“beyond wandpoint” 069b by gingerbred
“11 11i Tuesday - Déjà Vu” Part 2
Hermione, Harry, Ron, Minerva, Sybill Trelawney, Peeves, Draco, Theo Nott, Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Seamus Finnigan, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, Terry Boot, Padma Patil, Mentioned: Severus, Filius, Horace Slughorn
Originally Published: 2018-04-11 on AO3
Chapter: 069 part 2
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.
Minerva is standing in front of the class absently petting the Transfigured bird on her desk, smoothing his feathers, and once again trying to explain the details of the Spell, and no, sadly there's not very much to be done about colour, not without additional Transfigurations anyway, it is an Augurey and not, say, a peacock, or parrot for that matter, when the door bursts open and her two truant students appear. She finds it particularly vexing, as they are members of her own House.
Several members of staff have the suspicion that the Ravenclaws take advantage of Filius, bless his little heart, because he's their Head and goes soft on them, and it has given rise to some derogatory talk behind his back. And probably over his head, people being as they are. Naturally Pomona is every bit as soft, but the Hufflepuffs, one supposes equally naturally, don't seem to instrumentalise the exploitation of that weakness as the Eagles do. If one were tempted to go too easy on the little blighters, observing the pitying looks Filius receives - from students and faculty alike - has a way of sorting that. Quickly.
Flagrant disrespect is something she will not tolerate from her students, and yet she suspects it's no coincidence that the boys had dared try this with her. There's always the hope one's Head of House won't wish to deduct House points as vigorously from their own charges. She's reasonably certain they wouldn't dare try this with Severus, which only annoys her more.
It might cheer her to know both boys had also been late to his class only yesterday, but perhaps not quite as egregiously. On the other hand, that knowledge would surely push her to having them spend all weekend practising the Tempus, culminating in submitting twenty-four inches on the history of the development of the Charm. In triplicate if need be; no Geminios allowed.
She knows almost exactly when Mr. Weasley left the Infirmary; it had certainly been before she herself had. He had plenty of time to arrive punctually to class, had that been anything like a priority for him. Quite clearly, it was not.
"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall greets them as all heads turn to watch. Few things are more fascinating than observing one's classmates squirm in the talons, claws or coils, depending on the House, of an appropriately annoyed Professor. "Still having issues with your Tempuses I see. Shall I demonstrate? One performs it like so..." She waves her wand in deliberately slow measure, the red tinge from Ron's ears spreading rapidly clear down the back of his neck and disappearing into his unusually tight and itchy collar as she does.
The boys make their way silently past her desk to what seems to now be their side of the classroom, judging by where the others are already seated. Minerva is about to take ten points from each of them, probably far less than they deserve, but she had just assigned Mr. Weasley detention, when the boys reach the bench where Madam Snape is seated.
The young woman is staring at Minerva's chair again. The Transfiguration Mistress believes to understand that the witch derives some comfort from Severus' carvings; she thinks perhaps it's the reminder of his actions on her behalf, not having discovered Crooks' likeness yet. Initially Minerva found it disconcerting, because Madam Snape kept her eyes fixed on the spot whether she could see the chair or not. When she couldn't, it was because Minerva had been bold enough to sit - in her own chair of all places - and was bodily blocking her view. It's an odd feeling to have someone constantly trying to stare through her. Purely by chance, Minerva finds herself inclined to teach more of the lesson while standing today.
It also doesn't escape her notice that Madam Snape is the only one who doesn't turn her head as the boys approach.
It's no coincidence the benches were three wide. When she had made the adjustments to her classroom Monday morning, Minerva had hoped the boys would sit with their friend, flanking her, providing some moral support. That hope had only been magnified this morning when the young witch struggled to explain her strategical need to attend class, to sit there, putting on a brave face, all while looking a hair's breadth from a nervous collapse.
Well she's looking a far sight more collected now.
Naturally, the extra dose of Calming plays a major role...
Demonstrating some of the same techniques she'd planned for the Slytherins, but unexpectedly hasn't needed with them yet, Hermione does her level best to ignore Ron. She's still mad for all the established reasons and everything about her screams indifference, except for the fact she's behaving completely unnaturally, which should signal to a clearer mind just how affected she is.
Very.
Ron is in an almost equally poor mood, but probably for less valid reasons. Sometimes that kind of is a contest, except that's a slippery slope. Is only the most wounded justified in feeling hurt? Should they stop class and take a survey of the damage? Merlin, objectively Malfoy might just win at the moment; where would that leave them?
Does the injured party need to be blameless? At least then it wouldn't be Malfoy. But would that be case specifically, as relates to the particular injury, or generally, because heavens help Hermione then... Or is the hurt only legitimate if the injured party is sympathetic? And to whom?
Or do they need to see who's the most wounded in the entire castle first? He's probably sleeping in the Infirmary just now, and would have no patience for this sort of thinking were he awake; he's also not exactly sympathetic. But then that all too simple assignment of the title to Severus ignores everyone else's history. And their individual abilities to cope. Wouldn't that be more relevant? And how should it be assessed?
It's fair to say most people in Ron's shoes wouldn't be particularly happy. His best friend and - quite frankly - his crush has married the person he hates most in the whole world - with no warning and without even telling him. What does that say about their friendship? Not that that's what he cares about most, not even close, but it's a safer objection to, well, not voice, obviously, but to think to oneself, surely... Whether or not his feelings are reciprocated in no way diminishes his hurt, only his right to be offended. But for her to marry someone who has tormented him for years?
Naturally it doesn't matter in that moment that he doesn't begin to know the true meaning of the word 'torment', or how much of that perceived torment was deserved, which is convenient as he's incapable of recognising it anyway.
Understandably, he's not a happy wizard.
But on the other hand, it's probably safe to assume a great many people in Ron's predicament might ask the pertinent questions before simply acting on their feelings. 'Why?' is always a good place to start.
Unfortunately, Ron is impulsive and highly emotional, and that will prove beyond his capabilities at the moment. He doesn't have the advantage of Calming Draughts in his system, nor wiser voices in his ear counselling him not to give in to those emotions, to keep his head or hold his tongue. It certainly hasn't helped that when all else fails, he usually seeks comfort in food, and food has been anything but comforting today.
He has got quite a number of people he's angry with, and that number keeps growing. He's certain his mum's... he's at a total loss for words. That Howler pretty much guarantees him a life of misery, starting next class with Snape. The interactions with Dean, Wainscott, Hermione, Trelawney, McGonagall and Peeves, for fuck's sake, just this morning alone, add to his lengthening list of reasons to hate the world, and it's only first period.
