Draco Declares War

Hermione:

Part of Hermione was wishing that Rosalie had never come.

It had been a week and two days and was now the twenty-third of February. And in that time, she'd been ripped out of her house, made into a public spectacle, and became some sort of unofficial mediator between her housemates – something she had never been inclined to be before. Mediating between Harry and Ron was one thing, but this? This was chaos.

Speaking of Ron, he didn't want to speak to a Slytherin. Many Gryffindors had been calling her a dark witch.

But then, sleeping in a dorm room with Daphne Greengrass, Millicent Bullstrode, Tracey Davis, and Mandy Brocklehurst, who'd also been transferred in, she thought about the future and what was going to happen now. In Gryffindor, she'd always seen herself as some brave conqueror for Muggleborn and house-elf rights. Now, she was seeing the ambition behind the plan, and she chuckled to think that just a few months ago, she'd been thinking, "All I have to do is get all O's, graduate top of my class, defeat Voldemort, get a job at the ministry, get promoted fast, and then I can become the first Muggleborn Minister for Magic and abolish all the things that are wrong with the Wizarding world", and not recognising the ambition behind it.

Then she'd happened to glimpse her hand giving off a dim green light in the darkness.

The spirit of Slytherin seemed to react most strongly when Hermione was thinking about ambition. She'd joined Rosalie in the library (and this was a thing that Hermione very much appreciated about Rosalie, that she could keep up Hermione's most intense theorising) and noticed the same thing happened to her when she recited anything from memory. Very dim. Barely noticeable. Rumour had it though that the same thing had happened to Harry when he stood to support her on her way to the Slytherin table.

But when she'd asked Harry about it, he had shrugged and explained how he remembered the long walk last year, when his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire. He hadn't noticed the light.

So she had started using the light to try and rally the Slytherins behind her and would turn it on to break up fights by thinking about how grand this house could be if she redeemed it. And her name would go down in a future copy of Hogwarts, A History that she had revamped the Slytherin House from a Dark Magic mill into a beacon of light and the students could leave and make the world a better place instead of donating their lives to the Dark Lord's disposal.

Another wonderful thing Rosalie had done was pull the brakes on Draco's bigotry. Hermione had simply been hoping he'd grow out of it by spending time with her, but it seemed that Rosalie was good at putting her foot down in a way that had shut him up, btu hadn't chased him off.

All in all, Hermione enjoyed Rosalie's company. The competition for being known as the Brightest Witch was a struggle – Rosalie had a photographic memory and rarely forgot anything. But Rosalie wasn't making it a competition. That was Hermione's fault - ambition in action.

If there was one bone Hermione wanted to pick with Rosalie, it was who the hell she really was.

Wingate-Rowan? Why did she insist on calling herself Spinks if the Sorting Hat had called her Wingate-Rowan?

Hermione had seen Rosalie's ministry official disguise and had not recognised her for a few seconds. She was too tall, too thin. The glasses and hair had thrown her, along with the meticulously-applied fake tan. And the Australian accent, with never a single slip-up. There was photographic memory, and then there was whatever Rosalie could do with accents. It was freaky and Hermione couldn't deny it. She had wondered if Rosalie was actually some sort of mythological person who could mimic voices, but hadn't found one that matched the description yet in the library.

But Rosalie was, for now, on their side and she was her friend.

Which is why, when Rosalie was hit in the face, Hermione was only the third person to draw her wand in defence. Right behind Harry, who had loads of practice at this point, and Draco, who had a steadier personal connection to her.

The blast caught Rosalie underneath the chin and across her cheek, taking part of her eyebrow off. The next moment, all three of the other Heads-in-Training had their wands at Umbridge's neck. Harry and her had gone for Expelliarmus, but Draco had gone for a blasting hex that might have done severe damage if Umbridge hadn't been pushed back so far by Harry's spell. Before anything else could be fired, the floor underneath Professor Umbridge moved of its own accord.

Umbridge yelped in surprise as the stones in the floor moved into upright pairs, exposing a sifting dirt floor underneath. These pairs acted like little mouths, snapping at her ankles. She evaded them for a moment and then one caught her ankle. It pulled her in up to her knee like the ground was quicksand and that allowed her other foot to be caught. Students gasped. Rosalie, Harry, Hermione, and Draco leaped back. McGonagall tripped and was caught by Flitwick, who did not make for the best catcher.

Sprout and Snape hurried down from the head table and Harry put his hands up on display. It seemed like a good move, so Hermione did the same and then glanced behind her. She was not causing the floor to move, so she figured it had to be one of her companions.

