Author's Notes: I'm sorry this is so late. But there is good news! In writing terms, Chapter 31 is complete and work has begun on 32, which will be the final chapter. Once I've finished writing and taken some time to proof-read everything, the rest of the story should appear on the site pretty quickly. I should know better than to give deadlines, but this story should be completed before 26th April (a year since I started posting it).

Chapter 26 will be posted on 9th April. With any luck, the writing will be finished by then, but I'll update you when we get there.

25. For Everything A Reason

Professor Slughorn – Hermione couldn't help but think of him as that, even though she knew he wasn't the one who had taught her – was still worryingly unresponsive, and so was taken away to St. Mungo's. Kingsley wore a grim expression as he escorted the Healers out of the building, and she couldn't help but worry that they might have found him too late. Should she have spoken of her suspicious before this? And would she have prevented at least some of the damage to the elderly Potions expert if she had?

"So... do you reckon that Kingsley's alright?" She looked up at Draco as he addressed her. They were sitting a little apart from where the Headmaster was talking intently with Sirius and Professor Snape, which allowed them some privacy for their discussion. Harry was nearby, but had so far shown no sign of wanting to join them.

She sighed. "Probably? I mean, he did have his reasons to want to investigate Hogwarts, and we could check his story with Moody if need be, so I think it's probably true."

"Unless Moody is a Death Eater agent as well," Draco pointed out.

"Well, yeah, that's why I didn't say he was definitely okay." Hermione snorted. "Though, really, how many Death Eater agents do you think there are?"

"Who knows how many there might be?" Harry laughed sharply and dropped down onto the stool next to the one Hermione was sitting on. "The way my mother tells it, that was how it was during the war – you couldn't trust anyone you met, because they might be working for You-Know-Who."

"That's not very comforting." In fact, Hermione felt a little cold, though she had heard such stories before.

"Good. It wasn't supposed to be." Harry flashed her a dark and rather horrible smile. "That's the main reason why the forces of good bother to keep us Slytherins around, you know – our cynicism and our suspicious minds." He snorted, and she wondered if that had been an attempt at a joke.

"I think Severus has that covered," Draco put in, dryly.

"You may be right." Harry gave the still-preoccupied teacher a quick glance, then shrugged. "Always room for one more, though, isn't there?" He looked directly at Draco then, and his brow furrowed slightly. "So what was old Crouch saying to you? I suppose he must be above suspicion, at least; he was poleaxed by seeing his dead son come back to life. You might say it was all an act – but I know what acting looks like, and that wasn't it."

"Yeah, when he was talking to me it was kind of like his wits were scattered all over." Draco had apparently decided that if Harry could be civil to him then he could respond in kind. "None of it seemed all that important – though he did say that, even though he couldn't help but be disappointed at what his son had become, he was still glad to see that he was alive." He gave a sad little sigh. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that he was incoherent."

"It's all just so tragic, somehow." Despite her common sense and rationality, Hermione found that she couldn't help but feel sorry for Crouch – for both of them. She had not been so affected before, but then in her old world she had only heard about most of the events, and had seen very little herself. Her imagination was not good enough to show her the poignant tragedy of their twisted little family drama, not without seeing it firsthand. "To think your child is dead, and then find that he's alive but in service to Voldemort? That must... I don't even know how it must feel."

Draco frowned. "Dad always said Barty Crouch was a cold-hearted man who sentenced his own son to a life in hell with no pity whatsoever. His wife begged him to be merciful, right there in front of everyone in the public courts, and he turned his face away from her." He looked over his shoulder at the classroom door, as if he expected to see the man standing there. "I find it kind of hard to square that description with the way he spoke – and acted – today."

"Regret." Harry's voice was dark, and when Hermione looked at him she saw pain in his eyes. "He regrets what he did to his son, I think."

"What's this?" The whispered conference had broken up, and now Sirius was insinuating himself into their conversation, something that Harry could hardly be expected to welcome – and, indeed, he did seem rather uncomfortable.

