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Hermione and Theo, her companion of the hour, dived out of the spell's way before Harry finished the words. Her books and notes flew everywhere, scattering over the floor. She identified the spell as the knock-back jinx, recognizing the orange shade, and thanked Badb that Harry was a Gryffindor and therefore too honorable to throw anything dark at them, if he even knew those kinds of curses. If it had been an older Slytherin, or perhaps Ravenclaw, she and Theo would have been in serious trouble. She finally began to make sense of Potter's unintelligible yelling when he stopped casting.
"My parents! He killed them! I'll bloody get you if I can't get him-"
"He's gone mad!" Theo whispered to her as one of Potter's jinxes flew wide and caused a bookshelf to wobble precariously. Hermione knew she needed to resolve whatever had twisted Potter's knickers quickly, before the racket summoned any curious students. Or worse, Madame Pince. If his reckless idiocy got her banned from the library, she would retaliate with deadly force.
"What are you shrieking about, Potter!" Hermione demanded, defending herself with her own spell. The minor area spell was technically fifth year work, which was too advanced for her until her magic container grew, but she managed to get enough out of it to achieve her intended effect. She was depending on him not recognizing the spell so he wouldn't be able to respond quickly enough to make a difference. Word got around Hogwarts fast, so within the first few weeks of school, she had known he was a talented wizard, and she didn't want to risk using a spell he knew and could deflect. Potter was pushed over by the force of the spell, which was supposed to make him feel as if he had been sucker punched. While he was disoriented, Hermione disarmed him and conjured rope, which tied his legs together.
Potter squirmed angrily as the young witch stalked to his fallen form, her hair sparking with irritation. "I could guess from your tragic childhood that there may be a few screws loose in your head, Potter," she snarled, pointing her wand at him. "But this is a little much."
His green eyes were venomous. "Shut up! You know what I'm talking about, Black! Don't deny it. Your family is filthy, all of you!"
Hermione rolled her eyes and tightened the knots on his ankles with a wand flick. "My family? Stop wiggling, Potter. You look like a flobberworm. Now, explain. Try to use big boy words."
Normally, she would be nicer to a boy as famous as Harry Potter. Being friendly with influential people was a small sacrifice for potential power, unless they were Malfoys or MacMillans. But not only was he a Gryffindor, he was widely hated among her housemates for the obvious favoritism most teachers showed him. She didn't like many of her housemates, but she still needed most of them to be marginally on her side; befriending Potter was a sure way to avoid that.
He squirmed a bit more, his glasses askew, before finally accepting defeat. "Your father killed my parents," he breathed angrily, the emotion behind his declaration making his voice shake.
The young witch frowned at the suddenly overwhelmed boy, and looked at Theo. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so blindsided, and she had discovered she was rolling in wealth and practical magical royalty mere weeks ago. "What's this rubbish?"
Theo shrugged, calm despite his mussed hair from avoiding Potter's initial attack. He finger-combed it back to its tousled look as he answered. "According to reports from around nine or ten years ago, Sirius Black gave the Potters up to You-Know-Who, killed a bunch of muggles and his childhood friend, Peter Pettigrew, and then was sent laughing all the way to Azkaban."
"I read that in old papers," she said, curling her hair around one finger absently as she thought. She looked back down at Potter. "And you truly believe this shite?"
"Wha—what?" Potter sputtered. "You don't believe it? But Dumbledore told me!"
Hermione shook her head, sending black curls tumbling over her shoulders. "Not really, no. Sirius never got a trial. They found him sobbing at the scene and used that bit of evidence to lock him up. He never got to explain himself. Maybe he did do it, but no one can know for sure until he's released to have a fair trial before the Wizengamot." She had been reading obsessively on the topic for the past week, so she considered herself a bit of an expert on it.
"Fair trial?" Potter parroted.
