As The Falcon Hath Her Bells: Taking Flight

Chapter Thirteen

It came at lunch the first week of November.Hermione was discussing flying with Madame Hooch, smiling secretively to herself.Tosca had indeed taught her to fly, and Hooch looked a little puzzled at someone who had been passable at best in Flying her first year being suddenly so keen upon it.

The owls swooped in, carrying the day's mail.A bustle of noise came as various parcels were dropped to students: treats and gifts from home, letters, and the sort.She smiled to hear some of the owls groaning, Too heavy…ugh!Icarus Haverstaff?Is that an "L" there in the middle? and the like.She was surprised to receive a package herself.She opened it to find a letter in a sharp hand from the Library of the Ministry informing her that Professor Severus Snape had asked for copies of articles from various potions journals concerning Forgetfulness Potions for a Miss Hermione Granger's research, and the requested articles were enclosed.

She looked down the table at Snape and gave him a smile.She hadn't been able to read those before, as the journals were off-limits to students without proper authorization.Snape knew her idea had faltered a bit, and in the spirit of his being determined not to hold her hand and do her work, had obviously sent these as a possible assistance.He met her eyes for a moment and gave her a brief half-smile, then turned back to his meal.

There was a collective gasp from the Slytherin table as a Great Horned Owl headed for them at the end of the mail carriers, bearing a distinctly black envelope.The Slytherins seemed frozen in fear, everybody at Hogwarts knowing what that envelope meant.An official Ministry death notice: somebody had just lost family to Lord Voldemort and was being notified.Hermione froze as she faintly heard the owl muttering a name, interspersed with, Oh dear, oh dear.I hate this job…

All eyes were fixed, and the hall was silent, as the owl scanned the table, cruising in slowly. It finally dropped the letter in the lap of Florence Lowell, a young second year.The girl's eyes went wide and she let out a cry, clutching the envelope.She leapt to her feet and ran from the Great Hall.One of her young friends made as if to rise and follow, but Arabella Vickerson, a Slytherin prefect, gently put a hand on her shoulder and gestured for her to sit.It was better to let Florence have her initial tears in private--the comfort of friends would be in use later.The owl gave a sympathetic hoot of,I'm so sorry, Miss Lowell, and quickly flew off, as if to remove itself from what it had delivered.

She saw Draco Malfoy turn back to his meal with a smirk as though nothing had happened.A frisson of rage flared within her--of course he wouldn't care, even if the girl were of his own house.His father was one of Voldemort's followers.Almost of its own accord, her gaze turned to Professor Snape.His face looked ashen as he stared at Florence's empty chair: a man staring straight into Hell.Conversation didn't resume in the Great Hall for fifteen minutes, and even then it was hushed and grave.

* * * * *

The moment he had heard the owl mumbling the girl's name, his mind had been racing furiously with accusatory questions.What had he missed?This was the second one this year.True, there had been seven by Christmas last year, but still…two.Was Voldemort not summoning him to some meetings, too bored to toy with him every time after two years?Was he missing some names reported in his haze of pain?Were there random victims that weren't even mentioned?He hadn't been able to save them all even when he spied in human form, but each death, each notice, was burned into his mind forever, the names accusing him of failure.

Menard and Janet Lowell, he wearily added to the list.He a Hufflepuff and she a Ravenclaw; they had somehow produced a Slytherin daughter.Lowell was one of the Slytherins he was sure of never to join the Dark side, at least.As for probably half his house, he was trying to covertly guide them away from the Dark Mark they might have taken if left unchecked.He drew them in with his favoritism, got them to confide, and tried to guide their paths, subtle as a serpent.

It didn't matter that the other three houses thought he was a blatant and unfair git: even if he hadn't acted as one, it had been Slytherin against the other three houses for years.He was the only one who seemed to give a damn about the Slytherins and think they were more than evil junior Death Eaters, so naturally they came to him with troubles, never guessing his plan.He remembered bitterly when he had heard Dumbledore effectively agree with Minerva McGonagall years ago that his life had been worth less than Sirius Black's good name.

