A Conspiracy of Books

Chapter 7 Chess and Feathers

Hermione and Ron stepped through the portrait hole. They breathed sighs of relief. All was calm. Until that moment, Hermione had been harboring the worst fears she felt a Head Girl was entitled to--namely, that her secrecy prior to the meeting merely confirmed the Gryffindors' gravest suspicions, breaking way to vast pandemonium in her absence. Ron, who knew Hermione well enough to guess exactly what she was thinking, secretly rejoiced that he didn't have to try to put her back together again. He could have kissed whoever was responsible.

"Hey, mate," Dean said, whacking Ron's shoulder good-naturedly. Ron, startled out of his thoughts, returned it awkwardly. Dean and Seamus had resolutely stationed themselves by the entrance, briefing the incoming stragglers. Apparently they'd forgiven Ron's rude intrusion in the dormitory.

"Oy, where d'you think you're off to?" Seamus asked a third year who, imagining an opportunity, had edged behind Ron. The boy made to form an excuse, but Seamus shook his head firmly. "I don't think so," he said, and the boy retreated shamefacedly.

Dean clicked his tongue in disapproval. He said, "McGonagall hasn't shown, but Harry's here. What's going on, eh?"

For the first time all morning, Hermione smiled, even if her stomach did do a quick flip. Seamus pointed.

They immediately saw why it was so quiet. Harry and Neville were in the center of the common room, in the midst of a fierce tournament of Wizard Chess. The two of them had somehow managed to crowd the underclassmen around the study tables; most of them were following the tournament or catching up on homework. Hermione resisted the urge to run right up and throw her arms around him. She thanked Seamus and threaded her way, Ron following, toward the referee couch. Harry saw her, and his whole face lit up, starting with his green eyes. "Winner plays Ron," he said, greeting them with a small grin.

"Where have you been?" Hermione asked, her smile not quite covering the anxiety in her tone.

Ron nudged her. "Later. Is that tea?" He pointed at a study table loaded with scones, fruit and a steaming silver teapot. Hermione's stomach did a turn of another kind, and it occurred to her she hadn't finished her breakfast.

"Er. Yeah," Harry grinned again, a bit guiltily. "Sorry," he said to Hermione.

"No problem," Ron said in his Head Boy voice, already scooping jam liberally onto the contents of his plate. "Right-o, you two can smuggle in anything you want." He handed Hermione a scone.

She nibbled it. Feeling sheepish and a bit cheery in spite of herself, she said, "Tell Dobby 'thanks'."

"Actually, it was my idea," Neville said. "I got hungry. Harry put a cheering charm on them, just to help, you know?" He looked pleasantly tired and his hair was mussed. He and Luna (who had managed to unobtrusively move into Gryffindor a month after the start of term) exchanged small smiles. Hermione was already feeling too good to question whether Neville's appearance was only the result of the tea.

She went over to the table and poured herself a generous cuppa. Seeing that everyone was watching her raptly for clues, Ron booted Harry off the couch and sat down to preside over the tournament. He waved people back to business.

Hermione filled a plate and found a spot next to Harry on the stair. "So, what happened? Ron and I looked for you."

Harry stole a strawberry. "I went out to the pitch," he said. "Knocked a couple of Bludgers around. Just felt like it, you know?" Hermione nodded quietly. He looked concerned. "Then I heard the siren and ran into Hagrid on the way in. He made me stop at his house while he told me what happened. I think maybe Dumbledore asked him to. Are you okay?"

He knew. "Yeah," she said, with a rush of gladness. It made some things harder, though. She chose her next words carefully. "Ron and I got split up and I ran into Professor McGonagall," she explained. "She was on her way to meet with Dumbledore." She had trouble looking at him as she said it.

He guiltily patted her knee. "I'm sorry. I should have told someone where I was going. I got back right after you left. When Seamus said you were looking for me, I figured you'd need some help."

"Thanks," Hermione said, feeling especially dodgy now. Neville and Luna casually began drifting toward the stairs. Hermione started to roll her eyes, then saw what Harry had already noticed. Ron, Ginny, Seamus and Dean were each unobtrusively and separately converging on them as well. The boy who had tried to sneak off was now officiating at the referee couch, and Colin Creevey was standing guard at the portrait hole. "I suppose maybe it's time for an unofficial meeting of the D.A.," she observed.

"When do you think McGonagall will be back?"

"Hopefully not long," she said. "I don't see why we can't tell them now, though." Harry agreed.

