Author's Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

Any dialogue you recognize comes from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Most is changed at least a bit though to fit right. I'm trying to gloss over all the parts in the book that remained the same in this chapter and the next few since there's no point rewriting them in their entirety, but hopefully I included enough to still have it be exciting and serve as a reference if it's been a while since you read the book.

I know several people were excited that Snape is finally coming around and that you're expecting wonderful interactions between the two, but…well, you'll just have to keep reading to see if that happens.

I'm not J. K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.


Ch 24: Cracks in the Foundation

The begging competed with that happening in her own head. Echoes of Crabbe's taunts whispered, floating past her and making it difficult to hear the man insisting he was the son of the broomstick designer, Arkie Alderton.

On top of the pleading was Snape's deep baritone reminding her that she mustn't get caught. Demanding that she keep her head down and not do anything foolish. So to that end, she scribbled more notes on the events taking place, pretending it didn't make her sick to see people treated as little more than vermin.

"You were squirming all over Snape's cock. I bet you're loving this. Bet you're all hot and wet for me," Crabbe taunted, licking the bite mark he'd left on her chest.

Hermione shook her borrowed head, disrupting the memory before more could play out.

Umbridge's cat patronus only helped so much. It tended to get lazy in its pacing and leave her area for a bit too long, hovering before its caster more than the rest of them, leaving room for unpleasant thoughts to take root.

"Can you imagine? He actually believes he deserves to be called a wizard! But we know better, don't we?" Umbridge chirped in her false, girlish voice, speaking to Hermione as though they were in cahoots with this whole matter.

"Yes, Dolores," Hermione replied dutifully, offering a strained smile.

Sitting passively as Umbridge degraded and threatened the lives of these innocent people, all to make herself feel more important made Hermione want to beat the woman senseless. If only she could simply force her to confess where she'd hidden the locket and be done with this charade!

Worse than anything though, was how she'd had to split up with Ron and Harry. She had no clue what the others were up to. Had Harry been able to search Umbridge's office? Had he already located the locket? How was she going to be able to get away before the potion wore off? It would probably happen sooner rather than later, and she had no way of knowing if she'd meet up with the others again before it happened.

Perhaps she could say she needed the loo, then just not come back. But doing that would probably mean leaving Ron and Harry. Which was better, getting out separately, or trying to reunite? What would the others do? Why hadn't they considered this possibility?

Pages and pages of notes. Weeks of agonizing over every minute detail for how to get in undetected and the layout for the Ministry. And all for nothing! They'd overlooked making even basic contingency plans. It was fairly par for the course with them, happening far too often when Harry was in charge of organizing a dangerous "adventure," but that didn't make it any easier to endure each time it happened.

"They're all the same, insisting they be allowed a wand to demonstrate their magic," Umbridge announced disdainfully, wide lips turning down at the corners in a way that made her appear even more toad-like than she ordinarily did. "As though I'd trust them with something so precious."

"Hmm." The little hum of agreement lodged in her throat, coated in bile.

The toad likely knew they'd curse her if she did, and she'd deserve it too for daring to pull this stunt. And the accused could because everything Umbridge said was a lie. They had magic, they'd graduated from Hogwarts, and everyone knew it. Yet somehow this was still happening!

"All that would prove is that they've stolen it from an upstanding wizarding family. That wouldn't do at all," Umbridge sighed, shaking her head.

"Oh, no. Not at all," Hermione parroted, staring at the chain encircling the woman's pudgy neck that had clinked daintily with her movements.

Was that –

The wretched woman leaned close to Hermione, and she had to resist the urge to scoot her chair back, disliking the proximity to the sorry excuse for a witch – sorry excuse for a person, really. But the new position allowed Hermione to catch a glimpse of the locket buried among the folds of her hideous pink cardigan. Hermione could just make out the serpent looping across the front to form the S.

Umbridge was wearing the locket. It wasn't hidden at all. The vile witch had it all along. Hermione could take it from her and be gone. She could avoid lingering in the doom and gloom a moment longer than necessary.

"Did you know, the rise in squibs among some of our oldest and most noble families is their fault. They've been stealing the magic that rightfully belongs to those with the purest of blood. They're stealing it from the babies before they ever show their first signs of being magically inclined, so the families never know differently."

