Revelations

I never did find Ginny that afternoon. In fact, I didn't see her at all until lunchtime the following day when she slunk into the Great Hall after most students had already finished. I was so relieved to see her that I sent a beaming smile her way, which she only half-heartedly returned.

Relations between various Gryffindors had become strained since the Quidditch match. Ginny and I had gravitated towards one another, while Harry and Ron had given each other the benefit of the doubt (although Harry's motives for keeping Ron on his side were more than slightly self-serving). While I continued to be frustrated with Harry's inability to man-up, I was still cordial, if overly formal with him. Ginny was intrepidly trying to live in a world where neither Harry or Ron existed, yet it was all I could do to engage her in conversation when either was in our presence.

Ron and I had made no attempt to interact and I had more important things to worry about than placating him.

The majority of the Gryffindor Quidditch team also seemed to be avoiding spending prolonged periods of time with Ron and a part of me felt bad for him. Another, bigger part of me felt that this would be a good thing for him. He needed to learn that he couldn't just say or do anything he wanted. Everything has a consequence and I wasn't sure Ron realised that.

The divide between us was never more apparent than when we were in the Great Hall at meal times. While we all still sat routinely and instinctively close together, anyone who knew us would know something was off. That could possibly be why I caught Professor McGonagall eyeing us with what appeared to be a mixture of concern and trepidation – on more than one occasion.

If those were her true feelings then she wasn't alone.

The first Defence Against the Dark Arts class of the week was just like any other – robotic note taking and bored faces interspersed with snide comments from Professor Snape. No matter what the topic was, no Professor, save for Lupin, was able to make it even remotely compelling for the majority of students. Even the Slytherins looked uninterested.

The usual din erupted when the bell signalling the end of class sounded.

"Miss Parkinson, may I speak with you for a moment?" Snape made himself heard over the scraping of chairs and rushing footfalls. Out of habit I peered over to where Parkinson was sitting, noticing that she was packing up her things incredibly slowly, not even giving a fleeting glance towards her Head of House.

Clearly I had been staring at her for longer than was deemed normal and before I knew it, I was the only other student left in the classroom. Even Harry and Ron had gone, the three of us having different classes next.

"Is there a problem Miss Granger?" Snape questioned, his voice slimy and patronising. Upon hearing him speak, Parkinson swung her head round to look at me, a vague look of surprise present on her face. "Or is it now simply your life's ambition to get detention from every single one of your Professors?"

"Sorry, Sir," I mumbled, haphazardly scooping up my books and scurrying out of the room. It was frightening how that man could make me feel like an innocent eleven year old with the simplest of sentences. Or even a look.

I hadn't made it eight strides down the corridor before the books I had gathered in my arms shifted and fell to the ground. "Damn it," I growled out, still frustrated with myself for letting Snape get under my skin.

As I bent down to retrieve them, a harsh voice made me pause. It didn't take long to figure out where it was coming from – the classroom I had just left.

I was too far away to decipher exactly what was being said between Snape and Parkinson and I felt suddenly torn. Do I sneak back down the hall and eavesdrop on their conversation or do I gather my things and hurry to my next class?

I knew what I should do; whatever Parkinson and Snape were talking about was none of my business. And yet…

I had long thought that something was going on with Parkinson in addition to the Printis Runbright fiasco and this could be a chance for me to find out a bit more, even if it turned out to be trivial.

With a resigned sigh, I shoved my books into my bag, flung it over my shoulder and crept back down the hall with my back against the wall.

The closer I got to the classroom, the more I thought this was a bad idea. My heart was beating faster than normal and a faint feeling of nausea fluttered in my stomach, fearing I might get caught.

"…More careful," I managed to hear, catching the end of a fraught statement from my Professor. Knowing I was in a safe position to hear what was being said, I stopped moving and angled my head to the side. "What would your father say if he found out who your new friend is?"

"Granger isn't my friend," I heard Parkinson rebuke, causing my breath to catch at the mention of my name.

