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Hermione's back stiffened as she was startled from her book by the sound of scurrying padded feet across the library floor. She relaxed when she recognized the flash of Crookshanks' tail as he chased what Hermione could only assume must be a mouse.
Her furry orange companion had been unusually attached to her side from the day of Dumbledore's death; Hermione reasoned he must sense her distraught, or at least, the distraught and grief that was now so pervasive in the castle had urged him to her.
The walls and grounds themselves seemed to be in mourning— the typically refreshing May breeze was now sluggish and damp, the shadows cast by colorless windows in the halls all-consuming. Meals from the house-elves in the kitchens were decidedly morose, and portraits and ghosts alike lamented around every corner and stairwell. Even Madam Pince, long-time stoic watch-woman and official "shusher" of Hogwarts' library could not bring herself to her post. So Hermione sat alone amongst the ignored, dusty shelves, the restricted section now completely unrestricted.
She tucked her hair behind her ear and attempted to return to her book— Trials, Talismans, and Terrors, a ghastly sort of tome that was admittedly making her feel rather sick— but found, again, she couldn't focus. Her mind wandered from Horcruxes to her parents to the mysterious R.A.B. to the Half-Blood-Prince to Dumbledore's lifeless body suspended amongst a greenish starlight sky… and to Draco, always back to Draco.
She shook her head.
The abandoned library could not ease her current pain, but it was a small refuge from many things; from Theo— who she had been avoiding at all costs, fearing she would break down the moment she spoke to him— and from the delegation of Ministry officials, including the Minister for Magic himself, who was being accommodated within the castle. Hermione and Ron did their best to help Harry diligently avoid contact with any and all of them; as they were quite sure that, sooner or later, he would be asked (again) to account for Dumbledore's last excursion from Hogwarts. Thankfully, it didn't seem that the Ministry officials had thought to look for Harry in the library.
There was a tentative, unspoken agreement between Harry, Ron, and Hermione that they would not talk about the details of what had transpired the night of Dumbledore's death, or at least, not again. They'd already shared detailed explanations with McGonagall, Flitwick, Slughorn, and Professor Tonks and then again with Remus, Tonks, and the Weasleys.
Hermione knew, however, by the subtle shroud of coldness that lingered between her and her best friends, she was quite sure they did not forgive her.
They didn't understand why she'd helped Draco any better than why Dumbledore had seemingly sacrificed himself and gone to such great lengths to protect Draco… but she couldn't blame Harry and Ron, not really, not when she herself couldn't quite face her own feelings.
She wasn't sure which was worse, however; Harry's distance or Ron's continued disbelief.
Hermione sometimes caught Ron staring at her as if she were a particularly complex homework assignment. She was just glad they hadn't seemed to notice the platinum necklace again clasped around her neck…
Yet… her thoughts reminded her. She wasn't sure how she was going to explain that.
Hermione could not deny she was thankful for the relative avoidance of the topic of Draco Malfoy.
When she wasn't in the library, she, Harry, and Ron, were also spending plenty of time in the hospital wing with Ginny, Luna, and Neville, who'd spent a few days recovering from his wounds from the fight… and the ferocity of Ginny's hugs after he'd admitted he hadn't actually swallowed any of Harry's Felix Felicis, so there'd be enough for everyone else.
"You bloody, idiotic amazing git!" Ginny had yelled, buried in his surprised embrace. "I'm going to kill you!"
Even after Neville had been discharged they continued to visit, as Bill remained under Madam Pomfrey's (and Molly Weasley's) doting care. His scars, the result of his confrontation with Greyback— the very one that had allowed Hermione to slip away to get to Draco— were as bad as ever; in truth, he now bore a distinct resemblance to Mad-Eye Moody, though thankfully with both eyes and legs, but in personality he seemed just the same as ever.
Hermione was glad for his recovery, but she couldn't help the nagging feeling of guilt— that maybe, somehow, her use of Felix Felicis had resulted in Bill's injury. Maybe it'd been her fault. She, Harry, Fleur, and the Weasleys were thankful all that appeared to have changed was that he now had a great liking for very rare steaks.
"...so eet ees lucky 'e is marrying me," said Fleur happily, plumping up Bill's pillows, "because ze British overcook their meat, I 'ave always said this."
Hermione closed her book in defeat. She hadn't had any luck with Horcrux research, not merely thanks to her distracted thoughts, but because no books, even the ones in the restricted section, seemed to have any information about them. Her search for the mysterious R.A.B. had also been fruitless so far, but she didn't have information to share with Harry and Ron about Eileen Prince— information she'd been avoiding sharing, but knew she must.
She sighed and made her way through the morbid silence of the castle halls to Gryffindor's somber Common Room. It was the night before Dumbeldore's funeral, and she joined Harry and Ron beside an open window.
"Anyone else we know died?" Ron asked Hermione, gesturing to the Evening Prophet in her hands.
Hermione winced at the forced toughness in his voice, but more at the reminder: Dumbledore's gone…. and Draco's gone. He might be dead, too.
"No," she sighed, folding up the newspaper. "They're still looking for Snape, but no sign…" But she knew there would be no sign.
She held back the tears forming in her eyes; she'd trusted Snape to help Draco… to help Dumbledore. She'd been so wrong.
And what was worse… none of it made sense. Why Dumbledore knowingly gave Draco the answers to mend the vanishing cabinets, why he'd gone so far to protect Draco, why he insisted that Snape could be trusted…
"Of course there isn't," said Harry angrily."They won't find Snape till they find Voldemort, and seeing as they've never managed to do that in all this time…"
Hermione imagined Draco by Snape's side, standing before Voldemort at some dark, hidden location— maybe Malfoy Manor— dutiful servants, returned to their "Dark Lord." She shook her head, the image too painful.
