/
Apparition lessons continued for the sixth years every Sunday in the Great Hall without much success all throughout what was a very dreary February; Susan Bones had managed to splinch her left leg from the rest of her body, and Seamus Finnigan had successfully caught his shoes on fire twice. Needless to say it would be a gross understatement to muse that tensions among the sixth year students were running high, and Hermione was certainly not immune.
This tension was only compounded by mounting coursework, exhaustingly slow cabinet research, and secret potion brewing. To top it all off, Hermione learned that Harry had somehow managed to decipher that Crabbe and Goyle had been keeping watch for Malfoy, prompting him to open the Map with increased frequency, much to Hermione's dismay. Luckily, Harry had not figured out exactly where it seemed Crabbe and Goyle meandered the most, nor where Malfoy was disappearing.
To keep there map out of Harry's hands as much as she was reasonably able, Hermione was doing her best to take the map with her whenever and wherever she could, especially when she met Draco and Theo in the Room of Hidden Things. In an attempt to stave off her best friend's suspicion, she claimed she was more likely to discover what Malfoy was up to because they were partnered for Healing.
Harry had eyed her curiously at this explanation, but had yet to question her.
Luckily, Hermione was able to use this partnership as an excuse for when she and Malfoy were together, whether they were actually working on their Healing assignments or— as was more often the case— doing research for the cabinet.
It was also fortunate for Hermione that Harry did not have nearly as much interest in Theo's whereabouts, and he had yet to notice her frequent trips to the store room where she and Theo continued to brew their Felix Felicis.
The first of March, Ron's birthday, arrived in what felt like the blink of an eye. The Hogsmeade trip had been cancelled due to the horrendous weather, but Hermione didn't mind. The rain and wind whipped outside, rattling castle windows, but inside the Room of Hidden Things, she, Draco, and Theo barely noticed, nor cared.
"How will we explain to Professor Tonks what happened to it if it disappears?" Hermione asked, holding onto the charmed Healing doll Theo still insisted upon referring to as 'Draco Junior,' much to Draco and Hermione's consternation.
"I told you, Granger— we'll just tell her my spell went wrong. She won't care, she likes me." Draco replied.
"Wasn't she exiled from your family? I don't think she likes you any more than any other student, Malfoy. Just because she's your aunt doesn't mean she'll give you special treatment—"
"That's exactly what that means," Theo interjected. "Look, I know you're scared for Draco Junior, but we need to try…"
Hermione and Draco both grimaced.
"If you call this thing Dra— that name— one more time, I'm going to toss you in the cabinet," Hermione replied fiercely.
"And I'll gladly help," Draco added. "But Theo's right, Granger, we have to try. Give it to me."
The narrow thread of hope Draco had grasped in January was again threadbare, slipping from his grasp. With Hermione's help, they'd performed a number of simultaneous spells with Borgin, but had yet to successfully transport anything larger or more sentient than an apple. Fear and desperation were again clawing at his insides.
To Draco's great irritation, Slughorn seemed to be refraining from arranging any more of his suppers for some mysterious reason, preventing him from checking the whereabouts of the mead he'd poisoned. He wondered every day where the said mead had gotten off to, whose hands it might've fallen into… and, most worrisome of all, whose lips it had yet to touch.
To make everything worse, Draco hadn't heard from his mother since before the holiday, and found himself constantly imagining all the ways Voldemort might be acting on his surmounting impatience and disappointment in the wake of his continued failure. Sleep was a long, distant memory.
"Fine," Hermione said reluctantly, handing over the doll, now wailing loudly.
Theo, Hermione, and Draco cringed at the sound.
"Quick, Draco… it's brutal," Theo said, looking away.
Draco placed the doll inside the cabinet and Theo hastily closed the door. The crying stopped almost instantly.
Theo opened the door; the doll was gone.
"That's the easy part," Hermione said as Draco stepped forward to close the door again.
