Hermione flew up the stairs, heart hammering. She paused on the landing, head tilted to one side, straining for the susurrus of hushed conversation. After a moment, she headed to the right, following the sounds of Ron's rumbling baritone. Draco had fled to Regulus's rooms.

When Hermione peered through the cracked door, the first thing she noted was the gigantic Toujours Pur, the Black family motto, painted above the headboard of the bed – horrible, just horrible, she thought with a shudder. But it made sense Malfoy would flee to this particular room, if he wanted to keep her out.

She could see Ron seated on the bed beside Malfoy, who was slumped forward in a very un-Malfoy-like manner, shoulders rounded, arms hanging empty and useless between his knees. "I shouldn't have forgotten," he was saying to the floorboards. "I'd only just finished telling myself: you are not at home. It shouldn't keep surprising me like this. I shouldn't let it."

"Sorry," Ron said, and then, "she doesn't mean it."

He was apologizing for her, Hermione realized with a huff, when she'd only been asking if Draco were all right to be touched by a Mudblood! She'd thought it was remarkably sensitive of her, really, asking if it were all right for her to touch him in the first place. For Apparition was one thing – for celebration, communion, that was another. But apparently, even asking was too much of an imposition.

Malfoy said nothing in reply. Hermione took a deep breath and considered:

1) …turning around.

... A) Ron had already apologized for her –

..._... i.) for whatever it was she was supposed to have done!

... B) – and it was clear said apology moved Malfoy not at all.

2) …walking into the room.

... A) She'd eavesdropped enough

... B) …and there was a natural break in the conversation.

3) …knocking. If Malfoy didn't want her, he could

... A) easily pretend to be elsewhere, or

... B) ask her politely to go elsewhere.

The last sounded most sensible, so Hermione curled her fingers and rapped.

Draco Malfoy looked up, his face full of misery, and Hermione instinctively started forward. Why, she wasn't sure. He'd already said – loud and clear, though not in so many words – that the very idea of touching her was repugnant.

Hermione halted when she stood a foot away from Malfoy, worrying her lower lip between her teeth and barely looking down at all – even after years of neglect, Regulus Black's mattress was still pitched high – and wondering what it was she was meant to say.

1) "I'm sorry for offering to touch you, Malfoy."

Hermione stopped there. Nothing could make that all right. If he felt her very blood were dirty – and he did, he did – what else was there to say?

Ah.

"We have to work together, Malfoy," she said, quiet. Lines of upset were in his shoulders and around his eyes, and she could respect that, if just barely. "I understand that I have unsettled you, and I was… too familiar. I hope you are still willing to consider helping us. We were – working well together, and I should be very sorry if I were the reason for your departure."

There, she thought, with a satisfied little nod – no one could ask for better.

Except that Ron was looking up at her as though she'd lost her mind, and Malfoy was blinking rapidly, and suddenly Hermione realized she hadn't said anything close to the right thing, not at all.

Malfoy's eyes filled and he lowered them, quickly, as though Hermione could – could unsee them.

"What? What is it?" she demanded, desperate, gaze flickering from Ron – disappointed – and back to Malfoy again. "What have I done?"

"Nothing," Malfoy said, looking up and wiping under his eyes with the heel of his hand. "None of it's your doing, and now I've upset you. I'm sorry. I apologize, I humbly…" He paused to laugh, and the laugh sounded far from healthy. "…prostrate myself before you, I rest upon your kindness –"

"Stop!" Hermione ordered, and then something had her moving forward again, and flinging her arms around Draco Malfoy, who went, abruptly, stiff as a board.

Oh, what have I done, she thought, wildly, before his arms lifted, slowly, and cool palms pressed to the center of her back. She squeezed him mercilessly, and he laughed again, this time sounding wondering, delighted, as though at an unexpected gift. Hermione's mind whirred, re-arranging her mindset given current evidence:

1) Malfoy jerked away from everyone's touches.

Malfoy had been tortured (possible relevance).

2) Malfoy, after characteristic initial resistance, was now leaning into her, breathing shaky and confused.

Malfoy trusted her.

3) Malfoy had wept when she expressed her view of him.

The thought that Hermione disapproved of him was painful.

"Well, hello," Malfoy said into her hair, after a long moment.

Hermione drew back, flushing with embarrassment. "Sorry."

"That was what you wanted downstairs?" the blond boy inquired.

"Yes," she agreed. "But I didn't think you'd want –"

"I don't mind," Malfoy said, rushed. "I don't mind at all, I miss –" He flushed. "All you tactile Gryffindors have me at a loss, sometimes. But when in Rome and all."

