Author's Note:

And this is the chapter I'd been wanting to write since the beginning (variations of this sub-arc had been in my mind for several years, actually, but without a solid enough main story to be attached to). Fantasy medical stuff! Action! Alas, I didn't realise how much groundwork needs to be laid before I can get here.

Also, thanks to new readers who are dedicated to leaving a lot of reviews! (AnnaOxford in particular).

'-

39 Hogsmeade Crisis I

Tom is shot. Hogsmeade is attacked. The two of them enters the crossfire. Hermione enters her field medic mode. Arranging evacuations. Raids. Aftermaths. A prefect meeting.

(Summary applies to both chapters titled 'Hogsmeade Crisis')

'-

Hermione stared at the hand that had been holding Tom's back. Red.

Her blood ran cold. The plus side of facing muggles, she supposed, was that no one placed any anti-apparition wards. The moment they were both standing, she apparated them back to the Shack. The dust swirled past her face, making her want to sneeze, and the air inside was noticeably staler now that they had just been in the open air, yet she was still relieved. They were just inside the door—Tom had his back to it, even.

"Hermione?"

She recognised his expression right now—she'd seen it in Harry, in her friends. It was trust. Her hand had moved and started casting the diagnostic spell as she whispered the incantation.

"You've been shot." She said softly. He didn't seem worried.

"It doesn't really hurt much."

"And some people walk around with what they think is a minor gunshot wound before suddenly dropping dead. No gradual worsening whatsoever." She said. Hermione read the results; a cracked rib—so that's where the bullet was stuck in. She augmented her hearing and pressed her ear to his chest. His heartrate was rather elevated, but it was no surprise after all the running.

"Take a deep breath."

He complied. She noticed the way his breathing stopped suddenly when the pain made itself obvious, but Tom continued after that. "Hold it. Release it slowly."

Alright. No punctured lung. She thought. Hermione returned her hearing to normal levels and asked to see his back. She could see that he really thought it wasn't necessary, but he didn't mind humouring her. She only needed him to go down to his shirtsleeves to check—based on the neat entrance wound, the bullet wasn't fragmented.

Well, she hoped to hell that it wasn't some type of bullet she failed to recognise that would fragment on impact. For now, she'd just seal it, as well as cast Episkey that would be enough to close up any ruptured blood vessel, barring any really deep ones. Fortunately, no harm to major arteries and veins showed up when she checked (various diagnostic spells are actually rather good at detecting large damages—it's the smaller, finer ones they usually have a problem with).

"Episkey." A few more of that and she was done.

Hermione was still holding Tom's suit jacket instead of handing it back as he stared quizzically at her. She still couldn't stop thinking about the possibility of shrapnel in the bloodstream, though. All it would take is for one to get lodged in the heart or brain before it became fatal. It would be highly ironic if she managed to get him killed by muggle weapon due to her interference. She didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or cry.

"Hermione?" He asked, his voice quieter. She must've looked tense if he was trying not to spook her.

"I'm trying to remember a spell analogous to Anapneo. If that one was designed to clear the airway of foreign objects in it, this one is designed to take out foreign objects out of the bloodstream—the key word here is foreign. You're out of luck if you're trying to take out a clump of fat or a blood clot, for one." Harry and Ron faced wizards, not muggles. She didn't really have the spell at the top of her head because of it.

Tom didn't stop her rambling. "Alright. Does it have a Latin root like most known spells or from a Greek one like Anapneo and Episkey?"

"Greek," she breathed out in relief at the first clue she remembered. "Like many medical spells, it's Greek."

He nodded. "Now, what does it mean? I'm sure for one as diligent as you, you've always tried to find the English translation to all the spells you learned."

"It compels blood to flow. Which implies free-flow, of course."

"Ah, not one that orders the flow to be free?"

"That wasn't specific enough about the sort of flow, I guess."

