The first body she saw in the corridors she didn't recognise. Hermione was on patrol, an activity increasingly becoming a farce. The Prefects did not need to encourage their fellow students not to go about after curfew. As soon as the hour approached, everyone bolted for their respective Common Rooms. She was alone as her rostered partner, Longbottom, was in the Hospital Wing again. His tactic of keeping the Carrows' attention on him rather than on the younger students was working but it cost.

The little form was curled up at the base of one of the staircases. She almost trod on him in the gloom. Crouching, Hermione did the first aid checks her... Granger's parents... had taught her. He was still breathing, though there was vomit in his mouth and nose. She cleaned him up then rolled him carefully into the recovery position.

He was a First or Second Year Ravenclaw and from the look of him he had been subject to Crucio. His limbs trembled under her hands, indication of sloppy spell-casting, and Hermione suspected the detention cursing had begun. Neville had mentioned it briefly in the whirlwind of catching up after the Trio returned to Hogwarts. No general notice had been given to the student body. The Headmaster had not mentioned it.

A little side project from the Carrows, it seemed. Hermione straightened and with wincing care levitated the boy. He shuddered as her spell washed over him, twitching enough the magic couldn't get as secure a hold on him as she'd like. Four flights of stairs with only a half-grip on a badly hurt child was not a good prospect. She got her shoulders under him, settling him into a fireman's carry before dismissing the levitation.

He wasn't hefty but Granger wouldn't have been able to manage it. Hermione plodded up the steps, pausing on each landing to check she wasn't being followed and to catch her breath. When she got to the Spiral Staircase, she stopped again to look up at the elegantly winding curve and swear. Cathal might be built like an Amazon but there were limits.

She set the boy down gently, wiped her sweating face with her sleeve then sent her Patronus to the Tower to rouse assistance. Hermione shifted herself and her passenger into the centre of the spiral where they would be visible to those above so they would see it wasn't a trap. She could have left the kid but she wanted to be sure he was found and she wanted to chew the ear of whoever had missed him.

Patil and Goldstein came down with wands drawn. The witch stood in a duelling posture keeping her covered while the wizard checked the hallway for lurkers. Hermione waited semi-patiently, wanting to hurry them along but aware she would get nothing useful if she tried. She did want everyone to be cautious. Constant vigilance etc. So she waited.

"I thought the Dark couldn't cast the Patronus." Patil remarked when Goldstein returned. They swapped guard duty so she could check the boy lying at Rosier's feet.

"The spell requires you to be happy. It doesn't specify what you are happy about. Umbridge can cast it." Hermione informed her, taking a step back when Goldstein indicated for her to do so. "Don't you do a head count?"

"We do. We did it." Anthony replied, testy with the proof they had made mistake. "Everyone was in."

"Melwidge didn't sign himself out." Gently, the witch lifted the boy's eyelids. They were pink, not red suffused with blood. No cranial trauma, at least. "So someone either covered for him or he snuck out or the count was off or..." Padma stopped herself, taking a deep breath. "All control begins with the self." She murmured then looked up at Rosier. "Why didn't you take him to the Hospital Wing?"

"Madam Pomfrey is out of pain potions. The next batch won't be ready for three days." The boy was unconscious at the moment but when he roused he'd need pain relief. She'd included a generous amount in the paper slips.

"Which you know because you've been apprenticing there." Goldstein's tone suggested he thought her presence in the Hospital Wing suspiciously convenient. Hermione did not comment. She'd worked for seven years to overcome Granger's habit of vomiting discourse at every opportunity. Personally she gave her efforts a Pass at best,. "Firenze doesn't like you."

"I'll add him to the list." She snarked. Padma glared at the two of them but Anthony was evidently not trying to pick a fight.

"I've read your numbers, Rosier. They don't make any sense." His stymied intellectual curiosity made him sound plaintive. "I think I have you reconciled like Malfoy then you do something like this. I keep drawing the High Priestess reversed and the ten of wands. I don't trust consistent readings. You can't have been doing the same thing for seven years."

