The Burning Pen

A Turn for the Better
by Ruth Solomon

The story content is adult in nature and can contain graphic sex and violence.  Those under the age of 18 are asked to leave this site immediately.  You are not welcome here.  The author is not responsible for those under-aged who view these works.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 10 ~ Cracking the Shell

"Eh now! Wot's this really 'bout? Why'd yah wan' ter know 'bout tha'?" Hagrid asked Hermione, his dark eyes flicking between her and Neville.

Neville swallowed again, his hand shifting reflexively to his pocket where his wand was. Hagrid was really, really big.

"Well . . . Mr. Hagrid, sir, I'm trying to write about a topic that no one else will consider, and I looked at the school records and you attended Hogwarts at the time people said the Chamber of Secrets was opened. I could've talked to Dumbledore, but I wanted a student's impression of what was going on."

Hagrid relaxed a bit. That made sense. A staff member would pretty it all up and probably call it a myth. Hagrid knew there was something sinister at the school. At least back then.

"Yeah, I was 'ere all right," he said heavily, pulling on his beard. "It wuz a terrible thing wot happened. Jes' terrible."

"What happened?" Hermione pressed.

"Thar' wuz a girl, a friend really . . . named Myrtle. She were a Muggle-born, yah know. Kinda mousy, big glasses. Tha' other students used ter pick on 'er somethin' awful. We talked sometimes. They used ter pick on me too, on account I'm a half-giant, so we 'ad somethin' in common, yah know? She wuz nice, she wuz."

Hagrid's eyes began to fill with a large amount of water, and he wiped at them with one large hand. Hermione's heart went out to him. He seemed like a kind and sensitive man despite his size and appearance. He pulled a dirty handkerchief out of his coat pocket and blew in it soundly before tucking it back.

"Thar'd been some threats 'gainst Muggle-borns, written in rooster blood on tha' walls, something about Salazar Slytherin's 'eir come to drive them out usin' tha monster in the Chamber of Secrets," Hagrid said. "I didn' think much 'bout it. Figured it wuz jes' some Slytherins muckin' 'bout, tryin' ter scare people. Wuz differen' times then."

Hermione nodded as did Neville, very interested now.

"But Headmaster Dippet took it ter 'eart an' everyone wuz on guard, watchin'. A coupla' Muggle-borns come up petrified . . . then . . . then poor Myrtle were foun' dead in tha' girl's bathroom on tha second floor. Not a mark on 'er. Jes' . . . dead."

Hermione nodded, trying not to show her excitement, and Neville's eyes went round. Hermione had told him the whole dream scenario, and she said the moaning girl ghost in the second floor bathroom had been killed by something horrible. But Hermione never said by what. Nor did she say what the Chamber of Secrets was either. He figured it must be a chamber that held some kind of monster. Did it really exist? If it did, where was it? Why didn't anyone do anything about it?

"Did they ever find out what killed her?" Neville asked the half-giant, who seemed to sink lower in his huge chair, his eyes filling again.

"No, they didn', but they thought they did, everyone 'ceptin' Dumbledore," he muttered. "I had a spider . . . an Acromantula named Aragog. Tweren't no bigger than a bulldog at tha' time. I were hidin' 'im yah know, 'cause of the monster thing. He weren't no monster but people wuz ter scared ter see tha' an' I knew I 'ad to get 'im out tha' castle before he wuz foun'. But I was bein' watched, see? An' he wuz found out. He got away, but I wuz kicked out 'er Hogwarts an' my wand snapped in two. The killings stopped afta tha' so they thought they wuz right 'bout me an' Aragog. But they weren't. It's wuz never us. Thar wuzn' a mark on Myrtle but they still blamed us."

"So, they never found out what really killed Myrtle, Mr. Hagrid?" Hermione pressed him. "What do you think it was?"

"Tha' were easy. Roosters bein' killed, people bein' petrified, spiders leavin' the castle . . . Aragog wuz scared ter death he wuz, told me he wanted out an' fast," Hagrid said.

Neville's brow furrowed.

"Told you?" he asked.

"Yah, told me. Aragog could talk," Hagrid said as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

Neville rolled his eyes. This was a total waste of time. Hagrid was clearly short a few cauldrons. This whole story could've happened in his mind. His eyes shifted to Hermione and he made a circular motion with his index finger to his temple, thus showing her his opinion as Hagrid wiped at his eyes again. She scowled at him.

"Acromantulas are wizard-bred spiders native to Borneo, Neville," she said to him sharply. "They're part of the reason for the ban on experimental breeding. And they really can talk."

Neville looked at the bushy-haired encyclopedia beside him, shrugged and said, "Oh."

