Frazzled.
That was the best way to describe Hermione Granger in the month of May. First, there was the ever-approaching third task. The closer it got, the more frightened she felt for Harry, and she found herself repeating her old refrain: Quirrell, basilisk, dementors. Only now, she added on dragons.
Granted, they were in a better place than she thought they'd be. Professor Moody had been invaluable in instructing Harry on more destructive methods of dealing with You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters. She was also grateful to the other champions.
It wasn't just the fact that they all trained together now; mealtimes were completely consumed with hypotheticals. They all agreed that Hermione's obstacle course theory was a good one, so at breakfast Harry and Viktor would debate the best ways to neutralize a graphorn, and at lunch he and Fleur would discuss methods of ending a weather spell or moving through an obstacle in complete darkness.
Still, Hermione couldn't help but fret. The hypotheticals they debated reminded her they weren't sure what they were up against, and Moody's lessons reminded her that they knew it likely involved You-Know-Who.
She hated going to those lessons. It wasn't so much that Harry was learning dark spells—she knew he'd never use them unless he had no choice—but every time Moody waxed on about getting inside the head of a Death Eater, as much as she wanted Harry to be prepared for that—"Save Harry" was still the most important part of her plan—she didn't like thinking about the things he'd be forced to face. She didn't like thinking about him in danger at all.
And then there was the other problem.
She'd thought "Save Harry, Snog Harry" would be easy. She'd thought she could shove back her feelings until after the tournament and then deal with it later. But Harry was so insufferably wonderful that her stomach was in a near-constant state of turmoil as those blasted butterflies had apparently set up a colony. Honestly, she couldn't even call them butterflies at this point; they were more like pixies.
She was keenly aware of every time he looked at her, she blushed magenta every time he called her brilliant, and even casual touches—everything from tapping her arm to get her attention in class to putting his arm around her shoulders to comfort her—sent electricity all throughout her body.
It was all decidedly inconvenient is what it was, and she could barely concentrate on anything when he was around. She'd had crushes before—but her crush on Lockhart had been based on a fantasy, and Harry was very much a reality—and so this felt different. When she was around him, she ceded complete control of her feelings and actions to those infernal pixies, and lack of control was something she definitely did not like.
So she stuck to the library as often as she could—the plan to get Snape out of their lives was good for that—but then Harry went and followed her there, offering his help because he was good and kind and sweet, and had the most sincere expression on his face, and just a bit of a pout, and honestly, what was she supposed to do with that? He was altogether distracting and the most vexing part was, she had no clue how to control her reactions.
But she had to. The library and meetings with the Hufflepuffs had offered her a reprieve, but she couldn't exactly say, "Sorry, Harry, I can't eat meals with you or sit next to you in class or study with you or do any of the things we've done together for four years because you've gone and made yourself ridiculously fanciable."
She couldn't afford for anything to distract him from the third task.
"What do you think Hermione?" Neville asked, and Hermione jolted from her reverie, and forced her mind back to the conversation at hand—whatever it was.
"What?" Hermione asked. She had been sitting in the common room after a morning training session with the other champions, and she had a vague recollection of Neville and Ron joining her at some point.
Neville looked at her quizzically. "I just said that Harry got a note from Hagrid asking us to come around," Neville said. "When we were up in the dorm. We're just waiting for him to change, and then we were going to head down there. Are you coming?"
Hermione glanced between Neville, who was as friendly as ever, and Ron, who had adopted his best civil expression, and sighed inwardly. She really didn't feel like spending time in Hagrid's cramped little house with a half-giant who took up more than the usual amount of space; Neville; the boy who had only spoken to her in clipped, formal tones since their fight about the quidditch match; and the boy who made her blush just by smiling at her—who knew what the pixies would do—but she didn't want to disappoint Hagrid.
"Of course I'll go," she said evenly, and Neville smiled. Ron's face remained neutral.
Hermione wasn't going to apologize to him for what she'd said—it had all been true. Nor did she really expect him to apologize—he already had apologized to Harry for abandoning him, and intellectually, she did understand that Ron couldn't have known what was going to happen to them with Crouch. But that didn't stop her from feeling angry nonetheless.
Harry had received a letter back from Professor Lupin—Harry had written him about Ron—and Lupin had said that if everyone involved was trying their best to make amends, sometimes the only thing that could repair a friendship was time.
So that's what Hermione had decided to try. Maybe time could diminish her anger. At the very least, she preferred her awkward, overly polite relationship with Ron better than the constant bickering one they used to have.
"Ready?"
Hermione's pixies did their now-familiar dance at the sound of Harry's voice, and she turned her head to see him descending the staircase. She took a deep breath. Just be normal, she chastised herself. He's still just your best friend.
Only she should've known better. In fact, she had known better.
When they arrived at Hagrid's, they all sat down to tea, and while Hagrid did have quite a large table, he was also a half-giant and took up half the space. So she and the boys were all crammed in together—who knew four would take up so much more room than three?—and Hermione found herself wedged up against Harry, something that made her nerves go off like a sneakoscope.
