Chapter 10: Who Your Friends Are

"Come in, come in! Sit down!"

Hermione found her feet leaving the ground as she was lifted into Hagrid's hut and tenderly deposited in the most comfortable chair. "You shouldn't be walkin' around in this cold, Hermione!" he said anxiously, rushing over to build up the fire. "It might be bad for yeh."

"I'm fine, Hagrid," Hermione said patiently, unwinding her scarf. "Actually, I don't feel the cold as much now as I usually do. It's like having an extra heat-supply."

"Hi, Hagrid," Harry said, grinning as he and Ron entered the cottage apparently unnoticed. "We're here too."

"O' course yeh are!" Hagrid beamed at him and thumped him on the shoulder, making his knees buckle slightly. "Lookin' after our girl, then? Not letting her carry anything heavy, I hope?"

"We try. But she keeps finding more books to carry around when we're not looking." Harry sat down at the table. "You know Hermione."

"Hermione is right here, remember?" She opened her cloak, looking down at her stomach ruefully. Even heavy winter student-robes couldn't hide the bulge by now. "And I'm fine, Hagrid, really. The second trimester is supposed to be the easiest, actually... I'm not feeling sick and tired anymore, and it's not too awkward yet."

Hagrid looked at her stomach with the misty expression hitherto reserved for Baby Norbert. "Do you know if it's goin' to be a boy or a girl yet?" he asked hopefully. "An' how long before it's born?"

"I'm due in about twenty weeks. And no, I don't know yet. I want it to be a surprise." Fang came to rest his huge head on Hermione's knee, and she patted him gently while trying to ignore the drool.

"Just as long as you don't, you know, have it in class or something," Ron said, shuddering at the mere thought. "I've heard stories about when Percy was born... Mum left it a bit late to call the midwife, and Dad wound up having to help. I love you, Hermione, but I'm not doing that."

"I think we'll probably be able to get her upstairs to the hospital wing in time, Ron, no matter how late she leaves it. It takes quite a long time, doesn't it?" Harry picked up a rock-cake from the plate on the table and fiddled with it.

"Usually, yes." Hermione scratched behind Fang's ears, making him whimper happily. "Don't worry, I promise to go to the hospital wing in lots of time."

"Of course she will!" Hagrid filled his gigantic teapot, and started rummaging around for the milk jug. "And I'm sure it'll be a fine baby, boy or girl. I can't remember the last time there was a baby at Hogwarts!"

"It'll be kind of nice having a baby around," Harry said, smiling at her. "I've never really seen any up close."

"And have yeh picked out a godfather yet?" Hagrid asked eagerly. "'cause I reckon Harry'd make a cracking good one... and Ron, o'course," he added hastily. "But you've already got a big family, Ron, so..."

"Me?" Harry went a bit red. "I mean... I really don't know anything about babies."

"I had thought about that, yes," Hermione said, which made Harry go redder and Hagrid beam happily. "I haven't decided yet if I'm going to have godparents. If I do, though, Harry's certainly one of the first people I'd ask."

"Aw, Hermione..." He fiddled with his rock-cake, looking both pleased and embarrassed. "I'd... like that. I mean, if you did decide you wanted one."

"Or I will, if he doesn't." Ron grinned. "But he should get first go, Hagrid's right. I'm going to have lots of nieces and nephews anyway."

Hermione smiled at Harry, who returned it tentatively. She knew how much he longed to be part of a family, and privately decided to ask him to be the godfather as soon as she'd sounded him out on a few important topics like child-rearing techniques and Early Education. "I'm sure he'd do it very well." A large mug appeared in front of her, filled with Hagrid's tarlike tea, and she leaned back hastily. "Er... no thank you, Hagrid. Strong tea still upsets my stomach a bit."

"Right, right, o'course... rock cake?"

"Why not?" She hid it in her pocket when he wasn't looking.

"Severus, there is a crisis in the dormitory."

The speaker was a portrait - Eugenie Vignaux, the twelfth Head of Slytherin. Her own portrait hung in the Slytherin common room, where she watched all that went on, and whenever a serious problem arose, she alerted the current Head of her House. For that reason alone, Severus had hung two very small landscapes in his office and his bedroom, carefully warded so that no other portrait might enter.

