Sight

Chapter 3

"Come on, Harry! We're going to be late and it's only the first day! No, it's Transfiguration first, that's this way.."

"I know, I know, it's just... I can't stop thinking about the- um- the-"

"The Fellowship?"

"Yeah, exactly."

"I really, really want to tell you that it's all going to be alright, but I'll settle for whatever happens, we'll be with you" she said, hugging him.

Harry smiled, warm and open. "Thanks, Hermione. "

"Now come on, or we're going to get detention from our first class."
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"Well that was a disaster," proclaimed Hermione, taking her place at the Gryffindor table.

"She's bloomin' mad," exclaimed Ron, and they exchanged glances as Harry radiated anger. The last lesson of the day had been Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Hermione would rather learn the Dark Arts themselves than sit through another hour of Umbridge deny Voldemort was back and ridicule Harry.

"We have to do something," she murmured. "Meet me in the common room after everyone's left."

It didn't take long for the common room to be deserted, as the first day of classes was always taxing, and before long the trio was sitting before the crackling hearth, listening to Hermione's plan- thankfully with more enthusiasm than they had shown towards SPEW.

"What my point is, Harry, is that with Voldemort back, we absolutely have to know how to defend ourselves. It's not about passing O.W.L.s anymore, it's about staying alive."

"I agree, but defense isn't really something you can learn out of books, you know."

"I never thought I'd say this, but maybe we could ask a teacher?" volunteered Ron. "McGonagall'd give Umbridge a run for her money any day. "

Hermione grimaced. She wishes it could be done. "McGonagall could probably give Voldemort a run for his money, but can we can't involve any teachers. I imagine they'll turn a blind eye if they discover what we're doing, but teaching us behind Umbridge's back will only lead to the Ministry interfering even more at Hogwarts- and maybe even her trying to fire someone."

"Pity, I'd love to see the greasy bat of the dungeons never again."

"Ron! He's," she lowered her voice. "on our side."

"He does have a point, Hermione. He might be with the Order, but he still hates me. Anyway, you're right about not involving teachers, I think, though I'd love to have Lupin back... but he already has enough on his plate. And Sirius would love to get out of Grimmauld Place, but everyone here thinks he's a demented murderer, so I don't see that happening. I don't think there's much we can do without someone to teach us, though, even if we do manage to form a secret club and practice amongst ourselves."

"That's where you come in, Harry." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "You could teach us."

"I don't think that's a very good idea."

She huffed. "Harry, you conjured a patronus- which is NEWT-level magic, in our third year. You're the best in the form at Defense, by far, and better than some of the sixth and seventh years, too, I'd bet."

"That wasn't easy, Hermione, and it's not like I'd know what I was doing teaching it."

"Blimey, mate!" Ron stood up from his place on the sofa and turned to face them. "You're our best chance at actually staying alive and you're worried about being a crap teacher? You can't be any worse than bloody Umbridge!"

"I don't know, I-"

"Harry. You keep saying that you want to do something instead of sitting on your arse and waiting for Voldemort to kill someone else. Well, this is something you can do. Are going to, or keep whining?" It was a bit harsh, but she had to knock some sense into her friend- and he really was the best teacher they could get.

"Alright."

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding, and saw Ron mirror her.

"Can you think of who we should invite to join?"

She pulled a roll of parchment out of the back pocket of her jeans and smoothed it on her lap, looking up to seeing Harry and Ron laughing.

"You sure prepared, Hermione!"

She smiled. "It's good to see you smiling again, Harry. Come on, let's get to bed. We'll look over this tomorrow- it's been a long day."

Going to sleep proved to be much more challenging than going to bed. After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, Hermione admitted defeat and decided to burn off some of her nervous energy. Spontaneous prefect rounds it is. Making her way along the winding corridors and shifting staircases, she found herself on the stairs leading to the dungeon. Her feet must have carried her to the place she expected the most trouble to be. Prefect duties, indeed. Turning around, she headed toward Gryffindor Tower. There were mere hours left to daybreak, and a nap would be nice, even if a full night's sleep was out of the question. She remembered there being a shortcut right around the corner-

Hermione froze in her tracks. At the far end of the corridor stood a cloaked and hooded figure, though stood was too strong of a word- whoever it was was leaning against the stone wall, limping towards the dungeons at a snail's pace. Sharp intakes of breath and hisses sounded in the otherwise silent passage. Leaning toward the figure, Hermione saw that he was trembling. She itched to help- but a man of that build couldn't be a student, and anyone else stalking the dungeons in the middle of the night was bound to have less than friendly motives towards a student wandering the halls on her own, virtually unprotected. Her train of thought came to a skidding halt a moment later, as the man collapsed and lay spasming on the floor, trying in vain to suppress his moaning from the pain. Well, that's it. She ran down the corridor and knelt next to the man, whose limbs were arranged at an unnatural angle. Reaching for his cloak, she pulled aside the hood, and gasped.