Chapter XVII:
One Bright Light

She dropped to her knees, despair turning to something worse, a mile away and an hour in the past.

An hour in the past. I came back. I'm alive, and I have time. It's not over yet.

"-very pretty time machine."

"Thank you?"

She only had an hour. An hour to gather all the help she could; an hour to get back to the Black Lake. Arriving before she left wasn't possible, as it hadn't happened, or… she could arrive, she only couldn't announce her presence until the moment her turner activated. She could have a patronus ready; a whole army of patroni if she brought enough wands. Being ripped away might be the luckiest I could have been.

But how many wands could she bring? If she went to the professors, they would set out to capture Sirius, which would either work and ruin the plan or fail. And in trying, they would interfere with established events. First rule of time travel: Do nothing to intentionally interfere with established events. She needed people who would follow her lead to not jump the gun, and who would trust her judgment. Preferably, those people might not want to kill Sirius Black on sight.

"So, what happens now? You don't seem to have gone anywhen."

Lupin. I need to find Lupin. He had been at the lake, showing up not a moment too soon, nor too late, but he never explained how he knew they would be there. He hadn't even sounded that surprised to find them, nor to learn his old friend was innocent. The man knew it all beforehand, knew where and when to arrive, and Hermione could think of no reason he would do that save perhaps a passing time traveller letting him in on the full secret.

"It doesn't work like that; it pulls me back through time to this point, from the future."

Yes, she would find Lupin… as soon as she could get herself up off the floor. As soon as her knees forgot the icy chill, and her throat stopped hurting so badly she couldn't make a sound, she would find him. A half-remembered conversation played out over her; she hadn't the wherewithal to interrupt. Not like I interrupted the first time round. I guess this is why.

"…tell Harry I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?"

Past Hermione said nothing, again, and left in a hurry of footfalls and a slamming door. That was rude of me.

"How strange. I do hope she is ok."

Then Luna was gone too, and Hermione was alone. Alone, and weakened, but not entirely helpless. She had forewarning; feeling returning to her legs; and time - more of it than she'd believed she had left. Time, enough, to see a wolf about a dog.

Finding his office empty complicated matters. She did not expect the situation to be improved when she literally bumped into the Weasley twins. Sure enough, the first minute of trying to extricate herself from the ensuing conversation supported that hypothesis, right up until:

"Say, brother, does our friend seem a bit off to you?"

"Now you say it, brother, our friend does sound somewhat… perturbed."

"Something we did?"

"Nothing I'd admit to."

"Nothing at all, most strangely. Which leads to the question…"

"…how can we be of service?"

"You what?"

Hermione supposed she should have expected them to help; to get involved. Not the first time they've stuck their noses into this mess.

"Something's wrong, and we want to help."

"You can't."

"Can we not?"

She groaned. Way to go, challenging a Weasley. "Unless you have some magical way to instantly find people in this massive freaking castle, no."

It occurred to her, then, that there should have been no way for the gang to know she was at the shack with Black; yet they had blasted down a wall with absolute confidence she was there, and no surprise at finding Black there too. There were only two ways that could be: Either she told them, now, which in addition to being something she was not wont to do, would be yet another unplanned tweak to time's tapestry - the one she felt she was rapidly unravelling - or they did possess some way to track people.

Some magical device - a spell she would have come across in her research, no doubt - which one could use to search the castle for a specific person. Or even a specific rat.

She slapped her own forehead only because she didn't trust her aim to find theirs. "The map! You do have it! You said you couldn't - no, no you said you couldn't steal it for me, but of course you couldn't, you already have it! You sneaky, dirty little lying sacks of-"

"Whoa! Alright, calm down. So maybe,"

"-possibly, we might have told a teensy little fib-"

"-but how do you even know about the map?"

"Because-" They don't know about Sirius yet. No-one does. And they won't when they interrupt us. Got to remember when I am.

"Yes…?"

"Never mind that. You have the map, I need to know where professor Lupin is." She was doing very well not to scream at them. "Now!"

"And what do we get-"

"You get to keep your balls in one piece, Weasley!"

