September 4th, 1995
Between the Ministry flunky posing as their new Defence professor, and having potions first thing Monday morning, the new semester was off to an auspicious start.
"Come on, we're going to be late," Hermione said, rolling her eyes at Harry and Ron dragging their feet.
"'Course," Harry muttered, and started off quickly for the dungeon. "Last thing I want is Snape giving me detention in the first class of the semester."
"He would, wouldn't he," Ron replied darkly. "That greasy—"
"Ron!" Hermione said sharply. "Don't you think that's a little unfair?"
Ron looked at her, baffled. "Come off it, Hermione, you know he would."
"Maybe if he had a good reason," Hermione said. "But he's not going to just assign a detention randomly!"
"He has before," Harry said skeptically, as they approached the door to the potions classroom.
"Well— maybe," Hermione reluctantly admitted. The urge to defend her professor hadn't gone away, but even she could see it was a lost cause.
Their spirits effectively quashed, the three of them crept into the classroom, taking their usual seats. They were some of the last ones to arrive, but they weren't late, since the professor was still absent.
A moment later the professor in question strode through the door, which slammed magically behind him.
"Wands away, books out, and turn to page twenty-four," he said, as he walked past the rows of desks. Upon reaching the front, he whirled around and surveyed the class, who were sitting there stunned motionless. He raised an eyebrow at them, and immediately there was a flurry of movement as everyone raced to get their books out.
Hermione's was already on her desk. Honestly, she thought scornfully, we've only been in this class four years. Not like they hadn't had time to learn the drill. Opening the book, she found that page twenty-four outlined the effects of moonfly when used in conjunction with various depressants, something she'd brushed up on just the night before. Instead of reading the page for the ninth time, her gaze instead drifted up to Professor Snape.
He was watching her. As soon as she made eye contact, he looked away, but… He'd definitely been watching her.
Hermione wondered what their classroom interactions would be like, now that they'd spent a good part of the summer working together. Surely he would be a little kinder to her?
Instead, he ignored her almost completely. Even though she raised her hand for every question, he never called on her. Even when no one else moved, he would pick someone at random, and then give the answer himself if that person failed to get it.
Hermione wasn't especially put out. Truthfully, most of the professors had stopped calling on her, except when it was clear no one else at all knew the answer. She'd been upset at first when she realised she wasn't being called on as much, until Ron laughed at her and asked her what the point was, since everyone knew she knew the answer.
Hogwarts was amazing, that was a fact, and Hermione wouldn't give up learning magic for anything. But she also knew, with a sort of clinical detachment, that she wasn't being intellectually challenged. That was why she worked on so many side projects, supplementary research to fill in the gaps of her education.
But now, that would change. She was going to be assisting Professor Snape with… well, Hermione wasn't entirely clear on that. More stuff for the Order, probably. That didn't matter. The important thing was that she would finally get a chance to stretch her intellectual wings.
"Miss Granger…" Professor Snape called, as the students started collecting their things. Class was over. "Stay behind for a moment," he sneered.
Parvati gave her a sympathetic look as she and Lavender walked out the door.
Harry and Ron stared uncertainly at her.
"It's okay," she sighed. "I'll meet you at Charms." They didn't wait before running off.
She made her way nervously to the front of the classroom, and winced as the last student to exit (Pansy Parkinson) slammed the door as she left, although not before tossing a smirk at Hermione over her shoulder.
"Yes, professor?" Hermione asked politely, clasping her hands together in front of her as she stood nervously before the professor's desk.
Professor Snape sat behind it, posture stiff. Upon seeing the door close, he sighed, and slouched down slightly in his chair. He drummed his fingers idly on the desk. "What evenings are you available to assist me?" He finally asked, looking up at her reluctantly.
"Well, any of them, I suppose," Hermione replied. "Except for when we have prefect meetings."
Professor Snape nodded. "And how many evenings will you be able to devote?"
Hermione blinked. She hadn't thought about it, really. It was her O.W.L. year, so obviously she'd be extra busy with studies, but… this was important. And really, when had she ever turned down extra work? "How many evenings do you want me?" she asked.
He winced. He opened his mouth to say something and hesitated, before finally continuing. "Let us plan for one or two evenings a week, for an hour or two depending on our respective schedules, and then a longer session on the weekends, time permitting. Is that amenable to you?"