Draco was too busy looking behind him towards Rosalie to know that Umbridge was even in the floor. And Rosalie's little glow had turned into a bold colour that completely shrouded her, making her look a little like the Genie from the Muggle movie Aladdin. Her wand was in her hand and outstretched, pointing to the floor. Blood dripped from a cut across her face.

The stones joined forces into a massive hole that closed around Umbridge's waist. And, before McGonagall or Snape could do anything, she was rocketed away. The stones turned over each other, landing in their normal pattern after carrying Umbridge off. Umbridge was shrieking and screaming at them. The way that her words sounded, the road must be very bumpy.

She was to the front doors in seconds and a group of seventh years had to jump out of the way to avoid being run over by her. Those seventh years happened to include Fred, George, and Lee, who turned around with exceeding delight. "She's headed for the entrance hall!" they yelled. "Everyone, come on!"

The doors of Hogwart's Entance Hall seemed to expand dramatically as students followed the trail of receeding bricks. Professors Snape, Flitwick, Sprout, and McGonagall were completely stalled in the ensuing stampede, and Hermione knew immediately that there was no chance she'd see what had happened to Umbridge. She'd been spirited away by the castle stones themselves far too fast.

Still, everyone ran and scrambled and shouted in excitement. And when Hermione had finally made it out of the Great Hall, she heard laughter. Lots and lots of laughter. And Umbridge was still shrieking - odd, because she should have been out of the castle at the speed she was going by now - though her shrieks now seemed more in panic than in anger.

Surely they weren't hurting her? Because they shouldn't, and if they were…

A loud bang shook the walls and Hermione saw sparks. The sparks formed words in the air. "Umbridge stinks!" it read. Another bang and a phrase Hermione couldn't repeat appeared, although she could tell you that it began with the first three letters of Umbridge's name, but rhymed with "witch" instead.

Professor McGonagall ended up beside her, panting, and they pushed their way through the students to the front. In the crowd, Hermione began hearing words. "Stinks…" "Gross…" "Swamp…"

Which all made sense once they made it to the front.

It was a swamp. A marshy, smelly, spongy swamp complete with banks and ankle-deep bogwater and cattails and slimy algae. And a sign nearby read, "Portable Swamp, courtesy of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes."

And Umbridge had slowed the moment she'd hit it. She was now in the middle, still moving slowly in the direction of the exit, wailing and flailing a little. She did not seem to be in any pain, but her nose was scrunched up in revulsion and she appeared to be trying not to breathe. She was in the swamp up to her armpits.

Hermione looked up at the door. "She's going to be thrown off the grounds," she said to McGonagall. "It's the castle. What do we do?"

McGonagall looked at Hermione, then at the fireworks above their heads, and then at the swamp. "She struck first?" she asked Hermione, examining Colin Creevey in the front, taking pictures.

"Yes Professor," Hermione said. "Rosalie was mad about the Blood Quills, ma'am. Says they're illegal and she's going to sue."

For the rest of her life, nothing would ever top what happened next to Hermione. It was the most pinnacle moment of her life. Professor McGonagall marched past the last remaining students. They parted sadly, figuring she was there to rescue Umbridge. But McGonagall pulled a marble from her pocket, enlarged it, and transfigured it into a chair. And then she took a seat. She put her hands around her mouth and then she yelled "Good riddance!"

All around the entrance hall, students burst into cheers. It was the loudest sound Hermione had ever heard. Everyone was holding onto their friends with their hands in the air. The fireworks seemed to build off of their energy and crackled brighter than ever.

Umbridge reached the edge of the swamp and was rocketed away faster than anyone could process. Her scream of disgust was cut short as she became nothing more than a streak of muddy pink. Hermione noted with some interest that she did not seem to be being carried to the train station, but into the Forbidden Forest. Wandless.

She hesitated, knowing the loyal thing to do would be to go get her. The brave thing to do would be to set off right now, ignoring the celebrating. And the smart thing would be to make sure that she had a legal advantage for rescuing her if Umbridge decided to sue her for her Expelliarmus charm.

However, she didn't have to be loyal, or brave, or smart right now. She had a better idea. She put her hands around her mouth and shouted, "She's gone!" and joined the throngs of people celebrating.

That night, Harry joined her at the Gryffindor table. They hadn't really made themselves public yet, but no one seemed surprised when he kissed her.

Fred and George were advertising their portable swamps a few feet away, although the best advertisement had already passed exposure tests. Nearby, Colin Creevey was offering 48 inch wide close-ups of Professor Umbridge in the swamp to the highest bidders. So far, Rosalie was in the lead, quietly adding a single knut to anyone's bid as they made it.

When Fred caught sight of Harry and Hermione, he called, "We also sell love potions! You can see the results there!"

