Hermione was pleasantly surprised to find she was enjoying her exams. The written papers weren't nearly as challenging as she had feared, and she enjoyed the chance to show off her knowledge without worrying about how she appeared to the other Slytherins. The practical exams were fun as well. Professor Flitwick had called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk. Hermione found it easy. She paused as it reached the other side of the table, an impish smile touching her lips as Flitwick wrote in his book, a quick guess based on him being the choir teacher, and she went for it.
"Do dee doo do, do dee doo do…"
Flitwick jerked his head up sharply, recognition flaring in his eyes to Hermione's relief.
She did her best to hum as she made the pineapple tap-dance to Singing in the Rain, and Flitwick laughed and clapped his hands in delight, before singing it and humming along with her – his voice much better, as the choir teacher.
By the end of it, Flitwick had stood up and roared with his applause.
"That was marvelous!" he told her. "Doing the edge of the desk for the curb! You remembered the entire number! How creative! What skill for a first year!"
"It was one of my mother's favorite movies," Hermione told him, smiling. "I must have seen it a hundred times."
"Oh, extra credit for that, Miss Granger-!" he said, writing on his scroll. "Oh, well done-!"
Not all her classes were easy to try and earn extra points for. Transfiguration, she managed to turn her mouse into a snuffbox, but points were given on how pretty the snuffbox was, and pretty was a subjective criterion. McGonagall had given her a rare smile at the Baroque ornamented gold snuffbox she'd managed to produce, though, so Hermione hoped she'd managed to do well.
For Potions, both Hermione and Theo brewed (independently, mind you) the more advanced version of the Forgetfulness Potion they'd done a month ago. Hermione's turned out just a shade truer than Theo's, and she shot him a smug grin as she turned in her flask, Theo rolling his eyes and grinning. Both of theirs were much clearer then the murky results of the rest of the class, and they both left the exam earlier than the rest of the students, Snape waving them off with a sigh.
The last exam was History of Magic, which was the most frustrating for Hermione. Not only was there no practical to go above and beyond on, but it was a list of questions about irrelevant historical trivia that had had to be rote memorized – there was no greater system of knowledge to link the details Binns had wanted to. She was glad that she'd felt confident at each answer, but she was frustrated that she'd had to bother at all. Surely there was more to Wizarding history than this…?
After exams were over, the weather was hot, so Hermione gamely tagged along to the side of the lake where the Gryffindor boys were de-stressing, with Ron and Neville trying to skip rocks, Harry sitting and rubbing his head.
"Are you okay?" Hermione asked Harry, concerned.
"I just wish I knew what it meant," Harry said, prodding at his scar.
"You could go to Madam Pomfrey," Neville suggested.
"I'm not ill," said Harry. "I think it's a warning… it means danger's coming…"
Hermione's mind flashed to Harry's encounter in the forest, and she shifted uneasily.
"Well, it's a curse scar from a Dark curse, so it might be reacting to Dark magic in the area," Hermione said slowly. "What's changed in the area that could be… Dark?"
"Hey!" Ron turned away from the lake to fix her with a piercing look.
Hermione glared back. "What?"
"How do you know so much about Dark magic?" Ron demanded.
"Oh, honestly, Ronald!" Hermione threw her hands up in exasperation. "It's in our Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook! You'd know it too, if you'd ever bothered to read your assignments!"
Ron flushed an unattractive mottled red. Harry was still rubbing his scar.
"It's got to be the Stone," Harry said. "It's got to be."
"Harry, the Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around," Ron reminded him. "Anyway, we've never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once; he's not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down."
"Hey!" Neville chucked a rock at Ron, who tried to catch it and missed.
Harry nodded, but it was obvious to Hermione that he was still dwelling on it. For that matter, she would probably be dwelling on someone trying to steal the Stone if she were in his place. As it was, she knew that there was absolutely no chance of the Stone being stolen from Hogwarts – not anymore, at least. But Hermione wasn't about to admit that.
Harry abruptly jumped to his feet.
"Where're you going?" Ron asked.
"I've just thought of something," Harry said. He looked pale. "We've got to go and see Hagrid, now."
