It was overcast the next morning, a perfect mirror for her sore mood. Hermione had been right, her shame at the behavior from the night before was transfigured into an imprinted duckling. Tiny and almost endearing when compared to her other remorseful sorrows, but still somehow, the loudest and most irksome. She was followed around the castle all morning by the chirping melody of self-loathing.

An incessant mantra at that point. The litany of hatred got longer and longer as more insults were added to her massive collection. Her sacred flagellation continued in silence as she played her part of gossiping schoolgirl with the other Gryffindors at breakfast. Ignoring a random catcall from one of the other tables, she had excused herself as soon as manners allowed.

She found herself grateful to be surrounded by some of the most oblivious witches and wizards to ever grace Hogwarts' halls. The fact that the raucous taunt was meant for her never registered with her companions. Even Ginny was too busy flirting with Harry to feel her body tense in anticipation for the questions that never came.

Counting on the early hour, she went to the Library to claim her secluded table before anyone else could. Intent on losing herself to the safety of archaic books and studying for the upcoming exams, instead of listening to the foul twittering inside her head. She pulled out the reference guide for Herbology and went to set it down but was blocked by some kind of invisible force.

Straightaway, she was suspicious. The feeling of being watched crept up her spine and she kept her eyes on the colorful dust jacket in front of her as she worked through the various possibilities… Highest on the list being some type of disguised vengeance from Parkinson.

Not wanting to give the witch her satisfaction, Hermione shifted the book into one arm and pulled her wand out with the other hand. She poked at the concealed parcel and raised an eyebrow when the silent specialis revelio incantation showed no signs of magic…

After a few more investigative spells with no detection of any kind of curse, jinx, or hex she began to doubt her first hypothesis. Against her better judgment and all of her previous training on unknown (possibly magical) objects, she shoved her wand back into her pocket and plunged her fingers into the unseeable mass.

The familiar fabric triggered a myriad of memories that had been carefully locked to flood her senses. She took a step back and stared at the empty spot where Dumbledore's gift was placed. In that moment her loathing for the wizard, who had destroyed her too many times to count, surpassed any other emotion. All the mortification she had felt towards her last violent outburst the night before evaporated, replaced by a deep longing to have done enough damage to have left him with a permanent limp…

How dare he?!

There was no doubt in her mind that he was hidden amid the bookcases, watching every move that she made. She pushed the parcel to the side and continued about her business. Unwilling to give him the temperamental scene that was, obviously, expected of her. After all of her supplies were organized, she sat down and picked up her quill.

Only to be interrupted by a mass of orange fur jumping up onto the other side of the table. Crookshanks perched on his haunches and blinked up at her. His thick coat was matted and dirty from his recent hunting trip inside the Forbidden Forest.

"You know you are not allowed in here, sir," Hermione whispered as she reached out and scratched under his chin. "Pince will skin you alive if she sees you."

She grinned as his body started to vibrate with his contented purrs. The cat seemed happy that his morning inquiry brought smiles instead of the usual unshed tears. He tilted his head to the side, moving so her hand slipped behind his ear and she rubbed at his favorite for a couple of seconds.

"Now shoo! Before you get me in trouble…" She chastised gently.

The big ball of fluff huffed his displeasure but listened. Traipsing directly across her papers, he made sure to flick his tail in her face prior to jumping down and disappearing into the maze of bookshelves. She sighed at the disheveled notes left in his wake and fixed the pile.

When she reached for her quill for the second time she noticed a small piece of scrap paper that must have been disturbed by Crookshanks' departure. Hermione froze and peered at it out of the corner of her eye. Even more suspicious of the leftover bit of parchment than the invisibility cloak, she knew better than to read the contents.

Nothing good would come of it… Of that, she was one hundred percent certain.

No matter the intentions behind them, seeing the words written for her in his handwriting would hurt to some varying degree and she was sick of readily giving him the power to taint every part of her life. It was time to admit her defeat. Their toxic reunion merely reinforced the need to squash the tiny spark of hope that had remained, buried deep down, that given enough time he would change his mind and go to Dumbledore on his own.