"You want to discuss tarot now?" Hermione gestured at the unconscious Melwidge, shamelessly using the boy to divert the conversation. Goldstein recollected himself to the urgency of the moment and apologised, sheathing his wand to assist Patil. While the Ravenclaws were gathering their Housemate, she made her exit.

The second body she saw in the corridors she did recognise. Seamus Finnegan was sitting slumped under the portrait of Merwyn the Malicious portentously near the secret corridor to the Entrance Hall. His head jerked up when she approached. He had his wand out but he pointed it half a metre to her left. He was however aware enough to swear.

"Fuck, Lovegood, am I glad to see ye." He slurred, his blue eyes squinting to bring her into focus. It didn't evidently work as he didn't recoil when she crouched beside him to examine the blood crusting the side of his head. "Took a bit of a wallop."

"Hmm." Hermione agreed, deciding that he could think she was Luna for a while longer. The wound was from a blow not a curse and when she touched his head delicately she felt bone shift. Cranial fractures were not something she was willing to treat in a hallway. She slid an arm around his waist and helped him to his feet.

"Got me in the knee too." Seamus shifted his weight onto his good leg, leaning heavily on her. If he noticed she was almost a foot taller than Luna, he didn't remark on it. Mostly he just swore as she took him the quiet way to the Hospital Wing. He smelled of wood smoke and cheap booze with undertones of something gamy. Goat, she suspected.

Madam Pomfrey had a single bed free when they walked in. She was treating a Slytherin Third Year and simply nodded, trusting Cathal to know the drill. Hermione lay Seamus down, removed his shoes, stowed his wand on the bedside table, and cast a diagnostic charm. Yep, cranial fracture though thankfully a minor one. Concussion, extensive contusions, curse damage to the left leg, and a fair bit of abrasion of the knuckles of his off hand. Seamus had given as good as he got.

"Snatcher scuffle." Hermione informed the matron. Not the first, not the last.

"We'll swap. Use a mild massage charm to help Crowdy with the muscle spasms." Madam Pomfrey left the Slytherin in the charge of the Slytherin, turning her back on the pair in hopes the girl would tell Rosier who had hurt her. It wasn't the Cruciatus but it was something nasty indeed.

Hermione stood at Elspeth's bedside and hated herself when the girl flinched. She was a half-blood and moderately clever. No trouble. But she'd dragged herself into the Common Room late three times this week alone and her family were wealthy landowners; a prominent lineage unconcerned with blood politics.

"Has Crabbe given a reason for his bullying?" Hermione asked, as though making an informed guess. If someone from another House was targeting her, Crowdy would've told someone. So, it was in-house. For morale if nothing else, she and Nott kept a close eye on the younger Years to ensure they weren't picking up any bad habits. So no one Fourth Year or under. None of the Prefects had time for private vendettas. Those few Fifth and Sixth Years not Prefects she could have asked. The same with the Sevenths. She could have made inquiries. What she had done was ask Moppet to follow the girl.

"No." Her reply was a mouse-whisper.

"Do you think he's going to get bored of you any time soon?" What she wanted to ask was if the girl wanted her to dismantle Crabbe into an anatomical maquette.

"No." Resignation with a bit of gritted teeth.

"That suggests he's been asked to make your life miserable, don't you think?" Hermione raised an eyebrow as a full body tremble shook the girl. The tremor looked like an electric shock and Crowdy had to wait it out before she could nod. "I think you should go home for Yule, and stay home."

"Ministry says we have to go to Hogwarts." This reply was trenchant, her mistrust obvious.

"The Ministry talks out of its arse." The casual obscenity shocked a laugh out of the girl so Hermione pressed on. "I don't like Crabbe and I don't want him using a Slytherin for target practice." She drew her wand slowly, telegraphing her movement. No flinch. She cast the massage spell. "Effleurage." Elspeth relaxed onto the bed. "I have somewhere you can hide if your family can't or won't run."

