“beyond wandpoint” 107 by gingerbred

[beyondwandpoint]

“11 12t Wednesday - Evening”

Severus (HoS, Potions), Hermione 7G (Prefect, Supreme Swot), Staff: Poppy Pomfrey (Mediwitch extraordinaire), Slytherins: Draco 7S (Prefect, Team Captain, Seeker, Swot), Theo Nott 7S (Swottiest, Nervous Wreck), Blaise Zabini 7S (Keeper (but only in the Quidditch sense...)), Vincent 'Vince' Crabbe 7S (Beater, Winged ex-Couch still-Potato), Daphne Greengrass 7S (Sparkly! Fwoopers!), Harper Hutchinson 6S (Prefect, Chaser, flash Robe Model), Ella Wilkins 6S (Prefect), Crankshaft (Harper's half-Kneazle), Others: Crookshanks 'Crooks' (Hermione's half-Kneazle), Sunny (the Snapes' house elf)
Originally Published: 2019-04-07 on LJ / DW
Chapter: 107 Characters:

Severus (HoS, Potions), Hermione 7G (Prefect, Supreme Swot)

Staff:
Poppy Pomfrey (Mediwitch extraordinaire)

Slytherins:
Draco 7S (Prefect, Team Captain, Seeker, Swot), Theo Nott 7S (Swottiest, Nervous Wreck), Blaise Zabini 7S (Keeper (but only in the Quidditch sense...)), Vincent 'Vince' Crabbe 7S (Beater, Winged ex-Couch still-Potato), Daphne Greengrass 7S (Sparkly! Fwoopers!), Harper Hutchinson 6S (Prefect, Chaser, flash Robe Model), Ella Wilkins 6S (Prefect), Crankshaft (Harper's half-Kneazle)

Others:
Crookshanks 'Crooks' (Hermione's half-Kneazle), Sunny (the Snapes' house elf)

Mentioned briefly: Staff: Professor Sybill Trelawney (Divination; Scarves, Tealeaves, Patchouli, oh my!), Hagrid (Care of Magical Creatures, Keeper of not-so-wee Beasties), Nurse Wanda Wainscott (chatty), Silvanus Kettleburn (ex-Care of Magical Creatures, Keeper of Few Original Limbs), Horace Slughorn (ex-HoS, ex-Potions), Slytherins:Flora Carrow 6S (friendly twin), Hestia Carrow 6S (Chaser, sporty twin), Valerie 'Val' Vaisey 6S (Chaser), Róisín Rosier 6S, Hunter Hutchinson 4S (Imp), Wilfred Wilkes 4S, Ravenclaws: Martins 6R (Prefect who doesn’t like Hermione), Others: Elizabeth Wilkins (Ella’s mum), Heliotrope Hutchinson (Harper’s and Hunter’s murdered mum) Previously:

Severus is forced to confront the fact Vince is a potions dealer, and is unable to identify three of his potions without further testing. 097 He discovers one of those potions is the Liquid Lust Hermione was given, and becomes a walking, stalking rageball. 104 He encounters Harry and trades him a demonstration of the Curly-tail Spells for an Oath to keep Friday's events to himself. 105 Thoroughly disgusted with life, the universe and everything else, Severus leaves dinner shortly after arriving. 106

Hermione and Severus rearrange their quarters at Hermione’s suggestion 103 to make a little extra room for the (half-)Kneazle ledges Severus had crafted while thoroughly cabbaged Tuesday evening. Discovered 103 In the process, they eliminate a few steps and create a drop behind the couch, and Hermione waxes poetic (well, maybe not quite that) about Severus’ woodworking abilities. A nice example thereof would be the nightstand he’d made for her when he carried her to bed late Tuesday night. 087

Sunny makes a perfectly lovely cottage pie for Hermione for dinner. 104

Draco, Theo and Blaise get hit by any number of pranks by their Housemates and pretty much regret breathing at this point. 106

After applying particularly brutal Legilimenses on the seventh year boys and concussing Draco, Severus asked Poppy to deny his students Pain Relieving Potion before losing consciousness in the Infirmary. 007 She wasn't aware of the details, but did as he asked. Unfortunately she hasn't had a chance to end the charade until now, and is still withholding the potion from his students. They agree he’ll ‘brew some’ and provide it after dinner. 102

Harper continues his now established tradition of taking pictures of Vince in... unusual situations, capturing him in his full winged glory on the couch this morning. 091 Unfortunately, he also fully expects Vince to continue the tradition of beating him silly for it, just as he had after the 'terrycloth Flobberworm' photos last year. Mentioned in 065

The staff regrets their initial response to Severus’ bonding a student and send wedding gifts. Mentioned 041 Hermione arranges them on the dining table 070, something Severus appreciates ever so much, and the two discuss the appropriate response, settling on ‘thank you’ notes. Some sarcasm was implemented in the process. 092

Severus sweeps into his, their quarters, his cloak still billowing furiously behind him. Unlike Sybill and her scarves, he doesn't require a charm for that. Generally the thick cloth is carried by the cadence of his step, but in this case there's an added ripple from the anger that seems to lap off him in waves. The emotion is readily apparent in his posture and stride, and only the most lack-witted could miss it... But then the castle is simply brimming with the very same.

Nevertheless, just the sight of him had been enough to send a couple of third years scurrying only minutes ago.

Hufflepuffs, but still...

He’s no longer so enraged that it didn’t register, and yet currently of the sort of mood where it supplied some satisfaction. He’ll take it where he can, he thinks, ignoring all the many ways he doesn’t. But then he has his reasons.

Surely.

He hasn't even passed the perception filter when he bellows for "Sunny!", uncaring who might hear, although his wards have assured him the corridor is free of living beings. The elf appears before him almost instantly, forcing Severus to come to an abrupt halt. The elf does so so contritely, too - conveniently enough - that the wizard immediately moderates his tone. Never let it be said Sunny hasn't developed some tricks of his own over the years.

"Any chance of some dinner?" Severus enquires, knowing full well the answer is always 'yes'.

Technically, it's "Yes, Master of Potions, Sir. Sunny is fetching Master dinner, Sunny is," and off he pops before Severus can say another word. A little guiltily, the Potions Master wonders if the elf has left so quickly to avoid being exposed to his temper, and regrets his tone once more.

Not that it does anything to improve his disposition.

He continues into their chambers, no longer storming, the momentum lost, and there's a moment of shock - but not surprise, clearly, he'd known about it after all - as the new furniture layout comes into view.

Hmm.

