Hermione quickly came to the conclusion that the books Quirrell had recommended to her were utterly fascinating, incredibly detailed, and very, very inappropriate for her to be reading. While Snape's book had explained the basics of rituals and what they could do, Quirrell's were more about destroying your enemies from afar in terrible, traumatic ways without them ever knowing you were doing it. Hermione was shocked that the library even had such books. Given their age, she wondered if they'd been legacy-ed in, somehow. If she were a librarian and had ancient, valuable books, she doubted she'd want to give them up, regardless of what they were about.
Despite the books' help, it became obvious to Hermione that a ritual would not work in dealing with Pansy. Everything the books suggested was extreme and incredibly malicious. Hermione just wanted to scare Pansy and humiliate her a bit – not kill her.
Pansy's barbs had been getting steadily worse. It wasn't just the insulting gift or the barbs about Muggle holidays, but the sneering remarks in the evenings had returned, and the scoffing at everything she did like she was lesser. Pansy hadn't gone so far as to flat-out call her a Muggleborn or a Mudblood, but Hermione wouldn't be surprised if she did soon – she'd certainly been hinting around it for weeks. Whatever shock and careful wariness Pansy had developed after seeing her unscathed the day after the bullying incident had long since worn off, and Hermione had had enough.
Hermione had gotten the idea to craft some sort of illusion to make Pansy's blood look like mud, and then arrange for her to get hurt somehow. Then when she was bleeding, everyone would see Pansy was bleeding, and that her blood looked like mud, and Hermione could make some sort of smart quip, and Pansy would run off crying, and her classmates would look at her with a new respect.
…It all made sense in her head, anyway.
Illusion spells were definitely not something Hermione could manage, though, she'd reluctantly discovered, and she couldn't expect to for a few years. Like glamours, they required a continued use of intense magical power – much more than she had. She considered hiring the Weasley Twins to craft something for her, but that felt too much like cheating. This was an internal Slytherin matter – she needed to keep it to inside Slytherin.
It was through searching in the library, scanning the stacks of books the card catalogue had produced when she gave it the subject "blood", that Hermione came upon a possible plan. It wouldn't be as good as making Pansy's blood appear like it was mud, but it might work, if she got everything to be timed right.
As Hermione considered the idea further, gnawing on a quill, it gained further merit. Even the potential problems she could see with it could be turned in her favor.
All that was left would be to master the spells, pick a time and place, and come up with her smart remark.
Hermione smirked and got to work.
Hermione chose a Tuesday morning, before Herbology, justifying that it was the most likely class where Pansy could conceivably get hurt. She'd heard from the Gryffindors that they would be pruning things, which made it even better.
Hermione awoke extra early on Tuesday, dressed herself, and stood over Pansy's bed. Pansy's face was smoothed out in her sleep; she looked innocent without her usual sneer. Hermione bit her lip, but she firmed her resolve, her mind playing back Pansy's cutting remarks. Hermione carefully whispered a spell, drawing her wand deliberately through the air, and the spell settled over Pansy. As the light dissipated, Pansy and the others were still sleeping, none of them the wiser.
She crept out of the dorm room and went to breakfast early. To her surprise, a few other students were in the Great Hall; mostly OWL and NEWT students reading over their food, but a scattering of others. Hermione recognized Mandy Brocklehurst at the Ravenclaw table, and with a quick inquiry and replied invitation, she joined her, pulling out her own book to read.
Hermione had been spending more time outside of the Slytherin common room lately, either with Harry and Neville (and Ron, sometimes), or with her Ravenclaw friends. She would occasionally meet with Tracey, Millie, and Blaise outside of Slytherin too, giving the excuse of needing some light or warmth. It didn't take a genius to know that Hermione was sick of the barbed remarks she still got from a lot of the older students, or that Pansy was wearing on Hermione's last nerve. Her Slytherin friends tactfully never mentioned it, her Gryffindor friends railed against the injustice, and her Ravenclaw friends seemed genuinely puzzled by it – why would blood matter so much, if it was obvious Hermione was smart and had magic power?
As other students slowly filtered in, Hermione stayed with her peers in Ravenclaw, many of whom were reading while eating as well. It seemed more natural than leaving and going over to the Slytherin table – and what did where someone sat matter anyway? Anthony Goldstein grinned at her as he came in, helping himself to some toast, but it wasn't until Terry Boot came in that people started conversing.
"Hermione," he said, nodding. "Fancy seeing you here."
"Good morning," Hermione returned, offering a shrug. "I didn't feel like getting my heritage insulted again this morning. I hope you don't mind."
"Never," Anthony reassured her with a smile. "We all know the Sorting Hat made a mistake with you, Hermione."
Hermione laughed and let herself blush a bit, and Anthony looked pleased.
"I've been thinking," Terry announced. "Why do people call Muggle-borns 'Mudbloods' anyway?"
