Harry Potter belongs to JKR.
Beta by FedererEx
Chapter 14
Hermione tapped her quill at the top of a blank piece of parchment as she waited for Professor Collins' Transfiguration lesson to begin. The tip of her quill drifted absently across the parchment in front of her, doodling a random pattern as her mind drifted back to last Hogsmeade weekend and the extended snogging session with Ron. They'd never really had much in the way of alone time, so the physical attention and affirmation of their status was definitely a long time coming. Although he'd pressed for more, she'd stopped him at cupping her breast through her robes. The whole time, a small part of her mind focused entirely on the scars that ran down nearly her entire left arm.
"Apparently, I'm more self-conscious than I'd realized," she thought, absently rubbing them through her robes.
Still, the few hours they'd spent alone together had been an enjoyable and welcome distraction from the project's constant demands. A little worry rat gnawed at her as she second guessed herself for not going further.
"We barely see each other as it is," she thought, "would he look elsewhere?"
She chewed on her lip for a few seconds.
"If he leaves you because of that, you're better off," Hermione thought, trying to convince herself.
Still, that little rat persisted. She knew she wasn't the prettiest, and most people didn't really appreciate her sense of humour. She'd heard it all, bossy, swotty know-it-all… truth be told, outside of Ginny and Neville, and Julia, she'd barely spoken to the other students.
"Partially it's because almost everyone gives me a fairly wide berth these days," she thought, "but also because I simply don't have that much in common with most people. And I suppose the reverse is true."
She huffed to herself and did her best to banish that train of thought from her mind.
"These are all just distractions," she thought, "you know what you need to do, and you know how long you have to do it. You have more important things to focus on."
She nodded to herself just as Professor Collins entered. Fair-skinned and given to changing her appearance, today she sported fiery red hair, too bright to be natural, and brilliant green eyes behind blue-rimmed glasses. Her stylishly cut robes subtly shifted and shimmered as she moved, from deep purple to almost pink and back again.
"Good evening class," she said, Scottish brogue ever so slightly present, colouring her accent. She pulled a parchment from the brown leather satchel she carried and began calling roll.
"Here," Hermione said as the professor reached her name. Collins wasn't as experienced of a Transfiguration professor as McGonagall, but those were big robes to fill. Still, she'd achieved a mastery in the subject, and she was a registered animagus, so she had credentials. She was also a bit more engaging than her predecessor. One lesson, they'd broken into teams and played a game like charades, except it was transfiguring a small tree branch into whatever their teammates were supposed to guess. McGonagall would have never in a hundred years allowed something like that, but it stood out as one of the most creative and immersive lessons Hermione had taken part in.
"Put your books away," Collins said as she finished calling roll, "tonight we'll be going through introduction to Alchemy."
Hushed whispers broke out among the class.
"You could spend an entire decade studying Alchemy and still have much more to learn, so we'll only be covering the basic theories this week," she said.
The groan of disappointment from the class echoed Hermione's own feelings. Alchemy was an enigmatic branch of magic and the only known method to achieve immortality. The fact that only one alchemist in all of history had actually succeeded in creating the Philosopher's Stone did not stop ambitious witches and wizards from trying to recreate Flamel's magnum opus year after year.
"Alchemy is a distinct sub-branch of transfiguration in that it encompasses transformation, but there are vast differences to the point we might as well consider it an entirely separate discipline," Collins said.
She drew her wand and waved it over a quill sitting on her desk.
"Whereas most spells focus magic from a witch or wizard through their wand to bring about change in the natural world," she continued, waving her wand in circles and slowly transfiguring the quill into metal goblet, "alchemy works differently."
"Unlike transfiguration, where we use our own magic to directly effect the change, alchemists attempt to draw and channel the inherent dormant magic in specific substances and also harness the ambient magical energies of the world," Collins said, "in this way, the alchemist acts as a conductor to the change, in both the sense of channelling the magic, and guiding it."
"Oh, that could be problematic," Hermione thought.
"Can anyone see an issue with that?" Collins asked, "Miss Granger?"
Hermione put her hand down.
"Because everyone's magic is slightly different, and ambient magical energy around the world and within substances can also vary slightly due to several factors, the exact same procedure conducted by two different alchemists or even the same alchemist in two different locations might have varying results," Hermione said.
"…which would explain why nobody's been able to recreate the Philosopher's Stone," she muttered.
"Well reasoned, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor," Collins said, "because of this, despite alchemists often working together, advanced alchemy is still very much a solitary pursuit, unique to each individual practitioner. This is why it is so difficult to replicate the more spectacular alchemical feats of the past."
With a flourish of her wand, Collins began illustrating a few diagrams on the blackboard.
"With that in mind, let us start with the three alchemical principles: common salt, quicksilver, and brimstone…" Collins said.
Hermione took copious notes on the subject on the off chance she might have to make use of some of the tenets of alchemy for her project. Though armed now with a full five pages in her neat, small script, she could tell they were merely scratching the surface of a many layered onion, just enough to release a tantalizing scent of the secrets within.
"And that concludes today's lecture," Collins said, marking the end of the period, "twelve inches on the alchemical properties of the three principles, and the most common methods of purifying them, due next lesson."
Hermione stood and waited through the sound of scraping chairs and chattering students, until the rest of the class had departed.
"Yes, Miss Granger?" Collins said as she closed her satchel.
"Professor, I thought today's lecture was quite informative; you seem to have a great deal of experience with Alchemy," Hermione said, attempting to butter her up a bit, "I was wondering, how much practical experience have you had?"
"I dabbled a little bit over the course of my mastery," Collins replied, "theoretically, I know enough to keep us busy through to June if we didn't have NEWTs to prepare for, but practically, I found it a bit too unpredictable for my tastes. Why do you ask?"
Hermione considered for a moment not saying why but then forged ahead, risk of embarrassment notwithstanding.
