harassment of the witch doesn't cease, he will personally see to motivating the Poltergeist.
He can be... convincing.
The Baron almost smiles to himself as he floats there. Waiting.
Hermione eschews her usual seat to take one closer to the Restricted Section. Like a child (or certain Headmaster) banned from Honeydukes, she sits there for a few minutes staring at the books, so close and yet so far. She should have asked that Headmaster for a pass as soon as she entered his office, hang it all.
She puts the books she'd brought from chambers on the table before her, firmly resolved to answer the Professor's challenge to find a Charm to Banish Crook's fur. It may not be a matter of any great significance. She can think of a couple things she'd rather... No, a half a dozen. A half a dozen things she'd rather be pursuing...
For instance, right about now she'd really like to learn a new Privacy Charm, she thinks with some chagrin about the Baron's critique...
But the Professor had set her his task, and she means to do it. To... exceed his expectations. Except she's quite sure she hasn't done in as much as she hasn't solved the problem yet. That really doesn't seem like her.
What also doesn't seem like her is the difficulty she appears to be having trying to concentrate on her undertaking. Her attention drifts, and she's staring at the inaccessible books once more.
Right now she doesn't think she feels like asking the Headmaster for anything ever again. Undoubtedly, that feeling, too, will intensify without the Draught. She wonders how long her resolve will hold as she glances back to the spines of all the books she is certain, absolutely certain, hold the answer to any question she could dream of asking. This evening anyway. And then she wonders how much it would cost her to ask the Headmaster for a favour. She's not sure she can afford his price.
She really hasn't fared well against him these past few days.
She turns back to the books Professor Snape had selected for her and puts Luna's Searching Charm to thorough use.
It's surprisingly unhelpful this time.
Between fruitless searches for terms in the books and yearning glances at unattainable tomes, she finally has some quiet to think about things, and whether she wants to or not, she does. She finds her thoughts turning time and again to her reaction to Nott as she evaluates her encounter with the Slytherins in the corridor, if one can call observing passers-by an 'encounter'. (She decides she properly cannot, not that it stops her. Probably because it seemed that significant somehow. If she insists on being pedantic, and she usually does, it may have been more of a brush...)
She doesn't really understand her response.
This afternoon - after initial difficulties; she can admit it, it hadn't been instant - she had been able to conduct a conversation with Nott. She has no doubt Davis' and later Greengrass'... Daphne's presences had made a real difference. And yet for all the difference they had made, not long after, she'd accepted Nott's escort from Arithmancy to DADA, and the Slytherin witches were nowhere in sight. No, they weren't, and she'd actually had quite a lively discussion with him about Transfiguration. She has no doubt that Hannah's company was to thank for much of her ease during that exchange, but still...
Far more bizarrely, she'd allowed Nott, Malfoy and Goyle to escort her to Herbology. And here again, she's not entirely sure why she feels the need to emphasise 'Goyle' in her thoughts. He'd been no more eager to give her that Potion Friday than Nott had been.
No, the driving force had definitely been Crabbe, the one who'd brought the cursed stuff in the first place, and kept insisting... Her thoughts don't linger on Friday long, they generally don't if she can help it, quickly shifting to the far preferable memory of Crabbe in the corridor. She thinks of him crashing into the armour and the blood on his head with some satisfaction.
And even if Goyle hadn't put up as much resistance as Nott had... She allows that emphasis of hers, and her surprise at his assistance today, is probably the result of a long held prejudice she has against him. Not that that realisation will change much for the time being, that's asking too much, but it's probably a start.
It's not just Goyle, though. She really can't seem to stop throwing them all in one cauldron...
Albus casts a Tempus and sighs. He's tired, but not exhausted, which today makes for an improvement. Dinner will have helped. He'd forgotten how much teaching takes out of him. But there's nothing for it, it's time.
He rises and gives his office a quick once over, trying to decide if there's anything he should bring...
He doubts anything would help.
No. He has an irate Muggle parent to confront. If the owls sent today were any indication... The meeting won't be pleasant.
It can't be helped.
With a twist he once again makes use of the Headmaster's privileges and Disapparates on the spot.
"You shouldn't push him so," Dilys scolds Phineas from her portrait once Albus is gone. "You know how he gets."
"It needed doing," he objects. "He shouldn't have done that to her. And someone needed to say something," he complains with a pointed glance towards Armando's portrait where their colleague is pretending to sleep. He's usually so quick to accuse others of shirking, but somehow when it comes to Albus pulling yet another fast one, he suddenly holds his tongue. And, Phineas can't help thinking, especially when it's at the expense of a Slytherin, even if only by marriage...
"What's he going to do? Have me stashed in some dark cupboard?" Phineas chuckles. "Let him. I can wait until the next the next administration. I would ask that you be so kind as to remind them to fetch me at that time, however," he adds a mite superciliously. Besides, everyone always forgets his extra portrait in the Grand Staircase. He's not particularly worried. Dilys just shakes her head in reproach. But then she's done that for decades now.
Phineas and Dilys move to continue their discussion over a friendly game of chess in Walter Aragon's and Brian Gagwilde's portrait, nudging the two wizards from the table to do so. They don't mind and are glad of the company. Walter's so glad of the visit, in fact, that he fetches a bottle of sparkling wine for the occasion, the vintage proves lovely, and soon they're in the midst of a vigorous game of fizz buzz.
They're still at it when Albus returns.
Searching for 'fur' had been beyond useless.
Hermione slouches a little but keeps at it.
'Vanish' is only mentioned in two of the four books, in both cases with regards to making unsightly spots disappear. And in the second book, it's also used in a... poetic bit of phrasing to charm collars to guard against the need to recover a lost pet, or at least simplify the process, as 'Crups have been known to vanish from time to time, heeding a call, the insightful owner might suppose, that mere witches and wizards cannot hear...'
