Black, White, and Grey

Set the World Tumbling

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

What if you found your black and white world suddenly shaded in grey?

What would you think?

What would you say?

What would you do?

I'm sitting in a small, cramped room that smells of fear and illness from the people here, perched at a writing desk with a candle sputtering in a pool of melted wax, threatening to go out, and plunge us into darkness. I won't dare light my wand for illumination after the candle dies, can't risk being traced, and found, not now. Not until I've finished recording the truth, recording the years.

You're wondering who I am, who else is trapped here in this musty, damp cellar, God knows where. My name is Hermione Malfoy. I know it's not what you're expecting to read, not what you want to read, but it's the truth. With me are six other people, none of us in the best shape, all of us on the run from those who are winning right now. There were three sides, even after it all began, not the two everyone wanted to see.

But my companions. There's Draco, my husband. He's leaning against some sacks of potatoes, I think. We haven't checked them to see what's in them, and we really don't care. Draco's asleep, his face relaxed as it never is when he's awake. Even now I can't read his expression, after years of being married. On his lap is our daughter, Elizabeth. She's only just turned seven, and she's seen war her entire life. She's anything but innocent, as I was at her age. She's asleep as well, curled up in Draco's lap, her head on his shoulder. Only in sleep do either of them regain a measure of innocence.

I hear a dry, hacking cough behind me, and the rustle of cloth as people shift position. The one who coughed would be Tom Riddle, more commonly known as Lord Voldemort. He fell ill a week ago, while we were camped on the moors, watching Malfoy Manor burn to the ground. He insisted we keep running, until yesterday, when Min insisted we stop. He was too weak to countermand her. Min's his wife, the former Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts. Minerva Riddle, now that there's no point in keeping her maiden name. Despite what some people say, she was never a spy. She refused to tell Tom about Dumbledore's plans and activities, even though he tried to convince her. Using various methods of persuasion.

I glance up from the parchment to check on the other two. Sirius Black and Ginny Weasley. Not who you'd expect, no, but they're here as well. No, don't ask me how Sirius is alive, I don't really know, nor do I want to. He's not happy about having to trust Tom, or Draco. Or me, not now. Not anymore than Ginny is, but they don't have much choice. It was us, or the Ministry hounds, and we were apparently the better option. Sirius is glaring past me at Tom and Min, Ginny has her head on his shoulder, asleep.

