The weather at Hogwarts turned wet, and Hermione found herself frustrated and trapped inside. She could hardly hide behind the castle and practice flying when it was raining – it was hard enough to practice with just herself. Adding water and wind would be a disastrous combination.
Hermione found herself brooding in the upper levels of the castle, thinking hard about what Snape had told her. Her memories of the older Slytherins cursing her and kicking her on the floor of the dungeons replayed themselves over and over in her mind, and Hermione had to admit to herself that she was desperate to be more powerful, to be able to protect herself. The ritual Quirrell had given her... it seemed like it might be Dark, but under Snape's definition...
"I am doing this thing to gain more power," Hermione murmured to herself, watching the rain from a window. "It affects only myself, and I have my own full consent."
That settled, she endeavored to put the matter from her mind.
Hermione spent more time with Neville and Harry, helping them master the Mending Charm. Neither of them was very good at it – Neville had issues with getting the power needed for all the magical stitches needed out smoothly, instead of erratic bursts, and Harry's mends kept falling apart after a few moments. Both of them had seemed distracted as of late, though, and Hermione finally demanded one day to know why.
Harry and Neville exchanged a long glance, before Harry turned to her, resolute.
"Snape is refereeing the next Quidditch match," he told her.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "…and?"
Harry gave her a look.
"He's going to try and kill Harry again!" Neville said, distressed, and Hermione could barely refrain from rolling her eyes.
"Snape is not trying to kill Harry," she informed them. "If Snape wanted Harry dead, he would have coated his wand with a delayed-action poison while it was in the Quidditch locker room – something that would cause heart failure long after Snape made sure he was nowhere near Harry when he finally kicked it."
Harry and Neville stared at her.
"…those things exist?" Neville said faintly.
Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. Probably. And if they don't, Snape could definitely make one. Snape's brilliant. He invents his own potions, you know."
"He does?" Despite himself, Harry looked impressed.
Hermione's mind went to the black and purple fire she had walked through, and how the draughts she had taken had felt like ice. "Yes, he does."
Harry still looked uneasy, and Hermione sighed.
"Look," she said, leaning forward. "Let's agree on the fact that if Snape wanted you dead, he wouldn't do it during Quidditch. It's far too obvious for Snape."
"Then why does he suddenly want to referee?" Harry wanted to know. "He's never refereed before!"
"Probably to either make sure your broom doesn't act up again, or to cheat and make calls against Gryffindor," she admitted. "Snape isn't pleased that your house showed us up the first match. I wouldn't put it past him to try and get Slytherin an edge over you however he could."
Harry and Neville grudgingly admitted that yes, it was much more plausible that Snape was just trying to cheat, not trying to kill Harry, and Hermione sat back, satisfied.
"I know you think someone's out to kill Harry," she told them, "but that person isn't Snape. Start looking for other culprits, if you're insistent."
"Oh?" Harry said. He seemed almost amused. "Like who?"
"Ron," Hermione suggested immediately. "He nearly set you on fire last Charms class. Being next to him is an occupational hazard."
To her pleasure, both Harry and Neville laughed.
"Ooh, ooh, maybe it's Oliver Wood, Harry," Neville suggested. "Every time you come in from Quidditch, you look half-drowned or half-dead."
Harry laughed. "Maybe it's secretly Hagrid," he suggested, eyes alight with the game. "He's trying to choke me to death on his rock cakes."
Neville and Harry continued coming up with a list of possible culprits, the suggestions growing more and more ridiculous, while Hermione turned back to her books, an amused smile playing around her lips.
Inwardly, her mind turned back to their Defense Professor, the memory of his sudden vehemence against blood purist bullying rising in her mind, and how Harry often complained of headaches after he'd had that class.
Hermione bit her lip and pushed the matter from her mind. Hermione wasn't a betting person, but if she had to guess who might be out to kill Harry – she knew what person she'd put her money on.
Harry's worries ended up being for naught, of course – he caught the Snitch inside of five minutes, to Hermione's delighted surprise. Tracey had all but dragged her to the match, and Hermione had reluctantly conceded, expecting to lose her entire afternoon. She waited for Harry after the game to congratulate him, but he seemed distracted and had hurried off with Ron and Neville toward their common room – presumably, for a party.
With the rest of the day free, Hermione approached Blaise with a question.
"I want to put something up on the wall of my dormitory," she told him. "Do you know how I can get that to work?"
Blaise considered.
"I mean, you could always try hammering a spike into the stone, but if you could get someone to do a Sticking Charm for you, it'd probably work better," he suggested.
"Do you know how to do those?"
Blaise laughed. "That's OWL-level Charms material, Hermione. I'd ask a prefect."
Hermione did, and it was with great confusion that the 5th year prefect Jade spent half an hour with Hermione in her empty dorm sticking two giant stone crowns to the wall above her bed, one black and one white, Hermione determined to get them to set on the wall ever just so.
Hermione was thrilled when it was done, and thanked Jade profusely, who seemed mildly amused.
"Thank you ever so much!" Hermione said again, grinning. "If you need anything in return, let me know!"
Jade paused, a smile slowly curling around her lips as a glint flickered in her eyes.
"There is."
She crouched down to reach Hermione's level, lowering her voice.
"How is it that you and your classmates can look so… good?"
Hermione slowly grinned herself.
"I'll tell you," Hermione said. "But you have to keep it a secret, just between us, and maybe a few friends…"
Hermione stopped by her head of house's office later that evening, having had an idea she wanted to explore.
"A summer internship?"
"Yes," Hermione said firmly, fighting the urge to swing her legs. "Anything, really. Adrian says that we're not allowed to do magic at home over the summer, and it's been shown that if you don't use your knowledge, it simply rots, and then you have to recover all you lost the next year…"
Snape rolled his eyes.
"Internships are not generally a thing sought until after OWLs, Miss Granger," he informed her. "After students have some idea of their areas of interest and strength."
Hermione made a face. "Nothing? Not even desk work? Filing?"
Snape raised an eyebrow.
"…what, exactly, would you expect from such an internship?" he asked. Hermione shrugged.
"Not much," she told him. "It'd be like a work study, I suppose. I'd help someone with their job, taking the grunt tasks that they don't want, and when they had time, they'd teach me about how they do their position. It might pay me a little, too – most internships in the Muggle world offer below minimum-wage for work studies, but they give the intern something."
Snape considered.
"I have a few ideas," he finally admitted. "You must realize, Miss Granger, that this is not a usual thing in our world. Especially not for witches of your age."
Hermione bit back the retort that twelve was plenty old enough to start thinking about a career.
"…I'm ambitious?" she offered instead, and she caught a glint of amusement behind Snape's eyes.
"I suppose you are," he said. "I shall make a few inquiries. I will send for you if anything pans out."
"Thank you, sir!" Hermione chirped, pleased. She launched herself from her chair and caught herself nimbly on her feet several feet away. Snape raised an eyebrow, impressed.
"Been practicing, have we, Miss Granger?" he asked. Hermione grinned.
"I can kind of glide, now, if I jump from somewhere a bit high," she told him. "I'm still working on being able to make myself rise without everything going haywire."
"That's the hardest part," Snape said, nodding. "I might advise you to practice levitating yourself in a small enclosed space. If your head is against the ceiling of an empty closet, there's not exactly anywhere for you to go haywire."
Hermione left Snape's office, immensely pleased with herself.