"I'm sure you've heard about the project I'm working on?" she asked.
"Right, obliviation," Collins replied, picking up her leather satchel in one hand, "I don't know if alchemy is going to help you there. I'm not saying it's impossible, it's simply not really well suited. Then again, I'm hardly an expert, so it might be worth exploring if all else fails."
Hermione nodded.
"I see, thank you Professor," Hermione said.
Collins nodded and departed, no doubt feeling the inquiry was a waste of time, while Hermione slowly packed her ink and quills, lost in rumination.
"Not much help there… It's another long shot, but if an easy obliviation cure already existed via Alchemy, someone would have discovered it already," she thought.
Hermione emerged from the classroom, her mind brimming with the information Professor Collins had imparted, and her own thoughts about how Alchemy might apply to her project. Her stomach growled hungrily, reminding her she needed to eat in order to function, and she looked forward to dinner in the Great Hall and getting back to the lab. As she walked the corridor, however, she heard a bang and shouting from ahead. Quickly drawing her wand, she ran to the Grand Staircase and stopped, her mouth dropping open as a scene of pure chaos greeted her. Brightly coloured spellfire zipped across her vision from multiple levels, to and from the Grand Staircase. Ahead of her, no less than two dozen students ducked in and around the moving steps and corridors, using the banisters for cover as they hurled curses and insults at each other. Frost and ice covered one of the staircases as it swivelled, causing students to slip and slide dangerously close to the bottom step and a three-story drop. Debris already littered the ground level and the floor in front of her. Even as she watched, chunks of masonry that had been blown off in front of her were transfigured into a half-dozen small brown dogs and sent after other students. About twenty summoned yellow canaries circled around, dive bombing students at random before flying back up to search for another target. Above it all, Peeves flew about cackling with glee and throwing what looked like vials of Quik-E-Stik Glue to smash on the steps and ground for unsuspecting students to stumble on to.
At first glance, it appeared to be more or less evenly matched with students from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw trying to take down what appeared to be most of the upper class Slytherins. Pockets of students in twos or threes duelled, some of whom were on the central stairs and a few other groups on balconies or peeking out of corridors. From fifteen feet away, Hermione heard a curse and turned to see Tracey Davis banish a Gryffindor student into the wall with a sickening thud, the impact powerful enough to dislodge a portrait to fall on top of him where he lay still.
"Expelliarmus," Hermione shouted, sending Davis' wand clattering to the ground and over the lip of the landing to fall to the ground, far below. The Slytherin prefect looked over to her and glared.
"Fuck you Granger, I knew it was all talk," Davis snarled.
"Frigus Glacio!" someone shouted at Tracey. Wandless, it was all she could do to put an arm up to block the blue beam from hitting her in the face. The spell blasted across her limb as it froze from the inside out. Tracey shrieked in pain and fell back against the wall, cradling her completely iced over arm and hand, hand and fingers a bluish white colour that turned to white as frost formed on her skin.
A bludgeoning curse flew at Tracey, and Hermione acted without thinking.
"Protego!" she said, deflecting the spell harmlessly away from Davis and moving to stand in front of her and protect her from further attacks as the Slytherin prefect crawled on one hand and two knees into the nearest alcove.
"That could have shattered her arm!" Hermione thought. She looked to see the source of the bludgeoner and spied a pair of dark-haired Ravenclaws on a nearby staircase, one girl and one boy, fifth years, by the look of them. They looked back at her apprehensively.
"Expelliarmus, Petrificus Totalus, Impedimenta," Hermione said, rattling off one spell after the other before falling back into Winthrop's training and moving to wordless spells. She petrified and disarmed them quickly enough and pocketed their wands. The melee around had only grown more ferocious but she could barely hear it over the voice of her own indignation as she stared at the shouting and running students. She didn't see any teachers or anyone from Dumbledore's Army; it was mostly younger students against the Slytherins, ones who probably wouldn't have fought in the battle.
She stalked up the stairs, petrifying and disarming Slytherins and non-Slytherins alike as she went.
"After the hell I've been through the previous year, how can they possibly want to go right back at it?" Hermione thought, but the evidence shot straight at her face as she shielded against a poorly aimed stunner meant for someone else.
"Sorry Granger!" someone said, "wasn't aiming for you!"
"Expelliarmus! Flipendo!" Hermione countered, blasting whoever it was straight over a banister.
"Arresto Momentum!" she added, stopping a dangerous fall.
She pocketed that wand too. They were intimidated by her, students ran when she approached, and she found she liked it. They should run.
"They should be scared," Hermione thought as she continued wading through the students, moving from one group to the next, "Voldemort's gone but this is exactly the kind of idiocy that led to his rise in the first place."
She dodged a spell and countered with a bludgeoning hex of her own, sending another wand clattering to the ground.
"Accio," she thought, summoning the wand to her free hand and pocketing it before moving on to the next group of students, "Why are they still fighting? Not even a year out and they're trying to kill each other, are we doomed to repeat history over and over? No. It stops now! They need to stop! Why don't they see reason? Why? Why? Why!"
"Why?!" Hermione shouted.
"I'm sorry!" Eric Wildy cried, hands held out in front of him, as she pinned him against the corridor wall with her wand, a foot off the ground, "I didn't mean to ruin your lab, I'm sorry!"
Hermione exhaled sharply and dropped Wildy to the ground where he crumpled into a heap. She looked around and recognized a fourth-floor corridor, well away from where the fight had been. The sound of duelling had ended and realization dawned on her; she wasn't sure how long ago it had stopped. She glanced down to Wildy, who hyperventilated as he stared back with a near panicked expression.
"He's not wearing frilly pink clothing anymore," she noted.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"Yeah," he replied cautiously, drawing out the response, "are you?"
