A/N: This is a bit revised from the original format, but only for spelling and to combine chapters.  The content is all exactly the same.  If you have read everything I have posted before February 25, skip to the new chapter 8.  If you have read everything I have posted before the beginning of this week, skip to the new chapter 7.

A/N II: I own nothing.  JKR owns all of the characters here except one.  Nothing is mine, but you don't have to feel sorry for me.  I'm used to that condition.

*           *           *

She wondered what they thought of her, as she lay there enshrouded in the blankets and darkness that comprised the entirety of her universe as she settled down for the night.  She could hear the tempo of the breathing from the others, and synchronized hers to match.  She laughed softly to herself that they never saw fit to come and ask her if things were all right, or if she needed any assistance with the homework she insisted on doing until the fires in the Gryffindor common room had faded away to embers.  They thought her bedtime was a reflection of her attitude about homework.  Little did they know that there were worse things in life than not finishing one's homework.  She studied furiously until her eyes would no longer register the words, and then she lay down to rest her weary body, hoping against hope that, for once, sleep would not elude her.  Every night, though, the results were the same.  She was beyond exhaustion, and, yet, there was no sleep.  There was too much to think about, after all, and, though no one would ever believe her, none of the topics she spent her time musing upon had anything to do with homework.

*           *           *

            " 'Mione, you look like you didn't get any sleep at all last night."  Ron Weasley looked at her reprovingly, his eyes taking in the circles which had lately grown darker on her face.  "Maybe you should go see nurse Pompfery.  She might be able to give you a sleeping draught or something."

            Hermione Granger knew her friend was just trying to be helpful, but she also knew that he could never understand, so she smiled weakly, "I was up late working on McGonagall essay.  Have you even started it yet?  It's due in three weeks, you know."

            "Yes, that's why I haven't started it yet."

            Hermione scowled, but it was nothing more than a facade.  There was no reason for anyone to have started such a short assignment yet, and she knew it.  It was just another thing to pass the time, just another thing to hide behind. 

            "Maybe you should take a little break, Herm," Harry chimed in.  "If you're that far ahead, I know you have time to come watch the quidditch practice this afternoon.  It would do you some good to get some fresh air, you know.  You're as pale as a ghost lately.  When's the last time you set foot outside?"

            "When we went to care of magical creatures," she sniffed indignantly.  "I believe that was yesterday."  Harry didn't say anymore.  He knew better than to argue with her when she was in her self-defense mode.

            The three continued onto breakfast, which they chatted amiably over.  After finishing, Hermione dropped her napkin on her plate.  "I'll see you later.  I have to go to the library."

            "But, Hermione," said Harry, "Class starts in fifteen minutes."

            "I know.  I just have to look something up," she called over her shoulder as she dashed away.  She wanted to know how to live again.

*           *           *

            Hermione sprinted along the corridors of Hogwarts, the seconds seeming to slip away from her as the deadline for reaching her class grew nearer and nearer.  She hadn't meant to take so long pouring over Spells for Troubled Teens; it had just brightened her to find that others had troubles similar to hers.  Unfortunately, in her haste, she ran straight into Professor Snape.  Damn, she thought. Of all the people to go plowing into.

            Snape looked at her with a slight twinkle in his eye.  "My, my, Miss Granger.  Running in the corridors, were we?  I think fifty points from Gryffindor should be sufficient punishment."  His silky voice brought hot anger to her chest.  She wanted to lash out at him, but held herself in check, knowing that it would do no good.  She stood there fuming as, seconds later, Draco Malfoy raced by.  "Ah, Draco," said Snape.  "Late for class again, are we?  Hurry along now, I wouldn't want Slytherin to lose points because you stopped to watch Granger get punished." 

            Hermione seethed with rage as Malfoy sped off, gloating.  Snape, the head of Slytherin, was known for his lack of justice.  Everyone knew that Draco was his favorite.  She knew enough to turn away and head for Professor Flitwick's class as fast as she could without running.  After all, Snape was still watching.

