The Price of Defiance

Hermione silently cursed herself for jumping from her own shadow, this being the third such occasion since setting out half an hour ago to do her Prefect's patrol. Somehow the flickering torchlight seemed to give the shadow a life of their own, as though they were entirely separate entities, watching her silently as she moved through their gloomy domain.

She wasn't normally so jumpy, but Ron's absence had instilled in her a distinct edginess. Not to mention that the dark and murky corridors weren't the most welcoming of places to spend one's time so late at night, even if she was a Prefect and exempt from curfew.

Hermione instinctively reached into her robes and grasped the reassuring coolness of her wand's thin burlwood shaft as she made her way through Hogwart's mazelike innards.

Not that she expected any trouble, of course. To do so would presuppose a near paranoia that she refused to acknowledge. No, caution was warranted, that was certain. Simple fear, on the other hand, was irrational.

And yet her eyes kept flicking to the shadows at every third step.

She almost swore when the dark form of Mrs. Norris suddenly overtook her from behind, startling her. The mangy cat ignored her, slinking quietly along the hall before disappearing around a corner.

Hermione paused near a torch, hand over her rapidly beating heart, and waited a few moments to let her frazzled nerves calm down a little. For a moment she found herself strongly wishing for a ban on felines at Hogwarts, until the familiar image of Crookshanks' furry face drifted into her thoughts.

But he was curled up comfortably before the fireplace in the Gryffindor Common Room by now, while she was out in the dark, halls getting frightened out of her wits.

But then it was entirely reasonable to be nervous in such a setting, she told herself in justification. Especially in times such as these. She knew full well that somewhere out beyond the school's ancient walls, dark forces were mustering, slowly gathering strength. To make matters worse, the Ministry of Magic was quietly going about its usual business of intercepting illegal shipments of flying carpets and investigating exploding toilets. The wizarding world was burying its head in the proverbial sand while its very existence was threatened.

Hermione started off once more down the hall, at a considerably reduced pace.

Dumbledore, of course, knew the danger, but the old Headmaster's voice had been all but ignored outside of Hogwarts since the previous year, just as Harry's had been. Clearly there were strange forces at work at the Ministry, though why they were so inexplicably determined to close the public's eye to the growing danger in their midst was a question that only Cornelius Fudge could answer.

Hermione had rarely felt so helpless - there seemed to be nothing she could do to head off the Ministry and warn the wizarding community.

At least, not so long as that sordid reptile Umbridge had any say in the matter, concluded Hermione vehemently as she kicked at the air before her in frustration. It had become painfully obvious that the new Dark Arts teacher's sole purpose at Hogwarts was to keep a gag on Harry. And the old battleaxe was clearly relishing making his life thoroughly miserable in the process.

If only -

Hermione stopped. She'd just heard a sound somewhere in the distance. Or at least, she thought she had. She couldn't be sure if it was just her imagination playing tricks on her, or...

She'd never admitted it, of course, but wandering through the school's deserted corridors late at night had always filled her with discomfort, from her first year onwards.

It hadn't been as much an issue this year as a Prefect, as she normally patrolled the halls with Ron. His presence was always reassuring, arguments notwithstanding.

But the read-headed Gryffindor was thoroughly exhausted this night. Drained, really, both emotionally and physically. After his return from a long walk in the snow Hermione hadn't had the heart to nag him about neglecting his prefect's duties. No, his trials with his new role as Gryffindor's Quidditch Keeper had been quite enough for one day.

Besides, she could manage one night on her own. Even if it meant jumping slightly at the odd shapes reflected on the walls all around her.

She turned a corner flanked by a disturbingly realisitc-looking stone gargoyle, the shadows seeming to give it an energy not visible in daylight. In any event, she had much more tangible worries to be concerned about.

Harry's situation, for one. His stubbornness was not only getting him in endless hot water with Umbridge, but he now found himself banned from the Gryffindor Quidditch team - and Hermione knew full well the impact such a ruling must have had on him. His one outlet from the stresses of everyday school life had just been suddenly and cruelly snatched away.

Another noise echoed down the granite walls towards Hermione, much clearer this time. It had been the sound of a door slamming shut, and forcefully. There was no mistaking it.

