Rain and fog. It seemed impossible that these two phenomena could coexist, and yet there it was. A powerful downpour was hammering down, and at the same time it was decisively impossible to see anything more than a hundred metres from any window in Hogwarts castle, thanks entirely to the fog.
Hermione stood at the window opposite the entrance to the Hospital Wing, trying to catch some interesting detail outside to distract herself from unpleasant thoughts. But those thoughts had put down sturdy roots in the young witch's mind, sprouting sorrow and grief. The reason was simple — Hector and his girlfriend hadn't regained consciousness for three days now, lying on their beds and... and that was it.
"How are you holding up?" Harry's voice came from beside her.
The boy had just walked over and stood next to her. It was the weekend, no lessons, and by rights they ought to be organising another meeting of their fledgling strikers' club against the unjust persecution of Muggle-borns and half-bloods, but somehow things hadn't been coming together these past few days.
"Fine."
"Sure?"
Hermione was quiet for a few seconds, gathering her thoughts.
"No, Harry, not sure at all," she looked at her classmate.
They used to be inseparable, but everything had changed since then. Now Harry, perhaps under Hector's influence, was turning into a far more sensible person, a far more sensible wizard. He'd even nearly stopped associating with Ron, whose inborn idiocy seemed to gush forth more with every passing day.
"How are they?"
"Still asleep," Hermione answered quietly.
"Mm..."
Both of them turned to studying the darkening sky and horizon — evening was drawing on.
"Three days asleep now," Hermione added, her face showing traces of quiet panic. "I never thought he'd end up in the hospital wing this long again. Not again."
They were silent for a while, watching the darkening evening sky.
"I never thought I'd find myself in the same situation as first and second year."
"Hm?"
"Have you already forgotten?" Hermione protested weakly — weakly, but sincerely. "Hector spent the summer before our first year in the hospital wing, under the watch of Madam Pomfrey and Healer Smethwyck. Or so I think... I'm not entirely sure about the last part."
"Ah, right, you mentioned that... But that was only in third year."
"Yes... And I didn't even visit him. I was so buried in the new world of magic, in textbooks and books."
"And that's why you're spending all your free time standing here now?"
A flash of blue light flared in the Forbidden Forest, slowly fading.
"There, look, those 'masks' from the Department of Mysteries are up to something with the anomaly again."
"Anomaly," Hermione said the word with a tone that made her attitude toward this so-called "anomaly" perfectly clear. Extremely dismissive and accusatory. "I'm certain it's connected to Hector's condition, and that Greengrass girl's. Or they made it themselves, for all we know."
"Actually, I found out what that anomaly is."
With that single sentence Harry hoped to distract Hermione, if only a little, from her unpleasant thoughts, because for the past three days, ever since Hector and Daphne had ended up in the hospital wing — by some entirely unclear means that nobody understood, mind you — Hermione had done nothing but spend all her free time either outside the wing's doors or inside them. The distraction wasn't working particularly well, but Harry reckoned even a small result was still a result.
"And?" Hermione asked with mild indifference, still studying the expanse of Scottish mountains and countryside beyond the window.
"Nobody's managed to get through the magical veil," Harry said, pleased that Hermione had latched onto the chance to hear something new, and continued with enthusiasm, as though discussing his beloved Quidditch. "They say you can just make out some kind of archway. Like the Veil of Death in the Department of Mysteries. You know it?"
"Pff," Hermione scoffed, though despite the mundanity of the gesture there was no real emotion in it, more just habit. "Of course I know it. It's mentioned in plenty of books about magical mysteries and secrets. As are the relics of the British Isles."
"Right," Harry drawled, continuing, like Hermione, to stare out the window as though trying to make out something only he could see. "In the Department of Mysteries the archway's all battered, like it was carved right out of the wall, even knocked loose. But here, they say, you can make out a clean outline of a purpose-built archway. And..."
Harry paused for a moment, choosing his words.
"...it's a bad place, apparently. Tonks — you remember her, we met her once — said, and I quote: 'The whole place reeks of death. Frightening, black magic, no question.'"
"I see."
"You're not even a little interested?"
"I don't know."
"The archway appeared the same evening Hector and Daphne ended up in the hospital wing. Maybe that's connected somehow..."
"You think," Hermione turned away from the window to look at Harry for the first time that evening, "that they're somehow to blame for this?"
Harry clearly caught the faint notes of aggression and reproach in her words.
"Doubt it. More like they suffered from someone else's doing? Honestly..." Harry thought for a moment, ruffling his already unruly black hair further, "I can't even imagine who could bring Hector to a state like that."
