Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Unintentional Inveiglement	By : onecelestialbeing Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 130141 -:- Recommendations : 8 -:- Currently Reading : 30
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter and it's characters and making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 46
- 47
- 48
A/N: I am so sorry for not updating this sooner, but good thing is, you'll get a two-fer ;) this chapter and the next. Thank you so much for your reviews and kind words!

Hermione sat on the steps by the back door of the Weasleys' home, balling her hands into fists and digging them into her denim covered thighs to keep them from shaking. She had a mild buzz from the Firewhisky that Bill had distributed for them to drink to honour Mad-Eye, after announcing that he was dead. The Firewhisky was disgusting and burned her mouth and chest, but did little to calm her nerves, nor anyone else's for that matter, as high running tempers continued to flare and clash. Lupin and Harry had gotten into a small tiff. No matter that everyone had risked life and limb to get him to safety, the latter part which was unfortunately literal when it came to George , Harry had gone on about leaving the Burrow, stating that his presence was currently endangering everyone.
Hermione wanted to tell Harry to take his head out of his arse, that they were all in danger and would remain so even if he wasn't around. She also wanted to scream that he was being selfish and only thinking of himself, since he was planning on sending their efforts to help him right down the drain. Thankfully, Mr Weasley had tactfully chimed in to point out that last bit. Hagrid, on the other hand, hadn't been as forgiving, and bluntly told Harry that he wasn't going anywhere. At that point, she used the distraction to slip away from the group, in desperate need of a moment alone.
While the night air was cooler than usual, there was no breeze. Even so, that was hardly the cause for the tremors continuously running throughout her body. A cloak of uneasiness had covered her all that day, hours before the Order's rendezvous at 4 Privet Drive to escort Harry from the house he had grown up in and to a new location. Taking the Polyjuice Potion had been easy enough, even if its taste was just as disgusting as Hermione remembered. Her source of travel...that had been marginally better. To say that she lacked confidence on any flying object was a bit of an understatement —Hermione was scared witless by anything that lifted her remotely high off the ground. Although, riding on the back of a Thestral with Kingsley leading had been preferable compared to flying on a broomstick, but it still did not hinder the urge to vomit that rose whenever they creature lurched forward, causing her stomach to jump into her throat.
Yet what seemed to be a foolproof plan to transfer Harry from Little Whinging to The Burrow had soon turned into an unmitigated disaster.
The group was halfway to the Weasleys' home when they were bombarded by a gang of flying Death Eaters. Hermione had been too busy with firing hexes to keep them away from her and Kingsley to wonder how the hell he was able to direct the Thestral while simultaneously wielding a wand. Another thought that escaped her was how the Death Eaters knew to find them. The only thing she had been able to focus on was staying alive, trying to keep their attackers from finding the real Harry Potter, and maintaining her balance on the continuously moving Thestral.
The sudden attack hadn't been the most surprising bit. Yet it wasn't until nearly everyone was safely ensconced inside The Burrow that she had been able to gather her thoughts.
She and Kingsley had been tightly surrounded by five Death Eaters, all of whom hadn't been concerned with Hermione being the real Harry or not. The fact that she was his duplicate had been good enough, and they did their best to attack her. Voldemort himself joined in on that attack, and Hermione had been sure that she was going to be killed. However, it seemed as if the group had received some sort of alert because they all hastily flew away.
Rapidly firing spell after spell had left her exhausted. Yet Hermione's adrenalin began racing again when another Death Eater snuck up on her and Kingsley. Like the others, their face had been completely covered. Somehow this Death Eater's hood came loose and revealed the face of a person that had continued haunting her dreams, a person that she hadn't seen in quite some time and was not sure if she was ever going to see again: Severus Snape. Of course, Hermione had been under the influence of Polyjuice, and had no idea of Snape knew it was her sitting behind Kingsley on the Thestral, but there was a chance that the shock on her face had given her away. Even if she had had been able to say anything, the opportunity would have been spitfast as the professor had flown away almost instantaneously.
After landing, several things unfolded; Mad-Eye Moody was dead. Hedwig was dead. George had lost an ear to Snape's wand when the professor cast a hex in his direction, and Mundungus Fletcher apparently vanished into thin air like a thief disappearing into the night.
Hermione felt like an idiot and knew that no one had time to pander to her and her arbitrary behaviour, not when there was a wizard who had been murdered, one that had gone missing, and another who still bore dried blood on their clothing from having a body part cursed off. That was why she had retreated to the back of the house where hopefully no one would come looking for her.
She had just closed her eyes and began massaging her pounding temples when someone roughly brushed past her and careened out into the garden. Whoever it was, they kicked her in the lower back on their way out, and Hermione was ready to tear into them when there was no forthcoming apology. Yet when she opened her eyes to see Harry, shaking and clutching onto the gate, looking as if he was trying to hold back a scream, she jumped up and ran over to him.
