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Chapter Text

"Hermione!"

Hermione turned to see Harry bounding up to her as she checked into the Leaky Cauldron, and she couldn't help but return his wide grin. Harry looked a little taller than she remembered, and, to her surprise, a little broader and more muscular in areas.

"Harry!" she said, smiling. "You look well."

Harry ran a hand through his hair sheepishly.

"Well, y'know, been able to walk a lot, just wandering the alley," he said. "Not hard to eat three times a day here when there's food everywhere, too."

Hermione wondered if he was used to being starved at his aunt's.

"You still need to get your schoolbooks?" Harry asked, helping lug her trunks up to her room. "I know the lists came out after you were in France."

"I do," Hermione said. She bit her lip. "I just hope they're not all sold out already. I considered trying to get them in France to get a head start, but they were just all in French—"

Harry laughed.

"It'll be fine. C'mon," he said. "I'll help."

Hermione was surprised to see Harry up so early, especially since he'd already gotten his own school things, but she wasn't about to complain. When she asked, Harry shrugged.

"The Alley's calmer earlier in the day, y'know?" he said. "Plus, I knew you were coming. And you're early everywhere," he teased, and Hermione rolled her eyes but grinned back.

Harry was a bit surprised when she took her sword with her. Hermione found herself explaining on the way to Gringotts, hoping to get that out of the way first so she could put the sword away before the alley got really crowded.

"So the goblins take offense if you don't wear it inside?" Harry whistled. "Seems a bit mad, being upset that you don't take a weapon into a bank."

"That's what I thought," Hermione said, pulling open one of the great glass doors, "until they pointed out that wizards wear their wands in here all the time."

Harry paused. "I never thought of that."

They waited in a short line for a teller, behind a man arguing hotly over the quality of the galleons he had been given. When he finally slinked off, defeated, they approached the counter, and Hermione gave the goblin a brief bow.

"I would get gold from my vault, please," she said.

The goblin's eyes drifted over her then over Harry, before it smirked.

"You would get gold, or you would get gold brought up to you?" it asked.

"Err," Hermione said. "The latter, if it's not a trouble."

"Not a trouble at all," the goblin assured her, flashing sharp, pointy teeth. "If you would fill out this withdrawal slip…"

Hermione filled it out, and she and Harry were escorted across the bank to a bench tucked away against a wall to wait.

"Don't feel like going down the carts today?" Harry asked.

"Doesn't seem like a great idea, so soon after breakfast," Hermione said, deflecting, and Harry laughed.

Bloodthorne came out to greet her as they waited, bowing low in front of her, his eyes glittering in triumph. Harry looked puzzled but curious by this, but he had the smarts to watch quietly and listen.

"Silversmite was given an additional land allotment, and he is well pleased," Bloodthorne told her. "Already there has been some progress with the books you left us. The Council has put out word for scholars, ones who would come, would help us decipher new lore, and would translate it over to us."

"Scholars?" Hermione asked. "Do goblins have academia?"

Bloodthorne scowled.

"Not as such," he said. "This is why we would need to call for them. There are very few, and those that there are, travel from place to place." He smirked. "But of all things we have, we have time. We are a very patient race."

He bid them goodbye as another goblin arrived with a bag of gold for Hermione, and as soon as they were out of the bank, Hermione discreetly hit it with a Feather-Light charm, relaxing at the immediate ease on her arms.

"You got to visit the goblins?" Harry asked her, incredulous. "I didn't think they liked us."

"They don't, really," Hermione admitted. "They like me a bit more because I've been doing business with them since first year."

"I have too, though," Harry pointed out, "and they don't like me."

"You've been transacting through them," Hermione corrected gently. "You've been withdrawing gold. I helped them set up a loan system, and I let them use the gold from my vault to back it, so they've been making money with my help."

Harry's eyebrows rose, and he whistled.

"That's good of you," he said. "I didn't realize they didn't already have that sort of thing."

A quick detour to the Leaky Cauldron saw her sword safely deposited in her trunk once more, and Hermione and Harry took an enjoyable stroll down Diagon Alley, enjoying the slower traffic of the morning. Shopkeeps were flipping signs to 'open' or sweeping their stairs, and there were a few happy bird calls in the air, audible with the lack of crowds.

As they walked, a newsstand with the Daily Prophet on display caught her eye, and Hermione paused.

WHERE IS SIRIUS BLACK?
AND WHY CAN THE MINISTRY NOT FIND HIM?
Allegations and suspicions of a nefarious plot behind Black's escape come to light

"If you'll give me just a moment, Harry," Hermione said. "I'm going to get a paper."

Harry shrugged. "Sure."

A minute later, Hermione returned with her copy, eyes scanning the headline story.

"What's it say?" Harry asked. "They suspect a plot?"

Hermione frowned. "Not really. It's… here. Listen:

WHERE IS SIRIUS BLACK?
AND WHY CAN THE MINISTRY NOT FIND HIM?
Allegations and suspicions of a nefarious plot behind Black's escape come to light

By: Rita Skeeter

The Ministry of Magic reports that there have been no new sightings of Sirius Black, despite alleging to be working with the muggle government to help capture Black.

"If no one's seen him, no one's seen him," said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. "We can't report that we know where he is when no one has any idea as to his whereabouts."

Despite the best efforts of the Aurors and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Black remains at large and a threat to the magical community. With such gross incompetence on display, some people are beginning to wonder if the lack of progress on the Sirius Black case is purposeful.

"We don't know how Black escaped Azkaban," one anonymous source said. "The Ministry has control over the prison. If someone escaped, it's reasonable to presume that the Ministry had something to do with it, isn't it?"

"That's ridiculous," declared Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "We don't know how Black escaped, but we do know that however he did it, he didn't have help. We've scoured the visitor logs and interrogated everyone who had gone to Azkaban in the month before Black's escape. The Ministry is just as eager to learn how he managed it as everyone else - so we can make sure no one escapes again."

The Ministry of Magic urges people to remain calm but stay alert as they continue their search for Black. People are also being encouraged to be back in their homes before dark.

"The Ministry captured him once, and we'll capture him again," Fudge said. "Be patient, and be careful. And if you see anything suspicious, please report it to the Ministry at once."

Harry looked somewhat confused when Hermione finished reading the story aloud.

"So… the Ministry didn't help him escape?" he asked.

"Of course not," Hermione huffed, rolling up her paper and tucking it into her bag before they resumed walking down the alley. "Why would they? The escape has made them look incompetent. If they wanted Black out, they could have just pardoned him or something."

"So the story is to reassure people, then?" Harry asked. He made a face. "Funny way to reassure them."

Hermione hummed.

"Even though the full story debunks the idea that the Ministry is behind Black escaping, the headline certainly implies otherwise," she said. "The 'anonymous source' didn't provide any actual evidence backing up their assertion, either. It seems to me like the Daily Prophet wanted to stoke fear and paranoia more."

"Why?" Harry snorted. "People are already paranoid enough."

"Maybe to sell more papers," Hermione quipped. "If you keep something alarming in the news, people will want to read the news to know what's new and what's going on."

Harry laughed.

"Honestly," he remarked, "I wouldn't even be surprised."

"Me neither," Hermione sighed. "Well, at least it's not likely we'll run into Black. And I have school supplies to get, still."

Harry grinned. "Lead the way."

Hermione wanted to get her new schoolbooks first, and Harry was sniggering behind his hand all the way there, refusing to say why. When a large iron cage in the bookshop window came into view, full of very aggressive copies of The Monster Book of Monsters, Harry started laughing outright while Hermione gasped at the carnage and scattered pages on the floor.

"They don't have any way of restraining these things either?" she said, astonished. "How did they ship them?"

Harry shrugged, still laughing. "Who knows?"

The store employee who helped them looked very bedraggled as he put on a very thick set of gloves, warning them to stay back, when Hermione had an idea.

"Open the cage just a little bit," she said, withdrawing her wand. "Accio!"

One of the books managed to fit through the brief opening in the door of the cage to fly at her, abruptly Hermione was fighting with a book snapping at her face and hands, and Hermione realized she hadn't exactly thought this through.

"Help me!" she hissed at Harry, who was bent over laughing. "Harry!"

Harry obligingly helped her pin the book to the ground, surrendering the belt from his trousers for a moment for Hermione to duplicate it and firmly bind her book shut.

"It came right at you. You should have seen your face," Harry said, still chuckling. "Your eyes got huge…"

Hermione drew herself up primly.

"I will also need Unfogging the Future and Numerology and Grammatica," Hermione informed the shopkeeper, ignoring the blood dripping from her hand. "Oh, and I need to see your Ancient Runes section too."

The shopkeeper wisely said nothing. "Right this way."

Ancient Runes only had two required textbooks, Ancient Runes Made Easy and the Rune Dictionary, but there were a few others on the table as well that Hermione found herself lingering over. She eventually gave in and bought them all, adding Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms, Spellman's Syllabary, and Advanced Rune Translation to her growing pile of books as well. She also picked up The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, so she could follow along with Cedric in his lessons, as well as Personal Prediction Trees: Using Arithmancy for Protection and Profit, which sounded interesting. Intermediate Transfiguration and The Essential Defense Against the Dark Arts rounded out her books for the day, and Harry helped her carry them all up to the counter as the shopkeep rang them up.

"No new History text this year," Hermione said, frowning. "I'd almost have hoped…"

"Lockhart won't have had time to write his own yet, yeah?" Harry pointed out. "And it's not like he's going to assign us a book he's not going to get royalties from."

Hermione had to admit that Harry had a point.

As they continued down the alley for Hermione to refresh her Potions supplies, Harry's legs began to lag, his pace slowing.

"We're not in any hurry, yeah?" he said. "Let's just… enjoy the stroll."

Hermione wasn't a fool, and though she agreed easily, she kept her eyes sharp. As soon as Quality Quidditch Supplies came into view, a small crowd of boys around the window, she groaned.

"It's that new broom, isn't it?" she said, exasperated.

Harry was surprised. "How do you know about the Firebolt?"

"They were selling them in France too," she said, waving carelessly. "But Harry, honestly – isn't your broom already very good?"

"Yes," Harry said begrudgingly. "I haven't gotten it, you know. I just like to look."

"Your broom was the top of the line first year," Hermione pointed out. "Last year, it was the Nimbus 2001. This year, it's the Firebolt. Next year, it'll probably be the Firebolt 2.0 or something, you realize. If you constantly bought the latest model to keep up, you'd probably go bankrupt."

Harry was startled at that.

"I didn't realize that," he said. "They have had a new fastest broom every year, haven't they?" He looked pensive as they made their way to the Apothecary, and Hermione left him to his thoughts as she bought her supplies. She was glad Harry wasn't paying much attention – the proprietor's jaw dropped when she'd explained what she needed, and the expense of the extra supplies she wanted nearly emptied her gold bag. By the time she was done, very carefully stashing her purchases away, Harry seemed to have dropped his funk as was much cheerier than he had been.

"Want to get lunch before the rest?" Harry asked. "We could—"

"Harry! HARRY!"

Hermione and Harry turned to see Ron Weasley waving wildly at them as he hurried to join them. He skidded to a halt in front of them and grinned, looking very tall and especially freckly.

"I was hoping to run into you," Ron said, grinning at Harry. "I checked the Leaky Cauldron, but they'd said you'd left already—"

Harry blinked. "How did you know I was staying at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Dad," Ron said simply, and Harry nodded. Hermione wasn't quite sure how Mr. Weasley would know Ministry news so fast upon returning from an extended international trip, but who knew how the adult gossip train worked.

"How was Egypt, Ron?" Hermione asked politely, and Ron lit up.

"It was wicked! There were all these cursed tombs and things, and Bill showed us some of the ones they'd already de-cursed so they could clear them out." He grinned. "It was excellent. And there was money left over from the drawing, too, so—"

He withdrew a wand from his bag, wood gleaming.

"—I got a new wand!"

"Oh, excellent!" Harry said, and Hermione abruptly remembered that Ron had broken his wand, which had been second-hand to begin with, at the beginning of the previous school year, when he and Harry had flown a car into a tree.

"Fourteen inches, willow, unicorn tail hair," Ron said, satisfied. "I'm really pleased with it. Mum was a bit put out by the length – the longer your wand, the taller you'll grow – but I reckon I was always going to be tall, y'know?"

"Ron," Hermione asked curiously. "You got your wand second-hand, didn't you? Your first wand, I mean."

Ron turned to look at Hermione quizzically. "Err—yeah?"

"Where?" Hermione asked. She tried to keep her tone nonjudgmental. "I've never seen a second-hand wand shop on the alley, and I was wondering—"

Ron had gone a bit pink.

"Err, no, you wouldn't," he said, flustered. He looked away. "You don't—people don't really 'sell' their wands. You're either buried with them, or they're kept in your family. They're not—" He coughed. "You wouldn't want just anyone touching a wand that you used."

Hermione wondered if this was similar to Neville's embarrassment when she had demanded to see his wand the previous year, before insisting on him getting a new one.

"How do people who can't afford wands get wands, then?" Hermione wanted to know. "How much was yours?"

"Seven galleons," Ron said, shifting. "And I dunno how other people afford them, if they haven't got a big family…" He turned back to Harry. "Did you see the Firebolt?" he asked, eyes lighting up again. "Wicked, isn't it?"

"I can't imagine how fast it goes," Harry said enviously, though he didn't look quite as worked up over it as he had earlier. "The professional Quidditch teams all put in orders for them, did you know…?"

Hermione tuned them out to run some mental math. If a wand was seven galleons (roughly £35), she could imagine multiple wands would add up fast. If she presumed that half the wizarding population was composed of hedgewitches, and there were 40-50 students each year in each class…

To furbish each new hedgewitch eleven-year-old with a new wand would cost her about £1750, or 350 galleons. Which she could afford, really – it was just a matter of perception and how to do it discreetly. As Bloodthorne had well warned her, spending too much gold too quickly was a great way to raise suspicion and cause inflation.

She frowned. Well, she had no plan organized yet, anyway, so it was pointless to stress about it now. She'd have to think it through more deeply – each child would need to be fitted and choose a wand, after all, which would take time and planning…

"Alright, Hermione?"

"What? Oh!" Hermione said, flustered. "Sorry, what was that, Harry?"

"Ron said Scabbers hasn't been looking well since Egypt," Harry repeated. "He needs to go to the Magical Menagerie as well. You don't mind if he comes along, do you?"

The question was more of a courtesy than an actual inquiry, as Hermione well knew Harry was hoping to link up with Ron at some point today, but she appreciated being consulted nonetheless.

"That'd be brilliant," she said. "And I'm sorry to hear your rat hasn't been doing well, Ron."

Ron shrugged, uncomfortable, and they made their way to the pet shop.

The Magical Menagerie was packed. Every inch of wall was hidden by cages of animals, and the entire building was incredible smelly and noisy, with animals squeaking, squawking, hissing, barking, and jabbering away. Hermione was struck by the difference with France's Animalerie, which had been fairly wide-open with plenty of room to explore and had only softly-purring animals creating the ambient noise, not loud yowling and hissing and spitting sounds.

Ron approached the counter to ask about his rat while Hermione looked around. There was a gigantic tortoise near the window with jewels glittering in its shell, which was fascinating to consider. Hermione wondered if it was a magical tortoise, or if someone had done magic to it to embed the jewels in it like that. There was a soundproof box of fwoopers near the ceiling, birds glowering out at her, and there was a cage of sleek black rats on the counter, the rats inside playing jump rope with their tails, while Ron's Scabbers sat on the counter next to them, looking very pitiful indeed.

"—quite old," Ron was saying. "He used to belong to my brother."

"What powers does he have?" the witch asked, examining Scabbers closely.

"Err—" Ron faltered, and Hermione blinked. It had never occurred to her that a magical pet might have powers other than enhanced intelligence, really.

The witch was offering Ron a new rat, which Ron didn't respond well to, before offering him a rat tonic in a small red bottle. As she was offering it to him, Ron fishing through his change to pay, there was a flash and a loud yowl as something enormous and orange landed on Ron's head, making him buckle, before the thing launched itself at Scabbers, spitting madly.

"NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!"

"Scabbers!"

Ron and Harry raced from the shop, chasing after Scabbers, who had shot for the door squeaking madly and managed to squeeze out. She watched them chase the rat down the alleyway before she turned back to the shopkeep, who suddenly looked very tired. There was an enormous orange cat with a squashed face sitting on the desk, now, looking quite pleased with itself.

"'Crookshanks'?" Hermione questioned.

The cat in question looked at her, tilting its head, while the witch sighed.

"He's been here forever," the witch said wearily. "Vicious even as a kitten; no one wanted him, so he just stayed here and grew up. Unusual, for a half-kneazle – usually they take more kindly to people."

"Maybe he was waiting for the right sort of people," Hermione said. She extended her hand towards Crookshanks slowly, and the enormous cat moved closer to sniff at her hand and lick her fingertips skeptically, before he purred, moving underneath her hand and using it to pet himself.

"He likes you," the witch said wonderingly. "He likes you. He doesn't like anyone. Do you want him?" She looked at Hermione. "I'd practically pay you to take him off my hands—"

Crookshanks hissed, and Hermione frowned.

"He's a gorgeous cat," she informed the witch, "and he is worth what every other cat is worth." She withdrew her coin purse. "How much for him and a starter kitty kit?"

The witch's lips pursed, and she named an amount that was much less than what Hermione suspected was accurate, but Hermione wasn't about to challenge her on it. Crookshanks had calmed and was rubbing his head against Hermione again, and Hermione looked down at him, already fond. She paid for the rat tonic for Ron, too, before asking Crookshanks to please get into his new carrier basket, as it would keep him safe in the alley until she could let him out in her room.

The witch looked at her as if she were mad, but Crookshanks primly got up and sauntered into the basket, tail aloft in the air, before settling into it. Hermione grinned and closed it up, thanking the witch promptly before leaving the shop to look for Harry and Ron.

She eventually found them near Quality Quidditch Supplies. Scabbers had apparently taken refuge under a wastepaper bin, and he was trembling as Ron stuffed him back into his pocket.

"I got your rat tonic," Hermione said, offering Ron the small bottle.

"Good," Ron said moodily. "He'll need it more than ever, now, nearly getting killed by that crazy cat…"

Hermione decided not to mention her own acquisition from the Menagerie just yet, and when Harry looked at her questioningly, his green eyes going to her basket, she shook her head silently, touching a finger to her lips. Harry's eyes widened, but he had the good sense not to say a word.

At the Leaky Cauldron, Mr. Weasley was sitting at the bar, reading the Daily Prophet, looking very freckled as well. Harry and Ron went up to him, and Hermione made a quick detour to her room, letting Crookshanks out to explore while depositing all her other bags, before heading back downstairs. Mr. Weasley was talking to Harry and Ron about Sirius Black, she could hear – something about how he wasn't about to be caught by thirteen-year-old wizards, but by the guards at Azkaban, which made Hermione roll her eyes.

Gryffindors. Honestly. Her mother was lucky she'd been in Slytherin; she'd undoubtedly have a heart attack with all the unnecessary adventures she'd be hearing about if she'd had a daughter in Gryffindor.

Mrs. Weasley entered the bar at that moment, laden with shopping bags and followed by Fred, George, Ginny, and Percy, who wore a gleaming Head Boy badge from his robes.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, hurrying over to help Mrs. Weasley with her bags, who shot her a grateful look. "You made Head Boy, Percy?"

"I did." Percy drew himself up, proud. "And while some people—"

"Congratulations," Hermione told him, meaning it. "That's quite the accomplishment. Are you excited?"

Percy looked thrown for a moment, then confused.

"Y-you're not going to comment?" he said.

"Err…" Hermione blinked. "I rather thought I just did."

Percy looked at her another long moment, puzzled, before seeming to dismiss whatever issue he was having with aplomb.

"I'm quite proud, but I'm not sure excited is the right word for it," he told her seriously. "It's a lot of responsibility, as you know. And with Sirius Black being loose this year, I'm sure Dumbledore will be leaning on the Head Boy and Girl heavier than ever. While I'm not sure if Miss Rince is up for the challenge, I'm quite ready to—"

"Oh!" exclaimed Hermione, clapping her hands. "Jade got Head Girl?"

Percy blinked.

"Ah, yes, she did," Percy said. "I forgot, you're in Slytherin, aren't you?"

His tone of voice belied that he was being genuine, though Hermione would never have believed it, coming from any other one of the Weasleys.

"I am," she said. "Jade Rince is one of our prefects."

"I haven't worked with her very much," Percy admitted. "Prefect rotations have usually been careful to separate Gryffindors and Slytherins from collaborating too much – there have been conflict issues in the past, apparently. But I think that Dumbledore is putting both of us up as examples of responsibility to strive to is a good sign. It shows a confidence in us that we'll be able to help unite the school through these trying times—"

It was very, very apparent that Percy did not know Jade, if he was anticipating her going along with being an example of responsibility and acting as a role model to anyone but the most ambitious of students.

"I wish you all the luck in the world," Hermione told him honestly. "And congratulations, again. Really."

"Your girlfriend didn't get Head Girl, Percy?" Fred Weasley came up next to Percy, his face one of mock-horror. "However will you survive being apart from her?"

"You must endure these trying times together," George advised him wisely, appearing over Percy's other shoulder. "And you must comfort her at her sad loss."

Percy's ears turned pink.

"Not that it's any of your business," he said stiffly, "but Penelope's in her sixth year."

He walked away to go say hello to Harry, greeting him with a pompous handshake, while Hermione smirked and shook her head.

"You shouldn't antagonize him so," she admonished, smirking. "If you leave him alone, he's more apt to leave you alone, you know."

Fred and George grinned at her.

"Hermione, you're an only child," George said. "So I don't know if you quite realize—"

"—it is our solemn duty as brothers to torment our siblings," Fred said, nodding wisely. "A very serious responsibility."

"Why, without us, Percy might not realize he has a tragically big head," George sighed, shaking his head in shame.

"Ron might not realize he's a bit dim when it comes to people—"

"Charlie might not have realized he's an absolute idiot as soon as an animal gets involved—"

"Ginny might have no idea she looks like a stick set on fire if she forgets to brush her hair—"

Hermione was laughing.

"I'll have to take your word for it, I suppose," she conceded. She gave them both an evaluating look. "I have a proposition for you later, though, if you're up for talking later?"

Fred and George's eyes gleamed.

"A proposition, you say?" Fred said, rubbing his hands together. "Would this be a business proposition, by any chance?"

Hermione blinked. "What else could it be?"

George sighed dramatically, holding the back of one hand to his forehead as if he were going to faint.

"See how she spurns me, Gred?" he said. "So cold. So cruel."

Hermione rolled her eyes and ignored him.

"My Dad gave me a book of magical items that muggles have made up," she said. "Some of them are fairly basic and boring, but some of them have great potential to be actual magical items with a variety of mischievous uses, if one were pranking-inclined."

The twins looked curious and interested.

"This is a muggle book?" George said. "They make things up about magic?"

"What would you get out of this, little Miss Slytherin?" Fred said shrewdly. "If you're just kindly loaning us your book so we can make fantastic things…"

Hermione smiled at him sweetly.

"Well, I imagine you'll need someone to give you feedback on your early models," she said. "Someone you might be so grateful to, you let her keep a copy of whatever you make for free."

Fred started laughing.

"Trust a Slytherin to take ruthless advantage," he said, but he didn't seem upset. "Alright. We'll come up later and take a look at your silly book."

"But no promises," George warned her. "If it's full of stupid ideas because muggles know nothing about magic, we reserve the right to mock you relentlessly for it for the rest of the year."

Hermione grinned. "Agreed."

Chapter Text

Dinner was enjoyable, to Hermione's surprise. Tom the innkeeper put three tables together in the parlor, where Harry, Hermione, and the seven Weasleys ate their way through five delicious courses. Hermione was surprised to learn the Weasleys would be spending the night at the Leaky Cauldron as well.

"Just easier, really," Mr. Weasley said. "We can all leave for King's Cross from here together in the morning. The Ministry's providing a couple of cars."

All the Weasley children looked up in surprise to look at Mr. Weasley, while Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance.

"Why?" Percy asked curiously.

"It's because of you, Perce," George said seriously. "And there'll be little flags on the hoods, with HB on them—"

"—for Humongous Bighead," said Fred.

Everyone save Hermione, Percy, and Mrs. Weasley snorted into their pudding, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Why is the Ministry providing cars, Father?" Percy asked, keeping his voice very dignified.

"Well, as we haven't got one anymore," Mr. Weasley said, "and seeing as I work there, they're doing me a bit of a favor—"

His voice was casual, but Mr. Weasley's ears had gone red, like Ron's did under pressure, and Hermione looked at Harry meaningfully, who nodded shortly, his mouth grave. It was plausible that the Ministry was just being nice to the Weasleys, sure. It was more plausible that they had agreed to send the cars if the Weasleys would chaperone Harry safely to the station.

Later that night, as Hermione was packing her new school things up and readying herself for bed, there was a knock on her door. To her surprise, it wasn't the Weasley Twins at all - it was Harry, looking disturbed.

"Can I come in?" he said. "I just heard something, and I wanted to— is that that cat?"

Harry was staring at Crookshanks, who had sprawled himself over Hermione's bed, looking very smug, and Hermione ushered Harry in and closed the door behind him.

"Ron'll have a cow, you realize," Harry said, but he looked amused now. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Ron can get over himself and realize that the world does not revolve around him," she said primly. "Besides, Crookshanks will be downstairs in the Slytherin dormitory with me. Ron will never even have to see him."

Harry shrugged at this. He plopped down on the bed next to Crookshanks, who carefully sniffed at his hand before settling back down, ignoring him, which Harry seemed just fine with. He stayed quiet for a moment, just watching Hermione packing up her new books.

"I overheard Mr. and Mrs. Weasley talking," he said finally. "In their room. About Sirius Black."

Hermione glanced over at Harry. "Oh?"

"Yeah…"

His voice subdued, Harry related all he had overheard from the Weasleys to Hermione, how not only was the Ministry not any closer to catching Black, but how they were sure Sirius Black was after Harry.

"Apparently, Black was talking in his sleep for a while before he escaped," Harry said. "He kept saying 'he's at Hogwarts, he's at Hogwarts'. Mr. Weasley reckons that Black is deranged, and that he thinks murdering me will bring Voldemort back to power."

Harry looked moody, scowling at the floor. Hermione bit her lip, weighing her options carefully, before she went over and sat down next to Harry. She reached over, taking his hand in hers, and she squeezed.

"You do realize how ridiculous that is, right?" she said gently, and Harry's eyes flew up to hers.

"What? How?" Harry wanted to know. "Everyone thinks Black is after me. Even Fudge said—"

"Not that," Hermione said. "But the rest of it. There's no way Black thinks murdering you will bring back Voldemort."

Harry paused for a moment. "Why not?"

"Because Dark magic doesn't work that way," Hermione said patiently. "No magic works that way, really."

Harry gave Hermione an odd look.

"What do you think Black's doing, then?" he asked, and Hermione shrugged.

"Oh, no, I think he's probably coming after you, but just in revenge," she said. "But a deranged madman bent on revenge is a lot easier to defeat than a thoughtful, methodical killer intending on resurrecting someone." She gave him a twisted smile. "If Black is smart, he'd listen to rumors and go after Voldemort's shade himself, wherever he flew off to after leaving Quirrell to die. He'd have to try and help him find a new body, but that'd be the quickest way to actually get Voldemort back to a position where he could try and re accumulate all the power he lost all those years ago."

"He could do that?" Harry asked, blinking. "He could actually get another body?"

"You know that's possible, Harry," Hermione said gently. "Tom's said as much. It's not so much a matter of 'if' but a matter of 'when'. It's only a matter of time."

"Why hasn't he done it, then?" Harry said moodily. "If he can just get a new body and come and off me, why doesn't he just get on with it—"

"I never said it was easy to get a new body," Hermione countered. "And remember – Voldemort's barely even a ghost at this point. He had Quirrell helping him to try and get the Elixir of Life. He's going to have to find someone else to help him again this time. And even if Black does find him to help him, these things take time. It's not as simple as just Frankensteining a new body together and possessing it."

Harry started to snigger. Hermione gave him a skeptical look, but Harry's eyes were glinting.

"Can you imagine, though?" he said, his voice low. "The new and improved Voldemort, seven feet tall with bolts on his neck, but absolutely terrified by fire?"

Hermione started laughing.

"It was quite different in the book," she protested. "The monster was intelligent, there, and he—"

"Merlin, what if it went even worse?" Harry said. "What if he ended up like the monster in Young Frankenstein? Just moaning and groaning around?"

Despite herself, Hermione started giggling.

"That'd be brilliant," Hermione said, grinning. "Oh, can you imagine the Death Eaters? Having to follow him?

Harry laughed even harder. "They'd be all 'how are we going to take over the world, my lord?', and all he'd do is groan and demand they bring him soup!"

This went on for a while, their suggestions growing more and more ridiculous. As their giggles finally began to subside, Harry looked at Hermione fondly.

"I really appreciate you being honest with me, you know," he told her. "The Weasleys are trying to protect me by not telling me anything, like I'm too young to hear about it."

"Of course," Hermione dismissed. "You can't be expected to make educated decisions without the facts."

"Still." Harry's smile was faint. "You were even honest with me about the body thing, and about Black coming after me, even though it's kind of scary."

Hermione snorted.

"Harry," she said. "Let me reiterate: Voldemort coming back would be very bad. It's probably inevitable, but it will be very bad. But Black?" She scoffed, shaking her head. "He's been in Azkaban, getting his magic drained for twelve years. You're going to be safely ensconced in Hogwarts with your coven, all of whom will be able to know immediately if you're in danger, who will come and help defend you."

Harry looked at her. "Really?"

"Well, as fast as we could," Hermione allowed. "If you're on the seventh floor and Blaise and I are in the dungeons, it's going to take a couple minutes. But if you were able to hold off Voldemort and Quirrell for several minutes when you were eleven, surely you can stall an insane Dark wizard without a wand for a few?"

Harry started to grin.

"You're somehow very cynical while still being very encouraging," he told her, laughing. He looked at her, his eyes alight. "Alright. If Black comes after me, he comes after me. I won't worry about it, but I won't shy from the possibility of it being a thing, either." He paused. "I wonder if Luna would know. She knows things, sometimes."

"We can sit with her on the train tomorrow, if you like," Hermione suggested, and Harry's smile was warm.

"That'd be great," he said honestly. "Ron can catch up with Neville and Dean and Seamus and tell them all about Egypt."

"Then it's a plan," Hermione said, smiling. "But you should go now, Harry. It's getting late."

Harry laughed and hugged Hermione tightly before he left.

"You're a great friend, you know?" he told her. "I'm really glad we're friends, Hermione."

"Likewise, Harry," Hermione said, smoothing his hair off his forehead. "Now, go get ready in your room. I'll see you shortly."

Rolling his eyes with a grin, Harry went, and Hermione closed the door after him, turning around to look at her trunk thoughtfully. After a moment, she went and opened it, digging through it until she found a familiar, slim black book she'd hidden in a set of rarely-worn robes, also pulling out a quill and pot of ink before settling down onto her bed.

Tom, she wrote. Do you think Voldemort had contingency plans for if he fell? Did you?

A pleasure to hear from you as always, Hermione, Tom wrote back. What kind of contingency plan do you mean?

If he 'died', for how his followers could bring him back, Hermione explained. As a Plan B if he were ever defeated.

Tom's reply was slow and thoughtful.

I would doubt it, he responded. I think seeming immortal and unvanquishable was probably more important to him than letting anyone in on his secrets, even if he had a Plan B himself.

Do you think an escaped Death Eater would be more likely to try and get revenge or try and find Voldemort to resurrect him? Hermione asked.

Well, Tom wrote wryly, there are still plenty of Death Eaters walking free, aren't there? And they're hardly going after their old master. They're too busy hiding his old school things in their enemies' books. I'd put my money on revenge – that's a lot easier to achieve, and a lot more immediately rewarding, I'd suspect.

Though his words weren't particularly optimistic for Harry's outlook, Hermione was at least reassured that until Voldemort had a follower actively trying to help him, she wouldn't have to worry about him for a while, allowing her and her friends to focus exclusively on Black.

"Someday, my life won't be so complicated," Hermione told Crookshanks, who yowled when she made him move over on the bed. "Someday, I will be busy with adult things and decisions, and I won't be busy worrying if evil men are coming to kill my friends."

Crookshanks huffed, settling back down, and Hermione contented herself with stroking his soft fur as she contemplated.

At half past eleven, the door to Hermione's room eased open, and Hermione slipped out, very quiet. She was wearing black silk robes lined in purple, and there was a bag slung over her shoulder.

She carefully padded down the hall to Harry's room. She had only to tap lightly on his door twice with a knuckle before the door was opened, Harry's eyes and hair wild.

"Is it time?" he whispered.

"It's time," Hermione whispered back. "C'mon."

Harry followed Hermione out, both teens moving as silently as they could through the Leaky Cauldron. There was still some noise by the bar, and Hermione desperately hoped that whomever it was, it was none of the Weasleys. She would dread for them to find out what they were up to right now.

Miraculously, they made it unseen to the Floo. With a whisper of "Lovegood House," she and Harry were sent whirling through the Floo Network to spill out on Luna's floor. Luna was there waiting for them, eyes alight.

"Tracey and Millie are here," she told Hermione, her eyes bright with mischief. "They are not pleased with you, me, or all the mystery around why they're here at all."

Hermione groaned.

"I'll deal with them," she sighed. "Are we the last ones?"

"Yep," Luna said cheerfully, popping the 'p'. "Let's go."

Hermione and Harry followed Luna outside, and the night was bright, the moon big and full. There were other people waiting near the tree line. Hermione could see that Susan and Blaise had worn their ritual robes as well, while it looked like Tracey had come in her pajamas.

When the rustle of their movement through the tall grass caught their attention, Tracey whirled on Hermione.

"Hermione!" she demanded, though she kept her voice down. "What is this all about? You said it was a matter of dire emergency, but Blaise and Susan seem to think we'll be doing a ritual—"

"We are," Hermione interrupted. "We're cheating. It could help save our lives."

Tracey cut off, looking at Hermione with big eyes. Millie stepped forward, eyes narrowed.

"Ritual magic is dangerous, Hermione," she said, her tone sharp. "Whatever ritual you intend for us to do to save our lives might risk our lives in the process." Her eyes were hard, glinting in the dark and moonlight. "Why should we go along with this?"

Susan and Blaise had come closer, listening. Hermione took a deep breath.

"This is a ritual that makes an Occlumency barrier in your mind," she told the group. "It's performed in pairs. Each of you will make a reflective barrier with your magic in your partner's mind, and it will protect your partner's mind from being invaded against their will."

"Oh, excellent," Harry said emphatically. "No more lessons with Snape, yeah?"

Susan shot Harry a look, nudging him towards Tracey and Millie, but the two Slytherin girls had gone pale.

"Dumbledore," Tracey murmured, her eyes wide. "He's a Legilimens, isn't he?"

"He is," Millie confirmed grimly. "It's been documented in court."

"I've done this ritual before," Hermione told Millie. "I've done it before, and it works. It's tested, and so long as you listen to me, it will be safe. I promise."

The two girls exchanged a long, dubious look, but in the end they nodded.

"Okay," Tracey said, taking a deep breath. "What do we need to do?"

The ritual circle was one of her more complicated ones. Together, the group burned away a lot of the dried grass to make a large circle. Hermione dragged a stick through the ground to mark out the lines of the circle, inner circles, and triangles and lines, as well as the protective runes in the outer ring.

"I think I only have enough supplies for one of these," Hermione said, pulling out a bag of powered silver, "so we'll have to take turns, yeah?"

The others watched and helped as Hermione walked around the border of the circle putting down the powdered silver, carefully, making sure there were no gaps. The silver gleamed in the light of the full moon, and Hermione shivered with something felt terribly like déjà vu.

"Put these fire seeds in the semi-circles?" Hermione asked Blaise. "The seax and the mirror go in the center."

Blaise obeyed without a word.

"Who wants to go first?" Hermione asked.

Harry and Susan both stepped forward, glancing at each other, and Hermione nodded.

"I need you to sit down into the inner circles," she instructed. "Careful, now – don't disturb the silver. Be mindful of how you arrange your robes."

While they sat down carefully, Hermione withdrew a small cauldron of liquid silver. She carefully spilled small amounts of it in smaller circles inside the larger one, casting air containment charms as quickly as she could. Harry watched with interest, but Susan's eyes had gone wide, seeing what Hermione had done.

"You are both going to invoke your magic," Hermione told them. "You will need to channel it through the veins of the circle, past the liquid silver, and over the mirror. The goal is for your magic to take on the reflective qualities of the silver and the mirror before it reaches your partner."

Harry and Susan nodded, looking at each other.

"After your magic is ready, you will cut your hands and clasp them together," Hermione instructed, "blood touching blood. This will give your magic the path it needs to shield your partner's mind."

Tracey and Millie looked sickened, but Harry and Susan just listened. Blood in rituals didn't really phase them at this point, Hermione figured.

"When one of you decides you've transferred enough magic to the other and can feel your magic reserves running low, that person must pull back with their magic, back through the circle to themself, do you understand?" Hermione said sharply. "And when the other feels this happen, they must also pull back and follow suit. If you don't, you could end up foolishly drained of magic, passed out, and risk ruining the entire ritual. Do you understand?"

Harry and Susan both nodded, wide-eyed. From the side, Blaise began to snort into his robes, hiding his laughter, and Tracey turned to question him. Hermione ignored them both.

"Are you ready?" Hermione ask them. "I'll give you the incantations you need at the proper time."

"Ready," said Harry.

"Ready," Susan said firmly.

Hermione nodded to them both. "Then let us begin."

It was odd, watching the ritual from the outside. She gave them the chant to help raise their magic and flow into the circle lines, and soon Harry and Susan's voices blended together as their magic stretched out. Hermione couldn't feel it, like she could when she had done this ritual herself, but as they did, the silver of the ritual circle lines lit up brilliantly, gradually expanding before pausing at the center of the two circles.

"Take the knife," Hermione instructed. "Repeat: 'With this cut, I freely bleed. May my magic protect you in time of need'."

Harry cut himself and recited the couplet dutifully, followed by Susan, who then carefully set the dagger aside.

"When you're ready," Hermione murmured, "clasp your hands, and let your magic go."

Harry looked at Susan, pausing, before they grabbed the other's hand, blood touching blood.

Immediately, a sort of opaque, mirror-y bubble arose over them from the ritual circle lines, invoked by the protection runes, and a whirling wind could be heard inside of the circle. Hermione had never realized that a bubble had formed over her during the ritual – she'd been too busy doing the ritual, she supposed, and trying to stop Draco from killing himself…

She held her breath, watching with wide eyes.

Thankfully, neither Harry nor Susan were idiots. After only a few minutes, the shimmery bubble slowly came down, both Harry and Susan panting, cradling their cut hands to their chests.

"That was wicked," Harry said, grinning. His eyes were a bit wild. "Was that Susan's mind?"

"A construct of it, yes," Hermione said, helping Susan stand up. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Susan said, though she was a bit breathless. "So that—Harry's magic is now protecting my mind from Legilimency?"

"Whenever someone attempts it, Harry will know," Hermione told her, "and his magic will stop it. Same for him – if someone tries to read his thoughts, you will suddenly know, and your magic will protect him."

"Excellent," Susan said. "I'm just—ah—I'm going to sit down over here."

Hermione healed Harry's and Susan's hands as Blaise and Luna carefully stepped into the ritual circles. She carefully poured more liquid silver into the necessary circles and cast the air containment charm – the previous amount had been used up in Harry and Susan's ritual.

"You might need to be careful, Blaise," Luna told him seriously. "If you are going into my mind, make sure you stay tethered to yourself and don't wander off and get lost."

Blaise looked startled, thrown by the seriousness in her voice. "I'll be careful, then."

The ritual worked beautifully with Blaise and Luna as well, their resonating voices quickly finding harmony, and the shiny bubble rising over them as they clasped bleeding hands. The bubble remained in place for almost five minutes before it gradually came down, Blaise panting while Luna looked calm.

"I think we're good, Hermione," Luna said, standing up on her own. She looked at Blaise. "Are you okay?"

"You—" Blaise broke off, trying to catch his breath, and looked up at her in wonder. "Luna—your mind—what was that—?"

"No idea," Luna said breezily, stepping out of the circle. "Come on, it's Tracey and Millie's turn next, and I'm sure they want to go to bed."

Hermione turned to look at Tracey and Millicent. They had watched both coven pairs go before them and seen it work successfully twice now, though they still had wariness in their eyes.

"It's your call if you want to do this or not," Hermione told them quietly. "But… given what we all know, and the events of last year…"

"I'll do it," Millie said abruptly. She grabbed Tracey's wrist, tugging. "Come on. Better safe than sorry."

Tracey squealed a bit as she was dragged toward the circle, but she was willing enough as she and Millie carefully stepped inside.

"I'll guide you," Hermione assured them. "This is not Dark magic. If you follow my instructions, everything will be fine, okay?"

"Let's just get this over with," Tracey groused. "I want to go to bed."

Hermione put the last of her liquid silver into the inner circles, draining the last of the mercury onto the ground and casting quick air containment charms. "If you're ready, then."

Tracey and Millie's chant took a while to begin to resonate together, and the lines of the circle were slow to light up this time. Hermione was unsurprised – Tracey and Millie hadn't needed to call directly on their magic like this before, she suspected. Their magic slowly lit up the lines of powdered silver, and when the entire circle was finally glowing, both Tracey and Millie seemed somewhat out of breath.

"Take the knife," Hermione instructed gently. "Repeat after me…"

Tracey gave the incantation and cut her hand, handing the knife to Millie, who followed suit with a grimace.

"Get ready," Hermione warned them. "Don't forget – pull back when you feel your power running out, do you understand? Then—on three, two, one—"

The two Slytherin girls clasped hands, and both of them gasped sharply, eyes flying open wide as the shiny bubble formed and covered them.

"Their eyes opened," Susan said, alarmed. "Why did their eyes fly open? Mine were closed the whole time."

"I don't know," Hermione said, uneasy. "It's—there's nothing about open or closed eyes in the ritual, only the mental construct visualizations, so—"

"Nothing we can do now but wait and see," Blaise said grimly. "They did everything else the same – hopefully they were just startled by the magic of it all."

The coven watched the reflective bubble steadily while Tracey and Millie completed their ritual inside of it unseen, the light of the full moonlight glittering off the shield brilliantly. Luckily, theirs did not last long, only about two minutes, and when their bubble came down, both girls were panting, their eyes wild.

"We did it, I think," Tracey said breathlessly. "Millie's mind – I put up a barrier, I think—"

"If it didn't work, I'm not trying that again," Millie groaned, rubbing her temples. "What a trip. Magic shouldn't be like that, urgh."

Despite their grousing, Hermione looked around at her friends with a sense of satisfaction.

Dumbledore couldn't read their minds, now, nor Snape, nor anyone, for that matter. Her friends were shielded; they were protected from Legilimens trying to break into their memories. They were all safe, now.

As were her secrets that they carried in their heads.

Chapter Text

The next morning began with a light breakfast with the Weasleys and Harry, as there were just so many of them, and it'd be rude to ignore them and eat alone. Mr. Weasley was reading the Daily Prophet with a furrowed brow, while Mrs. Weasley was talking quietly to Ginny, who was giggling, Fred and George eavesdropping with a speculative look in their eyes. Hermione contented herself with ignoring them all, stealing a section from Mr. Weasley's newspaper, opening it to the crossword, and setting it down between her and Harry as she ate. Harry seemed amused, occasionally murmuring things and pointing at things for her to fill in. He seemed perfectly content with ignoring everyone else, which Hermione didn't blame him for; Ron and Percy both seemed to be in a dark mood.

After breakfast, they all heaved their trunks down the narrow staircase to pile them up near the door. Hermione was frustrated by this limitation; now that there were magical adults actively watching her, she couldn't just magic her trunks to float behind her. She had to enlist the help of the twins to lug all of her trunks down the stairs in the end – books were very heavy.

Outside of the Leaky Cauldron on the muggle side were two old-fashioned dark green cars, each driven by a furtive-looking wizard wearing a suit of emerald velvet. Hermione had to stifle a snicker at the sight of them, and Harry exchanged an amused glance with her, even though Mr. Weasley was ushering him along.

"In you get, Harry," he said, glancing around.

Hermione wondered if Mr. Weasley really expected Sirius Black to materialize out of nowhere and suddenly attack.

Hermione got into the car with Harry. Percy and Ron joined them, both of them still in a very bad mood. Hermione wisely opted to say nothing, instead watching the route the cars took to get to the station and wondering which department of the Ministry had wizards who knew enough about the muggle world to know the traffic laws but not know how to dress.

They reached King's Cross with twenty minutes to spare, and the Ministry's drivers efficiently found them trolleys, unloaded the trunks, and saluted, before quickly driving away. While the Weasleys were all organizing, making sure they had everything, Hermione took her chance, going through the barrier before the rest of them.

Noise and the smell of a steam engine immediately assaulted her as she fell through, and to her relief, there were people everywhere, loading trunks and swarming around. She was lucky to find Jade near one of the entrances to the train, instructing people to get on quickly, and she carted her trolley over.

"Head Girl!" she said, beaming. "Congratulations, Jade!"

Jade looked surprised for a moment, then amused.

"'Course you know first somehow, Granger," she said. She looked at her appraisingly. "Well? Get on with it."

She waved her hand carelessly, which was enough for Hermione, who now had plausible deniability that a seventh year had magically helped her with her trunks. With a gesture and a thought, all three trunks and cat basket rose off of the trolley and floated behind her, following her into the train. The levitation drained her magic more quickly than Hermione had thought it would, to her surprise, but she supposed the trunks were very heavy, after all. Still, she found an empty space on the luggage racks and quickly stored her things away, grabbing only her cat basket to take with her as she looked for a compartment.

"Hermione!"

Hermione turned to see Luna, who was beaming at her, carrot earrings dangling.

"I found the compartment for us and Harry," she told her. "It's all the way down at the end of the train."

"That's excellent," Hermione said, smiling. "Though… I still haven't seen Harry actually get on yet."

Luna shrugged. "We can wait."

Harry, as it turned out, nearly missed the train, having to make a running leap for it after it had started pulling out, Ron helping tug him in. Hermione and Luna witnessed it, hanging in the hallway as they were; Harry was panting and looked frustrated, while Ron looked confused.

"Harry?" Hermione said mildly.

Harry looked up, gratitude in his eyes when he saw her and Luna hovering in the background.

"D'you want to go find Seamus and Dean?" Harry said to Ron. "I have something I want to take care of…"

Ron shrugged and wandered off, and it was with obvious relief Harry followed them to the back of the train.

The compartment Luna led them to had only one occupant, a man sitting fast asleep next to the window. He was wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard's robes that had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted, and though he was still quite young, his light brown hair was flecked with gray. For a moment, Hermione wondered incredulously if Dumbledore had hired a hedgewitch to teach them Defense Against the Dark Arts until she saw his wand at his hip, stored in a very worn sheath.

"Who's this?" Harry asked quietly.

"Professor R. J. Lupin," Luna said.

Harry turned to her with a grin.

"Do you just know everything, Luna?" he teased.

Luna was amused.

"Sometimes," she said. "But this time, it's on his case."

She pointed up at the luggage rack, where a small, battered case was held together with a large quantity of knotted string. Professor R. J. Lupin was stamped on one corner in peeling gold letters, and Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"How would a case possibly get that battered so quickly?" she wanted to know.

"It could be an old case," Harry said. "It looks pretty worn out."

"But it says 'Professor' R. J. Lupin," Hermione emphasized. "The longest he could have possibly known he'd be a professor would be since June. And that's an awful lot of damage to take in three months."

Harry's eyes lit up.

"Well, he is the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, right?" he said. "Maybe he was out fighting the Dark forces over the summer! That could explain it."

Hermione wondered what, exactly, these vague Dark forces that Harry imagined were.

After double-checking to make sure the new professor was asleep, Harry turned to Hermione and Luna, telling them all about Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's argument, including a warning Mr. Weasley had just given him: not to go looking for Black. Hermione had already heard most of it, so she was able to modulate her expression to not look intimidated or frightened, while Luna's gaze never faltered or changed.

"Going looking for Black would be very inefficient," Luna commented, once Harry was done. "Especially because we'll be at school. That wouldn't be the way to go about that at all."

Harry stared at her. "Are you saying I will go after Black?"

"Oh, no," Luna said, shaking her head. "No. Just that if that becomes your motive at some point, I'm sure we can come up with a better way of handling that than leaving school to chase someone over the countryside. It seems like a very silly way to search for someone."

Harry seemed reassured by Luna's complete unconcern over the matter, seeming to accept it as an omen that it wasn't something to worry about. They settled into chatting about their summers, and Hermione let Crookshanks out of his cat carrier to roam around a bit and stretch his legs. Harry looked down at him, highly amused.

"Ron will flip his lid when he finds out, you know," he told her.

Hermione tossed her hair. "Bully for Ron. He's my cat, not his."

Crookshanks seemed wary of the new professor, preferring to stay away from him and lurk near the door as their furry guard. Any time Professor Lupin stirred in his sleep, Crookshanks sat up very straight, alert, only gradually settling back down each time, his eyes still on the professor.

"Better hope he doesn't claw him, too," Harry remarked. "Great first impression to make, really."

The Hogwarts Express moved steadily north and the scenery outside the window became wilder and darker while the clouds overhead thickened. Harry seemed perfectly content to not go look for Ron or any of the others, and Hermione didn't quite feel like looking for Blaise and Tracey and Millie yet either. Luna cast a knowing eye on Hermione when the topic came up, a slight smile playing on her lips.

"Suspect Blaise will know something you rather he not?" she teased.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said primly.

"Not worried he'll ask about your holiday in France?" Luna said slyly, and Hermione flushed. Harry turned back to them from the window.

"Your holiday in France?" he said. "Why? Did something happen?"

Luna's smile widened, and Hermione glared at her.

"I made a friend in France," Hermione admitted. "A witch, from Beauxbatons. Luna suspects Blaise will tease me about it."

"For making a friend?" Harry was confused. "Are friends from other schools not allowed? Is this one of those Slytherin things?"

"Partially," Luna said. "Blaise will want to tease Hermione to evaluate how much of a threat he judges Hermione's new friend to be, and store that knowledge away. Hermione will want Blaise to know none of it, as she's very private, and she certainly doesn't want Blaise to realize she got a parting gift from her new friend."

Harry blinked.

"It's not like you're going to ditch us all for a new friend in France, right?" he asked. When Hermione shook her head, he scoffed. "Sounds like Zabini's all paranoid over nothing, then," he said decisively. "Sometimes I think Slytherins get too in their own heads."

The plump witch with the food cart arrived at the compartment door at one o'clock, Harry gladly buying them all Cauldron Cakes to munch on for lunch. He glanced at the new professor.

"Should we wake him up?" he asked awkwardly. "He might be hungry."

"Don't worry, dear," the witch assured him. "If he's hungry when he wakes, I'll be up front with the driver."

After the witch left, Harry shared with Hermione and Luna his progress with flying he'd made over the summer, keeping his voice low so the new professor couldn't overhear.

"I couldn't practice much after Fudge moved me to Diagon Alley," he said reluctantly. "But before that, it was great! I could really sense the air moving around me and where best to turn, and when I fell off of my broom on purpose, I fell really slowly, like I wasn't really falling at all!"

"Gliding," Hermione said, pleased. She nodded. "That was one of the first things I got the hang of, too. It's much easier than actually controlling going up, instead just helping you go down safely, floating on the breeze."

"Excellent," Harry said, satisfied. "Now if Malfoy shoves me off my broom, I can be reassured that I won't just go splat."

Hermione paused.

"…are there no safety mechanics in Quidditch?" she asked, curious. "No Feather-Falling Charm on the pitch or anything?"

Harry shrugged. "Not that I know of. Best safety mechanic is just 'don't fall off your broom'."

Hermione felt reassured once more that her choice to avoid brooms entirely and learn how to fly on her own had been a very smart choice to make.

Midafternoon came with rain, blurring the rolling hills outside their window. Shortly after the rain began, Hermione heard footsteps in the corridor, and soon after that Draco Malfoy appeared, flanked by Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

Draco stopped in the doorway, his mouth hanging slightly open for a moment, before it snapped shut. He finally nodded around the compartment, greeting them.

"Good to see you, Hermione," he said, nodding to her. "You as well, Luna." He paused. "Potter."

"Malfoy," Harry said shortly. He had folded his arms, and Hermione was amused that Draco didn't seem to know if he should start mouthing off at Harry or if he wanted to talk to Hermione. Draco eventually seemed to side on the nicer side, after a canny look at the new professor nearby, which was probably smart – she imagined a fight between Draco and Harry would escalate to raised voices, fast.

"I heard you got a contract proposal over the summer, Hermione," Draco said. His silvery eyes met hers. "Is that true?"

Hermione leaned back and thunked her head against the wall of the train with a groan.

"Technically, I think it's more someone tried to arrange a betrothal contract," she said, rubbing her temples.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "'Tried'?"

"My father was the one who people were sending the owls to," Hermione said. She shrugged, helpless. "I mean, I know that this is a new thing, but my father is a muggle. I can't imagine they thought he would possibly know how to respond, or even that he could respond."

Draco's brow was furrowed. "So what happened?"

"Nothing," Hermione said. "He laughed at them and threw them out, commenting that he wasn't about to sell me off to someone in a world he didn't know. He figured that the senders would eventually realize that as a muggle, he either couldn't receive owls or he didn't know how to reply to them." She paused. "He does, of course, as he's not an idiot, but he's perfectly content with me arranging my own potential contracts and the like."

"Your own?" Draco's mind seemed boggled by this. "What do you mean, 'your own'?"

"Well, Hermione's the first of her House, isn't she?" Harry said pointedly, joining the conversation. "There's not exactly anyone else to go to, right?"

Draco gave Harry a level look, evaluating, before glancing back at Hermione.

"I mean, he's right," Hermione said, biting her lip. "A muggle can't enter into a binding magical contract with a wizard."

A smirk was spreading across Draco's face.

"So you weren't just snubbing Nott?" he said. "Damn. Theo was all torn up about it, once he found out his father had owled to make an arrangement for you."

Draco looked amused, and Hermione groaned.

"What was his father thinking, petitioning a muggle?" she wanted to know. "Thoros Nott, contacting my father, a bleeding muggle…"

Draco paused.

"Careful, there," he said, his voice neutral. "There's no reason to believe that Theo's Dad wouldn't be able to interact with muggles normally."

Hermione shot Draco an incredulous look.

"Sure," she said, sarcasm dripping from her tone. "Just like your father wouldn't have any issue doing the same, right?"

Draco squirmed, uncomfortable.

"I mean, my father's a well-learned man," he defended. "He knows perfectly well how to communicate with muggles…"

Hermione just looked at him, and Draco faltered.

"Anyway. Good to know that you didn't accept anything, at least," he said, turning to go. "MacMillan and Goldstein will have to get over themselves over their courting requests, then. They both thought you'd spurned them." He smirked. "Though, you should spurn them, really. But make sure you do it somewhere I can watch."

"Bye, Draco," Hermione said, annoyed, and Draco laughed as he went back down the corridor, Crabbe and Goyle following behind.

Hermione fell back against her seat and sighed.

"I didn't even know who the other two were from," she admitted. "I was so thrown by my Dad mentioning the one from Nott I didn't think to ask."

"This is one of those fancy pureblood things, isn't it?" Harry said, frowning. "Do they seriously still do betrothal contracts like medieval times?"

Hermione laughed.

"Oh, Harry," she said fondly. "You would be surprised to learn just how much of wizarding culture here is still stuck in medieval times."

The rain thickened as the train sped yet father north; the windows were now a solid, shimmering gray, which gradually darkened until lanterns flickered to life all along the corridors and over the luggage racks. The train started rattling as the rain hammered, the wind roaring.

"Are we slowing?" Harry asked, confused. "It feels like we're slowing down."

"We can't be there yet," Hermione said, checking the time.

"Then why are we stopping?" Harry wanted to know.

Hermione was watching Luna's face, which had turned grim.

"What's going on, Luna?" Hermione asked, swallowing hard. "What's happening?"

Luna gave her a look, saying nothing, and abruptly all the lamps went out, plunging them into total darkness. Shrieks echoed from down the corridor, and Harry gasped.

"What's going on?" Harry's voice was worried. "D'you think we've broken down?"

"We haven't broken down." Luna's voice held a grim certainty.

Hermione swallowed. "Should we do anything?"

Before anyone had a chance to respond, there was a loud yowl from Crookshanks who had been napping by the door, and Hermione felt him dash by her directly at the new professor. He hissed, yowling, and Hermione heard the sound of his claws.

"Crookshanks! No!"

Abruptly, a hoarse voice joined them.

"Quiet!" the voice said, annoyed.

Professor Lupin appeared to have finally woken up. Hermione could hear movements in his corner. There was a soft, crackling noise, and a shivering light filled the compartment. Professor Lupin appeared to be holding a handful of flames. They illuminated his tired, gray face, but his eyes were sharp and wary.

"Stay where you are," he said, his voice hoarse, and he slowly got to his feet with his handful of fire held out in front of him, moving toward the door.

But the door slid slowly open before Lupin could reach it.

Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Lupin's hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Hermione saw a hand protruding from the cloak, and it was glistening, grayish, slimy-looking and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water.

It was only visible for a split second. As though the creature had sensed her gaze, the hand was suddenly withdrawn into the folds of its black cloak, and then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it was trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings.

An intense cold swept over them all, and Hermione felt her breath catch in her chest; she couldn't breathe, the air was suddenly too cold, and it felt like she was suffocating. The cold sank deeply into her skin, freezing her very heart where it beat—

There was a choking noise as Harry slid out of his seat to the floor, twitching. Luna was holding herself very tightly, her eyes closed, a stark look of determination on her face.

"None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks," Lupin said hoarsely. He pulled out his wand, advancing on the creature in the doorway. "Go."

The creature didn't move, raising its hood to look at Lupin. Anger streaked across Lupin's face, and he made a snappy gesture with his wand, muttering something, and something silver streaked out of his wand at the creature, which quickly turned and glided away. The oppressive cold and dread gradually receded from the compartment as it left, and Hermione found herself taking a shaky breath, though she still shivered, the memory of the cold lingering.

She'd felt like she'd never feel warm or happy again.

After it did, Lupin stayed in the doorway a long moment, watching, and it wasn't until the lanterns came back on and the Hogwarts Express started moving again that he returned to his seat, rummaging in his robes. As soon as he was out of the way, Hermione fell to her knees next to Harry, who looked very cold.

"Harry? Harry!"

Hermione shook Harry, worried. Harry didn't react, so she shook him a little harder, pinching his cheeks.

"Harry! Are you all right?"

"W—what?"

Harry's eyes opened, and Hermione relaxed a little. Harry's eyes seemed confused, and he pushed his glasses back up his nose, wiping some of the cold sweat from his face.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. He looked quickly at the door. "What happened? Where's that—that thing? Who screamed?"

"No one screamed." Luna's voice was eerily calm. Harry pushed himself back up onto the seat, wincing slightly.

"But I heard screaming—" he protested.

A loud snap made all of them jump. Professor Lupin was breaking an enormous slab of chocolate into pieces.

"Here," he said. He handed Harry a particularly large piece. "Eat it. It'll help."

Luna immediately began eating hers, while Harry took the chocolate but didn't eat it.

"What was that thing?" he asked Lupin.

"A dementor," Lupin said, passing out the rest of the chocolate to Hermione and Luna. "One of the dementors of Azkaban."

Hermione's eyes went wide, a cold feeling clutching her throat. Professor Lupin crumpled up the chocolate wrapper and put it in his pocket.

"Eat," he repeated. "It'll help. I need to speak to the driver. Excuse me…"

He pushed past them and disappeared into the corridor. Hermione's eyes were wide, looking from Luna to Harry to Luna once more.

"I don't get it… what happened?" Harry asked, wiping more sweat from his face.

Luna began to explain, her voice flat, detailing how the dementor had just stood in the doorway, what Lupin had said and done. Luna's tone was off, somehow disaffected and emotionless, but Hermione was distracted, her eyes large as she stared at the floor with thoughts racing through her mind.

That was a dementor?

That was so much worse than anything she had ever imagined.

Susan and Luna had said over the summer how they fed on magic and happy memories. Hermione had imagined it like a slow slide into a clinical depression, leaving people weak and apathetic, unable to want to use magic or move. She'd never imagined these horrible cloaked creatures that literally fed off of you as you were right there, sucking out any sense you could ever be happy again…

Professor Lupin came back, pausing and making a quip about how he hadn't poisoned the chocolate. Hermione and Harry both mechanically ate it, and Hermione was surprised to feel some sense of warmth return to her fingers and toes. She ignored the professor as he asked after Harry, too wrapped up in her own head to pay attention.

"That was evil," she murmured. Hermione's eyes met Luna's. "That was pure evil. I could feel it, Luna. I could feel it."

Luna didn't smile. "It was."

Chapter Text

Hermione wasn't sure how she made it off the train and up to the Great Hall. Luna was at her side guiding her, she thought – there was a hand at her elbow, making sure she got onto the carriage alright. Harry split from them and met up with his Gryffindor friends at some point, she thought. It wasn't until she was being handed off from Luna to Blaise, a large, warm hand coming around her arm, that she realized she was in the castle, and she'd been disassociating for a while.

"—okay?" Blaise was asking.

"No," Luna said. "She won't be, not for a while. But she'll improve."

Luna went to her own table, and Blaise looked down at Hermione, concerned.

"Did the dementor get to you, Hermione?" he asked, his eyes worried. "Are you alright?"

Hermione didn't know quite how to describe it. She wasn't still affected by the dementor – the chocolate had helped a lot with that – but the sheer knowledge that such an evil thing existed in the world was a cold hand clenching around her heart, chilling her…

"I'll be okay," she managed finally. "I just—I really didn't like that."

Blaise helped her sit down. Tracey, on her other side, looked worried.

"I heard it went into your compartment," she said anxiously. "I know only Potter fainted, but did it get too close to you?"

"No, no," Hermione said vaguely. "I'll—I'll be fine. I just really need some soup or something to help me warm up."

Blaise and Tracey exchanged a glance, but just then the Sorting Ceremony began, and they turned around to face the front and pay attention. To Hermione's surprise, it was not Professor McGonagall overseeing the ceremony, but Professor Flitwick, who was reading from a long list instead, the scroll nearly as tall as him.

"Ancrum, Roger!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Barrows, Amanda!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Doyle, Mary!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione found it very hard to pay attention, mechanically clapping with those around her when a new Slytherin was sorted into their house, and it was a struggle to keep herself from disassociating entirely again. Her mind just kept dwelling on the awful feeling she'd had around the dementor, how it felt like she'd never be happy again, that nothing in life would ever again bring her joy. It felt like it'd destroyed something within her irrevocably, and she couldn't just go back to her old way of thinking anymore.

She had never been ignorant, Hermione had thought, but somehow she felt shaken, like her innocence had been destroyed. Gone was the wonderful wizarding world with its magical enchantments and spells; instead, there was a world that allowed such Dark creatures to exist, a world that allowed pure evil to feed and grow.

The sorting seemed to go on for quite a bit, finally ending with "Yarrow, Pauline!" (Gryffindor). Before the feast began, Dumbledore stood up to speak, and the whispering around the Great Hall quieted. Hermione tore herself from her thoughts to pay attention.

"Welcome!" said Dumbledore. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get out of the way…"

He cleared his throat before continuing, "As you will be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"No," she breathed, but Dumbledore was continuing on.

"They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds, and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave the school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises or even Invisibility Cloaks." He looked grim. "It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors."

Hermione glanced down the table at Jade, who was sitting up very straight, her eyes serious.

"On a happier note," Dumbledore said, his voice lightening. "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year."

"First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

There was some scattered applause as Professor Lupin stood to acknowledge Dumbledore's words. He looked particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes.

"Look at Snape," Tracey murmured from next to Hermione.

Professor Snape, her Head of House and Potions professor, was staring at Professor Lupin, but Hermione was startled at the expression twisting his thin, sallow face. His lips were tight and thin, his eyes flashing with malice. His expression read as beyond anger already; he was looking at his new coworker with utter loathing.

"Wonder why Snape hates him so much already?" Tracey whispered.

"You don't think it's just because Snape wants the Dark Arts position, do you?" Millie hissed. "He goes for it every year."

"No, Snape must know him," Hermione murmured back. "No one hates someone that much without a reason."

"As to our second new appointment," Dumbledore continued. "Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy time with his remaining limbs."

"Remaining limbs? He only had some remaining?"

Hermione turned to see Draco Malfoy, looking horrified. She stifled a snicker.

"—delighted to say that his place will be filled," Dumbledore was continuing, "by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "What?"

There was an eruption of applause at this, particularly from the Gryffindor table, while Hermione exchanged a look of horror with her classmates. She barely noticed the golden plates and goblets before her suddenly filling with food and drink.

"Hagrid?" Blaise said, stunned. "The one with the illegal dragon a couple years ago, right?"

"What is Dumbledore thinking?" Hermione wanted to know, despairing. "Hagrid wouldn't know student safety if it flew in front of him with wings."

"Explains why we had to get that stupid biting book," Pansy said darkly. "I still have scabs."

Draco in particular looked horrified by this turn of events.

"He never even graduated," he said incredulously. "What kind of credentials does he have? Just 'liking creatures'? Mark my words, this is going to bode very poorly for us all. I'm going to tell my father about this."

"Maybe Dumbledore can't afford another teacher," Tracey suggested. "With Lockhart still on the staff instead of Binns, that's another person to pay. Hagrid might have agreed to it on his regular salary."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "If the finances of Hogwarts are in such dire straits, there are much larger problems than just Hagrid as a teacher…"

She trailed off, realizing something, and groaned.

"I'm going to have to play peacekeeper, aren't I?" she despaired. "Harry and Neville are going to be so excited for Hagrid. And they're Gryffindors – they won't see the danger in this scenario at all."

"Fingers crossed we're paired with the Ravenclaws, then," Tracey said cynically. "They'll be just as worried as we are."

The feast was full of snark about Hagrid as a new teacher, as well as comments on their new Defense teacher as well.

"He looks like he couldn't even afford new robes," Daphne commented, sniffing. "Either he was so broke as to take on a cursed position, or he's not as good at Defense as he should be."

"Did you see how Snape stared at him?" Tracey said. "He was glaring daggers during Dumbledore's whole introduction."

Draco looked thoughtful.

"I don't know anything about Lupin," he said. "But he's kind of young, right? Maybe they were in school together. Or maybe Snape's heard of him before."

The concern around the teachers managed to get Hermione out of her funk about the Dementors, as they all snarked and ranted about other things instead. The food was good, and it was good to see all her classmates again, and Hermione gradually, very gradually, managed to loosen up and relax.

It was good to be back at Hogwarts. As much fun as she'd had over the summer, she had missed this, too.

Before the end of the feast, Snape approached the third years.

"Miss Granger," he said silkily. "A word before you retire, if you please."

Hermione blinked. "Of course, sir."

Snape pulled her off from the rest of the Slytherins as they all filed down into the dungeons. She followed Snape around a turn to his office, sitting down after he let her in.

"I have here," Snape said, "your timetable." He handed her a piece of parchment, his eyes sharp. "Please tell me if you see any problems with it."

Hermione took the paper, looking down at her schedule.

Her schedule looked fairly normal. She was mildly dismayed to see double Potions with the Gryffindors on Thursday afternoons, but the rest looked fairly normal. She looked at her new elective courses – Care of Magical Creatures was once a week on Wednesday mornings, Arithmancy on Monday and Thursday afternoons, and Divination and Ancient Runes were…

"Oh," said Hermione.

Snape's eyes glittered. "Oh, indeed."

Divination and Ancient Runes were both scheduled at the same time, on Monday mornings and Wednesday afternoons. Hermione's eyes flickered up to Snape's.

"Am I the only person who wanted to take both?" she asked.

"You are one of three," Snape informed her. "The other two students switched one of the courses to Arithmancy when approached about it."

Hermione looked at her timetable, swallowing hard.

"As such, I would recommend you choose Divination to drop," Snape said. "Ancient Runes is a more scholastic field, and you would—"

"I can take both, sir," Hermione said suddenly.

Snape stopped. "—I beg your pardon?"

"I can take both," Hermione said, her mind racing. "I can. I have permission from the Minister – I can use it 'to attend all my classes as well as Wizengamot sessions'. This would count as for 'all of my classes'—"

"Miss Granger," Snape said, his tone annoyed. "You will pause and explain what, exactly, you are talking about, now."

Hermione's eyes flitted up to Snape's.

"I got elected British Youth Representative over the summer," she told him.

Snape sneered. "How lovely."

"Thanks," Hermione said, ignoring his sarcasm. "But – because the Wizengamot meets during the day most of the time, the Ministry authorized me to have and use a Time-Turner, so I can go to all my classes as well as the Wizengamot sessions." Her eyes lit up. "And the Minister said all my classes. So I could use it for this, too – I can turn back on Monday mornings and do it over again, to take both courses, and I—"

"A Time-Turner?" Snape's voice was a hiss. "You were given a Time-Turner?"

Hermione paused, looking at her Head of House.

"Umm," she said. "Yes?"

Snape's expression was twisted into one of loathing and disgust. There was barely restrained fury behind his eyes, though not at her – at some injustice, she thought, that she should even have such a thing.

"And the Hufflepuffs before you have just had these, I suppose?" he spat. "To allow them this same privilege?"

"Err—I wouldn't know, sir," Hermione said. She bit her lip. "I mean, if the Youth Representatives are usually from Hufflepuff, I imagine so?"

Snape was scowling. He gave Hermione a hard look, before giving her a grudging look and turning to glare at the wall instead.

"…sir?"

"If the Ministry is willing to authorize Time-Turners to teenagers, for any reason," he said, his voice dark, "I suspect they may have been willing to loan them to Hogwarts for students to double-stack classes before – for students deemed trustworthy."

Hermione blinked. "Really?"

"It would make sense," Snape said grudgingly. "For Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, I believe – I seem to recall a few students with very full schedules over the years. But this… I did not know this was an option." He scowled. "Never before was a Slytherin given an option like this."

Hermione didn't know what to say. If Dumbledore was somehow helping his favorites get Time-Turners to double up on classes, it wasn't like she could particularly do anything about it. Abruptly, Snape's eyes flared, and his lips settled into a sinister smile.

"I know about it now, though," he said, with dark satisfaction. "If I ask directly, perhaps the Headmaster will not be able to deny…" He looked back to Hermione, evaluating her for a moment, before nodding slowly.

"Your schedule will stand as is," he told her. He raised an eyebrow. "I trust you know to be careful with your device?"

"I had to read and sign off on the Ministry safety pamphlet, sir," Hermione told him, and Snape snorted.

"Somehow, I find myself not exactly reassured," he said dryly. "Ministry safety pamphlet…" He rolled his eyes, before looking to her again. "You are dismissed, Miss Granger. Take care that your classmates do not see your timetable."

Hermione stood, nodding rapidly.

"Thank you, sir. Thanks."

Chapter Text

Hermione overslept slightly the next day, chased by dreams of chilling cold shadows that made her teeth chatter and her insides freeze. By the time she got to the Great Hall, most people were already there, and Draco was putting on a bit of a show, swooning and pretending to faint as Harry passed by, Harry's face going red. Annoyed, Hermione went over to join Harry and Neville at the Gryffindor table. She already had her course schedule, so it didn't matter that she wasn't at the Slytherin table this morning.

Harry was scowling at the table when Hermione sat down across from him. The Weasley Twins were talking to him about dementors, seemingly attempting to comfort him.

"They're horrible things, those dementors…" said George.

"Sort of freeze your insides, don't they?" Fred said.

"You didn't pass out, though, did you?" Harry said darkly.

"Forget it, Harry," George dismissed. "Dad had to go out to Azkaban one time, remember, Fred? And he said it was the worst place he'd ever been. He came back all weak and shaking… they suck the happiness out of a place, dementors. Most of the prisoners go mad in there."

"Forgive me is this is a particularly obtuse question to ask," Hermione chimed in. Harry's head shot up, his eyes widening with surprise at seeing her help herself to toast just as normal as could be. "But why do dementors guard Azkaban?"

Neville laughed. "Morning, Hermione," he said cheerily.

Fred and George gave her a funny look.

"Azkaban is the wizard prison, Hermione," George said slowly.

"And they don't want the prisoners to escape," Fred emphasized, "so they guard it."

"I know that," Hermione said, annoyed. "But why, specifically, do dementors guard it? I understand that they need guards, but why not employ people as guards instead?"

Ron blinked at her. "They don't need to. They have dementors."

"But why?" Hermione snapped. "Dementors are evil creatures that suck out happiness. No matter how you look at it, allowing them around people for extended periods of time seems like torture, or cruel and unusual punishment. Why is the Ministry violating the Geneva Conventions, then, if they could just use people?"

"The what…?" Ron looked lost.

"Azkaban has very dangerous criminals locked up in it," George told her seriously. "The dementors help make sure their magic is too weak for them to try anything."

"People aren't sent to Azkaban just for stealing or small crimes, Hermione," Fred assured her. "It's reserved for people who really deserve it."

"I don't know if you could ever say someone really deserves that," Hermione muttered, making a face.

"I think part of it is the dementors themselves," Neville offered.

Hermione turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, no one knows where the dementors come from, really," Neville explained. "And they're Dark creatures, aren't they? By using them to guard the prison, the dementors stay occupied and contained, and they don't go after anyone else."

"So the prisoners are like a sacrifice?" Harry was curious now. "The Ministry offers the dementors the scourges of society so the dementors won't come after the rest of us?"

"I don't know if it's quite like that," Neville said, looking embarrassed. "I think the Ministry just needed a way to make them useful."

"Why don't they just destroy them?" Hermione wanted to know. "They're very evil creatures. It seems a fairly straightforward solution."

"You can't destroy a dementor," Fred told her, bonking her on the head.

"You can only repel it," George said. "And only then if you know a really difficult spell."

Harry was glaring at the table again. Hermione suspected he secretly agreed with her, that the dementors should be destroyed.

It seemed all the students taking electives were taking the class together; after breakfast, a large group of third years tromped down the sloping lawns to Care of Magical Creatures. Hermione was walking with Harry and Neville and Ron, and Susan Bones caught up to them, cheerful.

"All right?" she asked. She grinned. "Are you excited for Hagrid's first class?"

"Yeah," Harry said, cheering a bit. "Hagrid'll be great at this."

"So long as he doesn't bring out giant spiders or something," Ron said. "He already assigned us a biting book…"

Susan was too cheerful to be deterred.

"I had to pick between this and Muggle Studies," she said. "This seems like a lot more fun, doesn't it?" She looked to Hermione. "And I figured if I did ever need to know anything about muggles, I could just ask you."

Hermione laughed. "You'd be better off. I looked at the 'textbook' for that class, and it looks ridiculous."

Hagrid was waiting for his class at the door of his hut. He stood in his moleskin overcoat, with his dog Fang at his heels.

"C'mon, now, get a move on!" he called. "Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin' up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!"

Hagrid led them all around the edge of the forest, the students all following him. Hermione gradually fell back to join Tracey and Millie.

"I've got five sickles on someone getting injured in the first five minutes," Tracey said. "Want to take that bet?"

Hermione scoffed.

"Five sickles on Draco making too many sarcastic comments in the first five minutes for anyone to get hurt," she said, and Tracey giggled. They all turned to look at Draco, who was walking down with Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"Is this all?" Hermione asked, blinking. She glanced around. "Where's Blaise? Theo?"

"Dunno about Theo and Daphne," Millie said, "but Blaise took Muggle Studies instead of this."

Hermione whirled around to look at Millie incredulously, who shrugged.

"Don't ask me," she said. "I just know what was on his schedule."

"Yes, but…" Hermione's mind boggled at the idea. "Why would Blaise want to take Muggle Studies?"

Tracey and Millie exchanged a look, but Hermione didn't catch it. They had arrived outside of a kind of paddock on the edge of the forest.

"Everyone gather 'round the fence here!" Hagrid called. "That's it – make sure yeh can see – now, firs' thing yeh'll want to do is open yet books—"

"How?"

Hermione turned. Draco had somehow ended up on her right against the fence, his cold drawl ringing over the open paddock. He had one eyebrow arched.

Hagrid looked befuddled. "Eh?"

"How do we open our books?" Draco repeated. He took out his copy of The Monster Book of Monsters, tied shut with a length of rope. Hermione got out her own book, bound shut with a belt, and other students were removing theirs, some crammed inside tight bags or clamped together with binder clips. Draco was sneering at Hagrid, and though the condescension in his voice wasn't exactly called for, Hermione had to admit he had a point.

"Hasn't – hasn' anyone bin able ter open their books?" Hagrid asked, looking crestfallen.

The class all shook their heads.

"Yeh've got ter stroke 'em," said Hagrid, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. "Look—"

He took Ron's copy of the book and ripped the rope off of it. The book tried to bite, but Hagrid ran a giant forefinger down its spine, and the book shivered, and then fell open and lay quiet in his hand.

Hermione rolled her eyes, thoroughly exasperated. Carefully, Hermione stroked her book's spine as she was undoing the belt, trying to get it to calm down before it could maul her hand.

"Oh, how silly we've all been!" Draco sneered. "We should have stroked them! Why didn't we guess?"

"I—I thought they were funny," Hagrid said uncertainly. He glanced at Harry.

"Oh, tremendously funny," said Draco. "Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands off—"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said quietly. Though his voice was quiet, there was a note of iron in it, and his green eyes glinted at Draco from across the paddock.

Draco looked like he was going to reply, but Hermione touched his upper arm.

"Don't," she said quietly. "Not now."

Draco looked surprised, though he quickly smoothed out his expression.

"You do agree, though, don't you?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

Hagrid was talking about getting Magical Creatures for them and going into the forest. Hermione watched him go.

"Of course," she said, not looking at Draco. "A book enchanted to bite is a horrible idea. Hagrid teaching a dangerous class is also a horrible idea. But making a scene and distracting the one person responsible for protecting us and keeping us safe doesn't seem like it's in our best interest."

Draco considered, before sighing.

"I suppose," he said begrudgingly. "Seems inevitable, though, doesn't it?"

"Oooooh!" one of the Gryffindor girls squealed. "Look!"

Trotting toward them from the other side of the paddock were a dozen of the most bizarre creatures Hermione had ever seen. They looked to be some conglomeration of horses and eagles, with giant wings and steel-colored beaks and eyes. Hagrid was leading them over by long chains attached to thick leather collars around their necks.

"They're chained normally?" Millie said. "He's bringing us creatures that literally need chained for our first day?"

"Hippogriffs!" Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at the creatures. "Beau'iful, aren' they?"

The creatures were sort of majestic in an abstract, terrifying way, Hermione supposed. It was interesting how the hippogriff's coats changed smoothly from feathers to hair as your eyes went toward the horse back half, but they still looked very large and very dangerous.

"So," said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around, "if yeh wan' ter come a bit nearer—"

Hermione barely managed to stifle her snicker, and Draco smirked at her as she covered her mouth. Across the way, Hermione saw Harry, Neville, and Ron approach the fence cautiously, and she rolled her eyes.

"Gryffindors," she said in exasperation. "Honestly."

"Time," Millie said, and Tracey pouted, handing Millie five sickles. Millie grinned. "Thank you."

"Double or nothing on an injury in the next ten minutes?" Tracey offered.

"Not taking," Millie said smugly. "I see the size of those things."

"—gotta know about hippogriffs is they're proud," Hagrid was saying. "Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don't never insult one, 'cause it might be the last thing yeh do."

Draco turned to talk to Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle in a low voice. Hermione watched as Harry bravely (stupidly, in her opinion) climbed the fence and walked toward the hippogriff, holding eye contact. Hagrid walked him through bowing and waiting for the hippogriff to bow back. Just as Hagrid seemed to get worried, the hippogriff finally bowed back, and the breath of relief from everyone around the paddock's edge was palpable.

"Well done, Harry!" Hagrid said, ecstatic. "Right – yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!"

Looking like he would like to do nothing more than not get closer to the hippogriff, Harry moved toward it and reached out to it, patting its beak. The hippogriff lazily closed its eyes, as though enjoying it. The class broke into applause.

"Right' then, Harry!" said Hagrid. "I reckon he might let yeh ride him!"

Everyone gasped, but Harry was already too invested to back down now. Hagrid guided him up on top of hippogriff, instructing him on where to hold while the class watched on with wide eyes.

"How is he?"

Hermione turned to see Susan, looking at Hermione through turquoise lenses with worried eyes. She was twisting the coven ring on her finger, looking anxious.

"Do you know how he's doing?" Susan asked. "If he falls, is he…?"

Hermione understood.

"If he falls, he should be okay," she told her. "Falling, he's at least got the hang of. It's the rest of it he's still working on."

Susan relaxed, her shoulders loosening immediately.

"Me too," she admitted. She watched as Hagrid slapped the hippogriff's hindquarters, and Harry seized the hippogriff around the neck as the hippogriff abruptly broke into a gallop and took off, twelve-foot wings flapping open on either side of him. She glanced at Hermione. "What do you think would happen, if people saw him fall?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"I have no idea," she said honestly. "It might be very bad."

