Chapter Twenty-Six
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Hermione and Severus arrived back at the Leaky Cauldron in a flurry of rushed apparation and stumbling steps. Tom the bartender stood behind the counter polishing a glass with an old rag, and as they hurried past Hermione had the vaguest impression that he'd winked at her.
She unlocked her bedroom door, and as soon as they were inside she slammed it closed and bolted it behind them. She pressed Severus hard against it, kissing him hungrily. His lips slid against hers, and he groaned into her mouth, slipping his hands down to cup her arse and press her into him.
"Fuck," Hermione hissed, the ache between her legs intensifying. She ran her hands up Severus's chest, reaching for the buttons that held his robes closed.
"Wait," Severus panted. Hermione dropped her hands.
In the dim lighting of her room, he was stunning, all dark messy hair and angular frame. His throat was pale, and Hermione wanted to yank off his robes, to see all of him.
"Is this okay?" she asked.
"Are you sure? I've never…"
"Yes," Hermione said. "I'm sure. Are you though?"
Severus nodded and laughed. "Yes, I'm bloody sure."
\\/
Afterwards, they lay in each other's arms, Hermione's head nestled against Severus's chest. He was breathing hard, and she could feel his heart beating beneath her cheek. They had gotten so hot that they had thrown the covers off, and only a sheet covered their tangled legs.
"Wow," Severus said.
"That about covers it," Hermione agreed.
A pause.
"Was it...did you…?"
Hermione laughed and reached up to tug on a lock of Severus's hair affectionately. "Yes, stop worrying."
Hermione hummed with satisfaction and snuggled in closer. Severus was so warm, and his skin was silk-smooth and smelt faintly of sandalwood. He stroked a hand gently down her ribs, lightly tracing her stomach.
"How do you think tonight went?" he asked.
Hermione sighed. She couldn't escape from the events forever, but it had been good to forget for a brief moment.
"I hope I never have a week like this again," she said. "I'm exhausted. But tonight made it worth it."
Severus rose on one elbow so he was looking down at her.
"Do you wonder if maybe we should have just killed the lords anyway? Started the fight, instead of putting it off? Is your cover really worth that?"
"Yes," Hermione said immediately. "It is. I wish we could stop this with one big killing spree, but it isn't that easy."
"More plans?" Severus asked wryly.
Hermione closed her eyes. She was so tired and so warm and comfortable. All she wanted to do was slip into sleep. Typical that Severus would turn out to be a talker after sex.
"There's only ever really the one plan," she said, tiredness loosening her tongue. "Kill him. It's just that, if it was that easy, I'd have done it already. There are things that have to be done first."
"Things?"
"Things," Hermione yawned. "Things to find. People to get onside. I'll tell you, I promise, but not tonight. I'm so tired."
She wriggled down further in the bed, ignoring the hand that was now stroking her back.
"What sort of things?"
"Don't try and make me slip up Severus," Hermione mumbled. "Isn't going to work. Come here and hold me."
There was a rustle, and then blankets were pulled over Hermione, cocooning her in a delicious warmth. From the bar downstairs came faint voices, but they had become a familiar sound, and she shuffled closer to Severus. He pulled her into his arms until she could feel his breath on the back of her neck.
"You are a brave, wonderful and frustrating woman, Hermione," he whispered.
A smile slid over Hermione's face, but her eyes remained closed.
\\/
Hermione and Severus spent the remainder of the summer holidays in bed. They had nowhere else to be and little else to do.
On the rare occasions that they stopped twining limbs and began to twine thoughts instead, Hermione and Severus took to the streets of Diagon Alley to enjoy the last of the summer heat. With all secrets between them laid bare, they could, at last, have honest conversations. It had been so long since Hermione had been honest that she had almost forgotten how, and she was astonished by the speed at which all of her secrets came tumbling out of her mouth, and the relief she felt when they did.
"Tell me about this ex-boyfriend of yours," Severus had asked one day, looking at her carefully to make sure he hadn't upset her. And Hermione had been able to take a deep breath, and tell him about Ron. Who he was, what he had done, and why she had loved him.
"He was a prat a lot of the time," she said. Severus held her tightly. "But he was sweet, in his own way. And he was kind and loyal and brave. He never deserved to die like that."
Severus let her talk. If there was a flicker of jealousy in his eyes, he had the good sense not to voice it. The Ronald Weasley of this world was not yet even a mewling infant.
And so, with conversations both difficult and easy, with good food and better sex, and many a long night curled up trading secrets, the long summer drew to a close.