Everyone turned. Some laughing, some wondering if he was serious. Hermione shook her head, eyeing Fred with a frown.

"If that's true," Rosalie said, "I'll have your left toes in court for the crime of drugging people for affection."

It was such a bonkers declaration that more people laughed at her than at Fred's original comment. "Just my left toe?" Fred asked. "If you wanted my body, you could have just asked!"

More laughter. But Rosalie put her hands on her hips. "Oh no, I guess I wasn't clear enough. In reality, this is less to do with your body, and more the idea that you will sell love potions over my dead body. I will sue you in a court of law and when I win I will get so much out of you that you'll wish I had cut off your left toes instead. Got it?"

"You must be fun at parties," Fred replied.

"You wouldn't really sue them, would you?" Dennis asked nervously. Hermione hoped – oh goodness gracious she hoped – that he had not purchased any love potion.

"I'm American," Rosalie said. "We believe in freedom of speech, right to bear wands, and that drugging someone so they can't tell you no should be a felony."

"Also," Draco said appearing from behind a book on Pureblooded history, "She hauled a professor out of school today with her mind. Pick a different day to try your luck, at the very least."

Had it really been Rosalie? She'd had her wand at the ground for a moment, but it hadn't been any spell. It seemed to Hermione to be Hogwarts reacting to a student being attacked.

Hermione looked at Harry. "She did that so much better than I could have," she whispered.

He furrowed his brow at her. "Are you jealous?" he asked.

"No, not about this." Hermione nodded to the Gryffindor table, where all the chaos was happening. "It's actually kind of nice that she's here. We agree on so much, you know."

"But…" He turned so he was leaning against the table, though she was sitting with her legs underneath it. "You still don't trust her?"

"No," Hermione agreed. "And also, I'm not used to not being the Brightest Witch of our Age."

"You are the Brightest Witch of our Age."

"That's sweet, Harry, but-"

"The Sorting Hat said so." He fiddled with a fork on the table, thumping it slowly.

This was a good point. Hermione paused and thought for several seconds about that. "Yeah," she agreed. "I guess it did."

Rosalie and Draco sat down then with a photo of Umbridge with her eyes shut tight mid scream with a hand trying to scrape on the floor for a hold. In the background, you could see McGonagall's shoe. "Hiya," she said. "Pretty eventful day. Dumbledore and I talked. We'll need a new Defence teacher."

"Harry," Hermione said, putting a hand on his back. "You ought to do it."

Harry shook his head. "I'd actually like to take the class from a competent teacher if I can," he said. "It'd be brilliant if Dumbledore would teach."

"He'd be gone at the end of the year," Rosalie said. "The position's still cursed."

"That's just a myth."

"No, it's not," Rosalie said. "Haven't you felt it yet?"

They all looked at her. "Felt what?" Draco asked curiously.

"Look at the chair at the front of the room. If you go into the Defence classroom, you feel it there too." Hermione looked as Rosalie was speaking and found Umbridge's chair. The moment she looked at it, a sticky feeling filled her.

"Call me crazy," Harry said, "But that feels exactly the same way Voldemort does." Draco flinched, then attempted to disguise it by reaching for the pumpkin juice. Harry frowned at Rosalie. "So you're not fine with Dumbledore being outed by the end of the year, but you are fine with me being outed?"

"Chances are, you'd simply return to being a student. Dumbledore's older. The chances of him being seriously hurt by the curse are higher." She passed Draco a cup. He took the pitcher and poured himself a glass. Beside him, Rosalie shuddered. "Oh goodness," she said. "That sounds freezing!"

Draco paused mid pour and looked at her strangely. "It wot?" he asked.

"Liquids have different pouring sounds at different temperatures," Hermione said, not surprised in the slightest. "So, Harry, you think that Voldemort cursed the Defence position?"

A large screech made them jump. Not because it was unfamiliar – it was just an owl. But the proximity and volume was startling. As was the crunch of claws on table when it landed beside Draco.

Hermione recognised Draco's family owl. In its beak was a very large envelope. It even had a fancy wax seal. Draco stared at it, then picked up his drink and took a long sip instead of acknowledging it. He shivered. "I don't know how you do it, Rosalie, but you do. This drink is freezing." Harry immediately reached for the pitcher, as if temperature confirmation suddenly made the drink desirable.

The owl wandered forward two steps, looking down at its feet as it stretched its claws out to avoid bumping anything. Then it leaned forward like a little child trying to show mom something. Draco sighed and took the owl's letter. "Thanks, Bert," he said.

Harry snorted his pumpkin juice. "Sorry," he said. "Is your Owl's name Bert? As in Owlbert?"

"Yeah, it was meant to be a play on the name Albert," Draco said.