"Yes, do keep up," she snapped, annoyed by the entire scene. It was extremely lucky no one had interrupted the unfolding drama yet, but it was a Saturday. She sighed gustily when she noticed his grimy glasses. "Do you have personal hygiene, or are all boys truly so dim?" asked the witch rudely, leaning over to cast a spell to clean his glasses.
Potter blinked when his vision became crystal clear. He looked as if he didn't know what to do with himself.
He had said Dumbledore himself let him in on Sirius's supposed reason for being cast in Azkaban. Why was that old man stirring up so much trouble? Hermione had several theories, none of which she liked a single bit. He had left her largely alone, but she should have predicted he would try to meddle in her life. Perhaps she would owl the Malfoys and throw them in between herself and the headmaster.
"You can attack me after I get my father a fair trial, whatever the outcome," she promised, releasing his bonds. "But I won't go easy on you then."
Potter stood to his feet and ashamedly rubbed his neck. "I still don't really believe you," he accused. "I trust Headmaster Dumbledore more than some swotty pureblood Slytherin."
She and Theo exchanged looks, united in their dislike of the headmaster. "Well," she drawled, gathering her things, "that's just one of your many mistakes of the day, I'm sure."
It was Potter's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm not interested in listening to two Slytherins get on to me for trusting Headmaster Dumbledore. You lot follow Snape like he's Merlin himself."
"Better him than a dodgy old man like you," Theo snarked.
"We're leaving now," Hermione interrupted, cutting Potter's defense off. "You've thoroughly ruined whatever peace I would have had here today. You're lucky only I'm usually here on Saturdays while everyone else is off skiving their studies. You would have sent the rumor mill spinning for weeks if anyone else had seen that embarrassing temper tantrum."
Hermione and Theo left Harry Potter sputtering angrily in place, allowing him the honor of cleaning up the remaining mess he had caused. She knew that wasn't the last she would hear from him on the topic. There was little she could do to ease his ire, even if she had felt the need to do so. All that would get him to leave her alone would be to prove Sirius innocent, and she wasn't 100% sure he was innocent in the first place. All she had was a deep-seated need to meet her father, and a hunch that urged her to do her best by him, even if he either didn't know or care that she existed.
She knew there was no else who would fight for Sirius Black's release. It was up to her to figure out the truth. Even if he ended up being guilty, at least she would know it was a sentence passed truly after an honest Wizengamot trial. While she didn't trust the bureaucracy of magical Britain to be either streamlined or uncorrupt, she would work within the legal parameters she had to do what she wanted to. Unless given an opportunity to use a different, less legal way, at least.
The two Slytherins ran into Draco outside of the library. He had been on his way to sit with them and hesitantly pick Hermione's brain over an assignment he needed help with. Theo quickly informed him of Potter's immaturity, Draco clearly relishing every detail. He and Potter's rivalry was well known throughout the school.
"Let's just go to the common room," Hermione advised. "It's been snowing for days, so the fire will be nice. I also want to ask Roland a question about a charm."
"I think Blaise was on the couch when I left," Draco added. "But he was snoring, so I doubt he's finished that potions essay."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm not doing it for him. Professor Snape wrote 'acceptable work, Miss Black' at the bottom of his last assignment I helped him with. We're lucky he didn't give us detention."
"Blaise can do his own homework," Theo muttered. "The wanker is smart enough, he's just lazy."
"I know," Hermione sighed. "But he offered me one of those scones his mother sends from Italy. Not even Professor Snape would get mad at me if I did Blaise's homework for one of those scones."
"I think you underestimate Snape's patience with normal students. You're one of his favorites, no doubt about it. If he treated me like he did you or Draco here, I would have even higher marks than you," groused Theo good naturedly.
"Not quite," Hermione disagreed pointedly. "You're behind me in transfiguration and astronomy, too."
"I think McGonagall fancies you, honestly," complained Draco. "She was always nicer to you before, which is weird since you're not one of her Gryffindors. And she's even weirder around you now!"
