As much as she tried to resist, Hermione couldn't help count down the days until Edgecombe betrayed the DA. That evening study or a nap was impossible so she sat nose deep in bubbles in the Prefects' bathroom trying to relax. Hot water didn't work. Meditation and Occlumency exercises were a washout too. Rather than react to her Housemates' glee, she went to bed after taking a hypocritical dose of Calming Draught.
After breakfast and Umbridge's crowing announcement of the change in regime, Hermione felt no better. The defiant fireworks cheered her a little. In the face of the Professors' passive-aggressive refusal to deal with the sparklers, the Prefects were called upon to restore order. She took herself off to the dungeons ostensibly to check no one had put pyrotechnics in the Potions store then disappeared into her lab.
That afternoon, Umbridge issued a Decree establishing the Inquisitorial Squad and called for volunteers. Parangyo and Warrington organised a general meeting in the Common Room to discuss the Slytherin response to the opportunity. Hermione towed Bulstrode out of their dorm though it was doubtful the stocky witch could hear anything of the debate over the ringing in her head. The Occlumency lessons were giving her migraines but she persisted.
"I think we should grab this opportunity with both hands." Warrington asserted, willingly taking the 'pro' position. "I'm bloody weary of being stepped on. Being able to dock points will bring some useful parity back to the halls."
"Joining a heavy-handed pet group under an Acting Headmistress will gain us little other than more disdain." Parangyo would've quashed the whole recruitment drive except her fellow Seventh Year Prefect was keen to do something. His patience had worn thin after two terms of sniping, petty attacks. He wanted to exercise his authority. He and the Head Boy Roger Davies had been arguing for months.
"Not joining will hardly garner us the esteem of our fellows." Cassius's voice was so acidic it could've etched steel. There was an echoing murmur from the assembly. A chance for some reciprocity shielded by authority was an enticing prospect. "If members of the Inquisitorial Squad can take points from other Houses, we can ensure Slytherin gets the House Cup as we deserve. Regardless of your opinion of Umbridge, some of us need to volunteer." Having stated his opinion, he opened the floor to others. "Comments?"
"That's a big 'regardless'." Belvina Burke spoke up into the cautious quiet. She didn't need the pink toady's approval. Even if the Ministry clamped down on her family's businesses, they'd simply take their valuable and discreet services elsewhere. "If this goes pear-shaped she'll drag us down with her."
"If she's still Headmistress next year, she'll remember who didn't join promptly." Muriel Rothley was audibly glum. If Umbridge was still in charge at Hogwarts, she'd beg her parents not to send her back. She'd take her Apprenticeship early and make up her NEWTs working longer for her Master. A year without music was worse than the Dementors.
"She's a useful connection." Draco Malfoy remarked, quoting his father from innumerable cautionary letters. "I plan to join."
"Kiss arse." The words were out of Hermione's mouth before she could bite her tongue.
"Is that an offer, Rosier?" His smirk could have been cited as the holotype.
"No, Malfoy. Unlike you, I have some pride." In for a penny, Hermione thought as she abandoned tact for venom. "I'm not going to lick Umbridge's boots for House points or a political edge. She's not reliable and she's not clever. Anything she touches will turn into a witch hunt."
"The pink menace has certainly lit your wand." Warrington quirked an eyebrow at the vehement witch. "Not putting your name down, then?" He favoured her with his most charming smile, which had no notable effect.
"This isn't an official House matter. Everyone is free to make their own choice." Parangyo didn't quite trust Rosier not to lash out if goaded so she intruded quickly. "I recommend the Third Years and younger not sign up. Irrespective of the benefit, the Inquisitorial Squad will be a target." She used her best 'voice of reason' tone. The younger students were free to make the choice to do as she suggested. "Anyone who does enlist, please do remember that any deduction of points from Slytherin will be subject to unofficial ratification by the Prefects."
