The Mind's Eye

A while later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione retreated to the library, hoping to answer some of the many questions that had been running through Hermione's head all morning. Unfortunately, once they got there, none of them really had any idea where to look. They tried "Magical Maladies", which had nothing about the Curse, but then, it wasn't really a 'malady' of any sort. Snape had said it was more of a power, mostly hereditary. But then, how could it possibly be hereditary, if Hermione was a muggle-born? And she knew that she was, was absolutely positive that no one in her family had any even minute piece of wizard blood. Wasn't she?

They toiled through "Capable Curses," and "Telekinesis for Dummies," without success. The former discussed only normal curses, not the particular Curse that she was looking for. The latter was all about how to use wands, spells, and tricks to create the illusion of mental magic. After several similar attempts were made with the same result, Ron finally turned around, and threw up his hands.

"Hermione, don't be mad or anything, but we don't have the foggiest what we're looking for!" He sounded very irritated.

"He's right, you know," Harry agreed, closing a book with a clap, and a puff of dust. "I mean, it would be easier if we knew how to start." Stepping around one of the tables, he walked over to Hermione, and shook his head. "I'm hoping Snape will tell you more about this...this Curse, today. Then we can come back. As it is, though, it could be anywhere."

"Remember Nicholas Flamel?" Ron asked, grinning.

Hermione remembered him all too well, and made a face. Harry chuckled. "Yeah, it's the same type of thing. It'll be in the last place we look, I bet." He shrugged off his obvious frustration, and clasped Hermione's shoulder. "So let's go do something. We've got time to kill."

Hermione was very put off by her failure to learn anything whatsoever, and didn't feel like doing anything except going back to bed. Harry was so convincing though, with that big-eyed, sympathetic look of his, and she eventually nodded, smiling despite herself. They probably didn't want to be here, after all, and were just helping her out. It was their free time, and she was taking it away. The least she could do was let them have some fun.

They walked down the lake, and lay on their stomachs in the grass. Ron broke out the cards, and they played a few rounds of exploding snap, before casting the cards aside and rolling over to watch the clouds roll by.

"This is my last year with the Dursleys," Harry said, closing his eyes as a cool breeze blew by, ruffling their hair. "Can't say I'm too unhappy about it."

Ron snorted. "Don't know how you put up with it for so long. I wouldn't have."

Chuckling, Hermione poked him in the ribs. "Right, Ron. And you would have done what?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. I'm a wizard, aren't I? I could've shown them who's boss...wouldn't have dared mess with me, they wouldn't. Why didn't you, Harry? Show, them, I mean."

"Because," Hermione answered before Harry could, rolling her eyes. "He didn't particularly want to get kicked out of school. 'No magic outside of school,' remember? Just because you live in a wizarding family-!"

"All right, all right, Hermione." Ron was defeated. "Could've used a good curse, though, they could. Anyway, what are you gonna do now, Harry? Now that you're done with those gits?"

Harry was silent for a very long moment. "I...I've never seriously thought about it," he said, finally.

Ron sat up, a puzzled look on his face. "What?" He raised his eyebrows. "Harry, at the end of this year, you've got to do something. Where are you going to live?" He snapped his fingers, as if it had suddenly come to him. "You can stay with us for a bit! Mum won't mind, I know she won't. You know how much she loves you. And dad thinks it's great having you around, with all the muggle stuff you can teach him, and Fred and George..." He trailed off, watching Harry's face. "Harry, what's up? There's something you're not saying. What's bugging you?"

Harry shook his head slowly, still staring up at the sky. "I can't stay with you, Ron," he said quietly. "It's not safe."

"What?" Ron was at a loss. "What are you on about?"

But Hermione knew. Pulling herself up off the ground, she fixed Harry with an odd stare. "Harry, you can't possibly think that you're going to leave us after school gets out, can you?" His silence was answer enough. Frightened, Hermione crawled over to where Harry sat, and bore down on him angrily. "Stupid! You're think we're any safer with you gone! It's not just you the Dark Lord's after, it's everyone! If you leave, if you go off alone, he'll just kill you quickly, and then where will we be?"

Harry kept staring up at the sky. "You don't understand, Hermione," he said simply. Hermione stood up, drawing herself to her full height.

"I do so understand, Harry James Potter," she said, trying to keep the fear and the frustration out of her voice. "I understand full well what you're doing. You're trying to be a hero. Trying to go down in the record books for your gallant deed." Her voice quavered. "Don't you think you're famous enough?"

Of course, Hermione meant none of it. But perhaps, if she could convince him that she did, if she could guilt him into changing his mind...

"Nice try, Hermione," Harry whispered. "But I know you too well."

There wasn't anything Hermione could say to that. She turned on her heel and stormed back across the grass towards the school building, fear pulsing through her mind. He couldn't be serious. He couldn't be. He couldn't be. He couldn't be so stupid. Right? Right?

