Hermione stared after Dumbledore as he disappeared in a flash of green fire.
Realising she was wasting time, she gave herself a little shake. She needed to get a move on if she was to stop Umbridge from interrogating Harry or any of the others about what had happened tonight.
Halfway to the door, Hermione remembered the items in her pockets. She scanned the Headmaster's office quickly, searching for a place to stash them, and settled on a large, glass-fronted cabinet containing a jumble of artefacts and other unfamiliar objects.
The small golden box and the broken time-turner should blend in well, but she shoved them both to the very back of the shelf to be safe. It wouldn't do for one of the Order members — one of the other Order members? — to stumble upon them.
Had Dumbledore meant it that way? Was this some sort of horrible induction into the Order?
Sourly, she thought that it didn't really change things either way. And, if she were being honest, the idea that the next few hours might be awful enough to actually warrant the induction of an underage witch into the Order gave her chills.
Hermione took the stairs two at a time, letting herself out into the corridor by the gargoyle. She couldn't resist directing a half-hearted, slightly-smug look in its direction as the stone head turned fractionally towards her, obviously surprised to see her exiting the office without ever having discovered the correct password.
As she jogged down the Charms corridor, trying not to dwell very hard on what she was about to do, Hermione was met with the first remaining evidence of the disaster that had occurred this evening; right in the middle of the passage, looking hastily roped off, was some sort of swamp. It bubbled ominously. The remains of a fractured broom handle were slowly being drawn in, only to be immediately consumed by the acid-green liquid of the marshland.
Unable (and unwilling) to attempt to jump the swamp, she backtracked through the place that was once home to the unsuitably-named Fluffy, finding herself in a corridor that reeked of Stinksap. Dark green stains spattered the walls and floors. She covered her nose and darted through, reluctantly impressed with George and Fred's dedication to the cause.
A distant blast bounced up and along the stone walls from somewhere below. More blasts followed the first, continuing at random intervals.
It seemed that a few of the fireworks had managed to persist even hours later. Or perhaps Peeves was still busy exacting his revenge. Either way, it hopefully meant that she still had time.
Hermione was on the fourth floor when a small pile of blackened and shrivelled material caught her eye — most likely the remains of fireworks. Her suspicions were confirmed when she spotted a small, intact tube covered in colourful purple paper lying nearby.
After a split second's indecision, she scooped up the undamaged dud and put it in her pocket. Best to be thorough...
Hermione bounded up to the sixth floor, panic beginning to pound low and steady — she'd been en route for several minutes already, but had yet to run into a single other person. Had Umbridge already made it to Gryffindor Tower?
Voices ahead finally gave her pause.
Clutching a stitch in her side, Hermione tiptoed to the corner and peeked around to see the backs of Crabbe and Goyle steadily making their way down the corridor. They were still in their formalwear. Crabbe was saying something to Goyle in a gruff, scratchy voice, but it was too far away to make out.
Was Malfoy nearby, then?
She took a deep breath and pointed her wand at the end of the corridor behind her.
"Stupefy," she whispered. The beam of red light connected with a suit of armour at the end of the hall, echoing back to her in a dull metallic clang.
There was a moment of silence before, "D'ya hear that, Greg? Something's—"
Hermione gathered her courage and darted past the corridor, running as if she couldn't afford to be caught.
She heard Goyle's grunt and Crabbe's, "Hey! It's the Mudblood!", before the sound of heavy footsteps crashed after her. Another shout from Crabbe followed the first.
"Montague! Warrington! Get over here!"
Great. Of all of the members of the Inquisitorial Squad, she just had to happen upon these in particular.
Heavy footsteps pounded behind her, quickly joined by others.
Even knowing she was meant to be caught, Hermione couldn't force her steps to slow as the Slytherins gave chase. A steady thrum of adrenaline suffused her sluggish muscles, carrying her down the last corridor before she would reach the seventh floor.
It wasn't enough — the footsteps behind were slowly closing in.
Breathing hard, Hermione rounded the corner and threw herself towards the staircase. She was seconds away from alighting on the first step when a heavy weight settled around her legs and she was flying forward to land on her face.
She groaned miserably, trying to kick the weight off, but it wouldn't budge. Her wand was ripped from her hand.
"Got you now, Mudblood," came Crabbe's smug voice, far too close for comfort. She suddenly realised that Crabbe had tackled her, and was currently laying halfway over her legs, pinning her to the ground. Correctly guessing her intentions to reach the common room, he must have doubled back and cut through the passage behind the tapestry of Old Hogsmeade.
The other footsteps soon caught up, and she was once again surrounded by a group of unfriendly Slytherins.
"Well, well, Mudblood," Montague sneered, "been mucking up more than usual, have you? Good work, Vince. Warrington, go find the Headmistress. She'll want to interrogate the Granger girl right away."
Warrington grunted. "How do I find—"
"Do keep up, Cass," Montague said, rolling his eyes, "she was clearing up something with McGonagall near the library when we left. Try there."
Hermione nearly sighed in relief. Umbridge hadn't made it to the Gryffindor common room. Harry and the others were safe... for now.
Warrington grunted again before his footsteps began to recede.
"We'll take the Mudblood straight to the office," Montague called after him. Then he turned his eyes on Hermione where she lay with her cheek pressed to the chilly stone floor, panting softly with exertion. He smiled unpleasantly.
"Best do as we say, yeah? Now hold still."
Montague abruptly motioned for Crabbe to draw back before pointing his wand at her. Eyes suddenly wide open, Hermione tensed as she stared down the end of Montague's wand, but he only emptied her pockets with a quick series of Summoning Spells.
