Disclaimer: I have been studying in Britain, but I am still not JKR.
Monday after lunch, Hermione was so tired she was stumbling on her way back to Gryffindor Tower. She had spent the morning preparing some notes on theories of wandless magic. Her head was spinning from attempting to visualise herself shooting her magic like an arrow or weaving a web of it with her fingers. The little bits she had managed were weak summoning charms and half-successful Transfigurations and they seemed to come from simply being so frustrated she threatened the magic into doing what she wanted. That theory didn't make sense even to her, though, so she wasn't going to rely on it.
Tired though she was, she was glad to see Professor McGonagall, who met her at the top of a flight of stairs. She wasn't surprised, either, that McGonagall had been waiting for her. It was becoming practically a routine for them, and she set off for the headmaster's office without having to be told. She did wonder if the Deputy Headmistress resented being used as a glorified herald.
Dumbledore greeted them standing; his desk had been pushed against the wall. Hermione and the headmaster took seats around a small table. McGonagall left as soon as she had seen Hermione sitting safely opposite Dumbledore.
Dumbledore began. "Miss Granger, I was wondering what you wanted to do first?"
"Excuse me, sir?"
The eye twinkle feared by anyone with more than a passing acquaintance with Dumbledore made its fatal appearance. "Well, this is your apprenticeship project, Miss Granger. It's up to you to decide how to proceed, though of course you can ask for guidance."
"I-I beg your pardon?"
The headmaster waved his hand with a maddeningly unconcerned air. "Oh, of course you needn't do it all yourself, but Minerva, Severus, and I all feel it's best if you're as involved as possible in all aspects of the project." Hermione doubted Snape would agree, but she kept silent. "Allow me to explain further. We'd like you to think about what needs to be done first and to talk to the relevant professors and outside resources about how to do it. Once a fortnight, you'll report to the staff as a whole and we'll vote on what you've suggested and move forward from there.
"We also understand the freedom you'll need. You have been added to the wards of Hogwarts, and you should feel free to come and go as you please. You may have noticed the disturbance in the library, but if you ask Professors Ubitum and Flitwick, I'm sure they'll help you get what you need, including books from the restricted section."
"Thank you, sir. In that case, well, hm." Hermione stared at the wood grain on the table and so lost in thought was she that Dumbledore had to take her by the shoulder and gently shake her to get her attention. "Hmm? Well, I suppose the thing is, we can't plan the castle until we know what we need in it. I'll need to do research on all the current subjects and all the potential ones, obviously, and try to decide what's worth having and what we need to do to make them viable."
"It sounds like you have it well in hand."
That wasn't true at all, but Hermione knew a dismissal when she heard one. As she was getting up to leave, she suddenly remembered something. "Sir, about Ginny. I think she suspects something. It would make my life a lot easier if I could explain to her."
Dumbledore's eyes grew grave. "I understand, but I am afraid it won't be possible. As few people know about this project, the better."
Hermione's heart sank at the thought of continuing to lie to her closest friend at Hogwarts, but she didn't think Dumbledore would budge. She would wait until the project was underway and then try again with a little leverage. "I see. Good afternoon, sir."
The afternoon passed quickly. Hermione avoided talking to Ginny during dinner and strategically entered a conversation with Luna about the secret philosophies of hippogriffs as she was leaving the dining hall. Then there was a brief staff meeting which included nothing of relevance to Hermione, and after that it was time for her first lesson with Ubitum.
Hermione hadn't paid much attention to how Ubitum had arranged the DADA classroom when she had been in his class. She had noticed only that he was a dry but effective professor. His droning voice and nervous movements made her wonder how he would fare in any actual combat situation. She had caught herself thinking that and tried to tamp it down; she didn't want to be someone who judged people based on whether they could fight. The point of civilisation was to keep people from having to fight all the time. It was a bit different, though, when he was meant to be teaching a branch of self-defense.
Now she saw that the classroom was efficient but not neat. Everything was handy, but not in any particular order that she could see. Books lay atop jars of slime, and magical instruments were mixed in with piles of dummy wands for disarming practice. Hermione wondered whether Ubitum know where everything was.
