September 19th 1997

"I've never seen a room at Hogwarts so quiet," Neville commented the next morning, his eyes fixed on the sky.

"It was quite creepy," Hermione agreed, twirling her wand absently. "Then again, we had just given them about twenty reasons not to trust Dumbledore."

"Do you think it will make a difference?" Neville asked.

Hermione sighed. "I don't know. I mean, people believed us, which is the main thing – but, let's face it, no one interacts with Dumbledore anyway. He gives a speech at the beginning and the end of the terms and that's it." She winced as one of the prospective beaters missed the Bludger completely and fell of his broom. She waved her wand and the boy's fall slowed, so he landed safely on the field. "We won't really know until then, I don't think."

Ron flew down to land beside him and pulled him to his feet.

"This is going to be a long try-out," Neville murmured.

"It already has been," Hermione sighed. "We've had – what – a group of first years who looked surprised they could get off the ground; a group of girls who giggled so hard when the boys looked at them that they fell over; ten Hufflepuffs; two Ravenclaws; and we've only got the Chasers."

The three Chasers in question – Katie Bell, Ginny Weasley, and a new girl called Demelza Robins – were sitting in the stands with Neville, Hermione, and the giggling girls from earlier – none of whom looked too unhappy that they hadn't made the team and all of whom seemed perfectly content to watch Harry fly.

"It could be …" Neville began, but broke off with a sharp intake of breath that was echoed through the stands, along with a couple of screams, as another Beater managed to hit the Bludger so hard that it knocked Harry off his broom.

Hermione was out of her seat before anyone else could move, even as spell slowed Harry's descent as well.

Racing out on to the pitch, she dropped down to her knees beside him. "Harry, are you alright?"

Harry blinked up at her a few times. "I think so." He rubbed his head, grimacing.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Hermione asked.

"Three," Harry answered, glancing at her hand. "I'm fine."

Jimmy Peakes – the third year who'd hit the Bludger – landed next to them. "Bloody hell … Sorry, Harry, I didn't realise …"

Harry held up a hand to stop him, getting to his feet. "Drop the apologies; you're on the team."

"W-w-what?" Jimmy stuttered.

"Oi, I thought I was captain!" Ron said good-humouredly as he touched down as well. "Nah, I'm with Harry, mate; that was a brilliant shot."

"Just make sure you aim at the other team," Harry joked.

"Look at it this way," Ron said, seeing that Peakes still didn't look convinced. "You just hit a Bludger at Harry Potter. The Slytherins aren't going to be a problem. Now get back in the air; I want to see how you work with the others."

Harry lingered on the ground as the other two took off again. "I'm sorry this is the way you're spending your birthday, Hermione. I wasn't expecting this to take so long."

Hermione waved it off. "It's fine. I don't mind watching try-outs."

Harry smiled at her. "Room of Requirement after dinner? Just the two of us?"

Hermione blushed, but nodded. "I'd like that." She watched him pick up his Firebolt and brush it off. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry said. He mounted his broom, leaned over to kiss her, and took off again.

A strange noise came from the stands – it sounded like all the girls who'd turned up to watch Harry had tried to groan and coo at the same time.

Hermione ignored them; she knew Harry's actions were for her and her alone. And that meant more than he would ever realise.


October 5th 1997

As September turned to October and the weather began to turn, Addie began to notice some worrying trends.

Students had begun to travel the castle in groups – in fact, the only time she ever saw anyone by themselves, they were purebloods.

It reminded her of her own school days – and not in a good way – when none of them would let Lily go anywhere alone; not because she was incapable, but because she would likely be outnumbered.

However, Addie could only take guesses at why this was – educated guesses, of course, but guesses nonetheless – until one October evening.

The evening meal had finished, so the school was in the comfortable place between dinner and curfew, when no one had any classes, and everyone had a lot of time to get into trouble.

Addie had been caught up in some paperwork, to the extent that she had missed dinner. When the growling of her stomach reminded her of this, rather than call a house-elf, she decided to wander down to the kitchens to get something to eat.

It was a decision that proved to be a good one.

Halfway between her office and the kitchens, Addie was alerted by the sound of a child crying, and the unmistakable sound of spells being fired.

