Unplottable

19 - Hermione

"Very well done, Miss Granger - looks like you're heading for full marks again." After surveying her cauldron very briefly, Professor Lyons moved on to Harry and Ron. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley -go easy on the Phoenix urine now. A dash too much, and your potion is likely to be ruined." Patiently, he stood by them and showed them how the measurement cups were used correctly, an instruction Hermione remembered having received from Snape during her first year at Hogwarts.

Hermione glanced over at her two friends. Dumbledore had decreed that Ron was to go to all of his classes again so that he would - hopefully - pass the year; if he missed any more classes, he would have to repeat it. Being up and about seemed to do Ron marginally well, but apathy remained his prevailing characteristic. Therefore, to be able to keep up, Ron was paired off with Harry in every single class: For one thing, he had missed many things in the two months he had basically spent in bed; for another, he was still wandless. Of course, there did not seem to be much point sending him to Potions class, as he had dropped out of it at the beginning of the school year. However, Harry appeared to be the only one who could induce Ron to any participation whatsoever that went beyond physical presence, which was the reason for Ron's switch from Divination to Potions class.

Had their teacher still been the choleric and vicious-minded Professor Snape, Hermione thought idly while giving her potion another stir, this might not have been a wise move. Due to his accident, Ron had not only become utterly passive, but also seemed fragile somehow; loud noises were known to scare him. Roary, since recently Professor Lyons, was far kinder and had infinitely more patience with his students than Snape. He also knew considerably less about potions than Snape, Hermione could not help noticing: He knew enough to teach his students, but did not have the deep knowledge of someone who had dedicated his life to his subject. She was glad the American singer had come to teach them, because this seemed to be the only way that Ron could at least partially keep up with the class; Harry, too, seemed to profit from the new teacher's slower pace. She, however, felt a bit deprived. It wasn't that she liked Snape; considering the obvious flaws in his character, she often found it difficult to even respect him. However, his classes had often succeeded in challenging her mind, in satisfying her thirst for knowledge; in Professor Lyons' class, all she had to do was follow some relatively simple and clear instructions.

"Ron, you were going to grind the bitter almonds," Harry reminded his friend. Ron obeyed, slowly turning the pestle in the mortar. Hermione sighed. They were two students doing the work of one, but at this pace they would not even finish in time. She felt like giving Ron a little shake so he would start working properly again, or if not work, at least show some spirit by doing mischief. How much different was he from the boy he used to be! I can't wait for the panacea to be done, she thought, willing herself to be patient.

Progress on the metaphysical substance was slow. She knew, because she was participating in the process of its making. She had asked Perenelle and Nicholas if she could be their assistant, and they had accepted her. Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore had given their permission, too, reminding Hermione that she was already doing extra work for her History of Magic project, but giving in to her pleas. Now she had a chance of assisting the ancient couple. However, it wasn't quite as she had hoped it would be: They taught her many new things, but not as much as she thought adequate; they were actively keeping information from her, claiming they were not permitted to disclose certain things. Whenever they dealt with certain matters, especially if these matters involved the help of Unspeakables like Ambrose Curtis or even Molly Weasley, they would send her out of the room. It was frustrating!

Hermione poured her potion into a jug to be marked, thinking sourly that in proper Potions class, she would not have been able to think of other things all the time. She handed in her jug, cleared away her equipment, offered Ron and Harry her help, and when they declined, started on the shortish essay Professor Lyons had given them for homework. Over the years, she had learned to write systematically and neatly even when not seated properly at a table in the library; the eight minutes which were left of the lesson could be put to their full use: While the other students finished, handed in and tidied up, she got most of her homework done. When the class was leaving the dungeon, she had her bag strapped over her shoulder and her piece of parchment in one hand, shaking it so the ink would dry. The feeling of being effective, of making the most of her time, and of achieving something, contributed to bettering her mood. Snape, of course, would not have let her do her essay in class, but then again, Snape's classes had been too demanding to leave her much time for that. As it was, however, she was gaining the time she needed for her other projects.

After lunch, she could not wait to get into the room in which Perenelle and Nicholas were working on the panacea - as it happened, the former Spellsearchers' Lab Sirius and Lupin had used. The ancient couple was taking a tea break; Perenelle was munching at some biscuits, while Nicholas, as usual, was humming an aria to himself. Hermione had to keep herself from reprimanding them. They'd just had their lunch, and March 21^st was approaching fast. Why did they need another break?

Hermione murmured a greeting. Perenelle and Nicholas hardly looked up at her. Their silence told her that they had been wrapped up in a conversation they didn't want her to follow, most likely about the matters of Unspeakables. Unwilling to let them know how much this annoyed her, Hermione went over to the laboratory part of the room to see if there had been any progress since yesterday. Unlike the Spellsearchers, the alchemists required a real laboratory, one with test-tubes, Petri dishes and Erlenmeyer retorts. A part of their craft resembled the art of potion making, even though they worked with solid rather than with liquid matter: While potion making involved boiling, simmering, brewing, distilling, melting or at least mashing things into pulp, alchemy often required a combination of substances in which they were not liquefied. Of course, the amalgamation of solid materials was far more difficult than just stirring liquids into each other; it involved complicated spells, some of which Nicholas had already taught Hermione.

