A/N: Three days 'til Christmas...
Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.
Please review! ;)
"The Dark Lord's plotting something, as usual," Severus reported bad-temperedly several weeks later, as he slumped back in the living room couch and bent over to untie his boots. Hermione came to sit next to him, her trusty notebook in hand. "Ever since Scrimgeour scoured out his entire spy network within the Ministry, he's been considering how best to bring it to its knees. He's already got the Dementors—Scrimgeour kicked them out last month, that was quite something…"
Ah, yes. That move had received a fair bit of publicity. Scrimgeour had apparently ordered the Department of Mysteries and the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures to collaborate and eliminate the Dementors guarding Azkaban. They had succeeded, somewhat, in part—the majority of Dementors had escaped, but they had—Merlin only knew how—managed to destroy a fair number of them. The Prophet had questioned whether Scrimgeour had been under the Imperius, after that leaked out.
"But he's after something else," Severus murmured, now sitting back on the couch, looking thoughtful. "There's something he wants more than the Ministry, first. We just don't know what it is."
Hermione thought back through all of the reports Severus had given over the summer, wracking her head for clues, but could think of none. Crookshanks wriggled out from under the couch at that moment and butted his head against her knee, asking for attention, and she absently pulled him into her lap as she thought about Severus's words.
What did Voldemort want more than the Ministry? Or rather, more immediately than the Ministry?
"It has something to do with Hogwarts, this time," Severus said neutrally, reaching over to scratch her ginger half-kneazle's ears. "But beyond that, I haven't a clue. He's smart enough to keep his obsession to himself—for now."
Hermione drummed her fingers thoughtfully, gazing down at her notebook. "What is it, this time?"
"He still seems to be stuck on the Prophecy," Severus said slowly, "and whatever he's focusing on, it seems to be at Hogwarts. But beyond that—I don't know."
Report concluded, Hermione snapped her notebook shut and squeezed in next to her husband on the chair, wrapping her arms around him. He let out a sigh that was in equal parts tired and content, and buried his face in her curls.
"Why did I ever sign up for this?" he mumbled.
"Who, me or the Dark Lord?" Hermione quipped, kissing him.
"You, of course." She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, and he pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear before recanting. "I take it back. Explain what possessed me to shackle myself to the latter."
Hermione stroked his cheek, considering how best to answer him.
"Good intentions carried out the wrong way," she said at last, and then silenced his maudlin thoughts with a kiss on the lips.
~o~O~o~
Buying school supplies was an extraordinarily exasperating affair, if only because Dumbledore had to fight with Scrimgeour to get him to allow Hagrid to stand in as Harry's security detail instead of the group of Aurors the Minister had in mind. Hermione did not accompany them for this, preferring instead to use the several hours that they would be gone to take Selenius for an early birthday treat. Despite the fact that Harry and Ron would be in Diagon Alley, Hermione knew it was likely so crowded that, if she disguised herself, no one would recognize her.
She took Sirius along with them.
A trip to Fortescue's for ice cream left them sitting outside the parlor, watching the people pass by in nervous, worried groups. Some people stopped to stare at Sirius, as though they couldn't believe he was out in public. A rare few smiled at him. Some pointed and whispered. But for the most part, they were well left alone.
"It feels strange to be in public again," Sirius said, as he sat back with his own sundae. "I haven't been out in ages."
There were a few sellers here and there, but most of them had cleaned up shop over a week ago, when Scrimgeour had started assigning members of the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects Department—an excessively long Department name, but a valid and useful one nonetheless—to patrol Wizarding London. Arthur had refused a promotion to the department, but had been brought on as a consultant nonetheless.
"What do you want for your birthday?" Hermione asked, as she fought to keep her ice cream from melting down her hands. Selenius had ordered a sinfully large chocolate sundae, which Hermione had capitulated to despite the fact that she could practically hear her parents scolding her at the sugary excess. "A trip to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes? They just opened, but I think you'll like what they have. Or maybe Flourish and Blotts—or perhaps the Magical Menagerie, we could get you a cat or an owl—"
"Can I get a new broomstick?" Selenius asked hopefully.
