No one asked her any questions until Malfoy was safely stabilised in the Hospital Wing. His wounds were almost closed when Madam Pomfrey splashed into the loo, leaving the matron to patch up with healing charms and Blood-Replenishing Potions. The pain and shock necessitated more draughts, effectively knocking him out so his heart rate would decrease. Only once Draco was unconscious did his grip on her hand ease.
Red smudges of pre-cursor bruising decorated her fingers. Hermione massaged them as she rested, ordered to a bed by Pomfrey as a precaution for magical exhaustion. She didn't argue. She felt light-headed and punchy, too spent to care her tights and skirt were soaking wet leaving ruddy smears on the sheets.
Professor Snape had come and gone, likely to notify Malfoy's mother, and Dumbledore had looked in, briefly speaking with Madam Pomfrey. He hadn't spared her a glance. He had however cast Prior Incantato on Draco's wand. Hermione did not know what to feel about that. She was angry with Harry for his recklessness. She was angry with Malfoy for fixing the fucking Cabinet. She was extremely angry with Dumbledore for sweeping it all under the rug.
He fancied himself a chessmaster and Hermione could not forgive him for turning her best friend into a pawn. So she made no effort to catch his attention or to be anything more than a random passer-by to the incident. Snape would demand more. She was not sure how much he would tell the Headmaster. Hermione flopped back onto the pillow enervated. She had no yen to be a spy.
"Miss Rosier." The greeting roused her instantly. Her eyes snapped open, looking directly into the shuttered face of her Defence Professor. Dark, dark, limpid pools gazed down at her. She stared, noticing for the first time how long his eyelashes were. He'd never need mascara.
The nonsensical thought broke her daze. Hermione quickly looked away. She couldn't tell if he was in her mind. She was too fuzzy from magic drain to distinguish one fog from another. Well, shit.
"You will tell me how you learned that spell." He commanded, brooking no prevarication.
"You haven't pulled that from my head?" She asked petulantly.
"Don't be facetious. You know very well how much effort you have put into making such access difficult." Professor Snape said the words like venom.
In her surprise, Hermione nearly looked him in the face again. He could be lying, luring her in for another skim. His body language hadn't changed though. An irate man stood before her, intolerant of excuses. A tiny flicker of hope that she hadn't damned the world lifted her like a sky lantern. She sat up and threw Harry to the wolves.
"I read it in an old Potions textbook." Hermione began semi-candidly. "I put it back once I found a more recent copy. I would presume Potter found it much in the same way. He hadn't bought his book for Potions this year." She turned her head towards Malfoy's bed. "I don't think he realised how much power you could put into the spell. Reversing it took all I had."
The blond was out cold in that boneless way that made you wonder if the sleeper was dead. Madam Pomfrey had given him three Blood-Replenishing Potions in a quarter of an hour, which was the maximum for his weight. The potion added fluid from nothing and accelerated the growth of new cells in the bone marrow, creating a blood analogue until the patient responded to healing magic. Hermione suspected that if she studied cellular biology she would be able to find the mechanism the spells and potions boosted. She also suspected if the Ministry became aware of research of that type, she would be slapped hard with the Statute of Secrecy.
"What else did you learn from the book?" Snape's tone had levelled off, papering over any cracks. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw him adjust his cuffs. So they were going to pretend this was a casual chat, were they? Hermione didn't have a rat's arse to give for society niceties right now. All that blood. If she'd known Vulnera Sanentur the first time... well, Granger didn't have a chance to even look at the book. If Harry had learned that spell too, he would've been able to help when Ron Splinched himself. And she wouldn't have the fear-memory of Ron dying in her arms.
He hadn't, of course. She'd had Dittany and had patched him up. She'd been prepared. She'd always had to be the one with their head screwed on right. At least this time she had Moppet. Without her, Hermione thought she would've lost the plot. Snape made an impatient noise, recalling her to his question.
"Everything I could. Your innovations were fascinating." She wasn't going to feign ignorance of the identity of the Half-Blood Prince. "I had to wait to try the practical side but I could read up on the theory." He really was brilliant when it came to Potions. Pity he was pants at teaching. "It's interesting to see which references are missing from the Library."
