A/N: Merry Christmas!

Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.

Please review! ;) Second bonus chapter will be posted later in the day. Please don't forget to spend time with your loved ones. That's what the holiday's really about!

Hermione didn't even choke on her toast when, two weeks later, she opened the morning edition of the Prophet at the Staff Table and saw the headlines. Bellatrix Lestrange had scarcely been in Azkaban for half a month, and she—and the other Death Eaters imprisoned with her—had been freed. She slammed her fork down on the table, quietly furious as she skimmed the article. This was turning into an absurd, macabre game. The Ministry just didn't seem to have the resources to keep a little less than a dozen highly dangerous individuals locked up if the Dark Lord didn't want them there.

She folded it back up and then snapped it on the table beside Severus's plate, as he had been surreptitiously attempting to read it over her shoulder. Along the Staff Table, the other teachers were discussing the breakout—again—in worried undertones. Hermione rested her elbows on the table and tucked her chin over her hands, thinking.

They weren't going to win this war by going after Voldemort's Death Eaters. Hermione already knew that. To put so much time and energy into doing so was a distraction and a wasted effort. It was why she was trying to locate his Horcruxes—or at the very least, one of them—but she was having next to no luck.

No, that wasn't true, Hermione admitted, after a moment's reconsideration. Bellatrix Lestrange had been after something in the castle, but in the dark recesses of her mind, there had been other things she was trying to hide—something important that the Dark Lord wanted, but had not asked of her yet, involving her bank vault. Hermione had already put the clues on that together—the Dark Lord was hiding something, somewhere, and wanted to move it to the safest place of all: Gringott's.

She was certain that it was a Horcrux, and if not Hufflepuff's Cup, then another. The question was—could she find it before Voldemort had it moved to the safety of the Lestrange Vault?

She stared down at her plate, deep in thought. She needed to get out of the castle for a bit and start searching. She had a list of places that might be worth looking, and though she wasn't crossing any of them out, she had a vague sense that Voldemort had not tossed Hufflepuff's cup into another shack or a deep, dark fissure somewhere. He had taken it from Hepzibah Smith, who had been a bit of a packrat—a collector of rare and valuable items—and, from what Dumbledore had shown her, Tom Riddle had very similar magpie-like tendencies of his own.

The ring had come from the shack, so to speak, and returned to the shack. Voldemort could not return the cup to the place he had stolen it from—Hermione was starting to suspect he picked places as carefully as he picked what items to turn his Horcruxes into, because in a sense, both of them were trophies to him—so she was looking at buildings that were both significant to him, and perhaps even grand buildings or places cluttered with other rarities.

Borgin and Burkes was her first guess, since it was where he had worked when he had taken the Cup and Slytherin's Locket from Hepzibah Smith. Hermione had been there more than once, and it certainly fit her criteria—it might not be fancy or prestigious like Gringotts, but it was packed with all sorts of odd, valuable, and often dangerous antiques. After that, the Orphanage had had grown up in was her next guess. If neither of them panned out—well, she'd just keep going down the list.

She got to her feet. She had class in less than ten minutes.

~o~O~o~

Hermione threw her hands into the air.

"I give up," she said, exasperated.

Selenius grinned. Behind him, one of the portraits Hermione had brought into her office was silently applauding. "Checkmate," he said gleefully.

"So," Hermione said, as they set their pieces back to rights for a rematch, "how's school? Hagrid says you've been going down to visit him and Charlie, Sirius says you're ecstatic about the upcoming Quidditch match—but I want to hear it from you."

"I like classes," Selenius said, as he sent his knight forward. "Most of them are interesting. I think someone needs to tell Binns that he's retired two centuries too late."

Hermione couldn't help the snort that escaped her. Selenius laughed.

"He's not retiring yet," she reminded him merrily.

"But Transfiguration is interesting, and Potions is fun, when Dad isn't making one of my classmates cry," Selenius continued. He waited until Hermione had made her move, and then added, "I do like Defense Against the Dark Arts—although I think the sixth years have much more interesting material."

"And how would you know what the sixth years are learning?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I sit with Neville, sometimes," Selenius said. He took out one of Hermione's pawns with a bishop. "Most everyone does their homework in the common room."

"I remember." Hermione smiled ever so slightly. She wasn't sure if Selenius and Harry would ever quite be good friends—Harry was rather caught up in his own thing, and preferred his already tight-circle of people who were closer to his age. Neville was nice to anyone who was good to him, and once you actually sat down and talked with him, he was a good conversationalist. "What about clubs? Aside from Quidditch, of course."