Grinning down at the only evidence he'd found, he held his hand out to show Crabbe and Goyle.
Crabbe barked out a laugh as he studied the purple-wrapped tube. "Oh, you're in for it now, Mudblood."
"Get up," Montague ordered brusquely. "We're going to the Headmistress's office, where she'll see fit to handle you like the filth you are. And if you try anything on the way, you'll sorely regret it."
Hermione didn't argue, following meekly behind Crabbe and Montague with her eyes cast to the floor. Goyle shuffled forward alongside her, strangely reminiscent of their time together in Conduct classes. Except for the fact that now, every so often, Goyle was casting quizzical glances down at her before looking forward again. Whatever he was thinking, he never spoke aloud.
Ahead of them, Crabbe and Montague conversed in low voices. Occasionally, they'd glance back at Hermione before sharing a look that had them breaking out in unpleasant sniggering.
At least they never spoke to her directly — there were small mercies to be had, she supposed.
They reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom without incident. Montague led her up the stairs, pushed open the door—
Her eyes immediately found the back of a familiar, white-blonde head.
Malfoy was inside the office with his back to her — he was speaking in a low murmur to Umbridge, who was already seated at her desk. Warrington was on her other side, looking out of breath.
Umbridge looked up as the door opened, murder in her expression. She, too, was still in her evening best, but looking so dishevelled that she wouldn't have been out of place in one of Professor Sprout's greenhouses. Her eyes landed on Hermione, and they widened with a glint of manic fury.
Hermione forced herself to stand tall.
"Found this one running in the corridor, ma'am," Montague said, making a ridiculous little bow as he gestured to Hermione. "She was trying to get back to her common room. Vince here was good enough to catch her for you and we brought her in for questioning."
Malfoy turned slowly, but his eyes found her instantly. He blinked once as he registered her appearance, gaze lingering on her blood-stained hands a moment longer than the rest. Hermione closed her hands into fists immediately, resisting the urge to tuck them behind her back — she knew she probably looked half-feral with her hair matted and her clothing torn, anyway.
When Malfoy finally met her eyes, she went cold. His stare was flat — and furious.
Another blink and he had wrenched his eyes up, now studying a spot somewhere over her head.
"I also found this in her pocket," Montague added gleefully, placing the twisted scrap of firework on Umbridge's desk.
As soon as she spotted the purple-wrapped cylinder, Umbridge bolted out of her chair.
"Very good, Graham, very good," she said quickly, sparing Montague a frantic smile. "And her wand — you have confiscated it, yes?"
Montague looked to Crabbe, who shuffled forward to hand it over.
"Excellent work," Umbridge said, immediately slipping Hermione's wand into the pocket of her scorched robes. Hermione tried not to grimace.
Umbridge then began pacing the length of her desk in a series of short, quick steps, her lips working furiously. Malfoy and Warrington stepped back out of her way, and the entire room stared as she began mumbling to herself.
"Of course," she murmured, her side profile revealing a small patch of singed hair sticking out on end, "the only explanation — there had to be one of them left still setting them off. The only way those awful contraptions could still be operational. Horrible, disgraceful magic. Should have suspected one of those would be involved..."
Umbridge stopped abruptly, turning her eyes back on Hermione and placing both palms on the surface of her desk.
"So," Umbridge began ominously, her entire body quivering. The last remaining pink bowtie fell out of her mousy hair and clattered softly to the floor. "You are found wandering the castle after-hours on an evening of unprecedented, undoubtedly orchestrated disaster," —she hissed the words— "looking like you rolled straight out of the Forbidden Forest. Do you care to explain your appearance, Miss Granger, both out of uniform and in the corridors of this school? After explicit instruction was given — well over an hour ago — for all students to return to their common rooms?"
The feverish energy atop her bedraggled appearance made Umbridge look positively mad. Hermione was forcibly reminded of Bellatrix as she eyed the trembling curls that framed Umbridge's squat face.
Realising she'd hesitated too long, Hermione cleared her throat, which was suddenly paper dry.
"I... I went to change, then came back out. I thought that I could help—" Umbridge's eyes narrowed and Hermione swallowed heavily before continuing, "—help put a stop to everything, I mean. But I was foolish, I couldn't handle some of the larger explosions—"
"You thought yourself more capable than myself and the other teachers of this school?"
"Well, no, I just—"
"And you just happened upon one of these undetonated explosives and decided to carry it around with you?"
"I thought you might like to see it—"
"Which is why you were apprehended running towards your common room instead of towards my office?"
Hermione froze with her mouth open, unable to come up with a passable explanation quickly enough. Not that she was supposed to, she reminded herself.
When she failed to answer, Umbridge's lips pulled back in an insincere smile.
"Finally out of answers, are we, Miss Granger?" she said in a sugary voice, her bulging eyes belying her tone. "Tell me, do you expect that I believe a single word that has come out of your wretched little mouth?"
Hermione blinked in shock at Umbridge's sudden candour. Umbridge watched her reaction, head tilted and a moue of distaste playing around her pursed lips. She seemed to be waiting for Hermione to argue or otherwise incriminate herself further.
Conceding defeat, Hermione shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
Umbridge gave a terse nod. "There is no point in waiting any longer," she said, seemingly more to herself than Hermione. "I will have answers, one way or another." And with that, Umbridge suddenly turned, busying herself with a tea cart behind the desk. Then she looked over her shoulder.
"It is going to be a long night for you, Miss Granger. Have a seat — yes, right there. And what would you like to drink?"
Moving in front of Umbridge's desk to sit gingerly in the low-back chair, Hermione's breath quickened. She knew what was coming.
"Um... no thank you," she tried hopefully, her eyes flicking to the side. Malfoy still wouldn't look at her.
