Hermione wrung her hands in her lap, feeling inexplicably self-conscious. From across her desk, Professor McGonagall looked over her transcript with an air of long-suffering. In all her years as a student, Hermione had never seen her Head of House look so worn as she had in the last few months.

Popping explosions and whizzing contraptions punctuated the silence every few moments, though Hermione and McGonagall mutually pretended not to hear any of it.

"Well, Miss Granger," said the professor at length, "assuming your O.W.L. performance is consistent with your academic record over the past four years, I daresay you shall have free picking of any career you might choose." McGonagall eyed her over her spectacles. "Have you given any thought to what that might be?"

Hermione grimaced as a particularly loud firework burst somewhere nearby. "I have thought about it, yes. At first, I thought I might like to be a teacher, but I don't really feel qualified in any subject, not yet. There's politics, of course, but given what I've seen of the Ministry" — they both cringed — "I'm not really sure that would be a good use of my time, not if I want to properly change anything. Though the Department of Mysteries sounds fascinating, and I love research — but I also want to help people in a tangible way, not just mess about with theories. I don't think I have the constitution for Healing, though…"

McGonagall gave her a look of exasperation and sat back in her chair. Outside, the bangs and screeches were increasing in volume and frequency. Hermione thought she felt the walls shake a little.

"Miss Granger, you are intelligent and driven. It's one of the many reasons I am proud to have you in my House."

"Thank you, professor," murmured Hermione, blushing.

"Let's not waste our time. I have no doubt that whatever you do, you will do well. My advice to you is to continue working hard and taking any — or all — subjects that interest you. I'm sure that eventually your profession will call you. I have no worries about your future success." With a wince, McGonagall stood, fingers pressed to her temple, and reached for her wand. "I suspect our headmistress is in need of my assistance. Let's go see, shall we?"

Hermione followed McGonagall out of her office and stepped into pure pandemonium. Her professor hurried off into the epicentre of the chaos; Hermione ducked as a Catherine wheel spun violently by, missing her head by inches. This was the most out of control demonstration Hermione had seen yet. Umbridge absolutely deserved it, but was the staff certain this was safe for students?

Hermione dashed around a corner only to find herself facing a firework display exploding in the stairwell. A few paces away, Draco Malfoy leaned against the wall, watching it with a smirk.

"Aren't you supposed to be doing something about this, Mr Inquisitorial Squad?" she hissed. A cloud of violet smoke erupted somewhere nearby and Hermione took the advantage of the brief cover to discreetly move a few steps closer to him.

"Nothing to be done, Granger, or didn't you hear? The ginger menaces have fled the crime scene."

Hermione flinched as another explosion sounded nearby. As much as she loved Fred and George, this was all becoming very irritating. "They're idiots. Mischief is one thing, but Umbridge is going to properly expel them after this!"

"You really haven't heard, have you?" Malfoy remarked, glancing at her for a moment. "They chucked an actual swamp by her office, hopped on their brooms and flew off. Apparently," he added self-importantly as Hermione stared at him in disbelief, "they're going into business with all this. Even if they really have got a shop in Diagon Alley, I don't think they'll last more than a month."

Hermione couldn't believe it. A large part of her (that sounded eerily like Molly Weasley) was horrified that they would abandon their education — and when they were so close to finishing! The other part was impressed, and maybe a little envious.

The fireworks before them exploded again, this time arranging themselves into some very rude — yet witty — insults. Sparks rained down the stairwell onto a cluster of alarmed first years. Draco snickered.

"As a prefect," she snapped, "and member of that stupid squad, you are expected to help, you know."

Nodding to her own prefect badge, he retorted, "So are you, but I don't see you chasing down rogue fireworks."

"I'm not trying to win the heart of a certain tyrannical headmistress," she sniffed.

Draco merely gestured to the madness around them with a shrug. "There's no possible way she can expect us to handle all this. I doubt even she can handle it. I'll tell her I gave it my best go," he affected a pathetic, simpering voice, "because I care about the school and maintaining a good educational environment, but it was all just too much for a humble fifth year like me. Not with the rest of the students being so wild. Besides," he added with a chuckle as a young Ravenclaw ran away from a small, obscenity-shouting rocket, "this is much more fun."

"I can't believe they did it."

"We know, Ron. You've only said it seventeen times already."

"I know, but it's just so… so —"

"Unbelievable?"

"Mum's gonna lose it when she finds out. D'you reckon she'll blame me?"

Hermione grimaced at this. "It would be very unfair of her."

"Yeah! How was I supposed to know they were planning this?"

"At least Umbridge is getting what she deserves," Harry said darkly. He had stayed mostly quiet all day and Hermione was hesitant to ask why.

"Mm," agreed Ron. "She interrupted my career advice meeting. McGonagall was livid."

"Mine too," said Harry. "They were screaming at each other by the end."

"That sounds awful, Harry. I hope she doesn't punish you for it."

Harry shrugged. "Probably not as much as she'll punish me for breaking into her office."

"You WHAT?" cried Hermione and Ron at the same time.

"Don't look at me like that!" Harry looked between them, defensive. "I had to talk to Padfoot! And Moony, too. Fred and George helped."

