Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light A Harry Potter/The Dark Is Rising Sequence Fusion By: Gramarye

Chapter Twenty-Three - Walls Around the Heart

-----------------------------------------------------------------

No such thing as a man willing to be honest--that would be like a blind man willing to see.

    -- F. Scott Fitzgerald

------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry wasn't quite sure what he expected to see when Hermione opened the door.

Death Eaters, at the very least. Voldemort could have discovered some way to bypass the warding and protection spells and enter the castle without Harry feeling it. Maybe he'd captured all of the students and teachers except for the five of them, and now he was forcing McGonagall and Snape (or using their voices, through magical means) to trick them into opening the door.

But then again, Will had specifically instructed Hermione to show the two teachers into the room. He didn't appear to be at all worried.

Some sort of Dark creature, then. Some foul being of the pit that they wouldn't learn about in Defence Against the Dark Arts classes until their seventh year. He'd read enough books from the Restricted Section to know that a creature of that kind could cause the stone charms to react, provided its magic was powerful enough.

But then again, why would a Dark creature go to all the trouble of imitating the voices of two Hogwarts professors when it could simply wait until the five of them left the room?

Or perhaps they would be expected to face a shapeless, formless mass of evil, the power of the Dark in its purest form.

But then again...no, Harry didn't think he could justify that.

All these theories, each more awful than the last, flashed through his mind in the three seconds that it took for Hermione to open the door. Out of caution--or fear--she had only opened the door partway, just enough for them to see who was waiting outside.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape were standing in the corridor. And as far as Harry could tell, they were the real, genuine articles.

The relief he felt was so mindnumbingly strong that it was closer to disappointment.

Professor McGonagall looked relieved as well, very happy to see that everything was all right. Snape, on the other hand, looked like someone had sneaked up behind him and doused him with a bucket of ice water. His body was rigid, his back unnaturally straight. The skin of his face, normally sallow, had turned a colour better suited for a corpse than a living person.

"Stanton...." His voice came from somewhere deep in his chest, as low and ominous as a rumble of thunder before a storm.

Will cleared his throat, and stood up.

"Miss Granger, if you would be so kind...." he said meaningfully.

Hermione hastily opened the door a little wider to allow the teachers to enter.

McGonagall brushed past without a second glance. Snape, after a moment's uncertain pause, followed her. As soon as the door had clicked shut, the Headmistress of Hogwarts nodded to Will, who bowed to her with the same degree of respect and formality he had always shown to Dumbledore.

"Please pardon the interruption, Dr. Stanton," she said.

"No need to apologise, Headmistress," Will replied graciously, his voice as formal as the steps of a ballroom dance. "This must be a most important matter if--"

"I don't believe this." Snape gave Will the malignant glare he usually held in reserve for troublesome Gryffindors. "You overconfident, small- minded--"

"Severus, please!" McGonagall scolded.

Snape wasn't about to listen to teacher. "I knew from the start that allowing you to come last year was a foolish mistake," he said in the threatening monotone that Harry and the others knew all too well. "Do you have any idea what you've done? If the Dark Lord were to discover that Will Stanton, of ALL people, had been consorting with the great Harry Potter and his little band of hangers-on...but then again, you wouldn't *care* about that sort of thing, would you?"

His intonation changed, sliding from disgusted criticism into an exaggeratedly submissive, servile drawl. "Please enlighten me, why exactly do you *deign* to favour we poor, wretched mort--"

"Have you found the Veritaserum counteragent yet?"

Will's question stopped Snape's angry outburst in mid-word.

"Wh...what?" he choked, taken aback.

"That counteragent you were developing for Veritaserum--last I knew, you hadn't finalised it yet. Has the situation changed at all?"

The explanation had given Snape enough time to collect himself. When he answered, his voice was back to its usual contemptuous self. "No, it hasn't."

"That is my reason." Will smiled faintly. "Oh, I don't doubt your courage. Quite the contrary, in fact. But you can't tell what you don't know. And you know as well as I that the Dark Lord would have no qualms about using one of your own concoctions against you, if it suited his needs."

