`Author's Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.

Ch 22: Eavesdrop

"I didn't think he'd ever move on," the unmistakably cunning voice belonging to Phineas Black said through the door to the Head office.

Hermione grabbed Harry's arm, stopping him on the last step. He gave her a curious look under the cloak, but she just held a finger to her lips, willing him to be silent and listen.

Who was Phineas talking to? They'd checked the Map before leaving the Room of Requirement since it was too unwieldy under the cloak now that they were taller, and Snape had been in the entrance hall greeting the returning students. Had he forgotten something and come back?

She was quite aware of how lucky she'd already been in terms of keeping her alliance with Snape from her friends. The last thing she wanted was for it to have all been for nothing if they were to barge in and find Snape here now. Harry would likely react before Snape had a chance to convince him that he was on his side. Then Hermione would feel compelled to admit how she'd been seeking his council all year, and Harry would be furious with her.

Dumbledore seemed quite keen on Harry remaining in the dark about certain things for as long as possible. Hermione didn't understand his reasoning, possibly for Harry's sake or perhaps Snape's, but she did think he might be right if he was basing his decision on how to best help Harry achieve his goal of destroying all of the Horcruxes. Harry was easily side tracked by personal vendettas, and Hermione couldn't help him if they were fighting.

Maybe if she'd been upfront in the beginning, but it had been right after Dumbledore's death, and he'd never been exactly rational where Snape was concerned. It was easy to look back and wish she'd done things differently, but there didn't seem to be another way now. If Harry got upset enough to take off, she'd have no hope of finding him.

No matter what, she came to the same conclusion. Harry couldn't know anything about her and Snape. So they needed to make sure he wasn't currently in the office.

"The timing could be better," Dumbledore countered wearily.

"Says the man notorious for spouting off about the power of love," Phineas sneered, making it clear he adamantly disagreed with the notion of love being capable of anything significant. A romantic, he was not. "You should be celebrating, even if he is not."

So it was only the portraits, not Snape. There was no way they'd be gossiping so freely if he were there. She had no doubt he'd have immediately shut down their inane banter if he'd been forced to listen to it for even a short period of time.

"Yes, I believe it has caught him rather off guard, I know I never expected a true attachment to form," Dumbledore mused softly, threads of trepidation and wonder warred in his revelation.

What in the world were they discussing? Hermione could hazard a guess, but surely—

"Glad to see you acknowledging it," Phineas preened, chuckling deeply. In her mind, he was stroking the point of his black beard like a trite villain from a black and white nickelodeon standing over a girl bound to a set of railroad tracks.

"Bit difficult to ignore with the way you constantly goad him," Dumbledore huffed, projecting his critique.

"That's Dumbledore!" Harry gasped excitedly, finally placing the voice.

In a second, he'd thrown off the cloak and swung open the door.

"Harry!" she hissed, but he was already rushing inside, eager to finally have the answers he sought. At least they'd left Ron back in the Room, so she only had one impulsive wizard to worry about.

"Harry, I did not expect to see you in here," Dumbledore remarked calmly, though his eyes did a quick scan of the room, belying his concern.

The act was like confirmation for her earlier thoughts. Even if she'd not been told explicitly, she knew Dumbledore wanted Harry ignorant of Snape's true ties for as long as possible. It was the reason she'd been lying to her friends this whole time, after all.

Hermione let the cloak fall back to reveal her face, so Dumbledore would know she was there watching Harry's back. Though she did move to the corner of the room, giving Harry some space and the illusion of privacy.

"Sir, I…," Harry paused to swallow, and still he struggled, sounding hoarse as he relayed, "I destroyed two Horcruxes."

"Of course you did. I am so proud of you, my boy." And there was pride in his words, but a confusing sadness as well. Why wasn't Dumbledore celebrating? Yes, he'd already known about Harry's success from Snape, but he should still be elated that they were this much closer to the end.

A crease formed in Harry's brow, and Hermione thought he'd noticed the discrepancy in Dumbledore's reaction as well. A second later he turned away, coming to the window beside Hermione, as though unable to bear seeing Dumbledore's face.