"Harry?" she asked, tentatively reaching out to touch his hand. Harry's face was drained of all colour, and he was breathing hard and had his eyes squeezed shut. "Are you all right?"
Harry continued trembling from head to toe, never once acknowledging Hermione's question. She wasn't even sure if he knew she was standing next to him. Ron suddenly appeared on Harry's other side, somehow managing to get him to talk.
"Harry, mate, what is it?"
Hermione felt her heart plummet to her stomach when Harry told them in so many words about his vision concerning Ollivander and Voldemort. She truly thought that Harry's scar would have stopped hurting by now, that he would no longer be plagued with sharing minds with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Her timing couldn't have been more terrible, but as usual, her mouth worked faster than her brain.
"But it was supposed to have stopped! Your scar—it wasn't supposed to do this any more! You musn't let that connection open up again—Dumbledore wanted you to close your mind!"
Harry's jaw clenched, and even Ron noticed and backed up. Yet Hermione was unable to get a grip on her senses and continued rambling hysterically, now digging her fingers into Harry's forearm.
"Harry, he's taking over the Ministry and the newspapers and half the wizarding world! Don't let him inside your head too!"
"You think I don't know that, Hermione!" Harry blew up, wrenching his arm out of her grasp. "I know I shouldn't let him in, but I can't fucking help it! So don't tell me what to do, especially when you don't know what it's like. You wouldn't last five seconds with Voldemort making scrambled eggs out of your brain!"
With that, he stormed off, leaving behind a flustered, gaped-mouth Hermione and a frowning Ron.
"Harry, I'm sorry!" Hermione yelled behind him, but Harry kept on walking, through the dark garden and into the house, letting the back door slam shut with a loud bang. "I wasn't trying to upset you..."
Letting out a sigh, Hermione leaned against the fence that Harry had been clutching onto moments ago.
"I didn't mean to make him angry," she murmured, more to herself than to Ron, "but we saw him tonight...You-Know-Who. He was right next to me and Kingsley, and if he's able to see Harry's thoughts—!"
Finishing with a small yelp, Hermione found herself suddenly being hugged by Ron.
"I know you didn't mean anything by it," he told her, awkwardly rubbing her back with his knuckles. "Just give him some time to sort out his thoughts; I think we can all use a break."
"I know I'm being annoying," she murmured into Ron's chest, wetting his shirt with tears that were now dripping down her face, "but I'm scared, Ron. I'm scared."
"We're gonna be alright, Hermione. A little banged up in the end, yeah, but that's to be expected. But we'll be fine."
Ron didn't sound as if he was completely convinced. It wouldn't have mattered, anyway; Hermione would have gone on worrying incessantly, as was her second nature.
"Come on, let's go inside," Ron urged, unwrapping his arms from around Hermione and grabbing her hand. "It's cold out here."
Even though she was beginning to shiver, Hermione shook her head.
"I think I'm going to stay out here for a while longer," she replied, giving his hand a squeeze before dropping it.
"OK. See you when you come in."
Ron had walked a couple paces before Summoning something. Hermione hadn't been paying attention, preoccupied with staring out into the dark, hilly area, when an oversized jacket engulfed her from shoulder to knee.
"So you don't freeze to death out here," Ron explained, pulling the front of his jacket closed around her body. "Bloody hell, I sound like Mum."
"Thanks, Ron."
"Yeah, yeah..." he grumbled, skulking off. Ron had his chivalrous moments, but hated getting mushy. Hermione had no idea how he'd stayed with Lavender, who was the Giggling Queen of All Things Sappy. Speaking of Lavender...Ron never mentioned if the two were planning on remaining a couple, considering that he was going to be absent for an undetermined length of time.
Hermione supposed that some young love affair was hardly a cause of importance, but reasoned that everyone could use at least one happy thing in their life to keep them going in an otherwise bleak time. She envied Ron and Harry in that aspect—they both had conventional relationships to which no one would blink an eye. Hers, on the other hand...
Leave it, Hermione, just leave it be. That's over with, so you may as well stop thinking about him.
Right. Easier said than done.

It was a trite thing, really, but Snape figured the least he could do at the moment was try to find the silver lining in an otherwise huge and completely blackened cloud of despair.
That night, after a botched attempt to thwart the Order and capture Harry Potter, the Dark Lord decided that he needed Wormtail's presence for unspecified reasons. Snape hadn't been all that upset to let him go. While he might have taken out some of his frustrations on the pathetic lump, Snape knew that it would have done nothing to aid his hapless situation.
