Exitus Acta Probat

Chapter Eight: Preparations

Dusk was approaching, the sky a blaze of reds and oranges. Hermione was sitting on a blanket by the lake, engrossed in a large novel on Psychology. Harry was flopped on his back next to her, animatedly discussing Quidditch with Zabini, who was lounging on her other side. They had skipped dinner, which promised to contain staring classmates, highly amused Professors, and a glowering Snape, and had a picnic prepared by Dobby outside.

Hermione was half engrossed in her book; the other half of her overactive brain was replaying the events of the previous few nights. How the sixth year Gryffindor boys, plus Katie, plus Zabini, plus Michael Corner, had instructed her in the ways of seducing a 17 year old boy who was (presumably) heterosexual. Dean had raided her closet, and the group had made Hermione go behind a screen and try on outfit after outfit for their approval. Everyone had had a go at making her hair tamable, (and failing, utterly and completely.) Then, Katie had suggested making Hermione answer questions in relation to boys and gaining their fancy. Of course, only Zabini and Harry knew exactly why she needed this knowledge, and only Harry knew what boy in particular. This made the advisory session somewhat difficult. Coupled with the differing of opinions, and... well...

*****************

"Name the three things guys find most attractive in a girl," Harry rattled off over the top of a scroll of parchment he had been ticking items off of.

"Physically or emotionally?" Hermione asked wearily, biting her lip.

"Both," Seamus cut in.

Hermione heaved a sigh.

"Emotionally. Kindness, intelligence, and honesty," she listed.

Seamus looked disgusted, Zabini's eyes narrowed hawkishly, Neville looked confused, and Michael gave a loud, fake snore. Hermione refused to be put off.

"Physically: eyes, face, smile."

Katie gave a loud snort, Dean burst out laughing, and even Harry looked bewildered.

"What?" Hermione inquired testily.

"Look, Hermione, guys are a bunch of perverts," Michael explained impatiently. The other males in the room nodded, except for Harry and Neville, who looked vaguely insulted. "I fancy blokes, and even I can tell you that guys look at tits, arses, and---"

"Legs!" interjected Seamus.

"Abs!" put in Dean.

"Hair," Neville disagreed.

"Eyes," Zabini insisted.

"They don't look at anything besides breasts and arses," Katie grumbled under her breath with a scowl.

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway, none of that is in my favor," Hermione said exasperatedly. "Especially not my hair," she said witheringly.

Too many occupants of the room snorted in agreement, causing Hermione to glare around at them all. Harry hastily hacked a fake cough for cover, which in turn caused Michael to cough a loud "Whipped!" into his hand. Harry threw his Transfiguration book at his head in retaliation.

"Fine," she said icily, "next question."

Harry picked his list back up.

"What is the best way to let a bloke know you are interested in them?" he read dutifully.

"Tell them," Hermione said immediately.

"Absolutely not!" Katie yelped. "Where is the mystery, where is the chase? You have to play hard to get."

"No!" Zabini looked appalled. "She was right the first time. Guys hate girls playing mind games."

Neville nodded wisely.

"But desperate girls are just..." seemingly unable to come up with the correct word, Seamus made a horrific face.

Instantly, the room descended into a chaotic cacophony of arguments, which culminated in a deadly pillow fight. The House Elves would be cleaning feathers out of the room for days.

*****************************

Hermione was brought out of her reverie when Harry paused in his gesticulating to consult his watch.

"We should get a move-on," he said, "don't want Zabini to be late for his first meeting of the order."

Hermione snapped her books shut with a puff of dust. "Good thinking, Harry," she said decisively. "I don't fancy being stuck sitting next to Snape, either," she continued, standing up.

Zabini snickered along with Harry, and lazily draped an arm around her shoulder.

"I don't know, Hermione," Harry grinned, gathering up the blanket and shoving it inside his robes, "it's kind of nice having Snape hate someone more than me."

He and Zabini laughed again, and Hermione irritably pursed her lips in a scowl. Zabini leaned in and kissed her neck in what she deduced was an apology for laughing at her.

"You shouldn't make that face, unless you plan on ditching Potter and the meeting," he murmured, nuzzling her neck. Harry pretended to be fascinated with the doors to the castle as they ambled through.

Hermione fought a rising blush in exasperation.

"Zabini, you are the only one weird enough to get," she lowered her voice, "turned on by me looking angry."

"Au contraire!" he said, leaving a trail of wet kisses up her neck, "I think any male at Hogwarts finds your prim, righteous fury sexy."

Hermione was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain indignity when Zabini was doing such enjoyable things to her neck. "Wouldn't you agree, Potter?" he added, licking her ear.

