AUTHOR'S NOTE: This again took longer than expected. I've been busy with miscellaneous real-life problems, followed by illness. But again, we're back on track! I will take this story to its conclusion, I swear to Merlin I will. Also, if you don't know what I'm referencing in the second part… you haven't been in the HP fandom much as of late, but Googling "Botnik Harry Potter" ought to be enlightening. And now, on with the story! Cheerio!

CHAPTER XIX: Problems Most Peculiar

Friday brought another perfectly useless Divination class where Professor Trelawney insisted they were all in mortal peril. (The silly thing, of course, was not so much the prediction itself as the idea that one needed Divination to come to that conclusion.)

Trelawney also seemed convinced that the size of a wizard's aura was indicative of their abilities as a Seer, and as a result had gotten it in her head that Ron was one of the greatest Seers of the century, being that his aura was especially large and flashy. Hermione knew this made no sense, of course, as she quickly explained to the disappointed boy. Yes, one's aura was a manifestation of one's magic, and a skilled Aurologist might predict some of an individual's powers from a precise study; but the size in and on itself was only a function of how good the wizard's control over their magic was. (A flashy aura, in fact, indicated that Ron should probably try to calm down a bit and rein his power in.)

Still, the whole thing suggested that that particular Ilpoat at least had a genuine ability to sense auras, which was something.

Saturday morning saw Professor Dumbledore, Professor Lupin, Sirius and Hermione gather in the Hospital Wing, where they were greeted by Madam Poppy Pomfrey, Hogwarts's Head Healer. After some more praise, thanks and similar niceties had been heaped upon Hermione, they got to business.

"I've given this some thought," Pomfrey explained, "and I believe we must first and foremost test the ins and outs of Petrification on a non-werewolf."

"That would be me," Sirius said with grin, waving his hand as though in front of a large and cheering audience.

"Now, Sirius, I will perform some check-up charms on your person to make sure you are truly of average health and metabolism."

Hermione almost asked whether Sirius's Animageness and stay in Azkaban wouldn't skew the data, but thought better of it — no doubt Madam Pomfrey would have vetoed his involvement as guinea pig if she'd suspected anything of the sort.

"Average?" teased the Marauder with false outrage. "Madam! Upon my word, you insult me!"

Pomfrey did not pick up on Sirius's taunt (judging by their age, it seemed likely to Hermione that Pomfrey had already had to deal with Sirius when he was a student). Instead, the Healer waved her wand over Sirius's body in complex patterns, muttering some very long incantations that were, for the most part, just gibberish to Hermione.

"Hmmm…" hummed the Matron. "Yes, I believe you're quite alright, Sirius. Although I would advise you to slow down with the chocolate — I know it is said to have beneficial effects for someone who has been exposed to Dementors, but it is starting to affect your figure, you know."

"You heard her, Moony," snickered Sirius. "If someday I wake up looking like Slughorn, I'll know who to blame!"

"Oh shush," Remus answered with a smile. "I was only trying to help."

"Alright!" said Pomfrey. "Everything is working normally. Now, Sirius, I want you to look at this mirror." (She gestured towards a large looking glass on the wall.) "Under no circumstances are you to look away, you do understand."

"Got it," Sirius confirmed.

"Now I, Remus and Poppy shall retire to a nearby chamber," continued Dumbledore, "while Miss Granger fetches our friend the Basilisk."

"Right," said Sirius.

The Marauder expertly Conjured a cushioned chair facing the mirror and sat down contentedly. (He seemed to be developing an affinity for furniture-based magic, Hermione remarked curiously; but then again, there was frightfully little of that in Azkaban, so she supposed he might just be compensating for those ten years.)

"Ah, ehm, no, please, Sirius," corrected Madam Pomfrey. "For our purpose, it would be much better if you could stay up while Petrified, legs and arms wide apart… Yes, thank you."

"I think you may bring the Petrificator here, Miss Granger," said Professor Dumbledore as he and the others stepped aside into the sealed room, all according to plan.

"Yes, sir!" said Hermione.

She then went to the Chamber of Secrets, where she called:

{The Great Basilisk is called to Petrify Sirius Black!}

{I will do so,} said the Basilisk. {I thank whoever called me!}

Goggles on, the giant creature made her way through the castle to the Hospital Wing, some corridors widening at her approach to help the Basilisk. (A magical castle with something like a mind of its own was really a wonderful thing.) Hermione followed behind, all smiles, explaining the specifics of the arrangements to her enormous friend. Finally, they arrived. Sirius, still staring at the mirror, waved his hand in greeting at the Basilisk; meanwhile, Hermione joined the adults in the sealed room.