"You're a cauldron half empty sort of person, aren't you?" replied Theo.
"I know it's difficult for you to recognize, but it's called being realistic. You should try it some time," Draco interjected and, much to his grudging pleasure, Hermione laughed.
"What fun would that be?" Theo chirped.
Draco sighed just as they all heard a rather wet-sounding thump from inside the cabinet, followed by a palpable absence of sound.
To his dismay, a dark red liquid slowly seeped beneath the doorframe.
"Oh, no…" Hermione whispered as Draco opened the door with grim trepidation.
The doll had made the journey back, but its appearance was a far cry from the way it had looked when they'd first placed it inside the cabinet. It lay there barely breathing, its clothes and skin torn to shreds, covered in its own blood. It was as if it had been splinched.
"Ugh, bloody hell—" Theo complained, retreating.
"Move," Hermione commanded as she rushed forward, crouching by the doll's side, her wand raised as she set to work healing it.
Draco stood beside her, immobilized by the weight of their failure, the reverberation of Hermione's powerful magic, and the sight of the haggard doll— its blood slowly dripping onto his shoes.
"Help me!" Hermione exclaimed, and the sound of her voice jolted Draco into action.
He knew Hermione truly cared about her academic success, but as he crouched beside her— saw her pained expression and blood-soaked hands— he suspected she cared about so much more than accidentally murdering her homework. Draco suddenly realized he cared too… but not particularly for the doll nor his class performance.
"We need to stop the blood flow," Hermione urged.
Draco did as he was instructed, carefully casting the healing spells he'd learned would help to ebb the flow of blood.
To his great relief, he saw the dark red liquid begin to recede, but the doll now lay unmoving.
"It's not breathing," Hermione said. "I think I need to restart its heart. Malfoy— keep healing its wounds."
Draco nodded.
"Corcillum vita!" Hermione exclaimed, but the doll did not stir.
"Corcillum vita!" Hermione tried again, in vain.
"It's just a doll—" Theo said from behind them.
Draco knew Theo was right, of course. It was just a doll, animated not by life, nor a soul— if there even was such a thing, Draco wasn't sure— but by magical charms. He had no desire to disappoint his aunt, nor to try to explain how they'd killed the doll, but at the sight of her determined expression, her continued efforts to save the doll, he found he couldn't disappoint Hermione.
"Together," Draco said unflinchingly. Their eyes met briefly and she nodded.
"Corcillum vita," Draco and Hermione cast in unison, the sound of their combined voices steady and calm.
To Draco's great relief, the doll made a sharp gasp for air, and its chest began to rise and fall once more. He turned to look for Hermione's brown eyes again— exactly what he hoped to see there, he was not sure— but to his great disappointment, she didn't look away from the doll, busying herself replenishing its blood.
His relief evaporated, leaving him cold, empty.
"That was close," Hermione said when there was not one drop of blood left in the cabinet and the doll was humming merrily to itself again, as if it hadn't just been nearly eviscerated.
In the emptiness, the familiar spark of anger ignited; Draco did not feel quite so relieved. He had failed to mend the cabinet… again.
His time was running out, and he felt as though he was being slowly eviscerated by his own fear and desperation— from the inside out.
But there was no one to help make sure his heart kept beating. No one to protect Theo and Hermione should this all go horribly wrong…
"Close? Who cares about the bloody doll, Granger? We're no closer to fixing this cabinet than we were before."
"Now that's not exactly true—" Theo interjected, hoping to stave off the argument he sensed brewing.
Draco and Hermione ignored him.
"Not exactly true?! Have I missed something? Did you somehow manage to send something through the cabinet without killing it or tearing it to pieces? Maybe you just forgot to mention it—"
"It didn't die," Hermione said sharply, her eyes blazing. "You said the bird died… but the doll didn't. That's progress, even if your teaspoon-sized intelligence can't see that."