Earlier that week, he had been summoned to Malfoy Manor, where he watched one of his colleagues being tortured and then eventually killed. He'd felt lower than the dirt on the bottom of his shoe as he watched the poor woman hovering midair, her limbs secured by invisible bounds and her face twisted in fear and pain as Voldemort and the other Death Eaters looked upon her with blatant distaste.
Snape personally had no problem with Charity Burbage, a witch that taught Muggle studies at Hogwarts. She had been one of the few professors who didn't have a penchant for gossip, and not once did she try to poke her nose in his business. If Burbage had something to say, she would do so without fanfare and continue on her way. While Snape knew that his name was the topic of many conversations, she was one of the few teachers who surprisingly spoke up in his favour, when a few of the many after-hours roundtable discussions turned to him. Filch had been the one to tell Snape about one particular conversation, as he'd been nearby, sweeping up the lounge. The caretaker cackled when he got to the bit about Burbage giving Trelawney an earful, also including that if maybe she replaced the stick up her arse with a cock, then perhaps she would be less prone to harp on a row between her and Snape that was nearly old as the bricks that made up Hogwarts.
Snape knew that Burbage had a rather unconventional outlook on most things compared to her colleagues, which was most likely the reason that she had never been fussed with trivial matters that others concerned themselves with. But to hear the vehement way that she had defended him while telling off a witch that grated his nerves on a regular basis...if Snape had been the sort of person to send thank you gifts or flowers, Burbage would have had an entire garden. So, while they hadn't exactly become bosom friends, as Snape mostly kept to himself, Burbage could have asked him for a favour and he would do whatever was asked of him without giving any grief. Mainly the only thing she'd asked was for a special tonic that helped with the migraines she was prone to. She refused to ask Slughorn on the grounds that he indirectly annoyed her.
Snape kept Burbage well supplied without her having to ask. Whenever he delivered the bottles to her office, she accepted them with a simple 'thank you' and kept their exchange short, knowing that Snape abhorred anything that remotely resembled small talk.
Yes, Charity Burbage was an all right sort, which was another reason that it had been extremely difficult to sit by as if they were strangers passing in the night as she cried and begged for her life, then calling Snape by his given name, all before being killed and fed to Nagini. Burbage's death kept replaying in his mind, and had been another cause of sleep refusing to come.
Days later, he'd had to assist in the plan of capturing Harry Potter when the Order was going to move him from his family's home to a safe house. Snape did not intend to ensure that Potter was caught, nor did he plan to cause harm to anyone there, although if his wand were to slip accidentally on purpose and fire a hex at one of the Death Eaters, well then, he would not have been quite so bothered.
Cursing off George Weasley's ear definitely had not been on his to-do list. Rookwood had his wand aimed, ready to knock Lupin off his broom and send him spiraling to a grisly death. Snape had been trying to cast Sectumsempra at Rookwood's back when the man suddenly shifted on his broom, giving an unfortunate clear view of George Weasley. Snape knew the Order and the Weasley family already hated him for killing Dumbledore; now they would probably demand his balls hacked off with a dull blade and served on a platter for harming the young man.
To make matters worse, Snape had been fully decked in Death Eater's robes, and managed to fly next to Hermione. At first, he didn't know it was her. She had been Polyjuiced to look like the Potter brat, and was clutching onto Kingsley, her face ashen and terrified as they flew high up in the night sky. The short, messy-black hair instead of the usual bushy-curled business that was Hermione's trademark made no difference, nor did the shapeless clothing draped over a young man's body; it only took a second for Snape to know that it was her. Hermione might not have known it, but Snape knew her every look, every pose and posture, whether she was eating, sleeping, studying, or playing with her cat—he knew his witch, perhaps better than she knew herself.
Just as he had been ready to fly in the opposite direction, his hood had flown back, revealing his identity. Of course, Hermione had chosen that moment to turn around and catch sight of him, and the horror on her face had been blatant. Snape had cursed himself for not wearing his Death Eater's mask, but the damn thing was uncomfortable and hard to see through while flying. Toppling down into the river was not an option for him, and seeing as he hadn't expected the entire affair to last that long, he'd foregone the mask. But Murphy's Law loved biting him in the arse, and it had been his great fortune that his fucking hood flew back and gave a clear shot of his face.
A soft 'meow' distracted from Snape from his thoughts.
"I already fed you, cat," he grumbled when Loki sauntered over and insinuated himself beneath his hand. Snape began lightly scratching behind the feline's ears, taking small pleasure in the creature closing his eyes and gracefully stretching towards the touch. Prior to that, Loki had been sitting atop the pile of his Death Eater robes that had been left in a heap on the chair in his bedroom. Snape hated the sight of the things and kept them securely tucked away as much as possible. Yet after coming in that night, ridding his body of the hateful things had been a priority, and he didn't bother with putting them away.