With her ear to the keyhole, Hermione heard the Basilisk command the goggles:

{Off!}

Then a brief moment of silence.

Then:

{On!}

And finally:

{It is done!}

Lupin, Dumbledore, Hermione and Pomfrey emerged to see their fully petrified friend Since her size would be a hindrance in the relatively small room, the Basilisk departed in a deep rumble after saying goodbye through Hermione and once again thanking her for this opportunity to help.

Dumbledore was holding a brass-colored clipboard and read:

"Well, then. Test #1: is the hair Petrified also, or else is the effect limited to living tissue?"

Hermione poked at Sirius's long haired with her wand, finding it to be as rigid as the rest of his body.

Dumbledore ticked the 'Petrified' box.

"Test #2: do his eyes react to stimuli?"

Lupin lit the tip of his wand with a wordless Lumos and shone it close to his friend's eye. His pupils stayed the same size.

"Good, good! Now let me see… Hmm…"

From his large purple coat's pocket, the Headmaster retrieved a few of the golden and silver instruments usually cluttering his office, which he waved around Sirius's body.

"Merlin's maroon mittens!" marveled the Headmaster. "His aura — it's absolutely immobile! And from that, we may deduce that his magic is likewise frozen…"

"Let me try something!" said Hermione.

"Go ahead!" nodded the sorcerer before the more collected Pomfrey could object.

"Accio Sirius!" she incanted.

Under the effect of the spell, Sirius's rigid body slid along the stone floor towards Hermione and stopped at her feet.

"Clever thinking, miss Granger, very clever!" complimented Lupin.

"It does make sense," opined Dumbledore. "that Sirius would, magically, be reduced to an object, with his own magic no longer active to shield him… if, as this confirms, his magic is indeed inactive. And if it is inactive…"

"…then the curse won't activate!" cheered Hermione and Lupin.

"Quite, quite remarkable!" nodded Dumbledore. "Well, Poppy and I still have some magical tests to perform, but you would not find them very interesting. It is best that you two be on your way now."

"Oh yes," said Hermione as Lupin began to step away, "that does remind me…"

"Yes?"

"I had a question to ask you…" she continued, following the Professor.

"There's nothing I would refuse you, Hermione," Lupin said solemnly. "You're a Marauder, you helped out Sirius, and you're about to cure my lycanthropy. What sort of ungrateful git would I be if I—"

"Yes, yes, thank you," Hermione cut him off, getting to the point. "It's about a piece of Dark Magic and how to dispel it. You are the Defence Professor, after all."

"So I am," said Lupin. "What is it?"

"Have you heard of a spell called Serpensortia?"

"I… no, I haven't," answered the older wizard, thoughtful. "It sounds like a Conjuration spell, going by the incantation… for creating snakes, I suppose."

"One would think so," said Hermione, "but in truth — look at it this way. There's no spell to Conjure a living, breathing human being, is there?"

"No, of course not," Lupin said dismissively. "The ethical implications of such a thing alone would… no, no, definitely not."

"Then — knowing, as I do, that Serpents are sapient beings," argued Hermione, "why would there be a spell to Conjure them?"

"That's… a very good point," Lupin agreed.

"In fact," Hermione clarified, "Serpensortia, as I understand it, is a Snake-Summoning Spell. I believe that if cast randomly, it will teleport the nearest snake to your location. The spell Serpendimitto can then be used to send them back where they came from. But the point here is that one can bind a particular snake to oneself, and summon that one from anywhere using Serpensortia."

"I must say," confessed Lupin, "I've never heard of such a spell… Or rather — there is something — something so dark — to put it bluntly, this mark you speak of reminds me of You Know Who's mark. Morsmordre. The Dark Mark."

"Oh?" said Hermione with interest. "Do tell!"

"The Dark Mark," Lupin explained, grim-faced, "was a curse created by He Who Must Not Be Named, with which he branded his Death Eaters. But I assume you know that much already."

"Yes," nodded the girl. "That's in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts."

"Quite," Lupin continued. "Well, the Dark Mark allowed him to know exactly where his Death Eaters were, and vice-versa. He could sense their location, send signals to any of them, or all at once. They could Apparate to him and he to them, even in locations they had never been or heard of before. This way no Death Eater was ever isolated in the field. And no Death Eater could betray him and flee."

