Initially he had clearly expected her to be so filled with hatred for him that she couldn't restrain it. Then, when he'd aggressively snogged her to break through her occlumency shields, he'd seemed to think he could use it to get her too consumed by emotions to think clearly. The way he'd appraised her in the mirror had also been clearly intended to sting.
He wanted her to hate him.
But when he'd realized she was an occlumens, he'd apparently decided to switch tactics again. He'd finally realized why he couldn't easily provoke her, and adapted once more.
But adapted for what? What was the point?
She couldn't understand it.
Hermione placed all the dry dittany leaves inside a large pestle, and began grinding them into powder.
“Mione?” Charlie popped his head into her potion supply closet.
“Yes?”
“Snape dropped by earlier looking for you.”
“Oh. Did he say why?”
“Had a new recipe for you, I think. Gave it to Poppy. To heal some new curse he helped invent.”
Charlie's expression was twisted with anger. Many of the Order members blamed Severus for every curse developed in Voldemort's curse division. They thought that if Severus were really on the Order's side, he'd find a way to sabotage the entire thing.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
“You know if he weren't there, we'd lose dozens more people before we'd figure out the countercurses. His information is vital for giving me time to prepare.”
“Yeah, and how many of our people do you reckon he's killed getting that information? Those are our people they're experimenting on to make the spells. He's murdering people, but it's alright 'cause he's sending us intelligence on countercurses. Does it really work that way?”
Hermione stilled from her dittany grinding.
“He's a spy, Charlie. Those are the kinds of things they have to do to maintain their cover. If he blew it to save a group of prisoners or tried to sabotage the place, Voldemort would just create a new one and we'd lose the intelligence. The loss would never pay off in the long run.”
“So you say,” Charlie said, his lips thin and his eyes hard, he turned and walked away.
Hermione ground the dittany for a few more minutes before funneling it into a jar.
Severus must have developed a potion for healing the acid curse. She hoped it was different from the one he'd been working on when she stopped by Spinner's End.
She had no acromantula venom. Ministry issued identification was required to buy from apothecaries. She would have try to find a source from the black market; it would probably cost several hundred gallons. The Order was low on funds.
The Goblins had taken a neutral position in the war, but while Gringotts remained open to the Order, getting into the bank for money without being arrested was a challenge. Not to mention that being a Muggle-born was an imprisonable offense.
Most members of the Resistance were unemployable, either by blood or association.
It was fortunate that Harry had a large vault, because they probably would have been starved out of existence otherwise.
If the potion required acromantula venom — well, hopefully Severus would be able to give her a few drops. If not, she doubted the Order would budget for her to buy any unless the curse was being used constantly.
She crossed her fingers and went to find Poppy.
The hospital ward was crowded again.
The rescue at the prison had been successful, but many of the prisoners had injuries from torture or were malnourished. There had been a firefight during the escape, and some brutal curses had been used.
Those with minor injuries had been sent to some of the other safe houses, but Grimmauld Place kept the most complex and difficult injuries for Hermione and Poppy to care for.
Poppy was hovering over Rolanda Hooch's bed. A tiny pinprick incision in Hooch's trachea kept reappearing and slowly growing despite all their efforts to heal it. Whomever was on duty in the hospital ward had to keep a two minute timer running in a constant cycle to monitor it.
“Any change?” Hermione asked, leaning down and examining the injury alongside Poppy.
“Oh, Hermione, you're back,” Poppy said in a sad voice. “Severus came and looked at it. He said it isn't one of Voldemort's new ones. So — it's likely a miscast curse.”
Hermione sighed with relief before a sharp wave of guilt struck her. If it was a miscast curse, they were unlikely to encounter it again. But it also meant that they'd likely be unable to heal Rolanda. Hermione had tried without success to deconstruct the injury with spell analysis, trying to unravel it. The structure was so mangled and inconsistent it was impossible to neutralise.
“How much longer do you think the healing spells will work?” Pomfrey quietly asked, staring sadly at her longtime colleague.
Hermione mentally calculated the time that had passed since Madam Hooch had been brought in. It was an obscure piece of knowledge but eventually healing charms ceased working when used in too great a frequency. Even magic couldn't force a body to keep repairing itself beyond a certain point.