"Now, now, don't be shy. Tea? Pumpkin juice?"
"I'm not very thirsty—" Hermione rasped out.
Umbridge whipped around and Hermione nearly fell out of her seat in shock.
"Choose!"
Malfoy's knuckles went white where they curled at his side.
"Um... alright... tea, then," Hermione stammered, not having to feign her rising panic.
Umbridge didn't respond, waving her wand over the cart. A steaming cup of tea appeared. She didn't ask Hermione how she took it, and no one else was offered a drink.
While Umbridge made a show of stirring in both milk and a single sugar cube, Hermione pulled her mind into order.
An underground reservoir. Her thoughts, fears, and emotions mixing and diluting into the inky water, draining away until only cold, damp rock was left. An impenetrable surface.
A sharp knock on the door and a tiny fissure appeared in the rockface.
"Headmistress?"
Umbridge turned to place the tea on the desk atop a single lacy doily before turning eagerly to the newcomer.
"Yes? What is it now? Have you caught another? Ah, Miss Parkinson. Come in."
The echo of a door shutting bounced around the walls. Hermione didn't look back.
"Professor McGonagall would like another word," came Pansy's voice. "She insists it's important."
The smile dropped off of Umbridge's face and she inhaled deeply.
"Please tell Minerva it will have to wait. As for what I suspect she desires to discuss, I have already informed her that I have more than enough assistance to conduct interviews of suspicious behaviour."
"Shall I go speak with her, Headmistress?" came a crisp, pretentious voice from the corner of the office behind Warrington.
"Thank you, Deputy Weasley — but no. Minerva will simply have to wait."
Hermione startled slightly at Percy Weasley's voice. She'd missed him tucked away in the corner of the office, sitting very still with a quill poised over a small lap desk, but now caught the edge of the self-important expression on his face before reigning her thoughts back in.
In her mind's eye, another tiny crack in the wall arced off from the first. A shower of pebbles cascaded down to bounce off of the damp, rocky floor of her consciousness.
She blinked, fending off an unnamed emotion that pulsed in steadily increasing intensity just on the other side.
"And Miss Parkinson," Umbridge was now saying, "once you've informed Professor McGonagall, please instruct the other Squad members to proceed with the headcounts after ensuring the remaining corridors are cleared. I believe we have everything we need already here, but I will await your report."
"Of course, Headmistress," Pansy replied smoothly.
Another echo of a door shutting indicated Pansy's departure.
Umbridge sat behind her desk, watching Hermione carefully.
"Drink up, Miss Granger. I have many questions about the events of this evening, and it wouldn't do to strain your voice before we have attended to them all."
All eyes were now on Hermione as she stared down the cup of tea with steam still curling off of the surface. With shaking fingers, she reached for the saucer. The cup on top rattled faintly in her grip.
Malfoy's knuckles remained blanched at his side.
"We will wait until you have quenched your thirst," Umbridge insisted, not bothering to hide her enthusiasm as Hermione raised the cup to her lips. "There you are — every drop, now."
Another knock on the door had Hermione hesitating with the cup against her lips. Umbridge clicked her tongue.
"Yes?" she called, a touch of irritation lacing her tone.
The door creaked open once more, but a masculine voice spoke this time.
"Headmistress, I—" There was a pause. "Ah, apologies for the interruption, I can come back later—"
Something about the voice tugged at Hermione. Her mind shuddered, but she didn't turn around, choosing to remain in the void where emotions went unnamed.
"Go on then, Mister Nott," said Umbridge. "What is it that you need? Have you found something?"
"Nothing of note," Theo replied. "Professor Snape wished to inquire if you needed any further assistance? He sent this — he also says to tell you it's the last of his stock." An arm brushed past to place a miniscule vial of clear liquid on Umbridge's desk.
Umbridge nodded. "Ah. Give Severus my thanks. I am adequately assisted for now, but I appreciate his initiative nonetheless."
"Of course," came Theo's voice, much closer than before. Hermione peeked up towards it to see Theo and Malfoy briefly lock eyes. Theo snapped his head away and strode quickly towards the exit. He let himself out without further comment.
Umbridge tucked the vial into a drawer then rubbed her hands together, all focus back on Hermione.
"Now, then—"
Another knock on the door.
"What now?" Umbridge nearly screeched, slapping a palm against the desk. Hermione turned her head this time, beginning to let herself hope for an easy way out. She returned the teacup to its doily, liquid untouched.
Millicent Bulstrode entered, looking supremely uncomfortable. "My deepest apologies, Headmistress — I was sent to inform you that the portrait inside the Gryffindor common room has been found tampered with. Professor McGonagall thinks it would be best if you were to see for yourself—"
Umbridge closed her eyes and held up a hand, taking carefully measured breaths. After a moment, she spoke in a brittle voice.
"I will attend to it once I am finished here. Please inform Professor McGonagall that I am not to be disturbed until such time."
Millicent nodded her heavy jaw and left promptly.
"Mister Goyle," Umbridge said as soon as the door had shut, "please station yourself outside my office for the time being. Unless someone is dying — acutely, mind you — no one is to enter this office."
Goyle grunted and shuffled out to do as he was told.
Umbridge then waved her wand over the teacup so that wisps of steam returned to the surface, and Hermione knew her time was up.
"Drink up, now," Umbridge confirmed, gesturing pointedly to the cup.
The tea was, of course, the perfect temperature, if sweeter than Hermione usually preferred it. Seeing no way to avoid it, Hermione drained her cup slowly, using the borrowed time to continue strengthening her defences. She patched up the cracks, carefully knitting the stone back together until her senses dulled back into utter calm.
