A Conspiracy of Books

Chapter 4 Chocolate Wizard-O's

By evening Hermione had reached that curious lassitude better known as exhaustion. Morning seemed so long ago, it hardly felt like the same day. Drearily, she trudged to the Great Hall and flopped down at the Gryffindor table. She smiled wanly at Harry and Ron before dropping her face in her hands.

"Poor 'Mynee," Ron said, patting her on the back, "you're working far too hard, mate." Ruefully she agreed. Her head was aching.

"Hermione, you look awful," Lavender Brown butted in, eyes wide. She and Parvati hovered behind Ron, as if they might swoop down onto the empty bench at any moment. "I can't believe you actually went to class today. If I'd found a body, I'd like, lock myself up in my room."

A few seats down, Dean Thomas said in a staged whisper to Seamus and Neville, "Why doesn't she, anyhow?" Hermione heard and lifted her head just enough to witness Lavender toss her head. Hermione eyed her distastefully. She always looks immaculate, doesn't she?

Ignoring Dean, Parvati added with false sympathy, "And with exams coming, too."

"Shove off, won't you?" Ron snapped.

"I'm just saying--"

"We get it," Harry told Parvati, who narrowed her liberally blue-shadowed eyes and flounced away. Fortunately, at that moment the food appeared and Hermione could pretend to be occupied fighting Ron for the Yorkshire pudding. Lavender gave up and followed Parvati, but Hermione noted that they found seats close enough so as not to miss anything interesting.

Harry, Hermione and Ron commenced eating silently and slowly. From their box seats Lavender and Parvati kept up a steady chatter about several of the Hufflepuff students in Herbology, including one girl whose robes had been set on fire before class by a couple of third-year Slytherins. When it at last became apparent that they weren't going to get any tidbits, they gave up and left, followed at an amusing distance by several gangly fifth year boys.

Sighing with relief, Hermione stopped concentrating on her empty plate. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. The table was full of people who, like her, seemed to be able to finally take a few moments out of the stressful atmosphere to relax. Of course, only three of the Houses dining in the Great Hall tonight seemed to feel that way. The gloomy table at the other end of the hall made Hermione feel vaguely uneasy, but for everyone else, the mood had lightened considerably. Seamus and Dean Thomas were trying to get Neville to join them in a game of Exploding Snap. Neville was making all kinds of excuses.

Ron grinned. "Joining Neville for a pre-homework warm-up?"

"No," she said. "I'm having another piece of that lovely chocolate cake, actually." Harry beckoned and it wafted down the table toward them, amid protests from Dean.

Ron cheerfully dug his fork into it as it passed. "Too bad!"

"Ewww." Hermione's knife sliced off the chunk. "Here, you have this bit. I don't want it."

Ron looked insulted. Harry laughed. "Here, I want some." He reached for Ron's plate. Ron jerked it back, several large crumbs tumbling into his lap. Now Hermione was laughing too.

It felt good. It felt like she hadn't laughed in days. She laughed at Harry and Ron as they flung cake, ending up by trying to catch it in their mouths, and all of the arguments and tension and confusion of the past few weeks rolled away.

* * * * * *

Her feeling of goodwill lasted until the last bite, when she caught Harry's musing watchfulness. Desperately wanting to avoid the topic he had in mind, she brightly asked, "So, how was your day?" Harry didn't answer. Instead, he was glaring, right over her shoulder. Hermione turned.

A band of Slytherins were leaving the hall in Harbingers of Doom style. As usual, Draco Malfoy was at the center of the maelstrom.

Ron snorted. It was almost funny the way everyone at the Hufflepuff table fell silent as they passed. Partway down the aisle Malfoy paused in his stride, almost imperceptibly, to deliver a comment. It was that split-second, more than the ice in his expression, that told her it was so malicious. Hermione craned her neck. It was meant for Justin Finch-Fletchley, sitting with several Ravenclaws.

