It wasn't until Hermione put her hand on her dorm room door that she realised she was still Parvati's roommate and was about to face her. The confrontation at King's Cross Station would make this all the more awkward. With dread, she opened the door to her room.
Parvati and Lavender were sitting on Lavender's bed and immediately hid whatever they had been looking at with Hermione's arrival. Hermione wasn't going to let them bother her. She plastered a smile on her face and greeted them both. "I hope you both had a good holiday?"
"Not really," Lavender replied. "What, with Harry lying about the Triwizard Tournament and getting all of our parents in a tizzy."
"What on earth do you mean?"
"You heard me. My parents almost didn't let me come back to Hogwarts because she doesn't want me associated with Harry and his lies."
"Harry didn't lie," Hermione said.
"If he didn't lie, then why isn't he Prefect?" Parvati sneered.
"The same reason you're not Prefect - someone else deserved it more," Hermione shot back. She let that sink in a moment before turning to Lavender. "And I'd advise you to shut your mouth about Harry or else you may have some detentions in your future… because I, unlike your friend, Parvati, can hand them out."
Hermione turned away from them, letting her words set in. Even she was surprised at her own boldness, but she didn't want them to know that. She opened her trunk to get her pyjamas (and grabbed the letter from her parents) while the two girls recovered from their shock and started to whisper between them. Hermione didn't care. They could whisper all they wanted. She was right, and they were wrong.
Finally, Hermione was done getting ready. She closed the curtains around her bed and settled in out of sight. She let out a huge sigh and made a mental note to see if there were any open rooms that she could move to.
Crookshanks was already curled up on Hermione's pillow and greeted her with a purr. She snuggled up to him and ran her finger along the envelope flap. She was already in a bad mood because of those two - she may as well read the letter, too.
Dear Hermione,
First and foremost, congratulations on being selected as a Gryffindor Prefect! We couldn't be prouder of your achievements and the person you're becoming. Your dedication and hard work are truly commendable, and we celebrate this milestone with you.
We've received your letter and want you to know how much it means to us that you share these moments of your life, magical as they may be. Your success at Hogwarts is a testament to your character and the values you've embraced.
However, we also want to be honest with you, Hermione. As much as we celebrate your accomplishments, there's a tinge of sadness that we cannot ignore. It's not about your magical abilities or the world you inhabit—it's about the inevitable changes that come with growing up.
We feel a sense of distance, a natural consequence of your journey into the magical world and the responsibilities that come with it. It's not something we hold against you, nor is it a reflection of our pride in your accomplishments. Rather, it's a recognition that our roles in your life are evolving as you navigate your path at Hogwarts.
We miss you, Hermione, more than words can express. There's an ache in our hearts, not because of the magical world you're a part of, but because we sense the growing distance that comes with age and experiences. Your achievements are bittersweet reminders that our little girl is becoming the remarkable woman we always knew she would be.
Please know that our love for you is unwavering, and we're incredibly proud of everything you've achieved. We look forward to the holidays when we can be together again. Until then, continue to shine bright, Hermione.
With all our love, Mum and Dad
The letter made her heart hurt. She could tell her parents did the same thing she did - removed much of the emotion and just laid out the facts of the matter. However, it did seem as though they were starting to finally accept her fate as a witch (or it was a very clever ruse). Honestly, that letter was the best-case scenario. It made her consider spending the holidays with them instead of at school. Perhaps there was potential for a relationship that would work for all of them.
Hermione fell asleep soon after and didn't move until early morning. She got up, showered, and put a hint of make-up on for her first day as a Prefect. Her robes were hanging in her wardrobe, ready to face the day. She carefully tied her tie and fastened the robes at her neck. Hermione then reverently picked up her Prefect Badge and pinned it to her chest. She ensured it was perfectly straight before heading down the steps to the common room and facing the day.
"What's the matter?" asked Hermione as soon as she saw Harry shuffling across the common room on his way to breakfast. "You look absolutely – Oh, for heaven's sake."
She was staring at the common-room noticeboard, where a large new sign had been put up.
GALLONS OF GALLEONS!
Pocket money failing to keep pace with your outgoings?
Like to earn a little extra gold?
Contact Fred and George Weasley, Gryffindor common room,
for simple, part-time, virtually painless jobs.
(We regret that all work is undertaken at applicant's own risk.)
"They are the limit," said Hermione grimly, taking down the sign, which Fred and George had pinned over a poster giving the date of the first Hogsmeade weekend, which was to be in October. "We'll have to talk to them, Ron."
