Hermione woke to the sound of urgent voices and the familiar irate tone of Harry Potter, the boy who never stopped arguing. She peeled herself off the cold stonework in front of the Gryffindor common room, blearily recalling passing out somewhere after four o'clock, having exhausted her attempts to remember the bloody password. "Harry, would you please stop that racket," She groaned, meeting the clear green eyes of her best friend and ignoring the throes of scarlet-clad students lingering behind him.

"Are you serious? I've only been trying to wake you for thirty fucking minutes! You scared me, Hermione!"

She pushed off his concern, staggering to her feet. Last night came back to her in a blur of images: Professor Snape dripping crimson, Draco tangled in death eater business, and tears in the shadows. "Sorry, Harry. I've had a lot on my mind."

"You always seem to have a lot on your mind lately," He draped a careful arm around her shoulders and steered her away from the onlookers, mostly first years and a handful of older students. She met their stares coolly, allowing herself to be led away and towards the great hall.

Harry veered right, taking them towards the steep marble steps she had cast herself down only hours before.

"I prefer to have my breakfast before class, you know. Especially after I spent the night on the floor," Hermione snipped, attempting to turn back towards the opposite staircase.

"Oh, sorry 'Mione. I thought you heard me shouting. Dumbledore's asked to see you. I got his owl this morning," Harry continued, steering her, entering the wide passage leading to the headmaster's office.

Hermione frowned and stopped abruptly, nearly causing Harry to trip. "Why did he send you an owl?" That was strange. He never did seem to take very much notice of her unless it was something related to Harry, but he could have asked her directly.

"I'm guessing he probably knew you didn't make it to the common room last night." Harry shrugged.

"Hm. I suppose he does know everything." She had a sneaking suspicion that it was the headmaster's occlumency skills that lent to his omniscience, but being headmaster most likely meant a connection to the castle no one else was privy to. Still, it was eerie to know that nothing was a secret when it came to Dumbledore.

"Not everything. I'm onto Malfoy whether or not Dumbledore wants to hear it. I don't care how much he's supposedly changed," Harry swore, the familiar anger returning to his eyes. "It's a ruse to get close to us. I'm sure Voldemort would love if one of his cronies knew what we were up to."

Hermione only nodded along, too tired to dispute Harry's endless suspicions. Who was she to disagree anyway? What she saw last night certainly gave credence to the Draco is a death eater conspiracy. She only hoped he was still on their side.

"'Lacewing flies," Harry declared, standing back as the staircase revealed itself, curving upward into the tower.

As they climbed, the low murmur of voices crept through the air, too soft to make out. Harry cast her a quizzical glance, and they stepped as gingerly as they could. Who would be here so early?

"Albus, it is our right to interrogate her. She may know something." The gruff voice of the minister halted the pair in their tracks.

Harry stared at her before Dumbledore's clear voice cut through the heavy iron wrought door, "It may be your right, Minister, but she is my student. If I am not mistaken, Miss Granger has already arrived."

Before Hermione could prepare herself, the door swung open and she was ushered into the familiar office, the cold morning light streaming in through the tall windows. Scrimgeour stood awkwardly next to Dumbledore's magnificent desk, clearly trying to exert his authority however possible. Up close, she could see the thin scars crisscrossing across his grizzled features, his eyes the color of worn leather. He certainly didn't look like a vampire, but she didn't blame whoever originated those rumors.

Professor McGonagall seemed to be having a staring contest with the minister, resplendent in her usual hunter green robes, hair tied back in a severe bun. Beside her sat Kingsley and a handful of aurors unfamiliar to Hermione.

"Good morning, sir," Hermione walked as proudly as she could muster before conjuring a plush chair for herself before the desk, "I apologize for my tardiness. What is all this about?"

Dumbledore smiled politely, gesturing for Harry to take a seat beside her. "Miss Granger, I am afraid I have asked you here as the bearer of bad news. I did not expect there to be such an audience for what should be a private moment," Scrimgeour grimaced and took a step back, pointedly staring away from Hermione.

"Bad news? What do you mean?" Hermione felt the familiar panic stirring, the towering bookshelves seeming to waver in her vision. She couldn't handle bad news. She didn't want to. He could keep it to himself. It wasn't like he didn't do that to Harry all the time.

