She'd decided to read the first chapter of the book - the basics of the dark arts - before moving on to Horcruxes and soul magic. She managed to get through half of the chapter before her clock told her that it was 8:30 and she should hurry to the great hall, lest her friends think she'd vanished or been returned to the hospital wing.
She couldn't help but look up at the head table as she entered, her eyes quickly finding the scowling face of Professor Snape. She pushed down both the grin that threatened to spring forth, as well as the very unwelcome impulse to wave at the man.
Good one, Hermione. Are you looking for trouble? It's not like he's at all friendly to you anyway, so don't kid yourself. Useless chit.
Her mood considerably dampened, she took her usual seat and grabbed a mug of coffee. She noticed Ginny's pointed glare at her empty plate and shook her head.
"Don't worry about me, Ginny. I've been up for a few hours, and asked a house elf to bring me some food."
Neville dropped his toast. "You? The founder of SPEW?"
"More importantly, where were you?"
"I was doing some research, so I went-"
"To the library," they chorused, in such an eerily familiar way that she felt sick and pushed her mug away.
"And what is so bad about that?" she snapped.
"Nothing! The library is great!" Neville backtracked.
"Just not this early in the morning," Ginny shuddered. "I can't think of anything worse to wake up early for."
She sighed. "I'm still having difficulty sleeping."
The pair wore matching expressions of contrition. "Sorry, Mione," Ginny murmured. "I should have thought before speaking."
Hermione gave a wan smile. "Don't worry about it. You can't tiptoe around me."
"Bet Neville could," the redhead grinned. "Very light footed, our Neville. Bet he could sneak around anything if he wanted to."
"Everything except Dark Arts and Muggle Studies," he moaned mournfully.
His other friend frowned. "Since when do you take Muggle Studies, Neville?"
"Oh! It's compulsory now, 'Mione. Have you looked at your timetable?"
She pulled it from her bag, her brow creasing as she took in the day's classes. Where last week her Tuesday had held Transfiguration, Arithmancy and Dark Arts, this week she didn't begin the day with a free period. Where, last week, her timetable had shown a blank, this week it held the room and teacher of Muggle Studies.
"I was just going to test with the rest of my NEWTs," she sighed. "Being muggleborn, I didn't really think I'd need to be in the classes."
"Well now everyone does," Ginny jabbed her in the ribs. "Once a fortnight unless it's one of your electives, so you can help me and Nev here with our assignments."
"I would've helped you anyway."
"We won't need as much help as if the class was taught properly," Neville muttered. "After all, Carrow just seems to like chucking the word 'mudblood' around wherever she can. You're going to absolutely hate her, Hermione."
Ginny snorted. "Yup. Just like the rest of us."
"Anyway, if you've got it first period, then you're with me," Neville told her. "We should leave as soon as the bell goes. Never want to be the first one in there with Carrow."
It seemed the majority of their class had the same idea, roughly half of the seventh years arriving outside of the classroom in tandem. The Slytherins were huddled in a group, laughing in a way that shot a shiver of fear through their muggleborn classmate. They eyed her up, brushing past her as they entered the room first.
"Bet you can't wait to learn all about your filthy kind," Parkinson sang.
Filthy. Your blood. You.
Hermione's hand went to her left arm, scratching subconsciously as she followed closely behind her friend.
Neville picked a table in the corner at the back, Muggle Studies being one of the few classes with a large group of students.
Their pig-faced teacher strolled in a couple of minutes later, a piece of toast in one hand and a mug in the other, slamming the door shut behind her in a manner that was likely an attempt to emulate Professor Snape. In reality, Hermione thought, it came across as a child throwing a tantrum.
"Good morning, class."
There were a few murmured 'Good morning's from the Slytherins, while the rest of the room remained silent.
"Who would like to start today?"
Hermione frowned, and looked to her right. Neville shook his head and reached for a piece of parchment.
She always begins class by asking one person to tell us what they think about muggles.
Around half of the Slytherins had their hands in the air, but some students from other houses also seemed keen to provide their input. Hermione shrank back into her chair, grabbing her quill and parchment as if she were about to take notes.
"Miss Parkinson?"
Pansy rose to her feet and cleared her throat. "Leading on from our last session, about greatness leading to lies, I've been thinking about the lies spouted by mudbloods."
Carrow smiled a nasty smile. "Very good, Pansy. Would you be able to elaborate?"
"Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. Mudbloods lie about their source of magic so that they can weave their way into our society and destroy our culture and nobility."
"You've remembered well, Miss Parkinson. You may sit down."
Alecto placed down her mug and walked between the rows of desks, tapping her wand against the palm of her hand. "Yes, the Muggle-Born Registration Commission exist for the purpose and registering and researching mudbloods. They are cunning, and we have so far been able to find out how they have stolen the magic that they hold. One theory is that for every mudblood is a squib - a true sorcerer that has been robbed of their inheritance, and left vulnerable. Why do you think it's taking so long to register all muggleborns and find the source of their magic?"
Blaise raised his hand. "Yes,Mister Zabini?"
