Summer was lovely. Hermione spent July brewing and researching, expanding her hidden lab, and with the Castle's help warding it with forgetfulness charms. She wanted something subtle and non-lethal in case someone chanced across her bolt-hole. Hogwarts couldn't aid her with anything more forceful as the school could not harm its students.
Anyone determined to find her would probably have sufficient intent to keep from being distracted by the Qui Obliti so Hermione added alarms and impediment hexes. She wanted enough notice to leave rather than to fort up. Her escape routes snaked all over the school into the 'sleeping' parts of the Castle including to other bolt-holes. Once Dobby showed Harry the Room of Requirement in Fifth Year, her access to the Room would be greatly diminished therefore she needed other sanctuaries.
August saw her rummaging through the Room of Hidden Things. She'd compiled a list of everything she could think of that she might need and was determined to make a decent go of ransacking the Room. Hogwarts, when asked, admitted tartly that it did not know what was among the Hidden Things. Objects went there to quietly drift out of ken until they disintegrated entirely under the weight of unbeing.
Hermione hauled and levitated her provender to her lab while marvelling at the randomness of her finds. She ventured as far as she dared into the vastness of the magical lost property store, turning back when she was attacked by a set of nested tables. When the residual energy imbuing inanimate objects turned them aggressive it was a sign that energy was unstable. Definitely not the time or place to fling curses at the furniture.
It wasn't exactly guns and butter but she did have enough to get some serious work done. Hermione sorted, catalogued, and stored her supplies. She and Moppet worked out what the house elf could 'requisition' during the course of her duties then made a tally of what they needed for which project. Now the basilisk was dead, the witch planned to check the Chamber of Secrets for any booby-traps or magical devices capable of destroying the threads of reality. Presumably she'd know one when she saw one.
Two days before the start of school, Hermione headed to London. She had planned to camp out for longer to build more memories of Cathal roughing it but she'd got caught up in brewing and fabricating losing track of time. A night camping then a night at an impersonal hotel saved some Pounds. She took the Tube to Kings Cross early expecting to be the first one on Platform Nine and Three Quarters.
Justin Finch-Fletchley sat marooned on an islet of luggage while his parents argued. He waved as she approached then stood to walk over to her once she had waved back. Not wanting to presume on her acknowledging their acquaintance, Hermione guessed. They were unregarded however so she unbent from her Cathal inspired isolationism.
"I'd like to thank you for the notes." Justin said quickly as soon as they were at a decent conversational range. He edged slightly to the right, blocking her sight of the Finch-Fletchley dispute. From the way his shoulders hunched, Hermione judged the argument had been going on for a while.
"How did you know it was me?" She asked, not bothering to denying the fact. There were no other Slytherins around so she didn't have to save Cathal's face by feigning ignorance.
"I recognised your handwriting on the envelope." He smiled wanly. "I'd already asked Professor Sprout for a crib sheet or something and she sent her lesson plans along with those for Charms, Astronomy, and Transfiguration." Here he smirked. "Professor Snape and Professor Binns evidently don't give a toss if I fail my remedial exams."
"No surprise there." Hermione remarked, House affiliation doing nothing to improve her opinion of the Potion Professor's teaching style. "I sent Colin a set too. Granger and Clearwater weren't petrified long enough for it to effect their schooling much." She glanced over his shoulder at his parents. "They've noticed us."
"Dad thinks you fancy me. For God's sake, please just play along." Justin implored, painting a much more enthusiastic smile on his face as he turned to beckon his already approaching mother and father. "Mum, Dad, you met Cathal at Heathrow. She's why I wanted to be dropped off early."
"Hello." June Finch-Fletchley greeted the girl politely, noticing she didn't have any luggage or apparently anyone who cared enough to ensure she got safely onto the train. "How nice to meet you again. Did you have to come far?"
"Knightsbridge." She lied promptly, choosing a very posh part of London.