The eight Gryffindors decided to quietly spread the news of Crabbe's death among the members in the other two Houses. Shortly after, McGonagall arrived and made her unwelcome announcement. Hermione wondered what was transpiring in the Slytherin dungeon, and couldn't help wishing certain persons well, despite it all. In her own tower, people seemed a bit shocked, a bit scared. But mostly, sad. The cheering charms began wearing off, balancing out into a kind of calm. Classes were cancelled for the remainder of the day. Oddly, there was less of the gossip that had inflamed the huddled conversations after Goyle's death. Apparently, Crabbe was better liked than Goyle, which Harry, Hermione and Ron found difficult to believe. But among the underclassmen there seemed to be developing a genuine sympathy for Slytherin feelings. A few of the first years had classes with Crabbe's twin brothers.

A talkative boy named Geoffrey described his friend to Neville as "a quiet, bookish Ravenclaw"; the other, also a Slytherin, "really isn't that bad once you get to know him." The general consensus now seemed to be that there was a murderer in Slytherin house; that it was strictly personal; and tragically, appeared to involve forsaken love.

The D.A., even Ginny, suspected the Death Eaters. "A restructuring of some kind," said Dean. "Revenge or something."

"That's exactly what Snape was afraid of," Harry said, privately relaying a conversation he'd overheard that summer at Grimmauld Place to Hermione and the two redheads. "It's going to make it a lot harder to get information."

"Maybe I need to do some more homework," Hermione said, unable to stifle a yawn. Ron patted her on the back. Dumbledore or no Dumbledore, as far as the four of them were concerned, she no longer cared about hiding her work for the Order. There were just too many things to cover, and besides, they already knew. She told Ron, "I think we'd better get in touch with your mum. I'll ask Dumbledore--maybe we could all take a quick trip to the Burrow this weekend."

"And miss all this study time? Never," Ron teased, stuffing another scone from the seemingly endless supply into his mouth.

So it was that at eleven o'clock, when she went up to her room fully intending to crack open The Warlock's Guide in the broad light of day, Hermione found on her desk a glossy black feather. It was lying in plain sight below the latched window. The room was empty. Hermione picked it up and examined it. It was a flight feather from an owl.

She thought for a moment, then took out her wand. "Wingardium leviosa." The feather floated effortlessly in front of her. She added a charm and blew on it gently. Quivering, the feather began a soft descent of graceful swoops, ending in the fireplace. A moment later, it vanished in a slight green flare.

* * * * *

Twenty minutes late. Hermione tucked the time-turner back into the neck of her blouse. Fine. Let him be that way. She couldn't believe she'd agreed to work with him, even if she'd seen wisdom in it at the time. She'd much rather be where she was supposed to, safe in her tower room. Fuming at the Great Hall's empty doorway, she went back to reading The Warlock's Guide, which was tucked into her potions book.

Before the final ingredients can be added, the ambitious Warlock must exercise absolute secrecy--especially from the other participants. Hermione snorted. Talk about using a term loosely.

In previous cases, participants who have suspected danger have detected the spell in time for its prevention (for telltale signs see chart of same name on page 185). She flipped ahead. Impossibly, several pages, including one-eighty-five, had been torn from the binding. This is ridiculous. It fit so well--Malfoy and Goyle's falling out, Crabbe's bloodless death . . . On the other hand, the pages might have been ripped out years ago.

Still no sign. It was frustrating having to divide her attention this way. She flipped back to Potions involving blood, trying not to read too quickly. She might actually be on the verge of finding something, and didn't want to miss any detail. Draco Malfoy poked his head into the hall, checking to make sure Hermione was alone. Satisfied, he slipped through the doorway and crept forward. So intent was Hermione that she didn't see him.

. . . add the blood from the first participant. Taking it must cause the individual some surprise in order to infuse the potion with a vitality that otherwise proves lacking. There are several methods (see page 187 for chart "Blood, successful collection"), but I have found that a swift and sudden--"

With the softest of swishes Malfoy sat down across from her. Hermione started.

"Bloody hell!" she gasped, slamming the books shut.

Draco eyed the nested volumes, amused. "Swearing, Granger? I'm surprised at you."

"I see you're feeling better," she said tartly, stuffing them into her backpack. Glancing over his shoulder to ensure they were still alone, Draco reached into his lapel.

