Filled with a renewed sense of responsibility and pride, Hermione started their next Arithmancy club meeting by dumping out 26 Galleons onto the table in front of Ginny and Sophie.
"You don't have to pay me to be your friend, Granger," Sophie said with a grin. "But I'll take it!"
Hermione's eyes sparkled with excitement. "These will be our way of letting people know when our defence meetings are," she explained. "These will be our friendship bracelets. They're perfect. Even if Umbridge or Filch turn out our pockets, all they will find are Galleons."
Ginny picked up a coin and examined it closely. "But they'll be able to, hypothetically, simply read the message on them."
Hermione's grin widened. "Our message isn't going to say anything that can't be read. See those numbers there? Those are the serial numbers of the coin. They're on every Galleon. We're just going to change that number to the date of our next meeting. Unless you know that specifically, it will still look like any other coin!"
Sophie and Ginny were silent for a moment, studying the coins in their hands. Hermione could hardly contain her anticipation, but she knew they needed to figure it out for themselves.
"Blimey, Granger, I think you've figured it out!" Sophie conceded, her eyes lighting up.
"This is actually going to work!" Ginny added, her voice tinged with amazement.
"But I am going to need your help figuring out the Arithmancy of it all," Hermione reminded them. "I've been trying to work it out for the last few hours, but I keep getting stuck on the ambient magical concentration integer. Will you two take a look with me? You may see something I didn't."
The three friends put their heads together, poring over equations and notes for a solid hour. Hermione's eyes suddenly widened with realisation. "I got it!" she exclaimed, hurriedly scribbling the final equation onto the parchment. Ginny and Sophie leaned in, their eyes scanning the parchment. After a tense moment, they both looked up with grins and nodded their heads. Hermione beamed. This was happening!
After the Arithmancy club, Hermione retreated to her "secret" tower that she had used during her third year when she was using the Time-Turner. She needed privacy to concentrate on the advanced magic required for the coins. Laying the Galleons out on the windowsill, she reviewed the equations to ensure she understood the spell before beginning.
When she could recite the equations with her eyes closed, Hermione felt ready to start working on the actual spell. The incantation, "Proteo Mutatio," required precise pronunciation: "Pro-tee-o Mew-tah-tee-oh."
Hermione practised the pronunciation, stressing the syllables correctly: "PRO-tee-o Mew-TAH-tee-oh." She repeated it slowly and carefully, then faster and faster, until she reached one hundred repetitions.
Next, she focused on the wand movement. She read and reread the directions:
Proteo: Begin with the wand held straight before you, pointing towards the target. Trace a quick, precise circle in the air with the wand, starting from the bottom and moving counterclockwise. The "Pro" syllable is emphasised, with a firm, controlled movement.
Mutatio: As you complete the circle, smoothly transition into the upward movement. Move the wand upwards in a straight line, emphasising the "Mu" syllable. The upward motion symbolises the transformative nature of the charm.
Extend the Spell: To complete the spell, extend the wand towards the target while enunciating the "ta" syllable. The final "tio" syllable is a crisp snap of the wand, locking in the magical transformation.
Hermione systematically went through each motion, only moving on when she mastered the previous action. Nearly three hours later, her wand arm was in severe pain, but she was satisfied with her newly acquired muscle memory. Knowing better than to try the spell with her arm feeling the way it did, Hermione allowed herself a quick hot bath in the Prefect's Bathroom to loosen up her muscles.
Refreshed, Hermione returned to her tower, ready to try the spell. It took ten tries, but on the eleventh attempt, she knew it had worked. The coin grew hot in her hand, and with just a thought of a random number (19091979), the serial numbers on the Galleon changed right before her eyes.
Hermione stared at the Galleon in her hand, the reality setting in. She had just successfully cast a N.E.W.T level spell, and now she was going to help an army of children organise against a fascist government and a dark wizard hellbent on killing her best friend.
During the next Dumbledore's Army meeting, Hermione handed out the bewitched Galleons from a basket to all the DA members, her excitement palpable. Initially thrilled when he saw the basket, Ron thought she was actually giving out real gold but soon realised the truth.
"You see the numerals around the edge of the coins?" Hermione explained, holding one up for everyone to examine at the end of their fourth meeting. The coin glinted richly and golden in the torchlight. "On real Galleons, that's just a serial number referring to the goblin who cast the coin. On these fake coins, though, the numbers will change to reflect the time and date of the next meeting. The coins will grow hot when the date changes, so if you're carrying them in a pocket, you'll be able to feel them. We take one each, and when Harry sets the date of the next meeting, he'll change the numbers on his coin, and because I've put a Protean Charm on them, they'll all change to mimic his."
