/
Weeks passed, characterized by mounting coursework, no notable progress with the Vanishing cabinets, Snape's repeated proddings and warnings, increasing disappearances from Theo and Hermione as they worked on their potion, a growlingly disquieting silence from Voldemort, and, perhaps worst of all for Draco, the ever-present coldness between himself and Hermione.
They never spoke of the argument they'd had in the Room of Hidden Things, and he did his best to quell what he'd felt and longed for in that room, alone with her— what he still felt and desired now, against his reason— but despite his best efforts, Draco could not erase the image of Hermione's reflection beside him in that mirror, the image he saw now whenever he closed his eyes. Frustratingly, the mirror had disappeared the very next day, leaving Draco with a growing feeling that he had at last lost his mind.
Time marched on, as much as Draco wished it wouldn't, and suddenly it was the morning of the sixth years' Apparition test in Hogsmeade.
Even though he'd lost count of his successful apparitions during their practice sessions, much to his irritation, Draco was not yet old enough to take the exam. So instead of traipsing through the brisk April air with Theo, Hermione, and the rest of the eligible sixth years into Hogsmeade, he was in Andromeda's office for Occlumency training… which was going rather poorly.
"You're distracted today," Andromeda said, her brow furrowing in an uncharacteristically open display of emotion.
She was annoyed to admit she was a bit distracted as well, her thoughts muddled with the status of one of her patient's at St. Mungo's, the woman she'd been working to help for more than fifteen years now; Jane, they called her, even though her actual name was still as much a mystery as the identity of the baby depicted in a small oval painting inside her locket. Notably, Jane continued to demonstrate more signs of comprehension every day, and she'd certainly become more verbal as of late, but the woman still had no memory of her past, nor how she'd come to be at St. Mungo's.
Despite her own preoccupation, Andromeda had broken through Draco's defenses with relative ease for the past hour, witnessed too many thoughts and memories to count, most of which seemed to center on Hermione Granger. She was beginning to worry for the girl's safety— not because she believed Draco himself exceedingly dangerous— but because she knew involvement with her nephew meant involvement with Voldemort.
"You can't let your distraction cloud your mind."
Draco's jaw clenched in self-irritation. "I know."
"Use the techniques I've taught you. Deep breathing, visualization, and—"
"Focus— I know. I'm distracted, not dumb."
Andromeda directed a stern look Draco's way.
"Sorry," he mumbled before taking a deep breath. "I'm ready now."
Andromeda nodded, readying herself.
Legilimens, she thought. She held back nothing, knowing Voldemort would certainly show Draco no mercy.
A tall cabinet with runes etched on the door swam into view, an image Andromeda had already seen in Draco's mind on a few occasions, but the image was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with Draco's own shadowy reflection in a large gilded mirror. Andromeda could feel Draco pushing back, but she urged forward.
Draco was not alone in the mirror's reflection for more than a moment, however, as Hermione Granger appeared by his side. Andromeda barely had the time to examine the memory before she was suddenly overcome with the strength of Draco's focus and resistance, and all at once, the image of Jane at St. Mungo's— the woman's wide, searching hazel eyes— swam into view. She tried to empty her thoughts, but it was clear Draco was digging now. The image transformed to reveal Jane's silver locket in Andromeda's own hand as she inspected the image of the baby inside.
Again, Andromeda refocused, but found it was no longer necessary; Draco had retreated.
"Well do—" Andromeda began in praise, fiercely proud Draco— her nephew— had managed to focus enough not only to hide his own thoughts and memories, but to catch a glimpse into her own mind.
"How—" Draco interrupted, panting as he dropped into a chair behind an open desk, his brow glistening with sweat. "How did you— get that locket?"
Andromeda's eyes widened in surprise.
"You recognize the locket? The painting of the baby?"
Draco paused, as if considering whether or not he could trust her. She discovered her desire for him to trust her outweighed her desire to learn what he might know about the locket.