"And you chose to--"

"Albus Dumbledore decided long ago that this matter would be on a need- to-know basis. Besides the children, only Professor McGonagall and Arabella Figg were informed of the situation. You were safer in ignorance...and, for that matter, so were we."

"Severus, this is not what we came for," McGonagall said, frowning at him.

The veins in Snape's neck stood out like quivering blue ropes, but he remained silent.

McGonagall turned to look at Hermione, who had returned to stand beside the chair closest to the door.

"Miss Granger, Professor Snape tells me that his second year students had an essay assigned last week, to be turned in today," she said.

"Yes, that's right," Hermione replied, glad that the topic had changed to the more comfortable matter of schoolwork.

"You have been helping Natalie McDonald study for Potions, am I right?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, that's right."

"What exactly have you been helping her with?"

Hermione's brow furrowed in thought. "Well, the last thing I really helped her with was the essay you mentioned. Professor Snape tends to assign rather"--she cast a wary glance at Snape--"*challenging* topics, so I helped her think of ideas to incorporate in the paper."

"Did you, then," Snape muttered.

Something in his tone made a warning bell go off in Harry's head.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, alarmed. "Did she fail?"

"No, she didn't," said McGonagall.

Snape reached into the folds of his robes and produced a tightly rolled parchment tied with a thin ribbon. He loosened the knot on the ribbon with a flick of his finger, and deftly unrolled the parchment.

"I suggest you have a look at this, Miss Granger," he said, holding it out to her. He held the end pinched delicately between thumb and forefinger, extended at arm's length, as he was trying to avoid being contaminated by contact with the document.

Puzzled, Hermione took the paper from him, and unrolled it enough to read from the beginning. Her eyes scanned the page with the practised speed of one accustomed to reading and absorbing the information from long documents. Her lips moved silently as she read.

But after a minute, her eyes weren't moving quite so fast. The motion of her lips slowly and eventually stopped. She continued to read, more carefully now. Every so often, she would squint at the paper or move it closer to her eyes, as if she couldn't quite comprehend what she was reading.

As Harry watched her read, the warning bells began to grow louder, more insistent. On a sudden impulse, he reached down to pat at his pocket. The inexplicable coldness of the stone continued to beat through the fabric. The Dark was still present...but how?

"It's...this is...."

Harry's hand fell to his side. Quickly, he looked up.

Hermione had stopped reading. Absently, she let go of the bottom of the parchment, and the document springily snapped back into its neat roll.

"Hermione?" Ron said her name worriedly.

She shook her head. "This...there must be some mistake."

"What is it?" Ginny asked, craning her neck in an attempt to see the document.

Hermione turned to Snape, forcing a brilliant, baffled grin. "This is almost identical to the essay that *I* wrote in second year."

"Almost identical, yes." Snape's lips drew back from his teeth in a superior smile. "With a few sentences and the occasional paragraph deleted to fit it to the length requirements. As I recall, *you* ignored my very clear instructions and rambled on for a good six feet."

Hermione's face went rigid. Her smile froze.

"This...this *can't* be right." The rolled parchment crackled in her tightening grip. "It can't."

Snape couldn't resist a final parting shot. "I can assure you it is. It would be hard to forget a paper so stultifyingly boring."

Suddenly, everyone seemed to be moving at once.

The parchment fell to the floor.

Hermione's hands flew to her face. With a keening, tortured cry, she staggered backward and fell heavily into her chair.

Ginny ran to Hermione and made a valiant effort to pull the older girl's hands away from her face. She hugged her friend, pouring nonsense syllables of comfort and reassurance into deaf ears.

Ron hadn't waited to hear Snape's final remark. He had been in motion before Snape had finished speaking. He sprang forward with an eerie, predatory snarl, and very likely would have succeeded in his intent to rip out the Potions Master's throat if Harry and Neville hadn't leapt to intervene at the last second. And even then, after they had tackled him and pinned him to the ground, Ron fought their restraining grip.

"HOW DARE YOU!" he roared, twisting and writhing like a man in the throes of a seizure.

Neville and Harry doubled and redoubled their efforts to keep him down, though in their heart of hearts they would have been perfectly content to let go and damn the consequences.

