Ch 124
Hermione stared at the small cauldron, her thoughts drifting.
The potion inside was astonishingly clear, as smooth and reflective as an ancient polished mirror. According to Advanced Potion-Making, this was the hallmark of a completed Truth Serum. Even now, she could hardly believe she had successfully brewed such a difficult potion on her own.
The brief surge of joy and pride vanished almost instantly, replaced by fear.
The Ministry of Magic strictly controlled Truth Serum. Its use was governed by explicit laws and regulations, and even when administered to prisoners, it required extreme caution. This potion violated the most fundamental boundary—privacy.
Once affected, a person's secrets would be laid bare.
Physical nakedness brought embarrassment. Mental nakedness brought consequences far worse.
"If I'm discovered…" Hermione lowered her head, a helpless thought passing through her mind. "I could be expelled."
Poor Professor Snape's private stores had been raided by her yet again.
No matter the justification, theft was still theft—even if the victim was that infuriating professor.
She stood frozen in indecision. If she stopped now, if she stepped back from the edge, she might still pretend that none of this had happened.
But the doubts in her heart would never disappear. And Harry's safety might not be guaranteed.
That thought pushed her forward.
All at once, Hermione seemed to make up her mind. She pulled a small, exquisitely made glass bottle from her pocket and carefully poured the potion from the cauldron into it, not spilling a single drop.
"Myrtle," she said softly, walking over to the toilet where the ghost was sitting, "can you help me with something?"
Myrtle was easy to deal with—sincere praise went a long way. The real problem had always been Peeves, who appeared at the worst possible moments and ruined everything.
To prevent that, Hermione had once asked Lupin for advice. After learning a specific spell from him, Peeves had not dared to come near this bathroom again.
Over the past few weeks, Hermione and Myrtle had gotten along surprisingly well. Hermione talked to her about popular hairstyles in the wizarding world, about how girls dressed, and what boys tended to like. Even as a ghost, Myrtle was fascinated by such things. Perhaps that was simply human nature. Meaningless as it was now, Myrtle still enjoyed listening.
After all, when she died, she had been nothing more than a girl full of dreams.
As long as people could communicate sincerely, they could reach one another.
Hermione understood Myrtle better now. Her crying, her exaggerated behavior—it was all a kind of armor. If everyone hated her, they would stay away, and she wouldn't be hurt again.
Except, of course, by Peeves.
"Is it finished?" Myrtle floated up from the toilet, smiling sincerely. There was admiration in her thick glasses—and a hint of sadness, too. She knew Hermione wouldn't come here much longer. Hermione had chosen this place because it was quiet, because no one came.
"It should be," Hermione said, nodding. Then her brows tightened again. The resolve she had just formed wavered. What she was about to do carried real risk.
"I need you to help me with something," she said quietly.
"What kind of help?" Myrtle asked nervously. She was only a ghost—she couldn't do much. But her first thought wasn't whether she could help. It was whether she would be able to.
"I need you to help me test this potion," Hermione said slowly.
When the words left her mouth, exhaustion washed over her, as though all her strength had drained away.
"But I don't have a body," Myrtle said sadly. "I can't take potions."
"I know," Hermione replied. "I'll take it myself. I just need your help afterward."
Her hand tightened around the small bottle. Her eyes were steady now.
She trusted the ghost in front of her.
"What do I do?" Myrtle asked, frightened but resolute. She was terrified of failing Hermione—terrified of being useless again, of being mocked later by Peeves.
"You just need to ask me questions," Hermione said gently, her voice full of trust.
Myrtle swallowed. Hermione explained everything carefully, step by step. By the end, Myrtle was so moved she might have cried—if ghosts still could.
"I promise," Myrtle said earnestly. "I won't betray your trust."
Hermione picked up a silver ladle from her tools. She shook the bottle lightly, removed the stopper, and tilted it.
Compared to Polyjuice Potion, Truth Serum was incredibly fluid, making the dosage easier to control.
One drop—no, half a drop—would be enough.
The colorless liquid lay quietly in the ladle.
"Thank you," Hermione said softly.
Then she tipped her head back and drank it.
Myrtle gasped in horror.
Hermione's eyes lost their focus at once, as though her soul had been pulled away.
"Calm down," Myrtle told herself desperately. "She said this would happen."
"Your name?" Myrtle asked carefully.
"Hermione Jane Granger," came the flat, emotionless reply.
Myrtle trembled. It was terrifying—one moment Hermione was alive and alert, the next she was like a wooden doll.
"What are you most afraid of?"
"The exam paper Professor McGonagall gave me that I failed."
"What are the names of your two best friends?"
Hermione's eyelids fluttered. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering:
"Harry Potter. Ron Weasley."
Then—
"Oh? What's this?"
A voice Myrtle knew all too well echoed through the bathroom.
Peeves.
"Truth or Dare? A Muggle game, isn't it?" he cackled. "I heard the twins talking about it once."
"What do you want, Peeves?" Myrtle snapped, instinctively stepping back—then immediately stepping forward again, planting herself in front of Hermione.
She had promised.
Peeves adjusted his crooked hat. "There's nowhere in Hogwarts Peeves won't go—certainly not the loo of ugly, cowardly Myrtle."
He sneered, waiting for her usual reaction.
But Myrtle didn't flinch.
Peeves' grin faltered for a moment.
"Exchanging secrets, are we?" he said slyly, floating closer. "I've seen girls from other houses play games like this."
"Oh, lovely Myrtle, forgiving Myrtle," he crooned. "Tell poor Peeves what you're doing?"
"No," Myrtle said firmly, shaking her head.
"Oh, cruel Myrtle," Peeves sighed theatrically—then grinned. "But when has Peeves ever asked permission?"
He dropped like a cannonball, lunging toward Hermione. Myrtle screamed and tried to block him, but she passed straight through.
Peeves hovered inches from Hermione's face, examining her with glee.
"Hm. What secrets does a young witch have?" he muttered. "Underwear color? No, too boring."
Then his eyes lit up.
"Oh! A perfect question!"
Myrtle felt despair grip her.
"Hermione Granger," Peeves said eagerly, "do you have any admirers your age?"
"No!" Myrtle cried.
Peeves stared expectantly at Hermione.
A sharp incantation burst from Hermione's lips.
The cork on the floor shot up like a bullet and flew straight into Peeves' mouth.
He choked violently, gagging.
"Peeves will get you for this!" he croaked, before vanishing in a swirl of smoke.
"Hermione?" Myrtle asked in shock.
"Yes," Hermione said softly.
Her eyes were clear again.
She was relieved she had used only a tiny amount of the potion—and that she had awakened at the critical moment.
But Peeves' final question still echoed in her mind.
She knew what the answer had been—she had felt it rising in her heart before the potion's effect faded completely.
She hadn't spoken it.
But it was there.
Etched deep inside her.
"I have to go," Hermione said abruptly.
For the first time, she wished the Truth Serum had failed.