There were fifteen heartbeats of absolute silence.
Umbridge leaned into the lull, smiling around presumptuously as if expecting applause to take up at any moment. When it didn't come, she gave a little sniff, drawing herself up in her chair.
"Now," she said primly. "I'm sure you are all eager to get to know me, and I am very much looking forward to—"
"Where's Dumbledore?" a voice shouted from behind Hermione.
In unison, every head in the Great Hall swivelled to the source. Completely unabashed, George Weasley stared defiantly up at Umbridge. Half the room, including Hermione, looked back to Umbridge, awaiting her reaction.
Umbridge narrowed her eyes at George. "Young man, this is not the proper time to—"
Fred interrupted. "Yeah, where's Dumbledore?"
As if the second interruption granted permission, over half of the Gryffindor table and a handful of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws began clamouring, shouting questions at Umbridge and talking loudly amongst themselves. Ron was one of those; he looked back and forth between Hermione and Harry, repeatedly asking who Umbridge was and what she was doing here, and hadn't they heard anything about Dumbledore after their trial (as if they hadn't been with Ron the entire time since).
Hermione was so stunned that she could only look back at him helplessly. Harry hadn't mastered his shock either, oblivious to Ron's interrogation as he stared dumbly at Umbridge, mouth hanging agape.
Umbridge's face contorted in unmistakable anger. Before she could reach for her wand, Professor McGonagall swiftly stood up, pointing her own wand at her throat.
"Be still."
The command reverberated around the room, and several people covered their ears. Silence reigned once more. McGonagall nodded curtly, eyeing each House table in stern warning before resuming her seat.
Umbridge simpered at McGonagall. "Thank you, Minerva. I am most grateful to have your support."
The glare McGonagall directed towards Umbridge's back said that Umbridge had anything but.
Umbridge began speaking in a breathy, girlish voice. "I will say this once, and only once, and I expect that to be the end of this discussion." She let out a high-pitched giggle, but the intensity of her gaze belied any sort of levity to her words. "Earlier this afternoon, Albus Dumbledore wisely agreed to comply with the Board of Governors' decision to remove him from his post as Head of Hogwarts School. I assure you, this decision was not made lightly, and took into account the safety and wellbeing of each and every student attending our esteemed institution."
"In addition, the Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of utmost importance. Every Headmaster or Headmistress has brought something of their own to the serious task of running this school, and I, with the full weight of the Ministry behind me, will endeavour to do the same. We thank former Headmaster Dumbledore for his many years of service to Hogwarts, and his willingness to recognise the necessity of stepping down in favour of leadership that is better suited to performing to the standards now required of such an influential position. It is my belief that it would be Albus Dumbledore's sincerest wish for us to cooperate, striking a balance between progress and preservation for the betterment of the entire Wizarding community. Together, you and I will lead Hogwarts into a new and improved era."
Umbridge raised her empty water goblet, casting her eyes around the room to include students and teachers alike.
In a wild attempt to further cement her recently-bestowed authority, Umbridge began expounding upon her own background, listing out qualifications and accolades accumulated over a long career at the Ministry. Hermione wasn't listening. She let out a long breath, eyes trailing along the staff table as she processed this unexpected disaster.
McGonagall's brows were knitted so tightly it appeared she may never unravel them. Flitwick looked as if he'd been hit between the eyes, and Snape was now outright scowling. Each and every face along the head table was a mask of disbelief, anger, confusion, or a mixture of all three. Hermione did a double take as she passed Trelawney, realising that Hagrid wasn't in his usual spot. Was he still with the first years? Come to think of it, shouldn't McGonagall be out with them, providing instruction before the sorting?
Her question was answered when the door to the Great Hall cracked open to reveal a familiar woman with short, iron grey hair; Professor Grubbly-Plank, who had filled in for Hagrid temporarily last year, looked inquiringly up towards the staff table.
When Umbridge deigned to stop evangelising herself long enough to wave her inside, Grubbly-Plank briskly herded two lines of pale-looking first years between the centre House tables. Her strong jaw was set in such a way that brooked no nonsense, but she, too, had worry written across her features. McGonagall rose to bring the wooden stool and ancient, frayed hat to the centre of the dais, and the sorting commenced.
