Hermione

"Let's go to the library," I tell Ron, tugging on the sleeve of his robes.

Ignoring his noises of protest, I drag him out of the commons and into the library. 

"Are you kidding?" Ron asks, with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "It's the first evening in days we have without Harry tagging along, and you want to go to the library?"

"Ron," I reprimand, frowning as we settle down on some cushions on the library floor. "Don't say that Harry's 'tagging along.' You know he's taking that fight with Ginny very badly."

"Hermione, you can't deny it," Ron counters, grinning slightly. "We haven't had a moment alone, and he's been moping around like Fang. We've fought before, and I don't act like that."

"Is that really something to brag about?" I tease. "You should be heartbroken when we fight."

"Oh, I am," Ron sighs dramatically. "I can't focus, and all I can think about is you. It's kind of-"

I cut him off, and lean in for a light kiss. Ron responds enthusiastically, but before the kiss can go anywhere, Madam Pince is towering above us with a blazing glare. 

"Public displays of affection are not allowed in the library," she snaps, whisking away as we mutter our apologies. 

I look around the library. The wooden desks are marked with quill stains, the books above me and Ron as old as ivory, and the low hum of the fire blurs the conversations in the library. Everyone seems caught up in their own business, with nothing to worry about at all.

"Does this year feel weird to you?" Ron asks, reaching up to pick a random book off the shelf above our heads.

"You sound like Harry," I snort, snatching the book out of his hand. "It's like the both of you enjoy all the trouble we go through."

"Harry's been off lately," Ron says, a serious tone entering his voice. "And I'm not just talking about his fight with Ginny. He's been off ever since he asked the ministry to call of the kiss for the prisoners. I know we're not used to no as answer, but this is a bit much."

"I know," I say, glad the topic finally came up. "Ginny too. It seems like they're hiding something from us."

"Call me crazy, but I think it has something to do with Malfoy."

"You're crazy," I tease, grinning. "But you're right. I saw Harry and Malfoy talking alone yesterday."

"Did you hear what they were saying?"

"No, the moment they spotted me, Malfoy took off."

"There's something off with Malfoy too," Ron says, lowering his voice. "And I think Harry and Ginny know exactly what's up with him."

"Why wouldn't they tell us?"

"I don't know . . ." Ron says, confused. "Maybe . . . Maybe they don't want to tell us because we'd do something."

"What does that mean?"

"Hermione," Ron says with a slight smile.

"What?"

"We'd both kick his ass. Harry might be the boy with the golden heart, but I'd never miss a chance to kick Malfoy into oblivion."

"I have to tell you something," I whisper, looking around before inching a little closer. "I haven't told anyone yet because I couldn't figure out what it meant."

"About Harry?"

"About Malfoy. Do you remember when we were at the Manor? And they tortured us?"

Ron nods, taking my hands in his own. 

"Bellatrix told Malfoy to do the Cruciatus on me," I tell him. 

"Merlin, Hermione-"

"I'm not finished," I say, cutting him off. "She told him to torture me, but he didn't do it. He didn't do the curse."

He meets my words with a shocked silence.

"He didn't do it? Like he just refused?"

"No," I say, clarifying that he only pretended to curse me. 

Ron's shocked expression morphs slowly into a frown. 

"What?"

"We've dealt with guys like Malfoy before," he says grimly. "And Malfoy doesn't do anything without reason. If he helped you, he's definitely going to ask for something in return."

I fall quiet, thinking about his entry to the train station, and the weird encounter we had on the train.

"What could he possibly want from me?" 

"That's what you and I are going to find out," Ron says with a conspiratorial grin.

***********************************************************************************************

I walk hurriedly through the corridors, Ron and Harry trailing lazily behind me. My watch goes, off, letting out a little tinkle to alert me that class started ten minutes ago.  

"Would you hurry up?" I snap, barely slowing down as I jump over a disappointing step. 

"Hermione, my legs hurt," Harry complains. "And we're late to a house-building class. Not an important one." 

I slow down, waiting for them to catch up to me. When Harry sees the fire in my eyes, he rushes towards me hastily, and we both sigh when we see Ron trying to free his robe from a slit in the floor. With a mighty tug, he pulls free, and leisurely comes to a stop in front of us. 

"Hermione, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but practically everyone in this school worships us," Ron grins, shaking his fiery orange hair out of his eyes. "We practically own the place now. We don't even have to show up to class! We could all be Aurors right now if we wanted to."

"Unfortunately, you do not own the school," a voice snaps behind us. 

My heart jolts, and Ron and I both stare in disbelief at Harry. He seems to have frozen in time, and his eyes carry a strange mix of love and hate. The voice, so real just a few seconds ago, becomes a ghost in my mind. The voice of Severus Snape. 

We slowly turn, and something in my chest falls and shatters as I see the portrait hanging outside the Potions corridor. It's just a portrait. 