"Shut up," Ron said, fiercely, and pulled Malfoy towards him in a one-armed hug.

Hermione pulled them both to her again, and if they toppled over a bit, no one was around to see.

"Whoa!" Malfoy exclaimed. "Steady on, Hermione, you'll damage me. I've only just come from the last breaking, after all."

She rolled away, staring at the ceiling. "That's terrible, Malfoy; don't say that."

"I like to think somebody's tempering a sword," Malfoy replied, which shouldn't have made sense to her, but it did, in a Malfoyish sort of way. "Enough of this and I'll be indestructible."

"Flaw in your thinking, mate," Ron said from Draco's other side, propped up so that he could view the both of them. "Keep throwing yourself in the path of danger and you're much more likely to die than come out stronger through the other side."

Malfoy's grey eyes dulled. "Doesn't matter. Got to get home. And to get home, I still need Remus Lupin to make the full set."

Hermione rolled on her side to stare at him. "Remus Lupin?" she echoed.

The boy beside her nodded. "Then I'll have all the great minds who engineered the portal that brought me here. And then I can get Ron and we can go home." He closed his eyes tightly, blinking at the ceiling. "I need to go home. The Professor must be sick with worry, and Harry'll be blaming himself as usual. What if my mother's tried to contact me, but I haven't been around to receive her messages? I was supposed to stay at the Burrow two weeks ago, Mrs. Weasley'll murder us both when we get back. If the plot to bring Sirius back actually worked, we were going to get out of Harry and Black's way and stay at the Burrow and then go into London." He closed his eyes again, as though the words pained him. "Hermione was going to buy me a jumper."

"Remus Lupin," Hermione repeated, bringing him back on track. "That's not all that hard."

Malfoy opened his eyes and blinked – one tear leaked out of the corner of his eye, and he reached up to absently swipe it away. "Mmm?"

"No. I wish you'd said so. It's easy enough to ask him to come here. I'm not sure Harry'll like it…"

Ron's features crumpled. "I dunno, Hermione. Remus Lupin's been… funny, lately."

"Funny?" Draco inquired, turning to look at Ron. "Funny how?"

Ron shrugged. "Hard to put my finger on it. But his temper's closer to the surface."

"Remus Lupin has a temper?" Draco inquired with a quirk of his lips. "That I'd love to see."

"You wouldn't," Ron countered with a shake of his head. "Don't forget he's a werewolf, Malfoy. He gets angry and you won't like what you see."

"He's Remus," Draco replied, as though that settled things. "Hermione, if you could get him to come here…"

"I'm on it," she replied, reaching out and squeezing his hand in hers.

Draco's features lit up, and his entire frame relaxed. "Thanks, Hermione. Thanks, Ron. I'd better go see the others and tell them I haven't murdered you, given the chance and opportunity." He rose, fluidly, smoothing his hair, and headed for the door.

"No one thinks that," Ron blurted, just as Draco reached the door.

Draco froze mid-step; then, he inclined his head without turning and was gone.

Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding in her chest – it departed with a dejected-sounding hiss.

"Not the same bloke, is he?" Ron inquired, to her right.

"Not remotely," she replied, still staring at the ceiling. The ancient roof had been leaking, she noted, eyes trailing off to a slightly darker patch.

"Do you believe him?"

Hermione's eyes traced the pattern of the cracks in the ceiling, shuffled her information and frowned. "I can't escape the impression we're being taken in, somehow," she replied. "That the moment I start to trust him, he'll betray us."

Ron's eyes were on her again; she could feel them on her skin.

"Do you feel like you've known him? Well, I mean," Hermione said. "Like, for a long time."

"Yeah," Ron said, surprise evident in his voice. "You too?"

"It's because he knows us so well," Hermione said. "He gives you his trust and you can't help but want to be the friend he remembers."

"Easier than you'd think, actually. Sometimes I think he could charm He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, himself, if he tried."

Hermione pulled herself to her feet. "How do I contact Professor Lupin? It's not like we brought Hedwig, and I'm not sure my Patronus can travel that far."

"Floo, then," Ron supplied with a small grin.

"What?" Hermione inquired, pulling her hair into a knot at the back of her head – her standard response to work, getting her hands dirty.

"Just picturing old Lupin's face when he realizes where we are," Ron said.

"Oh, hush, you," Hermione ordered, then leaned down to buss him on the cheek.

"What was that for?" Ron had flushed bright pink, and clapped his hand to his cheek.