Mandy gasped and shot Terry a dirty look, while Michael looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"That's rude," Mandy hissed at him. "They call them that because they're prejudiced morons."
"No, no, no," Terry said, waving his hand. "I mean the term. Mudblood. It's not like anyone's blood is actually made of mud, is it?"
Hermione immediately understood his point, and she tried to suppress a grin.
"You're right," she said. "It's not like anybody bleeds a different color than any other person." Hermione kept her tone natural, even as she steered the conversation. "The only people that bleed other colors are creatures or part-creatures, like trolls or giants."
"Other creatures bleed different colors?" Michael asked, raising an eyebrow.
Hermione shrugged, carefully neutral. "Some of them. It depends on the species."
"So where did the term originate, then?" Terry wanted to know. "It's got to be from somewhere."
Hermione took a backseat as the conversation continued. Anthony said he didn't know; it was probably just a combination of the start of 'Muggle-born' combined with blood. Michael Corner suggested something more unique – the muggle creation myth had muggles being made of dirt and clay. Perhaps that was the start of the term?
It was interesting being able to academically discuss the topic with everyone keeping the conversation purely academic – no grandstanding about hating Mudbloods or sneering at all. The only emotion that came into it at all was a concerned side-eye from Anthony, who had glanced at Hermione, then at Pansy, before returning to the conversation. It was all very theoretical and curious, and Hermione found herself enjoying the conversation much more than she intended.
When the time came for Herbology, the Ravenclaws and Slytherins headed down to the greenhouses together. Tracey and Millie fell into step next to Hermione, just in front of the Ravenclaws, who had gone on to discuss trolls.
"Trolls have a thicker, greenish-tinted blood," Terry said. "I think it's from copper. But I have no idea why."
"Different creatures get oxygen to their body in different ways, I think," Mandy said. "My cousin's a healer and told me. Humans' just happens to be bright red. That's all."
Hermione couldn't believe her luck. She did her best to school her face into a mask of indifference as they all filed into the greenhouse.
"Trimming today!" Professor Sprout chirped, coming into the greenhouse and clapping her hands. "Everyone take a set of trimmers, and carefully prune your Ameanello plants! Be careful – the vines will have grown thorns by now!"
Hermione quickly grabbed a pair of shears, aiming for one of the newer sets. She was pleased to see Pansy got one of the older pairs, as Pansy sniffed in derision.
The class quickly settled into a rhythm, talking quietly and pruning the plants, which had grown into sprawling messes. The vines needed cut off from where they were strangling the leaves, and they were curled all around themselves. Each plant was like a tangled necklace with spikes. Hermione waited until they were maybe halfway into the class before crouching down, slipping her wand from her sleeve, and taking careful aim at Pansy.
"Malus Fortuna."
Her casting proved true, and Pansy was hit with a dull sickly purple light in her calf. Hermione quickly stood and looked around – it seemed no one had noticed. Pleased, Hermione put her wand away and continued pruning her plant.
She didn't have to wait long for results.
"Ouch!"
Pansy's plant seemed to be attacking her, Hermione mused, watching from the side of her eye. Every time Pansy went to prune off a spiked vine, it seemed to move and stab her arm.
"Ouch! Ow!"
"Do be careful, dear," Professor Sprout said, coming over to worry over Pansy. "The vines can flail if you don't calm your plant down."
"Calm down a plant," Pansy hissed, after Professor Sprout had moved away. "I swear, the thing's attacking me."
"It's just bad luck, Pansy," Daphne said, clipping her own plant with slow, careful movements.
"It's not. This stupid plant is – OWW!"
Hermione's eye flew to the scene just in time to see Pansy fall, clutching her arm. Her trimmers were on the ground next to her, one of the blades bloody – it seemed like she had cut herself.
"I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding!" Pansy yelped, furious tears clouding her eyes. "This assignment is horrid. Can't these plants fend for themselves in the wild?"
The other students gathered around Pansy, watching, and Professor Sprout hurried over.
"It's okay, dear," she told her. "We'll just fix that scratch right up."
"It's not a scratch," Pansy said, upset. "I'm wounded. It's bleeding."
"Move your hand aside, and we'll see what we're dealing with," Professor Sprout said patiently. "You're far from the first to get injured in a greenhouse."
Slowly, Pansy moved her hand aside, and there was a quiet murmur through the crowd.
Hermione objectively assessed Pansy's wound. The cut was large but mostly on the surface, the blade not having gone too deep. It wasn't too bad, but it was bloody – if it weren't for magic, she'd almost certainly have a scar. Hermione watched with satisfaction as Pansy's arm continued to bleed slowly, the whispering behind her growing.
"Why's her blood so dark?"
"That's her blood?"
"What's wrong with her?"