"Granger, I don't think that's fair— got to be a tablespoon, at least—" Theo chimed.
Draco sighed in annoyance and ran his hands thorough his hair.
"So let me get this straight, Granger— you think being torn apart is better than being killed? You call that progress? Maybe you should hop in there next if you think we've made so much progress."
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest as she glared at Draco. It was almost as if Theo were not in the room. Draco clenched his jaw in anger. If he was being honest with himself, he was not angry with her, nor with Theo, but with himself.
"Draco, you know she's right. It's something… and something's better than—"
"—I think we can spend less time researching and more time trying the repair spells," Hermione interrupted, unblinking.
"Fine," Draco said, turning away from her at last. "I'll set up some times with Borgin."
"Fine," Hermione replied coldly, gathering her things.
"Fine, indeed!" Theo said with mock cheer. "Why don't I watch Draco Junior for a while— seems mum and dad could use some rest."
/
After leaving the Room of Hidden Things, Hermione, still reeling from the doll's injury and her argument with Draco, made her way to the storeroom on the sixth floor to check on Felix.
"Hermione!"
She spun around to find Luna running toward her, her wavy blond hair bouncing wildly behind her. Hermione immediately knew something was wrong; she had never seen the Ravenclaw look so out of sorts before. Luna had a knack for remaining cool and collected, even during the worst of times.
"What's wrong, Luna?" Hermione asked worriedly.
"It's— it's Ronald," she explained, gasping for breath. Hermione's eyes widened in fear.
"What's happened?"
"I'm not sure— let's go— hospital wing."
They raced to the hospital wing together and found Harry, Ginny, Fred, and George waiting outside, each of their faces portraying grave seriousness and exhaustion. At the sight of Fred and George's uncharacteristically somber expressions, Hermione felt her heart might stop.
"What's— happened?" Hermione gasped between put a steadying hand on her shoulder. Luna stared at Harry and Ginny in silence, her eyes as wide and fearful and searching as a doe's.
"He's okay," Harry said quietly.
"Thank Merlin," Luna whispered, her pained voice nearly inaudible.
"He was poisoned," Ginny explained, her expression a mixture of concern and appreciation for Luna.
"Poisoned?" Hermione whispered in shock, suddenly very grateful for Harry's hand on her shoulder. "Who—?"
"Ron ate some of the chocolates Romilda Vane gave me, they got mixed up with his birthday presents… they were laced with love potion," Harry explained tiredly, and Hermione got the sense he'd already explained the story at least half a dozen times.
Hermione glared at Fred and George at the mention of love potions, and they looked away abruptly, either suddenly very interested in the type of stone lining the walls and floor or they were feeling rather guilty.
"So I brought him to Slughorn," Harry shot Hermione a pointed look. She knew Harry was running out of ideas on how to obtain the rest of Slughorn's memory. "Slughorn gave him the antidote. But I guess the after-effects of love potions leave you feeling… er—"
"—heartbroken," Fred and George replied in unison, but when Hermione glared at them again they hurriedly looked away as if they'd been caught by McGonagall in the middle of the act of one of their pranks.
"I told him it was Ron's birthday. So Slughorn gave us some mead…"
Just then, the doors to the infirmary swung open, and Madam Pomfrey, looking as stoic as a statue, allowed them to enter.
"But you must be quiet," she directed her stern expression to Fred, George, and Harry, who had disturbed the walls of her infirmary on more than a few occasions.
"And no more than seven visitors at a time," she commanded, glancing at them one by one, taking count.
They entered the silent, heavily curtained and lamp-lit hospital wing. Only Ron's bed was occupied, and they all gathered around it. To her great relief, Hermione saw Ron looked wholly unharmed— a bit more disheveled than usual— mumbling in his sleep, but healthy— and, more importantly, alive.
"So, all in all, not one of Ron's better birthdays?" said Fred quietly.