"No!" Hermione gasped, appalled that she was daring to spread such lies and propaganda.

"Yes, it's true," Umbridge countered, patting Hermione's hand as she mistook her reaction. "I know it's so dreadful to learn that anyone could be so awful, imagine hurting children! That's why our work here is so important. We must punish all of them for what they've done. Fortunately, I was too strong for them to take mine. Now I can do what must be done, and you can help me."

Umbridge returned to toying with the wizard before her, playing with him like a cat with a mouse as she pretended to consider his sentence.

It was ironic that Umbridge would condemn anyone for hurting children when she'd made a sport of doing that very same thing during her time at Hogwarts with her blood quill.

Not that it mattered. Not right then at least. The locket was right there, only an arm's length away, but what to do?

She could positively murder Harry for not considering what they'd do once inside the Ministry. They'd search the place together, he'd said. Right. Because others wouldn't expect them to do their jobs when they saw them.

Assuming circumstances didn't change soon, Hermione knew she'd have to take the locket herself and go. If she didn't, it'd be her on trial for "stealing magic," then Snape would get involved. Because she didn't trust that he'd not come for her if she needed him. He'd done it too many times not to again despite their conversation and agreement.

"I'm gonna make you scream my name like you did his," Crabbe grunted eagerly.

Hermione felt sick as she glared at the prowling cat, willing it to return or do a better job of pacing before them. She was surprised Umbridge was even capable of conjuring such a pure specter. Then again, the woman got off on lording her power over others. These farces, or so-called trials, probably provided all manner of happy memories for her to draw from.

"I'm behind you," Harry's disembodied voice announced, startling her. Her whole body jerked at the sudden appearance, and the noise of her pounding heart drowned out all other sounds. It raced so fast she could feel it painfully knocking against her ribs.

Hermione had been so distracted she'd not noticed what she'd been writing or that the latest prisoner had been replaced with a sobbing woman less than a decade older than herself.

That could be her. How had things escalated in the world so quickly? Were all of these officials under the Imperius Curse, or were they always this hatful and fearful?

How did Mafalda Hopkirk sit there day in and day out witnessing and recording the events of these trials without intervening? Did she buy into Umbridge's lies? Did she do it because she was scared for herself? Didn't she have anyone she wished to protect? Or was that her reasoning? But didn't she understand doing nothing wouldn't save them in the end?

If no one stopped this, eventually, no one would be left to protest.

It galled Hermione that she couldn't make a stand right then and there. But she had to think of the end game. Snape's voice practically screamed a reminder in her ear. Too much was at stake. Hermione already had a mission – help Harry defeat Voldemort. No wonder he'd kept the rest – whatever it was – secret. It was up to others to do their parts as well. Hopefully someone would here too.

The way people were so quick to turn on each other, to point fingers at others over nothing just to protect themselves made her sick. History was full of examples, but she never wished to experience it for herself. No one did, of course. Yet time and time again it happened.

"T-took? I didn't t-take it from anybody. I b-bought it when I was eleven-years-old. It – it – it – chose me."

As the woman tried to defend herself, Umbridge leaned forward eagerly, reveling in the woman's obvious, near tangible fear. The golden locket, hanging heavily from her neck, swung forward, making Harry jab her roughly in the side. So he'd seen it too.

She waited for him to make a move, but he did nothing.

What was their plan? They were severely outnumbered.

"That's – that's pretty, Dolores," Hermione tried desperately.

"What? Oh, yes – an old family heirloom. The S stands for Selwyn…. I am related to the Selwyns…. Indeed, there are few pure-blood families to whom I am not related…." That explained so much. Inbreeding. It'd get you every time. "A pity that the same cannot be said for you," Umbridge continued, rounding on the crying woman as she sneered, "'Parents' professions: greengrocers.'"

Hermione felt herself fuming. There was nothing wrong with honest work or being a Muggle. Umbridge had no right to imply otherwise!

Idly, Hermione wished Dumbledore had never retrieved Umbridge from the centaurs. That trick had been one of the most just punishments Hermione had merited out over the years. Right up there with punching Malfoy and spelling out SNEAK on Marietta's forehead. She even had the counterspell for that one, but she'd never revealed it. Nor would she. The witch had it coming for selling them out.