"Your real dad was a Gryffindor, wasn't he? Caused an upset with the old families, according to my dad," Theo added.
"Maybe," Hermione shrugged. She would ask Professor McGonagall when she had the time. She didn't really enjoy talking about Sirius with anyone; it made his absence in her life even more obvious and poignant.
"We know your marks are the best," Draco helpfully interjected, sensing how easily the conversation could turn in the wrong direction. "But Theo and I aren't too far behind."
Hermione smiled slightly, happy to needle the boys over course work. "I believe you're both behind Terry Boot at the moment, no?"
"Don't say that swot's name in my presence," Theo grumbled.
"What's wrong with being a swot?" Hermione demanded jokingly.
"Nothing at all," he was quick to say, "but you're at least a Slytherin. I know Ravenclaws are supposed to be the smartest house and all, but something about that one bothers me. He's just so smug to have higher marks than me, I know it."
The trio started down a set of stairs and moaned simultaneously when it began to move beneath their feet, stranding them on a much longer route. "Bloody castle needs to stay still," Draco cursed. "And I don't think Boot gives a rat's arse over you having higher marks than you. He's competing with Hermione, not you."
"You could at least pretend he's competing with me, wanker," responded Theo, insulted.
Their banter was light and easy. At first, when she had begun to hang with their lot, all conversation had been stiff and awkward. Over the past weeks, Hermione had softened toward the boys, even Draco, although she would never forget or forgive his transgression. He would be her errand boy for the rest of his life to make up for even a portion of her pain.
It was hard to be friendless again when she had been alone for so long. The boys ran interference when she was busy, warding off other students. They provided inoffensive company, and sometimes, they even made her laugh. However, she wouldn't make the same mistake she had made with the girls. She never let her guard down fully, keeping her heart shielded, and she was always prepared to cause bloodshed in case one of them betrayed her as the girls had. Her repertoire of less-than-Light spells was growing steadily, although she remained frustrated that her ambition to learn outstripped her power. Badb assured her that her magic container would grow, but that meant little to her when even her new, more powerful wand fizzled and refused to cooperate.
Slytherin itself had grown to accept her, tugging her into the pureblood fold. Family names meant everything to them, and her titles were enough to gain automatic respect, if not warmer emotions. The older students found her threats amusing, enjoying the times she waspishly bantered with the younger years. The younger students made an effort to befriend her, likely at the urge of their families. The only student that continued to act as though she was scum was Opal Loras, but she was hardly relevant anyway.
Her fellow housemates had grown to realize what a helpful resource Hermione Black was, so long as she wasn't peeved off. Students went to her for questions on homework, ideas for schemes, and anything else they could utilize her lethal intellect for. Usually, she could answer their questions and help, if she was in a giving mood. Anyone older than a fourth year would do better to ask someone else, however. While she knew the work in theory, if not in practice, for the next three years, anything beyond that she wasn't much help. She wasn't so far ahead in her classes to skip forward so many years in her studies; her personal research held her back from that.
Most Slytherins had too much pride to ask anyone younger help, if they ever even asked for help at all. But, while Slytherins certainly were prideful, they could usually put that aside in the interest of their studies. Hermione herself choked on her pride at times to approach an older student with questions, but only after she had exhausted all other resources first.
The three entered the common room after Theo spoke the password, which had been changed from Salazar to parseltongue a week ago. Hermione privately believed whoever picked the passwords was quite unimaginative. Even an idiot could guess Salazar within the first few tries. Next thing she knew, they might use the word pureblood as a password, or maybe even green. Luckily, the bare stretch of wall was very hard to spot. It had taken Hermione the first two weeks of school before she could find it without walking too far down the hall.
Draco poked Blaise awake while Theo and Hermione settled in front of the fire. Only a few other students were around; the rest were off in the courtyard to either engage in the school-wide snowball fight or to watch and spectate like sports commenters. Hermione had never joined in. She absolutely despised snow. If someone ever hit her with a snowball, she would string them to the Whomping Willow by their toes.