And his bollocks feel like they're in a bloody vice. A scratchy vice. That's hardly the best starting point. Well, and all that other stuff.
Hermione sits there, clearly just peachy, ignoring him for all she's worth, clutching some stupid necklace he can't recall seeing before. For fuck's sake, is that a miniature phial? That's as dumb as Lav's 'sweetheart' necklace... And then with a sinking, burning feeling he considers why she might be wearing a phial, of all things... Bloody hell! 'Mione's wearing his jewellery now?! Which is precisely when he spots the ring...
The last thing he's going to do is sit next to her.
Now, if she'd just be smart and shove over, he might take a seat in her row and leave room between them for Harry. He's sort of used to acting as a buffer for them anyway.
But she isn't moving.
Hermione sits there staring at the carving of Crooks, and she isn't going to budge, not an inch.
So Ron does the perfectly logical. He moves to Seamus' row.
Seamus quickly plonks his books down on the seat next to him to reserve it for Dean when he gets out of the Infirmary, he can't stay there forever, and Ron recognises that would leave no room for Harry, so he keeps going without discernible hesitation to the third row and takes one of the two empty seats next to Fay.
Minerva's lips thin into a very tight line and she turns to glower at Mr. Potter's back as he now draws abreast of Madam Snape's row.
Harry's in a weird place. The talk with Ginny has stirred up some things that leave him acutely ill at ease, running all over the castle with Ron didn't help. He's coming down from his adrenaline rush and feels all out of sorts. Or maybe he's still in flight mode... Either way, he feels kind of wretched. And honestly? He doesn't really want to sit next to 'Mione either.
He thinks... He senses he needs to have a talk, a real talk with 'Mione, especially after what he'd said to her Saturday. Except he obviously can't do that there. She's staring off into space, ignoring him. It never occurs to him she's scared of their public rejection, he just assumes she's still angry and he can't fix that now and maybe shouldn't try to force it right at the moment somewhere she isn't free to react...
It's like this: Hermione gets upset, and there's no talking with her. Which isn't to say there's talking to Ron when he's upset with Harry, but he isn't just now, not after he got Harry a detention and their mad dash from Peeves together. Quite the opposite. And 'Mione, well, she's far more likely to forgive him than Ron is. Far more likely. Like bunches more. He can't think of a time she hadn't. And much sooner, too. And she's far less likely to cause any kind of scene in a class of all places than Ron is. Way less likely. And clearly she doesn't want him next to her. And Ron does.
Ron's in the back row, clapping his hand on the spot that's empty beside him, in the universally recognised sign for, 'Sit here. This seat's free, and your company is wanted.' He didn't exactly think that through, it's mostly a reflex, but he's a fundamentally insecure boy, and there's safety in numbers. If Harry joins him, it proves Ron isn't in the wrong there, doesn't it? And so he sits there, clapping on the bench, effectively calling Harry over.
For Harry, it's all pretty plain what he needs to do... He'll sit next to Ron and keep him sweet. He'll avoid 'Mione and the blow up, most likely Ron's, or possible huff, and that would be hers, that could occur if Harry didn't. If that happens to mesh with his preferences, well, he can hardly help that. And then he needs to find her later and apologise for Saturday somehow...
Except apparently he really needs to apologise for whatever happened Friday night instead, and he doesn't really think they make a greeting card for that. He's certainly never seen one at Boots or Scrivenshaft's, which would seem to indicate Muggles and wizards alike are equally at a loss in this sort of situation.
He has no idea how to go about that at all...
His stomach sinks and his breakfast feels like it's turning to lead in his guts. Ah. Alchemy. And he only knows that because of 'Mione...
Feeling like a heel, and with a horrible sense that he's just fucking up more but then again not at all certain how he could not... Harry gives a sort of helpless shrug that Hermione pretends not to see and follows Ron and takes the available seat next to him in the back row with Fay.
This would be one of those times when timing is all important. Fundamentally, Hermione needed, or at least wanted, their support, and once again, they weren't there for her. She wonders why that still comes as a surprise. Long after the hurt diminishes, what remains is a sense of distrust... Unreliability. To count on them is to court pain and disappointment. It'll be a while before Hermione has any desire to really honestly try to talk things through with either of them. And because they have no idea how to sort it, they'll be far too happy to stick to their strategy of avoidance. It's worked so well so far.
Minerva just glares at the boys. She permits herself a quick glance at Madam Snapes, alone in the front row, and thanks her lucky stars that the young woman isn't reduced to tears. For half a second she contemplates taking House points and realises she can't begin to decide how many. Right now she's mad enough to take them all. But the boys are well within their rights, a point deduction isn't even a legitimate thing to do, and she also doesn't feel the House deserves to suffer for this.
However... She hadn't quite gotten to punishing them for their tardiness yet...
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley," if she sounded terrifying before, she's achieved Dementor class now. Assuming they could speak that is. Still, the comparison stands, and it crosses more than a couple of minds as the class listens with rapt attention. "Detention. Perhaps you'd care for a remedial Tempus practice session? Mr. Filch will expect you, punctually, Saturday evening."
Harry groans and tries not to think of all the ways he wants to hex Ron. Ron, for his part, bows to the inevitable and informs their Head, "Yes, Professor, um, he will... But that's because Trelawney..."
"Professor Trelawney," Minerva corrects, most acidly.
"Yeah, well, we've already got detention then." Seamus can't suppress his bark of laughter. It earns him a frown from McGonagall, but nothing more. She's far too busy being incensed with Ron and Harry to pay him or anyone else much mind. Students seem to develop an instinct that allows them to take at least slight advantage of that.
"Of course you do. And I believe you already have detention Saturday afternoon, Mr. Weasley..." She's begun massaging her temple, something a few astute students will have noticed she does when particularly piqued.
"Yes, Professor."
"Splendid. Well, Mr. Weasley, we're trying something new today. Perhaps you'd be so good as to just name a time that would suit you?"
"Professor?" His voice cracks with his uncertainty. Weasley sounds far too much like Malfoy, and Blaise and Seamus both laugh now, only to turn and gawp at each other, equally sure they should never be in agreement. Ever.
Ron sits there like a Mooncalf caught in a Lumos, and Harry tries to get it sorted. He's pretty sure this isn't just about being too late to class, and has the hint of an inkling they've disappointed McGonagall in addition to 'Mione while they were at it. "Sunday evening?" He suggests, thinking at least that way it won't interfere with Quidditch practice.
"Perfect. Well, that system is working beautifully. But perhaps you should make an effort to see we don't need to make that a regular thing."
