Chapter 1: Attaquer
"Honestly you guys, will you please keep it down?" Hermione pleaded with her friends.
"Sorry Herm," Harry, Ron, and Ginny chorused, then promptly returned to their heated Quidditch debate.
Hermione sighed. Quidditch Fever had hit Hogwarts like a disease, particularly in Gryffindor. True, the whole school was anxious to see if Gryffindor would grab the Cup now that Harry was back as Seeker, but Hermione was becoming increasingly bored with their incessant chatter. She opened her mouth to ask her friends again to keep quiet, but quickly closed it; nothing would derail them from the topic of Quidditch with the final match so near.
Hermione glanced back down at the rather large Transfiguration textbook she had been trying to study, then gave another small sigh and shut the book. She settled down to eat her dinner, letting the noisy talking wash over her like a wave over a rock. She pretended to be examining the jug of pumpkin juice in front of her while snatches of conversation floated past her ears.
"Don't know what he was thinking-"
"New spellbooks and all-"
"Quidditch game Saturday-"
"Potter and You-Know-Who-"
That last fragment caused Hermione to snort. Wild rumors about Harry had been flying around the school for a year now, most of them glorifying him to the point of making him seem almost godlike. Frankly, Hermione was sick of all the Harry-hype; she knew perfectly well how vulnerable they all were, now that Voldemort was back. She cringed slightly at the thought of the Dark Lord. She quickly looked across the table at Harry and Ron, who were busy arguing over the circumference of a "regulation Quaffle," or some other such nonsense. She relaxed; they weren't suspicious.
Last year, Hermione had been too involved with her Prefect duties to recognize or acknowledge her feelings for what they were: fear. But things had changed so much for the Order over the past year. Hermione knew that a boggart would no longer change into Professor McGonagall if it faced her now; most likely, she mused, it would turn into the dead bodies of her parents, just like Mrs. Weasley's fear for her family.
Harry was not the only one who was plagued by nightmares in Gryffindor; dreams of Voldemort murdering her parents frequented Hermione's slumber at least once a week. However, she knew that her dreams were just that- dreams- and entirely unreliable ones to boot. Hermione, knowing that she was neither a Seer nor in direct link with Voldemort in any way, had basically ignored them last year.
But this year it was different. With the entire Wizarding world on its toes resisting the Dark Lord, her fears seemed somehow much more justified; already the families of four Muggle-borns had been attacked.
Hermione shivered. Really, she thought, I'm being silly. Why would Voldemort go after them anyway- they're just dentists! But she could not shake off her troublesome thoughts by simply being cheerful, so she forced herself to think of something else.
Smiling slightly, Hermione thought of Viktor's last letter, in which he had congratulated her on being accepted to Oxford a year earlier than the normal applicants. Though she had yet to take her NEWTs, Hermione had applied for their early-decision program, which accepted her into the school as long as her future NEWT scores matched those of her OWLs. She wasn't worried; she was only in her sixth year, and she had already mastered most of that was covered in the Hogwarts curriculum for the seventh years.
Hermione allowed herself a moment to daydream on what life would be like after Hogwarts; she would be with others of her intellect, for a change. Not that she wouldn't miss Hogwarts and her teachers- of course she would. But she was looking forward to finally being "out in the real world," as her father put it.
She yawned. It had been a long day, what with the Potions class she'd suffered through that afternoon. Snape had them making a base for Veritaserum; naturally, they would not be completing the full potion, as that took a full month to brew. But he wanted them to get a feel for how long the really complicated potions like Veritaserum took to create, although Hermione personally had had more than enough experience brewing time-consuming potions (like the Polyjuice). Actually, she hadn't minded the class all that much, for now that they were beyond OWL level and only the most advanced Potions students were in the class, lessons had become almost bearable.
Of course, it didn't help that Malfoy was still there to torment her, and Harry and Ron were not. Crabbe and Goyle had barely scraped by with an "A" on their OWLs, so they weren't in the class either. Hermione couldn't understand how Malfoy had managed an "Outstanding," but then again, this was Lucius Malfoy's son. Hermione had no doubt that Snape had been forced by Lucius, either through blackmail or through a desire to save face within Voldemort's ranks, to put dear old Draco in the class.
