Hermione ran down the corridors as fast as her feet could take her, her heart thundering in her ears. The tears she could no longer fight flooded her vision and made her journey up the many staircases to Gryffindor tower near-impossible. Her foot missed the top step and she was flung forward, barely catching herself as her shin painfully crashed into the flagstone. Swallowing a sob she watched her book bag tumble several steps before spilling its contents. A bottle of ink shattered and was pooling on the stone.

She didn't have the heart to retrieve the bag. Instead she sat down on the steps, rubbing her shin and staring down at the growing spread. It seemed poetic in an odd way, casually observing the life slip away from her favourite bottle of onyx ink, fractured like so many other things in her life.

The ink brought visions of Snape's own black eyes. A fresh sob welled in her throat and she wiped the tears away with the sleeve of her robes. Her brief encounter with the two Slytherins had left her feeling dizzy, her head pounding. How had she gone from researching protection amulets to being forced into a difficult position by her professor?

Hermione touched her split lip. It wasn't the first time Malfoy had called her such horrid names and she was sure it wouldn't be the last. Under normal circumstances she'd brush it off without giving it more thought. This time was different. Perhaps it was because she was still feeling emotional after her visit with Ron earlier that day, but when Malfoy drew his wand she wanted to see him writhe in pain. She would have done it too were it not for Snape's timely entrance.

Another student had been gravely injured and this time it felt personal. Unlike Harry she wasn't entirely convinced Malfoy was behind either attack, but no one could deny that the two instances were related. Someone wanted a student or teacher at Hogwarts killed, and this time they had come precariously close to succeeding. Hermione couldn't bear considering a world where Ron hadn't survived. The three of them had been in plenty of life-threatening situations, and none of them, including Dolohov's curse, had ever made her more aware of her own mortality than Ron laying in that hospital bed.

Harry had, in typical Harry fashion, thrown himself into Quidditch practice in his own attempt to drown out the world. He hadn't voiced it to her, but she had known him long enough to know he was wallowing in self-guilt. It was his chocolates from Romilda Vane that Ron had ingested in the first instance, leading to his trip to Slughorn's office.

Which was a ridiculous notion. Ron should know better than to eat something that didn't belong to him, and honestly, what was Slughorn doing supplying alcohol to a student? It was one thing allowing them to drink whilst they were at the Christmas party, but quite inappropriate to offer them a nightcap — regardless of the situation. In her mind there was absolutely no reason for Harry to feel guilty.

Hermione was sure it was well past curfew when she finally managed to quell her sobs. She didn't have the mental capacity to consider Snape's proposition. Not tonight. She gathered her belongings, cast a quick charm to clean up the spilt ink and trudged up to Gryffindor tower. Her mind was still on Ron when she nearly tripped over a form sitting on the floor beside the Fat Lady's portrait.

'Neville? What are you doing out here after curfew?'

Neville squinted up at her and stifled a yawn. 'I forgot the password. Again. You're not going to take points off, are you?'

Hermione rubbed the back of her neck, his words taking a moment to register in her muddled brain. Her cheeks puffed out before exhaling in a rush. 'No. I probably should, but it would be a little hypocritical of me seeing as I haven't exactly made it inside either.'

He yawned again. 'Oh. Yes, I suppose that makes sense. Thanks, Hermione.' He tilted his head to the side, examining her face. 'Are you okay? Your lip is bleeding.'

She was about to brush him off when she stopped herself. She knew his concern was in regards to her injuries, but in that moment she realised that no, she was absolutely not okay. Hermione dropped her bag with a heavy thunk and slid down the wall to sit next to him.

'I fell coming up the stairs. It probably looks a lot worse than it is,' she replied.

Neville pulled his wand out of his pocket. 'D'you want me to heal it for you? It's not a tricky spell — Luna's been teaching me a few things. I mean…' He hesitated and his wand lowered a fraction. 'I understand if you don't want me to give it a go.'

Hermione placed a reassuring hand on his knee. The last thing she wanted was to enter the common room in such a state. 'I'd really appreciate it.'

He blushed and gave her a tentative smile before waving his wand. She felt her lip and jaw tingle with the tell-tale touch of magic. Hermione gently brushed her fingers against her lips and smiled warmly at him.

'Thanks Neville.'