"No, Professor," they both chime in reply and Minerva once again directs the students' attention to the Augurey on her desk. It's a good thing it was a double Transfiguration class today, as she seems to have spent nearly half the period negotiating detention schedules. It's a wonder she gets anything done.
It hardly comes as a surprise that Minerva's repeating herself, yet again. Misters Finch-Fletchley and Finnigan are still struggling with some aspects of the Spell, and of course Misters Potter and Weasley have to catch up. The better students are getting bored and their attention drifts.
Hermione, naturally, is amongst them. She hasn't spent as much time reading ahead and revising as she usually does in the past few days, but she understands the lesson and they're just retracing ground already covered, thoroughly, and she hasn't the patience for it, especially not now.
It's hard to explain, but in some ways her recent experiences have robbed her of patience for... sometimes it feels like everything. As if she just has no patience whatsoever anymore. And it would probably be worse without the Calming Draughts. She feels like she's fine, superficially, but the minute something even ever so slightly begins to tax her nerves...
Like right at the moment. She can't help thinking how the lesson is all pretty straight forward stuff, and worse yet, it's on a loop that will repeat until the dawdlers catch up or Professor McGonagall believes they'll be able to do so on their own with just the book and a homework assignment. Right now, that doesn't seem likely. For all Professor Flitwick lets himself get distracted onto tangents, she has to admit it's sometimes nice to get more of the bigger picture, not just the practical applications but the theoretically possible. To understand not just the Spell but the magic in its context.
She tries to calm herself, to focus her attention - she most definitely isn't sulking, although that's probably a very close thing and only thanks to a Potion - but she can't muster the, well, patience, obviously, to try any of Professor Taylor's techniques, although she grudgingly has to admit they had worked before...
She watches Professor McGonagall repeat herself for the fifth time with the patience of a saint, and Hermione wonders if it must get boring for the instructors always doing the same old easy things, because for them it must be, over and over again, year in, year out, the material all superficial, devoid of depth, and nothing new... She doesn't think she could do it.
She wonders how Professor Snape does it. She suspects the answer is that he has to to maintain his cover. That seems a little sad. Well, in addition to the danger attached to the role of course. But a job that leaves you feeling stifled on top of everything else can't be pleasant... Typical of most people her age, she doesn't pause to consider that a great many jobs leave a great many people rather unfulfilled. With luck, she may never discover that fact for herself.
Still trying to distract herself from her general state of annoyance, which flares all the more when Ron asks a stupid question that's already been covered twice, admittedly before he got to class, which isn't to say he shouldn't have been punctual like everyone else... Well, except Harry, clearly... She turns her thoughts inwards and listens to her bond for a while, which is how she comes to make a few discoveries.
The first thing, which she finds really intriguing, is she can feel so much more across their bond than usual, and isn't 'usual' a funny thing? How quickly things change... But the feelings are oddly somehow both more and less, all at the same time. Sort of like having more colours in her pencil case, but all of them are pastels. It's hard to define, which only makes it more interesting for her to focus on, which she does for some time as she sits there running her fingers over the phial hanging on its chain at her chest and staring, much less intently now, at the carving of Crooks.
She's sure, she feels a much greater range of things as he sleeps, but it has none of the intensity of his waking moments; this feels like a bleached copy, a faded photograph, somehow less real. When the Professor's awake, she suspects, he Occludes all the time, or somewhat anyhow, which must be what limits that range. Or he has some other means of suppressing what the bond relays, although Occlumency fits the facts quite nicely in addition to what she knows of his skills. And apparently he can't do that when he sleeps, or at least he isn't right now. She's not sure if the Draught they gave him makes a difference there or not, but she decides Occluding or something very like it is the explanation otherwise.
She can also tell he has nightmares. Merlin, he has horrible dreams. A lot of them. She doesn't know their content, of course not, she can't read his mind, but she feels what he does. They must keep stopping and starting, it's an unrelenting cycle of anxiety, mounting tension, and then a sharp spike of fear, and then the relief when it's finished is extremely short lived before it starts all over again. She wonders how he gets any rest. It occurs to her the dreams were less intense, less horrifying when she was holding his hand... Maybe Madam Pomfrey was right and the touch had helped him.
The dreams seem to be coming fast and thick now, and she vaguely recalls that's supposed to be true for the later stages of sleep. Thinking back to when she woke this morning, she hadn't been able to feel nearly as much from him. She suspects it's a sign the Draught has nearly run its course, although there's always a chance it behaves differently than natural sleep does. Still, she doubts it.
If she makes it back to the Infirmary before he wakes, maybe she can test that hypothesis. She should be able to see his eyelids moving for REM sleep. And she can experiment with touch. She's feels a stab of guilt at that, she's not sure if she should... There can't be too much wrong with just holding his hand so he sleeps better. Can there? But she knows he'd never sit still for such experimentation were he awake.
She wonders if she can influence his dreams now, if she just tries to remain calm and think positively... Without even noticing, she applies one of Professor Taylor's techniques. There are advantages to practising things repeatedly until they are ingrained.
Hermione has no proof, of course not, but she does have a sense that the cycles of the nightmares are growing shorter, never becoming as bad. She likes to think she's helping. That it makes a difference, for the better, if she can get her mood better under control. She wonders if she could somehow get the Loyalty Vow to work for her. She could do this to help him, and the Vow could facilitate that in some fashion...
And that's how she ends up spending a good portion of class.
Minerva is kind enough not to call on her or chastise her for her woolgathering. She'd offered for the young woman to miss class altogether, and she isn't disturbing anyone sitting there chasing her thoughts. Minerva just lets her be.
"It's such a shame we couldn't make a Fwooper instead," Miss Greengrass once again contributes to the proceedings. "They're so much prettier."
"Absolutely, that's an excellent idea, Greengrass. If you want to be driven mad as a loon the first time it opens its mouth, that is." Ernie rolls his eyes.
"Are you sure she hasn't tried that before?" Terry Boot rejoins from the second row. "It would explain so much."
The Slytherins are about to kick off again, their attention also waning with the lesson when an idea occurs to Ernie which interrupts them. He raises his hand and when McGonagall calls on him asks, "If it had been a Fwooper, instead of an Augurey, how does one handle the Charms to silence it? Would the Spell need to be cast in tandem? Or is it not a real bird with all its usual properties, and silencing it wouldn't be necessary?"
Finally something meaty, an interesting question, almost insightful even, and Minerva has to disappoint them. What a shame. "That's a good question, Mr. Macmillan. I'm afraid that it's not possible to perform the Charm simultaneously with the Transfiguration. If you wish to Transfigure an object into a Fwooper, in addition to the correct Spell for doing so, you would need the standard hearing protection for proper handling of the creatures upon Transfiguring it before you could apply the Silencio to it."