Ron looked positively alarmed. "Why?"
"Because we're prefects!" said Hermione as they climbed through the portrait hole. "It's up to us to stop this kind of thing!"
Ron said nothing. She hoped he was thinking about what he would say to his brothers, but she had a sinking feeling that he was not. Like most things in life, Ron would probably skirt his Prefect responsibilities and look to Hermione to save him. She could feel herself getting worked up, so Hermione changed the subject.
"Anyway, what's up, Harry?" Hermione continued as they walked down a flight of stairs lined with portraits of old witches and wizards, all of whom ignored them, being engrossed in their conversations. "You look really angry about something."
"Seamus reckons Harry's lying about You-Know-Who," said Ron succinctly when Harry did not respond.
Hermione sighed. "Yes, Lavender thinks so too," she said gloomily.
"Been having a nice little chat with her about whether or not I'm a lying, attention-seeking prat, have you?" Harry thundered.
"No," said Hermione calmly. "I told her to keep her big fat mouth shut about you, actually. And it would be quite nice if you stopped jumping down our throats, Harry, because in case you haven't noticed, Ron and I are on your side."
There was a short pause.
"Sorry," said Harry in a low voice.
"That's quite all right," said Hermione with dignity. Then she shook her head. "Don't you remember what Dumbledore said at the last end-of-term feast?"
Harry and Ron both looked at her blankly. She didn't know why she did this to herself; of course, they didn't remember. Hermione sighed again.
"About You-Know-Who. He said his 'gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust—'"
"How do you remember stuff like that?" asked Ron, looking at her in admiration.
"I listen, Ron," said Hermione, with a touch of bitterness.
"So do I, but I still couldn't tell you exactly what—"
"The point," Hermione pressed on loudly, "is that this sort of thing is exactly what Dumbledore was talking about. You-Know-Who's only been back two months, and we've already started fighting among ourselves. And the Sorting Hat's warning was the same: stand together, be united—"
"And Harry got it right last night," retorted Ron. "If that means we're supposed to get matey with the Slytherins – fat chance."
"Well, I think it's a pity we're not trying for a bit of inter-house unity," said
Hermione crossly. Sure, most of the Slytherins were awful, but Sophie gave her hope that at least a few Slytherins could be bipartisan.
They had reached the foot of the marble staircase. A line of fourth-year Ravenclaws was crossing the Entrance Hall; they caught sight of Harry and hurried to form a tighter group as though frightened he might attack stragglers.
"Yeah, we really ought to be trying to make friends with people like that," said Harry sarcastically. Hermione couldn't help but see his point.
They followed the Ravenclaws into the Great Hall, looking instinctively at the staff table as they entered. Professor Grubbly-Plank was chatting with Professor Sinistra, the astronomy teacher, and Hagrid was again conspicuous only by his absence. The enchanted ceiling above them echoed Harry's mood; it was a miserable rain-cloud grey.
"Dumbledore didn't even mention how long that Grubbly-Plank woman's staying," Harry said as they approached the Gryffindor table.
"Maybe…" said Hermione, a thought forming in her rational brain.
"What?" said both Harry and Ron together.
"Well... maybe he didn't want to draw attention to Hagrid not being here."
"What d'you mean, draw attention to it?" said Ron, half-laughing. "How could we not notice?"
Before Hermione could answer, a tall black girl with long braided hair had marched up to Harry.
"Hi, Angelina."
"Hi," she said briskly, "good summer?" And without waiting for an answer, "Listen, I've been made Gryffindor Quidditch Captain."
"Nice one," said Harry.
"Yeah, well, we need a new Keeper now Oliver's left. Tryouts are on Friday at five o'clock and I want the whole team there, all right? Then we can see how the new person'll fit in."
"OK," said Harry.
Angelina smiled at him and departed.
"I'd forgotten Wood had left," said Hermione vaguely as she sat beside Ron and pulled a plate of toast towards her. "I suppose that will make quite a difference to the team?"
"I s'pose," said Harry, taking the bench opposite. "He was a good Keeper…"
"Still, it won't hurt to have some new blood, will it?" said Ron. Hermione looked over at him. Ron's ears had gone slightly pink. There was something in the sound of his voice that made her think there was a bit more to his question.
