Summer was... difficult.
After morning tea, they finished their shopping as a trio and rode with a clearly exhausted Montague on the Knight Bus to Godalming in Surrey. They were decanted in front of the church of St Peter and St Paul then walked the short way to the river Wey, to a timber framed house nestled among trees. Their presence didn't keep Graham's mother from telling him off for being stubborn when he stumbled in grey faced. She sent him immediately up to bed and let Hermione and Theo use her Floo to hurry home to Nott Manor.
They were back in time for luncheon, just. The Nott elves set out the plates formally in one of the salons overlooking the garden. Siglinde Rosier was waiting for them there and they made stilted conversation about their excursion while the older witch studied them for any sign of injury or injustice. That meal set the tone for all the other lunches, regardless of whether they had left the house that day. It was as though Cathal's grandmother couldn't quite believe she wasn't dead.
Mostly she and Theo ate alone. Hermione didn't mind though she did feel a little daft hemmed in by china in the middle of the vast table. The elves refused to be persuaded to relax their catering. Miss Rosier was the first witch Master Theodore had hosted since he had left them to go to Hogwarts. Miss would be impressed by his hospitality.
Miss would take sudden canapés and no privacy to the nights when they dined in company. Several of Tristan Nott's cronies would invite themselves over to use the library or to escape Bellatrix Lestrange's infestation of Malfoy Manor. They weren't the rowdiest sort but Hermione hardly rejoiced at the company of her Selwyn cousin or Yaxley. The Carrows too scuttled in.
She couldn't say anything because it was Theo's house. She couldn't say anything because these were her like-minded folk. Hermione gritted her teeth so much her mother would've fitted her with a mouth guard. However Mrs Granger was far and safely away. Hermione practised her Occlumency instead and managed to spend a whole month in the company of murderers without becoming one.
If she divorced herself from the knowledge the other house guests were racist terrorists then she could find a new normal. Corban Yaxley, future head of the DMLE, was ascetic in his habits. He visited three nights a week to research compulsion magic, drinking tea and eschewing dessert. He didn't snout into the food like a truffle hound or make serious inroads into the Nott cellars like the Carrows. Or like Sholto Selwyn stare at himself in mirrors as though he had forgotten who was on the other side of the looking glass.
Avery was the worst. He came over late, helped himself to the spirits, and leered at her. He got handsy once when they were alone, stopping only when she Stunned him. Hermione packed him through a Floo back to Avery Hall and said nothing about it, trusting he would take the hint. When he returned a few nights later, Siglinde used the Cruciatus on him the instant he stepped out of the hearth.
"I do not care for you touching my granddaughter." Madam Rosier spoke as though Avery had used his fingers instead of the sugar tongs. Sweat pricked out on her forehead as she held the spell and her victim writhed on the floor. To use an Unforgivable, you had to mean it. And she meant it, oh yes. "If you repeat this offence, I will petition the Dark Lord for permission to kill you. Which he will grant, because I went to prison for him while you hid."
Avery gurgled and pissed himself, knocking his head against the bricks of the fireplace. Siglinde dropped the curse as her hand trembled. Cathal stepped forward quickly to support her. Such a good girl. She leaned against her son's daughter, trembling at the release of magic. Her head buzzed. Little points of light flashed in front of her eyes. Tristan's boy was there too, cleaning up the mess Avery made with a flick of his wand.
"I do apologise, Theodore." Siglinde found her voice from somewhere. "Such a nice rug."
"Do not trouble yourself, Madam Rosier." Theo said, imitating his father whenever there was any unpleasantness. Best not to remark on it. Just tidy it away and try not to think about it. "If I'd known there was some difficulty, I would have closed the Floo to Avery."
"My elves told me." Both of them looked at Cathal, who was staring at the prone, groaning wizard contemplatively. "Granddaughter?"
"What?" Hermione jerked back from the floor of the long gallery in Malfoy Manor. Had she looked like that when Bellatrix cursed her? All she could remember was the pain and her soul-deep determination to say anything except the truth.
"Why didn't you tell me Avery had made improper advances to you?" Siglinde asked gently, wanting to curse the bastard again but shamefully aware she didn't have the strength.
"It didn't seem important." Hermione said absently, her mind still fogged with memory. At the time she had been more concerned with keeping her own temper. She'd wanted to get him out of her sight before she did something permanent to him simply because he was a target of convenience.
