"I say make an example of one of them," said Camio in his high-pitched voice underlaid with the crackling noises of a fire. "How about I eviscerate this 'Ron Weasley' for you? When they find his gutted corpse in his bed, they'll know you're someone not to cross. People will flock to your banner."
"No," Hermione said wearily, blowing her reddened nose with a hanky. "No killing." All her demon friends were there except for Paimon, and they'd all gotten very angry on her behalf. And every single one of them seemed to think murder was the best way to recoup her honour and earn the respect of her peers.
"I agree, Camio's plan is inappropriate," said Andrealphus. He'd perched up high on one of the toilet cubicle doors, leaning down and posing carefully so that he could admire his vibrant blue feathers and glorious trailing tail in the mirrors opposite. He could be very vain sometimes – Hermione thought a peacock form suited him exceptionally well.
"Thank you Andrealphus," Hermione said gratefully. Was one of them finally getting it?
"Much better to target this Draco who turned people against her. I could transform him into a chicken, and then he could be slaughtered for the dinner table by someone else. Leave the mortals to do the killing – she's still a child yet and not ready to build her Dark army and take her place as the Queen of the Fae. It's too dangerous for her to be seen to be directly responsible for anyone's death. Let it merely be a tragic mistake."
Hermione sighed. "To repeat myself again, I still don't want anyone killed. Thank you for the offer, though."
"How about permanently crippling wounds?" offered Camio thoughtfully. "I could cut off a leg while one of them sleeps. I'm quite the swordsman, you know." With a clawed wing, Camio drew a rapier hanging at his side and flourished it dramatically. Hermione hadn't even noticed him wearing it before now, and thought he might've just manifested it moments ago.
"How would you even manage that with a rapier?" Hermione asked distractedly. "It's a piercing weapon – it couldn't cut through bone."
Camio twittered his chirping laugh. "It's heavily enchanted. Would you like a demonstration? Name the target."
Forneus, who was sitting in a puddle of water on the tiles she'd made by overflowing one of the sinks, rumbled her approval, waving her scaly tentacles excitedly. "He's an amazing warrior. I've seen him cleave angels in half with that sword and it didn't even slow him down. The explosion of ichor was glorious! Very tasty." Her enormous tongue licked across her fanged mouth hungrily.
"Just leave the school, if it's too unwelcoming," suggested Crocell practically. "You have plenty of books about spells, and know how to get more."
"We can teach you, you don't need any of these pathetic mortals," agreed Janus.
"I don't want to have to go to an ordinary school again – I wasn't happy there either," sniffled Hermione, starting to tear up again. "And I don't think they'll let me use my wand at home – the Statute of Secrecy is very strict."
"They won't be able to track your wand," Janus pointed out. "Just the craftsman's one."
"There must be other schools of magic. Ones without these mortals who don't recognise that power is what matters, not your parents' ancestry," rumbled Crocell like the surge of angry waves crashing against a rocky shore.
"I suppose," mused Hermione thoughtfully. "Beauxbatons might be a possibility, since Forneus has taught me French. I guess I could look into my options."
"I told you it was a worthwhile tongue," Forneus gurgled happily.
"Is that school affiliated with the Light or Dark Fae?" asked Andrealphus.
"The courts are long gone…" sighed Crocell wearily, rolling his eyes.
"You know what I mean!" cawed Andrealphus angrily. "We want her to stay safe, not be surrounded by enemies allied with the Light!"
The door handle to the bathroom rattled as someone tried to get in.
"Go away!" yelled Hermione frantically. "You can't come in!"
"Granger?" called a female voice. "Is that you? I need to use the bathroom! Unlock the door!"
"No! I don't care!" Hermione screeched back. "Find another bathroom!" They moved on, thankfully.
Stolas, the owl-shaped adorably cute demon with ridiculously long legs sticking out from under his brown fluffy feathers, was perched on one of the bathroom sinks. He'd been quiet for a while, and was finally ready to share his carefully considered alternative plan. In his sweet, soft voice he chirped, "I think between us we could probably slaughter everyone here who won't serve us, and seize the castle. It would make a good stronghold – a base for her and a breach for us. With that many deaths we would have enough power to bring through a whole legion. We just need Hermione's permission and a spark of her magic or a little blood to get started, so that we can work around that annoying non-intervention treaty. It would be a very advantageous move in our war, and Samhain's a very propitious date to begin such a move."
There was a murmur of interested approval from all the demons, even the usually less bloodthirsty ones like Crocell and Janus.
Hermione buried her face in her hands. It was going to be a long day talking them down. Still, at least she had friends – ones who cared about her enough to want to eviscerate everyone who had offended her. That was something.
-000-
When the troll crashed through the bathroom door with a shower of splintering wood raining all over Hermione and her demonic friends, she couldn't help but scream from the terrifying shock of it.
