"Now, stay right there while we have a little talk," Umbridge said.

Hermione lowered her teacup and nodded, the very picture of outward obedience.

Inside, she was screaming.

She'd felt this same, peaceful suggestibility before, just the once, in one of Sirius' Defence lessons.

Hermione didn't like Umbridge, and didn't trust her, but at the same time she didn't mistrust her. Certainly she'd made it clear that she was no friend of Harry's or Dumbledore's and was actively working against them, but she was still a part of the Ministry, still a teacher, cleared to work around children.

But Umbridge had used the Imperius curse. She, a teacher and a Ministry witch, had used an Unforgivable on Hermione, a student and a minor. This wasn't just a sadistic punishment, or a disagreement about loyalties. This was a violation of Hermione's freedom, was illegal, and— and evil.

This was worse than when Sirius had put it on her in their lesson; she'd known it was coming, and once it had hit her, she'd been so swept up in the simplicity of following instructions from Sirius—someone she trusted—that she'd felt no sense of wrongness, no inclination to fight it.

Here, now, Hermione felt an awful, horrible sense of wrongness warring with the peaceful fog of the Imperius curse, but was unable to do anything about it.

"You can put that down, now," Umbridge said, nodding at the teacup.

It dropped from Hermione's oddly numb fingers, spilling all over her lap before smashing on the office floor. It was scalding and she knew it should be hurting her, but it wasn't, dulled by the haze of the Imperius.

Umbridge waved her wand to vanish the hot tea from Hermione's lap and the floor, but Hermione barely noticed. She shoved her fingers into her mouth because that wasn't against any of Umbridge's commands so far—

"Don't," she said, shaking her head. It was a non-specific instruction, Hermione knew that. Harry or Draco would have brushed it—and the whole curse—off in an instant. But Hermione wasn't them, and she knew what Umbridge meant by don't and felt her hands drop back into her lap before she could make herself sick. "It wouldn't help, anyway," Umbridge continued. "It's absorbed through the tongue, not the stomach. But if you've been honest with me, you needn't worry." She smiled. "Have you been honest with me?"

"No," Hermione said, and then clapped her hands to her mouth in despair.

"I feared not," Umbridge said. "I'm very disappointed in you, Miss Granger, that you've given me no choice but to escalate things. I had hoped you would cooperate willingly. Now, what is your part in this group of Potter's?"

"I'm one of the co-founders." The words were prised from Hermione's mouth before she could do anything to stop them. Tears prickled her eyes.

"One of? Who are the others?"

"Harry, obviously," Hermione said. "Ron, Draco, and Ginny." Each name was an utter betrayal, and she was helpless to do anything to stop it. "And Fred and George and Cedric."

"I see," Umbridge said, staring at Hermione. She groped around for a piece of parchment and a quill, and then began to take frantic notes. "But Potter's the leader?"

Hermione clenched her teeth together and pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, and pressed her lips together to try to hold the word back, but it spilled out anyway:

"Yes."

Umbridge made a grimly satisfied sound and made another note.

"And who else is in the group?"

"Luna, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Laven—"

"Full names, please."

"Luna Lovegood. Dean Thomas. Seamus Finnigan…" Hermione gave them to her, every single one. Each one tasted like bile, and perhaps if she'd asked for them using the Imperius curse Hermione might have been able to find a loophole partway through and spare at least some of them, but the Veritaserum could not be reasoned with or ignored.

"That's a lot of people," Umbridge said, pursing her lips. "Where do you meet?"

"The Room," Hermione said.

"The Room?" Umbridge repeated, pausing in her notetaking. "That's what it's called?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. Where is this Room?"

"On the seventh floor," Hermione said. "Opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy."

"I see," Umbridge said, frowning. "And when do you meet?"

"There's no set time," Hermione said.

"When will the next meeting be?"

"I doubt there will be a next meeting," Hermione said. Umbridge looked amused at that, then continued with her questions:

"What has Potter taught them so far?"

"Disarmers," Hermione said. "Then Stunners and Shield Charms, and most recently, jinxes, hexes, and counterspells."