Inside the school, she pounded down the stairs to the dungeon, startling younger students and rousing odd looks from teachers and prefects. Coming to a full stop outside the door to the potions classroom, Hermione called out, her voice shrill with emotion. "Professor!"

After a few seconds, the door creaked open, and there stood Professor Snape. "You're early," he said, sounding annoyed.

"Teach me," Hermione said, her voice ringing and echoing in the hallway. "Teach me what I have to do."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Snape was, to say the least, quite surprised when Hermione Granger showed up outside the dungeon door thirty minutes early, looking like she was about to explode. Something made him let her in, and sit her down at a desk, rather than turn her away and tell her to come back later. He wasn't doing anything of any importance, anyway. And her eagerness to learn was a good sign, even if it was a bit startling. Perhaps he'd been dealing with those slow, thick-witted children for so long, that he was not used to those who actually cared about his classes.

It was clear from her expression that there was something else that had prompted this visit, however, something that had disturbed Miss Granger a great deal. He was curious, but only for a moment. After all, it was probably only teenage angst. He scowled darkly, remembering his own teenage years, and the sort of things that went on...but that was neither here nor there.

As he glanced back over at Hermione, he noticed that she seemed to have calmed down a bit. Good. He might even be able to use this little problem of hers, whatever it was, to his advantage. "Close your eyes," he instructed Hermione, walking to the front of the room as she obeyed. "Now...I noticed that, when you stomped in here like a raging dragon, there seemed to be something on your mind. What might that have been?"

He didn't even need her to answer him, as long as she got her mind firmly on that thing that had irked her so much. She was facing him, with her eyes firmly shut, but he could still see the sudden twitch of her features, and how she was trying very hard to keep a straight face. Good. Good. "Of course, I'm sure it wasn't anything horribly important," he continued, intending to set the thought in her mind that yes, it was HORRIBLY important. He couldn't tell if he'd succeeded, until he suddenly felt himself lifting off the ground. Ah. Yes.

"Miss Granger," he said again, softly, so as not to disturb her completely, "Open your eyes." Her eyes flew open abruptly, and Snape, flailing in a futile attempt to gain balance, went crashing to the floor. Pain coursed through his left leg as it collided with the desk, and he sucked back a curse, pulling it up towards him. He heard Hermione's gasp, and then she was standing over him, looking worried.

"Professor?" she asked, eyes wide. "Are you...all right?"

Snape snorted. "I'm quite fine, thank you," he said, pulling himself to his feet. "Despite your attempt at taking my life, I think I will survive." Hermione looked sheepish.

"I did that?" she asked quietly, staring into his face. Snape nodded.

"That you did. Do you understand what happened?"

Hermione frowned. "It always happens when I'm angry," she said, more to herself than to Snape. He nodded, and then gestured her back to her seat with one hand, while brushing the dust off his robes with the other. He'd have to be a bit more careful, he decided, with a dry inward laugh.

"What do you suppose that means?" he asked Hermione. "Why does it always happen when, as you say, you are angry?" Watching her face, he saw her puzzle through it, saw the minute workings of her mind turning together, and he knew when she knew the answer. She had a very expressive face, very easy to read.

"Does it have to be anger that triggers it?" she asked. Snape almost smiled.

"No," he said, simply. Hermione nodded slowly.

"Then," she said, "Is it just strong emotions?"

"Just strong emotions?" he mimicked, raising his eyebrows. "No, there's more than that." He saw Hermione blush in frustration at the tone in his voice, and made a note of that. She had always been so flustered in his class, the only class where the Professor did not fawn over how intelligent, how incredibly wonderful she was. It really had made him sick. It was good for her to get this from him. She could use it to deflate that monstrous Gryffindor ego of hers. That was the last thing she needed, now.

"The trick," Snape said, leaving some of the disdain in his voice for good measure, "Is to concentrate. That's all there is." He waited for her reaction, but she just nodded, in rapt attention. "When one feels very strongly about something, one tends to have more luck concentrating on it. Therefore, when you concentrated very hard on whatever it was that was bothering you," he moved on before she could protest or interrupt, "You unconsciously lifted what was in front of you. It was your mind's reaction to the strain you were putting on it, in a way. It transferred some of the energy into whatever it was you were focusing on. Even with your eyes closed, you knew I was there, because I was speaking to you. You were facing me. When you became extremely disturbed, some of that energy transferred into me, and I lifted off the ground. Then, when you were distracted..." He waited, and then asked, "Do you understand?"

Hermione sat quietly for a moment, and then nodded. "I think so. Yes. But...how does one both concentrate on something powerful, and also concentrate on what they want to lift, or move, or break at the same time? You say I only lifted you because you were speaking to me, and you were on my mind at the time. What about other things, inanimate objects and such?"