"Indeed." He said blandly, the totality of all he would say on the subject. He had walked into Hell seeking knowledge; little steps all the way down. "You would be wise to keep any such observations to yourself." She nodded in acquiescence. "I was remiss in leaving my notes accessible to the curious. I will remedy that oversight forthwith."
"Sounds ominous." Hermione remarked to the middle distance. She didn't think he'd go so far as Obliviating her. Professor Snape had made no move to batten down Harry beyond detentions. Perhaps he was just disconcerted at his own oversight. Tripping over your mistakes was galling. She had the uncomfortable feeling she had forgotten something.
"Unlikely to be. The Headmaster will treat this as laissez-faire as usual." Cutting himself off before he said more, he contemplated the young witch. He suspected Evan would be proud of her. She was tired but far from hysterical. The near death of a classmate had barely ruffled her. Even in revenge, Evan had striven to be implacable. "Is there anything you require, Miss Rosier?"
"No, sir." She'd sleep it off in the Hospital Wing. If Madam Malfoy was going to inflict herself on Hogwarts, she'd rather limit the witnesses. Madam Pomfrey could be trusted not to gossip unlike the wagging forked tongues in the dungeons.
As it was, she slept through Narcissa's visit. Madam Malfoy had been accompanied by Corban Yaxley ostensibly to express Ministry disapprobation of the assault on the Malfoy heir. They had stayed only long enough for Narcissa to assure herself of her son's recovery before she was escorted back to what must be an excruciating house party. Hermione learned this from Nott, who had heard it from Ichijoh, who had seen the pair Floo from the Headmaster's office.
Theo had brought a few books to read while he waited for her to rouse. He was intent on Grammatica by Carneiro when she woke. She watched his lips move as he tasted the Latin phraseology and wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Discounting relatives, over two lifetimes she had kissed two boys. Rather a poor average. He sighed, closing the book as he noticed she was awake.
"Are you alright?" Nott asked quietly.
"Fine. Just weary." She sat up, having felt worse. She hadn't even passed out.
"We were told nothing. Greengrass saw the bathroom before the elves cleaned it. All the Bloody Baron would say was he had been forbidden to speak of it." Theo put a hand on hers. "I was worried."
"I'm tired from healing Malfoy. He and Potter were duelling. Mad, the pair of them." Hermione explained briefly, expecting that gossip had already provided a dozen different versions of events.
"Potter has detentions for the rest of the year." He fished for how angry he should feel about that. Cathal shook her head. There was nothing to be done about it. "Dumbledore's pet."
"It won't matter soon." She rummaged about for her wand and cast a Lumos to test her magic. It shone bright as ever. She yawned. "Bugger. I'm going to have to skip Duelling Club tomorrow." There was no chance the matron would give her Pepper-Up. "The matrix on that spell must be dense."
"We can work through the Arithmancy on it." Theo suggested, covering his request for her time with genuine interest in spell theory. "Base six allows directional plotting for flow, giving a good starting frame for energy transference."
Cathal was excused from classes for the rest of the week, and Professor Vector signed off on a out-of-class project allowing Nott to have short days Thursday and Friday. They squirrelled themselves away in a reading room on the fourth floor to pick over the bones of Vulnera while recuperating from an exhausting experience; magically for Hermione and emotionally for Theo.
He didn't tell her the rumours that she had died in Malfoy's arms. Tracey did on Thursday night once Parkinson and Greengrass had gone to sleep. Just who had been bleeding out on the tiles had been unclear in the first wave of gossip. A Gryffindor had seen Potter running for the Hospital Wing and had put it about that Weasley or Granger was the victim. A Ravenclaw had seen her follow the Boy-Who-Lived and had been sure it was Potter in a red puddle. By the time the news reached the dungeons via the Badgers, it had been either or both of the Slytherins killed.
When she was asked, repeatedly, what had happened, Hermione kept to the gist. Bitter past experience with the Hogwarts rumour mill had taught her there was little she could do to steer or correct the maelstrom of speculation. She gave the same terse answers over and over before taking refuge in the reading room.
"You've had your birthday." Hermione remarked when Nott joined her. She had at last recalled what had eluded her. He had been absent from Potions when the seventeen year olds took the test for their Apparition licenses. "You're seventeen. Why didn't you say something? I would've got you a present at least."