Hermione nodded eagerly. "Yes, of course! Will we be doing the same sort of thing as—" she cut herself off, wary of anyone listening in even when they were supposedly in an empty classroom. Living in an evil magical house all summer tended to make one paranoid.
Professor Snape understood what she meant. "Yes," he responded curtly.
"Okay! Er— When are we meeting next then? And are we just meeting in here?"
"In my office." He stared at her for a moment, expression inscrutable. "Tonight," he stated, but there was a hint of a question to his voice that Hermione wasn't sure she hadn't imagined.
"After dinner?" She asked, trying to read anything in his blank face, and failing utterly.
"Very well." He didn't even dismiss her, just looked down at the papers on his desk and started grading.
"Er— thanks, professor," Hermione said, and let herself out. She was practically skipping as she walked away. Fifth year was off to an excellent start.
September 8th, 1995
A week into the semester, Draco Malfoy barged into Severus' office.
Really, Severus was surprised it hadn't happened sooner.
"Granger?" Draco cried, slamming the door behind him and throwing himself into the chair in front of Severus' desk.
Severus stared at him, eyebrow slightly raised. After a long moment, Draco straightened himself sheepishly, fixing his posture into something more polite.
"Sorry," he muttered, not meeting Severus in the eye.
"Very well," Severus said. He already knew exactly what this was about, but it wouldn't do to let Draco know that. The son of two of his closest friends (which really said more about who he considered "friends" than it did about how close he was with the Malfoys), and one of the Death Eaters' spies in the castle, to boot. Not that he was a very effective spy, really, but he occasionally heard things. Like, presumably, that Severus had taken on Hermione Granger as an assistant. "Now that you've composed yourself into something approaching respectable, would you care to elaborate about whatever it is that has you so upset? Or is it merely the fact that she exists?"
"You—" Any trace of composure Draco had managed to find was washed away. "You've taken her on as your assistant!" he said.
Severus paused for a moment, staring blankly at the boy. "That is correct," he said slowly, as if trying to comprehend how that had any bearing on the current situation.
Draco, of course, knew exactly what his professor was doing, and it only irritated him more. "Why?" he whined. "If you needed an assistant, why not anyone else?"
Severus pursed his lips. "Would you have preferred I select Potter, instead?" he asked, with barely concealed distaste.
Draco gaped at him. "No, of course not, but— but why?"
"I had no choice," Severus responded stiffly. This had the benefit of actually being true, but he was hardly about to tell Draco the real reason. The lies he and Albus had cooked up would suffice.
"What?" Draco said, stunned by this response. "What do you mean?"
"Professor McGonagall insisted. I believe she no longer… trusts me, after the events of last June."
"That's not fair!" Draco exploded. "She can't just make you—"
"As it happens, she can," Severus interrupted calmly. "She has the full support of the Headmaster. He seems to think it'll be good for me." That last part was, unfortunately, also true.
"That's ridiculous," Draco huffed, slumping down in his chair again. "That's so unfair."
Severus nodded. "Many things are."
"But… but if you could choose anyone… it wouldn't be Granger, right? Who would it be?" Draco pressed.
Severus got the impression that Draco was feeling insecure about his potions skills. As he should be, since they were categorically mediocre. "I would choose no one," he said, solely for the look on Draco's face. He'd allowed seventh years to undertake independent research projects before, under his strict supervision, but he'd never taken on a student assistant. He'd thought about it, but between teaching and his head of house duties, he had more than enough student interaction. His brewing time was his time. And until this summer, his workload had never been so heavy that he'd been forced to have an assistant.
Draco huffed. "But say you had to choose someone. Like, you were forced to choose someone. Who would it be?"
Severus pretended to consider this. "Likely Flora Carrow," he said. She was a sixth-year Slytherin prefect, currently. And unlike her twin sister, she was extremely dependable.
"Fine, whatever," Draco said, with a roll of his eyes. He seemed finally willing to give up on the game. "I guess I should've figured it would be something like that. As if you'd ever willingly pick Granger as your assistant."
Severus struggled to stamp down the urge to defend her, and felt annoyed at himself for even feeling the urge. Draco was obviously jealous. Granger had the best potions grades in her year, and her brewing was meticulous. She lacked the creative spark of a true potions prodigy, but what she lacked in instinct she made up for in hard work and careful preparation. She would make an excellent assistant, and in fact already had been, over the last few months.