It was a cool day—and Hagrid had left the window open, welcoming a breeze—but still, Hermione felt it was stifling in the little room.
"Thanks, Hagrid," Neville said, as Hagrid poured them tea, and they all eyed his rock cakes suspiciously, leaving them untouched.
Hermione reached to grab the sugar, her other hand on her teacup, and her fingers brushed with Harry's. The resulting jolt splashed half her tea out of her cup.
She closed her eyes in annoyance. She had to get it together.
When she opened them, Harry was eyeing her curiously. "You all right?" he asked.
"Of course," she replied as confidently as she could, pasting a bright smile on her face, trying to seem as normal as possible.
"How're things goin' with the task?" Hagrid asked, and Hermione felt relief at the change in subject. "I know yeh've bin training."
"Good," Harry replied. "Thanks for that, by the way. Fleur said you're the one who changed Madame Maxime's mind about what was really going on."
"I don't know what yeh're talkin' 'bout," Hagrid said, but his chest puffed up and a silly sort of grin came over him. "But I'm glad yeh've got some more help."
"Some help," Ron grumbled. "Fleur's a bit of a lunatic, isn't she?"
Ron and Neville had spent a good part of the morning dueling Fleur, and Ron had come out the worse for it. Part-veela or not, he seemed to have gone off her a bit.
"You're just mad she tossed you about the classroom like a ragdoll," Harry grinned.
"She's supposed to be helping you," Ron pointed out grumpily. "What could you have possibly learned from that?"
"I learned not to be on the other end of Fleur's banishing charm," Harry answered wryly, a bit of mischief in his grin.
"So glad I could be of service," Ron snorted. "Can't imagine you couldn't have worked that one out on your own."
Ron and Harry looked at each other and snickered.
Hermione glanced at Neville in commiseration at talk of banishing charms. While he'd improved greatly with his new wand, he still hadn't done a proper banishing charm, and even Fleur's instruction hadn't helped much. She could tell how much it had frustrated him this morning.
"So is that what yeh've been doin'?" Hagrid asked. "Mostly dueling?"
"We've also been working through strategies," Hermione answered him. "What to do if you have to come up against a blast-ended skrewt, for instance."
Hagrid nearly choked on his tea and coughed loudly. "What?" he asked rather loudly.
Hermione glanced at Harry, her eyes narrowed suspiciously, and saw he was thinking the same thing—Hagrid knew something.
"A skrewt yeh say?" Hagrid asked, his face turning red as he bit into a rock cake.
Yes, he definitely knew something.
"Hagrid?" Harry asked, as Hagrid chewed slowly. "Something you want to tell us?"
They waited in silence as Hagrid finished chewing and took a sip of his tea.
"Well," he said, his eyes darting around, "I suppose there's no harm in tellin' yeh. I can't tell yeh what the task will be, mind yeh, but I can tell yeh that the skrewt was supposed to be a part of it. But ever since the truth came out about Crouch, Dumbledore has decided that anything he could've messed with has got to come out."
"So, he's not using the skrewt in case Crouch put some kind of curse or enchantment on it?" Neville asked.
Hagrid nodded. "Rubbish, really," he said. "My skrewt wouldn't harm a bowtruckle—but better fer Dumbledore to be safe than sorry. Especially when it comes ter yeh, Harry."
"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry said, as Neville and Hermione exchanged an incredulous look. Wouldn't hurt a bowtruckle? The only reason there was just one skrewt left was because the others had killed each other.
Hermione shook her head in disbelief.
"Is there anything else you can tell us about the task?" Ron asked eagerly.
Hagrid shook his head. "Not really," he said. "It was all worked out last fall, but Dumbledore's bin changin' things on account of what happened. Even if I told yeh what I knew, it might not be right."
He took another bite of his rock cake.
"It's caused all sorts of trouble, too," he added.
Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"Well," Hagrid said, "Fudge is off his rocker. He's spent the past decade writin' Dumbledore for advice about everything from who ter promote ter department heads to what type of food ter serve at dinners with the Bulgarian minister, but now he's trying ter freeze Dumbledore out."
"Why?" Neville asked. "Because Dumbledore's changing the tournament?"
"Dumbledore wanted to cancel it altogether," Harry said. "So did Karkaroff."
Hagrid nodded. "That's right," he said. "Fudge—idiot that he is—has got it in his head that Dumbledore is aiming for his job… as if Dumbledore would ever want it. But between what that Skeeter woman wrote about Crouch Sr. and this whole Sirius Black issue, Fudge thinks Dumbledore is out to get him."
Harry, Hermione, Ron and Neville all exchanged looks.
"You know about Sirius?" Harry asked, surprise evident on his face.
Hermione was about to remind him to use the codename—Snuffles—but then thought better of it. They were alone, and the codename really only worked when they were talking about Sirius' current whereabouts. Anyone would be able to figure out exactly who Snuffles was from context clues if they used it when talking about his case, and it would ruin the codename for when they really needed it.