The worth of a Slytherin, he thought sadly.And then those same self-righteous Gryffindors wonder why Slytherins turn to those who say that they will appreciate us and give us power for once.He had produced decent success with most of the house, though.Crabbe and Goyle were such idiots it was no use, and Malfoy--Malfoy was likely a loss as well.But if he lost only those three, plus whatever Dark wizards slipped through the cracks in the other houses, he was doing well.Not good enough, but not terribly, at least.He was veteran enough to know that he could never save them all, but failure cut him no less deeply.His failures in his house would produce more innocent victims.

He would have to talk to Florence later, being her Head of House.But he didn't know if he could meet her eyes knowing that he had failed to save her parents.Carefully he excused himself, heading for his dungeons for a little solitude.

* * * * *

It was a week later when Tosca swooped directly into her bedroom one evening while Hermione was eagerly writing down an idea the potions articles had given her, applied with a little Muggle science. "What is it?" she asked the falcon, who landed beside her.Tosca looked at her sharply.

Well, if you're going to do it, tonight is the night.

"All right," she said hesitantly."Do you think I'm ready?"

You can fly, you can act like any wild falcon.Now come on already, or are you backing down?I thought you Gryffindors were brave.Hermione smiled a little at the obvious Slytherin-style baiting, reassured.Within a minute she was stretching her wings and adjusting her mind to her falcon form.

Good luck! Crookshanks yowled after her, as she flew down to Snape's window.She wasn't quite sure how an above ground window put her into the underground dungeons, but she wasn't at a point to scruple much.

"Tosca!" Severus nearly bellowed."Blast it, we need to leave!"

Hi, Chief, she said insouciantly, landing on a table.I'm feeling a little down tonight--not up to flying long distances.I do it often enough it's getting to me.

"Damn it, Tosca, this is not the time for you to get sulky!"

I brought my replacement.This is my friend-- Tosca hesitated.

Hermione thought quickly, and blurted in falcon-tongue the first name coming to mind, naturally a heroine of another Muggle opera.Musetta!She almost started laughing at that: her personality was as far away from that of Musetta as night from day.

Musetta, Tosca nodded.Hermione gave thanks that Snape didn't hear her words in her own voice; else she'd have been done for.She'll fly with you and come back to Dumbledore if you're caught, and I admit she's a good deal more keen on the idea than me.

"Well, Musetta," Snape said, turning to her with a frown, "you're ready to leave?"

Absolutely.

"You do what I tell you to.The last thing I need is for some overly keen idiot to get both of us killed.The world might not miss one falcon less, but they'd miss a spy."

Understood.Now, hadn't we better get going before the meeting's over? she said with a Slytherin's arrogant impatience.

Snape nodded, holding out an arm for her to climb on, which she did.Carefully he made his way to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and Apparated.

When she looked around, she saw a large manor house a little ways up the road.Malfoy Manor? she asked.

"Yes."He set her down, and within thirty seconds, a black gyrfalcon stood in his place.Tosca had told her that was his form, but she was still a bit surprised to see him in it.Now, follow me, he ordered, spreading his wings and heading for the house.She was momentarily startled to hear his words without the usual silken tone, but obeyed, trailing him.

He flew around the house, remarking, Meeting in the gardens.Excellent; no Charms to perform on windows and such, and we can hide better.He was well-hidden already, black feathers almost blending into the night sky.Her off-white and slate-grey stood out a little more, but probably not as visibly as Tosca's dazzling white.

They perched on a branch overhanging the garden, and she heard a faint hissing, serpent-like voice."…the Drachenfeuers…"She gagged slightly to see the figure that spoke--tall, skeletally lean, without a trace of hair.Corpse-pale, a snake's nostrils, and red eyes glowing like coals.He's not even human! she gasped.

He hasn't been human for years, Musetta, Snape observed dryly, but his resurrection two years ago didn't help.I assume Tosca has informed you of the pertinent events of the past years, as falcons generally would not make such a thing their business?

Yes, for the most part.They watched in silence while the hooded and masked Death Eaters plotted and planned, discussing tomorrow evening's "entertainment" of killing the Muggle-born Drachenfeuers.Their son, Gawain, was a fourth-year Hufflepuff, and their daughter, Margaise, would begin at Hogwarts next year.

