Hermione was unsurprised to find herself moving toward the dungeons. It was safer territory for them, despite the fact Professor Snape no longer kept an office down there. He was as imperious as ever, long cloak swishing behind him as he strode, never looking back to make sure Draco was following. Draco was tall and didn't struggle to match his stride, but Hermione could see the irritability in his posture. She was reminded of Christmas, when she'd overheard their whispered shouts in the corridor. That encounter had led her to discovering his Dark Mark. She hoped history would not repeat itself today. What was left to go wrong?

They went around another corner; Hermione had to hold her breath and focus on keeping her footsteps silent as she worked to match their pace with her much shorter legs. She was saved, however, when Draco came to an unprompted halt.

"I'm not going any farther."

"What?" Snape whirled around, baring his teeth, and Hermione was taken aback by how poorly he looked.

"I said, I'm not going any farther," repeated Draco harshly. "You can talk to me here, not in some little room somewhere where you can do Merlin knows what —"

"Do you think I want to kill you?" Snape laughed, a bitter, horrible sound. "Do you really think that if I wantedto kill you, I would not have done so already?"

"I think —"

"What I want," snarled Snape so harshly that Hermione saw spittle fly, "is for you to explain, Malfoy, what exactly you did last night, and why I lied to the Dark Lord!"

Hermione's throat was closing and she thought she might faint from holding her breath, but she couldn't risk revealing herself.

"So he was pleased, then," Draco speculated, halfway between a statement and a question.

"'Pleased?' He is… satisfied the task was completed, and I have persuaded him that this discretion is for the best, since you are still able to maintain your cover, though I've no idea what that will mean for any of us!"

"So my mum — she's —"

"Narcissa is safe, though we won't be unless you tell me exactly what you did. Now."

Draco seemed to shift on his feet a moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet and unsettled. "I didn't kill him. He was dead already — Potter said it was some sort of potion — but I — well I saw the opportunity, didn't I? Someone had to go fetch his wand, so while I was out there, I sent up the Mark —"

"So you can claim responsibility to a murder that never happened."

"If it means I don't get killed? That my mum is safe? Then yes! And the Killing Curse doesn't leave anything behind," said Draco testily. "They can't prove I didn't."

"The curse may not leave a physical trace, but your wand would!"

"Yes, but if I wanted to kill fucking Dumbledore and was trying to cover my tracks, it would be silly to use my own wand, wouldn't it? You can see for yourself: You'll only find academic charms for weeks back. I used his for the Dark Mark. No-one ever thinks to use priori incantatem on a dead man's wand. It'll be buried with him forever."

"And the breaking and entering? Destruction of property?"

"If I'd just committed murder and didn't want to get caught, then I had to create a little distraction for the Aurors, didn't I? And it worked; they came running almost immediately."

"You have been incredibly reckless!"

"I took an opportunity to save myself! And my mother! What was I meant to do — just let him die on his own and then go apologise for not doing it first? And seeing as you're not dead, either, I assume it took care of the Vow, too!"

"Legilimens!"

Both their bodies went rigid, their breathing changing into something tense, full of desperate resistance. For several long moments, they continued, until it broke, and Draco gasped for air, leaning against the wall, shoulders hunched.

"You've maintained your Occlumency foundation," Snape said lowly, "but it is not enough. Perhaps with enough meditation… but if the Dark Lord were to take you by surprise, your reflexes would not protect you. Your mind is easy to open. You can never go before the Dark Lord again, or it will be the end for us both."

Draco tried to breathe deeply. Hermione heard him swallow and fruitlessly try to regulate his breathing. "So what do I do?"

There was another long silence. Professor Snape looked exhausted, and Hermione wondered how much time he'd spent in Voldemort's company since she'd last seen him before she went to bed. For certain, he hadn't slept.

"You will stay here," said Snape lowly, thoughtfully. "I've spoken with the headmistress; she is willing to extend certain privileges and protections to you, and in light of what you have told me, and what I have seen, I will request that those protections be implemented. You will not leave the grounds."

