Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Damaged Bridges	By : Gandalfs-Beard Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 46850 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, all rights belong to Rowling and Warner Bros, nor do I make any money from the production of this work.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
The Second Technique

As she and Harry took the winding staircase up to Dumbledore’s office, Hermione did her best to empty herself of her emotions in preparation for the Occlumency and Legilimency lesson, but her aggravation at having found no information on horcruxes was being uncooperative, clinging to her frontal lobes like a stubborn barnacle.
Hermione hated not being able to find the information she needed to solve a puzzle - and she was desperate to help Harry find a way to remove the piece of Voldemort’s soul attached to his own which didn’t involve his death. She knew that Harry wasn’t a true horcrux - the magic necessary to make him one hadn’t been performed - but the principle was still the same, regardless.
As long as the piece of Voldemort’s soul remained within him, Voldemort would be bound to the earth while Harry still lived. But there had to be a way to remove it without killing Harry - there just had to be. The fact that Harry wasn’t a completed horcrux surely meant that there was some way of prying the bit of that monster out of him.
The sound of the brass knocker on the heavy oak door which guarded Dumbeldore’s office jarred Hermione out of her reverie, and she followed Harry in when Dumbledore beckoned. Hermione caught a glimpse of a small sepia photograph of a little fair haired girl adorning the headmaster’s desk.
The wistful look in Dumbledore’s clear blue eyes was unsettling, making Hermione feel as if she and Harry were intruding on a private moment. Biting her lip, Hermione glanced at Harry; his own eyes were on the photograph too, and his slight frown told her that he was feeling much the same way.
“Come... Please, be seated.” Dumbledore smiled wanly and gestured at the two well-cushioned chintz armchairs when he saw the hesitancy of his two pupils.
“My sister,” Dumbledore sighed as Hermione and Harry took their seats, all three with their eyes still glued to the photograph.
“Oh!” said Harry, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “I... er... I didn’t know.” Harry turned pink, looking a bit embarrassed that he had never thought to ask Dumbledore about his family before.
“Indeed,” said Dumbledore gently. “But that is not your fault, Harry. Sharing my own personal history is as foreign to me as it is to you. My past is more... complicated than you might imagine.”
“It’s alright sir,” said Harry, swallowing. “You don’t have to tell me...”
“Ah, perhaps not,” said Dumbledore. “It is quite unlikely that either you or Miss Granger would be able to penetrate my defences during this first lesson, but I feel it would be a bit presumptuous of me to assume that with utmost certainty.”
Hermione bit her lip again, her brows knitting thoughtfully.
“Couldn’t you remove your memory temporarily and put it in a pensieve?” she asked. “Harry told me that was where he had seen Professor Snape’s memory about his, er... father and Professor Snape.” Hermione glanced at Harry apologetically, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“I could do that,” Dumbledore agreed. “However, as painful as some of my memories are, I do not feel the need to do so. Professor Snape’s ignominious set of circumstances, and the antagonism he felt towards Harry, is what compelled him to borrow my pensieve - and it was very mistaken of me not to have taken that as a warning of Professor Snape’s eminent unsuitability to be Harry’s Occlumency teacher. ... In my case, it would simply be best to reveal the truth, shameful though it may be.”
“Er, is... is your sister still...?” Harry hesitated, not quite able to bring himself to voice the entire question.
“No!” Dumbledore shook his head, stroking his long silvery beard. “Ariana, she has long since passed beyond the veil, when she was still but a young girl - just two years shy of your own age, Harry, and... and I shall never know - unless I am brave enough to ask - if it was I who sent her there.
“I was so tempted to use it - to see her, to ask her... and that is how I ended up with this.” Dumbledore lifted his withered, blackened arm. “And now... now I will likely see her in any case, sooner than I had thought I would.”
“Sir?” Harry looked bewildered, not following at all. Hermione felt just as perplexed.
