A/N 1: Apologies that this is a touch later than usual - real life caught up to me a bit this week. Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews!
A/N 2: Fair warning - this chapter is where things start to get a little darker.

Chapter 6

The seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins assembled outside of the Dark Arts classroom. The number of Gryffindors had been reduced because no other Muggle-borns were present, but it was still a touch odd to see that every single one of them was attending this class, despite some who had, to Hermione's certain knowledge, not passed their Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL. She saw Crabbe and Goyle nudging each other and casting sidelong glances her way. She rolled her eyes before she caught Malfoy looking at her intently, but he turned away from her quickly to talk to Pansy Parkinson.

The door creaked open suddenly, and the doughy face of Amycus Carrow appeared, scowling at the assembled students.

"Get in," he said in his slow basso voice, gesturing imperiously.

Hermione exchanged a brief look with Neville before taking a deep breath and going through the door first.

"Brave little Mudblood, isn't she?" a menacing voice whispered from the hallway.

Hermione stiffened a little but caught herself, stayed outwardly relaxed, and kept walking forward to take one of the seats at the front of the class. She looked around and shuddered slightly at the horrific images that adorned the classroom's walls – they were like the ones Snape had up when he had taken over Defense Against the Dark Arts – but worse by an order of magnitude. These depicted not only the victims of magical atrocities, but also the perpetrators, who all wore uniform expressions of perverse delight.

She fixed her eyes on her hands in her lap. Neville sat down next to her on one side, Lavender and Parvati sat across the aisle, and Seamus sat on Hermione's other side. They presented the Death Eater before them with a unified front and, despite the hisses of further insults from the Slytherins, Hermione straightened up in her seat and looked at Professor Carrow with the same open, curious, and respectful expression she had always worn in Professor Snape's classes.

"Now then," Carrow began, glaring around at them in turn. "You are here to learn the Dark Arts. Here – " he waved his wand, and a pile of papers flew from his desk at the front of the room, separated with a great rustling, before one floated down before each student – "is the plan for the year. Any book you's need you can find in the library. The Restricted Section is open for all now."

Hermione's hand was in the air before she could help herself. Carrow's eyes alighted on her.

"Yes, the little girl right up front," he said, smiling at her in a way that twisted her stomach with revulsion.

"Please sir," Hermione said loudly but politely, "I'm not sure I understand the lack of textbooks in this class – will you direct us to the appropriate texts in the library, or will we be expected to find them on an ad hoc basis?"

The man's small eyes narrowed, and he stumped over to Hermione's desk and leaned over to stare her in the face.

"You'll know what books you need when I tell you what books you need," he growled, and Hermione shrank away as his putrid breath washed over her.

He moved on and continued talking, going over the course aims in a stumbling, roundabout way that Hermione soon blocked out. Instead, she studied the parchment before her and had to suppress a gasp. Their first month of classes would be an introduction to cutting curses, followed by severe hexes, and then irreversible magical damage. After the Christmas break, they would move on to Fiendfyre, cursed objects, and death magic. Individual projects on the Unforgivable Curses would round out the year. Hermione felt herself almost abuzz with worry, and without thinking she shot her hand back up into the air.

"Please sir," she said without waiting to be called on this time, "I have a question with regards to the methodology of the classes covering the more dangerous material."

"What's that, then?" Carrow asked with a huff.

"How will you be teaching us such hazardous magic in a classroom setting, sir? Will we be fighting one another? Or will we be working more along the lines of simulation?"

"Ah," the professor nodded vigourously at her, a menacing smirk crossing his face. "Maybe you'd like to see my uh – meth'dolgy – in action, eh?" He turned away from her and waved his hand impatiently forward. "Draco, there's a good lad. Step on up."

Hermione frowned and watched as Malfoy went up the centre aisle slowly, looking down at his feet as he walked. She looked up at Carrow when he appeared before her once more.

"Well, Mudblood-that-was?" he said loudly, throwing an arm out towards the front of the room. "Get on up here if you want your demonstration."

The stink of old sweat and soiled robes wafted down. Hermione stared up at him for a moment, and she felt Neville's foot lightly press her own under the desk. She regretted the questions now, of course, and the fear that had prickled at her since she'd entered the classroom had pooled in her chest, making her feel like she might suffocate. She ignored Neville, and went to join Malfoy at the front of the class. She turned to Carrow for instructions. He leered at her.

"On my count of three, you duel," Carrow announced, an edge of mania to his tone. "I want to see curses, hexes and jinxes. You will not stop until one of you needs the hospital wing."

Hermione, truly alarmed now, looked at where Malfoy stood directly across from her; his wand was already out, but his shoulders were stooped. He refused to look at her in return.

"One – " she heard catcalls from Crabbe and Goyle. "Two – " her wand felt like nothing but a stick in her hand, innocuous and unremarkable, held by her side. "Three!"

Malfoy raised his wand, his eyes coming to life at last. He looks the way I feel, Hermione thought slowly, feeling her own hand still gripping her wand at her side. Malfoy frowned and glanced behind her, at where Professor Carrow stood.

"C'mon, Mudblood!" Carrow shouted, almost into her ear. "Wand up, or Draco'll get the jump on ya."

"No," Hermione said firmly. She turned her back to Malfoy and faced Amycus Carrow. "I won't do this. Sir."

His face purpled quickly, and she closed her eyes as he raised his wand. She felt heat wash over the skin of her face, and then nothing.

"I've got you, 'Mione, I've got you." The voice was Neville's, and Hermione realized that it was he who was holding up most of her weight. Pain suffused her, but she opened her eyes and looked around.

