“beyond wandpoint” 080b by gingerbred
Mar. 22nd, 2019 05:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beyondwandpoint“11 11t Tuesday - Evening in the Castle” Part 2
Hermione, the Bloody Baron, Neville 7G, Irma Pince, Theo Nott 7S, Daphne Greengrass 7S, Dennis Creevey 4G, Hunter Hutchinson 4S, Ella Wilkins 6S, Harper Hutchinson 6S, Pansy Parkinson 7S, Newton Kurz 4H, David Chang 4R, misc Ravenclaws 4R, Albus Dumbledore, Portrait Phineas Nigellus Black, Portrait Dilys Derwent
Mentioned: Ron 7G, Peeves, Professor Minerva McGonagall, Colin Creevey 6G, Kevin 'Kev' Peterson 5G, Harry 7G, Ginny 6G, Romilda Vane 5G, Dhanesh Devi 6G, Kiera Kilkenny Devi 6G, Tracey Davis 7S
Originally Published: 2018-07-06 on AO3
Chapter: 080 part 2
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.
Hermione puts an end to her Notice-Me-Not and softly calls out to her friend. She's very eager not to do anything else to make matters worse with Madam Pince. She has a fleeting thought about whether she could be banned from the library entirely, before she rejects it. That's seems too much like the stuff of nightmares; she can't imagine that's allowed.
"Hermione!" Neville hisses back in surprise, just a little too loudly. She waves him over to take the seat next to her, shushing him as she does so. Only Hermione can manage to make a reproach seem welcoming, and he half smiles at the thought. For a brief moment he decides his earlier worries about her were completely unfounded. And then his eyes widen as he takes in what seems to be the wreckage of several books before her. But this time, he doesn't ask.
Looking at her more closely, he spots that her hair has taken on a volume that it only does when the wise tread very carefully around her. Neville doesn't actually consider himself wise, but in certain regards, he's a fair bit brighter than most in their House, at least when it comes to these things.
Hermione puts a Muffliato in place; the Baron is correct, it is a buzzy old thing. Neville recognises the hum and resuming his regular tone of voice instead asks, "What are you doing sitting over here?"
"Pining after books," she explains, explaining nothing, and yet Neville decides it sort of makes perfect sense. If ever someone were to pine after the written word, it would be Hermione. Assuming there were circumstances to justify her not having those words in the first place, he rectifies the thought. "Would you happen to have a pass for the Restricted Section?" She enquiries in a flash of inspiration.
"No, sorry. I just came down here to do my Charms homework for tomorrow."
"Did you need to look something up?" She's a little confused, because having already done the work, well in advance, in fact, she is quite certain that it had been covered completely within their text. There's always a niggling doubt in the back of her mind, however, that there could have been something else to know. Something she had missed. She's having a little difficulty imagining Neville might be aware of it if she isn't - this isn't Herbology, after all - and then she feels a bit guilty, wondering if she's selling her friend short.
"No, I just couldn't get any work done in the Tower." Hermione knows the feeling all too well.
In contrast to this afternoon when he'd mentioned the study niche conversation from Friday, the one that had precipitated... everything, her thoughts turn to instances, many instances, when she'd found the Gryffindor dorm inconducive to studying, and she doesn't even flinch when she thinks about Friday. That is the advantage to having taken Peace, even over two phials of Calming. Later she'll remember that, and tomorrow she'll be even less hesitant to take the Draught in a timely fashion.
"Ron wouldn't stop whinging," he complains. "About Peeves," he's quick to add when her face falls slightly, and Neville could swear her hair might have actually crackled, although it's equally possible he's imagining that. It sort of has a reputation of its own. "That was bad enough, but then Colin told him he's basically stupid. Or illiterate." Hermione chokes out a laugh she tries to swallow, it doesn't go well and she winds up coughing.
"You alright there?" He enquiries, a little concerned. There are tears in her eyes, but she waves for him to go on. She can just see the scene now... with her watering eyes... So he tells her how Ron had apparently helped himself to some stale bread in the Great Hall this morning...
"Oh, but that must have been Peeves' bread," she immediately interjects. "After breakfast?" Neville nods. "A highly decorative affair?" He shrugs. That detail hadn't quite registered with Ron. "Well, it'll have been Peeves' platter, or rather the one they use for his bread. For heavens sake, that's in 'Hogwarts: a History', it's hardly a secret." Given the length of the book, Neville can hardly consider a mention there well documented. "Why on earth would he go helping himself to that? Never minding the fact it's stale, I mean?"
"Do you know, that's pretty much what Colin said. I gather Ron was hungry."
"When is he not?" She rejoins. It doesn't seem to carry any undertones that would have him put a quick end to the story, so he grins and tells her the rest.
"Yeah, only like I said Colin pretty much suggested Ron was ignorant. Sometimes it's like Colin thinks just because you're a pure-blood, you have to know all these things." Hermione can't help thinking she'd be blushing right about now without the Peace. Goodness knows, she's guilty of thinking just that often enough. "I have to admit, I'd never heard of it before, so I couldn't really blame Ron for not knowing, but he kept banging on about it, Peeves and bread and bread and Peeves..."
Involuntarily, the thought of Ron's boasts from this morning of being willing to take a Crucio crosses Hermione's mind, and here some stale viands had brought him to his knees. She may be smirking. Just a little.
"And, well you know Colin. So he makes Ron out to be some kind of illiterate troll..."
