“beyond wandpoint” 073a by gingerbred
“11 11m Tuesday - Sub-Optimally 3 Flinching” Part 1
Hermione, Severus, Draco, Theo Nott, Luna, the Bloody Baron, Morag MacDougal, Blaise Zabini, Tracey Davis, Daphne Greengrass, Alberta Runcorn, Vincent 'Vince' Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent 'Millie' Bulstrode, Harper Hutchinson, Hestia and Flora Carrow, Valerie Vaisey, Crooks, Sunny, the Centaurs
Originally Published: 2018-05-10 on AO3
Chapter: 073 part 1
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.
As the doors shut to behind her, Hermione takes a decision. It's far from the worst one she's made lately. There's a feeling of relief as she resolves to give herself a break and not eat in the Great Hall any time soon. It's simple enough. Easily arranged. And she just can't see how she's supposed to make it work, sitting at the Gryffindor table, the subject of snide remarks and ridicule...
No. No more of that.
Enough.
She'll just have Sunny bring her something in chambers. Which are perfectly lovely, really. Yes. That should be... nice. She'll be fine there. Just fine.
With the way the elf is coming to feel about his new witch, that's likely to greatly improve the fare as well. That's hardly the goal, but it's surely a 'nice to have'.
Next she berates herself for not taking the Draught of Peace. She'd known better, Merlin, she'd had advice from the most competent Potions professional she's ever encountered to that effect, and somehow she'd still managed to bugger it up. How hard was it to just take the damn Potion? Well, she hadn't had it with her this morning, had she, and last night had been... Sort of unexpected. Not that it should have been, she supposes, but she's still too new to this... Give her time, she'll master it. She's sure of it.
Well, sort of...
And then she hadn't wanted to second guess Madam Pomfrey when she prescribed the Calming Draught, and now look where she's landed.
She feels remarkably thick.
She's certain had she taken the proper Potion, that little set to with Ron and Harry could have been avoided. Sure, Ron would still have been a rude clod, an arrogant little so and so... That's not the point. But it was pretty much a given. Merlin knows, they've been there often enough over the years. But if she hadn't responded... This was all so avertible. So unnecessary...
To make matters worse, there's virtually no chance the Professor isn't aware that she apparently ignored his advice, and he'll probably also be all too aware that she's been... arguing. She chews her lip anxiously. She's really screwed this up. Royally.
It would probably be a better solution to talk to the Professor about his weak Notice-Me-Not Charm and try using that to better cope with the days to come, but in light of her little oversight with the Draught, she doesn't think she has the courage to do so. No. No, probably not.
So in a second resolution in minutes, she decides not to leave chambers for the foreseeable future without taking the Draught of Peace first. She can do that. At least until she has herself under control. Which she very apparently doesn't just yet. Bugger.
Well, to be fair, it was probably too soon. Live and learn. And learn she shall...
Determination clear on her face, her chin tilted up at a defiant angle no one was ever meant to see (in part because it looks rather silly and she sort of senses it), pastie a little too firmly in hand (a fact made all the more clear by the pumpkin juices that begin to run down her hand, damn it, but then that's what Tergeos are for), she stomps off down the corridor, trying to put some distance between herself and the Hall.
Just in case.
As her irritation increases, and it's very clearly increased - what the fuck had Albus been thinking to include the emotional connection in their bond like this - so too does the amount Severus imbibes.
He's now well on his way to being seriously impaired once this hits his bloodstream. Short of a Bezoar or an emetic, there's no way back, a fact he finds eminently satisfying, which makes for a nice change to... absolutely everything else, really. He's just waiting for the effect to hit. Preferably squarely between the eyes. Huzzah!
He's trying to remember why he doesn't just magick the stuff into his system. There were... reasons... They elude him now. It'll probably come to him when he sobers up. And promptly stop mattering at roughly the same time.
He sits there, slouched on his couch, sulking, drinking his Ogden's and fervently hoping she'll just go to whatever class... Ugh, class... Class! A godsdamned student! Albus is a fucking bastard... Except he's technically neither of those things, really. Pedantry is a burden... Severus will have to find a better suited term for the hoary old arse... Later.
Actually, 'hoary arse' works.
It probably is, too.
And now he needs the non-existent mental Scourgify to get the image of Albus' buttocks out of his mind... Obliviation is not too extreme!
Severus' hand waves dramatically in the air, one of his long fingers stabbing emphatically upwards to reinforce his point that no one has any desire to dispute. On the contrary, the Kneazle meows his complete agreement, which is probably a good indicator that Severus is voicing many of his thoughts, a fact that will annoy him some later. For the present, however, he simply gives the feline a firm, if slightly wobbly, nod of approval and toasts him again.
But, honestly, Severus is just being patently absurd about the Obliviation, because of course it is. Too extreme. Although the claim had sounded good. Rather. Hell, even the cat had thought so. But he has no idea why it isn't an Unforgivable outside of a medical setting, really...
Obliviations, not Kneazles.
Actually, he throws the cat a baleful glance, perhaps Kneazles should be unforgivable, too. He may have given voice to that as well, because Crooks answers with something that sounds suspiciously like a growl and a flick of his tail. Severus apologises, a touch pro forma, for his facetiousness and scratches the creature behind his ears (Reparations!), because at some point it seems to have moved from Miss Granger's chair to the couch. Severus isn't quite clear when that happened. And he calls himself a spy...
Where was he again? Right. A student.
Fucking hell.
He really doesn't know what he did to deserve this...
Except for all of the things he did to deserve this...
Fuck.
Right.
Well then.
And not just a student. No. A student who has little compunction about Obliviation. Actually, that's probably fine; neither does he. (One might think his current thoughts on the matter belie that, but he doesn't notice the inconsistency.) No, they're in excellent company. Ah, well, except she'd Obliviated her own family.
Fucking hell.
He's already said that, though, didn't he? It probably can't be said often enough.
A student, for fuck's sake.
Well, not his student. Small mercies. He's trying to decide if that makes the situation any better, which is stupid, because of course it does, but he is not. Best. Pleased. Not about any of it.
Bugger.
No. He's married... Worse! Bonded! To a student.
A student who is doing his head in, almost as much as the facts of that bonding. Hmm. Perhaps more so...
He hopes, Merlin, so very much so, that she'll just go to whatever godsdamned class she has next and for the love of all he holds dear, cease. This. Onslaught.
He really can't take it anymore.
Which would be funny given how well he handles the Cruciatus, if it weren't so bloody, irreversibly...
... sad.
Theo and Blaise slide into the free seats amidst their fellow seventh years on opposite sides of the Slytherin table, Theo between Tracey and Gregory, and Blaise between Daphne and Vince. Alberta Runcorn is there, too, seated at Vince's other side. The mood in their little group is noticeably subdued, unsurprising, faced with the prospect of opening their Serpents later this afternoon as most of the boys in their year are. The questions as to what they'd done to deserve this make the mood even more tense.
They know, beyond any doubt, that the Poste Serpentes have to be considered true to be created, and perceived as deserved for them to work. And they're having a difficult time imagining all the senders could be so wildly mistaken in having made the things. Considering the people involved... Well, it seems far from likely. The sum of which makes the absence of guilt they're currently feeling a pretty unsettling thing. Blaise, Theo and Tracey have all independently speculated as to an Obliviate. That's not remotely a comfortable feeling, for obvious reasons.
Theo's better off than his roommates, of course, thanks both to the absence of Serpents around his own arm and those... unusual words of praise from his father this morning. There's a spot next to Pansy a little further down their table that Theo half suspects will remain empty given whom she'd probably been saving it for. They haven't... She and Draco, that is... Well, they haven't been seeing one another since last year, but they're still friends. Better, in some ways, Theo suspects, now that 'it's' over.
Still enjoying the role of a wizard of action (Is he ever!) and assorted good deeds, at least that's the way he's decided to see it, or sometimes anyway, he tells her Draco had an errand to run and asks if she'd like to join them.
Honestly, Pansy doesn't like Theo all that much, and he knows that well enough. Usually he'd have avoided serving her up a chance to slight him, but today, today he's a man of courage and, um, well, yeah, maybe action. Or something. No, 'action' was right. He had done. That was true enough...
It takes Pansy a few minutes to finally give up hope Draco is coming and a little reluctantly slide over. Theo will take it as another win. He's stockpiling.
In the meantime, Blaise, completely tired of all the moping, so over it, has decided it's time to change things up. He's sick of all the long faces. Those only lead to wrinkles of the worst sort. And then only the strongest Glamours will do. If his mother has taught him only one thing, it's that there's not a Potion been brewed yet to deal properly with glabellar wrinkles. Frown lines... Merlin.
Well, that and how to poison people. And get away with it. Actually, she's taught him a lot...
Ah, wait, technically Polyjuice would be an exception on the wrinkle front, that would solve it, but then that's hardly a practical solution longer term. Admittedly, Professor Not!Moody's success with the Potion might lead one to believe otherwise. But when one looks as good as Blaise does... Why would he want to look like anyone else? Rubbish. It's all so terribly... needless.
So he's started telling the others how Theo had challenged the wretched Ravenclaws and horrible Head Boy... No, really, no less than the Head Boy himself! How those tossers had been slagging off their Head of House, and how Theo courageously took them on, despite being outnumbered - he didn't hesitate for a moment, never even blinked. And won. That was a key part of the story, after all.
There are a few disbelieving looks, but Blaise remains undeterred.