"Of course," Hagrid replied. "Amelia Bones is being real thorough in her investigation. She's interviewed everyone who was walking around the grounds the night Beaky escaped. Couldn't be much help, I'm afraid. After Beaky escaped, I did a bit of celebratin' and don't remember much."
Amelia Bones had come up to Hogwarts the week before with a magizoologist to inspect Crookshanks, but other than that, they hadn't heard a thing about Sirius' case at all.
Harry let out a frustrated sigh. "I just don't understand what's taking so long," he said, irritation etched on his face. "It's been a month since we testified."
"Things are happening, Harry," Hermione said. "They've interviewed Hagrid and they came to inspect Crookshanks, didn't they? They were taking us seriously when we said Pettigrew was an animagus."
Ron nodded. "Besides," he said, "Dad said Fudge would try to block this. It'll just take a bit of time."
Hagrid snorted. "Of course he will," he declared. "He sees it as another way Dumbledore's trying to oust him. Dumbledore's been working closely with Bones, yeh see."
"And didn't you see the Daily Prophet this morning?" Neville added. Skeeter had written another article about Crouch Sr. and where he'd disappeared to.
"How's it going to look when it gets out that the Death Eater who attacked you was working with Peter Pettigrew—and that Death Eater's father was the one who sent Sirius to prison for Pettigrew's crimes without a trial?" he asked.
"It'll be a nightmare for Fudge," Ron said, in a rare moment of agreement between him and Neville.
Harry nodded his head in understanding, but his eyes still looked tormented.
"It'll be all right, Harry," Hermione swore. "The truth about Sirius and Pettigrew will come out. It has to."
Harry studied her, his eyes intent, and she pushed aside all of those inconvenient feelings he was stirring as much as she could to meet his gaze. He didn't need some silly little crush right now; he needed his best friend. He smiled at her, his shoulders relaxing, and she felt relief.
When they left Hagrid's an hour later, they were all in pensive moods.
They walked in silence, but finally, as they were passing the Whomping Willow, Neville said what Hermione had been thinking: "Do you think Dumbledore's changed the task so much that it's no longer an obstacle course?"
Neville's worried expression matched her own and she bit her lip.
"I don't know," she said. "But it would take a lot of work to change the task so much so close to the event. And if he changes all of the obstacles, then there's not much Crouch could've done, right?"
"At least we know Harry doesn't have to go up against the skrewt," Ron commented.
"I almost wish I was," Harry said. At the surprised looks from his friends, he added, "Well, at least I've dealt with them loads before. I'd know what to do."
"Anyway," Harry added, looking toward the Whomping Willow, "I'm going to head up to the owlery. I owe Remus a letter."
Hermione could tell he wanted to be alone right now, probably to think through everything about Sirius, and so didn't offer to go with him. Neville, Ron and Hermione looked at each other as Harry headed up to the castle.
"Er, Seamus and Dean are down by the lake. I was going to meet them—you can come if you want," Ron said uncertainly, though Hermione wasn't sure if his uncertainty was because he didn't really want them to come or because he wasn't sure they'd want to.
Hermione appreciated the effort, but, unlike Harry, the last thing she wanted right now was time alone with her thoughts. She needed a distraction better than Seamus and Dean—she needed schoolwork.
"I've got that Charms essay to do," she said. "Thanks though."
Neville decided to work on his essay as well, and they said goodbye to Ron. They walked in silence, but Hermione could feel Neville watching her contemplatively. She shot him a sidelong glance and saw the serious expression on his face.
"What?" she asked.
Neville regarded her. "You've been different lately," he finally said.
Hermione blushed. Ron had the emotional range of a teaspoon, and Harry had miraculously not noticed that she'd become a bit mental around him, but of course Neville had noticed. Neville noticed everything when it came to people.
She desperately wanted to confide in someone, and while Neville would be a good choice, she couldn't get past the fact that he was equally hers and Harry's friend. Would it be weird to tell him she fancied Harry and not tell Harry? Didn't boys have some sort of code where they told each other these things? Harry and Ron had never talked about girls they fancied—not to Hermione's knowledge anyway—but seeing as how perceptive Neville was about people, she had a feeling he and Harry would talk about these things.
And there had been another worry bothering her. If something happened between her and Harry—or if it didn't and things got incredibly awkward between then for a while—it wouldn't just affect them. It would affect their friends—Neville most of all. What if she told Neville and he thought it was a bad idea? What if he and Harry had talked, and Harry fancied some other quidditch star—someone like Cho—now? The pixies in her stomach were bothersome, but she preferred them to the disappointment that would bring.
Neville was watching her, clearly expecting some sort of reaction.
"I've just been stressed," she said. "The task and classes and everything. You know."
Neville gave her a look that plainly said he didn't believe her.
He opened the door to the castle and stepped back to let her inside first. As they stepped into the entrance hall, he finally spoke.