"Very comprehensive," Umbridge said, scratching away with her quill. "And why does he feel the need to teach these things to Hogwarts students—"

"Because it's very clear you're not going to teach us anything useful in our actual lessons," Hermione said. "And it's important people know how to defend themselves."

"Against what?"

"Voldemort and his Death Eaters," Hermione said.

"What about the Ministry?" Umbridge pressed. "Does Potter have plans to usurp the Minister?"

"No," Hermione said, scoffing.

"What about attack the Ministry?"

"No," Hermione said again. "Harry doesn't care about the Ministry. He's just trying to stop Voldemort."

"I see," Umbridge said, but didn't look particularly reassured by this. She squinted at Hermione, and then tilted her head. "Does the Headmaster know about this little group of yours?"

"Yes," Hermione's traitorous mouth said. Umbridge's mouth curled up and she noted something down with a flourish.

"What about the other staff?"

"Yes," Hermione said again. She could feel tears on her cheeks.

"Who?"

"Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape," she said.

Umbridge drew in a breath, quill poised.

"Do they support the group?"

"No," Hermione said. "We run it on our own."

"Anyone else?" Hermione didn't understand, and so found herself able to stay silent. Umbridge frowned. "Does anyone else know about the group?"

"The members of the Order of the Phoenix," Hermione said. She was properly crying now, but none of it came through in her voice which was clear and steady.

"The Order of the Phoenix," Umbridge said, eyes alight. "Dumbledore's group?"

"Yes," Hermione said.

"How? How do they know?"

"Harry told them," Hermione said. "At the last meeting."

"Potter's a member?"

"Yes," Hermione said, hating herself.

"Who else? Other students, I mean."

"Ron, Fred and George. Cedric and Stebbins—"

"Not you?" Umbridge interrupted.

"No," Hermione said.

"Hmm. Who else is in the Order of the Phoenix?" Umbridge asked.

And Hermione told her that too. About Sirius and Remus and Dora, about the Weasleys, and Fleur, and Mad-Eye Moody, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Emmeline Vance, and Hestia Jones, and Quirrell, and every other person she'd seen coming and going from Headquarters over the summer.

Umbridge wrote down every name, and when she finished, dipped her quill in ink and kept writing. It was a welcome reprieve from the questions, though Hermione knew it wouldn't last, though she couldn't imagine what more Umbridge could ask that Hermione hadn't already told her.

Hermione didn't know what to do; she couldn't fight the Imperius curse which meant she had no choice but to sit there until Umbridge saw fit to let her go, and she couldn't fight the effects of Veritaserum, which meant she would answer anything Umbridge asked her, and further condemn them all with every word she said. She had her wand but what good would that do her? Umbridge would see her reach for it and stop her with a word.

If Hermione did, somehow, manage to get a spell off, what could she do? Stun Umbridge, or disarm her like they'd been practicing in their Eihwaz sessions? Cast a counterspell on herself, to try to remove the Imperius curse so that she could try to escape Umbridge…?

But to what end? Even if she managed to not say another word tonight, she'd already told Umbridge so much.

Too much.

There would be no coming back from this. Dumbledore would be removed from the school, Harry would be expelled, and Hermione with him. Everyone else in Eihwaz would either be punished or expelled too—she doubted Umbridge's leniency would extend to anyone now.

And it was all Hermione's fault. She hadn't done it willingly, hadn't wanted to tell, but she had. Tears dripped from her face into her lap.

Finally, Umbridge looked up, considering.

"You and Mr Potter are close, aren't you?" she said.

"Yes," Hermione said.

"Very close?"

"Like family," Hermione said.

"Hmm." Umbridge looked insincerely sympathetic. "I wonder how long it will take for that to change. It's going to be much more difficult for you to carry on any sort of friendship with him— well, with anyone from the magical world, actually, after this. Once you're expelled and we've snapped your wand, there won't be anything left in the magical world for you, and I imagine it'll be quite difficult to stay in touch. A pity."

She smiled sweetly.

Fear and grief wrapped around Hermione's throat, choking her, but there was anger there too, and something that she thought might actually be hatred. It made her bold:

"Do it, then," she said. It was the first thing she'd said voluntarily since drinking the Veritaserum, and her voice was hoarse with tears. "Get it over with, you have what you need—"

"Not quite," Umbridge said. "I want to know something else, first." Hermione couldn't imagine what, but she didn't like Umbridge's smile at all. "You said you and Mr Potter are close," she said, "which makes me wonder: has he ever said anything to you about a prophecy?"