This was where alchemy not only differed from potion making, but, more importantly, from Muggle chemistry: In the hand of Muggles, substances were bound to their natural properties; there were strict limits to how something could be transformed by chemistry. Alchemy meant the craft of breaking these natural laws, of making substances behave in a way that was not natural for them. For example, turning lead into gold could hardly be achieved by Muggle physics; "you can shoot your protons around, but if you want to have the gold for a purpose, that's just not an efficient method," Perenelle had told the amazed Hermione. Alchemy, on the other hand, meant altering not the physical, but the metaphysical properties of matter, thereby achieving the unachievable.

This was the other part of alchemy - the part you could not see, or hear, or taste, the part you could not physically touch. Hermione found it hard to comprehend, not the least because Nicholas and Perenelle avoided explaining many things to her. They said she was too young to know about it, that it was against the law to tell her. Hermione resented such replies. Of course, measured against them, she was extremely young, but then again, everybody was, as the pair had persisted through the centuries. "Older than the trees, younger than the mountains," Perenelle liked to say with a wink, her eyelids folding like a concertina. Hermione found the remark slightly tasteless. These two had tricked death; again and again, they had escaped the scythe, outliving their friends, their children and grandchildren, maybe even outstaying their welcome in many places. Well, their stay was drawing to a close now. The last drops of the Elixir of Life were dwindling; Perenelle had confided that to her. On March 21^st, they would die. By that day, the panacea had to be completed, or there would be no panacea; whatever knowledge they had not entrusted to Hermione by that time would die with them. For this reason, Hermione hated with a vengeance any kind of delay, any hesitation, any tea break. There was no time to lose.

"You know, we wanted to die a number of times, but somehow we never got around to it," Perenelle had once told Hermione in good humour. "There's always the next holiday to celebrate, or the next job to do, or the next descendent of us expecting a baby which we still wanted to see. We just never found any time to die, really. When Dumbledore asked us to destroy the stone a few years ago, we agreed, but of course, we still had a supply of the Elixir stashed away to put our affairs in order. We knew we had quite a bit, to be honest, and said we'd destroy what we didn't need, so young Voldemort wouldn't get his filthy hands on it, but to be honest, we never destroyed one single bottle. We decided we'd set a date for death, and destroy all the elixir that would keep us alive beyond that, but then we kept putting that date off, because things kept coming up. But now, this is definitely it. On March 21^st, we will run out of Elixir, and finally snuff it. The stone's gone, too, so there is no way out at last. Everyone's got to die some day."

That was true, Hermione thought as she was checking on dish holding a large diamond and a pile of pressed ginkgo leaves. She just wished that the two of them would not die until they had cured Ron and the other 'afflicted', and until they had taught her enough so she could become an alchemist herself. Alchemy was the most fascinating craft she had ever heard about, and the more she learned the more her hunger for knowledge grew.

Perenelle touched her shoulder. Hermione started, because she had not heard the ancient witch step up behind her.

"There's progress - the ginkgo leaves and the diamond are starting to grow together - they are growing alike," she said.

Hermione nodded. She had noticed that the leaves had hardened considerably, while the diamond was growing dull and greenish. She wasn't sure if she was imagining things, but there seemed to be leaf veins growing through the perennial gemstone.

"These processes usually take a long time," Perenelle told her. "We can't wait that long. After some recent successes, we asked Professor Varlerta and her two apprentices to play their magical music to our materials. It seems to work like a catalyst which speeds up and enhances the process. If things keep up like this, we can go over to the next step in a couple of days."

"In which I, unfortunately, cannot take part, as it is against the law that I learn anything important," Hermione replied, surprised at the bitterness in her own voice.

Perenelle sighed. "Hermione, we discussed this before. There are limits to what we can teach you. I am sorry about it, but I can't change it. I am not withholding information from you for fun. These are things about which most people, even most grown witches and wizards, know nothing whatsoever. So it has been decreed centuries ago, and so we will keep it. If you choose a profession in which you need to deal with these things, you will be initiated once you are considered old enough. You have to be patient."

"By the time I'm old enough, you two will be dead," Hermione said softly, but clearly. She saw Perenelle's eyes widen, but decided not to apologise. The ancient witch talked openly about her impending death; why should Hermione not be permitted to be just as frank? There was no time for polite avoidance; this might be the only chance she'd ever get to speak her mind. She resumed:

"If the library books are not mistaken, you two are the last alchemists left on this planet, except for Dumbledore, who seems to have been your last apprentice. It is a science that has become almost extinct. A community of wizards hunted alchemists in fifteenth century because they were becoming too powerful. You two have survived all the raids, but you seem to be an exception to every rule. However, no one ever really followed in your footsteps. When I asked if I could study with you, I also asked Dumbledore if he would be able to complete the panacea if you didn't make it in time. He said he didn't have the necessary skills. When you die, your knowledge will die with you. I can't wait until I'm old enough to be taught what I have to learn, because by that time, there will be no one left to teach me. This is my only chance. And -" she played her only trump card, "I am your last chance to teach your knowledge to someone if you do not want it to get lost."

Perenelle looked quite pleased with Hermione's outbreak. "Connecting bits of knowledge, I see. You seem to have gotten some work done in your little History of Magic project. Did you read the bit about Dorothea Julia Wallich?"

Hermione was amazed. She had expected Perenelle to be at least a little indignant. "Never mind my project," she replied. "It's nothing important, just a meaningless little NEWTs credit. Alchemy is what really matters to me: I want to study it not to get good marks, but for myself. Most of all, I want my friends saved, so I want the panacea to be finished in time. If it is not, and you are not -here anymore, who will help me complete it? I have to learn all I can from you, otherwise all our efforts may be lost - and so will my friends. Will you teach me?"

