The storm continued through the rest of the evening and didn't stop until morning. The Great Hall's ceiling was still quite gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter grey swirled overhead as Hermione, Ron, and Harry sat down and received their timetables at breakfast. Hermione's was (thankfully) a bit shorter than last year's.
Monday
-9am Herbology
-10am Care of Magical Creatures
-12pm Lunch
-1pm Double Arithmancy
Tuesday
-9am Ancient Ruins
-10am Arithmancy
-11am History of Magic
-12pm Lunch
-1pm Double Transfiguration
Wednesday
-9am Potions
-10am Double Herbology
-12pm Lunch
-1pm Double Charms
Thursday
-9am Double Ancient Ruins
-11am Transfiguration
-12pm Lunch
-1pm Double Defense Against the Dark Arts
Friday
-9am Charms
-10am Double History of Magic
-12pm Lunch
-1pm Double Potions
A smile crossed her face as she realised she might have some time to take a quick lunch trip to the library. A few seats along, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were still fixated on magical methods of ageing themselves and bluffing their way into the Triwizard Tournament.
"Today's not bad. Outside all morning," said Ron, who was running his finger down his timetable. "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures. Damn it. We're still with the Slytherins!"
"Double Divination this afternoon," Harry groaned, looking down.
"You should have given it up like me, shouldn't you?" said Hermione briskly, buttering herself some toast. "Then you'd be doing something sensible like Arithmancy."
"You're eating again, I notice," said Ron, watching Hermione add liberal amounts of jam to her buttered toast.
"I've decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights," said Hermione haughtily.
"Yeah, and you were hungry," said Ron, grinning. Hermione just glared at him before taking a bite of her toast.
A sudden rustling noise from above made everyone in the Great Hall look up. A hundred or so owls came soaring through the windows, carrying the morning mail. The owls circled the tables, looking for the people to whom their letters and packages were addressed. Hermione was suddenly reminded of her parents, and a whole flood of new emotions washed over her, momentarily blocking her House-Elf obsession. Hermione made a mental note to send them a very long letter after classes were over for the day. She felt horrible she hadn't sent them anything since she left for the Weasleys. They may have had their issues, but they were still her parents, and Hermione owed them an update at the very least.
A large tawny owl interrupted Hermione's thoughts as it flew inches from her face to drop a parcel in Neville's lap - Neville almost always forgot to pack something. This year, it was apparently his school trousers. Neville sprinted from the table as soon as he opened them to change, and Hermione had to smile at the few inches of the ankle that was showing from Neville's borrowed, too-short pants.
After breakfast, Hermione, Harry, and Ron set off for their first class. Unfortunately, the previous night's rain had made the vegetable path to Greenhouse Three a muddy, wet mess. Hermione soon forgot her discomfort as her first class of the year began.
Professor Sprout, a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair, was the head of Hufflepuff House. She literally saved Hermione's life in their second year by growing (extremely ugly and loud) Mandrakes to counteract the petrification from the Basilisk. Today, Professor Sprout held up something surprisingly more hideous than the Mandrakes. The plant looked like thick, black giant slugs which protruded vertically out of the soil. Each was squirming and had several large, shiny swellings upon it, which appeared to be full of liquid.
"Bubotubers," Professor Sprout told them briskly. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus-"
"The what?" said Seamus Finnigan, sounding revolted.
"Pus, Finnigan, pus," said Professor Sprout. "And it's extremely valuable, so don't waste it. You will collect the pus, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves. It can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, Bubotuber pus."
Squeezing the Bubotubers was disgusting but oddly satisfying. As each swelling was popped, a large amount of thick yellowish-green liquid burst forth, smelling strongly of petrol. Hermione was having quite a good time by the end of class (as long as she didn't breathe through her nose). They caught it in the bottles as Professor Sprout had indicated and, by the end of the lesson, had collected several pints.
"This'll keep Madam Pomfrey happy," said Professor Sprout, stoppering the last bottle with a cork. "An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne, Bubotuber pus. Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves of pimples."