"I've messed up," Draco said, bursting into Severus' office.

Draco had a penchant for dramatics—always had—but, dramatic though his entrance had been, it only took one look at him for Severus to know that something was wrong.

"Sit," he said, gesturing for Draco to close the door, and then covered his office in various charms to prevent eavesdropping. "What sort of conversation is this?"

"One where I need to be honest rather than careful," Draco said. His face was chalky.

"Understood," Severus said; this would be one to hide carefully in his memory stores. "What has happened?"

"I had to give Umbridge something about the Defence group," Draco said, and Severus inclined his head; Draco had come to him a few days earlier, looking for advice, and Severus had not known how best to help him. "She was getting impatient, and I know Father and the Dark Lord were getting impatient… I tried to give her Weasley."

"Why?"

"Because she wouldn't be able to get anything out of him," Draco said. "She'd ask her questions, get nothing useful, and then Weasley could warn Potter and the others and they could tighten their secrecy measures and she'd be stuck."

"It has merit," Severus said, nodding, and impressed despite himself, "as long as you're confident Weasley truly has nothing to share; she's made attempts with Veritaserum before—"

"Yes, I was sure," Draco snapped.

"Then what's the problem?" Severus asked, frowning. "As solutions go, and considering the position you've been in, it's not a poor one—"

"She took Granger instead," Draco said. Severus let out a slow breath. "Granger's not bound by the contract—she could tell Umbridge everything. She and Potter will be expelled, and I can't do anything to intervene in case it gets back to Father through Umbridge."

"No," Severus said slowly, and in contrast to Draco who'd spoken very quickly. "No, I agree—you have little choice but to let it play out. Granger may be able to salvage the situation, but between her constant need to please authority figures, and the fact that our High Inquisitor has Veritaserum on hand, I think that's unlikely." Draco put his face in his hands.

"If Granger takes Veritaserum and tells Umbridge everything," Draco said, "she might mention me, and the fact that I'm not bound by the contract. Umbridge will know I've been lying—"

"Veritaserum forces the drinker to tell the truth as they see it, not the absolute truth," Severus said, waving a hand. "Granger was mistaken."

"Is that enough to appease the Dark Lord if word gets back to him, though?" Draco asked.

"It would be far from ideal," Severus said, and that was true enough, "and it's likely you would be punished for it, but I doubt very much that it would be your undoing. You didn't give the High Inquisitor what she wanted directly, but you still gave her Granger, did you not?" Draco nodded, looking miserable.

"And so you make your excuses. Give me one now."

"I kept what I know from Umbridge so Potter's undoing came from someone who wasn't me," Draco said. "Or perhaps I wanted to drive a wedge between Potter and Granger."

"Precisely," Severus said, frowning at his godson. After a moment he sighed, and leaned down to rub the aching spot where his fake leg attached. "You have not 'messed up'. Not in any way that will detriment your position with the Dark Lord, or in any way that should result in suspicion upon you from the likes of Potter, or Granger, or Weasley. In fact, I daresay the Dark Lord will be impressed. You'll have given him the prophecy and orchestrated Potter's expulsion, both within the space of a few months."

"That's great," Draco snapped. "It's just a shame I can't be as helpful to the side I'm actually trying to help."

"Cease with the melodramatics," Severus said. "This is a crisis of conscience, nothing more."

Draco looked affronted at that and started to open his mouth to respond, but Severus cut him off:

"Be grateful," he said curtly. "A crisis of conscience can be soothed through reflection, or acts of atonement. Perhaps in time, it can even be resolved. A true crisis, in the work we do, tends to leave you dead."

Draco was silent after that, thinking, and staring at the floor. Severus hoped he was taking it all in; Draco was a clever and considered fifteen year old, but he was still just that—a fifteen year old, and a Gryffindor to boot. At last Draco looked up, and his eyes were equally sad and angry.

"It's not fair," he said, "what I've done to Granger. What I've done to Potter—"

"Life rarely is," Severus replied. "I've been telling you that for years."

