Inklings

Chapter Two // Inklings

"Harry, I don't understand. You saw him die. We watched them put him in the tomb!"

"I saw him fall, that's true. But 'the laws of the Stone Table'! The face of death will be turned away! He could have come back! He was an innocent!"

"Oh, Harry... I don't know. You heard Snape cast the Avada Kedavra curse, right? No one survives it!"

"I did!"

"Well, that's different. You had protection."

"Maybe he did, too..."

"Did Fred and George put Firewhiskey in the eggnog? What's gotten into you, Harry? Snape killed him. Dead people don't come back unless they've done something terrible like make a Horcrux; Dumbledore wouldn't do that."

"But, Hermione, the laws of the Stone Table! The message says--"

Hermione cut him off abruptly. "I know what the bloody book said! I'm telling you, though, that the dead do not come back to life! This is a work of fiction, Harry. We don't even know who sent it! Don't read too much into it."

"I think you're making a mistake. Dumbledore always said that he trusted Snape, didn't he? I may not like the great greasy bat, but it's starting to make sense! The note said that it wasn't Edmund's fault. What if it was a code? A traitor and a lion – Snape and Dumbledore! I admit, it's a little far-fetched, but that book was sent to you for a reason. What if Snape didn't do it out of hate?"

"For all I know, Snape sent it himself to trick us! Besides, are you forgetting that this is the man who is responsible for the death of your parents? Have you forgotten how horrible he was to Sirius? The man made fun of my teeth! Besides, Snape isn't the only traitor we know. I don't see you jumping to the defense of Draco Malfoy, for example."

"Yeah, but you didn't hear Dumbledore say that he trusted Malfoy, either. I'll admit that Snape made a huge mistake giving Voldemort the prophecy. He isn't to blame, though. Peter Pettigrew is. I don't like that he was horrible to Sirius, but then Sirius tried to kill him! I didn't expect them to be bosom buddies. And... umm..." Harry blushed and looked at his trainers. "Your teeth were pretty huge before you shrunk them."

Hermione clenched her fists at her sides, trying to breathe deeply. Finally, she forced out, "I just don't understand how you can forgive him so easily."

"Hermione, I didn't say I forgave him. If he needs forgiveness, he'll ask for it. All I'm saying is that this message opens up different avenues that are definitely worth investigating. If I'm going to do that, I'll need your help." His voice softened, and he looked at her with pleading in his eyes. "Please?"

She gave a deep sigh, relaxing her fists. "Harry, I think you're positively mental. I think that you are clinging to this as a false hope that the closest thing you had to a father hasn't left you." She closed her eyes. "Fine. I'll help you. I even promise not to say 'I told you so.'"

"I think I'd better be the one promising that. Come on; let's go see what Mrs. Weasley is doing to Ron in there."

"Oh. She's stopped yelling, hasn't she? It's awfully quiet. I wonder if that's a bad sign..."

When they entered the kitchen, they were surprised to see that Mrs. Weasley looked very calm and collected, and Ron was looking a little green but still alive. He looked strangely rigid, and Hermione thought she detected a note of panic behind his eyes.

"Oh, good. You're here. I've decided that the most effective punishment for Ronnie is to get a taste of his own medicine," Mrs. Weasley said with a beatific smile. "He's about to discover exactly what is so unpleasant about being forced to answer questions. I administered the serum... oh, about 10 minutes ago. It should be kicking in soon."

Hermione gave a gasp. "Mrs. Weasley, did you just give him Veritaserum?"

"Indeed I did!"

"Mrs. Weasley, where did you get Veritaserum? Isn't it a controlled substance? Ron had to steal it out of the Potions classroom when Professor Henry wasn't looking."

"I have my ways, dear girl. Now, does anyone have anything they'd like to ask Ron?"

************************************************

The next afternoon, Hermione was on fire.

Unfortunately, she was not aflame with academic fervor or a brilliant idea. She was literally on fire.

She'd slept until way past noon, and when she'd woken up, the house was empty. There was a note in the kitchen from Harry, saying that they'd all gone after-Christmas shopping and would be home later to change before leaving for Hogwarts. (It should be noted that the Wizarding Day After Christmas is not the barbaric Muggle practice of getting up at 6 am and heading to the store to do battle with the elbows of your fellow shoppers. It was simply the best day to spend all those lovely Christmas Galleons burning a hole in one's pocket. It also helped that all the stores in Diagon Alley had been spelled with an Anti-Elbowing Jinx.)

The note also said that breakfast was in the kitchen, but she'd have to cook the eggs herself as Molly said that Warming charms made them taste funny.

Why is it that everyone assumes that being good at potions means you're a good cook? Potions are made to be accurate, not to please the palate. Hermione groaned as she stared at the Wizarding kitchen. There didn't appear to be anything that could pass for a stove...

Twenty minutes later, Hermione was rolling on the kitchen floor trying to suffocate the flames that had taken up residence in her hair.

"Fire! Fire! Activating fire protection charms immediately!" shouted a disembodied voice.

All the pots and pans began filling with water and dumping themselves over the flames. Moments later, Mrs. Weasley Apparated into the kitchen.

"Hermione, dear, are you all right? I felt the fire ward go off!"

"I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley. I accidentally burned the eggs. I'm sorry for the mess; I'll clean it up."

"Goodness, Hermione, you didn't just burn the eggs! Hmm, maybe the cooking charm has worn off..." and she picked up the skillet, prodding it with her wand.

"No, Mrs. Weasley... I've just never used a wizard's kitchen, and I... I don't know how to cook, anyway."

"Goodness, child! I'll just have to show you how, then. For now, though, off to the bath with you! You smell terrible."

Just then, a series of pops filled the kitchen. The rest of the Weasleys had arrived.

"Mom, is everything okay? You left in a--ugh, what's that smell?" Fred and George wrinkled their noses in unison.

"It smells like burned hair and rotten flobberworms," said Ron. "Oh, wait. I know! It smells like a Mudblood! See, there's Hermione."

Immediately, the remaining Weasleys and Harry all reached for their wands in unison, murder in their eyes. Ron just stood there, a blank look on his face.

"Stop! Hermione gets first dibs on the hexes. Might I recommend the Ball Breaker curse?" said Ginny, eyes glittering.

"No, that's okay. I have a better one. Macula Pygmy Puff!"

There was no visible reaction from Ron. Mrs. Weasley eyed him skeptically. "Hermione, I think that one might have been a dud."

"Oh, no, it wasn't. Ronald, dear, why don't you look at your chest?"

Ron, still not speaking, looked down at his shirt in confusion.

"Underneath your shirt, imbecile."

Ron peered down the collar of his shirt, paled, made a strange squeaky noise like a mouse being trodden on, and gulped.

"That's not permanent, is it? I don't know why I said that. It felt like it wasn't me, you know? I think someone might have hit me with an Imperio--"

"--Ronald, please stop making excuses for your despicable behavior. And yes, it is permanent. You'd have to get back into my good graces before I would remove it, and that's about as possible Hagrid modeling for Twilfitt and Tattings."

"What did you do to him?" said Ginny.

"Show them, Ronald."

He hesitated and then began unbuttoning his shirt at his mother's dangerous look.

There, tattooed on Ron's chest in magnificent splendor, was a pink and purple Pygmy Puff.

A/N: The line about the mouse being trodden on is from SS. That line always cracks me up!

Additionally, I'd like to thank betas extraordinaire Sevariger and WickedlyWanton! Without your help, I would still be trying to beat this chapter into submission. You are amazing and I will be mailing you your own personal Snape-bot as soon as I can find a box big enough.