After the results of their initial outburst, no one at Gryffindor table, or any table, in fact, felt much like talking, with the result that the sorting ceremony was a greatly subdued affair. When dinner arrived, Hermione ate mechanically, mind whirring with questions about Umbridge, Dumbledore, and the Ministry. How could Dumbledore have let this happen? What was he doing? Had the actions she'd taken to protect her parents played a part in his dismissal?
Umbridge gave an extensive list of start-of-term notices, including several additions that went so far as to subject professors to a temporary probation until they had been inspected and cleared by Umbridge. Hermione registered surprised that Umbridge could seem so unaffected by the heated stares boring into her back after that announcement.
The ensuing evening went by in a daze, with one notable exception. As soon as Hermione had completed her prefect duties alongside Neville, she was chivvied back out of the common room by Harry and Ron.
"What are we doing?" she asked, looking around quickly for any stragglers still making their way to Gryffindor Tower after dinner. Without answering, Ron darted over to push open the broom closet where she'd told them about Malfoy last year. Harry scrambled in after him, frantically motioning for her to join.
"I'm a prefect now," she hissed, begrudgingly following them inside. "I can't be wandering around after-hours anymore. How's it going to look if I'm caught out past curfew on the very first night back?"
Harry shut the door behind her softly, holding up a small parcel wrapped in brown paper that she hadn't noticed before.
"This is important," Harry replied quickly. "We need to know what's going on."
She eyed the package. "And that's going to help how?"
"Well, I dunno yet," Harry said, sheepishly pushing his glasses back into place. "Sirius gave this to me right before we left for King's Cross this morning. Said to use it if I needed to get in touch."
"We figured Sirius will know where Dumbledore is," Ron added, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Harry unwrapped the parcel to reveal a small, dirty mirror. It looked very old; the bronze patina had tarnished significantly. Harry turned it over in his hands, squinting at the note affixed to the back.
"It's a two-way mirror," Harry said after a moment. "He's got one, too." Harry held the mirror up in front of his face. Hermione moved to stand on the other side of Harry from Ron, peering up into their grimy reflection.
"Sirius," Harry said clearly.
At once, the mirror materialised into a window showing a spacious, rather messy bedroom. A large bed with a carved wooden headboard dominated the centre of the room, and a dusty chandelier dangled overhead. A multitude of posters, interspersed with several large gold-and-scarlet Gryffindor banners, took up nearly every square inch of visible wall space.
Ron sniggered appreciatively at the posters of bikini-clad Muggle women affixed between several pictures of Muggle motorcycles, drawing the attention of Sirius, who sat with his back to them at a small writing desk along the far wall.
"Harry?" Sirius asked urgently, jumping out of his chair. He walked swiftly over and picked up the other mirror. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Sirius, where's Dumbledore?" Harry asked.
"What do you mean, 'where's Dumbledore'?" Sirius asked sharply.
"He isn't here!" Harry whispered urgently. "Some woman called Umbridge is saying she's Headmistress!"
Sirius swore loudly, then started muttering under his breath.
Hermione looked around, debating whether or not to cast a Silencing Charm on the closet door in case Sirius started shouting again. Ultimately, she decided it would look too suspicious. The view in the mirror abruptly lurched to the side as Sirius moved back to his desk.
"What's going on?" Ron interjected.
Sirius propped the mirror against the wall, bending to hastily rifle through a pile of papers on his desk. Hermione caught the words "Active Death Eaters" scrawled across the top of one sheet as it flashed by. Another contained something that looked like building plans.
Sirius growled in frustration, turning over several more papers. His hand finally closed around one, and he tore a copy of the Evening Prophet out of the pile, scanning it quickly.
"Nope, nothing. Oh, I can't believe they've done it. This will certainly be the front-page headline of tomorrow morning's Prophet."
"You knew this would happen?" Harry asked indignantly.
"Not exactly," Sirius replied, raking a hand through his long hair. "It was a remote possibility after events this summer and everything since Voldemort's return, but we were so sure that Fudge would never convince the governors to oust Dumbledore as Headmaster. And we thought when Dumbledore said just yesterday that he had things under control…" he trailed off, frowning.
Hermione nibbled her bottom lip, trying to understand. "Why didn't he warn the Order at least?"