Hermione hesitated. It wasn't the cost of the broom that concerned her, but the fact that she knew exactly why he was asking. Since Harry had set a precedent, first-years were allowed to try out for the Quidditch Team, and she had no illusions about the fact that her son was clearly determined to have a go. A Bluebottle was a good broomstick, but it would hardly suit for the fast-pasted affair of a Quidditch match. Even she knew that the faster the broom, the better the player.
The conflict must have been apparent on her face, because Sirius laughed. "You can't say no, Professor. He's got to have a proper broom for Quidditch try-outs."
She knew he was right. She didn't like it, but truth to be told, it didn't seem fair to Selenius. He would have to use an old school broom, because even an old Cleansweep model went faster than Selenius's Bluebottle. Her only reservation was the fact that she didn't particularly care for brooms, and that seemed like a poor reason to say no.
Besides, he would most likely take the case up with his father if she said no, and that would turn into a drawn-out scenario in which she would likely lose, and make getting the actual present a less enjoyable experience. She resigned herself to it, and capitulated.
"Alright," she said. "Finish up your ice cream, and we'll go."
It seemed to take all of Selenius's self-control not to let out a whoop in the middle of Diagon Alley, but instead began wolfing down the rest of his birthday sundae in record time. Five minutes later, he was half-dragging them down the street to visit Quality Quidditch Supplies.
"We are not getting him a Firebolt," Hermione hissed in Sirius's ear, just before they stepped into the shop.
Sirius held his hands up in surrender. "Yes, your dictatorship."
She elbowed him, but there was no real force behind it. Hermione felt rather lost in a Quidditch supplies shop, but fortunately, Sirius was there to happily debate the qualities of the available brooms. She dithered for a moment, and after being forced to dodge because someone's five-year-old daughter had decided to try out one of the toy brooms, she ducked out of the shop.
She waited five minutes. Ten. After waiting outside the shop for a full half-hour, they finally emerged, with Selenius carrying his prized package over his shoulder. It was wrapped up, so Hermione couldn't see the make or model, but at that point, she was glad that they were no longer broom-buying.
"Where next?" she asked loftily, thinking of perhaps stopping by Fred and George's joke shop, just to see it for herself.
"Home," Selenius said eagerly.
"You're sure?" Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "You can always try it later—"
She suddenly broke off as she glimpsed Hagrid's enormous form in the crowd up ahead, and realized that Harry and Ron were likely about to come through. She was disguised, but Sirius was not, and the presence of Selenius would raise questions. Harry knew, but not everything. She didn't want him seeing Selenius just yet. She quickly reversed herself.
"—or we can go right now if that's what you want, I'm sure you want to give it a go."
Selenius snorted, and Sirius seemed to be trying very hard not to smile, as she grabbed them both and Apparated away.
~o~O~o~
Packing was a bit of a logistical nightmare. Selenius didn't do it quite right the first time, and Sirius had never been very good at packing spells. It was why, nearly a quarter of an hour before they were due to leave for the train, Hermione had to dump Selenius's things and quickly enspell them back into his trunk, properly folded and neatly tucked. She had not bought Selenius a familiar as she had originally mused upon, but instead decided to give him Crookshanks—the half-kneazle was practically a family pet at this point, but he had originally belonged to Hermione, and they had been through a fair bit together. She trusted her cat's judgment, and knew that if anything were to happen, he would stand by Selenius if she asked him to.
They arranged it so that they would go through the barrier fifteen minutes before Harry and the Weasleys arrived, giving Hermione and Sirius enough time to get his luggage on the train, and to say their good-byes. She would be teaching, and taking the train to Hogwarts, so no good-byes were necessary, but she still hugged him and wished him luck—not as his professor, but as his mother.
And then she boarded the train and began walking down the aisle, not quite picking out a seat. The students noticed her, of course, but most of them were more concerned with finding compartments with their friends or getting around her. A few minutes later, she spotted Harry and Ron climbing into the compartment, and slid into the one where Neville and Luna were sitting, knowing Harry and Ron would likely join them. She wasn't going to go looking for Selenius—she couldn't keep looking over his shoulder every step of the way. It was a bit unfortunate that he had to come to Hogwarts when she was teaching, but she was determined to give him the same space that she had automatically gotten from her parents because of the sheer distance.
