The quidditch pitch, despite the teacher's efforts to the contrary, burned down to the ground. Saturday morning, Hermiones porridge still tasted like it had been tossed over a grill roast, but the tiniest remains of what had been a place of cherished, feverish competition had faded into nothingness by lunchtime. While sharp smoke still hung in the corridors up to second floor, Gryffindors mostly withdrew to the library, coughing every now and then over their books and notes. Exams, after all, started in three weeks.
Those who refused to summon the necessary amount of concentration for rehearsal by Saturday afternoon were grateful for Madam Sprouts school-wide offer to break up the ground of the pitch. Fiendfyre, it had turned out, made it impossible to simply replant grass and a necessary amount of weeds: The seeds had all either gone straight up in smoke themselves or stretched out their tiny legs to run from their trenches, jumping from one foot to another and screaming in high-pitched voices. Having taken care of their callouses, Madam Sprout had to see Madam Pomfrey herself to get a hearing loss cured. Flitwick offered assistance in rebuilding the stands around the level plain field by hand, but as he would probably be overlooked and knocked down sooner or later, Ravenclaw sutdents complimented him into helping Hagrid with sawing down old or rotten trees and cutting planks from them, and their Arithmancy teacher assumed the architectural function. Hermione stuck with her rehearsal plan and immured herself between stacks of books in the library, moaning she would otherwise certainly fail in all the tests, a claim which no one took seriously. Harry and Ron followed her lead, rather due to a bad conscience than acknowledgment of necessities, yet lunch was dominated by Ron and Harry struggling for motivation to resume their studies. Harry might have mustered some discipline, Hermione mused, if Ron had not been so keen to escape to the grounds. Parting ways in the entrance hall, she vacated the round table with space enough for the three of them, and returned to her familiar place at the window sill.
Dedication, however, proved unusually hard to muster, with June's sun blazing down hot through the window and soothing, heavy silence between the high and narrow shelves. She managed to cram her notes on Flitwicks remarks regarding energy transformations into her head and reproduced most of the standard star constellations in the northern hemisphere required by Sinistra, but when she started to skim through basic principles in poison-antidote-interactions, she felt her eyes water. Perhaps she was just tired of her own handwriting on parchment? A little light reading might restore her cognitive capabilities. Apart from that, distraction in form of researching a homework topic certainly qualified as studying.
She rose from her comfortable chair, let her gaze sweep over the shelf, then discovered the slim spine spelling Redefining Remedies. She withdrew the small note on its front ('Reparation of Ruined Relationships (Dark Wizard Edition) had to be removed due to violent outbursts and can be accessed safely at my desk', signed by Madam Pince), pinned it to Reclaiming Ruins for Riches and skimmed through the table of contents.
Apparently Snape had made her read one of the more interesting parts when it came to any applicable knowledge in potion making. Whereas other authors used their introductory remarks on giving her an overview of the subject, pointing out the basic theoretical parts, explaining their method, presenting findings and then argue for the relevance of their conclusions, the wizard or witch behind Remedies spent a lengthy time on indeed redefining their area of expertise. She was used to authors drawing her attention by the mention of a practical problem, paradox perhaps at second glance. This technique often heralded an interesting text, rich in variety, so Hermione devoted her attention to a much larger part of what developed into an abstract sermon. 'Remedy', the authors claimed, was a misleading term in the first place: Potions might only alter the course of a subject, as antidotes did not reverse or annihilate the effects of a poison. Any harmful influence would always have unforeseen and side-effects, not necessarily limited to the harmed (as in here: poisoned) individual. Therefore the wizard or witch interested in influencing the course of a substance in an individual was strictly obliged to prioritize among all effects of a 'harmful influence' to a person – read: bring along a broad view and wide knowledge of all possible effects and consequences, Hermione noted – and then limit the subsequential developments in a subject. Set aside that any poison left untreated contributed to a further deterioration of the subjects overall condition. One more complicated dispensable phrasing , Hermione caught herself commenting, they might as well instruct one to 'treat first what kills first', and be accessible to everyone.