In the end only eight Slytherins signed on. Hermione was relieved to see the same people as last time. Her speaking out against the Acting Headmistress hadn't altered anything in this instance. Enduring Parkinson and Malfoy swanking around with their silver 'I' badges was only marginally less irritating the second go around. It paled in comparison to the harassment from the other Houses.
Hermione gritted her teeth as she shepherded the First Year Slytherins to History of Magic, with her wand drawn. The Snakelets walked in a tight group on their guard after being coated in slime en route to their previous class and showered with dirt that morning in Herbology. They crossed the hall, catching sight of Parangyo doing similar duty for the Second Years, then headed up the stairs two by two.
A Sticking Hex whizzed out from a crowd of Badgers on the steps below. Hermione countered it but did not retaliate. That part of the defence plan was not popular. However, the Prefects enforced the moral high ground and referred all the perpetrators to Umbridge. All the Prefects minus Rosier, who surreptitiously neglected to pass on complaints. No one had yet noticed. There were more than enough disciplinary infractions to go around.
Binns didn't remark on her presence out of class. As soon as the First Years were seated, he began his droning lesson. Hermione Transfigured herself a chair in the corridor and pulled out a book. She had time to escort the young ones to their next subject before returning to take History of Magic herself. It'd be Easter hols soon but she doubted many would be heading home, not with exams looming. Most parents wouldn't be able to get the time off work, skewing the student demographics further towards the anti-establishment.
By Saturday afternoon, Hermione had cast sixteen different counter-charms, dosed seven different Slytherins with Anti potions, and had to physically restrain Hearne from punching Jack Sloper after the Gryffindor hexed his underwear into sandpaper. The Inquisitorial Squad were making hay but the rest of the House were copping it left and right.
A Prefects meeting, enlivened with Warrington and Malfoy regaling their peers with tales of creative excuses for point taking, ended with Parangyo going to Snape to ask him to raise the wards on the Slytherin dorms so they could fort up over the holidays. He complied with very little persuasion needed. Study groups were formed, with request lists for books, which the Prefects fetched. The older Years went out in relays, in threes or fours, to run the gauntlet.
Most of the hexes and jinxes were relatively harmless in that they weren't permanent but no one wanted to come back from a simple trip to the quad bald, warty, and stinking of garbage. Someone in Ravenclaw had a quick wand for itching spells. There were at least three different variants including one that was contagious and had half the Common Room scratching before they cured the vector.
Hermione, in ordinary clothes not her uniform, snuck out in the early morning to go to her lab. She had to take a longer route to detour around Filch then divert again to avoid Peeves. Emerging from a concealed passage behind a tapestry, she almost literally fell over one of the Weasley twins crouching at the base of 'Cliodna and the Three Birds'.
"Bugger!" Hermione swore softly as she righted herself. Neither of them had their wands lit as the gibbous moon was bright enough to navigate. And to string trip-lines, apparently. She forgot herself enough to speak as the redhead hastily stuffed his tools into his pockets. "Why fishing line, Fred?"
"I'm a keen nocturnal angler." He grinned then took a second look at her. "Rosier?" His gaze flicked up and down as though trying to see through a glamour before smiling broadly. "Stick to Polyjuice, mate. You've made her tits too big."
"Prat." Hermione hissed as she went red. The second worst thing about being pale, first being the sun's pique in summer, was how obvious her embarrassment was. Granger might go a little pink but that was subtle. Cathal blushed rubicund.
"So it is you!" Fred raised his hands placatingly before she could curse him. "A thousand apologies for the personal remark, heiress of House Rosier. I grovel in supplication." He sketched a bow, still smiling. "May I ask, oh most fearsome of Prefects, what has brought you to my humble corridor on such a fine morning?"
"Your brother is sneaking off with whatever you were going to plant, I presume?" She could have taken points or told him off but she'd missed the twins' banter so much she was in no hurry to exert her authority.