Susan looked at her sideways. "Bad? That Harry didn't splat?"

"Broken bones can be repaired," Hermione said, her eyes on Harry in the sky. She lowered her voice. "But the only one publicly known to be able to fly unaided was You-Know-Who."

Susan shuddered next to her.

"Well…" her voice was uncertain. "Hopefully we won't have to find out."

To everyone's relief, the hippogriff touched back down to the ground with Harry still aboard. He just managed to hold on and push himself back up again before dismounting – not quickly, but not exactly taking his time about it. Harry looked shaken, but he offered the class a smile, and they cheered, Hermione joining in.

"Good work, Harry!" Hagrid roared. "Okay, who else wants a go?"

Hermione sighed.

Emboldened by Harry's success, the rest of the class climbed cautiously into the paddock. Hagrid untied the hippogriffs one by one, spreading them out. Hermione drifted over to the one Harry had ridden, knowing that at least this one wasn't rabid. She managed to bow to it and get a bow back in return, which allowed her to stroke its beak and mane a bit before stepping back, graciously letting Tracey take her turn.

People were soon bowing all over the paddock, taking turns. Neville seemed terrified of his hippogriff, which didn't seem to want to bend its knees, and Ron and Harry were encouraging him. After Tracey and Millie had both taken their turns, they stepped back, keeping a safe distance from the large creatures and letting the next group approach.

"What are these used for?" Millie was curious. "Are these used for transportation?"

"Pretty sure that's illegal," Tracey said. "I think they're not allowed for personal transportation under the Statute of Secrecy, same as carpets – too hard to hide from muggles in the sky."

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle had stopped their whispering and taken over interacting with the one Harry had flown on after Hermione, Tracey, and Millie were done – Buckbeak, apparently. Hermione wondered if Hagrid had named them all, and figured she wouldn't be surprised to learn that he had. Given they'd chosen the same one Hermione had, they were only a few yards away from her place on the fence, and Hermione she could overhear Draco announcing to the others that he would go first.

Crabbe and Goyle looked like they were on high alert, their eyes darting around, and there was a glint to Draco's eyes as he approached Buckbeak and gave him a bow. Pansy had moved over to bow to one with a couple girls from Ravenclaw, and Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"This is very easy," Draco drawled. "I knew if must have been, if Potter could do it…"

It was like a vision flashed before her eyes — suddenly, Hermione knew what was about to happen, and she abruptly launched herself at Draco, pushing off from the fence, hard.

"I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you? Are you—"

Scarcely realizing what she was doing, Hermione had started sprinting.

"—you great, ugly brute?"

Hermione reached Draco just in time, crashing into him and shoving him to the ground, sending him sprawling into the mud as a flash of steely talons came down. Sharp pain tore through Hermione and she screamed, thrown back and to the ground. Her arm was throbbing, blood soaking through her robes.

"She's dying!" Draco was yelling, panicked. "She's dying, look at her! It's killed her!"

Millie and Tracey had moved immediately to intercept Buckbeak, grabbing his chain and pulling him back and away from the commotion. Crabbe and Goyle were doing their best to help, lending their bulk to their cause, both of them shooting panicked looks at Hermione while they did. Hagrid ran toward Hermione, his face very white.

"She's not dyin'!" he said. "Someone help me – gotta get her outta here—"

Hermione felt herself being lifted. Her eyes managed to find Susan and Harry as Hagrid hurried off, carrying her away. Susan looked relieved, and though Harry looked worried, he was holding up his hand, giving her a shaky grin, and Hermione relaxed a bit. If their rings weren't warning them that she was in mortal peril, then the injury, no matter how painful, wasn't life-threatening.

As Hagrid ran up the lawn with her, loud shouts from the paddock chasing Hagrid as he did, Hermione wondered at the look she'd seen in Draco's eyes just a moment before he'd said anything, and she wondered if he'd planned the whole thing, intending to get injured himself.

Madam Pomfrey was able to mend her arm in under five minutes, tutting loudly the whole time. She'd kicked Hagrid out of the Hospital wing right after he'd delivered her, furious with him splattering mud everywhere.

"Does no one understand needing to keep a sterile environment?" she groused. "Here, take this…"

Hermione recognized the sharp, iron-tasting potion as a Blood Replenishing potion. Madam Pomfrey fed her another potion, this one a Pain Relief potion, and she was able to relax back onto the bed a bit, her muscles untensing.

"Will it scar?" she asked, turning to Madam Pomfrey.

"It shouldn't," Madam Pomfrey assured her. "The skin tear was the easiest part, but those talons went quite deep into your muscle, dear." She frowned. "I've set it to heal, but I wouldn't use your arm for a day or so until the muscle fibers repair."

"Can I go, then?" Hermione asked. "As soon as you put it in a sling?"

Madam Pomfrey looked at her incredulously.

"You were just seriously injured, Miss Granger!" she said. "You need to stay and recover, give that arm some time to heal and those potions to work before you try to get up again—"

"But I'm going to miss Defense and Charms!" Hermione protested.

"I'm sure Professor Flitwick will be understanding," Madam Pomfrey assured her. "And Professor Lupin cancelled class today."

Hermione was surprised. "Cancelled it? On his first day?" She looked at the matron, who was fussing with an arm sling. "How do you know?"

"Oh, he mentioned it at the staff meeting." Madam Pomfrey's tone was airy, but Hermione watched her face, seeing something dark flash across it. "Here, dear – try this sling on for size."

Hermione wondered just what Professor Lupin could have done to provoke that sort of expression from one of the kindest women Hermione knew, and what could have led him to need to cancel class his very first day as a professor.

Chapter Text

Hermione was let out of the Hospital Wing later in the afternoon. Madam Pomfrey had helped her eat lunch with her left hand, to her embarrassment, and Blaise, Tracey, and Millie came to get her during their cancelled class period.

"I turn my back on you for one class," Blaise said, shaking his head with a dramatic sigh. "One class, Hermione. One class."

"I'm fine," Hermione shot back, embarrassed, and Blaise smirked at her.

"Draco was telling everyone at lunch that Madam Pomfrey had barely saved you from death," Tracey said. "He said you nearly bled out."

Hermione snorted. "How would he know? He didn't come up to see me at all."

Tracey looked satisfied. "That's what I figured."

Blaise was looking at Hermione curiously though, then glancing at Millie.

"Malfoy seems to be making an awful fuss about this, for an injury that wasn't even his," Blaise commented. "All that happened to him was some muddy robes."

"I think he planned it," Hermione told them. "I honestly think he did – he was planning to get injured, and then use it as an excuse to get Hagrid fired immediately."

Tracey looked thoughtful.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Tracey said, slowly. "I'd be surprised, though – it's not like Draco to risk himself."

"That's a fair point," Hermione admitted. "Crabbe and Goyle were right next to him. Maybe one of them was meant to take the hit?"

"Draco's making it out like you saved his life again," Millie said. She glanced at Blaise. "Saying you nearly bled out and could have died."

Something on Blaise's face darkened, and Hermione blinked.

"He's overexaggerating," she dismissed. "It wasn't even that much blood."

"Why did you save him, Hermione?" Tracey wanted to know. "You were running before Buckbeak had even started to move."

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "I just—suddenly I could tell what was going to happen, and then I was running—"

"You could tell?" Blaise asked, and Hermione winced.

"It's hard to describe," she said. "I think I put it together he was going to say something stupid seconds before he did, and then I was running to shove him out of the way."

"Why, though?" Tracey asked pointedly. "It would have been his fault. You could have just let him get hurt."

Hermione blinked.

"I…" she trailed off and cleared her throat. "I really don't know, honestly. I think I just didn't want anyone to get hurt – I was hoping to dodge the claw too, I think, but I couldn't run fast enough on the mud…"

"We really need to do something about this saving people thing, Hermione – you're not a Gryffindor," Blaise groaned. "C'mon. We've got class soon."

Hermione paused.

"Err—you all go on ahead. I'll be right there – I need to check with Madam Pomfrey about something," she said, managing a tight smile.

Tracey and Millie shrugged, leaving, and Blaise gave her a long, curious look before leaving the Hospital Wing. As soon as the door was closed, Hermione looked at her watch, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes.

It didn't take long – there was a rush of wind, and she heard the patter of footsteps running out of the Hospital Wing door a moment later. As soon as she heard the door close again, she opened her eyes and hurried out, going down the staircase and catching up with Blaise.

"Sorry," she said. "Just wanted to make sure I wouldn't need another Blood Replenisher or anything."

Blaise was raising an eyebrow at her.

"I thought you were taking Divination," he commented, and Hermione scoffed.

"What, when I've got Luna for that?" she said. She tossed her head. "Anyway, I'm not about to miss Ancient Runes – can you imagine all the uses for this in rituals?"

A slow grin spread across Blaise's face. "That's exactly why I took it."

"I hope there's not a lot of writing, though," Hermione said, frowning down at her arm, bound to her chest in a sling. "If we have to take a lot of notes today, that's going to be a problem."

"It won't be," Blaise assured her as they reached the classroom. It was one of the older classrooms, with tables instead of individual desks. He tugged her over to a table with him, getting out his parchment and ink and helping her get her textbooks out. "I'll take notes for you, too."

Ancient Runes was fascinating, and held a lot of potential, to Hermione's excitement. Even the introductory lecture about what runes could do was promising – runes could be used to literally spell things out, or to imbue with magic or meaning individually for different purposes. Hermione was reminded of the hedgewitches, tracing runes on their windows and mirrors, and she was curious to learn if it worked.

She begged off from Blaise after class, saying she needed to check in with Madam Pomfrey at the Hospital Wing before dinner but to save her a seat. As soon as she got to the Hospital Wing, though, she quietly slipped inside, checked her watch, and waited a few minutes before she withdrew her Time-Turner.

She'd read the safety pamphlet, and she knew how to use it. Carefully fussing with the tiny dials, Hermine carefully set the Time-Turner before setting it off, and she watched as the world blurred around her, a sped-up version of Madam Pomfrey bustling around the beds speeding by in reverse. There was no sense of movement at all, just of time being rewound before her eyes.

As soon as it stopped, Hermione quickly looked away from the place she knew where the pervious her was, closing her eyes. She ran out of the Hospital Wing door and chased Tracey and Millie up the stairs, who slowed down for her to catch up.

"How far is Divination?" she asked.

"The North Tower, I think," Tracey said. "All the way at the very, very top."

There was an enormous number of stairs, and they were all staggering by the time they got to the tiny landing where their other classmates were assembled, Harry and Neville included. Everyone looked slightly confused until a circular trapdoor opened up, a silvery ladder descending in front of them.

Hermione groaned.

"How am I supposed to get up with this?" she bemoaned, lifting her injured arm. Tracey looked worried.

"We could have you go last and tie you to the ladder?" she suggested. "Then we could all haul you up from the top?"

"Go ahead." Harry had come over. "I'll come up last with her."

"What, you're going to carry her?" Millie was skeptical, looking at Harry. "I know you're a big, bold Gryffindor, but that is not an easy task."

"Just go, Bullstrode," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I've got this."

After casting skeptical looks back at them, Tracey and Millie joined the line to climb up the ladder, the ladder shaking slightly as students clambered up. Harry stepped closer to her, his voice low.

"I figured you could just fly," Harry told her conspiratorially, his eyes sparkling, "but that you'd need a plausible excuse for how you got up."

Hermione laughed.

"So you decided to volunteer to be my brave hero?" she teased, and Harry grinned. "You're so sweet."

When they were the last two, Hermione slowly and carefully flew up, hovering just outside the lip of the trapdoor while Harry climbed up. She timed her entrance through the door for the same moment Harry's head followed up, so it seemed like she'd managed to roll off of his shoulders and into the classroom. It was unlikely, but it was plausible, and that was enough.

"Is this the right place?" Harry asked, uncertain. "This is weird."

They had emerged into the strangest-looking classroom Hermione had ever seen. There were maybe twenty small, circular tables crammed inside the room, with armchairs and poufs scattered around to sit on, reminding Hermione of beanbag chairs. Dim light filtered into the room, red-tinted from red curtains at the window and from lamps draped with dark red scarves. The room itself was stiflingly warm, a full fire burning under a crowded mantlepiece, and there were knickknacks and random objects scattered around.

"Must be," Hermione said, pointing at an assortment of crystal balls lined up on a set of shelves. "C'mon."

Hermione took a seat at a round table with Tracey and Millie, Harry sitting at the neighboring table with Neville and Ron. Tracey was scanning the room with wide eyes, and Millie looked skeptical already.

"Where is she?" Millie asked. "If she's late to her own class…"

"She has to be here somewhere," Tracey pointed out. "Someone had to let the ladder down."

A voice suddenly came out of the shadows, soft and misty.

"Welcome," the voice said. "How nice to see you in the physical world at last."

Incredulous and already amused, Hermione sat back into her pouf and watched.

Professor Trelawney, Divination professor, looked like a caricature of a muggle fortune teller, bedecked in a gauzy shawl with many necklaces and bangles and rings. She wore very large glasses that magnified her eyes many times, and Hermione tried not to laugh at the mental image of her new professor on the telly, imploring viewers to 'call in now and get your cards read'.

Professor Trelawney was very dramatic, and she was putting on a bit of a show, talking about her Inner Eye and the difficulty of Divination, how very few were gifted with the Sight. She paused periodically, making casual predictions, asking after Neville's grandmother's health, warning one of the Gryffindor girls to 'beware a red-haired man', and predicting something dreadful for Lavender Brown on the sixteenth of October.

Professor Trewlawney eventually got around to the class itself and their lesson for the day, though it took a while. They were doing Tasseomancy today, apparently, where they would learn to read the future from the remains of tea leaves in their teacups. Tracey went to get them all a teapot and cups, while Millie helped Hermione get her copy of Unfogging the Future out of her bag and open to the pages where it said how to interpret the patterns.

"Does this actually work?" Tracey asked, pouring the tea for them. "My mother goes to tea parties all the time. I've never seen her do this."

"She must not have the Inner Eye," Millie drawled, smirking.

They drank their scalding tea as instructed, then swapped cups.

"Right," Hermione said, looking at Millie's cup and consulting her textbook. "You've got some clouds, so that's 'trouble on the horizon', but then you've got a ring, which means 'events related to marriage'…"

"This is such tosh," Millie said disgustedly, but Hermione was getting into it now.

"You've got a mushroom next to the ring, though, which is 'fighting and romantic breakups', but right next to it you've got a house and an angel, which are 'business success' and 'good news related to love'. So if I were to summarize…" Hermione tapped her lips thoughtfully, looking down into the cup. "I would predict that your father's going to try and put you into a betrothal contract you don't like, you're going to fight, but you'll manage to break the contract. Oh, and you'll make money somehow somewhere in there." She grinned.

Millie snorted. "At least it ends well. I don't want to go through any of this marriage crap just yet."

Hermione laughed.

"This is kind of vague," she admitted, looking into the teacup. "I mean, all of these symbols kind of mean multiple things, don't they? And what shape they are is up to interpretation…"

"My turn!" Tracey said. "Millie, do me!"

Millie looked at the Tracey's cup, cocking it sideways and blinking.

"Err, you've got a bunch of brown clumps, really," Millie said. She peered down at her book. "Is there a symbol for 'potato sack'?"

"You've got to think creatively," Tracey admonished. "Open your mind."

Millie rolled her eyes.

"Okay, so that one kind of looks like scissors? Which means 'fighting or illness', but you've got a tree too, which means 'good fortune and happiness'. And… hang on…" She peered into the cup. "Err, I think you've got a line with a bit of a hook on it? If it's an arrow, it means something good, but it's not quite an arrow…"

"Is it a letter?" Tracey said, peering at the textbook.

"No, it's just a line with another little line, like half an arrow." Millie sat back up, putting Tracey's cup back. "So you'll get sick but be better afterwards, Tracey."

Tracey huffed. "That's so boring."

"Well, do Hermione then," Millie said, eyes glinting. "Let's see if your Inner Eye is any better."

"I will," Tracey said primly. Hermione stifled a giggle as Tracey picked up her cup.

"What do you see?" she asked, grinning. "What's in store for me?"

"Well, you've got a fox on your saucer," Tracey said. "It looks like most of the tea leaves fell, but that's definitely a fox. Do things on the saucer count?"

"It's still tea leaves," Millie said, shrugging. "Still counts."

"Right. So a fox is 'deceit or betrayal by someone close'," she said, wincing. "Not great. As for your cup… err, you've mostly just got lines left."

"What are they, though?" Hermione prompted, stifling a giggle. "Open your inner eye…"

Tracey laughed.

"Okay, so you've got an up arrow, which just means 'yes, good direction', but no idea what it's saying is good, and you've got an hourglass, which means 'approaching danger'. You've got a crooked cross, so that's 'suffering and trials' again, and a crooked sort of H? Which just means something to do with someone with that initial." She peered into the cup again, squinting. "And you've got a pregnant-looking line. No idea what that means, though."

Professor Trelawney was drifting around, reading cups. She approached their table.

"Are we having any success?" she said. "Do not be disappointed if not. Not everyone has an Inner Eye to open…"

"Hermione's got a fox on her saucer," Tracey said, pointing. "Does that still count?"

Professor Trelawney took Hermione's cup from Tracey, looking at Hermione.

"I'm afraid it does – be wary of betrayal…" Her voice was misty. "Though, for it to fall outside of your cup…"

She examined Hermione's cup for a moment, before looking at it quizzically and turning it different directions. She gave Hermione a suspicious look.

"Familiar with Ancient Runes, are you?" she asked. Her voice had lost some of its misty quality, and she seemed almost annoyed.

"Err, I mean…" Hermione faltered. "I only just started the class."

Trelawney gave her a suspicious look.

"Students do not usually take both Ancient Runes and my class," she said. "You must have a very logically-organized mind, though – your cup is full of runes, my dear, and not symbols at all."

"Really?" Tracey was intrigued. "Can you still read it?"

"Of course I can read it," Trelawney snapped. She examined the cup again. "Here, at the start, you have Hagalaz… hail, wrath of nature, and uncontrolled forces…"

"I thought that was just an H…" Tracey winced.

"Nauthiz is next… self-reliance and endurance, even in obstacles and challenging times…" Trelawney had affected her mystical voice again, but her eyes remained sharp on the cup. "Oh, dear… you have Tiwaz crossed with Thurisaz… a sense of justice and leaderships, but crossed with conflict, defense, and a violent outcome…" She turned the cup again. "Your last is Dagaz – radical change and a breakthrough, but who is to say of what sort…?"

She looked over them with her large eyes, all three girls silent.

"Be careful, my dears," she advised them. "Opening the Inner Eye can bring great suffering. To know what is ahead, and to not be able to change what may come…"

She drifted over to the Gryffindor boys' table, and Tracey, Millie, and Hermione exchanged a look. Tracey looked unnerved, while Millie looked annoyed.

"Half of this is cold reading and performance art," Millie complained. "A bunch of lines in a teacup doesn't mean anything."

"Okay, so I want to see this," Hermione said, digging in her bag. "I've got the Ancient Runes texts right here. Hand me my cup?"

Tracey handed it over, Hermione examining the cup.

"So this hourglass is actually the Dagaz?" Hermione said, blinking. "This kind of works, though – that pregnant line, Tracey, that was Thurisaz, the conflict and violence rune…"

"Is there a hooked line in there?" Millie asked. "That's what I couldn't get for Tracey."

Hermione flipped through.

"Oh! There is – Laguz. Water, power of renewal, dreams, fantasies," she read. "There's not any other context, though, really."

"I change my prediction, then," Millie said gravely. "Tracey, this year you will get very sick…" Her eyes glinted. "…in the head. Your insane fantasies will drive you to sleep with someone in a delirium of love, giving you great joy and happiness until you eventually wake from your dream."

"Oh, shut up!" Tracey said, shoving Millie but laughing. "Like you're one to talk about a rich fantasy life!"

"My fantasies revolve mostly around raising Kneazles in the woods entirely by myself, thank you very much," Millie shot back primly. "Not of Adrian Pucey feeling me up under my skirt."

Tracey waved a hand. "If I wanted Adrian to feel me up, I could have let that happen ages ago." Her eyes gleamed. "But some of our classmates are finally catching up to the older boys, you know? Quite a few came back this summer a lot taller."

There was a scream, and Hermione whirled around to see Professor Trelawney collapsed onto a nearby chair, her eyes closed and a glittering hand at her heart.

"My dear boy… my poor, dear boy… no, it is kinder not to say… no… don't ask me…"

"What is it, Professor?" one of the Gryffindor boys wanted to know.

"My dear…" Professor Trelawney's eyes opened dramatically, looking at Harry, "you have the Grim."

"The what?" Harry asked.

There was a reaction around the room of gasps and looks of horror. Hermione didn't react though, and neither did Harry or the Gryffindor boy, though everyone else seemed to be shocked and clutching their metaphorical pearls.

"The Grim, my dear, the Grim!" cried Professor Trelawney. "The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen – the worst omen – of death!"

Everyone around Harry looked very worried by this, but to Hermione surprise, Harry started to smirk.

"I'll have to look out for that, then," he said casually, taking his cup back from Professor Trelawney. "Thanks, Professor."

Seemingly astounded at Harry's nonchalance in the face of death, Professor Trelawney was at a loss, not knowing how to react. Hermione watched as she again impressed on Harry the danger and terror he was facing, but Harry's small smirk only grew. Eventually she gave up, going over to terrify another group of girls, and Hermione put her books away as Millie and Tracey cleaned up their tea set.

Harry had to stay to 'help Hermione down the ladder' after the others had left. He still looked amused.

"You're not scared?" Hermione asked. "Even though you got a death omen?"

"Not really," he shrugged. He gave her a grin. "It all seems a bit woolly, doesn't it? Plus, I figure if I'm going to kick it, Luna would let me know first, y'know?"

Hermione slowly started to smile.

"You know," she said, "I do believe you're right."

Chapter Text

Luna was waiting for Harry and Hermione outside of the Great Hall for dinner. She was laughing very hard as they approached at seemingly nothing, garnering strange looks from other people as they went in. When she saw Harry approach, she laughed even harder.

"A death omen!" she said, laughing. "A death omen, Harry!"

Hermione wondered if Luna had overheard from someone coming from Divination to dinner, or if this was just one of those odd things Luna just seemed to know. Harry seemed unbothered by how Luna knew, and he just grinned.

"Is it a death omen, then?" he asked. "Am I going to die?"

"Of course not," Luna dismissed. "It's just a dog. It represents your godfather."

Harry froze.

"My what?" he asked, eyes going wide.

"Your godfather," Luna told him. "And no, I have no idea who that is. I just know that's what it means." She shrugged. "Shall we go in?"

Harry looked mildly disturbed, but Hermione let him go as she sat down at the Slytherin table. Draco's eyes went to her immediately, taking in the sling on her arm.

"Are you okay, Hermione?" he demanded. "I've already written my father – having a violent animal like that who attacks students is mad—"

"I'm fine, Draco," Hermione insisted. "I went to afternoon classes and everything – I just need the sling for a bit longer before the muscle is healed."

But Draco was shaking his head.

"You don't have to be so modest," he said. "There was blood everywhere. You saved my life again, Hermione. I owe you."

Hermione scoffed and set about awkwardly getting herself dinner while Pansy began ranting about Hagrid's unsuitability as a teacher. Blaise touched her arm slightly and subtly began serving her as well as himself, Hermione shooting him a relieved, grateful look.

"Why is Draco so set on this?" she asked Blaise quietly. "I very clearly didn't save his life."

Blaise's eyes flashed.

"Who knows," he muttered, but Hermione suspected Blaise did know indeed.

Herbology the next day was mostly a lecture and a tour – they would be permitted to work in Greenhouse Four, now, where some of the plants were nastier and more volatile. These plants, Professor Sprout explained, were all created by Herbologists cross-breeding different plants over the years. Hermione was fascinated by the idea. She'd read about Gregor Mendel's pea experiments in muggle science class, and the idea of getting to try something similar with Fanged Geraniums or some such plant was exciting.

She probably wouldn't get to try her own until after O.W.L.s, but still. That gave Hermione plenty of time to study these plants and see how it had worked, and to come up with her own plant breeding ideas beforehand.

Double Potions was a nightmare. They were doing a Shrinking Solution on their very first day back, and Hermione was dismayed to realize she couldn't do her half of the preparation with her arm still bound to her chest as it was. Professor Snape was busy berating Neville, Harry, and Ron – Neville's Shrinking Solution had turned bright orange, somehow, when it should have been a lime green, and Harry and Ron seemed distracted. Draco had sat right behind their table today, and he was smirking, clearly hissing things at them whenever Professor Snape looked away.

Hermione turned to Theo when Snape wasn't looking.

"Can you help me take my arm down?" she asked quietly. "I'm never going to be able to dice these daisy roots left-handed."

Theo raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"I would have gone to Madame Pomfrey to get her approval over lunch if I'd had the time," Hermione huffed. "Come on, Theo."

Theo sighed. "Let the record show that I don't think this a good idea…"

He carefully helped unhook the sling from around her neck and shoulder, peeling it off of her arm. Hermione stretched her arm and flexed her hand, testing the ligaments and muscles. To her relief, she didn't feel any pain, and she looked up at Theo with a smile.

"Thanks," she said, meaning it.

Theo shrugged. "It was nothing."

As she turned back to her ingredients, Hermione paused, glancing sideways at Theo again. To her astonishment, Theo's cheeks bore a hint a red.

Hermione was surprised to notice his flush. Theo was never ruffled – ever.

Her eyes narrowed. This bore further investigation.

She diced her roots neatly and evenly, relieved that the muscle memory in her fingers had remained over the summer. Across the room, Ron was still dicing his roots as he had been for five minutes now – Hermione was able to do a better job of it in under half that time. But then again, she had paid attention when Snape had demonstrated proper dicing technique, and Ron clearly had not.

"What's up with you?" Hermione murmured to Theo, putting the daisy roots in the cauldron.

"What do you mean, what's up with me?" Theo deflected, skinning a shrivelfig with unnecessary concentration.

"You're blushing," she informed him. "And you never blush."

Theo gave her a look. Hermione raised her eyebrows and folded her arms, not to be denied. Theo sighed.

"My father sent a contract to your father over the summer," he muttered. "I didn't even know until Malfoy told me – his father had heard from my father."

Hermione blinked. "And?"

"And, it's embarrassing," Theo groaned, tossing the shrivelfig in. "I didn't even know my Dad was trying to arrange a betrothal for me already. Let alone to you."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'let alone to me'?"

Theo caught her tone of voice, and he quickly clarified.

"I'm not implying you'd be an unsuitable match," he said. "But – realize, Hermione, most of the time when these contracts are made, you don't know the person you're matched with. Generally, guys end up contracted to girls who are a few years younger, so the guy will have time to start earning a living to provide for a family by the time they form a marriage bond."

Hermione tilted her head.

"You're telling me you'd have to work for a living?" she said sardonically, and Theo flushed a bit darker.

"Not all purebloods are Sacred 28," he muttered. "It's the custom of the thing, regardless of whether or not it plays out that way in practice."

"So you're more embarrassed by the fact your father would engage you to me while you'd still be expected to work with me in Potions?" Hermione summarized. "Wouldn't that be better, though? You'd actually get to know your affianced, then, instead of meeting some unknown ingenue at the altar."

Theo's eyes bulged, and he gave her a horrified look. "Merlin alive, Hermione, just what do you think a wizarding marriage ceremony entails?"

"I—"

Hermione paused. Theo had gone pale, and his eyes were large. He looked tense and alarmed, and Hermione had absolutely no idea why.

"Nothing I said I thought would provoke that reaction," she admitted. "Why don't you tell me what I got horribly wrong?"

"An altar," Theo hissed, stirring their potion rapidly. "Circe, no one's openly admitted altar use in years."

Hermione bit her lip.

"In muggle culture, an altar is a religious thing," she said quietly. "It's at the front of a church, the place where a couple gets married. It's not—it's not some horrible thing. That's all I meant."

Theo nearly wilted in relief.

"In magic, an altar is most commonly used when someone is making a ritual human sacrifice," he told her quietly. "They are not common, not used, and not discussed publicly."

"Understood," Hermione said weakly.

Hermione made a quick detour to the Hospital Wing to get the go-ahead from Madam Pomfrey to leave the sling off before Arithmancy. Madam Pomfrey was mildly dismayed to discover she'd taken her arm down herself ("Honestly!" she'd cried. "You, of all people, I would think would be more responsible with your wand arm, Miss Granger!"), but she confirmed that the muscles had indeed healed correctly, and she was in no more danger from the injury anymore.

Arithmancy was taught in a classroom far away from the main hallways of Hogwarts, to her surprise. By the time she finally got to the classroom, it was nearly full, and her eyes scanned the class.

Blaise was there, as were Draco and Theo. Daphne was also there, but to her somewhat surprise, so was Harry. As she scanned, Harry seemed to be the only one from Gryffindor there, looking very uncomfortable. With an odd number of Slytherins, one of them would be the odd one out anyway, Hermione figured, and she slid into the seat next to Harry with a smile.

Harry nearly wilted in relief.

"Can you believe no one else in Gryffindor took this class?" Harry complained. "No one. Not even Sally-Anne Perkins, and she's Muggleborn."

"It is supposed to be a difficult class," Hermione said, shrugging, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"It's just maths," he said. "Maths and magic, right?"

At that moment, Professor Vector entered the classroom. She was very tall, with long dark hair and a pronounced widow's peak. She wore robes of red suede and a matching tall, pointed red hat, completely uncaring that very few people wore hats day to day.

"Welcome to Arithmancy," she said. She looked out over them all, evaluating. "Arithmancy is the discipline of studying the magical properties of numbers, numerology, and using numbers to predict the future." She paused. "Is everyone in the right class?"

Everyone glanced around, before looking back to the front. Professor Vector looked satisfied.

"Very well," she said. "In that case, I look forward to having you in my class."

Hermione had been somewhat afraid that Arithmancy, despite its name, would be a lot of numerology and wishy-washy fortune telling. To her pleasure, Professor Vector immediately squashed that worry.

"Arithmancy works primarily through the construction of magical tables and prediction trees," Professor Vector said. "The difficulty comes in knowing which numbers to use, how to gather your variables, and what equations to use to create your trees. Observe."

She wrote on the board What color robe will the Headmaster wear to dinner tonight?

"This is a very simple example problem," she said. "First, we must determine the possible outputs."

She drew a chart, labeling the rows with various colors: blue, green, red, yellow, purple, black, brown, orange, silver, and gold.

"Now, we must determine what the Headmaster has worn historically to give us more accurate data," she said. She added several columns to the chart, labeling them Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and so on. She turned to the class, raising an eyebrow.

"Does anyone remember what color Professor Dumbledore was wearing yesterday?" she asked.

Hermione did not. Mandy Brocklehurst, however, did.

"It was blue, Professor," she volunteered when called upon. Professor Vector nodded approvingly.

"It was indeed," she said, making a mark on the chart. "Who recalls what he was wearing the day prior?"

More people remembered this one – it had been during the Sorting ceremony. Hermione raised her hand, and to her pleasure, Professor Vector called on her.

"A dark silver robe," Hermione said.

"Very good." The Professor made another mark on the chart. She turned back to the class. "We have some historical data, now. Do we think this is enough to draw conclusions about?"

Most of the class looked baffled, but Hermione was starting to follow along, and she raised her hand.

"We don't know the odds of which robe he might wear because we don't know how many of each robe he has," she said. "If we could know that, we'd have a much better chance of predicting it, right?"

Professor Vector nodded approvingly. "Very good. Let us gather that information, then."

She began to write very rapidly on the board, the chalk clacking loudly as she wrote what looked to be a long, complicated equation. Some of the places for numbers had what looked like runes, and there were operators in it that Hermione didn't recognize. As soon as she was done, she tapped the equation with her wand, and the class watched as the chalk turned into tiny gold streaks and flew off of the board.

"This is what is called an Arithmantic Query," she told them. "Queries are a more advanced tool of Arithmancy. We will get to them later; for now, know that it is a way of using Arithmancy to get concrete numbers for other equations."

Hermione and the class watched as tiny streaks of gold began to return, splashing back onto the board into a new column. As each one splashed onto the board, a new chalk number appeared, announcing how many robes of a particular color the gold streak had discovered.

"It seems Dumbledore has a varied wardrobe," Professor Vector said. "But you will notice that the numbers are somewhat skewed, and he has more colors of some than others."

It looked like Dumbledore favored brighter colors, but not too bright. He had several blue and red robes, as well as silver, gold, and orange. He had the most purple robes, and the fewest green and yellow. He also had very few black, which Hermione guessed would be ceremonial robes for certain functions.

"Now," Professor Vector said. "With this data, we can begin to construct an equation."

She began writing on the board once again, this time using letters as variables instead of runes, which Hermione could match to the first letter of the colors on the table. Again, she didn't recognize all of the operators, but she could tell it was some sort of probability equation.

"And now," she said, "we solve."

She tapped the equation with her wand, and the class watched in astonishment as results began to collect on the table below.

"Our data tells us there is an 82% chance that the Headmaster will wear a purple robe tonight," Professor Vector said. "There is a 10% chance of him wearing a red robe, and other colors have decreasing odds from there."

She looked at the class, folded her arms, and smirked.

"You could use Divination to try and predict the behavior of the Headmaster," she said. "You could read tarot cards or try and crystal gaze, but you would likely end up with vague, uncertain answers. This," she said, tapping the board sharply with her wand, "is not vague and uncertain. When you want to know the possibility of the future and you want a definitive answer, you turn not to Divination, but to Arithmancy."

"Oh," Hermione breathed. Professor Vector began erasing the board, constructing a new table, and Harry turned to her quizzically.

"'Oh?'" he whispered. "What?"

Hermione grinned sheepishly.

"I think I like her," she said, nodding at their professor. "I think I'm going to like this class."

And of course, when Professor Dumbledore appeared at dinner that night wearing a violet robe with lilac piping and detailing, Hermione's appreciation for Arithmancy was solidified. Anything that could help her figure out her odds of success in the future, magically, would be an excellent tool to have.

Chapter Text

Friday morning at breakfast, gossip was buzzing amongst the third years in Ravenclaw and Slytherin. They had their first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson first thing, and rumor was that the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had encountered something dramatic and done a practical exercise during their first class earlier in the week.

"None of them will say what it was, though," Tracey huffed. "I bet that's why class was cancelled on Wednesday, so Lupin could have the others go first. He knew it'd be very unlikely that Ravenclaws and Slytherins wouldn't be more willing to share secret information, regardless of what vague promises were made."

"It was enough to make the Gryffindors love Lupin already," Hermione said. "They're going on and on about how he's the best professor ever. It's got to be something crazy, for the Gryffindors to enjoy schoolwork."

"It's not like we're going to actually fight a Dark creature in class," Daphne pointed out. "Right?"

"Dumbledore's already hired Hagrid, who got a student mauled the first day," Draco drawled. "Who knows what kind of madman he hired for this?"

"We could be fighting a Dark creature," Blaise mused, drumming his fingertips on the table. "There are small ones, like doxies and the like. But that wouldn't be dramatic, really – and the Gryffindors are the ones saying how exciting the whole thing was. They wouldn't be excited for doxies."

"Well," Millie said, shrugging. "We'll find out soon enough."

Professor Lupin wasn't there when they first arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The Ravenclaws and Slytherins all filed in, taking their seats and taking out their books, looking around curiously. Many had their wands out.

Professor Lupin finally entered the room a little late. He smiled vaguely and put his shabby case on the desk. His robes were still faded and tattered, but he looked at least a little healthier, and a little less frail.

"Good afternoon," he said. "Please put all your books back in your bags. Today's lesson will be a practical one. You need only your wands."

There was a murmur as books were quickly stuffed back into bags. It seemed the rumor was right.

"Right then," said Professor Lupin. "If you'd follow me."

He led them down the corridor, around the corner, and down another corridor before stopping right outside the staff room door.

"Inside, please," he bid them, opening it and standing back.

The staff room was a long, paneled room full of old, mismatched chairs. There was light filtering in from large windows on one side of the room, dust motes drifting in the sunbeams. Professor Lupin closed the door once everyone was inside, and he beckoned the class toward the end of the room where there was an old wardrobe. Hermione noticed that the area around the wardrobe had been cleared, with all the nearby chairs pushed away, and the suddenly wardrobe gave a violent wobble, banging off the wall.

"Nothing to worry about," said Professor Lupin calmly. "There's a boggart in there."

Most of the class looked confused and worried by this, but Hermione let out a snort of laughter and rolled her eyes. She quickly covered her mouth, but Professor Lupin had heard and turned to her.

"Do you have something to offer, Miss…?"

"Granger, sir," Hermione supplied quickly. "And no, not really – only that it makes a lot more sense now why the Gryffindors loved this lesson so much."

A faint smile came to Lupin's face. "Did they…?"

He refocused his attention as the wardrobe rattled ominously again.

"Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces. Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks – I even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock."

Hermione wondered at his choice of words. 'Met' a boggart was an interesting thing to say.

"—first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a boggart?"

Hermione's hand went up, along with a few from Ravenclaw. Lupin picked her.

"It's a shape-shifter," she said. "It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us the most."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," said Professor Lupin, and Hermione smiled. "So the boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears… ah, Miss Granger, you have a question?"

Lupin looked somewhat puzzled by Hermione's hand in the air, but Hermione wasn't to be deterred.

"Sir," she said, "if no one knows the natural form of a boggart, how do you know that this boggart is male?"

Lupin blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"It's just, I thought boggarts were amortal," Hermione went on. "Non-beings, really, created from high concentrations of magic near Dark objects or places. I didn't think they reproduced normally – being non-beings and not really alive at all – so I'm just surprised that they can be sexed."

Now Professor Lupin looked mildly annoyed.

"It was a turn of phrase," he said. "I was using 'he' instead of 'it' to help personify it – do not mistake it, a boggart is a Dark being to be encountered." He looked down at Hermione dismissively. "But to be technical about it, boggarts neither male nor female."

"Oh…" Hermione fought the urge to recoil in on herself, embarrassed. Her face grew hot, and Lupin's annoyance seemed to dissipate some once he realized she hadn't just been being pedantic and snide.

"So the boggart is sitting there in the dark," Lupin continued. "This means we have a huge advantage over it…"

Hermione didn't pay as much attention to Lupin as he called on Terry Boot for the next question. The implications of the situation were slowly dawning on her. The Gryffindors had done a practical exercise in class. And if they were learning about boggarts...

She looked up at Blaise, who had wide eyes, and to Draco, who looked horrified. They could all anticipate what was coming next.

Hermione bit her lip, watching the others.

"He's not," Daphne breathed, her voice low. "He's not going to make us all go together, is he?"

"Didn't you hear him?" Tracey said grimly. "'It's always best to have company when you're dealing with a boggart' so it becomes confused."

"And the previous class was okay with this?" Pansy said, her voice shrill even in her whispers.

"The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs probably have simple fears," Hermione guessed. "Spiders, mummies, banshees…"

The Slytherins exchanged a collective look of dread.

"—practice the charm without wands first. After me, please… riddikulus!"

"Riddikulus!" the class said together.

"Good," Professor Lupin said. "Very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough."

Professor Lupin went on to detail how they would each need to imagine the thing that scared them the most, and then how to make such a thing funny to them. The charm would force to boggart into the funny shape, provoking laughter, thereby weakening the boggart.

"I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical…"

Hermione bit her lip.

What scared her the most in the world?

Her first thought was being publicly disclaimed from being a New Blood, but that didn't feel quite true. She had been anxious about such a thing for a while, but with her coven and previous successes backing her up, it wasn't nearly as much of a worry. Did she fear Voldemort? Or Tom Riddle escaping the diary and spilling her secrets, perhaps…?

None of those quite rang true, either. They didn't quite resonate in her gut in a horribly anxious, dreadful way like she imagined a person's worst fear would resonate. And she knew there were things she had been afraid of – she remembered being terrified of her parents dying as a child, staying up late anxious and worrying long into the night in stomach-sickening way.

But what scared her now…?

What was her deepest dread?

Hermione continued to ponder, wondering.

"Everyone ready?" Lupin asked. "Here, let's all line up…"

The Slytherins cast horrified looks at each other. Hermione put her hand up.

"Professor?" she asked. "Do you intend us to do this exercise all together, in front of everyone?"

"Yes." Professor Lupin looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "Did you not hear when I said the best way to face a boggart was to take a friend?"

"Oh, no sir, I heard you," Hermione said hurriedly, "but there's a rather large difference between taking 'a friend' to see your deepest fear and having it displayed in front of the entire class."

Professor Lupin stared down at her.

"It'd be one thing if we all had simple fears," she said, "but we're rather older than that. This has the potential to be such an invasion of privacy, sir. Imagine the horror if it was someone's turn, and, say, their abusive stepfather appeared, holding a whip in his hand." Hermione's eyes implored him. "Is it possible for you to cast a privacy shield or something, and you can be in the front with each of us as we individually have a go? That way, there would still be more than one person facing the boggart at a time, but no need for embarrassment in front of everyone else."

The Slytherins all looked at her with gratitude and relief. The Ravenclaws were looking quizzical. Lupin looked down at Hermione, his face inscrutable.

"The previous class did not have any issues," he said finally. "They all faced the boggart bravely, with the support of their classmates behind them. I believe your class can do the same."

He ushered them into a line, the Slytherins exchanging looks of dread. There was a bit of a tussle for spots toward the end – all of the Ravenclaws ended up before the Slytherins in line, none of whom were eager for this to happen.

"Everyone ready?" Professor Lupin asked.

Hermione felt her heart lurch. She still had no idea what she'd even see.

"Everyone, step back, so Terry can get a good shot," said Lupin. "On the count of three, Terry," said Professor Lupin, pointing his own wand at the handle of the wardrobe. "One – two – three – now!"

A jet of sparks shot from the end of Lupin's wand and hit the doorknob. The wardrobe burst open, and tiny Professor Flitwick stepped out, shaking his head and giving Terry a disgusted look.

"You've failed everything," he told him. "Everything, Mr. Boot. You are a disgrace to the house of Ravenclaw."

"Riddikulus!" Terry cried.

There was a noise like a whip crack, and Flitwick stumbled; suddenly he was growing very, very tall, as if he were made of gum and being stretched out very long and very thin.

There was a roar of laughter; the boggart paused, confused, and Professor Lupin shouted, "Next! Forward!"

Mandy Brocklehurst was next. The boggart rounded on her, and there was a whip crack, and a man and woman who were very clearly her parents were looking at her with disappointment.

"You're being held back a year?" her father said. He shook his head. "I can't believe my daughter—"

"Riddikulus!" cried Mandy.

With an abrupt crack, her parents had turned into muggle clowns, complete with balloons and bright red noses. Mandy laughed, and Lupin gestured to the next student who stepped forwards, and the clowns became a muggle zombie.

Hermione watched grimly as the line shortened. It wouldn't take much longer now, she guessed.

Indeed, after a few more Ravenclaws had gone, Padma Patil stepped forward, her mouth set in a tight line.

The boggart cracked, and suddenly there was an Indian man standing there, wearing a red tunic with a wide cream-gold sash wrapped around his waist and thrown over his shoulder, holding a large golden censer on a chain. His eyes blazed, and he advanced on Padma, speaking very rapidly – but Hermione didn't recognize the language, and she couldn't make out any of the words.

It was clear Padma did, though, and she stumbled backwards, horrified.

"R-Riddikulus!"

The Indian man suddenly sprouted six more arms, making him look like some horrific octopus-man, but Padma laughed, and the boggart stumbled.

"Good! Next!"

Anthony Goldstein was next. With a crack, the boggart turned into his own body, collapsed on the floor, half-naked and with whip marks all over him. It looked up at him, croaking.

"Why couldn't you just pretend to be normal?" it gasped, eyes wide and bloodshot. "This is all your fault—"

"R—r—riddikulus!" Anthony stuttered.

With a crack, the bloody Anthony became a balloon, and the wheeze of laughter Anthony managed was more from relief than humor.

Professor Lupin frowned. "Next!"

Michael Corner was next. The boggart turned into a smart-looking woman with Michael's nose and hair, advancing on him while holding a dress, her eyes flashing. She started opening her mouth, and Michael's eyes flew wide open with panic.

"Riddikulus!" Michael screamed.

Abruptly, his mother tripped and fell down, air deflating out of her like a large balloon. Michael laughed, but he hurried after Anthony, frantic. He looked petrified, and he was shaking a bit still.

It was the start of the Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle were the next two, with identical fears – a large man, presumably their father, advancing on them with a hot brand outstretched, the brand in the shape of a skull and snake. Crabbe managed to get his father to turn into his mother, while Goyle's father just grew fatter and fatter, which made him laugh.

The Slytherins all watched grimly, though the Ravenclaws seemed horrified at the brand. Most of the Slytherins at least knew what their fear represented, Hermione figured, even if she doubted the Dark Lord would literally brand his followers instead of magically.

Lupin looked more worried as the line grew shorter. He seemed to realize that those of them with the worst fears had tried to put their turn off as long as possible.

"Next!"

Hermione kept trading places with people in line. She still didn't know what her own fear was. She reached a stonewall at Theo, who was at the back, and he absolutely refused to go before her.

Tracey's fear was herself, grown sick and weak from breast cancer. Tracey stared at the image of herself, middle-aged and in a hospital bed, gasping for breath on a ventilator. Her wand wavered.

"R—r—riddikulus!"

There was nothing that could make it funny; the hospital bed started rapidly spinning and spinning in place, and Tracey fled to the end of the line.

Pansy was next. A crack, and it was a woman who was undeniably her mother, looking prim in fancy robes but with a face that resembled a pug's. She was holding a paper and shaking her head.

"Another one, turned down," she spat. "Can't you do anything right? We're not going to take care of you forever – you're going to end up a two-knut Knockturn-Alley whore at this rate—"

"Riddikulus!"

Pansy's mother's robes began to shorten, her hair growing messy, and when Pansy laughed, almost cruelly, Hermione realized she'd had to imagine her own mother as a prostitute in order to laugh.

Millie was next. With a crack, the image turned into a very tall, large man, who slowly advanced with an unhealthy gleam in his eyes. He had a similar chin to Millie – not her father, perhaps, but some other relative.

"Millicent," he purred. "You've grown up to be such a fetching young woman, haven't you…"

Hermione felt sick to her stomach as she watched Millie shudder. With a cry of "Riddikulus!" the strange man fell over flat, dead, and Millie's laugh was almost manic, unhinged.

"…next!"

Daphne's fear was a man in what looked like a cross between medical scrubs and robes, with the crest of St. Mungo's embroidered over the breast. He was holding what looked like a small stirring rod in his hand, the end of it glowing red.

"I'm so sorry, Daphne," he told her, genuine pain and empathy in his voice. "I wish the test results were different, I really do. But unfortunately, we do see this happen – especially if there is a history of familial problems—"

Daphne's "Riddikulus!" was choked, and the healer blew up into confetti. Daphne fled to the back of the line with tears streaming down her face, the Ravenclaws murmuring to themselves, shifting uncomfortably.

There was a crack as Draco advanced to the front of the line, and the confetti coalesced into Lucius Malfoy, arms folded and sneering with disgust.

"Can you do nothing right?" he hissed. "Some son of mine you are, unable to accomplish even the most basic of tasks…" His eyes glowed with malice. "It seems you are in need of a harsher lesson, Draco…"

Lucius Malfoy withdrew his wand, and Draco's "Riddikulus!" was panicked and frantic. It still worked, though – Lucius Malfoy was suddenly clad in the robes of a beggar, his hair filthy and matted. "I am so disappointed, Draco," he said, and Draco laughed, his laugh high and frantic, the image of a homeless Lucius Malfoy trying to be imposing too funny for him to handle.

Lupin was growing visibly anxious as the line shortened. "Next!"

Blaise stepped forward reluctantly, and there was a crack.

His mother appeared, resplendent in a house robe of violet silk and reclining on a chaise lounge. She was holding a large goblet of wine.

"Blaise, Blaise, Blaise," she tsked, shaking her head. "I've always been honest with you and treated you like a grown-up – and the fact is, you've grown quite boring for me, really. I think I'm rather done with this." She gave him a sympathetic smile. "You understand, don't you, dear? I think the woman who lost her son in a terrible accident would have quite a beautifully tragic appeal…" She beckoned him closer, her eyes glinting. "Come here, darling… it will all be over soon…"

Hermione felt like she couldn't breathe.

"Riddikulus!"

Blaise's mother abruptly grew horrific, warts and boils sprouting all over her body, robes bulging as tumors pushed outward, and Blaise just stared at her, not laughing.

"Granger! Next!"

Blaise managed to tear his eyes away from the horrifying sight and make his way to the back of the line as Hermione stepped up, gnawing at her lip, her wand in her hand.

CRACK!

At first, Hermione thought the boggart had vanished.

There was no sign of it anywhere – nothing in the air, no shade of Voldemort, no angry Dumbledore, no evil Tom advancing on her, nothing – and Lupin looked alarmed.

"It couldn't possibly have gotten away," he protested. "It's not in a boggart's nature—"

But Hermione was tuning him out, advancing slowly, eyes sharp and her wand out. Maybe the boggart had presumed she was scared of loneliness, or of the concept of being nothing? Maybe a deadly insect on the floor?

As she looked around, her eyes snagged on a copy of a newspaper, left haphazardly on one of the teachers' plush armchairs. To her surprise, the masthead wasn't that of the Daily Prophet, but that of The Guardian. She moved closer, the headline and photo above the fold coming into view.

Hermione's heart stopped at the sight.

The photo was in color, taken from a distance. It was a bright, fiery, mushroom-shaped cloud, the top of the mushroom cloud wide and flat, almost dome-shaped, and the fire of it cast the rest of the sky into sharp relief in stark blacks and reds. It was similar to a photo she'd seen in her muggle history books long ago when they had studied World War II, but horribly, horribly different. The headline above the image was stark:

LONDON GONE

Hydrogen bomb leaves 6 million dead;
Hundreds of thousands more injured with radiation poisoning

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe.

Her eyes wide and huge, Hermione darted toward the chair, her eyes rapidly scanning the article. Her heart was pounding in her chest as phrases like 'unexpected attack' and 'armed retaliation' and 'mutually-assured destruction' jumped out at her, and she felt like she couldn't breathe, her eyes frenzied as she scanned the paper frantically, the horrible mushroom cloud of fire practically glowing off the page.

Without really realizing it, Hermione began to scream.

She could vaguely feel Lupin's hands on her shoulders, trying to pull her away, but Hermione fought him off, hysterical sobs coming out as she screamed. Hermione couldn't think, couldn't hear, only scream, her shrieks filling the small staff room. She clutched the horrible paper to her, screaming, and it was only when Lupin finally cried "Stupefy!" from behind her that she let go as she fell headlong into blackness.

Chapter Text

"Dumbledore is furious," Tracey told her cheerfully, handing Hermione the tray of chicken.

"Is he?" Hermione asked dully.

Her voice came out faint, scratchy, and abused. She'd woken up in the Hospital Wing and was made to stay while Madam Pomfrey had poured potion after potion down her throat, dismayed at the state of her vocal cords. Hermione hadn't realized screaming like that could cause permanent damage to a person's voice, and Madam Pomfrey had raged about Professor Lupin's class activity, snarling that she had warned him as she examined and reexamined Hermione's response to various potions, trying her best to figure out what could help fix the strain on her throat.

Hermione was rather embarrassed about the entire thing. Although everyone's boggarts had been disturbing, everyone had at least known they were facing a boggart. For some reason, it hadn't occurred to Hermione that a boggart could make itself look like a newspaper… she wouldn't have overreacted and screamed like she had if she'd realized or known. She wasn't blind to the implications of what her fear had been, either. The symbolism of it wasn't lost on her - she was just doing her best not to think of it.

Her classmates, luckily, seemed to think nothing of it – all of the boggart experiences were awful, even if no one else had to be taken to the Hospital Wing.

"He better be," Draco Malfoy said darkly, stabbing at his food. "Making students go through that exercise in front of each other… and you, with your voice. What would he have done if you had lost it and could never cast spells again?" He scowled. "It would be a national outrage."

"He should be," Tracey admitted. "But I think Dumbledore's more upset about the fallout."

Hermione shot Tracey a look, who gave her an apologetic grin and a wince.

"Unfortunate choice of words," Tracey said. "Aftermath, then."

"What fallout?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Right. You missed afternoon classes," Blaise said. He smirked, his eyes glinting. "After you collapsed, we all got a glimpse of the paper before Lupin stepped forward and the boggart turned into this silvery-orb thing, and then he got the thing shut back away. But after he did, the Ravenclaws were asking him about the paper you had seen, demanding to know why you had screamed and if that was real."

"Of course they did," Hermione sighed.

Blaise snickered. "Now, Professor Lupin, already overly beset by the unconscious student he had stunned in the middle of class, told the Ravenclaws, and I quote, 'I don't know. Go look it up or ask the Muggle Studies professor, not me'."

Hermione's eyes grew wider, and Tracey began to laugh. It wasn't a kind laugh.

"They didn't," Hermione breathed.

"Of course they did; they're Ravenclaws," Blaise said, his eyes glinting. "Muggle Studies today veered very dramatically from the topic of non-magical transportation to muggle weapons of war and mass destruction. Professor Burbage did the best she could to answer everyone's questions honestly and calm them down, but once the Ravenclaws learned that muggles could murder millions of people in a second and that they had already done so in the past, it was all over."

"They took it upon themselves to warn everyone," Theo added. His lips were twisted in a cruel smirk. "And I do mean everyone."

"Muggle Studies is an elective, so it's a mixed class," Blaise said. "And after class, our classmates were telling everyone in every House about the horror of the muggle weapons. The Hufflepuffs didn't want to believe it, but they have the most Muggleborns of anyone, and the older students confirmed it was real."

"Some of the Gryffindors started planning a way to attack military centers to destroy the muggle weapons, not that they have any idea what they're talking about," Theo said. He snickered. "The Hufflepuffs are writing a letter to the Ministry and to the International Confederation of Wizards asking them to intervene in muggle affairs to prevent the end of the world, and the Ravenclaws are researching all about how these things were made in the first place."

"So Hogwarts is now facing one of the largest waves of anti-Muggle sentiment it's faced in a while," Tracey said cheerfully. "That is why Dumbledore is so angry."

"Why are you cheerful about that?" Theo asked. "Your Dad is a muggle."

"I'm just pleased that the Headmaster is coming down hard on Professor Lupin for his ill-advised exercise," Tracey said lightly. She gave him a cutting look. "Not all of us got to avoid getting to go."

Theo had the grace to look embarrassed, and Hermione remembered that he'd been the last one in line, behind her.

"I intend to write to my father about it," Draco asserted. "Bully for the muggles; if they can't find us, they can't bomb us, can they? No, Lupin's exercise was a violation of privacy, and I intend for people to know about it."

"You're going to tell your father what you saw with the boggart?" Millie asked dryly.

Hermione shot Millie a sharp look. It wasn't kosher to bring up what people had seen, in her mind. She looked to Draco, but Draco wouldn't look at her, or look up at all.

"If I did, it's not like he would care." His voice was dark. "He'd probably be glad he's made such a strong impression."

Theo snorted, and Blaise winced.

"That's not a bad idea, though," Hermione said thoughtfully. "We could get everyone in the class to write to the Board of Governors. If everyone writes one letter, I can help duplicate them, and we can each send an owl to each governor, so they all get a deluge of letters with traumatizing stories. That might have an effect."

"Of what, not having to reveal personal traumas in front of classmates?" Millie asked. Her voice was sarcastic. "Bit late for that, isn't it?"

"We could stop it from happening again," Hermione shot back. "Who knows what else he has planned?"

Millie grimaced. "…fair."

"I'm just enjoying the schaudenfreude of Dumbledore seeing Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws stirring up anti-muggle sentiments," Blaise said. He cracked his knuckles. "Not that I have anything against muggles, really. But the irony of this is striking."

"Bet Dumbledore ends up having to make some sort of statement to calm things down," Tracey said. "Either him or Professor Lupin."

Hermione looked up at the staff table as her friends continued discussing how their classmates were responding. Dumbledore's eyes seemed alight with fire, and for the first time, Hermione realized she was seeing Dumbledore angry – genuinely, truly angry at something or with someone. Lupin sat next to him, subdued in his ratty robes. He did not look to be speaking to anyone or even eating, just pushing his food around on his plate with his fork.

As her eyes made their way down the staff table, Hermione saw many expressions of concern; McGonagall in particular looked very worried – she had the House the most likely to do something fool-hardy, after all. Both Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick looked anxious, as did Hagrid, but then her eyes stopped on Professor Snape.

Professor Snape, for once, was eating his meal completely normally and calmly, not stabbing the food violently or glaring at his colleagues. He looked perfectly at ease, a small smirk on his lips. He looked practically pleasant, even, as if he was actually enjoying eating in the Great Hall for once.

Snape looked up, glancing down the table toward Dumbledore and Lupin, and his smirk grew, and he returned to his meal with gusto.

Hermione wondered. It made sense for Snape to take pleasure from Lupin's failure, given he hated him, but why did Snape hate Lupin so much? What had Lupin done to him that had caused such utter loathing?

A well of protectiveness swelled up as Hermione watched her professor eat his food cheerfully for the first time she'd ever seen, and she resolved to do her best to find out.

The Slytherins quietly banded together with the Ravenclaws, everyone agreeing to not bring up anyone's fears they had seen in class or discuss the incident in detail with anyone else. Hermione's fear was the only exception, since it had spread like wildfire across the school, but at this point, Hermione didn't care - if the anti-muggle sentiment was causing Lupin stress or difficulty, she was glad for it. Her fear was much less personal and horrifying than what some of her classmates' had been.

Hermione had asked Susan about the other class with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, which had apparently gone much smoother. There had been a couple very personal fears (Neville's was being a Squib, Justin saw terrifying yellow eyes in a giant snake, and Susan had gotten a masked Death Eater), but most of them had gotten more generic fears - spiders, mummies, banshees, and the like. Hermione wondered at the difference - had they gotten an 'easier' boggart to handle? A younger one? Or was there another reason their fears didn't seem at horrifying as her class' had been?

Hermione was rather jealous, really. She'd much rather have faced a boggart that showed up as a Nundu or something than what she'd had instead.

When she talked to Harry and Neville (and Ron) over the weekend about how their class had gone, she was surprised to hear that Harry hadn't even gotten a turn.

"Lupin stepped in front of it before I got a chance," Harry said, frowning. "I didn't even see what the boggart would have become. It was kind of unfair."

Only Harry would think it wasn't fair he didn't get a chance to see his worst fear when the rest of his class had gotten to.

"I think Lupin didn't want You-Know-Who to appear in front of the class," Ron said wisely. "Could have caused a panic, that."

"Probably," Neville agreed. "You're the only one who's had a direct experience with him that you can remember." He looked uneasy. "It could have been really bad."

"What did you get, Neville?" Hermione asked. "I heard... you got being a Squib? What did that look like?"

Neville sighed.

"It was... more symbolic than literal," he explained. "The boggart turned into my wand, hidden away in an open drawer in a nightstand. It was where I used to stash my Dad's wand in frustration when it wouldn't work for me." He shrugged, helpless. "I know it's just a wand in a drawer, but I felt chills - the only reason I would have put my current wand there... would be if it didn't work for me anymore."

"Neville still faced it down, though," Harry praised him. "Yelled 'I'm not a Squib' and turned it into a screaming bush on fire."

Hermione blinked. "A bush on fire?"

Neville colored.

"Err, yeah," he said casually. "Dean was telling us stories of magic muggles believe the other day. There was a talking bush on fire in one of them, and we all thought it was pretty funny. Just, y'know, the image of a bush that wouldn't burn but was on fire, talking to you plain as can be."

"I got a giant spider," Ron volunteered. "I hate spiders. But it was pretty funny when its legs all fell off and it hit the floor."

"What happened with your class, Hermione?" Harry wanted to know. "I mean... we all heard it was bad, but no one's talking about it really."

Hermione's face darkened.

"It was bad," she told them. "I told Lupin that before we started, even."

Hermione told them about the boggart lesson, keeping certain things vague while other things specific. She told them how she had warned Lupin that horrible personal things might come out, and how he had dismissed her worries, subtly implying she was overreacting and that the Slytherins just weren't as brave as the Gryffindors.

"Everyone's fears were bad," Hermione said, vindicated. "People's parents abusing them, threatening them. Terrible health conditions and death. I think the least disturbing fear we got was someone being held back a year, but everyone's was disturbing, and they got worse and worse."

"Parents abusing them?" Ron said. "Like what?"

"Like fears of your father branding you with an iron," Hermione said darkly, "or selling you as a prostitute in the street."

Ron fell back, eyes wide.

"Cor," he breathed. "That's messed up."

"Lupin should have stopped the lesson back with the Ravenclaws," Hermione said, shaking her head disgustedly. "Any responsible teacher would have."

Harry looked thoughtful. "I wonder if he felt like he couldn't."

Hermione gave Harry a strange look. "He's the teacher. He could have stepped forward and stopped it at any time."

"Yeah, I know, but I didn't mean like that." Harry tilted his head. "You know how Snape hates Gryffindors, Hermione?"

Hermione snorted. Even though she liked Snape, she was well aware he was monumentally unfair to Gryffindor House.

"Well, in Snape's class, Gryffindor can't do anything right," Harry said. "Even if we do a Potion perfectly, he just scowls and moves on. He never admits when a Gryffindor does a good job, or was right answering a question, or anything."

"Especially with me," Ron added in, nodding. He made a face. "No idea what I did to earn a grudge from him."

"Better you than me," Neville said, shaking his head. "I was terrified of him in first year until he let off, you know?"

Hermione didn't say anything. She suspected she knew what had made Snape target Ron in place of Neville.

"But if Snape and Lupin hate each other, maybe Lupin is like Snape, but backwards," Harry continued. "Maybe he likes Gryffindors and hates Slytherins."

"And that makes him unable to stop an exercise that's causing emotional distress to his students?" Hermione objected. "I don't think that's relevant in the slightest."

"It would make him reluctant to admit a Slytherin student was right," Harry said, wincing. He looked at her sideways. "If you hadn't brought up the risk beforehand, he could have stopped the exercise. But because you pointed out the danger before you even started, he might have felt like he had to keep going, or he'd lose face to a 3rd year Slytherin girl."

Hermione thought back to the expression on Lupin's face as the fears had gotten worse and worse. He'd known it was getting worse, she was sure - yet he'd done nothing...

"If a teacher is really so petty to save his masculine pride instead of save a dozen students from being traumatized," Hermione said succinctly, folding her arms, "then he is not a good teacher."

"Oi," Ron objected. "Our class didn't have a problem with him!"

Hermione shot him a venomous look. "Your class was scared of mummies and eyeballs. Not abuse or filicide."

Ron had the grace to look abashed.

"It sounds like you had it a lot worse than we did," Neville agreed, wincing. "Though it wasn't really clear - you feared the muggles would blow everyone up? And Lupin had to Stun you?"

Hermione bit her lip, coloring.

"I think it was more like your fear," she said delicately. "I reacted as I would as if it were literal, really - there was just this awful, cold plunging feeling of doom and despair and horror and I didn't realize the paper was the boggart - but it was probably more symbolic."

"Symbolic?" Harry asked, blinking. "I mean. I thought a nuclear explosion destroying London sounded pretty bad just on its own."

"Well, yes," Hermione agreed, "but think about what all it would mean."

Harry stared at her blankly, and Hermione sighed.

"Well, to start, my muggle life would be gone," she said. She snapped her fingers. "Poof. Vaporized in a second. Along with my parents and nearly every muggle I've ever known. It'd also mean the muggle and magical worlds would go to war."

"Really?" Harry looked shocked. "You think?"

"Look at what already happened," Hermione pointed out. "Some people found out that muggles could do that, and they already freaked out. The Hufflepuffs wanted to write the ICW and ask them to intercede."

Ron looked lost. "ICW?"

"International Confederation of Wizards," Neville told him.

"And your house wanted to steal muggle weapons from them," Hermione said, giving them a pointed look.

Ron looked embarrassed.

"Some of the upper years were alarmed, and Fred and George had a great idea that we thought would work," he defended. "We weren't really going to do anything, but y'know, if someone needed to do anything, we'd have a plan-"

The idea of Fred and George trying to rob muggles of nuclear weapons was abjectly horrifying all on its own.

"So your fear is the magical and muggle worlds going to war?" Harry asked, blinking.

"I don't know," Hermione sighed. "Probably. But like... there was also this horrible feeling of inevitability and despair."

"'Inevitability'?" Harry asked. "You don't really think-"

"It was more, like," Hermione said, trying to find the words. "Like, if that happened... what would happen to me? What would anything I've ever done matter at all to the world?" She paused, remembering the red explosion on the newspaper, how it had burned into her eyes. "It would erase and destroy everything. There would be nothing left."

There was a silence as they all reflected on that for a moment. Neville and Ron looked at her, wide-eyed.

"Wow," Neville whistled. "So your fear is either wizards and muggles ending the world, or you meaning nothing to the world in the end?"

Ron winced. "And I got giant spiders. I didn't even get spiders destroying buildings or anything - I only got spiders."

Harry looked at Hermione sideways, his lips quirking.

"Susan had a fun reaction when Ron went," Harry said conversationally. "She looked like she was near tears by the time Seamus went after Ron."

Hermione's lips started to twitch.

"Oh, did she?" she asked casually.

Harry grinned at her, secretively, and Hermione started to grin back.

"She did," Harry said, smirking. "She was talking to herself, saying how it wasn't real, how it would be over in a moment, how no one was really hurt-"

"I wasn't hurt," Ron objected. "I took its legs off, just like I wanted to!"

Hermione wasn't about to explain that Susan had probably been more worried from the overwhelming anxiety the spider must have been letting out than of Ron facing it, but it was funny to consider. Susan had not mentioned such details in her own retelling of the incident to Hermione.

"She did a good job with her own fear, though," Neville said. He shuddered. "Pretty sure hers was a Death Eater, but she just did 'Riddikulus' and suddenly he was in a flashing rainbow-colored cloak."

Harry looked at Hermione sympathetically.

"Are you alright?" he asked gently. "It sounds like it was a rough time for you all."

Hermione bit her lip, considering. As traumatic as it had all been, everyone seemed relatively okay. And Lupin probably hadn't expected things to go as poorly as they had - though he should have stopped the class as soon as things took a dark turn.

"I'll be okay," she said finally, with a sigh. She gave Harry a quirked smile. "You're probably right - that Lupin's like a reverse-Snape."

Harry made a face.

"At least Snape's never traumatized any of the Gryffindors," he said. "Let's hope Lupin just made a mistake. If he did it on purpose... well. That'd be much worse."

"I like Lupin!" Ron objected. "He made class interesting for once! Much better than Lockhart going on and on about hags."

Harry ignored Ron to keep looking at Hermione, holding her gaze, and she nodded slowly.

"Right," she said. "We'll need to keep an eye out just in case. Who knows what's his game?"

Professor Lupin's classes, after the boggart lesson, were just as interesting as the first, only with Lupin now avoiding practical demonstrations.

After boggarts, they studied Red Caps and then kappas; Lupin seemed to have designed their curriculum around Dark creatures and what do to when faced with each of them. He had made a general statement explaining that muggles and muggle weapons were not a threat their next class, which had most of the class exchanging doubtful, dubious looks, but the matter was dropped in front of him from that point on, and he refused to address it further.

Hermione tolerated Lupin's class and took notes, but she didn't raise her hand or engage either. Lupin had lost all the goodwill he'd earned helping Harry with the dementor in the train, and her sense of trust in him as a professor was completely shattered. Hermione was still privately hoping everyone's letters to the Board of Governors would result in his termination, and it seemed many of the Slytherins had a similar attitude, with none of them actively participating in the class. This cleared the way for Ravenclaws to earn tons of House Points from Lupin by answering all his questions, but Hermione suspected Snape was already somehow aware - the hourglasses always seemed to even out, even after they'd had a lesson with Lupin.

Lupin never apologized for the class going horribly wrong, but then, Hermione didn't really expect him to. If he'd allowed the lesson to continue out of some sense of pride, it wasn't likely he'd humble himself enough to apologize to his students for doing them wrong.

Hagrid's next few classes were more subdued as well, after the incident with Buckbeak. Hagrid seemed to have lost his confidence; he spent two lessons teaching them how to look after flobberworms, which had to be the most boring creature in existence, until Hermione loudly complained.

"I seriously got mauled for this?" she said. "If I'm going to get hurt in class, I want to at least learn about something interesting to make it worth it, you know?"

Harry shot her a grateful look while Hagrid looked surprised, but the next lesson he brought Diricawls for them to learn about and look after, which delighted Hermione – muggles thought the Dodo bird to be extinct, not a magical bird that could apparate away from danger. Everyone seemed pleased to not be bored out of their minds for another lesson, and even Draco seemed to cheer up – he was quite taken with one of the diricrawls, and he'd asked if it was legal for wizards to own them as pets.

History of Magic had taken a distinct turn from the previous years. Instead of being a dull, droning class of lectures from a ghost, Professor Lockhart took a much more active approach to teaching them history. The first class, he'd assigned them homework to write down what they would want to learn about from history, then collected their scrolls the next class, scanning them for ideas.

"Very interesting!" he said, writing on parchment. "There are some definite themes throughout your answers! Yes, yes, I think we will have an excellent year."

Hermione wondered if he legitimately hadn't planned out a curriculum, or if he was fishing around for book ideas from his classes.

His first unit was on the witch trials of the 16th and 17th centuries, which Professor Binns had already covered with them. Some of the students were able to dredge up the relevant dates and some of the relevant names when asked, but most of the rest of the details eluded them, to Lockhart's displeasure.

"Names and dates aren't what you need to learn from history!" He seemed horrified. "No, no, you need to learn the truth of it all!"

The next class was an exercise: Lockhart gave each student a piece of paper with a word written on it, explaining that each person either got "leader" "muggle" or "witch".

"If you are a leader, your goal is to find all the witches," he instructed them. "If you are a witch, your goal is to pass as a muggle and not be killed. You have very limited magic available to you, and you're aware that if you are caught, you will be killed."

"What about if we're a muggle?" Susan asked.

Lockhart grinned. "Well, what did the muggles want? Some wanted to help find witches, while some just wanted to survive. Make yourself a muggle character, and try to embody what that person would have wanted."

Hermione had gotten assigned "muggle", as had the majority of the class, she suspected. She decided to model her character after herself – if she had been a muggle back then, she'd have been envious of the witches and would have wanted to try and figure out who they were in secret, so she could see if she could become one of them, without getting herself accused in the process.

Draco Malfoy and Ernie MacMillan had been chosen as town leaders, and they immediately set up a Witch Trial Prosecution Center at the front of the classroom, pushing together several desks. One of them managed to transfigure a wooden gavel, and Draco looked very satisfied to loudly bang it on the desk.

"Order! Order!" Ernie announced. "There has been an accusation of a witch!"

Hermione had no idea how someone could have been accused of being a witch already as they'd just started the exercise, but Ernie declared that Pansy Parkinson had been accused of being a witch, and now she must stand trial.

Pansy was loudly displeased by this.

"You're just picking on me because you don't like me," she spat as she moved to the front of the room. "This isn't fair!"

"Do you think muggle men in power didn't pick on people they disliked?" Professor Lockhart asked mildly. "Does anything in history suggest that such people would 'play fair'?"

Pansy sulked but stayed quiet after that.

The rest of the class consisted of a trial of Pansy, where several townspeople came forward, making up stories of witchcraft they'd seen her do.

"I saw her curse Hannah," Susan accused. "She pointed and said something, and then Hannah tripped and broke her ankle."

"She cursed my ankle!" Hannah agreed. She started hopping around on one foot, leaning heavily on Susan. "She's a witch!"

Some of their classmates had a harder time getting into it.

"I saw her cast Crucio on her dog," Goyle said. "When she was mad at it."

"Muggles don't know about the Cruciatus curse," Lockhart reminded them. "They don't really know what all magic can do."

"I saw her talk to her dog?" Crabbe tried.

Ernie frowned and banged his fist on the desk, as Draco was unwilling to give up the gavel.

"How does that make her a witch?" he demanded. "I talk to my own dog all the time."

Crabbe's eyes grew big.

"Oh!" he said. "And then – the dog talked back!"

There was a murmur, and the Hufflepuff Muggleborns seemed to chime in quickly.

"It must be a hellhound!"

"The Devil must have given her a dog when he gave her unholy magic!"

"Only a witch could make a beast talk!"

Draco and Ernie looked highly pleased with this all, and they concluded that there was sufficient evidence to prove Pansy was, indeed, a witch. They condemned her to burn at the stake, and before she went to 'burn', Lockhart took her aside and whispered in her ear, Pansy's eyes growing wide.

Pansy had to stand on the 'burning desk', as it had been designated, as she was condemned to die. Just before they 'lit the flames', Pansy glared at them all, then let out a high-pitched cackle.

"I may have been a witch, but do you think I am the only one?" Her eyes gleamed. "A curse be upon you all, and may my fellow witches take strength from my death as I go to my grave!"

After Pansy 'died', she clambered down off of the desk, head held high, while everyone else murmured.

"More than one witch?" Justin Finch-Fletchney said, looking concerned. He looked around. "Who else is a witch?"

Lockhart looked very smug, and Hermione suspected they were playing right into his hand.

"We'll continue this next class!" he told them. "Be prepared."

By the time the next class had rolled around, tiny factions had formed outside of class. Hermione, Tracey, Daphne, and Millie had banded together, agreeing that none of them were witches, and that the best way to defend themselves was to back each other up and accuse someone else if any one of them was accused. The Hufflepuff girls seemed to have done something similar, while the boys came to class with grins, having prepared accusations to level against their classmates.

"Tracey is a witch!" Zacharias Smith announced. "As she walked by, my cow's milk curdled in its bucket!"

"Your milk curdled because your cow is sick," Tracey shot back. "You're a poor landowner and a poor farmer who doesn't know how to do anything right."

"I think Zacharias is a witch," Daphne said. She sighed. "He was ever so jealous when I married my husband, and he was very upset when we announced the birth of our son. But after the birth, I saw him glare at me and make the sign of the devil, and ever since then, my milk has dried up."

"Wait, I can't be a witch! I'm a boy!" Zacharias protested. He looked to Lockhart, who grinned.

"The muggles executed men as witches too," he said, shrugging. "You could be a witch."

"He is a witch," Tracey declared. "He's accusing others to deflect the blame from himself!"

"He is, he is!" Millie chimed in. "I saw him curse Wayne Hopkins once, when he was angry at losing at cards. The next day, Wayne's goats ran away, and he broke his leg chasing after them!"

Wayne leveled an utterly betrayed look at Zacharias.

"How could you?" he demanded. "To a fellow Hufflepuff, no less?"

Zacharias was baffled.

"I—I didn't," he protested. "I didn't do anything!"

"Of course he's going to lie," Hermione sneered. "He's a witch. He can lie without worry. He's going to Hell when he dies to be embraced by the devil, whereas the rest of us good folk have to worry about being judged for our sins."

Draco and Ernie didn't seem to understand a word of what Hermione said, but it was clear from the murmuring among the Hufflepuff Muggleborns that Hermione had made a strong point.

"Zacharias Smith, come forward," Draco announced. "You must stand trial."

"This is bullshit," Zacharias said, stomping towards the front of the class.

Once he had been tried and 'set on fire', he angrily hopped off the Burning Desk and threw his piece of paper at them.

"See? Not a witch!" he spat. "I was a muggle the whole time!"

A few people murmured, but Hermione and her friends just exchanged glances. He didn't seem to realize they didn't care that he wasn't a witch, merely that he was a danger to one of their own and had been taken care of appropriately.

By the end of the class, five more people had been declared witches and set ablaze, with just over a quarter of the class in total 'burned at the stake', and Lockhart declared the activity completed.

"Now, everyone, show your papers," he instructed them.

As they all showed their papers, only two people had 'witch' on theirs – Daphne and Draco.

"How come Malfoy was leader and witch?" Justin protested. "He got two roles!"

"How better to protect yourself than by being the one who passes the sentence?" Lockhart asked, smiling.

"Daphne was a witch?" Hannah seemed stunned. "She was the one who had her milk dry up after the birth of her child!"

Hermione thought maybe some of her classmates had gotten a bit too involved in the entire thing.

"I want you to write an essay detailing your experiences with the exercise," Lockhart told them. "Focus on how it made you feel. What emotions did you feel? What motivated you? What would you have done if you were accused of being a witch?"

It was an essay unlike any they'd ever been assigned so far, but Hermione's esteem for Lockhart went up a bit when he assigned it with a sparkle in his eye. It was very easy to look back on the witch trials and dismiss them as something that happened far, far in the past; it was much harder to dismiss them when you'd just lived through an exercise that taught you how quickly people would turn on each other to protect themselves.

At any rate, it was the most fun any of them had had in History class in ages, and they all told him so, making Lockhart beam.

Chapter Text

Classes continued as September wore on.

Arithmancy continued to be interesting, though Hermione was quickly disillusioned with the idea of being able to predict the future accurately anytime soon. Professor Vector was teaching them the basics and drilling them on the fundamentals of Arithmancy, of which there were many.

"If you don't know how to ask the right question," she said repeatedly, "then you won't get the right result."

She taught them about probability and distributions, teaching them Z tests and T tests to model distribution over populations or a sample. They also learned about matrices, how to make them, and how to multiply them together. It was all pure mathematics, to Hermione, with no magic involved so far, but she was sure they'd get there eventually.

Professor Vector also taught them formal logic, which she pronounced as 'one of the most critical tools available to an Arithmancer'. They went over statements, premises, and conclusions, before moving on to hypothetical/conditional statements.

"Let us say that 'If Sybill Trelawney teaches Divination at Hogwarts, then she is a professor at Hogwarts'," Professor Vector said, writing the statement on the board. "'If Sybill Trelawney teaches Divination at Hogwarts' is a sufficient condition; it is all you need to determine if X is Y. If the sufficient condition is true, the necessary condition is true as well."

She had them practice making statements, which Hermione enjoyed, writing things like 'If a monster is a basilisk, then that monster is also a serpent' and 'If a wizard believes in blood superiority, then that wizard is a prat'. They were graded on the structure of their statements, not the validity of their claims, and Professor Vector had given Hermione a raised eyebrow and smirk as she handed her back her paper with perfect marks, despite the pointed nature some of the statements she'd put down.

Ancient Runes was a lot of memorization. They were starting with the Elder Futhark runic alphabet, one of the most popular ones used, and each rune had multiple meanings associated with it, and the runes looked very similar. After they had a rudimentary grasp of the runes, Professor Babbling had them set up small protective circles around random objects using runes, showing them how to embed their power into the runes to activate their magical properties. Most of the class was taken aback as the glowing results, but Hermione was excited – protective runes could easily be translated to a bigger use during a larger ritual, and she was eager to try.

Most exciting for Hermione, however, wasn't a class at all.

It was the Wizengamot.

Hermione was always very careful never to be seen with her Time-Turner as she doubled-up on her hours to attend all her classes. But on the first and third Tuesday of every month, Hermione put on a set of long black velvet robes, carefully pinned her badge to her chest, and reported to the Headmaster's office, where she and Dumbledore Floo'd to the Ministry to attend the Wizengamot legislative sessions. Dumbledore seemed cheerful when they did, to Hermione's mild relief – she'd worried Dumbledore would hold resentment against her for being a Slytherin, but Dumbledore didn't seem to care in the slightest. She wondered if her trauma in Professor Lupin's class had garnered her sympathy from him, but so long as he wasn't openly suspicious of her, Hermione was satisfied.

Wizengamot legislative sessions were held in a different area of the Ministry, one that still had rising seats in different tiers but was more circular and tighter-together, without a large ground floor for barristers to argue on. As Youth Representative, Hermione's seat was near the top back, behind the regional representatives and among the Ministry Department heads. She sat between the Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, who each seemed to dislike the other intensely.

Era Hornbeam, the Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, seemed to loathe Royce Fiddlewood (Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures), often making snide remarks that if his department did its job, her job wouldn't be half as complicated as it was. Royce Fiddlewood was indignant at such accusations and often shot back that Era hadn't the slightest idea of the complexity required to manage several different divisions at once and maintain positive diplomatic relationships with everyone.

Hermione found it perversely amusing to be trapped in the middle of feuding adults, each of them trying to convince a teenager that they were the one who was correct.

Legislative sessions in general consisted of anyone who wanted to propose new laws or regulations presenting their legislation, discussion and argument on it, and either the legislation being tabled, sent for revisions, or voted on. Most commonly, legislation was proposed by Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who occasionally brought the head of one of her sub-departments to present with her. She asked for the approval of more funds to go to the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol and for the Hit Wizard department to allow them to expand their efforts to capture Sirius Black, who was still at large, which was approved without much objection. When she proposed expanding the authorization of the type of detection spells Aurors and Hit Wizards were permitted to use, however, the legislation was met with much objection and protest.

