Rating:
PG-13
House:
Schnoogle
Characters:
Hermione Granger
Genres:
Romance Action
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix Quidditch Through the Ages Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Stats:
Published: 03/20/2005
Updated: 11/04/2005
Words: 102,452
Chapters: 16
Hits: 32,773

Follow Through

Ann Margaret

Story Summary:
Three years after the fall of Voldemort, Hermione Granger is working as a reporter for the Daily Prophet while her longtime boyfriend Ron Weasley is off saving the world with fellow Auror Harry Potter. But when Hermione stumbles across a mystery of her very own, she starts discovering things she never knew about the war, the past, herself and more importantly, the people she thought she was closest to. Follows the Hermione Granger trilogy (Order of the Phoenix, Time of Troubles, and Beginning of the End) so please read those before diving in so you'll understand what's happened thus far!

Chapter 05

Chapter Summary:
Hermione does some traveling and discovers just what the Death Eaters were up to during the war...
Posted:
06/30/2005
Hits:
1,804
Author's Note:
Hey, sorry it took so long for chapter 4 to go up--I accidently sent Schnoogle the un-beta read chapter which of course was an unmitgated disaster=). But to make it up for you, the lovely Heather has finished beta-reading chapter five so here it is! Enjoy!


Is there a cure among us
From this processed sanity
I weaken with each voice that sings
In this world of purchase
I'm going to buy back memories
To awaken some old qualities

Have I got a long way to run

Have I got a long way to run...

"Run" Collective Soul

**

Only rarely would Hermione Granger shove a book away in revulsion, but this happened to be one of those times. With one finger, she pushed the book across the smooth, sleek library table, hoping the distance would ease her nausea.

Everything she had always despised about the Malfoys was now intensified by three hundred percent after reading these chronicles. According to these records, Draco Malfoy was probably the nicest of the despicable lot. This family had inflicted centuries of torture, betrayal, thefts, assaults, and murders on countless Muggles, Muggle-borns, and those deemed to be "Muggle-lovers." Story after story of misery, anguish, agony, and animosity filled the many pages of the book she had just shoved across the table, and Hermione simply couldn't bear to read another. Hermione had hoped that by researching the odious family's history, she would get an idea about where to start looking for them. And although she was forming some vague ideas, all that she was really receiving was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She glanced over at the notes she had jotted down. Before moving in to the Malfoy Manor, the Malfoys had typically resided in some remote Unplottable castle in Scotland. Rumor had it that it was located somewhere near Hogwarts so that the Malfoys could harass Muggle-born students whenever it suited their fancy. There was also a possibility that the notorious castle was somewhere near Muggle settlements, for similar reasons.

Hermione frowned as she ran the feathered end of her quill thoughtfully across the thin parchment. Everything seemed to come back to Grantham; her thoughts kept leading her back to the fact that someone had burned down a church last week.

Running a tired hand over her eyes, Hermione reluctantly pulled the book back to her and got to her feet. As quickly as she could manage without making a scene in the crowded library, she deposited the book on the restock cart. She then made her way toward the iron spiral staircase that lead up to the second floor of books. Perhaps one of the other genealogical chronicles would contain better tidings.

The moment her foot hit solid ground, however, Hermione knew that something was wrong. Her already acute sense of danger had been sharpened by her lengthy friendship with Harry and Ron, and without a doubt, she knew that something up here was very, very wrong. Her head held high, she slid her hand into her robe pocket, comfortably gripping her wand. She had been through an awful lot in her twenty-one years, and she was ready for anything--except this.

As quick as a Snitch he jumped out at her, his hands closing over her arms before she even realized that someone had been standing behind the nearest bookshelf. His fingers crushed her wrist, making it impossible for her to pull her wand free or even aim it in his direction. He couldn't stop her from screaming, however, nor could he prevent her from struggling with all of her might to break free. She almost managed to get away after a well-placed kick in the shins, but he somehow managed to cling on, shaking his head wildly so that his hood fell away from his face.

