“beyond wandpoint” 078 by gingerbred
“11 11r Tuesday - Picturing Snakes”
Hermione, the Bloody Baron, Theo Nott, Harper Hutchinson, Vincent Crabbe (in repose), Portrait Phineas Nigellus Black (mentioned), Portrait Salazar Slytherin (mentioned)
Originally Published: 2018-06-16 on AO3
Chapter: 078
A/N:
Short chapter. Sorry. Mechanical issues again. Grr. Argh. Sometimes you just can't catch a break... (Yeah, but it's a lot harder to do that when you're not supposed to use your hands... /snark) Details in comments if you're curious. It's honestly okay to laugh. In fact, I'd prefer it.
And bonus Slytherin scene included for the good Madameslytherin. <3
Only just managing not to drop her books in the process, Hermione throws on her robe in a most cursory nod to uniform compliance as she storms off, foremost at that moment to get away from his, their, rooms and the increasingly derailing... train wreck. He was a bleeding train wreck. Some pedantic inner voice disagrees with the use of 'derailing': if he's currently indeed a 'wreck', then he has de facto already 'derailed', but she hasn't even the patience for pedantry at the moment.
She's that livid.
Her unfastened robe swirls behind her, billowing with the anger in her barely restrained movements in an unconscious imitation of a certain husband of hers. Had anyone witnessed it, that would definitely have sparked even more discussion, but she's fortunate and encounters no one for a while. She's a woman on a mission, and she has a headmaster to confront. There are questions that need answers, and she's just the witch to demand them. She shall not be denied!
Well, maybe.
By the time she reaches the gargoyle to the Headmaster's chambers, of course, she'll be a little less sure of that last bit, but she knows that she doesn't understand much of what's before her, and she will need to be proactive to untangle things as best possible. She's certain, she needs to be in a position to affect what change she can. That means information gathering.
Wouldn't the Professor be ever so proud?
She wonders fleetingly if his snark has already begun rubbing off on her.
Probably.
For the moment, she's so exasperated that she doesn't notice the movement in the portraits around her as she storms through the dungeons.
There's a chorus of hushed whispers and a number of the magical paintings' subjects scurry from one picture to the next. The concentration of Slytherins in the portraits is hardly surprising considering Hermione's current location, and given the pedigree of many of the subjects, it also shouldn't be unexpected to hear the vast majority have more than one portrait, many of them having a couple even within Hogwarts. In fact, given the higher than average distribution of moneyed purebloods in the House, Slytherins comprise significantly better than a third of the castle's human portrait subjects.
Within moments, the portraits have dispersed throughout the school, an urgent mission to complete.
During his tenure as Headmaster, Phineas Nigellus Black had seen fit to arrange the portraits of Slytherins more strategically around the castle. He personally had commissioned additional paintings of many of them, having the original portraits stand as models for newer versions. The hallmark of those portraits, for the keen eyed, is that although the subjects are in highly different settings and clothes, almost suspiciously so - most portraits agree, variety is what they eventually come to crave most - and usually with great quantities of food and drink, as well, they are very clearly of the same age. Almost no one has noticed that curious fact in the intervening three quarters of a century, as scarcely any are truly observant, and the trappings of setting and clothing prove so distracting for most of those few.
The quintessential Snake, Black had even managed to convince the School's governors to finance most of that expenditure from the reserve budget, and the descendants of the subjects to cover a substantial portion of the rest. And yet it had been worth it to him, seemed important enough, that he'd been willing to loosen his purse strings and pay for the remainder out of his own pocket. It's hardly a coincidence that in the Grand Staircase, just as in the dungeon corridors, there are conglomerations of those with supplementary portraits that allow the subjects to move quickly, spreading word amongst themselves to almost every corner of the castle within minutes.
It doesn't take them long before they've located the Baron and alerted him that the Head's bondmate is on the move.
The fact said bondmate is a Muggle-born, a Mudblood, had caused for quite a bit of a stir; again, the preponderance of old families means those with blood-prejudices are over-proportionally represented amongst the group. And Black's own prejudices had certainly contributed to that when he made his selection of the portraits to have recreated. But the very fact the Head and the Muggle-born are bonded... In much the same way it had spoken to something in the Bloody Baron, it helped to win over many of the portraits. And of course, beyond their sense of duty, an abiding respect for tradition is a far more unifying House trait than any prejudices could ever be.
The Baron himself had spent quite some time over the course of the day negotiating with the portraits, trying to make their obligations clear. With the most stubborn, threats had been voiced; the Baron has precious few qualms there. If the portraits weren't going to do their duty to their House and Head, then surely it would be in everyone else's interests were they moved to the lesser frequented corners of the castle, and more helpful portraits shifted to take their places.
Oddly, few were truly eager to have their portraits moved to dark, deserted corners or largely abandoned turrets. If the isolation weren't sufficiently unappealing, the absence of a view is generally discouragement enough.
Ironically, Phineas himself had proven one of the most resistant to those threats. As one of the elite handful who had actually been headmaster or -mistresses during their lifetimes, he has some advantages over most of the others. First and foremost, his portrait has kept most of the man's wits and knowledge about him. That means he's far too much of an asset to banish to some desolate corner. And it also means he knows quite well that the Baron would have difficulties making good on his threats.
Ultimately, the ghost would need to convince one of the staff to make those changes, most likely the current Headmaster. The probability that the House ghost would truly be inclined to reveal the secrets of their House to the living embodiment of all things Gryffindor... Phineas considers the risk negligible.
He also finds the notion nearly laughable that he'd be moved otherwise, were the Baron able to convince other staff to shift his additional portraits on the sly, say. For one thing, the Baron isn't the most... persuasive of beings. At least not if forced to work without intimidation tactics. For another, his own status as a one time headmaster means he's less likely than most of the other portraits to go unnoticed were they to attempt it. And frankly, the very idea of a solitary, student-free turret appeals to him greatly. He should be so lucky.
Additionally, his primary portrait hangs, and will continue to hang, in his erstwhile office not far from the Headmaster's desk. As that isn't negotiable, and indeed provides the Slytherin portrait coalition with such a significant strategic advantage, well, he simply sees no need to bow to the ghost's demands.
