Chapter 18: Confrontation

A/N: Well, what with all the kerfuffle on WIKTT, the multitude of private messages - some supportive, some decidedly not - and everything else, plus certain demanding RL matters like my new job and my bad knee flaring up again, I no longer have the time or the inclination for the patient double-polishing that I had planned for Accountable. So many thanks to the betas for all their hard work, and no blame to them for any mistakes in the later chapters, since they're all mine.

The last few chapters should go up tomorrow or the day after. Thanks to everyone who's read this far, and I hope you enjoy the rest of it.

The ambush was simple, but effective. Harry referred to the Marauder's Map to locate their target, and then he and Ron loitered outside the library until Malfoy came out. Then it was just a matter of grabbing him and hustling him into a deserted side-corridor, which was much easier now that he no longer had Crabbe and Goyle with him everywhere he went.

"We want a word, Malfoy," Ron said, doing a creditable loom. He was lanky, but still half-a-head taller than either Harry or Malfoy, and much broader in the shoulder than he had been a year ago.

"So I see." Malfoy sneered just a little bit. "I don't suppose it occurred to either of you to ask for it. Or were you just determined to prove how macho you are by bravely shoving the cripple around?"

Harry looked down automatically at Malfoy's half-empty sleeve and scowled. He hated how complicated their previously simple enmity had become. "Yeah, well..." he mumbled a little guiltily. "Look, someone's trying to kill me. Everyone knows that, right?"

"When isn't there someone trying to kill you?" Malfoy shrugged, assuming a bored expression.

After Hermione's little speech on the subject, that struck Harry as funny, and he grinned a little. "So far, pretty much never, but I'd like to try it someday."

Malfoy blinked, and the corner of his mouth quirked just a little. "Yeah, I can see your point there," he said, causing Ron to stare at him in surprise. "It isn't me, though. We both know I could have done it a dozen times during the war and blamed it on the Death Eaters. Why would I make trouble for myself now?"

"We didn't think it was you." Harry shrugged. "Didn't seem like your style."

"But we want to know who it was," Ron said, frowning. "We figure you must have heard something by now."

Malfoy raised pale eyebrows. "Why?"

"Because you're still in Slytherin," Ron said, as if this should have been obvious. "You must hear them talking."

"And you have reason to believe that this person is a Slytherin?" The moment of mutual understanding faded, and Malfoy's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Or did you just assume that it must be since we're all evil, sitting down in the dungeons and hatching our wicked plots to attack the virtuous, innocent Gryffindors?"

Ron scowled. "Look, everyone knows that most of Slytherin had family on the other side, and a lot of them died. That's a good reason to want to off Harry, isn't it?"

"We weren't the only ones to lose family," Malfoy said coolly. "Or friends. It hasn't escaped anyone's notice that Gryffindor was the only house that didn't lose any current students. You were much more careful about your own housemates than you were about the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws fighting with you, Potter. That sort of thing can create bad feeling."

Harry blinked. "Hey, I didn't - "

"Didn't what? Didn't surround yourself with your own precious Gryffindors so that they'd be protected along with you?" Malfoy snorted. "Please. I was there, Potter, I saw what happened. You kept them all close so they'd be protected along with you and left the others to fend for themselves."

"It wasn't like that!" Harry clenched his fists, feeling hot and guilty inside. Half a dozen members of the D.A. had died, and not one of them would have tried to fight if he hadn't shown them how. Ernie, Hannah... Smith, vicious and unlikeable to the last... Cho... "You were there, Malfoy, you know what it was like. I couldn't watch everyone all the time!"

"Did you try?"

"Yes, I tried! It was my fault they were there, I was the one who taught them to fight!" Harry heard his voice getting louder and was powerless to stop it. "But I couldn't protect them... I couldn't even protect Ron. He got half the bones in his body broken, remember? If I could have saved anyone, I would have saved him... or Hermione. If Justin hadn't been there, she would've died, and I wouldn't have been able to do anything!"

Malfoy blinked. "Hermione?" He sounded oddly concerned all of a sudden.

"Yeah. It was after I went down." Ron nodded, lifting his hand to his jaw. "You ever see the scar she has just here? Macnair came within a quarter-inch of blowing the side of her head off. He would have, if Justin hadn't tackled him just as he was throwing the hex." He scowled suddenly. "And since when do you call her Hermione?"