Blaise, whatever else he is, is an excellent storyteller. He's a charismatic boy, and he weaves an extraordinarily distracting tale. He has no need to put himself or Draco in the forefront of the story. For one, they hadn't been really, not that it would necessarily stop him from saying so, but their roles are perfectly established with his audience - or at least for a few more hours, not that he knows it - and he paints a highly dynamic picture of their shy Housemate, taking on the evil hordes, with his loyal friends at his side and back.
A few more Slytherins, Millicent Bulstrode accompanied by mostly sixth years, predominantly the Quidditch players, work their way over to them, eager to hear the story that seems to have caught their Housemates' interest.
Blaise goes on to tell in not entirely accurate (but all the more amusing) detail how Potter's recruits - after Dumblebore's Army had been caught fifth year, everyone knew all about their little 'secret' - had failed miserably faced with the superiorly wielded Slytherin wands. Go Snakes! Even if most people can agree that it makes perfect sense that the Slytherins hadn't been invited to join the thoroughly stupid 'DA' (especially as roughly half had been members of Umbridge's secret police at the time), there remains a non-trivial degree of somewhat illogical resentment attached to that fact.
That's quite evident in moments such as these.
Blaise's description of Boot's face alone causes fits of laughter. After Gregory gets over his uncomfortable recollection of his own experience with the Hex, it really hadn't been pleasant, even he finds a certain vindication in the idea Draco had used it and shyly begins to smile. There's a pleasing symmetry to it. When Gregory tells the others just how bad it had been, and Blaise assures them, this version was worse... Well, they have cause to laugh again.
Oh! And the House points. Merlin, that was funny. How Theo had actually objected. To the Head himself! They should have seen the look on his face. But then how pleased Professor Snape, hell, they'd all been with his solution. Five points to Slytherin, fine, it wasn't much, but forty-five from Ravenclaw, pending Flitwick's decision when it will probably be more, count on it, and thirty-five from Hufflepuff just for Macmillan alone. Truly not a bad score.
Ah, yes, and the Head Boy had detention with Filch, too.
Smiles and nods greet that statement. Even if Draco doesn't seem upset not to have been made Head Boy, his Housemates are more than willing to carry this particular grudge for him.
The mood now vastly improved, Tracey goes on to tell how Theo - yes, Theo - had also saved the Head Girl from her exploding cauldron, because the Weasel is and will ever remain an idiot, really (more nods there), and Dumblebore is woefully inadequate as a Potions instructor. There's still more laughter, and a few people clap Theo on the back, Vince a little too roughly, naturally, which causes the far skinnier boy to choke on his lunch a bit. Fortunately no one feels the need to keep thumping as he coughs his way through it.
When he's finally able to speak, Theo decides to carry on as he has been today. Mustering his courage for the inevitable backlash, but taking full Slytherin advantage of their lighter moods, he tries to explain to the others that part of the problem was that the Ravenclaws, yes and Macmillan, too, hadn't just been deriding their Head... but his wife. And he expects that will be a problem in the near future. And, um, he sort of thinks they might need to do something about that?
Predictably, the laughter stops.
"Theo..." Tracey starts in a softly warning tone. It's a little funny as she's completely out of... well, everything, really. She's well clear of the war, or as much as anyone can be in their House. She wasn't even a member of Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad. She has no idea how bad it is... out there, but she thinks she needs to remind him. As though his own father weren't one of the Dark Lord's oldest... whatever they are, and one of the only remaining ones, at that, too. No, Theo knows the realities of, well, reality, all too well. That doesn't mean he's wrong. Just, possibly, swimming in dangerous waters. Very dangerous waters.
But he's sure he's right.
Vincent is ready to cut him down, but Blaise swoops in to stop Vince and to give Theo some cover, possibly because he's still feeling the high of their duelling success. And of course, Vince is a troglodyte and Theo has a good head and heart, and if one were to listen to only one of the two of them, it should clearly be Theo. He just needs to be given a chance to be heard. Blaise can arrange that. And he can't help wondering why Theo is the only one of them walking around without a Serpent. It probably also helps that he still has Professor Snape's admonition to follow Theo's lead kicking about his thoughts.
"The Head himself specifically said we were to treat her with respect. He was very clear." And like that, all objections are silenced for the moment as they think it through.
Obviously, not everyone has the same capacity for doing so, and it's not all too long before Vince mutters something about how Blaise and Theo can't possibly be serious about protecting the Mudblood... Alberta is quick to agree, and they find some comfort in mutually reaffirming their prejudices.
Theo goes a little pale, wondering if he's overplayed his hand, but luck and Blaise are on his side. Zabini just smirks and replies, "Old Nott himself owled Theo that he should support Professor Snape with this in any way he can. He knows exactly what happened, and more than any of us, I'd wager. So what do you think he meant? And if the Head says we're to do this, do you think it wise to ignore him?"
And then his smirk twists, becoming cruel. He and his family may not be part of the Death Eaters, but Blaise knows his way around power, it's practically instinctive for him, and he is far smarter than Vince will ever be. "Or do you really mean to suggest that Norman Nott has gone soft? Or Professor Snape?"
Vince is paler now than Theo ever got. He knows exactly where his father stands, dwarfed in Nott's shadow. Theo isn't - will never be - the kind of Death Eater Vincent intends to become, but there can be no question about the respect due to his father. And the Professor... Well. No, it's clear where the men stand.
Which makes the discussion that follows an interesting and unusual thing. They very much don't agree on the blood purity questions in Slytherin. More than a few of them think war is foolish and wasteful of magical resources. If one wishes to count lives as such, too, so be it. They are unquestionably one of many assets lost. For the majority, the fact remains: war is stupidity. But each side recognising that no matter how things end, it could prove highly disadvantageous to have articulated such thoughts, they rarely speak openly with one another on the matter.
And yet here they're faced with a safely contained issue. A single, specific case, where one needn't suggest that the course of behaviour anyone recommends arises from anything other than a desire to be loyal to their House or Head. Certainly none of them are blood traitors or Mudblood-lovers.
Probably.
So the question is how should they behave respective their Head's bondmate. And what should they do if she's faced with abuse from others? How do they act? How do they respond?
Tracey informs Theo and Blaise, "While you were apparently busy duelling the Ravenclaws, Madam Snape..." A few people draw sharp breaths at that, but Tracey has little patience for them, replying sharply, "Yes, get ahold of yourselves. We're all agreed that will take some adjustment, but Merlin's blighted bollocks, you have brains in your heads, have you not?" She's not too sure that's true of Vince, to name just one example, but it seems judicious to make that claim.
"Either way," she returns her attention to her Potions classmates, "the witch left lunch before you even got here after arguing with Potter and the Weasel."
She shifts to the others at the table, trying to drive her point home, "Slighting Madam Snape is tantamount to slighting our Head and our House."
When Alberta and Pansy begin to object, she stops them with a raised hand and continues, "I know we didn't ask for this, but I don't believe for a moment any of you think he did either. Or for that matter that Granger did."
Again, Pansy moves to object, Millicent and Vince now joining in. Tracey doesn't stop, "There's no way she's been manoeuvring to get herself bonded to the Professor. That's ridiculous. Or do you think there's the remotest chance that she outfoxed him to do so?" Several people shake their heads, even though the question was clearly rhetorical, their feelings on the matter overriding their sense of decorum. "I have her in enough of my classes. Blaise, Theo, you, too. You can't tell me you believe any more than I do that she wanted this."
Theo instantly nods his agreement, Blaise follows a moment later, just a bit more reserved. Pansy now laughs and does as well, expanding on it, "No, Merlin knows she's been mooning after the Weasel for half an age."
Daphne corrects a little softly, "I think less so lately..." But Vince's half-automatic, "Blood-traitor!" drowns it out for the most part.
Sixth year Harper Hutchinson, a strong tactician, ignores them both, "Either way, the others seem to be cutting her loose. That creates a void, provides opportunities." When Tracey looks like she's about to protest, if only on principle, he shifts direction just as smoothly as he would on his broom during a Quidditch match, "We'll need to step up a little."
There's some further debate as to what that might entail. How far they're willing to go.
"How many House points are we willing to let it cost us?" Harper, ever practical, enquires of the group as the discussion winds down.
Flora Carrow challenges, "Does it matter, if we believe it's the right course of action?"
Her twin sister Hestia had laughed and answered simultaneously, "Does it matter? It's not like Dumblebore has any intention of letting us win." Harper looks at them both and now laughs as well, so similar and yet so different.
Theo thinks back to how the Head had sorted the aftermath of the duel a bit ago, "I think the Professor will try to see to it we don't lose too many off of this if we can maintain at least the appearance of having been in the right."
And now it's Blaise's turn to laugh, wholeheartedly. "A veneer of respectability, then. We just need to make it look like we're keeping things... clean." His family practically wrote the tome on the subject.
"Don't Hex first," Harper agrees with a smile. "But when you do, don't get caught." His eyes are positively sparkling with glee at the thought. This sounds like it's going to be fun. House sanctioned fun.
There's an strange moment as they look around the table and realise they've actually spoken their minds and voiced most of their objections for once, and they're more or less in agreement. An odd state of affairs. It's sort of... nice.
Conversation turns to the afternoon Quidditch practice. With four members of the team sporting Serpents, somehow it doesn't seem likely that they're going to have a very productive session this evening.