I know you're wondering why we're all here, and why none of us are dead yet. Why Draco and I are married, or why Tom and Minerva are as well. Why we're on the run, and who's chasing us. Why they're chasing us. It's a long story, if I have time to write it all, that begins in my sixth year. I will tell you what I remember, and I pray this gets into the hands of someone who will read it, and believe it, who is willing to spread the truth despite the Ministry and their lies. Hmm. Not the first time I've taken on the Ministry, though last time, I didn't feel this alone.

~~~ ~~~

I peered into McGonagall's outer office, looking for McGonagall, a frown quickly coming to my face. I'd come to talk to her every Saturday afternoon this year, to discuss the week, and we'd always met in her outer office. She wasn't there, but I'd never known her to be late, so I slipped inside, heading for my favorite seat, until I saw the door to her private rooms open. She never left that door open, even the slight crack it was opened at the moment.

There were voices coming from inside, low murmurs of sound with no distinguishable words. I crept forward, my curiosity in high gear. It was always one of my personality weaknesses, or strengths, depending on how you looked at it. I wanted to know everything I could, and right now, I wanted to know what was being said in there, and why McGonagall had left the door cracked open.

I pressed against the cool stone of the wall, my ears straining to catch the words coming from the room. I nearly cursed when all I heard, still, was a wordless murmur, and wished for a moment that I had one of the Weasley twins' Extendable Ears. They would come in handy about now, but since I didn't have one, I would have to do this the old-fashioned way, and pray I didn't get caught.

Slipping closer, I curled my fingers around the smooth wood of the door frame as I peered through, moving slowly and carefully as so not to be seen. The comforting scent of woodsmoke reached me, along with the flickering green light of the fire. McGongall was speaking to someone whose head floated in the flames. My eyes widened when I saw who it was, and kept widening at what was being said.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle! I told you, I will not spy on Albus for you. Ever." Her voice was angry. "Now, I have to go. I'm supposed to be meeting a student shortly."

"She can wait." The rasping voice belonged to the... thing in the flames on McGongall's hearth. "I need to know what the old man is up to now."

"Absolutely not! I may have married you, but you are still acting like an adolescent fool, Tom. I choose the side that was doing the most good, with the fewest mistakes made, and you know that. Quit trying to convince me otherwise."

"I still love you, Min." That drew a gasp from me, hearing something like that from Voldemort. And he used a nickname for McGonagall? This was weird. The sound had made both look to the door, fear in McGonagall's eyes, and anger in Voldemort's. Oh lovely. What was he going to do? I know, I was already an obvious target, as someone close to Harry, but this was just bad for everyone...

"Miss Granger. How much did you hear?" McGonagall interrupted my thoughts, the fear audible in her voice as well, as she waved me in, indicating I should shut the door behind me. I could see her wand gripped tightly in her hand, and hoped that I could convince her it wasn't needed. How had she kept this a secret so long? Or did Dumbledore know?

"Not much." It was the truth, though I'd heard enough to intrigue me, and confuse me. "Professor, what's going on?"

McGonagall glanced at Voldemort, their eyes meeting, the question that flashed between them visible even to me. Did they tell me, or did McGongall erase my memory of what happened, and our usual Saturday meeting go as planned?

"I give you my word I won't tell anyone what I saw, that not a word I hear will leave this room. I won't even tell Harry or Ron." Not that they'd believe me. Well, Harry might, but he was doing better at Occulmancy, and I doubt he'd know of this meeting through Voldemort. The Gryffindor head of house talking to Lord Voldemort, evil incarnate. Scolding him, if what I heard first was real. I wasn't sure I believed it myself, not yet. "Wizard's Oath."

Something else passed between them, probably an answer to the question, though I wasn't sure what it was until McGongall nodded. Her wand tip touched mine after I drew it, and I could feel the tingle of the magical binding settle into my bones. The sensation made me shiver slightly.

"It's a long story, but Tom can't talk long, so we'll make it short. Tom and I met on the train when we went to Hogwarts, and with my two friends, made an inseparable group. We stopped meeting where anyone could see us talking in our third year, even had a public fight to make people think we'd split up, to protect all of us."

Voldemort took over, as McGonagall drew in a breath. It was rather surreal, him talking civilly to me, a Muggle-born witch who was his worst enemy's best friend. "Min married me shortly after graduation, though she retained her maiden name, because I wasn't willing to risk her, then." McGongall glared at him for this comment, and he raised an eyebrow.