"Cathal..." Theo didn't know what he was going to say. Her stare sharpening on him stilled his tongue. He stood there with Avery twitching at his feet as the Rosier witches waited for him to say his lines. There was an etiquette for situations such as this. "Madam, I make no dispute with you. The House of Nott holds no alliance with the House of Avery." He recited what his father had taught him. "You have not violated hospitality."
Madam Rosier went to Malfoy Manor the next day and Avery never visited Nott Manor again. He wasn't dead, Siglinde informed her granddaughter in that distant voice Hermione was growing to fear. The Dark Lord hadn't punished him. That neglect seemed to stick in the older witch's craw. She had nightmares traumatic enough to wake the whole house. Hermione took to reading through the night in Siglinde's suite to reassure her.
Theo was a gentleman throughout. Nothing was any trouble. He provided potions, ran errands, conjured pillows when she nodded off in the middle of study sessions, and generally was a friend to her. Hermione saw it with pain. She liked Theo. They had a lot in common. Maybe they could be something more. And all of that would evaporate after the war once he found out how much she had lied to him.
Summer was difficult but it wasn't the worst she had endured. Hermione told herself that as she packed to return to Hogwarts. The summer of 1997, when Dumbledore was murdered and she Obliviated her parents had hurt worse than four weeks of cold sweat and tongue biting. She wasn't anxious to repeat this August. If this go around didn't work and she returned again... that thought had her heart racing and the edges of her vision going white.
Siglinde found her sitting on the floor with her back to her trunk folding and unfolding her cloak as tears dripped down her face. Cathal's grandmother hugged her, rubbing her back as she murmured promises into her flaxen hair. No one would hurt her. Everything would be fine. She was the most precious thing in the world. Precious.
She slept so heavily and dreamlessly on the eve of term Hermione suspected she had been dosed with something. Her tongue didn't taste of woolly socks, from valerian and wormwood, so the obvious culprit potion hadn't been used. Her pupils weren't dilated nor were there any other physical signs. In the mirror, she looked well-rested and pink.
Mindful of watching house elves, Hermione swore in her own head rather than aloud. She bathed and dressed, running through the obscenities she knew starting again from the top when she saw the clothes laid out for her. Her wardrobe, such as it was, had remained at Hogwarts. Siglinde had provided her with garments appropriate to her station. To Hermione, she looked half Edwardian schoolmistress, half poster proletariat; a uniform pretending it wasn't.
They used the Georgian terrace house, leaving as early as was sensibly plausible and using Muggle-Repelling Charms to slip through the rush hour crowd undetected. As neither of them were particularly chatty, it was a pleasant wait reading until the Express chugged into the station. For the same reason, they opted for the last compartment rather than the open carriages where the older Slytherins congregated to jockey and network.
The next people to arrive were all First Years, anxious not to be late, with harassed parents or elder siblings. That cohort included Millicent Bulstrode, who shouldered into the compartment to present her little brother. The boy was round and short with dark hair clipped close to his skull, making him look unfortunately like a bowling pin.
"Cathal, this is Amalric." Millicent didn't quite scruff the lad but she did have a firm hold on him. "Amalric, this is Miss Rosier, one of the Prefects in my Year. You will do absolutely everything she tells you." She didn't add a threat. He was the heir so she couldn't do much to him but a harsh word from the Rosier heiress would have Morphia Bulstrode correcting her son quickly.
"Good morning." Hermione said after the conversational pause that hinted it was her turn to say something. "Care to join us?" She offered as Bulstrode looked like a ticking bomb. The witch sat quickly and glared her brother into the seat opposite. "Did you have a good summer?"
"Not really." Millicent dragged out the Occlumency primer Rosier had given her and showed her the bookmark halfway through. "I see why you're always staring at your plate at mealtimes. Conscious focus turns my stomach."
"I do my distraction contests then. All the noise and motion." She clarified. Hermione made sure she didn't skip meals. That was a bad habit to get into, particularly as Cathal's body had more muscle mass to sustain. Low blood sugar really affected her mood too. She'd not noticed in her original form as she'd always just pushed through, getting more and more frazzled as she overextended herself.