"Like poor Eloise Midgen," said Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff, in a hushed voice. "She tried to curse hers off." Hermione shot her a look - how rude!
"Silly girl," said Professor Sprout, shaking her head. "But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end."
A booming bell echoed from the castle across the wet grounds, signalling the end of the lesson, and the class separated; the Hufflepuffs climbing the stone steps for Transfiguration, and the Gryffindors heading in the other direction, down the sloping lawn towards Hagrid's small wooden cabin, which stood on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Hagrid was standing outside his hut, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang. Several open wooden crates were on the ground at his feet, and Fang was whimpering and straining at his collar, apparently keen to investigate the contents more closely. As they drew nearer, an odd rattling noise reached their ears, punctuated by what sounded like minor explosions. Hermione's stomach knotted; Hagrid could be a great teacher but was usually extremely misguided regarding what creatures he featured in the class.
"Mornin'!" Hagrid said, grinning at Hermione, Harry, and Ron. "Be'er wait fer the Slytherins. They won' want ter miss this – Blast-Ended Skrewts!"
"Come again?" said Ron.
To Hermione's dismay, Hagrid pointed at the rumbling crates.
"'Eurgh!" squealed Lavender, jumping backwards. For once, Hermione and Lavender were on the same page. The Blast-Ended Skrewts looked like deformed, shell-less lobsters. At approximately six inches long, the creatures were horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out in very odd places. They strangely had no visible heads. There were about a hundred of them in each crate, crawling over each other and bumping into the sides of the boxes. Hermione, Harry, and Ron caught a whiff of them and nearly gagged. The creatures reeked of rotting fish. Every now and then, sparks would fly out of the end of a Skrewt and, with a small 'phut,' it would be propelled several inches forwards.
"On'y jus' hatched," said Hagrid proudly. "So yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerself! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!"
Hermione's immediate thoughts of how much this 'project' was a bad idea were pushed away at the sound of the drawling voice heard suddenly behind them. "And why would we want to raise them?" said a cold voice.
The Slytherins had arrived. Hermione turned to see Crabbe and Goyle chuckling appreciatively at Draco's words.
Poor Hagrid looked stumped at the question.
"I mean, what do they do?" asked Malfoy. "What is the point of them?"
Hagrid opened his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there was a few seconds pause, then he said roughly, "Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll wan' ter try 'em on a few diff'rent things – I've never had 'em before, not sure what they'll go fer – I got ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass-snake – just try 'em out with a bit of each."
"First pus and now this," muttered Seamus.
Nothing but deep affection for Hagrid could have made Hermione pick up squelchy handfuls of frog liver and lower them into the crates to tempt the Blast-Ended Skrewts. She tried to ignore the fact that the creatures didn't even appear to have mouths to eat them, rendering the whole lesson useless.
"Ouch!" yelled Dean Thomas after about ten minutes. "It got me!"
Hagrid hurried over to him, looking anxious.
"Its end exploded!" said Dean angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand.
"Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off," said Hagrid, nodding.
"Eurgh!" said Lavender, reading Hermione's mind. '"Eurgh, Hagrid, what's that pointy thing on it?"
"Ah, some of 'em have got stings," said Hagrid enthusiastically (Lavender quickly withdrew her hand from the box). "I reckon they're the males. The females've got sorta sucker things on their bellies. I think they might be ter suck blood."
"Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive," said Malfoy sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?"
While Hermione secretly agreed, she wasn't going to let Malfoy's rudeness go unchecked. "Just because they're not very pretty, it doesn't mean they're not useful," Hermione snapped. "Dragon blood's amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, would you?
She grinned at Hagrid, internally giggling at the inside joke; Hagrid would have liked nothing better than a pet dragon since he had owned one for a brief period during their first year, a vicious Norwegian Ridgeback by the name of Norbert. Hagrid simply loved monstrous creatures - the more lethal, the better.