It truly is an improvement...

Something about the superiority of the arrangement spurs him to want to finish it. Make his contribution. He'd said he would after all, and the potion in the laboratory doesn't require his attention yet. That's what comes of leaving the meal early. It shouldn’t take long, and all he required is a bit of privacy and space to work.

He turns to address the railing between lounge and... study. He may as well come to terms with that now. That’s his study. There’s little point in nursing that little ressentiment.

Albus...

In retrospect, the changes seem obvious and all too typically he wishes they had occurred to him first.

There's no sign of Miss Granger, who now comes to mind, unbidden, although presumably somewhat logically... No trace of her in the vicinity through the bond. To say anything more, he'd have to actually listen to it, and he's simply not in the mood.

Either way, she isn't here. (Which may have just a little to do with the aforementioned mood.) The door to her room stands cracked, a little ajar, presumably to permit her creature access. As agreed, he reminds himself. In fact, he’d suggested it. The perception filter he’d placed on the mirror covering her door, bending the view to show him much more than the thin slice normally would, amply demonstrates that beast is the only inhabitant of the room. Eschewing the shelves he’d made for it, Severus thinks disparagingly, and missing that the thing is quite thoroughly enjoying the self-warming blanket he’d crafted instead.

No, she hasn't returned, she's... wherever. It seems odd. Both the not knowing and the irritating feeling that he should. That gets under his skin. He hadn't even seen her at the meal... Although in all fairness, he hadn’t stayed long and he had missed the first part of it thanks to brewing. Ah, and the... interlude with Potter.

And apparently somehow... mislaid his... wife in the process. He can just hear Potter throwing that in his face... (Which ignores - utterly - precisely who had taunted whom with the fact of that marriage not a half an hour since...)

Before he even reaches the area in front of his desk where he'd left the wood for the banister, he's decided he's simply being contrary. (But then of course he is. If he weren't, he'd need to be checked for suspicion of an Imperius or Polyjuice.) As though he'd want her underfoot...

Fine, she's still 'up' somewhere.

Absolutely everything is 'up somewhere' from the dungeons... He’s back to grumbling. He mulishly ignores the fact the vector information might be more useful from chambers than it had been in the Great Hall to complain about the addition of the extra story to the possible locations. Vaguely he knows that as he’s perfectly aware she hasn’t moved from wherever she was, it quite logically excludes the ground floor from those locations... Such details only interfere with his well-honed lamenting process.

Well, he'd have known she wasn't here from the wards anyhow. The bond really doesn't seem to do all that much good.

Depreciatory thoughts of Albus follow that again, most naturally. It seems like there can never be enough of those lately...

He sets about magicking the chunk of ebony into rectangular pieces he'll make into the individual spindles. The half-Kneazle approaches and with an elegant leap almost indifferently proceeds to make itself at home on the window seat. The entire manoeuvre is completed without looking at Severus more than fleetingly in passing, as though it were mere coincidence and nothing more that it has positioned itself where it can watch the Potions Master as he goes about his project.

He's irritable, and the work somehow isn't quite as soothing as usual. Although the longer he continues, the more it has a chance to do its magic... Ultimately he'll succumb to its charms if he gives it enough time. Sadly, he very rarely does that with the things he enjoys these days. There are simply too many demands on him.

As he magically turns the wood, his thoughts order themselves some, an honesty overtakes him, and he's better able to isolate the primary source of his irritation. He frankly can't understand why he's so... upset - and he is, there's no use denying it - that there was more of the Lust potion. It had been highly probable - it wasn’t remotely a question of pessimism (for once) - and it's not like Crabbe had the related memories to know enough to get rid of the things...

It only made sense there had been more. It was to be expected, and yet it leaves him... Angry.

Frustrated.

There had been many things, so many things, he'd wished Horace had done differently as his own Head of House. Severus had thought a fair number of them easy enough to change. And they should have been. But more and more these days he finds his hands tied, his wand stayed, himself unable to... school his students properly.

It was one thing to use the Liquid Lust for recreational purposes. But it should have been abundantly clear to his charges that Friday's application of that potion was...

Well, completely unacceptable, for starters. It should have...

Oh, it should have been a number of things. Led to a number of things. Expulsion was a fine start. Criminal charges seemed more appropriate....

And instead... Instead he and Miss Granger find themselves bonded... forevermore. Stuck playing happy families... (Or at least would were she present...)

As solutions go, it was far from satisfactory.

He'll let the half-Kneazle fur do a number on Crabbe, he thinks with a glance at the feline. Continue to... confiscate homework assignments. The boys should accrue any number of detentions for that thanks to his words in Hagrid's ear at lunch. Ah, and Hagrid’s in everyone else’s... Severus doesn't wish to see the rest of the House suffer for the seventh years' actions. Well, not more than what absolutely can't be avoided. Beyond the Saltpetre, presumably he'll need to hold off on more... radical measures until after the Quidditch match...

Initially it feels... unsatisfactory, but after this morning's discovery in the Slytherin common room - he chuckles darkly at the recollection of a winged Crabbe stuck to the couch and Goyle poised with a rock in hand above him - he has a suspicion that some of the heavy casting will be taken off his hands.

Waiting is also the subtler approach. It'll be less obvious he's behind any measures he takes. If he isn't suspected, there will be no need for justification. Experience has shown, repeatedly, that he can't rely on certain parties' approval. The Dark Lord is incredibly volatile, he may sanction a course of action one day, and then withdraw that support the very next. It's... easier by far to simply go unnoticed. Even Albus had been increasingly... erratic of late.

No, it's probably best for Severus to play things close to his chest.

Merlin knows, he can be patient. Exceedingly patient. But he allows a number of possible scenarios to run through his mind as he labours. That proves almost as relaxing as the woodworking itself.

Sunny could bring the meal at any time; instead it waits, held in the kitchens at the perfect temperature by a Stasis Charm. That won't keep food indefinitely, it couldn't, but it slows the spoiling process some, and certainly is good for a couple of days when applied correctly, and Sunny most definitely tends to do that. From his perch Disillusioned on the fireplace mantle, he watches his master work, knowing from their years together that it should do the man some good. This is more important than serving the meal in a timely fashion. The wizard will just assume it needed to be prepared first. Sunny allows his legs to hang off the edge, kicking them back and forth idly in a youthful and impish fashion that quite belies his age, but rather accurately reflects his character.

All he's missing is a snack to better enjoy watching the spectacle, but he worries the scent would give his presence away. He doesn’t have a Charm for that.