"Thank you, Eugenie," Severus said automatically, rising from his desk. She didn't sound at all perturbed... but she never did. Madame Vignaux had once described the total destruction of several outbuildings and the deaths of three students as 'an unfortunate incident', and her own death as 'somewhat inconvenient'. If she'd actually used the word 'crisis', it was one.

"Sanguine" was the current password, and the wall obediently parted as he swept into the common room, glaring around him. The room was almost deserted - most of the students should be in their beds by this time. As soon as he entered, though, he heard shouts echoing down the passage leading out of the common room to the right... the boy's dormitories.

There was an outright brawl in progress in the fifth year dormitory. Gilles Mochrie and Alexander Astley had almost certainly been the cause; the two were fifth years, and had been at each other's throats since the beginning of term. It was inevitable - both of Mochrie's parents had served Voldemort, and been imprisoned for their trouble, while Astley's father had served the Ministry as an Auror for decades.

Both boys were now unconscious, however, and covered in assorted hex-marks, while their fight was being carried on by nearly every male Slytherin from fourth year to seventh. Hexes were flying, and so were fists, and even if he'd been in a mood to be reasonable, it would take more than sweet reason to break up this particular brawl. So he slammed into the room, hitting the door hard enough to make it crash back against the stone, and with an angry flourish of his wand he doused the entire room with a great splash of icy water.

"What is going on here?" he said, the words dropping into the sudden, frightened silence that filled the room.

"Just a friendly little political debate," said a drawling voice, as Draco sat up, running his hand through his now-dripping hair. "Which might have gotten a little out of hand, now that I think about it." He had a black eye - the left - and his left sleeve had been torn. Clearly at least one assailant had attacked the side he could no longer defend properly.

"A little out of hand, yes," Severus said, glaring around the room. At least one person was trying to hide behind the beds, but a good number of the culprits had nowhere to hide, and were looking suitably cowed. "I am appalled. This coarse behaviour is what I might expect of Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, not the House of Slytherin! Brawling in a bedroom! Why not go outside and wrestle naked in the mud, if you are so determined to disgrace your House and yourselves?"

There was a faint mutinous mutter that he thought might have come from Malcolm Baddock, who had wholeheartedly agreed with his father's attitudes on purity of blood and the need for a firm hand to guide a sadly lost wizarding world. Severus whirled on him with a furious glower that made the boy cower back against the wall. "You are behaving like the spoiled children you are," he said, casting another disdainful look over the battered crew, all awake now and several whimpering in pain.

"You were on opposing sides in the war... what of it? In small struggles and in large, for wealth or for power or for knowledge, you will always find yourselves pitted against each other sooner or later. From your first year, you have conducted your small plots and intrigues within your House, learning the lessons you will need as adults. Do not shame me now by behaving like whining, self-righteous Gryffindors because you didn't win."

He strode to the centre of the room and yanked Astley and Mochrie to their feet, ignoring the boils on Mochrie's arm and the crusty muck on Astley's. "You will both stop trying to refight a war that is already settled now. You, Mochrie, remember that you are a Slytherin. Patience, guile, cunning - these are your tools, not brute force. The enemies of today may be the valued allies of tomorrow, remember that, and you will not change the world to suit your tastes by hexing it! As for you, Astley, I would advise you to be wary... victory today may become defeat tomorrow if you do not guard constantly against the next attack, and the next, and the next."

He gave both boys a firm but not too rough shake and let go, both of them crumpling back onto the floor. Turning slowly, he raked every student present with his glare. "You are not Gryffindors," he said harshly. "You know better than to subscribe to such juvenile notions as the right side or the wrong side. There are as many sides in this room as there are people, and that is the way of the world. You are on your own side, always, and you can rely on nobody but yourself to remain on your side. For now, prudence dictates an acceptance of the new status quo. It is expedient to demonstrate your loyalty to the current regime. In time, this will change, as it always does. When it does, I trust that those opposed to it will be prepared to act subtly and with the cunning suitable to their House!"