“Tom Riddle’s ring...” said Dumbledore, his voice small and creaky. “It houses an artifact - the gemstone - which can recall those who have passed on... not in full form, but in Spirit, and for a short while, they can remain among those who still walk the earth. But to keep them here in this world for any extended period of time would be cruel beyond measure.
“But I had to know...” A single tear rolled down one of Dumbledore’s cheeks. “I had to know if it was I who killed her... I had to tell her... how sorry I was...”
Unable to help herself, Hermione let out a little squeak of distress and grabbed Harry’s hand. Dumbledore took several deep breaths to compose himself before continuing
“How this all came to be - That is a tale I am not proud of. I allowed my pride, my selfishness, my ambition, and my pain, to get the best of me. It will no doubt surprise the both of you, but at one time, I was not so unlike young Tom Riddle in my views of non-magical persons.
“My sister - at the tender of age of six - her magic had begun to show. Several muggle boys far older than her witnessed her performing magic. They tried to make her show them the trick, and when she couldn’t they set upon her violently. What they did to her... unspeakable...”
Dumbledore faltered momentarily, his eyes briefly catching Hermione’s. She trembled slightly, feeling a wrench at her heart, her grip on Harry’s hand tightening as she wondered at the horrifying implications of Dumbledore’s meaningful expression.
“Ariana, she was never the same after that,” Dumbledore said when he began again. “Her magic turned in on her, emerging only in dangerous outbursts of accidental magic when she became angry or upset. Upon my sister’s violent assault, my father sought out the boys and exacted his revenge, and was sent to Azkaban for doing so.
“Fearing that the Ministry would remove Ariana from our home, due to her unstable magic, following my father’s imprisonment my mother moved the rest of the family - my sister, my brother, and myself - to Godric’s Hollow...”
Hermione gasped and looked at Harry.
Dumbledore’s eyes flickered towards Harry. “Yes Harry, we are neighbours, after a fashion...”
“Er... We are?” Harry turned pink, suddenly realising that he had never been told where his parents had lived, and that he had never thought to ask anyone.
“Yes, Harry,” said Hermione quietly, giving his hand a squeeze. “It’s in all the history books, the ones I told you about when I first met you on the train. That’s where it happened... your parents...”
“Oh!” said Harry, feeling even worse as his face grew even hotter. “I... I guess I never really wanted to know. I’ve always... always hated the idea of being in history books - everyone knowing all about me.”
“I am sorry to shock you Harry. I thought you knew.” Dumbledore peered at him apologetically.
“In any case,” said Dumbledore after a moment of awkward silence passed, “My mother told my brother and I to keep our sister’s condition a secret, and so we did. The years passed, and during my time at Hogwarts I was renowned for extraordinary intellect and skills. I was prideful - more-so than I am today,” he added with a wry, almost mirthless chuckle, “and exceedingly ambitious. It was a wonder that I was not sorted into Slytherin.
“I wanted glory, and escape - I did not want to be tied down to a house full of woe. But it was not meant to be. Shortly following my graduation from Hogwarts, as I prepared for a grand tour of the world with my then partner, Elphias Doge, I received word that my mother had been killed during one of my sister’s magical outbursts.
“I felt obligated - my brother was still attending Hogwarts, and I canceled my trip, insisting that my brother complete his education. But I also felt resentment, trapped, my life wasted, and it was into that toxic mix that Gellert entered my existence...”
Hermione let out another gasp. “You mean...?”
“Yes, Miss Granger.” Dumbledore nodded. “The summer following my mother’s death, I met a young Gellert Grindelwald. He was visiting his aunt, Bathilda Bagshot, at the time. I was enraptured, intoxicated by his presence - his mind as advanced as my own. And I was taken by his ideas - that wizards should rule over muggles, for the Greater Good. My views were coloured of course by what those boys had done to my sister.
