Six words sat on the otherwise blank page of her two-way journal in neither Draco nor Narcissa’s handwriting but in a looping wide calligraphy that took up more than a quarter of the page.

It worked. So proud of you. - L

She couldn’t stop the heavy sigh of relief as she tapped the page to erase it or the tears that slipped down her cheeks that she quickly passed off to Ginny as excitement for becoming Gryffindor prefect.

It worked.

The Dark Lord would be pleased.

She hadn’t hurt Harry in the process.

By the time she found herself back at Hogwarts, she’d been aching for a sight of her other friends as well as Draco. Though staying at the Headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix sounded exciting, the reality was exactly the opposite. Especially with Order members stopping by at all hours of the night and day causing the portrait of Sirius’ mother to scream obscenities about blood traitors and muggleborns at an ear-piercing volume.

However, Hogwarts was no longer how she had left it, now with the simpering tones of Professor Umbridge lurking around every corner and constantly needling Harry. Hermione had noticed as time passed Harry’s mood continued to sour until he was almost unrecognizable as her best friend.

“He’s not sleeping…” Ron said quietly, sliding closer to Hermione to fill the space Harry had just vacated in the Great Hall during lunch one autumn afternoon a few days after her sixteenth birthday.

She looked up from her Arithmancy book with concern, placing her fork delicately back on her plate.

“What do you mean he’s not sleeping?” she asked in a hushed tone, her eyes scanning the Gryffindors around her to ensure no one was eavesdropping.

Ron grabbed a chip from her plate and popped it into his mouth.

“I mean he sleeps, I guess, but it’s weird, Mione. He talks and sometimes…” Ron’s blue eyes grew distant for a moment. “It’s like it’s not him.”

She felt her face grow pale.

“Not him? It sounds like he’s dreaming, Ron.”

Ron shook his head quickly, looking back to her with an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face before stealing another chip.

“It’s different, Mione,” he said around the chip in his mouth. “He looks like he’s… in pain and when he speaks it doesn’t sound right. It’s not… English.”

She pursed her lips, thinking.

“Do you think it’s parseltongue?” she asked after a moment.

Ron blinked a few times, something obviously clicking in his mind.

“I think you’re right. You’re brilliant, you are.” Ron gave her a sheepish smile before tucking a curl behind her ear.

Stomach curling uncomfortably, she tried to shift away from his touch. Since she’d arrived at the Burrow for the remainder of the summer holiday, Ron had been trying to touch her in these casual sorts of ways that always made her feel a bit queasy. She couldn’t understand why he was suddenly so interested in touching her, but it made her unsettled when he did.

She couldn’t help but chance a quick glance over to the Slytherin table where Draco’s expression had darkened. He’d obviously seen. Beside him, Blaise was speaking quickly in his ear – obviously trying to talk him down.

Looking back to Ron she approximated a smile, trying not to notice the way his face had fallen.

“Look out for him, will you? With You-Know-Who back we need to take care of Harry more than ever.”

“Hermione…” he said slowly. “What are those?”

He pointed to the emerald studs in her ears. As the backs were charmed to never poke, she hadn’t taken them off since leaving the Manor – having more or less forgotten about them. She blinked a few times before wiping her mouth with her napkin.

“They’re called earrings , Ronald,” she replied waspishly.

The corners of his full lips pulled down in a frown that reminded her very much of the mountain troll they’d defeated in first year.

“But they’re… green ,” he nearly spat the word at her. Instinctively she leaned away.

“They were my mother’s,” she said quickly.

“But they’re green!” he said a little louder, a few of their tablemates starting to stare.

Anger flooded her cheeks as she began packing up her bag and pushed the plate away from her.

“So?”

He spluttered for a moment, gesturing towards her ears.

“So? You’re wearing Slytherin colors! It’s disgusting – they’re disgusting! They’re traitors, like dad said! They’re rotten, the lot of them!”

She blanched, leaning further back as he continued to splutter with rage. What was it with these boys this year and their tempers?

From the corner of her eye she saw Theo and Draco half rising from their seats, Daphne and Pansy both keeping a hand firmly on them. But Blaise was already standing, unencumbered by the girls. Hermione shot him a warning look before Ron took back her attention.

“You know, Ron, if you took the broomstick out of your arse for a moment you might be able to see that it is not the house colors someone wears that makes them rotten.” She leaned in closer, her eyes flashing with heat. “If you want to see something disgusting, why don’t you go look in the mirror.”

Ron merely blinked at her in surprise, as if he suddenly was seeing her for the first time.

Sliding her bag onto her shoulder she stood up, throwing him another appalled look.

“Dumbledore said, ‘ We are only as strong as we are united, weak as we are divided.’ And that we can only fight the dark side by putting aside our differences. When you’re ready to grow up, let me know.”

Without waiting for his reply, she strode from the Great Hall, giving Draco a lingering look before letting the double doors swing shut behind her. A few paces away, Blaise leant against the banister of the staircase.

“Did he hurt you?” Blaise said, falling into step beside her.

She shook her head, drawing her Arithmancy book tighter to her chest.

“No, he’s just a prat,” she said sullenly.

Blaise huffed a laugh, nodding.

“Truer words have never been spoken, Granger. Where are you headed now? Greenhouses?”

She nodded.

Blaise tilted his head in that direction.

“I’ll walk with you. I’ve got Care of Magical Creatures next.”

Hermione smiled, grateful that most of the students were still at lunch so she could have a little time alone with her friend.

“How was your summer?” she asked as they made their way through the entrance hall and onto the sunny lawn of the grounds.

He shrugged but his blush gave away more than he was letting on.

“It was good. Spent some of it with Daph’s family.”

She stopped in her tracks, hitting him around the shoulder with her book.

“ Ow! Stop you menace!” He batted her away.

“Blaise Lysander Zabini, are you telling me you spent the summer with the Greengrasses officially courting Daphne and you didn’t tell me?” she shrieked.

“Hey! Hey!” Blaise finally tugged the heavy book from her hand. “How in the world would I have told you, Granger? It’s not like we could have sent you an owl.”

Hermione jumped up, trying to pull it back from his grasp.

“You could have told me while I was at the Manor!”

Blaise nodded sheepishly, running a hand over his head.

“I thought about it, but Draco said you’d be having a…” His dark brown eyes surveyed their surroundings before continuing. “Visitor. Thought it might not be wise.”

Her face fell as she remembered the visitor who indeed graced them with His presence over the beginning of the holiday. Sometimes, especially in the dead of night, she was sure she could still feel the ghost of sharp fingertips moving through her scalp and the whisper of you have done well, pet lingering in her ears.

“ He was there, wasn’t he?” Blaise asked quietly, letting Hermione finally pull the book from his grip as she nodded. “Draco wouldn’t say, but he and Theo both had the same look in their eyes when I brought it up. I supposed I can’t ask –”

Hermione cut him off.

“You can’t, I’m sorry. It’s not safe, Blaise.”

He nodded and they started to make their slow descent down to the greenhouses. Far off they could hear the buzz of chatter from the great hall and the clanking of silverware on plates mixing with the rustling of leaves and lapping of water where the giant squid lazily skimmed the surface. The chilly autumn air swirled Hermione’s hair around her face as they crested the hill.

“Then let me ask this instead,” he said finally, grabbing her arm to turn her to him. “What can I do to help?”