"What are you going to tell her?"

"As much as she needs to know."

"But if she knows I'm Marked —"

"We're beyond that now, Draco. Far, far beyond that."

Silence once again, but this time mellow and sad. Their postures gradually shifted back into the roles they usually inhabited, that of teacher and pupil, and when they began to speak again about mundane nothings, Hermione took advantage of the noise and crept away.

The day continued on, long and strange. Hermione returned Harry's Cloak and was grateful he didn't notice she hadn't actually got her bag. By lunchtime, a special edition of the Prophet was raining down from the Great Hall's cloudy ceiling. It reported Dumbledore's death and a mild incident in Hogsmeade in the early hours of the morning, during which the local robes shop had been broken into. A photo of the shopfront in disarray, with broken glass and wood splinters everywhere, was featured on the fifth page. Thankfully, the owner and their family had been asleep in their cottage a quarter of a mile away. Despite the Dark Mark in the sky, no-one had been harmed. Just some Death Eaters up to no good, the reporter speculated, giving the locals a scare.

Students read the report to each other fearfully and Hermione heard more than enough speculation that maybe it had something to do with Dumbledore. But that was dismissed as quickly as it came up. Dumbledore had died in the castle, in his room, of old age.

Hermione let out a long breath. Ron looked at her significantly, much to Hermione's irritation. Now that he knew what really happened, it seemed Ron was desperate to talk about it, but the Great Hall simply wasn't the place.

But privacy seemed impossible to come by. Even after lunch, the poor weather kept everyone inside, and no-one in the castle wanted to be alone today. The common room was full, and the Great Hall was alive with students consoling each other at the long tables which were covered in endless piles of food throughout the whole day. Hermione suspected the elves were coping with their grief by overworking themselves, and the student body by overeating. Even the library was packed with fifth- and seventh-year students. Whilst passing through, Hermione saw Ginny and Luna at a discreet table by one of the tall windows, holding hands as they read the heavy book between them.

The staff made themselves available, their office doors open as they worked or circulating through the castle. Hermione spotted the new headmistress, looking elegant in her long, black robes, on her way to her new office. Hermione thought she looked the part rather well. Hogwarts was in safe hands.

She had just secured a relatively private corner in one of the corridors on the ground floor, with a tall arched window she could perch under to watch the Black Lake through the rain. Beside her, Harry and Ron slouched against the wall. Rumour had it the merpeople were singing, but she couldn't hear through the thick stone and glass. She hoped they would continue when the weather bettered; she'd never heard their voices before.

"Merlin," sighed Ron, "it still doesn't feel real."

"Yeah," agreed Harry. Hermione kept her eyes fixed, unfocused, on the grey mist outside. "But it's… I dunno… not as bad as I thought it would be? Is that awful?"

"Nah, I get it. Could've been much worse. And it's nice, isn't it, that everybody's come together like this? And, hey, no exams." For a few minutes, there was only the metred beat of the rain against the windows. "You've still got the Horcrux, right?"

"Yeah, it's in my trunk."

"What's it like? You said it was a necklace."

"Sort of, yeah. It's a big, old-looking locket. Haven't tried opening it yet, though."

"You shouldn't do it by yourself, Harry," said Hermione quietly. Her voice felt tired, like the rest of her.

"Of course not; I'm not stupid. Maybe we can go by the Forbidden Forest, when the weather clears up, and see —"

Pop!

"Dobby?!"

Hermione, who had jumped at the noise and nearly hit her head on the window, stared uncomprehendingly at the house-elf currently staring up at her with huge bloodshot eyes.

"For Miss Hermione!" he cried and held out his hands. In one was a small vial of pale pink potion; the other, a sizeable piece of chocolate.

"Where did you get this, Dobby?"

"I is bringing it from the Hospital Wing! Madame Pomfrey says you is to take it, and Dobby is not allowed to leave until you do!" Dobby sniffled, huge tears welling in his enormous eyes. It was very clear he hadn't stopped crying since he heard of Dumbledore's death.

