Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters or anything affiliated with it. I make no profit of any kind from this story.

Author's Note: This is a rewrite. The original was written when I was much younger and was riddled with grammatical errors. And bad. Oh man, it was soooo bad! Especially compared to some of my newer works! I believe the original version was only compliant up to the fifth book, but I have chosen to incorporate the sixth. Not the seventh, though. I would prefer to keep the setting at Hogwarts, in their seventh year. It plays a rather large part in the plot. Not to mention the fact that Ron would get in the way! :) So without further ado… Pen Pals V.2!

A/N (cont'd): I have chosen to leave the original posted. I would hate to lose all of the wonderfully kind reviews I've gotten. I also thought it would be nice for anybody who wished to compare the two versions.

~I~

"So… you'll be writing to a complete stranger for the entire term?" said Harry, sounding as though the very idea was mad.

She rolled her eyes. "They're a student at Hogwarts from another house, not some random bloke halfway across the world who preys on young girls."

"How do you know they're in a different house?" asked Ron.

"I already told you. Professor McGonagal devised this program to encourage inter-house unity," she replied impatiently.

"And you agreed because…" said Ron, trailing off and looking at her expectantly.

Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples to stave off the impending headache. "Because, Ronald, as Head Girl I need to set a positive example for the younger students."

"But what if they turn out to be a supporter of- You-Know-Who?" said Ron worriedly.

"Don't you guys have something better to do?" she snapped, tired of their interrogation.

"We're only concerned about you," said Harry, smiling gently.

She nodded, knowing it was true yet finding it no less annoying. "I can handle myself, though. I wasn't made Head Girl for nothing, you know."

"Speaking of 'heads'…" stated Ron, pulling a face, "Can you believe they're letting Malfoy back into school? And as Head Boy!" He scoffed. "If it were up to me, him and Snape would be rotting in Azkaban…"

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. Hard. "Ronald Weasley! You gave your mother your word that you would make an effort to be civil! And besides that, Dumbledore's pensieve made it abundantly clear that Snape was not acting of his own volition. The man had taken two Unbreakable Vows, for pity's sake!"

"What's Malfoy's excuse?" he muttered.

"He… hasn't said. But I'm sure-"

"Voldemort had his mum," interrupted Harry, "I'm not saying we should be his best mates or anything, but… I think I would have done the same as him."

Hermione nodded. "It took a lot of courage for the two of them to ask the Order for help. I believe only time will tell if they were sincere in their request."

Ron sighed heavily. "I still hate the bloody gits…"

"As do I," she stated, "Now I have a letter to write and then I'm going to bed. You guys should, too. We have a lot of shopping to do tomorrow."

She stood and walked up the stairs to the room she shared with Ginny, sitting down at the desk that was set beneath the window. She though briefly about what to write, tapping her quill against the parchment, before she dipped it into the ink and set about her task.

'Dear Stranger,' she wrote.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste and shook her head, wiping the page clean with a quick spell.

'Dear Pen Pal,'

"Much better," she said, continuing.

'I hope my letter finds you well. I must confess that I have never written to anybody anonymously before, so I fear I am a bit lost at the moment. I feel I should at least inform you that I am, in fact, a girl, thus saving us from any awkward misunderstandings in the future. As I am unsure of whether or not you will continue our correspondence, that is all I am willing to divulge for the moment. Although I truly hope that we can become friends. Write back at you earliest convenience.
Sincerely,
Fern
P.S. Fern is a pseudonym. I suggest you use one, as well. And the owl's name is Artemis. Please be kind to her. She is exceedingly sensitive, even for an owl.'

She sat back, satisfied with the final product. After folding it neatly, she placed it in the envelope McGonagal had given her- "This will allow your owls to know where the letters should be delivered while at the same time making them untraceable," she had said- and sent it off with Artemis. She was anxious to see if she would receive a reply.