Malfoy smirked a little. "Since she invited me to do so. Didn't she mention it to you?"

"No," Ron said, his ears going red.

"She did. We've been terribly civilized since the war. First names and sitting together in Arithmancy and everything." Malfoy shrugged, and held out his left arm in its folded sleeve. "I've given my pound of flesh, Weasley. Along with my blood and bone. What more do you want, my head on a platter?"

Ron went red, probably remembering a certain conversation on the train. Harry wasn't sure he liked the idea of Hermione being friendly to Malfoy, but if she was... "If you do hear anything about who might be trying to kill me, let me know," he said quietly. "I can handle it, but Hermione might get hurt again. I really don't want anything to happen to her or the baby."

Malfoy nodded slowly. "Neither do I. I'll keep an eye out." He straightened up. "Now, unless you want Filch jumping on you for being out after hours, we should be trotting back to our common rooms like good little students."

Hermione was learning to appreciate the crowds of students moving around the castle between classes. Before her pregnancy, she'd hated getting caught in crowds, especially on the stairs - they'd slowed her down and even made her late for classes once or twice. At eight months along, she was grateful for the little pushes and jostles on the way up the stairs, since they moved her along faster than she could manage on her own.

She'd managed to catch a wave of students going up this morning, and was grinning as the crowd nudged her up the stairs towards Arithmancy. Skiing had been bad enough - there was no way in the world she'd be able to explain surfing to the wizard-born. Harry might think the idea of surfing a wave of students up the stairs was funny, though. She'd have to mention it to him.

She was looking at the place where her bulge obscured the view of her toes when something hit her shoulder hard. She saw a pale hand in a black sleeve out of the corner of her eye, but she was already staggering back, her foot slipping off the stair. She felt her shoulder hit someone who pulled away, and she grabbed someone else's sleeve only to have it slip through her fingers. She'd let out a single startled yelp, but then panic closed her throat and she couldn't scream as she went back and back and back...

Just as she was sure she was about to hit the stairs, a beefy arm clamped around her ribs and jerked her upright by the simple means of lifting her off her feet until they were hanging directly under her, then setting her back on the stair with a jolt. Hermione's knees promptly gave way, and the arm hauled her upright again. "Get a grip, Granger."

Hermione whimpered, her hands shaking so much she could hardly get hold of the railing. "I'm t-trying..." She'd known even before she heard the voice who had caught her. She'd recognize that arm anywhere. "Th-thanks, Bulstrode."

"Yeah." Millicent Bulstrode looked up the stairs, where the crowd had all stopped and turned to look. "Hey! Baddock! Grab the redhead with the pimples!"

The crowd of students parted, and Hermione saw a stocky Slytherin boy towing Marietta Edgecombe down the stairs. Like a number of the other seventh-years from last year, she'd opted to repeat a year so she could sit her N.E.W.T.s. "Got her, Mil," the boy said cheerfully, ignoring Marietta's frantic attempts to get her arm out of his grip. "Was definitely her, I saw her."

Hermione's knees stopped trembling and firmed up suddenly as she glared up at Marietta. "You could have killed me!"

"I wish I had!" Marietta was still struggling against the younger boy's hold. "You bloody bitch, you put this hex on me and I can't get it off!" She rubbed her sleeve across her face, wiping off some of the thickly caked makeup that still failed to hide the 'SNEAK' written across her face. "At least if you died it might go away!"

"You did that?" Bulstrode eyed Marietta's face thoughtfully. "You're nastier than you look, Granger. That's been there for years."

Hermione's knees wobbled again. Marietta looked almost mad, her face contorted with hatred. "I can't take it off, and you know it," she said quietly. "I've apologized a dozen times, but I can't take it off, and killing me won't do it. You know what you have to do."

"Oh, yeah, I know." Marietta laughed wildly. "I have to be really and truly sorry, cross my heart. I just have to repent. You cast a fucking curse on me that nobody can lift until I really feel sorry!"

"Wow." Baddock gave Hermione a rather admiring look. "That's really sneaky."

Hermione shook her head. "I didn't mean for it to be so permanent," she said guiltily. "I just... It never occurred to me. I'm sorry."

