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It was difficult for Hermione to accept that Dumbledore— revered professor and Headmaster, leader of the Order, renowned wizard and protector, a symbol of reason and light— was really gone until she walked into the Great Hall the morning of his funeral, the last day of term, and found every seat at the staff table filled except for the throne-like chair in the center, the very same Dumbledore had customarily occupied during any significant Hogwarts' meal.

She, Harry, and Ron barely made it beyond the Great Hall's wide entryway however, as they were stopped by a clearly exhausted Professor McGonagall. Hermione hadn't even considered the toll the Headmaster's death and Snape's betrayal must be having on their Transfiguration's professor, and she felt a surge of guilt at seeing the clear lack of spark in the professor's demeanor.

"I would like you three to follow me to my office, if you would."

With no appetite to speak of, they merely nodded in silence and followed McGonagall's quick footsteps.

The professor secured the door behind them as they took their seats— seats they had occupied on more than one occasion— one one side of her large wooden desk.

Their Head of House occupied the vacant seat across from them and sat in silence for a moment, hesitating, and it appeared to Hermione she was preparing herself for quite a lot she wanted to say, but when McGonagall finally broke the silence, she said, "I will make this brief."

She sighed heavily as she unlocked a deep drawer on the side of her desk.

"About two months ago, Dumbledore came to me with these objects. He asked me to keep them safe, and to deliver them to you three should something happen to him."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another quizzically.

"I was about as perplexed as you are. I of course asked him if he did not have a final will and testament— simply for the sake of preparation, you see— but now that the Ministry has wasted no time barging into this school and stockpiling Professor Dumbledore's affects as if they belong to them— every book, trinket, and Every-Flavor bean—" she added in a mumble that clearly displayed her disgust and agitation, "—I can see exactly why he wished to entrust me with these objects."

"Are you saying Scrimgeour has confiscated all of Dumbledore's things?" Harry asked, his hands clenched into fists in his lap.

"That is exactly what I'm saying, Mr. Potter. Professor Flitwick and I nearly had to duel with Scrimgeour ourselves to keep him away from Albus' Pensieve," she continued quite seriously, her brows furrowed in anger.

"Isn't that illegal?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Not necessarily," Hermione explained, "but it's certainly not right."

McGonagall nodded in affirmation, unrolling a bit of parchment. Hermione recognized the late Headmaster's handwriting from the notes he'd sent to Harry over the year.

The professor cleared her throat before she read, "To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it.'"

McGonagall's hand disappeared behind her desk as she reached into the open drawer. When it reappeared, she held an object Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever seen before; it looked something like a silver cigarette lighter.

"I remember Dumbledore using that," Harry explained. "That can suck all light from a place, and restore it, with a click."

Ron examined it curiously between his fingertips as if it were a rare chocolate frog card.

McGonagall's face was unreadable, "Yours now, Mister Weasley. Keep it safe."

Ron nodded, then tucked it inside his robes.

"'To Miss Hermione Jean Granger," McGonagall continued before the greater part of her upper half disappeared behind the desk this time. She returned with a short stack of books.

"Typical," Ron interjected.

Hermione was too entranced to roll her eyes.

"'I leave books of great usefulness, including my personal copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the hope that she will find them as entertaining and instructive as the last book I gave her, and which I hope will help her continue to make the right choices.'"

Doing all she could to keep her hand from trembling, Hermione reached out for the small book at the top of the pile. Clearly ancient, its binding was stained and peeling in places. She held it with tenderness, her last link to the Headmaster. She hoped it contained answers.

McGonagall rubbed at her eyes, whether from emotion or exhaustion, Hermione couldn't tell. The professor looked as worn as Hermione felt.

"'To Harry James Potter,'" she read quietly, yet firmly, as if to brace herself against her own emotion, "'I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.'"

As McGonagall retrieved the tiny, walnut-sized golden ball, its silver wings fluttered rather feebly.

"Why did Dumbledore leave me this?" Harry wondered aloud.

The room was silent with the echo of a man who was very much a mystery; a mystery, Hermione couldn't help but noticing, that seemed to deepen with each passing day.

"Snitches have flesh memories," she said quietly.

"What?" said Harry and Ron together while McGonagall looked on in quiet affirmation.

Hermione sighed; Harry and Ron always seemed to forget that just because she had no interest in playing Quidditch, she knew more than a fair amount about the game they so idolized.