Unfortunately, Roland seemed to have joined his housemates, so she couldn't ask him about the charm. She wasn't surprised. Last Saturday, Gryffindor had thrashed Slytherin and the other houses without question. For all of the combined cunning, intelligence, and cruelty of Slytherin, the Weasley twins remained undefeated. Between snow itself, and then the added threat of Weasleys armed with snow, it would take nothing short of immense bloodshed to get her outside.
Once Blaise was unhappily awoken, the four spent several hours studying and chatting. Hermione steadily ignored Blaise's whines as he beseeched her to help him with his potions essay, until Theo finally thunked him soundly with a book. "Merlin, stop whinging! Do the work yourself. If you had started it when you started whining, you would have finished half an hour ago."
"My work isn't as good as hers," Blaise grumbled, finally pulling his own parchment and ink out.
"Which Professor Snape knows," Hermione informed, attention on the finishing touches of a charms essay due after winter hols. "If he catches me helping you again, he'll give us both detention. I heard Opal saying that detention is supposed to be filled with Gryffindors this week. I, for one, don't want to spend any more time with them than I have to."
"Fair," Blaise admitted sullenly.
"I made all of you study guides for exams," remembered Hermione. She dug through her bag and stolidly ignored the immediate barrage of complaints. "Give Vince and Greg their copies too, if you would, Draco?"
"Merlin, Hermione," Theo said with wide eyes as he took in the color-coded schedule. "How much time did you spend on this?"
"Just a few history classes in a row," she answered. "You didn't notice because you were asleep."
"What else is there to do in there?" griped Blaise. "He's given the same lecture once a week since September."
"Not even you pay attention in that class," Draco accused, "so don't get on us for it!"
She gave him an evil look. "I read the book already over the summer. Did any of you?"
They were saved from explaining themselves to their irate friend when a dripping student opened the door and interrupted with a loud, sad exhale. Other students began to tromp into the common room after him, soaked and dismal. "Lost again?" Theo asked a passing second year.
"I don't want to talk about," the boy answered, glum. Face pinched in discomfort, he shook melting snow out of the leg of his pants.
Thorfinn Rowle stalked into the common room, shaggy hair dripping. A thunderous scowl twisted his handsome face into the picture of thwarted fury. "On Salazar's grave, I'll send every bloody budger I see straight at their bloody heads!"
Roland followed his friend, sitting heavily on the couch. He flicked his wand to wick the water away from his clothing. "That was tragic," he stated. A chorus of groaning agreement met his words.
"Strategy means nothing when it comes to those two," Thorfinn scowled. "Every plan we have falls apart."
"They thrive on chaos," Kent Travers agreed. He was sporting a nasty scratch. "And I swear, they put rocks in their snowballs on purpose."
"They just really don't like you, Kent," another seventh year boy threw in. Caspar Rookwood splayed his legs out and crossed his arms, long body taking up more room than he needed. "Ever since you tripped that little brother of theirs, they've made a point to target you."
Kent frowned. "Which one? I got the youngest and the prefect, too."
Thorfinn rolled his eyes, scowl deepening. "Take your pick, wanker."
Hermione returned to her book, shaking her head. The antics of the older students were always amusing, even if she didn't approve of their disregard for schoolwork. The boys of the quidditch team sometimes managed to draw a quick smile from her with their arguments. One thing about being in Slytherin was that no one could ever complain about a lack of witty comebacks. Unless someone considered Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe, boys who were as loyal to their housemates as they were stupid. And they were very, very loyal.
She had gotten to know everyone in her house to some degree. For whatever reasons of their own, either political or personal, the seventh years had taken an interest in her. The boys loved to tease her, which she allowed only because they would trounce her in a duel, and the girls enjoyed talking about obscure customs and spellwork. The latter had proved useful several times; it gave her half a mind to ask one older girl for dueling lessons.