"Well, this definitely isn't how we imagined handing over our present," George said grimly, placing a large wrapped gift on Ron's bedside cabinet as he sat beside Ginny.
"Yeah, when we pictured the scene, he was conscious," Fred continued.
"There we were in Hogsmeade, waiting to surprise him—" said George.
"You were in Hogsmeade?" Hermione asked curiously, diverting her attention away from Ron.
"We were thinking of buying Zonko's," explained Fred gloomily. "A Hogsmeade branch, you know, but a fat lot of good it'll do us if you lot aren't allowed out at weekends to buy our stuff anymore... but… er, Luna— I'm afraid to ask what you're doing," Fred remarked off-handedly as he drew up a chair beside Harry, all the while observing Luna with a quizzical expression.
Hermione saw Ginny smirk in amusement, and she turned her own attention to Luna with hesitant curiosity, finding the Ravenclaw walking in slow semi-circles around Ron's bed, all the while animatedly misting what looked like water into the air with each graceful turn.
"I'm purifying the air."
"George, I told you we'd need our herbal mist today."
"It's not herbal," Luna explained plainly, either ignoring or completely missing Fred's sarcasm. She began misting with increased exuberance.
"Luna… what exactly are you misting?" Harry inquired.
Hermione braced herself, thinking, I'm not sure we want to know.
"Gnome saliva, of course. It has wondrous healing properties."
Harry and Hermione reacted with matching grimaces. Ginny's shoulders shook with silent laughter.
"Fred, remind me to burn these clothes when we get home," George said gravely, brushing off his shoulders.
"…Lu—na…" Ron suddenly mumbled in his sleep. Luna began humming quietly to herself, her golden hair floating about her shoulders with every misty turn.
Hermione shook her head.
"Do your mum and dad know about Ron?" she whispered to Ginny.
"Yeah, they're meeting with Dumbledore right now… they should be back soon."
Hermione nodded, hoping Mr. Weasley would be too distracted to bring up any mention of the platinum necklace. "So you said you think Slughorn's mead poisoned Ron?" She asked Harry.
Something about the combination of Slughorn and mead nagged at the back of her mind, but she could hardly pinpoint why.
Harry nodded grimly. "Ron drank it first. We didn't know what was happening right away— but then I realized…"
Hermione's eyes widened in shock and she placed a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder.
"…and then I remembered I could use a bezoar— found one in Slughorn's office and shoved it down his throat…"
"Oh, Harry—" she whispered, feeling grateful for the Half-Blood Prince for the very first time.
"Lucky there was one in the room," Harry continued in a whisper as he placed his hand atop hers. Hermione turned cold at the thought of what might've happened otherwise.
"So the poison was in the drink?" asked Fred quietly.
"Yes," said Harry at once. "Slughorn poured it out—"
"Would he have been able to slip something into Ron's glass without you seeing?"
"Probably," Harry said, "but why would Slughorn want to poison Ron?"
"No idea," said Fred, frowning. "You don't think he could have mixed up the glasses by mistake? Meaning to get you?"
"Slughorn would never intentionally poison Harry," Hermione said immediately. It was no secret to anyone that Harry was one of— if not his most— favorite student, even now that he was trying to obtain the rest of the professor's hidden memory.
"I dunno," said Fred, shrugging. "There must be loads of people who'd like to poison Harry, mustn't there? The 'Chosen One' and all that?"
"Don't remind me," Hermione said, glancing at Harry worriedly. She recalled considering the same thing when Katie had been cursed by the opal necklace.
"So you think Slughorn's a Death Eater?" said Ginny.
"Anything's possible," Fred said darkly.
"He could be under the Imperius Curse," said George.
Hermione reasoned this was not out of the realm of possibility, but it seemed to her to be highly unlikely.
"Or he could be innocent," she mused aloud. "The poison could have been in the bottle, in which case it was probably meant for Slughorn himself."
"Who'd want to kill Slughorn?" George asked.