Hermione chewed her lip. She had nothing to fear regarding curfew, of course, yet she found herself gripped by a distinct sense of unease.

A shadow loomed from just around the next corner. Someone was coming!

Hermione quickly ducked into a nearby alcove and hid behind a large statue of Wendelin the Weird, her eyes wide and her breathing once more quickening. She was being entirely unreasonable, that she knew, but her instincts were screaming at her to stay out of sight...and for once she gave in without argument.

She nearly gasped when she saw the mountain-shaped figure of Dolores Umbridge waddling down the hall at a surprisingly brisk pace. Face reddened in pent up rage, her eyes glaring down the hall furiously, the vile High Inquisitor was obviously seething about something, Hermione could see plainly, even in the reduced light.

"Impertinent waif," grumbled Umbridge, the usual false sweetness of her voice conspicuously absent. "Such insolence...never be tolerated in Dippet's day...change the wording...thinks...get the better of me...learn proper respect..."

Hermione remained concealed in the shadows as the mountainoid shape ambled down the hall. The young Prefect's fingers clenched tightly around her wand as her free hand pressed against the cold marble of the statue's back, watching silently. Umbridge descended the hall in the direction Hermione had come, before finally turning a corner and disappearing from view, her wide shadow receding until it, too, finally vanished.

Hermione waited a few moments before cautiously emerging from behind the statue, staring intently in the direction the waddling High Inquisitor had gone. It was a very late hour for anyone to be out and about - just what was she up to?

Hermione noticed her hand was trembling. Blinking at her slightly shaking digits, she realized with surprise that her breathing had slowed to a near stop.

Breathe, Hermione, she commanded herself irritably as she rubbed the back of her neck, the tightness in her shoulders refusing to ebb. She pursed her lips and glared down the hall; Umbridge never failed to increase her tension level tenfold.

She waited a few seconds longer before continuing down the hall in the opposite direction, resuming her patrol. She'd briefly considered following the old hag but had quickly reconsidered; she was in no mood for a most unpleasant encounter this night.

She'd gone only a short distance and was giving some thought to cutting her patrol short when she gleaned a tiny reflection on the floor ahead of her. Had Umbridge dropped something? No, not likely - Hermione had passed her office two doors behind her, and the High Inquisitor had gone off in the opposite direction.

Hermione moved closer and knelt down. A small dark circle lay before her, but viewed from directly overhead it no longer reflected the torchlight as it had at a distance; indeed, it appeared almost black. She went to take it and hesitated - it was too small to be a coin, yet appeared quite flat.

Hermione drew out her wand and held it directly over the curious object.

"Lumos."

As the wand sparkled to life Hermione discerned the circle wasn't black at all, but a dark, shimmering red. As deep as -

- blood.

Hermione looked up. A slight chill came trailing down her spine. There were several more such droplets leading away, glittering ominously in the flickering torchlight.

A great many more, in fact.

She looked behind her. More droplets. Smaller, but definitely visible, now that she was actively scanning the floor for them. She was surprised she hadn't noticed them before, but from this vantage point they were clearly discernable.

Hermione slowly stood back up and gazed down the hall nervously, her fingers tightening around her wand. She proceeded cautiously, taking slow, measured steps, eyeing the dark droplets with increasing trepidation. The crimson circles hadn't begun to dry - whatever had left them behind had passed by only a short time before.

She followed the trail further down the hall and then around a corner. Her wand drawn and ready, she'd taken perhaps a dozen steps when the spattering of blood suddenly stopped.

Hermione glanced up. The last droplet lay just a few inches from a door; she recognized it as the girl's washroom for this wing.

She stood there for several long moments, fidgeting her wand uneasily. She considered fetching one of the teachers, perhaps even Filch, but finally dismissed the notion. She was a Prefect, after all, and Prefects were expected to enforce the rules with a minimum of supervision.

Still...something was definitely awry here. She had no idea what to expect. She had to at least look inside, of that there was no question.

She took a deep breath and held her wand at the ready.