Draco Malfoy strolled into his (excessively) large bedroom to see a dainty, white and gold barn owl perched on his bed next to his own large, grey owl. In its claw was a letter. One he had forgotten he would be receiving. He smirked, taking the envelope from her and opening it. After reading through it, he chuckled. Whoever this 'Fern' was, she was intelligent, of that much he was certain. He spread some treats out for the birds while he penned a response.

Once he had sent it with Mercutio, sealed in the same envelope, he lie back on his bed and focused on relaxing. It was, however, a futile attempt, for a moment later a loud slam echoed throughout the manor, signaling his father's return. He sighed, bracing himself against the inevitable onslaught of verbal and physical punishment. But it never came. He silently wondered why Lucius hadn't burst into the room and begun tearing into him for missing another meeting.

He stood, walking down to the parlor, where his parents were discussing something quietly. He cleared his throat, drawing their attention.

"Welcome back, Father," he said.

"Draco," said Lucius, "I trust you have a very good explanation for missing yet another meeting. The Dark Lord was most displeased by your absence."

He kept his face impassive when he answered. "The Order still feels that I am not to be trusted. They are keeping a close watch on me. I thought Severus would have explained all of this."

Lucius scowled. "He was not present, either."

Meaning that all of the Dark Lords 'displeasure' was focused on him alone.

"They must be watching him, as well. With the old man gone, there are no bleeding hearts to whom we may appeal. Although Potter is playing into our hands rather nicely. I never thought he would fall so quickly for my pathetic sob-story," said Draco, chuckling darkly, "It won't be long before he's completely accepted me into his little misfit gang."

"You sound as though you have a plan," said Lucius.

"I do. And it is fail-proof, I assure you," he replied.

Lucius smirked. "The Dark Lord will be glad to hear this. For now, the information you are passing to him should be sufficient. However, his patience is not infinite."

"Understood. But imagine how it will be when a Malfoy hands him Potter in the flesh," said Draco, schooling his expression into one of arrogance, "Our family will receive honors that others have only dreamt of."

He did not miss the pain in his mother's eyes. Or the pride in his father's.

"If you will excuse me, I must finish getting ready for the day. I have agreed to meet Pansy and Blaise in Diagon Alley in an hour," he said, waiting for their nods of dismissal and exiting the room.

"Hermione…" whined Ron, covering his head with the blankets, "Come on! Five more minutes! That's all I'm asking!"

She tore the blanket off of him, tossing it into the hallway. "That's what you said twenty minutes ago! It isn't my fault that you stayed up so late. Now get up! You have five minutes to be dressed and downstairs or I won't be nice and let you have breakfast."

He sat up quickly and glared at her. "That's just cruel…"

"Call it whatever you want," she said, smirking, "But your time is slowly ticking away."

She left the room as he scrambled out of bed, cursing under his breath about 'bloody tyrant women'. She chuckled to herself, thinking that he really should know better after so many years with her. Harry certainly knew. He was already dressed and at the table.

True to his stomach, Ron was in the kitchen in less than three minutes, making Hermione grin. He could be so predictable. It was sometimes hard to believe that he was such a brilliant strategist. They left as soon as he finished eating, apparating to Diagon Alley and heading to Flourish and Blotts first.

"Why'd we have to do this today?" griped Ron when they left the store laden with books.

"We only have two days before we leave for school," she replied, "Is this not 'last-minute' enough for you?"

This silenced him rather effectively and for that she was glad. She loved Ron, she truly did- he was like a brother to her- but she occasionally felt a strong urge to kick the thick-headed dolt.

"Where to next, Commander?" said Harry, joking saluting her.

She smiled at him. "We should probably-"

"Is that the new model Quidditch gear?" exclaimed Ron excitedly, rushing to the Quidditch supply store, "Harry! You've gotta this stuff!"

Harry looked at her pleadingly and she sighed. "Fine. I need to pick up some things that neither of you would be interested in anyway. Just… meet me at the apothecary in an hour, okay? One hour."

He nodded, speeding after the redhead.

