Are You Savable or are You Orderable?
Though her parents had protested, Hermione was back at Hogwarts at the end of the break, and school itself proceeded uneventfully. The Daily Prophet, however, now brought news of disappearances, terrorization of muggle towns, conspiracy theories about ministry officials, loose dementors, biographies about suspected Death Eaters, and the odd murder. Harry had been expelled and then readmitted to Hogwarts for casting underage magic in the presence of a muggle over break: he had cast a patronus charm to save his cousin from a rogue dementor. He’d also sworn not to return to return to the Dursleys’ ever again if he could help it, and Hermione and Ron again found themselves doing damage control in the wake of their friend’s increasingly grumpy demeanor. Ginny, who had been obviously interested in Harry during the Fall semester, attached herself to Dean Thomas instead.
Visits to Hogsmeade became dominated by whispers about Death Eaters and their whereabouts in every corner where two or more could huddle together. The deranged face of Bellatrix Lestrange supplanted Sirius Black on every wanted poster; indeed, the posters multiplied and became the focal point of every public posting location. It occurred to Hermione that the public – or at least the ministry and the media – considered other escaped Death Eaters to be mostly footnotes to Lestrange. As with most things, this fascinated her, but this fascination repulsed her. She had to shake it from her mind repeatedly to maintain her muggle schoolwork, stay ahead in her magical studies, and take care of Harry all at the same time.
Occasionally she slipped, like the time she spent too long researching the Black family in a book about the history of the Sacred 28 and found that not only were they conspicuously absent from Grindelwald’s scheme but there was not a single reference to the Black family’s investment in any political, social, or economic group in the last three centuries. Or when she read about their lengthy trade deal with goblins from upper Scandinavia, who likely founded Gringotts with support from the House of Black. Or when she flipped through old yearbooks to find pictures of Andromeda and Ted Tonks, trying to decide if anyone could have known then what was happening. Or when she began studying the Wizengamot in detail and noted that the Black family seat had been empty since Cygnus and Druella Black passed away, incidentally not too many years after Voldemort emerged in public discourse with his Death Eaters. The House of Black was almost mythic, and for a time she drank in their legends like it was they who formed the foundation of wizarding Britain – and therefore her world – and held it together with an ancient web of mere existence.
Sometime after her 16th birthday but before the end of the semester, she was escorted to the headmaster’s office to receive a letter from the ministry indicating that her trace for underage magic was removed. Due to her frequent use of a time turner for her third-year studies, she had lived “extra” and therefore had comparatively aged. It bothered her somewhat that she had not considered this possibility, but she supposed it mattered little. She kept the information to herself; Dumbledore and McGonagall promised to do the same. Not much changed with the removal of the trace. Even that which was unique about her passed quite unremarkably.
The best thing she did that semester, besides her paper on the arithmantic properties of dark magic in semi-magical creatures, was convince Harry to begin a small dueling club designed to help students train for DADA outside of class. He cheered considerably with the project and threw himself into researching, practicing, and teaching new spells and dueling tricks. That he lacked real experience with most of them mattered little to anyone. Results were results, and no one denied Harry’s uncanny ability to organize and improve his friends’ magical skill. Ron commented that he hadn’t seen Harry so happy since before the Tri-Wizard tournament last year, and Hermione soon noticed the Gryffindor common room thrumming with a magical pleasure when he was present. Things were looking up.
Then Harry had the vision of Sirius being tortured in the Department of Mysteries. Perhaps because of the dueling club, he was emboldened to go save Sirius, and perhaps also because of the dueling club Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville were inclined to follow him. Hermione cursed herself for it all later. Of course, Sirius was not there when they arrived. Of course, Lucius Malfoy and a group of Death Eaters hemmed in the Hogwarts students. Of course, there was prophecy that concerned both Harry and Voldemort. Of course, Voldemort was using his connection with Harry to his own advantage. Of course.
When they caused enough commotion to flee, Hermione could hear only the pounding of feet behind her, the sear of jinxes flying past, the maniacal cackle that could only be Lestrange echoing through shelves of prophecies, and the quaking of the prophecies themselves. Firing spells over her shoulder without pausing to think what they were, her senses were overtaken by the thousands of glowing orbs delicately balanced on either side of her, floor to ceiling. They were glowing in pastels with dusty light that looked as if it would trail off behind anything that touched the orb, emitting a hygienic odor that was metallic on her tongue, and sizzling louder and louder until they drowned out all sounds of battle. They beckoned to her. For the first time, her magic felt expansive and mighty; she felt it reach out to the orbs in relationship that was distinctly human. The prophecies called to her for release, for escape from the magic that secured them in their spherical prisons. It suddenly seemed most important and reasonable to fire a casual bombarda at the very top corner of one shelf aisle she was exiting. The sizzling was replaced with waves of shattering glass and a chaotic choir of ancient voices welling up behind her.
“Hermione.” Neville appeared in front of her as she slowed briefly. He was staring past her with his jaw hung.
Curious, she turned and watched as prophecies cascaded endlessly off the shelves, exploded on impact with the ground or with each other, and released long kept secrets in foggy figures and clear voices. Crowds of long-contained magic bore down on them; despite the desperation of their predicament, Hermione felt a strange happiness. It was a stunningly beautiful sight, and one she would never forget, especially when a curved wand emerged from the swirling lights followed by the arm, hair and body of a crazed woman. It looked like Lestrange was struggling to be birthed from Light itself.
Neville jerked her arm, but before they were running again the Order was there to take over the battle. Gasping for breath behind them, time slowed down for Hermione. The duelers advanced and parried, retreated and defended, just like she imagined fencers did. They twirled their wrists with poise, spun with grace, and turned spell-dodging into offensive attacks. She thought she heard orchestral music but quickly talked herself out of that useless fantasy.
A killing curse sprung from the wand of one of the stockier Death Eaters who had not yet removed his mask. Three things happened at once: Sirius deflected the curse with a small flick of his wand, Lupin disarmed the attacker, and Lestrange threw a resounding stupefy at Sirius. Her arm remained curled over the top of her head, eyes wide, as an unconscious Sirius arched unnaturally backwards toward a shimmering veil, floated head-first into it, and did not come out the other side. Hermione could see Lestrange’s chest heaving before she backed away to sprint out of the room. Harry chased her. Hermione and Ron chased Harry. They saw flashes of green down the corridor in front of them and sent protegos, albeit weak ones, ahead hoping to protect him from the Death Eater.
Then, instead of that maniacal woman’s voice she expected, she heard a chilling sound she spent the rest of her life trying to unhear: her best friend’s voice screaming, “Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!”
They stayed at Grimmauld Place that night but returned to Hogwarts the next day for the last day of exams – which they all skipped – to pack their things. No word came from Dumbledore or any of the others. When they unloaded the train at Platform 9 ¾, Mrs. Weasley bundled Harry off with the rest of the family. They gave hurried and hollow promises to write and invitations to visit, disappearing before they could see the Malfoys collecting their son a few train cars down. Draco and Lucius turned away without acknowledging Hermione’s lonely presence, but Narcissa maintained unreadable, penetrating eye contact with her before the young woman turned and walked through muggle London the opposite direction from her home.