Chapter Twenty-Two

"What are you doing?"

Helena looked up as she whirled around, tucking her wand behind her back. "Hmm?"

Sabina's brows pinched upward and she stood on her toes, attempting to peer over her sister's shoulder, despite how ineffectual said attempt was on simple account of their height difference. "I asked 'what are you doing?'"

The elder girl frowned and shrugged, in that way she often did when dismissing the curiosity of Mother's 'sweet little bird.' "Nothing that would concern you. And what, exactly, is the reason for your presence in my bed chamber?"

Mirroring her sister's expression, Sabina fidgeted in place—she never was much good at holding still for very long. Uncle Godric often surmised that if they could bottle up the little girl's excess energy, they could probably use it instead of firewood to heat the castle during the winter. "Auntie Helga sent me to fetch you."

Though she succeeded in holding back an impatient groan, Helena's eyes rolled. Hard. "Sent you to fetch me for what? Oh, come now! You are far too smart to think I was asking for information bit-by-bit like this."

Arching a brow, Sabina seemed to weigh Helena's words before she nodded, clearly deciding herself satisfied with her sister's mention that she was not simply smart. but 'far too smart.' "The robes you asked the elves to mend are ready."

"Oh!" To the younger witch's evident surprise, Helena smiled. "That is good news, I have been waiting for them." Without thought, she crossed the room, following Sabina as the smaller girl backpedaled out through the door.

After a few steps down the corridor, however, Helena realized she did not hear the endlessly annoying little patter of the tiny wretch's footfalls behind her. Her eyes shooting wide, she turned on her heel and stormed back toward her bed chamber. Certain enough, there in front of her bed stood Sabina.

"What are you—?"

"Are you going somewhere?" Sabina asked, oblivious to her sister's aggravated whisper as she turned to look up at Helena. "It appears you are packing for a trip."

"I—well, I . . . ." As much as Helena wanted to seethe at the girl for invading her privacy, there was something in the way those large brown eyes blinked up at her. But that did not ease the sudden icy tension in Helena's gut. No one could know her plans!

Her shoulders slumped and she forced a scowl onto her face. "It is none of your concern."

"Oh!" Unexpectedly, perhaps, Sabina's eyes light up and she bounced in place, her wild hair seeming to take on a life of its own as it followed suit, bouncing up and down in the wake of her movements. "Is it a secret?"

Again, Helena's eyes widened, this time in realization rather than fear. Swapping her scowl for a serene smile, she nodded. "Why, yes! It is a secret. That is why I got short with you for being in here. No one can no where I am going."

"Can I go with you?"

Oh, dear. Helena had not expected that. With a sigh, she caught her sister's hand in her own and pulled her to sit down with her upon the chaise by the window. "No. I have to go alone."

Her tiny face scrunching up, Sabina pouted. "But I can keep a secret! You know I can!"

"Oh, of course I know you can!" Helena laughed gently and hugged her sister to her. "But that is why you must remain here. Someone has to protect this secret for me. It is a very important task. When I leave, no one can know."

Sabina pulled away enough to look into Helena's eyes. "How long will you be gone?"

Helena cast her attention downward for a few strained heartbeats before she was able meet Sabina's gaze. "Not long. However, Mother will worry if she learns I have left the castle. So, you must promise me that you will tell no one that you knew I was going."

Beaming as she nodded, Sabina said, "I promise! Will you bring me back a present when you return?"

Her mouth opening and closing before she could work up a response, Helena gave a tight-lipped grin and nodded. "Of—of course I will."

Just as Sabina seemed about to say something more, her attention snagged on something in the opposite corner of the room. The little girl gasped and tore out of her sister's arms, running toward the raggedy doll on the floor.

"Oh, no!" Sabina's face pinched in anger as she lifted the toy into her arms. "What did you do to Marguerite?!"

Helena didn't know if she was saddened or relieved when the younger girl seemed to completely forget all about secret trips and souvenirs and promises. Shaking her head, she let out a puff of air as Sabina started railing at her about the tatty state of her favored doll.

Maybe when she did deign to return here, she would be back a new doll for Sabina to replace poor Marguerite.


Though she couldn't really breathe, she could feel the cleanness of the air our here, so very different, so much lighter than the natural mustiness of the castle corridors. The summer breeze coming across from the shores of the Black Lake were gentle and though she also could not detect differences in temperatures, she imagined that delicate, sweeping wind to be warm.