Hermione's heart lodged itself in her throat for several constricting moments as she stood stock still, too dumbfounded to do anything. "Ron?"

"Hi, love," he rasped hoarsely. His Adam's apple bobbed as he studied her face intently, not loosening his death-grip on her wrists for a single second. His face was deathly pale, glistening with sweat and tears, and Hermione desperately wished that he would free her hands so she could throw her arms around him.

Her own throat burning with repressed emotion, Hermione swallowed hard a few times before finding her voice again. "What happened to you?"

She expected him to say that he couldn't tell her because he had taken an oath as an Auror to keep all classified information confidential, even from her, or some other rubbish like that. But Ron looked straight into her eyes, his own marvelously blue ones welling with pained tears. He swayed momentarily under the intensity of their gaze, but his grip on Hermione prevented him from toppling to the floor. "You," he admitted frankly.

His eyelids fluttered and then closed, and that's when Hermione realized that Ron wasn't holding on to her for dear life because he didn't want her to run away; it was actually necessary. He couldn't stand up on his own. "Ron," she said sharply. His fingers were losing their grip on her wrists, so Hermione pulled one hand free, shifting the other upward to grab his arm, steadying him. She pressed her hand against his forehead. It was just as she expected: boiling hot and sticky with sweat, despite his ghostly pallor. "You're sick," she whispered fearfully. She glanced about for a chair, only to find in dismay that there weren't any nearby. "Here, sit on the floor for now," she suggested soothingly. "Getting off your feet may help."

"No," Ron insisted as he firmly planted his feet into the thin carpet, refusing to budge. With a shaking hand, he started to unbutton his robes. "I'm not sick," he told her hoarsely. The black cotton fell away from his body a bit at time until his jumper was clearly visible. The massive, ornately carved handle of a dagger was protruding from his chest. Hermione gaped at the flowing red rivulets and blackened, dried blood staining his jumper. She had never seen so much blood in her entire life. And the fact that it had all come out of Ron--

Ron stared down at it as well, just as dumbfounded. "I'm dying."

He said it so matter-of-factly that her entire bloodstream froze in a split second. "No, you're not," Hermione uttered wildly. Her hands were starting to shake as she tried in vain to guide Ron into a seated position. "You're not dying on me, Ron Weasley. Do you understand?" Ron couldn't stay on his feet any longer, and he practically collapsed to the ground, Hermione falling alongside him. She turned to look over her shoulder, hoping to catch sight of another library patron. Unfortunately, they appeared to be completely alone up there. "I need help!" she cried out, hoping someone would hear her.

Ron's head had fallen limply against the bookshelf, his lips faintly curved up in an attempt to flash her a lopsided grin. "At least I got to see you again," he murmured gratefully. He couldn't find the strength to brush her hair away from her face, as he always loved to do. His finger twitched in that general direction, but that was all he could manage. "I'm sorry," he croaked. "But I di--" His voice creaked as he had to cough, fresh blood spurting from his lips. Hermione gently wiped the stickiness from his chin, her heart about to explode out of her chest in anxiety. It was as though all feeling was being sucked into the very pit of her stomach while the rest of her body went completely numb. All she was left with was an extremely concentrated feeling of pure panic. "--I did it for you," Ron finally got out when the violent coughing fit had subsided.

"You want to do something for me? Live," Hermione ordered. Her mind was moving in a million directions, but her body was in such severe shock that it couldn't even begin to enact a plan. All she could manage was yelling wildly over her shoulder once again for someone, anyone to help her. The blood flow from the edges of the knife was ebbing at an alarming rate, and Hermione knew that it would only stop trickling when there was nothing else for Ron to expend. If he stopped bleeding, there was no chance. She pushed her hands tightly around the wound, not caring that the blade was nicking both of her palms. All that mattered was keeping life inside Ron's body.

Ron was still muttering deliriously under his breath. "I should tell you--"

"Shh, please don't talk," Hermione hushed soothingly. Ron's babble had obediently diminished. His eyes dropped and Hermione's heart stopped. "Ron? Ron?"

