Disclaimer: Fi's mine. The little mention of stormwings is credited to Tamora Pierce. That's about it. Everything else is J.K.'s (though when she'll ever actually get 'round to using them again…)

A/N: Mmmkay, sorry this took so long, and I'm sorry I've been so lazy about writing. I'm not going to force you to read my Long List of Excuses. Aurgh.

At any rate, here 'tis, hope you like it. I believe, in the last chapter, trouble was brewing and everybody's favorite toeless rat had returned to Voldemort. And then Hermione had a nightmare. *ominous music*

Here we go.

Lost

Part 15

By Veralidaine

*

Of all the things I've believed in

I just want to get it over with

Tears form behind my eyes

But I do not cry

Counting the days that pass me by

I've been searching deep down in my soul

Words I am hearing are starting to get old

Feels like I'm starting all over again

The last three years were just pretend

And I said

Goodbye to you

Goodbye to everything that I knew

You were the one I loved

The one thing that I tried to hold on to

I used to get lost in your eyes

And it seems that I can't live a day without you

Closing my eyes and you chase the thoughts away

To a place where I am blinded by the light

But it's not right

Goodbye to you

Goodbye to everything that I knew

You were the one I loved

The one thing that I tried to hold on to

And when the stars fall I will lie awake

You're my shooting star

- Goodbye To You, by Michelle Branch, from The Spirit Room (My latest obsession album)

She didn't go to Dumbledore.

In the not-too-distant future, Hermione would torture herself over why she'd suddenly become so stupid as to ignore anything logical she'd ever said to Harry in the past. Actually, she later reasoned with herself, she was acting more like Harry, really. She'd always sort of wondered why he just blindly tried to solve his problems; thoughtlessly leapt to action without a plan or, in fact, any idea of what he was going to do. Just knowing that it was the right thing. And Hermione was usually the one who explained to him, patiently, that he needed to consult Dumbledore first. That he needed to think things through. But Hermione wasn't calm enough to tell herself these things. She was in the spotlight now, and there was nobody on the sidelines to help her. And she was beginning to see from Harry's point of view.

Well, technically, there were people that could help her. But not without consequences. She'd mentally ticked off a list in her head by the next morning (she'd stayed awake on the squashy red couch in the Gryffindor common room) of possible people she could tell. Dumbledore would restrict her from leaving the castle, and nothing would be done, and Hogwarts would be attacked. Ron, though she loved him dearly and wanted to tell him the truth, would become immensely overprotective and tell Dumbledore, and then Dumbledore would do the same as if she'd told him herself. Professor McGonagall had also been on the list, but she was also very loyal to Dumbledore, and being the deputy headmistress, she'd absolutely inform the headmaster of anything so worrisome as Hermione's predicament, student-teacher trust or no. Hermione had even considered Professor Lupin, but then, he'd probably feel obligated to tell the headmaster as well. Really, anyone she told would then tell Dumbledore. So that only really left her with one choice: She'd keep quiet, and go to Voldemort.

It was incredibly stupid, and she knew it was incredibly stupid. But she had to do it, or Hogwarts would be attacked. She didn't know how they'd gotten into the castle the first time, but her educated guess was that when the lights had all flickered and none of the teachers could light their wands, the magical barrier had somehow been broken— entangling the magical bounds around the school, therefore impeding the teachers' ability to relight the lamps for that fraction of a minute--and Apparation was possible. She had no idea how they managed that, though. It would require immensely powerful magic to do such a thing. But then, this was Voldemort. Anything was possible, really. And Dumbledore, who had always seemed to be the most powerful, awe-inspiring wizard in Harry, Ron, and Hermione's minds, wasn't all-powerful, and he was getting quite old, and really, nothing was as it had seemed when they were eleven.

Hermione sighed, staring with glassy eyes at the fireplace, and its dying embers. With all the clamor of a passing shadow, a house-elf seemed to materialize from nowhere next to the couch and Hermione blinked, turning her head to stare at it rather wonderingly. She'd never really seen one around Hogwarts, not counting the times in the kitchen.

The elf nervously eyed her, small hands behind its back, ears drooping in unease. "'Tis embarrassing, Miss, but Binks is needing to start the fire. Binks is meaning no disrespect to Miss, of course…Normally Binks is alone this early in the morning. Binks is sorry for bothering Miss."

"No, no, it's alright," Hermione said kindly, and realized that, not only was this a shy, nervous house-elf, but in deep thought she'd probably been glaring quite fiercely. Hermione knew all too well (as Ron had been so glad to inform her) that her glaring was rather intimidating to humans, let alone a smaller, more timid being. She smiled quickly at the house-elf, not wanting to seem as distant as she felt. She still firmly believed that they should be paid and respected as members of the magical community, but whenever she brought up such ideas, it alarmed the poor things to the point of running away. If, for nothing else, to keep Ron from laughing, she'd stopped mentioning S.P.E.W. to the elves, but she continued to send an occasional owl to the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures about it all. She shook her head. "Go on and light the fire; don't be embarrassed. I'm bothering you, for heaven's sake."

"Oh, no," the elf said quickly, round eyes even wider. "Binks is not bothered by Miss. Miss is a very kind, very good human."

Hermione grinned at the flattery, and the elf--Binks--took a chance and grinned tentatively back. This particular elf was moss-green and had the same huge tennis-ball eyes that Dobby had, but a nose that was small and round. Judging from the high-pitched squeaking of its voice, Binks was female. Hermione watched the elf work at stirring the ashes up, and once again wanted to bombard the ministry with owls concerning wands for elves. It was stupid, making them do such things the Muggle way. "Binks, d'you want some help?"