Rosalie put her arm around Draco's waist. "I have another show to show you," she said. "Once we get the telly working, I'll show you the Owl House. It'll rock your world. The villain will break your mind."

As Draco cracked open the letter, Rosalie fed the owl bits of meat and cooed at it. And when it seemed fascinated with the vegetables, she offered them as well.

At long last, Draco set the letter down. Hermione could tell by the way he moved that he was not inherently pleased with the contents. "Are your parents safe?" she asked.

Draco shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "It's not from my parents."

"Who's it from?" Harry asked.

When Draco didn't immediately speak, Hermione's heart sank into her gut. "Maybe we should leave, or… um… wait until later to…" She glanced down the table at the, for once, not fighting Slytherins. She didn't yet trust them to keep it up.

Rosalie leaned forward. "Tell them Hogwarts will haul them out like Umbridge if they fight," she said. "Or ask the castle to do something else."

"Ask the castle?" Hermione asked. "To babysit?"

"It is not your responsibility to babysit the house," Draco deadpanned. "I'm just ignoring mine."

"I wonder if I can get it to just… let me know if there's trouble," Hermione said.

"I'm sure if you could," Harry said, "Then Umbridge could have had herself notified as well. Like we were all wearing bells."

"I doubt Hogwarts helped her with that," Rosalie said. "It seemed fed up with her. And I've asked the castle to strike the old Slytherins in my house with lightning if they hurt someone."

"You wot, mate?" Harry asked, eyes wide.

"How can you ask the castle to strike someone with lightning?" Hermione asked.

"I've been chatting with the ghost of Ravenclaw," Rosalie said. "And listening to the walls. That's all." She stood up. "I want to go and pull items from Umbridge's office to send to my lawyer. Let's go talk there."

"Your lawyer?" Harry asked. "You've got one already?"

Hermione got up, then paused and put her hand against the wall that the Slytherin table was set against. She closed her eyes. "Please, Hogwarts, let me know if there is trouble in my house while I'm gone," she thought.

There was no confirmation, so she prayed it worked and smiled at the younger kids as she left. There was still a lot of nervousness.

Rosalie had, she explained, gotten a lawyer the first full day she'd been here and was working on a few cases at once. "I'm not ready to tell you all of them at once, but the only case I've told her to begin working on is suing Umbridge's veins right out of her body."

"Do you have to get so violent?" Harry asked. "You could just say you're going to sue her pants off."

"To be frank, Harry, that's not something I'd like to see."

"And you'd like to see her veins outside of her body?" Harry demanded.

Hermione shivered and was reminded that for all she knew, Rosalie was a dark witch on the run. However, Dumbledore had admitted her and so far, she'd shown a strong distaste towards injustice.

When they arrived at Umbridge's office, it was locked. But Harry had a knife Sirius had given him which could unlock any door, so he simply stepped up and they busted in.

Hermione could tell that Harry did not like being in this room. So she began the conversation anew to distract him. "Draco, what was in your letter?"

Draco exhaled. He pulled a drawer in Umbridge's desk that was locked and Harry stepped forward to bypass the lock on that as well. "It, uh, was a mission."

"A mission?" Hermione asked. "From Voldemort?"

Rosalie paused and turned. It was then that Hermione saw she had her cell phone out and had been attempting to photograph the room. Was it working? How had she charged it? "Did the Dark Lord write you a letter?" she asked Draco.

He nodded. "Yes," he said. "He did."

Rosalie held out her hand. Beside her, Harry was pulling the set of blood quills out. Underneath it was another. And two more. Four sets in all. He shook his head. Hermione reached across the desk and sat down.

Draco reached his hand from that one deep pocket he seemed to favour and withdrew the parchment. However, he did not give it to Rosalie. "Only I can touch it," he said. "They wouldn't have risked an interception." Rosalie nodded and pulled Umbridge's own chair out and took a seat. Draco unfolded it and laid it on the desk, while Rosalie picked up a set of reading glasses left by Umbridge on the desk and began examining the parchment through them. The audacity, Hermione could admire.

Hermione read the note upside down. It was very professional and short, laid out like a proclamation with a large place for Voldemort to sign. It read, "My Dearest Young Malfoy, I have arranged with your parents a serious undertaking for you. A chance, if you will, to prove your dedication to the cause your parents have pledged their lives to. Should you succeed, I will welcome you into my ranks as someone trusted and honoured.

"There is a cabinet in a particular room in the castle, which I will give you directions to. It has a twin in a shop in Knockturn Alley and historically held the unique ability to transport items of value from one place to another. A young man of your talent and renown, of whom your Father has spoken so highly of, should easily be able to complete this task.

"Do not disappoint."

