Soul Searching

Soul Searching Soul Searching Qui Quillusion Chapter 11   It worked! It worked, it worked, it WORKED!   I just got an owl from Ron; his mother took the potion the next morning and experienced complete and final resolution of the countercurse. In the intervening week she has improved further still; she looks better than she has in a long time, and some of the grey has gone out of her hair. She is joking to everyone that it must have been George and Fred trying to hex her hair into full grey in their prankster years.   Ginny and Ron privately agree that the twins are still in their prankster years, but they didn’t point that out to their mother. They are thrilled, and grateful, and I hope they don’t try to put me on a pedestal for figuring this out. I’m nervous enough as it is, because I am uncertain about publishing this information. Oh, it will need to be proven reproducible first, but I already know in my heart that it is. As long as one asks the stones for their help.   I have no idea how that will look in a publication. It’s certainly an unquantifiable factor that may limit how many wizards and witches will be able to do this, and I hope wizarding publications are more forgiving than Muggle ones about factors that cannot be precisely controlled.   But my main concern is that publishing this may alert Voldemort to the fact that we are learning quickly, and that might speed up his timetable. I don’t know how quick he is on potions in general, but he might well recognize the potential this potion has to restore those whom he has injured before, and if he realizes that, he’ll use nothing short of Avada Kedavra on anyone he faces.   He might also suspect Snape of helping me develop it.   That decides it. Despite Dumbledore’s enthusiasm for publication, I will insist that it be quietly registered as a patented process, if possible, so that I will have some measure of legal control over how it is used. That much makes sense, given the purposes to which it could be directed. But I will not publicly announce it while Voldemort is a threat. Snape is too valuable for that. He’s gotten word to Dumbledore about several attacks and raids, as well as information on who is in Voldemort’s circle and cannot be trusted. He’s fed misinformation indirectly to Voldemort, started rumors circulating in the enemy camp, and generallyperepered them in more ways than we can count. I will not repay him with betrayal.   I have a letter to Dumbledore on this matter ready to go to Hogwarts by express owl at this very moment, but something makes me decide to deliver it myself. Any excuse will do, I think to myself with a smile. I tie the scroll up and tuck it into the pocket of my robes, and after a brief moment to gather up a bookbag and several texts I must return to Madam Pince, I Apparate.   Dumbledore agrees to see me as soon as I arrive; he’s charmed the gargoyle at the base of the stairs to be a receptionist. The stone face moves as if the gargoyle were alive as it asks me,   "May I help you, Miss Granger?"   Whoa. He must have given it access to the student rolls.   "I need to see Professor Dumbledore on a matter of some importance; at his earliest convenience will do."   "One moment, please."   I stand in the hallway studying the carvings above my head for about a minute. Then the gargoyle speaks again.   "Do come in."   Up the spiral staircase I go, and then I am in Dumbledore’s office.   "What a nice surprise," the Headmaster says as he seats me in one of the comfortable chairs beside his desk. He takes the other one and smiles at me, his blue eyes full of mirth. "Severus tells me you’ve been busy these last few weeks, and that your diligence has paid off yet again. You are to be congratulated, Miss Granger. What you have done is of considerable significance to several fields of wizarding study."   "Thank you," I say, stunned. Usually it is Harry earning the lengthy recitations of praise; I customarily warrant a ‘well done’ at the end, but rarely more.   Dumbledore studies me for a moment before prompting, "I can only imagine what might have dragged you away from the task of recording your results so soon after the success you’ve achieved." I can tell from the tone of his voice that, pleasant as he is, he knows I’m here on something more than social grounds.   "I have to return several items to Madam Pince," I say, and then take a deep breathnd Ind I wanted to tell you that I will be delaying the publication of my experimental results. Naturally they need to be proven more than once, but even that aside, I have significant concerns regarding the security of certain personnel whose involvement, should it become public knowledge, might prove dangerous on many levels."   Dumbledore’s eyes cloud over for a moment, and I know he understands.   "I see your point," he says quietly. "I had considered it, but my objections were overridden by a certain person whose identity I think you can guess. He is impressed indeed, Hermione. I have never seen him this impressed. Whatever you did with that henge must have- how do you Muggles say it? Oh- knocked his socks off. Yes, that’s what Professor Sinistra has been saying lately. At any rate, he feels that the wizarding world needs what you have found more than it needs him."   "That," I say flatly, "is not true at all." I am horrified to realize he believes that enough to tell Dumbledore; he must feel even more unappreciated than I’d realized. "And even if it were, he has already done more than I think we can expect soon from this project. He most certainly is in more of a position to be useful in the foreseeable future than my work is." I feel compelled to defend Snape as strongly as I can, even if it is against himself. He isn’t here to defend- or would that be to prosecute?- himself, but if he were, I would still say the same. "He is too valuable a person on any level to risk him for the sake of a publication."   I gesture to the books in the bag at my feet. "All of this… this is unproven, untried in nearly every way that counts, and for all we know, limited to my own production. I didn’t expect the henge to react as it did, and I haven’t read anything about anyone doing that before. I don’t know if anyone at SCAI even has the faintest idea exactly what I did, or what it did, or how to reproduce or control it. I have a feeling I may have found something rather new; no one has ever described a henge as a sentient being."   "Sentient?" Dumbledore’s voice is full of curiosity, and I realize that I haven’t told anyone at all about the song I heard, or the feeling I had when I could sense the emotions of the stones.   Hesitantly, I explain. "When I was guiding the henge, I felt… something. An awareness. Not human, not even really necessarily sentient- but a feeling of will. Of the capacity for good and evil. The stones wanted to help, and when I asked them, they did. And when I thanked them for it and sent them my gratitude, it got stronger. I think Ron and Professor Snape felt it, too; Professor Snape bowed to the stones before he left."   "Indeed!" Dumbledore looked positively intrigued. "I’d no idea! Severus didn’t mention this, but then, he was hardly speaking when he returned to Hogwarts that night. This will bear further investigation. I wonder is there anyone at SCAI who might have insight that could help you?"   "I doubt it," I say sadly. "They don’t seem interested in anyone else’s work but their own. I would prefer to see what else I can find in the library."   The headmaster sighs. "Very well," he acquiesces. "And I don’t think Severus can force you to publish before you want to, so in that, at least, you may do as you see fit."   "I had planned to apply for a patent," I say slowly, "but I’m not sure it’s something that should be patented. It wasn’t me, it was the stones."   "Do you think the stones would do that for anyone who asks right?" Dumbledore muses. "If not, then it’s not a process for us to regulate, or even a process that we have the power to regulate." He considers for a moment, idly folding the cuff of his robe into little pleats as he thinks. "I don’t think the Ministry has a classification for monoliths that think, but they might. There might be pre-existing law to protect the process you’ve discovered from being misused. In any event, if no one’s described this before but you, we should try soon to see if anyone else can do it besides you. That may answer your question."   I nod wearily. "Why is it that the first answer you get produces a thousand more questions?"   "That is the way of science," says a smooth voice from the doorway.   "Ah, Severus," says Dumbledore in a tone that suggests he was expecting Snape, then rises to ges him him to a seat. He waves his wand to produce three cups of tea and a plate of cucumber sandwiches, which are quickly set upon by two very hungry visitors to the Headmaster’s office.   "Good of you to stop by. We were just discussing the matter of publication. Miss Granger feels that there is insufficient evidence of reproducibility and control to allow publication. And there is the question of the sensations she experienced during the… what shall we call it? Process? Reaction? Well, no matter. There are many questions to be answered, not the least of which is whether anyone else hears the stones too."   Severus’s face is closed, but he leans cautiouslrwarrward and says,   "I heard them, Albus."   The Headmaster fixes him with a scrutinizing look. "What, exactly, did you hear?"   "Singing. Or at least a song. There were no words that I recognized; I don’t even know what the tongue was. But I think there were several voices, if we can call them that. It was as if one singer would pa qua question, and another woulswerswer. There were pauses."   "Yes," I say slowly, the odd halting pattern of the song suddenly making sense. "As if the stones were talking to one another while they worked."   Our eyes meet, and we share the wonder of having experienced something that no one else alive likely ever has. It’s thrilling.   "I wonder would the henge work for you, Severus?" asks Dumbledore, and I am amused by the startled look of panic on Snape’s face.   "I was never very good at Charms," he says almost defensively, and I laugh.   "It’s nothing to do with Charms, Severus," I tell him gently, and out of the corner of my eye I see one white brow arch on Dumbledore’s forehead at my use of the Potions master’s given name. "It’s more about asking the stones for what you want. I had a plan all thought out, about how I could channel the power and account for drift and planetary momentum and all these other factors, and in the end, it happened by itself. The stones saw what I wanted, and they made it happen because I was asking, not telling. I think that thing is nearly idiot-proof."   Snape snorts, and I know he’s thinking, Send Longbottom to give it a try. That would answer a lot of questions.   "Then perhaps that’s something we should try once you’re ready to repeat the experiment." Snape’s tone is relaxed, and I am glad to see him take another sandwich from the plate on the table. "If you will show me how."   I nod, pleased. "I’d appreciate it," I add. "And I don’t plan on publishing this data until it’s substantiated and I have some idea of how it all works." Pause. "Or until it’s safe for me to credit you and Professor Sinistra for your assistance."   Snape waves his hand. "That’s not important," he says, and I disagree immediately.   "Yes, it is. Even if I weren’t immensely grateful for your input, credit is due from a professional standpoint alone. And that’s not safe. Not for you. And I won’t risk your life for the sake of an earlier publication date. Given all the things I’ve read, this hasn’t been a topic of investigation in centuries, so I think waiting a while longer will be fine. Besides, as Professor Dumbledore pointed out, we don’t even know if anyone else can do this. There may not be many people out there able to do anything with this."   "Please, Hermione- call me Albus. I can’t stand to be ‘Professor Dumbledore’ if he gets to be Severus. Makes me feel old." The Headmaster winks at me as he clears away the tea things, and then stands, speaking before Snape has a chance to disagree with my declaration. "And now, you youngsters ought to go off somewhere to think clever thoughts. I have a meeting in Paris early tomorrow, and must clear a few things off my desk before I leave. I hope I will see you at dinner?" He is looking at me.   "Certainly, Albus," I say. His name does not roll as easily off my tongue as Severus’s does, but I manage it well enough.   "Excellent! I look forward to it."   "Not as much as I do," I reply dryly. "I’m tired of eating ramen noodles cooked on a hot plate in my room."   There are two hours to while away before dinner. Snape handily takes care of my book returns in his office- "There’s a conduit from here to the library; half the books I borrow are too heavy to carry by hand"- and then we’re sitting before the fireplace in his rooms again, contemplating mysteries.   There are many to contemplate, most of which are beyond us tonight. We can’t avoid rehashing the other night’s amazing events, so we give up on progress and content ourselves with a few moments’ rest on some rather comfortable laurels.   "I could see what you were doing even with my eyes closed," I say. "How could that happen? And whose perspective was I seeing? I can’t even remember clearly enough to guess."   "There was more energy around that circle than anyone could ever use," Snape marvels quietly. "You were right- I didn’t have to put anything into the potion. And the donated soul seemed to track right from Ron to the cauldron; I’d no idea it would be visible. He certainly tolerated it quite well."   We still haven’t told Molly about the nature of the potion she needed, but we did let her know before we did the experiment that Ron was specifically helping with this latest batch to make the one improvement we thought could be made. That it had done the trick merely made it easier for us to transition our story to one about the ‘new’ recipe that worked so much better. If worst comes to worst and we have to tell her about the use of Ron’s soul, we can always say we’d substituted the first time, and it just didn’t work as well.   The memory of Snape bowing to the stones jumps back to my mind, and I ask, "How did you know the stones were doing all of that? You bowed to them before you left."   Severus steeples his fingers and touches them to his lips briefly. "I could hear them, as I said earlier," he says slowly. "And when I was a child, my mother taught me that long ago, there were those who could hear the stones, could talk to them and command them. Their race has died out; some suggest that they were the Picts, others think they were from another planet." He waves a hand carelessly to dismiss the question before lacing his fingers together again.   "But whoever they were, they built the henges in Britain and France, and they used them. The stones may no longer have anyone to whom they can talk- or at least, they didn’t, until now- but that does not mean they do not speak, or listen. I was taught to treat them with respect, and that is why I bowed. I admit I was startled that I could hear them; I’ve walked through and past a hundred stone circles before — including Stonehenge- and I’ve never heard a thing. But I heard it, I am sure of that. It made me feel less tired, somehow. Stronger."   