Unsurprisingly, Draco didn't have any clever comeback and shuffled back to his cronies for the rest of the class.
"Well, at least the Skrewts are small," said Ron as they made their way back up to the castle for lunch an hour later.
"They are now," Hermione said with a shudder. "But once Hagrid's found out what they eat, I expect they'll be six feet long."
"Well, that won't matter if they turn out to cure seasickness or something, will it?" said Ron, grinning slyly at her. Hermione had a glimpse of Ron from their day at Lavenham, and her heart warmed.
"You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Malfoy up," she teased. "As a matter of fact, I think he's right. The best thing to do would be to stamp on the lot of them before they start attacking us all."
After class, they sat down at the Gryffindor table and helped themselves to lamb chops and potatoes. Hermione glanced at her watch and started to eat as fast as she could.
"Er - is this the new stand on elf rights?" asked Ron, staring at her. "You're going to make yourself puke instead?"
"No," said Hermione. "I just want to get to the library."
"What?!" said Ron in disbelief. "Hermione, it's the first day back! We haven't even got homework yet!"
Hermione shrugged and continued to eat as quickly as she could. She didn't want to mention her plans to anyone until she collected more research. With one last bite, she leapt to her feet. "See you at dinner!" she said and walked out of the Grand Hall, leaving the boys to their Divination Class with Professor Trelawney.
Hermione looked at her watch once more - she had a solid thirty minutes before Arithmancy started. At the very least, she could begin to map out the research. Madam Pince, the Hogwarts librarian, was not nearly as friendly or helpful as Mildred in Lavenham. She was, if Hermione had to be honest, highly unpleasant. Her irritability was extremely off-putting, so much so that Hermione did her absolute best to avoid her at all costs. Quite strict where the rules in the library were concerned, Madam Pince was the kind of librarian who saw herself as the guardian and protector of the books. She was always at odds with the students who tried to use them, whom she did not allow to eat, talk, laugh, whisper, sneeze or scurry in the library.
Hermione turned the corner into the library's first-floor entrance and was greeted with tens of thousands of books on thousands of shelves. The sheer amount of paper and leather adorning the lines of racks produced an unmistakable and intoxicating smell that instantly made Hermione smile.
Her first stop was the card catalogue to start her map of research. There was something incredibly comforting about the feeling of the card stock rifling through her fingers, not to mention the complete and utter certainty of the Dewey Decimal Classification. Even here, in the Wizarding World, it was a familiar convenience. There was no doubt or ambiguity regarding the universal organisational system (even if an American developed it).
Hermione's first stop in the massive card catalogue was the 100 section, specifically the 140s, which covered philosophy topics. There would be many philosophical arguments against slave labour that would strengthen Hermione's arguments and give her some talking points.
Her next stop on her research journey would probably be in the 300s - Social Sciences section. Her key subjects were 320: Political Science, then 340: Law, and 360: Social Welfare. Finally, she was going to explore History in the 900s. She thought that having the historical context of what other civilisations have done to combat slavery could be quite helpful.
Hermione had a nice, sketched-out plan by the time she made her way to Arithmancy. Her smile carried her through the halls towards Classroom 7A, where Sophie was already seated. Hermione smiled widely at her and slid into the desk next to her.
"Hey, Granger," Sophie said under her breath. The friends had decided not to be overt with their friendship and, instead, have a "secret" Arithmancy Club far from the gossiping student population. Harry Potter's best friend hanging out with a Slytherin would dominate the Great Hall chatter for weeks, not to mention destroy Sophie's reputation in her house.
"How was the rest of your holiday?" Hermione whispered as she rooted around for her copy of Numerology and Grammatica.
"Not as screwed up as the World Cup, that's for sure," Sophie said. "Glad you made it out."
"Me too," Hermione said as Professor Vector appeared in the doorway.