"I should hope not," Snape replied, matter-of-factly. "But you have certainly given me pause recently." There was a brief silence before he spoke again. "Miss Granger has become quite prone to getting herself into trouble these days and somehow it always comes back to you, and I'm far from the only Professor who has noticed." Snape's voice became more urgent and it was all I could do not to slide down the wall in disbelief. "I have Minerva McGonagall on my back, night and day, asking about you, warning me to keep you away from her precious, would-be protégé."

Silence once again encompassed not only the classroom but the entire corridor around me. When I decided to listen in I was, perhaps, expecting to hear a bombardment from Snape about how Parkinson hadn't been applying herself. Or perhaps something pertaining to a lapse in judgement when it came to her prefect duties. Hearing my own name at the heart of their conversation, however, had really thrown me and part of me wished I had just gathered my books and gone to Arithmancy class.

"Minerva knows your family, Pansy, and she is smarter than most. It won't take her long to figure out that something isn't right."

"I know that!" Parkinson all but barked back at him, and I had no problem picturing the scowl that was sure to be present on her face.

"Then why haven't you been heeding my words?" Snape's demeanour, or at least his perceived demeanour, had changed drastically in the last few minutes. The familiarity in their conversation was disconcerting, especially when Snape referred to Professor McGonagall as Minerva in front of Pansy – twice – as if they had all been lifelong acquaintances.

"I'm trying," Parkinson said, her voice hard as steel.

"Well try harder," Snape spat. "Because I don't think your father would be too happy with your recent conduct."

That was the second time Snape had mentioned her father and while Parkinson didn't react to it the first time, she did this time.

"My father has more important things to worry about than what I get up to at Hogwarts," she said in a monotone.

"Perhaps," Snape conceded, but with an air of superiority still evident in his tone. "Although, Lucius would, without a doubt, be very interested to discover who you have suddenly taken up with."

"You wouldn't dare tell Lucius," Parkinson countered, with a confidence I wouldn't have felt in her position. "And I have not taken up with Granger. She is…" A quiet rang around me, louder than any bell. I found myself straining my ears to hear her next statement, a feeling bordering on desperation consuming me. "She has become an annoyance that I can't seem to get rid of."

An irrational and unjustified hurt flowed through me. What were you expecting? My own callous conscience voiced. While we were no longer the foes we once were, we most certainly were not friends. We were presently bound by a set of unprecedented circumstances, nothing more. And yet, somehow, I felt like we had at least come to an understanding; that we had got to know each other enough to see where the other was coming from.

It seems I may have been wrong.

"Well, get rid of her," Snape demanded, sounding annoyed that she even needed to be told such a thing. "And of course I won't tell Lucius," he conceded. "But you know as well as I do that Lucius Malfoy has eyes and ears everywhere."

"I know that better than you do," Parkinson replied, bitterness dripping from every syllable. "And don't worry about Granger, I'm already working on it," she finished, all bitterness having disappeared from her voice.

"Good. Because I made a promise to your father, as you well know," Snape said, in a tone that would have been intimidating to anyone else. "A promise that you are making difficult for me to keep."

"As I remember, you also made a promise regarding Draco," at the mention of Draco's name I felt myself straining to hear once again. Harry's incessant ramblings about Malfoy becoming a Death Eater suddenly came to mind.

"Watch yourself, girl. You're already on thin ice." The low, dangerous voice of Snape made my hair stand on end and I wasn't even in the same room as him. "You only know half a story."

I could tell that Parkinson had crossed some kind of line, both by Snape's tone and by the fact that she hadn't hit back at him. A muted, shuffling sound met my ears and I could only imagine it was Parkinson lifting her bag up from the ground.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she sounded like she meant it.

Another pause.

"You'll need to curb your desire to argue with everything and everyone by the time you get home for Christmas," Snape stated, a warning clear in his voice.

"Christmas?" I heard Parkinson say, almost timidly. "I… I thought…"

"You thought that this year you would be able to escape? That your father wouldn't put on his annual Christmas party?" Snape teased. "Come now, Pansy, you're a smart girl. Now, more than ever, allegiances need to be forged, fences need to be mended."

"I won't go," she declared, her voice shaking ever so slightly.

"Oh, yes, you will," Snape responded, decisively. "If I have to Apparate you to the gates of your own home, you will be there."

