Strange events continued throughout the week. Breakfast on Monday was sparse, with scattered croissants and toast and fruit but no eggs or bacon to speak of. Lunch was sandwiches, which was close enough to normal fare. Dinner was practically over the top, with beautifully done steaks with garlic butter for everyone (which they had never had before), with baked potatoes and honey bread as sides. Dumbledore had also gotten a steak, Hermione noticed – but his had been served well-done, with ketchup still in the Heinz bottle next to his plate, chips piled on the side.
Hermione couldn't help but remember her father decrying anyone who would eat steak well done as a heathen who didn't deserve a steak, but from the tightening of the Headmaster's lips and terse way in which he ate, she suspected he hadn't asked for it to be well done at all.
She wondered if the House Elves had been spiteful enough to make steaks for everyone just to make a point. She wouldn't put it past them.
Tuesday morning, breakfast was even less than sparse: they each got a small frying pan, a small bundle of enchanted wood, and raw eggs, with a scattering of kitchen utensils and spatulas lying around on the tables.
It had been rather fun, actually, each of them conjuring small fires on the House tables and trying to keep them under control while attempting to cook. Hermione got a kick out of watching some of the pureblood kids try to cook for themselves, when it was clear they'd never had to before.
Hermione eventually took mercy on them and showed her classmates how to either scramble or fry their eggs, to great appreciation – especially from Crabbe and Goyle, who had managed to create a large burned pancake of egg that was still wobbly and slimy in the middle, and completely inedible by any reasonable standards.
Dumbledore had stood and stormed off, ignoring his own very tiny frying pan, and Hermione had seen Snape suppress a smirk.
Dinner on Tuesday seemed more the usual – there was roasted chicken and vegetables, with rice pilaf and rolls as well, and Dumbledore was more relaxed, now. Hermione suspected he'd spoken to the House Elves after the drama of breakfast that morning and they'd managed to come to some sort of accord.
And then, on Wednesday morning, looking down at her plate, Hermione realized just how mistaken she was.
They had each gotten a chunk of hardtack.
Tack, big chunks of it laid flat on plain plates, with different bowls of broth and milk set out to soak it in.
It was hard to suppress her giggles at the absurdity of it all. And Hermione was more amused than anything, patiently waiting for her own to soften in some chicken broth as she watched Draco and Theo both attempt to break their teeth.
It was clear by now that something odd was going on with the House Elves and the Headmaster. Any sense of subtlety had been lost when Dumbledore got a frying pan the size of a compact mirror on Tuesday morning, and it was clear there was some kind of vendetta or fight going on silently behind the scenes. Hermione resolved to visit the House Elves and inquire about it as soon as she could, because clearly, something funny was going on.
To her dismay, the Kitchens were off-limits, with Professor Burbage blocking the way.
"Professor Dumbledore is dealing with an issue right now," she told Hermione, smiling tightly. "It should all be resolved by dinner."
Hermione arrived at lunch frustrated, only to be more confused by the food.
"Wait, what is this?" she asked. "Is this seriously raw potatoes?"
"This is Ministry food," Draco Malfoy said, horrified. "I recognize these sub-par dishes. This is the slop they serve in the Ministry of Magic cafeteria – the place all the drones go who don't have any taste in dining."
"So Hogwarts ordered catering from the Ministry of Magic?" Hermione said incredulously.
"Apparently," Blaise said. He held up a slice of raw potato, raising an eyebrow. "And apparently they didn't give them very long to get it done."
Candles and torches flickered in the hallways after lunch. Hermione heard yelling from inside one of the toilets on her way to class. And after Defense Against the Dark Arts, when Hermione was on her way up to Divination, an announcement rang out throughout castle, Professor McGonagall's voice echoing through the halls.
"Classes for the rest of the day are cancelled," she said clearly. "Students are to return to their dormitories and remain there until further notice."
Hermione exchanged a glance with Harry, who had also been making the trek up the stairs to the North Tower, and together, they returned to the Gryffindor Common Room, where they went up to the 3rd year boys' dormitory as instructed.
"This is mad," Ron declared, standing on his bed and practically bouncing. "My Dad says that the Hogwarts House Elves take pride in being entirely invisible. We're not supposed to remember they're there at all."
Hermione frowned.
"That seems rather cruel," she said. "After all, they do so much for us."
Ron waved off her concerns, rolling his eyes.
"They're House Elves, Hermione," he said, exasperated. "They don't want or need your gratitude."
"Maybe they've all gotten sick!" Seamus Finnegan exclaimed, eyes wide. "They've been serving really weird things, right? Maybe the House Elves sent out to forage and kill the food are all ill, so the remaining ones have to work with what they have."
"I don't think the House Elves go out and kill the meat we eat themselves," Harry said, suppressing a laugh with a grin. "But that's a fun thought – a House Elf trying to take on an angry bull."
"Maybe they're all sick in the head," Dean Thomas said, snickering. "They've been serving weird things, right? Maybe they've all got some sort of mental disease."
"Come on," Hermione said, rolling her eyes as the boys laughed. "I think it's fairly obvious what's going on here."
