Hermione had cheerfully avoided any correspondence thus far. Every morning without an owl was a good morning. She sat at the end of the bench with her back to the other House tables eating coddled eggs with toast soldiers. Some of the older Slytherins gave her nods as they passed but no one in green was so vulgar as to high-five at the breakfast table.

"How did you curse those two?" Draco demanded, jerking his head in the direction of an embarrassed pair of brunettes enduring the mostly good natured teasing from their fellow Lions.

"Speed, accuracy, and determination." Hermione replied tersely. She had kept to herself as much as possible and avoiding Malfoy's company was no penance. He was exactly as irritating as she remembered.

"Mother mentioned she didn't have to buy you a wand. Are you using a family one?" He managed to combine a dig at her dependence on his parents for her expenses and a suggestion she was cheating with a wand accustomed to combat. Some wands got aggressive with frequent use.

"No." The reminder she was beholden to Narcissa Malfoy rankled. Hermione told herself she wasn't eleven years old and shouldn't let playground jibes irk her. She ignored Malfoy in favour of eating, distracting herself with reviewing what she knew of magical means of food preservation. Being able to stockpile supplies would be very handy.

Draco was in the middle of inquiring whether she'd like him to write to his mother to ask for anything when an owl landed on their table. The envelope it carried was addressed to Cathal Rosier. Hermione took it, frowned at the Ministry seal then gave the owl some bacon. While she was distracted, Pansy flicked the envelope to Draco.

"Since you are my mother's ward, your correspondence should go to my family." The Malfoy heir said snidely as he waved the letter at her. He wasn't foolish enough to break the seal, only the recipient could do that, but he could deny her the message.

"Incendio." Hermione flicked her wand at the envelope, which burst into flames. He hastily dropped the embers before his fingers burned. She upended a jug of pumpkin juice over the smouldering paper, which splashed across the table, dripping onto Malfoy and Parkinson before they should shift from their seats. "Tergeo."

The little spat had happened fast enough no one from the other tables had noticed though several older Slytherins glared down at them. Hermione anticipated comments would be made later in the privacy of the Common Room. She would suffer their disapproval rather than bend to Malfoy. She had never caved to the blond git and Cathal wasn't going to either.

Of course, he wrote to his parents about the incident. Plenty of other people were willing to take a knee before Draco or rather before the influence of Lucius Malfoy. Other than Nott, the First Year Slytherins went out of their way to avoid her. Nott was already aloof so it was difficult to judge whether he put any extra effort into spurning Cathal. For her part, Hermione found being in Coventry a bit of a relief. It was a lot easier to be cold and insular if you were socially isolated.

After the spectacle of the Meadowes twins, the other Houses gave Cathal a cautious berth. Professor McGonagall had apparently bashed the ears of Gryffindor at length to remind them one of the qualities of their House was chivalry and it was very much not chivalrous to attack an eleven year old orphan. None of the Lions wanted to put a paw wrong so the tempting target of a lone Slytherin was ignored even by Fred and George.

Hermione enjoyed unfettered research until the day before the Christmas break when Malfoy informed her in the Common Room in front of most of their House that she was expected to present herself for the holidays at his home. She had been dreading that announcement for days, alerted to the ultimatum by Moppet, who enthusiastically spied on the princeling and read all his letters.

The witch, via the house elf, and the Castle had debated strategy. Hermione dug in her heels about going to Malfoy Manor. Yes, she could see why starting a campaign of outright defiance so early would not be to their advantage. Yes, she might concede the Malfoys were unlikely to do her active harm and indeed they might even try to cultivate Cathal's allegiance. A canny person would try to use the connection. Hermione thought the Castle's advice very sound.

However, the Malfoys could burn in Hell and she would go ice skating in the same place before she willingly visited Malfoy Manor. Hermione doubted she could last the holidays without hexing the whole boiling lot of them. Nor would Moppet be there for back-up. She wasn't a Malfoy elf and would either set off the ward alarms or worse be captured by them. Hermione apologised to the Castle but she really couldn't, not to that place.