"I had nothing to celebrate." Theo had marked his maturation by signing a sheaf of forms from his solicitor and Gringotts. "I have full control of my own vaults." He had access to the estate account books now at least and could hopefully trim some expenses. "But I'm still only the heir. I can't touch anything in Father's name. It's all so frustrating. The Ministry will only take petitions from the Head of House, which my father as a prisoner cannot make. I can't even apply to visit him."
"I'll be the Head of the House of Rosier in August." She reminded the both of them. The Ministry would fall two days before her birthday. Spending the summer waiting for the other shoe to drop would not be fun. "I can petition. I plan to take a pound of flesh out of the Ministry. I still owe them for that summer of protective custody."
"You hold a grudge." He said affectionately.
"I do." Hermione smiled. "I have a list."
In addition to her lists, she also had schedules and rosters. Hermione got through the ebb-tide of term by ticking things off and by crystallising her emotions. Everyone was a bit frazzled so being slightly off-kilter caused no comment. She sat her exams, and had to laugh when for Herbology one of the viva voce questions in the practical was on the use of nettles. The invigilator asked her to stop after fifteen minutes then once the assessment was over offered her an apprenticeship.
She swapped with Macmillan so she was on duty on the fateful night. Malfoy had said little to her since the bathroom. It was difficult for him to avoid her as she was doing his homework but he didn't talk, and certainly not about the life debt. The morning of, he pulled her aside then stood mute. Hermione supplied both sides of the short, awkward conversation before telling him she would ensure no Slytherins were roaming the halls.
The Seventh Years had needed no persuasion to hold a party though they had grumbled about including the younger Years. Professor Snape's insistence that there would be no celebration unless the entire House was included quelled the whinging. Moppet made cupcakes and undertook to keep the tables laden with goodies so no one wandered.
Most of the students were in casual clothes but Hermione was carefully in uniform with her green tie prominent on her white blouse. A little insurance against the hex-happy. She didn't plan to be anywhere near the Astronomy Tower but the battle had spilled out chaotically as the Order tried to contain the Death Eaters.
She headed up to the sixth floor to roust anyone out of a popular snogging spot, taking points from two Hufflepuffs, then down to the first floor near the Marble Staircase to keep the Entrance Hall clear of bystanders. Granger, two Weasleys, Longbottom, and Lovegood would be alert on the seventh floor and they'd raise the alarm. The Aurors stationed in Hogsmeade had shown up quickly. The battle didn't last long. Most of the DA hadn't had time to notice their coins before it was all over.
Her Map showed her how events upstairs were progressing. She had to try hard not to stare fixedly at the names, willing them to do otherwise than she knew they had. If only Flitwick had been more suspicious of Snape... Hermione headed herself off before she did something unwise, climbing to the second floor to intercept Jatin Agarkar.
The Ravenclaw had paused in his transit of the colonnade, which would have taken him safely out of harm's way, to chat with one of the portraits in what she presumed to be Hindi. He paused when she hailed him, held up a finger for one minute, then concluded his conversation with the frock coated gentleman standing in a meadow dotted with purple flowers.
"Rosier, there's something wrong with the portraits." He said earnestly. She and the Fifth Year had maintained a courteous relationship since their holiday-mandated study together. He did as she asked him in her capacity as Prefect and she didn't ask much. Hermione had requested he curtail the incidents of bullying in his House or at least spread the word that she would be officially put out if she saw any Ravenclaws wandering around without shoes. She couldn't do much more to help Luna.
"All of them or specific ones?" This was news to her.
"There are eleven portraits who speak Marathi." Jatin began then for the sake of accuracy amended. "Along a spectrum of fluency." He missed speaking his mother tongue and had sought out any portrait who could talk with him. If the sitter had an imperfect command of the language or if the painter was not as adept as they might have been, the conversation was limited. One of the eleven could only say 'good morning' and 'boy, make me some tea'. A charming legacy of the Raj. "We were to meet tonight at the Picnic with Lilac in Bloom."
"We always have a jolly time. Can't think why not a jack of them have popped in." The portrait remarked before tipping his top hat to the young lady. "The Honourable Julius Caversham-Blimpf. Have seen you about on your rounds."
