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Chapter 56
Pansy's question ultimately went unanswered; Malfoy let his own ramblings tug his thoughts elsewhere, and she dropped it—though not happily.
The Chamber of Secrets affair faded at last. Once the petrified students were restored, Hogwarts slipped back into its usual rhythm, and the rumors about Dumbledore's supposed dismissal died down as the "truth" spread.
Lockhart, the supposed hero of the incident, was said to have taken a severe blow to the head, one that left lasting damage to his spellcasting. According to Dumbledore's official statement, his magic still worked, but haltingly—enough that classes for the rest of the term were suspended.
With no Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons and final exams canceled, many students considered it the best news of the year.
"S'pose that means I'll never get to see Lockhart wipe the floor with Snape again," Ron complained loudly over dinner, piling food onto his plate. "I was looking forward to that."
Rumor had it Hogwarts was already seeking a new Defence professor for next year. Naturally, Duel Club was finished.
"Hermione, you really don't remember anything?" Harry asked for what felt like the tenth time.
As always, Hermione shook her head, visibly frustrated.
"I only remember what happened before I drank the potion. Like when you distracted Pansy for me." She frowned deeply, trying and failing to grasp anything more. In the past few days, everyone had showered her with praise—celebrating her Gryffindor courage—yet she couldn't remember any of it. Every compliment made her glow with embarrassment, feeling she hadn't earned a bit of it.
"Maybe the Polyjuice had side effects," Ron said, sipping honey tea. "If I'd been there, I'd've helped, obviously."
"The Polyjuice Potion does not have that side effect." Hermione straightened, as if academic precision could somehow fix the hole in her memory. Her voice rose unintentionally, earning a few curious glances.
"Hermione, hush—Snape's looking over." Harry hissed.
"No he isn't," Hermione said—but her volume dropped at once. "Anyway, I told the Headmaster everything."
"What?!" Harry and Ron shouted in unison, nearly leaping from their seats.
"It's over," Hermione insisted. "What we did was wrong, even if we had no choice. We shouldn't hide it anymore—even if we stole from Snape." She lowered her voice to a whisper.
Ron groaned and clutched his forehead. "Does the old bat know?"
"The Headmaster handled it," Hermione said cheerfully.
Harry exhaled in relief. "Good. I didn't want this coming back to bite us."
Suddenly chairs scraped loudly over at the Slytherin table.
Ron scowled. "Look at them—acting like he's some kind of hero."
Draco had entered the hall. When he sat down, many Slytherins stood to greet him—some even bowed.
"They're not getting anywhere near the House Cup," Harry said brightly. "And we've still got Hermione's two hundred points."
Hermione looked at Malfoy with a conflicted expression, then went quiet again.
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Later that week, still troubled, Hermione approached Dumbledore after class.
"Professor… are there side effects to Polyjuice Potion?" she asked cautiously.
"Oh?" Dumbledore paused in the corridor, turning to her with a gentle smile as he stroked his silver beard. "Miss Granger, it sounds as though you're facing a problem."
"I think something's wrong with my emotions," Hermione confessed. "You told everyone Professor Lockhart saved me, but whenever I think about him I just—" she hesitated, clearly uncomfortable, "—feel repulsed. As if I can't stand the sight of him. Could I have brewed something wrong?"
Dumbledore gave a thoughtful hum, then chuckled softly.
"Well, as far as I know, Polyjuice breeds many problems, but not that one. There's a saying that every witch and wizard is a prophet in their own small way. Perhaps," he said kindly, "you should trust your intuition, Miss Granger."
Hermione blinked, confused. Dumbledore rarely gave answers that vague, but she trusted him enough to accept it.
"It still feels rude," she murmured. "He saved me—and paid such a price."
"I admire your sentiment," Dumbledore said warmly. "Unfortunately, I doubt you'll find him. He's been transferred to St. Mungo's. If you wish to see him, you'll need to wait until the holidays." He shrugged lightly. "He may be preparing for his next interview as we speak."
He added, "At the end-of-year ceremony, you may have the chance to stand with him onstage. He should be back by then, and we'll commend you both. Perhaps when you face him, you'll better understand your emotions."
"All right, Professor," Hermione said quietly.
"Miss Granger," Dumbledore added, eyes twinkling, "besides your feelings toward Professor Lockhart… are there any other emotional troubles?"
Hermione froze.
Her face tightened before she forced a tiny smile. "Thank you for your concern, Professor. No… no other problems."
"Very good," Dumbledore replied pleasantly. With a swish of his robe, he made his way down the corridor, leaving her behind.
Hermione watched him go, guilt twisting in her chest.
I'm sorry, Professor, she thought. I lied.
Because Lockhart wasn't the only one she couldn't bring herself to resent.
There was someone else—someone who had started all of this—toward whom she found, to her own shock, that she couldn't muster hatred at all.
In fact… she felt something faintly closer to—
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