"Last night, the ministry was notified of the use of the morsmordre charm in a muggle neighborhood. When the aurors arrived, the house in question was burned to the ground." Dumbledore cleared his throat, one hand adjusting his crescent shaped glasses, the other resting limp on his desk. "The minister has personally paid us a visit because the house belonged to your parents, Miss Granger."

The floor seemed to fall away beneath Hermione's stockinged feet, losing all sensation of being connected to the real world. Her parents. Her parents who had begged her to seek help, who drove her to endless therapy sessions and ordered stacks of leatherbound books, anything to cheer up their only daughter. Her parents who kept diligent notes on every facet of magical living, who adored the Weasleys and let her go to school even if it meant facing dangers they couldn't possibly imagine.

"My parents? You're saying that the house is gone. Are my parents missing? What happened to them?" She desperately tried to fight back the hot stinging tears threatening to fall, very aware of the minister's keen eyes analyzing her. She would not look weak in the face of a man like that.

Harry placed a warm hand over her own, stilling the trembling creeping through her limbs. Hermione barely noticed, watching every adult in the room look away from her.

"Unfortunately, their bodies were discovered off the coast of Ireland this morning. We believe death eaters are responsible."

Hermione could only look at her hands. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to disappear into the pricks of light hidden there, as if her magic was capable of dissolving all this into a dream. She was conscious of shouting, a hoarse scream, the sounds muffled and eerie in her mind.

When was the last time she even spoke to her parents? She had kept herself so distant after what happened at the ministry, thinking foolishly if she kept her family at arms length, they would somehow be safe from the darkness that never seemed to stop chasing her. God, this was all her fault. She should have asked for a safe house, sent them into hiding, something.

Someone was shaking her, jolting her out of her spiral and into the brightly lit office. Harry kneeled before her, his calloused hands gripping her shoulders, thick eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Hermione, please look at me. Do you want to leave? What do you need right now?"

She stared back at him, her best friend. Would he finally see her now? Was her pain as deep as his now that she too was an orphan, cast as directly in Voldemort's line of fire? She tried to stand, but her legs were made of lead. She could only sit as the adults argued around her.

"Miss Granger, why would your parents targeted? I understand you suffered a grave injury in the Department of Mysteries this summer. Could this attack be related?" Scrimgeour spoke as one would to a child, drawing out each syllable.

"Don't be an idiot minister. I'm Harry Potter's mudblood friend. That's enough to put a target on my back," Hermione spat, the anger rising like bile, burning her throat and giving her the strength she needed to push away Harry and banish her chair. "Do make a habit of harassing school children whose parents have been murdered. I'm sure I won't be the only orphan this year."

"Miss Granger, you are understandably upset-"

"I'm not upset; I'm furious! How dare you speak to me like a child? How dare you burden us with this war and treat us like children when it inconveniences you?" She was shouting now, but she didn't care, "You're correct. I did almost die at the ministry, thanks to your predecessor. I've nearly died quite a few times, actually, because the only people capable of taking on dark wizards seem to be fucking teenagers!"

Dumbledore rose and laid a placating hand on Scrimgeour's shoulder. "Perhaps this conversation would be best held at another time."

The minister nodded, raising a gloved hand to the small posse of aurors lingering in the corners of the ornate room. "Very well. This is not over, Miss Granger."

"I'm terrified," Hermione said coolly, crossing her arms. What was he getting at? Did he really think she could have had something to do with this?

"I would tread carefully if I were you. A friendship with Draco Malfoy does not bode well in our office."

Before she could reply, Scrimgeour was already stepping through the floo, his unkempt mane vanishing in a flash of emerald.

"What, the ministry's keeping tabs on my social calendar now?"

No one answered her. Dumbledore looked like he wanted to chide her, but remained silent.

"Fine." Hermione turned and stormed out, ignoring the sorrow written across McGonagall's lined face.

She flew down the steps, vision blurring as the tears became a downpour. Footsteps thundered behind her. "Hermione wait! Please don't shut me out. I know what it's like to lose someone."

"Shut up, Harry. I don't want to hear it right now." She was practically running now, not knowing where she was going, only that she needed to get away.

