Chapter Sixteen

A/N: All fully italicized text and anything else you recognize belongs to JKR. Thanks and hugs to my wonderful beta, Shellsnapeluver.

"... and the first thing that came to my mind was Sectumsempra, from the Prince's book," Harry said, sinking onto one of the couches in the common room and letting his head fall into his hands. "So, I used it."

Ron was leaning forward with interest, though Hermione could tell simply by Harry's tone and his blood-spattered robes that whatever had happened had been very bad indeed and that he had been severely punished for it.

"So, what happened?" Ron asked as Hermione said, "You used a spell from the Prince's book? And you didn't even know what it did?"

"It--it was bad. It cut him. There was all this blood--"

Ron went silent, but Hermione felt close to fainting. If Harry had hurt Draco--badly enough to stop him--

"Is Draco all right?" she asked quietly.

"What? Yes, Malfoy's fine. Snape burst in--"

"So, Snape was nearby," Ron said. "What was Malfoy doing in that bathroom? Do you suppose it was part of their plan?"

"Dunno," Harry said, "When I got there, Malfoy seemed really upset... like he might have... like he might have been crying."

Crying? She filed that away for later speculation.

"Poor ickle Malfoy," Ron began.

"Of course, Professor Snape was nearby," Hermione interjected angrily. "His office is just down the corridor from that bathroom. What did he do?"

"He gave me detention every Saturday for the rest of the term," Harry said dejectedly, and Ron gasped.

"No, Harry," Hermione said in a tone meant to convey that she felt his punishment was lenient at best. "What did he do for Draco?"

"Oh. Well, he ran over and used his wand to mend the gashes... and he sang a kind of incantation..."

"He sang?" Ron said incredulously.

"Yes, he sang," Hermione shot back. "Most counter-curses to heal wounds are sung. We learned that last term in Defense, but I guess you weren't paying attention. Don't feel you need to learn anything new now that you've got the Prince's bloody book, I suppose."

"Hermione," Ron said, "do you think you could give it a rest about the book?"

"You're going to defend that book when Harry nearly killed--"

"Look, I didn't mean to, all right? You know I wouldn't've used a spell like that, not even on Malfoy, but you can't blame the Prince, he hadn't written 'try this out, it's really good'--he was just making notes for himself, wasn't he, not for anyone else..."

Hermione relented momentarily. "I know you wouldn't, Harry, but this is serious. You could have been expelled! You could have killed Malfoy! You're lucky that Professor Snape was there."

"I know," he said. "But Malfoy's all right. Snape sorted him out--healed the wounds, you know, and took him up to the Hospital Wing. Said if he took Dittany it probably wouldn't even scar..."

Suddenly, in Hermione's head, the other shoe dropped. In Defense that day, when he'd cursed Harry... Levicorpus... Potions book... 'My father was a Muggle'... the counter-curse to Sectumsempra... Snape was the Half-Blood Prince.

"... anyway, it's hidden now. But I'm going back for it as soon as it's safe."

Hermione snapped out of her reverie. "What's hidden?"

Ron looked at her as if she had just suggested trying out for the Quidditch team. "The Prince's book," he said slowly as if she were hard of hearing.

"Wait--back up, sorry. I was thinking, and I've clearly missed something. Why did you hide the book?"

"Because Snape asked for it! He saw it in my mind--he knew that's where I'd learned the curse!"

"Professor Snape performed Legilimency on you?" she said. Privately, she doubted that he'd needed to. This new information only confirmed what she suspected. He knew where it had come from because he'd put it there himself.

"Yes! And you know I'm rubbish at Occlumency. He found the book in my mind right away."

Or he saw it in your guilty face, she thought. "Where did you hide it?" she asked.

"In the Room of Requirement. You should have seen it--it was brilliant, really. Loads of stuff hidden in there... books, furniture, potions, dead animals and things... I had to mark where I left the book, or I'd have never found it again. I put a wig and a tiara on an old statue..."

Ron laughed at Harry's description, but Hermione's mind had gone far away again. Snape's book. It was Snape's book. She'd always disdained the thing, but now she was kicking herself. She could have learned so much more from him. The idea of truly learning to brew from Snape--not the ridiculous bat who taught in the dungeons, but Snape himself--was intoxicating. And something Harry said had stuck in her mind, For all we know, he was making a note of something that had been used against him! What if there was some glimpse, between the lines of those pages, of the young man that he had been?

There, too, she might find something of what they needed, something to prepare them to hunt Horcruxes. For Harry had finally had success with Slughorn just after Ron had been released from the infirmary. He had taken a swig of the Felix Felicis and somehow... It all comes down to that book, she interrupted herself. Everything, all of it, down to Snape. Without the book, Harry would never have won the Felix Felicis in the first place... Slughorn had admitted that he had spoken to a young Tom Riddle about the horrible invention. Hermione shuddered. To split your soul... just to think about it was an abomination. And yet, Dumbledore believed that Voldemort had done it six times.

