Note: this is an AU, set in Harry and co. sixth year (thus, disregarding HBP, though some people may be used from it). It's somewhat, I suppose, of an irrational reality. But those are the most fun kind, right?
Oh, and the corporal punishment's all done with. For now, at least.
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Hermione wakes up.
The sun is shining through a little crack in the heavy drapes, though not enough to banish the shadows from the corners of the room. She lies on the bed, not moving, resting in the warmth beneath the covers. She is tired, still, and hungry, and feels dirty. There is a list of grievances in her mind that come to the forefront quite often these days, and aside from the lack of good food she complains to herself about the hygiene.
She sits up, finally, after a few minutes of dreamy thinking. The room is cool and she wishes the heating charms were working or perhaps that she only needs to wear that flannel nightgown she brought for winter and never actually used.
It is morning, and Hermione extends her arm to try to pull back the curtains from in front of the small window. She leans over almost sideways in her quest to stay in bed for as long as possible and then the ends of her fingers grab hold of the very corner of the velvet. She drags it back as much as she can, which turns out to be around five inches, and then collapses back against her pillow in mock exasperation. She has found that it is interesting to act dramatically even when there aren't others to see it—and from that she deduced she was sorely deprived of entertainment.
She slumps against the headboard and pulls the comforter up to her chest to block out the cold. It is Wednesday, and she reviews what she should be doing today, ticking the items off on her fingers for absolutely no reason at all. First she thinks of the Circle meeting last night and how she was told to go check up on McLaggen and Richards, and then her mind comes up with a horrible picture of the two lying dead on the ground, followed by an only slightly less horrible scene of the two snogging for hours on end.
Hermione pulls a hand through her tangled hair. It feels greasy and is most definitely more matted than it has ever been in her life—she doesn't know how to keep it in order with only one shower a week.
Grumbling at the fact that she cannot think of anything else she has to do today, she gets out of bed, the cold stone uneven under her feet. She can reach the drapes now, and pulls both of them to the right. The sky is a strange red-grey color, looking sunnier in some places and cloudier in others. Despite the window being only a foot or so wide Hermione can see enough of the outside to ascertain that nothing catastrophic had happened outside while she was sleeping, like some Slytherins getting out through the charmed doors and calling in an army of Death Eaters, or whatever was preventing any help from getting to Hogwarts.
It was, she thought as she moved slowly away from the view and towards her trunk, a bad situation. She could only state it that plainly, perhaps because she had repeated it to horror-stricken First Years for days on end after the doors closed and the windows sealed themselves. No, we don't know what's wrong; the doors to the grounds just don't seem to be working and the windows are sealed. Yes, Harry's—Harry Potter, you know him, I'm sure—is looking into things. No, the teachers seem to have gone.
She heaves up the lid of her trunk to reveal a tidy mess comprised of clothes, piles of books, and Crookshanks. He spits at Hermione, as if in annoyance for being prompted out of his dark coffin, and jumps out to go curl himself up on the pillow she had tossed onto the floor because it was lumpy. She pulls out some clothes while not looking and sees without surprise that they match—not as it matters, as her robes cover them anyway and she wears them all the time.
Resolving to berate Seamus about that stupid rule during breakfast, she changes quickly in the cold room. It is very quiet and she can hear the rasp of fabric against her skin. It takes her longer than she had wanted until she finally does up the last button and she swings her robe on over her shoulders. It comes to land on her back and sticks for some reason, outlining her body. Walking quickly to try to dislodge its cling, she opens the door.
There are three flights of stairs, all circular and rather narrow, until she reaches the Common Room. Some people are milling about and so she thinks that it's still early, but without a watch she can't tell. Scanning the room she sees Ginny pulling some tables together, presumably to put breakfast on. Hermione thinks that it's strange, the fact that Ginny is setting up the room for breakfast, though only because the job doesn't seem to suit her.
Ginny looks up then and motions Hermione over. Trying futilely to pull her robe away from her back she sees Ginny's mouth curl in a smile.