"Hermione, I've known you for four years. You're always helping Harry with something dangerous and taking more classes than the rest of us," he said. "I know it's not that."
Hermione opened her mouth and then shut it, realizing she didn't know what to say. They stared at each other in silence for a moment.
Neville held up his hands in surrender. "Look, I'm not going to force it out of you," he said.
He turned to continue walking, and Hermione was glad they were facing forward and he was no longer studying her.
"What I will say," he said, "is if it's what I think it is, then he'd be an idiot to say no."
Hermione felt herself flush all over, but she was pleased nonetheless.
Neville turned to look at her, and she could see the teasing smirk on his face. "But—well—while I don't think he's an idiot, he can be a bit daft when it comes to girls, so unless something drastic changes, you might have to make the first move," he added.
Hermione laughed lightly at his observation, and then nodded her head.
"Not until after the third task," she said softly. "It's too important."
She turned to look at Neville, saw his grin turn serious at her words, and he nodded. Her worry for Harry reflected in his eyes, but he tried to reassure her anyway.
"He'll be fine, Hermione," he said with conviction. "He always is."
With everything so uncertain, Friday morning brought news Hermione had been fervently hoping for.
"Oi, Neville," Seamus called out at the breakfast table, "looks like your Gran sent you something."
And sure enough, among the flock of birds swooping into the Great Hall was Hilda, the Longbottom family's barn owl—she had been named after a great aunt of Neville's grandfather whom Augusta didn't particularly like, and after meeting her portrait in the gallery, Hermione had been inclined to agree.
But instead of going to Neville, Hilda glided down to Hermione and offered her leg.
"I think your owl's a bit confused," Dean laughed.
Neville peered down at the letter. "No," he said, "It's addressed to Hermione."
All of her classmates stared at her.
"You're pen pals with that old crone?" Seamus asked, a look of shock on his face. Then, realizing Neville was there, he added, "No offense."
"How could he possibly be offended by that?" Parvati commented reproachfully.
"It was very good of her to host us, and we've written a few times," Hermione murmured, ripping open the letter and scanning the first few lines. Excitement burst through her at what she read, and she grinned broadly.
"What is it?" Harry asked, tapping her arm for attention, and so good was the news, she barely noticed the pixies in her stomach.
"It's brilliant," Hermione said, looking around at her friends. She looked down at her watch and saw she had just enough time before breakfast ended, and then up at the head table—neither Professor McGonagall nor Professor Dumbledore were there. "I'll tell you all later!"
She dashed out of the Great Hall without another word, and ran up to Gryffindor Tower to retrieve her box of Potions vials. She paused at the top of the staircase of the seventh floor, unsure whose office she should try first, when, to her relief, she saw Professor McGonagall ascending the stairs.
"Miss Granger," she greeted her, as she made it to the landing.
"Hello, Professor," Hermione replied. "I was actually hoping to speak with you and Professor Dumbledore. It's quite important."
Professor McGonagall gave her and her box a curious glance, but didn't say anything as she gestured for Hermione to follow her to the statue of the gargoyle behind which Dumbledore's office was located.
When they ascended the spiral staircase and entered Professor Dumbledore's office, he too seemed surprised to see her.
"Ah, Minerva," he said. "I see you've brought a visitor."
"Miss Granger says she has an urgent matter to discuss with us," Professor McGonagall replied, and Dumbledore gestured for them to all take seats.
"Very well," Dumbledore said. "What brings you here?"
Hermione took a seat, smoothed out her school robes, and looked Professor Dumbledore in the eye. "I'm here to talk to you about Professor Snape," she said.
Neither Professor Dumbledore nor Professor McGonagall seemed shocked.
"I assume this is a continuation of our talk at the Ministry of Magic?" Professor Dumbledore asked.
Hermione shook her head. "Actually, no," she said. "To be quite honest with you sir, I don't think there's anything you could say that would make me feel better about having a man who joined a group determined to kill muggleborns like me teaching in our school."
"Well, I always appreciate honesty," Dumbledore replied, considering her. "Though you've always struck me as a rational person, Miss Granger. Do you not believe people are capable of change?"
He didn't sound accusatory, but curious.
"Has he changed?" Hermione asked. "The students he seems to dislike the most are me—a muggleborn—and the two boys whose parents were in the Order of the Phoenix."
"I understand Professor Snape is strict," Professor McGonagall interjected, "but—"
"No, you're strict Professor," Hermione corrected, hardly believing that she'd interrupted a teacher. Professor McGonagall looked shocked too. "But you never call us names or insult us—what Professor Snape does is bully us. And the worst of it is, he's not even a good teacher."
"Professor Snape is more knowledgeable about potions than almost any witch or wizard I've ever met," Professor Dumbledore contended.
