Hermione spent the Christmas holidays in the Hogwarts hospital wing. To her relief, Madam Pomfrey immediately assured her that returning to her human form was only a matter of time. So that problem was resolved fairly easily, and her worry about how she looked quickly gave way to impatient waiting.
Facing McGonagall, however, proved much harder. The moment Hermione saw her Head of House's stern, disappointed face, all her courage drained away. She lowered her eyes and barely held back the urge to curl up like a guilty kitten caught in the act.
Her attempts to explain herself sounded weak. Neither 'ingredients from my own supplies' nor 'purely academic purposes' made the slightest impression on the professor. If anything, every word only convinced McGonagall more that there was something else behind it. She clearly meant to get to the truth.
And then, as if that was not enough, Snape entered the ward. His gaze was colder than ever.
"Well, well, my suspicions were not unfounded," he said with grim satisfaction, not even bothering to greet them. "Several weeks ago, precisely those ingredients required to brew Polyjuice Potion disappeared from my personal stores."
He gave Hermione a mocking look from head to tail.
"Given Miss Granger's current state, I doubt anyone will question who stole them."
McGonagall, who had been watching Hermione, raised an eyebrow in surprise, but at once regained her usual composure. Her face went completely neutral as she turned to Snape.
"I will deal with this, Severus."
"You'll deal with it?" Snape shot her a venomous look and jabbed a finger at Hermione. "She has broken two serious school rules: theft and the brewing of an illegal and, I should add, dangerous potion. This is without even considering why she needed it in the first place. I am quite sure that was just as illegal. Which means she was planning at least one more offence."
Hermione had never seen Snape like this before. There was a trace of barely contained satisfaction behind the anger in his voice.
"This is not a prank, Minerva. This isa crime! And I trust you are not going to sweep it under the carpet simply because she is your favourite."
McGonagall remained standing as if carved from stone.
"Severus, do you really believe further punishment is necessary, in addition to this?"
She nodded slightly towards Hermione, who at that moment was carefully trying to hide her tail under the blankets. Snape gave a scornful snort.
"You are not seriously suggesting, Professor, that her punishment is the potion she brewed herself?" His voice was thick with acid irony. "That is absurd, Minerva. I demand expulsion!"
"I will take your recommendation into account, Professor Snape," McGonagall replied calmly, her tone turning official.
Snape narrowed his eyes. He sensed the shift in mood at once. His gaze, which had been almost raging a moment before, went flat.
"I will not let this go," he said. "I will press Dumbledore for her expulsion."
"Of course, Professor. You have every right to do so," McGonagall replied, not breaking eye contact.
For a few seconds they looked at each other, motionless, like two old rivals facing each other in a duel. The air between them seemed stretched tight as a wire. Snape looked away first. He slowly turned to Hermione, his face twisting into a contemptuous smirk.
"I trust, Miss Granger, this will serve as a valuable lesson: do not put your filthy… paws where they do not belong."
He held her gaze for another second, then turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
McGonagall watched him go and flinched at the loud bang. Then she slowly turned to Hermione.
"Miss Granger," she said in the same formal tone, "I hope you understand that your excellent academic record cannot protect you from the consequences of your actions forever, especially when your actions affect others."
Hermione lowered her eyes. McGonagall's words hit their mark. She knew exactly what she meant. Only recently, McGonagall had, with difficulty, managed to smooth things over with the Ministry regarding Honeydew's disappearance, and now it was happening again. Her again. More trouble.
For a while, the professor said nothing. The ward fell silent, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire.
"Hermione," she said at last, her voice turning warm. "I thought last year would be a lesson for you. I thought you had learned to understand where the need to prove something to someone ends and simple foolishness begins."
Hermione slowly raised her eyes. There was no longer any severity in McGonagall's gaze, only weariness and concern. Even sadness. And somehow, that hurt more than any reproach.
"I understand your fears. The Chamber of Secrets and those letters… all of it is frightening." McGonagall sighed and shook her head. "But Polyjuice Potion… Hermione. Why?"
"I thought it was Malfoy," Hermione said quietly. "I wanted to get into the Slytherin common room and find out the truth."
McGonagall slowly lowered herself into the chair by the bed, fixing her with a long, searching look.
"And?" she asked, no longer reproachful, but with a trace of sad irony. "Did it work?"
Hermione shook her head. She could not bring herself to meet the professor's eyes, not because she was afraid, but because she was truly ashamed. McGonagall sat in silence for another minute, watching her, then slowly rose and straightened her robes.
"Well then, Miss Granger," she said, "lie there and think about where even the best intentions can lead when they are paired with thoughtless actions."
She turned and walked towards the door. She paused for a moment, as if about to add something, then thought better of it and left the ward.
Hermione was left alone. She lay there, staring at the closed door. Clutching the edge of the blanket, she pressed it to her chest. Tears ran down her cheeks.
