Because you were all so nice, and waited so long for the last chapter, here's another.

"So it turns out I'm a pureblood, or something, sort of." Hermione mentioned to her Professor as she walked into the DADA classroom for another 'detention.' She watched him closely, yet casually as she spoke; his eyes narrowed as he looked at her, but it seemed more in curiosity than anger. "I had a lineage test done at Gringotts," she continued, "turns out I'm the heir to the Dagworth line." She pulled out her locket and showed it to him.

As he leaned forward over his desk to look at the locket, she caught a scent on his breath which confirmed her suspicions.

"Good as it is to see an ancient house reborn, I don't see how that makes you a pureblood Miss Granger." He growled out, but she could hear the intrigue in his voice.

"Well, like I said - sort of. Turns out my parents are fourth cousins, I don't think they even know." She said with a shrug. "But the thing is, it means I can trace both sides of my family back though almost eight hundred years of wizarding blood. There's a bit of mu-muggle blood in there." The faint tug of a smile almost formed on his lips, as she said this. "But now that the line's rejoined in me, it's diluted enough to give me my magic back."

"It's arguable Miss Granger, and I assure you that many would argue it." He responded after a quiet minute. "But most would likely judge by your intent."

Taking her usual seat, she laid out some parchment before answering, "My intent is to not let it happen again, the Dagworth line will be pure again."

He just nodded in reply, the ghost of a smile showing. Then they both turned to their work; she the books, and he the pile of assignments awaiting marking. The room settled into a peaceful silence, disturbed only by the rustle of parchment, and occasional scratch of a quill as they both busied themselves in their work.

Hermione sat twiddling her wand in her lap, as she read about some rather nasty rituals. "Professor?" She asked, without seeming to take her eyes off the book in front of her. "Who are you?"

There was a jolted scrape of a chair as she saw his head snap up at her out of the corner of her eye.

"I don't follow you Miss Granger." He replied after a moments silence; his voice making an attempt at confusion.

"Don't you?" She asked in an innocent sounding tone, as she set her quill down and raised her eyes to his. "The renowned ex-auror who's spent the last two months teaching a student the dark arts. Your apparent pleasure when I speak poorly of muggles." The word came out like a curse, and his eyes brightened as she expected. "What about you hushing up the use of an unforgivable on a student? Or, looking at the more obvious, the flask of Polyjuice Potion you keep sipping at." A smug grin spread across her face as she watched him swallow.

The room's silence continued for a few seconds, but it was far less comfortable than it had been. Then, as quick as a one-legged man could be, he was out of his chair. Hermione, expecting this, responded before he was even completely on his feet.

"Expelliarmus!" She caught his wand as she got to her feet, then approached his desk slowly, but confidently; keeping him at wand point the whole time. "And I don't think the real Alastor Moody would have just lost to a fourth year," she added with an unmistakable air of confidence about her.

With a quick swish and flick of her wand, the flask drifted toward her. "So, are you going to tell me who you are? Or do we just wait for this to wear off?" She wiggled the flask.

They watched each other for a moment, a tense silence again filling the room, and then - without warning - he burst into laughter.

Hermione watched him, her lips twitching as she fought back the infectious urge to laugh along with him. But he stilled again after a minute or two.

"Professor Lupin was full of praise for your intelligence in his notes from last year." He told her once he'd gained control of himself. Then added in a mutter, "Perhaps I should have expected this." Holding out his hand as if to offer an introductory handshake, he looked her in the eye. "Bartemius Crouch Junior, Miss Granger, but call me Barty, everyone else does."

Hermione didn't take his hand, she just watched him, thinking, trying to work out where she'd heard the name from; other than the obvious point of his father being in the ministry. She gasped when she got it, her eyes locking hard to his. "Neville. That's why you showed the Cruciatus Curse right in front of him, you were there, one of the Death Eaters that..." she trailed off eyes widening.

"You're a Death Eater." It wasn't a question, but she saw his answering nod. Her brow furrowed with concentration though as she started putting things together, muttering mostly to herself. "But then why defense? Not defense... hiding in plain sight, but... the tournament? But what... Harry." She looked up to see the amusement on his face, "he didn't put his name in the goblet. You did."

The Professor?... Barty licked his lips and flashed a menacing smile at her. Hermione instinctively took a step back. "But why?" She asked, just barely keeping the nervousness out of her voice. "You're not trying to kill him, you've been helping... everyone knows you told Dobby about the gillyweed. That elf can't keep anything quiet about 'The Great Harry Potter.'" That last came out with an almost Snape-like sneer.

She paused again, studying the Professor look-alike sitting across the desk from her. "You need him for the third task. I don't know why, but you need him to be in the third task. It's... Death Eater." Her eyes widened as she turned to her Professor again, "he's coming back isn't he?"