Sirius sighed heavily. "I'm not sure. Maybe he thought it would look too suspicious if he tipped off the Order beforehand. Several of our people at the Ministry are already suspected of colluding with Dumbledore." Sirius paused, shaking his head with another sigh. "I expect he'll be in contact soon enough."
"So what do we do until then?" Ron asked. "I can already tell that this Umbridge woman is a right piece of work…"
Sirius shook his head. "You aren't to do anything. There's nothing you can do. Voldemort won't stay in hiding forever, and it won't take long before they're begging Dumbledore to come back. Until this gets sorted, you three just keep your heads down, alright?"
Hermione nearly rolled her eyes. That sounded almost exactly like what Malfoy had said to her earlier. Harry muttered something unintelligible.
"I'm serious, Harry," Sirius said. "You and Hermione are already in the Ministry's sights. They'll be looking for any excuse they can to cut you down, or even expel you."
Her stomach lurched. She hadn't thought of that. Umbridge already seemed to have it out for her, and now the woman was Headmistress? Hermione had a feeling that the changes at Hogwarts were only just beginning.
After making them promise to reach out if anything else happened, Sirius ordered them back to their dormitories. Resigned, Hermione trailed after Harry and Ron towards the common room. The Fat Lady let them in without her usual stern warning about being out after curfew; it seemed she, too, was feeling the effects of Dumbledore's absence.
Even the familiar comfort of Hermione's four-poster did nothing to assuage the worry gnawing at her stomach. She tossed and turned, sleep eluding her well into the night. She couldn't help but fear that something much, much worse was on its way. However impossible that seemed with the current situation. Malfoy had seemed reluctant to elaborate on the train, but perhaps she could find a way for them to speak privately soon.
Thinking of Malfoy on the train brought residual heat to her cheeks. She'd made a complete fool of herself, tripping over her own feet like that, and Hermione couldn't stop the convulsive shudder accompanying the memory. At least he'd had the decency not to mock her — there was a time that would have been expected. There was also a time when she'd have been able to shrug it off. Both were times long gone.
Her fingers traced where Malfoy's had lingered on her waist, and a different sort of heat began to gather. Hermione recalled the way he'd spoken low in her ear. Practically purred her name. The deep, shuddering breath he'd taken as he held her, as if there were something more for him than discomfort at their unexpected proximity.
It was infuriating, honestly — perhaps he was toying with her after all. He'd all but told her last year that he wanted to forget that anything more than friendship had happened between them, and even friendship seemed to be straining his limits. Every interaction since had only served to confuse her senses further. He had no business making her feel this way. It was Malfoy, for Merlin's sake.
Still… as she pictured the playful smirks he seemed to save just for her, and the way his eyes had sparkled with shared amusement at her ungainliness and their ensuing situation, the small seed of aggravation residing in her chest fed into the growing heat in her abdomen. She could almost feel the burning imprints of his fingers on her waist as her own fingers skated down. Almost taste the silk of his lips from that night, so many months ago, when he'd beholden her to himself out of sheer necessity. Now, his every touch just about sizzled her nerves with electricity. Thoughts of him sent sensation spiralling into places she hadn't paid much attention before. Her hand crept lower, intent on relieving the ache, and perhaps soothing her frayed nerves along the way.
Try as she might, Hermione failed to perfectly recreate the response Malfoy stirred up within her whenever they shared space. Still, her meagre efforts were rewarded; she'd forgotten all about Umbridge and her worries for the following morning as sleep pulled her under.
The first shock came before she'd even sat down to butter her toast the next morning. She and Neville had gone down early to help Professor McGonagall hand out course schedules, and when Harry and Ron ambled in, she waved them over to the table, their itineraries in hand. They'd barely taken two steps into the Hall when they were intercepted by Pansy Parkinson.
Hermione watched as Pansy stopped directly in front of Ron, notably alone sans her usual entourage of girlfriends. Pansy swirled a dark lock of hair around her finger as she looked up at Ron, a sickly sweet smile curving her lips. From this far away, Hermione couldn't tell what Pansy was saying, but whatever it was, Ron began to look increasingly confused. When Pansy reached up to straighten Ron's tie, his eyes bulged and he flushed to his hairline. Behind him, Harry's jaw dropped open. Still smiling, Pansy gave a tinkling laugh and turned away, wiggling her hips as she flounced back to Slytherin table.