This had been his life years ago…these dark and secret meetings.Plans to torture and kill: after seeing them up close and realizing what they were, it only reinforced her opinion of his character that he had come to his senses before it was too late.She was faintly aware of Snape shifting uncomfortably now and again.Pr--Severus, she barely caught herself with an icy rush of horror at nearly giving herself away, his given name odd on her tongue, will you be all right?He nodded curtly, and she recalled Tosca mentioning him sometimes missing things at meetings due to distraction from the pain of his Mark.She just listened all the more intently at that.

Two hours of some of the darkest plots she had ever heard, and the Death Eaters Disapparated.Voldemort was last to leave.When all was silent in the garden after Lucius Malfoy went back into the manor, Snape abruptly took wing and called for her to leave as well.

Within fifteen minutes, they were back at Hogwarts, she reminding him of the things said so that he could report to Dumbledore.He gave her a smile and thanked her, idly caressing her back for a moment, and then turned to make his report.She flew up to her own window, and reverted back into her human form, collapsing on the bed, exhausted but thrilled.She had done it--she had successfully entered the war.And Professor Snape had even thanked her for it.Now, if he knew it was me--five hundred points from Gryffindor! she thought, laughing.

Crookshanks hopped onto the bed, asking, How was it?

"I think it went well," she said thoughtfully."I can do it--do something of use for once."She fell asleep with a satisfied smile on her face.

Chapter Fourteen

Ron Weasley looked up at the staff table during dinner one evening in late November, and saw Hermione there, talking animatedly with Professor McGonagall.Doesn't she miss us at all? he thought, staring at his spaghetti and meatballs.He would admit it--he missed her.

Harry was so damn busy practicing constantly at Quidditch since it was out that the Cardiff Dragons were scouting him to play for them once he graduated Hogwarts.Already Harry was practically obsessed with the idea: trying to teach himself Welsh, enlisting the help of Marion Rhys, a sixth-year Welsh-born Gryffindor.He and Marion were quite chummy indeed: he spent most of his time not on his broom around her, moony-eyed.She was cute, he supposed, with blue eyes and wavy black hair, but it was obvious he was a third wheel when he tried to pal around with the two of them.

Even now, the two of them were sitting together, Harry giving her a goofy smile and encouraging her to teach him things to say in Welsh, completely mangling the pronunciation and causing her to laugh.He had the urge to dump his plate over Harry's head for his being so disgustingly infatuated.Friends for six bloody years, then Hermione went off and got all high and mighty as Head Girl, and Harry was becoming a complete strutting Quidditch jock with a sickening crush.

He turned his back on Harry, looking again at Hermione.Yes, he truly did miss her, even her more priggish moments.But since she had gotten the word of her being Head Girl this year, he had watched his step around her.After all, if he pulled a prank on Malfoy, she'd take points from Gryffindor rather than laugh.She had seemed so distant this fall, as if she were somehow suddenly better than the rest of them, and always busy either with duties or that Potions project with Snape.She really had changed.The few times she had spoken of her project, she hadn't even indicated disgust at working with the greasy git.

Still, feeling virtually alone was a nasty feeling.Even if she laughed in his face, he'd try to talk to her.As she left the staff table, he hopped to his feet, cursing as his feet got tangled for a moment in the straps of Harry's schoolbag.The two lovebirds didn't even notice.He went after her, trying to make it look casual until he left the Great Hall so as not to be obvious to everybody there."Mione, wait!" he called.

She turned in the corridor and looked at him calmly."Yes, Ron?" she said patiently.

He felt himself turning red, thinking stupidly how foolish red-haired and freckled people looked blushing."Well, ahh--how have you been lately?I haven't seen you…"

"Quite all right.How's Harry?"

"Wrapped up in Marion Rhys," he said in disgust, rolling his eyes."I'm just surprised I haven't caught them snogging yet."

She grinned slyly."I have.In one of the abandoned classrooms: I agreed not to take points from Gryffindor.He was suitably grateful."She smiled wistfully."Nothing like it used to be, though.Do you two really think I'm suddenly somebody whose only purpose would be to take points from you, and so I'm to be abandoned rather than to spoil your fun?I thought more of you, Ron, and of Harry.I was wrong, I see."She turned to leave.

