A Capacity for Love

Author's Note: Some dialogue in this chapter is taken directly from HBP: A Sluggish Memory.

Chapter 17

Return to Hogwarts

All too soon, the day came for Hermione to return to Hogwarts. She was ambivalent about going back. Points against: Snape was still there, as was Oonagh, both constant reminders of Halloween, although she felt reasonably certain now that Snape wasn't going to be any threat. He had seemed slightly unhinged at his last visit, it was true, but it was an inward-directed madness, and he had never actually sought to molest her in the weeks since Halloween. Quite the contrary: He had gone out of his way more than once to leave her alone. Still, she wasn't exactly looking forward to sitting through his classes. Ron, also, was probably still going to be a prat. And to top it all off, she didn't have any friends, other than Harry, who was probably still going to be wrapped up in his own pursuits. All in all, not particularly tempting.

On the other hand, there were the following points in favor: She wouldn't have to explain to her parents (or Dumbledore, or anyone else) why she wasn't returning. And she didn't have any other plans. Completing her education in the wizarding world would be easier at this point than starting from scratch in the Muggle world. In the end, it was mostly laziness, with a dash of defiance, that made the decision for her. At seven o'clock that morning, she boarded a commuter train to London, expecting to connect to the Hogwarts Express at eleven.

When she arrived at King's Cross, however, she found that she simply couldn't do it. She absolutely could not face a train full of raucous students, the jostling on the platform, the Dungbombs in the corridors, the cold shoulders and nasty looks she would reap as a prefect doing her duties. And she hadn't any hope of hiding out for the entire journey; someone would track her down, as they had last time.

She wasn't really sure what she wanted to do, but she knew that boarding the Hogwarts Express was not on the list. And so, for the first time in six years, she marched out of London's King's Cross station on the first day of term.

Stepping out of the glass concourse that had been so rudely stuck onto the front of the Victorian-era building, she kept looking around nervously, certain that any second, a prefect or one of the Head students would tap her on the shoulder and call her back, but nothing happened. Shouldering her bag more firmly, she walked purposefully away, no goal in mind. Within a couple of minutes, however, she saw the new British Library, and with a sense of relief, passed through the scanners and checked her bag into a locker. Here were her friends; here, she knew what to expect, and nothing was expected of her, aside from a modicum of respect for the books and attentiveness toward their content.

However, losing herself in the words did not come easily, and she flitted from one section to another, trying to quell the flutter of agitation in her stomach at the knowledge that she was playing hooky.

When she could stand it no longer, she looked at her watch and realized with an odd mixture of triumph and panic that it was a quarter past eleven. She had missed the Hogwarts Express. She didn't mean to run away completely; if she didn't turn up by tonight, at the latest, the school would contact her parents, and she didn't want them to worry. There was really no doubt that she had to go back to Hogwarts, but she was now on her own. Well, after all, she was seventeen. An adult. Adults got into situations and solved them on their own.

Despite that realization, she felt as she had back in second year, confronted with the Devil's Snare: It seemed as if she ought to know what to do, but at the moment, it was escaping her. Ron's words came back to her: Are you a witch, or what? delivered in that tone of contempt he assumed when other people didn't solve things right away (not that he had any solutions at hand), modified by the endearing squeak that had crept into his voice that year. A twinge of longing for the way things used to be threatened to bring tears to her eyes, but she forced it away viciously. They could never go back, never insult each other and expect the hurt to dry up with a look, a giggle, a smile. It had all become deadly serious. Everything was weighed now, every action had a value, and it counted.

Right. Back to the matter at hand. No broomstick, no flying car, no thestral. How did normal mortals (gifted with magical powers) travel from London to Hogsmeade? It must be done all the time. There was, of course, Apparation, but she had never done it (although she felt confident that she could), wasn't licensed yet, and at any rate, Hogsmeade was too far to reach safely in one go. She would have to do it in several steps, and she didn't know enough out-of-the-way places to avoid popping up in the middle of a tourist attraction.