Binks shook her head wildly, long ears flapping, and looked at Hermione warily. "No, Miss is very kind…But…'Tis Binks' job, not Miss'."

Hermione took that as her cue to shut up and stop bothering the elf, but it seemed uncouth, watching somebody else clean up after her while she sat lazily on a sofa. It was awkward to do nothing, but it was awkward to try and help, too. So Hermione went back to the more pressing matters on her mind. She wouldn't tell anyone about Voldemort and her dream. Nobody would know about it and she'd go find Harry. Yes, she reasoned, she could do that. And she could plan it out ahead of time.

It was as she was doing this "planning" that it occurred to her just why Harry never had a real plan. Voldemort was far from predictable. Yes, she could sneak up into the boys' dormitory and take Harry's cloak and broomstick, but then what? Where did Voldemort live? What if it couldn't be reached by broomstick? What if they detected her before she got to Harry? Would she have to fight her way in? If that was the case, she wasn't sure she could handle this… And what if--No, you're not even going to go there, she thought harshly. Harry's not already dead. You saw that. Just last night. Voldemort wants you to come to him, so he won't kill Harry.

But what about Bill Weasley? Professor McLellan? the awful little voice in her mind asked. She chose to ignore it.

It was at that moment that Binks finished her chore of starting the fire and tidying the common room (several third years, despite Hermione's efforts to stop them, had created a terrific mess the night before when battling good-naturedly with Jelly Slugs). Hermione expected the elf to merely disintegrate into the shadows, as they were said to do (Hermione didn't have much experience with elves), but Binks took a very cautious step towards her and raised huge green eyes to her face. "Miss?" muttered the meek voice.

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts for the second time. "Yes?" she said abruptly, making the elf jump back a bit. "Sorry…"

Binks shook her head, ears flapping again. "No, 'tis awright with Binks, Miss…" The elf paused, looking down at curly-toed shoes, tea towel drooping. "Miss, Binks is having a question."

"What's that?" Hermione said kindly, trying to give Binks a reassuring look, but the elf was still looking at her shoes.

"Does Miss know where Professor went?"

"'Professor'?" Hermione echoed blankly. "Which--oh, you mean McLellan?" Binks looked confused, so Hermione tried again. "Er…She teaches Potions?" No response. "In..eh…the dungeons?" Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Er…Long dark hair?"

Binks brightened considerably. "Yes! That is Professor!" she exclaimed, nodding her head excitedly, ears flapping up and down this time. Hermione wanted to giggle--Binks had obviously heard somebody refer to McLellan as Professor and had assumed it was her name. She felt that it would hurt the elf's feelings, though, if she giggled, so she stifled it. The elf looked so encouraged by Hermione's smile, that she actually offered a rather goofy grin as well. "Does Miss know where Professor went? Professor used to come visit Binks and the other house-elfs. Professor has not come to visit much." She looked imploringly at Hermione, twisting one toe nervously into the thick scarlet and gold carpet.

Hermione didn't quite know how to put this. "Er…Binks, Professor McLellan got…Well…She got kidnapped." Well, that was mild. She got picked up around the middle and stunned by a vicious Death Eater while the man who attempted rescuing her got several nasty wounds, and really, nobody was even sure if she was still alive.

The round eyes got even wider. "What bad wizard has taked her?"

Hermione wanted so badly to say, "taken, not taked," but she didn't feel it was appropriate or polite at this point to correct the poor thing's grammar. "Erm…The…Dark Lord."

It couldn't be possible, Hermione thought--the eyes got wider. Hermione wondered what would happen if she dropped anymore of these surprises around the elf--would those huge green eyes just bounce right out of that tiny skull? "Binks is angry…Binks isn't liking this at'all…Other house-elfs aren't being happy, too."

It was an interesting experience, sitting on the sofa and watching what looked like, if you squinted, a small, ugly doll pacing in front of the fireplace. Hermione grimaced. "I'm sorry. We tried to help her. She got taken when they had all of that trouble in the Great Hall a few weeks ago. At the Christmas Ball."

Binks put her tiny hands on her practically nonexistent hips. "No one is talking to house-elfs anymore." She shook her head, ears flapping again. Hermione would have laughed at this, but obviously the elf was upset.

"Well, aren't I talking to you now?"

"Yes, Miss is talking. In English-speak." Binks waved a small hand at Hermione, who was amused at the casual gesture that had seemed, not five minutes ago, completely unheard of. "No, no, no…House-elfs are not being very good English-speaks. Professor speaked Elf-speak."

"That's impossible, though," Hermione said softly, not really wanting to argue, but unable to resist. "Elfish--or, Elf-speak, rather--is made entirely of noises that only elves can make. It's…It's to do with your lung size." Hermione chewed her thumbnail thoughtfully. "You mean she could understand it? Because I know that's possible, but she couldn't speak it…"

"No, Professor speaked it. Professor has good…good…" Binks cast around for the word, and then brightened as she remembered it. "…good accent, too."

Hermione frowned in thought. It wasn't possible for any old human to go speaking Elfish. You just couldn't do it--it was physically impossible. Unless…Well, it was possible, but really, really unlikely. She'd have to have a different kind of magic in her blood. She'd have to be part faerie, or part…something. Hermione's brow furrowed in frustration. Of course, if she'd not been slacking off on her homework, she'd probably know…She'd have to ask Professor Lupin. He was Defense professor, after all.