Perenelle laughed. "You do not aim for trifles, do you?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "I love to learn. I want to learn as much as I can. In a way, I am doing this for my own pleasure. But it's not only that. There are people in danger - people who very well may die soon, or never be the same again, or become a danger to their friends if we do not find a way to help them. With a little luck, we may be in time with the panacea. If so, what about the next people Voldemort hits with his Ice Missiles? What about the next curse he will invent faster than we can find a counter-curse? As soon as we knew a way to counter Icy Fingers, he came up with something new. That's how it's going to be in the future; we will always be one step behind him, not one step ahead. People will be harmed all the time. We will need this panacea, will need it not only once, but repeatedly. Who is going to produce it once you are dead if you won't teach me?"

"'tis a wise wee lass we have found ourselves, Perenellia" Nicholas Flamel said slowly and gently.

Perenelle looked over to her husband and then back at Hermione. "Sit down and close your eyes," she told her assistant.

Her heart beating ferociously, Hermione did as instructed.

"Breathe in and out slowly, and calm yourself," Perenelle's voice came from behind. "This will take a while, and nothing exciting will happen; it is only a little test. No reason to get all upset about it."

Hermione thought to herself that the words 'a little test' were not the perfect choice to relieve her of her anxiety, but forced herself to breathe evenly. Whatever would come (breathe in slowly, hold it briefly) would come (breathe out slowly). Whatever would come (breathe in slowly, hold it) would come (breathe out very slowly).

Finally she felt Perenelle's hands on her shoulders. She could sense their warmth through her robes.

"I will let the stream of magic flow through your body," Perenelle said with a very calm voice that made Hermione slightly drowsy. Hermione waited for something to happen. For what seemed an eternity, she waited in vain. All she felt were Perenelle's warm hands lying on her shoulder. Sitting still and remaining calm became increasingly difficult. She wanted to move, to scratch her elbow, to enquire indignantly what this nonsense was supposed to be, but she upheld her self-discipline. Finally, she felt Perenelle's hands grow positively hot on her back; she felt the presence of a great power. This power swelled and grew until it seemed to overwhelm her; Hermione gasped in something that was very much like fear.

Perenelle removed her hands. "Open your eyes and tell me what you felt, girl."

Hermione turned to face her. For a moment she felt tempted to claim that she had perceived all kinds of things, most of all a truly impressive stream of magic, but she knew she would not be able to fool Perenelle for very long. As much as she hated to, she had to admit: "Apart from the presence of very strong magic, I didn't feel much."

Perenelle pulled up a chair and placed it so she was facing Hermione. Her kind face made it unequivocally clear that she would say things Hermione would not like to hear.

"See, Hermione, alchemy is for its largest part a metaphysical craft because it deals with things which cannot be perceived with our normal senses. Therefore, most people cannot deal with this power - they can't control it because they don't even know to what extent it is there. Some people, however, can feel this power. This is what 'having the Sixth Sense' really means - the ability to perceive, and maybe control, the stream of magic. It is a rare gift, you must understand. I am sorry to tell you that you do not possess it."

Hermione felt frustration well up in her. It was just like in her third year when she had been told by Professor Trelawney that she did not possess the Second Sight. Like then, she felt tempted to dismiss the diagnosis she was told: Maybe she did not feel anything because there was nothing to be felt. Maybe they were making things up just to make her feel bad. In Trelawney's case, nothing had ever properly proved this assumption wrong: Harry and Ron had been making their predictions up until the day they had dropped the class; it was all a bunch of nonsense and nothing else. However, the ancient witch in front of her was not Professor Trelawney. She had lived for far more than six hundred years, which was at least some kind of proof that her profession was no fraud, but real. Slowly Hermione nodded. "Then there is no hope; it is a skill that can't be acquired by learning, I suppose," she replied dully.

"You are right, and you are wrong," Perenelle replied enigmatically. Upon seeing Hermione's frown of confusion, she put matters more precisely: "As far as I know, the skill I am talking about cannot be acquired by studying or training. Mind you, those who possess it have to practise it, to refine their skills and to learn to control their powers, but to those who do not possess it, training is useless. If my six hundred years of experience are not proved wrong, you will never develop a Sixth Sense, will never perceive or control the stream of magic, and you will therefore never be an Unspeakable."

Comprehension dawned on Hermione. "That's what they do."

Perenelle sighed. "I should not have told you, but I believe you to be a sensible young woman who won't go blabbing about things which are not meant for the ears of the uninitiated. There is much more to the work of the Unspeakables than you can guess now, but, yes, it has to do with the stream, or rather the source of magic."

Hermione let her head hang in disappointment. Perenelle was talking about such exciting things, things that would forever be closed to her.

"I see," she said in a small voice.

"Alchemy is powered by the force felt by those who possess the Sixth Sense," Perenelle said, worsening Hermione's sadness. "Without the skills of an Unspeakable, there is no alchemy. I myself possess the Sixth Sense, and therefore enabled Nicholas to achieve his great works of alchemy. He, however, does not possess the Sixth Sense."

Hermione stared first at the ancient witch, then at the wizened wizard. "You do not possess it, Loremaster Flamel? How can you be an alchemist, then?"

"Aye, lass, 'tis a skill I do not call my own. Only with the aid of my dearest wife could I work the Philosopher's Stone," Flamel said, his eyes twinkling. "Therefore, take hope, pray thee, my lass."