He knew better than to challenge the gospel according to professor Granger.

Hagrid gave her a smile.

"Yer a smart little witch," he said as Hermione blushed. But she recovered quickly.

"So, what do you think it was, Mr. Hagrid?" she asked him.

"Jes' call me Hagrid," he said to her, "tha formality makes me uncomfortable."

"Hagrid," Hermione said with a small smile.

"Like I said, it 'twere easy ter figure out ifn' yah knew the signs. A basilisk," the half-giant said, nodding his head.

Neville turned as white as Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington, Gryffindor's resident ghost. Nearly Headless Nick for short.

"A . . . a . . . basilisk?" he repeated.

Hermione turned to him.

"Yes, a basilisk," Hermione replied, then turned back to Hagrid.

"I've only one more question for you, M . . . Hagrid," she said, her heart pounding a bit.

"Go 'head," he responded amicably.

Hagrid hadn't had a chance to talk about his innocence in years. No one but Albus seemed to want to believe him. It felt good to be able to tell his side of it.

"Who found you out?" she asked him.

Hagrid scowled.

"Tom Riddle. He were tha' one," he said darkly, "an' I think he set me up too. He weren' as good as people thought. He didn' like Myrtle at all. Called 'er Mudblood all tha time, 'e did. Pure evil tha' one. They foun' 'im dead few years later. Never foun' out who killed 'im. But I never trusted 'im. Not a bit," Hagrid answered.

Hermione thanked Hagrid and she and Neville left.

The half-giant stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light inside his hut, watching the two cross the grounds and stroking his brushy beard thoughtfully. Hagrid might not be the quickest broom in the shed, but he noticed one odd thing about Hermione's interview.

She wasn't taking notes.

Students were required to have notes when compiling material, particularly information gathered from word of mouth. He knew that much from when he attended Hogwarts himself.

"Thar's somethin' else goin' on 'ere," he said to himself, "I might 'ave ter keep an eye on thos' two. Thar up ter somethin', tha's fer sure."

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Hermione sat in Neville room, cross-legged on his bed, as he paced back and forth.

"A bloody basilisk? At Hogwarts? Do you think it's possible, Hermione?" he asked her.

Hermione nodded.

"Well, I didn't see it in my dreams. But I heard about it from Harry. I got petrified by it, so was out of the loop really, but I had figured it out myself and had a page I tore out of a library book in my hand when they found me . . ."

"Hermione! YOU tore a page out of a library book? You?" he said incredulously. "That had to be a dream, or else you would have turned yourself into the Ministry."

Be serious, Neville," she hissed.

Neville sobered, then said, "Look Hermione, I have to admit something weird is going on here, but maybe you've developed some kind of divination powers, like professor Trelawney. You're seeing just bits of the past and your mind is filling in the blanks with fantasy. It's possible you know."

Hermione blinked at him. Like Trelawney? She was the biggest fraud going in Hermione's opinion. It was time to tell Neville the truth. She patted the bed.

"Sit down, Neville. I'm going to tell you something that I want you to keep to yourself, all right? And I don't want you rushing out of here to punch Potter's lights out either," she said to him sternly.

Neville's face went black.

"What? What did he do, Hermione?" he asked her in a low voice.

"He, he didn't do anything really. Professor Snape came in," she said haltingly.

"In? In where?" Neville demanded.

If Potter had laid one filthy Slytherin paw on Hermione he'd . . .

"Neville, try to control the testosterone," Hermione said. He had turned quite red and it was easy to see he was working himself into a rage without even knowing what happened. He was so protective. He was like the big brother she never had.

"Just tell me what happened," he growled at her.

Hermione recounted that evening, how she found herself in Harry's room dressed only in her bra and knickers, with no idea how she got there.

"Harry thought . . . he thought I came there to shag him," Hermione said, her face crimson.

Neville didn't say anything. Being a young wizard himself, he could see how Harry could come to such a conclusion. He had no idea how he'd react if a witch suddenly appeared in his bedroom dressed only in her bra and knickers.

He'd probably faint.

But then, when Hermione told him how Harry had petrified her and put her in his bed and started to undress, the look on Neville's face was terrible. It didn't matter how she was dressed, if she wasn't willing he should have just let her go.

"But professor Snape walked in, almost as if he expected me to be there, Neville," she told the irate wizard. "He brought me to his office and made sure I was all right."

"What did he do to Potter?" Neville hissed, knowing whatever it was, the punishment wouldn't suit the crime.

"I think he has detention with Hagrid," she replied.

Neville snorted.

"He should have gone to jail. He was going to rape you, Hermione," Neville said, his eyes bloodshot.