"Never! Colin wouldn't have called him that!" She can't help defending her fellow Muggle-born Housemate.
"Well, no, of course not, that's just sort of how Ron took it? But then that's all it took really. And then Kev goes and laughs himself silly over Ron, 'the poorly read troll'. Only Kev was drinking a Gillywater and half spewed it all over Romilda when he laughed, and she kicked off and attracted rather a lot of attention in the process... And Ron, he sort of... I guess he kind of lost it. Before you knew it, he'd hexed Kev and Colin, too, for good measure."
"Oh, Neville! No! Tell me that he didn't..."
"Sorry, Hermione. I have to tell you that he did..."
"What was he thinking?"
"That was pretty much what Harry said about it. Now Ginny, she was more... direct." Hermione lifts a brow in query and Neville smirks and shakes his head, "I wouldn't dream of repeating it in polite society. And probably not impolite society, either, for that matter. She's got a mouth on her, that one, and doesn't pull her punches.
"So there's Colin sitting there on one of the squashy couches with an impressive rack of antlers on his head - eight points, I promise you, no less - nearly put out Dhanesh's eye when he tried to move, and Kiera's screaming at him to stop, to hold still, and finally she just goes and puts a Full Body-Bind on him, and, well, you know what happens then," Neville allows his forearm to thunk down inertly on the table in front of them, but tactfully avoids looking at Hermione as he mentions the Curse. She notices and assumes that's another blush she's been spared. "And then his brother Dennis sort of panicked and ran to get Professor McGonagall. I guess after last night's kickup, Ron had only just been done for hexing a classmate."
"Classmates, actually," she corrects.
"Yeah, I was clever enough to be elsewhere for that. Well, it seems she gave him detention and a warning only this morning..."
"Well, he is a Prefect and shouldn't be hexing other students..." She absolutely, never once allows her thoughts to turn to Michael Corner and the Bat-Bogey Hex for even a moment as she says it.
Well, maybe just the one...
"And I think that was almost word for word what Professor McGonagall said," he chuckles. "You know the players too well. So after she sorted Colin - she had to send Kev to Madam Pomfrey, it was so bad - she really let Ron have it. Gave him detention every evening before dinner for the rest of this week and the next."
"But that's when they have practice!" There's a hint of a smirk as the realisation sets in.
"Worked that out so quickly did you? Took most of the others a bit longer. Yeah, so you can imagine how the team felt about that. A week and a half until the match against Slytherin, and Ron goes and does that."
"Holy Cricket. So what are they going to do?"
"Well, the Slytherins have the second slot booked solid. So the team pretty much only has two choices, practice before breakfast, or replace him for the next match. And they haven't really got a reserve Keeper, so..."
"So the whole team is going to have to get up early for the next week and a half?" Neville nods. "Oh, they're going to kill him."
"They certainly looked like it. Anyway I thought it wisest to get clear, so that's when I grabbed my stuff and left. Things were getting ugly up there."
"Oh, I bet they were. He'd better hope he does well the next match."
"I imagine that's pretty much his only chance to get back on their good sides any time this century."
"I guess he's lucky the century is almost over then," she giggles. "What did he hex Kev with?" Hermione's curiosity gets the best of her.
"I haven't a clue. He looked like the fungus you find growing on the underside of a bit of bark left in the dark in dragons' dung for a number of weeks. Or if he'd drunk a Fungiface Potion and had Bundimun run riot over the top. Just without the eyes..." His fingers gesture in a circle around his face.
"Oh, that's one of Harry's." It occurs to her when she first saw him use it fourth year. Hmm. Yes. Her tongue runs reflexively over her front teeth. Well, she'd come out of that ahead. "He dug that up somewhere."
"How fitting for that sort of fungus," Neville smirks, unpacking his learning materials. "So I still need to do my Charms assignment. Have you finished already?" He asks a little wishfully, assuming she has but hoping she wouldn't mind going over it again with him.
She surprises him by digging about in her things, pulling out a scroll a scant six inches longer than required and handing it to him. "Yes, I did. Here you go, if you have any questions..." And she moves to return to her examination of the book fragments in front of her.
It's strange, and he eyes her a mite warily.
He hasn't asked for her homework. She hasn't lectured him about trying to attempt the assignment first himself, or against using her composition. No, she'd just handed him the answers. And she doesn't seem to want to continue working on it herself either. That's really unusual for her. So much so, it makes Neville wonder. She always revises again and again, she's pretty much never done, not until the moment she turns her assignments in, and here she's barely written more than a few inches extra. Not that there's anything wrong with it, he amends, Merlin knows, he's having problems coming up with the required number of inches at all.
But still...
He keeps glancing at her as he knuckles down, applying himself to the assigned task. He doesn't use her scroll until he gets stuck, turning to it when he needs a bit of clarification, but by and large managing on his own, but he appreciates her company. Hermione seems happy to keep casting the same kinds of Spell over the remains of the books in front of her, mumbling what he takes for some incantation quietly to herself, pausing now and again to stare at the Restricted Section. She wasn't exaggerating about the pining, he can't help thinking.
They work in relative silence for a time until Neville gets stuck. He could easily lift the answer from her work, she had just given it to him, but it seems... wrong and so not the point of the exercise and so he risks interrupting her and simply asks.
She's too lost in her efforts to hear.