"I want an oath, ah." Crowdy spoke quickly in between winces as the rub-down eased some of the curse residue. "A proper one. That you aren't lying about helping. Or trying to trap me." She twisted her head to espy Madam Pomfrey then whispered. "Not an Unbreakable, ow, ah. On your House."

"I, Cathal Machtilde Rosier, Head of the House of Rosier, promise formally I mean no harm to Elspeth Crowdy." The etiquette books had given degrees of oaths and vows. Hermione picked a tidy legal one. She could get around it with an advocate and a lot of rules lawyering but she would look shabby for doing so. "In the spirit of my promise, I offer sanctuary."

"Yes." The tired and frightened thirteen year old said quickly, her voice cracking. "Please, yes."

The third body was upright and in company. A week after she had given Elspeth a pass-token so she could slip away into one of the bolt-holes, Hermione was patrolling alone again. Neville was in the Hospital Wing with Ginny and Luna after they had tried to steal the Sword of Gryffindor. They had been brutally punished for their attempted theft.

The whole school had been made to watch.

She'd numbed herself with Occlumency, crystallising so much rage she hadn't felt a thing for hours. She'd stood unflinching while Granger's friends were tortured and cold bloodedly debated with herself how she was going to murder Alecto and Amycus. She wouldn't use the Killing Curse. She wouldn't stain the tapestry of time for them. They would have no marker, no memorial. She'd find a Muggle way of ending them. Pigs to the slaughter.

Hermione knew herself well enough to realise she was still partially under the effect of her excessive use of the meditation. Extracting that much emotion left holes; overstimulated thus subsequently desensitised neuro-transmiters. Or was it neuro-receptors? The transmitters were the chemicals? She frowned, her understanding of the science of brain function limited to documentaries and dental clinic medical journals. A sensible person would've read up more before they started yanking things out of their head.

She had a pen in hand to make a note to fill that knowledge gap when a sharp noise of discomfort and a low chuckle intruded on her ramblings. There was a wand in her hand before she'd even registered the malice in that laugh. She was striding down the hall like Snape on a tear before the 'no' and the sound of a scuffle.

Susan Bones's fingers were hooked into claws. She got the Snatcher a good one across the face as she brought her knee up to groin him but he shifted quickly to the side to protect himself, slamming her against the wall. He hissed something obscene and groped her, clawing her breast. She clamped her mouth shut refusing to validate him with a cry of pain.

"Hands off, arsehole." They were too close for Hermione to risk any of the curses she really wanted to use. "Let her go and leave quietly." She didn't add an 'or else'. She could probably get away with quite a lot of 'or else' if she played the vicious bitch card. None of the powers that be would be impressed with a rescue. Lashing out at an inferior, though. That'd pass muster.

"Fuck off." He didn't turn to look at her. He ground himself against Bones instead, confident both witches were impotent. Neither of them would risk the punishment they would suffer if he denounced them.

"Not tonight, thank you." Hermione reminded herself she was the Head of her House. Less swearing, more snoot. "Bones, do you know his name?" The Hufflepuff was staring at her, attention fixed on anything but the man touching her. She shook her head. "Does he have any friends? Not likely, I know but someone is going to have to identify the body."

Now the Snatcher looked at her, irritated enough by the interruption to glare. He apparently wasn't much impressed by what he saw because he sneered and reached for his wand, pushing away from the redhead to deal with the blonde. That was all Hermione needed. Once he was no longer pressed up against her schoolmate, she cursed him.

"Somnium papaver." The anaesthetic charm mimicked the effect of opium. Originally the spell had been used recreationally by magical folk wanting to 'chase the dragon' without having to slum with Muggles. Healers had adapted it as a powerful and reliable knock-out for patients too disorientated or hysterical to allow safe treatment. The charm was niche as there were side-effects not conducive to magic use.