"We were talking about Crouch." Hermione had never heard Harry sound quite so unlike himself. The cold clipped voice was more than a little chilling. "About whether he regrets the way he treated his son."

Sirius winced; he was clearly aware that this was not only about the Crouches. "I suppose he might do." His eyes settled on Harry, and there was a sadness and yearning there that Hermione could only imagine her friend had never seen – or perhaps simply never identified – else he would not have considered himself unwanted. "It comes with age, the ability to look back and realise that you were wrong, that your ignorance or stubbornness hurt people."

As Sirius spoke these last words, Hermione caught sight of the Headmaster's face, and was struck by the depth of emotion reflected there. It occurred to her, as it never had before, that Professor Dumbledore was an old man who had lived a very long time, and must surely have more to regret than most. That he wasn't infallible she had already known, even before the exposure of Barty Crouch's masquerade, but just then it was as if every mistake he had ever made was written on his face. It was unnerving, almost terrifying.

"Sirius speaks the truth," he said, the gravity in his voice not quite obscuring the traces of sorrow that lurked beneath. The Headmaster looked at each of them in turn, then spoke to Professor Snape. "It seems that the time has come to call the old crowd together. I can count on you to make the arrangements, I trust, Severus?"

The teacher gave a thin smile. "Naturally. Is Fudge sufficiently secure in his power for us to meet at Hogwarts, do you think?"

"That is an interesting question." Professor Dumbledore frowned slightly and took almost a minute to ponder the issue before giving an answer. "Perhaps your point has merit, Severus; it might be better to avoid the appearance of building a separate power base. Sirius, might we trouble you for the use of a room in your townhouse?"

Sirius laughed. "I have so many rooms. Which would you like? I could have Kreacher fit up the second drawing room – you would be in no one's way, you know, in that part of the house." From the way Snape, Dumbledore and even Draco reacted to this, Hermione could only suppose that it was a private joke, one that she and Harry found equally bewildering. In a more serious voice, Sirius added: "I mean, of course the old crowd can use one of the many rooms in the house. I'll see if I can sound out any new prospects at the Ministry – if you approve, that is."

"New allies are always welcome. Perhaps young Kingsley..." Professor Dumbledore tipped his head to the side, considering the matter. "But I shall trust your judgement." The Headmaster turned to look at Harry, Draco and Hermione, as if he had only just realised they were all still there. "Perhaps the three of you should return to your dormitories now that the situation here has been resolved."

"It hasn't really, though. Has it, sir?" This at least was a Harry she recognised; the one who had lost his temper on being told that he was too young to know what the Order of the Phoenix was doing. Hermione wondered if history was about to repeat itself. "It sounds like you've got a lot more work to do before you can resolve the situation."

Professor Dumbledore looked a little surprised by Harry's anger. He didn't seem affronted, though, and responded kindly enough. "Much remains to do, that is true – but it is all well in hand, and not something that any of you need worry over."

Hermione could see from the expression on Professor Snape's face that he did not agree at all. It must have felt very unusual for him to find himself in accord with Harry Potter, in this world or any other. "If Lord Voldemort's plan involves the Triwizard Tournament, I think that should be of some concern to the Champions, Albus."

"Perhaps that is so." But there was uncertainty and reluctance in the Headmaster's eyes. "And yet, ever since... well, I do not like to use children to fight my battles. It was a mistake to do so, one I do not wish to make ever again."

Harry folded his arms across his chest. "If the – if You-Know-Who really does want to abduct me to use my blood for his resurrection, I'm going to end up fighting him anyway. This noble 'spare the children' sh– um, rubbish is just pointless." He paused. "Sir."

Hermione added her voice to his. "Kingsley said that he didn't think there was any point in sheltering us from the truth, not now we'd disrupted Voldemort's plans. He'll be after us anyway." She shrugged. "And besides, I'm legally an adult. Whether or not I've finished school."

Draco looked up from his contemplation of the stone floor. "I don't mean to be left out simply because I was born three months too late, either." He looked at his father, and his lips curled into a tiny smile. "I think... all we want is to know, really. You don't have to use us to fight your battles. Just don't keep us in the dark. Not now."