The old door was bound to be noisy. She glanced down the corridor before casting a quick silencing charm on the hinges. She gripped the wrought iron handle and pushed the door ajar just enough to peer through.

There, standing at one of the sinks, was Luna Lovegood, of all people. The floor around her was splattered with reddened water. A small ochre jar rested on the sink's edge, while a heavily bloodied rag dangled limply from one of the sconces flanking the mirror overlooking the small basin.

Hermione gasped - had Luna been in an accident? She swung the door open and strode inside.

Luna looked over at her, and Hermione thought she looked surprised to see her, but with the Ravenclaw it was always hard to tell.

"Hello," said Luna in her quintessentially dreamy fashion, though Hermione detected just the slightest hint of uncertainty in her voice. Clearly she hadn't expected anyone marching in on...

Whatever's going on here, concluded Hermione as she slowly walked towards Luna, eyeing the bloodstained floor with apprehension.

"It's past curfew, you know," voiced the Ravenclaw as though Hermione might somehow be completely oblivious to the fact.

"I know that," replied Hermione, her eyes finally rising from the bloodstained floor to meet Luna's. The trail of droplets led right to her.

Something was definitely odd about all this, thought Hermione. Luna didn't appear to be visibly injured, yet Hermione knew all that blood had to stem from somewhere, and since there was no one else in the room, logic allowed only one possibility.

The Ravenclaw shrugged and resumed washing her hands. Hermione got the distinct impression she wasn't going to volunteer much information.

"What in Godric's name happened?"

Luna looked at her sideways for a moment as she continued washing her hands in the basin. It was at that instant Hermione caught sight of something terribly amiss under the stream of water pouring out from the brass swan-shaped faucet.

She grabbed Luna's left wrist and yanked the Ravenclaw's hand from the water's obscuring flow -

Her eyes widened just as her stomach gave a sudden, sickening lurch.

She quickly released Luna's wrist and took a step back, clasping a hand over her mouth in horror.

"Oh...Merlin..."

The back of Luna's hand was terribly mangled, slashed and bloodied to such a degree that the skin was almost undiscernable. The gashes in the flesh looked very deep, a ghastly sight even worse than one Hermione had previously seen with...

...Harry!

It suddenly hit her. Umbridge.

She felt the colour drain from her face as she stared at Luna, who'd dropped her injured hand to her side, fresh blood splattering the floor anew.

Though Hermione had often looked upon the Ravenclaw with what could be best described as mild exasperation, there was never any question of the girl's belief in Harry's account of the tragic events of the previous year. Though privately, she'd sometimes wondered if Luna's declarations of support for Harry might not be doing more harm than good.

And yet, looking at her now, torn hand dripping with blood, Hermione's insides twisted into knots. Luna had paid a terrible price for siding so publicly with Harry's version of events. And judging from the state of Luna's mangled hand, Hermione guessed that Umbridge had been at it all weekend.

Hermione gazed at the dark circle of blood pooling at Luna's side and suddenly felt a strong wave of dizzyness wash over her. She staggered momentarily and had to brace herself against one of the sinks to regain her balance, closing her eyes in an effort to calm her shaken nerves.

Clearly, there were no limits to Umbridge's vileness.

"You look a bit ill," observed the Ravenclaw, as though their situations were entirely reversed. "Were you coming in here to regurgitate?"

"Please," croaked Hermione, wrapping one arm around her midsection and swaying slightly, "don't even talk about that..."

"Well, you do look like you've had some of those odd treats going around," intoned Luna.

"No it's not - "

Hermione's eyes flew open. Odd treats??

Had Fred and George been testing their dubious wares on unsuspecting Ravenclaws too?

But one glance at Luna's injured hand quickly flushed such thoughts from her mind. She swallowed deeply and pointed to the blonde's bleeding hand, her stomach churning every time a crimson droplet splattered onto the worn stones.

"Luna...did Professor Umbridge do that to you?"

Luna gazed blankly at Hermione as though not understanding the question. She then slowly raised her hand and gazed at it almost curiously, as if only now noticing the severe lacerations.

"I suppose so," she said thoughtfully in an atypically subdued voice.