"The Rosiers are pure-bloods. An old family." Justin cut in quickly when he saw his mother's sceptical inspection of Cathal's shabby clothes. He hoped the Slytherin hadn't noticed.
"Good to know." Andrew Finch-Fletchley faked a chuckle, determined not to allow any more of a scene. He knew his wife was proving a point. He couldn't actually make her leave it alone. She'd been badly offended by the Lockhart fraud, which had soured her against Hogwarts. It didn't help they couldn't tell any of their friends where Justin was going to school. Not to brag, exactly, but people did ask. Being vague had given June's sister the impression Justin was in rehab.
"Eton has some very old families." June remarked, a poniard stare at her husband. Unseen by his mother, the Hufflepuff winced. He'd been very close with his parents before his letter had arrived. Now there was awkwardness and things he just couldn't explain. When he'd told them about the basilisk, they'd threatened to sue the school for negligence. It had not been a pleasant summer.
"Not as old as mine." Hermione stepped in with arrogance. "One of my paternal ancestors was the magus of Charles Martel. One of my maternal ancestors was with King Alaric when the Visigoths sacked Rome." She wasn't lying. She'd looked up the Rosiers and the Maxs. "Our society has an unbroken line of scholarship for millennia." Here she reached out and held Justin's hand. "Your son is now irrevocably part of it."
There really wasn't much the Finch-Fletchleys could say to that. Justin made his good-byes and hastened through the barrier to the Platform proper. Once on the magical side, he let his breath out. He'd have to write and smooth things over. His mother in particular would be ruffled. She was a snob but didn't like being made aware of how much social standing mattered to her.
"Is that how Slytherins play along?" Justin asked as the Hogwarts Express drew up glistening red and smoking.
"Pretty much. I could have sneered more, I suppose." Hermione smirked because she thought Cathal probably would. Inside she was smacking herself athwart the ear hole. June and Andrew were a bit snooty but they were generous and would do a great deal to help Muggle-borns out of England when the Ministry started Registering. That little performance was unjustified.
"I think you got it about right." He wasn't sure why he suddenly found the whole situation hilarious. "No chance of my parents pulling me out of school where I can rub shoulders with someone descended from Frankish nobility." Justin leaned against his trunk and breathed in between chuckles. "God, that was embarrassing. Ernie'll crack up when I tell him."
"I'd prefer if you didn't." She spoke after a moment of consideration. Hermione liked Justin. They had a lot in common and if she'd been a nicer person she probably would've been in Hufflepuff with him. But she hadn't been kind enough as an eleven year old and certainly wasn't now. War had seen to that. "The MacMillans are blood traitors."
"He's my friend." Justin said staunchly. "I thought we were friends, Cathal."
"If things were otherwise, we might have been." Hermione hated herself right now. Spewing the purist nonsense was not better than hearing it. "I have nothing against you because you have done nothing to me or my family. MacMillan's uncle was one of the Aurors who arrested my grandmother. Every word I say to him is an insult to her."
"Why was your grandmother arrested?" In Justin's world, grandparents did not get in trouble with the law. Their worst infractions were drinking too much port and cheating merrily at golf. Cathal gave him a stony look. "I'm not being crass. I don't understand."
"Death Eater." She supplied baldly. "Like my father, my grandfather, my great-uncle, and sundry cousins."
"Oh." Justin stared at her as he fossicked for something to say. In the end, he couldn't find anything and the uncomfortable silence stretched. When the doors of the Express opened, Justin excused himself to load his luggage. Hermione let him go, as unsettled by their conversation as he was.
She found an empty carriage and frankly sulked in it. Her mood was not improved by the knowledge she had made a rod for her own back. There had been other choices than Cathal. She'd wanted someone with minimal oversight, which she had got. Bitching now she couldn't be friends with Hermione's friends was juvenile.
Kicking the seat in a fit of pique was juvenile too but she felt a bit better after doing so. Hermione pulled her trunk out of her backpack and put it in the luggage rack before unshrinking it. Then she got out a book and tried to cultivate some detachment. It was Third Year. There were going to be Dementors. Cathal couldn't cast a Patronus, yet, so there was nothing but five kilos of chocolate between her and soul-sucking despair.