A seven part soul... It was nearly as unthinkable as the idea that the three of them would leave school to hunt down and destroy the damnable things. Harry hadn't seemed to have made the leap of logic that had them on the run yet--but then, he hadn't had Snape's lessons to guide his thinking. Hermione realized that she had better start planning for all three of them. There was so much to work out before the end of the school year.

***

Hermione sat in her bed, curtains drawn, laying out her lists around her. First, things that they would need: her books, of course, and clothing for all three of them. Medical supplies. Potion ingredients. Her expanded bag. Something to live in... perhaps a tent? She wondered what had become of the one they'd stayed in during the Quidditch World Cup, and made a note on the parchment to discreetly ask about at the Burrow, provided they made it to the Burrow before they left. Cooking pots--perhaps she could nick some from her parents? Failing that, the kitchens...

The second list contained things she would need to research. What, exactly, was a Horcrux? How did one go about making one? Slughorn's memory had suggested a spell. And how were they destroyed? Dumbledore's list of Horcruxes had included: the diary; the ring; Hufflepuff's cup; Slytherin's locket; the snake, Nagini... and something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's. The diary and the ring were destroyed, but there were still so many left to find. So, she should do some research on what relics, if any, the famous founders had left behind.

Thirdly, their families. Harry's family, though she hesitated to think of them as such, would need protection, but she thought she could count on the Order to move the Muggle family to some sort of safe house. Dumbledore would make Harry's peace of mind, even where the Dursleys were concerned, a priority. But what of her own family? It was clear that the three of them would not be allowed to speak to anyone about what they were doing. If Dumbledore would not even tell the Order that Snape was not betraying them, for fear that it would be tortured out of someone, it seemed logical that no one would be allowed to know where they were or what they were doing. Would he think to protect her family, a pair of Muggles that no one had ever met? She would have to see to it herself, just in case, and she made a note on the parchment to consult with Snape about it. And, of course, the Weasleys, who were already in such danger--the lot of them in the Order--such prime targets. She could not bear the idea that they would be subject to any further danger. Something would have to be done for the Weasleys.

Sitting there, surrounded by books and parchment, Hermione allowed herself to be truly paralyzed by fear for the first time. Oh, she had been afraid before, no question about that. More so every year, as Voldemort had become stronger and Dumbledore had revealed more and more of Harry's legacy to him. But she'd always been able to act--to cast a spell, to brew a potion, to start a club--there had always been something... well, something tangible and... dare she even think it?... age-appropriate to do. There was nothing appropriate about marrying her to her professor, nothing appropriate about sending three teenagers off to try to destroy a madman. Her heart raced. A madman who was damned near immortal. And she was armed with what? A disguise and a charmed bag? Surely, this could not be real.

She swept her lists up into a pile and shoved them under her bed. She could not bear to look at them, to see their bald truth in front of her any longer. She was beginning to feel lightheaded with panic. She wanted to use her ring, to call to Snape and make him comfort her, which was ludicrous, of course. She could not risk doing such a thing, and the very thought was an insult to the man who risked his life daily. Who was she to demand comfort, having suddenly discovered that it wasn't all a game? And yet, she wanted him, and senseless as it was, she felt that simply to look at him from across the room would slow the madly beating wings of her heart. It was a feeling she was growing used to, the sense that she needed to lay eyes on him.

She lay back and closed her eyes. She must sleep. She must. If she slept, it would be morning, and morning was breakfast in the Great Hall, and breakfast meant seeing Snape. But behind her closed eyelids, she saw her mother's face, her sweet mother who had not protested when Professor Sprout had showed up on the doorstep six years ago to explain that her daughter was a witch. Her mother, who had fought her father to allow her to come to Hogwarts at all, who never complained that it was all too difficult to keep under wraps, who never insinuated that perhaps she might find less... high-profile companions; her mother, who accepted her home each season with pride, though she could not understand her daughter's accomplishments. Though she tried to banish them, her mind filled with thoughts of masked intruders and cursed whips, her mother's screams, her father's broken body. She covered her face with her hands as if that would stop the terrible images that plagued her. She wouldn't even know when it happened. She would be far away, cut off, unable to help or to send help. No tears came to release the building feeling that all was lost. They were sure to fail--how could they succeed? They would be killed, all of them, Harry, Ron, her parents, Snape, herself. They would be captured, tortured, starved, broken. All their secrets discovered...

