Hello all! This will be a many-chaptered fic. It won't be humorous like my other fics and will follow (with some deviations, naturally) the course of sixth year. I've got most of it planned out already. I'll try my hardest to update once a week. :)

This is dedicated to OliveJean96 for being my first fanfiction . net friend and constant correspondent. She's supported little old me since the beginning and continues to stick with me. Thank you, Olive!

Disclaimer: I'm afraid I'm not J.K. Rowling. If I was, do you think Hermione would've married Ron?!


Hermione bit her lip in concentration as she stared down at the blank piece of parchment in front of her.

Dear Mum and Dad, she wrote, then paused. She sighed in frustration and rested her head on the back of the chair. She was sorely tempted to set aside the letter for a few days, but it had already been a week since her parents had written to her, and she felt obligated to reply.

Hermione usually had no problem writing; she quite enjoyed it, in fact. She loved seeing her thoughts flow from the tip of her quill in deep, black ink, revealing themselves to the world from where they had been cooped up in her head. The trouble with writing this particular letter was that she couldn't simply write her mind.

The letter from her parents had been sweet ("we miss you, Hermione; we'll send a package of your favorite cranberry tea next month; is Crookshanks quite alright?") but had subtle underpinnings of concern ("we haven't heard from you in so long, dear; are you finding school challenging?; how are Harry and Ron?; will you be home for Christmas?). Perhaps her parents had sensed the tension currently running high in the wizarding world.

Hermione was having trouble, therefore, in writing her letter because she didn't know what to say. Her parents knew nothing of their daughter's many adventures and supreme talent of creating close encounters with dark magic. Hermione had never told them anything. Her first year at Hogwarts had contained so many bouts of rule-breaking that she was quite afraid of confessing her adventure to her parents. The second year had been much the same, although she also was afraid of her parents not letting her return to a school so dangerous. And third year – well, the same concerns. She was relatively certain that she could've convinced her parents to let her return to Hogwarts, anyways (Sirius Black had turned out quite alright, after all!) but she didn't want to take the chance. And fourth and fifth year…well, if she had told all that to her parents, then she would've had to relate her adventures the years before, too.

So Hermione was left with the tricky task of reassuring her parents that she was quite alright and informing them of life at Hogwarts without causing them to suspect the danger of Voldemort.

She crinkled her nose in irritation before bending over the paper once more.

School has been excellent. I've gotten only O's on my papers so far this year, and study every weekend. We have a new Potions professor, Prof. Slughorn, since Prof. Snape has taken over the role of Defense Against the Dark Arts. I very much wish Prof. Lupin was still here – he was a spectacular instructor. Harry and Ron are doing quite well. Harry, surprisingly, is excelling in Potions. I'm rather perplexed about that. He joined Potions last minute and received an old textbook. It has notes in the margins of nearly every recipe. When Harry follows the notes rather than the printed recipe, he makes a perfect potion every time. I'm rather suspicious. Crookshanks is very well. He continues to prowl around Hogwarts, catching mice and other pests. He enjoys snuggling up in my bed at night and keeping me toasty warm. I would love a package of tea; I already miss the comfort of hot cranberry tea after a long day.

Much love,

Hermione.

Hermione tied up the parchment with a bit of twine and rose to exit the common room. She trudged in the direction of the Owlery, hunching her shoulders against the chill of the air. She kept her eyes on her shoes, thoughtfully observing how they contrasted the grey stone beneath her feet. As she crossed over the threshold of the Owlery door, she lifted her head – and halted in surprise.

Opposite her, a tall, lanky, distinctively blond-haired boy leaned against an Owlery window. Draco Malfoy. His head was down and one of his hands tightly clenched a piece of parchment. Hermione's eyes widened in astonishment when she noticed that he was shaking – quivering like an autumn leaf. She couldn't prevent the miniscule gasp from escaping her lips.

The noise pierced the sleepy quiet of the Owlery like the crack of a gun. The boy at the window spun around. He nearly jumped at the sight of Hermione. She stiffened in anticipation of one of his trademark caustic comments, but he simply blinked several times before crossing the Owlery floor. He pushed past her and practically ran down the steps, leaving a bemused Hermione in his wake.

She had never seen Malfoy like that. When he had turned around, his face was pale and wore the evidence of many sleepless nights. He had seemed so…unhinged. He looked not at all like his usual put-together, perpetually-sneering, hoity-toity self. What on earth could cause him to look so weak? Hermione's mind flashed to Harry's suspicions about Malfoy. Had he really joined the Death Eaters? He had been holding a letter. Had he received some sort of summons? No, the year had hardly begun. Perhaps orders of some kind?

Hermione shook her head sharply. She was being ridiculous. Malfoy wasn't a Death Eater. And besides, she had better and more important things to do than chase some silly and hastily-drawn assumptions. Like figure out how to defeat Voldemort. And beat Harry in Potions. And – she quickly moved into the Owlery, scanning the rows of birds for a suitable messenger – owl her parents their long overdue letter.