Severus unwinds the longer he works. It's not a lengthy project, but there is call for some detailed work in the baluster design. The concentration required is usually good for him. And yet despite it, there are now some thoughts that keep percolating to the surface of his conscious mind.

He's doing this for himself. Clearly. Purely for his own satisfaction. Anything else would be absurd. Particularly as he's presently kneeling in a not altogether dignified fashion in front of his desk to get closer to the wood as he magicks the uprights into place. He wouldn’t do that for anyone else. Besides Flooing, of course. He's decidedly not going to this effort for the witch who simply left him standing there earlier and has now disappeared without so much as a by-your-leave...

But as he crafts the balustrade, he can't help hearing the echo of her praise for his craftsmanship.

He tells himself - almost convincingly - he'd have given the spindles the extra turn anyway. And yet it's odd - so very - that they end up looking like a compromise between the work he'd done on his furniture and hers.

A Plimpy bobs past the long window behind the built in bench seating; neither man nor the feline pay it much mind. Severus can't help wondering if the beast is more... at ease in these surroundings than Miss Granger, or possibly the greater relative amount of time spent in chambers has helped the half-Kneazle adjust better.

When moments later a Grindylow swims into view only to open its sharply fanged mouth and swallow the Plimpy with one savage bite and the half-Kneazle still appears unfazed, Severus determines: a great deal less excitable than the witch. She'd have squeaked, he is sure. The Grindylow's tentacles call the Giant Squid to mind, and Severus smirks at the memory of how the witch started whenever he ventured past.

It’s only made the Selkies Silken Signatures ink rise in his estimation...

Wherever she is, she's quiet. The bond is unusually... placid. Still. Peaceful. It's quite a change to the usual. And then he has to snort in bleak amusement that there is now such a thing as a 'usual' between them... But he finds himself wondering what she's doing. Absently. Just as an intellectual exercise, say.

The bond really does not provide satisfactory information.

"So?" He asks the ginger beast. It earns him a piercing look that neither answers the question nor provides any indication he's understood. "Where is she?" He expands, more explicitly.

That's rewarded with a less than enlightening 'mrawrrr', and he promptly decides he's an idiot. He's simply not used to the company.

It was silly really. Despite having keyed the wards for the creature, and his lips purse in distaste at the recollection, it hasn't exactly had opportunity to leave their quarters. How on earth should it know where its witch was? Besides, perhaps, a general awareness of her habits... Well, the question had been rhetorical, surely.

Even had the furry little monster known, it's highly unlikely it could communicate...

He finally relents and makes an attempt to listen to the bond. At first he concludes he can't say all that much from here but that she's not in the dungeons. That clearly narrows it down. He doesn't have a sense for how close or far away she might be, but he thinks he can be more precise than 'up' if he applies himself to the problem.

Yes.

He listens some more, it’s the best description for it, although ‘sensing’ would probably suit as well, and decides she isn't in the Gryffindor tower, either.

He finds that a source of some consolation and can't quite explain why. Presumably because that would only remind him more acutely that she's a student... And then he pretends he didn't pause to reflect on that pleasant little detail even momentarily.

Possibly the library... He thinks the appropriately uncharitable thoughts about that, considering her desk in a room all her own... He can't even claim the same, he complains to himself with a glare at his slightly shrunken desk, ignoring his office for the sake of his self pity fest. She had better facilities to learn here than the library could hope to offer her. He half-heartedly tries to convince himself she'd needed access to the books and isn't simply avoiding him, with not the slightest hint of success.

He doesn't welcome the thought. Of course not. Who would? It... annoys him. But he's a good deal more collected than he'd been when he returned to chambers, and thoughts such as these no longer anger him. He's used to being annoyed. It’s virtually a permanent state for the man. It's little more now than an irritating hum in the back of his mind as he rises to evaluate the job he's done. He steps back to examine it with approval, shrinks the remaining bits of wood and returns them to their storage tin. Severus, so stupidly, is about to turn to the feline to ask its opinion of the new railing when it leaps from the seat and precedes him into the lounge.

Almost as though it had just been waiting for him to finish...

Severus grunts to himself at the notion. Nothing but a flight of fancy.

And yet he follows the animal into the lounge.

Draco drops his Protego as soon as they’re outside the Great Hall and the wads of green paper napkin scraps fall to the floor in a mound around him. Blaise would laugh, but the spoons hanging off his nose and chin make any shift in facial expressions uncomfortable, not to mention rendering mockery ill advised. Theo, for his part, is no longer of a mind to laugh about anything. Draco Vanishes the mess, less from any desire not to inconvenience anyone else, and more from what is presently an acute need to attract less attention. He then turns to Blaise with three different Finite Incantatems to try to undo the Sticking Charms, but only half the silverware detaches, and annoyingly the spoon on his nose is proving rather stubborn.

Theo Banishes the silverware back to the Great Hall as Draco works, but they’re pressed for time and need to get going. And a little privacy probably wouldn’t go amiss. The three head back towards the dungeons, under the cover of a very robust Notice-Me-Nott, hoping to get Blaise sorted quickly. They will have to hurry if they wish to be punctual for Astronomy.

His roommates help Blaise without asking; they’ve silently determined ‘this’ is going to become a problem, a significant one, and require a group effort to better cope. It takes not a little industry to detach all the silver from him, and that’s despite not even bothering with removing them from his singed robes; he’ll be changing those anyway. And there’s some hope the Charms will let up in time... A few of the Sticking Charms had been rather esoteric, and Blaise is lucky he has the two best versed Spell weavers of his Housemates attending to the problem.

Wizards so rarely learn the spells witches use to fix their clothing in place. Apparition, Flooing, broom flight... Shy of a Thestral drawn carriage, and even that could be dicey, almost all modes of wizarding transportation wreak absolute havoc on one’s clothes, to say nothing of one’s millinery. Of course, as soon as wizards learn even the hint of such Spells, common sense demands witches create new ones. It’s why there are so frightfully many of them, as the boys are currently discovering, much to their regret.

Most of the silverware is spoons, it had been the safer choice, obviously. Hestia and Val, however, had been inordinately proud of their skills and brave enough to use forks and a number of knives they’d pinched from their Housemates’ place settings. (Wilfred had protested he wasn’t done with his meal. Hunter had kindly passed him his knife.) Of course, it helped greatly that the girls weren’t fussed about the results if it went pear-shaped. The fact Pomfrey can and does heal most things has a way of making the students overly casual about inflicting damage on one another from time to time. This was clearly one of those times.

