Erroris of Vestri Mores
By Shadow Ballad
A/N: Sorry for the long update; government debates and stupid English essays are so annoying:huffs angrily: Thanks for the reviews, and here's chapter 6! Enjoy!
Chapter Six: Serious Accusations
Damn all Gryffindors to the deepest circle of Hell! They were all so bloody annoying, what with their damnable nosiness and penchant for being where they weren't wanted! What right did a snoopy Gryffindor have being in the dungeons in the first place? That was the Snake's territory, after all!
Draco Malfoy fumed silently in his Charms classroom – to which he had been extremely late – and completely ignored the other sixth-year Slytherins trying to charm mirrors into talking. The blonde clutched his wand in a death grip, glaring at the mirror in front of him and wanting nothing more than to smash it into silvery slivers.
"Damn and blast, you bloody excuse for a human being!" exclaimed Goyle's mirror abruptly.
Draco laughed with the rest of the Slytherins as tiny Professor Flitwick hurried over to a red-faced Goyle and quickly charmed the swearing mirror into silence.
The young Malfoy quite agreed with the inanimate object, especially since his thoughts were focused on a certain Gryffindor Mudblood at the moment. He scowled darkly, half-heartedly waving his wand at the looking glass and eliciting a blurb of baby gargle from it.
Why had Granger been in the dungeons this morning? She had had a piece of parchment and seemed rather preoccupied when she had passed the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Then she had gone and done the unthinkable: she had entered Professor Snape's private quarters, unbidden!
Only a Gryffindor could be that stupid.
Every Slytherin knew that to enter Professor Snape's rooms without permission was suicidal at best!
Besides, the man was extremely private and hated to have his solitude broached by whinging students. Each child Sorted into the House of the Serpent learned that quickly enough indeed, and all respected the Professor for it.
But, alas, Gryffindors seemed cursed with a lack of common sense. Pity, really.
"Mr. Malfoy, are you going to sit there all period or do I need to assign you an essay?" Flitwick's squeaky voice pierced through Draco's contemplations. The boy winced but managed not to glare at the diminutive teacher.
"No," he said sourly, turning to his mirror and casting the charm perfectly. Instantly the object began to speak in rapid French, complimenting Draco's hair and asking him where he bought his clothes so it could get some too.
The Slytherin gazed imperiously down his nose at Flitwick, who nodded and awarded ten points to Slytherin before moving on to Crabbe, who had somehow managed to give his mirror a set of fangs and was now trying to dislodge his textbook from its mouth.
Deciding that he at least ought to try the lesson, he turned back to his own mirror and said, "Bonjour."
"Bonjour!" it chirped merrily.
"Parlez-vous anglais?"
"Oui!"
"Then speak it, you idiot!" smirked Draco.
"Now, now, there's no need to insult the mirror, young man. Just talk to it and see what it has to tell you," Flitwick reprimanded, panting slightly from the exertion required in dislodging Crabbe's book from his now-rabid mirror.
Draco scoffed, but decided against spitting his tongue out at the professor; that was childish, after all. Instead he sighed. "What could a stupid mirror possibly know anyway?"
"We know a lot of things, if you'd just bother to ask us," it replied in a hurt tone.
The Slytherin raised an eyebrow sceptically. "Yeah, whatever."
"But we do!" it insisted.
"Oh, talk to Pansy's mirror," Draco snapped, finally become annoyed with the talking inanimate object. At hearing Malfoy mention her name, Pansy swivelled in her seat to face him, thrusting her mirror in front of his and allowing them to converse in happy tones.
At the thought of Pansy, a sudden thought came to mind. Yes…it was perfect! If Granger was going to embarrass him in front of the Headmaster and a bunch of teachers, the least he could do was return the favour.
Smirking, he leaned in conspiratorially toward Pansy, watching her eyes light up in excitement. "Hey Pansy…you want to know why I was late?" She nodded eagerly, bending so close that her hair brushed up against his head.
He told her everything.
And added a little more. Never play games with a Slytherin, Mudblood. You'll always lose!
Pansy nearly shrieked in outrage when he was done embellishing the story. "I can't believe that little Mudblood would do that!" she exclaimed. "Just because Professor Snape doesn't worship her "brilliance" like every other teacher at Hogwarts doesn't mean she has to go and attack him! Ooooh, I'm going to KILL her!"
Draco nearly laughed at her ignorance. Hermione Granger, attack a teacher? Nonsense! No one but Pansy would believe such a story. Well, maybe Crabbe or Goyle would too, but no one else.
It was a confirmation of the girl's single-track mind that she didn't question the obvious holes in his story.
Well, he thought, I didn't actually embellish it that much. Filch and I did find her standing over him with her wand out, and she was the only one down there. No excuses, either, I'm sure. Bloody Dumbledore and his stupid Golden Gryffindors. We'll see what happens next!