"I am wounded, fair maiden." He clutched his chest, feigning a blow then shrugged. Fred reckoned his brother was bound to have heard them by now and made himself scarce. "Probably, yeah. Plan to haul us before the Puce Overlord?"
"Not if I can possibly avoid it." Hermione stated fervently. Fred chuckled, 100% alive. She felt physically sick knowing what would happen. But that she could change. It wouldn't matter to time/space if she made sure he survived, surely. A little nudge at the end of the thread, that's all.
"You're an odd one." Fred considered the Slytherin in hand-me-down clothes, purer than the pure, questionably Dark, and unquestionably tetchy. He liked to think he was good with all sorts of people, reading their little tells, but if held at wand point he still wouldn't be able to say which way she'd go. She was playing a complicated game.
"It's been said before." She sighed then considered the tapestry. "Why Cliodna?"
"Her Toadiness uses this corridor frequently. We thought we could give her a little fanfare." He hadn't decided yet on fireworks or dungbombs. Perhaps both. They'd run out of contraband Dittany from the Hufflepuffs, and the Badgers had refused to say where they were getting it. Fred had some ideas, though. "Thanks for the burn cream."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Hermione said automatically. She edged towards the concealed passage when she heard someone coming down the hallway but it was only George, ostentatiously nonchalant. He was even whistling softly.
"Rosier." He gave her a nod. "Am I intruding on a torrid tryst?"
"A romantic rendezvous." Fred confirmed.
"An erotic encounter." George continued the alliterative patter.
"A mundane meeting." She interrupted before they could get their stride. "And, no. I was just leaving."
"Rosier was in the midst of denying she's our alchemical benefactor." One twin informed the other. "Despite our knowing she's been skulking in old potions stores."
"And hidden alcoves." The stereo copy chimed in.
"And suspiciously well concealed light and airy solariums suitable for the tending on an astonishing amount of plants." Fred waggled his eyebrows at her theatrically. "We didn't know Slytherins went in for surreptitious horticulture."
"You have a point?" Hermione asked, admitting defeat. The twins aired mirror Cheshire grins.
"We have a plan." The announcement came with a bow and a flourish.
"A large, explosive plan." Fred mimed a blast with his hands and made some, quiet because they were actually trying not to get caught, sound effects.
"A large, explosive plan with a tiny, tiny flaw." George amended with a melodramatic sigh. "We think we know what the problem is."
"But it's a fiddly correction to one of the potions we're using, which we've tried to fix but..." Fred held up his left hand, noticeably pink from recent healing possibly by her burn cream.
"It's very fiddly." George finished, his smile faltering a little in the face of Rosier's face. She looked sad, of all things. They seemed to have a rapport however unlikely. Did that upset her? "That goo you made us is top drawer, so what do you reckon? Fancy a little rebellion?"
She agreed.
It was probably foolish but Hermione felt if she didn't do something to stick two fingers up at Umbridge she'd explode. She did keep some Slytherin cred in negotiating a price for her assistance, a quiet favour at a later time, but she would've helped them for nothing. Ironically, the one of changes they needed doing to one of the precursor potions for the dragon firework was an alteration of the medium, something she had been experimenting with for years.
Hermione added the project to her schedule and asked Moppet to find alternate locations for the caches and plants. Fred and George could be reasonably trusted not to inform on her out of fellow feeling of mischief. Whatever interest they might have in the Marauder's Map could be passed off as nostalgia or hijinks. Once they had left the school, though, they might share their realisation of her activities with Harry or Ron.
She would need to move her laboratory, not something whimsically done, then talk to Hogwarts about making the new location unplottable. Or possibly reverse those tasks so she had somewhere definitely secure before she shifted a cauldron. Hermione trusted Harry, Ron, and her other self but in their shoes they wouldn't trust her or whatever lie she spun as to why she couldn't help them. She didn't trust herself not to cave and assist.