\\/
A storm was brewing at Hogwarts. The carriages trundled up the road, skies flashing above them and rain thundering against the roof, past the boars flanking the gates, and up to the castle steps. As Rabastan tried to open the carriage door, the wind ripped it from his hands, slamming it open and making the thestrals shift nervously. Hermione dashed up the steps behind Rabastan, followed by Severus and the others, none of them pausing until they reached the great oak doors that led into the huge entrance hall.
"This weather is horrible", Arabel snarled, shaking out her cloak.
"Never mind," Rabastan said, shouldering past a pair of sixth-year Gryffindors. "We're seventh-year now. We get the best seats."
"We already had the best seats," Severus said half-heartedly, but they all followed Rabastan into the Great Hall, where the air was much warmer.
The Great Hall looked particularly splendid in the light of a thousand floating candles, the golden plates and dishes catching their flickering reflections. Hermione and her friends walked past the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, until they reached the Slytherin table, and sat down in the centre next to the Bloody Baron. Pearlescent and transparent, the ghost looked especially menacing with his chains trailing on the table.
Hermione ran her fingers through her hair in a fruitless attempt to stop it frizzing up, and frowned at the ghost. "Why're you sitting here? Don't you usually make a big entrance?"
The Bloody Baron grinned at them, which was rather unnerving on his gaunt face. "I wanted to hear the announcement," he rasped. "Used to be pretty good on the European circuit myself."
"What announcement?" Regulus asked, shaking his hair like a wet dog.
"You'll find out", said the Baron.
Hermione had a feeling she already knew. She glanced up at the ceiling, which was a swirling mass of grey, illuminated by flashes of lightning. By habit her fingers returned to the pendant she wore around her neck, out of sight from the casual observer, and traced the outline of the silver skull and snake.
In some ways, she was relieved to back at Hogwarts. Even staying at the Leaky Cauldron had begun to feel risky - every time she left her room she felt eyes upon her, eyes that she could never quite see. In shops, she was greeted with deference, and when she walked down Knockturn alley even the hags had cringed away from her.
Sitting at the Slytherin table, watching as Professor McGonagall led a group of first years into the hall, Hermione began to relax imperceptibly. Lucius and his cronies were gone, graduated, off doing whatever terrible things the Dark Lord had in store for them, and in Hogwarts, she had been named indisputably in command.
Slytherin students were glancing covertly at Hermione, and she suspected that news of her marking ceremony had become public. Further down the table, Hermione noticed Barty Crouch sitting alone, looking bedraggled even by the standards of the crowd around him. He stared listlessly at his plate, and she frowned.
"So," Rabastan said, as Professor McGonagall placed the sorting hat on the head of the first child. "What's the plan?"
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I'd tell you?"
Before Rabastan could answer, the hat shouted out "Ravenclaw!" and the blue and bronze table erupted with cheers. The noise drowned out any conversation they might have had.
When the sorting was over, Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet and clapped his hands. Students began to shush each other, and the buzz of chatter died away until all that could be heard was the howling wind and pouring rain.
"Welcome one and welcome all," Dumbledore called, beaming around at the students sitting at their house tables in front of him.
"Before we begin our delicious feast there are just a few beginning of term notices that need announcing. The Forbidden Forest is, as always, absolutely forbidden. In addition, some of you may be aware that a branch of Zonko's wizarding jokes has been opened in Hogsmeade. Mr Filch has asked me to make you aware that every item is already on his list of banned items."
There was a round of groans, and the corner of Dumbledore's mouth twitched.
"But finally it is my great delight to announce that for the first time in many years, Hogwarts will be taking part in an event that is regarded highly across the Wizarding world, considered by some to be the ultimate test of a young witch or wizard."
Hermione held her breath, as students looked up with interest.
Dumbledore continued: "It is with no small amount of effort that Hogwarts has taken steps to rejoin the International Wizarding Schools Duelling Tournament!"
Whispers and murmurs broke out across the hall, students turning eagerly to one another.
"Did you know about this?" Regulus said to Hermione in an undertone.
Severus snorted. "Know about it? She's the one that convinced them to bring it back."
Severus hadn't kept his voice low enough, and a few fifth years nearby raised their eyebrows. Hermione ignored them, but the word was passing from mouth to mouth and many Slytherin's began to eye Dumbledore with new interest.
"Subtle," she said to Severus, who shrugged apologetically.
Dumbledore smiled around.
"For those who have not heard of this event before, the Tournament is an annual competition between the top duelling students from each competing wizarding school, and one that Hogwarts has sadly not taken part in for many years. The prize is 500 galleons, and a years' apprenticeship with a top duelling master."
"Oh shit," Regulus said to no-one in particular. "Those apprenticeships are like gold dust."
"Shhh," Arabel said, as Dumbledore began to speak again.