*           *           *

            For most all of Gryffindor, potions was the least favorite subject.  It wasn't so much the content of the course, but the teacher that made it so deplorable.  Everyone was aware of the special loathing Potions Master Snape held for all Gryffindors.  Making it even worse was the fact that they shared their class times with the Slytherins, for whom Snape was the head of house.  He was, by popular consensus of the students, the only teacher that actually tried to play favorites and be unfair.

            Hermione took her place between Ron and Harry, determined not to further cross Snape today, seeing as he had cost her to lose their house seventy-five points already that day.  She had been late for Charms after his reprimand, and her tardiness had been punished by a loss of twenty-five points.  She looked up to the board, carefully following each of the steps for making the assigned potion.  If they had a different administrator, Hermione felt that this would probably be her favorite class, with being able to work alone and at one's own pace, rather than having to follow along in a book she had already read and notated countless times.  Snape, however, made it unbearable.

            He was standing behind her now, so close she could feel his hot breath.  She wanted to ask him did he mind, but she was well aware that the answer was no, he did not.  He liked to make students squirm and cringe.  It was just one of the many mind games he played.  Because of her friendship with Harry Potter, whom Snape hated with all the bitter passion due a Wizard's vendetta, Hermione was one of his least favorite students, despite the care and time she took to correctly concoct her potions.  She knew he loved nothing more than when something went wrong for her.  She tried to ignore him, but it was difficult.  She could smell the acrid scent of burning potions ingredients upon his robes, and it made her cringe.  She could almost feel the grease he used to slick his black hair back dripping on her, melting from the intense heat radiating from her cauldron. 

            Gritting her teeth, she continued on, muttering incantations, and hoping against hope that Snape would find a new victim.  She knew how unlikely this prospect was from past experience.  Once he had decided to haunt you, you were doomed for the rest of the class period.  At last she was down to the last ingredient.  She carefully measured it out, and was about to pour it into the boiling mixture when she heard a slight tsk-tsking in her ear.  She turned her head slightly towards the sound, and saw Snape grinning evilly at her.  "Are you sure that that is wise, Miss Granger?  Are you absolutely positive that you properly followed all of the steps?  You know how I do loathe accidents," he said silkily.

            Hermione was certain that everything had been done to the letter, so she turned away and ignored him, dumping the lace fly wings into the pot and stirring clockwise seven times, then counter-clockwise three times.  The color and consistency of the potion came out just as it was supposed to.  She poured a small bit into a vial, as was class procedure, put a stopper in it, and turned it in on the front desk.  Snape was still standing at her desk as she returned to clean up her workspace.  He was also still grinning.  "Fifteen points from Gryffindor."

            This time, she couldn't help but be defiant.  "For what?  All I did was make the potion just as you told us to.  I was the first one done, I was returning to clean up my work space, and I haven't said a thing to anyone the entire period, so you can't accuse me of cheating."

            "For not being sure to double check that everything had been done correctly when I warned you that it may not have been.  This time, there was nothing wrong, but your arrogant beliefs that you are always right may lead you to failure or disaster one day.  Next time when I advise you to check your work it would become you to do so.

            "Sir, that's not fair!"  Harry stood up in front of his chair so quickly he nearly spilt the contents of his cauldron, which was only saved by a quick swipe from Dean Thomas. 

            "Manners, Mr. Potter.  Ten points from Gryffindor.   Harry glowered, and sat down.

            Ron opened his mouth as though to say something.  Silencio, Hermione muttered under her breath, not wanting to cause any further trouble.  Ron looked foolish, opening his mouth and surprisingly finding that no words came out, but at least he kept them from further peril.  Even so, "Perhaps a detention would affect your behavior, Miss Granger, as the loss of points to your house obviously does not.  Detention at eight PM sharp for the unauthorized use of spells against Mr. Weasley."  She moved to reverse what she had done, but Snape caught her in the act.  "No, no, I'm afraid that undoing the spell is no more legal than performing it was.  Yes, Mr. Weasley will have to remain as he is until all of the effects have worn off.  If I hear his voice at any time during the rest of the hour, I will take a hundred points from Gryffindor for Miss Granger's serious disregard for the rules of this school."  He turned on his heel and stalked towards the front of the room, robes billowing out behind him.