"Quick, grant me leave to kill it!" said Crocell urgently, as the lumbering being strode into the crowded bathroom, snarling angrily at everyone and everything it saw.
A look of very slowly dawning concern seemed to cross its dull face as it took in the strange assortment of creatures in the bathroom. After a moment's thought it lumbered towards Hermione as the most screechy and least intimidating being in the room. Staying away from Forneus and her capacious fanged mouth seemed to be a priority for it.
"Oh no!" cried a worried young voice from out in the corridor. "I think she's in there!"
"Hermione?!" called Theo from out of sight. "Are you in there? There's a troll!"
"Severing Charm!" hissed Janus quickly. "Straight to the throat! Hurry! We have to leave or we'll be seen!"
"Kill any witnesses afterwards," suggested Andrealphus.
Hermione pulled out her wand, and cast quickly and decisively. "Diffindo!" she yelled loudly, and the troll buckled to the ground, blood gushing from its severed throat.
Her demons smiled happily at her, and Crocell whispered some quiet praise of her kill, then they disappeared with quiet pops of noise and small bursts of flame. Forneus was the last to go - she snaked a tentacle over to dip in a pool of blood, and curiously sucked it clean to sample the taste of troll blood before leaving reluctantly at Hermione's frantic gestures. Forneus had in the past reminisced happily about the flavour and texture of rotted whale blubber, so Hermione guessed the noisome troll carcass didn't smell or look any worse than that to her friend.
Hermione looked down at the dead troll. She certainly didn't think it was temptingly delicious. She felt kind of shaky and her hands were trembling, but didn't really regret killing it.
Well… waste not, want not. She didn't really have time to draw a circle and do things properly, so she simply pointed her homemade wand at the troll's body, using it as a focus to channel her magical intent. She quietly muttered under her breath, "I dedicate this death to Janus and Crocell – a gift for Samhain." A flickering of flames licked over the corpse, consuming the spirit but leaving the body of the creature untouched.
It was then, of course, that Theo entered the bathroom, wand at the ready. Harry Potter wasn't far behind him.
"Hermione are you… alright?" he asked, trailing off uncertainly as he looked at the flames dancing over the body of the troll before dissipating, and the pool of blood underneath it.
"We're here to um, warn you about the troll being loose? Obviously you know that," Potter said, "so I guess we were a bit late. Sorry, I think we accidentally chased it towards you. Wow, you killed it! That's amazing! And kind of gross." He looked a bit nauseous as he looked at the body.
Theo was carefully avoiding looking at the body of the troll as he walked around to her. "What was that last spell?" he hissed quietly.
"Nothing important… it wasn't from the school books," she whispered back, eyes darting about guiltily as she tucked her non-regulation wand back in her pocket.
"If it was Dark, or blood magic, you can't be tied to this," Theo said with desperate intensity. "You're a Slytherin – they never trust us. They'll search you and check your wand. There's detection spells for Dark magic – if people are suspicious they'll check the body too."
Hermione blanched. She could've kicked herself for her thoughtless decision to dedicate the death to her friends. She was wearing her gold amulet (hidden beneath her robe) so she wouldn't "feel" Dark to anyone who checked, but perhaps something would linger on the troll that people could detect.
Wait, a Slytherin might be under instant suspicion, but not the Boy Who Lived, she realised in a flash. They wouldn't even ask him many questions.
"Potter, I don't really want the attention I'd get from killing the troll," she said, in a wheedling tone of voice. "How about we say you did it?"
"Me?" he said in amazement. "But I didn't do anything!"
Theo gave her a startled look, before rallying and smoothing out his expression into a coaxing one directed at Harry. "Good idea. Killing trolls just isn't ladylike. It'd ruin her reputation in Slytherin. But a brave Gryffindor like yourself, people in your House will love it."
Harry looked hesitant, so Theo added firmly, "And you owe her, you and Weasley. For her sticking up for you, and the fallout she's suffered from that."
Harry's face firmed with resolution. "Right. Alright then, I'll do it. If you're sure that's what you want?"
"Absolutely," Hermione said with relief.
And the plan worked beautifully. When the teachers eventually showed up, Theo did most of the talking, with a mixture of truth and lies. He explained how he'd been worried that Hermione, who hadn't been at the Halloween feast, wouldn't have heard about the troll and might be in danger. How he'd asked Potter and Weasley, the last people to see her, if they knew where she was. Apparently Patil had told Potter she was in one of the bathrooms. Potter had then bravely volunteered to help him look for her.
They checked two bathrooms before stumbling across the rank-smelling troll, and Theo had warily distracted the troll away from them with a light spell cast on a door that unfortunately turned out to be the very bathroom that Hermione was in. From there the story veered more into fiction, with Harry's gallant attack on the troll that saved Hermione's life, with an overpowered Severing Charm born of pure desperation. Hermione and Harry chimed in occasionally to add their support to the story.