"I'm sorry, what did you say, Neville?"
"Sorry to bother you, but I couldn't quite understand why the Charm was applied this way? Would you mind, terribly, explaining it to me?"
"Oh, of course not," and she's off. If he understood half of what she said, he's lucky, but it's more than he needs and they're both smiling before she's through. That looks more like the Hermione he knows. In another burst of inspiration she asks him, "Say, Neville, do you know a good Privacy Charm?"
He raises a brow at her and gestures around them, "Well, this one? The one Harry learnt last year. Is that what you mean?"
She sighs. That would have been too easy. "No, I was looking for something more... subtle."
He chuckles, "Something likely to do the trick in Taylor's class?" There's a mischievous gleam to his eye and she thinks she'd probably have pinked at the reminder of how she, Harry and Ron had been caught talking during the lesson last month in DADA. Fifteen points they'd lost altogether. Fifteen!
Somewhat routinely, and for her standards a smidge reluctantly, she corrects, "Professor Taylor," although in his case she isn't sure he quite merits the title. Still, it's the man's position, and seems... proper. "Not for that express purpose, but yes. That did rather illustrate the Muffliato's short comings." It had done, but she hadn't really grasped that until the Baron's comment earlier. Somehow she doesn't feel like explaining that.
"No, sorry, I can't help you there."
"No, I didn't think so, but it was worth asking."
Her eyes flit back to the inaccessible books and Neville asks, "Was that why you wanted to know if I had a pass?"
She nods as they return to their work, "Part of it."
Neville is just finishing up and has begun packing his things together when she lets out a happy squeak. She really has begun to squeak lately, she'll realise later with some annoyance. Of course, there are enough other things to annoy her then that that fact doesn't annoy her much. Mixed blessings.
"I've found it!" She half chirps. "It was under 'receptacle'," she enlightens him, not that it makes anything clearer. Cautiously he nods and she goes on apace, "Basically they say you're Banishing the Kneazle's fur to a receptacle, which is silly as it could just as easily be a corner the way the Charm works, not that you would, that really wouldn't make sense, but you could, so 'receptacle' is the wrong word altogether." Although secretly she can't help thinking she might need to keep one of those imaginary Thesauri she's so eager to gift to all and sundry (especially sundry) for herself. 'Receptacle'! She can't believe she hadn't tried that earlier.
Searching for 'point', 'place', 'position', 'site'... It all yielded no joy, straight across the board. Cutting herself a little slack, she acknowledges the thesaurus wouldn't have suggested 'receptacle' either.
And naturally, the book she liked least had held the answer. Come to think of it, it had sorted the general Vanishing of the fur from the room and furnishings as well, too. And the modified Impervius for one's clothes. She should have given the tome a closer look from the outset.
Neville risks a glance at the book she's holding. "You've been working on finding a household pet Charm all this time?" She could have added another who knows how many inches to her work for Charms class tomorrow, but apparently she's trying to find something for Crooks' fur. He's not sure what to make of it.
She's had the half-Kneazle for years and never taken a particular interest in this before, in fact it's a bit of a running House joke that Hermione is rubbish at any and all remotely domestic Charms. Neville's assumption has always been that it's deliberate, if she wanted to know, nothing would have stopped her, but the fact remains, she doesn't seem to care about them much.
He's about to ask why the sudden interest when a voice like nails being dragged across a blackboard interrupts them.
"What have you done to those books, you vile, degenerate girl?!" Madam Pince in her patrols of the stacks has come upon them and on seeing the remnants of Hermione's Geminioed books strewn across the table, all colour leaves the already pale librarian's face. She lets out a screech so high in pitch towards the end there that Hermione can't help thinking it would do to summon those purportedly lost Crups.
Instinctively, she expands the Muffliato to include the librarian; she wouldn't be able to hear Hermione's response otherwise unless she ended the Spell, and somehow this seems the better of the two options. She really doesn't enjoy being the centre of attention. Embracing caution, a silent Notice-Me-Not soon follows suit. Goodness this promises to be embarrassing.
"They're not the library's..." she hastens to clarify, for all the good it does.
"Defiled! Violated! Ruined!" The librarian almost wails.
"No, no! The library's books are undamaged..."
"I guarantee you the consequences will be more terrible than any you have ever dared imagine..." Madam Pince has worked herself into a state, it doesn't seem to take her long, and Neville's inkpot, still on the table between them, takes flight and begins swirling in the air around them in ever tighter and faster circles about their heads, swooping in to try to smack Hermione. She keeps ducking and dodging, but the thing is speeding up, and she doesn't fancy her chances if this goes on much longer.
This must be how Harry feels on the pitch.
Or Ron when he's chased by Peeves and his loaves through the castle, some mischievous voice needs to add.
"They're Geminioed copies! Not the Library's..." she tries to explain again, but at the mention of a 'Geminio', the colour that had drained from Madam Pince's face returns in a rush as she goes red with rage. Once, twice, the bottle connects with the back of Hermione's head and she lets out a soft grunt.
"You Geminioed library books!" Madam Pince's indignation is palpable, she's practically apoplectic. Hermione really can't see the harm, it's not like the copies will last long at all, and where's the difference to the book being lent? But it seems an unwise discussion to pursue, certainly at the moment and possibly ever with this particular individual.
Madam Pince inhales to unleash a tirade of the first order on them both but before she can breath another word, Hermione's flicked her wand and the librarian goes quiet, standing there, blinking dumbly.
