Chapter 8

Hermione sat in the Gryffindor common room, the fire crackling in front of her, but its warmth did little to ease the icy tension crawling up her spine. The armchair she sat in was one she'd always considered comfortable, but tonight, she could hardly sit still. Her thoughts raced relentlessly, winding around themselves in tangled threads of strategy, fear, and a deep, unrelenting determination. She had sent a letter to Sirius days ago, detailing her plan to free him, but now she found herself in a waiting game, waiting for his response, for his approval to set the plan in motion.

Yet, something kept tugging at the back of her mind, a persistent thought that refused to be ignored. Even if Sirius agreed to her plan, would it be enough? The wizarding world thrived on evidence and testimonies, not just the truth. She needed more than just a well-thought-out scheme. She needed witnesses, someone who could vouch for Sirius's innocence, someone who was there and respected.

Her mind drifted, inevitably landing on a name she had avoided for days, Severus Snape.

The idea of approaching Snape for help made her stomach churn. In this life, he was still the bitter, sarcastic professor who seemed to take particular pleasure in tormenting her and her friends. But in her other life…she knew things about him that he could never fathom. He had been one of the most important players in the war, Dumbledore's secret weapon, sacrificing everything in ways no one else understood.

But this is different, she reminded herself, her fingers tracing the spine of an old book on her lap. This Snape doesn't know what's coming. He has no reason to trust you.

And yet, she had no choice. If she was going to free Sirius, Snape was essential. With a sigh, Hermione pulled a fresh sheet of parchment from her bag, smoothing it flat on the table in front of her. She dipped her quill in ink, her hand hovering for a moment as she struggled to find the right words. Snape wasn't a man easily persuaded; he despised pleasantries and would see through any attempts to flatter him. She had to be direct, logical, and, most importantly, respectful—no matter how much she disliked it.

The quill scratched softly as she began to write:

Professor Snape,

I hope you will forgive the intrusion, but there is a matter of great importance that I require assistance on. There is someone close to me who is currently in need of justice, and I believe that your unique perspective and experience make you invaluable to this case.

I am requesting a private meeting to discuss the details with you further.

Your assistance in this matter could make all the difference.

Respectfully,
Hermione Granger

Hermione leaned back, reading over the letter several times. It was polite enough, direct, and didn't offer too much information. She folded it carefully, sealing it with a spell before heading to the Owlery. The journey through the quiet, dimly lit castle was oddly soothing, a welcome reprieve from the usual bustle of Hogwarts during the day. The castle itself seemed to hum softly, a living entity watching over its inhabitants.

The Owlery was cold, the night air filtering through the open windows and causing the owls to ruffle their feathers. Hermione tied the letter to the leg of a school owl, whispering a quick word of encouragement as the owl took off into the darkness, its silhouette quickly swallowed by the night sky. She watched it disappear, her heart sinking with the knowledge that her next steps hinged on Snape's response.

The days dragged on without a reply from Snape, but Hermione kept herself busy, mostly by helping Harry prepare for the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. Hermione knew she could just let Harry know what the task was, but she could not explain how it was that she knew. She needed things to play out.

One particularly cold afternoon in the courtyard, Harry sat hunched over the egg, glaring at it with frustration. "I've tried everything, Hermione," he muttered. "Opened it in different rooms, listened to it at all hours of the day, even shook the damn thing. It just screeches."

Hermione perched on the arm of the chair across from him, chewing on her bottom lip, guilt coursing through her. "You can do this Harry! There's something we're missing. A clue we haven't thought of yet."

Harry groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. "I don't know what else to do. I'm already a joke to half the school for being in this tournament. I can't afford to mess up again."

Before Hermione could respond, a familiar, ethereal voice floated through the air.

"You've opened the egg in the wrong place."

They both turned to see Luna Lovegood standing nearby, her pale eyes wide and curious as always. She seemed completely unperturbed by the screeching egg. Instead, she gazed at it with a soft smile, as if it were a particularly fascinating piece of magical equipment.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, his brows furrowing.