Discovering that letter from Regulus Black had been a shock to the senses, much like being thrust from one extreme temperature to the next. Snape hadn’t thought about his old friend in years, and the unread letter brought back a plethora of memories that he buried long ago.
Snape was in his second year at Hogwarts when he met Regulus Black. Immediately upon finding out that the dark-haired boy was Sirius Black's younger brother, the latter whom Snape had disliked from the off, he'd had his reservations. Both wizards were good-looking, seemed to have an innate sense of cockiness, and clearly enjoyed being fawned over by their peers. It wasn't until the end of Severus' second school year and Regulus' first that the two became friendly. By that time, it was quite apparent that Regulus and Sirius were nearly polar opposites.
Despite their year age difference, Snape had been somewhat in awe of Regulus Black. He was a pure-blood wizard that came from a wealthy family. Regulus had been the sort that constantly strove to please his parents, something that Snape had been familiar with, even though his mum had never really offered her opinion either way after her son had gone away to school. The fact that Orion and Walburga Black supported their son's endeavours, which at the time seemed admirable, made Snape somewhat envious. Later on, Snape realised that the Blacks had done their younger son a grave disservice by encouraging him to follow the Dark Lord, but even his judgment had been clouded.
More than once, Snape overheard Sirius complaining about his brother, going on about Regulus being soft-minded and listening to anything their parents said. Snape would have sooner cut out his own tongue than admit that Sirius proved a good point; Regulus did have the unfortunate habit of being too agreeable, believing everything he was told. Lucius Malfoy, whom both boys looked up to, could do no wrong; Tom Riddle could do no wrong. There had been more than one instance where questionable things took place, but Snape knew that if he were to show any sort of reluctance, he risked the possibility of being shunned. Perhaps it had been the ruminations of his lingering conscience that made him feel a sense of guilt, but he never let it show.
To this day it was still painful for Snape to admit that he and Regulus shared similar beliefs about pureblood supremacy. Back then, regardless of his public opinion, it hadn't kept Snape from questioning everything he was told, even though it had mostly been self-inflection. But in the event of maintaining his and Regulus' unconventional friendship, as well as keeping company with Lucius Malfoy and the other boys in their House, Snape kept his mouth shut.
In spite of those nuances, Snape and Regulus maintained an odd yet mutual admiration for one another, one that had never been outright spoken of. Both of them stayed deeply rooted into their studies, yet it was Regulus that had been the one to force him to take a break once in a while, convincing Snape to keep watch while he broke into the Quidditch coach's office to steal a few broomsticks for a late-night game. Regulus had taught Snape how to fly, and with Lucius Malfoy as prefect, he'd turned a blind eye to the two sneaking out, especially since they were in his inner circle.
Regulus had been one of the few people that Severus could tolerate for longer than ten minutes at a time. He only spoke when necessary but if he had been excited about something, which was rare, then he tender to jabber on. Snape hadn't minded, as Regulus had never been one for nonsense chitchat. Yet for a wizard that was prone to keep quiet at times, he certainly possessed the gift of gab, and knew how to wheedle his way into nearly anything. Snape had always been rough around the edges and blunt in his manner of speaking. Even when he hadn't meant to insult, his words sometimes came out harsher than he had intended. Being surrounded by smooth talking Slytherins, Lucius Malfoy being the key one, had eventually leveled the sharper contours of his personality.
The younger Black's death had come as a surprise to Snape. While he was still at school, dealing with being bullied by classmates and then avoiding his drunken, argumentative father and mentally-absent mother when he went home, Regulus had already taken the Dark Mark at the young age of sixteen and was a full-fledged member of the Death Eaters. Whenever the two spoke with one another, Regulus would always go on in a haughty tone about the gatherings he attended, although he would never go into great detail. In his eyes, the Dark Lord could do no wrong, and it seemed that Regulus would do anything he was bade, without question.
Then one day, Regulus stopped talking. It had been enough to make Snape wary, but Regulus refused to divulge. Both were already out of Hogwarts. Snape had already taken his N.E.W.T.s and was out of school a full year, spending his time dithering about while trying to figure what sort of life plans he wanted to make. For at least three years, Regulus had been trying to convince him to join the Death Eaters. Lucius Malfoy had also been in his ear, stating that Snape would have no problem with getting past the doorway of opportunity once he was finished with school, that a position within the Dark Lord's ranks would ensure him of getting anything he ever wanted, be it a career, wealth, or women.
The possibilities had been tempting, like a glittering new toy being dangled in front of a child.
