The Birds and the Bees

***

'Aha!' he exclaimed, 'I knew it! You've found it!!'

***

'I'm sorry,' said Hermione, 'you knew what?'

She was still unsure just how much the Headmaster knew, and was unsure of how much she should give away. She had a feeling, though, that the Headmaster probably knew quite a lot about her new...skills. She decided that she would eventually tell him everything; just not before she had extracted as much useful information as possible out of the old wizard. He had, after all, proved to be most enlightening so far.

When Dumbledore answered her question, there was pride evident in his voice.

'My dear,' he said, 'What you've discovered; what you can DO; it is just like a tradition practiced by the Wise witches and wizards who lived in these parts in ancient times. They lived in the forests around here; though I believe there were others in distant lands, too. The power of their magic was renowned, but could not be taught to others - only those who knew themselves and understood their connection to the universe could know their secrets. They practiced 'le sorcellerie de la terre'- literally 'Earth Witchcraft'. Nowadays, we often call it natural magic.'

Hermione was surprised to realise that she had never heard of any of this. She knew that there was definitely nothing on it in the library- she had read her way through the entire library by halfway through her sixth year and never found anything. How could that be? She couldn't comprehend the existence of a people that had never been documented; or of the sort of magic that couldn't be taught by a book.

In that disturbing way of his, the Headmaster appeared to read her mind again.

'What you must understand, Hermione,' he said, 'is that there are different ways of learning; different ways of knowing. Not just books. The magic you performed this morning you found it through your own intuition. It is just like the ancients, really. They gained knowledge from the voice of the earth. The universe is always speaking, it is simply a matter of learning to listen.'

When he mentioned voices, Hermione remembered the disembodied presence in her mind, and realised that Dumbledore could probably explain it to her. It was definitely time to confess.

'Professor Dumbledore,' she said quietly, ' I've been hearing voices. Or, messages at least. Do you really think that I've been practicing this natural magic that you mentioned? I thought maybe I was just hallucinating or something. I never thought about nature...or the universe or whatever you want to call it...as having a voice.'

'Hmmm,' said the Headmaster. 'We shall see. Hermione, close your eyes. Don't be alarmed, just close them. There. Now, picture yourself standing in an entirely natural setting. Just you and nature. What do you see? What is nature to you?'

She squeezed her eyes shut until lights danced behind her eyeballs. Almost immediately, a picture appeared in her mind's eye.

'I see fields, and sunlight,' she murmured. 'The grass is new and soft, brilliant green. Jonquils...they smell rich and sweet; overpowering. Bees sing on the breeze. Green sprouts are rising from the cracks in the floor of the old barn. There's life everywhere...'

She opened her eyes and looked at the Headmaster in surprise.

'It seems familiar...it's my Aunt's farm, I think. It was beautiful there, perfect...' she said, remembering the place that had seemed so magical to her as a young child growing up in busy, crowded London.

'Then that is nature to you,' replied Dumbledore serenely. 'Grass, sunlight, bees. Now I wonder...when you first performed wandless magic, what did you see? What did you smell, and feel?'

'Sunlight,' whispered Hermione. 'I felt sunlight, smelt grass, heard bees.'

'Yes, just as I thought,' replied Dumbledore happily. 'Nature speaks to us in voices we understand. If you had grown up in the desert, the magic of the world would communicate itself through the language of hot sands and dry winds. If you were receptive enough, magic could speak to you through anything; chairs, forks, rubbish bins, umbrellas. Magic flows through everything.'

Hermione nodded her head, a thoughtful look on her face.

'I think I understand,' she said. 'Deep down, all matter is just energy; just vibrating. Magic is made of the same stuff as me, and you, and everything. The magic of the world that you mentioned reminds me of the Perennial Philosophy: it says that humans search and search for the all-powerful 'Other', but eventually they must come to the realisation that true divinity is IN us. True magic is in us.'

The headmaster smiled a satisfied smile. He was gladdened to hear such wisdom come from the young girl. Everyone had always realised that she was intelligent, but they didn't realise that she was capable of being so wise.

'I can see why you found the secrets,' he said. 'Your heart has probably always understood how magic works, but your brain has only just put it into words. I am relieved to know that the old ways haven't died out completely.'

'But sir,' said Hermione, confused, 'can't you...don't you know how to.....'

She stopped herself from asking whether he knew how to practice natural magic, as she felt uncomfortable about questioning her Headmaster's magical abilities.

'Don't be embarrassed, dear,' replied Dumbledore. 'It is true, I do not know how to practice natural magic. No purebloods do anymore. We have long lost our connection with nature, and our reverence of it. I can understand natural magic only intellectually, and while it does afford me more power in my magic, nature will never guide my hand as she has yours. You are a muggle by birth, and muggles still hold some awe for the natural world - think about forests, and the moon; think of fires, mountains, storms and the like. Muggles still only have limited power over nature, and so they continue to fear and respect it.'