"You know, Harry," she said dreamily, "it doesn't want to be opened in the air. Some things need water. Mermaids often sing under the surface."

"Mermish?" Harry's face twisted in disbelief. "You think it's—Merpeople?"

Luna smiled serenely, her eyes drifting toward the enchanted ceiling of the library. "Water holds secrets, just like air holds dreams. You just need to be patient."

Harry's eyes widened as realization hit him. "In water?" he repeated, glancing between Hermione and Luna. "How did I not think of that? Thanks, Luna. That actually makes a lot of sense."

Luna looked back to Harry enthusiastically, her eyes drifting off as if recalling some distant memory. "They're not so bad, as long as you're polite. My father once wrote an article about Mermish customs. Very fascinating creatures."

Luna hen looked toward Hermione, her eyes slightly narrowing, as if she saw something hidden in the depths of Hermione's mind. "Be careful, Hermione," Luna murmured softly, though her voice carried a weight that made Hermione's chest tighten. "Sometimes, when we look too closely into the dark, the dark looks back."

Hermione stiffened, a chill running down her spine. For a moment, Luna's words felt like they pierced the barrier she had carefully built around her darker thoughts, but Luna simply stared at them both her expression once again serene and unfocused.

"Can we go try it out underwater? Luna want to join?" Harry said excitedly. Hermione and Luna both smiled and nodded.

Harry waded into the shallows of the Black Lake, his breath fogging in the cold air. Hermione stood on the shore, her arms wrapped around herself as she watched. Luna stood beside her; her usual dreamy expression fixed on the water.

"Are you sure about this?" Harry called back to them, his voice shaking slightly as he gripped the egg tightly.

"It'll work," Luna said with a serene smile.

With a deep breath, Harry plunged the egg into the icy water. For a moment, nothing happened, then, suddenly, the ear-splitting screeching cut off, replaced by a haunting, melodic song that echoed through the lake. Harry stared down at the egg in awe, his mouth hanging open as the eerie voices sang their riddle.

As Harry emerged from the lake, his eyes wide with realization, Hermione rushed forward to meet him. "Did you hear it? What did they say?"

Harry was still shaking from the cold, but there was a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "Something about taking what I'll sorely miss. I think they're going to take something important to me. I have to get it back in an hour."

"We'll start preparing immediately," she said firmly. "There's no time to waste."

Later that night, long after Harry had gone to bed, Hermione found herself once again consumed by the thoughts that had been gnawing at her for days. The uncertainty of Snape's response, combined with the looming threat of the tournament, was beginning to wear on her. She tossed and turned in bed, her mind racing with possibilities and nightmares that blurred the line between dream and reality.

In one particularly vivid dream, she saw herself standing at the edge of the Black Lake, watching as Harry's body floated lifelessly in the water, his face pale and expressionless. She screamed for help, but no one came. The water began to rise, cold and black, swirling around her ankles, pulling her under. She woke with a start, her chest heaving, sweat pouring down her back. She couldn't tell if she was still dreaming or if the darkness that had invaded her sleep was real.

Hermione sat up in bed, running her fingers through her tangled hair. She couldn't keep living like this, caught between the future she knew was coming and the present she was trying to survive. She had to keep moving forward, no matter how difficult it became.

The next morning, just as she was about to give up hope, an owl swooped down to deliver a small, folded note. Hermione's heart leapt into her throat when she recognized the handwriting, sharp, angular, unmistakably Snape's.

She unfolded the note with trembling fingers:

Miss Granger,

You may meet me in my office at seven this evening. Do not be late.

—S.S.

Hermione stared at the note, her stomach churning. This was it. Snape had agreed to meet with her. She knew it would be one of the most difficult conversations of her life, but it was also the most necessary. She spent the day rehearsing what she would say, how she would present her case. She had to be logical, unemotional, and above all, respectful. Snape didn't tolerate weakness, and if she faltered for even a moment, he would tear her argument apart.