Despite knowing perfectly well that she could neither taste nor feel anything amiss, the liquid still felt heavy on her tongue.
Umbridge's foot began tapping on the floor.
Several minutes later, Hermione set the emptied teacup and its saucer back at the edge of the desk, and looked up to meet Umbridge's triumphant expression. Umbridge rubbed her palms together, her thickly beringed fingers catching the torchlight.
"Now, it is time for some long-awaited answers, I think," she said, nodding once to herself after leaning forward to verify that every drop of tea had been drained.
Hermione suddenly gasped, feeling as if her entire consciousness had just been evicted from the ground and tossed high into the air. She was weightless, floating along a lazy current, and her muscles responded accordingly. Her head tilted, falling onto her shoulder for a moment before she righted it. Her hands lay loosely in her lap and her lips went slightly numb. Her breathing evened out and she suddenly couldn't remember what it was that was so important.
"Miss Granger," Umbridge said sweetly, staring into her very soul, "what can you tell me about the events of today?"
Hermione felt her mouth immediately open.
"I woke up in my four-poster this morning," she heard herself answer in a flat, expressionless voice. "After rising at my usual hour, I fed Crookshanks and headed to the washroom. I brushed my hair and scrubbed my teeth, then changed into the required uniform for the school demonstration. It was pink and covered with bows — a sort of dress, I suppose, and only mildly resembling something from this century—"
Umbridge broke in with an irritated tut. "Skip forward to this afternoon, Miss Granger. We don't need the details of your morning routine."
Someone coughed lightly. Hermione nodded vacantly.
"After lunch, I hunted down a girls' toilet without a significant queue already forming," —Umbridge sighed heavily— "and returned to complete my section of the spellcasting demonstration as required. Then I attended a presentation on the current authority structure at Hogwarts School as implemented by the latest Headmistress, and, with great difficulty, refrained from speaking about how it unduly prioritises the authority of the so-called Inquisitorial Squad members over that of the rightfully-appointed prefects—"
Umbridge cut in again with a piercing look. "Enough. Were you or were you not involved with implementing the fiasco that took place before dinner this evening?"
Hermione blinked before answering, something gently tugging her earthward.
"I was."
Umbridge responded with a sharp intake of breath. Hermione had to drag her head off of her shoulder again.
Malfoy was finally looking at her, but it didn't mean anything. Her eyes travelled over the other faces around the room, their expressions ranging from deadly serious to wildly gleeful.
"So you are in any capacity responsible for the explosions?" Umbridge followed up quickly, "For the swamp? For the release of Peeves the Poltergeist?"
Hermione nodded the affirmative after each option.
A distant explosion somewhere below sent a little shower of dust raining down from the ceiling. Umbridge's eyes flashed as she continued. "The portrait in the Gryffindor common room — I daresay that was also your doing?"
"Yes."
Umbridge cracked her stubby fingers and stood, pacing again behind her desk.
"Were there others working with you? Accomplices?"
"Yes," slipped out of Hermione's mouth before she could help it, and an overwhelming sense of guilt crashed down. The sky turned to age-old stone and she stifled a gasp.
"Who else was involved?"
Hermione pressed her lips together, her mind warring with two completely distinct sensations battling for control.
"I..."
"Yes?" Umbridge pressed, leaning forward eagerly.
Hermione coughed, feeling like her throat was on fire.
"I can't— I can't say," she wheezed out, doubling over as another coughing fit took over.
"What?" Umbridge asked sharply. "What is this?"
When Hermione continued coughing, Umbridge looked over her shoulder. "What's wrong with her? Weasley, did you retrieve the correct potion?"
"I did," came Percy's voice from the corner, "I even verified the contents with—"
His voice was drowned out as a roaring took up in Hermione's ears. She was so tired. Her tongue was desperate to form the answers they desired, but she couldn't. She couldn't fail Harry again tonight. Dumbledore had been so sure of her, but maybe she couldn't do this after all. Maybe she should make a run for it...
Gasping, she chanced a glance up at the rest of the room. Umbridge was over in the corner, closely inspecting a glass vial alongside Percy Weasley. Crabbe, Montague, and Warrington had hovered closer to the Headmistress and her assistant in an attempt to overhear what they were saying.
The only person who hadn't moved was Malfoy.
As soon as their gazes locked, Malfoy's lips twitched. Without warning, brief flashes of the evening's events surged forward in her mind, seemingly at random — Harry's collapse, the impromptu meeting in the bathroom, whirling blue fire, Snape's empty office, the Prophecy room, being surrounded by masked strangers on all sides, a desperate embrace, flying backwards at impossible speeds...
The memories flickered through her mind faster than she could keep up — curses flashing and glass smashing, a blinding pain, Crouch and Harry squaring off, Sirius's arrival, Bellatrix's curse, Dumbledore's fury-lined face, Voldemort's eyes sweeping over her from across the Atrium...
Malfoy's mouth twisted infinitesimally.
Just as suddenly as they'd arrived, the memories were gone, pushed so far out of the cavern that Hermione had no trouble at all sealing off the cracks in her mental fortress with a steady stream of cool, silver pebbles. She blinked and Malfoy was back to studying something over her head.
"—advised only up to three drops, not sure what that dose—"
"I know what I'm doing, Weasley — she'll be fine."
Just as Hermione refocused, Umbridge was turning back around, a water goblet in her hands. Even knowing the contents, Hermione's throat was burning hot enough to have her lunging for the goblet as soon as Umbridge set it in front of her.
Umbridge smiled in grim satisfaction as Hermione downed it in one go. A now-empty vial was shoved into a drawer where it clinked into another just like it.