Finch-Fletchley chuckles and whispers something to Hannah Abbott about, "Health and Safety", who smiles back, and some detail in the back of Hermione's mind demands attention as hers subsequently shifts back to subject discussed.
"Is that true?" She asks, a mite distractedly and without raising her hand first.
Minerva raises an eyebrow in surprise but honestly isn't bothered by the interjection. If anything, she's amused, especially when the young woman pinks drastically and begins to apologise, "I'm sorry, that's not at all what I meant..."
Seamus laughs from the row behind her, and even Harry begins to smirk.
"By all means, please continue, Madam Snape," Minerva encourages, a slight smile on her lips, but the appellation is sufficient to make Ron frown and Harry stop smiling as it brings the facts of the past few days clearly back into their thoughts.
"It's just, healers can Conjure scripts, I don't know if that's what they're formally called, but pieces of paper with some text on it, instructions for the apothecary. I'm not sure how it's done, but I was thinking, that seems similar to what Ernie suggested. Conjuring the paper is straightforward enough, and obviously not on the same level as Transfiguring a life form, but wouldn't the writing be a second Charm performed simultaneously? Or is it one compound Spell, a Spell with a modifier, like Oculus Reparo?"
And moments like these are precisely why Minerva enjoys teaching. Lovely.
The Transfiguration Mistress has only a vague notion of the Spell the young witch mentioned. She has spent almost her entire life in the wizarding world here at Hogwarts where she had first Horace and then Severus meeting her Potions needs, and Poppy had always just told them what was required or organised it herself. On the very rare occasions Minerva had needed medical help that went beyond what the staff in the castle could provide, she'd been in no shape to need such a script to visit an apothecary. In those circumstances she hadn't left St. Mungo's at all. But she's seen the Spell cast on occasion. Truthfully, she hadn't given it much thought as her exposure to it was so limited, but now...
Madam Snape is correct. It's an intriguing avenue to pursue.
"That's an excellent point. I'm not certain what comprises that Spell, either, but I agree completely that it's food for thought. Why don't I look into it and tell you what I discover?" Minerva is actually smiling now, wondering what the chances are that the witch won't also look into it herself.
Given the lengthy list of things Hermione feels she needs to research about her current situation, it's nowhere near as likely as it would have been a week ago.
McGonagall's Tempus chimes and most of the class rises. More than half of the students are also in N.E.W.T.s Potions, and none of them have any desire to be late.
Harry knows full well, all too well, that 'Mione won't be joining them for Potions anymore. There's hardly any point in waiting for her, and the discussion that needs to take place probably shouldn't happen in crowded hallways between classes. And probably not with Ron there either, he thinks, shooting his friend a glance... Not that he honestly has any plans to have that talk with her anytime soon. But still...
Especially eager not to land yet another detention this morning by being tardy yet again, and particularly nervous about the possibility Ginny had suggested that 'Mione or Snape might have gotten Howlers from her mum, Harry grabs Ron and sort of pulls him along after him. Turnabout and all that. Plus he can't see any sense in making Snape angrier.
Ron knows full well, all too well, that his mum did send Snape a Howler, and he's having a hard time overcoming his reluctance to ever set foot in that class again. Right now he's seriously contemplating just dropping it, not that it would Snape-proof his existence, but it should help. That seems a perfectly sensible response to the past twenty-four hours.
Except if he dropped Potions, he couldn't become an Auror.
Briefly he tries to remember why he even wanted to be one... Then he looks at Harry and tries weighing how he'd feel if his friend went on to become an Auror without him... Which is pretty much how he got there in the first place, he supposes.
Honestly, he can't see Harry making it in Potions if Ron doesn't. There's no question, Snape hates Harry even more. Ron might even still be safe there with Harry deflecting most of his wrath.
But just in case, he wonders if Fred and George could use an extra wand at the store...
Without a single glance in Hermione's direction, he follows Harry from the room.
Minerva understands a lot about the interpersonal dynamics between students. That's not really her problem. The problem is she's honestly too old and has seen too many students pass through her classes to pay close attention or really care all that much any more. It's not callous indifference but natural fatigue. At some point, it all became a bit of a blur.
It's the downside to experience. But just that experience seems to prove that no matter how crucial the children seem to think things are at the time, somehow they all muddle through and survive.
That's not actually true, especially not at Hogwarts, but it is incredibly easy to come to think it is. The damage children inflict on one another can leave scars that last a lifetime. But those scars are easy to overlook from her position, and she often has over the decades.
But once in a while, something draws her attention, and when she looks, really looks, she sees many things with a clarity most might miss. She sees Madam Snape steadily not looking at her friends as they make to leave the room. And Minerva notices them carefully not looking the young woman's way. She knows the significance of fairly insignificant things. Not necessarily the extent of the damage they cause, that ability was lost when she stopped taking students as seriously because of their inherent youth, but she understands that small actions can have more profound meanings. And she understands the importance, the power of appearances.
Still thoroughly disappointed in the boys and more than a little angry, before those two can even reach the witch's row and things become obvious, she calls the young woman over. "Madam Snape? If you have a moment?"
Minerva pretends to wish to speak to her about the question she'd raised on casting a Charm during a Transfiguration. It's a gesture, meant to allow everyone to pretend something else entirely was taking place, and it provides Hermione with some consolation.
It's not that she's not leaving class with her friends because they apparently hate each other. Once yet again. Nor is she not leaving with them because she somehow married the instructor and had to drop the course. No, nothing nearly so dramatic. She's merely having a perfectly commonplace chat with a Professor about some of the more esoteric aspects of Spell work. It's all very normal.
And so they stand there until the others all have left, ostensibly deep in discussion, speaking about things neither one of them actually cares about just then or will remember after the fact. But the ladies put on a cracking good show.
A few of the Ravenclaws hang back, lingering, trying to hear what the witches have to say. Students, at least those so inclined, also develop some impressive skills that let them know something is afoot with their classmates. The Ravenclaws aren't wrong that the pretext for the conversation is purely a charade, but it contains nothing remotely salacious, boringly so, and Padma, who has far less interest in gossip anyway, is beginning to get antsy. She starts making impatient noises about getting to Potions too late and not wanting to make Professor Snape angry.
Seamus passes the group just as she does, and helpfully tells them if class isn't cancelled outright then they have a substitute, because Snape was still in the Infirmary as of two hours ago.
And if he had stopped there, it might have been fine, but the only other information he had was what Wainscott had supplied as to why, and when Boot asks "What for?", Seamus unfortunately answers.