McGonagall swept forward, wand raised to deliver an immobilisation spell, but Snape flung out his arm and stopped her. It was hard to tell whether he had done so without thinking or whether he had her safety in mind. But whatever the reason, a thin line of sweat shone on his brow, and not even his characteristic sneer could disguise the glint of instinctive fear in his eyes.

Neville, who was sitting on Ron's back, gave Snape a baleful glare filled with all the hatred and loathing he could muster.

"How can you even suspect her of something like that?" he demanded. His tone clearly indicated that he suspected Slytherin foul play, that Snape had fabricated the damning evidence out of spite.

"Hermione would NEVER cheat!" Ginny said vehemently, her eyes flashing fire.

Hermione was unable to speak in her own defence. Ginny's shielding embrace blocked most of her from sight, but the little they could see was more than enough to know the state of her mind. Violent sobs made her hunched shoulders shake. Her hair, unruly at the best of times, had fallen over her face to create a thick curtain that hid her from view. The endless, maddening sound of her crying rose and fell in jagged spikes. Curled into a tight ball, feet tucked underneath her and arms pulled in to her sides, she looked as if she wanted nothing more than to shrivel up and die.

Harry was prepared to add his own thoughts on Severus Snape to the general opinion, but as turned his head (all the while keeping his grip tight on Ron's hands and his full body weight centred on Ron's ankles) he saw that Will had moved to stand behind Hermione. Will touched the weeping girl's shoulder lightly with one hand, though he made no attempt to calm her.

"This is a very serious accusation," he said, his voice just loud enough to be heard over Hermione's sobs and Ron's struggles. "I trust that there will be further investigation into the matter?"

Harry couldn't tell whether he was addressing Snape or McGonagall, but Snape seemed to take the question as a personal insult.

"Of course! What do you take us for?" Irony twisted the thin line of his mouth. "'Witch hunters'?"

The charged comment hung heavy in the air. Even Ron stopped moving for a moment, temporarily distracted.

Unaware, Hermione continued to sob.

Will turned his attention to Snape with the mild interest of someone who has wandered into the middle of an interesting conversation.

"You said the paper was due today?" he asked.

"Yes," was the cold reply.

McGonagall spoke up, wielding some measure of her authority before the situation could become even more overcharged. "I felt that it was only proper to notify Miss Granger as soon as possible."

"Has the other girl been notified as well?" Will asked.

"Not yet."

That provoked a sharp glance. "Why not?"

"I thought that Miss Granger should be the first to know," Snape said.

"Did you, then." Will's words and tone were a near perfect mimicry of Snape.

Neville, caught up in the tenseness of the moment, let out a high, hysterical giggle that he tried to cover with a feeble cough.

Through a remarkable exercise of emotional control, Snape kept his temper. "After all, it was her paper," he said, artificially casual.

"What actions will be taken?"

"Both girls will be confined to the dormitory outside of classes until the Heads of Houses can arrange a faculty hearing to further examine this incident," McGonagall said. "And until the hearing, Miss Granger will be relieved of all her duties as prefect."

A blood-curdling wail emerged from behind the curtain of hair. Ron uttered a curse and reintensified his efforts to break free.

Will paid no attention to the scuffle at his feet. "And how long will it be until the faculty hearing?"

"One week," McGonagall said with a heavy heart. "Perhaps a fortnight."

"I see," he said thoughtfully, glancing down at Hermione.

"Obviously, you understand the need for thoroughness in matters such as these," Snape added, not without a hint of spitefulness.

Harry was outraged. Hermione's reputation was at stake, and they were discussing the issue as if it was nothing more than a point of business on the agenda of a faculty meeting.

He was about to say something to that effect, anything to point out the lunacy of the accusation, when he noticed that Will was looking at him. There was a quiet mastery in the Old One's eyes that was reassuring and yet alarming at the same time.

Harry nodded imperceptibly, understanding the unspoken order. He would keep silent.

Satisfied, Will turned back to regard the two professors. But in that half-second, something in the room had changed. There had been a very subtle shift in the balance of power, turning it slightly in Will's favour.

"The sessions will continue, of course," he said.

Snape made an outraged noise.