In spite of herself, Hermione had to grin from one ear to the other. "You worked together?" she asked. "All you had to do is combine your skills to do alchemy? Do you mean that if I find an Unspeakable for a partner, there is hope that I can do alchemy, too?" Then her sudden joy was darkened by confusion.

"Wait - in all the books I read about you, it only said that Loremaster Flamel was the greatest alchemist ever known in history, but no one ever mentioned you as a participator, Perenelle. If the Stone was made by the two of you, why didn't the books mention that?"

Nicholas did not meet Hermione's eye, but Perenelle laughed. "Back when we first started working together, the social climate was very anti-woman, even anti-witch. The wizard was supposed to be the head of the family, the achieving party, while witches were basically limited to magical housecleaning. Of course, in reality this was not how things were done. There was no branch of magic without its share of excelling witches; however, this was taken for granted, not discussed in public. When Nick and I started doing alchemy together, I didn't mind it much that no one mentioned my contributions to our achievements. That's how things were done simply everywhere, and besides, I was far too eager to become immortal to worry about such short-lived things as fame. Then, a couple of centuries later, about the time of the first Muggle suffrage movements, I began to see things differently: I wanted to be noticed, to be recognised. It was a mixture of personal pride and a hope to show witches and women what we all can achieve if we make the effort. However, the important books about the age of alchemy were already written, and it looked like I just wanted to make a nuisance of myself. I didn't like that, so I ended up accepting things as they were. But you can truly believe me: Nicholas does not have the Sixth Sense; he could only be an alchemist with my help."

"Aye, 'tis true," Nicholas Flamel agreed with a strange little smile. For a moment she wondered what he thought about getting all the fame for the couple's achievement, but there were more important things on her mind.

"So all I need is a proper partner for my work," she said.

Perenelle nodded. "For the time being, I suggest you partner up with Ambrose Curtis. He is a skilled Unspeakable, he's been working with us on the panacea already, and he's on the premises. Moreover, I've seen you two talking, so I suppose you are getting along well."

Hermione nodded and successfully avoided blushing. She didn't mind working with her fellow League member Ambrose at all, but of course, people were not supposed to know she was a League member.

"I do believe that you will be working with another partner some time in the future, but you will have to see about that yourself," Perenelle added a little pertly.

"So you are a Seer, too?" Hermione added suspiciously. She didn't like Seers. "Does it come with the Sixth Sense?"

Perenelle shook her head. "The Sixth Sense and the Second Sight have nothing to do with each other. You don't have to be a Seer to predict certain things."

Confused, Hermione shook her head. "I'll talk to Curtis when I see him to- - when I see him," she caught herself just in time. Not even Perenelle was supposed to know that she attended League meetings on certain evenings.

"Aye, my lass," Nicholas Flamel replied. "Anon, betake thee yonder to the glass dishes, so I may teach ye some more of the worldly matters which constitute the grand art of alchemy."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the years, Hermione had developed the skill of doing her homework in a minimum of time without cutting down on neatness and correctness. Years of schooling had taught her that efficiency was achieved through working systematically with a maximum of concentration. The other students in her year, especially Harry, always marvelled at the amount of things Hermione got done in the course of a day. Of course, they had never learned to cope with a time-turner. However, what they lacked most, in Hermione's view, was motivation. After classes had finished, they often stared at their pile of homework as if an unachievable task had been set before them. By the time they had finished staring, it seemed, Hermione had finished half of her work. She worked quickly because there were other things than just homework she wanted to do with her life. There was the League, for example, there was alchemy, and presently there was her History of Magic project.

After their OWLs, students were permitted, sometimes required, to drop certain classes. History of Magic was a class most students dropped. In Hermione's year, she was the only one who had actually wanted to keep the subject. Fortunately, nobody expected her to spend her lessons alone with Professor Binns. Instead of requiring her to attend a class, the ghost had asked her to choose a topic for a little research project, and write a longer essay about a subject. Deciding that for a NEWTs credit, it was a relatively easy task, infinitely preferable to sitting in Binns' class for two more years, Hermione had agreed to do a research project on her own. Perenelle had given her the idea; Professor Binns and Professor McGonagall had strongly encouraged her. She was carrying out research on the history of the four House Ghosts of Hogwarts.

The information Hogwarts - A Historyheld about Nearly Headless Nick, the Bloody Baron, the Grey Lady and the Fat Friar was minimal. This was especially amazing as Professor Binns had told her that the history of all four House Ghosts was closely intertwined with the history of the school. Sometimes she wondered how the History of Magic teacher himself liked her topic, as he was a ghost himself. However, she could not ask him: The rule of her assignment stated that she had to write the essay on her own, without help and without advice. The ghosts themselves, of course, had received strict orders to remain silent. Therefore, there was only one way to approach her task, and it was an approach which had the appeal of familiarity to Hermione: When in doubt, go to the library.

The Grey Lady was the easiest of the four. Dorothea Julia Wallich had taught at Hogwarts from 1705 to 1719 - she had been the last person ever to teach alchemy at the school, and she had been a direct descendent of Nicholas and Perenelle. Dorothea had worked a panacea twice - from books about alchemy, Hermione learnt that this was supposed to be the greatest achievement for a master (or mistress?) of alchemy, save one: It was only surpassed by the creation of a Philosopher's Stone, something which few but Nicholas and Perenelle had ever achieved, but which Dorothea appeared to have tried repeatedly.