Drawing her wand, Addie hurried towards the noise, finding, in an empty classroom, a young second-year huddled against the wall and three seventh years taking it in turns to fire curses at him.

"Expelliarmus!"

Three wands flew into the air and she caught them all easily, not lowering her wand.

"Prof-"

"I don't want to hear it!" Addie said sharply.

A little whimper from the floor caught her attention, and she softened her tone, although didn't take her eyes off his attackers. "You're going to have to come with us, Jack, because I don't want to send you off to the infirmary on your own." She jerked her head towards the door. "Let's go, boys."

The three seventh years filed out ahead of her and Addie helped the young Hufflepuff to his feet, keeping him at her side.

She marched the three boys to Dumbledore's office at wand-point, dropping their victim at the infirmary on the way.

Poppy had been absolutely horrified at the state of him, and demanded that Addie return afterwards to update her on the outcome.

Whether Dumbledore sensed Addie coming, or her magic unconsciously reached out, or Hogwarts just decided to help out, she didn't know, but the gargoyle leapt aside immediately.

"Good evening, gentlemen, Professor McKinnon," Dumbledore greeted when they entered. "Would you care for a …?"

"I just came across these three torturing a second-year," Addie said, interrupting him. "I feel this is beyond my remit."

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes dimmed a little. "Is this true?"

The three seventh years nodded, doing an excellent job of pretending to be contrite.

"I shall inform Professor Snape that you have detention with him on Friday evening," Dumbledore said, giving them a stern look over his glasses. "I am very disappointed."

"Yes professor," they muttered.

Addie's mouth fell open as the boys filed out. She could already hear the sniggering on the stairs. "That's it?"

"What do you mean, Addison?" Dumbledore asked, holding out a bowl. "Sherbert lemon?"

"No, I do not want a bloody sherbert lemon!" Addie snapped. "I want you to do something about the Death Eaters that just walked out of your office."

"Now, Addison, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Dumbledore began.

"I'm not getting ahead of myself," Addie said. "They were torturing a second year. Those were not spells we teach. They were Dark spells and, even if you excuse that maybe they didn't know how bad they were, it doesn't excuse the fact that they did it over and over again! That is Death Eater activity, Dark Mark or not."

"This is out of my hands, Addison," Dumbledore said. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement will not take action without proof and it is your word against theirs."

"And since when does the DMLE not permit Pensieve memories as evidence?" Addie asked icily. "Even if that were the case, you could have given them more than one detention."

"Addison, we must show them the path to redemption," Dumbledore said. "If we ostracize them it will simply drive them further down the path of darkness; they are only children after all."

"First of all, they are not children," Addie said icily. "They are adults. Even if they were children, they have evil in their hearts. This is not going to stop."

"Albus," one of the portraits said suddenly. "Minerva is on her way up."

Even with the split-second warning, Addie still jumped when the door flew open.

"Albus, there are two Muggle-born first years in the hospital wing – they've been attacked with Dark magic," Minerva said, notably upset. "They're too scared to tell me anything; something has to be done."

"I woudn't bother if I were you, Minerva," Addie said, glaring at Dumbledore. "I just caught three seventh years in the act and Albus won't give them more than a detention."

"They deserve a chance at redemption," Dumbledore repeated.

"If they regretted it, yes they would," Addie argued. "Even if they did regret it, their chance at redemption should not be at the cost of the safety of the students around them!"

"Addison, aren't you being a little unfair?" Dumbledore asked. "After all, you and your friends were a little rambunctious at school."

"Excuse me?" Minerva asked.

"Rambunctious?" Addie repeated. "We never hospitalised anyone, Albus! We never hurt anyone, not even the Marauders' targeted pranks hurt anyone – they were purely designed to humiliate, and they knew exactly what they were doing. The only targeted pranks were at people we had caught torturing Muggle-borns because the staff wouldn't do anything about it."

"We couldn't," Minerva said reluctantly. "It was all hearsay."

"I appreciate that, Minerva," Addie said. "I had hoped a Professor catching someone in the act would hold more weight. I had hoped that the safety of the student body outweighed our need to indulge Death Eaters in their little games but clearly I was wrong."