Footsteps sounded on the boys' staircase and Binks' eyes did, in fact, grow wider. "Binks is leaving now, Miss! Binks is very happy to have meeted Miss!"

"I'll--I'll come visit you!" Hermione called, as the creature simply disappeared behind the sofa and was, somehow, gone. Hermione was going to go check for a trap door when Seamus Finnigan appeared in the entrance to the boys' staircase, blinking sleepily and with tousled hair, but dressed for classes. Hermione raised an eyebrow, eyeing the clock on the mantle above the fireplace (lit flickeringly by, courtesy of Binks, a cheerfully roaring fire), which read No classes today--why are you awake? "Er…Seamus? It's a bit early, isn't it?"

Seamus seemingly just noticed her. "Oh. 'Lo Hermione." He yawned. "You're up early, aren't you? What's up?"

She was inwardly amazed that he'd even talk to her, as he'd been one of the first to hear the rumor that she was a dangerous relative of Voldemort. But he seemed nonchalant about it all, for whatever reason. She smiled at him tiredly. "I asked you first."

He shrugged. "Detention."

Hermione sat up, somewhat astounded. "You've got detention?"

"Well, yes," he said slowly, eyebrows raised. "'S not the first time."

"What did you do?" Hermione asked, amazed. It occurred to her that she'd never stopped to consider other students getting detentions. She was too busy looking after Ron and Harry--Oh, don't bring up Harry… She shook her head. It had always been Snape picking deliberately on Harry and Ron. And Hermione herself. She'd never stopped to think about the other students. It seemed, she thought, rather self-centered of her, really.

Seamus shrugged again, grinning sheepishly. "You were in the class. Happened yesterday, in Transfiguration."

"Oh." Hermione tried to remember. She'd been rather moody and glazed-over, really. She'd turned her handkerchief into a dove and stared glassily at the tabletop, and hadn't paid the slightest mind to anything else around her. All that mattered at the moment was that Ron would be there after Transfiguration. Well, that and there had been a nasty stain on the tabletop that was really needing a good scouring charm… Hermione grinned apologetically. "Sorry, I…I rather forgot what happened."

"Yeah, we figured from the sort of blank way you were staring at your quill that your mind wasn't in the room at the time." Seamus grinned, but sobered quickly. "Nah, I shouldn't tease you." He sighed. "I just had a go at turning Terry Boot into a grease spot on the floor of the classroom." He gave her another cheeky, freckled grin.

Hermione, reclining easily against the squashy cushions behind her, eyed him disapprovingly. "Why on earth would you do that?"

Seamus grinned, somewhere between pride and shame. "Er…He was putting the moves on Lavender."

Hermione snorted. "Oh, for heaven's sake!" She shook her head. "Lavender loves that sort of thing. If you're going to date Lavender, you're going to have that problem."

He shrugged. "It's the fighting Irish in me."

"And that would be, what, all of you?"

He answered with a thoughtful smirk, "Yep, pretty much."

Hermione snorted again. "Men. Honestly." She turned her head to watch the fire. The awful thoughts were threatening to take over again, so she turned back to Seamus, who was gathering his books, which he'd left on the corner table the evening previous, into his bookbag. "So who's your detention with?"

He smiled, cramming an ink bottle and quill into his bag. "Well, McGonagall wasn't about to get her bony arse up this early in the morning, so she stuck me with Lupin."

Vaguely, Hermione felt she ought to reprimand him for insulting McGonagall, but she restrained herself. "I pity the man."

"Yeah," Seamus said absently, yawning. "So do I."

It then occurred to Hermione that she needed to talk to Lupin, preferably before Ron woke up and attached to her. She'd missed him terribly, of course, and felt guilty keeping such a huge secret from him, but if she brought him along when she went to talk to Lupin, it would lead to questions she didn't want to answer, for his and all of Hogwarts' own good. She sat up straight on the sofa, brushing her hair out of her face and as flat as was possible. "Erm…Seamus? Can I walk with you? I want to talk to Professor Lupin."

He threw his bag over his shoulder and grinned. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were flirting."

"I--am--not!" Hermione said indignantly, worried that he was serious. She quickly regained her relative calm, however, when he laughed.

"Ah, I'm kidding." He shrugged. "But the question remains: if you're not flirting with me, then are you planning on moving in on Professor Lupin?"

"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer," Hermione said sniffily. She was almost worried about not completing her mission before Ron woke up, but then she remembered that he slept until noon every opportunity he got. Saturdays especially.

Seamus chuckled. "Fine. Come with me if you like; dun see why you'd want to, but fine."

***

Ron rolled over in bed, face in his pillow. He was so tired lately. After all the healing charms put on him at St. Mungo's, all he wanted to do was sleep. He thought vaguely of getting up, and decided to give it a try. Okay, get up.

No.

Why?

'S too early.

He gave pause to think about this. Yes, it is, but I still ought to stop being such a lazyass. Ron actually did try to make himself get up, but his body just wouldn't cooperate, so he let himself just slip back into happy sleep. Besides, he thought, it's Saturday. Hermione probably won't even be awake yet. She's not got something to study for.

Oh, and that's stopped her before, how?

Shut up. Ten more minutes; that's all I ask.

Well, it would have been ten minutes, but as is common when one thinks to oneself, I'll just have a lie-down for ten minutes or so, sleep overcomes the senses, and in reality, ten minutes can stretch to a nice, three-hour nap.