Professor McGonagall gave twenty points to Gryffindor for the courageous rescue, though took five off her own House again, and five off Slytherin, due to Harry and Theo's "recklessness" in not telling a teacher what they were doing. Professor Snape countered with ten points to Slytherin for Theo's well-executed distraction of the troll to preserve his and Potter's life, even though it had been regrettably mistargeted on Hermione's location. And no-one bothered to cast any spells to check on what anyone's wand had cast, or any on the troll's body, much to the Slytherins' quiet relief.
"We're still friends, then?" Hermione asked Theo a little anxiously, after the teachers shooed the three of them to head back to their dormitories, since the danger was over.
"Of course, you idiot. I already knew about your family, didn't I? It doesn't change anything."
She sniffled slightly, with happy tears. "I don't have many real friends. I'm glad I haven't lost you. That makes one wizard friend, at least. I don't think Millicent wants to be friends anymore."
"Two wizard friends," said Harry, offering his hand awkwardly for her to shake. "I wanted to tell you earlier – how I'm really grateful for you know, sticking up for me. Well, for my mum. That meant a lot. No-one's ever done that before."
They loitered together to chat in the corridor for a little while, about how awful the Dursleys were, and about Hermione's assertion that it was power that mattered and not your blood status. Then they made plans to meet up together on the weekend so they could all practice the Severing Charm together – Harry was rather worried that he couldn't actually cast it properly, and now people were going to expect him to be good at it.
Before they split up to go to their own Common Rooms, Harry and Theo gossiped excitedly about something they hadn't mentioned to the teachers in their recounting of events. They'd seen Professor Quirrell skulking about suspiciously despite the fact he'd allegedly "fainted" in the Great Hall, and how Snape was limping like something had bitten him!
"Perhaps he got bitten by the Cerberus!" Harry speculated excitedly. "Ron and Neville and I found one hidden behind the door in that forbidden third floor corridor. We were in a hurry one evening trying to get away from Filch – out after curfew, you know."
"How intriguing!" whispered Theo. "They're usually used as guard dogs for treasure, you know! Not many animals like being indoors all the time, but they actually prefer the dark. I think they're cave-dwellers in their natural habitat on the Continent."
"My friends and I are trying to investigate it – I'll let you know what we find out!" Harry said, before pausing thoughtfully. "Um. Ron probably won't want to associate with 'slimy Slytherins', and Neville barely even talks to us he's so shy, so it might be best if I just kind of pass things on?" He looked so genuinely embarrassed and apologetic it was hard to take offence.
Hermione did all the same, though. Ron Weasley was definitely scum – even his best friend knew it. But Harry himself seemed like a much nicer boy than she'd given him credit for.
-000-
It wasn't all sunshine and roses for Hermione, though. While Harry might be basking (or not) in his newly renewed status as a hero, she had the lesser achievement of being known to have been saved by the Boy Who Lived. Which in Slytherin earned her more scorn than envy.
Millicent still wasn't talking to her, and when Pansy, Sophie, and Daphne took turns bullying Hermione with nasty words and minor hexes to "teach the Mudblood her place", she did nothing but stand aside nervously and shoot Hermione occasional apologetic looks. Sometimes she even joined in shooting spells at her, when the others encouraged her to.
Theo enjoyed some initial laughter at Draco's expense for taking so long to figure out that Hermione wasn't a half-blood.
"You said 'she's our type' you prat," Draco accused crossly. "You should apologise for that."
"The only thing I regret is not getting to see the look on your face when you found out the truth," Theo said, with an unrepentant grin.
Draco scowled at that, but didn't appear as angry at Theo as she kind of expected. It was as if he was used to that kind of behaviour from him. The two boys still seemed to get along in an oddly friendly manner, even though Theo was standing by her steadfastly, and had even joined in at Hermione's side in a few duels. If you could call them duels when one person was the subject of a barrage of spells from multiple opponents. While Hermione was a precocious and talented spellcaster and certainly got her licks in, she wasn't doing so great when outnumbered four to one. The Slytherin girls and Draco were not happy with her "deception" about her blood status. She'd wondered if admitting the truth about actually being the one to kill the troll in the bathroom would help improve their opinion of her, but Theo had strongly advised against it, saying that the risk of the teachers finding out wasn't worth it. She trusted him, and stayed quiet about that. She didn't want him to abandon her too.