"I think not," he said, sounding scandalised that such a suggestion would even be considered. "According to the rules of this school, a situation of this nature demands that participation in *any and all* extracurricular activities be suspended for the *entire* duration of their probation. Both Miss Granger and Miss McDonald must be confined to their rooms outside of classes."

For the first time, Will's calm facade slipped.

"My dear sir," he said frostily, "do you really think that a case of schoolgirl plagiarism will prevent the Dark Lord from implementing his plans? The sessions must continue."

Snape's glare could have frozen running water. "I warn you, Stanton--"

"I will personally vouch for Hermione Granger's future actions, but I will not be held responsible for what may happen if any more time is lost." The severity of his gaze hinted that a good deal could and would happen if any more time was lost, and that Snape would do well to remember it.

With that particular dispute abruptly ended, he turned to McGonagall. "Headmistress, I appeal to your authority in this matter."

McGonagall hesitated.

From his awkward vantage point, Harry could see her weighing the facts and judging the situation. She had long been a strict adherent to the letter of the law--taking no favourites, punishing her own students as well as those from other houses for infringements of school rules--and to make an exception would go against everything she believed and stood for. But even a strict adherent could see that there were times when such exceptions had to be made.

All of the students in the room, Hermione not the least, had proved that often enough.

"The sessions may continue," she said at last. They could hear the reservation she attempted to conceal. "But I must insist that Miss Granger be escorted to and from this room for each one...by a faculty member."

"Then," Will said, "may I suggest that Professor Snape be that faculty member? After all, who better than he to ensure that the school rules are carried out to the letter?"

Professor Snape looked as though a potion he had been brewing had just exploded in his face.

"He will not have to stay for the sessions, of course," Will added smoothly. "Unless he would care to, that is."

Snape found his voice a moment too late. "Minerva, I--"

"I think that is a very good idea, Dr. Stanton," McGonagall replied, without looking at her colleague. "And I'm sure that Professor Snape would find that idea agreeable."

Snape's breath came hard and fast, whistling through his clenched teeth.

"Excellent. Monday and Thursday evenings at seven o'clock, then?"

"Agreed. Severus?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Agreed." Snape spat the word out.

Will inclined his head humbly. "Thank you both. Now, would you permit me to detain these students for a few more minutes? They will be back in their dormitory by curfew--you have my word."

"Of course." McGonagall stooped down and picked up the discarded roll of parchment. She tucked it safely into her robes. Then, she touched Snape's shoulder and firmly guided him to the door.

With a final burning glare at all of them, his cold eyes lingering longest on Will, Snape allowed himself to be escorted from the room.

The second the door had closed, Ron wormed his way out of Neville and Harry's restraining grip. He ran for the door and flung it open in one furious motion.

His shout reverberated, magnified against the stone walls of the corridor. "Just you wait, you greasy, hook-nosed--"

"Mr. Weasley," Will said sharply. "Control yourself."

Cowed, but not calmed, Ron slunk back into the room and slammed the door.

Harry let out the breath he hadn't even known he had been holding.

Scattered pops and crackles from the fire made dents in the silence of the room. Hermione's sobs had stopped some time before; no one quite knew when. Ginny continued to rub her back and whisper words of encouragement, but she might have been trying to cheer up a carved block of wood for all the response she received.

"It's never going to end, is it?" Neville said miserably, rubbing his feet and ankles to restore the blood flow. Keeping an angry Weasley under control required a good deal of physical exertion.

Ron commented darkly, "If it's not one thing, it's another."

"Testing never ends," Will said, unemotionally.

Sweeping his long cloak out of the way, he knelt down beside Hermione's chair. He took one of her hands in his.

Reluctantly, Ginny let go of Hermione and moved aside. She stepped back a few paces to stand beside her brother. Harry and Neville quickly joined the cluster of worried faces that had gathered around Will and Hermione.

Will patted her hand. "Miss Granger."

Hermione didn't move.

Will cupped her hand in both of his, applying gentle but firm pressure. "Hermione."

Her head lifted slightly. The frizzy brown curtain parted to reveal her red, swollen face, surprisingly free of tear marks. She gazed at Will with the pained confusion of a stray dog that had been hit by a speeding car.

