“beyond wandpoint” 102b by gingerbred
“11 12o Wednesday - Afternoon” Part 2
Severus Snape, Hermione Granger, Staff: Pomona Sprout, Poppy Pomfrey, Irma Pince, Slytherins: Draco Malfoy, Theo Nott, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Millicent Bulstrode, Harper Hutchinson, Hunter Hutchinson, Gryffindors: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Ravenclaws: Morag MacDougal, Hufflepuffs: Salome Perks Smith, Others: Sunny, Crookshanks, Crankshaft
Mentioned briefly: Staff: Filius Flitwick, Bathsheda Babbling, Nurse Wanda Wainscott, Slytherins: Hestia Carrow, Gryffindors: Ginny Weasley, Ravenclaws: Terry Boot, Darius Inglebee, Stewart Ackerly, Hufflepuffs: Megan Jones, Wayne Hopkins, Justin Finch-Fletchley
Originally Published: 2019-01-22 on AO3
Chapter: 102 part 2
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.
Millie heads to the library to look for a Charm to sort the Kneazle fur problem for Vince. It's not that she never goes to the library; she does. From time to time. Of course she does. But she doesn't generally have to research things on her own. She often goes with Pansy, who is terribly bright, so that's a huge help, or with Vince and Gregory, and then they muddle through together. She really doesn't like doing this by herself. But she's feeling pretty guilty, what with the secret practice at lunch and the fact she's pretty sure at least one of the boys won't be there this afternoon either, and she'll be filling in for one of her friends. Replacing him. Trying to steal his spot on the team, as it were.
And Vince's logic had made sense. Hadn't it? To keep this to herself, not to let anyone know...
So she hadn't told anyone, and here she is, all on her own.
She makes a good stab at finding the books she needs by herself, too, but comes up empty.
Damn. Er, drat. Yes, that.
Frustrated, she turns to Pince and explains what she's after, and the librarian tells her the books she wants have recently been checked out and so are unlikely to return anytime soon.
Damn and double damn. Er...
And then the woman gets this weird expression. She clearly has an idea, and there's this hard set to her eyes. Millie knows that look. Her mother has it often enough. It usually doesn't bode well for Millie, and she's sure it's meant to cause trouble for someone, but she gets the sense she's not that person. Not this time. It's not like she has a whole lot of choice, so she waits the librarian out.
"I'm afraid your Head took everything of use we had on the subject. But I'm sure you could speak to his wife. I saw her behind those shelves earlier. Why don't you try asking her?"
And so Millie does.
Bulstrode's a large witch and far from friendly, and Hermione isn't pleased in the least to have her standing there. She shifts her position, trying to unobtrusively finger her wand, just for reassurance, and waits for the Slytherin to speak. Instead the young woman takes a look at what Hermione's reading only to snort in derision after a pointed look at the book and a sweeping gaze at Hermione's clothes.
Hermione, quite naturally, bristles.
There's something about it that makes her just want to show off her new blouse, darn it, which is funny really, because she isn't usually wired that way. She could have dressed more nicely in any of the previous years when her parents would have been perfectly happy to spring for a nicer wardrobe - had she wanted - and she hadn't. It had simply never been a priority of hers. It isn't even now, to be honest. It's just that Bulstrode... gets under her skin.
Witch.
"Did you want something, Bulstrode?" She sounds far from welcoming.
"Pince says you have some books I need."
"Madam Pince," Hermione corrects automatically, managing to get under Millie's skin every bit as much as the reserve Beater gets under hers.
Millie narrows her eyes, "Madam Pince, then. She said you had the household charms for pets books?" There's a bit of a sneer behind it, that Granger would read such a thing. The irony that she's asking after the very same stuff herself is lost upon her.
Bulstrode isn't exactly a soft spoken individual, and Hermione has no desire to get into trouble with the librarian. Yet again. She draws her wand - the Slytherin doesn't even blink, annoyingly enough - and flicks up a Muffliato. Which would have been fine, really, except Bulstrode rolls her eyes.
Millie snorts, she knows she's not supposed to, it's hardly proper, but how else should she respond to this, and simply comments, "Oh, nice Charms work, Granger. Does it always buzz like that?"
It's Hermione's turn to narrow her eyes. It doesn't help that it's not the first time she's hearing that in the last couple of days. Bugger. "Snape. And I certainly haven't got the books with me now. Severus checked them out, you know. I'm afraid you'll have to speak to him."
Millie takes one look at the thin black band on Granger's hand before letting loose a belt of laughter. "Sure. Snape. Whatever. I need a Charm to get rid of shed Kneazle fur."
"You can't expect me to teach you?" Millie doesn't reply. She's not a tactful person, she knows it, so it's best to keep schtum. She'll wait the Moggie out. In time the Gryffindork will get there. "Why would I?"
And there's Millie's in. Merlin, it hadn't even taken long.
"I'll teach you something in exchange."
And now it's Hermione's turn to laugh, except she doesn't. Bulstrode is just too large and standing much too close. Hermione doesn't fancy her chances with the witch at her neck. She tries to view her restraint as judicious instead of fearful, with middling success. "You think you have something to teach me?" She injects just a touch of scorn into her tone, hoping it's enough to make her point without getting flattened. If the Protection Vow calls the Professor in for this, he's not going to be particularly pleased.
Millie simply turns her back to the Moggie, mumbles under her breath and waves her wand to put up the House Privacy Charm. Silent magic is difficult after all, and isn't exactly her strong suit, but that should do the trick. Within moments she's performed a charm that does not in fact buzz in the slightest.
"Drop that noisy thing you cast. Go on," she prods, facing Granger, er, Snape, yes, that, once again.
Hermione looks sceptical, managing to insult the woman once more, but ends the Muffliato, only to discover there's now no sound at all beyond the usual background noises. Of course, giving it a quick think, Hermione decides that would be true if the witch had cast nothing at all, and even if she had tried casting the charm, Hermione's far from certain it was successful. Her expression, typically, reveals as much, and then she compounds the insult by saying so.
"Sure, but how do I know that even worked?"
Millie, quite fairly rather offended, gives her a cruel smirk, tilts her head back, and lets loose one hell of a scream. Er, a loud scream. Yes. That.
Hermione panics. There's the sixth year Ravenclaw prefect Wotsit Martins, who seems to just absolutely hate her for some reason, lurking about not too far off, and Madam Pince! Holy Cricket! She can't imagine she'll get away with Confunding her twice in two days.
In her alarm, she upends her ink pot and the pile of school books she'd set on the table before her, only barely managing to cast a Tergeo to clean up the widening puddle of ink before it could damage the library book she'd been perusing. And that's despite the Peace in her system. She doesn't like to imagine how much of a spectacle of herself she'd have made without it.
"Have you completely taken leave of your senses?!" She hisses, but the Slytherin just stands there smirking her stupid smirk, flushed and glowing, and in fact not a single person has looked their way. Hermione could swear her ears are ringing.
"It's the bomb, isn't it?" Bulstrode beams.
Hermione would sooner kiss a Flobberworm than admit the witch is right, except she is, which is a source of no little annoyance.
She purses her lips in anger and a touch of shame, what is the world coming to when Bulstrode outperforms her? But she can be practical. And this was something she'd wanted after all.
"Fine. I'll teach you the Vanishing Charm if you teach me your Privacy Charm." She looks a bit like she had to digest the remains of one of Wrongbottom's cauldrons, but she forces the words out.
Millie's triumph is short lived, however. "I can't."
"What do you mean you 'can't'?"
"That's the House Privacy Charm, and we all swear an Oath never to reveal House secrets to people from other Houses." It goes without saying that it's the only one she knows. It's a thing, really, a terribly annoying thing that people always seem to want stuff from her that makes her feel smaller. Stupider. Er, more stupid. Yes, that.
Millie draws her lips in a tight line of displeasure and thinks for a moment, hard, before something the witch said occurs to her. "But I can tell you something about that ring of yours that you don't know."
This was completely unexpected. Hermione had very much wanted information, the idea it could simply be handed to her... Well, that part is appealing, even if it feels vaguely like cheating on an assignment. The notion it could come from Bulstrode, however, seems highly unlikely. And if it did, it would no doubt be an affront to her intelligence.
Still, it's tempting.
"How do I know you even have anything to tell me?"
Millie gives her a look, because they're right back there again, then draws her wand and simply says, "I Oath it." It glows a bright gold for a moment and then fades.