Professor Dumbledore looked at the other adults in the room, perhaps wanting their support – but he found none. "We both know that when war comes, it won't spare the children, whether you use them to fight or not." There was a dark fire in Sirius' eyes, and his mouth was set in a grim line. The Headmaster let out a soft sigh and turned his head away; whatever the meaning of those words, they had not left him unaffected.

When he had composed himself enough to look at Professor Snape, the Defence teacher simply inclined his head slightly and said nothing. His opinion was clear enough without words, and at length Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat and said, "Perhaps I should repay Miss Granger's kindness by telling you all a story." He looked around the room. "Though I think we should adjourn this meeting to my office. It is a more comfortable place to have a long talk."

Hardly able to believe that their show of defiance had worked in their favour, Hermione was in something of daze when she stood to follow the Headmaster out of the room. Not only was she invited to his office – a privilege afforded to only a few students – but she was going to hear some of the secrets of Lord Voldemort. Common sense told her that none of it was likely to be pretty, but to be party to such closely guarded information would still be thrilling. She could hardly wait to hear the Headmaster's story.

Some time later, three visibly shaken sixth year students stumbled out of the secret griffin staircase and looked at one another. Draco recovered first, and turned to Hermione to ask: "That room – could you find it again, do you think?"

"Room? What room?" Hermione frowned, but after a brief moment of confusion her face cleared. "Oh, right. That Room." She nodded. "Of course I could. It's always in the same place. You just have to know the trick."

"On the seventh floor, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, along the corridor with the tapestry of the dancing trolls."

At this point, Harry broke in with: "What are you talking about? What room do we need to find?"

They had begun to walk through the corridors, heading towards the nearest flight of stairs, and while Draco didn't look exactly happy about Harry tagging along, he didn't say anything to object. In the same very reasonable and civil manner as he'd been using all afternoon, he explained. "There's a secret room where we can talk about this, and no one will be able to overhear us." He grimaced. "I learned about it the same day as Hermione told me about her... well, her secret."

"Ah." Harry nodded. Then, darting a shrewd glance at Hermione, he asked, "And you think I want to discuss things with a couple of Gryffindors? I could want to make my own plans."

"You don't." Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "You want to be our cynical voice of reason." She nodded at a tapestry on the wall. "Pull that out of the way; there's a shortcut behind it. Thanks." Once in the not-very-secret passage, she continued, "You don't fool me, Harry. I know you want to be involved."

His laugh echoed strangely in the narrow passage. "Alright, then, I admit it. I want to know what you plan to do, at least."

Emerging into a little-used corridor on the other side of the castle, Hermione looked back at him and smirked. "And help us plan, because God knows you can't trust a couple of Gryffindors to do it right?"

Harry smirked. "You took the words right out of my mouth."

Once they reached the blank stretch of wall behind which the Room of Requirement could be found, Hermione held up a hand for them to stop, and then began to pace. I need a room where we can talk and make plans. Back and forth, three times up and down the corridor – until a door appeared in the wall. "Here it is." She gripped the door handle. "Let's see what the magic of Hogwarts has provided for us."

It was not all that dissimilar to the room the DA had used to practice. Shelves of practical Defence texts, an open duelling space – she didn't like to think of why the Room thought that was necessary – and some comfortable seating. It had picked up on her mood, in that the walls and furnishings were rather dark and sombre in colour. She was grateful for that; anything too bright would have felt wrong. The Gryffindor common room would definitely have been far too much for her to take.

"Very tasteful," Harry said, looking around the room and frowning at a rather macabre tapestry. "I can hardly believe this came from your mind, Hermione; it's... pretty unnerving, honestly." He continued to inspect the woven images, frowning slightly. "You know, I think this is about... the things Dumbledore told us about just now."

Hermione sat down on a charcoal coloured armchair and followed his gaze to the pattern in question. It was... well, maybe he was right. But why would Hogwarts even have something like that? "Horcruxes." The word echoed oddly in the tense silence of the Room, sounding exactly as unfathomably horrific as the artefacts it represented. "I have no idea what making one would look like. Even the Headmaster had no idea how to actually do it."