Valerie Vaisey, sixth year Chaser, turns to Flora. This is her sister Hestia's second year on the team now, the Carrow girl is a fellow Chaser with some truly remarkable skills on a broom. Valerie figures Hestia won't have learnt to fly in isolation, and they are identical twins after all. Valerie also remembers first year with Madam Hooch in Broom Flight Class. Both Carrows had been rather stunning, even on the school's wonky brooms. "Any chance you could fill in, just for practice?"
Flora, however, has none of her sister's inclination to fly about a pitch. Whatever for? She's far from miserable on a broom, no, she knows what she's doing well enough, but can't for the life of her see the attraction of the sport. Why would she? As she sees it, the only thing she has going for her beyond her green thumbs is the brain between her ears. Why on earth would she risk it with flying Bludgers and Beaters' bats and the like? She'd have to be mental... "We're not interchangeable you know," she retorts, a little vexed.
Hestia can't quite seem to make up her mind if she finds that funny, or the possible insinuation that the twins are essentially the same just as annoying as her sister does.
Before she can decide one way or another and the girls get themselves too ruffled, Harper butts in, "There's no point, either way. The whole idea of practice is to have the people who will actually be playing in the match get some practice in. What's the use if it's just the three of us?" He gives the seventh year boys a look of reproach. Gregory at least turns slightly pink. He's hardly the best Snake, as reflexes like that amply demonstrate. He should have gotten over it first year.
Harper proceeds, "But I heard the Ravenclaws whinging to Potter that we hadn't left them any practice time..." That's instantly met with a chorus of objections. "No, relax. Please." There's a hint of disdain about it that anyone could be so foolish as to think he was such a pushover. "I wasn't going to suggest we give them the slot, but the Hufflepuffs will be in the same boat. What do you say, we offer it to them, and they can owe us one?"
"May as well," Valerie agrees. "The Ravenclaws will never believe we're doing it out of the goodness of our hearts anyway."
As they get down to discussion of practice and their strategy for the upcoming match, Theo rises, surplus to requirements, making his excuses and taking a couple of pasties with him, thinking he just might catch Draco before their next class.
Hermione, quite reasonably, will undoubtably be thrilled when they approach her.
Hermione's deeply lost in thought and doesn't hear her name called out. It comes as a complete surprise to her a moment later when someone reaches out to grab her arm. Startled, she whips around quickly, wand in hand, only to realise she now has that wand pointed rather uncomfortably at Luna's throat.
"Holy Cricket, Luna!" She packs her wand back up her sleeve, but she's trembling somewhat noticeably, and Luna considers her suspicions about Hermione's state of mind confirmed. Keeping her hands visible, she gently puts them on Hermione's arms and leans forward and... yes, Hermione is fairly certain the blonde just sniffed her.
This will probably have something to do with Nargles, she's sure.
It actually has more to do with the very, very, blessedly extremely faint trace of the smell of valerian root about her, a telltale sign of Calming Draught. Or proximity in the passing week to Ron's socks. Hardly a good thing. Either, really.
Thankfully, Hermione is unaware of this, Luna's sense of smell is highly refined or she wouldn't have caught it, and it fades rapidly from one's system before the Draught even wears off. Even more fortunately, the citrus and patchouli notes of valerian become stronger when brewed, more than balancing the somewhat... funky basenote, but the combination of the three is very telling. The hint of lavender Luna had scented, stronger by far, could have been anything, shampoo, soap, the lingering scent of a magical blanket... But combined with the valerian, Luna is quite sure her friend is taking Calming.
And yet here she stands, trembling. Easily startled. Awfully quick to think the worst, to draw her wand. Despite the Potion.
If Potions and Care of Magical Creatures weren't offered at the same time, and were she any less committed to becoming a Magizoologist, Luna would have been exceptional in that course. She uses senses when brewing that most people wouldn't think to. Much like Severus does, in fact.
"Hermione..." she doesn't get further than that.
"I took something to eat with me!" Hermione starts in defensively, already fearing the worst, and holding up her now slightly smushed pastie, clenched in her hand and waving it just a bit manically in front of Luna's face.
"Easy, relax." Again she raises a hand, this time to lower Hermione's pastie wielding arm. There's an element of self-interest there, too, because the thing is sort of... dripping. "I know you did. I saw you take it before you left the Great Hall. Good for you, Hermione."
Hermione looks sceptical, feeling humoured, managed, and Luna, smiling, reassures her, "No, it is. It's good for you."
That statement hovers between them, and Hermione eventually realises it wasn't simply a matter of praise.
"About your bonding..." Luna starts. Again, she doesn't get far.
Hermione has been dreading this.
No one seems to have reacted well to the news from the outset. Some might come around, but the initial response is always... unpleasant. And if she's learnt anything from her interactions with Harry and Ron, it'll be that her not having told them about the bonding herself while she sat there, closemouthed, beside them had made things far worse. Not that she could have, but that wasn't the point. It had made them angrier and contributed to their falling out.
As Luna is the only one beyond Harry to have shown any concern when she landed in the Infirmary this weekend... Hermione's had plenty of chances to tell her friend about the bonding, at least, she thinks, she worries that's how Luna will see it.
She assumes this will be just another person feeling she's let her down. Betrayed their friendship. The accusations are a forgone conclusion. The only thing in question is the intensity of the reproaches.
"Luna, please," it sounds a lot like the plea that it is. "I'm not up to any more fighting..." Hermione, indeed, sounds beaten, and she's looking frazzled. "I just can't take it anymore, and frankly, I haven't had enough sleep for this."
Luna, being Luna, surprises Hermione completely. Without comment, because, really, Hermione isn't letting her finish her sentences anyway, she digs about in the bag slung over one shoulder and fishes out a grapefruit sized silver blob which she then transfers to her left hand. That certainly was not any of the responses Hermione was expecting. Luna keeps rummaging, and a moment later has a second blobby sphere shape in her other hand.
She promptly extends one of them towards Hermione.
Hermione, a mite foolishly, stands there blinking.
"I brought you a wedding present," Luna explains. Not that it clarifies what the thing actually is, not at all, probably a Snorkack detector or something, but at least it defines the category into which it falls.
Hermione takes the proffered object in her free hand and Luna thankfully explains, because Hermione is at rather a loss. "I thought candleholders would be appropriate."
That's actually a very helpful clue, and now Hermione has an idea of how to orientate the thing. In fact, now that she's done so, she thinks she recognises what it had originally been. "Swede?"
"Neeps," Luna nods smiling broadly, confirming Hermione's identification. Frankly, it makes perfect sense from someone who wears radish earrings and carrot green fascinators. "I cut the bottoms off so they'll stand smoothly without wobbling upside down, and then cored them to hold both a standard sized candle or a tea light," she points proudly, and Hermione spots the two concentric circles of different depths in the top, "And then I Transfigured them to silver. Well, not real silver, obviously, that would be Alchemy, but then you know that..." Luna trails off as Hermione stands there, staring at the thing, blinking more and more rapidly.
"Congratulations?" Luna tries. Hermione still doesn't respond.
"I'm very sorry the Professor isn't feeling well. Padma mentioned that he'd missed class, and I know it must be bad for him to do so, because he doesn't really..." Hermione could be a statue for all the response Luna is getting. A little hopefully she goes on, "But I'm sure he'll recover soon?"
It comes out sounding more like a question, it's unclear if that's because she isn't sure of the truth of the statement or just what else to say to reach her friend, but it seems to work because Hermione lets out a sob and gives her a huge hug. It makes a tremendous difference that Luna is probably the only student Hermione considers herself likely to speak with to be hopeful for his recovery. Hermione had been desperate for him to get well, terrified he wouldn't, and it made the... cold responses from her classmates, her other friends... Difficult.
Luna simply holds her, running her fingers through Hermione's wild hair to cradle her head against her shoulder and letting her cry.
"You'll be good for his Wrackspurts, you know," Luna assures her after a time. "Well, against them, really, but you understood what I meant." Hermione nods a little wetly, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her the back of her pastie clutching hand. And isn't that a scary thought, understanding Luna?
The Ravenclaw lets her slowly out of the hug, takes her by the wrist, both of Hermione's hands now awkwardly full, and leads her over to one of the castle's infamous alcoves behind a statue of a pirouetting troll. There's probably a story behind that. It looks sort of like one of Barnabas the Barmy's troupe. It certainly seems hard to believe anyone else would have been so foolish as to try to teach a troll ballet. Training security trolls may or may not be easier, but at least it makes more sense. Security trolls, however, presumably make for blander statuary; they're decidedly uninspirational subjects.
Ever so practically, there's a bench in the alcove. Really, it's enough to make one wonder if the architectural niche has any significance, some intended purpose, perhaps... Mostly it serves to collect snogging students of an evening, and makes the Prefects' jobs easier when on Hallway Patrol. Checking alcoves with seating first narrows things down, streamlining the task. It's not like the students could create seating out of almost anything if they wanted somewhere to sit... Yes. Laziness is endemic amongst the student body, as is a lack of creativity.
Luna, by contrast, has an abundance both of industry and imagination. Possibly an oversupply, but in many respects, it makes for a pleasant change. As does Luna.
She leads Hermione to the stone slab and tells her to take a seat. Then she hands Hermione the second turnip candleholder, which Hermione places along with the first on the bench between them, and Luna hunts around in her bag until she finds one tea light and one tapered candle, which she puts into the holders.
