“beyond wandpoint” 072b by gingerbred
“11 11l Tuesday - Sub-Optimally 2 Idiots and Words” Part 2
Hermione, Severus, the Bloody Baron, Minerva, Albus, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Sybill Trelawney, Sarah Sapworthy, Barrymore Beckford, Seamus, Morag MacDougal, Michael Corner, Draco, Theo, Blaise, Sunny, Romilda, Lavender, Fay, Georgina, Demelza, Kiera, Parvati, Colin, Neville, Kevin, Peeves, Filius, Call-Me-Terry Taylor, Lisa Turpin, Anthony Goldstein, Belle Chambers, Brian Bradley, Myrtle, mentioned: Fred and George, Molly, Poppy, Pomona, Eileen Snape
Originally Published: 2018-05-02 on AO3
Chapter: 072 part 2
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.
When Minerva reaches the Owlery, she's surprised to find Miss Weasley there. At the sight of her, Minerva tucks the parchment she's carrying into her pocket. The girl also has a letter in her hand, but from the look of her, she's been standing there for at least a few minutes and seems unresolved as to mailing her scroll. She just stands there staring at it, turning it back and forth in her hands and not making a move for any of the owls.
There are remarkably few of the birds present at the moment. Minerva imagines yesterday's announcement of the bondings has something to do with that. There are only a few owls belonging to individual students present, plus a small contingent of the school owls that are permanently reserved for staff. Minerva is all too familiar with Mr. Weasley's owl, the small bird that had delivered Molly's Howler to Severus this morning. That had certainly made an impression, it's hard to forget. Miss Weasley is standing not too far from his perch, but not exactly close, either.
Ginny looks up when she registers a noise, and now it's her turn to be surprised to see her Head of House appear there. She has the sense that she might be in trouble, possibly even with Professor McGonagall, and truthfully she's sort of been hiding out there.
She knows Ron had Potions right before this. As she wasn't aware Professor Snape hadn't taught the class today, she's been really worried about his response to the Howler she figures her mum may have sent. And then there'll be Ron's response to that, too. No, the Owlery seemed as good a place as any to lay low. Merlin, she might just go visit Hagrid after Quidditch practice in order to avoid the common room. Rock cakes are preferable to an angry Ron.
She's written her mum about the things Harry said this morning, but she's still kind of unsure about sending the letter. She suspects her mum will be very angry with her for sending her the rumours and for not telling her the whole story. Ginny has no real desire to be on the receiving end of that outburst. And she still thinks it was mostly Ron's fault anyway. How could she tell her mum what she herself didn't even known? What she still doesn't really know? Mostly, it's speculation, and she'd already sent enough of that home, now that she thinks about it. She really can't see how this ends well for her.
It feels like something Ron should have taken care of. And should take care of. This wasn't her mess, except it kind of is now, and she's trying to work out how to get herself out of it once and for all.
"Miss Weasley. What luck." Professor McGonagall doesn't exactly sound happy about it, and Ginny tenses in anticipation. "I wanted a word with you."
Ginny shrugs a little. What's she supposed to say? It's not like she can claim she needs to be elsewhere. She'd clearly been caught lost deep in thought and quite obviously wasn't on her way anywhere else. "Yes, Professor?"
"Did you owl your mother the news yesterday about Madam Snape's bonding?"
Any concerns Ginny had about her mum sending a Howler would seem to be confirmed if her Head is asking that. Bugger.
She feels like Ron and Harry set her up, and she gets angry at them. If they had just told her the truth yesterday...
And then she wonders if Hermione had complained to McGonagall about the Howler, and she gets angry at her, too. Of course, Hermione didn't ask their Head to do that, she wasn't even aware Professor McGonagall meant to speak to Ginny about the Howlers. Goodness, for that matter, she wasn't even aware of the Howler she'd been sent. But that distinction isn't made.
Instead, Ginny fumes. It doesn't seem fair that she has her Head breathing down her neck because those three kept her out of the loop and her mum... Well, was being herself, she supposes. Ginny can't help that.
So maybe she stretches the truth in her answer. Just a little.
"Ron and I agreed, we had to let her know what happened."
"And so the two of you sent home a bunch of rumours? What on earth for?"
"I guess we weren't exactly clear on what happened."
"I know for a fact Professor Dumbledore took Misters Weasley and Potter aside to brief them about the situation."
Bugger. "Well I guess they left the writing mostly to me," she shrugs, "and they neglected to pass some things along."
"And so you sent a bunch of rumours to your mother?" Minerva keeps at her, not letting her off the hook. "Why would you do such a thing?"
"Well I had to tell her what happened, didn't I."
"Which clearly isn't accomplished by relating the castle prattle. And what business was it of hers precisely?"
Now that's a problem. The answer is probably 'it's none of her business', but that's only likely to make things worse. She bites the inside of her cheek thinking about the best answer and finally alights on the truth, "It might not be, but that wasn't going to keep her from holding it against me if I didn't keep her informed."
Minerva has to allow that it's probably true, and almost relents. But the girl had essentially tried to skirt some unpleasantness with her mum by causing someone else even more, and thoroughly undeservedly, too. Frankly, it was a poor showing. She looks at her disapprovingly.
Ginny is still twisting the letter between her fingers. She looks up at her Head and somewhat timidly asks, "Is it true Hermione was attacked?"
"And were I to answer that, Miss Weasley, wouldn't you just pass it along to your mother?" She isn't loud, but the tone of her voice has Ginny cringing. She's far more used to being yelled at. This is worse. "Molly just Howled every last accusation she could apparently think of for all to hear, which is exactly what would have happened had the Howlers not been opened outside the Great Hall.
"If that were true, if Madam Snape had been attacked, how much more damaging, how much more hurtful would it be to have that Howled in the Great Hall?"
"She sent Hermione a Howler?" Ginny's feeling kind of sick now. She no longer has any desire to eat lunch. In fact, she's happy she hasn't.
"Your mother sent Howlers to both her and Professor Snape."
And right then and there Ginny decides to never run into Ron ever again if she can help it. He's going to Hex her six ways from Sunday once Snape is through with him. The only ray of hope is that Snape might not leave anything left of him. Which isn't entirely improbable...
Obviously avoiding Ron won't work in the least, Merlin they have practice right after classes, but it sounds... lovely. And very tempting.
Something the Professor said gets through to her, though. About how hurtful it could be to have word of an assault blared for all to hear. Especially if Ginny was right about what may have taken place. She looks down at the letter in her hands that relates just that.
And now she tries to picture what her mum might do.
Ginny has to allow that's it's entirely possible her mum would send Professor Snape another Howler blasting him for taking advantage of Hermione's situation, her misfortune like that. And now she tries to picture how that would be, having that shrieked in the Great Hall so everyone hears it.
She's not sure how Hermione can go about her day as though everything were normal, if only Friday... She can't begin to imagine how she does that. But she's reasonably sure it would be a lot more difficult if everyone were to know what happened to her. If they were all to change the way they treat her...
When Ginny had been a first year and she'd had Tom Riddle's diary, even after she knew that it, she was hurting other people, she hadn't gone to the Headmaster, or anyone else for that matter, because she was afraid of how they'd react to her, of their responses. It wasn't just fear of being in trouble. Sure that was some of it, maybe a lot of it, but it was fear of... everything, really. Everyone's harsh judgment, their rejection... She certainly didn't want them to treat her any differently.
And now she tries picturing again how sending this letter home takes the decision out of Hermione's hands and could subject her to everyone's reactions. As if she didn't have enough to deal with...
Ginny crumbles the letter and puts it in her pocket. When she gets back to her room, she'll Incendio it for good measure.
With her head down, avoiding Professor McGonagall's eyes, she says, "I guess I should get going," and turns and shuffles from the room.
It's curious. Their conversation had been sufficient to convince Ginny not to send her letter. It's also convinced Minerva she's perfectly justified in sending hers. She takes it from her pocket again and ties it to an owl's leg, then carries the bird to the window and lets him fly.
With a sense of satisfaction, she stands there watching him grow smaller the further away he gets. Admittedly he's probably only seeking a suitable tree for a nap just now, but it was the thought that counted. Somehow watching him fly off makes her feel better about herself and what she's done. Only when he becomes so small she can't see him anymore does she go to lunch.
Fred and George will indeed send the Silencing Syrup to their mum. Business is business, and they aim to please their customers. Recognising the Hogwarts owl, they assume one of their two younger siblings has ordered the Potion. In fact, they're sure of it, that those two - or at least one of them anyway - thinking they were frightfully clever had avoided using Pig. They're leaning towards Ron for that. And Molly, recognising George's owl when he delivers the Potion, happily takes it.
In a heretofore unknown Potion side effect, it transpires that if one has a particularly sore throat at the time it's imbibed, and Molly very much does, the efficacy is quadrupled. Molly spends the next two weeks or so unable to do more than squeak, and more softly than Filius at that. Of course, when she regains her voice, she has a few choice words for her children.
"Potter!" A decisive voice cuts through his conversation with Ron.
Harry turns and sees a small congregation of Ravenclaws gathered about Lisa Turpin, fellow seventh year and more importantly the captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Sue Li and Anthony Goldstein, both of them also seventh years, flank her, and they're bearing down upon him.