The new professor had bustled off from the staff meeting as soon as it was over, while Dumbledore had held Hermione back with pleasantries even though he had seen her only a few hours before. Hermione found Ubitum sitting at his desk. When she came in, Ubitum looked up and ran each hand once through his hair. His eyes were large and dark and quick as they scanned her. "Miss Granger! Good to see you!"
"Good to see you, sir."
"How are you today?"
"Well, sir."
"Good, good, good. I hear you had a run-in with Severus, something about a potion you made wrong? He was rather harsh, don't you think, to give you detention when you don't even have to come to class. I'm sure you don't have to go, really. Albus wouldn't mind."
"Professor Snape was right to give me detention," Hermione said mildly. "I was careless. I don't mind making up for that." Besides, she didn't think even Dumbledore could make Snape work with her if she didn't respect him as a professor as well as a mentor.
"Hm, well, if you think so." Ubitum rubbed his hands together.
"Shall we start, sir?"
"Yes, yes, of course, of course. Come over here, Hermione—may I call you Hermione?" He didn't require an answer and so Hermione didn't give one. Her stomach was twisting in knots. She had been touching her wand all afternoon to make sure it was still there. If she failed at this, she needed to know that she still had her "crutch", as Snape had called it.
"We'll start with Wingardum Leviosa. I hear from Professor Flitwick that you got on with that one." Ubitum led her over to a desk with a single feather on it. The process is much the same, Hermione, except that you use your hands instead of a wand." He held out his own hand and flicked two fingers up. "Wingardium Leviosa!" The feather raised a few inches in response. When Ubitum flicked his fingers down again, the feather fell back to the desk. "Try it."
Hermione stuck her own hand out and took a deep breath. "Wingardium Leviosa!" As she said it, she focused on willing her magic into her fingers the way she would have willed it into her wand. Her fingers tingled, but the feather did not move. She had an absurd flashback to Ron in first year. How he would love to see this.
Ubitum frowned. "Hm, yes, perhaps it was the flick. It was a bit vigorous, perhaps. Lightly, this time."
Hermione tried again. This time her little finger went numb and she flexed her hands a few times to return sensation to it. The feather remained still. For a moment Hermione thought it had fluttered, but there was a cross breeze.
Ubitum frowned. "Oh, dear. Are you sure you're Hermione Granger?" He smiled to show he was joking; Hermione did not.
The next hour was more of the same. Ubitum tried having Hermione do every possible breathing exercise, every imaginable flick of the hand, and even every mispronunciation of the incantation. It didn't work. By the end, the only change was that Hermione's fingers were raw and stinging. Ubitum sent Hermione off with a heavy-handed pat on the shoulder and an assurance that they would try again on Wednesday.
Hermione left Ubitum's office emotionally drained and in no mood for detention with Snape and Malfoy. After all she had lived through, the petty inconvenience of having to go to a specific place at a specific time with specific people she disliked bothered her more than she would have thought it would.
The detention itself went as smoothly as it could have done. Another professor might have made Hermione and Malfoy listen to a lecture on how the war was over and they should all just get along. Instead, talking only in monotone monosyllables, they remade the potion. Then Snape had them chop Shrivelfigs until Hermione's wrist ached with repetitive strain, on top of the faint tingling left over from her lesson with Ubitum. Still, she had never been more grateful that emotional teacher-student bonding wasn't Snape's style.
Malfoy was out the door like a shot as soon as the detention was over. It hadn't occurred to Hermione before, but he might be as uncomfortable being alone with Snape as she was. After all, Snape was mentor, betrayer, guardian angel, and family friend all in one. If she wondered how Snape felt about Lucius Malfoy's death and about the leniency shown to Narcissa and Draco, Malfoy had to be thinking the same thing.
It wasn't until Hermione had been walking for a minute that it occurred to her that she had something to ask Snape. The thought of having to go back to him when she had just left was an unpleasant one, but she felt compelled to do it. She wasn't sure she could deal with another lesson with Ubitum and she was even less sure he would be willing to continue to teach her. She wanted to ask if Snape would agree to teach her wandless magic.
She turned around, came around a corner and found herself face to face with Malfoy. The oppressive silence was replaced by a buzzing in Hermione's mind. She felt as though even the faint light from the candles was too bright. She took an involuntary step backwards. He was going to kill her, because that was what the Malfoys did to people who killed Malfoys.