In the library, Hermione had found an ancient, crumbling edition of Hogwarts - A History dating seventy years back. It amazed her to find that the newer edition she practically possessed did not only contain facts about everything that had happened in the meantime, but that there was a considerable amount of facts missing in 'her' edition. (Legally speaking, the book belonged to the library, too, but Madam Pince had once told Hermione to keep it as long as she pleased - the librarian would let her know if anybody else ever asked for the book.) Now Hermione found that the older edition contained a lot of information that did not seem to have been left out just to make room for new facts; she had the impression somebody had tried to edit out certain events or even people. One of the people she did not find mentioned anywhere else was a certain Fred Friars, who had been Headmaster of Hogwarts from 1922 to 1926. There was no portrait of that Headmaster anywhere in the castle, not even in Dumbledore's office; when asking the current Headmaster whether she could be the apprentice of Perenelle and Nicholas, Hermione had checked. However, a small vignette printed into the book displayed a merry, fat wizard who looked suspiciously like the Hufflepuff ghost. Hermione could not help wondering what Fred Friars had done to forfeit his right to be mentioned in Hogwarts - A History and the right to have his portrait on the wall of Dumbledore's office.

Nearly Headless Nick had seemed an easy task at first, because since his five-hundredth deathday, Hermione knew his full name: Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. She also knew that he had died October 31^st, 1492. However, his name appeared in none of the books she had found so far, even though she searched for him tirelessly. She even had a permission slip to order any book from the Restricted Section if she knew its exact title. However, after hours with the crumbling old library register - it seemed almost all the books in stock were listed in this eighty-year-old tome - she felt ready to give up. What good was a name if it was all you knew? Somehow she was reminded of the search Harry, Ron and she had carried out in their first year, desperately looking for Nicholas Flamel in all the books they could lay their hands on. Again, she didn't know what she was searching for, but was sure there was something out there waiting for her to find it. Or was there? Sometimes Hermione wondered if maybe the reason Nick and the Fat Friar were mentioned nowhere was that they had done nothing noteworthy at all, and were therefore never mentioned in any book. But if that was the case, why had Perenelle advised her to take up this particular project - and why had Professor Binns agreed? They'd know if the Hogwarts ghosts were too boring for any well-founded project, wouldn't they? And if the House Ghosts were boring, why had they become ghosts?

The last of the four certainly had not been a boring character. Hermione had found the Bloody Baron almost by accident, had found him in the first book she had opened. There was no question that it was him: Not only had the portrait Marvolo Slytherin in The Chronicles of Slytherin an extraordinary likeness to the gaunt Slytherin ghost; his short biography even mentioned that Marvolo had gone on to haunt the House of Slytherin. Hermione had copied it word for word with one of the handy Kwik-Copy quills the Sixth Year students were finally permitted to use. It read as follows:

Marvolo Slytherin (1860-1926) was the last direct male descendent of Salazar Slytherin the Great. He acquired an international reputation in necromancy. However, his life is generally seen as the last step in the downfall of the great and noble Slytherin family. A victim of the 'Slytherin Curse' said to be brought about by his grandfather Nero Slytherin, he bravely fought against his fate all his life. However, all his attempts to produce a male heir and to let the line of Slytherin continue beyond his death came to naught: His first two wives, née Elvira Lestrange, and née Margaret Malfoy, produced no children whatsoever; his third wife, née Gwenda Ailis, only bore him two daughters: Emily (1906) and Eileen (1911).

The next passage had been blackened out with imperishable ink; it seemed someone had wanted to prevent the fates of Emily and Eileen to become known. It also left Hermione to wonder about the succession of Marvolo's wives. What had happened to the first two - had Marvolo divorced them, had they left, had they - died? About this, the book said nothing, but it extended the question to the third wife, mother of Emily and Eileen, on whose fate the rest of the biographical article did not elaborate.

After this utter disappointment, Marvolo Slytherin undertook one more attempt to have an heir. He married Alfreda Davis in 1922, hoping that her youth would facilitate the conception of a healthy wizard boy.

Another lengthy passage was blackened out. This time, it left Hermione to wonder how old youthful Alfreda Davis had been when married to a wizard who by that time had been sixty-six. She shuddered inwardly. If the passages which were not blackened caused such utter dislike for the person described to her, how would she feel if she was to read what had been made illegible? - The article closed with one more legible sentence:

After his death, Marvolo Slytherin replaced his uncle, Nero Slytherin, as the ghost of the House of Slytherin at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, truly becoming the new 'Bloody Baron.'

Of course, the article had furthered Hermione's curiosity of the Bloody Baron's predecessor, Nero Slytherin, who was thought to have brought the 'Slytherin Curse' on his family. She found his biography just a few pages before Marvolo. It was considerably longer than Marvolo's, and, of course, partially blackened out. However, from the legible passages Hermione could gather that Nero Slytherin (1782 - 1863) had been an extremely rich noblewizard and landowner who had continuously enlarged his fortune by exploiting 'his' Muggles in any way conceivable.

Hermione was burning to find out what the 'Slytherin Curse' was all about, and what had caused Nero Slytherin to be cursed. It seemed to have to do with having children, but she wasn't quite sure about all of it yet. However, a later passage of Nero Slytherin's biography did not only enlighten her on this point, but also succeeded in enraging her considerably:

Legend tells us that Nero Slytherin has brought upon the family what was later considered the 'Slytherin Curse', namely the curse which decreed the Slytherin family should bring forward no more sons unless they were bringers of great destruction. The absence of a proper Slytherin heir and the failure of the great line has been attributed, rightly or wrongly, to the curse which Nero received from a village witch called Gill Eston.