Hermione tilted her head. "But just because someone is good at something doesn't mean they're a good teacher, does it?" she asked, and Dumbledore eyed her shrewdly. "We don't learn safety precautions in his class. We don't learn theories. We don't learn why a potion is made up of its ingredients or how those ingredients interact with each other. If a student makes an error, there are very few of us who understand the potions well enough to counterbalance what went wrong. All he does is write the textbook instructions on the board—so if you accidentally deviate from those instructions, you have no hope of saving your potion."
"Some teachers believe in tactile learning," Professor Dumbledore suggested.
"Well, what good is that if, when you mess up, the teacher threatens to feed your poisoned potion to your pet toad instead of explaining how and why you went wrong?" Hermione asked. "His response to a poorly done potion shouldn't be to call a student an idiot or daft."
Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall exchanged a look that she couldn't decipher.
Hermione shook her head lightly and opened the box with the potions. And then she explained what was there to them—how different Neville's work was when Snape wasn't breathing down his neck, and how she had helped teach the other Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs the theory behind the potion, and how much better their work had been.
Professor Dumbledore surveyed the potions and then looked at Hermione.
"Someone could argue that the students intentionally did poorly on the potions they did in class to make Professor Snape look incompetent," he contended, though he didn't seem like he believed that.
"Yes," Hermione agreed, nodding her head. "But do you really think that of me?"
"Oh, of course not, Miss Granger," he said, smiling amiably. "I know that if you were to make up a lie about a professor, you'd come up with something quite devious. I was merely pointing out how difficult it would be to prove anything with this evidence."
Hermione wasn't sure what to think of that assessment of her character, but Professor McGonagall gave Professor Dumbledore a sharp look.
"Your integrity isn't in question, Miss Granger," she said. "I wouldn't have lobbied for you to get a time-turner if I didn't believe your use of it would be unimpeachable."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at that—sure, she'd broken the law with her time-turner, but she'd done so on Professor Dumbledore's orders.
"So then you both believe me about Snape being a lousy teacher," she clarified. "But you won't do anything about it?"
Professor McGonagall's mouth was set in a thin line. "I do not speak ill of my colleagues," she said, "as a general rule."
She'd said that once before about Professor Trelawney, and yet everyone knew how McGonagall felt about her.
"There are many reasons why Professor Snape is here at the school," Professor Dumbledore said kindly. "But alas, I cannot reveal them."
Hermione felt furious. "That's right," she said, her voice clipped and frosty. "You never can tell anyone why you make the decisions you do. We don't get to know why there's a Death Eater—"
"Former Death Eater," Dumbledore corrected.
"—in the school, Harry doesn't get to know why he has to go back to that awful place every summer," she continued, ignoring him. "You know how despicable they are."
Neither Professor Dumbledore's nor Professor McGonagall's faces betrayed any emotion.
She turned to Professor McGonagall.
"Did you know they starved him?" she asked. "That they put bars on his windows and wouldn't let him out of his room?"
Professor McGonagall's eyes widened at that. So she didn't know. So Dumbledore wasn't the sort to share every secret, even with her—Hermione wasn't surprised.
Dumbledore sighed. "There are reasons—reasons I cannot share with you—why Mr. Potter must live there," he said, looking much older.
"Perhaps," Hermione said, her voice shakier than she'd like, "but perhaps it would've been better to share those reasons with Harry. Might've made living there a bit more bearable if he knew why he was there, don't you think?"
Dumbledore's expression was unreadable, but he didn't look angry.
Hermione steeled herself and then got back to the topic at hand.
"I honestly don't expect either of you to do anything with these potions," Hermione said. "You see, you're not the only ones I've given them to. I worried that even if you two believed me, that wouldn't change anything. And if I took it to the Board of Governors, they'd probably think exactly what you just proposed—that we're a bunch of disgruntled students."
Hermione sat up straighter. "But you know who would believe these potions?" she asked. "Our families—people who already know and trust us. And while my family may not have pull in the wizarding world, lots of others do. When Augusta Longbottom received exact copies of these potions, she contacted as many of her old acquaintances as she could. Like Susan Bones' parents. Her Aunt Amelia is already not a fan of Professor Snape. And Hannah Abbott's parents—they've donated more to St. Mungo's than just about anyone than the Malfoys, and I understand they're quite influential. And Ernie Macmillan's grandfather—he's on the Board of Governors, as you know."
"I'm aware," Professor Dumbledore said.
"Ernie Macmillan's grandfather is opening an inquiry," Hermione announced. "I've just received the letter from Mrs. Longbottom this morning. Ernie's grandfather informed her before he put in the paperwork, but I assume you'll be hearing from them soon."
She reached into her bag and pulled out some parchment and handed it to Professor McGonagall. "I've also given Mrs. Longbottom this," she said.
Professor McGonagall adjusted her glasses and began to read. It was a list of every NEWT-level Potions student and their house going back 100 years. Hermione had spent hours poring over the records, which were housed in a dusty, forgotten section of the library in books that only denoted the year.
"I actually got the idea from you," Hermione admitted, looking at Professor McGonagall. "I heard that you had gone digging through old OWL tests to find James Potter's answers on animagus forms."