Other than the boys in her grade, which she now loosely considered friends, she would say the older boys were people she enjoyed speaking to the most within her house. Thorfinn Rowle, Roland Avery, Caspar Rookwood, Edwin Wilkes, Bram Barberus, and Janis Herrnstein were the seventh year boys. She spoke to Thorfinn and Roland the most often, and they sought her out the most to ask questions about Black investments or whatever else took their fancy. Caspar and Bram were nice enough, and Edwin kept mostly to himself. Janis was set to graduate early to begin an astronomy apprenticeship somewhere in Russia, so she rarely even saw him, he was so busy.
There were a lot more sixth year boys, but they mostly kept to the other older years. Out of them, Kent Travers was the most talkative, but he was well known for his overwrought dramatics, so she mostly ignored him.
Unfortunately, not all of the boys would allow her to ignore them.
"Hey! Bellatrix junior!"
She just knew Thorfinn was talking to her, but she kept reading, hoping he would move on and leave her alone. But she had no such luck.
"You know I'm talking to you, Black!"
She sighed and looked up. After she had used his body to redecorate the common room, he had only begun to tease her more, purposefully seeking her out in the common room or at meal times. She suspected he enjoyed riling her. "I'll use your intestines as garland for Christmas, Rowle," she threatened darkly. He often used that particular nickname; he could tell she hated it.
"Only if you use that voice when you do it, love," he winked.
"She's twelve, Thorfinn," Roland chastised. Roland tried to keep his friend in check, but everyone knew he rarely succeeded. Hermione would be surprised if there were more than ten girls in the older years that did not know Thorfinn Rowle carnally.
"She'll grow," Thorfinn rebutted, unrepentant.
Hermione knew he wasn't being completely serious. However, she had noticed Slytherin had a creepy culture of 'understandings.' They never did anything beyond the pale when the age difference was significant, but many students kept track of who they got on well with, making sure to let their Head of House know for the purpose of marriage contracts. The weird, medieval habit of arranging marriages was one aspect of pureblood culture that did not sit well with Hermione. Despite Theo's odd insistence of casually hinting on who she would pair with well, Hermione made a concerted effort to not think of her future in that light.
An older girl thwacked him upside the head. "Stop preying on the firsties," Sabine Selwyn ordered. "My sister is almost the same age. If I hear about you going after any girl under fifth year, I'll owl your mother myself, and I'll be very descriptive."
"No need for that," Roland quickly intervened. "I'll keep an eye on him." Everyone knew Sabine Selwyn was not a girl to cross, between her filthy insults and quick wandwork. Hermione admired her greatly.
"Anyways," Thorfinn drawled, "Black. You're nice and swotty. How would you suggest we win for once?"
"Oh?" Hermione asked acerbically, shutting her book. "You're going to ask a girl for help?" The best way to manage Thorfinn was to give in to his demands, so he found new entertainment sooner. But Hermione had never been good at handling her temper, so she always impulsively fought with the older boy. Roland often accused her of intentionally giving him migraines.
"Let's be diplomatic," Roland said, eyeing his friend and Hermione Black in turn. "We've been doing so well these past few weeks."
"Wrong," Kent disagreed. "Sabine called me an arse-licking prat two days ago! Diplomacy is dead, and Sabine Selwyn killed it!"
"Travers, if you don't find your spine, I'll shove my hand up your gaping arsehole and yank it out for you," Sabine hissed threateningly.
"Merlin, Sabine, we were all being so civil for once," Roland groaned, "I swear, one day I'll read about you in the Prophet. Do us all a favor and don't be the next Slytherin thrown in Azkaban, yeah?"
"Yes, Black, I'm asking a girl," Thorfinn interjected before Sabine turned her lethal attention on his friend. "I asked Selwyn here, since she's the good sort to ask about casual murder, but her idea of putting glass shards in the snowballs seemed a little much. I'm not keen to get anyone kicked off my team my last year, especially not for a snowball fight."