A smattering of the old guard takes its cues from him, but not many, and as Dumbledore had rearranged a fair few portraits himself during the first Wizarding War, the positions of just those portraits logically aren't particularly strategic. Currently it really doesn't leave any significant gaps in their net.
For all his urging and threats, the Bloody Baron hasn't explained the circumstances for the bonding. He is well aware that he knows more about this than almost anyone in the school, living, dead or painted, and yet... it doesn't seem his secret to disclose. He's naturally... taciturn. Some of the portraits very much... aren't. He won't have them garrulously exposing the Head's young bondmate to... well, to whatever might come of widespread knowledge of those circumstances.
It's none of their business.
He's explained the facts, at least as they were presented to the students as a whole, and whispered hints in a very few, select painted ears along the lines of what most of staff were told, but taken things no further. All that handful are able to discern is there was an attack on a Muggle-born, but the Baron revealed no identities. No one needs learn any more, at least not from him. That decision, as he sees it, rests firmly in the hands of the Head. Or his wife.
Of course, he suspects the Head would make the better decision from a purely... tactical standpoint.
Gryffindors.
The Slytherin common room, however, has quite a number of portraits on its walls. When the Poste Serpentes were opened this evening and hissed their accusations for all to hear, those portraits were witness to the spectacle. Word spreads quickly.
Merlin, Madam LeStrange's creative adaptation to the Spell alone would have assured that, as would the Malfoy boy's state. Three Serpents! That was very rare. Generally only one predetermined member of the immediate family would dispatch a Serpent, anything else courted disaster, or inter-family feuds, something certainly not taken lightly in the House. For Norman Nott to have sent one to a Malfoy... Nott must have been very sure of his justification to voice his grievance.
And the boy's... bollocks...
All the portraits are agreed, no one has ever seen or heard of that being done before. Even Salazar Slytherin had to grudgingly admit: he was impressed and had never dreamt of such a thing. On the other hand, the way it left most of the wizards watching feeling, including those who existed only in pigment form, it seems the sort of Spell predestined for a witch's wand.
But the news the Serpents had to impart... That was a whole different matter.
As with the students in their House, when the portraits come to hear of how the Head's bonding to a Mudblood, that is a Muggle-born, was in response to something some of the seventh years had done...
Every last one of the portraits falls in line and cooperates, including old Salazar himself. The first Head, as it transpires, is the one to drum the stubborn rest together and straighten them out. In no uncertain terms, there is a principle at stake, and the Head most decidedly should not be punished further. They needn't enjoy it, they needn't approve, but they will do their duty by the man.
If a Mudblood, er, Muggle-born benefits from that as well, so be it.
The small minority who were aware there had been an assault will draw their own conclusions once they hear about the Serpents' imputations. With a strengthened sense of purpose, fuelled by outrage, they will help to keep the other portraits in line, but fortunately keep their own counsel as to their reasons.
In light of all of that, it shouldn't come as a surprise to much of anyone but Hermione that as she emerges from one of the lesser used spiral staircases, a shortcut to reach the Headmaster's office, the Baron appears before her.
"Good evening, Madam Snape," he whispers. Startled, she pulls up short. Before she can think of anything to say, but then he doesn't exactly wait for her to do so, he's softly encouraging her to follow him into an alcove. Hermione doesn't even think to question it any more and just casts the Notice-Me-Not on herself at his bidding.
It's not long before she hears voices approaching them.
"You can't seriously mean to tell me you have no idea what you did to get out of this?" It's one of the Slytherin Quidditch players. Hutchinson, she thinks. A sixth year. Their only male Chaser. There's a muffled thud immediately followed by Nott's voice.
"Careful, Harper. Merlin's left nut. Vince is going to be in bad enough shape as it is."
Deciding this is as good a moment as any - actually, she's probably waited too long as it is - and having no desire to draw the Professor from chambers in his present state for anything... stupid, Hermione quaffs her Draught of Peace, quietly returning the empty phial to her pocket.
She crouches low to the ground and peeks around the corner, thinking she'll be less likely to be noticed there should the Notice-Me-Not not be sufficient, and spots the two Slytherins making their way down the corridor with an inert third, apparently Mobilicorpused and floating unconscious before them. Hutchinson appears to be scraping the third boy along the wall, steering him into corners, architraves and the occasional bit of statuary as he goes. When she recognises it's Vincent Crabbe, she heartily approves.
There's a chuckle, it doesn't sound kind, but does seem genuinely amused. "Yes, I bet he is. His nose really doesn't look good."
"It never looks good..." Theo replies, earning himself another chuckle.
"Worse than usual, then. Which is saying something. Especially after his allergy attack last night. Did you know he accused me of letting Crankshaft into your room?"
"You didn't, did you?"
"Please. I know the rules. I certainly wouldn't put poor Crank at risk to mess about with Vince. He's a good cat."
"Which isn't to say you wouldn't mess about with Vince..."
That's met with a snort of laughter Hermione reads as agreement. As if to prove Nott's point, Hutchinson steers Crabbe's recumbent form into a suit of armour. "Watch it, Harper!" Theo cries out as the armour whips its head about to face the boy. "At least go for something less valuable." The armour nods vehemently, clanking its agreement, its plume of decorative feathers bobbing furiously as it does so.
"No damage done," Hutchinson assures his housemate.
"Well not to the armour anyway," Nott casts a Tergeo to clean up some blood, first on the armour's leg, priorities, the suit thanks him with a creaky inclination of its helmet, and then on Crabbe's head. "I don't want to have to explain this to Madam Pomfrey. Why don't you let me take him?"
"No need. I've got this." That's followed almost immediately by another thud, and even Hermione is sure it's deliberate at this point. "You're avoiding my question, Theo. What did you do?"
"Harper, I honestly haven't a clue."
"Which leaves Confunding or Obliviating."
"Or a Draught, but I'd probably have to have agreed to that." He sounds like he's given it quite some thought. Hermione's now reasonably sure what they're talking about, but oddly doesn't feel all that inclined to tell him he's been Obliviated.
"And that doesn't worry you? The likelihood your mind was wiped? Clean as Tergeoed? Scourgified?" There's something reserved in Hutchinson's voice, he sounds like he's holding back. There's certainly no sympathy; if anything, it's slightly mocking.