“But the affair was brief. I sensed that Gellert wanted more than I - that his plans were far more dangerous and cruel than the benign rule which I myself envisioned. But smitten as I was, I kept my misgivings to myself, until my brother Aberforth confronted us - accusing me of neglecting my sister for this interloper.
“Heated words were exchanged. I do not recall who drew wands first... my brother or Gellert. But in that moment, the scales fell from my eyes, and I finally knew where my heart truly belonged. I knew I had been a fool, an arrogant, selfish fool. I stepped in to defend my brother, who was no slouch himself. Side by side we dueled Gellert and the battle was fierce, the spells growing more and more deadly.
“My sister, Ariana...” Dumbledore’s voice broke, several tears trickling from the corners of his eyes. “Ariana - she heard the battle - she was upset - she wanted to help... One moment she was nowhere to be seen, in her room I had thought, and the next moment... the next, she lay on the floor - dead. And I have no idea... which one of us killed her. No idea...”
Hermione bit her trembling lip in an unsuccessful bid to prevent her own pooling eyes from leaking. Harry swallowed uncomfortably, looking pale and horrified. There was another short awkward silence in which only the ruffling of Fawkes’s feathers could be heard as the phoenix eyed its human sadly.
Dumbledore dabbed at his cheeks with his paisley hanky, and offered his pupils a wan smile.
“Well, this is all quite a bit maudlin,” he said ruefully, “considering that we’re supposed to be casting aside our emotions for the task at hand.”
“How are we supposed to do that anyway?” asked Harry, glad the moment had passed. “Snape... Professor Snape never really told me. I’ve been reading the book Hermione gave me, but I still don’t quite understand - I mean, how is it possible to simply stop feeling something?”
Hermione listened intently, thankful that Harry had asked.
“Ah, well that is the trick indeed,” said Dumbledore. “Technically speaking, one does not truly put aside their emotions - one either feels, or one does not. Different tactics work for different people. For some, actively partitioning their minds with mental walls and locking the emotions behind those walls is most effective - though this method can present its own set of problems for the practitioner, leaving oneself particularly vulnerable to self-deception and delusion.
“For others, simply allowing the emotions to be, but ignoring them in favour of focusing one’s intent on the desired goal at hand is more appropriate.
“And in some cases, the emotions themselves can be utilised to achieve one’s goals - particularly if the emotions are being directed at someone other than the attacker. For example, if you are having particularly strong feelings towards Miss Granger, that would present as a Natural Block should Voldemort try and enter your mind...”
Harry blushed furiously at Dumbledore’s words as Hermione gave his hand a squeeze and nervously giggled, her own cheeks turning pink.
“That is because your directed Intent - your focus - being so strongly on her, would allow you to detach from the connection between you and the attacker,” Dumbledore explained. “Without that connection, the attacker has no means of entry into your mind.
“And this technique may be the most effective for you against Riddle, Harry, doubly so, because as we have discussed, Love is something which Voldemort cannot understand, or abide - In a sense, Love is destructive to him, as you discovered when he attempted to possess you at the Ministry. While you harbour Love in your heart, Voldemort cannot penetrate your defences.
“The second technique I mentioned - allowing your emotions to simply be, but ignoring them - I believe that would also be quite effective for you, Harry, and perhaps a technique useful to ward off a casual or wand based legilimency attack by someone other than Voldemort.
“I believe the second and third of these techniques would also be the most effective for you, Miss Granger, especially the second. Like Harry, you tend to wear your heart on your sleeve, but your mind is also highly disciplined, your ability to focus despite the stresses in your life is quite evident in the exceptional quality of your schoolwork...”
Hermione’s already rosy cheeks turned several shades redder at the headmaster’s high praises. Harry shot her a quick grin.
Pleased to see that the mawkish moment had passed, and that his students understood, Dumbledore knew they were both ready to begin...