Helena talked a good game, but in truth, she had not the foggiest idea how, precisely, to track down her sister, but then, she couldn't simply sit idle in that office chatting when Sabina might be putting herself in danger, not that that would be anything new . . . . Even if there had been quite a lovely sight to keep her imagination occupied while the living talked.

Remaining transparent—she didn't want to panic any poor passersby minding their own business, after all—she wandered down the road that led away from the castle grounds. She'd never actually tried to leave the castle before, never tried to connect with the living, despite that her personal reluctance on the matter didn't seem to stop them from seeking her out every once in a while over the centuries.

She halted mid-hover as it occurred to her another thing she'd never tried to do all this time. Ghosts couldn't perform conventional magic, everyone knew that, but there was a deeper, older magic, wasn't there? The sort that required not flesh and blood to perform, but emotion and connection, maybe even a longing to do something right.

Blinking hard, she turned and looked up at the looming, ancient greatness of Hogwarts. The Grey Lady forced a gulp down her throat as she clasped her hands before her in a gesture of forgiveness—of piety and humility, the latter of which she'd never been very good at.

Sniffling, she murmured, "Mother? I know you are not really here, that you moved on long ago, but wherever you are please—please—if you can hear me, if you can feel my intent, help me. I know I did not always treat Sabina well, but now I am scared for her. She might need me! Give me some notion, some direction, to find my sister. I beg you, please."

She knew perfectly well what Sabina had told her, perfectly well that she'd indeed felt the truth of it in her heart, freeing her from her confinement as she understood Mother would truly not have held such a grudge all this time. The forgiveness she'd sought so sincerely was from herself. Still, as she floated there above the cobblestone, hands pressed together, eyes closed, and head bowed, she felt she couldn't believe Mother did actually forgive her.

It never felt quite as true, though, as it did while she waited there for an answer, for some inkling. For . . . for anything at all.

After a few painfully silent, painfully nothing moments, Helena nodded. She let her hands fall back to her sides and hung her head. This lack of response did not surprise her, but it did hurt. Odd how getting exactly the non-answer she'd expected could be so wounding.

Follow the road . . . .

Snapping her head up, Helena looked around. That voice, that whisper . . . she could not be certain it wasn't her imagination, but she wanted to believe it be more than that.

Putting her back to the castle, she followed the road with her gaze. The outside world hadn't changed that drastically over the last thousand years. This path still led to the same place it had when she was a living, breathing girl.

Imagined or not, her heart swelled a little as she let herself believe the voice whispering to her might just be that of their mother. A watery smile playing on her lips, she blinked back tears as she nodded.

"Thank you, Mother."


Hermione pushed open the door to the antiquated pub, bracing for the scent of alcohol and various types of smoke to hit her face. Thorfinn ran inside ahead of her and she rolled her eyes as she stomped after him.

"Hold on, um, Cat!" She couldn't very well shout out the name Thorfinn in the middle of the establishment, even if it wasn't very crowded at the moment.

To her relief, the 'cat' did, in fact, hold on. She nearly expected him to keep going just to spite her for referring to him as the animal she'd transfigured him into. As he halted, however, he gave her a look over his furry shoulder that put the one he'd granted her outside to shame.

As if she should've known what his animal transfiguration would be? He probably thought he'd change into some large, ferocious canine. That consideration in mind, she could understand why he might be a bit . . . miffed that his form turned out to be that of a large, fluffy feline. But he was so adorable!

She didn't imagine he'd take to kindly to her trying to cuddle him like this, so instead she opted for merely catching up to him. "You can't run off," she said in a hissing whisper, stooping to lift the enormous cat into her arms, and dear Lord was that a struggle when he was deciding to let his body go limp in her hold. Bloody giant brat. "Stay close, people will mistake you for my familiar, Crookshanks. You wander off, they might notice you're not half-Kneazle."

Oh, she missed Crookshanks. Crookshanks with his sweet, smooshed face, who was supposed to be safe with her parents. Lord, she hoped wherever they were, all three of them were safe.

"Don't put 'im on the bar," a crotchety voice snapped.

Hermione and Thorfinn both looked up—fine picture they made, a witch and her cat responding in unison—to see an elderly wizard glaring at her. An elderly wizard who was distinctly not Aberforth Dumbledore. But Dumbledore or no Dumbledore, she knew she'd get nowhere with the barkeep if she egged him on, and he did appear as though he was already half way there all on his own.