Her two best friends joined them a moment later, followed by Ginny, and shut the door, giving them privacy and drowning out most of the chatter of the other passengers. The train suddenly gave a jolt, and then lurched forward.
"You're a bit late," Hermione commented.
"Got held up," Harry said, sitting across from her.
"So," Neville said, looking at her as though he couldn't quite believe it, "You're… Hermione?"
"It's a secret," Ron snapped.
"It's not like Neville wasn't with us," Ginny said, elbowing him. "Be nice. Yes, it's her—it's complicated, though. And no one else is supposed to know."
"And from now on, you'll be calling me Professor Granger," Hermione said, sitting back in her seat and folding her arms. "I will, of course, deny any and all relation to Hermione Granger, and everyone will think it's just a nominal coincidence."
"It's not a coincidence," Luna said dreamily. "Bellatrix Lestrange said it was something to do with falling back in time—did you get attacked by angry Temporalopes?"
"Dare I ask?" Ginny said, looking at Luna warily.
"No, I broke a Time-Turner," Hermione said calmly.
"I've been wondering about that," Ron said. "Something never made sense about that—why'd you still have a Time-Turner?"
Hermione shrugged. "I was young, stupid, and decided not to turn it in."
The train had picked up speed now, and was steadily plowing along. Hermione gestured at Ron.
"You're a Prefect, remember? You're supposed to patrol the corridor."
"Wha—oh, right!" Ron quickly stood up. "I'll be back in a bit."
"Who's the new sixth-year Gryffindor prefect?" Harry asked, when the door shut behind them. "I mean, now that you're not…"
"Parvati Patil," Hermione said, reclining. "If I had stayed, I might have made it as Head Girl, but I'm afraid Susan Bones has that honor." She gave a mock salute. "I wish her well."
Neville laughed. "You're a Professor now, that's sort of a step-up from Head Girl, isn't it?"
"I'm surprised you didn't make Head Girl back in your time," Ginny said. "In your sixth year, I mean."
"As if," Hermione snorted. "I got into too much trouble for that."
"You, a troublemaker?" Neville asked dubiously.
"Some of my friends were a bad influence on me."
Ginny snickered.
There was a sudden mechanical screeching sound, and they all covered their ears. Hermione was on her feet in an instant, nearly bumping into Ron, who had returned to their compartment.
"Something's gone wrong with the train—it's slowing down—"
There was a sudden, loud clang as something heavy landed on top of the train. Several students screamed, and somewhere down in a compartment further toward the rear, she heard one boy yell, "—a tail! It's got a tail!"
"I'll handle it," she said grimly, side-stepping him into the aisle. All around, students were peering out of their compartments, just as bewildered as to what was wrong, and she snapped loudly, "Everyone, stay put!"
Several heads withdrew, giving Hermione a clear view of the corridor. She slipped her wand out, and followed the sound of the clanging as it steadily thunked along the length of the train. She stopped when they were about to cross paths, and pointed her wand at the ceiling.
"Confringo!"
There was a blast as the ceiling ruptured, and for a moment, Hermione wasn't certain about what she was seeing. The scaly underbelly of a giant, blue-black beast covered her view, and then a large head poked through the hole she had made.
A dragon. A small one, certainly, but Hermione couldn't help but gaze at it with stupefied horror as she realize just what had attacked their train. There was no hexing it—she would need a dozen strong wizards to stun it. She could attack its eyes, but that would probably just make it set the train on fire faster. She was already formulating a plan, even as the large, reptillian head opened its mouth, no doubt to let loose a burst of flame.
"Incarcerous!"
Thick, bulky chains snapped around the dragon's mouth, yanking it shut. There was a loose end, which Hermione grabbed hold of just as the dragon whipped its head back in alarm. Hermione's back and shoulders knocked and scraped painfully against the jagged edges of the hole as she was dragged out, and she swung helplessly for a moment, before grabbing hold of one of the spines along its neck. It was a shockingly small dragon, perhaps the smallest Hermione had ever seen.