"'I Oath it'? That's not even English, never mind an incantation..."
Millie's back would be right up about now, except she can't believe all the things the Moggie doesn't seem to know. "For someone who's supposed to be so smart, you don't know very much, do you?"
And now Hermione's back would be well up, too, except something about the Slytherin seems sincere. She feels it's more likely the Snake would know something Hermione doesn't than that she'd be able to put one over on her. She has to admit, Bulstrode's Privacy Charm was far superior.
It's frustrating, but then so much is lately. With some trepidation, she agrees. It's not that there's any harm in teaching her the Charm, not that. What difference could it make? She just doesn't like being taken for a fool, and she feels there's a real danger of that here.
"You saw my wand glow, right?" Bulstrode asks. Hermione finds herself wondering if there isn't a charm to make a wand do just that, and only that, but then the Slytherin would have had to have done it silently and wandlessly, and from this particular witch, that simply beggars belief.
"It's all about the intent, Snape, the wording doesn't matter on Oaths. Hadn't you noticed?"
Frankly, she had not. She'd been far too busy focusing on the wording of whatever she was promising to notice that particular aspect. She stares at Bulstrode in horror. "That seems dangerous!"
That earns her a laugh. "It isn't if you meant it, which is pretty much the meaning of intent, isn't it?" Millie finds it rather funny that a Slytherin, of all people, needs to explain that to her. "All that matters is you see that flare on the wand. You did. So we're good.
"So now I've taught you something else, I think it's your turn. The Vanishing Charm," Millie prompts.
"And I know you'll keep your end of the bargain how?"
Millie twitches her wand and repeats, "I Oath it." There's an answering golden flare on her wand again.
Hermione mutters under her breath, "That's still not English." With a sigh, she resigns herself to trying to teach Bulstrode something. She's had enough classes with the witch to know this shouldn't be easy.
She's right. It isn't.
It takes her quite a while to teach Bulstrode the Charm.
Her irritation with many aspects of their exchange manifests in that she chooses to teach her the single use charm she'd learnt Monday, the one that Vanishes the fur once and needs to be reapplied. Each. And. Every. Time. She feels a little smug about that. She justifies it that the longer term Banishing Charm would have been more difficult for the Slytherin to learn, because Hermione's not entirely comfortable painting herself as someone simultaneously so vengeful and... well, petty.
Although as she watches Bulstrode try - and fail - yet again, she discovers she's becoming more comfortable with the thought...
That must be the twelfth time now. Holy Cricket. It's enough to try a witch's patience.
Some odd need to feel less vindictive has Hermione telling Bulstrode about the Charm she isn't subjecting her to as they work, as if mere act of mentioning it meant she weren't keeping it from her. She estimates the witch's chances of finding it in the books - once she and the Professor return them that is - to be about nil. It's not like she has Luna's Searching Charm, or would even know to look for 'receptacle'. The funny thing, of course, is Millie is actually relieved to hear this exercise isn't as difficult as it could have been. It's a source of slight consolation as she struggles.
On the thirteenth attempt, the proper colours finally shoot from Bulstrode's wand.
What a relief.
Hermione casts a Tempus and tells the Slytherin, "We need to hurry up."
"What? You want to get rid of me?" Bulstrode challenges, because she evidently lives to feel slighted. Were Hermione more perceptive, that would probably tell her something about the young woman.
"No, I need to..." After her mocking laughter from before, Hermione doesn't feel confident enough to say she needs to return to 'chambers', although that's exactly where she means to go. But she doesn't intend to give the reserve Beater another opening. "I need to go back to the dungeons."
Just then a bunch of Moggies come in, making a lot of noise. They're soon shushed by Pince, Madam Pince. Er, yes, that, but Millie doesn't miss how Granger, Snape flinches at the sound. She remembers what Tracey and Hestia had had to say last night, about making sure the Professor wouldn't be forced to act on his Protection Vow...
Millie knows she hasn't been exactly good about sticking to their agreement as to how to deal with the boys, but then that was complicated.
Maybe, just maybe, she can make up for it, just a little, by taking the other stuff Tracey had suggested more to heart.
She can do that.
She thinks so anyhow.
She watches Madam Snape eye the Gryffindorks uneasily, and then offers, "I need to go back to get my Quidditch gear anyway. You can walk with me if you want." Granger-Snape is something of an arse, and once again, her face is doing that thing where it wordlessly suggests Millie is so inferior as to scarcely be worthy of note. That's getting kind of old. And then the bint follows up the look by putting some of her contempt to words.
"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself." Which would be fine as objections go - maybe - except Millie can just hear the implication she has nothing whatsoever to offer. If there's one thing any Slytherin knows, it's all in the tone. Yeah, her nose is royally bent out of joint.
Hermione, of course, does indeed find the very idea Bulstrode should be considered better with a wand nothing less than a serious impugning of her own skills. She misses - completely - that it's not a question of a comparison so much as an issue of having a supplemental wand at her side.
"I'm good in a fight, as you may recall," Millie grits, her hand fisting, growing increasingly annoyed with the stuck up Moggie. Hermione rubs her neck reflexively; muscle memory, no doubt. She recalls their... scuffle from the second year Duelling Club all too well. "Unless you want to hang around here and let the Gryffindorks bother you, then suit yourself..."
Millie takes a breath and tries to get her temper - and pride - under control. She was trying to help here, wasn't she, and this seems sort of... counterproductive. At least if she were to go by the Moggie's body language anyway.
"Plus I can explain about your ring as we go. It should save some time if you're in such a hurry."
Hermione's Tempus chimes, forcing the issue. She suspects Bulstrode is in even more of a hurry than she is if she wants to make practice, but perhaps it isn't the worst idea to have some... physical company. She's not sure how much she should rely on the Baron's presence for assistance... And having taken an Oath off the woman, she can hardly refuse the offer, can she?
Hermione agrees, packs her things together, grabbing the book she'd been looking at earlier as an after thought, and they head for Madam Pince's desk.
The librarian is quite surprised to see them cooperating, that hadn't gone at all to plan. Nevertheless, duty bound, a wave of her wand has her enchanted stamp attending to the due date card quite neatly, and her dicto-quill soon fills out the borrowing card for the young woman. It's only a matter of moments before the two witches are again on their way.
Irma stares after them with a dissatisfied frown.
With very little effort, Vince manages to talk Nurse Wainscott into giving him quill and parchment. He's had a flash of inspiration and wants to write a letter... home, so to speak, with the information he's gleaned from Gregory about Jones leaving the school. He has this vague idea it might help to make up for whatever he'd done that had caused his father to be so displeased with him. After that last Serpent - Merlin, he rubs his nose at the thought - he's eager to try to curry some favour.
He means to add what he can about their Head of House, one never knows what it's good for, but he's perfectly willing to pass on anything he can. For the moment, that will only serve to make Severus' position appear even more dire than everyone at the Manor had taken it to be.
Were Vince half as bright as he believes he is, he'd have taken advantage of the fact two Hufflepuffs are currently in the Infirmary as well, but he doesn't. When he receives the reply to his letter Friday morning, his father will rob him of some his illusions. For one thing, the Death Eaters endeavouring to follow up on the information he provides will discover there are an absolutely ridiculous number of Joneses in the UK, and they deem his information next to worthless. He'll be forced to scramble to discover the Muggle-born's first name, something that had been mentioned no less than a dozen times in his presence over the course of this past afternoon, except he hadn't bothered paying the Hufflepuffs the least bit of attention. By the time he reports back that witch's name is 'Megan', she'll have made it safely to Canada.
Unfortunately, she's named after her mother. As a musician who had remained behind due to a commitment to play a concert Saturday night - she's the soloist after all - Megan Jones, the elder, is much more easily found.
It transpires that it takes a great deal more effort to actually write than it does to blag the utensils for doing so, stretched out on his stomach as Vince is with his wings still flapping overhead. The position is highly uncomfortable, and he doesn't get anywhere near as far with his letter as he'd like.
Which is how Draco finds him.
Vince pockets the unfinished letter for now.
Draco has stopped by the Infirmary, discharging his perceived duties as team captain before practice, to check on Gregory and Vince. They hadn't been in the dungeons, and Gregory, at least, hadn't been in the last class. Draco was quite sure he'd find them here. Apparently, they won't be at practice either.