"Yes," he answered, meeting her searching gaze.
Relief coursed through her. He trusts me.
"The locket belongs to one of my patients. But I can't say more, Draco— patient confidentiality."
In his fatigue, Andromeda could easily see Draco's expression was one of shock and confusion.
"Have you seen the portrait before?" She asked, her heart pounding in her ears.
"I've seen that painting— its larger size— and that baby's ridiculous green bonnet more times than I can count… at Greystoke Castle."
"Greystoke Castle?" Andromeda asked, the name frustratingly familiar, irritated that she was unable to place it.
"The Burke family home, but it's under the ownership of the Notts now… ever since Theo's mum married Nott Senior. She was the last of them, I think, the Burke's."
The name was indeed familiar— an ancient, pureblood family, not unlike her own family. But Andromeda knew that was not at the core of the familiarity.
She shook her head. That was not important now.
"Nott senior? So you're saying you think that baby is…" Andromeda's eyes widened in realization.
"I don't think… I know. That baby is Theo, Theo Nott."
/
/
/
"I think congratulations are in order— to the new Mrs. Twycross!" Theo exclaimed in mock cheer, referring to the exaggerated praise the Apparition instructor, Wilkie Twycross, had showered upon Hermione after she'd passed her test with marked brilliance. "Shall I pop the champagne?"
Hermione ignored Theo's comment, walking at a brisk pace toward the sixth floor. They needed to check on Felix, but she was anxious to get back to the common room; Harry and Draco had not been not among the eligible sixth years to take their Apparition test, as they were not yet of age, and despite her protestations that Harry was wasting his time on Malfoy— that he should be using any free time to get the rest of Slughorn's memory— she suspected Harry had not heeded her advice, and had instead kept watch with the Marauders' Map.
Theo had also passed his Apparition test with ease, and he wore the smug grin to prove it. Ron had not been so fortunate, however, failing due to splinching. Luckily (or unluckily, as Ron saw it) he had separated himself from only half of his left eyebrow.
Hermione had left her sulking friend behind in the Entrance Hall, and Theo had joined her once out of sight of the other returning students.
"When's the wedding?" He prodded again, grinning.
"Why on earth would I ever invite you to my wedding, Nott?" Hermione smirked, too pleased with her successful exam to be annoyed.
"Well, in that case, don't expect a gift from me."
"I'm gutted…" she replied sarcastically. "How will I ever manage to go on?"
"You forget that I'm a great gift giver. Remember the book I gave you for Christmas?"
"I thought that was a gift from Sprock?" Hermione asked, her expression transformed by a coy grin
Theo sputtered at the realization of his error, "Well, er— it was a joint gift, really… anyway, we mastered the three "D's of Apparition today," Theo interjected hurriedly, his cheeks warming at his rare slip of the tongue. "But it seems only you mastered the fourth "D," eh Granger?"
Hermione glanced at him with hesitant curiosity.
"Y'know… Twycross' special little "D"…" Theo explained, his hazel eyes shining with mirth.
She grimaced. "You are repulsive."
Theo's laughter echoed through the empty hall as they rounded a corner into a long corridor on the fifth floor, the ease and good humor of their banter catching even him by surprise. Warm April sunshine filtered through the castle windows, only serving to lift their spirits further.
"Felix should be done any day now," Hermione mused aloud.
Theo nodded. "As long as we don't—"
He did not finish his sentence, however, startled by the unmistakable, and not-so-distant, sound of something exploding.
Hermione and Theo glanced at each other before sprinting down the corridor toward the commotion. They reached the source of the disturbance— the boys' bathroom— and swung the door open, only to leap out of the way to avoid the blinding blue flash of a silent spell.
The spell hurtled toward the opposite wall, destroying a large cistern in the process. The room filled with a thick cloud of dust. Water erupted everywhere.
From her spot amongst the shattered glass and rubble, eyes burnich, Hermione managed to look up through the haze of the debris. With an agonizing revelation she located the source of the disturbance; Draco and Harry stood on either side of the room in an open duel, the tips of their wands pointed menacingly at the other.