Hermione found the repeat of last year's peek-and-go a relief as her fellow students moved on. She was hoping to have a carriage to herself to keep private any fainting/screaming/hysteria she did when faced with the Dementors. Draco had mocked Harry for months about his collapse. She didn't want to suffer the same.
Flint barrelled into the compartment in a Falmouth jersey and muddy Quidditch boots. He flopped onto the seat opposite, flushed and sweating. He looked like he had gone ten rounds with a wind turbine, which he proceeded to put right with a few charms. His boots took two goes with Tergeo before they were clean.
"Grovelling apologies, Miss Rosier." Marcus grinned. "All night game. Pucey just caught the Snitch before we absolutely had to Apparate." He was exhilarated, his blood singing from the close match. "The lads came over to cheer me up about having to repeat. I would have invited you, if I had any idea of where you were. I wrote to Draco but he didn't know either."
"Staying with Muggles." Hermione answered his pointed comment.
"Merlin's balls." The wizard sat up, squaring his shoulders. "Have the Malfoys put you out of their home?"
"I refuse to stay with them." She said placidly, looking up from her book.
"You're cutting off your nose to spite your face!" Marcus shook his head. "Don't be daft. The Muggles could do anything to you if they find out you're a witch. They're bloody dangerous." He warned. To his surprise, his tone did not cow her. Her gaze met his and it was the wizard who looked away.
"Thank you for your concern but I'll manage." Hermione papered some politeness over the cracks in their conversation. "Have you done your readings for first term?"
Flint accepted the offered change of subject. He dug his notes out of his trunk, hastily packed yesterday ten minutes before the Quidditch match started. Shuffling them into approximate order, he handed over the sheaf. The summer skies had been alluring but he had kept to his regimen of three hours of study a day. Whether it had done any damn good remained to be seen.
Hermione read though the smudged exercises. Flint was a plodding scholar. He'd made an attempt at answering every question though the phrase 'no bloody idea' recurred several times. He was taking Charms, Transfiguration, Divination, Defence against the Dark Arts, Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures.
"Drop Transfiguration." She advised some time later after slogging through his work. "You've put hours of effort into this, I can see that, but your grasp of the advanced theories is shaky. There's as much wrong here as there is right."
"I got the fu... the Exceeds Expectations to get into the class." Marcus protested. He'd all but hammered the books into his skull for his OWLs. He'd scraped into the 'E' and was proud of it.
"But it's eating time. Your Herbology work is good. It could be great with more polish. The same with your Creatures." Hermione paused to frame a suitable argument seeing how the direct approach had him digging in his heels. "Would you rather have a Pass and two Exceeds Expectations, or two Outstandings?"
"I've never got an 'O' in my life." He ground his teeth. Schoolwork had always been a chore. When it got more onerous, he simply kept working until he failed. Dropping out before he was kicked out seemed like he was giving up. "What about the other subjects?"
"For Divination you need a thesaurus and a glossary. Memorising terms should be enough to get you through. Defence weighs heavily on the practical. You can make up for a lack of flair with the application by being good at the execution." She mulled over Charms. "Professor Flitwick offers remedial classes for Ravenclaws who are struggling. Ask him if you can sit in too."
"The Birdies won't like me slithering in." Marcus smirked. He hadn't approached any of the teachers for help. It had been an act of desperation to ask Rosier, who sounded like a school marm. She shrugged at his comment. "I'd rather have Flitwick than McGonagall." There was no chance of the starchy Scot helping him revise. "Which electives are you taking?"
"Divination, Muggle Studies, and Care of Magical Creatures." Hermione replied with her attention on his Care of Magical Creatures notes. Hagrid was a stalwart ally but he was not a good teacher. Professor Kettleburn had covered more of the curriculum in more depth. Even with Professor Grubbly-Plank subbing some of the lessons, she would have to do more reading than she had thought. Helping Flint would give her a good leg up for the NEWT level subject matter.
