Part 3

For a long time Hermione drifted in and out of coherency. While she was hardly cognizant of the outside world, unconsciousness was a blessed oblivion she could barely conceive of let alone reach. Instead she was somehow stuck between waking and sleeping. No matter how she tried, nothing she did allowed her to escape the maelstrom that haunted her. Emotions raged through her without restraint. At first it had been too much all at once. Gradually the flood of emotion had slowed so that she could discern individual emotions from the mélange but try as she might she could not focus on them. Fragments of thought or memory also passed through her mind's eye. They appeared in no discernable order and vanished too quickly for her to comprehend. It made her feel as if she was chasing after puzzle pieces, desperately trying to make sense of the picture they were supposed to make.

Hermione had begun to think it would never end. She had been terrified that she would be trapped forever in sensations and emotions that were not her own, but slowly the maelstrom would recede and she almost feel like herself again. Sometimes she would crack her eyes open for a moment. When she did, she would be plied with potions and a soft voice would speak to her in encouraging tones. Strangely she had not understood what was being said. It was as if her mind was too exhausted to make sense of the words.

Eventually, those periods of awareness began to lengthen and the maelstrom retreated slightly by itself. It was far from gone but it no longer pushed itself to the forefront of her mind. Having been granted relative peace, Hermione opened her eyes.

"Miss Granger? Hermione?"

This time she could understand the words. That tiny miracle inspired her to focus on the person who spoke. The starched robes and wimple told her that without a doubt it was Madam Pomfrey addressing her.

"M'm Pm'fr?" Hermione mumbled clumsily around a painfully dry mouth.

"Here, child, drink this and then you can have some water."

Another potion was shoved under her nose and Hermione was too tired to argue. With Pomfrey's help she managed to sit up enough to drink the potion. She swallowed and wrinkled her nose. Whatever it was had been thick and foul tasting. The remnants clung to her tongue like a death shroud. The glass of water that was offered next was gratefully downed. When she had drunk it all, Hermione felt like begging for more.

"No more, I'm afraid. You've been living off of nutrient potions so we'll have to start you back on food and water slowly. Now you rest while I go find the Headmaster," Madam Pomfrey informed her gently, having easily read her face.

With a puzzled frown, Hermione watched the nurse leave the room. There was something that bothered her about what Madam Pomfrey had said but Hermione was having difficulty remembering what it was. She frowned harder as she tried to pull herself from the daze she was in. Hermione struggled to make her mind work. It was so hard to think with the raging tempest that lurked in the corners of her mind. Sudden realization hit and panic surged through her veins.

Harry! She'd used the spell on Harry! Weakly, Hermione thrashed against the blankets only succeeding in tangling herself further. Her limbs were clumsy and strangely unwieldy but she had to know if it worked! As if reacting to her distress, the storm in her mind surged forward. Hermione found herself sobbing and whimpering, completely overcome by the deluge of foreign emotion. Dumbledore found her that way, with her face red, eyes swollen and nose running. Had she felt a little more herself, Hermione would have been horribly embarrassed. The Headmaster did not say a word but instead kindly extended her a multi-colored handkerchief.

"Thankyousir," Hermione babbled, accepting the garish piece of cloth.

"You're welcome, Miss Granger. I suspect you know why I'm here?"

With effort, Hermione managed to push back the emotions she was sensing. It was very difficult not to lose herself in them but she succeeded. She shuddered at the intensity of what she had felt but she stiffened her resolve, focusing on the outward, rather than the inward. Dumbledore had asked her a question and if she were to answer it, she dared not think about what she'd experienced or she would lose herself in it again.

"Yes," Hermione managed to say clearly. "Please, first tell me if Harry is alright?"

"You will be glad to know that Harry is perfectly fine. For what it is worth you spell worked."

"I-I'm glad, sir, and I'm not sorry," Hermione stuttered with as much certainty and defiance she could muster.

"I had gathered that your friend's welfare was what sparked this ill-advised course of action. Miss Granger I must ask if you are feeling well enough to answer some questions," Dumbledore sighed.

"I am but h-how long have I been... indisposed?"

"You have been indisposed, as you say, for two weeks and three days. I was able to use legilimancy on you to ascertain that you were experiencing a great influx of emotion."

