Chapter 3: Of Illadvised Schemes and Precarious Situations

Morning after morning passed; around four weeks' worth in all. About every third or fourth day, an oddly non-descript owl would swoop noiselessly in among the others and, under the watchful gaze of three suspicious Gryffindors, drop another envelope at the plate of Malfoy Jr.

"It's a month now." Harry spoke under his breath. "I think it's time to find out what's going on."

Doubtfully, Hermione shot a glance over to the Slytherin table. Draco was finishing his breakfast, occasionally gracing Pansy Parkinson, simpering next to him, with a twitch of his lips that might have been a smile. Seemed like business as usual. "It's not illegal to receive letters, Harry, no matter who you are."

Ron swallowed. "Hermione, you remember what Dumbledore said at the beginning of term. What if Malfoy's already taken the Mark? He could be plotting against Hogwarts right now. We can't just do nothing."

Personally, Hermione believed that not to be the case. Yes, Draco was quite often an utter bastard, and his family history would certainly not win him the benefit of the doubt in any court of social opinion. But the younger man's eyes held none of the cold cruelty plainly evident in those of his father, and, other than mudblood slurs and vague threats against non-Slytherins, he'd never done anything to deserve the magnitude of suspicion that Harry and Ron were now placing him under. Two years ago, she might have tried to protest more vigorously. Clearly, however, in this case she was fighting a losing battle. Ron and Harry had a look about them that she must've seen a hundred times over the course of their Hogwarts career: steadfast determination to do something Noble and Stupid. Something truly Gryffindor, in other words. Whatever one might say about her, Hermione was not stupid; she knew, especially after such extensive experience as she'd had the dubious honor of attaining, when to cut her losses.

With a sigh, she acquiesced.

***

This, it was decided, was an occasion best suited by a return to the classics: invisibility cloak and Marauder's Map. To be fair, however, some concessions to the fact that this was, after all, Seventh Year, not Third, would have to be made. For example, the cloak that had hidden three twelve year olds comfortably would now have to be treated with a expertly-cast Engorgio in order to accommodate two boys fully grown in body (if not in mind), and the girl who had, at some point, unmistakenly become a woman. Additionally, in recent escapades, they'd taken to having some sort of backup prepared; usually an obscure charm or enchantment that Hermione would dig up in the Restricted Section to cover their tracks. Apparently, however, for this particular excursion a more reliable method would be required.

Harry shook his head. "It's no good, Hermione. We're going to need something better than that, if Malfoy catches us. Charms are too easily broken."

She bit her lip. "You're thinking about a potion, then. That's harder."

He shrugged. "Yeah, but you've always had top marks. You can do it, can't you?"

"I can, but whether or not I should is a different story. It's difficult to negate the effects of a potion if it's misused. We could get in serious trouble for this."

"We could also get in serious trouble if Lucius Malfoy finds out we've been sniffing around the boy who's not only his newest recruit, but his own son. I think, in this case, the benefits outweigh the risk. Besides, if everything goes to plan we won't need to use it. This is just a backup." Hermione had the distinct impression that Harry had been rehearsing his justifications beforehand. Regardless, they made some amount of sense. Nothing that Dumbledore or the Ministry could do to them would be worse than what the Death Eaters might if their suspicions were confirmed.

"Worth a try, I suppose. Memory potions... hm. I'm going to need jobberknoll feathers."

"Oh, brilliant - Snape said yesterday that we're just about to start working with them in class. So you'll start work on that while Ron and I figure out our strategy, then?" Harry waited expectantly.

"Suppose so. When do you need everything to be ready?" She was already trying to mentally determine whether it would be easier to 'borrow' the feathers earlier or later in the time they'd be working with them in Potions.

"A week or so? There was an owl this morning, so he'll be getting one about that time."

"A week. It's a good thing I'm stupidly fond of you, Harry Potter." Hermione tossed her hair in not-quite-mock exasperation. He grinned.

***

And that's why, three days later, she was pondering the logistics of sweeping three of the flame-tipped, rather unwieldy feathers into the sleeve of her robe. Somewhat annoyed at the fact that she had to contemplate this at all, she was careful to keep an eye on Snape as he patrolled the classroom, watching for any minor flaw in procedure or technique. Fortunately, this particular period she'd managed to position herself entirely across the classroom from her former Potions partner. At some point, Snape would have to turn his back to her if only to inform poor hapless Neville that his potion was more likely to cleanse stains from laundry than unwanted memories from the mind.

Sure enough, about forty five minutes into the exercise Snape bent low over the boy's cauldron and enlightened Mr. Longbottom to the fact that the slivered shrivelfigs were to be added just before the potion came to a boil, not afterwards, and that clearly a concoction meant to clear one's mind would be entirely superfluous in his case. Five points from Gryffindor. While the Slytherins snickered and the Gryffindors tried to hide their disappointment, patting their housemate on the back and telling him " 'S all right, Neville, anyone could've made that mistake.", Hermione secreted the feathers away with one fluid motion. There. Now she could only hope for the best; that the actual brewing would go as planned and that the house elves, while tidying her room, wouldn't find anything suspicious about a little extracurricular potions research.

The rest of the period passed rather uneventfully. Slytherin won five points when Draco's potion successfully obliterated Goyle's memory of what he'd had for breakfast (assuming, of course, he wasn't faking, which Hermione frankly was not apt to assume at all). It was only when the cauldrons had been scoured, supplies replaced in the cupboards and students started to gather up their things that Snape spoke.

"Miss Granger, you will remain after class." She froze, back to the professor's desk, looking helplessly at Harry and Ron. They returned her panicked look, desperate to help but fully aware there was no way they could without digging all three of them in deeper. Hermione swallowed and nodded at them to leave. "I'll see you at lunch." I hope. The last sentiment went unspoken, but was understood by all. The boys dragged their feet all the way out the door, and Hermione, forcing the sodden lump of dread that had formed in the pit of her stomach to subside, sat before Professor Snape's desk to await the punishment that was sure to come.

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A/N: Sorry guys, short chapter this time. It's finals week at my school, and I have things that are a little more important to my grades, if less interesting than the HP world, to write. There'll be another chapter on Monday or Tuesday. All in all, this story will be no less than ten chapters; probably closer to fifteen by the time we're through. We've still got a long way to go, and my advice? Never assume ;). I'm hoping to get a good deal of it done over the Christmas holidays. Hope you're still enjoying it, and you'll continue to read. Reviews are music to the poor author's soul, whether good or bad. I always love to hear comments and suggestions. Thanks for traveling this far with me, and I hope to enjoy your company on the rest of the ride!