With a bit of luck, they inform him, they should be home after dinner.
He sits talking with them for a while, conflicted about how he feels about them. Had he not been so thoroughly... he doesn't even know what he'd been Friday. That had been his fault, no question. And he feels rather guilty with regards to Gregory. But he can't help the feeling of resentment that creeps up on him when he looks at Vince. That burns sufficiently that he fails to find the wings remotely amusing, which is probably saying something. But if it hadn't been for Vince's thrice damned Potion...
Draco has little doubt any of the three of them would be sat here right now.
The two witches haven't gone far before Millie starts in, eager to keep her promise to Granger-Snape. Her wand's at stake, after all. It's never a good idea to have Oaths hanging over one's head. Mind, she hadn't set herself a time limit with her Oaths, but still. "So your ring? That's how I knew your 'Severus' spiel was a load of malarkey."
Hermione isn't sure she follows, but this feels a lot like Ginny's response when she first noticed it. Hermione thinks of it with some anger, which is when she realises her Draught of Peace has worn off. She can hardly quaff another in Bulstrode's presence, it would almost completely defeat the purpose.
Bugger.
Millie keeps going, oblivious to the Gryffindor's discomfort. "The width and the sheen tell everyone how you stand to one another. I don't think I've ever seen a ring that thin in all my life. And the thing is practically black. The two of you, you're virtually strangers." It's not that she personally knows so many people who've bonded. Of course she doesn't know any. But she has grown up surrounded by portraits, and that's one of the things she sees when she looks at them, the information instantly registered, because she knows just what the rings convey.
Hermione goes three shades of green. It's fairly impressive. For lack of a better idea, she attacks the logic. "Why on earth would you want that announced to the world?"
Millie has to admit, she finds this amusing. On balance, it had turned out far better than researching the Charm herself, and now this... It sort of makes up for her embarrassing showing trying to learn the stupid thing. "When you walk into Gringotts, how do they know you should have access to the family vault?" She challenges.
"But for goodness' sake!" Hermione has to object. This is probably the stupidest thing she's encountered in... possibly ever. "That's what paperwork is for. Powers of attorney. Proxies. Co-signing an account, for heaven's sake. You don't need to let the world know you're having..." Her complexion goes from green to deathly pale, and her words stop, dead in their tracks.
"Sex?" Millie smirks and shrugs. She doesn't know all the details here, but she obviously knows more than the oh so brilliant Moggie beside her. It's not often she gets to lord her knowledge over someone, however imperfect it might be. "Bonds are rather older than most of the legal stuff. That was only necessary because bonding became unpopular. Take St. Mungo's, for instance. It let's them know that you can make decisions for your husband's care."
With a look at Granger-Snape's hand, she amends, "Or not."
"Medical proxy," Hermione mutters, because clearly that's the answer.
But Millie continues without noticing. "Or any store for that matter? That you can place something on your husband's tab? Do you want to file your precious paperwork with them all?"
Of course, that's what credit cards are for, but then, they don't have them in the wizarding world, do they? No, they have rather weighty coins. Hermione had always wondered about that, how they managed bigger purchases... She'd never asked.
She studies Bulstrode contemplatively. This is the first person to find something positive in a bonding, other than the morons who'd liked Kiera's ring and giggled about her new quarters, as if there weren't easier, less permanent ways of acquiring either of those, and Hermione would sort of like to hear more. If the Slytherin seems willing to provide answers, who is she not to ask? "So you mean you're planning on getting bonded?" Bulstrode gives her a look. One of those. "I mean when the time comes?"
"Don't be stupid. Of course not," Millie's revulsion is evident. Granger-Snape looks very offended, and sure, the witch is in a bad spot, even Millie gets that. And that hadn't exactly been polite. She softens, "Honestly, I doubt I'd ever get married. So, no, a bonding makes no sense at all in that case."
There's something... off. Hermione has the strange feeling she just doesn't get the Slytherins. They always seem to think things are readily apparent that seem somehow just out of her reach. And of course they don't explain, either through reticence or because they find those subjects so glaringly obvious, and Hermione doesn't even seem to know enough to be able to sensibly tickle that information out of them.
Even stranger, she has the feeling she needs to... console the witch. Which is very weird. For a lot of reasons, not the least of which is she positively dwarfs Hermione, but she tries anyway. Presumably giants have feelings, too. "Maybe you'll feel differently when the time comes?" It very much sounds like a question, something she is nearly so unsure of she can't imagine it, but then she'd never really thought of Bulstrode that way, one way or another.
The reserve Beater just snorts, kind of in the way Madam Pomfrey does. Not particularly ladylike, certainly unrefined. But it's... honest. "Yeah, maybe," she just answers with a shift of her shoulder that probably passes for a shrug and firmly ending that line of enquiry.
They continue in silence for a little ways, but Hermione's still worried about her ring. She keeps looking at it and fingering it with her thumb and it's all very far from subtle. Millie kind of likes that. It's almost... nice to have someone more rubbish at all things Slytherin to speak to. With the exception of Daphne's blushes, which, Merlin... Millie often has the feeling she's the worst Snake of the lot. For the sake of her fleeting sense of accomplishment, Millie conveniently ignores the aspect that the 'rotten Slytherin' she's currently speaking with is in fact a Gryffindor.
"It's just as well, you know," Millie assures her with a jerk of her head towards the other woman's hand. "Anything else would have been more disturbing."
Hermione chews on that for a moment, because it's a lot to swallow.
Having at least entertained the notion that it might be... desirable to talk the Professor round from his stance on celibacy at some point... And certainly after last night... (She does not blush. She does not blush. Much.) She can sort of picture that it might be... well, nice... to have actually done so... However the idea everyone would know what she's done just by looking at her hand... is frankly terrifying.
It's like some mortifying mood ring.
She begins to wonder if the ring might reflect the changes in her thoughts. What if last night had been enough for there to be a change? Mercy, she has enough problems with Harry and Ron as it is! And what does it mean that there isn't a change to it? Does it have to be unanimous? Just what would that mean then?? "Are they... are they different or linked somehow?"
"How do you mean?"
"Well are the rings independent of one another or a matched set?"
Millie shrugs, but really can't say. Still, there's some empirical evidence she can point to. Literally. She turns and scans the portraits on the walls beside them before selecting one of an elderly couple. She gestures to it. Their hands are clasped, clearly on display, a stance very popular amongst the bonded for portrait sittings once bondings had begun to go out of favour. Even if one didn't recognise the rings, the pose practically gives it away. "See how they match? I've never seen one where they don't."
Hermione's mind races. The need for consensus seems unlikely. Or does it? Is it the least common denominator, or the stronger will that's reflected there? The stronger feelings? She's about to pepper the Snake with questions when Bulstrode shakes her head, anticipating her. "I can't tell you any more than that. Bondings are rare, most of us don't know anyone... anyone else who's done it." The Moggie's face falls almost comically, and Millie feels sorry for her. "I'd tell you if I did," she assures her and is surprised to discover it's true.
They continue towards the dungeons in silence for a ways, Hermione still nervously thumbing her ring, a maelstrom of uncomfortable thoughts whirling about her mind. She catches the Slytherin shooting her speculative glances now and again and worries too much of what she's thinking could somehow be read on her face. Eventually she shakes herself out of it and tries to make innocent conversation.
"So... I heard you made the reserve team?" Ron had gone on - and on - about the Snakes' change in strategy this year. And because Malfoy is the captain, Harry had had scarcely any less to say about it. So, yes, Hermione is well aware that Bulstrode made the team this year.
Millie nods, which doesn't exactly carry the conversation.
"So... Are you filling in for Goyle in practice?" Bulstrode is back to staring at her, and Hermione half automatically continues, "He wasn't in Herbology today..." When the Slytherin nods - rather slowly, to Hermione's mind - she nevertheless presses on, trying to maintain the flagging conversation all by herself. "Do you have another reserve Beater?"
Millie is instantly cautious. (Given it had taken her three queries to get to that point, perhaps it's not quite as instantaneous as she thinks.) Granger-Snape's disregard for the sport has been the source of much amusement in the dungeons, certainly given the positions her two best friends play. It's a pressure point that had been used successfully against the Weasel on more than on occasion.
"Are you trying to spy on us?" She accuses.