'Oh… yeah. No worries,' he stammered. Shoulder to shoulder they sat in silence. Try as she might, her thoughts kept dragging back to Snape.

In a matter of moments she had lost Gryffindor sixty points. A heavy weight pressed upon her chest. Who would be the first one to notice in the morning? Would Malfoy gloat about it in class? As if she needed another reason for her housemates to be furious with her. She sighed and rested her cheek on her knee. The worst part was Snape knew Malfoy had attacked her but refused to do anything. He was so observant he would have easily read the room and deduced what had occurred. It wasn't like she expected him to defend her honour, but at the very least he could have taken points from both of them. Or neither.

And then to bait her like that… To ask her to do the unforgivable. Her stomach heaved.

'Are you sure you're alright?' Neville asked quietly.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth before grimacing. 'Honest answer? No, not really. Have you ever had to make a decision where neither answer was right, and it felt like no matter what choice you made someone would get hurt?'

Neville pondered it for a moment. 'I think I know what you mean. Every Christmas my Gran drags me to St Mungo's to see my parents. I know I should go — if not for them, then for Gran's sake. But seeing them there, speaking to them when they don't remember me…' his voice trailed off.

'They didn't deserve that. Nobody does,' she stated.

He gave her a sad look. 'It's funny, I was only a toddler but I still feel like I should have been there to protect them somehow.'

'Oh, Neville.' She reached over to squeeze his hand. 'I think they'd be very proud of you.'

He looked uncomfortable and she averted her eyes, standing up.

'Should we go in now?' She asked, extending a hand to help him up. Neville shook his head.

'I think I'd like to stay out here a while longer.'

She nodded in understanding. 'The password is oak mead,' she said with a tiny smile. 'I think the Fat Lady has a twisted sense of humour this week.'

Hermione crawled through the portrait hole. The common room was unusually quiet, the remaining students spread around the room in small groups. She found Harry sitting by himself on one of the sofas by the window. As she got closer she noted his battered copy of Advanced Potion-Making was open in his lap.

'You're back late,' he commented without looking up. She stared at the rivets of water running down the windowpane.

'It was my turn to do rounds tonight,' she lied, thankful she had bumped into Neville on the way in.

'I saw Ron after dinner. He's looking good. Madam Pomfrey recons he should be out next week.'

'That's great news. I bet Lavender is thrilled.'

Harry snorted. 'I guess you haven't heard. She and Ron split up.'

She started, her stomach giving a funny little twist. She wasn't quite sure what to make of that new revelation. 'I see. I bet Ron's devastated.'

'Actually…' His ears turned pink and he adjusted his glasses. 'He was the one to call it off. Apparently having a near-death experience has "made him realise who the important people are in his life".'

Hermione winced. 'He didn't. Honestly you two, you're just as bad as each other!'

'Me?' Harry grinned, 'I didn't tell him what to say.'

'No, but I swear you encourage him,' she said, laughing. She leaned her head on Harry's shoulder, taking comfort in his presence. Yes, Ron could be an awkward git at times but on the whole her friendship with the boys came so easily. Since they saved her from the troll it had been them three against the world.

Which was why she couldn't do it. She couldn't give up Harry and Dumbledore's secrets. She would find another way to protect her parents without help from the Order or from Snape.

'Harry?'

'Hermione?'

'I'm really glad you were there to save him,' she admitted, her voice small.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. 'Me too.'

'The three of us, we're a team. Whatever Dumbledore asks you to do — prophecy or no prophecy — we'll be right there beside you. We won't let you do it alone.'

'I doubt I could do it without you. Think of all the times you've saved my arse,' Harry teased. He ran a hand down the pages in his lap. 'Look what happens when you leave us alone for one night.'

'I'll admit it wasn't one of Ron's finer moments, but you handled it perfectly well.'

He made a slight noise of frustration. 'I know you hate this book, but I can't stop thinking about what would have happened if I hadn't found it. It was the Prince's idea to use a bezoar. If it weren't for him, Ron wouldn't have made it.'

'That's not entirely true. Professor Snape told us about bezoars on our first day. Don't you remem—' There was a ticking sound in her brain, the clogs of a wheel clicking together. She bolted upright. 'Of course. How didn't I see it before?'

'See what?' Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and stared at her.

