Note: See end of chapter for content warning.

Hermione slept fitfully. Between nightmares and the hazy, exhaustion-warped memories of the previous evening, she wasn't sure whether sleeping or waking was worse. It was nearing four in the morning when she finally gave up on sleep, reaching to her nightstand to Summon her toiletry bag. Her hand met the empty expanse of wood where her wand usually rested and horrible, gut-wrenching realisation sunk in.

It was waking. Waking was worse.

She dragged herself from the covers anyway — the swell of emotion filling her chest was threatening to implode, and she couldn't bear to lie still a single second longer.

Wrapping herself in a dressing gown and donning a plush pair of slippers, Hermione padded softly out onto the landing. She took the stairs down towards the common room out of habit more than anything, and was surprised to find she wasn't the only person awake in the wee hours of the morning.

Across from the fireplace, a sprawl of untidy black hair stuck up over the back of the sofa. It appeared that Harry was simply sitting, his hands lying loosely in his lap and his far-away gaze resting on the cold embers of the hearth. He was so still that he could have been sleeping if not for his eyes being open.

Hermione paused at the threshold, glancing reflexively to the portrait on the far wall. It remained empty. She stepped forward again, drawing her gown even tighter against herself as a harsh December wind rattled the glass panes of the tower windows.

Harry didn't speak as she lowered herself into the spot next to him. In fact, the only acknowledgement he'd even noticed her presence was a slight adjustment to his breathing. Not keen to break the silence, Hermione wordlessly tucked her legs up on the sofa and dropped her head onto Harry's shoulder. She closed her eyes, finding that it was easier to keep the muted buzzing of her overtired mind at bay when she didn't feel so alone.

They must have sat like that for the better part of an hour before Harry finally spoke, his voice rough from disuse.

"Hermione?"

Hermione, who had fallen into a trance-like sort of doze, curled further into him.

"Mmm?"

Harry went silent again for a long moment. Hermione had just begun to drift away again...

"Did I make the right call tonight?" he asked softly. "Going to the Ministry?"

There was a note of pleading in his voice. She inhaled deeply before lifting her head from Harry's shoulder to turn towards him. He continued his staring match with the empty hearth.

"I think..." Her voice was equally scratchy. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I think I would have made the same call."

Harry's shoulders seemed to sag, something like relief in his expression. He looked at her.

"You would have?"

She nodded hesitantly, finally seeing that his eyes were just as red and swollen as her own felt.

"Based on everything we knew, there was little other choice," she responded quietly. "And we weren't wrong, were we? They were there to retrieve something that the Order had been protecting — something Sirius as good as said was a weapon."

Harry's face twisted at the mention of Sirius.

"Have you talked to him?" she asked gently. "Since we left?"

"No," Harry said, looking away. "I didn't want to bother him. He needs his rest after... especially since it was my fault he almost..." Harry swallowed, unable to finish.

"It wasn't your fault, Harry," Hermione insisted, the faintest glimmer of outrage sparking back to life within her. He gave her a look of flat disbelief. "It wasn't," she repeated. "I already told you I'd have made the same choice. If anything, the Order have no one but themselves to blame. They might have told you if there was a prophecy concerning you and Voldemort."

Harry was already shaking his head. "If I'd learnt Occlumency like I was supposed to, it wouldn't have mattered. I'd have never seen what was happening. I thought I could use it to help the Order, but it ended up making things worse. And now, I think... I think he knows, Hermione. Voldemort. Or at least suspects. There was a moment in that duel where our wands connected — after I saw Sirius and fell — where there was a sort of echo. My scar was burning and it felt like all the other times I've seen into his mind, except it was my own feelings reflected back at me — if only for a second."

"You think Voldemort knows of the connection now?" she whispered fearfully. "That maybe he can access your thoughts or control you?"

"I dunno about that," Harry said, running a hand through his untidy hair, "If he can, he hasn't tried anything yet. Ginny once said that when Voldemort was controlling her, she had big blank spots in her memory. I can recall everything from tonight. As for my thoughts, I can't say. My dreams are awful, but my scar hasn't so much as twinged since we got back. With any luck, Voldemort just thinks it was part of that weird connection with our wands—"

"Priori Incantatem," Hermione said.

"What?"

She repeated it. "Dumbledore mentioned it after you escaped the graveyard last year," she explained. "When he said your wands wouldn't work properly against each other because they share a core. The Reverse Spell Effect."

"Oh," Harry said, nodding slowly to himself. "Right."

She placed a hand on his knee, hoping to ease the forlorn expression he wore. "It was very brave of you to risk your life for Cedric's, stepping in front of him like you did. You couldn't have known you'd be able to counter the curse."

Her words seemed to have the opposite effect; instead of being bolstered, Harry's expression was now a curious mix of pain, guilt, and sheepishness. He swallowed heavily, seeming hesitant to speak his mind.