"Why would he?" Draco sat on the arm of her chair rather than claim one of his own. "It's Dark magic. Really Dark magic."

"It's disgusting," Harry said, with feeling. He turned away from the disturbing tapestry and dropped into one of the other chairs. The situation and the truths they had been told were so serious that no one even thought to make any jokes or comments about the magical proclivities of Slytherins. House loyalties didn't matter in the face of an evil man's sordid and disturbing attempts to become immortal. And, what was worse, the unquestionable fact that he had succeeded.

"This is... I mean, I suppose we should've wondered why Voldemort was able to come back at all." Hermione did not like feeling as if she had overlooked something. "But then, since a Killing Curse had never been reflected before, no one really knew what the effect of being hit by such a thing ought to be." She sighed. "It's so difficult to know what we should do."

"You know they won't let us do anything." Harry, having now heard the Prophecy – the exact details of which had been news even to Hermione – had torn straight through denial and into anger. "Even if we come up with a plan, we're children, apparently, so we won't be allowed to help. And that's just so much bullshit." For a moment he seemed to snarl, teeth bared like a territorial wolf. "If you're going to set store in Divination, you ought to follow through on it. I don't feel like a great hero of prophecy, I'll admit that, but if You-Know-Who believes it, nothing else really matters, does it?"

"That's just it." Hermione didn't like breaking rules or defying authority, but sometimes it couldn't be helped. "I told Professor Dumbledore how the Triwizard Tournament was used to trap Harry in my world, so he must know that we could be in danger. Unless he really thinks that capturing Crouch is the end of the danger to Hogwarts." She could hear the doubt in her own voice.

"I think we all know that this isn't over yet." Draco pulled a small book out of his pocket. Harry and Hermione both stared at it. "Dad gave me this. He said it was his brother's diary, and that reading it might tell us more about... well, I assume about the Horcrux. And about what he and the others will be doing."

"You think that he – Sirius – wants to let us help?" Harry sounded sceptical, and Hermione could hardly blame him. An adult who treated teenagers as if they were actual people was something of a rarity. "And it sounds like he's willing to go behind the Headmaster's back for our sake." He grinned, albeit briefly. "Hardly responsible parenting, but I can't say that I care all that much."

Stiffly, Draco said, "I think giving your child tools and information that he can use to defend himself is very responsible." He sighed. "Though I suppose Dumbledore probably wouldn't agree. And a lot of people would say he was right." Shaking his head, Draco opened the book – the diary – and ran his finger over the very precisely inked words on the inner cover. "Diary of Regulus Arcturus Black." He snorted and looked up. "What with the handwriting and this pompous title page, I bet he was about as much fun at a party as Percy Weasley."

Hermione tried to remember what Sirius had told them about his brother when they'd come across the Black family tapestry. A Death Eater who'd got too far in, tried to back out, and been killed for it – that had been the story, delivered with a dismissive contempt and lack of compassion that had rather soured her opinion of Sirius. Still, there was no guarantee that events had unfolded in the same way here, and this Sirius evidently thought well enough of his brother to have kept his diary and hand it over to his son.

"Who was Regulus Black?" She looked at the neat, somehow pedantic-looking script in the diary. "Aside from Sirius' brother, I mean."

"He was a Death Eater who worked as a secret agent for Dumbledore." Draco frowned. "Or, at least, that's what Dad always told me. He died the year I was born, but I don't know how it happened. I suppose he must have been caught." He ran his finger along the spine of the little book. "If he was a spy, this diary might have some of the secrets he stole."

"Got to be worth a look, then." Harry's words echoed Hermione's thoughts, though perhaps not in exactly the way she would have chosen. "Start near the end; if he was killed because he knew something, then the last few pages might tell us what it was."

