Disclaimer: I own neither the characters nor the settings, which are all property of J.K. Rowling. I'm not making any money from this, just wasting time, so please don't sue.
Hermione did not sleep that night. Some time around 4am, she realised there was nothing left for her to do. She had been desperately hoping that Snape would somehow fix everything, that Malfoy would be sent marching out the front door of the school while Dumbledore and Snape looked on sternly, unforgiving fingers pointed out into the empty, snow-covered highlands. After all, Snape was one of the good guys, wasn't he? He was on their side, and by all rights, as a trustworthy adult, he should have fixed everything. Wasn't that what adults were supposed to be for?

Hermione finally had to face the harsh reality – something she had been avoiding since the adventures of her first year at Hogwarts. This was not some fairy tale, and there was no happy ending waiting for an appropriately dramatic moment to arrive. Adults were no wiser than children, and on that note, could Hermione really consider herself a child any longer? She was 17. She had less than a year left in school. Once June arrived, that would be it.

In all likelihood, Harry was going to die. Blaise would probably face the same fate, as would countless others – friends, peers, teachers, enemies and complete strangers were all going to die, if Voldemort chose to exercise the power the entire Wizarding World knew he had.

And where did that leave her? Hermione stared at the familiar underside of the canopy above her bed. She realised that if she survived to see her early twenties, she would be lucky. And even then, most of the people she knew and loved would probably be dead.

Alone in the dark, Hermione began to cry.

Hermione woke early the next morning, before the Lavender's alarm clock could wrench her out of sleep. She padded to the bathroom, and, without looking into the mirror, turned the cold tap on one of the sinks to full. She cupped the freezing water in her hands, and splashed it over her face, washing away the feverish aftermath of tears and unsettling dreams.

Shoulders hunched close about her, she rested her hands on the edge of the sink and stared into the mirror.

"No more silliness," she muttered. "Time to act your age, Hermione. Time to sort it all out." Without giving the mirror a chance to answer, she headed for the shower.

The next few days passed Hermione by quickly. She felt as though events were moving in fast-forward – people flickered past her, lectures took minutes, and the sun raced across the sky, finally visible through the grey clouds at the end of the week.

After dinner on Friday night she waffled over returning to the common room. She found herself afraid that she would be bogged down by mundane conversation, or worse, that Harry and Ron would corner her and demand answers she couldn't give. She decided the library was the safest bet, and stayed there, hidden deep in the stacks, till Madame Pince found her and tersely informed her it was five minutes before curfew.

Accepting defeat, Hermione thanked the librarian and, with heavy feet, headed towards Gryffindor Tower. She trudged to the main stairwell, and waited for a suitable staircase. After a few minutes, she finally got fed up and stepped onto the first one to stop in front of her. It took her in the completely wrong direction, but up a flight. She hopped off, and gradually, circuitously, made her way up the floors, succeeding only in getting dizzy and confused. She paused on a landing, and realised she had somehow passed the seventh floor. Irritated now, she hopped on the first staircase that came by.

It swung around immediately, and for a moment it seemed the be heading in the right direction, only to veer past the correct hallway at the last minute and settle on one going in the opposite direction.

Hermione rushed up the steps and jumped off anyways, not wanting to tempt fate further. As she caught her breath, she realised she was already half way to the Astronomy Tower.

She closed her eyes and leant against the cold stone wall, weighing the likelihood of a class being there, as well as the possibility of being caught, against her strong desire to simply think, alone, where she knew she would not be bothered.

The desire for solitude won out, and hefting her satchel higher up on her shoulder, Hermione headed away from Gryffindor Tower.

The satchel made a dull, forgotten thud when dropped on to the flagstones that paved the Astronomy Tower. A few clouds hurried across the sky, but lower down the night wind was gentle, almost tender. Hermione was oblivious to it's playful tugging at her hair. She sat down, cross-legged, and tried to ignore the cold of the stones soaking through her jeans.

"A pleasant evening, wouldn't you say?"

Hermione jumped to her feet as Dumbledore separated from the shadows to her right and walked slowly towards her.

"Headmaster! I, I was…I was just going to…um…"

Dumbledore chuckled and patted her shoulder gently. "It's quite alright. Years ago, when I myself was a student at Hogwarts, I would often sneak up here to think. It's comforting to realise there is something bigger than oneself."

Dumbledore swung his arm in a wide, upwards arc as he spoke, indicating to the sky. Hermione followed the trail his fingers led, and realised with a start that that was the exact reason she so enjoyed coming up to the Astronomy Tower. She smiled slightly at the Headmaster, and nodded, before looking back up at the sky. They were both quiet for a moment.

"How did you know I'd be here, sir?" Hermione finally asked.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Well, suffice it to say, the staircases can be quite amendable when asked to help carry out a trick, of sorts."

Hermione had to make a conscious effort to stop her mouth from hanging open. "Wait, you mean to say you coaxed the staircases into herding me up here? Why?"

Dumbledore's expression became sombre. "I felt it was a less intimidating means than simply asking you into my office."

