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Chapter 57
Guilt?
Hermione wondered if something truly was wrong with her emotions. By everyone else's account, Lockhart had protected her during the basilisk attack, and Malfoy had been the one responsible for the entire ordeal. Yet her own feelings toward them were the exact opposite.
Professor Dumbledore's words kept echoing in her mind—gentle, deliberate, layered with a meaning she still couldn't unravel. As if he were hinting at something she wasn't ready to see.
With final exams cancelled, Hogwarts slipped quickly back into ease. After months of tension, the students moved through their days with a lightness Hermione rarely saw during term. Harry spent nearly every hour at the Quidditch pitch, determined to make up for lost training. A mountain of points—thanks to Hermione's Special Services Award—didn't mean Gryffindor could afford to slack off. And besides, Harry genuinely enjoyed the sport, no matter how gruelling the drills were.
Ron, for his part, devoted himself to cheering Harry on from the stands—when he wasn't playing endless rounds of wizard chess with him afterward. Sometimes, the two of them joined Fred and George for product experiments. With their budget recently bolstered by certain "questionable but successful" ventures, the twins had produced an entire new set of pranks.
The rooster-crow Howler had been only the beginning.
They now had enchanted letters that croaked like frogs or bellowed like toads—an idea Neville had contributed accidentally, thanks to Trevor's unfortunate habit of making noise at the worst possible moments.
It was obvious that sooner or later Filch would confiscate every variant. His drawer dedicated specifically to "Weasley contraband" was already overflowing. During the basilisk crisis, most professors had tolerated the rooster letters—fear made students cling to distractions. But now that Hogwarts was safe again, those letters were nothing more than noisy, disruptive trouble.
Which was how the Weasley twins found themselves formally invited to tea in Dumbledore's office.
The effect was immediate.
The very next morning, Fred and George announced the retirement of their "roar-letter line." They did not, however, look remotely defeated.
"Oh come on— even the headmaster wants to buy your shouting letters?" Ron practically leapt to his feet in the Gryffindor common room, gawking at his brothers.
"Obviously," George said, puffing out his chest.
"The professor has always appreciated creativity," Fred added loftily. "Within reasonable limits."
"But if he wants them," Harry said, confused, "why shut you down?"
"A long story," George replied dramatically—though the enormous grin on his face ruined the suspense.
"You'll find out at the end of the year," Fred added, eyes glinting.
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Sometimes, the real difference between a top student and a struggling one wasn't intelligence.
It was self-discipline.
When the news spread that finals were officially cancelled, half of Hogwarts practically dissolved into joyful laziness. Hermione, however, continued on as steadily as ever. In truth, her need to understand things thoroughly was both her greatest strength and her greatest flaw.
So, while others napped or played gobstones, Hermione kept her usual place in the library.
One morning, after Professor Flitwick dismissed his Charms class, Hermione waited at his desk the same way she had waited for Dumbledore.
"Miss Granger," Professor Flitwick chirped as he packed up his parchment, "what can I help you with today?"
Professor Flitwick—small in stature, bright-eyed, with a faint trace of fairy blood—was one of Hogwarts' most beloved professors. Students adored his humor, and even joked that he and Professor McGonagall would be the perfect pair if personality alone were considered.
Hermione was among his most accomplished students, something he took great pride in.
But today, after she asked her question, Flitwick did not answer right away. He tugged thoughtfully at his beard, gaze sharpening in concern.
"So," he said at last, tapping his wand lightly against his sleeve, "you suspect your memory lapse is due to a Memory Charm?"
Yes.
That was exactly what she wanted to know.
Dumbledore's explanation had eased some of her worries, but left her with just one remaining possibility: the Memory Charm used in the Chamber.
If her emotions were behaving strangely, then perhaps… there were memories missing that should have anchored them.
Hermione waited anxiously for Flitwick's answer.
Unfortunately, the first half of it was useless.
"In the wizarding world," Flitwick said, "there's only one reliable method: the caster of the Memory Charm must reverse it."
Hermione deflated. Anyone could have told her that.
But Flitwick raised a finger.
"However… that is not the only thing worth considering."
Hermione straightened, hope flickering to life.
"Although it may sound like a boast," Flitwick continued, smiling in a distinctly Ravenclaw way, "I do try to set an example for my students. I study Muggle scholarship as well. And there is something I've read that may apply to your situation."
His expression grew serious.
"Magic isn't omnipotent, Miss Granger. Even erased memories sometimes leave… impressions. Instincts."
He waved his wand, sending a small stack of books floating into place behind him.
"I once knew a man who had a Memory Charm placed on him. When he encountered his attacker—someone he no longer consciously recognized—he immediately attempted a Killing Curse. Reflex, not recollection."
Hermione's breath caught.
Flitwick nodded at her reaction.
"Muggle scientists theorize that certain impressions cannot be erased, the way instinct cannot be overwritten. If I used an Obliviate strong enough to make you forget how to eat, would your body truly forget? Unlikely. Otherwise, Memory Charms would be classified as Unforgivables." He chuckled, though the joke carried a hint of truth.
He stepped back, wand tucked behind his ear.
"You, Miss Granger, straddle both worlds. You understand magic, and you understand human psychology in ways many pure-blood wizards do not. Over the holiday, you may find answers in Muggle research—not magical."
He paused at the doorway.
"My only advice is this: seek what excites the mind. Strong emotions leave strong traces."
Then he bowed politely.
"I must prepare for my next class. If you have more questions, I'd be glad to help next time."
Flitwick hopped off his stack of books and marched down the hall.
"Excitement…" Hermione murmured, staring after him, her mind spinning.
Slowly, she pressed her fingers to her temple.
If emotion left traces stronger than memory…
Then what exactly had she felt that day?
And why, despite everything, did the thought of Draco Malfoy fill her with a strange, familiar warmth she couldn't explain?
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