Then there was Flooing. The only place she knew of to Floo from was Diagon Alley, which was a good hour away by Tube. And it would cost money to buy the Floo powder, although she would have enough, if it came to that.

The Knight Bus was no good, even if it cost less than Floo powder; it only ran between dusk and dawn, and she didn't want to wait all day and then show up late at night. Although it was a magical bus, it still had to travel on the roads, and it was several hours from London to Hogwarts. She remembered only too well the scenes that Harry and Ron had made with their late arrivals in past years, including Harry's bloody entrance at the start of the previous term. If there was one thing she didn't want, it was to draw additional attention to herself, which was precisely why she hadn't taken the Express to begin with.

It looked like it would have to be the Floo network after all. She knew that there were fireplaces in Hogwarts that allowed external Flooing (Harry had used the one in Umbridge's office the previous year to communicate with Sirius), but she didn't know what address to call out to reach them, nor if, in light of Voldemort's resurfacing, security measures had been strengthened and those Floos shut down completely. It seemed likely. She would have to Floo into Hogsmeade, then, either the Three Broomsticks or the Hog's Head, and subsequently walk to Hogwarts. For some reason, the latter pub appealed to her more. The sullen old barkeeper there seemed the type who was less likely to be fussed by random students stumbling out of his grate than Madam Rosmerta would be, and less likely to ask for an explanation.

And so, with the knowledge that at that moment, Ron and Harry (who had spent the holidays at the Burrow; she, of course, had not been invited) were also on their way back to Hogwarts, together, along with Ginny, and possibly Luna, Neville, and everyone else whom she used, at one time, to consider her friends, she walked out of the library and let herself be carried with the crowd to the next Tube station. It had started to snow.

+++000+++000+++

As Hermione landed, her foot slipped in something slick. She grabbed at the soot-encrusted hearth to avoid falling ungracefully onto the floor, which was littered with rubbish. She was barely able to regain her balance when something low and gray ran at her knees. She lurched backward, unluckily this time, and ended up sitting in the ashes, her legs splayed and her hair falling across her face.

An unsavory figure seated at the next table gave her a dark look before returning to its drink.

She scrabbled to get up, brushing the worst of the debris off of her jeans, and picked what looked like a broken chicken bone off of her bag. It left a dark and greasy spot.

The gray something bleated loudly and trotted off behind the bar, apparently well pleased with itself.

Hermione straightened up with as much dignity as she could, and headed directly for the exit. Just as she reached the door, however, a familiar voice sounded behind her: "Please, Miss Granger, allow me."

She whipped around, only to find herself face to face with the Hogwarts Headmaster. He smiled at her kindly and reached over to hold the door open for her.

"Professor Dumbledore!" she exclaimed, overcome by surprise. "I--Shouldn't you be up at the castle?" she blurted out without thinking, and then added, belatedly, "...sir?"

"I might well ask you the same thing," he replied cordially. "Perhaps I might accompany you, if we are heading in the same direction?" He gestured for her to take the lead.

"Yes, of course..." she said, still flustered, but following his invitation. "I mean, yes, sir, I'm going up to the school now. I missed the Hogwarts Express, you see," she explained as they began to walk up the road.

"Ah, yes." He nodded knowingly. "Am I correct in assuming that you are on your own? I do not see any companions." He placed just enough emphasis on the word 'see' to suggest that there might be some unseen companions, perhaps hidden underneath a certain Invisibility Cloak.

Hermione shook her head, frowning. Why did everyone seem to assume that everything she was involved in, involved Harry as well? "No, there's no one. I came alone," she said quite firmly. "And in fact, sir, I haven't seen nor heard from Harry since term ended." She was becoming quite cross now at the examination, and was certain that Dumbledore suspected a Harry/Ron adventure at the bottom of her unorthodox appearance.

"I do hope there hasn't been a falling-out?" he inquired.

"Between me and Harry? No," she answered shortly, adding silently: Although I can't say the same for me and Ron.

"That's very good to hear. I believe that he will be needing his friends more than ever, and you certainly count amongst his closest ones. In fact, I wonder if you wouldn't mind delivering this note to him, when you next see him? I daresay you'll want to be catching up as soon as the train gets in." He produced a neatly tied scroll, which he held out to her.