"Proof of concept?" Hermione asks with a watery smile, but it's becoming more sincere the longer she's with Luna.
"No, I just can't seem to find two of either of the candles. I know they're somewhere in here." The scary thing of course is that Luna's bag hasn't been extended. It's just as chaotic as her mind. It has, however, very fortunately been magically lightened, or there's probably no one in the school, except maybe Hagrid, who could manually lift it.
"These are fine," Hermione reassures her with a bemused smile, lighting the candles with an Incendio. "They're lovely." The candleholders are actually surprisingly nice for something crafted with what happened to be on hand last night, not that most people have swede lying about, but, hey, Luna. The silver surfaces - they remind Hermione of Mercury glass - reflect the candlelight nicely, their slight unevenness causing the reflections to break, throwing interesting shadows. But of course it's the sentiment behind them that makes them truly beautiful.
"Thank you," she tells her sincerely, and the last trace of her teary fit gone.
"I thought they'd be pretty," Luna tells her, and with a soft but determined smile adds, "and remind you to eat." Hermione lets out a huff of laughter, because Luna can be unexpectedly single-minded. And because the last thing Hermione thinks of when she looks at turnips is eating.
Luna's still rooting about. Finally, there's an exclamation of success and, naturally, she surprises Hermione with the results of her searching once again. Extending her hand to reveal the contents, a small napkin wrapped parcel, she says, "I brought you a couple more pasties. Yours looks a little... the worse for wear."
A Protego Charm, very precisely wielded, seems to have kept them from flattening in her bag. Nothing less would have, but it's clear proof of the advantages of reading, if ever there were any, that one might know such a thing before it's needed.
Hermione looks at her pastie and has to admit it does indeed seem... less than pristine. But not out loud. Luna Tergeos Hermione's hand and supplies a second napkin to spread out on the bench and put the food on. Given the drippy state of Hermione's pastie, Luna also Imperviuses the books beside Hermione, thinking, rightly so, the witch will probably stack the food on them when she heads to class.
Hermione thanks her for the consideration. That seems to be something of a House trait that Hermione certainly values, the Ravenclaws' respect of all things printed.
They lean back against the walls of the alcove and Hermione begins to eat.
"Have you been?" Luna asks, gesturing at the pastie. "Eating?"
Hermione swallows and nods. "I haven't missed a meal since I promised you I wouldn't yesterday."
"Will you try to get more into you than just pasties? They're not exactly the stuff of a balanced diet. People really don't put enough thought into what they put in their bodies," she shakes her head. One of the cornerstones to being a good Magizoologist, naturally, is recognising the importance of the proper sustenanance. "So much of it's basically poison."
"I've had plenty of fruit," Hermione hurries to assure her, and as she says it, a tempting bunch of grapes appears between them. Hermione laughs. "As you can see, in fact. Lots of grapes. Would you like some?"
"Where did they come from?"
"There's a House elf who seems to share your opinion about a healthy diet."
"The Professor's?" Luna asks, getting it in one, and helping herself to the fruit. Hermione nods, joining her. "How nice. I like him already." As if in answer, more grapes appear. Luna laughs and adds a, "Thank you."
She tilts her head thoughtfully, innocently to the side, but with Luna, that's a sure sign she's about to go for the throat. "And how does he feel about the amount of sleep you're getting?"
Hermione blinks a little owlishly. She thinks for a moment what she can say to placate her friend, because she knows this is going to go the same way as the food discussion. Honestly, if she could have, she would have slept more. It's not like she's trying to miss sleep... But it's no good, she'd already damned herself with her own words, as Luna proceeds to prove, "You said you hadn't gotten enough sleep to fight. That sounds... worrisome. Especially considering how often you seem to have to. Fight."
She says it softly, and Hermione gets the feeling Luna's expressing her support. She knows Hermione had fought only yesterday with Harry and Ron. And she apparently saw her fighting with the two of them today. It sounds like... it holds... understanding without demanding that Hermione explore that problem, too, just now. Luna's taking it one challenge at a time. Hermione's probably not up to more.
"So are you getting enough? Sleep?"
"No," she admits.
"It's important to get your rest, Hermione. Take a Potion if need be, just until things get better. I'm sure the Professor would give you Dreamless Sleep if you need it."
"That's not the problem, Luna. And he'd already offered it, actually."
"Well, there you go then. Great minds..." she replies with a wink.
But Hermione isn't in a light mood. "No, if anything the problem is he was in no shape to even be able to offer it again..." Hermione can't say anymore, well she can - the word 'can't' has taken on new meaning since the Headmaster's damn Oath, but she can't without exposing facts about the Professor's role in the war and business of the Order that she wouldn't dream of revealing. And now that she thinks about it, maybe she really 'can't' after all. She's still not quite sure how the Loyalty Oath works. Perfect.
Luna, however, has some insights into what Hermione might not be saying. Certainly since she went up against a dozen or so adult Death Eaters at the sides of her friends when she was only a fifteen year old and in her fourth year. Luna probably has more courage than half of Gryffindor taken together and at least as much loyalty as any given Hufflepuff. But she doesn't ask the obvious questions, smart enough to know when there can't be a response. Ultimately, there are reasons she's a Ravenclaw.
"But is he now?" She caught the past tense and zeros in on the heart of the matter. She sounds genuinely concerned, and Hermione's grateful for that. More than she can express.
"He regained consciousness." And if she is properly interpreting the things the bond conveys... He's in a very strange state. Agitated doesn't begin to explain it. Hermione isn't at all certain how to explain it. But he's awake, and not suffering, just... Well, he sure seems to be... grumpy.
Luna smiles softly to express her relief. She won't pry as to what had put the man in the Infirmary. And, yes, she'd heard the rumours. It's shocking the rubbish people will believe. "So maybe ask him for the Dreamless Sleep? But just see to it that you finally get some rest."
Hermione feels a little defensive and responds accordingly, hoping to make Luna grasp some of the problems she's facing. After all, the blonde has indicated that she'd noticed some of the fighting and maybe that will make her more sympathetic to the problems. It doesn't help that Hermione doesn't take well to criticism. "But it's not like getting sleep is going to change anything. How awful some people are being..."
"No," Luna concedes quietly. "But the battle you have to fight is the same either way, it's best to be as prepared for it as you can be." She lets that hang in the air between them. Hermione hasn't got a response, she pretty much knows her friend is right anyway, but she's just not come far enough to say so.
Apropos of nothing, Luna asks, "Hermione, would you take a N.E.W.T. without studying?"
Not that Hermione understands the reasons for the question, but that is such a fundamental truth, the reply is instant, "No, of course not."
"Right. But does studying for it change what's on the exam?"
Hermione will be the first to admit she doesn't always follow Luna's train of thought. In fact, while the rest of the world has trains of thought, it's entirely possible Luna has dirigible airships. It would certainly help explain the flights of fancy. "What??"
"Do the questions change based on whether you've studied or not?"
"You mean Murphy's law?"
"I don't know who Murphy is and I'm unfamiliar with his laws, but sure, if that's what it's called."
"No, the questions don't change. That's just superstition."
Luna doesn't bother pointing out that Hermione herself had only just called it a 'law'. The Muggle-born can be hard for pure-bloods to follow. "So why do you study?"
Why does she study? That is definitely not a question Hermione thought she'd ever have to answer for a Ravenclaw. "So I'm prepared. Why else?"
"But you see, it's same thing. All other things being equal, you try to be as prepared as you can be. It's the same with food. Or sleep. They won't change the things you're dealing with, they just make you better prepared to do so." She's gentle, incredibly gentle, patting Hermione's hand as she says it.
"You have to do what you can to be in the best shape you can be to face the things you can't change or influence. Change the things you can, especially if it's easy..." It's easy to forget how young she was when her mum died. Anyone who's ever met her father will have no trouble believing she's the one taking care of him. As best she can, anyway. She's learnt a lot along the way.
She gestures towards the grapes, helping herself again. Without thinking, Hermione mirrors her friend's gesture, breaking off a stem of the grapes for herself.
For the second time in days, Hermione sits there wondering if Luna hasn't more clue than any of the rest of them. Possibly more than all of them put together. It's a little unsettling, but she's growing more comfortable with the notion. She sighs, shrugs and then tells her honestly, "I just haven't got the strength right now."
And Luna beams and squeezes her hand, "That's what you have friends for."
Hermione can't help wondering if that's true. Friends? What friends? Some friends she has... And then kicks herself. She's an arse. Sitting across from her, no matter how odd or how flighty, is undeniably a very good friend. Probably one of the best you could wish for.
She stops feeling quite as sorry for herself and thanks Luna. "And I'll try to get some sleep tonight," she promises.
"Oh, you'll sleep well tonight," Luna replies, her tone cajoling, apparently trying to reassure her. Hermione takes it for an attempt at positive thinking. "Just try to keep doing so."
She gives Hermione's hand a squeeze, and tells her they need to get going to class, "But I'll check in on you later."
Hermione's still trying to picture how that would go - Oh, hullo, Professor, I'm just here to see your wife - never mind that Luna doesn't even know where her new quarters are, as she rises, extinguishes the candles and packs her presents with a smile into her bag, grabs what remains of their food and follows her friend from the alcove.
Luna gives her a hug and sends her on her way before turning to skip off down the hallway. Only then does Hermione even register the blonde's mismatched shoes. She's torn between a 'retro eighties fashion statement' or 'Nargles' for the explanation. It's probably simpler: 'Luna'.A/N:
Get a Luna. Be a Luna.