Which isn’t to say that damage doesn’t tend to hurt.

Blaise has a fair few scrapes from fork tines on his scalp to show for things, it looks not unlike he’d been badly clawed by a Kneazle, and his skin is generally, and quite understandably, less than pleased about the experience as a whole. The girls have done a number on him. Draco fetches a tin of Dittany from his nightstand which he tosses to Theo, a perfectly natural means of conveyance for a Seeker. Theo would beg to differ, and can easily think of half a dozen better ways to have dealt with it, although not just at the moment... No, at the moment he’s staring somewhat uselessly at the small object hurtling rapidly towards him. Blaise, with his Keeper’s reflexes still intact enough for such purposes, simply plucks it out of the air before a startled Theo’s face and then hands it to the boy. With things no longer flying directly at sensitive parts of his body (he and his nose are rather attached, for example), Theo recovers quickly, bobs a nod of thanks and sets about applying the Dittany to his roommate’s more obvious lacerations. Blaise meanwhile magicks his clothes off and a clean set of robes on. Ella’s words about his reduced funds stay his wand, and will keep him from simply Vanishing the ruined set.

Merlin! He may need to learn how to repair it...

Blaise soon retrieves his supplies from his old robes. (Accios are so useful.) The others have their materials already Reducioed in their pockets; they usually head directly to class from dinner, just as the others presumably will. Relying on the relative safety of another one of Theo’s Notice-Me-Notts, the three dash off to Astronomy.

The half-Kneazle has parked itself in front of Miss Granger's room, and Severus ignores it for the moment. Two can play that game after all.

Deliberately, he takes his blue throw from the couch (still rather pleased with how the leg reattachment has turned out, which he manages to consider without the related irritant of contemplating why it was required in the first place). He folds the blanket together tidily and puts it into his storage cupboard. It's strange having to deal with the magically adjusted space, things aren’t optimally arranged for these conditions, and if he doesn’t wish to resort to constantly Accioing things, he may need to reorganise to make it more practical in its present form.

Hmm.

Perhaps when the war is won.

He'd rather it were real space, of course, no question, but as it contains no potions supplies...

It shouldn't make any difference for storing the finished brews, at least not to anyone's knowledge, although given his druthers, he prefers erring on the side of caution. There simply haven't been sufficient studies to prove how it might impact the efficacies over time. For the short term, however, there's no worry there.

He prefers not to shrink the raw ingredients for storage, although he’ll allow that might be more superstition than science on his part. Apparition and Portkeying doesn't effect them, which is a great relief, nor Reducioing for shipping or travel... He's tested all three extensively. There's always some difficulty in ascertaining the suppliers haven't stored them shrunk for excessive periods of time. He considers it crucial to find sources who are like minded and... trustworthy. But then of course that was true for a variety of reasons.

He remains positively convinced, however, that brewing in magicked space makes a difference. No one can deny his potions tend to be a cut above the rest, so there is presumably something to be said for simply trusting his instincts. At least as far as Potions making goes, they seem to be pretty good.

There is that, if nothing else.

When Miss Granger returns this evening, there'll be no trace of the second blue throw. If that serves to encourage her to leave her incredibly soft blanket in the lounge, so be it. He’ll simply suffer stoically; he’s good at that. He takes said blanket and arranges it in place of the one he'd just removed. And he didn't sniff it as he did so, or not for longer than a moment or so.

Hmm.

The half-Kneazle is now positioned to his right, still in front of Miss Granger's door. It mrawrs at him once more as he finishes smoothing the blanket over the couch’s back, and Severus finally turns to face him. "Well?"

As if in answer, it stands and pushes the door to the room further open, entering, crossing to its crate-cum-nightstand where it again sits facing him, a surprisingly expectant look on its scrunched face.

Severus says nothing, simply stares at the beast and it mrawrs yet again, more insistently this time. Somewhat comically, the wizard cocks his head in silent contemplation of the feline's motives. The gesture looks remarkably like one of Crooks' own.

Severus is left with the distinct impression the animal wants him to make a new carrier for him.

He'd planned to.

More or less.

He’d considered it at any rate.

It was part of his desire to wish to be seen to provide for his... bondmate - a rather peculiar assessment of his actions given only one other person was there to do any such seeing. Somehow in the witch's absence, he feels less comfortable with the idea of entering her room, which strikes him as strange given it had been his only days ago. Still, he's uneasy at the thought. It doesn't seem... proper to stroll in and out of her... area as he pleases.

(And then he has to make allowances for how that's another matter entirely when carrying a sleeping witch, on the immediate heels of which he has to try justifying that action... That proves a little more difficult. Naturally. Finally he settles on 'inebriation' and moves on. Bygones.)

For his part, Crooks has decided the man is a little dim, but then most are, and edges closer to his carrier before repeating the process, more loudly this time.

MRAWR.

Brazen ball of fur. That settles it. Severus has no wish to do some mangy moggy's bidding. Or much of anyone else's for that matter. He has to follow orders all too often as it is. And for an absentee witch?

He thinks not. This is where he draws the line. He snorts derisively at the ginger monster and turns on his heel.

Crooks assumes the man has missed the point altogether. He recalls disdainfully how ridiculously thick every last human had proven when he'd tried to alert them to the not!rat four years ago, and wonders why he expected anything else. Clearly he's much too good natured, still giving these creatures the benefit of the doubt...

Severus performs a Tempus to check if the potion requires his attention; it does not, as yet.

It's still just a bit too early to be certain Poppy will be in the Infirmary. He has no desire to speak to Nurse Wainscott in her stead - life is too short, and at any rate she’s likely to make a hash of their potions resupplying charade - and chooses to wait until he knows the Mediwitch will have returned from dinner. It's not likely she'll have much to do then. By stark contrast to class or practice time, few people seem to require her attention after a meal in the Great Hall, a clear advantage to their house elves if ever there were one.

That thought has him wondering briefly where Sunny is with his dinner, but he assumes it will be worth the wait. It always is.

With a very small flame shaped movement of his hand, almost a flick of two fingers really, he Incendios the fire. That evidently still works perfectly, both wandlessly and silently, when no scantily clad witches are about, and then heads for his office. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a positively irksome voice protests he’d need to try that with witch - scantily clad, naturally - to prove any correlation, because that particular spell has worked perfectly for more years than he’d care to count, particularly when thinking of the witch. Or not. And certainly not when scantily clad...

Apparently that thought will now be joining the black bikini to make his joy complete.