Hermione had watched in fascination as the Sacred 28 contingent, many of whom had regularly given off the air like they couldn't be bothered, had come alive at the proposal, speaking out strenuously against it. Lucius Malfoy had spoken against it, citing how many precious family heirlooms of many families had been made with dubious methods long ago before such restrictions were in place. It would be terrible, he said, to have such people fall under suspicion for merely having such artifacts or keepsakes. Rowan Greengrass had spoken, openly saying how such legislation would make his family's ancestral home register as illegal, because blood rites had been used to protect it when the foundations were laid centuries ago. And Narcissa Malfoy, current holder of the Black family house seat, gave an emotional speech over one keepsake she still had of her mother's – a locket that had been forged with old magic passed down for generations, and how she would horrified to be arrested under suspicion of Dark activity for wanting to wear something precious given to her by her mother.

Hermione took mental notes as she listened to the orators. The legislation was voted on and struck down, to Madam Bones' obvious frustration, but Hermione was curious to see the Sacred 28 largely come alive and vote nearly as a block.

The Sacred 28, it seemed, differed in opinions on most issues, but when it came to their pride or their heritage, they closed ranks and voted together as a block. Any major changes, Hermione suspected, would need to be proposed in such a way that the Sacred 28 would support the legislation, even if it were against their own interests.

Hermione mostly sat quietly in the back, occasionally talking to Royce Fiddlewood about his concerns in the department ("The Goblins are getting snarky," he'd told her, "and I'm concerned that the Werewolf Registry is terribly out of date") and listening Era Hornbeam's complaints ("They want Obliviators to be able to handle anything," she sniffed, "but they won't approve funds for more technical Obliviation training. Do they think wiping specific memories from people is easy?"). Hermione sat and listened and learned, figuring out how legislation was written, how it was presented, and just how everything worked.

The few things the youth of Britain had asked her for, really, were food, protection, and the freedom to do as they pleased. It wasn't much, but Hermione was determined to try to help get them the few things the hedgewitches had asked of her. She was well aware of her young age and that generally all the Youth Representative was expected to do was vote, and that any plan to propose legislation herself and get it passed would have to be very carefully planned and plotted.

If nothing else, it was very interesting, Hermione mused to herself, to see just how the government of the Wizarding World was run.

Snape was looking at Hermione. His eyes betrayed nothing.

"A field trip?" he repeated.

Hermione glanced around at her coven, who nodded encouragingly.

"Yes, sir," Hermione said. "We want to learn about the old rituals of the Autumnal Equinox."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose very tightly.

"Miss Granger," he said finally. "This would be a very difficult request at the best of times. Persuading the Headmaster to allow five underage students off the school grounds on an Old Magic festival day would be a challenge normally. When there is a mass murderer on the loose, it is even less likely to be approved."

Hermione faltered.

"Oh…" she said. "I forgot about the Sirius Black thing."

"Yes." Snape's eyes gleamed. "The 'Sirius Black' thing."

The coven exchanged disappointed looks.

"What if I don't go?" Harry volunteered.

Hermione whirled around to look at Harry, who shrugged.

"I mean, if he's after me, then he's after me," he said. His voice was cynical. "No reason the rest of you shouldn't get to go, when it's me who'd be risking you all."

"Harry, no!" Hermione protested. "We all go together, or we don't go at all!"

Harry made a face. "That seems unfair to you."

"Life is unfair, Potter," Blaise said, clapping him on the shoulder. "But we'll let it be unfair and all gripe about it together."

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"As touching as this is," he drawled, "do you have anything else for me?"

"Oh! Yes," Hermione said. She scrambled in her robes, withdrawing a parchment. "I was hoping you could help me find buyers for basilisk parts?"

Snape took the parchment, his eyebrow going up very high.

"Buyers?" he said, his tone tinged with incredulousness. "Miss Granger…"

"I have a Class B Nontradeable Goods License, sir," Hermione told him. "So I can sell them to people licensed to work with such ingredients. The apothecary in Diagon Alley suggested I reach out to the Potion Masters guild, and I thought maybe you could help with that?"

Snape snorted.

"The idea of selling basilisk parts in Diagon Alley…" he scoffed. He examined the paper again. "Skin, venom, venom glands…" He read over the list, pausing at the end. "Fangs, bones… ovaries?"

Hermione flushed. "Well, yes. There were two."

Snape paused to give her an incredulous look, and Hermione's face colored a deeper red.

"I don't know what's useful or not in potions-making," she said hotly. "I just put everything on the list."

Snape smirked, rolling the list up.

"Some of these ingredients, the Potions Masters guild would likely be very interested in," he conceded. "I will reach out to them with your list and quantities of each available, and we shall see what they say."

"Perfect." Hermione beamed.

Susan Bones nudged Hermione. "Actually, professor…"

"Oh! Right," Hermione said, remembering. She looked back up at Snape. "You might want to update the quantities on that sheet before you owl them. You get first dibs on anything you want."

Snape paused. "…Miss Granger?"

"As a thank you," she said hurriedly. "You're our coven sponsor. And I'm pretty sure if I give you the parts, you don't need a license because you're not buying them, right?" She looked up at him. "We don't really know much, but in the muggle world, most people who earn higher degrees and teach also have private research that they work on for publication, and we figured that if you had ultra-secret projects, super rare basilisk parts might help you out with that."

"Ultra-secret projects?" Snape raised an eyebrow, and Hermione flushed.

"Well, you don't seem the type to do nothing…" she said.

"You clearly don't like teaching," Harry said bluntly. "If you don't like teaching, it must be the other opportunities keeping you here."

Snape gave Harry a sharp look, but Harry folded his arms and didn't back down.

"Other opportunities?" he said, voice dripping with venom.

Harry blinked.

"Well, yeah. You're a Potions Master – that's got to be like a PhD in the muggle world, right?" he asked. He shrugged. "Tons of university professors hate teaching. They only keep at it because the university funds their research."

Snape turned to Blaise, Susan, and Luna incredulously.

"And you went along with this?" he demanded. "You let them continue believing this?"

"It made sense to me," Susan said, puzzled. "I know you have to do some kind of advanced study after Hogwarts to earn a Mastery."

"I thought you deserved a gift of our appreciation, regardless of private research or not," Blaise drawled. "It's not like I know anything about career options after Hogwarts yet."

"And I didn't want to share your private business with anyone," Luna said. She smiled at Snape, even though her words sounded vaguely threatening. "It's not time for that to come out yet."

Snape stared Luna down, but she just kept her airy smile. Hermione finally broke the awkward silence.

"If you're not going to be able to get us a field trip," she said, "can you at least write us a pass to be out on the grounds after hours on the equinox so we can do a different ritual?"

Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I cannot think of how to put this more plainly to you, Miss Granger," he said. "Sirius Black is a dangerous criminal who is suspected to be coming after Potter. Because of this, he should not be out after hours. It is a safety risk."

"There are dementors all around the school!" Blaise objected. "They'll block Black from getting in."

"If Black has slipped past them once before," Snape said, raising an eyebrow, "what makes you think he cannot do so again?"

"If he can, then why are the dementors still here?" Hermione grumbled.

Snape gave her a look.

"The Ministry is doing the best they can to protect student safety," he drawled. "After the past two years, the general populace is not pleased with how their students have been at risk. Posting the dementors around the grounds is a very public way of showing the Ministry is taking a proactive approach."

"You hate me," Harry said plainly. "What do you care if Black offs me?"

Hermione gasped, and Snape's eyes cut over to Harry sharply.

"Harry, Professor Snape doesn't hate you—" she started.

"Hermione, listen. Yes, he does." Harry's voice was weary. "I have no idea why, but he does. He tolerates me with the rest of you around when I'm part of the coven, but he hates me the rest of the time."

Hermione went to object, but then she faltered and stopped, considering, before turning to look at Snape. Snape was looking at Harry with dark eyes, his gaze sharp. Harry wasn't looking at Snape; he just seemed weary.

"Professor," Hermione ventured. "Do you hate Harry?"

"I refuse to tolerate such inanities," Professor Snape spat. He stood up. "I will talk to the Potion Masters Guild for you; I will not sign your form. Do you understand?"

"That wasn't an answer," Luna observed wisely, and Snape's eyes flashed.

"Well, no," Blaise said, smirking. "Professor Snape can't really admit out loud that he hates a student, can he? Though, maybe he can admit to hating a peer…" Blaise shot a grin at Professor Snape. "So, sir… do you hate Professor Lupin?"

The change was immediate; Snape's eyes narrowed to slits, and he looked like he was barely restraining himself from violence. Hermione could see a vein pulse in his neck, and he clenched his fingers into tight fists.

"The Headmaster would prefer if the faculty remain united as one collective face to provide strength and guidance to the student body during these trying times," he recited, his voice emotionless.

"So that's a 'yes'," Blaise said. He turned to Harry. "At least he hates an adult more than you? That's got to be a comfort, right?"

Harry laughed. "Yeah, sure."

"If you would please get out of my office," Snape hissed, his eyes flashing, and Hermione realized they'd worn his patience down completely.

"Of course. Thank you, professor," she said quickly, herding her coven toward the door. "Have a good night!"

Professor Snape's office door slammed shut behind them, and they made their way to an empty classroom to groan.

"We can't not do a coven ritual on the equinox!" Susan bemoaned. "It's one of the best times to do ritual magic!"

"I'm surprised you gave up so easily, Hermione," Blaise said. "I thought you'd have pushed harder."

"That's because she didn't give up," Luna said simply.

The others looked up at her, and Hermione smiled.

"Follow me," she said. "I have an idea."

"—so we thought it'd be an excellent way to learn more about the Ministry bans," Hermione explained. "You're always telling us the best way to learn History is to get inside of it. And we thought if we go out, we'll be able to tell if there really was a lot of power present, or if it was the Ministry just trying to control people's lives."

The coven all stood around Lockhart's desk in his office. Large cover art prints of his books were framed and hanging up around on the walls, with photos of Lockhart winking and grinning at them from every direction. Lockhart himself looked thoughtful.

"The Ministry bans on traditional magical holiday rituals aren't often talked about," he said. He started to grin. "What an excellent path to take! A brief exploratory experience to discover what might lay beneath the surface!" He beamed at them. "If you each write a foot about what you learn from it, I'll even give you extra credit!"

"So you'll sign the pass?" Harry fought to keep the shock from his voice.

"Of course!" Lockhart was writing a pass to be out after hours with a large peacock feather quill, his handwriting extremely loopy and exaggerated. "Far be it from me to stifle curious minds! Why wouldn't I?"

"I think Harry is just surprised because other teachers wouldn't consider it," Blaise said quickly. "You know. With Sirius Black out and about."

Lockhart laughed at that, handing Hermione the pass.

"Well, I daresay if Harry Potter here could beat his master as a baby, Sirius Black himself doesn't stand a chance," he said, grinning. "And that's to say nothing of our own little budding heroine over here!" He shot Hermione a wink, and she managed a mostly genuine grin back.

"Thank you, sir," she said, gratitude in her voice. "This is brilliant."

"You're the brilliant little students with such an enterprising attitude for exploring history," he praised them, flashing them another grin with bright, gleaming teeth. "Be sure to report back what you've learned!"

As they left his office, thanking him again, they headed back down the hallway toward the staircase. Harry and Blaise made it halfway down the hallway before dissolving into snickers.

"Now we find out why Hermione really wanted a new History teacher," Harry teased. "She wanted to be able to get passes to the Restricted Section or to be out after hours whenever she wanted."

"Professor Binns was terrible and you know it," Hermione defended, but she was laughing.

"Trust Hermione to know exactly what academic buttons to push to get what she wants," Blaise said, grinning. "But hey! We've got it." He looked at Hermione. "So? What do you want to do for it?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"I want to try a ritual similar to the one we did with air over the summer with you all," she said. "But I also want to test out a new sort of magic with you all too. So I haven't quite made up my mind."

"A new kind of magic?" Blaise's eyes gleamed.

"Not Dark magic?" Harry worried.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course not, Harry."

"I'm excited," Susan said, bouncing down the hallway. "The equinox is what, next week? The week of your birthday."

"Yes. And—" Hermione shot a sharp look at Luna "—no surprise birthday parties this year, okay?"

Luna laughed happily.

"Fair enough," she agreed. Her eyes danced. "We can see which of your friends and suitors remember your birthday on their own."

"That is not what I meant," Hermione groaned, but Susan and Luna were teasing her now, and Hermione was relieved when they all had to part ways hastily to get off to bed.

Chapter Text

The next day, there was a special announcement posted to the Common Room bulletin board. Hermione found the third years crowding around it when she went to go to breakfast.

"What's this?" she asked, weaving her way through. She blinked. "A Special Lecture? And we have to go after classes on Monday?"

"For all the third years," Tracey clarified. "Though, there's two locations listed. They've dividing up the boys and girls."

"Have to divide us up somehow," Theo shrugged. "Too many of us otherwise."

"Ugh." Pansy's nose wrinkled. "I'd hoped it was the first Hogsmeade announcement. Why do we need a 'Special Lecture', anyway?"

Hermione heard someone snicker, and she turned to see a couple older Slytherins looking at them. They smirked widely and waved at her, sniggering, and Hermione turned back to the poster, rereading it.

"This is like the Flying lessons," Millie was saying. "Not a permanent new class, at least."

"But why would they get all the House Heads for it?" Draco wanted to know. "You don't need two teachers to teach twenty of us."

The older Slytherins snickered again, and Hermione glanced over at them. She turned back to the flyer, looking at it thoughtfully. A special lecture, divided by gender, with two heads of house overseeing each section… and the older Slytherins were laughing at them…

A thought occurred to Hermione of what it might be, and once it occurred to her, she couldn't make it go away. Hermione started to snicker, attracting surprised looks from her friends, who gave her strange looks as she started to laugh harder.

"Ignore me, please," she said, trying to catch her breath. "I'll come to my senses soon enough, I assure you."

Blaise and Draco continued to give her odd looks as she giggled, still bent over with laughter, but Tracey dismissed her easily enough.

"I suppose we'll find out soon enough," Tracey said easily. "Maybe it's about self-defense to protect us from Black?"

"Maybe," Draco said. "Seeing as the new Defense teacher is too busy teaching us about creatures than actually teaching us how to defend ourselves…"

"Can you blame him?" Pansy pointed out, her tone snide. "It's not like the Magical Creatures teacher has any clue how to teach about creatures."

At breakfast, Hermione hurried over to the Gryffindor table. Harry looked up, surprised, but greeted her with a smile.

"Hey, Hermione," he said.

"Harry, I need to borrow your invisibility cloak on Monday," she said, getting immediately to the point. Harry blinked.

"Why?" he asked. He looked at her quizzically. "Does this have something to do with the Special Lecture we all have to go to?"

"It does," Hermione said. Her voice had barely restrained laughter in it.

"What is it?" Harry asked, leaning forward. "Do you know what it's about?"

"I don't," Hermione admitted. "But I have my suspicions."

"And?" Harry's eyes gleamed.

Hermione glanced around, making sure no one was eavesdropping.

"I think they're going to teach us Sex and Relationship Education," she told him conspiratorially. "They're dividing the boys from the girls, we're all thirteen now, and this is the first year people will be able to go on dates to Hogsmeade, which I think start next month."

Harry looked surprised.

"Do you really?" he asked. "I mean, it's not like Hogwarts has to follow muggle education laws."

"They still won't want a bunch of teen mothers, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "I expect in addition to teaching us about bodies and puberty and whatnot, they'll teach us about contraception and the like. But Harry." She reached across and grabbed Harry's forearm. "You must loan me your Invisibility cloak. I cannot miss the opportunity to see Snape have to answer questions about sex."

Harry began to snicker, then outright laugh.

"Okay, fair," he said, grinning widely. "On one condition – write down the most awkward questions you can think of for me and the other Gryffindors to ask him ahead of time and pass it to me beforehand."

Hermione couldn't restrain her laughter. "Deal."

Word spread like fire, and by evening, all of the third year had heard the rumor they were going to be learning about sex from their Heads of house. The boys seemed to alternate between thinking this was totally unnecessary to completely uproarious, while the girls seemed actually interested.

"It'll be nice to get some direct answers, you know?" Daphne said, falling back on her bed. "My mum still won't tell me anything because I haven't chyrsalized yet. She thinks it's inappropriate."

"I'm glad Professor Sprout will be there along with McGonagall," Tracey said. She shuddered. "Can you imagine McGonagall staring you down when you ask about contraception potions?"

Hermione glanced over at Tracey. "There are potions for that?"

"Err. I think?" Tracey said. She shrugged. "I don't really know. Haven't needed anything like that, not yet. But I mean, I think there probably are? No one has any children at Hogwarts, and there's definitely people who are getting up to activities that could make them."

Tracey and Hermione smirked at each other, while Millie sighed loudly.

"It just seems so awkward," she said. Millie didn't bother to look up at them as she spoke, as she was busy stroking Crookshanks, who was enjoying the attention. "I don't want to have to listen to McGonagall lecture me about my womb, you know? It hurts, it bleeds, it can spit out kids. Do I really need to know anything else?"

"I'm looking forward to asking questions," Pansy volunteered. Hermione and the others looked over to her, and she grinned viciously, her eyes flashing. "Think about it: this is our chance to ask McGonagall as many awkward questions as possible with no possible repercussions."

"McGonagall's not that bad," Hermione protested, but Pansy scoffed and waved her off.

"Not if you're a Transfiguration prodigy," she said. "For the rest of us mere mortals, Hermione, she's really strict."

Tracey started grinning. "I could get behind that."

Smirking, Pansy took out a piece of parchment.

"What first, do you think?" she said, tapping a quill against her chin. "What about 'why do girls bleed and boys don't'?"

Tracey wrinkled her nose. "That's a little straightforward, don't you think?"

Pansy shot Tracey a dark look. "Then what would you suggest?"

"They'll teach us the basics and anatomy before opening it up to questions, I'd guess," Hermione said, considering thoughtfully. "But after that… ask about STIs, Pansy. That'd be a good one."

Pansy blinked. "STIs?"

"Sexually Transmitted Infections," Hermione said. "There are diseases you can catch having sex with someone."

"There are?" Pansy and Daphne looked horrified, but Hermione shrugged.

"There definitely are in the muggle world, some of them really bad," she said. "I wouldn't be surprised if we can't catch the muggle ones, but it seems like wizards have their own set of magical diseases to deal with, so it'd be good to know what to watch out for."

Pansy wrote it down, before smirking.

"We could ask how to tell if someone has a disease," she said. "I'd love to have McGonagall try and explain how to choose a sex partner."

Daphne laughed.

"Put down 'what happens to the blood afterwards'," she said. "I've always been curious."

Pansy dutifully wrote it down, but Tracey, Millie, and Hermione exchanged a look.

"I mean…" Hermione said, worry in her tone. "You don't think they just get rid of it?"

Pansy gave Hermione a nasty look.

"I haven't gotten mine yet, so I don't know," she said, but Hermione held up her hands.

"No, no, it's just…" She bit her lip. "If they're not just disposing of our used supplies, what are they doing with it? I don't want my blood floating around out there!"

Tracey's eyes grew wide.

"Morgana's tits," she swore. "Someone could steal my pads and use them in a Dark ritual."

"That's disgusting," Millie said, but Tracey was alarmed now.

"But they could, couldn't they? And it's a lot of blood, especially every month! What if someone bribed the House Elves or stole them?" She seemed on the verge of panic. "Hermione's the only one who's safe – Hermione, do you have any more of those hippie things?"

Hermione folded her arms. "Oh, so now you want a menstrual cup?"

"Wait, what?" Daphne was confused. "What does Hermione have?"

"It's a cup," Hermione said. "It's a muggle thing. It's made of silicone, which is body safe and can be sterilized. You put it inside yourself, and it catches the blood. You just pull it out and empty it a couple times a day into the toilet."

"What's a 'hippie'?" Pansy wanted to know, and Hermione groaned.

"It's a term for people who are concerned with the environment," Hermione said, massively over-summarizing an entire group and culture of people. "Muggles don't really wash their pads or tampons – they just throw them out. A cup helps reduce the impact on the environment. Plus, it's a lot less expensive in the long run."

"I mean, it's still gross," Tracey said, wrinkling her nose. "Digging around inside of you with a cup full of blood."

"At least I don't feel like I'm wearing a diaper," Hermione shot back, eyes narrowed. "And I can't feel blood ooze out of me when I'm wearing it."

"If there are rituals, though, Hermione might have the right idea of it, though," Daphne said, thoughtful. "I think there are fertility potions you can make that include your monthly blood as an ingredient. A cup would be a lot easier than wringing a pad out, right?"

Millie winced. "You don't really wring pads out, Daphne. There's not that much blood."

Daphne just shrugged, looking at Hermione, who bit her lip.

"I mean, that's something to ask McGonagall, isn't it?" She started to smirk. "I'm sure she has an opinion on menstrual supplies."

Pansy snickered while Daphne and Tracey began to giggle, and they all continued brainstorming awkward questions they could ask their professors. It was one of the weirdest bonding experiences of Hermione's life, suggesting sex-related questions to use to interrogate their professors, but as they suggested different ridiculous things, dissolving into laughter over and over again, Hermione realized it was one of the most fun times she'd ever had with the other Slytherin girls.

Chapter Text

As Hermione had insisted, there was no surprise birthday party for her on Sunday. Instead, there was a small pile of gifts from her dorm mates at the foot of her bed. They had each gotten her what seemed to be a random spell book, with little thought put into what they chose, but Hermione was delighted nonetheless, thanking them each profusely.

Breakfast was a little more awkward. It had started with Harry coming over to the Slytherin table and wishing her 'Happy Birthday' and giving her a wrapped gift before cheerily going away. Hermione had been anxious as she unwrapped it carefully, only to relax upon seeing it was a new wand holster – something that did not count as clothing, to her relief.

"Nice!" Tracey said, examining it. "This is good quality dragon-leather."

The morning mail came soon after, and Hermione was met with a small deluge of packages. After she separated them all out, there were five.

"This is your first official gift-giving occasion since you chyrsalized, Hermione," Daphne pointed out. Her eyes were practically starry. "You might get jewelry!"

Hermione was dreading that same fact.

She first tore open the one from Anthony. She hoped his would be somewhat restrained.

He'd chosen well, getting her new black leather boots with smooth silver buckles. The card enclosed indicated that they were spill-proof and enchanted to stay warm and not scuff or stain. Boots were generally considered functional items, not quite the same as clothes, so even the inclusion of the silver buckles was able to be passed over. It was a courting gift without being a courting gift; Hermione was pleased he'd managed to hold himself back from sending her marriage sheets, as well as pleased that he'd managed to get her shoe size right.

She was surprised to see Theo had sent her a gift. She shot him a quizzical look as she opened it, but he was staring at his lap. He'd sent her three stirring rods for Potions: bronze, silver, and gold.

"It seemed inappropriate to not send anything," Theo muttered, not looking at her. "With my father sending the… you know…"

Hermione offered him a smile. "Thanks, Theo."

Theo looked relieved that that was the end of it.

As she moved onto the next gift, Draco's, it was suspiciously soft. She glanced at Draco, but he looked confident, and she unwrapped it skeptically.

Hermione was greeted with some sort of leather garment, folded up neatly. As she held it up, she saw the label on it, and she gasped.

"Versace?" she demanded. "You got me Versace?"

Draco looked extremely pleased with himself. "Do you like it?"

Draco had gotten her a dress. It consisted of a leather bustier with a black mesh overlay, to cover the rest of her chest and shoulders. There were two decorative straps with gold buckles going over one shoulder and connecting to the waist, which flared out into a wide-pleated leather skirt.

"What is it?" Daphne looked confused. "This can't be proper robes – it's much too short. But it's not small enough for a child's robes either."

"It's muggle clothes," Tracey said gleefully. "It's a dress."

Pansy looked horrified.

"This is a dress?" she demanded. "Are muggles all three feet tall?"

"They do have poor health, don't they?" Daphne said. "Maybe."

"No, it's just short," Tracey said. "Hermione, give it here."

Tracey stood up and held the dress up to her body, explaining.

"See? You wear it like this. Muggles wear clothes that don't go all the way down and hit the ground sometimes." She indicated the hemline. "This one just stops here. You'd wear it with black tights, maybe, or maybe nothing at all."

"I cannot believe you got me Versace," Hermione said, astonished. "Do you know how much that costs?"

"I ordered one of the best things I could find reference to," Draco shrugged carelessly. "I don't know how much muggle money it cost."

"It's muggle clothing," Daphne said slyly. Her eyes were glinting. "So, really, this isn't proper clothing at all, is it? It's more of a costume you'd wear than anything else."

Hermione caught on, and Draco's smirk widened.

"Exactly," he said. "She can't wear that out and around society, of course, but she could with her muggle parents."

Hermione had no idea what kind of events Draco thought her parents took her to where wearing a leather Versace miniskirt would be remotely appropriate attire.

"Not actual clothing, then," Daphne deemed, folding it up and setting it aside. "You will try it on for us later though, won't you, Hermione? I want to see how the muggle costume looks."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Sure, Daphne."

Draco's courting-gift-that-wasn't-a-courting-gift set aside, she reached for the next one, a wrapped rectangular box, rather longer than it was wide. Hermione managed not to gasp when she reached inside, but it was a near thing.

"Is that crystal?" Pansy demanded. "Is that a crystal rose?"

It was – a blood-red glass rose made of gleaming crystal, the stem colorless and glittering.

"Is there a clip on it?" Daphne wanted to know. "If there's a clip or a pin, this definitely counts as jewelry!"

Hermione knew Cedric better than that; she was sure there wasn't. While they fussed over the rose, Draco's eyes glowering, Hermione scanned the card. It was a brief plea for forgiveness again for missing the election, with an invitation to meet him in the library after classes on Friday. Hermione glanced across the Great Hall to see Cedric was watching her. She offered him a smile, nodding and holding the note to her chest, and Cedric's face split into a wide, happy grin. He nodded, going back to his breakfast, though when Hermione turned around, Draco was glaring at the Hufflepuffs.

"There's one more," Daphne said. "Open it, Hermione."

Hermione paused.

This package had come not by owl, but carried by a majestically dark raven, head gleaming a blue-black. It was wrapped in a pale blue paper with a brilliant blue ribbon – silk, by the feel of it – and it rattled slightly when Hermione lifted it.

When she opened the lid, she froze.

"Holy shit," Tracey whistled. "Who the hell sent you this?"

Hermione was wordless.

Inside was a jewelry set, composed of earrings and a matching pendant. The earrings had a slight drop inlaid with crystals before holding a smooth bluish pearl in each one. The pendant was similar, a pretty silver chain holding a crystal clasp that came down to embrace a blue pearl. The soft blue color of pearls immediately took Hermione back to the summer, when she'd looked into soft eyes that color for hours.

"There's a note," Daphne announced, holding it up. "It says 'so you might think of me´." She looked confused. "But… there's no signature."

"How are you supposed to know who sent it, then?" Tracey demanded, turning to Hermione. "Wait! Are you blushing?"

"It's not signed," Pansy said, confused. "Who on earth doesn't sign a courting gift? What kind of game is this?"

Hermione's face flamed as she closed the box, cheeks warm.

"Well, it's very pretty," she said. "Even if there is no signed intent behind it."

"Wait, you're just going to accept it?" Tracey said, astonished. "With no name on it?"

"She's not wearing it," Millie said sharply. "So what's it matter if she keeps it for now? It's not like there's a name to send it back to. And it doesn't mean anything unless she wears it publicly, anyway."

Tracey looked decidedly less excited at this, though Daphne and Pansy were still puzzled.

"What's the deal with this?" Pansy wanted to know. "That definitely counts as a courting gift, Granger. But how are you supposed to court them if it's not signed?"

Hermione desperately didn't want to talk about it.

"We can figure it out tonight," Hermione said, her voice strangled. "We'll talk about it then, alright?"

Daphne and Pansy were frustrated by this, but eventually resigned themselves to waiting.

"Well, I don't know who's too much of a coward to sign their gift," Draco said loudly. "I would never do such a thing."

"We know, Draco," Blaise groaned. "Believe me, we know."

"Well, I was just saying," Draco defended. "You can't start courting someone if you don't sign it."

"We know," Theo said, annoyed. "Hermione knows too, Draco."

At that, Draco focused back on his food, his cheeks tinged with pink, which Hermione promptly ignored, lost in her own thoughts.

Fleur…

She'd missed the older girl from time to time, finding she wished she could talk to her about classes, about what magic she was learning now. She wondered how Fleur was doing in school, if she'd managed to make any new friends yet or not. She doubted it, with her Veela heritage, but Hermione hoped she was having an easier go of it now.

She'd have to write her a letter soon, thanking her for the gift and just to chat with her, Hermione decided. They'd decided to keep in touch, after all, hadn't they? It wouldn't be inappropriate – it'd be a perfectly friendly thing to do.

Hermione decidedly ignored the fact that Fleur had somehow remembered her birthday from a passing conversation and stored it in her mind, mentally planning out her letter to her instead.

Hermione was able to deflect all questions over her birthday gifts for most of the day, insistently catching up on her homework and working ahead in the assigned readings, but at the end of the day, her dormmates trapped her.

"You are trying your muggle costume on, aren't you?" Daphne insisted. "I want to see!"

Hermione sighed and gave in. "Fine. Let me put on tights."

The Versace dress fit her figure near perfectly. The bustier was a bit roomier than she needed, but the waist came up to hers, making the flare of the skirt drape flatteringly over her hips, ending mid-thigh.

"That's what muggles wear?" Pansy said. Her eyes took in Hermione's dress greedily, and her voice was envious. "I didn't know that's what they wore now."

"It's what some of them wear," Hermione corrected. "Versace is a very high-end brand. Most muggles wouldn't wear something quite like this, but they wear mini-dresses that are fairly similar."

"It's scandalous." Daphne's voice was thrilled. "Your legs, Hermione! Muggles really go about with their legs showing so much?"

"Frequently." Hermione took off the dress, folding it back up neatly and reaching for her pajamas. "Muggle fashion is a lot more exposed and varied than wizarding."

"So, Hermione," Tracey said slyly. "Who sent you those pearls?"

Hermione groaned and fell back on her bed, holding her arm over her eyes.

"Come on!" Tracey whined. "The boys aren't around anymore! Tell us!"

Hermione sighed.

"It was someone I met in France, all right?" she said finally. "That's why there was no signature. Regardless of wanting to court me, they can't right now given the distance, so it's not signed. But they still wanted me to know that they would court me if they could, so they sent a courting gift anyway."

Hermione heard Daphne's gasp.

"That's so romantic," she breathed. "Your love, bravely carrying on in another country, longing for you and sending you gifts of his heart regardless of the distance…"

"Good taste, at least," Pansy said grudgingly. "Most boys seem to just give a generic bracelet or cloak pin when they finally step up to do the thing properly. Though I'm not surprised – the French have better taste about such things."

Hermione didn't correct their pronouns, and she let them chat idly about the romance of courting gifts and the like until they fell asleep. Once she was sure they had all dozed off, Hermione stole off to the bathroom alone, carrying the box with her.

"Lumos."

The pearl set looked beautiful on her. The soft blues worked well with her eyes and her hair and her coloring in general, and as she looked in the mirror, it was like seeing a glimpse of Fleur still on her, sparkling in the dim light.

"Lovely set, my dear," the mirror purred. "Got yourself a sweetheart, do you?"

Hermione turned slightly in the mirror, looking at it from another angle, admiring the sparkle and the taste of the gift. She sighed, finally reaching back behind her neck to unclasp the pendant.

"Something like that, I guess," Hermione murmured, taking the earrings off and setting them back inside. "Something like that."

Chapter Text

Monday was a Time-Turning day, starting off with doubled-up Divination and Ancient Runes right off the bat. Blaise gave her a raised eyebrow as she slid into her seat at Ancient Runes, and Hermione winced. She strongly suspected Blaise knew something was up – she kept 'losing' him on the stairs and in hallways so she could quickly duck into an empty classroom and time-turn. Until he asked her point-blank, however, Hermione was going to keep it quiet. Minister Fudge had given her the impression her possession of the Time-Turner was not something she was supposed to let be public knowledge.

Charms was boring, though potentially helpful. Flitwick was teaching them the Impervius Charm, which made things (usually clothing) impermeable to many things, including water. With the British autumn just over the horizon, a weather-proofing charm wasn't the worst thing to learn – it was just something Hermione had learned before.

Though, that was her fault, really. If she didn't read so far ahead, she'd be learning it with the rest of the class.

Arithmancy had the class taking a decided detour from learning actual Arithmancy into learning formal Logic instead. Professor Vector had decided to teach them about fallacies. Though only formal fallacies would matter when composing Arithmantic constructions, Professor Vector was insistent on teaching them informal fallacies as well.

"It's irresponsible to only teach you some logic," she sniffed, arms folded. "That's how fools get into foolish arguments." She gave them a dark look. "There will be a quiz on informal fallacies, so be prepared for that."

Hermione was excited and took thorough notes. Logic wasn't included in the Arithmancy textbook for the course, and whenever a teacher veered from the textbook, class automatically became more interesting and more of a challenge for her. Though Hermione didn't know much formal logic, some of what Professor Vector went over, she did know, and Hermione was forced to stifle her giggles.

"Argumentum ad Baculum," Professor Vector said, writing it on the board. "This is what we call an 'Appeal to Force'."

She wrote on the board Example: The Weird Sisters are the best band around, and if you disagree, I will curse you and your family.

"The arguer here is posing a conclusion under the threat of harm to the listener," she said, thwacking the board with her pointing stick. "This is not a valid argument. This is a fallacy of relevance. A more common example you may have encountered…" She folded her arms and moved closer to the students, using every inch to loom over them and look down at them. "You do agree with me, don't you?"

She took a step back towards the board, retaking her pointing stick.

"Implied threats of violence are still appeals to force," she said. "Though they may work in the moment, they are very rarely genuinely persuasive at all."

Hermione enjoyed the class immensely as they went over eight fallacies of relevance, her notes scattered with examples like:

Straw Man:

P1. John argues for collaborative understanding between muggles and magicals
P2. John advocates taking down the Statute of Secrecy
P3. Russia's temporary removal of the Statue of Secrecy was crap
C. John's argument is crap

And:

Missing the point:

Crimes of theft and robbery are increasing in Diagon Alley
Therefore, we must reinstate the death penalty

Professor Vector's irreverence was highly entertaining, and even though nearly all the examples they were given were overdramatic and ridiculous, they illustrated the points being taught exceedingly well. Professor Vector taught them the fallacies of presumption, ambiguity, and grammatical analogy as well, and Hermione found her esteem for Professor Vector rising more and more.

The true treat of Monday, however, came after classes. All of the third years had the second afternoon block free, and today, they had been commanded to go to the Special Lecture, divided by sex and held in separate halls. Hermione had bet Tracey five sickles that it was a Sex Ed lecture, while Tracey was still unsure.

"Would they really just talk to us about that sort of thing?" she kept saying. "I feel like it should be taught at home."

Given the state and intelligence levels of some of the homes their classmates came from, Hermione privately disagreed.

The two rooms were across the hallway from each other in a back corner of the second floor, once used for much larger classes, complete with elevated seating, like an auditorium. Girls went in the door on the right, while boys went in the door on the left. Upon entering, Hermione saw that the entire front area of the auditorium had been bedecked with pillows, and Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout, and Madame Pomfrey were standing at the front with a chalkboard on wheels. Professor McGonagall looked resigned, while Professor Sprout's eyes sparkled at them.

"Come in, come in!" she said. She gestured to the pillows. "Please, take a seat!"

Hermione quickly claimed seats with Tracey and Millie, with Daphne and Pansy nearby. Susan Bones also sat near her with Hannah Abbott – they seemed to be trying to sit as far away from the girls from Gryffindor as possible, who had taken up the more front pillows along with the Ravenclaws.

After everyone was settled and the doors were closed, Professor Sprout clapped her hands and beamed at them.

"I'm sure you're wondering why we've summoned you all here," she said. "You're third-years now, and growing more mature every day. You are at an age where Hogwarts and the Board of Governors thinks you are mature enough to learn about the process of becoming an adult and what that means. We—" she indicated herself and the two other women next to her "—are here to help answer any questions you might have, and to make sure you leave here well-informed and confident in yourself and your body as you continue to grow up and go through life."

At this, she spun the chalkboard upside-down, revealing the other side:

Human Development
Relationships
Personal Skills
Sexual Behavior
Sexual Health
Society and Culture

"Madame Pomfrey here is going to start for us," Professor Sprout said, gesturing. "She will help go over the biology of it all."

There was murmuring in the crowd as Madame Pomfrey spelled a big poster that had an illustrated diagram of a uterus, ovaries, and fallopian tubes to the board, and Hermione snickered as Tracey wordlessly shoved five sickles into her hand.

Hermione's parents had made sure she had a good understanding of sexual development before she'd gone off to boarding school, and the next year her mother had given her a more extensive talk about relationships and sexual behavior. Hermione suspected she was ahead of her classmates in understanding such topics, especially after one girl asked, "If that's the uterus, where's the womb on that diagram?"

Hermione was impressed with the manner in which they gave the lecture, however. Madame Pomfrey was straight-forward about the biological changes they would be experiencing. Most of the girls seemed at least aware that they would get a period at some point, so no one was caught off guard at that, but many of them were caught off guard by some of the sanitary options Madame Pomfrey provided examples of.

Everyone recognized pads and tampons, of course, though several of the Muggleborns didn't realize you could get reusable ones from the Hospital Wing that would be cleaned and returned. Only the Slytherins, Hermione reckoned, would be familiar with a menstrual cup, and no one was familiar with the odd faceted jewel Madame Pomfrey had laid out on the table, runes carved into a few of its sides.

"This is called a 'Witch's Jewel'," she said. "Not to be confused with 'Lady's Jewel,' which is a slang term for the clitoris. But a witch's jewel is an old-fashioned method of handling one's cycle."

She then explained that the gem she had on the table had been enchanted to Vanish any blood that touched it. As soon as blood reached the jewel in the birth canal, it was Vanished.

"They require very little clean-up, just a bit of a rinse in the shower each day during, and a bit more thoroughly after your cycle is over," she said. "They fell out of favor a few centuries ago, however, with the introduction of other sanitary supplies. They are notoriously hard to keep inside of you – it's quite the pelvic workout, girls, let me tell you – and witches first learning to use them often had to hurry off to the loo to go stick them back up inside themselves after they fell out into their underthings."

"They are still used," she told them all, "but very rarely. You can generally purchase them at high-end ladies' stores. Dahlia's and Twilfit and Tattings both carry a small selection in Diagon Alley, and Madame Puddifoot's sells them in her back room, where she sells a small selection of goods for witches."

Even though she knew objectively jewels were often used for magic for their ability to hold spells and enchantments, Hermione still found herself fascinated at the idea that women had been going around with carved rubies and emeralds up their vaginas for years and years.

Madame Pomfrey left after her section was completed, and Professor Sprout took up the mantle of telling them about relationships and personal skills. Hermione was mildly surprised at the matter-of-fact way Professor Sprout covered different sexual orientations – she explained heterosexuality, homosexuality, bisexuality, and asexuality with a completely neutral face, not giving away that one was vastly more accepted by society than the other three.

"I would encourage you to not define yourself by terms like these," she told them all. "I would encourage you to use them in terms of behavior. A person has a lesbian encounter, not a person is a lesbian. While labels help some people, for most of history, terms have only been used to define the behavior of a person, not the person themself."

That was news to Hermione. She had figured terms like those had always been around.

Professor Sprout also went over personal skills with them, which was a short section on communication, negotiation, and good decision-making. After she was done, they were allowed to get up, stretch their legs, and go to the bathroom if they needed. In the hallway, Hermione could faintly hear Snape yelling through the door of the boys' room, and she stifled a snicker as she went to the loo.

Once their short break was over, Professor McGonagall was up. Stone-faced, she covered abstinence and sexuality throughout life with them, matter-of-factly conjuring chalk drawings of different sex positions without so much as an eyelid flicker. She taught them slang terms for oral sex and intercourse without flinching (Hermione had never heard of 'stirring a witch's cauldron' used in such a manner before), and when one girl asked how two men could possibly ever have sex, McGonagall conjured new diagrams and explained the premise of anal sex as well, her tone of voice never changing, despite the expression of growing horror on the face of the girl who asked.

Once she was done going over sexual behavior, McGonagall paused, and her face grew grim. She looked at Professor Sprout, who dimmed.

"Sexual Health is the next section," Professor Sprout told them. "While sexuality should bring joy to your life, there are things you need be careful of as witches as you go forward."

They started with contraception, which Hermione had expected. There was a Contraception Potion, to her pleasure.

"You will learn how to brew this potion sometime in the next month's Potions classes," Professor McGonagall told them. "I recommend not making a fuss about it. Professor Snape is notoriously unforgiving to those who would make inappropriate remarks during this particular lesson."

While it was not difficult to brew, Hogwarts did acknowledge that not everyone was gifted at brewing, and that there was a supply available at the Hospital Wing for any witch who needed it.

"It needs taken every three months," Professor Sprout reminded them. "A lot of witches will get three months of sanitary supplies for their cycle from the Hospital Wing at a time, and when they run out, they know it's time to take the potion again."

Hermione wondered if that was quite the most precise method of remembering one's birth control, but she didn't really want to bring it up.

There were also contraception spells, they learned: one that could be used on a man, and one that could be used on a woman.

"The spell for a woman is not easy," McGonagall warned them. "The Potion is much more effective. With the spell, there is no outward indication that it has worked. Nevertheless, if you have neglected to stay caught up on your potion, I highly recommend performing it on yourself anyway. Never trust a wizard when he says 'oh, no worries, I've done mine'."

The incantation was a challenge. It was from Ancient Babylon, and as such, it had a stem with sounds unfamiliar to all of them. "Pa'ra'nda-lo-ni-nje" was written on the board by McGonagall, who illustrated the wand gesture as well, and they practiced the incantation for nearly ten minutes before McGonagall was satisfied.

"Boys have a much simpler spell," Professor McGonagall admitted, "with a Latin incantation. That being said, it is known that an eager boy, in the heat of the moment, is liable to miscast such a spell. It is always better to be sure than to be sorry."

Professor Sprout took the next bit, and she looked grave.

"There are times," she said, "when an act occurs, and the witch has no time or opportunity to prepare or protect herself. In these instances, there is another potion that can be taken, to help purge any results of such an act."

"It is not a hard potion," she went on. "It is more tea than a proper potion, made of mugwort, silphium, and thistle. This, too, will be available in the Hospital Wing, should it be needed. This potion can be rather hard on the body, though. It is there should you need it, but it should be used only as a last resort."

They moved on to sexually transmitted diseases from there.

"Witches have far fewer worries here than wizards," Professor McGonagall told them matter-of-factly. "A lot of what we now call 'diseases' were originally curses placed by jilted witches on unfaithful wizards that interacted with other magic at some point, mutated, and grew. As such, there are only two with which you really need concern yourself."

The Muladhara Seal was the first, colloquially known as 'The Plug'.

"The Muladhara Seal can be caught by men or women," Professor Sprout said. "It causes a sort of clog in a person's magic, preventing them from using it freely unless they are having sex or have had sex recently. Treatment is an unfortunate full-body flush of toxins and foreign magic, but fortunately, prevention is much simpler. There is a spell that needs cast on you, once, that will protect you for life."

They all lined up there and then, with Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout casting the prevention spell on each of them. With prevention being so easy, Hermione wondered how it was that this disease hadn't been eradicated yet, until she remembered the hedgewitches, who had no easy access to healers or professors to help with such things.

Yet another reason their magic was denied to them so often, she reflected.

"The second disease you need to worry about is very, very rare," Professor McGonagall told them. "It is known as 'Creeping Necrosis', but more commonly, it is called 'Crotch Rot'."

Hermione exchanged horrified looks with her peers.

"You can catch Crotch Rot exactly one way," Professor Sprout announced. "And that is by having sex with a dead body."

All the class reacted with horror and revulsion.

"Are you serious?" Lavender Brown demanded. "People do this often enough that there's a condition for it?"

"Isn't that Dark magic?" Mandy Brocklehurst demanded to know. "Anything to do with the dead or Inferi?"

"You can get it from having sex with a corpse, inferi, or any other manner of dead body," McGonagall said coolly. She folded her arms. "This includes having sex with a vampire."

The class fell quiet at this.

"You cannot catch Creeping Necrosis from another person who has it," McGonagall told them. "Symptoms manifest as a black spot, beginning at the tip of the penis or clitoris, that then creeps downward to eventually engulf the entire external genital area. Once the entire area is engulfed, the affected parts will rot away and fall off."

The class gasped in horror.

"Treatment is possible for this, and it's rather simple," Professor Sprout told them. "It is part of standard Healer training. However, it does involve admitting that you have had sex with a dead body." Her smile was wry. "As such, it is far more common for women to seek treatment, admitting they were seduced by a vampire, than it is for men to seek treatment, who are far more recalcitrant when it comes to admitting the finer details of some of their sexual exploits."

"They'd rather their todger fall off?" Fay Dunbar demanded.

"If you slept with a dead body, would you willingly admit it?" Pansy shot back. She sniffed, tossing her head. "I imagine wizards are the ones far more likely to catch it from corpses than vampires."

Society and Culture was the last part of the lesson, which involved a somber discussion on the use of force.

"Love Potions are a thing and a part of society," Professor McGonagall told them. "They are strictly banned at Hogwarts. However, you will find that they are still largely legal in wizarding Britain. It is not uncommon for a love potion of some sort to be used in an arranged marriage, to smooth the way for a successful union. These laws permitting love potion sales are intended for willing consumption of the potion, but there is no way to govern how they are actually used."

"As such," she said, drawing herself up, her eyes blazing, "you need to be aware of various love potions, how to recognize them and their effects, and how to protect yourself should you find yourself dosed with one."

Hermione was horrified as McGonagall and Sprout went down an extensive list of Love Potions and Lust Potions, going over each one, its effects, how it could be recognized, and what to do if one found themself dosed with it. In most cases, the last was 'seek medical help immediately', but both professors acknowledged that seeking medical help was not always a possibility. The effects of the Kissing Compeller, for example, were not easily recognized until after a person had already been kissed, and then they were hard to break free from.

"If you are unable to seek medical help, the best thing to do is get to a safe place as quickly as possible," Professor McGonagall instructed. "There, either send for help, get a Love Potion antidote, or wait out the effects of the potion. Love potions with the most compulsory effects are largely time-dependent and will wear off over time; love potions that play more on the emotions will not render you incapacitated or delirious enough to prevent you from seeking medical treatment."

They handed out reference sheets to each of the girls, listing each Love Potion currently known, what symptoms it brought about, and how to recognize it. They also gave each girl a recipe card for a Love Potion Antidote, as well as an ampule of the clear, colorless liquid.

"It would delight me for you to never have to use these, ever," Professor McGonagall told them each, her eyes surveying the class slowly. "Experience has taught me that unfortunately, that is rarely the case, and it is better to prepare you ahead of time."

"If you ever need a replacement," Professor Sprout added, "Madame Pomfrey has these available in the Hospital Wing as well."

From there, conversation lightened to discuss traditional gender roles and sexuality in magical society, a welcome respite. There was a brief discussion on the pureblood societal concept of 'chrysalization' and what it entailed, which horrified several Muggleborn girls. Once McGonagall reassured them that it was only traditionally expected of purebloods, they relaxed, and Hermione felt vindicated that she wasn't the only one who had been horrified about hearing about announcing your period with a blasted butterfly.

After all that was covered, Professor Sprout passed out slips of parchment and self-inking quills.

"If you have any questions we didn't answer, now is the time to ask them, free of judgement," she encouraged them. She passed a box with a slot in the top around, and all the girls put their questions into the box as it went through the rows. After it made its way back to the front of the room, Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout took turns taking questions from the box to answer in front of the class.

Some of the questions asked were rather straightforward: what to do if your cycle didn't stop and you kept bleeding ("Go to the Hospital Wing," McGonagall said crisply), how to know if you were pregnant (which involved a brief recap of the reproduction section of the lesson Madame Pomfrey had taught them), and how to know if someone wanted to be your sexual partner ("Ask them!" Professor Sprout encouraged. "Open communication is key in all healthy relationships!").

Some of them were questions Hermione was embarrassed her classmates would even ask, like if you could get pregnant your first time (yes), if you could get pregnant if you were on top (yes), and if you could get pregnant during a full moon (yes). She was relieved when McGonagall gave a brief but terse reminder: having intercourse with a man could always result in a pregnancy, and it was better to make sure you were always on the potion, or, if not, cast the contraception charm beforehand.

Questions began to get more involved and complicated as they went, as if all the heavy questions had sunk to the bottom of the box.

"'What happens to my menstrual blood?'" Professor McGonagall read aloud. "'Like, where does it go after it's cleaned from my pads. Does it just get Vanished?'" She looked at Professor Sprout pointedly, who sighed.

"At Hogwarts, at least, menstrual blood is cleaned out of sanitary products by the House Elves," Professor Sprout said, "who then return it to the earth." She looked uncomfortable. "Blood has many nutrients in it, and offering it to the earth can act as a fertilizer to many plants. At a person's home, it is up to them to decide how best to dispose of it."

The reaction to this was one of giggles and grossed-out noises, before they settled back down.

"'I know Dark wizards use blood for Dark magic spells," Professor Sprout read next. "'How do I prevent someone from stealing my cycle's blood and using it against me?'"

Professor McGonagall straightened up at this one.

"Menstrual blood is what is considered 'dead blood' by magic," she told them all. "As such, the only spells or rituals it can be used in are ones performed by the witch whose blood it is." She looked out over them all. "No one can use your own menstrual blood against you."

Hermione was reassured by this. She'd seen rituals involving menstrual blood in one of the books Quirrell had given her, but now that she thought back, they were all ones with effects on the person who was doing the ritual – enhanced fertility, enhanced attractiveness, etc.

"Is sex banned at Hogwarts?" came up, which made both professors sigh.

"While sex itself is not strictly banned at Hogwarts, the Hogwarts rules do their best to prevent it from being easy," McGonagall told them. "There are strict rules against sexual activity in public places and rules against having sex while underage. There are other methods as well; a curfew is mandated across Hogwarts, dorms are gender-separated, and boys are unable to enter girls' dorms – they will either not be able to enter the hallways, or the stairs into towers will turn into slides."

There was giggling and chatter from a couple of the Ravenclaws at this, which Hermione caught. She wouldn't put it past some of the Ravenclaw boys to try and turn the tower stairs into a slide on purpose just for fun.

"Why isn't sex just against the rules?" Susan Bones asked.

"Because there are old fertility rites and rituals strictly protected in the original Hogwarts charter that involve sex," Professor Sprout said, reciting it rapidly. "The rules of Hogwarts do their best to make it against the rules in every other case. However…" She gave them all a piercing look. "We are well aware of teenagers' propensity for breaking the rules. Which is why we are teaching you all these things, even though you shouldn't be having sex within Hogwarts' halls."

The last slip of parchment came from someone who clearly knew a lot about sex – they had written a lengthy list asking questions about very specific things, such as the legality of using the Imperius Curse upon a willing partner, if the Engorgement Charm could be safely used on body parts, and the viability of using the Devil's Snare as restraints during sexual activity. It was clearly a prank, in Hermione's opinion; no one could expect a professor actually to answer such things. Professor Sprout's face paled dramatically as she read the sheet aloud, and there was a distinct pause before she started to answer.

"That's enough!" Professor McGonagall cut her colleague off abruptly, standing up. Her eyes flashed. "These questions are outside the scope of this special lecture. If you submitted these questions, I advise you to research them yourself. This lecture is dismissed."

Stifling the giggles, Hermione couldn't help but wonder who had made that list.

The girls all got up, chatting and mingling as they stretched, their bodies sore from sitting on the floor for so long. Several of them were giggling over the last questions that had been submitted, making up ideas for what Professor Sprout might have answered.

Hermione stretched herself, considering what she wanted to do. The Special Lecture had taken hours, going right up to dinner time, and she wasn't sure she was ready for another two hours sitting on the floor of the boys' lecture right away. She didn't want to go to dinner right away either, though – she'd rather go after she heard the boys' as well, so she would get all the references made, no matter who made them.

Finally, she settled on excusing herself from her friends for a moment, sneaking back to her dorm, and Time-Turning back four turns instead of two. That gave her time for a quick nap to recharge herself, time for a snack to give herself a bit of energy, and time to write down a list of questions for Harry and his friends to ask Snape.

She grinned to herself as she penned questions down to parchment, nibbling on the end of her quill. She did so like her Head of House, but even she couldn't deny that the prospect of Snape talking to students he despised about sex was a hilarious one.

Chapter Text

Harry startled slightly when Hermione nudged him invisibly, slipping him a piece of parchment.

"Not that I think you'll need these," she whispered, "but just in case."

Harry grinned.

"I'll sit in the back so you can sit nearby," he told her quietly. "I'll try to laugh really loud or cough to cover any noises you make."

As the boys entered the classroom, Professor Flitwick stood at the front of the room on a small stool, beaming at them, while Snape stood there forbiddingly, looming in his black robes with his arms tightly folded and his eyes sharp.

"This is going to be brilliant," Ron said, grinning at Harry. "Glad they separated the girls out, yeah? Wouldn't want to ask about my todger in front of them."

"Come in, come in!" Flitwick bid the boys as the entered. The boys didn't have cushions on the floor to sit on, but they were instructed to sit on the floor nonetheless. "Go ahead and take a seat and settle down. We have a lot to cover today!"

Hermione barely managed to withhold a snicker.

When Flitwick announced the topic of the day, there were whistles and laughs from the boys, which Snape silenced immediately with a sharp gesture.

"There is to be no funny business," he told them, scowling. "These are important topics, and Hogwarts and the Board of Governors believe you to be mature enough to handle them now."

His tone clearly belied that he did not agree with the Board of Governors on this. Hermione privately wondered how long the 'no funny business' would last.

Flitwick started off cheerfully by discussing puberty, explaining what changes witches and wizards experienced in their bodies when growing up. He produced a diagram of male genitals, using a pointer to label different parts and describe their functions, and Hermione was abjectly fascinated. She'd known what a penis was, but she'd never seen such a vivid diagram of one and its inner workings before.

Relationships were gone over quickly, as was personal skills and dating, as well as sexual orientation. Hermione was surprised at that rapid pace at which they were covering material – at this rate, they'd finish in under an hour, and the boys' lecture had still been going on when the girls' had let out. Flitwick explained to the boys that sex was highly discouraged at Hogwarts, informing them of the rules that prevented it.

"Students caught engaged in sexual acts in public places face severe punishment and consequences!" he warned them. "All pathways to girls' dormitories are strictly forbidden to boys! You will either not be able to walk down them, or the stairs will turn into a slide and you will slide down!"

The Ravenclaw boys seemed to snicker at this, as had the Ravenclaw girls. Hermione wondered if stair-sliding was somewhat of a game in their tower lately.

When the time came for Sexual Health, Snape was the one who stepped forward to speak.

"There are a multitude of terrible things that can happen to you if you have sex irresponsibly," he said, eyes glittering. "Pay attention."

While the girls' lesson had consisted of two STDs, the boys' list encompassed much more than that. He covered the Muladhara Seal first, pausing for him and Flitwick to enchant all the boys with the protection spell the girls had gotten, before moving on to ones Hermione hadn't heard of.

"Hag's Heat," he told them, "can be caught when having intercourse with a hag."

"What happens?" Dean Thomas asked.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Your penis develops a fever and begins to burn," he informed him, "and you will need to seek medical attention within three hours if you don't want it permanently damaged."

There were others, he told them, that women could 'carry' without knowing, that could latch onto a man's magic, but only if certain conditions were met.

"The most common of these is Wedlock Withering," Snape informed them. "If a man is married, and he strays from his wife and has intercourse with another woman, he can catch Wedlock Withering, which will cause his genitals to shrink and wither away." His eyes glinted. "The only cure is admitting to his wife what he has done and with whom, and then her taking his withered genitals into her mouth willingly to restore them. If she does not, they will stay withered until she does."

Snape seemed to take sadistic joy in telling the boys what all they could catch if they were not careful.

"You should never, ever have sex with a person by force," he said, eyes flashing. "It is illegal. You will be charged and thrown in Azkaban. If you do it anyway, and you hope to get away with it, you can catch Rape's Revenge."

Rape's Revenge was a condition that was caused by a witch's magic lashing out at her rapist in a desperate attempt at survival. It would ensure the rapist, once he reached completion, would collapse in exhaustion, giving the witch time to escape. After that, though, the magical backlash would continue to eat its way through the man's system, causing him to gradually grow sicker and sicker and more frail.

"It is believed that this is because the magical backlash occurs borne of the the victim's desperation in wanting such an act to not happen," Snape said, eyes sharp on them all. "If a man is frail and dying, he cannot rape anyone, now, can he?"

Snape reluctantly admitted that there was medical treatment available for men suffering from such a condition, but that many Healers would secretly withhold treatment until the man admitted to who he had raped on the legal record.

"More women than men go into Healing," Snape told them all. His eyes glittered. "Be careful in whom you confide; your Healer, despite their oath, may not have your best interests at heart."

There were a bunch of others, most of which were triggered by a guy doing something he shouldn't be or having sex with someone he shouldn't. There were conditions you could catch from infidelity, ones from having sex while pretending to be someone else, and ones from penetrating a person who was betrothed to another. By the time he finally got to Crotch Rot, Hermione felt exhausted. The boys really did have a lot more to worry about… though, if they didn't do anything they shouldn't do, they didn't really have much cause to be worried, it seemed.

For the Love Potion section, Snape impressed that Love Potions were strictly forbidden at Hogwarts, with no exceptions. He explained that outside Hogwarts, they were largely illegal, and that if someone was caught dosing another person with a love potion, the sentences were harsh and unforgiving.

"The love potion you are more likely to experience is a witch dosing herself with a fertility-enhancing love potion," he informed them. "Becoming pregnant with a man's child is a time-honored way of snatching him up from the marriage pool. As such, you should be sure to cast a contraceptive charm every time."

Snape handed out sheets on Love Potions, the same ones the girls had received, while Flitwick handed out ampules of Love Potion Antidote. Snape explained that the antidote was universal for all currently-known love potions, which Hermione found interesting to learn - all love potions were begun off of the same base, it seemed, and the antidote targeted and counteracted that base.

"This will not counteract fertility potions," he warned them. "It will only neutralize love potions that affect emotions, not your physical virility."

Flitwick then cheerfully taught all the boys the male contraceptive charm. The boys' charm was much simpler – 'Occiditis Semine' with a wand circle around the testicles – and Hermione found herself vaguely resentful that their spell should be so easy.

Flitwick gave a very general coverage of gender roles and sexuality in society, and then the boys were dismissed for a break.

"When you return, we will do question and answer," Flitwick told them, smiling, and Hermione could practically see Snape's exasperation and dread wafting off of him. "Think of what questions you have that you want to ask!"

Hermione managed to dart off to the girl's room while the boys went to their loo. She could hear the girls' lecture still going through the door – they were going over good decision making and what to look for in a partner still.

When she returned, sneaking back in under the Invisibility Cloak, Professor Flitwick was beaming at them, and Snape looked very much like he would rather be dead. He had taken a seat on a stool of his own at the front of the classroom, glowering out over the students.

"Now, we'll do question and answer!" Flitwick told them cheerfully. "This part usually takes the longest, but we ask that you be honest! This is the time to get all of your questions answered, so don't be shy. Remember, there are no stupid questions!"

Snape snorted loudly, which Flitwick ignored.

Hermione quickly found herself empathizing with Snape; Flitwick's statement was immediately disproven upon the first question.

"Can a witch get pregnant if you have sex under the full moon?" Wayne Hopkins asked. "And if she does, will the baby be a werewolf?"

Hermione couldn't believe the earnestness he was asking with.

In an effort to stave off stupid questions, it seemed, the boys were not given a question box to ask questions from anonymously. They instead had to hold their hand up, waiting to be called on. To Hermione's surprise, this stopped very few of the boys from boldly asking their questions, no matter how ridiculous, embarrassing, or stupid they were.

"Can boobs pop?" Justin Finch-Fletchley wanted to know. "Like, if they're big, and you squeeze them too hard?"

"They cannot," Flitwick reassured him. "Though if you're too rough, you might hurt the witch, so be careful!"

"Does squatting and sneezing after sex keep the girl from getting pregnant?" Ernie Macmillan asked. "Like, wouldn't they just kind of push all of the semen out?"

"A girl can still get pregnant," Flitwick advised him. "It's always best to do the contraceptive spell to be sure!"

"Do Muggleborns grow a condom?" Zacharias Smith asked.

Flitwick blinked. "…I beg your pardon?"

"I heard that muggles grow a condom because they can't do contraception spells," Zacharias said. "Do Muggleborns grow one too?"

Flitwick looked at Snape helplessly, who snarled but began explaining muggle contraception methods, emphasizing that no, condoms were not grown.

It became apparent to Hermione that Professor Flitwick had little to no experience with sex in a practical sense. He knew all the biology and theory, to be sure, but for practical matters, he seemed helplessly out of his depth. Hermione wondered if that was because he just had no interest in sex, or if he had difficulty finding a partner. She imagined it might be a combination of both.

This, however, left Snape to answer most of the questions. It was very clear Snape did not want to answer these questions, but he dutifully answered every single one asked, no matter how ridiculous.

"Can you go blind from masturbation?" Terry Boot asked.

"What's masturbation?" Ernie Macmillan asked a moment later, which resulted in a groan from Snape as Flitwick launched into an explanation about self-pleasure and how it was best accomplished.

Hermione couldn't believe some of the questions the boys asked. The girls had asked about menstrual blood and their safety from Dark rituals; Seamus Finnegan wanted to know if he could screw a mermaid, which launched a whole new line of inquiry from the boys. Hermione wasn't sure how many were genuine inquiries, but the barely-suppressed smirks Harry and Ron wore as they raised their hands clued her in that at least not all of the ridiculous questions were being asked in good faith - though as for how many were, she was unsure, as they poured out their queries eagerly.

"Is it bestiality if she's an Animagus?"

"It is bestiality if I'm an Animagus?"

"Can animals consent to sex with me if I'm an Animagus?"

"Can a werewolf consent to sex while shifted?"

"What happens if a witch has sex with a centaur?"

"How did Hagrid even happen?"

Neville Longbottom asked one of the most embarrassing, in Hermione's opinion, though she was fairly sure it came from a place of genuine academic inquiry.

"What is having sex with plants called?" Neville asked. "Sex with animals is 'bestiality', so what's it called when you do it with plants?"

Hermione had never seen Flitwick's eyes quite so wide or Snape look quite so horrified.

After a long pause, Flitwick finally advised the boys that in any cases where consent was uncertain, to not have sex, which meant never having sex with an animal, regardless of Animagus or werewolf status. He ignored the other questions, but the boys didn't seem to notice or mind.

Pity, Hermione thought. She was curious herself about the circumstances of how Hagrid came to be.

Questions about sex itself came shortly thereafter. There were such joys as "Can you put one guy's penis tip inside another guy's penis tip?", "What happens when you have ear sex?", "Do you breathe when having sex?", and "Can you have sex with clothes on?". Hermione watched on as Snape answered every single one, though he grit his teeth and seemed loath to do so. It was very funny to watch, as Snape struggled to contain his frustration the expressions flitting across his face, and Hermione had to bite her lip to stifle her giggles.

"Can you get pregnant in the butt?" Crabbe wanted to know.

"No," Snape snapped.

"Can boys get pregnant?" Michael Corner asked. "Like, with magic?"

"No." Snape's answer was curt. "Short of very Dark rituals, which could possibly do horrifying things to a wizard's insides, no, they cannot."

"What does sex smell like?" Terry Boot wanted to know.

Snape groaned.

Hermione was surprised to see some of the Slytherin boys begin asking questions, ones she'd never thought they'd admit to wanting to know in public.

"If a girl is pregnant, she doesn't get her cycle anymore, right?" Draco said. "Does the baby feed off of the blood instead?"

"Can a wizard drink a witch's breast milk?" Blaise asked. "Is that safe?"

"If I sleep with a pregnant witch, can I get the baby pregnant?" Theo asked, completely seriously. "Like, if the baby was also a witch."

Snape was aghast. "No. Absolutely not."

"Remember, a witch can't get pregnant until she's gone through puberty!" Flitwick chimed in helpfully. "Which would be many years off from a baby still growing in the womb!"

"If a witch is pregnant and you're having sex with her," Draco asked, "can you dent the baby's head?"

Hermione couldn't believe her ears.

"Does sex hurt?" Blaise asked. "I heard that it can hurt for the girl."

"It shouldn't," Flitwick assured him. "So long as your partner is properly prepared and lubricated and you're careful, sex should be enjoyable for both parties!"

"If a girl loses her egg during her cycle," Draco asked, "can you just keep the egg that comes out and wash it off to raise into a baby later?"

Hermione had to bite down hard on her robes to stop from laughing as Snape was forced to explain about the size of eggs and ovaries to Draco. Harry and Ron had no such reservations and snickered loudly.

"If menstruation is so unpleasant," Theo wanted to know, "why don't girls just push it all out at once instead of waiting for it to fall out over seven days?"

Hermione was becoming more and more convinced that the class had been separated by gender not for the specificity of the lectures, but to spare the boys the humiliation of their female classmates hearing the ridiculous things they were asking.

"A lesbian is a girl who fancies other girls?" Ron asked, face scrunched up.

"Yes," Professor Flitwick confirmed.

"Thought lesbian was a type of spider," Ron muttered to Harry. "Who knew?"

"Does only one person lose their virginity if you bugger the other one?" Dean Thomas asked.

Snape paused. "No. Penetration violates virginity by definition." He rolled his eyes. "Though, again, virginity is a social construct and not a real thing."

"How do you get a wand out of your arse?" Seamus Finnegan asked.

"Don't put it up there in the first place!" Snape snarled.

Seamus recoiled at Snape's glare as Flitwick began giving a more diplomatic answer, though his face was crimson as he did.

Questions came back around to sex itself. Some of the questions Hermione was expecting to hear, but some she was surprised to hear asked.

"How do I make my penis bigger?" one of the Hufflepuff boys wanted to know. "Does Engorgio work?"

"No! The Engorgement Charm is not safe to use on any body parts!" Flitwick squeaked, horrified. "You could get seriously hurt!"

"So it's not safe for a girl to use on her rack, either?" Justin Finch-Fletchney asked. "Sorry, sir – on her chest, I mean?"

"Are there spells to make a girl orgasm?" Blaise Zabini asked. His voice was perfectly even.

"Not legal ones," Snape said flatly. "You'll have to work for it."

"If someone ingests Veritaserum before sex, can they fake an orgasm?" Blaise asked as a follow-up. "Can you tell if they're faking it with Legilimency?"

Snape stared at Blaise for a long moment. Hermione wondered if he knew the answer.

"Veritaserum forces a person to answer questions truthfully," Snape said finally. "So if you asked your partner if they had an orgasm, they would be unable to lie. However, Veritaserum is highly regulated, and should not be used for such frivolous purposes."

"What about Legilimency?" Blaise asked. "Can you tell then?"

Draco said something to Blaise, who elbowed him back.

Snape sighed.

"Yes," he said finally. "You can." He rolled his eyes. "Again, however, please be aware that Legilimency is a highly-restricted art."

The questions continued, Snape's patience growing visibly shorter as time went on, Flitwick looking worried as questions devolved from earnest to baiting. Flitwick and Snape had to know as well as Hermione did that questions like "Can two boys swap penises with Switching Spells?" and "What sex position, in your experience, sir, is the best?" were not being asked out of genuine curiosity and inquiry, though Snape's reaction was funny to see.

When Harry raised his hand to ask, "What would happen if a vampire and a werewolf had a baby?", Snape finally snapped.

"This lecture is over," he snarled, Banishing the chalkboard with a violent gesture and a BANG. "Get to dinner. Now."

The doors flew open, and the students, all-too-experienced with Snape's nasty temperament, fled the room, laughing.

Hermione saw Flitwick seemingly to try to comfort or console Snape at the front of the room, but Snape was having none of it, it seemed. Once she ducked out of the classroom and managed to mingle into the crowd, she pulled off the Invisibility Cloak in an alcove and joined the group again, shoving it into Harry's hands. Harry grinned at her and stuffed it in his bag.

"Interesting lecture, wasn't it?" His eyes were dancing. "Very informative."

Hermione snorted. "If you say so."

Tracey and Millie were waiting for her when she joined them at dinner.

"Where did you go?" Tracey demanded. "You said you'd only be a moment or two!"

"I had to use the loo." Hermione winced. "Sorry. I thought it would just take a moment."

Blaise, Theo, Draco, and the other boys joined the table a moment later. They all took their seats with great decorum, being careful to appear unruffled and unflustered. The girls all exchanged looks with each other, sly grins spreading as they looked at the boys.

"Good lecture?" Daphne asked, her voice perfectly normal and polite.

The boys glanced at each other.

"It was informative," Draco said.

"Very informative," Blaise agreed.

"We learned some things we hadn't known," Theo said, nodding. His voice was formal. "The topic was a bit embarrassing, sure, but it's better to know and be well-informed about these things ahead of time."

"Oh really?" Millie asked. "What's something you learned?"

"Well, I didn't know the finer points of a girl's cycle," Draco said, doing his best to keep his voice perfectly even. "Even though it doesn't directly pertain to me, it's good to know for future—"

"Girls' boobs don't pop if you squeeze them hard," Goyle announced. "And you can't get pregnant in the butt."

There was a stunned silence at this pronouncement.

"I asked," Crabbe confirmed, nodding. "You can't have sex in the ear, either."

The Slytherin girls dissolved into hysterical laughter, while the boys' faces steadily grew red.

"Way to make things awkward for the whole table, Goyle," Draco said, elbowing him sharply and giving him a dirty look. "They didn't need to know about your stupid questions."

"Very stupid questions," Hermione agreed solemnly. "Not insightful questions like if a baby drinks a witch's menstrual blood while gestating, or if having sex with a pregnant witch can dent the baby's head."

Draco leveled a horrified look at her while the other girls laughed uproariously. Hermione grinned sheepishly, belatedly realizing she should have no way of knowing anything that was asked in the boys' lecture. Draco's face flamed and he glared at her, before glaring down at his plate.

"Fucking Potter," he muttered, stabbing his lamb, and Hermione felt a wave of relief at his presumption, though she was still struggling not to laugh.

Chapter Text

"Hermione, are you busy tonight?"

Hermione glanced over at Blaise curiously as she buttered her toast.

"Yes…" she said. "We have Astronomy, and a ritual on top of that. And I have Wizengamot today."

"Right…" Blaise ran a hand through his hair, looking unusually conflicted.

"What is it?" Hermione said, concerned. "Has something come up?"

"Not as such, but…" He shook his head. "Don't worry. I'll figure it out."

Hermione gave him a look, but she did the best she could to put it from her mind.

Harry was very obviously excited about doing a ritual that night. He kept shooting her grins in Transfiguration, even as he struggled to turn his tree branch into a teacup. Hermione grinned back at him, pleased he was excited. She was glad he wasn't still moody and upset about not being officially allowed out because of Sirius Black on the loose.

Susan was also excited. She came up to Hermione before Lockhart's class started, telling her she'd had everyone's ritual robes specially laundered.

"I mean, even if we don't need them, black silk will help us blend into the darkness, right?" she said. "I didn't make these for us to only use them a couple times!"

Hermione laughed. "Of course."

Herbology with Ravenclaw was fine, and then Hermione was trotting up to Dumbledore's quarters to Time-Turn back to attend the Wizengamot with him. When she came back, she Time-Turned again to take a brief nap before dinner – she'd need it if she was going to stay up all night for Astronomy and for their ritual that night.

When she saw Blaise at dinner, he looked at her sideways.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked finally. "After dinner."

Hermione blinked. "Sure."

Blaise took her to an abandoned classroom on the second floor once she was done eating, closing the door and hexing it to curse eavesdroppers. Hermione raised her eyebrows, and he shrugged.

"I'd rather no one overhear," he said.

"Okay…"

Blaise looked at her for a long moment.

"There's not really an easy way of asking this subtly," he said finally. "Is there a limit on how often you can jump back in time in a day?"

Hermione choked.

"I—I don't—"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "I'm not an idiot, Hermione. You're doubling up on Ancient Runes and Divination, and you have the Wizengamot at the same time as classes. You're jumping back in time to do it."

Hermione gnawed on her lip. Blaise sighed.

"I'll phrase it differently, if it makes you more comfortable," he said. "Hypothetically, if you could jump through time to be in two places at once, would there be a limit on how often you could do it in a day?"

Perversely, Blaise's structuring of the question did help Hermione relax.

"Hypothetically," she said, "no. Just the amount of time that could be turned back in one go."

Blaise's eyes gleamed. "Which would be how much?"

"Six hours at a time," Hermione said promptly. "Err – hypothetically, of course."

Blaise tilted his head.

"And, hypothetically," he said, "would it be possible to take another person with you through time?"

Hermione considered.

"Yes," she said. "Probably only one other, though," she added, estimating the length of the chain she wore.

Blaise slowly started to grin.

"Then," he said, "if you are amenable, Hermione, I would like to give you your birthday present this evening."

Hermione blinked.

"…my birthday was days ago?" she said, confused.

"I'm well aware," Blaise said impatiently. "But my gift to you is intended to be an experience, and one that can only happen tonight."

"Oh!" Hermione bit her lip. "On the equinox?"

"Yes," Blaise said. He glanced at his watch. "It would involve you using your magic time-jumper for us both, if you're up for it. We'd need to use it… either directly after Astronomy, and then again to rest before the coven ritual tonight, or we'd need to use it right before Astronomy, and then again to jump back to before Astronomy."

Hermione tilted her head. "What exactly is this, Blaise?"

"I can't tell you," Blaise said plaintively. "It's a present. It's supposed to be a surprise."

Hermione folded her arms and regarded Blaise curiously. He seemed kind of excited, vibrating a bit. His eyes were alight, and Hermione found herself curious as to just what he had planned.

"All this for my birthday?" she said. "This sounds like a lot for a birthday gift. Why?"

Blaise's eyes softened. He took a step closer, taking her hand.

"The best gift I ever got was an experience, from you," he told her. His thumb caressed the back of her hand. "Getting to go and see that play with you opened my mind to so many new things. I'll always remember it." His eyes looked up from her hand to her eyes, dark. "I wanted to give something just as memorable and special to you."

Hermione swallowed hard.

"Okay," she said. Her voice came out weakly, and she cleared her throat. "Okay. I can—we can jump back after Astronomy? If you're sure about this?"

Blaise started to grin widely.

"Oh, I'm very sure," he told her. "This will be brilliant. Just you wait and see."

Astronomy was nearly impossible to pay attention to. Hermione had no idea what Blaise was planning. It was something that had to take place today, so it had to be something else to do with the equinox. It had to be, right? Nothing else really made sense.

But what?

She wondered it was going to be, if it would require them to rest before doing the coven ritual around midnight. She hoped she wouldn't be expected to traipse through the forest in the dark.

When Astronomy was finally over, and everyone returned to their dormitories to go to bed, Blaise's eyes were alight.

"Put on a cotton or linen robe," he told her. "One with less flouncing, if you have it? And meet me back out here in ten minutes."

Hermione blinked, curious. "Alright."

When she returned in a low-cut green robe with rather narrow sleeves, she was surprised to see Blaise in a deep crimson robe.

"I didn't know you owned anything red," she teased. "Is that allowed? I thought Gryffindor had exclusive rights to that color."

Blaise grinned. "They wish."

Hermione glanced around. The common room was empty this late, but she pulled them over to a shadowy alcove by the lake.

"We should probably do this before we leave the room," she said, tugging her Time-Turner out of her robes. "Otherwise we'll be risking Filch and curfew."

Blaise's eyes widened at the little hourglass on the end of the chain.

"This is your magical artifact?" he said. "What is it?"

"It's called a Time-Turner," Hermione said. "Fudge gave it to me after the election."

She looped the chain around Blaise's neck as well, before looking at him.

"How far back do we need to go?" she asked. "It's just past midnight now."

"The full six hours," Blaise told her. "We need it to be before sunset, and that was about a quarter past seven tonight."

Hermione shrugged. "If you say so… we'll need to make sure we don't go somewhere where we were six hours ago…"

As she started to twist the dials, Blaise surprised her by withdrawing a silvery-gray cloak she was familiar with.

"Borrowed it off Potter," he said with a grin. "That way no one will see us appear from nowhere."

Hermione laughed, wondering when Harry had confided in Blaise about his Invisibility Cloak, if she'd missed him mentioning it to the coven. "Alright."

She let the Time-Turner go, setting it spinning, and she watched as the world blurred around them. When things finally settled down, she took the chain off of Blaise and stuffed the Time-Turner back down her bodice. Blaise pretended not to look.

"Seems like most people are at dinner," he whispered to her. "Come on."

Slowly and quietly, Blaise and Hermione snuck out of the common room and into the dungeon corridors. Blaise took the cloak off of them after they'd escaped.

"We need to go up a couple of flights of stairs," Blaise said. "Easier to do that without this on."

They climbed the far set of stairs to the third corridor, where Hermione followed Blaise about halfway down to a statue of a hump-backed, one-eyed witch. Blaise looked around carefully before throwing the robe around them again and withdrawing his wand.

"Dissendium," he whispered, tapping the stone witch, and Hermione watched in astonishment as the statue's hump opened wide enough to admit a person. Blaise ushered her forward, and Hermione hoisted herself into the hole.

She slid a fair way down what felt like a long stone slide, but one immeasurably cleaner than the one that led to the Chamber of Secrets. When the slide levelled out, she was in what seemed like a narrow passageway of cold, damp earth. Blaise was a moment behind her, muttering, "Lumos!" and lighting his wand.

"Where are we?" Hermione wondered. "Where are we going?"

Blaise grinned.

"We're sneaking out," he informed her. "We're sneaking past the dementors and into Hogsmeade."

Hermione gasped.

"You're not serious," she said. "We can't sneak out of school!"

"Why not?" Blaise challenged.

Hermione paused.

"…okay, so we shouldn't sneak out of school," she said finally. She glanced around. "How did you find out about this place, anyway?"

Blaise smirked. "Traded the Weasley Twins."

"Traded them what?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Gossip," Blaise shrugged. "They wanted to know who was on the Slytherin Quidditch team this year." He smirked. "They want time to figure out what insults will be the most effective, I think."

"Yes, always more effective to find out your enemies' psychological weaknesses and vulnerabilities beforehand," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Not like they're going to resort to name-calling at all."

Blaise laughed.

"Maybe it's their new team strategy?" he teased, leading her through the earthen passageway. "Anyway, it's nothing to me – I don't care about Quidditch, and it was worth it for this."

The passage was long, and it took about half an hour to walk. As soon as they got to the end of the passageway, though, Blaise stopped.

"That trapdoor, should we take it, would lead us out into Honeydukes' basement," he told her.

"Should we take it?" Hermione asked. "Implying we will not be taking it?"

"No need," Blaise dismissed. "We've gone far enough to be outside the Hogwarts wards, so it's safer to stay in here."

With great pinache, he withdrew a playing card from his pocket – the Queen of Diamonds.

"…and this is what?" Hermione asked finally.

"A Portkey," Blaise told her. His eyes glittered. "Ready, Hermione?"

Cautiously, Hermione took the other half of the playing card.

"We'll go as soon as it's ripped in half," Blaise warned her. "Hold on?"

Hermione took his right hand with her left, meeting his eyes, and a moment later, they ripped the playing card in half.

There was a sharp pull behind her navel, and Hermione found herself spinning through gray as the Portkey whirled them through space, and she only narrowly avoided crashing into Blaise as they landed, her stomach swirling. Her vision was full of dancing black and white stars, and she rubbed at her eyes to clear them.

"That was violent," Hermione coughed, distasteful. "Most Portkeys aren't that bad."

She could feel Blaise shrug. "It's a black-market Portkey. It's not going to be the smoothest journey, you realize?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, well knowing Blaise had deliberately chosen not to mention it was a black-market Portkey until after it had already been used. With a sigh, she shook her head, clearing it the rest of the way before looking around her to finally see where they were. She gasped, her eyes darting up to Blaise's, but Blaise only grinned.

"I thought you'd be pleased," he said, satisfied. "Come on."

And, her hand in his, Blaise tugged her forward.

Hermione didn't recognize exactly where they were. It appeared to be mostly-empty fields on the edge of nowhere, and could be anywhere in the countryside, really. But there was a massive bonfire in the middle of the field, with people surrounding it. There were shouts of laughter and merriment, and as they got closer, Hermione saw a dozen tables set up, and many people with tankards of drink and others dancing round the fire.

"Witch-girl!"

Hermione turned just in time to see Derek, the hedgewitch boy she'd made acquaintances with, come bounding up to her, beaming.

"Derek!" she exclaimed. "It's so good to see you!"

"It is." Derek grinned at Blaise, who smirked back. "Glad to see you made it out okay."

"It was no problem," Blaise dismissed. He looked down at Hermione. "Do you want to see the festival?"

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Would I ever!"

Derek cheerfully played tour guide, taking them around the crowd of people. There were picnic tables set up around the perimeter, each with a different thing on them. The ones bearing large casks and tankards were fairly self-explanatory, but Hermione was intrigued by some of the other ones.

"They're making wreaths," Derek explained. "You hang it on your door to show your gratitude for the land for providing for us."

"They're so pretty!" Hermione exclaimed. "How do they weave them so fast?"

"Well, they've all had a lot o' practice through the years by now, I reckon," Derek said, grinning. "Same as any other skill, I s'ppose."