A blank silence greeted Hermione's words. She looked around at all the upturned faces, feeling a bit disconcerted.
"Well – I thought it was a good idea," she said uncertainly. "I mean, even if Umbridge asked us to turn out our pockets, there's nothing fishy about carrying a Galleon, is there? But ... well, if you don't want to use them –"
"You can do a Protean Charm?" Terry Boot interjected, eyes wide with disbelief.
Hermione, momentarily confused, looked back at the coin in her hand. "Yes," she replied, her head tilting slightly.
"But that's ... that's NEWT standard, that is," Terry said weakly.
"Oh," Hermione said, trying to look modest. "Oh ... well ... yes, I suppose it is."
"How come you're not in Ravenclaw?" he demanded, staring at Hermione with something close to awe. "With brains like yours?"
"Well, the Sorting Hat did seriously consider putting me in Ravenclaw during my Sorting," Hermione said brightly, "but it decided on Gryffindor in the end. So, does that mean we're using the Galleons?"
There was a murmur of assent, and everyone moved forward to collect one from the basket. Harry glanced sideways at Hermione.
"You know what these remind me of?" he asked.
"No, what's that?"
"The Death Eaters' scars. Voldemort touches one of them, and all their scars burn, and they know they've got to join him."
"Well ... yes," Hermione said quietly, "that is kind of where I got the idea ... but you'll notice I decided to engrave the date on bits of metal rather than on our members' skin."
"Yeah ... I prefer your way," said Harry, grinning, as he slipped his Galleon into his pocket. "I suppose the only danger with these is that we might accidentally spend them."
"Fat chance," said Ron, examining his fake Galleon with a slightly mournful air. "I haven't got any real Galleons to confuse it with."
As the first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, drew nearer, their DA meetings were put on hold because Angelina insisted on almost daily practices. Hermione tried not to show her annoyance at the disruption of their precious Quidditch practices. The fact that the Quidditch Cup had not been held for so long added considerably to the interest and excitement surrounding the forthcoming game; the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were taking a lively interest in the outcome, as they would be playing both teams over the coming year. Though the Heads of House of the competing teams attempted to disguise it under a decent pretence of sportsmanship, they were determined to see their side victorious. Hermione realised how much Professor McGonagall cared about beating Slytherin when she abstained from giving them homework in the week leading up to the match.
"I think you've got enough to be getting on with at the moment," she said loftily. Nobody could quite believe their ears until she looked directly at Harry and Ron and said grimly, "I've become accustomed to seeing the Quidditch Cup in my study, boys, and I really don't want to have to hand it over to Professor Snape, so use the extra time to practice, won't you?"
Hermione couldn't help but admit she welcomed the break, but she did take advantage of the time she would have spent on her Transfiguration homework to finish a few outstanding assignments for other classes.
The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. When Hermione awoke, her roommates were already up and getting ready. Lavender and Parvati were painting each other's faces in Gryffindor's maroon and gold colours, transforming them into elaborate glamour makeup rather than typical sports war paint. Hermione opted for a more subdued approach, donning a red and gold scarf, gloves, and rosette. As she left her room, she bumped into Ginny, who was similarly dressed.
"Nice outfit," Ginny grinned. "Yours too," Hermione said.
The Great Hall buzzed with excitement, the usual hum of conversation amplified by the anticipation of the Quidditch match. The Slytherins, however, seemed intent on sneering at the Gryffindors, causing issues all week and putting Hermione and the other prefects on edge. She noticed many Slytherins wore pins or badges and squinted to read them.
"How're you feeling?" Ginny asked Ron as they joined him at the Gryffindor table. Ron stared despondently into his empty cereal bowl as though contemplating drowning himself in it.
"He's just nervous," said Harry. "Well, that's a good sign. I never feel you perform as well in exams if you're not a bit nervous," Hermione said heartily.
"Hello," came a vague and dreamy voice from behind them. Harry looked up to see Luna Lovegood had drifted over from the Ravenclaw table. Many were staring and laughing; she had procured a hat shaped like a life-sized lion's head precariously perched on her head.
"I'm supporting Gryffindor," Luna announced, pointing unnecessarily at her hat. "Look what it does…"
She tapped the hat with her wand, which let out a realistic roar, making everyone nearby jump.