He took off, running for Hagrid's hut. The others got to their feet to chase after him.
"Don't you think it's a bit odd," said Harry, stumbling slightly as he ran, "that what Hagrid wants more than anything else in the world in a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket?"
Harry kept talking, but Hermione tuned him out as the picture crystalized in her mind. Of course the dragon had been a trap for Hagrid. He'd probably told the stranger all about the dangerous creatures he'd taken care of, so he'd seem like a good dragon owner – which would have been exactly what the person would have wanted…
A quick conversation with the Hagrid confirmed Hermione's fears – and Harry's, too. Hermione tried not to betray her emotions, but Ron and Neville were clearly aghast at Hagrid's carelessness. As soon as their suspicions were confirmed, Harry took off for the entrance hall, the rest of them running after him again.
"We've got to go to Dumbledore," said Harry. "Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy, and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak – it must've been easy, once he'd got Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn't stop him. Where's Dumbledore's office?"
They looked around the halls, as if there would be a sign pointing them in the correct direction. It abruptly occurred to Hermione that she had no idea where Dumbledore resided, nor had she ever heard of someone being sent to see him.
"We'll just have to–" Harry started, but a voice suddenly rang across the hall.
"What are you four doing inside?"
It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.
"We want to see Professor Dumbledore," said Neville, rather bravely.
"See Professor Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall repeated. The suspicion was heavy in her tone. "Why?"
"It's sort of secret," Harry said, McGonagall's nostrils flared.
"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she said coldly. "He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once."
That struck Hermione as odd. He flew there, instead of Flooed there? It would take hours to get to London on a broom.
She made a mental note of it to examine later.
"He's gone?" Harry said frantically. "Now?"
"Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter. He has many demands on his time –"
"But this is important."
"Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter?"
"Look," Harry said, and Hermione winced at his tone, bracing herself. "Professor – it's about the Philosopher's Stone –"
The books McGonagall had been carrying tumbled from her arms.
"How do you know-?" she spluttered.
Privately, Hermione was surprised that more people didn't know. She'd have expected the Weasley Twins to know at the least. Surely a group of first years hadn't been the only curious ones?
"Professor, I think – I know – that Sn – that someone's going to try and steal the Stone. I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore."
Hermione watched as Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed and she shut Harry down, informing him that Professor Dumbledore would be back the next day. She told them to go outside and enjoy the sunshine…
…but, of course, Harry wasn't having any of that.
"It's tonight," said Harry, checking to make sure Professor McGonagall was out of earshot. "Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found out everything he needs, and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note; I bet the Ministry will get a real shock when Dumbledore shows up."
"Oh, honestly, Harry," Hermione snapped. "I'll give you Voldemort, maybe, but it is not going to be –"
Neville gasped, and Hermione and Harry wheeled around.
Snape was standing there.
"Good afternoon," he said smoothly.
"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," Hermione responded, bowing her head. Snape nodded in her direction slightly, his eyes fixed on the boys.
The three Gryffindors stood there, staring at him.
"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he said, with an odd, twisted smile.
"We were—" Harry began.
"You want to be more careful," Snape said. "Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, can it?"
Hermione sighed and prepared herself. She was sure Harry had some sort of plan.
Harry's plan was terrible. It was basically to wander around the 3rd floor corridor guarding it, with one of them tailing Snape (despite her protestations that it wasn't Snape). After a brief argument, Hermione refused to help.
"You do what you want," she informed them. "I'll meet up with you after dinner, but I am not going to lurk around the castle suspiciously. It will just get you into more trouble."
Ron's eyes blazed in defiance, and Hermione flounced off.
She didn't go outside, however. There was a dark suspicion lurking in her mind.
Instead, she went to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room, knocking on the door.
"C-c-c-come in, p-please."
Hermione entered the room, seeing Professor Quirrell writing furiously on papers at the front of the desk.
"Grading exams already, Professor?" she queried, looking around idly. The classroom seemed somehow… emptier, than it had before. The posters of vampires had been put away.