Hundreds of owls soared through the upper windows, interrupting Hermione's thoughts with a whoosh and a clatter. They descended all over the Hall, bringing letters and packages to their owners and showering the breakfasters with water droplets; it was raining hard outside. Hermione had to quickly move her orange juice aside to make way for a large, damp barn owl bearing a sodden Daily Prophet in its beak.
"What are you still getting that for?" said Harry irritably as Hermione placed a Knut in the leather pouch on the owl's leg, and it took off again. "I'm not bothering... load of rubbish."
"It's best to know what the enemy is saying," said Hermione darkly, and she unfurled the newspaper and disappeared behind it. She scanned every single article.
"Nothing," she said simply, rolling up the newspaper and laying it down by her plate. "Nothing about you or Dumbledore or anything." She wasn't surprised, however; they didn't want to bring any attention to the school while they oriented Umbridge as their Hogwarts spy.
Professor McGonagall was now moving along the table, handing out timetables. Hermione took hers from her favourite professor, giving her a warm smile. Hermione quickly scanned her parchment:
Monday
9am History of Magic
9.45am Free Period
10.30am Double Potions
12pm Lunch
1pm Ancient Runes
1.45pm Double DADA
Tuesday
9am Double Charms
10.30am Double Transfiguration
12pm Lunch
1pm Care of Magical Creatures
1.45pm Double Herbology
Wednesday
9am Arithmancy
9.45am Transfiguration
10.30am Double Care of Magical Creatures
12pm Lunch
1pm Free Period
6pm Double Astronomy
Thursday
9am Potions
9.45am Free Period
10.30am Double History of Magic
12pm Lunch
1pm Double Arithmancy
2.30pm Charms
Friday
9am Herbology
9.45am Arithmancy
10.30am Free Period
11.15am Ancient Runes
12pm Lunch
1pm Free Period
1.45pm Double Ancient Runes
"Look at today!" groaned Ron. Hermione skimmed her timetable to see what he meant. "History of Magic, double Potions, Divination and double Defence Against the Dark Arts ... Binns, Snape, Trelawney and that Umbridge woman all in one day! I wish Fred and George'd hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted."
"Do mine ears deceive me?" said Fred, arriving with George and squeezing onto the bench beside Harry. "Hogwarts prefects surely don't wish to skive off lessons?"
"Look what we've got today," said Ron grumpily, shoving his timetable under Fred's nose. "That's the worst Monday I've ever seen."
"Fair point, little bro," said Fred, scanning the column. "You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like."
"Why's it cheap?" said Ron suspiciously.
"Because you'll keep bleeding till you shrivel up; we haven't got an antidote yet," said George, helping himself to a kipper.
"Cheers," said Ron moodily, pocketing his timetable, "but I think I'll take the lessons."
"And speaking of your Skiving Snackboxes,' said Hermione, since Ron didn't say anything. "You can't advertise for testers on the Gryffindor noticeboard."
"Says who?" said George, looking astonished.
"Says me," said Hermione. "And Ron."
"Leave me out of it," said Ron hastily.
Hermione glared at him. Fred and George sniggered.
"You'll be singing a different tune soon enough, Hermione," said Fred, thickly buttering a crumpet. "You're starting your fifth year; you'll be begging us for a Snackbox before long."
"And why would starting fifth year mean I want a Skiving Snackbox?" asked Hermione.
"Fifth year's OWL year," said George.
"So?"
"So you've got your exams coming up, haven't you? They'll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they'll be rubbed raw," said Fred with satisfaction.
"Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to OWLs," said George happily. "Tears and tantrums. Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint."
"Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?" said Fred reminiscently.
"That's 'cause you put Bulbadox powder in his pyjamas," said George.
"Oh yeah," said Fred, grinning. "I'd forgotten ... hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?"
"Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth," said George. "If you care about exam results, anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our peckers up somehow."
"Yeah... you got, what was it, three OWLs each?" said Ron.
"Yep," said Fred unconcernedly. "But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement."
"We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for our seventh year," said George brightly, "now that we've got-"
He broke off suddenly, much to the suspicion of Hermione.
"– Now that we've got our OWLs," George said hastily. "I mean, do we really need NEWTs? But we didn't think Mum could take us leaving school early, not on top of Percy turning out to be the world's biggest prat." Hermione was quite positive George wasn't going to say OWLs.
"We're not going to waste our last year here, though," said Fred, looking affectionately around the Great Hall. "We're going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from a joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, then produce products to fit the demand."