Marietta lunged at her, nearly breaking free before a short, burly Hufflepuff moved forward to help Baddock restrain her. "You bitch, you - "

"What is going on here?" Professor Vector was standing at the top of the stairs, her arms folded. "Shouldn't you all be in class?"

Baddock turned and looked up at her. "She," he said in sweetly innocent tones, pointing at Marietta, "tried to throw Granger down the stairs and kill her."

Severus intercepted Vincent Crabbe as he left breakfast, and marched him into one of the unused classrooms on the first floor. "Mr Crabbe, is there something you would like to tell me?"

Crabbe slouched against a dusty desk. "No, sir," he muttered, looking at the floor.

"Something about Rita Skeeter?" Severus prompted in a silkily menacing tone. It hadn't been difficult to find out who the culprit was, once Rita had been arrested as an unregistered Animagus. She'd told the Aurors absolutely everything, in an attempt to deflect some of the blame from herself, and Savage had sent Severus a quiet tip-off. Which would get Savage into trouble if anyone found out, of course, but after seven years of sharing a dormitory, each trusted the other to maintain discreet silence where required.

Crabbe shrugged. "Didn't particularly want to tell you about that," he said, giving Severus a suddenly defiant look. "Sir."

"Would you care to tell me why you did this?"

A massive shoulder lifted, then dropped. "Because I wanted to make the snotty little bitch miserable. And Potter, too, by association."

"Why?" Severus dropped the menacing tones and carefully calculated intimidating posture. That wasn't working, and it probably wasn't going to. "Why her, I mean. Potter I quite understand about."

Crabbe continued staring at the floor. "Loads of reasons."

"Being a Gryffindor? Being a Muggle-born? Being the only reason Potter survived long enough to kill the Dark Lord?"

"Yeah," Crabbe mumbled, but Severus could tell that he hadn't reached the root of the trouble yet. The boy was still hunched and tensed, waiting for... something... to fall.

He would have to talk them both through it. Crabbe simply didn't have the capacity for introspection required to ferret out his own deepest motivations. "But any one of them would have done for that, wouldn't they? You wanted to get at Miss Granger personally."

"Maybe." Yes, said the body language and the sulky expression.

Severus looked at Crabbe, and Crabbe looked stubbornly at the floor. The boy had been unhappy ever since he returned to Hogwarts, but something like this, something that required planning and at least rudimentary cunning - this was more serious than mere unhappiness. It would take a lot to motivate the stolid Crabbe to this sort of exertion.

"It is... unfair," he said quietly, and Crabbe's broad shoulders twitched in unspoken agreement. So what was unfair? Crabbe certainly had a lot to resent, what with the death of his father, his godfather, his best friend and dozens of his allies. Death - maybe that was it. "Is that what you resent? That she lives, and creates new life, when so many who mattered to you are dead?"

"It's not fair," Crabbe muttered, lifting his head to look at his Head of House. Resentment simmered in his eyes, probably visible even without Legilimentic ability. "They're all alive and happy and... and everything, and she's having a baby, and Greg's just... gone."

Severus nodded. "It's not fair," he agreed, because it wasn't and the least he could do was to acknowledge it. "But it's not the child's fault, Vincent. Taking a crack at making Harry Potter and his little band miserable is one thing, but sentencing a child to live under that kind of suspicion is unacceptable."

"Didn't work anyway. Just wanted to tarnish up the perfect virgin saint a bit, make her know what it's like to be a Slytherin, with everyone against you." Crabbe kicked the leg of a desk moodily. "Draco keeps kissing up to her. Makes me sick, the way she goes around pretending to be all sweet and saintly even when we can all see she's no better'n she should be..."

Severus had to force his fists to uncurl. "You misjudge her," he said quietly.

"Pansy told us that she saved your life." Crabbe's eyes twitched up from the floor, briefly, to glance at him curiously. "She's still a Gryffindor, though. They're all alike."

"That they are not, any more than all Slytherins are alike." Severus looked away, wondering if he dared risk it. But Crabbe, unlike most of the others, could seriously harm her if he took it into his head to do so. He had no scruples, no morals, and no imagination to keep him from acting by conjuring up the possible consequences. And since he wasn't especially fond of Severus himself, Hermione having saved his life would act as no deterrent. "I have... shall we say, reason to believe the child's father is a Slytherin," he said, looking up at the cobwebbed stone of the wall. "Or was. Miss Granger does not share the prejudices of many of her house."

