"Hermione? We asked you a question. You haven't looked up from that book once in the last two hours," Harry badgered, laying a gentle hand on his best friend's shoulder.
Hermione startled, catching her coveted copy of Potions Monthly moments before it hit the floor. "Sorry, I was distracted," Hermione mumbled, which was true. What she had been distracted by, however, was the fact that Snape had written the article she had been reading, and apparently submitted quite frequently. It was no wonder no one found out, she'd hardly be surprised to learn she was the first Hogwarts Student to read something so dry, but she was dying to ask him about it.
"You're always distracted lately," Ron grunted, narrowing his eyes.
Harry cast Ron a stern look before turning his attention back to Hermione. "Look, I just wanted to know if you're coming to Hogsmeade tomorrow. You've been hanging out with Snape so much we've barely seen you."
"Oh, that's tomorrow?" Hermione racked her brain for any excuse to get out of it- she hardly felt up to school these days, let alone a day packed full of classmates and Harry's delirious muttering about Malfoy's evil plans. "I guess so."
Harry grinned, his emerald eyes glowing softly in the firelight. "Finally! I thought you'd gotten sick of us."
"I'm not sick of you, I'm just busy," Hermione said, digging her fingernails into her thigh in a vain attempt to release the twinge of annoyance that stirred at his words.
"Busy with Snape? What's he got you doing down there anyway?" Ron scoffed, crossing his arms tightly across his wiry chest.
"Not that it's any of your business, but we've been grading essays. I'm helping him brew potions for Madame Pomfrey this week."
"Dunno why you'd rather do that instead of be with your friends," Ron muttered.
"Oh really? I'd rather not watch the two of you go on about quidditch and play wizard chess every night! At least Professor Snape can hold a stimulating conversation," Hermione snapped, snatching up her schoolbag and books in one wild motion.
Before her two baffled companions could respond, she had already stormed away and up the stairs to her dorm, collapsing on her bed with a soft thud. Idiots, the both of them, she thought, collapsing onto her pillow. If she wasn't spending so much time in the dungeons, neither of them would care. What was she good for anyway? The brains of the golden trio and not much else. Neither of them had noticed that something was wrong with her. Harry had spent the little time she saw him over the summer bemoaning the rise of Voldemort and his loss of Sirius, not for a moment realizing that she had barely said a word back.
Ron was another story. He had been happy to see her, sure, for all of fifteen minutes. She had feelings for him, in an abstract kind of way. They had always been there, hovering in the background somewhere, caught between schemes and their constant bickering. Hermione didn't know if that was true anymore. After the Ministry it was harder to be around her friends, whether it be that she really wasn't up to taking care of anyone anymore or that Ron and his temper were sure to cause another storm of tears. He had asked how she was and she tried to tell him the truth. He couldn't or- wouldn't understand. He tried at first. There were a few nights she spent crying in his arms after a particularly bad nightmare but he quickly tired of her moods and avoided being alone with her until they boarded the train.
Maybe they were used to her figuring everything out on her own. It didn't matter. If Severus bloody Snape could notice something was deeply wrong with her, so could they. Hermione groaned into her pillow, already dreading tomorrow. Maybe she could stay up all night again and avoid it all together but they'd probably force her to go anyways.
Hermione walked with Harry and Ron in silence, broken only by a muttered fuck when Ron nearly went sliding down the rain-slick hill, narrowly avoiding the muddy mess below. By the time they shuffled into the Three Broomsticks, the trio were all sopping wet, Hermione's thick locks practically plastered to her face.
"I fucking hate Scotland," Harry groaned, wiping his glasses on the thick cotton jersey he was currently dripping in.
Ron and Hermione grumbled in agreement, Hermione casting warming charms over them. Ron steered them forward, his lankiness allowing him to peer over the heads of their buzzed classmates. Hermione gripped Harry's hand so hard he winced, the thunder of voices beating down on her. She squeezed her eyes shut, drowning out the bodies that pressed into her, the web of sweatered arms and twisting legs, reaching for her. It was too late by the time she realized she was screaming. A pair of muscular arms ripped her up and above the fog that had filled her brain, shaking her back to life.
"Granger! Granger look at me!"
Hermione woke with a gasp, lunging out of the arms of a beet red Draco Malfoy and straight into Harry. "What happened?"
Harry raised his eyebrows, looking at Hermione with wide eyes. "We were trying to get through to the back and you just started screaming and by the time I turned around you were gone," Harry said, glaring at Draco. "Then, Malfoy decided to be a hero."
Hermione groaned inwardly, not looking forward to being the talk of the girls' dormitories. "Well, thanks Draco. Let's go sit. Now, please," Hermione said, her voice one octave away from being shrill.