"Sir." Hermione returned the greeting politely because stating flatly that art conversation was not her priority would cause offence. "I suggest you sit tight while Agarkar and I report this anomaly to the Headmaster."
"Good show." Caversham-Blimpf settled down onto the picnic blanket to take his leisure in the sunlit lea. Jatin turned to head for the Grand Staircase, jerking to a halt when Rosier caught his shoulder. His query as to her reasons for manhandling him was never uttered, superseded by a woman's exultant shriek from the floor above. Hermione hustled them both behind a statue as running footsteps thundered up the Stairs.
"What's going on?" Jatin murmured, assuming whatever it was wasn't safe.
"Malfoy has been up to something." She whispered the edited truth. "I think tonight he's done it."
"We need to warn the teachers." He insisted and was relieved at her nod. Although by chance of marriage he was a pure-blood, the Agarkar family was traditionally and proudly half-blood.
"Whatever's happening is between us and Professors Flitwick and McGonagall." That seemed a reasonable assumption for a bystander to make. "You go to Professor Sprout's office and I'll go to Professor Snape's." Hermione suggested. The greenhouses were a sufficient distance from Hagrid's hut that Agarkar was unlikely to run into any of the fleeing Death Eaters. Jatin nodded, heading quickly away.
To tin-plate her arse, Hermione legged it down to the dungeons. She knocked loudly on Snape's door and unsurprisingly got no answer. Waiting a moment, she knocked again. A nearby portrait told her, slurring his words, that the Professor was not in. She walked back to the Entrance Hall with her wand out. Dumbledore would be dead by now, the battle in full flower.
She felt useless. Standing around waiting for something to happen. Hermione had to admit to herself that she didn't mourn the Headmaster. The ring and his own regrets had killed him. He'd known he was dying. He could have sat them down, told them everything, prepared them. Instead he'd kept secrets and bequeathed trinkets. Hermione would've gladly swapped a book of fairy tales for a page of instructions. Hell, she'd have settled for a Post-It note with 'use Fiendfyre' scrawled on it.
Was she being hypocritical? She'd told no one what she knew. She could've changed things. Maybe. If she'd had an adult she could trust, perhaps she would have risked more. But one of the drawbacks of time travel was while you knew what happened, everyone else had to take it on your word. The only people who would've believed Cathal Rosier were precisely those she wanted least to tell.
SMASH!
Hermione jumped as glass shattered, followed by Bellatrix's scream. She shrank back around a corner to listen to Snape's cadent stride as he lead the Death Eaters out of the Castle. He wasn't quite running but he certainly had somewhere to be. If he lingered, his comrades-in-arms might find someone to entertain them.
She waited through the silence after their passing for Harry's rushed pursuit. Only once he had gone did she emerge to head upstairs to help. It would probably be more sensible to slink off to the Slytherin Common Room but she was on patrol and questions would be asked if she didn't show herself. Questions would be asked regardless in the aftermath of Dumbledore's death.
Bellatrix had made a mess wherever she went. Glass crunched underfoot. She'd slashed portraits too. Hermione stood transfixed in front of a large painting, the occupants trapped in the shreds unable to flee. Had the odd stutter in the magic of the Castle been caused by the demise of the Headmaster? The magic would right itself soon, her first self hadn't even noticed a disruption, but the short-circuit made her remember.
Snape had died on the grounds while the defences were active. Hermione doubted Hogwarts had been so awake for centuries thus the shock of losing the connection with the Headmaster must have been intense. Could someone have tried to exploit that break to disrupt the wards and protections? Who would know?
The obvious answer of Tom Riddle didn't sit well. If Voldemort had known that killing the Headmaster would weaken the school, he would've tried to assassinate Professor McGonagall while she was Acting Head or would've killed Snape as soon as the siege on Hogwarts began. How quick was the transition from one to the other? She and the Voice would need a long chat on this.
A groan caught her attention. The acoustics of the Great Hall bounced the sound and obfuscated the source. Hermione pulled out her Map, focussing on herself before zooming out slowly until she found a name unmoving near the stairs on the floor above. An unworthy impulse to leave him gripped her. He wouldn't thank her.
However she wasn't doing this for anyone but herself; to be one of the goodies when she could.