"Are you mad? Of course it worries me." Nott sounds it.
"And why shouldn't I be knocking you into the nearest wall, too?"
"Merlin, Harper, I just don't know. My father's owl..."
"Because he's known as an honest wizard?" Theo really can't think of an objection to that. His father is many things. 'Terrifying' first and foremost amongst them. Honest he is not.
"His Serpent blamed Draco, and that has to have been true..."
"At least as he knows the facts." Harper really is a great deal cleverer than most give him credit for. In addition to a good head for numbers, he has a sharp eye for the crucial details of things.
"He's not easy to fool." Theo further offers in his defence. That sounds... off. There's a hint of hope about it, but an utter absence of pride. Hermione gets the feeling he doesn't like the man much.
"You know I'm not the only one wondering. Was that why you were trying convince us to help her? At lunch? Was this the reason for your lobbying?"
"I'm not kidding you, Harper. I hadn't a clue what the Serpents were going to say." He goes silent for a moment, and then hails his friend. "Wait. Stop a minute."
Hermione gets nervous and pulls back further into the shadows of her alcove. Nott had helped her earlier; she hasn't forgotten. With the way her day had gone, it had been rather welcome. And it had certainly made for a change. But Hutchinson is apparently frequently an arse - for all his lack of bulk, he's still one of those thuggish Quidditch-playing hooligans, as she sees them - and her experience alone in corridors with Slytherins lately...
Well, she may be a might skittish.
She quickly revises her anti-Slytherin sentiment to exempt the Professor. She really needs to stop doing that, generalising that way... And then she makes another concession that the Baron was of course a Slytherin, for something like a millennium now, and a real comfort. She looks up towards the ghost, he's gone more transparent than usual so as not to draw attention to the alcove, but he seems unconcerned, and so she holds her ground, careful not to make any noise.
Nott draws his wand, and Hermione expects she might otherwise have tensed at that, but she can feel the Draught working in her system. Her wand in hand, she's ready for anything.
Except what comes of course.
Nott turns to his housemate and solemnly intones, "I swear I have no idea what they did to deserve this," he nods towards Crabbe, "or trigger the bondings, or what I did to... 'intervene'." In point of fact, he has so little idea, that he has no recourse but to use his father's word for his actions. "I swear it." There's a flare of magic and Hutchinson nods sombrely.
"Alright, Theo. I believe you. We're good." He thinks it over for a moment and then tells the older boy, "But it would probably be a good idea if you could get the Professor to say something on your behalf to the others. Because I'm not the only one who was wondering, you know. And some of them are... faster on the draw, and less likely to ask questions first."
Nott sighs. Heavily. "If you were even tangentially involved in something that ended with him bonded, never mind to whom," Hermione prepares to bristle, but it doesn't even sound derogatory, "would you want to go speak to him about defending you against the House?" He exhales again in a pained 'whoosh'. "I think he's got other things on his mind right now."
She's waiting for the crude honeymoon jokes - they're getting old - but they don't come. Apparently that's not how the Snakes see her relationship to the Professor. Which... well, at least there's that. A quarter of the castle down, three quarters to go.
"No, I suppose I wouldn't," Hutchinson agrees. "Well, I guess I can speak up for you some. I have your Oath after all. And Blaise did say the Professor told him to take his cue from you. Maybe that will be enough..." He doesn't sound convinced, and if Hermione is reading Nott's shoulders correctly, he isn't either.
The Baron floats very close to her ear and hisses, "Privacy." She's so unaccustomed to this despite her years of sneaking about with Harry, that it takes her a moment to realise he's asking her to cast a Privacy Charm. Silently she performs a Muffliato, and then shaking his head he tells her, "You may wish to learn another, my good lady. The hum on your Charm... It's liable to attract... attention. Which rather defeats the purpose."
She blinks, taken aback at the critique of her work by a ghost, but then he does have a point. It's mostly good for not being overheard, but it's not exactly ideal for going undetected, as their experience in Professor Taylor's course had shown. But Hermione gets lucky, and neither of the conscious Slytherin boys pays the low buzz any mind.
"Did you want to talk about something? Else?" She prompts the Baron, slightly offended. It probably isn't wise and certainly not nice to be shirty with him after he's kept such a careful eye on her, and she catches herself. She quickly follows up with a soft smile to compensate for her tone. He still finds her smile such an oddity that he completely forgets to register her tone in the least. And even if he had, he considers insolence almost a student default.
"It is my understanding that young Nott was... helpful... Friday last." He's decidedly ill-equipped to deal with emotional witches and not sure how to broach this, and the apparent tension in her shoulders as he does so has him not wishing to push the point. Of course, had she not taken the Potion earlier, it would undoubtedly be a good deal more than a slight tension in her posture. But she doesn't voice any objection, and he feels obligated to explain a possible opening for her here. He accepts Gryffindors are... less likely to see them. There's nothing to be done for it; he has to work with what he has.
"The House has decided to exact a... modicum of revenge for the Head on the young men... involved. You are observing some of the beginnings of that." He gestures towards Crabbe as the boys resume their trek, continuing on their way, apparently to Madam Pomfrey and the Infirmary.
"Should you feel Nott was... of assistance, you might wish to consider that it could prove... useful... to speak for him, to the others, much as Hutchinson mentioned." Her eyes go wide at the thought, and the Baron immediately qualifies his suggestion. "You needn't provide any... details as to what occurred. None whatsoever. It would be more than... adequate were you to... vouch for his character."
She winces.
He accepts that couching it as 'vouching' had clearly been a step too far. It was... inopportunely expressed. He realises that no matter the benefit to be gained by the manoeuvre, she is currently not prepared to consider it. This proves even easier for him to accept; it's certainly not related to an inherent shortcoming of her House. It's only human. He'd been human once. Quick to anger, and slow to forgive. No, he can't fault her there.
It hadn't helped matters that he hadn't explained the benefit particularly well. He had upset her before he could, and now she's no longer open to what he's trying to say. He'd handled that... poorly.
He's probably out of practice.
"There is no pressure, Madam. Please make no mistake, the choice is yours. I mean only to make you aware of your options, your... opportunities."