The little group has just returned from cornering Hagrid, because today they're all about cornering, to discuss their assignment for Care of Magical Creatures. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry catches the half-Giant taking his seat at the High Table. He gives Harry what Hagrid considers a small wave when he catches him looking. It nearly sends Pomona flying.
Harry smiles back at Hagrid a little wanly, distracted when he spots sixth years Belle Chambers and Brian Bradley moving to join their teammates. Harry now finds himself facing the five older members of the Ravenclaw team. Huh. This would seem to be an organised power play.
Alright then.
"Hawkshead Attacking Formation," Ron observes with a nod.
"Eagle's head, more like," Seamus humorously corrects with a smirk. "Shows what you know. Since when do you need a Keeper and Beater in addition to the three Chasers for a Hawkshead?" Ron wrinkles his nose at the teasing. Harry still finds that a relief. Not all that long ago, Ron would have responded defensively, been insecure about the ribbing, and might have kicked off with Seamus. After what those idiots had apparently gotten up to yesterday, Harry's happy for them both to keep their wands sheathed.
"We'd like a word, if you've got a minute," Turpin really doesn't sound all that friendly.
"You're in for it now, mate," Ron half laughs. They may look like they mean business, but after the morning Harry and Ron have had, what are a few put upon Eagles?
"Yeah, sure," Harry tells her rising.
Turpin nods to the back corner of the room. "Let's discuss this in private." Harry has to wonder what precisely 'this' is. If he were going by her expression, it might be a matter of life and death, but Oliver Wood had certainly taught him that Quidditch can sure seem that way to a number of his schoolmates. Harry tends to think they have a glaring lack of perspective. Then again, not everyone has a Dark Lord after their hides.
"Sure," he agrees, not too fussed as he climbs over the bench.
"Good luck," Ron quips low enough that most of the Eagles miss it, and gives Harry a wink, shaking his head in bemusement as he helps himself to more chicken.
Turpin leads the way to the corner and Harry follows with the rest of the Ravenclaws falling into formation, surrounding him like they were afraid he'd make a break for it otherwise. He can't help finding it sort of funny. There's really nowhere to hide here. Goldstein and Li are in a few of his classes, even Turpin shares one. They take all of their meals in the same room, for Merlin's sake. And they almost definitely know his practice schedule. Where did they think he was going to go?
It turns out they are exceedingly familiar with his practice schedule and that's precisely the reason they'd like a chat. Apparently between all the preparation the Gryffindors and the Slytherins are doing for their upcoming match, they haven't exactly left much time on the roster for the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs to train. That seems to have ruffled a few Eagle feathers.
"Now the Hufflepuffs may be too polite to say anything about it, but this is far from acceptable..." Turpin let's him have it. She covers a variety of bases, Harry can almost see her working her way down a mental list.
Hermione would approve.
Every now and again Goldstein seems to grunt his support. That may not be a fair representation, but Harry's sort of done here, and while he kind of agrees it may not be entirely fair, surely they can see the importance of beating the Slytherin team? Can't they?
Hermione heads to lunch, her mood blacker than a certain bondmate's teaching robes. She is at an utter loss for words over said bondmate's unmitigated foolhardiness, leaving the Infirmary in his condition as he had. Her mood hadn't exactly been great after the problems with Pince, but this... This!
Her hair is crackling, already there's little evidence that she'd brushed it not too long ago, and her own robes have begun to swish about her as she storms towards lunch. Madam Pomfrey had been nice enough to offer to let her eat in the Infirmary anyway, but that hadn't really been the point of going there. She's sort of hoping to see the Professor at lunch, and yet not entirely sure what she'll do if she does.
What she'd really like to do is give him a piece of her mind for his recklessness.
Which probably isn't appropriate.
But still. It's certainly deserved.
It's a weird thing. Sort of a dual reality, if he had stayed in the Infirmary, then he would be perfectly fine, but because he's left, she feels like he's in mortal peril. That's very far from the truth, but some of Poppy's reaction to Severus' behaviour has rubbed off on the witch, and she's very worried.
Precisely in this frame of mind, she runs into Ravenclaws Morag MacDougal and Michael Corner, returning, she realises with a frown, from what would have been their N.E.W.T. Potions class. She feels a twinge of envy that they still take his class... It does not improve her mood.
The Ravenclaws, for reasons she can't begin to fathom, are both in moods themselves. And both rubbing their noses. She he wonders if today's Potion had been so pungent? And then involuntarily thinks of Ron's socks.
Corner can't help himself because Harry's right, he's something of an idiot, "So good of you to finally let your husband out of bed. Had you thought to free the Dungeon Bat sooner, we might have actually gotten something accomplished in class."
Morag also can't help herself and has a sense of humour. With a smirk, she teases her Housemate, "Speak for yourself. I finished my Potion."
Hermione doesn't hear her, she's too busy bristling. Given the bed the Professor had last lain in was in fact an Infirmary bed, she's more than a little tetchy on the subject. "He was in the Infirmary," she bites back. Her tone would suggest to most to let it drop. But Michael's nose is throbbing, and he's not thinking clearly. And still an idiot.
"Riiiight. I heard about that." He smirks. "Didn't think you had it in you," he chuckles darkly, and Morag now has to laugh, recalling Ernie's reply to that. And of course Weasley's reaction to that. It's much easier to find humour in the situation as the only one to complete the assignment afterwards.
The Snakes don't count.
One might think thoughts about the instructor's bias skewing results in the Slytherins' favour could have been shaken by inarguably objective results such as today's. And yet, curiously, none of the Ravenclaws feel the need to re-examine their convictions on the matter. It wouldn't fit with their world view.
The combination of Corner's tone and MacDougal's laughter sets Hermione off like a spark to black powder. She doesn't even pause to think about it. She looks him straight in the eye and performs Ginny's Bat-Boogey Hex. She's had enough occasions to watch, but she's never done it herself, and that combined with her unwavering intent means it comes off a bit rough and fairly harsh. That the nose to which it has been applied had only just been both broken and Episkied... Well, it's sensitive ground.
"Bloody buggering hell!" Michael screams, tears pouring down his face as he clutches his nose, or tries to, the swarms of bats pouring out from the injured feature greatly complicating the process.
"Language," Hermione mutters, more from habit than anything else, and sort of shocked that the Hex had worked.
Morag just goggles at her. "What is it with you people and noses?"
Hermione has no idea who 'you people' are, but by this point has to wonder if she really belongs to any plural. She shakes her head a little, as much at herself as the Ravenclaws.
Corner mumbles around his hands, only slightly better able to articulate than he had been with a broken nose, but ultimately less clear thanks to the frankly stunning amount of pain exploding in his head. He whines, it's the best word for it, in disbelief, a barely distinguishable, "Bats?"
Her eyes narrow and she glares a little, rediscovering some of her indignation. "What else would you expect from the wife of the Dungeon Bat."
Morag snickers at that, quietly telling Michael, "She has a point..." But her Housemate hasn't stopped moaning or crying, and if his nose is anything as sensitive as hers is after the duel in the dungeons, she has a very clear idea why that might be. Poor sod.
She frowns at Granger, Snape, whatever, "Well stop it already."
Hermione shrugs and has to admit, "I'm not sure how." MacDougal gives her a dirty look just visible through the bats flying between them.
"Sure you aren't. Stop it now before I report you for Hexing him in the hallways." She figures that's worth at least fifteen points if the woman's husband is to be believed. Thinking of Snape's words to Ernie, she adds with a slightly cruel smirk, "And here you're a Prefect, too..."
"I can't," Hermione answers firmly with a shake of her head and then stalks off to head into the Great Hall, deciding the situation is less likely to escalate if she disengages. She can just picture having to explain this to the Professor.
Michael watches her disappear through the curtain of bats, and when she's gone tells his friend, "We are so reporting this." At the least it will show that bastard Snape he's no pushover. Serves them right for the job those Snakes have done on his nose today. He happily counts Granger, Snape, whatever, amongst their number.
At just that moment a whisper comes from behind them and the temperature feels like it's dropped several degrees. They turn to see the bloody Baron fading into sight. "Because you would never do such a thing."
He floats there imposingly, rattling his chains in a threatening fashion for a spell, and when neither Ravenclaw works up the courage to speak, he addresses MacDougal, "Take him to the Infirmary, if you are so concerned about his welfare. I believe your... friends are already there." There's something about his face as he says it that makes her think he's just a little... smug. As she can't reconcile that with the apparition at all, she decides she's mistaken.
"Come on, Michael. I'll help you get to Pomfrey. I kind of wanted to check on Terry anyway." And wrapping an arm around her Housemate, MacDougal leads him away.
There was no threat voiced. Not at all. Frankly, they aren't entirely sure what the Baron could even do to them, but that doesn't seem like the kind of thing one should put to the test. Somehow the encounter leaves them shaken enough that neither feels it quite wise to report Granger, Snape, whatever after all. They let it slide.
And Hermione has enough other things on her mind to not even think to worry about it.
With Harry gone, Ron's attention turns to the others at his table and he begins to pick up on some of their conversation. That only proves he's also an idiot of the first order, had there still been any doubt.
Fay's "How many inches do you think he gave her last night?" has him raising an eyebrow in confusion. It practically coincides with Romilda's independent speculation "...ten inches..." which makes several girls giggle and leaves Ron sort of uncomfortable for reasons he can't explain and trying not to wonder what exactly they're discussing. Homework... Wands... Wait, wands??