Theo, coughing and struggling against the weight of a wrecked stall, his wand out of his reach, was unable to intervene.
Hermione scrambled to her feet, rushing toward the space between them, the beginnings of a shielding spell on her lips; their eyes met at once.
"Cruci—" Draco had already begun, but when he spotted her, his voice faltered and his face contorted, as if in pain.
"SECTUMSEPMRA!" Harry bellowed from across the room, his green eyes wide and incensed.
Hermione didn't recognize the spell, so she knew at once it was the Prince's, but she didn't have a chance to care; it shot passed her and she watched, horror-struck, as blood spurted from Malfoy's pale face and chest as though he had been slashed with an invisible sword. He staggered backward and collapsed onto the waterlogged floor with a great splash, his wand falling from his limp right hand.
"NO!" Hermione heard herself scream as if from very far away.
She rushed forward, slipping and staggering, and collapsed into the water on her knees by his side, only minimally conscious that Theo had rushed to kneel beside her.
"Bloody hell—" Theo gasped, finding it difficult to believe that his eyes weren't playing some sort of cruel trick on him.
Draco's typically pale face was shining scarlet, his hair flecked with his own blood as his white hands scrabbled at his gushing chest. His light eyes were wide and dulling quickly.
"DRACO!" Hermione gasped, willing herself to focus on spells to heal his open wounds.
She watched in terror and desperation as the deep gashes across his face and chest seemed to mend only momentarily before again reopening.
Draco's blood pooled around them, turning the water still surging from the destroyed sink a bright scarlet.
"I—I didn't mean to—" Harry sputtered, kneeling across from Hermione and Theo, entirely frozen. He stared at his hands, as if in disbelief at what they had done.
"Hermione— help him!" Theo begged, his breathing ragged as his own spells also failed to heal Draco's wounds. "He's—" Theo couldn't bring himself to say the words his mind was thinking— he's dying.
They watched in terror as Draco's eyes rolled up into the back of his head.
"I— I'm trying— he won't heal…" Hermione gasped, suffocating under her own panic and desperation.
I won't let you die… she whispered internally between each spell; his wounds slowly closing and reopening again and again. He lay there, unmoving.
Please don't let him die…
"I'm going to get help—" Theo panted, but just as he staggered from the floor, the bathroom door banged open behind them. Hermione could not will herself to look away from Draco, who lay ashen and unconscious and covered in his own blood.
Professor Snape was suddenly beside her, placing a silent hand on her wand arm and scanning his own wand over Draco, murmuring healing spells she did not recognize. Wordlessly, she lowered her wand as she listened to the Professor's methodical chant, his healing song, but she did not move from the floor at Draco's side. She watched as his wounds were fully knitted at last.
With an overpowering relief that made her feel as though she'd forgotten how to breathe, she watched Draco's chest slowly rise and fall with shallow breath. He stirred, regaining consciousness. Her vision was suddenly obscured by her own tears.
She could only think one thing, He's alive…
Theo too watched in awe as Snape healed Draco's wounds, completely numb.
"Nott, you will bring Draco to the hospital wing at once," Snape commanded gravely as he pulled a limp, groaning, semi-conscious Draco to his feet.
Theo rushed to Draco's side in silence, propping up his friend's weight.
"There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if he takes dittany immediately we might avoid even that…" Snape added.
Theo shot a concerned glance back at Hermione before he and Malfoy disappeared through the bathroom door.
Hermione did not move— could not move— her pale face speckled in red and her cheeks wet with tears, stunned by an overpowering metallic scent— the scent of blood. The drenched floor swirled with it— with Draco's blood— in crimson patterns that sickeningly reminded her of the roses she'd seen in Malfoy Manor's garden, of the soft, ruby petal she held between her fingers as she read For the Greater Good. She was shivering, but not from the cold water that soaked her to the bone.