Hermione nodded, her mind elsewhere. She reached down and helped pull the lanky redheaded Gryffindor to his feet.
"So… are you still angry with me?" Wildy asked. Hermione looked back to him.
"I'm not angry," Hermione replied.
"Could have fooled me," Wildy muttered.
"Why was everyone fighting, anyway?" Hermione asked, feeling unnaturally calm and looking back to the Grand Staircase.
"Oh, that prick Michaels jinxed us from behind, and when we went to get him back a whole bunch of other snakes joined in, and then everyone else joined in," Wildy replied, "it was crazy, I've never seen anything like it."
"Hopefully you never will again," Hermione said quietly, still glancing around the otherwise deserted corridor.
"I think you hexed more people than anyone else," Wildy said, and Hermione looked at him.
"Not that there's anything wrong with that," he added quickly, holding his hands up again, "but you were hexing and cursing everyone; whose side are you on?"
Hermione frowned. The entire fight after the attack on Tracey was a blur. She remembered taking two students' wands and reached into her pocket to find nearly a dozen stowed there.
"I'm on nobody's side," she said, "fighting's not allowed in the corridors, and this stupid house rivalry is just that, stupid. We fought a war last year, or have you forgotten?"
"Yeah, and the damn snakes were all with Him," Wildy said, "they should be expelled, just like McGonagall locked them in the dungeons during the battle."
Hermione paused and looked up at Wildy, debating how best to handle this.
"Listen to what you're saying," Hermione said, "a quarter of the students admitted to the school shouldn't be allowed a magical education because of where the Sorting Hat put them. It's the exact sort of thing the blood supremacists were saying about me."
Wildy looked somewhat cowed at that, but then stood up straight.
"Yeah, but we're Gryffindors, we're supposed to show the snakes who's in charge now," he said.
Hermione felt her hackles rise at that; it was obvious he hadn't read 'Hogwarts: A History'.
"As Gryffindors, we're supposed to be brave and chivalrous," Hermione said, "where's the bravery in picking on a group of students half your number? We should be protecting people who can't protect themselves, not joining in on the bullying. I've been busy all term, but even I know the Slytherins have been targets this year. It takes a lot more bravery to go against the many and protect the few."
Wildy rolled his eyes and sighed, but Hermione could see a thoughtful look there once he was done.
"Whatever, I'm going to the Infirmary, can I have my wand back?" he asked, holding out his hand.
Hermione pulled at least ten wands from her robes.
"Err, is one of these yours?" she asked.
Wildy picked out his wand.
"That one's Hunter's," he said, pointing at another one.
Hermione debated a second on whether to give it to him, but quickly decided against it.
"I'll give it back to him," Hermione said.
They departed for the Infirmary, but when they arrived at the Grand Staircase, they found nothing but empty space where the stairs should have been. Broken stonework littered the floor and pockmarks scored the walls. The stairs were deserted except for Professor Collins up on the fifth floor keeping people away, Filch, down on the first floor, attempting in vain to scoop up some of the fallen debris, and a few gawking students. Much of the pile of rubble on the ground floor appeared to be pieces of the staircase they'd intended to use.
"You should be ashamed of yourself," a portrait said.
Hermione looked over to see a painting of a middle-aged gentleman from the 17th century sitting at a white and red picnic cloth staring at her. Hermione thought he looked vaguely Italian.
"Students aren't allowed to duel in the hallways, and you just waded right in, cursing younger students left and right. You're supposed to be a hero," the painting said.
"Come on, we'll use the passage behind Gulliver Pokeby," Hermione said, ignoring the Italian painting and doubling back.
"There's a secret passage?" Wildy asked, trailing behind her.
Hermione smirked.
"Whoa," Wildy said as Hermione reached behind the large portrait to lift a catch, then pulled the entire portrait open to reveal a hidden passagedoor.
"How did you find this?" Wildy asked as he stepped over the lip and entered the narrow, darkened spiral stairwell.
"Older students showed me, lumos," Hermione said, thinking with fondness and sadness of Fred and George.
On the way down they had to watch their footing on the narrow steps, and Hermione's thoughts turned to what had happened during the fight.
"I don't even remember most of the fight, why did I black out?" she thought, "is there something wrong with me? Do I need to get help?"
She shook her head.
"It's most likely post-traumatic stress, but… the project," she thought, "I can't leave now, and if word ever got out, Skeeter would have a field day; I can practically see the headlines now. But what if I seriously hurt someone, wouldn't that be even worse?"
She brushed a cobweb off her face as they continued to descend.
"Forget it, focus on the project, and stay away from fights in school from now on," she thought.
Mind made up, Hermione nodded as they emerged on the first floor and made their way to the Hospital Wing and into the Infirmary. At least a dozen students from the fight lay on cots as Madam Pomfrey bustled about, tending the most seriously injured first. Groans of pain made Hermione wince internally and she wondered how many of the injuries came as a direct result of a spell cast from her wand.
"There's Hunter," Wildy said, moving to one of the nearby cots. Hermione followed him to Hunter Marcos, a bullish looking boy with brown hair. His face had taken a beating and one eye had already darkened and nearly swollen shut. If she wasn't mistaken, he was on the quidditch team.
"What happened to you, mate?" Wildy asked.
"Bloody Michaels charged me after she disarmed us both," Hunter replied, nodding towards Hermione.
"You shouldn't have been fighting in the hallways anyway," Hermione said as she returned his wand, setting it on a bedside table.
"That shifty bastard started it," Hunter replied, "we was just defending ourselves."
"Even if he did, how is starting a battle royale in the Grand Staircase in any way justifiable?" Hermione asked.
"Not our fault everyone else jumped in," Hunter mumbled.
Madam Pomfrey approached Hunter's cot, already waving her wand to cast diagnostic spells.
"Miss Granger, are you injured as well?" Pomfrey asked.