"But he didn't Neville. Let's get past that, because there's more. Professor Snape knows why I was there, I'm sure of it. He told me that I didn't think about my 'return.'"

Neville straightened.

"Your return?" he repeated. "Your return from where?"

Hermione swallowed.

"I don't know. But I was wearing a Time Turner, Neville," she said in a low voice.

Neville just stared at her for a full five minutes.

"Where did you go?" he asked her.

"I just told you I don't know, Neville," Hermione replied, "but . . . what bothers me is I don't remember. I used a Time Turner in my third year, and I always remembered where and when I went. But this time, there's nothing. That's so strange. I'm beginning to think . . . to think I went so far back in time, that I changed something. Something important. But I don't know what exactly."

Neville stood up again and started pacing, then he looked at Hermione soberly.

"Did you dream about me, Hermione?" he asked her. "Was I in any of those dreams?"

Hermione blinked up at him. Yes, Neville was in her dreams, but he was much different then, and his parents were in St. Mungo's, nearly vegetables from being tortured by an Unforgivable by someone named Bellatrix LeStrange. He was shy, uncertain and somewhat of a bumbler. He showed some signs of courage, but he was nothing like the sure, confident young man he was now. Still, he was a wiz at Herbology.

"Yes," she said shortly.

"What . . . what was I like?" she asked him.

"Neville, it doesn't matter. It was just a dream, it didn't really happen. It's who you are now that matters," she said, trying to avoid telling him what she knew.

Neville stared at her.

"Hermione, even I can figure out that whatever you used that Time Turner for changed history in some way. That's the only explanation. Now that you've told me about the Time Turner, your dreams make sense. Maybe you never thought about this because you changed your own life as well. It went fine until . . . until . . . well maybe you went back when you were this age, and . . . and now you're in paradox. You remember how everything was before you changed it. It's . . . it's an alternate timeline."

Hermione blinked up at him.

"What was I like Hermione? Were we friends?" he asked her.

"Yes, but not close friends, Neville. I used to help you out in Potions class," she said to him. "I was friends with Harry and Ron. We hung out together all the time. But you had your own friends."

Neville absorbed this. He couldn't imagine not having Hermione as his friend. True, he was popular with the other students, but Hermione was truly his best friend, and had been from the very beginning when she had been new to the wizarding world. He helped show her the ropes and felt responsible for her ever since. He was glad life turned out this way.

"What about my parents? They were all right, weren't they?" he asked the witch, who lowered her eyes. Neville blinked.

"Weren't they?" he asked again.

Hermione shook her head.

"No, Neville, they weren't. You were raised by your grandmother," she said.

Neville stared at her.

"By Gran? Oh, Merlin . . . that couldn't have been good. I love Gran, but she's a real nag. Finds something wrong with everything," he breathed, then, "what happened to my parents. Were they . . . dead?"

Hermione shook her head.

"They were sick, Neville. Irreversibly sick. They had been tortured until they lost their minds by people who followed Voldemort," she said softly.

"That evil wizard that wanted to . . . to kill Harry?" he asked her.

"Yes. And . . . and he was the same wizard who went by the name of Tom Riddle. Harry told me about it in the dream about the Chambers. Tom Riddle was Voldemort," she said to him.

"But Tom Riddle was murdered," Neville said.

"And never became Voldemort," she added, her brows furrowing. There was something she was missing, something she was overlooking.

"Hermione?" Neville said to her, his voice quavering. "Do you think whatever you did had something to do with Tom Riddle never becoming Voldemort? Do you think . . . do you think you could have been the one to . . . to take him out?"

He didn't want to use the word "murder." He couldn't imagine Hermione murdering anyone. But, under the circumstances . . .

Hermione got a cold feeling in her belly as she took his question in. Could she have gone back in time and killed Tom Riddle? Dear gods, was she . .. . was she an assassin? Had she murdered a man?

Hermione wrapped both arms around her middle and hugged herself as she looked up at Neville, who was looking down at her as if he'd never seen her before.

"I . . . I don't know," she said softly, "I just don't know, Neville."

Once again, Neville sat down beside her, and both of them sat silently for a while, then Hermione said with a hint of iron in her voice.

"I don't know if I killed Tom Riddle, Neville, but I think I know who does. I've got to go," she said, rising and exiting his room. Neville started to follow her, but sat back down again.

This was something she needed to find out for herself.

It was after curfew, but Hermione needed to see professor Snape and see him tonight.

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A/N: :::shakes head::: Thanks for reading.

PLEASE REVIEW "A Turn for the Better"  >>>> NEXT CHAPTER

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