When coming into his inheritance, the noblewizard and land-owner decreed that all his lands should be purged of Muggle-born children, a custom which was intended as a means to extinguish the folk magic culture, but which had been abandoned about a century earlier. When his Muggle tenants refused to have their children tested for signs of magic, Nero Slytherin decreed that the first son of each Muggle family should be killed if the Muggles did not give up their witch and wizard children to their landlord. With this rather drastic step, he was hoping to break Muggle solidarity, expecting that when their own children were threatened, Muggles would betray the witch and wizard children of their neighbours. As his threat did not result in the desired outcome, he partially carried it out.

His enraged tenants asked for help one Gill Eston, who practised folk magic in a neighbouring village. Eston publicly cursed the Slytherin family, predicting the failure of the line because the family would bear no more sons. If they bore any more sons, they would be bringers of great destruction, Eston announced. Slytherin had the witch arrested, punishing her after old wizard laws, but the curse did not die with its pronouncer.

When cursed, Nero already had a son, Kenneth, who later married and became the head of the Slytherin family as was his birth right. Kenneth's wife, née Pauletta Peasegood, only bore him one child, Marvolo. By many, young Marvolo (1860-1926) was regarded as the sign that the Slytherin curse did not hold, and that the great line would not fail. However, as Marvolo Slytherin never produced a male heir, and as his daughters failed to meet their father's expectation, the Great Line of Slytherin today is no more; the family's lofty halls are empty, falling into ruin, waiting for a true heir of Slytherin to re-claim them.

Confused by the abundance of strange names and dates, Hermione did not fail to perceive the sinister implications of this text. Not the fate of the Slytherin family concerned her; she rather worried about the people suppressed, and, indeed, murdered by them. Reading between the lines, she learned that Nero Slytherin had first wanted to kill all Muggle-born witch and wizard children among his tenants, obviously afraid of something called 'folk magic'. To press these tenants into telling him which children to kill, he had pointlessly murdered the eldest sons of many of his Muggle tenants. Punished for his deed by a curse that Hermione thought far too weak for Nero Slytherin's crimes, the wizard had imprisoned and obviously killed the witch who had spoken the curse. 'Old wizard laws' - these words made Hermione shiver inwardly.

Thinking about the text, she suddenly felt as if she was standing on a thin crust of soil covering a blazing volcano. If she had been a Muggle-born witch a few centuries earlier, she realised, it was unlikely that she would have made it to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Most likely, she would have been murdered by an old wizard family living in a fancy castle, a family eager to keep their powers and privileges to themselves. The thought first made her feel sick, then terribly angry. This is why I am a League member, she noiselessly whispered to herself.

But The Chronicles of Slytherin also hinted at something else, something she had never heard of. What was 'folk magic'? What was a 'village witch'? Nobody had ever mentioned these expressions to her, but the author of the text used these terms as if they were self-explanatory; maybe they were. If 'folk magic' was something to be suppressed, it could not be the magic practised by the old witch and wizard families of that time; it had to be something else, something hidden and forbidden. She suddenly felt the urge to find out more about this 'folk magic'. For a moment she almost wished she was not studying alchemy so she would have more time to find out something about this apparently hidden chapter of the history of Magic.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Harry noisily entering the Gryffindor common room where Hermione was sitting in a corner, looking over her notes. She looked up to see her friend scanning the room, spotting her and walking towards her. "Where's Ron?" he asked.

Hermione mutely pointed her quill towards the stairway that led up to the boys' dormitory. It wasn't like she knew Ron would be there; rather, the dormitory was the most obvious place for him to be if he wasn't with Harry. She could not help feeling a bit miffed, although she knew she shouldn't: All Harry could ever do these days was worry about people, and as there was no reason to worry about her, he didn't spend much time with her. He had to take care of Ron, and he was also visiting Cho Chang almost every day. Harry had probably just been to her little room in the tower above Ravenclaw Hall, Hermione concluded, considering that he had actually lost sight of Ron.

It was generally kept a secret that the Ravenclaw Seeker had been magically induced to fall in love with Professor Snape, and that she was pining away in a chamber far away from the bustle of the school. But, of course, everyone knew; that's how things went among students, or maybe among people in general. Students were whispering about how disgusting it was to moon after Snape of all people. Many were feeling sorry for Cho, but Hermione had also heard students say some very nasty things about her, all of them amounting to Cho being a slut. Such remarks angered Hermione considerably. It was obvious that Cho could not be blamed if Snape had given her a love potion, and that nobody would voluntarily fall in love with Professor Snape. Besides, Cho was not there to defend herself, but was sitting in her chamber up in the tower by herself, crying and suffering.

"How is she?" Hermione asked Harry, who had already turned away to go up to the dormitory. Harry turned slowly, seemed to take a moment to decide, then pulled up an armchair next to Hermione's. It's almost as if he had forgotten that I'm someone he can talk to, not just someone who might point him the way to Ron, Hermione thought. Then she mentally chided herself for having such thoughts. Ron was ill; so was Cho. It was a good thing that Harry was looking after them. They needed him more than Hermione did, who was so busy with school, her History of Magic project, alchemy and the League that she hardly had any time to miss her friends. She did miss them, though. It hurt her that Ron was relying on Harry only to get back into his classes, not on her. However, the most important thing was that Ron got well, not how he got well.

After a few seconds of silence in which Harry rubbed his face with both hands, he said: "She's unchanged, actually. She's just sitting there, crying, and saying that she will never see him again, and that she will die of a broken heart. It's so -" he took a deep breath, then continued in a strained voice, "so sick, really. I mean, Snape is just so disgusting, and it was so sick of him to give her that potion! How could he? I hope they put him into Azkaban for the rest of his days when they catch him!"

