"If I ever even hear from you drinking from a cauldron that has a substance of unknown magical potential, I shall have you confined to the Hospital Wing for the remaining time of term."
She should be grateful, Hermione thought, for another dove catching up with her on her way up the stairs, unrolling her wings and commanding her to McGonagalls office, but she did not feel that way.
"It's potential was not unknown, Professor."
"You could have killed yourself, Miss Granger."
"With all due respect, but do you truly expect Professor Snape to work on potions that might -"
"There was a Draught of Despair among these brews! Yes, I know of the task he's given you – as to all fifth years!", her teacher spat out. "And I must say, I've never heard of a student blatantly disregarding five years of magical education, throwing cautions to the wind and endangering herself like you did!"
"The dove would have stopped me."
"It's not about the circumstances, Miss Granger! I'm talking about your attitude!" The teacher was furious, but Hermione felt treated worse than she deserved: If she had not expected anything else than contempt by Umbridge, through whatever means, McGonagall should have understood her deeds in potions. Had her actions not proven bravery in face of peril? Wasn't that a Gryffindor thing she had just done?
"Why would he give us this idiotic -"
"Hold your tongue, Miss Granger!", McGonagall pushed her glasses up the middle bridge of her nose, a sign she was preparing for a very tailored, very sharp repsonse. "This approach has been tried and tested over decades of magical education, and it has proven a reliable source of information on whom to grant access to advanced potion making and whom to deny it."
"I'm not allowed to take potions next year, then?", Hermione snapped, quickly adding a "Professor?"
"In line with tradition, that is up to the potions teacher to decide", she replied, lips tightly clenched together. "At the beginning of your NEWT-year", McGonagall added, answering her unspoken question. "As for now, you are banned from participating in class next week. Since your OWL's will be held under strict surveillance, I see no reason to keep you from sitting in on those. However, if I see you as much as stirring in a vessel that looks remotely like a cauldron, you will be subjected to more severe measures than an entry of a messed-up multiplying charm on permanent record, I promise you that!"
Listen to yourself, Hermione withheld her tongue as she was told, framing my nights in the Hospital Wing as a note on parchment. Formerly so deep into lecturing me on misplaced empathy, and yet not displaying any of it all.
"Ok, Professor", she forced herself to say, "Am I allowed to go to lunch now? Several gulps of cold water are all I've had today." Her stomach gave a helpful load growl.
"Sure", the teacher replied, "Madam Pomfrey is expecting you for rounds at half past six. Ask her about the last time a student emptied a cauldron in one go, and listen carefully. That should give you an idea of what you've risked."
Hermione did not nod to the task, she felt fed up with learning exercises as seldom before. To hell with her preachings, bitterness rang in her mind, If it had been me for the first time to do something stupid in potions, Snape would not have made the effort of enchanting the parchments in the first place.
"It was cat hair."
"Excuse me?"
"He put cat hair in that Polyjuice Potion", Harry said, sighing over his baked tomatoes. "Hermione, do you have any idea how he learned about that mistake of yours?"
"From Madam Pomfrey, Iguess. After all, I coughed up fur balls for a fortnight. She'd remember that, wouldn't she?" Her stomach gave a jolt, as if refusing to finally do its job on some mashed and spiced potatoes.
"Nah, people come up with much more spectacular maladies", Ron added, "Remember that Hufflepuff Beater from Percy's year who rode such a wrecked-up broom that he feared it might break under his weight any minute? He gave it a permament Stiffening Charm, one of these they used on dresses in nineteenth century, but it extended beyond the broom and -"
Next to him, Lavender Brown burst into a wild giggle, while Harry and Hermione grinned. Ron's ears turned slightly red and he did not finish his sentence.
"Lucky Madam Hooch got rid of the broom", Hermione tried to pull the conversation down to a more mature level. "You wouldn't want to accidentally hop on it, would you?"
Neither Harry nor Ron answered her question.