Hermione was just about ready to lose her head and say something that would give her away when she heard, "Stupefy!"

Harry had done it for her.

The temperature in the chilly room plummeted, and Crabbe's voice grew louder in her mind. The cat Patronus was gone, taking with it what meager protection it had provided. The five Dementors were headed straight for the woman now that the one holding their leash was incapacitated. What was her name again? Oh, right – she was Ron's wife, or at least his Polyjuice-self's wife. Mrs. Cattermole.

Hermione tried to think of something happy, but all she could come up with was that Snape had stopped Crabbe. The memory was too tainted to work. She knew it even as she cried, "Expecto Patronum!" The words were little more than a feeble squeak, so soft Harry hadn't even noticed her attempt. She needed him to cast the spell. It was one of the few he was better at.

"Harry!" she warned.

"Hermione, if you think I was going to sit here and let her pretend –"

"Harry, Mrs. Cattermole!"

Hermione felt the first signs of the potion wearing off, and saw her fingers morphing as Harry's stag burst forth to canter before them, chasing the Dementor's back. She used her now familiar hand to grasp the locket and tug it over Umbridge's head, careful not to dislodge the freakish, little-girl bow that sat high on her head.

"Get the Horcrux," Harry called, rushing down the steps to free the bound woman.

"Already doing it," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

Frantically, Hermione searched her memory for the duplication spell she'd read about. It was something to do with twins. Geminum maybe? No, that wasn't quite it. She had to remember. Panic was cluttering her thoughts.

They didn't want Umbridge realizing the locket was gone and coming after it – they'd need all the time they could get to escape. They also didn't want her knowing and telling the wrong person about it which had the potential to get back to Voldemort that Harry had obtained one of his Horcruxes. It was imperative that he not learn what they were up to before they had a chance to succeed.

"Hermione, how do I get rid of these chains?" Harry called again, rattling the links until the clinks and clanks echoed through the cavernous room.

"Wait, I'm trying something up here –"

The spell came to her even as she argued with Harry. Quickly, she said, "Geminio! There…That should fool her… Let's see….Relashio!"

Harry reassured the confused woman as the three rushed from the courtroom and began the journey back to the atrium they'd first arrived in. Hermione tried several more times to cast her patronus and failed each time, much to Harry's poorly timed humor – particularly since they had a number of Dementors following after them.

Hermione was near panicking, half convinced they'd never make it out as Ron joined them, further confusing Mrs. Cattermole, and bringing with him the news that they'd been found out. Something about a hole in Umbridge's door having tipped people off, and judging by the guilty look Harry wore, he'd been responsible for their discovery.

Hermione forced herself not to rail at Harry, and instead focused on getting out. They didn't have time for distractions or delays. It was a bloody miracle they'd managed to join back up as it was.

Already a number of the fireplaces were being sealed off when they reached the atrium. Harry smoothly talked them into being allowed to leave, the other Muggle-borns there for court hearings as well. But when the real Reg Cattermole appeared, worried about his wife, he accidentally gave them away just as Yaxley arrived. They were mere feet from the Floo that would grant them freedom, and Hermione was near hyperventilating.

"Seal the exit! SEAL IT!"

Once more Harry covered, punching the bald man that had tried to stop them initially in the face and screaming, "He's been helping Muggle-borns escape, Yaxley!"

The uproar his statement caused was enough for Harry to get them to one of the last remaining Floos. They'd barely stopped spinning, the air by her cheek still seeming to crackle with electricity from where Yaxley's spell had barely missed hitting her when the Cattermoles started talking. Why were they wasting time talking? Didn't they understand they needed to be fleeing for their lives?

But then Yaxley appeared again.

In a desperate attempt to flee, Hermione grabbed each of the boy's arms and turned on the spot, hoping against hope that they'd not fight her. She imagined the lesson Snape had given her on Apparating and shrank inside herself, darkness swallowing them as she pictured the front stoop of Grimmauld Place.