Crabbe's face twisted in revulsion. "With a Mudb-"

"Spare me, Mr Crabbe." Severus snorted. "I knew your parents when we were all at school, I know about your mother's... background. Even I have a measure of Muggle blood. Let that particular outdated and irrational prejudice go."

Crabbe looked uneasy. "But - "

"The war is over. The rhetoric no longer serves a purpose." Severus fixed him with a long, piercing stare. "I cannot force you to keep silent about my suspicions about the child's parentage, but I invite you to consider what Miss Granger will go through, trying to raise a child alone because to name his father would cause more trouble for them and for the child than they dare risk. Or what your former fellow Slytherin feels, knowing he will never dare to acknowledge his own child. Because of those on both sides like you and like Ronald Weasley, who still believe a foolish house rivalry is important."

He had, perhaps, put a shade too much feeling into the end of that statement. Crabbe was looking thoughtful now - a sight to frighten any teacher, let alone one with a secret to keep. "Never thought of that," Crabbe said slowly. "She always says the father didn't want to hang about."

"What else could she say?" Severus shrugged slightly, watching the boy carefully. He seemed to be softening somewhat. "She cares for her child. We must credit her with that at least."

Crabbe nodded. "She does seem keen on it." Fecundity was valuable among wizards, but a genuine interest in motherhood was even more so. Pansy Parkinson's mother had produced her son and daughter merely in accordance with convention, and rarely paid any attention to them; and while Narcissa doted on Draco, childbirth had traumatized her so badly that even Lucius had never dared suggest to her the possibility of doing it again. There were similar cases in all the houses, always, although Severus didn't know the particulars. Crabbe, having been fortunate enough to have a dim but affectionate mother himself, could probably be relied on to understand this.

"Very." Severus made a dismissive gesture. "Strike at Harry Potter and his friends if you will - temporary alliance aside, you know as well as everyone else that I can't stand any of them. But do not strike at the child again, or I will ensure that you regret it for a very long time, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Crabbe met his eyes again, his expression clear of resentment now. "Might be-"

"I have never in my life been so appalled by the behaviour of a student! Not one more word!"

The shriek came from outside the classroom, and Crabbe grinned a little. "Old McGonagall's got her knickers in a twist over something."

"Professor McGonagall," Severus corrected absently, following Crabbe out into the hall. Minerva was stalking up the stairs, her thin hands clenched into fists. Just behind her - and Severus and Crabbe both stared in surprise at this - Millicent was hovering solicitously over Hermione Granger, helping her up the stairs. Behind them, Professor Vector was prodding someone along with her wand - someone whose hands were bound behind her had a head of and messy red curls - Marietta Edgecombe, Severus suspected.

"What the hell...?" Crabbe said under his breath, staring at Millicent. Who was smirking pointedly, Severus was relieved to see. At least if she was up to something, she hadn't actually gone mad and started being kind to Gryffindors out of the pure goodness of her stony heart.

Severus looked around. There were clusters of students everywhere, naturally, even though they had no business not being in class, and they were all whispering. He settled on one who was whispering gleefully, instead of looking puzzled. "Mr Baddock. What is going on out here?"

Malcolm was positively agog with excitement, any grudge against his Head of House apparently forgotten. "We were on the second-floor stairs, a whole crowd of us, and Edgecombe tried to shove Granger down the stairs and kill her," he said, bouncing a little on his toes.

"She what?" Severus found that his fists were clenched again, and the words had come out in the quiet purr he saved for real fury.

"It would've worked," Malcolm said happily. "Only Millie caught her and kept her from falling. And she told me to grab Edgecombe before she could get away, and I did." His chest swelled with pride. "And McGonagall gave me ten points, for catching her, and she gave Millie fifty points for catching Granger, and I don't think anybody's ever gotten that many out of her for Slytherin before."

"Not to my knowledge." As furious as he still was, Severus smiled slightly. She probably had no idea, of course, but Minerva McGonagall had done more to ingratiate herself with Slytherin in ten minutes than Albus had managed in any year of his Headmastership.