"Is it?" Ron shot back. "Tell us, then, if you've already figure it out."
"The House Elves are having some sort of tiff with Dumbledore," Hermione said plainly. "They've made it clear by serving him different things than the rest of us. And now the lights are going out and the toilets are acting funny – I think it's clear the House Elves are registering their displeasure with the Headmaster in a noticeable way."
"Why, though?" Harry wondered. "Nothing's changed, has it? Why are they upset suddenly now?"
Hermione bit her lip, considering.
"If I had to guess," she said, looking at Harry sideways, "I would guess that Dumbledore got mad that a bunch of them vanished off campus to go visit distant family on Sunday."
"Family?" Ron scoffed. "Do House Elves keep track of family?"
"Rude, mate," Seamus told him, frowning. "They have parents like the rest of us, don't they?"
But Harry was looking at Hermione with a keen eye.
"Sunday, huh?" he said, raising an eyebrow.
"Yup," Hermione said, popping the 'p'.
Harry gave her a slow grin.
"I'm sure they weren't doing anything Dumbledore wouldn't like to hear about," he said, green eyes sparkling. "Just another wonderfully normal day."
"I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't have heard what they were doing," Hermione said, grinning back at Harry, "which might be another reason he's so upset."
Harry laughed, and he opened his mouth to respond, only to be abruptly cut off by a loud CLANG, a sudden BOOM, and a sudden loud sound of gushing water.
"The showers!" Ron exclaimed, and he lunged for the door on the far side of the dorm, the other boys quick behind him. "It'll flood!"
They were just in time, slamming the door shut and stuffing dirty robes around the bottom just in time before water started leaking through, but from the shouts echoing throughout Gryffindor tower and the sound of water dripping down the spiral stairs, Hermione suspected that not everyone had been quite so quick to block their doors. The yelling continued, panicked shouts and scattered screams.
Professor McGonagall appeared shortly thereafter, looking damp and much bedraggled as she stood in the doorway of the third-year boys' dorm.
"The Headmaster has dismissed the school early for an extended Easter break," she announced. She shot them a dark look as the boys began to cheer. "The school year will be extended an extra week in June because of this," she warned, "so don't get too excited."
"For everyone?" Harry asked, aghast. "Everyone has to go home?"
McGonagall's eyes softened as she looked to Harry.
"Everyone needs to leave the school, Potter," she said gently.
"You can stay with me, Harry," Hermione offered, and Harry shot her a grateful smile.
"Or me!" Ron piped up. "We can practice Quidditch in my yard."
Speaking up proved to be the wrong move for Hermione; hearing a girl's voice had drawn McGonagall's eyes over to Hermione, who was currently in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory – a place she was not supposed to be.
"Miss Granger," McGonagall said, blinking. "Whatever are you doing here?"
"Sitting," she said promptly, but McGonagall was already counting heads, puzzled.
"Where is Mister Longbottom?" she asked. "You were all told to return to your dormitories."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged glances.
"Well?" she demanded. "Where is he?"
"He's probably down with the Hufflepuffs, Professor," Harry finally said.
Professor McGonagall frowned.
"Did he get swept up in the wrong group of students?" she asked. "Not unlike Miss Granger here?"
Hermione shot Harry and Ron a sharp look, but they were Gryffindors to a fault.
"No, professor," Ron piped up. "He's been living there."
McGonagall was taken aback.
"Living there?" she exclaimed. "Since when?"
With the House Elves apparently on strike and the school closing early, it really was not the ideal time to have the Neville Longbottom issue come up with Professor McGonagall. But the Gryffindor boys didn't seem to have any sense of how to deflect a conversation, of how to avoid giving details, and now the professor kept pushing…
"Since February 6th," Hermione said dully, resigning to herself to the coming conflict.
"Since— February—?" McGonagall was sputtering. "Why has this not been brought to my attention? What on earth possessed him to think he could switch dormitories?"
It was Harry's turn to shoot Hermione a warning look, but her temper had already flared.
"You did, Professor," she said curtly, standing. "If you would excuse me. I should be making my way back to Slytherin now."
"I did?" McGonagall repeated, astonished. "I told him no such thing!"
"No, you just forbid him from being able to access Gryffindor Tower, damning him to linger outside the portrait hole for hours if no one was around to help," Hermione snapped. "Leaving him exposed, in the halls, right after a known murderer had broken into the school and could still be lurking around!"
"I don't appreciate your tone, Miss Graner," McGonagall said warningly, her eyes flashing behind square lenses.
"My apologies, Professor," Hermione said, inclining her head slightly. "I just don't appreciate my friends being endangered because their Head of House holds arbitrary punishments to be more important than their safety."
She stormed past McGonagall, who was too busy gaping after her to take points, and she could hear her voice echoing down the spiral staircase from above as Hermione hurried down the stairs, asking the third-year boys if Neville had really moved to Hufflepuff without so much as a word.
It made Hermione wonder about the staff of the school, honestly. Had Professor Sprout not mentioned anything to Professor McGonagall because they weren't close, or because she held protecting her House (and now Neville, by adoption) to be more important than their coworker bond?