Perhaps the frequency was just too high, she quips to herself in slight annoyance. It's her least favourite book of the bunch. She returns it to the bottom of the pile, but as she continues to apply the Searching Charm to that book, that gesture really doesn't do any more than make her feel better for a moment.
Some days, however, that's enough.
'Depulso' isn't mentioned at all, in any of them, she wonders if the Charm, assuming there is a Charm for Banishing fur, predates the actual Banishing Charm and therefore wasn't recorded with reference to a later Spell. She checks the publishing information, but no, the books are far too recent... Even if the Charm she's seeking had been created earlier, there's no reason not to describe it more sensibly in later works. At least not if one assumes a logical disposition on the part of the author.
That may be asking too much.
'Location' is used in only one of the books, but only in connection with a Spell that keeps housepets restricted to a specific location. 'Spot' is used in three of the four books. Repeatedly. In every instance she finds, it's either about those 'spots' in need of 'vanishing', or teaching one's Crup to go to his spot. Female Crups, she decides upon that discovery, must be born with the innate knowledge of how to do so, or... she decides she likes this version better, it's only the males who need to be put in their places.
That puts a slight smile on her face.
She wonders what term the fourth book uses instead of 'spot', and is curious enough to look. She consults the table of contents and flips to the chapter on house breaking one's pet. Ah. 'Stain'.
With the speed she can skim through a book, and the fact she's effectively limited her search to just these four books for starters, she'd almost definitely be better off working her way through them as she usually does. Naturally she doesn't. She couldn't explain it if she tried. She's committed to this approach, and she means to see it through. The fundamental problem with any of her searches is that it simply tells her to search any or all of the four preselected books. That's hardly exceedingly useful.
But Hermione can be stubborn.
Terribly late in the process, she has an idea. So late she finds it embarrassing. Or close enough; there's still the Draught after all. But it may have been as long as half an hour; that's how long it seemed...
She could consider that Luna, who had been using the Charm longer than Hermione has and knows a House full of people, or at least two years' worth, who do, hadn't thought of or known of this workaround either, but Hermione's not in the right frame of mind for thoughts like that. It's somehow easier to chastise herself.
Hermione uses a Geminio to duplicate each of the books. Geminios really aren't very reliable on wizarding texts. They have a tendency to not copy the actual Charm at all, and their texts fade far more rapidly than a typical duplication Spell would. Depending on the strength of the Protection Charms on the original works, within a few weeks one can find oneself left with mostly blank pages, and soon they, too, disappear.
But as Hermione doesn't need the copies for long, that scarcely matters. And as she doesn't know the names of the actual Charms anyway, she won't be searching for them. Casting a Notice-Me-Not, she sets about ripping the copies of the books into their component chapters and performs the Ravenclaws' Inquiro to search each of the sections in turn. In this way, she hopes to narrow down the section of the book she needs to read. She can always refer to the original for the details of the Spell once she finds it.
She's been at it for almost an hour, resolutely searching for the Charm that may or may not exist with regular stops to stare wistfully at the books she isn't permitted to access, and all of her musings about the Slytherins leave Hermione uncertain how to act on the Baron's recommendation. And that immediately leads to her being uncertain if it's fair to even call it that. He really hadn't advised her to take any specific action...
He'll be correct, of course; she thinks she's learnt that much. If he says this was an opportunity, then that will be the case. And she doesn't feel right about just ignoring that...
So what was the problem earlier?
It might be more accurate to say her reaction hadn't been to Nott, but to a small handful of Slytherins. All cats are grey in the dark... Ultimately, the dim lighting, the empty corridor, being outnumbered, Hutchinson's physical violence - even though she agreed with the sentiment and the use of Crabbe as a target absolutely and completely - it had left her uneasy.
She's entitled to be.
And she doesn't have the greatest opinion of Hutchinson, although she's not exactly sure why. Honestly, she hardly knows him; he's a year behind her and as such, they've never had a single class together. There've been virtually no dealings at all. It's just Quidditch stuff really. Nothing concrete. Things Ron or Harry had said. They don't like him, so she doesn't like him by association. The transitive properties of disliking... Because those two are proving such excellent judges of character. Such paragons of virtue...
She sighs.
She imagines she'd responded, as viscerally as she can right now anyway, to the Baron's use of the word 'vouch'. Clearly 'vouching' for any of the Snakes was an ask too far... But possibly, even if she can't actively shore up Nott's position, she could avoid undermining it. If she doesn't have to initiate anything herself, perhaps she can see her way clear to not rebuffing any supportive overtures.
That seems... wise.
Heavens, with the way things have been going, she doesn't even feel like she can vouch for her friends....
Which is when Neville arrives.
Theo returns from dinner with the others. 'Others' doesn't include the rest of the seventh year boys tonight; he was the only one of them who'd gone to the Great Hall for supper. He'd gotten a lot of contemplative looks from pretty much everyone else in their House; it's like they're trying to see into his soul. Harper was absolutely right, this is probably going to be a problem, a very real problem, and Theo has no idea what any of it is about.
No, what he has is the thin hope that none of this was his fault. He's sort of eager to reassure his Housemates that he's innocent of... he doesn't know what, but it's proving difficult as no one, including himself, seems to have any idea what had happened.
'Whatever it was, I didn't do it...' Blanket reassurances don't carry any weight, particularly as the older students have all worked out that he honestly has no way of knowing if he contributed to this mess or not.
And what a mess it is.
He's never known anyone to get bonded before, none of them have, and this all seems an incredibly extreme response to... Well, again, to whatever it was that no one seems to know anything about.
Just perfect.