Instead, he had chosen to continue to act out the role that had been written for him.

She crumbled up the unread note and shoved it into the pocket of her jeans. With a quick flick of her wand the packing of her bag was done in seconds, including the perfectly folded cloak. If she had waited a moment longer than what was needed, she might have backed down and gone on pretending like everything was fine…

-\/- -\/- -\/- -\/- -\/- -\/- -\/- -\/- -\/- -\/-

Hermione stood there horrified as she stared into the bright observant eyes of the ancient wizard, "Did you not hear me, Professor? I said that Draco Malfoy plans to kill you!"

Professor Dumbledore had barely acknowledged her grim confession the first time. The words had tumbled from her mouth the second a displeased McGonagall had hastily closed the door behind herself. His downcast demeanor, slumped over the large stack of papers on his desk, had immediately picked up but he'd said nothing in response.

This time his wizened lips lifted with a soft smile as he nodded slowly, "Yes, Miss Granger. I did, indeed."

"You… You do not seem surprised, sir," She noted, keeping her tone as impartial as she was able.

"I've known of Mr. Malfoy's plans since the beginning of the year." He said evenly, his intense blue eyes surveying any move she made. Already five steps ahead.

There was another long silence in which she mulled over this new information and what it all meant. She finally admitted defeat because there was no logical conclusion, "I… I don't understand… You knew he was dangerous… You let him stay after Katie… and… and Ron… and Harry…"

"I did." He gave another slow nod of his head as he leaned back in his chair. "As foolhardy and erratic as he has been, his reasonings are quite understandable."

"Understandable?"

"I have been led to believe that Mr. Malfoy's regrettable actions are due to the threats against his parents and himself," Dumbledore casually rebuffed her inquiry with one of his own, clasping his hands in front of him. "Are you, perhaps, privy to any particulars that might have made you change your mind on this matter?"

In an attempt to cover her sudden shaking from nerves, Hermione clenched her hands into fists and swallowed hard before trying to answer the complicated question, "No, but…"

"Then I fail to see the issue." His interruption was swift and dismissive.

"He… He is dangerous!" She nearly screamed, her nails digging into the skin of her palms.

"Yes, he is."

"He is a Death Eater! He is planning to murder you! He… He…" She felt the warmth of her blood starting to pool in her grip.

A flash of vexation illuminated behind the carefully structured composure, he quickly regained control and insisted, "Mr. Malfoy is young and still has time to change the path he is on."

"The path you refuse to save him from!" Hermione shrieked, unable to hold back the crazed rampage that she'd been holding back for weeks. Tears sprang to her eyes and began to run down her cheeks as the first drop of blood seeped from her shaking fingers and splattered on the floor.

Seemingly poised for her abrupt outburst, Dumbledore didn't chastise her as she pulled herself back together. He was patient as he waited for her breathing to return to normal, watching her over the peak of his steepled fingers. Once the tension in her shoulders loosened, he responded in a hushed tone, "You know that is not true, Miss Granger. All he needs to do is ask."

"Which he won't do!" She snapped.

"Then the answer is quite simple..." The elderly headmaster, who in all actuality was scarcely more than a stranger- no matter how much she would have liked to believe otherwise, counseled. "Continue to give him a reason to change his mind."

Frustrated that her only confidant wasn't listening to the words that she managed to vocalize, Hermione glared through her tears, "And how am I supposed to do that when he hasn't spoken to me in an entire month?!"

His lips pursed beneath his lengthy beard as he scrutinized her worsening condition again. He staggered to his feet and hobbled his way around the large desk, using the wooden surface as support so he didn't trip. It was clear how severe the curse's internal deterioration had become. The revered elderly man who, eventually, stood in front of her was a crumbling shell of the legendary champion she had perceived him to be for most of her life.

"Let me see…" Dumbledore gestured to her bloodied fists with the hand that wasn't shriveled black with death. When she obeyed and offered up her mutilated palms for inspection, he pulled his wand from the confines of his outlandish robes and gave it a perfunctory wave. The mute spell knitted the deep crescent moons back together and vanished all evidence of her self-inflicted punishment, including the droplets of blood that had fallen to the stone floor.

