"If the boy speaks Parseltongue..." Severus began cautiously. "It's possible-"

"That Lily Potter's son, raised by and among muggles, Hermione's best friend, would be sicking Slytherin's beast on unsuspecting muggleborns?" Dumbledore snapped, his blue eyes aflame with a rare mixture fury and exasperation. Severus did not miss the condescending tones in his voice. "That is preposterous!"

Dumbledore had to say her name. Years later, and still it wrenched his heart in his chest. Every moment pleasant and unpleasant flooded his mind and the guilt formed a lump in his throat. The guilt and regret induced spiral of memories tormented him more than Dumbledore could ever know, yet he used her name so poignantly. The twist of the knife to make Severus obey...so effective. And to use Hermione's name in the same breath...

"Not if he's possessed, headmaster," Severus said pushing through the memories. "It is a possibility that Potter has some blood we are unaware of, and that the creature can manipulate the heir to do its bidding somehow."

Dumbledore pursed his lips and stroked his long beard, staring past Severus instead of at him. A great mind at work. Though a glimmer of something flashed across his eyes and he made returned from his thoughts. "I see," he said. "Harry hasn't been acting too out of the ordinary, and your daughter can vouch for him both nights of the attacks. Did she ever tell you why they were there on Hallowe'en?"

"I've had about as much luck with her as you've had with Potter," Severus sighed.

"Does your daughter not trust you, I wonder?" he mused. "That does make my suggestion difficult for you to heed, I'm afraid."

"Oh?" he asked, knowing he would not like whatever followed.

"Ask Hermione about Harry's behaviour," Dumbledore searched his eyes over his half-moon glasses. "She can report back to you anything unusual, and she actually might if you tell her about your possession theory. She doesn't hate you, Severus, she's twelve. Though she's mistrustful, it's nice to see that you trust me enough to let your guard down."

"Headmaster," he folded his arms over his chest not appreciating that his trusting gesture invited invasion.

"Oh, yes," Dumbledore chuckled. "How rude of me, Severus. Old habits do die hard, don't they?"

"All is forgiven," he shrugged swallowing his anger. "Though I had never intended to make my child a spy..."

"And if Harry truly is being manipulated by the creature as you theorize?"

"I'll bring you what information I can extract from her," he agreed stoically. This will not end well for either of us, I think.

"How did you-?" Ron choked as Hermione plunged the Boomslang skin into her cauldron.

"My father thought he was punishing me by making me do inventory," she shrugged, feeling both a touch rebellious, and guilty for lying to him.

The ends justify the means...you lied to him, not hurt him. How many times has he lied to you?

"You should get on his bad side more often," Harry smirked. "Between this and the archives, detentions have proved dead useful."

"Tell Snape you're dating Harry," Ron fake swooned. "He'll have you in detentions till you're seventeen."

"Sure," Hermione laughed imagining her father's reaction. "What could possibly go wrong?"

"Yeah, I reckon he'll love that," Harry scoffed. "I think I like 'drawing breath,' thanks!"

"So insensitive!" Myrtle wailed.

The three of them gathered in Myrtle's bathroom as Hermione worked on the Polyjuice potion. They discussed the plan, Hermione knew where the Slytherin dorms were, they'd follow her down as Millicent Bulstrode, Crabbe and Goyle. If Hermione's stunt at dueling club didn't get her expelled...If your father expels her, it's all your fault! And what the hell was Hermione thinking admitting Millicent's involvement in hospitalizing her? Hermione should have kept quiet. If she was honest, she wanted to be paired with Pansy. She was closer to Malfoy, and their year of fake friendship made it easy for Hermione to behave like her. She shook it from her thoughts as she added powdered fang.

"Why here?" Ron groaned.

"Because their isn't a soul who'll come here," she said. "And I wanted to talk to Myrtle..."

Myrtle wailed loudly once more before diving into a toilet and flushing herself into the plumbing with a loud splash.

"Which isn't happening today," she sighed.

"Still stuck on that pipe theory, then?" Ron asked.

"At least until I have another," she admitted feeling less certain.

