CW: Violence
Hermione's joy at her victory carried her through the week precisely two days, into the evening of the second day in the Slytherin common room.
"Granger."
Hermione looked up from the book she was reading to see Pansy sneering down at her.
"Professor Snape is looking for you," she told her. "He's looking for a few of us. Follow me."
Closing her book obediently, Hermione hopped off the chair and followed Pansy out of the common room, deeper into the dungeons.
"We're not going to his office?" Hermione questioned as they passed it.
Pansy glanced back at her. "His office…? Ah… he wanted us to meet in an old classroom. For a demonstration, I think."
A demonstration? Hermione's mind lit with the possibilities of what Snape might want to quietly teach his Slytherins far beneath the school.
Upon reaching the classroom, Pansy gestured for Hermione to enter before her, which Hermione did without a thought. She glanced around – the old classroom was dank and didn't have many desks left in it. There were several other Slytherins all lounging around, sitting on the desks and chairs, and Hermione was mildly surprised that she would get to learn something along with the older students.
"Where is Professor Snape?" Hermione asked, looking around.
There was a click, and Hermione turned to see Pansy stepping in front of the door, blocking the handle and lock from view. She offered Hermione a bland smile, and Hermione felt her heart slowly start to sink.
"There is no special demonstration by Professor Snape, is there?" she said quietly.
"Very good, Granger," an older, spotty boy said snidely, standing up. "What gave it away?"
"Even if Professor Snape would invite me to see an advanced magic demonstration with older students, he'd never have invited her," Hermione said, gesturing towards Pansy. "She can barely figure out which end of her wand to hold half the time."
Several of the older students snickered, and Pansy's face twisted with rage.
"That's why you're here now, Granger; you don't know your place," she spat. "Going around after Christmas like you'd deserved a proper pureblood courting gift, bossing everyone around at the snowball fight, acting like you're better than everybody else..."
"Some of us decided to remind you of your proper place in the world," said a large boy, who cracked his knuckles ominously.
"And in case you've forgotten where that is," said an older girl, with an oily smile, "it's in the ground."
Hermione had been bullied before at Muggle school.
Hermione hadn't been very popular, and she'd had the bad habit of correcting her peers when they made mistakes or spoke with improper grammar. It hadn't earned her any friends, but it had definitely made her enemies, and Hermione had found recess a trial for a long time. Before her magic had matured enough to start lashing out and protecting her with regularity, Hermione had been cornered and physically bullied a fair few times – generally a few punches, hair-pulling, slapping, and the like.
It had hurt, but she had survived it, often by playing pathetic and acting more hurt than she actually was. She hadn't been able to adequately defend herself, so surrendering and giving up had left the bullies to declare victory sooner rather than later, leaving her with fewer potential injuries than she might have gained if she hadn't faked injury.
One thing Hermione had enjoyed about being in Hogwarts so far was her ability to defend herself. A snide remark could earn someone a curse, and people had largely stopped bullying her after the first couple months, once they'd realized she could defend herself.
It only took Hermione half a second of seeing seven wands pointed at her to immediately decide that attempting to defend herself wasn't going to be a viable option this time.
"Expelliarmus!"
Hermione's wand went flying out of her hand, despite her trying to grab for it, and it clattered to the floor a distance away from her. The next spell that hit her Hermione didn't hear, but she felt – sharp pain lanced across her leg, and she screamed, dropping to the ground.
"Can't have a Mudblood like you prancing around the school like you're on the same level as the rest of us," spat one of the boys. He hit her with another spell, and the same pain lanced her other leg – her Achilles tendon, she realized vaguely, even as she screamed again. Someone knew their anatomy.
"That's better," the older girl said, smirking in satisfaction. "Sniveling on the floor, scared and cowering."
"Much better place for a Mudblood," one of the guys agreed.
Someone hit her with another spell, cutting open her robes and slicing over her chest. Hermione screamed again and started to cry, and another cutting curse narrowly missed her eyes, striking across her forehead, cutting a few of her curls short, too.
"Don't blind her," the girl snapped.