Which limited her options drastically and necessitated a confrontation. She had hoped he would inform her of the parental order somewhere private or simply assume she was aware of her obligations and that her defiance was more sulky than dogmatic. Dropping her in it with their Housemates was a nasty bit of scheming. Everyone would see her back down and go meekly. Lesson learned.

"I do not accept your offer of hospitality." Hermione replied to the smirking Malfoy. "Please convey my regrets to your mother."

"Rosier, I don't think you understand." His eyes flicked around the room to make sure everyone was watching. He'd got some stick from the upper Years about the letter incident. Their House needed to present an united front. Draco had isolated the girl but she hadn't apparently noticed his quite clever, he thought, manoeuvring. Now it was time for bluntness. "This isn't an invitation. It's a command."

"You'll have to Imperius me." She mirrored his nasty little smirk. "Oh, sorry, that was your father."

A collective indrawn breath was the only sound in the moment after Cathal flung down the metaphorical gauntlet. Lucius Malfoy had been unflatteringly quick to abandon the cause after the fall of the Dark Lord. Only his agility in avoiding naming names had kept him from becoming a despised exile like Karkaroff but many families who had not been so fortunate resented the Malfoys' high status.

Draco drew his wand. Hermione knew he would. He didn't have much choice other than to directly challenge her. She hadn't wanted to escalate their conflict. After he chose to involve their whole House as spectators, she had decided to take the direct route. Rubbing his nose in his father's perfidy then shaming him would hopefully sting his ego enough for him to leave her alone.

"Expelliarmus!" Hermione hissed as soon as he pointed his wand at her. There were some niceties to be observed. Everyone would have seen him prepare to cast. That she was faster would not be remarkable for someone who had taken down two Fifth Years. She caught the length of hawthorn and felt the subtle difference in it compared to her own. Unicorn hair was an odd choice for a toe-rag. Perhaps he had hidden qualities. Or perhaps he was just an elitist nob.

"I didn't want this to be public. You chose the arena, Malfoy." Hermione ignored the crowd to talk directly to the blond. "I am sure you will go running to your father to tell tales. When you speak to Lucius, please remind him my father died in the service of the Dark Lord." She used that title deliberately. "I respect loyalty. I'll leave your wand with Professor Snape."

Hermione turned and left, marching out of the Common Room mostly to avoid having to issue threats to a child or to engage in any verbal wrangling with the older Slytherins. She didn't want to succumb to the temptation to gloat either. She'd won. She had his wand, all Freudian implications of that aside, and could leave it there. Hopefully.

Professor Snape said nothing when she gave him Malfoy's wand. She was surprised he didn't ask any questions. Had she been herself, she would have asked why he didn't inquire but she wasn't herself. She was Cathal Rosier and what Cathal wanted right now was privacy. Spending the night in her bolt-hole might be a good idea. Most of Snakes were going home for the holidays so she should have some peace tomorrow.

The only dampener to Yule joy was the knowledge that Harry now had the Invisibility Cloak. Hermione didn't think he was particularly interested in Cathal but his quest for information about Nicolas Flamel was stymied until he noticed the chocolate frog card. A thwarted Harry was a restless Harry. Fortunately he had Ron to divert him. They looked terribly young and carefree. If she'd had a means of trapping Voldemort's soul, she would have beheaded Quirrell on the spot.

On the upside, she got into the Potions classroom where the Half-Blood Prince's book languished in a cupboard. Hermione copied every page with an amanuensis spell before replacing the battered textbook where Harry would eventually find it. She was tempted to burn the bloody thing. Her friend's cheating still rankled. However, Harry needed the Felix Felicis and she couldn't guarantee him getting it any other way.

Snape's innovations to Potion brewing were fascinating, which spurred her into possible refinements to the various healing potions that would become essential in the later years of their schooling. Which presented a significant problem. Multiple people had stolen ingredients from the potions stores, all of which Professor Snape had noticed. Nicking stuff in the volume she needed to research variant brews would be impossible to hide.