The mixture turned a ash-brown mixture that reminded Hermione of spent dishwater. She consulted the book, the had to let it stew for three days. Hermione stashed it in a cubicle and left the room with Harry and Ron behind her under Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Once they were far away from the toilet and the scene of Mrs Norris's petrification, they ducked behind into an alcove so Harry and Ron could lose the Cloak without suspicion.

"Have you talked to Ginny recently?" Hermione asked Ron as they made their way to the library. "While I was in the hospital I noticed her coming in a lot. But she would simply walk in the doors, see you two and leave. I haven't the chance to talk to her since I got out."

Ron shook his head. "She's been keeping to herself. It's really weird. Normally she's very social, and never-and I mean never- shuts up."

"Why are you asking about, Ginny?" Harry asked. "You don't think she's got anything to do with this?"

"Unless she starts speaking Parseltongue, I doubt it. But she wanted to talk to me about something serious before I was put in the hospital. But now-it's like she's avoiding me."

"She's avoiding Harry," Ron scoffed. "She has a huge crush on him. Maybe she thinks you also like him?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Hermione liked Hiro...and, okay, maybe I kinda like Kaori...just a bit...I think. But no one could really hold a candle to Hiro, even when they were half a world away. He was her first friend, the first kind person to her, and her first case of a hopeless crush she'd never see to fruition. "I'll tell her that isn't happening. Maybe then she'll talk to me about whatever it was she was about tell me that night."

"When you say 'isn't happening'...?" Ron pressed.

"Harry and I are not and are never going to be a thing. I'm a 'six', remember?" she said casually before adding in a small voice. "You know all this. Why are you pressing on this?"

Ron scoffed and his ears burned scarlet. "No reason."

Hermione swallowed her frustration. She had no interest in expressing her suddenly emerging interests and impossible crushes with Ron. What was he on to? She didn't care, she had far too much on her mind, and Ron was clearly taking the Mickey. She was done.

"So," Harry said. "How's the research into Slytherin going?"

Hermione truthfully hadn't started. She had gotten up around four o'clock, left a note for Harry and Ron placed in Harry's copy of Book of Standard Spells Grade 2, and crept into Myrtle's bathroom to start on the potion. She had to learn how to do the Extendable Charm so she didn't have to worry about summoning objects and being caught. She'd been trying to talk to Myrtle, but Myrtle half-moaned over Hermione's treatment of her at Hallowe'en, which Hermione apologized again for, and half-mocked her cat-person form, even if all that was left was her mismatched eyes, which now were amber and hazel, very close to her usual brown, and little points at the end of her ears no one could see under her hair. Not that that mattered to Myrtle.

Her whole morning was setting up and working on the first steps of the potion. Then recording her theories in her journal in case she conveniently lost her memory again. Harry and Ron came to her while she was adding the Boomslang skin after they'd had eaten breakfast. And...she wasted time re-reading a letter she meant to burn. Ugh! Hermione could not afford to be distracted. She could have left the potion unsupervised for an hour while she snuck into the archives for Great Eight genealogy research. How could she be so careless? If Myrtle truly did die at the hands of the creature...than others could die, and Hermione was obsessing over her personal life! And she'd even planned to do homework that wasn't due till after the holiday...she had to start now, but...people could die...I wish Myrtle would talk to me! Then I could find out who did it in '43!

"I'm really sorry, Harry!" Hermione squeaked clasping her hands together. "I was working on that all morning! I didn't have time to hit the archives. I'm so, so sorry! But we're hitting the library now, so we can get right on it!"

"All morning?" Ron said. "Did it really take that long?"

"Erm," Hermione bit her lip. "Yeah..."

"So..." Harry said. "You've been working on that all morning and you're apologizing because?"

"Erm," Hermione wrung her hands. "I-"

"You really are a mad one, aren't you?" Ron laughed. "We don't even expect you to be in two places at once."

"Erm, thanks...?" Hermione felt she should be doing more still.

They walked to the library in silence as Hermione poured over her theories. Harry spoke Parseltongue, allowing him to hear Slytherin's creature. It was passed down by blood, and Slytherin's heir was supposed to open the Chamber. Could Harry be compelled somehow by the creature because of his ability? No, he was acting normal. Possession was a stupid theory! She spent way too much time with Harry for that to hold ground. If Malfoy had the same ability, he was their best suspect. But something didn't feel right. Hermione felt like she had all of the puzzle pieces. Harry's a Parselmouth, Myrtle died last time it was released, it was snake-like, possibly a basilisk, it used the pipes to move around the school. But how the fuck did it all connect? What was Malfoy's role? She had to re-read that bit on the basilisk to be certain...but what if she was wrong? She didn't know about rooster deaths, and still had no clue where the chamber actually was.