"We'll see how you feel when the Weasleys slaughter us next week, as well," Sabine snapped.
"I don't think Sabine's idea is too bad," Hermione said, considering the thought while she tapped her wand to her chin. She never set her wand down. "Something like that would definitely escalate the battle, though. Maybe instead of glass, you could use splinters? That's harder to claim as purposeful."
"Salazar, you women are bloody monsters," Roland muttered, looking between the petite seventh year girl and Hermione warily. "I'm going to find a nice, fit Hufflepuff to marry. She won't kill me in my sleep, at least." He frowned to himself. "I think."
"I know you, Black," Thorfinn argued, ignoring his friend. "You've got some sort of idea how to get those two wankers, preferably an idea that won't get our lot hauled to Dumbledumb's office. The way you look at them, you've got all sorts of plans in that swotty head of yours."
She couldn't deny it. She had fantasized about putting the twins in the ground for weeks as she watched them prank her housemates endlessly. After all, the most important rule of Slytherin was to watch each other's backs, at least outside of their dungeon.
"Well, love?" Thorfinn urged.
"Rune stones," Hermione answered. When Thorfinn raised blond eyebrows, she continued. "Inscribe rune stones with a warming charm. Could be the one we learn in first year, it doesn't matter, so long as it's nice and hot. You can set them in a line in front of wherever you're hiding, making sure to conceal the stones also. When they throw snowballs at you, they'll melt before reaching you."
"Anything we throw will melt, too," Roland pointed out.
"Not if you make several gaps in the line for yourself," Hermione argued. "They may figure out where to aim eventually, but not before you get a good lead. And if they don't see the rune stones, they won't know how you melt all of their snowballs, so they can't recreate it themselves."
"I could marry you, Black!" Thorfinn declared.
Sabine hissed, "She's twelve, Rowle!" but he cheerfully ignored her.
"Rather not," Hermione wrinkled her nose. The idea of romance seemed like precious time wasted wooing hormone-addled idiots.
Thorfinn winked, shaggy blond hair falling into his face. "You'll change your mind, love," he grinned, and then rose to his feet and began forcefully recruiting a sixth year who was known to have the highest marks in runes.
"He's a good catch," Theo murmured under his breath, eyeing Hermione sideways. "He's Sacred Twenty-Eight, and heading for a quidditch career. If he's like his dad, he'll play for six or seven years professionally and then go into the Ministry before taking over the family business."
"Theo?" Hermione questioned pleasantly.
He paled. They all recognized that tone of voice. "Yeah?"
"If you ever bring up Thorfinn Rowle as a potential husband for me ever again, I will flay you, turn that skin into a new set of leather boots, and then watch as your bloody, skinless body wanders around your childhood home in absolute agony."
"Noted," he croaked. He had seen her strip the skin off an apple with a spell, smiling in dark satisfaction. He suspected she could do that to him easily.
"Good," she nodded, looking to the others. Draco and Blaise's eyes were wide as they looked at their work without reading or writing a word. "Dinner is soon, right? I'm going to go rinse. This fire is making me sweat."
"Charming as always, Hermione. I think I'll do the same," Blaise said, standing. He was always quick to shake his fear of her off; he had once said the only woman he would ever truly fear was his mother.
He and Hermione wandered into their respective dorms. She entered her room and checked her wards, pleased that they held. She had spent a week and a half casting every ward she could find on her bed, so she wouldn't be attacked in her sleep. A talented, of-age witch or wizard would be able to break through, but she seriously doubted anyone her age or near enough would be table to untangle the complicated web she had weaved. Her wards weren't pretty, but the hodgepodge would do.
After dinner, she shook the boys off to run a private errand, and then she read quietly in her customary chair for a few hours, unbothered by her housemates as they plotted over the table opposite the room. Thorfinn had winked at her as she passed, and then narrowly avoided Sabine's immediate wrath.
Sleep came quickly, offering her the nightly joy of visiting her sister.
