Harry stood back, watching the now familiar scenario unfold around him. He remembered the surprise he had felt the first time he had been drawn into another's memories of the past through the use of a pensive. During his fourth year, the memories he had observed had belonged to Albus Dumbledore. The second time he had shared in the memories of another it had also involved Snape. He knew now to stand quietly and watched as the scenario unfolded around him
He found himself standing in the hospital wing, staring down at the broken body of his father. Blood poured from the elder Potter's forehead, coagulating in his messy black bangs. James's glasses were broken, the lenses shattered and the wire frames twisted at an odd angle, as was James's left leg. He looked pale and sallow, his breaths barely filling his chest before being expelled, the inhalations too far apart to be normal.
Harry felt his stomach churn as he looked upon the scene. He wanted to reach out to his father, to help comfort him in any way possible but he knew that this was a wish that just could not be. What he was seeing now was nothing more than a memory. He couldn't become involved, and he couldn't change the past. All he could do was stare on in horror.
He could see Dumbledore standing at his father's bedside, looking slightly anxious, which Harry took as a grave sign. The Headmaster was rarely moved to show any sort of negative emotion. His benign smile was something of a trademark, and Harry knew that any differentia from this was something he should find rather alarming.
Harry turned to the left and saw Snape hanging back by the curtains, obviously having entered the room just as Harry had fallen into his memory. He looked slightly malevolent, though it was obvious that he was trying to hide his true feelings about the situation before him from Dumbledore. His face was inexpressive, but his eyes belied the hatred he felt for Harry's father. Harry shuddered involuntarily. He wasn't comfortable having Snape so near his father, much less knowing that his professor would be performing powerful magic on James.
"Ah, Severus," said Dumbledore, now smiling slightly. "I was hoping you would be able to come on such short notice."
"As though I had a choice." Snape's expression was polite, but his tone of voice gave him away. He looked at James again and Harry could have sworn he saw the greasy hooked nose teenager that was Snape smile slightly. Harry felt hot anger rise within him, but regained control of himself quickly. He knew the outcome of this. He had only to sit and watch.
Dumbledore chose to ignore the disingenuous remark, instead lobbying for Snape's help. "As you can see Severus, there has been a serious accident involving Mr. Potter on the quidditch pitch today. I need your help to ensure his survival." Even as Harry watched, he could see the life slipping from his father. Though he knew that the older man's death would come in a much different time, place and way he still felt a hot lump of anxiety rising in his throat. He wished the two men before him would hurry up.
"Why don't you just ask Madame Pompfery? I would think that she would be far more qualified to handle this situation than am I." Snape turned away as though to leave.
"Stay where you are, Severus," Dumbledore bellowed. "I asked for your help, and now I intend to receive it." His benign smile was all but gone. "I have given you the benefit of the doubt many many times, Severus. Trust me, should you turn away from James in his moment of need that benefit is something you will no longer enjoy." Harry felt fear strike into even his heart, and hoped that the headmaster would never have occasion to speak to him like this. Harry had always been told that Dumbledore was the only wizard Lord Voldemort had ever feared. In the rare instances where the ancient headmaster became angered, he could understand why.
Apparently, Dumbledore's mood change was not lost on Snape either. "I believe blackmail is illegal, headmaster," he said silkily. Harry almost snorted aloud at the irony as he recalled all of the times Snape had reprimanded him for speaking with anything less than utmost respect.
"Severus, I do not believe in blackmail. I believe that we must reach an understanding, and that we must reach it quickly, or James will die. Why I have called upon you for help is irrelevant. It matters only that you help him here and now, and I will do whatever it takes to procure that help from you as quickly as possible." He let that sink in a moment, and continued. "Now, bring your wand over here and help me save James."
Snape stepped slowly to the edge of the bed opposite the headmaster, looking as though he would rather be anywhere else right then. He sighed with resignation and deep loathing. "So long as no one hears of this. Imagine, me helping James Potter. I would be kicked out of my own house."
"Consider it our secret." Dumbledore winked, raising his wand and placing it upon James's heart. "Simply do as I do Severus, and repeat after me."
Harry watched as the two performed incantation after incantation. After the first few, he noticed Snape's head jerk up, and saw him stare at Dumbledore with an expression that was both infuriated and perplexed. After that moment, the recitations came flowing from Snape's moment simultaneously with Dumbledore's. Harry watched the headmaster's shoulders slump, and he realized that the headmaster knew that Snape not only knew the words of the spell, but its implications as well. Snape now knew that he and James were family.
The wands were slowly lowered at the end of the spells. "Now only time will tell," Dumbledore whispered softly. "I thank you for your help, Severus."
Snape was seething. "What the hell was that about? You owe me an explanation, headmaster. That spell is only to be performed by family members in conjunction with a qualified healer. Since I am far from being the latter, I am forced to assume that I have the unfortunate fate of being related to Potter." He practically spat the last words. His hands were clenched and he shook with rage.
"Severus, I must implore you to speak to me with respect, no matter what your emotional state may be." He raised his eyebrows, not smiling. "Your assumption is correct, you and James are related. In fact, you are brothers, twin brothers separated shortly after birth due to extenuating family circumstances. James remains in the custody of your biological parents, and you were adopted into the Snape family." He smiled kindly now, and reached out towards Severus as though to touch the teenager's shoulder.
Snape drew away, his lip curled in a sneer. "You're wrong, headmaster," he said, the silky quality of his voice now gone and having been replaced by a hard, steely tone that could only be described as pure evil. "I don't care if the blood running through our veins is the same. I have no brother." With that, he spun on his heel and marched away, forcing Harry to follow in his wake.
Suddenly, the walls around him began to swirl. When Harry had regained his bearings, the world around him was quite different than the one he had just left. He was standing down in Snape's damp dungeon which looked much the same as it did in the present day. Snape's hair was longer, and there were large dark circles beneath his eyes. His pallor, if it was possible, had an even paler cast to it. As Harry watched, his professor was leaning over a blank sheaf of paper, writing upon the top page with a long black quill.
Suddenly, there was a knock upon the door which made Harry jump. Snape scowled and dropped his pen on the desk, jerking back as chair as he moved to answer the door. "Yes," he said in a voice that plainly stated he wanted no company. Harry couldn't make out the figure on the other side of the door, until it was slowly pulled open to reveal Dumbledore.
The headmaster looked unusually grave. "He's gone, Severus."
"Yes, headmaster. The Dark Mark disappeared an hour or so ago. I can't feel it burning beneath my skin any more. I was hoping it meant he had been defeated." Harry wondered if the last statement was true, but Snape's voice seemed sincere enough.
"Yes," Dumbledore sighed, "it appears he finally found one the avada kedavra couldn't dispose of."