The rest of the Easter break was a regimented task-to-task slog. The unofficial lock-down of the Slytherin dorms and the approaching exams helped normalise her rush. No one asked why she was making notes on potions at midnight in the Common Room or why she spent hours behind her warded bed curtains. The latter was a fib as Moppet popped her out of the girls' suite to her lab. Still, no one seemed to notice what she was doing amidst their own flurry.
The pranks and reprisals against the green ties didn't let up when classes resumed. Parkinson sported a rank of antlers for almost a week before Madam Pomfrey found a way to remove them without also excising portions of her skull. Warrington's cornflake skin similarly resisted easy cure and he shed disgustingly to the point where he had to wear a mask at meals. And Graham Montague...
Malfoy found him in the U-bend and took him to the Hospital Wing. Hermione Granger had let her friends persuade her not to intervene, not to reveal the twins' part in his incapacitation. Her conscience had twinged for months particularly during her own prolonged stay in the infirmary after the Department of Mysteries. So Cathal Rosier went to the matron.
Madam Pomfrey didn't like basing a treatment program on 'information received' but without any other indication of what was wrong with Montague, she had to make the attempt. Neither did she like handing over students to Umbridge so Rosier's intercession went unmentioned except to Montague's parents, who had demanded to know what had happened to their only child. They pressed when Rosier refused to say who had assaulted their son. Her excuse of being told on condition of anonymity of the source did not win her their esteem.
Hermione was placidly, temperately, and blamelessly in the Library when Fred and George decanted their swamp then left bombastically. She didn't join the other students in the courtyard cheering their departure. She had an excellent view of the fireworks from the windows in the Astronomy section. They really were spectacular.
Umbridge was incandescent. There was little she could do however. The Weasley twins were of age. They had a right to discontinue their education, and given there had been no permanent damage to Hogwarts, there was nothing with which she could have them charged. Not that she didn't try. The Acting Headmistress Apparated back and forth to the Ministry several times during the run up to OWLs. Her absence gave more impetus to the pranksters. The Inquisitorial Squad were besieged on all sides, leaving the Slytherins who had spoken against joining smug indeed.
Hermione kept herself busy. She had to. Her chat to Hogwarts on unplottable locations within the Castle had diverted to the praxis of the Killing Curse. Avada Kedavra was an ancient spell, one of the oldest still in use largely unaltered. The Voice knew an astounding amount about the curse as it had at various times been taught in senior classes, though not since 1717 when it was made an Unforgivable. There were other spells that lingered in the fabric of reality, that once cast would always be cast at that time in that place. Many ritual castings left 'stains' upon the world.
She could sacrifice herself or put someone else in the way of Bellatrix's Avada. She could change Sirius's fate. It might be possible to substitute her own Killing Curse for the one cast by Lestrange, to kill the mad witch before she murdered her cousin. Hogwarts asked how certain Hermione was that she could end Bellatrix during the fight near the Veil. It would have to be done there. Someone would cast the Avada Kedavra there. How sure could she be that it would be her?
Hermione couldn't be sure enough. There was nothing to say there couldn't be more Killing Curses cast at that point. No guarantee that if she somehow managed to get into the Department at the right time that she could even cast the Unforgivable herself. Not everyone could put enough of themselves into wanting someone dead to compel their magic to kill. And if she couldn't do it, who could she trust to cast in her stead?
Manipulating the Death Eaters to do it was right out. None of her peers could either. That left the Order of the Phoenix, who were loath to use Unforgivables even during war. Maybe Mad-Eye might do it but she'd never be able to convince him. Perhaps Sirius Black himself? That thought squatted in her mind like an unwelcome guest for days.
How much could she rely on Harry's godfather?
How much would she have to tell him for him to believe Cathal Rosier wasn't lying?
Would he even risk it, if he knew what would happen? Would he chance Harry or Remus being caught by Bellatrix's curse? Would he be willing to die himself rather than endanger his friend and his godson?