The Slytherins had turned out in force this evening, the height of haughtiness, their way of saying, "we're carrying on as well as can be, thank you." Hermione wasn't fooled. For one, there was Draco's little display. For two, the Slytherins had spent the day in clusters closely resembling Cornish pixies, bumping into first-year students, picking fights, even setting that Hufflepuff girl's robes on fire. She didn't know what exactly Finch-Fletchley had done to provoke Malfoy, but he certainly wasn't the only person not feeling very sorry for the Slytherins. Now, with that single gesture, the tension in the hall returned full force.

A moment later Finch-Fletchley caught Hermione watching and smiled thinly. She returned it. When Malfoy was out of sight Justin exchanged guilty looks with his friends. Uneasy and much subdued, they hastily got their things and slunk out in the opposite direction under the apprehensive eyes of their fellows. It reminded Hermione of people's fearful behavior before Harry had discovered the Chamber of Secrets. "Now that's really irritating," she muttered.

"I know," Harry agreed quietly. She turned to him. His eyes had darkened to reflective pools. It was the look he got when he was thinking about something rotten he was going to have to do--like face a Quidditch match in a thunderstorm, or packs of dementors. She suddenly realized how afraid that look made her and couldn't reply.

Harry's frustration matched her own. And yet, who could blame Justin? She couldn't even fault the Slytherins. They were all afraid. Goyle's death had become a catalyst. The undercurrent of fear present all fall had crystallized, acting on them the way frost settled into the lake in winter.

She recognized the twisted reflection of her own painful facade in Finch-Fletchley' brittle smile. She saw how fragile her appearance of calm had been all day; how she, like everyone else, had tacitly agreed to force appearances in place. At whatever the cost. Especially if you could be next. Or the people you cared about most. She ventured a glance at Harry, who was concentrating very hard on swirling the water in his glass. She just hoped this time he wouldn't finally shatter.

Reaching under the bench for her bag, Hermione finally met Harry's eye. "So," he said casually, "When are you going to tell us about the meeting?"

Ron lost interest in his plate. Hermione looked at them unhappily. How can I tell my best friends that this time, I can't tell them everything? They'd never, ever agree to this, even if I could give them the choice. She wondered again how much they knew already--but didn't see how to ask. Well, it was no use stalling. Instead, she dissembled. "Oh, you know--Dumbledore just asked what happened in the library. And we chatted a bit and. . . . I went to class."

"And?"

"We had tea."

"Biscuits?" Ron was hopeful.

"McVittie's." He smiled blissfully.

"And?" pursued Harry.

Hermione rolled her eyes. He stared her down. Finally she said, "You really don't know?"

"I wasn't invited," he replied quietly. "You'll have to fill me in."

In the quiet Ron looked first at Harry, then Hermione. "What's going on?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I thought Dumbledore wouldn't let you in," she said apologetically. Harry visibly swallowed his exasperation. He looked as if possibly the last twenty-four hours had finally nudged her off her dot. She didn't like it.

"Where?" Ron asked, confused.

"The office." Both of them now clearly thought she was barking. She began to feel a bit desperate. "You were there? On the landing?"

Harry stared.

"M'ynee, there's no way. He was still snoring at ten minutes to class," Ron said gently.

"Oh." That explained the rumpled pajamas.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, still perturbed. "And I don't snore," he added as an afterthought. Ron rolled his eyes.

Hermione sighed. Even though she'd deliberately given them the slip that morning, she still felt a strong pang of disappointment that Harry hadn't made good on his declaration to Mrs. Weasley. "I see. Sorry. It's just I heard som-- oh, nevermind."

Ron chuckled quietly.

"Shut up, Ronald. I thought you'd followed me," she told Harry.

"Thought I'd save you the trouble of dishing?" he inquired, relieved and amused. He seemed to have forgotten all about their fireside conversation.

"Well, yeah," she said, deciding not to bring it up. She felt very silly indeed. "But I . . ." She turned to Ron, eyes narrowing.