***

Harry's stomach hurt. He felt like he was going to be sick. Most unfortunately, he'd felt like this since the previous evening (well, he'd assumed it was evening, but there were no windows in Voldemort's castle), when he'd once again survived the Avada Kedavra curse. Since then, he'd constantly felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him and the reaction prolonged--his breath was short and he felt like he couldn't quite get the air into his lungs that he needed. So he'd been rather quiet.

McLellan had, too, even though she still possessed the ability to speak. She just sort of stared off into space, frowning deeply. When she wasn't doing that, she was glancing anxiously at him to make sure he was still breathing. Apparently, she was just as surprised as he was that he was still alive. She'd wrapped an arm around him and helped him out of Voldemort's chamber and down the hall, shooting poisonous looks at Lucius Malfoy the whole while. Harry was in a bit too much discomfort to take in the conversation the two adults had had on the short walk to their cell, but he assumed that it hadn't been friendly.

McLellan looked up again at him from across the dark cell, eyes reflecting the pinprick of green light coming from a crack in the bricks across the room. "Are you feeling any better a'tall?"

Harry swallowed hard, willing his stomach to calm itself. "Not…really," he managed to wheeze.

McLellan sighed and leaned her head back against the stone wall behind her. "I'm sorry, Harry. I wish I had my wand so I could try to help." She stretched out a foot in front of her and looked at it intently, her other knee hugged to her chest. "I've no idea what it feels like to survive the killing curse, but I can't imagine it's just a pleasant tickle."

Harry nodded, but stayed quiet, hoping that refraining from using his vocal chords might help his chest feel less deflated. He was going to die here, in this cell. He knew it. He'd cheated death way too many times—with the Philosipher's Stone and Quirrel when he was eleven, the Chamber of Secrets the year after, Dementors, Death Eaters, and first and foremost, Avada Kedavra… He may have survived all of these horrible obstacles, but the way he was feeling right about now, he didn't think he'd ever see the outside of his cell again. Not only was his chest deflated, but so was any and all hope of escape. Nobody knew where he was. They probably thought him dead. Voldemort would try to get Hermione to come and rescue him, and Harry didn't know if Hermione could handle it herself…And if Hermione came, Ron would follow…At first, Harry had done nothing but worry for his friends, and what Voldemort might do to them. He had tried so hard to think of a plan, any plan, that might save the day. But Hermione had plans. Ron could strategize. And Harry was the hero.

Oh, and what a hero, he thought bitterly, breathing slowly in so as to keep the constricted feeling in his lungs from becoming unbearable. Sitting here, having all but given up… Dumbledore has to be disappointed. And Sirius. And Ron and Hermione. And probably the entire Wizarding world. He started blinking stubbornly behind his glasses. Great. And now I'm crying, too.

And then he was angry. He didn't want to be the Boy Who Lived. He wanted to be Harry Potter, another kid at school. He wondered what it would be like to have his flying abilities appreciated for what they were, and not because he was Harry Potter. And to have a normal, un-publicized life—what about his love life? Whose business was it, who he dated and who he didn't? And what about his parents? Ah, now he'd done it—if he hadn't thought of them, then maybe he could have held it together. There were so many articles through the years about his parents, articles that made them seem just like words on paper. Another two names in a magazine. Another old photograph that could be anyone's parents, but made special because they were Harry Potter's parents. And then everyone tried to pretend that they could understand, and they never could.

I'm at the mercy of the monster that killed my parents. And I think this is going to be the last time.

He knew he was being rather morbid, but he was very sure he would never see Hogwarts, or anything else outside of Voldemort's castle, again. He hugged his knees to his chest, resting his chin on top of them, making the chains binding his wrist and ankles clink noisily. Professor McLellan turned her head slightly to see what had made the noise—she seemed quite jumpy, but Harry knew that Voldemort wouldn't send for them for a long while yet. It occurred to Harry how much he'd never been told. About Voldemort, about the Wizarding world, about his own life…About his parents…

His throat worked as he tried to get words to come out. "Professor McLellan?" he croaked, glad that at least some noise had managed to escape his throat.

The professor turned immediately. "Yes, Harry?" She sounded as if she knew what was coming.

Harry sighed and managed, "Can you tell me about—" He took another deep breath and ignored the crushing sensation in his chest, brought about by more than physical pain. He swallowed harshly. "—about my parents?"

***

It was after following Seamus down numerous hallways, up three flights of stairs (one of which wasn't too thrilled at being used so early in the morning and told them so on no uncertain terms), and through a fireplace that Hermione found herself in the teachers' wing. While Harry and Ron were still thoroughly convinced, even though they were seventeen and not ridiculous little first years anymore, that Snape lived in the dungeons with the potions ingredients, his room was actually in the teachers' wing ("Well, yeah," Ron had once said to that argument. "But does he use it? I was always under the impression that he hung from the rafters by his toes…") with the other teachers' rooms. Hermione passed the oak door labeled Severus Snape, with its Slytherin banner, and grimaced to herself, feeling guiltily glad he wasn't teaching for this year. There was also a twinge of worry for him, but she tried to ignore it, making her feel further guilt.

They passed Minerva McGonagall, with the Gryffindor Banner pinned up next to the name, of course, and then Sofia Sprout (with the Hufflepuff Banner), the empty Sibyll Trelawney (who, Hermione for once agreed with the boys, probably did hang from the rafters by her toes—she lived in her own personal bat cave, after all), and the also empty Fiona McLellan. Something occurred to Hermione and she turned to Seamus. "Aren't we…supposed to go to his office, not his room?"