"Opportunities?" It sounds squeaky. She's having a little trouble finding her voice. It's probably not a good sign when the Baron's voice is stronger than one's own.
"It can be... advantageous to gain allies. Nott spoke to the others in favour of providing you with... support. It could be... beneficial to see that his position is... reinforced. Not... weakened. Because I assure you, the other four will find their positions weakened... acutely... in the days to come."
She swallows, hard, and tries to think about it.
Honestly.
Goodness knows, the Draught definitely helps.
She understands what he's saying. It makes perfect sense. She hadn't realised Nott had been the one to encourage the Snakes to stand up for her today, and now she feels a little guilty. She can even admit he had helped her Friday as well. She really shouldn't like to imagine what might have happened had he not delayed... Not that anything happened.
Nothing happened.
At all.
And Nott probably helped make that so.
But...
When she closes her eyes and pictures those boys standing in front of her Friday...
She really prefers to picture the Professor carrying her to the Infirmary instead. Well, she rather likes doing that anyway.
And she really hates picturing herself tied to that chair in the classroom...
She's so grateful that the classroom doesn't even exist in that form any more. She'll never see the room like that ever again. Except in moments like these that she's been trying hard to avoid. In her memories.
When she pictures the boys, frankly she sees them as a group. Try as she might, admittedly she doesn't try hard, but then that's sort of the point, that she can't try harder, she doesn't see them as individuals. They're the group who attacked her. Again, not that anything happened, nothing happened, but it had been... Well, it had scared her. And she can't find it in her, not today, to try to see anything but that pack in front of her. And she can't do what the Baron suggests.
She just can't.
She stands there silently shaking her head, and the Baron alleviates the need for a reply, "Well that's decided then. We shall wait for them to get clear, and I'll accompany you the rest of the way." Truthfully, he'd have done that anyway, but now he intends to remain visible. He thinks it's for the best.
She nods her agreement to the plan, and he wants... he wants to get her speaking again. Unstuck. He has no desire to leave her in this state. So he tries to distract her. "Where were you going?"
That's an easy one. "I wanted to speak to the Headmaster."
"It isn't that I don't... approve of your sartorial selection, Madam, the noble colour suits you well. But perhaps it isn't... ideal for a meeting with the Headmaster?" She could swear he's smirking.
She groans. "I left quarters in a hurry," she tries to explain.
He seems to shrug. His whole form wafting up and down as he does so, as if on a breeze that isn't there. "It's of little concern. You are a witch, are you not?" She smiles at that and lifts her wand. A wave later, and her green blouse is now white, she reaches in her robe pocket and retrieves her tie which she knots in place, and two more waves have her trainers Transfigured into something resembling the regulation shoes and her jeans into her uniform skirt. The fabric is wrong, the feel and drape of it, but if she keeps her robe closed, no one should notice. She really should ask Professor McGonagall about that one of these days.
"Do I pass muster?"
"I preferred the green," he answers honestly.
She smiles broadly now, "I think the Professor did as well."
"Superior minds..." He quips. It's a strange thing in that coarse whisper of his, and yet she's sure it's a quip.
"Men of discerning taste..." She half-corrects him with a wink. It's been so long since he's thought of himself as a 'man' - other than in the past tense - that the statement throws him. He's simply... a ghost. The House ghost, but just a ghost, all the same. The witch is a petite bundle of oddness.
"And yet I believe this ensemble is more suitable for visiting Professor Dumbledore." He drifts out into the corridor and then back into her Muffliato field. "They have gone. Shall we?"
He bows and extends an arm to indicate for her to lead the way. As she leaves the alcove, he falls in beside her.
"I'm sorry about before," she starts. He doesn't quite follow and endeavours to puzzle out for what. She tries to help him along, "About Nott..."
"There's nothing for you to apologise about. You misunderstood, Madam. The decision truly was entirely yours to take. There is no wrong or right, only what you decide to do."
She doesn't know what to do with that. There's always a wrong or right. "But there's apparently a better course of action?"
"There were... advantages. That is all." They continue in silence and he gets the feeling she believes that means her choice was wrong. He tries again. "There were also disadvantages." That should do it.
Of course it doesn't.
"And what were they?"
It seems so obvious... He tries to remind himself, she's a Gryffindor, and a young one. He can be patient. "You weren't... comfortable with the suggestion."
She simply looks more confused. So he tries yet again. "That was the disadvantage."
"If that's what stands in the way of a better solution, then that's an obstacle to be overcome, not a 'disadvantage'," she instantly objects.
"No, Madam Snape. It is not. If you wish, we can revisit this in a week, or a month, or never. But if this is how you continue to... feel, then this is how we will continue to handle the matter."
"But isn't there, objectively, a better solution in that scenario?"
"Not as long as there isn't a good deal more to be gained from acting... contrary to your wishes, or your wishes change." He sounds sure. She wishes she were as well.
"I wasn't being rash?"
"Madam Snape, if you do not promise me, this instant, to stop worrying about this matter, I shall find myself... unable to advise you on such affairs in the future." It's the sternest imaginable whisper, and she wonders for a moment if she's alienated him, frustrated him, until it occurs to her that he's holding his chains so that they don't rattle and has been the whole time. That wasn't about not being heard by the boys. The ghost has been trying to tell her about the importance of recognising allies; she knows: he is one.
She gives him another soft smile, "Thank you. I think I understand now."
"It was my privilege, Madam," he assures her with another formal bow as they reach the Headmaster's gargoyle. "I wish you a good night."
"Good evening, Baron." She bites her lip a bit nervously, still sort of unsure where they stand, she doesn't wish to presume, but recognising at least a little how this seems to work between them continues, "I'll see you in the morning?"
He gives a stiff sort of nod before he withdraws, she thinks to not give the impression he's angling for the password to Professor Dumbledore's office, and then she wonders if he would even need the password as a ghost or weren't perfectly capable of staying there, invisible, until someone came past and used it anyway. But she can't fault his manners.
The Bloody Baron heads straight to the nearest Slytherin portrait, pitches his whisper even lower than usual, and instructs the figure to keep watch until she leaves the Headmaster's office. There's always the chance she'll Floo back to chambers, but it's more likely she'll leave via the Griffin staircase and take her meal in the Great Hall afterwards. Either way, until they have a confirmed sighting, the portrait is to stand watch.
