Transitions

Maybe a change of scenery would do her good, thought Hermione one Saturday morning. It was time she moved her things from Gryffindor Tower into the Madame Pince’s quarters in the staff wing. She packed all her clothes and books into trunks, and then with the help of the levitating charm, guided the trunks one at a time to her new rooms. (She was not so far removed from her S.P.E.W. days as to request the house elves assist her in such manual labor.)

The new quarters were larger and more spacious than the old. The suite had three rooms. A cozy sitting room, complete with fireplace was lined with bookshelves everywhere but in front of the window. The bedroom was occupied by a lovely, large four-poster bed with blue satin sheets and down coverlet. Hermione tried not to think why Madame Pince would have needed a double bed, but it certainly looked comfortable. The bathroom was also larger than her old one, containing an ovzed zed old-fashioned tub with brass fixtures and a magical page turner, all the best for reading in the tub without getting the book wet. Hermione giggled to think of Madame Pince, the gorgon who would faint if a student brought a glass of water into the library, reading in the tub.

She took the weekend to unpack her things and try to make the quarters her own. They were certainly nice, but they felt foreign to her. Far from distracting her from her depression, the move seemed to reinforce her feeling of aloneness. The unfamiliar surroundings were just one more thing to remind her how much had changed, and what could never be again. She thought of moving back, but realized that when the summer was over, the new head girl would need the room. There really was no going back.

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Hermione tried to ignore that “Conquering Emotions through Potions” was calling out to str stronger every day. She tried not to notice herself walking past it constantly, always turning down its aisle to traverse the Restricted Section, rather than some other more innocuous aisle with less personally applicable tomes. It held her gaze as she hurried past it time and time again. Logically, she knew that though she was free to peruse any book in the library, books in the Restricted Section were so catalogued for a reason. Emotionally, however, she found herself fabricating more and more excuses why it wouldn’t hurt to take a look. And her counterarguments were becoming less and less convincing.

One night in June, after awakening in a cold sweat from her recurring nightmare, Hermione’s desperation overcame her good sense. She pulled a robe on over her nightshirt and headed for the library. The time was half-past two, so she felt it unnecessary to bother getting fully dressed.

Hermione’s hands fumbled with the keys as she unlocked the door to the restricted section. She felt as if she were again a student, trying to avoid being caught by Filch or the irrepressible Mrs. Norris. She finally managed the lock and went straight for the proper shelf. There it sat, innocently restful on the shelf. “Conquering Emotions through Potions.” Hermione took a deep breath as if to steel herself and then snatched the book from the shelf. She carried it back to one of the tables, sat down and opened to the first page.

The book was more of an academic text than a recipe book, Hermione realized as she skimmed the table of contents. Most chapters appeared to focus on the theories behind emotional manipulation, its uses, the dangers, so on and so forth. Unlike other potions books, it was nodexedexed by the individual spells at all.
Best to start at the beginning, thoughrmiormione, as she began reading the first chapter. A half hour later, she decided that Crucio woul les less painful than reading this book cover to cover. The book was frightfully dull, even by Hermione’s standards. She considered herself duly warned about the dangers of altering one’s psyche and was ready for ‘the good stuff.’

“An interesting … selection, Miss Granger.”

Hermione gasped in fright. Professor Snape was standing behind heradinading over her shoulder. She hadn’t even heard him approach.

“You must be particularly … devoted … to your job, Miss Granger. I would think that after spending one’s entire day in this room you would be content to spend your evenings elsewhere?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Hermione snapped, “reading sometimes helps that. What are you doing here?”

“Like you, I found myself unable to retire and was taking a turn about the castle. I noticed the light on, and felt compelled to investigate. And so I say again, you’ve made an interesting selection of bedtime reading.”

“What’s it to you?” Hermione challenged. “I’m perfectly within my rights to read whatever I please.”

“Certainly, Miss Granger, however I’m surprised to see you wasting your time on such…drivel… as that. Might I recommend Jacoby Jessop’s ‘Mind Altering Medicinals’ as an alternative? Good night, Miss Granger.” Snape bowed his head slightly and then took his leave.