She shook her head. 'Sorry, I've just realised something important about our Potions essay. Do you mind if I borrow your book? I was in such a rush to get back before curfew I forgot mine in the library.'

His eyebrows knitted together. 'Er… I guess so. As long as you promise not to damage it.'

She tugged it out of his grasp and was halfway to the spiral staircase before she came back to link her fingers through his. 'It doesn't matter how you found the answer, what you did was very brave and very clever.'

Hermione took the stairs to the girls' dormitory two steps at a time, crashing into the room. She barely registered Lavender and Parvati sitting in the middle of Lavender's bed as she dug through her trunk.

'Alright, Hermione?' Asked Parvati.

Hermione righted herself, a stack of books wrapped in a scarf and several old essays clutched to her chest. She dumped the lot onto the centre of her bed. 'What? Oh, yes.'

Climbing into bed she yanked the drapes closed and cast a silencing charm for good measure just as she heard Lavender mutter, 'I don't even know why you bother.'

For the second time that evening Hermione could feel her heart beating so quickly she was sure it was ready to burst. She placed a shaking hand to her chest and forced herself to take several deep breaths. Carefully she unrolled the essays, grouping them neatly into one pile. On her other side she opened Moste Potente Potions. Finally in the centre she laid Harry's copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

A wave of giddiness struck her, the skin along her arms and legs tingling. In disbelief, she stared down at all three writing samples. There were the obvious differences; the cramped text had grown larger and cleaner over the years, the slant becoming more pronounced. The asterisks were the same, the crossed out lines. Even the consistent use of indigo ink. She rubbed the inside of her right wrist where the stain had taken weeks to vanish.

The previous owner of Advanced Potion-Making and the owner of her borrowed copy of Moste Potente Potions were one and the same. To be sure she flipped to the back of Moste Potente Potions and rapped her wand sharply on the cover. 'Specialis Revello!'

There at the bottom, aggressively underlined three times read:

This Book is the Property of Severus Snape.

How many times had she stared over Harry's shoulder at the book, the niggling feeling that she could almost recognise the scrawled notes? Years she had been cursing the same hand as it left vicious comments on her essay. It was laughable that she hadn't made the connection earlier. Harry's precious Half-Blood Prince and his least favourite teacher were one and the same.

Just as quickly as the excitement swelled, she felt the floor drop from under her as she had a stunning realisation.

Severus Snape was a half-blood.

In the days that proceeded, Hermione felt conflicted about her new knowledge. From one aspect, did it really matter if she had discovered the original owner of the textbook? Yes she was still annoyed that Harry was using it to get ahead in class, but there didn't appear to be anything dangerous about it. If anything, it gave her some relief to know that it wasn't a Dark artefact.

She realised that she could tell Harry about the book's true owner. She had sufficient proof from her old essay comments to be able to show him the consistencies. The sheer irony that Harry was obsessing over Snape's own textbook wasn't lost on her. There was a smaller voice inside her head that told her to keep it a secret. The book was evidence of Snape's true parentage. After a little bit of digging she was able to confirm that Snape was indeed born to a Muggle called Tobias Snape, and the pureblood witch Eileen Prince.

The thing was, Snape had never stated he was pureblood. Equally no one had ever put any thought into the matter. He was the Head of Slytherin; a house which didn't often take on half-bloods, and never accepted a Muggle-born. There was also the glaringly obvious fact that he was a Death Eater. There was no way Voldemort wouldn't have known Snape's blood status. It was a chilling thought: Lupin stated Snape had an affinity for the Dark Arts in school. Snape's powers would have had to be enticing enough to allow Voldemort to disregard both his lineage and his age.

It should have horrified her. Instead, a kernel of perverse curiosity took root inside her brain.

On top of it all, Hermione was keenly aware that she had acquired her own information on Snape. It wasn't much; with enough intent anyone could have found his parents. Still, if Snape had taught her anything it was that knowledge and information was a powerful weapon. It was a slim chance, but now that she had her own bartering chip, she hoped that maybe she didn't have to turn on Harry after all.

Hermione had to wait for an opportunity to test her theory. Wednesday morning an owl skidded to a halt in front of her, knocking over her orange juice. Ginny and Dean laughed as she pulled the small scroll from its leg, tucking it into her pocket. One glance at the High Table and a pointed glare from Snape told her exactly who it was from.