Hermione frankly doesn't really care about the answers to her questions in the least, although it seems rather rude to say as much. Spying couldn't have been further from her mind. Not even on a good day - Quidditch? Seriously? - and just whom would she report any findings back to at the moment with the way things stand right now anyhow? Some of which she might have just voiced in her shock...
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe you think it's a way back in with the Gryffindorks?" Bulstrode looks even more suspicious if possible.
Hermione can't. She's sort of had it with... everyone. Certainly with stupid Quidditch stuff. Definitely with her 'friends'. All she'd wanted to do was end the uncomfortable silence and chat with the woman. Where was the harm in that? Scenes recently with Nott and Bulstrode cross her mind, and without further thought, she draws her wand, looks pointedly at Bulstrode and replies, "I'm not spying on your Quidditch team or passing on information about them. I Oath it," and flicks her wand, just like she's seen them do. Whether it's English or not, damn it.
It glows gold under Millie's watchful eye, and then she nods. The poorly considered consequence of these actions being the witch is now off and nattering about Quidditch. Hermione nearly groans. But - somehow - it has something.. relaxing about it. This is stuff she knows, stuff she's heard before, and it feels a little like... home. It's comforting in a weird way Hermione would never have thought to seek. She just walks along listening to Bulstrode go on about Wronski Feints and then is startled out of her reverie when the witch says, "Krum was very good at those."
"Hmm?"
"He was a wonder to watch on a broom."
"Oh, I... I can't say that I did, much."
"I'll never get you, Snape. It's a skill, you know, and Krum's actually world class. There are very few who could handle a broom like that." Hermione glances appraisingly at Bulstrode. The Slytherin hadn't been one of the simpering sycophants trailing after Victor fourth year, and she doesn't quite seem to be fan-girling now. It appears to be just a sincere appreciation of his talents.
"You seem to have this thing for hanging about people with something to offer and not valuing their strengths at all," she continues with a note of frustration. "Why wouldn't you stick to people you appreciate and respect?"
"I guess the answer is I did appreciate those 'people', just for who they were and not their skills."
"Don't fool yourself. That is part of who we are," she sounds a little bitter now, and Hermione thinks she begins to understand. It's difficult when your talents aren't prized by your nearest and dearest. She's been on both sides of that equation herself. Bulstrode will have had her own experiences with that from the sound of it.
"It's moot now, isn't it?" Hermione answers quietly instead, lifting her ring hand slightly to drive home the point. Millie very nearly pinks, that's how bad it is. Yeah, she'd put her foot right in it.
"Sorry, I wasn't trying to..." She trails off and looks at the woman's hunched shoulders and opts for some honesty. "I wasn't thinking, I apologise." Really, when you stop to consider it, the Moggie's situation is completely rubbish, and Millie shouldn't be making it worse. It's a bit like kicking a kitten, and she'd never be mean to a cat. Millie sort of feels the need to make it up to her.
With a slightly wry grimace that's trying to pass for a smile, she goes on, "For what it's worth, you and the Professor aren't the worst of matches. It might not seem like it now," she can't help another glance at the ring, "but given time... He's one of the few really brainy types in the castle, and a decent sort of chap. You should give him a chance." She shrugs again and then completely ruins things, "It's not like you've got much choice."
The Moggie winces at that, in part because she's now picturing everyone's response to any change in their rings, but Millie misreads it. Yeah, that had probably just made things worse. Bollocks. This is what they have Daphne for. For fuck's sake. Er, darn. Yes, that.
They've reached the door to the Head's chambers and voices are approaching from further down the corridor. Millie recognises them as several of the others on the Quidditch team and is eager to part ways before they can get here.
"Well, here you are. See you around then." She darts off a bit quickly towards the others. Hermione assumes the Snake didn't want to be seen fraternising with the enemy, so to speak.
As she reaches to open the door, a wave of distress, displeasure, not her own, rolls over her through the bond and now has her hurrying to enter and highly anxious about what she'll find.
Severus had made excellent progress on analysing the potions. One needs to simmer for a while yet, and will still require a bit of work, he knows he won't get any further with that one till after dinner, that much is clear. Another should be done before then, but now needs to finish reducing before he can complete his evaluation of it. The third he's already identified.
Perhaps claiming he'd identified it is a bit too bold, but he knows what it contains, what it is and what it does, even if he doesn't know what it's called, and that seems the least important aspect to the thing after all. It's a recreational potion, one of the seemingly endless variety of Dream Draughts, and he's looking at it now trying to decide what to do with it.
The Potions are legal. Merlin knows, they even teach things he considers worse as part of the standard curriculum. But in light of recents events and considering some of the other things he'd found... It's given him pause to reevaluate how he feels about some of those potions.
This one has something for relaxation, and there's another substance to deepen the sleep it induces, very sensible additives in a dream inducing potion. More value for the purchaser's Sickle. But nothing too strong or addicting. It has a definitely erotic component, and a hint of an inhibition lowering agent, which should be far from problematic if the imbiber is asleep...
He's essentially holding a wet dream in his hand. As a student, he'd probably have marketed it as a 'liquid dream' to fly under supervisory radar, he thinks with a smirk. Anyone who didn't get it, didn't deserve to have it. Actually, he'd probably have used that for marketing as well.
Merlin knows, there are undoubtably enough wet dreams in the castle...
He pauses for a moment to weigh what might happen if it's taken by one of the boys he's presently dosing with the Saltpetre... Safety first, potion interactions can be nontrivial under the wrong circumstances, and they have no idea they're even on it when all is said and done... The Dream Draught should counteract some of the desired effects of the Insalacious Saltpetre, but not dangerously, and as they'd logically be asleep at the time, he determines he needn't worry about what they could get up to.
No, there's no real reason to impound this other than the fact he seems to have utterly lost his sense of... Fun. This was considered fun...
He sighs, unable to see it that way at the present. He's too tightly wound. Fine, recognising that is a good part of the battle. Not that he anticipates doing anything to rectify it in the near future.
No, he fully expects to die before that needs addressing.
Small mercies.
And he did not just glance at his ring at the thought.
He takes the other potions of the same kind from his extended pocket, lines them up in the rack before him and uncorks the lot. The phials and corks, quite sensibly, prohibit tampering. Once they're open, spells are easily applied, in this case, one to fill them all to the same level. A spell well worth knowing in his line of business. He gives it a bit of thought, before deciding to add a lavender tincture to each to top them off to make up for the quantities he used for the testing, and then re-stoppers them all, confident the alteration will go unnoted.
Worst case, customers might accuse Crabbe of peddling inferior product. He rather likes the thought. Truthfully, however, he finds his students by and large far from discerning with regards to potions - and most other things as well - and considers that highly unlikely. Still, he takes his amusements where he can...
For half a moment, he considers tainting the lot before stopping himself. At this point, his tampering will be overlooked. He has no way of knowing how many of these have been in circulation so far, which makes it all too probable any significant change would indicate he'd been at them. No, the spot of fun isn't worth it.
He'd meant to appear omniscient, after all, not childish.
But he does smirk to himself as he pictures it. Dream Draughts indeed.
He calls for Sunny, who appears immediately beside him. "Yes, Sir, oh, Master of Potions, Sir?"
"Would you return these to where you found them? I should have the rest tested this evening as well. Thank you, Sunny. I appreciate your help." And off the grinning little elf pops. For all their robes may look alike, that grin of his always ruins the impression. Utterly.
Severus is about to start work on a Potion of his own, something to occupy the time and indemnify himself for the past few days. He deserves to just do something he likes for once...
A ripple to his wards stops his preparations, however. It's unmistakable, Miss Granger has returned. Home.
His Tempus reveals she is early.
Naturally.
Well, there's little point to starting now.
He decides to go meet her and quickly tidies his workspace. He sets a Tempus to remind him to see to the reducing potion before dinner and exits his lab, closing the door behind him. It locks just as his office door had.
Miss Granger's furry beast, he's pleased to note, hasn't returned to his once much preferred spot on Severus' chair. She may truly have sorted the issue. His eyes automatically tick to her chair where he'd placed the creature not that long ago, but the feline isn't there either.
He's not entirely sure why he does it, perhaps it's a sixth sense, or simply a desire to locate other beings he knows are moving about their quarters, but his eyes sweep the room, searching for the half-Kneazle.
That is, they sweep the room until they reach the bookshelves that now dominate the lounge and make a horrible discovery.
He doesn't even notice he's completely failed to mask his mortification until Miss Granger enters their chambers.
