Disclaimer: Still poor. Don't sue.
A/N: Before, when I asked not to leave mean reviews, I lied. Be mean, I don't care. Okay, maybe I do... But I just want you to reply. Pleaseee. :)
And if I don't update for a while, it's because I have 2 finals and 5 midterms within the next three days.
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"It was the weirdest thing, Albus. I've never seen her act like that. And the worst part about this whole situation, is that in our world, one never knows if a dream is simply a dream, or if it could be something more." Still worried about the Gryffindor princess, the Headmistress sat wringing her hands in her office, talking with her former superior and long time friend. "There's no sign from the Haven, so we can't tell whether or not she's been visited by an Oracle."
"Maybe, Minerva, it was just a dream. It happens, you know. Strange dreams and night terrors." Dumbledore smiled from inside his portrait. After his death, it took a long time for him to wake up, but it seemed he never went to sleep again afterwards.
"I wish it was that easy Albus. I was talking to Poppy, and she is a muggle-born, you remember. Well her parents were muggle psychologists. According to muggle science, there are 5 stages of sleep. Hermione shouldn't have remembered her dream if it was a true night terror. And she did remember. She told us in intricate detail. It would have been different if she just woke up scared, and then later had an irrational fear of pyramids. And the Eye of Ra? This muggle scientist, Sigmund Freud, he says that dreams are a path way to the subconscious. He says that dreams are repressed thoughts. But what could she have repressed? I just wish we could know. Legilimens can only take a person through the memories, not through the hidden mind. I'm sure if Severus were still here, he would know some kind of potion, some kind of something to use... to do." She said the last bit with a sigh, looking forlornly at the empty portrait.
"I hate to tell you, dear, but Sigmund Freud was no muggle scientist. He was muggle-born, and an accomplished legilimens. He attended a very small wizarding school that was only open a few years, before moving on to secondary education away from the wizarding world. He could have been another Tom Riddle, such a strange boy. He looked through people's memories to manipulate them. He successfully managed to allude both Austrian and German Ministries of Magic for several years. He grew paranoid in his old age, much like Moody was. It's why he killed himself. Unfortunately, most of his theories are based off the delusions of a sick man."
"So, what do we do? I know, you probably think I'm silly, but I'm scared. I just can't shake the feeling that there really is something wrong. I know this isn't just a dream, Albus. I know it." Minerva buried her face in her hands, a true act of desperation. "I think I'm going to my quarters now," she said, looking at the old Grandfather Clock on the wall. "It's early, but I have some thinking to do."
However, before she could wallow in her self-worry, Professor Flitwick hobbled in as quickly as his short legs would take him. His voice squeakier than normal and his night-gown swishing around him, there was a frightened look on his face. "Minerva! You must come quickly! I need you now, in my chambers. You come too, Albus."
"Filius, I must ask you not to make demands of me. Please, can I come in the morning?" Even more worried, McGonagall just didn't think she could live through the night if Professor Flitwick's problem was as big as he made it seemed. She could feel a stroke coming on.
"Shut up you old broad, and meet me at my rooms. Now!" Filius Flitwick was not an angry man. He was not known for name calling, either. He might have been an accomplished dueler, but this was not the same Charms Professor that cried when Ginny Weasley disappeared in her first year at Hogwarts.
"Filius Flitwick! We may be friends, but that does not mean you can take liberties with my generosity. I am still your superior, and you would to well to remember that. I will speak with you in the morning."
"Minerva, go. Please, just go. There's got to be something wrong. I'm sure the Professor will explain it all to us when we get to his rooms." Dumbledore was frowning. He never frowned. The twinkle in his eye was significantly duller. To the tiny, frustrated man, he said "Filius, I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to get Miss Granger. I have a feeling she might be of assistance in this situation." With those words, Dumbledore left his portrait in the Headmistress's office, and reappeared in his portrait in Hermione Granger's sitting room.
Thankfully, Hermione was decent and in plain view of Albus's portrait. She was hunched over in her chair, reading by the warm fire. As the light from the flames danced on her face, Albus could see the dark circles beginning to appear around her eyes. "Miss Granger, if you're not too busy, I was wondering if you could help some of the other staff and I?"
Shocked, and unaware of his presence, Hermione jumped out of her skin. "Oh, why yes Headmaster," she said as she barely stifled a yawn.
"Miss Granger, this is probably none of my business, but have you been getting enough sleep lately?" The lines of worry didn't go away with his death, Hermione noticed.
"Well, I just I've been..." She stopped. There was no point in lying to the elder gentleman. Dead or alive, he always knew. "No sir, I haven't. I can't take the nonaddictive sleeping potion, or even the older version. I even tried brewing a weakened Draught of Living Death, but it didn't work. Nothing works. Just, please sir, don't tell the Headmistress. She has enough on her hands."
"I won't tell her, Miss Granger, but you really should see into getting some help. But we can't think about that right now. I'm sorry, but I feel like we have a major crisis on our hands right now. Please, meet me in Filius's room." And with that, Albus popped out.
Flustered, Hermione quickly dashed to her bedroom and grabbed the pair of teaching robes she had worn earlier that day. It certainly wouldn't do for a student to see her in her pink flannel pajama pants and the white wife beater. She gave a half-hearted pat on the head to the old and arthritic Crookshanks, and departed the room with her wand holding her hair up.
By the time Hermione made it to Professor Flitwick's rooms, the others were already in there. As it turns out, the only ones present were Professor Flitwick himself, the Headmistress, Albus and herself. There was a blanket in the middle of his sitting room, covering something quite large. As the small man pulled off the cover, a large stone replica of the triquetra was revealed.
"Professor Flitwick, why do you have a model triquetra in your room?"
Sounding more like Snape than ever, Flitwick snapped. "You idiot girl, this is no model! My goblin ancestors entrusted me with this the first moment I walked into Hogwarts. This is the real fucking triquetra. And it's breaking, dammit."
Sure enough, there were scratches where the iron bars rubbed across each other. McGonagall just stood their with her mouth wide open, not understanding anything. Before Hermione could say anything, however, a loud crack was heard - louder than any apparation crack could be.
At each point of the triquetra, there was each of the Fates.