Chapter Thirteen

A/N: All fully italicized text, and anything else you might recognize, belongs to JKR. I write for fun, not money. Many thanks are owed for this chapter. I was lucky enough to get input from KingPig, Irishredlass, OpalJade and my tireless, wonderful beta, Shellsnapeluver. Thanks to all these brilliant ladies.

The weeks passed in a kind of fog through which a bright light seemed occasionally to shine. Hermione was as exhausted as she had been during her third year when she'd been using the Time-Turner, perhaps more so. When she was not in class, she was with Harry, trying to prevent him from tailing Malfoy; and when she was not with Harry, she was in the library, searching for information about Horcruxes.

Harry had set her to the task after one of his lessons with Dumbledore. It seemed the old wizard wanted Harry to get a memory from Professor Slughorn... a memory concerning Horcruxes. Whatever they were, Professor Slughorn hadn't wanted to admit that he knew anything about them, leading Hermione to believe that they were a bit of very Dark magic indeed. Hence, she sat in the Restricted Section, hour after hour, poring through Magick Moste Evile, which was singularly unhelpful. All she'd found so far was the assurance that the Horcrux was "the wickedest of magical inventions," which did not ease her mind. It seemed to her that Dumbledore, like some perverse Pied Piper, had been leading Harry down the same sort of path he had taken her down in September, a path filled with dark portents and cairns along the road that he would not stop to let them see, instead filling their heads with lofty ideals and bracing words. He was infusing Harry with purpose and strength, but for what? He hadn't even told him what they would be up against. And so, she searched.

Harry, for his own part, was far more interested in Snape and Malfoy and had bent Ron's mind to his way of thinking. The two of them were forever poring over the Marauder's Map, searching for Malfoy's little black dot. It was often missing. Hermione fretted silently over its absence, but she refused to track his movements with the same obsession that Harry and Ron did, resolving firmly in her mind to leave it to Snape.

The bright spots in her life, the ones in which she felt the most awake, were those she spent with Snape, though she saw him infrequently and almost never alone. Something had changed between them the night that she'd gone to warn him of Harry's determination to stop Malfoy's plan, and though she'd forbidden him to care for her, she knew that she could no more dictate his feelings than she could her own. When she passed him in the corridors, her heart would leap painfully in her chest, and she would duck her head to avoid his eyes. He attacked her viciously in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and yet, it seemed to her that his very vitriol was evidence of the change in his feelings.

Hermione had been terrified to attend the first Defense class of the new term. Snape had so unbalanced her in his office, first with his angry questioning and then with the look that he had given her, that naked vulnerability, and the way that he had said her name, that she had no idea what to expect from him. She feigned bravery, entering the classroom before the others and taking her usual seat. She did not fidget, nor pretend interest in her textbook, but sat calmly and quietly in her seat, waiting for class to begin.

The topic of the day's class had been Concealment Charms, at which, of course, she excelled. As the other students struggled to Disillusion themselves, she rendered herself invisible and crept quietly around the Gryffindors, whispering advice.

She had just sidled up behind Neville when Snape's voice rang out clearly across the classroom. "Miss Granger!"

Her head snapped up, though no one in the class could see it. She took a guilty step away from Neville.

Snape crossed the room in a predatory stance, and Neville cowed and began to back away. "Who were you speaking with, just now?"

Neville stammered that he hadn't been speaking with anyone, but Snape had already brushed past him, striding toward the place where Hermione was now standing. She began to move, ducking quickly down an aisle, heading toward the Slytherin tables, but he turned as she did, seeming to follow her every move.

"What good is invisibility, Miss Granger, if you make it obvious where you are?"

Hermione smiled to herself. He was using his sense of her to track her movements, making an example of her by using something of which only the two of them could possibly be aware. He would humiliate her, yes, just as he had to do. But he would do it by acknowledging this thing between them.

"Finite Incantatem!" he said, pointing his wand at what must have looked like empty space. When she suddenly appeared before them, the Slytherins chuckled nastily.

"Disillusionment Charms are useless if you carelessly forecast your position," he drawled. "You must be silent; you must be stealthy. Above all, you must be subtle. Which makes it a rather poor choice for Gryffindors, no matter how hard they have studied the spell."