"We have a daughter. She's living in the United States, near where she was raised by a friend of mine. She still keeps in contact with us both, even has children of her own now. The oldest turns eleven in March, and she intends to send him here." McGonagall sighed. "I can't talk her out of it, and my grandson is likely to end up in Slytherin."

I nodded. She was probably worried about playing favorites, and it would look very odd if her favorite student was a Slytherin. More than odd. Suspicious. I could understand why she wouldn't want that.

"Min took the job of Transfiguration teacher to keep up appearen..."

"TOM! I took this job because I'm good at it, and they needed a Transfiguration teacher, and you know that! Do not twist the truth around me." Her eyes narrowed as she glared at Voldemort, and mine widened when he nodded. One of the most powerful wizards in the world, and he let himself be scolded by an aging witch who was likely no match for him in a duel. Amazing. Surreal.

"I have to go, Min." Voldemort's face winked out of the flames, which died down to embers a moment later, leaving me alone with Professor McGonagall, and a very large dose of reality to swallow.

"You're married to Voldemort?" My voice was a nearly breathless squeak, and my knees gave out, fortunately landing me on a comfy seat behind me rather than the hard floor. I knew my eyes were probably wide as saucers, and I was trembling in reaction.

Professor McGonagall got up, grabbing a decanter from the mantle, and two glasses from a glass-fronted cabinet. Pouring one half-full, she handed it to me before filling the other, and stoppering the decanter. I stared at her in surprise as she replaced the whisky on the mantle.

"You need it." She took a sip of the alcohol as she sat in the other plump, over-stuffed chair that sat in front of the hearth. I liked her sitting room, with worn, comfortable furniture, panelled in warm wood, and with thick rugs covering the cold stone floor. In the corner was a desk similar to the one in her office, polished mahogany, with cherry and oak inlay. Very nice.

I was babbling to myself, and took a gulp from my glass to steady my nerves. Suddenly, my mouth was on fire, and the drink burned all the way down. My eyes watered, and when I tried to breath, I coughed instead. Brilliant, Hermione! Gulp down a mouthful of what was likely Ogden's finest whisky.

"Careful. Tis a wee bit strong." McGongall was nursing her drink, and now I had a clue as to why. It wasn't something meant to be drank with any speed.

"How did you meet...?" I couldn't say his name right then. It was as if there was a blockage in my throat when I tried.

"Meri, Ri, and I were looking for an empty compartment on the train our first year. He had the one closest to empty, so we joined him. No one else had wanted to sit in there with him."

"Did your friends get sorted into Gryffindor with you?" My curiosity was back, between it and the whiskey defeating the specter of shock. Like I said, it can be one of my greatest strengths.

"Nae. They were both sorted into Slytherin, like Tom." McGongall shrugged. "They're families were disapointed, but they dinnae care." She has a bit of a brogue when she's tipsy. Or was I tipsy and hearing things?

"Tell me more about when you went to Hogwarts." Oh blessed - or is it cursed? - curiosity. "Could I have more to drink?" I needed to be a bit less sober to think about this. Or not think about this. Hmm. Was I actually planning on getting drunk? Had I hit my head... no. I'd been told too much, and it wasn't making sense.

"Well, thae four of us were in trouble more often than not durin' first year. We'd sneak out tae meet after curfew, because we couldn't just all meet in the dorms... Not with me in Gryffindor. We learned the inside o' thae toilets right well." She smiled slightly, at the memory, I thought. "An' nae, ye mayn't have more o' me whisky. Tisn't good fer a young lass like ye."

So much for not being sober enough to think. "Why are you still with..." I paused, then continued. Could not say his name. Why? "After all he's done? I mean, all the murdering and everything. How do you cope with it?"

"I donnae always cope with it verra well. I love Tom, but sometimes he acts like he's still an angry boy. Him an' his followers, ruddy fools that they are, doin' more than they should."

"More than they should? What do you mean?"

"Thae Ministry is hiding what they're doin' ta thae wizarding world with their insistence on separation. It's killin' us off, slowly. O' course, Tom isn't doin' thae right thin' either. He's as much a ruddy fool as Fudge." She scowled into her glass. "E'en two hundred years ago we was doin' better than we are now. Tom do ha' a decent cause, you cannae deny tha', but...." She trailed off, taking another drink of her whiskey.

I took a deep, calming, steadying breath myself, and held it. Then another. This was almost more than I could handle. I needed another drink, and wordlessly held out the empty glass in my hand. I could feel McGonagall's eyes on me a moment, then the rustle of cloth as she moved. A moment later, liquid splashed into my glass, golden sanity.

Thank all the gods it was Saturday, and I didn't have class the next day, because we talked far into the night, sharing that decanter of liquid sanity. When she finally escorted me back, it was well past midnight, and we were both quite drunk, though she was far more sober than I. If she hadn't been, I doubted I'd have made it back in one piece.