"That would be the hard part," Snape replied, seating himself with one fluid motion. "What do you think?"

"I honestly don't know, Professor," Hermione said.

"Honestly?" Snape asked, mocking her. She looked at the floor and shuffled her feet a bit. When she was done, Snape sighed. "As I said, this would be the hard part. It requires a strength of mind that I'm not sure you have, yet. So, we're going to test you." He saw Hermione tense up, no doubt recalling the last "test" he'd given her. "Not that sort of a test," he assured her, a wry look on his face. "This time, you're in control. No potions, no helpers. I want you," and he pointed a long finger at her, "to move that." The finger swung across to gesture at the cauldron he kept by his desk. "Move it to the other side of the room."

"But..." Hermione began, but stopped mid-protest, and set her jaw. Then, to Snape's surprise, she closed her eyes, and settled back in the chair. He could see an expression on her closed features, one of determination and anger that he had never before seen in her. He had no idea what she was thinking about, but he watched, and waited, and, unconsciously, held his breath.

It took several minutes before he noticed anything. Then, slowly, the cauldron lifted an inch off the ground. And then another...and another...and another...CRASH! It came down with a bang, and rolled over on to its side. Hermione's eyes flew open, and she let out a long, frustrated sigh. Then, suddenly, her expression changed, and her eyes glazed over. Snape wasn't fast enough to catch her as she flopped over on the desk, already fast asleep.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Hermione awoke in the Gryffindor common room, draped across the couch, her hands pillowed comfortably under head. As she rose, she pulled them apart, and a small piece of paper fell from between her fingers. Bending to retrieve it, she discovered that, again, all traces of headache and exhaustion were gone. She felt normal again. Shaking her head, she unfolded the paper, and read the black penned scrawl.

Miss Granger,

You must work on your control.

If you faint every lesson, we will get nothing done.

I will see you tomorrow.

This may help you with your search.

-Professor Snape

At the end of the frustratingly curt note, there was a list of names.

Carnelian

Rakasha

Giova

Hildebroth

Grindelwald

Hermione stared at them, utterly confounded. The only one she recognized was the last name, "Grindelwald." He had been a famous dark wizard, defeated by Albus Dumbledore in 1945. And Snape had written something about him 'helping her with her search.' What search? Did he mean her morning trip to the library? But how did he know? And what did these names mean?

Folding up the paper, Hermione slipped it into her pocket, and extracted herself from the couch. A glance at the clock showed that it was around 4 o'clock, and her friends might still be at the lake. Then, suddenly, she remembered what had prompted her sudden departure from the lake, and swallowed hard.

Unpleasant as it may have been, she needed these lessons. She needed them for Harry's sake. She needed them so that he wouldn't run away.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Harry and Ron were indeed still there when Hermione returned to the lake. None of them said anything about the previous conversation, but were instead eager to know what she'd learned about her Curse. So she told them.

"I can move things," she said, frowning, "Sort of. But not very far. I can sort of lift them up, but I can't really put them anywhere, or throw them or anything. I don't know how that's useful. Snape says it takes concentration. He said something about 'strength of mind'," she said, recalling how difficult it had been to concentrate on two things at once. "I kind of have to focus on something important, something I feel strongly about. Sort of like your Patronus, Harry," she added, smiling. She did not say what it was she had focused on. "I have to keep the object, or whatever I'm working on, in the back of mind, so that I know what I'm trying to do, but I'm not really thinking about it." Sighing, she shrugged. "It's hard."

"I'll bet," Ron agreed, whistling softly. "No wonder you passed out."

"I'm a bit worried about that," Harry said. "You said it was dangerous, the side effects and all. If just picking something up causes you to faint, imagine what more taxing activity would do." He shook his head. "I don't like it, Hermione. I don't think you should go through with it."

Hermione looked at him, straight into his face. "But I want to," she said, then shrugged and broke eye contact. "Imagine how helpful it could be. We need everything we can get, nowadays."

Harry looked away. Letting out a long, frustrated sigh, Ron threw up his hands. "I'm TIRED of all this moping around. Let's go."

They stood up and started across the grass towards the school. Once inside, Hermione stopped. "I'll meet you in the common room, later," she said, smiling reassuringly at their concerned expressions. "I'm going to hop over to the library and take a quick look at something."

Ron looked like he was going to say something, but Harry nodded, and pulled him away. "Meet you later," he called over his shoulder as they disappeared around a corner. Hermione let out a long, pent up sigh, and then turned on her heel and headed towards the library.

There were very few people there, as it was Sunday, and most students were out having fun at Hogsmeade, or playing around the campus, or on the quidditch pitch. There were a few sixth year Ravenclaw girls giggling in a corner over a worn paperback, and Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to know what exactly they were reading. Retreating to the biographies, she scanned the shelves until she found what she was looking for; "A History of Grindelwald," by Thaddeus Butterhatch.