"Miss Granger…" Snape's hand was surprisingly gentle on her upper arm as he pulled her up from the floor and dried her clothes with a nonverbal spell. She stared at the professor in shock.
"You will remain here with Potter while I attend to Draco… wait until I return."
The professor disappeared through the door, leaving Hermione and Harry alone. She found she couldn't look at Harry, so she stared at her bloodstained hands instead. Professor Snape had dried her clothes, but he hadn't removed the physical signs of Draco's injury.
She felt equally as though she were about to collapse or stun Harry into oblivion.
"Hermione— I—" She heard the pleading tone in his voice. Hermione could tell by his tone he was full of remorse for what he had done… but she didn't care. All she could see was Malfoy… bloody and pale and dying on the wet stone floor.
"Don't, Harry— just— don't," she replied icily, her voice weak and unrecognizable.
The sound of flowing water was all that echoed through the palpable tension in the room.
"I know you've been meeting Malfoy in the Room of Requirement," Harry said, his voice quiet and even, as if he'd been planning how he'd tell her. "I know you've been meeting with Nott, too."
She was surprised to discover she felt nothing at Harry's revelation; she couldn't even bring herself to care.
"Dobby and Kreacher have been tailing Malfoy for me."
Hermione looked up at last, and found Harry's green eyes were wide and pleading, as if begging her to say it wasn't true.
"How long?" she asked, her gaze fierce.
"What?"
"How long have Dobby and Kreacher been tailing him?" She asked again, her voice cold.
"Oh— ever since Ron and I were in the hospital wing… but what does that matter, Hermione? What is going on?"
Hermione couldn't process this new information, nor respond; all she could see were the swirling crimson roses of Draco's blood.
She wasn't sure how long they stood in silence before Snape returned; to her, it could've been ten minutes or ten years. The Professor, his face grave and serious, closed the door shut behind him.
"I didn't mean it to happen," said Harry at once. "I didn't know what that spell did."
Snape ignored this. "Apparently I underestimated you, Potter," he said quietly. "Who would have thought you knew such Dark Magic? Who taught you that spell?"
"I—read about it somewhere."
"Where?"
"It was—a library book," Harry invented, glancing to Hermione for help, but she remained stoic, glaring at him. "I can't remember what it was call—"
"Liar," said Snape, his dark gaze unblinking.
Hermione sensed what Snape was going to do; she'd never witnessed it firsthand— or at least she didn't think she had— but Harry had described it to her before, when he'd told her and Ron about his Occlumency lessons. She also remembered Harry had never been able to prevent it.
She watched as Harry became very still, his eyes glazed over; there was no doubt Snape was using Legilimency.
Hermione said nothing, and did not try to prevent it.
"Bring me your schoolbag," said Snape softly, "and all of your schoolbooks. All of them. Bring them to me here. Now!"
Hermione knew exactly what Snape had seen in Harry's mind— the Prince's copy of Advanced Potion Making, where Harry had learned the spell that had nearly just killed Malfoy.
With a jolt, Harry ran from the room without another glance at Hermione nor Snape.
Once Harry had gone, Snape turned to her, his eyes dark, but Hermione was startled to witness a vague sort of softness in his expression. She looked away.
"You saved his life," the professor said plainly, and Hermione got the impression that Snape was trying to make her feel better. It brought her no joy, however.
"I couldn't heal him," she replied softly, still unable to meet his gaze.
"Perhaps… but it seems you and Mister Nott ebbed his blood-flow long enough to keep him alive."
She nodded in silence, feeling no joy, no relief, at his uncharacteristically kind words. There was a brief pause before Snape spoken again.
"I know you've been helping Draco— you and Nott."
She was too distracted, too weary, to be surprised.
Dumbledore… Hermione reasoned the headmaster must have told Snape. He really does trust Snape…
She remained silent, however, looking up at last.
