Experiment In Criticism

Chapter Eleven // Experiment in Criticism

Hermione set down the last sheaf of papers with a sigh. Putting a hand to her eyes and rubbing vigorously, she eased up out of the chair. Nothing. The only thing of note she'd found was her last Potions essay, a black 'E' scrawled in the corner. Bastard. She remembered that essay, the one on powdered Bicorn horn. It hadn't deserved anything below an 'O'.

"Dobby?" she called softly.

The elf appeared before her with a flourish. "Yes, Miss Hat Lady?"

"Thank you, Dobby. I'm done here – there wasn't much to find."

Dobby rolled his eyes, and Hermione briefly missed the creepy servility of the other House Elves. "Dobby could have been telling you that, Miss Stone Head. Professor Bat-man is not keeping things to find here."

"Why didn't you tell me, then?" She was agitated. She'd just wasted several hours looking through first through seventh year Potions essays in hopes of finding something helpful.

"You is not asking. He is taking things other places, so they cannot be found. Dobby knows not where."

A resounding crack later, and she was back in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey came and fussed at her for being out of bed, and in all the chatter Dobby slipped away.

After much fussing and a near temper tantrum from Madam Pomfrey, Hermione was allowed to leave. She'd had to promise not to undertake any strenuous activities – which to the Mediwitch was defined as 'anything other than total bed rest'. She had no intention of doing this, but she'd lied just so she would be allowed to leave. She felt a bit guilty, but the gate should be opening soon and they needed to find Harry.

Back at the Burrow, Hermione scowled at her closet, picking out a pair of ratty jeans, trainers, and a t-shirt that proclaimed "If you're not a part of the solution, you're part of the precipitate." Over this she put on a slightly oversized hooded jacket that had once been her mother's, shrinking it down a little for easier movement. She wasn't sure how long they would need to look for Harry, and she would kiss Professor Snape before she wore her nice clothes to go mucking about in the woods looking for the Boy Who Got Lost. She shuddered inwardly at the thought of kissing the Potions master. She was sure he must smell bad, given the state of his hair and teeth.

**

She found Ron in his bedroom, laughing over the latest edition of Martin Miggs, The Mad Muggle. Honestly, the boy could somehow manage to push everything out of his mind and enjoy a comic book like nothing was wrong. Hermione envied him.

"Hermione! You're home!"

"Yeah, I'm fine now, just a little tired. The gate will probably be opening again soon. I meant to ask you, though... What did Albus talk about with you and Harry yesterday?"

"He said a lot of useful stuff, actually. He said that he was considering asking Snape if he would help with Horcux-hunting and wanted to know if we could 'put aside our differences' and work with the git."

"I wonder why Snape doesn't know about the Horcruxes... that's odd, isn't it?"

"Well, he said that Voldemort was incredibly sensitive to information about them, and while Snape is a really good Occlumens, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep something like that from Voldemort."

Hermione thought for a moment. "Why don't we just tell Snape that we're looking for magical artifacts that Voldemort might have hidden and see what he can tell us? He'll probably give us too much information, but since we kind of know what we're looking for, we'll be able to narrow it down. I bet he could hide that information pretty easily, and he wouldn't have the word 'Horcrux' floating around in his head."

Ron bolted upright and wrapped his arms around her in a giant bear hug. "Hermione! You're brilliant! Let's go and tell Dumble... Albus!"

**

Harry Potter was tired. He'd been walking for what seemed like an eternity. He wasn't sure why he'd left the clearing, but his feet had started moving of their own volition. Now he was lost in Merlin-knows-where and he was getting hungry, too.

An impossibly tall holly tree caught his eye, and he remembered something he'd heard on the telly ages ago: "If you're lost in the woods, hug a tree!" It seemed like silly advice, the sort of thing Hermione might say, but he stopped anyway, faced with a sudden desire to rest for a moment. He sat down, leaning his back against the tree's broad trunk. The skin on the back of his neck tingled slightly when it made contact with the wood, which felt unusually warm. He reached out a grubby hand to touch the bark.

Hello, boy.