October 29th 1997

Weeks passed and, before anyone knew what was happening, Halloween was approaching. Decorations were popping up all over the school and the older students were eagerly anticipating the upcoming Hogsmeade trop.

The celebrations were somewhat overshadowed, however, by the attacks on Muggle-born students. Thankfully, there had been no more since Addie's confrontation with the Headmaster – the DA had taken to escorting Muggle-borns to and from classes, thereby thwarting any attacks that may have been planned.

The DA had also become a lot more sensitive to the fact that Halloween was not just the day Voldemort disappeared, but the day that Harry's parents were killed – as far as they knew.

Although they tried not to treat him any differently, they also all made a conscious decision to not make too much of a big deal about the holiday in his earshot.

This year, thankfully, Halloween fell on a Monday, which meant that Harry would be able to enjoy the Hogsmeade trip without thinking about it.

By now, Hermione paid no attention to the post owls' entrance every morning. She didn't even look up as the Daily Prophet landed in front of her, automatically dropping a couple of knuts in the pouch on the owl's leg.

"I don't know why you still pay for that crap," Ron commented as she unrolled the paper. "I know the Ministry's on our side now, or so they say, but they're still not telling us anything."

"I know," Hermione said, running a cursory eye over the front page. "It's the only five minutes in the day when I can pretend I have a normal life."

Harry snorted into his porridge. "Normal? Hermione, you gave up all hopes of a normal life when you met me. And you've got a letter."

That caught Hermione's attention, and she suddenly realised a haughty-looking eagle owl was standing on the table next to her breakfast, one leg outstretched, perfectly balanced.

"Sorry," Hermione said, removing the letter and offering the owl some bacon to make up for ignoring him.

He accepted with a dignified hoot and took off while she opened the letter. It had been wax-sealed, but not stamped with any kind of crest, and the handwriting inside was strangely familiar.

Miss Granger

I apologise for the late notice of this letter, but I debated for many weeks over whether or not I should write it – however, I must speak with you as soon as possible.

Would you please meet me at 12, at the Hog's Head pub, today (29 Oct)?

I would prefer you come alone, although I understand that this is somewhat unwise in the current climate and that you may prefer not to do so. In this case, I request that your escort be someone you trust implicitly.

Sincerely

NBM

The initials sparked a memory – a folded piece of parchment shoved into her hand in a crowd – and she passed it across to Ginny, who read it with a slightly distant look in her eyes.

Hermione recognised the signs and looked over her shoulder at the Slytherin table, where Draco had stiffened. He looked up to meet her eyes, and nodded once.

"Is he coming?" Hermione asked, turning back to Ginny.

"No," Ginny said, handing the note back. "Are you going alone?"

"No," Harry answered for her.

"You don't even know what we're talking about," Hermione said, nudging him with her shoulder.

"I don't want anyone going anywhere alone today," Harry said darkly, as he took the offered letter.

Hermione sighed, although couldn't begrudge his paranoia, and silently asked Hogwarts if she sensed any danger in Hogsmeade. "Castle says it's safe, Harry. Besides, I'd feel better if you stayed in the more crowded areas of the village."

"Then take Cedric and Susan with you," Harry suggested. "They can sit and have a drink, while you talk to her."

Hermione had to admit that this was a good idea, and caught up with the two Hufflepuffs as they were about to leave for Hogsmeade.

Cedric was relieved, as it meant he didn't have to spend the day avoiding Cho, who wouldn't go anywhere near the Hog's Head unless she had to, and wouldn't think Cedric would either.

Apparently, Susan had been going to 'help' with this – although privately Hermione wondered if she had just interrupted a first date.

When they arrived at the pub, the bartender gave all three of them a long look, before jerking his head towards the staircase. "Room 8," he grunted.

"Thank you."

Casting a glance back at her classmates, who were ordering butterbeer, Hermione climbed the stairs with some trepidation.

Room 8 was the very last room at the end of a long corridor, the perfect place for an ambush, and she drew her wand before knocking.

"Come in."

Hermione pushed the door open, her wand out, to see only Narcissa Malfoy present in the room, seated on a low couch by a coffee table laden with food.

"Madam Malfoy," Hermione greeted courteously, letting the door close behind her.

"Miss Granger." Narcissa's eyes lingered on her wand. "I mean you no harm."