"I..." Harry cleared his throat. "I wasn't expecting to."

Hermione's breath caught in her chest. Her next words came out sharper than intended.

"What do you mean?"

Harry wouldn't make eye contact. "I just mean that — at the time — while I still thought I had just lost Sirius... I didn't care. Whether or not I countered the curse," he clarified.

Hermione gasped softly, a chill washing through her as the implication of Harry's words hit home. Her own troubles, nightmarish as they may be, were suddenly put into perspective.

"Oh, Harry," she said, wrapping her arms around him where he sat. "It must have been so terrible."

He didn't speak, his cheek coming to rest on the top of her head. There was another long silence while Hermione squeezed him as hard as she could. She once thought she felt a small, cool drop of wetness fall onto the arm she held around Harry's chest.

"I just wish it had all been worth it," he finally said in a hoarse voice, looking at her miserably. "Even though Dumbledore apparently meant to let Voldemort have the prophecy anyway."

Hermione bit her lip, stomach churning unpleasantly. Sooner or later, she'd have to tell Harry what happened. He had given her the prophecy for safekeeping and she'd lost it, and she knew he knew it. He was simply being decent enough not to ask for details.

Harry, too, seemed to fall into his own thoughts for a moment before he glanced at her again, this time wearing an odd expression. "Er... did Dumbledore mention anything to you tonight? About the prophecy?"

Hermione felt a pang, both for her friend and for the reminder of what she and Dumbledore had discussed. She dropped her arms, looking up to meet his eyes, vivid green even in the dark of night. "No, Harry, I'm sorry. It wasn't... it wasn't anything to do with that."

He eyed her curiously. "What was it, then? We tried to wait for you, but after a while, McGonagall sent everyone to their beds and Umbridge's people stuck around to make sure we stayed. They took attendance and everything first, but said you'd already been accounted for somehow. Whatever Dumbledore had to say must have been important if he intervened—"

"There you are!"

They both turned to see Ron descending the last few steps from the boys' dormitories. He made his way over, his too-short pyjamas flashing the pale skin of his ankles as he walked.

"Blimey, Harry, you might tell a bloke before you go wandering off after the night we just had. And Hermione, how come you never showed? We thought something had happened—"

Ron plopped down in the chair by the sofa just as another figure appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

"Ron? I couldn't sleep either— oh, hey guys," Neville said, giving a friendly wave as he spotted Harry and Hermione, "you both having nightmares, too?"

He walked over to take another chair, his eyes tired and his sandy blonde hair tousled.

"Yeah, mate," Harry replied, to which the corner of Neville's mouth lifted. "I expect we'll all have nightmares for weeks."

Ron nodded vigorously. "Bloody right, I won't be forgetting You-Know-Who's hideous face in a hurry."

Harry sat up straight. "You saw Voldemort?"

Ron nodded solemnly, then filled the rest of them in on what had transpired for himself, Ginny, and Luna in the Department of Mysteries.

After subsequently finding each other in the chaos, Ron and the others had battled their way rapidly towards the time room, running through quickly to end up back in the round, black chamber. They'd been immediately accosted by several Death Eaters who'd given chase, and traded wandfire as the black walls started spinning.

"Ginny fell first — got some bloke called Rabastan in the face with a Stinging Hex though as he snatched her wand," Ron said, rubbing his hand absently. "Knocked his mask clean off. I went back for her but was outnumbered. Took this one trying to counter an Incendio." He held up the same hand for inspection, the new skin stretching over the back of it clearly visible. "After that, Luna came quietly. They were threatening to off me and Ginny if she didn't."

After being stripped of their wands and bound together, Ron, Ginny, and Luna had been ushered out into the Ministry proper by none other than Nott Sr and a single other Death Eater, while the other three Death Eaters returned to the fight through the time room. They'd then been corralled none too gently down into what sounded like the courtroom in which Hermione and Harry had stood trial over the summer.

Placed under guard in the bowels of the Ministry, Ron and the others had waited anxiously for an opportunity to plan their escape. Not long after they'd been brought inside, the other Death Eater left and they were left alone with Nott Sr.

"We had to communicate mostly through looks," Ron said. "Nott had already threatened to start hexing off bits of us if he heard any more whispering. We were just about to act when he came for a visit. You-Know-Who."

Neville, wide-eyed, gasped softly.

Harry's brows drew together. "But why? Why would Voldemort show himself then?"

"I dunno, mate," Ron said, leaning back on the sofa. "He came in — only for a second — took a good look at each of us from across the room, then left without a word. Scared the hell out of us." Ron forced out a chuckle. "Even Nott looked a mite uncomfortable."

By this time, Ginny had also come downstairs, sharing a silent acknowledgement with the rest of the group before sitting on the carpet in front of the cold hearth, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them.

