A/N: Thanks for waiting… here's the next chapter. This is the last of the preamble, I swear. It's gonna start getting interesting after this (promises, promises…).

A few words before getting started:

It has come to my attention that I'm writing Ron as really annoying in this fic. I don't mean to, it just happened. I feel I need to take this opportunity to say that, regardless of the fact that he is an impediment to the HG/SS relationship, I really do like Ron. I think he is an honest and innocent character with an admirably huge heart, and I really like him a whole hell of a lot. I just can't write him. Sorry.

Also, this chapter makes me happy because I've included some subtext to one of my favorite ships. Don't expect elaboration… this story is not about either of these characters' romantic lives. But I couldn't resist ;) Kudos to Em for figuring it out.

WARNING: this fic is on the brink of becoming epic. I wanted to keep it short-ish, but it's moving in an entirely different direction now. So y'all had better take your coats off and stay a while.

Enjoy!

Chapter 3

And every time I've held a rose

It seems I've only felt the thorns

And so it goes, and so it goes

And so will you soon, I suppose…

"You may fix yourself a drink if you wish." Hermione had now been to see Snape six times, this being the seventh, and she found that it was best to take the alcohol when it was offered, as things general ran much more smoothly after a drink or two. She poured herself a drink (Snape kept his personal favorite beside his chair, and preferred, she had found, to make his own) and started towards him. She thought she saw a faint smirk ghosting across his face.

"What is it?" She asked carefully, suspicious. She had already disarmed him, and was sure by now that she was perfectly safe, but she tried to be aware of everything nonetheless.

"I was just observing that, of the four different types of cognac in that cupboard, you always manage to choose the most expensive." This time he smirked openly. "Definitely a woman."

Hermione shook her head and tried not to smile. "And how would you know which bottle I'd picked?"

"I can smell it," He replied. "I have a very keen sense of smell. The blindness only helps with that."

"Oh." Hermione took a sip. It was, without a doubt, the best thing she had ever had to drink. It was smooth, with a sharp, fragrant nose, and felt almost viscous on her tongue. "Well, since you pointed it out, I have to admit that the Cognac is half the reason I keep coming back."

"You should be careful," Snape said monotonously, "I could be poisoning you."

"You're not. I checked." She thought she saw a ghost of a smile crossing his face.

"That's good. I would be insulted if you hadn't." Hermione just took another long sip from her glass and took a seat in the chair across from his.

"So," she began, examining his frozen face carefully, "I think you know by now what I'm about to ask you." Snape said nothing, and remained completely impassive. "Okay. Where is Draco Malfoy?" She was about to continue with her second question when she was shocked by the sound of Snape's voice.

"It has occurred to me," he said carefully, "That you most likely do not wish to come into contact with Draco. In fact, if I told you where he is, I doubt very much that you would seek him out at all."

Hermione was very perplexed. "That's ridiculous… I've been asking you for over a month now to tell me where he is. Why would I bother asking if I didn't intend to use the information?"

Snape's token smirk appeared on his sightless face. "Because if you go after Draco, he WILL tell me. And then your meticulously crafted cover will be blown. And since I am much more valuable to you than Malfoy could ever be, and you can't afford for me to know who you are, you will leave him alone." It seemed a mild enough explanation, but the last part was spoken in such a way that it forced Hermione, for the first time in weeks, to question her safety. Fighting back a chill at the reminder of what this man was capable of, Hermione leaned forward in her seat and stared him down, as if he could see her.

"It bothers you, doesn't it? The idea that I might exact some sort of revenge on Malfoy?" Predictably, Snape said nothing. Hermione shook her head. "What is he to you, anyway?" she fully expected silence in return for her question, but Snape surprised her again with an answer.

"What are your eyes to you? When you truly know the answer to that, then you will know what Draco is to me."

Hermione was taken aback, but couldn't afford to slow down, not with the progress she was making. "I wouldn't have pegged you as one who would admit to their own dependence."

Snape shook his head slightly. "Like I said, you can only know when you know the answer to that question. And until you've lost your sight, you never will." Hermione felt a sharp pang of pity at his words. She hadn't realized just how much he cared about the loss of his vision.

"I'm sorry, Professor," She said quietly.