"I'm not! I missed – she was squirming. I was trying to leave a scar on her cheek for her to remember us by-"
Hermione curled up into a ball, holding herself tightly. She screamed and cried at each hit she took. Eventually, the students seemed to tire of curses, and they began kicking her and spitting on her, before they tired of this as well.
"Come on," one of the boys said, finally. "Only an hour till curfew. Let's get out of here; she won't be found until Filch patrols, and we need to establish alibis by then."
The group all filtered out, spitting on her or giving her snide remarks as they left, one by one. Pansy was the last to leave, casting a smug, smirking look backwards, before she slammed the door behind her. Hermione could hear the lock click into place.
Finally, the dungeon fell silent.
Taking a slow breath, Hermione carefully began uncurling herself, taking stock of her injuries.
First – the cuts on her body. That pain was sharp and distracting – and some of them were still bleeding. That could get dangerous, fast. Next, the bruising – Hermione didn't know how to tell if she had internal organ damage herself, but the sooner she could get that checked out, the better.
She crawled across the floor, finding her wand under one of the desks. She carefully picked it up, her hands weak, and thanked her lucky stars she'd lingered in the Hospital Wing with Malfoy.
"Episkey."
She healed the cuts on her arms first, though it took a few tries, with her shaky hands. After that, she fixed her severed Achilles' tendons, with a screech and a whimper – they hurt almost as much being knit back together as they had when they were cut.
After healing a few more cuts on her legs and body, Hermione shakily got to her feet.
There was blood on the floor, which didn't come as a surprise. As much as Hermione wanted to leave evidence of what she had been through as proof of her story, another part of her roiled at the idea; the Slytherins had planned this attack. They weren't about to be caught, blood puddle or not. And leaving her blood lying around was dangerous – Hermione had a book of rituals that had a fair few examples of just how dangerous that could be.
With a groan, Hermione flicked a cleaning spell at it, then another, then another. After six of them, she hit the stones with a bleaching spell, and a heavy smell clogged the room. But at least her blood was gone.
Stumbling to the door, Hermione aimed her wand at the door.
"Alohomora."
The lock clicked open, and Hermione carefully made her way down the hallway, leaning heavily on the walls as she did. She wiped her hands off periodically on her robes so she wouldn't leave bloody hand prints as she did, but she was getting dizzy. She hoped Snape's office wasn't much further.
Finally, she turned into the familiar corridor, and she nearly cried with relief as she saw the familiar sconces outside his office door. Instead, she managed a relatively steady knock.
"Enter."
Hermione pushed open the door and moved to stand in front of Snape's desk, closing the door behind her. Snape was grading papers; it took him a moment to glance up fully from his desk, and she knew the moment he did, because suddenly he was standing, his eyes wide with alarm.
"Miss Granger!"
Hermione could imagine what she looked like. She had a cut across her forehead that was still bleeding profusely – she hadn't wanted to try and heal a wound she couldn't see. She had shredded robes, damp with blood, and her white school blouse had turned red and sticky.
"Professor Snape," she said calmly. "I've come to request a Blood-Replenishing Potion."
Her cool delivery was ruined entirely by her swooning at the end of her sentence and falling sideways into the chair, her vision spinning. Snape was next to her a moment later, casting diagnostics under his breath, before casting a charm, a bottle zooming to him from the shelves.
"Blood replenisher," he told her, uncorking it. "Drink."
Hermione drank the potion, the thick liquid nearly making her choke. A moment later, she sighed, and she felt herself relax slightly as the dizziness began to recede.
"Thank you, Professor," she told him.
"Do not thank me yet, you silly girl," Snape told her, snarling. "I think you may have a lacerated spleen. We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey immediately."
"No!" Hermione objected. "No. No, professor, can't you just help heal me? I don't want to go to the Hospital Wing."
Snape stared at her in astonishment.
"Miss Granger, you are not usually one of my dimmer students," he informed her. "Pray tell, why are you suddenly acting a fool and refusing desperately-needed medical treatment?"
"I fell down the stairs," Hermione said promptly. "I'm very embarrassed about my clumsiness. I don't want anyone else to know."
Snape's eyes were piercing.
"Fell down some stairs," he snarled. "They must have been very sharp stairs, to cut you up so."