He means to work on Friday's Arithmancy assignment. Tracey and Daphne are still willing to talk to him, to work with him on it, for which he's grateful. Not because he needs their help, quite the opposite, he often has to explain the material to Daphne, but he's happy for their company and the tacit moral support it provides. At least those two seem inclined to believe in him. So that's, what? Two out of sixty-five? Two and a half, if he can sort of count Harper. He's off to a flying start then. How lucky he's got a good broom...
He plans on joining the girls in the common room, but he needs to get his text from his room first. He enters quietly, not wishing to disturb his roommates, although he sort of wonders if he even could at this point. Draco, at least, should be thoroughly Noxed. Dead to the world. He's not sure Blaise and Gregory will be doing so very much better.
He has a bit of food Protegoed in his robes that he'd brought along for them for later. That small kindness had gone over well after lunch, and he'd liked the feeling very much. He's feeling a lot less confident now, though, after the Serpents and everyone's resultant misgivings. And looking around the room, he sort of doubts any of the three will be up to eat before breakfast, which renders the gesture rather useless.
Well, he'd tried, not that the thought counts for much.
It's probably more accurate to say they won't be up unless someone helps them out. But no one in the House has Pain-Relief, that avenue is closed - Merlin knows, they'd spent all weekend trying to scrounge some up for their migraines, which he's begun to question - and even if they had some, he can't believe they'd give it to the boys at this point. And going by the reactions he's getting from his Housemates, he very much doubts anyone will be applying any Healing Charms for them either.
There's not a whole lot he can do to help. He could perform a Rennervate, his is pretty good, but he suspects that would be more of a curse than a blessing. Draco would probably just demand that he Stupefy him for the night again; Theo really doesn't need that. No, the best course of action seems to be letting them sleep it off.
At least one of them is groaning fitfully as Theo slips through the room. He casts a faint Lumos on the off chance lighting a sconce would bother anyone after all and heads to his trunk at the foot of his bed to fetch the text. Maybe he'll review for Charms for tomorrow when he's done, but he's fairly well prepared. His homework lies finished with the materials he'll need in the morning. He tends to be organised that way. There are a great many things he has no control over whatsoever. So much so he often finds it terrifying. He tries very hard to control what he can.
He puts the food he'd brought back with him under a Stasis Charm on his night table. Just in case. Plus he hardly wishes to walk around with that in his pockets all evening. And that's when he notices the letter on his pillow.
Just as he hadn't questioned the Antispasmodic on his bedside table yesterday, he doesn't question the presence of the letter. That sort of thing leads to trouble, and he doesn't need any more of that. He doesn't ask from whom or why, only if it's safe. He can be a fairly cautious boy, and particularly after this evening's Serpents he's on guard. He casts a few Spells to detect any potential dangers.
Once he's convinced it poses no threat - and won't he laugh at himself bitterly later, much later, for the error of that assessment - he picks up the piece of parchment and discovers it's a letter from Narcissa Malfoy to her son. From the contents, he imagines Draco must have received it today somehow. Possibly it was hidden in some way in the letter he had from his mother this morning. That seems like something the Malfoys would do.
It doesn't take Theo long to read it.
And now he knows what had happened.
And desperately wishes he didn't.
How on earth could he have thought knowing would help? He's an idiot. A fool of the greatest magnitude.
He knows now what led to the Muggle-born bondings. It all makes perfect sense. And no longer seems in the least like an overreaction. And he knows why their Head of House had been forced to bond Granger.
It's absolutely horrifying.
It appears Draco had been correct, Professor Snape had indeed 'paid his respects' to their parents last night. And he had had to tell them how the seventh year boys had kidnapped a Muggle-born classmate Friday night and forced her to take a phial of Liquid Lust.
He sinks down onto the bed as he reads it, letting out a sound normally associated with a badly wounded Crup.
It went on to say the Potion had been improperly brewed and was presumably ineffective. It also said the Head had arrived before anything else happened. Theo isn't really paying attention by that point. The only thing he learns from those lines is he can't have contributed significantly to... anything remotely praiseworthy. That had been down to providence and the Head. He can't begin to imagine, doesn't want to begin to imagine what he himself could have been doing there to begin with.
The questions Mrs. Malfoy goes on to ask her son precisely mirror his own and have shot through his mind before he ever reads them. In fact, they don't go far enough.
Who bought the Potion? Why? He can't understand how they could do that to anyone, never mind someone they've sat cheek to jowl with all these years. They have their lucky stars to thank that the Potion was rubbish. Just what had they thought was going to happen? What had been their intentions? And what the hell was he doing in that room? Had he known about it, any of it when he joined them?
Why on earth had he gone?
The letter doesn't say who they'd...
It doesn't mention any names. He's not sure if the Head had even reported that aspect; Theo can imagine no one at the Manor would have cared.
He feels like he's been kicked in the chest by a Hippogriff, and he can't seem to get any air.
He begins to think of all the Muggle-born witches in their year. He's not entirely certain Mrs. Malfoy would have known enough details to have even gotten that right, that it was someone from their year. It could just have been a turn of phrase. He expands the list to include the sixth years.
And then he hopes like hell it wasn't anyone younger.
As though there were any consolation to be found in any of it.
He thinks he's going to lose his supper.
He sits there feeling nauseous for a few minutes and then succumbing to the battle over his body, makes a dash for the loo.
A few minutes and several Cleansing Charms later, he's back in his bed. He hides the letter in the drawer of his nightstand, applies a Notice-Me-Not for good measure, and then a rare Locking Charm on top of that. He may never open the drawer again. If he were capable of more rational thought at the moment, he'd probably have used a Permanent Sticking Charm, and then have had to ask himself why he didn't just Incendio the epistle. Probably because he knows he'll have to, want to talk to Draco about this in the morning.
He pulls the blanket over his head, and curls up into a little ball.