The letter was signed Lord Voldemort.

"Harry," Rosalie said. "How well do you remember the handwriting in the diary from your second year?"

"Vaguely," Harry replied. "This seems a little different."

"Is it similar?"

"Yeah. The I is similar."

Rosalie nodded. With the glasses and the straight brown hair, she rather reminded Hermione of Amelia Bones. "Well, he grew up," she said. "I theorise, and Hermione agreed last we spoke, that the diary seemed to be a copy of the Dark Lord that was able to create its own thoughts. Now, in my research, enchanted items shouldn't be able to do that. They're like AI, which Draco and Harry won't know anything about, probably."

"AI is short for Artificial Intelligence," Hermione said. "The Muggles have been seeing if they can create a robot that can come up with its own ideas. The issue is that it needs to have a precedent. It can't come up with anything truly unique?"

"But really, can anyone?" Rosalie said. "I remember having brilliant ideas when I was younger, just to get older and realise that someone had already had the idea. It was rather disappointing."

"What sort of brilliant ideas?" Harry asked.

"Like what if we all saw colour differently?" Rosalie said. "There'd be no way to prove it, because it's all wavelengths, but it's possible that the way I see blue is actually the way you see green, but because you've grown up with it, you think it's normal. You'd never know that if you were to borrow my brain, the colours would be completely different."

"Oh, I've read about that idea!" Hermione said. "And it's particularly interesting with colours such as magenta because magenta is actually a wavelength of green! But our brains created an optical illusion to differentiate between-"

"Wot's this got to do with the letter?" Draco asked.

Hermione felt her lower lip fall out a fraction. Rosalie turned on Draco and removed the glasses accusingly. "Excuse me, Mr. High-and-Mighty, but we're the brains of this operation and you should indulge us."

"I'm sorry, it's just my life on the line."

"Your life is on the line. Nothing I can pick up in the Dark Lord's handwriting will change that."

"What are you looking for?" Harry asked.

"Details," Rosalie said. "As I was saying – and we are going to let Hermione finish as well – I believe the diary wasn't just cursed. I believe it was imbued with a soul of some sorts. The closest thing I've read about that it could be was something called a Horcrux, which is when a person breaks off a piece of their soul and-"

"Back up," Harry said suddenly. "Back up, back up, back up. You can break a soul?"

Rosalie stared at him as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "How could you not know that?" she asked. "Have you ever heard of a broken heart? A crushed spirit? Souls are terribly easy to hurt, but they usually heal."

"I thought those were figures of speeches!" Harry exploded. "How do you break off a piece of your soul?"

"It's easy," Rosalie said. "You lose a piece of your humanity. The two books I read said murder, but I'm doing some research and I believe rape and excess torture could do something similar. Not that I'm ever going to attempt it, but it's fascinating to study." She shuddered and waved the thought away with a hand. "But of course, I don't know if Voldemort could have done such a thing. It likely would have changed his physique and made him look less human. I'm not sure he would have wanted to look inhuman."

"That's true," Hermione said. "It can be hard to get people to trust you when you don't look-"

"But he doesn't look human," Harry said. "He's got snake nostrils and he's completely bald and his skin is grey, and his features are flat."

Hermione and Rosalie went quiet and then looked at Draco. Neither of them had ever seen the Dark Lord. No pictures circulated. The only person who might have seen him besides Harry was Draco, who was nodding slowly. "The Dark Lord does not resemble a person," he said.

"He… should still…" Rosalie said. "But…"

She looked at Hermione and somehow, Hermione understood. The single book Rosalie had showed her had described a minor, but noticeable change. Perhaps Voldemort had dabbled in other forms of dark magic to alter his appearance. Or perhaps… could there be more journals?

Rosalie shook her head and attempted to focus on the letter again. She reached forward and Draco slapped her hand. Not hard, but she quickly withdrew her hands again. "Right, sorry," she said.

"Just trying to keep you alive."

"Thanks. And Harry, the reason I asked is because, if this is Voldemort's soul, then the handwriting should have been his. And if his I's are the same, then it's probably something he's done since childhood." Rosalie pulled her wand out of her sleeve and used it to trace the words on the paper very carefully, holding the tip about an inch above the paper. Draco watched her very intently.

"What are you searching for?" Hermione asked. She knew it was possible to identify styles people used to write and trace it to other things, but she couldn't imagine why Rosalie would want to do that. Voldemort marked each victim. His work was easy to trace.

"Anything. Where he's from. Where he's studied. Maybe where he was while he was dead."

"How can you figure out where he's from by his writing?" Harry asked.