"Dumbledore reckons Voldemort wanted Slughorn on his side," Harry explained. "Slughorn was in hiding for a year before he came to Hogwarts. And..."
Hermione met Harry's gaze knowingly; she knew they were both thinking of the memory Dumbledore had not been able to extract from Slughorn, the memory Harry had been tasked with retrieving.
"…and maybe Voldemort wants him out of the way, maybe he thinks he could be valuable to Dumbledore."
"But you said Slughorn had been planning to give that mead to Dumbledore for Christmas," Ginny said to Harry.
But Slughorn prefers wine… Hermione's mind whispered.
"So the poisoner could just as easily have been after Dumbledore," Ginny continued.
Slughorn prefers wine and Dumbledore prefers mead…
Hermione suddenly felt as though she'd been the one rotating in semi-circles around Ron's bed; her head was spinning, the floor beneath her feet collapsing…
She gripped the back of Harry's chair to steady herself.
At the mention of Dumbledore, a memory rushed to the forefront of Hermione's mind… of the night of one of Slughorn's suppers, the very same evening he'd commented on her platinum necklace and Malfoy's ring. She remembered with clarity now… the professor had explained that Dumbledore had an immense love of the honey liquid…
She remembered both she and Malfoy had been distracted that evening, but she was certain he'd heard Slughorn too.
Malfoy tried to poison Dumbledore— he's trying to murder Dumbledore. Voldemort's tasked Malfoy with murdering Dumbledore.
With this realization, Hermione gripped the back of the chair with such increased force that her knuckles turned white.
She couldn't prove Malfoy had poisoned Slughorn's mead any more than she could prove he'd planted the cursed opal necklace, but she could not deny the mounting coincidences and circumstantial evidence, nor the fact that both acts certainly had quite a lot in common.
No… she thought, feeling sure she'd forgotten how to breathe. It can't be… Voldemort has set him up to fail… to die…
"Hermione—?" Harry whispered. Hermione looked in his direction and found his tired eyes full of concern.
She realized she must look quite ashen; she certainly felt as if all the blood had been drained from her body, as if she were the little doll on the floor of the cabinet.
Just then, the hospital wing doors flew open, making them all jump: Hagrid came striding toward them, his hair rain-flecked, his bearskin coat flapping behind him, a crossbow in his hand, leaving a trail of muddy dolphin-sized footprints all over the floor.
"Bin in the forest all day!" he panted. "Aragog's worse, I bin readin' to him—didn' get up ter dinner till jus' now an' then Professor Sprout told me abou' Ron! How is he?"
"Not bad," Harry said, again eyeing Hermione with concern. "They say he'll be okay."
"No more than seven visitors at a time!" exclaimed Madam Pomfrey, hurrying out of her office.
"Hagrid makes seven," George pointed out.
"Oh... yes..." relented Madam Pomfrey, who seemed to have been counting Hagrid as several people due to his vastness. To cover her confusion, she hurried off to clear up his muddy foot prints with her wand.
"I don' believe this," said Hagrid hoarsely, shaking his great shaggy head as he stared down at Ron. "Jus' don' believe it... look at him lyin' there... who'd want ter hurt him, eh?"
Hermione barely heard Hagrid; her mind— and heart— were racing with thoughts of Malfoy.
"That's just what we were discussing," Luna chimed. "We don't know."
"Someone couldn' have a grudge against the Gryfinndor Quidditch team, could they?" said Hagrid anxiously. "Firs' Katie, now Ron..."
"I can't see anyone trying to bump off a Quidditch team," George reasoned.
"Wood might've done the Slytherins if he could've got away with it," said Fred fairly.
"I seriously doubt it's Quidditch, but I think there's a connection between the attacks," Hermione whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
"Hermione?" Harry asked again gently. He rose from his chair to stand beside her.
She didn't even notice everyone was now staring at her. Even Luna had halted her spritzing to listen.