Stunned, Hermione's gaze immediately sought Malfoy. She found him staring hard at Pansy, nose wrinkled in disgust. Pansy appeared to be ignoring any attempts at questioning from him or Zabini next to her. Theo was still absent.
"What was that about?" Hermione directed towards Ron when he dropped into the seat across the table.
His face remained splotchy as he slipped a finger under the knot of his tie, loosening it. "Hell if I know."
The second shock happened immediately following her first bite of toast. Hermione finally had the chance to review her own course schedule for the year.
"Harry, Ron, have you looked at your schedules yet?" she asked, eyes flying down the sheaf of parchment again, certain that there'd been a mistake.
Ron mumbled something around a mouthful of eggs while Harry picked up his course list. Drumming her fingers on the table, she waited patiently for Harry to tell her that nothing looked amiss. At Ron's pointed look, she stilled her hands, smiling tightly.
Harry's eyes flew back to the top of the paper again. "Wait a second," he said slowly, "where's Defence Against the Dark Arts? And what is this?" He stabbed a finger at the page. "Conduct and Decorum?" Harry made a face.
Ron snatched up his schedule, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. "Bloody hell, we have to spend our Saturday mornings learning how to serve tea or some shite? They've got to be joking! Since when have we had classes on Saturday?"
Bringing it closer to his face, Ron glared at the paper as if hoping it might fix itself right under his nose. Hermione had to admit that although it was unlikely, it wasn't impossible.
Ron groaned. "We were supposed to have the whole weekend off and now we have a class today. Bloody brilliant."
Comparing schedules, they quickly determined that these etiquette classes were set twice a week, though the only class she shared with Harry and Ron was the one on Saturday morning. Were they seriously separating out boys and girls for the other class during the week? This had to be because of Umbridge; Hermione could hardly believe that a woman who had climbed the ranks of the Ministry could put stock in such outdated proprieties.
Harry was fuming. "I can't believe that the Ministry has done away with Defence classes entirely. How are we supposed to learn to defend ourselves against Voldemort and his Death Eaters? This never would have happened under Dumbledore."
Ron nodded vigorously. "What if we just take up like we did last year, mate? You, me, and Hermione? We'll keep practising new spells—"
"Do either of you have something Wednesday evening after dinner?" Hermione cut in, squinting at a set of unfamiliar initials on her schedule next to the seven o'clock mark. "Something called A.N.T.I. Initiative?"
"Nope," Ron said, lips popping. "And a good thing too, because when are we supposed to have Quidditch practice with all this? I mean, Quidditch try-outs, obviously. I've been thinking I could try for Keeper now that Wood's gone…"
While Ron dragged Harry over to talk to Angelina about upcoming Quidditch try-outs, Hermione went back to contemplating her schedule, bouncing her knee vigorously under the table. She couldn't help but feel on edge; not even a full day at Hogwarts and her expectations were out the window. And this was her O.W.L. year for Merlin's sake — why had things gone all pear-shaped now?
Finishing breakfast at top-speed, she began asking around to see if anyone else had this mysterious A.N.T.I. Initiative class. Out of the few other Gryffindors she consulted, only an equally-confused Dean Thomas had any idea what she was talking about. Surely she and Dean weren't the only ones in this unplanned class.
Her attention was diverted briefly when the owl carrying the Daily Prophet arrived. Wanting to keep tabs on the Ministry after what she'd learned at Grimmauld Place (and make sure that Rita kept her promise), Hermione had already renewed her subscription. Sirius had been right; Dumbledore's termination was front-page news. The Ministry was making it out to be a change initiated and wholly-supported by parents and the Ministry alike.
The Great Hall was now buzzing over the article. Fortunately, Umbridge was nowhere in sight to tell anyone off for it. Restless and unable to sit here any longer, Hermione started for Gryffindor tower. She needed more than five consecutive minutes this morning without another disaster unfolding. Perhaps she could use the spare time before this Conduct lesson to polish up her knitting skills; now that she had unfettered access to magic, progress would go much more quickly than before.