Romilda's musings are promptly interrupted by Seamus' objection, "Those are some completely unrealistic expectations if ever I've heard any..."
He at least has the confidence to say so.
That certainly helps as Romilda doesn't hesitate to point out, "For the average wizard, sure, but then he's hardly the average wizard."
"'Hardly'!" one of the geese cackles to still more giggles.
Ron's begun to shift uneasily on his seat. He's got a bad feeling about this but can't quite put his finger on it.
"I've seen him Accio twenty-five things at once. Silently. Wandlessly," Kiera adds, sort of breathlessly.
"Woof," Demelza agrees.
"Woof?" Seamus asks.
"Woof," Romilda confirms, as though that cleared it up.
Ron now has a pretty good idea who they're talking about. Stupid pronouns. It probably helps to narrow things down that he doesn't know anyone capable of Summoning twenty-five things at once. Not even Bill could do that. And never mind silently, and sure as hell not wandlessly. Fuck.
Slightly dreamily, and isn't that scary, Romilda continues, "I bet he gave her an 'O' last night."
He should know better, he really should, but stupidly asks, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"An 'O'? Like an Orgasm?"
Not quite what he was expecting. No. Worse. Definitely worse. It shows on his face.
Romilda laughs, "Wow, you really don't have a clue, do you?"
Seamus is inclined to think with her remark about 'ten inches' that the fifth year hasn't much of one either, but he wisely bites his tongue faced with as many witches as he is. He's a good bit smarter than people give him credit for, and his mam has taught him never to underestimate a witch. And certainly not a gaggle of 'em.
"Believe me, Ron doesn't," Lavender agrees to much snickering. "Now Gaston, on the other hand, he could teach you a thing or two. Or ten." Her head tilts back, her eyes roll up and then her lids flutter closed as she bites her lower lip and makes a soft 'Unh', mimicking positively decadent rapture. Or Ron thinks so anyway, he's not entirely sure.
Colin just sits there staring. Well, that and wishing he'd been fast enough with his camera. Blast.
"'Ten'? Like in ten inches?" Romilda enquires with a wicked grin and a suggestive waggling of her eyebrows, and then she and the geese are off and squawking but Ron's no longer paying attention. He's just furious.
Which, naturally, is when Hermione enters.
Severus' mood is worsening. He can feel her irritation. She's not in danger, not under threat, just working his very last nerve. In absentia, even. It's... distressing.
Albus' condition has left him shaken, which naturally isn't helping. He's a lot more comfortable on the days he's able to storm about resentful and angry about the things Albus has him do. At the very least, it will make it easier to use the Avada on him. On days like today... If he isn't able to hate him after the man practically forced him to bond a student, take a Vow of celibacy, and gets him tortured for that in the bargain... He may be misremembering some of that, but he's entitled.
He's also rather annoyed to have discovered that Malfoy and Zabini both had Serpents on their arms. That's not entirely accurate, as he's also quite pleased about it, particularly the three Draco has. He can't wait to see how that turns out. Some part of his mind begins to set the odds, calculating the probabilities of various results for an internal wager. He discovers he's pleased with everything shy of death. He's still not certain how that would affect his Vow...
But the Legilimency he'd performed on Theo had shown that not only had those two received Serpents, but Crabbe and Goyle as well, and Norman Nott had also seen fit to send his son an owl. It was all so terribly obvious had anyone been watching. The degree of idiocy involved...
He had considered a scathing comment to the boys, when he'd seen the Serpents, but what was the point? They aren't responsible for their parents' actions. Merlin knows, they suffer for them often enough. They certainly will tonight. Heh. No, chastising them would have been adding insult to injury.
He pours himself a drink, from his own bottle of Ogden's, ta, as he sits there dreaming of sending an appropriately caustic owl to the Manor. Something scorching... And it hits him, even if it weren't a suicidal act in itself, there's really no one sensible to send it to. To a wizard and witch, the individuals who had sent the Serpents would fail to understand why it was so poorly advised. They fail - utterly - to comprehend how very much it matters just now who knows what when, and that these aren't things to reveal in front of the whole school. Severus is almost grateful he hadn't had to watch it take place. He'd have been miserably scanning to see everyone's reactions and then intent on chasing them down to see what they'd made of it.
And then there's the far more significant question: having the knowledge their parents obviously did, why did they feel the need to punish those children?
They are incredibly lucky that almost no one outside the House has ever made the connection between the Poste Serpentes and punitive measures.
He takes a sip and, once he's finished berating himself for ever joining the Death Eaters, again, tries to think - purely as a mental exercise - whom he could - theoretically - owl about this. Possibly Augustus Rookwood. He's intelligent, blessed with brains and the ability and willingness to use them. Severus sighs. He'd have been best served, all those years ago, if instead of becoming a Death Eater he'd simply played owl Chess with the man and left it at that.
It's rubbish. The chances they'd offered him, his apprenticeship...
Minerva had been excellent in her field, a real star, and well liked to boot, and not even she had landed an apprenticeship when she graduated. No, it had been a dreary Ministry job for her, and despite her hardworking nature she'd only survived a couple of years at it before throwing in the towel.
So what had he had to look forward to? He'd had poor prospects, few connections outside of the Death Eaters from his days at Hogwarts, certainly none from his family... With the climate as it had been at the time... It was the only offer he had and he took it, naïvely thinking he might be able to provide Lily some protection as well.
He can't honestly say anymore if he had hoped to rekindle even the least bit of affection for him on her part by doing so. If calling her a 'Mudblood' - once - had proven that cataclysmic to their friendship... That's a lie he's been telling himself fairly regularly for more than two decades now. It hadn't been the reason everything fell apart, just the final straw. There had been far too many issues before then, it had simply been the single moment he could point to when everything... ended. But he'd had no illusions about how unforgivable she'd find the Dark Mark on his arm. He knew there was no way back.
But he knows for a fact he was eager to show he was better than her idle trust fund rotters who never worked a day in their lives. Smarter, more capable, far more industrious. Useful.
Well he's certainly useful now.
Both sides of the war depend on him. Greatly. Where would they be without him?
Which begs the question why they both treat him so abysmally...
He Summons the bottle of Ogden's and puts it on the end table next to him. And if he doesn't bother to eat first, it only increases the efficiency of his drinking, doesn't it?
He may have asked some of that out loud, because the feline answers with a sympathetic 'Mrawr'.
"Slainte," Severus replies, raising his glass to him.
Turpin and Goldstein are still working him over when Harry spots Hermione come in. She sits, well sort of by Ron, and it strikes Harry then that Gin isn't there yet and that Hermione really isn't too close to the other girls. He looks around, yeah, with Neville gone... She really is a bit of an outsider. It's not that Harry is that much better connected to their Housemates, really - of the three of them, that's kind of Ron's thing - but being the Quidditch captain integrates Harry. Somehow.
The Ravenclaws really do have him pinned, he realises, and suddenly he does indeed wish to escape. Maybe the Eagles weren't quite as foolish as he'd thought. He's stopped listening to whatever Turpin's banging on about now and watches his friends intently instead.
Ron appears to have made some kind of crack, and Hermione's hair is doing that thing it does, and she cries out. A few heads have begun to turn and Harry quickly puts up Muffliato. It's crummier than usual because it's on them, and he's not included. That's really hard to work, and he's just lucky the Ravenclaws are too busy lecturing him to pay attention and learn the spell. He sort of likes keeping it secret.
He thinks he may have agreed to... something. And then he has a brilliant idea, and suddenly he's taking advantage of Ron's detention Saturday morning buggering their schedule to make it appear he's making a concession to their demands and settling for pre-dawn practice instead. Brill. That goes over really well, and in their satisfaction they break ranks for a moment and then he just pushes out of their midst with a, "Gotta go..."
"Wait," Turpin calls out, "but the Hufflepuffs..."
But Harry's slipped through their talons and Anthony just replies, "...Can sort their own schedule. That's not our lookout."
Draco tells Theo and Blaise to go on without him, he needs to go back for something.
"Should we wait?" Theo asks.
"No, don't be silly. Go to lunch. I'll see you in Arithmancy." Theo nods. Blaise smirks, to this day completely satisfied with himself for having avoided that perfectly horrible class. He's not an idiot. Draco catches his look and gives him a slight smile back. With the Serpents on his arm, he's really not up to more. "Blaise, I'll catch you later."
He turns and heads back towards the dungeons, but once the other two are out of sight, he withdraws to a lavatory he knows will be unfrequented to cast the Revelio that will decipher his mother's owl.
Moaning Myrtle greets him as he enters, "Draco! How have you been?" Floating around him, circling him with readily apparent pleasure.
"Hello, Myrtle. Not so well, I fear."
"Are you making any progress with... you know?"
"No," he sounds defeated.
Myrtle likes the cute blond. She likes that he comes to visit, a little less regularly lately, which she can fully understand, considering... Well... But more than anyone else ever has. She's missed him. And it really doesn't hurt that he's easy on her eyes and has never teased her about her spots or glasses.