"There," Umbridge said with a little nod, primly settling herself back behind the desk. Somewhere nearby, a kitten mewled. "Now about these accomplices. Who did you say they were?"
As compared to moments ago, her Occlumency now felt rock-solid; hovering somewhere between lucid yet loosened, Hermione was just aware enough to be able to meet the potion's requirements while also meeting her own.
"I didn't say," she answered truthfully.
"Yes, fine," Umbridge said with a wave of her hand. "Then tell me — who else is responsible? Potter? Maybe the youngest Weasley boy he runs around with?" Over Umbridge's shoulder, Percy shifted in his chair. "Surely there were others. Who else was involved in the planning?"
"I can't say," Hermione repeated, feeling completely justified in her belief that she had been commanded, indirectly or not, to withhold all information that might incriminate Harry or otherwise reveal his true whereabouts this evening to Umbridge.
Umbridge narrowed her eyes. "Oh? You still 'can't say'?"
"That's right," Hermione said.
"And why not?"
"I'm protecting someone," Hermione answered without missing a beat.
"Who?"
"I can't say."
Umbridge's nostrils flared and she released a sharp breath. In her peripheral vision, Hermione caught the lift of a pale brow.
Lips now pressed together tightly and breathing hard through her nose, Umbridge seemed to be having trouble composing herself.
"I can see you're going to be difficult," she said evenly. Too evenly. "I do not know what you're doing or how you're doing it, but I will not tolerate this insolence. Perhaps a new approach..."
Hermione remained silent, her hands folded demurely in her lap as she looked down, studying the carpets.
"Yes, I think we must," Umbridge continued after a beat. "Graham, would you please fetch Mister Filch?"
Hermione forced her expression to remain neutral despite the hint of panic that began to well beneath the sea of calm. She stamped down on it roughly, maintaining her focus. Montague had taken a single step towards the door when a throat cleared.
"Is it possible she's under an enchantment, Headmistress? Somehow prevented from speaking? Perhaps we could find a way around it."
Malfoy said all of this in a bored drawl.
Montague paused and Umbridge blinked slowly, a motion bearing an uncanny resemblance to that of a toad sizing up its next meal. She tilted her head.
"Very good, Mister Malfoy. I should have considered... So silly of me. Not up to my usual standards tonight, you quite understand. Yes. Right then." She waved Montague back and cleared her throat daintily. "Miss Granger, are you under any vow, curse, potion, spell, or other enchantment that prevents you from speaking freely?"
"Yes," Hermione replied easily, currently tallying at two Tongue-Tying Curses and one Fidelius Charm just within the past several months.
Umbridge let out an irritable tut. "A complication, but I'm certain we can find a way around that. Let's try a few simple answers — you seem to have no trouble with those..." She paused, looking to the side. "Myrtle, I require your assistance."
Hermione dully registered the presence of a pale figure emerging from behind a set of bookshelves in the corner. Moaning Myrtle kept herself close to the wall, wringing her hands in front of her waist.
"Yes, Madam Headmistress?"
Umbridge smiled sweetly and crooked a finger. Myrtle drifted hesitantly closer.
"Myrtle, dear," Umbridge began in her best sugar-coated voice, "would you care to repeat what you came to tell me earlier this evening?"
Myrtle cast an indecipherable glance over at Hermione before resettling her focus on Umbridge.
"I... of course, Headmistress," she said with a frown. "I was curious about the festivities, so I ventured down from my usual toilet to the first floor. I was lying in the U-bend, listening to the music — reminiscing about how I made sure Olive Hornby never got to dance at her brother's wedding, you see — when a few voices started up very loudly above me..."
Myrtle trailed off, seemingly lost in thought as she picked a spot on her chin.
"Go on," Umbridge urged.
Myrtle sniffed once before continuing.
"Naturally, I was curious, so I moved into the cubicle to better overhear... That was when I heard the plans."
Umbridge's former excitement returned. "Yes? And tell me again what you heard?"
Myrtle stared at Umbridge, her eyes going wide behind her pearly spectacles. The thick lenses flashed as she glanced around the rest of the office, obviously unused to holding the attention of a roomful of people. She straightened her shoulders and gave a little cough.
"Well," she began, her voice beginning to pick up speed, "there was a person talking about needing to use the fireplace here in this office to make a call, and then another person talking about waiting for an opportunity to mess up the demonstration, I think, and something before that about having trained for it—"
"And you're certain you didn't recognize any of the voices?" Umbridge cut in. "Miss Granger, here, perhaps?"
Myrtle flashed another obscure look in Hermione's direction. "I really can't be certain—"
"The Potter boy maybe?"
"I— no. I don't think Harry Potter was one of them."
Umbridge leaned back with disappointment, waving Myrtle on.
"Erm... right," Myrtle continued, twisting her fingers together. "So, they were saying it was all very serious and very important and that it couldn't wait any longer. Oh, and once, there was something about the old Headmaster, Dumbledore—"
"Dumbledore!" Umbridge broke in with excitement. "You didn't mention him before — what did they say about Dumbledore?"
Myrtle looked glum again. "I don't exactly recall—"
"Never mind that," Umbridge cut in, dismissing Myrtle and turning to Hermione. "Did Dumbledore put you up to this? Was he involved?"
"Yes," Hermione answered, for it was Dumbledore that had sent her here to be questioned.
She realised too late exactly how it had sounded to everyone else.
The room erupted in movement. Percy gasped loudly and accidentally knocked his inkpot to the ground, smashing it. Crabbe's mouth fell open as his head swung back and forth between Umbridge and Hermione. Montague and Warrington traded looks of shocked disbelief, immediately beginning to mutter a hushed conversation. Moaning Myrtle, for whatever reason, up and fled the room entirely, the echoes of her sobbing wails growing distant as she zoomed away. Malfoy simply looked very confused.