He caught her arm."I'm sorry," he pleaded."It's--well, I don't remember Bill being Head Boy much, but when Percy was, he became even more of a prig than he had been.And I saw that happening to you.Talking disrespectfully to a teacher?That'll be ten points from Gryffindor, and all that.Don't you remember when we used to sit and make fun of Snape and laugh about it?"

"I recall you two were doing most of the laughing," she said stiffly."And there's more to him than you think.But fine, is what you're saying that you want me back?Aren't you afraid I'll dock points?" she asked scornfully.

This wasn't the quiet Hermione he had known.There was something different about her, and damned if he could put his finger on it."I'd like you back," he said, "if you're willing to try."

"All right," she said."But don't take it the wrong way--I haven't got a lot of spare time, what with my duties as Head Girl, my studies, and my time with Snape." Was it only in his mind or was there an emphasis on those last words?

"That's all right," Ron said, giving her a small smile."I'd--uh--better get going."He shuffled uncomfortably, still trying to figure out what had changed."Have a good night, Mione.Wait, do you want to study Herbology or something tonight?" he asked hopefully.

"It's my night for Potions work," she replied, giving him a regretful smile, "but I'll come to the common room tomorrow night, all right?"

He nodded, feeling quite pleased, his step a little lighter as he headed for Gryffindor Tower, trying to think up more dire predictions for Trelawny.You will lose an old friend due to Venus in the seventh house, he thought with a sigh, seeing Harry and Marion go by, completely engrossed in each other.

* * * * *

Hermione stepped into the workroom and wasn't surprised to hear the familiar drawling, sarcastic voice saying, "Five minutes late, Miss Granger.Your research is interfering with you romantic liaisons with Mister Weasley?Tsk--how utterly tragic."

"Sorry, sir," she said, taking a peek at her cauldron, sighing to herself.Though the words were meant with no sting--from anyone else, they might have almost been a joke."And he and I aren't together," she replied, pulling out her notes."He just wanted to talk, as we haven't in awhile."

"Yes, research does rather ruin your social life."Another dry proclamation; he was quite fond of them.She reread her notes in preparation, hoping she was ready and that it would work.

"Can I have the Chimaera venom, sir?"She thought for a moment and added, "And the Grindylow bone powder?"

"Very good, Miss Granger; you remembered."He sounded actually approving.She had missed that question on the test last year, she recalled.The bone powder negated the acid of the venom.It was so acidic that it would eat through any cauldron it was put in if not buffered down; hence why it was kept in a special, charmed container, as it could not be kept in a jar.

"I'll also need a Pensieve, sir, as you recall."He went to his office and returned a minute later with the ingredients she had requested, setting the Pensive by her hand.She carefully added the Grindylow bone powder to the Chimaera venom in its special measuring spoon.It fizzed for a moment and turned a dull orange.She put it in another cauldron beside her large cauldron of translucent Forgetfulness Potion.A bit of cordgrass, some squid ink, and a pinch of verbena.She now had Solventus Potion. A quickly accomplished but useful brew discovered by Hagatha DeHexe in the fifteenth century, it was effectively a "blank" that allowed stable infusion of a property or another potion to a pre-existing potion: in most cases, anyhow.Just simply mixing two potions together without any safeguards would probably cause an explosion.

"All right, sir," she said."I'm ready to test it."He turned to her, and deliberately walked over to her cauldrons, checking each potion carefully and questioning her thoroughly as to procedures, amounts she had used, and other details.Finally he seemed satisfied that she wouldn't poison herself through her own idiocy and nodded.

"Give me…ah.Three words, please, sir: ones with distinct opposites?I'm looking to--"

"I read your idea, Miss Granger," he replied, "so you needn't explain yourself."There was a hint of impatience in his tone."Very well.Black, cold, night," he rattled off with nary a thought.She looked at him, wondering what he was describing with them.

"All right."She repeated the words to herself until they were fixed firmly in her mind.Reaching for her wand, she touched it to her temple, searching, and gently drew out the memory of him saying the three words, directing it towards the Pensieve.She quickly checked her memory.There was a faint wisp of the memory remaining, as though it had been years ago instead of mere minutes.That was why merely drawing out terrible memories in a Pensieve and destroying them would not work--there was still a trace to get rid of, and the trace could flare up to a full memory again too easily.