It felt strange, and Hermione realized either Harry or Ron had tried to do the same thing. Luckily, they'd picked the same destination or they'd have been screwed.

An iron grip caught her shoulder, bearing down with the strength of the iron manacles they'd just freed Mrs. Cattermole from. As solid ground materialized beneath her feet, she kicked out, towards the unwelcome presence that had hitched a ride with them. She put all her might into the action, screaming from the force of it as she did, and the instant the hand fell from her, unprepared for the assault, she turned on her other foot, losing her balance in the process and feeling her hand almost slip off Ron entirely.

Disapparating this time felt all wrong. She could feel a separation, an urge to abort and retreat. She refused to stop willing all of herself inward though, dragging her passengers with her. But she didn't have a destination. Where would they stay without a house?

The tent! The tent from the Quidditch World Cup!

Picturing their campsite, Hermione discovered it abruptly before her.

Instantly, she knew Ron was injured. She didn't need to hear his agonized groan or watch him collapse to know their trip had gone horribly wrong along the way. She'd messed up, and Ron was hurt because of it.

Dropping to the ground, she fished for her purse, trying to apply pressure to where blood was streaming from her friend's upper arm. It oozed through her fingers, coating her hand and making it slip off. She couldn't even see the extent of the damage through the macabre and copious amount of blood drenching his arm.

Where was the blasted bottle? Her hand vanished deeper into her purse, but all she felt were wades of soft fabric and the sharp corners of a few books. One of the tent poles poked her and she growled in frustrated annoyance.

She couldn't look and try to stop the bleeding at the same time. There was simply too much in the bag and it all kept shifting around on her.

Harry looked so confused, but she ignored his questions, shoving the bag his way and demanding, "Harry, quickly, in my bag, there's a small bottle labeled 'Essence of Dittany' –"

Hopefully he'd not recognize Snape's handwriting on the bottle he'd labeled. Hermione pressed harder, conjuring a cloth and covering the obscene, gaping hole in Ron's arm just beneath his shoulder.

"Augh," Ron moaned pitifully, his head lolling weakly.

"Ron? Ron!" Hermione called, patting his cheek, but there was no response. He'd fainted. Either from the blood loss or pain. "Hang on, okay?" she urged, willing him to come through this all right.

It wasn't as though they could go to St. Mungo's, nor did Hermione know how to reverse a Splinching. Only those trained to make a career out of it knew the proper spells. Oh, why hadn't she thought to learn them just in case!

Where was that potion? Didn't Harry understand –

"Quickly!" she yelled, her whole body quaking as she replaced the sodden cloth with a new one.

Almost instantly it was soaked through. He must have severed an artery. If they didn't stop the flow soon he was in serious danger of bleeding out.

Finally, Harry held out the small brown bottle to her, but she shook her head, saying, "Unstopper it for me, Harry, my hands are shaking."

As soon as he had, Hermione upturned the bottle onto her fingers and dabbed at the wound. She thought she'd be sick when she touched the squishy edges of the bloody wound and felt the slick, grisly tissue deep within the four inch gash.

Immediately, fresh pink skin knitted over the area, sealed the insides beneath – where they were meant to be all along. There was a divot where the wound had been, the muscle left behind permanently gone, but at least he was no longer in danger of dying. With any luck, he wouldn't lose too much range of motion or strength either. Not that there was any help for either if he did. At least it wasn't his wand arm if he did lose a bit of functionality.

"Wow," Harry said, awestruck by the speed the wound had healed with.

"It's all I feel safe doing."

The truth was she simply didn't know what else to do. The necessary healing spells weren't part of the Hogwarts curriculum either, and she'd been so focused on learning defensive and concealment spells to help Harry, that she'd never considered the need to learn them. It seemed a vast oversight now.

She'd believed herself so clever, but twice in as many minutes she'd discovered she was lacking. Perhaps Snape was correct when he pointed out she didn't know everything yet – his reasoning for insisting she wasn't actually brilliant, just smarter than her classmates. There just hadn't been enough time to properly prepare for every possibility.

Snape…he'd taught her a healing spell. She'd been so flustered she'd not even considered trying it. Ron could have bled out while she waited for Harry to locate the position and she'd been too incompetent not to lose her head. The same had happened in her first year against the Devil's snare when they'd tried to get the stone.