The Room of Hidden Things must have at least a rudimentary stasis effect otherwise the air would be unbreathable with years of cumulative decay. Hermione made a list of the most common ingredients used in what she considered 'first aid' potions then trialled her Summoning Charm. Cathal could sustain a couple of castings a day so she methodically worked down the list to see what she would get.

Mostly what she got was compost. Wealthier students studying NEWTs potions often supplied their own ingredients and sometimes they misplaced them. The quality of those substances after sitting neglected, poorly stored, and not infrequently chewed upon, was abysmal. Someone had lost an entire sack of nettles, which were now so dry they weren't even any use in a Herbicide Potion.

In a fit of frustration, Hermione tried Accio money. It was on her trial list as she would feel foolish if she didn't make the attempt. She jumped when somewhere in the gloomy recesses of the Room something crashed to the floor. She ached truly down to her bones to organise and systematise the lost and found. Magic didn't care much for efficiency. If a little spell couldn't do it, swish and flick harder.

A metallic clatter heralded her success. After the storm of clothes, Hermione was prepared for this. She had shifted, manually as Cathal couldn't levitate the weight yet, a wardrobe into the middle of her summoning circle. The oak box was roomy enough for two and it had a sturdy door. Loose coins battered against the wood with occasionally a louder thump.

As she waited out the rain of change, Hermione chided herself for 'money'. Surely 'British currency' or 'goblin made coins' might have been better. She didn't want her wooden sanctuary crushed by a rai stone or buried by bullion. Foolish wand waving, the witch used Snape's words against her. Throwing a tantrum because no one had misplaced a hermetically sealed jar of Dittany was stupid. Magic's instant gratification did not encourage patience.

When the metal hail had abated, Hermione emerged to inspect her trove. The floor glittered. She was honestly surprised at the number of coins littering the clearing. Her Summoning range was limited by Cathal and by the disinclination of people to casually misplace large denominations of lucre. There was still quite a bit, paper and coin.

She picked up an old style white fiver and a ten shilling note, neither any longer legal tender. There was some Monopoly money too, which made her laugh. A Muggle-born had evidently brought a board game to Hogwarts. Using cauldrons as sorting bins, Hermione had a fine collection of miscellaneous paper currency and pounds of Sickles and Knuts.

The star of the event was a silk purse stuffed with coins she had initially suspected of being leprechaun gold. She tested them with an anti-counterfeiting charm she had taught herself after the World Cup when Ron and Harry had been quarrelling. The coins were apparently genuine Galleons. Whoever had lost this would have been very upset indeed.

"Moppet?" Hermione called, weighing the pouch in her hand. It didn't feel that heavy but it dragged at her. The house elf appeared, looking around with obvious amusement at the witch's efforts to create order in chaos. "Sorry to interrupt but is there any way to tell who this originally belonged to? I can square my conscience with using someone else's spare change." She handed Moppet the purse. "Not this, though."

"Things in the Room of the Hidden are forgotten. Put out of mind. That's how them come here, Miss." She shook the bag of coins then shrugged absently. Money meant little to a house elf. You could buy service not loyalty. "If it is here, then them's it was thinks it gone. No tie between." She handed the purse back. "Moppet thinks Miss isn't stealing."

"Thanks." Sighing, Hermione upended the purse into the cauldron of coins. "This is a lot more than I was expecting. Some of the banknotes are old too. I could sell them to a collector, once I have a batch of Polyjuice to turn me into an adult." She stretched. Cathal was sore from spell casting, the strain a cross between the ache of a bruise and the sting of a burn. "Do you think anyone would notice if we snuck out to buy Potions supplies?"

"Yes, Miss. After the troll, all the teachers has eyes of beads." Moppet could feel the attention the staff were paying. They were putting their energy into Hogwarts. She couldn't describe it other than likening it to bubbles making the air fizz.

"Snape was oddly obliging when I surrendered Malfoy's wand. Maybe if I just ask, I shall receive." It was possible the Professor's attitude was solely because she wore green not red. He was horribly partisan. "I need an excuse. If I owl order everything I need, it'll be damn obvious I'm up to something."

