Chapter Four - More Important Than Homework
Hermione
Draco Malfoy asking her to form a study group had not been on her BINGO card for this year.
No, really though.
On a boring day at Grimmauld Place in August, she, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George had made BINGO cards for the year. After explaining the premise to the wizard kids(and Arthur, who was very pleased with the idea), they had determined to make a sheet of semi-unrealistic things that could happen, and then mix up their ideas. Whoever got a BINGO first would receive fifty sickles, paid up by the five losers equally.
They had filled a jar with ideas. "Fight a troll", "Speak to Dumbledore twice"(Not allowed to be on Harry's card), "200 points lost from McGonagall", "Five near-death experiences with Hagrid", and "DADA teacher lasts one year."
So far, Hermione's BINGO card had three slots crossed out. Daily Prophet mentioned her name, check. One new incompetent teacher? Check. Form a study group?
Well, that had been on Ron's, so he'd been able to cross it off, but it hadn't been on Hermione's. And having the request come from Draco Malfoy sent the audacity through the roof.
She figured it must be some sort of sabotage. Perhaps he was hoping to ruin an essay of hers or destroy her notes. So she had been careful, only bringing copies of her work to study group and leaving her homework behind. But so far, Malfoy was doing exactly what he had said he would do – translate "Granger" into proper English.
Aside from hexing her in the face, but she had bashed his hand in with a book.
As much as Hermione hated to admit it, Malfoy was holding the group together. She had chased everyone away the one week without him. It was comical, because none of the non-Slytherins trusted him. None of them spoke to him, or asked him questions. They asked her, and she answered, and he translated, and then they asked her again.
"Malfoy's always been second in our year, hasn't he?" Hermione asked Harry and Ron as they packed their things up. Ron shrugged while Harry nodded. "That's funny. Why's he want a study session?"
"To get an edge on you," Harry and Ron said together.
"By studying with me?"
"He'll never catch up on his own. He hasn't, all these years."
That was true, but Hermione still felt off about it.
She paused before shutting her bookbag and pulled out a slip of parchment with the words that Malfoy's parchment had had on it. She had pulled it out several times the last week, but still couldn't pick out what unsettled her about it. Harry was interested, but Ron was indifferent to anything that had come from Malfoy that wasn't obvious trouble. "I wish I could figure this out," she told them.
Harry pinched his lips together and nodded while Ron looked at the ceiling. "I know, Hermione," he said.
"I'm serious. It's weird."
"I know, Hermione."
"Malfoy thinks I've said this before. But I checked even though I was sure – it's not in Hogwarts: A History."
"I know, Hermione."
"Ron," Harry said softly. "It is weird." He took the slip of parchment from her and squinted at it. "For me, it's weird, because I swear there was an ending. I remember you saying that I added words to it." He shook his head. "It's on the tip of my tongue."
Hermione knew what he meant. She had easily memorised the whole thing, but the middle bit seemed permanently attached to her tongue. It was unsettling. She shook her head. "It's got to mean something."
"I'm sure I've never read it before," Harry said.
A rustle on their table drew their attention. It was Cho Chang, who has joined the study group the first week, though, Hermione wondered if her expectations were different from most in the group. Her eyes seemed to cling to Harry. She rolled her eyes and happened to meet Ron's. They shared an exasperated look as Harry noticed Cho and quickly fixed his hair and adjusted the sleeves on his robes. "You alright, Cho?" He asked.
"Fine," Cho nodded, gathering up some papers. "Great seeing you, Harry." She hovered a moment too long, then turned and disappeared towards the doors.
Ron sighed and shook his head, then picked up his bookbag. "It's late," he said. "I'm headed to bed. Are you two going to stay and look at that little piece of paper some more?"
Hermione looked down at it. She had so much to do. Homework that was due next week… Crookshanks needed to be groomed… SPEW hats to be distributed. She shook her head. "It can wait," she said. "Let's go to bed."
The cut on Harry's hand was fast turning into a scar. Hermione had half of a plan to help. She prepared a bowl of Murtlap Essence and then she and Ron sat in the common room, waiting for Harry to finish detention with Professor Umbridge.
Ron and she had been bantering more and fighting less. Harry had played mediator more than once between them in previous years, but now they were needing him less and less. Though, that may have had to do with the fact that Harry was more and more distant. She had first noticed it clearly when he had seen the thestrals on their way to Hogwarts and suspected he was still processing his near-death experience and grieving.
Her longer conversations with Ron, without Harry having to break in and say, "Mates, chill," had reopened her musings on whether she might date either one day.