"But I've had some good excuses lately. Lots of detention." There's a mock cheeriness about him that has her worried. She's been there herself. Less cheery, naturally, but she recognises the signs. Except ghosts can't do themselves any more harm. She's not too sure that's true for the seventh year standing before her. "And I half took up residence in the Infirmary."
"Draco? That doesn't exactly sound good..."
"It's never good," he replies with an honesty she instantly recognises, even if she'll never understand the depths of that truth. "I just stopped by to read a letter from my mother and say 'hello'. You don't mind if I do that here? It seemed... fitting, somehow." It's where it all began after all.
"I'm glad you're still willing to return, you know... after..." Myrtle's eyes shoot to the spot on the floor where Draco knows he nearly met his death. It would have simplified things. Severus had saved him, in fact. And Myrtle. Had she not cried for help... And how does he thank either of them for it?
He has a moment where he considers that she's lonely, she's always been lonely. Had she not summoned help for him last year when Potter gutted him like a fish, she was more likely to have had his company forevermore. And yet her first and only instinct had been to scream murder, to summon help. He resolves to visit her more. And truthfully, he's forgotten how he felt better after talking to her.
"I need to read my mother's letter, send her an answer, and then I still have to go to class." Merlin knows, he won't have time to answer after classes. "But if you wouldn't mind, maybe I could visit again soon?"
"I'd like that." She brightens instantly, becoming more opaque. He looked so pale coming in here though... She works up some selfless courage, just this once, and asks, "But is it good for you to do that?"
He shrugs, looks at her and says something she's never heard before, "I guess I've missed you."
Myrtle wisely goes silent at that, blinking a little owlishly behind her glasses, and then deciding to be a better... her instead asks, "Would you like a little privacy for that?"
He nods a bit stiffly, not at all eager to read the letter, but needs must... And then he wonders if he's a bit of a heel, chasing her from the room, but she just smiles and tells him she hopes to see him again soon before parting.
Which leaves him alone with his mother's owl.
It's worse than he feared and exactly what he should have expected. He simply hadn't been giving it any thought, if possible. His hand absently rubs the paper snakes under his sleeve as he thinks it. It would seem Severus had reported what had happened Friday fairly accurately. Draco supposes he hadn't really had much choice. How else would he explain the bonding? If it had just been about how they'd... he'd tied Granger to McGonagall's chair it probably wouldn't have been so bad, but then that probably wouldn't have led to the Headmaster having the Muggle-born students... witches bonded.
No, Severus had had to tell them about Crabbe's Potion.
His mother makes it perfectly clear what she thinks about that.
It doesn't matter that the Potion was poorly brewed, or that nothing really happened... She wants to know what he was thinking to give it to a classmate, to anyone? But very specifically: how he could do something like that to someone he'd sat in class beside for over six years.... And what had he thought was going to happen? He doesn't believe telling her he hadn't thought that through will be much help, even if it is the truth.
She also makes it perfectly clear he's to meet her on the next Hogsmeade weekend, under the guise of getting measured for new dress robes. She wants a word with him. He doesn't imagine he'll be getting those robes anymore, either. Of course, if Severus has any say in the matter, and he most certainly does at school, it's unlikely Draco would have any chance to attend a function where he'd need them.
A little glumly, he slides down onto the floor and sets about writing a reply. If he hurries, he should have plenty of time to get it to Mercury waiting up in the Owlery and send his response back to his mother before class.
Harry quickly joins his friends, slipping himself into the Muffliato, and it really is a rotten buzzy thing. Not his finest work. It hums so loudly, even for those inside it, that both Hermione and Ron were well aware it was there, each assuming the other had cast it so they could argue more freely. Taking it as the other throwing down the gauntlet, both were giving as good as they got and quite thoroughly cross by the time Harry joined them.
Ron makes a comment about how glad he was not to have had Snape in Potions, how much more they learn, how much better the class... Harry can't help thinking Ron definitely hadn't learnt much today, not in general, obviously, and certainly not in Potions, none of them had, really, but then that's hardly the point of his claim. Next he'd probably start in with how he wishes they had Slughorn again, but Hermione doesn't give him the chance.
She's shouting now, and Harry is thankful he got the Muffliato up on time. It's highly probable, however, that she wouldn't have risked shouting without it. "You and your thankless ilk," it sounds beyond dodgy the way she says it, and Harry's wondering if Gin might have been right about Mrs. Weasley sending a Howler, "have no idea what he goes through for the Order..."
Harry makes the mistake of trying to arbitrate between them. Unfortunately, for him that means substantially agreeing with Ron, but being more diplomatic about the phrasing, as if that made any real difference. It might, but not to Hermione and not today. And she's perfectly capable of mapping that back onto their usual language anyway. "He just meant class was a lot more enjoyable without someone taking points off of us for every last thing..."
His ever so considerate translation coincides with Ron's reply, now every bit as heated as Hermione's, "It couldn't happen to a nicer guy. I can't think of anyone more deserving."
Hermione looks back an forth between them, feeling attacked from all sides. For her, a few things are clear. The Professor wouldn't have landed in the Infirmary last night were it not for their bonding. They wouldn't have considered a bonding had she not been attacked Friday. And that would never have happened had Ron not had the poor taste to ignore her advice and be 'Malfoy' for Halloween the week before, like a complete and utter prat.
Or had Harry not nearly killed Malfoy last year, for that matter. That might have been worse.
Her eyes narrow combatively and with something of the air of a trapped animal about her she tells them, "This was all your fault. You caused this whole mess." She knows they've been told it was so, and she has little patience for their apparent denial.
If things weren't going badly before, they certainly do now.
Harry balks severely because now he thinks she means something he desperately doesn't want to have caused, he can't have caused. He wouldn't know how to live with himself if he did, so clearly it didn't happen. Except reality doesn't work that way, and his construct to help him cope is a ridiculously flimsy thing. Not wanting a thing to be so doesn't make that the case.
As his worst fears are wrong, he'd do well to speak to Hermione, but because he can't voice them, because he's terrified she'll look him in the eye if he ever did and say just that, 'it was his fault'... He wouldn't survive it. And because he instinctively knows Ron can never hear even a hint of it... Well, that conversation doesn't happen.
And Ron, well Ron was even more fully in denial anyway. But as he hasn't formulated the same particular nightmare vision as Harry has, he's less gentle when dealing with Hermione. To be fair, she doesn't exactly pull her punches either, but in her already weakened state, Ron's land more truly even with the Calming Draughts, and all Hermione registers is Ron's brutality, and that both boys seem intent on weaselling their way off the hook, denying all responsibility for their actions.
There's a short moment when she wonders if she's ever hated anyone more.
Given the events of Friday... Well, that's a harsh statement. But the real difference is the feeling of betrayal that accompanies the things her 'friends' are saying now. Malfoy was a twat, had always been a twat and would probably always be a twat. She expected nothing else of him. Whatever else had happened Friday, it hadn't been a betrayal. This, this however...
"Says who? Snape? Like you can believe a thing he says," the loathing is all too tangible in Ron's tone. Hermione would point out that she very much can due to the bond, thank you very much, but doesn't get the chance. It's just as well, as Ron wouldn't have liked to hear it. "And I thought you were supposed to be the 'brightest witch of your age'." The sarcasm drips from his tongue, and Hermione flinches as though hit. Those were never her words, she'd never acknowledged the title, but it follows her around, in the worst kind of way.
"I know, that's why," she asserts, thinking all reasonable discussion thwarted by her Oath to the Headmaster. That may be the case, but the personalities involved are every bit as much a hindrance at this point.
Ron only snorts at her claim. It sets something loose in her, she sees red and kind of wants his blood. She goes for the throat. "You were mentioned by name, actually." The Oath permits that much, but she suspects not much more. But in case that's not clear enough, she hisses, "Friday."
Harry blanches.
"Well then you're just giving them what they want aren't you? Fighting with us like this..." Ron always seems to be laying the blame at her feet, at anyone's feet but his own.
It goes that way for a few minutes more before she finally has the sense to do what she should have done minutes before. Wiping the tears from her eyes, mindful of the promise she made Luna, she snatches a pastie from the table and practically flees from the room.
Neither of the boys moves to follow her, not that it would have been likely to help much at this point. Harry finds himself unable to eat another bite. Inasmuch as Turpin had pulled him away from the table before he'd eaten much, by Herbology his stomach will be growling. But less so than Ron himself currently is.
Someone else has been keenly observing the exchange, however, and now follows Hermione from the room.
Severus is throughly wretched. Wherever the witch in question is, he shuts his eyes, listens to the bond an decides it's in the vicinity of the Great Hall, but has to acknowledge he's cheating a little knowing full well it's the lunch hour, she's in quite a state. As if the strop before hadn't been sufficient, she's gone from the comparative to the superlative. From 'angrier' to 'angriest'. It never occurs to him that his absconding had contributed that shift.
He's more than a little angered himself, knowing full well she clearly hasn't taken the Draught of Don't Give a Fuck like he'd advised, and he's now royally... cheesed off. She seemed to believe him when they spoke yesterday, planning how best to approach this. And then she didn't take his advice... But then why on earth should she, it's not like he has any experience with Potions or anything...
His mood now dark as Hermione's, he pours himself another tumbler of Ogden's.
A/N:
Happy 20th.
Spoiler alert: Two decades later, Severus is alive and well and exceedingly happy with Hermione, and the two of them are brewing up a storm. The best revenge is a long and happy life.