Her heart went out to him. Dumbledore had been as close to a grandfather as Harry had ever known. He'd been leading Harry through the minefield of his life. Then he'd died, leaving Harry essentially on his own. Adrift. And surrounded by enemies closing in on all sides.

Sure, he still had Ron and Hermione, but it wasn't the same when going up against Voldemort.

Yet when Harry spoke again, Hermione was shocked. He sounded heartbroken. Betrayed. Forsaken. "You should have told me. Why didn't you tell me?"

Harry's hands clenched onto the window sill hard enough to make it creak and echo. A jagged tear that sliced towards the canvas with unerring aim.

Dumbledore looked taken aback, his lips parting at the suggestion that he'd deliberately withheld something vital from Harry. "I shared everything I knew at the time," he insisted carefully, patiently.

But even to Hermione it sounded a bit condescending. She was familiar with his habit of unintentionally doing so when interacting with those he was leading. He'd certainly done it to Snape enough times in recent months.

The sound echoed again, but further away.

"No. You didn't," Harry grit out, anger quickly replacing his pain as he adopted the tone she was unfortunately more than a little acquainted with.

This time a heavy, repetitive thud punctuated the tense silence. Was it closer now than before?

Wait, that wasn't Harry she was hearing. It was someone coming up the stairs.

"I read Rita Skeeter's book. You were friends with—"

"Immobulus!" she gasped, aiming her wand at Harry even as she swept the cloak over his head and her own. "Sorry, I had to," she added quickly to his frozen form, having the idea from what Dumbledore had done to him the year before.

She was just in time too. Because Snape stalked into the room a moment later with Malfoy right on his heels. Snape didn't stop until he was behind his desk, hands braced on the surface in a posse that was distinctly intimidating. Judging from the way Malfoy began fidgeting, he was acutely aware of the power difference in their positions.

"Well, Draco? This had better be important as our absences will not go unnoticed," Snape drawled ominously, sneering at the boy and not betraying any indication that he was actually immensely fond of him.

It was the first time all year that Hermione had seen Malfoy for herself, and the changes in his appearance took her aback. He was thinner, to the point his skin looked stretched over his protruding cheekbones. And the dark rings under his sunken eyes looked painful. Malfoy reminded her of the Muggle pictures she'd seen of people strung out on heroin. It was alarming, to say the least.

"They took Lovegood from the station. Crabbe helped," he confessed, a child seeking absolution for a transgression when they knew better.

"Who took her?" Snape inquired stiffly.

He gave nothing away, and Hermione admired his ability to conceal so much. She'd never have been able to manage appearing so unruffled. But she knew him well enough to catch the minute twitch of his little finger as he processed the unexpected news. A wealth of far-reaching repercussions was probably playing through his mind – everything from what Harry might do to how he could use this as an advantage to gain the upper hand.

Snape was always playing every possible angle. He had to. It was essential for his continued survival.

Then what Malfoy said hit her. Knocked into her with the force of a wrecking ball. Luna. Luna had been taken.

Sweet, albeit strange Luna. The one least likely to pose a threat. At least not a serious one.

They had her.

Everyone was back today. Luna had been on the train, and they'd still managed to take her.

Ron had been talking all morning about seeing her again. He hadn't shut up for days after he'd opened her Christmas gift, comparing it to the stupid necklace Lavender had given him last year. He'd boasted about how much better the realistically lion-roaring Keeper helmet she'd enchanted for him to use playing Quidditch was. He'd been thrilled to try it against the twins and finally be the one getting a joke on them for once.

And now Death Eaters had her.

This wasn't supposed to happen. They'd already taken everyone they wanted from Hogwarts. Luna was just Luna.

Hermione forced herself to continue analysing Snape, lest she give away her own turmoil at learning her friend had been captured. Her heart felt ready to beat out of her suddenly too small chest, her ribs a tightening lattice of snake coils. Stabbing pains made her breathing laboured, and never had she been so grateful that Harry was little more than a statue.

He was surely going insane right now. But it would be infinitely worse when Ron found out.

"My father and aunt. They were waiting in Hogsmeade. I don't know if her friends have even realised she's missing yet," Malfoy said hesitantly.

