"I don't know what that's about," She-Weasley said, staring after Umbridge and Granger, "but it can't be good, right?"
She was frowning, and sounded apprehensive, which meant she had no idea what was going on; if she had, she would have been terrified.
Draco wasn't far off it, though he knew he was keeping it off his face better than Weasley, who looked like he was only a few seconds from returning his recently-eaten dinner to the table.
This had gone horribly wrong, and Draco was torn between wanting to kick Umbridge for failing to take Draco's big, not at all subtle clues about who she ought to be speaking with, and wanting to kick himself—and Weasley—for not having considered this as a possibility.
They hadn't, because Umbridge was a fool and a cow, but not actually stupid, and Draco had been so overt with his hints that it should have been simple for her. It had been simple, and yet, somehow, she'd managed to come to the wrong conclusion.
Had he given her too much credit? Was he so used to trying to outsmart the likes of the Dark Lord and his father that he'd grossly overestimated Umbridge?
Or was she playing some other game here? Was she deliberately going against what Draco had told her for reasons he couldn't fathom?
"What do we do?" Weasley asked. He didn't sound nearly as awful as he looked, which was something, Draco supposed.
"There's not much we can do, I don't think," She-Weasley said unhappily, nudging her baked potato with her fork. "Not until Hermione's back and we know what Umbridge wanted."
It would be too late by then, though.
Draco started brainstorming, discarding ideas almost as soon as they popped into his head:
He could go up there and Occlude Granger like he'd intended to Occlude Weasley but if Granger resisted or spoke aloud instead of into her head, or reacted in any other way at all in front of Umbridge…
No, that was out.
He could try to interrupt, say Umbridge was needed elsewhere, but even if she bought it, it would only delay things; if she wanted to speak to Granger, she would find her again and restart the conversation. The same was true of any sort of diversion—it might buy them time, but it wouldn't solve the problem. Maybe they could get Granger out and quickly make some adjustments to the contract, but if Draco was involved in getting Granger out, or if Umbridge even suspected he'd tried to interfere and that got back to Father or the Dark Lord…
Draco could interrupt and tell her she'd taken the wrong person, and Umbridge might let him, but he didn't know how he could possibly explain that to Granger afterward.
Say they'd received a warning from Prefect—Former Prefect—Weasley? Too easy to disprove.
Say he'd heard about it through Hydrus—via the Inquisitorial Squad—or Father—through the Ministry? Slightly harder to disprove, but having the opportunity to explain himself to Granger was dependent on actually being able to get her out of there… If Umbridge had taken her on purpose, she was unlikely to be fazed by Draco's interruption. Similarly, if she got anything useful out of Granger before he got there, he'd be revealed as a liar when he said she was the wrong person, and again, Umbridge might tell Father.
The alternative was to bring Granger into his confidence as he had done with Weasley. He'd be lying if he said it didn't appeal to him a little—she would be one more person who knew the truth, and therefore one less person to lie to.
One more person to help him and Weasley figure out what their next move was.
One more person to vouch for him when this inevitably went sideways.
But he'd had reasons for not including her from the outset—Granger would fuss and fret over him, over the danger he was in and the risks he was taking, and might even go to one of the adults for help if she got properly worried, which was the absolute last thing Draco needed. Worse, Granger would struggle to keep a secret like this from Potter at all, let alone if Draco had to appear like he'd truly sided with the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. It would be a matter of time before she told Potter deliberately, or slipped up enough with something she said or the way she smelled or acted and told him indirectly.
Frankly, it was a miracle Weasley and Draco had managed as well as they had for as long as they had. Adding another person was just asking for trouble.
But if they did nothing, then Granger was being led into a set-up that he—and Weasley—were responsible for. Umbridge knew enough about Eihwaz that she would know if Granger tried to lie to her and might be able to use that to deduce things they didn't want her to know. Worse, if Granger was tricked into taking Veritaserum, Umbridge would know everything.
Draco and whoever else was left at Hogwarts once the dust had settled would be back to suffering through woefully inadequate Defence lessons with nothing to make up for it, and they'd have lost the Room because Umbridge would know about it.
Potter would be gone—expelled. Granger too, unless Umbridge was feeling particularly generous tonight.
It was everything Draco and Weasley had been afraid of when they sat in the secret passage and discussed it a few nights ago.