But then that isn't his most pressing concern at present.
Severus Snape, Hermione Granger, Staff: Pomona Sprout, Poppy Pomfrey, Irma Pince, Slytherins: Draco Malfoy, Theo Nott, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Millicent Bulstrode, Harper Hutchinson, Hunter Hutchinson, Gryffindors: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Ravenclaws: Morag MacDougal, Hufflepuffs: Salome Perks Smith, Others: Sunny, Crookshanks, Crankshaft
Mentioned briefly: Staff: Filius Flitwick, Bathsheda Babbling, Nurse Wanda Wainscott, Slytherins: Hestia Carrow, Gryffindors: Ginny Weasley, Ravenclaws: Terry Boot, Darius Inglebee, Stewart Ackerly, Hufflepuffs: Megan Jones, Wayne Hopkins, Justin Finch-Fletchley
Originally Published: 2019-01-22 on AO3
Chapter: 102 part 2
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.
Millie heads to the library to look for a Charm to sort the Kneazle fur problem for Vince. It's not that she never goes to the library; she does. From time to time. Of course she does. But she doesn't generally have to research things on her own. She often goes with Pansy, who is terribly bright, so that's a huge help, or with Vince and Gregory, and then they muddle through together. She really doesn't like doing this by herself. But she's feeling pretty guilty, what with the secret practice at lunch and the fact she's pretty sure at least one of the boys won't be there this afternoon either, and she'll be filling in for one of her friends. Replacing him. Trying to steal his spot on the team, as it were.
And Vince's logic had made sense. Hadn't it? To keep this to herself, not to let anyone know...
So she hadn't told anyone, and here she is, all on her own.
She makes a good stab at finding the books she needs by herself, too, but comes up empty.
Damn. Er, drat. Yes, that.
Frustrated, she turns to Pince and explains what she's after, and the librarian tells her the books she wants have recently been checked out and so are unlikely to return anytime soon.
Damn and double damn. Er...
And then the woman gets this weird expression. She clearly has an idea, and there's this hard set to her eyes. Millie knows that look. Her mother has it often enough. It usually doesn't bode well for Millie, and she's sure it's meant to cause trouble for someone, but she gets the sense she's not that person. Not this time. It's not like she has a whole lot of choice, so she waits the librarian out.
"I'm afraid your Head took everything of use we had on the subject. But I'm sure you could speak to his wife. I saw her behind those shelves earlier. Why don't you try asking her?"
And so Millie does.
Bulstrode's a large witch and far from friendly, and Hermione isn't pleased in the least to have her standing there. She shifts her position, trying to unobtrusively finger her wand, just for reassurance, and waits for the Slytherin to speak. Instead the young woman takes a look at what Hermione's reading only to snort in derision after a pointed look at the book and a sweeping gaze at Hermione's clothes.
Hermione, quite naturally, bristles.
There's something about it that makes her just want to show off her new blouse, darn it, which is funny really, because she isn't usually wired that way. She could have dressed more nicely in any of the previous years when her parents would have been perfectly happy to spring for a nicer wardrobe - had she wanted - and she hadn't. It had simply never been a priority of hers. It isn't even now, to be honest. It's just that Bulstrode... gets under her skin.
Witch.
"Did you want something, Bulstrode?" She sounds far from welcoming.
"Pince says you have some books I need."
"Madam Pince," Hermione corrects automatically, managing to get under Millie's skin every bit as much as the reserve Beater gets under hers.
Millie narrows her eyes, "Madam Pince, then. She said you had the household charms for pets books?" There's a bit of a sneer behind it, that Granger would read such a thing. The irony that she's asking after the very same stuff herself is lost upon her.
Bulstrode isn't exactly a soft spoken individual, and Hermione has no desire to get into trouble with the librarian. Yet again. She draws her wand - the Slytherin doesn't even blink, annoyingly enough - and flicks up a Muffliato. Which would have been fine, really, except Bulstrode rolls her eyes.
Millie snorts, she knows she's not supposed to, it's hardly proper, but how else should she respond to this, and simply comments, "Oh, nice Charms work, Granger. Does it always buzz like that?"
It's Hermione's turn to narrow her eyes. It doesn't help that it's not the first time she's hearing that in the last couple of days. Bugger. "Snape. And I certainly haven't got the books with me now. Severus checked them out, you know. I'm afraid you'll have to speak to him."
Millie takes one look at the thin black band on Granger's hand before letting loose a belt of laughter. "Sure. Snape. Whatever. I need a Charm to get rid of shed Kneazle fur."
"You can't expect me to teach you?" Millie doesn't reply. She's not a tactful person, she knows it, so it's best to keep schtum. She'll wait the Moggie out. In time the Gryffindork will get there. "Why would I?"
And there's Millie's in. Merlin, it hadn't even taken long.
"I'll teach you something in exchange."
And now it's Hermione's turn to laugh, except she doesn't. Bulstrode is just too large and standing much too close. Hermione doesn't fancy her chances with the witch at her neck. She tries to view her restraint as judicious instead of fearful, with middling success. "You think you have something to teach me?" She injects just a touch of scorn into her tone, hoping it's enough to make her point without getting flattened. If the Protection Vow calls the Professor in for this, he's not going to be particularly pleased.
Millie simply turns her back to the Moggie, mumbles under her breath and waves her wand to put up the House Privacy Charm. Silent magic is difficult after all, and isn't exactly her strong suit, but that should do the trick. Within moments she's performed a charm that does not in fact buzz in the slightest.
"Drop that noisy thing you cast. Go on," she prods, facing Granger, er, Snape, yes, that, once again.
Hermione looks sceptical, managing to insult the woman once more, but ends the Muffliato, only to discover there's now no sound at all beyond the usual background noises. Of course, giving it a quick think, Hermione decides that would be true if the witch had cast nothing at all, and even if she had tried casting the charm, Hermione's far from certain it was successful. Her expression, typically, reveals as much, and then she compounds the insult by saying so.
"Sure, but how do I know that even worked?"
Millie, quite fairly rather offended, gives her a cruel smirk, tilts her head back, and lets loose one hell of a scream. Er, a loud scream. Yes. That.
Hermione panics. There's the sixth year Ravenclaw prefect Wotsit Martins, who seems to just absolutely hate her for some reason, lurking about not too far off, and Madam Pince! Holy Cricket! She can't imagine she'll get away with Confunding her twice in two days.
In her alarm, she upends her ink pot and the pile of school books she'd set on the table before her, only barely managing to cast a Tergeo to clean up the widening puddle of ink before it could damage the library book she'd been perusing. And that's despite the Peace in her system. She doesn't like to imagine how much of a spectacle of herself she'd have made without it.
"Have you completely taken leave of your senses?!" She hisses, but the Slytherin just stands there smirking her stupid smirk, flushed and glowing, and in fact not a single person has looked their way. Hermione could swear her ears are ringing.
"It's the bomb, isn't it?" Bulstrode beams.
Hermione would sooner kiss a Flobberworm than admit the witch is right, except she is, which is a source of no little annoyance.
She purses her lips in anger and a touch of shame, what is the world coming to when Bulstrode outperforms her? But she can be practical. And this was something she'd wanted after all.
"Fine. I'll teach you the Vanishing Charm if you teach me your Privacy Charm." She looks a bit like she had to digest the remains of one of Wrongbottom's cauldrons, but she forces the words out.
Millie's triumph is short lived, however. "I can't."
"What do you mean you 'can't'?"
"That's the House Privacy Charm, and we all swear an Oath never to reveal House secrets to people from other Houses." It goes without saying that it's the only one she knows. It's a thing, really, a terribly annoying thing that people always seem to want stuff from her that makes her feel smaller. Stupider. Er, more stupid. Yes, that.
Millie draws her lips in a tight line of displeasure and thinks for a moment, hard, before something the witch said occurs to her. "But I can tell you something about that ring of yours that you don't know."
This was completely unexpected. Hermione had very much wanted information, the idea it could simply be handed to her... Well, that part is appealing, even if it feels vaguely like cheating on an assignment. The notion it could come from Bulstrode, however, seems highly unlikely. And if it did, it would no doubt be an affront to her intelligence.
Still, it's tempting.
"How do I know you even have anything to tell me?"
Millie gives her a look, because they're right back there again, then draws her wand and simply says, "I Oath it." It glows a bright gold for a moment and then fades.