"Given the circumstances and the times we're living in," Hermione said carefully, "and I mean no disrespect, I would feel better if you would take a witch's oath to that effect."

Narcissa smiled, drawing her wand. "Of course."

As the magic flashed around them and her companion didn't flinch, Hermione relaxed, stowing her wand away. "Can I assume half of that food is for me?"

Narcissa smiled at her, gesturing to the empty seat opposite her. "Of course, Miss Granger."

"Hermione, please," she said, taking a seat. "Miss Granger makes me feel like I'm in class."

"Only if you call me Narcissa," Draco's mother said, pouring a cup of tea.

"Very well," Hermione said, taking the cup. "Shall we discuss your concerns first?"

Narcissa's mask slipped, fear entering her eyes. "Draco. Is he alright?"

"He's fine," Hermione said. "And he will remain that way; Jen didn't spend all summer training him for no reason."

"So she did have him," Narcissa murmured. "Thank goodness. Is she alright?"

"She's doing fine," Hermione took a sip of her tea, gazing at her curiously. "I assume you know Occlumency?"

"Naturally," Narcissa said. "And you can trust me."

"I know," Hermione said. "She got married."

Surprise flashed in Narcissa's eyes for only a split-second before it disappeared. "Remus Lupin, I presume." A smile quirked on her face. "Has someone told Aunt Walburga's portrait?"

"I have no idea," Hermione said. "I'm sure we'll hear about it when they do."

Narcissa gave a rather un-ladylike snort. "Since I am aware that Jen would be unable to invite me to her wedding, but I am sure she would invite me to a funeral, I assume Sirius fares well?"

"Right again," Hermione said. "Your son, actually. Hit him with a Malfoy family spell before he could fall through the veil. Left him magically exhausted, but he recovered fairly quickly."

"Good," Narcissa said. "You do realise, of course, it is only a matter of time before the Dark Lord frees Lucius and his fellows from Azkaban."

"Of course we do," Hermione said. "I'm amazed he hasn't already. Unless you know something we don't?"

Narcissa shook her head. "I am not Marked, Hermione. I know nothing unless Lucius himself tells me. And the Dark Lord is not – for obvious reasons – using the Manor as bolthole." She set her cup aside and selected a sandwich, perfectly manicured fingers hovering over them in indecision for a brief moment. "As for why he has not already, he is likely biding his time so they suffer at least a little for their failure at the Ministry."

"That sounds about right," Hermione muttered.

"When Lucius does get out …" Narcissa began, but trailed off.

Hermione understood her concerns. "When was the last time you tried to access the Malfoy accounts?"

Narcissa frowned, seemingly taken aback by the question. "Not for a while. Why?"

"Draco took control of the family at the beginning of the summer," Hermione explained. "The family magic allowed him to disown Lucius due to attempted line theft – he did nothing to stop the others trying to kill Draco at the Ministry." She smiled. "There was a reason I was not addressing you as Lady Malfoy."

"Forgive me," Narcissa said. "I just assumed you were unaware. Clearly my cousin did give you some proper education."

"Madam Longbottom, actually," Hermione said. "It helped all of us really. Especially Harry. He had no idea about anything. But I digress. Jen has set up an account for you, but you can no longer access the Malfoy accounts. Draco didn't want Lucius to do anything to hurt you."

"It's a bit late for that," Narcissa murmured.

Hermione frowned. "Jen could dissolve the marriage, couldn't she?"

"Jen won't unless I ask that of her," Narcissa said with a sigh. "And it will cause more problems than it solves right now. The main reason I wanted to speak to you today, Hermione, is … is there any way you can convince Draco to use his Slytherin self-preservation and keep out of this?"

"No," Hermione answered honestly. "No, I won't try to convince him, for a start. He knew the risks better than I did when he made the decision to actively take our side and it would do him a disservice by questioning that decision. And, no, it wouldn't work even if I did. I'm sorry."

Narcissa sighed. "I didn't think so."

"He's an excellent dueller," Hermione offered. "Really incredible."

Narcissa smiled proudly, but this did not seem to settle her.

The two women finished their lunch and rose to their feet, Hermione slipping on her cloak as she did so. "Thank you for lunch."

