In contrast to their challenging morning, Care of Magical Creature provided her with enough time to think though her plans for the upcoming week, Snape's appointment included. The incident with Dean had pushed it from her mind for a day: Umbridge's essay posed too much a challenge to basic magical ethics – or ethics at all -, to allow her to pursue her matter uncommented – or unopposed. Talking to McGonagall seemed a necessary commitment to challenge a set of teachings she felt certain preceded only worse.
Yet, her anger was unreliable, she had learned. An essence not only of her imagination, but her soul, with all its colours, edges and accents. With all its scars, she admitted silently. A kaleidoscope of her surroundings, all perception and reasoning, limited to its stimuli and yet providing her with an inadequate picture of the intake. Never objective. Only a reflection of the person she was, had been, or might become.
Neither Ron nor Harry noticed her withdrawal, busy over offering some milk to a reluctant hedgehog.
Am I taking this essay too personal?, she questioned herself, Just because it touches a soft spot in my hardly tested set of values?
The tiny animal went beserk over her friends attempt, scratching and biting Ron in the hand, revealing himself to be a knarl – suspicious creatures in nature, who mistook their kindness as an attempt to poison it.
But then, she concluded, watching Ron clutching his hand, struggling not to kick the little beast, who am I if not the sum of the personal values I act on?
"Ask Madam Sprout for some Zyfodil leaves", she advised him on their way to the greenhouses, red stripes already visible on the cloth of his robes Ron had quickly tied around the wound, "Wrap them tightly, it should stop the bleeding."
"Thank you, Hermione", he answered, a little paler than usual, but smiling.
Herbology was one the subjects where Hermione disciplined herself not to raise the hand at every question she knew the answer to: Her retreat allowed Neville to flourish in his strongest subject, and Professor Sproud had long ago made it clear she appreciated Hermiones choice. "A very wise move, not to confuse presence with dominance", she had rejoiced at the shore of the lake after second task, when Neville had refused to explain her what slimy cabbage he had provided her best friend with. So not hearing her voice for the entire afternoon raised no attention in either Harry or Ron. When Professor Sprout told them to work in pairs, she partnered with Neville, as during their DA lessons.
"Stop pretending you couldn't care for these Shrivelled Symphythons on your own", he chuckled. "Actually", she grinned, called out on her ulterior motive, "I was wondering if you could tell me something about Argentinian Sour Grass."
"Of course", he replied. From the other side of the plant plot large enough to keep a grown Manjuron Tree in, Hermione saw his chest broaden distinctly. "A common ingredient in healing potions, as Blonkettle, Furjemy and Eidwanfer, for a wide range of magical maladies. You'd prefer Blonkettle in burns – helps with injuries from dragon fire, as one of only two known potions -, but for any poisoning, I'd recommend Eidwanfer, since -"
"Thank you, Neville", she interrupted, "But I am interested in the substance, not its use in potion making."
"Oh. I thought, since you've grown close to- "
"Don't you say it", she hissed, "No one needs water on this rumor mill."
"Okay. … Sorry -"
"We were talking about Argentinian Sour Grass."
"Wizards discovered it centuries ago", Neville resumed, "It's said to be part of medieval rituals between all kinds of magical creatures, but has various effects on different types of magic. Guess you're not interested in the cultural aspect? Its role in shared rituals?"
"Actually, no", she confirmed his guess, "How does it work on wizards? What makes it useful for antidotes?"
"It a catalytic agent", he laid out. "Rich of an element called Mekaratium, similar to an enzyme. Dissolves a wide range of agents without producing accruing byproducts. Highly toxic to all non-magical folk."
"How so?"
"Mekaratium works", Neville qouted the conclusion from Fantastic Fauna In The Southern Hemisphere (Part I), "But various researchers argue about why it protects magical creatures, but kills Muggles. The British Committee of Honored Herbologists has recently issued a statement..."
"Save me the politics", she sighed, "Let me guess, something about muggles presenting with less developed features in their biological features..."
He blinked. "Something like that, yes. How would you-"
"Just an educated guess." Her temper was rising again. "Thanks, Neville. You're really good at this, seriously."
"Thanks. Means a lot to me."
"Since you've all managed to unravel at least one Symphyton", Professor Sprouts voice echoed between the glass walls, "You may pack and return to your dormitories until dinner. No homework today, I'm sure you have enough on your plates. And don't forget -"
"Every living being needs to see the sun", the class repeated her mantra spontaneously in a muddled, cherish manner, entirely different than the sermon forced upon them by the changes at Hogwarts.
"So, loads of time to argue with McGonagall", Harry pointed out to her. Hermione, taming an inner struggle again, did not reply.
"See you at dinner", Ron called after her when they parted ways back from the ground.
Her anger was legit, no question, but was it adequate?, she tormented herself, climbing the stairs in front of the Great Hall. To her right, a dimly lit corridor led to the dungeons. Second years sat through Potions Tuesday afternoon, he must be down in class. Straight forward, three levels above, granite floors led to McGonagalls office.
Snape's face appeared before her eyes. Trust me.
What were here core values – leading her, defining her?
Rationality or Reflection?
Heart hammering against her chest, she headed forward, to her Head of House.
"Ah, Miss Granger", the elder witch greeted her from behind her desk, "Have a seat. Take a cookie. You must be hungry, I saw you leaving for the castle from Madam Sprout."
Swiftly, she did as she was told.
"What's on your mind?"
"Professor", Hermione began, "I've been wondering whether the Ministry should inter-, whether the Ministry has shown adequate judgment in considering the content of our syllabus."
"The Ministry, that is to say – our High Inquisitor and new headmistress?", McGonagall replied in a stern tone.
"Yes, Professor."