She had just passed into the Entrance Hall when she noticed Theo about to descend the steps to the dungeon.
"Theo!" she called out. "Theo, how are—"
Theo continued down the stairs without looking back, disappearing from sight almost immediately. Hermione frowned. He must not have heard her.
Hermione found Harry and Ron back outside the Great Hall just before eleven o'clock. She was surprised by the sheer number of people milling around the Entrance Hall; there were students from all four Houses, and several years' worth of each at that. In the middle of it all, she spotted Fred, George, and Lee quite conspicuously accepting money from a group of people in exchange for handfuls of colourful-looking sweets. She hoped those were leftovers from a previous excursion to Honeydukes, but had a sneaking suspicion otherwise.
"We're all together then?" Ron asked, looking around.
"Seems that way," Hermione replied. "Look, here comes the rest of the school now."
Everyone turned to watch the class before theirs file out of the Great Hall. It looked like every student under fifth year had been in the first class, which left the fifth through seventh years going next. It didn't bode well that most of the younger students came out with sour expressions. Luna wore her usual dreamy expression, but Ginny grimaced when she passed.
Heading into the Great Hall, it was the first time they'd seen Umbridge since the start-of-term feast. She wore robes the colour of dusk today, trimmed with frothy pink lace. Was Umbridge teaching the class personally, then?
The House tables were still arranged as usual. Hermione slid onto the bench at Gryffindor table between Harry and Ron. She caught Malfoy's eye two tables over where he sat between Theo and Goyle, raising a brow and tilting her head slightly towards Umbridge. With a brief twist of his lips, he gave a small shrug. Apparently he didn't know what this was all about, either. During their silent exchange, Theo never once looked up.
"Closer, now. Fill in up front, please," Umbridge called out sweetly, gesturing for those sitting closest to the doors to move forward. When everyone had arranged themselves to her satisfaction, Umbridge wasted no time beginning.
"Welcome! A very good morning to you all," Umbridge said, spreading her hands. Someone coughed and a few people tittered behind their hands. More than one person wore a scowl, likely due to some permanently disrupted Saturday morning plans.
Umbridge clicked her tongue. "That won't do at all. I should like you to reply 'Good morning, Headmistress Umbridge.' Ready? Good morning, everyone!"
A chorus of "Good morning, Headmistress Umbridge" rang around the Hall in varying degrees of apathy.
She clapped her hands together once, smiling around the room. "Wonderful. Now, I should like to head off any questions before we begin, so that we will avoid unpleasant interruptions today. The curriculum at Hogwarts has long been left up to the current Headmaster or Headmistress, and for a time, that was an acceptable balance of responsibility. Recently, however, the Ministry has begun to review your course schedule as it relates to contemporary times, and found it wanting."
"While relevant at one point in our history, the practice of teaching spells related to offensive and defensive use has become a seriously outdated tradition. Modern, respectable witches or wizards simply do not resort to duelling as did our mediaeval counterparts, rather choosing a more civilised resolution. For this reason, your former Defence Against the Dark Arts class has been struck from the curriculum in favour of more suitable training. Should you choose a career in which defensive spells will need to be practised, your secondary educational program will be more than sufficient."
Hermione clenched her jaw to stop from grinding her teeth. The nerve of the woman, acting like they weren't all in constant danger from a deranged Dark wizard. Harry opened his mouth to say something, no doubt about Voldemort, but shut it again at a withering look from Hermione. All he could do right now was to incense Umbridge further. It would likely be a bad idea to draw her ire so quickly — at least until they knew who and what they were dealing with.
Umbridge spent the next forty-five minutes going over all of the things they would be learning in their Conduct and Decorum classes this year, all things 'benefitting the social standing of proper young witches and wizards'. Guest teachers, all personal acquaintances of Umbridge, would rotate in for class as needed.
Hermione felt her insides curl with dread when Umbridge said that these classes were now mandated every year at Hogwarts. And she positively seethed with fury upon learning that girls, in their separate weekday class, would be learning things like cleaning charms, cooking charms, and table service, whereas boys would be introduced to things like Latin, networking, and ward development. Their joint lessons would focus on manners, dining etiquette, courting customs, and, to Hermione's sheer horror, formal dancing.