She didn't mean to go for a wand, but she was stressed damnit, and if it worked…

"…Deal. Lupin, right?" he asked, while his brother muttered something under his breath.

"Right." Then something else occurred to her: "And check for Peter Pettigrew."

If Sirius couldn't kill that rat, I doubt my snake did either. And no wonder Crookshanks never caught him.

"Pettigrew? Ain't he-"

"Just. Check."

"Alright, alright. Looks like Lupin is… coming back from the dungeons. Huh, wonder what he was doing down there."

"And Peter?" she pressed.

"Peter, fine…" he sighed. "Peter Pettigrew, Peter Pettigrew, Peter- Oh. But, how…?"

"Where is he?" she snarled, her frustration spilling over into anger as it found a justified target.

"Uh, he's in, uh, there's a classroom, two doors north from muggle studies. He's… it says he's in there, but it can't be?"

There was no time for explanations, nor was it the time for them. Not for the twins. "Forget that. And do not use that map for a few minutes, understood?"

"Understood, but-?"

"I mean it. I will know," she threatened, pulling the cloak fully about herself; once again, she was going to need to be unseen.

"Say, isn't that-"

"Do not tell Harry. Now, I need to run. Bye."

Hermione had neither time nor inclination to excuse herself more politely than that. Harry was depending on her, and now she had another task to perform; rat-catching. She tried to tell herself it was logical, practical, as Sirius was going to need evidence of his innocence and what better than the true culprit. She tried to pretend it was some ethical imperative to remove a mass murderer from the school, which to be fair there was, but that wasn't her true motive either.

More convincing was the thought of catching the rat for Harry's sake. She was going to deliver him the man responsible for his parents' deaths, so he could look him in the eye and ask 'why', and once he had his answers… she wouldn't blame him for whatever he did next.

The bitter truth, though: There was once again a dangerous wizard unchecked in Hogwarts, and Hermione's mood was taking a startling turn for the murderous. If the rat survived her finding him, it would be down to pragmatism. The hunt was the only thing on her mind as she ducked into an empty room and gave her turner one more spin for the day: No careful plan of her movements; no concern for the recklessness of nesting a turn into another when both culminating in life-and-death situations; only a burning desire for Harry to finally get some justice from his cruel world.

If fate had a problem with that, it was welcome to come after her for it. Welcome to try.

Her time-clone popped in, accompanied by the sweet sound of purring; the sound of the best companion any rat-hunter could want. Crookshanks leapt into her arms, her adorable tough cookie well accustomed to seeing his human replicated so, and she set off toward the muggle studies classroom. The knowledge it wasn't going to cost her life buoyed her confidence; the worry that might be because she was too late to find the rat quickened her stride.

She absently summoned a serpentine servant as she neared her destination, willing him into existence already coiled about her neck. The scales were comforting and familiar; the soft rattle sent its shivers cascading on down her spine, relaxing her muscles. A roll of her shoulders, a roll of her wand between her fingertips, and she pushed the classroom door open a crack. Crookshanks slipped from under her robe and padded in, so silent she couldn't hear his footsteps even with the strongest augmenosensus she'd ever cast; strong enough to hunt a rat. Strong enough to bring the distant hubbub of a whole castle crashing down on her ears - she flicked off a silencio to envelope the room, another to mask her own step, and crept inside.

The snake hissed lightly into her ear, and she wished not for the first time she possessed Harry's gift; wondered if it could be taught. Not now, Hermione. Focus. You're hunting a mass murdering death eater. The door, she closed behind her, silently cursing the click it made as she released the handle. She could only hope the rat wouldn't be suspicious - if he was still here.

Extending her magical sense as best she could, she stayed by the door, one hand on the frame as a reference. It would not do to lose her sense of direction should a fight break out. It would definitely not do to lose track of her only possible escape route. Come on, Crookshanks, find him. Flush him out… and then run away. Please remember to run away.

"Mrrrow!"

The feline warcry was almost deafening. The scampering paws that followed felt louder somehow, because there were two distinct sets of them.

"Get him Crooks!" she whispered.

Shouldn't have said that. Stop getting carried away.

There was a tingling through her sixth sense, a feeling of sliding from one form to the other, yet both being the same; and a crash of furniture too loud for a cat to have caused. Something heavier had crashed - someone.