He didn't respond. He wasn't even breathing

He was dead. Just like that, he was dead.

No. A coherent thought finally penetrated Hermione's ice-cold mind, and she shook her head and blinked hard to snap herself out of it. This couldn't be happening. It hurt too much to even begin to comprehend. The blood had rushed out of her face, and her face was now as white as Hedwig's snowy feathers. She was trembling like a leaf. The tears hadn't started to flow yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time. After all, it was hard to cry when you were hardly breathing. As hard as she tried, she couldn't stop staring at him, willing him to wake up with everything she had. God, this couldn't be happening. This could not be happening.

She had to stop it. Hermione didn't know how to conquer death, but she was going to find a way if it was the last thing she ever did. She leapt to her feet, wobbled slightly, and ran over to the balcony overlooking the ground floor of the library, praying that someone was in shouting distance. No one was in sight. At first, she couldn't scream. It felt as though her throat was permanently clogged, no matter how desperately she wrenched her mouth open. She dug her fingernails into the smooth wooden railing to keep herself from tumbling over the edge. Where the hell was everyone?

A small cry of horror finally escaped when someone grabbed her from behind. "Hey," Ron said firmly. "It's not me." He positioned her slightly to the left so she could see behind him. Hermione blinked. There were two Rons?

"Look." Ron nodded down to her arm, which he was pinching. She hadn't felt a single thing. He allowed her to absorb that blissful realization before moving his hand up to her flushed cheek. "It's just a dream." Hermione moved her cheek closer to his cool, weathered palm and closed her eyes, marveling in his touch. Goodness, she had missed this. "I'm fine," he assured comfortingly. "You know I am. You'd know if anything had happened to me, right?"

Hermione's hand slid up to rest over his. Yes, of course she would know, just like he always knew whenever she was in trouble--like he had known to come to her right now. That wasn't the issue she was grappling with. "I know," she answered finally. "But that will never stop me from worrying." She felt his fingers tense momentarily, and she opened her eyes. Sure enough, he was wearing that face she had come to dread. "You're not coming home anytime soon, are you?"

"I'm trying," he promised vehemently. "We're trying to crack this as fast as we can, but it's just--" He let out a half-sigh, half-growl of frustration. "So far, nothing else has been this difficult," he confessed wearily.

He looked so tired. Despite her irritation and disappointment, Hermione brushed her fingers reassuringly across his shoulders. "You'll get it," she said confidently. "You always do."

Ron just looked at her for a long, searching moment. Hermione stared back, feeling completely at ease with his mind in hers. They had no secrets, no restrictions--no boundaries between them. There was no way to tell where she ended and he began, and vice versa. She would always be with him and he with her. Her heart flipped a little. She needed to remember that whenever she missed him so much that it hurt to breathe.

Breathing suddenly became extremely unimportant when he seized her lips with his, and all she focused on was eagerly allowing his intoxicating presence to dominate her senses. Her vision grew blurry, her hearing gave out, her mind ceased for once to spin and process at its hyper-analytical rate, and all there was him--and good god, she loved it. She loved that this man who had the rare gift of causing her to slow down and to just be had willingly chosen to spend his life with her--

A tiny black demon wriggled nastily into her mind. Does he really want to be with you? He certainly doesn't mind snogging you now, but why isn't he by your side in the real world? He's left you on your own, even though he knows what you're about to do and what you're about to face--

Hermione was suddenly very aware that her lungs were burning and heaving for air, so she abruptly jerked away, gasping. And then she promptly screamed. The old nightmare was back--Ron was gone and all that was left was Dolohov. She was cowering on the floor of an empty, dusty room, just below the window. He was striding back toward her, and she frantically tried to sit up or move away or do something to avoid the meaty hands reaching for her. She twisted as fast as she could out of the way, but he still managed to catch one of her wrists and wrench her arm under his knee. She winced as the weight of his body came down on her wrist, but flung up her free hand in a desperate attempt to steal Dolohov's wand. There was a brief struggle of two hands against one, and no matter how fervently Hermione prayed to overcome the odds, her other wrist was soon relegated under Dolohov's other knee. Hermione groaned--he was straddling her. She continued to struggle as fiercely as she could, while Dolohov attempted to pry her mouth open. Hermione had no idea why on earth he would want her mouth open, but she didn't plan on finding out. She bit down as hard as she could and couldn't help smiling slightly in satisfaction when he let out a howl of pain. She tried to use the opportunity to yank her arms free, but Dolohov had already recovered. She squirmed and clamped her lips together, but when Dolohov grabbed her jaw, which for some reason was extremely sensitive, it hurt so badly that a gasp fought its way out of her clenched teeth.