Hermione, Severus, Draco, Theo Nott, Luna, the Bloody Baron, Morag MacDougal, Blaise Zabini, Tracey Davis, Daphne Greengrass, Alberta Runcorn, Vincent 'Vince' Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent 'Millie' Bulstrode, Harper Hutchinson, Hestia and Flora Carrow, Valerie Vaisey, Crooks, Sunny, the Centaurs
Originally Published: 2018-05-10 on AO3
Chapter: 073 part 1
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.
As the doors shut to behind her, Hermione takes a decision. It's far from the worst one she's made lately. There's a feeling of relief as she resolves to give herself a break and not eat in the Great Hall any time soon. It's simple enough. Easily arranged. And she just can't see how she's supposed to make it work, sitting at the Gryffindor table, the subject of snide remarks and ridicule...
No. No more of that.
Enough.
She'll just have Sunny bring her something in chambers. Which are perfectly lovely, really. Yes. That should be... nice. She'll be fine there. Just fine.
With the way the elf is coming to feel about his new witch, that's likely to greatly improve the fare as well. That's hardly the goal, but it's surely a 'nice to have'.
Next she berates herself for not taking the Draught of Peace. She'd known better, Merlin, she'd had advice from the most competent Potions professional she's ever encountered to that effect, and somehow she'd still managed to bugger it up. How hard was it to just take the damn Potion? Well, she hadn't had it with her this morning, had she, and last night had been... Sort of unexpected. Not that it should have been, she supposes, but she's still too new to this... Give her time, she'll master it. She's sure of it.
Well, sort of...
And then she hadn't wanted to second guess Madam Pomfrey when she prescribed the Calming Draught, and now look where she's landed.
She feels remarkably thick.
She's certain had she taken the proper Potion, that little set to with Ron and Harry could have been avoided. Sure, Ron would still have been a rude clod, an arrogant little so and so... That's not the point. But it was pretty much a given. Merlin knows, they've been there often enough over the years. But if she hadn't responded... This was all so avertible. So unnecessary...
To make matters worse, there's virtually no chance the Professor isn't aware that she apparently ignored his advice, and he'll probably also be all too aware that she's been... arguing. She chews her lip anxiously. She's really screwed this up. Royally.
It would probably be a better solution to talk to the Professor about his weak Notice-Me-Not Charm and try using that to better cope with the days to come, but in light of her little oversight with the Draught, she doesn't think she has the courage to do so. No. No, probably not.
So in a second resolution in minutes, she decides not to leave chambers for the foreseeable future without taking the Draught of Peace first. She can do that. At least until she has herself under control. Which she very apparently doesn't just yet. Bugger.
Well, to be fair, it was probably too soon. Live and learn. And learn she shall...
Determination clear on her face, her chin tilted up at a defiant angle no one was ever meant to see (in part because it looks rather silly and she sort of senses it), pastie a little too firmly in hand (a fact made all the more clear by the pumpkin juices that begin to run down her hand, damn it, but then that's what Tergeos are for), she stomps off down the corridor, trying to put some distance between herself and the Hall.
Just in case.
As her irritation increases, and it's very clearly increased - what the fuck had Albus been thinking to include the emotional connection in their bond like this - so too does the amount Severus imbibes.
He's now well on his way to being seriously impaired once this hits his bloodstream. Short of a Bezoar or an emetic, there's no way back, a fact he finds eminently satisfying, which makes for a nice change to... absolutely everything else, really. He's just waiting for the effect to hit. Preferably squarely between the eyes. Huzzah!
He's trying to remember why he doesn't just magick the stuff into his system. There were... reasons... They elude him now. It'll probably come to him when he sobers up. And promptly stop mattering at roughly the same time.
He sits there, slouched on his couch, sulking, drinking his Ogden's and fervently hoping she'll just go to whatever class... Ugh, class... Class! A godsdamned student! Albus is a fucking bastard... Except he's technically neither of those things, really. Pedantry is a burden... Severus will have to find a better suited term for the hoary old arse... Later.
Actually, 'hoary arse' works.
It probably is, too.
And now he needs the non-existent mental Scourgify to get the image of Albus' buttocks out of his mind... Obliviation is not too extreme!
Severus' hand waves dramatically in the air, one of his long fingers stabbing emphatically upwards to reinforce his point that no one has any desire to dispute. On the contrary, the Kneazle meows his complete agreement, which is probably a good indicator that Severus is voicing many of his thoughts, a fact that will annoy him some later. For the present, however, he simply gives the feline a firm, if slightly wobbly, nod of approval and toasts him again.
But, honestly, Severus is just being patently absurd about the Obliviation, because of course it is. Too extreme. Although the claim had sounded good. Rather. Hell, even the cat had thought so. But he has no idea why it isn't an Unforgivable outside of a medical setting, really...
Obliviations, not Kneazles.
Actually, he throws the cat a baleful glance, perhaps Kneazles should be unforgivable, too. He may have given voice to that as well, because Crooks answers with something that sounds suspiciously like a growl and a flick of his tail. Severus apologises, a touch pro forma, for his facetiousness and scratches the creature behind his ears (Reparations!), because at some point it seems to have moved from Miss Granger's chair to the couch. Severus isn't quite clear when that happened. And he calls himself a spy...
Where was he again? Right. A student.
Fucking hell.
He really doesn't know what he did to deserve this...
Except for all of the things he did to deserve this...
Fuck.
Right.
Well then.
And not just a student. No. A student who has little compunction about Obliviation. Actually, that's probably fine; neither does he. (One might think his current thoughts on the matter belie that, but he doesn't notice the inconsistency.) No, they're in excellent company. Ah, well, except she'd Obliviated her own family.
Fucking hell.
He's already said that, though, didn't he? It probably can't be said often enough.
A student, for fuck's sake.
Well, not his student. Small mercies. He's trying to decide if that makes the situation any better, which is stupid, because of course it does, but he is not. Best. Pleased. Not about any of it.
Bugger.
No. He's married... Worse! Bonded! To a student.
A student who is doing his head in, almost as much as the facts of that bonding. Hmm. Perhaps more so...
He hopes, Merlin, so very much so, that she'll just go to whatever godsdamned class she has next and for the love of all he holds dear, cease. This. Onslaught.
He really can't take it anymore.
Which would be funny given how well he handles the Cruciatus, if it weren't so bloody, irreversibly...
... sad.
Theo and Blaise slide into the free seats amidst their fellow seventh years on opposite sides of the Slytherin table, Theo between Tracey and Gregory, and Blaise between Daphne and Vince. Alberta Runcorn is there, too, seated at Vince's other side. The mood in their little group is noticeably subdued, unsurprising, faced with the prospect of opening their Serpents later this afternoon as most of the boys in their year are. The questions as to what they'd done to deserve this make the mood even more tense.
They know, beyond any doubt, that the Poste Serpentes have to be considered true to be created, and perceived as deserved for them to work. And they're having a difficult time imagining all the senders could be so wildly mistaken in having made the things. Considering the people involved... Well, it seems far from likely. The sum of which makes the absence of guilt they're currently feeling a pretty unsettling thing. Blaise, Theo and Tracey have all independently speculated as to an Obliviate. That's not remotely a comfortable feeling, for obvious reasons.
Theo's better off than his roommates, of course, thanks both to the absence of Serpents around his own arm and those... unusual words of praise from his father this morning. There's a spot next to Pansy a little further down their table that Theo half suspects will remain empty given whom she'd probably been saving it for. They haven't... She and Draco, that is... Well, they haven't been seeing one another since last year, but they're still friends. Better, in some ways, Theo suspects, now that 'it's' over.
Still enjoying the role of a wizard of action (Is he ever!) and assorted good deeds, at least that's the way he's decided to see it, or sometimes anyway, he tells her Draco had an errand to run and asks if she'd like to join them.
Honestly, Pansy doesn't like Theo all that much, and he knows that well enough. Usually he'd have avoided serving her up a chance to slight him, but today, today he's a man of courage and, um, well, yeah, maybe action. Or something. No, 'action' was right. He had done. That was true enough...
It takes Pansy a few minutes to finally give up hope Draco is coming and a little reluctantly slide over. Theo will take it as another win. He's stockpiling.
In the meantime, Blaise, completely tired of all the moping, so over it, has decided it's time to change things up. He's sick of all the long faces. Those only lead to wrinkles of the worst sort. And then only the strongest Glamours will do. If his mother has taught him only one thing, it's that there's not a Potion been brewed yet to deal properly with glabellar wrinkles. Frown lines... Merlin.
Well, that and how to poison people. And get away with it. Actually, she's taught him a lot...
Ah, wait, technically Polyjuice would be an exception on the wrinkle front, that would solve it, but then that's hardly a practical solution longer term. Admittedly, Professor Not!Moody's success with the Potion might lead one to believe otherwise. But when one looks as good as Blaise does... Why would he want to look like anyone else? Rubbish. It's all so terribly... needless.
So he's started telling the others how Theo had challenged the wretched Ravenclaws and horrible Head Boy... No, really, no less than the Head Boy himself! How those tossers had been slagging off their Head of House, and how Theo courageously took them on, despite being outnumbered - he didn't hesitate for a moment, never even blinked. And won. That was a key part of the story, after all.
There are a few disbelieving looks, but Blaise remains undeterred.