~o0o~
The Head of Operations and Intelligence - the ranking sub-department in the Department of Mysteries - examined her files, making certain that all her i’s and t’s were dotted and crossed before placing them in one of the steel filing cabinets in her office. Satisfied that she had completed her work for the day, she threw some sparkling powder into the fireplace and stepped into her private floo - the one leading directly to her other Ministry office.
Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge emerged from another fireplace into the office in which most other Ministry employees - including Minister Scrimgeour himself - usually expected to find her, unaware as they were that she was the highest ranking Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries.
Dolores took a moment to make sure that the simpering smile she wore in public was firmly in place, and smoothed out the wrinkles of her pink cardigan before opening the door and entering the outer office.
“Ah, Margaret, still here are you?” she asked her secretary sweetly.
“Yes, Ma’am. Thought I’d stay late and just finish up a bit of filing before I head out for the day.”
“Very good. If you would be so kind, dear, I would be ever so grateful if you would water the ficus before you leave. It looks a bit wilty.”
“Of course Ma’am,” said Margaret.
After bidding her secretary a good night, Dolores made her way through labyrinthine corridors of the Ministry and up the elevator to the Atrium’s public floo-ports. She could have flooed directly home from her secret private floo system of course, but keeping up appearances was of primary importance at the moment.
Which meant that her next stop was her regularly scheduled visit to her favourite corner booth in the Leaky Cauldron for dinner. Dolores was just about to dig into her plateful of roast beef, mashed potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, and peas, when a familiar lanky figure with greasy hair and a hooked nose took a seat on the other side of the table. She narrowed her eyes slightly.
“Severus, this is a surprise,” said Dolores, recovering enough to maintain her girlish demeanor. “Shouldn’t you be at Hogwarts?”
“Indeed!” said Snape dryly, arching his eyebrows. “However, things are not as... comfortable there with Dumbledore back in charge.”
“Yes. It is most unfortunate,” Dolores agreed. “It is quite a shame that the Educational Oversight Committee has rescinded the Ministry’s authority over Hogwarts at the request of the school’s board of governors. But that is politics for you.”
“Quite so,” said Snape. “And it surely cannot help that the most prominent board member languishes in Azkaban...”
Dolores scowled. “What are you saying Severus? Lucius was caught dead to rights, in the heart of the Ministry.”
“Do you truly believe he belongs in Azkaban?” Snape’s dark eyes glittered as cannily regarded the shrewd Ministry witch, noting her hesitation.
“What I believe is unimportant,” Dolores said finally, wondering where Snape was going with this, and more importantly, who had put him up to this. “Lucius made his bed when he broke into the Ministry on behalf of that... that unruly narcissist, Voldemort...”
“How did he manage that by the way,” Snape asked nonchalantly, “getting through all of the Ministry’s security with such ease? Why, one might almost think that he had received inside help.”
Dolores’s scowl deepened. It still infuriated her to no end that Voldemort’s people had broken into the Department of Mysteries while she herself was being manhandled by a horde of filthy half-breeds. Dolores mentally kicked herself for the umpteen-thousandth time for taking on the role of Inquisitor herself, instead of giving the job to Alecto Carrow.
But Potter surviving the Dementors, and then winning over the Wizengamot had simply been too much bear. Dolores had been determined to personally see to Potter’s punishment, and to personally ensure Dumbledore’s eventual incarceration in Azkaban.
“I mean, it is true, the Dark Lord operates outside of the colour of law, but are his goals so different than our own?” Snape continued silkily.
Dolores did some quick calculations in her head. It was highly unlikely that Scrimgeour had put Snape up to this to entrap her - the fool was too single-minded to see beyond his own nose. Other than being a bit more ruthless, and moderately more intelligent, he was little better than Fudge.
Dolores was still furious with Lucius for not informing her of Voldemort’s return, and saving her the embarrassment and humiliation of supporting Fudge’s inanity, but she could hardly fault him for not wishing to incur Voldemort’s wrath. It would be shortsighted to allow her anger at Lucius to colour her assessment of Lucius’s opinions.