She went next door to stock up on stationary, ink, and quills, figuring she'd be using more than usual, before making her way to Obscurus Books. She was hoping to find a few tomes that she doubted were carried at Flourish and Blotts. In fact, she'd be lucky if she didn't end up in Knockturn Alley.

When she entered the store, she was greeted by a small man in bright violet robes and small, lavender tinted spectacles. "May I help you find something, my dear?"

She handed him her list without a word, wondering what alternate universe he had crawled out of.

He clicked his tongue as he walked away, returning moments later with three of the four books she needed. "An odd assortment of literature for such a pretty young girl. Now… 'Bewitching the Written Word'… that's normal enough. But 'Defense is Offense: A Wizard's Guide to Winning a War'? '1,000 Surprisingly Lethal Spells, Charms, and Enchantments'?"

She grinning, paying the man. "A bit of light reading. About the fourth book…"

He shook his head solemnly. "You won't find that in any respectable store. 'The Darkest Dark Arts' isn't exactly a commonplace item. And it is most definitely not something I would recommend for children."

She scowled at him, snatching her parcels from the counter. "I'm no child, sir, and in case it has escaped your notice, we are in the midst of a war. How are we to win if we do not fully understand our enemy? Now if you will excuse me, I have a bit more shopping to do."

"Wait! Miss, wait!" he called, stopping her just outside the door, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. But… these are troubled times and I have to be careful about the people to whom I entrust certain knowledge."

She gave him a puzzled look. "I understand your caution but what…?"

He handed her a slip of paper with only an address scrawled across it. Number 17, Knockturn Alley. "My- friend runs this shop. It appears to be your average dark artifact emporium, however- well, all is not as it seems."

"What is your name, sir?" she asked shrewdly.

"Names are unimportant," he said, "Just know that the phoenix has more friends than you know, Miss Granger."

Before she could even begin to form a response in her mind, he was gone, leaving her with too many questions and not enough answers. If he knew about the Order of the Phoenix, he was probably one of the good guys. Perhaps he was an old acquaintance of Dumbledore's? She looked at the address he had given her. Should she go? Was it a trap? They did desperately need that book, but was it worth the risk?

As she continued to stare at the paper, her mind traveling in circles around these questions, a shadow fell over her. "You're not really considering going there, are you?"

She jumped and whipped around to glare at her nosey new companion. "Malfoy! You shouldn't sneak up on people… and don't read over my shoulder! It's quite rude."

"I didn't sneak anywhere," he said, "You were so lost in your own head you wouldn't have noticed if a bird decided to nest in your hair."

She narrowed her eyes. "What? No snide remark about how it looks like one already has?"

He shrugged. "It doesn't. Your hair looks rather nice today, actually."

She blinked stupidly. Had Malfoy just complimented her? True, over the last two years it had gradually become less wild, falling now in gentle waves, but… She shook herself from her thoughts. "You still shouldn't read over people's shoulders."

"And you shouldn't wander into Knockturn Alley by yourself," he retorted.

"If you're that worried about me, why don't you come along?" She stuffed the paper into her jeans pocket and turned on her heel, intending to storm away from him.

"Alright. I will," he said, falling into step beside her.

"Hermione could have kicked herself! She hadn't thought he would take the offer seriously, let alone accept it. It was bad enough that she would be seen in that place and adding Draco Malfoy to the mix was a recipe for bad publicity. 'Rita Skeeter would be so thrilled…' she thought wryly.

"Why are you going to that shop anyway? It doesn't seem like your kind of place," he said.

"I'm looking for a book," she replied. The answer sounded innocent enough. Let him draw his own conclusions.

"They don't sell books," he stated, and he clearly believed she was lying about her intentions.

She turned around and forgot the damned book, but the strange man's words rang in her head. All is not as it seems. "I'll just have a look for myself."

He sighed. "This is a very bad idea."

"You don't have to come," she said, "It's really none of your concern in the first place, so I don't see why you're following me."

"Following you?" he said, arching one perfect eyebrow at her, "You offered. And… just trust me. Knockturn Alley is not a place for young girls to travel alone."