"But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop?" Hermione asked sceptically. "You're going to need all the ingredients and materials – and premises too, I suppose…"
Fred smirked. "Ask us no questions, and we'll tell you no lies, Hermione. C'mon, George, if we get there early, we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology."
"What did that mean?" said Hermione, looking from Harry to Ron. "'Ask us no questions…' Does that mean they've already got some gold to start a joke shop?"
"You know, I've been wondering about that," said Ron, his brow furrowed. "They bought me a new set of dress robes this summer, and I couldn't understand where they got the Galleons."
"D'you reckon it's true this year's going to be really tough? Because of the exams?" Harry said. Hermione thought she had heard a hint of nervousness in his voice; was Harry James Potter finally going to care about his studies?!
"Oh, yeah," said Ron. "Bound to be, isn't it? OWLs are really important; affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice, too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what NEWTs you want to do next year."
"D'you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?" Harry asked the other two as they left the Great Hall shortly afterwards and set off towards their History of Magic classroom.
"Not really," said Ron slowly. "Except ... well …" He looked slightly sheepish.
"What?" Harry urged him.
"Well, it'd be cool to be an Auror," said Ron in an off-hand voice.
"Yeah, it would," said Harry fervently.
"But they're, like, the elite," said Ron. "You've got to be really good. What about you, Hermione?"
It took Hermione a few seconds to answer because she was still recovering from the shock of hearing Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley talk about their futures seriously and without prompting. "I don't know," she said. "I think I'd like to do something really worthwhile."
"An Auror's worthwhile!" said Harry.
"Yes, it is, but it's not the only worthwhile thing," said Hermione thoughtfully. I mean, if I could take SPEW further…" She let the thought linger in the air as she considered all of the different possibilities.
History of Magic was one of Hermione's favourite classes. Their ghost teacher, Professor Binns, seemed to know every piece of history in the Wizarding World. He never varied the form of their lessons but lectured them without pausing while they took notes. Hermione preferred it: no opinions, no commentary, just facts.
However, Professor Binns' teaching style wasn't for everyone. Harry and Ron had so far managed to scrape passes in this subject only by copying Hermione's notes before exams. She had decided that their OWLs were too important for the boys to skirt by this year, especially now that they were seriously discussing their futures.
They were starting the year with the Giant Wars, a series of contentious conflicts between wizards and giants that had historical significance, having taken place in, or earlier to, the end of the nineteenth century. About halfway through the lesson, Hermione took a quick break to shake out a cramp in her hand from writing notes and noticed Ron and Harry staring off into the distance, paying absolutely no attention to Professor Binns. They wouldn't have noticed Professor Binns assigning them a foot-and-a-half-long essay on the giant wars had it not been for Hermione elbowing them both.
"How would it be," she asked them coldly as they left the classroom for break, "if I refused to lend you my notes this year?"
"We'd fail our OWL," said Ron. "If you want that on your conscience, Hermione…"
"Well, you'd deserve it," she snapped. "You don't even try to listen to him, do you?"
"We do try," said Ron. "We just haven't got your brains or your memory or your concentration – you're just cleverer than we are – is it nice to rub it in?"
"Oh, don't give me that rubbish," said Hermione as she led the way into the damp courtyard.
A fine misty drizzle was falling so that the people standing in huddles around the yard looked blurred at the edges. Hermione, Ron, and Harry chose a secluded corner under a heavily dripping balcony, turning up the collars of their robes against the chilly September air and talking about what Snape was likely to set them in the first lesson of the year. They had got as far as agreeing that it was likely to be something extremely difficult, just to catch them off guard after a two-month holiday when someone walked around the corner towards them.
"Hello, Harry!" Cho Chang said.
"Hi," said Harry, his face flushing immediately. Hermione's heart hurt on behalf of Ginny at the way Harry looked at the Ravenclaw Seeker. It was quite clear he was smitten.
"You got that stuff off, then?"
"Yeah," said Harry, leaving Hermione to wonder what stuff Cho was referring to. "So, did you ... er ... have a good summer?"
"Oh, it was all right, you know," Cho said in a sad voice. Hermione cringed on behalf of Harry—of course she didn't have a good summer. Her boyfriend was murdered right before the summer holiday.
"Is that a Tornados badge?" Ron demanded suddenly, pointing to the front of Cho's robes, where a sky-blue badge emblazoned with a double gold 'T' was pinned. "You don't support them, do you?" Now it was Ron's turn to earn a cringe from Hermione.
"Yeah, I do," said Cho.