"Will you?"

Severus turned, ready to smite the questioner with a scathing insult... but Vincent Crabbe had earned the right to ask. He had been ordered away from the real fighting, sent along with several other elder sons or younger brothers to protect those wives and daughters who lacked the strength or the stomach for battle, along with the younger children. When Aurors had attacked the old Riddle mansion where they had been waiting, Vincent had fought to protect his friends and family. Gregory Goyle had died of the injuries he had sustained in that fight, and Vincent had never been the same since.

"That will depend, Mr Crabbe, on what form that opposition takes," he said smoothly, inclining his head. "I have found that serving madmen, however powerful they may be, is a losing proposition in the long run. And no matter what your families may have told you, gentlemen, the Dark Lord had begun to lose his grip on his sanity even before he was struck down by the infant Harry Potter. I saw his slide into madness beginning twenty years ago, and his death and resurrection only loosened his grip on reality further. He was a great and powerful wizard, certainly... but he was a dangerous liability in the end, to all of us.

"Many of you lost friend or family to his whims, or his punishments of imagined transgressions." There were nods at that, even from Crabbe himself. "Blind loyalty is for Hufflepuffs, gentlemen. A certain loyalty is to be maintained between members of a House, certainly... but only to a point. Were I ever to present a clear and personal danger to any of you, I would be greatly disappointed in you if you did not at least try to poison me. I expect no less of you when it comes to anyone else."

That eased the tension, as he had hoped it would. Several of the younger boys snickered at the idea of trying to poison their invulnerable Head of House, and even those who had sided whole-heartedly with Voldemort nodded to him without malice. He healed minor injuries with a few impatient taps of his wand, sent those suffering more serious hexes up to Madam Pomfrey under the guidance of Draco and Crabbe, and then went to check on the rest of his students. The younger boys were all out of their beds and obviously eagerly discussing the fighting they had been able to hear, if not see. A glare sent them tumbling hastily back into their beds, and he moved on.

Six dormitories in a row presented him with vistas of suspiciously angelic girls tucked into their beds, apparently fast asleep. They'd had plenty of warning of his approach, and he was pleased to know that even the first-years had mastered such rudimentary cunning as pretending to be asleep. His knock on the seventh door got an answer; it was opened by Pansy Parkinson, swathed in a fluffy pink dressing gown. Behind her, he saw Daphne Greengrass, Tracy Davis and Millicent Bulstrode sitting up in bed, the four of them obviously having been deep in discussion. "Hello, Professor Snape," Pansy said, smiling sweetly up at him. "Have the boys settled down?"

"They have, although the fifth-years may be sleeping in the common room tonight. Their beds are still soaked from the water I was required to drop on them to break up the brawl." He inclined his head politely. Pansy was a devious little baggage who he didn't trust an inch, but he did like the girl. "I am glad to see that the girls have not been indulging in such disgraceful behaviour. Your doing, I imagine."

The small compliment pleased her, and she gave him a more genuine smile. "I certainly wouldn't allow any brawling," she agreed, clearly proud of her firmly established leadership of the ladies of Slytherin. "At least, not within our own House."

"Brawling with certain other Houses is, unfortunately, difficult to avoid," he said smoothly, and Pansy grinned. "However, I trust that none of the girls will be caught behaving in an unladylike manner."

"I am sure they won't be," Pansy said demurely. And it was, indeed, most unlikely that they would be caught doing something that would embarrass him. "May I assume that you gave the boys a stern enough lecture that they won't be doing this again?"

"If they do, they will regret it." Severus nodded, returning her smirk just a little. "I lectured them on the importance of choosing one's battles, biding one's time, and the necessity of reassessing one's loyalties when they begin to carry the risk of personal danger. I understand that you have already given the girls a similar lecture, so I will not waste my time by repeating it." Eugenie had reported on Pansy's lecture, which she had been in an excellent position to hear because Pansy had given it under her portrait, referring frequently to Eugenie's fine example of Slytherin womanhood - graceful, sophisticated, accomplished, and so devious that she had been well over one hundred years of age before an assassination attempt finally succeeded.