Umbridge would be happy, of course, and she would trust him, though whether that would be worth anything once Potter was gone remained to be seen. More to the point, Father and the Dark Lord would be pleased. Draco's cover would remain intact, and more than that, he would have reinforced his usefulness; he would have given them the prophecy and the means to expel and discredit Potter, all in the space of a few months.
But was it worth Potter's education, and Granger's? Worth their reputations? Was it worth the guilt Granger would feel for having betrayed them all to Umbridge, even if it was unwilling? Was it worth whatever backlash she'd face from others in Eihwaz if they found out who'd sold them out? Was it worth the guilt Draco would feel over the whole thing, and the guilt Weasley would?
Draco didn't know. Draco didn't know how to weigh it all up and come to a decision.
And what if he did and it was the wrong one? What if it wasn't one Weasley agreed with?
"Malfoy?" Weasley said. "What do we do?"
Draco tucked his fears and doubts away, securing them tidily behind a mist of Occlumency.
"I don't know what you're asking me for," he said, arching an eyebrow. Weasley looked both abashed and incredulous. "Granger can handle herself, and if she can't, we won't know until she's back anyway." Weasley stared at Draco a little longer, then shoved back from the table. "Where are you going?" Draco asked.
"Ron," She-Weasley said, looking alarmed, "there's nothing we can do—"
"I know. I''m just not hungry any more," Weasley said. "I'll be in the Room." He strode away and did not look back.
"Are we missing something?" She-Weasley asked, chewing her lip. "I mean, I know he's always had a soft spot for Hermione, and I know Umbridge is a complete cow, but—"
"No idea," Draco said blithely, and reached for his fork, though he wasn't hungry any more either.
"I noticed Mr Potter was not at dinner," Dolores said, as they walked.
"No," Granger said. "He wasn't." She offered nothing further, eyes fixed on the corridor ahead.
"Where was he?"
"I don't know," Granger said, though Dolores was sure it was a lie. Impudent girl—had been all along, really, from Dolores' very first lesson with her. It was disappointing, since Granger was obviously intelligent enough to know better, to see the opportunities Dolores and the Ministry could offer her despite her choice of friends and her heritage.
Clearly booksmarts weren't everything.
"Is that what you've dragged me away for?" Granger asked. "You want to know where he is?"
"Oh, no, dear," Dolores said. "No, I have other things to discuss with you. I'm just passing the time on the way. You understand natural curiosity, I'm sure." She laughed lightly but it didn't do anything to put Granger at ease; she curled her lip and put her nose in the air.
They did not speak again until they reached Dolores' office; she directed Granger to a seat and busied herself at the tea station in the corner of the room. A house elf had been by while she was collecting Granger—as requested—and delivered a steaming pot of fragrant tea, and freshly baked pastries and slices. Dolores loaded them onto a serving tray and carried them over to her desk.
"Here, dear," Dolores said, sliding it toward her. "Since I took you from dinner. Does anything take your fancy?"
"My parents are dentists," Granger said, pursing her lips. "I don't eat many sweet things."
Dolores—who had no idea what a dentist was—shrugged and helped herself to a square of lemon slice, if only so Granger might stop looking at the tray with such mistrust. She poured herself a cup of tea, too—in the blue china cup—and sipped at it.
"Now," she said after a moment, setting the cup down. "What I want to talk to you about, Miss Granger, is Potter's little club."
Granger stilled and her eyes widened slightly. Whatever she'd been expecting, Dolores knew it had not been this. Granger smoothed her robes down and straightened in her chair, then looked up with a look of not-quite-convincing confusion on her face.
Dolores smiled.
The younger Mr Malfoy had been infuriatingly cryptic. He was right that there was a limited pool of people to choose from when considering people close to Potter, but Dolores had got the impression there was a right answer, else the Malfoy boy would surely have just told her it didn't matter who she picked, would have said 'anyone' not 'someone'; the fact that even he hadn't been exempt from the contract despite his closeness to Potter meant they'd clearly been careful.
He'd told her it was someone Potter trusted, someone Potter would sorely miss if they weren't around anymore, but those could describe either the Granger girl or the Weasley boy. After some thought, though, it hadn't taken long to discount the Weasley boy. Granger was cleverer—much more likely to have come up with the idea of a contract, and a way to implement it—and more to the point, far more outspoken about her dissatisfaction with Dolores' lessons. It was Granger who sat beside Potter in almost every one of Dolores' lessons, and Granger who Dolores expected Potter would trust above the others; Weasley didn't strike her as the sort to be trusted with a secret this large, nor did he strike her as the sort with enough of an ego to make himself exempt from the contract. Yes, Dolores had realised quickly that if anyone had helped Potter set up a clandestine 'Defence' group, it would have been Granger.