Hermione sighed. Once again, Harry was utmost in everyone's mind. But of course, the threat against him from Lord Voldemort was ever-present. She'd only been the random target of one attack, and for Dumbledore, that was all over and done with. "I'll see that he gets it, sir," she said curtly and tucked the message into her cloak.

Professor Dumbledore, for his part, did not question her further, and they walked together in silence for several minutes. The sky was grey, and the path hard-packed with dirty ice. They had left the town behind them now.

"I... almost didn't come back," Hermione ventured finally. She meant it to be an accusation, but it came out sounding pitiful and pleading.

"But you have."

"I didn't know what else to do. I mean, I had to come back, didn't I?" she said indignantly, and this time, she hit the tone right. "I don't really have a choice. If I drop out of Hogwarts, I haven't anything to show for myself. No job, no prospects."

"You are a resourceful young woman, Miss Granger. I have no doubt that you would land on your feet, whatever your situation. Do not misunderstand; I am pleased that you have returned. The school is richer for your presence. I believe there would be more questions, were you as well as Miss Ploppe not to finish out the year."

"You know about Sandy?"

"I am the Headmaster. It behooves me to know when students leave the roll of the school."

"I didn't mean that... I meant, you know why she left?"

"I am aware of the circumstances she found herself in."

Hermione stopped in her tracks, feeling as if she had been punched in the gut. 'Found herself in'? As if she'd simply awoken one morning and discovered the inconvenient fact that a Death Eater's spawn had lodged itself in her abdomen? She was so furious at that, at his detachment, at his insistence that they all carry on as if the entire world weren't falling apart around them, that she could not speak.

"Is there something wrong, Miss Granger?" Professor Dumbledore stopped as well and was looking at her with polite concern.

Hermione dumbly shook her head and resumed walking.

"I hope I am not sounding callous. She was offered any assistance necessary to be able to complete the school term. Medically speaking, there was no reason for her departure."

Hermione barely suppressed a snort.

"And, should any other students find themselves in the same situation, they, too, would be most welcome to remain." He delivered the mild-sounding remark without even looking at her, but it was clear that he was fishing for information.

Hermione got a bit of satisfaction out of that. So Snape hadn't reported back about his visit to her house. Strangely, she applauded him for keeping mum about it. It had been an odd enough visit; possibly he had revealed more than he in hindsight thought prudent, or he had decided that the entire action was ill-thought-out, and preferred not to reveal it to Dumbledore. Secrets within secrets.

They had arrived at the Hogwarts gates now. The Headmaster tapped the padlock with his wand, and the chain slipped away, allowing the gate to swing silently inward.

"Ah, I see that Hagrid is at home." Dumbledore nodded toward the gamekeeper's hut, whose chimney was billowing merrily. "You would be doing me a great favor if you would stop in and remind him to hitch up the Thestrals to pick the others up from the station. I'm afraid I must attend to some other business rather urgently."

"Of course, sir," Hermione responded with a sinking feeling in her heart. Not that she had anything against Hagrid (he was in fact the only person at Hogwarts whom she knew for certain would be happy to see her); she just wasn't sure that she felt up to stoat sandwiches and whatever new pets he might have acquired over the holidays.

"Oh, and I venture to say that when you arrive at Gryffindor Tower, you will find 'abstinence' to be a new word in the Fat Lady's vocabulary. She and her friend Violet seem to have dipped a bit too deeply into Friar Pius' wine reserves," the headmaster ended with a wink, before parting ways with her and continuing up the main drive to the castle, whilst Hermione veered off onto the muddy path at the bottom of the lawn.

Fang's loud barks hailed her approach, and before she was even able to reach the door, Hagrid flung it open and looked out eagerly.

"Oh, it's you, Hermione!" A broad smile lit up his face, but quickly turned to a frown of apprehension as he rummaged in his pocket and came up with a timepiece, which he studied carefully. "Did the train get in early? It wasn't due 'til four."

