Helpless

Chapter 5 - The Final Straw

It was a few hours later. Ron and Harry had managed to dissuade the rest of the Gryffindors - some of whom had witnessed her flight from the hall - that Hermione had been the cause of their abysmal points showing. It had in fact been Ron, with an ironic outburst of "Come on, it's Hermione," that had convinced the rest of their house she wasn't responsible. After a brief breakfast, the boys had gone to Transfiguration, where Hermione had been waiting. Apparently, she had apologized to McGonagall before the class - though the elderly teacher hadn't seemed very inclined to look at the girl, there was no overt animosity between the two.

One thing that did give the two of them pause was that at no point, in the entire class, did Hermione raise her hand or offer any sort of insight into the task of transforming baseballs into bludgers. And through covert glances at her book, Harry noticed she hadn't taken any notes. At all.

At the end of the class, Hermione had risen to leave at the exact second McGonagall had finished giving out their homework, and though Ron had immediately tried to follow, his calls fell on deaf ears. Harry had caught a glimpse of her running towards the library, which calmed him a little - at least one thing was normal. He and Ron had returned to the dorm to discuss things before lunch.

Ron was pacing the room as Harry perched on the edge of his bed. After the last occasion, they had cast a soundproofing charm on their dormitory - much as they felt bad talking about Hermione behind her back, Harry knew they couldn't go in without knowing what they were dealing with.

"Okay, Harry, you were right. That's not Hermione." Ron sat down on his bed, worrying his left thumbnail with his teeth, then hopping back up as if staying still was making things worse. "Are you still thinking Polyjuice?"

"I don't think so... we were in Transfiguration for more than an hour. She would've changed back, right?"

"I guess... unless there's a different version of it. Do you know if there is one?"

Harry sighed. "Nope. In any other situation, I'd say we should ask Hermione." He laughed quietly, humourlessly. There was nothing funny about this.

Ron continued pacing in silence for a minute. "I mean, is there... is there a spell? A potion that's making her act like this?"

Harry looked up at Ron and finally stood. He had had an entirely unhelpful thought.

"Act like what?" he said, feeling stupid. Ron looked at him in a way that only reinforced that.

"Act like what? Harry, she's not acting normal!"

"I know she isn't, but what's she acting like?" Ron seemed to be absorbing this. Harry continued. "Just... what you said about potions made me think. Not like I've been paying too much attention to Snape, but with things like emotion-altering potions and spells..."

Ron picked the train of thought up. "... they're specific. And obvious. I mean, Despair Draughts send the person into an absolute pit of mental anguish. The person can barely lift their limbs, let alone function as a normal human being." Harry looked at Ron, an eyebrow raised. "Well, she did help me."

They lapsed into another silence. Ron continued pacing as Harry sat back down. Again, he found himself grimly amused at the situation. The one time he couldn't ask Hermione for help. And now, no matter how much he racked his brain, he couldn't come up with a magical reason for Hermione's behaviour. He told Ron so, who looked at him in a combination of disbelief and desperation.

"How can you say that? She'd never say that, call anyone... and not McGonagall! I mean, if she was going to snap at anyone, it would have been Snape! Malfoy! Someone who deserves it! Why couldn't it have been..."

"Snape!" Harry said, jumping to his feet. Ron started. "Snape knows what's wrong, Ron, he wouldn't have stopped Malfoy in class if he didn't."

Ron blanched.

"But... oh, God, Harry, we can't go ask Snape for help. We can't. Of all people."

"Maybe not," Harry said slowly, "but if Snape knows, then Dumbledore does. I think all the teachers do." Harry jumped to his feet and moved for the door when Ron stopped him.

"Harry... I've just thought... I don't think we should go." Harry was about to protest, but saw the look in Ron's eyes and stopped. "If it's... when it was something magical, Harry, I knew we should do something. But if you're right, if it's not...

"If that's still Hermione in there, she'll tell us." Harry saw the look of determination in Ron's eyes and couldn't help but agree. "I know she'll tell us."