As the clock struck seven, Hermione made her way to Snape's office, her heart pounding in her chest. The dungeons were as cold and unwelcoming as ever, the walls damp with condensation, but she forced herself to focus. She knocked on the door and waited, her breath catching in her throat when Snape's voice called her inside.

"Enter."

She stepped into the dimly lit office, the smell of potion ingredients and damp stone immediately overwhelming her senses. Snape sat behind his desk, his black eyes sharp and penetrating as he looked up at her.

"Miss Granger," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You asked for this meeting. Speak."

Hermione swallowed her nerves and forced herself to stand tall. "Professor, I need your help. There is someone who was wrongly imprisoned, and I believe you are one of the only people who can prove his innocence."

Snape's expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed. "And why, pray tell, would I assist you in such a matter?"

Hermione took a deep breath, her mind racing. She had to be careful, calculated. "Because this person is not just a victim of the Ministry's incompetence. He's a victim of circumstance, of the war that you yourself were a part of. And I know that, despite your allegiance to Dumbledore, you understand better than anyone how the lines between right and wrong can blur during war."

Snape's gaze remained fixed on her, but there was something unreadable in his expression now. Hermione pressed on, her voice softening.

"Sirius Black is innocent. He never betrayed the Potters, and he never murdered anyone. The real culprit was Peter Pettigrew, who framed him and has been hiding as a rat for years. You know this, Professor. You know what Pettigrew is capable of. You were there for most of it sir"

Snape's lips curled in a sneer "Do you presume to know what I know, Miss Granger? What makes you think I would testify on behalf of someone like Black? He was no friend of mine."

"I'm not asking you to do it for him or not even for Harry," Hermione said, her voice firm. "I'm asking you to do it because it's the right thing to do."

For a moment, there was silence. Snape's eyes bore into hers, and she felt as though he was trying to read her very soul. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful.

"You speak with conviction, Miss Granger," he said slowly. "But conviction alone is not enough. What exactly do you expect from me?"

Hermione hesitated, her mind flashing to all the knowledge she had gained in her other life—the things she knew about Snape that he didn't yet know about himself. She had to be careful not to reveal too much.

"I expect you to testify," she said finally. "To provide evidence that Sirius Black was not the Death Eater the Ministry believes him to be."

Snape's eyes flickered with something unreadable. "And why would I risk my reputation for this? Why would I do this for a man who attempted to murder me? Why go to such lengths for a man you hardly know?""

Hermione clenched her hands into fists at her sides, her heart pounding. She hadn't meant to say it, but the words tumbled out before she could stop them. "Because it's the right thing to do," she said quietly. "And because I think you, of all people, understand the importance of being judged fairly. Because I know you're not the man people think you are."

The silence that followed was deafening. Snape's eyes widened, just slightly, before narrowing again in suspicion.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

Hermione cursed herself internally. She couldn't give too much away. "I mean that I respect you, Professor," she said carefully. "I know you've made sacrifices that others can't begin to understand. And I know you're capable of making the right decision when it matters most."

Snape's face twitched, and for a brief moment, Hermione thought he might throw her out of his office. But he didn't. He simply stared at her, his eyes narrowing.

"And you think this will work?" he asked coldly.

"I do," Hermione said firmly.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Hermione could feel the tension in the air, the weight of the unspoken past hanging between them. Then, as if breaking the silence was the hardest thing in the world, Snape spoke again.

"There's more to this than you're telling me, Ms. Granger..." He said, his voice lacing with suspicion.

Hermione hesitated. "I know things… things from the past that… well, I won't explain them now. But I've seen enough to know you're not the villain you think you are."

Snape's eyes flickered with something unreadable—surprise, curiosity, perhaps even fear. But before he could ask more, Hermione quickly shifted the conversation. "Sir, if someone were to, hypothetically, undergo a dark ritual, would it… change them?"

Snape's face hardened, his suspicion growing. "What kind of dark ritual?"

Hermione swallowed, choosing her words carefully. "Something powerful. Something that leaves a mark."