"Funny, is it?"
"Very. Care to help?"
Ginny shakes her head to throw her hair behind her shoulders, as a bit of it had drifted down over her face. Hermione moves to the nearest game table and pushes it over in line with a shorter, end table.
"How exactly does this work? I've never done breakfast, only eaten it."
Ginny laughs this time, and it is a welcome change in the room's atmosphere. "After we put on… oh, about two more tables, we go get the food from the room down the hall.
"Oh, and guess what?" Ginny leans over the table, bracing herself with both hands. "Seamus told me after the meeting, when you'd gone up already, that I could try to meet with somebody today. Said I would blow up if I didn't do something."
Ginny manages a rueful smile though it seems to Hermione to be difficult. "Anyway, that'll come later."
There is silence for a minute more while they each get a desk and affix it to the great line of tables, and then they both step back to survey their work.
"That a lot of tables."
Hermione follows Ginny, who had shrugged in response, to the portrait hole. She can hear snippets of the conversations around her and, predictably, most of them seem to be about last night's trial and strapping, though she doubts that they actually knew what was going on. Three First Years, who were in a triangle by the portrait, tugged on the bottom of her robe like some kindergarteners.
"Hermione?"
She is relieved that they don't call her 'Miss Granger' and she looks down at their upturned faces. "Yes?"
"Is Greg alright?"
She smiles and, out of the corner of her eye, sees Ginny hiding a laugh behind her arm. "Quite. Seamus said that he barely would have felt anything."
Even if Seamus hadn't said that she feels that it was a necessary thing to say, and one of the First Years, a little blond one who she thinks is named Jenny, affirms it. "Oh, good. We thought he'd be in a condition."
What condition it would have been Jenny doesn't say, and Ginny pushes open the portrait. There is a candle burning on the wall opposite it, casting a small halo of light on the ground, but the hallway beyond is barely lit by a row of little inadequate windows that seem more like cannon holes on top of the two-story wall.
"D'you think we need a candle?"
Ginny shrugs and lets the Fat Lady close behind her. The comforting noise and light of the Common Room fades away and in a few seconds they are left alone in the silent corridor.
After they had taken a few steps Hermione remembers. "Oh, before we get the food, could we check on McLaggen and his girlfriend at the West Hallway?"
"Sure."
They walk some more ways down the same hallway, footsteps echoing in the darkness. It is uncomfortable without any conversation but it seems to Hermione that there really isn't much else to say. She is glad when Ginny, her face in shadow, starts to talk.
"You know who the First Year was getting his notes from? Who they were going to?"
"No. Didn't think to ask him last night when I was in his room. Maybe Seamus knows."
She looks over and sees Ginny smiling again and she is somewhat annoyed.
"In his room? When? Do tell."
They turn a corner and the darkness becomes more dark. "Oh, nothing much." Hermione decides to play along, at least for a while. "But I did see his bare bum."
Ginny gasps dramatically, throwing a hand across her chest. "Was it beautiful?"
"No, mostly red."
They continue to trade banter until there is a light visible. In front of a thick door so covered in spells she can almost feel them sit McLaggen and Richards, sitting in an armchair they must have dragged out from the Common Room. They had been talking in low murmurs when Hermione and Ginny had walked up, and now they fall silent. She can't tell if the lanky McLaggen is sitting in Richards' lap or the other way around and she wrinkles her nose.
McLaggen looks up, his hair tousled. For the first time Hermione sees how different it must be to live in Gryffindor House in times such as these with someone you love. Spending hours together and not having much to do—and that was, was it not, the reason she was there?
"Well?" McLaggen's voice is deep and somewhat worn sounding. "Hermione? What're you doing here?"
He places a hand on Richards' brown curls and smoothes them along her head.
"Only checking up like usual. Breakfast's soon and the next watch should be along in a few minutes—I think it's Colin and Dennis."
She sees Ginny leaning against the wall and yawning. She too stifles a yawn and then sees McLaggen extricating himself from Richards' arms and legs. "Well, that's good. What're we having?"