Malcolm preened delightedly. "And Millie said she'd help Granger up to the Headmistress's office and tell McGonagall everything 'cause she saw it, and it was a really prime bit of sucking up, McGonagall was all pleased with her and everything."

"Not bad," Crabbe said, looking up the stairs at Millie's broad back with an admiring expression. "We all know how soppy McGonagall is over Granger. Fifty points... that puts us ahead of Gryffindor again, right?"

"By twenty-eight," Malcolm said, nodding. "And only twelve behind Ravenclaw."

"A lead I suspect they will very shortly lose," Severus said absently, gazing after Hermione. She looked all right... moving slowly, of course, but she always did now. Then he realised that both boys were looking at him inquiringly, and he smirked just a little. "Edgecombe is in Ravenclaw."

"Bless her pimply little face," Malcolm said with deep sincerity. "Sixty points and gutting her own house for us."

Crabbe guffawed. Severus couldn't help letting his smirk widen slightly. "Yes, quite. I trust, of course, that this has adequately demonstrated what a very bad idea it is to openly attack a fellow student... particularly Granger." He gave Crabbe a pointed look. "Were Professor McGonagall ever to find out who tipped Rita Skeeter off, for example, that person would very likely find himself summarily expelled, his house stripped of points, and, if Professor McGonagall had her way, hung at dawn."

Crabbe blinked, and then nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said, with a transparently cunning expression. He had no idea how to be subtle, even now. "It'd be a terrible thing if she ever found out."

"Indeed it would." Severus nodded. "Excuse me, gentlemen. You have classes you should be in, and I suspect my presence will shortly be required in the Headmistress's office."

The Aurors had been summoned. Savage again, this time accompanied by an unusually serious Tonks, her hair a demure brown. The Heads of House had been sent for to witness Marietta's official expulsion and were now gathered rather protectively around poor Professor Flitwick. Millicent Bulstrode had given evidence to the effect that she'd seen Marietta shove Hermione down the stairs, and then Professor McGonagall had explained why.

"...Miss Granger was punished at the time, of course, for using so unpredictable a curse on a fellow student," she concluded. "But Miss Edgecombe's lack of penitence for the betrayal of her friends' confidence is her own doing, not Miss Granger's. It is certainly no excuse for attempted murder."

Hermione glanced at Marietta, who had gone rather pale. Apparently the consequences of her action were finally starting to sink in. "But I didn't mean to-" Marietta said weakly.

"You did too." Millicent gave her a disdainful look. "You said right in front of everyone that you wished it had killed her."

"But -"

"Have her parents been notified?" Savage asked Professor McGonagall. "We can contact them, if not."

"They have been. Madam Edgecombe is an employee of the Ministry, so you may expect her to begin making a fuss at once." Professor McGonagall frowned. "Probably claiming that Marietta was of unsound mind or some such thing, due to the curse."

"She can justify trying to kill Miss Granger all she likes," Tonks said, looking grim. "But she can't possibly have any grudge against the baby, and if Hermione died he or she would die too."

"Attempted murder of an expectant mother isn't going to go down well." Savage nodded, giving Hermione a thoughtful look. "There'll be a trial, of course, but that's probably just a formality. Azkaban isn't what it was, of course, with the Dementors gone, but it's no holiday at the seaside all the same."

Marietta was as white as a sheet now. "Azkaban? But - "

"That's where murderers and would-be murderers go, Edgecombe," Tonks said firmly, tugging Marietta to her feet. "We'd best be getting along, if that's everything... I'd like to be there when Madam Edgecombe starts throwing her weight around."

"Of course. Thank you for responding so promptly." Professor McGonagall inclined her head politely.

"Not at all, Professor. You go on, Tonks, I'll be with you in just a minute." Savage watched as Tonks shoved Marietta into the fireplace and climbed in after her, and then nodded. "Miss Granger. You all right? No injuries to be added to the charges, anything like that?"

"No, sir," Hermione said quietly. Her voice was being only marginally cooperative, and her knees kept going funny every time she realised she'd come within a hair of being killed along with her baby. "Bulstrode caught me before I hit the steps."

"Good." Savage gave Bulstrode an approving look. "You're a credit to your house, Bulstrode. Acted quickly and effectively. Ever given any thought to Magical Law Enforcement?"