Pansy, for her part, was staring in horror at her own arm. The blood staining her arm was dark – very, very dark. It was still her blood, unfortunately – Hermione hadn't been able to figure out how to transfigure it into mud without killing Pansy. She had, however, found a spell to deoxygenate blood – and laid it as a layer over Pansy's skin. Any blood leaving Pansy's body through her skin would be stripped of its oxygen – leaving it very, very dark, and looking very, very different than the bright red color blood generally turned upon contact with the air.
It had been a complicated spell, with very precise wand movements and pronunciation, but it hadn't required that much magical power. Hermione had practiced on herself for a week until she was sure she'd had it down.
Professor Sprout herself looked rather shaken. She kept examining Pansy's wound, trying to determine the amount of the damage, but she kept getting distracted by the color.
"Does… does it usually look like this when you get hurt, Miss Parkinson?" she asked delicately.
"I don't usually get hurt, Professor." Pansy sneered through her tears. "I don't generally try to cut nasty plants with rusty shears."
The class was talking now, to Hermione's satisfaction. Some were alarmed at what the plant did to Pansy, while others were more of the opinion that it was Pansy's fault the blood was so dark.
"We were literally just talking about this," Terry insisted to Michael. "And we all agreed that human blood is bright red."
"Maybe she's not entirely human, then," Hermione said quietly. Her voice was soft, but pitched to carry, and the other students quieted a little.
Pansy's eyes flew to Hermione, a note of terror in them, and Hermione felt a satisfaction in watching her.
"You think?" Blaise said, stepping up next to her. "It is awful dark, for blood…"
"Maybe Pansy's not such a pureblood after all," Hermione murmured. "With blood like that…" she trailed off, looking resigned. "…who's to say she belongs in the Sacred 28 at all?"
There was a quiet gasp, and Hermione caught a glimpse of Daphne looking at Pansy with wide eyes, her hands over her mouth. Crabbe and Goyle both looked confused, but surprised.
"I'm sure there's nothing special about this injury," Professor Sprout snapped, helping Pansy to her feet. "Up! Up. Hospital wing for you."
"There's nothing special about her injury," Theo snorted. "There's something special about her blood. What she calls 'blood'."
"Five points from Slytherin," Professor Sprout said curtly. "Go back to your plant trimming. Pansy, with me. I'll walk you to the castle."
They all drifted back to their plants, everyone watching Sprout help Pansy to the castle – apparently, she'd fallen on her leg in a painful way, and she was limping now.
"Normal blood doesn't look like that," Terry Boot insisted, hissing. "What's going on with her?"
"Maybe it's just… I don't know," Mandy said, looking distressed. "I mean, do we really know what blood looks like?"
"Yes, we do," Hermione said firmly. "Look."
Taking her shears, Hermione cast a sterilization charm on them, a spell she'd gotten from same medical book she'd found the deoxygenating charm in, before she dragged her shears across her arm, tearing open her skin. Those people near her gasped.
"Look," Hermione said, fighting the urge to wince at the pain. "This is normal blood."
She squeezed her arm, and bright red blood pooled on her forearm, sliding off through the crook of her elbow and dripping to the floor.
Anthony looked queasy, while Terry Boot was staring at her blood, fascinated.
"That is sick," he proclaimed.
Hermione cast Episkey to heal her arm, getting it right on the second try. She wiped her arm off with a handkerchief, tucking it away in her pocket.
"Try it yourself, if you don't believe me," she said, her voice pitched to carry. "I can help you heal any cuts you get. Look at your blood… and then compare it to the 'blood' Pansy had."
Everyone looked slightly uncomfortable, but by the time Professor Sprout returned, everyone was dutifully chopping off spiked vines once more.
Hermione was quietly satisfied when Terry, Theo, Blaise, and Goyle came up to her during class, each muttering an excuse about having an accident with the clippers.
"Good show, Hermione, helping out your classmates like that – and with such an advanced spell!" Professor Sprout said, catching her healing Terry. "Ten points to Slytherin."
When class ended, Hermione hung behind as she gathered her things, listening to the excited murmurs of her classmates. Lunch was next, and Hermione was sure that the gossip would run wild.
"…Hermione?"
Hermione turned, and to her surprise, saw Daphne, who was biting her lip.
"I just… I just had to know," she admitted, holding out her hand. "Will you help?"
There was a small, straight cut on her palm, welling up with bright red blood.
Hermione hid her satisfaction.
"Episkey."
The cut sealed itself, and Hermione wiped off the blood from Daphne's hand. Daphne let out a shaky breath.
"Mine looked like yours," she said, almost to herself.
"And Theo's," Hermione added. "And Blaise's. And Goyle's."
Daphne looked at her, before she nodded slowly.
"Thank you," she said firmly. "It's always better to know."
She hoisted her pack up and headed up to the castle, leaving Hermione as the last one to clear out of the greenhouse, wondering what Daphne thought she now knew.