"No, Madam Pomfrey," she replied, "I came to check everyone was alright, and to return some wands."
She held the stack up for Madam Pomfrey.
"Place them on my desk, you know where it is, and be quick about it," Madam Pomfrey replied, "these students are going to need their rest."
"Fighting in the hallway…" the nurse mumbled as Hermione moved off, leaving Wildy and Hunter behind.
"Granger," a girl's voice said from her right. Hermione looked over behind a partially closed privacy curtain to see Tracey Davis lying on a cot, wearing a blue hospital gown, her right arm completely covered in white gauze and resting across her stomach. There was something serene about the blonde's expression, the way her bangs fringe had been brushed back from her forehead; perhaps she was on potions to dull the pain. Hermione walked over to her; the normally prideful Slytherin prefect looked uncharacteristically vulnerable, laid out with white bedsheets pulled up to her chest.
"I thought you were alright after you stood up for Michaels," Davis said, "I guess I was wrong."
"I didn't mean for you to get injured," Hermione said.
Davis tried to sneer, but it came across as more of a wince.
"What did you think would happen when you disarmed me in the middle of that mess?" Davis assaked.
"You slammed a junior student into the wall!" Hermione said.
"Only because he tried to hit me with a charm to turn my clothes to dust," Davis replied, "pervy git."
"Oh," Hermione said, "well, I did stop that other one after your arm was frozen. You're going to make a full recovery, right?"
Davis nodded.
"Yeah, but it's going to hurt like a bitch for a whole day," Davis said, "I'm in fairly excruciating pain right now, my whole arm feels like it's on fire, would definitely not recommend it."
Hermione sighed.
"I'm sorry Davis, for what it's worth," she said.
Tracey shook her head and frowned.
"I'm always getting hurt around you, and right now I need to get some rest," Davis replied, "shove off before the floor collapses or a chandelier falls on my head, yeahwill you?"
She lay her head back and closed her eyes.
"But you're the one who called me over!" Hermione thought, unsure if Davis was joking or not, but she only nodded and quietly moved on.
Two beds down she spied Wesley Michaels, the top of his blue shirt stained dark brown with drying blood, and his nose clearly broken, bent to the left.
"Hey, Granger," he said with a nasally voice, but with a smile on his face.
"Michaels, are you alright?" she asked.
"Yeah, I took a few shots but I definitely gave as good as I got, finally," he said with a blood-stained grin, "and I actually held up in a duel… well, until you showed up that is. I guess those lessons are paying off."
Hermione approached the bed and he'd definitely taken several blows to the face.
"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked. Dried blood caked his split lower lip.
Michaels nodded.
"Pomfrey will have me fixed up in no time, and but those guys don't scare me anymore," he said.
"They said you hexed them from behind," Hermione said.
Michaels shook his head, then winced in pain and repeated the gesture slowly.
"No, they hexed me first. They always hex me first," he said.
"Hmm," Hermione said.
"Sounds like the kind of thing Peeves would do, hex two students at once and start a fight… and he was flying around the Grand Staircase earlier," Hermione thought.
"At any rate, here's your wand back," she said, depositing it on the table next to Michaels, "hope you feel better soon."
Hermione dropped the rest of the wands on Pomfrey's table and left the Infirmary, only to run into Daisy Vane, the Head Girl, on the way out. A few inches taller than Hermione, braided long blonde hair fell over her shoulder just past her prefect badge, and her blue eyes caught Hermione's as they passed each other.
"Granger," Vane said, "detention with Winthrop tomorrow night."
"I can't afford to waste any time in detention!" Hermione thought.
"What? Why?" she asked, turning to face the Head Girl.
"Fighting in the corridors, and disarming a prefect," Daisy replied, almost keeping a smug expression from her face.
"That's-, no, I was trying to stop the fighting," Hermione said.
Vane all but scoffed.
"You're joking, right? Apparently half the injured are here because of you," Daisy said, pointing into the Infirmary, "you're lucky detention is all you got."
"Impossible, that can't possibly be right," Hermione thought.
"Should I have just walked away then?" Hermione asked, "who knows how many more would have been seriously injured, maybe even killed!"
"You should have informed a teacher, which is what I did," Vane replied, "you're not a prefect, Granger, you don't have any authority to stop fighting in the hallways, and Professor Winthrop agrees."
The Head Girl turned her back to Hermione only to pause at the double doors to the infirmary and turn again, looking at Hermione over her shoulder.
"Also, if I had to guess, this is why you're not Head Girl, or even a prefect this year. You're not a reliable role-model anymore, and the Headmistress knew it," the blonde said, before pulling the doors open and entering the Infirmary. The doors closed with an echoing boom before Hermione could even process the statement, much less formulate a response. She closed her mouth, turned and made her way back to the Grand Staircase.
"It's true I blacked out a little bit, but I hardly think I put half of those people in the Infirmary," Hermione thought. She reflected a bit further as she approached the rubble at the bottom of the Staircase.
"Is there any truth to what Vane said? Am I really not reliable or a role-model?" Hermione thought.
She'd always prided herself on her discipline and thoroughness; those qualities should make her an excellent role-model...
"I don't think I'm unreliable.. maybe I'll ask Ginny and Neville," she thought.
Hermione arrived at the partially reconstructed staircase to see Professor Flitwick waving his wand in a figure-eight motion, repairing one of the staircases, step by step.
"Hello Professor," she said.
"Good evening, Miss Granger," Flitwick replied, not looking away from his spellwork.
She watched his efforts for a few seconds.
"Masonry construction and strengthening charm, modified for staircase?" she asked.
"Very astute, Miss Granger," Flitwick replied with a small smile.
"Mind if I help?" Hermione asked.
"Not at all," Flitwick replied, "you came from the Infirmary?"
"Yes," she said as she drew her wand and levitated a few of the broken fragments of masonry.
