Hermione stripped off her jumper and hung it on the back of her chair. The library was warm and glowing in the soft candlelight. Even the breeze that floated through the window was warm. Perhaps the very last touch of summer left in the air; Hermione looked wistfully out the window, it would be nice to sit down by the lake instead of being confined to the library.

Instead, she had carefully escaped her friends' call to the common room, insisting that she needed to begin the mounting pile of homework assigned to them. So, there she was, amongst the stacks with her study date – Theodore Nott. It was not a circumstance she had ever foreseen herself in.

Hermione chanced a glance up from her tome at the Slytherin. Nott was paging through a book on ancient Anglo-Saxon ruins. It was strange to be sitting with the child of a Death Eater. There was an incongruence to it, as well as in the way he had been treating her.

Nott had already been at the library when she had arrived. He had shot up out of his seat as she approached. She wondered whether it was some pure-blooded politeness. But she couldn't imagine it would be truly directed at her – purely instinct perhaps.

The two studied in silence for a while, only the sound of turning pages to interrupt their thoughts. Hermione struggled to read, reeling in the growing awkwardness. After reading the same page for the fourth time, she sat back in her chair in a huff. Nott was already looking at her.

He smiled and put his hand to his mouth to stifle a chuckle. She looked at him quizzically.

"What?" She asked pointedly.

"Well, typically studying together involves, you know, actually talking to each other?", he said slyly. Hermione took in a breath. She wasn't sure what to say, the situation was too absurd, and she was not about to bare her soul to Nott by admitting that she was unsure why he'd invited her.

It was purely practical, right? He had no one else in Ancient Runes, neither did she really. Perhaps he wasn't keen on Ancient Runes at all but needed to pass, and therefore she was the obvious choice as a study partner. Maybe his parents made him take the class when he didn't want to. The idea of Nott's father making him take Ancient Runes from a cell in Azkaban was almost laughable.

"Which piece are you going to translate first?" He asked softly, as if trying not to scare off an animal.

"The Germanic one, I think", she said tentatively. He waited, just looking at her.

"I think if I can find the right book, I could get it done tonight, and then maybe start the essay", she continued. Nott pushed a tome in her direction.

"I started with this one, Chapter 4". He said it easily, with no condescension.

"Let me know what you think and then we could draft an outline for the Anglo-Saxon essay?" He asked her gently. Hermione surveyed him; soft brown curls, warm skin, deep brown eyes with heavy circles under them.

"Nott, I don't know if this is a good idea…" She trailed off.

"We can talk about it," he said.

"Talk about it?" asked Hermione.

"The war, my father, all of it," he said apathetically. She shook her head. She would not even know what to do with a conversation like that.

"I don't think we can", she said. He shrugged. It was too much; this was too confusing. Hermione stared at him for a moment. His face was open, inviting, hospitable, all things unbecoming of a usual Slytherin. She did not know what to do with it.

"Well, back to runes then", he said, flashing a resigned smile. Hermione let out a little anxious sigh but gave a nod.

The time passed quickly. Hermione read chapter four and was delighted to find her thoughts on the chapter carefully considered by Nott. He didn't take what she said as gospel and simply copy it down, like Ron or Harry would have, nor did he disparage her for knowing an obscure fact. The two had a lengthy discussion around the usefulness of different translation approaches and how they affected whether the runes were still usable magically. It was the kind of conversation she had always wished to have had when studying with Harry or Ron, but they simply had no interest in such matters.

Hermione found her spirits lifted as she walked back to her dormitory. If she could manage to keep it hidden from the others, Nott might prove to be an effective study partner. It should be simple enough to stop Harry and Ron from following her to the library. But there were other students to think about, and the Marauder's Map as well. She would need a convincing lie. Luckily she was the lone sixth year Gryffindor in Ancient Runes, and it was unlikely that Harry would find it questionable if she told him they had a group assignment to do together.

Hermione had not expected for Nott to be open to talking about the war. In retrospect perhaps they should have. Maybe she could even get information out of him that would be helpful to The Order. But what was his angle? She was unsure. Even if she asked why he had invited her to study, would he tell her the truth?

