The situation with Professor McGonagall left Hermione shaken for the rest of the day. As she walked to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room, the darkest shadows seemed to follow her, to reach out to her, wanting to wrap her in cold and darkness. She pulled her warm cloak tighter around herself.
It was a surprising relief when she rounded the final corner and found the lamp in the Defense Hall still burning brightly outside the classroom.
Hermione knocked twice then pushed the door open, only to be knocked aside as her professor pushed past dressed in a long, dark travelling cloak.
"Keep up, Granger."
Nearly jogging to keep up with her professor's quick strides, Hermione followed obediently. She stuck close to the woman. The power issuing from the older witch was warm; it wrapped her in a cocoon of safety and chased away the deepest, scariest shadows.
"Where are we going?" she asked after a few moments of silence.
"On a treasure hunt." Hermione rolled her eyes at her professor's childish response, but she refrained from pressing for details. Professor Black was often vague and cryptic when I amused her.
Exiting the castle, the professor led Hermione down to the Black Lake. The young witch had a sudden fear – would she really make her swim in November?
Once on the pebbled shore, Black produced a basket and told Hermione to begin by gathering the algae that grew on one patch of rock in particular near the water's edge. Once that was finished, Hermione followed the woman into the Forbidden Forest. They walked in silence for nearly twenty minutes before Black stopped beside a small patch of what Hermione identified as moly – a small plant with cute little white flowers and a black stem. She kneeled down on the frozen ground and went to pull the flower up by grabbing the stem.
"Only pull it by the stem if you feel like cutting open your hands, Granger," Professor Black said at the last minute. "They may have cute little flowers, but the stems are as sharp as steel until the roots leave the soil."
"Then how am I supposed to pull them out?"
In answer, a small spade appeared half in the ground next to her knee. "Happy digging." Her professor moved away to examine a few other plants as Hermione did her best to pierce the frozen ground.
From the forest, Hermione gathered a coil of Devil's Snare – with which she impressed the professor by using sunlight to petrify it so it would not strangle her as she used the professor's dagger to cut through the vine – root and berries of dogwood, flowers from a flutterbury bush, deep purple unicorn excrement's that smelled like candied beets – Hermione nearly dropped the clumps when Professor Black deigned to inform her of what she was handling and then proceeded to laugh like a child having succeeded a prank.
Despite the cold and the laborious tasks, Hermione was enjoying her detention. The professor would now and again drop information that was new to Hermione, like little breadcrumbs of knowledge for her to follow through the forest. Always the little bookworm and constantly hungry for knowledge, she greedily soaked it all in and did not complain.
Black smirked at the way the girl eagerly gathered her ingredients. Such a little nerd.
"So, what are all these for?" the young woman asked as she placed a vial of Cedar sap in the basket.
"Potion ingredients. With a war coming, there's no way I'm going to let my personal stores suffer," her professor answered, inspecting the contents of her basket.
"Why not ask Professor Spout for a few ingredients? I know she grows this moss and dogwood saplings in her greenhouses."
"She's good, quite the green thumb, but nothing compares to naturally grown. Take a look at the dogwood root here. You say she has saplings? This root is from a tree that is older than Dumbledore was. To get the same effect, I would have to use cups from the sapling instead of a small teaspoon from this one."
"I had no idea…" Hermione whispered in awe.
"Few do. Pomona knows, but she prefers to play it safe. The older the root, the more potent and unpredictable it will be in the potion. Risky business."
"Then why do you use it?"
"What's life without a little risk?" The professor said with a smirk and a wink. "My potioneering skills are good enough to trust."
"You were good in Potions? You're the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor – "
"Does that mean I should be inept in all other subjects? I set records with my O. and N.E. . I could teach any of these subjects! I chose Defense because of my field experience. Plus D – "
"Dumbledore?" Hermione pushed. She instantly regretted it. She saw the walls immediately erect themselves behind black eyes and all emotion drained from the professor's porcelain face.
"He just supported the idea that I teach the subject," she said neutrally.
"Oh." Sighing, Hermione followed the witch through the forest until she could begin to see the castle through the trees; they were nearly out. "Where are we going now? Is this all?" she asked.
"Not quite. Follow, Granger."
They exited the forest and walked like ghosts across the grounds. Hermione felt the bite in the November air, but there was more. It was a deeper cold than winter could ever produce.
"Dementors," she whispered, sliding up closer to her professor, her eyes on the slightly overcast sky.