Hermione was fascinated as Derek led them around, pointing out one area where people were getting their fortunes told, another where people were making dolls out of corn husks and ivy, and another where people were mixing things in bowls with mortars and pestles.

"They're making dyes," he told her, "for the runes later. A few people will be chosen to wear the runes and lead the ceremony for us all."

"What runes?" Hermione wanted to know. "What does the ceremony do?"

Derek scratched his head.

"I don't rightly know all the runes," he admitted. "But one of the people will symbolize the Reaper, who'll come and demand of our harvest. The other one will represent the earth. It—it'll make more sense when you see it, trust me."

"Do you do any rituals during the ceremony?" Blaise asked, his voice very casual, and Derek's eyes lit.

"Yes! This is one o' the few that we usually get a result at," he said, grinning. "When we make an offering to the land, generally the land gives us back a blessing or magic." He seemed excited. "Maybe with a couple real witches here this year, we'll get a real result!"

Blaise objected to that, and he and Derek started discussing the word 'witch' and just what it meant. While they bickered, Hermione tuned them out, curiously examining the area. There was nothing here to indicate that there should be a celebration here – just another spot in a far-reaching field, but somehow, the area resonated as right.

Closing her eyes, Hermione centered herself, before reopening her eyes and reaching out with her magic into the ground.

Her eyes seemed to sparkle almost, before she realized what she was seeing – her magic had entered directly into a ley line, without pulling on it. She shifted her awareness, looking, and she saw that the bonfire had been lit directly above a nexus, where two ley lines were crossing. She wondered for a moment if the grove where the House Elves did Wassailing was also such a place, one with magic hovering in the air.

She pulled back her awareness, her curiosity growing.

"How did you pick this place?" Hermione interrupted, cutting into Blaise's explanation about wizardry. "Was it by chance?"

Derek frowned.

"I mean, there are spots all o'er the place, but this has always been one for festivals?" he ventured. "It's been one for a long time, back when people used to sacrifice an animal for the Reaper, too."

"Sacrifice?" Blaise's tone was polite but incredulous, and Derek scowled.

"You kill a cow for meat any other day, and it's fine, but no, kill it to drain its blood into the ground first before you eat its meat, and now suddenly it's dangerous," he spat. "The Ministry needs to butt out of our lives. 'S nothing wrong with killing an ox or cow. Feedin' your magic's as important as feedin' your body, innit?"

That answered her original question – at some point, someone had identified this place as a nexus, and a good place to work magical rituals. If they were going to make an offering to magic, and magic was going to offer something back, this would be a good place to do it.

"Who's going to run the ritual?" Hermione asked Derek.

Derek pointed. "Ol' Man Hobbs. He's o'er here."

He led them over to the table where people were preparing dyes. Old Man Hobbs, as Derek introduced him, had one eye, an eyepatch, and (to Hermione's surprise) didn't look over fifty.

"Hello, I'm Hermione," Hermione said, introducing herself. "This is all so new to me! Can I ask you a few questions?"

Hobbs looked at her suspiciously, his one eye darting up to Derek, before his shoulders slackened some. "Can't really stop you, can I?"

Blaise laid a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "I'm going to go get a drink. Shout if you need me, love?"

"Sure," Hermione said absently, already leaning over to look at the pigments Hobbs was working on. "So how does this work?" she said eagerly. "You're going to represent the Reaper?"

Hobbs' grin was fierce. "Somethin' like that."

Slowly, Hermione pulled the whole story out. One man was chosen to represent the Reaper, which was the coming winter. One woman was chosen to represent the land, the Earth and her magic, and the Reaper would symbolically kidnap her and carry her away.

"E'eryone makes an offerin' to the Earth, then," Hobbs told her. "If the offerin' is sufficient, the Reaper promises to return her in the spring, but if it's not, winter will last o'er the land forever."

"What's the offering?" Hermione asked. "Derek said you used to use an ox, but that's been forbidden and you can't anymore."

Hobbs looked at her sideways. Hermione kept her face still, doing her best to show nothing but genuine curiosity.

"Generally, e'eryone sheds some blood," he said gruffly. He gestured toward the crowd. "Jus' a few drops, but it's enough."

Hermione looked toward the crowds. Everyone was celebrating and seemed highly cheerful, with dancing and songs going on. As she looked, though, she noticed that most people had small daggers sheathed at their hips – something she hadn't seen the hedgewitches have when she'd visited them before.

"And… that works?" she said. "Sacrificing blood to the earth helps restore her magic?"

"Somethin' like that." Hobbs made a face. "Generally, the woman chosen leads the ritual. The response we get from the earth tends to depend on how good her magic is."

Hermione bit her lip.

"I was under the impression most hedgewitches did not have strong magic?" she ventured carefully. "Is that true?"

"That's why the witch leadin' it is important," Hobbs said, growling. "If we get a weak one, the earth doesn't listen to our offerin' much."

Hermione wondered if it was so much the case that the Earth wasn't listening, or that the hedgewitches couldn't hear.

"Who's your witch leading it this time?" she asked.

"Dunno," Hobbs said, shrugging. "None o' the girls much like to lead it. Tends to hurt, they say. They usually pull names out o' a cauldron."

Hermione's eyes went wide.

"Thank you," she said, slowly standing up. "You've been a great help."

Hobbs looked up at her suspiciously.

"Be careful where you go, witch-girl," he growled. "Don't you be tellin' the Ministry none o' this."

"I would never," Hermione assured him. "Thank you again!"

The table of women who were making wreaths was laughing, and the women smiled at her as she approached.

"Hello," Hermione said. "I was just wondering – who's been chosen as the representative in the ritual tonight?"

The witches glanced around at each other, each shrugging.

"No one, yet," one of them said. "It's not like the men's – Hobbs does that part every year. It hurts, for the woman."

"Channeling the power of the offering can be hard," one of the women explained. "It burns through you, and the earth's responding offering kind of burns coming back up."

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

"I understand I am largely an outsider to your ways," she said carefully, "but if no one else would like to do it, I would like to volunteer for the role."

Several of the women froze, before slowly turning their eyes onto her.

"Why?" one woman demanded. "You come to mess up our ritual so we don't get our magic?"

"I would never!" Hermione said hastily. "I hope to do the exact opposite!"

"What d'you mean?" another woman said suspiciously. "We just said it hurts something awful, and then you go an' volunteer?"

Hermione considered her words carefully.

"I think," she said, "that channeling a large amount of magic can be very difficult and very painful for those who are not accustomed to channeling large amounts of magic." She glanced around at them. "I have some experience in channeling large amounts of magic myself. I think I might be able to help the ritual go smoother and come off even stronger."

The women looked dubious.

"The tales say that when the lord and lady o' the land came out to celebrate with the people, the resultin' rituals were stronger," one woman said slowly. "The lass might have a point."

"And if we're wrong?" another woman shot back at her. "If she's just here to sabotage us?"

"Oh, don't get yer knickers in a twist," another woman scoffed. "S'not like she could do much more damage than we do to ourselves, innit? Las' year we barely got a blessin' when Maria did it."

"I don't like this," the aggressive witch grumbled.

"Do you want to do it?" the other asked pointedly. The aggressive witch grumbled and turned back to her wreath, plaiting leaves and flowers together, and the other one looked smug.

"I don' have a problem wit' it," she informed her. "If anyone ever volunteers, it makes things easier on the rest o' us, so go ahead. But be sure to tell Ol' Man Hobbs – this might change things on his side."

"Right. Thanks."

Hermione made her way back to the table with Old Man Hobbs, where Blaise and Derek were standing with tankards.

"Having fun?" Blaise asked, smiling at her. "We saw you talking to the women."

"Of a sort," Hermione said. She turned to Old Man Hobbs, who squinted his eye at her. "I'm to be the women's representative in the ritual," she said without preamble. "Is there anything I need to do to prepare?"

Hobbs' eye widened enormously, and Blaise groaned.

"You?" Hobbs accused. "Why you?"

"You're New Blood!" Derek exclaimed at the same time. "Of course it should be you!"

Hermione and Hobbs both turned to look at Derek, who looked pleased with himself.

"What?" Hobbs growled.

"How did you know that?" Hermione asked, blinking. "I don't think I ever mentioned that to you."

"She's New Blood," Derek said confidently to Hobbs. "It was in the paper – Magic touched her directly, Hobbs. If anyone can channel our magic properly to the Earth, it'd be her."

Blaise was avoiding Hermione's gaze, and Hermione found herself wondering just how much he'd talked with Derek ahead of time to arrange all this, or if he'd shown Derek the paper that had covered her prophecy. Hobbs looked at Hermione very suspiciously.

"How come I ne'er heard o' this?" he demanded.

Hermione kept her voice even.

"New Bloods are very rare," she offered. "And you might have missed it in the paper."

Hobbs' eyes flashed, and Hermione wondered if he knew how to read.

"Are you sure about this, boy?" he snapped at Derek. Derek looked startled for a moment, then stubborn.

"I'm very sure," he shot back. "I bet we get the best ritual result with her ever, old man."

Old Man Hobbs growled. "Well, we'll see about that."

He stood up suddenly, glowering.

"Boy," he shot at Blaise. "What's your name?"

"Me?" Blaise was startled. "Ah—I'm Blaise. Blaise Zabini."

He offered Old Man Hobbs a bow, which Hobbs scoffed at.

"None o' that fancy stuff here," he dismissed. "You're gonna have to get dirty if you intend to let your woman do this."

Blaise choked. "What?"

"Let me?" Hermione protested. "What's he got to do with my decision?"

"There's magic in symbolism, girl," Hobbs said. "Part o' the symbolism here is the Reaper carryin' away the Earth an' her magic." He fixed his eye on Blaise. "The story doesn't quite have the same meanin', if it's an old man kidnapping a young witch."

Blaise looked uneasy. "I see."

"You do?" Hermione asked. "I don't."

"It's fine, Hermione," Blaise said. "Think of it like a symmetry thing – your partner in the ceremony should be a closer match to you."

"Oh." That made sense to Hermione. "So you or Derek should play the Reaper instead?" she asked. "Or someone else close to my age."

Blaise looked at Derek, who took a step back, holding his hands up in amusement.

"Not me," he said, grinning. "Besides, witch-girl, a closer match would be your classmate, yeah? Someone whose strength o' magic is closer to yours?"

Hermione considered. "That makes sense." She looked up at Blaise, who looked abruptly relieved. "Are you willing?" she asked. "To do this with me? To play the Reaper?"

A slow smile spread over Blaise's face.

"Well, this is your birthday present," he teased her. "I can hardly deny you now, can I?"

Hermione beamed.

Chapter Text

As the night wore on, there was some prep work to be done. The women of the celebration gave Hermione a white, gauzy dress to wear that had short, fluttery sleeves and fell to her knees, which surprised Hermione - she'd thought all witches and wizards only wore full-length clothes. Maybe the hedgewitches were more free about that sort of thing, she wondered. Either that, or Draco had grossly overreacted when he'd first seen her in a dress.

Hermione also had to sit very still while the women plaited a traditional crown of flowers into her hair.

"The Reaper will come and demand to take you away," Coraline, one of the women, explained to Hermione as she braided her hair. "He'll give some speech about how you gave all you had, and how he has come to take you away now. The village will cry out that we will offer of ourselves back to the earth, to not take you away. You'll respond with your lines about how life and death is a cycle, and you'll bargain with the Reaper that if the Earth should accept the people's offering, how he must promise to return you come next year."

"That's when you'll lead the ritual," Maria said. She looked grim. "It will hurt."

"How's the ritual go?" Hermione asked.

"You just do what your magic guides you to, really," Maria admitted. "People will all cut themselves and bleed onto the ground, and you'll need to try and communicate to the earth that there's an offering, and to 'catch' whatever blessing the earth offers back to help us survive the winter." She shrugged. "Everyone does it a bit differently. We don't stand on much stuffiness, here – we do whatever magic tells us is right."

"Right. Got it." Hermione bit her lip. "What happens then?"

"Well, after the offering, the people will demand that the Reaper bring you back next year," Coraline said. "The Reaper will concede, saying that our offering was enough to restore the cycle, and then you'll go off with the Reaper into the woods."

Hermione frowned. "I go off with him anyway?"

"Well, he'll be chasin' you and tryin' to catch you to carry you away a' first," one of the women said. She was missing a tooth. "Difference is him walkin' wit' chou, 'stead a' him draggin' you off."

"I see," said Hermione. She took a deep breath. "And this will happen soon?"

"Soon as the men are ready," Coraline assured her. "Your partner has to get ready too."

Hermione's eyes instinctively sought out Blaise's, but she couldn't see him through the cluster of men surrounding the pigment table.

"Don't peep," Maria admonished. "You'll see soon enough."

"There!" Coraline stepped away from Hermione, examining her hair and looking pleased. "You're set. Go and join the dance, now – the Reaper'll come when he's ready."

Obedient, Hermione went to dance around the fire with the others, where they whooped and welcomed her with open arms.

To Hermione's surprise, there were children present as well – many of them running around underfoot, holding hands and dancing in circles on the innermost edges of the circle, closer to the fire. They seemed the least bothered by the heat, and Hermione was surprised that none of the adults (or teenagers, she amended – they weren't all quite adults either just yet) showed concern about the children being so close to the fire. No one seemed worried, though – on the contrary, everyone was quite merry, and they laughed and lured her into their dancing.

Hermione quickly lost herself, laughing as she was passed from partner to partner. She recognized Worm and Aurican as she danced with them for a moment, before being passed along again, seeing Clover in the crowd, who shot her a devious grin. Hermione laughed and danced, finally getting the hang of some of the steps and moves. It was very free and flowing, and nothing at all like the traditional ballroom dancing Hermione had imagined she'd need in the wizarding world.

Suddenly, there were shrieks and the dancing sputtered to a stop, and there was a loud growl.

"Where is she?" a low voice demanded. "Where is the one you have taken so much from?"

"We know not of what you speak," one of the men shouted back. "Go away, and leave this place."

There was a responding snarl. "Never!"

The crowd parted, and Hermione gasped.

She'd expected some sort of costuming for the Reaper part as well.

But she hadn't expected this.

Blaise had been given something new to wear – a pair of cut-off dark linen trousers, hacked off above the knee – but above the waist, Blaise was entirely bare, wet red runes and symbols glinting slightly in the firelight off his skin. On his head he wore the top part of an enormous ox skull, polished horns curling back from his head.

It was intimidating, dark, and powerful. The firelight danced on his figure, creating shadows over his body, with the wet paint on his chest gleaming, and the ox skull changed his silhouette from that of a man into something far more terrifying and primal.

Blaise's eyes flashed underneath his helmet of a skull, and he stepped forward aggressively. The people around him shrieked and parted in front of him, and in a booming voice, he demanded again, "Where is she?"

Though no one said anything, his eyes were suddenly drawn to hers, and Hermione was quite sure she stopped breathing.

"There!"

He raced towards her, and with a scream, Hermione took off running, ducking and weaving through the crowd.

Hermione wasn't sure if this was how this was supposed to be unfolding. Blaise was calling out some lines, something about them exploiting the Earth or somesuch, and the hedgewitches were answering protests back that Hermione was vaguely aware of. But it was hard to concentrate with her blood pounding through her veins and her lungs burning as she raced to escape Blaise, who looked more like a demon than any 'Reaper' she had imagined.

She glanced back, legs burning, to see Blaise still chasing her as he yelled out his lines, and she put on another burst of speed, trying to escape. Blaise's eyes glittered at her from under his skull mask, and then he was running faster too, and suddenly he was upon her, and Hermione shrieked as he caught her in his arms.

Blaise snarled out his next lines at the villagers, something about taking her away, but Hermione was too breathless to hear them. The heat of Blaise's bare chest seemed to burn through her thin dress from behind her, strong arms wrapped around her front, and she'd never heard Blaise talk in a voice like this – when had his voice gotten so low?

"We will give back!" she vaguely heard people yelling. "We will give of ourselves to restore the Earth and her magic!"

The line vaguely registered to Hermione, piercing through to her thoughts.

"That's my cue," she murmured to Blaise.

Blaise glanced sideways, his eyes holding Hermione's for a long moment before his arms slackened a bit, and Hermione broke free, stumbling forward and out of his arms.

"You had better," Blaise growled at them all, but he took several steps backwards, content to watch.

Hermione refocused on the situation at hand, biting her lip. All of the villagers had formed a circle around the fire, but the fire itself was directly on the nexus of the ley lines. Hermione found herself wishing that she'd gained and mastered a fire elemental already, so she could have stood directly in the flames.

"Life and death is a cycle," Hermione told Blaise. "With magic, it ebbs and flows." She turned to the townspeople. "With an offering, we will renew this cycle—" she turned back to Blaise, accusingly "—reopening what you would close."

Blaise looked mildly surprised. Hermione felt surprised herself; she hadn't expected to be making rhymes (regardless of how bad her pacing was), but it made sense in a weird way – all ritual magic up till now had been done in verses for her, so why would Magic guide her any differently now?

"We open our flesh to give our blood," Hermione said, gesturing, and she watched as the people took their knives. Several looked to her for instruction, and Hermione mimed cutting her hands, and there were reluctant faces as they did as they were told, cutting into their palms. "May our life restore the earth's own."

That was good so far, she thought. She watched as everyone offered their blood to the earth, dripping on the ground, while some had to pass their daggers to others who didn't have one, and she instinctively winced at the health implications of that all.

After everyone had bled in a circle, they looked at her expectantly.

"We take each other's hands to restore the balance," she said, holding out her own hands, and she watched as the villagers obediently took each other's hands, "in the way that Magic has shown."

The villagers were a circle now, surrounding her and the fire, with Blaise standing outside the circle ominously, firelight glinting off of the skull off to the side. Hermione extended her awareness of her own magic, feeling the magic and potential of the blood offering vibrating on the earth, and she took a deep breath.

"With our blood and power, we make our offering," Hermione called out, "so your magic might be restored. With this offering, we plead with you – Magic, come back in the spring once more!"

Hermione clapped loudly, and there was a loud roar in her ears as magic rushed up to meet her. Somehow, it sounded like someone was screaming, and the sound echoed in her ears.

The others were right, Hermione thought dimly – it hurt. The rawness of the blood offering seemed to sear through her veins and nerves, but Hermione grit her teeth, focusing on making her own magic a conduit, not something to hold the offering, and she felt the power from their offering rush through her as she channeled it deep into the earth. As it reached the ley lines, she swore she could almost feel the ley lines react, as if being tinged with the dark red of their collected offering, squirming and dancing in the land. Hesitantly, Hermione reached out with her own magic to tap the nexus of the lines, and she gasped as the ley lines' magic rushed through her.

She'd done this before – Hermione cleared her mind, shifting her magic so she was just a conduit, not holding any of the ley line magic at all. Though her eyes were closed, she could hear gasps and murmurs around the circle as she felt the ley line magic rush through them all, coursing from bloodied palm to bloodied palm. The ley line magic was flowing into them, she realized, changing – their own magical containers, with their own paltry cores, were being flooded with magic from the ley line. The blood from their offering was guiding the raw magic through their cores, making it theirs, until the townspeople were practically brimming with power.

As if satisfied, Hermione felt the ley line hum as it returned to her, indicating a balance, and Hermione guided the ley line's power back down into the earth, sending after it a wordless hum of thanks. The ley line felt almost amused, somehow, as if it were alive, but Hermione made sure it felt her gratitude nevertheless.

Stretching her neck and hands, Hermione opened her eyes, eager to see what the ritual had wrought.

At first, there was nothing – just stunned townspeople staring at their hands in wonder. Hermione wondered if they could literally feel magic at their fingertips until she realized that no one was bleeding any longer – the magic had healed their cuts.

Well, she mused, at least that was a good indicator something had been done.

Slowly, one woman stepped forward, hesitant. She held her hand out, and with a gesture, suddenly her hand was full of bluebell flames. The crowd gasped.

"Cold fire," someone murmured.

"Lumos!"

Someone else cried out, and suddenly a ball of light appeared above him, hanging in the air, and the man's jaw dropped.

"I—I did that," he stuttered. "I did that."

The crowd murmured around him, stunned.

"Your offering of blood and life has been accepted," Blaise said, stepping forwards. "The bounty of the earth will be restored to you come the spring. But be careful what you do with this gift of magic," he warned. "Who knows what chaos from wild magic might you wring?"

He extended his hand to Hermione, who wordlessly moved toward him and took it. Once she grasped his hand, his eyes seemed to glow at her, and suddenly they were running away from the fire towards the forest, feet pounding on the ground.

"Do we really have to get to the forest?" Hermione said, panting. "Or is it just the idea?"

"Not sure," Blaise said, breathless, "but that's where Derek said he'd put my robes."

Inside the forest was a torch, and next to it two sets of robes. There was a creek Hermione could hear burbling, and she glanced at Blaise hesitantly.

"There's water," she said, unsure. "If you want to…"

She trailed off, her eyes tracing the runes on Blaise's body.

Up close, Hermione could recognize some of the runes. Hagalaz and Isa were primary on his body, painted onto his biceps, with merkstaved Teiwaz and Ehwaz as well. Dagaz and Jera were brushed onto his pectorals, Kenaz and Uruz painted onto his thighs, while Gebo and Wunjo glowed on the back of his hands.

"Think I should wash this off?" Blaise's voice was low, husky. "Maybe I should."

"It could get on your robes otherwise," Hermione said, her voice hoarse. She didn't realize she was still holding his hand until he squeezed hers, and Hermione felt the gesture burn through her. "You probably should."

Wordlessly, Blaise pulled away, and Hermione felt bereft as his hand left hers, her own hand suddenly cold. Blaise took the giant skull off from his head and set it aside, first, before slowly approaching the creek. He tentatively stepped a foot into it and winced.

"The water's cold," he said quietly. The faraway sounds of the crowd celebrating and cheering filtered faintly into the woods.

Hermione watched, breathless, as Blaise climbed into the creek. It only came up to about his waist, barely skimming the top of his shorts, and Blaise took a deep breath before dunking his head under, vanishing from sight. He reemerged a moment later, gasping, his eyes wide and bright.

"Merlin's tits, that's cold," he said, gasping. "Gotta get this done quickly."

Hermione had seen Blaise like this once before, before they'd united as a coven. Then, though, she'd been purified of purpose, and her eyes had stayed on his face the entire time. Now, though…

Now, Hermione's eyes burned as she watched Blaise rub the paint from his body, his skin glistening and dripping water in the torchlight.

When he was done, he stepped out of the river, shivering, and without a thought Hermione blanketed him in a rush of warm air, and Blaise relaxed with a sigh.

"I need to get good enough to do that," he said, closing his eyes. "Oh, that's so much better. That water was cold."

Blaise put on his robes first, taking off the wet shorts after his robes were on, and he turned his back while Hermione shucked her linen dress and quickly did up her own cotton robe. She left the flower crown in her hair.

"They're celebrating," Blaise said, facing the bonfire. "They seem even louder now, actually."

"Shall we go see?" Hermione asked, bundling her dress up. "Are we allowed back now?"

Blaise glanced at her. "I mean, I think so. We're just 'Blaise and Hermione', now, not 'the Reaper and Lady Earth' or whatever we were."

Hermione flushed. Something about the phrase 'just Blaise and Hermione' made her face warm.

"Well, then…" Hermione took a deep breath. "Let's go."

As they reached the edges of the celebration, Hermione saw Clover, whose eyes met hers and flared in recognition.

"They're back!" she called out. She raced towards Hermione, grabbing her hands. "Nimue alive, witch-girl, what was that?"

"What?" Hermione objected, stumbling after Clover as she dragged her in. "I was supposed to lead the ritual!" Clover dragged her to the middle of everyone, back near the fire, and Derek pushed his way through.

"You did," he told her. A slow grin spread across his face. "But Hermione, realize… none of us have ever felt magic like that."

Hermione's curiosity tingled at her. "What did the magic feel like?"

Eager townspeople crowded around, telling her how they felt alive, how they suddenly felt complete, like they could do anything, and several people wanted to show her spells they'd picked up along the way somewhere. Hermione was pleased to see that the hedgewitches could cast magic with magic the earth had gifted them – though she was a bit worried about them doing so carelessly without wands.

"I told you!" Derek crowed at Old Man Hobbs. "I told you New Blood would be the best one to use!"

Even Old Man Hobbs was giving her a reluctant, wizened smile.

"I haven't felt magic like that since they snapped my wand," he said finally. "I never expected to ever again. Well done, witch-girl. Well done."

Hermione felt a hand settle onto her shoulder, and somehow she could sense it was Blaise.

"Hermione's good at that," he said from behind her. "Subverting everyone's expectations and blowing them away like that."

Hermione colored but grinned.

"I'm supposed to, aren't I?" she teased, turning to look up at Blaise. "The New Blood to change the world and all that?"

Blaise's eyes glowed at her in the firelight.

"You are indeed," he said. He caught her hand in his, raising it to his lips to kiss while his eyes held hers. "That you are."

Chapter Text

The hedgewitches were overjoyed with the results of the ritual, and Hermione and Blaise ended up spending a good portion of the night teaching them very, very basic spells - ones such as Lumos, Alohomora, and Reparo. They were low-level enough spells that used little enough magic that Hermione thought they'd probably be able to manage them - without blowing their hands off.

"The blessing usually just gives us each enough magic for runes to feel lucky and stronger, or for making potions to go a little bit smoother," Clover told Hermione. "We've never gotten enough to actually cast spells!"

"It won't last," Hermione warned. "Once you each use it up, it's gone."

Clover waved a hand, dismissive. "I know, I know. But just... I can cast a spell and fix things now, if I'm careful. Even if I can only repair one or two kirtles, do you know how many hours of sewing that will cut down?"

Hermione didn't, but she imagined it was rather a lot.

She was mildly concerned the hedgewitches were going to hurt themselves trying too hard. Firstly, they were attempting magic without a wand, which was difficult itself. But during the blessing, the ley line energy had been filtered through their cores and filled up their magical reservoirs. It hadn't jump-started their own cores into making more magic, and it hadn't expanded their reservoirs - it had only filled them up. Once it was gone, it would be gone.

Hermione wondered if it was possible to filter ley line energy through your core when trying to use it directly without a blood sacrifice, but she doubted it - she remembered how badly her head had felt like it was splitting when she had tried to manipulate it in France under Fleur's tutelage.

It was a matter that would bear more thought, but for now, Hermione set it aside and lost herself in the dancing around the fire, teaching how to cast a spells with Blaise, drinking cider, and helping children with their flower crowns.

Hermione was exhausted by the time they left the celebration, near 1am, though she'd had the time of her life. When Blaise finally Portkeyed them back to the secret tunnel, she was ready to fall over.

"Do we really have to go all the way back through this tunnel?" she whined. "My feet feel like they're going to fall off."

"We have to get back and Time-Turn so we can rest," Blaise told her, helping her regain her balance. "The others are expecting us for the coven ritual still."

Hermione groaned.

"I already napped earlier," she complained. "I'm not going to be able to rest on my bed anyway."

Blaise paused.

"If you really need to," he said, "we could try to rest here."

"Here?" Hermione stared at him. "In the dirt?"

"You're exhausted," Blaise said gently. "Maybe we should Time-Turn here, where we know we're safe, and recover a bit of energy before walking back the rest of the way."

As much as Hermione wanted to whine about sleeping in the dirt, more of her body was whining at her that she was tired, aches and pains nagging her with each step, and she sighed.

"Fine," she conceded. She pulled the Time-Turner from her robes. "Come closer."

Blaise obediently moved closer so she could loop the chain around his neck, and soon the Time-Turner was spinning. When it settled, nothing had changed, but that was at it should be, really – no one else had been in this tunnel in the past six hours.

"How long can we nap?" she murmured, leaning back against the wall and sinking to the ground.

"It's a bit past seven," Blaise said. "Just nap an hour or two now, and then we'll make it the rest of the way back and rest the rest somewhere more comfortable."

"Alright." Hermione's voice was drowsy. "Make sure you wake me up in time, though."

She didn't remember falling asleep, but it seemed moments later Blaise was gently jostling her.

"Hermione?" he murmured. "Time to get up now."

Hermione yawned and groaned, but she got to her feet.

"'m still tired," she grumbled.

"I know." Blaise was doing his best to repress a laugh. "I've got an idea. Come on."

They made their way back through the tunnel and out into the hallways. It was about half an hour before curfew.

"We need to go somewhere where we're sure we weren't, right?" Blaise said. "I've got an idea. Come on."

Hermione half-drowsed against Blaise as he led them up staircase after staircase, and it was only after she heard a strange voice say, "Well put" and a door swung open that she blinked and looked around.

"Are we at Ravenclaw tower?" she asked.

Blaise nodded. "I figure we can rest here, and Luna will come down and wake us up in time for the ritual tonight."

Hermione wondered if he meant that Luna would see them sleeping in her Common Room and investigate, or if she'd just somehow know that they were there and that this was a thing. She was too tired to contemplate it much anyway, and she ignored the looks they were getting from the Ravenclaws as they retreated to a far corner with cushions and promptly fell asleep.

This time, Hermione dreamed, reliving the chase around the fire, the feeling of the hedgewitches' offering of blood burning through her. The glow from Blaise's runes seemed to reflect off her face, and then he laughed, a sound that made her heart warm.

When Hermione awoke, it was to Luna's face, smiling gently down at her.

"You look so happy sleeping," she observed. "We need to meet Susan and Harry soon, though."

Hermione nodding, yawning and stretching. She shook Blaise slightly, who seemed to wake and leap into alertness much more rapidly than she had.

"Is it midnight?" Blaise asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Almost," said Luna. "Come on."

She guided them through the Ravenclaw common room towards the door. She paused at it, and there was a brief panic as everyone rummaged in their pockets making sure they still had their permission slips to be out after hours; Hermione had duplicated the original so everyone had one, in case they got separated. There was a slight squeak, and Luna disappeared up the stairs of one of the towers, Hermione watching in amusement. Luna must have forgotten hers.

Hermione surveyed the common room idly, deserted now that everyone had gone to bed. Her eyes paused on one of the couches, a person wrapped up in a blanket on it. When Luna returned a minute later, wide-eyed and out of breath, Hermione laid a hand on her arm to pause her.

"Luna," she said. "Who's that?"

Luna followed Hermione's gaze to a lump on one of the couches. Her eyes dimmed.

"Oh," she said. "That's Amanda. She's a first year."

Hermione gave Luna a quizzical look. "Did she just fall asleep there?"

Luna shrugged. "She does that sometimes."

"Come on," Blaise whispered. "We need to go."

Quietly, they left the Ravenclaw Tower and crept through the school. Even though they had permission to be out after hours, it seemed only natural to sneak through the halls, doing their best not to get caught by patrolling professors or Filch and his cat.

When they finally reached the ground floor, Harry and Susan were waiting for them in the Entrance Hall, eyes bright.

"I brought our robes for everyone," she said, passing them out. "And Wide-Eye potion. We don't know how long this might take, and it's better that everyone stay awake, right?"

"Susan," Hermione told her, holding her potion reverently. "Have I ever told you that you're brilliant?"

"Maybe." Susan grinned. "It's always nice to hear, though."

They split up to use the bathrooms to change, quickly shucking their day robes and trading them for the ritual ones.

"We can keep our underwear on now, right?" Luna asked.

"Yep!" Susan's response was cheery. "Just the initial ritual we couldn't wear them."

Luna sounded relieved. "Good."

They met back up with the boys and crept outside, keeping close to the side of the castle.

"We should probably do this closer to the forest," Hermione admitted. "Maybe a bit of a distance from Hagrid's hut, though?"

"Fair enough." Harry's voice was cheery. "He'd probably want to kill me if he learned I'm out after hours."

"We have a teacher's note," Blaise pointed out. "We can't get in trouble."

"Like Hagrid cares about permission or trouble," Harry snorted. "No, no – Hagrid's convinced Sirius Black is after me."

Luna broke out laughing at this, erupting into giggles.

"I don't—I'm sorry—I can't—" It took her a moment to calm herself down, still giggling slightly. "Sorry. I can't explain why—don't ask me—but that's just so funny to me for some reason!"

Susan looked at Luna quizzically. "Is this a Time thing?"

"Probably," Luna said. She shrugged, still looking very amused. "It happens sometimes."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. Part of being friends with Luna was just accepting that sometimes, she did things and said things that were very odd and didn't make much sense.

When they reached a good place, they stopped and got out Hermione's ritual kit, Harry and Blaise working quickly to make a large enough circle and triangle inside of it.

"Are we sure this is a good idea?" Blaise asked. He glanced up at Hermione. "The last time we did this, things almost went drastically wrong."

"I'm awake enough," Hermione reassured him. "And we know what we'll be facing this time, and how to avoid our previous mistakes."

"Plus, if this helps with protection or healing or whatever," Harry said, "and Black really is after me, it will only help, won't it?"

Blaise held up his hands, surrendering. "I was just checking."

Hermione grinned, sheepish. "If it helps… I've got an idea of how to make sure it's safe this time."

Moonstones made up the ritual circles, an outer ring of protection and an inner one with a triangle, with a small pile of malachite in the middle. Protection runes were inscribed along the outer ring to strengthen it before they finished, and they spread out around the circle.

"Sit down," Hermione bid them. "We're going to try something a bit different."

Once everyone was sitting, Hermione took a deep breath.

"Have any of you heard about ley lines?" she asked.

Blaise and Luna looked thoughtful, Harry confused, but Susan's eyes grew huge.

"Ley lines?" she gasped. "Merlin's teats, are we going to pull on a ley line?"

Harry's eyes darted to Susan. "Is that bad?"

"No," Susan said, her eyes wide. "It's just… that's a very old magic type of thing. It's like the stuff of legends, that covens once did in enormous rituals with many people. The idea that just the five of us…"

Blaise raised an eyebrow.

"So I thought ley lines were just the paths of magic crossing the earth," he said. "They're what make magical sites more magical than other places – like there's a crossing of ley lines at Stonehenge, I've heard."

"Yes, but they're paths of magic, Blaise," Susan stressed. "They're sources of magic. That means we can channel that power into a ritual."

"No," Blaise said immediately. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?" Hermione asked, surprised. "If we tap a line and only channel a little, it'll help hold the protection circle strong."

"The last time we touched lines of power, you ended up with permanent nerve damage," Blaise said bluntly. He folded his arms. "Forgive me if it's not an experience I'm particularly thrilled to repeat."

Harry's eyes widened.

"Is that what we did at Beltane?" he asked. "Use a ley line?"

"I don't think so," Hermione said. "But I—"

"No," Luna said simply, cutting Hermione off. "We did not."

Hermione turned to look at Luna, who shrugged.

"I grew up around a nexus," she said. "Not at my current house – there's another house we have in Ireland. But I can recognize ley line magic easily. What we touched on Beltane was not ley line magic – more the magic left behind in Hogwarts by the four founders themselves."

Blaise still looked highly suspicious. Hermione sighed.

"If it helps," she volunteered, "I've done this before."

"You have?" His eyes narrowed. "When?"

"Um," she said. "Over the summer a couple times. And—" she glanced at her watch "—probably about half an hour ago or so."

Blaise's eyes went wide. He paused a long moment, thinking, before he rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he groused. "But only because I've seen it work before."

That was enough for Hermione, who beamed.

"How do we do this?" Susan asked, vibrating with excitement. "I've never learned this. I think my mother might have been in a ritual once that used a line? But I'm not sure."

"So there's a small difference," Hermione admitted, "in how you use a ley line in general, and how we're going to use a ley line in this ritual. When you try to use a ley line directly, it's miserable and horrible, and it's quickly apparent why people only used them in rituals, really."

"It is?" Luna looked surprised. "How so?"

"Well, the energy kind of overwhelms your own magical energy," Hermione said, thinking back. "It's a rush at first, but it's really difficult to keep your own magic separate from the magic of the earth. It's kind of a headache and a bit of mental gymnastics."

Luna tilted her head. "I see."

"Which is why we're just going to do it through a ritual," Hermione said. "It's the Autumn Equinox – an old magic feast day – so it should be easier to do today than it might be any other day of the year. It won't be hard, either. Just copy me."

Hermione took the silver blade from her ritual magic kit, cutting horizontally across her palm, wincing.

"I give my blood to the magic of the earth," she intoned. "May my power help fuel her strength and rebirth."

She bled on the outer ring of moonstone, turning a small part of it red as she passed the dagger to Blaise, who took it.

"Do we need to clean that off first?" Harry whispered. "It's got Hermione's blood on it."

"We're a coven now, Harry," Susan reassured him. "We magically share blood, remember? There's no danger in blood-borne illnesses between us."

Blaise passed the dagger to left to Luna, who took it and cut her own palm serenely, unflinching.

"Can I heal this?" Blaise asked, his voice tight. "Or do I need to wait some more?"

"Wait," Hermione advised, as Luna passed the blade to Susan. "If we do it right, we won't need a healing spell, I don't think."

"I give my blood to the magic of the earth," Susan said gravely, blood dripping to the moonstone. "May my power help fuel her strength and rebirth."

Harry took the dagger from Susan, and with a sigh, cut his own palm and held it out, bleeding. "I give my blood to the magic of the earth. May my power help fuel her strength and rebirth."

He gave the knife to Hermione, who set it aside.

"Now," she said. "Press your bleeding hand to the moonstone. On three—two—one—"

They all pressed their palms to the moonstone, and there was a collective gasp.

"What is that?" Susan asked, her voice hushed. "It's like—it's like bees buzzing, but made of magic—"

"That's the magical potential of our offering, I think," Hermione said. "Now – and this is going to sound a bit ridiculous – push your magic and the offering down into the earth. There's a few ley lines of magic that all cross each other at Hogwarts. Once we find one, our offering will be accepted."

The coven calmed their breathing and centered themselves.

"Ready?" Hermione asked, getting nods from the others. "Okay. Here we go."

She sent her magic into the ground, looking for a ley line. Around her, she felt the magic of the others do the same, connected through coven and ritual as they were. She kept her own eyes closed as she felt around, but a moment later, there was a bright buzzing feeling.

"Found one," said Luna, her voice musical. She sounded amused. "Now what?"

"Try to pull it up and connect it to the blood on the ring," Hermione instructed. "And we'll watch what happens."

"Alright," Luna hummed.

Everyone except Luna opened their eyes, who looked to be concentrating. A moment later, there was a strong feeling of vibration and buzzing and power underneath their hands, the current of power traveling through the ring and lighting the entire thing up with an oddly radiant energy. As Hermione pulled her hand away from the moonstones, she saw the cut on her hand had been healed.

"Wicked," Blaise said, examining his own hand. He looked at Hermione. "That means we did it right, right?"

"So the ley line is going to hold the protection circle?" Susan asked, frowning. "Will we still be able to get through it?"

"We should be," Hermione reassured her. "It was our blood that made it, so we should be able to pass through well enough."

"Is it based on blood, though?" Harry asked. "When we fought the air elemental, we were each still in our own body, so if it's blood-based, won't we still be able to break through while we're possessed?"

"It's also based on our intent," Hermione said patiently. "That's why the runes we inscribed are there. We can go in and out – but anything trying to force us out won't be able to."

Blaise shrugged. "Works for me."

"Excellent," Hermione said. "Then – who wants to go first?"

"I have a question, first," Susan said. She looked suddenly nervous. "Err – can I go last this time?"

Hermione blinked.

"Sure," she said. "But… is there some reason you want to go last?"

Susan drew herself up, taking a deep breath.

"Luna went last when we did this last time, and she ended up with a super cool Sylph instead of just a will o' the wisp," she said. "If there's a chance one of us is going to end up with a Lutin instead of a golem, I want to be the special one."

"Hey!" Harry protested. "That's not fair! And Luna ended up with hers by accident."

"Well, I want a stronger one on purpose," Susan argued, folding her arms. "Is that such a crime?"

"It won't be even," Harry protested. "You and Luna will be more powerful than the rest of us. That's not fair at all."

"Isn't it?" Luna asked mildly. "We could each try to get one that's more powerful than the others. Divide it up, really. Hermione's intending on us going through all the elements, after all."

Harry and Susan both turned to her. Hermione bit her lip.

"I mean," she said, faltering. "That was the eventual end goal…"

Susan's eyes lit up, and Hermione gnawed her lip.

This…

Was she okay with this?

The idea that Susan wanted a more powerful earth elemental to subdue wasn't exactly strange, Hermione supposed. Luna had been able to master air magic and flight faster than anyone else had because of the help from her Sylph. Luna had said she'd had to come to some sort of symbiosis with the Sylph, though, instead of truly subduing it, which had Hermione feeling wary about it. But if Susan was willing to do that purposefully to help master whatever earth magics they got access to, Hermione supposed that was her call to make...

And they could balance it out, really. If they eventually did fire and water, too, Harry could take a stronger elemental in fire, if he wanted to, and Blaise could take a stronger one in water. So they'd each have a special one.

Only… where did that leave her?

Hermione bit her lip, hard.

They were her coven. She cherished them and wanted to help them learn cool powers and accomplish awesome things. But still… on some level, she wanted to be special. She already knew the earth elemental powers, having subdued one first, and she was sharing it with the group. But if everyone was going to have every elemental, and everyone else got a super powered up element except her…

Well. That didn't feel very special at all.

It felt like being anti-special, actually. Which was a feeling she didn't really like.

Hermione took a deep breath, settling herself.

"It's up to all of you," she said finally. "Luna's already got the Sylph by accident. If we try for a stronger one for each of you, it could balance the coven out over time. But Luna also struggled with the Sylph and had to strike a bargain. It might not be as easy as we'd hope."

Harry looked intrigued.

"How did it go again?" Harry asked Luna. "You had to talk to it, not just fight it? How did that work?"

As Luna began explaining what bargaining with the Sylph had been like to Harry and Susan, who were listening with interest, Blaise was looking sideways at Hermione.

"If we do this," he said, "you'll be the only one without a special one."

"I'm well aware of that, thanks," Hermione snapped. She paused, sighed, and gentled her tone. "Sorry. It's just—well, we're already unbalanced, and this seems fairer…"

Blaise's smile was wry.

"Well, if anything, you'll be the only one of us with true mastery over all four," he said. "Right?"

Hermione blinked. "How so?"

"Well, Luna doesn't actually know how to fly under her own power, does she?" Blaise said conversationally. "The Sylph inside her does. But in her bargain with the Sylph, it's kept separate from her own magic, and when Luna dies, it'll be able to escape and be free once again. It's not actually her own magic doing it at all, like it is when you fly."

Hermione paused. "…I suppose that's true."

"So if we each get a more powerful one," Blaise went on, "each of us will have instant mastery over one element – but at the cost of genuinely mastering it ourselves. So if something happened, and say, someone attacked Luna and summoned the Sylph out of her, she'd suddenly be completely unable to fly."

Hermione was catching on.

"I see what you're saying," she said slowly. "I guess that makes sense. Just… does that balance us all out? Really?"

"In terms of power?" Blaise raised an eyebrow. "I'd say you're already considerably ahead of the rest of us there."

"No, just in—well—"

Hermione paused.

She was considerably ahead of them in raw power, wasn't she?

She'd broken her magical core trying to maximize her potential, at the cost of her magical core's stability. The coven bond had 'fixed' that, but it'd had the side effect of her being able to produce and regenerate her own magical power at an incredibly accelerated rate.

And her own power 'container' was considerably larger than what most people's her age was as well, she imagined. Years of 'exercising' it before bed each night had pushed her magical capacity to get larger and larger. She had no idea how much magical power a person typically had at her age, but she reckoned she'd have to be in the 90th percentile at this point at the least.

Hermione bit her lip.

"I guess you're right," she said. She looked at him. "Thanks."

Blaise smirked, slightly smug despite his efforts to hide it. "Anytime."

Hermione rolled her eyes but let him have his moment. He really had helped her feel better.

"I'm okay so long as I get to do fire," Harry declared. He looked at Blaise. "You okay with getting water?"

"My common room looks out into the lake, Potter," Blaise drawled. "I daresay that's fine with me."

"Excellent!" Susan clapped her hands, eyes bright and dancing behind her turquoise glasses. "Then… shall we begin?"

"I'm first this time," Luna said, standing up. "Everyone else stand back."

"Okay," Hermione said, standing too. "Let's do this."

The other three moved back, away from the glowing protection ring. Luna stood at one point of the inner triangle, Hermione directly across from her, straddling the other two. There was a small pile of polished malachite in the center of the triangle.

"Remember to use your air magic," Hermione cautioned them. "When I did this, I felt like my lungs were being crushed."

Luna nodded firmly. "Got it."

Hermione and Luna both took several deep breaths to center themselves. Hermione could feel the power of the ley line humming through the ring of moonstones, setting them aglow with magic on the grass, and she carefully touched her own power to the inner circle before beginning.

"We summon and call upon the element of the earth," Hermione intoned, drawing the sigil for golem in the air. "There is a body to battle for, one of great worth." The forest seemed to still around them, and the air grew colder, more tense with magic. "We challenge you from your trees and grass to land and stone - come and fight for Luna's body for you to own!"

Hermione repeated the incantation, and there was a rumbling as a figure began to emerge from the ground, a vague humanoid being made of mud, with no face and no eyes. At the end of the third recitation of the incantation, the golem vanished into Luna's body, and she fell to the ground, choking, her eyes wide.

"She's choking!" Susan exclaimed, horrified. "Hermione—you have to—"

"I choked too," Hermione reassured her. "It feels like you're swallowing mud and your lungs are being crushed."

Susan looked horrified as Luna rolled on the ground, gagging and choking, her eyes glowing slightly. Harry and Blaise hung back, both with wide eyes.

It took her a couple minutes, but Luna eventually stilled, then straightened up, coughing.

"You're right," Luna gasped out. There were tears of pain in her eyes as she offered Hermione a grim smile. "I'm glad I had air already down to help me out."

The coven broke into cheers at her success, and Luna managed an embarrassed smile.

Hermione settled Luna down against a tree nearby to rest. Blaise offered to go next, then Harry.

The ritual was the same each time – each of the boys fell to his knees, choking, fighting to subdue the earth elemental inside of them. Hermione watched on steadily as each boy fought to subdue his golem, tense, but they both managed to prevail in the end, to her immense relief.

Afterward, both Blaise and Harry were drained and exhausted, and Hermione helped move them to lean against trees nearby. She returned to the circle, where Susan was already standing, hands curled into anxious fists.

Hermione looked at Susan from across the circle.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked.

Susan looked determined. "I'm ready."

Hermione sighed. "Alright…"

Hermione remembered what she'd done that had messed the ritual up for Luna – she didn't know if she'd ever be able to forget. That moment of horror as she'd realized… and now Susan wanted her to do it for her on purpose…

Resigned, Hermione braced herself, and she channeled her magic fully into the summoning circle, deliberately not tracing a sigil in the air, before she finally began the chant.

"We summon and call upon the element of the earth.
There is a body to battle for, one of great worth.
We challenge you from your trees and grass to land and stone,
Come and fight for Susan's body for you to own!"

The end of the first incantation brought a large, horrifying quaking to the earth beneath them, and Susan's eyes went wide at the magnitude of grumbling they provoked. At the end of the second, the figure that had emerged from the ground looked like a short, squat figure, made of moss and leaves with a vacant face.

Hermione kept watching Susan as she finished the third.

"—fight for Susan's body for you to own!"

There was a loud rumble of the earth as the Lutin disappeared inside of her, and Susan fell to the ground, screaming, before it was abruptly choked off, her eyes glowing green as she gagged.

"Is it working?" Harry asked, coming over to watch. He hung back from the protection circle, but his eyes were concerned behind his glasses.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, as Susan thrashed on the ground. "But Luna warned Susan what she'd need to do…"

Luna looked at Hermione, her eyes gentle.

"Hard to do this on purpose, isn't it?" she said sympathetically.

"You have no idea," Hermione said, shaking her head. "I still feel such guilt for doing it to you the first time, even though it all turned out okay. To put Susan through this on purpose…"

They all watched anxiously as Susan fought, setting her will against the Lutin as she presumably tried to bargain with it. When Susan began gagging and throwing up mud and moss, though, Hermione began to fear something was going very, very wrong.

"Merlin's beard!" Blaise leapt backwards, even though he wasn't in danger of getting hit with the dirt vomit.

"That's… not normal…" Harry said, alarmed. "Is it?"

Hermione felt panic clutch at her chest, and she looked to the other three, eyes wide.

"How do we know when to give up?" she asked frantically. "If we need to try to exorcise it, we need to do it as soon as possible, before it gains control—"

There was a horrible retching sound as Susan threw up what looked like half-digested leaves, but she gasped a moment later and flipped over, collapsing on her back.

"No need," she wheezed. A bubble of brown spit formed over her mouth and burst, leaving her face even more messy, and she coughed out a little more mud. "I've got it now. It was just… hard."

The protection circle was still glowing, but now that it was safe, they all rushed to Susan's side.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Harry wanted to know. "That looked awful—you were puking dirt—"

"Well," Susan said weakly, "that explains the taste in my mouth."

Harry managed a weak laugh, while Luna and Blaise just looked relieved.

"So…" Hermione said, gnawing on her lip. "Do you want to test it?"

Susan blinked at her. "Test what?"

"The earth elemental," Hermione said patiently. "I never really used mine for much except filtering my magic through it to ground myself regularly. I think doing so as often as I did helped me attune to it more, but I've certainly got no idea what mastery over it would look like."

"Except move stone," Blaise said suddenly, his eyes cutting over to Hermione.

"Err—yes," Hermione said, surprised. She didn't remember mentioning that before. "I managed to make a giant stone pillar, once, and once I managed to make one from dirt, too."

Susan closed her eyes and focused.

Hermione didn't notice anything at first – there were no stone pillars, no mud stalagmites – until she noticed vines gradually unfurling from the forest, slowly creeping toward them.

"Are you doing that?" Hermione demanded, astonished. "Are you growing the vines?"

Susan's eyes flickered open, and she smiled through her exhaustion.

"That's what the Lutin wanted to do most," she said, shrugging. She paused, before grinning. "I'm going to be awesome at Herbology now. Just watch me."

Hermione managed a laugh, more of relief than of humor. "I'm just glad you're okay."

They set about cleaning up their ritual. It was far past midnight now, and when they broke the moonstone protection circle, they could feel the ley line energy slowly melt away, sinking back into the ground.

"Be sure to write something about the magic we felt tonight and how it was special for extra credit," Luna reminded them all. "Lockhart's expecting some sort of short essay from each of us."

Harry made a face. "Right…"

"We might want to meet up and compare them beforehand," Susan suggested. "So we're sure they're all consistent with each other."

The coven finally split up to go to their respective common rooms, each of them (save Hermione) exhausted and dirty from rolling around on the ground. As Hermione and Blaise descended the stairs to the dungeons, Blaise looked over sideways at her.

"You're rather pensive," he commented. "Sickle for your thoughts?"

Hermione sighed.

"It's silly," she said. "But… I was wondering at the difference between a spirit and a soul."

Blaise looked surprise. "Really?"

"Really." Hermione nodded. "When I first had the air elemental bound to me, I was really anxious about it. I didn't want to kill anything. But it was explained to me that an elemental is not alive – that it's just a nature spirit. That it was alive in the same way a tree was alive, or a flower, or the grass." She looked at the ground, scuffing her boots on the stone. "I was told there was a spirit of sorts in it, but not a soul. And that there was no consciousness in it."

Blaise nodded slowly. "And now?"

"Now, I don't know," Hermione said, frustrated. "I mean, it's pretty clear to me that the will o' the wisp and golems – those are spirits. They have vague feelings, but not actual thoughts. And they're part of me, now. But Luna, with her Sylph, and now Susan with the Lutin… if they're actually mentally talking to them, striking bargains…"

"They don't seem so soulless after all," Blaise said, understanding. "Hard to say there's no consciousness behind a thing when it's talking to you."

"Exactly." Hermione gnawed on her lip. "The only thing that's making it not Dark magic, and only Grey magic, I think, is that they bargained with them. But can you imagine if they'd actually subdued them? Essentially extinguished another soul and stolen its powers for their own?"

Blaise hesitated. "Is that really what would have happened?"

"I don't know," Hermione said plaintively. She sighed. "But it just makes me uncomfortable, I guess."

There was a silence as they walked the rest of the way to the common room entrance. Blaise paused before giving the password, looking at Hermione with dark eyes.

"If it were Dark magic," he said quietly, "I think we'd be able to feel it."

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes meeting his.

"Would we?" she asked, quiet. "Is that how it works? I've never cast Dark magic before."

"If nothing else, I think the energy and resonance of the circle would have changed," Blaise said. His eyes gentled. "We can research it more before next time, though. Just to make sure."

Hermione cheered at that. "Right. There's bound to be lots of books on elementals!"

Blaise gave her a soft smile. "Right."

He gave the password, and they parted ways with a quiet "good night", both of them as exhausted as they were. Hermione had Time-Turned three times that day, only had napped for a few hours to make up for it, and she was exhausted.

If she overslept in the morning, she'd Time-Turn back and sleep some more before going to class, she decided, getting ready for bed. It probably wasn't Fudge's anticipated use of it for her, but it would definitely help her make sure she was well-rested and able to attend all her classes – not just the ones held in the afternoon - and that was a good enough excuse for her.

Chapter Text

Hermione went to the library after classes had finished on Friday. She was pleased none of her classmates wanted to tag along, most of them groaning at the thought of more schoolwork after a long week full of it. Hermione contented herself looking for books on formal logic, elementals, and ancient rune arrays while she waited, finding several tomes she thought looked interesting.

"Hermione…" A familiar voice came down the aisle. "You came."

Hermione turned.

Cedric Diggory stood at the end of the aisleway, looking at her. He seemed even taller, now, as if he'd grown another inch or two over the summer, and his shoulders were broad. His hair was slightly tousled, making Hermione want to brush it back from his face. She felt breathless, watching him - she always seemed to forget just how handsome Cedric was until he was up close.

Cedric's eyes were on her, warm and intense, as if drinking her in.

"I did," Hermione said. A small smile played around her lips as she drifted towards him. "Should I not have?"

Cedric exhaled.

"I mean," he said, looking away. "I didn't come to your election..."

Hermione's eyes softened.

"Well," she said, her voice gentle. "I came anyway."

"I'm glad you did," he admitted. "I was worried you were still upset."

"I'm not upset, Cedric. Really," she assured him. "Parents can be ridiculous. It wasn't your fault."

"Yeah, but still." Cedric sat down at their study table in a nearby alcove. "I should have done something."

"It's all in the past," Hermione reassured him, taking the other seat.

Cedric still looked decidedly torn up about it, though. His eyes seemed pained, like he couldn't believe she was actually there, like it was amazing that she'd actually forgiven him (when she hadn't even realized she'd been slighted at the time), and it was making Hermione kind of uneasy. Was this some thing with boys, torturing themselves over stupid things like this? Wanting to go back in time and redo things to take the more heroic option and impress a girl? Instead of just moving on?

Well. She wasn't having that.

"Third years had their Special Lecture on Monday," Hermione told him, sitting down across from him. "Hogwarts thinks we're all adults now, apparently."

Cedric's eyes went wide, and he was startled into laughing. Hermione smiled fondly.

"Merlin, I remember that," he said, thinking back fondly. "Snape just about killed us all. Sullivan asked him how old he'd been when he'd slept with someone the first time, and Flitwick had to disarm Snape to stop him from cursing us."

Hermione laughed.

"The girls' session was a lot less dramatic," she said, amused, "but rather awkward at first. Has Hogwarts always done this sort of thing at the start of third year?"

"Not always, but they have for a while now," Cedric said. "They did when my Dad was in school, but not my granddad, I think. Gradual loosening of morals, I think, along with more Muggleborns bringing in their own ideas when they came to school."

"It was fascinating," Hermione told him, her tone cheeky. "I didn't know a lot of the magical details around all of it, like potions and whatnot."

Cedric grinned at her.

"Third years can go to Hogsmeade on chosen weekends," he said. "It's not like people get out of the school often, so Hogsmeade trips often default to the date of choice. Better to make sure everyone knows all that stuff before they start openly dating."

"And… do people do that?" Hermione bit her lip. "Just… date?"

"As opposed to formal courting and whatnot?" Cedric asked. Hermione nodded, and he considered. "Some people," he said finally. "I'll admit it seems to be more of a thing with the other houses than with Slytherin. Most Slytherins, if they are dating, go in small groups to chaperone each other. A few of the Ravenclaws, too, maybe - the more traditional families."

"Why?" Hermione sat back in her chair, huffing. "It seems so unnecessary, really."

"Well, they take everything very seriously, don't they?" Cedric's eyes sparkled, impish. "You can't waste something as important as a date on something as frivolous as liking someone, Hermione – it has to be a carefully-calculated potential union of the sacred bloodlines."

Hermione scoffed audibly, and Cedric laughed.

"That said, Slytherins still date around, but mostly in secret and not in public, especially the purebloods," he said. "I know Nicola Dodsworth was getting off with Lysander Lestrange in abandoned corridors last year."

Cedric tilted his head at her, eyes dancing.

"Why do you ask so many questions about it, Hermione?" he teased. "Are you interested in dating this year?"

There was playful suggestion in his voice, and Hermione blushed.

"If I was, I'm sure I'd want to know as much about it and the typical customs as possible," Hermione shot back, "before potentially eschewing them to make whatever statement I wanted to."

Cedric grinned. "So… yes?"

Hermione's heart skipped a beat at his grin, but she rolled her eyes.

"I just… I just don't get it," she admitted, frustration leaking into her tone. "All the formality of it. Why not let people date each other, and then start worrying about betrothal contracts?"

"The more uptight pureblood families… they approve who their kids can or cannot see beforehand," Cedric said. "They don't want their children falling for someone that's not 'appropriate' to them." He shrugged. "They intermarry a lot, to keep their bloodlines 'pure'."

"Sounds like a great way to get inbred and breed insanity," Hermione muttered, and Cedric laughed.

"I mean, you're not wrong," he said, eyes sparkling. "The Black family is known for being unstable, and I know the Gaunt family practically interbred themselves into extinction."

That was news to Hermione, and interesting to know. She wondered if other old families had any conditions or recessive traits that emerged from intermarrying each other all the time. She'd have to look into it – if there were, she wanted to know. That was potentially valuable information, especially if one of her dorm mates might go mad as they all got older.

"But back to the real question," Cedric said. His eyes met hers, soft, and a half-grin played on his lips. "Do you want to date this year?"

Hermione raised her head, her eyes meeting his.

"Even if I did, I haven't yet been asked out," she said. "I'm not so uncouth as to not know that a girl asking out a boy is still scandalously forward in the magical world."

"Do you want to be asked out?" Cedric's grin was spreading, and Hermione's face colored. She wanted to toss back some other flirtatious remark, but it was becoming harder to keep up the banter.

"…it would be nice," she admitted. "Maybe."

Cedric's eyebrows waggled, and he smirked.

"How daringly modern of you," he teased, "wanting to date and not formally court a person."

"No one's extended a proper offer to court me yet either," Hermione said. She tossed her hair back, haughty. "Hardly daring, if it's not a choice but rather not an option."

Cedric turned serious suddenly.

"Would you want that?" he asked. His eyes lost their playful sparkle, and his mirth was gone. "A formal courting offer?"

"I… what?" Hermione faltered.

Cedric was looking at her now, but it wasn't with light-hearted flirtation anymore. His eyes were oddly intense on her, and she felt caught off-guard at the sudden mood change. He reached across the table, taking her hand in his.

"Would you want to be formally courted, Hermione?" Cedric asked her again. His voice was steady, but only just. "I've been presuming you wouldn't, judging from comments you've made and your upbringing, but if I've been wrong or I'm mistaken…"

"…if I did," Hermione said slowly, looking at Cedric carefully, "would you offer?"

Cedric's eyes softened.

"Do you really think I wouldn't?" he murmured. He squeezed her hand, rubbing his thumb along the back of it. "I've been as clear as day with you about my intentions."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat.

"Nevertheless," she said, her mouth dry, "there's something very different about dating someone for fun and courting them with marriage as an end goal."

"Muggles date to find a spouse, too," Cedric said lightly. "Just a bit of a different way to go about it, is all."

Hermione bit her lip. It was hard to find words when Cedric was stroking her hand like that, looking at her with such emotion in his eyes.

"Magical people… you'll find they don't date quite as freely as muggles do," Cedric murmured. His eyes held hers, and a small smile toyed at his lips. "With some people, your magic just resonates right. You can feel how compatible you are with someone, independent of your physical attraction to them." He smiled a little wider. "With magic guiding your path like that, why bother waiting longer?"

"It does?" Hermione blinked. Her academic curiosity roused, she found herself able to speak more easily again as she tried to remember where she'd heard about such a thing before. "I think someone told me about this. They compared it to muggles looking for chemistry with each other, but different."

Cedric raised an eyebrow, and he started to smirk.

"Regardless of your lack of courting offers," he said, "you've definitely had a few people you know express interest in you at this point, right?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "Why?"

"When you think over them," Cedric said, "what do you feel?"

Hermione blinked. "Think over them?"

"Kind of your immediate first impression at the idea of spending time with them romantically," Cedric clarified. "Does the idea intrigue you? Revolt you? Scare you?"

Hermione thought.

Anthony Goldstein had expressed overt interest in her for ages, including his family sending a courting proposal to her father, apparently. The thought of dating him was—

"No, no, no," Cedric interrupted, shaking his head. "You don't get to keep it quiet. Go through it out loud. I want to be a part of this."

Hermione rolled her eyes but conceded.

"Well, there's Anthony Goldstein," she began. "He's… I don't think I'd be upset at dating him? But the idea just feels kind of… uncomfortable, if I really think about it."

Cedric nodded encouragingly. "Anyone else?"

"The Macmillan family apparently sent my father a courting proposal over the summer," Hermione recalled. "It doesn't count, of course, as they sent it to a muggle."

"Ernie Macmillan? From my house?" Cedric raised an eyebrow. "And how does the idea of seeing him sound?"

Unable to stop herself, Hermione shuddered.

"Bad," she said. "It's… Ernie's a fine person, I'm sure, but the idea is just…"

It felt slimy, to her, deep in her chest and her heart. The idea of dating Ernie felt like dark sludge curdling and creeping and congealing on stone corners, a raw, repulsed reaction to something repugnant. If that was her magic causing that response, she wondered if her magic was somehow tied into her intuition.

"Who else?" Cedric prompted.

"Umm, Theo." Hermione said, thinking. "His father made an offer, though Theo was embarrassed…"

"We're just entertaining hypothetical scenarios," Cedric assured her. "How does your magic react to that idea?"

Hermione considered. The idea of being romantically entangled with Theo… it wasn't appealing, but it wasn't unappealing. It was just sort of… neutral. She explained this to Cedric, who nodded.

"That's unsurprising," he told her. "Some families tend to have children with more stable and smooth magical cores than others-"

There was no chance in hell Hermione's core would ever be something like that.

"-so there's less chance of a passionate relationship, to be sure," Cedric continued, "but less chance of friction or conflict with each other."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"And by 'some families'," she said, "you mean the Sacred 28?"

Cedric grinned.

"Well, not all of them," he said, "but I daresay a fair few."

"I guess that makes sense," Hermione conceded. "If you're going to arrange marriages regardless of your child's preference, better to keep them as easy and painless as possible."

"Exactly." Cedric tilted his head. "Anyone else, Hermione?"

There was something in his tone, and Hermione looked back to him, his eyes catching hers. There was a glimmer of light in his eyes, though his pupils were large and dark. Hermione's breath caught in her throat at his expression.

"Anyone else?" he murmured.

Carefully, almost as if she was afraid to, Hermione considered the idea of a romantic entanglement with Cedric.

Her heart skipped, joyous just at the thought, and she could feel her face blush.

There was a sense of almost glee there, an innocent excitement and feeling of being flustered and delighted. Hermione would have described it as butterflies in her stomach, but it didn't quite feel like her stomach that they were fluttering around in – more around her heart, her magical core, or her head.

Though Hermione hadn't said anything, she could feel her face growing redder and redder, and Cedric's smile was slowly spreading.

"So…?" he teased, eyes sparkling.

"Alright," she said. Her voice was faint. "I see what you mean. About your magic feeling different with some people than others."

Cedric gave her a slow smile, charming, making him seem even more handsome. He took her hand, pulling it towards him and kissing the back of it.

"Hermione," he murmured. "Would you do the honor of accompanying me to Hogsmeade on the first Hogsmeade weekend?" He didn't let go of her hand, rubbing his cheek on her inner wrist and kissing her there as well, though his eyes never left hers.

"As a date?" Hermione's voice was breathless.

His eyes glowed. "Yes. As a date."

It was a struggle for Hermione to find her voice, with Cedric looking at her like that. She was trying to pull herself together, to act confident and unaffected and light, but she couldn't seem to find her footing. And it was only becoming harder, Cedric's eyes molten on hers like that, making it hard to think…

"Yes," she breathed. "I would."

Cedric's smile deepened. "Perfect."

Chapter Text

Cedric's lesson about compatible magic left Hermione wondering. Not so much about compatibility, but about magic itself.

She remembered over the summer, her difficulty with wandless magic lay within her magic having a strong identity as hers, and when she'd meditated on it, it had felt more like her magic was her than just part of her – like without her magic, she wouldn't be a person at all.

It made Hermione wonder. What was magic?

She remembered that horrible book she'd read the previous year, the biography of Herpo the Foul. He'd classified four types of energy a thing could have – life, spirit, soul, and magic – and Hermione wondered if anyone who was not a notoriously Dark wizard had also done any research on the subject.

Most resources the library had only focused on magic, and a person's magical capacity and ability. There were theories about what caused squibs, and the difference between squibs and muggles, but Hermione only scanned them, frowning. She was looking more for information on the soul, and how it connected to magic.

Cedric's explanation of compatible magic had Hermione comparing it to concepts she already knew and grown up with – like soul mates. She didn't believe in soul mates, obviously, but… compatible magic would provide a good explanation for why the concept had come into being, if magic was somehow attached to the soul.

She was relatively sure that a person's magic wasn't the same thing as the soul – how would muggles have souls, then? – but the two seemed connected somehow. Her soul was her identity of who she was as a person, and she'd felt from inside her magic that her power was very similar.

Hogwarts had no books on magical religion, and very few about ghosts, to her immense frustration. A couple history books made mention of old rituals for specific days, but it was clear that rituals were magical, not religious. With the obvious existence of ghosts, Hermione found herself wondering how people weren't more concerned with the afterlife or possibility of one. Was it because the existence of ghosts proved there was one of some sort, so it was a non-issue? Or did a person's magic try and shield them from exploring that possibility?

Confused, Hermione eventually decided to ask the one person she thought might have the most information on it – the Fat Friar, the House Hufflepuff ghost.

The Fat Friar was a very old ghost, but a very cheerful and kind one. When Hermione tracked him down, he was happy to answer her questions, unbothered by their invasive nature.

"You lose a lot of embarrassment, being dead," he told her, chuckling. "Not much point in being self-conscious about what I did when I was alive when I'm dead now, is there?"

To her surprise, the Fat Friar had gone to Hogwarts as a student. He'd been sorted into Hufflepuff and had been taught by Helga Hufflepuff directly for the seven years afterward, which was somewhat incredible. Afterward, he'd gone out into the world and joined the clergy as a part of a mendicant religious order.

"It was mostly begging in the name of charity," the Fat Friar explained. "We helped serve the people directly, that sort of thing."

"But why?" Hermione asked. "Did they teach religion in Hogwarts back then? Were you devout?"

The Fat Friar laughed loudly.

"Merlin, no!" he chuckled. His eyes sparkled. "No, no. I didn't worry myself with all that – though there was rather a lot of the religious stuff…"

"Then why join as a monk?" Hermione wanted to know. "It doesn't make sense."

"Well… it does if you look at it from my angle," the Fat Friar said, patting his robes over his ample belly. "It was during a time when muggles and magicals lived together, and the muggles wanted to put the magicals to death. The only real way to use magic to help people was to do it in the name of religion – it was all attributed to 'miracles' and 'the power of prayer', then."

Hermione was starting to understand. "So that's what you did?"

"I did." The Friar nodded, then grew solemn. "It was not a good time. People died so easily in those days… I did what I could to help them survive."

"How did you die?" Hermione asked. "You look like you died rather young."

The Friar gave her a wry smile.

"The senior churchmen grew suspicious of me," he said. "They'd heard I could cure the pox by poking peasants with a stick."

"Your wand?" Hermione guessed, and the Friar shrugged, grinning.

"They weren't much of wands, back in those days," he said. "It was just a bent bit of alder with a few unicorn tail hairs and ivy wrapped around it, but it helped, so I used it." He paused. "Might've had something to do with pulling the rabbits out of the communion cups, too."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "You did what?"

"Well, I enjoyed my wine, back then, and when I got a bit tipsy…" He shrugged, grinning. "It was funny to shock the other monks, conjuring rabbits out of the communion cups. I should've known better, really, but some of them were just so serious all the time, and I wanted to get them to loosen up and laugh."

"And they had you killed?"

"They did." The ghost shrugged with a sigh. "Can't blame them, really. They thought I was a danger to the community – servant of the devil or some such threat."

"But you came back as a ghost," Hermione said. She looked up at the Friar. "After you died… what happened?"

The Friar shrugged. "I died. That was pretty much that."

"But you came back as a ghost," Hermione pressed. "Do you remember how that happened?"

"Well…" The Fat Friar looked thoughtful. "I remember there was a choice, of some sort. I don't remember what it was or how it was explained, but I remember I chose to come back."

Hermione frowned. "Do you remember why?"

"Well! I wanted to keep helping people, naturally!" he exclaimed, laughing. "I didn't quite realize I wouldn't be able to use magic the same, but I've been able to help out the students of Hufflepuff over the years quite a lot nonetheless."

The Friar still seemed jolly despite her interrogation, so Hermione pressed a little harder.

"So you can't cast magic anymore," she said. "But you're still here. Do you think your ghost is your soul?"

The Friar paused.

"I'm a ghost," he said, after a moment.

"Yes," Hermione said patiently, "but which part of you became your ghost?"

The Friar looked thoughtful.

"Muggles can't come back as ghosts, so I always thought it was my magic that pulled me back through to let me become a ghost," the Friar said. "But I can't cast magic now, so I'm not my magic… maybe I am just a soul." He shrugged, unbothered. "They preached that a lot, back then – the death of the body and eternal life of the soul."

"You seem almost dismissive of it," Hermione commented.

"Well, it's just a bunch of muggles making things up to make themselves feel better, isn't it?" the Friar said. He shook his head. "Not that I can blame them. Without magic helping you feel the life and magic of the world, or seeing ghosts yourself, you've got no clue what's going to happen when you die."

"And wizards do?" Hermione prompted.

The Friar gave her a grin. "Well… we have more of one, at least."

She thanked him for answering her questions, and he sent her off with a jolly wave.

Hermione mused on the information he'd given her. If a person's magic was what allowed them to become a ghost by pulling their soul back, essentially, into the world of the living… that would mean magic was necessarily connected to the soul, wasn't it? Maybe magic tethered the soul to the body? Only no, that wouldn't work – muggles had souls in their bodies too…

It was all very confusing and frustrating to her. Muggles had dozens of different religions and approaches toward the soul and the afterlife. How was it that the magical community didn't even seem to have one?

October started the beginning of Quidditch practice season. As if aware of this, the weather began to worsen, to the frustration of all the houses. Tromping across the muddied grounds was obnoxious enough for Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures – Hermione couldn't imagine the mess that playing Quidditch in the rain would be.

The weather only looked to worsen. Marcus Flint, captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, loudly complained that it was utterly unfair that Slytherin was matched up against Gryffindor for the first match of the season and was expected to play in such ghastly weather. His constant fury at the weather irritated Hermione to the point where she said something.

"If it's such a bad idea to play in weather like this," she snapped, "why don't you do something about it?"

"What? Like, stop the rain?" Marcus snorted. "Merlin himself couldn't stop storms like these."

"No." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Postpone having to play."

"They won't postpone because of the weather," Marcus sneered. "Never have, never will."

"I didn't say get the game postponed, did I?" Hermione shot back. "I said postpone having to play."

Marcus looked at her for a long moment, confused and suspicious. Hermione sighed.

"Think about what you can affect things within your control, yeah?" She glanced over at Draco Malfoy, who was loudly complaining about Care of Magical Creatures on the other side of the common room. "Maybe talk to your Seeker for some ideas."

She flounced off, but Marcus looked thoughtful as she left him behind.

Shortly thereafter, Hermione heard that Slytherin Keeper Miles Bletchley had been severely injured in a freak accident with a Fire Crab in Hagrid's class, resulting in burns up and down his arms and covering his hands. Though Madame Pomfrey was able to patch him up fairly well and stop the pain, he had been instructed to be careful and leave the bandages on for at least a month, changing out the ointment every couple days – Fire Crab burns could have nasty and lingering side-effects, unlike normal burns.

Harry was furious when he heard that the Slytherins had swapped matches with Hufflepuff in order for their Keeper to recover and heal enough in order to play.

"They just don't want to play in this weather!" he fumed. "That's not fair."

"The rules for the league say that injuries sustained in classes are a sufficient reason to change the order of the matches," Hermione said mildly. "Are you saying you think the Keeper got himself burned in Hagrid's class on purpose?"

From Harry's grim look, that was exactly what he thought, but he wasn't about to make that accusation in front of Hermione.

With the colder weather descending, Hermione found herself spending more time in the Ravenclaw tower quietly studying, curled up in their study nooks. It was warmer in Ravenclaw than in Slytherin, and certainly much quieter – whatever Quidditch strategizing the Ravenclaw house did, it didn't take place in the middle of the Common Room, loudly.

Luna often joined Hermione to study, asking her questions about her own classes when she had them during homework, and sometimes Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein came over for a question-and-answer study session. Oftentimes, though, it was just Hermione snuggled up with a book until just before curfew, reading away the time while Luna studied nearby.

Over time, Hermione noticed a few things about the dynamic in Ravenclaw that she hadn't noticed before.

First, it was clear that something was bothering Michael Corner – he never seemed not moody these days, stomping around everywhere and glowering at people, and everyone except Anthony seemed to have silently agreed it was best to give him a wide berth and leave him alone.

Second was that Luna was treated kindly and with respect by her housemates now, and the girls who had bullied her the previous year steered clear of her entirely, to Hermione's satisfaction.

And third, one of the Ravenclaw first years, Amanda Barrows, was being ostracized and bullied by her classmates.

It was a subtle thing, to be sure. And it was hard to detect at first, for Hermione – Amanda seemed to study with her classmates well enough, and she always did her homework fine. But there were glances and whispers from the girls in her class as they went up to their dormitory, and there was a sadness and pain lurking in Amanda's eyes that made Hermione's heart clench.

It wasn't until Hermione stumbled across a trunk, shoved deep into an alcove behind one of the wall hangings in the Ravenclaw Tower, that Hermione realized things were worse than she thought.

"Is she living in the common room?" Hermione demanded of Luna, when Luna came over to see why she was upset. "Are the other girls not allowing Amanda into their dormitory?"

Luna tilted her head at Hermione.

"Your hair is sparking," she observed.

Hermione wanted to scream.

"Why hasn't Flitwick done anything about this?!" she wanted to know. "We're in mid-October! Has this been going on for weeks?"

Luna shrugged.

"Flitwick doesn't seem to care very much about bullying," she said. Her voice was flat, neutral. "Besides, Hermione – I'm not sure he knows. I don't think Amanda has told anyone."

Hermione paused at that. "Why not?"

Luna looked uneasy.

"It's… not as simple as a bullying issue," she said. She looked away. "If it's bothering you this much, maybe you should talk to Amanda directly."

"Fine." Hermione tossed her hair, resolving to do just that.

Amanda didn't return from the library until around seven that evening, carrying many books with her in her bag. She looked exhausted and overloaded, and Hermione's heart went out to the small girl as she settled onto the sofa she often seemed to haunt. Now, Hermione wondered if it was where she slept.

"Introduce me?" Hermione asked Luna, looking sideways at the smaller girl.

With a sigh, Luna closed her book and stood.

Up close, Amanda seemed even smaller, practically drowning in her robes. Her mousey brown hair was tied back furiously into a tight braid, and she looked up with wariness as Hermione and Luna approached.

"Amanda, may I present Hermione Granger, New Blood and first of her House?" Luna said, gesturing to Hermione. "Hermione, may I present Amanda Barrows, eldest daughter of the Barrows family?"

Hermione swept Amanda her best curtsy. "Pleased to meet you, Amanda." She offered her a smile. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

Amanda looked highly alarmed by the idea of someone sitting with her on the couch, but Hermione sat down anyway.

"New Blood?" Amanda asked, her eyes darting to Luna. "What's that?"

"It means Magic talks to me in a way other people can't always listen for," Hermione said. She looked at Amanda, who looked very uneasy. "Amanda," she said gently, "can you tell me why you're sleeping in the Ravenclaw common room and not in your dorm?"

Amanda visibly wilted before her, her shoulders sagging.

"I don't have a dorm," she said dully.

Hermione looked at her oddly. "What do you mean?"

Amanda shot Luna a look, who shrugged helplessly. Amanda sighed and got off the couch.

"It's easier if I just show you," she muttered. "C'mon."

Hermione followed Amanda to the staircase on the left that she'd seen Luna vanish up before. Amanda gave Hermione a square, pointed look, before she began to climb the stairs.

She'd only gone maybe five stairs or so before the staircase smoothed out into a slide, sending Amanda shooting back down to the bottom and skidding across the ground, to the titter of onlookers. Amanda shot them a glare as the slide evened out back into stairs.

Hermione blinked, her eyes wide. "You can't climb the stairs?"

"No." Amanda said succinctly. "I don't even have a bed in the girls' dorm. The others told me."

"You don't have a bed?" Hermione was aghast. "What, did the other girls destroy it?"

"No," Amanda said dully. "Hogwarts just never made one for me."

Hermione was appalled.

"The first years are the first floor?" Hermione gave Luna a look, who looked at her helplessly but nodded. "Then I'll be right back."

Hermione went up to the first floor, pushing the door open and looking around. Sure enough, every blue and bronze bed was already taken, trunks open and scattered around, all the sets of bookshelves full. Biting her lip, Hermione went back down the stairs, where Amanda and Luna were dutifully waiting.

"Why haven't you talked to Flitwick about this?" Hermione asked Amanda. "Surely he could help figure out what's going on with the Tower."

"I can't." Amanda's voice was pained, broken. "It's obvious – I'm not really supposed to be in Ravenclaw. If I was, the tower would have made room for me like all the others. I'm supposed to be in Hufflepuff."

Hermione gave Amanda a quizzical look. "Why Hufflepuff?"

"I'm not sure," Amanda said. She sighed. "It's just what the others say."

"The Tower door lets you in, though." Hermione was looking at Amanda sideways, considering. Something was bothering her. "Has it ever refused?"

"The Tower door lets everyone in if you answer the riddle," Amanda pointed out, but Hermione held up a hand.

"Has it let you in after curfew?" she asked. "If you forgot to watch the time in the library, perhaps? Or has it shut you out?"

Amanda thought back.

"Yeah, a couple times," she admitted. "Before I learned how all the staircases moved. But the knocker's always let me in."

Hermione stood. "It wouldn't let in a non-Ravenclaw after curfew, I don't think," she said. "I'll be right back, if you want to take a seat again."

Something didn't quite fit, for Hermione, as she walked across the common room. It made no sense that Hogwarts wouldn't accommodate for one of its students. Hogwarts had some of the most sentient, reactive magic Hermione had ever read of – and if a student wasn't supposed to be in a particular House or a student at all, she was sure Hogwarts would have made its will strenuously known.

There was something odd about it. The stairs to the girl's dormitories… they'd learned that they reacted and smoothed out as a defense against boys. That the stairs would react to Amanda that way… maybe someone had jinxed her somehow?

On the right side of the Ravenclaw common room was another tower, this one leading to the boys' dorms, and without pausing, Hermione marched right up.

Despite her gender, the stairs did not smooth out into a slide, which Hermione found incredibly sexist, but it benefited her at the moment. When she came to the first landing, she knocked smartly on the closed door, and a moment later, a small boy came to the door, his eyes going wide at the sight of her.

"Hello," she said. "I wonder if I might come in?"

The boy goggled at her. "You're a girl."

"Yes," Hermione said. She fixed him with a look. "So?"

"Girls aren't supposed to be up here," he told her.

"If I wasn't allowed up here," Hermione said patiently, "do you think I'd have been able to climb up?"

This seemed to puzzle the small boy, and, wordlessly, he opened the door all the way.

The boys' dorm was a sight messier than the girls'. There were heaps of dirty robes by bedsides and desks cluttered with textbooks and homework scrolls. There were considerably fewer hairbrushes and the like, but significantly more games.

Four boys looked up at her from their place on a bed where they appeared to be playing Exploding Snap. The fifth lingered by the door, eventually closing it after her, as Hermione looked around, her eyes scanning everything.

"Is this everyone?" she asked. "Is this your entire class?"

"Err," one of the boys said. "All the boys, yeah."

Hermione looked around again, counting.

"There are five of you," she observed.

The boys glanced at each other. "Yeah…"

Hermione gestured. "Then why are there six beds?"

There were, in fact, six beds. The one the boys were playing cards on was clean, with an empty bookcase and desk near it. The boys looked at each other.

"We dunno," one boy said, shrugging. "We figured we just had fewer kids this year than last year."