Further… there was a chance this conversation did not go smoothly, regardless of Dolores' incentives. If she had to resort to more extreme methods to get the information she needed, Granger was a better candidate; it wasn't like her muggle parents would be credible, if they tried to come to her defence after the fact. Weasley's family could be more problematic.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Granger said.
"I think you do," Dolores said. "In fact, I know you do. I already know quite a bit, you see. I know the group exists, and I know that you belong to it, just as I know Potter does. I know you're practicing obscure and dangerous magics and calling it Defence Against the Dark Arts. I know about the contract." Granger's expression twitched with surprise and dismay.
"If you think you know so much already," Granger said, "I don't know why you need me." She stood and headed toward the door as if she thought she had a chance of being allowed to leave:
"Sit down!" Dolores said sharply. Granger stopped. "Sit down, Miss Granger." She took a deep breath, then, more gently, said, "Now. Please." She waved a hand at the chair Granger had just left. "Our conversation is not over."
"I think it is," Granger said, and though her tone was firm, her voice quavered, just a little.
"I am going to count to three," Dolores said. "And if you are not sitting again by the time I do, there will be consequences." She lifted three fingers. "One." She curled the first down. Granger bit her lip and scowled. "Two." Granger's eyes flicked to the door. "Thr—"
Granger crossed the room and sat, very stiffly in her chair. Dolores was as surprised as she was relieved. She hadn't been sure Granger would make the right choice, which would have meant Dolores tipping her hand much sooner than she would have liked; now that the conversation had started, Granger could not be allowed to leave until she'd given Dolores what she needed, else she'd go back to Potter and he'd know Dolores knew, might be able to find a way to wriggle out of the whole thing and she would not let that happen.
"I assure you, Miss Granger, I am trying to help you," Dolores said, offering her the tea tray again. Granger scoffed and folded her arms. "You mistrust me, I can see that. I know you don't like the way that I teach my subject, and I'm sure it's no secret to you that I don't like that you don't like that." Granger looked taken aback by Dolores' candor, and decidedly wary.
Surprising her was the key to her, it seemed. That didn't work with Potter, who was annoyingly adaptable, or with Malfoy, who needed to be forced to submit to authority, but here, it would; Granger relied, to a certain extent, on knowing things, and when things did not unfold as she expected, she was slower to adapt, needed to process first. If Dolores could keep her unsettled, could overwhelm her…
"I think that that, above all else, is what has prompted you to involve yourself in Potter's little club, isn't it?" Granger said nothing. "I don't like that very much either," Dolores said, "but I can see how it might seem like a reasonable course of action to you—a bit of teenage rebellion." She laughed, and then sighed. "Unfortunately, it is much, much more serious than that."
Granger's face was easy enough to read—not like Lucius' younger son, who was infuriatingly inscrutable—but that didn't count for as much as words did, and Granger seemed to know it, which was why she was holding her tongue.
"Do you read the papers, Miss Granger?" Slowly, cautiously, Granger nodded. "Then you will be aware that our current political climate is rather tense at the moment. The current Headmaster is prioritising his own political agenda, and the welfare of a select few students he favours over the welfare and education of the greater student body. Further, he is trying to sabotage the Ministry of Magic, and is actively curbing our ability to respond appropriately to the threat of He Who Must Not Be Named, despite the fact that, as a school Headmaster, it is not his place to do so. He is not an Auror, or a Department Head. He is not a consultant, or a subject matter expert, nor does he hold any other position of authority which would merit his involvement—"
"He was the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards" Granger said, "until you stripped him of that."
Dolores sighed.
"I would like you to be very careful here, Miss Granger," she said. "You are presently at significant risk of being on the wrong side."
"Which side is that?" Granger asked, lifting her chin.
"It doesn't matter," Dolores said. "We can call it Dumbledore's, or we can call it Potter's, but the reality is that labels do not matter; put simply, any side which is not the Ministry's is the wrong side."
"You're assuming I'm against the Ministry," Granger said, "but—"
"No," Dolores said. "I'm assuming that you are, in fact, on the Ministry's side. I am assuming that you have been swept up in petty teenage rebellion against a new teacher, and perhaps your loyalty to Potter, and as a result, have failed to see the big picture and the potential ramifications of your actions."