"'I Oath it'? That's not even English, never mind an incantation..."
Millie's back would be right up about now, except she can't believe all the things the Moggie doesn't seem to know. "For someone who's supposed to be so smart, you don't know very much, do you?"
And now Hermione's back would be well up, too, except something about the Slytherin seems sincere. She feels it's more likely the Snake would know something Hermione doesn't than that she'd be able to put one over on her. She has to admit, Bulstrode's Privacy Charm was far superior.
It's frustrating, but then so much is lately. With some trepidation, she agrees. It's not that there's any harm in teaching her the Charm, not that. What difference could it make? She just doesn't like being taken for a fool, and she feels there's a real danger of that here.
"You saw my wand glow, right?" Bulstrode asks. Hermione finds herself wondering if there isn't a charm to make a wand do just that, and only that, but then the Slytherin would have had to have done it silently and wandlessly, and from this particular witch, that simply beggars belief.
"It's all about the intent, Snape, the wording doesn't matter on Oaths. Hadn't you noticed?"
Frankly, she had not. She'd been far too busy focusing on the wording of whatever she was promising to notice that particular aspect. She stares at Bulstrode in horror. "That seems dangerous!"
That earns her a laugh. "It isn't if you meant it, which is pretty much the meaning of intent, isn't it?" Millie finds it rather funny that a Slytherin, of all people, needs to explain that to her. "All that matters is you see that flare on the wand. You did. So we're good.
"So now I've taught you something else, I think it's your turn. The Vanishing Charm," Millie prompts.
"And I know you'll keep your end of the bargain how?"
Millie twitches her wand and repeats, "I Oath it." There's an answering golden flare on her wand again.
Hermione mutters under her breath, "That's still not English." With a sigh, she resigns herself to trying to teach Bulstrode something. She's had enough classes with the witch to know this shouldn't be easy.
She's right. It isn't.
It takes her quite a while to teach Bulstrode the Charm.
Her irritation with many aspects of their exchange manifests in that she chooses to teach her the single use charm she'd learnt Monday, the one that Vanishes the fur once and needs to be reapplied. Each. And. Every. Time. She feels a little smug about that. She justifies it that the longer term Banishing Charm would have been more difficult for the Slytherin to learn, because Hermione's not entirely comfortable painting herself as someone simultaneously so vengeful and... well, petty.
Although as she watches Bulstrode try - and fail - yet again, she discovers she's becoming more comfortable with the thought...
That must be the twelfth time now. Holy Cricket. It's enough to try a witch's patience.
Some odd need to feel less vindictive has Hermione telling Bulstrode about the Charm she isn't subjecting her to as they work, as if mere act of mentioning it meant she weren't keeping it from her. She estimates the witch's chances of finding it in the books - once she and the Professor return them that is - to be about nil. It's not like she has Luna's Searching Charm, or would even know to look for 'receptacle'. The funny thing, of course, is Millie is actually relieved to hear this exercise isn't as difficult as it could have been. It's a source of slight consolation as she struggles.
On the thirteenth attempt, the proper colours finally shoot from Bulstrode's wand.
What a relief.
Hermione casts a Tempus and tells the Slytherin, "We need to hurry up."
"What? You want to get rid of me?" Bulstrode challenges, because she evidently lives to feel slighted. Were Hermione more perceptive, that would probably tell her something about the young woman.
"No, I need to..." After her mocking laughter from before, Hermione doesn't feel confident enough to say she needs to return to 'chambers', although that's exactly where she means to go. But she doesn't intend to give the reserve Beater another opening. "I need to go back to the dungeons."
Just then a bunch of Moggies come in, making a lot of noise. They're soon shushed by Pince, Madam Pince. Er, yes, that, but Millie doesn't miss how Granger, Snape flinches at the sound. She remembers what Tracey and Hestia had had to say last night, about making sure the Professor wouldn't be forced to act on his Protection Vow...
Millie knows she hasn't been exactly good about sticking to their agreement as to how to deal with the boys, but then that was complicated.
Maybe, just maybe, she can make up for it, just a little, by taking the other stuff Tracey had suggested more to heart.
She can do that.
She thinks so anyhow.
She watches Madam Snape eye the Gryffindorks uneasily, and then offers, "I need to go back to get my Quidditch gear anyway. You can walk with me if you want." Granger-Snape is something of an arse, and once again, her face is doing that thing where it wordlessly suggests Millie is so inferior as to scarcely be worthy of note. That's getting kind of old. And then the bint follows up the look by putting some of her contempt to words.
"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself." Which would be fine as objections go - maybe - except Millie can just hear the implication she has nothing whatsoever to offer. If there's one thing any Slytherin knows, it's all in the tone. Yeah, her nose is royally bent out of joint.
Hermione, of course, does indeed find the very idea Bulstrode should be considered better with a wand nothing less than a serious impugning of her own skills. She misses - completely - that it's not a question of a comparison so much as an issue of having a supplemental wand at her side.
"I'm good in a fight, as you may recall," Millie grits, her hand fisting, growing increasingly annoyed with the stuck up Moggie. Hermione rubs her neck reflexively; muscle memory, no doubt. She recalls their... scuffle from the second year Duelling Club all too well. "Unless you want to hang around here and let the Gryffindorks bother you, then suit yourself..."
Millie takes a breath and tries to get her temper - and pride - under control. She was trying to help here, wasn't she, and this seems sort of... counterproductive. At least if she were to go by the Moggie's body language anyway.
"Plus I can explain about your ring as we go. It should save some time if you're in such a hurry."
Hermione's Tempus chimes, forcing the issue. She suspects Bulstrode is in even more of a hurry than she is if she wants to make practice, but perhaps it isn't the worst idea to have some... physical company. She's not sure how much she should rely on the Baron's presence for assistance... And having taken an Oath off the woman, she can hardly refuse the offer, can she?
Hermione agrees, packs her things together, grabbing the book she'd been looking at earlier as an after thought, and they head for Madam Pince's desk.
The librarian is quite surprised to see them cooperating, that hadn't gone at all to plan. Nevertheless, duty bound, a wave of her wand has her enchanted stamp attending to the due date card quite neatly, and her dicto-quill soon fills out the borrowing card for the young woman. It's only a matter of moments before the two witches are again on their way.
Irma stares after them with a dissatisfied frown.
With very little effort, Vince manages to talk Nurse Wainscott into giving him quill and parchment. He's had a flash of inspiration and wants to write a letter... home, so to speak, with the information he's gleaned from Gregory about Jones leaving the school. He has this vague idea it might help to make up for whatever he'd done that had caused his father to be so displeased with him. After that last Serpent - Merlin, he rubs his nose at the thought - he's eager to try to curry some favour.
He means to add what he can about their Head of House, one never knows what it's good for, but he's perfectly willing to pass on anything he can. For the moment, that will only serve to make Severus' position appear even more dire than everyone at the Manor had taken it to be.
Were Vince half as bright as he believes he is, he'd have taken advantage of the fact two Hufflepuffs are currently in the Infirmary as well, but he doesn't. When he receives the reply to his letter Friday morning, his father will rob him of some his illusions. For one thing, the Death Eaters endeavouring to follow up on the information he provides will discover there are an absolutely ridiculous number of Joneses in the UK, and they deem his information next to worthless. He'll be forced to scramble to discover the Muggle-born's first name, something that had been mentioned no less than a dozen times in his presence over the course of this past afternoon, except he hadn't bothered paying the Hufflepuffs the least bit of attention. By the time he reports back that witch's name is 'Megan', she'll have made it safely to Canada.
Unfortunately, she's named after her mother. As a musician who had remained behind due to a commitment to play a concert Saturday night - she's the soloist after all - Megan Jones, the elder, is much more easily found.
It transpires that it takes a great deal more effort to actually write than it does to blag the utensils for doing so, stretched out on his stomach as Vince is with his wings still flapping overhead. The position is highly uncomfortable, and he doesn't get anywhere near as far with his letter as he'd like.
Which is how Draco finds him.
Vince pockets the unfinished letter for now.
Draco has stopped by the Infirmary, discharging his perceived duties as team captain before practice, to check on Gregory and Vince. They hadn't been in the dungeons, and Gregory, at least, hadn't been in the last class. Draco was quite sure he'd find them here. Apparently, they won't be at practice either.
With a bit of luck, they inform him, they should be home after dinner.
