An entry for AO3's Evil Author Day - ie to offer up a wip that may or may not have any more added to it. Read at your own risk!


"Hermione…"

Someone shook her shoulder. Hard. She scrubbed her hands across her eyes and stared blearily up at Harry. The Gryffindor Common Room had fallen into almost complete darkness, only the few glowing embers in the hearth giving light to the room. And to Harry's stern face.

"You're back." She struggled to sit up. The room was chilled and she swept her wand over the fireplace, a flare of golden flame adding sudden warmth and light to the room. "What happened?"

Harry dropped down next to her on the couch. He smelt of stone, and salt…and death. He caught his hands in his messy hair before he straightened and wrapped a muffliatoaround them. "As I thought, it was an attempt at a Horcrux."

Hermione bit her lip to stop the rapid run of questions already tearing through her half-awake brain. She had to let Harry get this out in his own time.

His fingers fisted in his hair and he swore quietly and hard. "I have it…but it was all for nothing. It's a fake. Someone got there before us."

"Can I see it?"

Harry yanked out a long chain from the inside of his robes. A great, amber locket swung free from it. It gleamed in the firelight, the hint of ancient runes writhing through the stone. He dropped it into her hand and Hermione twitched.

"Dumbledore thought it was the one that belonged to Salazar Slytherin. But it's a fake. Open it." Harry shrugged. "The real locket can only be opened by a parseltongue. Proof enough."

She picked apart the doors with her blunt nails. Inside was a folded piece of parchment.

Harry nodded. "Go on, read it."

She scanned it quickly and her heart turned over. A bubble of excitement lifted her spirits. "But Harry, this means that someone else has managed to destroy a Horcrux. Though I don't know who RAB is…"

"It only proves that the Horcrux was swapped, taken, not destroyed."

Hermione winced. He was right. This was the new Harry. The one who saw things so clearly now it sometimes…unnerved her. "If it's not destroyed, this puts us back. Unless Dumbledore knows who RAB is?"

Harry took back the locket and the parchment, folded the paper into the casing, clasped it shut and returned it to his robes. "The Headmaster won't be doing much of anything. To get to the locket he had to drink —and I finally had to force him— to drink a potion." The firelight flickered over his glasses and the hard, bright gleam to her friend's eyes rippled a shiver down her spine. "It mixed with the curse from Gaunt's ring."

Her hand pressed to her throat. Dumbledore –as much as she disliked the wizard— was the reason He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had yet to attack Hogwarts or make a full on assault on the Ministry. For him to fall… And there was the other reason the Headmaster had to live. A fist tightened in her belly and she fought down the sharp edge of panic. She wet her lips. "Is he…?

"He's alive. Professor Snape and McGonagall are with him. I'm here to get you, Ron and Ginny for an Order meeting."

Hermione frowned. "But what about our plan?"

Harry took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was an adult gesture and reminiscent of a certain Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. It dragged a wry smile from her and she patted his arm. "Will hebe there at Grimmauld Place?"

Harry nodded and pushed out a sigh. "Here we had a chance of privacy…" He put his glasses back and stood. "But we're out of time. After the end of the meeting, steer him into the Library." He jabbed his thumb to the stairs leading up the boys' rooms. "I'll go and grab Ron, you get Ginny. We'll meet here in five minutes."

He disappeared and Hermione jerked a belated nod. Harry Potter had changed, become this cool and efficient…machine at times. Often it ran a shiver through her, seeing the diffident boy transfigure into a hard, logical wizard. But the war had to be won.

Harry was right. They were running out of time. And a man's life hung in the balance.


Hermione's fingers —out of sight under the long table— twisted into knots. They were an outward sign of the riot in her belly, writhing nerves and the dash of her thoughts.

Her gaze flittered across Harry's face as he sat opposite her, his attention focused on Professor McGonagall at the head of the table. The sparse light of the dour kitchen sparked in his glasses and his lips were set in a thin line. Maturity had grown on him this last year and it still caught her by surprise. The bright-smiled, impetuous boy seemed an age away.

This was the real Harry, not the act he often put on now. She was surprised he risked exposing his change. Tonight, especially. Perhaps there was still a touch of the impetuous boy left in him.