Traversing the school was an adventure. Torches were either out, flickering, or burning wildly out of control, bits of flame dripping down the walls, and many floors were flooded near the bathrooms. The portrait to the Kitchens was thrown wide open, and Hermione couldn't stop herself from taking a detour to glance inside, only to find the Kitchens deserted, entirely devoid of life, dingy Hogwarts pillowcases scattered around on the ground.
Snape was cross with her when she arrived in the Slytherin dungeons.
"You were told to return to your dormitories," Snape said, arching an eyebrow.
"I didn't realize it was on an individual basis," Hermione said promptly. "When I heard 'students are to return to their dormitories', I took it to mean 'students are to return to the student dormitories'." She offered Snape a sweet smile. "Without knowing the cause for alarm, I took refuge in the nearest student dormitory for safety, which just so happened to be the Gryffindor dorm."
Snape rolled his eyes.
"And Professor McGonagall only sent you back just now?" he drawled.
"Well, no," Hermione admitted. "I kind of stormed out after I told her how Neville had defected."
Snape blinked.
"…defected?" he repeated, his brow furrowing slightly in puzzlement.
"He's defected to Hufflepuff," Hermione said promptly. "Professor McGonagall said he wasn't allowed to have the Gryffindor passwords anymore as punishment after Sirius Black got in because he found Neville's cheat sheet, since their stupid portrait was changing their password every day, and we decided that was unacceptable."
"'We'?" Snape said, raising an eyebrow.
"Me, Neville, Ron, and Harry," Hermione said. She paused. "Well, mostly me and Neville did the deciding, I guess. But Ron and Harry helped move his things, and Susan and Justin helped Neville get settled in."
Snape was looking down his nose at her, his arms folded.
"And it never occurred to you during all this," he said pointedly, "that perhaps his Head of House spoke in anger, and discussing the matter with her calmly once some time had elapsed might very well resolve the situation at hand?"
"It very much did occur to me," Hermione stressed, scowling. "But it is not a student's responsibility to try and talk their Head of House out of being unreasonable. She is the adult in the situation. It is her responsibility to keep her students safe, her bond to her House, and she broke that bond when she damned Neville to possibly spending nights outside in the hallways."
Snape's face was inscrutable. Hermione wished she could tell what he was thinking.
"You don't take betrayal lightly, do you Miss Granger?" he said softly, eyes glinting. "First Professor Flitwick with Miss Lovegood, and now Professor McGonagall has wronged another one of your friends?"
"The teachers are supposed to protect us," Hermione said fiercely, glaring back at him. "And if they're not going to do it properly, we have to do it ourselves."
Snape looked at her for a moment more, thoughtful, before he stepped aside.
"Ready your bags, Miss Granger," he advised her. "The train to leave will be arriving soon."
The other girls in the Slytherin dorm were frantically running around. There was a thin layer of water on the floor, seeping out from underneath the bathroom doorway, which had been stuffed with used towels.
"Why did this have to happen now?" Pansy was moaning. "My parents do not appreciate unexpected surprises."
"Maybe they'll send an owl to everyone's families to warn them?" Daphne suggested. "It would make sense – someone has to be there at the station to pick us up and take us home."
"Brilliant," Millie said dully. "Perfect. Lovely. Isn't that just peachy keen."
Hermione and Tracey exchanged a concerned look.
"Snape didn't say we have to go to our own home, just that we have to leave the school," Tracey said. "Why don't you come home with me for the holiday, Millie?"
Millie's eyes snapped to Tracey.
"You mean it?" she asked, somewhat suspicious. "Really?"
"Really," Tracey said. She grinned. "You can experience an actual Easter, if you like. My Dad likes to cook and decorate."
The rest of them all packing was a less stressful experience, now that Hermione was present and could regularly Vanish the water on the floor. Soon they were all in the Slytherin common room, all lined up with their trunks with everyone else, waiting to come and be taken to the station.
"This will be fun," Hermione said, glancing around with a smirk.
"Why?" Tracey asked.
"The House Elves are in full revolt," she pointed out. "And usually they're the ones to take our trunks up to the train."
Tracey and Daphne's eyes grew wide, and Pansy whistled.
"Well," she said, eyes glinting as she began to smirk. "We'll just have to see how this goes."
"Five galleons on 'very poorly'," Millie muttered, and they all snickered.
While they waited for direction from Snape or Jade, Draco Malfoy drifted over to her.
"We said—we were planning on talking to my mother at Easter," he said quietly. "There's an extended Easter break, now."
Hermione nodded. "Shall I owl you to work out the details?"
Draco visibly relaxed.
"That'll work better," he admitted. "My father—my parents—I don't know how they'll react to me just showing up in the middle of the week unexpectedly."
Hermione bit her lip, her heart twinging slightly in sympathy.
"It'll be okay," she told him encouragingly. "I'll see you soon."
Draco grabbed her hand, holding it for a moment.
"You still plan to come over though, right?" he asked, uncertain. His silver eyes were shining at her, open. "You're not going to leave me to explain this mess with Black all by myself?"
Hermione's returning smile was fondly exasperated, soft.
"Of course not, Draco," she said. "I wouldn't leave you to handle this alone."