Not that Severus could say any of that. "Was that all?" he said instead, trying to appear aloof and uncaring, and not deeply annoyed at Draco's presence.
Draco sighed. "Should I be worried about Umbridge?" he asked, after a moment. "Father said she was awful, and only useful when it benefits her personally."
Severus frowned, unsure of how much to say. Dolores Umbridge was notorious among Ministry workers for her cloying ambition and obviously fake attitude. Thankfully he hadn't had the pleasure of interacting with her much. She never sat anywhere near him.
"You had her class already, is that correct?" Severus asked, fishing for more information. Was she sympathetic to Slytherin, her old house? Or to Gryffindor, the 'heroes of the light,' as it were? Certainly she wasn't sympathetic to Potter, but Severus had no idea where the rest of her loyalties lay.
"Yeah, it's the worst. Just reading from a textbook and zero actual Defence practice. As if we didn't have OWLs this spring that we need to pass!"
Lovely. "I'll talk to the prefects about arranging tutoring," Severus said with a grimace.
"So is she evil or what?" Draco asked pointedly.
"Excuse me?" Severus said, taken aback.
"Let's see, Lupin was a werewolf, Quirrell tried to steal something and got killed for it," Draco was counting the professors off on his fingers as he spoke. "Moody was completely crazy, and there's no way you can tell me that him transfiguring me was anything but torture. And he cast an Unforgivable on us! Potter was the only one who came close to throwing it off, and he's a freak or something. Oh yeah, and then there was Lockhart. You know half the Slytherins are still convinced Lockhart is the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets?"
Stunned, Severus tried to consider what the rash of Defence professors looked like from the students' perspective. True, the administration hadn't been exactly forthcoming with information on the exact nature of the incidents in question, but he hadn't expected such wild rumours— Actually, now that he was thinking about it, he couldn't believe the rumours weren't wilder.
"So looking at the track record we've had for DADA professors, she's got to be evil, right?" Draco seemed immensely satisfied with his analysis.
Severus wondered whether he should tell him that actually, two of those professors had been agents of the Dark Lord and one of them had merely been grossly incompetent. Lupin was evil, he mentally allowed. "Lockhart was admitted to St Mungo's for severe spell damage," he pointed out instead, horrified yet fascinated.
"Well, yeah. Is it any coincidence that a girl went missing, Potter rescued her, Lockhart got brain damaged, and the attacks stopped, all in one night?" Draco scoffed. "I don't think so."
"And you don't think Lockhart was a victim?"
"If the Heir of Slytherin were real, why would they go after Lockhart of all people?" Draco pointed out. "Besides, no one can actually be that incompetent."
Severus sighed. "Perhaps you're right," he said, simply because he'd hated Lockhart maybe more than anyone, and if a generation of students grew up thinking Lockhart was secretly evil… he could live with that.
What was more concerning was how little Draco knew of the Dark Lord's involvement with Hogwarts. Did Lucius tell him nothing? Was it for his own protection? Or did Lucius not think the boy was mature enough?
Regardless of the reason, it no longer mattered. The days of Draco's youthful ignorance were numbered.
September 19th, 1995
Severus was coming to rely on Granger's assistance. When he brewed alone now, he missed her presence. She was quick to anticipate what he would need next, keeping an eye not just on the next step, but three steps ahead so that she was making efficient use of her time.
They always brewed in silence, something that Severus vastly preferred. He thought he'd become tired of her presence, curse or no, but the opposite had happened. Brewing by himself felt achingly lonely now, rather than the refuge from the world it'd once been.
Brewing with her had become the highlights of his week, a moment of contentment amongst the mess that was his life.
Which is why now, with her running late, he was becoming very concerned.
He was just getting up to go look for her when he heard faint voices from the hallway outside his office. Silently, he flicked his wand, and the voices became clearly audible through the door.
"-don't understand why you can't get the evening off!" whined the young Weasley that Miss Granger was unfortunately friends with.
"Ron, we've already talked about this!" Granger huffed. Severus was thrilled to hear the annoyance in her voice.
"But it's your birthday!" the boy said, and Severus could hear the pout in his voice. Disgusting. "You should be doing something fun!"