She stared down at the flawless skin as a sinking feeling filled her stomach. Disappointed that the external proof of her descent into turmoil was gone before she was able to notice the pain through the rush of fury. Her momentary release from the psychogenic suffering was stolen by good intentions.

"The next time your emotions are overwhelming you, please feel free to take out your anger on my belongings instead of your body." Her skepticism was palpable so he continued, "I would rather get rid of every useless piece of clutter in this room than watch you hurt yourself, Hermione."

There was yet another drawn-out moment of silence in which they kept studying the other. Her lips stayed sealed solely based on the old adage to be quiet if there was nothing nice to say. Cynical at the offered comfort, she didn't believe any of it when the expectation of further traumatization was unspoken.

"As for your issues with Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore persisted, at ease with her open distrust, "We both know your assertion of his unwillingness to socialize is untrue… Regardless, I will risk your ire and repeat myself, give the boy a reason to change his mind."

"I don't know how…"

"One would surmise that you already know- with an extraordinary amount of empathy and acceptance." He said with a lift of his feeble shoulders as if what he asked for was the easiest thing in the world to give.

"And what happens if I don't have any left?" Hermione asked, blinking back a fresh round of tears.

"Hmm… That is a very poignant question and the answer is regrettable and woefully insufficient," The wrinkled old leader's gaze was far off as he predicted. "Then you return the cloak that is stuffed in your bag and submit to the life you were living before Draco Malfoy caught your attention. You will go on to help Harry defeat Voldermort, fall in love with Ronald along the way, marry him, and carry on the Granger-Weasley line. Above all that, given the first requirement, there is little doubt in my mind that you will become Minister of Magic and change more than you could ever imagine in our world."

She balked at the compelling vision of her future. Less than a year ago, the speculative musing would have caused butterflies and a longing so fierce she would have been willing to do anything to manifest that beautiful and distant destiny. Now, only one part felt like it fit with the rest of her delusional ambitions.

As if echoing her self-contemplation, Dumbledore spoke the question that had haunted her since she was banished from Malfoy's presence in that room, "But then, of course, the more important question would be… Is that what you truly want out of your life, Hermione?

"I… I'm supposed to say yes…"

He waved away her fatigued response, "That is not what I asked."

"No… That isn't what I want anymore." She confessed in a soft whisper.

"I am happy to finally have that out of our way," He hobbled back around to the cushioned highback chair and sat down before carrying on with his thoughts, "So that we both can remember that sometimes we luck out and our wants can align with what the greater good dictates is needed. With all of that said, we are left at a crossroads where you have to answer your own question… What happens if you do not have any empathy or acceptance left? Do you give up and surrender or do you fight for what you want?"

In that moment the realization that her pleas for assistance in the redemption of the shattered soul she had fallen for would always be rebuffed. No matter how much she begged or cried she wouldn't be allowed to shift that tremendous responsibility to a different and more capable set of hands. She was going to be his singular known connection to the help he and his mother desperately needed.

Snape's secret turncoat status erected a strict barrier to any guidance that the monster of a man might feel inclined to give him.

She was it…

The one lifeline to an existence that had more than just destruction to offer. Hermione wasn't naive enough to think there wouldn't be pain beyond measure to save the wizarding world from itself. How could there not be when both sides fought for a cause they wholeheartedly believed in? It was the price of war… Yet, only one wouldn't be satisfied until the entire planet was subjugated and apart. A direct reflection of the leader they rallied under in a fruitless attempt to protect themselves.

Who was she if she damned him to believe in that for his survival?

Anger at the deranged karmic consequences that stemmed from that one drunken choice months ago flooded her system and took over all rational thought. She turned and stomped over to the exit like a child. Before she could think the action through, she struck out in a useless gesture of disobedience and pushed the refilling bowl of mints from the side table next to the door. The sound of shattering glass and bouncing candies against stone bolstered her hubristic courage and she slammed the heavy slab of wood behind her.