"You would know, I suppose," she said casually, though the words still stung if the way he winced was any indication. She fought the sudden impulse to apologize.

"Who recommended that shop to you?" he asked after a moment of tense silence.

"A shopkeeper at Obscurus Books," she replied.

"What was their name?" he said.

She chuckled nervously. "He didn't exactly say."

"He didn't exactly say?" he repeated slowly, "Are you daft? Did that not send up any warning flags in that crowded brain of yours? Do you even realize that this could be- and probably is- a trap?"

"Of course I've though of all that," she snapped, "But this is more important. I need this book and this may be the only place I can get it!"

He shook his head and tried not to think too hard about what book a girl like Hermione Granger 'needed' that could only be found there. "Well…" he said as they turned onto Knockturn Alley, "Last chance to change your mind."

She set her mouth in a determined line and continued forward. Luckily, there were few people out and about at that particular time of day. That ones that were, however, were frightening! One man tried to sell her his body and she didn't even want to know what he meant by that, though she believed she had an idea.

They finally came to Number 17 and she steeled herself before entering. Her first impression was that it didn't seem too terrible. It was brightly lit, clean and organized… Not at all what she had expected. She had very nearly relaxed when a strong hand gripped her shoulder and spun her around.

"Whad'ya want here, girlie?"

The man's voice was deep and rough, but it was nothing compared to his appearance. She imagined if he stood straight he would be a formidable height. As it was, he walked hunched over and supported himself with a gnarled piece of wood that barely passed as a cane. He ambled away from her to the register, where the light played on the dark auburn in his hair, which she thought might look good on him were it not matted and tangled and covered in- was that dust? His face was handsome enough if one could ignore the long scar that stretched down the left side, from eyebrow to jaw, and had permanently closed his eye. The remaining eye was a piercing dark blue and… was staring right at her, waiting for an answer. Right.

"I'm looking for a book," she said quickly.

"Don't sell no books," the man said, "Now git outta here. You. Boy!" He pointed at Draco with one shaking hand. "This ain't a place to bring your girl!"

Before he could defend himself- and vehemently deny Granger being 'his girl'- Hermione stepped forward. "Please, sir. I was referred to this shop by a friend of yours."

He made a terrifying noise in his throat. "What friend? Haven't got any blasted friends." He circled back around to her, his cane thudding steadily against the floor in an eerie way. "You havin' one over on me, girlie?"

"No! I- I don't know his name, but he seemed fond of the color purple," she stuttered, "And he gave me this." She handed him the paper.

To her immense surprise, the man smiled softly. "Ah… that friend. Right, then. Follow me."

"Where-?" started Draco.

"Don't ask questions, boy!" he snarled. He began rearranging seven glass globes that sat on one of the sturdy wooden shelves, muttering something that sounded a bit like poetry, until a door appeared to their right. "Well? Go on!"

They exchanged a look, but obeyed, each hoping that these would not be the last moment in their young lives. When they crossed the threshold, Hermione gasped at the overwhelming quantity of rare and valuable books they found themselves surrounded by. "What is this place?"

"Allow me to explain," said the grisly man, though his voice had lost its rough edge, "The person you spoke with earlier is my long time friend- and partner in crime- Toby Hawthorn. He and I own both Obscurus Books and this establishment. We maintain this shop's cover as a vendor of dark artifacts so that the information contained in this room does not pass to the wrong hands. This is the only way that we know to keep the most important weapon of them all, the weapon that can win or lose a war, away from those who would abuse it. I speak, of course, of knowledge." As he said this, he slowly transformed before their eyes, abandoning the cane and straightening his spine with a long stretch. With a whispered word his hair was clean and smooth, falling gently to his shoulders. He must have noticed Hermione's confusion, because his face twisted into a bitter smile. "The scar is no effect, Miss Granger. Yes… I know of you, who doesn't? This scar was given to me by the Dark Lord himself. And trust me… it is better that the eye cannot open. You would not want to see what had become of it."

Draco grimaced. To think that he had almost been forced into that monster's service.