"Brewing is fun!" Granger said crossly. Severus tried desperately to suppress the pleasure he felt at that comment. "I actually like helping out, Ron, and why shouldn't I spend my birthday doing something I enjoy instead of listening to you complain about it!" With that, Severus saw the door start to open, and he hastily sat back down and composed himself. The biggest difficulty was in keeping the smile off his face. He hadn't expected he'd be so thrilled at hearing Granger defend him, but perhaps he shouldn't be surprised.
He cancelled the spell with a surreptitious flick of his wand as she entered the room and angrily closed the door behind her.
"Is everything all right?" he asked mildly. Granger shot him a surprised look. Surprised that he would bother to ask, he supposed.
"Oh, yes, sorry I'm late. I got held up," she added with a grimace. She crossed over to the small cauldron he had set up and peered into it. "I don't recognise this base," she said in bewilderment. "What are we brewing today?"
"A potion of my own design," Severus admitted, walking over to join her next to the cauldron. He was just close enough so that their sleeves brushed, a fact that Severus was suddenly acutely aware of. "Can you determine the key constituents of the base?"
Granger's eyes gleamed with the challenge. She picked up her wand and started casting, while Severus barely managed to keep the fondness he felt off his face. For a brief moment he wondered— would the curse have worked as strongly if he'd seen someone else first? What of his feelings were real, and what were artificial? The same part of him that longed to be near Granger was convinced that his feelings were real, only uncovered by the curse. But he couldn't be sure, because he couldn't remember what he'd felt like before. He had no basis for comparison.
At the end of the lesson, Granger was cleaning up the brewing station with quick, efficient wand movements.
Severus looked at the potions in his desk, hesitating. After a moment, before he could stop himself, he snatched one out of the drawer.
Granger noticed immediately when he walked over to her, looking up at him curiously.
"Is something wrong, sir?" she said, wand slowing to a stop.
"I believe presents are customary on one's birthday," he managed to get out, before shoving the vial into her hand. He couldn't believe the sudden awkwardness he felt as the result of a single sentence. He wanted to die.
"Sir?" she said in surprise, looking down at the label. Her eyes widened.
"Happy birthday," he said, straining to keep his voice quiet. He felt idiotic, completely foolish. "I trust you will make good use of it."
"I will, sir, thank you!" she said, beaming up at him. Just like that, his anxiety melted away, and he let himself smile back down at her.
In the back of his mind, however, he knew. He was well and truly fucked.
September 20th, 1995
"I still can't believe you bailed on us," Ron said over breakfast.
Hermione rolled her eyes but otherwise ignored him. "So your new project's going well?" she said to Fred instead.
He nodded happily. "Padfoot's been fantastic, really. He's been working hard and we've made some really good progress. George and I are still mostly handling the prank stuff by ourselves, you know, but it's nice to have help with the more serious stuff." He sent Hermione a wink. "Especially from someone who has enough experience to know what kinds of things are actually useful. Like George and I had all sorts of ideas, but no clue which ones were practical and which weren't, you know?"
"It was a brilliant idea, them working together," Harry said happily. "I can tell from his letters that he's doing loads better. He's still feeling cooped up, but he's handling it better now. Less restless, I think."
"I'm really happy to hear that," Hermione said, pleased with the praise. "Do you have anything exciting planned, then?" she asked Fred.
Fred shrugged, a coy smile on his face. "Maybe," he admitted. "I'll tell you about it later, once it's a little more firm."
"So we're not talking about Hermione being friends with Snape, then?" Ron said, as the three of them left Fred to head to class.
"We're not friends!" Hermione protested, face turning pink. "We've just been brewing potions."
"I don't know how you could stand spending time with such a nasty git," Ron muttered. Harry rolled his eyes, and pointedly walked behind them so as to not get caught up in their argument. Which he was hearing for maybe the tenth time.
"He's not nasty to me," Hermione said firmly. "He's actually been really nice!"
"Or maybe you just think he's being nice to you because he's been so mean to you your brain blocked it out!" Ron said triumphantly.
Hermione stared at him, mouth agape. "You're an idiot," she finally said in frustration. "He's genuinely been nice to me. He got me a birthday present!"
"What?" Ron and Harry both said. Ron stopped short. "You're kidding me, right?" he said.