Snape nodded slightly. "If I may, Professor, who was the Dark Lord's final combatant."
"Harry Potter."
"Sir, perhaps I misheard you. I believe you said Harry Potter. Didn't you mean the golden wonder man, champion of wizards and muggles alike, James Potter." Snape glowered. "It figures that it would be him. Everything always has to be about him after all. He never even tries and everyone thinks he is some kind of hero. Of curse, James always got the better end of every deal."
Dumbledore's voice was quiet and he sounded as though he carried with him the weight of the world. "Stop, Severus. Stop before you regret something you say."
"Perhaps I should go congratulate him then. I'll buy him a drink and tell him what a wondrous job he's done of making the world safe for wizards and muggles alike." Snape rolled his eyes facetiously.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Severus."
"Why is that?"
"Because," said Dumbledore in the voice of one that would never stop feeling the hurt, "James and Lily are dead."
"But you said that someone survived the curse and that was what destroyed the Dark Lord."
"It James's son, Severus. It was your nephew, Harry."
Snape turned away from Dumbledore then, and sat back down at his desk, resuming his writing. For uncountable minutes, Dumbledore stood watching the Potions Master shaking his head in what Harry could only discern to be angry disbelief. At last Snape turned around. "I thought we were through, headmaster. Did you need me to show you out?"
"The boy is your nephew, Severus. Don't you care what happens to him?"
"I've told you a thousand times, I have no brother. Therefore, I have no nephew either."
"He's going to go live with his muggle relatives."
Severus said nothing, he merely continued writing. After a moment, he looked up again. "Headmaster, you know how I feel about James. That's all you need to know to see how I feel about the boy. I'm sorry James is dead, but I'm far more relieved that the Dark Lord is gone. Now, if you please, I have urgent lesson plans to attend to."
Dumbledore shook his head again. "Good evening, then, Severus." The headmaster opened the door to the hallway and Harry heard a voice and felt a hand gripping his right shoulder. "Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter you must hurry! Please Harry Potter, Sir must leave the pensive."
Harry felt as though he were rushing towards the surface of the ocean depths. Colors and sounds were swirling dizzily around him as he returned to Snape's office in present-day Hogwarts. Dobby was excitedly standing on the desk gripping Harry by the shoulder as the boy pulled his head from the pensive.
"Dobby heard Snape return to his living quarte5rs, sir. Sir must hide quickly!" Dobby helped Harry to pull the invisibility cloak over his head, and pushed his back into a corner safely out of harm's way just as Snape stormed into the office.
"What is all this racket? Elf, what is going on in here? Explain yourself at once!" Snape was in as bad a humor as Harry had ever seen him. He was staring at Dobby with the special look of loathing he usually reserved especially for Harry.
"Dobby was dusting sir. Dobby found this bowl, and Dobby was trying to clean it out. The filth was stubborn, sir, and Dobby was yelling at it. Dobby is sorry to have disturbed sir." The house elf hung his head in shame, but winked at Harry's corner, pointing a long finger towards the exit.
Harry needed no further encouragement. Quietly and swiftly, he crept towards the door, still listening as Snape ranted on. "You have no right to be in my storage cabinet elf, or to try to interfere with my personal things. That is a valuable item, and great damage could have been done if you had succeeded in removing its contents, or worse yet if you had seen them. Never come back here again! I'll clean my office myself. I'm sure I would be far more confident and adept than you or any of your kind!"
Harry watched Dobby scuttle past him, and saw Snape pick up the pensive and slam it down on the shelf of the storage cabinet. Quickly, Harry ran for the exit, hoping to escape before Snape could catch him. He felt his cloak catch on something, and it pulled away from his head. Snape's footsteps were coming nearer and nearer. He had to get out of there.
He yanked on the cloak, freeing it, and replaced it to cover him completely. His hand touched the doorknob, and he pulled it open. Just as he was slipping through to the outside world, Snape entered his living area. Harry's heart began to beat so loudly he was certain that Snape could hear it. He stepped back slowly, careful not to make any noise. Fortunately, Snape was in such a bad humor at Dobby he blamed the open door on the elf. "Dammed incompetent servants. How are they supposed to care for the castle when the can't eve shut a door." He growled out the words and slammed the heavy oak door with such force that Harry felt the cloak blow away from his ankles.
Not wasting a moment, Harry ran for it. He screamed out the password three times to wake the fat lady in her portrait hole. He burst through, and only then did he begin to breath again. All of the incidents tonight had been too close for comfort.
He looked up towards the stairs, but suddenly felt too weary to climb them. He made his way over to the couch in front of the fireplace and stretched out upon it, covering himself with his invisibility cloak, letting sleep help him to make sense of his new life.
* * *
Hermione looked around the great hall the next morning, her eyes bleary and surrounded by deep dark circles. She had not slept at all the night before, her encounter with Harry had so greatly disturbed her. She knew her pain was nothing compared to his. She took a deep breath, hoping to see him, but, at the same time, hoping even more not to.
She spotted Ron at the end of the table, a messy head of black hair seated across from him. Taking a deep breath, she mustered her courage, wondering why things always had to be so difficult, and headed for her friends. She had nearly reached them, but neither had yet looked up. Suddenly, she was headed off by Ginny.
"Hermione, um," Ginny bit her lower lip, and stole a quick glace at Ron and Harry, "why don't you just sit with me and the other girls today? We're planning a trip to London over the holidays for a bit of shopping. It would be great if you would join us." She smiled broadly, waiting for a response.
Ginny was too enthusiastic, too happy. Hermione wondered what had been said before she had reached breakfast to cause Ron's sister to head her off so quickly and completely. Hermione didn't smile back. "What's going on, Ginny?"
Ginny sighed. "You really, really have to ask."
Not really, no.
When Hermione didn't answer aloud, Ginny continued. "Harry is really upset, Hermione. I know he shouldn't blame you, but he is anyway. I think he's having trouble dealing with everything, and he's going to try to make it better by taking it out on you because he doesn't know what to else to do."
"Why does he think taking his problems out on me is going to make them any easier to face? That's so childish. Doesn't he understand that I didn't tell him about Snape because I knew he would feel this way?" Her recent lack of sleep was bringing her to the point of hysteria. "Why can't he understand that I handled things the way I did because I do care about him?" She bit her lip, fighting back the tears and breathing deeply to balance herself. She would not cry. Damn it, she would not cry.
"Hermione," Ginny pleaded, "please just come sit down with me. Come talk with me and Parvati and Lavender, and take your mind off Harry for a minute."
"How can I forget about this, Ginny?"
"Please, Hermione, sit down."