"Have you always supported them, or just since they started winning the league?" said Ron accusingly.
"I've supported them since I was six," said Cho coolly. "Anyway, see you, Harry."
She walked away. Hermione waited until Cho was halfway across the courtyard before rounding on Ron. "You are so tactless!"
"What? I only asked her if—"
"Couldn't you tell she wanted to talk to Harry on her own?"
"So? She could've done, I wasn't stopping—"
"Why on earth were you attacking her about her Quidditch team?"
"Attacking? I wasn't attacking her, I was only—"
"Who cares if she supports the Tornados?"
"Oh, come on, half the people you see wearing those badges only bought them last season—"
"But what does it matter?"
"It means they're not real fans; they're just jumping on the bandwagon—"
"That's the bell," said Harry listlessly. Hermione hadn't even heard it over Ron's squabbling. They did not stop arguing all the way down to Snape's dungeon.
"Settle down," said Snape coldly, shutting the door behind him.
There was no real need for the call to order; the moment the class had heard the door close, quiet had fallen, and all fidgeting stopped. Snape's mere presence was usually enough to ensure a class's silence. Whilst Snape was a horrible person, Hermione must admit he was a formidable teacher.
"Before we begin today's lesson," said Snape, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, "I think it appropriate to remind you that next June, you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an 'Acceptable' in your OWL or suffer my... displeasure."
His gaze lingered this time on Neville, who gulped.
"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me," Snape went on. "I take only the very best into my NEWT Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye."
His eyes rested on Harry, and his lip curled.
"But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell," said Snape softly, "so, whether or not you are intending to attempt NEWT, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high pass level I have come to expect from my OWL students.
"Today, we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: if you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients, you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing." Hermione sat up a little straighter, her expression one of utmost attention. "The ingredients and method—" Snape flicked his wand "—are on the blackboard—" (they appeared there) "—you will find everything you need—" he flicked his wand again "—in the store cupboard—" (the door of the said cupboard sprang open) "—you have an hour and a half... start."
Hermione pushed away the mental image that plagued her all summer of Snape's blackboard filled with sex ed information and tried to concentrate. Just as they had predicted, Snape could hardly have set them a more complicated, fiddly potion. The ingredients had to be added to the cauldron in precisely the proper order and quantities; the mixture had to be stirred exactly the correct number of times, firstly clockwise, then in anti-clockwise directions; the heat of the flames on which it was simmering had to be lowered to precisely the right level for a specific number of minutes before the final ingredient was added.
"A light silver vapour should now be rising from your potion," called Snape, with ten minutes left.
It was as if he were describing her potion perfectly; there was a shimmering mist of silver vapour. When Snape swept by, he just looked at it and didn't comment, which was high praise for him. Hermione chanced a glance around the classroom. Ron's was spitting green sparks. Seamus was feverishly prodding the flames at the base of his cauldron with the tip of his wand as they seemed to be going out; Harry's cauldron was issuing copious amounts of dark grey steam. At Harry's cauldron, however, Snape stopped and looked down at it with a horrible smirk on his face.
"Potter, what is this supposed to be?"
The Slytherins at the front of the class looked up eagerly; they loved hearing Snape taunt Harry. Hermione caught Sophie's eye, which rolled in annoyance at her fellow Slytherins.
"The Draught of Peace," said Harry tensely.
"Tell me, Potter," said Snape softly, "can you read?"
Draco Malfoy laughed.
"Yes, I can," said Harry.
"Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter."
Harry squinted at the blackboard. "'Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counter-clockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes, then add two drops of syrup of hellebore.'" His face fell.
"Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?"
"No," said Harry very quietly.
"I beg your pardon?"
"No," said Harry more loudly. "I forgot the hellebore."
"I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesco."
The contents of Harry's potion vanished; he was left standing foolishly beside an empty cauldron.
"Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name and bring it up to my desk for testing," said Snape. "Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday."
When at long last the bell rang, Harry was first out of the dungeon and had already started his lunch by the time Hermione and Ron joined him in the Great Hall. The ceiling had turned an even murkier grey during the morning. Rain was lashing the high windows.
"That was really unfair," said Hermione consolingly, sitting beside Harry and helping herself to shepherd's pie. "Your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Goyle's; when he put it in his flagon, the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire."
"Yeah, well," said Harry, glowering at his plate, "since when has Snape ever been fair to me?"
Neither of the others answered; all three of them knew that Snape and Harry's mutual enmity had been absolute from the moment Harry had set foot in Hogwarts.