"Nox caligum," Hermione whispered, swirling her wand like stirring a cauldron. The spell would drop the level of light in the room to the point only Crooks could see anything - assuming it worked. Having found it in a less-than-acceptable book in the library, she hadn't been able to test it on anyone and ask for feedback. If it hadn't worked, she had wasted a lot of magical stamina she was swiftly running out of.

"Eh?" was Pettigrew's reaction.

Hermione didn't want to fight him - or rather, she didn't fancy her chances all too well should she fight. What she wanted to do was-

"Who's that?" the rat asked with quivering voice.

She raised her wand and was given pause as her magic was slow to respond. How low am I? What if it doesn't flow fast enough? What if I miss and can't follow up? Why did I cast so many damn spells already? Being unable to answer was answer enough; she couldn't take a fight. Even with the element of surprise, she needed to land her first spell - end the fight before it began. For that, she would need to hone right in on her target. For that, he needed to keep talking; she had to keep him talking.

Oh Merlin this is stupid... "Mr Pettigrew?" she tried, looking to sound officious. "Are you in here?" It was a struggle to hold the venom back - a trial not to fling some nasty curse in his direction, fatigue be damned; there were a few from her latest research she itched to try.

"Wha? Who?"

"Mr Pettigrew, it's Ms… Fletchley. Auror Fletchley."

Add impersonating an auror to the list of rules - laws - I've broken.

"Aurors, no I didn't-"

"Not to worry, sir, I understand it must have been a very difficult time, but you are safe now." Hermione desperately hoped the forced professionalism was masking how unpractised a liar she was, and that she had no script in her mind to work from. "Sirius Black has been apprehended and kissed by a dementor. You don't need to hide any longer."

"K-kissed?"

"Yes, Mr Pettigrew. He shan't be causing any more trouble, for anyone." 'He', being you.

"That's… that's… hey, why did you make it so dark?"

And this is what we get for running in without a plan.

"Ah, my apologies sir, but, um, you see, I'm undercover. I cannot.. reveal my appearance? Protocol, I'm afraid."

There followed a long pause in which Hermione waited to be cursed, because her improv sucked.

"Undercover? Who are you working for?" he demanded.

Her impromptu plan falling apart, she started moving, slow and careful, toward the sound of his voice. If she got close, it would be enough to guide her aim precisely. If she had to keep babbling much longer, his growing suspicion would turn to hostility.

"The auror department, as I said. I'm terribly sorry, I can lift the darkness in a moment, I need to take another polyjuice dose first. Just ran out, you see."

"H-how did you find me?"

"Black had a, uh, device he was using to track you. We confiscated it before his passing, and it led me right to you."

She raised her wand, worrying she might be so close she would touch him. Only going to get one shot at this. Do not fuck it up.

"Device? The map? How did he - he was, he was going to kill me. I'm not… not safe. Nowhere's safe, not for me, not after... Who are you? I won't-"

"Petrificus."

...

Thud.

Hermione crouched down beside the man she'd immobilised, her heart pounding. "Now listen here, Wormtail," she sneered. "You can't move, but I'm sure you can transform. I need to move you someplace else, so here is the deal: Turn back into the filthy rat you are, this instant, or… or I will remove body parts until you are light enough to carry."

She fervently hoped he would not call her out on that bluff. Mad as she was at him, she had no stomach for cold-blooded brutality, even if her blood felt anything but cold as it flushed her hands. "And I should warn you, I am not a big girl - there won't be much of-"

She felt the ripple as he slipped back into his rat form. Am I that convincing at being scary?

"Good choice."

She groped around on the floor until she found his unnaturally still form and, dangling him by his tail, slipped him into her pocket. It was, she mused, rather disturbing how easy it was to bring down a mass murderer with a few choice words and a spell. It was perhaps more disturbing how easy she had found it emotionally. Lying off the cuff better than she thought she could, if she based it on results; holding her rage in check with nary a twitch; cursing a man in the dark. Threatening mutilation, and in all honesty not being as far from capable of it as she would have liked.