She was constantly failing. A little voice whispered as much in her ear, and she couldn't deny the truth of it.

The stress of the recent events had her babbling out an explanation to Harry while she monitored Ron's breathing. She felt like throttling Harry when he admitted to taking Moody's magical eye from Umbridge's door, the act having unintentionally led to their current predicament.

Not that she was any better. She'd not acted with the locket until Harry arrived, content to wring her hands and overanalyze everything instead. Pathetic.

At least Ron would live, and they had the locket. It didn't seem like much, but she clung to those small victories.

Hermione refused to budge until Ron woke, afraid that if she left his side something else would happen and she'd not be able to respond quickly enough to help. When he finally did a few minutes later, Hermione busied herself with casting all of the necessary spells to hide them, only then recognizing how exposed they'd been this whole time.

Another failure. She was making careless mistakes. She had to do better.

"Salvio Hexia…Protego Totalum…Repello Muggletum…Muffliato…You could get the tent, Harry…," she instructed, trying to sound less put out with him than she was. He'd risked everything – all of their lives and the mission – to retrieve an eye. They'd never make it to the end if Harry didn't learn to stop taking foolish, unnecessary risks. They all had to do better. "Cave Inimicum."

Ron's only reaction to hearing the full story and seeing his mangled arm was to say, "Hopefully Lavender finds this heroic and manly, rather than too disgusting to touch."

Harry had quickly assured him she would, but Ron had fallen back asleep soon after.

It was still some time later before she felt safe enough to message Snape without drawing Harry's notice. He was out front on watch anyways.

She was glad he was outside. Between the stunt with the eye then his little foray into Voldemort's head afterwards, Hermione was positively furious with him. Not to mention how he was stubbornly refusing to see her point. Why did it matter that Voldemort was obsessed with a thief? Aside from the fact that it gave Harry a new mystery to puzzle out – because he was doing so well with the current one and had time to take on a new challenge.

Was he trying to alert Voldemort to what they were up to? Eventually the monster was going to notice Harry's presence in his head. Then what would they do? Did Harry truly enjoy their connection? And what if, one day, Voldemort figured out how to do the same in reverse? Not to mention the fact that Harry might accidentally learn of her relationship with Snape. It would not go well for her if he found out like that, and she couldn't simply tell him – not after Dumbledore and George. Harry was completely irrational about Snape at this point.

'I felt your fear again. You promised no foolish risks.'

Hermione stared at the message waiting for her. She clutched the hard-earned locket in her fist and wondered if he was annoyed with her about it. Probably. Especially since the new term had started and he had an appearance to maintain.

Besides, she'd kept her word. It wasn't her fault Harry couldn't manage to do the same.

'It wasn't as though I did so intentionally.'

'Were you hurt?'

'I'm fine, but Ron got Splinched.'

'No more than the fool deserves.'

Hermione grit her teeth, hearing them grind even over the sound of Ron's snores. Did he have to be such an utter arse all the time and constantly insult her friends? 'It was my fault. Yaxley got a hold of me. I accidentally took him to Grimmauld Place.'

'Do not return under any circumstances.'

'Obviously.'

He truly thought she was an idiot. No wonder he was fine dying. Anything to be free of her.

'Where are you now?'

'The woods. Near where the Quidditch World Cup took place the summer before my fourth year.'

'You were almost caught.'

The condemnation rang clear in the statement, leaving her feeling small and obnoxious. It reminded her so much of those first few weeks at Hogwarts when she'd been entirely alone and friendless.

Doubts filled her mind, building and tumbling over themselves in an attempt to be acknowledged. Absently, Hermione touched the locket again where it laid against her chest. She'd asked for it back once Harry and Ron were through checking it over, intending to reference a few of the books she'd brought to see about opening it before going to bed that night.

'The mission was a success. That's all that matters.'

'Yes.'

Of course. He just wanted her to do her part and not make his life more difficult.

She debated asking him if he had any thoughts on how to destroy it, but the idea of admitting she didn't know herself filled her with insecurities. She wasn't smart enough to take on what they had, and informing Snape would do nothing but remind him that she was little more than an ignorant child. A nuisance the headmaster had forced him to take on.