Blaise, whatever else he is, is an excellent storyteller. He's a charismatic boy, and he weaves an extraordinarily distracting tale. He has no need to put himself or Draco in the forefront of the story. For one, they hadn't been really, not that it would necessarily stop him from saying so, but their roles are perfectly established with his audience - or at least for a few more hours, not that he knows it - and he paints a highly dynamic picture of their shy Housemate, taking on the evil hordes, with his loyal friends at his side and back.
A few more Slytherins, Millicent Bulstrode accompanied by mostly sixth years, predominantly the Quidditch players, work their way over to them, eager to hear the story that seems to have caught their Housemates' interest.
Blaise goes on to tell in not entirely accurate (but all the more amusing) detail how Potter's recruits - after Dumblebore's Army had been caught fifth year, everyone knew all about their little 'secret' - had failed miserably faced with the superiorly wielded Slytherin wands. Go Snakes! Even if most people can agree that it makes perfect sense that the Slytherins hadn't been invited to join the thoroughly stupid 'DA' (especially as roughly half had been members of Umbridge's secret police at the time), there remains a non-trivial degree of somewhat illogical resentment attached to that fact.
That's quite evident in moments such as these.
Blaise's description of Boot's face alone causes fits of laughter. After Gregory gets over his uncomfortable recollection of his own experience with the Hex, it really hadn't been pleasant, even he finds a certain vindication in the idea Draco had used it and shyly begins to smile. There's a pleasing symmetry to it. When Gregory tells the others just how bad it had been, and Blaise assures them, this version was worse... Well, they have cause to laugh again.
Oh! And the House points. Merlin, that was funny. How Theo had actually objected. To the Head himself! They should have seen the look on his face. But then how pleased Professor Snape, hell, they'd all been with his solution. Five points to Slytherin, fine, it wasn't much, but forty-five from Ravenclaw, pending Flitwick's decision when it will probably be more, count on it, and thirty-five from Hufflepuff just for Macmillan alone. Truly not a bad score.
Ah, yes, and the Head Boy had detention with Filch, too.
Smiles and nods greet that statement. Even if Draco doesn't seem upset not to have been made Head Boy, his Housemates are more than willing to carry this particular grudge for him.
The mood now vastly improved, Tracey goes on to tell how Theo - yes, Theo - had also saved the Head Girl from her exploding cauldron, because the Weasel is and will ever remain an idiot, really (more nods there), and Dumblebore is woefully inadequate as a Potions instructor. There's still more laughter, and a few people clap Theo on the back, Vince a little too roughly, naturally, which causes the far skinnier boy to choke on his lunch a bit. Fortunately no one feels the need to keep thumping as he coughs his way through it.
When he's finally able to speak, Theo decides to carry on as he has been today. Mustering his courage for the inevitable backlash, but taking full Slytherin advantage of their lighter moods, he tries to explain to the others that part of the problem was that the Ravenclaws, yes and Macmillan, too, hadn't just been deriding their Head... but his wife. And he expects that will be a problem in the near future. And, um, he sort of thinks they might need to do something about that?
Predictably, the laughter stops.
"Theo..." Tracey starts in a softly warning tone. It's a little funny as she's completely out of... well, everything, really. She's well clear of the war, or as much as anyone can be in their House. She wasn't even a member of Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad. She has no idea how bad it is... out there, but she thinks she needs to remind him. As though his own father weren't one of the Dark Lord's oldest... whatever they are, and one of the only remaining ones, at that, too. No, Theo knows the realities of, well, reality, all too well. That doesn't mean he's wrong. Just, possibly, swimming in dangerous waters. Very dangerous waters.
But he's sure he's right.
Vincent is ready to cut him down, but Blaise swoops in to stop Vince and to give Theo some cover, possibly because he's still feeling the high of their duelling success. And of course, Vince is a troglodyte and Theo has a good head and heart, and if one were to listen to only one of the two of them, it should clearly be Theo. He just needs to be given a chance to be heard. Blaise can arrange that. And he can't help wondering why Theo is the only one of them walking around without a Serpent. It probably also helps that he still has Professor Snape's admonition to follow Theo's lead kicking about his thoughts.
"The Head himself specifically said we were to treat her with respect. He was very clear." And like that, all objections are silenced for the moment as they think it through.
Obviously, not everyone has the same capacity for doing so, and it's not all too long before Vince mutters something about how Blaise and Theo can't possibly be serious about protecting the Mudblood... Alberta is quick to agree, and they find some comfort in mutually reaffirming their prejudices.
Theo goes a little pale, wondering if he's overplayed his hand, but luck and Blaise are on his side. Zabini just smirks and replies, "Old Nott himself owled Theo that he should support Professor Snape with this in any way he can. He knows exactly what happened, and more than any of us, I'd wager. So what do you think he meant? And if the Head says we're to do this, do you think it wise to ignore him?"
And then his smirk twists, becoming cruel. He and his family may not be part of the Death Eaters, but Blaise knows his way around power, it's practically instinctive for him, and he is far smarter than Vince will ever be. "Or do you really mean to suggest that Norman Nott has gone soft? Or Professor Snape?"
Vince is paler now than Theo ever got. He knows exactly where his father stands, dwarfed in Nott's shadow. Theo isn't - will never be - the kind of Death Eater Vincent intends to become, but there can be no question about the respect due to his father. And the Professor... Well. No, it's clear where the men stand.
Which makes the discussion that follows an interesting and unusual thing. They very much don't agree on the blood purity questions in Slytherin. More than a few of them think war is foolish and wasteful of magical resources. If one wishes to count lives as such, too, so be it. They are unquestionably one of many assets lost. For the majority, the fact remains: war is stupidity. But each side recognising that no matter how things end, it could prove highly disadvantageous to have articulated such thoughts, they rarely speak openly with one another on the matter.
And yet here they're faced with a safely contained issue. A single, specific case, where one needn't suggest that the course of behaviour anyone recommends arises from anything other than a desire to be loyal to their House or Head. Certainly none of them are blood traitors or Mudblood-lovers.
Probably.
So the question is how should they behave respective their Head's bondmate. And what should they do if she's faced with abuse from others? How do they act? How do they respond?
Tracey informs Theo and Blaise, "While you were apparently busy duelling the Ravenclaws, Madam Snape..." A few people draw sharp breaths at that, but Tracey has little patience for them, replying sharply, "Yes, get ahold of yourselves. We're all agreed that will take some adjustment, but Merlin's blighted bollocks, you have brains in your heads, have you not?" She's not too sure that's true of Vince, to name just one example, but it seems judicious to make that claim.
"Either way," she returns her attention to her Potions classmates, "the witch left lunch before you even got here after arguing with Potter and the Weasel."
She shifts to the others at the table, trying to drive her point home, "Slighting Madam Snape is tantamount to slighting our Head and our House."
When Alberta and Pansy begin to object, she stops them with a raised hand and continues, "I know we didn't ask for this, but I don't believe for a moment any of you think he did either. Or for that matter that Granger did."
Again, Pansy moves to object, Millicent and Vince now joining in. Tracey doesn't stop, "There's no way she's been manoeuvring to get herself bonded to the Professor. That's ridiculous. Or do you think there's the remotest chance that she outfoxed him to do so?" Several people shake their heads, even though the question was clearly rhetorical, their feelings on the matter overriding their sense of decorum. "I have her in enough of my classes. Blaise, Theo, you, too. You can't tell me you believe any more than I do that she wanted this."
Theo instantly nods his agreement, Blaise follows a moment later, just a bit more reserved. Pansy now laughs and does as well, expanding on it, "No, Merlin knows she's been mooning after the Weasel for half an age."
Daphne corrects a little softly, "I think less so lately..." But Vince's half-automatic, "Blood-traitor!" drowns it out for the most part.
Sixth year Harper Hutchinson, a strong tactician, ignores them both, "Either way, the others seem to be cutting her loose. That creates a void, provides opportunities." When Tracey looks like she's about to protest, if only on principle, he shifts direction just as smoothly as he would on his broom during a Quidditch match, "We'll need to step up a little."
There's some further debate as to what that might entail. How far they're willing to go.
"How many House points are we willing to let it cost us?" Harper, ever practical, enquires of the group as the discussion winds down.
Flora Carrow challenges, "Does it matter, if we believe it's the right course of action?"
Her twin sister Hestia had laughed and answered simultaneously, "Does it matter? It's not like Dumblebore has any intention of letting us win." Harper looks at them both and now laughs as well, so similar and yet so different.
Theo thinks back to how the Head had sorted the aftermath of the duel a bit ago, "I think the Professor will try to see to it we don't lose too many off of this if we can maintain at least the appearance of having been in the right."
And now it's Blaise's turn to laugh, wholeheartedly. "A veneer of respectability, then. We just need to make it look like we're keeping things... clean." His family practically wrote the tome on the subject.
"Don't Hex first," Harper agrees with a smile. "But when you do, don't get caught." His eyes are positively sparkling with glee at the thought. This sounds like it's going to be fun. House sanctioned fun.
There's an strange moment as they look around the table and realise they've actually spoken their minds and voiced most of their objections for once, and they're more or less in agreement. An odd state of affairs. It's sort of... nice.
Conversation turns to the afternoon Quidditch practice. With four members of the team sporting Serpents, somehow it doesn't seem likely that they're going to have a very productive session this evening.
