575Author's Note: Hiya! This goes out to The Dark Lady Voldemort666 for her very welcome worries. I have no plans on dropping this story. I just got into a bit of an accident and didn't have my laptop at the hospital. That, and I had finals… Sorry again, and read on. Also, this story will not be in just Harry's Point of View. If you don't like that, bye.
Disclaimer:Think again.
Warning: Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash.
(***Harry Potter***)
Harry smiled lightly as he spotted a worried Hermione looking around the train station. Her slightly bushy, honey brown hair hung in elegant curls over her left shoulder, bound together by a black hair band while dark brown eyes darted from left to right to left again. She always fretted over Harry's wellbeing. After learning that he didn't actually plan on fighting Voldemort in Fourth year, her worries only escalated, but Harry didn't suppose that he could blame her. He would be worried if she wanted to face someone who could and would kill her without a plan. Yet, he knew that he wouldn't change his plans. The wizarding world was long overdue for a Dark Lord according to history. Still, he did feel sorry for her; she was such a wonderful friend to him, after all.
"Hullo, Hermione. Did you have a nice summer?" Harry was sure that Hermione jumped a full foot in the air, and that only made him smile more.
"Harry! Don't do that! You scared the wits out of me!" Her voice was reprimanding, but her eyes were relieved.
"You know, Hermione, I don't really think that's possible…" Harry shook his head with a small laugh before easily reciprocating a sudden hug from Hermione. They quickly found an empty compartment; sure that Ron would find them later. And, indeed, Ron did find them, but not how they expected him to. Normally, Ronald Weasley would pull open the doors with a flourish, dragging both his and his little sister's – Ginny Weasley – trunks behind him. Tattered, hand-me-down robes would be hanging off of his tall, gangly form just a bit, but Harry' eyes would always be drawn to Ron trying to shake his fire engine red hair out of his blue eyes. Though Harry's hair was the same length as Ron's – a little past his ears – Harry's rarely fell into his eyes. It was probably his father's genes that helped him there; his ebony hair always seeming to be windswept and staying out of his face and, more importantly, out of his emerald green eyes. This time, however, he was thrown into the compartment by one Draco Malfoy, who had been using Mobilicorpus to avoid touching him.
"I would have brought the Weaslett as well, but then I remembered that a compartment can only hold so much garbage at once before spilling out and touching the rest of us, so I left her." Draco Malfoy's haughty explanation coupled with the blonde's mightier-than-thou smirk had Harry's mind working up a witty response in no time. It wasn't as if he actually cared what they did to the Weaselys, not at all. In fact, Harry thought of it all as friendly banter, okay, not-so-friendly banter, but banter nonetheless.
"Better not cross the line then, Malfoy. We wouldn't want to overflow." Harry knew that Draco was about the farthest thing from trash that existed – as did Draco – but offence was taken anyways.
"You're one to talk. I'm surprised that your body hasn't exceeded the trash limit already, Scar-head." Draco's temper always had a way of running away with him. It was usually his downfall. This time would be no different.
"It's a matter of class, Malfoy. Some have it; others don't." While Harry was tempted to throw Draco over the edge with a crack about his father, he would never stoop to such levels.
"And how would you know, huh? I know for a fact that your parents didn't tell you that! Or does your scar give you special abilities to talk to the dead now, too?" Draco didn't appear to have such morals; a sneer nowhere near as threatening as Snape's curling onto his face. Harry nearly smiled but held himself back. Letting everyone know that he thought of their arguments as a game would ruin the game.
"No, my scar doesn't give me the ability to speak to the dead, but it does give me an ability. Do you know what that is?" Draco's scowl deepened, showing that he didn't know. "It gives me the ability to make you leave our compartment." Quickly, using wandless magic, Harry forced Draco, as well as Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, out of their compartment and into the hall. He used his hands to slam the door in their faces. When he turned back around, Hermione was levitating Ron to lay on the compartment's left seat. The gangly red-head, of course, didn't completely fit, but he looked comfortable enough to leave be. Seeing that Hermione had everything under control, Harry left to find Ginny. It didn't matter how much he did or didn't like someone; if they were in trouble, he would help. Besides, if they had done something to Ron mentally then Hermione would be there to fix it when he woke up.