"I understand Nott's interference, but I do not deign to ask why you've chosen to help Draco, although I will not deny I find it deeply curious…"
She continued to stare at the Professor, hoping her expression was as unreadable as Malfoy's was so often these days. Snape seemed to sense her resolution, and moved on.
"You are swimming in perilous waters, Miss Granger, very perilous. If you tell me what you've been helping Draco with… I can help him. I can protect him, as you saw me do today."
Hermione hesitated, remembering Snape had made an Unbreakable Vow to protect Malfoy… but Malfoy had been adamant he didn't want Snape's help.
"No."
The resolution in her voice echoed through the room. "He— he doesn't want your help."
"It seems you are as foolish as Nott," retorted Snape, his face returning to its familiar coldness. "What you saw Potter do today will be nothing compared to the pain the Dark Lord will inflict upon Draco should he fail."
Her breath caught in her throat at Snape's insinuation, his practical confirmation that Draco was indeed a Death Eater. Nott had all but confirmed it before Christmas, but Hermione still found it painful to consider that reality.
This reality, her mind whispered.
"Use Legilimency like you just did with Harry, then," she replied, her tone revealing the cracks in her resolve. Part of her wished Snape would invade her thoughts to discover the truth, then this would all be over with; she could go back to the way things were.
I can't go back… she thought. You can't? Or you don't want to go back? The same voice asked.
Snape regarded her with a long look, his expression glazed-over, as if he were remembering something from long ago; Hermione idly wondered if he'd ever used Dumbledore's Pensieve. She wished she could read his thoughts, as his features betrayed nothing.
"No," he eventually replied, slowly, deliberately.
Hermione did not have time to reply as Harry reappeared in the doorway.
Snape held out his hand wordlessly for Harry's schoolbag. Harry handed it over, panting.
Hermione eyed her best friend with suspicion.
One by one, Snape extracted Harry's books and examined them. Finally, the only book left was the Potions book, which he looked at very carefully before speaking.
"This is your copy of Advanced Potion-Making, is it, Potter?"
Hermione instantly recognized it was not in fact Harry's copy of Advanced Potion-Making at all.
Unbelievable, she thought, her numbness evaporating as her blood began to boil.
"Yes," said Harry, still breathing hard, without looking at her.
"You're quite sure of that, are you, Potter?"
"Yes," said Harry, with a touch more defiance.
"This is the copy of Advanced Potion-Making that you purchased from Flourish and Blotts?"
"Yes," said Harry firmly.
"Then why," asked Snape, "does it have the name 'Roonil Wazlib' written inside the front cover?"
"That's my nickname," Harry said after a brief pause.
Hermione glared at Harry in disbelief; he had brought Snape Ron's copy of Advanced Potion-Making, the one he'd written his name in with a failing spell-checking quill. She'd hoped Harry would've handed over the Prince's book, considering he'd just nearly killed someone using one of the Prince's spells, but it was quite clear she had been very wrong.
She felt the urge to reveal the truth about the book then and there, but she questioned what good it would do.
None, she reasoned in defeat, tearing her eyes away from Harry's mask of innocence. Absolutely none.
She was sure Harry must've hidden the Prince's book, and she had no idea where. It was also now abundantly clear to her that she'd never be able to convince him to stop using the book.
"Your nickname," repeated Snape.
"Yeah... that's what my friends call me," said Harry. "Right Hermione?"
"I understand what a nickname is," said Snape, before turning to face Hermione again.
"What do you think of Mr. Wazlib's explanation, Miss Granger? Do you find it sufficiently honest?" His cold, black eyes bored into hers, and she resisted every urge to shake her head 'no.'
He raised an eyebrow at her determined silence.
"Do you know what I think, Potter?" said Snape, very quietly, his dark gaze darting back to Harry. "I think that you are a liar and a cheat and that you deserve detention with me every weekend until the end of term. What do you think, Potter?"
"I—I don't agree, sir," said Harry, still refusing to look into Snape's eyes.