Hermione's heart sank with dread. "Is that why they left?"

"Nah, I think they'd been planning it for ages."

"What did you speak with Padfoot about?" asked Ron.

Harry squirmed uneasily in the armchair. "I just — look, I just needed to understand what I saw."

"What you saw —?"

"In the pensieve. Remember? I just… I needed to hear it from them, since they were there."

Hermione swallowed nervously. Harry seemed so miserable and angry. It wasn't a good combination.

"What did they say?" asked Ron curiously.

"They said —" Harry stumbled over his words for a moment. "They said that my dad was young and that people make mistakes and change and all that. But he was the same age as us!" Harry looked up at them now. "What kind of person thinks it's okay to do that to someone? Unprovoked? I just… I don't understand. Why he did it. Or why they're defending him."

Oh, Harry. What could she say? That his father was an unforgivable bully? That actions didn't matter when you were fifteen?

Surprisingly, it was Ron who spoke first. "I'm sure it's complicated, mate."

"Snape was right about him. He was an arrogant, insufferable toerag, and I am, too, and —"

"Stop it!" snapped Hermione. "That's not true, not at all. You don't enjoy hurting people, Harry, not like that."

"Yeah," agreed Ron, "you're not Malfoy. And neither was your dad," he added quickly, "because we know he ended up alright, even if he was a bit of a tosser in his fifth year. And your mum liked him, so he must've been worth it."

For a moment, Harry looked between them, and Hermione saw something in his eyes soften. "Thanks, guys." The moment broke and he nodded to Ron. "You've got Quidditch practice."

"Yeah, I'd best be off."

"I'll come with you," said Hermione, standing. "I've got brewing to do."

They bid Harry goodbye and set off to the lower levels of the castle.

"You know," mused Ron, "it's a shame Fred and George had to leave before Quidditch ended. Final match is next month. They couldn't have played, of course, but it would've been nice to have them there."

Hermione made a vague sound of agreement. They'd made it halfway down the next staircase when she suddenly stopped. "Shit! When is the match?"

"First of June. I know you're worried about exams, but it's a full week before O.W.L.s —"

"I know, I know — I'm so sorry, Ron. That's a Full Moon and I have to prepare the next batch of Wolfsbane."

"Oh," said Ron. He was clearly crestfallen but tried very hard to cover it. "That's alright, then. More important; Moony needs it."

"I'm sorry — I'm sure you'll do brilliantly —"

"Yeah, no worries, Hermione. Really. See you later?"

"Of course. Have a good practice."

He disappeared in the direction of the Entrance Hall with a wave while Hermione continued on to the dungeons. She couldn't help but feel that she was losing her two best friends, one to the increasing horror of rising war, the other to a cloud of half-brewed Wolfsbane.

Hogwarts had entered a state of all-out warfare against Umbridge. Very few of the teachers (or students) made any effort to counter the demonstrations or crack down on the trade of illicit Weasley goods. Hermione always had to dodge several fireworks on the way down to the dungeons, and occasionally change her route when one of the junctures turned out to be a swamp. By the time she'd stumble into the room, hair frizzed from near-misses with sparkling projectiles, she was almost always several minutes late. Draco took one look at her and laughed.

"What was it this time?"

"Four Catherine wheels — one of which got stuck in one of the portrait's frames — two swamps, and" — she tossed her hair back with a scoff as she fished out her gloves — "Peeves somehow got a hold of one of those screaming rockets and got it to recite rude limericks."

Draco whistled low. "Brutal combination, that."

Hermione hummed in agreement.

"My route is shorter than yours, but I did have the privilege of encountering some kind of goo that runs away whenever you try to clean it. Poor Filch was about to have a stroke, I think."

Hermione tossed her gloves on the bench and tied back her hair. "It's unacceptable, really."

"Umbridge is having kittens — almost literally — trying to keep the school together. I thought you'd be pleased."

"Well, I'm not saying she shouldn't be stopped, but we've got exams in a week! How are we supposed to prepare? I couldn't go to the library for two days because someone decided to turn the corridor outside into a swamp!"

"I know, Granger. You're not the only person who does their homework there."

"I just want — would you pass me that knife, please? Thank you. I just want this term to be over, I think."

She hadn't felt this exhausted in a long time. She missed when they could all go outside, have tea with Hagrid… Even while she methodically cut flowers in the dungeons, the sun shone merrily on the lake. She'd seen it through a window on her way down. Gryffindor was playing Ravenclaw on the Quidditch pitch; she hoped Ron was doing well. He wasn't half bad when he wasn't nervous, and Gryffindor winning would cheer up Harry, too.

"Stop looking so miserable, Granger; it's distracting. What are the tenants of Transfiguration Principle Number Fifty-Four?"

"What?"

"We've been at it for a month and you're still confusing the last dozen. Give me at least five sentences on Principle Fifty-Four and… its implications for aquatic plants."

Hermione looked at him and found nothing but amusement in his eyes. After a brief moment's thought, she answered his question and swiftly countered with her own. By the time they'd finished with the flowers, it seemed like no time had passed at all, and Hermione was surprised to find she didn't want to leave.