Hermione winced and cried out. She jerked into an upright position, sheets twisted uncomfortably around her legs. Once she realized that she was at home, safe in her bed, she flopped back onto the pillow in relief. It's just a dream, just a dream...

But it wasn't. Hermione rolled over, grabbed her wand, and lit up the room with a quick flick. Kicking her legs free from the yards of fabric binding them together, she hastily retrieved the parchment and quill she kept on her nightstand. Ever since these random flashes of memory started to return to her, she had chronicled her progress carefully. Dreams tended to fade into oblivion as the light of day chased away the delusions of the night, but Hermione couldn't allow that to happen. This dream had given her a glimpse of memory that she hadn't been able to recall before, so she couldn't lose it now. She had to know.

She finished scribbling furiously away and glanced at her watch. It was almost five o'clock in the morning. There was no way she was going to go back to sleep now. Maybe she could work on her story a little more--

And then Hermione remembered what she had been waiting for when she had finally fallen asleep, still in her slacks and blouse. As fast as she could, Hermione leapt out of her bed, sticking her feet into the first pair of shoes she could find, hand flying back to the table for her wand. She had had a bad feeling; she should have known better--she had stupidly said that she was going to follow this through, regardless of the consequences, but she had reckoned that she would be the only one affected. Even with Goyle's warning, she had assumed that they wouldn't go after her friends. But maybe they had. Maybe they had realized Ginny was snooping around the Ministry and tried to shut her up.

Ginny had promised that she would come over after looking into Crabbe's background. And despite contrary opinions, Ginny was not as flighty and flaky as some liked to make her out to be. If she had said she was going to be there, she would have--especially for something this important. The fact that she hadn't shown up could mean only one thing:

Something was really wrong.

**

"Ginny!" Hermione called through the door of the flat her friend shared with Harry. She rapped the doorknocker once again. "Ginny, it's Hermione! Open up!" She gave Ginny a moment, but when the door remained closed, Hermione resumed her pounding, her heart hammering along with it. This could not be happening--if somehow they had gotten Ginny.... Hermione wouldn't allow herself to go there, and whacked the door louder than ever. "Ginny!"

"Dear Merlin!" Ginny almost wailed as she unfastened the door and whipped it open, the irritation on her face clearly visible. Her dressing gown hung haphazardly over her thin nightgown. Her hair looked tousled beyond belief, her cheeks were devoid of color, and her eyes were half-open and puffy. "Do you know what time it is?" She rubbed her eyes before squinting down at her watch. "Do I know what time it is?" she murmured drowsily to herself.

"You said you were going to come by tonight," Hermione chided, her anxiety beginning to evaporate. "Do you have any idea how worried I was when you didn't show up?"

"All right, Mum," Ginny said sarcastically. "I'm sorry. Someone tried to slaughter all of the thestrals at Hogwarts, and since I am now one of the few who can actually see them, I had to take care of all of them. I was so knackered after work--I suppose I just fell asleep." She yawned widely and rubbed her eyes. "Sorry," she apologized again sheepishly.

Hermione just stared--maybe Ginny was as flighty as some made her out to be, or perhaps she was just exhausted after a long day at work; Hermione certainly knew that feeling very well. "So I take it you didn't have any time to do any research for me?" Hermione inquired. "It's perfectly fine if you didn't," she added hastily, not wanting to irritate Ginny any further.