"It's good for overflow space," another boy added helpfully. "That's why we didn't ask Flitwick to take it out. We like it being here."

Hermione fixed the boys with a look, but she could detect no deceit, no guile. With a sigh, she nodded.

"Thank you," she said finally. "I'll let you get back to your game."

The boys watched her wordlessly as she left, closing the door behind her. She pinched the bridge of her nose tightly, thinking, a frustrated sigh escaping her as she climbed back down.

Amanda and Luna were sitting on the sofa when Hermione returned, Luna explaining something about Potions to Amanda.

"—don't have the same magical energy resonance as nettles," she was saying. "That's why they fight and the cauldron explodes, you see?"

Hermione summoned a chair from across the room, settling down in front of the sofa to look at Amanda. Amanda's eyes were wide, and Hermione sighed, rubbing at her eyes.

The only explanation she could think of was a muggle one. And an unusual one at that.

"There is no good way to ask this," Hermione said, pinching the bridge of her nose. She sighed. "Amanda… are you a girl?"

Immediately the girl grew defensive and angry.

"Of course I am," she snapped. "What kind of question is that?"

Hermione's parents had told her once that some people were born into the wrong bodies, sometimes, making a girl into a boy or a boy into a girl. It was a very personal, private thing, and they had impressed on Hermione that it was not appropriate to talk about, but… if the soul was connected to a person's magic, and Amanda's soul was in the wrong body… was it possible her magic was registering as male to the Hogwarts wards?

"An honest one," Hermione said. She gave Amanda a look. "There's an extra bed for a boy in your year in the boys' dorm, did you know?"

Amanda's eyes grew wide, and for a moment, she faltered.

"…there is?" she asked. Her voice was faint. "Wait, really? They just… have an extra?"

"They do," Hermione confirmed. "It never occurred to them that they might be missing a classmate – merely that there was one left over from last year."

It was interesting, to watch Amanda's face. Excitement and nervousness flickered over her features, quickly followed by despair and hopelessness.

"Did Hogwarts get it wrong, then?" she asked, dread in her voice. "It just mixed it up for me?"

Hermione tilted her head, looking at Amanda carefully, taking in her shapeless robes, how her hair was tightly pulled back, defiantly out of the way.

"Either that," Hermione said neutrally, "or, for some reason, Hogwarts thinks you're a boy."

Amanda's eyes widened.

"W-Why would it think that?"

Hermione gentled her voice. "You tell me, Amanda," she encouraged. "Why would Hogwarts think that?"

Amanda's teeth worried at her lip, anxious, her eyes filling with tears.

"I—I'm not very good at being a girl," she admitted. "I'm bad at it. I never seem to get things like the other girls do, and I hate it. I hate having to wear dresses and skirts sometimes. And I hate having to have long hair." Her words were coming faster now, more rapidly, her despair bursting out of her all at once. "And some of the other girls are getting their cycles and developing, and I keep desperately hoping that I won't somehow, or a potion will explode and burn off my breasts so no one would blame me for not being a girl anymore, and I just—"

She broke off, panting, and rubbed at her teary eyes. and Hermione bit her lip very hard.

"You're… pureblood?" she asked.

"Halfblood," Amanda said, her voice uneven. "Dad's pure. My mum's a Muggleborn."

Luna moved to comfort the distressed girl on the couch, wrapping an arm around her, while Hermione thought very hard.

Even though she had heard of this sort of thing before, she barely knew anything about it. Her aunt had a friend, she knew, who had been born a boy, but had changed into a woman at some point along the way. Hermione had been left with the impression it was something very taboo and not openly discussed in polite society, though, so she didn't know any of the details or anything more.

That's what this sounded like, to Hermione – like Amanda was supposed to have been born a boy, but for some reason, she hadn't been. It sounded like her magic was somehow registering as 'male' to Hogwarts, even if she was in the body of a girl.

But if this sort of thing wasn't discussed openly in muggle society, how did the magical world discuss such things? Did they even, really? Or did people just determinedly ignore it, and some people just grew up miserable in the wrong bodies their entire lives?

Hermione was fairly sure that in the muggle world, to switch bodies, there was some kind of surgery involved. She wondered if things were easier in the magical world – maybe there was a potion to make a girl grow a penis or make a boy's penis fall off. Maybe there was a test they could do – a test to see if a person's magic registered as male or female. If it registered as a mismatch with a person's body, it'd be likely they were a soul trapped in the wrong body then, right?

"Get up," Hermione said finally. "We're going to go see Professor Snape."

"Snape?" Amanda looked terrified. "Why? He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," Hermione assured her. "He just hates teaching. Come on. He'll be able to help."

Chapter Text

Professor Snape was not in his office. Hermione eventually managed to track him down with the help of the Bloody Baron – Snape had been playing Wizard's Chess with Professor Vector in the staff room. He had given Hermione and her little entourage of Amanda and Luna an annoyed look, but he'd allowed them in when Hermione pleaded that it was important, closing the door behind them.

"What," he said, returning to his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose tightly, "is so important that you must disturb me from one of the few restful respites I truly ever get?"

Professor Vector looked amused at Snape's irritation. Hermione hesitated.

"Sir," she said. "In the Special Lecture, recently – it was discussed how boys can't get into the girls' dorms—"

"There are to be no exceptions, Miss Granger," Snape cut in, his eyes flashing. "It is a flat ban."

"No, no, I know that," Hermione said hurriedly. "But—is there anywhere that boys can go in Hogwarts that a girl can't?"

Snape paused.

"Explain," he said.

Hermione faltered, trying to figure out how best to explain.

"Say you have a person," she said finally, struggling to find the words. "And this person can't climb the stairs to the girls' dormitory. That indicates Hogwarts thinks the person isn't a girl, right? But it doesn't necessarily mean Hogwarts thinks the person is a boy, does it?" She paused. "So… is there a place where that could be tested? The boys' dorms don't keep girls out, so we can't try there."

There was a subtle shift in the atmosphere of the room. Snape sat up straighter, exchanging a serious look with Professor Vector, who returned it. He lost his sense of exasperation, and both he and Professor Vector turned to face Hermione, affording her tiny group their full attention.

"Do you know of such a person, Miss Granger?" Snape asked neutrally.

Hermione bit her lip. "I'm just asking hypothetically, if there was any place to test—"

"So 'yes', then" Professor Vector said mildly, cutting her off. She glanced over at Snape. "The Quidditch Locker Rooms would suit your needs. Both are enchanted to keep the opposite sex out. Boys will not be able to get into the girls', and girls cannot get into the boys'."

"Really?" Amanda asked, her eyes going wide. She looked horrified a moment later. "I mean—um—that's interesting…"

An amused smile played around Vector's lips, but Snape was looking at Amanda oddly.

"I take it you are the one having this difficulty?" he asked.

"Umm," Amanda said. "Yes?" Her response sounded like a question.

Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Where have you been sleeping?" he demanded.

Amanda cowered. "W-what?"

Snape looked angry. Amanda shrank under his glare, but Hermione didn't really think it was Amanda he was mad at.

"It is six weeks into the term," he said, eyes glinting. "If you cannot climb the stairs still, now—"

"The Ravenclaw girls have been teasing her," Hermione volunteered, looking down at Amanda. Amanda looked up at her, squeezing her hand gratefully. "There's only four beds in the first-year girls' dorm this year. Amanda's been sleeping in the common room."

Both professors reacted at that; Snape looked livid, while Vector looked horrified.

"Where have you been showering?" she asked. "Changing your clothes?"

Hermione looked down at Amanda, encouraging. The first year took a deep breath.

"8th floor bathroom," Amanda admitted, her voice shaking. "The old one with the creaky pipes, by the portrait of Anne Boleyn. No one likes that one, so no one walks in on me or minds if I lock the door."

"Why has Professor Flitwick not seen to this?" Snape wanted to know. He looked furious. "He could have arranged for an additional bed to be put in the girls' dorm!"

Hermione blinked. "He can do that?"

Vector's eyes slid over to Hermione.

"He could," she said. "Heads of House have made similar arrangements in the past."

"Professor Flitwick didn't stay long the first night," Amanda said, biting her nails. "He told us to find our trunks and take them up the stairs. He gave a little speech about searching for truth and the staircase being the first steps of our journey of knowledge or something, and then he left." Amanda looked miserable as she remembered. "By the time I found my trunk, he had left, the older students had all gone to bed, and I kept falling down the stairs with the other girls laughing."

Hermione tried not to react - this was Amanda's story to tell - but it was hard. She was getting more distressed and upset the more Amanda talked, her heart going out to this poor first year.

"Flitwick didn't listen when I went to talk to him the next day," Amanda said. "I-I started to tell him about the girls teasing and not having a bed, but he just gave me some speech on how I should ignore bullies and focus on my own journey of magic and learning, and that they would just stop if I ignored them long enough."

Now Hermione felt mad. That had been the same useless advice she used to get from her muggle teachers - and it had never worked.

"I felt embarrassed after that," Amanda said quietly, sniffling. "So I just started sleeping in the common room, and staying in the library as long as I could..."

"Oh, child..." Vector's voice was full of sympathy and pain, and Hermione looked up from Amanda to her teachers.

Professor Vector looked empathetic, full of understanding and kindness. It was almost strange to see, really - she was always so direct and hard in class, that it was striking to see the difference now. Hermione supposed numbers didn't really evoke any emotion except frustration from time to time, so it made sense - but still, it was odd to see.

Professor Snape, however, looked livid.

His face was contorted up, like he was trying very hard not to show his anger but failing miserably. His eyes were flashing dangerously, and Hermione got the impression he was literally biting his tongue to hold himself back.

Hermione took a step to the side, shielding Snape from Amanda's view. Snape could be scary, especially to a first year.

"Is this... common?" Snape grit out.

Luna spoke up for the first time, tilting her head.

"Professor Flitwick doesn't really take bullying seriously," she said, her voice musical. "He thinks we should all just be nice to each other and focus on studying and reading our books. He thinks if we ignore it, the problem will go away."

"But it doesn't," Hermione said darkly, remembering the revenge the Slytherins had enacted for Luna the previous year.

"Well," Luna said, smiling slightly. "Not unless someone takes action."

Snape stood.

"I will speak to Professor Flitwick," he said stiffly. "He will—"

"No!" Amanda cried out. Her eyes flew to Snape's, begging. "Please! That will just make it worse!"

Snape halted, his eyes falling to Amanda's. "Miss Barrows—"

Amanda had started crying.

"I just want to figure out what's wrong with me," she said miserably. "If I'm not girl, but I'm not a boy either, then I really won't belong in Ravenclaw. And I don't want Professor Flitwick to mess with the beds only for it to turn out I really do belong in Hufflepuff."

Snape looked momentarily confused, and Hermine watched him with a flicker of amusement. Slytherins insulted each other by calling them Gryffindors; it took him a moment to figure out Ravenclaw had apparently chosen Hufflepuff as the least desirable house.

Hermione stepped closer to Amanda, resting a hand on her shoulder, and Amanda took it and wrapped it around herself in a sort of half-hug, burying her face in Hermione's shoulder to cry. Hermione shot a pleading look at her professors.

Professor Vector glanced at Professor Snape, whose face had shifted. It now looked blank and emotionless, like it was made of stone. Seeing something there, Professor Vector nodded and stood up.

"Would you like me to go down to the locker rooms with you?" Professor Vector's voice was kind, but matter-of-fact. "I expect you want to test your theory sooner rather than later, and curfew is soon."

Hermione glanced at Amanda encouragingly, squeezing her hand, and Amanda nodded slowly, rubbing the tears from her face. Hermione turned and nodded to Professor Vector.

"It'd be greatly appreciated, professor," she said. "Sorry for interrupting your evening."

"Not at all." Professor Vector stood gracefully. She withdrew her wand, and a wordless Lumos illuminated the tip. "Follow me."

It was blusteringly cold outside, wet and chilly, but the three girls followed the Professor down through the wet grass toward the Quidditch Pitch, determined. Hermione shivered hard against the wind, casting warming charms on the three of them and getting looks of gratitude from Luna and Amanda.

"Here." Professor Vector stopped at the small building near the side of the Quidditch pitch. "Girls' locker rooms are on the left, boys' are on the right." She paused a moment. "Do you have a control subject?"

Hermione immediately grasped her meaning. "Yes. Me." She withdrew her wand. "Lumos."

Determined, Hermione walked into the girls' locker room. She glanced around, seeing lockers and benches and showers along the walls. She mentally shrugged before walking back out, nodding to the others, before striding toward the boys'.

Immediately there was a difference – it felt as if she'd slammed into something solid, an odd glassy barrier of blobby magic appearing for a moment before fading again out of sight. Curious, Hermione tried again, extending a hand, and her hand stopped short, the barrier coming into sight again.

"I can't go any further," she said, stepping back. "It works."

Professor Vector glanced down at the others. "Ready?"

Amanda looked determined. "Okay."

Hermione returned to Luna's side as Amanda carefully stepped towards the locker rooms. After a few hesitant steps towards the girls', she was stopped at the entrance, a blobby, moving magical barrier shimmering into sight for a moment. Amanda gave Hermione a panicked look, but Hermione nodded encouragingly.

"It's okay. We expected that part," she said. "Now try the boys'."

She watched as Amanda squared up her shoulders, looking determined. She looked like she was preparing to fight a dragon or something, and Hermione wondered how she felt.

What if she wasn't let into this locker room either? How scared must she be, that she might be rejected by this room too.

Amanda stepped slowly towards the other locker room, taking one slow step at a time. She reached the place where Hermione had been stopped, and then took another step, and then one more. Her eyes went large as she suddenly ran the rest of the way into the little hallway, and Hermione could hear a yell echoing from inside the room itself, and Amanda came rushing back out.

"I—I did it!" she gasped. Her eyes were wild, flying from Hermione to Professor Vector to Hermione again. "But—what does that mean?"

"Your magic is that of a boy," Hermione told her.

"But how?" Amanda wanted to know. "That doesn't make sense."

Hermione didn't know the science behind being born in the wrong body in the muggle world, only that it just happened sometimes. And she didn't really want to explain the muggles' theory about souls…

"Maybe your father was cursed," she made up on the spot. "And the curse said that he'd never be borne an heir to his name, damning his children to all be girls. And if you were supposed to be his firstborn son, the heir of the Barrows name, the curse warped you in your mother's womb, turning your body from a boy into a girl instead, but your magic stayed true to you."

Amanda's eyes grew very wide.

"My Dad has a very bad temper," she breathed. "And he used to go out in dodgy places, my Mum said. He could have pissed off an angry warlock very easily."

"Well," Hermione said, shrugging uncomfortably. "Then maybe that's what happened."

Amanda's eyes were very large. Hermione wondered what she was thinking, what was running through her mind.

"But—if I'm supposed to be a boy," Amanda said, her voice wobbling, "does that mean we can break the curse? And I can be a proper boy then, if we do?"

"Oh, child…" Professor Vector's was filled with sympathy, and she extended a hand to Amanda. "Come here."

Amanda hesitantly moved into Professor Vector's arms, and Hermione watched as her Arithmancy professor rubbed her back, hugging Amanda gently. Professor Vector was so tall, the first year was practically swallowed up by her robes, in a sort of comforting cocoon. Her empathy for Amanda was palpable, and it was new to see - Professor Vector was always so no-nonsense in Arithmancy, and to see her being soft and showing emotion in this way was new.

"I never felt like a girl. Never wanted to be a girl." Amanda's voice was muffled in Vector's robes. "I always felt like I was supposed to be a boy. I want to break the curse. Please can we break it? Everything would be better, then."

"There are things that can be done," Vector told Amanda. "It will get better. There are people who can help, once you are grown—"

Amanda pulled back from the Arithmancy professor quickly, her eyes wild.

"I have to wait to grow up first?!" Amanda asked, her voice panicked. "Can't we break it now?"

"We can look into this 'curse' for you," Hermione reassured Amanda quickly, glancing at Professor Vector. "We can try to break it. But even if we can't, there are other things that can be done to help you."

"There are?"

"Magic is very powerful," Hermione pointed out. "We can go and speak to Professor Snape again. We can ask if there's a potion he can teach you to make to stop your puberty, a potion to stop your body from maturing further into a girls' – which you don't want, right?"

"No." Amanda was still upset, but her voice was decisive on this. "I don't want breasts."

"Well, this would help stop that," Hermione assured her. "And we can figure out where to go from there."

Professor Vector was giving Hermione a sharp look, but Hermione shrugged hopelessly. She didn't know if such potions existed in the magical world, but even if they didn't, she was sure they could be made. If the muggles could do it with science, surely it could be replicated it with magic?

And if Hermione could use a ritual to force herself to get a period, she was sure there were other rituals that could help with things such as these. It didn't make sense to make Amanda wait years for things to get better.

"I'll have to write my parents," Amanda said, her voice wobbly. "My Dad is going to be really mad, to learn I was supposed to be a boy and wasn't because he was cursed."

"We'll deal with that when we come to it," Vector said gently. "Meanwhile, it's past curfew, and tonight has already been quite the night, hasn't it? Let's all go back up to the castle."

Amanda went back up towards the castle, still holding Professor Vector's hand as she asked question after question. Hermione lingered behind a bit, watching and listening, Luna silently walking up next to Hermione.

"You seemed to know exactly what was going on there," Luna said mildly.

Hermione sighed, her shoulders slumping.

"Kind of?" she winced. "It's a thing in the muggle world, I know – people being born into the wrong bodies. I have an aunt – she knows more about this sort of thing, so I might write her…"

"So there are people born into the right body, and people born into the wrong body," Luna observed. "Are some people born into both bodies?"

Hermione glanced over at her, but it was hard to tell Luna's expression in the dark. "Like, your soul is split with a fraternal twin?"

"No," Luna said. "Like someone is a girl and a boy at the same time. Someone who could go into either locker room and not be stopped by either."

Luna's tone was mild and betrayed no flicker of emotion, but something niggled at the back of Hermione's mind nevertheless. Hermione had been watching Amanda and Professor Vector and talking with them – had Luna tried to go into the locker rooms too, without making a fuss?

Hermione was careful to keep her voice even.

"I think so," she said neutrally. "I don't know much about it. I think they're called hermaphrodites? But I don't know much about that either." She glanced at Luna. "Do you think I should ask my aunt about that, too?" she asked. "Just in case?"

"It might help," Luna said. Her voice was even. "It'll help us get a better idea of the whole scope of all this, I think."

They continued up toward the castle, careful not to slip on the wet grass.

"You know, Luna," Hermione said. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Hermione could see Luna's soft smile in the flickering torchlight of the castle as they approached, though her eyes were on the ground.

"I know, Hermione," Luna said. "I know."

As they split to go to their different dormitories, Hermione reflected that she would have to be content with that. Luna might be hiding secrets, but who wasn't? And something like that was bound to feel terribly tangled up and embarrassing and mortifying to admit to anyone else.

If Luna wanted to tell her anything, Luna would tell her in her own time, and Hermione would need to trust in that.

Chapter Text

Amanda Barrows decided not to talk to anyone about her 'curse' for a while until Hermione found more information. Hermione had written her mother (and her aunt, by proxy) a long scroll full of questions, and she'd begun scouring the library immediately for anything else. Professor Vector had offered to get Amanda a temporary room somewhere else in the castle until she decided what she wanted to do, but Amanda had declined. She didn't want anyone to know anything was up until they were sure.

Unfortunately, anything that dealt with changing people's bodies significantly was nearly always classified as Dark magic. Hermione delved into the books she had from Quirrell, but most of them were about rituals or potions, not informative texts.

Hermione was determined, though, and she would not be stopped.

"I think it would be very helpful, sir," she told Professor Lockhart, as he looked down at her fondly. "Studying the history of old fertility rituals of pureblooded families might help explain their poor birthrates now."

"Your ambition is heartening to see," Professor Lockhart told her, signing her form. He flashed her a grin. "Trying to save the world and barely a teen! You remind me of myself, Miss Granger."

Madame Pince was highly skeptical of the pass to the Restricted Section, but it had a verified teacher's signature, and she reluctantly let Hermione inside. Once Hermione got the hang of checking for curses and spells on the tomes before touching them and figuring out how the area was organized, she found a treasure trove, and she eagerly dove in.

As it turned out, there were spells to curse another's bloodline. There was a Dark curse that did nearly exactly what Hermione had made up on the spot, one that prevented a bloodline from ever having sons to carry on the family name. There was another blood curse that manifested in only the girls of every other generation, and another curse which could morph a part of person from one sex into the other, often with horrifying, half-finished results. There were even potions to cause recessive diseases in family lines as well, like the Gynomortician Potion, which caused all daughters born to die at the age of three.

Such curses and rituals had been developed by rivalling families centuries ago, Hermione discovered. Messing with a family's fertility was a sure way to cause them to falter and fail. It had gone out of style once Dark magic was more widely condemned and people were more widely concerned about magical birth rates, but the fact remained that such curses did, in fact, exist.

Hermione wasn't convinced Amanda was cursed, though. She was probably born into the wrong body, however it happened to muggles the same way. A curse would, however, provide a good explanation to Amanda's classmates. And the books with these rituals… though there wasn't anything directly saying how to, Hermione was certain that if she looked hard enough, she could find enough pieces to figure out how to transform a person's body from one sex into the other.

If Amanda's soul had ended up in the wrong body, it seemed like finding a way to get it into the right body was the only real course of action to choose.

Classes continued on as the weather grew nastier. As promised, Snape taught them all how to brew a contraception potion, a lesson that was one of the most tense and awkward Hermione had ever endured. Snape was usually terse during classes, but during that lesson, he breathed over shoulders with fire in his eyes, snapping at the slightest mistake. The entire class remained on guard and stiff the entire time, not saying a word, and it was only when Snape deemed Theo's and Hermione's as 'Acceptable' that Hermione managed to relax and watch the rest of the class.

It was interesting to watch how Snape went about this. His snapped instructions and nastiness resulted in people being very, very careful with their potions, and most of them ended up with the right result. He instructed each pair to bring a labeled vial of their potion up to his desk to be graded, and when it came time for people to begin cleaning up, Snape wasn't in the classroom, but in the storage room.

Hermione watched as students volunteered to clean up and took their cauldrons to the back, noting that nearly everyone who had offered from each pair was a girl. Lavender Brown even offered to take Harry and Ron's cauldron for them. As Hermione took her own cauldron to the back, she saw girls quickly but quietly filling up empty flasks with their potions and storing them in their bags. Lily Moon looked at Hermione when she approached, handing her half a dozen flasks without a word, and Hermione hid a grin and filled her flasks as Lily handed empty ones to Tracey and Daphne as well.

Hermione wondered if this had been planned by some of the girls since the Special Lecture. The Gryffindor girls all seemed well prepared and unstartled by this, and Hermione was bolstered to see them helping the Slytherins out without a word as well, united in this task. For that matter, the Slytherin girls didn't seem fazed by this secret plot either, and Hermione wondered if they too had empty flasks hidden on them in secret pockets.

McGonagall had warned them that they'd be learning this potion soon. Had that been a deliberate hint to be prepared and to take advantage of it when it came? Had Snape left the room purposefully to allow them to 'clean up' in an unorthodox matter?

It certainly seemed like it, Hermione thought. The Gryffindors never would have been prepared like this otherwise.

Her suspicions that Snape had left the room on purpose were solidified when the couple of pairs who failed had their potions promptly had their potions Vanished and detention assigned, where they would be forced to "do it right or receive a failing grade". For other potions, students just received a failing grade – this was the only lesson where Snape had assigned detention to require a do-over of the potion to make sure they learned it right.

As nasty as Snape was acting in class, he really did seem to have their interests at heart.

Professor Lockhart, after covering the more classic witch trials, had decided to cover other witch persecutions by muggles, and to Hermione's delight, he launched into the French Affair of the Poisons. The material was new to the class and very interesting, and Lockhart was an engaging teacher, detailing the intrigue and mystery that had surrounded King Louis' court. Hermione happily poured all the detail she could into the subsequent essay assigned, remembering what Fleur had told her over the summer, the memories bringing a fond smile to her lips as she wrote, and she was thrilled to get extra credit for her details when her grade was returned.

The lesson took a turn for the odder, however, when Lockhart announced another practical activity.

"You will each be a person at court," he said, handing out small cards to them. "Three of you will be witches. You will have five minutes for discussion, and then the lights will go out. The witches will then poison someone, and when I put the lights back on, one of you will be dead."

"Not for real, though?" Goyle looked worried.

Lockhart grinned. "Not for real," he reassured him.

Both Crabbe and Goyle looked relieved. Hermione wondered what kind of twisted upbringing they must have had, to immediately presume they'd actually be poisoned.

"Between each 'night', you will have five minutes for discussion," Lockhart instructed. "If a majority of the people vote a person out, they are exiled. The Court's goal is to exile all the witches, while the witches' goal is to eliminate most of the Court."

It ended up being an interesting game, not entirely dissimilar to the one they'd played where the class had put witches to burn at the stake. The witches won some games, and the Court other times. Hermione got to be a witch once, and it was just as challenging to try and throw off blame and suspicion as it was to play a normal Court member trying to figure out who was to blame.

This activity, though, ended up being less about worrying about if you were a going to be 'caught' as a witch, and more about how to figure out who was deceiving the group. Some people would 'poison' anyone who accused them during the day, which made them rather obvious to figure out. Other witches focused more on taking out the players who were leading group discussions and trying to make logical deductions. It was interesting to watch people learn how to catch people in lies as the game went on, and it was funny to watch the Hufflepuffs get more and more indignant; the Slytherins in the class were miles better at deceiving each other, and the Hufflepuffs were largely terrible at telling a lie and frequently got caught.

Hermione wondered just what Lockhart was trying to teach them, though. The real affair of the poisons hadn't just been random kills, but killing specific people in power or people who the witches had relationships to. While some of the players in the game took the opportunity to take out classmates they didn't like, most people had done it strategically. She wondered, not for the first time, if Lockhart was trying to give them 'practical experience' with a complicated topic. Was this sort of game similar to what people had actually tried to do, when the Death Eaters had walked free among them at the end of the last war?

She paused, then, remembering that some Death Eaters did still walk free.

Hermione shuddered.

Midway through October, their Divination class was rocked by a terrible discovery – Lavender Brown's pet rabbit had died. Her mother had written her to tell her the sad news. This would have been utterly unremarkable, except Professor Trelawney had predicted the thing Lavender dreaded would to come to pass would happen on October 16. It was bizarre to see Lavender simultaneously upset over the loss of her pet while also enraptured and amazed by the professor, who seemed to accept the entire matter in stride, instead refocusing her efforts on the dire fate Harry Potter was going to face, how his future looked terrible, and how he was being stalked by the Grim, a death omen.

The matter prompted Hermione to interrupt Professor Vector to ask her a question one day during Arithmancy.

"I understand Arithmancy is much clearer and a logical way to evaluate the future," she said. "But it can't be denied that Divination works as well, somehow. How does Divination work?"

There was a murmur of agreement and interest from the class. Professor Vector gave her a pointed look.

"Shouldn't this be a question for your Divination teacher?" she said dryly.

"She just blames it all on the 'Inner Eye', professor," Harry volunteered, quick to chime in. "She doesn't actually explain anything, really."

Professor Vector rolled her eyes and sighed, before she went to the chalk board and picked up a piece of chalk.

"In Arithmancy, the primary way of figuring out what is to come is through the use of prediction trees," she said, drawing what looked like a small tournament bracket backwards on the chalkboard. "We use equations at each fulcrum to determine the odds of which branch being more likely."

She flicked her wand at the chalk, and next to the prediction tree, several pieces of chalk began to draw many little lines, like veins, which scattered around randomly, criss-crossing each other and going apart again.

"Divination does not look at one circumstance very well," she said. "You can make an Arithmantic equation for anything, but Divination is not as good at handling specifics. What Divination tends to look for is set moments of time in the future where something big will happen. These events carry a heavier temporal and magical weight to them – Fate, if you will – that allows them to be seen by some people before they occur." She pointed out several points where multiple little veins had crossed over at the same point. "These moments are what Divination seeks – generally, when something dramatic occurs that has a lot of emotional impact."

"Like a pet dying?" Harry asked.

Professor Vector tilted her head. "Perhaps. Is that what happened in Divination?"

Harry explained about Lavender and her rabbit, and Professor Vector's lips began to curl.

"Let me show you something," she said. She waved her hand and the board was erased.

"If we were to handle this with Arithmancy, it would be a simple prediction tree: 'is the rabbit going to die?'," she said, drawing it out, "with possible answers of 'yes' or 'no'. We would use Arithmantic Queries to find out information about the age of the rabbit, the presence of predators nearby, and other such things, and we would get our estimate."

She fixed the class with a look. "Now – I will point out a rabbit dying is not exactly a dramatic moment in time. Rabbits especially are particularly frail – they can literally be scared to death. So this is not the type of event I would expect to have the particular drama or emotional impact that most Fated events have."

"However, if your teacher predicted this beforehand…"

Professor Vector drew a line on the board, followed by a circle, then the line continued on the other side. She then drew many other lines connecting to the circle.

"By predicting this, it became a dramatic event," Professor Vector said. "If Professor Trelawney had not predicted it, would anyone except Lavender have cared about the death of her pet?" Vector didn't pause for someone to respond to her question. "No. No one would have. But by predicting it, it became a point of drama and emotion for multiple people, as it solidified their belief in Divination and your teacher's powers."

"So wait, by predicting an event, she made the event happen?" Draco objected. "That doesn't seem right!"

"That seems suspiciously self-fulfilling," Theo agreed, eyes narrowed.

Professor Vector shrugged.

"In Arithmancy, an Arithmancer is careful to account for as many variables as possible to an equation, including oneself," she said. "In Divination? All that the Seer is looking for are points of temporal build-up, regardless of what makes such points in time have such energy."

Hermione wondered about Luna's prophecy. Whatever Luna had prophesized her to do was clearly a big deal, to have so much temporal energy, but had it only had such temporal energy because Luna had predicted it?

"Regardless, Divination is often unclear and imprecise," Professor Vector finished. "You'll note Professor Trelawney did not predict what would happen on October 16th for Lavender, only that something would."

Harry was cheered after the lesson.

"If all Trelawney can tell me is that I'll face some big doom at some point in the future, that's to be expected, isn't it?" he said. "We all suspect Voldemort's going to come back after me at some point, and that's probably got whatever 'temporal weight' attached to it, right?"

"I would imagine," Hermione said. She made a noise of frustration. "Oh, I wish I could skip ahead and learn everything already! Can you imagine how helpful it would be if we could use Arithmancy to predict when he would return?"

"If that's possible, wouldn't Dumbledore have already done it?" Harry frowned.

Hermione shrugged. "Dumbledore was the Transfiguration teacher, not Arithmancy. It's possible he doesn't know how. He doesn't know everything."

The idea seemed to startle Harry.

"You don't think he'd ask Vector for help?" Harry asked. "Or the Arithmancers at the Ministry?"

"Maybe he has." Hermione said. "I imagine there's a lot of variables involved, though – and he probably didn't have one of them until quite recently."

She tapped his scar lightly, and Harry swallowed hard.

"Right," he said. He sounded determined. "I guess we'll just have to stay ready, then."

Hermione didn't think they were anywhere near ready to deal with something like Voldemort's return, but Harry's determination and courage was inspiring, and she didn't want to take that from him.

Chapter Text

Hermione was relieved to get a very long letter back from her Aunt Margaret later in October. It was pages and pages of information, much of it type-written. It began with an introduction stating that all of the information contained was very much not discussed in public, and it was only because of her aunt's connection to her community that she knew much at all. Hermione was able to read between the lines – her aunt and partner were lesbians, so they had access to this secret knowledge, while other people mostly did not.

Hermione found Luna, and they discussed it quietly in a back corner of the library.

"So it is a thing," Hermione said, reading. "People born in the wrong body are called 'transgender'. If they take steps to get the right body, like take hormones or get surgery, they're called 'transsexuals'."

"Muggles can do that?" Luna blinked. "Change a boy to a girl or a girl to a boy?"

"Apparently, there are pills you can take to give you the right hormones," Hermione said, reading. "If you want to be a girl, you take a testosterone blocker and take estrogen. If you want to be a boy, you take an estrogen blocker and take testosterone. It helps you get 'secondary sex characteristics' – breasts, or a deeper voice and facial hair, that sort of thing."

"I understand that." Luna's voice was edgy. "But surely Muggles can't just Vanish a person's penis?"

"Oh! Sorry." Hermione colored. "No, they do that part through surgery. That's where – ah – Muggles cut you open, fix things, and then sew you back up. It's quite normal," she said hurriedly, seeing Luna's aghast expression. "It's how they have to do medicine. They can't just cast spells to fix your ruptured spleen, they have to go into your body and actually look at your spleen."

"So they… they just cut the penis off?" Luna's eyes were wide. "Leaving… what, down there? Just an abandoned hole to go to the loo from?"

"Generally, they try to switch the parts," Hermione said. "Look, she drew a little diagram – they take the penis and testicles and kind of turn them inside-out, and they shove them inside the body to make a vagina."

Luna looked like she couldn't quite seem to decide if she was fascinated or horrified.

"What about for girls?" Luna asked. "If a girl wants to be a boy, you can't exactly turn a vagina inside-out into a penis." She paused. "Can you?"

"I don't know." Hermione scanned the rest of the letter. "Err, no. It seems they either hope the testosterone will make the clitoris grow large enough to be like a tiny penis, or they have to take skin from your arm to 'build' one." Hermione gnawed on her lip. "My aunt says that most people she knows haven't opted to try and build a penis – they just use fake ones."

"Fake penises?" Luna's eyes grew big.

"Muggles… they make what they call 'sex toys'?" Hermione winced. "There are fake penises to use to masturbate with – they're called 'dildos' – so I guess they just make a soft, hollow one? And then the person can just wear it around and pee out of it so it feels like they have a penis?"

Luna looked curious and fascinated. Hermione abruptly remembered that Luna was a year under her, and she hadn't yet gone through the Special Lecture on sex.

"Do you think magic could attach one and make it real for Amanda?" Luna asked. "Like, have it link up with her and become her skin?"

"I don't think so," Hermione said. "You can't really turn plastic or silicone into human flesh. You'd have to almost grow a penis, somehow, and then figure out the medical spells to attach it."

Hermione wondered if it was possible, somehow. She'd heard of experiments being done to grow organs for transplant in Muggle laboratories. Could magic take some of a person's cells and grow them a new body-part?

Had anyone ever tried?

"Did she say anything else?" Luna prodded. "What about both?"

"Umm…" Hermione continued reading. "There's more about how to get hormones – I don't think that's a good idea to rely on Muggle pills, not like we can just dash off to the chemist whenever – there's warnings about it too… oh, here we go."

She paused, scanning the paragraph, before biting her lip.

"So, the answer is 'kind of'?" Hermione ventured. "One of the ways a person ends up in the wrong body is something gets messed up when they're still growing in the mother's womb. There are people who end up with some parts getting messed up, but not all of them, which can give them something in between. They're called 'intersex'."

"Intersex." Luna repeated. She tilted her head. "But are they a boy or girl, then?"

"I think it depends on the person," Hermione said, reading. "She listed a couple kinds. One is where a girl over-responds to testosterone, so she ends up with a large clitoris that looks like a small penis. One is a where a boy doesn't respond to testosterone, so he ends up looking like a girl and growing breasts and such and doesn't really realize that he's not a girl until he's doesn't menstruate."

"What if a person has both?" Luna wanted to know. "What if they have a penis and they have a vagina? How do they know if they're a girl or a boy?"

Hermione gnawed her lip.

"I mean, I think Muggles just kind of pick which one they feel more like?" she ventured. "Like if they feel like they're supposed to be a girl, even if they don't get a period, they're just a 'girl', then, with parts that are a little odd."

"But we're not Muggles," Luna insisted. "We're magical. So how can we tell?"

Hermione paused.

"I mean," she said carefully, "I would say we test their magic, and see whether it reacts to female-only or male-only spells, but if we've already done that, and a person responds to both…"

She trailed off, looking at Luna, and Luna flushed, a redness coming to her pale cheeks.

"Do Muggles fix it, though?" she asked, changing the subject. "If they cut penises off for boys who were supposed to be girls, do they do it for girls who were supposed to be girls too, and just ended up with a penis?"

"I imagine they could," Hermione said cautiously, "if it was bothering the person enough. I think it's mostly a question of what makes a person happier in their body. If someone's really unhappy with part of their body, muggle scientists try to figure out how best to help."

"That doesn't answer how a person can be both, though," Luna said grumpily. She folded her arms.

"Not everything magical is male or female," Hermione suggested. "Like elementals – they don't have a gender."

Luna paused to consider.

"Is no gender the same as both, though?" she asked.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know."

Luna sat quietly for a few moments, thinking. Hermione let her, giving her space.

It had become clear to Hermione somewhere along the way that Luna was not just asking out of curiosity. The questions she was asking were too specific, too deliberate, to just be idle interest. And there were other things, now, that Hermione could remember if she thought back.

Luna had been very particular about Hermione not looking at her body during the purification ritual before they became a coven. And she'd also been very particular about how they circled the ritual circle to balance it – Hermione had presumed it was impossible to perfectly balance it, given there were three girls and two boys, but now that she thought back, the energy in it had seemed balanced, somehow.

So Luna was… both?

"Do you like being a girl?" Hermione asked quietly.

Luna looked at her.

"Yes," she said simply. "It's just a question of… am I a girl?"

The two looked at each other for a long moment.

"Do you want to look up some magical creatures that are both genders?" Hermione asked. "If there's some with none, there's probably some with both. Maybe we can find clues there, and work backwards from that."

Luna's face started to brighten.

"I like that idea," she said. She smiled at Hermione. "Books always help."

Hermione smiled widely. Sometimes she forgot that Luna was in Ravenclaw for a reason.

"Exactly," she said, folding the letter up and tucking it away. "Let's get started, then."

"You need what?"

"A potion to block estrogen and encourage testosterone," Hermione repeated. "They're hormones inside the body – estrogen helps girls grow breasts, and testosterone—"

"I know what they are," Snape snarled. Hermione abruptly remembered that he'd led the Special Lecture for the boys, and her face colored as Snape gave her a sharp look. "What I need to know is why you need such a thing."

Hermione bit her lip.

"I don't need it," she said. "But one of the students does—"

"Then why," Snape cut in, "has that not student come to see me directly?"

Hermione winced.

"Ah... it's for Amanda Barrows. We interrupted you playing chess with Professor Vector, if you remember." She hesitated. "I think you scared her."

Snape looked exasperated. Hermione suspected this was not the first time he had been told he had frightened a first year.

"Anyway, she asked me for help," she continued. "And Madame Pomfrey said you supply most of the medicinal potions for the school."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.

"Miss Granger," Snape said, "such a potion does not exist. Or if it does, I have never heard of it before, and I stay well appraised of any new developments in the Potions community."

"Well," Hermione said, "I figured that." She paused. "So it will need to be created first, then."

Snape raised an eyebrow, incredulous.

"Created?" he said sharply. "Miss Granger, do you realize how difficult potions engineering is—?"

"I found a base potion recipe that might help," Hermione continued on, unfolding a piece of paper and smoothing it out. "It was to make a weak son grow up stronger. But reading the description, it sounds like the potion magically influenced testosterone production during puberty."

"You what?" Snape snatched the piece of paper from her, his black eyes scanning over it.

"If that's how it works, then we'd just need to figure out the estrogen blocker part," Hermione said. "I couldn't find anything on that, but—"

"Be quiet," Snape snapped, and Hermione fell silent.

Snape continued to read over the potion recipe, before fixing her with a sharp look.

Hermione bit her lip, bracing herself.

"Miss Granger," Snape said, his voice neutral. "Where did you find this recipe?"

"In a book, sir," she responded.

"Which book?" Snape asked, eyes fixed on hers.

Hermione took a deep breath.

"Building a Magical Legacy, sir," she said. She was careful to keep her voice calm and neutral, and she fought the urge to bite her lip, hoping that the book was too old for Snape to have ever heard of. From the way Snape's nostrils flared and his eyes grew, however, Hermione suspected he had rather heard of it.

"Forgive me if I am misremembering," Snape said conversationally, "but isn't that book full of Dark curses and poisons for rival families, as well as other Dark curses and potions to keep one's own family strong but obedient?"

Hermione winced.

"That would be correct, sir." She struggled to keep the waver out of her voice.

Snape's eyes were narrowed, beady.

"And how," he breathed, "did a young girl like you manage to get her hands on a very Dark text that went out of print over a century ago?"

Hermione swallowed hard.

"I'm not using it for Dark magic, sir," she implored. "I'm trying to help someone, and sure, this potion could be Dark if you force-fed it to a child, but if someone willingly takes it, wants to take it—"

"Where did you get the book?" Snape hissed, his eyes glittering. "Tell me now, Miss Granger."

Hermione took a deep breath.

"It was in Professor Quirrell's office first year, sir," she said. "He loaned me a couple books when he learned I was trying to maximize my magical potential, sir. And then when he… left… I didn't have anyone to return them to, so I just… kept them."

Hermione's statement had all the benefits of being true while not being the whole truth. Her eyes met Snape's steadily, his dark eyes boring into hers, and there was a tense silence.

"You are not an idiot, Miss Granger." Snape's voice was a whisper. "You know who was part of Quirrell that year – you told the entire Slytherin House."

Hermione bit her lip. "I do, sir."

"And you did not think it urgent to hand in any books he may have lent to you…?"

Hermione took a deep breath.

"It seemed a bad idea to do so, sir," she explained. "After learning that openly pursuing maximizing one's magical potential was looked upon with wariness, and after realizing most of what was in the books was Dark, and then learning who Quirrell's… other side… was…" She exhaled. "Revealing that I had the books seemed like a good way to get teachers very paranoid about me unnecessarily."

Snape snorted.

"Unnecessarily," he sneered, "as she holds an ancient Dark text in her hands."

"That I'm trying to help people with!" Hermione snapped. She threw her hands up. "You, of all people, I thought would understand!"

Snape stiffened as Hermione glared at him. She fought the urge to stamp her foot or scowl, but he was just so frustrating. She'd given him no reason to suspect her motives of being bad or Dark. And it hurt, to have her Head of House so openly suspicious of her. Had she not earned his trust?

"Me, of all people?" His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Hermione was annoyed and upset, missing the suspicion in his tone.

"Because you were the one who taught me that Dark magic was based on intent," she sulked. "You taught me that magic wasn't naturally 'Dark' or 'Light', that it depended what you used it for. That magic was just a tool." She glared at him. "And now that I've found a tool that could help someone, you refuse to see it. You just see a knife that could be used to stab someone, instead of a precise scalpel that could be used to heal harm."

She looked at Snape defiantly. She held onto her anger tightly, glaring, aware that there were tears of frustration glittering in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Snape looked taken aback for a moment, before an emotionless mask dropped back over him. He looked at Hermione for a long moment.

"This is for your first-year friend?" he said finally.

"Yes," Hermione said promptly. "Amanda Barrows, 1st year Ravenclaw. The one who Hogwarts won't let into the girls' dormitory and put a bed for her in the boys' dormitory instead."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose very tightly.

"Miss Granger," he said. "I am a busy person. This is not a simple medical request, you realize?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"I realize this," she said haltingly. "All the same… it's still for one of your students, who you oversee the care of…"

Snape massaged his temples, his eyes tightly shut, before he sighed.

"If," he snarled. He opened his eyes to give her a sharp look. "If Miss Barrows comes to me and confirms that yes, she does want to explore this course of treatment—"

"She does," Hermione said hurriedly. "Amanda's transgender. It means—"

"I know what it means," Snape snarled. "If Amanda comes to me directly and asks, and if you return to your dormitory right now and bring me the books that Quirrell gave you…"

His eyes were glinting at her, and Hermione bit her lip.

"If you do this… I might try and research such avenues for your friend," he finished disgustedly. "If! If you go and get those books right now."

Hermione quickly rose from her seat.

"I'll go right now, sir!" she said quickly. "I'll go now! I'll be right back!"

Snape's suspicious beady eyes followed her as she fled his office, and Hermione hurried to the Slytherin common room, rushing past everyone to her dormitory.

She was lucky – it was early still, and none of the other girls were around. Quickly, she flipped open the trunk Quirrell had given her, gasping as the trunk stabbed her and pausing only a moment to cast Episkey on her hand after the trunk's latch sucked in her blood.

Hermione had feared something like this would happen. Snape knew more about the Dark Arts than any other professor, she knew, and there had been a chance he'd recognize the origin of the potion. As such, she had two books right on top inside the chest – Building a Magical Legacy and a splattered, untitled grimoire that had Dark fertility rituals, recipes, and spells inside.

Both of which had predated copyright charms, apparently, and hadn't objected to being duplicated in the slightest when she had tried.

She swept up the two books and slammed the chest shut, latching it and shoving it back under her bed as she hurried back out into the common room, ignoring the stares of her classmates, and back down the hallway to Snape's office.

She was panting when she arrived, two books in hand. Snape looked up from the recipe she had given him with a raised eyebrow, and Hermione put the books on his desk.

"Here, sir." She fought to catch her breath. "I got them."

She fell back into the chair before his desk, panting. Snape watched her for a moment before carefully picking up the top book, paging through it with nimble fingers. His eyes scanned the pages, and he paused toward the middle.

"You ripped the recipe from the book?" he sounded incredulous, and his eyes narrowed on her suspiciously. "You, rip a book?"

"It seemed important enough, and I didn't want to risk copying it and getting anything wrong," Hermione countered. "I thought if we were careful with the page, I could try and Reparo it back in later."

The tightness around Snape's eyes seemed to ease a bit, but his expression was still curt as he paged through the book.

"I still cannot believe you did not hand this in immediately," Snape said dryly, closing it. "That you thought to just keep such Dark texts—"

"They're not against the rules!" Hermione said hotly. "They're just books!"

"Dark magic books." His tone was sharp, and Snape's nostrils flared. "Nevertheless… I do not go back on my word."

His eyes were sharp on her, glittering, and Hermione looked back defiantly, clutching her courage to her.

"If your friend comes and confirms she wishes to pursue this course of treatment…" Snape said, eyes dark, "I will begin investigating the usefulness of this potion for her."

Hermione fought back her instinctive relief, instead nodding smartly.

"Thank you, sir," she said instead. "I'll make sure you hear from her soon."

Chapter Text

The first trip to Hogsmeade was announced to happen on October 31st, to everyone's excitement. Hermione was pleased to learn everyone in Slytherin from her class had received permission to go. Already Tracey was talking about how she couldn't wait to check out the Shrieking Shack and waxing poetic about the Three Broomsticks as the rest of the class was still lining up to read the announcement on the board in the common room.

A few of the Slytherins were more hesitant, however.

"We'll have to go past the dementors to get there, won't we?" Blaise said grimly. "Will we really be able to feel cheerful and have fun after going past them?"

Theo looked uneasy. "We'll have to walk fast, then."

"It's not right, that we have to be exposed to them," Draco declared. "We're students. Children. They should let us through without any difficulty and keep them away from us."

"Ah, but how can they then be sure you're not carrying Sirius Black in your pocket?" Blaise said slyly. "The dementors need to be very careful of such things, after all."

Draco sneered. "Go boil your head."

The Slytherins' caution and frustration about the dementors was nothing, however, compared to Harry's wrath.

"McGonagall said I couldn't go!" Harry was livid, storming around the Gryffindor common room holding his permission form. "I got the form 'signed' and everything, but I'm still not allowed to go! Because of Sirius Black," he sneered. "Aren't there Ministry people watching for him in Hogsmeade anyway?"

Hermione watched Harry rage, as did Ron and Neville with wide eyes. Hermione couldn't blame him in the slightest – it was clearly discriminatory treatment and unfair, regardless of the reasoning behind it. And Harry had gone to all the trouble of forging his Uncle's signature and everything.

Percy the Head Boy tried to be helpful.

"Your safety is more important than a daytrip, Harry," he told him seriously. "People make a fuss about Hogsmeade, but I assure you, it's not all it's cracked up to be."

Hermione watched with wry amusement as Percy kept talking, oblivious to the growing rage under Harry's skin.

"—All right, the sweetshop's rather good, and Zonko's Joke Shop's frankly dangerous, and yes, the Shrieking Shack's always worth a visit—"

Hermione wondered if Harry's hair was going to start to spark soon, or if his head would just explode.

"—but really, Harry, apart from that, you're not missing anything."

Harry gritted out that he'd forgotten something in the Great Hall, and Hermione followed him as he stormed out. He glanced over at her, but Hermione didn't say anything, just shrugging.

"If you want," she said, "there are empty classrooms in the dungeon. They'll echo a lot less than the Great Hall."

Harry glared at her, but he followed her down the stairs to an empty classroom nonetheless. Hermione had just managed to hop up on a desk and flick the door shut with her wand before Harry's frustration burst out of him.

"It's just so unfair!" he yelled. He stormed around the room, pacing, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "It's not my fault some stupid murderer wants to kill me, yet I'm being punished for it!"

"I wouldn't say 'punished'…" Hermione said cautiously.

"Well, it feels like a punishment, doesn't it?" Harry snapped. "Everyone else gets to go off and have fun, while I have to stay locked in the castle, don't I? Even though Sirius Black could kill any one of them, but no, he's specifically after me, so I'm not allowed out at all."

For a moment, Hermione considered telling Harry of the secret passage Blaise had showed her, before a new thought occurred to her.

"Cedric said that Filch usually collects the permission forms…" Hermione ventured. "Do you think he knows you're not supposed to go?"

Harry paused, shooting her a look.

"What?"

"Well, it's not like there's a school rule of 'Harry isn't allowed out of the castle', is there?" Hermione said. "It sounds like your Head of House is issuing this edict alone. So if you lined up to go and gave Filch your form, how would he know you're not supposed to be coming along?"

Harry blinked, then scowled.

"McGonagall would know," he said darkly. "She would find out, and then I'd get detention for a week when I got back."

"Would the detention be worth the trip to you?" Hermione asked.

Harry looked at her with surprise. "Are you suggesting I do it anyway?"

"I'm suggesting you evaluate how much you want to go to Hogsmeade against the potential consequences." She took a deep breath. "If you went and then did get punished, you could appeal the punishment to the Board of Governors as unfair. You could make a case for it being discriminatory and unfair, and how it wasn't based on you breaking any actual school rule. You could stand a chance of winning."

"Appeal a punishment?" Harry goggled at her. "I didn't know that was even a thing."

"Well, it's not like it comes up much, does it?" Hermione said defensively. "It's in Hogwarts, a History. Unfair punishments can be appealed to the Board of Directors. Generally, when professors punish us, though, it's for breaking a school rule, so it's not like an appeal would have a hope in hell." She bit her lip. "This is different, though, isn't it? You wouldn't be breaking a school rule – just one professor's un-backed-up edict."

Harry stared at her for a long moment.

"Is your mind normal?" he asked. He started to grin. "Neville and Ron just told me it was too bad, that they'd bring me back sweets. And you're proposing deliberately disobeying McGonagall and taking it to the Board of Governors."

Hermione flushed.

"I see a problem, and I'm trying to help you find ways around it," she said hotly. "Because it's not fair – if it's your safety at risk, you should be the one who gets to risk it or not, in my opinion. And disobeying and appealing any subsequent punishment stands a chance—"

Harry was laughing.

"It's not a bad thing," he said, amused. "Just unexpected."

He sat down on the desk next to Hermione. Hermione just looked at him fondly, watching as his temper gradually calmed down.

"I don't think it'd be worth it," he said finally, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, I could, but McGonagall would be livid, and I don't want to go through all the work of appealing to the Board of Governors…"

"Then," Hermione promised, "I will bring you back sweets from Honeydukes."

Harry laughed and rolled his eyes.

"It's still unfair," he said, "but I'll take what I can get."

Tracey was aghast that Hermione had a date to Hogsmeade, and then irrationally excited over it. Hermione was embarrassed while Tracey bounced around dormitory, Millie shooting her smirks from her bed as she stroked Crookshanks. Daphne was laughing, and Pansy rolled her eyes, already over it.

"A date?" Tracey squealed. "Already?"

"Daphne's got one too," Hermione defended. "She's going with Warrington."

"Daphne's got an escorted meeting with him," Tracey said, rolling her eyes. "Not the same thing!"

"It is," Hermione argued.

"It isn't," Daphne said. "I'm not of an age, yet, so Cassius can't pay me formal suit. Having a meeting at Madame Puddifoot's is all that's appropriate at this time."

"See?" Tracey said triumphantly.

"It's at least similar," Hermione equivocated. "Daphne's still got a romantic appointment with a boy, right?"

Tracey's smile grew devious.

"Ah, but she's got a chaperone." Her eyes glowed. "It's not like she is going to be able to sneak off and snog her beau if she's so inclined."

"Tracey!" Hermione's face flamed, but Tracey waved off her embarrassment.

"You have been kissed before, haven't you?" she said. "Cedric is two years older. He almost certainly has, and you need to know what you're doing."

"I have," Hermione said, defensive.

"Who?" Millie challenged. Her smirk grew. "Who have you snogged, Hermione?"

"I—that's not the point!" Hermione defended. "I have, though!"

"Ooh, who?" Tracey pressed. "Who?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"There was someone in France, over the summer," she said finally. "We—there was a lot of snogging."

Tracey shrieked and bounced on her bed, Millie laughing.

"I knew it!" she crowed. "I'm not the only one, now! Ha!"

"The only one?" Hermione repeated. "What do you mean?"

"No one else has been kissing people yet," Tracey said dismissively. "Daphne and Pansy aren't of an age yet, and Millie's got no interest in anyone. You're the only one who I thought might be getting off with people too."

Hermione glanced at Daphne and Pansy. Daphne had her head lowered bashfully, graceful, but Pansy looked oddly defensive.

"Well, it's not appropriate, is it?" Pansy said defensively. "It'd be viewed like an adult kissing a child."

"I'm content to wait to be kissed." Daphne's smile was dreamy. "The anticipation will make the moment it does come more special than it'd be otherwise."

"I thought we'd all go to Hogsmeade together the first time," Millie commented. "I suppose that'll change, now?"

Hermione glanced at Millie. "What do you mean?"

"I figured you, me, Tracey, and Blaise would all go and explore together," Millie said. Her tone of voice didn't sound hurt, just matter-of-fact. "You having a date changes that."

"Oh," Hermione said. She blinked. "I didn't think of that."

"We could all get dates!" Tracey suggested. "Then we could all go together!"

Millie scowled at Tracey. "We can't all have boys running to us with a crook of our finger, Tracey."

"Platonic dates, then." Tracey tossed her head. "Hermione's got male friends up in Gryffindor and Ravenclaw she could set us all up with, doesn't she?"

"And what about for Blaise…?" Millie said dryly. "How do you think he will react to all this?"

Tracey paused. "…oh."

"What do you mean, 'oh'?" Hermione wanted to know. "Why would Blaise have an issue with this?"

"Well, like…" Tracey screwed her face up. "Oh, Circe. Don't you think Blaise would want to go with you, Hermione?"

Hermione blinked, taken aback.

"I mean, I guess?" she said. "He probably presumed we'd all—"

"No. Like on a date, Hermione," Tracey said pointedly.

Hermione considered, startled.

"I wouldn't put it past him possibly asking," she said slowly. "But Blaise flirts with everyone."

Tracey and Millie exchanged a glance.

"If you say so," Millie said doubtfully.

"A group thing probably wouldn't work out well, anyway," Hermione said, biting her lip. "I don't think Cedric really has a group date in mind…"

"You mean he wants to take you off and snog you," Tracey said, grinning, and Hermione flushed.

"So what if he does?" she said hotly.

Tracey laughed. "I'm not criticizing! I'm just teasing!"

Millie's eyes gleamed.

"Have fun and be careful," she advised. A smirk spread across her face. "And don't forget that potion that you stole, in case you need it."

"Oh, be quiet—!"

Hermione's face flamed and her dormmates laughed, teasing her, and though Hermione knew she wouldn't be doing anything near anything that would require such a potion, it was oddly kind of flattering that the other girls thought she could hook a boy as handsome as Cedric Diggory, and that he would want to do those sorts of things with her.

Chapter Text

"So chimeras are both," Hermione said, leaning over. "Look. It clearly defines a chimera as 'she', but it's got a male lion's mane."

Luna peered over into Hermione's book at the ink illustration, huddling with Hermione in the back of the library to avoid Madame Pince's eye as they whispered.

"That's fair," Luna said slowly. "I never thought of that."

"Have you had any luck?" Hermione asked. "The only other things I've got are kappas and kelpies."

"Poltergeists," Luna said. "But they're amortal and were never really a person at all. Phoenixes, too – they don't reproduce, they're just reborn from the flames."

Hermione considered. "Let's keep looking. There's bound to be more… human-like beings, if we look hard enough."

Luna shrugged. "If you say so."

Hermione sighed and went to go get another book, while Luna stood and went off in another direction.

It was difficult to try and search for creatures based on minor details about them, Hermione was fast discovering. Need a list of XXXX-rated beasts? Not a problem. A list of all things that could be encountered in a lake? Easily done. But find a list of creatures that were both sexes or none at once?

That was much harder.

Hermione found a bit of luck in her next book, one of Japanese mythology.

"They have something called a 'kitsune'," she said. "It's kind of a shapeshifter, so it can be either. They play pranks on people and are kind of mischievous spirits."

"That makes sense," Luna said, nodding slowly. "That kind of legend… that seems similar to old tales of Fae we've got here."

"Really?" Hermione looked up, eyes wide. "Do… do you know such stories?"

Luna looked uneasy.

"Not really," she stressed. "I mean, I've heard stories, but they're just stories, aren't they? Passed down for year and year and years, so who knows what's true and what's not?" She shrugged. "You'd be better off asking the House Elves who gave you those faerie stones."

Hermione paused. "…what?"

Luna blinked.

"The faerie stones," she said again. "You said one of the House Elves got them to you, so you could 'pop' us safely, when we did the ritual at Beltane."

"Those are… those were faerie stones?" Hermione said faintly. "What—what's a faerie stone?"

Luna looked amused.

"According to legend, they give you safe passage through the realms of the Fae," she said, "but again, the House Elves would be better off helping you here."

"Oh!" Hermione said suddenly. "House Elves! They're one, too."

Luna blinked. "A what?"

"House Elves can change their gender at will," Hermione told her. "Literally at will – they just kind of shimmer, and then they're the other."

"Really?" Luna looked very interested by this. She looked up at Hermione. "Can we go talk to them? Right now?"

"Missy Hermione! You is remembering us!"

Hermione smiled down fondly at the little House Elf beaming up at her. She couldn't recognize it (they all looked nearly identical, except for Tolly, she found), but the House Elf's enthusiasm was contagious.

"Of course I remembered you," Hermione said. "Is Tolly around?"

"I goes and gets her," the House Elf told her, and it skipped off deeper into the kitchens. Hermione smiled at Luna, who was looking out over the chaos.

"They're very busy," Luna observed.

"They're making dinner for everybody," Hermione said. "There are a lot of students to feed."

"Missy Hermione."

Hermione looked down to see Tolly the House Elf grinning up at her.

"You is coming back," Tolly said with satisfaction. "And you is bringing a friend."

"Tolly, this is Luna Lovegood," Hermione introduced. "Luna, this is Tolly, the Head House Elf."

Tolly bowed very solemnly, and Luna smiled and dipped a slight curtsy.

"How is I helping Missy Hermione and her friend?" Tolly asked. Her smile grew sly. "You is not here to ask me about the upcoming feast, is you?"

"Not today." Hermione smirked back at Tolly, who looked pleased. "No, we have a few other questions today." She looked at Luna. "Do you want to go first?"

Luna took a deep breath.

"Hermione said that you can change sex at will," she asked. "Is that true?"

Tolly nodded. "Yes."

"How?" Luna asked. There was something in her tone that made Hermione's heart go out to her, a plaintive note. "How do you do it? Does it mean you're both?"

Tolly hummed.

"It is just a thing we is doing," Tolly said finally. "It is like knowing how you is moving your arm – you is not really knowing how you is doing it, you is just doing it." Tolly stood up, and the air shimmered.

"I is a boy now," Tolly informed Luna. "Now I is doing it again."

Tolly demonstrated again, the air shimmering once more. Again, there was no visible change whatsoever.

"Now I is a girl," Tolly said with satisfaction. "It is being like that."

"But – what does that make you?" Luna asked.

Tolly blinked. "What is what making me?"

"Are you a girl?" Luna asked. "Or a boy?"

"I is a girl," Tolly said very slowly, as if Luna were a young child. "I is not being a boy, now – I was changing back."

"But if you can turn into both, which does that make you?" Luna asked.

Tolly shrugged.

"Right now, Tolly is a girl," she said. "If Tolly wants to be being a boy some other time, then I is being a boy instead." She looked up at Luna with her big eyes. "It is not really being a big deal. Some of us just likes being one more than the other."

"If you can be both, though, does that mean your magic is both male and female?" Luna asked. "You can go in both girls' and boys' dorms?"

Tolly laughed uproariously at this.

"House Elves is not being subject to silly wizard wards!" she declared. "We is not wizards, so we is just ignoring wards like that. We is going where we please."

"Is that like how you do the popping?" Hermione asked. "You just ignore the Anti-Apparition wards, and pop up where you want to go?"

Tolly looked thoughtful.

"That is not exactly it," Tolly said slowly. "We is just stepping sideways to pop from one place to another. It is not being like Apparating."

"It seems like Apparating, only a little nicer," Hermione said. "How is it different?"

"Apparating, wizards is going wherever they is wanting to," Tolly said wisely. "Here, elves is only stepping sideways a bit. It is only working at Hogwarts."

"Wait, really?" Hermione blinked. "It only works at Hogwarts?"

Tolly made a face.

"It is being easiest at Hogwarts," she corrected. "Hogwarts has much magic here. It is making it easier to be popping from place to place."

"When you step sideways," Luna cut in suddenly, "where do you go?"

Tolly gave her a funny look. "That depends where we is wanting to be going."

"No – before you get to your destination," Luna clarified. "You loaned Hermione faerie stones so she could 'pop' us safely. Why did you have to do that?"

"Ohhhhhhhh." Tolly hesitated, suddenly looking uneasy. "I is sorry, Missy Luna, but I is not knowing all the details of popping and how it is working. I just knows it does."

"Is there anyone who does know?" Luna pressed.

"Bidum helped teach me last time," Hermione remembered. "Would he be helpful here?"

"Bidum is being a good teacher, but that is mostly being it," Tolly dismissed. She frowned, her elf face stretching out comically with the wide frown on her mouth. "I is having a thought. You is staying here."

Tolly hopped off the chair and went deeper into the kitchen. Luna and Hermione exchanged a look.

"Is this helping at all?" Hermione asked gently.

Luna made a face. "I guess."

A few minutes later, Tolly came back with another elf, this one somewhat taller than Tolly. The new elf's eyes were very large, and an unusual shade of indigo. To Hermione's surprise, Tolly looked almost wary.

"This is Neemey," Tolly said, introducing them. She hesitated. "Neemey is being a new elf."

"Pleased to meet you, Neemey," Hermione said, nodding to the elf. "My name—"

"This is Missy Hermione and Missy Luna," Tolly cut in hurriedly, waving her hand quickly. "They is wanting to be asking you some questions."

Neemey looked at Tolly, and Tolly looked determined.

"You is answering their questions," Tolly said firmly, "and you is only answering them, okay? You is not taking anything, you is not bargaining anything, you is being a nice and good House Elf."

Neemey sighed.

"Fine," Neemey said, petulant.

Tolly nodded in satisfaction and hurried away, while the new House Elf looked up at Hermione and Luna, blinking large eyes. "How can I help you?"

"We—" Hermione paused, an oddity striking her. "Ah, let's take a step back. You're a new House Elf?"

"I arrived at Hogwarts recently," Neemey said, nodding. "I lived somewhere else, before."

There was something odd about Neemey. Where Tolly and other elves were easy-going and cheerful, Neemey seemed somewhat aloof. And this elf held their body differently, somehow – just a little bit straighter, the eye contact a little more intense.

And the grammar. Hermione had never heard a House Elf speak with standardized English before. Did House Elves from different places have different dialects…?

"Where are you from?" Luna asked politely.

Neemey waved a hand. "Here and there."

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Are you a House Elf?" she asked.

Neemey gave her a pointed look. "I work with the House Elves of Hogwarts—"

"That is not what I asked," Hermione interrupted. "I asked you a binary question – 'are you a House Elf'. The possible answers to the question are 'yes' and 'no'."

Neemey looked severely annoyed, before giving Hermione a grudging look of admiration.

"No."

Hermione sucked in her breath sharply, her eyes going wide.

"To clarify," Luna said, "you are saying you are not a House Elf?"

"Yes," Neemey said. A smirk grew on Neemey's face, a decidedly odd and somewhat menacing expression on its face.

"What are you?" Hermione breathed.

Neemey glanced over a shoulder. Tolly was helping House Elves at the end of one of the long counters, a distance away, but close enough to come running should she be needed.

"Tolly told you to answer our questions," Luna reminded.

Neemey considered. "True."

There was a slight shift, somehow. Neemey somehow seemed slightly taller, eyes slightly brighter, and there was something sharp in its gaze.

"I… I am not a House Elf," Neemey said slowly, thoughtfully. "But I am not exactly not not a House Elf."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, trying to figure out what Neemey was indicating with such a word maze of a response. It was Luna, though, who was more accustomed to solving word puzzles (probably courtesy of the Ravenclaw door), who asked the next question.

"Were you always not not a House Elf?" she inquired.

Neemey looked at Luna in slight amusement.

"No," Neemey said. "I used to not be a House Elf."

"And when you were not a House Elf," Luna said, "what were you then?"

There was a gleam of what looked like approval in Neemey's eyes.

"I was a Brownie," Neemey said. Its eyes gleamed unnaturally.

"And," Hermione said, swallowing, "what is a Brownie?"

Neemey's smirk widened.

"A Brownie is a lower faerie," Neemey told them. "Brownies clean houses and dwellings, do domestic work, cook, that sort of thing, in exchange for small offerings left out."

Hermione paused. "How is that different than a House Elf?"

Neemey's eyes glinted.

"House Elves do it for humans," Neemey said. "Brownies work in the courts of Fae."

Hermione barely managed to hold back a gasp.

The Fae?

Neemey's eyes were sharp, almost uncanny, and Hermione exchanged a wide-eyed look with Luna. She knew very little about the Fae, but she knew just enough to be intimidated and wary of anything to do with them.

"So… before you came to Hogwarts," Hermione began, "you worked in… umm… where did you work?"

"In a court of Lesser Fae." Neemey's eyes glittered.

"And why do you work here now?" Luna asked mildly.

Abruptly, Neemey's countenance changed. Instead of slightly mischievous and daring, suddenly the Brownie seemed sharp and deadly, edges honed to sharp glass.

"I was sent away," Neemey hissed. "I do not want to talk about it."

Luna looked startled and taken aback, but Hermione was considering.

"Are you one gender or the other?" she asked, and Neemey gave her a curt look, as if she were stupid.

"No," Neemey said curtly.

"Really?" Luna's eyes brightened. "What are you?"

Neemey shrugged.

"I am neither. I am both." The Brownie shrugged. "Those are human concepts and words. The Fae do not have such things – even lower faeries do not."

Luna looked extremely excited, practically vibrating with excitement. Hermione looked at her quizzically, but Luna just stayed quiet, eyes alight, so Hermione eventually turned back to Neemey.

"Are House Elves… descended from Brownies?" she asked carefully.

Neemey's eyes gleamed.

"Yes," it said. "They are."

"Do House Elves count as fae?" Hermione asked tentatively.

Neemey paused.

"They don't not count as fae," Neemey said finally, "which is often close enough."

Hermione was fascinated with these new discoveries and the knowledge of an actual faerie here, at Hogwarts, that she could talk to. She had so many questions she wanted to ask (though with the glint in Neemey's eyes, she wondered how many she could get through before Neemey lost patience), but the original train of thought that had brought Tolly to introducing them to Neemey abruptly returned to her mind.

"Tolly said you could teach us about 'popping'," Hermione said, watching Neemey. "Is this true?"

Neemey stared at them both for a long moment, before starting to laugh. It was a high laugh that felt cold, though it was clear Neemey was genuinely amused.

"Yes," Neemey said finally, eyes glittering. "I can teach you what you want to know."

Luna had begged off, leaving Hermione in the kitchens alone.

"This is a lot for me already," she admitted. "I really—I really just need to go think alone somewhere for now, Hermione."

Hermione had hugged her slightly and assured her it was fine, before sending her off, glad Luna had gotten whatever answers she needed. Hermione had then turned around and refocused on Neemey, who had taken a seat and was looking at her across the table, eyes gleaming.

"So," Neemey had said, eyes daring, "what do you want to know?"

Talking with Neemey was like a verbal minefield. Hermione quickly realized that any question she asked would be answered truthfully, but not necessarily with complete detail. This led to many follow-up questions as Hermione tried to sus out all the nuances to the nature of popping, without anything being left behind.

"'Popping' is what I would call 'stepping sideways'," Neemey informed Hermione. "If one knows what they are doing, one can step sideways into the other realms and use the Earth's magic to take them where they want to go."

"Why is it easier to 'pop' at Hogwarts?" Hermione pressed, and Neemey shrugged.

"Hogwarts is at a nexus of power," Neemey said. "There is a lot of magic here to step in and out of very easily, all over the grounds."

One of those words tickled Hermione's memory.

"A 'nexus'…?" she said slowly. "Is 'stepping sideways'… is that using the ley lines to travel?"

Neemey's eyes gleamed.

"Clever girl," the Brownie purred. "Yes. 'Stepping sideways' is traveling via ley line and the ambient magic of the world."

Hermione's eyes went wide. The concept of using ley lines to travel…

That could be revolutionary.

Apparition was limited both by the power of the wizard in question and the distance to be traveled. If one could step sideways into a ley line, though… you could go practically anywhere in the world you wanted to go, so long as there was a ley line running through it or nearby. Why, Hermione could 'step sideways' to Fleur's very back yard, if she wanted to!

Why, then, didn't wizards travel like that…?

Hermione bit her lip hard, thinking. Other people knew about ley lines – Fleur had taught her, and they were mentioned in passing as what carried the ambient magic of the world in advanced books. If other people knew about them, they had to know that they could be traveled, and yet they were not.

Her impulsive thought was 'no one else has ever thought of it' and 'no one else has asked the House Elves how they pop'. It was easy to think that such a thing was the case.

But Neemey's eyes were gleaming, and Hermione was wary.

She needed to be careful here, she gathered. Now was not the time to be arrogant – if she had thought of it, it was likely someone else had also thought of it as well.

"If you step into other realms… is that realm the realm of the fae?" Hermione asked. "Is that why House Elves can step in and out of it easily?"

Neemey considered.

"It is not not the realm of the fae," Neemey replied. "House Elves can use it easily because they are descended very directly from fae."

Hermione groaned at the equivocation. Word meanings were so incredibly specific with Neemey, and it was fast becoming frustrating.

"Are the other realms or the ley lines under the domain of the fae?" she asked.

Neemey's eyes glinted. "Yes."

Hermione paused, remembering the time she had 'popped' her coven from one place to another. Luna had said they'd worn faerie stones…

"And what happens," she said slowly, "when a person 'steps sideways' into your realm without a faerie stone to promise them safe passage on their way?"

Neemey's lips curled into a cruel smile.

"They are subjugating themselves to the laws and ways of the realm," Neemey said. The Brownie grinned, and for the first time, Hermione noticed that Neemey's teeth were distinctly sharper-looking than those of the House Elves. "And the laws and ways of the realms of the Fae are very different than the laws and ways of the realms of men."

Muggle fairy tales her mother had read her floated up in Hermione's mind.

"Like trapping them?" she asked. "Or making them dance themselves to death?"

Neemey's eyes glinted.

"Yes," the Brownie said softly. "Like that."

Hermione sat back with a sigh.

"Well, that certainly explains why people don't just hop ley lines across the world," Hermione huffed. "No one's going to count that as a reliable method of travel if they could just get kidnapped at any point."

Neemey's eyes glittered, and something about Neemey's expression made Hermione pause.

"…can people 'stepping sideways' get kidnapped at any point?" she asked.

"They can't not not get kidnapped at any point," Neemey equivocated, and Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"Are there times when a person could travel through the ley lines," Hermione said, "and not get kidnapped?"

Neemey paused. "…yes."

"And what are those times?" Hermione pressed.

"There are certain times when the Fae allow free passage through their realms," Neemey said carefully. "During these times, a person could step sideways through the realms without subjugating themself to the faeries' rule."

"When are those times?" Hermione pushed, and Neemey's eyes gleamed.

"You'll have to be more specific," Neemey said, and Hermione sat back, considering.

If when wasn't specific enough of a question, Hermione mused, then when must not be the right question. It would probably make little sense to pick a time of day that varied over the world, like 'dawn' or 'dusk' or midnight, so… was it certain days that were safe?

She vaguely remembered stories of faeries coming out to ride on certain days of the year. In one story they rode on Beltane and Samhain, if she recalled correctly. But that didn't necessarily mean that humans had safe passage to the fae realms… just that the Fae had safe passage in the human realms.

"Are the times when the Fae allow free passage through their realms specific days of the year?" Hermione asked Neemey, watching closely.

Neemey's lips curled. "Yes."

"Are there four such days in the course of one year?"

Neemey's smirk grew wider. "Yes."

"Is one of them the autumn equinox?" Hermione asked, remembering the feeling of touching the ley line in the hedgewitch village during their ritual. "The day in the autumn when night and day are equal lengths?"

Neemey's eyes glinted. "Yes."

"Is another one the spring equinox?" Hermione pressed.

"Yes," Neemey said, teeth flashing in a sneer.

Hermione bit her lip.

"Are the other two the summer solstice and winter solstice?" she asked. "The day when it's the longest day of the year, and the day when it's the shortest day of the year?"

Neemey's eyes flashed with annoyance. "Yes."

Hermione smiled.

"Is it hard, to 'step sideways'?" Hermione asked. "To go farther than just one part of Hogwarts to another?"

"I could not possibly answer," Neemey said. "It is not difficult for me to do so. I have no idea how difficult a human would find it."

That was fair, Hermione supposed. She grinned to herself.

Well. That just meant she'd have to practice.

Chapter Text

Hermione had been on precisely one formal date with a boy before, and that had been with Cedric over the summer. And it had been much more casual than taking someone to Hogsmeade – it seemed like there were distinct social implications in taking someone on such a date at school. The idea of going on a date publicly, in front of all her peers, was somehow far more nerve-wracking. And Hermione wasn't quite sure what to wear, or how to behave, or what to do for any of it.

As such, she was rifling through her robes and fretting the morning of Halloween, with Tracey offering advice. Crookshanks watched on from her coverlet with a distinctly disgusted air about him – clearly, as a cat, he was above such things as clothes.

"How formal is this?" she despaired. "He's not courting me, but he's made it clear that he would if I wanted, so what am I supposed to wear?"

"Something with a lower neckline for him to enjoy," Tracey suggested, keeping her face entirely neutral, though her eyes were dancing.

Hermione hurled a pillow at her, and Tracey laughed.

"Honestly, you're overthinking it, Hermione," Tracey told her. "Just wear something you look good in. Avoiding the courting label means you don't have to worry about all the drama."

"I still don't want to mess it up," Hermione muttered, embarrassed, and Tracey laughed and teased her as she got ready.

Hermione found herself reflecting on the differences and details this time as she got ready. She was doing her hair, she was putting on a bit of makeup, and she was carefully choosing her robes. There was a weird feeling about all of it, to her – it felt very much like a performance. It was more a question of "what would Hermione wear on a date?" and less of Hermione just actually wearing clothes and happening to go on a date.

It felt somewhat odd. Whenever she'd been sort of seeing Fleur, she'd just worn whatever. She'd chosen to wear some things because she thought Fleur would appreciate them, but there'd always been a bit of a thrill or excitement to it. Even when they'd gone to their fancy dinner, Hermione had dressed her best, but there was no feeling of tension behind it. This felt much more anxious than that. Maybe it was because this date would be in front of all their classmates?

Not for the first time, Hermione wished she had turned Cedric down. It would have been much easier and low-key to just go with all her friends.

"Did I tell you?" Tracey asked. Hermione glanced over, and Tracey hesitated.

"What?" Hermione prompted.

"Well…" Tracey paused. "I'm going with Adrian. You know. To Hogsmeade."

Hermione's eyes widened.

"You didn't tell me that!" she exclaimed. "You've got a date of your own, now?"

Tracey shifted. "I guess."

Hermione paused.

"…you don't look thrilled about it," she said, watching Tracey. "Are you happy about it?"

"I mean, I said yes, so I guess?" Tracey didn't look at Hermione as she fussed with her hair. "It's just – I don't know what he's playing at, really."

"You've been seeing him for ages now, though," Hermione pointed out, finally choosing to wear her amber robes to help boost her confidence. "Surely it only makes sense that he ask you out properly now?"

Tracey made a face.

"We've been snogging for ages, now," she corrected. "It's – that's not really the same as dating someone, is it?"

"It's not like we had any opportunities for proper dates in second year," Hermione said. "This is the first opportunity, really."

"I suppose." Tracey shrugged, and Hermione started to smirk.

"So… you don't even really like him," she guessed. "You just like the snogging."

Tracey's face burned red, but she didn't deny it.

"I just – I don't know him, really," she said. "I know he's an excellent kisser, but that's about it."

"Isn't that the point of dating someone?" Hermione asked. "To get to know them better?"

Tracey considered.

"Is it?" she asked. "Is that the difference between dating and courting? 'Dating' you get to know a person, and 'courting' you figure out if you'd want to marry them?"

"I am not the person to be asking that question," Hermione said dryly. She turned to Tracey. "Should I wear a butterfly?"

"Nah, no need," Tracey dismissed. "You wore one all summer – that's plenty. You could wear other jewelry now if you wanted to, though."

Hermione hummed and turned back to her things. She didn't really have much in the way of jewelry – mostly just butterfly clips, a couple pieces from home, and the light blue pearl set she'd gotten for her birthday.

"What if I don't like him, though?" Tracey despaired. "If I get to know him, and then he turns out to be a total snob, I'm not going to be able to kiss him anymore!"

Hermione laughed.

"Then you dump him," she advised, "and find someone new to snog."

Tracey rolled her eyes. "It's not that easy, Hermione!"

"I bet it is," Hermione teased. "Adrian's probably bragged on your snogging skills to his entire dorm. Just pick one of his mates, and I'm sure any one of them would be happy to fulfill your snogging needs."

Tracey threw the pillow back at Hermione, who caught it and laughed. Tracey grinned at her.

"This is kind of fun," she admitted a moment later. "Getting ready and gossiping like this."

"I'm glad you've got a date too, now," Hermione admitted. "I felt bad for not going with everyone as just friends."

"Oh, it's fine," Tracey dismissed, waving a hand. "Millie's going to go exploring with Hannah Abbot, I think – Susan's got a date too, so Hannah and Millie resolved to link up and go around together."

"Susan?" Hermione was surprised. "That's lovely. Who?"

Tracey hesitated. "...Blaise."

Hermione paused, her hands stopping their movement as she brushed out her robes for a split second. She turned slowly on the spot to look at Tracey, who was determinedly not looking at Hermione.

"Blaise?" she asked. "Susan is going with Blaise?"

"Technically, Blaise asked her out, I think," Tracey said, suddenly very busy doing up her boots. "Susan hadn't been anticipating it, I don't think, but she was amenable enough."

"How did I miss this?" Hermione wanted to know. "When did this happen?"

Tracey shrugged uneasily. "Just before Charms this week. You got there almost late – you got lost the way there on the way from Divination or something, I think."

"Oh." She'd undoubtedly had to Time-Turn to go to Ancient Runes. "I didn't… I missed that happening."

Tracey looked at her. "Well, it happened."

Hermione bit her lip, considering for a long moment.

"Good," she said finally. "That's good."

"It is?" Tracey sounded surprised.

"It is." Hermione voice was firmer. "Blaise will be attentive and charming, and Susan deserves someone who will flirt with her and make her smile."

Tracey's eyebrows rose very high, but she didn't say anything else.

"Do you think the boys are waiting?" she asked, turning back to her dresser. "Or do you think I have time to put on mascara?"

"I think mascara should be fine," Hermione advised, determinedly pushing the Blaise and Susan matter from her mind. "Just so long as you don't put the wand in your eye."

Her words clearly jinxed it; Tracey slipped and stuck herself in the eye, and the next few minutes were spent trying to heal Tracey's eye and reduce the redness while Tracey simultaneously insisted on trying again.

Both Hermione and Tracey had agreed to meet their dates in the Entrance Hall. It seemed to be the place to meet up – there were people milling all over, looking for each other.

"How are we even supposed to find them?" Tracey grumbled. "We're not all as tall as you are."

"They'll have to find us, I think," Hermione said. "I'm pretty sure this is one of those male chivalry things where it would offend their pride if we found them first."

Tracey snickered. "That's true."

They saw Adrian first. He caught sight of Tracey and stopped in his tracks, looking slightly stunned, before making his way over. Hermione watched as he approached, but Adrian hardly noticed her – he only had eyes for Tracey.

"Tracey," he breathed, holding her eyes.

Tracey held her chin up. "Adrian."