Hermione knew he was goading her, perhaps hoping that she would take the bait and earn herself detention. He Disillusioned several students--herself, Malfoy, and Neville among them--and set them to the task of finding one another. No one exhibited the least aptitude for tracking, Hermione included. Instead there was a great deal of knocking about, tripping over things and suddenly slamming into invisible people, and Hermione recalled something that Dumbledore had once said to Harry, back in their first year: Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you. Still, the Disillusioned Defense professor had no trouble finding her, and she him, again and again. Sometimes he simply brushed her sleeve with his hand as he passed her. Several times he jabbed her with his wand, and once, one heart-stopping time, he seized a fistful of her hair. Her blood had pounded in her ears then, and she'd had to fight the urge grasp his arm and pull him toward her. But then he released her with a tiny shove, and she'd returned to searching for tell-tale signs of a Disillusioned person: a parchment rolling in a breeze seemingly caused by nothing, the scrape of a chair where there should have been none.

Snape swept the room with a finale Finite Incantatem, which revealed a number of sheepish students in various perches throughout the room. Neville was standing atop the Gryffindor table, looking both mortified and fearful, and Hermione, who had been lurking in a corner, crossed quickly to Ron and Harry.

"I suppose it's difficult to cheat, Miss Granger, when you cannot see your companions," Snape drawled. "Longbottom, do come down from that table. I shudder to think what will become of you outside these walls."

Hermione held her hand out to Neville, who clambered down from the table gracelessly, to the further amusement of the Slytherins.

"Contain yourself, Draco," Snape said rather unexpectedly. "Wasn't that you who fell over a chair? Funny, I hadn't noticed the furniture becoming invisible as well."

Hermione suppressed her smile, but the rest of the Gryffindors did not. Harry looked positively elated.

"Troubling," Snape said. "Troubling, indeed. Your NEWTs approach, and more important still, there is a war on. Yet the lot of you treat your own survival so carelessly." He swept across the room, robes billowing self-importantly, and Hermione did struggle not to smile then. The things which had most frightened her about him now seemed obvious and easy. He took a sharp turn, and she lost sight of him for a moment, imagining him practicing that intimidating swish of fabric. Suddenly, she was aware that he was near her, far too near her to be in public, and she snapped to attention just as he seized her from behind and drew his wand to her throat.

"What will you do now, Miss Granger?"

His left arm held her firmly, pinning hers to her side. She still had some range of motion with her wand arm, however. Careless, she thought, though he must have planned it that way.

"Let her go," Harry said, all amusement having vanished from his face. He took a step toward Snape.

"Temper, Potter."

Hermione looked at the determination she saw in Harry's face. No matter what Snape had insinuated, Harry took this seriously. He looked as she imagined he would if she were really held by a Death Eater before him. She felt two things in almost equal measure. First was a surge of love for Harry. He would fight, would stand up to anything, before he would see her harmed. Whatever they were about to embark upon, she would be safe with him. The second was fury that he could not see what Snape was providing him. Here, in total safety, he had the opportunity to think about how to respond should one of them be captured. Snape was training him as surely as he had trained her through the winter. Why was he so blinded by a carefully tailored robe and a sneer?

Hermione turned her right arm slightly, adjusting her wand minutely in her grasp as Harry raised his.

"Let her go," he repeated.

"Take another step, and I'll hex her."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?" Snape dug his wand rather painfully into her neck.

"Expe--"

"Harry, no! Expelliarmus would disarm me, too."

"Accio Sn--"

"Wordless, Harry, or not at all! He will kill me before you get the spell out!"

"Silence, Miss Granger."

She twitched her wand upward, thinking, Stupefy! and knew she'd hit her target when Snape froze around her. She eased herself out of his grasp and considered whether or not she should take his wand. This was only an exercise, of course, and he'd be furious if she disarmed him in front of his class... but hadn't the point been to treat this as if it were real? She slipped his wand from his fist before releasing him from the spell.

Snape blinked twice as he seemed to take stock of the situation. Quietly, so terribly quietly, he said, "My wand, if you please," holding out his palm implacably. She placed his wand in his hand, feeling suddenly short of breath. She waited for the deduction of house points and the detention that were sure to follow.

