Chapter Text
By the time Mr. Haas had made the appointment to meet with Hermione, Professor Umbridge had found reason and excuse to fling most of their class into detention. Starting with Harry and continuing down to every Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff who dared cross her. She’d banned wands in the classroom. Refused to entertain practical use; and graded so harshly anything that implied its existence the Hermione had stopped bothering with actual essays. She’d begun turning in bland echoes of their toothless textbook, and was becoming more and more concerned with the state of the OWLs.
If this years 5th years were going to get any OWLs, they would need to practice. They would need to learn something from someone capable and useful. Otherwise and entire year of Hogwarts students; and probably beyond their year, would be useless and helpless targets.
Harry had begun to look worse with each passing week. Lessons and remedial lessons with Professor Snape leaving him sick and ashen-faced. Detention with Umbridge having an equally poor effect and he’d been left bleeding. Not to mention, Ron reported sourly during a patrol of the castle, he’d been having screaming nightmares which even the red-head couldn’t sleep through.
It was as if Umbridge wanted to fling the door of Hogwarts open and allow Voldemort to kill at his leisure.
With that sobering thought in mind; she made her way to Hogsmead. Hands tucked into her robes which she only removed once her feet found the threshold of a tea shop to which she’d been invited. Not the Three Broomsticks’ which served students and tourists; this place was well appointed. Beautiful and elegant with a dignity which suited the man who rose to greet her once the host had ushered her to a table. An elderly wizard in a well-pressed, if old-fashioned, suit. White hair was neatly combed into an even older fashion, and definitely nothing a British wizard would ever style. He seemed rather thin. Bony fingers accepting her handshake, and a lean figure which bowed over the proffered limb as heels clicked together.
She tried not to stare at the unexpected gesture or flinch when he straightened. Unlike the Headmasters' twinkling blue these were a darker, sharper shade. They were cold and intent that no attempt of affability could hide.
“Fraulein Granger. It is an honor to make your acquaintance.” The smooth accent sliding gracefully around English constants and syllables.
“Thank you, Mr. Haas.” She pulled back; unsure what was bothering her. It occurred to her that anyone who wanted to get rid of ‘an upstart Mudblood’ could very easily do it in a low traffic tea shop. No one would notice that she was missing for hours. Her panic must have been visible as the Prussian paused.
“If you would like, we can simply cancel the interview. It would be entirely understandable.”
Would it? He had interviewed Ginny and she had found him charming if a little old fashioned. Apparently spending a good while talking to Mr. Weasley about moving the children to another school. Not as if they could afford it; but the fact that they’d brought it up had been a point of concern.
“You’re curious about the Dark Magic I’ve encountered.” She said instead, letting herself be led into the tea room.
“I am. It’s not every day someone survives being petrified by a Basilisk. I believe you and Miss Weasley are friends?” He asked in answer to an unspoken question.
“We are, and you interviewed her as well.”
“Yes. It is not simple to collect such first-hand accounts from survivors of such events. It is often that these accounts are second or third hand, or even simply gossip. Only the exceptionally skilled, such as the Magazoologist Scamander, or the exceptionally lucky survive.”
“I was just petrified. We had a potion which our professor brewed. It was….it was a friend of mine who managed to save the school.” Mr. Haas poured her a cup of tea.
Hermione had woken in the infirmary, stiff and aching. Only to immediately vomit over Madam Pomphrey’s shoes. News of Harry’s victory had spread through the school like wildfire. Each recounting more absurd than the last. Even now, she wasn’t sure Harry told her all of the details.
“Your friend is very brave.” Mr. Haas remarked gently.
“He is….he is the bravest person I know.” He’d faced Voldemort almost every year since coming to Hogwarts. Murderers and bullies.
“How unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate?” Bravery was a good thing. Harry had needed it to survive. To save the school and his friends and bring Cedric’s body back. He needed it still.
Instead of answering, the old professor took a sip of his tea and settled a little more comfortably. Hermione was two macaroons, a cucumber and dill sandwich, and a crumpet when he bothered to speak again. “I am an old man, young Fraulein. An old man with many sins and a long memory. I was born at a time when Napoleon was within living memory. I remember the Great War, The muggles being abandoned by their magical counterparts until it was nearly too late. I remember…young men being brave. The young often are; but to call them to bravery is to betray their trust and hope. It is a betrayal.”
“Sometimes we need bravery to fight the monsters.” She replied.
“Of course. That is most natural; but then it begs the question. Why are there so many monsters? Why recruit the young when it is the responsibility of the elders to safeguard them? For….you were twelve, I believe?”