"Well… for one thing, they both ought to have been fatal and weren't, although that was pure luck. And for another, neither the poison nor the necklace seems to have reached the person who was supposed to be killed…"
She swallowed hard, but the lump in her throat wouldn't disappear. Hermione didn't want to admit it, but she felt almost certain now that this intended person was Dumbledore.
"Of course," she added broodingly, "that makes the person behind this even more dangerous in a way, because they don't seem to care how many people they finish off before they actually reach their victim."
Desperation.
Draco's heart-wrenching words to Snape the night of Slughorn's party echoed through her mind.
'"It has to be me, or he'll—"'
Before anybody could respond to Hermione's ominous pronouncement, and before she lost herself any further under the weight of her own thoughts, the hospital wing doors opened again and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hurried up the ward; Mrs. Weasley seized hold of Harry and hugged him very tightly.
"Dumbledore's told us how you saved him with the bezoar," she sobbed. "Oh, Harry, what can we say? You saved Ginny... you saved Arthur... now you've saved Ron..."
"Don't be... I didn't..." muttered Harry awkwardly.
"Half our family does seem to owe you their lives, now I stop and think about it," Mr. Weasley said in a constricted voice. "Well, all I can say is that it was a lucky day for the Weasleys when Ron decided to sit in your compartment on the Hogwarts Express, Harry."
Mr. Weasley's earnest sentiment shattered Hermione's foreboding reverie.
"I tell myself the same thing, Mr. Weasley," Hermione said, smiling as she took a step closer to Harry. She could tell he was flustered into silence by all the attention. "I feel so lucky that I decided to look for Neville's toad in their compartment that day… but I think we ought to leave now, or Madam Pomfrey won't let Ron have any future visitors."
She met Harry's eye and saw he was smiling at her gratefully. In truth, she was equally as grateful for an excuse to leave the room.
She needed space to think… to breathe… then maybe she'd see she was actually all wrong about Malfoy and Dumbledore.
The pounding in her chest told her otherwise.
She, Harry, and Hagrid motioned for the doors, leaving Ron with his family and Luna.
"It's terrible," growled Hagrid into his beard, as the three of them walked back along the corridor to the marble staircase. Hermione was barely paying attention, and nearly tripped down the steps.
"Wotcher, Hermione," Hagrid said, and Harry again glanced at her worriedly.
Hermione returned his glance with a look that said "Not right now." The thought of detailing her suspicions concerning Malfoy and Dumbledore to Harry made her feel as though her stomach was tied up in knots, and she certainly had no intention of involving Hagrid.
"All this new security, an' kids are still gettin' hurt... Dumbledore's worried sick... He don' say much, but I can tell…" Hagrid continued, blind to their silent exchange.
Hermione bit her lower lip at Hagrid's mention of the security, thinking of the vanishing cabinet's potential to breach the castle's walls.
"He must have some ideas though, Hagrid?" Harry added.
"I spect he's got hundreds of ideas, brain like his," said Hagrid. "But he doesn' know who sent that necklace nor put poison in that mead, or they'd've bin caught, wouldn' they? Wha' worries me," said Hagrid, lowering his voice and glancing over his shoulder, "is how long Hogwarts can stay open if kids are bein' attacked. Chamber o' Secrets all over again, isn' it? There'll be panic, more parents takin their kids outta school, an nex' thing yeh know the board o' governors ..."
Hagrid stopped talking as the ghost of a long-haired woman drifted serenely past, then resumed in a hoarse whisper, "... the board o' governors'll be talkin about shuttin' us up fer good."
"Surely not?" Harry asked, looking worried.
"Gotta see it from their point o' view," said Hagrid heavily. "I mean, it's always bin a bit of a risk sendin' a kid ter Hogwarts, hasn' it? Yer expect accidents, don' yeh, with hundreds of underage wizards all locked up tergether, but attempted murder, tha's diff'rent. 'S no wonder Dumbledore's angry with Sn—"
At Hagrid's mention of Dumbledore and near mention of Snape, Hermione eyes widened.