Draco made a sound that was half snort, half sniff, and Severus was a little alarmed when he lifted his hand to wipe his eyes. He doubted drawing attention to it would be welcome, so he pretended not to notice.

"There will always be casualties in war," Severus continued, though less briskly than before. "This will not be the first time you cause them. Learn from this. Reflect on what you could have done differently."

"And what could I have done differently?" Draco demanded. "You just said it yourself, just before—considering my position, what choice did I have—"

"Don't play the victim here, Draco. You always have a choice," Severus said. "In this particular instance, you chose to try to outplay our High Inquisitor rather than give her the information she needed. It hasn't worked out the way you wanted it to. That is unfortunate, but does not change that your actions have created this—"

"It wasn't completely my fault, though," Draco said. "I made my decision, sure, but if Umbridge wasn't such a—"

"But you do not control Umbridge, or how she behaves," Severus said. "Only the way that you do. Consider, Draco, what would have happened if you had told her everything about your little Defence group when she asked."

"Potter would have been expelled," Draco said. "And maybe others too—"

"But is that any worse than how things have played out? Isn't that going to happen anyway, now that Granger's been questioned?"

"Well— yes, probably, but I didn't know that at the time. At least by me not telling her, there was a chance we could outplay her."

"There was," Severus agreed. "But had you told her yourself, you would also have spared Granger—or anyone else—being made to do so in your place. And, you could have spared yourself the guilt you feel now, for putting her in that position."

"But I'd still feel guilty for betraying Eihwaz," Draco said.

"Of course," Severus said. "But that is a guilt that can be reasoned with, or justified by the purpose it serves you. Granger's guilt will not be that."

"Why couldn't you have told me this before," Draco said, looking ill. "I asked you what I should do about Umbridge—"

"And I had no more idea than you," Severus said. "This is hindsight, and hindsight is easy. Decision-making rarely is."

"So… so what do I do now, then?"

"Embrace the decision you've made, even if the outcome is not what you intended. If it plays out the way Umbridge wants, hold it over her that you've enabled her success. Make sure your father and the Dark Lord know the part you've played." Severus hesitated. "And then there is Granger."

"I know. What do I do there?" Draco asked.

"You wait. We will know what has happened soon enough." Severus said, "but beyond that, it's up to you."

"What would you do?" Draco pressed.

"Not be in this situation," Severus said, and smiled faintly at the affront on Draco's face. "Not because I don't make miscalculations," he added, sobering, "but because people generally do not survive my doing so."

"Oh." Draco looked sad again, but there was something uncomfortably like pity in his eyes. Severus didn't want it; pity was for victims, and he was not one. "Right. I'll… figure that one out for myself then, I suppose."

"Indeed, Severus said. He studied Draco, who looked much better than he had when he arrived a few minutes earlier, even if the stress was not completely gone. "You seem more settled, now."

"Perspective helps," Draco muttered. "Thank you." He exhaled gustily. "I should go. I need to make sure I'm with the others when whatever's going to happen happens."

Harry spotted Hermione before she saw him, and she looked… off. Her chin was high and her lips were pressed into an alarmingly thin line, like she was trying to hold something in, and she was moving quickly, but not in her usual brisk way; it was like she was trying to escape something.

Harry looked up the stairs behind her, but there was no one there.

"Hermione?" he called, and she twitched violently, head whipping around to find the source of his voice, then froze.

"Harry?" she said in a tiny voice. Harry moved toward her at once, alarmed; now that she was looking at him, he could see her red-rimmed eyes, and her blotchy face.

"Are you okay—?"

"No," she said, and her voice was remarkably composed and detached compared with the way she looked. She smelled like salt water and rotting flowers—like tears and Umbridge—but below that was guilt and anger and no small amount of hysteria. The last was a sharp and incredibly unpleasant scent that seemed to thin the air and made Harry feel like he wasn't getting enough air himself. He wrinkled his nose and pulled Hermione into a hug. She burst into tears, clinging to him, and he rubbed her back, not sure if he should be more worried or angry to have found her in such a state.

"What did she do?" he asked urgently.

"She made me drink Veritaserum," Hermione replied promptly, and while she spoke, her sobs paused. As soon as she'd finished speaking, though, she curled into herself again.