It was more along the lines of what wealthy collectors who didn't care to follow the law would try to breed in the privacy of large property, Hermione thought, as she tried to swing herself upright. Her grip slipped, causing her to dangle dangerously close to the edge of the stopped train. Something someone with a lot of time and money would do: breed a miniature dragon. If a dragon the size of a winged Abraxan could be considered 'miniature'.
It thrashed wildly, trying to dislodge her, and large claws raked across her front, snagging her cheek and shoulder, leaving behind a frightening gash. She narrowly avoided losing an eye, and kicked forward, catching the dragon in the chest. Its head sharply yanked back, its wings thrust, and the sudden movement caused Hermione to swing sharply around in an arc. She grabbed the opportunity, scrambling to hook her leg over its back, and yanked on the chain to force its head back down.
Please don't fly, please don't fly… If this monster took off with her on its back, she was doomed. There was a reason she hated broomsticks, and that was because she didn't do well with heights. She yanked again and flicked her wand at the chain, causing it to lengthen and—still trying not to get thrown off by the struggling, fearsome thing—she snagged it around one of the claws on its right wing, looping it over before giving a harsh yank. It lost its balance, and its claws left deep gouges in the roof of the train as it tried to cling on. Hermione allowed herself to slide off, the back of her head thumping against the edge of the hole as she fell back into the compartment corridor below, the jagged metal scraping against her back—and then the dragon promptly thrashed to the ground, still struggling with the chain.
The train gave a surprised lurch, and Hermione realized that the conductor must have been trying to get it to start again during the struggle, because it gave another unsettling jolt, and then began to pick up speed. She watched the dragon thrash and struggle on the side of the train tracks as she gingerly repaired the hole in the roof of the train. A burst of flame could be seen out of one of the windows as it began melting its bonds, but it was quite well left behind now, and Hermione let out a sigh of relief.
She barely registered the noise the students were making as she walked over to the nearest window for another look. The shoulder of her robe was soaked in blood, and the back of her head stung painfully, but it wasn't debilitating, and she would take care of her face as soon as they got to Hogwarts. Poppy hadn't failed her yet. But it certainly hurt like nothing else, and she was glad she'd avoided getting burned on top of this.
No, what bothered her—aside from the pain, but that could be ignored for now—was how this had happened. Dragons did not simply fly over the Hogwarts Express and attack it. Rarer still were dragons that were clearly a specialized, likely illegal breed. The Disposal Committee would have a field day with this. Who had put it up to this? Had Voldemort found a follower with a private stable of dragons they were attempting to breed down to an acceptable housekeeping size?
And if that was the case—if this wasn't simply random, unfortunate chance of someone's private project running wild—why would Voldemort attack the train? Had they perhaps been hoping to ambush the train, frightening the students with the presence of a dragon, perhaps even use it to swing the Hogwarts Express off the tracks and crash it? She was glad they had started moving again almost immediately, because she didn't want to find out what would happen if they hung around and waited to figure out what to do.
Thankful that the dragon hadn't been one of the wilder, bigger breeds, Hermione staggered to the front of the train to have a word with the conductor.
~o~O~o~
"Move along," Tonks' voice rang through the crowd as the students hustled off the Hogwarts Express. "Make sure you've got your stuff—first years over here, please—wotcher!"
"Hullo, Tonks," Hermione said dully, as she stepped off the train.
"What the buggering hell happened to you?" The Auror looked stunned. Several of the younger students stopped to mill around to listen, until Ron appeared behind them and ordered them to budge along.
"I got into a fight with a dragon." Hermione shook her sleeve. "Did you know that there are, apparently, full-grown dragons the size of winged horses? I didn't think they bred them that small."
There were a few titters from some of the second-years, before they were unceremoniously shoved off the train by yet another irritated, pale-faced Prefect.
"You know," Tonks remarked, as she and Hermione began walking toward the carriages, "for someone who just fought a dragon, you look alright."
Hermione let out a rueful laugh.
"You should go to the Hospital Wing first," Tonks said, stopping to check that one of the carriage doors were properly closed, and then opening the next one and stepping inside. Hermione followed. "Get Poppy to take a look at you."