Discarding morals so basic, so obvious, she never even considered that she held them to begin with - not until they were pesky inconveniences, cast aside in pursuit of a greater purpose. Priorities, Hermione: Philosophise later; save Harry now.

Only, she couldn't save Harry 'now'; there wasn't enough time left before the turn to reliably get down to the lake. So instead, she spent her time prepping: First handing the rat off to Luna when she bumped into her, with careful instructions to keep him petrified (much as she didn't want to let Pettigrew out of her sight, the idea of bringing him through the turn, exposing him to the cruel mercy of the machine and creating another hour in which anything might give him chance to escape, was unacceptable); then swapping Crookshanks out for the appropriate instance (strangely important, that); and finally sitting down to form a plan of action.

When she next fell back through time, she would be ready.

Remus Lupin was having a bad day. There was nothing unusual about that, if one did not count turning into a supernaturally large wolf as unusual. Having been that way inclined since the age of four, Remus barely knew any different. It was the rest of society that saw his affliction as an oddity; he considered it a perfectly normal bane upon his chances for happiness in life. With the full moon climbing below the horizon; the wolf inside straining to break free and bathe itself in magical blood; and a paper plane smacking him in the forehead… Remus Lupin was having a bad day.

Encountering Hermione Granger charging down the corridor toward him promised to be as stressful as any other moment in the girl's company, and to elevate his day from merely bad to distressing. Had she not been so painfully reminiscent of another muggleborn girl he once knew, he might well have disliked her. It would have been safer not to like her; easier to avoid the inevitable hurt.
"Professor Lupin! Professor Lupin!"

He sighed as it turned out she was, most certainly, there for him. "Miss Granger?"

"Oh thank God, finally, why are you so hard to find?" she gasped, skidding to a dangerous halt - he thought for a moment he would have to catch her as she pitched on a loose flagstone.

"I'm sorry, I don't-"

She pointed frantically behind her. "It's Black! He's at the lake, Harry's there, and dementors, and, and we need to go!"

"Black? Harry? Dementors?"

Remus Lupin, you are having a spectacularly bad day.

"Come on!"

The desire to go with her; to confront Black; and to exact sweet, bloody justice, flared within him. Bloody? No, that's the wolf speaking. Already so loud…

"Miss Granger, I can't… The moon…"

She crossed her arms. Sweet Merlin save him, but she crossed her arms. "You are on wolfsbane, yes?"

"Well yes, but I need my final dose…"

"So drink it already."

He shook his head - gently, so as not to worsen the headache he'd had coming on all day. "I need to get it from Sni- from Professor Snape."

"What? You don't have it on you…"

She was not impressed - a feeling he understood and shared; Snape was meant to have that vial in his hands hours ago. It might not have mattered, but now with Black-

"Where is Snape?" she snipped.

"Not in the dungeons, apparently." I was just going to find the git when you so inconveniently interrupted.

"Argh, we do not have time for this. We don't have… time…" Her hand went to her chest as she disappeared into deep thought. "Can I… another… how many already? I… No, no, I'm sorry Lupin, but you have to come with me, now. If we hurry we can be back before the moon."

She spoke with such certainty he was almost convinced; he could so nearly have charged out into the grounds, nary an hour before moonrise, on nothing but a precocious child's conviction they would be fine. Like the old days. But Remus was no longer the maverick he had been in his former life, however much his heart yearned for it; however strongly freedom called to him.

"I don't think - hold on, if it's Black, why are you coming to me? Surely Dumbledore-?"

"Dumbledore doesn't know he's innocent."

What. "Innocent? Sirius?" What?

"Yes, how is this news to you?" she huffed. "You know this!"

He cast a glance around to check they were still alone - being accused of some form of complicity with Sirius Black was putting him on edge. Or is that the niggling doubt coming back? The one we buried so long ago?

He protested; he felt he had to. "I never… why would you think I-"

"Because you told me! You- oh! Oh, but you only know because I told you!"

Hermione Granger was not making enough sense for a moon-addled mind to follow. But then again, if she was somehow right, that would mean: "Padfoot…?"

Hello doubt, my old friend.