"And by 'content of our syllabus', I'm sure you're referring to the essay she has you write, which is due – in two weeks, if I recall correctly?"
Hermione nodded.
"Well, I appreciate you considerately closed the door", her teacher acknowledged, "Since Professor Umbridge -", the grimace betrayed her disapproval, "Might hardly welcome any student questioning her teachings. Or her methods."
Hermione, who had hoped for a more supportive reaction, remained quiet in her seat.
"I am familiar with the literature she provided all students with, and I've been informed on the task she gave you", the Head of House disclosed. "And I must admit, her phrasing is deluding. One might call it partial, even."
"The latter, especially."
"When she asks you to provide reasons, why empathy -"
"Is misplaced in punishment", Hermione interrupted her impatiently, "Professor, she's egging us on -"
"No, she's not."
She could as well have stunned Hermione. "But Professor, she's proposing that tormenting others -"
"No, Miss Granger, she is not proposing anything", the teacher cut across her, "She is issuing a thesis which she picked up from an ambitious ministry employee and did not understand correctly."
The cookie provided a great opportunity to distract herself from her frustration. "I don't understand."
"Now, that needs to happen once in a while, even to you, Miss Granger", McGonagall commented in a suddenly warm voice. "When Professor Dumbledore was forced out of the castle, the Minister had brought two Aurors as guards, and his Junior Assistant to witness and record the event probably", she disclosed, "But the Minister dealt with Professor Dumbledore, until Miss Edgecomb arrived in tow of Professor Umbridge. The Minister and his aides then questioned Miss Edgecomb, while Professor Umbridge and his Junior Assistant were told to wait outside. He must have expected the exchange unworthy of his attention, for he had brought himself the book you're supposed to be reading for your essay."
"She got the idea from Percy Weasley?", Hermione replied, puzzled. "He can't seriously believe -"
"Please don't measure Mr Weasley against the twisted meaning of the theory our High Inquisitor has issued", her teacher urged her, "He has soon learned about the misunderstanding and provided the Professor with the very questions you are supposed to dwell on in your homework."
"What's there to misunderstand?", Hermione growled.
"It said, 'misplaced in punishment', not misplaced in the person."
That took her a moment to fully comprehend. "We're not supposed to focus on suffering - in an understanding way ... You're not supposed to enjoy punishment?", Hermione concluded. "The essay is making us argue – against sadism?"
"Precisely, Miss Granger." A smile swept the stern frown from McGonagalls face.
"He's warning us?", Hermione elaborated, stunned. "Against her methods? Against her?"
"One might develop this interpretation", the teacher replied. "But I strongly advise you not to hand this in with your written work."
"I won't."
"Very well, Miss Granger."
Comprehending this as permission to leave, Hermione stuffed the cookie in her mouth and rose from the seat.
"Another word of caution, if you allow me", McGonagall spoke, before her student had reached to open the door. She did not wait for Hermione's permission. "You applied adequate action to protect Mr Thomas from further harm last night, and I am grateful for that. But you must be aware that the Patronus you sent did not reach out to me."
Hermione chose to pretend she was still chewing the biscuit.
"I have never been prone to rely on rumors much", the Head of House went on, "But it has come to my attention, that you and Professor Snape have come – close."
Hermione could not tell by any means whether McGonagall fell for her pathetic deception.
"Whatever it is you two are – involved – in, I must ask you to dial it down."
The gulp was credible, or so she believed. "Before someone gets hurt?"
"Before you get hurt."
They kept looking at each other, eyes clearly outlined, the room remaining stable in color and shape. McGonagall, Hermione recalled, had seen the war they were heading to - she, unlike Hermione, knew its atrocities.
"Enjoy your evening, Miss Granger."
Ron had taken her advise on the Zyfodil leaves, but bled through dinner, so he was the second Gryffindor in need of Madam Pomfrey within a day. As crowded and chaotic as the Great Hall was usually at dinner time, Hermione considered it safe to update Harry on her meeting with McGonagall.
"Perhaps becoming an Auror might not have been such a bright idea at all", Harry mused above heavily loaded toast, "If that's the required reading..."
When gulping down his last piece of it, Ron joined them again. Dean followed suit. Ginny, who had been chatting merrily with Luna some ten seats further, waved her head in a certain way, and the two of them left for the grounds.
"Nasty stuff, she'll make me take three potions a day until weekend", Dean complained, clearly stating that he did not wish to talk about his ex-girlfriend, "Ron just told me, I wasn't the only one overdosed?"
"No, but keep your voice down, Squad's everywhere", Harry answered, offering him his seat. Their conversation from the night previously strangely repeated itself, when Dean asked: "So why Luna, too?"
"Been wonderin' 'bout at, too", Ron managed to add under a large portion of leftover pie.
"Yeah, I mean", Dean cast a least helpful glance up and down the table, ensuring any bystander now knew they were trading gossip or secrets, "The whole DA at her mercy, and she goes for Loony Lovegood?"
"You're arrogant", Hermione confronted him. "Her father runs the Quibbler, remember? And Umbridge's probably paranoid enough now to think if Harry planned a follow-up, she'd know first."
"Do you, Harry?"
"No", he said flatly, "Not even if Dumbledore himself asked me to. I'm tired, I'll see you in the common room." He gulped down his pumpkin juice and left.
"Anything come up when I was with McGonagall?"
"Nah."
"Something wrong with him?"
"Hermione, you worry too much. He's probably really tired, been awake almost every night."
"Nightmares?"
"Not so sure", Ron merrily worked his way through his second serving, "Vivid dreams. Speaks in his sleep, see, 'just a little further', and 'Let me in', I won't ask him who he's dreaming about."
Dean chuckled, but hastily turned back to his meal at Hermione's frown.