Harry and Ron nodded, leading the way to a table at the back, the crowd parting to get a glimpse at the disheveled girl between them. Hermione focused on her breathing, counting each rise and fall of her chest until she was safe, tucked into a corner booth with her friends on either side of her.
"Haven't you done enough, Malfoy?" Harry said with a grimace, studying the slouched blonde boy hovering in front of their table.
"Look, Potter. I've got something to say to you," Draco said, running a hand through his slicked back hair.
"We don't want to hear it," Ron snarled, moving to stand.
Draco sighed, wringing his hands, staring at a particularly shiny spot on the freshly waxed table top. "I've been a git. To all of you. You don't have to believe me, but I want to apologize for treating all of you the way I did. I was wrong. I'd like to do better now."
Harry scoffed. "So what? You tried to kill me a month ago and now you'd like to be friends? Sorry if I'm not exactly thrilled, Malfoy. We want nothing to do with you."
Hermione cleared her throat, looking up from behind her frizzy waves. "He's not lying. He wants to be better."
Ron choked on his butterbeer, sticky foam rolling down his freckled chin. "What the hell are you talking about? You? He's awful to you! He called you the 'M' word more times than I can remember! He just gets to decide to be nice all of the sudden and we're supposed to forgive him?"
"No, Ron. You don't have to be friends with him. You don't have to forgive him," Hermione paused, noticing the disappointment in Draco's eyes, "I however have chosen to be his friend. On a trial basis, obviously. Weren't you listening to the sorting hat this year? Voldemort is coming for Harry, and we need all the allies we can get."
Draco winced at the mention of Voldemort but kept quiet, giving Hermione the smallest of nods. Harry muttered something under his breath, gripping the rough-cut edges of the table as if his life depended on it. "Look, Malfoy. Sorry if I don't exactly trust you. How do I know that you're trying to get close to me as a part of your plans? You haven't fooled me."
Hermione groaned, burying her head in her hands. "Not this again, Harry. You can't honestly believe Draco's a death eater. He's not of age!"
"It doesn't matter how old he is! It's never stopped Voldemort before, has it? If the bloke's running around murdering babies, what would stop him from taking in Draco?" Harry's words had drawn the attention of the crowd, though it didn't help that he was practically shouting.
Draco cleared his throat, drawing the blue velvet of his cloak tighter around his shoulders as he stood to face the fuming boy-who-lived. "Clearly this was a bad idea. I simply wanted to let you know that you won't have to be concerned with me any longer. I apologize for intruding," He said, extending a pale hand to Harry.
Harry stared at Malfoy's outstretched hand, the onlookers holding their breath, even Severus Snape who had slipped in when no one was looking. Hermione caught his eye and he inclined his head, his eyes as still and unfathomable as ever. She wished that Draco would put his bloody hand away and be done with it, but he was unmovable, clearly unperturbed by both the disbelief of his classmates and the heavy glare of his godfather. After what seemed like hours, Harry finally reached forward and shook Draco's hand, far too firmly for Hermione's liking. At least he hadn't reached out and punched him in his delicate nose. Hermione had beaten him to it, anyway.
Draco merely nodded, casually shoving his hand in his pocket as if he and Harry shook hands all the time. "See you around, Granger."
"See you, Malfoy," She replied, turning to give both of her best friends her best stern expression to keep them from opening their mouths.
"Miss Granger. A word," Snape drawled, startling Harry and Ron. Hermione merely stood and followed his lead out of the pub, grateful that his presence carved a wide path before them. She figured they'd have a conversation sooner rather than later; there was no doubt in her mind that kindness from Severus Snape did not come without a price.
He led her towards the outskirts of the village, closer to the shrieking shack. A strange feeling crept at the back of her neck, like someone had brushed against her spine. She wondered briefly if Snape had liked Hogsmeade Weekends as a teenager, though that seemed unlikely. Harry had shakily recalled his father tormenting a young Snape, a fact which Hermione found neither interesting or uninteresting. After watching Sirius treat Harry like a reincarnated James hardly made her have faith in James Potter and his friends. Every now and again she imagined what a young Snape would be like. Sometimes he was closer to Draco, a pale boy with a mouth full of slurs. Sometimes he was quiet, kept to his potions and the other Slytherins. Nothing she could imagine could explain the harsh, bitter man she knew and occasionally feared.
Severus paid her no mind. He thought she might be revisiting her third year, grimacing at the reminder of facing the werewolf. At least he was gone from Hogwarts. Curse or no curse, he would have made sure he stayed gone.