Hermione looked around, and saw that students from around the hall were staring. She didn't want to sit down, but she didn't want to field questions about her near breakdown and what had caused it. She smiled bravely and followed Ginny to the table resignedly. Girl talk wasn't something she really enjoyed under the best of circumstances, but perhaps Ginny was right and some low-key babbling would help to take her mind off the disaster her life had become.
She sat in almost stony silence, only occasionally interjecting comment or offering a slight smile. She picked at her food, shoving it around her plate to make it look as though she were eating, and occasionally taking a bite to keep from having to become totally immersed in the conversation. After spending what she felt was a polite amount of time at the table, she excused herself, feigning that she had left a bit of homework in Gryffindor tower and had to run back and retrieve it before Transfiguration.
Once past the entrance hall, she broke into a run, panting by the time she had reached the portrait hole. She had to escape from the wondering glances of her fellow students, from her duties as a prefect, from friends who meant well but never quite got it right. By the time she landed on her bed she was in tears.
Her body racking with sobs, she reached into the drawer of her nightstand and pulled out "A Wizard's Guide to Writing With the Spirit." Desperately, she leafed through the pages, waiting for the familiar sensation as she was transported to the intermediary world between her life and the Spirit Realm. At last, she felt the world spinning around her.
She landed on her feet and immediately began pacing, growing impatient for the Spirit to appear. She felt as though there was nothing in her that could wait any longer for help with her problems. After a few lengthy moments, he appeared. "Ah, Hermione," he smiled slightly. "How can I be of service to you?"
"I have to write a letter." She reached out to him, her hands open for quill and parchment.
He shook his head slightly. "Very well then." A small desk with writing supplies appeared in the far corner.
Quickly, she moved to the desk and sat down. Her hand shook as she began to write: "Dear Sirius Black..."
* * *
Ron looked around the transfiguration classroom. "Harry, where do you reckon Hermione is, mate?"
"Probably with her new best friend Snape. They're probably having a good time talking about me right now. Maybe he can tell her all about the night my father died. She'll probably like that story. He was so busy doing work and caring only about himself that it didn't even bother him."
Ron looked at him in askance. "Come on, mate. Hermione's not like that."
"I never thought so before. But, I also never thought that she would have forgotten to tell me that Snape is my uncle."
"Quiet," said Ron sharply. "Do you want the whole school to know? Besides, she didn't "forget" to tell you. She chose not to because she thought it would be best, not because she wanted to hold it over you or something. You have to consider the motives, Harry."
"What motives would we be considering, Mr. Weasley?" McGonagall asked sharply, looking up from the mouse she was transforming into a guinea pig.
Ron's cheeks burned to match his hair. "Um, yours, professor. Harry here was wondering why we have to transform mice so often."
"Because they're easy to transform, Mr. Weasley." She looked sternly at the two of them. "What motives did you believe I had?"
"I thought it was because you can transform into a cat. I thought maybe you had a special hatred for mice."
Ron thought he saw her lips twitch slightly, but he couldn't be sure. "See me after class Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley."
"Nice job, Ron," Harry glowered.
Ron shrugged. At least Harry seemed to have forgotten about Hermione for the moment. Ron, however, had not. He frowned with concern, wondering what could have happened to her.
* * *
Hermione appeared seemingly none the worse for wear and looking slightly more chipper than she had when Ron had sneaked a peek at her down the length of the breakfast table earlier that morning. Despite Harry's glare, Ron seated himself next to the brunette. "What happened to you this morning, Hermione? I saw you at breakfast, but then you were absent from transfiguration. Is everything all right?"
Hermione wondered why people always seemed to ask such thick questions. After everything that had happened in the past few days, how could everything possibly be all right? She fought the urge to shake Ron and ask him where his mind had been, instead answering, "Fine, I just had a bit of a headache is all."
Ron nodded, seeming satisfied with the all-purpose lie that everyone seemed to believe when it was a pithy excuse, but no one accepted when it was actually true. Hermione turned away, attending to her materials for the days potion, but it was hard to keep her mind on the lesson, so distracted was she by the prospect of Sirius's reply.
"Ron," she heard Harry whisper loudly, "is this supposed to turn brown and chunky after you add the cloven hooves?"
Ron looked slightly alarmed. "I don't think so mate. Maybe we should ask Hermione." He turned to the girl "Herm…"
Harry cut him off. "No way, Ron. I'd rather ask Snape. At least he might tell me."
Hermione felt herself shake with a mixture of sadness and rage. How could Harry Potter, The Golden Boy Who Lived be so incredibly shallow? Why couldn't he understand? She bit her lip, counting to ten first in English, then in Spanish, then in French, trying to quell her ferocious anger, but it was to no avail. Her fury suddenly erupted like a volcano.
"What is it that I have to do to make you forgive me, Harry? I don't understand why it's so hard for you to comprehend the events that have gone on thus far. When did you become so thick?" She slammed her potions book down, slopping a measure of her completed Searing potion into a vial. Furious, she stormed up to Snape's desk, depositing her completed project, robes billowing around her.
Snape was unmoved by her melodramatic display. "Miss Granger, if you have finished the potion you may turn it in without all of the fanfare. Ten points from Gryffindor for constantly annoying me. Now sit down and be quiet. The lovers-quarrels between you and Potter are of no interest to the class." He turned back to Potions Quarterly, his face neutral.
Hermione's cheeks burned with shame. "What's the matter, Granger?" asked Malfoy with an evil grin upon his face. "Did you and Potty have a fight?"
"Shut up, Malfoy," she snapped, glaring at him as though she dared him to say another word. Malfoy, as he knew what was good for him, said nothing.
Snape, however, was not so passive. "A further fifteen points from Gryffindor for your ridiculous melodrama. Miss Granger, kindly leave your personal problems behind when you come to class and spare us all the humiliation of watching your pitiful dramatic interpretation of you and Potter's love gone bad."
Malfoy smirked evilly at her. Hermione clenched her teeth, not daring to let the words she would have liked to say slip through her thinned lips. She could feel Snape's eyes boring into the back of her head and moved on towards her seat, fuming. She sat down and crossly folded her arms, shutting her eyes and breathing deeply, saying her alphabet first in English, then in French, then in Greek. Suddenly, she felt a presence standing behind her. She turned around sharply. "Malfoy." She said, eyes narrowing.
"What amazing powers of observation you have, Granger." He raised his eyebrows ever so slightly and cocked his head a bit to the left.
"What do you want, Draco?"
'Look there, on the desk." He grinned and moved away from her slightly. Hermione glanced towards the desk, not knowing what to expect. What she saw paralyzed her in horror. One of Malfoy's cronies, Crabbe, was standing there doing a bizarre dance in a puddle of potion as he tried to keep his shoes from becoming completely melted on the floor. Hermione noticed that Crabbe was still holding his own vial in his hand.