Ginny paused guiltily. "No," she admitted. She finally realized that Hermione had been standing in the corridor all this time and stepped aside. "Come on in." Ginny led the way into the living room and collapsed onto the sofa. Hermione sat down on the edge of the armchair, poised to spring up into action at any moment while jiggling her leg at an alarming rate. Ginny raised a lazy eyebrow at the nervous energy her friend was exuding at this early hour. "I take it you found Goyle?"

Hermione gripped the edge of a cushion with alarming strength. Ever since she had been so rudely awakened, she had been ready to get the hell out there and keep on looking. "I did," she affirmed. "He didn't know where Malfoy was, but he gave me some things to think about." Hermione pulled out the scroll of parchment she was using for her notes. She started to read off to Ginny everything she had discovered, but the exhausted expression on her friend's face changed her mind. "I was going to do some research today," Hermione said instead, smoothing the paper so she could scan the material one more time in case something particularly brilliant popped out at her. "So if you still want to help, you could--"

"I don't."

Hermione looked up from the parchment at Ginny's sharp words. "What?"

"I don't want to find Malfoy," Ginny clarified firmly. "I thought I did, but I don't. It's not going to help us find Harry any faster, so what's the point? He's going to be furious when he finds out, and maybe--maybe I don't want to know what's keeping him away from home."

Ginny's voice had reverted to the shy, vulnerable tone she had used while being sucked alive by Tom Riddle--when her self-confidence and determination had been shattered by doubt, guilt, and apprehension. Harry's absence was affecting her that much. Hermione had had no idea her friend was so upset--she tried to lay a placatory hand on Ginny's arm, but Ginny was already up and moving. Like Ron, she always had to pace whenever she was frustrated, so she opted to retreat to the kitchen to bang and rattle pots loudly in a furious attempt to make some tea.

"Ginny." Hermione followed her friend to the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe. She kept her voice as soothing and as comforting as she could. "They'll be home soon. He'll be back before you know it. This is Harry--he can get through anything, especially if he's trying to come home to you. You'll see."

If Ginny gripped the teakettle any tighter, it would become a permanent addition to her hand. "I know. But that doesn't change the fact that I want him home. I need him--" Ginny's voice cracked with heavy emotion. Before Hermione could attempt to understand what on earth was going on in Ginny's troubled mind, her friend had taken a more offensive position. "Don't you want to know where they are?" Ginny accused hotly, her cheeks growing flush with anger. "Don't you want to find them? Do you even miss Ron at all?"

Her words sliced through Hermione's heart much more painfully than if Ginny had just decked her across the face. Millions of words of all different kinds--spiteful ones, offensive ones--all threatened to spew out of her mouth at the same time, but they choked on one another, and Hermione just looked away, too overwhelmed to speak. How on earth could she be expected to respond to that? How could Ginny have the audacity to claim that she wasn't feeling the tumult of emotion Ron's absence had caused her?

Ginny finally realized that words could hurt more than any spell ever could. She let out a long, wavering sigh and slammed the kettle down. "I know you do. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." With a flick of her wand, the water in the kettle started to bubble cheerfully away. Ginny went to retrieve some mugs while she waited for the kettle to whistle. "It's just--I--" Ginny broke off, and her shaky stammer hastily adopted a stronger, confident tone. "Look, if you're not looking for them specifically, if you're just trying to find Malfoy and hoping that along the way you bump into Harry and Ron, then please leave me out of it. It's fine that you're doing your job, but don't drag me into it if it's not for him." Ginny clenched her jaw for a minute, looking as though she was trying to stop herself from throwing up. "I have enough to deal with."

"Of course," Hermione agreed softly, eyes never straying from her flustered friend. It was extremely uncharacteristic of Ginny to act like this. Ginny Weasley was going to sit this adventure out, and the fact that she was doing it of her own free will made Hermione very concerned. "Ginny, is everything all right? Is there anything you want to talk about? You look like--"

"Tea?" Ginny interjected fiercely. Her eyes shot out furious daggers, daring Hermione to even attempt to continue the topic of conversation.