"No, sir, no!" She forced a bright grin and settled Thorfinn on a stool. "No bar-sitting familiars here."

The wizard behind the bar huffed silently, but nodded. "Fine, fine. Just keep a steady eye on your beast. What'll you 'ave?"

"Well . . . ." She thought asking a question might go over better were she a paying customer, and she never had gotten to order anything harder than a butter beer the last time she was in Hogsmeade and there wasn't a war raging. But drinking without Thorfinn—worse, drinking without him while he was literally right there, but unable to join her—seemed like a bad idea, too.

"Well," the witch started again, "I will have a pumpkin ale and I think some Fire Whiskey in a saucer for the cat."

A loud, rumbling purr erupted from the feline while the barkeep gave her a quizzical look. "Whiskey for the cat?" he asked, not as skeptical of the request as she thought he might be, after all, animal companions did sometimes have bizarre quirks.

She shrugged, scrambling for a reasonable explanation. "He's a recent Irish import."

"Ah, of course."

As the old man turned to prepare her unusual order, she could sense Thorfinn's gaze on her. Turning a frown in his direction, she said in a hushed voice, "Don't look at me like that. It's the most convincing thing I could think of in a pinch."

"Here you are, Miss. See the cat stays on the stool."

Nodding, she accepted the saucer and set it before Thorfinn, waiting for him to lap at it before she took her mug of ale. Paying for her order, she took a long, nerve-quenching swig before she returned her attention to the barkeep.

The old man arched a brow at her expectant look. "Something else I can help you with?"

"Um, yes, actually. I was wondering where the proprietor of this establishment might be?"

He frowned pensively, stroking his long, scraggly beard. "Aberforth? How do you know 'im?"

"Oh, sorry. My name is Hermione Granger—"

"Tha's why you look so familiar!" The man tapped a finger against his temple. "Thought I'd seen you somewhere before. You an' your friends fought alongside 'im at the Battle of Hogwarts!"

"Exactly, yes," she said, relief at a plausible story popping up all on its own flooding through her. She took another swig. "He helped us immensely during the end of the war, but we never got a chance to see him again after that to say thank you. I thought . . . ." She cleared her throat. "I thought now that everything has been peaceful and calm, it would be a nice time to just pop in and tell him how much his assistance meant to us."

"Sure, sure." The barkeep nodded in understanding, seeming suddenly warmer now that he recognized that he was in the company of a war hero. She thought if she'd mentioned that all beforehand, he might've filled her order on the house. "I'd love to fetch 'im for you, but I've no idea where he is."

Hermione exchanged a surprised look with her cat—with her cat, not even caring that that might look odd given her state of shock—and asked, "What?"

He shrugged and waved about. "Two days, now, I think. He said he had some business t' handle and asked if I could mind the place 'til he got back. Tha's all I know."

She couldn't help but frown, her frame drooping on the spot. "Oh, I see. Thank . . . thank you."

This could all be a strange coincidence, a . . . proverbial, unintended red herring in her search for the Grangers, but it was just all so odd. Antonin Dolohov was missing, but now so was Aberforth Dumbledore? There was every chance none of those things were in any way related. But if Aberforth possibly knew about his brother's plans, could he be the one who was hiding her parents?

She braced the heels of her palms against the sides of her forehead. "Oh, this is just too much to think about." Sighing, she lifted her head and looked at her currently-feline betrothed. "I suppose then we should be going."

The doors came crashing open then, and everyone in the establishment drew their wands on the sudden noise. In any other scenario, she might've laughed at the momentarily wandless Thorfinn unleashing a loud, angry hiss in the direction of the entryway.

There stood Draco, a bedraggled grey-haired man beside him. He had the man's arm pulled around his shoulders and that salt-and-pepper head was bowed, but Hermione knew exactly who it was.

"Oh my God!" Immediately she put away her wand, along with the other occupants of the pub, and hurried over to the door, the little old barkeep and the Norwegian Forest cat on her heels. "Aberforth? What the bloody hell happened?"

Draco appeared utterly bewildered as he guided the elder wizard to the nearest seat and helped him into it. "I don't know what, but I'm pretty sure I know who."

A chill rippled through the pit of her stomach as she and Draco said in the same breath, "Dolohov."