"Think he'll be all right?" Harry asked, hovering by the open tent flap as he stared at Ron's slumbering form.

"He just needs a bit of rest," she said automatically, folding the parchment and stuffing it into her beaded bag before Harry got a look at it.

Truthfully, she had no idea. She wasn't a medic, and didn't know the first thing about healing a person after they'd been Splinched. All she'd managed to do was slap the equivalent of a bandaid on an amputation. Ron hadn't seemed too thrilled when he noticed the scarring earlier, but it was the best she could do.

Too bad her best wasn't good enough.

"What were you writing?" Harry asked, moving to drop down across from her at the table.

"Names of Muggle-borns I heard mentioned today. When this is over, I want to personally make sure they are all safe," Hermione replied, realizing she actually did want to do that very thing.

"Were they sent to Azkaban?"

"I think so. That's what happens when you break the law, and being Muggle-born is now illegal," she spat bitterly.

As though anyone asked to be born with magic. It was incredible, certainly, but also terrifying to realize you were different. At least until you got to Hogwarts and found the place you belonged with others just like you. Except now that was being taken away, and thanks to years of precautions, Muggle-borns were excluded and isolated from the Muggle world, but remaining in the wizarding world meant enduring punishment. It was a no-win situation. They belonged nowhere now – she belonged nowhere.

"But the Demetors fled, right?" Harry asked weakly, with only a fleeting note of hope flickering like a candle flame. Catching sight of her expression, she watched the fire go out, leaving nothing but empty, fading smoke behind as evidence.

"Not all of them, Harry. Otherwise they wouldn't have had some at the Ministry for the trials," Hermione said, forcing a patience she didn't feel. Harry was being willfully obtuse.

"They could be there for months," he said flatly, though his breathing had sped, betraying his panic.

"Probably," Hermione agreed darkly, grateful he was finally appreciating the full scope and magnitude of the issue.

"We have to do something," he insisted, but Hermione was shaking her head.

"You're the most wanted wizard in the country, Harry. You can't. Besides, we already have enough to do."

Neither said it, but they both understood. Those wrongfully imprisoned would likely be insane by the time they were released. It had been a miracle that Sirius wasn't, and Hermione wasn't entirely convinced he hadn't been.

Worse than anything, Hermione imagined what Azkaban would do to the first year Muggle-borns that had never even been to Hogwarts. Attendance was required now, so Muggles would have sent their eleven-year-olds off the day before not realizing they would never make it to the school. Probably, Death Eaters erased their memories, so they didn't even remember that they'd lost a child…just like what she'd done to her father.

She was as horrible as them, messing with someone's mind.

"We have to finish this," Harry said earnestly.

He looked stunned. Perhaps the difference was that she'd already had a couple days to process this turn of events in their world, but Harry was only just learning of it right now.

"Then stop getting distracted with what he is focused on," Hermione suggested, pursing her lips as she fought the urge to lecture him.

"It's not that simple," Harry said defensively. "I can't always control it or shut it out entirely."

And just like that she lost the fight. Angrily, she said, "It would be if you'd just –"

"We've been over this, Hermione! I'm rubbish at it. Snape wouldn't properly teach me – probably did that on purpose for his master," Harry retorted, blaming Snape for his failure as he always did.

"It's not his fault you didn't try," Hermione replied, tone clipped and hard. She stopped herself from saying more on the subject, worried she'd accidentally let something slip in the heat of the moment. "Look, that's not what's important. Do you know where the other Horcruxes are?"

"I don't even know what they are for sure," Harry admitted, shaking his head helplessly.

"You don't know," she repeated flatly, trying not to lose her temper and yell at him. Hadn't he met with Dumbledore repeatedly the year before to sort that part out? What had they been doing if not that? How were they supposed to proceed if they didn't know what they needed to find or where to look?

"You know as much as I do – everything Dumbledore told me, I told you," Harry retorted defensively, tensing at the censure he detected rolling off her.

She'd suspected as much, Ron had even said so, but to hear their fears confirmed made her anxious as hell. They needed help, but there was none to be had. They were stumbling around blindly, treading perilously close to a cliff's edge, and no warning in sight to save them. How had she let herself get dragged into such a mess? Particularly one where there was every likelihood that they would fail.