"Yes. I can still feel it but it's not as strong. If I focus on it, though..." Hermione said with a shiver, as she resisted the almost hypnotic power those strange emotions had.

"I suspect that it will be permanent," Dumbledore said with sober finality.

"But that's not what Harry-"

"No it isn't and that is why your spell was so foolish an enterprise!" Dumbledore replied with a vehemence that startled Hermione. "To dabble in the Dark Arts is to pave yourself a path to self-destruction, Miss Granger. I thought that you knew that but I see that you have been doing more than dabbling. Added to that stupidity you modify a spell that sent its creator mad and use it untested on someone without their consent. You are lucky neither of you were killed! Do I need to express my disappointment further?"

To her surprise, Hermione found herself not a bit cowed. Her own anger seemed to summon forth anger and rage from the lurking maelstrom. Her temples pounded with the force of it. She had saved his precious Wonder Boy! Dumbledore should be thanking her on bended knee! Her magic cracked in response to her emotion and Hermione was jolted out of her rage. Carefully she released her clenched fists. Her nails had made their imprint in her palms and she looked at the marks in desperation. Hermione felt nauseous. It shocked her at how easily she had almost lost control, allowing the foreign emotion to affect her so. In horror she looked up at Dumbledore. His eyes were deep pools of sorrow. Flinching, Hermione looked away.

"Am I going to be expelled?" Hermione asked dreading the answer.

"No. Your interest in the Dark Arts must cease and to that end, you will be closely monitored. Delving into such things only brings about the destruction of yourself and others. If you betray the trust we hold in you again, the consequences will be grave indeed."

"Yes, sir," Hermione mumbled, holding back tears of humiliation and rage.

"Oh Hermione, I regret I didn't notice what you were doing. The spell you created worked but it has manifested in a way I do not expect you intended. Can you tell me what you thought it would do?" Dumbledore lamented.

"It was supposed to do divert the subconscious end of Harry's connection with Voldemort into my mind. T-the connection it made in my mind should have mirrored Harry's exactly," Hermione replied, through clenched teeth.

"I have read over your research notes. It was a brilliant piece of work but you, like Serid, overlooked one small thing and that is that each person's mind is different. Despite anatomical similarities, each person interprets and analyzes stimuli differently. It is impossible to exactly reproduce the effects of madness due to these differences. A magical connection is even more complex because it also interacts with a witch or wizard's magic, which is also unique to the individual."

The simplicity of what Dumbledore was saying struck Hermione deeply. Even as angry and hurt as she was, by Dumbledore's previously patronizing comments, Hermione found herself cringing in embarrassment. She had done been so caught up in her solution she had been blinded to everything else. That she had missed something so elementary humbled her. Hermione raised shaky hands to wipe away the tears that had begun to flow again. Her emotions were painfully raw but she struggled for composure. She needed to be able to focus on what Dumbledore was telling her.

"What does this mean?" Hermione finally asked.

"Madam Pomfrey and myself have been monitoring you. We have also put you through several tests. From what we were able to ascertain, there does not seem to be any damage done to you or Harry by the spell. Nor does there seem to be any life-threatening consequences but as I'm sure you're aware there were consequences all the same."

"I feel like I'm about to be swept away by-by-," Hermione began and then found she wasn't sure how to explain.

"What you are feeling is from Voldemort."

"Yes. The intensity is just so unexpected!" Hermione cried.

"That is best explained by telling you what the spell has done," Dumbledore began. "The spell did transfer the unconscious part of the connection and for the most part it operates as it did with Harry. Unfortunately, it aggravated the connection. What Harry was experiencing was the slow and steady steep of Voldemort's subconscious into his. In effect the spell widened the connection. Think of Voldemort's subconscious as a bottle of butterbeer with a damaged cap. Harry, as I've said, was exposed to a slow contamination as the 'butterbeer' overflowed. Your spell diverted the flow, shook the bottle and then ripped the cap off entirely."

"Then that is why I was... overcome for so long. I regained consciousness when the pressure was equalized."

"Close enough, although I suspect that the pressure is far from equalized. Tom Riddle experienced a great deal of unpleasantness in his life and has nurtured the unrest in his soul."

