The moment Hermione tumbled onto the cold stone floor of the Hospital Wing, her mind became a chaotic whirl. She had no idea how to explain eavesdropping on a professor's private conversation, but a sharper realization quickly pierced through her panic.
How had Snape recognized her before the door even opened? And... was "Cat-girl" supposed to be a description of her?
Hermione desperately wished she possessed Harry's Invisibility Cloak so she could vanish from this suffocating reality. While she was spiraling into dread, a firm, steady hand gripped her arm and hoisted her up. She looked up, trembling, to find the young wizard who had been speaking with Snape.
"Th-thank you, Professor."
"Heh, don't misunderstand, Miss Granger. I am not a professor at this school."
Amossta offered a gentle smile. He studied the girl with a clinical yet amused interest—the tufted ears drooping against her bushy hair, the whiskers sprouting from her fur-covered cheeks. It took him only a second to realize this was the disastrous result of using Polyjuice Potion with animal DNA.
As expected of the trio's resident genius, he thought. She certainly knows how to experiment.
Though Amossta couldn't recall the specific beats of the Harry Potter books, he wasn't entirely ignorant of the key players. Snape's earlier jab had confirmed that this "cat-girl" was indeed the famous Hermione Granger. He found himself curious about the girl whose reputation for brilliance preceded her.
"Miss Granger," Snape's voice slithered through the dark ward, dripping with venom. "Even I must admit your current form is far more interesting than your usual self. However, I should like to know why you look like a stray, and if Minerva was the one who gave you the courage to spy on me?"
You really didn't recognize the Polyjuice error, Professor? That's not like you.
Snape caught the flicker of surprise in Amossta's eyes and shot him a warning glare before turning his sallow gaze back to Hermione. "Answer me, Miss Granger. Or would you prefer I fetch Professor McGonagall to help you find the words?"
Hermione flinched as if struck. The situation was catastrophic enough; if Professor McGonagall found out, the few remaining grains of sand in Gryffindor's hourglass would surely vanish.
"I... I look like this because I overestimated my skill in Transfiguration, Professor Snape," Hermione whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears.
For a fleeting second, she was grateful for the black fur covering her face; otherwise, her flaming cheeks would have betrayed her lie instantly.
"I was reading ahead in Intermediate Transfiguration... I thought I could manage a Human Transfiguration spell. I'm so sorry for eavesdropping. I was in bed reading, trying to find a way to heal myself, but the noise outside caught my attention. I thought it was the Heir of Slytherin... you know how nervous those of us from Muggle families are..."
Amossta noticed Snape's face turning a dangerous shade of purple, his breathing growing heavy. If the girl kept weaving this clumsy web of lies, a tragedy was likely to occur right here in the Hospital Wing.
"There's no need for further explanation, Miss Granger."
In the Underworld, the Golden Viper was a cold, lethal shadow walking the line between life and death. But without his black cloak, Amossta Blaine was a man of startling warmth. It was impossible to tell which was the mask and which was the man; perhaps they were both true.
Hermione looked up, dazed, into a pair of striking violet eyes and a kind smile. For a moment, she felt a strange sense of familiarity—this young man's smile held a trace of the same bottomless wisdom she saw in Headmaster Dumbledore.
"I'm sorry, sir. What I said was—"
"My name is Amossta Blaine. You may call me Mr. Blaine," he interrupted, his tone light and pleasant. "Regardless of why you've taken this form, Miss Granger, I think you've learned a very painful lesson. Therefore, Professor Snape won't be punishing you further. Correct, Severus?"
Amossta glanced at Snape, receiving only a sharp, dismissive huff in return.
"As for the eavesdropping... curiosity is hardly a crime for a young witch of thirteen. Professor Snape and I have decided to be magnanimous and drop the matter. You needn't worry."
In terms of raw intimidation, Amossta was no match for the years of terror Snape had instilled. Even though Mr. Blaine said the matter was closed, Hermione didn't dare relax. She kept a wary eye on Snape, terrified her Potions professor would object.
However, whether it was due to Amossta's intervention or Dumbledore's previous orders, Snape simply turned on his heel and strode out without another word. Gryffindor had narrowly avoided a fifty-point catastrophe during the holidays.
"Until next time, Miss Granger," Amossta said with a wink, turning to follow.
"Wait! Mr. Blaine!"
Hermione shouted before she could stop herself. As Amossta turned back with a look of mild surprise, she felt her face heat up again.
"Mr. Blaine... are you a Healer?"
Her mind raced to justify calling him back. "I heard you discussing Colin and Justin's condition. Do you... do you have the power to cure them?"
"I'm afraid not, Miss Granger," Amossta said calmly.
"Since Headmaster Dumbledore already has a plan to heal them, I wouldn't worry. In fact, staying in those beds is a form of protection for them right now."
Amossta turned away again, his voice drifting back to her as he vanished through the doors. "Besides, Miss Granger... I am an investigator."
Amossta spent the night in Snape's quarters. They sat by candlelight, the investigator pressing for every detail regarding the three attacks and how the victims were discovered.
It was no surprise to learn that Harry Potter had been the primary witness for both the attack on Mrs. Norris and the petrification of Justin Finch-Fletchley. The protagonist, Amossta thought. Even if he stayed in his room, trouble would find a way to knock on his door.
What truly struck him, however, was the sheer vitriol on Snape's face whenever Harry's name was mentioned.
"You can see exactly what kind of boy he is just by looking at that Granger girl—full of lies, mediocre, arrogant, a rule-breaker who lives for the spotlight! Disrespectful and insolent!"
Amossta, who was busy sketching spell models on a piece of parchment, looked up in genuine astonishment.
"It's rare to hear such a passionate review, Professor. Wizards who earn your praise are few, but those who earn this much of your hatred are even rarer. I'm starting to get curious about this boy."
"You'll see for yourself soon enough," Snape snapped, staring into the roaring hearth from his bed. "His self-importance, his belief that he can handle anything... he is the spitting image of his father."
"Ah..."
Amossta turned a page in a weathered copy of The Theory of Ancient Spell Simplification by Uric Gamp. He continued to write out arithmancy equations, occasionally flicking his wand to create ripples in the air as he tested the stability of his magical constructs. Over the last two years, his life had been a nomadic blur; he had to steal every moment he could to refine his craft.
"I see. Old grudges from the previous generation."
Amossta didn't push further. He knew that everyone carried scars they didn't want touched. Why tear open a wound that had barely managed to scab over just to satisfy a trivial curiosity?