"Before we continue, I feel I should ask," the man said, addressing Hermione, "Can he be trusted?"

She hesitated, unsure of what to say. Why did life have to be so complicated? Why couldn't everything just be black or white, good or bad? She glanced at the blonde and instantly knew the answer. There was a look of such pain and regret, sadness and resignation on his face that there could be only one answer. "Yes, I believe he can."

Draco was shocked speechless. They were only words, but she said them with so much conviction and faith that they carried as much force as a physical slap. He couldn't remember a single time in his life when he had felt as humbled as he did at this moment.

"Very well. My name is Donovan Dieter," he said, smiling brightly, "Welcome to my shop."

"Thank you, sir," said Hermione, "I'm grateful for this opportunity."

"So what are you looking for today?" asked Donovan mildly.

"I'm seeking a book titled 'The Darkest Dark Arts' and I think you may be my last hope," she replied.

Draco choked on his breath. "You want what?" he exclaimed disbelievingly, "That's the darkest book to have ever been printed! You must be mad to look for such a book! That is not something that any human should possess and especially not someone who is fighting for the light!"

"Young Malfoy makes a valid point," stated Donovan, his expression now hard as stone, "Even if I did have this book, why would I give it to you?"

"You have to!" said Hermione, panicking as she watched their only chance slipping away, "Please just hear me out. I believe that Voldemort read that very book when he was younger and the key to destroying him may lie within its pages! If we want to have any possibility of winning against him, I need that book!"

Donovan sighed, but smiled at her. "I have no choice then, do I?" He waved his wand once and a thick tome seemed to appear out of thin air. He handed it to her. "Now you shrink that until you get it home and then you keep it somewhere secure. Do you understand me?"

She nodded, following his instructions immediately and placing it in her pocket. "How much…?"

He shook his head. "No charge. Please give Mr. Potter my regards."

"I will," she said, "Thank you, Mr. Dieter."

"Call me Donovan, please, or Don," he replied, grabbing his cane and ushering them out of the room even as he resumed his role as a crazy old shopkeeper, "Let's make this believable, shall we? Look scared, Miss Granger."

She didn't have to wait long to find out the meaning of his words as a split second later he glared and shoved them quite hard out the door. "I toldja I ain't sellin' to no kids!" he growled loudly, "Git outta here, ya damned brats!" With that he hobbled back inside, slamming the door behind him.

Hermione was sure she'd had no problems appearing fearful. She picked herself up off the street with Draco's help and stared dumbly after the man. "He… threw us out," she said, trying to ignore the laughter around them.

"Yes and he's going to regret it once he finds out who my father is," said Draco stridently, sounding every bit like the spoiled, petulant boy she remembered him as.

The laughter abruptly ceased.

She looked at him sharply, but he only quirked an eyebrow at her. 'Right. Believable. How do girls usually act around him?' "Oh Draco…" she said, imitating the brainless, simpering girls she'd seen at school, "You won't do anything too terrible to him, will you?"

He smirked. "Not this time. He just needs a reminder to be more courteous in the future. For now we shall take our business elsewhere."

She followed him down the street, all too aware of the many sets of eyes following them. When they finally reached Diagon Alley, she heaved a sigh of relief, letting out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Thank you for accompanying me," she said, "I appreciate it."

"It was no problem," he replied, "But you should know that your reputation is ruined."

"For now," she said, patting her pocket where the book rested, "They'll soon forget. You won't tell anybody about…"

"You have my word," he said succinctly.

She gave him a shrewd look. "Just so you know, this doesn't make us friends."

"Of course not," he drawled.

"I still don't like you," she stated firmly.

"I don't much care for you either, to tell you the truth," he said, shrugging.

She nodded resolutely and he wondered just who she was trying to convince. She turned and made to leave, then paused and looked over her shoulder at him. "But I meant what I said before. About trusting you."

And he was left alone, gaping like an idiot in the middle of the road, stunned beyond words for the second time that day.