"What you're saying sounds like Tom Riddle, Voldemort, was storing his emotions away," Hermione began. "Is that why it was so intense?"

"Partly. I don't think Tom Riddle intentionally stored away his emotions. Consider them the things he has forgotten or pushed aside. Don't forget that Voldemort still lives and I suspect he generates a great deal of rage and anger on a daily basis. It is my belief that you will not find the connection reducing much more than it has."

"Then I'll have to learn to live with it," Hermione said resignedly.

"Just so, Miss Granger. You will have to find your equilibrium now that you are dealing with new or perhaps more intense emotions."

What the Headmaster was suggesting seemed impossible. Hermione felt as if she was a leaf floating on the surface of a raging sea. Her grasp on self-control was tenuous at best. As for the emotions themselves, she shied away from analyzing its contents. Hermione didn't even know how to begin to make sense of it. There was a great deal of anger and rage, as the Headmaster had said, but the tempest promised far greater complexities.

The bleak picture her mind created scared her but she it also hardened her resolve. Hermione refused to be so defeatist in the face of adversity. That she was able to think as clearly as she was now, meant she could master this. Really, she should be thankful. Harry's reaction to the influx of Voldemort's subconscious was far more debilitating. She had gone into this expecting the worst. It was stupid to start having doubts now.

"Do you have any suggestions, sir? There are calming potions and other mood affecting potions but I'm not sure they would work- they didn't for Harry. They only work on the person taking them and it's Voldemort's emotions that are causing problems."

"You are correct again, as Madam Pomfrey already tried them. After we first arrived you became quite distressed. The potions stopped you from crying out but they did nothing to sooth your distress."

"What about meditation?"

"That is one possibility. We will have to see what works best."

To her disappointment, Dumbledore had no other solutions to offer. Even after everything, part of her had still hoped that he had all the answers. That the Headmaster seemed to be ready to write her off didn't matter. Having nothing more to say, the Headmaster had quickly excused himself after telling her that Harry, Ron and the others were not allowed to visit until she recovered more. Left to herself, Hermione felt the tempest loom ever larger in her mind. It wasn't that it was really growing. It was simply that she had nothing else to focus on.

Her eyes darted about her room only to find that her trunk, and all the books in it, had been confiscated. Hermione suspected that it was being inspected for Dark materials. She winced at the thought of what they would find. Tears of self-pity inched down her cheeks. She honestly doubted that her friends were being kept away just so she could recover. Dumbledore himself had said, what she was beginning to call the tempest, wouldn't fade further. If the others were being kept away it was because she was 'contaminated', or needed to be punished.

The sacrifices she'd made and all the hard work that she had done, were barely even acknowledged. Maybe Hermione wasn't expecting them to nominate her for the Order of Merlin, but some sign of gratefulness would have been welcome. Dumbledore had simply scolded her as if she was an ignorant child without any concept of what she had done. Hermione wasn't a fool. She knew the risks of studying the Dark and she knew the risks of the spell she had created. That was apparent from her research that she knew Dumbledore must have seen. How could Dumbledore think she didn't understand after he read that? He was right that not having Harry's permission was deeply unethical but Harry was in no state to give it. Besides, from her notebook Dumbledore should know that the caster took the biggest risks. Hermione had made sure of that.

Hermione sniffled a little into her pillow. Her silent tears might have developed into full-fledged sobs but she was just too exhausted. Slowly she fell into sleep. For a time her dreamscape was pleasantly empty. She drifted, reveling in the long awaited nothingness for a time. Then at the very edges of the consciousness something pulled at her awareness. Thin and reedy the squall of an infant sounded.

It seemed to echo and reverberate through her mind. Shuddering and wretched, the cries pulled at her with an urgency she didn't quite understand. Around her, hallways and passages, doorways and arches formed from nothingness. Sweat dripped from her as she ran and ran and ran. Frantically she tried to find the source of those cries but not matter how fast she ran or how hard she searched, it eluded her. The miserable, wavering appeal drowned out everything but the primal response to an infant in distress.