"It's good, isn't it?" Luna said happily. "I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, but there wasn't time. Anyway... good luck, Ronald!"
She drifted away. As they watched her go, Sophie nonchalantly walked past Hermione and slipped her one of the badges the Slytherins were wearing. Before Hermione could inspect it, Angelina hurried towards them with Katie and Alicia.
"When you're ready," she said, "we're going to go straight down to the pitch, check out conditions, and change."
"We'll be there in a bit," Harry assured her. "Ron's just got to have some breakfast."
It became clear after ten minutes that Ron couldn't eat anything more. As they rose from the table, Hermione drew Harry to one side.
"Don't let Ron see what's on those Slytherins' badges," she whispered urgently. The badge was awful, shaped like a crown and reading, "Weasley is our King."
Harry looked puzzled, but Hermione shook her head warningly as Ron ambled over, looking lost and desperate. Her heart ached for him. She needed to distract him.
"Good luck, Ron," Hermione said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. It was the first thing that came to mind. "And you, Harry."
Her impromptu kiss seemed to work. Ron appeared slightly more focused as they walked out of the Great Hall, touching the spot on his face where Hermione had kissed him. He looked puzzled but too distracted to notice much around him, including the Slytherin badges.
Hermione watched them leave and turned back to the table. Ginny was wagging her eyebrows. "And what was that?"
"I had to distract him from the Slytherin table, and I panicked," Hermione admitted, handing Ginny the badge.
"Very peculiar distraction," Ginny said, grinning.
The frosty grass crunched under their feet as they hurried down the sloping lawns towards the stadium. Hermione followed Luna, Neville, and Ginny into the Gryffindor stands, taking their seats near the centre of the stadium in the Gryffindor section.
The Gryffindor team marched onto the pitch to a roar from the crowd. Hermione saw the Slytherin players also wearing those silver crown-shaped badges. She hoped Ron hadn't noticed them.
"Captains, shake hands," ordered the referee, Madam Hooch, as Angelina and Montague, the new Slytherin Captain, reached each other. "Mount your brooms…"
Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew.
The balls were released, and the fourteen players shot upwards. Hermione watched Ron streak off towards the goal hoops. Harry and Malfoy flew up high, likely searching for the Golden Snitch.
The match began with an electric buzz, and Lee Jordan's commentary kicked off with his usual enthusiasm.
"And it's Johnson – Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years, but she still won't go out with me –" "JORDAN!" yelled Professor McGonagall. "– just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest – and she's ducked Warrington, she's passed Montague, she's – ouch – been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe ... Montague catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch and – nice Bludger there from George Weasley, that's a Bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse-passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet's away –"
From the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed the Slytherin crowd standing up and grouping in a peculiar manner. Suddenly, they erupted into song, their voices blending into a mocking chant.
"– dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger – close call, Alicia – and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?" Lee paused, his curiosity piqued by the rising song from the Slytherin section:
"Weasley cannot save a thing. He cannot block a single ring. That's why Slytherins all sing: Weasley is our King.
"Weasley was born in a bin. He always lets the Quaffle in. Weasley will make sure we win. Weasley is our King."
"– and Alicia passes back to Angelina!" Lee shouted, trying to overpower the taunting lyrics. Hermione felt a surge of anger, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She dared not look at Ginny, fearing her reaction. "Come on now, Angelina – looks like she's got just the Keeper to beat! – SHE SHOOTS – SHE – aaaah …"
The Slytherin Keeper had saved the goal. He threw the Quaffle to Warrington, who sped off with it, zig-zagging between Alicia and Katie. Hermione's heart sank as the Slytherin chant grew louder, swelling with malicious glee as Warrington neared Ron.
"Weasley is our King, Weasley is our King, He always lets the Quaffle in Weasley is our King."
Hermione held her breath, watching Harry turn his Firebolt towards Ron, who hovered alone before the goal hoops. Warrington hurtled towards him, determined.
"– and it's Warrington with the Quaffle, Warrington heading for goal, he's out of Bludger range with just the Keeper ahead –"
The Slytherin chant crescendoed, the malicious lyrics clear as a bell:
"Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring …"
"– so it's the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper Weasley, brother of Beaters Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team – come on, Ron!" Lee's voice urged. Hermione screamed with all her might, hoping to bolster Ron's confidence. Around her, Gryffindors and other supporters joined in, their voices a cacophony of encouragement.