"No, Hagrid, I came on my own a bit early. There's still time."

He sighed in relief and re-stowed the watch. "That's good. Thumper an' the others look forward to meetin' the train durin' the whole holiday. Wouldn' like ter disappoint 'em."

Although she was fairly certain she knew the answer, Hermione nevertheless inquired, "Thumper?"

"Why, he's one o' the Thestrals. Remember when I introduced yer to them in class? In fact, he's one o' the ones helped you an' Harry an' the others get to London last year. Surprised yeh don' remember."

Hermone reminded herself to be kind. "Of course I remember the Thestrals, Hagrid. I just didn't remember the name," she explained.

"Well, come on, then," he said, his good mood returning. "You can get re-acquainted with 'em while I get the carriages ready. Let's go, Fang!" The boarhound bounded out of the hut and jumped around Hermione eagerly, and she couldn't help but be caught up the tiniest bit in his excitement. She bent down and scraped together a snow ball from the dirty slush at the edge of the path, then threw it in the air for Fang to snap at.

Hagrid walked briskly toward the castle, asking Hermione about her holidays, to which she made polite but shallow remarks.

"Wasn't much goin' on 'round here, neither," Hagrid consoled her. "Most o' the professors were gone, too, an' not many students stayed. Pretty much jus' Dumbledore an' the Heads. Well, an' me." He gave Hermione a broad grin. "Brought Grawpie down for Christmas dinner. Think he was really touched. Tried ter sing along when Dumbledore led the caroling, bless his little heart, even if Professor Sprout did have ter hand out some o' her earmuffs. An' he only tried to eat Professor Snape once, but tha' wasn't really his fault. The professor was standin' a bit too close to the desserts tray. He's awfully fond o' mince pies, is Grawp." Hagrid sighed and shook his head with a nostalgic smile on his face.

"It's too bad someone stopped him," Hermione muttered darkly.

"Eh, Hermione," Hagrid remonstrated her gently, "I know you don' like Professor Snape much, an' I can't say as I blame you, but Professor Dumbledore's always stood up fer him. He's not all bad." They were walking not toward the main entrance, but to the west wing of the castle, where a carriage house was nestled against the outer wall. Hagrid now dropped the burlap bag he'd been carrying and swung the big double doors open to reveal a row of familiar coaches: the ones that Hermione had always assumed drove by themselves.

"Hagrid, I'm sorry," Hermione said, "I know you put a lot of faith in what Professor Dumbledore says, but there is nothing good about that... that man." It set her teeth on edge just talking about him.

Hagrid appeared to consider this for a moment as he pulled the first carriage out onto the drive, and then his face lit up in understanding. "Ah, I know what yeh mean. Did yeh find out that he used ter run with You-Know-Who's crowd? It's no secret, it was in all the papers back then..." he confided. "Before yer time, anyway. But you can be certain, those days are long gone. He was jus' in the wrong place at the wrong time. Could happen to anyone. Look at me. I've had my own share of trouble. Time was, only Dumbledore believed in me."

"I think this is a little different. You never actually did anything, did you? He did. He has." It was strange; she had gone all this time trying to forget what Snape did to her, trying to make sure that no one would find out. And now, she was actually on the verge of telling Hagrid.

But the half-giant was already jumping to another conclusion. "You mean him takin' all those points away from Harry at the start of term?"

Hermione was momentarily confused, but then recalled the scuffle Harry and Malfoy had been involved in, and the resulting negative points for Gryffindor. And once again, she thought bitterly, everything is reduced to Harry.

"Yeh, I heard 'bout that," Hagrid said, mistaking the look on Hermione's face for one of surprise. "I agree, it was a bit harsh, but it doesn't mean he's a bad fellow." He stooped down and pulled a slab of fresh meat - rabbit, from the looks of it - out of the bag on the ground, and tossed it down before the coach. "Now watch," he said eagerly. "It won' be a minute." He craned his neck and surveyed the skyline in the direction of the Forest. "They can smell blood five miles away, did yeh know that?"