"My pleasure." Narcissa held out her hand. "Thank you for meeting with me."

"Not at all," Hermione said, shaking her hand. "I just hope that all of this gets resolved quickly."

Narcissa sighed. "You may be pushing it there, my dear. Please tell Draco …" she hesitated, as if trying to encompass everything she wanted to say to her son into one simple message. "Tell him I'm proud of him."

"Of course," Hermione assured her. "Be safe." She bobbed a little curtsey and let herself out of the room, making her way downstairs.

Susan caught her eye and she nodded, heading over to the bar. "Butterbeer please."

The bartender retrieved a bottle from under the counter. "Tell me you don't believe everything my idiot brother spouts."

Hermione started, taking a closer look at him. His hair was grey instead of white, his beard much shorter, but there was no mistaking those eyes. "You're …" She cut herself off before she could identify him, reaching out with her empathy. Satisfied, she said, "No, I don't. I don't trust him as far as I can throw him."

Abeforth Dumbledore gave her a crooked smile. "That's alright then. Because he's a manipulative …"

"I know," Hermione assured him. "I do." She hesitated for a second, rooting through her purse under the pretence of counting out sickles. "We're worried about the safety of the school, it there's an attack. If we have to get the younger years out of the school – it's just not practical to give everyone a portkey …"

"Say no more," Abeforth told her. "If you can find a passageway, send them through here. I happen to know that godmother of Potter's has somehow hidden herself from my brother. Get her to contact me; we'll get a floo connection set up."

Hermione nodded, feeling a warm glow of relief. "Thank you."

"There's a fireplace in the room you were just in," he continued. "That'll do. And I can set up an apparition point in there."

Hermione nodded, handing him the payment, before thanking him and joining Cedric and Susan at their table for a discussion about the upcoming Quidditch match.


While the Hogwarts students headed off for Hogsmeade, Addie had followed them, but as soon as she was outside the gates, she murmured the activation code for the Portkey.

She found herself landing on the sofa at Ravenscroft Manor, practically on Sirius's lap. "Hello."

Under his sister's laughter, Sirius shook his head with a grin. "Well, that's one hell of a landing." He kissed her. "How's school?"

Addie rolled her eyes, shifting so she was sitting beside him not on top of him. "Dumbledore's driving me mad."

"I'm not surprised," Jen said, still giggling. "Hand it over and I'll fix it so you don't have to leave the grounds first."

Addie handed her the necklace. "How's your job going?"

"Very well," Remus said. "We've spoken to all the families in Muggle areas that we could identify, so they're all covered."

"And so far," Jen continued, handing the necklace back, "there haven't been any problems."

"No attacks yet?" Addie asked, surprised, lifting her hair to one side so Sirius could fasten the necklace for her. "I would've thought he'd consider those easy victories."

"Well, there have been attacks," Jen admitted. "But I've been getting warning letters – remember I told you about the Azkaban breakout last year? Amelia's been able to send aurors to capture the Death Eaters before they can do anything."

"How strange," Addie murmured. "Snape?"

"Definitely not Snape's handwriting," Jen said. "On saying that, I don't recognise the handwriting at all, and all the letters are addressed to Selena."

"Which makes sense," Remus said. "Whoever it is wouldn't want to use your real name in case someone saw him or her sending a letter."

"It does," Jen conceded. "But not many people know my Marauder name. The charms took care of that."

In an effort to keep their identity as the Marauders safe, Remus had found a nifty little charm that had allowed them all to use their nicknames at school all they liked without anyone ever paying attention to them or linking them to back to the mysterious pranksters.

"And we weren't like you four," Addie said. "We didn't use our nicknames every five minutes." She hesitated. "Look, I'm just going to say it – have we considered it could be Peter?"

Sirius let out a bark of humourless laughter. "Come on, Ads; he sold James and Lily out to save his own skin – is he really going to risk his neck to save some strangers?"

"Well, he's the only one who would call Jen 'Selena'," Addie said. "Snape certainly wouldn't. Not to mention: nothing about Voldemort's resurrection made sense. Harry's dreams saw Peter, right, so either Isabelle or someone else was using Polyjuice the entire time, or they switched right before the ritual. And if they switched right before the ritual, why Isabelle? She and Peter didn't know each other."