"Ow! Professor, help me, please." Crabbe tried to jump up and down, but it was too difficult for him, the heels having turned into a hot, gummy mess that was rapidly hardening to the stone floor of the dungeon.
Snape rolled his eyes. "Clumsy idiot boy. I leave my desk for one moment to procure ingredients for my next class, and you manage to knock someone's potion to the floor." Snape shook his head slightly, raising his wand.
"I didn't do it, Professor," Crabbe howled, obviously in horrific pain. "I swear it was already broken. I just didn't see it there and I stepped in it." He tried to jump again, and this time succeeded in freeing h9is left shoe from the gelatinous mess of simmering rubber it had become. Unfortunately, that boy was by no means graceful, and he had stumbled sideways. Without a sole on his shoe to protect him, his foot landed directly in the potion.
"I'm surrounded by idiots," Snape glowered, flicking his wand slightly. "Firigidouso!" Instantly, the puddle cooled into ice. Crabbe whimpered as he gingerly stepped down on his blistered feet, picking up his newly distorted shoes. Gingerly, he walked away as best as he could, Malfoy snorting in sarcastic glee.
"You are evil," Hermione glared at him. "I thought he was your friend."
"What good are friends if they can't provide you with a little entertainment now and then? Nice dancing, Crabbe," he said as the boy walked past." Crabbe grinned slightly, as though he were afraid to snap back at the blond boy and continued on. Malfoy turned back to Hermione. "Speaking of entertainment, have a listen."
Hermione, disgusted by Malfoy's callousness, turned her attention back to Snape, who was now picking up shards of the broken bottle. "Reparo," he said, pointing his wand at the tiny glass slivers. He turned the newly fixed bottle around so he could read what was left of the label. Suddenly, his eyes filled with something Hermione could have only described as sadistic glee. "Well, Miss Granger, it appears that none of your potion survived to be turned in. Your first 'F'."
"My first what?' she squeaked, eyes widening in horror. Could it be that that was really her vial Snape held in his hand, the contents frozen solid on the floor of the dungeon?
"'F'," said Snape. "It means 'fail'."
Malfoy smirked. "What's the matter, Granger? Going to run away crying?"
Hermione hung her head as she gathered up her materials and stuffed them haphazardly into her schoolbag. She wanted to protest to Snape, tell him that it was obvious that the potion she had concocted had been done correctly, for it had been effective in burning Crabbe's shoes from his feet, but she knew it would be no use. Not only had Snape already made up his mind, the words sounded terrible and cold as they resounded in her head. She hoped, for a moment, that one of her friends might step in on her behalf, but as she tried to make eye contact with Harry he looked away. Ron shrugged feebly, following Harry up the steps and out of the dungeon.
Slowly, and with an effort that took much out of her, Hermione ascended the steps, trying to pull herself back together. Her steps quickened as she neared the exit, Malfoy trailing along directly behind her.
"How did that feel, Granger?"
She turned around to face Malfoy. She wanted to be spiteful, but, for the moment, it felt as though her spirit had been all but drained from her. "How d you think it felt, Malfoy?"
His face assumed a look of pure arrogance. She could see him draw his shoulders back and lift his chin up, conceit dripping from his every pore. "I really wouldn't know. It was quite amusing to watch, however. My little moment of carelessness worked out far better than I ever could have expected."
Hermione looked at him incredulously. 'What are you saying?"
He shrugged slightly, raising his eyebrows. 'I went up to hand my potion in, and I accidentally caught the vial furthest back with the sleeve of my robe and knocked it off of the desk. I didn't want to get a detention, so I just stepped away, as Snape was preoccupied in the supply room. I knew it had to be yours. You always turn everything in first. That's what you get for showing off, I suppose. Anyway, not only did I get to watch Crabbe's pathetic attempt at dancing, I got to witness your first failure. All in all a quite satisfying day."
Hermione felt a twinge of her spirit returning as fire burned deep in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to smack him, o curse him where he stood, but, being down in the damp corridors of the dungeons, she was too deep within Slytherin territory. "I hope that someday you get what you deserve, Draco," she said menacingly.
He put a finger on his chin as though contemplating the idea. "Not likely," he said at last. "I am a Malfoy, after all. Anyway, I'd best be leaving. I wouldn't want anyone to see me speaking with you." He turned away, walking down a set of stairs off to the let, leaving Hermione very much alone. In this case, however, she decidedly preferred the company of herself.
* * *
Harry barely glanced up as he caught sight of Hermione walking through the portrait hole after dinner that evening. Ron had been inquiring everyone he could find as to her whereabouts, but no one seemed to know. The fact that she had turned up missing was of little concern to Harry. Hermione had gone too far this time. It was one thing to keep secrets from people; it was another entirely to assume you had the power to determine their best interests. That was for parents to decide, but, as Harry angrily reminded himself, all he had was an ill assortment of Aunts and Uncles, all wicked and sinister in their own ways. He had always had to decided what was best for himself, not them, and certainly not Hermione.
She looked shaken and bereaved, he noticed as she threaded her way through the throngs of people cluttering the common room that evening. It was almost as though she were only there in physical form, as though her body were going through the motions without a soul to guide it. Though he knew it was cold and callous of him, Harry could hardly bring himself to feel for her. His life had been a living hell since the moment Voldemort had claimed the lives of his mother and father. Every time he thought the nightmare was over, a new grisly chapter was written. Over time, he had developed a certain hardness of heart that comes with circumstance. If Hermione was having difficulty dealing with her role in Harry's dilemma he was certain it was nothing compared to what he was going through.
"Hermione's back," he said nonchalantly to Ron, hoping to wipe the deepening furrows from his brow that had been present since the end of Potions that afternoon. He didn't want to tell him, really. He didn't want Hermione to come over and join them. He didn't want to have to see her right now. He felt he owed it to Ron, though, for though he and Ron had had their share of rows, the red head had oft been loyal to the boy with the lightning shaped scar.
"I reckon you'd rather I went to talk to her in private?" it was not a question so much as it was Ron asking for permission to change sides, to cross the battlefield and enter into enemy territory. Harry shrugged slightly, and Ron jumped to his feet. Harry was slightly wounded by his quick exit, but shrugged it away. Ron would be back in a moment. Though, for the moment Harry was none too fond of Hermione Granger, he knew she would do nothing to dissuade Ron from associating with him.
He turned back to the game of wizard's chess, calculating his strategy for Ron's return. A move here, a move there and he could checkmate. Of course, Ron was too clever at chess to allow Harry to win so easily and quickly. It was a game of thought, a brutal game where making the wrong judgment often ended in a spectacular spray of stone as the pieces battled and decapitated one another.