Harry quietly shut the door behind him and, seeing that the three Slytherins had crawled back to wherever they had come from, tried to choose which way to go. If he went left, there would only be about thirty compartments until he would reach the end of the train, but if he went right, there would be well over a hundred. Seeing that he would cover more ground by going right, Harry turned and began to walk. Around forty-seven compartments down, he ran into Blaise Zabini. Blaise was a dark-skinned Italian boy with curly black hair. The boy was, of course, taller than Harry, and stood at around 6'0.
"Lost again, Potter? You're in Slytherin territory." Blaise's heavy Italian accent practically dripped off of his words, making Harry smile. He loved the elder boy's accent.
"I'm fully aware of that, Zabini, but thank you for the warning. And no, I'm not lost, just… looking." Blaise gave a nod at Harry's words and simply leaned against the wall. Harry had always had a fairly amiable relationship with Blaise. The Italian had expected him to drop his friendly attitude after he accidently showed Harry his Dark Mark, but Harry simply helped him wrap it. It turned out that the Dark Mark was a deep magical brand burned into the left arm. Blaise had thought that he was alone in the bathrooms when he had been checking it out, and he was; for a bit. Halfway through his prodding of the mark, Harry had walked in and gotten Blaise's wand pulled on him in an instant. Harry had simply raised his hands in defeat and offered some help. Ever since then, they had been on level ground and could be considered, at least somewhat, friends.
"The Weasley girl." Blaise's question was more of a statement, but Harry nodded.
"You wouldn't happen to know where she is, would you?" Harry's emerald green eyes looked curiously up into Blaise's dark ones. Sometimes, Harry wished that he were taller than a mere 5'9, but he was happy enough overall.
"I would." Like a true Slytherin, Blaise offered no extra information.
"Would you mind telling me where she is? It would save me quite a bit of trouble." Harry stared at Blaise for a moment before the Slytherin finally responded.
"I'm afraid I can't. As much as I like you, I like myself more, and there are quite a few people who wouldn't be too happy if I told you anything." Harry gave a downcast nod of understanding, but Blaise didn't seem to be finished. "I can, however, give you a hint." Blaise leaned down until he was right next to Harry's ear before whispering, "You took a wrong turn." And then the larger boy was gone from Harry's personal space. Harry gave a relieved smile.
"Thanks, Zabini." Harry meant it. He meant everything he said.
"You owe me, Potter." Of course he did. He always owed Blaise.
"Just add it to my tab." With a final smile, Harry turned to find Ginny once more. At least he had one friend in Slytherin. Ten minutes later, he was on the other side of the train, checking every compartment along the way. Twelve compartments down from his own, he found a magically bound Ginny struggling on a compartment floor. Normally, someone in the compartment would have set her free, but this compartment was filled with First years, and even if one of them knew how to undo the binding spell, who wanted to face the wrath of a bunch of Seventh year Slytherins? No one, that's who. Taking out his wand, Harry murmured Relashio and freed the young redhead. Instantaneously, she jumped up and pulled him into a bone crushing hug.
"Oh, Harry! I thought I'd never get free! God, I was just so scared. Thank you!" Harry awkwardly patted her on the back while she continued to gush. As soon as she finished her string of 'thank you's, a First year girl spoke.
"So you're Harry Potter? The Harry Potter? The one who's going to save us all from… You-Know-Who…?" Her voice got quiet as she mentioned Voldemort, and before Harry could so much as open his mouth, Ginny was speaking.
"You did not seriously just ask him that! Of course he's the Harry Potter! You can't really be that stupid! I'm sorry about them, Sweetie. Don't let it ruin your day. I know who you are, and that's all that really matters, right?" The poor first years looked scared to death from when Ginny had shouted at them, her fiery red hair flipping all over the place before finally settling on her shoulders. She shouldn't have gotten it cut, that much Harry was sure of. At least her blue-grey eyes were still incredibly pretty. She leaned against him in a rather sexual manner, her slim, 5'8 form curled against his Quidditch-toned body. Gently, he peeled her off of himself.
