Chapter Seven

A/N: All fully italicized text comes from JKR's Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Everything you recognize is hers. I make no money. Thanks, always, to my wonderful beta, Shellsnapeluver.

Lavender, thank Merlin, had finally made her move. It had happened, Hermione supposed, sometime during those lost two days in which she had toiled over the body of Professor Snape. It was fortunate in more ways than one, as Ron would have little interest, now, in where she had been or what she had been doing that weekend. In fact, he seemed to have little interest in anything except examining Lavender's tonsils from the look of him as she passed them in the hall on her way back to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione felt a sharp twinge of jealousy when she saw them together, but it quickly resolved itself into relief. It was simply one less thing to worry about.

Harry showed little more interest in her whereabouts than Ron had done. He seized her arms, directing her to the couch upon her return, seeming not to notice the pallor of her skin, the bags under her eyes, or the thin scar that now bisected her right eyebrow. Dumbledore had erased the bruising and mended the gash above her eye. He had even thought to freshen her clothes and tidy her hair with a spell before she returned, but he could not erase the bone weariness that she felt as her friend prepared to unburden himself to her.

"Hermione! Where have you been? I met with Dumbledore this morning!"

She gathered up the last of her reserves of strength--funny, she had thought them gone--and prepared to listen. "You did? What happened?"

"He showed me Voldemort--as a child!"

"In the Pensieve?"

"Yes! He was an orphan. Dumbledore went to the orphanage himself to give him his letter--"

As Harry related the contents of Dumbledore's memory, Hermione willed herself to pay attention. This was intelligence she would need to remember and guard as surely as she would have to guard the secrets of Professor Snape. Suddenly, she felt very young and small, defenseless against the Dark Wizard that threatened and controlled their lives.

So he, too, had once been a child, orphaned like Harry, and raised in a loveless place. It seemed impossible that the young man Harry was describing, no matter how cruel and cold, could have grown into something so inhuman. How would they ever defeat him? It felt like madness to try. There was a part of her that wanted to throw down her wand and go home, to pretend this had all been a long and sometimes wonderful dream. But then she looked at Harry's serious face, so lovely and familiar to her but bearing the mark of that hateful bastard. She thought of Professor Snape, tortured and beaten, but still human, still fighting.

I will never give up, she thought fiercely. If it kills me, I will see him destroyed. And I will get you both out of this alive.

"Hermione?" Harry said. "You seem a million miles away."

"I'm fine," she replied. "Just thinking about you. You were an orphan, too. No one showed you how to be decent or true or kind. And yet here you are."

"I don't like to think of it, the ways that we're the same," he said.

"You're not the same," she said. "You couldn't be more different." And then, perhaps because she was so tired, she began to cry a little.

"Hermione!" Harry said, alarmed.

"It's okay, Harry," she said, wiping her eyes. "I think I just need to have a lie down. It's been an awful lot to process."

"Is it--are you upset about Ron?"

"Ron?" she asked.

"Well, erm, Ron seemed to think that you might be upset about him and Lavender."

"Is there something I should know about Ron and Lavender?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

"I guess... after the match... well, they've become something of an item."

She tried to look thoughtful. "Ron and Lavender? I guess I can see it."

"But you're not upset?"

"Why would I be upset?"

"Well, it's just... Ron said you had a bit of a crush on him."

"Ron said I had a bit of a crush on him?" Well, that was just humiliating. How long had he known?

"Look, don't be mad, Hermione. He was just worried that you--"

"Ron said I had a bit of a crush on him?" And then the bastard felt sorry for her? Unbelievable. She shot up from the couch.

"Crap. Hermione. Obviously, I've stuck my foot in it somehow. Just forget I said anything."

"Thought I had a bit of a crush on him, did he? Well, he couldn't have been more wrong. And just to show him how completely fine it is with me if he wants to suck the face off Lavender Brown, I think I'll ask Cormac McLaggen to the Christmas party."

"Don't. Come on--Hermione!" Harry yelled as she spun on her heel and took off for the steps to the girls' dormitory.

***

It was a terrible idea, of course. Nothing could have convinced Ron more completely that she was pining away over him, which infuriated her every single time she saw him. And now she had McLaggen to outrun every few minutes. You couldn't have just said, "Why on Earth would he have thought that?" she asked herself angrily as she yanked a comb through her curls. When she had taken out enough of her frustration on her hair, she took out her wand and charmed it smooth again, twisting it into a loose chignon.