This was beyond overhearing an informative conversation; this was beyond even my basic understanding. I had no idea of the context of what I had just been privy to:

She had to stop associating herself with me, something about her father, something about Draco, something about a Christmas party that she was profusely refusing to go to…

My mind was reeling but I didn't have much time to make sense of anything due to the footsteps I heard coming towards me. Parkinson was leaving and that meant I had to move. Fast.

The closest hiding place to me was one of Filch's janitorial closets so I scrambled into the cramped cupboard with no hesitation. I closed the door until I hit resistance, not wanting to draw attention to myself by latching it properly.

Hurried footsteps passed me within seconds and I could have sworn I heard the sound of a barely contained sob as Parkinson disappeared down the hallway.

I waited countless minutes more until Snape left the classroom before clamping a hand over my mouth and succumbing to the inexplicable emotions that were reverberating through me in waves.

"So, is there any chance of you telling me why you keep staring at Parkinson?" Ginny's voice cut through my haze of thoughts as we sat opposite each other in the Great Hall at dinner the following evening.

"Huh?" I eloquently responded, drawing my mind back to my barely touched food, which was looking less and less appetising by the minute.

"Parkinson," she reiterated with raised eyebrows. "You keep staring at her like you're afraid she might spontaneously combust."

"No, I don't," I half-heartedly rebuked, not even convincing myself.

"Yes. You do," my friend countered, in a surprisingly stern voice. "What is going on? Are things between the two of you getting…" Ginny trailed off, trying to find the right word. "Weirder?"

Weirder – that's certainly one way to put it.

"Potentially," I mumbled before I could stop myself.

"That's not really an answer," I heard the red-head say as I focused my gaze on my dinner. Her voice was serious before the faintest tinge of hurt was detectable. "You promised me, Hermione."

Ginny was right, I had promised her. If things got worse with Parkinson I had promised to tell her. And it was a promise I was starting to regret making.

I glanced up and met worried eyes, knowing that I would have to tell her something. I wracked my brain, trying to remember exactly how much I had told her when we had spoken before. If my memory served correctly, all Ginny really knew was that the Slytherin and I were annoying each other more than usual and that recent circumstances had forced us to spend an inordinate amount of time together.

"I overheard a conversation between Parkinson and Snape and…" I shook my head, trying to determine exactly what my feelings about it were in my own head. "I don't know. I'm just a bit worried."

"Worried? About Parkinson?" Ginny sputtered out, setting her fork down on her plate, eyebrows disappearing into her flaming red hairline. "We are talking about Pansy Parkinson, right? The girl who can curdle milk simply by being in the same room as it?"

"Ginny!" I scolded, a little too loudly, causing Gryffindor heads to turn towards us in curiosity. We both pretended to be fascinated by our food until the attention dissipated, before continuing our conversation in quieter tones. "That's really mean." I very rarely spoke to Ginny in such a harsh manner but I felt it was warranted this time.

"So is she, Hermione," the red-head bit back, leaning closer to me in an attempt to speak even more conspiratorially. "Or have you forgotten everything she has done over the years?" I took that to be a rhetorical question – since it had always been me who had felt the full force of Parkinson's scathing remarks – so I didn't answer her.

I hadn't forgotten any of it; there were certain insults I'm sure I would never forget until the day I died. Recently, though, I had seen a different side of Parkinson and, while it didn't erase the past, it did go some way towards me interpreting her hateful words in a slightly different way.

A prolonged silence stretched between Ginny and I, neither of us really knowing whether to continue this conversation or not. I stared resolutely at my now-cold mashed potatoes, frantically trying to think of a way to diffuse the tension.

"What did you hear them talk about?" Ginny gently probed, unexpectedly, making my head snap up in surprise. "Snape and Parkinson," she clarified, seeing the look on my face.

I wasn't expecting her to re-engage as directly as that so her question threw me for a moment. Meeting her concerned eyes again made me realise that my friendship with Ginny was the only relationship I had right now that was in any way stable. And I couldn't lose it.

"I, um…," I muttered, still too caught up in my own head to speak coherently. I wasn't about to tell Ginny that my name was at the heart of their discussion, but I conveyed the next piece of information that my memory conjured up. "It was something about how Snape made a promise to Parkinson's father and that she was making it hard for him to keep that promise."