"I thought I left it at home," she whispered brokenly.

"I know, my dear."

She shook her head vigorously. "It wasn't there when I looked. I looked everywhere, and it wasn't there. It WASN'T there." Growing panic twisted her face.

Still holding her hand, Will leaned forward and touched the side of her face with the tips of his fingers. He gazed steadily into her frightened eyes. His lips moved in silent speech, whispering words in the ancient language of his magic.

Hermione's eyelids fluttered. The shock and bewilderment drained from her face, leaving it as blank as the painted skin of a china doll.

"Wasn't *there*...." she breathed, a final protestation.

Her head dropped, and she slept.

Will brushed a few stray strands of hair out of her face, and passed a hand across her flushed forehead.

"Rest now, child," he murmured. "All will be well. Have no fear."

Slowly, he got to his feet and moved over to the table. He pulled his briefcase toward him and began to arrange the papers inside it.

"I doubt if anything more can be accomplished tonight," he said. "I must speak to your former Headmaster." He glanced at Harry. "Mr. Potter, I would like you to accompany me--you can carry any relevant information back to your colleagues."

This was news to them.

"T-to Dumbledore?" Harry said.

"Yes. He is in the castle tonight, in his office, and asked me to stop by if I had a chance. I had hoped to present a better report, but such is circumstance." The briefcase clicked shut. "You'll be back before curfew, though. I have no desire to give Professor Snape more cause for alarm."

No arguing with that. "Yes, sir."

"What about us?" Neville piped up.

"You and Mr. Weasley transport Miss Granger back to your dormitory and put her in bed. Don't worry about waking her--she will not wake again for some time."

"Right," said Ron. An idea lit up his eyes, and he put on a concerned expression. "What a pity that she had another...'funny turn'."

"An excellent idea, Mr. Weasley. I couldn't have done better myself." Will turned to Ginny. "Miss Weasley, go with them. I would like you to spend the rest of the night in Miss Granger's room...prevent her roommates from disturbing her, field any of their prying questions. I trust you to come up with a suitable story."

Ginny nodded. "Okay."

"And Miss Weasley?"

"Yes?"

His calm eyes grew very grave. "Stay with her at all times. Do not let her out of your sight. If she questions your presence when she wakes--though I doubt she will--say that you are guarding her at my request out of concern for her safety."

"Do you expect some sort of attack, sir?" Neville asked in a nervous hush.

"No, Mr. Longbottom," Will said sadly. "I expect--no, I *fear*--that the only harm done will be by her own hands."

Rage flared in Ron's eyes, and for a sick moment Harry thought that he and Neville would have to hold him down again.

"She wouldn't!" Ginny exclaimed, aghast.

In answer, Will lifted one of Hermione's limp hands. Gently, he turned it this way and that, studying it and examining from all angles. He paid very close attention to her fingertips. Then he beckoned to them, inviting them to come closer.

The four students crowded around to see what Will had found.

Underneath Hermione's fingernails were a few flakes of what could only be skin. Four deep, crescent-moon shaped indentations marked each palm when her nails had gouged the soft flesh.

Horrified, Harry's eyes darted from her hand to her face. His stomach turned over as he saw several thin red scratch marks marring her pale cheeks. The redness of her face had concealed them before, but the marks were plain enough now. Although the scratches weren't deep and hadn't drawn blood, they were enough to unnerve any observer who knew Hermione well.

"Third year." Strain made Neville's voice shake.

Ginny tore her eyes away from Hermione's hands. "Wh-what?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts," he said. "We had to face a Boggart as an exam. Hermione's Boggart was--"

"McGonagall," Ron interrupted grimly. He and Harry both understood what Neville was getting at. "It was McGonagall...telling her she'd failed all her exams."

Will placed Hermione's hand back in her lap.

"Even the famous Gryffindor courage can fail at times," he said. His level gaze scrutinised each of them in turn. "You five have always protected and taken care of each other...I know you will take care of her now."

        *        *        *

Both Ron and Neville cast the Mobilicorpus spell on Hermione. Ron assigned Ginny to walk beside Hermione as she floated along, just in case. He wasn't taking any chances.