The soft voice filled his head, coming from everywhere and nowhere. He jerked his hand back from the trunk as if it had burned him. Had that tree just... No, impossible. Trees didn't talk. And broomsticks don't fly said a sarcastic little voice in the back of his head. It was true – he'd seen too much of magic to believe that trees were incapable of speech. He tentatively reached out a hand towards the bark again.

I did not mean to frighten you. Would you speak with an old tree, for just a moment?

He nodded, unsure of how to speak to it.

You speak to me as you would speak to anyone else! Just because I inhabit this form does not mean I have forgotten the ways of human speech.

"Oh," he said, feeling a bit stupid. "Ummm.... Hello," he stammered lamely.

Hello, Harry Potter. I had wondered when you would come.

He frowned and ran a hand through his hair, noting with some distaste the amount of mud and plant parts stuck in it. "How do you know me? More importantly, who are you and what do you want?"

I see that patience is not a virtue you possess.

The tree laughed, and Harry felt the branches shake and tremble.

I have always known you, just as I know all who pass through this place. You are safe here, do not fear. As for what to call me... given from whence you came, I think you should call me Tumnus. Yes, Tumnus will do quite nicely.

"Like Mr. Tumnus? But that's from the book... Do you know Albus Dumbledore?" Harry was excited; maybe this... thing, whatever it was, could point him back towards the cottage.

Ah, yes, Albus and I had many delightful conversations when he was a younger man. Now, though, he has no need of me... It is you who needs me now, for without my help you will surely fail.

"How can a bloody tree help me? I doubt you even know what is going on out there! This is bloody stupid; I'm going."

He made to rise, but a blinding white light filled his vision.

You think to disrespect me?

The voice had changed. No longer gentle and soothing, it was terrible and filled with such power that Harry could no longer stand. He was forced to his knees, his breath coming in short gasps, unable to act.

It may have escaped your notice, but I am not a 'bloody tree'. As I said, this is the form that I choose to inhabit. However, since your intent seems to be to leave and in turn to fail at your task... Allow me to show you my true power!

The voice spoke a word that Harry could not understand and dark symbols surrounded the tree. Suddenly, a loud crack sounded and he was thrown backwards. The light intensified, and when it died, he found himself staring at...

Himself.

Right down to the scar on his forehead, the baggy jeans he wore, and his untidy black hair. The eyes, though, blazed a bright blue and in them Harry saw eternity stretching out before him. The sheer power the figure gave off was still nerve-wracking, but Harry somehow found the will to stand.

"I... What are you?"

The being spoke, and though it was his voice, Harry thought that he could never sound this confident, this commanding.

"I am that which you lack. Now, are you prepared to listen?" At Harry's nod, the being smiled and held out his hand. "Come. I will take you to my home, where you may rest. We will talk, and then I will point you on the correct path."

**

Hermione struggled against the man who was restraining her.

"Let me go, you bastard! I'm going after him!"

Severus Snape smiled, showing far too many of his crooked teeth for Hermione's comfort. He reminded her of a shark – a greasy, snarky shark. "Now now, Miss Granger, such language from our Head Girl! I will tell you again: you are not going after him, and you are not leaving this room until I have your oath that you will behave like a civilized person."

"Look, just because you can't understand friendship –"

"That is enough, Miss Granger! I grow tired of your chatter, and I grow even more tired of babysitting a hormonal Gryffindor when I have more important things to attend to. Incarcerous!" Ropes flew from the end of his wand, binding her tightly. He Summoned a spindly, horridly uncomfortable-looking chair for her, and shoved her down in it. She opened her mouth, perhaps to scream, but the spy hadn't been kidding when he said he grew tired of her chatter. He turned his back to her and she heard a ripping sound, followed swiftly by the application of something sticky to her mouth.

"Ah, that is much better. You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that."

She made a few noises behind her freshly duct-taped mouth, then settled for internal fuming. That bastard, taping her mouth shut like that...