"Why do you stand up for her? Your father is going to disown you for befriending a Mudblood," Draco warned Theo very seriously after one minor lunch-time battle in an empty classroom that had left Pansy (with the support of Tracey and Sophie) rushing off to find a prefect to reverse one of Hermione's nastier charms that had left her with uncontrollable vomiting. Daphne had squealed unhappily at the noisome green liquid Pansy had retched up all over her shoes and robe, and had retreated with disgusted moans to the nearest bathroom to try and repair the damage as best she could. Hermione made a mental note to make that spell a standard part of her spell-casting arsenal.
"Finite," incanted Theo as he waved his wand at Hermione, casting the General Counter-Spell from the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2. Hermione's hair changed back from snakes to its usual frizzy locks. Theo had looked the spell up in the library a few weeks ago, and they had both gotten very proficient at it from repeated casting. Theo refused adamantly to use it on Pansy or Daphne no matter how much they whined (or spat up slugs).
He'd help reverse spells on Draco or his two goons though, even when they'd had been hexing Hermione or Theo only moments before. Which had disappointed her a bit initially, but she guessed she understood. Those two were friends first, before he'd met her, and Theo didn't want to lose either of his friendships. She thought it was a funny thing that Vincent and Greg wouldn't hex Theo – though they'd willingly hex Hermione under Draco's occasional direction – but Theo still seemed friendlier with Draco. Theo had explained to her that the other two boys were too low status to risk insulting him directly, whereas he and Draco were peers.
"No, he won't," Theo said confidently, "my father will be just fine with it. You think she got sorted into Slytherin for no reason? Don't be a fool. She's not a Light-sided Christian like they usually are - she's different to the other Muggle-borns. Special. Think about what you've seen her do already – even just the little you know. Think about how well she's doing in classes. She's going to be a witch to be reckoned with, and anyone who crosses her now is going to regret it later, mark my words."
Hermione tried to say thank you, but it came out very croakily, a bit like a bullfrog.
"I think that one's beyond me," admitted Theo, lowering his wand in defeat. "I think you'll have to see Madam Pomfrey to get your voice fixed. The prefects are still being stubborn about us working out status issues amongst ourselves – they only warning they've been willing to give is to keep it within Slytherin and our year level, and to not embarrass our House publicly. I tried talking Dedworth around, but no luck yet. I wonder if Parkinson will have better success getting him on side."
Draco was frowning, looking thoughtfully at Hermione. "It's nothing personal, you know," he said to her eventually. "I just can't be friends with a Mudblood. Father would be very angry."
"Nothing – croak – personal. Sure," she said scornfully. She would remember this. And one day, she'd make him pay. She'd make them all pay. All the girls, Draco and his two goons, and the prefect Farley who'd just kept walking past whenever Pansy was hexing or insulting her without saying a word in rebuke. She hadn't talked with her other friends about any of it yet. She knew what they'd recommend and she didn't think things were all that dire yet. But it was definitely an option to ponder.
-000-
While the Slytherins mostly kept their troubles in-House and didn't do much more than steadfastly ignore and shun Hermione in public, word still managed to spread in whispered rumours that there was a Muggle-born witch in Slytherin.
Professor Quirrell kept her aside one afternoon after Defence Against the Dark Arts to have a chat about it with her.
"I've h-heard, Miss Granger, about your unfortunate blood status as a M-muggle-born. I understand it is c-c-causing you some distress within Slytherin. I do s-sympathise. I too was sorted into Slytherin in my y-youth, and my true blood s-s-status unknown at first. You k-know, being a half-blood was quite d-difficult enough, l-let alone those years where I w-was thought to be a M-muggle-born. I had to f-f-face my share of bullies in my time. T-t-teach them to respect you with some well-chosen s-spells, is my advice. S-s-strictly off the record, of course. I must insist th-that you not repeat this conversation to anyone."
"It wouldn't be so hard if they'd duel me one on one," admitted Hermione, shamefacedly. "They might think they're superior, but I know some good hexes. But when there's five or six of them coming at me at once…"
"P-perhaps you need to l-learn some more powerful curses," Quirrell suggested with a stutter, rummaging through a drawer of his desk and pulling out some parchment slips. "Let me w-write you some passes for the Restricted Section, there's a few books I found m-most enlightening during my time h-here."
He dipped his quill in the inkwell and scrawled out a few titles on the library forms, and dried the ink off with a quick charm. She'd noticed he rarely stuttered when casting a spell, which was lucky for him.
"Thank you, sir," she said gratefully, looking at the titles. Some looked innocuous, like Confronting the Faceless, but Magick Moste Evile leapt out at her immediately as something she wouldn't have expected a teacher to recommend she read. She tilted her head and gave Quirrell a quizzical look. "You're not… worried about me reading Dark Arts books, then?"
"N-not at all. I'm sure you'll be responsible with th-them," Quirrell replied with a vague smile.
She hesitated a moment before asking, "Just out of curiosity's sake, as I have a bit of a personal research project, I don't suppose you could recommend any books that discuss demonology?"