"I'm not! It was very thoughtful," Hermione said defensively.
Ron stared at her for a moment, at a loss for words. "Was it nicer than mine?" he finally said, and Hermione rolled her eyes and walked away from him.
"Wait! Does that mean yes?" Ron called after her, before turning to Harry. Who had also started heading towards class. "Not you too!" he cried, before sighing and following them.
None of them noticed Draco Malfoy around the corner behind them, listening with wide eyes.
September 21st, 1995
"Hermioneeeeee," Ron whined, slouched in the comfy armchair in front of the fire. "You said you were almost done twenty minutes ago."
"This time I am almost done!" Hermione said cheerfully, putting the finishing touches on the letter to her parents. "They're probably so bored in hiding. I just want them to know I'm safe and doing well!" She'd send it out with an owl later.
Harry came down the stairs from his dorm. "The twins are ready!" he said excitedly. "They finally finished talking about their next project," he added with an eye roll.
"Finally!" Ron said, sitting up in his chair. "I thought I was going to go mad waiting."
"See?" Hermione said pointedly to Ron. "I was right on time."
George finally came down, joined by Fred a moment later, who was carrying something small wrapped in a scarf.
"Where are we doing this?" Fred asked in a hushed voice. He looked around the common room pointedly, where a few people were relaxing.
The five of them looked at each other contemplatively.
"Anyone in the dorm?" Ron asked Harry.
Harry nodded. "Just Neville, though."
"Well, Neville won't mind," Hermione said. "Right?"
"Back upstairs, then," George said with a sigh.
Fred punched his arm. "Don't complain, you need the exercise."
"Are you saying I'm getting chubby?" George asked in mock horror, patting his stomach.
"I'm saying you're fat," Fred said, and then sprinted up the stairs before George could grab him. George chased after him.
"How do they have so much energy all the time," Hermione muttered to herself.
Ron grinned. "Mum is always asking the same thing. I think mum drank too much coffee when she was pregnant."
"I don't think that's how pregnancy works," Harry said doubtfully, and Hermione just shook her head.
Harry and Ron's dorm was empty except for a tussling Fred and George and a very concerned Neville.
"They just came in here and started fighting!" Neville exclaimed to the three of them, eyes wide.
"Yeah mate, they do that sometimes," Ron said with a shrug.
"Sorry Neville," Hermione said. "We're going to chat with a friend and they just got too excited."
Neville looked between the three of them, who were casually staring back. He sighed. "I needed to go to the library anyway," he mumbled to himself.
"Thanks Neville!" Harry beamed, and slapped Neville's shoulder as he went by. "I'll save you some breakfast tomorrow so you can sleep in, eh?"
Neville smiled slightly. "All right, Harry, that sounds good," he said, and left the room.
"Maybe we should make more of an effort to include him in things," Hermione said, uncertain.
"Oh, he's all right," Ron said, with a wave of his hand. "That's just Neville."
"If you say so," Hermione said, and went to sit on Harry's bed. "Come on, you've got it then?" she addressed the twins.
The twins sprang up to standing, Fred still holding the small bundle. "Here we go!" he said, and pulled the scarf away with a flourish, revealing the mirror they'd been waiting for.
Harry grabbed it out of his hands and sat down on his bed next to Hermione.
"Hey!" Fred said, but sat down without further protest, followed by Ron and George.
"Sirius Black," Harry intoned into the mirror. After a moment, Harry's reflection was replaced by Sirius' grinning face.
"Looks like everyone's here!" Sirius said in excitement, looking over everyone.
Variations of "Hi Sirius!" were said by everyone on the bed.
"How are you doing?" Harry asked eagerly.
"Pretty good!" Sirius said. Hermione could see that he was telling the truth. The worry lines on his face had relaxed a little, and his smile was more genuine than it had been over the summer. "We're making great progress, eh boys?" he said, winking at the twins.
"Yessir!" Fred and George said obediently, and then grinned at each other.
"What are you working on?" Harry asked curiously. "Fred and George wouldn't tell me anything."
"Sorry Harry, I'm sworn to secrecy," Sirius said solemnly. "But you'll find out soon enough! We're almost done the testing phase," he added with a cackle.
"Anything I should be worried about?" Harry asked, but he was obviously excited.