"I did think he might be a bit better this year," said Hermione in a disappointed voice. "I mean ... you know ..." she looked around carefully; there were half a dozen empty seats on either side of them, and nobody was passing the table "... now he's in the Order and everything."
"Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots," said Ron sagely. "Anyway, I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked to trust Snape. Where's the evidence he ever really stopped working for You Know Who?"
"I think Dumbledore's probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn't share it with you, Ron," snapped Hermione, not because she necessarily believed it, but because Ron was being a prat.
"Oh, shut up, the pair of you," said Harry heavily as Ron opened his mouth to argue back. Hermione and Ron both froze, looking angry and offended. "Can't you give it a rest?" said Harry. "You're always having a go at each other. It's driving me mad." And abandoning his shepherd's pie, he swung his schoolbag back over his shoulder and left them sitting there.
"What's up with him?" Ron asked, taking another bite of shepherd's pie.
"Well, I do suspect he is suffering from some sort of trauma from everything that happened, but we have been fighting a lot," Hermione said.
"Yeah, I noticed that," Ron said. "You're mad at me about something. Spill."
"You just aren't taking our Prefect duties seriously!" Hermione blurted out.
"What do you mean I'm not taking them seriously?! I've done all the patrols and whatnot," he said, his hand defensively on his badge.
"But will you say anything to your brothers? No. You're going to make me do that by myself!" Hermione's voice was rising.
"No," Ron said slowly and quietly. "I don't want you to have to do it all. I just—I just have to figure out how to stand up to them, y'know? It just makes me nervous. They're gonna give me the piss regardless, I know, but I just thought maybe I'd get an idea on how to handle them. I'm sorry."
Hermione immediately felt terrible. "No, it's fine," she said. "I didn't understand and just, well, just overreacted, I guess. We can work through it together, okay?"
"Okay," Ron said. "Thanks, 'Mione."
The two friends finished their lunches over much more pleasant conversation, like how fulfilling it was to see the moment when people noticed their Prefect badges.
"I've just never had anyone look at me like that before," Ron said sheepishly. "And my mum and dad? They've never been proud of me like that either."
"Sure they have been," Hermione said. "But being Prefect is just different from anything else."
"I never asked," said Ron. "What did your parents say? Prefects are a thing for Muggles, right?"
Hermione told Ron about the letter from her parents.
"They'll come around," Ron said confidently. "And, besides, you're part of our family, so if they don't, you're still covered."
Hermione felt warm all over, and that happy warmth continued with her as she said goodbye to Ron and headed to Ancient Runes (while Ron joined up with Harry in Divination).
Hermione loved Ancient Runes. Professor Babbling was exceptional and made the class feel like secret spies trying to crack the code. However, Hermione was surprised to see that her class had shrunk to only a handful of students. Last year, they had a full classroom.
"Good afternoon," Professor Babbling greeted them at the start of class. "As you can see, OWLs scared a few of our fellow classmates away this year, but I hope their absence will allow for more individualised learning for those of you still here."
That certainly sounded amazing.
"As we have spent the last two years learning about the histories and origins of the runes, this year, we will be exclusively focusing on translations to prepare for the OWLs. You may imagine it's much easier to translate from English to Runes, so we will start with that and work up to going from Runes to English.
"Let's see what you have retained over the summer holidays, shall we? Write a short passage in Ancient Runes about yourself. Your name, age, house, and two sentences about your summer holidays. You may-"
Professor Babbling was interrupted by the heavy classroom door, which was thrown open and bounced off the wall. Everyone turned to see Neville standing in the doorway, out of breath.
"Sorry," he gasped. "I had an, erm, issue."
"It's quite all right, Mr Longbottom. Please take a seat," Professor Babbling said, indicating the desk nearest to Hermione. "Class, please begin your assignment. I will get Mr Longbottom caught up."
"Are you alright?" Hermione whispered once Professor Babbling finished explaining the assignment to Neville and returned to her desk at the front of the classroom.
"Malfoy," Neville whispered back with a scowl. "Tell you later."
Hermione matched his dismay but refocused on her classwork. She used her copy of Advanced Rune Translation by Yuri Blishen to craft her paragraph. It took her almost to the end of class to finish, much to her surprise. She made a mental note to make new Ancient Runes flashcards to increase her translation speeds for their OWLs.