Hermione could scarcely believe the girl's strangely calm demeanour: any sane person would look at such a wound in horror...wouldn't they?

Maybe she's in shock, she thought.

She grabbed Luna's uninjured hand and moved towards the door.

"Come on," said Hermione worriedly, "we'll go see Madam Pomfrey, she'll - "

And was stunned to find herself alone at the door. Somehow Luna had managed to deftly slip out of Hermione's grasp without her even noticing.

Hermione looked to Luna, who was still standing near the sink, then down to her own, now empty, hand. She flexed her fingers to verify that they were still in working order and obeying her commands. They were, though it was of little consolation.

Hermione looked again to Luna in near disbelief. Either she'd lost all feeling in her digits or the Ravenclaw was as slippery as the proverbial eel.

"How did you..."

She trailed off. The sight of blood pooling on the floor quickly reminded her of more important matters. What was clear was that going to the school nurse was evidently not an option.

Luna cocked her head, her large eyes giving her a decidedly pixieish look.

Hermione look a deep breath. "Okay, well, I might have something for that," she said, indicating Luna's hand. "I've seen this sort of thing before."

Luna smiled in that disconcertingly dreamy manner which Hermione had yet to become accustomed.

"Oh, no, that's all right," said Luna airily before turning back to the sink.

Hermione watched incredulously as Luna resumed washing her injured hand.

"That's not going to heal properly," she harangued, moving closer to the sink. Even partly obscured by water she found it difficult to look at the terrible wound. "Really, I've got something that can help - "

"No, I'll manage," was the irritatingly serene reply.

Hermione let go a sigh of frustration as Luna shut off the tap and carefully applied the towel to the back of her hand, dabbing the uninjured skin around the wound until it was reasonably dry.

"Don't be silly," admonished Hermione. "If you don't get that looked at it'll...um...what is that?"

Luna was gently applying a thin layer of a yellowish ointment from the jar to her injured hand. It wasn't murlap, that Hermione knew, as it exhibited a faint scent vaguely reminiscent of seaweed.

"It's a healing solution," said Luna knowingly as she continued applying the pasty substance to the wound. "It does need a bit of pixie dribble, but I find it works well enough without it."

She winced ever so slightly when she spread the ointment over the worst of the wound; it was the first tangible sign that Luna had given acknowledging even a hint of pain. Hermione bit her lip - though she didn't share the Ravenclaw's viewpoint on many things, she had never wished her any ill will, and she certainly didn't deserve the horror of what she was being put through.

Luna then took out a small roll of gauze from behind a loose stone in the floor under the sink that Hermione hadn't noticed until then - clearly she'd been stashing her first aid here for some time.

The dishevelled blonde unrolled a length of it as she addressed Hermione. "Anyway, I haven't seen any pixies here since my first year. I don't think they would have been terribly inclined to dribble into a jar, though. I didn't have any of their favourites treats on hand, and Professor Lockhart didn't mffn nibl llnd hnd wff nnff - "

Luna was trying to tear off a length of gauze with her teeth, an awkward process with only one readily available hand. Hermione quickly grabbed the bandage near the roll and tore off a length.

"Here," she said, folding over the dressing several times before applying it carefully to the back of Luna's hand, "hold that there a second."

The Ravenclaw gazed at her curiously, but held the bandage as requested.

Hermione tore off another length of gauze, wrapping it several times around Luna's injured hand. She tucked in the last length snugly beneath the previous layer to form a reasonably secure covering.

"There," said Hermione as she stepped back, "that should hold for awhile."

"Yes," agreed Luna, turning her hand upside down and surveying the bandage with satisfaction. "That was nice."

Hermione was relieved to see the flow of blood had stopped; if nothing else, the ointment Luna had applied was at least sealing the wound well. But she also knew that Luna's hand wouldn't take much more such punishment without lasting damage, ointment or no.

"You've got to tell Professor Flitwick about this," said Hermione firmly. "He's head of Ravenclaw, he'll tell Dumbledore and - "

Luna smiled. "No, I don't think so."

Hermione stomped her foot in frustration. "Oh, will you stop being so stubborn?? Just tell him!"