Hermione, Harry, Ron, Minerva, Sybill Trelawney, Peeves, Draco, Theo Nott, Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Seamus Finnigan, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, Terry Boot, Padma Patil, Mentioned: Severus, Filius, Horace Slughorn
Originally Published: 2018-04-11 on AO3
Chapter: 069 part 2
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.
Minerva is standing in front of the class absently petting the Transfigured bird on her desk, smoothing his feathers, and once again trying to explain the details of the Spell, and no, sadly there's not very much to be done about colour, not without additional Transfigurations anyway, it is an Augurey and not, say, a peacock, or parrot for that matter, when the door bursts open and her two truant students appear. She finds it particularly vexing, as they are members of her own House.
Several members of staff have the suspicion that the Ravenclaws take advantage of Filius, bless his little heart, because he's their Head and goes soft on them, and it has given rise to some derogatory talk behind his back. And probably over his head, people being as they are. Naturally Pomona is every bit as soft, but the Hufflepuffs, one supposes equally naturally, don't seem to instrumentalise the exploitation of that weakness as the Eagles do. If one were tempted to go too easy on the little blighters, observing the pitying looks Filius receives - from students and faculty alike - has a way of sorting that. Quickly.
Flagrant disrespect is something she will not tolerate from her students, and yet she suspects it's no coincidence that the boys had dared try this with her. There's always the hope one's Head of House won't wish to deduct House points as vigorously from their own charges. She's reasonably certain they wouldn't dare try this with Severus, which only annoys her more.
It might cheer her to know both boys had also been late to his class only yesterday, but perhaps not quite as egregiously. On the other hand, that knowledge would surely push her to having them spend all weekend practising the Tempus, culminating in submitting twenty-four inches on the history of the development of the Charm. In triplicate if need be; no Geminios allowed.
She knows almost exactly when Mr. Weasley left the Infirmary; it had certainly been before she herself had. He had plenty of time to arrive punctually to class, had that been anything like a priority for him. Quite clearly, it was not.
"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall greets them as all heads turn to watch. Few things are more fascinating than observing one's classmates squirm in the talons, claws or coils, depending on the House, of an appropriately annoyed Professor. "Still having issues with your Tempuses I see. Shall I demonstrate? One performs it like so..." She waves her wand in deliberately slow measure, the red tinge from Ron's ears spreading rapidly clear down the back of his neck and disappearing into his unusually tight and itchy collar as she does.
The boys make their way silently past her desk to what seems to now be their side of the classroom, judging by where the others are already seated. Minerva is about to take ten points from each of them, probably far less than they deserve, but she had just assigned Mr. Weasley detention, when the boys reach the bench where Madam Snape is seated.
The young woman is staring at Minerva's chair again. The Transfiguration Mistress believes to understand that the witch derives some comfort from Severus' carvings; she thinks perhaps it's the reminder of his actions on her behalf, not having discovered Crooks' likeness yet. Initially Minerva found it disconcerting, because Madam Snape kept her eyes fixed on the spot whether she could see the chair or not. When she couldn't, it was because Minerva had been bold enough to sit - in her own chair of all places - and was bodily blocking her view. It's an odd feeling to have someone constantly trying to stare through her. Purely by chance, Minerva finds herself inclined to teach more of the lesson while standing today.
It also doesn't escape her notice that Madam Snape is the only one who doesn't turn her head as the boys approach.
It's no coincidence the benches were three wide. When she had made the adjustments to her classroom Monday morning, Minerva had hoped the boys would sit with their friend, flanking her, providing some moral support. That hope had only been magnified this morning when the young witch struggled to explain her strategical need to attend class, to sit there, putting on a brave face, all while looking a hair's breadth from a nervous collapse.
Well she's looking a far sight more collected now.
Naturally, the extra dose of Calming plays a major role...
Demonstrating some of the same techniques she'd planned for the Slytherins, but unexpectedly hasn't needed with them yet, Hermione does her level best to ignore Ron. She's still mad for all the established reasons and everything about her screams indifference, except for the fact she's behaving completely unnaturally, which should signal to a clearer mind just how affected she is.
Very.
Ron is in an almost equally poor mood, but probably for less valid reasons. Sometimes that kind of is a contest, except that's a slippery slope. Is only the most wounded justified in feeling hurt? Should they stop class and take a survey of the damage? Merlin, objectively Malfoy might just win at the moment; where would that leave them?
Does the injured party need to be blameless? At least then it wouldn't be Malfoy. But would that be case specifically, as relates to the particular injury, or generally, because heavens help Hermione then... Or is the hurt only legitimate if the injured party is sympathetic? And to whom?
Or do they need to see who's the most wounded in the entire castle first? He's probably sleeping in the Infirmary just now, and would have no patience for this sort of thinking were he awake; he's also not exactly sympathetic. But then that all too simple assignment of the title to Severus ignores everyone else's history. And their individual abilities to cope. Wouldn't that be more relevant? And how should it be assessed?
It's fair to say most people in Ron's shoes wouldn't be particularly happy. His best friend and - quite frankly - his crush has married the person he hates most in the whole world - with no warning and without even telling him. What does that say about their friendship? Not that that's what he cares about most, not even close, but it's a safer objection to, well, not voice, obviously, but to think to oneself, surely... Whether or not his feelings are reciprocated in no way diminishes his hurt, only his right to be offended. But for her to marry someone who has tormented him for years?
Naturally it doesn't matter in that moment that he doesn't begin to know the true meaning of the word 'torment', or how much of that perceived torment was deserved, which is convenient as he's incapable of recognising it anyway.
Understandably, he's not a happy wizard.
But on the other hand, it's probably safe to assume a great many people in Ron's predicament might ask the pertinent questions before simply acting on their feelings. 'Why?' is always a good place to start.
Unfortunately, Ron is impulsive and highly emotional, and that will prove beyond his capabilities at the moment. He doesn't have the advantage of Calming Draughts in his system, nor wiser voices in his ear counselling him not to give in to those emotions, to keep his head or hold his tongue. It certainly hasn't helped that when all else fails, he usually seeks comfort in food, and food has been anything but comforting today.
He has got quite a number of people he's angry with, and that number keeps growing. He's certain his mum's... he's at a total loss for words. That Howler pretty much guarantees him a life of misery, starting next class with Snape. The interactions with Dean, Wainscott, Hermione, Trelawney, McGonagall and Peeves, for fuck's sake, just this morning alone, add to his lengthening list of reasons to hate the world, and it's only first period.
