"I am merely requesting that when it comes to the students that you conform to the prescribed disciplinary practices!"
Hermione turned her head towards Professor McGonagall's shrill voice. She was walking with George to get lunch when they saw students gathering outside the hallway of the Great Hall, where McGonagall was staring down at Umbridge.
Umbridge's eyebrows furrowed at McGonagall's accusation and she gave a laugh, "So silly of me, but it sounds as though you're questioning my authority in my own classroom, Minerva."
"Not at all, Dolores, merely your medieval methods."
"I'm sorry, dear, but to question my authority is to question the Ministry, and by extension, the Minister, himself!" she said, shocked with herself that she had to such words. "I am a tolerant woman, but the one thing I will not stand for is disloyalty."
McGonagall shook her head, stepping away from her, "Disloyalty?"
She turned her nose at Professor McGonagall and turned to the crowd of students. "Things at Hogwarts are far worse than I feared. Cornelius will want to take immediate action."
George took Hermione's hand in his, "I don't like the sound of that."
"Three immense roots of the Holy Tree penetrate the worlds. The first of these roots dips into the Well of . . . the Holy Tree penetrate the worlds. The first of these roots dips into the Well of Urd in . . . Three immense roots of the Holy . . ."
Hermione snapped the book close, having read the same passage ten times over for the last hour. Her gaze fell to the portrait hole. George's detention should have been over by now, assuming it was of the same barbaric technique Umbridge used on Harry. Worry was eating away at her, but she couldn't help but be proud at the reason behind it.
They were walking down the hallway from the library and two boys were throwing a Fanged Frisbee to each other when it slipped from a boy's, grasp and sailed across the floor, landing at Umbridge's feet as she turned the corner. Nigel's, the boy, face paled and George pushed him behind him, walking forward to retrieve the hissing disc. The look of fearlessness on his face as he looked down at the pink toad was admirable but Umbridge seemed to take it as a challenge.
Umbridge was now deemed Hogwarts' High Inquisitor and everyday a new Educational Decree was nailed to the wall outside the Great Hall, each one adding to Umbridge's power over the Professors, students and the school. George found number nine funny—students found in possession of sweets from "unauthorized suppliers" will be expelled—but despised twenty-six for obvious reasons—boys and girls within six inches of each other is forbidden.
Creak.
Hermione snapped her head to the door, sighing in relief at the head of red hair coming into view. George grinned half-heartedly as he saw her stand up and run to him.
"You should be in bed."
She scoffed, wrapping an arm around his waist, "And wait till morning to see what the gargoyle did to you? I think I can afford to lose a couple of hours to sleep."
"Easy there Mi," he said, letting her lead him to the couch. "People might think you're going soft."
"Oh, shut up."
She reached for his hand and gasped. The words: I Must Not Cause Trouble was scratched, red and angry, against the back of his hand.
"It's not that bad," he soothed, leaning into the couch.
"Not that bad?" She snapped. "This is torture, she can't do this!"
She grabbed her bag and rifled through it, pulling out the container of Healing Slave she used for potions. She dipped her fingers in the yellow cream and swiped it over the first words.
George grimaced at the sting as the cream covered the markings.
"Sorry," she breathed, lightly blending the cream into his skin. "This is barbaric."
He sighed, "More or less, but there's nothing we can do now."
Hermione slipped the cream back into her bag, "We should tell Dumbledore about this."
"Mi, if he knew about this he would have done something by now."
She glanced at him. His head was slumped back onto the back of the couch, his eyes closed and his face exhausted. Hermione's face fell and she cupped his face to turn him to her.
"Hey," she said softly. He blinked his eyes open. "Don't give into her, alright? You're stronger than that. The younger students will look up to you when they hear what you did for that boy."
He attempted a smile and took her hand in his, "You're too good for me, you know that?"
"Yeah but you still have me, so you must be cursed," she said with a grin.
She squeaked as he pulled her into his lap, his back to her front and his arms wrapped around her. He shifted to recline across the couch and nudged her between his legs. His chin fell against her shoulder and he nuzzled his nose into her neck, breathing deeply.
"Don't give up all right?" It came out more as a plea.
"When have I ever?" He questioned, she could hear the smirk in his voice.
She returned it, but it quickly fell.
"We need to do something," she said softly. "No one's learning how to defend themselves. Defense against the Dark Arts isn't suppose to be theoretical, and how are we going to be defending ourselves against You-Know-Who or anyone else that's out there when we can't practice?"
"Mi, calm down," George said softly, "We'll figure it out, but tonight I just want to forget about my detention and focus on the beautiful girl between my legs."
She slapped his leg making him laugh, "Your innuendos and flattery will get you nowhere."
"Well, it has got me somewhere on several occasions," he kissed the back of her neck.
Her cheeks redden at the thought, "You're terrible,"
"You love me,"
"Sadly," she turned to look at him. "I do."
He grinned and gave her lips a quick kiss, "So what did you have in mind exactly, about Defense?"
"I was thinking of practicing in secret, but we need a teacher, a proper teacher," she noted. "I told Harry I think he should do it."
"Really?" George questioned in surprise.
"Well, he fought with You-Know-Who and he's not believe in Umbridge's dripple. He could really be helping out a lot of people."
"Have you run it by him though?"
"Yes, he doesn't think anyone would listen to him or believe him for that matter."
"That's not the only problem you have..." George mused.
"What else is there?"
"Well, besides going over Umbridge, you need a place to practice."
She nodded, "We can figure out that later, we just need to know if people are with us."
"Count Fred and I in."
She smiled up at him, "Thank you."