"I don't know – for looking out for all of us, I suppose," Hermione stammered, flustered, herself. "Off I go – wish me luck – where's Floo powder?"

"Thought I saw some of the old stuff by the fireplace in the downstairs library," Ron said, "in the container made of budgie skulls."

"Of course," Hermione replied darkly, and swept out: Toujours Pur indeed!

Holding the Floo powder (slightly discolored; old; possibly defunct) in one hand, Hermione paused.

Where was Remus Lupin?

She couldn't simply tell Hedwig, or her Patronus to find him. Floo powder was more… specific. Very, in fact: a slight mispronunciation had landed Harry in Knockturn, once.

Of course she could call the Castle.

And say what, exactly?

Merlin – this task Malfoy had given her was tougher than it at first appeared.

Hermione busied herself awhile building up the fire in the grate while she pondered: stoking it with the poker, adding bits of paper and tiny branches until it burned and crackled merrily. She knew that she would have to:

1) Contact Remus Lupin.

2) Inform him of their location.

3) Tell him to come straightaway.

4) All without letting on to others at Hogwarts:

... A) Whom she was.

... B) Whom she was with.

... C) Where she was located.

5) This meant she needed to:

... A) Wear some other face,

..._... i.) And/or disguise her voice.

..._..._... 1) Using Polyjuice?

..._..._..._... a) Sending a written missive through the Floo might circumvent this.

... B) Indicate who she was without anyone but Remus understanding her.

..._... i.) By referencing a shared experience.

... C) Indicate her current location without anyone but Remus understanding her.

..._... i.) By referencing Sirius Black in some roundabout fashion.

Writing a letter seemed the most expedient method. She reached for the nearby writing-desk and procured some parchment and ink. She stared at it for a moment, wondering if there were some way that the choice of paper and ink itself could reveal her, but after a moment dismissed the thought. Both were mid-range quality, both easily obtained at Scrivenshaft's, and newer – probably a member of the Order had left them here, rather than any of the original Blacks.

She used a spell to disguise her hand and began to write:

Remus Lupin, (she began – she considered and rejected being more oblique here, but the letter would have to reach him, after all).

I am writing to inform you that I have stumbled across something you seem to have lost. The item is still, at present, in the condition you left it. It's funny how these things turn up in the most unexpected of places: you once lost something that belonged here, and now something that belongs to you has been lost, here. Come at your earliest convenience.

Hermione eyed the missive critically, tilting it this way and that and blowing on the ink. Something lost was a horrible way to refer to Sirius, but changing it to someone revealed her hand, and she thought Remus would understand and forgive her – once he realized who'd written the note, of course. Hermione hadn't been able to work in who she was without alerting anyone else: she and her Professor simply hadn't been that close, and those in the know could probably recite the Trio's antics ad verbatim. It wasn't worth the risk.

She cast about for any sealing-wax before deciding that was a terrifically horrible idea. Even if the paper weren't recognized, the sealing-wax of the House of Black could very well be quite revealing to the right eye.

"Very well," she said, aloud. She cast a spell to remove fingerprints and magical signatures of all kinds and tossed the Floo powder into the roaring flames. Let him still be at Hogwarts! she thought, eyes closed tight. "Hogwarts Castle of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Remus Lupin's Rooms!" she exclaimed, and threw the parchment into the sparkling green.

"NO!"

Hermione whirled to find Severus Snape rushing into the room. He shoved her aside so roughly that she went sprawling, banging the side of her head against the bellows neatly hooked to the wall. Snape reached through the flames for the letter, then fell forward.

It took Hermione longer than it should have to realize he was being dragged.

"No!" she shouted. "Harry! Ron! Draco! HELP!" She threw herself at her old professor and latched onto his waist, planting her feet solidly into the hearthstones and pulling back with all her might. Harry flew into the room seconds later. "Harry!" she shouted.

Harry threw himself forward and grabbed onto Professor Snape's knees.

Hermione could barely see through her tears, but she kept a viselike grip on Snape, no matter how her arms ached.

Ron and Draco appeared in the doorway, much to Hermione's relief; after another moment, Severus Snape popped back out of the hearth like a cork from a bottle, and the lot of them landed in a panting, huffing heap.

"Are you all right?" Harry demanded, pulling Snape to his feet, then turning to stare at them each, in turn. "Are we all all right?"

Hermione snuffled but nodded, rubbing at the back of her head.

Snape shook his head rapidly, but the motion seemed less of a negation and more for the purpose of getting his bearings. Once he seemed more settled, he rounded on Hermione. "Of all the stupid, short-sighted Gryffindor things to do!" he roared. "Writing a friend at school, were we? Telling her of all your little adventures? Ginevra Weasley – Neville Longbottom?"