Opening to the index, she slipped the folded paper out of her pocket, and settled herself in a chair for what she imagined was going to be a long afternoon.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Snape watched as Hermione sat down and unfolded the note he'd written. She had a look of extreme concentration on her face as she leafed through the pages of the large, leather-bound volume. He hadn't caught the title, but it was obvious enough that she had taken his hint.

In all honesty, Snape wasn't sure why he'd given her that hint in the first place. It wasn't required that she know anything about the nature of the Curse. All she had to do was train her mind. She didn't have to know why. So why, then, had he allowed her to find what she was looking for? If anything, it would hinder her, rather than help her. It would scare her too much.

Scowling, Snape shook his head. This was ridiculous. He couldn't understand himself. He almost walked over and removed the book from her hands, but knew that he couldn't, or she'd become even more curious. Perhaps she'd miss the significance of it all. Unlikely, though. Despite her numerous faults, she was an extremely bright girl. He'd said that many times to himself, assuring himself that she was bright enough to deal with the consequences of what she discovered.

He knew why he'd done it, now. He'd shown her the way, because he wanted her to teach her what she mustn't do. He wanted her to convince herself that unless she was careful, she would be destroyed. He wanted her to be so scared, that she was diligent enough to make it work, so scared that she worked hard enough to succeed. It was a cruel thing to do, but necessary.

Wasn't it?

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Harry and Ron were just starting to worry about Hermione when she crept into the common room, white faced and shaking. Then they were immediately at her side, supporting her, helping her, afraid that she might pass out again. She shook them off, but sat down on the couch, and sank back into the cushions, staring straight ahead.

"It really is a Curse," she murmured distractedly.

Harry sat beside her, putting his hand over hers. "What do you mean?"

His tone of voice annoyed her, it was too comforting, too sweet. She didn't need that right now. Irritated, she rose again, pacing to the front of the room and back again, waving her arms. "Grindelwald! Giova! Rakasha, Hildebroth, they're all dark wizards!" Seeing the puzzled expressions on her friend's faces, she unclenched her fist, and let the crumpled piece of paper fall to the floor. Retrieving it, she thrust it at Harry. "Look," she demanded.

Harry looked. "Snape gave you this?" he asked, smoothing out the wrinkles with his forefinger. Hermione nodded. "That's why you went to the library, then." He was thinking out loud, a habit Harry had when he was confused about something. "You looked them all up?"

"I did," Hermione agreed, breathing hard. "I did, and all of them, every single one of them was a dark wizard. Would you like to know why?" On her last words, she lowered her voice, so that she no longer sounded angry, but scared instead. "They all had the Curse. All of them. They all had it."

Harry and Ron stared. "You mean...it's like, a dark power or something? Something in You-know-who's circle?"

Hermione shook her head. "No! I mean, they were just nice, normal people, and then they discovered the Curse. That's what it did to them! It turned them dark, it turned them all...all wrong!" Her voice was slowly rising in volume, until she was almost yelling. "That's what it does! That's why it's called the Curse! Because everyone who's had it has gone dark!"

There was a long silence, until Harry cut in. His tone was reasonable, coaxing. "You don't know if it happened to everyone, Hermione. You've only read about a few cases. For all you know, tons of people could have had the Curse, and only a few turned dark, just out of coincidence."

"Then why doesn't anyone know anything about it? Why isn't it listed in any of the books? Why do people avoid mentioning it? Why, why, why-!"

"HERMIONE!" Ron was holding her shoulders, shaking her, trying to snap her out of her hysteria. "Hermione, calm down!"

Hermione could not calm down. She was scared, scared out of her mind. If she trained hard enough, and long enough, would she become one of them? Would she, instead of helping Harry, instead of saving him, would she end up hurting him? She couldn't risk that. She didn't want that. Surely, there must be some way of avoiding the Curse. She could just ignore it, avoid it, not use it, make it go away by sheer force of will.

But why had Snape not told her this before? Why, now was he letting her know what she was? No, she corrected herself. There was a way out. There had to be a way out. And for all she knew, Harry could be right. But then, was Snape just trying to scare her? Or was he simply trying to show her how powerful she really could be? Had he chosen dark wizards as examples only by coincidence? Or had there been more significance to his choice? If so, then was he really on her side? They'd always suspected Snape of being a bit shady. They knew he had once been a death eater. Perhaps he still was, recruiting graduating students for his master. She wished she could read minds, could see the motives behind this little revelation.

Actually, Hermione thought, she might be able to. Which could be very useful.

But useful for who? For what good? For what side? For what purpose?

It was too much to take in all at once. Exhausted, Hermione crumpled into the couch, tucked her knees to her chest, and let Harry and Ron convince her that it was going to be all right.