Umbridge's smile widened further and further as she spoke, her words constantly punctuated by her delighted, girlish laugh. It was pure lunacy — Umbridge was playing with them as she might with dolls. Hermione couldn't believe the Ministry had fallen for this ideology.
Well… yes, she could. What didn't make sense is why they were so intent on keeping students from learning to defend themselves. Given the current state of things, it was beyond infuriating. Sirius talked like Dumbledore had a plan to return to Hogwarts, and Hermione fervently hoped that worked out sooner rather than later. Dumbledore would fix this. He had to.
With a final reminder to be punctual or risk landing themselves in detention, Umbridge dismissed the class. Most people hung back, though, deciding that there was no point to leaving when lunch was about to begin. Thinking of the next meal caused Hermione to think of the house-elves working in the kitchens below. They had better still be receiving wages. Maybe she could ask Dobby.
Thinking of Dobby suddenly reminded Hermione of something. Over the summer, Harry had mentioned knowing about a vanishing cabinet somewhere within Hogwarts. Just before they'd been attacked by dementors, Hermione had been about to suggest asking Dobby about it. If anyone knew where things were kept, it would be the Hogwarts house-elves.
Hermione wolfed down her lunch, urging Harry and Ron to do the same.
"What? Why?" Ron moaned. "It's still Saturday, I want to get in some extra practice before try-outs…"
"It's important, Ron," Hermione said, then threw a significant look to Harry. "I want to ask Dobby about a cabinet."
Ron whinged all the way to the kitchens, but at least Harry didn't put up a fight.
"A vanishing cabinet, miss?" Dobby asked in his high-pitched, wheezy voice. The bauble on his hat swayed back and forth as he shook his head. "Dobby does not know of it."
"It was a great black and gold thing," Harry said, "but it got smashed up by Peeves my second year."
"Oh!" Dobby exclaimed, his round, tennis ball-sized eyes going wide. "If it is broken, we is probably putting it in the Come and Go Room, sir!"
"The what?" Hermione jumped in eagerly.
"The Come and Go Room, miss, or else known as the Room of Requirement!"
Dobby explained the Room of Requirement, a room that a person could only enter when they had need of it. It was sometimes there and sometimes not, but when it appeared, it was always equipped for the seeker's needs. As if Hermione needed any further confirmation, Dobby verified that the room was, in fact, on the seventh floor, just opposite a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls to do ballet.
Hermione smiled in satisfaction at having some answers at last. She couldn't wait to tell Malfoy she'd figured it out.
Hermione, Harry, and Ron hurried upstairs, thankfully finding the seventh floor corridor deserted.
"Okay…" Ron said slowly. "Dobby said to walk past this bit of wall three times while thinking about what we need. And what is it exactly that we need?"
Hermione hummed in thought. "Well, I'd say we start with specifics first. We're looking for the vanishing cabinet, so let's ask the room for that."
She walked back and forth three times, concentrating hard. The wall remained a blank stretch of stone.
They tried several variations of that over the next fifteen minutes to no avail.
"What if this was just one of Dobby's crackbrained ideas?" Ron said, slouching against the tapestry. One of the trolls was trying to club him on the head.
Hermione shook her head. "It isn't. I know for a fact the room exists. Malfoy got in here last year, remember?"
"No," Ron said scathingly. "And since when has Malfoy's word meant anything?"
Hermione ignored him.
"Let's try something simple," she suggested, tapping a finger to her lips as she thought. "Perhaps a bathroom? Just to prove that the room is here."
Harry shrugged, gesturing for her to do the honours. On her third pass, Hermione saw a polished wooden door materialise out of the corner of her eye. She reached out for the brass ring and pulled it open.
Hermione let out a delighted peal of laughter. In front of her sprawled an enormous bathroom, complete with several stalls and a row of gleaming pedestal sinks.
"Aha! Come look, it worked!"
Harry and Ron hurried to look over her shoulder.
"Ooh, I want to try," Ron said excitedly. "Harry, d'you think it can make an indoor Quidditch pitch?"
They took turns asking the room to churn out different scenarios until nearly dinnertime. As it turned out, the Room of Requirement could scrounge up a makeshift Quidditch pitch of sorts. It was smaller in scale than the real thing, but it had actual grass and even a selection of brooms. Ron was eager to try them all out, and Harry and Hermione indulged him for a time.