He shrugged, "Anything to get Umbridge sacked."
Twelve sets of eyes stared at Hermione as she stood up from her dusty chair.
"Um, hi. So we all know why we're here. We need a teacher, and a proper one at that-."
"Why?" Zacharias Smith questioned loudly.
"Why?" Ron mocked back, "Because You-Know-Who's back, you tosh-pot."
"So he says."
"So Dumbledore says," Hermione shot back at him.
"So Dumbledore says because he says." Smith countered, giving a nod to Harry. "The point is, where's the proof? If Potter could tell us more about how Diggory got killed?"
"I'm not going to talk about Cedric! So if that's why you're here, you might as well clear out now!? Harry announced, getting up from his seat and turning to Hermione. "Come on Hermione, let's go, they just think I'm some sort of freak."
He moved to walk around her, but she held him at bay.
"Wait! Harry-"
"Is it true you can produce a Patronus Charm?"
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief at Luna's question. "Yes. I've seen it."
"Blimey, Harry," Dean said, genuinely surprised. "I didn't know you could do that."
"And he killed a basilisk," Neville added. "With the sword in Dumbledore's office."
"It's true." Hermione said. "And last year he fought You-Know-Who in the flesh."
"Hermione..." Harry chided. He looked at the small group before him. "Look, it all sounds great when you say it like that, but the truth is most of that was just luck. I didn't know what I was doing half the time, and I nearly always had help."
"You're just being modest,"
Harry shook his head at her. "No, Hermione, I'm not . . . facing this stuff in real life is not like school. In school, if you make a mistake, you can just try again tomorrow, but out there . . . when you're a second away from being murdered, or watching a friend die right before your eyes . . . you don't know what that's like."
The group was silence, rolling that thought around in their heads.
Hermione let out a breath. "You're right, Harry, we don't. That's why we need your help, if we're going to have any chance when facing..." she swallowed. "Voldemort.
Nigel looked up from the floor and to Harry. "He's really back?"
Harry nodded gravely.
Hermione patted harry on the shoulder and then reach into the bag, pulling out a parchment scroll and a quill and ink.
"Right now we need you all to sign this..."
The group left The Hog's Head and began to walk eagerly back to the snow-covered street back to Hogwarts, Harry's attitude taking quite the turn now that people were alongside him.
"First," Harry started. "We need to find a place to practice, where Umbridge won't find out. "
"The Shrieking Shack?" Ginny offered.
"It's too small."
"Harry, what happens if Umbridge does find out?
Hermione laughed, "Who cares? I mean, it's kind of exciting, isn't it? Breaking the rules?"
George held her back. "What have you done with Hermione Granger?"
Hermione shoved him playfully, only to have him grab her wrist and tug her to him. Smirking down at her, George slipped a hand beneath her coat and around her waist.
"I believe a physical inspection is needed immediately to confirm my suspicions."
"Oh, I think I'm going to be sick!"
Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron's comment, thankful that Ginny slapped a hand upside his head and tugged him up the path.
"You're incorrigible," Hermione hissed as she turned to walk away to follow the others.
George held his grip on her waist but let the grip on her wrist to clasp her hand. "I can live with that."
He pulled her off the street and back into the town, kicking the fresh snow that was falling around them. Hermione couldn't help but smile at George's infectious energy. He took her down the line of stores stopping in front of Tomes and Scrolls, the sign partially covered in snow spelling T rolls. George dropped her hand and made a show of gesturing to the entrance door.
"A haven for milady and I," he announced.
Hermione eyed him, "Why are we here? I don't need any books."
"Well, I never thought I would hear Hermione Granger say those words."
"Well, don't get use to it, but really why are we here?"
George slipped his hands into his pockets rocking back on his heels, "I…uh, need a book."
"What's wrong with that?"
"It's expensive...I need to read it here."
"Oh," she answered softly. "It's not in the library?"
He shook his head, "Newly published."
"What is it?"
He grinned, "Potion and Charms of Tricky Sorts for Mayhem and Tomfoolery."
She eyed him, "Is this any indication of the upcoming 'unauthorized supplies' the school might be witnessing?"
His grin grew wider, "Perhaps."
She shook her head with a smile, grabbed his hand and pulled him through the door. "I think I can find something to read."
When she stepped through the door the scent of aged parchment and dust greeted her. An old man with large horn-rimmed glasses perched on the edge of his nose and squinting at his small book in his dry fragile hands sat behind a small podium surrounded by tall stacks of books reaching up to the ceilings. He glanced up quickly, squinting his beady eyes accusingly then turned back to his book with a huff.
They went their separate ways within the rows of shelves, only occasionally catching sight of the other as they looked among the books. Books were hovering around and sliding to certain spots of the shelf. One bump against her and snapped it's cover closed in her face like it was her fault.
She pulled books from the occasional shelf, scanning the cover and first pages before putting it back on the shelf. In the Defensive Magic section, a grey colored book with a mirrored detail on the spine caught Hermione's eye. Pulling it from its' shelf, the silver title: Self-Defensive Spellwork looked up at her. She flipped through the first pages and noted the diagrams of proper defensive positions and detailed theories of offensive and defensive standings. Walking towards the back Hermione moved to the lopsided couch in the back of the store, hidden in a dark alcove where only a few lit lanterns on the walls offered the only source of light. She sunk into the cushions with her book, finding that comfortable sweet spot to fit the contours of her body.
George soon came to the back, book in hand, and fit himself on the couch with his head on Hermione's lap and his propped legs supporting his book. Hermione wove her fingers through his hair and lightly played with the strands, coaxing them both into a relax state.