"It's still affecting you?" Harry asked, through his horror, because if Hermione'd been dosed with Veritaserum and at Umbridge's mercy…

"It's wearing off, but yes," she said clearly, and then a wave of misery came off her.

"Right, sorry, er…" He was desperately, morbidly curious, but it didn't seem right to ask her things when she had no choice but to answer. He snapped his mouth shut and gave her back another rub. She sagged against him, crying harder, though her scent was grateful now.

"I t-told her," she said. "About— about Eihwaz. She knew before I went in." Hermione swallowed. "She knew about the group, and the contract, and she thought you were behind it. She said when we first got to her office that she'd let us off—m-me, and anyone I told her about. I t-tried to say I couldn't because of the c-contract, but then she made me d-drink. It was the Im—Imperius. I couldn't—"

"She what?" Harry's voice was so sharp he almost didn't recognise it. He released her, partly so he could have another look at her face, but also partly so that he could reach his wand.

"Finite," he said, and Hermione made a wet sound but seemed unchanged.

"It's off already," she sniffed.

"Good," Harry said, and then tried to wrap his mind around everything Hermione'd just said. Umbridge had used an Unforgivable which was unexpected but also not their biggest problem right now. No, their biggest problem was that if Hermione'd been forced to confess about Eihwaz, then Umbridge was probably gathering the Inquisitorial Squad right now, and about to come after them. They needed to warn the others that Umbridge was coming, and then…

And then what? he wondered.

Should he just leave now, before Umbridge could get the satisfaction of expelling him, and before she could try to take his wand? His fingers tightened around it.

"Did she expel you?" he asked.

"No," she said promptly, honestly, and Harry winced apologetically; he'd forgotten about the Veritaserum already. She grimaced. "Not yet."

"Not yet?" he blurted. He looked at her, confused and happy, but wary, too. The effort it took not to ask Why was almost causing him actual pain, but he managed to snap his mouth shut and give her the chance to explain on her own.

"No," she said. "I—" She took a deep breath, then let it out sharply, and seemed to pull herself together. When she started to speak again, Harry felt she was talking to herself just as much as she was to him:

"Her using the Imperius—" She wiped her face. "—is illegal and awful and a much higher escalation than this whole situation with Eihwaz warranted. And her drugging me with a truth serum is extremely unethical, and her trying to find evidence she can use to expel us all… that's also bad. Really bad." Hermione's ramblings, which seemed to Harry like the beginnings of self-justification, were only not funny because of the severity of the circumstances. In any other situation, he thought he might have been laughing at her. "Right?"

"Right," Harry said, and thought his own self-restraint with questions deserved an award. Even so, he was dangerously close to grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her until she gave him answers. How had she not been expelled? Had she blackmailed Umbridge or something? Pretended to be on her side?

"But then it wasn't just about Eihwaz," Hermione said. "I— the Order came up, and then, right at the end, she asked me about the prophecy."

It was rare for Harry to feel the cold—a side effect of his animagus form—but he felt it now, a chill that spread through him and made him incredibly uneasy.

"What?"

"She asked me about the prophecy," Hermione said. "And that and all the stuff about the Order… that was just… way out of line. So I didn't really have a choice. That's the sort of thing that doesn't just put our educations and reputations at risk, but a lot of lives, right? Potentially the war. So I—" Her eyes filled with tears again. "—I Stunned her. And then I removed the Imperius curse from myself, and then—" She sniffed. "—I wiped her memories, Harry."

Her tears started to spill over again but Harry stood very still, biting down on his tongue, as relief and anxiety warred inside him.

"I have so many questions," he managed, after a moment.

Hermione made a sound that was half-laugh, half sob.

"Ask them," she said, wiping her eyes. "I'm going to tell you anyway."

"How much did you take? Of her memories, I mean."

"I tried to take everything about Eihwaz, and about the prophecy, and about the Order," Hermione said. "But I don't actually know how well I did. I've only read about it. She might be missing big chunks and it'll be really obvious to her that her mind's been tampered with. Or, I might have done it neatly—"

"Can't you check?"

"Only with Legillimency," she said helplessly.

"Where is she now?"