"Very sharp, sir," Hermione agreed. "Rotten bit of luck, on my part."
Snape swore and stood, cloak swirling behind him as he stormed off into the small room connected to his office. Hermione sat on the chair for a long moment or two and swayed a bit; the blood replenishing potion was helping, but it was making her a lot more aware of just how much everything hurt.
"-she what?"
Professor Snape abruptly returned, Madam Pomfrey in tow, and gestured rudely toward Hermione.
"See for yourself," he said snidely. "Mind the blood on the floor."
"Oh, you dear girl!" Madam Pomfrey fell to her knees beside her, already casting diagnostics. "Whatever happened to you?"
Hermione glanced at Professor Snape.
"I fell down some stairs," Hermione said.
Madam Pomfrey gave her a sharp look.
"I understand this Slytherin nonsense of not ratting each other out, but this is for your health, Hermione," she said. "I need to know for medical accuracy. What really happened?"
Hermione hesitated.
"Well, the stairs certainly hurt more than most stairs generally do," she said carefully. "In fact, it felt an awful lot like cutting charms to my Achilles' tendons, then to the rest of my body, then like several solid kicks to my stomach, back, and ribs."
Snape snarled and stormed around behind his desk, pacing. Hermione bit her lip; he was a bit frightening like this. She didn't really think he was mad at her, but Hermione knew he wasn't pleased with her not telling him the truth.
"Cutting charms to the Achilles' tendons?" the nurse echoed, frowning at Hermione's ankles.
"I healed them," Hermione explained. "Episkey. I- ah- I didn't think I could walk without healing that first."
Madame Pomfrey looked impressed.
"I'd wondered if you'd learned anything, from shadowing me in the Hospital Wing last term," she said. "Hold on to your chair, Miss Granger. This is going to hurt."
She cast several spells in quick succession, and Hermione gasped and whimpered. It did hurt. A lot.
"I have just fixed your lacerated spleen and internal bleeding," she informed her. "Both of which could have easily been fatal if not treated in a timely manner."
Hermione gave her a bland smile.
"I'm glad I was treated, then," she said politely.
"Oh, hold on, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said darkly. "We're not done yet."
By the time she was done, Hermione had had her head wound cleaned and healed, two broken ribs repaired and put back into place, the multitude of cuts on her body healed, the bruises on her body magically taken care of, and even the scars on her body left behind from her own poor healing attempts wiped away. By the time Madam Pomfrey had been satisfied, Hermione had been stripped to her underclothes and examined all over, as well as been fed another Blood-Replenishing potion.
"Well, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said finally. "I daresay this is the worst case of having fallen down the stairs that I've seen yet."
Hermione offered a trembling smile. "I'm very clumsy, I suppose."
Madam Pomfrey looked upset herself, but she stood and gathered her things, turning to go. Hermione felt a bolt of panic.
"Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione said, and the nurse turned back. Hermione bit her lip. "Because I wasn't actually ever in the Hospital Wing, I wouldn't need to be marked down on the official Hospital Wing intake forms, would I? Or on the sign-in sheet?"
Madam Pomfrey gave Hermione a long look.
"No, I suppose not," she said finally, with a sigh. "Have a good evening, Miss Granger, Professor Snape."
She flounced from the room into the side room, where Hermione presumed Professor Snape had a fireplace hooked up to the Floo.
With a sigh, Hermione touched her fixed-up sides, tentatively pressing on her skin. There was still a definite ache, but there was no longer the deep pain of severe bruising.
"Miss Granger."
Hermione quickly looked up to see Professor Snape looking at her from across his desk, his face dark. She shivered.
"Explain."
Hermione looked at him, considered, took a deep breath, and told him what happened.
She left nothing out. She included Pansy coming to get her, and everything the students had said to her during the altercation. She recounted the order of the attacks, who had hit her, how many times, and how hard. How they'd left her bleeding in the room, intending for her to be caught by Filch. Snape's face did not change during her story, but his eyes grew darker and darker.
"And who, pray tell, were these noble Slytherins?" Snape said quietly.
Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know."