Snape raised his head sharply, but Hermione saw it move in slow motion as the realization of her error hit her square between the eyes. She felt a slow burn start at he tips of her toes and gather speed and intensity as it rushed towards her face. It was that sensation she had felt all her life whenever she realized suddenly that she was in a great amount of trouble. Snape's face could hardly be described as victorious, but it did betray his pride at having outlasted her.

"I knew it was you," he hissed, seeming somehow more serpentine than usual. Hermione remained frozen for another fraction of a second before she leapt to her feet, spilling fine cognac across the rug, threw Snape's wand at him, and, shaking uncontrollably, apparated from the cottage, leaving Snape alone.

oooOOooo

Hermione ran up the front steps of Grimmauld Place as quickly as she could. On the top step she paused, doing her best to calm herself. It would be ten times worse if Harry were to discover exactly why she was so upset. She opened the door slowly, and closed it very carefully, and as quietly as she could. It was not to avoid the portrait of Mrs. Black that she took such care in entering the house; two years before, Harry, in his grief and anger at Dumbledore's murder, had finally reached the end of his rope with the raging pureblood and, with a few words in Parseltongue that Hermione and Ron could not even begin to understand, melted the portrait right off the wall. No, it was to avoid Harry and Ron that Hermione all but snuck into the house.

No such luck. Ron appeared in the doorway to the kitchen the second after she closed the door. "Good! You're back!" He said cheerfully, coming over to plant a kiss on her temple. She gave him the best smile she could, and he returned it with one that she knew was genuine. "Harry's making roast beef," he said, his eyes glazing over, "We thought you were going to miss it."

"Would I do a thing like that?" She replied, shaking her head. "Honestly, Ron." They stepped into the kitchen, and Hermione felt her brain swell painfully inside her head.

Sitting at the table was half of the Weasley clan, plus Neville, Luna, Tonks and Remus Lupin. Harry was, as usual, at the stove. Hermione wished she could crawl under the table and pretend that none of the people in the room had ever been born. Instead, she smiled again and began to greet everyone.

There were four Weasleys present including Ron. Ginny was involved in an active conversation with Neville and Luna, Fred was attempting to convince Tonks that it was a good idea to Blackmail Remus for Marauder secrets, and Charlie was leaning over the back of his chair, talking with Harry. Hermione quickly made a beeline for the second-eldest Weasley, plopping gracelessly into one of the empty chairs beside him. She noted, with no small amount of relief, that Ron had remained on the other side of the kitchen and was now fully watching the war of wills that was occurring between Tonks and Fred alongside a bemused Remus. As Harry went back to whatever he was stirring on the stovetop, Charlie turned in his chair and gave her a broad smile.

"You look like hell," he said frankly. "How're you doing?"

Hermione just shook her head and smiled a little at his honesty. Of all the Weasleys, Charlie was the one she got along with best. The many summers and other holidays spent at the Burrow had given her enough time with each member of the Weasley family that she felt she knew them all about as well as they knew each other, and possibly even better in some cases. But she found none of them as easy to understand of communicate with as Charlie was. Hermione thought that, if she were to ever have a brother, she would have wanted him to be exactly like Charlie.

"I'm just a little over-tired, I think." Charlie rolled his eyes knowingly.

"You can't fix everyone's problems if you kill yourself by working on them too hard." Hermione allowed herself to feel genuinely amused.

"I'm trying not to." She wanted to get off of this line of conversation. She had the very familiar feeling that Harry was listening from the stove despite his completely disinterested stance. He always watched her much more carefully when she got back, and he watched her carefully enough as it was. "So… how's Romania?"

"Good, as always. The dragons are all behaving nicely, and so far we haven't seen any attempts from Voldemort to recruit them. We're keeping an eye out." He broke with his serious air and grinned. "Actually, I was just telling Harry that Norbert sired a brood recently with one of our female Ridgebacks."

"Really?" Hermione was grateful for the distraction of some completely harmless and (she supposed) good news. "Fantastic! Hagrid will be thrilled." A thought occurred to her. "I hope all the eggs were accounted for before hatching?" Charlie laughed.