Beside him, Pansy was already telling another girl the story Draco had just fed her. After all, Pansy Parkinson was the biggest gossip monger in the entire school. He allowed his handsome features to contort in an arrogant smirk. By lunch, everyone in Hogwarts would know about what happened to Professor Snape – and that Hermione Granger had done it!
Harry stared out the window in Binns's class, not even trying to pay attention to the ghostly teacher's dry lecture. He had bigger things on his mind. Namely, why Hermione Granger had decided to skip History of Magic class today.
Come to think of it, she had skipped breakfast too. In fact, he thought as he frowned at the brilliant sun-drenched lawn out the window, he hadn't seen her since she huffed and stalked back into the girls' dorm earlier that morning!
All of this was very un-Hermione-like.
Where was she? Taking notes was her joy; her very passion in life! Not to mention that she never missed the chance to hackle Ron and him about paying attention while a teacher was speaking. His frown deepened as his bottle-green eyes settled on the pale blue expanse of water that was the lake. Hermione had seemed incredibly annoyed the night before, and very distracted this morning. Since when did she ever come out of the dorm dressed in pyjamas and a dressing gown! Something was definitely up.
"Psst. Hey, Harry!" a voice to his left hissed insistently, knocking the young Gryffindor from his reverie. Annoyed, the bespectacled boy turned his head to glare at Ron, who was gathering up his things – along with everyone else in the class. "It's time to leave, mate."
"It's time to leave?" he repeated stupidly, finally aware of the fact. The redhead gave him a quizzical stare as he slung the strap of his bag across his shoulder.
"Uh, yeah? Didn't you hear the bell?"
"Er…no…" Ron's expression became even more bewildered at this announcement, causing his freckles to stand out on his face rather prominently.
"You feeling okay, mate? You seem a bit…off," he said with an air of talking to someone not quite right in the head. "I mean you usually fall asleep in this class anyway – who doesn't? Well, Hermione doesn't, but – "
Suddenly Ron gasped, his eye wide, earning a strange look from passing classmates. "Bloody hell; Hermione!"
"Yeah, remember her? She's our friend, you know," Harry said slowly as if Ron was a particularly dense five-year-old. Ron swatted an impatient hand at the other and continued walking at a brisker pace.
"She didn't show up to class!" he said concernedly. "I didn't notice because I was staring out the window, but now that I think about it, she never showed up!" He looked vaguely guilty about not noticing the absence of his friend, but since she usually took notes while the two boys sunk into a stupor, it seemed probable that they wouldn't have noticed her.
"I can't believe I didn't notice…" At this statement he blushed, causing his face to clash horribly with his hair. "N-not that that means anything, mind you…after all, she, well, er…yeah." He stammered his way into silence while Harry fought against a grin that desperately wanted to plant itself on his face.
Ever since their second year at Hogwarts, Harry had suspected that Ron fancied Hermione. The subsequent events of the past years – especially his reaction to Krum at the Yule Ball; that had been a complete fiasco! – only served to solidify his suspicions.
He almost wished they'd both admit it and get it over with.
"She's probably fuming at missing out on taking notes," he said conversationally to ease his friend's embarrassment. Ron made a funny noise in his throat but seemed to regain control of his vocal cords.
"Er…yeah, probably so…" he agreed as they approached the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom. Many other Gryffindors were milling about by the door, chatting softly to each other while other students passed by to their own classes.
The two boys were just about to enter when a chorus of angry shouts rose from behind them. As they were turning curiously to see what the commotion was all about, a head of bushy brown hair flew around the corner and smacked right into Ron. Both went down in a tumble of arms, legs and book bags. Whoever had been casing the ruckus behind them was now lying on top of Ron as parchments floated lazily to the floor.
"Erf," the redhead moaned just as the girl said, "Ouch!"
In a moment of complete shock Ron stared at Hermione, and Hermione stared at Ron.
A split second later both Gryffindors were standing far apart from each other, blushing profusely and dusting off their uniforms while their classmates sniggered at their embarrassment.
"Sorry, I'm so sorry; I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing, I had to get my books, and I was running late…" Hermione babbled, breathing hard from her run and collision and not quite meeting Ron's wide blue eyes. He didn't seem particularly sorry that she had chosen to run into him, but Harry knew his friend would rather play Quidditch for Slytherin than admit it in front of Hermione.
"N-no problem," he managed to get out, his face flushing a violent scarlet colour despite his attempt at cool indifference. Hermione seemed too flustered to notice, but that didn't mean no one else did.
"So, Weasley, finally found yourself a girlfriend?" a particularly unwelcome voice drawled. The air in the corridor suddenly became pregnant with nearly palpable tension. Ron's face deepened to an interesting shade of crimson as he turned to glare at the pale-haired Slytherin addressing him.