"I tried the chess club. It didn't work out." Selenius frowned, and then his expression relaxed. "I play with Ron Weasley, though. And some of the older Slytherins, usually on Wednesdays."

Hermione, who had reached for her teacup and was about to take a sip, slowly lowered it from her lips. "Who?"

"Draco Malfoy, Tracy Davis, Theodore Nott," Selenius said, with a shrug. "They're not members of the chess club, but they sometimes play in the library."

"And they let you join?" Hermione asked casually, endeavoring to keep her voice perfectly neutral, as though she merely found this interesting and not alarming.

Selenius laughed. "Not at first, of course. But I was annoyingly persistent."

Hermione resisted the urge to cover her face with her hands. On one hand, she was pleased that Selenius hadn't become overwhelmed by the vicious rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor. On the other, she was worried about precisely which Slytherins he had come across.

"Blaise Zabini sometimes plays with them, but he'll never speak to me, he's too much of a snob," Selenius continued, proceeding to knock out Hermione's ill-placed castle. "I also got Terry Boot and Sue Li to join, they're both from Ravenclaw."

"So that's it? You're hand-picking your own chess club?" Hermione asked dryly, wondering if he planned to unite all of Hogwarts by shanghaiing them into playing chess with him.

"I suppose. I hadn't really thought of it that way," Selenius said honestly. "I guess I sort of just annoy them until they give in. I don't think any of them are used to someone hounding them for a chess match—the Slytherins probably think I'm a bit mad, but at least they're good players."

Hermione privately wondered how Severus was going to react to this when she told him, tonight.

~o~O~o~

"I'm surprised it took you so long to find out," Severus remarked that evening, when she brought it up. "Draco came to me a month and a half ago to complain about a nosy little Gryffindor who was willing to sit outside the Slytherin common room with a chessboard until they gave in."

"I'm surprised you didn't deduct points from Gryffindor for that," Hermione remarked dryly.

"I told Draco to take advantage of any opportunity, no matter what form it presents itself in," Severus said levelly, meeting her eyes. "I'd hoped he would take it the right way. Apparently, he did."

Hermione didn't say anything to this. They both knew there was nothing to say—Severus might be acerbic and capricious, and he despised his Death Eater cohorts as much as his wife, but there was no denying that he felt a certain level of responsibility for his Slytherins. The students who were specifically put under his care and guidance, who he looked after for seven years of their life, gave career advice and opportunities, and were under his protection. And if there was one thing to be said about Severus Snape, it was that he didn't shirk his duties. Nor did he let an important educational opportunity for his Slytherins slip through his fingers.

Severus was silent for several long moments, and then he uttered very quietly, "Draco told me that Selenius was almost Sorted into Slytherin, when he finally confronted him about what he was doing. I… don't know if he knew whether to be impressed or horrified."

Hermione could almost imagine it. Poor Draco Malfoy, realizing he was being helplessly manipulated by a Gryffindor who wanted him to be a part of his collection of chess opponents. Hermione considered this for a moment, and then she narrowed her eyes at Severus.

"I can't imagine Slytherins taking a Gryffindor's presence in their dungeons with good grace. Haven't any of them tried to hex him?"

"There have been a few incidents, but he never provokes a fight, and he apparently has a very good Defense teacher," Severus muttered.

"Who?" Hermione asked, curious. "I haven't been teaching the first years to duel."

"He's apparently been practicing with Longbottom," Severus sneered, and Hermione could see that it pained him to admit this. "The boy is criminally abysmal at Potions, but he seems to do well in your classes, and Selenius gleaned enough from him to make my Slytherins a bit wary about trying to pick on him. Rather like you were, back in school."

"Why didn't I know about this?" Hermione asked. "If he'd been hexed, wouldn't Minerva have been told?"

She saw Severus unconsciously lift a finger to his lips, tracing them the way he always did when he was deep in thought. It was the same way she twisted her wristwatch or Gaunt's ring, or chewed on a quill.

"Selenius seems to realize that refusing to tattle gains their trust," he said slowly. "He may be a Gryffindor, but he's cunning and perceptive—he can hold his own against some of them, at least discourage them from attacking by not making himself an easy target, and he doesn't go running off to one of the teachers to punish those who do manage to get him. I don't know if my son is mad or just stupidly persistent in his schemes, but it seems to have worked."

"And the Slytherins—they're willing to keep playing him?" Hermione inquired, curiosity getting the better of her.

"I think they're a bit sore about the fact that they haven't once beaten him."

Hermione might not be able to pinpoint exactly what part of his expression gave it away, but it was clear that he was smugly proud of this.