"Harry, I found something out this morning, in the library…"
"R.A.B.?" said Harry, sitting up straight.
Hermione wished she had discovered some shred of information about the mysterious R.A.B., the initials of a Death Eater who had betrayed Voldemort, who had perhaps destroyed one of his Horcruxes.
In truth, Hermione was spending as much time as she could in the library not simply to avoid her own thoughts— thoughts of Draco and Dumbledore— nor her guilt; it wasn't even her inability to sleep nor her desire to avoid Theo (afraid she'd be unable to keep herself together in his presence) that kept her hidden among the stacks of books (although these things were certainly contributors).
Most of all, she knew her time at Hogwarts was limited, and how very unlikely it was that she would be back.
She knew she and Ron would journey with Harry along the dark and winding path now stretched before them. She knew there might still be as many as four Horcruxes out there somewhere and each would need to be found and eliminated before there was even a possibility that Voldemort could be killed. She kept reciting their names to herself, as though by listing them she could bring them within reach: the locket… the cup… the snake… something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's… the locket… the cup… the snake… something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's…
Her research so far had been frustratingly fruitless.
"No," she said sadly, "I've been trying, Harry, but I haven't found anything… there are a couple of reasonably well-known wizards with those initials— Rosalind Antigone Bungs… Rupert 'Axebanger' Brookstanton… but they don't seem to fit at all. Judging by that note, the person who stole the Horcrux knew Voldemort, and I can't find a shred of evidence that Bungs or Axebanger ever had anything to do with him… no, actually, it's about… well, Snape."
She hated to bring up the professor's name again, but Harry had to know.
"What about him?" asked Harry heavily, slumping back in his chair.
"Well, it's just… remember all those awful discipline records Snape made us sort? I came across a student— Eileen Prince."
Harry and Ron looked at her expectantly.
"I think Eileen Prince once owned that potions book. You see… she was Snape's mother," Hermione explained joylessly. It was painful to talk about Snape, and the Prince's book, and the scars the book had left behind.
"I thought she wasn't much of a looker," said Ron. Harry and Hermione ignored him.
"I was going through the rest of the old Prophets and there was a tiny announcement about Eileen Prince marrying a man called Tobias Snape, and then later an announcement saying that she'd given birth to a—"
"— murderer," spat Harry.
"Well… yes," said Hermione despondently. "Snape must have been proud of being 'half a Prince', you see? Tobias Snape was a Muggle from what it said in the Prophet."
"Yeah, that fits," said Harry. "He'd play up the pure-blood side so he could get in with Lucius Malfoy and the rest of them… he's just like Voldemort. Pure-blood mother, Muggle father… ashamed of his parentage, trying to make himself feared using the Dark Arts, gave himself an impressive new name— Lord Voldemort— the Half-Blood Prince— how could Dumbledore have missed —?"
"It still doesn't make any sense, Harry— why would Snape agree with Dumbledore to make an Unbreakable Vow to protect Dra— Malfoy?" Hermione hastily corrected. "He could have easily sacrificed Malfoy's safety for his own glory…" Hermione ruminated aloud for perhaps the thousandth time. None of it made sense. Snape was as mysterious as ever.
"A ruse of course, to make Dumbledore think he could be trusted—"
"But that doesn't explain why he didn't turn you in for using that book," said Ron. "He must've known where you were getting it all from."
"He knew," said Harry bitterly. "He knew when I used Sectumsempra. He didn't really need Legilimency… he might even have known before then, with Slughom talking about how brilliant I was at Potions… shouldn't have left his old book in the bottom of that cupboard, should he?"
"But why didn't he turn you in?" Ron prodded.
"The only reasonable thing seems to be that Snape didn't want to associate himself with that book," Hermione answered, looking out the window, as if speaking only to herself. "I don't think Dumbledore would have liked it very much if he'd known. And even if Snape pretended it hadn't been his, Slughorn would have recognized his writing at once. Anyway, the book was left in Snape's old classroom, and I'll bet Dumbledore knew his mother was called 'Prince'."
"I should've shown the book to Dumbledore," said Harry. "All that time he was showing me how Voldemort was evil even when he was at school, and I had proof Snape was, too—"
"'Evil' is a strong word," said Hermione quietly, thinking again of Snape's protection of Draco, of some of the strange, almost empathetic comments and looks he'd directed her way over the course of the year.
"You were the one who kept telling me the book was dangerous!"
"I'm trying to say, Harry, that whatever the reason, Snape suspected I knew all about Malfoy's plans and the vanishing cabinets, but he never used Legilimency on me. He didn't try to stop me. He protected Malfoy. Snape could have easily killed him after he murdered Dumbledore," she explained, trying to keep her emotion in check, unsure if she was more upset by the memory of Dumbledore's lifeless body soaring through the air or the thought of Draco dead. "Snape could have easily killed me. The other Death Eaters certainly wanted to."
She swallowed hard, remembering Greyback's vile breath and his grip around her neck. They were silent for a time, clearly unable to argue with Hermione's reasoning.
"And you're putting too much blame on yourself," Hermione said quietly, breaking the silence. "I thought the Prince seemed to have a nasty sense of humor, but I would never have guessed..."
"There are a lot of things we never would have guessed this year," Harry added stonily.
Hermione looked away, wracked with guilt, unsure if Harry and Ron would ever forgive her… if they would ever understand. If she would ever understand.
"None of us could've guessed Snape would… you know," said Ron in an obvious attempt to clear the tension.
Silence fell between them, each of them lost in their own thoughts, but Hermione was quite sure that they, like her, were thinking about the following morning, when Dumbledore's body would be laid to rest.
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A/N: The dialogue between Harry, Ron, and Hermione was taken right from HBP and modified to fit this story. Thank you so much for reading, following along, and reviewing!