"Bugger off, Malfoy!" he snapped, drawing his wand from his robe pocket. Draco merely gave him an arrogant sneer, but it was sadly lacking in the ferocity Snape managed to put into his own.
"Don't worry, Weasel-Head; I'd be embarrassed if my girlfriend was a lying Mudblood too," he riposted, flashing a meaningful glance at Hermione, who was bent double collecting her scattered parchments.
If the tension was nearly palpable before, it could now be cut with a knife. Angry Gryffindors clenched their fists and scowled at the smug blonde, who seemed to feel quite secure between his two enormous cronies. Hermione was valiantly attempting to prove that the obscene slur didn't bother her, but her face had become very pale and her hand shook slightly as she reached out for the last of her papers.
"You," said Ron in a deadly whisper, "will pay for that!" With a feral snarl he levelled his wand at Malfoy just as the door to the classroom swung open, intercepting the jinx meant for the Slytherin. Everyone in the hallway flinched as the magic collided with the wood in a spectacular KABLAM, but none more so than pale-faced teacher standing in the doorway.
Upon close inspection, Harry began to wonder if this new professor could handle the job of Defence teacher. If a student-powered jinx smacking into a door set him off this badly – he was shaking slightly as he ushered the students into the room – he hated to think about what he would do if something dangerous actually happened.
Well, maybe that wasn't a fair assessment. The man reminded him of Quirrel, the teacher in his first year who had harboured the spirit of Lord Voldemort in the back of his head. Professor Gershwin didn't wear a turban and certainly didn't stutter, but he seemed quite fidgety and wore a perpetually nervous half-smile on his sharp face.
Harry took his seat at a table near the front, Hermione plopping her book bag on the desk to his left and Ron taking up the spare seat next to Hermione. Harry glanced about the room, thankful beyond all reasoning that it was no longer dominated by repulsive frolicking kittens and frilly pink lace as it had been in Umbridge's day. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of that woman, the scars on the back of his right hand giving a sharp twinge of pain. In fact, it was now decorated in soft earth tones with a few potted plants meticulously placed about. The scent of fresh soil permeated the room, and Harry caught Neville glancing at a particularly interesting plant with violently orange blossoms not far from the desk he had chosen.
Ron, he noticed, was deep in conversation with Hermione. Feeling slightly put out, Harry leaned forward and managed to catch a few words of their chat. "…Malfoy said? Where were you this morning, anyway?"
Hermione pursed her lips, and the Boy-Who-Lived was shocked to see a faint tinge of pink colour her cheeks. "I'll tell you later!" she hissed as Gershwin cleared his throat and began to speak to the class. Harry rather thought he'd like to hear Hermione's story over what the teacher had to say, but as the studious girl refused to say anything more, he sighed grumpily and turned his attention to the front of the classroom.
"Good morning, sixth years," Gershwin was saying, a nervous smile playing at the corner of his mouth. The students made noises of greeting, and only Hermione bothered to return it with a proper "good morning." He cleared his throat once again and moved behind a large podium, gripping its sides with his hands and drumming his long fingers nervously on the edges.
"Welcome to Defence against the Dark Arts! For those of you who don't remember me from the first day of term, I am Professor Gershwin. Now, it is my understanding that I am your sixth teacher to fill this post," he continued on in his raspy tenor voice. "Depending on various opinions, that can be good or bad. Good, in that you were exposed to various teaching styles; bad, in that you received – er – shall we say, a few less-than-satisfactory instructors in the process." He paused here as the students muttered in generally agreeing tones. Harry suspected that, like him, they were thinking about one well-hated toad in particular. Well, maybe not the Slytherins, he decided bitterly, seeing as how most of them sucked up to her and were members of her little Inquisitorial Squad.
Gershwin was now shuffling some papers on the podium, tapping his foot in the process. Did the man ever hold still? "Hmm. According to these reports, you had an especially defunct professor last year," he quipped wryly, glancing up with a small grin at the students appreciating the slur against Umbridge. Harry joined in the soft laughter with his classmates, convinced that anyone who poked fun at Umbridge was someone he would like.
After allowing the students to have their fun, Gershwin motioned for silence and once again shifted through the papers. "I thought we'd spend today practicing the application of many of the jinxes and defence magics you studied last year; after all, not all of you were able to actually perform them on a regular basis." Here, his watery blue eyes met Harry's, and for a split second he wondered if Gershwin knew about last year's D.A. Eye contact lasted for only a moment, and when the teacher looked away, Harry was uncertain if he imagined the knowing look in those eyes or not.
"Now, we – " a sudden knocking at the door interrupted the lecture, and after a slight flinch Gershwin asked Neville to go and see who it was. The round-faced boy carefully made his way past the orange-flowered plant – by his actions, Harry assumed it was somehow dangerous – and reached for the door as it opened to permit a stern-faced Professor McGonagall. Neville squeaked in surprise and hastily backed away from the teacher.