Conscious of his continuous gaze on her she politely excused herself and nearly ran to the girl's toilets. Locking herself in a stall she unrolled the parchment.

No lessons tonight.

-S

Unexpected disappointment washed over her. Although it remained a possibility, Snape had never cancelled a lesson before. Her first thought was that he had another detention or appointment that required his attention. Then she remember of their encounter in the hallway. Was he holding their lessons over her head until she brought him something? Her disappointment was quickly replaced with annoyance.

That sneaky, Slytherin git.

She crumpled the scroll in her hand, relishing in the small satisfaction when she watched it disappear down the toilet.

Two could play at that game.

Hermione was sitting in the common room, proofreading one of Ron's essays when Harry came bounding through the portrait hole, his face white.

'Your textbook, give it to me,' he panted. They both stared up at him in confusion.

'Any textbook? Or…' Ron said.

Harry held out a hand, his chest heaving. 'Your potions book. Please.' There was a note of desperation in his voice and Hermione leant over to retrieve her copy of Advanced Potion-Making from her bag.

'Take mine.' She was sitting up as her eyes caught the large wet, red stains down the front of his robes. 'Harry is that blood?'

Harry snatched her book with a trembling hand, took two steps toward the portrait hole before turning on his heel and dashing back up the spiral staircase.

Hermione and Ron exchanged worried looks.

'He didn't look hurt,' Ron murmured, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

Moments later Harry came sprinting down the stairs carrying two copies of their Potions text. His eyes were wide, his skin flushed as he took a shuddering breath. Hermione didn't think she had seen him so panicked since he returned from the graveyard with Cedric's body in tow. Alarm bells ringing in her head she placed a hand on his wrist.

'Harry, what's going on,' she asked, consciously keeping her voice steady.

His eyes darted between her and Ron. 'I need to hide this. Now.'

'Just… Wait. Are you injured? You're covered in blood,' Hermione pressed.

Harry looked down and sucked in a breath as if seeing the blood for the first time. 'It… it's not mine,' he stammered.

Ron stood up, blocking them from the curious looks that were now aimed in their direction. 'We'll help, but you gotta give us a clue.'

Harry hesitated, visibly shuddering. 'It's Malfoy's. I followed him into the girl's bathroom.'

'Harry, I warned you,' she scolded.

Ron knocked her gently on the arm. 'Will you shut up and let him speak?'

She shot him a glare before turning back to Harry.

'Malfoy attacked me,' Harry choked. 'He tried to use the Cruciatus curse but… I blocked him.'

Ron ran a hand down his face. 'Bloody hell, I didn't think he had it in him.'

Hermione touched her jaw where the skin was still tender from Malfoy the week previous and understood the gravity of the situation. 'Tell us what happened.'

Harry stared down at the books in his hands. 'I… The Prince had a spell that said for enemies. I know I shouldn't have used it without knowing what it did, but he attacked and it was the only thing that came to mind. I didn't… how could I…' He shook his head. 'It was really bad.'

'Merlin,' whispered Ron.

Hermione stilled with the onslaught of a sudden headache. The night she borrowed Snape's textbook she read it cover to cover. She was wary at first of the incantations, but quickly disregarded them after learning who had written them. But this was Snape they were talking about, a sixteen year old boy who had been heavily involved in the Dark Arts. She felt foolish and angry with herself for not saying something to Harry sooner. It was quite possible some of the spells were very dangerous. Lethal, even.

'Harry,' she said slowly, 'where is Draco Malfoy now?'

A pause. 'There was so much blood. And then Snape… he came in. He knew Hermione. He knew what I had done.'

Of course Snape had. Even without Occlumency, he must have recognised the spell that had been cast.

'He performed some sort of counter-curse I think, and helped Malfoy to the hospital wing.' Harry jerked away from them. 'Snape's waiting for me now. He told me to bring him the book.'

'So you were going to give him Hermione's? I feel like a traitor saying it, but maybe you should bring him yours,' Ron replied.

'No don't!'

The boys stared at her in surprise.

Snape was clearly livid that Harry had found his book. The old Hermione would have agreed with Ron and told Harry to give it up. The new Hermione saw an opportunity.