She was late back to her dormitory, and she eased open the door to find a dark room. Hermione tip-toed her way across the floorboards to her bed, her body longing to lay down and sleep. It seemed sixth year was going to be full of late nights studying. She could almost imagine how good it would feel to slip between the cold covers. However, as she passed Pavarti's bed she heard a soft whimper come from behind the curtains. She paused.

"Pavarti", Hermione said gently, inching her way towards the bed. The sniffles grew a little louder as she approached. She carefully drew back the curtain to see Pavarti with her arms wrapped around her knees, crying.

"Sorry Hermione, I thought everyone was asleep", she sniffled. Hermione sat herself on the edge of a bed.

"What's wrong?" She asked earnestly. Pavarti shook her head, another tear cascading down her cheek.

"They want me to leave", said Pavarti between hiccups.

"Who wants you to leave?" Asked Hermione, horrified. Pavarti nudged a letter sitting next to her on the bed. Hermione picked up the heavy parchment, it was soft and perfumed, and she began to read.

The letter was from Pavarti's parents. It informed her that they were in discussion with Dumbledore about removing both her and Padma from Hogwarts for the rest of the year. Parvati's parents cited the increasing amount of disappearances as the cause. Hermione frowned at the parchment as Parvarti gave a sob.

Hermione set the letter down on the side table and shuffled towards Pavarti. She put her arms around the girl and squeezed. This only made Pavarti sob harder, and Hermione rubbed the girl's back soothingly.

Things had changed. Nott had referred to it as "the war". But surely there was still hope. The Ministry knew now, they would be able to do something. It was not war yet. It was dangerous, but not war.

Hermione pulled back from Pavarti, who stared back at her. She didn't know what to say. She thought perhaps if her parents knew all of it, had read the true Daily Prophet articles and not her redacted version, that they too would be thinking of pulling her out of school.

Hermione gave Pavarti's shoulder a squeeze. Pavarti gave her a half-hearted smile.

"Pavarti it-", Hermione was cut off by another voice.

"Pavs! I thought you had gone to sleep!" Lavender Brown appeared next to the bed, her wand tip alight. Hermione hadn't heard her wake. Hermione quickly got up from the bed.

"It's going to be okay", she mumbled hurriedly to Pavarti as Lavender weaselled her way between the two of them, her freshly washed curls hitting Hermione in the face. Lavender gave Hermione a condescending smile before jumping into the bed with her friend.

"Thanks Hermione, I'll look after her now", she said saccharinely before shutting the curtain in Hermione's face.

Hermione retreated to her own bed and pulled the covers up around her shoulders; curling in on herself. She tried not to think of war, of death, of all the things that might go wrong. She tried not to think of sitting with a Death Eater's son, or how he so easily referred to the events going on as war. It unsettled her more how much she had enjoyed studying with him. She tried not to hear a crying Pavarti, or Lavender trying to soothe her friend telling her everything would be ok. It took her ages to fall asleep and when she finally did drift off, she was back in the Department of Mysteries.

The nightmares continued, and then they began to infiltrate the daytime too. Hermione had only given a cursory glance during herbology when McGonagall had come to collect Hannah Abbott. She had taken to trying to focus extra intently during class to cut down on revision time and not let anything distract her.

Their schedules were technically less, with free periods most days of the week, but the workload had increased substantially. She even found herself asking McGonagall to repeat a thing or two, something she'd never had to do before. It had made her lock herself in the library, night-after-night until she was sure she understood her Transfiguration content.

But on this particular day, by the time they had got to dinner, the news had spread. Hannah Abbott's mother had been found dead, presumably murdered by Death Eaters. The Great Hall was violently loud, an ocean of whispers echoing around her. Harry ate with intermittent glares at the Slytherin table, while Ron and Ginny whispered to each other about the safety of their own parents. Determined not to get swept up in fear, Hermione pulled her charms textbook out and flicked through it while eating, attempting to drown out the noise.