She and Ron had arrived just as the sun was beginning its downward trek. Upon entering the cottage, Albus advised them that Harry had not yet returned. Stupid Harry; this was all his fault somehow. Hermione wanted to go look for him, but both Albus and Snape had refused to allow it. She'd gotten up with the intent of just going to look for him alone when Snape had bodily picked her up and thrown her into this tiny pantry next to the kitchen.

Her fuming was interrupted when she heard the front door open and Albus happily welcoming Harry back to the cottage.

"Mmm! Ummpph!" She tried to get Snape's attention, but he was already walking out the door.

"MMMMMPH!" He turned around, giving her another sharky smile.

"What's that, Miss Granger? I'm afraid I can't understand you..." he said as he exited. For the umpteenth time that evening, the word Bastard was mentally flung in his direction as she got up and bunny-hopped into the sitting room.

Harry and Ron looked from her to Snape, then back again, before bursting out in gales of laughter. Thankfully, Albus was not as amused and quickly set her free.

"Severus! What in the name of all that is lemony and sweet were you doing to that poor child!" exclaimed Albus, setting out the tea things while pointedly ignoring that Hermione had found her wand and was busy casting silent hexes.

"You asked me to restrain her. You were unspecific as to how. I, for one – Dear Merlin, girl! What are you doing?!?"

Having left both Harry and Ron clutching their testicles in pain, Hermione had moved on to the man who thought he could duct tape her mouth shut and get away with it. She had quickly ruled out pain, since Snape could probably handle that pretty well. This would be her most perfect revenge.

After the escapade with her teeth in second year, Hermione had made it a point to learn all kinds of dental spells, ensuring that she would never have to endure her parents near her teeth again. Those were the spells she began putting to work now.

She was only halfway done when Snape started screaming. She didn't argue, however, when Albus took her wand. He'd taken Snape's, too. The latter was still raging like Fluffy on bath day, which made Hermione smile a slow, satisfied smile. She'd gotten him good.

His teeth were now straight and sparkling white, and she'd managed to hit him with an Exfoiliating Charm before she was disarmed. He still had suds in his eyebrows. She'd wanted to turn him into a poster-boy for Playwitch, shiny hair and all. She was sure he would have hated that, given how much he was whining about his teeth.

She re-tuned into the conversation to hear, "Severus, I can't reverse it! Besides, why would you want me to? They really do look much better –"

"They looked fine before! She's gone and made me into some nancy-boy, and I won't have it! What do you have to say for yourself?" he turned to her, spittle flying from his mouth.

She was feeling awfully dangerous today, which is probably what made her retort, "I see no difference," echoing his words to her in her fourth year.

He froze, looking at her like she was a particularly ripe pile of Manticore dung. Albus, his internal Trouble Detector shrieking, stepped between the two. "Enough! Both of you, sit! We don't have time for this nonsense!"

It did not escape Ron or Harry's notice that the scowl on Hermione's face was eerily similar to that of Snape's. Ron leaned over and whispered in Harry's ear, "Brilliant, but scary. Both of 'em." Harry began to reply, but snapped his mouth shut at the Headmaster's look.

"Now, Harry, let's try to pick up where we were before we were interrupted..."

"I don't know what it was, exactly. He was me, only he seemed to be so much more than that. He took me to this cave, and we had tea and sardines... He told me..." Harry's voice cracked and died. Albus put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Ah, I see you have met the Harper."

"The Harper? No, he told me to call him Tumnus..."

"He changes forms quite often... everyone who meets him knows him as something different. His true name cannot be spoken by mortal man."

"He said he knew you once, but you didn't need him anymore. What did he mean?"

"I... what is it the Muggles say? Ah, yes – I found myself."

"Found yourself?"

"I am sure that is not the last time you will see the Harper, or Tumnus as he calls himself for you. As you mature, you will notice him... fade. Then one day, you will look for him and he will be gone. He is you as you are intended to be."

"How do I find him again?"

"You won't. He'll come to you when you are ready to receive him. I think it would be best if we discussed it no more for the moment, Harry. Now, are you three ready to begin your lessons?"

**

An Experiment in Criticism is (you guessed it) another work by C.S. Lewis. He proposes a theory that says the quality of books should not be judged on how they are written, but how they are read.