And Lucius had always spoken so highly of Snape, assuring Dolores that Snape had tricked Dumbledore after the end of the last war. It seemed even more unlikely that Dumbledore had set Snape the task of entrapping her. There was only one reason which made sense for Snape’s presence here tonight.
“No, they are not so different, after all,” Dolores quietly concurred. “So, what does he want, Severus, and what is he offering in return?”

~o0o~
The next week or two passed peaceably for Harry and Hermione, both buoyed by how well things were going with their Occlumency and Legilimency lessons with Dumbledore. And as the second Saturday of February drew nearer, the excitement of the sixth years filled the castle, eagerly anticipating their first ever Apparition lesson.
Hermione was feeling better than ever, and had whispered conversations with Dora. Harry caught them both giggling, and when they both turned beet-red, he was sure it had something to do with him. The three of them were still tossing around ideas for how Harry ought to approach Slughorn, and digging into his history with what resources they had available.
Defence Against the Dark Arts had turned very interesting with the real Alastor Moody in charge of the classes. It was scary how well the imposter, Barty Crouch Jr, had impersonated Mad Eye, but if anything the real Moody was even more intimidating as a professor. Professor Moody seemed quite impressed at the skill level of those students who had been part of Dumbledore’s Army, and made Harry his unofficial Teacher’s Assistant, raising Harry’s spirits and easing some of his self-doubts about his abilities.
Ron seemed to still be keeping his distance, hanging around mostly with Neville, and Seamus, and Dean, when he wasn’t snogging Lavender in as many public places as possible, but he wasn’t shooting so many dirty looks or grunting every time he saw Harry and Hermione together. Harry held out some hope that Ron might at least be open to hanging out a bit by the time his birthday rolled around in March.
The second Saturday of February arrived with heavy rain, which was melting the snow around the castle, leaving slushy puddles and muddy lawns, and every student in sixth year was in the Great Hall, standing in rows, facing a hoop just under two metres in front of them as the Apparition teacher introduced himself.
Harry felt very prepared, having studied a slender book about Apparition thoroughly with Hermione, reading it back to front half a dozen times in the last two weeks.
The Occlumency and Legilimency lessons gave Harry even more confidence that this was something he could do. Harry had a much firmer grasp of what Wilkie Twycross the wispy looking Apparition Instructor meant by “Deliberation and Determination,” (and “Destination” went without saying) associating the terms with the same skills which made it so easy for Harry to shrug off the Imperius Curse.
Of the two of them, Hermione was the most nervous about trying, once Wilkie had finished his lecture, having never had the experience of side-along Apparition as Harry had.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you got this on your first go, Harry,” said Hermione, sounding anxious and mildly envious. “I doubt you’ll need all twelve lessons. You understand the basic principles, and you know how it’s supposed to feel when you get it right. I’ll probably splinch myself,” she moaned.
“Don’t be silly!” said Harry, grinning. “You’re bloody brilliant! And nobody is more determined than you, Hermione. Dumbledore said magic is all about Will and Intent, and you’ve got more of both than anyone else I know. If I can do this, then so can you.”
Hermione beamed at Harry, relaxing slightly. As she and Harry both took deep breaths to steel themselves for their first attempt, they overheard some the others around them dealing with their own fits of nerves.
“I’ll probably never get this,” Neville sighed.
“Buck up, Nev!” said Ron encouragingly. “At least you won’t die. With my luck, I’ll probably explode!”
“More likely Seamus will,” Neville muttered.
“Yeah - You’ve got a point there,” Ron chortled.
Seeing everyone’s hesitancy, Wilkie Twycross clapped his hands. “Right then, you lot, everyone ready? ... On my command ... Turn on the spot, feel your way into nothingness, move with deliberation! ... One... Two... THREE!”