            Hermione sighed as she bent over to clean up what little mess she had made with her work.  It would take a lot more work to clean up the havoc she had wreaked today on Gryffindor.  She risked a menacing glance at Snape, who smiled an odd little half-smile and winked at her.  She gritted her teeth and stared at the tabletop for the next half hour.  She would be seeing enough of Snape tonight.

*           *           *

            There was considerable noise in the Gryffindor common room that evening following dinner.  Most of the conversation was centered around the large hourglass at the back of the room which kept track of the house points.  People were turning towards their neighbors, asking how they could have lost so many points in a single day.  All told, thanks to the merciful, yet small gains of some of the others, they had lost ninety points.  They had been winning the house cup, but were now in third place, and looming dangerously close to last.  Hermione was filled with shame, and tried to avoid the stares of her friends.

            "It's not Hermione's fault," Ron shouted above the din.  "It was Snape that did it.  Everything she did today, he took points way from her.  He made her late for Flitwick's class, and he even gave her a detention.  That slimy git."

            People all through the room nodded in agreement with Ron's assessment of Snape.  They seemed slightly miffed at their great loss, but most understood that when Snape had it in for you there was little, if anything, that you could do to avoid his wrath.  In fact, she received several pats on the back and votes of sympathy.  Most people expressed their great commiseration that she had to also attend a detention with the Professor.  "He's horrible," Ginny Weasley shivered.  "He made me pickle rat brains for six hours last time I had detention with him.  All I did was "breath loudly."  Several others nodded in assent and described the various and unfair punishments they had been forced to endure for minor infractions over the years.

            All told, Hermione was not in great spirits as she slowly trudged down to the dungeon where Snape's office was.  Grudgingly she knocked upon the heavy wooden door.  "Miss Granger, do come in," Snape said, never even opening the door.  She found it creepy that he knew it was her, even though she was scheduled to arrive at this time. 

            "Good evening, Professor," she said softly, hoping to avoid further troubles between herself and the man with extremes of politeness. 

            "You can start by sorting through that pile over there and separating rat livers from frog spleens.  When you've finished with that, I'll give you some real work to do."  He didn't even look up at her as he said this, just stared at some parchment through the greasy sheen of hair that fell over his eyes.

            Sighing, she got to work, doing any number of mindless calculations and counting in her head to avoid staring at the clock, which only seemed to make time pass progressively slower.  Occasionally, she felt as though Snape were staring at her, but when she would risk a glance, he was still engrossed in his papers.  Sometimes, when she felt him stare, she had the strange sensation that someone was sharing her mind and thoughts with her, but she knew that that was ridiculous.  It was just paranoia born of her special loathing for the man behind the desk and the tedious boredom of the task assigned to her in the dark, damp dungeon.

            At last, she had finished.  She cracked her knuckles quietly, and turned around to find Snape right in her face, so close she could feel his breath upon her.  "Ah, finished, are we?" he said as though he had read her mind.  She felt a shiver run down her back, and he smiled slightly.  Suddenly, she felt as though she were being read like an open book.  Desperate, she tried to close off her mind to the onslaught of this attack, but it was to no avail.  She shook her head, eyes and teeth clenched.  It was over as quickly as it had begun.

            "What did you do to me?" she asked, filled with fear over what he might have seen, what he might know.  He said nothing.  For a slight moment, he looked shocked and appalled.  Hermione blinked, and his expression was.  He caught her gaze and just smiled his creepy smile.

            "I think that that is enough for tonight, Miss Granger.  I leave you free to go.  And in the future, do mind your temper.  You can only hide your anger for so long."  With that he swept her into the hall, very alone and very confused.