Harry is still frozen, staring at the portrait. 

"Are you real?" Ron whispers hoarsely. 

"Real is a very subjective thing Mr. Weasley," the portrait sniffs disdainfully. "I'm real if you want me to be." 

"Take it," Harry says very slowly, to no one in particular. 

"What?"

"Help me take the portrait," he says, trying to pry it off the wall. "I want to talk to him."

"Harry," I say gently. "It's not really Snape." 

Harry ignores me, still trying to pull the portrait away from the wall. His tries for a few more moments, and then lets his arms drop to his sides, his hands still shaking. 

Ron's face has turned a little white, and grabs Harry's arm. 

"Harry, mate, c'mon. Hermione's right, let's just go to class." 

They trudge away, and Ron beckons me with his head. The portrait looks at them, and then trains it's eyes on me. And then, so subtle that I'm not sure I even see it, Snape shakes his head as I start to go after them. 

"I'll be right there," I say distractedly, thinking about the portrait. "Go on without me." 

Once they're out of sight, I turn back to Snape. 

"It's strange they hung you up here," I say. "They usually hang the Headmaster's portraits in the Headmaster's office." 

"It is strange," Snape agrees, studying me carefully. "But, Ms. Granger, there are things that we can never have control over."

"Can't you just get up and go?" 

The portrait smiles at me, and I get an odd feeling at the sight of Severus Snape trying to smile. 

"Why don't you just ask what you want to Ms. Granger?"

"What?"

"There's a reason you stayed behind to talk to me. What do you want?"

"I'm not sure," I say truthfully. "Maybe you have something you want to tell me." 

"And why would you think that?" 

"Because you haven't dismissed me or left yet," I say slowly. "The Professor Snape I know would never willingly make small talk."

"Ah, but I'm not Snape at all. You said so yourself. I'm just a portrait."

A sliver of doubt trickles through me, thinking that I might've be wrong after all. Maybe he didn't nod at me. Still, I wait patiently, scanning his portrait for any abnormal movements. 

Finally, he sighs, and shakes his head in defeat. 

"Have you noticed anything strange, Ms. Granger?" 

"There's always something strange going on. But now it's stranger, because Ron and I know that Harry and Ginny are hiding something from us. And it definitely has something to do with Malfoy. I want to know the truth."  

"Why he wants you I may begin to understand," the portrait. "You're clever. But what you want with him I don't understand." 

"Ron?" I ask in confusion. "I don't get it. Please, just tell me without speaking in riddles."

Snape sighs again, and gets up. 

Before disappearing out of frame, he says, "Perhaps a walk under the lake will give you the answers to the questions you're asking." 

"No, wait!" I exclaim, shaking the portrait in frustration, the frame already empty.

 I stare at the empty painting for a few seconds, contemplating his words. Then, I rush back down the staircase, looking for the fastest way I can make it to the lake. But before going outside, I run his words in my head again. 

A walk under the lake? How do you walk under the lake? The only thing under the lake in this school is the Slytherin Commons. 

I curse myself, before, rushing back through the castle, shaking my head at my foolishness. When I finally reach the low, eerie corridors near the Slytherin Commons, I come to a stop. I look around for anything that Snape might have wanted me to find, and my eyes fall on a soggy letter a few feet away from the Commons door. 

I cautiously bend down to pick it up, straining to read the ink that has been blurred by a leak from the ceiling above. I can make out a few words, but nothing makes any sense without any useful information. The words azkaban, love, help, and memory are scrawled hopelessly, but I can't figure out what they could possibly mean. 

"What the hell are you doing?" a harsh voice asks behind me. 

I start, still clutching the letter as I get up and turn. Draco Malfoy stands in front me, staring at the piece of parchment in my hand. His arms are crossed, and his usual shining hair lacks it's luster, hanging like a wet towel over his forehead. He looks behind me to the common door, which has now opened.  

"I- Snape sent me," I mumble in panic, stuffing the paper in my robe. 

"Snape is dead," he says flatly. "Now tell the truth. What the hell are you doing here?" 

"Looking for answers," I say finally, reluctantly meeting his eyes. 

"Answers?" his eyes change from a suspicious squint to something that looks awfully similar to hope. 

"You can't give them to me," I snort, ready to go somewhere alone to properly inspect the letter. 

"Before you go," he drawls, "I'd like whatever you took off the ground back. It's mine." 

I look up, my cheeks turning a mortified shade of pink under the prospect of being caught. 

"I didn't take anything," I lie, trying to get past him and out of the corridor. "The paper was already mine." 

He lifts an eyebrow. "It's yours? I was under the impression the fact the letter was addressed to me would make it mine." 

I curse internally, wondering how I didn't notice his name on the parchment. What if he's lying so he can get the paper? There's no way I would miss an address on the paper. 

"It's not addressed to you," I say in false confidence. "It's for me." 

"Granger, give me the paper," he repeats, stepping closer. 