They greeted the two students seated across from them, and then shut the door, studiously ignoring the fact that they were outright staring at Hermione's bloody and disheveled appearance.
Hermione grimaced. "I don't want to miss the Sorting."
"I don't think you want to walk into the Great Hall looking like this, either."
"Bloody hell, why not? It's not like half the school hasn't already seen or heard me get thrown around on the train," Hermione groused.
"Because the Minister's here," Tonks said solemnly.
Hermione groaned.
"Now I almost wish I'd been eaten by a dragon."
When they arrived at the castle, Hermione got off the carriage, and preceded the students to the Entrance Hall, meaning to make a quick trip to the infirmary, but was stopped by the lion-faced Minister himself. He seemed to not quite recognize her at first, but quickly recovered himself as he was assured that his eyes were not deceiving him.
"What happened to you?" he asked roughly.
"Everyone keeps asking me that," Hermione snapped, shoving past him. Scrimgeour followed.
"Did you get attacked on the train?" he demanded, falling into step beside her.
"Yes, what was your first clue?" she sniped back. "Don't worry, I'll send an owl to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures—I'm sure they'll enjoy this."
Scrimgeour looked as though he would like to ask more, but he turned to go back to the Entrance Hall, not wanting to hold up the undoubtedly tight schedule he was on. Hermione hurried on to the Hospital Wing, hoping that she might get back in time to see the rest of the Sorting.
Poppy's jaw dropped when Hermione slipped in, but a single, pointed look from the Defense teacher halted any interrogation; it was clear that she wasn't in the mood to answer questions, other than the pertinent ones. As she had hoped, the Matron had her cleaned up in a trice, though she warned Hermione that she didn't have any dittany in stock, and that she ought to go down to get some first.
Hermione didn't care about the scarring, at the moment. She rushed back to the Great Hall, and inwardly started cursing as she realized that she had missed the Sorting, but arrived just in time for Dumbledore's start-of-term speech.
"—our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, who—ah!" Dumbledore stopped in mid-sentence to smile at her. "Here she is. Professor Granger is an old colleague of mine, who taught the position for five years nearly a decade ago, and I'm pleased to welcome her back this year."
Hermione raised her hand half-heartedly in acknowledgement as the students clapped, straightening her shoulders and striding up to the Staff Table. She would get the Dittany later. There were loud whispers, too, though she wasn't at all surprised. She took her seat near the end of the table, between Severus and the Arithmancy professor.
"What happened to you?" Severus hissed under his breath as the applause died down, and Dumbledore resumed speaking.
"A dragon attacked the train," Hermione answered in an undertone, twisting Gaunt's ring around her finger with unease. "I look alright, don't I?"
Severus eyed her cheek. "Essence of Dittany might be in order, I think."
"Yes, so I've been told." Hermione surveyed the room, trying to find Selenius. "What house was he Sorted into?"
Severus didn't need to ask who. "Gryffindor," he said shortly. He didn't miss the grin that spread across Hermione's face, and snapped, "Yes, yes, go on; gloat. I know you're just dying to say it."
"No, I'm not," Hermione replied, but she was still smiling. "I'm just pleased. I would have been just as happy if he had gone to Slytherin—or any other house, for that matter."
Severus muttered something unintelligible under his breath, but Hermione knew he wouldn't argue it further, simply because she was telling the truth. She glanced over at Minerva, who gave her a thin sort of smile, the kind she gave when she was trying to be subtle about the fact that she was pleased.
"I just hope he'll be happy in Gryffindor," Hermione murmured quietly. "I hope he won't stand out like I did—too studious and opinionated for my own good…"
"Quite," Severus said flatly.
If they hadn't been in the Great Hall, in plain sight of all the students, Hermione would have elbowed him. Dumbledore concluded his speech—highlighting that in light of Voldemort's return, responsibility for personal safety and the safety of the school at large must be taken by every staff and student—and then inclined his head at Scrimgeour, who was sitting at the opposite end of the table, where an extra chair had been added for him.