Hagrid stopped in his tracks, a familiar, guilty expression on what was visible of his face above his tangled black beard.
"What?" she asked quickly. "Dumbledore's angry with Snape?" She felt Harry stiffen beside her.
"I never said tha'," said Hagrid, though his look of panic could not have been a bigger giveaway. "Look at the time, it's gettin' on fer midnight, I need ter—"
"Hagrid, why is Dumbledore angry with Snape?" Harry asked loudly.
"Shhhh!" said Hagrid, looking both nervous and angry. "Don' shout stuff like that, Harry, d'yeh wan' me ter lose me job? Mind, I don' suppose yeh'd care, would yeh, not now yeh've given up Care of Mag-"
"Don't try and make me feel guilty, it won't work!" said Harry forcefully. "What's Snape done?"
Normally, Hermione would've admonished Harry for speaking to Hagrid in such a way, but she admitted she'd been about to address him similarly, if Harry hadn't beaten her to it.
"I dunno, Harry— Hermione— I shouldn'ta heard it at all... well, I was comin' outta the forest the other evenin' an' I overheard 'em talking— well, arguin'. Didn't like ter draw attention to meself, so I sorta skulked an tried not ter listen, but it was... well, a heated discussion an' it wasn' easy ter block it out."
"Well?" Harry and Hermione urged as Hagrid shuffled his enormous feet uneasily.
"Well... I jus' heard Snape sayin' Dumbledore took too much fer granted an maybe he—Snape—didn' wan' ter do it any more—"
To what? Hermione wondered frantically. To teach? To work for the Order? To protect Malfoy? Hermione's mind was racing again.
But he made an Unbreakable Vow.
"Do what?" Harry asked aloud.
"I dunno, it sounded like Snape was feelin' a bit overworked, tha's all—anyway, Dumbledore told him flat out he'd agreed ter do it an' that was all there was to it. Pretty firm with him. An' then he said summat abou' Snape makin' investigations in his House, in Slytherin."
Hermione exchanged a look full of meaning with Harry, even though she was aware she knew much more about Malfoy and Snape than she'd let on.
"Well, there's nothin' strange abou' that!" Hagrid added hastily, noting their silent communication.
Does Dumbledore know Malfoy's a Death Eater…? She still winced at the thought. You still don't know for sure, her mind tried to reason hopefully. You've never seen his mark…
Does Dumbledore know that Malfoy's trying to kill him? She shook her head, the weight of the thought too difficult to bear.
"All the Heads o' Houses were asked ter look inter that necklace business—"
"Yeah, but Dumbledore's not having rows with the rest of them, is he?" Harry replied sharply.
"Look," Hagrid twisted his crossbow uncomfortably in his hands; there was a loud splintering sound and it snapped in two. "I know what yeh're like abou' Snape, Harry, an' I don' want yeh ter go readin' more inter this than there is."
"Look out," said Hermione tersely as she noted an approaching shadow.
They turned just in time to see the shadow of Argus Filch looming over the wall behind them before the man himself turned the corner, hunchbacked, his jowls aquiver.
"Oho!" he wheezed. "Out of bed so late, this'll mean detention!"
"No it won', Filch," said Hagrid shortly. "They're with me, aren' they?"
"And what difference does that make?" asked Filch obnoxiously.
"I'm a ruddy teacher, aren' I, yeh sneakin' Squib!" said Hagrid, firing up at once.
There was a nasty hissing noise as Filch swelled with fury; Mrs. Norris had arrived, unseen, and was twisting herself sinuously around Filch's skinny ankles.
Hermione scowled.
"Get goin'," said Hagrid out of the corner of his mouth.