That much is clear.
Hermione, the Bloody Baron, Theo Nott, Harper Hutchinson, Vincent Crabbe (in repose), Portrait Phineas Nigellus Black (mentioned), Portrait Salazar Slytherin (mentioned)
Originally Published: 2018-06-16 on AO3
Chapter: 078
A/N:
Short chapter. Sorry. Mechanical issues again. Grr. Argh. Sometimes you just can't catch a break... (Yeah, but it's a lot harder to do that when you're not supposed to use your hands... /snark) Details in comments if you're curious. It's honestly okay to laugh. In fact, I'd prefer it.
And bonus Slytherin scene included for the good Madameslytherin. <3
Only just managing not to drop her books in the process, Hermione throws on her robe in a most cursory nod to uniform compliance as she storms off, foremost at that moment to get away from his, their, rooms and the increasingly derailing... train wreck. He was a bleeding train wreck. Some pedantic inner voice disagrees with the use of 'derailing': if he's currently indeed a 'wreck', then he has de facto already 'derailed', but she hasn't even the patience for pedantry at the moment.
She's that livid.
Her unfastened robe swirls behind her, billowing with the anger in her barely restrained movements in an unconscious imitation of a certain husband of hers. Had anyone witnessed it, that would definitely have sparked even more discussion, but she's fortunate and encounters no one for a while. She's a woman on a mission, and she has a headmaster to confront. There are questions that need answers, and she's just the witch to demand them. She shall not be denied!
Well, maybe.
By the time she reaches the gargoyle to the Headmaster's chambers, of course, she'll be a little less sure of that last bit, but she knows that she doesn't understand much of what's before her, and she will need to be proactive to untangle things as best possible. She's certain, she needs to be in a position to affect what change she can. That means information gathering.
Wouldn't the Professor be ever so proud?
She wonders fleetingly if his snark has already begun rubbing off on her.
Probably.
For the moment, she's so exasperated that she doesn't notice the movement in the portraits around her as she storms through the dungeons.
There's a chorus of hushed whispers and a number of the magical paintings' subjects scurry from one picture to the next. The concentration of Slytherins in the portraits is hardly surprising considering Hermione's current location, and given the pedigree of many of the subjects, it also shouldn't be unexpected to hear the vast majority have more than one portrait, many of them having a couple even within Hogwarts. In fact, given the higher than average distribution of moneyed purebloods in the House, Slytherins comprise significantly better than a third of the castle's human portrait subjects.
Within moments, the portraits have dispersed throughout the school, an urgent mission to complete.
During his tenure as Headmaster, Phineas Nigellus Black had seen fit to arrange the portraits of Slytherins more strategically around the castle. He personally had commissioned additional paintings of many of them, having the original portraits stand as models for newer versions. The hallmark of those portraits, for the keen eyed, is that although the subjects are in highly different settings and clothes, almost suspiciously so - most portraits agree, variety is what they eventually come to crave most - and usually with great quantities of food and drink, as well, they are very clearly of the same age. Almost no one has noticed that curious fact in the intervening three quarters of a century, as scarcely any are truly observant, and the trappings of setting and clothing prove so distracting for most of those few.
The quintessential Snake, Black had even managed to convince the School's governors to finance most of that expenditure from the reserve budget, and the descendants of the subjects to cover a substantial portion of the rest. And yet it had been worth it to him, seemed important enough, that he'd been willing to loosen his purse strings and pay for the remainder out of his own pocket. It's hardly a coincidence that in the Grand Staircase, just as in the dungeon corridors, there are conglomerations of those with supplementary portraits that allow the subjects to move quickly, spreading word amongst themselves to almost every corner of the castle within minutes.
It doesn't take them long before they've located the Baron and alerted him that the Head's bondmate is on the move.
The fact said bondmate is a Muggle-born, a Mudblood, had caused for quite a bit of a stir; again, the preponderance of old families means those with blood-prejudices are over-proportionally represented amongst the group. And Black's own prejudices had certainly contributed to that when he made his selection of the portraits to have recreated. But the very fact the Head and the Muggle-born are bonded... In much the same way it had spoken to something in the Bloody Baron, it helped to win over many of the portraits. And of course, beyond their sense of duty, an abiding respect for tradition is a far more unifying House trait than any prejudices could ever be.
The Baron himself had spent quite some time over the course of the day negotiating with the portraits, trying to make their obligations clear. With the most stubborn, threats had been voiced; the Baron has precious few qualms there. If the portraits weren't going to do their duty to their House and Head, then surely it would be in everyone else's interests were they moved to the lesser frequented corners of the castle, and more helpful portraits shifted to take their places.
Oddly, few were truly eager to have their portraits moved to dark, deserted corners or largely abandoned turrets. If the isolation weren't sufficiently unappealing, the absence of a view is generally discouragement enough.
Ironically, Phineas himself had proven one of the most resistant to those threats. As one of the elite handful who had actually been headmaster or -mistresses during their lifetimes, he has some advantages over most of the others. First and foremost, his portrait has kept most of the man's wits and knowledge about him. That means he's far too much of an asset to banish to some desolate corner. And it also means he knows quite well that the Baron would have difficulties making good on his threats.
Ultimately, the ghost would need to convince one of the staff to make those changes, most likely the current Headmaster. The probability that the House ghost would truly be inclined to reveal the secrets of their House to the living embodiment of all things Gryffindor... Phineas considers the risk negligible.
He also finds the notion nearly laughable that he'd be moved otherwise, were the Baron able to convince other staff to shift his additional portraits on the sly, say. For one thing, the Baron isn't the most... persuasive of beings. At least not if forced to work without intimidation tactics. For another, his own status as a one time headmaster means he's less likely than most of the other portraits to go unnoticed were they to attempt it. And frankly, the very idea of a solitary, student-free turret appeals to him greatly. He should be so lucky.
Additionally, his primary portrait hangs, and will continue to hang, in his erstwhile office not far from the Headmaster's desk. As that isn't negotiable, and indeed provides the Slytherin portrait coalition with such a significant strategic advantage, well, he simply sees no need to bow to the ghost's demands.