Stifling her temper, Hermione took a deep breath, and carefully said, "Then I guess we start brainstorming tomorrow. I'm going to get some sleep."

That was the first night she dreamed of Crabbe. Dreamed he had her, except Snape never came because he didn't care about the annoying student he'd been forcefully saddled with. So she dreamed Crabbe hurt her in unspeakable ways, laughing all the while and delighting in her suffering. Sometimes Lucius Malfoy was even there watching, egging her former classmate on.

It was the first night she dreamed of such things only to wake shaking and drenched in cold sweat, but nowhere near the last.


'Any progress?'

'No. How are things at Hogwarts?'

'As expected.'

Hermione snorted as she stared at the page. It was the same exchange they'd had every day for the last two months. Nothing more. Nothing less.

With a click, the lights in the tent went off. Hermione sighed loudly, letting Ron hear her irritation. A moment later another click sounded and they turned back on.

Her jaw ached from clenching it, but she didn't say a word. It happened periodically throughout every shift Ron assumed wearing the locket.

Click.

Darkness invaded, sucking all of the light from the tent once more.

Harry had just gone to bed, but Hermione had taken to staying up as late as possible each night, desperate to avoid the monster waiting each time she closed her eyes and let her guard down. It didn't offer her much of a reprieve, but she'd take whatever she could get.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Hermione sharply rapped her quill against the wooden table, listening as the pointed strikes filled the silence, hoping Ron would get the message.

He did.

Click.

A rosy glow bloomed through the space again, making Hermione blink as her eyes adjusted. Snape's final message came into view as she did, but she still didn't know whether or not she should reply.

The first day, once she'd realized that it was the locket making her feel so neurotic where Snape was concerned, she'd waited until Ron had it before writing to Snape, hoping the conversation would go better than the night before had.

It didn't.

It was hours before he'd found time to reply, and by the time he did, she was wearing the locket again. So when he'd said, "As expected," she'd not asked him to elaborate, and he hadn't offered anything more.

That first conversation, if you could call it that, had set the tone from then on, and she didn't know how to broach the ever-widening gap between them. Not when there seemed little point when they were still physically separated and half the time she wondered if he was relieved by the fact.

It seemed she had her answer regarding the decision he'd made about them that last time she'd seen him. He was through with her.

"Writing again?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"I'm translating the book Dumbledore left for me," she replied, gesturing towards where it sat beside her elbow.

"Haven't you already done that a few times now?" he asked, frowning at her. "It's a kid's storybook to teach a few morals. You're not going to get any deeper meaning out of it than that, Hermione."

"Dumbledore left it to me for a reason," she insisted, much as she had a number of times in recent weeks. It was always her excuse when she wrote to Snape.

It surprised her a little that he was aware enough of what she was up to to know she'd finished translating the book. Well, all except the one symbol she couldn't find a meaning for anywhere. The triangle enclosing the circle with a slash through it wasn't referenced in any of the runic books she'd brought with her, and she'd checked, repeatedly.

"Have you considered it might just have been because he knows you're obsessed with books?"

"No."

"You sure that's what you're really doing?" he asked cooly, his distrust evident.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked shrilly, then glanced to make sure she'd not unintentionally roused Harry. His breathing remained steady and even.

"Like I said, you've already finished translating it. You did that back at Grimmauld Place. I'm betting you even have the stories completely memorized by now with how often you sit there 'reading' them," Ron said, crossing his arms and scowling at her.

"I think you've been wearing the Horcrux too long. It's making you paranoid," Hermione tried, uneasily.

"You're deflecting," he accused, nailing it. She hated when he chose to be perceptive. It happened so rarely, but when it did, he almost always caught her at something. This was one instance she couldn't afford to let him.

"Whatever you think I'm up to, I assure you I'm not," she said tersely.

"Right," he said dryly, adding, "and that's the reason you've taken to avoiding sleep, then toss and turn all night long when you finally do."

Hermione swallowed, hoping it wasn't as audible as she feared it was in the quiet space. She hadn't thought they'd noticed. Not when they'd each seemed to have retreated into their own dark thoughts thanks to the Horcrux.