Professor McGonagall looked at her sharply. "Those records are sealed," she said.
"The tests are, yes," Hermione agreed. "But the class lists are located in the library—though I don't think anyone has been in that section in ages."
In going through the records, she had discovered that prior to Snape, the NEWT classes typically had an even amount of students from the four houses. Since Snape had become potions master, the class had become lopsided, with only two or three Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors combined making the cut.
"Why is it that Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs could achieve OWLs and NEWTs prior to Professor Snape, but now they suddenly can't?" Hermione asked.
"You're not suggesting that Professor Snape fixes the OWL grades of his students?" Professor McGonagall asked incredulously. "Surely you know, Miss Granger, that the staff at Hogwarts has nothing to do with grading OWLs."
"I'm aware," Hermione said evenly. "That's Griselda Marchbanks' job. But while each student got a fair test, if they spent five years with shoddy teaching, that's not going to help them on their OWLs much, is it? Not unless they belong to the house that's known for studying or the only house Professor Snape favors and wants to succeed."
"Professor Snape only accepts students who achieve an O," Professor McGonagall explained. "The previous potions master accepted E students. Any discrepancy in the composition of the classes is likely due to that."
"Honestly, Professor, I thought something like that might be the case," Hermione said, feeling extremely grateful for Augusta Longbottom's friendship. "And that's why Neville's gran asked Professor Marchbanks—they're old friends, you see—to look into it since she does have access to the OWL and NEWT scores of every student."
Hermione had been too preoccupied by testifying for Sirius when they'd visited Professor Marchbanks' office to realize what an opportunity she was, but once she and Mrs. Longbottom had begun conversing about Snape, it had become quite clear how useful Professor Marchbanks could be.
"Do you know what she found?" Hermione asked, and Professor McGonagall's expression alluded to the fact that she had figured out exactly where Hermione was going with this.
"Prior to Professor Snape, there was no difference in the education of the houses—they achieved O's equally," Hermione said.
Professor McGonagall looked up at Hermione, her face unreadable.
"I assume Professor Marchbanks also had something to say?" Professor Dumbledore asked mildly.
Hermione nodded. "She's lodged a complaint with the Board of Governors, too," she said.
Hermione shifted in her chair, sitting up straighter.
"I didn't come here to plead with you to do something about Professor Snape. I came here, out of respect for you both, to let you know what's been set in motion," she said. "The Board of Governors may not care that Severus Snape was a Death Eater, but Ernie Macmillan's grandfather sure seems to care that missing out on a Potions NEWT could set Ernie's career prospects back."
She tried—and failed—to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
To her surprise, Professor Dumbledore was smiling at her. "Well, you really did it properly, didn't you, Miss Granger?" he said. "Twenty points to Gryffindor for a tenacious job."
Hermione's jaw dropped. Professor McGonagall looked mildly surprised as well.
Dumbledore looked amused. "Well, just because I happen to disagree with you on this particular point, doesn't mean I can't appreciate a job well done," he reasoned.
"Er—right," Hermione said, relieved he wasn't angry with her, but unsettled at how calm he was being. It's like he wasn't worried at all—like he knew nothing would happen to Snape, regardless of anything she'd try.
But while Professor Dumbledore did have a lot of discretion when it came to running Hogwarts, he did have to answer to the Board of Governors.
"I appreciate you letting us know," Professor Dumbledore said, looking at his watch, "but if I'm not mistaken you've got a History of Magic class to attend—though I daresay Professor Binns likely wouldn't notice if you're not there."
Hermione nodded and stood. "Thank you for your time."
She descended the staircase and breathed a sigh of relief—she'd done it. Dumbledore's reaction troubled her, but for now, she'd done the best she could. And if this didn't work, she'd just find something else to try.
She shook her head slightly. Maybe Dumbledore was being overly confident—if she'd learned anything from watching Lucius Malfoy maneuver all these years, purebloods from powerful families could accomplish things in this world. And the purebloods in her corner were quite determined.
She may not like how she had to go about it, but tearing down that particular system was a problem for another day.
When Hermione explained Gran's letter to Harry and Neville on their way to Charms later that day, they were both appropriately excited.
"Blimey!" Neville whispered, clearly shocked. "Gran did all that?"
"Are you really that shocked?" Harry asked. Clearly, he had the same impression of Augusta Longbottom that Hermione did.
"Well, no," Neville admitted. "More proud, I suppose."
Harry looked at Hermione and grinned. "I'm willing to concede that Ernie Macmillan might have been a bit more helpful than me this time around," he said, earning a laugh from Hermione and Neville.
"If Ernie Macmillan's Potions grade is what gets Snape out of our lives, I'll take it," Neville added.
Hermione was still feeling the rush of adrenaline at lunchtime, and for the first time in her life—with the exception of her very first class before she knew what Professor Snape was like—she was actually excited for Double Potions, if only to see his reaction. But while he was his usual unpleasant self, he didn't seem overly disagreeable, so perhaps he didn't know yet. Then again, who could tell with him?