Snape would have asked his mum her opinion on him joining the Death Eaters, but the woman had been so sickly and uncommunicative that he decided not to bother her. It had been hard to look for work, while being the sole person responsible for the care of Eileen Snape. A full year Severus went, almost dropping out of complete contact with the outside world. Only once did he manage to attend one of the Dark Lord's meetings, that specific one held to recruit new followers.
It was roughly two months after his mother's passing when Snape decided to join the Death Eaters. His already thin money had dwindled down to nothing, and the majority of his meals tended to come from a tin. Devoting more time to finding work, he had taken to wearing his neatest set of robes, which had been purchased with his own monies when he was sixteen. They looked cared for, even if they were faded in a few places. Snape fixed himself up to the best of his ability, which consisted of shaving with his father's old blade, and attempting to make his forever lank hair appear clean, which it actually was. Severus was easily discouraged when he'd been repeatedly turned down for every position he inquired after. Either his reputation for being the oddball of Slytherin preceeded him, or no one knew who he was at all. Neither point mattered to him, and Severus didn't dwell upon it because fact remained, he still had no job.
At his wits end—and hungry, as he'd been down to the last few tins of food scrounged in the pantry—Snape relented and went to one of the meetings that Regulus and Lucius had been forever badgering him about.
He had been embarassed at showing up to such a lavish event looking like a pauper standing next to Malfoy, whom was always dressed like royalty. As always, his friend made no mention of his threadbare robes or haggard countenance; Snape had been welcomed into the fold as if his absence had been due to a lengthy holiday. Off-handedly, Lucius made mention of Eileen's passing and gave his condolences. Snape hadn't told anyone, not wanting to be pitied, but he did wonder how the older wizard was privy to such information, as Lucius didn't exactly run in Muggle circles. However, Lucius did know that Severus' mum had been a pure-blood witch, and perhaps it had been that which made him show a bit of respect. Severus never mentioned Tobias Snape, although that had little to do with his Muggle background and more to do with his role as an abusive drunkard, so his father was never brought up.
Voldemort hadn't been present at that gathering. It didn't matter; hushed whispers about the legendary Dark wizard continued to circulate, mostly praising his magical prowess. There were some who spoke as if they were the personal right hand of Tom Riddle, clearly trying to position themselves close to the throne.
All of this had been noticed from the sidelines. While Snape kept his head down and faded in the background at a table in a corner, mostly because he didn't want to draw attention to himself and his shabby robes, and also because he gleaned a great deal of information from eavesdropping rather than hearsay, he gorged himself on the decadent array of food from platters that kept refilling themselves. In the recesses of his mind, he wondered if everyone truly held Riddle up the to status of a deity, or if they spoke highly about him out of something else, such as fear of the consequences from doing otherwise.
In between bites of a succulent pheasant, Snape chortled to himself, listening to some pompous prat seated to his left, resplendent in hideous purple robes and far too many rings on his fingers, going on about the Dark Lord as if they were childhood bosom friends. The wizard spoke with such folly that it had been hard to take a single word seriously. Anyone that was truly close to the Dark Lord would dare not admit it, and definitely not with unabashed jocularity. Purple-robes-and-rings was the sort of person to get himself and others killed, purely because he was unable to keep his boastful mouth shut.
That party still hadn't been enough for Snape to decide if he truly wanted to join the Dark Lord's ranks. There had been a look on Lucius' face, as well as Regulus, who eventually showed up to the gathering, that set Snape's nerves on edge. Going past their preening and posturing, Snape found a hint of uncertainty beneath their elated, over-confident voices. A year later, he found out what that uncertainty stemmed from.
Regulus Black went missing right around the time that Snape finally committed to joining the Death Eaters. Lucius Malfoy had been just as perplexed and knew as much as Snape about the younger man's disappearance, and both knew better than to ask Riddle what happened to him. The one thing the blond did speak of was Snape's decision to join the Dark Lord, calling it wise and saying it would enable him to look after himself and his own interests.
During his first year as a Death Eater, Snape received payment for his services mostly by form of verbal platitudes. Quickly it had become clear that Tom Riddle was not a wizard that came from a wealthy background; instead, he tended to ride the coattails of those who did have an unlimited supply of money and were stupid enough to pander to him. A few times there had been a show of Galleons, but its flow wasn't steady. Sometimes Snape found himself going back to tinned food, merely to keep from wasting away. On the rare occasion, Malfoy slipped him a few coins without expecting to be paid back, but Snape knew that he needed to have a steady income. Hence how he ended up begging Dumbledore for a job at Hogwarts. The only thing Snape had that worked in his favour was high scores on his N.E.W.T.s; he hadn't suffered through seven years of school to let his endless studying go unrewarded. Lucius hadn't understood why he wanted to teach, stating that Snape would be squandering his precious time. Voldemort, on the other hand, took a macabre sense of delight after learning of Snape's job. The Dark Lord's dislike for Albus Dumbledore was known by anyone in his inner circle. Snape's post would allow Riddle to have someone on the inside, someone that could report back any activity that could be useful for him and used against the headmaster.