*           *           *

            "So, how was Snape tonight?"  Ron and Harry had waited up for her in the Gryffindor common room, dozing lightly on the couch in front of the fire.  Hermione appreciated the gesture, but rather wished they had gone on to bed.  Right now, she was so confused she didn't fell like fielding Ron's question

            "As terrible as can be expected.  He had me sort out rat livers and frog spleens.  There was something odd about it though.  He told me that when I was finished, he would give me some real work to do.  But, after I finished, he just let me leave."

            "Very un-Snape-like," said Harry. 

            Ron nodded in assent.  "I thought it was awfully early for you to be getting back.  Look, there's even a fire still."

            Hermione's eyes widened.  As much as she hated detention, she'd have rather been stuck there for another couple of hours than have to face the darkness of her bedchamber.  She couldn't even feign the pretense of doing homework, for she had given away to her friends that morning that she was way ahead of schedule on their assignments.  Fear welled in her stomach and burned at her chest, but she smiled and managed to hide it by sweeping a hand across her brow.  "My, it's rather warm in here, isn't it?"

            Ron looked as her in askance, and Harry shook his head.  "Maybe you ought to go to bed, 'Mione.   I think all of those frog livers have gotten to you."

            "Maybe it was just Snape that got to her."  Ron chuckled at his own joke.  "He's horrible, I tell you.  Being around him is enough to make anyone feel feverish.  Harry's right, Hermione.  You'd best be getting off to bed.  Goodnight."  The boys trudged up to the stairs that led to their dormitory. 

            Hermione stood before the fire, confused for a moment.  Maybe it would be best if she were to try to get some rest.  Tonight she felt weary even deep within her bones.  It was possible that, this time, sleep might overtake her.  Maybe her fatigue could even explain the eerie feelings she had felt down in the dungeons with Snape, she mused somberly to herself as she headed towards her bedroom.  Somehow, she knew it wasn't true, just as she knew that tonight, like every other night, sleep would prove elusive.

*           *           *

            Severus Snape sat staring into his pensive, contemplating the night's events.  For weeks since the start of the school year, he had sensed something was troubling Hermione Granger from the odd way she had taken to regarding him, a mixture of hatred and reproval.  Tonight, through his powers of legulimancy, he knew what it was.  "How could this have happened," he asked himself over and over, pulling more and more memories from his greasy black head.  The more memories he pieced together, however, the more complicated the puzzle became.  At last, he pressed his forehead in his hands and uttered a single word: "why?"

*           *           *

            "Hermione, you look exhausted this morning!"  Ginny Weasley caught up with her friend over breakfast in the Great Hall.  "I've been really worried about you lately.  Parvati says you spend even more time than before studying, and Lavender can't remember the last time you went to bed before three-o'clock in the morning.  What's up?" 

            Hermione contemplated telling Ginny about what she had seen during that terrible summer before in Grimwald place, after Sirius had died.  For a moment, she even opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself.  Now was not the time, and this was not the person she needed to be discussing this with.  She covered herself with a slight smile.  "Nothing, Ginny.  I've just been having some odd dreams lately.  It was a long summer, after all."

            Ginny looked at her oddly, but didn't press any further.  It had been a long summer, as Hermione said.  She herself had seen things she would have rather not.  Still, she wished her friend would open up.  She was wearing the pain for all to see.  The red-haired girl sighed to herself.  When Hermione felt like talking, she would be there for her, and she leaned over and told her friend so.  Hermione smiled her thanks, but Ginny knew it was nothing more than a gesture of politeness.  Whatever this was, it was clear that it didn't involve her, and Hermione wanted to keep it that way.

*           *           *

            After Charms, Hermione had an hour reprieve during which she headed to the library to study Spells for Troubled Teens again.  This time, she would write the Effacing Spell down, so she could use it the next time the memory became too much to bear.  Slowly, and with painstaking care, she wrote down the steps and the correct pronunciation for each of the incantations.  Suddenly, she felt a slight tap on her shoulder.  "Professor Dumbledore!"  She practically leapt from her chair, which caused a reproving glance from Madame Pince.  "Hello, Sir.  I didn't expect to see you here."