She had been twelve. Frizzy and terrified and with mudblood hissed at her every time she passed Draco and his friends. She’d hadn’t even been allowed to be sick. Potions had poured down her throat until only a bare memory remained. It was almost as if it hadn’t happened. “Yes.”
“And so was your young friend. Twelve and facing such a monstrous creature.” The diary or the snake. She was sure Ginny hadn’t mentioned Tom Riddle or the diary he’d slunk out from.
“So. He was brave. He was a hero. I have met heroes before.” He finished his teacup, staring into the depths as if peering through the past decades. “They do not last long. Why was the creature loose? Why was it killed by a boy who would not have been out of leading strings? The result was such a magnificent image. A moment to herald and applaud. All without consulting why it had led up to this. An applause loud enough will drown out someone asking sensible questions. “
And that was something she hadn’t considered. “It seemed…well. I wasn’t awake…it seemed like the only thing to do.”
Mr. Haas continued to stare. Continued to watch her cautiously as if she’d said something which she needed to understand better. Whatever it was didn’t present itself, so the man sighed.
“Now…if you would excuse me. I do have a great number of questions.”
“Oh, right. Yes.” She nodded, and he produced a….muggle pen and a very muggle leather bound notebook. She’d seen so many wizards and witches with quills and parchment it was easy to forget such simple and effective technology existed. “Well…I think everything started with the troll.”
Professor Haas took careful notes in an unfamiliar short hand. Nothing like Rita Skeeters dramatic, over-the-top quill which warped everything to suit the gossiping style of the Daily Prophet. It might have been in German, but she wasn’t sure. By the time she’d detailed just part of her second year’s nightmares and inanities it was time for lunch. He wrung out his cramped hand as she dug into the steak and kidney pie which had been served.
“I continue to expect these interviews to take only an hour or so. Again, I am entirely too optimistic.”
“You interviewed Ginny.”
“Which took the better part of the day.” She pretended not to notice the sharp, considering eyes. He was strange. So strange, and she had to wonder what he was doing here at all. Why he wanted to interview them or what his end goal might be. It wasn’t entirely altruistic. It had to be…something. “You are Magisches Waisenkind, ja?”
“Come again?”
“Ah, it is a magical orphan in English. A child born to parents without magic.”
Hermione settled the knife back to the table and reached for her wand even as she waved her fork about. If he noticed or not, she couldn’t guess or even care. “Yes.”
He ate another bite before wiping his mouth with a napkin. “How did you know…rather. How was your introduction into the magical world?”
“Oh. It was…I had been doing instinctive magic all my life. It wasn’t a surprise…entirely. I suppose the greater surprise was the culture. “
“Hmmm. Yes. It wasn’t so awful once, you know. England has never been at the forefront of forward thinking. Nor anything other than . There were more with magic. There were those greater with magic. I cannot imagine how difficult the adjustment must have been.”
Blinking back the sudden rush of tears as the confusion and loneliness came rushing back. Throwing herself into studies out of the need to understand this strange new world and partially to let the books and words keep her company. She’d had no friends. Enemies had crawled out of the woodwork, pale and cruel and deriding her for having magic at all. Her parents didn’t and couldn’t understand. Ron was a pure-blood and Harry….he was Harry. Icon and hero and victim all in one. “Yes…it was a little difficult.”
“I shouldn’t wonder.”
“My friends helped. They helped me…make a place for myself.” Alone…magical orphan. A word too perfect and too damning. She was standing alone with a foot in both worlds.
“Of course. Your friends provided this aid when the world did not…another point of their bravery. Sometimes that is what the brave are called to do. Fill in the gaps; bend their skills to another's needs.”
“Have you ever done it?” The questions out of her mouth too quickly to take back. She winced until the first genuine emotion crossed his face. Contemplative, cautious, and then grieved.
“I was a selfish sinner, Fraulein.” He answered, staring into the middle distance cautiously. “Truly, selfish.”
An easy enough deduction then. Why bring it up now? What could have spurred a change, if he’d changed at all?
Sitting through the rest of the interview was much simpler. By the time she’d reached dementors his expression had become distinctly pained. “Fraulein. I must beg your leave. I am not a young man anymore…and have not been for some time. Would you be able to meet me tomorrow to continue?”
“Oh. Of course. I don’t mind.” She was itching to get back. ‘Thank you, Professor Haas. “
“And here, my payment.” A small coin purse was held out. Antique in its design but beautifully beaded nonetheless. How had he managed to keep the galleons in such a small….
“An expansion spell!” She beamed, flipping the bag open and finding each pocket opening to a seemingly infinite space. Galleons flew into her hands. Three, which she rolled around in her hand. “Ingenious!”