***
The Hogwarts hospital wing was silent and empty. By the window, on the only occupied bed, Hermione lay curled up under the blanket. Harry and Ron had been visiting her for the third day in a row, even though she had driven them off the previous two. The moment they appeared in the doorway, she would dive under the covers and, in response to all their attempts to talk to her, mutter something irritated and unintelligible from underneath.
"Do you think she'll send us away again?" Ron whispered as they made their way to her bed.
"We'll see," Harry said with a shrug.
This time Hermione endured their approach without flinching and did not even try to hide her face. She sat up in silence, leaning back against the pillows, while her fluffy tail, which had slipped out from under the blanket, flicked nervously from side to side.
"Hi, Hermione," Harry said brightly, trying not to stare too closely at her cat ears, which were twitching slightly as well.
"Hi," she replied curtly, folding her paws across her chest.
Ron could not take his eyes off her tail and finally gave in.
"Listen, can you move it yourself? I mean… on purpose, not just —"
"Yes, I can move it!" she snapped, fixing him with a hard stare. Her eyes, round and amber with narrow vertical pupils, flashed with cold anger. "And no, we are not discussing this."
Ron raised his hands with a guilty look, as if to say all right, I'll shut up, and Harry quickly stepped in, trying to steer the conversation onto safer ground.
"Listen, Hermione! We never got the chance to tell you about what happened in the Slytherin common room," he began.
Hermione turned her head slightly towards him. A flicker of interest showed in her catlike eyes.
"It wasn't exactly pleasant, to be honest," Ron put in. "You could easily rename that place 'the Gloomy Dungeon'. It's dark and cold like a tomb, and there's this portrait of a huge snake that looks like it's about to swallow you whole."
Hermione ignored his comment.
"What did Malfoy say?" she asked, looking at Harry. "Is he the Heir of Slytherin?"
He only shook his head.
"No. He doesn't know who it is either. We asked him straight out. He just groaned, said that if he did know, he'd happily help the Heir get rid of… well, you know."
"Maybe he's helping," she muttered, staring into space.
"What do you mean?" Ron asked.
"The Smiting Hand, of course. Isn't it obvious?" She waved her hand in irritation. "I could have figured everything out, found proof, and instead —" She broke off and bit her lip. Tears glinted in her eyes.
"Listen, Hermione," Harry began uncertainly. "It's not your fault it turned out like this. No one could have guessed that the hair from Millicent Bulstrode's robes would turn out to be a cat's. It could have happened to anyone."
"I should have been more careful," she said stubbornly.
"Harry's right," Ron put in. "Without your plan, we wouldn't have got anywhere. You had it all worked out perfectly, and it was all going smoothly… well, except for… er… that small fluffy mishap."
Hermione gave a grim little smile.
"Small? I turned into a cat, Ron. That's not a mishap. That's a catastrophe. And now I'm stuck here instead of… glug, glug, glug…"
"Instead of what?" Harry asked, exchanging a look with Ron.
"Never mind," she said shortly.
Terry Foster's spell still turned any hint at the forbidden subject of his release into incomprehensible gurgling. With an abrupt movement, she shoved her tail under the blanket and turned to the window. Harry glanced at Ron, but he only shrugged helplessly.
"Hermione, we found out that Malfoy isn't the Heir of Slytherin. That matters too," Harry said gently. "And he also let slip that the Chamber of Secrets was last opened fifty years ago. And back then, one of the students was killed… one of the… well… Muggle-borns."
"You mean Mudbloods?" Hermione said sharply. "That's what Malfoy said, isn't it?"
"Er… yeah…" Harry muttered, looking away.
"Still, this could actually be useful," Hermione said more calmly. "We should look into what was happening at Hogwarts fifty years ago. Maybe in old issues of the 'Prophet', or in other newspapers…"
The idea seemed to take hold of her. She frowned, her gaze unfocused, and then, without noticing what she was doing, stuck out her tongue and began licking the fur on her front paw. Ron shot Harry an alarmed look. Harry felt awkward too. Hermione would not be pleased if she realised she had just been behaving like a real cat in front of them. But Hermione had already finished her 'grooming' and started listing possible sources of information out loud: the library, the school archives, newspapers…
Ron, standing a little to the side, began making frantic gestures at Harry. He clearly did not want Hermione to set them another library task. Harry understood him without a word.
"You'll be better soon and sort all this out," he said brightly, getting up from the bed.
"Thanks," Hermione replied, still lost in her thoughts.
"Just… get well soon," Ron muttered. "And maybe get rid of the tail too. Or you'll start chasing spots of light."
"Ron!"
Harry could not help laughing. Hermione threw a pillow at Ron with surprising accuracy, but there was a smile on her face too.
***
Hermione sat on the bed with a Charms textbook on her knees. Her tail twitched nervously, betraying her irritation. It was impossible to concentrate on her studies. The moment she got absorbed in reading, something would remind her of her current state: her ears would catch the faintest sound from outside, her tail would knock something over, or even send the inkwell spilling.
Her thoughts were cut short by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. The door to the hospital wing flew open with a bang, and a familiar, towering figure filled the doorway.