"I apologise for calling this extraordinary meeting. The Headmaster also sends his regrets that he cannot be here tonight." McGonagall's sharp gaze settled on Harry before moving away. The older witch took a deep breath and her shoulders lifted. "He is the reason we're assembled here. He is…ill." Her lips pressed together and the shine of tears blurred her eyes. She glanced behind her to Professor Snape who leant against the dark fireplace. "Very ill."

Mutters broke out, more than one Order member expressing alarm and concern. Hermione stopped herself from frowning. Harry was still, too still. His expression was calm, only a slight, hard downturn of his already thinned lips giving any sign of his inner feelings. Hermione knew others would see it as him slipping into shock.

Harry had told her the previous summer that the Headmaster was caught in a horcrux curse –and the black withering of his hand confirmed that— and now he'd added another. How long could a wizard of even Dumbledore's power last out against such darkness?

McGonagall lifted her hands to quell the rising concern. "Severus has halted the progression of the Headmaster's illness."

Snape's face was impassive, his dark eyes revealing nothing. Hiding every emotion. Every thought. Occulumency. A skill Harry had learnt with the Potions Master's reluctant aid, starting in their Fifth Year. A skill Harry had secretly –and quickly— mastered.

Voldemort could no longer touch his mind. Harry's temper had calmed, but there was an edge to him now. Sometimes he thought a little tooclearly.

Professor McGonagall sighed and pressed her hand to her throat. Hermione refocused. "With Albus…incapacitated, I must lead the Order until a cure can be found."

"But he's the Headmaster." Sirius waved his goblet before placing it down on the dresser he leant against. The wizard had calmed a little over his continued confinement –Voldemort trying, and failing, to use him as a trap for Harry had smoothed over the worst of his wildness— but still sometimes, he railed. "It will be noticed if he's absent."

"It's the end of term." McGonagall twitched a smile and waved a finger to the dark man behind her. "We're relying on the summer months to improve his condition. And there are only a few days and the Leaving Feast left. Albus has assured us –and Poppy and Severus agree— that he is well enough for those small obligations."

"What's wrong with him?" Molly's hands twitched against the worn surface of the ancient table. "Can we help?"

Snape pursed his lips before answering. His smooth, dark voice flowed and Hermione's hands tightened into thicker knots. "It's a dark magic. The Headmaster has ingested a poison."

"Somebody poisoned him?" Kingsley's deep tones rose in disbelief. And others joined him, anger and fear mixing. They didn't want to lose Dumbledore…and still Harry's expression hadn't changed. He could not openlysupport Professor Snape.

"Finally got your shot, Snape?" Sirius' bitter question cut through the tumult.

Moody barked a laugh. "That's the way of it."

Snape snorted and a curl of a smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "Poisoning you Black would be so much more…worthwhile."

"Have you made certain it wasn't him, Minerva? A dark poison." Sirius tapped his lips his expression distracted, thoughtful. "Who do we know who has access to something like that? Who's thick with dark magic? The favoured right hand of a certain insane wizard? Oh, let me think…"

Snape sneered. "I'm in need of a test subject, Mutt. Are you volunteering?"

Mr Weasley scrubbed his face. "This is not helping. Stop it. Both of you."

Snape lifted his eyebrow, whilst Sirius snorted in disgust and took another heavy swallow from his goblet.

The meeting after that was subdued. There was little news of Voldemort's activities. He'd been suspiciously quiet for most of the year, and Snape could offer little more information. His Dark Lord was building his forces, quietly, steadily. Not risking his strength in some wild display. And the unsaid words. The Vow she and Harry knew Professor Snape had taken for Draco Malfoy. And that Slytherin's task set for him only a couple of months before, at Easter, by Voldemort. Killing Dumbledore. If Dumbledore died, Voldemort would strike…everywhere. The Ministry and Hogwarts would fall.

Harry –after the disaster of trying to retrieve the locket only hours before— felt he had to act. To put their…alternative plan into action. And Hermione agreed with him. Absolutely.

The bench on which Hermione sat scraped back and she pushed herself to her feet. Her nerves surged again. She and Harry had planned this for Hogwarts, but they had to, instead, grab this time. This chance.