"Are you going to lie to me if I ask you why those subjects?" He arched an eyebrow in mimicry of their Head of House.
"I can't lie. My mother put a Truth-Telling Curse on me." Hermione lied on a whim to see if he believed her. Flint's eyes narrowed as he tried to gauge whether she was being honest.
"You're clever enough..." The big Chaser swore as the train jerked to a halt. He got up to open the compartment door to look out into the corridor. If someone was mucking about with charms or if it was the bloody Weasley twins trying on a new trick, he'd put the boot in.
Marcus stopped when Cathal tugged on his jumper. She had her wand out, a detail he noticed immediately. He took a step back into the middle of their compartment as a wave of something so cold it frosted the windows drifted by. The wizard felt a pain in his chest, misery rising as he recalled he would be returning to Hogwarts a failure. He wasn't good at anything except Quidditch and even then he wasn't skilled enough to go professional. A waster, destined for nothing more than taking up space in his father's house.
Marcus sat down as the aching chill eased. Cathal offered him some Muggle chocolate in a purple wrapper. He ate without hesitation, the melting sweetness chasing away the melancholy. The witch had a crinkly white bag laden with more purple slabs. She'd come prepared. That cheered him almost as much as the chocolate. Trust a Slytherin to know what was going on.
"What the fuck was that?" Flint demanded, hauling himself up when she opened the compartment door.
"Dementor." Hermione checked up and down the corridor. The dark figure had gone. She'd felt almost nothing, just a breath of cool air. Not at all what she had expected. Shopping bag and wand in hand, she went compartment to compartment to check on the other students. Irresponsible bloody Ministry thinking those creatures were suitable for a school. They weren't even suitable for Azkaban. Exiling them to Pluto couldn't be cold and dark enough.
Ashen faces greeted her as she made her way down the corridor. Hermione doled out chocolate bars without prejudice and they were accepted without hesitation. Even the Lions were sufficiently shaken not to cavil at taking gifts from a Slytherin. Flint shadowed her, wand out and face set with grim purpose. If anything gloomy leaped out at them it'd get a face full of curses.
They met Remus Lupin as he returned from speaking with the driver. The Professor saw their wands and their green ties and hackled before he could stop himself. He covered the shift in stance with a cough but Hermione had seen it. She sighed inwardly. Yet another friend she didn't have. She felt her mouth tighten involuntarily.
"Who are you?" Hermione asked sharply, shifting backwards so she was shoulder to shoulder with Flint to block the corridor. Not a kind thing to do but one eminently defensible when faced with an unknown adult on a train supposedly only for children. She felt worse when she saw the resignation in his face as he raised his hands slowly to show they were empty.
"Remus Lupin, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor." He introduced himself in a voice that had been to Hermione endlessly reassuring. "And you are?"
"Flint." Flint said bluntly.
"Rosier." Hermione copied, and saw Remus stiffen. Of course he recognised the name. He might even have faced Cathal's father during the first wizarding war. The Professor said nothing, just gave them a nod in a tacit suggestion they return to their compartment. As she was almost out of chocolate, she complied.
Flint was silent for the rest of the trip, and disinclined to force a conversation Hermione wrote study suggestions on his notes adding a few references to books he might find useful. The Hogwarts library didn't have much of an index so unless you had plenty of time to trawl, you found useful books by asking people who had chanced across them previously. By OWL year, Hermione Hermione would be the go-to witch for questing scholars.
The Welcoming Feast was subdued. Hermione as Cathal occupied her time by counting the First Years. There were indeed a glut of them as the celebration babies had turned eleven. She wondered whether there would be a similar population boom after Voldemort. Probably not, as most of the combatants were barely more than children themselves.
Malfoy mocked Harry because some things were inevitable. Hermione watched Snape throttle a towering rage into a socially acceptable sneer. Yet another person who would not be having a good year. She ate quietly, psyching herself up for the company of Slytherins. Her recurse tour of Hogwarts would have been far more pleasant as a Hufflepuff.