He can't stop the parade of faces he keeps seeing. If it was someone from their year, she'd been in a third of his core courses with him. And Merlin knows how many of the electives. Or how many of the N.E.W.T.s classes. He could be sitting next to her in all or none of his classes now.
He's taking eight. There's virtually no chance she wouldn't be in some of them. Perks, Smith, whatever, and Jones are two of the least strong Muggle-born students, and he still shares a class with both.
He resumes the whining sound he'd made before.
When Daphne comes looking for him a little while later, that's how she finds him, curled in the fetal position and whimpering.
"Theo?" She calls out to him softly, not eager to wake any of the others after the evening they've had. They'll need the rest. She's not at all sure why they hadn't taken Draco to the Infirmary really. Three Serpents! Merlin knows, that's where he belongs. But the others have told her she's being too soft.
She's wrestling with it.
It's hard to envision. Incredibly difficult. That her classmates could have done anything so terrible as to cause the Headmaster to force their Head to bond a Muggle-born student. She can't imagine anything that would warrant that. And no one has ever accused her of a lack of imagination.
She knows it's gotten...
It's not good out there. She's not an idiot. But that's out there. She can't picture that her classmates, her Housemates... Except of course it'll end up being her Housemates. It's not like 'they're' recruiting the Gryffindors... No. In the long run, these boys she's grown up with... But surely that was something that would happen much later? Not here? Not now.
She hears a low keening sound coming from a lump under Theo's covers and puts a gentle hand on it. "Theo?" She lifts the blanket to find her friend crying. "Theo? What's wrong?"
"You can't be in here, Daphne," he insists, wiping his face with the side of his arm. She uses a Tergeo and sorts it for him. He barely notices.
"Don't be silly, of course I can. If I couldn't be, I wouldn't be, obviously. It's still before curfew." That's more than just about her tendency to adhere to the rules, although she's generally quite mindful of them; there's a Charm in effect that guarantees she wouldn't be able to enter the boys' dormitories after curfew.
He sits up a little and begins to stare wildly around the room. Daphne, his friend, is all alone in a dark room with four of the five boys - he doesn't hesitate to count himself as one of their number - who had dosed a fellow student with an illicit Lust Potion just days ago. She needs to leave now. She can't be here.
"You have to go, Daphne. Leave. Now." There's something desperate about him that makes her a little worried. He seems to be missing, completely, that three of those boys are down for the count and he has never deliberately been anything remotely like a threat to much of anyone.
Daphne's also in much better shape to deal with him, with any of them just now than they are. He'd very likely have his arse handed to him on one of the house elves' fanciest platters if he even thought about giving her grief. Garnished with sprigs of parsley if she had any say. People forever underestimate the kind and good humoured types. Daphne's fast with her wand.
"Theo?"
"Now!" It sounds tortured. He's in quite a state. She assumes some of their House have - very unfairly - taken their anger with the other seventh years out on the only one available. It's very like Theo not to want her to suffer by association. He needs to keep clear of them until his roommates can take their deserved lumps. Until someone can sort this for him.
There are tears in his eyes again, and she doesn't think long before acting. Before he can realise it, she's pointed her wand at him and a moment later she's cast the Somnolence Charm. His lids become very heavy and he flops back onto his pillow. She comes over and tucks him in, removing his shoes with a tsking sound, wizards, stroking his cheek gently with the backs of her fingers and wishing him a good night. "Whatever it is, Theo, I'm sure it'll look better in the morning."
He's thankfully sound asleep before she leaves the room. It's probably just as well. His Housemates really weren't sure how to treat him anyway.
Hermione, the Bloody Baron, Neville 7G, Irma Pince, Theo Nott 7S, Daphne Greengrass 7S, Dennis Creevey 4G, Hunter Hutchinson 4S, Ella Wilkins 6S, Harper Hutchinson 6S, Pansy Parkinson 7S, Newton Kurz 4H, David Chang 4R, misc Ravenclaws 4R, Albus Dumbledore, Portrait Phineas Nigellus Black, Portrait Dilys Derwent
Mentioned: Ron 7G, Peeves, Professor Minerva McGonagall, Colin Creevey 6G, Kevin 'Kev' Peterson 5G, Harry 7G, Ginny 6G, Romilda Vane 5G, Dhanesh Devi 6G, Kiera Kilkenny Devi 6G, Tracey Davis 7S
Originally Published: 2018-07-06 on AO3
Chapter: 080 part 1
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.
Hermione stalks from the Headmaster's office muttering dark things about insufferable men and stupidity. There's not nearly as much feeling to it as there would have been without the Draught, but she's still rather annoyed. At least on principle. There's a certainty now that the real annoyance will come later, and how, and as with most things, she's endeavouring to get a jump on it.
The results aren't remotely satisfactory, but presumably healthier than the alternative.
It's almost impossible to become particularly irritated on Peace, not that it stops her from trying. Not at all. In that, she's almost a model Gryffindor. The generally accepted impossibility of a thing is hardly an argument against attempting it in the Tower. But she's left with a feeling she should be brimming with righteous indignation that just... doesn't seem to want to take shape.
That would probably be irksome, she can't help thinking, were she capable of being irked. Obviously, were she capable of being irked, she probably wouldn't have to be annoyed about not being more annoyed either. She decides the Draught takes some getting used to, and resolves to stop fighting it as much. Somehow this seems to be defeating the point.
The stupidity bothering her right at the moment, of course, in stark contrast with that which had actually irked her no end when she began her trip to Professor Dumbledore's rooms, is purely her own. She can't believe she's been taken in by the wizened, conniving old...
Well, yes. Him.
Hardly speaks for her to have fallen for that.
Again.
Later when she's lying in bed, after the Peace has worn off, and she's failing to fall asleep, she'll draw the comparison between herself and the Professor and be hard pressed to say which of the two of them had demonstrated more stupidity today. It really was a close thing. Her frustration with her own unsatisfactory performance, however, will tip the scales in his favour. It had truly been a poor showing on her part. Very sad indeed.