"Ginny, we're not dating." Harry tried to explain it to her as nicely as possible, but she wasn't making it easy on him.
"Of course we are! We've been dating since you asked me out in the Common Room last year!" Her voice was high, making Harry flinch a bit.
"Ginny, listen to me, please. I never asked you out. I never will ask you out. I just don't like you like that… I'm sorry." For a moment, she looked truly confused, but then understanding seemed to wash over her.
"It's alright, Harry. I get it." Harry's eyes widened a little in surprise. She did? "You're still afraid of other people finding out! Don't worry; I can keep a secret." Ginny gave a little wink before walking out the door, saying something about waiting for him in their compartment. Harry sighed and turned to face the First years.
"I'm sorry about her. She's a little… loopy, if you know what I mean." The four First years laughed little at his description of her, and Harry was glad to be able to lighten the mood. "Look, I don't mind your asking. Yes, I'm Harry Potter, but here's really nothing special about me. I just got lucky is all." Instead of the stars in their eyes dimming, they sparkled even more. He shrugged a bit when the three girls and boy didn't speak again and turned to leave.
"Um, er, bye Harry!" One of the girl's overly excited voice echoed after Harry, and he smiled again. It didn't take a genius to find his compartment; not with all of the yelling coming out of it.
"Bloody Hell, Hermione! Why should I start studying now! That's your and Harry's thing, not mine!" Quickly, wandlessly, Harry put up a silencing charm and entered.
"Which is why you're practically failing!" Her voice raised itself to match his; her sort of bushy hair frizzing in her anger. Magic did that sometimes, if it was strong enough. Hermione loved Harry's views on magic, and was currently trying to rid herself of her bias towards "dark" magic, but she wasn't quite there yet.
"I'm not failing, Hermione! I've got Dreadfuls in everything but Potions and no one cares about that shit! They may not be fucking Outstandings, but they're not failing!" Ron practically snarled out his response, and Harry frowned. Harry liked Potions, actually. It was one of his favorite classes.
"I said practically! Can't you at least pretend to listen for once!" School work was one thing that Hermione didn't like to joke about.
"I can't believe they fight so much. They're like an old married couple. Promise me that we won't fight like that when we're an old married couple…" Harry swallowed. This was bad. Hermione looked nearly ready to hex Ron, and Harry was beginning to get uncomfortable.
"You don't know what it's like to have the Slimy Git first thing in the morning! I didn't want to have him again! And we all know that he only failed me because he hates me!" Again, Harry frowned. Snape hated Harry, and Harry still passed with an Outstanding.
"Don't call him that, Ronald! It's disrespectful! Besides, have you forgotten already that I do have Double Potions first thing in the morning!" Quickly, Harry put a hand on Hermione's shoulder.
"Come on, 'Mione. We need to change out and get to the Prefects' meeting. It starts in just a bit." Hermione didn't say anything to Harry's soft words, instead choosing to storm out. The worst thing that Ron could do was bring up Snape in a bad light. Hermione had been in love with the Professor since the middle of Second year, and Ron badmouthing the man every chance he got wasn't helping anything. It didn't matter that Ron had been in love with Hermione since the end of Fifth year. He wasn't her type. As he closed the compartment door and took down the silencing charm, they began to walk. Hermione and Blaise Zabini were Head Boy and Head Girl, while Harry, along with three other people, was a Prefect. After only minutes, they reached the changing rooms. Before Harry could walk into the men's room, Hermione tapped him on the shoulder.
"You don't think he's a slimy git…do you?" Her voice was small and unsure, making Harry toss out a comforting smile.
"Of course I don't, 'Mione." She offered him a smile in return, and they parted to change. Once in his wizarding robes, he left to meet Hermione fully dressed in her robes.