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, unable to withhold her disbelief any longer. She rather thought Harry deserved much worse than detention… even though Malfoy had been ready to cast the Cruciatus, even though Harry may have been trying to protect her… it didn't change the fact that Harry had nearly killed Draco.
"I'm pleased you agree with Potter's punishment, Miss Granger, because you will be joining him… unless, of course, there is some additional information you wish to divulge."
Hermione scowled, her arms firm across her chest as she glared into the professor's cold, dark eyes.
"Professor— Hermione had nothing to do—"
"Silence, Potter!" Snape barked, rounding on Harry again. "Ten o'clock tomorrow morning and every Saturday and Sunday until the end of term, both of you. My office."
"But sir," said Harry desperately. "Quidditch... the last match of the—"
"Ten o'clock," whispered Snape, with a smile that showed his yellow teeth. "Poor Gryffindor... fourth place this year, I fear..."
And Snape left the bathroom without another word, leaving Harry and Hermione alone.
She glared at Harry in continued incredulity, sick to her stomach.
"You nearly just killed someone, Harry… and all you can think about is Quidditch? And keeping the Prince's book?"
"Her—"
"What— are you going to use it again?" Hermione snapped angrily. She felt as if the air was suddenly charged with the emotion and the magic she was failing to control. "Planning to practice the Prince's spells on me next time?"
Harry stared at her, his eyes reproachful.
"I—"
"How could you, Harry?"
His eyes narrowed behind his water-stained glasses.
"How could I, Hermione? How could you? You lied to me about the last match, didn't you? You didn't need to meet with Malfoy to work on Healing… Merlin knows why you've been meeting him. And Nott— what the hell could you possibly—"
"It's nothing. I told you. Malfoy is rubbish at Healing."
"Right," said Harry bitingly. "And Ron's a Runes expert. What is Malfoy holding over you, Hermione? Is it something to do with the necklace? Seems we might need the Prince's spells after all… to use on Malfoy and Nott—"
"Nott and I have been working on a Potion for Slughorn, if you must know. I— I was trying to get in his good graces, to help you with the memory… but Nott had to butt in and ruin everything. So I've been stuck brewing Draught of Living Death with him."
She betrayed no hesitation in her lie.
Shouldn't really be a surprise, a voice that sounded rather like Draco's whispered in her mind. You've been doing it an awful lot this year.
She and Harry stared at one another in silence for a long moment.
"Why won't you tell me the truth, Hermione?" asked Harry quietly, and if it weren't for the anger and the fear still coursing through her veins, his tone surely would've softened her resolve.
"Truth, Harry? That's a bit hypocritical, isn't it? You're spying on me now… and… what happened to your promise that you wouldn't use the Prince's spells—?"
"Malfoy was about to torture me, Hermione— and it could've hit you— in case you didn't notice!"
"Did you see his face? He looked like he'd rather be sitting through one of Burbage's Muggle Studies' classes than torture you! There's no way his spell would've worked— it's Dark magic. You've got to really mean those spells, or they're powerless. Plus, you didn't think to stun him, or use a shielding spell!? Don't you think you're being hypocritical—?"
"I—" Harry breathed, leaning back into the wall and slowly sliding to the floor in defeat. He held his head in his hands.
"I'm sorry," he sighed heavily. "I didn't mean to hurt him like that."
The air was heavy with silence, with the lies and misunderstandings that hung between them. A few moments passed before Harry looked up again, his expression one of resolve.
"…but I'm not sorry for asking Kreacher and Dobby to tail him," he said softly, his eyes full of concern. "And I'm not sorry I found out where you've been disappearing to…"
She crossed her arms over her chest, as if to hold in the truth that ached to burst forth.
"Let me help you, Hermione… please…"
She bit her lip and shook her head slowly. "I— I don't need your help."
/
A/N: This one took me longer than expected to edit (it was really more like a re-re-re-edit). I hope I did this chapter justice. Thank you so much for reading, especially to those who have stuck around from the beginning!