Tracey's attitude broke the tension, and Adrian's face cleared into an easy smirk. He turned to Hermione and nodded to her.

"Miss Granger," he said, smirking. "Looking forward to Hogsmeade?"

"Of course," Hermione said, smiling back. "It would be hard not to – we've never been."

"Well, I'll be sure to give your friend here a wonderful time and tour of it all, if you allow me to steal her away from you," Adrian said, putting an arm around Tracey and tugging her closer at the waist. His eyes glinted, and Tracey turned red. "If you would be amenable to such a thing?"

"She's not my mother," Tracey hissed at him, embarrassed, and Hermione laughed.

"Of course," she said, playing along. "Be sure to have her home by suppertime!"

Adrian gave her a jaunty wave as he and Tracey headed for the doors. Tracey was seemingly trying to chastise him for his behavior, while Adrian was clearly ignoring it or laughing it off. Hermione watched them go with amusement.

"He's besotted with her, you know."

Hermione turned quickly to see Blaise at her side, looking after Tracey and Adrian with a smirk.

"When did you sneak up?" Hermione demanded, and Blaise grinned.

"Just now." He nodded after them. "He is besotted though, don't you think?"

Hermione considered, humming.

"I think he likes her a lot more than she likes him," she said finally. "I'm glad she gave him a chance for a proper date instead of just snogging in corners."

"Has she ever been on a proper date before?" Blaise raised an eyebrow.

"I doubt it," Hermione dismissed. "There was nowhere to do so last year, and I don't think she did anything over the summer."

"I think that's the situation for a lot of us," Blaise said, nodding at the crowd. "No one's done it before, so we're all figuring it out."

Hermione followed Blaise's eyes, looking over the crowd. There were lots of students milling about, but the older ones seemed to find their companions more quickly and leave the hall. The third years, however, seemed to be the ones more anxiously hanging about, and there was a distinct air of nervousness to them all. The girls had visibly made more of an effort today – Hermione could tell several of them had undoubtedly spent an uncomfortable night in curling rags to fix their hair up prettily today.

"It seems that way," Hermione agreed. She looked sideways at Blaise. "Is that what you're doing?"

Blaise glanced at her. "Doing what?"

"With Susan?" She cleared her throat. "You're having your first date with Susan?"

Blaise shrugged, a sparkle in his eye.

"I figured I might as well," he said. "I've never been on a date before, so I have no idea what I'm doing, really. Better to figure it out with someone safe like Susan who's not going to mock me if I muck it all up."

"Oh." For some reason, a tension eased in Hermione's throat. "That's… very sensible of you."

"Plus," Blaise said, his eyes glinting, "she's very easy on the eyes, isn't she?"

Hermione choked, her eyes flying up to look at Blaise.

"What?" she demanded, but Blaise's smirk only grew.

"She's easy on the eyes, isn't she?" he murmured. "Come on, Hermione; I know you look too…"

"I—I have no idea what you mean," Hermione said stiffly, holding her head up high, and Blaise laughed lowly.

"You can claim what you want, love, but I know the truth," he teased her. "I won't tell. But admit to yourself – she's fit, isn't she?" He gestured. "Look. She's right there."

Hermione turned. Susan and Cedric were coming towards them, from the staircase that led to the Hufflepuff burrow. Cedric's face lit up when he saw her, and he grinned. Hermione grinned back, before her eyes went to Susan for a moment.

Susan was rather pretty, Hermione supposed. Her face was nice, her hair was shiny, and she'd gained a lot of confidence once she'd started wearing her colored glasses. She'd clearly started growing up, too – Hermione wondered if she wore stays, or if she hadn't gone that far yet. As attractive as she was, though, Hermione was relieved to realize she wasn't attracted to her – the fact that she was attractive was just something about her she noticed, the same as she noticed her hair or eyes.

"She's pretty," Hermione admitted to Blaise quietly. "Just… not quite my type of pretty, I think?"

Blaise's eyes lit in triumph. He opened his mouth to say something, but then Susan and Cedric were upon them.

"Thanks for waiting!" Susan said, bouncing up to them. "Hi!" She grinned at Hermione, breathless, before looking at Blaise. "Thanks."

"Of course," Blaise said smoothly, giving her a teasing bow. "I couldn't just abandon you here, could I?"

Susan laughed, and she stepped up next to Blaise. "You could have, but I wouldn't advise it."

Hermione looked away from them as Cedric stepped up to her. He took her hand, his eyes warm as he looked down at her, and she could feel her face flush.

"You look great, Hermione," he told her. He lifted the back of her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to it.

"Thanks." Hermione was determined not to feel flustered. "Are you ready to go?"

"Not quite…" Cedric tilted his head at her, as if considering something, before snapping his fingers. "I've got it!"

He pulled a blood red rose out from his robes with great panache, as if from nowhere, and Hermione laughed as he transfigured the stem into a comb and put it into her hair.

"Was that supposed to look like wandless magic?" she asked him.

"It was," Cedric said solemnly, his eyes dancing. "Muggle sleight of hand is a lot harder than it looks, incidentally. But it made you laugh."

He stepped back and looked at her, and Hermione grinned up at him.

"Satisfied?" she asked, and Cedric grinned.

"Now, I am," he agreed. "Shall we?"

He offered her his arm, which Hermione took as he led her out the doors into the courtyard.

In the courtyard, there were more people milling about in their cloaks, queueing up to go to the carriages. Draco Malfoy was waiting with Theo, Crabbe, and Goyle when he caught sight of her with Cedric, and his eyes widened to dramatic proportions. He glared at Cedric for a long few moments before grudgingly turning back to Theo, and Hermione hid her smirk - over the summer, Draco had been indignant that Cedric hadn't properly taken her out, so she imagined he couldn't exactly object now, no matter how much he may want to.

Filch was collecting permissions slips as people filed through the queue, his beady eyes glaring as third years came close to hand over their slips. Ron and Neville were saying goodbye to Harry at the side of the courtyard, Harry looking thoroughly miserable but trying to put on a good face for his friends.

"Poor Harry," Hermione murmured.

Cedric glanced over. "He can't come?"

"Professor McGonagall forbid it because of the danger of Sirius Black," Hermione told him. She sighed. "I know it's suspected he's after Harry, but it still seems so unfair."

"She's his Head of House, though." Cedric shrugged. "Her first priority should be keeping him safe, really. If not letting him go to the village is the best way to do that…"

Hermione took a moment to consider if Snape's first priority was keeping his Slytherins safe. Judging from the way he covered for them when they were in trouble, helped them accomplish their sneaky plans, and merely rolled his eyes at some of their more dangerous escapades, she severely doubted it.

"I think Snape more prioritizes helping us achieve our goals without us doing something stupid along the way," Hermione said thoughtfully. "He's never seemed to be overly concerned with safety or risk, just stupidity or outright danger."

Cedric laughed.

"Well, you're Slytherins, aren't you?" he teased. "You're the most ambitious bunch of us all, so that makes sense, that he'd need to temper and guide that ambition. But look at the Gryffindors."

Hermione glanced over as they passed Neville and Ron. "What about them?"

"Well, they're known for bravery and courage, aren't they?" Cedric said. "They go charging off into battle, regardless of the odds or danger. It makes sense that McGonagall would have to try and protect them from themselves so they survive the full seven years here."

Hermione remembered Harry's vehemence to stop Voldemort at the end of their first year, to steal the stone for himself. He and Neville and Ron had been so determined, so stubborn that a bunch of first years needed to save the school and the world, and she found herself smirking.

"That's a fair point," she acknowledged, handing Filch her slip as he glared at her.

"Of course it is," Cedric said, grinning. "Every House is different. Flitwick probably has to help the Ravenclaws remember basic things – to stop reading and studying and remember to eat and sleep from time to time."

Hermione's opinion of Flitwick as a Head of House wasn't the highest, given his treatment (or ignorance) of Luna and Amanda's situations, but she managed a strained laugh.

"Fair enough." She looked up at Cedric. "What does Professor Sprout prioritize for you?"

Cedric looked down at her, a smile playing around his lips.

"Well," he said. "Hufflepuffs are known for our loyalty and patience, aren't we? That and hard work and justice, I suppose."

"I can't imagine her needing to protect you from hard work, though," Hermione teased. "She probably works the hardest of all the teachers, toiling in the greenhouses like she does."

"No, you're right." An amused smile played around his lips.

"What, then?" Hermione prodded.

Cedric's gaze caught hers and held it, and his eyes softened. Hermione found herself somewhat breathless for a moment as he looked at her.

"When a Hufflepuff gives their loyalty to someone, it's very hard to get them to give it up," he murmured. He brushed a piece of her hair behind her ear, tucking it back. "Sprout helps try to make sure we give our loyalty to the right people in the first place, so we don't end up betrayed or with broken hearts."

Hermione's heart thudded hard in her throat. She swallowed. "That's very kind of her."

"It is." Cedric's eyes were still on hers, but his lips tilted up into a slight smile. "Luckily for me, you're one of her favorites, and she was only too excited to hear I was taking you on a date."

Hermione could feel her face burn, and Cedric grinned as he led her to one of the carriages.

Hermione, Cedric, Susan, and Blaise ended up all sharing a carriage into the town, as Susan and Blaise had been trailing right behind them in the line. Susan was excited, and her enthusiasm was contagious, and Hermione found herself brightening up as well.

"Can you imagine, the Shrieking Shack, on today of all days?" she said. "If it's really haunted, today of all days it will be the most haunted, don't you think?"

Hermione was reminded of her parents' comments, of what wizards considered haunted or not, and she smirked. "Today of all days?"

"Well, it's Halloween, isn't it?" Susan said. "Hauntings are practically expected to happen today!"

Hermione laughed, but her laughter was cut off sharply by a chilling gust of cold as their carriage slowed. Her eyes widened, and she sat stock-still in her chair. Susan's eyes caught hers, grim.

"Dementors," she said uneasily. "Hopefully they just need to look in, and we'll be on our way soon…"

One of the horrible, hooded creatures peered into the carriage for a moment, nothing visible under its tattered hood. Hermione found her breath stopping, her eyes wide, as something chilling clutched her center. It felt like her magic was freezing in her body, like she'd never be warm again…

…and finally the carriage began to roll again, the cold slowly seeping back out of her bones. As Hermione gradually warmed back up, her thoughts slowly returning to normal, she found the others looking at her expectantly.

"Sorry," she said. She cleared her throat. "Did someone say something?"

"I asked if you were alright." Cedric looked at her with worry. "Are you okay, Hermione?"

"I—yeah, I'm fine. I just…" Hermione shook her head, grimacing. "I just hate them, you know?"

"They're terrible," Susan agreed, shuddering. "I can't wait until Black is caught and they all go back to Azkaban where they belong."

"At least they're keeping us safe," Cedric said reasonably.

"Are they?" Blaise drawled, raising an eyebrow. Cedric looked surprised.

"Aren't they?" he challenged back, and Blaise raised an eyebrow.

"Well, Black got past the dementors once before, didn't he…?" he said. "What's to say he couldn't do it again?"

Cedric paused at that.

"I'm fairly certain that the Ministry figured out what the security breach at Azkaban was and fixed it," he said finally. "My father said something to that effect. I don't think it was the dementors' fault that he managed to escape."

Blaise's eyebrow merely rose higher, and Hermione could see a mean glint in his eyes.

"I'm glad we won't have to deal with them again for hours," Hermione said determinedly. She turned to Cedric. "We're almost there – where should we go first?"

Cedric looked down at her fondly.

"Well," he said. "Where do you want to go?"

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione said airily. "I've never been. Everywhere, I expect!"

Cedric laughed.

"Well, we might as well go everywhere, then," he said, his eyes sparkling. "You only get to visit Hogsmeade for the first time once."

Chapter Text

After arriving at Hogsmeade, Hermione couldn't help but gasp.

Hogsmeade was a perfect, tiny, picturesque village. It looked so quaint, with sharply-angled roofs and buildings, little thatched cottages all over, and everything looked absolutely lovely. She was glad that the weather had relented for one day for her to see this; even with the gray sky and sun rays barely peeking through the clouds, the village was beautiful.

"It's like a dream," Hermione breathed. "I didn't realize it'd be so pretty."

"They rebuilt after the goblin rebellion here," Cedric told her, giving her a smile. "I think a lot of the architecture was updated, then."

Hogsmeade station stood at one end of the main road, where the Hogwarts Express always dropped them off. They'd always disembarked from the train on the other side of the train, though, facing Hogwarts, and Hermione had never thought to try and glimpse the village in the dark behind her.

The road wound gently through the little village, the main road covered with tiny shops. Hermione looked at them as Cedric walked her down the street, her eyes drinking them in.

"Do the owners live above their shops?" Hermione asked.

"Probably," Cedric said. "There are some other cottages around, off the main road, but I think the main businesses probably have homes in the back of their shops."

The village itself was fairly small. While there were litters of houses behind the main shops and some smaller roads leading off into the residential areas, it really was a very tiny village. Hermione found herself intrigued.

"Can we go look?" she asked. "I want to see."

"Don't you want to get a butterbeer or something?" Cedric asked, surprised.

"We can do that later," Hermione said. "Come on. I want to see the houses."

Amicably, Cedric followed Hermione as she left the main path of Hogsmeade, taking a turn between the Post Office and Dervish and Bangs, down a road behind the shops. She made another turn onto a road of small, sleepy cottages, and she looked at them as she went down the road.

"Is this where adults live after Hogwarts?" Hermione asked Cedric. "They move into a house like this?"

"Some of them, I expect." Cedric looked thoughtful. "There are flats above the shops in Diagon Alley, and I know a lot of new graduates rent out flats there, especially those studying to be Healers at Saint Mungo's." He shrugged. "I think most people eventually move into a house, eventually? I'm not really sure."

"A house?" Hermione looked up at Cedric. "Is your house the 'Diggory House'?"

Cedric gave her a puzzled look. "What?"

"Like… most of my Slytherin classmates, they live in ancestral manors," Hermione said, trying to explain. "Draco Malfoy, he lives in 'Malfoy Manor'. When he's an adult, he'll inherit the entire estate, but I expect all of his extended family will still live there. Millicent's the same – her family has the 'Bullstrode Hold', I think." She looked sideways at Cedric. "So… is your home like that?"

Cedric laughed. "Ah – no, no. Nothing like that." He smiled at her. "It's just a house. A happy little house my parents built to live in with each other."

"And that's more common?" Hermione asked. "I know you live near the Lovegoods and the Weasleys. Do small wizarding areas just kind of spring up around an area? Or is it plotted out in advance by a group of wizards?"

Cedric shook his head, amused. "I have no idea, Hermione. I'm not an urban planner."

Hermione hummed, considering. "I wonder…"

She closed her eyes for a moment, centering herself, before reaching down and out with her magic. She was met with a strong hum and a rush, and she opened her eyes with a grin at the familiar feeling.

"There's a ley line here," Hermione said with satisfaction. "That's why the village sprung up along here. It goes to Hogwarts, I'd bet, but the main road practically follows it."

"A ley line?!" Cedric's head whipped around to stare at her. He looked shocked. "How do you know about ley lines?"

Hermione went wide-eyed, caught off-guard by his reaction. She gave him a puzzled look. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Well… they're…" Cedric looked deeply uncomfortable for the first time. "They're kind of Dark, aren't they?"

"Wait, what?" Hermione blinked. "Are you serious?"

"Ley lines were historically used to power really Dark rituals," Cedric told her uneasily. "That's why… well, no one really uses them anymore except Dark witches and wizards. They don't teach us how to use them purposefully, you know. It limits the amount of Dark magic a person can do, makes it harder for them to go Dark." His brow was furrowed. "Did you not know that?"

"I learned about ley lines from a witch in France when I was on holiday," Hermione told him honestly. "She didn't say anything about them being used for Dark magic!"

"Oh." Cedric relaxed a bit. "Well, I expect they do things a bit differently in France. Maybe they don't have as many, or maybe they're not really a concern." He looked back at Hermione. "While wizards used to use them, it's not really something widely talked about or discussed, you realize," he said, his tone delicate. "It's probably not the best idea to bring up that Hogsmeade runs along a major one. Or that you know how to find them."

"Oh…" Hermione nodded, though she felt kind of uneasy. "I didn't realize that." She paused. "Thanks, Cedric."

"Sure thing." Cedric's smile eased into something warmer and less worried. "It is chilly out. Want to get a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks?"

Hermione felt distinctly uncomfortable about leaving their discussion there, unresolved – ley lines weren't inherently Dark, and she wanted to explain to Cedric what using them was like, how it was only magic, just more of it, but Cedric was clearly uncomfortable with the topic. And it was supposed to be a date…

"You know," she said, taking his hand and squeezing it. "Butterbeer would be great."

Cedric and Hermione took their time getting to the Three Broomsticks, Cedric stopping at shops and showing Hermione around the village on the way there. Hermione was delighted at the quill shop and sweet shop, but she was very cold by the time they finally reached the Three Broomsticks, and the rush of warm air that greeted them when they opened the doors was highly welcome.

The Three Broomsticks was bustling and overly crowded, full to the brim of Hogwarts students all wanting food or butterbeer. Cedric left her in a safer place by the wall away from the crush of people before going to get them drinks, a gesture that Hermione appreciated – she didn't envy him having to elbow his way through everyone to get to the bar.

"Hermione!"

Hermione turned to see Tracey, who had popped up next to her. Her hair was very disheveled, as were her robes, and her eyes were wide.

"Been snogging Adrian?" Hermione teased, and Tracey shot her a look.

"Look, I was going to help you," Tracey said pointedly. "But if you don't want to know the best places to snog someone around the village, by all means…"

"I'm just teasing," Hermione assured her, grinning. "I'm glad you're having fun. Is Adrian here?"

"Fighting to get to get us drinks," Tracey said, waving her hand in the general direction of the bar. "And it's – it's good. It's good, I think. He's—he's not as bad as I was afraid of."

"'As you were afraid of'?" Hermione questioned, and Tracey sighed, slumping up against the wall.

"Well… he's in Slytherin, you know?" Tracey said finally. "And… well. There's the blood thing."

"The blood thing?" Hermione asked.

"You know," Tracey said, annoyed. She nudged Hermione. "I'm a halfblood. And he's a pureblood. And… they can be snooty about that sort of thing."

Hermione blinked.

"Did you really think he wouldn't like you because your Dad's a muggle?" Hermione asked, trying to hold back her shock. "He's been with you for months—"

"He's been snogging me for months," Tracey corrected. "Which was fine. I expected that. And I expect that it's common for purebloods to look for a bit of fun with halfbloods who they don't have to be formal around and court properly." She glanced up at Hermione. "But… that's very different than dating someone properly, you know."

Understanding was slowly dawning on Hermione. "And… you thought he wouldn't want to date you?"

"I finally started wondering if he even knew I was a halfblood," Tracey admitted. "When we were in Dervish and Bangs, I pointed out an enchanted clock and commented how my Dad would love it and find it fascinating. Just so he would realize my Dad's not a wizard, you know."

"And… how did that go?" Hermione asked.

"Fine," Tracey said, frustrated. "That's the thing. He acted like it was totally normal for me to have a muggle parent, like it wasn't a big deal." She tugged at her robes. "But like… he asked how my father met my mother and how he courted her. Like he wasn't sure how muggles would do it and wanted to do it properly."

"But surely that's a good thing?" Hermione questioned. "I mean, if you're dating someone, you don't want to be dating someone who thinks you're not as good as they are because of your blood…"

"I know," Tracey said. "But like – I was expecting it, you know? In Slytherin, the default is being stuck up about blood. But he's not – he's not prejudiced at all, acting like it's completely fine…"

"And…?" Hermione prompted.

"And, now it makes me wonder what he does want from me," Tracey said, frustrated. "Does he want to date me because I'm half-muggle and thinks I'm safer? That I won't put as much pressure on him or something?"

"You wouldn't, though," Hermione pointed out. "You're not a pureblood heiress to demand on being courted."

"Yes, but that's not the point," Tracey said, annoyed. "What if he's looking at me like I'm less of a witch? And he likes that?"

Hermione blinked.

"Less of a witch?" she said, indignant. "Tracey, you're in the top ten of our class!"

"I know!" Tracey burst out. "Once you helped me learn to study, I really am good at magic, you know! But what if he's not looking for that? If he's looking for someone he thinks will be safe and docile and defer to him in things because he's the pureblooded one in the relationship?"

"This is an awful lot to worry about for the first date," Hermione said, gnawing her lip, and Tracey blew air out of her mouth dramatically.

"Well," she said dully. "That's kind of the point, isn't it? To figure out these things and worry about them?"

"Is it?" Hermione asked faintly. "I thought it was just to get to know a person and have fun."

Tracey shot her an exasperated look.

"Well, you can," she said. "You're dating a Hufflepuff. If you wanted to know what Cedric was thinking or his intentions, all you'd have to do is ask him."

Hermione started to smirk. "And you can't do that with Adrian?"

"Of course not!" Tracey looked incredulous. "You can't just ask a Slytherin what their motives are! He's probably got at least three different motives in dating me, and I have to figure them out myself and see if they align with my own motives and goals. Asking him directly would be… it'd just give him another opportunity to manipulate the dialogue to lead me towards whatever he wants as an end result."

"What are your motives, then?" Hermione asked, trying to hide her amusement.

"No idea," Tracey said, annoyed. "I thought it was just 'find a fit guy to snog', but it feels more complicated than that now, you know? Now I'm starting to wonder stuff like 'how would he react if he knew everything dodgy I've ever done?' and such."

"He is a Slytherin, though," Hermione said slowly. "Surely of all people, he's one of the ones who it'd be safe to admit that sort of thing to?"

"He's the only Chaser on the Slytherin team who's never been called on a foul," Tracey said, shrugging helplessly. "I mean, it's not often Slytherin ends up with honorable ones, but it's not unheard of."

Hermione looked at Tracey for a long moment. Tracey blew air up out of her mouth sharply again, fluttering her fringe, before looking up at Hermione.

"What?" she demanded.

"I think," Hermione said, "that you should go snog Adrian some more, and then try and get him to tell you what he wants once he's gotten all hot and bothered."

Tracey rolled her eyes, but she started to snicker.

"Make sure he's too busy thinking with the wrong head?" she asked. She was smirking, but she considered it. "That's… not a bad idea, really. He's a bit of a talker – I bet I could lead the conversation in the direction I wanted."

"Try that, then," Hermione advised. "You're clearly more comfortable when you're snogging him, and it'd be a way to help figure out what he wants."

Tracey gave Hermione a sharp grin.

"On that note," she said, eyes glinting. "Best snogging spots in the village. I was going to tell you."

Hermione turned pink. "I'm sure Cedric knows some of them," she tried to dismiss, but Tracey laughed.

"He might, but what if he doesn't?" she teased. "What if you want to snog him, and you need to take a bit of a lead?" She grinned. "Better to know than not, Hermione…"

"Fine, fine," Hermione said, her eyes catching Cedric, who was finally making his way back over from the bar. "But quickly – he's coming with drinks now."

"Side of or behind the Shrieking Shack," Tracey said immediately. "The alley next to Honeydukes. The reading corner at Tomes and Scrolls, and the promenade around the station. There are a few discreet alleyways down by the Hog's Head, if you venture down that far, and there's a hidden alcove behind Zonko's, too."

"You've discovered all of these already?" Hermione said incredulously, and Tracey's cheeks turned a dark pink.

"Well, I've been busy, and I asked around beforehand," she said, tossing her hair as Cedric returned. "Lovely to see you again, Diggory."

Cedric nodded to her. "Tracey Davis, right?"

Tracey's eyes widened. "You know of me?"

"In passing." Cedric nodded toward the bar. "Pucey was saying he was here with you. And I know you're Hermione's friend."

Tracey looked immediately suspicious of what else Pucey was saying about her, and Hermione had to stifle a laugh as she took her warm butterbeer from Cedric.

"I'll leave you two be," Tracey announced, nodding to herself. She gave Hermione a sly look. "Be sure to enjoy Hogsmeade, Hermione. It's quite the busy place."

Hermione flushed. "Bye, Tracey."

Tracey laughed and pushed off, and Cedric raised an eyebrow at Hermione.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

"Haven't the slightest idea," Hermione said breezily, and Cedric laughed.

"Well," he said, smiling. "Once we're done here, if we're warmed up enough, do you want to venture down to the Shrieking Shack?" His eyes were bright. "They say it is one of the most haunted buildings in Britain."

The cup with butterbeer was warm in her hands, as was Cedric's smile, and Hermione returned it with a warm smile of her own.

"Sure," she agreed. "Why not?"

Chapter Text

The Shrieking Shack was a solitary, boarded-up house partially down a hill. It looked abandoned, and a twisted tree nearby it didn't help lessen its creepy quality.

"The villagers heard screams coming from inside for years," Cedric told her, nudging Hermione. "No one knows who commissioned it. The windows have always been boarded up, and there's no working doors."

"A house with no doors?" Hermione was incredulous. "How would you get in?"

"Maybe it was meant to make sure nothing could get out." Cedric's tone was ominous. "Who knows what screams in there?"

Hermione shivered slightly. "Can we go closer?"

Cedric glanced around.

"We could," he said. "We're not strictly supposed to, but…"

He offered her his hand, and together they made their way down the hill to the Shrieking Shack, which soon loomed high over them.

"This really is a mystery, isn't it?" Hermione exclaimed, circling it. "It looks like someone started building a building, but was utterly determined it not actually be used as a place to live."

"It's the most haunted place in Britain," Cedric said, grinning at her. "I would hope no one would want to live here."

"That's the thing, though, isn't it?" Hermione mused. "We say it's the 'most haunted building in Britain', but we live at a castle that has dozens of ghosts."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what does it mean, to be haunted?" Hermione asked, glancing back at him. "Isn't it a location frequented by ghosts?"

Cedric paused. "Ah… yes…?"

"But yet, we don't consider Hogwarts haunted at all, really," she said. "We just kind of acknowledge the ghosts and move on with our day." She looked at Cedric. "But this building, where we don't know if there are ghosts, this is the building people call haunted." She looked up at the structure, seeing a boarded-up window high up on the second floor. "Why do you think that is?"

Cedric was looking at her rather intently. "I don't know."

"I think it's because there's more to 'haunted' than just ghosts," Hermione mused, tapping her fingers on the creepy structure. "'Haunted' is more about the feeling of unease a place gives you, the feeling of wary uncertainty, or the creepiness or worry or fear, than it is about what's causing that feeling." She turned the corner, but there were no doors on the back of the building either. "Like people say that a person can be 'haunted' by their past, if a memory's feeling never leaves them and stays in their memory." She glanced at Cedric. "What do you think?"

"I think," Cedric said hoarsely, "that your mind is one of the most unique and brightest I've ever seen."

Hermione turned to look back at him sharply. "What?"

"Hermione…"

Cedric was stepping towards her, his hand outstretched, and Hermione felt confused. She'd been talking about a haunted building, and suddenly Cedric looked like he wanted to kiss her.

"You're amazing, you know?" he murmured, his eyes holding hers as he stepped closer. Hermione took half a step back, her shoulders hitting the wall of the Shrieking Shack. "I've been here dozens of times, and never once have I wondered what it means when we call it haunted."

"And me being pedantic about word choice is amazing?" Hermione's throat was dry, managing somewhat of a sarcastic tone, but Cedric only smirked.

"Your mind is amazing," Cedric corrected, brushing back a lock of her hair. "It works in different ways than other people's do. You might be younger than me, but I feel like whenever I'm around you, you open my eyes to parts of the world or magic I've never even considered."

His voice was soft, and his hand on her face was stroking her cheek gently. His eyes were still on hers, and Hermione could feel her heart thudding in her chest. She was abruptly ultra-aware of her body, her shoulders pressed against the wooden slats of the building, and of how alone they really were.

"May I kiss you?" Cedric murmured. "Is that okay, Hermione?"

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "…okay."

Cedric's eyes glowed at hers, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, and Hermione's eyes fluttered shut.

Cedric's kiss was gentle. Hermione could feel his chest up against her body, and he felt very solid and firm. Hermione kissed him back, her eyes shut, giving in to the warm and tingly feelings he evoked in her. Cedric's kiss seemed to change at that, and he pulled back a moment to look at her, his eyes dark, before leaning in to kiss her again, a little harder, a little more fervently.

Hermione kissed him back as best she could, following his lead. Part of her was very aware that Cedric was two years older than her, and he'd probably kissed loads of girls, while Hermione had only really kissed one. It was odd, trying to match his technique, even as a heated feeling coiled in her chest and her middle, and Hermione wondered if she was analyzing it all too much, and how she could get her brain to please shut off so she could just enjoy the kiss.

Cedric pulled back after a time, his face flushed and his eyes dark.

"That…" His voice was low, a murmur. "Wow."

Hermione flushed a dark pink.

"Was that okay…?" she ventured.

Cedric looked at her like she was crazy.

"Was it okay?" he repeated incredulously. "Was it okay?"

"Was it?" Hermione wanted to know, but Cedric was shaking his head in disbelief.

"Hermione," he told her. "I'm on a date with the girl of my dreams, I have the girl of my dreams in my arms, and she's kissing me back more than I dared to ever dream of." His eyes burned against hers. "I would say I'm more than okay, Hermione," he breathed against her lips. "I'm very much more than okay."

"That's good," Hermione said, relaxing a little. She paused. "…Do you want to do it again?"

With a groan, Cedric leaned in and captured her lips again, a little stronger this time, and Hermione wound her hands around his neck to pull him closer, doing her best to kiss him back. It was a little easier this time, now that she knew he liked it and she wasn't worrying if she was doing it right or not. She grew adventurous after a time, daring to nibble on his bottom lip like Fleur had done to her, and Cedric groaned, pushing her into the wall harder with his body and kissing her furiously.

"Don't do that," he growled at her.

"Why not?" Hermione teased, breathless. "You seemed to like it."

"I did like it," Cedric admitted. "A little too much."

Hermione blinked at him. "…isn't that a good thing?"

Cedric groaned. "Witch, you'll be the death of me."

He bent to give her a deep kiss again, before pulling back. "I like you too much to get carried away with you against the wall of the Shrieking Shack, Hermione," he told her. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown out. "But you doing things like that makes it very hard not to."

Hermione looked at Cedric, her lips in an exaggerated pout.

"Does that mean I don't get to try French kissing you yet?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes innocently. "And I was so looking forward to that part."

"Merlin, Hermione…" Cedric groaned. "You just don't know when to stop, do you?"

Hermione went to reply, but then Cedric was kissing her again, his mouth hot against hers, and Hermione realized that she had managed to push him a bit further, and Cedric seemed all too willing to try French kissing with her after all, his tongue tangling with hers as he groaned into her mouth.

It was kind of fun, in a way, Hermione mused, and she could see why Tracey liked this. With Fleur, Hermione had felt swept away and helpless in the kisses, but here, it seemed like Cedric was the one being swept away. Hermione was intrigued and tried different things, nipping his lips, tangling his tongue with hers, and pressing soft kisses up the column of his neck, seeing what responses each one evoked, managing to get a growl and an almost involuntary hip thrust against her when she nibbled on his neck behind his jaw.

"Enchanting witch," Cedric breathed, his eyes hot. "I've wanted to kiss you for so long…"

He kissed her again, heatedly, fiercely, as if he couldn't hold himself back any more – and finally, finally, Hermione was able to let go and feel swept away in his kiss, her eyes closing as she wound a hand through his hair, heatedly kissing him back.

"Did you like it?" Tracey wanted to know afterward, when they were changing in their dormitory, taking off their cloaks and trading outdoor boots for indoor ones. "Don't even deny it – I saw you go to the Shack with him."

"Yes," Hermione admitted, her face red. "It was… it was nice. Fun. Hot," she added, fanning herself. "It was so cold outside, but I ended up feeling so warm and flushed."

"Good snogging does that," Tracey said, nodding. She smirked. "If it's really good snogging, you'll have to change your knickers afterwards."

"Tracey!" Hermione exclaimed, and Tracey laughed.

"He's a good kisser, then?" she prompted, and Hermione considered.

"I mean, I guess so?" she said. "I enjoyed it, and it was clear he did too."

"You'd know if he was a bad kisser," Tracey informed her. "Boys who are bad kissers are much too wet, and they use too much tongue – basically slobbering all over you."

Hermione shuddered. "That's gross."

"It is," Tracey agreed. "Luckily, sounds like your boy has a bit of skill in that area after all." She paused, continuing a moment later, her voice all too casual. "I wonder if Blaise kissed Susan."

Hermione froze where she was, in the middle of changing her robes.

"Do you think he did?" Hermione asked her, her voice carefully neutral as she resumed putting her robes away. "Does he like her that much, do you think?"

"You don't have to fancy a person to snog them, really," Tracey reminded her. "And Susan's pretty. I think he might have."

Hermione wondered how she felt about that. Then she wondered if she should feel anything about that. It was none of her business who Blaise decided to kiss, right? Unless it somehow messed up the dynamic of their coven, it really was none of her business.

"Maybe," Hermione said firmly, dismissing it from her thoughts as she looked through her wardrobe. "Black velvet robes tonight, do you think?"

"Velvet?" Tracey raised an eyebrow. "Just for dinner?"

"Well, I'm going to go see Harry first. I got him all these sweets from Honeydukes, because he couldn't go," Hermione said, pulling out her new robe. "But Theo and some of the others wore velvet for the feast last year. It's Samhain, after all – dramatic velvet seems appropriate."

Tracey's reaction was immediate; she gasped, her eyes going wide before they narrowed to slits.

"It's Halloween, Hermione," Tracey hissed. Her eyes darted around the dormitory, but no one else was there. "No one calls it that anymore."

"The hedgewitches do," Hermione said stubbornly. "And they celebrate traditionally, too – none of this cheesy nonsense. They leap fires and leave offerings—"

"And they can get kidnapped and carried off to the land of the dead," Tracey snapped. "Merlin, Hermione, you were supposed to court the hedgewitches, not become one of them."

"It just makes more sense," Hermione said strenuously. "We're magic. Why are we celebrating muggle holidays, instead of the magical ones?"

"The Old Holidays are ways to do Dark magic," Tracey hissed at her. "The Dark Lord used them to do human sacrifices. The Ministry worked hard to ban celebrations like that after he fell. People really did do Dark magic on those days, Hermione. And the hedgewitches do try and steal magic."

Hermione thought back to the elation of the hedgewitches feeling the ley line magic she'd pulled into them, their reverence and awe. "I wouldn't say they try to steal magic from anybody…"

"We are not discussing this," Tracey said firmly. "We are getting dressed, you are going to go and give Potter his treats, and then we are going to the Halloween feast, where you will behave perfectly normally and not draw any undo attention to anything anyone is eating. Do you understand?"

It was like she was being dressed down by her mother, and Hermione's cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"Yes, Tracey," she muttered insolently. "If you insist."

Blaise hadn't minded talking about the old holidays, though, her mind rebelled as she changed her robes. The hedgewitches still celebrated the old holidays, and there had been nothing Dark about their festival when she had gone in September. But people like Cedric and Tracey (and most people, really) still thought things like holidays and ley lines were Dark, even though they weren't. They weren't.

Hermione couldn't help but feel like one stupid person, Voldemort, had ruined something wonderful for everybody.

Hermione sent word through a Gryffindor first year to ask Harry to come out from the portrait hole. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw her, but it was a happy surprise.

"There's a cushioned window seat a floor up?" he suggested. He paused. "The Weasley Twins are testing something in the Common Room right now, so it's probably best you not go in there."

Hermione laughed. "Okay."

Harry was delighted by her visit, and he looked embarrassed when she not only showered him in sweets, but also new ink and quills for his homework assignments. She'd noticed the quills he used in Arithmancy getting raggedy with the tips chipped, and Harry wasn't the sort to think that he needed to replace his quills.

"So, how was it?" Harry asked. He gave her a melancholy smile. "Was is great?"

Obliging, Hermione told Harry about the village – the crowded nature of the Three Broomsticks, the charming nature of the little town, and thrill of the magical shops and places to go. Harry got a far-off expression on his face as Hermione described her experience, and Hermione wondered if him imagining it was better or worse than not telling him any details at all.

"Were you okay, up here alone at the castle?" Hermione asked him, biting her lip. "You must have felt isolated, with everyone else gone."

"Oh, I was fine," Harry said, waving her concern off. "I found things to do…"

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Harry, disbelieving, but Harry seemed determined to ignore her concern, busying himself with handing her a chocolate frog and unwrapping one of his own too. She unexpectedly pleased to see the card was Nimue – she had several Merlin cards, but she'd yet to find Morgana or Nimue to complete her Arthurian Legend set.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry said in a would-be casual voice. "You know how Snape hates Lupin?"

Hermione glanced up at him. "Yes…?"

"Do you think he would poison him? To get him out of the way?"

…What?

Hermione blinked, considered, and sat up straight, turning to look at Harry directly.

"Why don't you explain exactly what brings this to mind," she said pointedly, "and we'll start there."

Harry flushed lightly but obliged.

"Lupin saw me wandering around the castle and invited me to tea," Harry said. "I think he felt bad for me not being able to go to Hogsmeade with everyone else."

Hermione didn't doubt that. Lupin seemed the kind of person to take pity on Harry.

"He talked to me about classes a bit, and we were talking about dementors when Snape came in," Harry went on. "He gave Lupin a goblet that was smoking."

"Smoking?" Hermione said, surprised.

"Well, the potion inside of it was smoking," Harry amended. "Snape told Lupin he should drink it straightaway, and that there was an entire cauldronful should he need more."

"What did Lupin say?" Hermione asked, curious.

"Well, he said that it was to help him, that he'd been feeling a bit off-color," Harry admitted. "He said that the potion was the only thing that helped, and that it was a tricky potion, and he was lucky Snape was able to make for him."

Hermione blinked.

"And because Snape helped Lupin with whatever condition he has," she said slowly, "you suspect he poisoned him?"

Harry turned red.

"It sounds ridiculous when you put it that way," he muttered.

Hermione grinned.

"I'll say this," she said. "I don't doubt Professor Snape would be willing to poison someone if he thought he truly needed to. But I sincerely doubt he'd do so openly in front of a witness, or that he'd do so in a potion a person was clearly expecting him to deliver."

Harry made a bit of a face.

"It was just so odd, y'know?" he said. "It was smoking, Hermione. The empty goblet was smoking afterward as well…"

"Magic has a lot of odd things, Harry," Hermione chastised, smiling. "That's not reason enough alone to be suspicious."

"What did he even give him, though?" Harry wanted to know. "What kind of magical medicine smokes?"

"No idea," Hermione said, standing up. "But it's certainly something that can be looked up in the library – after the Halloween feast."

Chapter Text

The Great Hall was decorated for Halloween, with hundreds of jack-o-lanterns floating around the hall. Hermione wondered if they used the same candles inside the pumpkins that they did for general meals, and if so, who would have the sorry job of rinsing hundreds of candles free of pumpkin guts after the feast. There was also a cloud of fluttering live bats, as well as flaming orange streamers that twisted and swam across the stormy ceiling like brilliant watersnakes.

Dumbledore had dressed up for Halloween, too – he wore bright orange robes with stark black piping and a matching pointed hat, and there was a little pumpkin embroidered over the breast of his robes.

"Isn't it grand?" Tracey said. She elbowed Hermione sharply. "Isn't the Halloween feast just the best, Hermione?"

"Yes, Tracey," Hermione snapped, rolling her eyes. "Everything is lovely."

Blaise turned to shoot Hermione a quizzical look, clearly hearing the annoyance in her voice, but Hermione shook her head. Here wasn't the place to discuss the matter – especially not right next to Tracey.

The food was delicious, as always. Hermione quietly noted that, again, the House Elves had served the students different food than they'd served the Head table – or at least, they'd served the Slytherins the traditional Samhain dishes. She wondered if they served the same ones to the Gryffindors, who she suspected were less likely to appreciate their meaning.

Tracey kept up a chatty stream of banter with the table, engaging everyone about where they'd gone in Hogsmeade and what they'd done. Nearly everyone had gone to all the same places, but a few people had ventured beyond the usual few stops.

"A hag?" Pansy said shrilly.

"A hag," Theo said, nodding. He grinned at her. "Terrified?"

"Hardly," Pansy sniffed. "I just don't think it's likely that there would be a hag strolling around Hogsmeade in open daylight."

"That's what the Hog's Head is for, though, isn't it?" Draco commented, smirking. "Give all the trash a place to drink so they leave the rest of us alone?"

Hermione was vaguely aware that the Hog's Head was Hagrid's favorite drinking place to haunt in Hogsmeade. He'd won his dragon egg there playing cards, if she recalled correctly.

"What was she eating?" Hermione challenged. "What did she look like?"

Theo's face scrunched up as he tried to remember. As Hermione waited, she realized Theo had changed his robes, too – he was in black velvet robes as well.

"She was short and kind of hunched over. I only knew she was a hag from the warts and gnarled fingers," Theo said. "Her teeth were horrible, too. I don't think she was eating anything, though, really – just drinking ale."

"Could you see her boots on the bar stool?" Hermione asked. "If she was so short?"

Theo's eyes flared in understanding, and he shot Hermione a smirk.

"She didn't wear boots," he informed her. "She was barefoot – with four warty toes on each."

Hermione grinned back at him, before turning to Pansy.

"It was a real hag, then," Hermione told her. She paused. "Kind of an unfortunate omen to see today, really."

"Dark creatures tend to come out more on Halloween," Millie pointed out. "At least she left everyone alone."

As they ate, Hermione's eyes scanned the table, curious.

Theo had changed since the afternoon, also wearing black velvet robes. Hermione suspected it was a deliberate choice – one did not wear velvet to dinner accidentally, not when stains were so much more easily prevented on silk or linen – much like her own choice was. Blaise wasn't wearing black velvet robes, but he too had changed – into a dark, blood-red set of robes that set off his skin dramatically in the candlelight. She wondered if that held meaning, too.

As she looked down the Slytherin table, she saw a few others, a couple of whom she recognized. Peter Selwyn was in black velvet, as were Alexia Rosier and Damon Rowle, to her consternation. The Carrow twins, Hestia and Flora, were both wearing black velvet as well, but that was as far down the table as she could see.

Brilliant, she thought, sitting back with a sigh. Everyone who had wanted to honor Samhain quietly was from a Dark family, except Peter Selwyn, maybe. She didn't really know much about him.

She was surprised to see that many people she might expect to honor the holiday had not – Draco Malfoy, for one, was in the same robes he'd worn to Hogsmeade, as was Daphne Greengrass. Millicent Bulstrode and Marcus Flint were also Sacred 28, but neither of them had worn anything special either. Maybe it wasn't so much pureblood heritage, then, Hermione mused, but traditions passed from family to family.

Still. She wondered.

The feast finished with an entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a bit of formation gliding, complete with Nearly Headless Nick reenacting his own botched beheading. Hermione had laughed and clapped along with the rest, musing to herself at how long they must have practiced to pull off such choreography. Though, she thought with wry amusement, there weren't exactly many demands on the ghosts' time.

After the feast, the Slytherins returned to the dungeons comfortably full and content. No one seemed to want to retire so soon after the feast, and soon an impromptu storytelling circle had popped up around the central fire, older students taking turns telling scary stories they had heard. Hermione joined the circle, sliding in to sit on the armrest of a chair that already had two people squeezed into it.

Scary storytelling in Slytherin was very different than it would be for the rest of the school, Hermione mused. Other houses, she suspected, probably told tales similar to muggle scary stories.

Slytherin's approach was somewhat different.

Or more gory, at least.

"…And after she had been rebuffed three times, she determined that if she could not have him, no one could have him," an older boy said, grinning out wickedly over them all. "Her mind made up, she cast the Killing Curse, and he fell over, dead."

The group of them murmured, shifting.

"But that was not the worst of it," the boy continued, lowering his voice, his eyes glinting. "Determined to have what she wanted, she took him into the lowest dungeons, where it was very cold, and kept him there. There, she used a very Dark spell upon the body, a Priapus charm, and she took what she wanted anyway."

The older students gasped, looks of revulsion on their faces. Hermione made a mental note to look up the charm.

"Soon enough, when a babe began to grow in her belly—"

Hermione had a sudden idea of what the Priapus charm must have done.

"—the witch could tell something was wrong. Instead of feeling a kicking in her womb, there was a scratching sensation, like claws tearing her apart from the inside. When the time came to birth the child, the witch was horrified to feel her womb not pushing her child down and out, but forward, and the child tore its way to freedom through the witch's stomach, even as she screamed and blood poured down her sides."

Not exactly a typical Cesarean section, Hermione mused in cynical amusement, as her classmates gagged and gasped around her.

"When the witch regained enough of her senses about her, she was horrified to see that her daughter, covered in blood, was eating her own afterbirth, having tied off and cut her cord herself. Her daughter's eyes gleamed at her with evil, and the witch promptly fainted, overcome at what she had borne into the world."

"And ever since then," the boy continued, looking over his audience ominously, "there have been hags in the world – evil, twisted creatures who consume human flesh and children, borne of the Dark magic used upon the dead. For in the hag's creation, the witch had used to the dead to create new life, and so hags must constantly consume the dead in order to prolong their own cursed lives."

His last words hung ominously in the air, the firelight flickering behind him.

"Hags can hide in the world without you knowing they're there," he told them, his eyes dark. "A hag could be that witch behind you in line at the sweet shop. A hag could be anyone you pass by in an alleyway. And a hag can sneak into your house while you sleep, creeping up on you, and—"

The common room door opened suddenly, and several of the first years screamed.

"It's a hag!" one girl shrieked.

"I don't want to die!" a boy yelled, trying to flee.

Several others began screaming and crying loudly, and Hermione was immensely amused to see the vaguely confused and disgusted expression quickly forming on Professor Snape's face as he took in the scene around him.

"All students are to spend the night in the Great Hall tonight," he announced loudly, and there was a sudden hush at his words. He glared at them. "You have five minutes to get what you need and be back here promptly. There are to be no questions at this time."

Hermione exchanged a shocked look with Blaise and Millie. Spend the night in the Great Hall?

Snape glowered at them all, who were still standing motionless at his pronouncement.

"What are you waiting for?" he snapped. "Go!"

There was a mad scramble for the dormitories, and Hermione rushed into her room to quickly change herself.

"It's got to be some kind of attack, doesn't it?" Daphne was saying to Pansy, when Hermione got there. "If they're putting everyone in one place, it's so they have fewer places to guard, isn't it?"

"If it is, Dumbledore is going to look bad," Pansy pointed out, smirking. "Third year in a row with the students in danger…"

"Hope it's not a basilisk or troll again," Millie said cynically. "Maybe we'll be lucky and it'll just be an army of Inferi."

Daphne and Pansy shot Millie a disgusted look, and she gave them an oily smile back.

Hermione threw her pajamas on and grabbed her pillow and her wand. She considered taking Tom Riddle's diary with her to drain her magic into, before deciding it wasn't worth the risk. Instead, she took the extra minute to hide it in the trunk with Quirrell's things, healing her hand a moment after it demanded blood of her. If the professors were going to be investigating something and searching the school, it would be catastrophic if they found Riddle's diary.

Snape was gone when they returned; Jade Rince, the Head Girl stood at the doorway instead, her eyes peering out over everyone, her face a mask of stone.

"Is everyone here?" she demanded. "Let's go."

Jade led everyone back up to the Great Hall, where the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs already were. Most of the students looked wide-eyed and confused, but Hermione caught a glimpse of Harry and Neville looking serious and grave, and she quickly made her way over to them. By the time she got there, Susan Bones was there as well, and Hermione realized Blaise had followed her over too.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked Harry, her eyes worriedly scanning his. "What's happening?"

Harry's expression was dark. "They're looking for Sirius Black."

Hermione's jaw fell open. "What?"

"If I might have your attention, please," Dumbledore called out over the hall, as the last of the Ravenclaws finished filing in. "The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle. I'm afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here."

Hermione could see Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick closing the giant doors into the hall. The other teachers were all assembled nearby, looking grave.

"I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the hall, and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately," Dumbledore added, looking at Jade and Percy. Jade looked deadly serious, while Percy looked immensely proud and important, and Hermione was struck at the sharp difference between them.

"Send word with one of the ghosts," Dumbledore instructed them. He paused. "Oh, yes, you'll be needing…"

One casual wave of his wand sent the long house tables flying to the edges of the hall and standing themselves up against the walls; another wave and the floor was covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags.

"Sleep well," said Professor Dumbledore, and Hermione watched as he and the rest of the teachers left the hall, closing the door once more behind them.

Immediately the hall began to buzz excitedly with the Gryffindors telling the rest of the school what had just happened. Hermione dragged Harry and her friends over to a corner to talk, and she was amused to see that Luna had joined them during Dumbledore's little speech – her entire coven was here, now.

"Everyone into their sleeping bags!" shouted Percy. "Come on, now, no more talking! Lights out in ten minutes!"

After they arranged themselves in a little group, Neville and Ron nearby to Harry, the Gryffindors explained what happened.

"The Fat Lady's painting was all torn," Ron said, his eyes serious. "Just shredded, really – no one could find her, so we couldn't get in. Peeves was around, mocking us, and Dumbledore asked him what he'd seen of the attack."

"And it was Black," Harry said, his voice grim. "It was Sirius Black, who had gotten very angry when she wouldn't let him into the common room without the password and attacked her canvas."

"That's mad," Susan breathed, horrified. "Absolutely mad."

"Do you think Black's still in the castle?" Neville worried anxiously.

"Dumbledore obviously thinks he might be," pointed out Ron.

"It's very lucky he picked tonight, you know," Susan said. "The one night you weren't all in the tower…"

"I reckon he's lost track of time, being on the run," said Ron. "Didn't realize it was Halloween. Otherwise he'd have come bursting in here."

Hermione and Blaise exchanged a glance.

"I doubt that," Hermione said slowly. "Black's a Dark wizard, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Ron said. "So?"

"A Dark wizard isn't likely to not know which night is Halloween," Hermione said. She paused. "If anything, he might have broken in because it was Halloween."

"I think you're pronouncing that wrong, Hermione," Luna said, her voice chiming. Hermione shot Luna a pointed look, and Luna gave her an impish grin back.

"What, Halloween?" Ron looked baffled.

Blaise rolled his eyes.

"No, Weasley," Blaise said. He lowered his voice. "She means that tonight is Samhain."

Ron and Harry looked puzzled, but Neville went as white as a sheet, and Susan's eyes widened dramatically.

"Merlin, I'd forgotten," she said, covering her mouth with her hand in shock. "That's right, it is. Do you think that's how he got into the castle?"

"Could be," Blaise said darkly. "It'd make sense, wouldn't it?"

"Excuse me," Ron said crossly, "but what is Samhain?"

"Keep your voice down!" Hermione hushed. She opened her mouth to explain, but Neville beat her to it.

"It's an old, Dark festival," he said, shuddering. "Dark wizards sacrificed animals, and people and used Dark magic on this day. It's said that You-Know-Who celebrated Samhain with his Death Eaters every year, and it was on one of these days that he first raised his army of Inferi."

Ron's eyes were huge.

"And people still celebrate it?" he said. "That's mad."

Hermione was frowning, and she could see Harry notice her frown.

"You think Black used Dark magic he got from a Samhain ritual to break into the castle?" Harry asked.

"Possibly," Blaise said, shrugging. "None of us are Dark magicians – we'd hardly know what's possible, would we?"

Hermione was thinking hard. Barriers between worlds were thinner on magical festival days, and the barrier between the living and the dead was at its thinnest on Samhain. Neemey had said humans could pass through the ley lines on four of the festivals – on the solstices and the equinoxes – and Hermione remembered reading that the Fae rode in the human world on Beltane and Samhain. Did that mean the other four magical holidays of the year, the Fae got free passage through the barriers between the worlds?

Unless Black was part Fae, though, Hermione didn't think that would hugely help him. Unless he knew how to 'pop' and travel by ley line into the school, and the Fae ignored him because they were out riding tonight…

She paused. Could you travel by ley line outside of Hogwarts and go into and through the Hogwarts wards? Or did they block travel as well, and you could only 'pop' around inside the wards?

It was worth finding out.

Or was the barrier between Hogwarts and not-Hogwarts just thinner on this night, too?

"…dementors guarding every single entrance to the grounds," Neville was saying. "They'd have seen him fly in, they'd have seen through a disguise…"

"And Filch knows all the secret passages, so they'll have had them covered too," Ron added.

"The lights are going out now!" Percy shouted. "I want everyone in their sleeping bags and no more talking!"

The candles all went out at once. The only light now came from the silvery ghosts, who were drifting about talking seriously to the prefects, and the enchanted ceiling, which, like the sky outside, was scattered with stars. The whispering quieted significantly, and after a time, Hermione put her head up and glanced around, looking to see who was awake.

Harry's bright green eyes met hers immediately, and Hermione could see Luna's blue eyes looking at her too. A glance confirmed that Blaise and Susan were also awake, looking anticipatory, and Hermione carefully checked to look at Neville and Ron – both of whom were facing the other way and asleep, one of them snoring softly.

Quietly, Hermione slid out of her sleeping bag. She gestured to Blaise to do the same, which he did, to his confusion. The others did the same, and once everyone was out, Hermione silently levitated the sleeping bags over them, giving them a hidden place underneath the sleeping bags to hide and talk, so long as everyone stayed flat and stretched out.

"We have to be quiet," Hermione whispered, as Luna conjured a handful of bluebell flames, "but this should work for now."

Harry was grim.

"Black attacked Gryffindor tower," he said, his voice low. "He was probably going to lie in wait for me to stab me when I slept, maybe to make as a Dark offering for Samhain."

Luna stifled a giggle, and Harry shot her a dark look.

"Samhain isn't like that," Hermione said plaintively, her voice quiet but pained. "He'd have had to make the offering first in order to break in. But listen, please. It's not really a Dark festival."

Susan's eyes met Hermione's, doubtful. "Are you sure?"

"It's not," Hermione stressed. "Listen."

Quietly, Hermione explained to her coven what she'd learned about magical holidays and festivals so far – mainly, how the veils between realms were thinner, and how more ambient magic was about, allowing rituals to harness more power than they could on other days. She pointed out how they'd united as a coven on Beltane, the opposite holiday of Samhain.

"It's the time when the harvest is done, and the earth's bounty goes dormant for the winter," she whispered. "It's a time to honor the dead, who are rumored to visit when the veils are thinnest here, and a time to put things to rest. Sacred fires are put out, then carefully relit, and offerings made to magic. None of it is inherently Dark – it's just a day where particular types of rituals might have more power."

"What kind of rituals?" Harry wanted to know.

Hermione pondered for a moment.

"Rituals of sundering, of breaking bonds," she said quietly. "Anything of destruction, to bring something to an end."

"Like a ritual to break through the wards?" Harry asked.

Blaise laughed softly.

"Potter, if the wards of Hogwarts had fallen," he whispered, eyes gleaming, "you'd have known."

"Black could have done something, though," Susan whispered. "There's no denying that – if his family practiced the Old Ways, he'd have known how to make an offering and harness that power, and he could have used that to break in."

"He could have," Hermione agreed softly. "But that doesn't mean the day itself is inherently bad. Don't get me wrong – Sirius Black could have definitely used today and its power to his advantage – but that doesn't mean everything to do with Samhain is evil or Dark."

Harry looked to Luna.

"Are you worried at all about any of this?" he muttered.

"No," Luna said, smiling faintly.

"Why not?" Harry demanded.

Luna tilted her head, blue eyes unblinking. "It's not time to worry yet."

That was as clear of an answer as they were likely to get from Luna, Hermione figured, but it was still reassuring. If now wasn't the time to worry, presumably, Luna would know when it would be time to panic and freak out.

Hopefully.

"If nothing else, Harry, we all have our rings," Susan reassured him. If your life is in danger, we'll know it, and we'll come to your aid."

Harry looked slightly bolstered by this. "Thanks."

Eventually they put out the flames and carefully crawled back into their sleeping bags, not wanting to risk gossipping for too long and get caught out of bed. Hermione laid awake for a long time, staring up at the sky and the silvery ghosts, wondering.

If Black had broken in purposefully on Samhain, he would have known where everyone was; it wasn't as if you couldn't hear the noise from the feast in Great Hall from the Entrance Hall. And yet, he'd gone up to Gryffindor tower anyway, either to lie in wait for Harry, or for some other reason.

While it could be the former, Luna's utter nonchalance and dismissal of the possibility made Hermione suspect the latter. For some reason, Black had wanted to break into the Gryffindor Tower, independent of where Harry was at the time.

She fell asleep restlessly, the possibilities still turning over and over again in her mind.

Chapter Text

Harry had gossip the next morning – he'd apparently gotten even less sleep than she had, and he'd been able to eavesdrop when Professor Dumbledore returned around 3am, telling Percy and Jade the entire castle had been searched and Black had not been found.

"Snape was suspecting something," Harry told Hermione. "Listen—"

He relayed a conversation Snape had had with Dumbledore, where Snape had indicated he suspected Black may have had inside help from within the castle, and that he had had concerns before the start of term when someone had been appointed. But Dumbledore had shut Snape down firmly, saying he did not believe a single person inside the castle would have helped Black enter it. Snape had seemed to resent Dumbledore's dismissal, apparently, and Harry had noticed.

"That's… interesting," Hermione mused. "The only new teachers are Lupin and Hagrid, and Hagrid's been here forever already."

Harry's eyes widened. "Do you think Lupin knows Black?"

"We'll have to check the yearbooks," Hermione said, shrugging. "Easy enough to find out if they were friends in school. If they were friends after Hogwarts, we're out of luck, but we might get lucky."

To Hermione's irritation, Sirius Black was all the school talked about for days.

More and more ridiculous theories of how he'd slipped by the dementors and infiltrated the school spread as time went on. Hannah Abbot was insisting Black had transfigured himself into a flowering shrub and had entered the castle via Owl Order, while Theo was investigating and trying to figure out if the dementors would have been able to detect Black through Polyjuice Potion. Not that Black would have been able to get Polyjuice Potion, being on the run as he was, Hermione thought to herself, rolling her eyes, but Theo was keen on his theory and researching dementors to try and find out.

The Daily Prophet didn't help matters, either. Perhaps jaded from Dumbledore trying to keep a hush on the basilisk attacks the previous year, multiple people had tipped off the paper, which had immediately published:

SIRIUS BLACK AT HOGWARTS!
Deranged Dark wizard sneaks past Dumbledore's nose!

which was fair, Hermione felt. Sirius Black had sneaked into the castle.

But that wasn't the only story the Daily Prophet had decided to print. They'd also published:

BLACK ATTACKS TREASURED ALUMNA!
Member of Hogwarts staff viciously slashed with knife!

which was about the attack on the Fat Lady. Who was a painting.

Hermione found that headline more than slightly misleading.

They followed that story up with more alarmist headlines:

ARE YOUR CHILDREN SAFE?
Why does Sirius Black want inside Hogwarts, anyway?

which mostly talked about how much Dark wizards hated Harry and Dumbledore, and how because Black had tried for the Gryffindor House Portrait, he probably wanted to murder Harry Potter;

DEMENTORS AND DARK WIZARDS?
Is Sirius Black working with the guards of Azkaban?

the answer to which was unequivocally 'no', but brought up some good points about the inscrutable motivations of the dementors and why they might 'give' the Ministry their loyalty, which were questions Hermione appreciated being brought to light;

MINISTRY AT A TOTAL LOSS; BEGS HELP FROM PUBLIC
How did Black escape Azkaban? How did he break into Hogwarts unseen?

which was patently false, as the Ministry would not ask the average layperson for help catching a highly volatile criminal, but allowed the Daily Prophet to ask readers for their theories, under the guise that they would screen them and then pass on the best ones to the Ministry; and:

HOW BLACK MIGHT HAVE DONE IT
We share your theories on Sirius Black!

which was just pages of completely mental theories submitted by readers, none of which seemed very plausible at all and seemed to do nothing but feed into the Sirius Black fervor that was constantly going around. They'd even gotten an ink artist of some sort to illustrate some of the theories, decorating the two-page spread on the crazy theories with animations of Sirius Black bribing dementors or riding a Disillusioned magic carpet.

The power of the Daily Prophet was noticeable to Hermione. Each time a new article with a new sensationalist headline came out, whispers and worries about Sirius Black would increase again, keeping him on the forefront of everyone's minds. Hermione couldn't help but wonder why the Daily Prophet was so hung up on Sirius Black, even when there weren't any new developments in the hunt for him. Maybe someone working there had a grudge...?

The articles, in addition to alarming the students, also seemed to have an indirect effect on the professors, who were also kept uncomfortably aware and wary of Black and his attempted attack.

As a result, Harry was being watched closely by all the teachers, with Percy Weasley even tailing him at times like a watchdog between classes. Professor McGonagall had tried to stop Harry from Quidditch practice, deeming it too much of a risk, which had been Harry's breaking point. He'd been outraged and pitched a fit, and Professor McGonagall had eventually conceded to let him continue practicing as long as Madam Hooch oversaw practices for the Gryffindor team.

As a result, Harry was in a very bad mood when he met with Hermione after classes on Wednesday.

"At least the library is inside the castle," he groused, "so they can't stop me from coming here."

Hermione rolled her eyes and ignored his attitude.

Harry's bad mood soon fell away as they investigated yearbooks, though. Not only were Lupin and Black from the same year in Hogwarts, but they were from the same year as Harry's father as well – all three of them in Gryffindor.

"They… they were dormmates?" Harry said, eyes wide. "Lupin… Lupin knew my Dad?"

Hermione let him look over pictures in the 7th year yearbook, lingering over photos of his father and mother, who waved up at him, while she discreetly took the previous year's yearbook and paged through that instead.

It was as she'd thought; Black and Lupin had been in the same year in school, and not only that – they'd been in Snape's year as well. Judging from the utter loathing Snape looked at Lupin with, she suspected they hadn't been friends.

If Snape had suspected Lupin of letting Black into the castle, and Snape hated Lupin, that meant Black and Lupin had probably been friends, and Snape had probably hated Black as well. She wondered why – had it been a Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry grown out of control? Or was there some deeper reason at fault?

She had some of her answers, at least. She pointed out that Snape was in the same year to Harry, explaining his suspicion of Lupin's connection to Black, and Harry nodded absently.

"That makes sense, I guess," Harry said, clearly distracted. "Thanks."

He continued to linger over a photo of his mother, posing outside with several classmates, and Hermione left him to his melancholy as she stood back up to research something else that had been on her mental list.

Damocles' Dictionary of Potions was a dry book to read, but an excellent reference for potions in general. It listed every known published potion alphabetically, explaining the potion and its effects. The index was enchanted brilliantly, allowing you to look up potions by ingredient, by effect, or by appearance. Hermione had never managed to read through it in its entirety, but she'd used it several times to look up potions by ingredients for various essays Snape had assigned.

The list of potions that smoked was a short one, and the potions were easily mentally crossed off by Hermione. The Dogsbane Potion and the Noxious Potion made no sense in context, which only left…

"Wolfsbane?" Hermione murmured. She peered closer, reading. "What have we here…?"

Wolfsbane was a very complicated potion that helped to relieve the symptoms of lycanthropy, first created in the past ten years by Damocles Belby, author of the very dictionary she was using. It allowed a werewolf to maintain human control of their mind during the time they were transformed, instead of being turned into a raging violent beast. It also had a unique dosage requirement – one full gobletful each day of the week preceding the full moon.

And when completed correctly, it exuded a faint blue smoke.

It took a moment to retrieve her Astronomy notes from her bag, and Hermione nibbled on a quill as she looked over what she knew.

The first relevant full moon had been on August 31st – Hermione had done a ritual with the full moon that night, so she could recall the date with utter certainty. Lupin had been exhausted and had looked dreadful when she'd shared a train compartment with him the day after on September 1st. It was fairly likely a werewolf would be exhausted after a night of moon madness, Hermione mused, so that was a point in favor of her theory.

The September full moon had fallen over a weekend, so Hermione dismissed it from her mind. There was no evidence to verify anything based on that – it wasn't like she paid strict attention to the staff table at every meal to see who was present or not. But the next full moon caught her eye – Friday, November 5th.

That was in two days.

Hermione bit her lip, considering.

Well, she supposed, she did have DADA first thing on Friday morning. Maybe she'd be able to tell one way or another based on how anxious Lupin looked. The run-up until the full moon was stressful and exhausting for werewolves, the book told her – perhaps she could gather more evidence there.

She quietly excused herself to Harry, who was still absorbed in the yearbooks, and kept her suspicions to herself.

Hermione's suspicions were further supported by the fact that on Friday, Lupin was absent from class. Instead, Professor Snape was substituting, and he began class by informing them that Professor Lupin was ill and that he was filling in. One Ravenclaw asked what Lupin was sick with, and Hermione didn't think she was imaging the curl to Snape's lips as he replied with a sneer.

"Nothing life-threatening," he said, though it looked like he wished it were. "Now, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far…"

Several Ravenclaws began to volunteer such information – they tended to take meticulous notes – but Snape ignored their raised hands.

"You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly overtaxing you – I would expect first years to be able to deal with Red Caps and grindylows. Today we shall discuss..."

He flipped to the back of the book to the very last chapter, which he must know they hadn't covered.

"...werewolves."

Hermione gasped, then quickly muffled herself with her hands. Snape's eyes flew toward her, sharp.

"Problem, Miss Granger?" he asked silkily.

"No, sir," Hermione replied quickly. "I was just caught off-guard. We were due to start hinky-punks—"

"As it so happens, I am teaching this lesson, not you," Snape said in a voice of deadly calm. "Turn to page 394." He looked around the class. "All of you! Now!"

With muttering and curious glances, the students all flipped open their books.

"Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between a werewolf and a true wolf?" said Snape.

Everyone sat in motionless silence; they hadn't gotten this far yet. Hermione kept her hand down as well, unable to believe what she was seeing.

"Anyone?" Snape said. His face made a twisted smile. "Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between—"

"We told you," Padme cut in, "we haven't gotten as far as werewolves yet, we're still on—"

"Silence!" snarled Snape. "Five points from Ravenclaw for interrupting." He sneered out over them. "Well, well, well, I never thought I'd meet a third-year class who wouldn't even recognize a werewolf when they saw one…"

Hermione couldn't help it; she broke into giggles.

Snape was flat out trying to tell them that their DADA teacher was a werewolf. She figured that information would be top secret – it probably was, and maybe Dumbledore had made Snape vow that he couldn't tell anyone directly, but he was clearly doing his damnedest to get Lupin's secret outed anyway. She couldn't believe it, and her incredulous giggles amplified into helpless laughter at the absurdity of it all.

Blaise stared at her in horror, while Snape whirled on her, eyes flashing.

"Miss Granger, is something funny?"

"No, sir," Hermione gasped, trying desperately to stop laughing. "I think—cursed—"

Blaise grabbed her hand tightly under the desk and aimed his wand at her. "Finite Incantantem."

His spell did nothing, but his nails cutting sharply into her hand and the feel of his magic pressing up against hers through their coven bond did, jolting Hermione out of her laughing fit. She managed to look up at Snape apologetically.

"Sorry, sir," she said.

"There is to be no jinxing in this class," Snape snarled at them all. "Fifty points off whomever tries to cast during class again!"

Snape proceeded to lecture them about werewolves and make them take notes from the textbook for the entire class period. The class obeyed in sullen silence; they weren't the type to mouth off to Snape, but Hermione suspected the following Gryffindor and Hufflepuff class was not going to go as smoothly if Snape was covering that lesson block as well.

"You will each write an essay, to be handed in to me, on the ways you recognize and kill werewolves," Snape informed them. "I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. It is time somebody took this class in hand."

The bell rang, and most of the students got up to leave. Hermione ignored the bell.

"Is that what we're supposed to do, sir?" Hermione couldn't help but ask. "Kill them?"

Snape turned to look at Hermione, eyes glittering.

"I beg your pardon?"

"If we recognize a werewolf," she said, "are we supposed to kill them? Regardless of if they're in human or wolf state? Or if they're on a course of treatment to suppress their symptoms?"

Snape's eyes widened and his nostrils flared; Hermione suspected he'd just realized she'd known from the start (or at least suspected) that Lupin was a werewolf. She also suspected he'd assigned the essay as a silent way of further leading the students to the realization that a werewolf was teaching them, not actually as a guide for them to kill their DADA professor.

It was kind of funny to watch the flashes of emotion across Snape's face as he thought on the issue. He knew that she knew Lupin was a werewolf, and he clearly couldn't advocate for the actual murder of a teacher, no matter how much he loathed him.

"You will find, Miss Granger," he said finally, "that werewolves are very dangerous creatures, and they pose a significant threat to society, regardless of the form they are in. As such, though there are very few laws regarding werewolves, they themselves enjoy very few legal protections. Their ability to pass undetected is their strongest defense."

The class was emptying out, and Hermione waited until everyone else had left.

"Might I request to do my essay on a slightly different topic, sir?" she inquired. "Such as on the legislation surrounding werewolves and the dangers they pose to society? And how best to mitigate those dangers?"

Snape's eyebrow rose.

"What makes you so special, Miss Granger?" he sneered. "That you would get a different assignment than the rest of the class?"

Hermione raised her own eyebrows.

"I'm presuming you're hoping the class realizes something in the process of writing said essay, sir," she said. "As I already have come to such a realization, I thought perhaps I could focus on something more actionable instead. Unless you'd like me to do the essay and begin killing werewolves immediately, of course, sir."

She smiled sweetly at him, and Snape's eyes glittered.

"Get out, Miss Granger," he spat. "Just get out."

"Of course, sir. Of course."

Hermione flounced out of the room, hair bouncing behind her.

She didn't have much time before History, but she had a little bit of time, and she made a quick detour to the Owlry, scribbling out a note on one of the stony windowsills with her quill.

Dear Professor Lupin,

I understand you are unwell today; I hope you are feeling better soon.

Professor Snape filled in for you today. He started us on werewolves, despite our explanations that we weren't yet that far in the curriculum. He also assigned a two-roll essay on how to recognize and kill werewolves, to be turned into him on Monday.

Based on this, I wanted to ask if you would cancel the essay so we would not have to do it. It hardly seems fair to have students scramble all weekend to complete a two-roll essay that's not even going to be turned into the instructing professor who is in control of our grades.

And, if I might suggest – if you agree, you might want to send notes to your third-year classes as soon as possible telling them not to do the essay. If you wait until Monday, some of the students are bound to have it done on time.

I hope you feel better, Professor. Though I'm sure you're staying locked up in your rooms so as not to spread your infection, I'm sure with steady potion treatment, you'll be back as strong as ever soon.

Yours truly,

Hermione Granger

She sent the note off with a school owl and dashed back down the stairs to the History classroom. She was late, but Lockhart waved her off, instead continuing his excited explanation of the role of centaurs in magical society throughout history. Blaise raised an eyebrow as she slid into her seat, questioning, but Hermione shook her head slightly, instead taking out her parchment and quill.

It was after Transfiguration at the end of the day that Hermione received an owl response, the owl finding her by chance as she ducked outside to see if it was twilight yet, or if the moon had risen.

Dear Miss Granger,

Thank you for your concerns over my health.

I agree with you; Professor Snape was asked to fill in while I was ill, not completely alter the curriculum, and he is out of bounds. I will cancel the essay; you and your classmates do not have to complete it. I will send word to all my classes he covered today that no homework assigned by Professor Snape need be completed.

I am, indeed, staying locked up in my rooms for the duration of my illness. Professor Dumbledore has been very helpful in gaining Professor Snape's aid in procuring treatment for me. It has been helping, and I suspect I will be hearty and hale once more after the weekend.

At such a time, Miss Granger, I should like to invite you for a cup of tea, if you would be willing.

- Professor R. J. Lupin

Hermione read the scroll and grinned.

It seemed Professor Lupin spoke Slytherin after all.

"What's that?" Blaise wanted to know, seeing the scroll clutched in her hands as she came in to dinner.

"Confirmation from Lupin that we don't have to do Snape's essay," Hermione said promptly. "I pointed out it was grossly unfair for someone not the course's instructor to assign such homework for a grade to be graded by them, and Lupin agreed."

"Hermione, want to get out of homework?" Tracey gasped in mock horror, but Millie laughed.

"I'm with Hermione on this one," Millie said. "I don't want to waste my weekend on an essay that's not even going to be for a proper grade."

"Wonder how annoyed Snape will be that we don't have to do the essay," Blaise remarked. He glanced at Hermione. "Hopefully Lupin won't tell him who went behind his back to appeal."

Hermione bit her lip. "I wonder…"

She looked up at the Head Table as dishes began filling on the tables, carefully taking in the teachers seated above. Lupin was absent, which she had entirely expected, but what she didn't expect was the expression on Dumbledore.

Tonight, there was no twinkle in Dumbledore's eye. Instead, he looked large and forbidding, his eyes sharp and angry. He glanced from time to time down the table at Snape, who was ignoring the Headmaster entirely. Snape looked to be in a furiously bad mood, stabbing his food with a viciousness that was completely uncalled for, and Hermione felt a thin thread of satisfaction curl within her chest.

Honestly, she'd probably had let the essay pass unchallenged if Snape hadn't been rude to her about it all, she mused. If more of her classmates figured out Lupin was a werewolf, what was it to her? It wasn't like she was thrilled with the idea, regardless of if Lupin was on the Wolfsbane potion or not. It would only take one missed dose for possibly horrible consequences in a school full of vulnerable children. She'd approached him as an adult and with proper respect about the essay, but Snape hadn't returned the courtesy, and he hadn't given her a direct answer as to whether or not he actually wanted his colleague murdered.

Hermione helped herself to a roll before pausing abruptly, a new thought suddenly occurring to her.

"What is it?" Blaise asked, sharp as ever, and Hermione's hand slowly withdrew, clutching the roll as her eyes went wide.

"I think I might have blackmailed someone," Hermione said, blinking.

Blaise started snickering. "Without realizing it?"

Hermione gave him a sheepish grin, and Blaise laughed.

"I'll need the full story after dinner, you realize," he told her. "We'll figure out if you've actually gotten yourself involved in a blackmail scheme or not, and where to go from there."

"Have much experience in blackmail, do you?" Hermione teased.

Blaise only grinned. "You might be surprised."

Chapter Text

The next morning, dawn didn't seem to come. The students awoke to a storm roaring overhead, the skies gray and ominous. At breakfast, Marcus Flint was grinning widely, showing off his crooked teeth. Even Keeper Miles Bletchley, still recovering from his Firecrab burns with his arm in a sling, looked relieved, and Draco was grinning outright.

"Glad we don't have to play Quidditch in this weather," Marcus commented, snickering. "Pity for poor Gryffindor and Hufflepuff."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she didn't protest. It wasn't as if she hadn't been the one who had given the Quidditch Captain the idea to ensure Slytherin could swap matches.

Before they all filed down to the stadium, Hermione paused in the Entrance Hall, casting the Impervious Charm on everything she was wearing – wide-brimmed hat, boots, and robes. Harry stopped next to her as she did, eyes wide.

"Can you do that for me, too?" he asked. He winced. "I'm not exactly waterproof."

Hermione did so, casting on his boots, robes, and eyeglasses, but she looked at him for a moment, frowning.

"That'll help you get down there relatively dry," she remarked, "but you'll have to change into your Quidditch robes to play, yeah?"

Harry's eyes dimmed.

"Might want to have one of the older students see if spells can be cast on Quidditch robes without breaking the rules," Hermione advised. "Good luck!"

She rejoined the crowd heading down to the stadium, only to be pulled aside right before she reached the doors. She stumbled, but before she realized what was going on, she was hidden in a nearby alcove behind a tapestry, with Cedric Diggory looking down at her.

"I might drown out there," he told her seriously, though his eyes were sparkling. "I wanted to tell you goodbye."

Hermione laughed despite herself.

"You won't drown," she admonished. "Die of hypothermia, maybe, but not drown."

Cedric grinned at her.

"Kiss me for good luck?" he suggested. Though he was smiling, Hermione could sense a nervousness to him. "It'll help keep me warm while I play."

Was this something people did, Hermione wondered. Did they kiss the people they were dating before Quidditch matches? Or was that the type of thing proper boyfriends and girlfriends did? Were proper boyfriends and girlfriends even a thing here?

She tilted her head at Cedric, smiling as she mused. "Are you sure?"

"That I want you to kiss me?" Cedric said incredulously. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

"Then just remember," she murmured, winding her arms around his neck, "you asked for it."

Hermione suspected Cedric had been expecting a quick kiss on the lips for good luck, not a heated snogging session a few scant feet from the rest of the school as they passed through the doors, but he didn't seem upset at the surprise. When she was done kissing him, Cedric's face was flushed and he was breathing hard, and Hermione gave him her best seductive look.

"Hope that keeps you warm," she teased. "Good luck, Cedric."

She left him in the alcove slightly dazed, and she hurried down with the last of the crowd to the stadium, sliding into her customary spot between Blaise and Tracey. Blaise was busy working with Theo on enchanting a giant umbrella to float over their part of the Slytherin section, while Tracey took one look at Hermione and started smirking.

"Kiss Cedric good luck?" she asked quietly.

"Maybe," Hermione said defensively. "What of it?"

Tracey laughed. "I'm not accusing you, Hermione. Just commenting – I thought you'd be cheering for Potter, to be honest."

"Who says I'm not?" Hermione said, doing her best to flatten her hair.

Tracey raised an eyebrow. "You just wished Cedric good luck…"

"I did," Hermione informed Tracey. "For several minutes. I daresay he might find sitting on a broom a bit uncomfortable for a while, or that he won't be able to focus strictly on the match or the Snitch like Harry will."

Tracey started to laugh.

"Did you do that on purpose?" she asked, grinning. "Sabotage by kissing?"

"No," Hermione said, indignant. "But – after Cedric asked for a kiss, it... came to mind. I couldn't help but think of it and consider the possible outcomes."

"Eternally the Slytherin," Tracey said, nodding approvingly. "Good for you."

Hermione didn't feel quite good about it, but she'd at least confirmed with Cedric that it had been at his request, and what he really wanted her to do.

The Quidditch match was a mess. The winds were whipping around ferociously, with torrents of rain bucketing down on them, thunder rolling in the clouds. It was incredibly hard to see anything going on through the sheets of rain, and despite the bluebell fires the Slytherins had conjured under their enlarged umbrellas, the cold winds were chilling them to the bone.

"I don't care who wins at this point," Tracey moaned. "I just want it to be over."

Draco shuddered. "Glad I'm not playing in this mess."

Oliver Wood called a time out after about an hour; Hermione could dimly see the Gryffindors huddle up on one end of the field, the Hufflepuffs on the other.

"Gryffindor's fifty points up, but they called the time out," Theo observed. "Think Wood has a new strategy?"

"Yeah, maybe 'don't get blown off your broom'," Draco said, his tone sarcastic. "Hufflepuff has the advantage there – Diggory's broader and he's got more body mass, whereas Potter's getting blown about like a helpless bird."

Hermione hated to admit that Draco kind of had a point.

The match resumed, with Harry apparently trying his frantic best to find the Snitch. Cedric was looking for it too, but with less of an urgency than Harry seemed to be feeling. When both Seekers both suddenly took off in one direction, there was almost a visible sigh of relief from the stands – finally, this awful match might be over soon.

As both Seekers raced on, however, the stadium suddenly grew much colder, and at the same time, Hermione felt a sharp pain bite into her finger from her coven ring. Immediately, her eyes darted down to it, and her heart stopped.

It was flashing red.

A panicked look at Blaise confirmed his ring was doing the same thing, and as Hermione went to look for Harry to determine why his life was suddenly in danger, the chill grew even more, and Hermione became aware that at least a hundred dementors had swarmed onto the Quidditch field, their hidden faces in hoods looking up at the players and the stands.

At the same time, she saw Harry's hands slip from his broom, and he began to fall.

Stark, cold despair began to consume Hermione – she couldn't get there in time, she couldn't, she could do nothing – and it was on impulse she seized Blaise's hand in her own, throwing her magic and her power into and through her coven ring as best she could, hoping and praying using their coven bond directly like this would work.

Harry was unconscious, he couldn't do anything, his magic couldn't respond – but hers could.

Hermione's awareness exploded into being around Harry as it burst from his coven ring, and with it, the feeling of her magic connecting her to him snapped int being. She pushed all her air magic through the ring and the coven bond to Harry with all her might, desperately, desperately hoping this would work. She could feel something going on – her magic was catching Harry, diffusing his acceleration – and she finally managed to open her eyes once more.

Harry was no longer falling in a dead drop, she saw to her relief – he was falling more slowly, gliding, now, in large slants across the field and back. He was still clearly unconscious, his body limp, but he was tracing the path of a large feather as he floated gradually downward toward the ground.

Meanwhile, there was pandemonium on the field.

Dumbledore was clearly furious. He was on the Quidditch Pitch, waving his wand at the Dementors, shooting silvery magic at them that made them turn and flee. Other teachers had followed him onto the field their wands out as well, but Dumbledore was shaking, he was so angry. After all the dementors were gone, he seemed to take a moment to collect himself before looking up, doing a double-take at seeing Harry Potter floating back and forth on the breeze.

Hermione figured now was probably a safe time to stop helping Harry.

Gently, she eased up on her magic around Harry, and he began to slowly fall once more.