"Don't worry, we were especially careful. This lot was a huge priority… Ernestine is one of the most beautiful and powerful dragons in the colony. We've been trying to get those two together for a couple years now, but they've been taking it slow."

Hermione laughed and shook her head. "You would too, if you mated for life!" Charlie simply shrugged.

"I hope to. Someday."

"Dinner!" Harry interrupted, placing a huge platter of roast beef and potatoes on the table. Ron took the chair on Hermione's other side, Harry on Charlie's, and Everyone began to help themselves, both magically and manually, to the feast.

On a normal day, Hermione actually enjoyed the presence of her friends at the evening meal. As much as she loved Ron and Harry, the closeness between the three of them was sometimes stifling, and having other people around actually made her feel as though she had more space. Remus' presence was not uncommon; he was at Grimmuald place at least twice a week, and had his own rooms there. Where Remus went, so did Tonks, and so the young Auror was also a fixture in the household. The other stayed in the many guest rooms whenever they felt the urge to visit, or when Harry called a meeting.

With Dumbledore gone, the Order of the Phoenix had all but disintegrated. With the majority of the senior-most members of the Order involved on one level or another of the ministry, they were all still active in the war, fighting now at an official level as opposed to covertly through a leader who was at odds with the minister. As for the younger members, and those who were not involved with the ministry, they had flocked to Harry upon hearing of Dumbledore's death. It seemed the only logical thing to do, really, with Dumbledore gone. In the months after Dumbledore's death, Harry had begun to emerge as a powerful wizard in his own right, and his powers had only increased after his seventeenth birthday, when he was legally entitled to use his powers outside of Hogwarts. There were a number of theories regarding the sudden astonishing increase in Harry's powers, but no one truly knew how or why Harry had suddenly more than tripled his magical abilities. Hermione suspected it was the lack of Dumbledore's magical presence; without a dominant magical force nearby, Harry's magic had automatically begun to advance towards it's full potential. She had no way of confirming her suspicions, but Hermione had the very strong feeling whenever she watched Harry directing the war effort that she was looking at something very much like what Albus Dumbledore had been over a hundred years ago.

On any given night there would be a dozen or so guests staying at Grimmauld place, and despite the raging war there was a sense of kinship and of comfort when the house was full that was somewhat lacking when it was just Ron and Hermione and Harry there. Hermione knew it was bittersweet for Harry that the war should give him the family he'd always longed for.

The dinner was delicious, and when the dishes were cleared away and the table was clean, Harry commanded their attention. The group watched him silently. "As you know, it is October 17th. In a fortnight, it will be Hallowe'en. I believe we should all be on our guard… this year marks the twentieth anniversary of my parent's death." There was no sign of emotion as Harry mentioned his parents, but Hermione could see it moving just behind his eyes, and she wondered who he thought he was kidding. "I believe that Voldemort will stage some sort of grand gesture to… mark the occasion." A hint of sourness crept into Harry's voice, and Hermione fought the urge to place a comforting hand on his arm, knowing he would not appreciate the personal contact while attempting to remain in control.

"What do you suggest we do, then?" Remus asked seriously, taking Tonks' hand in his discreetly.

"For now, we keep our eyes open, try to find out anything and everything we can. Remus, you will continue to keep track of the known Voldemort supporters, as well as those suspected to be death eaters. Bill Weasley will be joining you on that front, and I need someone else to help with that." Neville nodded firmly. "Thanks Neville. Luna… I need a favour." The starry-eyed girl looked up at Harry with a wisp of a smile.

"Of course."

"I need to speak with your father about running an article. We have to stir things up before we'll get any sort of information. Eventually, if we test the Death Eaters' vanity in just the right way, someone's bound to let something slip." Hermione smiled openly at this. Ever since Harry had nearly publicly denounced the Daily Prophet by running all his exclusive interviews in the Quibbler, the two-bit rag had begun to change gradually, until it was viewed by most of the public as almost reputable on certain subjects. Harry Potter, Voldemort, and anything even remotely Death Eater related were some of those subjects.

"He'll do it," Luna said cheerfully, "I'll set you an appointment."