"Come on, Harry! This is our time!" The two friends quickly walked through the doors and smiled when they saw their head of house, Professor McGonagall. Beside of her stood Draco Malfoy, a sneer on his aristocratic face. Platinum blonde hair was magically styled to keep out of his face, looking a lot like he had used Muggle hair gel. His thin, 6'1 frame made him the tallest person in the room, if only by a little. That gave the young Malfoy all the confidence he needed.
"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, it's nice of you to join us." Her voice held a smile, even if her face didn't. Harry grinned lightly.
"Sorry, Professor! Are we late?" Harry was happy to see her again. She was one of those few people that he liked.
"Hullo, Professor, and no, Harry, we aren't late. We've actually got another ten minutes to get here." Hermione used her textbook voice on Harry, and he scratched the back of his head sheepishly.
"Well, I wasn't sure, so…" He gave a weak chuckle, knowing that the rest of the rest of the train ride would go by just fine.
When they finally reached the train's last stop, Harry looked out the window to gaze at the Thestrals. They were beautiful creatures, no matter what others thought of them. Quickly, he exited the train and went over to pet the Thestral which he usually used to get to Hogwarts.
"Hey, Girl. How are you doing?" The Thestral at Harry pushed its head against Harry's palm lovingly, and Harry smiled at him.
"Leave that thing alone and get into the carriage already, Harry! You're holding us all up!" Ron's faintly annoying voice echoed out into the night. Harry hesitated only for a moment longer before moving to the carriage to sit beside Hermione. The two chatted about Potions for a bit, using code words like Dragon fire – which meant Snape – and Phoenix tears – which meant her love for said man – to play out her plans of wooing him. After they had finished that, they began to speak of how much fun this year's Care of Magical Creatures class would be. That got Luna to join in, which got Neville to join in – and effectively switched their conversation onto Herbology – leaving Ron and Ginny the only ones not in the conversation. Another half hour and they reached Hogwarts, taking mere minutes to get into the Great Hall. As soon as Harry walked through the large double doors, he felt Dumbledore's magic wash over him. It wasn't a good feeling. No, the Headmaster's magic felt slimy, crawling all over his skin. It pressed against his every pore; trying to force him into a false sense of security. To most, it was relaxing, but they weren't aware of Albus Dumbledore's true intentions, so he could see why. Then again, Harry wasn't too sure of the man's true intentions either. He just knew that they weren't whatever Dumbledore was trying to convince everyone that they were. The First years filed in, looking just as scared as Harry did his First year. He smiled at the four First years that he had met on the train, and seemed to gain just a bit of confidence as they smiled back. It was funny as the group which seemed so close was sorted; each going to a different house. They still shared looks from across the room; silent promises not to lose contact. Harry sincerely hoped that they would be able to keep those promises. The girl that had been sorted into Gryffindor looked around shyly before catching Harry's eyes. He gave a nod to her quiet pleas and scooted over.
She happily took a seat just before Dumbledore started his ever-manipulative speech. Harry barely paid him any attention. Instead, he watched Hermione smile prettily at one Severus Snape and Ron glare jealously at Seamus Finnegan through his mound of food. Ron obviously thought that Seamus was on the receiving end of Hermione's smile. Oh, how wrong he was…When the feast was finally over, Hermione led the Gryffindors to the Fat Lady's portrait. She told them all the rules and the password (Musical Chocolate) and let them be. Harry loved the sight that greeted him when he entered. He loved it all; from the fireplace to the many staircases leading to their dorm rooms. It was his home. Plain and simple. Though it wasn't very late, Harry decided to head off to bed. Somehow Harry just knew that he wouldn't be getting much sleep the next night. Harry was the only one in the Seventh year Gryffindor boys' dorm, giving him first choice in beds. He, as usual, chose the ninth one on the left. There was no particular reason for that, just a habit. Before Harry could do anything more than move his trunk to the foot of the bed, he felt a presence coming up behind him. Swiftly, the ebony-haired boy turned around. When he did, he ended up nose to nose with Ron.