There was a very subtle shift in Luna's countenance; almost unnoticeable, really, had it been anyone else. But in Luna, the sudden evaporation of her dreamy demeanor rang a loud alarm bell in Hermione's head.

"I prefer to make up my own mind, thank you," said Luna coolly.

Hermione's mouth opened in automatic response - indeed, had it been Ron or Harry she would have argued the point veciferously. But something told her that she'd reached a line that was perhaps unwise to cross.

Besides, Luna had been through quite enough this night. Angering her would accomplish nothing.

Hermione threw her hands up in resignation. "Fine," she said, not entirely able to conceal the irritation from her voice. "Have it your way. But she's not going to stop on her own, you know."

Luna suddenly appeared thoughtful. "No," she said softly, "I don't suppose she will."

They looked at each other. For once, Luna didn't seem so out of reach - even though Hermione doubted she could ever really get through to her. She was actually quite surprised that the subject or Snorkacks or Heliopaths had yet to come up in their conversation.

But one of the beliefs which Luna held dear was in Harry; and that, she and Hermione had in common.

An idea suddenly occurred to her. So long as Umbridge continued terrorizing the student body during her tenure at Hogwarts, there was no sure way to get the word out to warn the wizarding world of Voldemort's return. Especially with Cornelius Fudge backing her up at the Ministry. Even Dumbledore's influence in the wizarding world was being severely curtailed.

So long as Umbridge could maintain the status quo, they were stuck.

That is, unless...

"You're thinking," observed Luna.

"Um...yes," confirmed Hermione.

She chewed her lower lip, considering the Ravenclaw for a moment.

"Luna," she said, choosing her words carefully, "when you said you believed Harry...do you think...your father would share that sentiment?"

Luna nodded.

"I think so," she said pensively. "Daddy's quite open-minded about such things."

"So I've heard," agreed Hermione, fidgeting with her sleeve.

She wondered at the irony of it all. The one thing generally regarded as a farce might be the very instrument by which the wizarding world be forewarned of Voldemort's return. There were potential pitfalls, to be sure - some would surely dismiss the story as a hoax, especially considering its instrument of delivery.

Even so, a farce the Quibbler might be, but it was a farce with a widely distributed readership. Could it work? It seemed at least possible, though there was still the problem of convincing Harry...but that was for another time. Right now there were other things to consider, such as -

"You're thinking again," noted Luna serenely.

"I am," affirmed Hermione, her enthusiasm increasing noticeably.

Well, there was nothing for it; she had to ask if it was to have any chance of success.

"Luna, do you think you father might be agreeable to publishing Harry's story? To get the word out about Voldemort's return, I mean?"

Luna's stared at her blankly for several long moments. Then she blinked.

"The Ministry would be quite upset if Daddy were to publish that," she said neutrally.

Hermione felt her enthusiasm quickly ebb. What Luna said was true, of course.

"I...Imagine they would be, yes," she said dispiritedly. There was no pretending otherwise.

Luna's face brightened.

"I think Daddy would take particular delight in publishing Harry's story."

It was Hermione's turn to blink.

"He would??"

Luna nodded vigorously in the affirmative.

"Oh yes. Daddy's not very fond of the Ministry, you know," explained Luna, her silver eyes widening excitedly. "He holds them responsible for a lot of the problems in wizarding society today. Actually Daddy published the article about Cornelius Fudge's penchant for goblin pies; they've been trying to force him out of business ever since."

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and painfully swallowed the retort which she'd very nearly blurted out in reflex. Thankfully Luna hadn't seemed to notice and pressed on.

"But he's got his hands full writing a very important article on the Crumple-Horned Snorkack," she continued energetically, "which is quite eagerly anticipated by the readership as you might imagine, and I'm not sure if he'll be able to find a writer for Harry's story on short notice - "

"That won't be a problem," interrupted Hermione with a wave of her hand, a growing sense of triumph settling within her. "I know just the person who can help. She won't be entirely willing, of course, but I have a certain...influence, you might say."

Luna looked at her expectantly.

Hermione leaned closer and lowered her voice, even though they were the only two in the washroom.

"I have an idea," she said conspirationally. "There's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up..."