She touched the tip of her wand to the silvery fluid memory, and took a deep breath."Inversus!" she said clearly, praying furiously that this would work.

There was a golden gleam in the Pensieve after a few moments.She smiled in satisfaction."It was 'black, cold, night', right sir?" she asked, noticing the memory becoming clearer as she concentrated on it.He nodded brusquely, stepping forward and gently touching a fingertip to the surface of the liquid.A few seconds as he considered, and he turned to her.

"That's it," he said, and she could have sworn there was almost a note of warmth.The golden liquid in the Pensieve was apparently indeed the anti-memory of the original.The Inverse Charm turned the object it was cast upon into its direct opposite, and she had thought to try it on a memory.Snape confirmed she had produced the anti-memory, much to her relief.If it was correct, she had produced a memory of him saying, "White, hot, day."She couldn't check the anti-memory herself; else it would enter her memories before she was ready for it and taint the test.

Holding her hands steady despite her excitement, she carefully drew the anti-memory out of the Pensieve and directed it to the cauldron with the Solventus Potion.This was the sticky part; so far as she knew nobody had ever recorded the use or effect of a memory in a potion, and especially not an anti-memory.

Giving the Solventus a few stirs to mix the anti-memory in, she got a cupful of the Forgetfulness Potion and added the Solventus to it.The potion was a scintillating white color now."Cheers, sir," she said jokingly.He smiled a little at that.She drank it, noting with some discomfort that drinking it was like drinking extremely fizzy Coca-Cola, her nose tickling.She hiccuped, and closed her eyes as she felt it moving through her veins.

If it had worked correctly, on the Muggle principle of polarities and magnetism, the opposites should attract.The old memory should draw the anti-memory, and positive and negative should at least in theory cancel out.The Forgetfulness Potion's design was to get rid of memories, which hopefully the anti-memory would do, as the Forgetfulness Potion had the nasty habit of eliminating a lot more than the undesired memory if given in the concentration needed to do the task.

The most important effect of the Forgetfulness Potion, though, was that it replaced holes in the memory with new, harmless memories.The concentration of her Forgetfulness Potion was weakened, as she didn't need the powerful kick it took to eliminate memories: only enough strength to replace gaps.That should hopefully take care of it hurting other, safe memories.

She felt a sudden prickle in her mind, which hopefully meant the memory and anti-memory had attached and cancelled each other.A trickle of warmth, which was probably the Forgetfulness Potion grafting in a new memory, and she opened her eyes, seeing Professor Snape standing there.

"Well, Miss Granger?What were the three words?"If it had succeeded, she would say something completely different from both the memory and anti-memory.

"The third one worked," he said, almost kindly."As far as I know, 'parrot' is completely unrelated to 'night' or 'day'.It often takes years to develop a potion, Miss Granger. Keep faith."

"Well, one-third a success isn't too bad," she agreed."I'll just have to work at it more…"She felt a momentary twinge of regret that the evenings spent studying Animagism and spying could have been applied towards this project, and if so, she might have it now.Still, you're being of use from those nights.It's not like you ignored research to go play pranks, she reassured herself.

She was relieved she had grasped the right memory, never having used a Pensieve before.If she had gotten the wrong one--she shuddered.He might have found her out.As was, he had no clue that Musetta, peregrine falcon and Hermione Granger, aspiring Potions researcher, were one and the same.Well, why would he imagine it to be me? she thought in amusement, cleaning up from the test.Quiet, responsible, studious Hermione Granger called Musetta, the fickle, flamboyant girl-for-hire?She was thankful her mind had come up with that extremely unlikely name.

She bid him good night, heading for Gryffindor Tower, feeling greatly cheered.Things seemed to be going quite well right now.Ron had tried to reconcile with her, the potion was making advances, and she was helping to save lives by spying with Snape.All in all, not a terrible seventh year thus far, she realized with pleasure.Crookshanks demanded to know how the potion had worked when she reached her room, and she sat down to explain to him, realizing with amusement that conversations with her cat were becoming quite a regular thing.Just think: ten years ago you'd have considered all this impossible.She then reached for the parchment she had to translate for Ancient Runes for Friday, feeling quite pleased with herself.