Chapter 5

The week passed in a blur of revelations as Hermione acclimatized herself to the past, and the past acclimatized itself to her. Hermione's parents had grown up in the 70s and through them she had garnered just enough knowledge to not seem completely out of place, but her knowledge of the era's wizarding culture had to be accumulated hastily through late-night familiarity with the Prophet and Witch Weekly. It seemed ridiculous to be studying gossip columns and fashion trends, but Hermione Gra— Belanger was nothing if not thorough.

The rest of the student body had been relentlessly discussing a certain article of interest that had appeared in the Prophet mid-week, as well as its several follow-ups. The initial object of discussion had detailed "orphan Hermione Belanger's tragedy" and the pitying looks had faded quickly to curiosity upon the revelation of her illustrious heritage. These had been nothing, however, compared to their reactions to the news that she'd now been adopted by their Headmaster. The reputation of the Belanger family now warred in their minds with that of Albus Dumbledore, and she knew they were eagerly awaiting some sign as to which side of the fence she favoured.

"I hear she was hidden from the ministry because her family worried she might be a squib," the whispers would confide.

"Yeah! I saw that in the Prophet! Bet they'd've killed her if she had been!"

"It's sad though; her parents dead and all…"

"Ha! I've heard the Belangers are all evil. She probably doesn't even care they're dead."

Then someone would point out that Voldemort had killed her parents, or that she'd been sorted into Gryffindor, or that Dumbledore had chosen to adopt her, and the conversation would collapse into a confused silence.

Hermione smirked as she overheard just such a conversation occurring in a far corner of the potions classroom. She honestly didn't care what these people thought about her allegiance—it was better, even, that no one be quite certain. Her plans, once they were decided, could only benefit. Besides, she'd endured far worse at the quill of Rita bloody Skeeter.

Slughorn bustled into the room, and the whispers fell away. The potion they were assigned for the day was simple—Friday morning's potions class was short, not allowing for anything more complex—and the room was soon filled with the soft sounds and pungent scents of brewing. Even Sirius and James had to pay a little extra attention in potions, and so their quips were kept to a minimum.

Hermione did her best not to continuously compare her own potion to Severus', but it was difficult. His was perfect, she knew, though it was hard to tell what stage he was on as he didn't seem to be following the steps much at all. Her fervour increased with her mounting frustration as she struggled to achieve the proper results—results which Severus seemed to find, and apparently surpass, with ease.

What she didn't notice, however, was the strangled look of inner confliction that grew more and more pronounced upon Severus' face. His struggle grew more desperate as she finally withdrew from her cauldron. They sat in silence a moment, Hermione trying to feel a sense of triumph in having her potion turn out textbook-perfect, Severus exerting a last-ditch effort toward internal-suppression, and both failing miserably.

"You sliced the roots too thin," he blurted suddenly. Hermione eyes widened and flicked to his face, but, as though a dam had been broken, he continued, the words rushing from his mouth before he could stop them. "And your stirring technique is appalling; it lacks even the remotest semblance of fluidity. And Merlin your dogged step-by-step method is bloody incensing, and shows you've no clue what you're doing, but are merely blundering along blindly." He concluded his brief tirade with an almost tortured look upon his face—whether at her apparent utter lack of skill, or at having given her input, she couldn't be sure—and Hermione found herself torn between amusement and indignation.

Just as she opened her mouth to respond, Lily tapped her gently on the shoulder. "Ready to go?"

"Oh! Yeah." Hermione began tossing her things together, and Severus, now collected – and faced with Lily – swept brusquely out through the doorway.

"What was that about?" Lily asked tentatively.

Hermione laughed. "Nothing, really. Severus was just explaining how sub-par a potioneer I am."