"So, it's similar to how I breathe in Anapneo implies the ability to breathe with an unobstructed airway. Hmm. It would be flow, blood or flow, bloodstream, isn't it? I suspect there's a difference in the subject—as it's not referring to 'I', the sufferer, but the sufferer's 'blood'. It would be Roí instead of Réo, then." When he saw her surprised expression, he actually did roll his eyes. "Please, Hermione, I'm not entirely incompetent in Greek."

She snorted. If he was 'not entirely incompetent', then most other Hogwarts student would be 'abysmally incompetent'. On the other hand, she really appreciated his ability to not feed her panic, as well as being able to keep up with her thoughts enough to be a guide.

"Roi aima," Hermione cast.

She remembered the spell now (intricate wand movements included), ending it with the wand pointed at her left palm. There was nothing on her palm but flecks of blood. Even with the futility of the spell, she still couldn't help the relieved laughter at actually knowing that there were really no little splinters waiting to wreak havoc in his bloodstream.

"Satisfied yet, Healer?" He asked her.

Hermione let out a long sigh. "Yes."

"Then we might as well head back and take out the one who shot me." He said.

"What?"

"Well, I'm not about to drop dead right now, am I?" Tom was annoyingly casual about this. She glared at him.

"No," she admitted.

"Just a little trickle of blood instead of major bleeding too before you fixed that, am I right?" He asked back.

"Well, yes," she answered with reluctance.

"Am I noticeably handicapped?" He asked back.

She glared at him, to no effect, quite aware that she was good at what she did and she'd been taught by the best too. "I don't think so, no."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

'-

Hermione apparated them next to the walls of the storefront with the crates.

People had run back from the street once they figured out it wasn't safe. The Hogwarts wizard was still behind the crates, but he'd taken the bound attacker with him as well. At least he can think under pressure. This was also when she was confronted once more with the wounded people still lying down on the street or trying to inch away.

"Damn," Hermione cursed as she saw them.

"Don't tell me you're going to get them," Tom cut in.

"But—"

"Is a healer even expected to endanger themselves to rescue people? Wouldn't it be better to keep the victim number down instead of adding to it?"

Hermione couldn't help but walk in circles as she thought. He was speaking sense, but she still wanted to do something.

"I know! Watch the windows, Tom. If you see any sign of the shooter from this angle, you can certainly attack him. Fumos."

She cast the Smokescreen Spell out towards the street. When it thinned out due to the sheer area it had to cover, she did it several more times and Tom picked up what she was doing and assisted her by casting the same spell.

"If you still get shot after this, you will not be going out there again." His voice was clipped.

Hermione was really getting too used to his habit of either commanding or demanding things, because she barely even blinked at that.

"Your conditions are noted and accepted." She replied.

Again, his words made sense. The brunette witch saw no reason to be contrary for contrariness' sake, though his surprised expression at her quick agreement was a little annoying. "What? You're right. If a smokescreen can't stop me from getting hit, then the risk is too big."

With that, she set off to the nearest person—a man—who had been trying to crawl away.

"Hi. I'm Hermione Curie, and I'm going to try to heal you enough to move, so please stay still, alright?"

"You shouldn't be here! It's dangerous!"

"That's what the Smokescreen Spell is for." She said, with the same level of equanimity. Hermione took the pulse at his wrist. "I'm going to take your pulse at several different places now, alright? What's your name?"

"Page, Ebenezer Page," he replied, calmer now after she'd assured him.

He seemed relieved at her presence. She spoke to him about every step she did. He wasn't pale and his body temperature didn't seem too different from her own, so she eliminated shock quickly. The pulse on his wrist was steady, as was the one behind his knee (she couldn't exactly reach his ankle with his shoes on). Not enough blood loss to weaken the heartbeat at extremities, and he had none of the faded, disappearing breathing sounds that would signal pneumothorax.

The Hogwarts student that had been hiding behind the crate took the initiative to run out while the smokescreen was in effect. He even took the pains of dragging the bound and unconscious attacker with him (someone should teach him the fireman carry, she mused, he certainly has the size for it).