Hermione, Severus, the Bloody Baron, Minerva, Albus, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Sybill Trelawney, Sarah Sapworthy, Barrymore Beckford, Seamus, Morag MacDougal, Michael Corner, Draco, Theo, Blaise, Sunny, Romilda, Lavender, Fay, Georgina, Demelza, Kiera, Parvati, Colin, Neville, Kevin, Peeves, Filius, Call-Me-Terry Taylor, Lisa Turpin, Anthony Goldstein, Belle Chambers, Brian Bradley, Myrtle, mentioned: Fred and George, Molly, Poppy, Pomona, Eileen Snape
Originally Published: 2018-05-02 on AO3
Chapter: 072 part 2
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.
When Minerva reaches the Owlery, she's surprised to find Miss Weasley there. At the sight of her, Minerva tucks the parchment she's carrying into her pocket. The girl also has a letter in her hand, but from the look of her, she's been standing there for at least a few minutes and seems unresolved as to mailing her scroll. She just stands there staring at it, turning it back and forth in her hands and not making a move for any of the owls.
There are remarkably few of the birds present at the moment. Minerva imagines yesterday's announcement of the bondings has something to do with that. There are only a few owls belonging to individual students present, plus a small contingent of the school owls that are permanently reserved for staff. Minerva is all too familiar with Mr. Weasley's owl, the small bird that had delivered Molly's Howler to Severus this morning. That had certainly made an impression, it's hard to forget. Miss Weasley is standing not too far from his perch, but not exactly close, either.
Ginny looks up when she registers a noise, and now it's her turn to be surprised to see her Head of House appear there. She has the sense that she might be in trouble, possibly even with Professor McGonagall, and truthfully she's sort of been hiding out there.
She knows Ron had Potions right before this. As she wasn't aware Professor Snape hadn't taught the class today, she's been really worried about his response to the Howler she figures her mum may have sent. And then there'll be Ron's response to that, too. No, the Owlery seemed as good a place as any to lay low. Merlin, she might just go visit Hagrid after Quidditch practice in order to avoid the common room. Rock cakes are preferable to an angry Ron.
She's written her mum about the things Harry said this morning, but she's still kind of unsure about sending the letter. She suspects her mum will be very angry with her for sending her the rumours and for not telling her the whole story. Ginny has no real desire to be on the receiving end of that outburst. And she still thinks it was mostly Ron's fault anyway. How could she tell her mum what she herself didn't even known? What she still doesn't really know? Mostly, it's speculation, and she'd already sent enough of that home, now that she thinks about it. She really can't see how this ends well for her.
It feels like something Ron should have taken care of. And should take care of. This wasn't her mess, except it kind of is now, and she's trying to work out how to get herself out of it once and for all.
"Miss Weasley. What luck." Professor McGonagall doesn't exactly sound happy about it, and Ginny tenses in anticipation. "I wanted a word with you."
Ginny shrugs a little. What's she supposed to say? It's not like she can claim she needs to be elsewhere. She'd clearly been caught lost deep in thought and quite obviously wasn't on her way anywhere else. "Yes, Professor?"
"Did you owl your mother the news yesterday about Madam Snape's bonding?"
Any concerns Ginny had about her mum sending a Howler would seem to be confirmed if her Head is asking that. Bugger.
She feels like Ron and Harry set her up, and she gets angry at them. If they had just told her the truth yesterday...
And then she wonders if Hermione had complained to McGonagall about the Howler, and she gets angry at her, too. Of course, Hermione didn't ask their Head to do that, she wasn't even aware Professor McGonagall meant to speak to Ginny about the Howlers. Goodness, for that matter, she wasn't even aware of the Howler she'd been sent. But that distinction isn't made.
Instead, Ginny fumes. It doesn't seem fair that she has her Head breathing down her neck because those three kept her out of the loop and her mum... Well, was being herself, she supposes. Ginny can't help that.
So maybe she stretches the truth in her answer. Just a little.
"Ron and I agreed, we had to let her know what happened."
"And so the two of you sent home a bunch of rumours? What on earth for?"
"I guess we weren't exactly clear on what happened."
"I know for a fact Professor Dumbledore took Misters Weasley and Potter aside to brief them about the situation."
Bugger. "Well I guess they left the writing mostly to me," she shrugs, "and they neglected to pass some things along."
"And so you sent a bunch of rumours to your mother?" Minerva keeps at her, not letting her off the hook. "Why would you do such a thing?"
"Well I had to tell her what happened, didn't I."
"Which clearly isn't accomplished by relating the castle prattle. And what business was it of hers precisely?"
Now that's a problem. The answer is probably 'it's none of her business', but that's only likely to make things worse. She bites the inside of her cheek thinking about the best answer and finally alights on the truth, "It might not be, but that wasn't going to keep her from holding it against me if I didn't keep her informed."
Minerva has to allow that it's probably true, and almost relents. But the girl had essentially tried to skirt some unpleasantness with her mum by causing someone else even more, and thoroughly undeservedly, too. Frankly, it was a poor showing. She looks at her disapprovingly.
Ginny is still twisting the letter between her fingers. She looks up at her Head and somewhat timidly asks, "Is it true Hermione was attacked?"
"And were I to answer that, Miss Weasley, wouldn't you just pass it along to your mother?" She isn't loud, but the tone of her voice has Ginny cringing. She's far more used to being yelled at. This is worse. "Molly just Howled every last accusation she could apparently think of for all to hear, which is exactly what would have happened had the Howlers not been opened outside the Great Hall.
"If that were true, if Madam Snape had been attacked, how much more damaging, how much more hurtful would it be to have that Howled in the Great Hall?"
"She sent Hermione a Howler?" Ginny's feeling kind of sick now. She no longer has any desire to eat lunch. In fact, she's happy she hasn't.
"Your mother sent Howlers to both her and Professor Snape."
And right then and there Ginny decides to never run into Ron ever again if she can help it. He's going to Hex her six ways from Sunday once Snape is through with him. The only ray of hope is that Snape might not leave anything left of him. Which isn't entirely improbable...
Obviously avoiding Ron won't work in the least, Merlin they have practice right after classes, but it sounds... lovely. And very tempting.
Something the Professor said gets through to her, though. About how hurtful it could be to have word of an assault blared for all to hear. Especially if Ginny was right about what may have taken place. She looks down at the letter in her hands that relates just that.
And now she tries to picture what her mum might do.
Ginny has to allow that's it's entirely possible her mum would send Professor Snape another Howler blasting him for taking advantage of Hermione's situation, her misfortune like that. And now she tries to picture how that would be, having that shrieked in the Great Hall so everyone hears it.
She's not sure how Hermione can go about her day as though everything were normal, if only Friday... She can't begin to imagine how she does that. But she's reasonably sure it would be a lot more difficult if everyone were to know what happened to her. If they were all to change the way they treat her...
When Ginny had been a first year and she'd had Tom Riddle's diary, even after she knew that it, she was hurting other people, she hadn't gone to the Headmaster, or anyone else for that matter, because she was afraid of how they'd react to her, of their responses. It wasn't just fear of being in trouble. Sure that was some of it, maybe a lot of it, but it was fear of... everything, really. Everyone's harsh judgment, their rejection... She certainly didn't want them to treat her any differently.
And now she tries picturing again how sending this letter home takes the decision out of Hermione's hands and could subject her to everyone's reactions. As if she didn't have enough to deal with...
Ginny crumbles the letter and puts it in her pocket. When she gets back to her room, she'll Incendio it for good measure.
With her head down, avoiding Professor McGonagall's eyes, she says, "I guess I should get going," and turns and shuffles from the room.
It's curious. Their conversation had been sufficient to convince Ginny not to send her letter. It's also convinced Minerva she's perfectly justified in sending hers. She takes it from her pocket again and ties it to an owl's leg, then carries the bird to the window and lets him fly.
With a sense of satisfaction, she stands there watching him grow smaller the further away he gets. Admittedly he's probably only seeking a suitable tree for a nap just now, but it was the thought that counted. Somehow watching him fly off makes her feel better about herself and what she's done. Only when he becomes so small she can't see him anymore does she go to lunch.
Fred and George will indeed send the Silencing Syrup to their mum. Business is business, and they aim to please their customers. Recognising the Hogwarts owl, they assume one of their two younger siblings has ordered the Potion. In fact, they're sure of it, that those two - or at least one of them anyway - thinking they were frightfully clever had avoided using Pig. They're leaning towards Ron for that. And Molly, recognising George's owl when he delivers the Potion, happily takes it.
In a heretofore unknown Potion side effect, it transpires that if one has a particularly sore throat at the time it's imbibed, and Molly very much does, the efficacy is quadrupled. Molly spends the next two weeks or so unable to do more than squeak, and more softly than Filius at that. Of course, when she regains her voice, she has a few choice words for her children.
"Potter!" A decisive voice cuts through his conversation with Ron.
Harry turns and sees a small congregation of Ravenclaws gathered about Lisa Turpin, fellow seventh year and more importantly the captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Sue Li and Anthony Goldstein, both of them also seventh years, flank her, and they're bearing down upon him.