"Hear what? That I care about you? I'm your best friend. You've practically ignored me for months! You spend all your time locked in your room and gossiping with Snape! When are you going to remember who your real friends are?"

Hermione stopped cold. "Gossiping? That's what you think I do all day? He understands what it's like to live through a war. He actually listens to me." She held up a hand to silence Harry, "Yes, you prat. If you could look past your Slytherin bias for one bloody second you might learn something. I know you lost Sirius last year and I am deeply sorry, but I lost something too! I almost died and it broke me. I can barely sleep, I see Dolohov lurking around every corner, and I get so scared I can barely breathe half the time. I'm not shutting you out to be cruel to you. I just couldn't carry your burdens on top of my own."

Harry tried to reach out to her but she held her hand firmly. Why was everyone always so intent on touching her?

"I'm sorry. I didn't know." He nearly crumpled before her, his usual towering confidence lost in his shame.

"You didn't know because you didn't ask."

"I did ask. You pushed me away. I would have listened to you if you trusted me enough to let me in. Instead you trusted Malfoy and Snape, the two people who have had it in for me ever since we were eleven. Snape knows what its like to live through a war? Give me a break, Hermione. So do I! I've only faced Voldemort what, four times now?" As always, Harry's brief moments of empathy gave way to ire. His chest heaved, mouth twisted into a thin, flat line. "I feel like I barely know you anymore. Since when do you mouth off to the minister?"

"Oh please. As if you haven't done that a thousand times. All you do is shout at people! You're doing it right now! You don't have a monopoly on anger, Harry. Before this war is over you better learn that you aren't the only person bad things happen to. Sorry for not dealing with my feelings in a way that's more comfortable for you." It felt good to say what she meant for once, to be the one doing the hurting. How many times had she cried because Harry or Ron had an outburst?

"Is that what you think of me? I'm the chosen one, Hermione. Sorry but it's a little different for me. He actually is after me. He killed my parents first." Harry's chest heaved, straightening his shoulder in an attempt to appear as tough as his words felt.

"Wow, Harry. When you're done acting like a child maybe I will dignify that with a response."

She held her head as high as she could possibly muster, ignoring the whispers and raised eyebrows of her fellow students. You would think that after all these years, she would be used to Harry and his barbed tongue. Her heart felt like an anchor, dragging her insides down with it. She'd somehow managed to lose her parents and her best friend all in one day.

She found herself descending deeper into the castle, making her way to the dungeons before she even realized what she was doing. She really should stop making a habit of running to Snape but where else could she go?

It felt like ages before she reached the portrait concealing the entrance to his quarters, the nymph winking slyly at her before diving back beneath the crisp waters. She didn't even know if he was there. It couldn't be later than seven, he was probably at breakfast. Maybe a walk around the grounds would help her clear her head.

The portrait suddenly swung open, revealing a haggard looking Snape, his usually greasy hair twisted in snarls around his sallow features. "Miss Granger?"

She clapped a hand over her mouth, suddenly remembering the events of last night, lost somehow in between learning of her murdered parents and chewing out the minister. "Whose fucking blood was it?" Her heart pounded in her ears as she pushed past him, taking in the soiled robes on the couch and the scattered remains of half a dozen pain potions littering his sitting room.

Severus stayed silent, letting the portrait hole close behind him as he advanced cautiously towards her. "Miss Granger, what is this about?"

"Tell me you didn't know. Tell me what I saw last night has nothing to do with what Dumbledore so graciously told me this morning." Her breath caught in her throat, unable to read the stillness in his black eyes.

He sighed, gesturing for her to sit. "It was you. I knew I heard something last night."

She remained standing, drawing her wand, though it shook in her trembling fingers. "Whose blood?"

"Miss Granger, I-"

"I saw you! I heard you talking to Draco, I know everything!"

"If you put your wand away I will tell you everything. Please."

She wavered at his pleading tone but didn't lower her wand.

"Very well. I wouldn't trust myself if I were you either. Draco, you might as well stop hiding."

Hermione watched the pale boy emerge from the bedroom, his eyes red and swollen. "I've got to talk to you, Hermione. I'm so sorry."

"Start talking."