"I hope there weren't many serious injuries," the diminutive charms professor said.
"Some, it could have been worse," Hermione said, then concentrated carefully on the spell.
"Conferumino Scalaria Structura," she said. The broken pieces of stone knit together, almost like clay, and Hermione nudged them to form a step, attaching it to the one Flitwick had just completed.
"Very good Miss Granger, have you been practiscing this spell?" Flitwick asked.
"Only a little," Hermione replied.
The Charms professor and Hermione worked together in near silence for a good twenty minutes, until the staircase was repaired.
"Thank you, Miss Granger, ten points to Gryffindor," Flitwick said as he put the finishing touches on the last step, "would you care to test the newly repaired Grand Staircase with me?"
Hermione smiled and they walked up together, the student deliberately slowing her ascent to keep pace with Flitwick's smaller stride. They parted at the second floor as Flitwick turned to head to the East tower while Hermione tread the now familiar steps down to the dungeons and her lab. She allowed herself a little bit of hope as she approached the door, only to find the room still deserted. Julia had hadn't been by in nearly three days, and Hermione was beginning to get concerned.
"We never really talked about the scars, or my nightmare that night," Hermione thought, "perhaps the whole thing put her off?"
Julia hadn't seemed to be any different in the few days afterwards, but perhaps she only pretended to be alright with everything. Hermione resolved to put it out of her mind for the time being; she had work to do, and if Julia was going to be absent, it was even more imperative she not waste any time on speculation and conjecture. She picked up a knife, spread some boomslang skin on the counter, and began chopping, doing her best to ignore the empty space on the opposite side of the table.
The following evening, after her last class of the day, Hermione rapped smartly on the door to Professor McGonagall's old office, now occupied by the current head of Gryffindor house.
"Come," Winthrop said, his voice muffled by the door. Hermione pushed against the wood and entered to find it had been completely redecorated. Gone were the comfortable upholstered chairs, replaced by a large white table with several chairs of the wooden variety set around it. A large grandfather clock stood to her left, golden pendulum swinging inside its glass case. McGonagall's old desk had been replaced as well, with a heavy one of richly stained oaka heavy, richly stained oak one. A large map of Europe dominated the wall opposite the fireplace but most of the land mass was dark, except for a few pinpricks of light; Hermione thought they might be magical enclaves as opposed to muggle cities. As she looked a bit closer, Hermione could see snow-capped mountains raised slightly off the canvas, and Portugal and the western parts of Spain still glowing with the last of twilight. She suspected it was a real-time map of the continent.
"Come in, Miss Granger," Winthrop said. He already sat behind his imposing desk, a foot-high stack of parchment on one side. One of the chairs slid on its own from the white table to the side of Winthrop's desk as he made a pulling motion with one hand, an impressive display of wordless and wandless magic. Hermione closed the door behind her and sat to the left of Professor Winthrop, in front of the massive stack of what appeared to be ungraded essays. He glanced at her over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses.
"We're going to be grading the fifth year and below Defence essays today," Winthrop said, "as you're arguably the highest scoring student in the school, I'm sure you'll be able to pick out the errors and make corrections almost without thinking about them."
"I'll try, sir," Hermione replied. The sooner she finished the essays, the sooner she could get back to the lab. Winthrop nodded and opened one of the drawers on his right, pulling out an inkwell and quills for Hermione. She took the moment to look over his desk. There was not much, a paperweight made of some kind of dark metal, which currently sat atop the stack of papers, and a single picture frame. Rather than a family member, however, it showed only a moving photo of a deep red bird taking flight over and over. Hermione recognized the long, feathered tail and golden beak almost immediately: a phoenix.
"Magnificent, aren't they?" Winthrop asked as he noted her interest, "the photo does them absolutely no justice."
"Yes sir," Hermione replied, thinking of Fawkes.
"As rare as they are, I heard the previous Headmaster kept one," he added, "I would have very much liked to have seen him, but he had already flown by the time I arrived."
Hermione nodded.
"If only we all aspired to bettering our souls so one would choose us as a lifelong companion, the world might be a better place," he said.
Winthrop stared at the photo for a few more seconds before passing an inkwell and quill to Hermione. As he moved the paperweight, Hermione caught a glimpse of a rune carved into the bottom, but it was too quick for her to see what it was. The professor split the pile and passed about a third of the stack to Hermione.
"Sadly, that's not the world we live in," he said, "corrections only, leave the grades to me."
Hermione nodded and got to work, dipping her quill and starting to read over the essay on werewolves. Halfway through the first essay Winthrop broke the silence.
"Are you able to talk while you correct?" Winthrop asked.
"I… should be able to, sir," Hermione replied.
"Excellent," Winthrop said, "it's good training to learn how to talk and grade at the same time, and this detention would be very boring otherwise. There are a million different punishments I could dream up, but this detention isn't really about punishment is it?"
"Sir?" Hermione asked.
"Actually, that's not entirely true; we do need to send a message to the student body that nobody is above the rules, so your presence here tonight does serve a purpose," he continued, marking up the parchment as he spoke, "I'd like to talk about yesterday's incident."
Hermione stayed silent. She did feel Winthrop had her best interest at heart, but she didn't really know what to say, so as she replayed what she recalled of the fight in her mind's eye, Winthrop continued.
"Keep grading, Miss Granger," Winthrop said, gesturing to the essay in front of her, "tell me, did you intend to put all those students in the Infirmary?"
"No, of course not," Hermione replied as she looked down and read through an essay on werewolves.
"Hmm," he replied, "do you not remember hurting them?"
Hermione's mouth dropped open and she looked up from the essay again to stare at the professor sitting adjacent to her.
"What… how did you know?" she asked.
While he didn't look up from the parchment, he did smile slightly.