* * *

Harry, Ron and Hermione walked down the hallway together for the rest of the day, and spent most of their free time together on the weekend. The two boys had agreed to stop behaving suspiciously around Hermione, to try and behave the way they always had. Hermione, on her part, seemed entirely indifferent to their company, spending most of her time in the library alone. Ron had reinforced Harry's relief on this front after the previous days' conversation - at least she seemed as devoted to her studies as always.

Harry couldn't help noticing over the next week, however, that Hermione never seemed to be particularly interested during class, barely taking notes or even acknowledging the teachers. More odd, most of the faculty seemed to avoid calling on her at all, even in the absence of anyone else who might have the answer. She didn't even hand in essays anymore, and often skipped altogether.

On Tuesday's Care Of Magical Creatures lesson, two weeks after her initial disappearance, Hagrid had pulled the girl aside, and as much as Harry tried not to watch, he couldn't help noticing the stiff and upset manner in which Hermione brushed him off. Harry hoped more than anything that he'd never have to see the look on Hagrid's face ever again - it was one of shocked sadness, making the half-giant look so depressed that Harry wanted to berate Hermione openly for whatever she had said.

As the class ended and the three of them trudged up towards the castle at the head of the pack, Harry saw Hagrid duck into his cabin, surreptitiously wiping his eyes. An angry disappointment filled him as he looked at the back of Hermione's bushy-haired head - he couldn't think of an excuse for her coldness.

As he watched her, angrily, he glanced over at Ron. His best friend looked white-faced and apprehensive, clearly under the same confusion that Harry found himself mired in. Before they could talk to Hermione, however, a cool voice called out from behind them.

"Granger!" they heard Malfoy yell. Hermione stopped, shaking visibly, but turned with an almost calculated calmness.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked, spitting his name like it tasted foul. Malfoy approached her calmly.

"Congratulations on making the big oaf cry, Granger." Hermione looked taken aback - she apparently hadn't noticed what an effect her words had had on Hagrid.

"I didn't... I didn't mean to. I'll go say I'm sorry."

"What's the rush? I know a Mudblood like you needs all the friends she can scrape together, but-"

Malfoy broke off as Ron lunged at him, stopped only by Hermione's arm grabbing the back of his robes and swinging him around. Ron tipped off balance and tripped, sprawling on the ground beside her. Malfoy doubled over on laughter along with the rest of his cronies, but stopped short when Hermione placed her wand against the hollow of his throat.

"Keep laughing, Malfoy, and I'll transfigure your lungs into bagpipes," she said harshly. Crabbe and Goyle made moves to step forward, but Malfoy waved them off, his face blank but for (Harry was redeemed to see) a distinct note of fear in his eyes. Hermione continued, her voice becoming cold and almost disembodied.

"Your body slowly strangles itself for lack of oxygen to the blood... the first thing to go are your muscles, which start to spasm almost instantly... your diaphragm rips itself to shreds trying to draw in breath it will never get... your brain is screaming at you until you finally pass out... brain death comes in less than five minutes, full death in about seven." Ron was sitting on the ground, staring up at Hermione in an odd, reverential fear. All around the two students facing off, the rest of the Gryffindor and Slytherin fifth-years were barely breathing. Hermione raised an eyebrow and said her final piece.

"And all the while, your attempts to save your life play your own funeral dirge." She stared him down. "And I do so love a good bagpipe."

She dropped her wand and stepped back, raising an eyebrow. Malfoy rubbed his throat nervously, put off. Hermione flipped her wand over and stuck it in the pocket of her robes and turned to leave, ignoring Harry and Ron's looks of surprise. But, never one to lose a good face-off, Malfoy spoke again.

"Why didn't you stay gone, Mudblood? No one wants you here. Run off to your filthy Muggle mother, Grang-"

Malfoy was interrupted as Hermione spun and launched herself at the blond boy, wrapping her fingers around his throat.