Hermione was so deep in thought that her enhanced hearing didn't pick up the excited footsteps behind her before she was hugged from behind by a girl who was roughly Hermione's size. "Hermione!"

"Gah!" Hermione leapt and spun around before gasping.

Luna beamed at her, her silver eyes sparkling as she adjusted the wand tucked behind her ear exposing a very realistic looking radish earring which prompted Ron to chuckling.

"Oh, you're almost back to normal," Luna said still smiling. "But you used to be my height, you're shorter now. But I was right about the freckles though!"

"Erm, thanks?" Hermione said unsure what she was supposed to say.

Ron and Harry were both sniggering then and Hermione resisted the urge to snap at them.

"I just wanted to say I'm so happy you're out of the hospital!" she linked her arm into Hermione's. "I didn't get to see you the last couple days."

Hermione felt a pang of guilt. She should have contacted Luna when she was discharged.

"I'm researching for my next art-" she eyed Harry and Ron. "I mean project on cat fairies. Wanna come to the library with me?"

"We were just heading up to the library ourselves for a project due at the end of holidays," Hermione lied. "We can all go together, but we'll have to separate once we're there."

"Great!" Luna sang. "So, what are you all doing for Christmas? I spend every Christmas collecting snow crystals with Daddy in our yard before dinner."

"Cool," Harry said. "I'll be here, that much quality time with the Dursleys would send all four of us to a hospital."

"Well," she said. "Daddy and I are very close. We write several times a week, and we go away together on adventures every summer."

"Don't let my father hear you say that," Hermione giggled. "He'd think-"

"Think what exactly, little girl?" asked a cold voice from behind them.

Hermione turned to see her father, his pallid thin face once again impassible save for a challenging raised eyebrow as he leaned against the corridor wall with folded arms. Hermione could hear him daring her to finish that sentence in her head. Fear and guilt fought for dominance in her mind. How would he react? But it wasn't really okay for her to talk like that about her father, was it? Like Luna's dad, all her father had in the world was her, and she was supposed to have his back. He never said that, but she knew it was true. Wow, you're a shitty friend and a shitty daughter!

"I believe you three were heading to the library?" he asked.

"Th-there's-erm-four of us, sir," Hermione bit her lip and clasped her hands staring at them rather than him.

Any boldness and ability to speak plainly to her father from the previous night vanished.

"And you staying behind makes three," he sighed. "I thought you were good at maths? Follow me."

"I'll catch up with you lot later," Hermione unhooked her arm from Luna's.

What if he knows? Act natural...I'm going to be sick...

Her father ushered her into an empty classroom and shut the door behind him.

"I'm going to forget about whatever little comment you were about to make," her father said leaning against the door. "So you can stop attempting to skin your own damn hands, Hermione."

Hermione unclasped her hands and stared at the red crescent marks between her knuckles. "If this is about Millicent-"

"Miss Bullstrode made a full recovery and is writing lines until the holiday," he informed her. "And though I don't understand it, I said nothing about her and the other seven attacking you. You're welcome."

Oh thank Merlin, Hermione let out a sigh. If he expelled her it would have all been for not.

"Nor do I understand your relief. I imagine you think last night made you girls even, yes?" he asked in an exasperated tone. "You could have been hurt, you know? Looked like you would have been if I hadn't stepped in. But, that's not why I've been looking for you all bloody morning. Where were you?"

"I overslept, sir," she nodded and folded her arms to stop herself from clasping her hands and digging her nails into her flesh.

"Lying again, are we?" he lifted her face to establish eye-contact. "But of course what else could I possibly expect? I told you to leave it alone. Had you any intention of listening?"

Hermione bit her lip and wrung her hands nervously. She tried not to think of her suspicions or what she'd been up to. That's not why I've been looking for you all bloody morning... "Why were you looking for me all morning?"