There is wistfulness in his voice, and my eyes snap to his face. He looks better than the last time I saw him, that night on the plain, but he still looks tired.   "I take it the invitations keep rolling in?" I ask liy, ay, and he nods.   "But nothing for the last week. It’s a reprieve I’m glad enough to have, even if things get worse when it ends."   My hand covers his on the arm of his chair before I can stop myself.   "I wish I could do something to spare you what I know you must suffer when he calls," I say quietly, and he merely looks at me for a long moment, as if drinking something in.   "Thank you," he says hoarsely, and I squeeze his hand.   He squeezes mine back for a long moment, his eyes closed against whatever I m see see in their depths, and that is when I feel the faint tremor in his grip and realize that Severus Snape is afraid.     The sun is warm on my back as I sit at my desk, spinning a pencil back and forth rhythmically across the back of my hand as I study my star charts. There will be another opportunity for experimentation in seven days, and this time I plan to produce another batch of the Cleve Potion to try on Neville’s parents. I have a hunch that Snape’s theory about the donor’s will having a positive effect is correct, and that furthermore, it is the donor’s caring for the recipient of the potion that makes the difference. I have no proof to offer in support of this hunch, but the idea has a sort of poetic justice to it that agrees with me. In the absence of any other ideas to test, I decide to have a go. Neville has agreed to donate, rather gladly I might add, and I have omitted the fact that Snape will be there, finishing the potion for his parents. No sense adding a guaranteed source of terror to all the nameless ones he can imagine for himself.   That amuses me faintly as I consider how much my own feelings for Snape have changed. I used to see him as the greasy git of Ron’s tirades, the silent, intimidating bat of a creature who lurked in the dungeons and breathed down our necksing ing classes. He always struck me as unfair, closed-minded, ugly, frightening, tyrannical, and evil, no matter what Dumbledore seemed to think of him. Even after realizing his role as a spy, I had only managed to erase evil and unfair from the list. It wasn’t until I saw him in an intensely personal moment that I was able to see through the layers of disguise and the many masks to the man beneath it all. Somehow I doubt Neville will ever come to see Snape as anything but the stuff of a boggart’s inspirations, and that saddens me for Snape’s sake. I truly hope that, someday, the world will know what he has done for us all.   The soft hooting of an owl breaks my train of thought, and I open my window only to have a small, brown-speckled owl burdened with a massive package barrel through the opening to collapse in my lap. It hoots again with relief, and I quickly free the owl from its load and set it on my desk. I put a bowl full of leftover chicken teriyaki in front of it and it gives a hoot of delight, pins me with an adoring look, and bolts the entire contents of the dish in under twelve seconds.   I turn my attention to the package. It is wrapped in brown paper and tied with red string, and the return address is Nooke’s. Not the shop in Diagon Alley, but their warehouse, which is apparently somewhere in Devonshire. I am delighted; mail of any sort is a pick-me-up I rarely get to enjoy, recent owlings from Professor Vector excepted. I pay the post owl, who has finished its food and is waiting patiently- I get the feeling it doesn’t want to rush me for payment until it’s had a good rest- and let it outside again, and then turn to the package.   The first tentative feel of the brown-wrapped object tells me it is a book by the knobbly feel of the leather-tooled spine. It must be the first installment of Nooke’s book-of-the-month club, he couldn’t have sent it with better timing. I have six days to wait and little to occupy my mind in that time, since my advisor saw fit to accept this project as my term’s work. That does mean I’ll have to share some of the information at the end of my term, even if it’s not yet safe to do so; I wonder if Dumbledore can pull any strings along those lines.   But there is time enough to worry about that. For today, I am taking the time off to enjoy a good book. I set my hands to the paper and tear with the sort of relish Ien&#en’t felt since the last time I raced out of my room to see what Father Christmas had left for me beneath the tree. My eyes closed to prolong the surprise as I did back then, I have the book out in mere seconds, its smooth leather binding sliding beneath my fingers in pleased greeting to its new owner. I inhale deeply to savor the scent of paper and leather and glue, and smile happily. I let my eyes open, and glance down to the book in my lap.   And stare with mingled shock and glee at the green leather cover and dancing serpent of The WIKTT Archives.     A/N: The Book has reappeared, and hopefully will entertain now that it has. At least, I’m going to try to make it do so; you know how stories are. Things are coming together rapidly, and hopefully you’re enjoying them. Thanks to all who are following along and encouraging and reviewing!!!