Riddle had a certain sense of charming that kept his followers in awe of him. At the same time, he also managed to scare the hell out of them. However, his charisma managed to affect the likes of Snape, and the confused young wizard, who felt compelled to do whatever Voldemort asked so long as it entailed him landing a better position in life than his current one.
The magnanimity of his convoluted thoughts: he couldn't have been more wrong.
Bed springs croaked beneath Snape's weight as he settled on his side beneath the blankets. He lay there for a few minutes when Loki crawled up his legs and used his hip as a resting spot. Had Snape changed positions or moved in the slightest, the cat would tumble out of place. Not wanting to disrupt Loki, he kept perfectly still, even though he wondered why the black cat chose his bony flank, out of all places, to sit upon.
Loki was the only one that Severus hadn't fallen out of favour with. Yes, he was a cat and not a human, but between dealing with Granger's half-kneazle and now this one, Snape soon learned that felines were just four-legged, furry little people. It was his fortune that they were unable to speak; had that been possible, Crookshanks would have proven to be every bit of his mistress: brilliant, yet blunt, and having no tact whatsoever.
Had Crookshanks the ability to speak, Snape knew he would have ignored the creature from the start, leaving him in the draughty corridors instead of allowing him to kip in his room. Hermione, on the other hand, was different. Snape found her argumentative ways endearing, even if he vowed to never let her know. Not that he would have the chance to do so now; remembering the terror on her face when his hood had flown back...he would never get that image out of his mind.
"One more day," Snape chanted to himself.
As of late, those three words were the only thing that kept him holding onto the last shreds of his sanity. Instead of wondering when the madness would finally come to an end, Snape told himself to take things on a day-by-day basis, lest he end up having a mental breakdown. Even though he knew he was lying to himself, the little pep talk, along with the weight of the cat still sitting atop him, was the only thing that enabled him to fall asleep.
**
"Forgive me for sounding insensitive," Harry began one afternoon as he, Ron, and Hermione cleaned one of the many rooms in the Burrow that looked as if it had been used as storage for the past fifteen years, "but I don't see how anyone can focus on a wedding when we have bigger things to worry about."
"I agree with you," said Ron, flopping down onto a stool and ruffling his hair to rid it of the thick dust clods that had fallen on his head when he'd moved a stack of ancient books from a high shelf. "But Mum thinks that making us work like house-elves is going to keep us out of trouble, her words exactly. Don't be surprised if she tries to separate us again like she did this morning."
Mrs. Weasley had taken to accosting them at random moments, blatantly prying each of them for information. Hermione hated being put under pressure, and didn't want to lie. At the same time, she knew that she couldn't tell Mrs. Weasley about their plans to hunt down and destroy Horcruxes. The most she let out was indecisiveness about returning to Hogwarts the next school term, giving the excuse that her parents were concerned about her safety. Mrs. Weasley meant well, and Hermione tried to not take offense, but being popped in on at arbitrary times made it hard to research for ways to destroy Horcruxes, as well as sort through and pack things for the moment they would have to leave. The last bit involved quite a few difficult spells that Hermione knew of but hadn't utilised, and it took every bit of her concentration to get it right.
Before leaving school, she had taken the chance and summoned books from Dumbledore's study, becoming nearly bowled over with surprise when her efforts proved fruitful. Armed with a load of texts on Dark magic, Hermione had taken to scouring the pages of each one, desperate to find anything that might be of use. Most of the reading material spoke of things so ghastly she wished she'd never come across them. Then there was the fact that touching the books themselves made her uneasy. There was the possibility that some sort of old magic remained attached to Dumbledore's books, and that made the task of using her own magic to alter them, even to do a seemingly harmless thing as shrinking them down to miniature size, that much more difficult. Add to that the chance of Mrs. Weasley walking in on her and finding her with said illicit books...Hermione had no idea how to explain herself out of that tight corner. Ginny hadn't known about the books in Hermione's possession, as she figured that any books to do with Tom Riddle and the like would trigger unpleasant memories of being possessed.
Hiding in the bathroom (which was hard because there were extra people in the house because of the upcoming wedding) or pretending that she had gone off for a nap was the only way Hermione got any of her work done. One afternoon she actually ended up falling asleep on the bed, tired from not being able to sleep straight through the night, only to wake up each day and deal with the continuous chores that Mrs. Weasley kept drumming up.
