How could Ginny summon Fiendfyre, or find basilisk venom? Would the Sword of Gryffindor appear to her at the exact right moment?

Hermione shook her head, banishing her concerns away. However impossible her circumstances may have seemed, Ginny was resourceful. Clever. Hermione had to trust her; had to get her the information she'd asked for. But she'd have to find another way. A note was too risky.

For now, the most helpful information Hermione could pass on was that Voldemort may be the King, but Nagini was the Queen. Take the Queen first.

Ginny couldn't focus on Voldemort. She had to get close to Nagini. And Hermione would have to find a way to pass the rest of the information without a note.

The image of Voldemort's face after invading her mind swam up. The look of uncertain, complicated thought once he'd confirmed that Harry had been an unintentional Horcrux. Hermione bit her lip, praying he hadn't created another. His soul was already unstable — hopefully he wasn't unwise enough to split it further.

It was four in the morning by the time Hermione settled on two words, clear and crisp in the quill's ink. A hint, and a warning. A thought that neither Ginny nor George nor any other living person besides Ron would think of.

Snake first.

~*~

She slept till one in the afternoon, letting the emotional whiplash of the previous evening run its course through her. The full weight of her problems seemed to return to her as she lay in bed, blinking at the ceiling. She grimaced and threw the covers off herself.

She'd decided on how to respond to Ginny's note, but as she poured her coffee from the carafe that had appeared on her nightstand, she knew she had a more immediate problem. It was critical for her to maintain consistent appearances at Edinburgh, making herself available for any form of communication. And to do that, she and Draco needed to cooperate better. Their row last night had cut the evening short — something she couldn't afford in the future.

Hermione took a long sip of coffee, considering. Three things had seemed to anger him last night. Kissing Flint, trying to play the part in the dining room, and letting the strawberry-blonde get close to her. Hermione supposed she could see his perspective about Flint, but she'd do it again in a heartbeat. Surely he had to understand why.

The rest of his anger made no sense.

She closed her eyes, fighting back her irritation at the impossible riddle that was Draco Malfoy. Perhaps understanding the root cause of his anger wasn't as important as making sure it wouldn't happen again. She needed to know what she could and couldn't do. Or else he might revert back to taking Pansy in her body.

Hermione frowned into her coffee cup.

That couldn't happen. It was her body — only she had the right to be in it. And the girls were counting on her to be there, petty squabbles aside. She needed to make amends with him.