When the bell rang, Hermione and Neville stood together and made their way to their next class, Defence Against the Dark Arts, but not before Neville gave Hermione a big hug. "Congratulations on Prefect!" Neville said. "I wrote a letter to my Gran to let her know. She always wants to know what you are up to; she says you remind her of her when she went to Hogwarts."
Hermione was taken aback at this disclosure. "Oh? Why is that?"
"Just because you're smart and whatnot," Neville said. "I told her all about how you help me with classes. She was Prefect and top of her class way back in the day."
"Aww, that's sweet," Hermione said. "Make sure to tell her 'cheers' from me. So what happened with Malfoy?"
"Oh, no bother," Neville sighed. "Just Malfoy being Malfoy."
"Do you need me to do anything?"
"Nah, Prefects can't discipline Prefects, right? It'd be no use."
Hermione frowned. There had to be a way around that rule.
When they entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, they found Professor Umbridge seated at the teacher's desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the previous night and the black velvet bow on top of her head. Hermione did not have a good feeling about her in the least. A ministry mole in the castle? No good could come out of that. Hermione was on full alert.
The class was quiet as it entered the room. Professor Umbridge was an unknown quantity, and nobody knew how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be.
"Well, good afternoon!" she said when the class finally sat down.
A few people mumbled "Good afternoon" in reply.
"Tut, tut," said Professor Umbridge. "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge'. One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"
"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they chanted back at her. With every word, Hermione could feel her anxiety rise. No one remotely qualified to be a teacher would address their first classroom that way.
"There, now," said Professor Umbridge sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."
Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order 'wands away' in a class like Defence Against the Dark Arts was undoubtedly a bad sign.
Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once:
Defence Against the Dark Arts: A Return to Basic Principles
"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year.
"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."
She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by:
Course Aims
Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.
Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.
Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.
Hermione dutifully started writing down the course aims, but the words "Ministry-Approved curriculum" kept ringing in her head like a warning bell. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge's three course aims, she asked, "Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.
"I think we'll try that again," said Professor Umbridge. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
"Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang through the room.
"Good," said Professor Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read 'Chapter One, Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."
Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing them all with those pouchy toad's eyes. While the rest of the class rummaged in their bags and opened their books, Hermione sat perfectly straight, her hand raised high in the air. The phrase "Ministry-approved curriculum" echoed in her mind, each word a warning bell. She couldn't ignore the feeling bubbling inside her—this was her chance to do something worthwhile, just like she had told Ron. She would not sit idly by as the Ministry of Magic became a fascist regime and put them all in danger. If everyone turned a blind eye and didn't question everything, they would be doomed.
She felt a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach, her heart pounding against her ribcage. Her hand felt like it weighed a ton, but she refused to lower it. This was no different than standing up for house-elves in SPEW; it was about doing what was right, even when it was uncomfortable. Hermione caught Harry out of the corner of her eye, looking at her as if to ask, "What in the bloody hell are you doing?" She shook her head slightly, indicating she wouldn't explain now. There would be time for that later.
After several more minutes, however, Harry wasn't the only one watching Hermione. She could feel the eyes of most of the class on her raised hand instead of their textbooks. She already knew that the chapter they had been instructed to read was highly tedious because she had read it already. It was completely worthless if they were to have any sort of defence against dark wizards like You-Know-Who. Her hand trembled slightly, but her resolve remained firm. She was anxious, yes, but her disdain for this farce of an education was stronger. She would not be controlled, nor would she allow her friends to be controlled either.
When more than half the class stared at Hermione rather than at their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could no longer ignore the situation.
"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked Hermione as though she had only just noticed her. Her sing-songy, fake voice was like nails on a chalkboard, but Hermione did not allow herself to flinch.
"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione.
"Well, we're reading just now," said Professor Umbridge, showing her small, pointed teeth. "If you have other queries, we can deal with them at the end of class."
"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione.
Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows. "And your name is?"
"Hermione Granger," said Hermione defiantly.
"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.
"Well, I don't," said Hermione bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."
There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.
"Using defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"
"We're not going to use magic?" Ron exclaimed loudly. Maybe he was catching on. Hermione's heart was pounding. Could Ron hear it?
"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr –?"
"Weasley," said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.
Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him. Hermione put her hand back up in the air and was immediately joined by Harry. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingered on Harry briefly before she addressed Hermione.
"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"
"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practise defensive spells?"
"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asked Professor Umbridge in her falsely sweet voice.