"I suppose Lupin and Mr. Weasley have already cornered you off," Hermione asked Harry, cautiously lifting the top of a box that she'd just pulled out from beneath a chair. "They got me and Ron, but left us alone when we said that Dumbledore made us promise to not tell anything."
"You know Mum isn't going for that," Ron groaned, seconds later letting out an undignified squeak when a tiny spider made its way from beneath the rug and began crawling in his direction. After struggling to his feet and stomping around a few times, ignoring the eye-roll from Hermione, he flopped back down onto his stool. "She's determined to drag out whatever it is we have planned."
Becoming of age ahead of her friends was sometimes a curse, depending on the situation. Now was one of those times where Hermione was glad she was already considered an adult. Mrs. Weasley tried to guilt her into talking, then going so far as to use the threat of her parents. Hermione stood her ground, only giving away that she might not return to Hogwarts. She then politely reminded Mrs. Weasley that she was of age, and had the right to come and go as she pleased.
Forever with a flair for the dramatics, Mrs. Weasley clutched one hand to her chest, giving a sob that would have melted even the stoniest of hearts. When Hermione still didn't budge, the older witch grew huffy, then giving some excuse about needing to check on something before hurrying away. Since that afternoon Mrs. Weasley had been exceedingly polite, even though her attempts at keeping Hermione tethered to the Burrow had been transparent.
"Thanks for the warning," said Harry, "but Mrs. Weasley can say whatever she likes. It's still not going to stop me from going."
"Yeah, but you have to remember that you've still got The Trace on you," Hermione reminded him.
"Ron doesn't," Harry pointed out.
"Yeah, but if I so much as walk to the broom shed, she's breathing down my neck," Ron offered ruefully. "I have to admit, I didn't think about The Trace until you mentioned it, Hermione. How the bloody hell are we supposed to get anything done if we can't do magic?"
"Yeah, and if your mum is going to keep you on a short leash," Harry reminded him.
"Well, I think we're safer here, anyway," Hermione told them, flipping her dust-laden hair out of her face and sitting down on the chair she just finished cleaning. "With so many of the Order lurking about...actually, I take that back. If something can go wrong, usually it does."
A brief silence rang between the three; Hermione's words were blunt yet undeniable, and they knew it. Ron was frowning and twisting the dirty rag he'd been dusting with round in his hand. Harry had taken off his glasses and was using the edge of his shirt to rid his lenses of smudges, and Hermione nervously played with a few strands of frizzy curls.
"Harry, did Sirius ever tell you anything about his brother?" Ron suddenly asked.
"Brother?" Harry echoed, sounding completely puzzled. "What brother?"
"O....K. I guess that's a no," Ron replied, now sounding hesitant. "I'm not trying to stir the pot or anything, I was just curious."
"You might as well tell us what you know," Hermione countered, venturing a look at Harry's tightly knit brow. "That is, if Harry doesn't mind."
"No, by all means," Harry told Ron, pointedly looking at him.
"It's not as if I know that much," Ron told them. "I just overheard a conversation between Dad and Lupin. They mentioned something about Sirius' brother being involved with You-Know-Who,but they didn't go into specifics. Just said that he'd gone missing and no one ever knew what happened to him."
"Did they say what his name was?" asked Hermione.
"Regulus? Yeah, Regulus. That's it. Regulus Black."
"So all you know about him is that he was a follower of Vol—"
"Don't say his name!" Hermione interrupted shrilly, clapping her hands over her ears as if it would stop Harry from speaking.
"Sorry," Harry drily apologised. "He was a follower of You-Know-Who and he went missing, the end. Is that it?"
"Yeah, that's all I got. Sorry if you were expecting more."
"That doesn't help much, Ron, but thanks anyway."
"Harry, you don't need to be snotty," Hermione snapped. "It's not Ron's fault that his dad and Lupin didn't give him more fodder while he was eavesdropping. Besides, you spent more time with Sirius than any of us, did he never say anything about Regulus?"
"No, not that I can remember," Harry trailed off. "Seems like ages ago when I last spoke to Sirius. Wait a minute, now that I think about it, I remember him telling me something about his brother when he showed me the Black family tree. He said that his brother was the favourite, but I don't remember him actually saying Regulus' name. All he said was his brother and their parents believed in that pureblood nonsense, nothing about him being a follower of You-Know-Who."
"Hmm, that still tells us nothing," Hermione mused.
"I just remembered," Harry interrupted, "Slughorn mentioned Regulus Black the very first day I met him. But he didn't really say anything else, only that he and Sirius were talented and he wished they'd both been in his House. Hardly worth thinking about."
"Hey, I didn't know if mentioning Regulus Black was important or not. I'm just sharing what I happened to overhear," Ron added, sounding a bit defensive.
"It's alright, Ron," Hermione told him. "Thanks just the same. Who knows, maybe what you've found out will be useful later on."