"Don't you talk about Ginny," Harry and Ron said in eerie unison.

"I wasn't writing a friend," Hermione squeaked, determined to ride out the storm. "I needed to contact Remus Lupin."

Snape's features drained of all color so fast that Hermione thought he might begin to sway, or even lose consciousness. "Remus… Lupin," he echoed dimly, his eyes tracing around the room, as though he hoped to find an escape or a weapon close to hand. "What on earth possessed you to contact Remus Lupin?"

"Draco needed to talk to him," Hermione replied, simply, and then it was as though she heard her own words from her professor's ears. She flushed. "Where's the harm in that?"

"Where's the harm?" Snape seemed doomed to repeating her words with growing incredulity. "He'll believe the letter came from me, of course!"

Hermione shook her head. "That's not –" Then she paused.

1) The ink she'd used, and the paper, was left here by an Order member. Could that Order member have been Snape?

... A) If that were the case, Remus would recognize the paper, and the ink.

2) Snape's fingers were smeared with said ink.

... A) He'd held Hermione's missive, maybe grasped it briefly before it was taken from him.

... B) It would hold his fingerprints.

... C) It would hold his magical signature.

3) The way in which she'd written the letter – oh, Merlin – now seemed more like a ransom note than a friendly invitation. At least:

... A) Viewed as Remus would view a missive from Severus Snape.

Hermione deflated. "Oh… no," she said.

"Now you begin to realize the foolhardiness of your actions!" Snape roared. "Now and only now! Save me from do-gooder Gryffindors! Did you suppose you'd reconcile him to the idea of working with me? Did you suppose that was possible?" He whirled on Draco. "This is what you get for putting notions in their heads – Remus Lupin will put us both in Azkaban in an instant – he won't think twice, he'll be doing his duty! – and these three will be left to manage on their own!"

Malfoy rose to his feet. "You're not being helpful, Professor," he said. "What's the worst-case scenario?"

"Remus'll come back through here wand-first," Harry blurted, "hurt or kill you or Snape or both, maybe accidentally injure one of us in the process. Sends me to St. Mungo's, thinking I've…"

"…got Stockholm Syndrome," Hermione filled in, nodding.

"…or worse. The entire quest is derailed…"

Ron snorted. "You called it a quest. Aloud."

"…Voldemort wins, everybody dies."

"Thank you for putting that into perspective." Draco closed his eyes a moment, then opened them. "Right. So we've got to get out of here."

"But you needed to see Professor Lupin!" Hermione exclaimed. "That was the whole reason –!"

"I still will. I'll stay behind."

Absolute silence followed this pronouncement; then, everybody spoke at once.

"That's absolutely mad" – that from Harry. A simple no from Ron. Snape started to say I promised your mother – but cut off when he was drowned out by everyone else's voice.

"I refuse to allow you to stay behind," Snape said, once everyone had quieted. "Your safety is my safety."

Hermione tried to parse that, she really did, but her mind was whirring at a thousand beats a minute. The only conclusion she could come to (a promise; Snape's well-being linked to Draco's) was an Unbreakable Vow.

1) Meaning Draco could not stay.

2) Harry couldn't stay, either.

... A) Harry's presence seemed to make Lupin more emotional.

... B) Lupin would whisk Harry away without another thought.

..._... i.) Possibly to wrap him up in cotton-wool, making it impossible for Harry to find the Horcruxes.

..._... ii.) Possibly to head the Horcrux hunt himself, using the Order to do the heavy lifting. Dumbledore hadn't thought that was a good idea, and neither did Hermione.

3) Ron wasn't so good at talking things out, or being all that convincing.

4) Lupin might, in fact, kill Snape on sight.

"I'll stay," Hermione said.

The others turned to stare.

"Draco needs Lupin," she said, firmly. "And I believe we need him to help us with the hunt. Professor Lupin… knows things. And I believe – no one'll notice he's missing," she added, tentative. "A werewolf, without even a proper job… he has no one who's expecting him to be anyplace."

"You will not convince him to work with me," Snape repeated, as though that alone would convince her. "He will shut you up in St. Mungo's. He will Obliviate you, rather than have you carry word that I am…"

"Innocent," Harry said with surprising vehemence.

She noted that the Professor hadn't claimed they didn't need Lupin. "Worth the risk," she returned.