"No," I say, equally stubborn, now fully sure this letter isn't his. 

"For Merlin's sake, it's not even yours, and you don't even know what it is!"

"It's not yours either," I say, taking another step back. 

"The paper was outside my commons," he says, and stares at my robes as if contemplating to make a grab for it. 

"And you left it outside to soak on the floor," I say, backing up, and realizing too late that there is no space left. 

I tumble backwards into the Slytherin common room, the paper slipping out of my robe and fluttering under a chair. 

Malfoy and I both freeze for a split second, and in a frenzy, lunge for the letter. I get it first, and he quickly latches onto it. 

"Let go, you're going to rip it!" I snap, slapping his hand away. "This letter could contain memories."

And to my surprise, he does let it go, staring at me in disbelief. 

"What did you say?" he rasps. 

"I saw a few words I could make out. I'm pretty sure Snape wanted me to find it. He sent me here." 

Malfoy is still looking at me like I'm slightly crazy, but a grabs small glass vial on a nearby table, and hands it to me, his hands a strange shade of white. Ink correcter. I drop a few drops onto the paper, and, sure enough, the handwriting starts to become legible. Before I can read it, Malfoy catches me off guard, and rips it out of my hands. He crumples it up and throws it into the cold, green fire before I can even react. 

"What the hell?" I screech. "The potion was working!" 

I glare at him, anger flowing heavy and uncontrolled through me. Malfoy's hands are still shaking, and he meets my eyes with a fear that leaves me feeling a little unsettled. 

"You came here for answers, Granger," he says slowly. "I can give them to you." 

"You won't answer anything," I snap. "You won't give me the answers to the questions I want to know."

"What do you want to know?" he asks cautiously. 

"What is going between you and Harry? You've been talking to each other secretly all week, and whenever I try and ask him about it, he shuts me down." 

"Perhaps it has less to do with me and Harry and more to do with you and I." 

"If you don't stop talking in circles, I am going to throw you in that fire just like you did with the letter."  

He lets out a strangled sound that might have been a laugh. 

"I've missed your threats." 

I frown, taking a step back. 

"Stop saying things like that," I snap. "Just answer me." 

"Your friend has forbidden me to tell you anything I want to," he sneers. "I can't break the promise."

"Since when were you honest?" I snort, crossing my arms defiantly. "Just tell me." 

"I can't," he says, slightly apologetically. "Or else he won't help me when I ask him to."

"You want Harry to help you?" I ask in disbelief. "With what? What could you possibly want from him?"

He's quiet for a moment, as if debating on whether I'm important enough to share the information with. Then, his eyes give it away, shifting quickly to a crinkled newspaper laying on the table next to us. I stare at him for a moment longer, before quickly reaching for the paper. 

I read it in silence, quickly running theories through my head on what Malfoy might have wanted from Harry. 

"Your parents are in Azkaban," I say out loud, slowly. "And they're going to be murdered. And you want Harry to stop that from happening, don't you?"

He says nothing, but crosses arms in defense. I feel a sudden stab of pity for him, but then, I think of all the things his family, especially his father, has done, and I struggle to find the pity again. 

"Harry can't help you," I say finally, confused on whether Malfoy had asked him already or not. 

"Of course he can," Malfoy snorts. "The ministry will listen to anything he says." 

"Harry already asked the ministry," I explain, shaking my head. "They refused. That paper was published after Harry begged them not to go through with it."

A muscle ticks in his jaw, and I can see Malfoy furiously trying to find another way. Suddenly, his eyes stop frantically searching, and come to a cold, abrasive rest. 

"What are you going to do?" I whisper, wondering if he'll tell me at all. 

He turns, a sign of my dismissal. 

"I'm going to break into Azkaban. And kidnap my parents."

"No, you're not!"

"You can't tell me what to do, Granger," he says, his tone suddenly harsh. "Half the problems in my life are because we listened to you."

"What in the name of Gryfffindor is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he says, not meeting my eyes. "Now, I'd appreciate it if you'd leave."

"You'll be coming back to ask me for help, Malfoy," I tell him, not sure if my words are true. "You can't break into Azkaban without knowing how to produce a Patronus." 

He looks up suddenly, his eyes burning with curiosity. 

"How do you know I can't make a Patronus?"

"I . . . I don't know," I say, now confused. "I suppose I must've heard it somewhere." 

"Are you sure you aren't remembering it?" he says in an oddly hopeful voice. 

"Are you thick? How would I say something without remembering it?" I snap, frustrated that I can't recall how I know. "I just don't remember how I remember it."

"I won't be asking you for help," he says, his voice shutting off the trickle off hope that it held before. "I can figure out how to do a spell, for Merlin's sake."

I shake my head, already knowing I'll be tracking him whether he asks me or not. I leave the room without looking back, debating on whether I should tell Ron and Harry about all of this new information or not.