Tidbit: wow I'm such an asshole. I haven't updated this story in like a year and a half. Sorry, I just lost interest. I promise however, that I will finish it because I just spent a couple hours mapping out where I want it to go. So, here is the latest chapter. Enjoy!

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Hermione patted her hair flat nervously and looked around. She wished she could just ask someone how her hair looked because she was getting the same answer from herself over and over again. 'It's absolutely dreadful.'

She tried to let her mind travel to more important question. She wondered why Ron thought that she wouldn't recognize his handwriting. Her heart jumped into her throat! Maybe this was a trap by someone evil. After all, Harry was complaining about his scar burning and she just finished reading about something called mimic quills that would copy anyone's handwriting with ease.

Her serious fears eased when she saw a thick head of rich red hair bouncing through the throngs of other students. 'Duh' she thought to herself 'who would stage such an evil scene in a guarded and crowded place.' She tried half-heartedly to smooth her hair once again.

"Hey," Ron said with a nervous smile. Hermione always felt that his awkwardness was adorable as she told Harry on many occasions. "Some Butterbeer?" Ron asked her nervously as he swung his right arm from behind his back to reveal two bottles.

"Absolutely," Hermione said as she put her hand out. "Sit," she commanded softly.

"Your hair looks beautiful," said Ron. Hermione smiled confidently and Ron glowed. Finally, He had done something right with her! He'd have to thank Harry for the advice when he got back to the room later.

In the warm glow of the tavern the two talked for hours over several butter beers. Harry watched them leave holding hands and smiled triumphantly.

Harry wandered through the dungeons to get to Snape's room. It was nearly eight O'clock and these deep hallways were empty. He couldn't help but rub the scar on his forehead. Lately it had been giving him a real problem.

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As Harry approached the classroom, he could hear the urgent scratching of a quill. All of his hopes that Snape wouldn't be there quickly faded into nothingness. That urgency and rigidity of quill was one of Snape's trademarks.

Harry turned into the classroom and walked down the narrow isle between the black tables. When he reached the front of the classroom he set his bag on the very first table and adjusted it so that it wouldn't slide off.

The pen scratching stopped abruptly with the sound of quill falling to paper. Harry looked up in time to see Snape shake his right had and rub the inside of his wrist urgently. Harry froze and lowered his hand from his forehead. Snape looked up at him with those piercing black eyes.

"Potter," he managed weakly, "does it hurt?"

"N-n-no." Harry stammered. He knew exactly what Snape was talking about. Snape's left hand stayed fixed to the inside of his right wrist. Snape's body rocked slightly back and forth. And Harry stood silently amazed that someone with such a famous reserve would be so affected by slight pain.

"Why are you lying to me Potter!?" Snape snapped at him and then panted as if it took a great stress. "Does it hurt you?" Snape was stern and firm.

"Yes. It hurts." Harry was short intentionally and tried his hardest to burn back Snape's stare much like he would fight back the blue light during lesson. The energy in the room was thick and uneasy.

"Potter, there will be no lessons tonight. Meet me here tomorrow night." Harry heart skipped a beat. Snape was worried and winded. What could be affecting him this much. Harry wanted to help somehow. To ease those pains in Snape out of shear human sympathy. He hoped. Harry hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and stepped closer to Snape's desk. Snape looked up at him almost helplessly. The worry was making his face grimace.

Snape exposed his wrist to Harry and Harry reached for it. His fingers barely grazed the glowing dark mark when Snape pulled his hand away. Harry looked at the ground, slightly defeated. He turned and quickly strode toward the door and was stopped by Snape's voice.

"Start packing your things, the school is going to be closed." Harry didn't turn to face him, but he could hear the fear in his voice and when someone like Snape was scared, everyone else around him needed to be terrified.

Three days later news came to the school over the lunch hall that Dumbeldore was found dead in a cave somewhere on the northern shore of Ireland and Professor Snape was missing from the school grounds. A skull cloud hovered over the cave and Snape's office had been destroyed. The students were advised to pack their things. McGonagall made the announcement somberly and stiffly.

Hermione's mouth dropped open and she started to shake. Neither of them believed Harry when he said something several days earlier.

"Its about to get much worse," Harry promised Hermione and Ron who were both crying. Just then McGonagall grabbed Harry's robe collar and led him out of the great hall.

Harry was now a commodity to be protected and the whole staff was moving into position. Harry's mind swirled with thoughts of Snape being tortured. His eyes began to tear as McGonagall dragged him through the hallways silently.

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It's getting pretty dark, huh?