Snape stared at her for a long, silent moment. Then, he offered her a curt nod, and flew up the stairs. In someone else, the behavior might have seemed dismissive, but Hermione knew, oddly, that this was Snape's way of giving in, of agreeing, which he was not capable of doing gracefully. He was gathering the things they'd need, in order to leave at a moment's notice.

"We'll Apparate to the Manor, the place we memorized," Harry said.

"You're mad," Draco said, "but very, very brave, Hermione Granger. Though I suppose that's the quintessential Gryffindor for you."

"You'll catch up with us there," Ron said, and he was going to the place he had stored his toiletries, change-of-clothes – they'd been ready to leave at a moment's notice for ages. Harry rifled through his pockets and showed them all the Horcrux-detector, then shook his head.

"Here, Hermione," he said, pressing it into her hand. "Maybe it'll help convince Remus…"

But it was all happening so fast. Hermione watched the others run about the room, checking food and water supplies and going through the final preparations of which she had always thought she would be a part.

Except Draco, who was still staring at her, oddly. "…can you disarm him?" he eventually inquired, as though they were continuing a conversation they'd begun long ago.

"My wandwork is quick," she replied, "but I hadn't thought that was the best opening salvo. So to speak."

He ducked his head and laughed, and Hermione was surprised when it emerged pleasant, if a little panicky. She realized she'd never heard Draco Malfoy laugh when he wasn't being mean-spirited. "Merlin, Granger, no. Disarm as in charm." He took her by the shoulders, stared into her eyes. "You're going to have to convince him that a murder he half-witnessed is a lie… or at least, in enough doubt that he won't cast Avada at the first chance. It's a tall order."

Hermione nodded. "I… I know," she replied, marshaling all of her logic behind her eyes.

"Appeal to his sense of mercy. Say you know he's the better man –"

Hermione was about to ask how Draco knew so much about what was most apt to convince Remus Lupin, but just then Snape arrived at their side, bag slung over one shoulder. Draco's palms slid down her arms, and he offered her a brave smile. "You are brilliant, you know," he told her. "Don't get yourself killed."

"Same to you," Hermione replied, shoulders still tingling from the loss of contact.

There was a rattle at the door; Hermione's head jerked to the entryway of Twelve Grimmauld, her heart rate leaping to what felt like perhaps one hundred-twenty beats per minute in a blink's time. Which made no sense; it was only Remus, only her old professor, with his shabby clothes and threadbare smile.

Draco threw his arms around her, fierce; then, almost before Hermione could process the sensation, he released her to jog to the fireplace and throw Floo powder into the grate. "Iridian Manor!" he exclaimed, and stepped through.

The Iridians had disappeared from the dossier of purebloods generations ago, and the question of which bastard held rights to the Manor had been held in dispute for so long that the old place had long since been abandoned and forgotten – but the fireplace was still intact.

"Hermione –" Ron stammered.

The front door rattled ominously on his hinges.

"I'll manage! Go!" she shouted, then barely held onto a sob as Harry and Ron crushed her to them at once before rushing through the Floo.

Severus Snape stared after her the longest, frowning. "Be… more Slytherin," was his cryptic order before he disappeared through the fire.

Hermione ran to the grate and kicked and shuffled the ashes around until the flames sputtered and died and the room filled with smoke.

More Slytherin, she thought, as she smoothed her skirt and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. More Slytherin, she reiterated as she strode purposefully across the wooden floor, feeling its subtle warmth against her bare feet.

"More Slytherin, then," she whispered to herself, and opened the front door to Twelve Grimmauld.

"Professor Lupin!" she exclaimed when she saw him. A bit inane, but surprise was the best she could come up with on such short notice. It wasn't as though she actually were a Slytherin, after all. She was going to have to think on her feet: always the part of the exam she dreaded the most, the practical.

She peered out to the stoop behind him, startled that he'd come alone: what a surprise that was.

Lupin himself looked a little worse for wear. He was thinner than she remembered, even sickly-looking. She tried and failed to recall if it were close to the full moon or not; but then, her mind was racing a million miles a minute. She had just enough presence of mind to put herself in Lupin's shoes: if she'd thought Harry was kidnapped, and she were already sick, besides, she'd want comfort.

"You look like you ran here from the Castle," she said – in a near-perfect imitation of Mrs. Weasley's disapproving, motherly tones, if she did say so herself. "Come inside, quickly, before anybody catches sight of you."

Lupin obeyed. He still hadn't said a word, and his eyes scanned the entryway as though he didn't trust it not to lash out against him. Though, Hermione would admit, certainly Twelve Grimmauld gave more or less everybody that impression. "Where's Harry?" he inquired, once the hallway proved to be no challenge.