"Hey," he protested, holding up both hands, "I know what you're thinking. So, I was late to class. Can a guy wee?"

"Nevermind," Hermione said weakly.

* * * * *

Unfortunately, that wasn't the last of it. It never was.

"Why didn't you tell him about Malfoy?" Harry demanded. "It's important! He was probably hanging round the library the entire time!" Hermione hated when he scowled like that.

"Are you sure you want Dumbledore knowing you were there?" she pointed out. The common room was lit only by the dying fire. She desperately needed to be in bed, but midnight seemed to be the only time when Neville and Luna would be skulking about elsewhere (the Astronomy tower--and no way was she suggesting Harry meet her there). The common room was safest. "Incidentally, that's why I thought it was you following me this morning." Especially since I expected escorts.

Harry got quiet. "Oh. And not Malfoy? Nevermind," he said quickly, seeing Hermione's face. "Anyway, yeah, it's ok," he said. "Dumbledore needs to know." Hermione gritted her teeth. Harry wasn't making this easy.

She was beginning to see what Professor McGonagall had been warning her about. She didn't like having to try not to have to lie to him every time things got sketchy. Hermione studied him momentarily. This was the first time he'd wanted to open up to an adult in quite a while--other than Hagrid, if he could really be counted as the type to make grown-up decisions. "Does this mean you're not mad at him anymore?" she ventured.

Harry's smile was tinged with chagrin. "Maybe," he hedged. "I guess after Sirius. . . there were lots of things I realized I could've done--or said--I should have guessed Voldemort was playing with my mind. I should have trusted Dumbledore more--"

"Harry, you can't honestly blame yourself for that."

He returned her gaze steadily. "So you keep telling me. But I was too angry to trust him, and that got in the way. It explains it. It doesn't excuse it."

Hermione sighed. "Okay. I understand. Just please stop beating yourself up. If you think Dumbledore needs to know, you should tell him. I'll even go with you."

That startled him. "You think I should be the one to tell him?"

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. "I do. That way if he asks me about it, it'll be cleaner--for you."

Harry nodded. "That makes sense, I guess." He surveyed her for a long moment. She felt like he could see right through to her squirming insides. She hated keeping secrets from him.

"I'll go too," she offered again.

"No, it's okay. I should probably talk to him anyway, I have some things about Sirius. . . I still haven't apologized. . ."

"I don't think he expects you to," she said gently. He nodded, a bit faraway. Sod it, Hermione relented. "Harry, there's something I have to tell you." This time when he looked at her, she was sure he could see past her insides, right into her core. She couldn't stand his eyes on her like that--vulnerable, fearful, yet stubbornly determined to hear out whatever it was she had to say. "You won't like it. I can't even say exactly what it's about. It has to do with the stuff I've been doing all fall, for the Order."

He neither denied nor confirmed this. "I was pretty sure you and Ron knew. . . anyway, I trusted that even if you didn't know what it was, you'd act like nothing was happening."

"I knew." He smiled. "Don't worry, Hermione. I've got you covered there."

"Thanks," she said gratefully. It was amazing how wonderful it finally felt to admit it. It made her want to tell him the lot. "Unfortunately, I can't say more. Except. . . if I seem to be. . . erm. . ."

"It's okay, you can stop," he assured her. "What I don't know, I can't tell." His face darkened, and she knew he was thinking of Voldemort picking out his innermost thoughts, playing on his dearest memories. "I'll tell Dumbledore tomorrow. Get some sleep."

Hermione suddenly gave him a great big hug. "You, too."

"Thanks. I will." He patted her back a bit awkwardly before she broke away. She gave him a last smile as he went, somewhat dazed, up to bed.

Relieved, she forced her tired feet up the dormitory steps. Just before falling asleep, she recalled again the determined glint in his eye last night when he'd wanted to protect her. This time she didn't feel as wretched. It was just a misunderstanding. He was protecting her, in his own way. Harry was her best friend, and the knowledge flooded her with a sense of peace and reassurance. For the first time since this whole mess had started she thought, it'll all come out right.