"Too many thoughts," she replied, waving her hand about to suggest it was because of their circumstances.

"I've shared a room with Harry for seven years. You don't have nightmares for no reason. What are you really up to, Hermione?" Ron pushed, unwilling to drop the subject.

Desperately, she quickly said, "Ron, I'm searching for a clue. I think Dumbledore might have added a hint about the Horcruxes, but left it in some form of code in case the book fell into the wrong hands – you know the Ministry searched it, as he must have guessed they would. I can't shut my brain off from trying to figure it out."

"You really think so?" he asked dubiously.

No, she didn't really think there was a hidden message, but she did believe that weird, indecipherable marking she'd found was some sort of clue. But considering she didn't have access to a library and couldn't bring herself to ask Snape outright for help, it didn't really do her much good.

"I have to. Harry doesn't have any new ideas, so this is all we've got."

"Well doesn't that just fill me with a world of confidence!" he scoffed loudly.

"What did –"

"What are you guys talking about?" Harry asked sleepily, their conversation having finally woke him.

Hermione gave Ron a pleading look. They'd agreed to try to avoid their usual fighting and bickering as much as possible, but she wasn't sure he'd remember that with the Horcrux currently influencing him. It was hard enough for all of them to remember most of the time, but they'd been doing reasonably well. All right, they did well when they chose to stay silent, which was most of the time any more.

"Hermione's obsession with that book," Ron answered tightly.

"No more than you are with the Deluminator," she countered, hoping to distract Harry. The last thing she wanted to do was alert him to the fact they'd been discussing their doubts in him.

"At least this is useful," Ron said hotly, clicking it again to prove his point.

"There must be a reason for everything Dumbldore left us. Now turn the lights back on," Hermione insisted.

Complying, he sarcastically asked, "So I can light our tent, you can read us bedtime stories, and the sword was supposed to be used for what? Cutting firewood?"

The sword. Hermione had completely forgotten that Dumbledore had intended Harry to have it.

"Harry, what did you use to destroy the diary?"

"A basilisk fang," he answered slowly, not understanding the relevance of her question or the excitement with which she asked. He rubbed his tired eyes and sat up, his blanket pooling around him. "Why?"

"And what did you use to kill the basilisk?" she demanded, already digging through her bag for the book she wanted.

"The sword of Gryffindor," he said, sounding as though he was merely humoring her while really he believed she'd finally cracked.

Hermione flipped through Secrets of the Darkest Art and stopped at the passage she was looking for, reading aloud, "To destroy a Horcrux, the means must be destructive enough that the Horcrux is damaged irreparably."

"You've told us that bit before," Ron said irritably, exchanging a confused look with Harry.

Sighing, Hermione asked, "Ron, what do you know about goblin-made items?"

"Like Aunt Muriel's tiara?"

"Yes, or armor – or the sword," she said pointedly.

"Well they get real possessive over it. Bill has told me stories about the lengths goblins will go to after someone dies…they think they own it then since they made it. It's barmy," Ron said, chuckling a bit to himself.

Impatiently, Hermione prodded, "Yes, but the properties of the metal they use. What are those? I know I've read something, but it's been ages, and I didn't bring any material on the subject."

"It doesn't get dirty," he tried, shrugging and scratching his head thoughtfully. "Oh, and you can't destroy it. Trying only makes it stronger."

"Meaning if you got basilisk venom on it, it would retain it?" Harry asked, figuring out what she had several minutes earlier. She couldn't believe she hadn't put the clues together sooner!

"Yeah, probably," Ron said slowly, the significance finally dawning on him as well.

"Hermione, you're a genius," Harry praised, making her grin.

Finally, something was going right!

At least until Ron oh so helpfully added, "Too bad the sword is at Hogwarts, and the castle is full of Death Eaters that want to kill us."

"At least we have some idea of a next step now," Harry tried, though he'd deflated upon hearing the reminder.

"Right. Another impossible step – just what we needed," Ron grumbled, heading outside to finish his watch. It was getting colder, but apparently that was preferable to the downtrodden atmosphere in the tent.