"Professor Snape?" Hermione twitched a smile up at the dark man, pulling in every ounce of courage she had. "Could I talk to you for a moment, please?"

His mouth thinned and he gave an impatient flick of his fingers. "Go on."

"In private, sir?"

He frowned, a hint of suspicion lighting his eyes before he waved her forward. She was aware that Harry had left the kitchen and Ron was dawdling at the end of the table. No doubt wanting to talk to her again. She held down a wince. One kiss had been enough to convince her that she and Ron should go no further. But he was still her friend. Soon she'd have to go beyond hints and actively avoiding him and point out that she saw him not as a future partner, but as a brother.

Ron twitched a smile. "Mione?"

"In a minute, Ron, sorry. I have to talk to Professor Snape." And she scrambled from the kitchen and led the way into the library.

Harry stood before one of the long sash windows, staring out into the dark summer night. Hermione shut the door and warded it with everything she had. Silencing spells included. Snape looked between his two students and his frown deepened. His wand hand flexed and Hermione almost panicked.

"We needed to speak to you, sir, about something very important." She waved her hand at her friend and gave him a good glare. "Harry?"

Harry turned from the window, his face still held that cool mask that continued to trouble Hermione every time she saw it. "I know what I am." He tapped his infamous scar. "What this is. What it means."

Snape lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"We've both been played. Used. And I, for one, have had enough."

Harry waved to the two battered couches set before the fireplace. Hermione flicked her wand and flames danced, bringing warmth and light to the dreary room. They sat. Harry and Hermione on one couch. Snape on the other. Hermione was a ball of nerves, whereas Harry was cool and Snape, Snape was himself, elegant, collected, unreadable.

"I suggest, that by working together, we can end this situation."

Snape let out a soft snort. "You would trust me, Mr Potter?"

"Implicitly."

The Potions Master stared at the younger wizard and a quick look of disbelief crossed his harsh features. He frowned and his gaze moved to Hermione. "Why?"

"First, my plan. I don't want to go back to the Dursleys." Harry caught his fingers in his messy hair, the first sign of breaking emotion he'd shown since that moment in the Common Room. Hermione knew he loathed his relatives as much as they loathed him. "Dumbledore…has made me return every break and holiday. When I begged to stay at Hogwarts, he said I needed the protection of blood."

Snape frowned. "You are not happy there?"

Harry's laugh was bitter and something of which even Professor Snape would've been proud. "They starved me. Worked me like a drudge. I lived in a cupboard for eleven years. No, I'm not happy there."

Snape blinked and tension worked away his affected ease. "Albus said nothing of this to me."

"I've come to believe he wants me pliable. Self-sacrificing."

Snape winced. Hermione's stomach turned over. Shit, that proved it. The Headmaster had shared with the Professor what he wanted Harry to do. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from blurting out her anger. She and Harry had put it all together after he'd viewed Professor Slughorn's true memory only a little over a month before. Dumbledore expected Harry to die for the greater good. Bastard.

"You are almost seventeen, Potter. You'll be free of…your mother's family in a few weeks."

Harry sat forward. "I want there to be no doubt. And in that time, I want Sirius to adopt me, while I have the chance." He stared at the low table that separated them. "Even another hour with those…people is one hour too many."

Harry was silent, his shoulders hunched. Pain radiated from him. Hermione pressed a comforting hand to his shoulder. She looked to Snape. "For this to begin, sir, we need the arrest of Peter Pettigrew."

Snape sat back and his eyebrow lifted. "Really?"

"Dumbledore wants me to hunt down the broken pieces of hissoul. Alone. To tell no one."

Harry scrubbed at his face. Yes, even the tight hold he had on his occulumency shields was wavering. Snape's mouth parted and a flicker of something crossed his features. Had he known that Voldemort had fractured his soul to chase immortality?

"Seven fragments. One is a locket. Salazar Slytherin's locket. The one he made me feed him poison to steal tonight. But…it's not the real thing." He passed across a much-folded piece of parchment. "We found a note inside and only have the initials RAB."

Snape stared at the brief note and drew in a breath. "Regulus Black—"

"What in Merlin's name has my brother to do with this!"

Harry's attention jerked to the doorway. "Sirius?"

The young wizard was on his feet as his furious godfather stood at the still-closed door of the library.