"Anthony Goldstein said no one else was as hot just by holding a ruler," Harry said helpfully.

Zabini's attention violently snapped away from her to Harry. Hermione unwittingly made a small noise of protest.

"He said what?" Zabini growled dangerously, his eyes narrowing.

"Yeah, and Justin Fintch-Fletchley said she could dock points from him any day," Harry continued obliviously.

Zabini looked murderous. Hermione was stunned that anyone though of her in that way in the first place. She leaned over and placed a peck on Zabini's cheek, who was pouting magnificently. His pushed-out lower lip alone conveyed a vast array of disgruntlement. It retracted slightly with her kiss.

"I'll have to have a word with Goldstein and Fintch-Fletchley," he muttered mutinously as the walked down the corridor.

"You will do no such thing," Hermione snapped. "Am I snogging Justin or Anthony? No. Am I snogging you?"

"Oh, god, constantly," Harry moaned from beside her. Peeves cackled loudly from his pose on a nearby vase.

Hermione did her best to glare at Harry, Zabini, and Peeves simultaneously. She was less than successful.

"The point, Zabini," she continued, after a final glare at Harry, "is that--"

"Oh, look, here we are," Harry said, hastily interrupting. The stone gargoyle loomed ahead.

They muttered the password, (Homer) and stepped into the revolving staircase. Harry pushed open the door, and Zabini looked around, stunned. Clearly, he had never been sent to the Headmaster's office before.

The chatter inside Lupin's office died down when the occupants (both human and portrait) swiveled to see the new arrivals. Luckily, they were not the last to show up; Fred and George were nowhere to be seen, although Percy was standing by the snack table with a cup of punch in his hand. Most of the new recruits had not shown up yet either, although Millicent Bulstrode, Edith Lodgeman, and Byron Whosiwhatsis were standing uncomfortably in the corner with four other Slytherins. Fleur, who had been chattering to Professor Lupin (who was eating a chocolate croissant and staring blankly with a glazed look in his eyes), spotted them.

"'Arry!" she squealed loudly, causing most conversation to cease, "'Arry Potter! And 'Ermione!" she all but leaped over to them, swooping down and kissing their cheeks. "It eez so good to see you!" she gushed happily. She noticed Zabini. "I believe we 'ave not met," she said curiously.

"Fleur, this is Zabini. Er..." Harry stuttered, "Blaise Zabini. He's joining tonight as well."

"Zat eez excellent!" she trilled happily. "Any friend of 'Arry's eez a friend of mine," she finished, kissing him as well.

Hermione felt a bizarre coupling of faint jealously and déjà vu.

The door opened again before Blaise could form a response out of his blushing and stammering, emitting a small crowd of students. Hermione recognized many faces from the DA, and even more from the night of the junior Death Eater attacks.

There was all of the sixth-year Hufflepuffs still alive; Sam Capper, Ernie, Justin, Megan Jones, Hannah Abbott, and Susan Bones, who had a bandage wrapped around her head, and a half-healed bruise on her cheek. Zacharias Smith, wobbling on crutches, and Tim Summerby, the last of the Seventh year Hufflepuffs, were right behind them. Last came a few more Hufflepuffs Hermione recognized by face, but not by name.

The Ravenclaw contingent was next, all four of the still living (and non traitorous) sixth-years; Morag MacDougal, Padma Patil, Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner. Luna Lovegood was there as well, along with a number of others.

Finally the Gryffindors came. Katie, -the last of the older Gryffindor girls besides Hermione- Neville, Dean, Seamus, and five others. Madam Pomfrey brought up the rear, helping little third year Slytherin Kyle Stebbins hobble into the room. It was his first time out of the hospital wing, or being allowed to see anyone. Immediately, Zabini and the other Slytherins rushed over to greet him, fussing over him and setting him down into a chair. Hermione heard Fleur draw a sharp gasp of surprise next to her.

Indeed, Stebbins looked horrible. He was covered in scars, remnants of the cuts he had received from one of Voldemort's new potions. Scars ran every which way over every inch of exposed skin, even on his eyelids and ears. A particularly vicious, reddish purple scar was slashed across his neck.

Lupin hastened over to Kyle with a handful of biscuits and a cup of punch, twittering over him for a moment, before Snape became infuriated upon the infringement on "his" student, and the two had an impromptu battle over who could out-comfort. Needless to say, Snape was losing horribly before Kingsley Shacklebolt attempted to call the meeting into order.

"Is everyone here?" he inquired in his deep baritone.

"No," Percy heaved the sigh of the long-suffering, "my brothers aren't here yet."