"Let's go, Neville," Hermione whispers to him, snatching the ink bottle from the air before it can fall and handing it to him. "Hurry!" She hisses, as she rushes to collect her things, gathering the torn bits of the book copies as well as the originals, and then half dragging the still startled Neville behind her, bolts from the library.
"What on earth was that?" He asks as the doors close behind them. Hermione says a silent prayer of thanks to anyone listening that she'd thought to include Madam Pince in their Muffliato. Goodness knows how many people might have noticed them otherwise.
"Confundus," she answers, still feeling a little dazed at her brazenness. "I Confunded her." There. She's said it. It doesn't seem to make it any more real, but the painful lumps on her head say otherwise.
She'd love to claim it was panic. It was not. To be able say that she'd lost her head, her apparently lumpy head, and that had seemed the only course of action... Except she hadn't. No, the Draught was clearly still working. This had simply been the most... expedient response.
It's Neville's turn to stand there blinking dumbly. Hermione nudges him forward, eager to put distance between them and the library. When he speaks, it's to utter a stunned sounding, "We attacked a teacher."
Hmm. Yes. She knows the feeling. "No," she corrects firmly. "I did."
"You attacked a teacher," Neville adjusts, but still sounds fairly gobsmacked.
"Not the first time," Hermione mutters. More loudly, and pedantically, she adds, "And she isn't a teacher. She's a staff member," as she rubs the back of her head.
"You attacked a staff member..." Neville adjusts further. He's capable of responding somewhat dynamically should circumstances demand it. "I'm sure that will make all the difference..." She shoots him a slight smirk.
"Sarcasm? Neville!" She's beginning to smile now.
"We're going to be in a world of trouble..." He half sighs and there's something stricken about him.
"Nonsense," she objects firmly. "Don't be silly. If there are problems, you needn't worry, I'll own up to my actions. There wasn't a thing you could have done to stop me."
"Too right," he sighs again, thinking the little witch is sort of a force of nature. She'd acted before he'd even begun considering his options. "Maybe we should keep this between us, yeah?" He suggests. "Just not tell anyone? That seems like the best bet..."
The Baron, following silently, invisibly, behind them, is inclined to agree.
They reach the Grand Staircase and Neville pauses. He's still obviously a little out of sorts, but he's a gentleman and he turns to Hermione and asks, "Would you like me to see you to your chambers?" A little unsure, he adds, "The dungeons, I guess?"
She gifts him a broad smile, "No, thank you, Neville. That's very sweet. But you're heading in the opposite direction and it's getting late. I'll be fine on my own," she adds, half thinking she probably won't be on her own if she had to make a guess.
"Alright, if you say so. How's your head doing?"
"Well, it certainly hurts, but I'll survive." She reaches back to carefully check the damage. "I imagine I'll have a couple of mean eggs to show for it tomorrow."
"It sure looked like she clocked you good."
"She definitely did, I have to give her that. You can hardly fault her effort there." She winces as her fingers run over the bumps that have already begun to come up on her scalp. A headache will be sure to follow.
With clear disapproval, Neville complains, "I don't think they're allowed to resort to corporal punishment..."
Thinking of Umbridge's Black Quill in their fifth year, Hermione answers, "That doesn't necessarily stop them. And I'm equally sure Confunding staff isn't permitted either."
"I won't tell a soul," he promises. "Feel better then, alright? Goodnight, Hermione."
"Goodnight, Neville. I'll see you tomorrow," she replies, and he turns to head for the Tower as she makes her way to the dungeons.
She hasn't gone far when a now familiar whisper softly tells her to, "Stop."
The Baron appears at her side, and beckoning for her to follow, directs her to a niche behind a statue. She does so without hesitation, but can't resist quipping, "For all the time we're spending in alcoves, people will begin to talk."
The look he gives her in response is enough to make her want to giggle. She only just suppresses it as he holds up a hand, putting a translucent finger to his lips for her to be quiet. She can't help noticing that he doesn't request a Privacy Charm this time, which she takes as a bit of a dig. Naturally it isn't, but it is a statement on how he views the... adequacy of her Muffliato.
She hears the sounds of a scuffle almost instantly. Moments later a group of boys comes running into view, duelling. She tenses up slightly, and suspects her response would be far more acute without the Draught. Yes, somehow the association of a trip to the library, the relative darkness of the hour, the emptiness of the corridors and groups of boys causes a physiological response. As it is, her breathing changes noticeably, but not markedly. The Baron, however, can be a very good observer once one has his attention, and she's drawn it.
Soon she recognises some of the boys, all fourth years, there's Dennis Creevey with the Kurz boy from Hufflepuff and they seem to be fighting against four Ravenclaws and the Slytherin Chaser's younger brother, what's-his-name Hutchinson. Five on two are some wretched odds, and Dennis really isn't the fastest wand in the bunch. Kurz doesn't appear to be either, and with the awkward way he's moving, he seems to have been hit by something or another, making matters worse.
She sighs, a little heavily, but she throws her shoulders back and draws herself upright as she prepares to intervene. She is a Prefect after all. Admittedly one who goes around hexing staff, but still...
And it probably doesn't hurt that they're only fourth years.
The Baron extends one of his ghostly arms in front of her as she makes half a move to go forward, and then, just a bit defiantly, she casts the Muffliato after all. Not that it's likely that any of the boys would notice as preoccupied as they are just now...