She stepped into the green, silken dress robes that her parents had sent for her birthday and admired herself in the mirror. Eat your heart out, Ron Weasley, she thought. Then she remembered McLaggen, who was probably already waiting for her at the foot of the steps and sighed. Maybe she should have put a bit less effort into her appearance tonight. She hardly needed anyone's "amorous intentions."

McLaggen was, in fact, waiting for her in the common room when she emerged from her dormitory. He took her in with a hungry look, and she had to fight not to turn and run back up the stairs. Merlin, what have you done, Hermione? she thought.

"Cormac," she said cordially.

"You look smashing," he said, and it was hard not to feel pleased. He offered her his arm, but she knew she could not touch him.

"Don't be silly," she said. "A witch in this day and age can walk without assistance."

He looked slightly put out, but walked beside her without further comment on the subject.

It was odd; she had spent so much of her time these last few years thinking of Ron, and when she had begun to fear that he would never return her feelings, she had taken up the habit of sizing up various wizards of her year as potential boyfriends. Now, she walked with McLaggen wishing only that he would somehow Disapparate on the spot. She tried to tell herself that it was because he was so arrogant--when she turned her attention toward him for a moment, she found that he was reliving various Quidditch triumphs, and she quickly resumed her own thoughts. But truly, she'd had little interest in any wizard since the beginning of the year. And a good thing, too, she told herself sharply. The last thing you need is to develop some silly crush. You're a married woman.

Married. The thought was still as foreign as eating snails. She tried never to think of it, as the notion made her feel as if she were suffocating.

"So, I grabbed his bat and hit the Bludger as hard as I could. Of course, I was still hanging upside down from my broom at the time, but--"

She sighed. This night could not end soon enough.

Professor Slughorn's office had somehow tripled in size since the last time she had seen it, and it was packed to the gills with adults and students in their Christmas finery.

"Could you get me something to drink?" she asked McLaggen, frantically scanning the room for Harry and Luna. When he had disappeared into the crowd, she began edging along the wall to the left, hoping to run into someone she knew.

"Miss Granger!" bellowed Professor Slughorn, seizing her arm and pulling her into a circle that included Glenog Jones of the Hollyhead Harpies; Arsinius Jigger, the famous Potioneer; and, rather improbably, Professor Trelawney. "This is Hermione Granger," he said. "She's a dear friend of Harry Potter, you know, and quite the student! They say she's the brightest witch to come through Hogwarts in two decades!"

Hermione blushed and froze, having no idea how to enter the conversation after such an announcement. "How do you do?" she said politely, but just then Slughorn reached into the crowd and seemed to pull Harry from thin air. He was grasping Luna's hand tightly and had a fixed smile on his face.

"And here's the wizard we've all been talking about!" he crowed. "Harry Potter! So glad you could join us, my boy!"

Harry shook hands all around and then leaned toward Hermione. "Where have you been?" he whispered. "Slughorn keeps parading me about like a circus animal. I've lost Luna twice already!"

"I've been ducking McLaggen," she replied. "He's been trying to get me under the mistletoe all night. When he's not talking about Quidditch, that is."

"I still don't see why you had to ask him--" Harry began, but Hermione was already slipping through the crowd, squeezing between two enormous witches who were screaming with mirth. She had seen McLaggen making for Harry, so she headed for the doorway, only to be confronted by Argus Filch leading Draco Malfoy by the ear.

Almost everyone in the vicinity stopped what they were doing to watch as Filch deposited Draco in front of Professor Slughorn. "I found him in the upstairs corridor," Filch said. "Says he's been invited to your party, though he looks a bit underdressed."

"All right, I wasn't invited!" Draco said angrily. "I was trying to gate-crash, happy?"

Hermione recognized the commotion as an excellent opportunity for escape and slid out the door, hurrying down the hall. She doubted she could get away with leaving entirely; it would require too many apologies and explanations later on. If only she could find someplace to hide out for a bit, but the classrooms were sure to be locked at this hour. Then she remembered. My home, your home. Snape's office was only a few doors away. If the wards would admit her...

They did. She slipped into the office, shutting the door behind her, and found that now that she was in the office, she had no idea what to do with herself. She could hardly sit in his chair, though the thought of sitting at his desk amused her. She crossed the room to examine Snape's bookshelves. The man himself hadn't spoken a civil word to her since the afternoon that Dumbledore had relieved her of her nursing duties, though he had assigned her no further detentions. If only he would give her access to his books... it seemed the least he could do, and there were so many interesting volumes here that she had never seen in the library... She let her hand skim over the spines, enjoying the feel of the worn leather bindings beneath her fingers. Just then she heard footsteps, and panicking, she ducked behind Snape's desk.