'I know what you mean,' replied Hermione thoughtfully. 'Walking into a forest, or watching the moonrise, you get that sense of the strength of nature. And looking up into a starry sky, it's like it all makes sense. Like belonging, somehow.'

'Everything is everything,' said Dumbledore. 'In their hearts, most muggles understand that. You obviously understand that better than most, and it will bring you more power than you realise.'

Hermione felt the profound truth of his statement. This was Big. The very air she was breathing had come alive. She felt a connection to the world around her that was so strong and deep that it became like love, almost. The scary thing was that with this connection she could feel the raw power that pulsed through the world like blood. This was hers too now, if she wanted it.

She understood the power, was ready to embrace it; but there was a promise of accompanying responsibility that terrified her.

***

Eventually it became time for Hermione to leave Dumbledore's office. Potions class was nearly over, and she knew that Snape would be at his snarky, sarcastic worst if she missed an entire class. Dumbledore sent her off to the dungeons with a warning to be extra careful not to cast any spells if she could help it.

'After all,' he had said, 'it is too soon for Severus to know. Too soon.'

This had puzzled her, but she had been too agitated to ask what he meant... Instead she thanked him profusely for his explanations and took off down the hallway to the dungeons. She had a note for Professor Snape clutched in her hand.

As she ran, she began to think about the real uncertainty of her situation. She was glad to understand why these strange things had been happening to her, but now she really didn't know what to expect next. Her blood rushed around her body, yelling in her ears. Everything was about to change, and every part of her knew it.

As she neared the dungeons she paused to compose her anxious self; leaning one shoulder against the cool stone walls of the castle. Immediately the stone was speaking to her in calm, steady tones. There were no words, just a gentle reminder of how to be heavy and steadfast. She took a breath and thought stone-y thoughts. By the time she stepped across the threshold of the dank Potions classroom her anxious, galloping feet had become rock steady in their movements.

Hermione slid smoothly to the front of the class and handed Dumbledore's note to the Potions Master without a word. Snape was poised to say something sarcastic, but then he looked to her face and was surprised into silence by the stony grey sheen of her usually hazel eyes. He took the proffered note with nothing but a raised eyebrow.

From his surprise, Hermione realised that she must have an odd look on her face, and willed her mind to move away from hills of silent granite and back to quills and parchment. As his eyes turned to the note, she thought about a beautiful quill she had seen in Hogsmeade the week before.

Unfortunately, Dumbledore had not told her just how hard it would be to avoid inadvertently performing magic; for suddenly there appeared on the desk the exact quill that she had been creating in her mind. It was a magnificent eagle feather of mahogany brown, with all the elegance of a deadly predator. In her mind she could hear the beating of strong wings.

She held her breath as Professor Snape looked up and noticed the quill lying on the desk in front of him.

'What is this, Miss Granger?' he asked in a low voice. She paled.

'I...it's...that is...it's a present, sir,' she stammered.

Oh, for the love of Isis, how embarrassing! Why hadn't she thought of a better lie? Now he would either think that she was totally insane, or realise than she was hiding something. Bugger.

To her great relief, he acted as if he had not heard her. Instead he abruptly stood up behind his desk, towering over her, and said in a louder voice,

'Since you are so very late to class, Miss Granger, you will not have time to complete the set potion for today. You will take a seat here...,' he indicated a workbench near his desk, 'and prepare these ingredients for a potion I am working on. That is, of course, if that is not too taxing for you.'

She ignored his sarcasm and sat herself down at the workbench. Harry and Ron were staring curiously at her from the back of the classroom, and she was actually somewhat relieved to realise that she wouldn't have to explain herself to them just yet. Now she would have time to think up a decent excuse for her absence.

Besides; this ought to be a safe enough task for her to undertake in her present state. With her mind occupied on a mundane task she wouldn't accidentally make anything else appear. As she took up a mortar and pestle, she was actually feeling quite cheerful.

Unfortunately this cheeriness was quickly replaced by shock, as she realised that the potions ingredients on the bench were speaking to her. Loudly...

It wasn't actual speech, as such; it was more like sensations being thrust into her mind. If she concentrated, though, she could discern the separate voices of each different ingredient, and translate the rush of sensations into clear messages.

A pile of damiana leaves - a relaxant and an aphrodisiac - were telling her about hot skin, soft words and languid passion. She blushed, and closed her mind to that voice. To her left, a vial of powdered dragon's blood was whispering fiery threats in her ear. A jar of pickled gillyweed in brine gurgled a sea shanty. She listened to them all, transfixed.

'Miss Granger!'

Snape's voice cut through her reverie. 'Are you really so incompetent that you cannot even prepare such basic ingredients?'

'No sir,' she answered sulkily, trying to ignore the jumbled voices in her mind.

'Good. Now get on with it,' he replied. 'I want to have this potion tested and sent off by this evening.'