"It is my even greater pleasure to announce that in addition to taking part, Hogwarts will be hosting the Tournament this year, making use of our excellent Quidditch pitch. During the competition times, we will be home to students from half a dozen schools.
"The first heat will take place on the 31st of October, and those wishing to sign up should speak to their head of house. Six competitors will be selected by myself and Professor Flitwick. And now, your feast awaits!"
Food appeared on the golden plates, succulent piles of meat and vegetables, and tureens of gravy alongside towers of potatoes and yorkshire puddings. Under the cover of the chatter that had broken out all around them, Rabastan leaned into Hermione, and Regulus, Severus, Alecto and Arabel followed his lead.
"Six places, and there's six of us," Rabastan observed.
"Think we can all get in?" Hermione asked, spooning food onto her plate.
Rabastan steepled his fingers together and glanced doubtfully at Alecto.
"Maybe. So you want to share why you brought this thing back?"
Hermione smiled. "Have any of you ever heard how many schools compete?"
Her friends shook their heads. Hermione shrugged.
"Six or seven of the top magical schools in the world bring their top students over. We can meet foreign fighters, make allies, set up overseas contacts...make sure we have places to go if things go balls up."
When Regulus shrugged and even Severus looked puzzled, Hermione hissed irritably. She cast a quick muffliato on those around them and leaned in even closer.
"You think defeating him is a sure thing? I'm ninety-nine percent sure that we can take him down, but there's six of us against dozens of adult Death Eaters. Only an idiot doesn't have a backup plan for the one percent."
Everybody stared at Hermione for a long moment, and then Regulus finally spoke.
"You staged a whole tournament to make allies and find us overseas safe houses? You do know how rich we are, don't you? The Black family has loads of houses."
The back of Hermione's neck prickled, and she twisted her head around to find Dumbledore watching her. She turned away from his gaze and smiled at Regulus.
"Yes, I know. But you all need a reason to get better at fighting too. Besides, it'll be fun."
Rabastan cracked his knuckles in agreement, and Regulus gave an anticipatory smile.
\\/
By the following morning, the rain had stopped, though the ceiling of the Great Hall still showed grey clouds scudding across the sky as Hermione and Severus compared their seventh-year schedules. Further along the table a group of sixth years were still eagerly discussing the tournament.
"It doesn't have to be seventh years," one said, looking furtively at Hermione. "There are six places."
"Depends who the defence teacher is this year I reckon," said a girl beside him. "I bet they'll have a say."
Hermione took a bite of toast and frowned.
"Who is the defence professor?" she said to Severus. "They didn't announce anyone at the feast last night."
Severus slid his schedule over to Hermione. "Some witch called Isobella Malvolio."
"Do you know who that is?" Hermione asked.
"Nope."
Hermione wondered about it. How many defence professors had worked at Hogwarts since Tom Riddle had placed the curse? It must have been several dozens. How many of them had been good? And how had the curse gotten rid of them?
These thoughts preoccupied her all the way along the chilly corridors towards the charms classroom, where she was distracted by the arrival of the Gryffindors. Sirius Black and James Potter shoved their way past several students to cut off Hermione and Severus. Over the summer they had only grown taller and broader, and they towered over Hermione.
"Black," Sirius said.
"Black," Hermione replied.
"Black," Rabastan drawled. "What do you want?"
James slouched against the wall and smoothed his robes down so nobody could miss his gleaming head boy badge. Even though Hermione had known from Harry that his father had been head boy, she shook her head in disbelief.
"We heard about the new duelling tournament," James said.
"So did everyone, Potter," Rabastan said, as though speaking to an unusually slow child. "It was announced in the Great Hall."
Sirius snickered, and James shot him a furious look.
"Anyway," Sirius said quickly. "Anyway, yeah. We just wanted to tell you that two of those places have our names on them, so you'd better not get in our way."
Rabastan scoffed, and Hermione grinned. She sensed her friends lining up behind her.
"You see six of us, don't you? And there are six places. Do the maths, Black."
"The places go to the six top duelling students, Black," Sirius said. "Not the top six Slytherin's."
"Shame that the six top students are all Slytherin's then," Severus sneered. "Don't you worry. We'll be sure to do Hogwarts proud."
The usual chatter and bustle in the corridors had fallen quiet as passing students paused to listen in on the altercation. James opened his mouth to retort, and it wasn't hard to tell what would have happened next but at that moment Professor Flitwick opened the door to the Charms classroom, and James and Sirius fell back and had to be content with dirty looks at Hermione.
The students filed into the classroom and took their seats, as the diminutive Professor bounced back to the front of the room.
"Professor Flitwick," Sirius said, as soon as he was behind a desk. "What can you tell us about the Duelling Tournament? How are the students selected?"