Just now, Harry saw it as somewhat of a metaphor for his life. The game had been going well, not perfectly, but he had been getting on with it. Then Hermione had made a wrong judgment. Now he felt as though his heart had been sprayed everywhere. Though, somewhere deep, deep within him he knew she had meant him no harm and that he was, in effect cursing the messenger, he couldn't bring himself to terms with her, for to do so would mean having to face what was left of his life. Right now, he stared, fascinated at the shattered pieces of reality lying scattered at his feet, too disheartened to pick them up and put them together yet again. Instead he waited, and he watched, not really wanting anything, but at the same time hoping for everything.
* * *
Hermione stopped at the foot of the stairs; turning to face Ron who, looking winded, had just appeared behind her. She smiled slightly. "How's Harry?"
"He's fine, Hermione. He's just having a bit of a snit. Never mind him, though. How are you?" Ron looked deeply concerned, and with good reason. Gone was the Hermione he used to know. The bright, vivacious girl he had called his friend was now lost somewhere, deeply embroiled in a battle with demons she couldn't quite conquer. In her place was a husk and semblance of the thing, still kind, still unequivocally gifted, but no longer the special, brilliant young woman she had been before all of this mess had come about. Ron knew that she was in there somewhere; it was simply a matter of pulling her out.
"I'm," she licked her lips, which had suddenly become dry, and started again, "I'm," this time she looked puzzled and scared. "I don't know what I am." She hung her head slightly, shoulders shifting forward as though adjusting the burden she carried with her to a more manageable place.
Ron didn't quite know what to do. He wasn't absolutely positive how handle a woman on the verge of an emotional breakdown. He felt large and stupid standing there next to her, and he cursed himself for being such a bumbling fool with girls. He stared at her like a deer in the headlights, and she looked at him with a mixture of confusion and concern.
'Are you sure you're quite all right, Ron?"
"Uh, um, yeah." He stared at his feet for a moment, as though they had suddenly become rooted to the floor and he was contemplating how to free them. Suddenly, he brightened a bit. "Say, would you like to make rounds with me this evening?'
Hermione almost smiled. Almost. "After what happened last time with Harry and Snape? No thank you."
Ron looked over where he had left Harry. The bespectacled boy was staring off into space, an angry expression on his face, paying absolutely no attention to Ron and Hermione. "I think we could leave him here this time. We can go, just the two of us."
This time, Hermione did smile. "I'd like that." She leaned forward as though to hug him, then thought better of it. "I'll meet you here at nine o'clock. Thanks, Ron."
Ron had the feeling she wanted to say more, but nothing further transcended her thoughts to become words. "Nine o'clock, then," he said, backing away to rejoin Harry.
Now he had only to find a way to escape Harry Potter.
* * *
Hermione lay upon her bed in her bedchambers, staring at the clock. She still had an hour and a half before she had to meet Ron. Idly, she drew open her bedside drawer, her fingers lithely touch A Wizard's Guide to Writing With the Spirit, before she thought better of it. It wouldn't be until tomorrow that she would be able to receive the reply from Sirius, and writing another letter without first listening to his answer seemed like a waste of effort.
She had asked Sirius about James. She wondered what he was like when they were schoolmates at Hogwarts. She wanted to know how much resemblance there was between Harry and his father. Then she had asked Sirius about Snape. Though she knew the two had loathed each other in life, she felt that it was possible that Sirius Black, Harry's recently deceased godfather, would be able to give her a bit of insight to the potions master. She had to understand why Snape had so loathed James. It had to stem deeper than everything she already knew of; deeper than the jealousy, deeper than the house rivalries, and deeper even than the blood that coursed identically through their veins, though she had been careful to omit this last knowledge on Sirius, for he had never known of the bond between James and Severus in life. She felt that it was not her place to spread the knowledge to him now, even though he was post-mortem.
She had desperately wanted to ask him how to handle the situation with Harry, knowing how fond the two had mutually been of each other, but no matter how she had worded the question on the parchment, it had never seemed quite the proper thing to ask, so she had let it slide, supposing that help of that sort was going to have to either come from another source, or stem from somewhere inside of herself.
Caught up in her wondering, she startled as she heard a soft thumping on the door. "Come in," she said weakly, certain it would be one of the first or second years girls in search of a makeover or some girl talk with Parvati and Lavender. Instead, the visitor was for her. Hermione sat up, resting her back against the eclectic collection of pillows she had acquired while at Hogwarts. "Ginny, hi. I wasn't expecting you."
Ginny looked slightly put out. "Oh, are you busy? I could come back at another time if that would be better."
"No." Hermione shook her head violently, suddenly desperate for the company of another living human being. "I didn't mean for you to leave. I was just surprised you came up here is all. I don't get very many visitors." She smiled softly, and chuckled low and short in her throat to make light of the comment. Though she hadn't intended for it too, it had sounded bitter upon escaping her lips.
Ginny walked over to an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room and plopped down, fiddling with the Wizarding Wireless Network receiver on the dresser adjacent to the chair. 'What's up?"
"What do you mean?"
"I never see you anymore. Not since this summer, at least. Ever since we came back to school it's like you've been hiding. You're either in the library or you're up here in your room."
Hermione shrugged the question away. "I've always been fond of the library."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean." Hermione said nothing, just hugged her knees and stared forward across the room. Ginny continued, "tell me what's wrong."
A tear trailed down Hermione's cheek and she angrily brushed it away. Breaking down was for the weak. The salty droplet made her feel inadequate as she stared at the throw covering her feet which depicted the Gryffindor house crest. "Everything," she whispered softly, her insides burning with the weight of her admission.
'Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Do you want me to stay with you?"
"If you want."
Ginny sat in the chair quietly, humming along with the music that spewed through the transceiver. Hermione breathed deeply and concentrated on the mental control techniques she had studied over the summer after Voldemort had manipulated Harry into breaking into the Ministry of Magic and searching for Sirius. Though her knowledge had thankfully never been exploited to testing on the battlefield after its abysmal failure against Snape, it had been proving itself somewhat useful over the past few weeks. Sometimes, it was easier to just push her problems aside. Some part of her feared, however, that perhaps she had tried to push too much aside and was now reaping the benefits of her minute reprieves in the form of intense and unending psychological pain.
"Ginny," Hermione said nearly a half an hour of relative silence later.
"Yes?"
"Do you think he hates me?"
Ginny screwed her face slightly as she though about her reply. Hermione waited in a statuesque posture. She was in no hurry. At last the youngest Weasley spoke. "No, I just think he feels like he has to hate someone. He can't hate his grandparents, he never knew them. He can't hate Dumbledore because he was following his father's wishes. He can't hate Snape, at least not in a way that could hurt him, because he's a teacher. That leaves you. He has to hate you, because right now it keeps him from hating himself."