"I could have killed you three times over in the time it took you to shout instructions to your... friend."

She swallowed. He was right, of course, but it had been good practice. She only hoped Harry had learned something. She glanced over at him; he was all but quaking with rage.

"Harry," she began, but he was already advancing on Snape, wand raised. "Harry, stop!"

"How dare you?" he thundered. "This is Defense Against the Dark Arts, if you hadn't noticed! You have no right--"

"Harry!"

"No, by all means, continue, Potter. I have no right... to what?"

"To touch her!" Harry screamed, and Hermione flinched from his words, imagining how they must have sounded to Snape.

Snape, however, seemed unfazed. "Oh, I assure you, I have every right," he purred. "Fifty points from Gryffindor for your outburst, Potter. And I hope you can think of a better defense when it's your true enemies you are up against."

Fortunately, class ended, and Hermione managed to drag Harry from the dungeons.

"Digusting, greasy bastard!" Harry fumed as they climbed the huge marble staircase.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" Ron asked.

"I'm fine," she snapped. "He didn't hurt me. He was teaching."

"You call that teaching? He was terrorizing you! I'm going to Dumbledore. He can't get away with--"

"So, it doesn't matter how I felt about it? You get to tell me that I was terrorized? I'm grateful for what he did today, and you should be, too."

"Grateful?" Ron said. "Are you mental? Why should we be grateful?"

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps because he gave us the opportunity to imagine what we might actually do if one of us were captured? Because he showed me how to think clearly and use distraction to my benefit, even when I was afraid? What on earth should I feel grateful for?" She shot forward several steps, and the boys had to hurry to keep up with her.

"Yes, but if he'd said that then we might have--" Ron began.

"Do you imagine that Lucius Malfoy or Bellatrix Lestrange will take the time to warn you first? Mr Weasley, do pay attention, for I'm about to take your little friend prisoner. Whatever will you do?"

"You sound like him," Harry said with disgust.

The two of them could just bugger off. She was long past the point where she would take being compared to Snape as an insult.

"Good! I'm glad you think so, since he's the only person around here who is actually concerned about survival. Abstinence!" she yelled at the Fat Lady, who winced at her tone.

"Look, Hermione," Harry began.

"No, you look. You can hate him all you want to, Harry. You can call him names, and you can believe he's a traitor, and whatever else it is you need to do to keep from thinking about your real enemy. But I'm going to listen to him, and I'm going to learn from him. And we'll see who eats their words."

***

Things were chilly between her and Harry and Ron for several weeks. They still took their meals together, still sat together in their classes, and Hermione continued her round-the-clock search for information about Horcruxes, but a line had been drawn, and though none of them mentioned it again, they all knew that she stood on the opposite side of it.

The morning of Ron's birthday dawned dark and chilly, and Hermione rolled over in bed and made the barely conscious decision to sleep in. It was Saturday, and she'd been up until three a.m. searching the Restricted Section for mention of Horcruxes. Harry'd had no luck tricking Professor Slughorn in giving him the memory, mostly, Hermione thought, because he had been idiot enough to follow Ron's advice on the subject, and she was more than a little annoyed, as his inability to get the memory simply meant more late nights for her. Surely, they could survive breakfast without her. She'd just give Ron his present at lunch.

She snuggled deeper into her bedding and reached out with her mind for the lovely dream she'd been having. In it, she'd been dueling with Snape, and just as she'd raised her wand to hex him, he'd swept her into his arms and....

Her ring began to burn. Fuck. She wrenched the circlet from her finger and peered blearily into it.

Hospital Wing.

Hermione was out of bed in an instant, snatching up yesterday's jeans and stepping into them, jamming her shoes onto her feet. Oh, no. Oh, please, God, no. She threw on her robes as she raced down the stairs, tearing through the common room and diving through the portrait hole, only to find herself slamming smack into a familiar black waistcoat.

Snape took her firmly in both hands and set her on her feet. "Miss Granger," he said. "You look a fright."

"What? I thought--" She stopped herself. "What do you mean, Hospital Wing?" she hissed furiously.

"Weasley," he said shortly. "Poison. I realized I might have given you the wrong idea, so I came--"

"What happened? Is he all right?"

