No one in Hogwarts could have foreseen what transpired the morning after the ball. The first of the month hit its residents hard with pain, leaving them with nothing to celebrate on an otherwise abnormally warm and sunny November morning. While the birds overhead chirped in the boughs of trees, confused by unseasonable weather, all Hogwarts members of the Order stood solemnly on the lawn, unable to speak.
The unconscious form of Headmaster Dumbledore lay in the dew-damp grass, amongst the previously fallen leaves that glistened as they warmed in the sunshine. His wand lay, snapped clean in half, by the toes of his gold silk slippers. The sight of the old wizard in his Oriental embroidered dressing gown and tassel cap was enough evidence that he had been awoken from sleep and however impossible it may have sounded, unprepared for the evil that had arrived overnight.
Hagrid placed a large arm around a shaking Minerva McGonagall. Her sobs were muffled in the numerous possum pelts that covered his overcoat, and he lifted two fingers to pat her shoulders gently every few moments. The wiry hair of his beard was splattered with silent giant tears and he hummed the Sorting Song involuntarily to keep under control.
A lukewarm breeze shuddered through the bare boughs of the Forbidden Forest trees and whistled with empty determination.
"This is the calm before the storm, I believe," Remus Lupin said as he walked alongside a weary-looking Professor Vector. "And about last night, I–"
"Forget it," she said quickly. "I'm not the one in need of an apology. This is hardly the time."
Remus was caught in an awkward pause for the time being and could do nothing but observe the manner in which the woman beside him tucked her short hair behind her ear and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her cheeks were rosy still from the back and forth panic runs they had been subjected to that morning and her hazel eyes were drained.
"One person I haven't seen this morning is Severus," Remus finally said sternly. "I do certainly hope–"
"Worry about yourself," Nina said with a controlled voice. "I'm going to help Poppy."
Remus was left alone once again, dumbstruck and with a headache.
Poppy Pomfrey was busy surveying the damage. She had administered a Dreamless Sleep Potion as soon as she'd found him lying there a little before six and she reached to check his pulse every so many minutes. She needed to force his body to rest before she could begin to assess the internal damage. This was a dark magic that she had only read about in fairy tales. It was mysteriously beyond any variation of curse or hex in the Restricted Section of the library. The Death Stone was as legendary as its counterpart, yet Flamel had created his stone with a good heart. The previous Dark Lord would not have been as forgiving, especially to the wizard who had destroyed him in the first place.
"Anything I can do, Poppy?" Nina asked softly as she approached her kneeling form.
"I'm afraid not," the mediwitch replied with a sad sigh. "Not if this curse is what I believe it to be, no. I'm afraid not." Her eyes were brimming with tears once more.
When Hermione woke that morning it was a little after ten. The sun was shining through the window and all the overnight fog had dissipated.
Yeva was sitting at the desk, a steaming cup of tea in her hand.
"Morning," she said. "I hope you don't mind, I put some tea on."
"Morning," Hermione said groggily before rising and walking to the full-length mirror next to the closet. "Ugh, Yeva. Now you've seen the true monstrosity of morning Hermione." Her hair was as frizzy as a Pigmy Puff.
Yeva chuckled. "At least it's Saturday."
"At least," Hermione muttered before disappearing into the bathroom with a handful of clothes.
Yeva looked down at herself in the slightly large Muggle clothes Hermione had leant her. She couldn't help settling her gaze on the ugly Dark Mark. It taunted her with its twisted appearance and she was in no mood. "We'll send you to hell where you belong soon enough," she said to it.
Hermione emerged fifteen minutes later, a red puffy towel twisted on her head and clad in a pair of black jeans and bra. She moved to her closet and pulled a green button down shirt from one of the hangers and a black v-neck cashmere jumper she had received as a birthday gift from her mother.
"I cleaned up all that smashed perfume in the bathroom," she said suddenly as she slipped both tops on, before realizing that Yeva was glaring at the mark on her arm with disgust.
"Oh here," Hermione continued. "Let me."
With a point of her wand and a few whispered incantations, Yeva's arm returned to normal appearance.
"Thanks," Yeva said.
"It's nothing." Hermione shuffled around again in her closet before tossing a pair of jeans, a long sleeved navy blue tee shirt, and some undergarments on the floor. "Here."
Yeva looked at the clothes with a puzzled expression.
"They're charmed to fit the wearer, silly," Hermione jested. "Ginny…" She trailed off. "Well, Ginny used to spend the night here all the time. She's rather forgetful so I always keep a charmed set of clothes."
"Thank you," Yeva said again before retrieving the clothing and heading to the bathroom.
"There's an extra toothbrush and some deodorant in the cupboard!" Hermione called after her.
"Huh?" was the startled reply from the slightly open bathroom door.
"Never mind," Hermione said through a laugh. "I forgot you were a Pureblood."
A few more minutes passed and Yeva emerged from the bathroom. The jeans she wore fit her impeccably and the shirt adjusted itself to her ample chest.
She smiled. "I want to thank you, Hermione," she said, quietly. "For everything you did for me last night, for your care, and for your friendship."
Hermione was touched.
"The same goes to you. For, well, just being you."
Yeva laughed.
"No one has ever said that before."
"They should have."
Yeva turned her attention to the desk once more. "What are you working on?" she inquired, quite interested.
Hermione slipped on her mary janes and tossed Yeva some socks and sneakers. She untwirled the towel from her head and messed up her wet hair with her fingers before pulling it up into a loose ponytail and quickly muttering a charm to keep it from frizzing. Then she moved towards the desk to explain.
"Well this," she said as she lifted and unfurled an empty roll of parchment, "is the punishment paper your lovely uncle Snape gave me in detention last month." She laughed. "I've written three words, my full name… so far." She laughed louder. "Somehow, I just can't seem to get inspired to write about how insufferable I am."