"Correct," said McGonagall. "A Snitch—" she explained, holding the golden ball aloft, it winked in the morning light, "—is not touched by bare skin before it is released, not even by the maker, who wears gloves. It carries an enchantment by which it can identify the first human to lay hands upon it, in case of a disputed capture. This Snitch will certainly remember your touch, Potter."

"So you mean Dumbledore might have left something inside for Harry?" Ron asked.

"It is most certainly a possibility."

Hermione's mind whizzed with a thousand possibilities; perhaps Dumbledore had left a tool behind for Harry to search for and destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes.

They all stared with bated breath at the small golden orb as McGonagall passed it into Harry's waiting palm, but when the cool metal touched his skin, nothing happened.

They all continued to gaze at the Snitch, its wings slowly fluttering, hoping it might transform in some way, but it remained unchanged.

McGonagall sat back in her chair, her posture and demeanor as slumped as Hermione had ever seen her. It was clear the professor was looking for answers too, perhaps some clue to make sense of everything that had transpired, some reason for Dumbledore's death. Her tired eyes found their faces again, and she quickly righted herself, as if only now remembering she a professor and they her students. When she spoke, her voice was even and calm.

"I know Professor Dumbledore was occupied with some important mission this year, and I know you have been part of that, Mister Potter. I can only imagine the information he shared with you, and the incomplete tasks he has left behind…"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione listened patiently.

"I do not ask you to divulge that information to me, but I do ask you— all three of you—" she continued, and there was no denying the tenderness in her voice, "—not to forget you have help when you need it."

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Dumbledore's funeral was a blur of faces, words, and fluctuating emotion. Hermione barely noticed the passage of time, but she was aware she must have cried because the corners of her eyes felt raw. The image of Dumbledore's white tomb floated in and out of her consciousness, but on her numb walk back toward the castle, all she could really think about was Draco.

She had run after Harry that night as he pursued Snape through the castle, but she'd gotten caught up in the battle, and hadn't been able to follow them out onto the grounds… to see Draco leave. Harry had told her Draco had looked back, as if he thought about staying to fight— for which side, Harry couldn't really tell— but ultimately, Draco had chosen to flee.

When she wasn't distracting herself in the library or the hospital wing, when she lay awake at night staring up into the canopy of her four-poster bed, she replayed the night of Dumbledore's death over and over, considering what she could have dine differently, how she could have convinced Draco to stay, how she might've run after him, left the castle with him.

Hermione lost Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville somewhere in the throng returning back to the castle after the funeral, and whether by accident or on purpose— she wasn't really sure— she realized where her feet were taking her; to the sixth floor storage closet where she and Theo had brewed their Felix Felicis. She did not expect to find luck there, but she hoped she would at least find Theo.

She was leaving on the train today, perhaps never to return… she had to talk to him. She knew he deserved an explanation.

The door to the storeroom was open, and Hermione discovered Theo alone, his back to her, leaning against the barren table that had not so long ago been covered with three cauldrons, books, vials, and a multitude of potions' ingredients. He was looking out the room's singular window, currently wide open, the same one they had often used for venting the fumes from their liquid luck.

"You didn't go to the funeral?" She asked quietly, leaning against the doorframe.

Theo straightened and turned to face her, and Hermione couldn't help but notice how much his features had changed— matured— since their confrontation on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of the school year.

Or maybe just my view of him has changed, Hermione thought.

"Not really my scene," Theo shrugged. "All that pomp and circumstance. I had a better view from up here anyway," he gestured toward the open window.

They stared at one another in silence, the air still.

"Are you done avoiding me now?" Theo asked at last, his hazel eyes earnest.

"Let's consider this a trial run," answered Hermione.

Theo smirked and sat atop the table. patting the spot beside him, a gesture for her to join him. Hermione obliged, and they gazed out the open window for a moment— Dumbledore's shining white tomb was just barely visible in the distance, the lingering funeral guests so small and distant, the sunlight turning the grounds gold. In an act that felt surprising natural, Hermione let her head drop gently upon Theo's shoulder, and they sat like that for a time, comforted by a shared silence between friends.

"This is a better view," Hermione sighed without lifting her head. Then, without Theo asking, she began her retelling of the night Dumbledore died, of the the battle, what had become of her Felix Felicis, the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Greyback, how Draco had immobilized her… Snape and Harry… how Dumbledore had died… the last time she saw Draco.