"I suspected, and you confirmed, thank you for that," Winthrop replied, "it's not uncommon for witches and wizards who have fought under extreme stress for prolonged periods. They can enter a sort of… survival state when confronted with combat again. It can be… well, it can have unfortunate consequences."
"Not that I fault you, Miss Granger," he added hastily, perhaps seeing a reflection of the despair she felt sweeping through her, "you did what you thought was right, and as far as I can tell, prevented lasting injury to any student."
"And you think that… survival state, is what happened to me?" Hermione asked, dipping her quill, crossing out a passage, and writing a few notes in the margin.
"It's possible," Winthrop replied, "I'm not a mind healer, I did date one once though ."
Hermione smiled and chuckled internally at the remark.
"Odd, when did that stop being creepy?" she thought to herself.
"You should consider seeing one," Winthrop said, "professionally, I mean, not romantically."
Hermione sighed and paused her grading. She'd been through this debate with herself already.
"I know I should, but I-," Hermione said, biting her lip, "anything we say stays between us?"
Winthrop nodded.
"Of course, Miss Granger, my office is warded against eavesdropping, both magical and mundane," Winthrop said, also placing his quill in his inkwell to give her his full attention. She felt she could trust him, even though they'd never spoken outside of schoolwork. He'd proven himself so far to be capable in Defence, and he seemed to know something about what was happening to her.
"I'm worried what will happen if the press gets wind of what's happening to me, what's happened to me," she said, "the scrutiny will be unbearable. It's almost unbearable as it is."
Winthrop gave her an appraising look.
"Forgive me for saying so, but that's poor logic, and I would be surprised if you said you didn't know it already," Winthrop said, "if someone should be seriously injured by your wand, or even die… how much worse would it be?"
Hermione slumped her shoulders and sighed, frustrated with herself that she'd even put forth such a flimsy reasoning.
"I know," she said, "but… the project, my parents."
"Ah, and so we come to the crux of it," Winthrop said, "you're weighing the risk of possibly injuring some unknown against the possibility of never seeing your parents again."
"I only have until June," Hermione said, monotone, "less than seven months left. It's a horrible gamble, but I can't give up on my parents."
"You won't be able to help them from prison, or St. Mungo's," Winthrop said, "and that's where you will end up if you hurt someone badly enough. Your past deeds won't protect you; the people you fought to save will turn on you, faster than you might think."
"I'll take precautions," Hermione said stubbornly, "I'll actively avoid duels; I'll run away instead."
Winthrop only nodded, and they continued grading papers in silence for several minutes after that, until Hermione slid a small stack of corrected essays to Winthrop for him to place the official grade.
"It's the school's potions lab you require?" Winthrop asked.
"Yes, and the greenhouses, or a stock of reagents," Hermione replied, "once I graduate, I won't have access to them anymore."
Winthrop nodded.
"And if you haven't succeeded by then? What do you plan to do after graduation?" Winthrop asked.
Hermione chewed the inside of her lip.
"I'm not sure, I haven't thought that far ahead," Hermione replied, "it depends how we're going with the project by then, I suppose."
Winthrop nodded again. They continued grading, the large pendulum ticking by the seconds, the scratching of quills, and the shuffling of paper the only sounds.
"I have a proposition," Winthrop said, "what you need, Miss Granger, is a better option. What if I had the opportunity to gain access to a potions lab, and what if you agreed to see a healer, say on a weekly basis, someone discreet. For every hour you spent there, I could offer you, say, eight hours' access to a potions lab after you graduate."
"Oh, sir, I couldn't…" Hermione said, but Winthrop waved her concerns away.
"Miss Granger, I'm in a position to help, and I choose to offer it," Winthrop replied, "also, from what I've seen of your research, it holds promise, and a cure for obliviation damage could change the world for so many people."
"But… mind healers are expensive, not to mention a potions lab; I don't have much in the way of gold," Hermione said.
"Hogwarts has seen its share of mental damage in students over the centuries," Winthrop said, "after last year's events, there is a budget this year to hire mind healers for students. I will ask the Headmistress to dispense the funds for you."
"But… then she'll know," Hermione thought, "then again Hermione, do you really think she doesn't already?"
Winthrop went back to grading papers and Hermione just stared at him for a moment.
"You don't want anything in return?" she asked.
Winthrop sighed and placed a large 'T' at the top of the parchment in front of him.
"You have a keen mind, Hermione, one of the sharpest I've ever encountered, and the world would be a darker place if we were to lose the fruits of your intellect to prison," Winthrop continued, "all I ask is you do your best to succeed where others have failed, and perhaps consider returning the favour in the future, should it be within your power."
Hermione sat up a bit straighter in her seat.
"Thank you sir, I really… appreciate it," she said.
Winthrop didn't respond and Hermione fell back to grading, getting through another ten essays before the Defence professor spoke again.
"We'd better find something else to talk about, otherwise this is going to be a very long detention," he said.
Hermione racked her brain for a moment.
"The cross-cultural initiative," Hermione said.
"Yes, something that should have been instituted a long time ago," Winthrop replied as he slashed at a particularly poor essay, "I'm surprised the previous staff didn't put something similar in place, especially with the war brewing. Perhaps the on coming war is why they didn't, hmm... At any rate, it's necessary if we're going to heal the wounds of our society over the long term. Have you thought of anyone you might show the muggle world and cultures to?"
"Not really," Hermione said sheepishly. Honestly, she hadn't given it any thought at all.
"I might bring Ginny, or Julia," Hermione said, "they're both pureblood and we get on well."
Winthrop nodded.
"It is easy for us humans to fear what we don't understand, so we should try to understand each other as much as possible, at least, those of us who are able to, don't you think?" Winthrop asked.
Hermione nodded. She wholeheartedly agreed.
"What about the other magical races?" Hermione asked.
"There aren't any at Hogwarts," Winthrop said, "but if there were, I would have included them as well."