Sirius laughed. "I still can't tell you anything. But I promise that you'll find out soon. Oh! That reminds me. Happy late birthday Hermione!"
Hermione startled. "How did you know it was my birthday?" she asked suspiciously, looking at the boys on the bed.
Harry grinned at her. "Sorry Hermione."
"I've got a present for you!" Sirius continued. "Next time I see you, yeah?"
"You got me a present?" Hermione said, pleased. "Thank you!"
"Just something the twins and I whipped up," Sirius said casually.
Hermione's smiled froze. "Oh," she said nervously, looking back and forth between the twins and Sirius.
"Nothing bad, I promise!" Sirius laughed. "I know you're a prefect."
"Thank you, Sirius!" Hermione said, with more trepidation than she had a moment ago.
"So, tell me about…" and the six of them descended into happy conversation.
September 22nd, 1995
Hermione dutifully stirred the potion she was working on. Professor Snape was grading papers at his desk, scowling down at them. She wondered if any student would be surprised to learn that Professor Snape hated grading essays as much as the students hated writing them.
But Hermione was feeling too cheerful to be content brewing in silence. "What are you grading?" she asked, unable to help herself.
Professor Snape's quill stilled, and after a moment he looked up at her. He didn't look angry, more… baffled. "First year essays," he said after a moment.
Hermione was thrilled that he'd answered her question. "That makes sense. You looked like they'd personally offended you."
Professor Snape looked down at his papers, then back up at her, expression unreadable. "They did," he finally said, and Hermione couldn't help the laugh that escaped her lips.
For a moment, she thought she saw Professor Snape look pleased, but then the expression was gone.
After a few minutes of them working in silence again, Hermione once more piped up "Will we be learning about counter-brewing this year?"
"That's a NEWT-level topic," Professor Snape responded without looking at her. "You'll get to it next year."
Hermione was flattered by the insinuation that she'd make it into his NEWT-level class.
After another few minutes, she asked "Did you know—"
"Yes," Professor Snape said, cutting her off. His quill danced as he wrote another undoubtedly scathing remark across the essay he was grading.
Hermione paused for a moment, taken aback. Then she continued anyway, although very different from how she intended to start: "Did you know the modern jackalope has over a hundred children every year?"
Snape paused, still staring down at the essay. After a long, quiet moment, he finally raised his head, his face blank. "Yes," he said, and Hermione might have even believed him if not for the fact that she'd made it up.
"Actually, sorry, I meant puffskeins, not jackalopes," Hermione corrected, unable to keep the satisfaction from her tone. "Completely different things! Jackalopes only give birth once a year."
She half expected him to yell at her, but instead his lips quirked in something that was almost approaching a smile, and he said "Fine, what is it?"
"Is it just me or are the Defence professors getting worse every year?" Hermione asked, feeling more bold than she had a moment ago.
Professor Snape sighed and threw down his quill. "It's not just you," he admitted. "There is a rumour that the position is cursed, and given how long it's been since we've had someone last more than a year, I would not be surprised."
"Cursed?" Hermione asked curiously. "I didn't know that was possible."
"Finally something the great Hermione Granger does not know," Professor Snape said, but it wasn't rude like Hermione was used to hearing. It was almost… teasing. "Yes, usually curses are tied to something physical, but I suspect that this curse is within the Hogwarts wards themselves."
"That's incredible!" Hermione said, and Professor Snape raised an eyebrow at her. "I mean, it must have very difficult to pull off! And without anyone being able to find it."
"Indeed," Professor Snape agreed. "Many people no longer believe any such curse exists at all, after searching for years and being unable to find it. The Headmaster, of course, still believes."
"Whoever cast it must be very powerful," Hermione said, a touch fearfully. She could only think of one person who had the means and the motive.
"Likely so," Professor Snape said, eyeing her thoughtfully. "It is poss-"
"Severus," the portrait on the wall interrupted. "Albus needs to see you in his office immediately."
"It cannot wait until I'm finished here?" Professor Snape asked, clearly annoyed at the interruption.
"What does immediately mean to you, then?" the portrait asked snidely.
Professor Snape rolled his eyes. Hermione was fascinated at the show of humanity from her normally distant professor. "Very well. Miss Granger, I'm afraid our time together has been cut short. I shall see you on Sunday for our next session."