But a scream of delight from the Slytherins shattered their hopes: Ron had dived wildly, missing the Quaffle, which sailed through the central hoop.
"Slytherin score!" Lee's voice announced amidst the uproar, "So that's ten–nil to Slytherin – bad luck, Ron."
The Slytherin chant continued with renewed vigour:
"WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN; HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN …"
"And Gryffindor back in possession, and it's Katie Bell tanking up the pitch," Lee continued, valiantly trying to regain control of the narrative, though the Slytherin voices drowned him out.
"WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN WEASLEY IS OUR KING …"
Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna joined in the Gryffindor cheers, their shouts a desperate attempt to drown out the Slytherin song. Despite their efforts, the Slytherin voices remained dominant.
Harry flew in a wide arc, scanning the pitch for the Snitch. Hermione knew he was searching for a way to end the game swiftly, sparing Ron further humiliation.
"WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN …"
"And it's Warrington again," bellowed Lee, "who passes to Pucey; Pucey's off past Spinnet; come on now, Angelina, you can take him – turns out you can't – but nice Bludger from Fred Weasley, I mean, George Weasley, oh, who cares, one of them, anyway, and Warrington drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell – er – drops it, too – so that's Montague with the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Montague takes the Quaffle and he's off up the pitch, come on now, Gryffindor, block him!"
Hermione felt Ginny's hand grip her arm tightly. She reciprocated, squeezing back to offer comfort.
"WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING …"
"And Pucey's dodged Alicia again, and he's heading straight for goal; stop it, Ron!" Hermione shut her eyes, bracing for the inevitable. A collective groan from the Gryffindor end, coupled with fresh cheers from the Slytherins, confirmed her worst fears.
"THAT'S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING WEASLEY IS OUR KING."
"Twenty–nil is nothing," Hermione said to Ginny, though she knew the words were hollow. The Slytherins' lead increased as Ron let in two more goals.
"And Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Pucey, ducks Montague, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Johnson; Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle, she's past Warrington, she's heading for goal, come on now, Angelina – GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's forty–ten, forty–ten to Slytherin, and Pucey has the Quaffle …"
Hermione tore her eyes away from Ron to calm her nerves. Harry ducked a Bludger from Crabbe and resumed his search for the Snitch.
"– Pucey throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey – Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good – I mean bad – Bell's hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it's Pucey in possession again …"
"WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN; HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN …"
Hermione gasped. Harry was diving! He had seen the Snitch! Malfoy streaked down from the sky on Harry's left, a green and silver blur.
Feet from the ground, Harry extended his right hand, reaching for the Snitch. Malfoy's arm extended to his right, groping for the tiny golden ball.
Harry pulled his broom upwards, clutching the struggling Snitch. The Gryffindor spectators erupted in cheers. He had done it!
But WHAM. A Bludger from Crabbe hit Harry squarely in the small of the back, sending him flying off his broom. Fortunately, he was only five or six feet above the ground. Madam Hooch's whistle blew, and the pitch filled with a mix of cheers and jeers.
Malfoy seemed to exchange a few choice words with Harry, but thankfully, Harry kept his cool and turned away to join the rest of his team. They were landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph, all except Ron, who had dismounted by the goalposts and was trudging slowly towards the changing rooms, looking utterly dejected.
However, Hermione's heart sank as she saw Malfoy continuing his taunts. His sneering words hit their mark, and suddenly Fred and George charged at the blond Slytherin and his cronies. Harry managed to grab George while Angelina, Alicia, and Katie restrained Fred. Malfoy kept laughing, spewing more insults just enough to ignite the fuse.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion for Hermione. Suddenly, Harry released George, and the two of them sprinted towards Malfoy. Harry drew back his arm and punched Draco squarely in the stomach.
"Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!" Hermione's voice rang out, sharp and desperate.
The pitch was a cacophony of chaos—Malfoy's yells, George's swearing, the shrill blast of a whistle. But nothing could stop Harry and George from their onslaught until someone nearby bellowed, "Impedimenta!" and the fighters were thrown backwards, breaking apart the scuffle.
"What do you think you're doing?" Madam Hooch's voice cut through the din, furious and shrill. Malfoy lay on the ground, curled up and whimpering, his nose bloodied; George had a swollen lip; the three Chasers were still holding back Fred, and Crabbe was cackling maniacally in the background. "I've never seen behaviour like it – back up to the castle, both of you and straight to your Head of House's office! Go! Now!"