Hermione just wants to leave and replies shortly, "Ask Ginny."
McLaggen looks at Ginny and Hermione thinks that he could be passably handsome if he had had a shower in the past week.
"It's bread and jam today. Raspberry and apricot, and maybe marmalade. There might be some of those pumpkin muffins left." Ginny looks at Hermione. "I hope they're not stale."
Hermione wholeheartedly agrees. "Alright. Come as soon as the Creevey's show. And come back right away."
Richards nods enthusiastically, her head bouncing up and down, while McLaggen only nods apathetically. She thinks it must be somewhat humiliating to be ordered around by a Sixth Year like she just did, but then she turns away and follows Ginny back towards the empty classroom where the Circle hides the food.
The room, called Fissure—she presumes it's from the words Food Storage Room, but Seamus never thought to explain why he suddenly started to call a room a geographical feature—has two large windows, and of that she's grateful. It is far more well lit than the hallways and she blinks, trying to adjust to the light, while the somewhat blurry figure of Ginny moves around.
"Oh look, we do have some muffins left."
The day suddenly looks much better. "Care to bet on who'll get trampled in the rush to get to them?"
"Probably Dennis, before he leaves." They laugh together, the sound ringing out in the emptiness.
She realizes, as the door closed, how empty the room really is compared to last time she was in there, and she turns to Ginny, who is carrying piles of food. Hermione feels a bit guilty.
"Need some help?"
"D'you think you can take the top few things?"
Hermione removes a cardboard box with the word 'BREAD' printed in big, black letters on front, and Ginny's face becomes visible again. "Thanks."
It isn't such a long walk back to the Common Room, and when they reach the portrait the Fat Lady looks down tiredly at them. "Oh, good. I can hear their screaming for food from out here."
Hermione looks at Ginny. "Well. Thanks. Could you open?"
"There is the matter of the password." The Fat Lady sits back in her magnificent chair and touches up her hair, seemingly ignorant about the prominent tear in the hem of her dress. Hermione sees that her picture is darker than usual, and then in the background a light flickers.
"Forti et fideli nihil difficile." Ginny mangles the long Latin phrase and Hermione thinks that it was on purpose.
"Yes, quite. Though I don't know why your Circle wants such a long password. If anybody really wanted to get through me…"
The Fat Lady swings open and Hermione remembers Sirius Black and the slashing of the entry portrait. It doesn't seem very secure, and she hopes that the wards on the hall doors stay intact until things clear over.
The Common Room is packed with people, almost the whole House. The noise level immediately grows as students catch sight of Ginny carrying the food and a general wave of people start moving to the tables where it will be laid out. Ginny navigates skillfully through the mass of people and Hermione follows, weaving in and out between chairs and around seated people. Finally they arrive at the leftmost table in the chain and Hermione sets the bread box down.
Hands suddenly reach around her and grab bread away before her eyes, one or two slices at a time. She looks down the length of the table and sees a mad rush for the three cans of preserves taking place, though with some reserve. She can remember at the beginning, when Seamus had tried to get them to line up for breakfast; it was a failure and after two days he publicly washed his hands of it, saying that it wasn't his duty to police starving dunderheads.
Ginny fights her way through the sea of people to Hermione, who sees that she has two pumpkin muffins clutched in her hand. She hands one to Hermione and then they both make their way through the crowd to a corner of the room where it is less crowded. Sitting down with their legs crossed, Ginny produces some bread with marmalade from her pocket.
"Didn't the marmalade get everywhere in your pocket?"
Ginny shrugs and turns her attention to the muffin; Hermione follows suit. For some time there is only the sound of other conversations in the room and then Ron sits down heavily on the ground beside them. In his hands is a mashed ball of bread and as he stretches out, his long legs accidentally bumping a chair, he lifts it up.
"Got three pieces right here and nobody even noticed."