"Don't worry, Granger, they can't get you." The words were said so softly, Hermione would have missed them had she not been walking so close to the woman. Pulling her wand from her robes, Professor Black conjured her Patronus.
A warm blanket dropped around Hermione's shoulders and the chill from the Dementors vanished. Even the winter wind seemed milder. "I didn't know Patronuses could take the form of magical creatures," she said.
"They're rare but possible. Less rare than a magical animagus but rare nonetheless. Dumbledore's Patronus was a phoenix," the professor explained in her teacher voice.
"Why is yours a Thestral? What makes a witch or wizard different from the others?"
"I don't know, maybe I'm just special," she said with a quirk of her lip.
Hermione rolled her eyes at the smugness of the witch. The Patronus remained their escort through the grounds, walking slowly in front of them, guiding their way, until both witches passed the gates and the two hog statues marking the border of the school.
"Take my arm, Granger," Professor Black ordered.
"Where are we going?" she asked, looking up into the dark eyes of the witch.
"Do you want to stay here and ask questions or see something new?"
With a sigh, Hermione placed her hand on her professor's forearm and waited for the uncomfortable tug behind her navel from the Apparition.
They landed on soft ground. Looking around, Hermione realised that they stood on the edge of a shadowy bog. "What do we need from here?"
The professor chuckled low in her throat; it was cute the girl thought of them as a we on this expedition. "Such a curious little one... We're here for the frogs."
"Frogs?"
"Mhmm. We are outside Burrowbridge, in the swamp called Athelney. Muggles see this and think swamp filled with frogs, snakes, and leeches." Hermione shivered. She wasn't exactly fond of those creatures. "But everything here feeds off the magic of the area. The frogs secrete mucus that is quite useful."
"Useful for what?"
"So many questions! For skin cream, little witch. Ever wonder why I look so young?" From her pocket, Black produced rubber gloves and galoshes, using magic to return them to their normal size. Handing them to Hermione, she then took a seat on a fallen tree trunk. "Have fun," she said with a wide grin.
"Beg pardon?"
"I want six frogs. Catch them. Be quick – we have somewhere to be before midnight."
Time for questions is over, I guess. Hermione pulled on the apparel and rolled her shoulders and took the first step into the mucky water. "Smells like feet…" she grumbled, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
"That would be the part magic and part natural decay smell. Make it snappy!"
So Hermione watched the edge of the swamp, waiting for something to move. One of the weeds suddenly shook and little ripples spread through the water. Hermione lunged forward, but missed the first frog and grabbed a handful of mud and muck. To her left, she saw another. She lunged, slipped – one knee fell into the muddy water, but she managed to capture the slippery little amphibian. She squished up the bank to her professor and dropped the frog into a little glass aquarium.
"Five more," the professor said smugly.
Hermione returned to the water. Many slips, trips, falls, muttered curse words, and a near encounter with a snake Hermione would swear was the size of a python, the young witch emerged from the swamp soaking wet and covered in mud with her last frog. "Done," she said with a triumphant grin.
"Well, that was very Muggle."
"You said catch them!"
"I did, but I would have expected a witch to use her wand." The professor stood from her perch, ignoring the little witch's frustrated sputtering. She held out her arm to the witch. "Come now, pet, we don't have all night. Be mad at me later."
Face set in a sturdy frown, Hermione gripped the offered arm and they Disapparated.
They appeared in a field and Hermione had to take a breath. She really did not like Apparating.
Next to her, her professor shuffled away a few paces, her face wrinkling into a regal grimace if ever there was one. "You smell like feet."
Mouth agape, Hermione wanted to scream at the witch, but the dark-haired woman simply said tut and walked on through the field.
"This looks like a wheat field," she mumbled after a few minutes of silence.
"For now."
The two witches waited in silence and the minutes pass by. Black checked a surprisingly Muggle-looking pocket watch and smiled. "Three, two, one."
Light bloomed all around them – a soft, yellow light. The wheat began to glow and suddenly morphed into long stemmed flowers as yellow as daffodils.
"Luna Lilies," her professor explained once again in her teacher voice. "They bloom only once a month, on the full moon and only when the moon shines brightly in the sky. The catch is they bloom on a different continent each month. They like fields and camouflage as regular plants until it's time to bloom – usually wheat, corn or long grass."
"How did you know they would bloom here?"