Now that his focus was on her, Hermione gulped. Ron was right, she realized, examining him. There was something about him, about the way he held himself, about his flinty eyes, that was harder than she remembered. Just now he was staring at her as though he supposed she might be the right hand of Voldemort himself, or maybe the leader of a third faction whose agenda was yet to be revealed. "Harry's fine," she said. "Come into the dining room and have a cuppa. You look like you could use it."

The persistent mothering finally paid off, as Lupin's tense shoulders lowered the tiniest of fractions, and an expression of doubt blended with (though did not entirely replace) the hardness. He followed Hermione into the dining room, but did not seat himself. "Where are Harry and Ron?"

"The others ran," she said, plainly, heating some water with a wave of her wand and setting the tea to steep. "I stayed behind, to talk to you."

"They ran," Lupin repeated.

She nodded. "And I stayed. We need your help, and I chose to be the –"

1) …group's?

2) …team's?

3) …Horcrux Hunters'?

4) none of the above, Merlin.

"…emissary."

Lupin's features turned mulish. "I want to see Harry. I need to know he's safe."

"And you will," she said. "But not until we've hammered a few things out." She handed him the cup of tea. "Cream? Sugar? You'll have to forgive me, I can't quite recall how you take it, if I ever knew."

Color rose in Lupin's face and he whirled away from her to pace. "You'll be offering lemon drops, next!" he growled. "I will see Harry. Now."

Hermione blinked. She wondered if this was how Dumbledore felt. Of course she couldn't give Lupin all the information right away, not before she knew how he'd use it. "That's not the case, no matter how emphatically you say so," she returned, sharply. "I promised you that he was safe. Do you believe I'd tell you he was safe if he weren't? I'm not trying to torture you. I'm trying to keep Harry safe. Now: cream? Sugar?"

Hermione experienced an odd thrill when Lupin eyed her from under his lashes and finally jerked his head in the affirmative and sat down. "Lots of both." He then sat, with his knee bobbing arhythmically, while Hermione poured.

It was funny how little rituals like serving tea could calm even a desperate werewolf, Hermione reflected as Lupin's spasmodic bouncing grew less pronounced over the next minute or so. When she pushed the plate of biscuits closer to Lupin, he took one exactly as rapidly as was polite.

Hermione, looking at him with keener eyes, wondered at that. Hadn't he been at Hogwarts? Hadn't he been eating there? Food was abundant at Hogwarts, so: he wasn't eating out of choice. And yet, put food before him, and he… well, for lack of a better term, wolfed it down immediately.

No one at Hogwarts was making him eat. If they were trying, he had successfully resisted their efforts. Out of grief? Guilt?

Lupin finished his tea and all of the biscuits but one – which Hermione took, to show that sharing-food solidarity that she had learned was important via the Weasley family – and there was nothing left to do but explain.

Right.

"I wrote that letter, and not Severus Snape," she began.

To his credit, he merely stared, without calling her a liar outright. "How do I know you're not Severus Snape?" he inquired.

Hermione cursed her brain for running so slowly. Of course he'd suppose that she – she frowned. "You don't think I'm Severus Snape!" she retorted, glaring at his tea – the tea he had sipped at quietly and without much but a token protest for the past five minutes. "You know I'm just who I say I am! How you know I don't know, but you do!"

Lupin smiled at her. "Unmistakably Hermione Granger," he replied wryly.

"Thank you," she said, her ruffled feathers smoothing, somewhat. "I think."

"I suppose I could ask you some questions to be sure," he went on.

"You couldn't," she replied. "See, that's what I thought of when I was writing the letter, Professor. I know you, but mostly through Harry; there's very little I could say to prove myself that someone else couldn't have discovered as well. Things about Sirius, maybe, about Buckbeak, perhaps. But the Death Eaters know a lot about both. And even about – Wormtail. I could tell you what my Boggart turned into, but the whole class saw; what does that prove? So in the end, I put no clue as to my identity in the letter. Professor Snape saw me sending a message during a supposedly secret mission and leapt after it, of course. That got his magical signature and fingerprints all over it. That's why you thought it was from him."

"Severus Snape was here?" Lupin inquired, after a long moment of silence. "Harry's changed his story, then, about who killed the Headmaster?"

Hermione thought his voice sounded brittle, as though he were just barely holding back ... something… but his expression was too stony to tell what, precisely. "No. Not exactly." She closed her eyes and pondered.

Lupin said nothing during this time, thank Merlin; she thought she might lose all ability to convince him if he continued to act out of temper.