"Not for morning detentions," Seamus said knowledgeably. "You go teh them. They're not leaving their teapots until they're sure you've remembered to get up early--they don't want to sit 'round in their drafty offices waiting for you to show." She was about to say something regarding his lack of respect towards teachers, but he held up a hand. "You'll want to keep your voice down. Professor Sprout's not very nice if you wake her up."

"Oh, you do this often, do you?" whispered Hermione.

"One other time." He grimaced, finally coming to the door labeled Remus Lupin and knocking softly. "Malfoy's fault. Threw a toad spleen into my cauldron and it blew up. Remember?" Hermione nodded. "And then I had to come for morning detention with Snape, right, and as if that's not bad enough, and I accidentally woke Sprout while knocking on Snape's door…She was scary."

Hermione pursed her lips, though the image of Professor Sprout with her wild hair in rollers and a sleepy scowl on her face did make her smile somewhat. Even though nobody in the magical world used hair rollers.

The door opened and a very awake Lupin appeared, leaning braced on the doorframe by one hand, a cup of tea in the other. He raised his eyebrows. "'Morning, Seamus."

"Same to you, Professor."

He glanced at Hermione. "I wasn't aware you were also serving a morning detention with me, Hermione."

"Oh, I'm not…" She tried to think of an excuse. Lupin was still looking at her, eyebrows raised expectantly. "I had some questions. About class."

He looked amused. "Hm." Returning his attention to Seamus, he consulted a watch on his thin wrist. "Well, Seamus, I'm afraid you'll be cleaning out the Grindylow tank and filling it with fresh pondweed and water." The professor smiled apologetically as he handed his student a bucket for weed collection and a sponge. Seamus cringed, and Lupin shrugged. "I know, it's a miserable job, but there are strict rules concerning fighting at Hogwarts. Always have been." Lupin cleared his throat, and Hermione thought she saw him stifle a small, reminiscent smile. "Just take the tank out by the lake. It'll be an easier job that way."

"Gee, thanks," Seamus intoned and, giving Hermione a tired smile, he trudged off resignedly towards Lupin's office for the tank.

Lupin turned his attention to Hermione again. "So, you have some questions?"

"Yesss…" Hermione said slowly, wondering how to broach this particular subject. "I've heard of witches and wizards who talk to magical creatures." She noticed that he looked a bit closed off at this point, but she pressed on quickly, before he could make up an excuse to get away: "I was talking to one of the house-elves, and she said that Professor McLellan could speak Elfish, which I thought was a bit odd, considering that it's a language that only elves can speak, so I was wondering if, since you knew her, you could help me figure out where she gets her magic blood." She ran out of air at that last sentence and paused to breathe in deeply, and Lupin almost smiled. Hermione started and remembered her manners: "Please." She looked at him imploringly, nervously twisting her fingers.

The professor considered her for a moment, brow furrowed. "Well…I—" He stopped and sighed, and then lowered his voice. "I'm not supposed to discuss it, for much the same reason that people weren't supposed to discuss my…erm…predicament back when I first taught here."

The door down the hall opened and Professor Sprout, with her wild hair in rollers, oddly enough, stuck her head out. "Remus, for the love of Merlin, it's six-thirty on Saturday morning! Can you keep it down just a bit, please?"

"Absolutely, Sofia, I'm terribly sorry," Lupin replied courteously as Sprout, not at all her cheerful self, grumbled and closed her door. He turned back to Hermione. "We can discuss this in my office. We won't bother anyone there."

"Right," Hermione agreed, and followed him down the twisting corridors, up toward the owlery, and but stopping short at the office nearest the Defense classroom. He opened the door and flicked his wand at the lights, which lit themselves as he sat down in the chair behind his desk. A quick dash of his wand toward the fireplace started a cheerful, if smallish, fire, which cast warm shadows over the office's contents and occupants. He summoned another chair from the far corner for Hermione and she sat down, noticing the large empty space where the Grindylow tank was supposed to be.

Lupin sighed tiredly and leaned his elbows on the desk, crossing his arms and looking somewhat tired and hunched. Well, it is six-thirty on Saturday morning. He opened his mouth, changed his mind, and started again. "Professor McLellan is a fae-speak. I assume you know what that means?"

"She can talk to magical creatures," Hermione replied automatically. "Yes, I know, but how?"

"I'm getting there," he said, smiling slightly. "Be patient."

"Sorry."

"Right." He paused again. "What do you know about Selkes?"

"Er…" Hermione dredged up the article from Fantastic Beasts in her mind. "Seal people…They're like mermaids. Love of music and such." She decided to leave out the less-beautiful-than-they-are-in-paintings part. She harbored a suspicion that Lupin would take offense. "They have to marry the person who steals their skin."

"Yes…They shed their skins to become human. Most often women." He waved an impatient hand. "But that's not the point I'm getting at. Selkes breed with humans occasionally. Professor McLellan's grandmother mysteriously disappeared, leaving her children and husband behind. Her grandfather always told the family that she'd died, but she'd just gone back to the sea. She found her sealskin and left."

"So…McLellan's a third-generation selke?" Hermione asked, eyebrows raised.

Lupin nodded. "And that comes with the possible ability of fae-speak. She got it. And the other possibility of transformation without the shedding of skin. She got that, too."