Had she not had the Draught in her currently, had she been more upset, perhaps her muttering would have been more explicit, she might have gone into just a little more detail. As it is, the Baron, who floats along invisibly beside her will draw a few incorrect conclusions about the men who've upset the witch this evening and just whose stupidity she might mean.
Closed mouth individual that he is, it goes without saying - much as his thoughts, in fact - that that won't become all too apparent as he keeps his own counsel in this as in most things. Which isn't to say it won't provide the motivation to... manage certain situations as he proceeds to in the days to come.
Quite thoroughly distracted by her thoughts, Hermione's steps never falter as she enters the library, and the Baron is pleased to note she hadn't hesitated. He supposes he... hopes...
Yes, it does feel a little like hope, he thinks.
Well, then he hopes she won't allow recent events to sour her on the facility. He suspects that would be a grave misfortune for the apparently quite studious bondmate of the Head. The very fact she had been on her way to the library when the initial incident occurred, on a Friday evening it should be noted, would seem to speak to that scholarly nature.
He approves.
He settles in to wait for her to reemerge. He has no... plans for the evening until the Slytherin Prefects begin their patrols. He had happened to overhear a couple of Hufflepuffs making arrangements to... meet in one of the alcoves after curfew; he expects that should prove... fruitful. The portraits have reported that Peeves has made himself at home in the vicinity of the Gryffindor tower. He suspects he knows why, and after the disgraceful display on the part of certain Estrays today, he is more than willing to let that... play itself out.
In fact, if that situation continues overlong, he may have to encourage Peeves to... keep his focus.
Peeves is capable of focusing on a thing with all the sharpness of a damascene blade the Baron had once owned - not that he can think of it without a still perceptible flinch - and yet the poltergeist is every bit as capable of forgetting his business from one minute to the next. In this, although presumably very different in nature and certainly in capabilities, Peeves is not that different to the Baron, the Friar, or even Miss Ravenclaw, not that the Baron likes to think of... her.
This ghostly diffusion, this drifting of attention comes with age, and they are all... quite old. But with a bit of concentration, with a modicum of encouragement, well, Peeves' attention can be directed, much as his own can.
No, if the thoroughly objectionable idiocy from today is ongoing, if the harassment of the witch doesn't cease, he will personally see to motivating the Poltergeist.
He can be... convincing.
The Baron almost smiles to himself as he floats there. Waiting.
Hermione eschews her usual seat to take one closer to the Restricted Section. Like a child (or certain Headmaster) banned from Honeydukes, she sits there for a few minutes staring at the books, so close and yet so far. She should have asked that Headmaster for a pass as soon as she entered his office, hang it all.
She puts the books she'd brought from chambers on the table before her, firmly resolved to answer the Professor's challenge to find a Charm to Banish Crook's fur. It may not be a matter of any great significance. She can think of a couple things she'd rather... No, a half a dozen. A half a dozen things she'd rather be pursuing...
For instance, right about now she'd really like to learn a new Privacy Charm, she thinks with some chagrin about the Baron's critique...
But the Professor had set her his task, and she means to do it. To... exceed his expectations. Except she's quite sure she hasn't done in as much as she hasn't solved the problem yet. That really doesn't seem like her.
What also doesn't seem like her is the difficulty she appears to be having trying to concentrate on her undertaking. Her attention drifts, and she's staring at the inaccessible books once more.
Right now she doesn't think she feels like asking the Headmaster for anything ever again. Undoubtedly, that feeling, too, will intensify without the Draught. She wonders how long her resolve will hold as she glances back to the spines of all the books she is certain, absolutely certain, hold the answer to any question she could dream of asking. This evening anyway. And then she wonders how much it would cost her to ask the Headmaster for a favour. She's not sure she can afford his price.
She really hasn't fared well against him these past few days.
She turns back to the books Professor Snape had selected for her and puts Luna's Searching Charm to thorough use.
It's surprisingly unhelpful this time.
Between fruitless searches for terms in the books and yearning glances at unattainable tomes, she finally has some quiet to think about things, and whether she wants to or not, she does. She finds her thoughts turning time and again to her reaction to Nott as she evaluates her encounter with the Slytherins in the corridor, if one can call observing passers-by an 'encounter'. (She decides she properly cannot, not that it stops her. Probably because it seemed that significant somehow. If she insists on being pedantic, and she usually does, it may have been more of a brush...)
She doesn't really understand her response.
This afternoon - after initial difficulties; she can admit it, it hadn't been instant - she had been able to conduct a conversation with Nott. She has no doubt Davis' and later Greengrass'... Daphne's presences had made a real difference. And yet for all the difference they had made, not long after, she'd accepted Nott's escort from Arithmancy to DADA, and the Slytherin witches were nowhere in sight. No, they weren't, and she'd actually had quite a lively discussion with him about Transfiguration. She has no doubt that Hannah's company was to thank for much of her ease during that exchange, but still...
Far more bizarrely, she'd allowed Nott, Malfoy and Goyle to escort her to Herbology. And here again, she's not entirely sure why she feels the need to emphasise 'Goyle' in her thoughts. He'd been no more eager to give her that Potion Friday than Nott had been.
No, the driving force had definitely been Crabbe, the one who'd brought the cursed stuff in the first place, and kept insisting... Her thoughts don't linger on Friday long, they generally don't if she can help it, quickly shifting to the far preferable memory of Crabbe in the corridor. She thinks of him crashing into the armour and the blood on his head with some satisfaction.
And even if Goyle hadn't put up as much resistance as Nott had... She allows that emphasis of hers, and her surprise at his assistance today, is probably the result of a long held prejudice she has against him. Not that that realisation will change much for the time being, that's asking too much, but it's probably a start.