Valerie Vaisey, sixth year Chaser, turns to Flora. This is her sister Hestia's second year on the team now, the Carrow girl is a fellow Chaser with some truly remarkable skills on a broom. Valerie figures Hestia won't have learnt to fly in isolation, and they are identical twins after all. Valerie also remembers first year with Madam Hooch in Broom Flight Class. Both Carrows had been rather stunning, even on the school's wonky brooms. "Any chance you could fill in, just for practice?"
Flora, however, has none of her sister's inclination to fly about a pitch. Whatever for? She's far from miserable on a broom, no, she knows what she's doing well enough, but can't for the life of her see the attraction of the sport. Why would she? As she sees it, the only thing she has going for her beyond her green thumbs is the brain between her ears. Why on earth would she risk it with flying Bludgers and Beaters' bats and the like? She'd have to be mental... "We're not interchangeable you know," she retorts, a little vexed.
Hestia can't quite seem to make up her mind if she finds that funny, or the possible insinuation that the twins are essentially the same just as annoying as her sister does.
Before she can decide one way or another and the girls get themselves too ruffled, Harper butts in, "There's no point, either way. The whole idea of practice is to have the people who will actually be playing in the match get some practice in. What's the use if it's just the three of us?" He gives the seventh year boys a look of reproach. Gregory at least turns slightly pink. He's hardly the best Snake, as reflexes like that amply demonstrate. He should have gotten over it first year.
Harper proceeds, "But I heard the Ravenclaws whinging to Potter that we hadn't left them any practice time..." That's instantly met with a chorus of objections. "No, relax. Please." There's a hint of disdain about it that anyone could be so foolish as to think he was such a pushover. "I wasn't going to suggest we give them the slot, but the Hufflepuffs will be in the same boat. What do you say, we offer it to them, and they can owe us one?"
"May as well," Valerie agrees. "The Ravenclaws will never believe we're doing it out of the goodness of our hearts anyway."
As they get down to discussion of practice and their strategy for the upcoming match, Theo rises, surplus to requirements, making his excuses and taking a couple of pasties with him, thinking he just might catch Draco before their next class.
Hermione, quite reasonably, will undoubtably be thrilled when they approach her.
Hermione's deeply lost in thought and doesn't hear her name called out. It comes as a complete surprise to her a moment later when someone reaches out to grab her arm. Startled, she whips around quickly, wand in hand, only to realise she now has that wand pointed rather uncomfortably at Luna's throat.
"Holy Cricket, Luna!" She packs her wand back up her sleeve, but she's trembling somewhat noticeably, and Luna considers her suspicions about Hermione's state of mind confirmed. Keeping her hands visible, she gently puts them on Hermione's arms and leans forward and... yes, Hermione is fairly certain the blonde just sniffed her.
This will probably have something to do with Nargles, she's sure.
It actually has more to do with the very, very, blessedly extremely faint trace of the smell of valerian root about her, a telltale sign of Calming Draught. Or proximity in the passing week to Ron's socks. Hardly a good thing. Either, really.
Thankfully, Hermione is unaware of this, Luna's sense of smell is highly refined or she wouldn't have caught it, and it fades rapidly from one's system before the Draught even wears off. Even more fortunately, the citrus and patchouli notes of valerian become stronger when brewed, more than balancing the somewhat... funky basenote, but the combination of the three is very telling. The hint of lavender Luna had scented, stronger by far, could have been anything, shampoo, soap, the lingering scent of a magical blanket... But combined with the valerian, Luna is quite sure her friend is taking Calming.
And yet here she stands, trembling. Easily startled. Awfully quick to think the worst, to draw her wand. Despite the Potion.
If Potions and Care of Magical Creatures weren't offered at the same time, and were she any less committed to becoming a Magizoologist, Luna would have been exceptional in that course. She uses senses when brewing that most people wouldn't think to. Much like Severus does, in fact.
"Hermione..." she doesn't get further than that.
"I took something to eat with me!" Hermione starts in defensively, already fearing the worst, and holding up her now slightly smushed pastie, clenched in her hand and waving it just a bit manically in front of Luna's face.
"Easy, relax." Again she raises a hand, this time to lower Hermione's pastie wielding arm. There's an element of self-interest there, too, because the thing is sort of... dripping. "I know you did. I saw you take it before you left the Great Hall. Good for you, Hermione."
Hermione looks sceptical, feeling humoured, managed, and Luna, smiling, reassures her, "No, it is. It's good for you."
That statement hovers between them, and Hermione eventually realises it wasn't simply a matter of praise.
"About your bonding..." Luna starts. Again, she doesn't get far.
Hermione has been dreading this.
No one seems to have reacted well to the news from the outset. Some might come around, but the initial response is always... unpleasant. And if she's learnt anything from her interactions with Harry and Ron, it'll be that her not having told them about the bonding herself while she sat there, closemouthed, beside them had made things far worse. Not that she could have, but that wasn't the point. It had made them angrier and contributed to their falling out.
As Luna is the only one beyond Harry to have shown any concern when she landed in the Infirmary this weekend... Hermione's had plenty of chances to tell her friend about the bonding, at least, she thinks, she worries that's how Luna will see it.
She assumes this will be just another person feeling she's let her down. Betrayed their friendship. The accusations are a forgone conclusion. The only thing in question is the intensity of the reproaches.
"Luna, please," it sounds a lot like the plea that it is. "I'm not up to any more fighting..." Hermione, indeed, sounds beaten, and she's looking frazzled. "I just can't take it anymore, and frankly, I haven't had enough sleep for this."
Luna, being Luna, surprises Hermione completely. Without comment, because, really, Hermione isn't letting her finish her sentences anyway, she digs about in the bag slung over one shoulder and fishes out a grapefruit sized silver blob which she then transfers to her left hand. That certainly was not any of the responses Hermione was expecting. Luna keeps rummaging, and a moment later has a second blobby sphere shape in her other hand.
She promptly extends one of them towards Hermione.
Hermione, a mite foolishly, stands there blinking.
"I brought you a wedding present," Luna explains. Not that it clarifies what the thing actually is, not at all, probably a Snorkack detector or something, but at least it defines the category into which it falls.
Hermione takes the proffered object in her free hand and Luna thankfully explains, because Hermione is at rather a loss. "I thought candleholders would be appropriate."
That's actually a very helpful clue, and now Hermione has an idea of how to orientate the thing. In fact, now that she's done so, she thinks she recognises what it had originally been. "Swede?"
"Neeps," Luna nods smiling broadly, confirming Hermione's identification. Frankly, it makes perfect sense from someone who wears radish earrings and carrot green fascinators. "I cut the bottoms off so they'll stand smoothly without wobbling upside down, and then cored them to hold both a standard sized candle or a tea light," she points proudly, and Hermione spots the two concentric circles of different depths in the top, "And then I Transfigured them to silver. Well, not real silver, obviously, that would be Alchemy, but then you know that..." Luna trails off as Hermione stands there, staring at the thing, blinking more and more rapidly.
"Congratulations?" Luna tries. Hermione still doesn't respond.
"I'm very sorry the Professor isn't feeling well. Padma mentioned that he'd missed class, and I know it must be bad for him to do so, because he doesn't really..." Hermione could be a statue for all the response Luna is getting. A little hopefully she goes on, "But I'm sure he'll recover soon?"
It comes out sounding more like a question, it's unclear if that's because she isn't sure of the truth of the statement or just what else to say to reach her friend, but it seems to work because Hermione lets out a sob and gives her a huge hug. It makes a tremendous difference that Luna is probably the only student Hermione considers herself likely to speak with to be hopeful for his recovery. Hermione had been desperate for him to get well, terrified he wouldn't, and it made the... cold responses from her classmates, her other friends... Difficult.
Luna simply holds her, running her fingers through Hermione's wild hair to cradle her head against her shoulder and letting her cry.
"You'll be good for his Wrackspurts, you know," Luna assures her after a time. "Well, against them, really, but you understood what I meant." Hermione nods a little wetly, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her the back of her pastie clutching hand. And isn't that a scary thought, understanding Luna?
The Ravenclaw lets her slowly out of the hug, takes her by the wrist, both of Hermione's hands now awkwardly full, and leads her over to one of the castle's infamous alcoves behind a statue of a pirouetting troll. There's probably a story behind that. It looks sort of like one of Barnabas the Barmy's troupe. It certainly seems hard to believe anyone else would have been so foolish as to try to teach a troll ballet. Training security trolls may or may not be easier, but at least it makes more sense. Security trolls, however, presumably make for blander statuary; they're decidedly uninspirational subjects.
Ever so practically, there's a bench in the alcove. Really, it's enough to make one wonder if the architectural niche has any significance, some intended purpose, perhaps... Mostly it serves to collect snogging students of an evening, and makes the Prefects' jobs easier when on Hallway Patrol. Checking alcoves with seating first narrows things down, streamlining the task. It's not like the students could create seating out of almost anything if they wanted somewhere to sit... Yes. Laziness is endemic amongst the student body, as is a lack of creativity.
Luna, by contrast, has an abundance both of industry and imagination. Possibly an oversupply, but in many respects, it makes for a pleasant change. As does Luna.
She leads Hermione to the stone slab and tells her to take a seat. Then she hands Hermione the second turnip candleholder, which Hermione places along with the first on the bench between them, and Luna hunts around in her bag until she finds one tea light and one tapered candle, which she puts into the holders.
"Proof of concept?" Hermione asks with a watery smile, but it's becoming more sincere the longer she's with Luna.