Ginny's brow furrowed and she leaned further towards me yet again. Most of the Gryffindors were gradually filing out of the Great Hall but she still seemed to be overly paranoid. "Snape made a promise to Petrus Parkinson?"

"What?" I replied, more out of surprise than anything else.

"Petrus Parkinson; that's Pansy's father," Ginny explained, her eyes darting from side to side, making sure we weren't being overheard.

"You know him?" I hadn't even thought that the Weasley family and the Parkinson family might know each other, or at least be familiar with each other. Both were pureblood families but I would bet everything I had that they didn't move in the same circles. The wizarding community is small, though, especially the pureblood community.

Ginny shook her head. "I know of him. And only what I heard dad say about him."

"What did your dad say about him?" I asked, suddenly finding myself turning to see if anyone was listening in on us too.

"Not a lot," Ginny confessed, sounding mildly disappointed. "Only that he was widely believed to be a Death Eater during the first war with You-Know-Who but they could never prove it or pin anything on him. A bit like Lucius Malfoy."

But they had pinned things on Lucius Malfoy. The only reason he escaped Azkaban was because he claimed he was under the Imperius Curse. Lots of Death Eaters had claimed the same thing and got away with it. Petrus Parkinson was not among those names. He was not among any names I had come across with regards to the First Wizarding War.

"If he is supposedly a Death Eater then why have I never heard of him?" I asked, almost begging Ginny for any additional information.

"Maybe he is smarter than the others," she answered evasively, clearly having told me all she knows already.

"Yeah, maybe," I responded, not really feeling it. Without conscious thought, my eyes drifted back over to Parkinson, who was still sitting at the Slytherin table looking morose.

"You definitely heard Snape say he made a promise to Petrus?" Ginny spoke again, abruptly, her brow creasing in bewilderment, causing me to tear my gaze away.

"Yeah, why?" I replied, equally confused, but probably for a different reason.

"Well, it's just strange, isn't it?" She said slowly, finally pushing her half-eaten dinner away from her. "Why would Snape make a promise to someone like him when he has sworn his allegiance to Dumbledore?"

It was a good question; a question I hadn't even thought of. Snape was a member of the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore trusted him. He trusted him more than most other people. Surely if Snape was up to no good Dumbledore would know.

"I don't know."

The library used to be a solace for me; a place I could go when I needed to get just that little bit closer to the Wizarding World. Ancient volumes lined the walls and when I spread my work out over the oak tables, I felt like the thoughts and words of past scholars were truly alive around me.

The library used to be like that for me.

Now, I come here to get away from my friends; to get peace enough just to be able to do my homework. It had become little more than a hiding spot.

I sat at my usual table, pouring over my Herbology essay, and yet, all I could think of was Runbright's book, which was sitting right in front of me on the table. I brought it with me everywhere. I never opened it in public and the library was the only place I deemed acceptable for it to creep out of my bag.

Even though I never read it in public, I often found myself resting an unoccupied hand on it while I scribbled notes or researched endless theories and formulas. I never consciously did it; I simply caught myself stroking the well-worn spine more times than I care to remember.

A glance at the grand clock in the library told me that I needed to begin my prefect rounds and with a sigh, I tidied away my things and made my way to the second floor corridor.

Peeves made an appearance while I was apprehending a duo of Hufflepuff second years but he made a swift departure when I told him I had seen The Baron not five minutes prior.

Ten o'clock was fast approaching and I knew I should already be back in Gryffindor Tower; centuries old paintings smiled and bowed as I moved quickly through the cavernous halls of the castle. I was nearly in the home stretch when a blur of white mist manifested in front of me, making me stumble backwards.

"Ah, Miss Granger, what a pleasant surprise."

Nearly Headless Nick had appeared before me, his head tilted precariously to one side. The smug and confident look on his face told me that this meeting was a surprise only to me.

"Sir Nicholas, always a pleasure," I greeted, in a would-be gracious voice, trying to mask the shock his sudden appearance caused to my body. "Why do I feel like you have been waiting for me?"

A schoolboy grin spread across his face. "I always knew you were a perceptive girl."