"…Ron?" Harry questioned after a moment of Ron not backing out of his personal space.
"I know you like her." Ron sounded incredibly angry, and Harry had no idea why.
"Um, I'm sorry but, what?" In truth, Harry had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. It would be pretty hard for Ron to know if Harry liked someone considering that Harry didn't even know that Harry liked someone.
"Hermione! I know that you like her! Bloody Hell, Harry, you couldn't be any more obvious! It's not enough that you're the Boy-Who-Lived; you have to have everything else, too! Don't you! Sure, you're Muggle folks don't spoil you like everyone else does, but you don't have to make up stories about them! Everything has to be a sob story when it comes to you, doesn't it! Bloody Fucking Hell, I don't even care anymore! Just back off my girl, alright!" Ron had turned as red as his hair after his rant, and Harry could do nothing but blink. He was always the last to find out these things about himself.
"Ron, I don't like Hermione like that, and she doesn't like you like that. It's just not-" Harry was abruptly cut off via wand to the throat.
"Would you quit lying already! No one's buying your bullshit!" At that point, Seamus and Dean made themselves known.
"Hey! Calm down there, Ron! There's no need to start a fight on the first day back!" Seamus's heavy Irish accent cut through Ron's angry words.
"He's right, guys. Calm it." Dean had never been the most extroverted person, but Seamus had been helping him with that ever since they had begun going out.
"Shut up you bloody faggots. We're trying to have a conversation here!" At that, Harry wandlessly cast Stupefy on Ron. He had no right to talk to take his anger out on them. They were just being friendly.
"I'm sorry about him. We'll wake him up on our way out tomorrow, alright?" Harry offered an apologetic smile but they just shook it off.
"Don't worry, mate. Happens all the time." Seamus grinned at Harry, and Harry grinned back; silently stepping over Ron to get ready for bed. He could only hope that, one day, Ron would understand.
Harry awoke to Hermione gently shaking him. He cracked open his emerald green eyes with a smile before crawling out of bed. In his sleepy daze, he remembered to cast a silent Ennervate to release Ron. The redhead continued to sleep. Quietly, he slipped into the bathroom to change. He didn't even bother trying to fix his unruly hair. That was a duel that he was bound to lose. On their way to the Great Hall, Harry filled Hermione in on Ron's behavior. She looked fairly worried, but Harry assured her that it wasn't her fault.
"Well, I figure if we finish breakfast by 7:20, we should make it to Professor Snape's classroom by 7:30, and have an entire half hour to admire the room where he works, and maybe even him working, before students start filing in! That way we'll be able to observe some of his habits and figure out the best form of action to take. Does that sound like a good plan to you?" Harry smiled at Hermione's worried rambling in between bites of food.
"I think a better plan would be you being yourself and just staring a conversation with him, but I suppose that's an alright plan, too." She grinned at him before pulling him into a soft hug.
"Thank you, Harry. Really." Her voice was soft, and Harry hugged her back.
"That's what friends are for, right? Besides, I have a favor to ask of you." As they made their way to the first class of the day – Double Potions – Harry filled Hermione in on his plans concerning Joshua. She was absolutely ecstatic; agreeing immediately. Finally, the two friends took a seat on what most had dubbed the "Gryffindor/Hufflepuff" the room. They fell into a comfortable silence for around ten minutes before the doors opened once more.
(***Hermione Granger***)
Hermione perked up, thinking that it was Professor Severus Snape coming through the doors, and frowned when three students – with green and silver lining their robes – entered instead. The Slytherins didn't seem to notice the two Gryffindors.
"Don't be so modest, Draco! We all know that you'll be the Lord's right hand man in no time!" Pansy Parkinson, a girl who's face had always resembled a pig in Hermione's mind, curled her arms around Malfoy's bicep as she said that; obviously coming onto him. Hermione thought the obvious display of attraction was rather atrocious. Her dark brown eyes trailed over to Harry's form. His head was laying comfortably over his arms, and he appeared to be asleep, but Hermione knew better. His shoulders were, ever so slightly, tensed, giving away his awareness of the world.