When Hermione returned from shopping that day with Ron and Harry, there was an owl waiting in her room. She couldn't contain her excitement as she rushed in and took the familiar envelope from its claw and sat down, stroking the bird affectionately.

"Thank goodness you're back," said Ginny when she emerged from the bathroom, "He's been here for nearly an hour. Wouldn't give that bloody letter up to anybody and I even tried bribes. You probably shouldn't give him any more treats."

Hermione laughed. "That's because this letter is private. It's from my anonymous pen-pal."

"I heard about that," said Ginny, joining her on the bed, "Collin's doing it, too. Personally, I don't get the appeal. Seems a little dodgy to me, writing to somebody you don't even know."

"You sound just like your brother," said Hermione, "Whoever it is, they go to Hogwarts so odds are that I've seen them at least once."

Ginny grinned. "I suppose I'll leave you to it, then."

"You don't have to go," said Hermione when the red-headed girl stood.

"It's fine. I'm just going to find Harry," said Ginny, smirking.

"Still trying to convince him that you're in no more mortal danger as his girlfriend than you are as his friend?" she asked.

"You know how stubborn us Weasleys are," said Ginny, exiting the room.

She turned back to the letter and smiled, opening it deftly and reading:

'Fern,
I had forgotten that that I agreed to participate in this program until I received your letter. I admit that upon reading it I was relieved that you sounded so intelligent. I would hate to have been forced to correspond with some total dunderhead. Thank you for telling me your gender, though I doubt I would ever say anything vulgar enough to offend you. My standards of conversation are much higher than that. If you have not already guessed, I am male and I won't apologize for it.'

She laughed at that.

'I have also never written to somebody with whom I am not familiar so I'm afraid that I can't offer any guidance in that aspect. However, I do feel as though we should establish some ground rules. First of all, no names. Of anybody. Revealing those that we associate with could too easily reveal our identities. Secondly, we must each promise complete confidentiality. I don't know exactly what will come of this, but there may come a time when we are comfortable enough with one another to disclose certain information or facts about ourselves that we do not wish for the entire school to know. The third rule should be that, once we return to Hogwarts, we do not let this communication interfere with our studies. I, for one, have high aspirations once I graduate. We can add more rules as the need arises, if the need does, indeed, arise.
Now that is out of the way, I have to ask: Why Fern? Of all the fake names you could have chosen, why did you pick one that sounds so bland? I will expect an answer in your next missive, as well as a bit more information about yourself. If you acquiesce to this request, perhaps I will return the favor.
Signed,
Romeo
P.S. My feathered friend's name is Mercutio. He really seemed to like Artemis. We should agree right now that we will not try to identify each other by our owls.'

She shook her head lightly. "I will expect an answer?" she said aloud, moving to desk to reply, "Awfully full of himself, isn't he?"

'Romeo,
Really? Romeo? And Mercutio? Somebody either enjoys his Shakespeare or thinks very highly of himself. I think those rules will work out marvelously and I solemnly swear to not seek you using your owl. I also have a lot of things I want to accomplish after I graduate and I would never do anything to compromise my- or anybody else's- studies. If you don't mind my asking, what are you planning to do when you've finished with Hogwarts?
In answer to your question- which, by the way, was phrased rather impertinently- I chose Fern because of the symbolism. Ferns are often associated with strength, curiosity, confidence, and shelter or protection. My strength and thirst for knowledge are two of my best qualities, confidence is something that I wish I had more of, and I have a powerful desire to shelter and protect those I care about. I think that covers both of your requests pretty efficiently. Now you had better return the favor. And I see what you mean about Mercutio and Artemis. He's been here this whole time and hasn't moved from her side. Maybe they're in love. Write back soon!
Fern'

She sent it with Artemis and as soon as she took off, Mercutio followed, making Hermione smile. Love was such a strange and beautiful thing…

~I~

First chapter rewrite DONE! Wow… That ended up a LOT longer than the original chapter one. It went from 500 to almost 5,000 words! Big difference, don't you think? I hope you enjoyed just as much, if not more, than the last time! Reviews are always appreciated!