Professor Quirrell leaned back in his chair with a creak of wood, and she felt a brief flare of power, dark and familiar. Could it be he dabbled in demonology or the Dark Arts himself, despite his avowed profession of teaching students to fight against the Dark Arts?
"None remain in the library, alas it has been expurgated, cleansed of some of the more interesting texts since my days here as a s-student. The best text on that subject is Secrets of the Darkest Art, by Owle Bullock. I believe it now forms part of the H-headmaster's private collection, though I advise most strongly against asking him to loan it to you." He wore a rather scornful, sneering look on his face. It looked quite out of place – he usually looked so meek and mild-mannered.
She nodded obediently. "I won't ask him, sir. I'll see if I can find a copy elsewhere."
He hesitated a moment before saying, "Moribund's in Knockturn Alley w-would be your best chance, I believe. Do be c-careful, Miss Granger. It would not be wise to be seen reading that book in public."
"Of course not. Thank you again, sir. You've been very helpful. And I appreciate all your concern about me."
"One last thing, Miss Granger," Quirrell added. "I w-would advise you to research your f-family tree. Talk with your parents, if th-they are still alive. It might be w-wise to double-check if you are indeed a M-muggle-born or not. Perhaps you were adopted, or perhaps your family descends from a Squib line of the Dagworth-Grangers, or a mixed m-marriage where one of your grandparents n-never told anyone th-they were a witch or wizard, for f-fear of being thought m-m-m-mad. It would n-not be the first time that such a situation has arisen, with s-someone thought by so many to be a nobody Muggle-born, who t-turns out to in fact be descended from a wizarding line of s-some renown."
"I don't believe I'm adopted," Hermione said slowly and thoughtfully, "I'm sure my parents would have told me by now. And I have hair just like my mum's. But… I'll look into it. I don't know if my parents informed my grandparents about me going to Hogwarts or not. I suppose one or more of them might be a witch or wizard, and they never told us."
"Good l-luck, Miss Granger. Remember, in the end it is power that matters most, not blood. Don't be too weak-willed to c-cultivate it to the utmost."
"I agree entirely. I have a friend who often says the same."
She watched Professor Quirrell more closely after their conversation. His stutter was very inconsistent, and his tendency to "accidentally" teach the Slytherin class Dark Arts spells while teaching them the counters seemed intentional and thorough, now she was paying more attention to his methods.
She also discovered he seemed to be covertly watching her in return.
-000-
Eventually she talked with her demon friends about the bullying that was going on, and their suggestions were about as useful as she'd anticipated.
"How many times do I have to explain that I don't want you to kill anyone?" she said exasperatedly. "I know you'd like the souls to devour, and yes, it would stop the bullying, but I'd get in a lot of trouble for it. I could even be expelled!"
"We could just make an example of one," suggested Crocell. "Maiming would probably do, like Camio suggested. They wouldn't have to die."
"No! I don't want to hurt anyone that badly!"
"Not even the one who called you a filthy, diseased Mudblood rat and made fun of your teeth?" he wheedled.
Hermione hesitated, "Well, if it does come to that, Pansy will be top of the list."
"Think it over," Stolas suggested smugly. "You'll see we're right."
"I can handle it - I've learnt a lot of new curses," Hermione said confidently. "They'll learn I'm not a safe target, or get bored, and stop eventually. I talked to Professor Snape, and he's already spoken to them about cutting it out and the importance of showing House unity – that's helped a lot."
But it didn't help enough. After a brief lull in attacks for fear of either Professor Snape's retribution or Hermione's new curses, they cornered her one evening in the girls' dorm, and at Pansy's shrill command, Millicent wrestled Hermione's wand out of her tight-fisted grasp so that the girls could hex her without fear of retaliation. Hermione mentally cursed that she'd left her homemade wand in the bottom of her trunk. She was working hard to keep it secret and rarely got it out except when summoning her friends.
"I'm going to make you all pay for that," hissed Hermione venomously. "You nasty little cheats! So brave, four against one. We'll see how you like it when the tables are turned."
Daphne sneered at her, and said, "Why don't you just leave? No-one wants you at Hogwarts, Mudblood pig." She shot a weak hex at Hermione that left her with boils coming out on her face – a small scattering of large pus-filled pimples.
"I heard you like the Severing Charm," Pansy said, in a fake syrupy tone of friendliness, and Daphne and Tracey giggled sycophantically. "Just like your hero Harry Potter cast for you. Well, I'm happy to oblige too! Diffindo!"
Millicent chewed her lip unhappily as she gazed at the gash in Hermione's right arm, and the blood welling up. She stood back from the fight, holding tightly onto Hermione's wand.