"Huh." Hermione thought for a moment, looked at the expression on her professor's face, grinned apologetically and said, "I'm afraid I have some more questions."

He sighed resignedly. "I'd guessed so much."

Hermione folded her hands in her lap and sighed as well. "Why is it so dangerous? Why keep it a secret?"

"Same reason she was kidnapped," Lupin replied, running a hand through his hair and causing it to stand up vividly, sort of like Harry's. Hermione squashed that thought down. Whenever Harry was brought up, she was reminded of what she needed to do. "Being able to talk to faeries is very handy in war. If you've got a fae-speaker on your side, you can have them defeat a small army while you're having tea. Faeries are easily persuaded to wreak havoc on people." He shrugged. "World domination's a little different, but they're still very useful. So that's what Voldemort's after with her." He scowled. "It's not the first time he's tried this sort of thing."

"But I thought faeries were…er…stupid?" Hermione said haltingly, knowing better than to ask about that last comment from the professor. He'd just go odd and mysterious, like adults seemed to do all too often at Hogwarts.

"Depends on the kind of faerie." Lupin's eyebrows raised. "Fire pixies aren't stupid at all. They're rather dangerously clever, actually. Evil little things." He shook his head. "Newt Scamander could only observe faeries. He wasn't able to communicate with them. It makes a difference if you can, obviously."

"Ah." Hermione sighed. "Well, that explains a lot."

"Really?" Lupin said mildly. "Like what?"

"I knew it!" A voice said triumphantly from the doorway to the right. Both Hermione and Lupin turned to see Seamus standing, Grindylow tank held carefully in front of him (the Grindylow inside was not looking too thrilled with being carried about the grounds), in the doorframe. "I knew she was one o' them!"

"Beg pardon?" Lupin said, eyebrows raised.

"McLellan! A selke!"

Lupin caught Hermione's eye, looking resigned. Hermione smiled apologetically. Seamus, meanwhile, was carefully putting the tank away, looking quite pleased with himself, despite the wet spots on his clothes from his chore. He dusted off his hands, crossed his arms, and grinned at them both. "I knew it. But I won't tell anyone, if you don't want me to."

"That would be preferable," Lupin muttered, not looking up and running his fingers over a series of old grooves in the wood of his desk thoughtfully.

Hermione had gone quiet, barely hearing Seamus' continuing prattle on Irish folklore. So, McLellan was a selke. Well. Another fact for her mental files. She watched as Seamus, looking very smug, promised one last time that he really wouldn't tell (most likely for fear of some mythological Revenge of the Celtic Fish-Women), and left, closing the door behind him. After a moment –