Dumbledore had his wand up in a flash, and Hermione could feel new magic take ahold of Harry, guiding his descent – a variant of Feather Fall, she'd guess. Reassured, Hermione pulled her magic back through the ring and the coven bond into herself. When she did, becoming more aware of her own surroundings again, Blaise was looking at her with reverent eyes.

"Did you mean to take me along with you?" he murmured.

Hermione blinked, then swallowed hard. "I—I don't know."

"It's okay – I went willingly," Blaise assured her. "Not that my magic could do too much. But we did it – he's safe now. He's okay."

With the dementors gone and the fatal falling stopped, the coven rings had indeed stopped flashing red, and Hermione felt like she could finally breathe again.

"They almost killed him," she said, staring after where the dementors had disappeared to. "They almost killed him," she repeated, anger growing in her voice.

"They did," Blaise quietly agreed. "What are you going to do about it?"

Hermione felt her fury catch fire, determination burning inside.

"I'm going to kill them," she vowed. "Then all their friends can watch on in horror, too."

Chapter Text

Despite her relief at having rescued Harry, Hermione found herself decidedly avoiding him over the next few days. From what Neville had clued her in on, Harry was in a fantastically bad mood. Not only had he lost the match for Gryffindor (to his crushing humiliation), but his Nimbus 2000 had been blown into the Whomping Willow when he'd fallen from it, and the Whomping Willow had taken out its displeasure at being hit in spectacular fashion. And Hermione had seen from experience what the aftermath of a broomstick versus the Whomping Willow looked like once before.

Neville and Ron had taken him the bag of twigs and wooden shards that remained of his broomstick, which was nicer than she would have been. Hermione wasn't about to muck around in the mud during a storm by the Whomping Willow to gather a bunch of broomstick remains; she'd have been callous, told Harry that at least it hadn't been him who'd hit the Whomping Willow, and to get over himself and buy a new blasted broom.

Which was why Hermione was avoiding Harry, really. She understood that he was upset, but she suspected her patience would quickly wear thin.

Draco Malfoy wasn't helping matters, either. He'd taken to doing spirited imitations of Harry falling off of his broom, and he spent much of their next Potions class doing dementor impressions across the dungeon; Ron finally snapped and hurled a crocodile heart at Draco, which hit him full in the face.

Snape had docked 50 points from Gryffindor, but Hermione privately thought it had probably been worth it.

Friday afternoon after classes, Hermione finally approached Harry, who was sitting with Neville and Ron in an old Potions classroom on the bottom floors of the castle. Neville was practicing potion-making, it seemed. Harry and Ron seemed to be there for moral support – neither was offering any input or advice to Neville whatsoever, judging by his anxious wringing of his hands.

"Bloody knight changed the password on the portrait hole again," Ron was complaining. "I can barely keep up with them all!"

"'Buttercup' is better than the old one, 'Matchsticks'," Harry groused. "Seemed like rubbing salt in the wound, you know?"

Hermione glanced over Neville's cauldron and bit her lip.

"Did you dice the blubberwort, or did you cube it?" she asked.

Neville's face paled.

"I knew I'd mixed something up," he bemoaned.

Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile, and Neville sighed, taking his cauldron off the fire and going to the back of the room to dump it out. She hopped up on a desk and settled down across from Harry, who was watching her with sharp eyes.

"Finally come by to say hi, have you?" he said shortly.

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Well, seeing as you never dropped by to thank me for saving your life," she shot back, "I figured I'd swing by and give you the opportunity."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Wait, what?"

"Saving your life," Hermione repeated slowly. "You fell off your broomstick. There are no safety enchantments on the Quidditch pitch. Dumbledore was fighting dementors. Who did you think kept you floating and falling safely so you didn't burst your skull on the ground?"

Harry looked like he'd just been struck. He whirled to look at Ron, who held up his hands sheepishly.

"How was I supposed to know she did anything from the stands?" Ron defended himself. "I told you – Dumbledore shot the silvery stuff at the dementors and then floated you to the hospital wing."

"You implied he caught me from falling!" Harry said.

"Well, I thought he had," Ron shot back.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Your color was flashing in our rings," she informed him. "I grabbed Blaise's hand. We used the coven bond to—" she paused "err—make our magic keep you up and falling more slowly."

Harry nodded, his eyes sharp, and Hermione was glad. She didn't want to mention the elementals in front of Neville and Ron.

"In that case," Harry said, shooting a dirty look at Ron before turning to face Hermione, "thank you, Hermione, for saving my life." He shuddered. "I don't know what would have happened if you didn't."

"You'd probably have been caught at the last second by someone on the staff, but still hit the ground pretty hard, I imagine," Hermione said, shrugging. "Still. Helped you avoid a concussion, at the very least."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, looking exhausted.

"It's those dementors," he said, despairing. "Lupin kept me after class this week – asked about the match and my broomstick – and we got to talking about the dementors."

"Did you?" Hermione prodded. "What did he say about dementors?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. He said—he said that they don't affect me like that because I'm weak or anything, just because I have more horrific stuff in my past than most people."

Hermione blinked. "…wait, you didn't know that?"

"What, you did?" Harry said, surprised.

"I mean, I presumed as much," Hermione said. "Not many people witnessed their parents' murder or survived the killing curse as an infant. Your worst memories, locked away though they might be, are probably worse than most adults'."

Harry looked somewhat revitalized by this.

"Lupin said something similar," Harry said, though he looked cheered that not all of his classmates had apparently thought him weak. "We talked a bit about dementors, and I asked him if there was a way to fight them off – the silvery stuff, like you said he shot at the one on the train. He said there was, and he agreed to teach me how to defend myself against them after the new year – he's got too much work to make up right now from getting sick last week, he said."

"The Patronus Charm," Hermione said, her eyes lighting up. "And he said he'd give you private lessons?"

"You've heard of it?" Harry asked, surprised. "That's—that's the silvery stuff?"

"I might have been doing a bit of research about dementors lately," Hermione admitted. "The Patronus Charm is the only documented defense against dementors. It's terribly advanced."

Harry looked determined.

"If it's the only thing that works, I'm going to learn it, hard spell or not," he said. "I'm not going to let the dementors get to me again."

"Huzzah!" Ron cheered from the sidelines. Harry looked at him, and Ron grinned back. "What? Gryffindor really can't afford to lose another game."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"But private lessons, Harry!" she enthused. "For advanced magic! That's so exciting!" She paused, tilting her head. "Do you think Professor Lupin might be amenable to extending the lesson to other classmates of yours as well?"

"Like a study session?" Harry blinked. "Err—I don't know. He was pretty hard to talk into offering the lessons in the first place—"

"I don't mean the entire Defense class," Hermione said patiently. "I mean, perhaps if there were a small, specific group of students, students you'd taken extracurricular advanced magic classes with before... might he be willing to extend the offer of lessons to such a motivated group?"

"Oh! Oh," Harry said, cottoning on. "Um. I don't know. Maybe? I'd have to ask."

"Please do," Hermione said, pleased. "If they're not to start until after the New Year, we'll have time to work on persuading Lupin if he's not willing."

"'Persuade' him?" Harry started laughing. "Meaning you and Blaise will do some sneaky Slytherin thing and bully him into teaching you as well?"

"I would do nothing of the sort!" Hermione said, highly affronted. She then gave Harry a wicked grin. "Bullying is for amateurs. Proper Slytherins are much more subtle than that."

"I'll ask him early next week," Harry promised with an answering grin.

The stacks of the Hogwarts library did not hold terribly much information about dementors, to Hermione's frustration. They were Dark creatures, they guarded the prison of Azkaban, and they evoked a person's worst memories when they drew near. The Patronus charm was the only thing known to fight them, and… that was about it.

Hermione wondered if further knowledge on Dementors was kept secret on purpose. If there was more unpleasantness widely known about the Ministry's prison guards, it could potentially get very sticky for them very fast.

As such, Hermione went to the one person she thought she could get more information about Dark creatures from easily – who was not a member of the staff.

"What do I know about dementors?" Theo repeated.

"You've been researching them for weeks," Hermione pointed out. "To prove out your Polyjuice Potion theory."

Theo made a face.

"Well, that didn't quite pan out," he said, annoyed. "Turns out dementors affect the core of a person and their memories, not just look for someone by appearance. They'd have been able to sense the memories of a person who didn't match their appearance, and they'd have known. So the Polyjuice theory's a bust."

"Still," Hermione said. "What all did you learn?"

Theo gave her a considering look.

"You know how to research just as well as I do," he commented. "Why didn't you go look them up yourself?"

"You know I did," Hermione said, folding her arms. "Just like I'm sure you have access to other resources than I do when it comes to looking up dangerous and Dark creatures."

Theo shot her a sharp look.

"What of it?" he said dangerously.

"So I'm jealous," Hermione admitted. "I want to know all about Dementors, too. It's not fair you can research it in books that I can't."

Theo looked kind of amused at that.

"Well, I don't know much more than what's generally known," he admitted. "They feed on people's happy memories and good feelings. They infest the darkest, filthiest places and they glory in decay and despair. Kind of makes you wonder why the Ministry decided to use them in the prison system, really."

Hermione nodded. "I figure if dementors have always been around, the Ministry probably had to find some way to appease them. Offering them prisoners is probably the least objectionable food source that wizarding society would accept."

"That's… very cynical," Theo said, considering. "But not entirely incorrect." He made a face. "Still. For as 'good' as the Ministry purports to be, they're rather barbaric with the whole Dementor's Kiss thing."

"I'm sorry?" Hermione said. "The 'Dementor's Kiss'?"

Theo looked surprised. "You don't know about the Dementor's Kiss?"

"Obviously not," Hermione huffed, folding her arms. "What is it?"

Theo smiled grimly.

"It's a horrifying sort of execution that isn't," he said. "Dementors, when they want to destroy someone utterly… they lower their hoods, and they clamp their jaws on the mouth of their victim and suck out their soul."

"They what?" Hermione gasped.

"It's awful," Theo agreed. "You're still alive, of course, so the public sees that the Ministry is still good and great – after all, they didn't kill anyone. You can still survive, but you have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no… nothing. You're just an empty shell, your soul gone forever…"

Hermione was horrified.

"They – they eat their souls?" she hissed. "They—the dementors literally suck out souls—"

"Well, I guess that's what they're trying to do when they feed normally," Theo quipped. "Sucking out happy memories and bits of people and whatnot."

Hermione was nearly apoplectic.

"That's worse than killing them!" she exclaimed. "That's the Darkest thing I've ever heard of in my entire life!"

Theo shot her a strange look. "Worse than killing them?"

"A million times worse!" Hermione shot back. "Think, Theo: what happens when we die?"

Theo rolled his eyes. "Spare me from your—"

"No. Shut up," Hermione snapped. "When you die, you either choose to 'move on', or you become a ghost, right?"

"Right," Theo said wearily.

"And if your soul is sucked up and consumed and is gone," she said, "just what do you think happens to those people when they die?"

Theo stopped.

"…nothing," he said finally. He looked at Hermione, his eyes wide. "There—there'd be nothing. There'd be nothing to move on."

"Exactly," Hermione said firmly. "That's why it's so much worse! With killing someone, at least they get a chance at an afterlife, of still existing in some form or other. But destroying someone's soul – that's the Darkest magic I've ever heard of—"

Hermione abruptly cut herself off, her eyes going very wide.

"I hate to admit it, but I agree with you," Theo said darkly. "The Ministry's really messed up to use the Dementor's Kiss as a form of punishment at all."

Theo was saying something else about the Ministry and their façades, but Hermione wasn't listening. Her blood was pounding in her head, and part of her vision had gone white, her own words ringing in her ears - words that sounded frighteningly similar to other words she'd read a long time ago...

Destroying someone's soul - that's t he Darkest magic I've ever heard of...

Darkest magic I've ever heard of...

Darkest magic ever...

Hermione closed her eyes, counted to ten, and opened them once more.

"I'm sorry, Theo," she said. "If you would excuse me? I find there's something I have to attend to immediately."

"Of course," Theo said. He looked surprised and wary, though Hermione had no idea what expression her face might be making. "…should I prepare to hide a body?"

"Oh, no, but thank you," Hermione said darkly. "If I'm correct, there will be no body left."

Chapter Text

Tom Riddle's diary was generally kept underneath Hermione's pillow or in the drawer of her nightstand with a Keep-Away Jinx on it. She still drained her magic into it frequently before bed, as it worked much faster than trying to levitate furniture to exhaustion, and it was fine, so long as no one else tried to pull Tom Riddle out of it. And this way, with the diary constantly charged, should Hermione have need of Tom, she'd be able to pull him out with a body without lengthy prep work beforehand.

As it was, Hermione did not want to see Tom in the real world right now.

Her hair was sparking as she tore into her dorm room in a flurry of fury, yanking out the diary, grabbing a quill, and poking it sharply into the pages.

Hello Tom, she wrote. Free for a visit?

For you, always, Tom wrote back. Welcome back.

As Hermione's vision changed and she fell topsy-turvy into her own mindscape, Hermione grimly wondered if Tom was prepared for the fury she was about to unleash.

"Tom!" Hermione screeched. "Tom, come out!"

She watched as Tom came out from behind a rock face in the hellish fire of her mindscape. He looked surprised and alarmed.

"What is it?" he asked. "You sound upset, Hermione."

He wasn't wrong; Hermione couldn't remember ever feeling so incensed and furious before in her life.

"Sit down," she snarled at him, indicating the opposite bank of the lava river. Tom hesitated, and Hermione glared. "Sit down."

Warily, Tom did so.

"I have had a revelation," she said, gritting her teeth, "that I am desperately hoping you can disclaim and disprove."

Tom looked at her, holding up his hands in innocence. "I don't know why your ire is directed at me, but I'll help however I can."

Hermione took a very deep breath, closing her eyes and breathing it out. She repeated this several more times, trying to drain enough of her anger so she could think more clearly and find the right words.

"I need to know," she said, "what the ritual to make a horcrux consists of."

Tom froze.

"What?" his voice was incredulous. "Hermione, you can't—that's very Dark magic—"

"The Darkest ritual known to mankind, to be precise," Hermione said succinctly. "The supreme act of evil and the worst of the Dark Arts. So Dark that even Dark Arts texts refuse to describe it – 'of the Horcrux, wickest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction'—"

"You've read Magick Moste Evil?" Tom cut in.

"But what is the worst act of evil, Tom?" Hermione's eyes flashed. "What is the most supreme evil act?"

Tom looked unsettled, but Hermione didn't stop.

"I thought it was killing someone," she said, laughing. "Killing someone! As if instructions on how to kill a person aren't documented in dozens of different ways in dozens of different places! I was so naïve." She shook her head, disbelieving, before looking up at Tom, her eyes slitted. "But it's not just killing someone, is it, Tom?"

Tom watched her with wary eyes.

"I know enough about rituals and ritual structure to know roughly how they work," Hermione said, her voice dark. "I know that for larger rituals that require fundamental changes of nature, a sacrifice is required, of approximately equal nature to what is to be gained." She held up a hand, ticking examples off on her fingers. "I did a conception ritual to force ovulation, and I had to sacrifice a womb of unborn rabbits to do so. I gained Parseltongue, and a snake lost its life so I could speak its language. At the equinox ritual, a village sacrificed their blood so they might feel the earth's life and magic within them."

Her chest felt like it was heaving, so hard was it to breathe evenly and keep her voice straight.

"But what sort of sacrifice, Tom, is appropriate for a ritual to split and store a person's soul?" she said dangerously. "What could possibly come close to the cost for such a Dark ritual, one that not only goes against nature, but trespasses against the very nature of life itself?"

Tom didn't say anything. Hermione glared at him.

"What is it, Tom?" she whispered. "Tell me, or I will destroy you."

Tom looked at her, wordless.

"It's a soul," she whispered. "It's a soul, isn't it?"

Tom just sat and looked at her for a long, long moment. Hermione watched until he finally responded, eyes meeting hers in resignation.

"…yes."

Hermione saw red, and the next thing she knew, she was screaming.

The world was storming around her, her mindscape a furious rage matching her own. The harsh winds of fire picked up, blowing around her in a whirlwind gale, but Hermione scarcely noticed as she screamed her fury, storming around the bank of the river, furious beyond measure as she stamped her boots down.

"I knew it!" she shrieked. "I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! God damn you, Tom! God damn you!"

Tom watched warily from his side of the river, apprehensive. For one impulsive moment, Hermione had the strong urge to cross over to his side and bash his head open against the rocks; but even in her fury, though, she wasn't that stupid – he'd be able to possess her in moments if he got his hands on her here.

"I hoped I was wrong!" she shouted at him. "God, I'm such a fool! I was hoping you'd be horrified, assure me no, it was some other thing that needed sacrificed. But I think I knew," she said, crying and laughing sardonically at the same time. "I think once I heard it could be done, I knew." She looked at him, furious eyes holding his. "I just didn't want it to be true."

Tom looked at her quietly, and Hermione glared at him.

"You're so much worse than I ever realized," she spat. "Murder – somehow, I could forgive you murder. I could understand it, I could rationalize it. But you sacrificed someone's soul to make this horrid thing." She shuddered. "Tom, you sacrificed their soul."

Tom's voice was steady, resigned. "I did."

"Who?" Hermione wanted to know. "Who did you hate so much that you wanted to destroy their soul?" She paused. "Was it your father?"

Tom seemed resigned to answering her questions. Now that she knew the truth, he seemed to affect a neutral veneer of emotionlessness, not reacting strongly to her goading one way or the other.

"I'd already killed my father by then," Tom said flatly. "I killed him and his parents the summer between fifth and sixth year. I had heard of horcruxes at that point, but I didn't know the details yet. I wouldn't have used him anyway, if I had known – a muggle soul might not have worked."

"Then who?" Hermione demanded.

"Cygnus Black," Tom told her.

Hermione blinked.

"Who," she demanded, "is Cygnus Black?"

"Cygnus Black was one of the patriarchs of the Black family, though from a branch family," Tom said. His eyes glittered. "He was grandfather to Walburga Black, who was one of the meanest, most horrid people I've ever known. She was ruthless toward me when I entered Slytherin, the biggest snob and worst blood purist you could ever imagine."

Hermione stared. She wasn't following the logic.

"So you killed her grandfather?" Hermione said, incredulous. "Instead of her?"

"Myrtle had already died," Tom said. "I couldn't have another student death around me. Cygnus was easier – he was Dark, he taught his children cruelty and lies, and it would upset Walburga." His eyes gleamed. "Plus, he was from a Noble and Most Ancient House. If the sacrifice determined the strength of the ritual's result, I wanted to use a wizard with a well-established and powerful bloodline."

"Even though your own birth disproved blood purism and bloodline elitism?" Hermione said pointedly.

Tom inclined his head. "All the same."

Hermione was shaking her head. "I can't believe this. You didn't even know the man. And you destroyed his soul…"

"That made it easier," Tom told her. His eyes were dark. "I did it during the school year, right before winter exams my 6th year, so Walburga would hear the news and fail her tests." He was lost in reflection. "It… it was pain like nothing I've ever known, the feeling of tearing my soul in half as his soul was erased away… pain that I'll never know again, now, despite my plans." He gestured down at himself. "I hardly realized the result of making a horcrux would be this."

Eternal conscious awareness and imprisonment alone in book wasn't an adequate punishment for destroying a soul, in Hermione's opinion, but it was a goods start.

"And Voldemort has made five horcruxes," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Five souls sacrificed, gone forever, so he could live without dying." She looked at Tom suspiciously. "How did Harry end up with a soul fragment in his brain, then? If he still has his soul?"

"You said the curse rebounded on Voldemort," Tom said. "I suspect some small part of his remaining soul was sacrificed, while some small shard latched onto Harry." He paused. "I suspect that the smaller amount of soul one has left to split in half, the lesser the sacrifice to split it would be."

"Oh, so it's okay now because you only have to sacrifice half of someone's soul?" Hermione spat. "What would that even be? Half a ghost wandering around the afterlife, confused and lost…"

"It's just a theory," Tom told her, annoyed. "Voldemort probably sacrificed the entire soul each time he made a horcrux purposefully. He would have no reason not to, having already murdered the people. It's not like he'd want to leave half a ghost lingering around to testify against him."

Hermione looked at Tom steadily.

"This is the most evil thing I have ever heard of, Tom," she said.

"Yes," Tom said. "I'm not surprised."

She looked at him flatly.

"I feel like I'm morally obligated to destroy you, now, you know," she said. "Now that I know the truth."

"And become a destroyer of souls yourself?" Tom said quickly. "That's a bit Darker than the usual eye-for-an-eye form of justice."

"There are things people are morally obligated to fight against," Hermione insisted. "Dark creatures who destroy people's souls are one of those."

"Dark creatures?" Tom leapt on her comment. "Like what?"

Hermione waved a hand. "Like you. Like dementors. They're the reason I figured this out, learning that they literally eat people's souls."

"So you're morally obligated to destroy all dementors?" Tom said. He raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Just how are you going to do that?"

"I haven't figured that out yet," she snapped. "I got distracted by the revelation of what you had done."

"Allow me to assist you, then," Tom said smoothly. "It was wrong and evil to destroy Cygnus' soul, but it is something I did that cannot be undone. Let my penance be helping you to remove all other creatures that destroy souls."

"What, all the dementors and Voldemort?" Hermione said. Her eyes narrowed. "Do you know how to destroy a dementor, Tom?"

"No." Tom's eyes glittered. "But neither do you. I have a few ideas and theories, and you will need help. I daresay that together, we might have one idea bear out into something resembling success."

Hermione glared at him.

"You are trying for a stay of your execution," she accused.

Tom held his hands up, shrugging. "Wouldn't you?"

Hermione bit her lip. She couldn't really fault him there.

The truth was, she had no idea how to destroy a dementor. She figured it had never been done before. If someone had figured out how to destroy the dementors, there wouldn't be any dementors around anymore - a person wouldn't just destroy one dementor.

It was going to take an incredibly complicated ritual to vanquish a dementor, Hermione imagined. She had no idea how to unmake or counter the magic of a dementor, or what dementors were even made of. So that meant she'd have to capture one dementor on its own to examine, in order to figure out what she would need for the ritual...

Her eyes fixed on Tom, who was waiting silently, hands folded.

"...you have a few theories?" she said finally.

Tom's eyes gleamed in triumph, which Hermione determinedly ignored.

"I do," he confirmed.

Hermione scowled.

"Fine," she said, dragging a hand over her face. "You will agree to help me destroy the dementors, and so long as you are helping me, I will keep your diary." Her eyes held his, flinty. "This does not mean that I think you helping me in any way atones for you destroying a man's soul. This does not mean that I won't destroy you afterward." She glared at him. "Don't mistake this for mercy, Tom."

Despite the fierceness of her words, a slow smirk was twitching on Tom's lips, like he was trying to hide any reaction. It was as if a stay of execution was all he wanted, like he was already sure he'd be able to talk her into sparing him again down the line, and then again, and again. It gave Hermione pause, and a vaguely sinking feeling, but what was she to do? If she was really going to destroy all the dementors, she probably would need significant help.

She bit her lip, watching as the boy across the river of lava considered her words, before giving her a deliberate nod, slightly bowing to her.

"Understood, Hermione," Tom said. His eyes glittered. "I agree to your terms."

Chapter Text

CW: Dysphoria

Hermione met Lupin for tea the next weekend in the afternoon at his direct invitation. She took Blaise along with her as her Official Blackmail Advisor, a title he had come up with and a role he was taking great enjoyment in. He was still highly amused that she had managed to send a letter intimating blackmail to a teacher without entirely realizing all of its implications, and Hermione suspected he'd never let her live it down.

"Remember, don't openly acknowledge that you're blackmailing him," Blaise reminded her on the way to his office. "Subtly walking around it is much more unnerving and threatening than blatantly bringing it up."

"I know, Blaise," Hermione said, annoyed, and Blaise laughed.

"I know you know," he said, smirking, "but watch you forget it minutes after we walk through that door."

Hermione shot him a dark look and knocked smartly on the door, waiting for Lupin's call of "Come in!" before pushing open the door.

Lupin's office was very bare compared to the offices of other professors. There was a grindylow in a large tank of water in the corner, and an old, battered bookshelf with a few tomes on it. His desk looked old and scarred, wood scraped in places, and it was telling that his tea set was one from the Hogwarts kitchens, and not one of his own.

"Miss Granger," Lupin said pleasantly, his eyebrows rising. "And Mister Zabini. What an unexpected pleasure."

"I thought I'd bring him along with me," Hermione said casually, pulling over a wooden chair to in front of Lupin's desk. Lupin's expression darkened slightly, while Blaise just smirked.

"Very well," Lupin said, after a moment. "How do you take your tea?"

Lupin poured tea for each of them, and then proceeded to engage them in extremely mundane small talk conversation over the course of ten minutes. He asked them about their classes, which ones they enjoyed and which ones they did not, and he did a fair job of seeming genuinely interested in their answers.

Hermione went off on a tangent at one point explaining about what they were learning in Arithmancy, before she caught herself and flushed. Blaise smirked as she cut herself off with her tea, before lowering her cup back to her saucer and looking to Lupin.

"And what about you, Professor?" she asked. "What has been new with you?"

An expression of faint amusement came to his face.

"Well, you'll be pleased to know that your little letter-writing campaign worked," he told her wryly. "I'm forbidden from demonstrating boggarts in the future in a group setting, only one-on-one with individual students."

"Wait, really?" Hermione sat up straight. "I didn't hear about that!"

"Oh, yes," Lupin said, nodding. "It isn't every day that each member of the Board of Governors gets twenty handwritten letters from upset and distraught students. Two of them were demanding I be sacked for the trauma I put you all through; Dumbledore managed to negotiate safety and privacy stipulations to be followed in the future instead."

"That's excellent!" Hermione beamed at Blaise, who rolled his eyes and smirked. "I mean, a bit too late for us, but good for the future, right?"

"I am very sorry about that," Lupin said, suddenly turning serious. He turned his eyes on Hermione. "I should have listened to you when you raised your concern initially. I fear I vastly underestimated the demons that haunted people your age."

His eyes were piercing, and both Blaise and Hermione took refuge in their teacups, not making eye contact. Lupin continued to look at them intensely, though, and Hermione eventually responded, not wanting to make Blaise have to acknowledge what he'd seen in the boggart.

"To be fair, the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs probably lured you into a false state of security," Hermione offered, managing a quirked smile. "Nuclear war was probably not on your mental list of possibilities."

To her surprise, Lupin groaned, leaning back in his chair.

"Merlin alive, what a nightmare," he said. "Professor Sprout and I had to sit down with the Hufflepuffs one evening and have a very long conversation about why they should not send concerned letters to the International Confederation of Wizards." He made a face. "Professor McGonagall interrupted no less than three daring plots to try and infiltrate muggle military facilities and steal their bombs from her Gryffindors. Stealing bombs!"

Hermione was trying very hard not to laugh.

Lupin shook his head. "Honestly, I was grateful when I got angry and worried letters from Ravenclaw parents. At least I knew how to handle that." He looked up at them, pausing. "I didn't get any angry letters from Slytherin parents, though – just those on the Board of Governors."

"Did you really think Slytherin parents would disapprove?" Blaise asked conversationally. "You spread hatred and fear of muggles, no matter how unintentionally. I should think they'd sooner thank you than be upset with you over the whole thing."

An uncomfortable look crossed Lupin's face, and Hermione opted to change the topic of conversation.

"So!" she said brightly. "I heard you were sick last week. I'm glad you're doing better now, professor."

Both Blaise and Lupin leveled a flat look at her, which had Hermione wincing.

"What?" she said, defensive. "That's a perfectly natural thing—"

Blaise groaned. "What happened to being subtle, Hermione?"

"I didn't say anything! I just expressed that I'm glad—"

"Yes, well." Professor Lupin looked like he was trying very hard to suppress his amusement. "Thank you for your well wishes, Miss Granger. I've been doing much better lately."

Hermione shot Blaise a look, who rolled his eyes and stuffed a biscuit into his mouth instead of bothering to respond.

"But it does bring up an interesting topic," Lupin continued. He raised an eyebrow. "As you may know, my condition is… a reoccurring one. And I'd prefer my medical history not be made public for the school to know."

"Understandable," Hermione said. "It'd really be an excellent way to get lots of angry parents flooding you with owls."

"As such," he said, looking at them both, "I would prefer it if you did not spread word of my condition amongst your peers."

Blaise snorted. "Better check with Snape on that one first."

"Oh, Professor Snape has been spoken to." A dark expression crossed Lupin's face. "Professor Dumbledore had a long conversation with him, including reviewing certain parts of his contract and confidentiality clauses."

Hermione exchanged a look with Blaise as Lupin added, "Thank you for the note on that, by the way."

"You're welcome," Hermione said.

Lupin looked at her blankly, while Hermione looked back at him from over her teacup.

"This is the part where you agree to not share Lupin's medical history if he agrees to do something for you," Blaise said drolly, smirking over his cup.

"Oh! Right," Hermione said, setting down her cup. "I am sure we can keep your medical history quiet, Professor Lupin, if you would be willing to answer some questions for me about your condition. And possibly touch some runes."

Lupin frowned. "…I beg your pardon?"

"I want you to tell me things about your condition," Hermione repeated. "I have a lot of questions, and it's not exactly easy to find someone with your condition willing to discuss the finer details of living with it."

"Why?" Lupin's surprise was plain.

"Does it really matter?" Hermione made a frustrated noise. "I won't tell anyone you're a werewolf if you answer questions about what it's like to be a werewolf for me. That seems fair to me."

"Hermione," Blaise chided.

Hermione gave him a look, which he returned right back. Hermione took a deep breath, calming herself.

"I'm curious about how the wizarding world treats people with your condition in general," she said carefully. "I'm curious about what discrimination you receive, what programs are available to you, and what precautions are generally taken during intense times of illness, et cetera. I'm also curious if you would have a reaction to certain magical objects."

Lupin's eyebrow went up.

"I'm… sure I would be willing to answer some questions," Lupin said cautiously. "Not deeply personal things, but I'm sure I could help with other inquiries in exchange for your discretion."

Hermione smiled. "Excellent."

Hermione received an unexpected note one morning before classes began.

Miss Granger,

There have been recent new developments in the burden you have tasked me with.

Please come to my office at 7pm tonight, sharp.

- Prof. Snape

Hermione blinked.

What burden?

A thought occurred to her suddenly – did that mean he had managed to sell some of the basilisk parts? Was she going to need to negotiate with a buyer?

Hermione felt a thrill of excitement at the thought. It seemed very adult, to be expected to negotiate one's own business contracts. And Snape seemed to have faith in her doing it herself, so much so that he had gone ahead and set up a meeting already.

After classes and dinner, Hermione went back to her dormitory and changed into fancier, more adult-cut robes than the dark green cotton ones she generally preferred to relax in. These ones were a sweeping emerald green velvet, and Hermione carefully smoothed out her hair out until it shone.

When she knocked smartly on Snape's office door at seven o'clock, she was very surprised to see not Professor Snape open the door.

"Professor Vector?" she said, blinking. "What are you doing here?"

"Opening the door." Professor Vector seemed amused. "Come in, Hermione. Follow me."

Somewhat confused, Hermione turned to follow Professor Vector, who closed the office door. Professor Vector led her through an unexpected dark archway in the wall that seemed like it had been hidden behind a set of shelves, and Hermione blinked as she walked through it, black mist briefly clouding her eyes.

On the other side was what looked like a private potions laboratory. It was well-stocked, very clean, and had several potions in the back simmering on small fires – not dissimilar to when she and Theo had made Polyjuice Potion, Hermione mused.

Snape stood at the front of the room, leaning over a cauldron with a long silver stirring rod in his hand. Next to him was Amanda Barrows, who seemed like she was desperately trying to stand still but kept dancing slightly in place excitedly. Upon Professor Vector and Hermione's entrance, both of them looked up.

"Miss Granger," Snape said. "So good of you to join us."

The sarcasm dripped from his tone. Hermione thought it was rather uncalled for, really, when he had been the one to send for her.

"Of course," Hermione said, stepping closer. She looked into the potion Snape was attending. "What's this?"

"Your special potion," Snape said, raising an eyebrow. "Have you forgotten already?"

"It's going to stop me from growing breasts!" Amanda burst out. She beamed in excitement. "I'll have to take it every day, but it'll help me turn into a boy instead of a girl!"

"It will?" Hermione looked to Snape, excited herself. "Really? You did it?"

"Did you think I wouldn't?" Snape sneered. He gave her a grudging look. "Your little forbidden recipe book gave a fair starting point. Professor Vector helped predict the most optimal revisions to the recipe. It was a simple matter of trial and error and adaptation from there."

Hermione grinned at Amanda, who was bouncing in excitement.

"Amanda asked that you come here to help with the next part, Hermione," Professor Vector said. She stood at the far end of the potions bench, watching them all warily as if anticipating an explosion. "We have discussed how this potion will help reverse the… curse's… effects on her, and we have been discussing how best to smoothly transition her from a girl to a boy."

Hermione blinked.

"Umm," she said. "Is there... not... like... a set protocol for this?"

"Most people with Amanda's 'curse'," Professor Vector said dryly, "tend to receive treatment as an adult. Generally after graduation, and far away. This is a new situation."

"Oh." That made sense, in a sad sort of way. "I'll help however I can," Hermione said, meaning it.

"Good." Professor Vector gave Hermione a very direct look. "Amanda's classmates are going to notice things. She will be starting on a course of potion treatment – one to help promote long bones and increase adult height, one to promote testosterone, and an injection every few months."

"An injection?" Hermione was surprised. "I've never heard of an injectable potion before."

"That's because it's not a potion," Snape said curtly. "Professor Vector's calculations determined that it was much safer and easier to simply procure a progestin than try to formulate one via magic."

"A... a 'progestin'?" Hermione repeated, blinking. Snape rolled his eyes.

"We're getting a medication from a muggle chemist that will stop her menses," he snapped.

"Oh!" Hermione said. "Oh. I didn't know you could do that." She looked at Amanda. "That's good, right? That's what you want?"

"Very good," Amada agreed, nodding her head rapidly. "Boys don't get a cycle."

"These potions will cause some apparent physical changes rather quickly," Professor Vector said, folding her arms. "Amanda has asked for your help, Hermione, in explaining this to her classmates."

"Wait, what?" Hermione turned to Amanda, surprised. "Me?"

"Yes," Amanda said, nodding.

"Why?" Hermione was confused. "If you need someone to explain this to everyone, surely your Head of House—"

Amanda's eyes flashed.

"Flitwick didn't notice or care that I was sleeping on the couches," Amanda said flatly. "You noticed. And you did something about it – you helped figure out what was wrong, and you helped me find a solution."

"I'm not a teacher, though," Hermione pointed out. "I'm not an authority figure that people are likely to listen to like a Professor."

"So?" Amanda said cynically. "It's not like students trust the official line the professors give us, anyway. You, though – you can still come with me and tell everyone that my family was cursed, and that you're helping me break the curse. You're New Blood – the Ravenclaws already expect you to pull off groundbreaking magic. It'll be fine."

Hermione caught Professor Vector shoot a quizzical look at Snape, who shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"I… if you're sure that's what you want," Hermione said slowly. "You want me to just announce this to your common room?"

"Yes," Amanda said firmly. "And answer questions, if people have any. You know more about it than me."

Though Amanda probably meant 'explain the Dark curse on me', Hermione took that to mean 'make up stuff about Dark magic as necessary to fill in the holes'. Hermione wasn't exactly comfortable making up details about possible Dark magic, but she knew enough to be able to do so and trick most Ravenclaws, she imagined.

"When?" she asked, looking at Amanda.

Amanda looked at Snape, who scoffed.

"The potion's done," he said. "You can begin the potion course immediately."

"It's up to you," Professor Vector told her gently. "It will take some time for the effects to become evident, so you have time to prepare – decide what you want to be called, buy new clothes, cut your hair."

Amanda bit her lip and nodded.

"Manny," she said. "I want to be called Manny. It's kind of like what my parents call me, but for a boy?"

'Mandy' to 'Manny' was a small adjustment to make, Hermione noted. Hopefully it would be enough to help and be different.

"Short for Emmanuel or Manfred?" Professor Vector asked. "Manny is a nickname."

Amanda looked anxious again.

"Manfred?" she said. "Is that okay? That one sounds more like a boy's name – I've never heard of the other one."

"It's your name," Professor Vector said again, patient. "You get to choose what you want it to be. You can take your time with this, as much time as you need."

But Amanda was nodding already.

"Manfred Barrows," she said, determined. "I like it. That's a strong name. That's a name of a son my father can be proud of."

Hermione's eyes went wide. She'd forgotten that Amanda would need to tell her parents eventually. Should she tell them first? Or present it as a fait accompli later, after it had already been done?

Thinking about it, she was kind of surprised neither Professor Snape nor Professor Vector had seemed to think informing her parents necessary. She wondered if they had had poor homelives as children themselves, or if they simply didn't think it was any of her parents' business.

"Can we do it on Thursday night?" Amanda asked. "That's when the N.E.W.T. class has Astronomy, so a lot of people are still up in the common room Thursday nights."

"Um. That's fine with me," Hermione said.

Amanda turned to Professor Vector.

"Can we get clothes and things on Thursday, then?" she asked. "And—and cut my hair?"

"We can get clothes tomorrow evening, and then cut your hair on Thursday after classes," Professor Vector assured her.

"We'll need to tell all your teachers," Hermione said, realizing. "The last thing we need is—"

"Professor Snape and I will take care of the staff," Professor Vector cut in. She looked at Amanda. "Starting on Friday morning, then, all of your teachers will call you 'Manfred' or 'Manny', and use 'he' and 'him' and 'his' when talking about you."

"Okay." Amanda looked nervous, but she nodded decisively. "Thursday night, then. That's when – that's when I'll become a boy."

Professor Vector looked very much like she wanted to say something, but she held back. Instead, Hermione offered Amanda a smile and opened her arms, and Amanda flew into her arms for a hug.

"Do boys hug girls?" she asked, her face buried in Hermione's robes. "I don't know how to be a boy, really."

"We'll figure it out," Hermione reassured her. "You're smart; you'll catch on quickly. Don't forget – you're meant to be a boy. It'll probably come more naturally to you than being a girl did."

She offered Amanda a smile, who smiled tremulously back.

"And," Hermione said, her eyes sparkling, "I don't know about the hugs, but if you don't tell anyone, I won't either."

Chapter Text

CW: Dysphoria

Though Thursday was days away, Hermione found herself incredibly anxious about her role in helping Amanda 'debut' as Manny to her classmates. This troubled first-year was counting on her, for some reason, and Hermione really didn't want to mess it up.

The Ravenclaws had to buy into it, she thought. If they didn't believe it was a real possibility that Amanda had been cursed, they might mock her even worse than they did now. And Dark curses didn't just come from nowhere.

Hermione brainstormed for a while, thinking. Eventually, she came up with a plan, and she began quietly calling in small favors around the castle.

Professor Lupin taught his first-year students a Dark magic detection spell on Wednesday in class. He faked casting it at an object on Amanda's desk, silently casting an illumination spell instead, and he reacted with confusion and surprise when Amanda 'lit up'. In front of the rest of the class, he asked her if she'd ever been exposed to a Dark spell, murmuring and looking puzzled when she responded 'no', before moving on with his class.

After classes on Wednesday, when Amanda was gone shopping with Professor Vector, Hermione had the Head Girl Jade hurry to the Ravenclaw common room to get Milan before dinner. Milan made sure their secret hushed conversation had her voice rise loudly enough to be overheard on certain phrases - "a Dark what?" and "Hospital Wing?" and "break the curse" - before hurrying after Jade on apparently-urgent prefect business.

Jade and Milan skipped dinner that night to enjoy a private dinner in the Hogwarts Kitchens, but the Ravenclaws didn't need to know that. And Hermione was pleased to hear a buzz of gossip from Tracey that night at the Slytherin table – rumor was, one of the Ravenclaw first years had been cursed with Dark magic.

"Some people are wondering if it was Sirius Black," Tracey told her, "but no one really knows what the curse is."

"If Black were going to curse anyone, it'd be Potter," Blaise pointed out. "Not some random first year."

Tracey shrugged. "I'm only repeating what I heard."

"Not everything Dark is Black's fault," Draco said, annoyed. "First years don't bother to think before they talk."

"I'd rather they blame it on Sirius Black than start suspecting a Slytherin for it," Theo said dryly. "If not him, we'd be the next ones they claim are the culprit."

Draco made a face. "Fair point."

On Thursday, Amanda was back in classes. Any questions she was asked, she was to deny and shake her head at, not answering. If pressed, all she would say was "they're still figuring it out" and refuse to say anything more on the subject, which would add to the tension and drama more.

On Thursday night, Hermione met Amanda, Milan, and Professor Vector at Professor Vector's office. Hermione had worn her fancy green velvet robes again to help her look intimidating, and Milan was looking down at Amanda, looking proud somehow.

"Aman—Manny," Hermione corrected, her eyes wide. "Look at you!"

The first year in front of her grinned widely.

"I look like a boy, don't I?" Eyes sparkled in excitement. "I really do!"

Hermione had to agree.

Male-cut robes were straighter and more tailored in certain places than girls' robes, and the difference was subtle but noticeable. More than that, though, was Amanda's hair. Hermione had noticed that witches tended to wear their hair fairly long back when Tracey had started cutting hers daringly short, but Amanda's was very short. It was clipped short on the back and sides all around and longer on top, looking sort of like how Seamus Finnegan wore his.

They were small differences, really - just a haircut and clothes - but more obvious was the pride in her stance. She stood up straighter, now, determined and less afraid. She looked confident and hopeful in her new more masculine appearance, and Hermione's heart swelled.

"You look so handsome!" Hermione praised, and the first year beamed.

"Professor Vector helped me get my hair cut and find boy robes," Amanda said happily. "She also showed me a place where they have something called 'packers', if I want one someday! I told her I want to try and grow my own first, but it was still neat to see!"

"Yes. Well," Hermione said, holding back laughter. "It's good that you had such a good time."

"I did." Amanda looked up at Professor Vector with something like veneration, and Professor Vector looked down at Amanda fondly.

"Come here," Milan said, smiling. "Let's fix your Ravenclaw tie before we go."

Milan drew Amanda aside, helping her tie her tie in a knot that most of the Ravenclaw boys apparently preferred, and Hermione looked at Professor Vector.

"Is this going to turn out okay?" she asked, keeping her voice low. "I mean - if Amanda's not even telling her parents—"

"You will find, Hermione, that the magical world can both simplify and complicate matters immensely," Professor Vector told her. "Amanda's magic is that of a boy; therefore, she is supposed to be a boy. There is no doubt; there is no psych evaluation; there is no worry of 'what if you're wrong?'. It simply is." She gave Hermione a wry look. "A curse is as good an explanation for it as any. I made a prediction tree for Amanda to help with her decisions and timing - her parents are highly likely to believe the broken curse theory and respond favorably when they see their child happy for the first time in a long time."

"Oh." Hermione let out her breath, somewhat relieved. "That's—that's good. I was worried for her. This is just such a big thing, really."

"Yes," Professor Vector said. "But it is also the right thing."

Amanda came bouncing back over with Milan, the prefect following with a fond smile.

"Milan agreed to make the common room be quiet," Amanda declared. "Then you can talk, Hermione, and they can listen to you."

Hermione once again felt a swell of stress and pressure in her chest. It seemed like Amanda was trusting her far too much with this, when really, Hermione had originally just been nosy about why she hadn't been sleeping in a bed. How had she ended up as an authority on this when she'd only helped the poor first year go to the teachers for help?

"Are you ready?" Professor Vector asked.

Amanda nodded firmly, determined.

"After this, I'll be a boy," she said. "And they will all know it, too."

Professor Vector was giving Amanda a soft look. She gave the first year a hug and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She looked proud of Amanda, somehow, while also kind of melancholy.

"Then the next time I see you, you'll be Manny," she murmured. "The person you were always meant to be."

"Ready to go?" Milan asked.

Amanda brushed out her new robes, straightening up. "Ready."

Milan glanced at Hermione, who straightened her back.

"Ready," Hermione said. "Let's go."

Their entrance into the Ravenclaw tower was remarkedly unremarked upon until Milan blew off several loud bangs from her wand once they reached the center front of the common room area. The common room fell into a sudden silence, everyone turning to look at her, and Milan looked at them all, deadly serious.

"Something has happened to a fellow Ravenclaw that you should know about," she told them. "Please pay attention for just a moment before returning to your activities."

Milan turned to the side, visibly deferring to Hermione, who swallowed hard.

"It has been discovered that one of your classmates was the target of a Dark curse," she told them seriously. "An extremely Dark curse."

The Ravenclaws were all watching her, eyes wide. Hermione tried her best to emulate Snape's serious and forbidding stature as she spoke.

"There are Dark curses that can affect a person's family or bloodline," Hermione said. "This curse was one of these – a bloodline curse."

There was a murmur in the crowd.

"Your classmate, Amanda Barrows, was affected by such a curse," Hermione told them. "Mr. Barrows was cursed a long time ago by a Dark wizard, condemning him to have no heirs and no sons. Amanda was warped by this Dark magic, turning her from a son into a daughter, even though she would have otherwise been born a boy."

Some students from older pureblood families gasped. They must have heard rumors of such old magics, Hermione guessed.

"I am pleased to say that the curse has been mostly broken," Hermione announced. "There are some after-effects that are lingering, as the curse was laid for so long, and the teachers are helping with treatment for these after-effects. In the meantime… it is time for you to meet your classmate, properly, now, for the first time."

She swept the room a curtsy, before gesturing to the first year. "May I present to you now, Manfred Barrows, also known as Manny - heir to the Barrows family, and your new male classmate and friend."

There were gasps around the room as Manny stepped forward, giving the room a very formal bow. "Pleased to meet you all."

Hermione wasn't sure what she expected – skepticism and confused questions, maybe. She'd imagined an interrogative question and answer session to occur, where the Ravenclaws tested the veracity of her statements with pointed queries while she scrambled for reasons and excuses whilst trying not to sweat. General confusion and disbelief was another outcome she'd vaguely expected. She wasn't expecting the first year Ravenclaw girls to suddenly swarm Manny, tears in their eyes, while the rest of the common room broke into the buzz of conversation.

"Merlin, I'm so sorry, Manny!" one of the girls said, anguished. "We—we were so mean to you! We didn't know. And all this time—"

"We were so cruel," another one said. "We didn't know. But it all makes sense, now – of course you couldn't get up the stairs—"

Thank goodness for the gullibility of first years, Hermione thought with relief. They took everything at face value.

Manny looked slightly overwhelmed by all the sudden attention. Hermione watched the interaction with a cynical eye, wondering if the Ravenclaw girls were genuinely repentant, or hedging their bets because Manny was a moderately attractive boy, now. The first year Ravenclaw boys were drifting closer now, wide-eyed.

"That's why we have an extra bed," one of them said. "It's yours, Manny. Hogwarts must have known it was supposed to be yours."

"Is your trunk still around here?" another boy said. He offered Manny a sheepish grin. "We can help you carry up your stuff and get you set up."

Manny offered a small smile back to his new dormmates.

"That'd be nice," he said. "Thanks."

Hermione watched Manny go off with the first years, all of them asking him animatedly about what it had been like to be subject to a Dark curse. Hermione saw her own classmates approaching her as the area cleared; Milan had gone off to talk to her peers and the older students, keeping a serious expression on her face as she did so, but the third years looked curious and were looking to her.

"A Dark curse?" Terry Boot asked, his voice grave. "How did you get involved in it, Hermione?"

Hermione cleared her throat.

"I helped find it," she said. "Don't spread it around – but I had to use magic – raw magic – to root it out and determine just what it was."

"Are you serious?" Anthony breathed. "That's so messed up."

"Dark magic is messed up," Hermione said, shrugging. "It's a real curse, though – when the professors were working to break it, I saw the book they found with the curse originally in it. It's really twisted and Dark."

"All this time…" Mandy Brocklehurst looked like she might cry. "All this time… I can't even imagine what horror it would have been to look like a boy and know I was supposed to be a girl inside."

"That wasn't the curse, though," Michael Corner said, somewhat nastily. "It was vice-versa. He was always supposed to be a boy, not a girl."

"It can be done both ways," Hermione said mildly. "Manny was cursed to be a girl when his magic was a boy's. Another person could have been cursed with the reverse – condemned to be a boy when their magic was a girl's."

Michael turned to look at her sharply, but Terry's eyes widened.

"Really?" he said. "That has interesting implications. Eliminating male heirs – that's fairly obvious and standard, isn't it? – but purposefully wiping out daughters from a line… that's potentially a very powerful way to get rid of a natural magic a family has talent in, isn't it?"

"Like Seeing."

Hermione whirled around to look at Luna Lovegood, who had appeared as if from nowhere at her side. Hermione glared at her, but Terry was nodding.

"Yes, exactly," he said. "Seers are much more common in the women of a line then the men. To make sure a family never bore any daughters – you'd essentially be cutting your rival off from access to their rightful family magic."

"These are very Dark curses," Hermione warned. "Discussing the theory is fine, but realize that you are talking about very Dark stuff."

Terry looked insulted. "I know! I was just—it's interesting to consider—"

"But you broke the curse?" Michael Corner wanted to know. "You broke the curse, so now Amanda's 'Manny' instead?"

"There are a few lingering effects that we're working on, but yes," Hermione said. "Long-term exposure to Dark magic, especially in one's blood, can cause a few rare difficulties with a person's body and magic. Manny is taking a course of potions to help treat the lingering effects of all this, but the core of the curse has effectively been broken."

"You knew," Anthony breathed. His eyes were wide as he realized. "You knew. I saw you with Ama—with Manny one night, making him try to go up the stairs. I saw you check the boys' dorm. You knew he was supposed to be a boy."

Hermione fidgeted.

"I suspected," she corrected. "We had to figure out what was wrong and get teacher support before a counter-curse could be found and used."

"Is this common?" Michael Corner wanted to know. "I thought Dark magic died out with You-Know-Who!"

"Not all of his followers were jailed, though," Hermione said darkly. "And who knows what terrible things he taught them in the time he was alive?"

There was an ominous silence at that as the Ravenclaws looked at each other, wide-eyed.

"I'd appreciate it if a few of you could help Manny out, though," Hermione said, turning to her male classmates. "Manny's kind of a mess psychologically from all this, as you can imagine. He's not sure quite how to behave as a boy. If one of you can help him…"

Anthony and Terry were nodding, but to her surprise, it was Michael Corner who spoke up.

"Of course," he said firmly. "We can help provide an example and teach him the small things, how to walk, how to chat with other guys. And we can help get him prepared to grow up, really – like his father will have never taught him how to shave, that sort of thing."

"We haven't told Manny's family about any of this yet," Hermione warned them. "It will be a shock. I think the decision was to wait until after Manny's settled in here for a while as a boy and is more comfortable, and then to have his parents come up and introduce them properly to their son."

"A wise decision." Terry was nodding. "Much easier to immediately replace the loss of a daughter with a new son to look at and behold, really. Manny has two younger sisters too, doesn't he? I imagine that'll make it easier."

The Ravenclaws discussed the Dark bloodline curse for a while more. Hermione had to deflect and defer several inquiries into how it had been broken, claiming she really wasn't supposed to talk it in detail.

"The professors did the specific counter-curse parts, while I just sort of held the curse separate from Manny's magic, if that makes sense," Hermione said. "My magic – I could feel that Manny's was tainted and not quite right, and I was able to separate it out while they did the counter-curse to destroy it…"

By the time Hermione was ready to leave, Manny had come back down from the boys' dorm, looking shaken but excited. The boys were talking to him rapidly, and they immediately dragged him over to their game of Exploding Snap. Hermione met his eyes and gave him a small wave, and Manny waved back with a wide grin.

When she left the tower, Luna walked with Hermione down one of the staircases, pensive.

"This might change things, you know," she said. "No one knew that Dark curses like that were possible. When word gets out, other people might suspect they're under a similar curse."

Hermione looked at Luna sideways, but she shook her head.

"Oh, no, not me," she said. "I figured out my—I'm fine. But other people, you know."

Hermione took a deep breath and blew it out.

"Well, I guess we help them 'break their curse' too, don't we?" she said, shrugging. "Better to help people become the people they were meant to be than keep them trapped in the wrong little box, right?"

Luna gave Hermione an exasperated but fond smile.

"For a Slytherin, you're remarkably idealistic, Hermione," she said. She laughed. "Let's hope it all turns out that way."

Chapter Text

The next day, the revelation of Manny's curse reverberated through the school. Students were gossiping and buzzing about it all day, especially during lunch – the first-year Gryffindors had been caught entirely off-guard by Professor Sprout calling out 'Manfred Barrows' during attendance without so much a flicker of her eye.

"And you helped?" Pansy demanded again. "How did you help?"

"She helped feel out the Dark magic and hold it separate, Pansy," Tracey snapped back. "I already said that."

Hermione was toying with her sandwich, somewhat uncomfortable. Her classmates were much more likely to be able to catch her in a lie than the Ravenclaws.

"What, she can just feel out Dark magic?" Pansy sniffed.

"Why, can't you?" Tracey asked sweetly.

Pansy scowled. "I don't buy it."

Hermione shrugged. "Then don't. I helped Manny with his Dark magic issue because he was bloodline-cursed. It's not like I'm going to start turning in Slytherins for having Dark items in their possession or something."

Theo visibly relaxed at her statement, and Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, to which he smirked but said nothing.

"Hogwarts doesn't care about Dark items, anyway," Blaise said, cynical. "Rookwood had that Dark pendant last year to control the Basilisk, remember? And the Dark Lord himself was able to infiltrate the year before. If someone did turn someone in, there might not even be a punishment."

"I'll not take the chance, thanks," Draco quipped. "Some of my Malfoy family heirlooms are old. Who knows what Dumbledore will consider them Dark or not?"

"I think that's probably why there aren't wards or protections against Dark magic," Hermione mused. "There is no truly objectively 'Dark' magic, is there? It all depends on how you use it, to make it Dark or not."

"And we are not discussing this at the lunch table with the Ravenclaws within eavesdropping distance," Theo announced loudly, cutting her off. "There is a time and place, and this is not it."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she grudgingly accepted his point.

"Instead, let's discuss Quidditch for this weekend," Draco said. He looked to Hermione with a grin. "Do you think we've learned enough Arithmancy to figure out who's going to win or not yet? Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff?"

Hermione laughed. "I doubt it."

The rest of the day, the school continued to buzz about Manny's bloodline curse, but towards dinner, people had already seemed to have entirely accepted it. All of the teachers seemed aware of the matter ahead of time but refused to discuss it (as they would have been, if there had been Dark magic in the castle, after all), and all the professors had called out "Manfred" during attendance without a flicker. Manny also seemed more confident, now, standing up straighter and taller, volunteering more in class now as well, apparently. The consensus seemed to be that now that he was free of his curse suppressing his magic and making his magic try to be female, he was free to reach his full potential as a wizard.

Hermione listened to the rumors and gossip and merely smiled, not volunteering or participating in anything directly.

That night in the common room, Jade approached Hermione, her eyes sharp.

"Now," she said succinctly. "Come on."

"Alright." Hermione rose from the sofa she had been reading on and obediently followed Jade down the hallway.

Dorms went in order of year; Hermione's dorm was the third door down the hallway, now. To Hermione's surprise, Jade stopped not at the seventh door in the hallway off to the side, but went to the very end of the hallway, opening an eighth door that Hermione was fairly certain had not been there last year. She smirked at Hermione's jaw-dropped expression.

"Perks of being Head Girl," she said smugly. "Private dorm."

Hermione enviously made a note to become Head Girl as soon as she had the chance.

Jade's room wasn't that extravagant – it was just a bedroom. It was about the size of a normal dormitory, really, but it had only one bed, allowing lots of room for a dresser, desk, and full-size wardrobe as well. There was a doorway off to the side, and Hermione enviously realized Jade had her own private bathroom as well.

Milan sat on Jade's bed, waiting for them – a Queen-size bed, if Hermione wasn't mistaken – and she grinned when Jade came in with Hermione. Jade pushed Hermione into her desk chair before going to sit down next to Milan on her bed, turing back to look at Hermione sharply.

"I followed along with Milan's little plot with you because she said it would help us stay together," Jade said. She shot a look at Milan. "But she won't tell me the details. She won't tell me what bargain you struck."

"Well, I only agreed for me, really," Milan said, smiling. "It's not a bargain until you agree as well."

Jade rolled her eyes but looked back to Hermione.

"What, then?" she asked. "What is your little plan to help us?"

Jade sneered at her, and Hermione watched, her head tilted. It must be incredibly frustrating, Hermione mused, to feel so helpless and hopeless in such a situation. Jade was probably being cruel because she didn't want to get her hopes up again only to have them dashed once more.

"I talked to Milan over the summer," Hermione said. "She said that the wizarding world in Britain doesn't look kindly on two women marrying because they can't produce an heir. Is that correct?"

"The magical world doesn't look kindly on it anywhere," Jade corrected, rolling her eyes. "But essentially, that's correct."

"We'll agree to disagree on the former point – magical France doesn't seem to have nearly as many hang-ups about it as the UK," Hermione said calmly. "But the core of the matter is that if you wed Milan, you won't be able to have a child and heir with her, correct?"

Jade looked suspicious. "Correct."

"Well, what if you could?" Hermione asked. "If you could have an heir with her, and could prove it, could you marry her then?"

Jade looked at her incredulously. "Granger, in case it's escaped your notice, we're both girls. We can't have a child together – biology doesn't work that way—"

"That's correct," Milan cut in calmly, answering Hermione's question. "Wedding bonds aren't gender-specific. Strictly speaking, anyone could get married to anyone. It's just social standard that stops two women or two men." She paused. "I think marrying more than one person is illegal, though, under current Ministry law."

"It is," Jade said dryly. "There was a Dark wizard forming an evil harem in the 1800s, sucking up all his wives' magic… anyway, what does it matter?" Jade looked at them both sharply. "I can't go against my family and name, and without the potential to have an heir, I'll definitely be disowned."

"So," Hermione said, "we make sure Milan can have your child, then."

There was a pause.

"I'm not under a 'bloodline curse', Hermione," Jade growled. "You can't disenchant me to suddenly have a pecker."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly. I know that, Jade. I was thinking more ritual magic, not making you into a boy."

Jade went very still.

"Ritual magic?" she said quietly. "Like what?"

"Like the kind to give you and Milan a child." Hermione kept her gaze steady. "It would be difficult, don't get me wrong. But there have been rituals that have given women children before, and there are spells and rituals to combine one person's DNA with another's as part of conception. I'm not saying it'd be easy, but I do believe it is possible – for you and Milan to have a baby together."

"...DNA?" Jade looked suspicious. She turned to look at Milan, who looked back at her pleasantly.

"Hermione was telling me all about it," she said. "She and her coven are getting good at creating and altering rituals—"

"You have a coven?" Jade gasped, her eyes going wide.

"—and Hermione pointed out Imbolc would be an excellent time to do a ritual to conceive," Milan finished. "If it worked, it'd be twelve weeks by May first. We could announce on Beltane."

"Are you mad?" Jade demanded, looking at Milan with wide eyes. "Are you insane? We can't—ritual or not, that's got to be severely illegal and Dark magic – we couldn't—"

"It's not illegal," Hermione said, annoyed. "I checked. I looked."

"And it's not Dark," Milan assured Jade, her eyes soft. She brushed Jade's check with the back of her hand. "We would be hurting no one, Jade. We've talked about having children. And we'd be securing the future for ourselves."

"The Ministry—"

"The Ministry wouldn't like it, no," Hermione admitted. "But they couldn't exactly do anything about it, could they? They're not about to tell you to terminate a magical child, no matter how it came about."

"And if anyone asks 'how?', we can just point out that New Bloods have access to fertility magic that no one else does," Milan said, her eyes sparkling. "It's part of that book you have, the stuck-up one. I looked."

Jade groaned. "Milan…"

"Come on," Milan said, pushing. "Jade, we could do this. We could have this. A future – a real one – together."

"Do you really want to become a mother at seventeen?" Jade said pointedly, raising an eyebrow. "I, for one, do not want to endure morning sickness while taking my N.E.W.T.s."

"I'll carry it, then," Milan said easily. "I'll carry the child – the morning sickness will be mine. My family has good luck with pregnancies." Her eyes shone as she looked up at Jade. "Jade… if your family sees that you have an heir…"

Jade sighed deeply, running a hand through her hair.

"This is crazy, you understand?" she said. "Crazy."

Milan shrugged, uncaring.

"People have been willing to do crazier things for love," she said quietly.

There was a heavy silence. Hermione didn't say anything, just watching the two older girls sit on the bed in the quiet.

"I will—" Jade broke off, frustrated, and sighed. "I will think about it," she finally conceded.

"Yes!" Milan broke into a happy grin.

"I'm not agreeing just yet," Jade warned her. "There's got to be more dramatic implications to this than just 'oh, there's a Rince heir now, everything is happy and fine'. I'm going to need to think through this and figure it all out, you understand?"

"I understand," Milan said. She was beaming. "You need to figure out all the Slytherin mind games you'll need to play and what you'll have to say and do ahead of time, and I'll need to start planning on how to find childcare while I'm in a Healer's apprenticeship program."

"I am not—" Jade broke off, frustrated, before giving Milan an exasperated look. "I disagree with your alleged translation of Slytherin to Ravenclaw."

"But I'm not wrong, am I?" teased Milan, nudging Jade's chin.

Jade rolled her eyes.

"You're not wrong," she conceded. There was a small smirk on her lips. "Silly bird."

"Stupid snake," Milan retorted, and Jade laughed. She pulled Milan closer into her side, slinging an arm around her, and Milan snuggled into her side happily, looking incredibly at peace and comfortable. Hermione felt her heart warm, watching them and their easy manner around each other, and a moment later, Jade's eyes returned to hers.

"I'm not agreeing to anything, Granger," Jade warned her. "But… I'll consider it."

Hermione grinned.

"I'll continue to consider the ritual and the planning, then," she said. "Fair?"

"Fair," Jade said. She paused. "…just what are you getting out of this, Granger? This is worth far more than spreading a rumor for a day."

"Backing from one of the older pureblood houses and credibility as a New Blood, for one," Hermione pointed out. "New Bloods are supposed to be adept at fertility magic. Also, your discretion and secrecy on all matters pertaining and relating to me and my coven."

Jade looked thoughtful.

"The Rince family isn't Sacred 28 or anything," she said, "but it's certainly old and up there. We're fairly well-established at this point."

"See?" Milan teased. "Are your sneaky Slytherin senses appeased yet?"

Jade rolled her eyes but grinned at Milan.

"Are you offering to appease me?" she teased back. "If my senses require more?"

"I can certainly help the Rince family further their name," Milan said, batting her eyelashes. "Why don't you come over here and see how well-established you can be over me?"

Jade smirked, and Hermione was torn between laughing and gagging at the ridiculousness of their flirting and foreplay. Was that really what it was like, when you got older…?

"Let me know what you decide, then," Hermione said, standing. "I'm—I'm just going to go."

"Close the door behind you," Jade said, not looking up at Hermione. Her eyes were focused on Milan. "Now, you little minx…"

Hermione pulled the door to the Head Girl's dorm firmly shut behind her, shook her head to clear it, and headed back down the hallway, with a note of pride to her stride.

Jade might require a reason for Hermione to help them, but really, Hermione just wanted to help and see if she could. It would be heartbreaking to see them break up because of something so stupid as the wizarding world requiring biological children and not liking adoption. Milan was game enough, and Hermione suspected Jade, too, would come around.

It was ridiculous that one of them would have to have a child to do it, of course, but if they wanted to play the game of magical society… they had to abide by its rules. At least they wanted children, though Hermione suspected neither of them had ever quite envisioned having children out of wedlock while still in their teens.

Hermione would have to go over the idea with her coven soon. Something like this… it would require a larger, grander ritual than usual, possibly bigger than they have ever done to date. The sacrifices they'd have to find ahead of time, to use magic to go against nature in such a way… they'd have to be immense, or very rare and hard to find… but still…

She suspected her coven would agree with her, though, and want to help the two find happiness if they could, and the thought made Hermione smile to herself as she headed to her bed.

Chapter Text

Hermione was mad at Tom.

Learning how he had made the horcrux still felt like a betrayal, even though he'd done it years before she'd even been born. It was just evil of such a different caliber than she had thought Tom was capable of, and she didn't like that she was now reevaluating her pseudo-friend at every turn in this new light.

Tom was, at least, trying to help her brainstorm how to defeat the dementors, as he'd promised to do so. He had explained his main theory: because the dementors fed off of souls and held the soul scraps inside of them that they consumed, they could probably be destroyed by anything that could also destroy a horcrux.

But therein lay the problem.

"You say that like it's so simple, so easy," Hermione said, giving Tom a pointed look. "Horcruxes are supposed to be nearly indestructible."

"That itself means that they're not indestructible," Tom argued. "You've threatened me with the destruction of the diary each time you've pulled me from it."

"That's because I'm extraordinarily lucky to have a goblin-made sword with basilisk venom imbued in it," Hermione said. She made a face. "I am not exactly going to go after dementors swinging a sword, Tom. It'd be mad."

Tom smirked. "Why not? I bet you could get a medieval ghost to teach you sword fighting. We could commission you dementor-resistant armor, get you to take lessons, the whole cauldron."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "What else is there?"

"Well, a horcrux isn't destroyed unless the vessel it's in is damaged beyond repair," Tom said. "And they tend to protect their vessels fairly well. You'll need something that will destroy anything."

"Could I burn the diary?" Hermione asked. "It's made of paper – it should burn, I would think. And that would destroy it."

"I doubt it," Tom said, raising an eyebrow. "Making an object a horcrux lends it a certain amount of protection. Regular methods of destruction aren't likely to prevail unless they overpower that Dark magic."

Hermione didn't like the look in Tom's eye. She had no intention of learning Dark magic, thank you very much.

"We burned up the piece in Harry with a purification ritual," Hermione recalled. "That might work…"

"Yes, on Beltane," Tom said dryly. "If you think you can get all the dementors into one ritual circle for an extended period of time on Beltane to be purified away, by all means…"

Hermione shot him a nasty look.

"What's your idea, then?" she asked him. "I know you have one that's better than sword-fighting them."

Tom looked at her reflectively for a moment.

"You weren't far off with your idea of burning," he said. "You'd just need a different type of fire."

"What, like Gubraithian fire?" Hermione said, her jaw dropping. "That's – I really don't think I could cast that—"

"No," Tom said, rolling his eyes. "Everlasting fire just doesn't go out. You'd need a Darker fire, a type of fire that consumes and destroys everything in its path."

"Like what?" Hermione wanted to know.

His eyes gleamed. "Like Fiendfyre."

He looked at her, anticipatory. Hermione gave him a flat look.

"Are you waiting for a dramatic reaction?" she asked.

Tom shot her a dark look.

"I was anticipating at least some reaction," he said snidely. "Most people aren't nonchalant about Fiendfyre."

"I don't know what Fiendfyre is," Hermione said patiently. "I don't study the Dark Arts as a hobby, Tom."

Tom looked like he wanted to object to that, before dismissing it and setting it aside.

"Fiendfyre is a sort of cursed fire," he said. "It's immensely powerful, and it can't be extinguished by water of any sort. It contains a sort of sentience, and a continuous desire to burn anything it can. It can chase after people and incinerate on mere contact."

"That sounds extraordinarily dangerous," Hermione said, eyes wide.

"It is," Tom admitted. "It's a difficult spell, and it's very difficult to control. You need to have a very high level of power to do so, really. And if you lose control, the fire comes after you, too."

"I'm fourteen," Hermione pointed out. "I'm three years away from reaching my magical maturity. If adult wizards have trouble controlling it, there's no way I have enough of a power store to do so right now."

"Cursed fire is our best bet for destroying soul bits," Tom insisted. "If not Fiendfyre, you could try Devil's Fire."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "What, exactly is Devil's Fire?"

"It's a sort of black fire you conjure as a test for people," Tom explained. "It's kind of protective. People can only walk through it if they're loyal to you and mean you no harm. Otherwise, they're burned to ash within moments of entering the flames." He paused. "It's not as uncontrollable as Fiendfyre, but it's also more limited. We'd be relying on the dementors to keep trying to come after you, even after seeing their brethren burn up on trying."

"Dementors are evil, not dumb," Hermione said with a sigh. She gave Tom a grudging look. "So Fiendfyre's our best bet, then? And I'll just have to figure out how to make it work?"

"Apparently so," Tom said. He paused, considering. "You know, I bet Voldemort taught his closest followers how to cast it. If you were to quietly approach—"

"Absolutely not," Hermione said firmly, shutting him down. "This is my mission. You and I are the only ones who are going to know."

Hermione dwelt on the matter in the back of her mind for a few days, letting it stew while she drilled herself on Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Eventually, she came to an impasse, and it was with a sigh she stood up from a sofa in the middle of the Slytherin common room, stretched, and headed off toward the great glass window peering into the lake.

The tables and seats near the glass of the lake were not popular for students relaxing or doing homework, as there was always a faint chill emanating from the glass. There were several small tables set up for chess at the window, though, where the faint green glow helped cast a light on the boards that made the pieces look more dramatic, with slightly amorphous, shifting shadows, and the players ended up looking more intimidating in the fluid light as well.

Slytherins were very appreciative of their aesthetic, after all.

Draco and Theo were playing a game against each other. They both seemed very intent on the game, neither one taking his eyes from the board as she approached the table, watching.

"Want to play winner, Hermione?" Theo asked, not lifting his eyes from the board.

Hermione's lips quirked. "Not exactly. But I'll watch to the end."

She summoned a chair from a nearby unused table and sat to watch, curious.

Hermione wasn't much of a chess player herself; she knew how the pieces were supposed to move, and what the end goal of the game was, and that was about it. She was spectacularly bad at chess strategy, something that constantly frustrated her – expert chess players held multiple complicated strategies in their head at one time, and Hermione was more the kind of person to pick one strategy and charge after it full-tilt, ignoring all the others and adapting on the fly.

And while that strategy worked fairly often in real life, it meant she was absolutely dreadful at chess.

From what she could tell, Draco was winning; he was up a knight and a pawn of Theo's. They continued quietly ordering pieces around the board for a while, with few battles fought, until Theo smirked widely, ordering a pawn forward to capture.

What followed was a fierce series of duels for control of the center of the board; Theo's pawn took Draco's pawn, Draco's knight took Theo's pawn, Theo's bishop took Draco's knight, on and on and on. By the time the carnage had stopped, both boys had lost several pieces along with their queens in the fray.

Draco was looking disgustedly at his shattered pieces at the side of the table.

"Was that really necessary?" he demanded.

"No," Theo said. "But it makes it easier."

It was quickly clear that Theo had more practice playing without his queen than Draco did; Draco's efforts turned toward trying to get a pawn promoted as rapidly as possible, while Theo maneuvered his few remaining pieces into position.

"Checkmate," he said, sitting back with satisfaction.

"Ugghh," Draco groaned, as his king threw his crown on the ground. "Good game."

"Good game," Theo agreed. He grinned at Hermione. "Sure you don't want to play next?"

"Entirely," Hermione said, her tone dry.

The boys set about putting their sets of pieces away. After the game had ended, the pieces had begun rebuilding themselves from the carnage, as if an automatic repair charm had been triggered. Each boy had a fancy box in which he kept his pieces, where they were encased in velvet lining and carefully put away.

"What brings you over here, then?" Theo asked. "If not chess?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"I wanted to get the two of you alone to ask you a question," she said, glancing at them both. "Here probably isn't the best place, though. It's kind of exposed."

Draco's eyebrows rose.

"You want to ask a question that you're uncomfortable asking in the Slytherin Common Room?" he repeated. His eyes gleamed with something that looked like excitement. "Is it scandalous?"

"Umm," Hermione said. "Not exactly."

Draco pouted, then looked thoughtful.

"Is it Top Secret?" he asked. "Top Secret gossip that absolutely nobody can know?"

"I wouldn't call it gossip," Hermione equivocated, "but I'd say it might involve Top Secret matters, yeah."

Draco looked curious and excited, while Theo looked wary.

"Where do you go to discuss secret things?" Hermione asked, looking from Theo to Draco and back. "Do you know a place?"

"Generally it's just the boys' loo in hushed voices, but I get the feeling that won't exactly serve our purpose here," Theo said dryly. "I have an idea, though. C'mon."

Theo led the way out of the common room into the hallways. He took them down several stone corridors, twisting them deep back into the far recesses of the school dungeons, where there were abandoned classrooms and chambers that weren't used anymore. He picked one seemingly at random, ushering them both in before closing the door and using a Locking Charm, while Hermione lit a couple torches that were placed around the room.

"This good?" he asked.

"Perfect," Hermione said, nodding. "Thanks."

"Now," Draco said, his eyes gleaming. "What's so secretive and special and important that you wanted to talk to us about it in total isolation?"

Hermione tilted her head, considering.

How did she want to play this…?

There were a couple ways to approach the issue in question. She considered using obfuscating and subtle Slytherin language to talk around what she wanted without outright saying it, but it was a topic that she really couldn't afford for there to be any misunderstanding about. She gnawed on her lip, thinking, before glancing up at Theo.

"We're entirely isolated and completely alone?" she questioned.

"Completely," Theo assured her. "I put a hex on the door, too, so we'll know if anyone tries to eavesdrop."

"Good." She turned back to Draco. "In that case, I want to ask if the Dark Lord taught your fathers how to use Fiendfyre, and if he did, where he did so."

Draco's reaction was everything she hoped for from her blunt speech – his eyes went wide, his face went pale, and his jaw dropped. Theo's own eyes bulged, and he looked like he was about to have a heart attack.

"Y—y—you want to—"

"Are you mad?" Theo hissed, cutting off Draco's stuttering. "Just casually bringing up—"

"That's why I made sure we weren't going to be overheard," Hermione shot back. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"Given you're bringing up Fiendfyre in school, I think yeah, there's a fair chance—"

Draco's eyes were large and staring at her. He seemed thrown by the fact Theo was railing at her for asking about Fiendfyre in school but didn't seem surprised by her asking at all.

"Why?" Draco asked. He looked stunned. "Why are you asking about Fiendfyre, Hermione?"

"I'm curious," Hermione said coolly. "And I thought you might have answers."

"I don't know why you'd think we would have answers," Theo sneered

"I have it on good authority that the Dark Lord taught his Inner Circle how to cast Fiendfyre," Hermione said, folding her arms. "Especially to his old school mates."

Draco looked puzzled, while Theo went pale.

"How do you know that?" Theo whispered.

"The Dark Lord went to Hogwarts?" Draco asked. "Really?"

"Are you sure you want to ask that?" Hermione said to Theo. "Are you sure you want to know the answer?"

"Wait, I thought the Dark Lord went to Durmstrang," Draco said, frustrated. "Isn't that where he learned all the Dark Arts?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Theo snapped. His eyes didn't leave Hermione's. "The Dark Lord went to Hogwarts."

"He graduated with Theo's father, here, even," Hermione said, her eyes also not leaving Theo's. "They were a crew before ever graduating, though they called themselves something different back then."

Draco was looking back and forth from Theo to Hermione with wide eyes.

"Really?" he asked. "Nott, your Dad went to school with the Dark Lord?"

"What did he call them?" Theo asked her, his voice deadly. "What did they call themselves, Granger?"

He was challenging her as some sort of test, she could tell. Her lips quirked up.

"Have you forgotten?" Hermione asked, her eyes glinting. "They called themselves the Knights of Walpurgis, Theo."

There was a stunned silence. Draco still looked puzzled.

"What's a Walpurgis?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter," Theo snapped at Draco. He turned to glare at Hermione. "Yes, okay? He taught them to use Fiendfyre. Or at least, he taught my father. I don't know about Lucius Malfoy."

Theo turned to look at Draco, who looked uneasy.

"I—I don't really talk to my father about his previous activities," he said. "He doesn't discuss them openly. It was a traumatic time for him, being under the Imperius Curse for so long like that, and he tries not to remember—"

Both Theo and Hermione rolled their eyes.

"Where did he teach them, Theo?" Hermione asked. "For a spell like that, you can't exactly quietly practice it in your dorm room."

"No, you're right," Theo said. He frowned, considering. "I can say that recent followers learned in giant fields they blocked off – there's one on the Nott Estate, hidden far inside the wood, and everything there is still scorched and burned from when the three Lestranges learned."

"The Lestranges?" Hermione asked.

"Rodolphus and Rabastian Lestrange," Draco told her. He looked puzzled. "They're in Azkaban now. Though, I thought there were just the two Lestranges who were Death Eaters – the brothers."

"Your aunt," Theo said incredulously. "Bellatrix. She married Rodolphus and became Bellatrix Lestrange. How do you not know this?"

"I know that she married him!" Draco said defensively. "I just—I didn't think she took his name. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black is higher up than 'Lestrange', isn't it?"

"I don't know. But that's what people called her—"

Hermione took a brief moment to reflect on the subtle sexism of wizarding society.

"—and regardless," Theo continued, rolling his eyes, "that's who I meant as the third."

"Aunt Bella…" Draco said again, an expression of surprise echoing on his face. "She learned to cast Fiendfyre, Theo?"

"Merlin, Draco, did your Dad honestly tell you nothing?" Theo wanted to know. "Yes, she could cast Fiendfyre. She was one of the most powerful bloody witches in the Dark Lord's army. I don't know if there was a Dark curse known that she couldn't cast."

"She was locked up by the time I could remember anything," Draco protested. "Mum only ever talked about her childhood memories with her sisters – none of the recent ones."

Hermione was considering, frowning.

"If the land is still scarred, it's not like they could have used the Quidditch Pitch to practice around here while they were at Hogwarts," she said. "Someone would have known."

"Of course." Theo gave her a look like she was crazy. "Scars from Fiendfyre don't just heal, Hermione. The earth is still cursed."

"Wait, are you trying to find a place to cast Fiendfyre around here?" Draco said, his jaw dropping. "Are you going to try and learn?"

"Are you insane?" Hermione snapped, giving Draco a sharp look. "I'm fourteen. Do you think I'm mad? Grown adult wizards can't cast that successfully, to say nothing of the danger it would present."

Draco looked thrown.

"Why are you asking, then?" he wanted to know.

"Research," Hermione said promptly. "I'm curious."

Draco was looking at her skeptically, while Theo was looking at her in complete doubt, obviously not buying a bit of her story.

"Can't you ask your source?" he sneered.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean."

Draco seemed to be contemplating while Theo and Hermione had a stand-off, thinking hard while they glared at each other.

"Fiendfyre's the cursed hellfire, right?" he asked. "With the animals that destroy everything in their path?"

"Yes," Theo said shortly. "If you lose control."

"You'd need a big place, then, to let them really run free to make sure you were doing it right," Draco mused. "Probably as long as the Quidditch Pitch at least, with no ceilings, or at least ones up very high… and if you didn't want anyone to catch you, it'd have to be a place where it was all dirt or stone, right? So no one would notice the sudden lack of vegetation…" He scrunched his face up. "It's not like you could do it in the Great Hall, though. Does Hogwarts have old dueling halls hidden around somewhere he might have used?"

Hermione's eyes flew wide open at his words.

Oh…

The idea was rapidly forming just as abruptly as it crashed into her – a long place, with high ceilings, stone floors and walls, where she'd had a 'duel' once before...

She doubted it was the same place Tom would have used – it would have been guarded by a newly-made ghost back then, after all – but it would work all the same.

"There might've been," Theo was saying, frowning. "I think it's more likely he just took them deep into the Forbidden Forest, though. Practicing inside anywhere – that'd be risky."

"You're probably right," Hermione agreed. She looked sideways at Theo. "Did you father ever teach you?"

"Fiendfyre?" Theo gaped at her. "No. No. Merlin, Hermione, I'm your age too – no one alive our age could cast Fiendfyre successfully. To even attempt it would practically be suicide."

"Oh. Right," Hermione said. "I forgot."

Theo was still looking at her like she was mad, but Draco was looking at her very thoughtfully.

"Are you learning the Dark Arts, Hermione?" he asked her.

"Absolutely not," Hermione shot back. "I'm insulted you would even ask."

Draco's eyes gleamed.

"Have you already learned the Dark Arts, then?" he asked, smirking. "Or are you going to learn the Dark Arts soon?"

"Of course not. I was curious. It was an entirely academic inquiry," Hermione said, annoyed.

"Are you sure?" Draco said. "It sounds like—"

"This is a ridiculous line of conversation, and it is now over," Hermione informed him. She tossed her hair and nodded her head to both boys. "Thank you for your time and input. I appreciate it."

"Of course," Draco said. He was smirking wider now. "Anytime."

"I'll just not mention any of this to my father, shall I?" Theo said dryly. "It'd probably make him only more eager to arrange a betrothal contract between us."

"Why Theo," Hermione said, batting her eyelashes. "And here I thought you cared."

Theo snorted while Draco laughed, and the three left the old classroom to head back to the common room together.

Chapter Text

"It's very difficult to find gainful employment," Lupin admitted. "The days leading up to the change, and then the day after the change… they're very difficult. I imagine it's like anyone else with a chronic illness."

Hermione had scheduled tea with Professor Lupin one afternoon after classes to ask him some questions. The blackmail bargaining part complete, Blaise had no interest in tagging along, so it was Hermione in the battered office with the shabby professor, pretending his tepid tea was good. At least she could focus on the questions and taking notes on his answers to distract her from the substandard tea.