"I've been tracking them since about when I started teaching. Stumbled upon them once when I was a young Auror and never saw them again. Then one day a few years later, I heard Pomona talking to Poppy; Poppy asked if they could home-grow them for healing potions for the students. It would be very difficult and not nearly as powerful as the natural form. Then I figured out their pattern, found a field that wasn't owned or planted by any farmers and waited. Now hurry, they only bloom for an hour and there have been clouds in the sky all day – they'll cut into our harvest time." Taking out another vial, she demonstrated how to scrape out the seed pods, pluck the petals, and how to squeeze the juice from the stem. Hermione repeated the process under supervision and once the professor was satisfied, they each went to their own plants. They had not been gathering for twenty minutes before the clouds covered the moon and the flowers began to wilt and turn back into stalks of wheat.
"Luna Lilies…" Hermione mused to herself.
"I'm not the only one who hunts them. An old friend of mine had been tracking their migrations long before I started. Pandora Lovegood, née Silverman."
"Lovegood? Luna…"
"Yes, Luna's mother. Of course she named her little blonde girl after the most mysterious of magical flowers. Better than Dirigible Plumb though…"
"You knew her?" Hermione questioned, intrigued.
"Like I said, we were friends. Brilliant witch, very gifted in spells and potions. Such an ambitious Slytherin. Which ended up getting her in trouble in the end…" Shaking her head as if she could dispel the sad memories, Black packed everything into her basket. "Come on," she sighed. "I could use a pick me up."
"A what?"
"A pick me up – a drink! Keep up, pet!" She held out her arm for a third time and Hermione took the limb. They popped away and reappeared a few feet away from the entrance to the Three Broomsticks. Hermione went to enter the pub, but the professor held her back firmly.
"You really think Rosemarta will let you sit in her pub looking and smelling like that?" She waved her wand and magically, Hermione's clothes dried and most of the mud and muck vanished, leaving only a few dried stains. "Here." The woman then pulled off her cloak and wrapped it around Hermione's shoulders.
Taking a breath, Hermione inhaled the unique smell of the witch; pine needles, spice, and an intoxicating perfume. Her head spun slightly.
Together, they entered the pub and headed to the back where they would be mostly hidden from view. There were few people in the pub. Most were drunk and loud or sleeping on their stools. Not many people ventured out at night these days. A server came up to them and, before Hermione could speak, her professor ordered a glass of Firewhsikey and two glasses of elvish wine.
Hermione's eyes flickered horrified between the retreating server and the woman seated across from her.
"What?" Black asked, confused.
"Wine? Are you sure, I mean, you're my professor and –"
"You're of age! We're just two witches having a drink. Relax, pet, you're too uptight." She better drink the bloody wine… I need this girl drunk; at least tipsy… this girl will finally talk.
They sat in silence until their drinks arrived with the same server. The young man left and Bellatrix lifted her Firewhiskey to her lips and watched as the young witch took a tentative sip of the wine. Seemingly pleased with the sweet flavor, she took two larger sips before replacing the glass on the slightly sticky table. With a small smirk hidden behind her own glass, Bellatrix downed her whiskey in one shot and kept a straight face as the liquid burned a trail of fire down her throat, through her chest, and into her stomach. Licking her lips, she then took up her wine casually, swirling the blood-coloured beverage around and watching as the light played tricks.
The two witches sat contently, each enjoying their wine. As Bellatrix watched, Hermione grew more and more relaxed – almost in accordance with the amount of liquid disappearing from her glass. Bellatrix called for two more glasses and waited for them to arrive before setting her plan in motion.
"So did you enjoy your detention, Granger? Be careful of your answer – if you liked it too much, I'll have to give you a real one. Can't have your big mouth tarnishing my sinister reputation," the dark witch chuckled, taking another sip of wine.
The girl laughed softly, eyes on her glass. "It was… informative."
"Cheeky witch. If I had Weasel collect my ingredients for me, I'd never hear the end of his whining!" This made the brunette laugh a little louder, which Bellatrix took as an encouraging sign that the girl was becoming more comfortable and would soon open up.
"If it's not eating or playing Quidditch, he thinks it's torture!"
"But not you," Bella observed as she leaned back against the cushioned back of their booth. "Hard to believe how much you enjoy learning."
"Many think I should have been in Ravenclaw," she admitted.
"Ravenclaws are curious creatures and seek knowledge, yes, but not all of them are what I would call intelligent. At least not to your level. Lockheart is a prime example."