"Mmh," Hermione replied, also scanning the sky nervously. She was not much looking forward to seeing the skeletal equines. And this time, she would be able to see them.

"Anyway," Hagrid continued, "like I was sayin', you don't have to like him, but he's on our side, that's fer certain."

"I don't see that that really matters. He may be helping Professor Dumbledore, but he's still a terrible person." She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

"What you've got to understan' about Professor Snape, Hermione, is tha' he's never been very good with people."

Hermione snorted. "That's an understatement if I ever heard one."

Hagrid continued, "An' so that sort of makes people not be good with him, if you get my meaning. Don' think he ever really had any friends."

"That's no excuse!" Hermione retorted vehemently.

"Mebbe not," Hagrid allowed. "But one thing I know, if ever you need somethin' done, an' done right, Professor Snape's the one to ask. Ah, look, here they are!" Hagrid pointed unnecessarily at the flock of black figures looming over them, and Hermione tried not to dive for cover as they landed and began tearing at the meat.

+++000+++000+++

"Harry! Ginny!"

Hermione ran up the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower. After Hagrid hitched the thestrals to the carriages, he'd invited her round the back of his house to see how the hippogriff they'd saved from the executioner's axe was doing. There was no more talk of Snape, and she found herself becoming infected by Hagrid's good nature. She was even looking forward to talking to Harry, and she ran to catch up with him when she saw him trudging up the lawn. But he wasn't alone. The obligatory redheads were with him, and the sight of Ron, more than anything else, brought home to her once again how much things had changed.

As she got closer, her heart dropped more and more. How in the world was she going to deal with Ron? It killed her to be around him and not have things be the way they were; and so she decided to ignore him. It was her only chance to get through the rest of this evening without completely losing it.

"I got back a couple of hours ago," she panted, catching up to them right outside the portrait hole. "I've just been down to visit Hagrid and Buck--Witherwings. Did you have a good Christmas?" She was looking at Harry as she spoke, but Ron answered.

"Yeah, pretty eventful," he said eagerly, "Rufus Scrim --"

The sound of Ron's voice sent a stab of pain right to her heart. She angled herself so that she couldn't see him and spoke over him: "I've got something for you, Harry." They were still standing in the corridor, and she begged silently for Ron and Ginny to go on ahead, letting her talk to Harry alone. At the same moment, she realized that they'd come directly from the station, and must not have been informed of the new password. "Oh, hang on -- password. Abstinence."

The Fat Lady barely looked up from where she lay draped across her chair, one hand gripping her forehead. "Precisely," she groaned and swung gingerly open.

"What's up with her?" asked Harry, signaling for Hermione to go first.

"Overindulged over Christmas, apparently," she explained over her shoulder. "She and her friend Violet drank their way through all the wine in that picture of drunk monks down by the Charms corridor. Anyway..."

She waited until Harry joined her, then pulled him aside before Ron could say anything more and thrust the bit of parchment at him which Dumbledore had given her.

Harry took it enthusiastically and quickly scanned the contents. "Great!" he said, apparently discovering that it was an invitation to the Headmaster's office. "I've got loads to tell him -- and you. Let's sit down --"

He started toward an empty table, and Ron moved to join him. Dismayed, Hermione dithered, not wanting to sit down with Ron, but also desperately wanting to hear what Harry had to say, when she was startled by a blonde-and-pink flurry that shot past her and nearly bowled Ron over.

"Won-Won!" it shrieked, and began attaching itself to him. Her roommate, Lavender.

Hermione felt even more sick; she'd forgotten about Lavender. How could she have forgotten about Lavender? Now she would be forced to see the two of them with their hands and tongues all over each other on a daily basis. She swore right then to spend every waking hour in the library, a place she was sure never to run into either one of them. For the time being, though, she forced out a laugh, which came out sounding high and stiff.

"There's a table over here..." Harry pointed at it. "Coming. Ginny?" he added, looking at her expectantly. Hermione's stomach clenched unpleasantly. Not that she had anything against Ginny per se, but she was unavoidably Ron's sister. In addition, with her around, they couldn't speak openly about things like Death Eaters and Draco Malfoy.