"Anyway, Poppy must have seen far more complicated accidents than students with a – uhm – tail -", Ron must have bitten off a pretty large and resistant part of his steak, swallowing hard, "Wait until you run into some of them when you're at the infirmary, Hermione -"
"Yes, wait until you run into someone with a permanent Stiffening Charm", Lavender threw in, and the two of them got swept away with laughter again.
"Girls", she heard herself mutter and decided her attention was est placed at a decent meal.
"Did you figure out how to correct the error, Harry?"
"I've got no idea", her friend admitted, "I wouldn't even have thought of it if Crabbe and Goyle had not wondered about this Bulstrode girl not showing up for practice last night, whatever they were up to."
"Snape was pretty impressed, man, that you figured it out at all", Ron commented, wiping iced frosting from the corner of his mouth.
"Yeah, but that'll hardly make it any easier next week, will it? My Stasis Charm was rubbish, Hermione, I could have used your help."
"The dove wouldn't have let me."
"I don't think so", Harry disagreed. "Miller had Soothing Solution, but he heated it up too quickly, and when he wasn't watching the steam, his dove dropped a lit on the cauldron, and fell down instantly. Snape used Rennervate on her, so it must have been knocked out, at least."
"It's a tradition at Hogwarts, McGonagall told me. He's probably obliged to give a guardian of some kind to each of us, since he can't do all the watching on his own, so he bewitched the closest piece of parchment on his desk."
"He'd have the hell of a job guarding Malfoy", Ron mused. "You couldn't see from your seats – but he looked really – I don't know – bothered somehow, when Malfoy came 'round the corner with this phrase-loaded bullshit."
"Yeah, something was off when you were gone", Harry added, peaking secretly to her in an entirely obvious manner. "Snape did not address Malfoy after you left, and I was wondering -", he leaned closer to her, lowering his voice, "If we witnessed Malfoy occluding to him, and then using Legilimency to learn whether Snape had tampered with the veritaserum."
"Nothing to access there, then", Hermione whispered, grateful that a handful of seats were empty since desert had appeared. "We did not mess up the potion. Not intentionally at least."
"What about unintentionally?", Ron voiced the question in Harrys face.
"He might have been - distracted." Why was she blushing now? "He lectured my about Januarius Three Laws while bandaging my hands." Coming to think of it – hadn't Snape make her revise the Second Law about evenly transformations down there, in the dungeons? Had he just offered them a perfectly solvable challenge after his theoretical sermon the previous weeks?
Another prickling idea gained shape in her mind, frightening her instantly. Would her Polyjuice potion with cat-hair have worked on Crookshanks, perhaps -?
"And what caused you to need your hands bandaged in the first place?", Ron asked, eyes wide in shock. The inquiry drew her attention back to present, but Harry saved her from a long explanation. "Accident with a goblin-made knife", he informed him shortly. "Hermione, do you think we should speak to Dobby? Make sure he's still adding the antidote to every beverage?"
"No, we shouldn't", she said, suddenly remembering Harrys gestures: Speaking to someone with clothes. "He'll get along with the storage in the Hog's Head, and when term's over, we won't need the infusion added any more."
"Yeah, … hopefully we won't need it", Harry repeated absent-mindedly.
"You're aware that he wouldn't do this if it was still Dumbledore as headmaster?", Ron pointed out. "Dobby's loyal to the death to you, mate, but he'd at least tell Dumbledore."
"Honestly, I don't care if he would, Ron", Harry replied, "But since it's that hag in office right now, I'm grateful for every help we can get."
Her friends hurried to the common room and made a fuzz about planning to research Stasis Charms in the library, but when Hermione sat down in her favorite corner at the window sill, she had not seen them anywhere on her way. Harboring certain suspicions about their true aim, she sat down and dived into her summary on most important Transfigurations, a fraction of attention always devoted to monitor her attention.