"There is no... need for you to take action," he tells her.
She points to the Prefect's badge on her uniform and tells him, "It's my responsibility."
"Madam, there are seven of them." At the moment, he's not entirely convinced she's mastered basic maths. Lamenting some of the recent changes to the Hogwarts' curriculum, just last century in fact, he feels obliged to point that out. If that is still insufficient, he will no doubt have to explain how seven outnumbers one. By a factor of seven to one, conveniently enough. She should be able to grasp that. And here he thought the witch was supposed to be bright...
"But they're not all on the same side," she tries to object.
"That has a way of... changing when a new opponent becomes involved. And who amongst them do you anticipate fighting at your side if it came to that." She can't answer. She hasn't a clue what this fight is about. The Baron reads her uncertainty and nods. "Perhaps it would be... more prudent to simply sit this one out. Just let them settle it amongst themselves. No one will ever have to know you were here."
She is patently unconvinced and he lets out a rattling sound she decides is a sigh of resignation. "If you insist upon doing something, then allow me to try to put an end to this for you," he offers.
There's something reluctant about his tone and the 'try' has her alert, and so she asks. She's learning. "Why wouldn't that be the better option anyway?" He's a ghost. She really can't see that he has much of anything to worry about here. It's not like there's a basilisk in play.
He's not... pleased to have to explain this to her, but on the other hand, if she understands his strengths and weaknesses better, he can no doubt more effectively assist her. Still, he doesn't... enjoy pointing out those deficiencies. A little reluctantly, he explains, "In my efforts to... discipline the students, I rely... heavily on... intimidation. In my experience, and I have a great deal of it, it makes far more sense to... intimidate students when they're in a frame of mind to actually be... intimidated. In the heat of the moment, in the midst of a duel, it becomes a good deal more difficult to... get through to them."
Watching a couple of hexes fly, she could see why that might be the case. The boys don't exactly seem receptive to much of anything just now.
"I'm not without recourse, far from it, but I'm afraid you will find there is not much I can do quickly. Most tools at my disposal, most of the things I am able to do... do not have... immediate effect. It is generally the more... considered approach not to have the students recognise that fact. It greatly increases my... effectiveness as the House ghost."
She understands that immediately. She thinks of how his presence today had stopped others cold, and how, had they felt he didn't pose any kind of threat, he wouldn't have been any sort of deterrent either. She could see where he would then have to work very hard indeed to regain his standing. To be able to continue doing his job moving forward. In fact, it strikes her now, the longer he acts as her de facto bodyguard, the more he is at risk of someone challenging him and discovering just that. And he seems well aware of it.
Not that it had stopped him.
That makes her value his support all the more.
It occurs to her that he is a resource, has proven himself a valuable resource, that she really should be using more... judiciously. This much is clear, she can't send him out there to do her job. But... "I can't just turn a blind eye," she says regretfully as she taps the Prefect's badge again.
There's an almost amused huff of laughter. "I think you'd be... surprised just how often we turn a blind eye to things here."
She suspects she'd be appalled. "Would you please wait here for me?" She asks. "And if it goes pear shaped..."
He nods solemnly, "I've already sent for help." The portraits will have alerted any Prefects they can find. He'd seen to that when he'd discovered the boys battling and before he approached her. He'd had a suspicion how she might react. "You could wait..." he suggests. But Kurz doesn't look all that great, and she really feels she can't. She shakes her head sadly, but thanks him. Very sincerely.
Hermione has a short spike of something a little like apprehension as she wonders if she runs into trouble here, if the Professor could be forced to come to her rescue. That's immediately followed by wondering what shape he's in. Honestly, the bond has been so quiet, she half thought he'd gone to sleep. Well, he'd had the phial of Sober Up handy. She fervently hopes this won't be the reason he needs to take it.
Next she considers, if her Loyalty Vow only works when she thinks something is disloyal, if, just possibly, his Protection Vow only works if he thinks she's really in danger. Or maybe that's down to her as well. Maybe it would only work if she thinks she's in danger. Maybe, just maybe, with the Draught still in her system, if she can remain calm and best this situation, then he wouldn't be called in at all. She shouldn't like to imagine his response if she's wrong.
Still, she doesn't feel she has a choice.
Wand in hand and with no warning, she bursts into the middle of the fray startling the boys, yelling for them to stop, casting the brightest Lumos she can manage and a couple of Protegos to try to put an end to things more quickly. A few jinxes go wide, rather surprisingly they manage not to hit any of the eight people now standing in the hallway. Two stubborn little Ravenclaws, still eager to get yet another Hex in, apparently more caught up in their fight than the others, she sorts with a pair of Expelliarmuses that knock them both on their backsides, bowling one arse over tip as he goes. Their wands now firmly in hand, she turns to face the rest as the other five come to a halt.
"That will be quite enough of that," she commands in her most authoritative tone. Oddly, she thinks she sounds a little like Madam Pince. "Would someone like to explain what you are doing here?" Less sure of the others' names, she turns to her Housemate, "Dennis?"
"They attacked Newton," he explains, pointing accusingly at the Ravenclaws. "Kurz. So we had to help to him."
"Who is 'we'?"
"Me and Hunter. Hutchinson," he amends.