"Of course I will be. After I got marked last year, he's been keeping a close eye on me. There's no doubt in my mind that he thinks I'm showing great promise." Malfoy's voice echoed arrogantly throughout the large room, bouncing off of the stone walls, and Hermione cringed. She was trying to be unbiased like Harry, but it wasn't working out very well. Sure, she had gotten over her hatred of Voldemort – seeing Harry's point in the fact that she had never met the man to hear his side of the story – but she had been meeting Draco Malfoy for the past seven years and he was still nothing more than an annoying, self-absorbed brat.
"Yeah, and I bet he'll be telling that to everyone else pretty soon." Parkinson sounded smug at those words, forcing Blaise Zabini into the conversation.
"You don't mean-" The Italian was interrupted by Parkinson as she held her chin high, proud to be the one with all of the inside knowledge.
"I do. My daddy told me that You-Know-Who is going to be choosing his protégé-" This time, it was Zabini that cut her off. Hermione had always been rather fond of the Italian boy. He always held an incredibly intelligent conversation whenever she could force him into a chat.
"But so soon? You can't mean-" His voice held an incredulous tone, and Parkinson forced her way back into the conversation with a flourish.
"I do." Those two words seemed to clarify everything for everyone as they all quieted down. Or perhaps they stopped talking because other students had begun to slip through the doors? Hermione wasn't sure, but she knew that Harry probably had a hunch on the subject. She quickly filed it away in the back of her mind to ask him later.
At exactly 8:00, Snape entered the room. He came in with the doors banging against the walls and his robes billowing behind him, as usual, and Hermione loved it. If nothing else, the man knew how to make an entrance.
"Sleeping in my class already, Mr. Potter? Twenty points from Gryffindor." Harry lifted his head from his arms and blinked while Hermione smiled. They would regain the points by the end of class. Quickly and without the use of a wand, the Professor spelled their instructions onto the board. "
You have precisely one hour. Begin." Severus's deep, resonating voice made Hermione shiver. As she walked up to the cupboard to collect the ingredients required, she eyed her Professor. He was tall, at least 6'2, with ebony hair down to his shoulders as straight as a ruler. At least, it was incredibly straight until it reached the ends where it flipped out into little half-curls. Severus's hair only managed to bring out his charcoal grey, nearly black, eyes. His eyes were what Hermione had fallen for. They were guarded, but so full of emotion. In Hermione's mind, they were the most beautiful thing in the world. Dreamily, Hermione made her way back to the cauldron she was sharing with Harry. As soon as she got there, it was straight to work. Within thirty-seven minutes, they had the light pink potion ready to bottle and turn in. It wasn't a surprise to anyone in the room. The pair were always finished early. Snape glared at them for doing so, but Hermione ignored it. He would understand her love eventually and, rejected or returned, Hermione would be happy. All she absolutely had to have was a conclusion. After all, she was only seventeen. There would always be another chance at love. She just hoped that she would get lucky enough to be successful on her first try.
For the rest of class, Hermione felt eyes on her. She couldn't, however, pinpoint where they were coming from. Swiftly, Hermione decided that it was a sign, a sign from Severus Snape. Perhaps it was just her mind playing tricks on her; perhaps it was her heart yearning for the Professor to be watching her; perhaps the Potions Master really was watching her. No matter the truth, Hermione convinced herself that it was him. In that, she also convinced herself to purposely leave behind her journal. She would come by once more after all of her classes were over and retrieve it, and maybe even engage the elder man in a friendly conversation? Yes. That's what she would do. So, at the end of class, Hermione made sure to leave her journal behind under the pretenses of "being late for her next class." It was a silly excuse, of course, considering that she had never been late to anything in her life, but it was all she could come up with on such short notice. Harry had merely smiled at her and laughed his airy laugh. That was one of the many great things about Harry. He would always support her, no matter what.