"I am asking the questions right now, little girl," he seethed before letting out an exasperated sigh. "This is not how I imagined this conversation going-why are you so difficult?"

Hermione didn't say anything, but examined the lines on his face. She couldn't gaze into his eyes and know his surface thoughts, but she had a whole lifetime of learning his expressions. Whatever he might have said about her being transparent because he raised her, the same could be said in reverse. When he wasn't actively trying to be impassible, at least. Which, though he was good at it, he was not doing it now. Instead he looked tired, rings formed under his eyes, he seemed worried. Angry, but worried and tired as well. She wondered why, but whatever conversation he'd imagined might give her a clue.

"I want to talk about Potter," he said finding an even tone.

What about him this time? But instead she nodded and listened intently.

"Did you know he was a Parselmouth?" he asked, she didn't like the way his eyes bore into her.

"No, sir," she shook her head. "I don't think he knew either. Said he thought he was speaking English, seemed to think it was normal for wizards to talk to snakes."

He raised an eyebrow and looked rather bemused. "Honestly? A year and a half of magical education and he thinks that's normal? I see he pays about as much attention to Professor Binns as he does me. You have impeccable taste in people, don't you?"

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was like he physically couldn't resist the urge to insult Harry at every opportunity. "Harry has no control over it, before the incident at dueling club no idea he was even doing it. So if you're thinking he's somehow controlling the creature, he literally can't. He was also with me the night of both attacks."

Her father sighed. "He was with you the entire night both nights? You had eyes on him the whole time he could have slipped away? Even while you were interviewing ghosts at the party or while during afternoon while you were in the hospital?"

Hermione knew what he was getting at. "Harry was hospitalized before the time Pomfrey gave me for the time of petrification on Colin. You saw him, hundreds saw Harry before then. I know you don't like him, but how could you think he's even remotely-"

"Because he speaks Parseltongue!" he snapped before evening his voice. "Potter has in one way or another inherited an ability associated with Slytherin. And the fact that he was completely unaware of it makes me more concerned not less."

Hermione couldn't stop herself from gasping. Maybe the idea wasn't so stupid after all. "You think he's being manipulated...possessed?"

"It seems I'm not the only one working on that theory," he said slowly. "When did you come to it?"

"Last night when he told me he didn't know about it," Hermione admitted, ice forming in her veins. "But I think I'm wrong, Dad."

"Why?"

"He hasn't been acting out of character at all," she said. "When I can't account for him, Ron can. And he hasn't been losing any memories." Shit!

"Are you absolutely certain?" he asked. "Potter's mind is vulnerable, it'd be easy for someone to take control."

"No, Harry's been normal," Hermione said as she thought about different possession enchantments. She knew little about them, and it was yet another thing for her to research.

"Last time you made that expression," her father placed his hand on her shoulder. "You were determined to run after Quirrell and get yourself killed. Tell me, little girl, what have you pieced together?"

Hermione bit her lip and wondered if he would know what she was thinking if she tried to lie again. Though maybe there was something between the truth and a lie that she could give him. Even if she could trust him, she'd want to be absolutely certain before she implicated anyone. And she hadn't a chance to clarify yet. She could be wrong...it was so absurd she probably was wrong.

"I can't be certain of anything at the moment," she explained. "Dad, I still have to stop myself from knocking my dishes off the table at meals. My brain isn't exactly 'piece things together' material right now. I trust it about as much as I trust-" What the hell? You stupid piece of shit! Come up with something...now!

"Trust whom?" he said slowly in a cold voice.

"I have too many examples," Hermione sighed looking away. "I spoke faster than it took me to decide on one."

"I see," he spoke through gritted teeth. "After all, it can't be you fell silent because you were about to say me. Not after I raised you, nursed you to health, taught you, comforted you, supported you...no, it can't be me you were about to mention, can it? Not with eight names available in recent memory that are a much better fit. "

Hermione felt a pang of guilt. How could she have said that aloud? So stupid! And, maybe after raising her, he did earn a level of trust. He was her father for Merlin's sake! But, he wiped my memory...he's lied to me for a half a year...even if his motives were pure...but he's my father...Merlin's pants! He was angry with her, she could see it in his clenched jaw and rigid posture, but there was also something sad in his black eyes that expressed a kind of hurt she imagined only she could cause. You are a terrible daughter... Though I was about to say adults in general...is that worse or better?