The faint scent of fresh parchment and old leather worked an effect on her unparalleled to by any magic, as always. Heavy summer heat pressed against the window, but she only felt a thick, pleasant warmth, stroking her forehead and nose, snuggling up to her pale cheeks. To her left, three Ravenclaws kept their voices down from a wish not to disturb others, but laughing heartily once in a while. It was Hogwarts as she loved it, as she needed it, and the only version of it she would be willing to return to.
Leverage. The word appeared in her head as huge, a monolithic term, insurmountable. In line with tradition and custom in Hogwarts, even through them, Umbridge had pulled strings. Yet Malfoys gesture was not hard to understand. He would swear allegiance to Voldemort, join their ranks as a Death Eater, his most devoted and loyal followers.
Hermione tried to picture a gathering of them. Would they meet in a graveyard, as Harry had told her about the resurrection ceremony, or at an ancient Manor? Voldemort must maintain the appearance of caring for pure-blood supremacy. Certainly they would meet at a heavy, dark wooden table, carved with scenes of heroic wizard's deeds, suppressing muggles in one form or another. With varying degrees of violence, she realized, and shivered. The picture came to life inadvertently in her mind: Several uncombed, dirty wizards in ragged robes, wearing cheaply bought replicas with the crest of an established house, eager to listen to Voldemort. The promise of his words would be as fake as the heirlooms they wore. None of them had been granted the Dark Mark, but all of those at the table sat calmly with rolled-up sleeves, their tattoo visible of course, but without showing it off. She clearly saw Bellatrix in that picture, her haughty manner and aura of imminent cruelty never leaving her since Askaban. Next to her, a big bloke, flat and rough features, carrying the same ring Bellatrix had long abandoned, as if it were both accolade and shield. At his side a thin, pale, black-haired figure, carefully avoiding eye contact with Bellatrix as always, at least when his brother was around. Or someone with well trained skills in Legilimency. Such as indifferent participants as Voldemort. Or Snape.
Hermione felt her eyes water. She could see the table in every detail, as if she had sat at it herself, but few of the Death Eaters had clear features. Their black robes looked all the same, and the further people had been placed from Bellatrix, the less she could imagine what they looked like. None of their voices or perfumes were as clear as the Dark Mark, laughing at her from their forearms. Was he among them, wherever they met, a faithful servant to his master? Why was it so hard to imagine Snapes face among the sneering, eager, malicious crooks? What set him apart from the bullies, the murderers and thieves, the sadists?
Just how did Draco Malfoy fit in here? Proud of his family, enjoying the scheming with Umbridge to Harrys and the Gryffindors dismay, his character bore the key aspects to be accepted among them, welcomed even. Yet he had never shown any special talent or intrinsic interest in the Dark Arts – Malfoy would harass Slytherins if he had been sorted into Ravenclaw, just for the thrill of trampling on their sense of self-worth, and to emphasize his own perceived superiority. He was a bully to the bone. But she did not deem him straight down evil. Why would Voldemort introduce a follower into their ranks who had not even finished school?
Her thinking hit a brick wall again. Leverage. Not only did Umbridge have a hold over Snape, but if Lucius Malfoy deviated from Voldemorts destined course of how to achieve wizarding rule over all non-magic folk, Draco would be ready. Bound by his oath to Voldemort, loyal to the death. Close enough to stab his father's back. Or die himself, if he refused to. Smart move indeed. Voldemort had no true friends to keep close, but he obviously kept his enemies ever closer.
She shouldn't rejoice on the prospect of not having to see Snape again. After all, just like Harry had said – it was up to her what she considered appropriate. And when it came to Snape, learning from one's enemies was not beneath her, not at all.
When the Ravenclaws next to her left, she peaked to the huge clockhands as painted on the ceiling: As all portraits and magical artwork, they were alive, moving graciously beneath the wide arches of age-old stone. At mealtimes, they would transform into knives and fork, and develop into keys at closing hours. They showed it to be almost five in their ordinary shape of ornamental black metal, but if she wanted a bite before rounds, she had to leave. Already. The books would wait for her.