"So this is where yeh are, Hermione!" Hagrid boomed, nearly hitting his head on the doorframe. He was carrying a wicker basket tied with a bright ribbon.
Hermione pressed her lips together. She had not expected Hagrid to visit. She had been avoiding visitors and barely stopped herself from hiding under the covers.
"Hello, Hagrid," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Hullo, Hermione, hullo!" he said, his boots thudding across the stone floor. "Thought I'd drop by, see how yeh're doin'. Harry an' Ron keep sayin' yeh're sittin' here all on yer own… gettin' bored, I reckon. So I thought, can't have that. Brought yeh summat ter cheer yeh up. There yeh go."
He set the basket down on the bedside table. Hermione eyed it warily. The basket looked suspiciously heavy, and from under the lid came a strange smell of something burnt.
"What is it?" she asked cautiously, raising an eyebrow.
"Ah, that? Well… sweets, o' course!" Hagrid beamed, breaking into a wide smile. "Thought yeh'd like them… er… little things fer tea… so I baked yeh some biscuits! Got honey in 'em, an' ginger, an' flour… all proper like. Only the flour was a bit off, so I had ter use what was left o' the dough from makin' them Christmas biscuits fer Fang… but they turned out all right, didn' they?"
"Ah… your biscuits?" Hermione managed, forcing a smile.
"Yeah! Made 'em all this mornin'!" Hagrid said proudly. "Did a whole basketful! Fang saw 'em an' stuck his nose right in, beggin', so I gave him a couple… an' brought the rest fer yeh!"
He lifted the lid, and Hermione saw a heap of oddly shaped biscuits: dark brown, almost black, stuck together in large lumps and dotted with suspicious bits that looked like pieces of bark.
"How… lovely…" she said, her voice wavering.
Hagrid did not notice her reaction and even flushed with pleasure.
"Well, yeh know… try 'em with tea," he said, lowering himself onto a chair that creaked under his weight. "They're better when they've gone a bit soft. I'll make yeh summat else next time."
"Thank you, Hagrid," Hermione said. "I'll try them… later."
Just not now…
She racked her brains, trying to think of something to distract him. Luckily, an idea came to her just in time. Hermione had meant to visit Hagrid herself, before all this with the Polyjuice Potion and the hospital wing. During the Gaze of Eternity ritual, Terry Foster had mentioned quicksol slime.
"Listen, Hagrid," she began carefully, "I came across an article about quicksols. You remember, you told us about them last year?"
"'Course I do! 'Course I remember!" he rumbled good-naturedly. "Not the sort o' thing yeh forget, that."
"Where exactly did you see them?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.
"Where?" Hagrid repeated, scratching his beard. "Well, everyone knows where, in the Forbidden Forest, o' course!"
"I know that," Hermione said quickly. "But where exactly? Which part of the forest?"
"Well… north o' that clearin' where Starry an' Baby lived… till they… well, yeh know." His voice faltered. "Over by the swamps, see. That's where them quicksols live."
He suddenly narrowed his eyes, looking at Hermione more closely.
"What d'you want that fer, eh?"
"Just… curious," she said, hesitating.
"I know your 'just curious'," Hagrid said, frowning. "Don' even think about goin' there. Yeh know what else lives there?" He looked at her sternly.
Hermione shook her head.
"That's just it, yeh don' know!" Hagrid said, raising a finger. "Verdilisks, that's what! Whole broods of 'em. An' they're proper dangerous creatures, they are! I wouldn' set foot there, not me! Not even Dumbledore'd go pokin' about there. So yeh can forget about them quicksols. Better stick ter yer books!"
"You're absolutely right, Hagrid," Hermione said quickly. "Of course I won't go there. I just wanted to know."
"Wanted to know, eh?" Hagrid narrowed his eyes again, looking at her with suspicion. But his expression soon softened, and he slipped back into his usual good-natured manner. "Well, all right then. Nothin' wrong with bein' curious. Just don' go wanderin' in the forest, mind, yeh hear? Don' yeh go doin' that."
After that, he launched into an enthusiastic account of how he had first come across the quicksols, and Hermione, doing her best to look merely curious, asked careful follow-up questions, quietly working out the exact location of the swamp in the Forbidden Forest and how these creatures could be found.
Before long, Madam Pomfrey came into the ward. It was time for another dose of medicine. Hagrid got up from the chair that had somehow managed to hold him.
"Well then…" he muttered, scratching the back of his head. "I'd best be off. An' yeh… er… well… get better, yeh hear."
He fidgeted with his gloves for a moment, as if unsure what else to say, then gave a vague wave and left, his boots thudding loudly.
Hermione took the potions in silence and sat by the window for a long time, her eyes fixed on the dark edge of the forest on the horizon. There was a new obstacle now: the verdilisks. If even Dumbledore preferred to keep away from them, how was she, an ordinary second-year, supposed to reach the swamps and get quicksol slime?
The question wouldn't leave her alone until late into the night. Then, in a sudden flash, the idea came to her. Now all that remained was to find a way to put it into action.