"Why?" The clipped, open-ended question left a lot of room for interpretation, and Malfoy jumped on it, providing more information than he probably realised.

"They're hoping she knows more about where Potter is hiding since they've had no luck nabbing anyone from the Order. The Order all went underground after Kingsley attacked Runcorn a few weeks ago. They also think he'll come to them when Potter finds out."

Of course. They were bound to think of something like this sooner or later. They weren't the most creative wizards and witches ever to live, and holding someone as bait to draw Harry out had already proven most effective in the past. It had only been a matter of time until this happened, really.

Snape waved a hand airily to cut Malfoy off. "Why are you telling me?" Snape pressed, as though he couldn't care less and didn't see why he was being bothered.

"You don't think I've noticed?" Malfoy demanded defensively, mimicking Snape's stance, though it lacked his air of menace and authority.

"I'm not in the mood for games, Draco," Snape said coolly, pursing his lips in a brilliant show of bored annoyance. He stared at Malfoy the way one would a toddler throwing a tantrum after breaking a toy and not getting an immediate replacement.

Crimson stained Malfoy's cheeks in ugly slashes of glaring paint, but he ploughed ahead, desperate to turn the conversation in his favour. "You undermine the Carrows at every turn. I think you were still straddling both sides, but now you've picked the winning one."

"And you believe that's going to be Potter?" Snape asked drolly, one side of his lips turning up, though the expression lacked warmth.

"He has an annoying habit of squirming out of sticky situations, and given how long he's evaded the Dark Lord this year… It's the safer bet," Malfoy muttered. As soon as he said it, his head darted about, a frightened rabbit convinced it was surrounded by predators.

"I'm surprised you would trust me enough to say such things. You are aware of what the consequences would be if word of your leanings reached the wrong ears," Snape mused, playing on Malfoy's show of self-preservation.

"Mum said I should follow your lead," he admitted reluctantly.

The briefest fair of Snape's nostrils was the only tell that this had surprised him.

"And here I was thinking you'd simply finally realised you don't have the stomach for it," Snape mocked. Hermione had a feeling he really was fed up with Malfoy, despite his worry for the boy.

Dumbledore had tried several times to save the young Slytherin last year. And every time he'd been rebuked. Now here he was seeking protection and putting Snape in danger in the process. Hermione would bet every Galleon she had that he only shared what he knew of Luna's capture because he thought it would serve as a bargaining chip to get him what he wanted.

She loathed that sort of cowardice. And she resented the burden this was unfairly placing on Snape. But she also recognized the fact that Malfoy could have sat on the knowledge entirely. Without this, they wouldn't know with any certainty where Luna was, and who knew how long it would have taken to find her. Time they didn't have to waste.

"It's not what I expected. It's not at all like what I thought," Malfoy said angrily, shoving off of the desk and raking his hands through his sleek hair in frustration. He turned in a circle, too agitated to remain still. "After everything. Greyback, my mum, last week… I can't – I don't – I…."

"You're a spoiled child who has never struggled or been told no in his life. So things aren't perfect for once. That is normal. Get over yourself," Snape snapped, unrelenting. It made sense. There was so much on the line. If he helped now, then Malfoy betrayed him to Voldemort….

"Snape, you promised my mother you'd help me," Malfoy beseeched. "Please."

Her breath caught in her throat, lodging like a stone. Given his wasted appearance, she felt a measure of reluctant pity trickle through her heart. Not much. More like a leaky faucet that wasn't worth fixing since only a few drops a day managed to fall. But it was enough to make her grit her teeth, knowing she'd feel obligated to try and help if the opportunity presented itself.

She'd always had a soft spot for helpless creatures.

Apparently Snape did too. As he rubbed a weary hand across his brow then studied the son of his former lover, Hermione sensed him caving.

"Draco, you took the Mark. You know—"

A pointed cough came from the wall. Subtle.

"If that's all?" Snape asked instead, straightening and restoring the aloof mask he'd previously donned. When Malfoy looked ready to protest further, Snape dryly stated, "The walls in this castle hear more than they should. Your choices define you. Live with them. I know I sure as hell am."