As if waiting for their cue, the door banged open, emitting the Weasley twins, Lee Jordan, and Alicia Spinnet. They were all sweaty, disheveled, and irritable looking. The rest of the occupants of the room thought it would be prudent not to ask for explanations.

"Ah hem. Right," Percy said, annoyed, "we can get started."

Snape and Lupin were still shooting dark looks at each other over poor Kyle Stebbins' head, so Kingsley took over. He cleared his throat and began speaking to the assembled group.

"Welcome, those of you who have not been here before, to the Order of the Phoenix. You have all been selected for membership based on your past deeds, and a series of screening tests to make sure of your loyalty to the cause of destroying Voldemort," mass wincing, shuddering, and involuntary shrieking occurred, "and his supporters."

The screenings in question had been designed by Kingsley, Percy, and Snape, part drilled questions, part veritaserum, part Legilmency, part checking of left forearms.

Percy had nearly gone into an apoplectic fit upon hearing that neither the entire population of Hogwarts or Hogsmeade had been checked before for the Dark Mark (Do I have to think of everything for you morons? Unbelievable! It's a surprising You-Know-Who hasn't won years ago with a bunch of such incompetent nitwits around!) a fact which was soon rectified. Kingsley's baritone broke through Hermione's musings.

"... and we are honored to have you join our numbers. I can't pretend it will be easy--"

A loud roar of crackling flames sounded from the fireplace, interrupting him. The green flames blazed high, before two shapes emerged, hacking on ash, from the fire.

An immediate panicked uproar came from all of the new inductees when they recognized the two choking men.

Flint and Pucey were wearing their long black death Eater robes, and were bent double, gasping for breath as if they had run a great distance. Both also looked exceedingly pale.

Zabini, who was holding her hand (and had previously been glaring daggers at the bewildered pair of Justin Fintch-Fletchley and Anthony Goldstein,) tightened his grip unknowingly, crushing her fingers together. Hermione yanked her hand out of his bruising grip, and glanced at Blaise's face in alarm. He was staring at Flint and Pucey as if they were ghosts; a rising fury twisting his otherwise handsome face. Nor was he the only one to look that way, all of the Slytherins present looked infuriated.

Millicent Bulstrode was the first to find her voice.

"Bastards," she hissed with venom. "Traitorous bastards!" She lunged forward to attack her two former housemates, and was only prevented from doing so by the combined efforts of Krum, Wood, and Sturgis Podmore.

"Enough!" Professor Lupin bellowed over the chaos. "Adrian and Marcus are on our side! They are invaluable allies to the order, and there will be no attacking by anyone!"

Millicent, who was glowering and breathing heavily through her nose, desisted. The other Slytherins followed suit, and Zabini reclaimed Hermione's hand after pressing an apologetic kiss to her knuckles.

While both Pucey and Flint looked shocked at the unexpected number of people crowding the office, Flint recovered first with a shake of his head.

"Sorry to interrupt Professors," he was speaking to both Lupin and Snape, "but it's important. They've been keeping us in training; we haven't even seen each other in days. Adrian just told me now."

"Told you what, Marcus?" Snape snapped impatiently.

"Well, see, the thing is, we found Ginny Weasley."

If the previous disorder had been bad, it didn't have anything on the explosion of sound that occurred at this news. Percy, Fred, and George all rushed at Flint; as if they were sure he was hiding Ginny in his cloak.

Hermione's heart dropped like a stone. She heard Harry draw in a sharp breath next to her. It had been foolish not to reveal Ginny's diary and her whereabouts to the order, but neither of them could bear the thought of the anguish sure to show on the Weasley's faces at their little sister's betrayal. Better for them to think her dead.

"Oh God, no..." Harry hissed under his breath on her left. Zabini was looking back and forth between them, his brow creasing.

Please, begged Hermione fervently in her head, please don't do it....

Even if she had managed to telepathically send this info to Flint, he ignored her completely.

"She's a Death Eater."

The Owlery, midnight

A cold breeze softly rustled Hermione's hair as she leaned on the window ledge. Her elbows rested on the stone edgings of one of the windows in the Owlery. The room behind her was almost empty; most of the owls were either delivering mail, or out hunting. She had gone up here to escape the accusing faces that kept flashing inside her head; the bewildered, betrayed expressions on Fred, George, and Percy's countenances when they had produced the hateful diary from Harry's bag.

She stared at the stars overhead, as the horrifying interrogation ran on an endless loop in her thoughts.

No, they hadn't been thinking.

Yes, they knew it was wrong to hide information from the Order.

No, they didn't know who sent the diary, or why.

Yes, Ginny was evil.

No, they hadn't been able to discern why.