Ron began picking at a piece of lint on his pyjamas. "Anyway — it was almost too easy after that. We waited as long as we dared before Luna pretended to faint. Ginny and I started yelling. Nott came over to check, and I managed to knee him in the bollocks while Ginny wrestled the wands out of his grip. Hit him with at least three stunners at once, didn't you, Gin?"

Ginny nodded mutely, a far off look in her brown eyes.

"Bit pathetic, really. 'Least for a Death Eater and all," Ron continued, rubbing at his nose with a freckled finger. "We freed ourselves and made a run for it. The plan was that Luna and I would go back in to find you all while Ginny ran up to try to contact mum and dad through the Floo, hoping they were at the Burrow. We'd just come back up to the corridor outside the Department of Mysteries when we ran into Sirius, Lupin, and Tonks."

Harry, who had closed his eyes at the mention of the Burrow, looked rather distressed. "Why didn't I think of that? Your parents might have been home—"

Ron shook his head. "Don't think so. The way Sirius and the others were talking, most of the on-duty Order members were closeted up between Lupin's place and Grimmauld, making sure that everything went according to plan."

Hermione frowned. "So they were keeping watch somehow? Is that how they knew to find us?"

Ron looked at Harry. "You didn't tell her?"

Harry shrugged. "No — when could I have done?"

"Tell me what?" she asked. Harry and Ron traded another look, each appearing to be waiting on the other to speak. "Tell me what?" she repeated again, growing impatient.

Ginny cleared her throat. "Rita Skeeter."

Hermione stared at Ginny for a moment, convinced she had misspoke.

"Rita... Skeeter?" The name alone left a sour taste in Hermione's mouth.

"Yup," Ginny said glumly. "Apparently, Skeeter was in the Ministry tonight."

Ron and Harry both glanced at Hermione knowingly while Ginny continued.

"She somehow followed the Death Eaters into the prophecy room undetected before we arrived. As soon as she saw them corner us, she went back up to the Atrium and Apparated to the outside of Grimmauld. Since she couldn't get to the house directly, she stood in the garden and yelled until Winky came out to see what the fuss was about. Lupin said that Skeeter didn't seem to know exactly what she'd stumbled upon — she didn't mention the Order at all — only that someone there should be concerned about a group of teenagers, including Harry Potter, being held at wandpoint by several escaped convicts down in the Ministry. Why she didn't go immediately to the Aurors is anyone's guess, but Lupin and Tonks both seemed relieved. Even if they were concerned about the security breach."

Hermione remained silent, processing this shocking turn of events. She felt sick. If she'd thought that the past twenty-four hours could not get any worse, she now had to contend with the jarring revelation that Rita Skeeter — pesky journalist extraordinaire and perpetrator of so much misery, Rita Skeeter — had likely saved her life. All of their lives.

As Ron liked to say — bloody hell.

Hermione put her head in her hands and Harry patted her back consolingly. Neville saved her from a response by asking a question of his own.

"So, the Order of the Phoenix. It's back? I mean, I gathered as much when you named our Defence group the Phoenix Alliance, Harry, but nobody really explained..."

"Yeah," Harry said with a nod. "You'd heard of it before?"

"Something like that," Neville mumbled, suddenly looking bashful. When everyone stared at him, he added, "I just... knew of some people that were in. The first time, I mean."

Harry only looked confused for a moment before something like comprehension dawned. When he started speaking, it looked to Hermione like he was scrambling to recover himself.

"Ah, yeah, well it's been going again since the end of fourth year, I think..." And he proceeded to fill Neville in on everything he knew that had transpired last summer and beyond with regards to the Order.

Neville nodded along quietly, seeming to take it all in stride. By the time Harry finished, Neville looked thoughtful.

"So I take it Sirius isn't actually a great uncle Weasley or some other?" he asked lightly, sending a half-smile to Ron.

"Er, no," Ron said, slightly abashed, "but he is Harry's godfather."

Ron was telling a transfixed Neville all about Sirius Black and how he came to be a part of their lives when Hermione was struck by an urgent thought.

"Neville," she interrupted, "you need to write your gran. Tell her to be on the alert. Everyone else, barring Cedric, has their families already under Order protection. They knew who you were — what if the Death Eaters retaliate?"

Neville looked alarmed. "But Umbridge is going through all outgoing post—"

Harry stood up. "Let's use the mirror. Sirius can contact Dumbledore or someone and have them get word to your gran about what happened. We'll tell them to get word to Cedric's family, too, just in case. Meet me in the loo off of the sixth year dorms. Ron, you'd better come, too. I expect your mum will be there wanting to talk."

Ron groaned, but stood up to follow after Harry and Neville. "See you at breakfast," he called over his shoulder to Hermione and Ginny, before shaking his head and saying to Neville and Harry, "Wouldn't put it past her to send another Howler."

When the boys had disappeared, Ginny stood, glancing once towards the girls' dormitories before looking back at Hermione.