Harry and Will saw them safely on their way back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry extinguished the fire in the grate with a wave of his wand, and the two of them hastened through the corridors to Dumbledore's office.

A thousand burning questions were on Harry's tongue, but there wasn't much time for talking. He winnowed his questions down to the most important few, took a deep breath, and started to seek the answers.

"Why did the stone react like that?"

"For the obvious reason, Mr. Potter. We were in the presence of the Dark."

"But it was just McGonagall and Sn...." He fell silent under the weight of realisation. "Oh."

Will stared straight ahead. "Those who have once sold themselves to the Dark will always carry that taint with them. The stones make no distinction between traitor and spy, just as I make no distinction."

The statement was chilling enough, but the complete lack of emotion in Will's voice made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand on end.

"Oh," he said lamely. After an uncomfortable beat, he tried again. "Professor Snape doesn't like you much, does he?"

"You don't miss much, do you?" Will replied, neatly turning the question around.

Harry remained undaunted. "And you don't like him, either."

Will sniffed. "Whether I like him or not is irrelevant. He is useful, at times."

*Useful*. Another prickle of coldness shot through Harry's body.

"Oh," he said again.

Fortunately, they soon came to the immense stone gargoyle that stood guard outside the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Vegemite," Will said.

Harry stared incredulously, first at the gargoyle, then at Will.

"Don't look at me," Will said as the entrance opened before them. "I can't stand the stuff myself."

Within moments, they were seated inside the familiar, cosy warmth of Dumbledore's office. The fire was welcoming. Fawkes dozed on his perch, his brilliant feathers gleaming in the flickering firelight. Harry gratefully accepted Dumbledore's offer of hot chocolate, though Will declined politely in favour of tea.

With a brimming cup and saucer balanced precariously on his knees, Will began. "Minister, if I may--"

"You can dispense with the titles, Dr. Stanton," Dumbledore interrupted wearily. "I hear enough of it all day. This place is my sanctuary, my escape from the niceties of diplomacy."

Harry, quick to pick up on the tone of voice, noticed tiny lines of exhaustion around Dumbledore's eyes and mouth that hadn't been there before. His eyes, though still bright, had lost a little of their customary twinkle.

"Point conceded." Will sipped his tea.

Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles. "So, what news is there?"

"Snape just accused Hermione of cheating," Harry blurted out before he could stop himself. "Of letting someone copy her paper, if you can believe it."

Will set his cup down and gave him a withering look. "That wasn't exactly the news I had intended, Mr. Potter."

Dumbledore sighed. "Another obstacle, eh, Dr. Stanton?"

"Don't trouble yourself with it, please," Will said. "Things will sort themselves out soon enough. They have a funny way of doing so."

"So they do," said Dumbledore.

"And in other news, Miss Ginny Weasley has graciously consented to throw her lot in with us, as it were."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I bet her brother wasn't too pleased."

"You could say that." The corner of Will's mouth twitched briefly. "But progress is being made. Our Mr. Potter and his friends have performed most admirably of late."

"That's a comfort. Better than some of the news I've been hearing."

"Matters that have been kept from the press?"

"Something like that," Dumbledore said wryly. "A few things. Nothing too earth-shaking. But rumours have reached me that Lucius Malfoy has been very ill for some time now."

Will nearly choked on his mouthful of tea. "Has he?"

"Yes. Quite unable to leave his bed, in fact. It's most distressing." There was a trace of irony somewhere in that final remark, but it was hard to spot.

"How long has he been...incapacitated?"

"The middle of January. At the least."

"Cruciatus," Will murmured.

"It would appear so." Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "The Dark Lord is not pleased with him...or so I've heard."

"Because he botched the Christmas Eve attack?" Harry said softly, staring into the depths of his cocoa mug.

Dumbledore and Will exchanged glances.

"You're a very bright boy, Harry," Dumbledore said at last. "I thought you might have guessed as much."

Harry set his cocoa down. He didn't trust his hands.

"So he *was* the one," he said flatly.