The rest of the day went by like molasses. Hermione supposed it was because she was so excited about seeing the Professor again, but she couldn't help it. He was just so amazing! She tried to get her mind off of it, really, she did. In fact, the young girl went through four books, three essays, seven intense conversations with Harry, and even a game of Wizards' Chess with Ron in an attempt to get her mind off of the subject of her Potions Professor, but none of it worked! By 8:34 PM, Hermione was ready to tear her hair out.
"Hey, 'Mione, didn't you forget your journal in Snape's room today? Now would probably be a goodtime to get it." Hermione glanced up. The many students, mostly Slytherins, were finally beginning to disperse from the Great Hall. A few teachers, Professor Snape, for example, also left early. The kind of bushy haired girl shot her best friend a thankful smile before jumping out of her seat.
"You're right, Harry! Thanks! I'll see you in the Common Room so we can compare notes, okay?" Hermione didn't look back to see him nod. He knew what she meant. Hermione had an extra skip in her step as she walked down to the dungeons to "retrieve her journal." A girly giggle escaped her lips. What fun! As soon as she creaked open the door to Professor Snape's classroom, her eyes widened. There, on the desk, was Draco Malfoy, his lips being completely and totally devoured by what was unmistakably Severus Snape. Malfoy's slim hand curled into Snape's ebony locks, just as Hermione had dreamed of doing, to pull the elder male closer. Hermione couldn't stop the gasp that slipped past her lips. Instantaneously, two pairs of eyes – one charcoal grey, nearly black, and one light grey, nearly silver – snapped open. Malfoy snarled at Hermione as soon as his lips were detached from Snape's.
"The fuck do you think you're doing?" In no way were Draco Malfoy's words kind, and that only served to make the situation worse.
"I-I forgot my b-book, and came back to-" Hermione was cut off by Malfoy pushing himself away from Snape and standing up. It was then that she noticed their change in robes, that and the masks lying on Snape's desk.
"Forgot your book? I think you're lying to us." Malfoy's snarl transformed into a smirk as he said those words, and Hermione's eyes darted behind the blonde to Snape for reassurance. She got none as Snape simply gave her a cold stare and allowed his lover to advance on Hermione. Damn it! She had left her wand in her dorm room, sure that she wouldn't need it. After all those years being best friends with Harry Potter, she should have learned. In seconds flat, the youngest Malfoy was right next to her, his thin hand curled around her throat.
"In fact, I know that you're lying to us. No sane Gryffindor would willingly skip dinner to travel into the dungeons, especially not for a book. Not even you would do that, Mudblood. Now, how would you like to tell us the truth?" As soon as Malfoy finished speaking, a light beeping echoed throughout the room.
"Draco, release her." Snape's voice had an urgent tone floating about it, but Draco simply sneered. The only thing that Hermione had time to see just before being forced into apparition – right through the non-apparition wards – was Professor Snape grabbing the two masks. Moments later, Hermione felt her feet hit the ground, and opened her eyes. All around her stood Deatheaters, so many Deatheaters. They had masks ranging from nickel to silver to gold, showing off their ranks. Too many of those masks were concentrating on her. In a moment, the hand imposing on her neck was gone, leaving her knees to buckle beneath her and send her sprawling to the cold, hard ground. Her scared brown eyes looked up to see Draco Malfoy covering his face with nickel mask. She should have seen it coming from the Slytherins' conversation that morning. She shouldn't – couldn't – be here! Hermione wasn't Harry; she couldn't handle randomly being thrown into a pit of Deatheaters. Her eyes darted about as wands were raised in her direction, as arguments started over who would get to cast the first spell.
"Stop! We'll leave her for the Dark Lord. He shall decide her fate." Lucius Malfoy's voice rang in Hermione's ears, and she turned to face one of the few golden masks in the crowd. Cold, silver-grey eyes stared back at her. Minutes that felt like hours rolled by, all attention on Hermione, until they all began to fall. At first, she thought that some sort of savior, that Harry, had come to save her, but that dream was crushed the instant she realized that they weren't really falling down, but to their knees. Their Lord had arrived.
