Luna Lovegood was staring enraptured at an out-of-season conker that had come from nowhere to strike her on the head. Clearly a sign of things to come.
Ron Weasley was apologising frantically to Gabrielle Delacour, who at thirteen was just coming into her Veela charms, still a little embarassed about them, and didn't take kindly to being accidentally walked in on while undressed.
Neville Longbottom was listening to his Gran tell him about all the wonderful legacies he would inherit upon his upcoming seventeenth birthday.
Harry Potter wasn't thinking about his birthday at all. He was trying to think about missing horcruxes, but kept getting distracted by endless servings of Molly's oatmeal.
Hermione Granger was wandering around the dungeon corridors hunting for Kreacher, who hadn't been in the kitchens.
Ginny Weasley was on her way to the Headmistress' Office to volunteer her services for another day of reorganisation.
Minerva McGonagall was staring in shock at the somewhat-bedraggled figure of Draco Malfoy that had appeared on her doorstep begging forgiveness.
And someone else was taking advantage of this distraction to make an unauthorised entry...
---
Severus Snape stalked the dungeon corridors, robes swirling, wand at the ready, past and present melding in his eyes. For nearly seventeen years, this had been his domain, his to command, and any who crossed his path had reason to fear. But there were years before that... years where he had been only a student, desperate to keep out of sight of fellow students, who might attack him, or teachers, who might try to stop him.
Now once again he was a fugitive, needing to remain undiscovered. But he found he could not easily slip into the mindset of the frightened, scheming child he had once been. There was no room left in his world for fear, not anymore. Anger, hatred... regret... never fear. What was there left to be afraid of? He would live until he died, and there would always be pain.
Draco's entry into the world of espionage should cover his tracks. Whichever way the young Malfoy fell, it could only benefit Snape. Draco didn't know enough to complicate any existing plans, and he would not want to bring angry aurors down upon his mother. Any information he brought back, even if it were lies, would give Snape insight into the Order's thinking - and he, of coure, would be the one to choose what to pass on to the Dark Lord.
He had almost reached his target when someone blundered into the way.
Masses of bushy hair, startled-wide brown eyes - Hermione Granger. What was she doing here?
She stared back at him, confused. "Profes-" she started to ask.
But before she could get even half of her moronic question out of her mouth, he had cut her off. "Stupefy!" Red sparks flew out of his wand, and the girl slumped to the floor.
Stupid, idiotic, mud-brained girl! THIS was supposed to be the brains of the operation? A girl who, faced with a known enemy, armed and dangerous, could only think to raise her hand and ask questions?
Well, he couldn't leave her lying around.
"Natrix," he mumbled to the door of his private lab, and it dutifully swung open.
He slipped his hands under the shoulders of the unconscious girl, surprised at the weight of her - somehow, in his mind, she had always remained a twittering first-year; under all the hair and robes, it could be hard to tell the difference - and dragged her into the room.
The door shut behind them.
---
The door to the basement lab in Buckinghamshire remained firmly shut, despite many whispers of "Alohomora!" and other spells more commonly used in grave robbing. Leftover animal instinct led the frustrated man to claw and scrabble at the unyielding wood. It was no use - the secrets within were barred from him.
"Get away from there!" a woman snapped.
The man whirled around, a rapid intake of air whistling through his front teeth. "I'm not doing anything. Just looking after the place, yes?"
"You're a thief and a rat, Wormtail," Narcissa said dismissively. "You have no business in there. You'd probably blow yourself up."
"I am every bit the wizard he is!" Wormtail insisted angrily. "Who made the potions that nurtured our lord and master in his dark exile? Who brought him back to life? Not Severus Snape!"
"He is the lord of this house, and you are not. Now come away from there. I require your services," Narcissa commanded.
"Services, she says," he mumbled bitterly as he stepped away from the door. "You give your 'lord' services, too, I expect. His reward. I've done more for the Dark Lord than he ever has. Why doesn't he give me a reward?"
The look on her face was nothing but disdain. "Because he doesn't have to."
---
Hermione was not having a good day.
She'd thought it would be simple to locate Kreacher in the kitchens with the other house elves. But neither he nor Dobby were anywhere in sight, and the house-elves she did see had scattered in fear at her approach. Honestly! As if she would ever do anything to hurt them!
She could try making a horrible mess and waiting to see if they would show up to tidy, but that would be mean - and they might still wait for her to leave before getting on with things.
Surely they had to be around here somewhere...