"Hermione?"
Hermione snapped back to attention and glanced in surprise at her professor, eyebrows raised. "Yessir?"
Lupin's gaze was very steady, and his tone conveyed more than his words. "I'd appreciate it if you, and Seamus, would keep that…erm…quiet. I don't think she'd like it very much if everybody knew." He picked up a heap of parchment that looked to be first year essays and grouped them neatly before piling them on the desk in an orderly stack He said nothing else. And what really bothered her was he was speaking as if McLellan were merely downstairs in the potions classroom, and not God-only-knew-where. He was a little too calm, considering his demeanor throughout the past few weeks.
"Of course," Hermione muttered, brow furrowed. Damn Seamus for interrupting. She wasn't done interrogating yet, but she really needed to move on before Lupin started questioning her reasons for such inquiries. Her vexation must have shown on her face, for Lupin asked, "Is there anything else?"
She turned to smile and say, "No, thank you, I really ought to go," but her eyes fell instead to the marks on his desk that he had partially covered with the stack of essays. She managed to catch the word Padfoot before Lupin saw what she was looking at and laughed quietly. Not waiting for her to ask, he removed the stack of parchment to reveal a rather mutilated desk corner. Hermione stood up and moved around to where Lupin was sitting to get a better look.
Prongs was written in the corner, followed by
Padfoot
Wormtail
Moony
"Professor McGonagall seemed to believe it was fitting that I should get stuck with the damaged desk, after all these years," Lupin explained quietly, after a moment. "That's what happens when you and your friends terrorize your professors with such nonsense as perma-quills, only to make the silly decision to return and teach at the same school."
Hermione smiled quietly, but continued looking at the unfamiliar handwriting. The word "Prongs" was written in a hand much like Harry's, and she almost asked why Professor Lupin hadn't shown this to Harry himself when it occurred to her that it would have been quite hurtful to him, seeing his father's name next to Wormtail's, written probably when they were all about Harry's age. She looked up at Lupin, who was quietly remembering, and suddenly she wanted desperately to say everything that was on her mind – all that was wrong, all that was going to be wrong… She wanted to ask what he thought she should do, and what spells she might need. But her common sense, working against her, told her that he would only stop her from going. And she couldn't let him do that, stupid idea or not. This was Harry. Her best friend. And it was her burden, at this point. She wouldn't let innocents be killed; let her deal with Voldemort.
Still, though, Professor Lupin possessed that quality of "Please, do tell me all that is on your mind; you can trust me" that made any desperately frightened and troubled person wont to spilling out exactly what it was that bothered them. Hermione was in the middle of a rather fierce battle between the conflicting ideas of following logic or her heart when the flames in the modest fireplace suddenly flared brightly and Sirius' head appeared amidst the tongues of flame. "'Lo, Remus," he said tiredly, and Hermione, startled, realized that he looked almost as bad as he had when she'd first met him. Well, he was cleaner now, but the shadows on his face were very angular and evident, as was the sort of haunted, hollow look in his eyes. Sirius had visited Ron in the hospital the same day Hermione had, to offer half-hearted encouragement to his godson's best friends. The man had looked unwell at the time but, from what Hermione could see of him (mind, that was just his head), he had gotten far worse.
"Sirius," Remus muttered, eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. "Bit early, isn't it?"
Sirius' head looked confused. Then, it shook, as if to clear it. "I suppose it is. Huh. Why are you up, if it's so early?"
"I'm not the one who sleeps until three o'clock in the afternoon, Padfoot."
"Point taken." Sirius smiled very briefly, and then he noticed Hermione. "Oh. Hello, Hermione, I didn't see you. Why are you awake?" He shook his head. "Never mind," he said quickly, responding to his own question, "you have similar mindsets."
Lupin tapped his fingers absently on the desk, brow furrowed slightly, one elbow resting against the back of his chair. "Is something wrong, Sirius?"
The other man shook his head. "No, no, I was just wondering… Any new information?"
Again, Hermione was extremely tempted to say something. Anything. Sirius looked so desperate, and so saddened when Lupin told him that nothing had been found as of yet, that she felt that anything at all would have been helpful. Even something bad – so long as it was news, and the agony of waiting, waiting, waiting could end. But years of training herself to stick to her logic to the end kept her from speaking. Not only would they have stopped her going, but they would have interrogated her for every detail possible, and probably would go and get themselves killed trying to rescue Harry. Mind, that's probably what I'm going to end up doing, Hermione thought. I'm so useless…I should say something; they're more competent wizards than I am –
NO!
She couldn't. She kept her mouth closed, not really hearing anything that was said as she watched the two adults conversing tersely. It occurred to her that now that she had the information she really needed, it would do to get back to Gryffindor tower and wake Ron up. If she was going to really do this thing, in all its stupidity, she wanted to be with him for today. A sick feeling was rising in her stomach. It still hadn't quite registered in her mind what she was considering doing. She could tell, from the way her heart was beating at an increasingly upset rate that the reality of her situation was sinking in, but she didn't want to have to deal with it right now. She had to get out of here, or she'd keep thinking.
She stood from her chair and both other heads turned her way. Lupin stood as well. "Oh, I'm sorry, Hermione, I'll let you go now, if there's nothing else…?"
"No," she said quickly. "No, nothing else. Thank you." She stood silently, hands clasped in front of her, staring at the floor.
Sirius was looking at her curiously from the fireplace. "Bye, Hermione," he said, a strange look on his face.
She smiled vaguely. "Yes. Goodbye, Sirius. I'll... I'll see you later." She stepped outside the door, mind whirling with more thoughts than usual (which said a lot, really), when she heard Sirius' voice filter through the closed wooden door of the room she'd just left:
"She's up to something, Moony."
She halted quickly and stepped back closer to the closed door, keeping as silent as possible. Remus was saying something.
"…can you tell?"
"She fakes placidity about as well as you do. Got that guilty look, too."
Hermione frowned. She thought she'd gotten better about not looking so suspicious. She had been feeling dreadful, though. The awful feeling was rising in her chest again, but she beat it down and tried to forget her situation to hear what they were saying. This is spying. Oh, God, I've been spending far too much time with Ron and Harry – She blanched, and shook her head. No, no more. Harry's okay. He'll be okay.
Remus sounded exasperated. "I don't 'fake placidity', Sirius."
"Yes you do. You're doing it now. And it's a buggerall awful job of it, too, I might add."
It was very quiet. Hermione blinked a few times, and leaned in closer to the door. Were they whispering? Did they know she was out there? Were they planning on opening the door on her to catch her? And then –
"What do you mean?" Lupin's voice had taken on a tired edge, as if he already knew where this conversation was headed, and really didn't want to go there.