~~~ ~~~

I woke with all the demons of hell pounding on the inside of my skull the next morning, a wad of cotton stuffed in my mouth, and a stomach threatening rebellion. Dragging my eyes open, I moaned as a thousand shards of glass buried themselves into my brain, and squeezed them shut as I pulled my pillow over my head.

"Good morning, Hermione!"

I was going to kill that insufferable brat Pavarti for that sickeningly cheerful tone of voice. Just as soon as my head stopped pounding, and the world firmly anchored itself again, instead of spinning like a top. I raised my head just enough to administer my patented Death Glare when the pillow was dragged out of my grip, taking the efforts of both girls that were now grinning at me.

"Late night, Herm?" She giggled again, the sound nauseating in the extreme. Why wasn't homicide an acceptable alternative, again?

"You have to tell us all about him!" Great. Lavender too, and both were under the impression that I was with a guy the previous night. Saints and gods protect me, and keep my hands from winding around their too-cheerful necks, especially right then.

"Like hell I do," I muttered, pulling the sheets over my head. Like hell. No way was I sharing what I learned last night with them, the rumour mongering little creeps. Nor was I about to share the secret of the liquid sanity.

The sheet was ripped from from my hands, and yanked away, and I glared at Lavender. That had been the wrong thing to do, Brown. You signed your death warrant with that.

It took me a whole five minutes to get them to leave. I don't think they knew I could curse at all, much less with such flair, eloquence, and creativity. Hmph. They should not have been so cheerful so bloody early in the morning when I had the mother of all hangovers. And that necessitated a visit to my least favorite professor. Not the most pleasant of ideas, especially when one's stomach was already threatening rebellion.

He'd probably smirk in that supercilious fashion of his, the greasy-haired bastard. I didn't care. I just wanted rid of the blasted hangover.

It didn't take me long to dress, though I did so without care for what I put on, so long as I was decently covered. I didn't know how many students wore their school robes on Sundays, but I didn't care. My motto, my mantra for that day.

Lavender and Pavarti pointedly looked away as I crossed the common room. Fuck them. Who gave a damn about their shallow pursuits and lives, anyway? Not me. Maybe later, when I felt more like myself I could have cared, but certainly not at that moment.

I stalked out of the common room, and down to the Potions dungeon. I could have found my way in my sleep, while hungover it wasn't so hard. Professor Snape was at his desk as I walked in, and looked up. Before I could say anything, he'd pointed at a small vial on the workbench nearest him.

"I suggest anymore talks you have with Minerva are conducted sober. Especially about her past." He didn't quite glare at me, which made me choke on the potion as I gulped it down. That made him glare properly.

Swallowing, I recorked the vial, feeling the potion work its magic on the hangover. "You know?"

"When I see two giggling Gryffindors stumbling in the dark towards the tower, one of them my colleague, of course I know to have a hangover remedy ready!" I thought he was being purposely dense.

"No, I mean about Professor McGonagall's past."

He raised his head from grading papers again, one elegant black brow rising in sardonic amusement. "Of course. How else would I be able to keep Tom aware of her well-being when she can't talk to him herself?"

I knew I was staring. I wanted more of the liquid sanity. Then again, considering the price, perhaps I did not. "You're on a first name basis?"

"He trusts me to protect his wife." He returned to grading his papers, ignoring me again. I wondered if anyone had heard that conversation. But then again, the only people down here willingly on a Sunday, barring one insane Gryffindor, were Slytherins. Not likely to rat out their Head of House. I hoped.

"I'd love to quiz you about it, Professor, but I really have to go!" He raised his head again to glare at me, as I began to back to the door. I needed to sort out my life, and pre-conceived notions. "Harry and Ron are probably worried." Probably frantic with the certainty I was dead, or more involved with a chess game, and more likely the latter. "None of this will get to anyone from me, I promise." Naturally. No one would have believed me even if I were inclined to tell. I wasn't stupid.

He nodded in annoyance, his eyes narrowed to convince me to back away faster, out of the room. Right into the other person I didn't like dealing with. Blast Malfoy and his sneer. Especially the one that was on his face at that moment.

"Hello, Granger. What is the Mudblood doing down here, on a bright Sunday morning?" His voice was a silky purr of menace. When had the slimy bastard learned that? It wasn't fair having two males capable of that tone of voice, simply not fair!