Hermione, looked at him in alarm.

"Is there anything you might like to talk to me about, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked gently.

Her eyes widened. He knows, she thought. Snape has told him, and he knows.

Snape suddenly became the vilest person on the planet, and Hermione scowled at the pavement.

"No, Professor Snape has not had a chance to approach me yet," Dumbledore said calmly. "He was…called away on urgent business shortly after you met with him Monday night, and has been kept busy for most of the week."

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, then opened it again.

"Sir, is there anything that goes on in Hogwarts that you aren't aware of?"

Dumbledore smiled, but the ever-present twinkle in his blue eyes was dimmer than usual. "Of course. I am not omnipotent, merely very good at paying attention."

Hermione nodded and looked down at her hands, which she was wringing together nervously.

"There is something I'd like to ask you, sir," she said quietly. "Why aren't you doing anything to protect him? He's one of us, or, at the very least, he could be, were you to give him a chance. He doesn't deserve all this."

Hermione had kept her voice level and her eyes on her twisting fingers throughout her small speech, but now, having finished, she looked up, afraid Dumbledore would be angry or disappointed, or, worst of all, apathetic.

But, rather than being any of those things, the old Headmaster looked sad and worn. Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat, as a desperate, hesitant hope began to swell up inside of her.

"My dear child," Dumbledore said quietly, "there is nothing I can do."

Slowly, Hermione deflated. She nodded dumbly, and blindly began to reach for her bag. Dumbledore held the satchel up, but as she raised her arm to take it, he quietly said, "Before you go, Miss Granger, please allow me to explain."

Too numb to speak, Hermione nodded.

"I have known of the situation for a while now. Professor Snape keeps me well informed of the goings on in Slytherin House. While your friend seemed to be handling himself admirably, the past few years have been fraught with danger for many witches and wizards, both students and adults, and sadly he has been no exception.

"Please do not think I have stood idly by. I have tried to speak with your friend's parents, but they have flatly refused any request at a meeting. They are aware that the position they occupy is just as precarious as that of their son, and are eager to avoid anything that may make them a target. For the most part, they are out of the country and are simply unreachable.

"Without his parents permission, Hermione," Dumbledore said quietly, "there is no safe action left for me to take. If I were to remove Blaise and place him under my protection, he would be hunted both mercilessly and tirelessly by Voldemort's followers, as an out-and-out traitor to their cause. His position would be more dangerous than Harry's. It would also place his family in grave danger. By taking action against the offending students, the same thing would occur.

"Keeping Blaise among the other Slytherins is the safest place for him to be. His housemates will not kill him. They will not, and cannot."

"How do you know that?" Hermione said quietly, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. "How can you possibly know they won't kill him?"

"They can't, child," Dumbledore said. "You know there are protective wards around the entire school. Killing magic can not be cast here."

"Who says they'll kill him magically?" Hermione whispered, staring at the ground.

Dumbledore sighed, and rested a hand on her hunched shoulder.

"Professor Snape will protect him, regardless of his harsh words. Have faith in him."

A few more days passed. Hermione was manic, throwing herself into assignments and essays with a ferocity not often seen. She ignored everything, intent on keeping her mind always busy, always working. But at night, when her subconscious had control, her dreams were filled with corpses and blood, empty eyes and shrieked "Avada Kedavra!"s.

The one bright spot in her life was that Ron had apparently decided to forgive her. He had grudgingly asked her how she was at breakfast one morning, while Harry looked on anxiously.

She had smiled, shyly, and said she was feeling better. Ron had returned the smile, and it seemed she was back in the fold. Things were still strained, and she knew that the boys were still confused and hurt at her evasiveness. She wished desperately she could tell them everything, pour out the sordid tale in a long gush of whispers in some secret, hidden spot. Then, as had always happened before, they could form a plan of attack, and save the day – the Golden Trio bravely beating back the darkness.

But that was not possible, and Hermione knew it. The boys wouldn't, couldn't understand. And she didn't blame them for it. All the Slytherins they had had close contact with were spiteful and nasty, and, once upon a time, Hermione would have shared every one of their biases and prejudices. But now, knowing Blaise, and remembering how he and the other Slytherins had viewed the Gryffindor triumph of their 1st year Leaving Feast made her uncertain. And then there was Snape.

Hermione wasn't quite sure what to make of him. She knew he was brilliant and brave, but he was also cruel and, at times, very, very petty. And, unlike what most other non-Slytherin students believed, he was not a sneering, repulsive puppet, controlled by his Slytherins and their parents.

She tried not to dwell on Snape too much. It only made her angry and frustrated that he wouldn't help Blaise. Rationally, she knew it wasn't within his power, but that didn't stop her from being dreadfully angry with the man.

But there was no time for reflection any more. It was Friday, two weeks before the end of the term, and Hermione was heading for Potions. The reconciliation with Ron and Harry had given her some small hope, and a bit more courage. She was resolved to speak to Blaise today, and to try to sort everything out.