The little group has just returned from cornering Hagrid, because today they're all about cornering, to discuss their assignment for Care of Magical Creatures. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry catches the half-Giant taking his seat at the High Table. He gives Harry what Hagrid considers a small wave when he catches him looking. It nearly sends Pomona flying.
Harry smiles back at Hagrid a little wanly, distracted when he spots sixth years Belle Chambers and Brian Bradley moving to join their teammates. Harry now finds himself facing the five older members of the Ravenclaw team. Huh. This would seem to be an organised power play.
Alright then.
"Hawkshead Attacking Formation," Ron observes with a nod.
"Eagle's head, more like," Seamus humorously corrects with a smirk. "Shows what you know. Since when do you need a Keeper and Beater in addition to the three Chasers for a Hawkshead?" Ron wrinkles his nose at the teasing. Harry still finds that a relief. Not all that long ago, Ron would have responded defensively, been insecure about the ribbing, and might have kicked off with Seamus. After what those idiots had apparently gotten up to yesterday, Harry's happy for them both to keep their wands sheathed.
"We'd like a word, if you've got a minute," Turpin really doesn't sound all that friendly.
"You're in for it now, mate," Ron half laughs. They may look like they mean business, but after the morning Harry and Ron have had, what are a few put upon Eagles?
"Yeah, sure," Harry tells her rising.
Turpin nods to the back corner of the room. "Let's discuss this in private." Harry has to wonder what precisely 'this' is. If he were going by her expression, it might be a matter of life and death, but Oliver Wood had certainly taught him that Quidditch can sure seem that way to a number of his schoolmates. Harry tends to think they have a glaring lack of perspective. Then again, not everyone has a Dark Lord after their hides.
"Sure," he agrees, not too fussed as he climbs over the bench.
"Good luck," Ron quips low enough that most of the Eagles miss it, and gives Harry a wink, shaking his head in bemusement as he helps himself to more chicken.
Turpin leads the way to the corner and Harry follows with the rest of the Ravenclaws falling into formation, surrounding him like they were afraid he'd make a break for it otherwise. He can't help finding it sort of funny. There's really nowhere to hide here. Goldstein and Li are in a few of his classes, even Turpin shares one. They take all of their meals in the same room, for Merlin's sake. And they almost definitely know his practice schedule. Where did they think he was going to go?
It turns out they are exceedingly familiar with his practice schedule and that's precisely the reason they'd like a chat. Apparently between all the preparation the Gryffindors and the Slytherins are doing for their upcoming match, they haven't exactly left much time on the roster for the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs to train. That seems to have ruffled a few Eagle feathers.
"Now the Hufflepuffs may be too polite to say anything about it, but this is far from acceptable..." Turpin let's him have it. She covers a variety of bases, Harry can almost see her working her way down a mental list.
Hermione would approve.
Every now and again Goldstein seems to grunt his support. That may not be a fair representation, but Harry's sort of done here, and while he kind of agrees it may not be entirely fair, surely they can see the importance of beating the Slytherin team? Can't they?
Hermione heads to lunch, her mood blacker than a certain bondmate's teaching robes. She is at an utter loss for words over said bondmate's unmitigated foolhardiness, leaving the Infirmary in his condition as he had. Her mood hadn't exactly been great after the problems with Pince, but this... This!
Her hair is crackling, already there's little evidence that she'd brushed it not too long ago, and her own robes have begun to swish about her as she storms towards lunch. Madam Pomfrey had been nice enough to offer to let her eat in the Infirmary anyway, but that hadn't really been the point of going there. She's sort of hoping to see the Professor at lunch, and yet not entirely sure what she'll do if she does.
What she'd really like to do is give him a piece of her mind for his recklessness.
Which probably isn't appropriate.
But still. It's certainly deserved.
It's a weird thing. Sort of a dual reality, if he had stayed in the Infirmary, then he would be perfectly fine, but because he's left, she feels like he's in mortal peril. That's very far from the truth, but some of Poppy's reaction to Severus' behaviour has rubbed off on the witch, and she's very worried.
Precisely in this frame of mind, she runs into Ravenclaws Morag MacDougal and Michael Corner, returning, she realises with a frown, from what would have been their N.E.W.T. Potions class. She feels a twinge of envy that they still take his class... It does not improve her mood.
The Ravenclaws, for reasons she can't begin to fathom, are both in moods themselves. And both rubbing their noses. She he wonders if today's Potion had been so pungent? And then involuntarily thinks of Ron's socks.
Corner can't help himself because Harry's right, he's something of an idiot, "So good of you to finally let your husband out of bed. Had you thought to free the Dungeon Bat sooner, we might have actually gotten something accomplished in class."
Morag also can't help herself and has a sense of humour. With a smirk, she teases her Housemate, "Speak for yourself. I finished my Potion."
Hermione doesn't hear her, she's too busy bristling. Given the bed the Professor had last lain in was in fact an Infirmary bed, she's more than a little tetchy on the subject. "He was in the Infirmary," she bites back. Her tone would suggest to most to let it drop. But Michael's nose is throbbing, and he's not thinking clearly. And still an idiot.
"Riiiight. I heard about that." He smirks. "Didn't think you had it in you," he chuckles darkly, and Morag now has to laugh, recalling Ernie's reply to that. And of course Weasley's reaction to that. It's much easier to find humour in the situation as the only one to complete the assignment afterwards.
The Snakes don't count.
One might think thoughts about the instructor's bias skewing results in the Slytherins' favour could have been shaken by inarguably objective results such as today's. And yet, curiously, none of the Ravenclaws feel the need to re-examine their convictions on the matter. It wouldn't fit with their world view.
The combination of Corner's tone and MacDougal's laughter sets Hermione off like a spark to black powder. She doesn't even pause to think about it. She looks him straight in the eye and performs Ginny's Bat-Boogey Hex. She's had enough occasions to watch, but she's never done it herself, and that combined with her unwavering intent means it comes off a bit rough and fairly harsh. That the nose to which it has been applied had only just been both broken and Episkied... Well, it's sensitive ground.
"Bloody buggering hell!" Michael screams, tears pouring down his face as he clutches his nose, or tries to, the swarms of bats pouring out from the injured feature greatly complicating the process.
"Language," Hermione mutters, more from habit than anything else, and sort of shocked that the Hex had worked.
Morag just goggles at her. "What is it with you people and noses?"
Hermione has no idea who 'you people' are, but by this point has to wonder if she really belongs to any plural. She shakes her head a little, as much at herself as the Ravenclaws.
Corner mumbles around his hands, only slightly better able to articulate than he had been with a broken nose, but ultimately less clear thanks to the frankly stunning amount of pain exploding in his head. He whines, it's the best word for it, in disbelief, a barely distinguishable, "Bats?"
Her eyes narrow and she glares a little, rediscovering some of her indignation. "What else would you expect from the wife of the Dungeon Bat."
Morag snickers at that, quietly telling Michael, "She has a point..." But her Housemate hasn't stopped moaning or crying, and if his nose is anything as sensitive as hers is after the duel in the dungeons, she has a very clear idea why that might be. Poor sod.
She frowns at Granger, Snape, whatever, "Well stop it already."
Hermione shrugs and has to admit, "I'm not sure how." MacDougal gives her a dirty look just visible through the bats flying between them.
"Sure you aren't. Stop it now before I report you for Hexing him in the hallways." She figures that's worth at least fifteen points if the woman's husband is to be believed. Thinking of Snape's words to Ernie, she adds with a slightly cruel smirk, "And here you're a Prefect, too..."
"I can't," Hermione answers firmly with a shake of her head and then stalks off to head into the Great Hall, deciding the situation is less likely to escalate if she disengages. She can just picture having to explain this to the Professor.
Michael watches her disappear through the curtain of bats, and when she's gone tells his friend, "We are so reporting this." At the least it will show that bastard Snape he's no pushover. Serves them right for the job those Snakes have done on his nose today. He happily counts Granger, Snape, whatever, amongst their number.
At just that moment a whisper comes from behind them and the temperature feels like it's dropped several degrees. They turn to see the bloody Baron fading into sight. "Because you would never do such a thing."
He floats there imposingly, rattling his chains in a threatening fashion for a spell, and when neither Ravenclaw works up the courage to speak, he addresses MacDougal, "Take him to the Infirmary, if you are so concerned about his welfare. I believe your... friends are already there." There's something about his face as he says it that makes her think he's just a little... smug. As she can't reconcile that with the apparition at all, she decides she's mistaken.
"Come on, Michael. I'll help you get to Pomfrey. I kind of wanted to check on Terry anyway." And wrapping an arm around her Housemate, MacDougal leads him away.
There was no threat voiced. Not at all. Frankly, they aren't entirely sure what the Baron could even do to them, but that doesn't seem like the kind of thing one should put to the test. Somehow the encounter leaves them shaken enough that neither feels it quite wise to report Granger, Snape, whatever after all. They let it slide.
And Hermione has enough other things on her mind to not even think to worry about it.
With Harry gone, Ron's attention turns to the others at his table and he begins to pick up on some of their conversation. That only proves he's also an idiot of the first order, had there still been any doubt.
Fay's "How many inches do you think he gave her last night?" has him raising an eyebrow in confusion. It practically coincides with Romilda's independent speculation "...ten inches..." which makes several girls giggle and leaves Ron sort of uncomfortable for reasons he can't explain and trying not to wonder what exactly they're discussing. Homework... Wands... Wait, wands??