"Hunter and I," she corrects softly, almost to herself. It's practically a reflex, and she can't help it. Her gaze shifts to the lone Slytherin. It seems she'd incorrectly assessed his part in the duel. She turns to the four Ravenclaws, the two still standing now helping their remaining Housemates up off the ground.
"What do you have to say for yourselves?"
There's a chorus of explanations, none of which are clear, until turning to one another they seem to select one boy, David Chang, Cho's younger cousin, to speak for them. He tries again, "Kurz is a anthropomorphised calamity." She raises an eyebrow at that. Leave it to a Ravenclaw. "He melted his cauldron in Potions yesterday, caused a minor catastrophe, and ruined all our Potions in the process."
"Bellend," one of the boys behind him hisses in apparent agreement.
"Language," Hermione warns him. It was certainly less eloquent than 'anthropomorphised calamity'. She can guess which of the two is more likely to become a Prefect next year without much effort. "And that's no excuse to Hex the boy." Kurz has clearly been hit by the Knee-Reversal Hex.
"We have our marks to think of!" Comes Chang's plaintive response. The other three are quick to agree. She can half sympathise, but still... And looking at Kurz, if she squints just right, she can sort of see Neville, not that they look remotely alike, but it's all in the description. Neville had been their walking calamity, and she wouldn't just stand there and let someone hex him. Naturally, she tries not to think of the way he still won't meet her eye when he mentions a Full Body-Bind even five and a half years later.
That works almost as well as when she tried not to think of Corner.
"Well you're welcome to do that when you explain yourselves to Professor Flitwick. In the meantime, ten points from everyone but Kurz for duelling in the corridors, and five points to Creevey and Hutchinson for defending him." And then as she stands there looking at the Hufflepuff, something in her begins to become as outraged and angry as she can currently get. That may not be much, but it's more than enough.
"In fact, given you four attacked him, four to one in a deserted corridor, make that ten additional points from each of you for the cowardly attack, and I'll be recommending to Professor Flitwick that he consider detention for the lot of you. And ten more to Creevey and Hutchinson for inter-House cooperation and coming to a classmate's assistance," she adds, just to drive her point home. That works out to five points in their favour. It may not be much, but they just got points for duelling. That's hardly her usual response.
Two of the Ravenclaws will need to be sent to the Infirmary, one of them looks a good deal like the fungus Neville had described. Dennis goes a little pink as she examines the boy, and she looks at him appraisingly. "Your work?"
His pink tone shifts to a far deeper red as he nods. By way of explanation, he supplies, "Ron used that on Kev earlier."
"Setting a stellar example, I'm sure," she grumbles, not thinking of Madam Pince. Much.
Kurz should probably also go to the Infirmary, and she's not entirely sure about Dennis for that matter either, who seems to have been glanced by a Jelly-Legs Jinx. She's trying to decide how to resolve that - she can hardly send Kurz to the Infirmary alone with the two Ravenclaws who had already attacked him once this evening - when she hears the sound of running footsteps.
She turns and spots three sets of black, green and silver uniforms pelting down the hallway towards her and grasps her wand more tightly before it occurs to her this is probably the 'help' to which the Baron had referred.
As the Slytherins draw closer, she can make out three of the Slytherin Prefects, Pansy Parkinson and sixth years Ella Wilkins and Harper Hutchinson.
They slow as they reach them and seem a little unsure how to manage this. Pansy takes the lead, "Everything sorted, Madam Snape?"
One of the Ravenclaws coughs and then snickers at that, the older Hutchinson boy solves that with a Silencing Charm rendering him temporarily mute. "Your input is not required here," he tells the boy quietly. "Hunter, is everything alright?" He asks his little brother who is currently rubbing his left shoulder.
"Yes, it's all fine, thanks, Harper. Just a Stinging Hex." Harper seems to ask something with his brows, and Hunter's eyes tick to one of the injured Ravenclaws. Harper gives his little brother a barely perceptible nod. "Madam Snape has it all under control," the boy adds with a wide grin.
Hermione stands there a little stupidly, she feels, not that anyone notices. This is all very strange. "Thank you, Parkinson. Mostly under control, anyway. Duel stopped, points deducted."
"Eighty from Ravenclaw!" Hunter crows softly to his brother who shoots Granger-Snape a look of surprise.
"I just need a little help getting them to the Infirmary," Hermione proceeds, suspecting she feels a little flattered by the boy's reaction.
It had all gone so quickly, the ghost was probably right, she probably could have waited for reinforcements. But she'd had no way of knowing how long they'd be, and she wasn't prepared to stand idly by, shirking her duty, and watch a couple of fourth years get mangled for her cowardice.
It's a good thing that turned out well. She knows she got lucky.
The four Prefects coordinate softly between themselves on who needs to be taken to Madam Pomfrey and agree two of them will escort the two Ravenclaws, the Hufflepuff and Dennis to the Infirmary. And given that leaves two Ravenclaws still running free who have just demonstrated a willingness to attack fellow students, they conclude someone should accompany Hunter back to the dungeons.
Hermione supposes this means she'll be making her return to chambers in the company of the Hutchinson brothers, and isn't entirely sure how she feels about that. She's a little surprised when Hutchinson, the elder, offers to let Wilkins return to the dungeons with Hutchinson, the younger, and volunteers to join Parkinson on the trip to the Infirmary instead. Were she to learn of the Stinging Hex the Ravenclaw boy is about to endure, along with the quietly hissed threat to leave Harper's brother in peace in the future, his motives might be more clear.