"No, thanks, I said I'd meet Dean," said Ginny in a way that said she wasn't much looking forward to it, and headed across the common room. Relieved, Hermione followed Harry and took a seat across from him.

"So how was your Christmas?" he asked.

"Oh, fine," she said, trying to look unconcerned. "Nothing special." And thus begin the lies. "How was it at Won-Won's?" She pulled a face as she said it.

"I'll tell you in a minute," said Harry. He glanced over at Ron and Lavender, who were still trying to get into each other's trousers right there in front of the portrait hole. Harry grimaced, and began to say, "Look, Hermione, can't you --"

"No, I can't," she said flatly. "So don't even ask." And it was true. She literally couldn't. She couldn't pretend that nothing had happened between them, that nothing had changed.

"I thought maybe, you know, over Christmas --" Harry stumbled on.

"It was the Fat Lady who drank a vat of five-hundred-year-old wine, Harry, not me," Hermione snapped. "So what was this important news you wanted to tell me?"

Giving up on trying to get his two friends to make up, Harry hunched over the table toward Hermione and spoke in a confidential tone. "All right. Remember the last day of term? Slughorn's Christmas party?"

"How could I forget?" Hermione replied impatiently. "I spent the entire time trying to escape that ape, McLaggen."

"Oh yeah." Harry smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry you had to go with him. But if you'd gone with Ron, like you'd--"

Hermione felt the back of her throat tightening, and she said, more harshly than she intended, "Would you leave it be, Harry? I can't--Things happened, things changed. Just... Just leave it, all right?"

"All right, all right. Sorry. That's not really the point, anyway. I don't know if you noticed, but Malfoy tried to crash the party. Slughorn wanted to let him stay, but Snape took him out right quick. I smelled a rat, so I snuck out, too. I mean, why should Snape care whether Malfoy hangs out with a bunch of old brown-nosers, anyway? And if he was merely concerned about Malfoy breaking a rule, he could have sent him back down to the dorms on his own, or assigned him a detention or something. So I followed them."

"You followed them?" Hermione asked in a whisper. "Where'd they go?" But she knew where they had gone. That must have been when Snape and Draco showed up in the same room she had taken refuge in, after ... after Snape touched her. Her skin crawled at the memory.

"I caught up with them in an empty classroom. I didn't actually go in; I only heard them through the door. But they were having some sort of argument."

"Really?" Hermione asked feebly. "What about?"

...a traitor to the cause ... things you do not understand ... the Unbreakable Vow ... The words echoed in her mind, as well as the smells of old wood and dusty upholstery that had been in her nose as she'd crouched behind the furniture, her heart slamming against her chest in fear at being caught eavesdropping by the two Death Eaters.

Hermione barely listened as Harry recounted the same conversation that she had heard. Only it seemed that she had heard a bit more than he, or he hadn't thought some of it important, because he focused on the part about Draco having a task, an assignment which could only have come from Voldemort. He didn't mention anything about Draco questioning Snape's loyalty. Which meant that he only suspected Draco of doing Lord Voldemort's bidding, not Snape.

When he was done talking, Hermione took a moment to think about what to say, without giving away that she had been there, too. She decided to stick to what seemed to be Harry's reason for telling her, namely that Draco was doing something for Voldemort, and Snape knew about it... and wasn't trying to stop him. This was obviously old news to her. Of course Snape was working for Voldemort. But she couldn't lead Harry in that direction. It would bring him too close to what had happened to her. She had to play the innocent and actually back up Snape's cover. She took a deep breath and plunged in. "Don't you think -- ?" she began, but Harry interrupted:

"-- he was pretending to offer help so that he could trick Malfoy into telling him what he's doing?"

"Well, yes," said Hermione, relieved that he'd said it before her.

"Ron's dad and Lupin think so," Harry admitted. "But this definitely proves Malfoy's planning something, you can't deny that."

She quickly reviewed what Harry had told her, and decided that there was enough evidence from what he'd heard to come to that conclusion. "No, I can't," she agreed hesitantly.