He passes through the dining area - a satisfyingly more convenient arrangement now that it's shifted away from the shelves, he’ll allow - and opens the furthest of the two doors. He reaches in his extended pocket and removes the books on Vows, which he Banishes to his desk. He could have put them in what now passes for his study, but there's no privacy here, and it seems ill advised to just leave them lying about on his desk. He's loathe to draw Miss Granger's attention to them. Irma was right: it's a bit late to be researching the topic. He could have left them shrunk in a drawer, of course, but then that's not how he likes to work...

He returns the remains of the Universal Solvent from this morning’s little excursion to... treat Crabbe back to his classroom's stores and checks the time once more.

Good enough.

He fetches some Pain Relieving Potion from his laboratory stores, it doesn’t do to underestimate the importance of props for a spot of theatre, grabs a small handful of Floo powder, casts it on his fire and calls for the Infirmary.

Poppy appears almost instantly, causing him to wonder if she’d been waiting for him to Floo. That impression will be strongly reinforced in a few moments when she casts a Privacy Charm to provide him with some news. But for now, he passes the Potions through making all the appropriate noises.

The Mediwitch hams it up even more, “Thank you so much, Severus, for seeing to this so promptly. I don’t know what we’d ever do without you. We’ve missed you and your skills badly the past several days...”

BAFTA worthy, beyond any doubt. Severus believes he can hear students’ eyes rolling even from where he crouches before his fire, but she means well. She’s simply not very subtle.

But then, few are.

“Think nothing of it, Poppy,” he replies, quite certain no one else will. “Is there anything else you require?” When she casts her Privacy Charm, his initial expectation is that still more students have been dragged into her care since they spoke before, and she’s forced to use the Charm due to patient confidentiality concerns.

Instead, he’s pleasantly surprised when she begins to relate what had occurred in the Great Hall after he’d left.

He’s soon sorry he’d missed it. Apparently that's also what comes of leaving the meal prematurely. Of course, had he remained, it never would have occurred, his students now committed as they are to causing him less trouble as they take the seventh years to task. As it was, it probably worked out for the best.

Severus stands watching as the lines in the Matron’s face soften and her smile broadens and she laughs and it takes twenty years off her. His smirk begins more and more to resemble a smile as she gestures to her hair and her nose, her hands moving about her face and body trying to show where Zabini's spoons and assorted cutlery had apparently landed. The more she laughs, he can swear he sees the girl she once must have been shining through.

He suspects she was a handful.

She wraps up relating how she’d half convinced Taylor his students should be casting Protegos while Incendioed, and Severus has some difficulty not laughing in reply as she vanishes from sight.

With Taylor, there’s a fair chance he’ll try practising that himself. And knowing the wizard and his rather... dubious... skills, there’s a fair chance he’ll be landing in Poppy’s care as a result. She may not have thought that through quite well enough.

His mood is greatly improved as he rises, placing a hand on the mantle to lever himself up. His Disillusioned house elf is forced to slide to the side to avoid him, a combination of Silencing and Privacy Charms assures he’s not heard. In all their years together, Severus has never questioned why Sunny keeps the centre of the mantlepiece free. Not that there’s much clutter in his home - aside from Miss Granger’s installation on the table, that is - but the spot beside his hand appears rather conspicuously empty.

The half-Kneazle has reappeared in the doorway and Severus reconsiders. He’s feeling... magnanimous. The image of Malfoy, a living bit of paper shrubbery with unfixed roots, moving about the castle... It cheers him. Rather.

He’s been in a mood because of the thrice damned potion, he feels foolish because he’s suddenly stuck wondering where a witch he probably hadn’t thought twice about last week has got to, she’s perfectly welcome to do as she pleases, and this... Normally he’d have Occluded and that alone would have calmed him, but he’s done so so much lately, this hadn’t mattered and he’d... frankly he’d wallowed a bit. He’s allowed it to get away from him. Not that it was an unreasonable response, he had cause, but there’s no need to make a production of the matter. The crate, at least, is easily sorted.

As if intuiting his resolve, or perhaps it’s merely optimistic (and those can only be the thoughts of someone who doesn’t know Crooks in the least), the half-Kneazle nudges the door wide and sits there again in front of the nightstand mrawing and Severus feels he needs to prove he's... the better man.

His father crosses his mind briefly, and the question he hadn't even posed is now settled. He may not know what he wants to be in the context of his bonding, but he knows what he isn’t. He fishes the storage tin from the bookshelves by his desk, sorts through it until he has the appropriate wafer, and then sets about preparing it, enlarging and then cutting and affixing and it isn't long at all when he turns his mind to it until he has the finished piece before him.

Far superior to the Transfiguration now littering her room. He’s satisfied.

All business, a Wingardium Leviosa sets the thing to following him, and his present thoughts about the witch are thankfully a good deal healthier, more comfortable, than those that now seem to automatically accompany that Charm. As a direct result, he doesn’t castigate himself for Friday once this time. The same Spell soon lifts the objects from her table, as he stands at the entrance to her room, still stubbornly refusing to enter. But then he’s a wizard and he needn’t. The half-Kneazle leaps clear as the appropriate Finite Incantatems return the old carrier to its original plastic state, which Severus then shrinks until it’s mere inches in size. A Leviosa again shifts it out of the way, removing it to the largely empty shelves - there, too, he notes, she’d done as he asked and left most of her things in the Tower initially - and sending the new piece to take its place.

Carefully, he lowers the flowers and other items to the top of the carrier, and thinks he's managed to keep everything in place while he was about it. A quick adjustment to the flowers - her bouquet - and then he's quite sure. (He’s correct, as a matter of fact, which is why Sunny will soon appear and shift things slightly out of position once his back is turned.) The design of the table-crate is the same, he’d made the first one to his specifications after all, and there’s little to show what he’d done just now unless one understands how real wood should look.

Dimly in the back of his mind, he wonders if it's a test. To see if she’d paid attention earlier. Understood. Learnt. And if so, if he expects her to pass or fail. And which he'd prefer...

Silently, he curses Albus for this insane scheme of his.

Severus hasn't felt himself since they've done this... Well, thinking back to his fit of rage earlier that evening, he amends that to: ‘rarely’, and what does it say that that was himself...

A week in the Lake District.

A long weekend even.

He desperately needs a break, he thinks, running a hand through his hair.