"One," Hermione said, eyes still closed. "Professor Dumbledore put Professor Snape in as the DADA Professor. Which, a) implies he knew he would leave. Don't interrupt," she said, when she heard Lupin take in a breath to speak. "It also b) implies he wanted others to guess that he knew Snape would leave, because i) that's way too obvious for no one to catch." She took a steady breath and opened her eyes, but Lupin didn't look like he was ready to interrupt, anymore. He had that dubious expression on his face again, and that gave her hope.

"Two," she went on, gazing at her hands on the scratched dining room table. "Dumbledore's hand was injured, some kind of rotting, dark-magical infection. A) We know Dumbledore didn't practice black magic; he was a Light wizard, through and through. So, b) Dumbledore probably was trying to break a dark curse or destroy a dark object."

"Three," she said, then paused. She wasn't sure she should say this, as it was told to her in confidence, but she believed it integral to carrying out the task of convincing Lupin. She stared into his features for a long moment before continuing. "By Harry's own admission, he fed poison to Dumbledore the night he died. This was to obtain and destroy a magical object called a Horcrux –" She checked for recognition in Lupin's features, found none – "...meaning that, a) Likely Dumbledore's wounded hand was also due to a Horcrux search; and b) it is more than likely that Dumbledore knew he would die that night..."

"Four. What Harry saw wasn't conclusive," she said. "Dumbledore, according to Harry, said, Severus, please, which can have meant any number of things."

Hermione took in a slow breath. This last one wasn't going to be easy, because it was not particularly logical. "Harryalsotrustshim," she blurted.

"Wait. Repeat that last one."

Hermione worried her lower lip between her teeth. "Professor Snape and Harry went down into the kitchens together, and me and Ron and Malfoy thought they might kill each other, so we were keeping a careful ear out. But when they came up, Harry… and Professor Snape!... were… cordial."

"Did Imperius not come to mind?"

Hermione shook her head. But then, Lupin hadn't seen Snape: broken, discarded, thinner and madder-looking than you.

"Harry also trusts him," Lupin repeated slowly, as though tasting the words. "Dumbledore did, too."

"And I think Snape came through for him in a way he had no right to expect," Hermione snapped back, tartly. "I think Dumbledore ordered Snape to kill him so that Draco wouldn't have to, and to cement Snape's position amongst the Death Eaters, and because he was dying anyway and he'd rather go out with a bang than a whimper, and perhaps because of a half-dozen other reasons that will never be clear to anyone but him. I think – I think it broke Snape, and it would break me, too, if someone I thought of as a father had – and then to be forced to leave my home and go live with He Who Must Not Be Named, instead, and lose my job, and any respect I'd earned –" Hermione broke off, blinking back tears. "Just – imagine it is true, for just one moment," she said. "Imagine how you'd feel, if that were you."

She saw the moment Lupin understood; his features twisted with unwilling sympathy, and he blinked in surprise.

Yes! she thought, feeling a wavery smile tug at her lips. She'd done it! She could bring Lupin to the others, and let Snape do the rest of the convincing. She bounded to her feet. "Good! Right. Let's go, then."

Lupin looked up, still wearing that same frown. "Go?"

"To Harry? You wanted to see him, didn't you?"

He stared at her for another moment. "Yeeess," he drawled.

She moved to take his arm and tug him to his feet. "Now, then."

"Now?"

Hermione nodded, digging under the table until she'd found her satchel, stuffing all of their research inside. "Now," she replied, and trotted off to the study and the Floo powder.

When Hermione stepped out of the fireplace at Iridian Manor, a blast of moor wind nearly unseated her.

The roof was caved in all around she and Lupin, and long since buried by encroaching foliage or stolen by scavengers looking for wood or slate or scrap metal. Only two of the walls were still standing, and they did nothing to protect Hermione and Lupin from the prevailing winds. Behind Hermione was one stone fireplace; ahead of her stood another, though that one, with its cast-iron spit, looked as though it was less for transportation and more for roasting. Hermione cast about the windy plain, a triumphant grin on her face.

"Harry!" she shouted. "Ron!"

She flew out beyond the two walls and ran in a circuit around the derelict Manor, coming back to Lupin.

…who had drawn his wand.

Hermione drew hers. "Where are they?" she whispered.

"Hush," he advised. "They may be using the Disillusionment charm, and they will drop it, presently."

But her companions remained stubbornly absent.

Hermione's long hair whipped into her eyes, her mouth, and she impatiently did it up in a knot at the back of her neck.