"Alright, Hermione? You're looking a bit peaky."

Hermione wavered between telling Ginny what happened after the Ministry — just to get it off of her chest — but ultimately decided there would be time for that later. Ginny looked dead on her feet.

"Just feeling somewhat poorly after all the excitement," she said, brushing off Ginny's concern. Scared that Ginny would press the issue, Hermione also stood and gestured towards the stairs.

"Actually, I'm rather exhausted. Shall we go back up to bed?"

Ginny nodded, allowing Hermione to lead the way.

Miraculously, Hermione fell asleep within moments of her head hitting the pillow. The next time she was awakened, it was by Lavender standing over her bed and talking frantically.

"Hermione — you need to wake up! The luncheon starts in ten minutes! I only came back because I forgot my hat—"

Hermione opened her eyes. Bright sunlight spilled heavily across the room. She met Lavender's panicked eyes and bolted upright in bed.

"Oh my god," Hermione gasped, throwing the covers off and leaping towards her dresser. "I completely forgot the luncheon."

"I know! I've got to get back — Parv is saving me a seat — but do hurry. Umbridge apparently has some special announcement to make. Don't forget to avoid the swamp in the Charms corridor!"

Hermione felt her stomach drop as she watched Lavender skip out of the dormitory. One guess as to what Umbridge's announcement would be.

Sheer willpower kept Hermione's stomach contents down while she threw on her school uniform and dashed to the Great Hall. She could hear the buzz of chatter long before she reached it. When she skidded around the corner and into the packed Hall, the first pair of eyes she met across the room punched the wind straight out of her lungs.

Lucius Malfoy, regally dressed in expensive-looking robes of crushed velvet and matching pointed hat, sat next to his son and wife at the Slytherin table. His expression was one of polite boredom, which didn't alter in the slightest as he looked over and held her horrified gaze. He looked unfairly well-rested — not a single smooth hair stood out of place. Hermione suddenly realised she'd been staring open-mouthed when a single, dark blonde eyebrow twitched upwards.

Cheeks now flaming, Hermione wrenched her eyes away from the elder Malfoy and towards the Gryffindor table. Harry and Ron were waving her over urgently as Umbridge appeared out of the antechamber among several familiar-looking Ministry officials and made for the lectern in front of the staff table.

"What's he doing here?" Hermione hissed, dropping into the seat next to Ron. "Does he even actually work for the Ministry?"

Even as she said it, she realised that Malfoy's parents weren't the only ones present; interspersed throughout all of the House tables were a smattering of relatives, though far fewer than Hermione would have expected.

Harry and Ron had no need to ask who she'd meant, though. Wearing equally grim expressions, both of their gazes flicked to the Slytherin table and back.

"Dunno," Ron said under his breath, "but I think the better question now is if the Ministry is working for him."

"Your parents decided not to come?" she asked back instead, distracted with trying to make herself look smaller behind Ron as Umbridge took the stand.

Ron shook his head, helpfully sitting up straighter as he glanced once to the other side of Slytherin's table, where Pansy Parkinson sat beside a tall man with salt and pepper hair. "Change of plans — mum said that after last night, the Order has some urgent business to take care of."

Harry opened his mouth to say something else, but at that moment, Umbridge cleared her throat.

"Hem, hem."

The entire room went instantly silent.

Umbridge smiled warmly before speaking in a breathy voice. "Good afternoon. I, Dolores Jane Umbridge, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, would like to extend a very warm welcome to each and every guest gracing this Hall with their presence today, be you friend, family, or most-esteemed Ministry representative."

She paused, straightening her fluffy pink cardigan and looking around to make sure she captured everyone at the staff and House tables with her words.

"Before we begin, I have a few small announcements to make. Firstly, I regret to inform you that due to unforeseen circumstances, school tours are no longer available for this afternoon. If you wish to extend your visit today, you may remain here in the Great Hall, where tea and coffee will be served to your preference, or visit the pavilion set up on grounds with a beautifully cultivated display of some of the projects our students have been working on this year. These amenities will remain available until three o'clock this afternoon."

"Secondly, for those who were not in attendance at yesterday's demonstration, you may have heard rumours of a small disruption to our otherwise hugely successful event for Minister Fudge and his associates."

Hermione held her breath and ducked her head, her entire body tensing in preparation for Umbridge's next words.

"I would like to assure you that myself, Mister Filch, and the rest of our staff have it well in hand — the perpetrators have already been identified."

Both Harry and Ron stirred next to her; Hermione knew they were sharing a look of confusion. A few seats down, she heard the low baritone of George Weasley whispering something to his twin as Umbridge resumed.

"While the information will not be public knowledge until tonight's issue of the Evening Prophet, I have been given special permission from the Minister to share this with you now: the disruption was organised by none other than the former Headmaster of Hogwarts School, Albus Dumbledore."