Hermione looks over sharply. Ron shrugs in the same manner as his sister and, tearing off a piece of the bread, he jams it into his mouth. "Well? I'm still growing; two's not enough. Stupid rationing."
His freckled face opens wide as he stuffs the rest of the bread in. Ginny looks on with a mock horrified expression and Hermione laughs.
"You know, I could tell Seamus. He'd drag you before his Court in a second."
Ron grins with his mouth full. "He would, would he? And if that Creevey tried to get him to strap me again I'd take it and whup him!"
"Good luck with that. Remember last time? Afterwards, you didn't want to get up for anything."
Ron blushes bright red and Hermione decides her point has been made, but Ginny leans over in pretend interest. "Dear brother, Hermione never would tell me how that went and you refuse to talk about it. I'm simply dying with curiosity. Do, tell all."
Ron gets up, brushing crumbs off the front of his shirt. They fall to the ground and are hidden in the carpet. "That'll be the day. Anyway, I'm going. I think that I'll go read."
Ginny gasps. "You? Read?"
"Yes. Me, Ronald Weasley. Maybe Hermione's just influenced me. Or I'm bored out of my mind."
Ron smiles slightly, the freckles on the side of his mouth twisting up. "G'bye, then." He walks away, through the seated clumps of talkers, and Hermione watches the hole in his right shoe flap open and closed until she can't see him any longer.
She gets up and smoothes her robe. It suddenly looks as though there'll be nothing to do for the rest of the day. Talking to Ginny anymore she thinks would be boring. She's already read her textbooks time and time again, and she doesn't have guard duty until tomorrow with Neville, not that there's much point to sitting behind a half-warded door and hoping that the Slytherins, who presumably still have their wands unlike her and the majority of Gryffindor House, don't break it down and kill them for no reason at all.
As she picks her way randomly around the crowded room it seems suddenly, in a moment of anger, that the Circle and everything associated with it is for show. It doesn't exercise any real power and can't prevent anything. It's justice system is some hollow shell of reality, and its meetings just a group of people, semi-friends, trying to do something to stop the horrible life around them. She almost trips, then, over a First Year stretched out on his back, and she scowls down at him.
"Oy, Hermione!"
She looks up, still frowning, and sees Dean standing by the staircase. "Seamus wants to talk with you up in his room. Says it's important."
Several people around her break out in laughter, presumably because the slightest talk of the uptight Miss Granger going in a room alone with another boy is deliciously scandalous.
She nods and then, after a few seconds in which she thinks she steps on someone's hand, reaches the staircase and follows Dean up it. It is quieter in the cool passageway to Seamus' room and only the faintest echoes of the noise below filters in. She looks at Dean. "Do you know why he wants to see me?"
"I drew up a map of Hogwarts. To show him who controls what, or something like that. He thinks that you'll be able to help 'im. I don't know why, exactly. Maybe only as an excuse to get you alone so that he can ravish you in peace?"
Hermione snorts most unladylike. "Not you too."
Dean's face breaks into a friendly smile. "You never know, with Seamus."
"Like those rumors going around about you two together back last year?" She says it lightly but Dean doesn't say anything, and perhaps that's only because they have arrived at the door to Seamus' room. It says 'prefect' in big, fancy gold letters, and then the door opens from within and she sees Seamus looking as though he had just woken up.
"Morning." He runs a hand through his hair and Hermione enters. Dean follows her—so much for the ravishing theory—and closes the door behind them. It clicks heavily into place as she looks around.
The prefect's room is much bigger than her dormitory, and although she has been in it before its relative niceness compared to everything else strikes her. The bed is large, twice as big as hers, and is covered in a faded but still magnificent woven blanket depicting the life of Godric Gryffindor (she remembers from prior visits that previous inhabitants had spelled it to move like the paintings and that Seamus had turned that off because he claimed Godric was making lewd comments).
Two large windows are inset in the wall. She would like to open them, because even though it is cold inside it seems stuffy, but she knows better than to try and then get repulsed by whatever ward was protecting them. The light from outside, however, showed that the sun had fully risen above the horizon, and the sparsely furnished prefect's room, with only a small scattering of dirty clothes and books about on the floor, is bright and almost regular-looking.