When she went to the Head of Slytherin, it was apparent he already thought she was plotting. The interrogation began with an acid query whether Miss Rosier thought she was so advanced she need not simply pay attention in class. Because of 'their new celebrity' Snape was sensitised and bitter over any suggestion of special treatment.

Hermione explained that while she thought practical work was invaluable, the curriculum taught only one standardised approach. The difference between horned slugs and flobberworm mucus was not discussed even though Zygmunt Budge made an excellent case for the variation. She thought both were used to provide a gel substrata to protect the active ingredients from the stomach acid for long enough to release the sympathetic magic of the quills and fangs. The Magical Drafts and Potions recipe was simpler. The Book of Potions recipe was more efficient.

She paused there, aware of her habit of lecturing. That was Hermione with her hand waving in the air. Cathal didn't need anyone's approval. She added in the spirit of Slytherin arrogance that she quite understood why duffers like Longbottom shouldn't be allowed near shrake spines. Her entirely genuine shudder at the idea of what Neville could accidentally do to overexcite the spines was probably what clinched her pitch.

Professor Snape would consider her for an extra-credit project if she could flawlessly brew a Sleeping Draught. Hermione didn't protest the potion was Second Year work. She silently prepped her workstation, making sure it was clean and the cauldron uncontaminated before fetching the ingredients. Measuring everything before she started, the witch worked in silence while Snape watched in silence.

The brewing took a bit more than an hour with the pewter cauldron running hot. Hermione extinguished the flame and decanted the mix carefully into bottles, which she labelled immediately. Then she tidied up, washed the cauldron, and wiped down the counter. This was how she preferred to brew rather than on the clock in class. Doing every step properly reassured her.

Pro forma, Professor Snape tested a few drops of the potion on a mouse. The little creature slumbered peacefully. He already knew it would. Watching the progress of her work, he was pleased to see how painstaking she was. Rushing simple potions because they were simple led to stupid mistakes. Years of teaching simpletons had burned away his tolerance for foolish errors.

Even to a Slytherin, he didn't commend. Cathal did receive a nod, which Hermione took as the sum of the accolade for her damn perfect potion. Snape put the bottles aside to go to the Hospital Wing then shooed her out with orders to write three feet on how every potion in the First Year curriculum might be refined further.

That sorted Potions. Herbology and Astronomy were practical, and Flying lessons unavoidable. History of Magic was dire second time round. Hermione's plan for the next term was to cycle through books disguised as the class text. No one would tattle on her. They were all united by tedium. Defence Against the Dark Arts would have to remain head down, eyes down until Harry defeated Quirrell. Which she could do very little to hasten.

That left Charms and Transfiguration. Hermione trooped back to her deserted dorm. She self-consciously did stretches then Transfigured a belt into a skipping rope. Cathal hadn't spent her summers bicycling or enjoying walking tours with her parents. Weekend yoga with her mother, mostly to counter the stress of miserable years at primary school, hadn't happened either.

Skip skip skip. She needed to learn German. Derica had written all her notes in her mother tongue interspersed with excellent Latin. Skip skip skip. She needed to keep herself busy in Transfiguration without showing off. Maybe trying the spells voiceless or wandless. That'd be a challenge for anyone. Skip skip skip. Copy the Marauder's Map now she had money for the materials. Maybe expand it if she could work out how to integrate the Unplottable areas. Skip skip pause.

The Map was connected to the school. If she could deepen the link, perhaps she could communicate with the Voice that way. Shades of possessed diary but it would be possible. If Hogwarts agreed. There were secrets to which she was not privy. More than once though Moppet had referred to her as a fellow servitor. That had to count for a little trust.

It was very awkward to negotiate with a composite being who spoke through ballistic knick-knacks. Hermione spent the whole day in the Room of Requirement with an improvised ouija board. The voice tried to speak with her but all she heard was a low mumbling buzz. While dropping blobs of wax onto letters was slow, it got the message across. The Castle had to do something with the remains of all those floating candles.