Hermione stiffened in alarm. With a sardonic expression he removed a box of Chocolate Wizard-O's and summoned up two empty bowls. "I thought it might be a good idea to discuss your--ah--unexpected visit last night." Draco allowed her to digest this information as he poured cereal into the bowls and pushed one toward her.

Hermione didn't move. In her continued silence, he selected a chocolate chunk and nibbled it thoughtfully. "You didn't stay long. Since most girls do, I suppose that makes it a somewhat dubious honor."

"You like Chocolate Wizard-O's?" she managed finally.

He ate another chunk. "Yes, and I keep a dirk up my sleeve. What of it?"

Hermione felt like she'd been drenched with cold water. Clearing her throat, she reached for the bowl. She picked out an O, eating it carefully.

Draco munched down a handful. "There's also the matter of this," he said, pulling out the black feather. It coolly detached itself from his grasp and began writing. G R E A appeared girlishly in the air. "I was planning to return it to its owner, but in its present state, he doesn't particularly want it."

Hermione smirked. "What did you expect?"

Draco's humor wilted slightly. The feather progressed to T H A "Just remove the charm." Smugly, Hermione took a handful of Wizard-O's instead. "Please," Draco said, pained.

"Very well." Hermione waved her wand, and the feather lost its liveliness and floated down to the table.

Draco waited a beat for good measure, then returned it to his pocket. "So, about last night."

"What of it? I missed my fireplace. You hid a dirk in your sleeve. I didn't tell anyone, if that's what you're on about. That is, except Dumbledore. He seemed to already know."

Dusting the O's lightly back into his bowl, Draco folded his hands under his chin. "Miss Granger," he said in his best imitation of the Headmaster, "I am not trying to frighten you. I am, you must understand, merely trying to discern your purpose."

"Fine. What does it matter?"

Draco stifled a sigh. She definitely didn't appreciate the effort he was putting into this. "Look, I saw you and Potter snooping around the library the night we . . . lost Goyle. If you're wondering whether I'm happy about that, I'm not. Goyle and I actually were having a disagreement, but. Dark wizard friendships and all. Grew up eavesdropping on top secret Death Eater stuff."

"I see." But wasn't Harry wearing his cloak?

"Are you going to eat those?" he asked, indicating her cereal.

"Huh? Oh." She dutifully dipped her fingers into the bowl.

Draco gave her a look of pitiful condescension. "C'mon, Granger. Do you really expect me to deny any of this? My family has a long, proud history to maintain. Malfoys have been doing dark deeds since William the bloody Conqueror."

"Yes, I know. It's all there, in Hogwarts: A History," she replied crisply.

He fell momentarily silent. Hermione was certain the significance wasn't lost on him, but he refused to bite. "Right," he said, coolly. "So. You show up in my fireplace in the middle of the night. This morning we find Crabbe. You didn't even manage not to be seen. Spying doesn't suit you, Granger."

"Oh, I don't know about that. I rather thought it might make me seem more exciting--you know, daring."

Draco's snort sounded suspiciously Weasely-like. "It's not working."

"So," she said, changing subjects, "you actually miss Crabbe and Goyle, do you?"

His mouth thinned into a straight line. "I do," he said levelly. "And I'd like to know what you were doing right before they died."

"Me?" she exclaimed. "What possible reason would I kill Goyle? How about you? You're the one lecturing on murder. What's that about? Bashed over the head?"

It was Draco's turn to look discomfited. Hermione fixed her glare on him. Draco couldn't help noticing her eyes. They were a very rich hazel, and very wide. Her indignation caused them to rapidly transmute from deep brown, to green, to deep brown. He swallowed and shifted uncomfortably, finding it difficult to look away. "So when you left the study table you didn't go into the stacks after Goyle?"

"No," she said, calculating wildly as she put two and two together. The old, familiar prickling feeling at the base of her neck was back. Hermione narrowed her eyes. She wasn't naïve enough to think he'd reveal anything accidentally.

"I'm telling you this because I want you to be straight with me, Granger. Where were you?"

"At the counter," she said finally. "Checking out books.

"I didn't hear Madame Pince."

"I thought she was in the stacks. I'd heard the books fall and thought she was still picking up . . ."

She trailed off as Draco again raised an eyebrow. "I thought Head Girls didn't engage in such . . . immoral activities? Although it accounts for the swearing," he mused.

"I didn't see you," she said pointedly. "If you couldn't see the counter, where were you?" She pictured the layout of the library. It had been extended from the castle wall in a sort of cruciform shape, like a cathedral. There were specialized stacks and alcoves for study in each of the arms. In the northern one was the Restricted Section.