And his bollocks feel like they're in a bloody vice. A scratchy vice. That's hardly the best starting point. Well, and all that other stuff.
Hermione sits there, clearly just peachy, ignoring him for all she's worth, clutching some stupid necklace he can't recall seeing before. For fuck's sake, is that a miniature phial? That's as dumb as Lav's 'sweetheart' necklace... And then with a sinking, burning feeling he considers why she might be wearing a phial, of all things... Bloody hell! 'Mione's wearing his jewellery now?! Which is precisely when he spots the ring...
The last thing he's going to do is sit next to her.
Now, if she'd just be smart and shove over, he might take a seat in her row and leave room between them for Harry. He's sort of used to acting as a buffer for them anyway.
But she isn't moving.
Hermione sits there staring at the carving of Crooks, and she isn't going to budge, not an inch.
So Ron does the perfectly logical. He moves to Seamus' row.
Seamus quickly plonks his books down on the seat next to him to reserve it for Dean when he gets out of the Infirmary, he can't stay there forever, and Ron recognises that would leave no room for Harry, so he keeps going without discernible hesitation to the third row and takes one of the two empty seats next to Fay.
Minerva's lips thin into a very tight line and she turns to glower at Mr. Potter's back as he now draws abreast of Madam Snape's row.
Harry's in a weird place. The talk with Ginny has stirred up some things that leave him acutely ill at ease, running all over the castle with Ron didn't help. He's coming down from his adrenaline rush and feels all out of sorts. Or maybe he's still in flight mode... Either way, he feels kind of wretched. And honestly? He doesn't really want to sit next to 'Mione either.
He thinks... He senses he needs to have a talk, a real talk with 'Mione, especially after what he'd said to her Saturday. Except he obviously can't do that there. She's staring off into space, ignoring him. It never occurs to him she's scared of their public rejection, he just assumes she's still angry and he can't fix that now and maybe shouldn't try to force it right at the moment somewhere she isn't free to react...
It's like this: Hermione gets upset, and there's no talking with her. Which isn't to say there's talking to Ron when he's upset with Harry, but he isn't just now, not after he got Harry a detention and their mad dash from Peeves together. Quite the opposite. And 'Mione, well, she's far more likely to forgive him than Ron is. Far more likely. Like bunches more. He can't think of a time she hadn't. And much sooner, too. And she's far less likely to cause any kind of scene in a class of all places than Ron is. Way less likely. And clearly she doesn't want him next to her. And Ron does.
Ron's in the back row, clapping his hand on the spot that's empty beside him, in the universally recognised sign for, 'Sit here. This seat's free, and your company is wanted.' He didn't exactly think that through, it's mostly a reflex, but he's a fundamentally insecure boy, and there's safety in numbers. If Harry joins him, it proves Ron isn't in the wrong there, doesn't it? And so he sits there, clapping on the bench, effectively calling Harry over.
For Harry, it's all pretty plain what he needs to do... He'll sit next to Ron and keep him sweet. He'll avoid 'Mione and the blow up, most likely Ron's, or possible huff, and that would be hers, that could occur if Harry didn't. If that happens to mesh with his preferences, well, he can hardly help that. And then he needs to find her later and apologise for Saturday somehow...
Except apparently he really needs to apologise for whatever happened Friday night instead, and he doesn't really think they make a greeting card for that. He's certainly never seen one at Boots or Scrivenshaft's, which would seem to indicate Muggles and wizards alike are equally at a loss in this sort of situation.
He has no idea how to go about that at all...
His stomach sinks and his breakfast feels like it's turning to lead in his guts. Ah. Alchemy. And he only knows that because of 'Mione...
Feeling like a heel, and with a horrible sense that he's just fucking up more but then again not at all certain how he could not... Harry gives a sort of helpless shrug that Hermione pretends not to see and follows Ron and takes the available seat next to him in the back row with Fay.
This would be one of those times when timing is all important. Fundamentally, Hermione needed, or at least wanted, their support, and once again, they weren't there for her. She wonders why that still comes as a surprise. Long after the hurt diminishes, what remains is a sense of distrust... Unreliability. To count on them is to court pain and disappointment. It'll be a while before Hermione has any desire to really honestly try to talk things through with either of them. And because they have no idea how to sort it, they'll be far too happy to stick to their strategy of avoidance. It's worked so well so far.
Minerva just glares at the boys. She permits herself a quick glance at Madam Snapes, alone in the front row, and thanks her lucky stars that the young woman isn't reduced to tears. For half a second she contemplates taking House points and realises she can't begin to decide how many. Right now she's mad enough to take them all. But the boys are well within their rights, a point deduction isn't even a legitimate thing to do, and she also doesn't feel the House deserves to suffer for this.
However... She hadn't quite gotten to punishing them for their tardiness yet...
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley," if she sounded terrifying before, she's achieved Dementor class now. Assuming they could speak that is. Still, the comparison stands, and it crosses more than a couple of minds as the class listens with rapt attention. "Detention. Perhaps you'd care for a remedial Tempus practice session? Mr. Filch will expect you, punctually, Saturday evening."
Harry groans and tries not to think of all the ways he wants to hex Ron. Ron, for his part, bows to the inevitable and informs their Head, "Yes, Professor, um, he will... But that's because Trelawney..."
"Professor Trelawney," Minerva corrects, most acidly.
"Yeah, well, we've already got detention then." Seamus can't suppress his bark of laughter. It earns him a frown from McGonagall, but nothing more. She's far too busy being incensed with Ron and Harry to pay him or anyone else much mind. Students seem to develop an instinct that allows them to take at least slight advantage of that.
"Of course you do. And I believe you already have detention Saturday afternoon, Mr. Weasley..." She's begun massaging her temple, something a few astute students will have noticed she does when particularly piqued.
"Yes, Professor."
"Splendid. Well, Mr. Weasley, we're trying something new today. Perhaps you'd be so good as to just name a time that would suit you?"
"Professor?" His voice cracks with his uncertainty. Weasley sounds far too much like Malfoy, and Blaise and Seamus both laugh now, only to turn and gawp at each other, equally sure they should never be in agreement. Ever.
Ron sits there like a Mooncalf caught in a Lumos, and Harry tries to get it sorted. He's pretty sure this isn't just about being too late to class, and has the hint of an inkling they've disappointed McGonagall in addition to 'Mione while they were at it. "Sunday evening?" He suggests, thinking at least that way it won't interfere with Quidditch practice.
"Perfect. Well, that system is working beautifully. But perhaps you should make an effort to see we don't need to make that a regular thing."