"No, I just can't seem to find two of either of the candles. I know they're somewhere in here." The scary thing of course is that Luna's bag hasn't been extended. It's just as chaotic as her mind. It has, however, very fortunately been magically lightened, or there's probably no one in the school, except maybe Hagrid, who could manually lift it.
"These are fine," Hermione reassures her with a bemused smile, lighting the candles with an Incendio. "They're lovely." The candleholders are actually surprisingly nice for something crafted with what happened to be on hand last night, not that most people have swede lying about, but, hey, Luna. The silver surfaces - they remind Hermione of Mercury glass - reflect the candlelight nicely, their slight unevenness causing the reflections to break, throwing interesting shadows. But of course it's the sentiment behind them that makes them truly beautiful.
"Thank you," she tells her sincerely, and the last trace of her teary fit gone.
"I thought they'd be pretty," Luna tells her, and with a soft but determined smile adds, "and remind you to eat." Hermione lets out a huff of laughter, because Luna can be unexpectedly single-minded. And because the last thing Hermione thinks of when she looks at turnips is eating.
Luna's still rooting about. Finally, there's an exclamation of success and, naturally, she surprises Hermione with the results of her searching once again. Extending her hand to reveal the contents, a small napkin wrapped parcel, she says, "I brought you a couple more pasties. Yours looks a little... the worse for wear."
A Protego Charm, very precisely wielded, seems to have kept them from flattening in her bag. Nothing less would have, but it's clear proof of the advantages of reading, if ever there were any, that one might know such a thing before it's needed.
Hermione looks at her pastie and has to admit it does indeed seem... less than pristine. But not out loud. Luna Tergeos Hermione's hand and supplies a second napkin to spread out on the bench and put the food on. Given the drippy state of Hermione's pastie, Luna also Imperviuses the books beside Hermione, thinking, rightly so, the witch will probably stack the food on them when she heads to class.
Hermione thanks her for the consideration. That seems to be something of a House trait that Hermione certainly values, the Ravenclaws' respect of all things printed.
They lean back against the walls of the alcove and Hermione begins to eat.
"Have you been?" Luna asks, gesturing at the pastie. "Eating?"
Hermione swallows and nods. "I haven't missed a meal since I promised you I wouldn't yesterday."
"Will you try to get more into you than just pasties? They're not exactly the stuff of a balanced diet. People really don't put enough thought into what they put in their bodies," she shakes her head. One of the cornerstones to being a good Magizoologist, naturally, is recognising the importance of the proper sustenanance. "So much of it's basically poison."
"I've had plenty of fruit," Hermione hurries to assure her, and as she says it, a tempting bunch of grapes appears between them. Hermione laughs. "As you can see, in fact. Lots of grapes. Would you like some?"
"Where did they come from?"
"There's a House elf who seems to share your opinion about a healthy diet."
"The Professor's?" Luna asks, getting it in one, and helping herself to the fruit. Hermione nods, joining her. "How nice. I like him already." As if in answer, more grapes appear. Luna laughs and adds a, "Thank you."
She tilts her head thoughtfully, innocently to the side, but with Luna, that's a sure sign she's about to go for the throat. "And how does he feel about the amount of sleep you're getting?"
Hermione blinks a little owlishly. She thinks for a moment what she can say to placate her friend, because she knows this is going to go the same way as the food discussion. Honestly, if she could have, she would have slept more. It's not like she's trying to miss sleep... But it's no good, she'd already damned herself with her own words, as Luna proceeds to prove, "You said you hadn't gotten enough sleep to fight. That sounds... worrisome. Especially considering how often you seem to have to. Fight."
She says it softly, and Hermione gets the feeling Luna's expressing her support. She knows Hermione had fought only yesterday with Harry and Ron. And she apparently saw her fighting with the two of them today. It sounds like... it holds... understanding without demanding that Hermione explore that problem, too, just now. Luna's taking it one challenge at a time. Hermione's probably not up to more.
"So are you getting enough? Sleep?"
"No," she admits.
"It's important to get your rest, Hermione. Take a Potion if need be, just until things get better. I'm sure the Professor would give you Dreamless Sleep if you need it."
"That's not the problem, Luna. And he'd already offered it, actually."
"Well, there you go then. Great minds..." she replies with a wink.
But Hermione isn't in a light mood. "No, if anything the problem is he was in no shape to even be able to offer it again..." Hermione can't say anymore, well she can - the word 'can't' has taken on new meaning since the Headmaster's damn Oath, but she can't without exposing facts about the Professor's role in the war and business of the Order that she wouldn't dream of revealing. And now that she thinks about it, maybe she really 'can't' after all. She's still not quite sure how the Loyalty Oath works. Perfect.
Luna, however, has some insights into what Hermione might not be saying. Certainly since she went up against a dozen or so adult Death Eaters at the sides of her friends when she was only a fifteen year old and in her fourth year. Luna probably has more courage than half of Gryffindor taken together and at least as much loyalty as any given Hufflepuff. But she doesn't ask the obvious questions, smart enough to know when there can't be a response. Ultimately, there are reasons she's a Ravenclaw.
"But is he now?" She caught the past tense and zeros in on the heart of the matter. She sounds genuinely concerned, and Hermione's grateful for that. More than she can express.
"He regained consciousness." And if she is properly interpreting the things the bond conveys... He's in a very strange state. Agitated doesn't begin to explain it. Hermione isn't at all certain how to explain it. But he's awake, and not suffering, just... Well, he sure seems to be... grumpy.
Luna smiles softly to express her relief. She won't pry as to what had put the man in the Infirmary. And, yes, she'd heard the rumours. It's shocking the rubbish people will believe. "So maybe ask him for the Dreamless Sleep? But just see to it that you finally get some rest."
Hermione feels a little defensive and responds accordingly, hoping to make Luna grasp some of the problems she's facing. After all, the blonde has indicated that she'd noticed some of the fighting and maybe that will make her more sympathetic to the problems. It doesn't help that Hermione doesn't take well to criticism. "But it's not like getting sleep is going to change anything. How awful some people are being..."
"No," Luna concedes quietly. "But the battle you have to fight is the same either way, it's best to be as prepared for it as you can be." She lets that hang in the air between them. Hermione hasn't got a response, she pretty much knows her friend is right anyway, but she's just not come far enough to say so.
Apropos of nothing, Luna asks, "Hermione, would you take a N.E.W.T. without studying?"
Not that Hermione understands the reasons for the question, but that is such a fundamental truth, the reply is instant, "No, of course not."
"Right. But does studying for it change what's on the exam?"
Hermione will be the first to admit she doesn't always follow Luna's train of thought. In fact, while the rest of the world has trains of thought, it's entirely possible Luna has dirigible airships. It would certainly help explain the flights of fancy. "What??"
"Do the questions change based on whether you've studied or not?"
"You mean Murphy's law?"
"I don't know who Murphy is and I'm unfamiliar with his laws, but sure, if that's what it's called."
"No, the questions don't change. That's just superstition."
Luna doesn't bother pointing out that Hermione herself had only just called it a 'law'. The Muggle-born can be hard for pure-bloods to follow. "So why do you study?"
Why does she study? That is definitely not a question Hermione thought she'd ever have to answer for a Ravenclaw. "So I'm prepared. Why else?"
"But you see, it's same thing. All other things being equal, you try to be as prepared as you can be. It's the same with food. Or sleep. They won't change the things you're dealing with, they just make you better prepared to do so." She's gentle, incredibly gentle, patting Hermione's hand as she says it.
"You have to do what you can to be in the best shape you can be to face the things you can't change or influence. Change the things you can, especially if it's easy..." It's easy to forget how young she was when her mum died. Anyone who's ever met her father will have no trouble believing she's the one taking care of him. As best she can, anyway. She's learnt a lot along the way.
She gestures towards the grapes, helping herself again. Without thinking, Hermione mirrors her friend's gesture, breaking off a stem of the grapes for herself.
For the second time in days, Hermione sits there wondering if Luna hasn't more clue than any of the rest of them. Possibly more than all of them put together. It's a little unsettling, but she's growing more comfortable with the notion. She sighs, shrugs and then tells her honestly, "I just haven't got the strength right now."
And Luna beams and squeezes her hand, "That's what you have friends for."
Hermione can't help wondering if that's true. Friends? What friends? Some friends she has... And then kicks herself. She's an arse. Sitting across from her, no matter how odd or how flighty, is undeniably a very good friend. Probably one of the best you could wish for.
She stops feeling quite as sorry for herself and thanks Luna. "And I'll try to get some sleep tonight," she promises.
"Oh, you'll sleep well tonight," Luna replies, her tone cajoling, apparently trying to reassure her. Hermione takes it for an attempt at positive thinking. "Just try to keep doing so."
She gives Hermione's hand a squeeze, and tells her they need to get going to class, "But I'll check in on you later."
Hermione's still trying to picture how that would go - Oh, hullo, Professor, I'm just here to see your wife - never mind that Luna doesn't even know where her new quarters are, as she rises, extinguishes the candles and packs her presents with a smile into her bag, grabs what remains of their food and follows her friend from the alcove.
Luna gives her a hug and sends her on her way before turning to skip off down the hallway. Only then does Hermione even register the blonde's mismatched shoes. She's torn between a 'retro eighties fashion statement' or 'Nargles' for the explanation. It's probably simpler: 'Luna'.A/N:
Get a Luna. Be a Luna.