Which coincides with the half-Kneazle appearing and threading its way around him, purring and it... It feels different to a moment ago, comforting and not demanding. With a touch of gratitude he isn't used to feeling, not in situations like this - but it's easier, significantly, when it's directed at an animal and not at another person - he picks the creature up and it promptly surprises him by purring its way into his chest.

The ginger head butts up under his chin with enough force to be felt but not hurt, and it's... an oddly blokey way of giving comfort, he can't help thinking with a chuckle as he scratches behind its ears.

"Well, that's your Mistress' room, sorted then. And you as well, I suppose. Satisfied with the carrier, are you?"

He almost feels foolish for the question, but the animal responds immediately with a deep rumbling purr that feels so much like an answer, he finds himself wondering about the intelligence of Kneazles, half and otherwise. Much like Miss Granger, he'd never pursued a N.E.W.T. in Care of Magical Creatures. Kettleburn... Merlin. No, that had been only marginally more wise than attempting one under Hagrid's guidance. Possibly less so when one considers Silvanus’ utter lack of qualms for the situations he created; Severus had worked beside the man long enough to know that. Staff still speak of the Engorgioed Ashwinder incident in hushed tones. Say what you will, Hagrid at least had a reasonably well developed conscience.

Severus pulls the door to behind him, until it’s once again only open wide enough for the feline in his arms to pass through. As he moves further into the lounge, it becomes restless. He loosens his hold and it leaps for its shelves, where it once again begins its crying. Mrawr. Mrawr.

Severus just looks at it in disbelief, “What do you want now?” More mrawring follows. “That wasn’t enough for you?” And slowly but surely, he may just be coming to grasp the feline nature...

But as he draws closer to the shelves, the thing that had been niggling at the back of his mind suddenly becomes clear.

They were made of real wood.

He looks more closely and yes, it isn’t Transfigured, it’s the real deal. He thinks sharply now, trying to recall... And he can’t. All he remembers is bits and pieces of attaching them to the shelves yesterday... And that’s all.

Bugger. He must have been more sloshed than he’d thought.

He’d have to have fetched the tin, selected the pieces - and they were well selected at that, he notes with a touch of pride - cut them to size... He has no recollection of any of it...

Which makes perfect sense, really, as he’d done nothing of the kind.

That was all down to Sunny.

Naturally Severus will never learn about that, just as he doesn’t learn of most of the elf’s machinations. It’s a system that’s worked remarkably well for them for the better part of sixteen years, and Sunny has no intention of changing anything about it.

So Severus stands there now wondering just how drunk he’d been and what else he doesn’t remember. It’s a daunting prospect considering he now shares the flat with a young Gryffindor. Not embarrassing at all.

That’s a sobering thought if ever there were one.

Proving no good deed goes unpunished, however, Sunny had had occasion to regret tacitly prompting Severus to make the ledges not long after they were complete when the furry beast had launched itself from the nearest at the elf on the mantle. Apparently Disillusionment and Privacy Charms weren’t sufficient to hide from a creature with a heightened sense of smell. Sunny had quickly taken measures, which is the next thing Severus tries to puzzle out.

Strangely, the shelves around the fireplace have been foreshortened, creating a gap around the hearth. That was magically done, the wood has been squashed together, rather like the moggy’s face, and of course Severus, quite reasonably, has no recollection of doing that either. The requisite flicks and swishes of his wand soon sort them back to their original sizes, and Miss Granger’s little lion leaps to the mantle and prowls its length, doing its best to channel a great cat on the hunt. Given the apparent absence of prey, it strikes Severus as overly dramatic.

Cauldron meet kettle cord.

He supposes this was the reason he’d truncated the shelves in the first place. He must have found the back and forth annoying. He has no way of knowing that then as now Sunny had been forced to Apparate away to avoid the ginger beast.

Sunny remains unruffled, however.

He simply takes the opportunity to rearrange the flowers - just a little, nothing much - on the Mistress’ new nightstand. If he’s gauged her behaviour correctly, he thinks it should help things along nicely. But then Sunny is about as confident as the other three residents in these chambers; they rarely have doubts as to their own actions.

The seventh year boys driven off, and oddly finding themselves with so little silverware left between them, the majority of those at the Slytherin table decide they’re now done with their meal. Ella, Flora and Daphne Summon the silver that had missed Blaise from where it’s lying about on the floor; it wouldn’t be fair to leave the mess to the elves. Most of the rest lean back and chat with one another, enjoying each other’s company in the wake of a good collective spot of mischief. Harper, however, rises. He has some things that need seeing to before Vince returns from the Infirmary. He can’t be sure if the seventh year will be going to Astronomy or not, and generally prefers being safe to sorry.

Well, aside from courting a solid thrashing for things like his picture sales scheme that is...

He walks around to where Ella is sitting - she’s completed her cutlery recovery mission - and leans forward and whispers in her ear, “Would you mind heading back with me? I need your help.” That’s all it takes. She tells the others she’ll see them later and the two begin for the door. Harper pauses when they reach Hunter to put his hand on his little brother’s shoulder. No words are required. Hunter knows he’s leaving, Harper’s just making sure he’s aware. If Hunter wanted to go with him, he’d need to leave now. Instead he just nods and smiles, signalling for Harper to leave without him; he’ll stay with the other fourth years. Besides, he has plans later. Harper gives his shoulder a squeeze, drags his hand affectionately over his head in a quick rub for luck (either or both of theirs, they’ve never decided) that makes Hunter giggle, and then shoves off with Ella.

When they’re clear of the doors, Harper casts the House Privacy Charm. Ella smirks, he’s so proud of that. A substantial requirement of being taught the Charm is that one assures no one from other Houses, no one underage, and no one who doesn’t agree to those terms is taught the Spell. As such, Harper now performs it silently and wandlessly, and he’d practised very hard over the past couple of weeks to be able to do so.

“So I have the pictures of Vince from this morning...” he begins. She’d thought as much.

“Do you need me to hang on to them for you while you deal with him?” Ella is remarkably astute.

“Well, I was thinking I’d give you Geminios and then I could give him back the originals and swear I hadn’t any copies. I can even take an Oath...”

“Oh, that’s clever,” she smiles at him, and he beams. From Ella, that’s high praise. “But it might be better if you could swear you hadn’t made any.”

“I’m sure it would be, but then that sort of defeats the point doesn’t it?”

“Not if someone else were to make them for you,” she offers obliquely, her demeanour sweet.

“Ella, I couldn’t ask you to...”

“No, of course not, especially as it might be useful to be able to swear you hadn’t asked anyone to make you any copies either, “ she grins.

“That’s not what I meant...”