Professor Flitwick paused, with a piece of parchment in his hand.
"You will receive all the necessary information from your head of house…"
"Yes," James agreed. "But you're one the selectors, aren't you? Surely you can tell us something, Professor."
Professor Flitwick seemed about to shake his head and then noticed how many students were hanging eagerly onto his every word. He sighed, and put down the parchment.
"Very well Mr Potter, I'm sure a brief overview will do no harm. I took part in the tournament myself during my youth...oh yes, Hogwarts still took part then."
Flitwick's eyes took on a faraway look.
"Back in those days, we had none of the protective charms that you use today of course. And no trickery. Just fast wandwork and powerful magic, as it should be. I would have won it in my seventh year if that damned boy from Durmstrang hadn't cheated and drawn runes in the ring before the duel started. I could never prove it, but I saw them in the sand."
Sirius frowned. "The judges let that happen?"
Flitwick nodded. "That cup should have been mine...but I got him back a few years later at the European Championships. Karkaroff always held a grudge for that."
Hermione started. "Karkaroff?
Flitwick frowned at her. "Yes, old Aleksander Karkaroff. Not so fast on his feet these days. I hear his grandson is at Durmstrang now, and I'd expect to see the same tactics from him if he makes it in. Those old families don't change."
"But how do we get selected in the first place?" Sirius broke in.
Flitwick's gaze sharpened. "By duelling well, of course."
James leaned forwards. "Yes, but…"
"No buts, Mr Potter," Flitwick said. "The top six students will be selected based on their talent for duelling, nothing more and nothing less. Now I suggest you all open your books and turn to the first chapter. I expect you've all read it ahead of the session and are adequately prepared to begin work on the disillusionment charm. Please divide into pairs."
An hour later Hermione and Severus leant against the wall, idly tossing disillusionment charms at unsuspecting members of the class.
"I did it!" Peter Pettigrew squeaked, as Remus Lupin disappeared from view.
Hermione sighed derisively. "Reckon I could make Pettigrew disappear permanently and pretend it was an accident?"
Severus laughed. "Maybe...you could get rid of some of the competition for the duelling."
"You really think there's any competition?"
"Not Pettigrew of course...but Black and Potter are good," Severus said, a trace of bitterness in his voice. Hermione recalled Severus, lying in front of the Hogwarts gates in pink robes, his face a mess of boils.
"That was a year ago. You can duel a damn sight better than them now."
Before Severus could reply a bell echoed across the castle, signalling the end of the lesson. The class filed out the Gryffindors scattering, and the Slytherins heading down the cold corridors towards the defence classroom.
Outside it had begun to rain again, and Hermione glanced out of the window over the wet grounds, where a group of sodden Hufflepuffs were trudging up from the greenhouses.
"Who wants to put a little wager on the defence professor?" Rabastan asked. "I'll put a galleon down that she's totally useless."
"Me too," Alecto said.
"Put me down for five galleons that she's at least better than the last one," Arabel said.
The Slytherins came to a halt outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, where the door was firmly closed. The class was a mix of Slytherins and Hufflepuffs, the latter of whom were standing well back from the door.
"We heard strange noises," explained a boy, whose chiselled jaw and grey eyes reminded Hermione of Cedric Diggory.
"Scared, Amos?" Arabel sneered.
"Hardly. It's defence against the dark arts...she's here to defend us from your lot," Amos countered, and a few Hufflepuffs grinned appreciatively.
Rabastan was still collecting galleons from Severus and a couple of other students. "Fancy a wager, Hermione?" he said.
But at that moment there was a rumble of thunder, and the torch in the corridor nearest to the door blew out. A few people shifted uneasily as the acrid scent of smoke filled the air. There was a scraping noise, and then the door of the classroom banged open against the wall.
Alecto gasped, and the class stepped back as one, but when nobody emerged from the room, the students moved warily towards the doorway, swapping anxious glances.
Hermione stepped through the door and looked up. As soon as she saw the new defence professor, her stomach flipped and she knew that her final year was not going to be as stress-free as she had hoped for.
The witch standing at the front of the classroom was slight and wore ash-grey robes. She had chin-length blonde hair and pale blue eyes and didn't look particularly powerful. But in her hand was a very familiar twelve-and-a-quarter inch walnut wand.
Hermione turned to Rabastan. "No fucking deal."
Bellatrix Lestrange patted her blonde hair, and winked at Hermione.
"Class, please come in and take your seats. I know we're going to have a very exciting year ahead of us…"
\\/
For those who asked, the story is almost definitely a bit over halfway done, but no promises on that because I don't plan this shit.
Thanks for reading,
Cas