Ebenezer Page was certainly conscious enough to tell her where he was shot—one to his side and one on his stomach. Casting the same spell that she'd just used on Tom actually gave her a few splinters of metal that made her wince. She simply dropped them on the ground.

Hermione ran several diagnostic spells. Cracked rib—wasn't surprised with the location of the wound. No perforated intestine or stomach. Good. His breathing didn't sound irregular either, so wherever the bullet that hit his ribs from the side was, it didn't hit his lungs. Another spell told her that his blood oxygen levels normal, just to be sure (and she didn't give a damn if that particular spell wasn't even invented yet). A few more cursory checks and after cleaning and healing his entry wounds (and sternly reminding him that he would still need to get checked by a healer that knew how to treat wounds from muggle weapons), she assured him that he was certainly well enough to run for cover at the nearest shop. He did just that.

To her surprise, the Hogwarts student had run back to her position after dropping off the attacker somewhere (presumably with Tom).

"Is there anything that I can do to help?"

She was close enough to see the prefect badge he'd pinned at the collar of his shirt. Gryffindor prefect; it was no wonder that Tom knew him. He certainly didn't look like a fifth year, what with a faint shadow of a beard that he had. Probably seventh-year, then.

"You can help move people if some of them can't move under their own power," she said. "But we wouldn't know who's who until we get to them. I'm Hermione Curie—I wish we could meet under better conditions, but well…"

"Timaeus Crouch. I've heard about you, but…" he seemed to restrain himself. She let out a small chuckle before breaking into a brisk jog.

"But you have no idea how much of it is real. Well, I think I can assure you that I'm a decent enough field medic—or field healer, I suppose, if that's what you call it."

"Oh, I'm already convinced now. You needn't concern yourself about it." He replied, easily keeping up with her speed.

There was a witch lying face down, and Hermione already had a bad feeling about it but forced herself to check anyway. The skin was cold, and there was no detectable pulse. Considering the witch's white hair, she wasn't surprised. The elderly is always a high-risk group, she reminded herself as she turned the poor woman around, checking for obstructions to her airway. She might be able to revive the lady if she chose CPR, with might being the key word. They saw a witch who was frantically waving at them from behind a bench and Hermione had to choose.

Triage, she reminded herself. You can save the living but not the dead.

Even knowing that, it didn't stop the knot in her stomach from forming. Fortunately for her, she was a witch—she didn't even need to do CPR manually.

"Zontana Cardia!" Hermione casted towards the prone witch. That should palpitate the heart for another minute. The witch's chest rose slowly from the artificial power given, before falling down as the diaphragm deflated. If that didn't help…she winced. The wand movements weren't that simple either…

The hidden shooter sent a random shot. It fell wide off the mark from either of them. When she looked around, the murky air from the Smokescreen Spell was still maintained.

"Do you think you could repeat the wand movements?" She asked, suddenly turning to Crouch. He stared at her in surprise. "For the spell that assists the heart to beat. It has to be repeated every minute, because it only lasts for a minute, but I have to see the other victims."

"You could demonstrate that and I'll try to follow," he said.

She did. Once, twice and even a third time. She watched him try to pick it up and see the spell fizzle halfway to its destination (she asked him to just randomly cast to a bush—they could observe the light from the wand if it worked). It was still imperfect.

"Just keep trying," she assured him. "And try it with the lady over there once more. If nothing happens, don't feel too bad. Remember, it's not your fault. If you hadn't been with me, I'd be forced to abandon her immediately and move on. Triage. Sometimes, painful priorities have to be made in the field."

Hermione hoped it was enough.

"I understand." He went back to the prone witch, still trying out the movements.

The brunette witch also hoped she wasn't condemning a fellow student to nightmares if he failed if saving someone's life, but a choice had to be made. She forced herself to move on to the victim who was awake and waving her hand; she was homely in appearance, with straw-coloured hair, but her eyes were bright with intelligence. The witch was unlucky enough to be shot by the attacker's misfire—the bullet hit her left foot. Hermione's smile froze on her face when she realised what the man did next—he shot her in the chest.