“And I know it,” she puts a comforting hand on his arm, because his forehead is doing that concerned older brother thing it does whenever she or Hunter are involved. He can be such a boy sometimes, but she loves him greatly in moments like these. Especially when she sees the gesture was all it took to get him to stop fretting so much. She smiles at him. “I’m happy to help.”

“And if he asks if there are any copies? I don't want him tracing this back to you.”

“I think I owe him one, don't you?” They both think of the Serpent he’d sent her last year, simply because she hadn’t wanted to go out on a second date with the boy. Harper had warned her, told her she shouldn’t go out with Vince even on the one. She’d thought he was being unduly harsh, perhaps a little unfair. Surely Vince couldn’t be as bad as all that... And he hadn’t been, really. But it hadn’t been all that pleasant either, and Ella couldn’t see leading him on. She just wasn’t interested. And she’d let him down as politely, as kindly as she could.

It wasn’t until she did that Vince showed his true colours with the Poste Serpente.

At the time Harper’s initial attempt at interference had almost seemed... controlling. She’s come to trust his judgment more, and Harper has learnt to communicate, well, at least a little better. So strangely, Ella hadn’t responded to things that sounded more like commands and less like reasons. That was a valuable lesson. By the time he’d offered to be her Valentines’ ‘date’, so she’d have a ready excuse for Vince - not that it had helped much, but the idea had seemed sound - they’d cleared the air between them quite nicely.

“That wasn't my point. It’s not about you owing him one. I don’t want to make you a target...”

“I know, Harper. Really. I understand. And this won’t be a problem. In fact, it might be for the best if you can say you don’t know that copies have been made. Just trust me on this one, I have an idea,” she’s smiling, clearly pleased with herself.

“Thanks, Ella,” he replies, trying to accept the favour graciously and not underestimate her. She’s small and still a little too trusting, not unlike Hunter, and he has a habit of worrying about them both. But much like Pansy, her size has nothing to do with how she wields her wand and is certainly no reflection of her brain.

“I meant it, I really am happy to help. Any time. You should know that by now.”

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls her in and plants a peck on top of her head, because that says it better than any of his useless words ever will. Her laugh in reply assures him she took it as it was meant, the nose wrinkle that follows emphasising it. He leaves an arm around her shoulders as they walk, hers soon snakes about his waist. Her mum probably taught them everything they know about being affectionate, trying to help compensate for Heliotrope Hutchinson’s loss, but the lesson has stuck. They’re very comfortable with one another.

“Say, have you got a Beauty Charm that will make a bruise darker?” He asks, almost conversationally as they enter the dungeons.

She stares at him for a moment, and he worries he’s gotten too real. He’s supposed to not mention all sorts of things in polite society - Merlin knows, Elizabeth Wilkins has tried teaching him that as well - and that enquiry with its associated implications... had probably gone too far. That’s what comes of largely raising himself, Elizabeth’s best efforts aside. He sighs, but Ella surprises him by giggling, “You realise the point of most Beauty Charms is to hide things like bruises? Not emphasise them? And you don’t just point to your face and say: ‘makeup ho!’”

Well, he hadn’t thought so, but, Merlin, there’s a Charm for everything... Or how useful was it to change mice into snuffboxes, say?

“If there is,” she beats him to it, “I don’t know it. Your best bet for Beauty Charms is Róisín anyway. She’s the House expert, and honestly? Most of us just ask her. I think on balance, individually we probably know fewer Spells than we normally would as a result. You should see some of the seventh years scrambling to learn them now before they graduate... Sorry,” she ends on seeing his disappointment.

She can guess why he’d asked.

She’s about to follow him into the boys’ dorms when he suggests they meet on her side. It’s a bit of a toss up if having his wand exposed in the rack in front of the girls’ wing is more or less likely to attract Vince’s attention than hiding in the sixth year boys’ room would, but any confrontation between the boys in the girls’ wing is at least going to be wandless, so she thinks it wise. Of course, that was sort of the part Harper has been worrying about, the physical, but Ella still hasn’t completely grasped how he and Vince interact. And she’s forgetting Crankshaft has a way of rendering the sixth year boys’ room mercifully Vince-free.

Harper is just hoping out of sight is out of mind. With Vince one never knows. That just might work.

Ella goes on ahead to her room. She empties her pockets and expands the books she’d checked out of the library before dinner. Then she makes herself comfortable on her bed and begins sorting through them, while he retrieves the pictures.

He soon appears, a small sheaf of pictures in tow. He hands them to her, and she has to admit, they’re very good. But it’s strange, they’re not moving. “Did something go wrong?” She doesn’t worry about insulting him, and it never even occurs to him to take offence. That’s one of the nice things about knowing where you stand with someone. Well, that and not feeling any need to impress them.

“Because they’re stills?” He asks and she nods. “No, they last a lot longer if you Geminio them before they’ve been treated in the developer that makes them move. If... one were going to copy them, not that anyone here is, apparently, one should copy them first and then treat them, you know, before dispersal,” he winks. “It makes for a better product to sell.”

“You’re pretty good at this, aren’t you?”

He shrugs. “I know a little something about pictures,” he acknowledges.

She laughs at him, “If you’d apply yourself to Transfiguration that way, you wouldn’t need to stand around waiting for Daphne to do your slippers.”

“Hey, when you can do half the job she did, I’ll let that argument stand. I don’t think that will be the result no matter how long I sit in McGonagall’s class,” he smirks just considering the things. He likes them rather a lot.

“Professor McGonagall,” she corrects automatically. “Now shoo, get out of here, I need a minute to myself. Two should do.”

He takes her meaning and goes to wait in the corridor, closing the door again behind him while she copies the pictures for him, or he imagines she does. When he returns, she’s seated on the bed just as she was when he’d first entered.

“Here are your originals,” she tells him casually as she returns the pictures. “You should ask me if I made any copies now.”

Well, when she phrases it like that... He plays along.

“No, of course not,” she replies. “I used the time more sensibly,” she points to the books littering her bed. “Now if he asks, you haven’t made copies, you haven’t had anyone make any, and to your knowledge none have been made.” She smiles almost smugly. “Obviously they can’t have been in your sight all day long...”

“You’re not bad at this yourself.”

She opens one of the books, and a small paper dragonfly takes advantage of the opportunity and makes a bid for freedom, or at least exercise, darting about the room. At Ella’s disappointed ‘oh’, Harper drops the pictures on her bed and jumps to corral it for her. He had made a pretty good Seeker last year, and he catches it quickly, gently so he doesn’t damage it. When he opens his fist, bit by bit so it doesn’t have a chance to escape again, it sits there flapping contentedly on his palm.