"I like doing my best," Hermione said after a small sip. "I work hard to prove myself worthy of being here – worthy of being a witch." Bellatrix frowned at the sudden turn of their conversation. This was meant to compliment the girl, not bring her down and shut her up!
Chuckling softly, Bella shook her head at the young woman. "You're such a nerd," she said in the same tone she did when seeing Hermione's Patronus for the first time; it was warm and soft, tinged with pride.
"Yeah, I get that a lot. Nerd, know-it-all…"
"Even from your friends?" she enquired.
"Ron was horrible, but Harry encouraged me most times. They certainly appreciated it when I helped them with their homework."
"I knew those two idiots couldn't have passed that essay on Inferi on their own!"
"Probably not… sorry," she apologised sheepishly.
"Oh well, I should have known. If they were still here, I would have kept a closer eye on them. Don't have to worry 'bout that now, though," she said, carefully watching the young woman's face drop.
"I guess not." Hermione took a large sip from her glass.
"I was surprised when I didn't see them back here. I was under the impression that Potter wanted to become an Auror."
"He does," Hermione confirmed. Immediately after speaking, she felt her face warm. She shouldn't be talking about Harry or Ron! Stop talking, Granger, before you give something away!
"Hard to believe," the professor shrugged. "You need N.E. to be accepted into Auror training. Must have been something pretty important that kept them away this year."
"Every Death Eater within Apparating distance would have killed him if he showed up…" Hermione muttered into her glass, choking on the sweet alcohol. I didn't want to say that! Shut up, idiot! She scolded herself as she took another drink. She had to learn to keep her mouth shut; it'll get her into trouble if she constantly came to the defense of her friends.
"Right you are," Black agreed. "To be honest, pet, you surprised me as well." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the surface on the table.
In an attempt to avoid the piercing black eyes of the woman sitting across from her, Hermione looked down. She felt her face redden.
Bloody corsets!
Without her cloak – the smell of which Hermione could still detect from around her shoulders – her professor sat in her usual black dress and laced corset. Hermione had never before noticed how the outfit accentuated her rather attractive breasts.
Pale like cream, they look like two of the softest things in the world… wait what?
She pressed a cool hand to her heated cheeks and took the last gulp of her wine – anything to distract her from the arousal building inside her. Well… this is new.
She kept her eyes on the table instead. She traced old ring marks left by several glasses with her finger. She absently heard the professor call for two more glasses of wine, which Hermione quickly accepted the second they arrived.
Watching the witch play with the marks on the table, Bellatrix felt her patience wearing thin. She was supposed to open up, confess! Instead she crawled back into the little shell… enough with subtle prying, I'm done with games.
"What are you doing here, Granger?" she demanded suddenly.
"What?" The young woman looked up, as startled as a rabbit faced with a fox. If Bellatrix hadn't been so annoyed, she might have found the reaction adorable.
"Why are you here at school and not off with Potter and Weasley?"
Panic rose in Hermione's heart and her mind went blank. Shit shit shit shit what do I say! "Ron's home sick and I don't know where Harry is." A half-truth is a good start…
"Bullshit."
"There was a mandate that – "
"I'm aware."
"I wanted to finish my last year and graduate!" Hermione rambled on and on and then clammed up, pressing her lips into a line to force herself to shut up. She took another sip of wine to calm down; keeping her eyes firmly away from her professor beautiful, mind-muddling breasts.
Sighing, Bellatrix took another sip of wine. Time to pull back then… if I ever have to know what's going on, it'll have to wait until she trusts me more.
Or more drunk, another part of her mind whispers.
Shut up, this was already a big enough risk.
Shaking the voices quiet, Bella passed her hand over the table to clasp Hermione's. "You know you can trust us, Hermione," she said softly.
The brunette looked up, surprised by the softness of the tone and the use of her first name. Their eyes locked and Hermione swallowed. "I can't trust anyone," she said.
"I could help. Whatever Potter's up to, I could – "
"You have no idea…" Hermione interrupted shakily.
Bellatrix let out a breath. So much fear, so much responsibility, and so much strength all in the eyes of one young witch. She looked away, she couldn't bear that look. "It's really that secret?"
"Yes," was the simple and definite answer. Hermione kept her eyes on the professor's solemn face, seeking for any hint of trickery or deceit to tell her if the witch was lying about her trustworthiness. She eyed the witch's lips. Full, red, wet from the wine. They probably taste like the wine…
"Alright," Black said finally with a sigh. "Better get you back. Don't want you falling asleep in my class tomorrow. For that I would definitely give you another detention."