* * * * *

It's too early for this kind of thing.

Hermione sat up under the covers in her high-ceilinged, but otherwise cozy Prefect room at the top of Gryffindor tower. She wearily rubbed her palms over her forehead and cheekbones and checked the clock. 5:26. No getting back to sleep now. She'd been trying unsuccessfully for several minutes to get rid of some lingering images.

Bloody hell. Hermione tried again to think of anything else, but the dream held on persistently. She'd had plenty like it before-- had even gotten used to having to see the people in them at breakfast. Frequently, they were of Ron--disconcerting because she thought of him only as a friend--a redheaded friend, not entirely unattractive, to be sure. But a friend. Ron hadn't featured this time.

Lately she'd been dreaming more and more of Harry. Her visions of Ron involved innocent, brief glimpses of skin, hands, an expression, a broken phrase. They were patchy, relying on basic curiosity, easily assuaged. She'd (thankfully) never been able to imagine all of him--like viewing Michelangelo's sculpture of David with its more prominent segments blurred out, the way they did on T.V.

This dream demonstrated no such inhibitions. It freely supplied every line of slim thigh, with little consideration for her threshold of shockability, nevermind the fact that she had to sit through an entire morning of History of Magic presentations right beside him.

At least this is the sort of thing I don't have to worry about not telling him.

Glaring at the clock, she threw off the covers and stuck both feet down on the uncomfortably cold stone floor. There'd be plenty of good light in the Great Hall, and it probably wouldn't be occupied for at least the next hour. She groused around for her hairbrush. Or she could go to the library.

Hermione froze. The library. A nasty, cold feeling snaked its way up her spine, blossoming in her stomach. In her mind there appeared a shoe wrapped around the metal foot of a tall bookshelf. Then one pale, outstretched hand. A disarrayed pile of books--

Slam! Hermione violently forced the bureau drawer shut. She swallowed hard to get her stomach under control. In another instant she had snatched up her towel in her stinging fingers and headed, sans hairbrush, for the Prefects' bathroom. "No way am I going to the library," she said aloud.

"What's that, dear?" asked a sleepy portrait of Jane Austen.

Guiltily, Hermione flattened herself against the wall. Austen was one of her favorite authors--normally she loved seeing her at her desk as she took the stairs. "Never mind," she whispered as she passed. "Just something that needed getting out. Go back to sleep."

Jane nodded her head dreamily over her manuscripts. "I know just what you mean, dear," she murmured, then added, more clearly as Hermione inched past, "And you can always visit Miss Bronte for perspective on talking to yourself out loud--top floor, the Thornfield corridor. Invariably a great help."

Flustered, Hermione muttered her thanks and vanished as quickly as possible down the stairwell.

OOhhh! she burst, to herself this time. Remind me again why we can't apparate in Hogwarts?

* * * *

At twenty past six, not even Professor McGonagall was in the Great Hall. Its sole occupant was a familiar, red-headed figure in a fuzzy, unkempt brown sweater. Because it was so early, he seemed strangely out of place.

"Hey," Ron grunted, groggily stirring his Chocolate Wizard-O's as she plunked down across from him. "Surprised you're up." Suddenly, a look of panic crossed his freckled face. "Our History of Magic presentation--it's not today, is it?"

Hermione laughed. "No, silly. It's Monday, remember?"

"Yeah," Ron breathed, relieved but still bewildered. "Right."

She helped herself to the Granola Crunch, which Ron absently regarded with a bleh. "So, how come you're awake?"

Ron shrugged. He began sorting bits of chocolate out of his cereal. He looked a little puffy around the eyes, but otherwise fine. He popped one into his mouth. "Woke up hungry. Couldn't sleep after that."