'I'll hide it,' she told them, gently pulling the book from Harry's grasp. 'Go on, before you give him another reason to be cross.'

Harry gave her a look of gratitude before vanishing through the portrait hole again. Feeling quite smug with herself she slid Snape's book into her bag.

Today was the day.

Monday brought with it her usual Defence Against the Dark Arts class and Snape was in a particularly black mood that afternoon. Hermione had almost missed this old version of him; the one that stormed in and scrawled instructions on the board before spending the rest of time glaring at anyone who dared to challenge him. It was interesting studying under him for two different subjects and watching his varied teaching styles.

She always knew Snape was prolific in Potions and his old textbook only solidified the idea. She enjoyed observing him as he worked. His steady hands as he measured out ingredients, the curve of his bare wrist as he demonstrated the proper way to stir. There was a subtle beauty in his craft and she thought that if he was a little nicer and took his personal hygiene a little more seriously, it would be hard for her peers to not develop a crush on their Potions Master.

Then there was the way he carried himself in Defence Against the Dark Arts. His deep voice came alive as he spoke of curses, Dark creatures and those things which went bump in the night. He taught them the practicalities of Defensive magic better than any other teacher they'd had to date. If only the other students were privy to the same lessons on duelling as she. If only they could witness the careful attention which he bestowed upon her, guiding her body with a quiet word or the lightest touch from his fingertips.

It was true, Snape could be a complete arsehole sometimes. Most of the time. It wasn't that she had grown accustomed or even forgave him for his callous words. She just accepted it as one of the many facets that was her mentor. Because that was what he was to her — a mentor. He supported her and taught her, and, in his own Snape-ish way, helped her see that she was a strong, capable young woman.

Which was why it felt painfully wrong to throw the last six months in his face; to use his youth against him. Even if he agreed to it, he would no doubt drop her lessons. He was too arrogant to do anything less. She would mourn them, but she would survive. It was the only way through her difficult path.

Hermione dawdled at the end of class, taking extra time to pack up her extra quills and parchment. Finally when the last student had existed she channelled her inner Gryffindor and approached Snape's desk. He looked up, slowly raising one eyebrow at her as he leaned back in his chair, a thumb brushing along his jaw. Her heart fluttered violently in her chest.

'To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Granger,' he drawled.

She swallowed against the lump forming in her throat. Before she could lose her nerve, she pulled the copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of her satchel and tossed it onto his desk with a heavy thud. She clasped her shaking hands behind her back and raised a mirrored eyebrow of her own.

'I believe this belongs to you.'

Snape froze, the shock registering on his face near comical before his eyes shuttered seconds later. 'You must be mistaken.'

'I thought you might say that.' She dug into her bag once more and set Moste Potente Potions down next to the other textbook. Leaning over, she opened both volumes to their last pages, exposing the near identical name plates. 'The penmanship has altered slightly over the years, but it's a close enough match. Wouldn't you agree, Professor?'

He scowled, but Hermione wouldn't back down. She had faced his wrath enough times now to know she could survive his worst.

'What is the meaning of this?' He growled.

'The notes in your book, which are clearly of your own hand, contained a curse that was used to injure a student.' She explained, gesturing at the book. 'I somehow doubt Professor Dumbledore is going to be pleased.'

Snape gave her a long, calculating look, his nostrils flaring. 'Oh bravo, Miss Granger. It appears you can put two and two together. I assume you want to use this to your advantage?'

Check mate.

She mustered up more confidence than she felt. 'Protect my parents, or I'll hand it in to Dumbledore.'

Hermione had expected Snape to be cross; to show some signs of fury or frustration. What she wasn't prepared to see was Snape laughing. She took a step back from his desk, startled by the rumbling chuckle. The corner of his mouth raised in a sneer.

'Did you really think you could out-bargain a Slytherin? You do realise when I brought Mr Malfoy to the hospital wing it was my duty to inform the Headmaster as to how he sustained his injuries?'

She felt the blush heating her cheeks in embarrassment. How could she have been so stupid. This was a mistake. She darted forward, trying to snatch the book off the desk but Snape was quicker. His hand came down on top of hers, arresting her movement.

'We're not done here,' he told her quietly. Her back arched painfully over the desk as he pulled her closer. 'I'll let this little misgiving slide, but you still owe me information on Potter.'