Her heart seemed to be trying to beat its way out of her chest. There was only one person in the world who could be coming through that door. The question now was whether she should reveal herself immediately and hope that he didn't kill her or--

"...cannot afford mistakes, Draco, because if you are expelled--"

Bugger! she thought. That answered that question. She would be trapped here, hiding beneath his desk. She could not show herself in front of Malfoy. He would know that she had somehow breached Snape's wards. As quietly as she could, she Disillusioned herself, grateful beyond belief that she had mastered wordless spell casting.

Her blood was pounding so hard in her ears that it was difficult to hear at first. Snape and Malfoy seemed to be arguing, though she could not make sense of their words.

"What thoughts are you trying to conceal from your master, Draco?"

"I'm not trying to conceal anything from him. I just don't want you butting in!"

Him. Harry had been insisting for months that Malfoy had joined the Death Eaters. Perhaps now she would have to admit that he was right, as unthinkable as that seemed. How could someone she knew, someone she had shared classes and meals with, take the Dark Mark? It didn't matter that she disliked Draco; she disliked a great many people--Cormac McLaggen included--but she wouldn't expect them to join Voldemort. Even though she knew she should abhor him, what Hermione felt in those moments was an incredible surge of pity. Poor Draco. How long before he knows what he has done?

"Listen to me," said Snape. "I am trying to help you. I swore to your mother I would protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco--"

At his words, everything inside her went dark. The Unbreakable Vow. Her mind was a thick and hissing expanse of black. She glanced down, as if to check that she still existed, and was unsurprised to find that she saw only the floor. Snape had made an Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa Malfoy. The rigid posture she'd been maintaining fell away, and she slumped into a heap and closed her eyes. No.

From the deep recesses of her mind, Dumbledore spoke. I would need to believe that your faith in him would not be broken, no matter what he had to do to leave the Order. I would have to be confident that you understand perfectly that all Professor Snape does, he does for the Light... But did he know? Whatever it was that Snape had promised--and it was clearly to do with Draco's orders from Voldemort--did Dumbledore know? Was he betraying them? What had she married?

"What does it matter?" Malfoy was saying, "Defense Against the Dark Arts--it's all just a joke, isn't it, an act? Like any of us need protecting against the Dark Arts--"

"It is an act that is crucial to success, Draco!" said Snape. "Where do you think I would have been all these years, if I had not known how to act?"

Her heart felt twisted and burned. She had not realized how much she had come to rely on Snape, how her mind had somehow stretched to accommodate their bond, however strange. Now, she felt like a kite untethered, set adrift from things she had held true.

You don't know, she babbled silently to herself. You don't know. He said himself he's an actor; maybe he's acting! Perhaps Dumbledore has sent him to find out Draco's plan... But why wouldn't he know Draco's plan if he was spying on the Death Eaters?

She heard the click of the door shutting as Snape and Draco left his office, presumably to return to the party. She would have to go back, too. She could not hide out here. What had Snape told her? The rest of our lives are predicated on this charade and you must cope.

Hermione rose shakily and removed the Disillusionment Charm from her body. Smoothing her dress, she strode from Snape's office, head held as high as she could manage under the circumstances.

When she reentered Professor Slughorn's office, the dancing had begun. McLaggen was standing anxiously by the door, apparently waiting for her return.

"There you are! I was beginning to think you'd run out on me!"

"Oh, no. You know... the loo..." she said vaguely.

"Would you like to dance?"

She knew that she could not allow him to touch her, and yet she had no more energy for evasion. And besides, she was feeling a bit rebellious. Who was Snape to dictate rules? It was clear he hadn't been holding Malfoy to any.

"Certainly," she said, offering him her hand.

McLaggen led her to the recently cleared dance floor and put his arms around her. The band played a foxtrot, and Hermione found herself being led about by a rather bumbling, though enthusiastic, partner. As he twirled her around the floor, her thoughts drifted back to Snape's office. What on earth was Malfoy planning? Hermione wondered about the prudence of speaking to Harry on the subject. Not only was Harry predisposed to believe the worst where Snape and Malfoy were concerned, she'd have to think of a way to explain how she had come to be in Snape's office. And then... what if by alerting Harry (and Dumbledore by proxy) she endangered Snape in some way? She sighed and closed her eyes.

When McLaggen took a faltering step to the left and stopped, she opened her eyes and found herself staring directly into the black eyes of Professor Snape.