"Theodore, I need to speak with you," McGonagall said in rather clipped tones. Apparently she was unhappy about something. Movement to his right caught his eye, and he noticed Hermione fiddling intently with her quill as if it was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. The slight pink that had tinged her face earlier was back in full force. She adamantly refused to look up at McGonagall, who was eyeing her with curious scrutiny. Harry supposed it had something to do with why Hermione wasn't in History of Magic this morning, but didn't dare ask until Gershwin excused himself and followed Professor McGonagall out the door.
As soon as the slender teacher's robe flitted past the jamb, he whirled in his seat to face Hermione, noticing that Ron too was eyeing her expectantly. Harry opened his mouth to interrogate her about where she had been, but before he could utter a single syllable, another voice interrupted.
"So, Granger; is it true?" Harry turned slightly in his chair to scowl at Pansy Parkinson, who had a predatory gleam in her eye. Alarmed, the Boy-Who-Lived glanced back at Hermione, whose blush had become rather pale.
"Is what true?" Hermione asked in a flustered voice, keeping her eyes on the parchment in front of her.
Pansy grinned at the Gryffindor's obvious discomfort. What she said next came as a great shock to Harry. "That you attacked Professor Snape?"
By now, everyone was listening to the conversation with varying expressions of incredulity among the Gryffindors and grim knowledge among the Slytherins.
Hermione's eyes flew from her desk as she swivelled violently in her seat to face her accuser. "That I…? You actually think that I attacked him?" Her voice was mixed with bewilderment, and an odd undercurrent of fear. Astonished, Harry gaped openly at her, as did Ron.
Pansy nodded, giving Hermione a wicked smirk worthy of Malfoy.
"But I would never do that! You know me, I would never attack a teacher!" exclaimed the Gryffindor genius, panic starting to creep into her voice as it escalated in pitch.
Her accuser merely shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe all that obsessive studying has finally made you snap." She screwed up her face in an expression probably meant to represent insanity, but only succeeded in making her look like a pug with a tooth ache. Harry gave her an ugly frown, now well over the shock of the initial accusation.
"Never!" Hermione snapped hotly, colour returning to her face once again.
"Well, she does have a point with the "obsessive studying" thing…" said Seamus in a not-so-subtle voice to Dean Thomas. Hermione, Harry and Ron glared hotly at the offending boy, who shrank away from them with muttered apologies.
"I didn't attack him, and I never would."
Pansy, who seemed distressed that she no longer had a captive audience, whinged out, "Then why were you in the dungeons this morning!"
Harry spared a moment to give his friend an incredulous look. Hermione, in the dungeons? All eyes were upon the bushy-haired girl, who had deflated from her previous anger into a state of nervous anxiety.
As she explained, beginning with finding blood all over Snape's bedroom floor, gasps echoed in the room. Lavender Brown actually fainted when she told them in what state she had found the Potions Master, and Parvati Patil had to catch her to stop her from falling on the floor.
"That's everything," Hermione finished a few minutes later to stunned silence. Pansy, however, seemed determined to blame Hermione for the accident.
"Well, how did you know he was hurt in the first place?" she asked with the air of someone grasping for straws, no matter how flimsy.
Harry fully expected Hermione to lash back with an intelligent answer only she could understand, but to his great surprise, his friend lowered her gaze to her desk. "I…it's…hard to explain," she finally said, not meeting anyone's gaze. She drew a stack of parchments in front of her to her chest defensively and finally met Pansy's triumphant gaze.
"Ha, that proves it!" the pug-like girl shrieked gleefully. "You attacked him just because he never gives you points and doesn't worship you like the other teachers, you insufferable know-it-all!"
At this, Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously and she leaned in toward Pansy. The other girl's laughter faded slightly as Hermione's angry visage came very close to her own. "That is the lamest excuse anyone could use to attack someone, least of all me!" she hissed menacingly. Harry made a mental note to never annoy Hermione when she had skipped breakfast.
Pansy visibly struggled to recover from this uncharacteristic fervour, her shrug not as nonchalant as it could have been without the slight trembling. "W-well, I guess you're just lame, then," she retorted, gaining back her confidence with each word. "After all, you are a Gryffindor!" Pansy spat the word as if it were obscene, which to a Slytherin, it probably was.
The Gryffindors present, however, did not appreciate it. At all.
Thus, all pandemonium broke loose.
A/N: Sorry this took forever getting posted! School is seriously annoying right now. Don't teachers realize fan fiction is what's really important! Pooh; I wish. Anyway, just thought I'd post what I had so far to let people know this isn't a dead story! Chapter Seven is in the works and should be a lot better, as the alliance between Hermione and Snape is (finally!) formed. So…thanks for waiting, those who did! See you next chapter!
Cheers,
Balld