"He didn't do anything though! Neither did I, for that matter, or anyone else."
Ginny held up her hands in mock surrender. "I know. He has to figure that out for himself, though."
Hermione thought on that for a moment, and realized that her younger friend was right. "Ginny," she smiled, "how did you get so smart?"
The red head smiled at the praise, taking it in stride "No trouble, really. With six brothers, I've seen and been in enough rows to know that most of them come about for three reasons: money, the opposite sex, and doing everything possible not to have to hate yourself, even if it means hating someone else instead."
Hermione sat back and contemplated just how eerily right she was.
* * *
"Ready to go?" Ron asked, tapping his foot impatiently as Hermione approached the portrait hole at one minute after nine. 'I thought you would never show up."
"I'm only one minute late."
Ron ignored her, and crawled through the portrait quickly. This time, Hermione felt a lot lighter about their wanderings. It was nice to know Harry wasn't tagging along in the invisibility cloak, bring with him a penchant for disaster and mischief. This time, they would be able to make their rounds in peace, talk quietly amongst themselves, and then head off to bed without having any points deducted from their house for anyone's being inappropriately out of bed after hours.
"Harry was a bit peeved when I told him he had to stay behind when I made the rounds tonight." Ron shook his head ruefully. "You'd think I was going out here to join some wild party or something from the look on his face."
Hermione didn't know why anyone would want to wander about on the prefect's rounds unless they were a prefect and they had to. All in all, it was rather a boring aspect of the job. Whenever a situation did arise, it usually upset Hermione to have to punish anyone. She did her job the way she was expected to do it, and she did enjoy the perks that went with it, but all in all it was nothing glamorous. "I don't know why he wants to come all of the time anyway," she voiced aloud.
Ron shrugged. "You've got me." He wanted to say it was because Harry was probably afraid he would miss something if he did not, but Ron was too loyal to voice such an opinion. Everyone had character flaws, after all, and seeking out danger and trouble happened to be one of Harry's.
Hermione turned slightly towards him as they rounded a corner. "How did you manage to persuade him to stay behind."
Ron coughed slightly, turning red. "I told him you were coming."
"Oh," was all she could think of to say.
They walked on in a silence that was neither comfortable nor truly awkward. There was nothing and no one lurking about this evening. Hermione suggested they head back to the tower, and Ron quickly acquiesced, having grown bored with their tour. Conversation returned, and the two chatted amiably until Hermione saw something that stopped her in her tracks. "Malfoy," she whispered.
"What about him?" Ron asked, clearly puzzled. 'I know he's a slimy git, Hermione, but he's a prefect too. We can't punish him for walking about the corridors. Too bad," he amended a moment later. 'I would rather love to have Snape give him a detention."
Hermione quickly relayed to Ron what had transpired following his and Harry's departure from Potions class that afternoon. She tried to make light of it so as to impede Ron's brotherly instinct of protection. She wasn't very successful, and Malfoy certainly didn't help.
"Hello Weasel King, Princess of Failure," he sneered, tuning his nose in the air as though he smelled something foul upon his upper lip. Ron didn't miss the gesture.
"What's the matter Malfoy? Smell the stench of the dark side on yourself?"
"Ron," Hermione said firmly, grabbing him by the arm, "let's go. He's not worth it." Ron, however, did not budge. This presented Hermione with somewhat of a dilemma. She could either hex him into submission and drag him away, avoiding trouble but giving Malfoy a veritable treasure trove of new insults to use against him, or she could lower her voice and hope that he would get the subtle point and tone himself down. She opted for the latter. "Come on, Ron," she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. 'Let's go. There is absolutely nothing to see here." She spun on her heel, and Ron started to follow. They made it three steps away before Malfoy started in on them.
'That's it, run away. It' so stereotypical, so fitting. The mudblood and the champion of muggles turn away from a fight they know they've lost without even so much as showing a little spirit and trying to win." Malfoy laughed, but it was not a pleasant sound.
That was all it took, and Ron was beyond control. "Expeliramus," he bellowed, pointing his wand at Malfoy's heart. The blond boy opened his eyes wide with surprise as he flew backwards against the cold stone wall of the corridor. He crumpled to the floor and sat still.
"Come on, Hermione," Ron said, turning away.
"Ron," Hermione looked on in horror, "we can't just leave him here. He could be seriously hurt."
"He wouldn't care about either one of us."
Ron had a point, but still Hermione couldn't bring herself to walk away. It would be one thing to leave him were he conscious and decidedly uninjured, but it was quite another to leave him in his current state of stupor. Hermione had many times been witness to the havoc and carnage Ron's wand could wreak. Even the simplest spells had a habit of going awry with the patched together hand me down wand he now held which didn't quite match him, and which energies he couldn't quite channel. "No, Ron. If we leave him here, then we're no better than him."
Ron knew the battle was lost. "Fine. We'll use a levitation spell and float him on down to the Slytherin dormitory. We can knock on the door, deposit him there, and run away.
"You have exactly one part of that plan correct." Hermione snapped, her temper all but lost. "We'll float him to the hospital wing where someone can have a good look at him."
"I'll get in trouble!" Ron gaper at her, open mouthed. "Hermione, please."
Hermione was torn between doing what was right and doing what she wanted to do. She didn't want Ron to be in trouble, and she really was not at all fond of Malfoy. She acquiesced. "Fine, we'll float him down to Slytherin." Ron punched the air with glee, "but I want to stay there, hidden, until someone finds him and takes him to the hospital wing."
"Fine," Ron glowered.
Hermione performed the levitation spell on him, and he floated eerily door the corridors much as Snape had on the passage from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts beneath the whomping willow back in their third year. Hermione was far more careful with Draco than Sirius had been with Snape, however, and made certain not to let his head smack into the ceilings, despite Ron's repeated pleadings that it would serve him right.
Suddenly, a door slammed open to their left. Hermione hadn't even noticed what part of the castle they were traveling in due to her intense concentration in steering Malfoy down the hallway and had forgotten to urge Ron to be quiet as they passed by Snape's office.
"What is going on here," the Potions master demanded, looking as though he had just crawled from his bed, yet wearing a pressed and pristine uniform. 'Why is Malfoy lolling about in mid-air?"
"Uh, he likes it up there?" Ron suggested feebly. Hermione cringed, wishing he had simply said nothing.
"He does, does he? He seems rather bored as though he has fallen asleep."
"Yeah, that was it," said Ron, inwardly laughing that Snape could be so thick. Hermione was not laughing. She knew better.
"You expect me to be foolish enough to believe such a tale? Even for a friend of Potter's, your stupidity knows no bounds. Bring him down at once, Miss Granger."