"He didn't!" Yeva exclaimed, half shocked, half amused.
"Unfortunately, he did." Hermione sighed and let the parchment roll again. "And I'm not writing it."
"I don't blame you," Yeva said seriously. "But I assume you've prepared yourself for the consequences."
"I'm actually looking forward to them to tell you the truth," Hermione said calmly with a smirk.
Yeva giggled.
"What's this then?" she asked, and pointed to a small leather-bound notebook that was topped with a wet quill.
Hermione's cheeks reddened and she nibbled her lip in bashful realization.
"Your diary?" Yeva questioned after seeing her expression.
"No," she said. "It's a songbook. Something else I do in my spare time."
"You write music?" Yeva was enthralled.
"And sing it, yes." Hermione was blushing profusely now. "No one in the Wizarding world knows this though… only the Muggles back in London."
"You have fans?" Yeva hopped up from the desk chair excitedly.
Hermione laughed.
"I perform at home, around town. I've been doing it for the past three years. Bars, clubs, the like. It's fun."
"You must be amazing."
"They tell me so, but I'm not one for glory really. I'm better as a bookworm." Hermione rolled her eyes and flopped onto her unmade bed.
"Nonsense! You hide behind that bookworm bit, I swear you do!" Yeva shouted crazily. "It's alright to be a good student, but there's a personality behind all that knowledge. It's just aching to get out."
Crookshanks mewed softly to announce his awakening.
"I swear, Yeva. No one here knows this… I don't know why I've hidden it really, but Ginny doesn't even know."
"Now I know." Yeva ran her fingers along the spine of the leather bound notebook.
"You're different," Hermione said. "You get me."
"I don't blame Ginny for being upset, Hermione." Yeva looked serious suddenly. "I'd be upset if I felt I was losing your friendship too."
Hermione sighed and raised herself on her elbows so she could look at Yeva from her position. "I'll talk to her, when the time is right. But I need a break from that lot. I'm tired of pretending I'm still the Hermione I was in fourth year."
"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone you're a rock star," Yeva said jokingly.
Hermione laughed.
"Why don't you have a look at that song then and tell me what you think, smart mouth!" Hermione replied as she tossed a gold throw pillow at the smaller girl.
"Sure thing, Madonna!"
Yeva lifted the small black book from the desk. As she flipped to the first non-blank page of staffs and studied the notes and lyrics, Hermione had a realization.
"You know Madonna?"
Yeva chuckled. "Muggles aren't all bad," she replied.
After a few minutes of perusing the song, Yeva looked at Hermione, who happened to be holding her breath.
"This is brilliant," she said. "And familiar, somehow."
"Thank you, I guess," Hermione replied through an onset of blushes.
"It's about a certain Potions Master though, that's clear."
Hermione gasped. "Is it that obvious?" She exhaled in disbelief.
Yeva held up a hand. "I suppose, to someone who's known him all her life."
Hermione sighed in relief.
"It's really beautiful, Hermione. I wish he could see it."
"Not a chance." Hermione was on her feet again and she reached for Crookshanks' food dish to fill it. The ginger cat began purring loudly and rubbing himself against the redwood inlay of the closet doorframe. "He'd laugh in my face."
Yeva wasn't listening.
"I've seen these notes before. Not the words, those are clearly yours… but the notes, I've seen these."
"The melody's not mine," Hermione said shortly after putting cat food in the bowl on the floor and muttering a charm to fill the water dish.
"I'm trying to place it," Yeva said as she pressed her fingers to her forehead and paced with the notebook clasped in her other hand.
Hermione rose nervously from her kneeling position.
"Snape wrote it, all right?" She spat out the words so fast that Yeva nearly missed them. "I followed him one night after he returned from one of your revels. I guess, I couldn't sleep, and I know I should have turned around but I couldn't help it. He plays the piano so beautifully he brought me to tears."
Yeva had a knowing expression plastered to her face that Hermione missed.
"And that's not all, I guess. I mean, I listened to what you said last night. I… you… You're right. No matter how crazy this sounds, Professor Snape brings out the best in me… There's this – how do I say it? – "artistic eye" that I thought I'd forgotten –"
"Yes, he plays divinely, doesn't he?" Yeva asked softly.
Hermione wasn't listening. Instead, she dropped to the floor beside her bed and reached beneath to pull out an old, beat up trunk. Yeva watched in question as Hermione lifted the latch and cleared the dust away. Slowly the case opened and revealed the infamous portrait she had been hiding.
Yeva gasped.
"I guess I might as well show you this too," Hermione said in a tight-lipped voice.
"Holy gods and Merlin's illegitimate children!" Yeva squealed. "Hermione, did you paint that!" She rose from her place at the desk to take a closer look. "It's like he's laying in the box there. You're crazy."
"Well, I –"
"Hermione, you are no artist. You're a prodigy!"
"I –"
There was an urgent knock on the door.
Scrambling to close the trunk, Hermione shoved it under her bed and motioned for Yeva to quickly hide in the bathroom.
"Coming!" Hermione called frantically as she stood and brushed the carpet lint from her trousers.
She was mid-pick of a piece of white fuzz from her left pant leg when everything changed.
"Hermione, open this door!"
Harry Potter's voice could be heard through sobs on the other side. He was… in tears?
"There's no time!" he called again in a hoarse voice, desperate and afraid. "It's Dumbledore! He's been attacked!"
Yeva pushed open the bathroom door again with silent disbelief and followed Hermione to the door.
The two girls followed Harry as he rushed through the castle. The worry and fear in their minds kept them silent as they charged through the near empty halls. Neville and Ron joined them once they reached the Great Hall, but still no words were exchanged as they pushed open the heavy doors and stepped into the sunny area of disaster.