On his first go, Harry called up a spacious room lit by flickering torches, where wooden bookshelves lined the walls and numerous silk cushions lay scattered across the floor. In one corner, there was a whole host of Dark Detectors, and a cracked mirror that Hermione shivered to recognise from the fake Moody's office last year. Harry claimed he had asked the room for a place to learn to defend himself.
After seeing the books that had appeared for Harry's room, Hermione had the room create a rather splendid library, outfitted with several squashy chairs and a roaring fireplace. She would be hard put not to spend every second of free time here after seeing this.
Unfortunately, none of the rooms that appeared contained anything resembling a vanishing cabinet. After several more rounds each, with every request becoming more and more outlandish as they tested the room's limits, even Hermione had to admit that they probably wouldn't find it today.
"Maybe we need to ask Dobby to be more specific," Harry suggested. "Or just have him show us one evening. That storage closet that showed up for Ron was definitely too small to hold something that big."
"Hermione," Ron began thoughtfully as they started downstairs for dinner, "you said the room doesn't show on the Map, right?"
"Right," she confirmed. "Malfoy disappeared off of it entirely when he went inside."
Ron's lip curled at the mention of Malfoy again, but he wisely remained silent.
"Why?" Hermione asked.
Ron's expression cleared. "Oh, just thinking it'd be a good place to hide from Umbridge whenever she signs us up for waltzing lessons or whatever she was on about this morning."
Harry snorted, tipping his glasses back up his nose. Hermione laughed too, but something about what Ron had said tickled her memory. She didn't have time to dwell on it as they arrived at the Great Hall.
Hermione ate a hurried dinner, too, remembering that there was a fifth-year prefects meeting tonight in the study lounge near the library. Neville kindly waited around until she'd finished so that they could walk up together.
"So what do you think of all the changes this year?" Neville asked her as they rounded a corner.
Hermione grimaced. "I can't say I'm pleased with any of them. Especially on our O.W.L. year."
Neville frowned sympathetically. "Yeah, it's not gonna be the same without Dumbledore. And getting rid of our Defence classes? I dunno, it just seems odd at a time like this, with You-Know-Who back and everything."
"So you believe Harry?"
"Oh, yeah." Neville nodded earnestly. "Gran's always said You-Know-Who would come back someday, and Dumbledore believes it. She's not happy that he's gone this year. Not happy at all. But, she's still really proud that Dumbledore chose me as prefect before he left." Neville smiled shyly down at Hermione as they walked.
The prefect's lounge turned out to be a cosy pair of rooms just past the entrance to the main library. The first area had its own small collection of books, neatly arranged on shelves lining the walls, and a fireplace rivalling the one conjured by the Room of Requirement. Several comfy chairs were scattered throughout the central area, and a handful of tables interspersed those. Decorations from all four Houses were present in the shared space, overlaying the rich wood panelling of the walls. A series of windows along the opposite wall gave a magnificent view of the distant mountain range.
The adjoining room was quite a bit smaller and dominated by a large, square table, and only a single arch top window saved the space from feeling overly cramped. It was there that their regular meetings would be held.
Malfoy was already inside. His face remained impassive as Hermione walked in behind Neville, but his eyes followed her to the other side of the table. He was seated between Daphne and Padma, twirling a quill between nimble fingers. Hermione bit back a smile, thinking that at least some things hadn't changed. Malfoy blinked once as Hermione gratefully accepted the chair that Neville pulled out for her next to Ernie Macmillan.
Absorbed as she was in the instruction and set-up of their twice weekly patrols by the Head Boy and Girl, Hermione was taken by surprise when the meeting came to a close just after eight. As everyone began filing out of the room, she lingered, pretending to inspect her schedule more closely.
Neville grinned over at her. "Back to the common room, then?"
"Um… I'll be right behind you, Neville," she said, returning the smile. "I just want to check out the rest of the lounge before I go up."
Malfoy, who had started to rise, stilled at her words. Neville shrugged, trailing out of the room behind Daphne.
When the door in the main room shut behind the last prefect to leave, Hermione looked up to find Malfoy already watching her.
He flashed her a knowing smirk. "Subtle, Granger."