"Let's see if I can stabilise you enough to get you out of here, shall we?" Hermione began. "I'm Hermione Curie."

"Joyce Pickering," the blonde breathed out, "and I'm very glad you're here."

Her skin wasn't cold yet but it was cooler and her breaths were short. Diagnostic spells told her of broken ribs (absolutely not surprised there) in two locations. The witch had closed the entry wounds of both shots with Episkey herself—she simply couldn't reach her back for the exit wound. It explained why despite the worrying splash of red on her chest, she was still relatively fine. Ms. Pickering was quite talented at it too—her right foot was still now just a mush of crushed bones as well as being one massive bruise, but at least she wasn't bleeding. Her heartbeat was steady even if it wasn't always detectable from the wrist.

The exit wound, at least, wasn't a sucking chest wound. Hermione closed it, figuring that it wasn't likely to do much harm if closed. Once she made sure that the broken ribs were aligned well, a quick Costa Emendum mended them. The new bone connecting the rib ends to the ribcage wasn't exactly as hard as proper bone yet, and Hermione had her suspicions that the mended ribs weren't as straight as they seemed at a glance, but it would do. They can always break it again and realign it later.

Presumably with a lot of painkillers—but that's much better than failing to breathe right now and possibly dying if it got worse.

Now, Hermione just had to figure out if fixing that was enough, or if something else was bothering Ms. Pickering's lungs.

Crouch called her back in a hurry when he noticed the heart was stopping and he hadn't managed to cast the spell.

This was how Hermione thought what the hell. Joyce Pickering's condition was stable enough and she could certainly spare two minutes or three. She fixed up any cracked or broken ribs the witch had with Costa Emendum. She had to appreciate the irony of teaching how to do physical CPR to a wizard.

Tom came up to her side a minute later, as she was watching Crouch perform CPR.

"What spell was it?" He asked in a low voice.

"What spell what?"

"What was spell that he didn't get, that you had to teach him how to do it physically?" She had no idea why his tone was so acerbic, but she had to be impressed at the speed that he put events together.

"How did you—"

"You didn't need to do any of that before you left her for the witch at the bench. If you can teach me, I'm sure I can take his position and he can continue casting the Fumos that I'm sure isn't beyond him."

"Tom, your misanthropy is showing," Hermione noted. On the other hand, she had no idea why she found it slightly amusing.

He was unconcerned. "Yet there is none that would complain."

That was what she did in the next minute while occasionally watching Crouch—teaching the heart-palpitating spell to him. Tom, being Tom, managed to execute it perfectly, even if she did think that his bored expression was a little much. She tapped Crouch on the shoulder and explained the exchange of tasks. The Gryffindor looked relieved.

"Yes, I can cast Fumos," he said with confidence. Tom simply stood on the other side of the middle-aged witch to cast.

"Zontana Cardia."

The light blue spark that swirled in a circle upon hitting her chest before disappearing, like water swirling down the drain, was the first sign that he had it down. The other was the chest rising and falling slowly. Crouch had moved to the periphery to continue casting smokescreen spells as well as slinging offensive spells if the sniper started shooting again. Provided that he can locate the man—it was an inconvenient reality that the smokescreen worked both ways. Tom had admitted in a roundabout way that he'd had trouble locating the shooter.

"After five minutes, cast Lumos and check her pupils under the light. It should contract. If it doesn't…" she sighed. "If it doesn't, then her brainstem's already dead and she's a lost cause."

Hermione left for Joyce Pickering with relief. It really made a difference if you had a team with you, no matter how completely accidental and strange that team was.

'-

The middle-aged witch was a lost cause, as Tom joined her five minutes later without saying a word. Hermione felt better knowing that they've at least tried their best. On the plus side, he's not going to have any nightmares from it, unlike Crouch, she thought dryly.

Joyce Pickering could be moved soon enough. Tom called Crouch over to carry her, discreetly casting a lightweight charm on the witch. Afterwards, he added a few more smokescreen spells in the air. The remaining two victims hit her in the gut rather fierce; it was a small boy and his mother. The woman had fallen and covered him on purpose, telling him to stay still and not to make any noise so that the bad man won't catch him.