"Lucius was very careful, as always," Dumbledore continued. "He'd never do it himself. But the Ministry has done some checking, and we've discovered that the witch and wizard who actually carried out the attack were from New Zealand."

"Spending the Christmas holiday in England?" Will asked.

"No," Dumbledore said sadly. "They were on their honeymoon."

Harry didn't want his cocoa anymore. He felt sick.

"And Draco...it was Draco, wasn't it?" he said. "Draco told his dad, and his dad planned it, and then it went wrong and he was punished for it."

"So we'd like to think. But finding enough proof...." Dumbledore sighed again. "Has Draco been acting...strange recently?"

"Yes." Harry didn't have to think twice before answering. He told the whole story of the Quidditch match against Slytherin, of the fear he thought he had seen in Draco's eyes, of the odd little confrontation at lunchtime, of Ron's violent reaction when he had voiced his suspicions. He did his best not to leave anything out.

"Draco seems to be concerned for his father," Will said when he had finished. "Regardless of whether he knows the real reason for his father's ill health."

"Maybe this is what we need," Dumbledore remarked. Some of his old energy had returned. "Something solid and painful like this could be the think to shake Draco. I will let Severus know...he has tried to talk to the boy before, but there might be a better chance now."

The clock chimed the hour.

"Curfew." Will rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I'm terribly sorry...I'd forgotten."

"Don't worry, Dr. Stanton." Dumbledore stood, and traced a small figure eight in the air with his wand. The empty crockery disappeared in the blink of an eye. "I will take him back to Gryffindor Tower. It'll do me good to stretch my legs, and I doubt even Professor Snape would object to the Minister of Magic as an escort." His bright eyes twinkled. "Well, not to my face, anyway."

"Thank you, sir," Will said, closing his eyes.

Harry got to his feet, sorting through the information he would have to tell Ron and the others. The subject of Draco was an explosive one, and he needed more time to organise his thoughts. After all, he had to be somewhat objective.

"We can continue this discussion when I return, if you have the time," Dumbledore said.

"Time is not an issue," Will replied with a small smile.

Dumbledore matched his smile, as if sharing a private joke. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder and ushered him from the room.

As the door closed behind them, Harry caught the feathery rustle of wings and heard the beginnings of liquid birdsong, breathtakingly beautiful. Fawkes was singing, pouring out his healing music to the room's one remaining occupant.

        *        *        *

Before their Transfiguration class the next day, McGonagall pulled Hermione aside and informed her of several important facts--facts which she related to Ron, Harry, and Neville the moment class had ended.

The faculty hearing was tentatively scheduled, slated to be held on Tuesday fortnight. It would be run jointly by the Heads of the four Houses, with McGonagall presiding as Headmistress. It would take place sometime after dinner, giving the teachers enough time to put aside their classroom duties and turn their attention to the more pressing business. As one of the accused, she was permitted to have one, and only one, other student with her during the hearing. The student would act as both witness to the proceedings and counsel to her.

Hermione accepted all of this stoically. McGonagall, perhaps a little disturbed at her student's blank acceptance of the unpleasant facts, brusquely dismissed her to begin the lecture a few minutes early.

Word spread fast, as it always does. Harry, Ron, Neville, Ginny, and Colin were Hermione's silent and unwavering champions. The second-year Gryffindor girls were very vocal in defence of their classmate. Most of the school, however, seemed to be uncertain about which side was in the right--they'd never seen anything to rival this dilemma. It was impossible to think that teacher's pet, know-it-all, Perfect Prefect Hermione Granger would permit cheating, especially from her own hard work. But there was no denying that she *had* been helping Natalie, and if she had been desperate to raise the younger girl's grades....

Harry was reminded of second year, of the whole Heir of Slytherin debacle. The fearful, uncertain reaction of his fellow students was much the same. But this time Fred and George couldn't do anything to lighten the mood. Even they couldn't make jokes about this sort of thing.

Nonetheless, Hermione continued her routine as though nothing was wrong. She attended all her classes, studied, ate, read a book or two, studied, slept, studied some more, and generally behaved as she always did.