"In her office," Hermione said. "I set her desk up to look like she'd been marking and maybe just… dozed off?" Harry's doubt must have shown on his face because Hermione winced. "I know," she said shakily. "But I'd like to see you come up with anything better at such short notice."

She had a point.

Harry pulled her into another hug while the last of her tears subsided.

A minute or so later, she'd stopped crying, and her scent had changed from scared and angry to just angry. She pulled away.

"Is Sirius still here?" she asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"I'd like to report her use of an Unforgivable to the D.M.L.E.," Hermione said, lifting her chin. "With any luck that'll get her removed from the school and her wand snapped before she has the chance to remember anything and try to do the same to us." She smiled grimly at Harry. "I figure he's the best place to start."

"Not right now, he's not," Harry said, just as grim. "He got burned pretty badly getting the ring." Hermione looked alarmed, and reached out to squeeze Harry's hand. "He's all right… mostly. But Madam Pomfrey's still working on him." Harry gave Hermione's hand a little tug to get her moving. "We'll go to Dumbledore. He can report Umbridge and get the Ministry to investigate—"

"Only if they believe him," Hermione said, and sighed, but she was following him of her own volition now, and her scent was determined. "But that's going to be a problem regardless of who we talk to, isn't it."

They didn't come across anyone at all on their walk across the castle; the rest of the school was probably enjoying the last few minutes of dinner, and those who'd eaten early had clearly already left to settle into the library or their common rooms for the evening. More to the point, they didn't come across Umbridge, Filch, or any of the Inquisitorial Squad.

"Hi," Harry said, when they reached the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office.

"Potter," it said, and gave Hermione a curious look.

"Can we go up?" Harry asked; technically it wasn't supposed to let anyone up without the password, but Harry was there frequently and unexpectedly enough that he'd always been exempt.

"Sure," it said, and behind it, stone started to move.

"Thanks," Harry said, and gestured for Hermione to follow. When they arrived at the top of the stairs, he reached for the door handle, and then paused; Dumbledore had an uncanny ability to know when someone had come to see him, and usually invited Harry inside before he'd even had the chance to knock.

Only tonight, there was no noise from inside the office, no call to enter.

Harry lifted his hand and knocked once, firmly on the door. Something—maybe Fawkes—let out a hoarse trill from inside, but there was no response from the headmaster.

"Must be in the other room," he said to Hermione, who looked bewildered—not, Harry didn't think, by their lack of immediate greeting, but by Harry's comment.

Harry knocked again, more loudly this time:

"Sir?" Fawkes chirped croakily, and was it just Harry, or did he sound closer?

"Maybe he's not here," Hermione said.

"Then why would the gargoyle have let us in?" Harry said, frowning.

"He's probably meeting with one of the teachers, or might have gone to see Sirius—"

"I was just there, though," Harry said, and wrongness niggled at him. According to Padfoot, Dumbledore had refused to destroy the ring at the Gaunt shack. Padfoot had seemed annoyed more than worried by that, but Padfoot had also been a bit preoccupied with his own injuries. What if Dumbledore'd been possessed, or otherwise manipulated by the horcrux? What if Padfoot hadn't noticed?

He reached for the door handle.

"Harry!" Hermione said, catching his arm. "You can't just let yourself in if he isn't—"

Harry ignored her and pushed the door open, then drew his wand. At that, Hermione drew hers as well, though he could still smell her disapproval.

Fawkes was the first thing he saw—by virtue of the fact that he was moving and noisy. He'd clearly died recently, because he was tiny and grey and ugly, shuffling awkwardly over the plush carpet toward the door. He also seemed decidedly agitated.

The second thing Harry saw was Dumbledore.

The headmaster was in his chair, back arched and rigid. Blood trickled from his nose and the corner of his open mouth. He wasn't blinking, but his eyes were open, present, and fixed on Harry with a mix of fear and pain. They roved slowly down to the desk in front of him, where, clamped in stiff, blackened fingers, was the ring.

Hermione sucked in a breath behind him.

"Hermione, get help," Harry said through numb lips. "Go!" She didn't move. He reached blindly back and gave her a push toward the door with his stump. She took one stumbling step, and then she was running, her shoes pounding on the stone stairs.