"Does Wolfsbane make it any easier?" she asked, quill hovering over her page.

"It certainly helps mitigate a lot of the lead-up symptoms," Lupin said mildly. "The day after is easier to recover from, too – you're just tired from being up until dawn, as opposed to recovering from running around in the woods chasing rabbits all night."

"Is that what you do?" Hermione asked. "Chase rabbits?"

Lupin looked uneasy. "It's… It's hard to explain."

"Try," Hermione said promptly.

Lupin sipped his tea, thoughtful.

"You have to realize, you can't control any of it without Wolfsbane," he said finally. "There's just… a mindless bloodlust and raw instincts. There's no thought to it at all."

"What instincts?" Hermione asked.

"The usual ones," Lupin dismissed. "Eat, chase, kill…" He paused. "I suppose there's an instinctual urge for companionship. That's probably the best way to put it."

Hermione blinked. "Companionship?"

Lupin smiled wryly. "Well, wolves are not naturally solitary creatures. They live and hunt in packs in the wild. There's a terrible sense of loneliness and abandonment at times, I think, when one transforms alone."

"As opposed to not alone?" Hermione asked, her eyes sharp.

"Some werewolves meet before sundown in packs," Lupin said mildly. "They transform and hunt together, help take care of each other in the morning, that sort of thing. I imagine that helps with the loneliness."

"Have you ever done so?" Hermione asked.

Lupin winced.

"Not exactly," he said. "I… used to transform with other people, but it was a long time ago. But they were Animagi, not other werewolves."

"Animagi?" Hermione blinked. "And you didn't try to kill them?"

"No." Lupin's wry smile had returned. "In animal form, it was easier to see them as 'pack' and 'friend', not 'food'. Don't ask me why, but werewolves tend to crave human flesh more than anything else. If a person's in animal form, they don't register the same to a werewolf."

"Have you ever bitten a person?" Hermione prompted.

Lupin's eyes darkened.

"No," he said. "But I came close, once."

"What happened?"

"Nothing you need know about." Lupin shook his head, disgusted. "Someone nearly got past the safeties that were in place to keep me isolated. It was incredibly dangerous."

"There are safety measures?" Hermione asked, blinking. "Like what?"

"I don't need them anymore with the Wolfsbane," Lupin clarified. "Now, I'm able to curl up in a ball and just be trapped in the form of a wolf for the night but keep my human mind. Without Wolfsbane, though, most werewolves use some sort of safety measures to keep themselves from hurting other people."

"Like what?"

"Silver cages in the basement are the most common," Lupin said dryly. "Though incredibly painful, they're incredibly effective. Iron cages are maybe more common – so long as you get strong enough iron, the bars won't break, and then there's fewer scars and burns."

"You burn if you touch silver?"

"Silver is an odd metal magically," Lupin said. "It's considered magically pure, and it affects Dark creatures differently than others. Vampires cannot be seen in old mirrors, for example, because of the burnished silver used to back them. Silver bars and chains will burn a werewolf, though we're not likely to die from it."

"Do silver wards work the same way?" Hermione asked.

Lupin frowned. "Silver wards?"

"Yes. The hedgewitches say that lands used to be protected with silver wards and runes to keep the werewolves out," Hermione said. "Do the ward lines also burn?"

Lupin blinked.

"I have no idea," he said. "I know that many old estates have wards build into the foundations that hold protection against Dark creatures of many sorts. I've never heard of werewolf-specific runic wards."

"Do you think they would work?" Hermione pushed. "I don't want to work really hard to get all the hedgewitches silver rune schemes if they wouldn't even help against Greyback."

"Greyback?" Lupin's voice was suddenly sharp. "Why do you care about Greyback?"

Hermione looked up from her notes in surprise. Lupin's eyes were piercing on hers.

"Because the hedgewitches do," she said honestly. "A few months ago, they said he was prowling around Cumbria, and they were frightened of what he might do."

Lupin's face darkened.

"Fenrir Greyback is… unique among werewolves," he said. "He is a rare example of a person who gave in so fully to his feral and bloodthirsty urges as a wolf, he is more creature than human at this point. Most werewolves do their best to live inconspicuous, productive lives."

"He's still a danger to the hedgewitches," Hermione said, shrugging. "Even if it's just one werewolf, a lot of damage could be done. If he bites and turns one person in January, then in February they each bite someone, suddenly you've got four werewolves to contend with biting people in March, and eight in April…"

"I get your point," Lupin said. His voice sounded annoyed. "Fenrir lives in the woods, though, away from civilization. He does purposefully attack people on occasion, but usually for a specific political motive."

"The hedgewitches live in the woods in isolated communities," Hermione argued. "They're vulnerable. A wolf seen slinking around there isn't going to get the same kind of response as one prowling around Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade."

"What," Lupin finally said, frustrated, "is a hedgewitch?"

"Oh," Hermione said. She blinked. "They're – err – they're kind of like the uneducated wizard tenants of old pureblood estates."

Lupin stared at her blankly. Hermione winced.

"They're like invisible members of wizarding society," she said. "They have magic, but they do all the scut jobs – harvesting potion ingredients, watching crups, brewing potions for apothecaries, that sort of thing. They don't have jobs in public or work in the Ministry or anything – they don't have the magic ability for that, and they don't go to Hogwarts."

Lupin was looking at her very suspiciously.

"I have never heard of such a thing before," he said. "I don't know if I believe it even exists."

"Then don't," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "They exist whether you believe in them or not. And I aim to protect them as best I can."

Lupin was still regarding her with open suspicion. Hermione sighed.

"I'll come back another day with a silver rune ward scheme to test with you," she said. "In the meantime… what do you think would most help the werewolves?"

Lupin frowned but turned back to his tea, pensive.

"I'd say 'no discrimination', but that's hardly an overnight thing, is it?" he said. His tone was resigned. "Open availability to Wolfsbane would be a good start, but it's terribly expensive. And werewolves are not likely to admit to being werewolves by going to apothecaries and buying it..."

He considered quietly, and Hermione was content to nurse her own weak tea as he mused. She would let him take as long as he needed, really, so long as he gave her the answers she needed in the end.

Classes went on as the weather grew colder, and the Slytherins began wearing warmer robes and enchanting tiny vials of bluebell flames and stashing them about their persons to keep themselves warm. Studying for end of the term exams ramped up, and Hermione found herself often in the library to study nowadays, where it was much warmer, or visiting one of the other three common rooms, which were also kept at a much comfier temperature than the dungeons were.

Studying with Luna was always nice, and seeing snow drift down from high tower windows had its own way of being very calming and meditative. Luna was always grateful for Hermione's help when she got stuck on a concept or idea, and Hermione liked spending time in the Ravenclaw tower well enough.

Manny Barrows was always eager and grateful to see her, excitedly telling her about his day or how classes were going. Hermione responded politely enough, but sometimes Manny just brought his things over to sit next to her when studying, which usually ended up in all of the Ravenclaw first-year boys studying near her – which wasn't particularly conducive to actually getting work done.

Hermione was happy to have helped Manny, but she seemed to have acquired a bit of a fanboy in the process of doing so.

She made a mental note to ask Harry how he had dealt with Colin Creevey and his unstoppable enthusiasm.

She also began visiting the Gryffindor common room more often, which was kept warm with a roaring fire going at all times. Harry and Neville were always pleased to see her, and Ron amenable enough, and Hermione enjoyed seeing Percy the Head Boy's lips tighten every time he saw her lounging about on a couch in the Gryffindor common room. Students from other Houses were technically allowed in other common rooms, of course – it just wasn't done.

Hermione enjoyed his obvious frustration at being unable to tell her off.

She got a kick out of the new Gryffindor portrait as well. The Fat Lady, after Sirius Black's attack, had refused to resume her post, and the only painting brave enough to take over was one of a rowdy knight, Sir Cadogan. He changed the password constantly as a security measure, and he seemed to be vaguely aware that she was a Slytherin, even though she had the password, calling her things like 'scheming lady' or a 'scalawag of beauty'. Hermione knew the new portait was stressing her friends out, especially Neville, who wasn't good at memorizing new passwords, but she rather thought Sir Cadogan a fitting guard for Gryffindor House.

Visiting Gryffindor itself was a bit of a mixed bag, though. Harry still needed distraction from the stress of the professors constantly watching over him for Sirius Black attacks, and he still fell into fits of melancholy while contemplating his lost broomstick at times. Hermione did her best to distract him, but there was only so much moodiness she was willing to tolerate.

When Ravenclaw finally flattened Hufflepuff in Quidditch near the end of November, it cheered Harry up immensely – more than anything else had, at that point, to Hermione's annoyance.

"If we can beat Ravenclaw and Slytherin, we might still stand a chance," Harry said, pleased. "I might not have cost us the Cup after all!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, good."

The heavy sarcasm in her tone was unpicked up by Harry, who was too excited to notice. Hermione could not communicate just how little she cared about Quidditch, apparently – it was too small to try and quantify in a meaningful manner.

The defeat of Hufflepuff by Ravenclaw had other implications within Hogwarts besides affecting Harry's mood.

"We lost because I couldn't get a good-luck kiss," Cedric said, giving Hermione puppy-dog eyes in the library one day. "If only you had kissed me before the match…"

Hermione laughed.

"You lost because your Chasers were too busy eyeing up Cho Chang to pay attention to the game," she teased. "You, too, for that matter – she had a head start on you for the Snitch by a mile."

"I was dodging Bludgers when she spotted it," Cedric protested. "The Chasers might have been ogling Cho, but I was busy playing the game."

Hermione grinned.

"Guess you should have found me for a good luck kiss, then," she said, eyes sparkling. "Maybe you did need it."

"I looked for you." Cedric's eyes held hers. "Hermione, I tried to find you in the crowd again, to pull you aside. But I must have missed you."

Hermione shrugged. "I mean, it happens. There are a lot of students…"

"Hermione."

Hermione looked back at Cedric. His eyes were holding hers very intently, and he reached out and took her hand.

"I don't want seeing you to be a matter of chance," he said softly.

Hermione bit her lip, watching him.

"I come up and study with you at least once a week," she protested. "If that's—"

"That's not what I mean," Cedric said. "Hermione…"

Cedric's eyes were intent on hers, and Hermione felt vaguely uneasy at the depth of emotion in them. The conversation had turned from playful teasing into something deeper and more intense very quickly, it seemed.

"Have I done something, Hermione?" he asked. "Do you not want to kiss me anymore?"

"No!" Hermione protested. "That's not it—that's not it at all—"

"Then what is it?" Cedric pushed. "I feel like you've pulled back from me, Hermione. And I don't understand what I've done."

Hermione bit her lip, thinking while Cedric continued to look at her.

The truth of the matter was, she was still attracted to Cedric. She was. He was handsome, he was charming, he gave her happy butterflies in her stomach, and she enjoyed spending time with him.

And yet…

Cedric seemed amused by her open ambition, even admiring of her power and rapid progress with him through the 5th year coursework. And though Cedric had never judged her, being encouraging and supportive even when she admitted she went into the Goblin Hold, Hermione felt a vague sense of unease with him at times, an uncertainty of how Cedric would react if she were to truly open up with him about everything.

It had started with Cedric's reflexive horror at the knowledge of ley lines, his insistence that they were Dark, even though Hermione knew them just to be veins of power. Even though Hermione didn't doubt that they probably had been used historically as sources to fuel Dark magic rituals, his flat condemnation felt like an indictment to Hermione.

If he thought that way about something like ley lines, how would he feel if she revealed to him that she'd joined a coven?

Despite him often reaching for her hand, Cedric had never noticed her coven ring at all. Hermione knew that unless she purposefully drew his attention to it, he likely never would.

But they were just dating, right? There was no explicit commitment. She didn't need to reveal to him everything about her… even though it sometimes felt like she should. But unless things were truly getting 'serious', she was under no moral obligation to share her secrets with anyone.

Cedric was still looking at her, plaintive. Hermione bit her lip and decided to stretch the truth.

"I'm aware that it's your O.W.L. year," she said, looking up at Cedric sheepishly. "And I know how important these exams are to you – I want you to do well. And I—I don't feel like I'm a distraction to you when we're studying together. But otherwise…"

"You think you're a distraction?" Cedric's eyes went wide. "Hermione…"

"I am, though, aren't I?" Hermione defended, flushing. "Cedric… I think back to the times we have kissed, and gotten a bit carried away… you can't tell me that you think doing that more often wouldn't be a distraction for you from your studies."

Cedric looked decidedly torn. It was clear that yes, snogging her regularly would detract from his schoolwork, but it was also fairly apparent from the look on his face that Cedric didn't exactly care.

"I can balance my studying, Hermione," he told her. "Really. And it's good, to take mental breaks. You can't study all the time. There's got to be some stress relief in there somewhere."

"Seeing me is stress relief?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows, and Cedric smiled wickedly.

"Well, it certainly relieves me of stress," he teased. "Snogging you seems to take everything else off my mind…"

Hermione flushed and stuck her tongue out at him, and Cedric laughed.

"We could have dinner?" he suggested. "We could get a basket from the kitchens and eat up by the Divination classroom, where it's warm. Just the two of us. And… you know. Relax. Just us."

With all of his attention focused on her, Hermione couldn't help but feel flattered, and the darkened look in his eye made her shiver.

"That might be nice," she conceded. She gave him a small smile. "When?"

Cedric beamed at her. "As soon as we can."

Chapter Text

The Wizengamot, as exciting as it had seemed for Hermione in the beginning, seemed to be a lot of politicking and general bickering about things she didn't care about. The British Youth weren't likely to care about the budget of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, for example, so Hermione found it hard to care when arguments for budgetary decisions went on and on and on. They were just so dull.

There was also a lot of discussion around clerical things Hermione thought the British Youth also didn't care about, like if witches and wizards should be required to file a time of day and location on a birth certificate application in addition to the day. Apparently, there was some astrological significance that could be used later in aptitude tests for something or other, but others thought it was an invasion of privacy for the Ministry to demand such information, and there was strenuous arguing from both sides.

Hermione figured that the youth aged 11-17, not having babies just yet, wouldn't really care, and she herself could not be less interested in whatever Astrology had to say about something.

Dumbledore always had to pay attention, being the Chief Warlock and sort of moderator, but Hermione found it easier and easier to let her mind drift during these sessions, often brainstorming ways she could get her own potential legislation presented or talking quietly to the people who sat around her in the far back seats.

The more Hermione spoke to Royce Fiddlewood, the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, the lower her opinion of the department in general became. He seemed exceedingly preoccupied recently with things that Hermione thought shouldn't be an issue.

"You don't understand," he told her, frustrated. "They want to trade."

"Who cares if the goblins want to trade for parchment and quills?" Hermione shot back. "They're offering gold. You'd have to be a fool to not make that deal."

"Wizards, historically, have not traded with the goblins," Royce told her seriously. "We have a mutually beneficial relationship through Gringotts, but it's limited to that. Add in anything else, and they're likely to get upstart ideas and start pushing for more."

"I think this is a good sign," Hermione said insistently. "They run the bank, sir. They probably had reams of parchment to keep records on, and they're just running out. To deny them their trade requests will likely make them upset, and it could jeopardize the accuracy of their record keeping for Gringotts."

Royce looked put out.

"People would not like goblins just coming out and shopping in the stores," he warned her. "It happens, but it is rare. Opening general trade to them… this would not end well."

"It's your job to make sure relations are kept positive, isn't it?" Hermione said pointedly. "It can't be that hard for you to appoint a go-between. Just get a wizard from your department to take their gold, go and buy the goods, and bring it back to them at a set meeting time. Simple."

Royce sighed. "It's not that easy, Miss Granger. I know you mean well, but goblin-wizard relations are a lot more complicated than you'd think."

Hermione privately disagreed. It seemed like Royce had a lot more complicated prejudiced feelings about the goblins and a deep-seated psychological need for control, if he was refusing to allow the goblins to buy pens and paper because he thought it would destabilize the wizarding economy.

As the end of the year approached, budgetary discussions and decisions ramped up in preparation for the next year, and during one hearing, Hermione was surprised for her ear to catch something new that would apply to the British Youth: Reinald Parkinson was arguing that families should be able to raise the taxes on their tenants independently.

"If we are expected to protect our tenants, and the Ministry provides no assistance, how are we to afford such measures?" he argued. "If you will not raise the taxes on the populace or budget more for the protection of these people, we will have to make the money up somewhere!"

Fudge looked very uneasy at this. "Now, Parkinson, that part of the budget has remained static for years now. To suddenly give the Sacred 28 money taken from the rest of the wizarding community…"

"So we are to provide for our tenants out of the goodness of our heart?" Parkinson said incredulously. "I'm sorry, Minister, but I can't manifest bread and stone out of good will."

He was sneering sarcastically, and Fudge looked very red, but Hermione had an idea. For the first time since joining the Wizengamot, she pushed the button on her desk, and it began to glow softly. Down on the Chief Warlock's desk, a corresponding small light lit up with a glow, and Dumbledore looked surprised.

"Thank you, Mr. Parkinson," Dumbledore said, nodding. Parkinson threw a dirty look at Fudge as he went back to his seat. Dumbledore cleared his throat. "The Wizengamot recognizes the British Youth Representative, Hermione Granger."

There was a murmur of surprise as Hermione determinedly made her way down the aisleway to the Wizengamot floor. When she reached the bottom, she looked around for a moment, swallowing. Everyone else was literally towering over her at their desks, and she suddenly felt very small.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself.

"The Sacred 28 are pledged to protect a large part of the wizard populace," Hermione began. "If the Ministry chooses to ignore this, and the Ministry will not provide the funds to allow the Sacred 28 to protect their tenants, the Ministry should at least enable the Sacred 28 to get such funds themselves."

There was a murmur at her words.

"I have spoken to the Head of the Department of Magical Creatures," Hermione said, nodding back up toward her seat. "The goblins have been requesting a formal trade agreement for quills and parchment. If the Ministry would grant exclusive trade agreements to the Sacred 28, or perhaps to be run through a committee of some of the Sacred 28, they could benefit from these trades and use the profits to reinvest directly in their tenancies."

Fudge looked confused. "I'm not sure I'm following."

"For example," Hermione said, turning to face the Sacred 28. "The Sacred 28 are honor-bound to protect their tenants from harm. But they have not had the investment necessary from the Ministry to recast the silver wards they need to keep their tenants safe in many years. Pure silver of the highest quality, the kind needed for these wards, is not cheap." She turned to face the other half of the room. "But the goblins have silver. They have a lot of it. If you allow the Sacred 28 to trade with the goblins in exchange for silver, the problem is solved. Let the goblins trade for parchment and quills, and the Sacred 28 get the resources they need in the process."

There was a murmur amongst the people in the room.

"Are you then proposing," Dumbledore asked, looking down at her over his spectacles, "that the Sacred 28 openly trade with the Goblin Nation?"

"The goblins have been politely requesting trade instead of sneaking into society and stealing or buying what they need," Hermione pointed out. "To refuse their diplomatic request would probably worsen the state of things, wouldn't it? To allow the Sacred 28 to profit from this trade so they can protect their tenants, and to keep the goblins appeased and happy in the process, with the rest of the wider wizarding world none the wiser… it seems like a win/win to me."

She bowed before returning to her seat, shaking slightly but proud of herself. When she reached her seat, Royce Fiddlewood was giving her a dark look, but Era Hornbeam, the Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, seemed surprised and pleased.

"Well done," she told her quietly, when Hermione returned to her seat. "If the landlords can extend better protections to their tenants, it would make my job a lot easier – there would be fewer injuries and catastrophes to contain."

One of the regional representatives spoke next, saying that the citizens of his region were not likely to bear additional taxes well, but the person who spoke after that was Phaedra Lestrange, who began by announcing she agreed with Hermione, to the shock of the rest of the hall.

"Though she may be young, the Youth Representative has keenly seen straight to the heart of the problem," she declared. "We cannot be expected to keep our people safe without being allotted the resources to do so. And if we cannot raise rents or taxes, we must find another way."

To Hermione's surprise, more and more Sacred 28 families rose to speak in defense of Hermione's proposition. Augusta Longbottom was firm in insisting that maintaining the silver wards was a matter of honor that had been long neglected, and Melker Travers was adamant that trading quietly with the goblins would be a good way to appease them while not alarming the public in general.

The arguing and bickering continued on for a while before the bill was tabled. The proposed part of the budgetary bill was determined to be sent to committee to have the specifics worked out, and to Hermione's surprise and pride, she was assigned to the committee, alongside Royce Fiddlewood, Phaedra Lestrange, and Melker Travers.

Royce winced when his name was called, but Hermione was thrilled. She was going to get to help write legislation—!

After the main meeting of the Wizengamot was dismissed, Hermione approached Phaedra Lestrange, and Melker Travers and Royce Fiddlewood came over to join them.

"How does a committee work?" Hermione asked, bouncing on her toes. "Do we meet just after the Wizengamot is over? Are there meeting rooms here?"

Royce looked uncertain. "I mean—I suppose—"

"Traditionally, we just handle the issue outside of sessions and present the results," Phaedra said perfunctorily. "Generally, such things are done over tea or hosted in one's house with the others." She peered at Hermione. "Things might be a little more difficult, with you being a student at Hogwarts still."

"If you sent me a formal invitation to come to a committee meeting in the evening, I'm sure I'd be allowed," Hermione assured her, eager. "My Head of House, Professor Snape, could probably Floo in with me and pick me up afterward."

Melker Travers gave her an oily smile.

"We'll proceed according to that plan, then," he said. "We'll draft the legislation later this week, try and pick it apart the next, and present it the Tuesday after. Agreed?"

Hermione was happy to agree. She was getting to do something, now. And she was going to actually get to help the British Youth like she'd said she would.

The fact that the goblins would get their parchment was a small bonus as well. Hermione wondered what Bloodthorne and the rest of them wanted with so much paper. Maybe they were making goblin textbooks?

Whatever it was, Hermione felt well pleased with herself when she returned to school.

Snape was not amused when Hermione approached him that evening about being permitted outside of the school alone, and he was even less amused when he learned it would be to go to the home of either Phaedra Lestrange or Melker Travers.

"Again, Miss Granger, because I seem to keep needing to remind you, there is a mass-murdering Dark wizard on the loose." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is the worst possible time for a student to need to leave the grounds."

"I wouldn't need to go out on the grounds, though," Hermione argued. "I could just Floo to their house. You have a Floo like that, don't you?"

"You would still be in danger," Snape snarled. "The Lestrange family and Travers family are not likely to look kindly upon you, Wizengamot standing or not."

"I practically avenged Lilian Travers from the basilisk—" Hermione argued.

"You are the reason she was petrified in the first place!"

"—and I wouldn't be there alone,' she continued. "Royce Fiddlewood will be there as well. He's on the committee too."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Am I supposed to be reassured?"

"He's the head of a Ministry Department," Hermione said. "No one would dare—"

Snape snorted, cutting her off.

"Miss Granger, I daresay you have a vast over-estimation of the credentials needed in order to be appointed to the head of an inconsequential department of the Ministry." His voice was very dry. "Your fellow Wizengamot representatives will just simply have to carry on without you."

"But Professor," Hermione pleaded. "This is my first chance to actually help people! For real!"

"With a budgetary bill?" Snape was incredulous. "Miss Granger—"

"I know that the Sacred 28 just want more money and they're using their tenants as an excuse to get it, that part's obvious," Hermione said. "But if I'm there, I can help write it into the bill that some percentage of it must be spent on helping their tenants. And if I can get the hedgewitches silver wards—"

"Silver wards?" Snape interrupted. He looked curious despite himself. "What exactly are silver wards, Miss Granger?"

"It's an old warding scheme that the landlords used to use to protect their lands from werewolves," Hermione said. "When they're activated, the wards carry an element of the silver along with them from point to point, making it painful for a werewolf to try and cross and keeping them out of their lands."

Snape snorted. "Nonsense. I've never heard of such a thing."

"That's because there hasn't been a working one in ages," Hermione said eagerly. "With the old ones that still remain, the silver's long since tarnished and the magic's faded away and worn out. But if part of the budgetary bill makes sure that the silver wards are restored, it can help protect them."

"You are awfully invested in protecting a group of people you barely know," Snape commented, his eyes glittering. "Why is that, Miss Granger?"

Hermione didn't understand.

"I don't know them, really, but the youth helped elect me," she said. "When I asked what they wanted me to push for as a political agenda, protection from werewolves was one of the few things that came up." She paused. "I suppose I could probably write in that a percentage of the profits have to go toward increased grain allotments as well. They wanted that, too."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose tightly.

"You misunderstand the question," he said, frustrated. He looked at Hermione. "You are speaking of the hedgewitches, correct?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "The tenants of the Sacred 28."

"The community of people who have no wands and serve as serfs," Snape said flatly. "The ones who still practice old folk magic? Chanting over herbs in the air and the like?"

"Err," Hermione said. "I mean, that's part of it…"

"I understand what you can give to these people," Snape said. His eyes pierced hers. "What I do not understand is what they can give to you."

It took Hermione a moment.

"You're asking as a Slytherin, aren't you?" she said. "You want to know what I'm getting out of it because you don't trust altruism."

Snape's eyes glittered. "Do you?"

"Not really," Hermione admitted. "Not anymore."

She paused to consider, really thinking over the question.

"For the first part, I'm repaying a debt," she said slowly. "I said I would try and help them when they elected me. To be able to do so would fulfill that sort of 'bargain' that we made. And it would strengthen their loyalty to me - possibly over that of their loyalty to their landlords. That could come in handy someday."

"You want their loyalty?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "The loyalty of a weak, impotent group of wizards that can barely cast magic?"

Hermione bit back the retort on her tongue. "Yes, sir."

Snape looked at her for a very long moment, before pinching his nose, disgusted.

"Students require permission from the Headmaster to leave the school grounds during term," he said, standing. "Come."

He swept out of his office, and Hermione hurried after him, up several flights of stairs and down the hallway to the great stone statue of an eagle.

"Kit Kat," he sneered at the statue, and Hermione stifled a giggle.

When they reached the top of the staircase, Dumbledore seemed to be expecting them, and he greeted them warmly.

"Severus! And Miss Granger! Do sit down," he bid them, eyes twinkling. "Lemon drop?"

Both Snape and Hermione demurred, and Snape got to the matter at hand immediately.

"Apparently, you assigned Miss Granger to a Wizengamot committee, Headmaster?" he accused.

"She was the one to suggest the budgetary measure in question," Dumbledore said calmly. "It was a logical choice."

Snape scowled. "And yet, now, as a result, she will need to venture out after hours, alone, into the homes of one of two notorious blood purist Houses to work on the bill. She will be in danger, Albus."

Dumbledore considered, sucking on his own lemon drop.

"The Lestrange family is known to be fairly Dark, though Phaedra would have us as a society move pass the embarrassment of her cousins," he said. "She would be the most likely to host – I cannot see Melker Travers arranging a society committee meeting."

"She would not be safe at a Lestrange family gathering," Snape warned. "Albus, the wards alone might seriously hurt her—!"

"Blood purity wards and the like?" Dumbledore fixed Snape with a sharp look. "I imagine those can be temporarily suspended if necessary, can't they?"

"If someone there insists upon it, perhaps," Snape said, disgusted. "But Miss Granger is fourteen years old. She is not of legal age to be gadding about in strange households—"

"That's rather the point, though, isn't it?" Dumbledore mused. "Of being Youth Representative. The whole point is that she's not legally an adult."

Hermione had been biting her lip the whole time, watching them bicker back and forth.

"Maybe I could go with a chaperone?" she suggested finally. "An adult you two would trust with my safety could come along?"

Dumbledore and Snape turned to look at her. Snape was scowling, but Dumbledore looked thoughtful.

"That's a possibility," he said. "The issue would be, of course, finding an adult at the castle willing to do so. It would need to be a person capable of understanding what all was at stake, of course, and one capable of carefully navigating the complicated political implications of the situation too…"

Snape's expression grew darker and darker as Dumbledore went on, Hermione carefully keeping quiet.

"Just damn me to it already," Snape hissed, his eyes flashing at the Headmaster. "We both know I'm the only one to fit that description."

Dumbledore looked affronted. "Why, Severus – I would never. I said as much – we need a willing chaperone for Miss Granger here."

Snape groaned and rolled his eyes.

"And what do I get," he said, "in exchange for giving up my evenings for this nonsense charade?"

Dumbledore looked saddened.

"Severus," he said. "Hermione is your charge. If you want to see to her safety, surely you—"

"Time and a half," Hermione cut in. She looked at Professor Snape. "If you're working after hours for it, you should get overtime for it, right? That's time and a half."

Dumbledore looked thrown, and Snape looked torn between being confused and incredulous.

"Professors are not paid on an hourly basis, Hermione," Dumbledore told her, looking over his eyeglasses at her. "They get paid a yearly salary."

"This isn't part of his general job description, though, so I think it'd count as overtime," Hermione argued. "So Professor Snape should be paid as such."

"Miss Granger…" Dumbledore looked tired. "I do not have the authorization to just dispense funds from the treasury to teachers. It would require a vote by the Board of Governors, who are not likely to—"

"I'll pay it, then." Hermione looked up at Snape, determined. "If this is my responsibility as Youth Representative, I should take on the associated costs with it, right?"

Snape stared at her. "You will pay me?"

"Sure," Hermione said, shrugging. She grinned. "I'll be able to write it off on my taxes."

Snape muttered something about children not filing taxes, but Hermione wasn't paying attention. She was looking to Dumbledore, who was regarding her with thoughtful eyes.

"If Professor Snape is willing to escort you to your committee meetings and play chaperone while you are there, you are granted permission to attend," he said finally, nodding. "If that truly requires you to bribe your Head of House to get him to go along…"

He looked saddened as he regarded Snape, but Hermione didn't care if Dumbledore preferred to rely on guilt-tripping people to get them to do what he wanted. She preferred to work differently.

"Brilliant," Hermione said, grinning. She turned to Snape. "Does that work for you?"

Snape looked at Hermione in exasperation, before finally relenting.

"Fine," he snapped. He glared at Dumbledore. "Thank you, Headmaster."

"Yes, thank you!" Hermione piped up, her own voice utterly devoid of sarcasm. "I really appreciate it, sir!"

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling again as he watched them go. "Of course, Miss Granger. It is good to see you taking your responsibilities so seriously."

Snape rolled his eyes and practically dragged Hermione out of the office and back down the stone stairs.

He was still exasperated when they returned to his office, Snape stalking to his chair and rubbing his temples in small circles, as if staving off a migraine. Hermione felt a moment of sympathy for him, but it wasn't much.

"So," she said cheerily. "How much do you make a year?"

Snape gave her a dirty look, and she shrugged, unrepentant.

"You can do this out of the goodness of your soul, or I can pay you," she said. "Up to you, really, but I know I would rather get the gold."

Snape rolled his eyes.

"As Potions Master and as a Head of House, I earn 16,500 galleons a year," he said finally.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "So… roughly 8 galleons an hour?"

"Less." Snape sounded exasperated. "I do not work a standard work week, Miss Granger. You may be aware that I am expected to be on call at all hours of the day."

"We'll just go with 8 galleons, then," Hermione said, nodding decisively. "Every hour you spend chaperoning me in the evenings, I'll give you 12 galleons for your time. Oh! And because it's Wizengamot business, I can even spin us back with the Time-Turner to give you your evening back as well!"

Snape looked surprised by this.

"I'd forgotten about your little device," he said. He looked thoughtful. "If it ends up that I won't be sacrificing my entire evenings for your politiciking—"

"No, still paying you," Hermione said. She gave him a crooked grin. "Don't want to build up resentment from my Head of House this early in my Hogwarts career."

Snape smirked.

"You do realize your safety is my responsibility, correct?" he said dryly.

"Yup," Hermione said, popping the 'p'. "But seeing as it's not your responsibility outside of Hogwarts, it seems reasonable to compensate you appropriately for the extended duties."

Snape gave her a look, before he sighed.

"Miss Granger, as gauche as it is to discuss, I think you are unaware of exactly what you are committing to," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "These meetings might take hours. They probably will. And the exchange rate is not 1:1, you realize. Twelve galleons an hour will add up very quickly."

"It's fine," Hermione said stubbornly. She lifted her chin, defiant. "Thank you for your concern, Professor, but I assure you, I can do arithmetic perfectly fine myself."

Snape looked at her for another long moment, before he sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Shall we a make a contract?" he said dryly, summoning a bit of parchment and an inkwell. "If you truly want to do this by the books…"

"Yes!" Hermione scooched her chair over to his desk eagerly. "This way, I'll have something to include with the write-off with my taxes."

"Minors do not pay taxes, Miss Granger," Snape said, raising a sardonic eyebrow. "That happy duty is left to adults."

"Well," Hermione said, shrugging with a smile. "It's still good practice, I guess."

Chapter Text

CW: Discussion of teenage sexuality

"I need help," Hermione told Tracey one morning. "Desperately. Badly. Immediately. You must help me."

Tracey was immediately on high alert. "What is it?"

Hermione lowered her voice, secretive.

"Cedric has invited me on—a date, sort of?—tonight in the Divination tower. He's going to get dinner from the House Elves and whatnot, but Tracey…" Her voice lowered even further. "I'm fairly sure all he really wants to do is snog."

Tracey started laughing.

"And what part do you need help with?" she asked, eyes dancing. "What to wear? How to wear your hair so it won't get tangled with his hands in it?"

"Tracey!" Hermione hissed. Her eyes darted around. "It's—I've never had a date where it was like this before. I'm nervous."

Tracey's eyes softened.

"Alright," she said. "We'll talk about it after classes."

After classes, Tracey and Millie sat with Hermione in their dorm as she fretted. Tracey was watching Hermione while Millie was busy entertaining Crookshanks, who was purring in satisfaction – Millie had fast established herself as the half-Kneazle's favorite of Hermione's dormmates.

"—and I agreed, because I thought 'why not?', but now I'm nervous," Hermione said rapidly. "I don't understand. I mean, I've had dates before where all we did was hang out together and kiss, but there wasn't this weird sense of pressure I feel with Cedric now—"

"Hang on a moment," Millie said, cutting in. "You've had dates where all you did was snog?"

"Umm," Hermione said. "Yes. Kind of."

"What do you mean 'kind of'?" Millie challenged.

"Well, they weren't exactly dates," Hermione hedged. "We were just… it was France, and we were just kind of spending every day together, nothing really planned or organized. So it was more laid back, and we went where the day took us – and if that was snogging on the beach at sunset, so be it."

"That sounds so romantic," Tracey sighed. Her eyes were dreamy. "Maybe I should learn French and find a fit boy from Beauxbatons to chat me up myself."

"So there were no expectations," Millie summarized, nodding. "That makes sense. With no expectations, you could just do what you felt like. But now, knowing he expects to snog, it puts you in a bit of a weird place."

"How's it different?" Tracey asked, looking at Millie. "It's not like she doesn't want to snog him."

"But now she feels like she's obligated to, right?" Millie said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Hermione said, relieved. "That's it exactly."

"Oh – like it takes away the spontaneity and the romance?" Tracey asked. "Or is it more that if you didn't want to kiss him, you wouldn't feel like you could tell him that?"

"I'm sure if I didn't want to kiss him, Cedric would be perfectly polite and respectful of that," Hermione said. "I just… I think he'd want an explanation as to why, and his feelings might be hurt."

Tracey rolled her eyes, and even Crookshanks huffed in agreement.

"Merlin spare me from guys who need girls to help them figure out their feelings," she groaned. "Can't they do it on their own?"

"On one hand, that's reasonable. It makes sense to wonder why something different happened – if you expected one outcome, and you got another, you'd want to know why too," Millie pointed out. "But on the other hand – he is not responsible for your feelings. If you don't want to kiss him, it's not about him, it's about you."

Tracey snickered.

"Yes, but you expect a guy to understand that?" she said. "Guys make everything about themselves."

Millie gave a beleaguered sigh. "Isn't that the truth."

The girls gave Hermione advice on what robe to wear. Tracey's suggestion was something linen and heavy that wouldn't wrinkle easily, while Millie suggested heavy velvet with a high neckline so Cedric wouldn't be able to get his hands down her top.

"Not that I think he'd try," Hermione said, her face flaming red while Tracey laughed and laughed, "but wouldn't he just unbutton the front of it and slip his hand in anyway?"

"You'd think that," Tracey said, amused. "Guys are stupid, though. There's something they like about tugging down the neckline so your breasts pop out the top."

Hermione turned to Tracey in surprise while Millie snorted.

"How do you know that?" she asked, surprised. "I thought all you and Adrian got up to was heavy kissing."

Tracey flushed.

"Well, we got carried away once recently," she defended hotly. "He pulled me into an alcove behind a wall hanging for a bit of a snog, and when he was running his hands up my sides, he realized I wasn't wearing stays."

"You weren't wearing stays?" Millie said, surprised. "Why not?"

"I don't exactly need them," Tracey shot back. "Not all of us are as blessed in that department as you are."

Millie made a face. "I'd trade you in a second if I could."

"Anyway," Tracey said pointedly. "Once he realized I wasn't wearing stays and he could get at my breasts directly, he became almost ravenous, and he simply had to see them."

"And you let him?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide.

"Well, I was a bit caught up in it too," Tracey defended. A slow grin spread on her face. "I didn't think I'd like it, but… there was something about the expression on his face that made me feel powerful."

"What was his expression like?" Millie asked. "He didn't just leer at them?"

"No," Tracey said. "It was like… like I was made of gold or something. Like I was a goddess, or the most beautiful woman on earth."

There was a pause, as the girls all contemplated that idea.

Hermione looked at Tracey, who was lost in her memory, a fond look in her eye. She was glad Tracey was still getting along with Adrian; even though she hadn't expected much, Tracey still seemed to like seeing him fairly often.

"You have your potion around still, right?" Hermione teased. "The ones we took from class?"

Tracey's head whipped around to give her a dark look, while Millie laughed.

"I do," Tracey said hotly. "I have it, but I don't need to take it! A bit of a grope and tug isn't going to—"

"I was teasing, I was teasing," Hermione said, laughing.

Tracey folded her arms and huffed.

Hermione felt a little better after chatting with her friends. When they parted ways to go to dinner – them to the Great Hall, her up to the Divination landing – they wished her luck, mischief sparkling in their eyes. She could feel them watching her as she ascended the staircases toward the Divination classroom, and she felt very adult suddenly, her heavy robes weighing her down as she climbed up.

Well, Hermione thought, hiking up her robes as she climbed, at least she looked good, even if the robes were a bit much.

Cedric was already on the Divination landing when Hermione arrived, setting up blankets and pillows, and he gave her a wide smile when he saw her, clearly happy to see her.

"I borrowed these from Trelawney's classroom," he said. "I don't think she'll mind, so long as we don't get food on them."

Hermione laughed. "I'll eat neatly."

The basket Cedric had gotten from the House Elves was a variety of different finger foods, which Hermione appreciated immensely – balancing a plate or bowl on her lap would have been a more difficult feat. Instead, it was a loose, casual atmosphere as she and Cedric chatted.

"Professor Sprout had to talk to the younger years again," Cedric said, chuckling. "They got wind that your letter-writing campaign to the Board of Governors about the boggart worked, and they became more convinced than ever that they should write letters to the International Confederation of Wizards about the dangers of muggle weapons of mass destruction."

"Oh good lord," Hermione laughed, highly amused. "Are they still on about that?"

"Do the muggles still have the terrible weapons?" Cedric asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Then 'yes'."

"The muggles have had those weapons for ages," Hermione said, exasperated. "It's been a danger for decades."

"Doesn't mean it's not still a danger," Cedric pointed out. "It's bad enough that it manifested as your boggart."

"Fair," Hermione admitted. "Ever since we studied World War II in muggle school, I was anxious over the idea of nuclear war – since I was far too young to worry about it, really." She hummed. "I don't think that'd be my boggart now, though."

"Really?" Cedric's eyebrows went up. "You think it's changed?"

"Yes," Hermione said.

"Into what?"

The memory of a cold, chilling emptiness clutched at her throat, and Hermione found it hard to swallow her sandwich.

"A dementor," she said finally, her voice a bit quiet. "I think it'd be a dementor, now, with its hood down."

Cedric looked puzzled.

"You'd experienced dementors before, though," he said. "On the train. Your fear didn't show up as dementors then, though."

"That was before I learned what the Dementor's Kiss was, though," Hermione said darkly. "Once I knew that they could suck out your soul, they became way, way worse."

Hermione glanced over at her companion. She was expecting shock or horror from Cedric, or confusion and puzzlement if she needed to explain what the Dementor's Kiss was to him.

She wasn't expecting him to grimace and move on.

"Yeah, that's a bit of a grim business," he said, wincing. He gave her a commiserating smile. "Still. They don't do it very often, you know. Only in the very worst cases with the worst irredeemable criminals."

Hermione stared. "You know about this?"

"My father's in the Ministry," Cedric pointed out.

"I thought he worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," Hermione said, appalled. "What, are they sucking the souls out of misbehaving animals now, too?"

Cedric laughed.

"No, no, nothing like that," he said, amused. "It's just – grown-ups gossip too, you know? He's got friends in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. People talk."

"And he tells you about it?" Hermione said, shocked. "He tells you when they've condemned someone to have their soul sucked out, and you just go on with your day?"

"Hey, Hermione." Cedric took her hand, squeezing it. He looked at her with understanding eyes. "I know it's a scary thing to think about. But it's very rare, and the dementors only do it in the very worst cases, when someone's so bad they deserve worse than Azkaban. Generally, only someone who's already escaped Azkaban, really."

"Doesn't that frighten you?" Hermione insisted. "What if they went after you?"

Cedric laughed.

"Well, as I have no intention of becoming a terrible criminal, I don't think I have to worry about that," he said, grinning. He gave her a smile. "I know dementors are frightening, Hermione, but they're under the Ministry's control. You don't have to worry about them."

Hermione stared at him for a long moment while Cedric rummaged in the basket for another sandwich.

"We didn't get to do boggarts in my 3rd year class," he commented, digging through the basket. "We had Quirrell. Totally useless teacher. I wonder what I would have seen?"

"What do you think you would have seen?" Hermione asked numbly.

Cedric hummed, thinking. "I don't know…"

He fell into a thoughtful silence, musing, while Hermione mechanically ate her own sandwich, her thoughts in a whirl all of their own.

Hermione knew that Cedric's father worked for the Ministry of Magic, and she knew that he had grown up with magic as part of his life. His utter faith in the Ministry, though – could he not see the threat the dementors represented? How it would only take one dementor going rogue to render huge swaths of people soulless, condemned to nothingness for all eternity?

Cedric seemed to think that though barbaric, it was appropriate, in some circumstances, to punish a person in such a way. Hermione couldn't fathom of anything possibly being less appropriate, ever. The only legitimate use of a Dementor's Kiss would be to suck the bit of soul out of a horcrux, in her opinion, and she didn't even know if that was possible. She wasn't about to ask a dementor, after all.

"—might be a banshee, actually," Cedric was saying, as Hermione's ears tuned back in. He looked grim. "The idea of a banshee screaming, with everyone I cared about dead at her feet – my parents, my friends, you – that idea scares me more than anything I can imagine." He gave her a sad look. "I'd be so helpless, you know? You can't do anything against a banshee."

Hermione understood the fear of being helpless, completely unable to control or do anything to affect the circumstances around you. It had been at the core of her own fear with the boggart.

"Well," Hermione said, quirking her lips. "You could always ask Professor Lockhart. He did defeat the Bandon Banshee in his one book, you know."

Cedric was startled into laughing.

"I'd sooner ask Filch," Cedric declared. He grinned. "Still, though – History's been rather good this year, actually. He's been teaching us about staffs and wands lately."

"Wands?" Hermione said, blinking. "Really?"

"Really," Cedric said emphatically. "It's important stuff, too – did you know that wizards moved to using wands so their hands wouldn't blow up?"

Hermione vaguely remembered something of that nature.

"I think so," she said, nodding. "Someone warned me of that, when I started learning wandless magic—"

"That's exactly why wandless magic should be left to masters," Cedric cut her off, alarmed. He looked at her seriously. "I hope you're not still practicing that, Hermione – maybe once you're a N.E.W.T. student and have more control over your magic, but at this age—" He broke off, looking worried. "I just don't want to see you hurt yourself," he finished softly, his eyes shining with concern.

"I haven't been," Hermione assured him, surprised. "It was just a couple times over the summer."

"To get around the ban against magic outside of school?" Cedric said, giving her a half grin of commiseration. "I get that. I probably tried that when I was younger, too. Though I didn't know anything about why wizards made wands at the time – I'd never have tried if I had known."

Hermione refrained from responding and helped herself to another sandwich.

After eating most of the basket, Cedric unveiled a surprise – for dessert, the House Elves had specially made him chocolate-covered strawberries, kept in a box that had been magically chilled.

"Hogwarts has these?" Hermione said in surprise. "I've never seen them served here before."

"I asked for them specifically," Cedric admitted. His lips quirked. "I know they're considered a romantic dessert in the muggle world."

"They are," Hermione admitted. "They're really good, though."

"Tasty and seductive? Count me in," Cedric said, grinning and putting the lid of the box aside. "I've never had them before."

"Seductive?" Hermione's eyes opened wide, and Cedric looked over at her, his eyes molten.

"Maybe a little," he murmured. His eyes were dark, intense on hers. "You'll let me feed you a couple, won't you, Hermione?"

Hermione found herself wordless at his expression, and she could do naught but nod. Cedric grinned.

"Come here," he said, shifting. "Closer."

Hermione found herself soon nestled in his lap sideways, her legs over one of his, her back resting against his other. Cedric reached for a strawberry, holding her gaze before sliding the treat between her lips.

The chocolate covered strawberries themselves were incredible. The chocolate was smooth and rich, and the burst of flavor with the fruit was divine. A noise of bliss escaped her as she ate it, and when she opened her eyes again to look at Cedric, his eyes were dark.

"I see why they say they're seductive," he said hoarsely. "Here – have another."

The strawberries really were very good, and Hermione enjoyed eating them, but eating them became a bit of a performance, somehow. Cedric was rapt as he watched the strawberries slowly slide between her lips into her mouth, and Hermione let herself enjoy the strawberries audibly, groaning in delight at the taste, a curl of amusement drifting through her as she saw Cedric have to shift repeatedly.

"Aren't you going to have some?" Hermione asked, blinking up at him innocently.

"Ah – right," Cedric said, faltering. His eyes were still on hers. "Yeah—I'll—"

"Open wide," Hermione said sweetly, pushing the fruit through his lips, and Cedric bit down instinctively, only to groan a moment later as Hermione pulled the leaves away.

"Merlin's pants, these really are good," he said. He looked at the box, mildly impressed. "The muggles were excellent, coming up with these."

"Glad you think so," Hermione teased, picking up another. "Here."

Cedric maintained eye contact as she slid the fruit into her mouth, slowly eating it as she watched. Hermione watched, but it was kind of funny to her, somehow. Was she supposed to find him slowly eating it sexy?

He certainly seemed to find her eating them arousing, somehow. Hermione wasn't sure what was supposed to be appealing about it, but she played along. It was easy enough to watch him as she fed him a few, and it was interesting to watch as his eyes darkened, his breath coming quicker. She didn't really see the appeal of it, but she was at least able to refrain from giggling or looking bored.

Eventually, they started alternating feeding each other strawberries, until there was only one left.

"They gave us an odd number?" Hermione said, perturbed. "That's hardly fair."

"We'll have to share," Cedric said hoarsely. "Here."

He held the strawberry to her lips, and Hermione opened obediently, intending to bite off half, only to have him push the entire thing in.

"Mmph!"

Her teeth bit down automatically, and a moment later, Cedric was kissing her urgently, the flavor of chocolate and strawberry melding between them into the kiss. Cedric groaned, pulling her closer, and Hermione's eyes closed as she kissed him back.

Oddly, she'd have thought it'd be terribly awkward, holding a strawberry in her mouth while someone kissed her, but she found herself somehow able to simultaneously eat it and kiss him back, and though she ended up swallowing all of it, Cedric only getting bits of tasting it when his tongue swept into her mouth, she had to admit it was more stimulating than she'd thought.

She pulled back slightly, discreetly wiping the edge of her mouth, and looked at Cedric. His pupils were wide, blown-out, and his breath was coming in short pants.

"More snogging?" he asked, his voice low.

Hermione was amused, somehow, and she leaned back into him.

"More snogging," she agreed, and she kissed him again.

The kissing went on for a while, and it varied in type and intensity. Some of the time, Hermione was able to be swept up in the intensity of it, which was quite nice and intoxicating, but other times it seemed to lag, and she ended up analytically experimenting to see what would get the best reaction from him, almost detached from what her body was doing entirely.

Cedric seemed thoroughly and completely into the kissing, regardless of what was going on. He was addicted to her lips, it seemed, and he very much enjoyed her pressing kisses up the long column of his neck, as well as when she sucked on the joint of his neck to his shoulder. His groans and shifting made Hermione feel a bit heady, that she was able to garner such a reaction from him, but it was nothing compared to the desire and desperation she saw in his eyes.

Still, though. Hermione had worn robes that wouldn't wrinkle, but also ones that were not particularly low cut. Cedric's hands skimmed her waist and went up her back as he held her, kissing her, and though they paused in confusion at her bra strap, they didn't do anything but continue on their way to her curls, where he held her head and tangled his fingers as he kissed her desperately.

Later that night, when Hermione returned to the Slytherin common room, her face was flushed, her hair a mess, and Tracey and Millie began whooping when she came in. Hermione ignored them, going over to Blaise directly, who looked up from his book curiously.

"Blaise," Hermione said. "If I wanted to start a Wandless Magic club, would you want in?"

Blaise gave her a slow grin.

"Are you kidding?" He laughed. "Of course I'd want in. Though I hear it's kind of dangerous." His eyes sparkled. "Maybe if we invited Malfoy, he could have a terrible 'mistake' and get his hand blown off."

Hermione was startled into laughter. "You're terrible."

"You love me this way," Blaise pouted, before he smirked. "Are you really?"

"Starting a wandless magic club?" Hermione said, her lips curling in amusement. "Not really. Not yet, anyway. I haven't read much about it, but I was considering maybe someday."

"Well, let me know when you do," he said, grinning. "You know you can count me in."

Hermione went to her dorm room with a firm sense of defiance and vindication, though as she reflected as she undressed, she wasn't quite sure as to why.

Chapter Text

The invitation for a budgetary committee meeting came later than Hermione had expected, but she was relieved when it finally came.

.

Dear Miss Granger,

For our committee meeting, I invite you to the Lestrange Household at 5pm on Monday evening.
For your first visit, please come to the front door to allow the wards to recognize you. Afterward, for subsequent meetings, you will be able to use the Floo.

Yours,

Phaedra Lestrange

.

Hermione showed the note to Snape between classes, and though he rolled his eyes, he nodded.

"Don't wear your school robes for this," he advised her, eyes sharp. "You may be the Youth Representative, but these are adult games you are trying to play."

Hermione hurried and changed after Arithmancy into one of her more adult robes in a pretty purple color before reporting to Snape's office, who looked her over and gave her a nod.

"We will need to Apparate to the door as she bid," he warned her. "Have you ever Side-Along Apparated before?"

Hermione considered.

"I don't remember," she admitted. "But I'm sure I'll be fine."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "We will see."

Snape had no intentions of walking them outside in the cold to the border of the grounds and past the dementor line, apparently – instead, he called out "the Leaky Cauldron" into the Floo in his private office, pushing her through ahead of him. Hermione stumbled out into a very familiar room as Snape followed behind her, and moments later he had firmly taken her shoulder, and suddenly Hermione was being all twisted up and shoved through a pipe.

When they emerged on the other side, Hermione was heaving, but her air and earth elementals were helping her stomach settle quickly, her magic calming her down.

"Is it always like that?" Hermione asked weakly. "Apparition, I mean?"

Snape's eyes gleamed. "You get used to it."

Hermione sighed and looked around. The sun was setting, given the time of year, but there was enough light left for her to get a glimpse of the Lestrange Manor.

And what a manor it was.

The entire house was enormous – with wings upon wings upon wings. The brick looked to glow slightly orange from the torches lit up all over the walls. There were topiary bushes in the form of different magical creatures lining the walkway, and Hermione found herself trying to identify them as Snape led Hermione up the path to the door, where he took hold of a gleaming golden ring and knocked firmly, a banging echoing out from the other side of the door.

The had to wait nary a minute before Phaedra Lestrange appeared at the door, opening it and giving them both a smile that rather reminded Hermione like that of a snake.

"Hermione! So glad you could make it," she said. "And Severus! What a pleasant surprise."

Snape inclined his head. "Phaedra."

She ushered them into the entranceway, closing the door behind them.

"So good of you to come. Royce sent word that he couldn't make it, but Melker and I have set up in the sitting room," she said, gesturing with her arm. "It's right this way."

"Thanks." Hermione stepped forward and went towards the indicated room, only to have Snape suddenly lunged for her.

"No! Wait—"

Hermione stopped short, turning back to look at Snape. Snape was staring at her with wide eyes, and while Phaedra's eyes were narrowed and glittering, a curl of a smile at the corner of her lips.

"Umm," she said. "What?"

Snape gave Phaedra a sharp look.

"Madame Lestrange will need to add us to the warding scheme before allowing us entryway into her home," he said curtly. "Some old manors have… nasty repercussions for those who would not be welcome."

"Of course," Phaedra said sweetly. "I'm terribly sorry – how could I have forgotten? Just a moment."

She withdrew her wand, tracing a sigil in the air with a sparkling royal blue path trailing from its tip, leaving a glittering path hanging in the air. Snape's eyes were sharp on Phaedra as she did, and Hermione took the chance to glance upward.

She had already passed through the cased opening into the next room when she had stopped – past the point where wards should have theoretically triggered.

What did that mean…?

Apparently done adding Severus to the warding scheme, Phaedra came over to Hermione, repeating the gesture. Her wand trailed violet sparkles as it went, but Hermione didn't recognize the sigil she was making.

"There," she said, satisfied. "Now, if you would follow me…"

Phaedra swept through to the next room, leading them around to a large sitting room. The room had already been decorated for the holidays, with boughs of pine, holly, and ivy decorating the doorways and rooms. There was a large decorated tree off to the side of the room, draped with garlands of red berries, and there were small lit candles burning on it as well.

The main table where Melker Travers was already sitting had a tasteful sort of holiday centerpiece on it – a log of wood that looked snowy, with bits of holly scattered on it. There were a few long candles embedded into the log, all of them lit, and it provided a warm, glowing ambience. There was even a little sun-shaped dish with holiday nuts and berries in it nearby, and Hermione was happy to pop a couple in her mouth.

"Granger," Melker Travers said, nodding to her. "Glad you could make it. Snape." His eyes narrowed as Snape followed her into the room.

"Travers," Snape said shortly.

Travers looked at Snape for a long moment, before deciding it was fine.

"If you have to be chaperoned, better Snape than someone else," he declared, and Phaedra tittered, laughing.

"Oh, Severus here is fine," she declared. "Now! How shall we begin?"

Melker fussed with a folder he had brought with him. "I have the proposed legislation here…"

Hermione took a back seat as the document was read aloud. As the three of them looked over the legislation, Phaedra and Melker beginning to discuss it, Hermione mostly listened as they proposed different ideas, trying to get a feel for things.

It was clear that Lestrange and Travers were most concerned with the Sacred 28 getting money while making sure that the other Sacred 28 families wouldn't fuss that they weren't getting a fair share. Direct trade was ruled out as a possibility as a result – if the goblins only wanted parchment and quills, only the families that dealt in such things would be able to profit as a result, which was clearly unacceptable.

It did not escape Hermione's notice that neither the Lestranges nor the Travers were in the stationery business.

They eventually decided that the best way to manage it all would be to have a small, chosen group of representatives manage and oversee the trade with the goblins. They would facilitate trade with the goblin representatives, determine exchanges, and contact specific families as appropriate, depending on the goblins' needs. The collective earnings from the trade would be distributed among all the Sacred 28.

Hermione wondered at the ability of prejudiced purebloods to be polite to goblins, and how well this could possibly go. She suspected that though the purebloods might be willing to put up with a lot in the name of gold, there was likely to be a limit somewhere – and the goblins would have their own limit as well.

When it came time to writing up their idea, Hermione joined in on the discussion.

"We need to stipulate what the money will be used for ahead of time," she pointed out. "The other representatives aren't going to let this pass if we just leave in a vague 'the committee will manage it'. We need to lay out specifics and goals to be accomplished this year, and if we do that, then they'll be more likely to let us expand it next year."

Travers raised an eyebrow. "Goals? Like what?"

"Like silver wards," Hermione said determinedly. "Listen…"

Hermione laid out her idea, Phaedra and Melker listening in. They would put in the document that they would trade goods for pure silver from the goblins. The silver would be to help finance and used in the creation of new silver wards for boundary lines. It would be allotted to families with the highest population of tenants first, then down in a stepping scale to the family with the fewest, in order to protect the most people the fastest.

"We'll include a 20% administrative fee on everything," Hermione suggested, and she caught the look Phaedra and Melker exchanged – this would be the part where they got the most money. "That way, each family will have funds sitting aside for doing other things necessary, such as hiring a professional warder to come and set up the warding systems and the like."

Phaedra wrinkled her nose. "That's not a lot."

"35%," Melker proposed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fine."

She continued with setting out specific goals; after silver warding schemes had been successfully set up around tenant lands, trade for the goblins would continue, with each family being given a proportional portion of the proceeds according to population. This money would be used for increasing grain allotments as available – with a 35% administrative fee taken out first from each family, of course.

Hermione was satisfied with the ending result. If the goblins traded, and the committee gave the Lestrange family 100 galleons, that was still 65 galleons going towards increased grain allotments for the hedgewitches. It was lower than it should be, really, but she was realistic enough to know that the Sacred 28 did not care very much for actually taking care of their tenants, just being seen taking care of their tenants.

"We'll put in a section about self-determination," Hermione said, the idea crystalizing suddenly. "If the majority of a tenancy opts to receive their allotment of silver directly, they are responsible for the installation of the warding scheme themselves, and any other costs accrued."

Travers scoffed. "They won't even know what that means."

"We'll just add it as another option, then, to be discussed with the landlord?" Hermione suggested, shrugging. "A landlord might be too busy with other important things to go around digging in the dirt laying out warding schemes, and hiring somebody trustworthy takes time. If it's to protect the tenants, why not have them do it?"

Phaedra's eyes gleamed. "I like it."

Hermione suspected she would. It let the purebloods get away with more and have to do less.

Now that a plan was drawn out, it would need to be put into formal language to go into the bill. Phaedra suggested they all meet again in a few days' time – but after dinner, this time.

"It shouldn't take too long, merely another evening or two," she said. She looked to Severus. "That won't be too much of an imposition on your time, would it, Severus?"

Snape's eyes glittered. "Not at all."

Hermione bid Phaedra and Melker good-bye with a polite curtsy while Snape fussed with the Floo, tracing some sort of sigil before the fireplace before he was willing to let Hermione call out 'Hogwarts!' and step into the flames.

It was after dinner when they arrived, and Hermione was hungry. She pulled the Time-Turner out from her robes as soon as they reemerged in Snape's office, and she beckoned him closer.

"This will be awkward for just a moment," she said, looping the chain over his head. "Bear with me."

She spun the little device three times, and the office blurred around them and stilled. She pulled it off of him and tucked it away again down her robes.

"It's now just after five," she told him, grinning. "We can still get dinner, and you'll have your whole evening to yourself. Just make sure you're not in your office when the previous-us leaves. Oh! And I have your gold."

She fished in her pockets for her bag while Snape was looking at her, silent.

"Miss Granger," he said finally. "I have a question."

"Yes?" Hermione said distractedly. She was mentally doing math, counting out galleons. Time and a half at eight galleons per normal hour was twelve galleons an hour, and they'd been gone for three hours…

"How did you get through the pureblood ward into the sitting room at Lestrange Manor?"

Hermione stopped and looked up at Snape.

"How did I do what?" she asked.

Snape's eyes glittered at her, reflections of the torches flickering in their darkness.

"There is a ward set on the Lestrange Manor," he said. "It detects those not of pure blood and stops them from entering, often with very painful consequences."

Hermione's eyes went wide, and she swallowed. "I… didn't know that."

"And yet, you…" Snape said softly, his eyes on hers, intense. "You, a girl with muggle parents, were able to enter without so much as a flicker…"

Hermione bit her lip.

Realistically, she had her suspicions as to why. She'd discussed them with Tom over the summer, the other implications of the coven vow they all had made – I offer my blood with the cut of this knife; may my blood be yours for the rest of my life.

And even though Snape knew she had a coven, she found herself not quite wanting to give up that specific bit of information to him just yet.

"I'm New Blood?" she offered, looking up at her teacher. "So my blood is the purest of the pure?"

Snape scoffed audibly, and Hermione winced but gave him a smile.

"I mean, surely it's just good I didn't get flayed alive, right?" she said. "And she added us to the wards, so we should be fine next time too, right?"

"Correct." Snape looked at her. "This will cause gossip, you know."

"What, that I went through a pureblood ward?" Hermione asked. "They all know I'm New Blood. They should be over it by now, shouldn't they?"

Snape's eyes glittered.

"Hearing and seeing are two very different paths to believing a thing, one much shorter than the other," he told her. "But we shall see."

Chapter Text

Snape was less prickly when they went to the Lestrange Manor the second time, though he seemed just as alert and wary.

"Phaedra Lestrange will have dwelt on your apparent exception to her wards by now," Snape told her, his eyes dark. "She will undoubtedly try other subtle things or tests on you to learn what she wants to know."

"She could just ask me what she wants to know," Hermione protested.

Snape gave her a thin smirk. "We are Slytherins, Hermione. We do not just ask."

Hermione acknowledged his point with a sigh, and they Floo'd to the Lestrange Manor together at 7 o'clock sharp.

Phaedra was waiting for them by the fireplace, sweeping them a curtsy and welcoming them to her home once more. Hermione immediately noticed her robes were decidedly different this time – instead of normal (if a bit grand) robes, Phaedra wore a set of green velvet robes embroidered with ivy, the neckline resting just off her shoulders, exposing her shoulders, collarbones, and décolletage. It looked like there was a built-in corset as well, if she squinted a bit, which Hermione figured what was helping everything (and the robes) stay up and in place.

That, or magic. Could one magic one's breasts not to fall down? Or just one's robes?

"Are you entertaining this evening, Phaedra?" Snape asked silkily. His eyes were sharp on Phaedra, clearly having noticed her robes too.

"Oh, not really," Phaedra said, dismissive. "Just the policy meeting tonight for me! Though, Narcissa said she might stop over, as might my daughter, and if I can get her to feel any sort of enthusiasm for the holiday, I'm bound to try."

She laughed, as if Snape would commiserate with her on the struggles of being a parent, before turning to Hermione and clapping her hands brightly.

"So!" she said, her eyes sparkling. "Shall we get started? Or wait for Melker?"

Hermione claimed a seat on the couch while Phaedra settled herself into a large chair, Snape taking a chair by the window across the room where he could see anyone coming in the doorway. Hermione was pleased that Phaedra, like her, had no patience for people who could not make an effort to be on time, so they promptly started working on their legislation.

It quickly became apparent that working all of the details necessary into the Ministry's budget bill was going to be difficult and exhausting. The budgetary bill wasn't phrased like most legislation that came before the Wizengamot, and it read more like a projected expense report than an actual bill or resolution. After several failed attempts, Phaedra sighed and suggested that they just write a new bill, get that passed, and then make mention of it in the Ministry budget bill as one or two lines.

Hermione agreed whole-heartedly. That would be much easier, in her opinion, and give more room to be thorough, specific, and detailed.

Melker showed up over half an hour late. Phaedra greeted him coolly, and he didn't offer an excuse for his whereabouts. His expression somewhat soured when he saw Hermione had taken over his role as group scribe, drafting and writing things down, but he didn't object. He offered occasional suggestions for wordings, as well as joined in on the discussion of what things should be strictly forbidden from trade with the goblins.

Hermione privately thought that Royce really should have shown up for this meeting – he undoubtedly had strong opinions on what to exclude from goblin trade. But if he wasn't going to take his seat on the Wizengamot seriously…

She just hoped he didn't clamor for an amendment once the bill was reintroduced. Constant amendments would be a pain.

Around eight, Phaedra declared her eyes were tired from squinting down at the parchment for so long and announced they should pause for an evening tea. Hermione wasn't about to object, though Snape's eyes slitted as Phaedra swept off to go get tea prepared.

When she returned, it was with a guest.

"Narcissa is here," Phaedra announced, pleased. She turned to the witch next to her. "I daresay you're already acquainted with everyone, Narcissa?"

Narcissa raised one delicate eyebrow.

"Not… everyone," she said, and Phaedra nodded, her eyes glinting.

"Ah, of course, of course," she said, moving into the room. Her eyes fell on Hermione, and Hermione hurriedly stood, brushing her robes out.

"Narcissa, may I present Hermione Granger, current Hogwarts student and British Youth Representative?" Phaedra said, gesturing grandly. "Hermione, this is Narcissa Malfoy, current Regent of the House of Black and wife to Lucius Malfoy."

Hermione swept her her best curtsy. "Pleased to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine." Narcissa's face didn't move as she looked Hermione over carefully, and Hermione took the opportunity to examine Narcissa as well. She'd only seen her up close once before, briefly, when Draco had been in the hospital wing – not when she was out and about in society.

Narcissa was tall and slim, looking very svelte in her ice-blue tailored robes. She, too, was blonde, though her hair was more of a yellow-blonde than the platinum shade her husband and son shared. Her eyes looked to be gray, though they seemed to pick up notes of color from the shade of her robes, and both of them were piercing on Hermione.

As Phaedra served the tea, which had been floating behind her, Hermione retook her seat as Narcissa claimed the open chair, making Phaedra take the seat on the couch next to Hermione once she was done.

"I have heard much about you, Miss Granger," Narcissa said, taking her cup and saucer. "My Draco paints a flattering picture of you."

Hermione flushed.

"Draco is overly kind," she said, embarrassed.

"Oh?" Narcissa inquired. "Are you not first in your class?"

"Err – no, that's correct," Hermione said. "I was ranked first both years so far."

"And did you not daringly rescue him from a basilisk?"

"That's correct as well," she said. "Though I wouldn't quite call it 'daring'. More like 'desperate' or—"

"And are you not the most powerful student in your year?"

Hermione paused, looking at Narcissa.

"That's a very different sort of question," she said slowly. "The classes and professors don't really measure our raw power or potential, just our ability to use it to accomplish a goal."

Narcissa smiled. It was a cold smile.

"Are you not, then?" she asked.

Hermione bit her tongue.

"No," she said finally. She considered the matter, thinking. "If there were a way to measure us all, I would come in top, probably followed by Harry," she admitted. "I don't think there's anyone else in the class close to me."

"Harry? Harry Potter?" For the first time, Narcissa's face expressed emotion, her lip curling in disgust. "Him? Powerful?"

"Harry is capable of wielding more raw power than most people our age," Hermione argued. "He's not particularly refined about it, which is why Draco tops him in classes constantly, but he has a lot of potential there – possibly because of his exposure to such powerful magic when he was a child."

Narcissa's face smoothed back out.

"That makes sense," she conceded. She raised an eyebrow. "And you?"

"And me what?" Hermione asked, blinking.

Narcissa's lips twitched in a smirk.

"Were you exposed to powerful magic as an infant?" she asked. "How is it that you have come to be so powerful?"

"Oh," Hermione said. "I—um—"

She fiddled with her teacup. The real answer of I practice all the time and I messed up my menstrual cycle with Voldemort's help trying to maximize my potential wasn't one that Hermione was willing to share.

"It's part of being a New Blood," Hermione told her instead. "I think it comes with being touched directly by Magic."

Narcissa was looking at her seriously now.

"Many people are beginning to believe you are truly a New Blood, Miss Granger," Narcissa told her. "If this is some grand thing you have invented, it is fast approaching the time to disclaim it."

Hermione recoiled, struck, and Phaedra gasped.

A feeling of shock and incredulousness hit Hermione, like she'd been punched in her gut as well as insulted. It took only a moment to judge the risk of being angry versus not being angry in this situation. Snape was watching her carefully from the side of the room, and Hermione fought to keep her voice smooth even as her temper flared.

"How dare you." Hermione's voice came out low and dangerous, and her eyes narrowed on Narcissa, glittering. "How dare you. And to think, I thought you were a civilized woman of society, with better etiquette than this."

Narcissa raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"How dare I?" she asked. "How dare I?"

"I don't go about to my friends' houses challenging their guests on their birthright," Hermione said sharply, "and I'm not casually casting aspersions on yours."

"I was offering a friendly bit of advice," Narcissa sniffed. "If you were masquerading around as something more than what you are, you would not be the first Muggle-born to do so."

Hermione was hard-pressed not to throw up her hands in frustration. Across the room, Snape's eyes glittered at her, but he did not move to interfere.

"I'm fourteen," Hermione snarled, her eyes sharp. "In three years, I will call a convocation of the Sacred 28, and you will be able to test my full strength yourself to determine if I should establish a new Great House or not." She glared at the blonde woman. "But as for now, I'm a third-year student," she emphasized. "What great feats of magic must I perform for you to give me the benefit of the doubt? As slaying a basilisk is apparently not enough."

"You killed a basilisk?" a surprised voice came from behind the couch. "Where did you find one of those?"

Hermione whirled around to look behind her even as Phaedra groaned.

"Sylvia, what are you wearing?" she despaired. "Honestly."

There was a young woman standing behind the couch, looking at Hermione with curious, silver eyes. She looked a little wary of Hermione, but there was a respect to her gaze – a deeper one, one that seemed heavy somehow. Phaedra stood and rushed over to the young woman, fussing with the state of her robes, but the young woman's eyes remained locked with Hermione's, and Hermione gasped.

"I—I know you," Hermione said in shock. "We worked together – back at Lleulynn and Selwyn—"

The woman's eyes gleamed.

"Yes," she said. "We did."

Phaedra looked confused.

"You met at the dusty publisher's?" she said. She turned to Hermione. "How? I understand how my daughter was there – she decided she wanted to play at being in low society before returning to her birthright, of all things – but how did you end up there?"

"Miss Granger had an internship," Snape cut in smoothly. "I arranged it with one of the editors. Hermione did a work study with him that summer."

"A 'work study'?" Phaedra looked confused again. She shook her head, dismissive, before taking her daughter by the arm and dragging her around the couch.

"Well, regardless, I doubt you've been properly introduced," she said. "Hermione, may I present my daughter and eldest child, Sylvia Lestrange? Sylvia, this is Hermione Granger, current British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot."

Sylvia cut her an abbreviated curtsy as she came around the couch.

"Charmed," she said dryly.

Hermione couldn't help but stare.

Sylvia was wearing muggle clothes – muggle clothes – and looked like she'd spent the day in a chemistry lab or something. Her denims were dusty at the knees, and her shirt was large and baggy, with powder splotches all over it too. There was an overrobe hastily thrown on over her clothes and left open, a last-second concession to her heritage, but it was not the attire of a well-to-do witch.

To say Hermione was surprised was to put it mildly.

Sylvia had always been so nice to her at work – encouraging her to push her limits, to see how far she could go – and to learn she was related to Phaedra Lestrange, a blood purist with the smile of a snake no matter how hard she tried to hide it, and Lysander Lestrange, the snobby prefect with a nasty attitude, was a shock no matter how she looked at it. She'd have never pegged Sylvia as a Lestrange – not in a million years.

"Where did you go?" Hermione finally asked. "I missed work one day – one day – and when I came back, everyone said you'd had a fight with Mr. Vitac and fled – no one could find you, your apartment was deserted—"

Sylvia grinned.

"I never gave my proper address on the employee forms," she admitted. "Vitac was willing to pay spellers in gold if we asked, and I left my last name a bit of a smudge on the paperwork." Her eyes cut up to her mother's. "The Lestrange name isn't the best one to have, in many places."

Phaedra sniffed. "The Lestrange Legacy—"

"Whatever," Sylvia interrupted, waving a hand. "I don't care. Vitac didn't care, either – just that I had the power level necessary to be a speller, and that I did the job well." Her eyes glinted as they looked at Hermione. "Though, apparently, it isn't as much of an accomplishment as I had thought…"

Sylvia plopped down next to Hermione on the couch, and Phaedra poured her tea, irritation in her gestures. Sylvia looked perfectly at ease sitting on a fancy couch with fancy tea in dirty clothes, though her mother kept shooting her dark looks.

"So," Sylvia said cheerfully, glancing around. "All ready for the holiday season?"

Narcissa and Phaedra made vague, polite comments about holiday parties they were attending over the season, while Melker excused himself to the side of the room to play chess with Snape, utterly uninterested in society dribble. Hermione found it interesting herself, how Phaedra detailed her social calendar for the coming weeks, who was going where, and how she was subtly pleading with her daughter to come to the requisite parties and society events.

Sylvia was having none of it.

"I'll be working, mother," she said, smirking. "It's a very important time, you know."

"You always work on holidays," Phaedra despaired. "How are you ever to find a husband, if you're always work-work-working on the days of all the events?"

Sylvia snorted.

"I don't want or need a husband," she said. "I'm perfectly content where I am."

"Where is that?" Hermione cut in, looking at Sylvia curiously.

"Oh, she works at the Ministry, now," Phaedra said, dismissive. "She wouldn't need to work if she—"

But Sylvia regarding Hermione thoughtfully, her eyes sharp on her.

"I work in the Department of Mysteries," she said abruptly, cutting her mother off. She raised an eyebrow. "As an Unspeakable."

Hermione gasped. "An Unspeakable?"

Her mother looked aghast and appalled.

"What are you doing?" Phaedra demanded, horrified. "Sylvia, you're not to tell anyone—"

"Oh, bother," Sylvia said, waving her mother off. Her eyes stayed fixed on Hermione. "I work in the Power room, where we analyze the nature and power of magic."

"That's fascinating," Hermione breathed, her eyes wide. "Do you get to do private research? How did you get recruited? How do you get to join? I've always thought the Department of Mysteries—"

Sylvia laughed.

"Recruitment methods are secret. Sorry," she said. She grinned. "But I'm currently working on tracking the ebbs and flows of ambient magical power throughout the year, and then investigating possible causes of the fluctuations."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. "That's why you miss the holidays, isn't it? You have to watch the surges on Yule."

Narcissa and Phaedra sat up very sharply, but Sylvia nodded, pleased.

"There are stronger surges in some places than in others," she said. "They're generally pretty predictable, but things have been getting unstable recently. There was a huge surge earlier this year, actually, on—"

"On Mabon, right?" Hermione said eagerly. "The Autumn Equinox?"

Sylvia's eyes glittered.

"It was," she confirmed. Her eyes met Hermione's. "But how do you know that?"

"I— err—" Hermione belatedly realized she'd backed herself into a bit of a corner.

With Snape sitting nearby, she could hardly admit she'd snuck out of the school to help with their autumn ritual and celebrate an old festival with them – he'd never let her out of the school again. But she'd indicated she knew of a magical surge that she had no real way of knowing – should she lie and say she felt it, all the way from Hogwarts…?

"I've become acquaintances with some of the youth in the woodlands and hedges," Hermione said, fighting not to squirm. "They—they told me their celebration was more successful this year than it has been in years past."

Sylvia's eyes gleamed.

"And," she said, "do you have any idea why that might be, Hermione?"

Hermione swallowed hard.

"I—"

"I have no interest in any of this," Phaedra announced loudly. "If we are going to be so crass as to discuss hedgewitches, may we at least do it in the context of funding the tenancies? I am sure Miss Granger and Snape would like to retire at a respectable hour this evening."

Hermione quickly put down her teacup. "Right! Of course! The bill—"

Sylvia laughed. For the first time, her tone didn't sound warm at all – it sounded high and cold.

"As you wish, mother dearest," she said, standing. She brushed out her robes, sending dirt clouds drifting to the floor, and offered her a mocking curtsy. She turned to Narcissa, nodding more respectfully. "Narcissa. Good to see you again."

"Sylvia," Narcissa said politely, inclining her head.

With one last wry grin at her mother, Sylvia disappeared with a loud crack, small clouds of dirt drifting through the air to the ground in her Disapparition.

"Why did she even show up, if not to arrange to be present for the holidays?" Phaedra despaired, whipping out her wand and Vanishing the dirt and smudges. "You'd think she hated the annual festivals, the way she carries on."

"She seems busy," Hermione offered. "If she's monitoring ley line fluctuations on major festival days, they're probably the most important workdays of the year for her. Maybe if you were also invited to a Christmas party instead of Yule, she might be able to attend—"

"Miss Granger."

Hermione sat up sharply, startled, to find Snape glaring at her.

"You are here to write your legislation for the Wizengamot, not gossip about society parties," he hissed at her, his eyes venomous. "Write it."

Hermione winced. "Right, right—"

The matter was quickly dropped as conversation resumed around the wording of the bill in questions, Hermione writing and drafting as word choice was argued over again and again. Phaedra insistent about including details on how the distribution of trade profits would be conducted, while Narcissa offered comments on how slighted landlords should seek repercussions if need be. Melker was far more focused on the details of the trade, wanting a much larger list of forbidden items to give to the goblins than Hermione wanted to list out – she thought summarizing classes of items was a more effective way to handle that matter.

By the time they were all satisfied with it, it was nearly ten, and Hermione was exhausted, but they were done and proud of the bill.

"We'll reintroduce this on Tuesday, then," Phaedra said, nodding satisfactorily. She glanced at Hermione. "Melker and I will handle it, unless you'd prefer—"

"No, by all means," Hermione said, gesturing weakly at them. "You're established Sacred 28. It makes more sense for you to do it, really—"

"Perfect."

Phaedra seemed incredibly pleased with the end result, and as Hermione gathered her things, Phaedra fluttered around Snape, lingering, thanking him for his company and inviting him to her annual holiday party.

"I find I am too old anymore to attend such festivities, madam," he said silkily, eyes glittering, "but I thank you for your invitation all the same."

Phaedra smiled back at him sweetly. "Of course."

Hermione was very tired, and she managed some sort of polite goodbye and curtsy to everyone still present, Narcissa inclining her head in response.

"Perhaps Draco was not wrong about you," she said, her gaze cool on her. "You are a special one, Miss Granger."

Hermione was too tired to analyze that cryptic statement for what it meant, but she found it perversely funny.

"I am," she said, her lips quirking. "You should compare notes with your husband sometime."

Narcissa's eyes widened, but Hermione turned back to the Floo, throwing powder into the flames and watching them turn a glittering emerald green. Snape leaned forward with his wand, tracing some sort of sigil into the flames once more before they promptly Floo'd away, returning to Snape's office.

The dim office was the same as they'd left it, only Hermione was decidedly more exhausted this time than she had been when they'd departed.

"Another three hours," Hermione said tiredly. She dug in her pockets. "At least the math's consistent."

Snape ignored her as she set gold out on his desk. His eyes were on hers, instead.

"You need not turn back time to regain me my evening," Snape told her. "I find I would prefer to retire sooner than later."

Hermione barely suppressed a yawn. "Me too."

Snape looked her over carefully, Hermione watching him with tired eyes. It seemed like he wanted to bring something up, but abruptly he decided against it.

"Return to your common room and get to bed," he instructed her. "In the off-chance Filch catches you in the two hallways between here and there, insist he bring you to me, and I'll excuse you being out after hours."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you, sir. Have a good night."

She managed to drag herself from Snape's office and back to the Slytherin common room, making it to her dormitory, where the other girls were already in bed. With a sigh, she undressed and set about getting ready for bed, her mind reflecting on the day.

Sylvia, she mused, washing her face. Hermione had imagined she'd fled the country under threat from Vitac or some else equally dramatic. She'd never imagined she'd been recruited by the Department of Mysteries. It certainly explained her sudden disappearance – no one was supposed to know Unspeakables were Unspeakables, after all.

Though, if no one was supposed to know Unspeakables were Unspeakables…

...why had Sylvia told her the truth?

It made Hermione uncomfortable to consider, and she pushed the matter firmly from her mind as she went to bed.

Chapter Text

As Hermione was repacking her trunk to take with her on the winter break, which was fast approaching, she found the books her parents had given her for her birthday at the bottom. She paged through one of the math books for a bit, though they hadn't gotten far enough in Arithmancy for it to be useful yet. The books her Dad had given her, though, had more immediate potential, and Hermione was pleased to discover muggle books had no protections against copying spells.

Hermione wrapped a copy of one of them in a bit of silver paper, taking it up to the Gryffindor common room. The Twins were gleeful after opening it, taking it and opening it promptly, teasing her for forgetting them for so long – she'd originally planned to share the book with them shortly after term started, but she'd gotten so distracted by the dementors and classes that it'd been months. Months! How could she forget them so cruelly? Perhaps she was an evil Slytherin after all, toying cruelly with their hearts.

Hermione bore their teasing with good humor, rolling her eyes until they settled down and actually began examining the book.

The book of magic items from her father's make-believe game was detailed and interesting. A lot of it didn't make much sense, with references to things she didn't understand, but a lot of it was straight-forward imaginative descriptions of made-up magical items. Hermione upside-down from in front of them as they paged through it, reading some entries aloud before laughing and looking at her.

"These are ridiculous," Fred said, grinning.

"This is really what muggles think of magic?" George said, amused. "Really?"