            "Well, Miss Granger, I didn't expect to find myself here, but fate is a funny thing.  I was wandering along the corridors and suddenly I seemed to just appear here at the table side."  Hermione didn't doubt the veracity of this statement.  Sometimes, it seemed as if the enchantments placed upon Hogwarts, such as that which kept people from apperating of disapperating, didn't apply to Dumbledore.  "May I ask what you're doing?" The elderly headmaster looked at her with a kindly twinkle in his eye.

            "Uh, just a bit of research."  It was true enough, though the research was personal rather than scholarly.

            "Oh, well what a relief.  I was afraid you were planning on using that spell that you've been pouring over so tediously the past few days.  I would hate to see that happen.  It would be very un-Gryffindor of you."

            Hermione looked deep in his eyes and knew that he knew.  "No, Sir.  I wasn't really planning on using it.  Things have just been difficult, after this summer.  I thought that maybe I could erase some of the details, and then my mind wouldn't seem so crowded anymore."        

            The headmaster looked at her knowingly.  "Miss Granger, life doesn't give us more than we can handle.  You were meant to know.  It's up to you what you do with this knowledge.  Might I remind you, however, that it was given to you and you alone.  Choose your path with utmost discretion."

            She turned to ask him what he felt she should do next...but he was already gone.

*           *           *

            "Harry," said Ron as they walked down the damp corridor towards potions, their steps growing longer and slower, "what do you reakon's the matter with Hermione?  She's not herself lately.  I mean, she never was exactly a picture of tranquility, but lately she seems like, I don't know..." Ron's voice trailed off and he shook his head.

            "Like she's about to have a nervous breakdown?"  Harry supplied.  "I know what you mean.   She was always obsessed with homework and deadlines, but anything she did before has nothing on what she does now.  She never has time for anything else anymore.  The other day, I accidentally lit Crookshanks on fire because I did a spell to groom him, he was looking so ill kept.  Luckily, Ginny was there to rescue him.  It's not like Hermione to neglect anything though, especially not that evil cat."

            "I just don't know what could have happened to her."  Ron's eyes were downcast.  "Last summer, we all saw things we'd have rather not, especially you.  We all seemed to be able to deal with it though, except for her.  It's like she saw something she just can't put behind her.  Like there's something she just can't let go, and I'll be damned if I know what it is."

            Harry sighed mightily.  Everything his friend said had been true.  He didn't know what could be troubling Hermione so.  He mumbled his thoughts aloud, "Doubtless we'll find out."

*           *           *

            Snape had taken to prowling the edges of the classroom that day, rather than performing his usual routine of singling out a student, always a Gryffindor, and breathing suggestions of incompetence down their neck.  Harry thought this odd, and pointed it out to Hermione, who merely shrugged.  "At least he's not demoralizing anyone today," she snapped, obviously still wounded from yesterday's encounter with the Potions Master.  Harry turned back to his work, his mind largely on the potion he was supposed to be concocting.  Every few seconds, however, he would risk a glance at Snape, who seemed to be purposefully avoiding looking at him, which was a first.  What's more, he was staring punitively at Hermione.

            Harry nudged Ron in the ribs, and pointed nonchalantly at Hermione, whispering "Snape."  Ron looked at the professor and followed his gaze. 

            "What does he think she's done now?  He's got it in for her lately, hasn't he?"  Ron coughed slightly.  "Hermione, watch yourself, Snape's out to get you."

            Hermione, however seemed not to be paying attention.  She was gritting her teeth as if intensely concentrating.  She and Snape were wearing identical looks as she stared down the potions master. 

            "What's going on," Ron asked Harry.  "What are they doing?"

            "I have no idea," said Harry honestly.  He knew he had seen that look on Snape's face somewhere before, but he couldn't quite place it.  He knew that whatever Snape was doing, it was nothing good.  He poked Hermione, but she didn't even flinch.  He wondered why no one else around them was noticing this exchange.

            At last, after what seemed like uncountable minutes, Snape said "Miss Granger, see me after class."  He turned away and billowed into his office.  The Gryffindors mumbled amongst themselves, but didn't seem too put out, as they had lost no further house points.