The wooden door opposite to her window creaked open. Hermione sighed in resignation.

"Not able to sleep after that either, Harry?"

"It's me," a male voice answered that was most definitely not Harry. She spun around.

"Oh. Sorry. Zabini," she said stiltedly. He stood across the room, his face hidden in shadow. "How did you find me?"

He shrugged. "Potter decided I was un-evil enough to show me the map," he said casually, putting his hands in his pockets. "You were right. He's still awake as well."

"Oh." She turned back to the window, placing her chin in her hands.

"Do... d'you want me to leave?" Zabini sounded uncharacteristically uncertain.

"No," she said quietly.

She heard him move across the floor until he was next to her. After a few minutes of silence, he broke the atmosphere awkwardly.

"I'm sorry about Weasley."

"Me too," Hermione answered simply.

"They shouldn't have acted that way to you and Potter, though," he said, his voice becoming indignant. "As if you two don't have enough to worry about! As if it were your fault she was evil or something! As if--"

Hermione broke off his tirade by pushing him against the stone wall and kissing him furiously. Blaise made a startled "mmph" of surprise, before rallying and responding eagerly.

Hermione pulled slightly away when she ran out of breath, Zabini was panting as hard as she was, looking stunned.

"Wow," he said, astonished, "you're becoming really good at this seducing thing, Granger," the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

The side of her mouth slanted upwards, mimicking his, against her will. She grabbed his tie, yanking him towards her, and kissed him again. One of her hands remained on the green and silver striped fabric, the other curled around his shoulder. Blaise's hands were doing more wandering then he had previously allowed them to; and in her recent feeling of reckless abandon, she didn't care. Hermione's hand released his tie, and began sliding inside his robes, under his jumper, to the buttons on his white shirt. Zabini gave a strangled noise she interpreted as "gnuh," as she began to snake her other hand underneath his clothing, along the smooth lines of his abdomen. Just as the pad of her index finger brushed against his nipple, Zabini grabbed her hand, stilling her upward motion.

"Granger," he rasped, his voice still strangled, "what are you doing?"

"Seducing you," Hermione responded. (The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that she used her "it's all in Hogwarts, a History, duh!" voice.)

"Ah," Blaise answered eloquently.

"Where's Crabbe?" Hermione asked, apropos of nothing.

"Crabbe?" Zabini said blankly. The haze of lust previously clouding his eyes was slowly fading. "You're thinking about Crabbe while you are snogging me?"

"No," Hermione said impatiently, "I was wondering where Crabbe was, because I would like to go to your room, and not have any interruptions."

She had to wait a few minutes for Zabini to stop making astonished noises, and become coherent again.

"I don't..." he stammered, "he's probably... in the kitchens. Never leaves them these days, practically. He thinks eating éclairs saved his life, or something."

"So there's no one in your dorm," Hermione prompted.

"I don't... think so..."

"Good," Hermione said, pleased. "Let's go there."

"Sweet Salazar's scrotum!" Zabini exclaimed. "Who are you, and what have you done with that uptight teacher's pet, Granger?"

Hermione was too busy laughing hysterically to respond. Zabini glared at her as she doubled in half, paralyzed in her mirth.

"Sweet Salazar's scrotum?" she choked out incredulously. "Is that some Slytherin thing? I suppose you think Gryffindors run around cursing Godric's gonads, or something?"

Zabini snickered against his will.

"And Ravenclaws swear by Rowena's rump," he put in gleefully.

"Hufflepuffs invoke wrath in the name of Helga's hind quarters," Hermione giggled. They laughed together, the heated atmosphere of a moment ago diffusing.

"No really, Granger," Zabini said when he had gotten back in control of himself. "Not that doesn't sound like fun, but are you feeling alright? We don't have to... do that, you know, if you don't want to."

Hermione studied the face of the boy before her. Zabini was trying valiantly to hold back a blush, and was looking at a spot over her head on the wall. She supposed he was humiliated at losing all of his supposed bad reputation as a Slytherin. He was a nice guy, Zabini. In time, she might have been able to love him, had she met him sooner. But she hadn't, and she could be dead within a few days time, either by a fault of her own, or by the hand of Tom Riddle. It was too late for little girl fairy tales of the handsome prince on the white horse, but he deserved the truth, at least.

"To be honest, Zabini," she said slowly, "I could be dead by the start of next week, and I don't particularly want to die a virgin."

Blaise opened his mouth, probably to protest her possible death, but Hermione ploughed on before he got a word out.

"Don't argue with me, Zabini, it's true. I'm not complaining, just stating the facts. And while dying a virgin isn't that horrible a fate, losing it to Ri--- a monster, is infinitely worse."