Hermione kept herself busy to avoid thinking about time counting down. She and Moppet moved her laboratory, caches, and the hidden garden. She brewed. She studied. She did her Prefect duties and stood guard over the younger Slytherins as the tension before exams wound everyone spring-tight. She wrote and burned half a dozen letters to different people, trying to find a way to cheat Fate. She took her exams.
Leaving the room after the History of Magic OWL, Hermione had to admit to herself she wasn't certain. Not enough. She also had to confess that she didn't trust herself not to try something, to let her heart do her thinking for her. So she called Moppet on her wire, let her know where she was going, and headed down into the tunnels to try to get into the Chamber of Secrets. Even if she knocked herself out testing the wards, she wouldn't be in the Department of Mysteries.
The sewers beneath Hogwarts had not improved in the time since her last attempt. She had mapped out more of the access routes and forgotten conduits, allowing her to skirt around some of the old nodes of defensive magic. Hermione had more experience in defusing them as well. Many were so tangled up that a sudden discharge unravelled them entirely, dissipating the stored magic. She'd undone two and was working on a third when...
"Moppet thinks Miss is a bit of a twit." The house elf looked down at her witch, whom she had carried into the new laboratory that smelled of salt no matter how much Moppet cleaned it. The stone remembered being a cold larder and a cold larder it would stay. "Miss should wakes up now. Moppet got all the blood off Miss, even out of her ears."
"Fuck." Hermione slurred.
"No, thank you, Miss." Moppet said politely just in case Miss was asking. Miss was naked except for the gold talking-to-Moppet wire and the fake tummy. Her wands and her backpack Moppet had found near her but everything else had gone away, unmade. "Wake up."
"Damn it." Hermione groaned as she roused enough to blink at her friend's concerned face. "What went wrong?"
"Moppet doesn't know. Moppet found Miss in her blood, in her skin in a tunnel that was all sparkly." The house elf didn't know what magic had happened. There'd been a lot of it though.
"Another ward discharge." She rolled onto her stomach then lay there with her cheek pressed to the cool stone. Nothing was sore exactly. She felt like she had been put through a mangle. "Someone should do a survey of the old magic. Do some controlled deactivation. Curse Breakers."
"Would Miss like some trousers?" Moppet inquired, deciding she could ignore most of what her witch was mumbling. The groan she got in reply sounded affirmative so she went and got the nice soft comfy ones that were Miss's special sleeping clothes. They had rabbits on.
Hermione got into her pyjamas with help and achieved a sitting position propped up against a shelf. She pulled her Map out of the marsupium, relieved to see both were functional. A new section of the dungeons had partially revealed itself but it blinked in and out of existence. Or the magic release had destabilised the area's connection to Hogwarts. Or she'd given herself a concussion.
"What time is it?" She asked after becoming aware she'd been staring dumbly at the vellum for several minutes.
"Abouts two of the clock in the night." Moppet peered at her witch. "Miss should go to Madam the Healer." At the sluggish nod, the house elf took her friend's hand and popped her to the Hospital Wing. When the poppy witch asked questions, Miss just stared so Moppet did a bad thing and lied, saying she had found Miss in the hall on the floor not awake. There were no more questions after that.
Hermione was still in the Hospital Wing when the party from the Department of Mysteries returned. She woke to a thunderous argument between Harry and Ron about her. It took a few moments for her addled mind to spin up to speed. The boys were arguing about Cathal. About why Cathal was in the infirmary. She was puzzled about that too.
Opening her eyes, she saw her friends, her other self, and Moppet hiding behind her bedstead. The house elf wagged a long finger at her in a silent scold before vanishing. Hermione groaned. She'd be due a telling off. At least she had finished her exams and could take it fairly easy for the rest of the term.
Madam Pomfrey ejected the uninjured and the mended, ordering them back to Gryffindor Tower for Healer-mandated rest. She threatened to dose them all with Dreamless Sleep if they didn't go to bed. Which left Hermione and Hermione in her tender care. Hermione tried not to look at the brown haired girl unconscious and surrounded by translucent medical spells. She'd slept through that bit first time, rousing for potions. And potions. And potions. She made a face at the memory of the taste.