The Snatcher didn't so much fall to the floor as deflate, gradually collapse into a heap. Hermione counted to ten before she cast a Full Body-Bind then approached to roll him into the recovery position. He was insensate enough to already be drooling. According to what she'd read of the anaesthetic charm, he'd wake up confused and forgetful. The fog would wear off after a few hours but he'd likely remain uncertain of events leading up to his cursing.

"Can I kick him?" Bones asked, straightening her clothes.

"Best not. Bruises would give him a clue about what he was up to." Hermione rather regretted that. "Are you alright?"

"No, but I'll last." She took a deep breath, held it then sighed. "Thanks."

"Some things are never acceptable." They couldn't talk, couldn't share. Bones left with a nod, not-quite running back to the Hufflepuff Common Room. Hermione considered leaving the Snatcher to sleep it off in the corridor but if he reacted badly to her spell he could aspirate his vomit. She levitated him to the Hospital Wing against the demons of her nature.

She'd been lucky. Hermione knew that. Cathal's name and presumed allegiance had kept her from the worst of the reprisals but no one had enough spin to avoid every pitfall. She couldn't stop pushing, couldn't take a step back to let someone else put their hand in the fire. There wasn't anyone else for the Snakes.

Crowdy was the first. Then Haricott, Veng, and Moncrieff. All half-bloods and repeat guests of Madam Pomfrey. Every time they were dumped in the Hospital Wing or dragged themselves back to the Slytherin Common Room, Hermione took note. She was evermore thankful she'd convinced Bulstrode and Davis to stay away. They'd be prime targets.

The Carrows were not inventive in their ways of keeping the students in line. Hermione sat in the DADA Professor's office with her hands folded demurely in her lap. Amycus had called her in for a chat, the smirk on his waxen face all the warning she needed. He was a slimy, craven, feculent bully. She'd turn him to stone and let him scream soundlessly for eternity.

Even though she knew it was coming, the Cruciatus took her breath away. She was on the floor before she realised the door had opened. Like all toadies, Carrow could be surprisingly light on his feet. He cursed her in the back then walked around until she could see him, deliberately stepping on her clawing fingers as she writhed on the dingy carpet.

"Tell me where they are." He smiled at her, showing yellowed teeth and his enjoyment of her pain. "You're a clever girl, Rosier. I know you know where the missing students are hiding." He dropped the Cruciatus for a moment so she could breathe or perhaps because he couldn't sustain it at full intensity any longer. Or perhaps because he liked to see her gasp and squirm. "Tell me and you won't have to suffer."

"Don't know." Hermione panted, squeezing her eyes shut when he cursed her again. Of course he would. He wanted to keep going. He could've used Veritaserum like Umbridge with her tea if he'd really wanted to know the truth. Carrow wanted to be powerful. She hoped, begged the Fates, to spare her from pissing herself. Couldn't help it but retaining some dignity would be a balm. Snot and tears already ran down her face, curdled clammy sweat over her body.

"You do. You must." Carrow insisted, kicking her below the left knee; a bright flash of pain amidst the agony. "You're Head Girl. Tell me where they're hiding." He put two hands on his wand, gripping it tightly to push more magic through. People did that when they didn't have the finesse to open a channel wider within themselves. "Tell me!"

Hermione bit her tongue, spitting out blood when it filled her mouth. She felt the reservoir brooch go cold against her skin. She hadn't taken it off since buying it back from Borgin and Burkes. It was a defence against blood magic, a little insurance, though now it simply healed the damage with a flare of Dark Magic. The next mouthful she spat out was black.

Later, she'd rationalise her actions as borne of adrenaline and the altered state of consciousness brought on by the Torture Curse. Later, when she had time to think of anything but the fire in her veins Hermione would chastise herself. She shouldn't have done it. All her research into the Dark Arts was meant to be educational only. Theoretical.

"Revanche sanglante." She choked out the words. Carrow had helped. He'd broken one of her fingers when he'd trod on them. Blood and bone and hate. That's all the Old French spell needed, a legacy from the Albigensian Crusade after the massacre at Beziers. The pagan witches who had lost family to the indiscriminate cleansing of the town had wanted to avenge the dead.