Snape's gaze sharpened; his eyes boring into her as though he were trying to unravel her secrets with a single look. "Yes," he said slowly. "Such rituals can have long-lasting effects. They can change the way magic flows through someone… warp it."

Hermione nodded, keeping her expression neutral even as her heart pounded in her chest. "Thank you for your time, Professor."

As she turned to leave, Snape's voice stopped her. "Miss Granger…"

She paused, glancing over her shoulder.

"I will consider your request," he said finally. "But do not think for a moment that I will be swayed by sentiment. This is a dangerous game you are playing, Miss Granger."

Hermione nodded, her heart racing. "Thank you, Professor."

Hermione left his office, her heart pounding in her chest. She had done it. Snape hadn't agreed yet, but she had planted the seed. Now, all she could do was wait.

The library had always been Hermione's sanctuary, a place where she could lose herself in the comfort of books and knowledge. But lately, her trips there had taken on a new purpose. She wasn't just researching for school anymore—she was delving into darker, more dangerous texts. Books on ancient magic, on rituals long forbidden.

Her justification was always the same: I'm doing this for Harry. To help him survive this war. To save everyone from the horror.

It was in one of these night library sessions that Viktor Krum found her again.

"You are always here," Viktor said, his deep voice startling her out of her thoughts.

Hermione looked up, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. "Viktor," she greeted, a little flustered. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I am quiet," he said with a small smile, sitting down across from her. "What are you reading?"

Hermione hesitated, closing the book she had been studying. "Just… research."

Viktor tilted his head, his dark eyes studying her. "You work very hard. For Harry Potter, yes?"

Hermione nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief in his understanding. "He's my friend. I can't let him face this alone."

Viktor seemed to consider her words for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "You are good friend. I hope he knows."

Hermione's heart warmed at his words. Viktor had always been kind to her, in his quiet, reserved way. "Thank you, Viktor. I'm just trying to help him through this tournament. It's been… difficult."

Viktor nodded, his dark eyes serious. "I know. The tournament is dangerous. But Potter… he is strong. I think he vill be fine, with your help."

Hermione blushed slightly, looking down at the book in front of her. "I hope so."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the only sound the rustling of pages and the occasional scratch of quills. But then, to Hermione's surprise, Harry appeared with his books.

"Hermione? Viktor?" Harry's voice was hesitant as he approached. "Mind if I join you?"

Hermione smiled, gesturing to the empty chair next to her. "Of course, Harry. We were just talking about the tournament."

Viktor sat across from Hermione, his brow furrowed as he worked through a complicated charm for the upcoming task. Hermione couldn't help but notice the way he occasionally glanced at her, as though seeking silent approval.

Harry, who had been flipping through a book of magical creatures, looked up at Viktor. "How are you preparing for the second task?" he asked.

Viktor shrugged, his thick accent softening his words. "I study. I train. But I think it vill be hard. I do not like the water."

"You don't like Water?" Harry asked, his brows knitting together in confusion.

Viktor gave a small, amused smile. "You have not figured it out?"

Hermione, who had been listening intently, leaned forward. "He did"

Harry nodded "By the way thanks for helping me with the egg, Hermione. I couldn't have figured it out without you."

"More so Luna," Hermione added, her smile widening. "She was the one who helped."

Harry's expression softened at the mention of Luna. "Yeah, she's been spending more time with me lately. She's… different, but in a good way. But anyways, I heard the mermish riddle, something we will miss"

"I think it vill be something in lake. Dangerous creatures, perhaps." Viktor said thoughtfully.

Harry groaned. "Great, more creatures. Just what I need. Wait, in the lake? Does that mean we will have to be underwater? How?"

Cedric Diggory, who had been passing by, caught the tail end of the conversation and stopped. "Don't worry, Harry," he said with a grin. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. Just remember to breathe."

The group laughed, the tension of the tournament momentarily forgotten as they shared a brief moment of camaraderie. Even Fleur Delacour, who had been sitting at a nearby table, offered a small smile in their direction.

Hermione felt a strange sense of unity forming between them, despite the competition. They were all facing the same danger, the same challenges. And somehow, that made them allies, even if only temporarily.