After class, they went back up to their dorms to drop off their things, and she met up with Harry in the common room. Harry collapsed on the sofa next to her, looking exhausted.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "You haven't even had any training yet," she said. "How can you already look like you've been 10 rounds with a skrewt?"
Harry snorted. "We just came from Double Potions with Snape remember?" he said. "I'll take the skrewt any day."
Hermione laughed, but given what he'd said the other day about the third task, she didn't think he was joking. Her plan had to work—something had to be done about Snape.
Harry gave her a sidelong glance. "Are you coming to training today?" he asked. In another 20 minutes, it would be time for Harry and Neville to meet with Moody.
With the Snape plan now firmly in the hands of the Board of Governors, she didn't have very many excuses to avoid Professor Moody's lessons.
"What's on the agenda today?" she asked.
"Removing bones," Harry replied, and Hermione had an image of him in second year, laying on the Quidditch pitch, his arm completely boneless thanks to Professor Lockhart's shoddy spellwork.
She blushed thinking about how she had had that stupid crush on the man. If only she knew then what it felt like when you really fancied someone…
She shook her head to shake away those thoughts.
"Does Moody really expect you to use that in battle?" she asked. When Moody had mentioned dark spells, her mind had gone to some unimaginable places—not spells that Gilderoy Lockhart accidentally used on a second year.
Harry shrugged. "It won't kill anyone, but it's a bit hard to wave your wand around when you've got no bones," he said, grinning adorably at her, as he flopped his right arm around to demonstrate it for her.
To her horror and astonishment, she didn't just laugh—she giggled. Hermione Granger was not the sort of girl who giggled. She certainly wasn't the sort of person who found black humor funny—and definitely not when that black humor related to Harry Potter learning spells to avoid being killed.
And yet, here she was, turning red and giggling, for no good reason other than the fact that Harry had smiled at her and told a joke, and she liked rewarding his smiles with laughter, because maybe that would mean she'd see more of them—distracting as they were, she preferred a smile to a furrowed brow any day.
"So will you come?" Harry asked, letting his arm flop down, and his hand came to rest on her knee. She froze. Before she could say anything, a shadow passed over them. Hermione looked up to see Angelina and Alicia, hands on their hips, looking down at them with knowing smiles on their faces.
"Sorry, Harry, but Hermione can't practice today," Angelina said, not looking sorry at all as she grabbed Hermione's arm and pulled her up off the sofa.
"She's got plans with us," Alicia added, linking her arm through Hermione's. Angelina hooked her arm through Hermione's free one, and Hermione barely got a glance at Harry's confused face as the two sixth years marched her out of the portrait hole.
"Where are we going?" Hermione sputtered.
But they didn't answer her at all, walking her down two flights of steps before they found themselves in front of a painting of four women in Regency-era dresses playing cards and drinking firewhiskey.
"Nogtail," Angelina announced. The portrait opened, revealing a stone circular staircase. They walked up it slowly, Angelina ahead of her and Alicia behind.
"Where are we going?" Hermione asked again, feeling a bit vexed now.
"Sanctuary," Angelina said, though that meant nothing to Hermione.
Angelina reached the top of the stairs and stepped aside to give Hermione a good view. They were in a large circular room with no windows, but the ceiling appeared to be transparent as she could see the sky, with sunlight filtering down and bathing everything—that, or it was enchanted like the Great Hall. There were two fireplaces opposite each other and intricately woven tapestries on every wall. In the center of the room was a tea service, water jugs and platters of biscuits and scones, and the room was littered with brightly colored armchairs and sofas and mismatched tables, each of which had a stack of magazines on them.
Hermione had never seen this room on the map—but then Sirius had told Harry the map only showed rooms he and his friends had known about.
The room was inviting and comfortable and she instantly loved it.
"This is Sanctuary," Angelina declared again, opening her arms out grandly, as Alicia ascended the last step and came to stand on Hermione's other side. "This is where we come when Fred and George stink up the common room with dungbombs."
"There are only three rules here," Alicia added, holding up one finger. "Number one: No boys."
"You cannot bring any boy here," Angelina warned, "or even tell them Sanctuary exists."
As Hermione looked around, she saw Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe, the Patil twins, Sally-Anne Perks and Mandy Brocklehurst—everyone here was a witch.
"Number two," Alicia declared, holding up a second finger, "no babies."
"We don't let anyone under fourth year in," Angelina explained. "So no telling Ginny or Luna about it until next year."
"And number three," Alicia finished, holding up her third finger, "no brattiness."
"Any interhouse fighting stays outside," Angelina elaborated. "Millie's really serious about it. That pug-faced girl your year—the one who always looks like she's smelled something rotten?—she got banned for the rest of the year for starting a row with Hannah Abbott."