"I don't know the details, but he is stable at this time. Potter apparently learned something I tried to teach him and forced a bezoar down his throat. Madam Pomfrey is attending to him. I thought you would want to know."

"Yes, of course. Thank you."

She hurried toward the Hospital Wing, and Snape walked alongside her. "Sir, do you think that you had better--"

He looked at her oddly. "Indeed. I apologize for frightening you."

"No, don't apologize. I'm very grateful."

He said nothing but turned sharply down the next corridor. Well, that had been unfortunate. She hadn't meant... But it couldn't be helped. She could not waste time running after Snape with Ron poisoned. Her mind raced. Where could he have encountered poison? Her mind strayed involuntarily to Draco... if Snape was right, and Draco had been involved in the Katie Bell incident... She shoved the thought from her mind. Double blind. But if Ron were in danger, surely he wouldn't expect her not to--

Hermione burst into the Hospital Wing, where she found the Weasleys and Harry clustered around Ron's bedside.

"What's happened? I came as soon as I heard!" Belatedly, she realized that she could not tell anyone where she'd heard the news, but fortunately, no one questioned her.

She took a seat beside Harry and listened intently as he recited, for surely the hundredth time, his story, beginning with the Chocolate Cauldrons (I warned you! she couldn't help interjecting) and taking Ron to Slughorn's office. She had been about to make a snide comment about the inability of the Half-Blood Prince to help in brewing antidotes, but she caught herself when she realized that without that blasted Potions book, Harry would have never known how to save Ron's life. She settled on an ambivalent prayer of thanks to the Prince, whoever he was.

"But he'll be all right?" Hermione asked as Harry finished the story.

"Professor Slughorn and Madam Pomfrey think so," Harry said. "He'll have to stay a week or so... keep taking essence of rue..."

Hermione burst into tears. Her heart was still racing, and this was all simply too much. How had she become so distant from her friends? Looking back, she could see how these events had piled on one another--Romilda and those spiked chocolates, the cursed necklace, Ron's birthday, the Half-Blood Prince's book--everything made a horrible kind of sense to her still sleep-addled and guilty mind. How could she have not seen this coming? Would it have happened if she'd woken on time and gone to breakfast? Why hadn't she been looking out for them lately? She'd just abandoned them to their foolish tracking of Malfoy! And the worst thing, the thing she could barely admit to herself, was how much more frightened she had been when she'd thought it was Snape in the Hospital Wing. Was she heartless? Her own best friend was lying here unconscious, and still she felt fretful over her accidental slight of Snape in the hallway. What was wrong with her?

Harry awkwardly put an arm around her, clearly believing that she was overcome with worry for Ron. She sobbed harder, hating her traitorous mind and her foolish heart. She had always been the sensible one. She didn't suffer flights of fancy; she didn't run off half cocked like Ron and Harry did; she believed in logic and reason and study. She prioritized. And yet, suddenly, it seemed that her priorities had become tangled and confused by a sneering, cynical man twice her age, who half the time infuriated her and spent the other half proving to her, over and over again, in such myriad ways, that despite her youth, her house, her disposition--despite everything, he cared for her.

Ginny came round the bed and wrapped her arms around Hermione from the other side. How was it possible to hate herself so fiercely and to feel so perversely elated at the same time? She allowed herself to sink into her friends' arms and to cry for everything that was building inside her. Everyone here, everyone she loved, was in, to quote Mrs Weasley's clock, mortal peril. Ron's poisoning was surely only the beginning of the horrors they would face. Before long, she knew, she, Ron and Harry would leave Hogwarts and the comforts even of the Hospital Wing. Perhaps the next time one of them was injured, it would be she tending their wounds. It was enough to drive anyone crazy with terror and self-doubt. And yet, she drew comfort from Harry's and Ginny's embrace and more comfort still in the thought of the man who was teaching her to survive. If they made it, they would have Snape to thank. But what of his survival? Who would tend his wounds, worry at his bedside? When he returned to the Death Eaters, who would even know or care if he was in trouble?

"He'll be all right, Hermione," Harry whispered.

She snuffled a final time and raised herself upright once more. "I hope so," she said, though it was not Ron she was thinking of.