"Because some of them have gone into hiding, and others are lying about their blood status, Professor. They're trying to hide amongst true wizards to build numbers and create a coup d'état."
Hermione barely suppressed a snort.
Alecto, however, nodded. "Yes. There is also some difficulty in finding mudbloods as some are, in fact, half-bloods, the product of disgusting sexual abnormalities from wizards. As well as producing a child to be raised in a barbaric world, the wizard is likely to find himself weakened, and diseased. Muggles are abominations, and it will only take two generations of genetic isolations to show them as they truly are: an entirely different species. Then, it will be easy to see the crime that is initiating heinous acts."
This time, Hermione did snort, and Neville flinched as the class turned to look at her.
"I'm sorry, are you calling mixed couplings beastiality?"
"Yes, Miss…"
"Granger."
Alecto's eyebrows rose. "Granger. Yes. Mixed breeding is beastiality. I find it interesting that you haven't been registered with the rest of your kind. Does the headmaster know something that we don't?"
Hermione snorted. "Both of my parents are muggles, and you can tell that I'm my father's daughter just by looking at him. My magic became visible at 8 months old, when I would summon my picture books. If you think an 8 month old to be capable of 'magical theft'," she sneered the words, "then you are even stupider than I thought."
Alecto hissed. "Detention, Miss Granger. You will be here tonight, at seven o'clock."
Hermione flushed, Neville's hand on her arm the only reason that she stayed in her seat. The rest of the session continued with the same tangent; the abomination of muggleborns and wizards who would engage in relations with muggles. The young witch tried her hardest to tune the woman out, but to no avail. It seemed an age before the lesson ended, with homework set.
"I expect eighteen inches on how mudbloods create inferior items in order to emulate magic. Dismissed!"
Hermione paused by the woman's desk as she took a bite out of her toast. "You do understand that toast, and toasters, were invented by muggles, Professor Carrow?"
One look at the woman's face was almost enough to say that her comment had been worth it, however the punishment was very much not.
"I shall be informing my brother of your infractions. I'm sure he will see to it that your ignorance is corrected prior to our meeting this evening.
Get out."
Hermione rushed from the room, a very concerned boy at her side. "Hermione! You've now got three detentions this week! And you shouldn't antagonise her. If she let's the other Carrow know…"
"Then what, Neville? What exactly is he going to do?"
Neville shuddered, his eyes watering. "The punishments and rules around here have changed - it's like having Umbridge here, but worse. The Carrows use it to their full advantage. If she says you're going to be corrected, she means that you are going to be hurt."
Hermione fell quiet as they continued towards the stairs, splitting their separate ways as Hermione continued to transfiguration.
The familiarity of professors McGonagall and Vector cheered her slightly, only for her mood to darken as she and Neville entered the Dark Arts classroom. The desks had all been swept to the side, and Carrow's sadistic smirk reminded her of his sister's promise.
"Miss Granger," he called. "I hear you've volunteered for demonstration today?"
A few of the Slytherins tittered, while Draco's eyes held fear.
"Malfoy! Granger! Come to the middle of the room, please."
Hermione moved forward warily, while Draco affected a swagger and wink towards his classmates.
Carrow snorted. "Not so cocky, Malfoy. Let's see how well you do, first."
The rest of the class held their breath, and it dawned on Hermione that while the rest of the class seemed to know this game, she did not.
Malfoy raised his wand. "Langlock," he cast, and Hermione felt her tongue join to the roof of her mouth.
"Excellent!" Carrow crowed. "As Malfoy has now prevented his opponent from speaking, she can only protect herself with wordless magic."
Hermione steeled herself, raising her wand in a combative stance. Draco paused, just long enough for her to throw up a nonverbal shield charm. Draco's nonverbal 'levicorpus' bounced off the shield, throwing him up in the air to dangle from his ankle.
Professor Carrow scowled, and flicked his wand to return the boy to rights. "Off your game today, Malfoy? You'll need to vastly improve before I speak next to your father."
Draco paled. "Crucio!" he cried.
Hermione felt the spell penetrate her shield, throwing her onto the ground momentarily and giving her opponent enough time to stun her.
Carrow nodded. "Once the victim is unconscious, the opponent has them entirely at their mercy until the spell wears off. This is useful if you are wanting to contain someone while keeping them alive."
He turned to Draco. "You cruciatus curse could use some work, however." He ended the stupefy on Hermione and flicked is own wand towards her. "Crucio," he said lazily.
This time, she felt the pain acutely, sharp knives of pain shooting through her body and seizing her muscles. Her tongue was still stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she clenched her teeth together.
Don't let them see how weak you are.
She curled tightly into a ball, her eyes closing with the agony exploding in her head. She could feel the pain throughout her entirety, from her ears to her feet.
And every step she took was like walking on knives.
Tears leaked from her eyes, and a small whimper broke free before the spell was removed from her.
"The cruciatus curse needs to be cast from a desire to cause pain. It is fairly useless if cast in fear or mild anger. Draco here, seems to be under the impression that his desire to win the fight is enough to cast it accurately," he sneered at the boy. "And so he shall cast it again."
