Her addled mind spun around the possibilities. The questions she'd buried for days underneath sleeping potions and grief. She blinked at the empty shelf, fighting off the headache she could feel coming on.

Did the Malfoys know more about Horcruxes than Hermione had assumed? And why had Voldemort been interested in Harry again?

She shivered, the cool air in the library not the cause.

Why look for the Horcruxes?

She swallowed, knowing the answer required her to look inside her own mind. To work through the purpose of Voldemort's visit.

She pressed her hands on the shelf in front of her, closing her eyes and trying to remember through the terror and the closed doors in her own consciousness.

Some information from you, Mudblood. Thank you for obliging.

Her lower lip trembled, and she bit it closed. He'd been there specifically to look for Horcruxes. That's why the Malfoys hadn't been prepared for his visit. What Draco had chosen to do — to do to her — had turned out to be a necessary precaution. Voldemort had decided to check on her treatment as a secondary motive, but he was there for the Horcruxes.

Hermione blinked, staring at the spot where the Horcrux book should be filed, as if she could will it into existence. It wouldn't tell her anything she didn't already know, but it would be a comfort of sorts.

She tried to think. She had been right — Harry had likely been an unintentional Horcrux. A part of Voldemort's soul had split from him the night the Killing Curse had rebounded, and attached itself to Harry. Voldemort had filtered through the only memories she had that could possibly prove that theory. So she wasn't alone in her hypothesis. But what had tipped Voldemort off?

A sliver of hope tugged at her ribs — was Harry alive?

She'd seen his body in the courtyard, but had he survived after all? She hadn't known he was going into the Forest to meet Voldemort, or she would have stopped him. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been clutching Snape's memories, racing for Dumbledore's Pensieve. What had he discovered that made him surrender himself?

She remembered the urgency in Snape's voice as he wheezed blood and begged Harry to take his memories. She’d suspected then that he wasn't loyal to Voldemort, though it was impossible to confirm now. Perhaps he'd known about the Horcrux. Found a way for Harry to fake his own death, while killing the piece of Voldemort inside of him. Skepticism warred with the burning hope in her ribs. It was highly unlikely — and yet, why would Voldemort care about Harry if he was dead?

The headache was returning. Hermione rubbed her temples, knowing it was no use guessing about what was in Snape's memories. She would never see them.

The library doors creaked.

She whipped around and stepped to the side, peering through the stacks towards the entrance, heartbeat thundering.

His cheekbones cut through his skin; even in the distance, she could see that. He was hunched, his shoulders folded over on top of his ribs, his hair thin and greasy. His skin seemed grey.