Slowly, gracefully, a tall man, 6'3 at least, waltzed into the clearing. He had beautiful ebony hair falling neatly around his face. It managed to fall just barely past his ears in a wavy fashion. High cheek bones and wine-red eyes told her exactly who she was facing. It didn't matter that she had never seen him before. His broad shoulders and dark magic gave her both chills of pleasure and fear. The incredible being in front of her was no human. It was too horrible, too fantastic, to be a mere human. Hermione shuddered as violent red eyes met deep brown. No, this was definitely not a human being. This was the Dark Lord Voldemort, and she didn't stand a chance.
(***Harry Potter***)
Harry rushed down to the dungeons faster than any broom could have taken him. Minutes after Hermione had left, Harry saw the signs. He noticed how it was mainly the Slytherins who had left, how Professor Snape had departed with nothing but a nod to Dumbledore. He had remembered the Slytherins' conversation from that morning, replayed it in his mind until he could place their tones; until he could practically hear how soon the meeting was supposed to be. It took Harry all of twelve minutes after Hermione had left to figure out that he might as well have thrown her to the snakes. It took him four more minutes to make it down to the Dungeons after figuring this out, and a minute more to process Snape's empty classroom. She was there, somehow, someway, Hermione had been dragged to a Deatheater meeting, and it was Harry's fault. He had encouraged her to go down there and make it or break it. A frown reached Harry's face. He got her into the mess; he would get her out. In just a few moments, Harry had her magical signature on his radar, and forced himself to follow her trail. He wasn't apparating, per say, but more travelling with his magic. The wards could stop dark magic, and they could stop light magic, but nothing would ever be able to stop pure magic. The white essence of his magic swirled about him, sending him spiraling through time and space, right to Hermione.
He landed in a crouched position just behind Hermione, his magic visible to all as it swirled around him protectively. All he had time to do before his magic took hold of him once more was grab hold of Hermione. Green clashed with red, and Harry was pushed back into nothing. He held onto Hermione's unconscious body tightly as he fell; directing himself back towards Hogwarts. Finally, he landed a few feet away from the Forbidden Forest. Harry allowed himself a small smile. At least Hermione was safe. With that in mind, he began the long trek back to the castle, back to Gryffindor Tower.
(***Tom Riddle***)
Tom Marvolo Riddle stared at where the two seventeen year olds had been with slight curiosity, leaving his many followers on their knees as they bowed to him. The boy's magic had been… wondrous. It had been beautiful and sensuous, dancing over olive skin with improbable ease. If there was one thing that Tom didn't take lightly, it was power, and if there was one thing that Harry Potter had, it was power. That much he was sure of. And what incredible power it was. The boy's power laid in his magic, as all wizards' did, and that was what truly astounded him. The magic had been pure, unintentional, whimsical, really. Tom licked his lips. He could practically taste the magical residue left behind, and it was addicting. It didn't have the bitter taste of darkness, or the overly sweet taste of the light, it was simply magic. He wanted more. In an instant, the Dark Lord's mind had come up with a solution. Why must he, the greatest Dark Lord in history, listen to a prophecy made nearly eighteen years ago? There was more than one way to win a war, and one of the ways was with Harry Potter at his side.
"Rise." His command was instantly followed, and all bodies arose to take their respected places in a circle around him. The Dark Lord stood in the middle of all of the people not as Tom Riddle, but as Voldemort, and allowed a sinister smirk to grace his features.
"My loyal followers, there have been a few changes made to our plans; changes that are to be followed. If I find that one of these changes have been disregarded, there will be punishment." Again, Tom's tongue darted out to taste Harry's magic. "Severe punishment. Do you hear me?" A nearly deafening roar met his ears, making his smirk grow. Soon enough, Harry Potter would be another dog at his feet, and Tom would be able to use the boy's magic as much as he liked. Soon enough, Harry Potter would see his place in the world: at Tom's feet. Soon enough, everyone would realize the truth of the matter; realize that everything they did was because Tom allowed them to. Make no mistake. This was his world, and it was only a matter of time before he took the reins and let everyone know just that.