She was hyper-aware of the feel of his cool skin and the strength in his hand as it gripped hers.

'You're asking me to betray my best friend,' she whispered, unable to look away, but terrified of the secrets he might find. 'I can't do that to him.'

'Not even to ensure the safety of those you hold dear?'

He knew just how to twist the knife. 'That's not fair. You can't make me choose between them.'

'Life is not fair, Miss Granger. The quicker you come to terms with it, the more likely you are to survive this cruel reality. Everyone has their own agenda — even Potter and Dumbledore. You care so much about your friendship with Potter but ask yourself this: Potter believes himself to be the only one capable of defeating the Dark Lord. Do you think for a moment he wouldn't betray you if it meant he was one step closer to his goal?'

He was wrong. Harry was loyal to a fault. He would sacrifice himself if it meant saving his friends.

'You and I are nothing but pawns in this game,' Snape continued in a sinister tone that curled her toes. 'Before this war is finished we will have given ourselves to the cause completely and still they will demand more.'

'But I want to fight,' she protested. 'That's why I came to you.'

'So you tell me, but I do not think that's entirely true. You came to me as a seedling incapable of sustaining life. I have watered you and provided you with nourishment. I have taught you to defend yourself and to take down those who seek to destroy you. Above all I have taught you to think for yourself and not act like the sheep Dumbledore has raised you to be. Can you say the same for your precious Potter? Why should he and Dumbledore hold all the power?'

Hermione struggled to catch her breath. Never had she felt so vulnerable as she did in that moment, leant over Snape's desk with his hand still tightly gripping her own. She was at a precipice, a dark valley yawning between them. This wasn't just about asking her to give up her friends. He was asking her to decide which path she wanted to take. Who she wanted to be. Snape was offering her a bridge between the know-it-all, studious little bookworm she was and the clever, bold fighter she could be.

Her chest tightened in memory of the curse. She couldn't go back there. She couldn't be the person who she was. Her only way was forward.

The old Hermione told her she shouldn't trust him. She knew nothing about the man in front of her, save for the loose details on his dark past. Until that point she was adamant that he was Dumbledore's man through and through. Now she wasn't entirely sure.

'How do I know you won't take this information to Voldemort?' She breathed. Snape's eyes darkened, making her wince as his hand tightened around hers.

'Don't ever say that name to me,' he hissed. 'I doubt the Dark Lord will continue to allow me to live once I have fulfilled my duties.'

Because Voldemort didn't trust him anymore. Hermione was reminded of her fight with the boys over Christmas. She tugged at her hand away from his, cradling it against her chest. Snape had just as much to lose as they all did. If Voldemort won there was a likely chance he wouldn't survive.

'If I tell you, you promise to help my parents?'

He nodded once. 'You have my word.'

'And… whatever you're planning…you'll promise to keep me involved?'

'So the lioness breaks free from the phoenix's chains at last,' he said smoothly, and her stomach flipped. 'Very well, Miss Granger, do we have a deal then?'

His eyes glinted and she had the feeling she was making a deal with the devil.

Hermione closed her eyes briefly, Harry and Ron's faces bright behind her eyelids. In the corridor she could hear students rushing up and down, excitedly making their way down to dinner. She inhaled a deep, steadying breath and opened her eyes. All other noises vanished as she let herself step across the bridge.

'Dumbledore has been sharing memories of Tom Riddle, before he became what he is today.'

He flicked his wand and the classroom door slammed shut. Another flick produced a chair in front of his desk. 'Interesting. I assume there's more?

'Yes,' Hermione confirmed as she took her seat, an odd feeling of pride settling in her. 'Riddle wanted to learn about Horcruxes.'

Snape's shoulders stiffened, the hallows in his cheeks more pronounced. 'Shit. And he calls me a conniving bastard,' he grunted, appealingly more to himself. He ran a hand through his hair. 'Miss Granger, if the Dark Lord has created a Horcrux then we are in grave, grave danger.'

Authors Note:

You guys are too kind! Thank you all for your continued support. Writing is HARD and every comment reminds me why I'm doing this: for YOU! :)

Playlist:
The Way, Zack Hemsey
Sympathy For The Devil, the Rolling Stones