Carrow summoned Hermione's wand to his hand, and Hermione froze with fear as the blonde slytherin lifted his own wand once more.
"Remember Draco, she is a mudblood. She deserves it."
"Crucio!" He cast again, and this time Hermione felt the curse hit her fully, albeit much weaker than the curse used by the professor.
Draco's eyes were wide, and his jaw slack as he looked from her to Carrow and back again.
He shouldn't be punished for his pity. You are a mudblood after all.
Hermione writhed, imitating her reaction to Carrow's harsher curse. So soon after the previous suffering, it was easy enough to do. Her body was still shaking, her fingernails still breaking the skin on her palms. Her head felt ready to explode, her tears fell faster, and as she allowed the muffled screams to burst free, she felt shame at the laugh that came from her supposed teacher.
Draco ended the spell, and Carrow clapped him on the back. "Much better.
Next week, you shall all be given a target to practice on, and I shall expect a similar level of mastery by the end of the session. You may, of course, practice prior to our next session. Class dismissed."
Hermione struggled to her feet as Neville rushed towards her, countering the langlock on her. She shook weakly, Neville pulling her arm over his shoulder and grabbing her bag. Carrow tossed her wand towards her, grinning as it hit the ground at her feet.
"Accio wand," she croaked, and the wand rose weakly into her palm. The class may have ended early, but she felt as though she'd endured much more than her strength would allow.
She felt eyes on her throughout supper, but kept her eyes on her plate as Neville and Ginny tried to coax her into conversation. The rest of the table seemed unaffected, explained by Neville as their being used to the Dark Arts lessons. It may have been the first time a student had been used to cast the curse in seventh year DA, but it certainly wasn't a novelty to see the curse cast at all.
By the time she reached the Muggle Studies classroom, she felt as battered as she had ever felt prior to her experience in the woods. Now, it seemed that anything would pale in response.
She knocked on the door softly, heart sinking as Carrow called her in. The classroom was as it had been earlier, aside from the quill and parchment that sat on the desk at the front of the room. She eyes it warily, noting the lack of ink.
"I see you're familiar with writing lines, Miss Granger? I would like you to write this, 100 times." She flicked her wand at the chalkboard.
Muggles are not human. A mudblood is not a sorcerer.
Hermione remembered the quills used by Professor Umbridge, and lifted her chin as she sat herself down. At least the phrase was long - she hoped that meant that the writing would be small upon her hand. When she began to write, however, she didn't feel pain. She frowned, looking up at her Professor and then down at her work. Her writing was red, blood red, and yet no etchings appeared on her skin. A mudblood- she gasped. The word was keenly felt, and Hermione shoved her sleeve up to the see the word formed on her left forearm, healing over before her eyes.
Mudblood.
"100 times please, Miss Granger. Every time you pause, I shall add an extra line. Continue."
100 lines later, her arm was throbbing with pain, the soreness of her body spiked by the shooting pain in her arm and the faint feeling of blood loss. Carrow grinned as she handed over the parchment.
"Beautiful, isn't it? We improved upon the quill that Dolores Umbridge used. Now, the blood is siphoned from your veins, with only the words we choose kept on you as a reminder. If I see you in here again, your lines will be much longer. Understood?"
Hermione nodded, keeping her mouth shut until she reached her chambers in the staff quarters. With the door securely shut behind her, she began to sob. She ran the arm under cool water, seeing her own handwriting cut deep into her pale skin as if carved with a scalpel. It was so precise, so legible, that Hermione cursed the consistency of her handwriting. Would it make a difference if her handwriting changed?
The pain continued, and Hermione's sobs grew louder as she washed the blood away. As the wound refused to clot, she sighed and reached for a flannel, pressing it tightly around her arm. There was only one thing for it.
She surveyed the corridor before slipping out, hand pausing before she knocked on the door next to her. It was opened by a Severus Snape minus frock coat and shoes, and she stammered as she spoke her request.
"Do you- do you have- have any murtlap essence I could use, Sir?"
He took one look at the hand holding her flannel tightly to her arm and waved her into her chambers. His layout was very similar to her own, with the exception of it being larger and obviously more lived in. The biggest surprise, however, was the pale, dark haired witch on his sofa, her own stockinged feet tucked up beside her, and a glass of wine in hand.
"Professor Vector! I'm so sorry, I'm intruding…"
"Nonsense," Snape snorted. "Just give me a second."
Hermione shifted uncomfortably as she tried not to stare. Professor Vector was free of her red robes and hat, looking very relaxed in Professor Snape's chambers.
"I'm sorry for interrupting," Hermione murmured apologetically just as Severus returned to the living room with a vial in hand.
He rolled his eyes as he handed it to her. "I trust you know how to use it?"
She nodded. "Thank you."
Hermione hurried from his chambers without wishing them a good evening, shutting her door behind her with a gasp.
Professors Snape and Vector? Were they together?
And why did she care if they were?