"Sir, I don't mean to be rude but I don't think we can go any further." Hermione peered up at him, her hair stirring in the breeze.
"My apologies, Miss Granger. I did not wish to risk being overheard," Snape explained, casting muffliato around them for good measure.
Hermione frowned, her brain already whirring with suspicions. "Where did that spell come from?"
Snape stared at her for a moment, a ghost of a smile passing over his features. "Me. I invented it when I was a student."
Hermione laughed, bright and bubbly in the crisp fall air. Snape stared at her, unsure what to do with a giggling student. He never had to deal with them. She doubled over at his expression, only stopping after her second coughing fit. "I'm so sorry, Professor, really. It's just that, well, there's a reason Harry's been doing so well in potions since you stopped teaching it. Well, to everyone but me of course."
Snape quirked an eyebrow, crossing his arms, his voluptuous robes floating around him. Although he'd never admit it, he did occasionally have the tendency to look like a bat. "I assumed that Potter did better without my tutelage."
"Well, he found an old copy of Advanced Potion Making with loads of writing all over it. He's obsessed with it. He's always going on about the great Half Blood Prince. And it's you! He thinks it's his dad, the prat," Hermione babbled, ignoring the glare coming from her teacher.
Snape allowed himself a small snort, careful not to let his Occlumency shields down. As angry as it made him that Potter of all people had gotten a hold of his textbook, it was too much not to think of the boy daydreaming about his dad being a potions extraordinaire. "If I catch any of you using my spells in my classes I will make sure you spend the rest of your apprenticeship scrubbing cauldrons. The muggle way, mind you."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't dream of it sir."
"Make sure Potter stays away from anything 'for enemies'. I was so-restrained in those days. It'll keep him out of trouble," Snape said, clear he would not elaborate further.
Hermione nodded, chewing her bottom lip. "What did you want to talk to me about, Sir?"
"I was not aware that Draco had any intention of making amends with your little friends," Snape said awkwardly.
"Oh, like you didn't ask him to babysit me?" Hermione squared her shoulders, studying him. If he thought he could meddle with her like every other blasted adult did, he had another thing coming.
"I did not ask him to babysit you. I merely suggested he be kinder to you. The both of you are dealing with things far darker than you should." Snape looked amused at her feeble attempt at scare tactics.
"Right. Well, I told him if he wanted me to begin to forgive him he would have to apologize to Harry and Ron. Neither of them noticed that he walked me to Arithmancy the other day or else there wouldn't have been such a big show of it."
Snape considered her for a moment. He had been tasked with looking after both her and Draco, not to mention being Potter's protector. It had made things simpler. He couldn't save his godson now, pity that it was. He wasn't an idiot. He was a bright boy, save for his idiotic ideas about blood supremacy. If he were a hopeful man he could see Draco's salvation in the hands of the girl before him, but he had learned to give up on hope a long time ago. "It would be...unwise for Draco to be seen with you. If his father learns who he has been spending time with him, he could make things very unpleasant for all of you."
Hermione scoffed. "What do you want then? For us not to be friends? Why? Because his father would rather rid the world of mudbloods like me then watch his son be seen near one? Why should I listen to you? Why should that be allowed?"
"Do not say that word," Snape said icily, taking a step forward so that he loomed over the Gryffindor, whose mess of curls were currently giving off blue sparks. "Be discreet. That is all that I am asking."
"Fine. Frankly, I don't care what happens. He's coming. We can all sit here and pretend like it all isn't happening. I've seen the prophet. Muggle families murdered every day! Whether or not I'm friends with Draco, Daddy Malfoy and his friends will try to kill me anyway. Draco can decide who he wants to stand with when the time comes."
"Foolish girl. You know nothing, nothing of what it was like. This is child's play. The Dark Lord is far closer to power than he was twenty years ago, and nothing will stop him now," Severus roared, his expression twisted with rage.
Hermione knew she had gone too far, but she didn't care. She was tired of people telling her she didn't know anything. She'd nearly died at Lucius' hands and still everyone wanted to explain to her that things were far more complicated than she'd ever understand. "I've fought before. I'll fight again. I wasn't there twenty years ago but I'm here now. This is my war as much as it is yours Professor Snape."
"You are a child," He sneered.
"Professor Dumbledore doesn't seem to mind having children fight his wars for him," Hermione said softly, her eyes hardening.
Snape didn't say a word, unable to think of a response that wouldn't land him in deep shit with the headmaster. Hermione glowered at him and stormed away, the maple leaves beneath her feet flying madly as she walked. Snape sighed and followed slightly behind. Bloody Gryffindors.