            "Hermione, what was that about," Harry asked.  "Is everything all right?"

            "I know something I shouldn't, and, somehow, he knows I know.  I felt it last night, like he was reading my mind."  Hermione looked frustrated.  "Just then, I was trying to keep him out of my thoughts.  He tried to sneak in while I was working on the potion, but I felt it.  Maybe I'm losing my mind."

            "You're not," said Harry, realizing where he had seen that stare before.  "He is sort of reading your mind.  That's what he did to me last year when he was supposed to be teaching me occlumency.  It's creepy."

            "I feel so violated," she said.

            Ron leaned over the table.  "What is it that you know that he's not so keen on, 'Mione?  Why would he suddenly decide to read your mind?"

            Hermione looked at her friends with infinite sadness.  "I'm sorry, truly I am, but it's better if you don't know.  Especially you, Harry."

            Harry was about to press the issue when Snape charged up the stairs.  "Class is over Mr. Potter, you and Weasley may leave now, as you weren't invited to stay after class.  If you would like, you can come back tonight and grind down some troll toenails.  Mr. Weasley, I have some spiders which need delegging as well."

            Ron cringed and looked as though he were about to be sick.  Harry glared as menacingly as he could without being insolent.  "That's okay professor, we were just leaving."  As slowly as they could, the two boys headed for the door, hoping to catch a bit of the conversation between Hermione and Snape, but they were unsuccessful.

            Apparently, this secret was not intended for sharing.

            "So," Snape said, pacing a small circle about the room.  "How long have you known?"

            "Since the beginning of the summer."  Hermione was proud and she stood her ground before the Potions Master.  He looked enraged, but she could sense a bit of fear, a hint of weakness.

            "What were you doing up in that room?  We closed it off after it was cleaned.  There was no need for you to be up there reading from the family Tree."  Snape looked murderous.

            "Sir, I was just wanting to catch up on a bit of wizarding history.  I'm muggle-born, you know, so it's hard for me to understand how certain wizards can come to be the way they are.  All you have to do is look at people like the Malfoys to know they're dark wizards, but you could never tell the lineage of someone like Sirius.  I thought it would help The Order if I were to do some research on genealogy.  You never know where an enemy might come from, or what might give someone motive to be an enemy."

            "Foolish girl," Snape spat, "Don't you think that we had already thought of all of those things?  No, of course not, for no one could possibly be as wise as you, or be able to think of the far-reaching ramifications of blood-bonds like you are, isn't that right?  It was better for you to do the work alone, after all.  That way, you wouldn't be forced to share the credit with more mundane minds."

            "No sir!  It wasn't like that at all!  I just wanted to find some things out.  I just wanted to see who was who.  I didn't want recognition or credit.  Sometimes it's just easier to look for yourself than to take someone else's word.  Words can be confused, after all."  Hermione breathed deeply, and screwed her eyes tightly shut, clenching her fists.  She would not let him get to her.

            "Why did you bring that blasted Tree to life?"

            "I didn't mean to!"  It was true that she hadn't meant to, and furthermore, that she now wished she had not.  She had simply been staring at the family Tree tapestry for the Black's, wishing it could somehow tell her the secrets that were hidden beneath the holes which had been blasted through.  Suddenly, there it had stood before her, a magnificent talking Tree that had told her all she had ever wanted to know about the history of pure wizard kind.  More than she had wanted to know, in fact, for now she was consumed by this terrible secret.

            Snape obviously was incredulous and defiantly refused to believe her.  "You asked it to come to life on purpose.  Potter probably told you to, knowing you would be able to do it, and that he wasn't talented enough.  He probably wanted to find out something about his dear, sweet godfather Sirius."

            Hermione exploded with rage.  "Harry had nothing to do with this!  I was alone when that Tree came to life, and no one was around the whole time it reeled on and on through the history of all wizard kind.  If he had been around, do you think he would be able to sit in class and not stare at you?  Do you think he would be able to let it go?  Do you think he wouldn't say anything about your relationship?  He might dislike you, but family is forever."