He sits talking with them for a while, conflicted about how he feels about them. Had he not been so thoroughly... he doesn't even know what he'd been Friday. That had been his fault, no question. And he feels rather guilty with regards to Gregory. But he can't help the feeling of resentment that creeps up on him when he looks at Vince. That burns sufficiently that he fails to find the wings remotely amusing, which is probably saying something. But if it hadn't been for Vince's thrice damned Potion...
Draco has little doubt any of the three of them would be sat here right now.
The two witches haven't gone far before Millie starts in, eager to keep her promise to Granger-Snape. Her wand's at stake, after all. It's never a good idea to have Oaths hanging over one's head. Mind, she hadn't set herself a time limit with her Oaths, but still. "So your ring? That's how I knew your 'Severus' spiel was a load of malarkey."
Hermione isn't sure she follows, but this feels a lot like Ginny's response when she first noticed it. Hermione thinks of it with some anger, which is when she realises her Draught of Peace has worn off. She can hardly quaff another in Bulstrode's presence, it would almost completely defeat the purpose.
Bugger.
Millie keeps going, oblivious to the Gryffindor's discomfort. "The width and the sheen tell everyone how you stand to one another. I don't think I've ever seen a ring that thin in all my life. And the thing is practically black. The two of you, you're virtually strangers." It's not that she personally knows so many people who've bonded. Of course she doesn't know any. But she has grown up surrounded by portraits, and that's one of the things she sees when she looks at them, the information instantly registered, because she knows just what the rings convey.
Hermione goes three shades of green. It's fairly impressive. For lack of a better idea, she attacks the logic. "Why on earth would you want that announced to the world?"
Millie has to admit, she finds this amusing. On balance, it had turned out far better than researching the Charm herself, and now this... It sort of makes up for her embarrassing showing trying to learn the stupid thing. "When you walk into Gringotts, how do they know you should have access to the family vault?" She challenges.
"But for goodness' sake!" Hermione has to object. This is probably the stupidest thing she's encountered in... possibly ever. "That's what paperwork is for. Powers of attorney. Proxies. Co-signing an account, for heaven's sake. You don't need to let the world know you're having..." Her complexion goes from green to deathly pale, and her words stop, dead in their tracks.
"Sex?" Millie smirks and shrugs. She doesn't know all the details here, but she obviously knows more than the oh so brilliant Moggie beside her. It's not often she gets to lord her knowledge over someone, however imperfect it might be. "Bonds are rather older than most of the legal stuff. That was only necessary because bonding became unpopular. Take St. Mungo's, for instance. It let's them know that you can make decisions for your husband's care."
With a look at Granger-Snape's hand, she amends, "Or not."
"Medical proxy," Hermione mutters, because clearly that's the answer.
But Millie continues without noticing. "Or any store for that matter? That you can place something on your husband's tab? Do you want to file your precious paperwork with them all?"
Of course, that's what credit cards are for, but then, they don't have them in the wizarding world, do they? No, they have rather weighty coins. Hermione had always wondered about that, how they managed bigger purchases... She'd never asked.
She studies Bulstrode contemplatively. This is the first person to find something positive in a bonding, other than the morons who'd liked Kiera's ring and giggled about her new quarters, as if there weren't easier, less permanent ways of acquiring either of those, and Hermione would sort of like to hear more. If the Slytherin seems willing to provide answers, who is she not to ask? "So you mean you're planning on getting bonded?" Bulstrode gives her a look. One of those. "I mean when the time comes?"
"Don't be stupid. Of course not," Millie's revulsion is evident. Granger-Snape looks very offended, and sure, the witch is in a bad spot, even Millie gets that. And that hadn't exactly been polite. She softens, "Honestly, I doubt I'd ever get married. So, no, a bonding makes no sense at all in that case."
There's something... off. Hermione has the strange feeling she just doesn't get the Slytherins. They always seem to think things are readily apparent that seem somehow just out of her reach. And of course they don't explain, either through reticence or because they find those subjects so glaringly obvious, and Hermione doesn't even seem to know enough to be able to sensibly tickle that information out of them.
Even stranger, she has the feeling she needs to... console the witch. Which is very weird. For a lot of reasons, not the least of which is she positively dwarfs Hermione, but she tries anyway. Presumably giants have feelings, too. "Maybe you'll feel differently when the time comes?" It very much sounds like a question, something she is nearly so unsure of she can't imagine it, but then she'd never really thought of Bulstrode that way, one way or another.
The reserve Beater just snorts, kind of in the way Madam Pomfrey does. Not particularly ladylike, certainly unrefined. But it's... honest. "Yeah, maybe," she just answers with a shift of her shoulder that probably passes for a shrug and firmly ending that line of enquiry.
They continue in silence for a little ways, but Hermione's still worried about her ring. She keeps looking at it and fingering it with her thumb and it's all very far from subtle. Millie kind of likes that. It's almost... nice to have someone more rubbish at all things Slytherin to speak to. With the exception of Daphne's blushes, which, Merlin... Millie often has the feeling she's the worst Snake of the lot. For the sake of her fleeting sense of accomplishment, Millie conveniently ignores the aspect that the 'rotten Slytherin' she's currently speaking with is in fact a Gryffindor.
"It's just as well, you know," Millie assures her with a jerk of her head towards the other woman's hand. "Anything else would have been more disturbing."
Hermione chews on that for a moment, because it's a lot to swallow.
Having at least entertained the notion that it might be... desirable to talk the Professor round from his stance on celibacy at some point... And certainly after last night... (She does not blush. She does not blush. Much.) She can sort of picture that it might be... well, nice... to have actually done so... However the idea everyone would know what she's done just by looking at her hand... is frankly terrifying.
It's like some mortifying mood ring.
She begins to wonder if the ring might reflect the changes in her thoughts. What if last night had been enough for there to be a change? Mercy, she has enough problems with Harry and Ron as it is! And what does it mean that there isn't a change to it? Does it have to be unanimous? Just what would that mean then?? "Are they... are they different or linked somehow?"
"How do you mean?"
"Well are the rings independent of one another or a matched set?"
Millie shrugs, but really can't say. Still, there's some empirical evidence she can point to. Literally. She turns and scans the portraits on the walls beside them before selecting one of an elderly couple. She gestures to it. Their hands are clasped, clearly on display, a stance very popular amongst the bonded for portrait sittings once bondings had begun to go out of favour. Even if one didn't recognise the rings, the pose practically gives it away. "See how they match? I've never seen one where they don't."
Hermione's mind races. The need for consensus seems unlikely. Or does it? Is it the least common denominator, or the stronger will that's reflected there? The stronger feelings? She's about to pepper the Snake with questions when Bulstrode shakes her head, anticipating her. "I can't tell you any more than that. Bondings are rare, most of us don't know anyone... anyone else who's done it." The Moggie's face falls almost comically, and Millie feels sorry for her. "I'd tell you if I did," she assures her and is surprised to discover it's true.
They continue towards the dungeons in silence for a ways, Hermione still nervously thumbing her ring, a maelstrom of uncomfortable thoughts whirling about her mind. She catches the Slytherin shooting her speculative glances now and again and worries too much of what she's thinking could somehow be read on her face. Eventually she shakes herself out of it and tries to make innocent conversation.
"So... I heard you made the reserve team?" Ron had gone on - and on - about the Snakes' change in strategy this year. And because Malfoy is the captain, Harry had had scarcely any less to say about it. So, yes, Hermione is well aware that Bulstrode made the team this year.
Millie nods, which doesn't exactly carry the conversation.
"So... Are you filling in for Goyle in practice?" Bulstrode is back to staring at her, and Hermione half automatically continues, "He wasn't in Herbology today..." When the Slytherin nods - rather slowly, to Hermione's mind - she nevertheless presses on, trying to maintain the flagging conversation all by herself. "Do you have another reserve Beater?"
Millie is instantly cautious. (Given it had taken her three queries to get to that point, perhaps it's not quite as instantaneous as she thinks.) Granger-Snape's disregard for the sport has been the source of much amusement in the dungeons, certainly given the positions her two best friends play. It's a pressure point that had been used successfully against the Weasel on more than on occasion.
"Are you trying to spy on us?" She accuses.
Hermione frankly doesn't really care about the answers to her questions in the least, although it seems rather rude to say as much. Spying couldn't have been further from her mind. Not even on a good day - Quidditch? Seriously? - and just whom would she report any findings back to at the moment with the way things stand right now anyhow? Some of which she might have just voiced in her shock...