Hermione continued to work in the library, pouring over every spell and ritual. Trying to understand what had brought her back.

As she sat alone with a particularly ancient tome on dark rituals, she felt a presence behind her. She turned to see Moody standing there, his magical eye fixed on the book in her hands.

"What're you doing with that there girly?" Moody growled, his voice low and threatening.

Hermione stiffened, but didn't back down. "Research."

Moody's normal eye narrowed. "Research, eh? Into dark magic?"

Hermione met his gaze evenly. "It's necessary for what I'm working on. I'm not using it—just understanding it."

Moody stepped closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Dark magic has a way of sticking to people. You play with fire, Granger, and you're going to get burned."

Hermione straightened her back, her eyes hardening. "I'm not afraid of a little fire."

Moody let out a low chuckle, his expression unreadable. "You should be."

But Hermione didn't flinch. She knew she was walking a dangerous line, but she had no choice. If dark magic was what it took to save the people she loved, then so be it.

Later that night, Harry and Hermione sat together in the Gryffindor common room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. The golden egg sat between them, now open to reveal a faintly glowing inscription.

"You really think Snape will help?" Harry asked, glancing at Hermione.

Hermione hesitated for a moment, her thoughts flickering back to her meeting with Snape. "I think he might. But you need to be respectful, Harry. He won't respond well if you treat him like…well, like you usually do."

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I know. It's just…he's Snape."

Hermione smiled softly. "He's more complicated than you think. Give him a chance."

Harry nodded, though it was clear he still had his doubts.

A few nights later, Hermione found herself back in the Astronomy Tower, unable to sleep. The nightmares had returned visions of losing everything she had worked so hard to protect. In the dreams, she saw Harry falling and herself consumed by the very magic she sought to control.

She leaned against the stone wall, staring out at the dark, star-filled sky, trying to shake the lingering terror of the dream.

"Granger, back again."

Hermione turned sharply, her heart leaping into her throat. Draco Malfoy stood a few feet away, his face pale and his expression guarded.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice harsher than she intended.

Draco shrugged, his usual sneer absent. "Couldn't sleep."

Hermione studied him for a moment, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the way he seemed almost…lost. It was a side of Draco she hadn't seen before, and it caught her off guard.

"What's going on with you, Malfoy?" she asked softly, her tone shifting.

Draco glanced away, his jaw tightening. "Nothing that concerns you, Granger."

But Hermione wasn't so easily deterred. "You're not the same as you used to be," she said, her voice gentle. "Something's changed."

Draco let out a bitter laugh, his gaze still fixed on the stars. "Yeah, well, we all change, don't we? You, me…everyone."

Hermione took a cautious step closer. "You can get out, Draco. You don't have to follow that path. There's still time to make a different choice."

Draco looked at her, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and uncertainty. "And what would you know about it, Granger? You've always been on the side of the light, always fighting for what's right. You don't understand what it's like to be trapped."

"What would you do if there was another option?" Hermione asked quietly, her voice almost a whisper.

Draco turned to face her; his expression conflicted. "There's no other option, Granger. Not for me."

Hermione's heart ached at the hopelessness in his voice. "There's always another option. You just have to be brave enough to take it."

Draco stared at her for a long moment, his face unreadable, before he finally shook his head. "You don't understand. What option Granger"

I don't know yet," Hermione admitted. "But I think there's always another way."

For a moment, they stood in silence, the tension between them palpable. Then Draco spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wish I could believe that. This never happened Granger"

Before she could respond, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the tower.

Hermione stood there, her heart heavy, as the stars continued to twinkle overhead. She didn't understand these interactions with him. They had never gotten along in school, they weren't friends. This never happened before, but then again, she never went out at night in the castle. Had she missed all the signs with Malfoy before?

Hermione's mind kept racing, trying to understand this shift with Draco Malfoy, with Ron, with Sirius.

"It's necessary, for the greater good" She whispered, shaking her head, as she headed back to bed.