            Snape looked as though he were going to shake the girl.  "Don't you dare tell him what you know.  It's between you and I and Dumbledore.  You weren't supposed to know.  No one was supposed to know, not even him, until the timing was right, if it ever was.  Anyone else who knew that James was my brother and that I am Harry's uncle is dead."

*           *           *

            Hermione sat outside later that evening, pretending to watch the quidditch practice as she relieved the day she had spent talking with the Black Family Tree.  She had simply wanted information, as she had told Snape.  Sometimes, being muggle born, she felt like an outsider to the wizarding world.  No matter how much she studied in books, she couldn't catch up on some of the little things, the things that the others had known all of their life, like who was bad and who was good and who was born that way and who had switched sides to become what they did.  She had simply wanted to know, and had gotten more than she bargained for.

            To this day, she didn't know how she had made that Tree come to life.  She had tried to do it again, after the initial session she spent with it, not so much because she wanted to, for she didn't, but because she felt that that too was something she had to come to understand.  All her subsequent attempts, however, had been unsuccessful.  She supposed that she must have overlooked something that she had done that day, but she didn't know what it could be, other than that at that point, she had wished for more, and in her later attempts, her wish wasn't backed by any heart.  Still, this hardly seemed laudable to her.  Wishing a thing simply did not make it so.

            She had stood in reverent awe as the Tree had peeled itself from the tapestry, twirling and writhing. She remembered her gasp of shock as the Tree had perfunctorily greeted her, and then had started talking in a voice that was cracked and dry at first, but became deeper and richer as the conversation went on.  She remembered her fear, for the Tree didn't seem completely benign.  Rather, it took on the air of the rest of the Black house; it was evil, and was being held in check by a very fine thread. 

            She had sat on the floor next to the roots, awed by the stories of wizards past and present, of histories she would have never known, and people she would never meet.  At first, the tales were romantic and carried the flavor of her favorite muggle tales about the middle ages.  As they neared the present, however, the narratives began to assume a darker flavor.  Hermione learned that the wizarding world had not started its descent into darkness with the rise of Voldemort.  The Dark Lord was the ultimate symptom, but was not the ailment.  Wizards had been going bad for a long time before his terrible rise to power.

            At last, they had reached familiar territory, surnames that Hermione could recognize for they were a part of her story, the good and the bad.  She recognized the Blacks, The Malfoys, the Goyles, and the Crabbes.  She also found cheer in the Weasleys, Tonks, and the Potters.

            Looking back now, she knew that her motives had been right in stopping the Tree's dictation when it reached Harry's family.  She had asked to know more about the Potters.  She thought maybe she could learn something that she could share with Harry.  Maybe, if the Tree had had an inspiring tale or a humorous anecdote, she would even fetch her friend and ask him to join her.  She knew how much his family meant to him, seeing as he couldn't even remember the people who had died for him.

            The Tree had stopped for a moment, as though thinking what to say, and then continued.  "The Potters are one of the oldest wizarding families.  Due to the lack of males born to the lineage, however, there are but two blood members of the family left.  Only one of these members chooses to be associated with the surname.  The last remaining Potter is The Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter, who, as an infant, was attacked by the Dark Lord, after the murder of his..." 

            "Yes, yes, I know."  She had said impatiently.  It was not that she had no interest in Harry's story; it was just that she had a primary source if she wanted to hear that tale.  What she was interested in was the identity of the other blood member of the family who yet survived.  She remembered how she had practically squirmed with glee.  Having a family was Harry's greatest wish, and with a little luck, she might be able to help grant him a part of that.  "Who is the estranged member?"

            The Tree coughed slightly.  "Many years ago, twin boys were born to William and Mirabelle Potter.  These were the only two children the couple ever had.  Unfortunately, though the couple loved both of their children, times were difficult, and carrying for the pair of boys was becoming quite a strain.  Mirabelle remembered a woman from the village where she used to work as a seamstress who was unable to have children, even through magical intervention.  She talked the idea over with William, and then went to pay a visit to her old friend Charla.