"I'm going to ask one more time and I expect the truth, if you're capable of giving it," he spat. "Outside of Potter's little display at Dueling Club, has he done anything suspicious since Hallowe'en?"

She could answer this one truthfully. "No, sir."

"Very well," he opened the door. "You are dismissed."

She was definitely hiding something. Hermione's mind was a mad swirl of memories thoughts and feelings, not settling on a thought or image for more than a fraction of a second. Severus knew she felt guilt, and a lot of it. Before he nearly caught the little idiot admitting to mistrusting him. Uncertainty, a poor sense of self and indecisiveness were the enemy of a guarded mind, yet Hermione made it work for her. Post transfiguration, her mind was even harder to navigate. At least, not when he avoided actively engaging in Legillimency and instead tried to glean her surface thoughts through eye-contact. But the moment he took out his wand she would know. He didn't need special insights into her mind to know she would never really recover from another attack on her mind.

Potter would be a better target. Getting him alone to interrogate him shouldn't prove too difficult. He should have severed the detentions himself instead of handing the boy off to Filch for various cleaning tasks. That would have given him everything he needed. Assuming Potter's mind wasn't the same sickening swirl that Hermione's was.

He half wondered if there was a biological imperative where he just couldn't understand Hermione because she was twelve and he was an adult, and therefore couldn't get it. Amusing as that thought was, he imagined his misunderstanding of her came from her inability to settle on a thought or emotion long enough for her to consciously process them.

Potter and Weasley emerged from the library without Hermione or Lovegood, perhaps meaning Hermione was roped into assisting the girl in a wild goose chase. The boys spoke in whispered tones, but they looked upset. Weasley was livid, red behind the ears and speaking through his teeth while Potter's slumped posture mixed with erratic hand movements suggested a mixture of anger and hopelessness. He waited for them to move in order to tail them. Without Hermione and her enhanced hearing, this would be easy.

And they separated...Damn it! Potter, I'm tailing Potter.

What troubled the boy so much he wondered. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the boy's movements. He wondered briefly if Potter knew he had been tailing him and was trying to shake him off. This went on for a while before he started in a trajectory that would eventually lead to Gryffindor Tower. He kept a wide distance, but thought that tailing the boy at this point was pointless. They wound around the corridors with little to no interruptions until he reached the second floor and spied a mane of bushy brown hair nearly level with the floor covering the tiny form crouching and ignoring her own damn advice.

He approached to her immediately jumping up to face him. He noticed an unkempt black tomcat skid away from the scene, unsettled by Hermione's movements. She stood clasping a book to her chest. She didn't look at him, but rather locked her gaze to her feet and shame radiating from her entire being.

"Honestly?" he hissed. "Are you trying to test my patience? Because it is very nearly at its end!"

Hermione clutched the book tighter to her chest and she made an effort to even her voice after a deep breath. "I-" she suddenly looked down the corridor. "Did you hear that?"

"Don't try to-" You know her hearing's still enhanced, even if not at the level it was. He took out his wand. "Where?"

Hermione pointed, squinting.

"Stay behind me," he instructed.

"It's Peeves's voice," she whispered. "I think whimp-"

If she was about to say whimpering, wailing became the better term as Peeves found his voice and it was loud enough to echo through the corridors and caused Hermione to jump and cover her ears for a moment.

"NO STUDENT OR GHOST IS SAFE! ANOTHER DOUBLE ATTACK!" he cried floating between them. "RUN FOR YOURSELVES! NO ONE IS SAFE!"

He vanished down the corridor and he noticed that Hermione was already bounding the direction from whence the poltergeist came.

Damn it, Hermione!

Hermione dashed around down the corridor and pressed herself against the wall, peaking around the corner. She kept her eyes on the ground in case whatever the attacker was had a gaze attack-several of the monsters she read about did. Her heart pounded in her ears as she saw the tall, dark-haired Hufflepuff boy her age lying rigid on the floor-still as a statue. It was Justin Finch-Fletchly, she remembered his stupid impressions of professors in Herbology, his stupid jokes, and his clumsy attempts at conversations with Harry. Now, like Colin, he laid still. Unable to move. Another dark-haired boy crouched beside him, it was-Harry!