"Yeah, that makes sense." Draco nodded and began to flick through the ink-covered pages, occasionally pausing when something caught his eye. The handwriting stopped abruptly midway down a particular page, and everything further on was blank – Draco stopped and went back a little way, scanning the words carefully. "Okay, I found the last entry." This announcement made both Harry and Hermione sit up a little straighter in their chairs and watch him intently.

"It's... I don't really know what to make of it." His brow creased as he read the words, and there was uncertainty in his voice. Hermione caught a glimpse of the page and registered that the handwriting was far less neat here – really, it was practically a scrawl. "Something happened to scare him out of most of his wits, but I've no idea what. He... I can't read it very well. A lake? I think there's something about a lake that's underground. And something about a soul – oh!" Draco looked up, eyes glowing with excitement. "He found out about the Horcrux. He doesn't use the word, but that's what he means."

"Wait, so Regulus Black knew about the Horcrux?" Harry leaned forward eagerly. "Do you think that's why he was killed?"

"No. It was more than that." Draco tapped his finger against the page. "I think he stole it. He found out about the Horcrux, and then he stole it with the intention of destroying it. I don't know if he ever did."

"Here, let me take a look." Hermione reached for the diary, and after a moment's hesitation Draco handed it across. She immediately bent over it, her eyes picking out the words among the careless lines and inkblots with ease. Regulus Black at his most disordered and haphazard had nothing on the handwritten texts of eleventh century alchemical researchers. It was all a matter of practice, deciphering such things, and this diary posed no real challenge to her.

"A locket," she said, after puzzling out what the word had to be. "He took the locket – after drinking something, he doesn't say what – and gave it to Kreacher." She smoothed out the pages on her knee and leaned even closer, alive with the thrill of discovery. Reading aloud now, she went on: "I have no one else, so it has been... entrusted to Kreacher. He... I told him to destroy it, but I do not know if he can. This thing, the soul... repository, it is evil. I can only hope that Kreacher will accept help from S–" She looked up. "He didn't finish the word, but I'm sure he meant Sirius."

"That must be it." Draco nodded, then made a startled exclamation. "Oh! I wonder if this is what Dad did to make Kreacher listen to him. He always said that it was a difficult task. Maybe he meant it literally." He frowned. "Though that would mean that he knew about the Horcrux all this time and never said anything to anyone about it."

"That depends on when Sirius inherited the house – and Kreacher," Hermione reminded him. "He'd been disowned; he could hardly go back there before his mother died."

"But still... the Horcrux must have been destroyed years ago."

"Yes, I suppose it must have been." For some reason, Hermione didn't find the thought very comforting. There was something else, something she hadn't seen yet. Something she needed to figure out. "And what's more, Professors Dumbledore and Snape must have known all about it. They all knew what a Horcrux was, and that Voldemort had one, even though the Headmaster was the one who said the words. You could see that, couldn't you? They all knew. It wasn't news to any of them. Only to us."

"I noticed that," Harry put in. "Of course, I wondered how they'd known... but this makes sense. They knew about the thing because they'd helped to destroy it." He seemed to have an aversion to the word Horcrux – unsurprising, perhaps, given what it represented, but still starkly different from her own Harry. "What I don't get is, well, if it was destroyed, and they all know it was destroyed, why did they tell us about it? Why are they still worried?"

"And if it was destroyed, would it still be possible for Voldemort to return from death?" Draco looked troubled and confused, but his question solidified the thoughts whirling around in Hermione's head.

"I don't know, but..." She paused. The enormity of her realisation seemed to require a moment of silence. "What if he didn't only make one Horcrux? What if there are still more out there to find? I mean, Professor Dumbledore didn't say a Horcrux, did he? He said Horcruxes. Plural. There must be more of them."

"Shit." Harry's mouth hung open. "One of these things would be bad enough. And now we think he made more? How many? How would we ever know for sure?"

Hermione had been asking herself the same questions. "If only this diary were enchanted like Tom Riddle's," she said, quietly, only half-aware that she was speaking aloud. "There's so much I wish I could ask Regulus Black. I want to know how much he knew, what he suspected, if he had any idea how many Horcruxes Voldemort might have made. Or even what they were."