As for Umbridge, she bolted out of her desk chair again and pointed a shaking finger.
"Ah ha!" she exclaimed, a wild look in her bulging eyes. "Of course! How could I have not seen it before? Dumbledore! Are you getting this, Weasley? Are you writing it down?"
Percy nodded vigorously, simultaneously trying to siphon up the spilt ink with his wand whilst balancing his lap desk beneath a quill sprinting feverishly across a piece of parchment.
Umbridge spun back around. "What was the purpose behind ruining the demonstration?"
"To get you out of the way," Hermione replied neutrally.
Umbridge wagged her finger at Hermione. "Did Dumbledore truly think the Minister would remove me from my post because of one, teensy incident? Did you think news of this would ever get out of the castle without my say so?"
Hermione remained silent. Her mind and body were beginning to feel more grounded as some of the former airiness abated. Umbridge wasn't paying attention, already raving again.
"—the demented old coot," she spat, back to pacing behind her desk. "He couldn't handle seeing Hogwarts beneath the hand of a competent leader. Trying to discredit me! Ha! That he would sink so low just confirms every disgraceful accusation laid against him. This explains everything — I knew those children were up to something. Mistress Turner was certain that there was a pattern to your comings and goings and finally — proof!" Umbridge rounded on Hermione again. "Where is Dumbledore? How are you contacting him?"
Hermione blinked several times, feeling like she might fall asleep where she sat. Her muscles felt even heavier than usual. She suppressed a yawn.
"I don't know where he is," she replied honestly, although there was no compulsion to do so. "Tonight is the first time I've spoken with him directly since my hearing at the Ministry."
"Has anything else been planned? Anything else with ill-intent towards myself or my office?"
"No. Nothing else," Hermione supplied, unable to fully hold back a yawn this time.
Umbridge must have finally noticed the waning effects of the Truth Potion, for she quickly turned to Percy.
"Weasley!" she barked. "More potion."
Percy only looked slightly apologetic. "Unfortunately Madam, that was the only vial Scrimgeour was able to spare — I could send a request through to his department to see if we would be able to obtain more?"
Umbridge made a noise of frustration and shook her head. "No, no, wouldn't want Cornelius to think I don't have a handle on things... I think we've probably done the best we could for now, in any case. Dumbledore will have made sure the girl is locked up tight — likely the same for any other students involved. He did the same at hers and Potter's hearing over the summer. I'm sure of it now. No, we must send a message to Cornelius about our findings at once. Then I must consult with the other Heads of Houses, but I doubt we shall discover any other offenders until we can procure more potion. With Dumbledore's help, they've been too careful. I highly suspect Potter, at least, no matter what the ghost says, but I can't restrain him without solid proof..."
Umbridge straightened her cardigan and made an attempt to flatten her hair as she continued. "Montague, Warrington, Crabbe — please divide yourselves to fetch the Heads of Houses and have them assemble in the staff room immediately. Take Goyle with you. I shall join them as soon as I can."
The Slytherin boys scrambled to comply, eagerness in their expressions.
"Deputy Weasley," Umbridge continued, "with me. Mister Malfoy — remain here and watch the girl. I shall deal with her fully after I have alerted the Minister. She's a tricky one, mind — do not let her escape nor have contact with anyone. You have my permission to use whatever force necessary. I will return in a few minutes' time."
"Of course, Headmistress," Malfoy said, inclining his head respectfully.
Umbridge took one last disgusted look at Hermione before she, too, bustled off towards the door with Percy at her heels. Percy averted his eyes as he walked past.
The door slammed shut, and somehow, she and Malfoy were alone.
Malfoy immediately stalked across the room without saying a word. Hermione turned in her chair to watch him. After pressing his ear to the door for a moment, he took out his wand and whispered an unfamiliar spell.
"Muffliato."
Then he rounded on her, all traces of aloofness now gone.
"What the bloody fuck, Granger," he hissed in a voice of pure venom, prowling back around to face her properly. His eyes were furious again, and focused intently on her own. "Have you completely lost the plot?"
Her hackles were immediately up at his tone.
"I did what I had to do, Malfoy," she said, chin tilting up stubbornly. "It wasn't your call."
"No — it wasn't, was it?" he spat. "You chase Potter off to London like some bloody lunatic, decide to confront an army of fully-trained wizards, somehow make it out of there and return to the castle — looking half-dead, by the way — and end up caught, alone, while none of your other so-called friends are anywhere to be found. And don't even try to pretend with me — you had nothing to do with those fireworks, so why the actual fuck are you taking the blame?"
"Technically, I did help set the whole thing in motion. I did the portrait personally, and Peeves was—"
"—And I know you were Occluding — or should I say trying to Occlude — and I had to step in to make sure you didn't go spilling absolutely everything—"
"I'm positively shattered, okay? Of course I wasn't at my best—"
"—And I may have been able to help you cover up the truth tonight — for now — but you've gone and thrown yourself straight into the boiling cauldron this time and I can't get you out of this one."
She bristled. "I don't need your help to get out of this. I chose it!"
Malfoy's lip curled. "Right — you chose it. You chose to protect Scarhead from the consequences of his own actions — again. I asked you not to go — begged — but you chose him," he finished with a sneer.
"It wasn't just about Harry," she argued back, frustrated that he refused to look past his blind hatred for Harry at a time like this. "As far as we knew, Voldemort was about to get his hands on some sort of lethal weapon! There were no other options! I couldn't very well stay behind and let everyone else risk their necks when I could do something about it."