However, try as she might, she couldn't quell the fear growing inside her. Her parents could be just like Hannah Abbott's mother. They would have no defences against Death Eaters. The beginnings of a plan was taking shape in Hermione's mind. If she had to protect her parents, it would mean getting them away from London. But she knew deep down that they wouldn't leave her willingly. Which meant she was going to have to force them or remove herself as a reason. Her fingers grazed the introduction page to memory charms.

This was magic beyond even her. Charms they learned about but she had hoped she would never have to cast, usually reserved for witches and wizards working in muggle control. Not something you use on a loved one, on an innocent. Unless you were Gilderoy Lockhart of course.

But what if she had to get them out? She would have to learn how to cast the spell. She tried to find some time in her diary to pencil in some memory charm practice. It might be worth talking to Professor Filtwick about it too, academically of course. The magic could get her in trouble if she revealed her true intentions.

She felt Harry and Ron get up from the table and looked up. Her eyes snagged on a blonde head across the hall where she noted Malfoy also seemed to be buried in a book during dinner.

"You done, Hermione?" Asked Ron. Hermione looked at her plate, only picked at, but she was hardly hungry. She nodded and the three of them made their way to the common room.

No one was in much of a mood for homework, but Hermione kept thumbing through her book. Like the Grand Hall, the common room was full of hushed whispers. Harry and Ron played wizard's chess by the fire while Hermione sat curled on the settee. It should have been comforting but the warmth of the fire did not touch the pooling coldness in her stomach.

Over the evening, the crowd in the room thinned. Hermione noticed that Harry took his leave just after Ginny and her friends had gone up to bed, this had been becoming something of a pattern over the last week. She watched him go up the stairs.

When she turned back to face the fire, she was surprised to see Ron still sitting in front of the chess set. He looked up at her from the floor, the fire illuminating his already flame red hair.

"What do you say Hermione, want to play a game?" He said, indicating to the board. Hermione hated wizard's chess. She was not good at it either, but Ron loved it – and he was good at it. She shut her book and eased herself onto the floor.

He let her go first. She moved a pawn. He moved a pawn. She moved another. He moved a knight. She moved a third white pawn, he moved his rook. She watched the shadows dance across the board, elongating from even the small pieces. Swirly dark shadows that reminded her of Death Eaters.

"Hermione?", asked Ron. She looked up at him, she felt the tears welling in her eyes. The tears made him blurry but she could see the concern etched on his face.

"Hannah's mother", Hermione whispered. He stared at her.

"I have terrible nightmares", she said softly.

"Like Harry?" He asked. She let out a half hearted laugh.

"No, not like Harry", she said, shaking her head. Hermione pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her eyes on her folded arms. She heard Ron move and then felt the warmth of his body beside her. He didn't put his arm around her though.

"I'm always back there", she said without looking up, "in the Department, watching everyone get hurt, or dying". Tears slid down her cheek. She heard Ron let out a long sigh.

"I get them sometimes too", he said. Hermione looked up from her arms. His blue eyes were awash with the warmth of the fireplace; his skin turning extra pink sitting so close to the hearth. She looked at the curve of his lips. They looked soft. He seemed to be searching her face for something.

"I need to do something to protect my parents", she said.

"Of course, we'll protect your parents, Hermione", he said, shaking his head. She sat up straighter, looking him in the eye determinedly.

"No, I need to send them away, make them forget about me", she finished in just a whisper. Confusion spread across Ron's face.

"What do you mean?" He asked. She took a big breath in.

"I have tooblivatethem", she said carefully, resolutely. Horror crossed Ron's face.

"You can't!" He exclaimed, pulling away from her.

"Shh!" She hushed, worried someone would hear, but when she looked around she realised it was only them left in the Common Room. She turned back to him.

"What choice do I have?" She asked. Ron frowned.

"I know you're worried Hermione, butobliviatingyour parents? That's madness! You might never get them back!"

"Well, I might never get them back anyway!" She said, her cheeks burning hot. The emotions crashed over her like waves; fear, rage, anxiety, fear, fear, fear.

"Ron, I have to do something, they can't protect themselves!" She protested.