Tracey looked a little nervous too, though she was trying not to show it. "We can't do anything too bad to her – we'll get in trouble. She'll dob to Madam Pomfrey, and then we'll get in trouble," Tracey said worriedly to Pansy, who was looking maliciously gleeful as Hermione started crying in shock at the pain of the gash in her arm.
"I know how to heal cuts – there won't be any evidence," Pansy said smugly.
Hermione stopped crying like a tap had been turned off, with only a few stray sniffles. "No evidence – I can have you healed, and there would be no evidence," she said, and started cackling evilly. "Thanks for the suggestion, Pansy! You'll regret it!"
Hermione swiped her left hand through the blood on her arm, and crouched down on the floor to draw a rough triangle with it, and then scooped up more blood to draw the circle inside it.
"What… what are you doing?" Daphne said nervously.
"She's just trying to scare us," Pansy said dismissively.
"Me? Not me. I'll leave that to my friends," Hermione said with a malicious grin.
"You don't have any friends to save you now," Pansy jeered. "Boys can't come in the girls' dorms."
"I have other friends!" Hermione said triumphantly. "And I think it's time you met them!"
Pansy looked suspiciously in Millicent's direction, but she just shook her head. "Unless she means her cat, I have no idea," Millicent said apologetically.
Hermione slammed her blood-coated hands down in the centre of the circle leaving blurry red handprints behind, and called out loudly, "Duke Crocell! Prince Stolas! President Camio! With blood and power I summon thee! Appear before me arrayed for battle, with my leave to injure my enemies here present in this room!"
The girls shrieked in terror as the small circle of blood lit up with a wash of flames, and one by one three figures walked out of the shimmering heat haze within the centre circle.
"Finally," said Crocell with a booming voice like the crashing of a waterfall. "Now, which is it, my dear? Shall we conquer the castle, or kill one of your tormentors for you as an example of why no-one should dare to cross you?" He flared his green wings dramatically behind him, as he drew an obsidian longsword from a sheath at his waist.
"Maiming, she wanted one maimed, surely?" twittered Camio. "Which one is Pansy?"
"Merlin preserve us!" screamed Daphne, clutching frantically at Pansy, knocking them both to the ground in her terror. "It's a demon, and talking birds the size of goblins! They have swords! Do you see it too?!"
Tracey was backing away slowly, shaking her head 'no' over and over again in panicked denial.
"Merlinus? The cambion prince?" said Stolas. "He was a fine man. But long dead and certainly no help to you now." Of the three of them, he was the only one who wasn't obviously armed. He looked as cute as always – a fluffy, long-legged owl prince with nothing but a crown and his large size to visually mark him out as something unusual.
"You can see them?" Hermione asked in malicious glee. "I thought maybe other witches could. My parents never did. And the 'birds' are also demons. Camio's rapier can cut through rock, so I suggest a little more courtesy."
"We're so sorry," Daphne said desperately. "We'll stop… everything. We… we won't do anything to you ever again! We didn't know you were a Dark witch."
Hermione sneered at her as she said, "Too little too late, Greengrass."
She turned her back on them, addressing her waiting friends. "Well, what I'd like you to do is make them all hurt. But nothing that you can't heal afterwards. That way there's no evidence. And that one is Pansy," she said, pointing accusingly at the cowering girl, "so hurt her the most. Make her suffer. Millicent hiding under the bed with her cat has done the least, so only hurt her a little."
"Help!" screamed Pansy.
"You idiot – remember you bribed Derrick to Silence the room! And Sophie's outside to stop anyone coming in!" shrieked Daphne. "This is all your fault you troll-brained idiot!"
Crocell locked the door to the dorm room before advancing slowly on Daphne with his pointed teeth bared menacingly and his sword drawn. A shallow cut to her arm made her drop the wand that she'd tried to shakily point at him. She only got out half the incantation before her wand clattered to the floor from the shock of the pain, and she scrabbled on the floor in desperation, trying to pick it up in time before he did anything more. Crocell moved slowly, letting her try, like a cat toying with a mouse. Letting it think it had a chance.
Camio, after a considered look at Hermione's injuries, followed Crocell's example and cut a careful gash in Pansy's arm to precisely match Hermione's own wound, twittering his laughter. Pansy's dropped her wand too, and didn't even try to pick it up. She just cried for mercy.
It didn't take long to find out why Prince Stolas was feared by the other demons despite his gentle appearance. Hermione thought Stolas was the most terrifying. Spreading his soft brown wings wide, he swooped straight at Pansy's face, rending it with his sharp talons in long gashes. It only got worse after that after he started using his hooked beak too, and Hermione had to look away from the ruin her friend was making of her tormentor's face. Wondering if she'd made the right choice, as Pansy's screaming got even louder, and just didn't stop.