"Sod off, Malfoy." I spun, trying to get away from him, and tripped. Why? I didn't know, nor did I know over what. All I knew was I tripped, and Malfoy caught me, instinctively I was sure, leaving me pressed neck to knee against a well-formed, and very male body.

What the hell was I thinking?! This was Malfoy, for God's sake, my worst enemy, and a Slytherin! But it was a nice body, I was sure, under those robes, and he was handsome, I supposed.... Hermione Anne Granger! Why couldn't you get your wits together, for Pete's sake...

He kissed me. There I was, thinking evil thoughts, and trying to get myself back in mental balance, then there were a pair of soft lips pressed against mine. So soft, so gentle. My mouth opened to let out a shriek, muffled though it might be, and his tongue invaded.

Excuse me, Malfoy, but I thought we were enemies. That you hated Muggle-borns. So why were you kissing me? Had you lost your mind? Had I lost mine? I asked this because I found myself kissing him back.

He pulled away, a strange look in his eyes. His arms were firmly wrapped around my waist, steadying me. "You... taste good." His voice was a confused murmur. I don't think he knew why he kissed my anymore than I did.

He set me aside, on my feet, his expression closing. Oh well. Good riddance. I didn't like that other Draco... Wait a minute. When did he become Draco instead of Malfoy? Oh, bloody hell. I ran, my feet pounding on the stone all the way back up to my dorm, pausing only briefly at the portrait hole to gasp out the password, and dart in.

My head was spinning worse than it had with the hangover. I hate having my world set spinning. Definitely not a sensation I'd enjoyed, or would wish to repeat. I buried my head beneath my pillow again, just as there was a knock on my door.

"Hermione?" Great. That was Ginny. Lavender and Pavarti, or any of the older girls don't bother to knock, and the boys couldn't get to my dorm.

"What?" I didn't want to deal with anyone that day. Not after that morning's encounters, especially not Ginny, or Harry, or Ron.

"You want to talk about it?"

I raised my head enough to glare half-heartedly at the door. Staying angry at her was impossible, not when she used that hurt-puppy voice that Harry taught her to use. "No." Still didn't make me want to talk about it. Any of it. Especially not that morning's events. Oh no, not those.

"You sure? You're awfully cross this morning. I was just wondering if I could help."

No, you couldn't help me sort out my life, Ginny. That was my job, and mine alone. "I just didn't get enough sleep. I'll be fine."

"If you say so." She didn't sound convinced, but I heard her footsteps retreating back down the stairs. Good enough. My head flopped back onto my pillow, my thoughts racing.

Ok. In the course of less than twenty-four hours, I'd met Voldemort in a fireplace, found out my favorite teacher was married to the aforementioned person, and discovered he doesn't really hate Muggle, or Mudbloods, I thought. Also, gotten drunk, had a civilized, albeit brief, conversation with Snape, cursed to make a sailor blush, been kissed by Draco Malfoy, and kissed said Slytherin back.

So where did my life go from there? I thumped my head several times on the mattress, trying to sort things out. Ok. Go talk to someone. But who? McGongall said she'd be out that day, I thought she went to see Voldemort. Ew. Not an image my mind needed. I had to get my mind out of the gutter.

Who did I talk to? I couldn't talk to Harry. He would go off the deep end, if he believed me. Oh, I didn't doubt he'd believe I got drunk, but I... Oh, there was that too. I promised not to tell Ron or Harry. Of course, Ron would have chosen to believe someone slipped me something, probably Malfoy. Ginny would tell Ron, so not her. Lavender and Pavarti are the people you talked to when you wanted something all over school, preferably in less than a day.

No one in Gryffindor house would have believed me, and I doubted they'd keep it a secret if they did. So much for my own house. I didn't really know anyone in Ravenclaw, except Cho Chang. And she was Head Girl. Anything I told her would have gone straight to Dumbledore, and that's one person who really didn't need to find out about most of this if he didn't know already. Which also left him out.