Hermione cringed while gasps flew around the room. A few murmurs took up among the House tables, but they were quickly silenced with a firm look from Umbridge. Those behind the staff table remained stony-faced and unmoving.

"It is believed that Dumbledore planned this spectacle in retaliation for what he considers to be his own inequitable deposition after being found unfit to continue as Headmaster. Furthermore, in his despicable ploy to regain the power and influence he once so covetously held, he has not only implicated himself, but another — a student within these very walls — whom he convinced to do his bidding. For that, and for wrongfully compromising the health and safety of our students, staff, and guests, Albus Dumbledore is wanted for questioning. Any information on his current whereabouts may be submitted directly to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. As for the student convicted of conspiring with Dumbledore — I can assure you that the situation has been handled with the utmost care."

Hermione was certain she could feel Umbridge's eyes on her now and she couldn't bear it. She wanted to run — she wanted to disappear before Umbridge revealed her to the entire school—

"While I desire nothing more than a harmonious relationship between myself and every single student within this school, in this particular instance, I have been forced to invoke the harshest of measures to ensure that there is no risk of a repeat performance. But I am not without compassion — I believe in second chances, and in the innate goodness of our beloved students who may or may not have been knowingly misled on a fool's errand. I have therefore made the decision not to resort to the irreversible consequence of expulsion in a situation that otherwise called for it."

Umbridge paused briefly and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, simultaneously dreading her name being exposed and wanting it to have already happened. Why wasn't Umbridge getting on with it?

"We have reason to believe that this student was not acting alone. Therefore, I am now speaking directly to any other individuals involved with yesterday's spectacle who have yet to be discovered. Heed my next words carefully: we will find you. It is only a matter of time. If you come forward now, you will be spared the worst of the punishments of which I have already been forced to hand out. While exceedingly generous, this offer will not be indefinite. This is also a plea on behalf of your fellow student who has been forced to shoulder the entirety of the blame. For each and every person who comes forward, I shall divide the punishment equally among them, thus reducing the sentence on each individual overall."

In her shock, Hermione's head snapped up. Umbridge's eyes landed on her at precisely that moment before darting away again to survey the room with a stern expression. The pause lengthened uncomfortably as Umbridge presumably gave time for her words to percolate.

Hermione tried not to squirm in her seat, and she most definitely did not meet the bewildered stares she knew that Harry and Ron were currently directing at her.

Umbridge finally drew a measured breath. "And so, I reiterate, come forward now. Fail to do so, and the consequences will be... severe." She smiled warmly over the room once more. "Now, on a much more positive note, I would lastly like to announce the promotion of Professor Severus Snape to Deputy Headmaster..."

Astonishment at McGonagall's demotion registered quietly beneath the turmoil that was Hermione's current state of being. Why hadn't Umbridge outed her as the so-called conspirator? What game was she playing?

Hermione considered this as she distractedly watched Umbridge encouraging an unsmiling Professor Snape to stand for applause. Sitting beside him, Professor McGonagall's expression was austere, though that was hardly any different than usual.

It hit Hermione suddenly that Umbridge was keeping her name back as part of the scheme to uncover the rest of her accomplices. Umbridge must have been hoping that her unexpected offer would be too charitable to pass up, and that Hermione would immediately cave and reveal her friends in the hopes of easing her own punishment.

Indignation flared inside of her. If Umbridge thought she'd break already, then she was sorely mistaken.

But then another thought came — one that quelled her temper and dropped the bottom out from beneath her. Umbridge would certainly have Hermione carefully watched at all times now, likely monitoring anyone she spoke to or interacted with. Those who engaged with her would likely be some of the first to be questioned when Umbridge acquired more potion. How then, in good conscience, could she talk to anyone at all where others might see? Would she be unable to have even Harry and Ron at her side now?

Her stomach roiled; if she'd been hungry before, she certainly wasn't now.

When Umbridge had finished speaking, the luncheon began in earnest. Hermione felt a fresh surge of guilt when the first of four meticulously-crafted courses appeared on the table without prompting; the house-elves must have been up all night after cleaning the Great Hall to prepare today's meal.

As conversations started up around them, Harry's and Ron's questions came as expected. Hermione kept her eyes on her meal, trying to whisper without moving her lips that they'd have to wait — that she would explain later. She nearly kicked them under the table; if Umbridge cared to notice their attention, it might be taken as proof of their involvement — not that they could have known.

Harry and Ron refused to be deterred. Eventually, Hermione gave up responding at all, choosing instead to look elsewhere around the room.

The Slytherin table was a mistake — Lucius Malfoy was now whispering vehemently into Draco's ear. Draco was scowling, his eyes fixed on his half-emptied plate while Narcissa eyed both of them with concern. Lucius's cold, grey eyes flicked over to catch Hermione staring once again, and she looked away so quickly that her vision swam.