Ron spun around so vigorously that he went flying and crashed into Ernie MacMillan who was just spinning giddily until Ron knocked him off his feet. Neville sprawled flat on his face. Harry twirled around and nearly lost his balance. He managed to pull himself together fast enough to catch Hermione and prevent her from knocking her head on the marble floor as she dizzily fell off her feet.
Dean and Seamus hadn’t done any better than anyone else, but they were both laughing uproariously as Ron and Ernie clambered back up.
“Quite alright! Quite alright!” Ernie told Ron, dusting himself off as Ron apologised profusely.
Wilkie gathered everyone’s attention, peering at everyone with the barest hint of a smirk, as if he had expected nothing more, then had everyone give it another go. The second attempt was no better than the first, but this time Hermione managed to stay on her feet.
The third was when something interesting finally happened. Harry took a deep breath and tried the second Occlumency technique, letting all the sounds and sensations swim around him, while ignoring everything but the hoop in front of him as he twisted into thin air.
Harry felt like his eardrums were going to burst and his stomach squirmed; the sensation he recalled from before of being sucked through a straw gripped him. There was a loud pop as Harry emerged from nothingness in the middle of his hoop, where he doubled over and promptly threw up on the floor.
Another loud cracking report issued beside Harry; he grinned as he wiped his chin, and vanished the pile of vomit with his wand, seeing Hermione in her hoop clutching her stomach and looking very green.
“Oh, well done, well done!” boomed Wilkie, his voice sounding much too big for him, and looking very surprised. “That’s two of you! Alright let’s see who else can manage it. Again... One... Two... Three...”
Harry and Hermione both apparated perfectly again, and this time someone else almost managed it. An ear-piercing scream caught everyone’s attention. Susan Bones teetered in her hoop on one leg, half of her other leg still standing five feet away from her. McGonagall and Flitwick were on her in an instant. The sound of a detonating grenade echoed in the Great Hall, and a billowing cloud of purple smoke filled engulfed Susan.
Madam Pomfrey took Susan - who was sobbing loudly - to the hospital wing once her leg had been reattached, leaving behind two puddles of blood which Flitwick and McGonagall hurriedly vanished.
Wilkie earnestly reminded everyone again of the importance of “the three D’s,” while they all waited for Madam Pomfrey to return. There was a lot less laughter, and a lot more focus from the sixth year students after seeing what had happened to Susan.
An hour later, Harry and Hermione had managed to apparate another dozen times; Hermione had vomited on her second apparition, but by the time the hour was up, the pair of them were managing to apparate without feeling anything more than a very mild nausea.
One Ravenclaw - Parvati’s sister Padma - also managed to apparate several times. After congratulating Harry and Hermione on their amazing success, Parvati and Lavender both hovered around Padma when the lesson was over, praising her as well.
Ron looked a bit put out as he glanced at Harry and Hermione.
“Of course,” he muttered. “Reckoned you two would manage it.”
Neville rolled his eyes at Ron.
“Sorry Harry!” Ron mumbled, looking a bit sheepish now.
Harry nodded his acceptance. “To be perfectly honest Ron, I much prefer brooms...”
Harry trailed off when he felt someone tap his shoulder and turned to see Professor Slughorn - who had been monitoring the students along with McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout - looking thoroughly impressed.
“My word Harry m’boy, that was most outstanding, most outstanding indeed! You and Miss Granger both!” Slughorn’s walrus moustache twitched and his cheeks dimpled as he beamed at Harry and Hermione. “Many years, nobody at all gets it on the first go-round, but some years, there are one or two like yourselves.
“If I recall correctly, your mother managed it a number of times her first lesson, Harry, and your father several times during his second. Please, join me for a spell. ... I would be delighted to help you celebrate this momentous occasion, most delighted!”
“Oh, er... Yeah! Alright,” said Harry, reassured by Hermione’s nervous nod of confirmation. He flushed slightly and tried not to look at Ron though, who was doing his utmost not to appear jealous.