"You can heal that, right? She'll be able to see again?" Hermione asked uncertainly, feeling nauseous and uncertain. She didn't want to watch what they were doing to Pansy anymore. She wondered if she'd made the right choice.
"Not me personally," Stolas said apologetically, as he darted away on swift wings from Pansy's frantic, blindly flailing hands. "But King Paimon will be able to, or can command a lesser demon to. She'll be good as new. And she will know her place in your mortal hierarchy."
"You will leave… Hermione… alone," said Crocell, cutting a series of small wounds on Daphne all over her body, who cowered on the floor and covered her eyes with her hands as she screamed and cried. "She is… above… you!"
"I'm sorry," sobbed Millicent, "I'm so sorry! I didn't know! I was just scared. My family's allied with the Dark, we side with the demons in your war! Please spare me!" She escaped with only a few minor burns – it turned out that Camio could spit burning coals at people if he wanted to.
Fearful of what was happening to the others, and terrified it would be her turn next, Tracey tried grovelling to Hermione and begging for mercy on her hands and knees. Hermione found she rather liked that. It was intoxicating, that feeling of power. So Tracey got let off fairly easily too, with only a few cuts and burns.
Pansy though… Pansy got made an example of.
And when it was all over, Hermione shakily called for King Paimon. He laughed his approval at the gory scene and his protégé's progress in authorising bloodshed, and summoned a centaur-like demon to patch everyone up, starting with Hermione of course. Pansy sobbed her thanks as her injuries were healed and her sight restored, and joined Tracey in grovelling at Hermione's feet.
Crocell stood behind Hermione's right shoulder, murmuring his approval as he watched them cower before her. "Well done, Hermione. You did the right thing. And it will be easier next time. You were very brave, and it was the right choice. You don't want to be a victim – you want to be the strong one. They'll leave you alone now – they've learnt their place." She relaxed and calming under his soothing patter of praise. It had been the right choice.
"For next time, you might want to look into researching the new Torture Curse – Crucio. It doesn't leave any marks," Paimon recommended.
"Yes, your majesty," Hermione said politely. "I shall."
"And if they ignore your warning, and speak of this to anyone, I suggest slaying them. For now, let them warn others in Slytherin that you are a Dark witch, and not to be trifled with. But any rumours more than that, and they should die. And no speaking of this at all to any allied with the Light."
There was a murmur of desperate agreement from the terrified girls.
Paimon bent down and reached out with one graceful dark hand to lift up Pansy's chin. His claws dug gently into the skin of her throat, as his piercing blue eyes looked directly into hers. "In case you have not been paying attention, let me make it perfectly clear for you. You will warn others Hermione is to be respected. You may hint that she is allied with the Dark, if she will not be endangered by your doing so. But you will not speak of her calling upon us, mention any of our names, or tell of what you have suffered this evening. Do. You. Understand. Mortal."
"Yes, yes! I understand!" Pansy sobbed. "I will, I promise. I'll do just as you say."
"Yes, you will." Paimon forced Unbreakable Vows out of all of them – his trust in their word alone was not that strong. But none of them were tempted to go against the vows anyway. They would not harm or betray Hermione, and they would not betray the demons either. They were too frightened, even without their Vows.
Terrified out of her wits, Pansy said nothing at all to anyone, and acted with copious deference towards Hermione whenever she saw her. She carried her bags for her, returned library books to shelves when she was finished with them, saved her treats from dessert, and generally did anything and everything she could think of to curry favour. It was enough to draw questions about the sudden about-face, but Pansy's unconvincing lies about how she'd simply realised what a great witch Hermione was were not believed by most Slytherins who heard them. The fear in her eyes wasn't hidden well enough by the smile plastered on her face.
Daphne was a little less cowed (having been less hurt by the demons), and was willing to hint to a few people what had happened, within the strictures of the vow that King Paimon had demanded from her.
"She practices forbidden Dark magic! She's dangerous! You should stay away from her!" Daphne whispered anxiously to Theo and Draco one evening in the Slytherin Common Room, when Hermione was ensconced in the library and there was no chance she'd overhear her desperate hissed warning.
Theo shook his head sadly at her anxiety. "That's ridiculous."
"It's true! I swear by Merlin!" she said with a quavering voice. "I've never been so scared in all my life." Her eyes glistened with tears, and she started crying. "I can't tell you what she did. But… look at Pansy. Just… look at how she's acting! She got it the worst. It was horrible, and it was Dark magic, and that's all I'm allowed to say."
"Oh, I believe you. It's just that in such a case the best place to be is as close to her as possible. You've made yourself her enemy. Whereas me? I'm her friend," Theo said smugly. "A much better position to be in. It's hilarious how badly you've all chosen your path - you think the Light will accept you? Ha! I've had such fun watching the look on Parkinson's face as she grovels to Hermione. Malfoy? How about you? Ready to admit you were wrong?"