The mother was unconscious when Hermione found them—the puddle of blood next to her leg didn't help matters. The boy was uncharacteristically quiet. He didn't even complain about the wetness he must feel on his trousers from the blood trickling. Hermione quickly cleaned it for him.

"What's your name?"

"Tristan Moon."

"Alright, Tristan. I'm Hermione Curie, and I'll try to save your mother. But first, we're going to have to keep you safe. Tom will show you a place to hide, alright? Your mother's going to be worried when she wakes up and she sees that you're still here. There's still a bad man out there." Hermione said.

"But I'll meet her when she wakes up, right?"

"Yes, you'll meet her once she wakes up."

He nodded, unusually grave. Tom had a jaded expression the moment he knew she was going to pass the child to him, but it didn't show at all when he spoke to young Tristan.

Mrs. Moon's pulse was weak but present. Hermione closed all her wounds quickly with Episkey. They can worry about potential infection later when she wasn't bleeding to death. No broken or fractured bones, thank goodness. She began to think that the main issue was to get blood into her as soon as possible.

"Crouch!" She shouted and waved at him. He had been standing at the sides already and he readily ran towards her when she called.

"I'll need you to carry Mrs. Moon to the nearest store—"

"That would be the tailor's shop."

"Alright, I assume that's also where her son is. Make sure she's laid down comfortably and wrapped to keep warm. I'll check on her again later."

He picked her up in a bridal carry. Hermione remembered what Tom did and cast a featherlight charm on the unconscious woman.

Throughout all this, she'd been casting her gaze around the length of the street, waiting for some sort of help to come but seeing none.

Why aren't the Aurors here yet?

'-

"I don't think going in straight for the shooter is a good idea," Hermione said as she and Tom walked towards what she now knew to be a tailor's shop under cover of the magical smoke.

"We don't know how many people are there other than the shooter. We don't know how long they've been there and if they had the time to set traps."

"Muggles?" His expression was dubious.

She huffed. "Don't be silly. You were already shot by a muggle weapon and you've just seen the sort of damage it can inflict on all those poor people earlier. A muggle trap can be just as dangerous. I thought you'd stopped taking faulty mental shortcuts."

He nodded, acquiescing. "True. Well, we can always try to evacuate everyone from the stores here—I'm sure they have back doors. The floo is still working and you can't be the only person that can apparate around here."

"And then what?"

"How about burning the building down?" He offered. "He's guaranteed to end up dead that way and we would not need to risk anything. I hope the storeowner has insurance because it would such a shame otherwise."

"No! That's just—oh, dammit that was not funny."

The smirk on Tom's face told her that he thought otherwise.

'-

The business of the tailor's shop was made obvious by the presence of several mannequins on display, as well as the bolt of cloths stacked in shelves lining the wall.

Of all the people who sheltered in the shop as well as those who were caught while visiting, she wasn't surprised that there were the three Slytherin witches she'd dubbed in her head as the three idiots. She ignored them for now, even as she can see two of them blanching when they saw her step in with Tom. It wasn't as if they were going to try anything with the enthusiastic Mr. Page waving from a little to the back, where he seemed to be regaling several other people. She presumed he was telling them of what happened. Hermione waved back with a smile, while hoping he wasn't telling anything too wild about her.

The attacker was unconscious and slumped in a corner. No one approached him.

"There's a fireplace here, right?" She asked the room. There were some uncertain murmurs, but a witch with bleached blonde hair answered Hermione firmly.

"Yes, there is. Why?"

"Because I think it's time to evacuate all the hurt people to St. Mungo's. Mrs. Moon, in particular, needed a blood transfusion." Hermione stated.

"I feel fine!" Mr. Page insisted from his corner, prompting several people to chuckle.

Hermione didn't resist the urge to roll her eyes. "And what did I say earlier, Mr. Page? You have to see a Healer that can give you a more thorough check-up. In fact, if you don't voluntarily leave, I'll stun you and cart you there myself."