He deliberated. Finally, he admitted, "I couldn't see Goyle from where I was, either. Didn't even realize what happened until you triggered the alarm. Nice scream, by the way."

"So you didn't hear the books?" Faint voices wafted from the corridor. Draco swung round, surveying the doorways. He smoothly scooped up his bowl and the box of Wizard-O's. They vanished under his robes. Satisfied that he'd at last given something away, Hermione watched him intently. "How did I get into your room by accident?" she hissed as he rose to leave.

"Magic," he returned, wriggling his eyebrows. She gave him a hard look.

"About that dirk."

"Alright," he said, leaning in with one hand on the table. "Tell me what Potter was doing there."

"No idea," she stalled.

"Fine," he said. "Tonight. Restricted Section. Say, dragons." He added, "All the Houses connect by floo, didn't you know?" A second later he was hustling down the row toward the Slytherin tables. He slipped out the door just before Snape and McGonagall entered the Great Hall from the other end, bickering softly. Despite the fact that curfew was still in effect, neither one seemed remotely surprised to see Hermione sitting there.

"Where's Malfoy?" Snape snapped.

"You just missed him," Hermione said. "We're meeting later, in the--"

Snape cut her off. "Silence, Miss Granger! I've had quite enough of teenage affairs today. Minerva--"

But Professor McGonagall had already transfigured into a cat and was streaking out of the hall.

* * * * *

"Ginny, could you run upstairs a moment and ask Hermione to come down?" Harry asked, wadding up another piece of parchment. He threw it into the waste bin with the others, and glared at the blank space on his star chart. He hated to bother her, but he'd been hoping she'd appear for the last half hour. Ron passed him the half-drunk bottle of Butterbeer under the table.

"Still aren't getting the moon pattern of Uranus?"

Harry was grumpy. "Please. I don't know why I thought this class would be an o.k. elective. I'd like to see yours." Ron snickered. Harry commenced banging his forehead on the table.

"Sorry, mate," Ron giggled apologetically. "We've been sitting here too long. We need Hermione."

"Have you finished?" Dean asked, approaching with his half crumpled chart. "I can't get Uranus."

Harry gave up and threw his pencil at Ron, who was cracking up uncontrollably. "When are they letting us out of here?"

"For supper, I heard," Dean said, copying down some of Ron's figures. "Hey, quit smacking the table. How many of those scones did you have?"

"She's not there," Ginny reported, returning to the sofa. Neville and Luna were sitting at opposite ends of the room, attempting to be studious. Neville was further distracted by Geoffrey and his friends who were riddling him with questions about how the D.A. was founded. Harry briefly considered rescuing him.

"Has anyone seen Hermione?"

Dean shook his head. "What is it with you two?"

Harry ignored him, frustrated. "Where is she?"

"How should I know?" Ron said, defensively. "Would I still be sitting here if I did?"

"Her door's open, maybe she went to the loo," Ginny supplied.

"Did anyone go with her?" Ginny shrugged, palms up. Brow furrowed, Harry got up and stretched. Ron watched him head for the boys' dormitory.

"Well," he said, dropping his pencil on the chart, "help yourself, Dean. I'm going to see if Dobby can scare up anything else to eat." He retrieved the bottle from under the table, strolled around for a moment while he stashed it in his waist band, then edged over to the portrait door.

"You'd better not leave," the fat lady said out of the corner of her mouth.

"Whatever," Ron said. "Open up."

The door swung open and he ran smack into Professor McGonagall. She seemed a little out of breath. "Oh, hi Professor." She sized him up over the rim of her spectacles. "Just going to the loo," he said lamely.

"Very well, Mr. Weasely. Everyone, I've come to say that curfew is lifted. Thank you all for being so patient."

There were straggly cheers. Ron eased out. Neville sighed. He shot Luna a glance and disentangled himself from the first years. A moment later, if anyone had cared, they would have seen that her seat was also vacant.

* * * * *

Hermione walked up beside Ron, who was humming softly as he wandered a touch unsteadily back from the loo. "Where'd you come from?" he asked.

"Girl's toilet. Do I smell Butterbeer?"

"No, coursh not," Ron assured her.

"Ron, honestly!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Harry's pissed. No, no!" he held both hands defensively in front of him. Hermione was poised to explode. "No, pissed at you," Ron clarified. "We needed help on the star charts, but you weren't there."

"Oh. Sorry," she said, deflating. Ron watched her sidelong. "Were you really in the toilet?"