Lily fell silent as they began walking briskly through the corridors toward the Transfiguration room. "We used to be friends," she confided softly. "Sev and I, I mean." Hermione waited silently for her to continue, reviewing what she knew of their history in her mind. "Ever since we were little." Hermione struggled to hide her shock. "He's the one who first told me I was a witch." A heartbreaking smile flitted over Lily's lips and she shook her head. "But he changed when we came here." She seemed to jerk from a reverie. "Sorry, I—"

"We're friends, aren't we?" Hermione interrupted pointedly. "So… go ahead. How'd he change? He seems alright to me." A plan was formulating in her mind. Maybe she could even save the dark and sinister Severus Snape…

Lily smiled gratefully before frowning in thought. "It's hard to explain properly. It was just little things at first, things no one would notice but me. He started hanging out with the wrong people, and then his spells started getting a little darker. It all came together in the end." Her voice dropped suddenly to barely a whisper. "He called me a mudblood." Hermione's eyes widened at the pain that Lily still obviously felt. "I know it was an accident; he's apologized and I believe him… But the person he's become, the people he's… allied himself with… Well, we don't speak anymore."

Hermione felt taken aback for a moment. Always she'd been confused by the way Harry's mother had reacted to Severus' slip. But now she understood. It wasn't about the word; it was about what his use of the word meant. "You miss him," she said aloud, her surprise luckily not entirely out of place in the situation.

A cloud ghosted over Lily's face. "We should hurry or we'll be late," she deflected.

"Professor McGonagall doesn't seem like the lenient sort," Hermione agreed, garnering a grateful look.

Transfiguration was going smoothly. It was her only class with the Marauders in which Peter was absent, having not quite scraped the necessary OWL. She was surprised, actually, that everyone in her time had so often dismissed him as unintelligent. Perhaps she only looked at him differently than they did, recognizing him as the opponent he was, but he didn't seem nearly as stupid as she'd always heard he was. Sure, he hadn't made it into the Transfiguration NEWT class, but he'd clearly made decent grades in all of his others—even Potions.

She glanced at the Marauders lazing at their desks. She'd only managed to achieve the transfiguration as quickly as they had because she'd done it last year already. They were intelligent, excelling particularly in Minerva's class, and Hermione knew that even they didn't realize Peter's ability. She'd watched them with him, hoping for some sign that they mistrusted him, that they doubted him, something she could work with to help them to see his treachery. But there was none. They underestimated him in every way. If she didn't so strongly loathe the boy, she might've felt badly about the way his friends patronized him. She wasn't foolish enough to believe a little patronizing was why he turned to the dark side though, so she didn't let pity creep in. Peter had turned only because he thought it best to ally with the winning side.

She was fairly certain that, even now, he was in with the Death Eaters. He disappeared often, returning each time with a weak excuse that could easily have been belied by a glance at the Map. A thought suddenly occurred to her; perhaps he hid his ability from them, wanted to be underestimated. As long as he was just the stupid sidekick, no one cared where he really was, no one worried what he might be up to, no one bothered to check on his whereabouts, and no one would ever consider that he might be working for the other side.

The thought sent a shiver down her back. A coward he may be, but clearly not just a coward. If she was right, his cunning would have him deserving of a place in Slytherin. She'd best start watching him, this boy who would so coolly betray his friends.

"Hey, Hermione," Remus said softly, coming to stand beside her. "You alright?"

She blinked, pulling herself from her train of thought, and smiled brightly. "Sure, just thinking."

"You do that a lot," he observed with a small smile.

Hermione huffed a sigh. "You have no idea."

xXx

Saturday morning dawned in a cloudless sky and Hermione woke with it. She loved the peace of daybreak and knew she would miss it as the days grew shorter and an increasing number of students rose to meet it. Her second-favourite source of peace was, of course, the library. She loved the scents; she loved the idea of being surrounded by hidden knowledge, hidden memories; she loved the slightly mysterious and forbidding atmosphere; and she loved the solitude. With this in mind, she crept down to library to get started on her term work. She suspected, having done it all before and on similar topics, that she'd breeze through the first part of this year, but she wanted to get ahead of the game anyway; she'd soon have lots of other things to consume her time.

The large door creaked open, just as it always had in her time, to reveal a place that was so similar it felt immediately like home. The tables and chairs and shelves and books all seemed to be in the very same places as always—clearly Madam Pince wasn't one for "change for change's sake." The room was nearly silent, save for the soft sound of a single scratching quill. Hermione's glance fell on the dark-haired boy near the windows. The morning sun fell gently through the panes, lighting in streams upon swirling eddies of dust, and glancing over one Regulus Black.