She sighed. Requirements from St. Mungo's Healer education must be rather high for a reason, she realized. If their program included dealing with texts like these on a regular basis, only to derive short and simple instructions from them, slacking off at theoretical assignments hardly put one through it. On the other hand, probably some determined and dedicated students shared their insights, thus lowering the obstacles for fellow students. Hermione had not thought McGonagall's recommendation at her careers advice through, but perhaps pursuing a career in Healing included an entirely different question for her, set aside the formal and substantial requirements: Did she plan to, and did she wish to remain the student explaining lecture's contents to her classmates? Or would she rather pursue topics of her own interest, even if that came along with a certain loneliness?
She pushed the idea to a remote corner of her mind, where she kept topics for leisure time and deep conversations.
Remedies did not leave it at sophisticated syntax concerning the description of their perspective, emphasizing at every possible and impossible point the importance of processing within an individual, rather than focusing on effects, as Hermione was used to. The text made her feel like a freshman to potions, even dim-witted at some paragraphs, so she had to remind herself that thinking of 'effects of a potion' rather than 'symptoms of poison' after several pages proved her progress. When her eyes started to burn in the descending sunlight, she allowed herself a break. Few students had resisted the temptation of bright summer days heat and stayed for studying. Ernie MacMillan waved at her vividly from the further end of the window sill, which she avoided passing by, the Huffplepuff prefect seldom listened to anyone but himself. A most average shade of light brown hair covered the face of a slightly overweight Slytherin student and the book she hung above, but she felt vaguely familiar with her perception of her. The scratching of her quill on parchment dismissed the superficial impression of her having fallen half asleep during reading. In the mood for a light conversation, Hermione passed by the heavy desk she had chosen, and recognized Aguire, of whom she knew no first name from the Defence lesson with Snape. The frown on her forehead indicated intense concentration over Impact and Intensity: A Theoretical Approach to Crises, and as she had vouched for loyalty in class, Hermione convinced herself the Slytherin probably wished not to be disturbed. Her catching up on backlog of revision earned Hermiones approval almost against her will. A fourth year student had sneaked into the Restricted Section, she very well remembered this thick, short red hair and abysmally ugly haircut as if done by the help of an blunt knife from telling the young Slytherin off at prefect duties. Yet the distinct situation had not appeared memorable, she noticed, so his transgression probably had not been severe. She took a close look at the stack of books he had helped himself to: They all addressed ethics, limits of Dark Magic, or goblin craftsmanship in some way. Hermione decided those issues posed no harm to his mental well-being and tiptoed back to her unoccupied workplace.
The note on top of her first parchment posted her aim of reading the introduction completely. Only a need for coherence made her battle down more than a mild frustration with the text. Different types of processing a potion posed a manageable task, and by sunset, she had covered most of standard signs of processing in a healthy 'human being'. Increasingly annoyed by the assumption, the subject of a potion was a witch or wizard, she mustered to keep her focus by reminding herself that the authors had at least abandoned the 'genealogic' approach halfway through second paragraph. Elaborations on paradox effects were barely negligible in the dark, but Hermione felt a distinct reluctance to conjure her usual non-dropping candles, and knew it was no use forcing herself to keep reading. Yet, snapping the book shut, a soft, light feeling she had not acknowledged to harbor, dissolved within her chest. Despite its strenuous language and obvious flaws, the text had stirred a profound interest in her. On the other hand, daily distractions would immerse her as soon as she left for the common room.
Borrowing from the restricted section is forbidden, a voice similar to Madam Pince reminded her. Well, I won't cram the entire book in between classes and rehearsal anyway. But I can't stay as late as possible, not if I want Harry and Ron to keep talking to me... She cast a quick glance toward the remote seat which Ernie must have vacated several hours ago, held the pages of the chapter tightly between thumb and little finger, put her parchment between the segment and the rest of her book and drew her wand. Hogwarts kept an ancient spell on its library property, but if she recalled correctly...
"Effingo", she whispered, and with a jolt, watched the text copy itself on her empty sheets. This script would serve as a great supplement for hours she otherwise spent knitting hats for house elves, replying to her friends questions every now and then. Elated, Hermione tied the text neatly to her notes with a Binding Spell, then let her growling stomach lead her to a late dinner.