Hermione gives Parkinson the Ravenclaws' wands and the group parts ways. Two Ravenclaws returning to their dormitory, Hermione, Wilkins and the younger Hutchinson head toward the dungeons, and the rest are en route to the Infirmary. Hermione peers into the niche she'd occupied earlier as she passes, but she can't spot any sign of the Baron. Just in case he's still there but no longer visible, she gives a small wave in passing.
Somehow it leaves her feeling ever so slightly foolish, and little like she's turning into Greengrass.
Hunter, as Hermione has decided to call him, at least to herself, because if she keeps referring to him as 'Hutchinson' this will become confusing, half skips along beside them, rubbing his shoulder occasionally. Hermione knows the feeling all too well, her head is beginning to ache. Absently she rubs the lumps on the back of her skull as they go.
Only two, not even enough for the Headmaster's tea, she thinks a little sardonically.
"Hold still, Hunter. Let me see to your shoulder," Wilkins tells the boy when she notices his wincing, and although he fidgets - Hermione has a hunch he does that a lot - he readily places himself in Wilkins' care. She palpates his shoulder carefully, gingerly testing to see where it hurts.
Hermione is interested to note that she does that manually and not with a Spell. A little shyly, she offers, "I can do a Discerno, if that would help? It won't show much, but it's the only Diagnostic Charm I know."
Wilkins quickly agrees and Hermione does it just as Madam Pomfrey had shown her, with the adjustment that lets another party see the results; that's how she'd learnt it initially, after all. Wilkins and Hunter look duly impressed. They'd probably be less so if they knew she'd added it to her repertoire only days ago. Still, Hermione feels good about being able to contribute something.
"Looks like we'll be stuck with you a little longer, Hunter," Ella reassures the boy. "You're going to be fine."
"Well, you're not getting rid of me that easily. What do you take me for?" He objects.
Wilkins then applies a general purpose Healing Charm to the fourth year, explaining what she's doing as she does. Hermione finds the explanation useful, as it's yet another Charm she doesn't know. She can't say she's learnt it just by watching this time, but she adds it to the list of things she'd like to know.
Hunter is utterly relaxed at the point of Wilkins' wand, and Hermione has the impression he trusts the sixth year implicitly. She appears quietly confident, and somehow Hermione doubts this is the first time Wilkins has done this. Hermione has to admire the girl's way with the boy. She seems like she'd be a natural as a Healer.
A swish, flick and loop later, and Hunter is quite restored. His enthusiasm is incredibly apparent and a little catching as he bops along beside them and proceeds to tell the sixth year all about the duel.
"Eighty points!" He winds up. "Eighty! And we got five."
Wilkins gives Hermione a look much like the one Hutchinson, the elder, had earlier. But she doesn't say anything. Instead, she asks her younger Housemate, "What did the Turkey do wrong?"
"He ran into Madam Snape," comes the immediate and rather gratifying reply. Hermione decides she quite likes the boy's grin. 'Turkey', she supposes, is Slytherin for 'Eagle'. She wonders what the Gryffindors are, and resolves not to ask.
Ella smiles a little at the response. From the look of Granger-Snape, she finds this all very odd as well. "I was thinking more in terms of tactical errors."
"That seems a grievous tactical error to me. She had him on his arse..."
"Language," Hermione and Ella correct simultaneously to their mutual surprise. Ella also notes that the Gryffindor Prefect didn't deduct points for that. Oddly, when it comes to the Slytherins, most Prefects do.
"... in no time flat. Bam! Well, other than that, he should have used the Stinging Hex on my wand arm. That was stupid. As it was, he hit the wrong shoulder and I had no trouble hexing him out of action." He looks at Hermione a little apprehensively at that and quickly asks, "Um, but you won't take points for that, will you? He did hex first." Hermione gets the feeling he was rather proud of the points he earned for his House tonight.
She gives him a reassuring smile, "No, Hunter. You were well within your rights." And just like that he's back to beaming at her. Ella watches her approvingly.
And soon the boy is also back to recounting the highlights of the duel, now with both hands gesturing wildly and complete with sound effects worthy of Seamus or Ron. It occurs to her to ask how he and Dennis had been drawn into the fighting.
"Dennis... erm, Creevey that is, I have him in some of my classes, and Newton... ah, Kurz," he looks uneasily at Wilkins and appears to be struggling, "I have him in some of the others, and Dennis... um, Creevey..." He's flailing.
"It's quite alright to call him 'Dennis' you know," Hermione tries to reassure him. "Even if he is in another House." He looks unconvinced. "Daphne Greengrass and I are on a first name basis," she sort of stretches the truth, a little, but the boy's look shifts to relieved and she decides it was well worth it. Ella just observes the two of them carefully.
"Well, Dennis said he needed to get out of the Tower tonight. He'd done something that got a lot of the older students angry at him..."
"You mean fetching Professor McGonagall?" Hermione asks in frank disbelief. She thinks she's about to get what currently passes for angry again. How just like certain people to get angry at the person who sees that things are sorted fairly instead of the individuals behaving inappropriately to begin with. She can just picture the Quidditch team taking their frustration out on poor Dennis. She hopes Harry wasn't party to it.