"Is that something I need to learn?" Amalric consciously sat up straight in the company of the older students. He wasn't stupid. Millie hadn't introduced him to Miss Rosier because she thought they'd be great friends. Bad things were happening and he was a Sacred Twenty-Eight name heir, as were Nott and Rosier. They needed to work together, and Amalric didn't want to forever be the little brother dragged along.
"Yes." The trio answered almost simultaneously. The two witches looked at Theo, who shrugged. His father had drilled into him the need to keep his mind his own. He was simply more reticent than to admit to his competence in public.
"But do it privately. Hogwarts doesn't offer classes on mental defence, except only peripherally in DADA." Theo observed, his mouth twisting into a frown. "Assuming the teacher is half-way competent."
"Big assumption." Millicent groused. The revelation of the Gryffindors' defence club had shaken her confidence. She knew the elite Slytherins had a duelling club but she had never merited an invitation. Given what she had seen of the grand melee, she had been glad of the disregard. Not now though. She needed to be a better witch.
They all bent their heads to reading. Hermione to her covert delight saw Amalric had a copy of Hogwarts: A History. She didn't remark on it, continuing with a book on ward and circle magic she had borrowed from the Nott library. She would've borrowed more, Theo had generously thrown open his family collection to her, except with the Aurors searching the students' luggage she didn't want anything confiscated. Albeit complicated, ward magic was not banned. Blood magic absolutely was.
Malfoy swaggered into their compartment on his way to the rear of the train. He lingered long enough to jeer, all but baring his arm to Nott and Rosier, neither of whom had been summoned to pay court. Goyle and Crabbe might have fathers in service to the Dark Lord too but the lumpen wizards were hardly rivals. The studious pair were and they all knew it. But he had been the one chosen.
When the blond left, Theo met Cathal's gaze. Her fists were clenched. He shook his head. They couldn't discuss it here and if he were honest with himself, following in his father's footsteps was not something he wished to do until he had completed his schooling. Draco's premature recruitment was a poisoned chalice. His inevitable failure might perhaps buy them some time.
There were Aurors on the train. It would have been difficult for the Bulstrode/Nott/Rosier carriage to remain ignorant of that fact as the security force made a point of checking on them frequently. The surveillance was so invasive Millicent sent Amalric to sit with his friends in hope he would be more anonymous. She didn't want the Aurors to recognise her little brother by sight.
Hermione left for the Prefect meeting. Cho Chang and Eddie Carmichael were the Heads. She saw her other self hide a frown and even years after, Hermione had to agree. Cho had been selected because of her connections to Cedric Diggory and the DA. Carmichael had got the nod because of his gift of the gab as much as his marks. Excellent students, both of them, but burdened with the Headmaster's message.
There was a lot of talk and not a lot of resolution. The actual work would fall to Granger and the Hufflepuffs. The Slytherin Prefects dispersed without discussion; they all knew there would be a meeting with their Head of House after the Welcoming Feast. There was no need to woo the interest of the Ministry bully-boys by convening on the train.
The Auror presence was no more discreet at the gates of Hogwarts. The mountain of luggage, the purposeful sentries, the checking in with teachers who had known them for years, all pointed to the Ministry wanting to be seen 'doing something'. The badged students were roped into crowd control. Harry Potter's absence was remarked upon, prompting Tonks to go looking for him. Hermione refrained from punching Malfoy in his smug face solely because she wouldn't be able to explain why she had done so.
Once everyone was inside the castle, the Sorting and the Feast happened without incident. Amalric joined his sister in Slytherin to Millicent's immense relief. The induction and Snape's speech to the new Snakes occurred at its proper time as did the Prefect meeting in the chintzy room. Nothing jarred the expected pattern until Hermione slipped out of the dorm at midnight to meet with Moppet.
Ordinarily, she would have been able to sneak around fairly directly with her Map, avoiding Filch and Mrs Norris. Peeves rarely showed up during the first week of term as the excitement of the firsties more than sated him. Similarly the teachers were knackered with the influx after a leisurely summer. Few patrolled longer than an hour after curfew.
Not so this year. The Aurors would remain on high alert for most of September before relocating to Hogsmeade until the winter break. They were temporarily quartered on the school grounds, meaning they were at liberty to prowl about inconveniently close to the dungeons. It took Hermione half an hour to reach her new laboratory.