Hermione brushed her hair out of her face with a sigh. "Sure. Tea would be lovely," she said quietly, silently accepting that she now had yet another mystery to unravel.

**

Ginny never revealed why she was acting peculiarly, so Hermione left the flat even more perplexed. She wished that she could talk to Harry. He would know better than anyone what could be troubling his girlfriend. Besides, Hermione had a feeling that Harry's presence would make all the difference. But until Harry came back, or Ginny decided to open up, there was really nothing she could do. She would just have to focus on her story and hope that whatever was troubling Ginny would work itself out.

That was the logical course of action, but Hermione knew that she was still going to be thinking about her friend while she conducted her research today. She had decided that she would to spend today trying to find the spell that Filch had used. The Hogwarts library was still the most extensive collection in Britain, so once again Hermione headed up to the Scottish highlands for further investigation.

Madame Pince just shook her head and smiled when she saw the former student enter the library once again. Hermione gave her a little wave and managed a smile of her own, although her stomach was writhing unpleasantly. It was the first time in Hermione's entire life that she was walking into a library with an overwhelming sense of apprehension. The dream she had last night was still resting heavily in her mind.

Hermione went through spellbook after spellbook, quickly and efficiently scanning the complicated Dark Arts books that were carefully chained to the shelves of the Restricted Section. It took several hours, but Hermione had always had the fervent perseverance to follow through until she accomplished her goal. In the early evening, when the majority of the students had bustled off to dinner, Hermione finally found what she was looking for.

Switching Spells: Expanded

The rudimentary functions of the switching spell (see any basic spellbook, grade 4 or beyond) may appear to be simple and trite for students of our caliber. However, if applied to the more important causes, the switching spell can be quite beneficial.

While most students will use the switching spell primarily to transplant items from one location to another, a person's intangible characteristics, traits, and gifts can also be moved. The basic principles, incantation, and wand movement are the same; it is the intent that must be different. As with all of the Dark Arts covered thus far, the mind must be focused on the task at hand if you wish to succeed. Therefore, it is easier to transplant traits to yourself rather than to another person. The spell is more inclined to succeed if your personal desire is driving your spell's success. However, if your will is in the right place, it is possible to remove characteristics from one person and move them into another.

The most famous example is the removal of the soul's purest components by the infamous dark wizard Grindewald. On his travels to Germany in the early 1920s, Grindewald came across a young witch whom he greatly desired. Upon seeing his deformed and scarred face, however, she had no interest in him. Grindewald wished to bestow upon the object of his affection a sense of compassion so that she would accept him. Using an ambitious Muggle by the name of Adolf Hitler, Grindewald performed the spell on him, channeling all of the kindness, compassion, and optimism from the Muggle in order to transplant the traits into the young witch. The witch became one of the dark wizard's many mistresses and the Muggle went on to become one of the most notorious dictators in Muggle history.

Hermione laid the book down on her lap and reached into her bag to pull out her notes. A Switching spell--it was that simple. They had learned that spell in fourth-year, for heaven's sake. Who knew such a basic spell could have caused such damage? Hermione had a feeling that this was the spell that had bestowed Filch with his newfound magical ability, however she needed to be sure. The book had not mentioned the possibility of switching magical abilities, but there was only so much you could learn from a book. Hermione knew that she would need to talk to someone with the knowledge of this spell's full range of capabilities.

She idly flipped back through the book, considering her options. There was always Snape, the current Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but Hermione would rather avoid that conversation. Snape had certainly proven himself to be a very loyal and devoted member of the Order, but that didn't mean Hermione had to actually like the man. She'd never admit it to him, but she rather agreed with Ron; Snape was a greasy git. McGonagall was a possibility, she supposed, but Hermione didn't know how skilled her favorite professor was in the subject of the Dark Arts. To get an expert opinion, she had to talk to someone who had actually practiced in the field.