It also didn't help that Malfoy and Hermione were often paired to sit together; Snape usually had a sadistic gleam in his eyes when he said, "Well, Miss Granger, I think you and.... Mr. Malfoy should work together today."
Today had been one of those unfortunate days. As the class set about chopping their plants and measuring out their liquids, Malfoy had leaned across Hermione's arms and whispered, "So, Mudblood, shall I tell my father that you seem keen on the idea of meeting the Dark Lord? I'm sure he would love to meet you... and then dispose of you, little scumbag...."
Hermione had instantly thought of a thousand different comebacks, most of which referred to Malfoy's little stint as a ferret in their fourth year. Her blood was boiling, but she clamped her mouth shut and continued slicing her ostrich feathers. Snape glided over to them and stood behind her for a full minute before Hermione noticed that he was sneering down at her. "Miss Granger," he practically spat, "Ten points from Gryffindor for not slicing those feathers on the proper angle." With that, he swept away to terrorize some other poor student, leaving Hermione fighting back tears. It was so unfair! She knew she was doing everything perfectly, but Snape was always picking on her.
The lesson continued on, Malfoy whispering insults at her every time he had to lean over and throw something in their cauldron. Hermione was grateful when the bell rang and Snape snapped at them to bottle their bases and clean up their work areas. Honestly, she thought as she headed for the Great Hall, I can see why Harry and Ron are always ready to sock those two. But what she couldn't understand was why she had become so emotional so very quickly; by now, she knew the best way to deal with Snape and Malfoy was to just ignore them.
Why Snape was particularly vindictive these days was no surprise. After all, spying for the Order had to be taxing work. Deep down, Hermione knew that part of the reason why he kept picking on her was to appease Lucius Malfoy's son, who would surely report to his father if Snape started favoring Muggle-borns. But she had to wonder if the circumstances were different, and the Dark Lord had been defeated, whether Snape would be a bit nicer. She almost laughed at the thought. Snape, the old bat, being nice? It was nearly as impossible as Trelawney being a true Seer.
But wait a minute. Harry had confirmed that Trelawney had moments of real prophecy, so maybe a personality change for the Potions Master wouldn't be all that strange. Hermione snorted. Yeah, right. Trelawney might not be a total fraud, but Snape was just evil by nature. In fact, Ron had been complaining of the same thing yesterday evening, when Snape had taken a full thirty points from Gryffindor because Ron had been on duty patrolling the hallways after curfew. According to Ron (who had been rather difficult to understand because every other word out of his mouth was a curse at Snape's mother), Snape had stopped him and asked what he was doing out of bed. Ron had told him the truth, that he was patrolling. Snape had simply eyed him for a minute with a malicious look on his face, then said to Ron, "Mr. Malfoy is on patrol duty tonight, Weasley. Thirty points from Gryffindor for using your Prefect status as an excuse to sneak around at night."
Ron had been fuming, naturally. But Hermione had to wonder if something hadn't happened, or was going to happen, to put Snape in such a foul mood. Her skin prickled: what if Voldemort was going to attack? Nah, she thought, he's been quiet for almost a month now; he's probably busy doing beauty treatments and making his skin look more like green scales. Nevertheless, Hermione couldn't help but associate Snape's behavior with forthcoming bad news.
As it turned out, Hermione should have trusted her gut instincts a bit more. The meal continued on normally, Hermione still lost in thought. She was just gathering her things together when suddenly, all the candles and lamps in the Hall flickered out. An eerie silence descended over the tables, and Hermione thought fleetingly of the Dementors.
The doors to the Hall flew open, and a horrible scene greeted the school: at least thirty Death Eaters, all clad in black robes and sinister masks, ran into the room and formed a line in front of the astonished students and staff.
It all happened too quickly for Hermione to comprehend what was happening. The Death Eaters pointed their wands at the High Table. Quietly, they all whispered a spell; a second later, the teachers were trapped behind a shimmering wall of what seemed to be raw magic, crackling and sparking into the tomblike silence. Everyone sat still, Death Eaters and students waiting for the other to make the first move.
The longest minute of Hermione's life passed as the two groups faced each other. A lone fork clattered to the floor and broke the stillness, and Hermione suddenly understood.
Death Eaters were attacking Hogwarts.