"No, Professor," they both chime in reply and Minerva once again directs the students' attention to the Augurey on her desk. It's a good thing it was a double Transfiguration class today, as she seems to have spent nearly half the period negotiating detention schedules. It's a wonder she gets anything done.
It hardly comes as a surprise that Minerva's repeating herself, yet again. Misters Finch-Fletchley and Finnigan are still struggling with some aspects of the Spell, and of course Misters Potter and Weasley have to catch up. The better students are getting bored and their attention drifts.
Hermione, naturally, is amongst them. She hasn't spent as much time reading ahead and revising as she usually does in the past few days, but she understands the lesson and they're just retracing ground already covered, thoroughly, and she hasn't the patience for it, especially not now.
It's hard to explain, but in some ways her recent experiences have robbed her of patience for... sometimes it feels like everything. As if she just has no patience whatsoever anymore. And it would probably be worse without the Calming Draughts. She feels like she's fine, superficially, but the minute something even ever so slightly begins to tax her nerves...
Like right at the moment. She can't help thinking how the lesson is all pretty straight forward stuff, and worse yet, it's on a loop that will repeat until the dawdlers catch up or Professor McGonagall believes they'll be able to do so on their own with just the book and a homework assignment. Right now, that doesn't seem likely. For all Professor Flitwick lets himself get distracted onto tangents, she has to admit it's sometimes nice to get more of the bigger picture, not just the practical applications but the theoretically possible. To understand not just the Spell but the magic in its context.
She tries to calm herself, to focus her attention - she most definitely isn't sulking, although that's probably a very close thing and only thanks to a Potion - but she can't muster the, well, patience, obviously, to try any of Professor Taylor's techniques, although she grudgingly has to admit they had worked before...
She watches Professor McGonagall repeat herself for the fifth time with the patience of a saint, and Hermione wonders if it must get boring for the instructors always doing the same old easy things, because for them it must be, over and over again, year in, year out, the material all superficial, devoid of depth, and nothing new... She doesn't think she could do it.
She wonders how Professor Snape does it. She suspects the answer is that he has to to maintain his cover. That seems a little sad. Well, in addition to the danger attached to the role of course. But a job that leaves you feeling stifled on top of everything else can't be pleasant... Typical of most people her age, she doesn't pause to consider that a great many jobs leave a great many people rather unfulfilled. With luck, she may never discover that fact for herself.
Still trying to distract herself from her general state of annoyance, which flares all the more when Ron asks a stupid question that's already been covered twice, admittedly before he got to class, which isn't to say he shouldn't have been punctual like everyone else... Well, except Harry, clearly... She turns her thoughts inwards and listens to her bond for a while, which is how she comes to make a few discoveries.
The first thing, which she finds really intriguing, is she can feel so much more across their bond than usual, and isn't 'usual' a funny thing? How quickly things change... But the feelings are oddly somehow both more and less, all at the same time. Sort of like having more colours in her pencil case, but all of them are pastels. It's hard to define, which only makes it more interesting for her to focus on, which she does for some time as she sits there running her fingers over the phial hanging on its chain at her chest and staring, much less intently now, at the carving of Crooks.
She's sure, she feels a much greater range of things as he sleeps, but it has none of the intensity of his waking moments; this feels like a bleached copy, a faded photograph, somehow less real. When the Professor's awake, she suspects, he Occludes all the time, or somewhat anyhow, which must be what limits that range. Or he has some other means of suppressing what the bond relays, although Occlumency fits the facts quite nicely in addition to what she knows of his skills. And apparently he can't do that when he sleeps, or at least he isn't right now. She's not sure if the Draught they gave him makes a difference there or not, but she decides Occluding or something very like it is the explanation otherwise.
She can also tell he has nightmares. Merlin, he has horrible dreams. A lot of them. She doesn't know their content, of course not, she can't read his mind, but she feels what he does. They must keep stopping and starting, it's an unrelenting cycle of anxiety, mounting tension, and then a sharp spike of fear, and then the relief when it's finished is extremely short lived before it starts all over again. She wonders how he gets any rest. It occurs to her the dreams were less intense, less horrifying when she was holding his hand... Maybe Madam Pomfrey was right and the touch had helped him.
The dreams seem to be coming fast and thick now, and she vaguely recalls that's supposed to be true for the later stages of sleep. Thinking back to when she woke this morning, she hadn't been able to feel nearly as much from him. She suspects it's a sign the Draught has nearly run its course, although there's always a chance it behaves differently than natural sleep does. Still, she doubts it.
If she makes it back to the Infirmary before he wakes, maybe she can test that hypothesis. She should be able to see his eyelids moving for REM sleep. And she can experiment with touch. She's feels a stab of guilt at that, she's not sure if she should... There can't be too much wrong with just holding his hand so he sleeps better. Can there? But she knows he'd never sit still for such experimentation were he awake.
She wonders if she can influence his dreams now, if she just tries to remain calm and think positively... Without even noticing, she applies one of Professor Taylor's techniques. There are advantages to practising things repeatedly until they are ingrained.
Hermione has no proof, of course not, but she does have a sense that the cycles of the nightmares are growing shorter, never becoming as bad. She likes to think she's helping. That it makes a difference, for the better, if she can get her mood better under control. She wonders if she could somehow get the Loyalty Vow to work for her. She could do this to help him, and the Vow could facilitate that in some fashion...
And that's how she ends up spending a good portion of class.
Minerva is kind enough not to call on her or chastise her for her woolgathering. She'd offered for the young woman to miss class altogether, and she isn't disturbing anyone sitting there chasing her thoughts. Minerva just lets her be.
"It's such a shame we couldn't make a Fwooper instead," Miss Greengrass once again contributes to the proceedings. "They're so much prettier."
"Absolutely, that's an excellent idea, Greengrass. If you want to be driven mad as a loon the first time it opens its mouth, that is." Ernie rolls his eyes.
"Are you sure she hasn't tried that before?" Terry Boot rejoins from the second row. "It would explain so much."
The Slytherins are about to kick off again, their attention also waning with the lesson when an idea occurs to Ernie which interrupts them. He raises his hand and when McGonagall calls on him asks, "If it had been a Fwooper, instead of an Augurey, how does one handle the Charms to silence it? Would the Spell need to be cast in tandem? Or is it not a real bird with all its usual properties, and silencing it wouldn't be necessary?"
Finally something meaty, an interesting question, almost insightful even, and Minerva has to disappoint them. What a shame. "That's a good question, Mr. Macmillan. I'm afraid that it's not possible to perform the Charm simultaneously with the Transfiguration. If you wish to Transfigure an object into a Fwooper, in addition to the correct Spell for doing so, you would need the standard hearing protection for proper handling of the creatures upon Transfiguring it before you could apply the Silencio to it."