"And you, Miss Rosier." The matron's voice jerked her attention towards her. "You are fit to return to your Common Room. I have reported your escapade to Professor Snape, whom I am assured will take a close interested in what you were up to." Their gaze met and the older witch added staunchly. "Which was not a random hex gone wrong so don't try that excuse."
"Yes, Madam Pomfrey." Hermione complied, keeping her snark to herself about the matron suddenly finding her curiosity now Umbridge the Usurper had been overthrown. She didn't have the mental faculties to bitch right now. She biddably took herself off to the dungeons, crawled into her bed and slumbered until prodded awake.
"Miss." Moppet prodded again as her witch blinked at her. "It is Sunday. You sleeped for a whole day." The house elf's ears twitched, catching the noise as the snaky students came back to their nest. "You need to be ups."
Hermione yielded to the third prod, shuffled to the bathroom to freshen up then got dressed feeling less stupefied. She had a lingering ache at the side of her head, which upon investigation was probably due to the communication wire, and a general feeling of being stretched then snapped back. Considering she could be lying in the Hospital Wing drinking a dozen potions every hour, she had nothing about which to complain.
"Has Miss finished punishing herself?" Moppet inquired, arms crossed.
"I think so." She sighed. She had albeit unintentionally removed any opportunity for her to interfere with the events leading up to Sirius's death. Everyone would know the Dark Lord was back. Fudge would shortly be replaced, good riddance, and the world would become by increments a more frightening place. "I hadn't planned to knock myself out."
"Moppet is willing to believe Miss only because Moppet doesn't think Miss would on purpose scare Moppet so badly." The house elf blinked then sniffled when her witch hugged her, apologising many many times.
"I can't promise I won't do it again." As much as she never wanted Moppet to find her like that again, Hermione had to be honest. "We need to get into the Chamber. I think I'm getting closer to finding a way to..." She stopped abruptly as footsteps thudded down the hall. Moppet went invisible and Hermione was on her feet wand in hand when the door flew open.
"Rosier!" Millicent had expected her dorm-mate to still be in bed. No one had bothered the blonde, not with Granger in the Hospital Wing and rumours running riot. Something had happened. They'd all assumed it was a duel, an impressive one, until the Sunday morning Prophet had landed in their breakfast. "It's a bloody crisis!"
"The Dark Lord has returned." Hermione stated calmly, not feeling up to pretending to be unaware as Bulstrode breathlessly broke the news. Millicent's eyes widened briefly before she schooled her face into blandness, a little harder for her now she wasn't numbing herself with Calming Draught.
"Yes." She said lamely. "Malfoy, Nott, Goyle, and Crabbe's fathers have been arrested. In full regalia." It was all over the school. "Umbridge's been recalled. Dumbledore's back." Millicent took a breath. "And why aren't you surprised?"
"I was in the Hospital Wing when the Gryffindors arrived." Granted she had been asleep but she doubted anyone would bother to check. Magical folk were not much acquainted with the deductive method.
"Parangyo and Warrington want a general meeting." Again. Millicent was just done with being besieged. She'd joined the Inquisitorial Squad to get some of her own back, only to set herself up as a target. If not for the Occlumency, she would've been a nervous wreck pissing Calming Draught. Bloody Umbridge. Bloody Potter. And she couldn't run, oh no. The Bulstrodes had a reputation for being stalwart. Merlin, this was going to be bad.
They had a week until end of term. Parangyo emphasised the brevity of the ordeal. Whatever the other Houses threw at them, whatever the politics, the Express left on Saturday. Everyone would be on it. What happened after that was between individual students and their parents. So there was no need to panic. They were the cunning and ambitious. They would rise above.