With her eyes scanning the floors and shadows for elf-sized beings, she was caught off-guard when a dark robe moved into her sight. Her eyes shot upwards, to meet a sight both familiar and unexpected. Snape's fearsome scowl froze her on the spot, like a first-year caught out after curfew. "Profes..."
And then he struck. Hermione had only enough time to think "Oh, bollocks" before all was blackness.
zzz...
Her head hurt.
Why did she feel strange?
Must have been the firewhisky.
No... wasn't that a different day?
SNAPE!
Hermione's eyes flew open. What - where?
Robes intact. Hands unchained. Body generally undamaged, except for the aftereffects of stunning. She was sitting on a chair in what, she quickly recognised, was the remains of Snape's private office. Shelves which had previously been crammed with books, artifacts, and potions components now stood mostly bare, and the papers scattered over the desk were nothing but old student assignments in need of grading. Any clues to be found here had already been taken. She was too late.
Hermione stood shakily. So what had happened? Snape had shown up to clean out his office, and she had just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Shouldn't someone have noticed him entering the school? And... what had he done to her? Knocked her out, dragged her out of sight, and then just left her alone? Why hadn't he simply killed her? She was a Muggleborn, after all. Surely Voldemort would have been impressed that Snape had racked up a few extra points for their side. She certainly couldn't have stopped him. The Killing Curse, a few rounds of torture, carted away as a plaything for the Death Eaters - any of it could have happened. But he just left her here?
Hermione's fists clenched in frustration. It wasn't fair! She'd gotten into the office at last - she'd actually seen Snape - and she didn't have any more answers, only more questions! Whose side was he on? If he wasn't going to kill her, if there was some secret plan they didn't know about, why couldn't he have told her?
Maybe he'd left a message?
She scoured the scrolls scattered on the desk, looking for signs, but found nothing out of the ordinary except for a circled doodle of a goblet on Neville Longbottom's essay on Dementors, just before the typical scathing criticism began. If it was a sign, it was not a very clear one. Nothing useful at all.
Oh, it was all so unfair!
Well, there was no use crying over spilt milk. Hermione let herself out of the office, sliding some crumpled pages into the doorframe in the hopes of keeping it open. It might not work, and there probably wasn't anything left here anyway, but it would be a waste not to try.
Carefully, Hermione made her way back to Gryffindor Tower. How long had she been unconscious? Maybe she could catch an elf after dinner...
Suddenly her arm was seized by an excited redhead.
"Hermione! Where have you been?" Ginny babbled. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"
How could she explain? "Well..." Hermione began.
But Ginny cut her off. "Have you heard? Draco was here! He came to turn himself in, he wants to turn against the Death Eaters, he wants to be on our side!"
Hermione stared, her own story momentarily jarred out of her mind. "What?"
"He came to McGonagall," Ginny tried to explain. "They tortured him, they've got his mother, he doesn't want anything to do with them but he can't just walk away, so he's staying with them but he'll tell us what he knows, you see? Of course, we don't know for certain that he's telling the truth, but Professor McGonagall checked him in the glass - she didn't have any Veritaserum on hand, you know - and it said he wasn't our enemy. Isn't that exciting?"
"Wow," Hermione blinked. "Is he still here?"
Ginny shook her head. "He had to go back, he'll come again later after we've had some time to work out a plan. He admits he doesn't know very much right now, so we don't know how useful he can be. But we're doing something, Hermione, things are happening!" She squeezed her friend's hand. "I wonder what Harry's going to think. It's just like Snape, sort of. Coming back and saying he's sorry, wanting to be our spy... Harry's probably not going to like it."
"Harry and Draco have never gotten along," Hermione agreed absently. "They'll probably have to have a fight at some point to settle things. You know how boys are."
Her mind was spinning. Should she tell her friends about Snape's visit, when they had so much else to talk about now? Was it a coincidence, Snape and Draco showing up at the same time? What did it all mean?
Perhaps... perhaps it was best to keep quiet about this for now. Just until she had a few more answers.
---
Author's Notes: Gabrielle's exact age is not known. Harry guessed she was about eight during the Second Task, but he didn't see that much of her. Making her instead a very small ten or eleven, first-year age, would have made her more suitable for use in the challenge.
Sparks fly... yes, I'm evil. I thought it had been long enough that H and S needed to have SOME contact, but they're not ready to do more than pass in the night yet.
"Natrix" Natrix natrix, the grass snake. A play on "snake in the grass", a traitor.