"And werewolves?" Hermione asked, thinking of Lupin.
Winthrop grimaced.
"They're fully functional and rational wizards and witches except for one night a month. That's ninety-eight percent of the time. The Ministry could provide wolfsbane potions free of charge for the remaining two percent," Winthrop said, "the reduction in attacks alone would more than make up for the cost."
Hermione felt herself growing excited. Here was someone who felt much as she did, who chafed at the injustice of the magical world.
"What about house-elves? Goblins? Vampires?" Hermione asked, suddenly remembering something, "your father has a seat on the Wizengamot, you could request he introduce new legislation."
"Settle down, Miss Granger," Winthrop said with a chuckle, "most will want to heal the wounds of our own society first before righting all the injustices of the world, and they're not wrong. But yes, all sentient beings deserve to be treated equally under the law. As for my father…"
Winthrop stopped grading for a moment.
"He doesn't really take his responsibilities seriously," he said, "he hasn't been to a Wizengamot meeting in years."
To Hermione, it was one thing to not have the ability or opportunity to change the world for the better, but it was an entirely different matter to have both, but not the inclination to do anything with it.
"Why ever not?" Hermione asked, perhaps a bit more forcefully than she should have.
"They're incredibly boring affairs," Winthrop replied, "and last year wasn't safe for anyone."
"But couldn't you-," Hermione said, then cut herself off before she attempted to meddle in her professor's family affairs.
He smiled at her knowingly, and an unfamiliar feeling rose up her spine; the same as the first time she'd sat across a chessboard from Ron.
"Hurry up, Miss Granger," Winthrop said, "these essays won't grade themselves, and this is supposed to be a detention for you."
Hermione refocused on grading the junior years' essays. The minutes passed quickly, and soon they finished the entire stack of essays.
"And an 'E' for you, Mr. Wildy," Winthrop said, completing the last grade with a flourish of his quill.
"Done," he said, replacing the inkwells and quills into his desk.
"Miss Granger, it's been a pleasure. I look forward to sharing conversation again, only please avoid injuring students as a prelude next time," he said, "my door is always open to you."
Hermione frowned as she stood up and stretched her leg muscles, stiff from having sat in the same position for so long.
"Yes sir," Hermione said, "and thank you for the offer."
"It's the right thing to do, Miss Granger," Winthrop said with a smile.
A light dusting of powdered dragon's claw coated the surface of the steaming green liquid in Hermione's cauldron as she slowly and carefully increased the temperature, staring down into the brew. She'd been through several iterations, trying to find a combination of ingredients that would change colour before boiling, but when the first few bubbles broke the surface, she turned off the fire, sighed, and put another tick mark in her notebook. Hermione frowned to herself and again looked over at the empty spot across the table. Working alone hadn't been an issue for two full months after the start of classes, but now, after only a few short weeks of having a partner, she found the room too large, too quiet, and too lonely. For nearly a week now, Julia had barely been by, and she'd stopped spending her nights in the tent as well.
Hermione's fingertips lightly brushed the fabric of her sleeve.
"Why else would she suddenly stop coming? The nightmares perhaps? No, it must be the scars," she thought.
Tears sprung to her eyes as the thought of having to hide her arm for the rest of her life, so as not to repulse people near her, all because of that deranged madwoman. She sniffed and angrily wiped her eyes.
"Bloody Lestrange, I hate her. I know I should be putting it behind me, but I hate her, and I hate what she did to me," Hermione thought.
After a moment or two of internal rage, Hermione again resolved to not allow her scars to alter who she was, resolved to move on. She rubbed her arm through her sleeve, sighed again, and looked over at the empty space on the opposite side of the table. Although she'd initially been reluctant to bring in a partner, between the two of them, they'd made great progress for a few weeks and now they were in danger of losing what they'd gained. Hermione resolved to confront the transfer student in Flitwick's class that afternoon, and packed up with perhaps a bit more force than necessary as she prepared to depart.
"First she begs me to join, and then she vanishes to Merlin knows where… well, this has gone on long enough," Hermione thought.
She spent the entire walk to Charms rehearsing how the conversation would go, and took her usual seat, watching the door for her new friend. Foiling Hermione's mentally scripted efforts of how she would confront the transfer student, Julia never showed up to Charms, and she wasn't at dinner either. Hermione returned to the lab and finished off another three brews before turning in, increasingly annoyed, and still with no sign of her so-called partner. The following morning, she arrived early at Defence and took her customary seat at the front of the class, now with a measure of concern bleeding into her annoyance.
"It's not like her to miss classes," Hermione thought, "if she's not here, I'll speak to Professor Winthrop afterwards. Hopefully she's not injured or something… but certainly I would have heard if she was, right?"
Professor Winthrop entered and started taking roll, still with no sign of Julia.
"White," he said, and the door banged open, the girl in question striding into the room.
"Here," she said.
"Cutting it a bit close, aren't we Miss White?" Winthrop said, studying her over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses as he wordlessly rolled the parchment.
"Close, but technically on time," Julia replied, taking her usual seat next to Hermione and ignoring her attempt to make eye contact.
All concern evaporated and her annoyance increased five-fold as Julia reappeared, apparently perfectly healthy. As Winthrop launched into a lecture about the principles and purpose of ritualizing charms, Hermione repeatedly looked up from her notes to glance at Julia, who seemed to be pointedly ignoring her.
"Where have you been?" Hermione whispered, only for Julia to quietly hush her and continue to take notes.
Class passed agonizingly slowly, and at the end, Julia packed up and departed so quickly Hermione needed to use her wand to put her items away if she wanted to catch her.
"Julia," she said as she trotted out of the classroom.
Julia turned around, one hand in the pocket of her robes as students filtered past them.
"Yes?" she replied.
"I missed you in the lab, and you weren't in Charms, where have you been?" Hermione asked.