Harry and George marched off the pitch, breathing heavily, neither speaking a word. Fred followed closely behind, looking ready to join the fray at the slightest provocation.
"What the bloody hell was that?" Hermione said to no one in particular, her voice a mixture of shock and disbelief. The game had turned into something far darker, and the celebration was all but forgotten.
"And then the bloody chav started slagging off about Mum and Dad and then started in on Harry's Mum, and that's when the boys pounced on the git," Fred recounted as they all gathered in the common room after dinner. Harry and George were still presumably in Professor McGonagall's office, and Ron hadn't been seen since the end of the game.
"What did he say?" Ginny asked quietly, her voice tense.
"He called Mum 'fat and ugly' and Dad a 'useless loser,'" Fred said through gritted teeth.
Hermione clenched her fists, rage boiling inside her. She wasn't alone; the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and many of the Gryffindor students were visibly seething.
"And Harry's mum?" Ginny pressed, her eyes narrowing.
"He said something like, 'You can remember what your mother's house stank like and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it,'" Fred growled, his anger barely contained.
At that moment, the portrait door swung open. Harry and George, still bloodied and bruised, stormed into the room.
"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, her concern evident as they stalked over to the group. Harry looked livid, while George appeared nauseous.
"No," Harry growled. "That bloody woman banned us from Quidditch for life."
Fred immediately moved to hug his twin, but George pushed him back. "She banned you too, mate."
"She what?!"
"Another 'Educational Decree,'" Harry grunted, his voice shaking with suppressed fury. He looked close to tears.
"Banned," said Angelina in a hollow voice. "Banned. No Seeker and no Beaters... what on earth are we going to do?"
"It's just so unfair," said Alicia numbly. "I mean, what about Crabbe and that Bludger he hit after the whistle had been blown? Has she banned him?"
"No," said Ginny miserably. "He just got lines. I heard Montague laughing about it at dinner."
"And banning Fred when he didn't even do anything!" Alicia fumed, pummelling her knee with her fist.
"It's not my fault I didn't," said Fred, his face twisted with an ugly look. "I would've pounded the little scumbag to a pulp if you three hadn't been holding me back."
"I'm going to bed," said Angelina, getting slowly to her feet. "Maybe this will all turn out to have been a bad dream... maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and find we haven't played yet."
Alicia and Katie soon followed her. Fred and George sloped off to bed some time later, glowering at everyone they passed, and Ginny went not long after that. Only Harry and Hermione were left beside the fire.
"Have you seen Ron?" Hermione asked in a low voice.
Harry shook his head.
"I think he's avoiding us," said Hermione. "Where do you think he –?"
But at that precise moment, there was a creaking sound behind them as the Fat Lady swung forward, and Ron came clambering through the portrait hole. He was very pale indeed, and there was snow in his hair. When he saw Harry and Hermione, he stopped dead in his tracks.
"Where have you been?" Hermione asked anxiously, springing up.
"Walking," Ron mumbled, still wearing his Quidditch things.
"You look frozen," said Hermione. "Come and sit down!"
Ron walked to the fireside and sank into the chair furthest from Harry's, not meeting his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Ron mumbled, staring at his feet.
"What for?" said Harry.
"For thinking I can play Quidditch," said Ron. "I'm going to resign first thing tomorrow."
"If you resign," said Harry testily, "there'll only be three players left on the team."
And when Ron looked puzzled, he added, "I've been given a lifetime ban. So've Fred and George."
"What?" Ron yelped.
Hermione recounted the whole story. When she had finished, Ron looked more anguished than ever.
"This is all my fault –"
"You didn't make me punch Malfoy," said Harry angrily.
"– if I wasn't so terrible at Quidditch –"
"– it's got nothing to do with that."
"– it was that song that wound me up –"
"– it would've wound anyone up."
Hermione got up and walked to the window, away from the argument, watching the snow swirling down against the pane.
"Look, drop it, will you!" Harry burst out. "It's bad enough without you blaming yourself for everything!"
Hermione squinted, noticing a warm glow in the distance. She leaned closer to ensure she wasn't imagining things.
Ron mumbled, "This is the worst I've ever felt in my life."
"Join the club," said Harry bitterly.
"Well," said Hermione, her voice trembling slightly. "I can think of one thing that might cheer you both up."
"Oh yeah?" said Harry sceptically.
"Yeah," said Hermione, turning away from the pitch-black, snow-flecked window, a broad smile spreading across her face. "Hagrid's back."