Hermione did as she was told, and Snape quickly revived the boy, asking him what had happened. "They attacked me from behind, Professor." Draco moaned as though in agony, but Hermione saw him wink, though Snape did not. "They snuck up on me and attacked for no reason. I hit the wall, and then I passed out."
"Liar," said Ron. He tried to tell Snape his version of the story, which made Draco sound even fouler than he actually had been, but Snape wanted to hear nothing of it.
"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, and Potter, who is probably lurking about somewhere." He interrupted himself briefly, turning to Draco. "Malfoy, did you see Potter?"
"Yes," Malfoy said, eyes gleaming. "He was the one that attacked me."
Hermione snarled, "I thought you said you were unknowingly attacked from behind!"
"I turned at the last second. His hideous scar was the last thing I saw before I woke up here."
"Well," Snape addressed the Gryffindors, "Did you send Mr. Potter back to Gryffindor tower after the enormity of what he had done sank into your feeble little minds?"
Hermione wondered how Snape could so easily believe the obviously fabricated story that Draco was spilling forth. "Harry wasn't with us, sir."
"I stunned him,' said Ron, suddenly not caring that he had. So what if he was expelled? Fred and George, his twin brothers, had done things a hundred times worse and never had to endure any consequences.
"Regardless of who did it, as in the past the happy duty of removing you from the ranks of this school does not rest with me. Three hundred points from Gryffindor. That's one hundred for each of you, including Potter. In the morning, the three of you will be paying a visit to the Headmaster, whom I can only hope will have the good sense to expel you." He turned to Draco "Mr. Malfoy, are you feeling well enough to return to your common room?"
Malfoy made a great show of rising from the ground where he had been lying as though he were weak and dizzy. 'I think so, sir. As long as Potter's not roaming the halls rampaging with his wand, I should be able to make it."
"A simple yes or no will suffice next time, Draco." The boy pouted slightly, but Snape was unmoved. He flicked his wrist as though shooing the boy away. "Get going now."
Snape turned and headed towards Gryffindor tower, Ron and Hermione following in tow without having been asked. Hermione waited for the Professor to barrage her mind with his terrifying onslaught, but the assault never came. What good is it to be able to read thoughts when you only do it when it suits you?, she thought sourly, angry for the first time ever that he was simply ignoring her and all that she was thinking.
* * *
Hermione awoke to a violent shaking from Lavender the next morning. Parvati hovered at the end of the bed, staring as she brushed her hair. 'Hermione, wake up!"
Hermione groaned. She had learned how to live with her two roommates over the past five years. They liked to wake up hours early and prepare themselves for the school day ahead by applying loads of makeup and perfume, doing up their hair, and making sure their clothes were just so. Hermione liked to shower and brush her teeth, put on the clothes she had laid out the night before, brush her hair, double check her schoolbag, and head for breakfast. "'s matter," she asked thickly, sleep distorting her voice. She peeked at her bedside clock with one eye. She still had forty-five minutes left to sleep.
"Something's wrong with the hourglass for the points! I left my favorite headband in the common room last night. Just now, I went down to get it, and there are only one hundred and fifteen points left in our hourglass! When I went to bed last night there were over Four hundred and we were in the lead! You have to go talk to McGonagall."
Hermione felt sick as she remembered the events that had taken place last night. She was certain that after talking things over with Dumbledore many of the points would be reinstated, but that wasn't her major concern right now. Most important was the issuer of Ron's punishment. What he had done this time had overstepped the line. She knew Malfoy had crossed that line as well, but Ron could have seriously injured him. She knew, too, how powerful Draco's father Lucious was. She was certain Draco had written a long and embellished letter home last night and that Lucious would be arriving at the school at any moment.
Lavender and Parvati were obviously waiting for her to say something. She wasn't quite certain what she should tell them. Things had gone so awry last night that it was difficult even for her to believe what had happened, and she had been there. "Nothings wrong with the glass" she said wanly.
Lavender's eyes widened. "What in the name of Merlin went on last night that caused our house to lose three hundred points?" When Hermione didn't say anything, Lavender prodded at her. "I know that you know, Hermione. I'm going to find out one way or another, and if it's all the same to you, I'd rather find out from you because it might at least be something close to the truth. If this had anything to do with Harry Potter…" She shook her head and clenched her fists, leaving her sentence unfinished.
Hermione smiled ironically at her. 'That's the funny thing. This time it had nothing to do with Harry, yet he still got into trouble." She told the two girls about what had transpired the night before.
"Ron was able to stun Draco Malfoy? No wonder Snape believed Malfoy when he said his back was turned. I know Ron's your friend Hermione, but he's no match for Malfoy."
"I know," she said. "Still, though, the way he blamed Harry for it. He's so unfair. If any Gryffindor had acted the way Malfoy did, moaning and carrying on as though he were under the crutaceous curse, Snape would have cursed them where they stood."
"He's rotten," Parvati agreed. "now what happens?"
"Ron and I have to see Professor Dumbledore later this morning. I suppose Harry will have to come too."
"Dumbledore will straighten everything out," Lavender said confidently.
"I hope so," said Hermione, who had long ago learned that even if things always worked for the best, it didn't necessarily seem as though they did.
* * *
Hermione felt as though she were going to choke as she headed for Professor Dumbledore's office behind Snape, Ron and Harry sourly following suit. She wondered if this would be the end of the road for their trio: Ron expelled, Harry despising both her and Snape more than ever, and the trust she had cultivated amongst both the students and staff forever ruined. All in all, it seemed a very dismal picture.
Snape was nearly smiled, which for Snape was equivocal to being beside himself with glee. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, feeling hatred burn in her stomach. She couldn't believe he could be so malicious. She knew that her and Ron had every reason to be marching towards this office. There was, however, no justification for Harry's presence other than Snape's age-old vendetta against the Potter family.
Not for the first time, she wondered if things would have been different if William and Mirabelle Potter had simply been able to keep their sons together, or had, at the very least, been forthcoming about their brotherhood. She knew that they must have been trying to protect Severus more so than they had been James. They didn't want Severus to feel as though he had been unloved. Unfortunately, because of the mutual hatred that had seeded itself in the two boys their plan had backfired fantastically.
As they paused at the foot of the revolving staircase, Hermione reflected on what Ginny had told her the night before regarding the reasons she believed people engaged in rows. Maybe both James and Snape had each seen themselves in the other, and maybe they didn't like what they had seen. She knew it was often true that opposites attract and similarities repel. Maybe it was because people didn't like having to face the things they disliked about themselves mirrored in someone similar to them. Perhaps James and Snape both could not hate themselves, and, as Ginny said, they had to compensate by hating someone else. She would know more tonight, after reading Sirius's reply, but judging from the look in Snape's eye, she wasn't one hundred percent certain there was going to be a tonight.