"We're almost there now," Neville continued, his voice absent-minded, his breath huffing as he attempted to drag her gently down the corridor. Hermione tried to find her feet.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice low and intense – she was trying to focus past the pain; her Mind's Eye was back up and running, and it was categorising and trying to cut off the pain coursing over her cheeks and forehead. She looked around as her head cleared, recognizing the corridor one floor below the Hospital Wing, and her eye caught on a familiar face in one of the paintings along the hallway: the clever eyes of Phineas Nigellus looked out from a painting of a tall tree. He nodded solemnly to her before disappearing.

"Carrow used a cutting curse on you," Neville answered.

Hermione looked up at her friend and gasped – Neville had a black eye and a split lip. Blood dribbled down his chin and stained the collar of his robes.

"What happened to you?" she asked, trying not to feel faint at the sight of his injuries. She didn't even want to picture her own.

"Carrow – er – didn't like what I said to him after he hit you with that curse." He pulled at her arm. "C'mon. We've got to get you over there. I don't know how you're not passed out, Hermione, you're still bleeding pretty bad."

Hermione concentrated on walking quickly towards the Hospital Wing, making the conscious decision not to look in the mirror overhanging the staircase that swung towards them. When they arrived, Madam Pomfrey exclaimed over Hermione, and after a perfunctory examination, she briskly told Neville to take a seat further down the ward. She bade Hermione to sit up on one of the beds and promptly bent over her, examining the damage from various angles.

"What in the name of Merlin happened to you, dear?" she asked, siphoning some of the blood off to examine the deep cuts beneath.

"Professor Carrow punished me," Hermione said, noticing with a detached sort of horror that the cuts on her face made it difficult to move her mouth around the words. "Cutting curse."

"A professor did this to you?" the matron demanded, the colour draining from her face. Hermione started to nod, but Madam Pomfrey stopped her. "Don't move your head at all, dear. I can't believe you managed to get up here without fainting. I will have strong words with Professor Snape about this, make no mistake." She cast an astringent spell on the cuts, and Hermione winced at the sudden burning sensation. "Sorry about that, dear. Now, let's heal these up, shall we?" She poked one of the cuts, muttering a spell under her breath.

"That will not work, Pomfrey," a crisp voice said from behind them.

"What are you doing here?" Neville called out from where he sat further down the ward.

"That, Mr. Longbottom," Snape answered, "is none of your concern."

He stepped up next to Madam Pomfrey to look at Hermione.

"The last time I checked, Headmaster, this was still my Hospital Wing," Madam Pomfrey said in a poisonous tone. "I shall decide the cure for Miss Granger's injuries which, incidentally, were caused by a professor you employed."

Snape turned to Pomfrey.

"I have been made aware of the situation in full, Poppy," he said smoothly. "I will administer the Vulnera Sanentur, a spell at which I particularly excel, as you well know." He raised his chin in challenge, before he nodded towards Neville. "See to Mr. Longbottom, if you please, and I shall deal with Miss Granger."

The Healer's nostrils flared, but she nodded curtly and started to move down the rows of beds towards Neville. She turned back, as though unable to stop herself.

"You mark my words, Snape," she whispered in a tone Hermione had never heard from the kindly Healer. "If I have any more students turning up with injuries like this – "

"You will see to their injuries and call me when necessary," Snape cut her off, his voice low and dangerous.

Madam Pomfrey paled still further, and Hermione thought she saw the gleam of tears in the woman's eyes before she continued to walk towards where Neville sat, his eyes wide.

"Look at me," Snape said to Hermione, his voice colourless.

When she obeyed him, she saw fury lodged deep in his eyes, like when he'd collected her from the Ministry. She shrank away from him instinctively, moving back a little on the bed.

"Do not be alarmed, Miss Granger," Snape said, his voice still empty, his eyes neutralising slowly. "I simply wish to view the extent of the cuts."

He took a gentle hold of her chin and tilted her face first one way then the other. He tried to push her bushy hair out of her face, and sighed when it crowded back around her cheeks and forehead. Hermione kept watching him, her shock carefully quashed and stored, as he gathered her hair up in his hands, his long fingers moving swiftly over her temples, fluttering along her neck. He forced the mass up into a neat ponytail, which he tied off with a poke of his wand.

"This will hurt a little," he told her quietly, his eyes intent on her face once more.

And he started singing an incantation, something low and melodious, with words Hermione could not quite distinguish. His eyes were softer now, focused on the wounds she could still feel. He ended the lilting song and examined the cuts again before restarting the chant. This time, there was the slight stinging sensation as her skin began to heal, and Hermione filed the feeling away behind her Mind's Eye.

She got her bearings once more before suddenly realising that something was wrong: Snape was staring at her – not just at her, but into her eyes – and he had stopped singing mid-chant. He kept looking at her, as if he was searching for something, his black eyes curious and sombre and reflecting the bright light cascading through the windows of the Hospital Wing. He seemed to shake himself slightly, his eyes sliding from hers, and he finished the spell before singing it again a third and final time. Hermione allowed herself a slight sigh of relief as she felt the wounds close, and she forced herself not to think of what glimpses she might have just shown Snape of her Mind's Eye. Instead, she wondered what her face would look like, if the new scars would match the hideous one cutting across her chest.

"Accio dittany," Snape muttered, and caught the small bottle that flew out of Madam Pomfrey's store cupboard. He began dotting the brown liquid over her skin with his fingertips. "The scarring should be minimal," he said under his breath, and Hermione wondered if he spoke to her, or to himself.

She felt wooden, her emotions chopped off and far away, but she knew to avoid his eyes as she thanked him quite correctly after he finished applying the dittany. He didn't answer, simply wiped his fingers on a white handkerchief, handed her the little bottle, and turned away from her in a swirl of black.