“Ah, why thank you. These used to be the fashion of the day. Very effective. I once knew a young man who carried a menagerie in a suitcase.”
“Fascinating. Was this difficult to craft? How do the expansion spells keep the weight from affecting the bag itself? Can you make a large space?” Her questions bombarded the Prussian, who held his hands up with a laugh.
“Peace! Peace! I will explain. Tomorrow, after we conclude our discussion.”
“Yes. I would like that.” She’d have another opportunity to figure out what this man wanted. Why he’d bothered to come…and why every instinct was prompting her to flee.
Still, the moment Education Decree Number Twenty-Three was nailed to the entrance hall her considerations ticked over into planning.
Haas had said that bravery was a tragedy and a betrayal for those called to action. She couldn’t disagree; but the die had been cast long before she’d come to Hogwarts. Probably when Voldemort had slaughtered his way through magical England. The first time she’d broken the school rules.
Watching Draco Malfoy strut through the halls of Hogwarts with the due smugness of a peacock and a little silver badge attached to the front of his robes solidified her planning.
#$#$#
When Harry dozed into some of the only sleep he’d been able to catch in the last few weeks the odd dreams of corridors and hallways continued to slink back through his mind. Each time waking before it could be finished. This time he’d fallen asleep in the common room; hand soaking in a bowl of the essence of murtlap.
I must not tell lies sluggishly healing.
A figure moving nearby jerked him out of sleep; and his wand was centered on Hermione chest before she’d opened her mouth to greet him. With a yelp she fell back; knocking the bowl from the coffee table. They stared at each other with mutual shock
“Hermione?” He sat up and let his wand fall to his side. “Are you alright?”
Her eyes brightened mouth opened with a beam. “Yes! You have excellent reflexes, Harry.”
“Oh…right.” His hand stung. Squeezing his hand into a fist pulled droplets of blood to the seams of each letter. “Bugger.”
“Oh, Harry!” She jumped upright and pulled a coin purse out of her pocket. From it came a wrap of bandages and a roll of tape. Then a box a truffles. “I was in Hogsmead today and picked these up. These bandages are good for regular household injuries and will stay dry and clean. I also got this as well. It’s essentially Vaseline.” Unsure if he was awake or having a strange dream; he held still. She soothed, bandaged and then wrapped his hand. Some of the sting abating immediately and then further as she taped the last wrap into place. “I want to ask you something.”
He glanced upward, green eyes dull and tired. “Hermione?” Her eyes were shining, and she was turning the coin purse over in her hands. “What’s the problem?
“You said on the first day of classes that you’d needed to practice defending yourself against dementors?”
“...yeah.”
She sucked in a careful breath, hands finally stilling.
“I want….can you. We know Umbridge is setting us up for failure. The ministry is interfering in Hogwarts and we haven’t gotten any descent practice in and if….You Know Who is back then there will be a war…again. We in danger and we need to do something.” The longer she spoke the more alarm he felt whirling through his stomach. When he opened his mouth to argue, she snapped. “I want you to teach us.”
“....what?” His blank stare nearly bringing a smile to her lips.
“Teach us, Harry. You’re the best with defensive spells and you’ve dealt with more Dark Wizards than any of us. Your reflexes are excellent and you saved yourself from Dementors and the Triwizard tournament.” He flinched. “Harry…we need help. All of us, and I can’t think of anyone better to.”
“Are you mad?” Harry demanded, almost jerking to his feet. Hermione pulled him back to the couch. “I can’t. That we….Ron!”
“Ron agrees with me!” Hermione said urgently, still holding his sleeve. “He agrees and I agree and we.”
“You’ve beaten me at every test!”
“That’s no! There's more to learning and knowing than numbers and test scores, Harry. This is practical! Practice and use and.”
Harry jerked his arm from his grasp; wishing he’d gone to sleep in his bed or just taken up the Occulamency book. “I’m going to bed.”
“Harry!” She leapt up. “Please! Please think about it!”
Only once he had thrown himself onto his bed and jerked the curtain shut did Harry fling a pillow as hard as possible. It bounced from the curtain and landed on the mattress. He shoved his head in his hands, fuming.
Teaching! Of course Hermione would see every attack and near death experience and a teaching experience. How could she expect him to turn around an explain it to her? Explain it to others and even Ron. With every other night in detention, missing his Godfather and Dumbledore absence…he dragged a pillow over his head.
He already had enough to worry about, didn’t he?
Harry traced the bandage with careful fingers.