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe you think it's a way back in with the Gryffindorks?" Bulstrode looks even more suspicious if possible.
Hermione can't. She's sort of had it with... everyone. Certainly with stupid Quidditch stuff. Definitely with her 'friends'. All she'd wanted to do was end the uncomfortable silence and chat with the woman. Where was the harm in that? Scenes recently with Nott and Bulstrode cross her mind, and without further thought, she draws her wand, looks pointedly at Bulstrode and replies, "I'm not spying on your Quidditch team or passing on information about them. I Oath it," and flicks her wand, just like she's seen them do. Whether it's English or not, damn it.
It glows gold under Millie's watchful eye, and then she nods. The poorly considered consequence of these actions being the witch is now off and nattering about Quidditch. Hermione nearly groans. But - somehow - it has something.. relaxing about it. This is stuff she knows, stuff she's heard before, and it feels a little like... home. It's comforting in a weird way Hermione would never have thought to seek. She just walks along listening to Bulstrode go on about Wronski Feints and then is startled out of her reverie when the witch says, "Krum was very good at those."
"Hmm?"
"He was a wonder to watch on a broom."
"Oh, I... I can't say that I did, much."
"I'll never get you, Snape. It's a skill, you know, and Krum's actually world class. There are very few who could handle a broom like that." Hermione glances appraisingly at Bulstrode. The Slytherin hadn't been one of the simpering sycophants trailing after Victor fourth year, and she doesn't quite seem to be fan-girling now. It appears to be just a sincere appreciation of his talents.
"You seem to have this thing for hanging about people with something to offer and not valuing their strengths at all," she continues with a note of frustration. "Why wouldn't you stick to people you appreciate and respect?"
"I guess the answer is I did appreciate those 'people', just for who they were and not their skills."
"Don't fool yourself. That is part of who we are," she sounds a little bitter now, and Hermione thinks she begins to understand. It's difficult when your talents aren't prized by your nearest and dearest. She's been on both sides of that equation herself. Bulstrode will have had her own experiences with that from the sound of it.
"It's moot now, isn't it?" Hermione answers quietly instead, lifting her ring hand slightly to drive home the point. Millie very nearly pinks, that's how bad it is. Yeah, she'd put her foot right in it.
"Sorry, I wasn't trying to..." She trails off and looks at the woman's hunched shoulders and opts for some honesty. "I wasn't thinking, I apologise." Really, when you stop to consider it, the Moggie's situation is completely rubbish, and Millie shouldn't be making it worse. It's a bit like kicking a kitten, and she'd never be mean to a cat. Millie sort of feels the need to make it up to her.
With a slightly wry grimace that's trying to pass for a smile, she goes on, "For what it's worth, you and the Professor aren't the worst of matches. It might not seem like it now," she can't help another glance at the ring, "but given time... He's one of the few really brainy types in the castle, and a decent sort of chap. You should give him a chance." She shrugs again and then completely ruins things, "It's not like you've got much choice."
The Moggie winces at that, in part because she's now picturing everyone's response to any change in their rings, but Millie misreads it. Yeah, that had probably just made things worse. Bollocks. This is what they have Daphne for. For fuck's sake. Er, darn. Yes, that.
They've reached the door to the Head's chambers and voices are approaching from further down the corridor. Millie recognises them as several of the others on the Quidditch team and is eager to part ways before they can get here.
"Well, here you are. See you around then." She darts off a bit quickly towards the others. Hermione assumes the Snake didn't want to be seen fraternising with the enemy, so to speak.
As she reaches to open the door, a wave of distress, displeasure, not her own, rolls over her through the bond and now has her hurrying to enter and highly anxious about what she'll find.
Severus had made excellent progress on analysing the potions. One needs to simmer for a while yet, and will still require a bit of work, he knows he won't get any further with that one till after dinner, that much is clear. Another should be done before then, but now needs to finish reducing before he can complete his evaluation of it. The third he's already identified.
Perhaps claiming he'd identified it is a bit too bold, but he knows what it contains, what it is and what it does, even if he doesn't know what it's called, and that seems the least important aspect to the thing after all. It's a recreational potion, one of the seemingly endless variety of Dream Draughts, and he's looking at it now trying to decide what to do with it.
The Potions are legal. Merlin knows, they even teach things he considers worse as part of the standard curriculum. But in light of recents events and considering some of the other things he'd found... It's given him pause to reevaluate how he feels about some of those potions.
This one has something for relaxation, and there's another substance to deepen the sleep it induces, very sensible additives in a dream inducing potion. More value for the purchaser's Sickle. But nothing too strong or addicting. It has a definitely erotic component, and a hint of an inhibition lowering agent, which should be far from problematic if the imbiber is asleep...
He's essentially holding a wet dream in his hand. As a student, he'd probably have marketed it as a 'liquid dream' to fly under supervisory radar, he thinks with a smirk. Anyone who didn't get it, didn't deserve to have it. Actually, he'd probably have used that for marketing as well.
Merlin knows, there are undoubtably enough wet dreams in the castle...
He pauses for a moment to weigh what might happen if it's taken by one of the boys he's presently dosing with the Saltpetre... Safety first, potion interactions can be nontrivial under the wrong circumstances, and they have no idea they're even on it when all is said and done... The Dream Draught should counteract some of the desired effects of the Insalacious Saltpetre, but not dangerously, and as they'd logically be asleep at the time, he determines he needn't worry about what they could get up to.
No, there's no real reason to impound this other than the fact he seems to have utterly lost his sense of... Fun. This was considered fun...
He sighs, unable to see it that way at the present. He's too tightly wound. Fine, recognising that is a good part of the battle. Not that he anticipates doing anything to rectify it in the near future.
No, he fully expects to die before that needs addressing.
Small mercies.
And he did not just glance at his ring at the thought.
He takes the other potions of the same kind from his extended pocket, lines them up in the rack before him and uncorks the lot. The phials and corks, quite sensibly, prohibit tampering. Once they're open, spells are easily applied, in this case, one to fill them all to the same level. A spell well worth knowing in his line of business. He gives it a bit of thought, before deciding to add a lavender tincture to each to top them off to make up for the quantities he used for the testing, and then re-stoppers them all, confident the alteration will go unnoted.
Worst case, customers might accuse Crabbe of peddling inferior product. He rather likes the thought. Truthfully, however, he finds his students by and large far from discerning with regards to potions - and most other things as well - and considers that highly unlikely. Still, he takes his amusements where he can...
For half a moment, he considers tainting the lot before stopping himself. At this point, his tampering will be overlooked. He has no way of knowing how many of these have been in circulation so far, which makes it all too probable any significant change would indicate he'd been at them. No, the spot of fun isn't worth it.
He'd meant to appear omniscient, after all, not childish.
But he does smirk to himself as he pictures it. Dream Draughts indeed.
He calls for Sunny, who appears immediately beside him. "Yes, Sir, oh, Master of Potions, Sir?"
"Would you return these to where you found them? I should have the rest tested this evening as well. Thank you, Sunny. I appreciate your help." And off the grinning little elf pops. For all their robes may look alike, that grin of his always ruins the impression. Utterly.
Severus is about to start work on a Potion of his own, something to occupy the time and indemnify himself for the past few days. He deserves to just do something he likes for once...
A ripple to his wards stops his preparations, however. It's unmistakable, Miss Granger has returned. Home.
His Tempus reveals she is early.
Naturally.
Well, there's little point to starting now.
He decides to go meet her and quickly tidies his workspace. He sets a Tempus to remind him to see to the reducing potion before dinner and exits his lab, closing the door behind him. It locks just as his office door had.
Miss Granger's furry beast, he's pleased to note, hasn't returned to his once much preferred spot on Severus' chair. She may truly have sorted the issue. His eyes automatically tick to her chair where he'd placed the creature not that long ago, but the feline isn't there either.
He's not entirely sure why he does it, perhaps it's a sixth sense, or simply a desire to locate other beings he knows are moving about their quarters, but his eyes sweep the room, searching for the half-Kneazle.
That is, they sweep the room until they reach the bookshelves that now dominate the lounge and make a horrible discovery.
He doesn't even notice he's completely failed to mask his mortification until Miss Granger enters their chambers.
But then that isn't his most pressing concern at present.