Chapter 17

"So: we know You-Know-Who wanted to become immortal at any cost, right?" Milo said. "I don't know much, but it sounds to me like that was one of his major motivations."

"Yes," Quirrell said. "Yes, he did ever seek eternal life."

"And, we know that You-Know-Who didn't really die," Milo said. Hermione sighed. We don't know that, she thought. We don't even suspect it. We don't have a shred of evidence.

"Do we, now?" Quirrell asked. "Do we, really? Who else knows?"

"Just us, but it's obvious to anyone with a brain. I'm sure Dumbledore knows all about it, and Harry, Hermione, Ron and I, of course, are going to stop him. Anyways, back to the point: becoming a vampire isn't nearly as nontrivial as, say, some sort of secret dark ritual for eternal life or I don't even know what. All it takes is a couple of minions and a vampire: vampire turns you, minions kill the original vampire, you're free."

"To what purpose?" Quirrell asked.

"Immortality, of course. Eternal unlife. I think we should seriously consider the possibility that You-Know-Who is a vampire," Milo concluded. He had a nagging feeling, like he failed a skill check of some sort, but it was probably nothing. "He doesn't seem the type to mind having to drink blood every so often to live."

Quirrell frowned, but said nothing.

"We need to find Hannah," Hermione stressed. "She could be in serious danger—and all the other first years are still scattered across the castle."

"When last I saw, th-the young M-Miss Abbot w-was swimming to the sh-shore of the lake," Quirrell said, his eyes going briefly distant. Milo wondered what possible reason someone would need to use both Still and Silent spell on Scry. "P-Percy the G-G-G-G- ah, your house's P-Prefect was attempting to u-use a H-H-hovering Charm to a-assist her. I-I believe she is q-quite well."

"Well, that's a relief. I wonder how she wound up there?" Hermione asked. "We should probably try to find all the others now, too."

The task proved somewhat more difficult than they'd hoped, and even with the help of the paintings (who could, at Quirrell's request, attempt to locate the students but not speak to them), it took the better part of the afternoon. Lavender and co had been delayed by Peeves, who managed to convince them that Hannah was just around the corner (and then around the next corner, and the next, and so on until they were hopelessly lost) while Ron had found himself locked in an old, unused classroom, but when he turned around the door had vanished. Harry and Seamus had got cornered by Filch and lectured lengthily about wandering off. They finally found Dean sitting comfortably in the Gryffindor common room, but he refused to say how he'd got there.

"Great," Hermione said worriedly, "just great. After detention and then hunting down our classmates without enough sense to wander off, I haven't had the chance to even touch The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection for a whole day! I've probably forgotten everything and Defence against the Dark Arts is tomorrow!"

"Insufferable, isn't she?" Ron asked Harry, who looked uncomfortable. "How many times have you read that book already, Hermione?"

"Three," she said, then the blood drained from her face. "Oh my god, only three! I'm not going to know anything what if there's a quiz or he asks me, I'm going to j-just stand there in front of everyone and not know the difference between a Grindylow and a Boggart!"

"What, in the name of Elminster's pointy hat, is a Boggart?" Milo asked.

"A household pest that takes the form of whatever its viewer fears," she said shakily.

"You have shapeshifting fear monsters as house pests here?" Milo asked, impressed. "Cool!" Mordy, sitting on his shoulder, nodded vigorously.

"W-we aren't supposed to learn about them until third year but maybe Professor Quirrell will try to get the jump on us like Snape did with Harry, so I thought I should be prepared and read ahead a little, but what if it isn't enough? And I wind up sitting there like Harry did until this trigger-happy lunatic assaults the Slytherins again," she nodded to Milo. "I'm sorry! I don't mean to be insufferable!" she was looking really distraught.

"Hermione, it's alright. Ron's just upset because you were right about not splitting up, and it made him look a mite daft," Harry said gently. He looked at Ron. "I'm sorry, but it did." He turned back to Hermione. "He's embarrassed, is all."

"What, me, mate? Embarrassed?" asked Ron, defensively. "Nah. It's only that this bookworm keeps just leaping at the chance to show how much better she is than us. Really, she should have been in Ravenclaw. Then her own kind would have to put up with her."

Hermione fled the Common Room, sobbing. Hannah shot him a look that could petrify a Medusa with PC class levels, and chased after her.

"What?" he asked. Harry shrugged.

"I think she's been hit by a Crushing Despair spell," Milo said. "Maybe I should go find her, and see if I can—"

"No." Parvati Patil said.

"—see if I can dispel her," he finished. "Then she'd be fine."

"Don't even dream about it. Hannah will handle it, you stay here. Magic," Parvati said, "is not the problem. Ron, a word?" she asked, sounding deceptively sweet.

"Yeah, in a mo, only me and Harry were about to play Wizard's Chess," he said.

"No, Ron. Now." The girl insisted.

o—o—o—o

"I've finally had a response from my contacts at the Ministry," Dumbledore said to his assembled Heads of Houses.

"Albus, it's been nearly a week. Surely they could have responded earlier?" Minerva McGonagall criticised, sitting down across the desk from him. She wondered how he could even think in this office, with all its whirring and clicking silver contraptions. When, and hopefully it would be a long time from today, she became Headmistress she would have them carefully and respectfully placed in a closet someplace. A clean one, of course, but on the other side of the castle.

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