"What do you mean?"
"You don't know? Well, I promised not to say anything, so all I can tell you is this — he's an absurdly powerful and capable wizard. Of everyone I know, I'd rank him first after Dumbledore. No, second. There's someone else too, but I can't tell you anything about her either."
"'Her'?"
The conversation did seem to be successfully distracting Hermione from her dark thoughts, though Harry didn't like the direction it was taking. Or rather, it was causing him a certain discomfort, and for some unclear reason his backside was tensing up as though bracing for a Stinging Hex, and his face for a Bat-Bogey Hex. Of all the girls Harry knew, only Ginny could rival Hermione in the strength and quality of that particular curse.
"Nothing improper," Harry waved his hands. "She's a grown witch with abilities and power just as absurd as Hector's. Actually, I don't even know who's stronger — Dumbledore, or her. I've never seen the Headmaster fight at full strength, but... her magical presence alone made it clear she's at the top of the food chain."
"My, what big words you know," the light sarcasm in Hermione's voice made it clear to Harry that she'd been pulled out of her cycle of unpleasant, heavy thoughts, and now he needed to keep her distracted with more conversation.
"Back to the anomaly. So, apparently three Unspeakables are investigating it..."
For a good twenty minutes Harry recounted, in as much detail as possible and with all the right emotions and gestures, everything he'd seen, what the other students had seen, what had been shared — everything concerning the sudden anomaly. It worked; Hermione grew distracted, began thinking, analysing — Harry had seen that thoughtful expression on her face plenty of times before, the one that meant you'd better not disturb her or you'd catch it. But the topic was starting to run dry.
"...anyway, they say it's the most horrifying dark magic, and it's gradually drawing everything around it in."
"But what about Hogwarts?"
"Don't worry about that," Harry waved it off. "The Unspeakables have shielded the anomaly, there's no direct or indirect effect on us. But the magic's influence is gradually spreading through the surrounding area. It's gone quite far, but from what I overheard the Aurors saying — they're here too, combing the forest — the rate of spread is dropping off... what's the word... some kind of... ponent..."
"Exponentially," Hermione shook her head with a smirk, putting on the most exaggerated possible display of disappointment in her friend's intellectual abilities. "Anyway, what's bothering me is — how did Hector and that Greengrass girl end up in the hospital wing?"
"Well... Madam Pomfrey let slip that they just 'turned up.' When? She doesn't know. Who brought them? She doesn't know. But she started the diagnostics and treatment straight away, and called for Smethwyck immediately. That's what she told Madam Sprout."
"But how? Madam Pomfrey told me, as his closest relative, that she came straight out of her office the moment she felt the disturbance in the magic. The diagnostics showed Hector and Greengrass had already been unconscious for at least ten minutes. And 'unconscious' isn't even the word for it!" Hermione practically flared up. "It's a genuine coma!"
"Shh, it's night-time..."
"As if that's ever stopped you before! And it's not night, Harry, it's evening. Late evening."
"Well..." Harry decided not to pursue the question of whether one ought to be shouting bloody murder outside the hospital wing this late in the evening, and returned to the topic at hand. "If we set aside the absurd number of skills, abilities, and raw power Hector himself has... An emergency Portkey? I've read about those."
Hermione couldn't help raising an eyebrow in surprised scepticism, in the best traditions of Headmaster Snape — no doubt picked up from Hector.
"What?" Harry adjusted his round glasses on his nose. "I can read. And look things up. Thanks to you, by the way."
The flattery didn't work, at least not on the surface, though what was going on in the young witch's mind — even God didn't know.
"Anyway," Harry continued his train of thought, "there's another plausible theory. House-elves. I've talked to Dobby a lot, and I've realised house-elves go absolutely mad over powerful wizards. Hector's powerful. I'd bet one of the elves has been keeping an eye on him one way or another."
"Why would they?" Hermione bristled visibly, but quickly reined herself in and let the flare-up die down.
"Well, like I said, they get properly fixated after meeting powerful wizards. They practically stick to them. Like a leech. Dobby's no exception. He still calls me 'Harry Potter Sir,' but it's obvious he's fixated on chasing after someone else these days. I didn't used to know who, but now, well, I've got a guess."
"And how do you know that? Wait, don't tell me — you've been chatting with the castle's house-elves in the kitchens?"
"Obviously."
"Dobby!" Harry suddenly shouted, making even Hermione, who was used to his antics, jump on the spot.
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