"Harry reckons Angelina has been possessed by the ghost of Oliver Woods," Ron said. He sat at her left side, polishing his broom. Hermione didn't know much about the different brooms, but could see it was much better than his old one, and not as good as Harry's or Malfoy's.
"Are you and Harry both expecting to be busy with Quidditch often, then?" Hermione asked.
Ron nodded. "Yes, but we also need to carve out time for all this homework." He shook his head then, and looked a little like a bobblehead figure from the sudden change in direction. "Sometimes, I wish I had your brain, Hermione. You remember everything."
Normally, the compliment would make her smile. Lately though, it turned her thoughts inward. "Think that's why Malfoy's trying to… infiltrate?"
"That's a good word for it."
Hermione glanced at Ron out of the corner of her eye with pursed lips. He caught her gaze. "What?" He asked.
"You rarely compliment my vocabulary."
"You rarely use vocabulary I can compliment."
"I'm sure if I were to curse Umbridge out, you would consider that compliment-worthy."
Ron snorted. His smile was crookedly handsome. "Absolutely," he mumbled. "And I doubt she'd recover."
Hermione fought a smile, then suddenly felt much more sad. "I've been thinking… someone's got to do something about her."
"Like poison her," Ron muttered. "You could do it, Hermione. If anyone can poison without a trace, it's you." As Hermione opened her mouth, the door to the common room opened. Harry had finally arrived. She and Ron both leapt to her feet – though Hermione a bit more carefully, as she balanced the bowl. "You're back!" Ron exclaimed.
"Here," Hermione said anxiously, putting the murtlap essence onto a side table and pushing it as Harry collapsed into its accompanying chair, "soak your hand in that, it's a solution of strained and pickled murtlap tentacles, it should help."
Harry placed his bleeding, shaky hand into the bowl and let out a moan of relief. Crookshanks curled around his legs, purring loudly, and then leapt into his lap and settled down. "Thanks," he said gratefully, scratching behind Crookshanks's ears with his left hand.
"I still reckon you should complain about this," said Ron in a low voice.
"No," said Harry flatly.
"McGonagall would go nuts if she knew —"
"Yeah, she probably would," said Harry. "And how long d'you reckon it'd take Umbridge to pass another Decree saying anyone who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?"
Ron opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out and after a moment he closed it again in a defeated sort of way.
"She's an awful woman," said Hermione in a small voice. "Awful. You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in . . . we've got to do something about her."
"I suggested poison," said Ron grimly.
"No . . . I mean, something about what a dreadful teacher she is, and how we're not going to learn any defence from her at all," said Hermione.
"Well, what can we do about that?" said Ron, yawning. " 'S too late, isn't it? She got the job, she's here to stay, Fudge'll make sure of that."
"Well," said Hermione tentatively. "You know, I was thinking today. . . ." She found herself glancing nervously towards Harry and averted her eyes, "I was thinking that — maybe the time's come when we should just — just do it ourselves."
"Do what ourselves?" said Harry suspiciously, still floating his hand in the essence of murtlap tentacles.
"Well — learn Defense Against the Dark Arts ourselves," said Hermione.
"Come off it," groaned Ron. "You want us to do extra work? D'you realize Harry and I are behind on homework again and it's only the second week?"
"But this is much more important than homework!" Hermione blurted out.
Harry and Ron goggled at her. "I didn't think there was anything in the universe more important than homework," said Ron.
Hermione's face flushed. "Don't be silly, of course there is! She felt a soapbox coming on. "It's about preparing ourselves, like Harry said in Umbridge's first lesson, for what's waiting out there. It's about making sure we really can defend ourselves. If we don't learn anything for a whole year —"
"We can't do much by ourselves," said Ron in a defeated voice. "I mean, all right, we can go and look jinxes up in the library and try and practice them, I suppose —"
"No, I agree, we've gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books," said Hermione. "We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we're going wrong."
"If you're talking about Lupin . . ." Harry began.
"No, no, I'm not talking about Lupin," said Hermione. "He's too busy with the Order and anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that's not nearly often enough."
"Who, then?" said Harry, frowning at her.
Hermione heaved a very deep sigh. Her brain felt like it was about to split into two. "Isn't it obvious?" she said. "I'm talking about you, Harry." There was a moment's silence. A light night breeze rattled the windowpanes behind Ron and the fire guttered.
"About me what?" Harry asked, and it was about the most stupid thing that had come out of his mouth – ever. Hermione huffed.
"I'm talking about you teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Harry stared at her. Then he turned to Ron, with this expression like, "Can you even believe her?" But for the first time in a long time, Ron took her side. He did not look exasperated. He was frowning slightly, apparently thinking. Then he said, "That's an idea."