"You cannotobliviatethem", he said sternly. She stared at him, feeling tears welling in her eyes, her face flushing in anger. He must have felt some of her rage because he put his hands out in an appeasing gesture.

"They'll be safe", he said.

"Hannah's mum wasn't", Hermione countered. They were silent for a bit.

"It's illegal", he said.

"You think I don't know that, Ronald?", she said, crossing her arms. He shrugged.

"Well you can't do it now, it's too soon, give it some time Hermione, you're just upset about Hannah", he implored. Hermione rubbed her face with her hands.

"I don't want to play Wizard's Chess right now", she said.

"Okay, are you going to go to bed?" He asked cautiously. She looked to the staircase that led to her dormitory. It felt like only nightmares awaited her up there.

"No", she said, looking back at Ron.

"Do you want to sit on the settee?" He pushed the little table away and moved to get up on the couch.

"Okay" she said.

The fire crackled in front of them. Hermione returned to her book but her eyes eventually did grow heavy. Only when she awoke in the darkness of the Common Room in the early morning did she realise she had fallen asleep next to Ron. In their sleep they had ended up leant against each other. He felt so warm against her. She considered staying, considered letting him wake up to find them like that, but the thought made her blush. So Hermione moved carefully, so as not to disturb Ron, and tip-toed up to her room.

Hermione guessed that her mixed feelings towards Ron led her to perform theconfunduscharm on McClaggen later that week during Quidditch trials. That, and McClaggen gave her the creeps.

It made it all the worse when she was seated across from him later that night at the SlugClub dinner. She had hoped that Harry would be dragged along with her, but he instead was serving detention with Professor Snape.

The air in the room was stale. Slughorn's blubbering had become a sort of background noise to the polite clinking of knives and forks. Hermione had been staring at her plate for the last twenty minutes, trying to lose herself in the delicate arrangement of the roast potatoes. Every time she looked up, though, she found Cormac McLaggen's gaze fixed on her with an unnerving intensity.

It wasn't that McLaggen was trying to be subtle—he wasn't. His eyes, a murky shade of brown, seemed to follow her every move with a blend of curiosity and something more uncomfortable. Hermione could feel the weight of his gaze, almost like a physical presence pressing against her.

She fidgeted with her fork, moving a green bean around on her plate, hoping the motion might make her seem engaged in the conversation happening at the table. Marcus Belby was chattering on about the latest Quidditch match, but Hermione's mind was elsewhere. Every so often, she'd glance up only to find McLaggen still staring, his expression unreadable but not entirely pleasant.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Ginny's voice was soft but concerned as she leaned closer. "You've been awfully quiet."

Hermione blinked and gave a start.

"Oh, yes, I'm fine. Just—distracted."

Ginny's gaze followed Hermione's, landing on McLaggen. "What's he doing?"

"Staring," Hermione said quietly, her cheeks flushing slightly. "He's been doing it all evening."

Ginny's eyes narrowed, her expression turning to one of mild irritation. "That's creepy. What's his problem?"

Before Hermione could respond, Slughorn's voice boomed with false cheerfulness. "Now, now, let's not be shy! Everyone, a toast to the new year! To future achievements and the friendships that will see us through!"

Hermione raised her glass mechanically, trying to ignore McLaggen's stare as the room echoed with the clinking of glasses. She could feel his gaze burning into the side of her face even through the brief distraction of the toast.

As the conversation at the table resumed its usual din, Hermione tried to focus on the company around her. But she couldn't shake the feeling that McLaggen's lingering gaze had cast a shadow over what might have been a pleasant evening.

Hermione turned over in her mind all that had happened in the last week alone: Parvati and Padma's letter, Hannah's mother dead, the Malfoy's house searched by the ministry, Stan Shunpike dead, Harry not returning that copy of the potions book he had been using, studying with Nott, her decision toobliviateher parents, how Ron had stormed off to his dormitory just before she came down to the Slug Club, prefect patrol with Malfoy, the list of worries was endless. Well, at least she had a handful of days before she had to endure that last worry again.