She and Harry did not need telling twice; they both hurried off, Hagrid's and Filch's raised voices echoing behind them. They passed Peeves near the turn into Gryffindor Tower, but he was, mercifully, streaking happily toward the source of the yelling, cackling and calling,
"When there's strife and when there's trouble, call on Peevsie, he'll make double!"
The Fat Lady was snoozing and not pleased to be woken, but swung forward grumpily to allow them to clamber into the mercifully peaceful and empty common room.
They took a seat side-by-side— as was their custom— beside the fire and looked into the dying embers in brooding silence.
Hermione knew Harry was probably wondering why Dumbledore seemed to be keeping things from him.
"Look— Harry… Dumbledore, he— he always seems to have a plan… to know things no one else does…" she said quietly.
Or at least I hope he has a plan…
"I just wish he'd let on even a little bit of his plans sometimes," Harry replied, his eyes unmoving from the hearth. "Or give me some hints, at least."
"He believes in you, Harry. He knows how much you can accomplish on your own."
"My own?" Harry chuckled dryly. "I'd never get anywhere without you."
She suddenly felt a lump in her throat. She wasn't ready to have this conversation… not now… preferably not ever, but she could tell Harry was feeling a bit abandoned by Dumbledore, a man who he looked to as a mentor.
"I meant what I said earlier, Harry… about looking for Trevor in your train compartment," she said, hoping to cheer him up a bit.
"I'm the lucky one," Harry whispered.
They stared at the dying embers in silence, immobilized by their own hesitation. Even though Hermione felt as though the weight of all her lies was wedged between them— a growing wall that seemed more unscalable with each passing day— she fully accepted she was only about to widen the gap, to add another layer to the cold, stony barrier she had created all those months ago. What choice did she have?
'"Lives hang in the balance…"'
"Harry, I— I need to borrow your cloak…"
They finally turned to face each other, and Hermione saw confusion, and pain, in Harry's expression.
"My cloak?"
"I need to see Dumbledore… to tell him about my necklace, about what happened with Malfoy in Borgin's… that he saw the opal necklace there."
She wasn't completely lying to Harry; she did need to see Dumbledore— to to warn him— although some part of her suspected the Headmaster already knew.
She'd already considered going to Snape, knowing the professor had vowed to protect Malfoy, that he continued to try, in vain, to help him… but she couldn't help but question the professor's true alliance.
Hermione even considered going to Theo might be best… but she knew he would do anything to protect Malfoy, even if it meant someone else might be hurt in the process, including himself. She'd do— she had done— the same for Harry.
Katie Bell, and now Ron, had nearly died. And it could've been Harry. She felt partly responsible for her silence, but she wasn't really helping Malfoy, after all— or was she?
Maybe I don't even need to mention Malfoy's name to Dumbledore…
Hermione shook her head internally. She didn't want to wait to find out who would be Malfoy's next unintentional— or intentional— victim… she couldn't wait to find out who else's blood she might have on her hands…
Dumbledore will help him, Hermione tried to convince herself.
"So this is what you were thinking about in the hospital wing? You think Malfoy's behind the poisoned mead?"
Hermione did not reply.
"What do you know, Hermione? What am I missing?" Harry pleaded. "What aren't you telling me?" He added quietly.
"I— I don't know… but I need to tell Dumbledore what we do know…"
"I'll go with you," Harry said softly.
"I think I need to do this alone."
Harry opened his mouth as if to reply, searching her eyes.
"Please, Harry."
He nodded silently before disappearing up the stairs that led to the boys' dormitory.
Hermione could tell she'd disappointed him, that if he hadn't suspected she'd been lying to him, he certainly did now. But what was worse— much worse— was that she realized none of that really mattered.
Harry returned a minute later, the Invisibility Cloak clasped in hand.
"Acid Pops?" Hermione asked as she took the cloak from his hands.
Harry merely nodded in silence, his green eyes downcast.
/
A/N: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I hope you continue to read and enjoy.