Divined Intervention

"She just wanted to know who else knew about her, is all." Ron shrugged as he strode towards the infirmary at a good clip.

"Makes sense." Hermione jogged beside him, at a serious disadvantage to his lengthy stride. After about two hallway-lengths of jogging, she lunged forward and grabbed the sleeve of his robe to slow him. "You great git, you're almost a foot taller than me! Slow up! She's not dying, you know." She panted a little, halfheartedly glaring up at her friend.

Ron slowed his step a little. "SorryÂ… I justÂ…" He looked at Hermione, pink tingeing his ears. "She mentioned that she'd 'run into snags'Â… I didn't know how serious the trouble was."

Hermione chewed her lip. "I remember reading in An Anthology of Aurors about cases of witches and wizards who grew up untrained andÂ…" A shiver ran up her spine as she cut herself off abruptly. "A lot of them wound up with injuries because they suppressed the magic too hard. Magical conduit stress and the like."

Ron blanched. "Magical conduit stress? What in blazes is that?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Obviously I was the only one awake in Magical Theory." She held up her right hand and traced a line from her ring finger along her forearm. Ron watched, entranced, as her finger coursed along her pale skin, then snapped his attention abruptly back to her face. "The 'magical conduit' runs through the ulnar nerve. All the magical energies in us run all through our bodies, but the conduit is the most powerful focus area for us to send our energies outward." She pulled out her wand and shot a shower of sparks from it. "It's strongest in our primary handsÂ… hence, the whole wand hand thing." She stuck her wand in her left hand, gripping it a little awkwardly. "In our off handsÂ…it's pretty weak unless you practice a whole, whole lot." She concentrated. A single spark shot out of it. "I've been practicing for about three yearsÂ… just in case, you know."

"Why am I not surprised?" Ron smiled at her. She sniffed. "Well, what did those witches do? The damaged ones?" Ron looked at her hopefully.

Hermione swallowed hard. Think of something, Hermione. Her mind raced. Can't just tell himÂ…

"Thanks, PoppyÂ…as always, you rock."

The two froze in mid-step. Madam Carter stepped out of the infirmary door, a bloody cloth wrapped around her wrist.

Ron went from pale to dead white. Hermione gasped.

Madam Carter's head whipped around to face them. "OhÂ…uhÂ…hi, guys. 'Sup?" She smiled awkwardly, clutching the cloth a little tighter. Steam rose from it in faint tendrils. "Good news travels fast, huh?"

Hermione swallowed hard, stepping forward. "We heard about your last class period and wanted to make sure you were all right."

Madam Carter smiled. "You must be Hermione." Hermione blinked in surprise, then glanced back at Ron. "Yeah, he told me about you. Guess I owe you one forÂ…well, a lot, really." She unwound the bloody cloth from her wrist and offered her right hand to Hermione, then gave a startled laugh. "Oh, shoot, sorryÂ…don't freakÂ… it's just dragon's blood, not mine." She held up the cloth, chuckling self-consciously. "Makes for a wonderfully long-lasting hot compress. If only there was a way to keep it off my robesÂ…"

Hermione looked at the extended right hand. Her wrist was not visibly harmed at all, except for a thin white scar edging from beneath her sleeve. Hermione accepted her hand and shook it gently. The older woman's hand was shaky and ice-cold, but her grip was fairly strong. "You're welcomeÂ…how much did Ron tell you?"

Ron fidgeted. Madam Carter looked over at him and smiled. "He mentioned that you were a strong advocate for me once the Ministry agent spotted me by accident. Some sort of Spyglass miscalibration or something, was it?"

Ron nodded emphatically. Hermione bit her lip.

"At any rate, thank you very much. You probably saved my life." She wound the cloth back around her wrist, wincing as it touched her skin. "ThisÂ… is minor. No need to worry. You should probably get back to your dorm. It's late." She gave Ron a gentle punch in the arm with her left hand. "Don't worry, kid. I'm a trooper."

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

"Goodnight, Madam Carter!"

"Oh, please. Just call me Maggie!"

She watched as the two teenagers headed back from whence they came and leaned against the wall, clutching the rag to her wrist tightly. A tear rolled down her cheek, unbidden and unwanted.

With grim determination, Maggie nearly ran to the teacher's lounge. It was blessedly empty. She threw herself into a chair and stuffed a throw pillow over her face, letting the sobs take over her body for a little while.

How did they ever think I'd be able to do this? How did I ever think I'd be able to do this?

The sobs gave way to a wracking cough, then long shuddering breaths. She felt completely hollow, the emptiness after a good solid hopeless bawl. With effort and a hearty sniffle, she began the long trek back to her room. Only Mrs. Norris saw her go.

"Don't tell anyone I'm a big wuss, ok, sweetie?" Maggie sniffled. The cat rubbed against her leg and meowed, then trotted off.