She watched him silently for a moment. He was an eventual Death Eater, and Sirius Black's brother, but she knew very little else about him. His silver-blue eyes rose to meet hers, and she suddenly recalled that he'd died quite young—just out of Hogwarts. "Awfully early for studying isn't it?" His voice was strangely like Sirius', and yet strangely not; it was more aristocratic, less rough, perhaps… she couldn't quite decide.

"I might say the same thing to you," she pointed out warily.

His smirk was more of a grin. "Fair enough." He motioned her over, and she found herself acquiescing. "You're the new girl, of course."

"And you're Sirius' brother." She watched for a reaction on his face, but there was none. He simply nodded. She felt a little on edge. Not only was this boy possibly a Death Eater, but he was also a Slytherin, and as much as she loathed stereotypes, in her own time, no Slytherin would have talked to her in good faith. Admittedly here she was neither a "Mudblood" nor Harry Potter's best friend, and these Slytherins seemed a little different, a little less black and white. Just the other day, Lucius Malfoy of all people had been paired with her for Charms and they'd gotten along quite civilly, in spite of her being a Gryffindor.

With that thought in mind, she found herself asking, "What's it like, being in Slytherin?"

"Regretting Gryffindor already?" A full smirk.

She eased into a plush chair at his table. "Hardly."

Regulus regarded her for a moment, scrutinizing, and Hermione had to force herself not to show her discomfort. Then, as though she'd passed some sort of test, he began speaking. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean, New Girl, but I imagine being in Slytherin is quite different from being in Gryffindor. Maybe not so different as you imagine." Her eyes grew intent, which seemed to amuse him. "We're not so raucous or impulsive, we're rarely open with our emotions; the school tends to see us as cold and heartless."

"But isn't that how you want to be perceived?"

"Perhaps. Who's to say we're not?"

This time it was Hermione's turn to be evaluative, her eyes narrowing into his for a time, before she replied, "Me."

A silence elapsed, in which they turned to their books and their parchment, working in near-amicable company. After an hour or so, Hermione's stomach finally decided to protest rather loudly the lack of food that morning. Regulus chuckled softly.

"C'mon," he said, tossing his books into his bag.

"To where?" she asked, careful to keep the wariness from her voice.

"The kitchens. Technically speaking students aren't supposed to know where they are, but my brother showed me first year, and no one really seems to care much."

"Brilliant," Hermione breathed, pleased that she'd now have an excuse for knowing the location, and could venture there as she liked. Breakfast would be served soon, but she followed him through the corridors anyway, pretending to carefully commit the path to memory, and when he tickled the pears, she feigned amusement and surprise quite artfully, if she might say so herself.

"You think you can find your way back?" he asked, ushering her through the door.

She pretended to think about it a moment before nodding.

"Good, I have to get back to the Slytherin common room. I thank you, though, New Girl, for an interesting morning. Oh, and if you find yourself lost, just call for Blinky, and she'll come—she always has her ear open for her name." He offered a smile, which she returned, though she wondered what it was that called him away before breakfast, which would be served in about half an hour, and in spite of the urge to inform him that by no means would she call for Blinky.

The rest of the morning passed slowly, and when lunch had finally ended, Hermione eagerly climbed the stairs to the Headmaster's office for her first Occlumency lesson.

"Come in," beckoned the Headmaster from within as she raised her hand to knock.

She opened the door and took the seat before his desk. Tea magically poured itself before her, and several biscuits found themselves lying suddenly on a plate.

"Now, my dear, how are you doing?"

Hermione was taken aback for a moment by his straight-forwardness, and was opening her mouth to reflexively reply "okay" when he continued.

"I understand your classes are going well; all the professors have been discussing your prowess with myself, as your legal guardian. And I've seen also that you're quickly making friends here."

She nodded.

"But how are you holding up, underneath all those happy smiles?"

His eyes were penetrating, and she knew it would do no good to try to gloss over anything. The truth was, a lot of the time she was okay, and some moments she was even happy. But then, like a rushing storm, a memory would roll into her mind and she'd find herself unable to face the world for hours.

"I try to keep myself busy, distracted," she admitted. "It's hard sometimes… and sometimes it's less hard."

"If ever you need someone to talk to, you may always come to myself or to Minerva. It is a strength, not a weakness, to know when to accept help instead of walking the path alone." He caught her eyes with his for a long moment, then abruptly clapped his hands together. "Now, then! Occlumency!"