Defeated, Malfoy trudged from the room, shoulders slumped and head down as the door slammed shut behind him. Hermione was actually a little impressed that he didn't whine a bit more beforehand. But then, Snape wasn't known for his empathy.

Snape remained tense, waiting. Nearly a minute passed before Dumbledore spoke, warning, "It's a trap, Severus."

"Obviously," he retorted dryly. Disdain, that the wizard didn't think him capable of determining as much on his own, caused him to glare darkly at the portrait.

"You should not have been so sympathetic to Mr. Malfoy. He could betray you," Dumbledore continued.

Hermione was startled that he'd speak so openly, knowing Harry was currently hiding in the room. But perhaps that was precisely why he was.

Harry would eventually have to find out the truth about Snape. This could be Dumbledore's way of priming him to hear it. Harry was rather well known for being infuriatingly tenacious once he made up his mind about something or someone. It'd take time to convince him otherwise.

But allowing this much to be said still shocked her, especially after what they'd just learned about Luna. Or maybe her previous assumption was wrong.

Regardless, they didn't have time to sort everything out. Not right now.

Which Dumbledore knew….

Dumbledore was playing a long game, and for now, at least, Hermione was simply going to trust that he had a plan.

"I'm far more concerned about what the Lovegood girl will say if she remains with Bellatrix for any length of time. The witch would be a fount of information if they listen long enough to get past the insane ramblings about mythical creatures," Snape said sharply, shaking his head as worst case scenarios no doubt played through his mind. Sighing, he predicted, "I suppose we should simply be grateful they didn't apprehend Miss Weasley instead. We'd stand no chance at all if they had."

"You're probably right about that. But I'm sure Harry will devise a reasonable and well-thought-out way to get Miss Lovegood from Malfoy Manor," Dumbledore assured with more optimism than Hermione thought was warranted. Or did he somehow think voicing as much would miraculously get Harry to actually do as much? If so, old age and death might really have made him batty. She'd certainly not had much luck with a similar approach over the years.

"Those are two traits I've yet to see Potter demonstrate."

"He will succeed. He is the best hope we have. Trust him," Dumbledore urged meaningfully.

That advice sounded so familiar. Where had she heard it before?

"Trust him to not forget his importance and do something without getting himself or…his friends…caught in the process?"

Hermione bit her lip at that. Snape was worried about her.

"He is more capable than you give him credit for," Dumbledore chided mildly, the absent twinkle making a brief appearance in his bright eyes.

"It's too risky. I should be the one to retrieve Lovegood. I could be—"

"You will do nothing," he ordered swiftly, putting the idea down with an incontestable finality.

Dumbledore very deliberately looked at where she and Harry were hiding. Once. Twice. Then Snape stiffened, catching on.

Hermione could well imagine the string of obscenities running through Snape's head right then. Twice now, in only a handful of minutes, he'd had to worry about the wrong people eavesdropping and judging his conversations. For such a private bloke, and one who valued having a measure of control over the situations he found himself in, he was likely raging over his current predicament.

"Of course," he sneered resentfully. "I will follow your orders – just as I always do. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must make a final appearance at the feast."

Hermione waited as long as she dared once he'd gone to whisper, "Finite!"

Harry didn't spare her more than a quelling look before shoving off the window sill he'd been gripping when she froze him and was only now released from. "What was that?" he demanded, rushing towards Dumbledore's portrait.

Hermione raced after him, latching onto his shoulder and begging, "Harry—"

"No! I want answers," he cried, shaking her off like a pesky fly. "Why were you talking to him like that?"

"Harry, please. We have to tell Ron before he hears about Luna from someone else," Hermione insisted. "He'll go after her by himself. You know he will. And only we know where she is. He'll get himself caught – or worse!"

"She is right, Harry," Dumbledore said gravely. His expression was so guilty as he took in Harry, seeming to memorise his features for a moment before he finished, "You'll have your answers once you destroy the cup, and not a moment before."

With that, Dumbledore left his frame, making it impossible for Harry to continue badgering him for answers.

Harry stared, slack-jawed, but recovered quickly when Hermione reminded him, "Luna."