So Hermione went to the aid of Auror Williamson. He had been cursed, blasted against the wall and left in a heap. He was conscious but unresponsive with blood oozing from his ears, which might've been mistaken for ruptured eardrums except for the clear liquid dripping from his nose. It was cerebrospinal fluid, indicting severe cranial trauma.
Hermione immobilised him, paying particular attention to keeping his head and neck from moving. She levitated him very, very carefully, reinforcing the uplift with cushioning charms. He needed to get to St Mungo's immediately if he was to avoid brain damage. Granger would've stepped with him through a Floo and trusted she could return to the Castle with a reasonable explanation. Rosier didn't have that trust, especially not this night.
She did however have a good set of lungs. Hermione brought Williamson with her to the edge of the stairs and with a Sonorous Charm shouted for help. Two Aurors came running, wands out, and when they saw a Slytherin with their comrade the wands turned on her. She regretted her obvious green tie as she tried to get them to understand what Williamson needed.
They were still there insisting she release the injured man from her spells when Madam Pomfrey joined them with pinny red from healing Charlie Weasley. Hermione told her where she had found the Auror and what she had done to treat him. The matron wasted no time sending her with Tonks through to St Mungo's. As they stepped into the green flames, she heard the normally mild witch tear a strip off the obstructive Aurors.
The Healers didn't look at her tie. She was asked, once, what happened then Williamson was whisked off to the Spell Damage Ward. Tonks escorted her back without saying very much. Her hair was a mousy brown despite the excitement of battle, which reminded Hermione dolefully that she would speak to Remus tonight. They'd get engaged soon and would be married less than a year before they died.
Unless the future changed.
She could only allow herself to alter the course of the Battle after she had stopped whatever had ripped the fabric of time. A daunting 'to do'.
Slytherin House had taken news of the Headmaster's death solemnly. Their Head's role in it had surprised few. That he was a Death Eater was an open secret among the Snakes. The presumption was he had been acting on the Dark Lord's orders since his return. The assumption that Malfoy too had long been in service bled over to include all the heirs of the traditionally Dark families. Anyone in green had to walk the halls in groups for safety. Again.
Weasley accused her of being part of the plot and outright refused to patrol with her, a hollow protest as Granger never scheduled the two of them together. The Hufflepuffs took up the slack. Which was how she got a note from Justin Finch-Fletchley requesting a meeting. Hermione went, though she had Moppet shadow her just in case it was an ambush.
Justin was pacing when she arrived in Classroom 7a. When she entered, she caught him running a hand through his hair. He looked rumpled and appealing, which was so inappropriate for Cathal that Hermione pinched herself to interrupt the though process. She did not need that in her head.
"Finch-Fletchley." She greeted him curtly.
"Rosier." He replied automatically then took a deep breath. "We're not friends, I realise." He was very consciously holding his arms still by his sides, she noticed. A carefully non-aggressive stance. "And I do understand how little you can tell me without endangering yourself." He spoke like a barrister, weighing each word. "I would like to ask you if you think this summer is a good time to holiday overseas."
"I think it's a very good time. I think you should invite everyone you can." Hermione answered with laboured nonchalance. "And not hurry back."
"Damn it." Justin said on a long sigh. He looked at her directly. "Fancy a holiday on the Riviera?"
"Thank you, no." The refusal was instant. She wasn't going to run. Hermione had already stuck it out through tough going. If she hadn't deserted when Ron did, she wouldn't now. She didn't think she would survive this intact but she was still going to jump in with both boots.
"You should get out of it before you're dragged so far in there's no escape." Some of the Slytherins were such rat bastards he'd gladly shove them off a cliff. But Rosier didn't go in for casual cruelty. Whatever her ambition, the Sorting Hat had got it right with her, she had a code of ethics albeit arrogant and slantwise.
"I have an exit strategy." Hermione recalled the phrase from the newspapers she'd read to keep up with Muggle milieu. It sounded far more organised than she was. "Warn Professor Burbage to leave the country too. She'll be a target, and from me the warning will sound like a threat."
Justin offered her his hand to shake before he left. Hermione hesitated then turned her back on him. She didn't want that memory either. She left the room without looking at him, not wanting to see his expression. Not wanting him to see hers.