Theo shook his head in awe, although not altogether surprised by any of it. He'd pieced together what he'd been able through what Andromeda had shared with him, the Prophet, and the murmurs throughout the castle, particularly the Slytherin Common Room.

"I can't believe you gave Draco your Felix Felicis."

"Out of everything I just explained, that's what's most shocking to you?"

Theo shrugged. "Well… I suppose it's been clear to me for a while now how you feel about him. So I guess you're right Granger, it's not very surprising you'd freely give all your good luck to Draco."

"I—" Hermione began in protest, but stopped. She had no answer, and it was too painful, too complicated to think about her feelings now. She wouldn't be back next year, and it was unlikely she would ever see Draco again. He could be dead (although her interaction with Theo so far was giving her some hope), perhaps even she would not live to see another year.

"Draco's alive," Theo said plainly, as if reading her thoughts.

Relief overwhelmed her, then vanished just as quickly. He' chose to leave. He's still gone.

"My mum's alive, too," Theo blurted into the silence.

"Your— what?" Hermione lifted her head from Theo's shoulder and turned to face him, her eyes wide at his abrupt announcement, surprised to find his features completely sincere.

"She's alive. She's been alive all this time, disguised as a patient at St. Mungo's."

"At St. Mungo's…" Hermione repeated breathily, trying to put it all together.

"Couldn't remember a thing. They called her Jane," Theo chuckled. "I might start calling her Janie, bet she'd love that."

Hermione gaped. "Your— but— how?"

"I've made Hermione Granger speechless? I take that as a personal victory. I can call this year a success."

"Nott—" Hermione's brow furrowed in admonishment.

"Lighten up, Granger, you'll send yourself to an early grave," Theo said, instantly wishing he hadn't, Dumbledore's death and the gravity of war looming over them.

"Sorry," he mumbled quickly. "It's just— I think I need a laugh."

Hermione nodded, admitting to herself she could use one too. She knew they'd be few and far between from now on. "Tell me what happened."

"To make things brief, my mother, Vina Burke— who, now that I'm thinking of it, never changed her last name… bet father loved that… will have to ask her about it—"

Hermione frowned in impatience.

"Well, to summarize, about seventeen years ago, when our favorite Dark Lord was at the height of his power, I guess my mother started asking too many questions, and she didn't like the answers she got. There's more to it than that I'm sure, but I'm still trying to piece it all together. Anyway, she made a plan to leave my father and his Death Eater pals behind, and take little baby Theo with her. Well, father found out somehow, and plotted to have her murdered."

Hermione was too stunned to move; it was unimaginable to be raised by someone so wretched.

"My mum's family's house elf— you know him as the ever-witty Sprock— discovered father's plan. So with the help of another Burke family house elf— who's long dead now— they managed to transform a boggart into a striking likeness of my mother, and the idiots father enlisted to kill her actually fell for it… but father didn't."

"Apparently Sprock has known my mum since she was born, and he knew how— er, how did he put it? Oh yes, impulsive, she could be, but he couldn't stop her in time. Father and Lucius fucking Malfoy caught her trying to run away with me. Assumed she made the boggart. Father nearly killed her then, but Sprock begged for her life. Apparently 'Lucius the Good' convinced him it would be a waste of a pureblood life. So my father altered ordered Sprock to alter her memories and transfigure her appearance— house elf magic is pretty powerful against wizard counter-spells, you see, it's how she remained hidden so long— and they deposited her at St. Mungo's…"

"But— how—?"

"How was she discovered?"

Hermione nodded in shocked silence.

"She has a goblin-made platinum locket, a Burke family heirloom. When she opens the locket, inside is a portrait of me as a baby. I was quite the looker, by the way, you'll have to see my portrait sometime. You'll swoon."

Hermione was too stunned by Theo's story to roll her eyes.

"There's a duplicate portrait at Greystoke. Draco recognized it in Professor Tonks' memory during their Occlumency lessons— which you already mentioned you know about now— but when I hold the locket, her portrait is visible."

"Where—?"

"Where is she now?" Theo asked, as if reading Hermione's thoughts. "She's with Andromeda and her husband, Ted. That's where I was the night— well, you know. Andromeda brought me… apparently St. Mungo's is already overrun with Voldemort's corruption. They were about to place my mum in solitary confinement— which sounds like a fate worse than death, by the way— but Andromeda made it look like my mum escaped."