"Well, to be honest, it would be better with a comparison from a different time," Rosalie said. "But if I had to guess… it sounds like he grew up in London, possibly during the beginning of the reign of Queen Elizabeth. And judging by the swoop here…" she squinted. "Seems he had a very strict teacher. Everything is very consistent." She looked up to explain. "If a child isn't taught consistent writing when they're young, it can follow them into the rest of their lives."

"Rosalie," Hermione said. "I think you're going about this a very backwards way. Harry has told me that Tom Riddle lived in the Muggle World and turned Hagrid in for the Chamber of Secrets fiasco because he didn't want to return to the orphanage he lived in. If he was born in a muggle orphanage fifty years ago, there could be a public record somewhere. Get Dobby to take you and use a Muggle computer."

Rosalie paused, staring at Hermione, and nodded. "Yeah. I didn't even think of that."

Draco picked up the parchment and stared at it. It was nearly impossible to read his expression. A little anger. A little fear. But focus. "I've got an idea," he said. "The Dark Lord wants to use this cabinet to transport something – probably Death Eaters, to Hogwarts. If he believes the mission is a success, there's a chance he could send some very important and dangerous Death Eaters here. I'm sure you saw the papers about that breakout before Valentines." He turned to pace the area beside the desk. "Which means, if we can fix it, which would be a piece of cake if you," he pointed at Rosalie, "-and you," he pointed at Hermione, "-were willing to help me, then we could also sabotage the entire plan, and get those people out of my house."

Harry looked very excited and confident at this plan, but Rosalie looked concerned. "Draco, what about your parents?" she asked. "What if your dad is sent?"

Draco paused in front of Umbridge's collage of kittens. He seemed to be examining a particularly fat one with a birthday cap cone on its head. "My father has made his decision," he muttered. "He supports the Dark Lord. And while I want my father to approve of me, I don't think…" he paused, then turned back. "The thing is… with this new responsibility of being a Head-in-Training… and…" he huffed, seeming short of breath. "Look, it's not a Hufflepuff thing. Don't you dare say it is, alright!" his voice rose to a shout and all the hairs on Hermione's arms stood straight up. "It's just," he continued in a softer tone. "We went through a lot this year. So that's... something."

"And," Rosalie said, "If Voldemort wins, then we'll never be able to have cell phones in Hogwarts and a tram system in Diagon Alley."

Draco snorted, then laughed softly, nodding. "Yes, exactly. I have a goal – an ambitious goal."

Hermione could not stop herself rolling her eyes, but they all laughed anyway. It was a very roundabout way of declaring your new loyalties. But it seemed very fitting for Draco.

"So, what are you trying to say," Rosalie asked, standing up. "Is that you're going to stick it to Voldemort now? Become a double-agent?"

Draco thought about that for a few seconds and Hermione supposed that that would have been the most likely place for him to back out. But then he nodded. "I suppose," he said, putting his arm around Rosalie's waist and bringing her over to his side, "That I'll have to take a page out of Rosalie's book here." He put the parchment into that deep pocket in his coat. "I declare war… on Lord V-Voldemort."

Harry asked her on a walk around the castle before curfew, so it was evening when Hermione finally made it back to the Slytherin common room. She was really beginning to enjoy it there. It was colder than Gryffindor, sure, but more private. Less boisterous and noisy. It was easy to find a secluded space.

Tonight, as she entered, someone called to her from one of these secluded spaces.

"Hermione?"

It was Rosalie, sitting in a corner by herself with three books and several pieces of parchment. Hermione frowned to see her there. "Hey Rosalie. Did someone give you the password?"

"No. I, uh, cracked it. I was hoping to catch you before you went to bed. I could really use your help on… several things."

Hermione took a cautious seat across from Rosalie. She usually seemed so put together. She acted as if she was the bulldozer and the rest of the world was the path she was destined to crush. Tonight, she seemed tired, worn at the edges, and frayed. "What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

She wasn't surprised when the first thing Rosalie picked up was on Horcruxes. "I'm doing a little math… trying to figure out… it's difficult without knowing what Voldemort looks like, but I'm wondering… if all the damage is done by horcruxes, then what Harry and Draco describe could have been inflicted by a few. Maybe four. Maybe more."

Hermione kept an eye on Rosalie as she said all this. She was so tired. Her eyes were barely open. "Have you slept?" she asked.

Rosalie paused. Then she shook her head. "No. To be honest, Hermione, I haven't slept since I came."

"To Hogwarts?" She and Rosalie had stayed up late the night she'd been in the Gryffindor girls' dorm, but she'd slept at least a little.

"I guess since I was put into Ravenclaw," Rosalie said. "I dunno. I guess I feel like a fraud. I think… I'm in way too over my head." Her voice cracked a little.