"The Ministry of Magic has spent the summer arranging for additional safety measures for Hogwarts," Dumbledore stated, "but I will leave the explanation to Minister Scrimgeour, as he would like to tell you about them himself."
"Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore." Scrimgeour slowly stood up.
"As some of you may be aware—you might even have been students, at this time—the Ministry once sought to protect Hogwarts using Dementors. Multiple incidents that threatened the safety of the students could have been avoided if my predecessor had not…"
Hermione's eyes flickered from Scrimgeour to Gryffindor table, running along the row until she located Harry and Ron—then Ginny—and then several seats further, Selenius. Satisfied, she reluctantly turned her attention back to the Minister.
"…this year, Aurors will be posted within the school and Hogsmeade, and we will be employing the use of Kneazles instead to help detect and detain dangerous individuals. This will hopefully be much more effective and less dangerous to Hogwarts as a whole, but I must ask that you not take unnecessary risks with these creatures, nor that you deliberately provoke them."
Severus raised an eyebrow. "The Ministry's certainly been busy," he muttered.
"It's still a step-up from Dementors," Hermione murmured. "Or dragons. I know Fudge also suggested dragons, once."
Severus made a disparaging sound, but said nothing.
"The Ministry," Scrimgeour finished gravelly, "is making a concerted effort to protect the Wizarding community while we deal with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. We require nothing more than your cooperation and awareness." He stepped back. "That is all."
There was slight applause at this, though a murmur had risen among the students as they discussed the piece of information that they found most curious—the Kneazles. That would certainly be interesting, though Hermione found herself highly optimistic about their usefulness when she considered her own half-kneazle. Scrimgeour made to leave, but when he glanced at her, Hermione reluctantly realized he was waiting for her to follow.
"I'll be right back," she mumbled.
As soon as they were outside the Great Hall, Scrimgeour stopped to speak to her.
"One of the Aurors notified me about what happened on the train in greater detail," he informed her. "I've already contacted the Committee, but have asked them not to dispose of the dragon, should they locate it."
"Odd thing to do, Minister."
"If it's as small as reported, it certainly bears investigating," Scrimgeour said. "I'm also aware of the fact that if we should locate it, Rubeus Hagrid would be more than happy to take care of it while we try to figure out why it attacked your train, and who released it."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. He knew about Hagrid's love for dangerous beasts, but this wasn't about Hagrid. "What do you want, Minister?"
"The information you gave me," Scrimgeour said roughly, "was exceptionally accurate."
"I can't do that," Hermione hissed, knowing exactly what he was asking. He wanted her to be his source. "Sooner or later, they'll figure out who's giving it to you, and it will place certain key figures in this war in jeopardy."
"Then why did you do it before?" Scrimgeour demanded in an undertone.
"Because I could. Because you could catch them off guard, and when you started with one person, it invariably let to a string of other supporters," Hermione said, her voice low. "It was logical—the idea that you caught one, and that it led to others, and then you went on a massive purge when you realized how deep the roots went. But I can't allow them to see a pattern. You just have to look like you're being effective all on your own."
Scrimgeour looked as though he might push further, as though he might insist—even demand, or order her to give him more information. She saw him grit his teeth, and was struck with the impression of a tawny lion, old and limping, but still with quite a bit of power packed in his paws. Scrimgeour wore the air of someone tough and shrewd, and Hermione had to admit she had just a tiny inkling of respect for him—he was certainly better than Fudge.
But he capitulated instead, much to her surprise. As though he knew that the way to work with her was not to force her, but to let her come and go as she pleased—impertinent and impudent as always, but arriving when she was most needed.
"Very well," he conceded stiffly. "And as for the matter of Harry Potter?"
"Keep up the good work, and I'll bring him 'round for Christmas," Hermione said, not to be easily swayed.
"You don't ask for much," Scrimgeour said, his expression sour.
"I'm not asking this for me," Hermione said, drawing herself up to her full height. "I ask this for everyone who needs the Ministry to do its duty."
She wasn't certain if the calculating look Scrimgeour gave her was complimentary or not, but he finally departed. Knowing that dinner had already begun, Hermione decided to go down to the dungeons instead and nick from Severus's supply of Dittany.
Please review!
-Anubis