A smattering of the old guard takes its cues from him, but not many, and as Dumbledore had rearranged a fair few portraits himself during the first Wizarding War, the positions of just those portraits logically aren't particularly strategic. Currently it really doesn't leave any significant gaps in their net.
For all his urging and threats, the Bloody Baron hasn't explained the circumstances for the bonding. He is well aware that he knows more about this than almost anyone in the school, living, dead or painted, and yet... it doesn't seem his secret to disclose. He's naturally... taciturn. Some of the portraits very much... aren't. He won't have them garrulously exposing the Head's young bondmate to... well, to whatever might come of widespread knowledge of those circumstances.
It's none of their business.
He's explained the facts, at least as they were presented to the students as a whole, and whispered hints in a very few, select painted ears along the lines of what most of staff were told, but taken things no further. All that handful are able to discern is there was an attack on a Muggle-born, but the Baron revealed no identities. No one needs learn any more, at least not from him. That decision, as he sees it, rests firmly in the hands of the Head. Or his wife.
Of course, he suspects the Head would make the better decision from a purely... tactical standpoint.
Gryffindors.
The Slytherin common room, however, has quite a number of portraits on its walls. When the Poste Serpentes were opened this evening and hissed their accusations for all to hear, those portraits were witness to the spectacle. Word spreads quickly.
Merlin, Madam LeStrange's creative adaptation to the Spell alone would have assured that, as would the Malfoy boy's state. Three Serpents! That was very rare. Generally only one predetermined member of the immediate family would dispatch a Serpent, anything else courted disaster, or inter-family feuds, something certainly not taken lightly in the House. For Norman Nott to have sent one to a Malfoy... Nott must have been very sure of his justification to voice his grievance.
And the boy's... bollocks...
All the portraits are agreed, no one has ever seen or heard of that being done before. Even Salazar Slytherin had to grudgingly admit: he was impressed and had never dreamt of such a thing. On the other hand, the way it left most of the wizards watching feeling, including those who existed only in pigment form, it seems the sort of Spell predestined for a witch's wand.
But the news the Serpents had to impart... That was a whole different matter.
As with the students in their House, when the portraits come to hear of how the Head's bonding to a Mudblood, that is a Muggle-born, was in response to something some of the seventh years had done...
Every last one of the portraits falls in line and cooperates, including old Salazar himself. The first Head, as it transpires, is the one to drum the stubborn rest together and straighten them out. In no uncertain terms, there is a principle at stake, and the Head most decidedly should not be punished further. They needn't enjoy it, they needn't approve, but they will do their duty by the man.
If a Mudblood, er, Muggle-born benefits from that as well, so be it.
The small minority who were aware there had been an assault will draw their own conclusions once they hear about the Serpents' imputations. With a strengthened sense of purpose, fuelled by outrage, they will help to keep the other portraits in line, but fortunately keep their own counsel as to their reasons.
In light of all of that, it shouldn't come as a surprise to much of anyone but Hermione that as she emerges from one of the lesser used spiral staircases, a shortcut to reach the Headmaster's office, the Baron appears before her.
"Good evening, Madam Snape," he whispers. Startled, she pulls up short. Before she can think of anything to say, but then he doesn't exactly wait for her to do so, he's softly encouraging her to follow him into an alcove. Hermione doesn't even think to question it any more and just casts the Notice-Me-Not on herself at his bidding.
It's not long before she hears voices approaching them.
"You can't seriously mean to tell me you have no idea what you did to get out of this?" It's one of the Slytherin Quidditch players. Hutchinson, she thinks. A sixth year. Their only male Chaser. There's a muffled thud immediately followed by Nott's voice.
"Careful, Harper. Merlin's left nut. Vince is going to be in bad enough shape as it is."
Deciding this is as good a moment as any - actually, she's probably waited too long as it is - and having no desire to draw the Professor from chambers in his present state for anything... stupid, Hermione quaffs her Draught of Peace, quietly returning the empty phial to her pocket.
She crouches low to the ground and peeks around the corner, thinking she'll be less likely to be noticed there should the Notice-Me-Not not be sufficient, and spots the two Slytherins making their way down the corridor with an inert third, apparently Mobilicorpused and floating unconscious before them. Hutchinson appears to be scraping the third boy along the wall, steering him into corners, architraves and the occasional bit of statuary as he goes. When she recognises it's Vincent Crabbe, she heartily approves.
There's a chuckle, it doesn't sound kind, but does seem genuinely amused. "Yes, I bet he is. His nose really doesn't look good."
"It never looks good..." Theo replies, earning himself another chuckle.
"Worse than usual, then. Which is saying something. Especially after his allergy attack last night. Did you know he accused me of letting Crankshaft into your room?"
"You didn't, did you?"
"Please. I know the rules. I certainly wouldn't put poor Crank at risk to mess about with Vince. He's a good cat."
"Which isn't to say you wouldn't mess about with Vince..."
That's met with a snort of laughter Hermione reads as agreement. As if to prove Nott's point, Hutchinson steers Crabbe's recumbent form into a suit of armour. "Watch it, Harper!" Theo cries out as the armour whips its head about to face the boy. "At least go for something less valuable." The armour nods vehemently, clanking its agreement, its plume of decorative feathers bobbing furiously as it does so.
"No damage done," Hutchinson assures his housemate.
"Well not to the armour anyway," Nott casts a Tergeo to clean up some blood, first on the armour's leg, priorities, the suit thanks him with a creaky inclination of its helmet, and then on Crabbe's head. "I don't want to have to explain this to Madam Pomfrey. Why don't you let me take him?"
"No need. I've got this." That's followed almost immediately by another thud, and even Hermione is sure it's deliberate at this point. "You're avoiding my question, Theo. What did you do?"
"Harper, I honestly haven't a clue."
"Which leaves Confunding or Obliviating."
"Or a Draught, but I'd probably have to have agreed to that." He sounds like he's given it quite some thought. Hermione's now reasonably sure what they're talking about, but oddly doesn't feel all that inclined to tell him he's been Obliviated.
"And that doesn't worry you? The likelihood your mind was wiped? Clean as Tergeoed? Scourgified?" There's something reserved in Hutchinson's voice, he sounds like he's holding back. There's certainly no sympathy; if anything, it's slightly mocking.
"Are you mad? Of course it worries me." Nott sounds it.