The Hufflepuff table was equally regrettable — Cedric Diggory was surrounded by his usual entourage of friends, but as she looked over, he, too, met her eyes with a frown marring his brow. She snapped her eyes over to the Ravenclaw table instead, deciding that studying the back of Padma Patil's head was the safest option at this point.

By the time the meal concluded, Hermione was certain she'd be able to copy Padma's intricate plait nearly strand for strand. Umbridge gave a few parting words, thanking everyone for a successful weekend and inviting those who wished to speak with her to the outdoor pavilion.

As soon as she felt could escape reasonably unnoticed in the throng, Hermione stood from the table and bolted from the Great Hall. Two pairs of footsteps followed behind, as she knew they would. She set a relentless place, not slowing until she'd gotten well out of the crowd. Near the end of the corridor, she darted into the broom closet beside Filch's office.

"Hermione, what in the name of Circe is going on?" Ron asked, pulling the door shut behind himself and Harry. "Why does Umbridge think Dumbledore had anything to do with yesterday?"

"I swear Umbridge kept looking right at us during that whole speech about the disruption last night, too," Harry added, looking worried as he tipped his glasses back into place.

"Just me," Hermione clarified, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear. "Listen, Harry, this is about what Dumbledore needed last night..."

She proceeded to give Harry and Ron a brief retelling of events since they'd separated from Dumbledore's office the night before. Their shocked expressions hit harder than expected. They made to interrupt her several times, but she shushed them with an impatient wave of her hand, wanting to just get through it all.

"And lastly," Hermione said, furiously swiping at a tear trailing down her cheek, "Umbridge confiscated my wand until such time as she sees fit to return it."

At that, Ron slammed a fist against the wall and swore. Harry put his face in his hands.

"That horrible, evil hag!" Ron shouted, his angry pacing now making the tiny closet seem even smaller. "And what was Dumbledore thinking, sending you off like some sort of sacrifice? Why didn't he fix it himself? Umbridge already thinks it was his fault in the first place."

Hermione sniffed, dabbing the last of the wetness from her face with the sleeve of her robes. "I told you — the only reason Umbridge thinks that Dumbledore was involved at all is because I slipped up near the end. I'd imagine that Dumbledore can't have her knowing that he is personally visiting the school — whatever he's doing here must be important. At least this way, she thinks he was only acting through me." She took a deep breath. "And like I said before, I'm the only one of us with any measure of proficiency with Occlumency. Umbridge had Veritaserum. It had to be me. Even then, I wasn't able to resist the effects entirely until—"

"This is all my fault Hermione," Harry suddenly moaned, voice muffled until he pulled his head out of his hands. "It was my idea. I'm the reason we had to ruin the demonstration. I'm going to Umbridge straightaway and turning myself in. You heard her, she'll lessen the punishment—"

"Harry, no!" Hermione cried. "If you do that, this will all be for nothing. It's a death sentence for you." Harry groaned miserably, pulling at his already-mussed hair. "And don't believe Umbridge," she continued, "there's no way she's going to reduce the sentence now. It has to be this way—"

"I can, though," Ron interrupted, a look of grim determination in his expression. "I can turn myself in, too. I'm not letting you do this alone, Hermione—"

"No, Ron, you can't!" Hermione pleaded, both touched and exasperated by the stubbornness of her two best friends. "Anyone who turns themselves in now will be interrogated by Umbridge as soon as she gets her hands on more Veritaserum. You're probably already on the short list for that, though perhaps you'll be protected because of Percy's position..."

Ron shook his head, muttering something under his breath about what he'd like Percy to do with his position.

"As horrible as this is, we can't let anyone else get involved," Hermione argued, glad for her renewed rage against Umbridge to keep the even more terrible sense of despair at bay. "I'm more than grateful to the both of you for wanting to help, but there's nothing you can do without making it worse. Dumbledore trusted me with this, and though it may not be quite what he expected, I'm going to see it through."

A silence fell over the broom closet as her words sank in. She refrained from mentioning Dumbledore's parting words to her, as the whole idea seemed quite ludicrous in the light of day.

"What will we tell everyone else?" Harry finally said, not quite meeting her eyes. "Umbridge may have not called you out on it, but they'll figure it out eventually."

Hermione chewed her lip as she mulled it over.

"He's right, you know," Ron added. "It's not going to take Merlin to put two and two together when you suddenly don't have a wand during classes and you're spending your nights scrubbing the castle."

"Then you'll just have to tell them the truth," Hermione settled on. "Bring Cedric into the P.A. and let him know to be careful. Let him know what's at stake. We know we can trust him."

"And where will you be?" Harry asked with a frown, folding his arms over his chest.

"Keeping my distance. For now," she added as Ron opened his mouth again. "I think it's best that I interact with you all as little as possible until Umbridge has cooled down a bit."