There was a laughter or two, especially as Ebenezer grumbled audibly, but he didn't fight it.

"Now, the nice lady over here," Hermione turned to the blonde who'd answered her question.

"Iris," she said.

"Ms. Iris, can show you the fireplace, and St. Mungo's is just a floo-travel away."

Mr. Page assisted the Ms. Pickering who was still feeling lightheaded while Timaeus Crouch had picked up Mrs. Moon, with Tristan trailing behind him.

"Crouch, thanks for the help."

The Gryffindor shook his head. "I hadn't been able to do much until the two of you arrived."

"But you still stuck with us when you could've left." She noted.

"Well, why didn't you leave?" He asked back, giving her a knowing look when Hermione could only chuckle at his question. "You would've made a fine Gryffindor, Curie."

Hermione grinned, her smile tinged with a hint of something else. "I know, but it's nice to hear it from someone else. Good luck."

"The best of luck to you too."

With that, the wounded were on their way to get help. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She glanced at Tom, making a gesture with her head towards the room.

"You have no inclination to explain things to them?" He asked.

"I'm feeling rather mentally spent right now, so, no thanks. I just want to sit down and enjoy the quiet."

He agreed with the division of tasks she'd just suggested. While he stepped fully into the room, catching the attention of most, Hermione went off to find some sort of stool to sit on—she sent a silent stunner in the direction of the bound attacker, just to ensure that he didn't wake up too early. A witch helpfully slid one over to her and she thanked the woman for it.

"As I'm sure most of you have noticed there was an attacker in the middle of the street," more than one people glanced at the unconscious attacker. "My name is Tom Riddle and the charming lady that accompanied me is Hermione Curie. Yes, we have disarmed him and tied him down, but he's not the only attacker. There is still another one hiding in the second story of one of the stores—"

Gasps were audible throughout the room.

"This is why it's safer for everyone to start moving away from here, probably through the floo network. Now, I'm sure that many of you would like to simply go home or leave for more pleasant places. But consider if rumours of the attack on Hogsmeade had already spread by now. Maybe it had even made it into the news segment of the Wizarding Wireless."

He paused. Hermione wondered if he knew exactly how many seconds were needed for best effect.

"Imagine your worried families and friends trying to find out what happened to you. Would they have gone straight to the place you've chosen to go to, or would they try to look for you in Hogsmeade?"

Tom nodded in apparent sympathy as realisation dawned on most of them.

"Yes. That is why I'd recommend you to only go to a different place in Hogsmeade. The people at the Three Broomsticks, for one, have managed to subdue the attacker there too. I caught up with this as I was heading this way."

There was a more optimistic feeling in the air as they heard that. Hermione noticed the blonde witch—Iris—that she assumed was the shop's staff returning from escorting people to St. Mungo's, though for some reason Crouch wasn't back yet. Hermione waved at her and stood up. The shop assistant walked in her direction out of curiosity.

"How was it?" Hermione asked.

"The healers are seeing them." Iris said. The brunette sighed in relief while the shop assistant continued. "The wizard who was with me—Tim, was it? He wanted to see Mrs. Moon taken care of, her son is settled and comfortable and even volunteered to try contacting her family members and explain to them what happened. He's really responsible, isn't he?"

Hermione had to hold back her grin. So, he told her his name was Tim, was it?

"Well, he is a Gryffindor prefect. You'd have to be a masochist to accept the position if you don't enjoy responsibility to some degree."

Iris snorted, but she also had a small grin on her face. Tom was still speaking to the room.

"The Three Broomsticks is a pub. At usual weekends, it's full enough as it is, add today's additional crowd and I fear that anyone trying to go there by floo wouldn't even be able to step out of the fireplace."

That actually got a few chuckles from the room, from people who were well aware what the crowd was like.

"Now, as the Hog's Head Inn is at the other side of Hogsmeade, there is a question I need to ask. Has anyone tried to contact Hog's Head Inn by floo?"