Julia paused, as if processing the question.
"Sorry, been busy, something came up, something personal," she said.
"Oh, is everything alright?" Hermione asked, eyebrows coming together in concern.
"Oh yes, perfectly alright," Julia replied with a bright smile.
"Okay… good, I'll see you in the lab after classes then?" Hermione asked.
"Maybe not tonight," Julia replied, "but soon."
Annoyance and frustration flared; Julia was being extremely vague and unhelpful, and Hermione could practically feel the sands of time slipping through her fingers.
"How soon?" Hermione asked, a hand going to her hip, "are you still planning on being part of the project?"
Julia nodded.
"Oh yes, absolutely, there's just something I need to take care of first, and then I'll be sure to return to the lab," she replied.
Julia paused and smiled again.
"I just need a little bit of time to myself. I'm sure you understand," Julia added.
Hermione sighed. She could be a little bit patient; Julia had been very helpful in the few weeks they'd been working together. Still, something seemed off.
"Okay. You're sure you're alright?" Hermione asked.
Julia nodded and smiled again.
"Yes, I've never felt better," she said.
"Just… Hurry up with whatever it is and I'll see you soon. I've realised I don't like the silence." Hermione said.
Julia smiled again and nodded.
"See you, Hermione," she said, then turned to head to the Grand Staircase, humming a merry tune, hand still in her pocket.
Hermione went to her next two classes and took notes, but she couldn't get Julia's odd behaviour out of her head. At lunch, rather than head down to the dungeons, she visited the Great Hall and zeroed in on Ginny's flaming red hair from across the room. Ginny chatted with some of her quidditch mates, unaware of Hermione's approach until she tapped her on the shoulder.
"I need your help," Hermione said.
"Are you planning to put any more of my team into the hospital wing?" Ginny asked.
"That… wasn't really my fault, it was another student…" Hermione said, trailing off at the end as Ginny smirked at her.
"It's okay, he's fully recovered already anyway, and if you had to hex him, I expect he deserved it. Can I finish lunch first?" Ginny asked, holding up a half-eaten sandwich
"Not really, take it with us?" Hermione asked, scooping up a sandwich of her own.
"Sorry everyone, I'll catch up with you later," Ginny said as she stood up. The rest of the Gryffindors murmured their goodbyes.
Hermione led them up to their dorm room and drew her wand as they entered.
"Colloportus, muffliato," Hermione said, locking the doors and blocking off potential eavesdroppers, "has Julia been acting odd this past week?"
Ginny's eyebrows rose a bit at the privacy spells Hermione cast but she didn't miss a beat.
"You mean, odder than usual?" Ginny asked, "because if you remember, I've always thought there was something a bit fishy about her. Glad to see you're coming around on that, by the way."
"Yes, odder than usual," Hermione said, "and no, you don't have to rub it in."
Ginny smirked then shook her head.
"Not really, then again I've barely seen her this week," she replied.
Hermione looked at her questioningly.
"What about in the evenings? Quidditch practice?" Hermione asked.
"We haven't had practice yet this week. Hasn't she been sleeping down in the dungeons?" Ginny asked.
Hermione shook her head.
"Not this week," she said, "she hasn't been sleeping in the dorm?"
"No," Ginny said, shaking her head.
"So then where's she been sleeping?" Hermione asked, "Do you have the map? I want to see where she's disappearing to."
Ginny nodded and rummaged around her trunk for a moment before pulling out the Marauder's Map. She unfurled it completely and set it on the desk as the ink spread across the pages. The two witches scoured the ratty parchment for Julia White's dot while they ate their sandwiches. Hermione found her own and Ginny's dots easily, the charmed ink names still slightly smudged, and worked her way outwards in concentric circles.
"This thing is well on its way to completely twacked. Look, there's two professor Winthrops," Ginny said, pointing both to Winthrop's office and the DADA classroom.
She shook her head.
"Harry's going to be upset if it breaks down completely," Ginny added, "it's one of the only things his father actually made and got passed down to him, Sirius too."
Hermione nodded. The fact Harry valued the map so much and had lent it, and his Firebolt, to Ginny spoke volumes about their relationship, that he practically already considered her family. She idly wondered when Harry might propose, because to her it was definitely a question of when, not if. Then her thoughts turned to her own relationship, and a small sigh escaped her.
"Maybe have George take a look at it over Christmas," Hermione murmured, putting thoughts of Ron and everything he represented out of mind.
Ginny nodded, but Hermione could tell from the soft, barely audible sigh and subtle change of her stance, the statement had set off a swirl of thoughts and emotion in Ginny. For whatever reason though, she chose not to give voice to them and Hermione didn't press the issue.
"She's not here," Ginny said, "either she left the grounds, or she's in the Room, or the map is just broken."
"She did say she was taking care of something personal," Hermione said.
"Maybe she has a boyfriend," Ginny said with a suggestive grin.
"I thought she was betrothed," Hermione said.
"Maybe she has a secret boyfriend," Ginny said.
Hermione shook her head. She couldn't waste time trying to unravel whatever it was Julia was doing. If she didn't come around in the next week or two, Hermione would write her off and adjust her schedule accordingly.
"Maybe take a look at the map from time to time, see if you can find out where she's going?" Hermione said, "when you're free, that is."
Ginny nodded.
"Alright, assuming it's still working somewhat properly," she said.
"Thanks Ginny," Hermione said, cancelling the privacy wards, "I've got to get back to the lab… I really appreciate it."
Ginny frowned at her, but kept silent.
"I guess I'll see you around? Mischief managed," Ginny said, folding up the parchment again as Hermione stepped out the door."
"Yeah, see you, Ginny," Hermione said, her thoughts already on the next experiment. She was going to have to head into the forest at least once before Christmas, and she hoped Julia came around before then…