"Padfoot? The twins-"

"He's innocent?" Remus whispered. He hardly dared say the words aloud, in case his heart did not survive the answer. One failure was enough; how would he repent for a second?

"Sirius? Yes! Please, keep up. Wait… Sirius is Padfoot? Jeez, those boys need to learn to whisper quieter."

Remus couldn't afford her getting off track; he snapped his fingers before her face. "How do you know about Padfoot?"

Hermione flinched, then cocked her head at him. "Moony? No, no time for this. We need to go!" Then she was off, stumbling- no, hobbling, her left ankle was hurt somehow - down the corridor, and he was going with her.

"Where?" he asked, finally giving up on trying to make sense of things and accepting that she quite possibly knew what she was talking about. It would make one of them who had an idea what was going on, and whether she was right or not… Harry was in some sort of danger. How many times had he assured Lily he would help Sirius with the babe, should anything happen? How many times had he meant to check in on the boy, only to be pulled away by one thing or another, running a hundred errands for Albus, every one cropping up at the least opportune moment? How many times had he failed to show for the boy? How many more before that became his second great failure?

"The Lake! You have to be there… well, you will be there, but I need more time… Oh, oh God, we arrive together. That's so little time. I wanted to find Luna… Does it work without the rat?"

"What rat?"

"The rat! Pettigrew!"

With that, the last of Remus' composure collapsed; he grabbed Hemione by the shoulder. "Peter? But, Pettigrew is dead. Sirius killed… but if Sirius is innocent? So Peter-"

She took hold of his arm; there was a tension in that grip he knew too well. A tension no girl her age should have; a scent in the air only a wolf could detect: Hermione Granger's body was readying itself for a fight. "Has been living as the Weasleys' rat ever since, exactly. That is why Sirius kidnapped Ron - he wanted his rat."

"What does Pads want with Wormtail?"

"Why would he not want to catch Peter? Peter was the Potters' secret keeper."

"No, Sirius was… Sirius…" Oh, Merlin… Oh sweet Merlin, it's true. "How did I not see it? How? They were like - they were brothers."

"Sir, is there a faster way to the lake?"

He hardly heard her, lost in his... grief. "We were brothers. I should have-"

"Sir!"

Her nails biting into his skin focused him. "What? Uhm… yes, yes go left here, we can take one of the passages. What did you mean, about knowing and telling?"

"Um… nothing."

He slowed down, pulling her to a near stop. "Now hold on-"

"No! No holding, no slowing: We. Are. Moving. If you don't know already, then I'm not allowed to tell you."

"That is hardly-"

She rounded on him, wearing a snarl so vicious he expected to see fangs; had to fight the urge to bare his own. "Look, do you want to stand around chatting, or do you want to save your childhood friend, and several of mine, from death by dementor?!"

He didn't argue again after that, until as they emerged from the not-so-secret passage her ankle gave out, and she almost hit the ground.

"Fuck!" she hissed as he caught her. "Sir, I'm slowing you down and I still need to find Luna. Go on ahead of me."

"I don't know where I'm going."

She pushed him off and started fishing in her bag. "It doesn't matter; you'll make it."

"How can I-"

"Oh for fuck's sake professor, would you please accept that I know what I am talking about and get a move on!" From her bag she pulled a paper plane - one of hundreds, it would seem - and he took her turning from him to launch it as the dismissal it was. Her meaning was clear: She had given him his orders, and he was expected to follow them.

She wasn't wrong.

"Wait," she said as he made to part from her, in the general direction of the lake. "Cast a sonorous charm on me before you go. Powerful as you can."

He obliged, a little bemused she didn't feel she could do it herself; an oversight in her advanced studies, or…? Come to think of it, much as the hobbling had masked it, she looked exhausted. Not that it showed in her thunderous voice:

"LUNA LOVEGOOD! GREENHOUSE THREE, FIVE MINUTES! BRING TRANSPORTATION!"

Hermione overestimated her speed on the ankle she'd turned, and was several minutes late to the greenhouse where Luna was, mercifully, ready and eager to go. Her idea of 'transportation' was a winged horse Luna vehemently assured Hermione she would have been able to see, had she been able to see, which was more nonsense than she had time to indulge in that moment. Mounting up behind Luna was a struggle; flying bareback was a distant sort of terrifying; and the wind whipping in her hair made her think she just might make it in enough time despite the delays.