"What's an idea?" said Harry, really rivalling his first stupid question.
"You," said Ron. "Teaching us to do it."
"But . . ." Harry was grinning now, like he thought the both of them were joking. Hermione had never been more serious in her life. "But I'm not a teacher, I can't —"
"Harry, you're the best in the year at Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione.
"Me?" said Harry, now grinning more broadly than ever. "No I'm not, you've beaten me in every test —"
"Actually, I haven't," Hermione admitted, and the admission stung. "You beat me in our third year — the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I'm not talking about test results, Harry. Look what you've done!"
"How d'you mean?"
"You know what, I'm not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me," Ron said to Hermione, smirking slightly. He turned to Harry. "Let's think," he said, pulling a face like Goyle concentrating. "Uh . . . first year — you saved the Stone from You-Know-Who."
"But that was luck," said Harry, "that wasn't skill —"
"Second year," Ron interrupted, "you killed the basilisk and destroyed Riddle."
"Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up I —"
"Third year," said Ron, louder still, "you fought off about a hundred dementors at once —"
"You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn't —"
"Last year," Ron said, almost shouting now, "you fought off YouKnow-Who again —"
"Listen to me!" said Harry, almost angrily, because Ron and Hermione were both smirking now. "Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck — I didn't know what I was doing half the time, I didn't plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help —"
Hermione couldn't wipe the smirk off her face though. It was simply too much.
"Don't sit there grinning like you know better than I do, I was there, wasn't I?" he said heatedly. "I know what went on, all right? And I didn't get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defense Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because — because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right — but I just blundered through it all, I didn't have a clue what I was doing — STOP LAUGHING!"
Harry leapt to his feet. The bowl of murtlap essence fell to the floor and smashed. Crookshanks streaked away under a sofa and Hermione flinched. Neither she nor Ron were smiling anymore. And Harry looked almost scary.
"You don't know what it's like!" He bellowed. "You — neither of you — you've never had to face him, have you? You think it's just memorizing a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you're in class or something? The whole time you know there's nothing between you and dying except your own — your own brain or guts or whatever — like you can think straight when you know you're about a second from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die — they've never taught us that in their classes, what it's like to deal with things like that — and you two sit there acting like I'm a clever little boy to be standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up — you just don't get it, that could just as easily have been me, it would have been if Voldemort hadn't needed me —"
"We weren't saying anything like that, mate," said Ron, looking aghast. "We weren't having a go at Diggory, we didn't — you've got the wrong end of the —"
He looked helplessly at Hermione, who wasn't quite sure what to say. Though Harry had been moody, sad, and quiet this year, she hadn't expected the amount of baggage he was carrying to come out in response to what she saw as an honest compliment of his skills.
"Harry," she said timidly, "don't you see? This . . . this is exactly why we need you. . . . We need to know what it's r-really like . . . facing him . . . facing V-Voldemort."
It was the first time she had ever said Voldemort's name and it took a lot of effort. Ron flinched beside her, then schooled his features. Harry did not seem to notice. Once she'd said her last word, his face colour had returned. Still breathing hard, he sank back into his chair, looking at his hand and grimacing.
"Well . . . think about it," Hermione said quietly. "Please?"
Harry nodded, though he would not meet her eyes. Part of Hermione knew now would be an excellent time to ask a question that would prompt him to continue talking. But her feet were shaking in her shoes and she'd never been good at relating to people. In a way, that was Harry and Ron's job in her life. Help her be more relatable.
Hermione stood up.
"Well, I'm off to bed," she said in a voice that was clearly as natural as she could make it. "Erm . . . 'night." She retreated with two steps backwards, and then turning away from the scene and then fleeing up the stairs. Once she got to the fifth floor dormitories, she put her back to the wall for a few deep breaths. She had no idea who was still awake on the other side of the door and if anyone could have possibly heard Harry through their curtains.
As she closed her eyes to compose herself, a few of Harry's words flitted by her attention, as if an intern in the office of her brain had sent them up from a very obscure department she'd never heard of.
"Like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up — you just don't get it, that could just as easily have been me…"
Survivor's guilt, she recalled. "A condition of persistent mental and emotional stress experienced by a person who has survived an incident in which others died."
She was not a therapist. She could not diagnose Harry. She could not attempt to be his expert on all things emotional – really, a preposterous idea, considering her current record handling emotions of other human beings. Deep down, she was a logical machine, and she knew it.
By teaching that class, Harry would be unlocking and facing a memory that was still raw and throbbing to him. Perhaps more than his hand. And Hermione began to doubt the validity of her plan.
The next chapter will be called The Defence Squad