"And he's acting on Voldemort's orders, like I said!" He looked around to make sure no one heard him say the name.

Hermione took this as a cue to try to sow doubt in Harry's mind as to whether Draco really was talking about Voldemort. Because the more circumstantial evidence he collected, the more he would dig, and that might lead to him finding out about Halloween. And she didn't want him to find that out. "Hmm ... did either of them actually mention Voldemort's name?" she asked in her most innocent voice.

Harry furrowed his brow, thinking hard. "I'm not sure ... Snape definitely said 'your master,' and who else would that be?"

"I don't know..." said Hermione, considering alternatives. "Maybe his father?" She tried to think of a way to get Harry off the subject of Malfoy. She could bring up his relationship with Ginny, but that would inevitably lead to a renewal of the subject of her and Ron. Suddenly, inspiration struck: "How's Lupin?" she asked brightly.

Harry sighed and took the bait. "Not great. He's been living underground--literally."

"What do you mean?"

"The werewolves. Apparently, there's a whole group of them living in the sewers and subways tunnels of London. Dumbledore sent him to make contact with them. He's been pretending he's one of them, only coming out at night, having to steal food."

Hermione was horrified. "But that's awful! What in the world does Professor Dumbledore hope to gain by risking Professor Lupin's life like that?"

"Professor Lupin knows what he's doing. He has to do it. He's the only one who can. Voldemort's trying to get the werewolves on his side. He's promised them all the Muggles they care to eat if they'll swear loyalty to him."

"That's disgusting! But werewolves aren't usually that bloodthirsty. Most of them are perfectly normal and either take their Wolfsbane or take precautions not to harm anyone when they transform. Why would they be tempted by Voldemort's offer?"

"They've got a leader: Fenrir Greyback. Professor Lupin said he's a real monster. Crazy. Maybe the others are afraid of him. He was the one who bit Professor Lupin."

"And he's trying to make him believe he's on his side now?"

"Like I said, Professor Lupin knows what he's doing. By the way, have you heard of this Fenrir Greyback?"

"Yes, I have!" exclaimed Hermione as something clicked in her head. "And so have you, Harry!" So excited was she by this new discovery that she failed to consider that she was leading them right back to Malfoy.

"When, History of Magic?" Harry joked. "You know full well I never listened ..."

"No, no, not History of Magic -- Malfoy threatened Borgin with him!" said Hermione. "Back in Knockturn Alley, don't you remember? He told Borgin that Greyback was an old family friend and that he'd be checking up on Borgin's progress!"

Harry's jaw dropped, then he slapped a hand to his forehead. "I forgot! But this proves Malfoy's a Death Eater, how else could he be in contact with Greyback and telling him what to do?"

"It is pretty suspicious," whispered Hermione. "Unless . . ." She hadn't meant to lead Harry right back onto this track, and now was trying to find some way to make the connection seem an innocent one, but Harry rolled his eyes at her.

"Oh, come on, you can't get round this one!"

"Well . . . there is the possibility it was an empty threat," she began weakly.

"You're unbelievable, you are," said Harry, but he smiled and shook his head as he said it. "We'll see who's right. . . . You'll be eating your words, Hermione, just like the Ministry."

If she did, she felt certain that she'd be violently ill. Here she was, practically lying to her best friend - her only friend, she corrected - and protecting two of the most despicable individuals on the face of the Earth. Although it wasn't for their sakes, she reasoned; it was only to protect herself. Why couldn't she just tell Harry what had happened? Confirm his suspicions about Malfoy, and feed his hatred toward Snape? Because it wouldn't really do any good: Knowing that Malfoy was a Death Eater wouldn't help Harry to stop him from doing whatever it was that he was planning, just as knowing that Snape was a pathetic excuse for a human being wouldn't help to stop Voldemort. In fact, it might make it harder, because knowing Harry, he would want to go on a vendetta against Snape, and Dumbledore needed Snape where he was for his own plans. For finally, whatever else the Headmaster's faults might be, Hermione firmly believed that he knew what he was doing in the fight against Voldemort. If he didn't, they were lost.

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