Hermione shook her head. "They told you it was an accident, didn't they?"

Harry snorted. "Yeah, right. He gave her that potion by accident. I don't believe it. Snape is just such a - such a sick bastard!"

Hermione shook her head. She didn't know exactly what had happened between Snape and Cho; the most absurd rumours were circulating in school. "But he didn't - he didn't touch her, did he?" she asked Harry, who might know more.

Harry shuddered briefly. "Don't think so," he murmured, staring at the floor. It was obvious that he was reluctant to even think about such things.

To give him something else to think about, something that didn't have to do anything with Ron or Cho, Hermione asked: "By the way, how's the Thestral?"

Still not looking at her, Harry almost smiled. "I've seen him outside a couple of times. The snow does not seem to harm him; a few days ago, I've seen him rolling in it. His wings were throwing snow all over the place, and he got me wet from head to toe." He looked pleased. It must be love, Hermione decided.

"Hagrid said he tried to use him in one of his lessons," Hermione told him. "He bribed him with carrots and everything, and asked him to come to his hut at a specific time. Of course, the Thestral didn't show up. Hagrid insists it's not because the creature didn't understand him, but because he's an unreliable character who makes off with carrot bribes."

Harry chuckled. "He told me the same story." He hesitated for a moment, then he said: "Hey, let's get Ron down here to sit with us. I'll see if I can make him leave his bed for once. Let's-" he paused again, obviously wondering what the three of them could do once they were sitting together, "let's play Exploding Snap."

Hermione managed not to stare at him. They hadn't played Exploding Snap for ages. Sixth Years didn't play Exploding Snap.

"Yes, that would be nice," she replied. "See if you can get him down here."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the evening, there was a League meeting. Hermione was very eager to get there, because she wanted to talk to Ambrose Curtis about working together on the panacea. Sneaking out of the castle and into the League camp had become a routine task for her: She attended meetings regularly. Other than that, she had never done any work for the League, although she had sworn her oath ages ago and was a proper member now. Penthesilea said that they didn't want her to undertake any kind of dangerous tasks as she was still underage. Of course, in terms of work, Hermione had enough on her plate already, but sometimes she wondered whether the League was still checking her out.

She made her way into the League camp through the secret passage hidden by the chestnut tree. Then she went into the meeting hut of the camp. The main room was crammed with thirty or forty chairs lined up in a slightly crooked circle, most of them still empty. Someone had already distributed platters of leftover Christmas biscuits on three small tables and on the shelves lining the walls. On the small cast-iron stove, the teakettle was whistling again; thirty people were likely to drink a lot of tea, Hermione thought.

Besides the leading figures of the League camp, Penthesilea, Ambrose Curtis and Lucy Callahan, Hermione had gotten to know a few people living in the hidden enclosure, but not all of those who regularly attended the meetings. A few people greeted her with a wave; Florean Fortescue, who must have come from London to attend the meeting, nodded kindly. Hermione made a mental note to ask him for help with her History of Magic project later; he wasn't supposed to give her any forthright information, but maybe he might hint at some books that would be useful. Right now, however, the person she wanted to talk to was Ambrose.

Wrapped up in a conversation with Lucy Callahan, the dark-skinned Unspeakable only noticed Hermione when she placed herself right next to him. He gave her a welcoming smile, but kept on listening to Lucy.

"Still, I'm not sure whether we can trust him. Some of his reports are far from satisfying, especially those concerning -" she cast a sidelong glance at Hermione. Fine, Hermione thought - here's someone else who does not want to trust me.

"I think she knows," Ambrose said, noticing Lucy's glance. "Hermione," he addressed her directly, "do you know about someone who used to be hidden at Hogwarts Castle? A - a friend of your teacher, Professor Varlerta?"

"Sirius Black," Hermione said quietly to show that she indeed knew who he was talking about.

"And where is he now?" Ambrose asked on.

"With his friend," Hermione said evasively. Loyalty was a complicated thing. She'd have trusted Curtis, but there were a lot of people she didn't know very well in the same room. Saying aloud that Sirius Black and the murderer of the Minister of Magic had eloped to the United States aided by teachers of her school, seemed a bit risky.

"We've got to talk - after the meeting," Curtis told her a bit authoritatively. Hermione nodded; she wanted very much to talk to Curtis, too.

The meeting itself was, Hermione had to admit, as boring as usual. The League was the second conspirational organisation she belonged to, Dumbledore's Order being the first. Both held long and insufferably boring meetings. People reported of their plans, of their problems and actions, and communicated about cooperating in putting plans into action, in solving problems, in coordinating their actions with a common goal in view. Meetings, Hermione knew, were extremely useful; but they also gave her a boredom-induced headache. On a day like this, she could not help wishing that every group she belonged to could be as simple as the group of three she had formed together with Ron and Harry: Perceive a problem, blindly plunge into action, fight tooth and nail, and succeed as well as you could. Her mind soberly disapproved of such a course of action; her temper, however, secretly approved.