She swallowed both her fears and her thoughts as she stepped through the threshold and into the Headmaster's office. He smiled at the three students and Snape benignly from behind his desk, gesturing for them to take seats opposite him. Snape remained standing.
"You may leave now, Severus," he said, gesturing towards the door.
"If I may remind you, Headmaster, these are very serious charges being presented, and consequences must be wrought."
Dumbledore continued to smile, "I am aware of that, Severus."
"Headmaster, if I also may remind you, since their very first day at this school, these three have been allowed to bend and break the rules of this institution at will, all because they are associated with the Famous Harry Potter. Were they any other students…"
Dumbledore cut him off, his smile fading slightly, "that will do, Severus."
Snape opened his mouth as though to protest, thought better of it, sneered at the three students assembled before Dumbledore, and raged out the door, robes billowing about him.
"Sir, I didn't mean to…"
"I wasn't even there!"
"He was provoked!"
All three started talking at once, and Dumbledore held his hand up to stop them. "One at a time, please. Harry, you may begin."
"I wasn't even there! I was in bed. Ron left at nine to go do rounds with her," he pointed down the row at Hermione, not looking in her direction.
Ron continued, "Hermione and I left to go do our rounds at nine. We had been patrolling for about twenty minutes and then decided to go back to our common room. Then Malfoy showed up. He started calling name and mocking us. He practically begged me to fight him."
"First he called us his usual names, then we started to walk away," Hermione clarified. "We took a couple of steps, and then he said that it was stereotypical for a mudblood and a muggle lover to walk away from a fight. Ron lost his temper and he hit Malfoy with a disarming spell. Malfoy fell backwards and knocked himself out when he hit the wall."
"I see," said Dumbledore, folding his long fingers on the desk before him. "What happened then, Mr. Weasley? Professor Snape told me that he first became aware of the situation as he witnessed Mr. Malfoy floating unconsciously down the hallway."
"Hermione decided that we couldn't leave Malfoy there. She didn't want me to get into trouble, so she decided to leave him outside of the Slytherin common room, knock on the portrait hole, and watch to make sure someone saw him there and took care of him. She performed a levitation spell on him, and she was carefully floating him down the corridor. I was making a lot of noise, and I must have woken Professor Snape, because all of the sudden he appeared."
Dumbledore stared idly at them for a moment before continuing. "I'm certain that it will not surprise you that the version of the story told by Mr. Malfoy is quite different than the one you have just relayed to me."
No one said anything for a long while. Hermione stared at her fingernails. Harry picked at the cushion of his chair. Ron loudly cracked his knuckles.
At last, Dumbledore continued. "I have been teaching and working with young people for most of my long and happy life. In doing such, I have learned a few things." Hermione waited for him to tell them what those things were, but as was his mysterious way, he did not. "Mr. Potter, I grant you one hundred points for sitting through this dull interview unnecessarily." Harry actually smiled for the first time Hermione had seen in days. "Miss Granger, I award you one hundred points for a superb levitation spell. Mr. Weasley, one hundred points for standing up for yourself and your friends, then being able to face the consequences of your actions by truthfully telling me about them."
The three beamed at one another. Hermione could have sworn Harry had even made eye contact with her for a brief moment and actually remained smiling. "Yes, very good," said Dumbledore. "However, I do have some points of the other sort. "Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger, fifty points each for the unauthorized use of magic in the halls against another student; Mr. Weasley for your disarming spell, and Miss granger for your levitation spell. You will both be serving one week of detention with Professor Snape, and will each write a letter of apology to Mr. Malfoy." Ron opened his mouth as though to protest, but was silenced by looks from both Hermione and Harry. They had gotten off easily. Dumbledore, however, noticed. "Mr. Weasley, if it makes you feel any better, Mr. Malfoy cost Slytherin forty points for his poor behavior towards other students and has to serve one night of detention for exaggeration and dramatics."
Hermione smiled, and Harry and Ron snorted with glee. The three of them thanked the headmaster and took their leave of his office. Snape was waiting for them just outside. "I took the liberty of having a house elf sent to pack your things, Mr. Weasley. I assume you will be leaving us at long last?"
Ron, in what he would later swear was the best moment of his life, said "Leaving? What are you talking about? I just got points for cursing Malfoy!"
What little color there was in Snape's face drained away. He looked as though he were having trouble standing. Murder gleamed in his eye. He took a step forward, and Hermione began to fear for herself and her friends. He reached for his wand, when suddenly through the office door a voice called, "Severus, may I have a word with you?"
Snape let his hands drop back to his sides and shot his three least favorite students the nastiest glare he could procure. "Coming, Headmaster," he said, marching through the doors.
Hermione, Ron, and Harry fled.
* * *
"Did you see his face? Ron, that was bloody brilliant!" Harry clapped Ron on the back as the three neared Gryffindor tower. The two boys had been going over Snape's reaction to the punishment, or lack thereof, that they had incurred. Harry, Hermione noticed, was still not speaking to her, though the occasional glances he shot her were wrought with more annoyance than they were dislike.
The three of them parted ways after passing through the portrait hole. The boys headed over to a table beneath one of the tower's many windows for a game of wizard's chess, while Hermione bounded up the steps to her room. She was feeling considerably lighter now, following her meeting with the Headmaster, and the prospect of receiving Sirius's reply served only to further cheer her. For the first time in a long time, she felt the warmth of happiness within her.
She glanced around the room after entering and finding it empty pulled the draperies shut around her four-poster. Quickly, she pulled the book from beneath her pillow and began to rifle through it, her heart thumping faster with each succeeding page. Every time she turned the pages of the Spirit book she feared the magic it contained would wear away and she would be left with nothing but a bland leather bound volume. At last, she felt the familiar swirling sensation and her breathing became more even and relaxed.
"Hello," the Spirit greeted her, a smile upon his face. "Back so soon?"
She smiled sincerely back at him, "I need to read the reply to my latest letter."
He nodded once reaching into his coat pocket, "of course you do."
Fingers trembling, she reached for the envelope, clutching it to her palms as soon as contact was made. She thanked the Spirit and headed for the familiar corner seat, tearing the envelope open on her way. She read the letter through twice, sighed, and returned it to the Spirit.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" he enquired in a kindly voice.
"Not really," she said feeling the hope she had felt just moments ago draining away. "I wanted some answers, now all I have are more questions."
The Spirit smiled knowingly at her. "Perhaps it's better that way."
"Why is that?" she asked, now thoroughly puzzled.
"Well," he smiled, "The peculiar thing about answers is that quite often you don't like what you hear." He turned from her and walked away, slowly vanishing from sight as though he were nothing more than a fragile wisp of smoke caught by the wind.