At least this year Malfoy had found some restraint. He didn't bother her in the Common Room after the induction and Parkinson ignored her in the dorm. Hermione had a long shower then went to bed early, casting an alarm charm on her pillow for four am. A certain amount of skulduggery had taught her it was better to sneak about in the small hours than late at night. You could plausibly say you had woken early.
She combed Cathal's straight hair, tying it back in a ponytail from which it had yet to attempt escape. Cathal's hair was very well behaved unlike the girl sporting it. Hermione shrunk her shoes, slipping them into an inside pocket in her robes. She padded out of the dungeons in her sock feet heading for the Conical Crypt.
Significant sections of the subterranean parts of Hogwarts were 'sleeping'. Seldom visited therefore not particularly magically active, the rooms were in a peculiar sort of stasis. They woke up when someone passed by but were otherwise in a semi-corporeal state. The Chamber of Secrets had been one such area. The basilisk had survived due to that intermittent manifestation.
Figuring out exactly how the 'sleeping' worked was on Hermione's research list. She'd asked Hogwarts but the school was bound by the Founders not to divulge their secrets. The voice had sounded apologetic and implacable. It was possible the storm of spells in the last battle had woken parts of the Castle suddenly, destabilising the magical matrix. She had a lot of theories. Testing them would be tricky.
Hermione had selected the Conical Crypt as it was a derelict remnant from the fifteenth century when there had been a fad for interring deceased staff members within Hogwarts. The tradition had been a sign of esteem and quite popular until a cabal of Ravenclaws had been discovered using the preserved corpses in necromantic rituals. The scandal had prompted Headmistress Spore to ban further internments and cleanse the crypt.
Now the room was just a big circular chamber with an odd ceiling that appeared pointed because of the vaulting. Large and echoing, the Crypt was certainly atmospheric enough for a secret ritual. Hermione felt she should be in black lace with too much mascara to truly capture the ambience. Instead she had sensible shoes and thauma-luminescent chalk.
She'd found the recipe for the glowing powder in an heavily annotated alchemy tome. Professor Snape wasn't the only one to scrawl in their textbooks. The chalk had been used in rites where 'ye fires and candless be unwise' prior to the development of the Bluebell Flames charm. It shone in the presence of magic but was otherwise an anonymous slightly sticky dust.
Hermione drew a large circle with a nail and string line then limned the interior with a repeating series of runes. She stepped across and activated her Map. The chalk sparkled with a blue-green light in response. A bright spot showed in the Crypt. She stepped back out of the circle and the spot remained; a trace point she could use for reckoning distances and directions.
Pacing around the circular room, Hermione took measurements of the ambient magic, the resonances, and the fiddly Arithmantic coordinates designed to pin down the essential 'hereness' of a location. She wrote her results within the circle including all her mathematical working so she could check in case there was an error. Locus one complete. Lots more to go.
She managed one more site before people began wandering about in the undercrofts. Not Slytherins, of course. The Snakes did not like to bestir themselves until the day was well aired. Badgers got up early however and anxious firsties from the tower Houses had headed down early so as not to be late for breakfast.
Reckoning she had about an hour before she would need to grab breakfast herself, Hermione went upstairs towards the Library. She planned to get her reading for Divination over and done with before the frustration truly kicked in. Her attitude to the subject had mellowed somewhat. There were true Seers, including Trelawney. Most of the guff about the Inner Eye was still guff but the class wasn't as completely useless as she had thought originally in Third Year.
Her attention on research, she walked past Professor Lupin stepping out from behind a statue and unheeding her role as Cathal gave him a nod without breaking stride. His flinch jarred her from her wool-gathering. Hermione looked at him, realised where he must have come from as it was a full moon night then engaged mouth without engaging brain.
"I hope they cleaned up the Shack before they shut you in." She meant it sympathetically having seen the state of the ramshackle building. Professor Lupin did not take it that way.