Snape's nostrils flared. "Miss Granger-"
"I don't know," Hermione said again, her voice a bit of a wail. "Professor, I don't know them. I stay away from the older students – all they do is say mean things or try to trip me. I don't know who most of them are, only the prefects. I only know what they look like, not their names."
Snape stood immediately and left the room again, leaving Hermione sitting there for another long minute or two, looking down at her ruined clothes and wondering what to do with them.
"Here."
A book was plopped down in front of her, and Hermione looked up at Snape slowly. Snape nodded expectantly, and Hermione looked back down.
It was a yearbook.
"I didn't know that Hogwarts even had these," Hermione said wonderingly.
Snape ignored her.
"Find your attackers," Snape said silkily. "Identify them."
Hesitantly, Hermione paged through the book, finding the listing of Slytherin house last. Her attackers looked different in the yearbook than they had in the classroom – their faces not as twisted with hatred, and more normal-looking – but Hermione was able to pick out all six of them.
"The seventh was Pansy Parkinson," Hermione told him. "She's a first year; she wouldn't be in last year's book."
Snape was busy writing down names and ignored her. After he did, he took a deep breath, and Hermione watched as her teacher appeared to try to steady himself.
"Miss Granger," he told her. "What I am about to tell you is something I am not proud of. I do endeavor to be honest with my students, though, and I am afraid there are things you must know."
Hermione straightened. "I'm listening."
"If you go to the Headmaster to report this, most likely, nothing will happen," Snape told her seriously. "These students will have made sure to have iron-clad alibis, and it will be the word of one first year against seven of theirs."
Hermione blinked.
"I… kind of assumed that part, sir," she admitted. "Things in Slytherin don't exactly play out like they do in the other houses, do they?"
Snape's lips twisted.
"No, Miss Granger, they do not." He grimaced. "It is at this point I must tell you a second unfortunate truth: I cannot punish these students."
Hermione bit her lip.
"I didn't think you could either, for the same reason," she said. "But, if you're telling me this separately… you can't punish them for a different reason?"
Snape nodded once, sharply, and Hermione scowled.
"It's their names, isn't it?" she said, angry. "Their names, their stupid bloodlines, and whoever their stupid parents are. That's protecting them, isn't it? Stupid politics."
She scowled at his desk, arms folded, and Snape sighed. There was a silence where Hermione just glared at his desk, fuming at the unfairness of it all, while Snape said nothing.
"Miss Granger," he said finally.
Hermione looked up.
"The same constraint that would protect these families from any potential scandal of their children attacking someone runs both ways," he said. His eyes bored into hers. "If, for example, someone were to attack them, and best them, especially if that student were younger than them, and of what was considered 'lesser' blood…"
Hermione nodded slowly.
"The embarrassment would be incredible," she said slowly. "Their families would tell them not to make a fuss and to handle it themselves, rather than admit what happened."
Snape inclined his head.
"…but that could end up in an escalating war," Hermione said, worrying at her lip. "If, hypothetically, I were to go after them, and somehow win, what's to stop them from coming back after me? I don't want to have to watch my back the rest of my life."
Snape raised an eyebrow at her.
"Hermione," he said, surprising her. "Are you going to go off and attack these students right now?"
"What?" Hermione said, surprised. "Um. No. Well, maybe Pansy. But the rest, of course not – they're all much older than me. They'd pummel me."
"And if you do decide to go after them, and extract your revenge, when would you do it?" he asked, his eyes gleaming.
"After I was sure I could beat them," Hermione said slowly. "I wouldn't do it unless I thought I could win."
"And if you win, Miss Granger," Snape said, looking at her directly, "after having gotten to that place – do you really think any of them would be able to win against you again?"
Hermione considered, a small smile growing across her face.
"No," she said simply. "I don't."
"Then," Snape said, "you have your answer."
Hermione thought about this for several minutes, before looking back to Snape.
"Professor," she said finally. "You're not really like any of the other professors in this school, are you?"
Snape apparently took this as a compliment, and he smirked, dark laughter dancing in his eyes.
"Oh, Miss Granger, you have already said it yourself," he said, his eyes glinting. "In Slytherin, we do things very differently."