Bulstrode blinked. "Er... no, not really. Do you think I should?"

"It's a good job, especially when you're young. Decent pay, lots of action, that sort of thing." Savage nodded. "And not many Gryffindors. A few of them make Auror, but they don't generally bother with the grunt work - and those that do get tossed out sharpish if they can't let old house prejudices go."

"Really?" Bulstrode nodded slowly, clearly thinking this over. "That doesn't sound half bad."

"Think about it. Get Snape to do you up a nice reference. Meanwhile, you and Miss Granger'll both probably have to testify at the trial. You'll be notified." Savage nodded politely to Professor McGonagall, and ducked into the fireplace.

"I blame myself," Professor Flitwick said in a very small voice, sounding like a broken-hearted mouse. "If I'd managed to make her understand the nature of the curse... or found some way to remove it..."

"And if you'd managed to make me understand the nature of the Dark Mark when I was her age, and found a way to remove it, I wouldn't have done a great many things," Professor Snape said quietly. "That does not mean that you are to blame for my doing them. Miss Edgecombe knew what she was doing."

Professor Flitwick sniffed, and reached up to pat Professor Snape's hand gently. "Of course, my boy, of course. But even so, I fear I have let her down in some way..."

"You did everything you could for her," Professor Sprout said firmly. "Every house has the occasional bad egg. Nothing you could do about it."

"Perhaps I am simply getting too old to handle the duties of Head of House," Professor Flitwick said sadly. "I have, after all, headed Ravenclaw for nearly seventy years. Professor Vector, perhaps..."

"Don't be ridiculous, Filius," Professor McGonagall said firmly. "You're tired and upset just now, that's all." She turned a meaningful look on Hermione and Bulstrode. "Thank you for your assistance. Miss Granger, I suggest you see Madam Pomfrey to make sure there are no ill effects from being thrown about. Miss Bulstrode, thank you again for your assistance. Should you choose to pursue a career in Magical Law Enforcement, I will be happy to provide you with a second reference."

Once outside, Hermione and Bulstrode exchanged rather uncertain looks. "Thanks again for saving my life," Hermione said tentatively.

"Didn't do it on purpose." Bulstrode grinned just a little. "Saw a body flying at my head and caught it. Habit, really." She looked at the gargoyle. "McGonagall's not bad, is she? Never seen her give Slytherin so many points."

"Well, she's Headmistress now," Hermione pointed out. "You can favour your own house a bit when you're Head of House, everyone does, but the Headmistress should be impartial."

Bulstrode snorted. "Not like Dumbledore. Favoured Gryffindor like mad, he did."

"Yes, well..." Hermione couldn't help making a rather sour face. "He certainly wasn't impartial. Even some of the Gryffindors noticed and got angry about it."

Bulstrode gave her a deeply sceptical look. "Oh, yeah? Like who?"

"Percy Weasley, for one."

Bulstrode considered that, and her expression softened slightly. "He wasn't so bad, for a Gryffindor. Always polite, and he wouldn't let anyone push the Firsties around."

Hermione nodded. "I always liked him. He took being a Prefect so seriously - the responsibility, I mean. Not just for Gryffindor, but for all the younger students."

"Yeah. He was all right. Used to patrol down in the dungeons, even, and most Gryffindors don't bother." Bulstrode shrugged. "Anyway, McGonagall does seem like an improvement on the old codger. You off to the hospital wing again?"

"I suppose I have to. Honestly, everyone seems to think I'm made of eggshells - every time I get a shock or a bump, it's off to the hospital wing with me." She looked down at her stomach. "I doubt he even noticed more than a bit of a jerk, really. He's quite well protected in there."

Bulstrode nodded approvingly. "Being pregnant doesn't make you fragile, it just means you tip over easier. My Aunty Gwen's had five, and she just kept doing everything the same as usual right up until they were actually born."

Hermione felt a moment of honest admiration for Aunty Gwen, who was clearly pretty tough - although if she was built anything like Millie, she probably had enough length in the body and width in the pelvis to accommodate a baby much more comfortably than Hermione could. "Wow."

"Yeah." Bulstrode looked smug. "Have fun dragging yourself up all those stairs." She headed off, much faster than Hermione could walk.

"Cow," Hermione muttered, without any real heat, and set off on the long trek to the hospital wing.