She looked around her room with dead eyes. Her cauldron of potions supplies sat on her desk next to her CD player. Had she been at home, it would have been cranked up loud enough to shake the dust off the ceiling. Tension filled every fiber of her body. The bloody rag flew across the room, smacking wetly against the wall. A dull red streak marred the whiteness, and it only pissed her off more.

Her arm twinged hard. Tears began to well again, but she bit them back angrily.

Every fiber was twitching in repressed energy. She could feel her hands shaking.

She punched a pillow. It was not satisfying.

She tried to dismiss it. Her eyes caressed the CD player hungrily.

It didn't seem a bad idea, entirely, but some ounce of self-preservation spoke up and stopped her before she touched it.

Another, darker thought crossed her mind.

Maybe there's something good and toxic in the cauldron. A snort. I wonder if there's a recipe out there for magical Ecstasy? If I ever wanted to try something horrid for me, now feels like the time. Where's Randy when I need him?

So much for self-preservation.

A shadow of a smile traced across her lips.

The smile was gone.

Her hand closed over a pouch in the cauldron. The contents rattled softly. She peered inside at a handful of softly glowing blue stones. "Moonstones. Cool."

Have you heard about the new Hogwarts ghost? Tabitha's excited words from the other end of the lunch table echoed back to her.

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

"You didn't."

"Oh, but I did." Tabitha gave the satisfied grin of a cat who'd just eaten a caged bird. "They know now."

Estelle gasped, eyes wide. "Tabby, really. Hardly dignified behaviorÂ…" She tried to keep the approving tone out of her words, but failed. Finally, she laughed. "A dungbomb?"

Tabitha shrugged. "It suited my purpose. Confiscated it from the Weasley. twins ages agoÂ… I'm surprised it still worked!" She sat down, picking up her teacup. "Oh, Estelle, you should've seen it. She didn't know what to do. And thenÂ…after one of the third-years told her what to doÂ… she picks up her wand." She snickered nastily.

Estelle set her cup down. "Tabitha." Horror filled her eyes as she realized the implications of what her friend had just said. "No, really. That was dreadful of you."

"And it wasn't dreadful of her?" Tabitha leaned over, all seriousness and anger. "She humiliated us."

Estelle sighed. "She had a point, though. I've seen her attempts at astrology. She's awful, Tabby. She couldn't have done it."

"Then her cohorts did!" Tabitha crossed her arms. "She probably put some of the other faculty up to it. Just watch them all, Estelle. Fawning over her. Poor little Maggie the Muggle and her poor little maimed arm." She made a retching noise. "Let her go back to her own country and take up their time. Why elevate her to our level, where she doesn't belong?"

Estelle sat in shocked silence throughout the outburst. "TabbyÂ…she can't helpÂ…"

"Don't you start, too, Estelle!" Tabitha was on her feet, nearly shouting. "I worked for ten yearsÂ…TEN YEARSÂ…to get to this position. I worked in the field. I studied night and day. I gave up everythingÂ…everythingÂ… so I could meet my dream of being a Hogwarts professor." She said the words with reverence. "And nowÂ…that little useless tart swaggers in and they hand it all to her on a platter." Estelle looked away from the hateful gleam in her friend's eyes. "And I won't bear it, Estelle. And neither should you."

Estelle watched her friend leave, setting her teacup down with a trembling hand.

"PleaseÂ…nothing rash, TabbyÂ…"

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

The dragon's blood hissed in the cauldron, imbuing the rest of the contents with deep crimson. Severus allowed himself a satisfied smile.

"Perfect."

"Enjoying yourself, prodigal?" The voice behind him made him whirl. The smile was a distant memory already.

"YouÂ…Why did you try to kill me?" Venom dripped from Severus's voice as he glowered at the black-hooded figure. He pulled the dagger out of his pocket and hurled it onto the table between them.

He could feel the sneer even if he couldn't see it. "Oh, why would we do that? You are still proving useful." The clawlike hand waved dismissively. "It was merely a test, Severus."

"To see if I could take a dagger in the back?"

A dry chuckle from within the hood. "Not for you. For the young diviner." Glittering eyes shone in a way that made Severus's skin crawl. "She shows much potential, if entirely too much regard for you."

A stone formed in his stomach. Margaret. "What of her?"

"The master is interested in her. If we could make use of her gifts, then we would have a definite advantage in this war." The condescending tone flipped the stone. "You will procure her for us."

"Convert her? She'll be a challenge." Severus's mind raced.

A snort. "Convert her? She's a Mudblood. Don't disgust me. You will take her, by charm or by force, when we tell you to." He could see the smile now, cold, bloodless. "You may, however, begin preparing the Veritaserum. Two droughts."

"It will take months." Severus's expression didn't change.