Seamus, who had been conversing with Dean in low tones in the far corner of the room, steps over to the bed and unrolls a large piece of parchment which looks to have been used already as some sort of Quidditch banner on the other side. Even from where she is standing Hermione can see spidery lines of ink, so much like the Marauder's Map, that grace the empty side of the paper. She steps closer in the quiet room and can see the familiar footprint of the castle. The towers jut out gracefully from the main buildings, their outlines drawn by a steady hand, and each classroom is marked in exactly where it is.
"So. Hermione." Seamus shakes his head, apparently as tired in the morning as he was last night after the trial. "Here's Dean's map. The approximate boundaries of the Houses are drawn in their colors. Take a look."
He steps away and sits down in a cushy armchair, looking exhausted, though she can't think of a reason why. And then she looks at the map, and sees things clearly for the first time, right in front of her eyes. How Gryffindor is squeezed in a constricted little space, which looks like only the Common Room and dorms plus the adjacent classrooms and closets. She thinks of how enormous Hogwarts actually is, and how little her House is. How Dean has drawn in Ravenclaw with a royal blue line, covering almost three times the space of Gryffindor; Hufflepuff in an orangeish-yellow comprising the kitchen along with a fairly good chunk of classrooms centered around an inner courtyard by their Common Room. There is no green on the map aside from the word 'Slytherin' with an elegant question mark following it in the area around the dungeons.
"So you don't think anybody's in the library?" Hermione fails to keep the hope out of her voice and Seamus raises his head from his hands. She sees his eyes are bloodshot. "We could go do that—get books, I mean—if we met with the Hufflepuffs—isn't someone going today?" The unspoken conclusion to her words—and if Hufflepuff doesn't care to remember what they thought happened, what wasn't our fault, things could get better—is apparently heard by Seamus.
"They won't have forgotten." His voice is filled with a sort of anguish, something she has never heard before. "It's too hard, Hermione. They think that we took some of their people. They think we've gone crazy after Harry left. They think that—" Seamus breaks off and tugs off his robe while sitting, getting his arm caught and having to loose it. "D'you want to try? You could do it, if anyone. They'd never suspect you."
Seamus looks to her to be a broken man, twice her age, grasping on the last hope he has. It is sad to her, terribly, and if she knew him better she'd go comfort him. She glances over hesitantly at Dean, who is watching the other boy as well. Seamus is hunched in his chair.
"It's too hard."
The words are muffled but still recognizable, and something in Hermione snaps.
"I'll go. Now, in fact. Should I offer them anything for compensation?" The words coming from her mouth don't seem to be her own, and she stands in the tower room with light falling warm on her face.
Dean nods in place of Seamus, and she walks out quickly, closing the door hard behind her and not waiting for a response. Out of the room, where Seamus sits alone, where Dean watches and does nothing—for a moment she wants to rush back and tell him to go comfort Seamus, and then thinks that it might be too much.
The stairs are narrow, as in the morning, though the journey down them is short. The Common Room below is still quite crowded, and though people stare at her brisk pace through the room she doesn't slow. Ron is sitting by the portrait and for a moment she is surprised that he isn't in his room where he usually sits. He looks up at her.
"Where're you going?"
"Off to the Hufflepuffs." She says it loudly, not caring if people start talking. It's hard not to go kick the lot of them out, the way that they all immediately fall silent right by her and then furiously start to whisper.
"Need help?" Ron looks up at her with a blank expression on his face, though she thinks it could belong to a weathered old man as well as an innocent and hopeful child.
"I'll be back soon. And—make sure, make sure, watch everything, don't let anything go wrong if I don't come back." It is strangely emotional, like the times in books when the hero leaves and the heroine declares her undying love for him. This time, however, Ron only nods his head slowly and sinks back to the floor, and she opens the Fat Lady and steps out into the cold clamminess of the corridor.
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