Granger was back to silence, but that was fine with Dolores; it meant she was listening.
"Let me be very clear: this group of Potter's is against the Ministry's wishes. Further, it is against the school rules."
She withdrew the latest Educational Decree from her desk drawer, and offered it to Granger, who read it in silence, then passed it back.
"I am telling you this right now, so that you understand; from this very moment, any continued involvement you have with this group—whether it is direct involvement, indirect involvement, or any attempt to withhold information about it from those like myself who wish to know more—will be seen as a deliberate and antagonistic act against both the school, and against the Ministry. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Granger said quietly.
"Good," Dolores said. "Now, I am going to ask you some questions. It is up to you whether you answer them, of course." She smiled. Granger did not. "Who is in this group?"
Granger pursed her lips and looked away.
"If you believe you are protecting anyone, Miss Granger," Dolores said, "you are wrong. In fact, you are condemning them. There will be no amnesty for Mr Potter, regardless of what you say or do—it is too late for him, I'm afraid. But." Granger's eyes narrowed. "I am willing to offer it to the others involved." Dolores caught her eyes and held them. "Every person whose name you give me, will be given a free pass for their actions up until now, on the assumption that they, like you, did not fully understand the implications of what they have entangled themselves in." Granger was visibly thinking about it—reluctantly, but thinking about it nonetheless—which was a victory, as far as Dolores was concerned. "Anyone whose name you do not give me but who is later found to have been involved, will face the full consequences of their actions. There will be no leniency."
Granger looked ill.
"I see you are feeling the weight of the responsibility I am giving you," Dolores said, satisfied. "Let us hope you can be trusted with it."
There was a pause as Granger processed this, and Dolores was genuinely unsure what she would choose to do—would she realise she had nothing to gain and everything to lose by continuing to oppose Dolores and share what she knew, or would she condemn her classmates and herself, and refuse to help?
As far as Dolores saw it, those were Granger's only two options, and so she was taken aback when Granger found a third one, and burst into noisy tears:
"I c-can't," Granger said.
"You can," Dolores said firmly. "Stop crying, now, that's enough. Just tell me what I need to know, and—"
"I can't," Granger said, and did not stop crying. "There's a c-contract that m-means I can't say a-anything about it."
"I— no, Miss Granger," Dolores said, pushing down something that felt an awful lot like panic; had she misunderstood the younger Mr Malfoy? Had she picked the wrong person? "No, I know about the contract, and I know you're not on it—"
"I am!" Granger said, wiping her eyes.
"You can't be," Dolores snapped.
"I want to help you," Granger sniffled. "I don't want to be in t-trouble—I never wanted to be in trouble, I just d-don't think you're a very good teacher—" Dolores pursed her lips. "—and I thought that with O.W.L.s coming up… But I don't want the Ministry to be upset with me, I want to help, now that you've explained, but I c-can't!"
Dolores stared at her pink face and very real tears with consternation. Granger buried her face in her hands. Either she was a much better liar than Dolores had thought, or she was telling the truth and Dolores had made a very serious mistake.
She felt sick; if she was wrong and Granger couldn't tell her what she needed to know, then Dolores would have no choice but to let her go. Granger—if she truly did want to realign and join the Ministry's side—might not tell Potter everything, but she might well tell others in their little Defence group. Perhaps everyone involved would come and confess their involvement to Dolores, but perhaps they'd proceed, unfazed. Regardless, it wouldn't solve her Potter problem; if no one could testify to his involvement, she wouldn't be able to prove anything.
It would make her own job here at Hogwarts that much harder, for one, and for another, Lucius would never let her hear the end of it.
No, that could not be allowed to happen, not if it was in any way avoidable. She could not afford to get this wrong.
She had to be sure, had to exhaust every option she had, even those that were… undesirable.
She reached for the teapot, and for the pink china teacup she'd prepared before she went to collect Granger.
"That's enough crying, dear," she said, pouring the tea. "Settle down, now, settle down. Here." She pressed the cup into Granger's hands. "Drink that—I find tea helps me when I'm upset."
Granger sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve, then frowned down at the cup. Before she could say anything, though, Dolores curled her fingers around her wand, and pointed it at the girl before her, below the cover of her desk.
Imperio, she thought, grimly, then, Drink. You'll feel better.
Granger blinked rather vaguely, and drank.