Hufflepuffs wouldn't help. They wouldn't understand the intricacies of the mess. And I didn't think any of the professors, with the exception of Snape, would take the situation seriously. No, correction. A couple of them might have, but they'd tell the Ministry. And Dumbledore. Lovely. I'd eliminated most of the school, with the exception of the people I didn't want to associate with.

Now there was another question to answer. Why didn't I want to associate with anyone in Slytherin? I knew Malfoy was normally a slimy little git, but he was almost... pleasent earlier. Crabbe, Goyle, and Bulstrode displayed the collective intelligent of a rock. I didn't know why anyone would want to associate with them. The first-years were all still uncertain and excited, like all first years. I didn't want to talk about this with the younger students, anyway.

I certainly wasn't talking to Malfoy about this. He was part of my problem, and likely to laugh at the rest. Leaving seventh-year Slytherins or Snape. Didn't know the seventh years well enough to talk to them. So Snape.

I dragged myself back out of my bed once again, and my room, ignoring the questioning looks from Harry and Ron as I crossed the common room. I had a lot to sort out, and they couldn't help. Oh, this was going to be embarressing. I would never live this down, never. Asking Professor Snape for help.

I raised my hand to knock on his office door, hoping he'd be there, and the door opened. Oh no. Damn you, Malfoy! Damn you!

One blond eyebrow arched in amusement. "Well, Granger. Fancy seeing you down here. Thinking of turning into a bat like the rest of us?" Long story, having mostly to do with a first-year Hufflepuff last year and an ill-timed remark about Snape and Slytherins in general.

"Not particularly, Malfoy. Though I might turn you into a bat." Then I'd be safe from you, and your too-bloody-good looks.

He smirked, shaking his head. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I haven't the time today." He swept past me with an elegant bow before he strode off down the corridor. Damn him! He's too handsome for his own good, and he knows it. Not to mention too smooth, too graceful, and too charming.

What was I thinking? Malfoy is not a good choice for a crush. Wait. A crush? Oh no, oh NO! I do not have a crush on Draco Malfoy, confirmed git and slimy bastard...

"Are you going to stand out there all day, or did you have a reason for coming to bother me, Miss Granger?" Snape's voice snapped me out of my brooding, and I stepped into his office, closing the door behind me.

"I need to talk to someone." I looked for a place to sit, and found none. Blast the man.

"And so you decided to waste my time with your useless emotional prattle." His black eyes were glittering with annoyance, and that silky voice suggested he was close to loosing his temper.

"It's not prattle!" My temper had already snapped thanks to Malfoy. "I can't talk about this to anyone who doesn't already know about most of what's sent my carefully arranged world tumbling. And I sure as hell can't talk to McGonagall if she's not here. Oh, and believe me, I'm certain she's not." I shuddered as Snape winced. "I don't want to think about that."

Snape nodded agreement. "And?"

"If I try to sort this out on my own, my thoughts just run in circles."

He sighed, and I could see the annoyance had not faded. "Why, Miss Granger, are you determined to ruin my Sunday afternoon by making me your sounding board? I have neither the time, nor the patience to put up with you and your personal melodrama, even if I cared to try."

Why didn't I listen to myself? Asking Snape for help is like trying to hug a porcupine. A very bad idea that generally got you hurt. "I was asking you for help because you're the only one I can ask for help!" Oh brilliant, Hermione. Admit to him that this is going to leave you very much in debt to him, because there was no one else to go to. He's a Slytherin! He'll use that against you!

And there was that slightly sadistic smirk that told me he had read between the lines. Damn him.