Ron scoffed. "Not bloody likely. You heard her today — the whole 'we'll find you' rubbish. She won't be satisfied until she thinks she's got us all."

"We're not going to abandon you just so Umbridge isn't suspicious of us," Harry said, his mouth now a hard line.

Hermione sighed. "Harry, it's the only—"

"No," he cut in firmly, eyes flashing as he met her own. "It's not happening, Hermione. According to you, she's already suspicious anyway. We'll just have to be careful. We can... I dunno... we'll watch what we eat and drink in case it's laced with Truth Potion—"

"Or," Ron began, looking thoughtful, "we could all carry a vial of antidote on us."

Hermione was momentarily stunned into silence. She opened and closed her mouth twice before managing a response.

"Um, yes, that's actually a wonderful idea, Ron, but... it's exceedingly difficult to make—"

"Since when has that stopped you?" he asked, his blue eyes serious on hers.

She flushed slightly, Ron's unwavering confidence in her a balm to her bruised heart.

"I suppose I could try..."

"We'll help you, of course," Harry put in, "it'll be just like second year. Except we can't use Myrtle's bathroom if she's running off with tales to Umbridge. Lucky for us, we have the Room of Requirement now."

Ron clapped Harry on the back. "Brilliant, mate. We'll get started right away." He looked to Hermione. "Harry was already planning to call an emergency P.A. meeting for tonight, so we'll just stick around after that?"

"I doubt I'll be able to make it," Hermione said, heart sinking at the thought of her first detention for Umbridge. Though arrangements hadn't yet been made, Umbridge wasn't liable to forget even a single day of punishment.

Harry and Ron shared a look. "Don't worry, Hermione," Harry said. "I reckon it's about time we did some of the research anyway, yeah? We'll start gathering the ingredients."

Overcome with emotion, Hermione smiled weakly at the pair of them, pulling each of them down by their necks for a fierce hug. Harry grunted while Ron patted her back reassuringly, both of them drawing her in just as tightly as she was holding to them.

"I feel like even more of a git now for being angry with you when Dumbledore kept you behind," Harry said in her ear.

They broke apart and Hermione gave a watery chuckle in answer.

Where before it felt that she'd drown in her anguish, there was now a miniscule sliver of hope. The future was bleak, yes, but maybe she didn't have to face it all alone.

Harry suddenly checked his watch, announcing that he and Ron needed to get going. As no one on the Gryffindor team had family visiting for the luncheon today, Angelina had called them together for an impromptu Quidditch practice.

"She's just as obsessed as Oliver," Harry said apologetically, "but about ten times as terrifying."

Ron nodded vigorously at Harry's shoulder.

"It's fine," Hermione assured them as they let themselves out of the broom closet, "I'd like to start getting ahead on my schoolwork anyway, seeing as I won't have as much time soon..."

"What are you going to do in class?" Ron asked as they walked back to the Great Hall. "A shame I handed over Nott's wand to Sirius last night... it'd have been better than nothing. Maybe we could ask the Order for one of the extras? Or, you can borrow mine anytime you want."

Hermione smiled thinly. "Thanks, Ron, but somehow, I don't think Umbridge is going to let that happen. If she caught me with a wand now, I think I really would be expelled. I'm not risking losing it forever."

After one last reassuring nod from each, Harry and Ron split off, leaving Hermione to ascend the Grand Staircase on her own. Before she reached it, a second-year Ravenclaw approached, handing Hermione a note that looked like it was written on a piece of lacy, folded up paper tea doily. And was that sickly sweet scent supposed to be perfume? Sure enough, the note was from Umbridge, detailing arrangements for Hermione's first of many detentions. She was to meet Filch in the Transfiguration corridor at two o'clock to begin clean-up from the demonstration disaster.

Hermione checked her recently-restored watch and sighed. Seeing as it was already a quarter till, there was no point in going upstairs. She was about to resign herself to meeting Filch early when a flash of white-gold caught the corner of her eye. At the end of the Entrance Hall, Lucius Malfoy looked around once before placing a hand on his son's shoulder and steering him into the nearest corridor. Draco still wore a scowl on his face, looking less than pleased at his father's manhandling.

One foot on the stairs, Hermione bit her lip, wavering between caution and curiosity. Somehow — despite everything she'd been through — curiosity won out. Glancing around the Entrance Hall to make sure no one was paying her any mind, Hermione crossed swiftly over to the corridor that Malfoy and his father had taken. She peeked around the corner, and, seeing no one, proceeded to tiptoe down it until the sound of voices reached her ears from an unused classroom partway down the corridor. The door was cracked, but just barely.