Harry and Draco looked at one another with matching expressions of alarm and confusion. "What diary was this?" It seemed that, unusual as it might be, in this instance Draco spoke for both of them.

"There was a diary that contained the memory of a sixteen-year-old boy called Tom Riddle." It was disturbing to think of it, but that enchantment would be helpful now. "If anyone wrote in the pages, the ink would vanish, and the... I don't know, the ghost inside would respond to them using the knowledge that Tom Riddle had at the time of its creation." She laughed, dryly. "Of course, since he was Voldemort, you can imagine that it mostly told a lot of lies."

"A diary with a ghost inside?" Harry frowned. "I've never heard of anything like that. You... I don't think there are any spells that can do that."

"Apparently Mrs. Weasley told her children not to trust anything if they 'couldn't see where it kept its brain', so I assumed that this sort of thing happened from time to time." Hermione pulled a face, remembering. "I mean, I couldn't ever find anything about it in the Hogwarts Library, but then, I didn't have a clue what sort of book I ought to look in anyway, and..."

"Hermione." Draco was sitting up very straight, now, and there was a sharp look in his eyes. "My Dad's an Unspeakable at the Ministry. He's seen all sorts of odd enchantments and harmful curses, and I don't think he's ever even mentioned the idea of a book that can think for itself. A book with a ghost in? It just sounds ridiculous." He winced and added, hastily: "Not that I don't believe you, of course, but... I have no idea what that would even be."

"I do." Harry was staring at his hands, his mouth set in a grim line. "Think about it. A ghost is just a soul, isn't it?"

Hermione put her hands over her mouth. "I don't believe it," she said, in a very muffled voice. "The diary was a Horcrux?" Dropping her hands and wringing them together, she murmured, "I mean, Harry never told me, or anyone except maybe Professor Dumbledore, what happened in the Chamber of Secrets. Could Voldemort have used him – or Ginny – to come back?" She recalled that chilling expression 'pouring her soul into the diary'. (Where had she heard that? Who had told her? She couldn't remember.) But had it been Ginny's soul, really? The alternative was somehow worse.

"We should tell the Headmaster about this," Draco said, but just as he jumped to his feet, Harry spoke across him.

"Should we, really?" There was a dark cast to Harry's countenance, not anger but something close... resentment, perhaps. "He didn't want to tell us anything. Maybe we should work out something about this diary first, maybe even find it, and only then let him know what we've been up to." Seeing Hermione's frown, he snorted. "Obviously we don't write in it or anything stupid like that. I just think we ought to prove that we're good for something, you know? That we can help, and that we're not stupid children anymore."

"That sounds like something a stupid child would say." Draco raised an eyebrow. Then, before Harry could do more than bristle at the implication, he added: "I didn't say I disagreed."

Harry turned to look at Hermione. "No, she's the stickler for the rules. It's her we're going to have to convince. Especially since she's the one who knows all about this diary that we need to find."

She shook her head. "You don't have to convince me of anything," she said, ignoring their almost comical surprise. "I can't think that there'd be anything dangerous about getting hold of the diary as long as we're sensible and don't write in it, like you said. It'd be much better just to... present it to the Headmaster and say that we found what we think is another Horcrux, and then let him deal with it. He must know how, after all, and we don't."

"Well, it'd be better if we could destroy it and then give it to him..." Harry's voice had taken on a wheedling tone.

"But then how would we prove it had ever been a Horcrux?" Hermione pointed out. "Anyone could destroy a diary and claim that it was an artefact of great evil afterwards, couldn't they?" In all honesty, she had no desire to handle anything as terrible as a fragment of Voldemort's soul for any longer than she absolutely had to, and nor did she want Harry or Draco to do so.

"Good point." Draco nodded, then thought to ask: "So, where will we find this diary, then? I mean, it's one thing to know that it exists, but..."

"It's alright." Hermione interrupted him, smiling. "I know." Her face fell a little. "But you might not like it."

"Why's that?" He sounded understandably wary.

"Well... if I'm not mistaken, it will involve visiting your family's Manor..."