"That has been taken into consideration. Just have it prepared."

Severus sat alone in the darkened classroom for a long time. The dagger still sat on the table, gleaming dully.

Seventeen years, and he could still smell the blood in the air.

Finally, he stood and turned back to his cauldron.

"Twenty more to go," he whispered, pulling the small stone from the bottom of the cauldron with tongs and wrapping it in dragonhide.

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

Spin, whirl, trails of glittering ephemera misting in the moonlight.

Half-spin off a low wall, heedless of the few hundred-foot-drop below. A laugh of silver bells on the wind whipping through her hair, through the ethereal mists of blue whipping around her form. Hands gripping the wall, a half-cartwheel, tossing her into a spin, hair fanning down along the edge.

Serpentine lithe motion, arms and body swaying, never ceasing.

"Such passion."

Sir Nicholas leaned against the battlement, sighing in rapture. The Bloody Baron stood next to him, alternately watching the spectacle and glowering at Peeves, who was cowering behind his leg.

"Magnificent. Absolutely magnificent." Nicholas's rapture was broken by a pair of frightened squeaks from behind. The spirits whirled to see two ghostly-pale young faces.

"OhÂ…ohÂ…ummÂ…" The boy stuttered for a moment, backpedaling and almost falling down the stairs. His young ladyfriend was already halfway down the stairs, squealing.

"Ah, youth." Nicholas chuckled, then turned.

The wall was empty.

"Damn."

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

"I bet she's someone's daughter. Dumbledore's maybe."

Parvati snickered in the dark. "Why would she lower herself to shopping in Muggle stores if she were DUMBLEDORE'S daughter?"

"Well, he's a little mad, isn't he? Maybe it's hereditary." Lavender sat up in bed, giggling. "That's it. She's mad!"

"It would explain those robesÂ… did you see what she was wearing?"

Hermione rolled over, irritated. "Will you two shut it, please. Neither of you know what you're talking about, and Parvati, you're supposed to be setting an example."

"Who's the prefect here?"

A pillow hit Hermione in the back of the head. Hermione growled and closed her curtains around her bed. The mindless titters from the Weird Sisters of Gryffindor were something she'd grown annoyedly accustomed to over the past five years, and it looked like this year would be no different.

"So, who's cuter this year, Ron or Harry?"

Hermione sank her nails into her pillow. For some reason she'd never quite understood, any time those two had defiled her friends' names by saying them had always really pissed her off. Especially the "who's cuter" contests.

"Oh, Harry. Famous, talented on the Quidditch fieldÂ…makes you wonder what else he's talented withÂ…"

"I don't knowÂ…Ron's grown so much, and you know what they say about tall menÂ…"

Hermione choked. For a fleeting moment, she nearly dove through the curtains to throttle Lavender. Before she could sit up, she realized what she was doing.

Let them ogle your friends. What does it matter to you? Hermione's head hit the pillow hard.

It doesnÂ’t matter to you. It doesn't matter to youÂ… It became a mantra, but she wasn't feeling soothed or meditative.

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

"Who is she really, Ron?"

It was the question he'd hoped his friend would forget.

"I know you and Hermione know. And I know you're not asleep. You snore."

"I do not."

"Don't change the subject." He could see Harry's shadow in the moonlight, sitting up in his bed, hair making strange shapes in the dark. His voice was serious.

Ron swallowed hard and sat up. "Harry, I promised Dumbledore. We both did."

Harry gave a frustrated sigh. A long silence followed, neither knowing properly what to say.

"Is there anything you CAN tell me?" Harry whispered hopefully.

Ron thought about it, chewing on a fingernail. "She's Muggle-born. Hermione says she's the first one ever to teach at Hogwarts. And she's not even thirty." A frustrated growl escaped him. "Â…and I can't tell you anything more. And I hate it. I want to, Harry. You know I do. More than anything."

He could see Harry nodding in the shadows. "I know, Ron. ButÂ…" He sighed again. "If Dumbledore trusts her, then I should too, I suppose."

Ron nodded back. "Trust her, Harry. She'sÂ…" He stopped. Am I telling too much? Do I care? "She's in more danger than she could cause, Harry. And that's why I can't tell." His shoulders slumped.

"She really is sick? Like Ginny said?"

"HarryÂ…"

"All right, all right. I'm sorryÂ… I'm justÂ…" A frustrated noise. "Goodnight, Ron. Sleep well."

"You know I won't, now. I hate not telling you things." He rolled onto his side, back to Harry, arms crossed petulantly.

"A promise is a promise, Ron. I wouldn't want to make you break it."

"Bollocks. You'd love to make me break this one."

Harry chuckled. "Point. Go to sleep. We have double Potions tomorrow."

Ron groaned. "Ugh, now I really won't sleep. Thanks, Harry."

"Quite welcome."