There were some murmurs of uncertainty as people look around the room, checking whether anyone they knew did it. From the indistinct mumblings going on, it was clear that the answer was a resounding no.

"We'll need a volunteer to step in and check, then. I presume it's relatively safe as it is on the other side of Hogsmeade." Tom said.

The muttering in the room was still no less focused than before. Surprisingly, it was Iris who stepped forward. "I'll go. We have a fireplace at the back."

"Thank you very much, Miss Iris," he nodded, according her some respect for her mettle. "I commend you on your courage."

She smiled, changing her merely pretty face into something lovely.

"Oh, no, thank you. It's not much compared to what you and Hermione did. It's the least I could do."

Hermione disagreed, though she spoke softly to avoid the whole room hearing. "It's not without risk. We don't actually know anything about the Inn."

"Well, we won't know until we try, yeah?"

She met Hermione's eyes without fear. The brunette had to admit that the shop assistant wasn't backing down.

"Cast a shield spell before you step out of the fireplace," she suggested, unable to stop worrying.

"I'll be fine, but I'll do as you say."

The blonde witch walked towards the back once more.

"Now, has anyone contacted the Aurors?" Hermione asked.

"We tried! But none of the calls got through." Another witch expressed her frustration. She was slim and fashionable—if this was the 1920s, she would've been a star among the flapper girls. Hermione couldn't help but frown at her words.

"What do you mean it didn't get through?"

"When there's a national emergency, or if the Aurors are currently overwhelmed—like last year—they sometimes close their floo connection."

"But we're the emergency," Hermione didn't hide her annoyance.

"I know. What if they didn't think it was important enough?" the other witch fretted.

"That can't be it. They're not doing their jobs otherwise," was her reply. It was unusual as the floo network tended to be very reliable. As for the Aurors themselves…well, she'd seen how dedicated Harry and Ron could be, and the least you could say about Moody was about how dedicated he was.

"What do you know about the Aurors?"

It was one of the Slytherin witches who said that, in a slightly belligerent tone. Hermione merely gave her a long unimpressed stare and the Slytherin witch couldn't keep the eye contact longer than she can. She dismissed them again.

"If anyone has any idea of a place in Hogsmeade that's not too close from here, that's also convenient to gather in, other than Hog's Head Inn or Three Broomsticks, then they can make the suggestion. The more alternative places that people can go to, the better." Hermione said.

Hermione didn't mention Hogwarts. She knew that the only Hogwarts fireplace accessible to floo travel (as opposed to floo communication) is in the headmaster's office, and she suspected perhaps the teachers' offices or their residences. Yet even the access is complicated there. It was probable that no outside visitors can enter if not by the explicit invitation of a member of the staff—in this case, it would mean that the floo connection would have to be opened from Hogwarts.

Compared to other places, Hogwarts was a fortress that was difficult to enter, and she was fine with keeping it that way.

"The Hog's Head Inn is safe," Iris had returned.

Hermione could see relieved expressions spreading around the room. She approached the shop assistant quietly.

"Can I trust you with that guy?" She gestured her head towards where the unconscious attacker lay. "Just cast a featherweight charm on him and you can cart him around easily."

"Ah, good idea," the blonde nodded. "What do you want to do with him?"

"I'd say hand him over to the Aurors, but they didn't seem to be showing up just yet. I think you can entrust the owner of Hog's Head Inn to watch over him, though. You'd probably need to explain what happened here to give him context, though."

"What, that you're askin' him to look after the chump for you?"

"I'm afraid so."

"No problem. Good luck, Hermione."

"You too, Iris."

Tom had just fielded a few impromptu questions and had now turned back to the main topic.

"Now, we know for certain that Hog's Head Inn is safe, and merely one floo travel away. Everyone, please head to the fireplace in an orderly fashion." Tom spoke up. There was something to be said for the effectiveness of a calm and good-looking wizard in getting people to move without many arguments. She had a feeling that if she were to attempt it herself, she'd probably have to deal with more setbacks.