"Sanctuary is designed to be just that," Alicia explained, linking her arm through Hermione's once again and pulling her over to a table across the room where Katie Bell was sitting, flipping through a magazine. "Legend has it that this was a prefects study room decades ago—as if they need any more perks—but the head girl at the time got so vexed at the head boy's antics that she changed the password on him, and only told the female prefects what it was. Then they let the rest of the witches know, and ever since then, it's been our space."
"Well, it's brilliant," Hermione admitted, "and thank you for showing me—but why are we here?"
Angelina dropped down onto the blue loveseat next to Katie, while Alicia sat herself and Hermione down on the striped purple sofa across from them.
Angelina crossed her legs and looked at Hermione in disbelief. "You're joking, right?" she asked. "Your eyes were screaming at us for help!"
What? Hermione hadn't even known they were there.
Katie sat forward in her seat and cupped her hand in her chin. "Oooh," she asked. "What's going on?"
Alicia leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, "Hermione fancies Harry."
Hermione's face flushed red, but Katie yelped, "You've got a crush on Pocket Potter?"
Hermione looked around in agitation, distressed that someone might have heard—she could only imagine the gossip, especially if Rita Skeeter got wind of this—but to her great relief, everyone seemed involved in their own conversations.
Then she realized what Katie had said. "On who?"
Angelina laughed. "It's just a nickname Alicia came up with when Harry first joined the quidditch team."
"He was just so shy and sweet and earnest, and teeny tiny, and you just wanted to pick him up and put him in your pocket," Alicia explained, mimicking picking up something very small and putting it in her pocket. Her facial expression made it seem like she was talking about a puppy.
Hermione thought Harry would likely die of embarrassment if he knew about the nickname.
"And… you all call him that?" Hermione asked faintly.
Katie snorted. "Of course not," she laughed. "Just us girls. Can you imagine what Fred and George would do if they knew? They'd take the mickey out of him."
Angelina put a hand to her heart. "But now our baby bird is all grown up with his first crush," she said, sounding very much like a mum. "Well, his first real one anyway."
Alicia shook her head distastefully. "Not like those girls who fancy him because he's famous," she muttered.
"I never said—" Hermione started to argue, but then stopped. All three of them already looked unconvinced by whatever she was going to claim, and besides, she had to talk about it with someone, didn't she?
She felt weird talking about it with Neville since he was also Harry's friend, and even though Ginny seemed very happy with Michael Corner, she couldn't possibly imagine confiding in her about Harry, knowing how Ginny used to feel. And while Luna would likely be a very good listener, Hermione felt dubious about how good her advice could be when it came to something like this.
But these three girls were older, and Angelina and Alicia had already given her very good advice when it came to boys earlier this year. With their help, she'd managed to stay friends with Viktor.
"Fine," she relented grudgingly, crossing her arms. "Maybe I fancy him a little."
Apparently, that was a very funny thing to say because Angelina and Alicia cracked up.
"If your face in the common room is what you look like when you like a boy a little, I do not want to be around when you like a boy a lot," Angelina grinned, and Hermione felt very hot and knew she was turning magenta.
"Oh, Hermione, no, don't be embarrassed," Alicia said comfortingly, putting her arm around her. "It was sweet how you were looking at him. And honestly, I don't think Harry noticed a thing. Boys are daft like that."
Angelina eyed her shrewdly. "Is it that you don't want to like him?"
Hermione played with the edge of her sleeve, suddenly feeling very shy. "No," she admitted. "It's more that I don't like feeling nervous and awkward—like I'm not in control."
Katie's face had turned dreamy. "Oh, but that's half the fun of fancying a boy," she gushed. "The anticipation of it all."
That's what Hermione had thought when Viktor asked her to the ball—that the anticipation of the event would be worth it, even if the ball itself turned out to be a dud—but the anticipation of this felt a lot different than that had.
"Of course, most of them are blind, so the anticipation stage can last forever if you leave it up to them. I had to basically lock Eddie Carmichael in a broom closet before he realized I was interested in him," Katie added, a thoughtful gaze on her face. "Pity he wasn't a better kisser."
Hermione's apprehension must have shown on her face because Katie quickly added, "I'm sure Harry will be brilliant at it though."
But that only terrified her more. Hermione was mostly sure that Harry had never kissed a girl, but she knew with certainty that she'd never kissed anyone.
Angelina peered at her perceptively and then asked gently, "Hermione, have you ever kissed someone?"
Hermione shook her head. If she were honest with herself, while the sole reason for the "Save Harry, Snog Harry" plan was to ensure Harry's safety, a part of her was relieved to put off trying to kiss him in case she wasn't any good at it. Kissing wasn't exactly something you could learn from books, was it?
Alicia's face lit up. "Well, this is a problem we can definitely solve," she said. "We've got loads of experience."
"Especially Angelina," Katie added, narrowly dodging the pillow Angelina aimed at her.
But then Angelina grinned unapologetically and added, "It's true. I'm something of an expert on snogging."
Hermione sat up straighter, ready to take mental notes as if this were Transfiguration or Charms or any other class she'd sit an OWL for.
"Right," Alicia said, "so here's what you want to do…"