Pansy beamed. "I've done my best, Professor," she said, looking down the row of closed doors with a proud expression. "There's no point in dwelling on the past now, is there?"

"None at all." Pansy was very like her mother... Ameranth Jorkins had been rather older than Severus Snape, but he remembered her as a sweetly devious girl who had selected Pontius Parkinson as a suitable future mate and calmly nailed his feet to the floor with a betrothal agreement before he had time to get away. "Please inform the girls that their behaviour tonight did them credit... they did not join in with or encourage the fight, and they all pretended to be asleep very creditably." He smirked. "You might, perhaps, have a word with Miss Rowanwood. She feigns a dainty snore with a little too much enthusiasm."

"I'll have her work on that, sir. Thank you." She returned his polite nod, looking very pleased with herself. "Goodnight, Professor Snape."

"Goodnight, Miss Parkinson." He left the Slytherin's domain, frowning thoughtfully as he headed up to the hospital wing to see how things were going. Pansy - ably backed by Millicent - had secured the leadership of the Slytherin girls easily, and had them well in hand. The boys, on the other hand, were hopelessly divided now that Draco was no longer their acknowledged leader. Quite aside from his unpopular political stance and sudden tendency to go about flirting with Gryffindor know-it-alls, his maimed arm and the reason for it made his Housemates uncomfortable. Blaise Zabini couldn't take up the role - he was too biased and too lazy. Theodore Nott was too easily intimidated to even consider making a power-play, these days.

Perhaps if he hinted to Pansy that Crabbe would make an able deputy, she would be able to get both halves of Slytherin under her control. Crabbe wasn't quite as stupid as he was in the habit of appearing, and he might be happier with Pansy to give him orders and organize him properly.

"... and I expect your calculations to be completed and handed in by Friday." Professor Vector tapped the blackboard with her wand, cleaning the day's Arithmancy calculations off it but leaving the homework for the slower writers.

Hermione shoved her books into her bag, then tapped it with her wand, casting a levitation-charm just strong enough to ease the bag's weight a bit. Either she'd have to do that a lot more often, or she'd have to start going all the way back up to the tower at lunch time so she didn't have to carry the whole day's worth of books at once. Having extra weight on one side as well as in front was putting a strain on her back already.

"Damn it!" She heard a thump and looked around to see Draco kneel down to pick up his dropped copy of Advanced Numerological Theory. He was obviously having trouble wrestling it into his bag with only one hand for both bag and book.

"Can I help?" Hermione hitched her bag around to her back, trying to balance out the weight a bit. Maybe pregnancy was dulling her busybody urges a bit; instead of just leaping in, she'd actually remembered that doing that with a Slytherin could result in a bitten hand - or the verbal equivalent.

"If you must." Draco scowled, but let her hold the bag open so he could slide the book in. "I could manage - "

"But why make the effort when there's a stupid Gryffindor to do all the work for you?" Hermione grinned at him. "Feel free to tell people that you took advantage of my misguided helpfulness."

Draco gave her a startled look, and then laughed quietly. "Rudimentary, but still a decent attempt at manipulation. I'm impressed."

"Good." Hermione followed him out of the classroom and was rather pleased when he paused and fell into step beside her instead. "You might try a stiffer bag - that one's too soft to stay open without being held."

"I suppose." He shrugged. "I manage."

Hermione nodded. "I've noticed." She'd also noticed that he didn't like talking about his lost arm, and she cast around for another topic of conversation. "How is your mother? If you don't mind me asking..."

He glanced down at her in apparent surprise. "I don't mind. I'm a little surprised, but I don't mind."

Hermione shrugged. "Motherhood is a little on my mind at the moment, for some funny reason."

"Can't think why." Draco gave her bump an amused look. "My mother is as well as can be expected. She's still mourning for my father... I'm not sure she even remembers that she's under house-arrest most of the time. She doesn't leave her rooms much."

"I can only imagine," she said softly. "Is she allowed visitors?"