"Granger," Malfoy said.
Hermione said nothing. He didn't seem surprised. He walked past her without a further word, and she sagged with the release of tension. Seeing that he had a letter in his hand, Hermione surmised he was going to the owlery to send a letter home, a guess which made her think about the fact that she didn't have a home to write to. Her parents' house flickered into view and out again, followed by the Burrow, but that was Ron's home, wasn't it? Not quite hers. Nothing was quite hers any more.
She carried on her way back to Snape's room.
The potion master's office was cold, less by preference than by habit.
Snape knew who the knock on his door was as soon as he heard it. It had a peculiar mix of timidity and officiousness that could only mean one thing, though he wasn't sure why she had come back. He finished grading the essay he was on, indifferent as to whether she would give up and go away. She didn't, so he flicked his wand towards the door to let her in.
Greeting him civilly, she closed the door behind her and stood just inside it. She was waiting for him to begin a conversation, as professional etiquette preferred. Snape started on another essay. It was calming the way the quill gashed the paper so that the margins ran red with the products of a first-year's punctured ego. Scrolling a D across the top, he picked up another.
"Professor Snape," she said. "I was hoping to talk to you for a moment." He turned his head and looked her up and down, as though he had only just noticed she was there. In the dim light, her skin looked white, and her eyes were pools of darkness in her skull. She looked older than he remembered.
"Well, you have achieved that. Talking you most certainly are." Swiping to the left with his quill, Snape obliterated a poorly constructed analogy between potions and perfumes.
She was clearly tired, and the forced calm of her greeting was gone. "Is this fun for you?"
It was, actually, and he had a shortage of fun in his life, but she didn't need to know either of those things. "What do you want, Miss Granger?"
"I was wondering whether you'd be willing to instruct me in wandless magic." That was a surprise. He had assumed she'd come to ask for extra potions reading or something else tedious.
"You have an instructor."
Hermione made a small noise. "I do, but..."
"I will be teaching you potions, and I think that is quite inconvenience enough. Good night, Miss Granger."
"With respect, sir-" Had any sentence that started that way ever been respectful? "-isn't it in your interest as a master signatory to my contract for me to fulfill the terms?"
"Apparently so."
"I could find another potions instructor. And if I understood properly, this particular requirement was yours." Granger's voice was getting sharper.
"I think one needs to know how to do it to be qualified to graduate as an apprentice of three Hogwarts professors. That doesn't mean I think you can learn it or that I want to be around to watch you try." Snape wasn't looking at her, but he could just imagine the indignation on her face at the implication that there might be something she could not do. Thoughtless girl. It never occurred to her that what he was saying could be anything other than a jab at her abilities as a witch.
"So you set me a task you think I'm going to fail, and you're not willing to help me succeed." Her voice was now completely flat.
"I will give you one hundred points to Gryffindor right now if you can tell me the one spell that has words attached that is easier to cast without a wand—easier, that is, from a technical standpoint."
Although Snape presumed from her silence that Granger had no idea, she wisely refrained from spouting inane guesses.
"I have said I will think about it. Get out of my office."
A minute later he heard the door click shut behind her.
When he had finished his stack of papers, Snape wiped the excess ink off his quill, set it down parallel to the inkwell, and stood. Time to walk the castle. He had decided to do this every night, to give him the best chance of sensing if something changed. He didn't know what he thought would change, but his instincts had let him play a game of cat-and-mouse with dark magic for years. He had been the cat and he had been the mouse and he was old, deep in his bones, and so he listened to his bones when they told him things. He left his office.
Pools of silence gathered in the space around him as he walked the halls. It was broken all at once by a shout coming from the left.
Snape ran low to the ground and tight against the wall. He turned towards the sound of a second cry and came out at the head of a staircase. Gloom blanketed the steps, so that he could see no farther than the landing. Slowing to a long stride, Snape went to the edge of the landing and looked over. Below, looking far away and frail, lay Draco Malfoy in a pool of his own blood. Kneeling over him was Hermione Granger with her wand lying discarded beside her and his head in her bloody hands.