Her friends were the ones whose behaviour had changed. Mindful of Will's warning, they took turns staying at her side during the day. Harry and Ron occasionally used the Invisibility Cloak to watch over her at night if they thought her day hadn't gone well. Ginny dutifully shadowed Hermione to places where the boys obviously couldn't follow-- the lavatory, for instance. It was a tiring schedule, but all that was needed was the memory of the scratches on Hermione's face to bolster their resolve if it started to flag.

They tried to be discreet. It wouldn't do for her to suspect the true reason for their surveillance. But one night after dinner, when Hermione and Ginny had joined the three boys for a quiet hour of studying, Hermione set her book down and casually said:

"I know why you're doing this."

Harry looked up from the chess game that he was currently losing to Ron. "Doing what?"

"Keeping me company. Or following me around, whichever's closer."

Ginny made a pained face. "We're your *friends*. Don't you want us around?"

Hermione frowned at her. "Oh, I do. But you're not here because you want to be."

Neville, sitting on the floor next to his bed, dipped the nib of his battered refillable quill in the inkpot that sat nearby. "Will said that it's for your own protection."

"So don't be silly," Ron said, nudging his bishop to one side.

"But why *me*?" Hermione said peevishly. She got up and started to wander aimlessly around the room. "Harry's the one who needs someone watching his back all the time...not me. Not me."

"You've always watched over us," said Neville, removing the quill from the ink. "It's time we did the same for you."

Hermione whirled round, glaring down at him.

"Oh, really?" she snapped. "Well, if you think you owe me anything then you can all get out of here and find something better to do."

Neville bit his lower lip. Two or three drops of ink fell from the tip of his nib and splashed on the floor.

"That's not it at all!" Harry protested.

Hermione laughed bitterly. "Well, I'm positive that there are far better things you could be doing. Our Transfiguration homework, for starters. It's due in two days...or have you forgotten?"

Exasperated, Ron pushed the chess board to one side and turned to face Hermione. "Listen, we're only trying to--"

"Honestly, you're all sitting around here looking at me like I'm some Howler that's just waiting to go off." Her eyes darted round the room.

"Hermione, please."

"It's not pity, is it?" Her voice rose hysterically. "I won't stand for pity!"

"We're worried, all right?" Ron exploded. "For the last couple of days you haven't been acting like your...." Finding that statement rather inaccurate, he switched to another argument. "How do you know that this isn't the Dark trying to get at you?"

Harry nodded eagerly. "Don't you remember? Will said that it'll happen in the way you least suspect it...it likes to play on your fears."

"See?" Ron said pointedly.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, then slowly shook her head, back and forth. A sweet smile played across her lips.

"I swear, Ron..." she whispered. "I swear. For someone so smart, you can be so *thick* sometimes."

Suddenly, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the little piece of quartz. She held it up in front of them, displayed where they all could see it.

"This isn't the Dark." The sweet smile was still there, but her eyes were as hard as the stone she held in her hand. "This isn't Voldemort, or the Death Eaters, or anything like that. This is someone taking something that's mine. *Mine*. I'm not going to go to pieces just because some little girl thinks that she can make a fool of Hermione Granger."

The smile vanished. "And now, if you'll pardon me, I'm going to go to the lavatory. Alone."

Without bothering to collect her textbooks and notes, she stormed out of the room. She slammed the door on her way out.

An uneasy silence settled over the room.

"Are we happy for her or are we scared?" asked Ron.

"Scared," Neville said.

"Scared," Ginny said.

"Definitely scared," Harry said.

Neville leaned over, using the edge of his sleeve to mop up the spilt ink. "How do we explain this to Will?"

Harry tilted his head back to stretch a crick in his neck, and noticed that the curtains of his bed were still swaying slightly, affected by the violence with which Hermione had left the room.

"I don't think we'll have to," he muttered.

Ron pulled the chess board toward him and studied it for a few seconds.

"So," he said, "I suppose a general, all-encompassing 'I told you so' would be a pretty bad idea right about now?"

Three sets of eyes narrowed.

"Bad idea."

"Bad idea."

"A very bad idea."

Ron sighed, and took Harry's last rook. "Thought so."

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Gramarye [email protected] http://gramarye.freehosting.net/hp/harry2.htm May 31st, 2002