Hunter nods. "I gather they went into some detail about what they could do to him, you know, which Hexes and stuff, and Colin had already been sent to bed, and Dennis was kind of on his own." He doesn't say it, but he thinks it: Colin, who is the same year as Harper, really isn't quite as much use in a fight as the elder Hutchinson would be. Not unless you wanted to photograph it for posterity anyway. Hunter may be underestimating the difference the DA had made for Colin, but what's true is the Gryffindor lacks the confidence Harper has in spades.
"So he left and we were hanging out... talking," that seems a far shrewder claim than to admit they'd been plotting to stinkbomb Filch, or that knob Weasley, Dennis was still undecided, and Hunter thinks it was mostly just talk anyway, sort of decompressing, "when we spotted the Ravenclaws attacking Newton. Well, we couldn't leave him like that.
"But the Turkeys weren't exactly wrong, you know. Newton really is rubbish at Potions. Only Dennis and I, neither of us are in that class with him. And he must have gotten it terribly wrong Monday, and when you mess with the Turkeys' marks, they lose their sense of humour."
"Objection!" Ella cries out, and Hunter smirks.
"It presupposes the existence of a sense of humour not currently in evidence," Hunter answers and they laugh. Hermione suspects that's a standard cue and response for them. They seem to be having fun. They clearly like each other. It's just not how she's used to seeing them. Slytherins. As a whole.
And there she is, back at her problem with seeing them as individuals.
They're not far from her chambers when there's a now very welcome whisper behind them. "Miss Wilkins, a moment, if you please." The trio stops where they are as the Baron catches up from behind. "I couldn't help noticing that Madam Snape had been struck from behind earlier. Would you mind terribly applying your Charm to the matter as well?"
The young women look a little awkwardly at one another, but both have had occasion to work together with the Baron and see in him an ally. His suggestion makes sense, and they master their discomfort.
"Would you show me?" Wilkins asks her.
"It's nothing much," Hermione objects, a little embarrassed, but she's not eager to give offence and she turns and lifts a hand to the bumps. Wilkins' hand soon joins hers.
"'Nothing much' is a doxy egg. That's more of an Ashwinder's. What happened?"
"Cursed inkpot."
"That will do it," she nods sagely as though that were an everyday thing, and who knows, it just might be.
"Which one of the Turkeys did that?" Hunter asks, thinking he'd missed it, as Ella applies the Charm to Hermione's head.
"Yours wasn't my first fracas of the evening," she supplies. He grins at her still more broadly now, even more impressed.
"There, all finished. How does that feel?" Wilkins asks her.
Hermione runs a hand in disbelief over her head and has a hard time discerning anything at all left of the lumps. "Wow, that's amazing."
Wilkins smiles, and if possible Hunter looks even prouder. "She's good, isn't she?" He asks. Hermione readily agrees.
"Thank you..."
"Ella," Wilkins offers. "I have been reliably assured that it's quite alright to call someone by their first name, even if they are from a different House."
She grins at Hermione at little shyly, but when Hermione smiles back and says, "Thank you, Ella. I appreciate it," her shyness seems to vanish.
"After a bit of Phrenology, it only seems appropriate to be on a first name basis anyway," the Slytherin quips.
"Oh? And what did you learn from the bumps on my head?" Hermione holds no more stock in Phrenology than she does in Divination, but she gets the strong sense Wilkins... Ella doesn't either.
"That you could probably use a good night's rest. And if you can find any, a prophylactic Headache Potion probably wouldn't go amiss. Unfortunately, Madam Pomfrey doesn't have any in stock right now," she adds with a shrug.
It occurs to Hermione why the Slytherin Prefect might think so, and she feels a little guilty again. Right there was another example of the problems inherent in treating the Snakes as a single entity. They very much aren't.
And there's one with them now who's begun to really stand out for her.
Hermione turns to face the Baron, "And it seems I owe you another 'thank you' as well. He alerted me to your duel," she clarifies for the others.
The Baron almost smiles, which is to say the corner of his mouth twitches fractionally. He approves of that explanation... greatly. It's true, and yet... misleading. It manages to explain without revealing things that should best not be revealed, and buoys his standing as well. It's almost... elegant. He's beginning to have... hope for the witch. Despite her House.
And isn't... hope a new... sensation. He can't say he... dislikes it. No. Not at all.
He gives her what passes for him as an encouraging nod. From any one else, it might have been a slight bobbing motion, but Hermione has begun to adjust to his mannerisms accordingly.
"I bid you ladies a good evening," he whispers, and with a "Mr. Hutchinson," and a stiff bow, he drifts off, clanking his chains as he floats up the corridor.
"Goodnight, Baron," Hermione calls out after him. It strikes the other two as odd, and only then does it register that they hadn't heard the ghost arrive either.
The Slytherins walk her to her door and pause to wish her goodbye. Hunter extends a hand formally, it seems a strange gesture from a fourteen year old, Hermione, sort of puzzled, takes it, and he shakes her hand solemnly with a, "Goodnight, Madam Snape. Thank you very much for your assistance."
"You're very welcome, Hunter. I was glad to help."
Ella gives her a nod from where she stands behind the boy as Hermione says goodnight to them both.
She opens the door and crosses the perception filter that vanishes her from sight, but she turns back to watch the two Slytherins make their way deeper into the dungeons with a shake of her head.
It was really no big thing, stopping the duel as she had, but then she wouldn't have thought twice about it a week ago. It was just a bunch of upset fourth years, no big deal.
But she is very relieved to be home.