"Know what you mean," she agreed noncommittally, secretly amused. Come to think of it, she was glad it was Ron and not Harry down here this morning. Ron rarely asked "How are you?" in tense situations. There was a time, like when he'd asked her to the Yule Ball at the last minute, that his lack of notice had really annoyed her. Now she had to admit there was a certain comfort to be had in his particular brand of cheerful, seeming insensitivity. She started in on the toast.

"Ugh," Ron said. "What the hell's he doing here?"

Hermione glanced over her shoulder. Draco Malfoy was preparing to shunt his long legs under the Slytherin table at the other end of the hall. Despite Ron's half-hushed tone, or perhaps because of it, Malfoy eyed them both with extreme distaste before seating himself in a way that suggested they were far beneath his notice. Even from that distance the early morning light revealed how incredibly pale his face was under the flaxen hair--even more so than usual. Hermione nearly felt sorry for him as he nonchalantly reached for the toast. Then she remembered the meeting with Dumbledore.

Ron nudged her under the table. "Quit staring."

She snapped back to attention. "Sorry." Ron's eyebrow rose appraisingly. "Don't even think it," she hissed.

He let out a quick snort of laughter. "Only kidding, Hermy."

"Right, Ronald." Glaring, she fished a pencil out of her bag, twisted her hopelessly fluffy hair up tightly at the nape of her neck, and ferociously poked it with the sharp end.

He chuckled good-naturedly. "Chocolate chunk?" he offered.

After a second, Hermione couldn't help it. She cracked up. "Thanks," she said. "No entirely terrible day ever started with chocolate, did it?"

"Right you are," he said, and dropped two more beside her bowl.

* * * *

After over an hour, Draco Malfoy had done nothing more suspicious than pull out a book and begin reading. Slightly disappointed, Hermione pointedly ignored him, perusing her own book and casually stealing chocolate chunks from Ron, who was now more or less kipping out of the box. Slowly, the Great Hall filled with bleary-eyed students, some of whom were conspiring in bunches over last-minute annotations to rolls of parchment. Last night's atmosphere had dissipated somewhat--enough, at least, for homework anxiety to resume.

Ron was helping himself to another handful when Hermione put away her textbook and reopened the Warlock's Guide. She hadn't touched it since the night before last. After about a paragraph, she realized she wasn't making any headway. It was just too weird, thinking this was one of the last things she'd been doing before Goyle was killed.

For once, Ron noticed her silence. "Are you gonna eat that?" He poked with his spoon at her remaining toast.

She shook her head. "You can have it."

"Manks," he said, stuffing it in his mouth. "What's hat fur, anyvay?"

"Just some stuff your mum needed me to look up," Hermione said without thinking. She was vaguely surveying the Slytherin table. Crabbe and Pansy Parkinson came in.

Ron turned around casually. Crabbe balked upon seeing Draco, but Pansy clumped right over and thunked her full backpack down across from him. If Draco noticed Crabbe, he didn't turn a hair. Either he was very smooth, or sufficiently distracted by Pansy, who was systematically unloading books onto the table. A look of pained annoyance briefly crossed his face as she shoved aside his half-eaten bowl of what looked like Chocolate Wizard-O's.

"I'd say he was sneaking," Ron observed, as Crabbe slipped carefully behind the blonde prefect and hunkered down farther down the bench next to a tall bloke. Pansy spread the books and notes out for a smudge-eyed Draco to examine. He pointed here and there, giving executive nods.

"Bloody pathetic," Ron muttered satisfactorily.

Hermione gave a small, ironic smile. "Yeah, guess who I saw in the library, doing all that work?"

"Remind you of anyone?" asked Harry, sitting down next to Ron. Hermione's stomach did a quick turn and she felt her face flush.

Ron laughed. "Careful, Harry. Don't think Hermy likes being compared to Pansy."

"Ha, very ha," she replied sarcastically. She grabbed the Wizard-O's from Ron and shoved the box Harry's way. "At least one of us slept well." She gave a nod in the direction of Dumbledore's empty chair.

Harry smiled and nodded in return as he busied himself filling his bowl. "How long have you two been down here?"