"Thank you, Dobby." Hermione knocked back the potion, the familiar slimy texture reminding her of long days and nights in St Mungo's. Within moments, the murtlap essence diffused through her chest, softening the pronounced ache. Her shoulders relaxed, the hunched posture she'd clung to for hours in an effort to quell the pain suddenly unwinding. Until now, she hadn't even noticed her scar had inflamed. She would have to thank Madame Pomfrey.

She broke the chocolate into three and passed a piece to Harry and Ron.

"How are you, Dobby?" asked Harry between chews. "How are the rest of the elves?"

"Dobby is very sad!" cried the miserable elf. "But Headmistress McGonagall is very good to Dobby and the rest of the elves! We is to keep our holidays and pay if we wants it."

"That's great, Dobby."

"I'm really glad to hear it," agreed Hermione before she hopped down from the ledge.

"Where are you off to?" demanded Ron.

"Brewing. The Moon will rise soon."

"Oh, right. You sure Malfoy will be alright?"

"He'll be fine, Ron." Hermione waved her hand; this topic always made her self-conscious, like her friends would see right through her. "You don't have to worry about his behaviour with me anymore." At least not in the way you think, though I doubt you want those images in your head.

"It was weird," mused Harry whilst Dobby continued to weep beside him. "Last night he was… I dunno. Not nice, exactly, but… and I'm not saying I trust him at all, but…" Harry shrugged helplessly. "I really am glad he came with you. Aberforth was right; it could've been really dangerous for you to come on your own."

Hermione bristled at the notion she needed protection but didn't argue. If Harry could tolerate Draco's presence, it would make her life much easier.

"I'm still miffed Malfoy got to be there instead of me," said Ron, then quickly backtracked. "Not that I wanted to be there, of course, but you know — you two shouldn't have had to go through that alone and —"

"We get it, Ron." Harry patted his friend on the back. "Have fun brewing, Hermione."

"Bye, guys."

Hermione gave weak smiles to the people she encountered on her way to the lab and averted the gaze of the Slytherins. The exhaustion was properly catching up, and brewing was the last thing she wanted to do. Even seeing Draco brought stress; she hadn't really thought about what she'd overheard, and she wasn't sure whether to confront him about it, or even what she would say. It was just too much. All of it.

When she entered their laboratory, though, she realised he was in the same position. He looked exhausted, ashen, like he'd just survived a Dementor's embrace. But his eyes lightened when he saw her, and that in turn lightened something in her chest. They executed their tasks wordlessly, slowly, and Hermione was so tired she couldn't have said which step of the recipe they'd completed. They'd been brewing Wolfsbane for nearly two years now, and despite the long nights and seemingly endless recipe, she was grateful for the muscle memory she'd acquired. Remus would not be poisoned by her exhaustion.

They finished, tidied up the benchtop and put the ingredients and tools away, and it was then, as she was leaning on her elbows, hunched over the wooden table that it all suddenly caught up.

She couldn't breathe, despite the clean air in the Bubble-Head securely wobbling on her shoulders. Her scar ached, even with the potion she'd taken, and everything inside her suddenly weighed too much. She gasped, the first sob to finally free itself after nearly twenty-four hours of manoeuvring around her grief. Her eyes caught up, burning fiercely with scorching tears she couldn't wipe away.

Arms came around her then, and she turned into Draco's chest desperately. "Hey, it's okay," he promised, but his voice was weak, and things were very clearly not okay at all. She couldn't stop it now; she wept hard, nearly screaming into his chest as everything in her gave way. They ended up on the ground together, Draco leaning back against the empty bookshelf while she clung to him in his lap, his arms around her shoulders holding her close as the tears dripped down her face. They stung, but with the charm in the way, there was nothing either of them could do.

She cried forever, like her grief and fear would cleave her in half along that fault line on her chest. The little laboratory echoed with it, until it all slipped away, and she welcomed the first escape into deep sleep since the world had tipped over.