At last, Hermione felt she could move, but only enough to bring her hand to his arm. "Theo— I…"

Theo smiled ruefully.

"Thanks, Hermione," he responded quietly in earnest. He'd wanted to tell her about his mother from the moment he'd arrived back at the castle and found Draco gone. He'd been hoping she'd come to him in time, but worried perhaps, after all that had transpired, she would never speak to him again.

He was glad she did, and even more glad that he now had a clearly defined purpose.

When Theo looked up, their gaze met, and Hermione saw a fire burning behind his eyes.

"I want to join the Order."

"You—"

"I want Voldemort dead. I want my father and Lucius and Greyback and every one of those bloody monsters behind bars, or hey, better off dead. I want them to pay for what they've done to my mother, to me… to Draco… bloody hell, I want them to pay for what they've done to Potter and Dumbledore and—"

"Theo…"

"I'm serious, Hermione," Theo urged, brushing her hand away as he jumped off the table. "I've already told Professor Tonks. I'm going to do everything I bleeding well can to take down Voldemort. Even if it means I have to become a Death Eater and—"

"You're in."

Theo and Hermione turned with equal abruptness and shock to find Harry standing in the doorway.

Hermione shot Harry a reproachful look. She didn't need yet another one of her friends— because that's what Theo was to her now, she couldn't deny, her friend— putting themselves in danger's way.

Harry caught her look and replied, his tone serious, "You know he can help the Order, Hermione. And with Dumbledore gone… we need all the help we can get. And Nott will be back here in the fall… with Ginny, Luna, and Neville— they could use some help. Not even Hogwarts is safe anymore."

Hermione stared, her eyes darting from Theo to Harry and back again. It was as if they were sizing each other up, as if Harry was silently testing Theo's resolve. They seemed to somehow come to an unspoken understanding, and gave each other a silent nod.

"I'm not like the moronic followers that make up most of the rest of my house, Potter. And I'm certainly not my father."

"That's fortunate," Harry replied dryly. "I think the Order could use someone who knows the workings of the other side, someone with an in, now that—"

He paused, although there was no need for him to finish his thought, as they were all thinking it.

Snape.

"And it sounds like Professor Tonks trusts you, although Merlin knows why. It's obvious Hermione trusts you. So… so I guess I have to trust you too."

"Thanks for your resounding vote of confidence."

Hermione felt a flood of relief wash over her. Harry may not forgive her, or understand why she'd helped Draco, why she'd kept so much of her life a secret this year— but he still trusted her. That was enough.

"Well— just don't fuck up," Harry added flatly.

Theo simply grinned in response.

Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"Wait—" Theo said, only now realizing that it seemed Harry was implying he and Hermione would not be returning to Hogwarts. "Are you two not coming back to school in September?" He looked to Hermione imploringly, hoping she couldn't tell how awful the thought of a school year without her and Draco seemed to him.

"We'd better get to the train," Hermione said evasively, edging toward the door.

"Hold on—" Theo said, blocking her path, letting his question go unanswered in order to bring up an equally painful topic.

"Hermione— I… this came by owl the other day…" Theo's eyes flicked nervously up to her face, then down toward his hands again, as if he knew he was about to be the bearer of bad news, but he wasn't exactly sure the details of said bad news. "I'm not exactly sure what it's all about…"

He retrieved a small envelope from his pocket. Hermione's heart began to race, considering it might be a letter from Draco, evidence that he was okay, that it all hadn't been for naught…

Without thinking, her hand traveled to her platinum necklace, unaware of the shock and confusion on Harry's face as he realized she was wearing it again. With her free hand, she accepted the unmarked envelope.

She was surprised to feel the envelope's weight— heavy, hard, and cold— her heart sank as she quickly realized there was no letter, no note, no explanation… and certainly no hope.

Hermione carefully emptied the contents of the envelope into her hand; one Protean-charmed galleon and a platinum ring that glowed as brightly as her necklace.

Her breath caught in her throat and she had to bite her lip to quell the onslaught of emotion that ravaged her.

He's really gone.

Theo edged closer while Harry looked on, perplexed.

"Is that—? It is… what a complete, absolute git. I can't believe— well, I can, it's Draco, but— Hermione— he— he doesn't know what he's doing."

Hermione closed her hand tightly around the charmed galleon— she knew it was one from the set Draco had charmed as a communication device— and his ring— the one she'd studied so many times she was sure she'd recognize it amongst a thousand others. She gripped the objects so tightly her palm burned with the sting of it.