Malfoy's eyes flashed. "And did you, Granger? Did you do something about it? Because to me, it looks like you went and nearly got yourself cursed into oblivion for trying to interfere with things that are better left alone."
Hermione seethed at the reminder of her failure tonight. "We all made it back," she hissed, "that's what counts. And better left alone? Better for who, Malfoy? Because it certainly isn't me."
"They wouldn't have had a reason to bother you at all if you weren't there!"
A maniacal little laugh burst past her lips. "Really? The Death Eaters would have just forgotten about me? Because recent history seems to say otherwise. Or did you conveniently forget that my parents are now halfway across the world with no idea who I really am?"
He flinched and she relished in it.
"No, I haven't forgotten," he said through gritted teeth, "but if you had a fucking ounce of self-preservation, you wouldn't have gone and put an even larger target on your back. Everything fourth year would have blown over. I could have— I would have figured out a way to keep you out of it."
"To keep me out of it?" she repeated indignantly. "You thought I could what, just stay uninvolved forever? That I should let Harry go and be murdered by Voldemort while I stand aside, safely tucked away while the world falls apart?"
Malfoy flinched back again and her voice trembled as the words tumbled faster out of her mouth, rising to nearly a shout by the end.
"Did you truly think that by staying out of it I would stay safe from them? Let's see," —Hermione began ticking off reasons on her fingers— "One, I'm a Muggle-born. The very thing Voldemort and the Death Eaters want to wipe out of existence. Even the wizarding world as a whole barely tolerates us. Two, Harry is my best friend, and yes, I will always help him when it comes to keeping him safe and alive. As long as I'm close to Harry, I will always be in their sights because of Voldemort's obsession with him. And three, even without all that, I could have never just 'left it alone', because I care about what's right, and unlike you, I actually care about what happens to anyone other than myself!"
She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Malfoy stepped back, the hurt in his eyes quickly masked by cool indifference.
Hermione jumped out of her chair and approached him. She was relieved when he didn't move away.
"Wait, that's not... that came out wrong—"
But at that moment, the door to the office opened. They sprang apart, thinking Umbridge had returned from the owlery. Instead, Pansy walked in, her dark eyes going wide for a moment as she stared at the pair of them. In a blink, she'd schooled her expression back to its usual haughty state and looked to Malfoy.
"Where is the Headmistress? I was to give report on the headcounts."
He cleared his throat. "She stepped out to send an owl, I don't think she'll be long—"
"I am here," Umbridge said, sweeping in with Percy still on her heels. Her breath was coming in short little puffs. Hermione promptly seated herself back in front of the desk when Umbridge's eyes landed on her.
"Did she give you any trouble?" Umbridge asked Malfoy.
"No, Headmistress," Malfoy answered, taking another step away. Pansy moved near him, looking uncertain about whether or not to remain in the room.
Umbridge nodded absently, not even bothering to look over at them. She was already smiling widely, and the dread that Hermione had momentarily forgotten in light of her argument with Malfoy returned in full force.
"You'll be pleased to know I have already decided what is to be done with you," Umbridge said, her voice sugary sweet again.
Hermione forced herself to sit still, not wanting to appear overly agitated.
"For your willing participation in the events of tonight and all such other activities with the express purpose of undermining my authority, I am well within my rights to expel you."
"You're expelling me?" Hermione squeaked out before she could stop herself, terrified that Dumbledore had gotten it wrong.
"Certainly not," Umbridge said with a stern look. "I will not have my first year as Headmistress tarnished by the black mark of expulsion. Not for you. No, an example must be made. Your punishment has been carefully considered for the purpose of bearing witness to all of the proper young witches and wizards under my authority as to what happens to those who dare defy me."
Hermione held her breath, only granted a small measure of relief that she wasn't about to be sent packing.
"First," Umbridge continued, "and I hope this would have been obvious — you are hereby stripped of your prefect title and badge, effective immediately."
Yes, Hermione had expected no less. It still stung.
"In addition, you are to spend every day you remain in this school serving a detention of no less than two hours. You can start by cleaning up every trace of your little stunt from tonight. Fortunately for you, the house-elves have already attended to the Great Hall, or I would send you down straight away. Tomorrow, you will begin under my or my associate's supervision, but I will have it arranged so that we are not constantly required to mind you instead of running this school. You are also not permitted to leave school grounds for any reason until the end of summer term, including scheduled Hogsmeade visits."
Hermione closed her eyes and breathed. Okay, she could live with this. It would make keeping up with her homework difficult, but she wouldn't have prefect patrols any longer so—
"And lastly..."
The silence stretched. Only after Hermione opened her eyes to see Umbridge's smile grow impossibly wider did the woman continue.
"Your wand will remain with me — until such time as I see fit to return it."
Hermione sat numb with horror. Umbridge was confiscating her wand?
Next to Malfoy, Pansy's jaw dropped. Malfoy himself dropped his eyes to study the floor. On the other side of Umbridge, Percy scratched his nose, suddenly looking uncomfortable.
Hermione swallowed down the bile rising in her throat. The acid burned in her chest.
"And how am I to complete my coursework?" she asked evenly, forming words around the bitter lump in her throat.
"Oh, I'm certain we'll manage to work around it," Umbridge said, looking supremely satisfied at whatever she saw on Hermione's face.
Hermione struggled to keep her expression smooth. She'd expected reprimand. She'd prepared for detention. She'd braced for punishments bordering on torture. But her wand? The very thing that connected her to the magical world?
Without it, she was... practically Muggle. The very Muggle that so many of them claimed.
No, she wouldn't cry yet. She wouldn't give Umbridge the satisfaction.