~o~O~o~

Hermione Disillusioned herself and snuck into the library after classes had ended on Wednesday, and after a short search, found Selenius surrounded by a group of Slytherins at one of the work tables toward the back of the library. Most of them were simply watching, their expressions largely bored or disdainful, even frustrated, but there were two of them that were watching intently—two that Hermione recognized as the ones Selenius said were willing to play him. Blaise Zabini was leaning against one of the bookcases, frowning as the Gryffindor trounced Tracy Davis's queen and claimed checkmate.

Terry Boot and the Ravenclaw girl Hermione recognized as Sue Li were sitting there, though they appeared extremely nervous, outnumbered in this Slytherin's den as they were. But they were also watching, no doubt hoping to figure out how to read Selenius's moves when it was their turn to play him. Another girl sat between the two Ravenclaws, and it took Hermione a moment to realize it was Susan Bones of Hufflepuff.

"I can't believe you lost to the blood traitor," Blaise said disgustedly, as Tracy finally conceded defeat. "Again."

"I'm not a blood traitor, I'm a half-blood," Selenius riposted easily, without missing a beat. "And if it's such a point of pride for you, Zabini, why don't you give it a go?"

Zabini didn't answer him, instead choosing to turn up his nose, as though Selenius wasn't worth his time. Tracy got up, and Draco slid into her seat, his face set, as though this were a Quidditch match and not a simple chess game.

Except that with Selenius, chess was never simple.

"I'll never understand why blood purity is such a big deal with you lot," he said, as they reset the game pieces, and started over. "If it's an issue of magical prowess—"

"Using bigger words won't make your argument any better," one of the watching Slytherins said, sneered.

"If 'prowess' is considered such a big word, you might want to revisit the dictionary for a vocabulary refresher," Selenius responded silkily. "As I was saying, if magical ability," he said, stressing the last word, "is such a big issue, then why are you so upset when people show raw talent? I'd think you'd be glad to get the fresh blood, look at what the lack of it's done to Crabbe and Goyle. They're practically trolls."

Her son had never, in all of Hermione's life, spoken in such a way—at least, not within her earshot. Hermione was therefore unprepared to find that, when faced with his peers, her son was adopting an awful lot of Severus's habits. He was acting like a Slytherin, for all that he wore a Gryffindor tie, and Hermione could see that not only was it making his opponents uneasy, he knew it was making them do a double-take.

Some of the Slytherins shifted uncomfortably, and Hermione could easily see that though Malfoy treated the two boys like bodyguards, they were not well-liked or even respected in Slytherin house, no matter how pure their blood was. Selenius had hit a sore spot.

And his response to this was to merely shrug.

"I mean, I'm not saying you should go for Muggles or anything, but look at Harry Potter. Pureblood father, Muggle-born mother—"

Draco, instead of ordering his rook to move, picked the piece up and bodily slammed him down over one of Selenius's pawns.

Selenius carelessly knocked the piece off the board with a bishop. Draco looked incensed.

"—and given that he's practically playing chicken on the railroad tracks, the number of times he's run into the Dark Lord—"

It was just a tiny twitch, barely a tick, but Hermione saw something unhinge in Draco's jaw, as if something Selenius just said had surprised him. Only Death Eaters, or the children of Death Eaters, tended to pick up Voldemort's title rather than call him You-Know-Who. Hermione twitched at the slip-up.

"—that probably means he's got a fair bit of magical skill," Selenius finished.

"He's an arrogant, self-righteous little prick," muttered Harper, the reserve Slytherin seeker. He was leaning against the shelf beside Zabini, arms folded and looking cross.

"Yes, but that's not the question," Selenius replied patiently, ignoring the fact that the two Ravenclaws and single Hufflepuff sitting next to him looked like they wanted to clamp a hand over his mouth. They couldn't seem to decide whether Selenius was being brave, or just very stupid. "The question is whether having a Muggle-born for a mother is worse than being an inbred Pureblood, and when you conclusively compare Harry to Goyle, it's pretty clear who comes out on top."

"But you do admit that he's an arrogant—"

"Shut up!" Draco snapped suddenly. Everyone turned to look at him, surprised. "I'm trying to think, and I can't concentrate! Stop your bloody yammering! Just stop it!"

They all fell silent. Hermione saw Draco breathe in deeply several times, composing himself, and then he made his next carefully thought-out move.

And then he asked, very quietly, "Do you make a habit of getting into these sorts of arguments at home?"

"Yes, with my father's mother's screaming portrait."

Draco snorted, and Hermione wasn't certain the sarcasm was lost on him. "No wonder you're barmy."

But Hermione could tell—and given how perceptive Selenius was, he knew he would notice too—that Draco's words had no bite behind them, for all they gave the impression of being dismissive.