Hermione had no idea how true her words were about to become.
After dinner that evening, Hermione had gone to Ginny's bedroom, which the two were sharing. In her pocket was the locket that Harry and Dumbledore believed to be a Horcrux, yet turned out to be a fake. Ron, Harry and Hermione had been given the task of polishing cutlery, which was already shiny enough to see one's ugly face in and hadn't been in need of polishing, according to Ron. Some random thought struck Hermione's mind and she'd asked Harry if she could see the locket. It had been in his pocket and he handed it over, yet she was unable to examine it further as Mrs. Weasley had swept into the kitchen at that moment. Hermione didn't have the opportunity to return the locket to Harry, as the redheaded matriarch practically hovered over the group while trying to pretend that she was otherwise engaged with reorganising the cupboards. It was just as well, because now Hermione was alone and could examine the locket without interruption.
It looked the same: a fancy snuffbox that most likely cost a pretty penny in its day. But the note inside...Hermione still had no idea who R.A.B could be.
The human mind was a complex thing. Take someone like Hermione Granger, whose thoughts never turned off, and that phrase was sent to another level. No amount of wracking her brain yielded satisfactory results, and she ended up falling asleep. Oddly enough, something abruptly forced her out of sleep, and Hermione sat up in the dark room, trying to collect her thoughts.
Looking over to the other side of the room, Hermione saw that Ginny was turned on her side, the rising and falling of the sheets telling that she was fast asleep. Easing out of bed and dressing in the clothes nearest to her, Hermione then stuck her wand in her back pocket before tiptoeing out the bedroom. She wondered if she should let Ron or Harry know where she was going, but quickly decided against it. Either they would laugh at her, or tell her she was being silly. Anyway, what she needed to find out wouldn't take long.
Because of the many protective charms cast around the Burrow, Hermione had to walk a bit of distance to get to the Apparition point. It was cold and dark, and she hoped there were no creatures lurking in the grass, waiting to nibble at her ankles.
Hurry up, Granger. Try to settle this hunch you have, that way you lot might be able to go forward.
No matter how much she tried to convince herself that she wasn't doing something completely mad, Hermione was unable to ignore the fierce thumping of her heart against her chest.
Apparating to Number twelve Grimmauld Place was relatively easy. Going in through the front door was suspiciously easy, but Hermione continued whipping her head around, making sure that she wasn't being followed. A couple gas lamps immediately sprang to life as she stepped into the hallway, its light revealing cobwebs that had formed over their scones. The eerie house felt abandoned, as though no one had inhabited it for years.
Keeping her back against the wall with her wand held in front of her, Hermione peered around before convincing herself to move further in. Oddly shaped shadows that almost looked as if they were moving nearly made her yelp, and she hurried along, shuddering when she came across the sight of the ugly mounted heads of house-elves still lined the walls along the staircase.
You idiot. I suppose in the midst of your harebrained scheme that you failed to think about the house-elf that's still living. What are you going to do if he creeps in and find you skulking about?
Berating herself for not thinking about every possible aspect of what could go wrong with her little secret excursion, Hermione tried to ignore the prickly sensation at the back of her neck. She came all this way on a hunch, and figured the sooner she gathered the information she was seeking, the faster she could get the hell out of Grimmauld Place and make her way back to The Burrow.
She needed to find the room that Harry found Sirius in, the one that had the Black family tree tapestry on the wall. There were so many rooms in the house, and deciphering anything in the dark was a bit like finding a needle in a haystack.
The air suddenly felt charged, as if she was no longer alone. Full-fledged panic kicked in, and Hermione whipped around, wand out, ready to hex if needed.
Didn't Severus tell you that once? Hex first, ask questions later, for if you don't there may not be a later.
But no one was there, not in back or front of her.
Something didn't feel right, yet Hermione continued her way into the musty-smelling house. It was eerily silent; for the first time, she was unable to hear Mrs. Black's portrait going off in its usual tirade. Kreacher might have been lurking nearby, and she prayed that he was off elsewhere.
Telling herself to stop fannying around, Hermione nervously approached the drawing room. Her foot had just crossed the threshhold when she paused and raised her wand.
"Homenum revelio."
After whispering the spell, not wanting Mrs. Black's portrait to overhead, Hermione waited to see if anything would happen. She half-expected the spell to reveal nothing, yet moments later when she felt a weightless mass, almost like a strong gust of wind, swooping over her, she was ready to abandon her efforts and flee. However, the last thing Hermione expected was for a strong hand to grab onto her shoulder, shoving her against the wall of the dusty, unlit drawing room, while the the tip of a wand pressed uncomfortably into her jugular.
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Unintentional Inveiglement