"Who's coming back?" He asked, seeming amused now. He was sitting back in his chair, watching her with a faint smirk tugging at one side of his mouth.

"V-Vol," she stuttered over the name, and her anger picked up again as she watched him holding in a laugh. "You knowwho!"

"You really are remarkably intelligent, you know." He told her, not really answering her question; but the wild look in his one real eye suggested he had.

Hermione flopped down in the nearest chair, a cold weight settling in her chest. Minutes passed, as they both sat in silence. Hermione's thoughts flickering from one thing to another, trying to make sense of what she'd just learned.

After a while, she stood up to leave. Without really focusing on anything she looked at her Professor - Barty, she thought to herself - and gave him his wand back, before walking out and heading back to her dorm.

Her mind was wandering about all over the place that night. She was sitting on her bed idly flicking through her volume of Dagworth magics, without seeing a word of it. She was wondering if maybe she at least owed Harry an apology over his entry in the tournament. But then neither he nor Ron had tried to so much as speak with her, let alone explain. Did they even care? They'd been through a lot, but were they ever really friends?

She thought over the past few years, since she'd come to Hogwarts, and decided she didn't really like what she saw. She'd got them out of trouble a lot, they'd got her into trouble a lot... and there was the constant teasing - bullying? - from Ron. Harry had seemed perfectly happy to follow along with him, never standing up for her. Was that the actions of a friend?

They did save her from that troll in first year. But then she was only in danger as a result of trying to get away from them. The basilisk in second year had petrified her, and Harry had defeated it. But then he'd been hearing it for months, and never went to a professor - a competent professor anyway - about it. Harry had been happy to bask in the glory of it all, but had he - or Ron - ever done anything just because she was a friend. They'd certainly been happy to mooch off her class notes.

She'd been the one to discover it was a basilisk in the Chamber; even petrified they'd relied on her for that, pulling the parchment from her hands. Then last year she'd helped Harry with the time-turner, saved his godfather's life even. Plus she'd gone to get a professor first year, after he'd killed Quirrell.

Hermione stopped and thought about that. Harry had been praised and rewarded every year, but for what? Killing a professor in first year. In second year Lockhart had been a pompous idiot, but still, Harry and Ron had smashed him over the head with a rock, and left him practically brainless. Then last year he'd attacked Professor Snape, spied on the Minister for Magic, and helped a criminal escape.

Sure, she'd done that last herself, and Sirius was technically innocent; even if it wasn't proven in a trial. But still, was that really someone she wanted as a friend?

So maybe he wasn't worth an apology, she decided. At least this year she'd been able to study more than ever... and it's not like Harry or Ron would understand her new interests anyway. Besides, an apology wouldn't make much difference in a few weeks time. But then, should she warn him? She knew, or at least had some idea, what was coming. Not apologising was a long way from more or less sending someone to their death; and that's what it was, she knew it.

A few months before she knew she'd have run straight to Harry, or someone, with what she knew. Why wasn't she now? Something had changed this year, she could feel it. She suspected it may be herself, but she hadn't changed that much had she? Really?

Maybe she had, she'd been studying dark magic for months now, and the unforgivables since well before school had even started. Plus she was now the heir of an ancient bloodline.

Putting her book away, she laid back on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. Did she even know what side she was on anymore? She'd been pushing away everything muggle since the summer, ever since her parents had tried to take magic away from her. They didn't understand, they couldn't. They didn't have the right to even try.

"Filthy muggles," she muttered to herself, then stopped. That was the crux of it, wasn't it? She, formerly proud mudblood, didn't want her newfound bloodline tainted ever again. Her thinking had shifted, turned around so completely, that it shocked her now that she thought about it.

She pulled out her family tree, and looked at the plainly written proof of muggle blood destroying a magical line. There wasn't any denying it, no one could with the evidence right there.

But what about Harry? Was he fighting against purebloods? His parents' killer? Or just glory hunting as she'd accused him of? Was he fighting against what she now believed to be the truth? And what of the others? Dumbledore, Sirius, the Weasleys, McGonagall, Professor Lupin, even Hagrid had told her the pureblood superiority was nonsense. But now, she knew they were wrong.

But surely they were fighting against a killer, not a philosophy? Right? So she should warn someone. Or should she?

Which side was she on? Which side were they on? Was she even on a side? Did she have to choose?

She batted it back and forth in her mind well into the night, without reaching a conclusion one way or another. Sometime after midnight, still unsure about anything, she fell into a restless sleep.

Hermione Voldemort Riddle: you'll have your answers soon. But things aren't necessarily as deeply planned as you may think.