So they gave the Crusaders back the pain they had inflicted.

It was like floating. All the hurt lifted from her, drifting away. She could feel the residual ache of the involuntary spasms but that wasn't any more uncomfortable than her period. Her pinky throbbed a little, enough for her to notice. The Cruciatus had overloaded her pain receptors to such an extent that its sudden removal left her bland. Not numb, just tepid.

Pushing herself off the floor took concentration. Her elbows didn't want to work and when she shifted her innards protested. It felt like the morning after the first time she had gone skiing; everything a bit sore. Nothing like the morning after Bellatrix. Nothing at all like waking up in Shell Cottage certain something had been amputated, that she had miscarried, that she was dying. That something was so wrong with her body it would end her.

Amycus wasn't dying either. He had spewed over himself and the rug. His nose was bleeding, which was interesting as the spell hadn't mentioned any physical effects. Perhaps it had caused an aneurysm. Hermione vanished the sick and the wet spot on the front of his trousers. Seeing him in his own urine gave her no sense of satisfaction. She wasn't going to rub his nose in it.

Hermione righted the guest chair and sat down on it. She felt... She stared at the blotter on Carrow's desk, physically drained and mentally somewhere in orbit. She should do something. Something constructive. She should probably check the Death Eater wasn't actually dead. It would be rather awkward if he were.

Hermione stared at the blotter some more.

She was still sitting there, ankles neatly crossed, when Siglinde Rosier rushed into the room. Her grandmother had thrown a cloak over her house gown and still had soot on her shoulders, Hermione noticed in the same remote way she noticed her little finger was still throbbing. She yelped when the older witch clasped her hands.

"Bruises!" Siglinde, wild eyed, hissed at the stoic wizard in the doorway. He had a red patch on his face as though he had been slapped. Hermione raised her eyebrows. Who would slap Professor Snape? "There's blood on her lips." Gently, so gently, she smoothed off her granddaughter's face the strands of hair come loose from her braid. "Cathal, darling girl, are you well?"

"Better than Carrow." Hermione moved her mouth to make sounds. "I don't like the Cruciatus."

A bark of laughter, cut off sharply, came from Snape. He strode in, inspected his insensate Defence Professor then his insensible student. Her marsh coloured eyes met his guilelessly. He slipped into her mind without resistance and found the kaleidoscopic aftermath he expected. It would be hours before a Legilimens could discern anything. The Cruciatus might encourage answers but it did not help in their confirmation.

"What did you do, Rosier?" Snape asked sharply to get her attention. She blinked, then turned her hands up to show him the blood.

"I gave it back." She said simply.

"This is a feud, Severus." Siglinde snapped, shaking and furious. "My granddaughter should never have been touched." She rubbed her knuckles against her sternum as pain flared here. "I'll kill him."

"You will do nothing." He didn't raise his voice. The gravitas of his decree stilled Madam Rosier for a moment. She hovered over her heir, more intent on protecting the girl than murder for the moment. Snape didn't mistake her pause for acquiescence. She had been Marked after her son's death, bartering her service for the name of Evan's killer before throwing herself into the fray without thought of her own survival.

"As Head of the House of Rosier, I will kill him." Hermione stated as her grandmother drew her wand. "But not today."

"He hurt you." Siglinde said, anguished.

"Yes." The younger witch agreed absently. Carrow had hurt a lot of people. She was going to kill him. She was going to cut him to pieces. She wanted to take her time. "I think I would like a lie down."

Hermione resurfaced from her fugue state on the 7th having slept through the entirety of Saturday. She woke clear-headed, with details of the immediate past percolating into her awareness. Face down in her pillow, she swore. When someone poked her in the middle of the back to rouse her, she rolled over with a jerk to swear at them too.

"Moppet keeps telling yous not to hurt her witch." The house elf prodded a long finger into said witch's chest. "Does Cathal listen?"

"All evidence suggests not." Hermione unwound herself from the blankets and sat up. "Where's my grandmother?"