Badb laughed in delight when Hermione recounted her day. "Lovely and vicious as always, Anann."
Hermione snorted. "If I have to even think about idiot boys for a second longer, I'll Avada myself. Can we go over those spells you were showing me, again?"
Badb and Hermione had been spending several nights a week going over what spells the goddess remembered from Morgan le Fay and the other witches and wizards she had encountered over the millennia. It was difficult for her to teach Hermione magic, since she had no need for a focus such as a wand. Or for speaking spells at all, for that matter. Badb envisioned an outcome and her power achieved that outcome. Hermione envied her greatly, but settled for the incredibly powerful wand Badb had made for her previous incarnation.
"Very well," Badb said. "Withdraw your good wand." She refused to acknowledge Hermione's first wand most of the time, believing the wand she had helped create was much more suitable for her sister. While Hermione agreed wholeheartedly, she also needed much more time to master her new wand. It was powerful, but tricky; every spell held a darker edge, becoming more volatile. A simple warming charm liquefied the candle on her nightstand.
Hermione set her mind to the task of piecing a spell from Badb's demonstrations. She had only learned one spell from her sister so far, and it had taken six nights before she even got a hint of success. However, that spell had been something she had never even imagined existing, so she was extremely pleased to have even partially cast it. The spell, aufereter exspiravit, permanently banned poltergeists from the room the caster stood in. Unfortunately, poltergeists could not be destroyed; she dearly wished they could, having had her encounter with Peeves early into the first week of school. But the spell was a close enough second. She had plans to sell the use of the spell to other students; any Peeves-proof room was something to value greatly.
The new spell she was trying to learn was proving even more challenging. She had never had such trouble learning a spell; she found the experience unenjoyably humbling.
"Focus," Badb instructed. "I will not teach a distracted student. I know you are diligent, Anann. I once saw you learn to use twin swords over the course of a single day," she chuckled, sharp teeth flashing in the odd half-light of Avalon. "Of course, a battle goddess learning how to use swords is much different from a little mortal girl learning formless magic."
Hermione lifted her wand, snapping, "I am not little," grumpily. Even though some of her days were trying, Badb had the singular ability to put her in a good mood. For Hermione, being able to handle someone teasing her without imagining their death constituted a good mood.
They spent what felt like hours practicing, with very little progress. She had finally managed to produce a wisp of violet when she woke up. She sighed, staring into the shadowy center of the green canopy over her bed. She had fortified her part of the room, made headway on her research, owled all of the Black business ventures, and had begun cultivating her housemates. Her next task was the one that gave her the most trepidation.
She rose from her bed and showered quickly. She dressed in her nicest set of day wear: a simple, yet finely-made silk dress in a brilliant shade of emerald. Black robes went over the dress, embroidered with the Black sigil. She used her heirloom jewelry to accent the ensemble in silver, adding silver beads to plait her hair away from her face rather than leave it wild as she preferred. Armor firmly in place, she tucked her original wand into a long, narrow pocket within her outer robe and left the Slytherin dorms, boots silent on the stones of the dungeon.
Stopping before an unremarkable door, she raised her fist to knock. The door swept open before her knuckles brushed the surface. Professor Snape glared down at her dourly. "I see you are moderately presentable. Let's go on this foolhardy errand before I regain my senses and sentence you to scrubbing cauldrons all day for daring to bother me."
"Good morning to you as well, Professor," Hermione responded, speaking to his back as he disregarded her greeting and strode past her and down the hall.
"If you want to ambush Rufus Scrimgeour as soon as he gets to the Ministry, you will have to hurry for once in your life. That is no doubt going to be difficult for you, as you seem to have all the athletic ability of a paralyzed flobberworm. Pick up the pace, Miss Black," the professor ordered, black robes flowing up the stairs and into the great hall like an oil spill.
Hermione followed quickly, intent on her task. Rufus Scrimgeour was not going to avoid her any longer.