"Ages. It is nearly eight o'clock," she pointed out. Harry rolled his eyes, his mouth full of Chocolate O's.

"Crabbe didn't seem too happy with Malfoy this morning," Ron announced.

"Really?" Harry briefly met Hermione's eyes and left it at that.

Ron smirked. "You should've seen when he came in--acted like he'd been slapped. He's avoiding Malfoy like the plague. And they're making up their group presentation in about, oh--" Ron ostentatiously consulted his watch, "--thirty minutes. What?" he asked.

Harry chewed thoughtfully. Ron looked from one to the other, and lowered his voice. "You guys thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Yeah," Hermione said rather heavily. "Harry saw Malfoy outside the library when they took Goyle up to the infirmary." She cleared her throat nervously. "What d'you think he was doing there?"

"Research?" Ron suggested.

Harry smiled a bit nastily. "That's an interesting way to put it."

"You really think Malfoy would kill Goyle?" Ron hissed, almost gleefully.

"Anything's possible. But he was there, I'm positive." Harry paused between spoonfuls. "And in case you think I'm always a great sleepyhead, I just checked the hallway floor--yesterday there were too many people. I was right, there were footprints. Faint, in the far corridor. They'd been removed, I had to do a revealing spell to be sure."

"Wicked!" Ron exclaimed, getting into the scandal of it. "Way to treat your mates."

"Ron, we don't know that he's actually the one," Hermione objected. Ron raised his eyebrows teasingly. She shot him a quelling look. "Whoever it was, they were super careful. Which spell did you use?"

"Oh, Retegio". Hermione watched him eat, a nagging feeling beginning to gnaw at lining of her memory. Harry noticed and said, offhand, "Sirius taught me, last year."

"Why not Revelio Specialis?" Ron asked, confused.

Hermione's mind raced. That's far more advanced than Revelio . . . doesn't mean anything. . . Aloud, she said, "It's more specific. The Latin--"

"Nevermind," Ron said, warding her off with both hands. "It's too early for lectures."

"Fine," she said. "Anyway, if it is Malfoy, why would he murder his friends?"

"Thugs, you mean," said Ron. "Who else? Not the evil denizen of Slytherin tower?"

Harry was oddly quiet. "What about Crabbe? Or Snape?" Ron and Hermione both stared at him. "What? It's possible," he blustered. "So Goyle wasn't poisoned. There're plenty of killing spells."

Ron snorted. "Snape couldn't murder someone--not even with a potion."

"Please, Ron," Hermione protested. "Don't be so thick, either of you."

Ron and Harry both fell into a sulky silence. Ignoring for the moment the fact that Harry suddenly seemed quite knowledgeable on the subject of questionable spells, and fighting her rising feelings of irritation, Hermione said, "Sorry. Look, I realize that now really isn't the time to be. . . well, bi-partisan, I guess."

Ron picked a chocolate chunk out of Harry's cereal and placed it next to Hermione's unused fork. Harry's fingers twitched around the handle of his spoon, but he refrained from smacking him.

Hermione forged ahead. "I'm just tired. I don't mean to get fed up. We'd suspect Snape and Malfoy on a matter of principle, I suppose. Not that you don't have a right to, Harry. After Sirius. . . well, you do. I just-"

"I know," Harry cut her off, not ungently. "I know, Hermione. It's ok."

She nodded and tried to smile. "I just don't think we should overlook anything." Harry gave her a tight-lipped smile in return. Ron nodded. She waited until Harry had crunched down the last of the cereal. "I'm meeting with Dumbledore again after class. We have about fifteen minutes 'til it starts. Do you want to check something out?"

"Sure," Ron said, scrabbling under the table for his notebook. They headed for the door that opened onto the corridor adjoining the library. On the way past the now sparsely occupied Slytherin table they passed the deserted remains of Malfoy's breakfast. Hermione couldn't suppress a grin. So, it's Chocolate Wizard-O's after all.