"And why shouldn't I be knocking you into the nearest wall, too?"
"Merlin, Harper, I just don't know. My father's owl..."
"Because he's known as an honest wizard?" Theo really can't think of an objection to that. His father is many things. 'Terrifying' first and foremost amongst them. Honest he is not.
"His Serpent blamed Draco, and that has to have been true..."
"At least as he knows the facts." Harper really is a great deal cleverer than most give him credit for. In addition to a good head for numbers, he has a sharp eye for the crucial details of things.
"He's not easy to fool." Theo further offers in his defence. That sounds... off. There's a hint of hope about it, but an utter absence of pride. Hermione gets the feeling he doesn't like the man much.
"You know I'm not the only one wondering. Was that why you were trying convince us to help her? At lunch? Was this the reason for your lobbying?"
"I'm not kidding you, Harper. I hadn't a clue what the Serpents were going to say." He goes silent for a moment, and then hails his friend. "Wait. Stop a minute."
Hermione gets nervous and pulls back further into the shadows of her alcove. Nott had helped her earlier; she hasn't forgotten. With the way her day had gone, it had been rather welcome. And it had certainly made for a change. But Hutchinson is apparently frequently an arse - for all his lack of bulk, he's still one of those thuggish Quidditch-playing hooligans, as she sees them - and her experience alone in corridors with Slytherins lately...
Well, she may be a might skittish.
She quickly revises her anti-Slytherin sentiment to exempt the Professor. She really needs to stop doing that, generalising that way... And then she makes another concession that the Baron was of course a Slytherin, for something like a millennium now, and a real comfort. She looks up towards the ghost, he's gone more transparent than usual so as not to draw attention to the alcove, but he seems unconcerned, and so she holds her ground, careful not to make any noise.
Nott draws his wand, and Hermione expects she might otherwise have tensed at that, but she can feel the Draught working in her system. Her wand in hand, she's ready for anything.
Except what comes of course.
Nott turns to his housemate and solemnly intones, "I swear I have no idea what they did to deserve this," he nods towards Crabbe, "or trigger the bondings, or what I did to... 'intervene'." In point of fact, he has so little idea, that he has no recourse but to use his father's word for his actions. "I swear it." There's a flare of magic and Hutchinson nods sombrely.
"Alright, Theo. I believe you. We're good." He thinks it over for a moment and then tells the older boy, "But it would probably be a good idea if you could get the Professor to say something on your behalf to the others. Because I'm not the only one who was wondering, you know. And some of them are... faster on the draw, and less likely to ask questions first."
Nott sighs. Heavily. "If you were even tangentially involved in something that ended with him bonded, never mind to whom," Hermione prepares to bristle, but it doesn't even sound derogatory, "would you want to go speak to him about defending you against the House?" He exhales again in a pained 'whoosh'. "I think he's got other things on his mind right now."
She's waiting for the crude honeymoon jokes - they're getting old - but they don't come. Apparently that's not how the Snakes see her relationship to the Professor. Which... well, at least there's that. A quarter of the castle down, three quarters to go.
"No, I suppose I wouldn't," Hutchinson agrees. "Well, I guess I can speak up for you some. I have your Oath after all. And Blaise did say the Professor told him to take his cue from you. Maybe that will be enough..." He doesn't sound convinced, and if Hermione is reading Nott's shoulders correctly, he isn't either.
The Baron floats very close to her ear and hisses, "Privacy." She's so unaccustomed to this despite her years of sneaking about with Harry, that it takes her a moment to realise he's asking her to cast a Privacy Charm. Silently she performs a Muffliato, and then shaking his head he tells her, "You may wish to learn another, my good lady. The hum on your Charm... It's liable to attract... attention. Which rather defeats the purpose."
She blinks, taken aback at the critique of her work by a ghost, but then he does have a point. It's mostly good for not being overheard, but it's not exactly ideal for going undetected, as their experience in Professor Taylor's course had shown. But Hermione gets lucky, and neither of the conscious Slytherin boys pays the low buzz any mind.
"Did you want to talk about something? Else?" She prompts the Baron, slightly offended. It probably isn't wise and certainly not nice to be shirty with him after he's kept such a careful eye on her, and she catches herself. She quickly follows up with a soft smile to compensate for her tone. He still finds her smile such an oddity that he completely forgets to register her tone in the least. And even if he had, he considers insolence almost a student default.
"It is my understanding that young Nott was... helpful... Friday last." He's decidedly ill-equipped to deal with emotional witches and not sure how to broach this, and the apparent tension in her shoulders as he does so has him not wishing to push the point. Of course, had she not taken the Potion earlier, it would undoubtedly be a good deal more than a slight tension in her posture. But she doesn't voice any objection, and he feels obligated to explain a possible opening for her here. He accepts Gryffindors are... less likely to see them. There's nothing to be done for it; he has to work with what he has.
"The House has decided to exact a... modicum of revenge for the Head on the young men... involved. You are observing some of the beginnings of that." He gestures towards Crabbe as the boys resume their trek, continuing on their way, apparently to Madam Pomfrey and the Infirmary.
"Should you feel Nott was... of assistance, you might wish to consider that it could prove... useful... to speak for him, to the others, much as Hutchinson mentioned." Her eyes go wide at the thought, and the Baron immediately qualifies his suggestion. "You needn't provide any... details as to what occurred. None whatsoever. It would be more than... adequate were you to... vouch for his character."
She winces.
He accepts that couching it as 'vouching' had clearly been a step too far. It was... inopportunely expressed. He realises that no matter the benefit to be gained by the manoeuvre, she is currently not prepared to consider it. This proves even easier for him to accept; it's certainly not related to an inherent shortcoming of her House. It's only human. He'd been human once. Quick to anger, and slow to forgive. No, he can't fault her there.
It hadn't helped matters that he hadn't explained the benefit particularly well. He had upset her before he could, and now she's no longer open to what he's trying to say. He'd handled that... poorly.
He's probably out of practice.
"There is no pressure, Madam. Please make no mistake, the choice is yours. I mean only to make you aware of your options, your... opportunities."
"Opportunities?" It sounds squeaky. She's having a little trouble finding her voice. It's probably not a good sign when the Baron's voice is stronger than one's own.