"What else is new?" Hermione asked bitterly, realizing anger was easier— so, so much easier than thinking she'd never see Draco again, that he never wanted to see her again… it was so much easier than admitting her feelings for him had consumed her heart.

"Hermione— what—?" Harry asked in concern, her distress obvious. "Are those from Malfoy?"

Ignoring Harry, she grabbed Theo's hand and shoved the coin and the ring into it. "Take them. I don't want them," she urged, her voice breaking.

"Hermione…" said Theo, grabbing hold of her hand before she could pull away. She couldn't meet his gaze— she knew she would fall apart.

"He's just trying to protect you. I know it."

"Protect—?" Harry sputtered, clearly trying to put it all together. Hermione had given Harry and Ron plenty of details about the vanishing cabinets, the necklace, Dumbledore, Felix Felicis, and even Snape… but she'd rather intentionally left out any details concerning the connection that had formed between her and Draco, a connection not unlike the one that bound his ring and her necklace.

"Protect me?" Hermione interrupted incredulously, aware that her pain was clear in her voice. "His message is pretty clear, Nott. He's done—"

—with me, she thought, her chest tight. She wondered, not for the first time, if he'd been using her all along.

"No— he's just being Draco can't-get-out-of-his-own-fucking-way Malfoy. I refuse to take these," Theo fumed, the coin and ring laying flat in his open palm.

"I won't. You should at least take the galleon, it's charmed for communication. We may need some secure way to send messages to each other," Hermione said, removing the coin's twin from her pocket and holding it up for Theo to see.

"Are those your D.A. coins?" Harry asked, stepping forward to get a better look.

"Essentially," Hermione explained. "Dra— Malfoy copied my idea. These are the ones he charmed."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Typical. Well— Hermione's right, Nott. We could use a secure way to send messages."

Theo sighed, but obliged. He shoved the coin into his robes.

"I can't argue with reason… so I'll take the coin, but I'm not taking Draco's ring. You keep it."

"That's— that's Draco's ring? The one he used to track you, Hermione?" Harry asked with disgust. "And why are you wearing that necklace again?"

"I don't want it," Hermione said unconvincingly, avoiding Harry's questions and gaze of disbelief.

"You're the only person he'd want to have it. I know it," Theo assured, knowing it was true, knowing Draco was doing what he thought would keep Hermione out of danger's way, because he cared for her more than he was ready to admit… because he thought Hermione was better off without him; seeing the heartbreak now in Hermione's face, the pain Draco was causing her, Theo wasn't sure his best friend was altogether wrong about that.

"Why would Draco want you to have his ring, Hermione…?" Harry asked, his voice trailing away as though stumbling into an answer to his own question.

"Finally figuring it out, eh Potter? I'm so glad I get to witness the look on your face, it's one for the ages. Your best friend has got more than a bit of a thing— let's call it a rather colossal thing— for your favorite Slytherin, and I don't mean me, although, I should be everyone's favorite Slytherin…"

"Hermione…?" Harry asked in disbelief, clearly hoping what Theo was implying was not true.

Hermione couldn't look at Harry; to look at him would be to admit the truth, to him and to herself. Apparently, he took her silence and diverted gaze as answer enough.

"I— I don't believe it."

"Believe it, Potter. Took me a while, but once you see them together it really starts to make sense… in a mad sort of way… like if your mother was thought dead for seventeen years but really all the while she was just locked up at St. Mungo's…"

"Nott—" Hermione warned.

"What in Merlin are you on about Nott?"

"Take it," Theo urged, ignoring Harry's perplexed glare and loosening Hermione's arms with his hands. He placed Draco's ring in her reluctant palm. "You can be the one to give it back to him."

Theo knew it was all wishful thinking, the idea that Draco and Hermione might see each other again, that they would all survive this war, that maybe they could be together some day, like Ted and Andromeda. But his living, breathing mother had been thought dead, hadn't she? And he was friends with a Gryffindor— with Hermione Granger, of all people, now, wasn't he? And Potter had survived once— more than once— hadn't he? Seemingly impossible things could happen, had happened.

For the first time in his life, Theo supposed that's what hope was all about, belief in the idea that the unthinkable can somehow become truth. For the first time in his life, Theo was willing to hope, and to fight for the chance to keep on doing so. For his own future, for his mother, and for his best friends.

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Just a little more until the final chapter...