Which brought her to her second problem: Nagini. There were only two people alive who knew about Voldemort's last Horcrux: her and Ron. She remembered Neville running for the snake in the courtyard, but she couldn't be sure he knew the importance of it. If someone was able to defeat Voldemort, she or Ron would have to make sure the snake was dead. That seemed like such a far off problem.

The locket, cup, tiara, ring, and diary were all gone. A surge of memories rose through her consciousness, unbidden. Parseltongue, shared dreams, mind connections. Where she'd thought that maybe Harry was… She wiped her clammy hands on her trousers and forced the thought aside. None of that mattered anymore.

Was Nagini really the last one? Or had he made more? Was his soul stable enough for more?

Hermione reached for a text, her bandaged left arm stretching high, reminding her of her third problem. The tattoos. She wouldn't be able to leave the estate without Draco. She could do all the research in the world, answer all the questions, and still it would be pointless if she couldn't leave and tell someone about it.

If only she could get in touch with George. Figure out some way of communicating to him, even if she couldn't leave. But if Voldemort looked into her mind again…

She flipped open the book on Horcruxes she'd been looking at last week, searching for the passage on Fiendfyre she'd wanted to reread—

And snapped the book closed. Her mind… the images she saw… the things she read…

Voldemort could see them all.

It wasn't just her important memories he had access to. He could see anything she did, no matter how mundane. Pages and words and information. Her favorite things.

She put back the book with shaking fingers, knowing that researching Horcruxes was enough to incriminate her. She'd never been afraid of her own mind before. But her knowledge would betray her if Voldemort performed Legilimency on her again.

Staring at the books, staring at the shelves of a library so dark and powerful that it could defeat Voldemort and his Elder Wand with only its pages wielded by the right person, Hermione realized she couldn't use any of it.

She stepped back, breathing hard. There was nothing she could research. Nothing was safe. She blinked quickly at the stacks, focusing on her breath, feeling a sharp pain in her ribs.

Her mind wasn't her own. She felt his presence inside, slick like oil. It had been almost two weeks since he had invaded her consciousness. Perhaps he wouldn't again. But could she count on it?

She leaned back on the shelves, closing her eyes, trying to find a way out.

The sound of shuffling to her left snapped her eyes open. A book slithered from a shelf down an aisle and hovered, as if it had been called. Blinking, she turned to see if anyone was at the catalogue at the front.

No one.