"There's something else, now you mention it," Remus said with a frown. "Trelawney made a prediction, end of Harry's third year. She said that Voldemort would rise again and his servant would help him do it. Wormtail escaped that night – we all assumed it was him."

"What were the exact words of the prophecy?" Addie asked.

"I've got it written down somewhere," Jen said, waving her wand. "I dreamed it too." A second later, a piece of parchment came flying down the stairs and into her outstretched hand. "It will happen tonight. The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight... the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was. Tonight before midnight the servant will set out to rejoin his master..."

"Seems pretty damning to me," Sirius said.

Addie frowned. "I don't know …"

"Addie, Peter was the Secret Keeper," Sirius said. "He was a Death Eater."

"I'm not arguing with that, Padfoot," Addie said, squeezing his hand gently. "But we established that Peter did not resurrect Voldemort, and I don't think that prophecy said he would. It said that the Dark Lord would rise again with his servant's aid – that could mean anything, not necessarily participating in the ritual."

"She's right," Remus said. "But it must refer to Peter."

"Actually, I don't think it does," Addie said. "I hate to play devil's advocate, but … This was June, right?"

"That's right," Jen confirmed. "Why?"

"Twelve years," Addie said simply. "By that point, it was closer to thirteen years since Peter had been living as a rat. Were there any other Death Eaters on the grounds?"

"No," Sirius answered, but Jen was staring at the parchment.

"Yes," she whispered. "Buckbeack was going to be executed. Macnair was there. Remus, how long had he been working for the Ministry?"

"He was caught sometime after Halloween," Remus said, taking her hand. Before she and Sirius had run away, she had been betrothed to Walden Macnair; even after the betrothal had broken, she had had to go out of her way to avoid him, until James and Sirius had taken things in hand. "Claimed Imperius, obviously, and ended up working for the Ministry, so I would say about …"

"Twelve years," Addie finished. "Would a Death Eater pretending to be reformed and having to abide by the Ministry's rules, however corrupt, consider themselves 'chained'?"

"Maybe," Jen said slowly, "but there's still …"

But no one found out what else there was, because at that moment an owl swooped through the window and dropped a note on Jen's lap, before swooping right back out again.

It was addressed to Selena once again, and inside were just two words.

Azkaban. Hurry.

Jen swore, leaping to her feet, and sending off an immediate Patronus to Amelia. "He's going after Azkaban; I'll meet you there."


Addie did not want to leave before Jen returned, so she stayed in the reception room, watching Sirius and Remus, trying to play chess and failing, as neither of them was concentrating.

Not another word had been said about Peter.

After a while, Augusta came down to join them. When she heard why Jen had left, she took a seat and waited with them.

Finally, the floo alarm went off and Jen stepped through, looking ten years older.

"We were too late," she said flatly. "The prisoners have escaped, the Dementors have joined Voldemort and ten aurors lost their souls."

Sirius looked up sharply. "Anyone we know?"

"Proudfoot and Stubbins," Jen said tiredly, sitting beside Remus and resting her head on his shoulder. "I didn't recognise the other names."

Sorry for shutting you out, love.

It's fine. Remus brushed a kiss against her forehead. I'd rather you not get distracted.

Sirius was frowning. "All the prisoners?"

"Few minor security ones were still there ironically," Jen said tiredly. "I guess they weren't worth his time."

Addie glanced at the clock and sighed, but before she could speak, an alarm began blaring through the room.

Sirius frowned. "Is that the ward alarms for Potter Manor?"

"Someone just portkeyed in," Jen said, getting to her feet again.

"Jen, do you want me to go?" Addie asked.

"No, they'll know me," Jen said. "I hope." She stepped into the fireplace again and flooed to Potter Manor.

The only Portkeys that could enter through the wards were the ones that she herself had charmed, and she was very prudent with their distribution, but she drew her wand just the same.

The visitors – if she could call them that – were found in the living room, the woman sobbing hysterically over the man lying on the floor, bleeding from a wound in his stomach, and twitching in a way that told her that a Cruciatus Curse had been administered.

Jen cursed, recognising the couple as Catherine Barter's parents. Whether her spy was Peter or not, they had finally slipped up.