She sat up again and pulled out her notes once more. There would be no sleep tonight, that much was clear, and if she could not sleep, then she could work. Work would push the fear away. But the parchment sat untouched before her, and her thoughts drifted back to Snape's book. I put a wig and a tiara on an old statue, Harry's voice insisted in her mind. Even as she scolded herself--Snape had warned her about sneaking around the castle while Disillusioned--she was casting the charm. This is a completely asinine thing to do, she thought as she crept from her bed, sliding into her shoes. You're no better than the boys, sneaking around and breaking rules. And for what? She eased the door to her dormitory open, hardly breathing as she slipped through it. Each step she took down the winding staircase was punctuated by her insistence that she turn around. Acting like a child. Snape would be furious if he knew. This is what you do with his trust in you? Sure to be caught. Expelled, most likely, her mind insisted as she crept through the portrait hole.

"Who's there?" the Fat Lady called, and Hermione ran.

She barely touched the ground with her toes, not wanting to make a sound. Belatedly, she cast the Muffliato Charm on herself. What is wrong with you? Now you can't even hide properly? Use your brains! She ran up the stairs, allowing her mind free reign to castigate her, as at least it kept her panic at bay and her thoughts far from the torture of her parents. When she reached the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy, she wheeled around, thinking, I need to see Professor Snape's book. After three turns, no handle had appeared in the wall, and she thought of Harry, trying to get into the room that Draco used. He couldn't get in because he didn't know what that room was for, she thought wildly. I need to go where things are hidden. She spun and thought again, I need to go where things are hidden. Once more. I need to go where things are hidden. The handle appeared, and she seized it and hurried inside.

Though Harry had told her what he had seen in the room, she was completely unprepared for the scope of it. Furniture in varying states of disrepair was stacked almost to the ceilings. Chunky, congealed potions caked inside partially melted cauldrons littered every surface; scores of empty bottles; desiccated animal carcasses--Hermione wondered how, even with Harry's description, she would ever find the book amid all this junk. Broken statuary; slashed paintings, their inhabitants crouching miserably in untouched corners; snapped wands; tarnished jewelry... it would take years to sort through it all. She scanned the room, hoping futilely to see a statue wearing a wig and a--

To her left, there seemed to be a freshly cut path through the junk, and she followed it. Stacks of books and ancient broomsticks had been moved aside, and the dust here seemed thinner. She eagerly scanned the accumulated detritus, but all she saw at the end of the path was an old cabinet, which looked as if it had been dropped from a great height. No oddly dressed wizard statue. She returned, disappointed, to the center of the room to continue her search. It was difficult to tell where things might have been moved, as everything in the room seemed to be upended or somehow disturbed. But finally, just as she was ready to give it up as a bad job, she saw the statue she sought. She climbed over a magically graffitied bench--dozens of wizard swears moved unceasingly over its surface, flashing and changing color as they went--and reached the bust. At its base lay a worn copy of Advanced Potion Making.

Hermione ran her hand over the cover, almost expecting to feel some residual essence of Snape there, but it was, of course, just a book. She opened the cover and examined the words written in the precursor to the spiky scrawl she knew as her Professor's. Property of the Half-Blood Prince. She wanted to take the book and return to her dormitory, but thought better of it. Harry was sure to come back for it, and how would she explain? So she shoved aside a pile of mouldy robes and warped, swollen textbooks and settled herself the floor. She leaned back against a broken table and opened the book.

She flipped through the pages slowly, stopping to examine each modification and note in the margins. He'd been gifted from a very early age, she realized as she read. The were markings in a childish hand surrounding some of the more basic potions; one such note beside Boil Curing Potion read, Lacerate daisy roots before chopping. Seems to yield more juice. As he grew older, his notations became more cryptic. Beside Polyjuice Potion, he had written, Two turn c-clkw to a clkw impr clarity. Fascinating. If only she'd had his advice on her first brewing of the tricky potion.

She forgot Horcruxes and plans and strategies as she read, simply drinking in his expertise, until she reached the page that contained his notes on Sectumsempra. Nvbl. For enemies, it said in his tiny print. Nothing else. For enemies, whoever they might have been. She thought of Harry's lessons in Occlumency. For Sirius? Harry's father? Had he used this spell against them? Had he, by God, invented it? Hermione rarely allowed herself to consider the fact that Snape had joined the Death Eaters of his own free will. Yet, here was the evidence of a man who could wound with more than just his tongue. That night--and heat rose to her cheeks just thinking of it--that night that she had touched his Mark, she had only thought to see past it, to see through it to the man she knew beneath those horrible, beautiful robes. Who had he been the night that he took the Mark? She covered his writing with her palm and closed her eyes, picturing the boy he'd shown her with the Dissimulo Juvenis Charm. But when she looked into that face in her memory, she saw Snape's eyes looking back at her, the same ones that had bored into her own as he'd begged her to speak his name.

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by a grating hiss that made her heart stop in her chest. The door was opening.

