He looked at the magazine in front of him in disbelief. He stood in front of the great hall, staring up at the newest addition to the educational decrees on the wall, clutching the shiny paper and struggling to hold in a laugh. He had absolutely no idea how they had managed to pull all this off and he doubted they even realised how well they had played their hand.

Then again, the coldly calculating stare Hermione had worn when she "sheepishly" passed Umbridge their copy of the Quibbler at breakfast had been too intentional for this to be accidental. Merlin, it seemed a group of teenagers had better political savvy than most adults. In getting the interview banned, they had practically forced the ministry to declare that it was worth reading and as such even Lucius Malfoy seemed to have read a copy (which judging by the article which followed Harry's, how would not have been seen dead with otherwise).

Draco was fuming, as were all his Slytherin friends, so he'd actually had to hold an emergency meeting of the 'inquisitorial squad' as Umbridge had begun to call them. The group had yet to become official, but they had been given special permission to meet in the Defence classroom whenever they wanted to "make connections that might prove invaluable in a ministry career."

It had taken a lot to persuade the group that their position in the ministry's eyes was more important than their family honour and he'd had to remind them several times that they would just be helping Potter if they tried to jinx him.

He suppressed another laugh before returning the magazine to his bag and striding down between the tables and dropping down next to Hermione.

'Brilliant, Hermione. Half the country must have read it by now.'

He brushed her mind, the familiar action almost soothing as he perused her surface feelings, only to come up against weak shields. He looked down quickly at his eggs and bacon to hide the way his expression suddenly faltered. Someone had been teaching her Occlumency, someone very good at it. That in and of itself was not a problem, although it made it more difficult to navigate this friendship he was attempting to foster when he didn't know how she was responding to his actions. He could hardly complain that she was developing the additional protection. What was more concerning was who could be teaching her. There were only two options – Snape had proving himself an incompetent teacher when it came to Potter which was common for natural occlumens. That left Albus.

What was the old coot playing at?

It struck him suddenly that it was meant to be against him. Albus was training her to be able to fight him, he was attempting to turn her against him with probably not untrue stories about his past. There was nothing he could do to stop that messy, bloody history from catching up with him. He could hardly lie when it was all so well documented, he couldn't claim any defence.

Feeling suddenly sick he staggered to his feet with as much grace as he could muster. Hermione looked at him in concern but he ignored her, rushing from the hall. He needed privacy, he needed to get up to the room of requirement. Dizziness washed through him and the world spun. He wouldn't make the room. He stumbled, the weight of his fall pushing the massive door open. The slight resistance gave him time to recover and he staggered outside, somehow remaining upright down the stairs.

He didn't remember much of the journey across the bridge, just close ups of smoothed wood as he clutched it to remain upright. He made it across, there was a tree overlooking the lake but better, the hanging branches would conceal him from anyone who came looking. He pushed the branches aside, cutting his hand as he clutched a vine for support, shredding the leaves from the willowy stem as he fell to his knees.

He crawled the last bit as pain seared through his body, seeking the slight added refuge of being behind the tree trunk. Finally he could collapse against the earth, where he panted heavily as spots danced in front of his vision. The pain was getting worse, he had no idea what was happening to him. His teeth ached as he clamped down hard to keep from shouting, his back arched, roots scraping his back as he writhed on the floor.

The pain subsided and he became aware of a voice. Hermione's voice. She had followed him. She hated him now that Albus had told her the truth. She wouldn't let him in again. Agony burned through his chest again, hot like a branding iron and he forced himself not to cry out. He was Gellert Grindelwald, the greatest dark wizard in history. He would not be beaten by this.

When the pain faded again Hermione was gone. He was unsurprised but relieved all the same. A slight tremor sent his head smashing backwards into something soft. A cloak he realised, from the colour. Hermione had left it for him. She was a kind creature, to leave such comfort for a monster. A monster who had killed people like her parents, who had lead their wholesale slaughter. Pain wracked his body again and he forgot the cloak beneath his head as his world exploded in black and yellow.

A cool hand rested on his head, another touched his shoulder, his chest. He managed a shuddering breath. There were voices, a male and a female but he couldn't hear what they were saying. He couldn't have a student find him like this, he had to do something. His magic coiled without his intent, lashing out like a whip at the voices.

A sharp cry of pain and a grunt of effort.

Hopefully they were gone.

They weren't.

Magic brushed over him like a cool breeze, the pain eased and he managed to open his eyes. The magic must have been Albus'. He had his wand out and leaned over Gellert, muttering indistinct incantations. The hand wasn't his though. His eyes rolled up; the hand was Hermione's. A brutal mark slashed across her cheek, her bottom lip trembled as she fought to keep her silvery eyes from releasing a tear. That had been him. He'd hurt her.

Pain seared through him again, unexpected, hot and cold. He cried out, drowning out the soothing words she mumbled. Albus was talking again but he couldn't understand him. He needed something, anything to hold to brace against the pain. His magic flailed; he mustn't hurt Hermione. He hoped Albus would stay, or take Hermione with him. She needed to be safe.

That fire burned through him again. Hermione was talking, murmuring soothing words. He focused on that. Her words and keeping her safe.