"So, Miss Granger." His voice was a silky purr of menace. "You need help?"

~~~ ~~~

I spent my Sunday afternoon scrubbing out cauldrons, and thinking. Well, at least I had an excuse for being grumpy that morning. And I'd resolved a small part of my dilemma. Not much, but I had a start. And cauldrons make very good sounding boards. Brilliant acoustics.

Ok, so McGonagall was married to Voldemort. Nothing I could do about that, so accept it and move on. Second item: Voldemort wasn't as evil as he's made out to be. Most of the Death Eaters, no exaggeration. That he wanted immortality, and could be a right idiot about it, given. But he didn't hate Muggles and Muggle-borns as much as the history books say.

Well, the truth... He hated Muggles for most of his life. He slowly stopped hating them, and just felt a great antipathy for them. And hated thier influence on magical society. And disliked Muggle-borns intensely for corrupting the magical world. Hard to cope with that tangled mess, and I don't think that is the whole of the truth. I'll sort it out later.

Third: Had a civilized conversation with Snape. But only one, and a very brief one at that. Must have been a fluke. Forget about it. Please, dear God, forget about it. That was enough to give me nightmares.

Most disconcerting - was kissed by Malfoy, and enjoyed it. Even kissed him back. What was in the whiskey last night? Or did someone cast a spell on him, or me, or both?

I nearly smacked my head on the cauldron as I sat back on my heels. I was clean, and now I was a mess. A much calmer mess, mind you, and one with a slightly clearer frame of mind. Ugh. Now I'll have to thank Snape for helping me sort out my thoughts, and clear my mind. Oh, joyful day.

"Done, Miss Granger?" Snape had been watching me, after I'd cleaned the first two. Yelling at crud baked on in a Nevillesque fashion was good stress relief.

"Finally. Can I leave now?"

"Provided you aren't going to come back and disturb my day further." His expression was sour, and I wasn't in a much better mood.

"I won't be back until Potions class on Tuesday." Oh, no way would I be back before I had to. I might run into Malfoy again, which was the one thing I didn't want to happen.

"Then leave, Miss Granger."

I don't think I'd ever moved that fast in my life, as a bolted for the Gryffindor tower once the cleaning supplies were put away. I needed a shower sooo bad. I didn't even know one could get that dirty. Ick.

When I came out of my room, I had to suppress an annoyed groan. Harry and Ron were waiting at the bottom of the stairs, with concerned and expectant looks on their faces. Why, oh why, did I have to deal with them right then?

"Where've you been, Hermione? We've been looking all over for you!" Ron had a habit of exaggerating at times. That was one of the more annoying times.

"Obviously you haven't, because you didn't find me. If you're so eager to know, I had detention with Snape for being out after curfew last night."

The instant looks of sympathy and pity nearly made me growl. These were the two I still had to resort into my new world view. Or outlook on life, or however you want to put it. I couldn't tell them what I knew, and they were going to figure out I was hiding something from them sooner or later. Hopefully later, rather than sooner. Damn it! I would probably loose my best friends over this. Lovely. Hmm, you know, I'd just noticed I'd cursed more in that twenty-four-hour period than I ever had before in my life. Fascinating.

"I'll be back. I need to go talk to Professor McGongall." I headed for the portrait hole, Harry and Ron trailing after me like lost puppies. I hate it when they do that.

"You talked to McGonagall yesterday, Hermione. And you didn't get back until after we'd gone up for the night." Ron gave me an accusing look to go with his comments, and I sighed internally. This would be difficult.

"We hadn't finished talking, and I had nearly fallen asleep in her office. I decided to go to bed, but I promised I'd be back today to finish our conversation. Which I've been unable to do because Snape caught me out after curfew, and I received detention." I smiled at them, trying not to snarl. "I'll be fine. There's class tomorrow, so I won't be late getting back today."

Harry gave me a skeptical look, but shrugged. "Whatever you say, Hermione. Just... If you need help, you always have us to talk to."

Thank you Harry! Just one small problem. I promised not to tell you. Or Ron. So there goes that brilliant idea. Too bad.

"I know you are, Harry." I smiled again, before ducking out of the common room, suppressing the urge to run all the way to McGonagall's office. I wanted to know more. About the other two women she'd mentioned, about the past that wasn't in the history books - the why. History so often tells us the where, the how, and the when, and sometimes the who, but it rarely tells us why people reacted as they did. I wanted to know the why behind Voldemort. You could call it the curse of my curiosity.