Hermione's eyes went wide with the possibilities.

"They could Apparate anywhere? Over any distance?"

"Perhaps not quite any distance," the Professor tempered, "but all over Europe, certainly."

"Merlin's quill…" she breathed. "Well, is there any way to remove a Dark Mark?"

"Hah!" barked Lupin. "You'd have to kill You Know Who for that… and I mean really kill him. Even in 1981 the Mark didn't fade completely. That was one of the signs he was still out there, you know. …If it really were so easy to remove the Mark, I imagine certain well-respected pureblood figures would have done so, no matter the price, rather than rely on the Imperius Defence so completely."

"Ah," said Hermione, slightly disappointed.

Well, only slightly. That no cure existed only meant she'd have to invent one some time. And until then, even with the direct approach blocked off (she didn't much fancy the idea of murdering Mr Malfoy, and fancied even less the consequences of failing to murder Mr Malfoy)… even then, the Mistress of Loopholes could still find something. She thought for a moment… yes, that was it. She had an idea.

"Professor," she said, "if I could bring you the snake, do you think you could tell me what spell precisely that Mark is — and thus, how to cast it?"

Lupin stood still for a moment and then chuckled as the purpose of Hermione's question became clear to him.

"Oh! That…" he said. "I… see what you mean to do, Macbrains… Heh! Why not?… But I may not be the best person to ask. My specialty is creatures, not enchantments. …Try to speak to Ron, get in touch with his brother Bill… I hear he's a very talented curse-breaker."

Hermione thanked him and promised to do so just as Dumbledore and Pomfrey came back, escorting a revived Sirius still drenched in Mandrake Draught.

"Victory!" proclaimed the elated Marauder. "Moony, Moony, it works!"

Hermione immediately went to the Gryffindor Common Room where she told the good news to Harry, Ron and Maximilian. She'd meant to tell more of her friends, but Minerva's frame was empty, and the surprise was a chance for her to think better of it. She hoped that the 'cure' for Lycanthropy, by preventing the transformation altogether, would help lessen — and eventually eradicate — the prejudice against werewolves; but for now Lupin would probably still want to keep his condition a secret.

Glad she had avoided a great mistake, she wrapped up her homework, helped the boys with theirs, and headed for the Library for the rest of the day.

To her dismay, when she got up on Sunday morning, Minerva's frame was still empty of a Minerva. It did, however, contain a grotesque creature, of whom the black cat who usually shared Minerva's frame seemed rather afraid of. It was wearing a red and purple doublet with a ruff; its hands were thin and pale; but most importantly, in place of a head, there was something coming out of the collar that Hermione could only describe as looking like a large pile of ash. The figure seemed to be looking around in confusion, and held a striped pig who pulsed rather like a large bullfrog under its left arm.

"Er… sir?" Hermione called out at the grotesque.

"Oh! Well done!" replied the pile of ash in a voice that sounded oddly robotic (Hermione couldn't have assigned a gender to it if she tried).

"Uhm, thank you," said Hermione in confusion. "I was wondering if you knew where Minerva McGonagall had gone?"

"Several long pumpkins fell out of McGonagall," the Pile of Ash answered confidently.

Every time it spoke, the ash around the middle of the Pile seemed to split (rather like the Sorting Hat's tear-split). This time, by the same token, she had the very clear feeling the pile of ash had winked at her, even though it really didn't have any eyes to do so.

"Yes… I'm sure that's what happened," tried Hermione, "but I just wanted to know where I could find her. Her Portrait self, that is. I have a very good idea where the real one is."

"Oh, she's just standing there," the Pile of Ash said dismissively. "Doing a kind of frenzied tap-dance."

"…tap-dance?"

"Yes," repeated the Pile of Ash. "A frenzied tap-dance."

"I'm sorry," Hermione ruled, "but I don't think Minerva would be the sort to tap-dance."

"Oooh!" remarked the Pile of Ash. "Hermione has forgotten how to dance?"

"You know my name?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"I know where everyone is," said the portrait-creature, "and I know I'm going to dip you in hot sauce. I'm feeling hungrier than I have ever been."

"This… sounds a little ominous," Hermione said nervously. She knew Portraits shouldn't be able to eat people, but she also knew Portraits weren't supposed to look like large piles of ash, either.