"G-g-got to do it s-sometime, d-d-don't I?" Quirrell said, offering her a tremulous smile. Hermione laughed, offering him a small smile in return.
"How c-can I help you, M-M-Miss G-Granger?"
Hermione paused, carefully considering how to phrase what she wanted to say.
"There are rumors that there is a curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position," she said slowly. "You have lasted nearly the entire year."
Professor Quirrell turned his head to look up at her. His eyes sharpened on her.
"And…?" His voice was curt.
"Just… just in case something happened to you, before the official end of the year, I wanted to thank you," she told him, struggling to not bite her lip. "I appreciate you pointing me in the direction of the ritual books you did, and helping me along the path of knowledge, not telling me to shy from it instead."
Quirrell's eyes flickered with red, and there was an odd satisfaction and pride in his eyes.
"Did you now?" he asked, and there was a sly note to his voice. It very much did not sound like Quirrell. Again, the stutter was gone.
"I did," Hermione said, nodding. "And…"
In for a penny, in for a pound, she supposed.
"…and should anything abruptly happen, something sudden and unexpected, I wanted to offer my services to… help make sure your things don't fall into the wrong hands."
Quirrell looked directly at her, and Hermione held her breath. His eyes felt like they were burning hers.
"You want my spell books, if something should happen to me," he summarized.
Hermione bit her lip.
"Well, yes, but only temporarily," she admitted. "Presumably, you would have some things, being the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, that might cause concern or inquiries from Dumbledore or the Ministry. If something were to happen, I could hurry and take care of any such things for you, and then return them to you once you were better or in a safe place to have them again."
Quirrell raised an eyebrow.
"You think I might get hurt, Miss Granger?" he queried.
He was watching her carefully. Hermione took a deep breath, summoning her inner Gryffindor.
"Well, Snape did get bitten at Halloween, sir," she said steadily. "Sometime the best of plans can go awry from the simplest things."
Quirrell regarded her for a long moment, before he started to laugh. It was low and dark, and his eyes sparked with malice.
"Smart girl," he purred, and Hermione shuddered. "To know, and to come to me, and not go to that bumbling fool…"
He reached into his desk, pulling out a large rock of obsidian. It had a rune of some sort roughly hewn into it, and there was a thick, heavy aura around it. Hermione gasped; she recognized the rune and stone from one of her books – one of the Dark ritual tomes.
"This is a traditional ward stone," he informed her, his eyes gleaming. "Do you know what this does?"
"It protects personal property," Hermione said, hesitating. "Anyone who isn't bound to the rune stone cannot enter or touch the protected property." She paused. "They're not used much anymore, since the Ministry of Magic began looking down on blood magic."
Quirrell looked at her and raised an expectant eyebrow. His face seemed almost completely different from that of her cowering DADA teacher – somehow sharper, leaner, meaner.
Forcing herself to stay brave, Hermione held out her hand.
The blade appeared from nowhere and slit Hermione's left palm, stinging. It hurt more than she thought it would, but then Quirrell was smearing her palm over the stone, whispering words into the stone… or was that hissing?
A moment later, the blood seemed to seep into the stone, and the stone turned a dull red color, before returning to its normal black. Quirrell turned to her, looking satisfied.
"You understand what this means?" he told her, wiping off his knife with a handkerchief. "If something happens and I vanish, you will collect my things and hold onto them until they can be returned to me?"
Hermione nodded.
"I understand, sir," she said, bowing her head.
There was a silence, and then Quirrell laughed. It was high and cold.
"Slytherin to the core, but with a streak of Gryffindor in you, aren't you?" He smirked. "You have gained my favor, if nothing else. Now go – enjoy the rest of the day." His eyes gleamed. "There might not be another one so nice for quite a while."
Hermione could tell when she was being dismissed. Nearly shaking with her bravery, Hermione managed to make it outside, get to the tree next to the lake, and collapse.
"I think I've agreed to board Lord Voldemort's things," she told a butterfly, fluttering nearby. "What do I do now?"
The butterfly didn't seem to give any indication one way or the other. With a deep sigh, Hermione sat back against the tree, tried to relax, and dozed until dinner.