            "Charla and her husband Theodore were amenable to the idea of adopting one of the Potter boys.  Through teary eyes, Mirabelle and William were forced to decide which of their sons, James or Severus, they would part with.  In the end, they chose Severus, for he seemed to bond with the Snape family better.  The Potter family then continued on merrily.  Though they still kept in contact with Severus, they were careful to keep things on a social level only, so as not to cause any undue pain to the boys.

            "Things became a tad more difficult as James and Severus reached school age, and were both admitted to Hogwarts.  The Potters wrote the headmaster Albus Dumbledore, telling him of the relationship between the two boys in confidence.  He knew that no one, least of all James and Severus, was ever to know.

            "Well, as it usually does, time marched forward.  In an interesting twist of fate, it came to be that the brothers actually hated each other.  Severus was jealous of James, for the former was a bit of a bumbler in his youth, and James came by his many talents with natural grace and ease, which made him a tad arrogant.  James saw in Severus a good deal of himself, though he didn't know why, and, like most people, wasn't happy with the reflection.  It seemed unlikely the two would ever find out they were brothers, for they stayed well apart, each moving in their own circles.

            "It was in their seventh and final year at Hogwarts that fate took and interesting twist.  James had earlier saved Severus from certain death at the hands of a werewolf by the name of Remus Lupin.  Though Severus would have never done so without prompting, it was time for him to return the favor.

            "During quidditch practice one day, James, being the seeker and a bit of a show-off did a dive parallel to one of the castle walls in an attempt to impress his future wife, Lily.  He failed to see a small area where the wall jutted forth and crashed headfirst into it.  The nurse and the headmaster were fetched at once.  It seemed, upon their arrival, that there was little that could be done for James, his injuries were so severe.

            "The nurse than mentioned to the headmaster that the only spell she knew of that would work required a family member performing the incantation with a healer simultaneously.  Dumbledore hurriedly had James whisked to the infirmary, and called for Severus Snape.  Dumbledore performed the spell with Severus, and the secret was kept safe from the public, but not from the boys, for Dumbledore felt that if Severus knew, it was only right that James should too.

            "If anything, the two boys harbored even more hatred for each other after that.  Severus was even more jealous of James, for his biological family had chosen to keep him, while disposing of Severus.  James had always loathed the boy, and was not keen on the idea of having him for a brother.  The two went their separate ways after graduation, maintaining the facade that they knew nothing of their blood relations.  James never even told Lily.

            "To this day, Severus Snape remains estranged from the sole remaining Potter, James's only son, Harry, and chooses not to use his given surname."

            Hermione remembered her shock, and the way she had nearly crumpled to the floor, thinking that it was not, could not be, true, but all the while knowing that it was.  She had decided then and there to keep the secret from Harry, whom she only felt would hate Snape more if her knew the truth.  Besides, she had reasoned with herself then, as she did now sitting in the quidditch stands, if Dumbledore felt it right for Harry to know, he would have told him.  It really wasn't her place, after all.

            "Good practice, Harry," she said as he walked up beside her, startling her slightly.  In truth, she hadn't seen any of it.  "You too, Ron and Ginny."

            "Is she blind," Ron whispered to Harry, "Or does she think that I'm supposed to let all of the goals through, Ginny is supposed to fall off her broom and have to have her bones repaired, and the snitch is supposed to break your glasses?"

            Hermione quickened her pace, trying to keep them from seeing her red face.  She had missed all of those events, and was thankful that she had.

            "Well," said Harry, "Hermione might know a lot of things that no one else on the grounds does, but quidditch isn't exactly her specialty, unless you want an exact definition or the proper spelling."  The three teammates chortled with glee, and Hermione pretended to be hurt by their good-natured ribbing.

            As Hermione listened to the others babble on and on about quidditch ad nauseum, she reaffirmed her decision to keep her secret.  After all, Harry was in such a good mood lately, there was absolutely no need to spoil it with the news that having lived with Uncle Vernon, he had actually been living with the good uncle.