It's not just Goyle, though. She really can't seem to stop throwing them all in one cauldron...
Albus casts a Tempus and sighs. He's tired, but not exhausted, which today makes for an improvement. Dinner will have helped. He'd forgotten how much teaching takes out of him. But there's nothing for it, it's time.
He rises and gives his office a quick once over, trying to decide if there's anything he should bring...
He doubts anything would help.
No. He has an irate Muggle parent to confront. If the owls sent today were any indication... The meeting won't be pleasant.
It can't be helped.
With a twist he once again makes use of the Headmaster's privileges and Disapparates on the spot.
"You shouldn't push him so," Dilys scolds Phineas from her portrait once Albus is gone. "You know how he gets."
"It needed doing," he objects. "He shouldn't have done that to her. And someone needed to say something," he complains with a pointed glance towards Armando's portrait where their colleague is pretending to sleep. He's usually so quick to accuse others of shirking, but somehow when it comes to Albus pulling yet another fast one, he suddenly holds his tongue. And, Phineas can't help thinking, especially when it's at the expense of a Slytherin, even if only by marriage...
"What's he going to do? Have me stashed in some dark cupboard?" Phineas chuckles. "Let him. I can wait until the next the next administration. I would ask that you be so kind as to remind them to fetch me at that time, however," he adds a mite superciliously. Besides, everyone always forgets his extra portrait in the Grand Staircase. He's not particularly worried. Dilys just shakes her head in reproach. But then she's done that for decades now.
Phineas and Dilys move to continue their discussion over a friendly game of chess in Walter Aragon's and Brian Gagwilde's portrait, nudging the two wizards from the table to do so. They don't mind and are glad of the company. Walter's so glad of the visit, in fact, that he fetches a bottle of sparkling wine for the occasion, the vintage proves lovely, and soon they're in the midst of a vigorous game of fizz buzz.
They're still at it when Albus returns.
Searching for 'fur' had been beyond useless.
Hermione slouches a little but keeps at it.
'Vanish' is only mentioned in two of the four books, in both cases with regards to making unsightly spots disappear. And in the second book, it's also used in a... poetic bit of phrasing to charm collars to guard against the need to recover a lost pet, or at least simplify the process, as 'Crups have been known to vanish from time to time, heeding a call, the insightful owner might suppose, that mere witches and wizards cannot hear...'
Perhaps the frequency was just too high, she quips to herself in slight annoyance. It's her least favourite book of the bunch. She returns it to the bottom of the pile, but as she continues to apply the Searching Charm to that book, that gesture really doesn't do any more than make her feel better for a moment.
Some days, however, that's enough.
'Depulso' isn't mentioned at all, in any of them, she wonders if the Charm, assuming there is a Charm for Banishing fur, predates the actual Banishing Charm and therefore wasn't recorded with reference to a later Spell. She checks the publishing information, but no, the books are far too recent... Even if the Charm she's seeking had been created earlier, there's no reason not to describe it more sensibly in later works. At least not if one assumes a logical disposition on the part of the author.
That may be asking too much.
'Location' is used in only one of the books, but only in connection with a Spell that keeps housepets restricted to a specific location. 'Spot' is used in three of the four books. Repeatedly. In every instance she finds, it's either about those 'spots' in need of 'vanishing', or teaching one's Crup to go to his spot. Female Crups, she decides upon that discovery, must be born with the innate knowledge of how to do so, or... she decides she likes this version better, it's only the males who need to be put in their places.
That puts a slight smile on her face.
She wonders what term the fourth book uses instead of 'spot', and is curious enough to look. She consults the table of contents and flips to the chapter on house breaking one's pet. Ah. 'Stain'.
With the speed she can skim through a book, and the fact she's effectively limited her search to just these four books for starters, she'd almost definitely be better off working her way through them as she usually does. Naturally she doesn't. She couldn't explain it if she tried. She's committed to this approach, and she means to see it through. The fundamental problem with any of her searches is that it simply tells her to search any or all of the four preselected books. That's hardly exceedingly useful.
But Hermione can be stubborn.
Terribly late in the process, she has an idea. So late she finds it embarrassing. Or close enough; there's still the Draught after all. But it may have been as long as half an hour; that's how long it seemed...
She could consider that Luna, who had been using the Charm longer than Hermione has and knows a House full of people, or at least two years' worth, who do, hadn't thought of or known of this workaround either, but Hermione's not in the right frame of mind for thoughts like that. It's somehow easier to chastise herself.
Hermione uses a Geminio to duplicate each of the books. Geminios really aren't very reliable on wizarding texts. They have a tendency to not copy the actual Charm at all, and their texts fade far more rapidly than a typical duplication Spell would. Depending on the strength of the Protection Charms on the original works, within a few weeks one can find oneself left with mostly blank pages, and soon they, too, disappear.
But as Hermione doesn't need the copies for long, that scarcely matters. And as she doesn't know the names of the actual Charms anyway, she won't be searching for them. Casting a Notice-Me-Not, she sets about ripping the copies of the books into their component chapters and performs the Ravenclaws' Inquiro to search each of the sections in turn. In this way, she hopes to narrow down the section of the book she needs to read. She can always refer to the original for the details of the Spell once she finds it.
She's been at it for almost an hour, resolutely searching for the Charm that may or may not exist with regular stops to stare wistfully at the books she isn't permitted to access, and all of her musings about the Slytherins leave Hermione uncertain how to act on the Baron's recommendation. And that immediately leads to her being uncertain if it's fair to even call it that. He really hadn't advised her to take any specific action...
He'll be correct, of course; she thinks she's learnt that much. If he says this was an opportunity, then that will be the case. And she doesn't feel right about just ignoring that...
So what was the problem earlier?