"No, but—"
"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new programme of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way—"
"What use is that?" said Harry loudly. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be in a—"
"Hand, Mr Potter!" sang Professor Umbridge.
Harry thrust his fist in the air. Hermione tried to silently urge him not to lose his cool. The only way to start this sort of rebellion was peaceful protest.
Again, Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him, but now several other people had their hands up.
"And your name is?" Professor Umbridge said to Dean.
"Dean Thomas."
"Well, Mr Thomas?"
"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" said Dean. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free."
"I repeat," said Professor Umbridge, smiling very irritably at Dean, "do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"
"No, but—"
Professor Umbridge talked over him. "I do not wish to criticise the way things have been run in this school," she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed – not to mention," she gave a nasty little laugh, "extremely dangerous half-breeds."
"If you mean Professor Lupin," piped up Dean angrily, "he was the best we ever—"
"Hand, Mr Thomas! As I was saying – you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day—"
"No, we haven't," Hermione said, unable to bite her tongue, "we just—"
"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!"
Hermione overcame the urge to use a cuss word Mundungus Fletcher would approve of and, instead, put up her hand. Professor Umbridge predictably turned away from her.
"It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you."
"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" said Dean hotly. "Mind you, we still learned loads."
"Your hand is not up, Mr Thomas!" trilled Professor Umbridge. Her fake, sweet voice cracked ever so slightly. "Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?" she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up.
"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?" If Parvati hadn't been all the way across the room, Hermione would have gone over and hugged her, regardless of their feud. She held her breath, waiting for Umbridge's reply.
"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," said Professor Umbridge dismissively.
"Without ever practising them beforehand?" said Parvati incredulously. "Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"
"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough—"
"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again.
Professor Umbridge looked up.
"This is school, Mr Potter, not the real world," she said softly, though it was unbelievably more distressing than if she had screamed it.
"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting for us out there?"
"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr Potter."
"Oh, yeah?" said Harry. Hermione closed her eyes in resignation. Harry's temper was reaching its boiling point. He was going to make some terrible choices; she just knew it. Any progress they had made with dismantling Professor Umbridge's arguments would be set back to square one.
"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" enquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.
"Hmm, let's think," said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice. "Maybe ... Lord Voldemort?"
Hermione knew it had been coming. She knew he was going to go there. She heard Ron gasp; Lavender Brown uttered a little scream; Neville slipped sideways off his stool. Professor Umbridge, however, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry with a grimly satisfied expression on her face.
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter."
The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry.
"Now, let me make a few things quite plain." Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned towards them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk. "You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead—"
"He wasn't dead," said Harry angrily, "but yeah, he's returned!"
"Mr Potter, you have already lost your house ten points. Do not make matters worse for yourself," said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."
"It is NOT a lie!" said Harry. "I saw him. I fought him!"
He was almost manic... and most certainly living up to his reputation in The Daily Prophet.
"Detention, Mr Potter!" said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means, come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.'"
Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated.
"Harry, no!" Hermione whispered in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach.
"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" Harry asked, his voice shaking.
There was a collective intake of breath from the class, for none of them, apart from Ron and Hermione, had ever heard Harry talk about what had happened on the night Cedric had died. They stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face.
"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she said coldly.
"It was murder," said Harry. He was shaking. "Voldemort killed him, and you know it."
Professor Umbridge's face was entirely blank. It was absolutely terrifying. It reminded Hermione of a Muggle movie called Misery. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, "Come here, Mr Potter, dear."
Hermione gasped. What was she going to do? Hermione hovered her hand over her bag, mentally calculating the quickest way to grab her wand and which spell to use. The anxiety was bubbling to the surface, but the white-hot rage kept it at bay.
Harry kicked his chair and marched up to her desk. Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink, and started scribbling, hunched over. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so, she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so he could not open it.
"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," said Professor Umbridge, holding the note to him. Harry took it from her without saying a word and left the room, not even looking back at Hermione and Ron, slamming the classroom door shut behind him.
Whatever progress they had made vanished with the door slamming behind Harry. Hermione looked up at the front of the classroom and saw Professor Umbridge smiling back at her, her eyes boring an invisible hole into Hermione's soul. The ever-familiar ball of anxiety was bubbling to the surface, but a white-hot rage accompanied it. This woman was a direct threat to the very core of what Hermione was and strived to be: a witch. Being the smartest witch in their year had responsibilities, and the most important one right now was to expose and explain why this "professor" was such a threat.
It was war.