When she finally shut the door and rearmed the wards, she let out a long sigh before beginning the demoralising task of inspecting her potion experiments. Before leaving for the Leaky Cauldron, she had finished up any brewing that couldn't be rested for a few days just in case she was delayed in her shopping. Hermione had not planned to leave her work for a month.
Moppet had done her best. Nothing had exploded and she'd covered all the cauldrons so the potions wouldn't be contaminated but at least half were ruined. Hermione got out her lab journal to make notes on the resultant noxious liquids, goos, and powdery residues. One had solidified so thoroughly it resisted Vanishing. To take a sample, she had to charm the cauldron into water and pour it off. Even then there was a metallic film left on the translucent lump remaining. Perhaps it would be useful, if she could replicate it.
The rest of her experiments were salvageable though they wouldn't be her best work. Hermione kept them, vaguely thinking that she could turn them in to Slughorn. She didn't want to catch his attention. He wouldn't invite a Rosier to join the Slug Club and having a potion already done would give her time to improvise in class, something she could never have done under Snape's scrutiny.
"Miss!" Moppet popped into the lab, flinging herself at her witch. "Moppet is happy again!"
"Me too." Hermione hugged her friend, shuddering with the release of tension. "It's such a relief to see you. Cathal's grandmother is obsessed with her. I think the poor woman had a breakdown when her son was killed." The words tumbled out as she tried to strategise. "God, I think I'm going to have to go back every holiday. She'll be frantic when she hears Aurors are at Hogwarts."
"Is the witch a very nasty witch?" Moppet asked, hugging her witch tighter.
"I think we can safely say Madam Rosier is not on the side of the angels." She couldn't shake the sight of Avery flailing on the hearth rug. "I'm not sure but I think she is one of the ones that Disapparated when Harry came back to life. The white hair makes her distinctive. I can't be sure without a Pensieve. My memories of the battle are patchy." Hermione took a deep breath. "I'm back here now so we'll be okay for the term."
"Moppet doesn't want to be nasty witch's elf." The little arms eased their grip as Moppet stepped back to stare up at her Miss. "The bonds makes Moppet belong to Miss's blood."
"Yes, no, that's not happening." Hermione said ineloquently. She suppressed a manic laugh. She was not tying Moppet to the House of Rosier. "There are bound to be, sorry, unintentional pun." She took another breath to calm herself. "I mean I'm sure I can find an alternative ritual to bind us without involving Cathal's lineage. I expect the older rites are one-to-one like familiar bonds."
"Miss is good with books." Moppet reassured herself and her witch that some good thing would be found. She looked towards the cauldrons, wincing at the empty ones Miss had cleaned up. "Moppet tried to put the stay-as-it-is magic on Miss's brews but the magic slid off."
"Some of them can't be put in stasis. They decohere, which is a change of state, which disrupts the charm." She explained, familiar with potion disasters from tutoring Neville. "It's alright. I've got time this year to build up my stockpiles again. How are the plants?"
"All the garden things are green. Moppet did everything Miss showed Moppet to do." The house elf asserted confidently.
"Great." Hermione took her word for it. Herbology came naturally to fey of all sorts and the literature on the subject wasn't as abstruse as other magical theory. Moppet had an edge there being a Hogwarts elf. Most house elves learned their human languages through eavesdropping and shouted commands. "We'll do the pruning during the new moon on the 12th, which should synchronise the growth rates."
"No horrid pink witch this year." Moppet had felt grubby sick with that nasty witch was Acting Headmistress. All the elves had, like she was bad food they'd eaten.
"Just Malfoy letting Death Eaters into the school." But that was a problem for June. "I might actually have quite a restful year this time around. All Hermione's problems are not mine." Hermione grimaced, uncomfortable at how relieved she felt she wouldn't be pining for Ron as he snogged Lavender Brown. It was just as well that Cathal wasn't in love with the redhead. That would be a very Escher love triangle.
Emotions were biochemistry, a feedback loop entwined with thoughts and experiences. Cathal's heart didn't skip a beat at Ron's boyish grin. She didn't feel anything for him other than echoes of a friendship she couldn't acknowledge. Hermione rubbed her neck, fingers digging into taut tendons, letting the pain distract her from her contemplations. Down that road...