It might be more accurate to say her reaction hadn't been to Nott, but to a small handful of Slytherins. All cats are grey in the dark... Ultimately, the dim lighting, the empty corridor, being outnumbered, Hutchinson's physical violence - even though she agreed with the sentiment and the use of Crabbe as a target absolutely and completely - it had left her uneasy.
She's entitled to be.
And she doesn't have the greatest opinion of Hutchinson, although she's not exactly sure why. Honestly, she hardly knows him; he's a year behind her and as such, they've never had a single class together. There've been virtually no dealings at all. It's just Quidditch stuff really. Nothing concrete. Things Ron or Harry had said. They don't like him, so she doesn't like him by association. The transitive properties of disliking... Because those two are proving such excellent judges of character. Such paragons of virtue...
She sighs.
She imagines she'd responded, as viscerally as she can right now anyway, to the Baron's use of the word 'vouch'. Clearly 'vouching' for any of the Snakes was an ask too far... But possibly, even if she can't actively shore up Nott's position, she could avoid undermining it. If she doesn't have to initiate anything herself, perhaps she can see her way clear to not rebuffing any supportive overtures.
That seems... wise.
Heavens, with the way things have been going, she doesn't even feel like she can vouch for her friends....
Which is when Neville arrives.
Theo returns from dinner with the others. 'Others' doesn't include the rest of the seventh year boys tonight; he was the only one of them who'd gone to the Great Hall for supper. He'd gotten a lot of contemplative looks from pretty much everyone else in their House; it's like they're trying to see into his soul. Harper was absolutely right, this is probably going to be a problem, a very real problem, and Theo has no idea what any of it is about.
No, what he has is the thin hope that none of this was his fault. He's sort of eager to reassure his Housemates that he's innocent of... he doesn't know what, but it's proving difficult as no one, including himself, seems to have any idea what had happened.
'Whatever it was, I didn't do it...' Blanket reassurances don't carry any weight, particularly as the older students have all worked out that he honestly has no way of knowing if he contributed to this mess or not.
And what a mess it is.
He's never known anyone to get bonded before, none of them have, and this all seems an incredibly extreme response to... Well, again, to whatever it was that no one seems to know anything about.
Just perfect.
He means to work on Friday's Arithmancy assignment. Tracey and Daphne are still willing to talk to him, to work with him on it, for which he's grateful. Not because he needs their help, quite the opposite, he often has to explain the material to Daphne, but he's happy for their company and the tacit moral support it provides. At least those two seem inclined to believe in him. So that's, what? Two out of sixty-five? Two and a half, if he can sort of count Harper. He's off to a flying start then. How lucky he's got a good broom...
He plans on joining the girls in the common room, but he needs to get his text from his room first. He enters quietly, not wishing to disturb his roommates, although he sort of wonders if he even could at this point. Draco, at least, should be thoroughly Noxed. Dead to the world. He's not sure Blaise and Gregory will be doing so very much better.
He has a bit of food Protegoed in his robes that he'd brought along for them for later. That small kindness had gone over well after lunch, and he'd liked the feeling very much. He's feeling a lot less confident now, though, after the Serpents and everyone's resultant misgivings. And looking around the room, he sort of doubts any of the three will be up to eat before breakfast, which renders the gesture rather useless.
Well, he'd tried, not that the thought counts for much.
It's probably more accurate to say they won't be up unless someone helps them out. But no one in the House has Pain-Relief, that avenue is closed - Merlin knows, they'd spent all weekend trying to scrounge some up for their migraines, which he's begun to question - and even if they had some, he can't believe they'd give it to the boys at this point. And going by the reactions he's getting from his Housemates, he very much doubts anyone will be applying any Healing Charms for them either.
There's not a whole lot he can do to help. He could perform a Rennervate, his is pretty good, but he suspects that would be more of a curse than a blessing. Draco would probably just demand that he Stupefy him for the night again; Theo really doesn't need that. No, the best course of action seems to be letting them sleep it off.
At least one of them is groaning fitfully as Theo slips through the room. He casts a faint Lumos on the off chance lighting a sconce would bother anyone after all and heads to his trunk at the foot of his bed to fetch the text. Maybe he'll review for Charms for tomorrow when he's done, but he's fairly well prepared. His homework lies finished with the materials he'll need in the morning. He tends to be organised that way. There are a great many things he has no control over whatsoever. So much so he often finds it terrifying. He tries very hard to control what he can.
He puts the food he'd brought back with him under a Stasis Charm on his night table. Just in case. Plus he hardly wishes to walk around with that in his pockets all evening. And that's when he notices the letter on his pillow.
Just as he hadn't questioned the Antispasmodic on his bedside table yesterday, he doesn't question the presence of the letter. That sort of thing leads to trouble, and he doesn't need any more of that. He doesn't ask from whom or why, only if it's safe. He can be a fairly cautious boy, and particularly after this evening's Serpents he's on guard. He casts a few Spells to detect any potential dangers.
Once he's convinced it poses no threat - and won't he laugh at himself bitterly later, much later, for the error of that assessment - he picks up the piece of parchment and discovers it's a letter from Narcissa Malfoy to her son. From the contents, he imagines Draco must have received it today somehow. Possibly it was hidden in some way in the letter he had from his mother this morning. That seems like something the Malfoys would do.
It doesn't take Theo long to read it.
And now he knows what had happened.
And desperately wishes he didn't.
How on earth could he have thought knowing would help? He's an idiot. A fool of the greatest magnitude.
He knows now what led to the Muggle-born bondings. It all makes perfect sense. And no longer seems in the least like an overreaction. And he knows why their Head of House had been forced to bond Granger.
It's absolutely horrifying.
It appears Draco had been correct, Professor Snape had indeed 'paid his respects' to their parents last night. And he had had to tell them how the seventh year boys had kidnapped a Muggle-born classmate Friday night and forced her to take a phial of Liquid Lust.