"Yes, professor," Hermione said obediently, and quickly packed up before following him out of the office. Our time together, he'd said. Like it was something precious.
Her heart skipped a beat.
September 23rd, 1995
"You're going to spend the weekend in the library?" Ron asked Hermione, aghast. They were at breakfast late Saturday morning.
Hermione gave him an unimpressed look. "Does that surprise you?"
"No," Ron laughed. "Not really."
"And anyway, you should be studying too," Hermione reminded him.
Ron shook his head. "No point. We both know I'm going to fail anyway."
"That's the spirit!" Harry said, joining them at the table. "Let's go flying this afternoon!"
"That sounds much better than studying," Ron cheered. "I'll borrow George's broom. He still owes me."
Hermione sighed. "Really though, you'll study at some point, right? Only I made up study guides the other day, and I thought-"
"We promise," Harry said, and even he sounded kind of sincere.
"Miss Granger," Professor Mcgonagall said, coming over to where Hermione was sitting. She had a serious look on her face. "The Headmaster wishes to talk to you."
"Me?" Hermione asked in surprise. Harry and Ron looked confused as well.
"Yes. Right now, if you will," Professor Mcgonagall said.
"See you later," Ron called after her as she left.
Hermione tried to read Professor Mcgonagall's face as they walked, but she couldn't tell anything. Was this about Order business?
Professor Snape was in the office when they arrived. She immediately noticed him, leaning against the windowsill, looking worried. She felt a shiver of uncertainty in her stomach. Had she ever seen Professor Snape look worried before?
"Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore said. "Please sit." His face was somber.
Professor Mcgonagall was still there, but she remained standing near the door.
Hermione sat down obediently, smoothing her robes over her lap.
"Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore said again, and then paused.
"Albus," Professor Snape said warningly. "Be frank." An unreadable look passed between the two of them.
"There was an attack on one of our safe houses," Professor Dumbledore said. "Your parents have been killed."
Hermione stared down at the desk in front of her. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. "I don't understand," she said, not looking up. "That's not possible." She'd only just sent them a letter.
"The attack occurred last night, while they were…" He kept talking, but Hermione couldn't understand any of the words. Her world had shrunk, focused on the single point on the desk she was staring at. There was parchment, both larger sheets and scraps scattered around. There was an elegant quill, made out of a bright red feather. It was laying on the desk. Had he been writing when she came in?
She tried to read the parchment upside down, but the writing was an old-fashioned cursive heavy with loops and flourishes. She thought it might be a letter of some sorts, since she could almost recognise the format of it. Who would he be writing to? Although really, there were so many options. Professor Dumbledore was a very important person, involved in all sorts of political positions. Maybe he was writing someone in the Ministry, or perhaps he was still involved in some sort of research. Hermione wondered what research adult wizards did. Certainly it was something she would be interested in pursuing as a career. She loved learning things and solving problems. Before she'd learned she was a witch, she'd wanted to be a scientist.
"Miss Granger, did you hear me?" Professor Dumbledore's voice broke into her thoughts.
"Sorry professor. Could you repeat the last part?" Hermione asked. Her voice was steady, perfectly polite. Why was she short of breath? Everything was fine.
"Certain arrangements will need to be made. Do you have any family who might assist you?"
"No other family, just my parents," Hermione said. Neither of her parents had any siblings. Her mother was estranged from her parents, to the point where Hermione didn't even know their names, and her father's parents had died long ago. It had always been just her and them. It'd always been that way.
Professor Dumbledore nodded. "Then I'm afraid you'll have to make the arrangements yourself, although I imagine Professor Mcgonagall or-" He glanced over at where Professor Snape was standing. "Or Professor Snape would gladly assist you. Due to Professor Umbridge's increased scrutiny on the comings and goings of the student body, I believe the best thing for you would be to stay at Grimmauld Place until your affairs are settled. It is not uncommon for students to take time off in these situations." The last part was said so kindly. Why?
Hermione stared at him blankly. "I have a potions exam on Monday," she said. "I have to study. I can't leave."
"You foolish girl, do you understand what he's telling you?" Professor Snape said harshly.
Hermione looked over at him, confused, and his face softened. "I don't understand," she said honestly.
"I'm sure Professor Snape will exempt you from the exam," Professor Dumbledore said, giving Professor Snape a warning look.