Hermione stared after him, puzzled by the encounter. Since when did Snape recommend reading materials to her? Curious, she went in search of ‘Mind Altering Medicinals’, a book she’d vaguely remembered as also being in the Restricted Section. She located it after only a few minutes, and a few minutes later was more puzzled than ever. ‘Mind Altering Medicinals’ was a cookbook for recreational potions, something more suited to Fred and George’s jokes shop than an academic library. Why on Earth would Snape recommend tha her her? She then remembered her drinking binge at the Hogs Head with a guilty blush, but then pushed the idea aside. It didn’t make sense for Snape to encourage such behavior, especially since he hadn’t approved of it one whit the first time. So why did he recommend this book?

Distracted by this question, Hermione found herself unable to return to the book. She stood where she was several minutes after returning ‘Mind Altering Medicinals’ to its place. She could formulate no logical reason for recommending such ‘drivel’ (to use Snape’s own word), except one. To distract her from the book she was already reading.

That must be it, thought Hermione. He doesn’t want me reading that book for some reason, so he tried to convince me that it was worthless and to tempt me with another book. How little he must understand psychology, she grinned to herself. He’s now guaranteed that I’ll read “Conquering Emotions through Potions”, cover to cover.

So she grabbed it and headed back to the privacy of her room.

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She would have missed it if not for her habit of reading all the footnotes. A reference to the NullEmotion potion in the index. The NullEmotion potion was referred to only as a powerful, irreversible serum that rendered the drinker permanently immune to all emotion. That and a warning that it should never actually be used, except with the most serious cases of psychosis when less drastic treatments fail. No antidote knowknown, and the potion renders the user completely emotionless.
Hermione tried to wrap her mind around the implications of such a potion. One would become almost machine-like in one’s ability to function under any circumstances without being hindered by fear or sorrow, or distracted by love or infatuation. Their powers of logic would expand pmenamenally, unfettered by emotional response. One’s heart would never overrule one’s head.

Then again, there were lots of good emotions out there to be had, woulwould life be without them? Without joy, excitement, love? It sounded boring to Hermione. Then she remembered that boredom was an emotion too, so it would not be able to set in. Still, the irreversibility of the potion frightened her. It seemed too desperate an action to take, even under the circumstances.

With that thought in mind, Hermione finally went to sleep.

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Several weeks passed in much the same way, and then turned for the worse. Her dream started out like so many others. Her and Ron, snogging on his bed, getting more and more involved in the moment. But then the dream changed, and she had a vision of the final battle with Voldemort, as she imagined it from other’s telling and from what she saw of the aftermath.

She walked through bodies of students, stepping over Cho Chang’s lifeless body, Dean Thomas’ glazed eyes staring at her sightlessly. She could hear their voices calling out to her, “Help me!”, and “Where were you?” She followed the screams and the sounds of curses shouted from down the hall. She saw Hagrid fall to Bellatrix LeStrange’s Avada Kedavra. And then she saw the fury as the students and teachers came together to outnumber their opponents. She saw Professor Dumbledore riddled by several curses at once, stumbling, and then falling to his knees. She watched as those remaining attacked the DeathEaters with unmatched fury, where many fell and the others fled. She viewed silently as the crowd finally circled Voldemort, and he aimed his final curse at Ron.

But this time, when she ran over to Harry, holding Ron’s body, she saw a ghost emerge. Ron’s ghost. Ron’s very angry ghost. She backed away, bumping into people as she tried to escape. The ghost followed her out of the room. She broke into a run, trying to escape, but the ghost kept coming. She ran up the staircases to Gryffindor Tower, and through to her old room, but the ghost kept coming.

She backed away from it, falling onto the bed. It came up to her, very close, with its face to hers, and said, “See where your ‘muggle morals’ have gotten us? I’m dead, nothing but wormfood now, and you NEVER EVEN SHAGGED ME.” Ron’s ghostly hands came out as if to caress her face but then circled her neck to squeeze, tighter and tighter…

“NOOOOOO!” Hermione woke, screaming, her body drenched with sweat. The tears came, and would not stop. As guilty as the old dream had made her feel, this one delivered ten-fold. She curled up in a ball and sobbed as if the world would end. She’d thought that time would heal her, but she only seemed to get worse. It had been three months since the battle and each day was worse than the last.

Will this never end, thouthought. And then she remembered the NullEmotion po. § .