She slid down soundlessly until she was lying flat on the cold, stone floor. The Disillusionment Charm was still upon her, and she raised an invisible hand before her face to confirm that she was hidden. She remained utterly motionless, barely breathing, as she waited to see who had entered the room.

"...does not answer the question of what business you have in the Room of Requirement at two o'clock in the morning."

Before she had even recognized the familiar snarl of Professor Snape, her nerves had begun to tingle with her awareness of him. Who was with him? Did he already know she was there?

Her question was answered by a petulant voice she knew immediately. "I could ask the same of you, Professor. I have business here. That's all you need to know. Let me be."

"Draco, surely you realize that the Dark Lord has told me of your cabinet."

"Why would he--?"

"Because he knows what you are apparently unable to comprehend. You need my help."

"I don't! It's already worked out--I have a contact--"

"Madam Rosmerta, I presume?"

Draco's voice was screechy with frustration. "Yes! So, I don't need you--"

"And if he chooses the Hog's Head instead?"

"He'd never--filthy place, no one wants to be seen there--"

"So, you are not aware that his brother Aberforth tends the bar at the Hog's Head?"

"I--" Draco sounded unsettled. Hermione rose to her feet as quietly as she possibly could. She wanted see the wizards who argued so quietly, to read the looks on their faces.

"Leaving alone the distinct possibility that he might leave the school without visiting a bar."

"But you said yourself he always does! The Dark Lord said--"

Snape tapped his wand repeatedly against his palm. "The Dark Lord wants you to fail, Draco. He wants to punish your father for his... indiscretions. He told me of your plan because he intends--"

Hermione was distracted from the rest of Snape's sentence as her ring had begun to burn furiously. She removed the circlet. GET OUT, it read. So, he did know. But how could she get out? If she opened the door, Draco would know she was there.

For a moment, she nearly decided to just make a run for it. Draco Malfoy had never stood a chance against her before. But then she looked into his face, and Hermione felt cold terror trickling through her limbs. She'd known Draco Malfoy since he was eleven years old, but she had never seen a look in his eyes like the one he currently wore. It was the look she had sought in her memory of Snape's young face, the ruthless and desperate look of a Death Eater. To Draco, this was not a dance; not a game; not an intricate, duplicitous plan. She and Snape plotted; Draco intended to kill. She could see it in his eyes as she stood there, and suddenly she had no urge whatsoever to run for the door. If he found her there, he would kill her; or he would try, and Snape would have to stop him, and his cover would be blown. She'd put all their lives at risk. Why had it seemed so important to see that book?

She crept silently toward them. For one heart-stopping moment, Draco seemed to turn and look right through her. She glanced wildly at Snape and thought she saw fear dart through his eyes, but then they were black with malice once more. She edged silently toward the bench that she had climbed over. There was no way to get out without crossing over it. She knew that she had better do it before she became too frightened to proceed, and so, taking a deep but silent breath, she hitched up her robes in one hand and stepped onto it. Snape's voice grew louder as she eased down the other side.

"... efforts heretofore have hardly inspired my faith in your abilities! The necklace, the mead... tangling with Potter today--you could have gotten yourself killed!"

"I don't care what you think! The Dark Lord has faith in my abilities! He trusted this to me, and when I kill--"

"Enough!" Snape thundered, charging toward the door where she stood, trembling, unsure how to slip out without being noticed. He flung the door open. "On your head be it, Draco. You know what the consequences will be if you fail."

Hermione ran through the door and ducked behind a suit of armor. Her heart beat in fits and starts; she could not seem to take a full breath. Snape slammed the door behind him and wrenched her from behind the armor in one fluid motion.

"Idiot child," he hissed, and there was no hint of affection behind the insult. "Clearly, I've given you too much credit. Just like your nasty, arrogant cohorts--unable to stay out of other people's business. I told you leave Draco to me."

"But, sir, I had no idea Draco would be in there--I didn't mean--"

"No? You were simply out for a stroll?"

She looked down at the book that was still clutched in one hand. His book. She tried to stuff it into her robes. He would be furious with her for invading his privacy.

"What are you hiding, Miss Granger?"

How did he know? His hand darted out and snatched the book from her grasp. As soon as it left her fingers, it was outside the charm's scope and was as visible as Snape himself. He looked from it to her with disbelief and scorn.

"Did Potter ask you to retrieve this?"

"No! Please, sir--I just wanted to--"

"To?"

"To see you."

"Get back to your room," he said coldly. "Much as I would dearly love to deduct the rest of Gryffindor's precious few house points, I want no record left that any of us were here tonight. For punishment, you will have the knowledge that your foolishness very nearly destroyed the Headmaster's plan, putting not only our lives, but the lives of everyone you know, at risk."