The sharp sting of a blow to her face, jolted Hermione to wakefulness. Gray, featureless passages vanished and three looming forms resolved before her eyes. Adrenaline pumped through her veins in great surges. Her ears heard nothing but her pulse and the memory of weeping. Blankets were tangled and sodden around her limbs and Hermione fought them, only knowing that they were stopping her from reaching her goal.

"Miss Granger. Miss Granger!"

The stern voice was familiar but Hermione disregarded it. She needed to get up! Her whole body strained with that need. Even now she could hear the cries. Unable to free herself, she screamed her frustration.

"Let me go! I have to find him! Please!"

"Miss Granger- Hermione, focus on me. Look at me, Hermione."

The new voice soothed and coaxed and despite herself Hermione found her eyes wandering in the direction of the voice. Blue eyes that radiated wisdom and comfort met hers. Everything seemed to go silent. The persistent wailing of an infant died down and finally vanished. Hermione whimpered and stopped her struggles. The bright eyes blinked and looked away. Hermione shuddered as she came back to herself.

"I-I'm sorry," Hermione cried.

"It's alright, child. I imagine what you dreamed was very powerful indeed," Dumbledore replied gently.

"What did you see, Hermione?" McGonagall asked finally.

"It wasn't what I saw," Hermione said in misery. "It was what I heard. It was a child, a baby, crying. He was so lonely and c-cold. I had to find him and I tried! I really did, please believe me, but I just couldn't find him!"

"I'm afraid that baby is long gone. Over sixty years gone. There was nothing you could do," Dumbledore sighed and Hermione flinched.

"Enough questions, I need to check Miss Granger," Poppy Pomfrey said, bustling forward.

Hermione sat silent and unseeing as the mediwitch waved her wand. The sounds of the boy's cries were gone but the feelings that accompanied them lingered. Hermione had not only heard the infant's desperate pleas but felt everything behind them. She had felt the discomfort of blankets too thin for a cold English winter and the horrible hunger for simple touch. It was not the remote empathy felt for someone else's tragedy but rather it was as immediate and gut wrenching, as if she had experienced it herself. Perhaps worst of all was the profound knowledge that that not matter how pathetic or persistent the cries, no help or comfort was forthcoming. The crying child had learnt that long ago.

To Hermione who had two doting parents and multiple loving relatives, that was both disturbing and almost incomprehensible. Just thinking about it made her shiver in horror.

"There," Poppy said as she tucked her wand away. "It seems you're in as good health as we can expect. No harm done. I'll go rustle you up some soup and after that we'll see about a bath."

Dully, Hermione nodded.

"I assume you are aware there isn't much we can do for you," Dumbledore spoke into the heavy silence.

"Yes, sir."

"All I can suggest is that you remember that the dreams are not real. They may be based on things that happened once but that was long ago," Dumbledore said with regret. "I will organize lessons in meditation and mental discipline with Professor Snape. It seems that unlike Harry, you and the Professor work quite well together."

To this, Hermione flinched. She had almost forgotten that Dumbledore would know that Professor Snape had helped her. Without a doubt Snape would be cross at her for leaving evidence of their collaboration out for Dumbledore to find. Her motives for leaving it out hadn't been betrayal. Rather, she had only wanted to ensure if something had gone terribly wrong, then the Order would have some idea of how to help. Hermione knew that would not do much to avert the Potion Master's temper. She supposed that this too was part of her punishment.

"Miss Granger, is there anything we can do for you?" McGonagall asked, her eyes worried.

"No- I mean yes. Could I have some of the books from my trunk?"

"I'm not so certain that's advisable," Dumbledore cut in with a frown.

"Not the magical books, sir. I meant the muggle books," Hermione replied, forcing herself no to flinch at the censor in the Headmaster's voice.

"Perhaps that we could do. Might I ask why you would want them?"

"There is information about dreams in them. I'd originally bought them because of Harry's nightmares. Not the nightmares because of the connection, but his dreams about Sirius and the Third Task."

Dumbledore's somewhat condescending smile made Hermione's fists clench but she said nothing. He seemed to think the books were nothing more than a child's security blanket. Hermione felt her pride for her muggle heritage prickle but she said nothing. She would admit readily that books were her touchstone, but she would not dismiss knowledge simply because of the source. She couldn't afford to, not when the others had no advice to give, or, as she was beginning to suspect, chose not to offer it.