“Mate?” Ron’s careful voice echoed from his left. His entrance was as loud as always. Having never master, and never needing to master, the art of a quiet approach.
“Hmmm?”
“Mate…Hermione told me….I agree with her.”
“You’re mad.” He told him without any heat. Dreams of corridors and snakes, dreams of agony, and his prickling scar, aching hand.
“Yeah…probably. But Mum and Dad will kill me if I don’t do well on my OWLs and I don’t think Hermione can help with my Defense OWLs.”
Despite everything, a laugh burbled from Harry’s throat. He sat up and stared at Ron. His freckled face was uncommonly grave, and he was staring at Harry with an expression he couldn’t read. Ron pulled his feet onto the bed and sat at the other end. They’d done this as first-years. Before reality and bullying and the return of Voldemort. Sharing pinched snacks and treats in the safety of the four curtains. Ron regaling Harry with tales of the wizarding world. “Ron?”
“Mate…you saw the letter from Percy. You remember what Sirius told us. We’re not going to get taught a damn thing this year, and I’ll just bet that that bitch is waiting to serve your head to You-Know-Who.”
“So is Snape. So is Fudge. So is Malfoy.” He snapped. “Are you surprised?”
Ron twisted his fingers together. “Mate…I don’t think…we don’t want the rest of the school to learn the hard way.” He held up his hands in surrender when Harry’s head snapped up. “You’ll think about it, right?”
“...yeah.”
“Right…get some sleep, Harry. You look terrible.” He was gone, and Harry let his eyes slid shut and fell back.
He dreamt of classrooms and desks.
$#$#$#
For someone so young, Ms. Granger was infuriatingly perceptive. Clever too, and hadn’t trusted Gellert since he’d arrived. When she’d reached for her wand it only illustrated just how distrustful she’d become of wizarding society as a whole. She’d talked but hadn’t trusted; and he was sure she never would.
Hermione Granger. His contact with the Daily Prophet had been deeply helpful with sending related articles. He’d gotten through a handful of smear pieces before he’d set the copies on fire in a fit of uncharacteristic rage.
Insulting Harry Potter was sensible. He was an enemy. The face of a hero with the personality of an abused dog….but the girl?
She was brilliant and had the makings of a politician to rival Albus. Her instincts had been as sharp as her friends, if a touch under developed.
Even her useful testimony lacked details. Possibly incriminating ones she didn’t want used against herself or her professors. So, he played nice and kept diligent notes. As a close alley to Harry Potter her knowledge was indispensable.
He understood half of what she hadn’t said. The gaps had outlined uncomfortable shapes and implications.
It was coming to the end of their last interview when he finally broached what he’d been wanting to say. “I read in the mornings paper that a professor has become something of a High Inquisitor.”
Her mouth twisted in disgust. “She has half the Slytherin house as her goons. They formed a squad, and they’re just awful! I’m Prefect! I can’t do what I’m supposed to when I have a gaggle of sneering brats following me around! They think I’m suspicious because I’m a….” Her voice flattered.
So she had enemies. What would she do to them? “I remember when the Nazis began to recruit young boys and girls to watch their neighbors.” Her eyes widened, color draining from her face. It was a memory he enjoyed, but he could not disentangle himself from his past.
“You…remember?”
“Of course. I remember when there was a Kaiser.” He remembered. His sanity in prison had been his memories. Savoring the meals he’d eaten, the warmth of the sun in an Italian villa, the view of New York under the face of Percival Graves. His memories kept him safe and tortured him in equal turn. “There is a time…I suppose there is always a time when fools will surrender to cowardice.”
Truly, there was a mercenary glint in her young eyes. A child of unaccountable bravery. Dismissing her own courage to speak of Harry Potters. Facing down the same threats and often with less support.
“And there is always a time when people need to be brave.” She replied.
“Ah…yes. Of course.” With a careful pull from his teacup, he took the time to consider what she meant. What could she have planned already? “Shall we conclude?”
“Oh, yes. I have several papers to write.” Hermione Granger rose from her chair with the intense focus of a general rising to prepare for battle. “Thank you, Mr. Haas. I’d like to see your paper once it’s completed.”
“Of course.” he took her hand, bowing over the young limb. “Be well, Fraulein. Be well.”
Making his way to the window, he watched the mass of frizzy hair made its way down the street until she vanished from view.
“My love. What have you been doing?” Had Albus lost his edge? His skills? Or was it finally time that someone had gathered enough power to try and stop him? He’d never been much of a front-line general in his day. Preferring to move chess pieces and spies.
The tottering Newt Scamander came to mind.
So, Umbridge had become Albus’ enemy. She would need to be his ally.