Hermione looked at the array of work and had an idea. She took the book with the page on Horcruxes, which she had seen before, and the paper Rosalie had done her figuring on. "What next?" she asked.

Rosalie also held out another book, bookmarked. Hermione opened it. This one had another bit on Horcruxes, but Hermione hadn't seen this book yet. Rosalie had brought it from out of Hogwarts. She added it to the stack.

"Did you see which way Umbridge was sent?" Rosalie asked, picking up another piece of paper.

"Towards the forest," Hermione said. "I can point it out tomorrow."

"Right," Rosalie said. "And last thing. The rest can wait til tomorrow-"

"Give me whatever you need to not focus on tonight," Hermione said. "And if you need, you can stay in Slytherin with me to sleep."

Rosalie began to cry. There was no warning. She just bent over and began to cry. She slumped onto the table, arms out a bit, and pressed her face into the wood, so Hermione couldn't see it. For a moment, she was too stunned to move. Then she reached forward and rubbed her shoulder blade softly. As quickly as it had come on, Rosalie straightened up. "Sorry," she said. "I don't even know what came on to me. I guess it's just nerves… lots of change. No time."

"Right," Hermione said. "Listen, how about I work on all this stuff for a bit? We can talk more in the morning?"

"Right," Rosalie said. "I guess I should… I don't even…"

"Up the stairs," Hermione pointed. "Just take my bed for the night. I'll transfigure myself a place or see if I can get Hogwarts to help."

Rosalie's lip trembled. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"I wouldn't have said anything if I wasn't sure," Hermione said. "Go on. Get some sleep. I'll make some progress on this, so you can sleep in peace."

Rosalie nodded, then stepped forward and hugged Hermione around the shoulders. "Thank you, Hermione," she whispered, and then, wiping her eyes, turned and headed up the stairs. She seemed exhausted. She was watching her feet to make sure they made it onto the step and stumbling from side to side like a drunk. She'd probably been burning herself out with all this.

Hermione glanced through the papers, but did not spend too much time on them. She had a thought she wanted to follow through with. Among the papers were letters from the lawyer Rosalie was working with, requesting evidence. At first glance, Hermione thought that the lawyer's name was Rebekah. Then, looking down, she realised that the letterhead at the bottom was from Charlotte. Rebekah Barnes was the name Rosalie had put the case request under.

Hermione took a mental tally of all the names she knew Rosalie acted under. Rosamund, as the Sorting Hat had called her. Amelia, from Galloways. Audrey, the name she'd used briefly while posing as a ministry official. Now Rebekah.

She paused, then endeavoured to commit to her previous idea. She gathered up each of the papers and shrunk everything except for the Horcrux stuff down. She then gathered the two books and the paper and left the common room again. An alarm screamed in her head that she would be caught, but she tried to silence it. "Yes, it's curfew, but I'm a Head-in-training… that's got to count for something, right?"

Luckily, she ran into no one before she accidentally ran into one of the gargoyles outside Professor Dumbledore's office. The stone beast collided with her right side through no fault of its own. She estimated that the time would be about nine-twenty. So she gave the password and ascended. Outside the door, she knocked, hoping that the Headmaster was awake and could hear her.

She wasn't sure what she expected, but when the door opened, there he was, in soft fleece Muggle pyjamas with pink spots. "Good evening, Headmaster," she said. "I'm sorry if I woke you." She paused, then asked, "Are those Peppa Pig pyjamas?"

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "I had just finished telling myself a story," he told Hermione. "And yes! Isn't it lucky that they came in my size?"

Hermione chuckled and moved the books in her arms. "May I come in? I promise to keep this brief, but I believe it's a matter of some urgency."

"Of course. What have you been reading?" He stepped out of the doorway and let her enter.

"Well, it's not me. It's actually been Rosalie. She's running herself into the ground over this."

"Would you like my desk chair?" Dumbledore asked, smiling. "She invited herself into it the other day."

Hermione was momentarily gobsmacked. "No, no sir! Please, you may have your chair." Though one day, ti would be remarkable if it were her chair. She set the books down on the desk and waited while he rounded the furniture and began to take a seat. "Please, Professor, have you ever heard of a Horcrux before?"

Dumbledore paused with his hands on the armrests of his chair, then finished sinking down and making himself comfortable. "Unfortunately, yes. I hope you have not come to discuss the making of one, because the last time a Slytherin requested that knowledge, it turned into a very bad situation."

"Do not judge me because I am a Slytherin now," Hermione said. Part of her couldn't believe she was speaking to the Headmaster like this. The other part knew it was the correct thing to say. "I've actually been reading on this all this month. How would you have treated me if I had brought it to you before the resorting?"