Iris weaved her way through the people easily towards the bound attacker, probably by dint of experience. She threw him over her shoulder, what with the help of the featherlight charm, and raised her voice.

"Oy! Everyone, please don't shove! There's enough floo powder for all, alright? No need to panic." Iris said.

She managed to get most people to pay attention to her as she explained to them what she'd found and seen, and that it really was safe at the inn. She did manage to confirm that Three Broomsticks was indeed secured from someone who'd been there, though at the same time she warned that it was also rather full, so she didn't exactly recommend that to outgoing people. While Hermione was pleased about things going well, something else was happening behind her.

"Please, let us help you." A familiar female voice said.

On the other hand, Hermione might be counting her eggs before they hatch.

Hermione tried to hold back the feeling of schadenfreude she felt as she turned around and saw the three Slytherin witches in front of Tom. Some amusement must still have leaked through, as Tom shared a mocking look with her from over the head of one of the three witches. It was fleeting, but she was getting better at spotting these passing glimpses on him and other people. Other witches (and the occasional wizard) had been more accommodating and simply head back. Of course, they might just be too relieved to be able to leave.

"Miss Carrow, the last time I checked you did not even make it to Advanced Defence class," Tom said.

"It doesn't mean I can't duel." She insisted.

"How many of your spells can you cast silently? How many can you cast with abbreviated wand movements? Can any of you apparate?" There wasn't the slightest trace of impatience in his voice, but he did not hold back his words. She could see that the most princess-like of the three of them were taken aback by Tom's professional requirements.

"Surely that is not necessary against a muggle?" The tallest of them asked. She was also the one who seemed to be the best at fighting compared to the other two.

The slightest furrow of his eyebrows was the only hint to his rising annoyance. Hermione thought that she could be a bit more generous and try rescue him.

"If you're really curious, I'll fight any one of you one-on-one, and I'll promise to defeat you using only one spell sent at you. I'll send no other spells to attack. What do you say?" She said. It might be petty of her, but she took distinct pleasure in the way their backs stiffened and their spines straightening up from her words.

"You—"

Whatever the tall witch was going to say, Hermione didn't know, as she'd cut it off herself.

"That's a good idea," Tom cheerfully replied. "You see, the last time Hermione and I fought, we only managed a tie. I'm confident that if you can keep up with her, you can certainly keep up with us."

The blonde princess-like witch had an expression of disbelief at his statement, but at least she was smart enough not to say her opinion out loud. Between Hermione's challenge and Tom's statement, the two of them had managed to back the witches to a corner now.

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End Notes:

I did say that this fic is going to be on a weekly/biweekly basis, but so far it's still been practically weekly, barring some exceptions, since I wanted to get the story moving fast enough until we get here. From this point, I would occasionally update after two weeks had passed instead of one week because, well, studying and the usual demands of real life on my time. At least no one can complain that I left you hanging at last chapter's cliffhanger.

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Additional Notes: (characters are listed in the order of their last names)

Jemima Avery (OC): Fifth-year Slytherin prefect. Shares Advanced Potions and Advanced Charms with Tom. Her first name means 'dove' in Hebrew. Blonde, beautiful and taught very well of how to show herself to her best advantage in the cutthroat competition of finding the best appropriate husband (Marriage is Serious Business among the purebloods), she's one of the few classical pureblooded princess of Slytherin House. Too clingy for Tom's peace of mind.

Violetta Carrow (OC): Fifth-year Slytherin. Shares Advanced Potions and Advanced Charms with Tom. Has dark hair, her name comes from the flower 'violet', as well as also carrying the meaning for the colour violet. Twin sister to Rufus Carrow. A known close friend to Jemima Avery and very protective of her.

Timaeus Crouch (OC): Seventh-year Gryffindor prefect. His name is the perfect pun if he's going to be the father to canon's Bartimaeus Crouch Sr. ('Bartimaeus' itself meant 'son of Timaeus'). Timaeus is the Latinized form of the Greek name Τιμαιος (Timaios), derived from τιμαω (timao) "to honour". A prefect that takes his duty seriously.

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