"Of course," Professor Snape said. He still looked worried. Why was he worried?
"Can I go back to my dorm?" Hermione asked. Everything would be okay. She had a plan. She would sort out this confusion.
"Miss Granger, your parents are dead. Do you understand?" Professor Snape asked again. He sounded upset.
"Yes sir," Hermione said politely. "I'd like to go back to my dorm now."
Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape exchanged looks.
"I'll take her back to collect her things," Professor Mcgonagall said. "And then I can see her to headquarters."
Professor Snape looked like he wanted to protest, but he stayed where he was.
Professor Mcgonagall took Hermione to the portrait, but she didn't come in the common room. Hermione went to Harry's dorm looking for the mirror. He'd been using it last night, she knew, to chat with Sirius.
It was still on his bedside table. "Hello Neville," Hermione said. "Sorry to bother you, I'm just grabbing something." Everything would be fine. She felt sick to her stomach. Was she coming down with something?
Neville waved her on, not even looking up from his textbook.
Hermione took the mirror to the bathroom, where there was some privacy.
"Sirius Black," she said firmly into the mirror.
"I'm almost— Hermione?" Sirius asked curiously. "Is everything all right?"
He didn't seemed concerned about her, or worried like everyone else was. So it was probably safe to ask. "Hey Sirius, I was wondering if you knew the address where my parents are staying? I'm worried sending an owl might be unsafe, so I wanted to send them a letter by muggle post instead."
"Oh yeah, I think I have it somewhere. I'm surprised you don't already have it."
"I never asked earlier so I wouldn't be tempted to go see them. I just gave my letters to Professor Lupin," Hermione said with a small laugh. The words came out automatically. Her expression shifted by itself, matching Sirius' light tone. She was operating on autopilot, she knew. She was having trouble thinking.
"Hermione, I think you can call him Remus by now," Sirius said with a laugh. "Oh, here we go." He rattled off the address to her, and she wrote it down quickly.
"Thanks Sirius, I'll talk to you later."
"Okay," Sirius said, amused.
Hermione shook the mirror to clear it, and returned it to Harry's bedside table. She left the dorm without another look back, and went to her own to collect her stuff.
She emptied out her book bag and packed a change of clothes and everything she needed for the homework she had due this week. Cleaning charms could take care of everything else. She would be back soon, she thought, but best be careful. Surely this misunderstanding would get sorted out soon enough. She also packed her money pouch, both wizard and muggle.
The tower was strangely silent as she walked back down to where Professor Mcgonagall was waiting. She could see people talking to each other, their lips and hands moving, but she couldn't hear anything they said.
"I'm ready," she told the professor. And then they were in her office.
Professor Mcgonagall's office was chilly, a draft coming in from the open window.
"You'll use my floo," Professor Mcgonagall said, giving Hermione a long look. "Hermione…" she said softly, and that was the first time Hermione had ever heard Professor Mcgonagall use her first name. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm tired," Hermione said honestly. Even though it wasn't even noon yet, she felt physically exhausted. Harry had been telling her she needed to get more sleep. Maybe she should listen to him. Or probably she was coming down with something. Was it flu season yet? Why didn't wizards have a magic cure for the common cold? You'd think with all of magic at their disposal they would've been able to figure it out. But no, the closest thing they had was Pepper-Up, which merely masked your symptoms. Perhaps she would be a healer, when she grew up. Her parents would like that. Her being a doctor was something they could tell their friends.
Professor Mcgonagall smiled sadly at her. "Of course you are," she said. "You'll be able to nap soon. I imagine your bedroom from the summer is still free."
It was, Hermione knew. Since she'd been there so long, Sirius had let her clear out a room upstairs for her own use. She'd spent a few weeks cleaning, but when she was done it'd felt as cozy as her bedroom back home. She even had a bookshelf for all her books.
Someone knocked at Professor Mcgonagall's door. "You'll be fine by yourself?" she stated more than asked, and Hermione nodded.
Hermione was in a familiar kitchen. It was empty, not even any dishes left over from breakfast. Sirius didn't really eat breakfast, as far as Hermione remembered.
Sirius wasn't waiting for her. He still didn't know.
Hermione turned around, and threw more floo powder into the fire. She would take care of this. She would clear up this confusion.
"Diagon Alley," she said firmly, and stepped through.