Dumbledore's eyebrows had crept up his face. "You're absolutely correct," he said. "I merely meant to draw a distinction, but it seems I misspoke and phrased my sentence in a judgmental way. Please forgive me."

Hermione couldn't understand why for a moment, he had green light on his face. As if something in front of him were green. Then, she realised it was her fault. "Of course," she said, then paused. "That last Slytherin was Lord Voldemort, wasn't it?"

Dumbledore tilted his head at her, but gave no immediate answer. It felt like a minute passed before he said, "now, why would you think that Lord Voldemort has any horcruxes?"

Very interestingly phrased, Hermione thought. Did Dumbledore know about the horcrux? And if so, did he suspect or know of any more?"

She raised her chin. "The diary," she said. "The one that possessed Ginny Weasley. Rosalie and I believe it was a horcrux."

She felt that she was playing mental chess with her headmaster.

"Right you are, Ms. Granger," Dumbledore said. "You really are the Brightest Witch of your Age."

Hermione flushed crimson and her gaze sank lower. "Actually, sir, Rosalie has done most of the heavy lifting on this research."

"Ms. Spinks is extremely talented, but you, Ms. Granger, have a reputation for a reason." Then he leaned to his right and unlocked a compartment in his desk. From it, he withdrew the journal. The very journal Ginny Weasley had been writing in. Hermione stared at it and felt as if a thousand spiders were creeping up her arms. Even though the basilisk was dead, seeing the filthy, destroyed book gave her the same feeling that she'd had all the way back in second year.

She never wanted to be petrified again.

Hermione couldn't take her eyes from the book as she picked up Rosalie's figurings and offered them to Dumbledore. "We know that the process deforms the person," she said softly. "And we believe there are more of them. Voldemort will not be able to be killed until they are all destroyed."

Dumbledore nodded. "And how many do you suppose there are?" he asked.

Hermione swallowed. "Rosalies figures four. But with as many murders as Voldemort has committed, the number could be a lot greater."

"Well, the soul can only be split so many times before you are unable to survive," Dumbledore explained. "Would you like a cup of tea? I find it helps soothe my nerves when talking about hard subjects."

Hermione nodded and Dumbledore withdrew his wand and flicked it. As he did, Hermione's eyes drifted to a Muggle envelope with actual stamps on the front of it. Rosalie Spinks was in the top left-hand corner. A bit odd for someone who's lived in England for a bit. British people put the return addresses on the backs of the envelopes. But Rosalie was American, so perhaps that was it.

Dumbledore summoned saucers and cups and offered Hermione a selection of tea types. "Now," he said, picking up his own cup once it was done and blowing on it, "You are correct Ms. Granger. There are multiple Horcruxes. Young Tom Riddle – you must know his name by now, yes? He was obsessed with the idea of immortality. Cheating death." Dumbledore dropped a sugar cube from a conjured dish into his tea and stirred it while he thought. "However, I do not believe he did stop at four. Ms. Spink's reasonings are wonderful, but she has not seen the damage his physical body has taken. Neither have you. I believe that Lord Voldemort has sought a far more superstitious and dangerous number."

Superstitious was all Hermione needed to hear to know which number he'd landed on. "Seven?" she asked. "He's divided his soul into seven?"

"Well, yes and no," Dumbledore said. "It's not an even split, as the horcruxes were all made at different times. The diary was the first, I believe, and why it radiated so much power and control over Ms. Weasley. But it's entirely dependent on the amount of murders a person has committed. If you kill once, your soul is divided. If you fill thirty times, it is thirty times maimed. Who knows how large or small a soul fragment for Lord Voldemort could be. ."

Hermione understood what Dumbledore was saying, but didn't like it at all. "Professor," she said, "Wouldn't he have less than half of his soul left? Because Moaning Myrtle was the first soul he killed… did he use that murder to create the diary?"

"Exactly," Dumbledore said. "At this point, I would reason he cannot make another. His consciousness would scatter."

Hermione put a hand to her head. "How are we ever going to find them all? We don't even know if they're journals or not-"

"They're not."

She locked eyes with him across the table. "Do you know what they are?" she asked.

"I have suspicions," Dumbledore confirmed. "Tom Riddle is very… methodical and superstitious. And he had a great admiration for the founders. I suspect he has sought out items that relate to them, and also… items relating to another story about cheating death."

Hermione could hardly breathe. "What story?" she asked.

Dumbledore finished his tea and stood. "Why, my bedtime story," he said. "I will give you an assignment, Ms. Granger. Take my bedtime story, read it tonight, and sleep on it til tomorrow. We can reconvene then."

The next chapter will be called Hermione Declares War and is one of my favourites. I will post it early if I get five reviews.