It was at this point that Hermione reached the title page of the textbook and noticed a stamp at the bottom of the page. Property of Durmstrang School of Wizardry, it read. Hermione twisted around to examine the texts stacked neatly behind her. She hadn't realized that she had pulled books from the section of texts collected from schools and institutions around the world. The act of using Switching Spells for malicious intent was apparently a common lesson at Durmstrang.

Hermione hopped off the table and collected her belongings. She now knew exactly who she was going to ask.

**

"Herm-own-ninny!" Viktor Krum ushered Hermione into his office in the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic and closed the door before giving her a friendly peck on each cheek. "It is so good to see you!"

"You too," Hermione said warmly. "Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice."

"You came here quickly," Viktor noted as he gestured for Hermione to have a seat. "I only arranged for your Apparation privileges a few hour ago."

"Thank you for that, too." Hermione dropped down gratefully into the plush armchair. She had Apparated all the way to Bulgaria as soon as she had received the express owl from Viktor. He informed her that he would be happy to have her drop by, and that he would arrange for her to be able to Apparate straight into the Bulgarian Ministry and not be blocked at the border. Of course, Apparating all the way to Bulgaria in one go was impossible--she had to hop from country to country. It turned out to be a long trip, and Hermione was rather worn out.

"It vas no problem," Viktor reassured. He sat down behind his desk. "It is not busy today." He gestured to Hermione. "Now vat can I do for you?"

Hermione straightened up in the chair. "Well, as you know, I'm a reporter for the Prophet..."

"How is it going?" Viktor interrupted amicably. "Your job, I mean?"

"Just fine," Hermione answered. "Anyway, I'm doing a story on the possibility of Death Eaters using Switching Spells to transfer magical abilities. I did some research in the library yesterday, and I found a Durmstrang textbook that explained the process of using the spell to move certain intangible characteristics from one person into another. I was wondering if you might remember anything about that lesson."

"And if it is possible to do vhat you are saying Death Eaters have done?" Viktor clarified. Hermione nodded, and Viktor leaned back in his chair to think. "Ve studied it in sixth year, I believe. Karakoff taught it. He showed us one day. He vent and took tvo students and svitched their personalities."

"That's possible?" Hermione pressed curiously. "You can actually switch a person's entire personality--not just elements of it?"

"You can do both," Viktor explained. "If your vill is strong enough, you can svitch almost anything."

"Even a person's magical ability?"

Viktor nodded. "Even someone's magical ability."

Hermione nodded grimly. Well, there was one possible explanation for what had happened to Filch. "Viktor, did you learn any other spells that could explain how a Squib might miraculously gain magical abilities overnight?"

He considered for a moment before gesturing for Hermione to follow him over to his bookshelf. "Here are my books from school. Perhaps there is something ve could find in there. I do not remember anything that would explain why a Squib would suddenly gain magical abilities, but sometimes it does just happen," he offered helpfully.

Hermione shook her head as she extracted one of the books from the shelf. "No, there's nothing normal about this. Especially if they did it to Muggles," she added, remembering what Goyle had told her.

"Muggles?" Viktor asked, his one eyebrow furrowed in confusion.

"Viktor, did Karakoff mention any possible side-effects when using Switching Spells?" Hermione set the back the book she had been reading and picked up Viktor's copy of the Dark Arts book she had found at Hogwarts yesterday. She swiftly found the page outlining Switching Spells to double-check, but she wasn't wrong; no possible consequences were listed. "I mean, after learning about that spell, what is going to stop a school full of confused, insecure teenagers from switching the parts of ourselves we despise the most with someone else's?"

He chuckled in understanding. "Did you know that Karakoff vas alvays vorried that someone vould try to steal my Quidditch skills?" He smiled wistfully, recalling fondly, as young adults always do, his carefree school days when everything seemed so simple. "But you are right. Karakoff varned us that svitching too much of a person could end up being harmful. It vould be like if you svitched with that reporter vho bothered you so." He made a disgusted face, causing Hermione to laugh. She had forgotten that Viktor had had his own experiences with the notorious gossip. "You are nothing like her, so if some of her characteristics vere put in you that defied vho you are, eventually vho you are vould vin. So if her cruelty was put in you, eventually you vould reject it. Not all the magic in the vorld can change vho you are. Your brain just vill not be able to handle it."