The ceromantic augury confirmed what Hermione had posited. She could expand on the Marauders' Map. The quartet had not linked their work deliberately to the Castle. They'd chanced across a way to harmonise their cartography charms with the aura of Hogwarts, meaning the map was tied to the school but the conduit only went one way and only where the Marauders had charted.

If she opened a reciprocal connection, with the consent of the Castle, her map would show all the currently materialised rooms. Which was not the same as all the rooms. Hogwarts existed in a phase space of its own with whole floors existing in potentia. Hermione's understanding of thaumaturgical principles and theoretical physics struggled when the Voice tried to explain more. She suspected you needed a Mastership, a Ph.D, and some psychotropics to follow all the permutations.

Short answer: yes, if she asked nicely. So Hermione asked nicely and Hogwarts agreed to allow her to expand the map into something more like GPS. Now it was her turn to explain esoterica. Muggles using enormous fireworks to shoot golems into the sky to fall endlessly around the terrestrial globe was news to the Voice.

Accord reached, all that remained was to send an owl order for the potion supplies and special parchment before the other students returned from holiday to avoid Malfoy nicking her post. Hermione bustled off to do that and to send a letter to the Ministry requesting they resend their previous correspondence due to accidental incineration.

The packages and letter arrived two days before term resumed, cutting it fine. Some students had returned early. Fortunately only Nott and Davis of the First Year Slytherins had come back sooner than they must. Neither remarked on the large brown paper wrapped boxes, which Hermione shrank and absconded with to her hidey-hole.

Periodic refurbishments to the currently physical parts of the school had made many odd nooks. The one Hermione had chosen was on the first floor, tucked behind a portrait door near the Hospital Wing. It had once been an apothecary when Hogwarts had more demand for potions than the Potions Professor could provide in their spare time. The brewing lab was small but well ventilated and the adjoining office was lined with bookshelves. A twisty little staircase linked the lab with a room in the basement probably for growing mushrooms, meaning she could slip into the dungeons relatively surreptitiously.

Once term started, Hermione was very tempted to wall herself up in her sanctuary. Malfoy was insufferable. Tempers flared over Quidditch and not just the Slytherins grumbled about a First Year being allowed on the Gryffindor team after Harry caught the Snitch in five minutes. Parkinson had taken to making catty remarks of a morning, usually about being a burden on the Malfoys' charity, in the dorm where she couldn't reasonably retaliate without witnesses.

Unfortunately for Pansy, Hermione had years of resentment, patience, and honed ruthlessness. She knew from experience the vicious witch would never let up once she had found a weakness she could exploit. Rising above the taunting had been her other self's tactic. The moral high ground worked well for a Lion. A Snake needed a different tack.

Hermione was in the Potions classroom with Professor Snape reviewing her essays when Parkinson's voice changed. All the girl could say was 'alms for a leper' due to a modified Babbling Curse cast on an ice cube slipped into her bag. When the ice melted, it released the magic. The effect lasted less than half an hour but as Parkinson was a mouthy bitch, everyone in the Slytherin Common Room heard her begging.

Cathal Rosier did not have to say a thing. She didn't even have to smirk. Pansy pretended she did not exist, her eyes sliding over her. That suited Hermione fine. Draco continued to be an arse. He was easier to avoid, particularly after the fifty point loss he earned being caught out after curfew. The only salve to Slytherin was the sight of the spurned trio from Gryffindor. Hermione winced at the memory of the one hundred and fifty point penalty.

She kept herself very busy and very far away from the third floor corridor. When the time came, Hermione wanted to make absolutely sure Cathal was not involved. She studied, she sat exams, she worked on her projects, and she fretted about what to do over summer to distract herself from worrying about Harry, Ron, and the other Hermione.

And then suddenly the whole school knew Quirrell was dead. How he had died was a flurry of speculation. The Boy-Who-Lived had done something. A three-headed dog and flying keys. Hermione feigned disinterest though she was immeasurably relieved nothing had changed. She sat with Slytherin House at the Leaving Feast, her expression carefully blank when the green banners turned to red. Her friends were safe. That was all that mattered.