A/N: Thanks again go to Missybewitched for her time.

I will probably need a bigger gap before Chapter 7 goes up (about 3 days), as I have work and other commitments. It is worth the wait though hopefully, I have a few surprises still left up my sleeve. :)

Chapter 6: Hermione's Message

Harry sat down at the Gryffindor table, glad that he and Ron had arrived in time. There weren't too many students left eating, which meant that dinner was drawing to an end. Most of the platters that littered the tabletop were close to empty, but there was still a bit of the less popular dishes left. They didn't take any notice of any of the students left eating their dinner. They were both in a rush to grab something before the leftover food disappeared. If they weren't quick, they would have to wait until breakfast tomorrow to eat.

"Ugh," Ron groaned. "Why did we have to spend so much time in the library for? I'm going to be starving before bedtime. My stomach will growl so much I'm not going to be able to get to sleep."

"Why don't you just go visit the kitchens then?" Harry asked him, placing what was left of the sausages onto his plate.

"Can't now, can we?" Ron muttered irritably in between mouthfuls of pumpkin soup. "Hermione had to go and upset them all fourth year now, didn't she?"

"Yeah, I bet Dobby is still having to clean Gryffindor Tower all by himself."

"What?" Ron spat some of his soup onto the table. "See, she just makes everyone's life miserable!" Ron said, his spoon making a clunk as it hit the table next to his bowl.

"Not true, Ron. I think that Dobby's reallyenjoying his role as solecleaner ofGryffindor Tower."

Harry suddenly noticed the blood beginning to drain from Ron's face, and turned to see what was causing the startling reaction in his friend. Hermione sat about a half table down, and she was glaring angrily at him. Small tears begun to roll down her cheeks. She left her seat and quickly walked past the two young men, deliberately looking in the opposite direction so that she didn't have to see her friends.

"Where's she off to?" Ron whispered.

"I think you had better go apologise, Ron," Harry said knowledgably, drawing on his own experience with women.

"Yeah." Ron climbed from the bench seat awkwardly and set off at a quick pace to catch up with Hermione.

"Hermione!" Harry heard Ron calling from the entranceway. He hoped that Ron had managed to catch up with her, and would manage to make it up with her so that he didn't have to endure another one of their huffy silences for a week again.

A dark shadow appeared over the place where Harry was left sitting alone. Startled, he turned around to see what was blocking the light, and instantly wished he hadn't. Snape was towering over him, wearing an icy-cold glare complete with sneer and looking down at Harry along his big, hooked nose. His lanky hair was hanging in front of his face, making it look even more twisted.

Harry's emerald green eyes met Snape's cold, beady gaze. He felt a flash of anger and quickly turned his head so that he was looking over Snape's shoulder. He didn't want the man picking up on his feelings; it would only allow him to push Harry to the edge of his anger, push him to releasing it in front of the other staff. Harry would rather keep his private battle with the Professor to himself. He didn't want any more warnings from McGonagall or Dumbledore.

"Potter," Snape snarled at Harry. "A word in my office when you've finished."

"Uhm, okay then," Harry said to Snape. He was careful to wear a look of nonchalance. Inside, he was wondering what he had done to be summoned to his Potions Professor's office. He had been practising Occlumency on his own now; he had finished his lessons with Snape a few weeks in from the new school year. He therefore came to the conclusion that Snape's wanting to speak with him had something to do with Malfoy.

"Do hurry up," Snape said with a flick of his cape as he turned to exit the Great Hall. "I don't have all night."

Harry had finished eating as quickly as he could. He made his way to Snape's office in the dungeons with haste. He didn't want to keep the Potions master waiting for him too long. To do so would only heighten Snape's animosity towards him, and there was only so far he could go in defending himself against a teacher.

He knocked hard twice on the door to Snape's office.

"Come in," came Snape's chilling voice from inside.

Trying to open the door as smoothly as possible, Harry entered the office and closed the door behind him. Snape sat at his desk, enshrouded in a mist of darkness. He lent forwards into the light as Harry approached his desk.

Snape moved his lips wordlessly and Harry felt himself being hit by a spell. It was Snape accessing his mind, using his Legilimency powers against him.

Not being prepared for this mental onslaught, Snape gained access to Harry's thoughts and memories easily. The Professor was beginning to diginto the darkest recesses of Harry's mind, where Harry kept his most guarded secrets. A memory of a hand in his pocket was starting to form before Harry's eyes.

It was the memory of Hermione placing the note in his pocket.

"Hermione's note!" Harry thought suddenly. He had forgotten to read it.

The memory of Hermione had faded, and now he was facing one of the shelves that held Snape's special Potion's ingredients. Snape was slumped against this shelf, something gooey trickling down through his hair, along his angular cheek, and landing in his lap.

"I've got to go," Harry said as he bolted from the room and up the stairs leading from the dungeons.

"Potter!" Harry heard Snape bellow when he reached the final step and entered the corridor leading to the entranceway.

Harry continued running until he was standing breathlessly outside the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Sneezewort," he gasped and the portrait swung open.

He ran through the common room, past Ron who was trying to ask him a question.

"Have you seen Hermione?"

Harry didn't answer. He ran up the stairs two at a time, he had to read that note. What was so secret that Hermione couldn't let Ron know?

Pushing open the door to his dormitory with such force that it banged loudly against the stone wall behind it, Harry entered his room. He threw himself onto his bed and bent over the edge, picking through the pile of dirty clothes he had left there. He was looking for the jeans he had worn on Saturday. Finding them, he searched his back pocket, and pulled from it a folded piece of parchment.

Unfolding the parchment, Harry's eyes skimmed over the message quickly and grew wide when he glanced at his watch.

Meet me in the kitchens at 7:30. Alone.

It was already 7:45. He was fifteen minutes late.

Shoving the note in his pocket, he scrambled from his bed and ran out of the doorway.