He sinks down onto the bed as he reads it, letting out a sound normally associated with a badly wounded Crup.
It went on to say the Potion had been improperly brewed and was presumably ineffective. It also said the Head had arrived before anything else happened. Theo isn't really paying attention by that point. The only thing he learns from those lines is he can't have contributed significantly to... anything remotely praiseworthy. That had been down to providence and the Head. He can't begin to imagine, doesn't want to begin to imagine what he himself could have been doing there to begin with.
The questions Mrs. Malfoy goes on to ask her son precisely mirror his own and have shot through his mind before he ever reads them. In fact, they don't go far enough.
Who bought the Potion? Why? He can't understand how they could do that to anyone, never mind someone they've sat cheek to jowl with all these years. They have their lucky stars to thank that the Potion was rubbish. Just what had they thought was going to happen? What had been their intentions? And what the hell was he doing in that room? Had he known about it, any of it when he joined them?
Why on earth had he gone?
The letter doesn't say who they'd...
It doesn't mention any names. He's not sure if the Head had even reported that aspect; Theo can imagine no one at the Manor would have cared.
He feels like he's been kicked in the chest by a Hippogriff, and he can't seem to get any air.
He begins to think of all the Muggle-born witches in their year. He's not entirely certain Mrs. Malfoy would have known enough details to have even gotten that right, that it was someone from their year. It could just have been a turn of phrase. He expands the list to include the sixth years.
And then he hopes like hell it wasn't anyone younger.
As though there were any consolation to be found in any of it.
He thinks he's going to lose his supper.
He sits there feeling nauseous for a few minutes and then succumbing to the battle over his body, makes a dash for the loo.
A few minutes and several Cleansing Charms later, he's back in his bed. He hides the letter in the drawer of his nightstand, applies a Notice-Me-Not for good measure, and then a rare Locking Charm on top of that. He may never open the drawer again. If he were capable of more rational thought at the moment, he'd probably have used a Permanent Sticking Charm, and then have had to ask himself why he didn't just Incendio the epistle. Probably because he knows he'll have to, want to talk to Draco about this in the morning.
He pulls the blanket over his head, and curls up into a little ball.
He can't stop the parade of faces he keeps seeing. If it was someone from their year, she'd been in a third of his core courses with him. And Merlin knows how many of the electives. Or how many of the N.E.W.T.s classes. He could be sitting next to her in all or none of his classes now.
He's taking eight. There's virtually no chance she wouldn't be in some of them. Perks, Smith, whatever, and Jones are two of the least strong Muggle-born students, and he still shares a class with both.
He resumes the whining sound he'd made before.
When Daphne comes looking for him a little while later, that's how she finds him, curled in the fetal position and whimpering.
"Theo?" She calls out to him softly, not eager to wake any of the others after the evening they've had. They'll need the rest. She's not at all sure why they hadn't taken Draco to the Infirmary really. Three Serpents! Merlin knows, that's where he belongs. But the others have told her she's being too soft.
She's wrestling with it.
It's hard to envision. Incredibly difficult. That her classmates could have done anything so terrible as to cause the Headmaster to force their Head to bond a Muggle-born student. She can't imagine anything that would warrant that. And no one has ever accused her of a lack of imagination.
She knows it's gotten...
It's not good out there. She's not an idiot. But that's out there. She can't picture that her classmates, her Housemates... Except of course it'll end up being her Housemates. It's not like 'they're' recruiting the Gryffindors... No. In the long run, these boys she's grown up with... But surely that was something that would happen much later? Not here? Not now.
She hears a low keening sound coming from a lump under Theo's covers and puts a gentle hand on it. "Theo?" She lifts the blanket to find her friend crying. "Theo? What's wrong?"
"You can't be in here, Daphne," he insists, wiping his face with the side of his arm. She uses a Tergeo and sorts it for him. He barely notices.
"Don't be silly, of course I can. If I couldn't be, I wouldn't be, obviously. It's still before curfew." That's more than just about her tendency to adhere to the rules, although she's generally quite mindful of them; there's a Charm in effect that guarantees she wouldn't be able to enter the boys' dormitories after curfew.
He sits up a little and begins to stare wildly around the room. Daphne, his friend, is all alone in a dark room with four of the five boys - he doesn't hesitate to count himself as one of their number - who had dosed a fellow student with an illicit Lust Potion just days ago. She needs to leave now. She can't be here.
"You have to go, Daphne. Leave. Now." There's something desperate about him that makes her a little worried. He seems to be missing, completely, that three of those boys are down for the count and he has never deliberately been anything remotely like a threat to much of anyone.
Daphne's also in much better shape to deal with him, with any of them just now than they are. He'd very likely have his arse handed to him on one of the house elves' fanciest platters if he even thought about giving her grief. Garnished with sprigs of parsley if she had any say. People forever underestimate the kind and good humoured types. Daphne's fast with her wand.
"Theo?"
"Now!" It sounds tortured. He's in quite a state. She assumes some of their House have - very unfairly - taken their anger with the other seventh years out on the only one available. It's very like Theo not to want her to suffer by association. He needs to keep clear of them until his roommates can take their deserved lumps. Until someone can sort this for him.
There are tears in his eyes again, and she doesn't think long before acting. Before he can realise it, she's pointed her wand at him and a moment later she's cast the Somnolence Charm. His lids become very heavy and he flops back onto his pillow. She comes over and tucks him in, removing his shoes with a tsking sound, wizards, stroking his cheek gently with the backs of her fingers and wishing him a good night. "Whatever it is, Theo, I'm sure it'll look better in the morning."
He's thankfully sound asleep before she leaves the room. It's probably just as well. His Housemates really weren't sure how to treat him anyway.