"Great, thanks." Harry surveyed the group slowly. "The rest of you, that's about all I have right now. I'm sure there will be more to do than we can handle in short order, however, so keep your schedules clean, and stay in touch as much as possible. There's just one more thing…" He paused again to look around the table. "I need to take a trip very soon, and I'm going to require some assistance."

"Where to, Harry?" Fred asked conversationally.

"Azkaban." The entire room fell deathly silent. Harry gave the group a wry smile. "Don't worry… I'm not making any of you go. I've been preparing for this for some time now… Moody has offered to come in the event that I need him."

"Moody is your escort to Azkaban?" Ron asked, looking very pale. "Do you want to lose your mind completely?"

"I'll go." Nine heads whipped around to stare at Ginny Weasley. Fred was first to speak.

"What?"

"I said I'll go." Ginny looked very determined. Hermione looked up at Harry, whose face was impassive. Charlie, on the other hand, looked as though he were about to explode.

"You will not," Charlie said lethally, eyes trained on his sister. "Over my dead body." Her looked up at Harry. "I'm going with you."

"Charlie," Harry began, but the Dragon Handler raised a finger in an almost warning gesture.

"I'm going," he said firmly. Harry nodded shortly.

"Charlie will come with me." This was met by the same stunned silence from the group, as well as a cry of indignation from Ginny.

"But I said—" Harry put up a hand to silence her.

"Not this time, Ginny." The youngest Weasley crossed her arms sullenly.

"Why do you need to go to Azkaban, Harry?" Hermione asked quietly, stamping down her anger at not having been told of this plan before hand.

"I believe something very important is hidden there," He said, giving her a pointed look. "I am going to see if I can find it and retrieve it." Hermione's eyes widened, but she said nothing, not knowing if Harry wanted to share information about the Horcruxes with the entire group.

Harry knew that the level of discomfort in the room had reached the breaking point, and he swiftly directed the group's attention to other, more benign topics, and soon the kitchen was humming with conversation again. Harry was clearing the table without magic, and casually asked Hermione to give him a hand with the leftover potatoes. She followed him, arms laden, to the counter, their backs turned on the group.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said beneath his breath. Startled, Hermione searched his face. He appeared genuinely troubled, but she was not sure that his keeping her in the dark was the cause.

"It's okay," she said quickly.

"No, It's not." Harry gave her a contrite little smile. "You were upset." He surprised her again by placing a hand on her shoulder. "We'll talk soon. I've some matters to discuss with you privately, especially if I'm right about Azkaban."

"Alright." Hermione felt a sudden surge of affection as Harry smiled once more and turned back to the counter. It had been so long since she had felt any sort of closeness to her best friend, the boy who for so many years had been like a brother to her. They had been drifting apart, and this sudden act of reassurance had caught her off guard. She had thought that she'd fallen out of Harry's trust. Not that you deserve to be within it, her conscience nagged, as thoughts of a certain former Hogwarts professor returned to her head.

Thankfully, her thoughts were interrupted by Ron deciding it was time to dispense to after-dinner drinks. Hermione had never been so thankful for the pleasant burn of Firewhisky in her entire life.

ooooOOOOoooo

Hermione was awakened at midnight by a quiet taping on the window. She deftly slid from between the covers, careful not to wake Ron, and slid on her bathrobe, shivering in the chilly air. She lifted the window slightly and a medium-sized black owl extended it's leg to her, flying away immediately when she removed the attached parchment. She unfolded the note, furrowing her brow in confusion when the page appeared to be blank. She held it up to the moonlight, examining the parchment from all angles, and attempted a revealing spell. Slowly, a line of text began to appear, making Hermione think briefly of the stories Ginny had told her of tom Riddle's journal. She squinted to read the text in the dull moonlight.

Are you alone?

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Ron, still snoring softly in the bed behind her, pulled her robe tighter and then swiftly crossed the room, locking herself in the bathroom. She repeated the revealing spell, and the real note appeared.

In exchange for your silence and discretion, the answer to the first of your questions will be provided.

Your trust is neither expected nor required, but your presence is necessary.

You are not in any danger.

Hermione set the letter down, not surprised when it disintegrated as it left her hand. Every one of her instincts told her that this was the most obvious of traps.

As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and splashed her face with cold water, she refrained from asking herself why she was so willing to step into it. She did not want to know the answer.