"Would it be enough to return it to you at the end of classes each day?" Hermione managed to ask in a thick voice, desperate not to lose access to her wand entirely. "So that I may still prepare to sit my exams at the end of summer term?"
"Oh, no," Umbridge said, shaking her head sombrely. "Oh, no, no, no. Misbehaviour deserves to be punished. I have played nice for far too long, and look what has happened. An example must be made."
Then, a sickeningly smug look on her face, Umbridge leaned in close, speaking low enough that Hermione doubted anyone else could hear her next words.
"This wand may be returned to you if — and only if — you manage to prove to me that you are worthy of carrying a witch's wand."
Hermione remained silent, choked up on a sudden, overwhelming sensation of loss. The future suddenly looked beyond bleak; at her core, she knew that the odds of Umbridge ever seeing fit to return her wand were slim to none.
"Now that's settled," Umbridge resumed at a normal volume, delicately straightening her battered robes, "let us move on. I still have much to attend to and the night is no longer young. Mister Malfoy, would it be too much to ask to have you also escort Miss Granger back to her dormitory? I do not expect she'll try anything further, but my trust is wearing thin these days."
"It is no trouble at all, Headmistress," Malfoy replied stiffly. Without looking at Hermione, he moved to the door and held it open, plainly waiting for her to follow. She obliged, trying not to make eye contact with anyone as she approached the exit. Despite that, she managed to catch a glimpse of something like pity on Pansy's face and it burned.
If Pansy Parkinson was pitying her, she was truly in dire straits.
The stone beneath her feet began to blur. Hermione kept her head down as she traversed the length of their former Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, hearing Malfoy's steady footfalls close behind.
Neither of them spoke as they turned out into the corridor. As they ascended the first staircase, Hermione mulled over their heated conversation with increasing desperation. Would she lose this, too? Her tired mind couldn't find the right words to explain — to apologise. For once, she didn't have the answer, and she wasn't sure she'd find it.
They'd already made it to the fifth floor by the time Malfoy broke the silence.
"The blood," Malfoy said gruffly, still looking forward, "is it yours?"
"Blood?" Hermione echoed, momentarily confused by her return to the present. She held her hands up, realising they were still coated with Sirius's blood. "Oh. No — most of it isn't."
Malfoy's jaw tightened, but he didn't say anything further. The expression reminded Hermione of the way Lucius Malfoy had looked at her when he'd found—
"Malfoy — wait," Hermione said urgently, plucking at his sleeve. "There's something you need to know."
He stopped, half-turning his head and raising an eyebrow in question.
She swallowed heavily. "Your father... he— he knows something. Suspects something. I don't know how, but he was able to track me tonight, even when I was invisible." She fished at the neck of her jumper, pulling out the pendant for Malfoy's inspection. "He followed this."
Malfoy gave his full attention now, silver eyes widening. He half-reached out a finger towards the sapphire on its chain before snatching his hand back to his side, seeming to think better of it. His features hardened.
"What did he say? Exactly."
"He... asked what it was. What I'd done. Said it wasn't ordinary magic and he knew it was connected to you. I told him it was a simple trinket, something I'd kept from a project we'd worked on together, but I don't think he was convinced—"
"That's it?" Malfoy pressed. "That's all he said?"
"Um... yes. That's everything. We didn't exactly have time for chit-chat."
Malfoy turned away and started walking again. She scrambled to keep up.
"I'll handle it," he said.
"Are you sure he won't—"
"I said I'll handle it."
His tone was final, and Hermione couldn't find it in herself to argue any more tonight. The rest of their walk to Gryffindor Tower passed in complete silence.
Malfoy didn't seem eager to stick around, so when they reached the Portrait of the Fat Lady, Hermione plucked up her courage one last time.
"Thank you," she offered in a small voice. "For the Occlumency help, I mean. It was... I probably wouldn't have been able to manage it without you."
Malfoy remained silent for a long moment.
"I was only looking out for myself, Granger," he finally responded, turning his head away. "Good night."
Hermione watched him walk away, arms tight around her middle and biting her lip until she tasted the tang of copper and salt. She'd been so worried about protecting Harry, she hadn't even bothered to consider what would have happened if she'd accidentally revealed any of the things between her and Malfoy while under Veritaserum. He could have been implicated in all of this, too.
She stood there for a full minute after he'd disappeared before bringing herself around to waking a now extremely-irritable portrait to enter the common room.
It was empty — even the portrait that usually watched over the room for Umbridge was a stretch of blank canvas. Consulting the clock above the mantel, Hermione could just make out that it was already half-past eleven.
She didn't know what she'd expected; Harry was likely rightfully resting, and Ron was probably watching over him. They would have had no reason to think there was anything else to worry about this evening, she reminded herself. In any case, they'd all have a chance to catch up tomorrow.
After ascending the staircase to the girls' dormitory, Hermione immediately veered for the bathroom, stripping herself of everything but her pendant and scrubbing her skin raw beneath the boiling water of the showers. Red-tinged water swirled down the drain beneath her feet. She worked methodically over her body, ridding herself of all evidence of the night's events, very careful not to allow her thoughts to stray from the task. Only when the water ran clear again did she stop.
Wrapped in only a towel, Hermione returned to her dormitory to be greeted at once by an unusually affectionate Crookshanks, who promptly wound himself around her ankles until she picked him up. She carried him quietly to her four-poster, careful not to wake her slumbering dormmates, and donned her nightwear.
Having used up the very last of her restraint, Hermione let go of herself entirely for the first time that night to curl on her side, bury her face in a mountain of long, ginger fur, and sob herself silently to sleep.