"It can be... advantageous to gain allies. Nott spoke to the others in favour of providing you with... support. It could be... beneficial to see that his position is... reinforced. Not... weakened. Because I assure you, the other four will find their positions weakened... acutely... in the days to come."
She swallows, hard, and tries to think about it.
Honestly.
Goodness knows, the Draught definitely helps.
She understands what he's saying. It makes perfect sense. She hadn't realised Nott had been the one to encourage the Snakes to stand up for her today, and now she feels a little guilty. She can even admit he had helped her Friday as well. She really shouldn't like to imagine what might have happened had he not delayed... Not that anything happened.
Nothing happened.
At all.
And Nott probably helped make that so.
But...
When she closes her eyes and pictures those boys standing in front of her Friday...
She really prefers to picture the Professor carrying her to the Infirmary instead. Well, she rather likes doing that anyway.
And she really hates picturing herself tied to that chair in the classroom...
She's so grateful that the classroom doesn't even exist in that form any more. She'll never see the room like that ever again. Except in moments like these that she's been trying hard to avoid. In her memories.
When she pictures the boys, frankly she sees them as a group. Try as she might, admittedly she doesn't try hard, but then that's sort of the point, that she can't try harder, she doesn't see them as individuals. They're the group who attacked her. Again, not that anything happened, nothing happened, but it had been... Well, it had scared her. And she can't find it in her, not today, to try to see anything but that pack in front of her. And she can't do what the Baron suggests.
She just can't.
She stands there silently shaking her head, and the Baron alleviates the need for a reply, "Well that's decided then. We shall wait for them to get clear, and I'll accompany you the rest of the way." Truthfully, he'd have done that anyway, but now he intends to remain visible. He thinks it's for the best.
She nods her agreement to the plan, and he wants... he wants to get her speaking again. Unstuck. He has no desire to leave her in this state. So he tries to distract her. "Where were you going?"
That's an easy one. "I wanted to speak to the Headmaster."
"It isn't that I don't... approve of your sartorial selection, Madam, the noble colour suits you well. But perhaps it isn't... ideal for a meeting with the Headmaster?" She could swear he's smirking.
She groans. "I left quarters in a hurry," she tries to explain.
He seems to shrug. His whole form wafting up and down as he does so, as if on a breeze that isn't there. "It's of little concern. You are a witch, are you not?" She smiles at that and lifts her wand. A wave later, and her green blouse is now white, she reaches in her robe pocket and retrieves her tie which she knots in place, and two more waves have her trainers Transfigured into something resembling the regulation shoes and her jeans into her uniform skirt. The fabric is wrong, the feel and drape of it, but if she keeps her robe closed, no one should notice. She really should ask Professor McGonagall about that one of these days.
"Do I pass muster?"
"I preferred the green," he answers honestly.
She smiles broadly now, "I think the Professor did as well."
"Superior minds..." He quips. It's a strange thing in that coarse whisper of his, and yet she's sure it's a quip.
"Men of discerning taste..." She half-corrects him with a wink. It's been so long since he's thought of himself as a 'man' - other than in the past tense - that the statement throws him. He's simply... a ghost. The House ghost, but just a ghost, all the same. The witch is a petite bundle of oddness.
"And yet I believe this ensemble is more suitable for visiting Professor Dumbledore." He drifts out into the corridor and then back into her Muffliato field. "They have gone. Shall we?"
He bows and extends an arm to indicate for her to lead the way. As she leaves the alcove, he falls in beside her.
"I'm sorry about before," she starts. He doesn't quite follow and endeavours to puzzle out for what. She tries to help him along, "About Nott..."
"There's nothing for you to apologise about. You misunderstood, Madam. The decision truly was entirely yours to take. There is no wrong or right, only what you decide to do."
She doesn't know what to do with that. There's always a wrong or right. "But there's apparently a better course of action?"
"There were... advantages. That is all." They continue in silence and he gets the feeling she believes that means her choice was wrong. He tries again. "There were also disadvantages." That should do it.
Of course it doesn't.
"And what were they?"
It seems so obvious... He tries to remind himself, she's a Gryffindor, and a young one. He can be patient. "You weren't... comfortable with the suggestion."
She simply looks more confused. So he tries yet again. "That was the disadvantage."
"If that's what stands in the way of a better solution, then that's an obstacle to be overcome, not a 'disadvantage'," she instantly objects.
"No, Madam Snape. It is not. If you wish, we can revisit this in a week, or a month, or never. But if this is how you continue to... feel, then this is how we will continue to handle the matter."
"But isn't there, objectively, a better solution in that scenario?"
"Not as long as there isn't a good deal more to be gained from acting... contrary to your wishes, or your wishes change." He sounds sure. She wishes she were as well.
"I wasn't being rash?"
"Madam Snape, if you do not promise me, this instant, to stop worrying about this matter, I shall find myself... unable to advise you on such affairs in the future." It's the sternest imaginable whisper, and she wonders for a moment if she's alienated him, frustrated him, until it occurs to her that he's holding his chains so that they don't rattle and has been the whole time. That wasn't about not being heard by the boys. The ghost has been trying to tell her about the importance of recognising allies; she knows: he is one.
She gives him another soft smile, "Thank you. I think I understand now."
"It was my privilege, Madam," he assures her with another formal bow as they reach the Headmaster's gargoyle. "I wish you a good night."
"Good evening, Baron." She bites her lip a bit nervously, still sort of unsure where they stand, she doesn't wish to presume, but recognising at least a little how this seems to work between them continues, "I'll see you in the morning?"
He gives a stiff sort of nod before he withdraws, she thinks to not give the impression he's angling for the password to Professor Dumbledore's office, and then she wonders if he would even need the password as a ghost or weren't perfectly capable of staying there, invisible, until someone came past and used it anyway. But she can't fault his manners.
The Bloody Baron heads straight to the nearest Slytherin portrait, pitches his whisper even lower than usual, and instructs the figure to keep watch until she leaves the Headmaster's office. There's always the chance she'll Floo back to chambers, but it's more likely she'll leave via the Griffin staircase and take her meal in the Great Hall afterwards. Either way, until they have a confirmed sighting, the portrait is to stand watch.
That much is clear.