"Ronald, of course I was."

"Well, I didn't see you leave," he said softly. Hermione realized he was only a little drunk. "You'd better be careful, whatever it is. Because Harry's really starting to notice. And I doubt he's convinced you're spending all of that time doing stuff for the Order," he warned.

Hermione nodded. "Ok. Thanks," she said. "I appreciate that."

"No problem." Ron belched. With his shirttail, he carelessly wiped the neck of the bottle. "Butterbeer?"

* * *

After lunch, Hermione accompanied the boys to the Quidditch pitch. She figured she'd better stick close to Harry--she knew she shouldn't take too many chances. The afternoon had grown a little chilly, but it was one of those rare, sunny autumn days that one couldn't afford to miss. She did some real homework, putting together more notes for the History of Magic presentation while Ron and Harry practiced Spin dives on their brooms. When it got too cold, they returned to the warm common room for mugs of chocolate. Ron gave her the "I-told-you-so" look as she examined the jumbled mess Harry'd made of his star chart. Having helped him finish it, she retreated upstairs for the close of the afternoon. After supper, she asked if he wanted her to return his overdue books and went to the library.

Two hours later, she was still whiling away the time waiting for Malfoy to show. Hermione wasn't best pleased. She'd picked a study table in the center, where it was nice and open, making occasional forays into the Restricted Section. She avoided the alcove, hoping that Draco would have better sense--though perhaps not sensitivity--than to corner her there. So far, the books on dragons had received no other visitors.

Returning from one such trip, Terry Boot waived at her. He was sitting with Cho Chang and a couple of other Ravenclaws, so Hermione stopped to chat. He and Cho had been dating since summer. "How's Harry?" he inquired. Cho suddenly became engrossed in her notes. For some reason, Terry always thought the best way to flirt with a girl was by teasing her about other blokes.

Hermione felt the corners of her smile set. Harry had been a little squiffy during the afternoon. When she'd apologized for her absence, he'd shrugged it off, but the way he'd looked--bemused, as though a thunderstorm were brewing beneath his dark hair, if he could only put it and the lightening together--sent a pang of guilt through her. "Oh, pretty well," she offhandedly replied. "Had our hands full this morning with all the first years."

"Tell me about it." Terry rolled his eyes and went on to relate a boring story about how he'd headed off a food fight just before lunch. Then he made some disparaging comments about Slytherins. Hermione nodded, keeping an eye on the entrance and tuning him out. "But you're sure about Harry? 'Cause that's not what I heard."

Hermione snapped back to attention. "Shh, Terry," Cho protested. She gave Hermione a stony look.

"Well, I wasn't going to ask Harry about it. But it's okay for me to ask you, isn't it Hermione? After all, we're pals." Hermione regarded Terry as if he were a slug. Then she realized what he must be talking about and beamed at him beatifically. Gods, but Ginny was efficient.

"Ask me about what, Terry?"

"Ahh, Hermione, you know. I mean, he's dangerous and all, but you're not really after that Malfoy git are you?"

"No," Hermione assured him, "of course not, Terry. Where on earth did you hear that?"

"Oh, don't worry about it," said Cho, resentfully. "We know you'd never date a slug like that."

"You're right, I wouldn't," Hermione said sweetly, and made her farewells.

Avoiding Cho's glares, Hermione watched the clock with growing ambivalence. Eventually the minute hand began inching toward nine o'clock. The Ravenclaws were packing up, clearly planning to leave together. Hermione didn't fancy being here any longer. Even so, she took her time packing her bag. She glanced at the clock. The library closed in precisely three minutes. That does it.

There was a stray first year at the counter who couldn't remember her ID number and Madame Pince, in fine form this evening after her morning warm-up, wasn't having any of it. Hermione took advantage of the distraction. Keeping one eye on the Ravenclaws as they started moving down the study tables, Hermione dogged them in the direction of the exit, skirting the stacks in the Restricted Section for a last look. Feeling royally pissed off at Draco, she scooted to catch up with Terry's fanclub as they reached the door.

Unseen by anyone, as she went by the second to last row of shelves, Hermione suddenly vanished. Terry's group took the stairs, simply assuming she'd be along right behind them. The first year, trembling with relief at having escaped at last from Madame Pince's clutches, was in such a hurry to leave that she wouldn't remember the bushy-haired girl at the study table. And Madame Pince, savoring yet another tasty victory, had never even noticed Hermione in the first place.