Zabini looked troubled. "How about losing it because the other person is desperate? Out of pity?"

Hermione paused. Did he mean...?

"Cause I'm not so sure I want to lose mine that way," he said, frowning.

She was silent with shock for a moment.

"Oh," she choked out, "I wasn't aware."

"I figured you weren't. Assumed I lost it at twelve, during a dungeon orgy?"

To his credit, only a hint of bitterness betrayed him.

"No," she said vehemently, "I just thought... well, you are rather handsome. I guessed you had many opportunities."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Who says I didn't?" he said cockily. "Except, well, I didn't, actually," he amended.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "Okay," she said slowly, "I'm sorry I unfairly judged you."

She started to walk towards the door. Zabini grabbed her arm.

"Wait!" he said, somewhat louder than he needed to, "I didn't say no!" he smiled, a trifle smugly.

She felt an unnerving amount of relief, and smiled a little in return.

"Well, you're just a tease, aren't you, Zabini?"

Forbidden Forest

It was dark outside. Wind was gently blowing the limbs of nearby trees. The candle's flames flickered, but remained lit. The small figure crouched at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, far away from the windows of Hogwarts, raised her cloak's hood over her bushy mass of hair with a nervous sigh.

Hermione was kneeling in the middle of a small clearing, in a patch of grass she had just cleared of debris a moment before. A twig was digging into her stocking clad knee painfully. She glanced at her hand-written instructions before starting on her next step. Dipping a paintbrush into her concoction of Peragro potion, she painted a circle around herself, five feet in diameter. She got up, relieving the offending twig from her leg from with a yank, and tossed it outside the circle. She glanced appraisingly at her work, than carefully painted a five-point star inside the circle, completing the pentagram.

Being careful not to burn herself of drip any wax, she placed the lit candles along the lines of her paint. Had there been anyone flying on a broomstick above Hogwarts and it's ground, they would've seen a pentagram of light shining below. Hermione grasped a handful of concentrated floo powder, and retreated back to the center of the star. She flung it an arc, from left to right, like her notes had said. She had already moved her trunk and Crookshanks' basket next to her.

After the... events of two days ago, she had known without a doubt it was time to travel to the past. Horrible things kept happening, and her own selfish sense of self-preservation was all that was keeping her inactive. She didn't regret having sex with Zabini, a fact which she was eminently grateful for. Supposedly, according to the girly gossip of her peers, one was meant to feel grown up and womanly after losing one's virginity, but all she felt was warm, comforting feeling of relief. Now, even if she was forced to sleep with Riddle for the good of humanity, she would have the sentimentality and awkwardness of her first time out of the way.

She perused her notes one last time before unlatching her trunk and placing the notebook full of information on Aeternus Lapideus inside. The wind picked up, making the candles' flames flicker more than ever. With trembling fingers that revealed her anxiety, she unclasped her carnelian necklace from around her neck. The matching ring remained s safely on her index finger of her right hand. She glanced longingly back at Hogwarts, a shudder of fear rippling through her. Harry and Zabini and Lupin were going to be so furious with her.

If she ever even saw them again, a cruelly amused voice whispered in the back of her head. Or if she managed not to botch up the spell and splinch herself. Or worse, somehow unraveled the very fabric of time.

Hermione was frozen in fear and doubt. For goodness sake, she was a Gryffindor, she thought angrily. Still she couldn't bring herself to complete the ritual. A voice broke into her thoughts.

"And you think we're going to go around wearing badges saying SPEW on them, do you?"

"Who are you going to the Yule ball with?"

"And what would your boggart be? A piece of homework that got only 9/10?"

Ron . She had avoided thinking about Ron like it was the bubonic plague. It always choked her up. She was a frozen lake of ice, and every time something bad happened, in her life, a crack appeared and spider-webbed. She figured thinking about Ron would only cause her to fall in. Strangely, hearing Ron's voice now, planted a new seed of strength in her. His vaguely taunting words served the purpose they always had, lighting a fuse in her. With a fire burning in her eyes, she clenched the pendant in her left hand, pulling out her wand into her right. She took a deep, steadying breath, than recited the incantation to the night.

Immediately, her wand sparked and crackled. It glowed red. The carnelian gemstone in her fist began to burn. Her teeth grit together, riding out the pain. Hermione was certainly not going to let go after all of this just because of a blister. Without warning, it happened. The candles flamed three feet in height. Fallen leaves swirled around her in a miniature tornado. The night whirred and blurred around her, changing to streaks of colour. She was lifted off of her feet, twisting and turning in the howling tunnel around her.

Abruptly, she was dropped unceremoniously to the ground, face-first into the grass.