"With approval from the Magical Law Enforcement Office, yes. She threw a fit until they approved her dressmaker and her favourite hair-stylist." Draco smiled fondly. "I think that's a good sign. If she stopped caring how her hair looked, I'd really be concerned. My Aunt Andromeda is a regular visitor, as well. It took a while to convince Mother to speak to her, but they were very close when they were young. As long as they never discuss their respective husbands, they seem to get along well enough now."

Hermione nodded. "What about Tonks? Nymphadora, I mean, your cousin."

"She's visited once or twice, I think. I've only met her once - she was at my trial." Draco smiled lopsidedly. "She has the family eyes and chin... I picked her out even before she spoke to me." He paused, and gave Hermione a curious look. "What's she like? We didn't exactly get a chance to exchange life stories while I was evading Azkaban by the skin of my teeth. Thanks for speaking in my defence, by the way."

"You're welcome." She hadn't done it for Draco, although she wished now that she had. Then the memory of years of insults had been far too strong for her to want to save him; she'd done it because Severus Snape had wanted his godson freed and she'd been feeling guilty. And now she was feeling even more guilty, for not standing up for Draco for his own sake. "And she's nice. A bit batty, but nice. She and Remus Lupin are still dating, I think."

She realised after a moment that she was walking alone. She turned around, and found Draco stopped in the middle of the hallway, staring at her. "Remus Lupin? The werewolf? The teacher?"

"That's him." Hermione nodded, grinning a bit at the bewildered look on his face. "He put up a bit of a fight, but they seem happy enough now."

"He put up a..." Draco shook his head. "But... he's old! He's practically old enough to be her father!"

"He's very nice," Hermione said a little defensively. "And so what if he's a bit older? There's nothing wrong with that. Given how long wizards live, twenty years is practically nothing. Less than twenty years, really, it's probably more like fifteen."

Draco snickered. "You're so easy to read, Granger. You've practically got 'I've had at least one crush on an older man' written across your forehead."

Hermione felt her face going red. "I'm not... look, Tonks and Remus are very sweet, that's not..."

"Don't worry, Granger. I already knew about your thing for Lockhart in second year." Draco shook his head. "I could never tease you about it, though... Millicent fancied him too, and if I'd said anything to imply that it was silly, she'd've killed me."

"So would I." Hermione felt a little giddy with relief. He didn't know. Thank God, he didn't know. "And I still could if you mention it to anyone."

"Then I won't." Draco scowled. "But I'm not sure Professor Lupin is good enough for my cousin, estranged half-Muggle-born or not. He's a werewolf!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. "He's a dangerous potential killer three nights out of every month. No offence intended to your family, Draco, but I met your Uncle Rodolphus - "

"You set my Uncle Rodolphus on fire, you mean. Not that he didn't deserve it."

"And your father did try to kill me several times..."

"Yes, yes, all right, point taken," Draco said. "He's no worse than Rodolphus - I'll admit that much. Still, if she had to have an unattractive older man, couldn't she have picked one with a spine? Lupin's sloppier than the Quidditch pitch after two weeks of rain."

"Remus Lupin was a member of the Order of the Phoenix!" Hermione said, giving him a reproachful look. Draco might have mellowed, but he was still Draco. "Both times! He's one of the bravest people I know!"

"Oh, please." Draco snorted. "Most werewolves are really macho - the male ones, anyway - but Lupin probably writes sad little poems about flowers and kittens. He's so sweet and sentimental he makes my teeth hurt."

Hermione sniffed. "Boys. You're all the same. I mean, I'm just a girl, so obviously I wouldn't know about being macho and all that... Even so, I can't help but notice that Professor Lupin has a beautiful, intelligent, much younger woman chasing him enthusiastically, while you and Ron - both keen on the macho approach - are currently single." She gave him a deliberately wide-eyed look. "Gosh, do you think the two could be somehow connected?"

He laughed. "A hit, a palpable hit," he said, giving her an amused and oddly intent look. "I'll go begin brushing up on my poetry at once. Should I begin with flowers or with kittens?"

"Oh, flowers, definitely," Hermione said seriously. "Something very deep and stirring about snowdrops, perhaps."