"—need to know what you could have possibly been thinking, Draco, to let the Mudblood girl keep it when you were through—"

"I wasn't thinking anything, Father, only that I wanted to be done with it and that it didn't matter—"

"It does matter, Draco," Lucius hissed back. "You have given away something not only imbued with a powerful enchantment, but with the essence of your magic. Our magic. It was strong enough that if I hadn't known better, I could have sworn you were only just across the room from me last night." Hermione nearly gasped aloud, only just now remembering that Lucius could feel the magic in her necklace. She covered the pendant with a hand, hoping that Draco's physical presence was enough to obfuscate whatever magical presence of his was exuded by the jewel. "If your mother had any idea what you've done—"

She could picture Malfoy throwing his hands up in exasperation as he broke in.

"Well then don't bother her with it! Granger isn't going to do anything with the gem. It means nothing to her."

Aghast, Hermione pressed her ear closer to the crack.

"That isn't the point, Draco. When I bestowed the ring of the Malfoy heir to you upon your fifteenth birthday, I thought that you were now responsible enough to make careful decisions for the good of the family. Clearly, I was mistaken."

"I've done everything you've asked of me, Father."

"Then why do you allow yourself to be put in such a position? With her, of all people? You know what our companions would think. Especially after what happened last summer. We could have lost everything. We nearly did — until the truth of it came out."

"She— I— I don't know. She's been sitting near me in classes. It just happened. It would have drawn more attention to fight it."

There was a pause before Lucius spoke again.

"I see."

Instead of angry, he sounded thoughtful.

"Now this..." Lucius continued slowly, "this is something else entirely. If the girl is infatuated with you, Draco, this could very well be another opportunity for us to make amends. After my actions yesterday, we are once again held in high regard, but to have an inside stream of information on Potter..."

Another beat of silence.

"What would you have me do?" Draco finally replied, his words crisp.

"Use the opportunity to grow close to her — earn her trust. It will be a difficult task after our encounter yesterday, but there is plainly a certain level of infatuation already working on our side."

Someone cleared their throat.

"Father, you would have me consort with her? With a Mug— a Mudblood? After this whole lecture about doing just that?"

"You don't need to return her affections, Draco," Lucius replied, a sneer in his voice. "In fact, I forbid it — as if I need worry about such a thing. But yes — in private — you are to return a similar level of interest. Just enough to be taken into confidence."

"I'll consider it," Draco said stiffly.

"You'll do it," Lucius corrected. "It is imperative that we remain in his good graces — our family's security depends on it. When I return, I will inform our allies of this possible development, so that that your intentions will not again be mistaken for betrayal. And recover the jewel as soon as possible." A dull thud echoed into the corridor. "Your mother will be waiting. She is speaking with the Headmistress now, who writes me that you have been invaluable to the new—"

Panic shot through Hermione at the sudden sound of footsteps inside the room, and she scrambled away from the door and down the corridor as quietly as she could manage. She was able to slip around the corner and into the girl's lavatory before Malfoy and his father passed by, pace unhurried as they continued their conversation about Draco's role as both a prefect and a member of the Inquisitorial Squad. She breathed a sigh of relief when their steps faded, only to panic again when she checked her watch.

Precisely one minute late, Hermione skidded around the corner of the Transfiguration corridor to see Filch, wearing his moth-eaten tailcoat, waiting with a stony expression.

"A minute late stays an hour later," he said hoarsely, lips stretching in a thin smile as Hermione grimaced. "Per the Headmistress."

Filch then hobbled over to collect a bucket of soapy water and a sponge, depositing them at her feet. He nodded to a length of wall and floor marred by thousands of tiny soot marks. "You're to scrub until they're gone. Only a twenty minute break for dinner, mind you. And if you don't finish before curfew today, it'll be the same tomorrow. Mrs. Norris or I will be by to check on your progress every so often, so no dawdling."

Levelling her with a final, flinty sort of look that set his jowls aquiver, Filch turned and limped off in the other direction, muttering something under his breath about Peeves and bits of chalk. Hermione errantly wondered whether Peeves had been up all night causing trouble for Filch — the luncheon today would have been another prime opportunity for mischief.

As if Summoned by her thoughts (or perhaps Filch's departure), Peeves the Poltergeist suddenly floated out of the wall ahead, stretching his tiny arms up as if he had indeed just woken from a deep slumber. He spotted her mid-yawn, and his mouth curved into a wide smile.

"Say, what have we here?" he cackled, eyes glittering as he bobbed overhead. "Granger's been naughty and then she got caughty, is it?"

"Yes," Hermione replied simply, rubbing absently at a spot on her chest and raising an eyebrow at him.

Peeves narrowed his eyes at her. Then he blew a raspberry.

"Carry on, then!" he announced loudly, sticking his tongue out once for good measure before zooming away, rattling through suits of armour as he went.

Shaking her head in resignation, Hermione dropped to her hands and knees and got to work, her body automatically performing the tedious task of cleaning while her mind began the far more interesting task of dissecting the conversation she'd overheard between Draco Malfoy and his father, over and over again.

C/W: brief talk of suicidal ideation