Romilda's musings are promptly interrupted by Seamus' objection, "Those are some completely unrealistic expectations if ever I've heard any..."
He at least has the confidence to say so.
That certainly helps as Romilda doesn't hesitate to point out, "For the average wizard, sure, but then he's hardly the average wizard."
"'Hardly'!" one of the geese cackles to still more giggles.
Ron's begun to shift uneasily on his seat. He's got a bad feeling about this but can't quite put his finger on it.
"I've seen him Accio twenty-five things at once. Silently. Wandlessly," Kiera adds, sort of breathlessly.
"Woof," Demelza agrees.
"Woof?" Seamus asks.
"Woof," Romilda confirms, as though that cleared it up.
Ron now has a pretty good idea who they're talking about. Stupid pronouns. It probably helps to narrow things down that he doesn't know anyone capable of Summoning twenty-five things at once. Not even Bill could do that. And never mind silently, and sure as hell not wandlessly. Fuck.
Slightly dreamily, and isn't that scary, Romilda continues, "I bet he gave her an 'O' last night."
He should know better, he really should, but stupidly asks, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"An 'O'? Like an Orgasm?"
Not quite what he was expecting. No. Worse. Definitely worse. It shows on his face.
Romilda laughs, "Wow, you really don't have a clue, do you?"
Seamus is inclined to think with her remark about 'ten inches' that the fifth year hasn't much of one either, but he wisely bites his tongue faced with as many witches as he is. He's a good bit smarter than people give him credit for, and his mam has taught him never to underestimate a witch. And certainly not a gaggle of 'em.
"Believe me, Ron doesn't," Lavender agrees to much snickering. "Now Gaston, on the other hand, he could teach you a thing or two. Or ten." Her head tilts back, her eyes roll up and then her lids flutter closed as she bites her lower lip and makes a soft 'Unh', mimicking positively decadent rapture. Or Ron thinks so anyway, he's not entirely sure.
Colin just sits there staring. Well, that and wishing he'd been fast enough with his camera. Blast.
"'Ten'? Like in ten inches?" Romilda enquires with a wicked grin and a suggestive waggling of her eyebrows, and then she and the geese are off and squawking but Ron's no longer paying attention. He's just furious.
Which, naturally, is when Hermione enters.
Severus' mood is worsening. He can feel her irritation. She's not in danger, not under threat, just working his very last nerve. In absentia, even. It's... distressing.
Albus' condition has left him shaken, which naturally isn't helping. He's a lot more comfortable on the days he's able to storm about resentful and angry about the things Albus has him do. At the very least, it will make it easier to use the Avada on him. On days like today... If he isn't able to hate him after the man practically forced him to bond a student, take a Vow of celibacy, and gets him tortured for that in the bargain... He may be misremembering some of that, but he's entitled.
He's also rather annoyed to have discovered that Malfoy and Zabini both had Serpents on their arms. That's not entirely accurate, as he's also quite pleased about it, particularly the three Draco has. He can't wait to see how that turns out. Some part of his mind begins to set the odds, calculating the probabilities of various results for an internal wager. He discovers he's pleased with everything shy of death. He's still not certain how that would affect his Vow...
But the Legilimency he'd performed on Theo had shown that not only had those two received Serpents, but Crabbe and Goyle as well, and Norman Nott had also seen fit to send his son an owl. It was all so terribly obvious had anyone been watching. The degree of idiocy involved...
He had considered a scathing comment to the boys, when he'd seen the Serpents, but what was the point? They aren't responsible for their parents' actions. Merlin knows, they suffer for them often enough. They certainly will tonight. Heh. No, chastising them would have been adding insult to injury.
He pours himself a drink, from his own bottle of Ogden's, ta, as he sits there dreaming of sending an appropriately caustic owl to the Manor. Something scorching... And it hits him, even if it weren't a suicidal act in itself, there's really no one sensible to send it to. To a wizard and witch, the individuals who had sent the Serpents would fail to understand why it was so poorly advised. They fail - utterly - to comprehend how very much it matters just now who knows what when, and that these aren't things to reveal in front of the whole school. Severus is almost grateful he hadn't had to watch it take place. He'd have been miserably scanning to see everyone's reactions and then intent on chasing them down to see what they'd made of it.
And then there's the far more significant question: having the knowledge their parents obviously did, why did they feel the need to punish those children?
They are incredibly lucky that almost no one outside the House has ever made the connection between the Poste Serpentes and punitive measures.
He takes a sip and, once he's finished berating himself for ever joining the Death Eaters, again, tries to think - purely as a mental exercise - whom he could - theoretically - owl about this. Possibly Augustus Rookwood. He's intelligent, blessed with brains and the ability and willingness to use them. Severus sighs. He'd have been best served, all those years ago, if instead of becoming a Death Eater he'd simply played owl Chess with the man and left it at that.
It's rubbish. The chances they'd offered him, his apprenticeship...
Minerva had been excellent in her field, a real star, and well liked to boot, and not even she had landed an apprenticeship when she graduated. No, it had been a dreary Ministry job for her, and despite her hardworking nature she'd only survived a couple of years at it before throwing in the towel.
So what had he had to look forward to? He'd had poor prospects, few connections outside of the Death Eaters from his days at Hogwarts, certainly none from his family... With the climate as it had been at the time... It was the only offer he had and he took it, naïvely thinking he might be able to provide Lily some protection as well.
He can't honestly say anymore if he had hoped to rekindle even the least bit of affection for him on her part by doing so. If calling her a 'Mudblood' - once - had proven that cataclysmic to their friendship... That's a lie he's been telling himself fairly regularly for more than two decades now. It hadn't been the reason everything fell apart, just the final straw. There had been far too many issues before then, it had simply been the single moment he could point to when everything... ended. But he'd had no illusions about how unforgivable she'd find the Dark Mark on his arm. He knew there was no way back.
But he knows for a fact he was eager to show he was better than her idle trust fund rotters who never worked a day in their lives. Smarter, more capable, far more industrious. Useful.
Well he's certainly useful now.
Both sides of the war depend on him. Greatly. Where would they be without him?
Which begs the question why they both treat him so abysmally...
He Summons the bottle of Ogden's and puts it on the end table next to him. And if he doesn't bother to eat first, it only increases the efficiency of his drinking, doesn't it?
He may have asked some of that out loud, because the feline answers with a sympathetic 'Mrawr'.
"Slainte," Severus replies, raising his glass to him.
Turpin and Goldstein are still working him over when Harry spots Hermione come in. She sits, well sort of by Ron, and it strikes Harry then that Gin isn't there yet and that Hermione really isn't too close to the other girls. He looks around, yeah, with Neville gone... She really is a bit of an outsider. It's not that Harry is that much better connected to their Housemates, really - of the three of them, that's kind of Ron's thing - but being the Quidditch captain integrates Harry. Somehow.
The Ravenclaws really do have him pinned, he realises, and suddenly he does indeed wish to escape. Maybe the Eagles weren't quite as foolish as he'd thought. He's stopped listening to whatever Turpin's banging on about now and watches his friends intently instead.
Ron appears to have made some kind of crack, and Hermione's hair is doing that thing it does, and she cries out. A few heads have begun to turn and Harry quickly puts up Muffliato. It's crummier than usual because it's on them, and he's not included. That's really hard to work, and he's just lucky the Ravenclaws are too busy lecturing him to pay attention and learn the spell. He sort of likes keeping it secret.
He thinks he may have agreed to... something. And then he has a brilliant idea, and suddenly he's taking advantage of Ron's detention Saturday morning buggering their schedule to make it appear he's making a concession to their demands and settling for pre-dawn practice instead. Brill. That goes over really well, and in their satisfaction they break ranks for a moment and then he just pushes out of their midst with a, "Gotta go..."
"Wait," Turpin calls out, "but the Hufflepuffs..."
But Harry's slipped through their talons and Anthony just replies, "...Can sort their own schedule. That's not our lookout."
Draco tells Theo and Blaise to go on without him, he needs to go back for something.
"Should we wait?" Theo asks.
"No, don't be silly. Go to lunch. I'll see you in Arithmancy." Theo nods. Blaise smirks, to this day completely satisfied with himself for having avoided that perfectly horrible class. He's not an idiot. Draco catches his look and gives him a slight smile back. With the Serpents on his arm, he's really not up to more. "Blaise, I'll catch you later."
He turns and heads back towards the dungeons, but once the other two are out of sight, he withdraws to a lavatory he knows will be unfrequented to cast the Revelio that will decipher his mother's owl.
Moaning Myrtle greets him as he enters, "Draco! How have you been?" Floating around him, circling him with readily apparent pleasure.
"Hello, Myrtle. Not so well, I fear."
"Are you making any progress with... you know?"
"No," he sounds defeated.
Myrtle likes the cute blond. She likes that he comes to visit, a little less regularly lately, which she can fully understand, considering... Well... But more than anyone else ever has. She's missed him. And it really doesn't hurt that he's easy on her eyes and has never teased her about her spots or glasses.
"But I've had some good excuses lately. Lots of detention." There's a mock cheeriness about him that has her worried. She's been there herself. Less cheery, naturally, but she recognises the signs. Except ghosts can't do themselves any more harm. She's not too sure that's true for the seventh year standing before her. "And I half took up residence in the Infirmary."