Perceptive and irritated was how I felt at that moment. I had actively sought out Nick's presence after the cryptic clues he left me regarding Printis Runbright and I couldn't help but think that he deliberately left me to flounder. The Hogwarts ghosts could present themselves to anyone who wished their company, but that doesn't mean they chose to.

"You know, it's funny," I said sharply, my frustration winning out. "Every time I want to speak to you, you are nowhere to be found. But when you want to speak to me you know exactly when and where to find me."

All smugness had vanished from the ghosts features and he now seemed to look at me with intrigue. "One of the many mysteries of Hogwarts Castle," he responded, ambiguous as ever. I gave a terse, tight lipped smile and simply stared at him for a few moments.

"Is there something in particular you wish to talk to me about, Sir Nicholas?" I asked, growing impatient. "Because I should be getting back to the Tower."

Nick smiled and clasped his hands behind his back. "Now that you mention it, my dear, I was rather curious to know if you had made any progress on what we discussed a few weeks ago."

I was starting to feel my irritation turn into anger. "If you are referring to Printis Runbright then, yes, I have," I replied, my voice louder than was wise. "And I'm pretty sure you already know that, so what is it that you really want to ask me?" I finished with narrowed eyes, taking a step closer to the ghost.

Nick's eyes flickered almost imperceptibly behind me before he gave me a gentlemanly bow. "Another time, perhaps," he declared, before disappearing backwards into the wall, effectively ending our conversation.

"What the–" I exclaimed in confusion, edging forward and placing my palm against the wall he had just vanished through. I huffed and shook my head, dropping my hand back down by my side. "Ghosts!"

"One should never argue with a ghost, Miss Granger," I heard a familiar voice say from behind me, startling me and making me spin around. "Their motivation and reasoning are usually less than admirable."

Professor Slughorn stood several metres from me with his thumbs tucked into his waistcoat, his face bright with characteristic bonhomie. My heart began fluttering in my chest, anxiety sweeping through me. How much of that exchange did he hear? I plastered a pseudo-smile to my face.

"I'll keep that in mind, Sir," I said, cautiously, not having the faintest idea what he meant.

"I'm glad I bumped into you, my dear," he continued, either not noticing my unease or choosing to ignore it. "Do you have a moment to talk?"

"Of course," I replied automatically, hoping and praying it had nothing to do with Runbright again. I wouldn't be able to handle round three with Slughorn on that subject right now.

"I am having a little gathering and I would very much like you to attend."

I simply stared at my professor for a moment, baffled. "I'm sorry?" My eyebrows had risen and I'm sure I was looking particularly gormless. Of all the things I thought he might want to discuss with me, that most certainly was not one of them.

"A Christmas party, my dear!" Slughorn clarified, jovially. "'Tis the season, as they say."

"Christmas, right, yes, of course," I fumbled, still thrown by his odd request. I quickly pulled myself together, smiling as I did so. "Absolutely; I'd be delighted, Sir." As if I could say no. I had the distinct impression that declining was not an option.

"Wonderful!" He beamed, his hands clasped together in glee, before reaching out and taking hold of my shoulder. "Be sure to mention it to Harry, won't you? I'll be sending formal invitations in the coming days, of course, but just to give him a heads up." Slughorn's voice had become a bit more serious, almost worried. It seemed that Harry was to be his guest of honour and I was being recruited to make sure he attended.

"I'll let him know," I promised, with a nod.

"Excellent, excellent." Slughorn moved his hand and looped his thumbs into his waistcoat once more, smiling at me happily.

"It's getting late, Sir, I really should be getting back to the Tower," I said, starting to feel a bit uncomfortable.

"Oh, yes, yes," he agreed, obviously having forgotten the late hour. "Off you go," he dismissed, in his most authoritative voice.

"Goodnight, Professor."

As I trudged up the stairs the rest of the way to the common room there was only one thing going through my mind: I don't want to go to a Christmas party.

A/N: Sorry for the wait. Half this chapter is the product of a six pack and a pepperoni pizza so I hope it turned out all right.

I'm taking some liberties with the Slug Club - who's in it, when they meet etc.

As always, thanks to everyone for their kind words :)