"May I?" he said, extending his right hand. The left was tucked into his sleeve.

"Professor Snape..." McLaggen said uncertainly.

"Indeed," Snape said. "Miss Granger?"

"Um... yes, of course." Quaking slightly, she took Snape's hand and was surprised to find that he folded her into his arms with ease, quickly leading her into a waltz.

"Shall I assume that you've chosen to allow that bumbling fool to touch you because you are in distress over what you just heard in my office?" he said, sotto voce.

"What? I--"

"Don't bother denying it. And should you decide to try my patience by exposing the ring again, kindly do so when we are not in a room full of people."

"Yes, sir," she said. "Though, if you wished to be inconspicuous, I would not have recommended dancing. People are staring."

"Let them stare. There are matters we clearly need to discuss. I will dance with Professor McGonagall next, then Professor Sprout, and then, perhaps, the bizarre Miss Lovegood. No one will remember anything but the fact that I danced."

"Your colleagues may not notice anything amiss, but I can assure you, Harry will."

"Consider it tit for tat, Miss Granger. You've inconvenienced me, and now you, too, will be inconvenienced. And while we're on the subject of indiscretions, your snooping has trapped you in quite the conundrum, has it not? Either you trust me and say nothing of what you've heard, concealing what is perhaps my treachery, or you run to Dumbledore and, in doing so, prove to him that you have already failed at what he asked of you."

Hermione could think of no cutting reply to this, as he had quite succinctly outlined the problem as she saw it. "I wasn't snooping," she said, glowering at him.

He took a sharp turn, and she followed, her dress floating out behind her. "No?" he said. "What would you call invading someone's private office without his prior knowledge or consent?"

"I was trying to escape McLaggen," she said. "So as not to inconvenience you."

"And have you considered how shabbily you've treated poor Mr McLaggen? First, you invite him to this party, I assume to enrage the Weasley boy; then you spend the evening running from him, only to launch yourself into his arms the moment you are discomfited? How very... Slytherin... of you, Miss Granger."

She felt herself coloring. She hadn't thought of it quite that way. "Heaven forbid his feelings be hurt," she retorted. "Shall I go and snog him to make up for my dreadful behavior?"

"I think not," Snape said. "At the moment, I am intent upon making sure that our... contract... is intact."

"Well, sir, if you would just explain--"

"Why should I explain myself to you? You heard something that is none of your concern, and now you've worked yourself into a tizzy over it. I see no need to comfort those who--"

"I don't need comfort; I just need to believe that--"

"What you believe is of not the slightest consequence to me. I am interested in what you are willing to keep to yourself."

"Give me one reason why I should."

"Oh, I can do better than that, Miss Granger. I'll give you three. First," he dipped her slightly as he turned on his heel, "and this should be the most important--because you made a promise. Second, because you don't understand what you heard. And third," he whispered, leaning in close to her ear, "because I am on your side, you insufferable little twit."

Despite his words, her hand tightened in his. The music was picking up, and he was leading her faster and faster around the room. She tried to weigh the pros and cons of the situation, but it was so hard with the music and the dancing and his breath on her neck. Perhaps that was what he intended. She thought she caught a glimpse of Harry's incredulous face as she spun. Snape was right, of course. She had promised. And Dumbledore believed in him, she was sure of it; otherwise, he would have never asked her....

"Shall I take your silence for compliance?"

"Yes, sir," she said quietly, though she thought, For now.

"Very well. Professor Dumbledore has asked me to inquire as to your holiday plans."

"My holiday plans?"

"How charming it is when you repeat everything I say."

She glared at him but did not loosen her grip on his hand. "I had planned to go home to my family."

"That will not do."

"Pardon?"

"I am sure you have realized that as a Muggle-born and a friend of Potter, the Dark Lord has taken a special interest in you."

She paled slightly and waited for him to continue.

"Dumbledore feels it would be best if you remained at Hogwarts for the holidays, both for your own protection and to put some distance between yourself and your family."

"But, why would I--"

"Your first lesson in duplicity, Miss Granger, is this: you must appear to abhor that which you hold most dear. It is the only way to keep it safe."

The music ended, and she stepped out of Snape's grasp.

"What shall I tell the Headmaster?"

"Tell him I'll stay."

"Good. We'll discuss this further then," he said and left her standing, dumbfounded, in the middle of the dance floor.

"Minerva," he said smoothly, "would you care to dance?"

You must appear to abhor that which you hold most dear. Snape's words echoed in her mind as Harry approached her from behind.

"Hermione," he hissed. "What in bloody hell was that?"