~o~O~o~

Hermione walked into Borgin and Burkes, wearing a black winter cloak, her face obscured by the hood she wore low over her eyes. Borgin looked up from a box of odd, old-looking coins and put on his best business face. Hermione didn't say a word to him, but merely wandered around the shop, poking here and there, looking at odd things for sale and hoping to find some kind of niche in the shop that someone might have stuffed a golden cup—a place that would make it seem unremarkable, compared to all else that was for sale.

"Can I help you?" Borgin finally asked roughly, after she had spent a quarter of an hour silently perusing his wares.

She merely shook her head and kept looking. The less said, the better. Borgin ran the kind of shop where being a nervous chatterbox made you suspicious—the silent, cloaked types who didn't want to state or discuss their business were his usual customers.

At last, after she had covered the entire shop, Hermione spoke.

"Years ago, you sold Salazar Slytherin's locket to a Hepzibah Smith," Hermione said quietly. Borgin, as far as she knew, had never laid eyes on or done business with Hufflepuff's Cup, but Hermione was fishing for a lead. "What happened to it, after she passed away?"

Borgin scratched his chin, looking thoughtful. "Yes, Burke did sell it to her. We were hoping to buy it back, after the family went through her things, but they never offered."

"There was a young man who worked here around the time she died," Hermione said, her voice low. "What happened to him?"

"He quit," Borgin said flatly.

"Did he ever come back? Perhaps to buy or sell anything?"

She saw Borgin's eyes narrow suspiciously. "No, he never came back. Just quit without warning and left. I haven't seen him, since."

Hermione pondered over this. He could, of course, have sent someone to place the Cup here for him—he had, after all, given Lucius Malfoy his diary. But Hermione suspected he had not, particularly since—now that she thought about it—it would be particularly difficult for him to return to Borgin and Burke's to retrieve it anyway.

"Do you have any other articles here that belonged to the Founders?" Hermione inquired, turning to gaze directly at the man from underneath her hood.

Now Borgin looked interested again, and he seemed to be musing to himself as he went through a mental checklist. "I'm afraid not," he said at last, reluctantly. "Ravenclaw's diadem has been lost for centuries and is her only known relic. Hufflepuff's Cup belonged to Hepzibah Smith, and as far as I know, her family still has it," He sneered, "along with Slytherin's locket. And the only known relic of Gryffindor is his sword, which is kept at Hogwarts."

Hermione's ears perked. Ravenclaw's diadem? She and Dumbledore had both been at a loss as to what the Ravenclaw Horcrux might be, but it seemed that Borgin had finally given her a name to look into.

"Tell me about Ravenclaw's diadem," she said.

Borgin leaned forward, resting his arms on the counter. "I'm not here to give you history lessons, girl. Either buy something, or get out."

Hermione contemplated him for a minute, trying to decide whether he was worth interrogating, but then decided against it. The Cup clearly wasn't here, and she had her next clue, and another place to search. She didn't want to waste the rest of her afternoon attempting to weasel information out of Borgin.

She departed, stepping out into the dark gloom of Knockturn Alley, and then Disapparated with a muted crack. She reappeared in the bustling, busy, overly-crowded street in London—and where the orphanage should have stood, was an office block. Hermione stared at it uncomprehendingly for a moment, not understanding why the orphanage was gone, and then she let out a string of violent swearwords that caused the nearby Muggles passing her to give her odd, worried looks.

Hermione was rather sick of Apparating all over the country now—she had to walk to Hogsmeade and then Apparate just outside of Diagon Alley to get to Borgin and Burkes in the first place—but her two primary locations had turned up nothing. She was starting to get frustrated. Where could it be? It wasn't in Gringotts, not yet. Lestrange was unable to access her vault while she was on the run. The seaside cave where young Tom Riddle had terrorized two young Muggle children was a distinct possibility, but Hermione had not located it yet. The Dark Lord had spent a few good years hiding in the wilderness of Albania, but Hermione rather doubted he had hidden the cup there.

Hogwarts, perhaps? He could have hidden it at Hogwarts. There were so many wonderful and excellent secret passages and small niches in Hogwarts, it would be nearly impossible to find it there, though it was quite possible. Had he returned the cup to the school, and wasted her time on a wild goose chase around the country?

Suddenly, very suddenly, something made Hermione stop in her tracks. The Hogwarts Express. He had attacked the train. The train was still in London, yes, waiting and undisturbed. He had not given Lestrange the cup yet, if that was indeed his plan, because he could not get to it. Platform 9 ¾ was closed and inaccessible unless the train was running.

With a loud crack, Hermione vanished on the spot.

Please review!

-Anubis