Lupin, meanwhile, was canvassing the area. "Hermione!"

Hermione trotted up to him. "What is it?" She followed his line of sight into the tall summer grasses.

It was a wand. Broken in two. The halves joined only by the smallest fragments of splintered wood. Hermione, looking down at it, felt her vision go funny, too funny to tell if the shattered wand was the queerly marbled yew, the tawny gold of willow, or…

"You fools," Lupin said, whirling on her. "How stupid do you have to be, to trust Severus Snape after what he's done? Are you so willfully blind? And now," he said, running distracted hands through his sandy hair, "and now…"

He screamed then, so suddenly and so loudly that Hermione stumbled backward, and tripped. When she scrambled her way upward, her fingers encountered the cold rasp of metal and the near-familiar feel, now, of a particular malevolence. She clambered to her feet and held the locket out before her, where it swirled to and fro before swinging east, far higher than it had at Twelve Grimmauld. She pressed her free hand to her lips. Could the Horcrux have left Traces of its magic on Harry – could it be following after him?

"What is that? What are you doing?" Remus demanded.

Hermione jerked her head towards the amulet. "We may be able to find Harry using this. As for Professor Snape, there are dozens of possible explanations as to why they've all disappeared…"

"Are you still so foolish as to discount the most obvious?" the older wizard barked, his eyes wild.

Hermione felt her brow furrow. "You suppose it was my prowess alone that was holding him back, Professor? What's one underage witch one way or the other?" But she wasn't really looking at Professor Lupin. Instead, she was looking at the pendulum. "Do you suppose they could have been taken to Malfoy Manor?" she inquired, trying to sound brave and steady and hoping she'd half managed it. "Wiltshire is east of Iridian Manor."

"Undoubtedly that is just where the Snatchers have taken them," Lupin said, pressing a hand to his face and seeming to shrink before Hermione's eyes. "We will have to get the Order involved. You'll come with me."

Hermione ignored the question of the Snatchers to raise her eyebrows. "You mistake me, Professor, if you believe for a moment I'll do the safest, and yet the least sensible thing. Calling in the entire Order would mean we could only face the Death Eaters in open war. Doesn't it make more sense to slip in and out of the Manor more or less unnoticed? …and to do that you and I should go in alone."

Lupin stared at her as though she'd lost her mind completely.

This wasn't what going mad felt like, though, Hermione was relatively certain. Her entire body was filled up with a determination so fierce that she felt she stood a few inches taller. Her mind was whirring with the sharp, crystal clarity bestowed by a steady stream of ambient adrenaline, and her own wand – vine, dragon heartstring, 10 ¾ inches – was gripped tightly in her right hand.

"We are going to go rescue Harry and the others from Malfoy Manor," she said, voice clear. "We are going to plan well and move quickly and no one is even going to know we were there until it is far too late." She turned to face Lupin. "As for Snape, you came to see him alone. Either you do still trust him and you wanted to talk to him one-on-one, or you were hoping to duel. Which was it?"

When Lupin stared, wordless, Hermione blinked.

"You didn't know which!"

"I do now!" Lupin barked.

"Well, you're much more likely to get your wish – either of your wishes! – through stealth, aren't you?" Hermione prodded. "Severus Snape is a tricksome sort of wizard." There was no doubt in Hermione's mind as to Snape's loyalties: fool me once! she thought, with a grimace. Which meant he was in every bit as much trouble as Harry, if not more. "He'll run the moment he has a chance," she added, entirely truthfully. She tucked the amulet in the pocket of her robes and took Lupin's arm.

"You are coming?" she inquired, then Apparated them both without awaiting an answer.

Maybe it was a little Slytherin, but she was pretty certain he wouldn't be able to resist helping her once Malfoy Manor - and more importantly, the promise of Harry, and revenge - were in his sights.

A/N: Okay, so obviously experimental here, folks. On nicely-spaced MS Word, Hermione's outlined thoughts did NOT seem quite so daring as they do here. For one thing, I had to play merry havoc with punctuation in order to get the spacing right, and then for additional BTW-this-is-an-OUTLINE! I felt I had to boldface each heading. When it STILL looked like a block of text I, in desperation, resorted to hr linebreaks.

God.

So: too much? If you think so, let me know. I tried it several ways (even previewed it), but let me know if this is craziness.

Also: Hermione! I wrote from Hermione's POV! For the *first time*. Let me know on that score, too. Is it Hermione?

Hello, crazycakes!Lupin! Recall how crazy he was? "I'm going to leave my newly preggers honey because having a kid scares me!" Good times.

-K