He opens his hand further and stands there staring at the delicate little thing that now seems content to just hover there. He slowly lowers his arm, sensing it won’t make another break for it, and trusting his ability to catch it even if it does. His intuition was right, though, it simply darts back and forth in an irregular pattern about him. When he extends a hand again, it alights upon it.

He hands it back to Ella, and she carefully returns its tail to between the pages of her book, allowing the upper half to peek out this time. It appears to be enjoying the view. He picks up the pictures of Vince again from her bed and Ella ventures another look at the top one.

“Goodness. He really looks like an...”

“Inferi?” Harper offers with a broad smirk, and his eyes sparkle rather gleefully as he says it.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I was going to say,” she grins. “I completely missed his nails and hair this morning. I guess I was too focused on his wings.”

“You and Daphne both,” he laughs.

“I don't think anyone was as taken by his wings as Daph,” she replies, fingering her dragonfly bookmark.

“One person's hex is another's charm. Her work?” He jerks his chin in the direction of her bookmark. She nods. “Yeah,” he laughs, “I don’t think any amount of time in McGonagall’s, Professor McGonagall’s class is going to produce those kinds of results for me.”

He heads for the door, turning when he reaches it, “Wish me luck?” It’s held this far at any rate. Vince hadn’t returned yet, and Harper had had time to see to the pictures. Whatever else, that had been a relief.

“You could stay here you know. We could do our homework...”

“It’s only delaying the inevitable, Ella.”

“Harper, you could spend the night if it came to that. Under the circumstances, I’m sure the others wouldn’t object if you kipped on the floor...”

“Sure, but that would only be delaying it further. Thanks for the offer, though. If anything, I might want to send Hunter over, keep him well clear? We’ll see how it goes.”

“So you’re just going to sit around, waiting for Vince to get back?” She’s beginning to sound worried now, because Harper isn’t the only one prone to be protective of their little chosen family unit and its members.

“You know, I thought I might wait in the cat habitat. Crankshaft could do with a bit of exercise...” He answers as he leaves with a wave.

She laughs. If there is one room Vince would never, ever enter, it’s the half-Kneazles’ playroom.

Hermione has opted to stay in the library all evening. She’s determined to inconvenience the Professor as little as humanly possible, and unlike him she seems to have a much clearer idea where he is through their bond. She’s sure he’s in their chambers, or awfully close. But then that’s the problem, of course: that degree of imprecision. Because she can’t tell if he’s in his office or his laboratory or lying snockered about the lounge (alright, that last is purely facetious, as she now understands the bond would give it away) and the only way to know for sure that she isn’t bothering him is to be elsewhere.

Ironically, it never occurs to her that might bother him as well.

She takes her brand new preferred seat over by the Restricted Section, still hoping to catch someone, anyone inclined to help her with her assorted questions. Somehow the list just keeps getting longer. She casts a strong Notice-Me-Not and assumes she’ll remain unaccosted if she just keeps to herself. There’s a lot to be said for it, even if it’s a bit lonely. These days, lonely is probably a win. At any rate, she’s not at her usual table, which should help her go unnoticed.

She’s sort of hoping to run into Luna. Or rather, to spot Luna and then end the Notice-Me-Not. If Hermione doesn’t keep an eye out, it’s conceivable her friend could walk right past her and not notice. It was sort of the point of the Charm, after all. Of course, with Luna, one never knows.

Unfortunately, Luna elects to spend the evening in the Ravenclaw tower given the House meeting scheduled later tonight. For that matter, so do many of her Housemates, except for most of the seventh years, but then they’re currently in Astronomy. Unsurprisingly, there’s only a single person who enters the Restricted Section while Hermione’s sitting there tonight. As it happens to be Martins, the sixth year Ravenclaw Prefect who can’t seem to stand the sight of her... Well, she doesn’t even bother asking him and comes up dry on that score.

But that’s fine. Hermione has plenty of things to do. She always does.

Not that she’s making a lot of progress searching for the Shed Fur Vanishing Charm for the Professor. That’s her working title for it anyway. But no, she’s having no joy there either. She’s deeply unsatisfied with her work on the Charm, her inability to find it... She’s applied Luna’s Inquiro Searching Charm until she can’t think of any more synonyms. She's searched for every term she knows, and then made up a few more. Some of the Latin was beyond dodgy...

It’s in the strangely written book, she’s sure of it, and they’ve called it something stupid. She might just have to read the darn thing. She slouches in her seat at the thought.

Fine.

She rallies and resigns herself to having to read them, and yes, she’ll read the annoying one first. It had had the other answers. It’ll probably have this one. It doesn’t matter that it reads like something Professor Trelawney might have written. Well it does, but she won’t let it put her off. She just won’t read it tonight. She’s earned a break.

She digs about in her bag for some fresh parchment and starts writing thank you notes for the wedding presents, relying on her prodigious memory to do so. It’s calming, a pleasant sort of occupation, and she relaxes the longer she keeps at it. At some point, it becomes sort of automatic and her thoughts begin to drift as she does it.

She realises she isn't working ahead any more, or adding extra inches to her bag full of finished assignments. Somehow school seems less important these days...

Than a Fur Gathering Charm...

She pauses in her writing to stare blankly in front of her, wondering when on earth that happened. Friday, when she was attacked? Sunday, when she got married? Or maybe it was Monday night when she felt what the Professor went through... How he was tortured...

In light of some or any of that, it’s proving really hard to care about her homework.

Well, no one can blame her.

Or they couldn't if they knew what she'd been through anyway.

Except few do.

She thinks about it, and realises she doesn’t mind. No, she prefers it this way. So the question isn’t about other people blaming her.

It’s about herself.

That’s quite a thing for her to chew on, no matter how robust her teeth...

She decides she’s within her rights. If she doesn’t want to work on those things, she needs to give herself a pass. And she does.

She’s alright with this. She truly is. Less so with the circumstances that have led to it, but then they’re a different matter.

She takes a deep, calming breath and redoubles her not-work on the thank you notes.

Shortly before nine, she doesn’t wish to keep the Professor waiting, Hermione packs her things together and makes her way back to the dungeons.

She hasn’t gone all too far when she thinks she spots a couple of very familiar heads disappearing around a corner. She smirks at the sight and approaches as quietly as she can.

Only once she gets closer, it isn’t quite the scene she was expecting.