Finch-Fletchley chuckles and whispers something to Hannah Abbott about, "Health and Safety", who smiles back, and some detail in the back of Hermione's mind demands attention as hers subsequently shifts back to subject discussed.
"Is that true?" She asks, a mite distractedly and without raising her hand first.
Minerva raises an eyebrow in surprise but honestly isn't bothered by the interjection. If anything, she's amused, especially when the young woman pinks drastically and begins to apologise, "I'm sorry, that's not at all what I meant..."
Seamus laughs from the row behind her, and even Harry begins to smirk.
"By all means, please continue, Madam Snape," Minerva encourages, a slight smile on her lips, but the appellation is sufficient to make Ron frown and Harry stop smiling as it brings the facts of the past few days clearly back into their thoughts.
"It's just, healers can Conjure scripts, I don't know if that's what they're formally called, but pieces of paper with some text on it, instructions for the apothecary. I'm not sure how it's done, but I was thinking, that seems similar to what Ernie suggested. Conjuring the paper is straightforward enough, and obviously not on the same level as Transfiguring a life form, but wouldn't the writing be a second Charm performed simultaneously? Or is it one compound Spell, a Spell with a modifier, like Oculus Reparo?"
And moments like these are precisely why Minerva enjoys teaching. Lovely.
The Transfiguration Mistress has only a vague notion of the Spell the young witch mentioned. She has spent almost her entire life in the wizarding world here at Hogwarts where she had first Horace and then Severus meeting her Potions needs, and Poppy had always just told them what was required or organised it herself. On the very rare occasions Minerva had needed medical help that went beyond what the staff in the castle could provide, she'd been in no shape to need such a script to visit an apothecary. In those circumstances she hadn't left St. Mungo's at all. But she's seen the Spell cast on occasion. Truthfully, she hadn't given it much thought as her exposure to it was so limited, but now...
Madam Snape is correct. It's an intriguing avenue to pursue.
"That's an excellent point. I'm not certain what comprises that Spell, either, but I agree completely that it's food for thought. Why don't I look into it and tell you what I discover?" Minerva is actually smiling now, wondering what the chances are that the witch won't also look into it herself.
Given the lengthy list of things Hermione feels she needs to research about her current situation, it's nowhere near as likely as it would have been a week ago.
McGonagall's Tempus chimes and most of the class rises. More than half of the students are also in N.E.W.T.s Potions, and none of them have any desire to be late.
Harry knows full well, all too well, that 'Mione won't be joining them for Potions anymore. There's hardly any point in waiting for her, and the discussion that needs to take place probably shouldn't happen in crowded hallways between classes. And probably not with Ron there either, he thinks, shooting his friend a glance... Not that he honestly has any plans to have that talk with her anytime soon. But still...
Especially eager not to land yet another detention this morning by being tardy yet again, and particularly nervous about the possibility Ginny had suggested that 'Mione or Snape might have gotten Howlers from her mum, Harry grabs Ron and sort of pulls him along after him. Turnabout and all that. Plus he can't see any sense in making Snape angrier.
Ron knows full well, all too well, that his mum did send Snape a Howler, and he's having a hard time overcoming his reluctance to ever set foot in that class again. Right now he's seriously contemplating just dropping it, not that it would Snape-proof his existence, but it should help. That seems a perfectly sensible response to the past twenty-four hours.
Except if he dropped Potions, he couldn't become an Auror.
Briefly he tries to remember why he even wanted to be one... Then he looks at Harry and tries weighing how he'd feel if his friend went on to become an Auror without him... Which is pretty much how he got there in the first place, he supposes.
Honestly, he can't see Harry making it in Potions if Ron doesn't. There's no question, Snape hates Harry even more. Ron might even still be safe there with Harry deflecting most of his wrath.
But just in case, he wonders if Fred and George could use an extra wand at the store...
Without a single glance in Hermione's direction, he follows Harry from the room.
Minerva understands a lot about the interpersonal dynamics between students. That's not really her problem. The problem is she's honestly too old and has seen too many students pass through her classes to pay close attention or really care all that much any more. It's not callous indifference but natural fatigue. At some point, it all became a bit of a blur.
It's the downside to experience. But just that experience seems to prove that no matter how crucial the children seem to think things are at the time, somehow they all muddle through and survive.
That's not actually true, especially not at Hogwarts, but it is incredibly easy to come to think it is. The damage children inflict on one another can leave scars that last a lifetime. But those scars are easy to overlook from her position, and she often has over the decades.
But once in a while, something draws her attention, and when she looks, really looks, she sees many things with a clarity most might miss. She sees Madam Snape steadily not looking at her friends as they make to leave the room. And Minerva notices them carefully not looking the young woman's way. She knows the significance of fairly insignificant things. Not necessarily the extent of the damage they cause, that ability was lost when she stopped taking students as seriously because of their inherent youth, but she understands that small actions can have more profound meanings. And she understands the importance, the power of appearances.
Still thoroughly disappointed in the boys and more than a little angry, before those two can even reach the witch's row and things become obvious, she calls the young woman over. "Madam Snape? If you have a moment?"
Minerva pretends to wish to speak to her about the question she'd raised on casting a Charm during a Transfiguration. It's a gesture, meant to allow everyone to pretend something else entirely was taking place, and it provides Hermione with some consolation.
It's not that she's not leaving class with her friends because they apparently hate each other. Once yet again. Nor is she not leaving with them because she somehow married the instructor and had to drop the course. No, nothing nearly so dramatic. She's merely having a perfectly commonplace chat with a Professor about some of the more esoteric aspects of Spell work. It's all very normal.
And so they stand there until the others all have left, ostensibly deep in discussion, speaking about things neither one of them actually cares about just then or will remember after the fact. But the ladies put on a cracking good show.
A few of the Ravenclaws hang back, lingering, trying to hear what the witches have to say. Students, at least those so inclined, also develop some impressive skills that let them know something is afoot with their classmates. The Ravenclaws aren't wrong that the pretext for the conversation is purely a charade, but it contains nothing remotely salacious, boringly so, and Padma, who has far less interest in gossip anyway, is beginning to get antsy. She starts making impatient noises about getting to Potions too late and not wanting to make Professor Snape angry.
Seamus passes the group just as she does, and helpfully tells them if class isn't cancelled outright then they have a substitute, because Snape was still in the Infirmary as of two hours ago.
And if he had stopped there, it might have been fine, but the only other information he had was what Wainscott had supplied as to why, and when Boot asks "What for?", Seamus unfortunately answers.