"Draco? That doesn't exactly sound good..."
"It's never good," he replies with an honesty she instantly recognises, even if she'll never understand the depths of that truth. "I just stopped by to read a letter from my mother and say 'hello'. You don't mind if I do that here? It seemed... fitting, somehow." It's where it all began after all.
"I'm glad you're still willing to return, you know... after..." Myrtle's eyes shoot to the spot on the floor where Draco knows he nearly met his death. It would have simplified things. Severus had saved him, in fact. And Myrtle. Had she not cried for help... And how does he thank either of them for it?
He has a moment where he considers that she's lonely, she's always been lonely. Had she not summoned help for him last year when Potter gutted him like a fish, she was more likely to have had his company forevermore. And yet her first and only instinct had been to scream murder, to summon help. He resolves to visit her more. And truthfully, he's forgotten how he felt better after talking to her.
"I need to read my mother's letter, send her an answer, and then I still have to go to class." Merlin knows, he won't have time to answer after classes. "But if you wouldn't mind, maybe I could visit again soon?"
"I'd like that." She brightens instantly, becoming more opaque. He looked so pale coming in here though... She works up some selfless courage, just this once, and asks, "But is it good for you to do that?"
He shrugs, looks at her and says something she's never heard before, "I guess I've missed you."
Myrtle wisely goes silent at that, blinking a little owlishly behind her glasses, and then deciding to be a better... her instead asks, "Would you like a little privacy for that?"
He nods a bit stiffly, not at all eager to read the letter, but needs must... And then he wonders if he's a bit of a heel, chasing her from the room, but she just smiles and tells him she hopes to see him again soon before parting.
Which leaves him alone with his mother's owl.
It's worse than he feared and exactly what he should have expected. He simply hadn't been giving it any thought, if possible. His hand absently rubs the paper snakes under his sleeve as he thinks it. It would seem Severus had reported what had happened Friday fairly accurately. Draco supposes he hadn't really had much choice. How else would he explain the bonding? If it had just been about how they'd... he'd tied Granger to McGonagall's chair it probably wouldn't have been so bad, but then that probably wouldn't have led to the Headmaster having the Muggle-born students... witches bonded.
No, Severus had had to tell them about Crabbe's Potion.
His mother makes it perfectly clear what she thinks about that.
It doesn't matter that the Potion was poorly brewed, or that nothing really happened... She wants to know what he was thinking to give it to a classmate, to anyone? But very specifically: how he could do something like that to someone he'd sat in class beside for over six years.... And what had he thought was going to happen? He doesn't believe telling her he hadn't thought that through will be much help, even if it is the truth.
She also makes it perfectly clear he's to meet her on the next Hogsmeade weekend, under the guise of getting measured for new dress robes. She wants a word with him. He doesn't imagine he'll be getting those robes anymore, either. Of course, if Severus has any say in the matter, and he most certainly does at school, it's unlikely Draco would have any chance to attend a function where he'd need them.
A little glumly, he slides down onto the floor and sets about writing a reply. If he hurries, he should have plenty of time to get it to Mercury waiting up in the Owlery and send his response back to his mother before class.
Harry quickly joins his friends, slipping himself into the Muffliato, and it really is a rotten buzzy thing. Not his finest work. It hums so loudly, even for those inside it, that both Hermione and Ron were well aware it was there, each assuming the other had cast it so they could argue more freely. Taking it as the other throwing down the gauntlet, both were giving as good as they got and quite thoroughly cross by the time Harry joined them.
Ron makes a comment about how glad he was not to have had Snape in Potions, how much more they learn, how much better the class... Harry can't help thinking Ron definitely hadn't learnt much today, not in general, obviously, and certainly not in Potions, none of them had, really, but then that's hardly the point of his claim. Next he'd probably start in with how he wishes they had Slughorn again, but Hermione doesn't give him the chance.
She's shouting now, and Harry is thankful he got the Muffliato up on time. It's highly probable, however, that she wouldn't have risked shouting without it. "You and your thankless ilk," it sounds beyond dodgy the way she says it, and Harry's wondering if Gin might have been right about Mrs. Weasley sending a Howler, "have no idea what he goes through for the Order..."
Harry makes the mistake of trying to arbitrate between them. Unfortunately, for him that means substantially agreeing with Ron, but being more diplomatic about the phrasing, as if that made any real difference. It might, but not to Hermione and not today. And she's perfectly capable of mapping that back onto their usual language anyway. "He just meant class was a lot more enjoyable without someone taking points off of us for every last thing..."
His ever so considerate translation coincides with Ron's reply, now every bit as heated as Hermione's, "It couldn't happen to a nicer guy. I can't think of anyone more deserving."
Hermione looks back an forth between them, feeling attacked from all sides. For her, a few things are clear. The Professor wouldn't have landed in the Infirmary last night were it not for their bonding. They wouldn't have considered a bonding had she not been attacked Friday. And that would never have happened had Ron not had the poor taste to ignore her advice and be 'Malfoy' for Halloween the week before, like a complete and utter prat.
Or had Harry not nearly killed Malfoy last year, for that matter. That might have been worse.
Her eyes narrow combatively and with something of the air of a trapped animal about her she tells them, "This was all your fault. You caused this whole mess." She knows they've been told it was so, and she has little patience for their apparent denial.
If things weren't going badly before, they certainly do now.
Harry balks severely because now he thinks she means something he desperately doesn't want to have caused, he can't have caused. He wouldn't know how to live with himself if he did, so clearly it didn't happen. Except reality doesn't work that way, and his construct to help him cope is a ridiculously flimsy thing. Not wanting a thing to be so doesn't make that the case.
As his worst fears are wrong, he'd do well to speak to Hermione, but because he can't voice them, because he's terrified she'll look him in the eye if he ever did and say just that, 'it was his fault'... He wouldn't survive it. And because he instinctively knows Ron can never hear even a hint of it... Well, that conversation doesn't happen.
And Ron, well Ron was even more fully in denial anyway. But as he hasn't formulated the same particular nightmare vision as Harry has, he's less gentle when dealing with Hermione. To be fair, she doesn't exactly pull her punches either, but in her already weakened state, Ron's land more truly even with the Calming Draughts, and all Hermione registers is Ron's brutality, and that both boys seem intent on weaselling their way off the hook, denying all responsibility for their actions.
There's a short moment when she wonders if she's ever hated anyone more.
Given the events of Friday... Well, that's a harsh statement. But the real difference is the feeling of betrayal that accompanies the things her 'friends' are saying now. Malfoy was a twat, had always been a twat and would probably always be a twat. She expected nothing else of him. Whatever else had happened Friday, it hadn't been a betrayal. This, this however...
"Says who? Snape? Like you can believe a thing he says," the loathing is all too tangible in Ron's tone. Hermione would point out that she very much can due to the bond, thank you very much, but doesn't get the chance. It's just as well, as Ron wouldn't have liked to hear it. "And I thought you were supposed to be the 'brightest witch of your age'." The sarcasm drips from his tongue, and Hermione flinches as though hit. Those were never her words, she'd never acknowledged the title, but it follows her around, in the worst kind of way.
"I know, that's why," she asserts, thinking all reasonable discussion thwarted by her Oath to the Headmaster. That may be the case, but the personalities involved are every bit as much a hindrance at this point.
Ron only snorts at her claim. It sets something loose in her, she sees red and kind of wants his blood. She goes for the throat. "You were mentioned by name, actually." The Oath permits that much, but she suspects not much more. But in case that's not clear enough, she hisses, "Friday."
Harry blanches.
"Well then you're just giving them what they want aren't you? Fighting with us like this..." Ron always seems to be laying the blame at her feet, at anyone's feet but his own.
It goes that way for a few minutes more before she finally has the sense to do what she should have done minutes before. Wiping the tears from her eyes, mindful of the promise she made Luna, she snatches a pastie from the table and practically flees from the room.
Neither of the boys moves to follow her, not that it would have been likely to help much at this point. Harry finds himself unable to eat another bite. Inasmuch as Turpin had pulled him away from the table before he'd eaten much, by Herbology his stomach will be growling. But less so than Ron himself currently is.
Someone else has been keenly observing the exchange, however, and now follows Hermione from the room.
Severus is throughly wretched. Wherever the witch in question is, he shuts his eyes, listens to the bond an decides it's in the vicinity of the Great Hall, but has to acknowledge he's cheating a little knowing full well it's the lunch hour, she's in quite a state. As if the strop before hadn't been sufficient, she's gone from the comparative to the superlative. From 'angrier' to 'angriest'. It never occurs to him that his absconding had contributed that shift.
He's more than a little angered himself, knowing full well she clearly hasn't taken the Draught of Don't Give a Fuck like he'd advised, and he's now royally... cheesed off. She seemed to believe him when they spoke yesterday, planning how best to approach this. And then she didn't take his advice... But then why on earth should she, it's not like he has any experience with Potions or anything...
His mood now dark as Hermione's, he pours himself another tumbler of Ogden's.
A/N:
Happy 20th.
Spoiler alert: Two decades later, Severus is alive and well and exceedingly happy with Hermione, and the two of them are brewing up a storm. The best revenge is a long and happy life.