Hermione rounded the corner to see what had shaken Peeves so thoroughly. Nick stood in midair, completely still, his wispy transparent face contorted in an expression of horror, his head bobbing up and down from the "flap of skin" that kept his head affixed to his body. So, it could affect ghosts. Hermione hadn't read anything about ghosts being petrified...She remembered the last time she spoke him was at the Deathday Party. He'd been trying so hard to enjoy himself at the party...

"Harry," Hermione said softly kneeling next to him.

Harry's face drained of colour and his breathing was shallow. He turned to face her, Hermione recognized the knit eyebrows, mouth hung open and flash in his green eyes. He was trying to piece it together. He wanted whatever did this. He wanted to avenge the victims, prove his innocence and stop the attacks before anyone else got hurt. She wondered if he had pieced anything that would bring him closer to those goals. Hermione turned to the petrified ghost suspended in mid air and felt the beginnings of a theory coming together. She could bring Harry closer to that goal, help him save others from suffering the same fate.

Did Justin see you through Nick? Camera...She remembered staring into the reflected crime scene though the ankle deep water and sick on Hallowe'en... You've read something about this, remember, you little idiot!

"Caught in the act, Potter!" a boy's voice cried from behind him.

"Ernie, I-" Harry started.

"You son of bitch! What the hell has Justin ever done to you? I told him to stay in the common room...I-" Ernie MacMillian seethed. "I hope they crucify you!"

Ernie MacMillian launched himself at Harry and Hermione managed not to freeze in place, as she typically did, but threw herself in front of Harry to block Ernie's attack. "Harry didn't do it, Ernie!" she cried shrilly-she had wanted to sound more reasonable than that.

"Of course you don't think he did it!" Ernie gave an angry laugh. "You're hopeless!"

"What," a new voice joined the corridor-her father's. "Happened here?"

The three of the turned to him each losing whatever resolve they had earlier as they stared blankly into those cold, black eyes. When it came to her father's fury, he had two modes, the heated, vein-popping angry that turned to screaming, and the cold, long-lived wrath that lead to much more thought-out movements. This was the latter.

McGonagall appeared behind his shoulder, her beady eyes flickering with a flame while her lips formed a thin line and her nostrils flared. "I would like to know that as well..." she looked at the three of them.

Hermione suddenly realized what the scene looked like to them. Nick and Justin-Ernie's best friend- had been ready to tear Harry's head off. As if-and he probably was-looking for vengeance. Everyone already thought Harry tried to sick the snake on him the previous night and he had been looking for Justin all day to explain the mess with the snake at Dueling Club. Now it looked like he was out for blood the whole time. Hermione diving between the boys and preaching Harry's innocence didn't help matters either-to them it looked like she was defending her friend.

McGonagall conjured a pair of stretchers underneath the victims and a huge fan to propel Nick to the hospital where it was impossible to physically move them. She then looked at Harry, her expression stern, but softer than when she appeared on the scene. Hermione couldn't tell, but it seemed her beady eyes were glistening behind her square spectacles. Pity, fear, apprehension...

"I'm sorry, Potter," she said in quiet voice. "You leave me no choice."

"I didn't do it!" Harry choked, staring not at her, but at Nick.

"He's telling the truth, Professor," Hermione pleaded. "You know he isn't capable-"

"Silence, Hermione," her father said softly before turning to McGonagall. "Take Potter, I'll handle everything else."

The air grew thick and heavy with a cold indifferent shadow cast over them. Hermione made eye contact with Harry, perhaps for the last time, and she saw something she had never seen before flicker across his bloodless face. Hopelessness, he sighed and hung his head before setting off to follow McGonagall. The blood froze in her veins as she wondered if who ever framed Harry not only got him expelled...but sent to Azkaban. She wanted to pull him back and warn him, but the words caught somewhere in her throat. Since her attack, Hermione had been more reactive, but the old Hermione resurfaced in time to let Harry walk away without a word of warning.

Hermione couldn't move as she stared at Harry vanishing in the distance.

"Hermione," her father said in a firm voice. "This way. Now."