They put down in the forest near the lake at Hermione's behest; nobody could be allowed to spot them until the exact proper moment, when her turner would rip her past self away. As they moved through the undergrowth, Luna proving herself as much a Godsend as ever in getting her past roots and rocks, Hermione desperately wanted to overpower an augmenosensus on herself; she wanted to know how far they were and how much time they had. But she didn't; it wouldn't have let them move any faster, and she didn't have the energy. Whatever was left in her reserves was being kept for the patronus she would have to cast.

Then, in the distance - the all too far distance: "He was my brother!"

How long was that before the dementors? How far away are we? How many more damned tree roots?

"I do hope we make it," Luna whispered beside her. "Ooh, there's the treeline. How pretty."

They stumbled on though the last of the trees, and then Luna let go of her hand. "The beach. I'm not brave like you," she said, falling behind - Hermione couldn't stop - "but give them hell from me?"

Hermione didn't have time to stop and respond as she broke into a run. Her ankle screamed its protests; she bid it shut the fuck up and sort its priorities out and pushed on even harder. Or at least, she tried to; she had spent two hours riding the knife's edge, with only adrenaline keeping her going, and now that adrenaline had run out. Exhausted and crippled, she was running too slowly, from too far away. The chill of the dementors was building on her face, sapping what hope remained away, but she wished the feeling were stronger, the hope draining faster, because that would mean she was close. She heard, in the near distance, her own voice ring out; first in a scream she didn't even remember - a defiant but damaged cry - then the incantation, "expecto patro-"

Too far. She pushed herself on, stumbling but refusing to fall, magic carrying her as much as her legs. She raised her wand - she had to cast now, now before the dementors struck, but she was so far away. How could she cast over such a distance, against so many? How could the embers of her hope possibly carry that far?

She brought a memory to mind all the same. A happy memory - Harry sticking up for her against Ron and his wild accusations was the first to come to her. Not the happiest moment, but the way Harry had defended her, even after everything; the solace she found in the outrage he felt on her behalf, the defiance he projected outward like a shield against those who meant her harm. State of mind, Hermione.

Happiness, or is solace enough?

Outrage... call it righteousness.

A shield? Or something more...

Her hope was all but gone, but then… hope never got me anywhere anyway. Hope didn't save my friends when they were in danger. I did. Harry did. Failing all else, violence did.

She flourished her wand high and screamed the words; not as a joyous shout, but a war-cry, bursting from the lungs of a Valkyrie. Built upon some kind of happiness at its core, but with a promise of violence; a weapon brought to bear upon those who meant harm. To protect; to save; or else to bring merciless retribution.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The magic tore from her arm; her chest; her core. She poured her very soul, with all its hope and joy and fury, into a single point; an abruptly blossoming maelstrom of everything it is to love so hard it just might kill you, and to know you are loved just as much in return. To fight dark lords and cruel serpents and the very embodiments of death, and face them all together with that same pure, unadulterated rage, because how fucking dare they try to take what was hers?

She felt it; felt it so keenly she could almost see it, that sublime force of will cascading across the lakeside, rolling and roiling and focusing down, down into almost solid form: The form of a predator; of a creature of tooth, and claw, and instinctive, violent reckoning. It wasn't going to kill a dementor, but not for lack of trying.

Its aura was not soothing. It was not a port in the storm; nor a warm blanket; nor a kind word - It was hard and cold as armour. It was the firm hand upon the shoulder; the subtle nod before battle is joined; the deafening silence between the guns and the advance.

Beneath that, the quiet unwavering knowledge that when the fighting was done, there would come peace. The undeniable truth that there would come time for happiness, but such happiness must first be won.

It was just one bright light, raging against the darkness, but it was everything she had.

When her magic gave out, her core exhausted like never before, the sickening chill of dementors was gone along with it. 'Everything' had been enough. 'Everything' was Harry's broken yet beautiful voice was calling her name.

She had always liked her name, but in that moment, upon his lips, it became something divine.