"Not amok running." Moppet answered promptly, sharing her worry. "Not-Quite Headmaster sent Madam home. Madam was very grey face."

"She's holding the blood magic tie too taut. It hurt her when I bled." Rolling her shoulders, and hearing them crackle and pop, Hermione groaned. Time to face the music. "I'm going to wash up then I'm going to present myself to Professor Snape for castigation. If I don't come back, I want you to run. Find Bulstrode and stay with her."

"No." The house elf said, adamant.

"Moppet, please." Hermione didn't know what was going to happen, what if anything Snape had done to cover for her. She didn't want her friend going to the gallows too.

"No." Moppet repeated.

They went together to the Headmaster's office because Hermione knew when she was beaten. Scrubbed clean, with Moppet invisible at her side, she walked through the Common Room not meeting anyone's gaze. Some inkling of what had happened had obviously got around and even more glaring was that no one wanted to talk about it.

That seemed to include Professor Snape. He sat in Dumbledore's chair behind Dumbledore's desk still as always Dumbledore's pet. Hermione wondered if he was numb to the chains by now. Battered spouses rationalised their beatings as their own fault, and with the clarity of hindsight she saw how unhealthy their relationship had been. Such opinions she kept to herself.

The silence lingered. Hermione didn't try to fill it. Years ago in her other self she would have said something, broached the subject she presumed was the cause for her summons, pre-emptively offered an explanation, or simply launched into a query. Now she sat and mentally arranged her homework assignments due before Yule break. When that was done, she itemised a shopping list. She was on the point of pulling out her journal to jot down what she needed when Snape finally spoke.

"Professor Carrow will be fit to resume teaching on Monday." The statement was as bare and polished as a river stone.

"Yes, sir," She said, acknowledging she had heard him. Hermione kept her opinion on that well buttoned down too.

"He was informed there was backlash from the protections your grandmother placed upon you, resulting in him being stunned." Snape regarded her expectantly.

"Yes, sir." Hermione repeated, hands folded demurely.

"Because it is impossible for gossip not to whelp in this school, you may presume your classmates are already aware you are subject to blood magic. They will of course react in whatever dunder-headed or hysterical way they most habituate." Some of his annoyance was leaking out now. He really was not made to be a teacher. "If you say 'yes, sir' again in that naif manner I will slap you."

"Professor Carrow can burn in Hell, sir." She provided. "I'll stick to 'no comment'."

"I am perpetually surprised by your command of Muggle idiom, Rosier." There was no unbending, no cue they were now chatting. This was still a debriefing. "You need not mention your Outstanding in Muggle Studies. We are both aware how useless that class is." Snape steepled his fingers, studying them for a long moment before he got to the point. "Are the missing Slytherin students dead?"

"No, sir." Hermione didn't pretend not to know what he was talking about. He wouldn't resort to the Cruciatus but that he was asking at all meant he was concerned. Did he think she was using blood magic like Siglinde? She knew her reputation wasn't shiny but she didn't think he of all people would assume she was dabbling in the Dark Arts.

Except she was and Professor Snape wasn't stupid. Hermione ratcheted up her mental processes. She felt dissociative, as though her thoughts were hovering languidly outside her skull, helium balloons bobbing in a light breeze. She should probably have stayed in bed; pulling the blankets over head until the monsters went away.

"You tread a dangerous line." He warned her heavily.

"So do you, sir." Hermione said, her gaze on the portrait of Armando Dippet behind him. "Do you have any antivenin for Nagini's venom?"

"Not at the present time." Severus spoke meticulously, eyes narrowing. The non sequitur recalled to him Rosier's interest in poisons. Slughorn had remarked on her off-topic dabbling in Potions class. She was always careful so the corpulent Professor hadn't given her detention but he had informed on her to the Headmaster. "What are you playing at, Rosier?"

"Nothing, sir." She straightened in her chair. "I give you my solemn word I have no intention of going anywhere near that snake."

Unfortunately, her intentions didn't matter.