Draco looked thoughtful, then shook his head. "No, she'll get caught – she's not cautious enough. And she isn't a pure-blood, after all. I'm going to be neutral if I can. It'd be better to not be dragged down with her by being seen to be an ally. She never should have revealed herself to Greengrass, she's a terrible gossip. No offence, Greengrass."
"Fine thanks I get for risking my life to help you," she harrumphed, using her robe sleeve to wipe away a few anxious tears that had snuck out.
Crookshanks, who was perched on a chair nearby, meowed warningly and unsheathed his claws as he arched his back in a stretch. Daphne flinched away nervously as she noticed him for the first time. "Hermione's a wonderful witch," she said loudly, eyes flicking from the two boys, and to the ginger cat, and back again. "I have nothing but respect for her. Everyone should respect her."
And most people did, after that. The other students didn't know what she'd done, but the effects were undeniable, and worth some wariness. Millicent came crawling back to Hermione most apologetically, begging to be friends again and pleading that Pansy had made her be mean to Hermione. While things would never be the same between them again, they were re-establishing a very guarded friendly acquaintance.
Professor Snape seemed satisfied that she'd earned acceptance, somehow. If he asked anyone any questions about it, Hermione never heard about it. But Professor Quirrell, either more sharp-eyed in his observances or more willing to talk, kept her after class to ask what curses she'd used.
"I really couldn't say what happened, I think they just saw the error of their ways one evening and turned over a new leaf," Hermione said with smug satisfaction creeping into her voice despite her efforts to hide it.
"How m-marvellous," stuttered Professor Quirrell. "And did you have any more books y-you'd like to borrow from the Restricted S-S-Section? Just between the t-two of us? Purely out of a-academic interest?"
Hermione looked at him assessingly. She hadn't gotten into any trouble for borrowing Magick Moste Evile – not a word – so asking for more books probably wouldn't hurt.
"Well," she said slowly, "a friend recommended I read up on the Torture Curse – Crucio. And I was wondering if you could recommend any biographies of Dark wizards and witches? Especially anything that mentions Tom Riddle, if you've heard of him."
Professor Quirrell froze quite still. "That's an interesting w-wizard to ask after. What do you know of him?" he asked, in a careful voice. He didn't stutter much while asking that, she noticed.
"Not much at all, I'm afraid. He was in Slytherin in the 40's – there's a Hogwarts award with his name on it. And I know that he was a Dark wizard with followers. That's all I've learnt. A friend was wondering what had happened to him."
"Really. And who was this f-friend?" Professor Quirrell asked, sounding rather threatening, and not really meek at all. "One of the teachers? The Headmaster?"
"Um. No. They're… he's… not at the school. I don't think you would have heard of him. I'm… I'm sorry to have bothered you about it. It was just idle curiosity on behalf of a friend."
His dark eyes stared intently into hers, and she felt like she was getting a bit of a headache. Without really intending to, she thought of King Paimon, her androgynous dark-skinned demon friend, with his lordly demeanour and piercing blue eyes. She saw him in her mind's eye, smiling at her indulgently and arrayed in all his splendour in dark red robes, wearing his intricate golden horned crown.
"Ahh," sighed her professor softly, leaning back in his chair as the tension left him and his face relaxed out of its angry lines. His lips curled up in an almost gentle smile. "I see. Well, little sister, you sh-should know that Mr R-riddle took up the name 'Lord Voldemort', though few dared to speak that name and many history books refer to h-him only as 'You-Know-Who'."
"Oh!" said Hermione. "Oh, so he's dead then. That's a shame. For my friend, that is. I mean, obviously You-Know-Who was a Dark wizard and it's a good thing he's dead." She tacked the last bit on for form's sake with a nervous look at her professor, though she suspected he wouldn't actually be bothered by her regret over the death of a Dark wizard so she didn't put much effort into making her lie convincing.
Professor Quirrell smiled at her. "He's not quite dead. Just… temporarily vanquished."
"Well that's… interesting," Hermione said vaguely, still wary of saying anything on the topic one way or the other.
"L-let me write you some more library passes," Professor Quirrell said mildly. "The Unforgiveable Curses are of course illegal in this age of p-peace, but the theory is q-quite interesting. And you should certainly read more about Lord Voldemort. A very interesting w-wizard. He did gr-great things. Terrible, of course. But great." Hermione felt his tacked-on disclaimer was just as superficial and cursory as hers had been.
"Thank you, sir," Hermione said, feeling relieved that whatever the problem was about asking about Mr Riddle, he seemed to have recovered from his fit of anger about it.
A/N: Guest, and Ma2ew (Guest) – This fic is already completed, and will be 11 chapters when fully uploaded, including the epilogue. In total, it's a bit over 43K words in length.