Ahhh, thought Hermione, so it was an experimental potion. She surveyed the ingredients with interest, but they yielded no clue as to what sort of potion Snape might be attempting to concoct. She set to preparing the ingredients quickly, before Snape could say anything else nasty. As she chopped the damiana leaves, she tried hard to ignore the plantish chatter that tickled the inside of her mind. Who knows what effect it might have on the potion if she were to change the mood of the ingredients? She couldn't help but listen, though.

Interestingly enough, the ingredients seemed to know that they were headed for the cauldron. They looked forward to meeting and mixing with the other ingredients.

'Everything is everything,' thought Hermione, and decided that the ingredients were just looking forward to a reunion with themselves. Maybe they also anticipated the added power that they would have as part of a magical potion.

Snape approached her bench, and she watched in fascination as he delicately scooped up the neat piles she was making and added them to the pink-tinged liquid that was already in his cauldron. He deposited the gillyweed into the brew, and Hermione heard it singing out to the pile of chopped damiana leaves on the bench.

'Join me, my friend,' gurgled the gillyweed. 'Dance around the spoon with me and we'll sing blue, blue, blue songs!'

Sure enough, when Snape dropped in the damiana the simmering potion flashed blue for a few moments before settling down to being the blue-grey colour of the sea in a storm. The ingredients were embracing in an intimate dance as Snape stirred them with a long spoon.

Snape turned to her workbench to pick up the small cup of dragon's blood powder that Hermione had weighed out so carefully. The dragon's blood, too, was speaking; but what she heard caused Hermione's scalp to prickle in alarm.

'Fire!' it hissed. 'Burn, burn...I'm going to set you all on fire...'

The potion hissed and spat in glee at the prospect of a bit of fiery fun... Snape frowned slightly, and stooped to adjust the heat of the fire. Hermione watched in horror as he turned to pick up the dragon's blood.

'No!' she cried. 'Don't put it in sir; it's going to go up in flames!'

'Don't be stupid, girl,' growled Snape, ' it will do no such thing. I have been testing these ingredients for weeks.'

'Please don't put it in sir, we'll get burnt,' begged Hermione.

She started to reach out to snatch the powder off him, but it was too late. A thin trickle of powder had already poured into the cauldron. Luckily it was not much, for the small trickle still caused a huge jet of flame to shoot across the room, narrowly missing a small cluster of students. Someone screamed, and a few people leapt under their workbenches.

The flame soon died down, but the potion was clearly ruined. It had turned bright red and was bubbling madly over the edge of the cauldron and spilling onto the floor. Snape was stood to one side of it with his mouth hanging open. He turned to Hermione and sputtered out,

'How...you...how did you...you knew...! It shouldn't have happened at all, and yet you knew?'

He began to mutter under his breath, but she still heard him say '...shouldn't have happened with Hungarian Horntail blood...should have stabilised it...'

'Um, sir,' she interjected quietly, 'I don't think it was Hungarian Horntail blood. It was from a red coloured dragon...one that lives in a really hot country.'

As she spoke, she was remembering the picture that that the dragon's blood had planted in her mind. It was a picture of a huge, rusty-red coloured dragon sunning itself on a hot sand dune. A dragon with a much fierier temper than a Hungarian Horntail.

As she said this, Professor Snape got a very strange look on his face. He turned and rushed out of the room, and Hermione just heard him mutter,

'That bastard Mundungus had better not have...'

While he was gone, Hermione stayed at the front of the room, resolutely not turning around to meet the eyes of Harry or Ron. Snape returned a few minutes later with a very odd look on his face. He was eyeing Hermione with a mixture of curiosity and distrust. She swallowed hard as he circled her chair once, surveying her, with a somewhat manic gleam in his black eyes. And then...

'Detention, Miss Granger.'

'What?!?' she cried, 'but why, sir?'

Snape was already halfway out of the room and into his office by the time she spoke. He waved his hand dismissively, and answered over his shoulder as he rushed out of sight,

'For questioning my potion-making methods. Class dismissed. No one is to disturb me.'

The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind him.

Hermione stood, flabbergasted, staring at the door as the rest of the class filed out shrugging their shoulders. After a moment she realised that Harry and Ron were standing beside her.

'Bloody hell,' breathed Ron, 'that was weird. Like, really weird.'

'Yeah,' agreed Harry. 'You know Hermione, if he really has cracked this time, you'd better be careful. That's one scary bloke to be stuck in detention with. When is the detention, by the way?'

It was then that Hermione realised that Professor Snape had forgotten to assign a time for her detention. She discharged the boys with a promise to meet up in the Great Hall, and turned back into the room. The door to Snape's office was looking at her in a stern and disapproving way, and she shivered with fear as she approached it. The trembles in her stomach grew wings, and soon there was a cloud of yellow butterflies fluttering around her head.

She waved the butterflies away, and with a great deal of trepidation she knocked three times on the door.