While her mind talked of risks, her temper said things had always turned out right in the end - at least for her. Therefore, she did not want to discuss how to protect those families that were half Muggles, half magical, how to protect Muggle-born witches and wizards as well as their families: Much rather, she would have gone out, wand in hand, and battled the Death Eaters attempting to harm them. She did not want to discuss what to do about the students of Durmstrang being trained as future Death Eaters; she wanted to fly there immediately, infiltrate them with the help of other Hogwarts students, and convince them to change sides. She did not want to talk about American Death Eaterism becoming an issue, even a danger; she wanted to - well, to do battle. That was part of the problem with her simple solutions to all these problems, though: Half of them depended on her enemies being good natured and persuadable, and half of them included killing her enemies. She knew that both halves of her solutions were flawed, and that therefore, discussion was not a bad idea. Therefore, she patiently sat through all the meetings. She just wished they wouldn't be needed.

Then, of course, there was the big issue of the forthcoming election: The League members were discussing how to best support their candidate, Arthur Weasley. Hermione found the idea of Ron's father becoming Minister of Magic very strange; it also seemed to her that Arthur Weasley was not what most witches and wizards might expect of someone holding that office. However, his well-known, absolute integrity and his loyalty to Dumbledore seemed to make him the best bet for the League: It could not be one of them, Penthesilea had explained to Hermione, as this would mean a conflict in loyalty. Hermione had thought that Penthesilea, a Ministry of Magic Official herself, would have done well in the office herself, but realised that the witch, well-known for her League membership, just might not be elected by very many people. The same might be true of the poor, slightly odd Arthur Weasley; however, as he was running for the office, what's more, running against Lucius Malfoy, she agreed that the League had to do their best to support their preferred candidate.

After the meeting, Ambrose Curtis motioned for her to follow him into a small room adjoining the larger one for meetings. This room only held four chairs and a tiny table; it was considerably colder than the meeting room, as it had no heater of its own. Hermione wrapped herself in her cloak and sat down, waiting for Ambrose to speak, as he had initiated the tête-à -tête.

"Have you heard from Remus Lupin lately?" Ambrose asked without further introduction.

Hermione shook her head.

"So they haven't told you," Ambrose said. Noticing Hermione's confused look, he continued: "Remus Lupin is currently residing in Hogwarts Castle again. He is said to have returned to search for a spy called Pettigrew."

Hermione's face must have betrayed that she had heard the spy's name before, because Ambrose said as much: "I see, you are familiar with who Pettigrew is and what he's done. But that is not the issue here. I'm talking about Lupin. I want you to find out whether he is the real Lupin, as there are certain doubts about his identity."

"You say he's up in the castle again?" Hermione asked. "Goodness - I thought he was in America. It was very risky for him to come back here. If they catch him, they might kill him."

"True, but this is not the whole issue," Ambrose replied. "Things are a bit suspicious, you know. We have no idea what has happened to Black. Remus Lupin has returned to Hogwarts, and Dumbledore appears to trust him. Of course, Dumbledore usually knows best. However, certain League members wonder whether this is still the case. Dumbledore has been tricked by impostors before."

Hermione felt her heart sink. What had happened to Sirius? Why hadn't she heard a word of Lupin's return? Did Harry know of any of this? Ambrose's words contained a vague threat. "You mean there's someone drinking Polyjuice Potion up in the castle, posing as Lupin, maybe spying on us - someone who has imprisoned Lupin and Sirius Black?" she asked.

Ambrose shrugged. "Possible," he replied rather curtly.

"So you want me to find out whether this is the case?" she insisted.

Ambrose hesitated briefly, then he replied: "Understand this is not a task the League asks you to do. It would be great if we knew more, and you are the only League member currently residing in the castle. However, being underage, you should not expose yourself to any kind of risk or danger, neither for the League nor for anyone. For one thing, always remember that if you have not been told of Lupin's presence, you do not officially know about it. Therefore, you cannot just walk around and ask questions. For another, if our suspicions are correct, we are talking of an extremely risk-friendly, if not unscrupulous, character here. Only think about it - the guy is not only posing as someone else, constantly risking exposure if he is deprived of his Polyjuice Potion - he is also posing as someone who is wanted for murder. Therefore, if our suspicions are correct, we might be talking about someone who has little qualms about hurting people to reach his aims. It would be extremely unwise to approach him directly with questions. Special care is needed."

"First I'd have to find him, anyway," Hermione replied. In spite of herself, in spite of her general scepticism, she was quivering with excitement shooting through her veins. The first task she was asked to do for the League! Somehow the thought elated her; the feeling reminded her of the adventures she had shared with Harry and Ron.

"I know I shouldn't really ask you to do this," Ambrose replied as in affirmation, "but somehow I think you are up to the job, and it would really be a relief to know what is going on. Just don't shame me by getting yourself into any kind of danger, if you please. Always put your own safety first."

"Of course, I will," Hermione replied, her thoughts already up in the castle and on Lupin's trail. If she wasn't mistaken, there was a kind of antidote against Polyjuice Potion, a potion revealing your true appearance, wasn't there? She'd ask Professor Lyons, or possibly Nicholas Flamel.

Ambrose smiled at her and put his hand on the doorknob, getting ready to open the door. "I'm glad we had a chance to talk. I don't want to keep you past your bedtime, because I know you work hard at school and with Perenelle and Nicholas."

Suddenly Hermione remembered: She had almost forgotten to ask Ambrose about that! "They said I could learn about Alchemy, but that I'm not - that I haven't got whatever it takes to be an Unspeakable. They said I should find myself a partner to do alchemy, for example you. Will you work with me?"

Ambrose stared at her for a moment. Hermione realised that she had said all this extremely fast. Finally, the dark-skinned wizard's face broke into a grin. "Sure," he replied, "I'd like that. You want to meet up in the laboratory tomorrow afternoon after your classes?"