As she wasn't doing Ancient Runes, Hermione had a free period first thing on Monday. She used it to write to Esne, the Nott house elf. She'd made a point of asking the names of all the elves she had met, particularly the Rosier elves she might one had inherit. The prospect made her skin crawl but she'd learned from Moppet that the interaction between humans and house elves was more complicated than she'd understood at fourteen. It was still substantively slavery; really complicated old magical slavery.
Theo had assigned Esne as her personal attendant, in addition to the Rosier elves as the latter were also guests at Nott Manor. Relations between the two factions were polite but territorial. There were strict demarcations, one of which was the reception of owls. If she wrote to a Rosier elf, the letter would go automatically to Rosier Hall, which was under Ministry surveillance.
Nott Manor was probably also being watched but the Aurors didn't have legal interception or seizure writs. If there was any funny business, Theo could complain to his trustee, one of whose responsibilities was the security of his ward's possessions. Goblins viewed theft as worse than murder, their rationale being you could only be killed once but you could be robbed many times. They took the same stance with assault, which caused significant friction with a wizarding society that had the opposite view.
Most of what she wrote was anodyne but it confirmed she'd arrived safely, that she would sensibly avoid the Aurors, and that she intended to avoid Malfoy, who was being a prat. That ought to reassure Cathal's grandmother while simultaneously be dull enough not to excite the interest of anyone tampering with the mail. To cover for the fact she was writing to an elf, she added a request for the cedar oil shampoo she had allegedly forgot to pack.
Hermione trekked up to the Owlery and sent the letter off, taking advantage of privacy to sketch a plotting rune on the floor to add this part of the West Tower to her thaumaturgical survey. She shifted some of the detritus of pellets and feathers to cover the sigil before heading to Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Wherein Professor Snape and Harry displayed their continuing intractable enmity. Hermione ignored the exchange. Snape had provoked Harry without doubt. Her Head of House might be an adept spy and have the excuse of being under considerable stress but he was a bully and unprofessional. She wondered how many students who might've been Healers or Aurors had missed out on the chance due to a lack of a Potions NEWT.
Her pensive mood was not improved by her next class. There were relatively few students for Advanced Divination. Many who had taken the subject as an easy OWL dropped it to concentrate on 'real' classes. Hermione had considered doing so but as she planned to under-perform in Potions and Muggle Studies required little work, she'd opted to continue with the extra class as something to keep her mind occupied.
Professor Trelawney and Firenze had divided the Sixth Years between them by drawing lots. Trelawney got Lavender and Parvati, and MacDougal and Perks. Firenze got Rosier, Zabini, and Anthony Goldstein. Hermione met the two boys outside the lower Divination classroom. Neither of them looked happy to see her or each other.
"The door's warded." Zabini informed her, his tone suggesting if it were his door, he'd be firing his servants. He tapped his wand against the wood to demonstrate the flare and ripple of an offertory ward. "I presume we have to figure out what token we need to pass."
"We've tried three communion charms and the mental clarity ritual in chapter three." Goldstein held up volume four of Unfogging the Future. He'd read through it during the holidays, trying to dovetail the theories with his studies of the Kabbalah. Many of the traditions were the same or of similar origin and praxis.
Hermione assumed they were competent enough to have done everything properly and took it as read that nothing had worked. She held out her right hand towards the door, watching the magic stir. Offertory or sacrificial wards could be endlessly finicky. It was possible to set the parameters to anything; an unmated female long-eared white rabbit born on a rainy Tuesday was the example in the book. The only security drawback being that the offering type could not be altered once the ward was set.
The standard method of discovering the requirements of a ward involved augury Divination, usually crystal gazing. If Trelawney had set this little test, Hermione would've recommended they get their orbs out to waste an hour staring at the door until the Professor got bored and let them in. Or assume the sacrifice was a bottle of alcohol.
Perhaps that was unkind but Trelawney's drinking was an open secret. However, it was Firenze who had raised the ward. Hermione thought back to what he had said to her the first time she'd entered his classroom. He couldn't ban her from the subject prior to her OWLs but NEWTs were by invitation. Professors had far more discretion over who they taught in the advanced classes. The sacrifice didn't have to be tangible.
"There are no stars for me." Hermione put her hand on the door, letting the ward magic swirl around her as she focussed her mind on her sudden decision to drop Divination. She concentrated on her memories of storming out of Trelawney's class in Third Year. That had been a very satisfying departure.
The ward collapsed with a crackling sound and the door clicked open. Hermione turned and walked away.