Once inside Slughorn’s stuffy, hot office, Harry and Hermione plonked themselves into two well-stuffed armchairs and curiously peered around the cluttered room while the Potions professor - and recently reinstated Head of Slytherin - rifled through his belongings searching for libations.
Harry raised his eyebrows at Hermione questioningly; she understood Harry immediately, and shrugged uncertainly.
“Let me see, what have we here? ...” Slughorn called out as he rooted through a pine cabinet, “Ogden’s Old... Hmm... Perhaps a wee bit too strong... Brandy - It’s Dragon Barrel, over two hundred years old this bottle is... Butterbeer, Elf-wine... Ah, what’s this? I’d forgotten all about this one - passed along to me as a Christmas present for Dumbledore.
“Bit too late for that now. Yes, I think this will do the trick... a bottle of oak-matured mead, Rosmerta’s I believe.”
Slughorn blew a bit of dust from the bottle and popped the cork, pouring some of the dark honey coloured liquid into three enormous mugs before settling himself down into another armchair which creaked, sagging under his voluminous weight. Slughorn swigged a deep gulp from his own mug and nodded before passing Harry and Hermione the other two, leaving a thick coating of foam on his bushy whiskers.
“Well then, drink up, drink up!” said Slughorn. “It’s not often you come across a bottle of oak-matured mead as fine as this one... I can call for a house-elf to bring us some nibbles from the kitchen too...”
Hermione lifted the mug to her lips, a mildly amused expression on her face. Frowning, Harry suddenly knocked the mug out of her hands; it shattered on the floor, mead flying everywhere.
“Harry! What on earth...?”
“Slughorn!” Harry blurted out. “Something’s wrong!”
Hermione looked on in horror as Professor Slughorn began convulsing, the frothing around his lips clearly not from the mead; Slughorn’s mug tumbled from his grasp, smashing on the floor, the shards and liquid mingling with the debris from Hermione’s mug.
“Bloody Hell! Hermione! What do I do?” shouted Harry, panicking.
But Hermione seemed to be momentarily paralysed with shock. Harry peered around the study wildly, spotting Slughorn’s potion kit. He flew across the study, knocking over a stool and a coat-rack, and yanked open the kit. Harry pulled out and flung to the side numerous jars and pouches, not seeing what he was looking for.
Hermione snapped out of her momentary impairment, leaping from her seat and undoing Slughorn’s collar, looking inside his mouth to see if his air passage was blocked.
“Harry!” she begged, tears streaking her cheeks. “He’s dying! There must be something in there - bring me the kit...”
“Found it!” Harry gasped, sprinting to Hermione’s side and nudging her out of the way.
Hermione’s eyes widened as Harry opened Slughorn’s mouth and shoved a dessicated kidney-shaped stone into the Potion Professor’s throat.
Harry’s heart felt like it would burst from his chest, it was pounding so hard. He hoped beyond all hope that whatever poison had been in the mead was one which would be countered by the bezoar. He and Hermione both heaved a deep sigh of relief when Slughorn let out a gasp and his convulsions stopped. The tension leaving his body, the professor flopped in his seat as if boneless, his breathing shallow.
“Dobby!” Harry called out.
Moments later there was a cracking sound and the house-elf appeared out of thin air.
“Harry Potter calls sir?”
“Get Madam Pomfrey, quickly,” said Harry. “Professor Slughorn’s been poisoned.”
Dobby’s bulbous eyes grew even bigger and swiveled for a look at the Potions professor. “Dobby leaves at once, Harry Potter, sir.”
Hermione turned her own worried brown eyes on Harry.
“How... How did you know, Harry?”
“Something Slughorn said. It took me a moment for it to sink in, but he mentioned it was supposed to be a present from someone else for Dumbledore - Rosmerta’s mead.”
Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth, remembering back to the conversation which Dumbledore called her and Harry up to his office for upon their return to Hogwarts following the Christmas holidays - the conversation in which he had revealed all...
“Malfoy!” she gasped.
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Damaged Bridges