"Good afternoon," said the red-robed Witch, to which the class responded in kind. Hermione looked around and noticed that only half of the students from their third year had returned. She couldn't understand - Arithmancy was the best class at Hogwarts (followed closely by Transfiguration, taught by Professor McGonagall).
Surprisingly, Professor Vector didn't assign any homework- a first for her. Hermione and Sophie walked out of class together, whispering about their plans for their secret Arithmancy Club. Agreeing to meet up in the library at some point that week, the pair split up, and Hermione joined the crowds descending the staircases back to the Great Hall and dinner. A flash of red caught her eye, and she rushed to catch up with Ron and Harry.
"Miserable old bat," said Ron bitterly. "That'll take all weekend, that will."
"Lots of homework?" said Hermione brightly, catching up with them. "Professor Vector didn't give us any at all."
"Well, bully for Professor Vector," said Ron moodily.
They reached the Entrance Hall, packed with people queuing for dinner. They had just joined the end of the line when a loud voice rang out behind them.
"Weasley! Hey, Weasley!"
Hermione, Ron, and Harry turned. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were standing there, each looking thoroughly pleased about something.
"What?" said Ron shortly.
"Your dad's in the paper, Weasley!" said Malfoy, brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet, and speaking very loudly, so that everyone in the packed Entrance Hall could hear. "Listen to this!"
FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC
It seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office.
Malfoy looked up.
"Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. It's almost as though he's a complete nonentity, isn't it?" he crowed.
Everyone in the Entrance Hall was listening now. Malfoy straightened the paper with a flourish and read on:
Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved with a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers ('policemen') over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of 'Mad-Eye' Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted murder.
Unsurprisingly, Mr Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr Moody's heavily guarded house, that Mr Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen, but refused to answer Daily Prophet questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene.
"And there's a picture, Weasley!" said Malfoy, flipping the paper over and holding it up. "A picture of your parents outside their house - if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?"
Hermione gasped and looked at Ron. He was shaking with fury. Hermione knew he was about to snap.
"Get stuffed, Malfoy," said Harry, realising the same thing and trying to de-escalate the situation. "C'mon, Ron…"
"Oh yea, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?" sneered Malfoy. "So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?"
Hermione saw Ron shift his weight slightly and immediately grabbed the back of his robes just in time: Ron tried to launch himself at Malfoy. Thankfully, Harry grabbed them as well and together, they were able to keep him from getting into a fistfight with the arrogant Slytherin.
"You know your mother, Malfoy?" Harry spat. "That expression she's got like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?"
Malfoy's pale face went slightly pink. "Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter."
"Keep your fat mouth shut, then," said Harry, turning away.
BANG
Several people screamed. Hermione saw a flash of white fly past her head but was too distracted by a second BANG to see where it had come from or where it was going.
"OH NO, YOU DON'T, LADDIE!" roared a voice through the Entrance Hall.
Everyone spun around. Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase. His wand was out, and Hermione followed its aim to a pure white ferret shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy had been standing.
There was a terrified silence in the Entrance Hall. Nobody but Moody was moving a muscle. Moody turned to look at Harry (as much as he could look at him with one normal eye). "Did he get you?" His voice was low and gravelly.
"No," said Harry. "Missed."
"LEAVE IT!" Moody shouted.
"Leave what?" Harry asked, as confused as Hermione was.
"Not you, him!" Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who had just frozen in the act of picking up the white ferret. It seemed that Moody's rolling eye was magical, and could see out the back of his head.
Moody started to limp towards Crabbe, Goyle and the ferret, which gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking towards the dungeons.
"I don't think so!" roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again – it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upwards once more.
"I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned," growled Moody as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do."
The ferret flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly. Hermione tried to suppress a smile.
"Never – do – that – again –" said Moody, speaking each word as the ferret hit the stone floor and bounced upwards again.
"Professor Moody!" said a shocked familiar voice. Any hint of Hermione's smile vanished at the sound; it brought Hermione back to the risky reality that was playing out in front of her. As amusing as it was, it was still incredibly dangerous and immoral.
Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.
"Hello, Professor McGonagall," said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.
"What – what are you doing?" said Professor McGonagall, her eyes following the bouncing ferret's progress through the air.
"Teaching," said Moody.
"Teach— Moody, is that a student?" shrieked Professor McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms.
"Yep," said Moody. The lighthearted tone of his voice made it sound like he was talking flippantly about the weather instead of a Transfigured student.
"No!" cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He got to his feet, wincing.
"Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!" said Professor McGonagall weakly. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"
"He might've mentioned it, yeah," said Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly, "but I thought a good sharp shock –"
"We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!"
"I'll do that, then," said Moody, staring at Malfoy with great dislike.
Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words "my father" were distinguishable.
"Oh yeah?" said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. "Well, I know your father of old, boy. You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son. You tell him that from me. Now, your Head of House'll be Snape, will it?"
"Yes," said Malfoy resentfully.
"Another old friend," growled Moody. "I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape. Come on, you." And he seized Malfoy's upper arm and marched him off towards the dungeons.
Professor McGonagall stared anxiously after them for a few moments, then waved her wand at her fallen books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms.
"Don't talk to me," Ron said quietly to Hermione and Harry as they sat down at the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, surrounded by excited talk on all sides about what had just happened.
"Why not?" said Hermione in surprise.
"Because I want to fix that in my memory forever," said Ron, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. "Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret!"
Harry and Hermione both laughed, and Hermione began doling beef casserole onto each of their plates.
"He could have really hurt Malfoy, though," she said. "It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it –"
"Hermione!" said Ron furiously, his eyes snapping open again. "You're ruining the best moment of my life!"
Hermione made an impatient noise and began to eat at top speed again. Madam Pince liked to close the library at 8 pm, and Hermione wanted to get in as much research as possible.
"Don't tell me you're going back to the library this evening?" said Harry, watching her.
"Got to," said Hermione thickly. "Loads to do."
"But you told us, Professor Vector –"
"It's not schoolwork," she said. Within five minutes, she had cleared her plate and could escape to the library to continue her research.
Hermione waved a quick goodbye to her friends, weaved her way through the corridors to the library, and immediately went to find the first book on her list. Though it was a Muggle book (and surprisingly in the Hogwarts Library), Hermione had high hopes for An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations by Adam Smith, former Professor of Moral Philosophy at the University of Glasgow.
Hermione quickly found the book and sat down in her favourite corner to skim. Whenever she first started to read any book, Hermione liked to skim each chapter for the main points and then go back to the beginning to read it in full with that greater understanding of the bigger picture.
After about a half hour of skimming, Hermione knew she had found the perfect book to start forming a manifesto. From what she could tell, the Scottish philosopher was convinced that slave labour had always been "more expensive" than free labour because enslaved workers had no incentive to increase their productivity. According to Smith, the lack of incentives faced by people under bondage was grounded on their condition of extreme dependence. Being wholly subjected to the enslaver's desires, they did not experience the liberty and security required to 'enjoy the fruits' of their labour.
Furthermore, Smith surmised what drives a person to work harder is the human's natural desire to improve their condition. The individual's desire for improvement, understood as the attempt to increase personal wealth and/or achieve a better social position, should be 'protected by law and allowed by liberty.' Enslaved workers could not legally possess anything beyond their daily subsistence without the consent of their 'owner.' Therefore, according to him, people under slavery would never face the same incentives as free workers to produce as much as possible, hoping to improve their conditions.
Hermione glanced at her watch and realised it was almost 8 pm. She was quite pleased with her progress and had a solid grasp of the nature of her arguments. She certainly had a lot to think about, but she knew she was headed in the right direction. Hermione closed the book and made her way to Madam Pince's desk to plead her case for checking out Smith's book to dive further into the meat of the argument. Surprisingly, Madam Pince gave her no issues, and Hermione was sitting in her bed, reading the book's first section by 8:04 pm. All in all, it was a fantastic day.