The Seventh Year's words returned to Hermione as she checked her Map. Her preparations for the summer were done. She had three different escape plans if Snape or the Malfoys tried to nab her. In extremis, she had enough supplies on her to run at a moment's notice. Moppet was ready too. Everything was as organised as they could manage. Which was why, when she saw who was in the Gunhilda of Gorsemoor Corridor she swore.
Nott was alone and cornered by a group large enough their names crowded and jumbled together. If she retreated back down the passage she had been about to leave, no one in the corridor would be any the wiser. She didn't have to do anything. Except Nott was alone and it could get ugly. And she was a Gryffindor.
Hermione strode out of the little side passage, stepping around the statue of a portly, self-important wizard. She was behind the right flank of the crowd, visible to the bulk of the group hemming Nott into the empty niche where a statue had been. Probably someone politically awkward who had been furtively removed for the good of the reputation of the school.
"Stop this." Hermione shouted to be heard over the taunts. Junior Death Eater was the mildest. The vitriol was thick. No one in the throng was old enough to remember much of the first war but they had heard the stories and lived with the echoed fear of their parents and older siblings. They were scared, angry, and felt helpless. Hermione sympathised. She'd been left adrift half-sheltered, half-ignored by her elders, clamouring for information they didn't have or refused to share.
"We're lucky today, chaps." Kenneth Towler, a Seventh Year with more nerve than sense, shoved forward drawing his wand to restrain Rosier. Two of You-Know-Who's minions-in-training. Even better. They could send the pair of them home with a damn clear message. If Potter and a bunch of Fifth Years could see off a dozen Death Eaters, then two Snakes would be no trouble.
Towler was halfway through his spell when he hit the floor. Hermione let him start casting, let everyone's attention turn to him before she dropped him with a Stunner. She wasn't a moving speaker or particularly charismatic so she needed every advantage she could garner. He'd drawn his wand first. He'd cast first. They'd all seen it, though whether they would admit to it later if this incident came before their Heads of House was hard to say.
"His thoughts were red thoughts and his teeth were white." Hermione flicked her wand, activating the trace spell she had worked into all the potions she'd made as Sredni Vashtar. The writing hands of the crowd lit up. Almost every last one. Umbridge had been generous with her punishments.
"What are you doing, Rosier?" Lee Jordan had joined in to calm people down not give Nott a good kicking. He took his chance now, wanting his friends to take a moment to reconsider. They were all worried, wrung-out from a gruelling year. Not really thinking straight. "No one do anything until we know what spell she's cast."
"Everyone who's glowing has used some of my Dittany." She jumped into the opening Lee had given her. "I've been brewing the stuff all year on the quiet." That surprised them enough to cause glancing and muttering. The Hufflepuffs had been passing the Essence around generously. Buckets of it.
"Bullshite." A Muggle-born from the back of the group scoffed.
"I didn't do it for free." Hermione sneered her best sneer. "And I can undo it." She paused to let that sink in. "The bleeding won't kill you but you all remember the pain, don't you?" She did, years after. "Dark magic lingers. It seeps in, making you feel dirty. Weak." Her arm itched where the scar wasn't. "Nott, come here." Her eyes didn't move from the crowd. The Slytherin edged over to her, keeping his back to the wall. "None of us want to see what I'll do to all of you if you cross me."
Someone in the crowd muttered then another. The group stirred, caught between her threat and their wish for violence. Hermione reached behind her, gripping her second wand to cast a Shield Charm over herself and Nott. She couldn't channel any magic into the Dittany potion users. The tracer was just a tracer. But she had a wordless broad target stinging hex that might buy them some time to run away.
Then behind the gang, a statue exploded with a sound like a cannon, showering everyone in the corridor with bits of marble and billows of chalky dust. Hermione stuffed her wand in her pocket, grabbed Nott's hand and legged it down the hall, turning a fast corner before diving behind a tapestry. She didn't stop until they were two floors down in the comparative safety of an empty classroom. She dropped her Shield Charm with a muttered profanity.
Theodore Nott embraced her like a condemned man would a reprieve.