"So, let me get this straight," Hermione absently took a few steps away from Viktor, toying with the textbook she was still holding. "The Switching Spells can be used to transplant certain characteristics of another person, but not without a cost. For example, if--if perhaps you gave magical abilities to a Muggle, eventually the Muggle's body would reject them. A Muggle's body is not equipped to handle magical powers--neither is a Squib's, for that matter. So eventually, their body would reject them and--" She trailed off and her grip tightened on the book in horrified anger, "--they'd die wouldn't they?"

"I believe so," Viktor agreed. He frowned deeply. "Do you think that they vill do this to Muggles?"

"I spoke to someone who mentioned that they have been doing this sort of thing to Muggles, but I didn't understand until now..." Hermione stopped in mid-sentence again and shook her head. "I just can't believe it." She whirled around to Viktor. "But why would they do that to Filch? I thought they liked Filch!"

"Um." Viktor awkwardly scratched his ear. "Vho is Filch?"

"Never mind." Hermione stepped back toward Viktor keenly. "So what if the traits you switched were conducive to your body? What if I switched magical abilities with you? Would anything happen to me then?"

"I do not think so. It depends on the person and vhat you svitch," Viktor replied. He tilted his head curiously when he saw Hermione's eyes glaze over as she lost herself in thought.

"So let's say that someone switched a Muggle-born's abilities with a Muggle's lack of talent," Hermione hypothesized excitedly, her voice more and more frenzied as she realized she might be on to something. "The Muggle, as we discussed, wouldn't be able to handle the newfound powers and eventually would die, unless the powers were removed. The Muggle-born, on the other hand, wouldn't be as affected physically, since their genetics would allow them to live as a Muggle--because their parents are Muggles." Hermione's chest tightened as she considered how she would feel if she abruptly lost all of her magical abilities. "It would be awful for the Muggle-born, though. It would be torture for them to know what was going on in the magical world and not be able to help." Hermione straightened up, hugging the book tightly to her chest. "It would be awful for both the Muggle-born and the Muggle. It would kill them both." She turned back to Viktor, her eyes shooting fire as they did when Mr. Crouch fired Winky. "That's why they did it! It kills Muggles and gets rid of Muggle-borns!"

Viktor stared at her very blankly. "I'm sorry, vhat?"

"I have to go," Hermione said hastily. "I have to find a way to reverse it before Filch--" She strode back over to the bookshelf, putting the book back in its proper place. "Thank you so much, Viktor, for everything. You've been a big help." She stood on tiptoe to give Viktor a grateful kiss on the cheek.

"I'm sorry, vhat?" Viktor repeated dumbly. He wasn't used to the lightening fast way Hermione's mind rapidly processed information.

Hermione fought back a grin as she patted Viktor fondly on the arm. "I'll explain in my next letter," she promised as she started toward the door. However, something amid the assortment of framed photographs collected on the top of Viktor's bookshelf stopped Hermione dead in her tracks. "Viktor, who is this?"

"Vhat?" Viktor said one more time as he crouched down to see which person Hermione was pointing to. She seemed to be unusually captivated by the photograph he kept of his Durmstrang Quidditch team the day they won the House Cup. Her trembling finger was pointing to a tall boy in the back, waving to the camera, his pointed face lit up with a wide, proud grin. "He vas a Reserve Chaser. He vas in second-year then, I think--a year younger than you. His name vas Sean."

"Sean what?" Hermione asked tightly. She seemed to have forgotten about everything she had just learned regarding Switching Spells, Death Eaters, and Muggles. Her hand gripped the shelf to hold herself up. She had an awful feeling about whom this kid might be.

Viktor thought hard before his eyes lit up. "It vas Dolohov. Sean Dolohov."


Author notes: Thanks for reading! Be sure to check out the yahoo group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/annmargaretfics/

Next up: Hermione confronts Filch and comes home to discover...well, something...