"Don't worry," the Pile of Ash said, and, placing a hand over the pig, "you are Hagrid now."

Hermione was simultaneously annoyed and fascinated by the insane Portrait. It rather reminded her of someone. But who?

…Oh.

Of course.

"Portrait, who made you?" she asked.

"Everyone applauded."

"How long ago were you painted?"

"Sheets of leathery rain are lashing out at my ghost."

"Could I get another Portrait, please?"

"The Nargles prevent it."

And there it was. The Nargles.

Hermione should have known, really.

Asking other, more sensical Portraits for directions, Hermione found her way to the Ravenclaw Common Room. Its large door had a beautiful brass door-knocker in the likeness of an eagle right in the middle. Since that is what one does with door-knockers, Hermione lifted the ring and knocked thrice.

The eagle-head came alive and spoke in a smooth voice:

"Stop that and answer the Riddle, featherbrain."

Hermione looked quizzically at the Eagle.

"Oh! Another talking Guardian!" she remarked. "Hogwarts is just full of them, isn't it?"

"What can I say? It was in fashion in 10th century Britain," the Eagle said conversationally. "I'm not going to complain. I do owe my existence to it. But come now, no time for chit-chat. The Riddle."

"Riddle?" Hermione repeated again.

"Yes, the Riddle," the Eagle repeated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I ask Riddles, and you students answer them to get in. That is how it has been for a millenium. I'm surprised you've only now found out."

"Oh!" Hermione said in understanding. "It's like a password, but for Ravenclaws. Clever, yes. Well then! What is the Riddle?"

"Finally!" sighed the Eagle. "Now then. What gets broken without being held?"

"A promise," Hermione answered without missing a beat, "and is that really the best you can do?"

But the Eagle didn't seem in the mood to listen to her constructive criticism, and instead it spun the door open.

Several Ravenclaws who had been absorbed in their study turned to her at the sound.

"And what are you doing here?" asked a black-haired girl whom Hermione thought was called Cho Chang. "You are no Raven! Can't you see we're busy?"

"I'm looking for Luna Lovegood," Hermione said simply.

"Yes?" came a dreamy voice from above.

Hermione looked up and saw Luna, who was hanging from the ceiling from her feet.

"Hello Luna, what are you doing up there?" Hermione asked as normally as she could muster. This was not that strange by Luna standards, after all.

"I'm helping my father with the Quibbler," Luna explained.

"How so?"

"He's writing a big article on vampires," the Ravenclaw said, "and I thought it might be useful if I could tell him what it's like sleeping upside-down. Of course, I can't turn into a bat, but I did put on some fangs."

She grinned widely to show a pair of tacky plastic fangs, which had presumably been bought in a Muggle shop of Halloween decorations.

"That's… very nice, Luna," Hermione answered, "but there's something else I want to talk about. Another of your projects, if I'm not mistaken."

"Oh." said Luna, growing serious. "Is it Project Zugma?"

"…I'm not sure I want to know what Project Zugma is." muttered Hermione. Then she said, louder: "No, it's about… have you painted anything lately? I know you're quite good at art."

"Why yes!" said Luna with a smile, walking down the wall and finally reaching Hermione's side. "How did you guess?"

"I didn't guess, Luna," Hermione scolded, "I found out. I saw the Portrait, you see."

"You did?" Luna said, surprised. "But I keep it in my trunk!"

"It's in Hogwarts," Hermione sighed. "Ergo, the portrait-person can walk out of its frame and into other ones throughout the Castle. I saw him… her… it… I saw it in a frame in the Gryffindor Common Room."

"We are talking about the same Portrait?" Luna asked for confirmation. "Doublet, pig, pile of ash?"

"Exactly," nodded the Gryffindor. "…What even possessed you to paint such a thing?"

"I read up on books about art," Luna explained. "Muggle books, that is. Muggles are frightfully creative. And one of the handbooks suggested that one should paint what they saw in their dreams."

"Ah… that would explain it," said Hermione.

"I didn't expect it to be so alive, though," Luna thought aloud. "I did use the magical paint my father gave me, but, well, I assumed there had to be a spell that went into it, you know, to finish things up…"

Hermione yawned, satisfied.

"Yes, yes. Well, do read up next time before you try this sort of thing… Now would you come along and try to talk some sense into that portrait? It has taken over a friend of mine's frame, and I can't make heads nor tails of what it's saying — but somehow, I think you just might."