"Remus, don't avoid the point. You never have; don't start now."
"Shut the hell up, Sirius."
"Ooh, look, we sound just like each other! Are you going to spend your time mimicking my more violent qualities, or are you going to get this out of your system before you go mad?" Hermione could easily imagine Sirius' face right now. She wasn't quite sure how Remus was reacting, though. "Look, I've heard how you've been acting lately. I've spoken with Dumbledore, and McGonagall, and they're all concerned. I'm concerned. Are you planning on doing something stupid?" Silence positively seeped under the door. Hermione cringed on Lupin's behalf. This was awfully close to her problem – she was just glad Sirius wasn't questioning her.
"No."
"Yes, you are," was the abrupt response. The problem with lying to your best friend, Hermione reflected guiltily, was that they knew you too well to be fooled. "You're not going to try to go after them, are you?"
Something slammed into something else very loudly – Hermione suspected it was Lupin's fist connecting with his other hand, or the table, or some other undeserving object. His voice sounded very strained, and livid, but obviously unused to being so. "Dammit, he's got Harry and Fiona. Both of them, Sirius. Not to mention the oldest Weasley boy. You're the one who doesn't seem to be acting normally. Why are you so suddenly rational?"
"Because," Sirius said, sounding as though he were clenching his fists, "Dumbledore has me under watch for just that reason."
There was a large silence. Hermione blinked and vaguely thought the entire school must have heard it.
"He what?" Remus asked quietly.
"Yeah." Sirius sounded resigned. "I'm under watch. He can't hear me or anything, but he monitors where I Apparate to. He's afraid I'm going to get myself killed. Apparently, he still thinks he's my headmaster."
Remus' voice was somewhat offended. "So, you warranted protection from yourself, but I'm not quite determined enough to attempt to save them?"
A hoarse laugh made Hermione jump. "Moony, you really are ridiculous. You're a professor. You were a prefect." He snorted. "You get along with bleeding Snape—"
"We'll not speak ill of him. He's… He's being extremely helpful to our cause." The professional forced respect was very evident, but Hermione was glad that somebody had brought that up.
"Yeah, yeah, okay." She could see Sirius in her mind's eye, waving this information carelessly aside with one hand. "Right. Point is, though, you always came off as the good one. We'd work up some really good scheme, James and I would take care of the observers—"
"Huh, yeah, if that's how you want to phrase it—"
"—and you'd be the one to set it all off, because nobody ever suspected you. And, apparently, they still haven't caught on."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. Remus must have done the same, because Sirius continued: "And that's why I called you."
A deep sigh followed this statement. "Well, I won't do anything stupid, Sirius, I promise."
Pause. "I think you misheard me, Moony."
Hermione's brow furrowed, and she leaned in closer to the door. Remus' voice sounded somewhat far away. "Sorry?"
"I think…you misunderstand the point I'm getting at."
Remus gave a disbelieving laugh suddenly. "Oh, good God."
"Yeah."
"What the hell are you thinking—"
"Shut up half a moment." It went very quiet. Hermione could feel the professor's glare. "Remus, look, I can't go anywhere; Dumbledore knows I want to and he's got me under serious scrutiny – don't mind the pun –" (there followed a sound of disgust from Remus) " – and you've always been better at the realistic planning aspect of these things." (—"Oh, as opposed to the unrealistic planning aspect of these things," Lupin muttered, half-amusedly, half-sarcastically—) "Besides, Dumbledore trusts you, and—"
"And that's precisely why I can't do it." Lupin's adamant tone bore down on Sirius' voice, and he quieted himself for a moment. "Dumbledore trusts me implicitly, which I value above all things. He gave me a job, twice, when I couldn't find work. He knows who and what I am. He knows me, and remains unprejudiced and unafraid." His voice had taken on a very sad tone. "And that is very rare, for me. You know that. I already spent twelve years of my life thinking that everyone who had ever felt that way was gone forever, and now that I'm regaining some of my respect, my friendships, and my trust, I can't just throw it all away."
"Even for Harry? James' son? And Fiona?"
"You think I'm not suffering?" Remus shouted hoarsely. "Do you honestly think I want to sit back and 'let it sort itself out?' Ministry officials are useless, and I know it just as well as you do. Stop trying to guilt-trip me." He sighed, and his voice grew quiet. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "As if the dreams weren't enough…"
Hermione's ears perked up. So, apparently, did Sirius'. "Dreams?"
"Yes, dreams," Remus murmured, sounding somewhat as if he regretted saying anything about it. "I've been having dreams…They're horrible, and they always seem to fade in detail whenever I try to remember them. Really remember them, I mean."
The underlying urgency in Sirius' voice was startling. "Do you have a location, Remus?"
"Would I be here if I did?" came the irritable response. "No. I try to keep a roll of parchment on my bedside cabinet to write down what I can while it's still fresh in my mind, but it always just…dissolves. I only know it's in a castle, and somewhere cold and dank – there was fog, as I recall. It might even be nearby, for all we know."
"Is Harry…alive?" Sirius sounded extremely strained and reluctant to even be asking the question for fear of what the answer might be.
Remus sighed. "I don't know. I didn't dream last night. Two days ago, he was alive, if looking a bit unwell."
"And…Fiona?"
"I couldn't see her."
"I'm sorry, Remus." There was a slight pause. "You have no idea, not even a vague one, where they are?"
"No."
"Have you spoken to Dumbledore?"
"No. Should I?"
"I don't think so," Sirius said slowly. "I think you should come over and pick me up under the guise of going to visit…somebody." His voice sped up, becoming more determined with every word. "Then we can take my motorcycle and travel, what, North? That's a good bet, I think.We're bound to run across some castles. Not exactly easy to miss, are they? I mean, how many castles are there? And you can't cloak stuff from other wizards that easily, so – "
"Sirius…" There was a very long pause, and Hermione wondered whether Sirius was still there, or if he had given up and the conversation was over. She was about to leave before she could get caught, but Remus continued. "You're rambling." His voice was stony. "I don't want to have that argument. Please don't do this to me. I need to be left alone."
"Alright." There was an even longer pause following that bit, but then Sirius cleared his throat. "You were going to do it, weren't you?"
Pause. "Yeah." Deep sigh. "I can't have this conversation now, though, Sirius. I have a lot to think about."
"Right. Be safe, Moony."
"And you, Padfoot."
And Hermione left, turning quickly from the door and skittering down the hallway, toward Gryffindor Tower and the beginnings of an idea.
*
A/N: And it's not a healthy one, either.
There's a little thing called reviewing, which would be awesome for you to do. Especially since I haven't posted in awhile, it'd be nice for you to lemme know that you're still out there! Feel free to e-mail, too; I love hearing from you guys!
Next time: Ron goes through all ranges of emotion and therefore all shades of purple, Lupin hesitates, Lavender gets disturbed from her beauty sleep, and Harry hears some stuff he doesn't really want to.
Hopefully you'll read all about it by the end of the month!
~ Veralidaine
("I'm gonna sing the doom song! Doom, doom, doom, doom doom doom, doom doom, doom, doom, doom…The end! Ooh, wha's 'at?!")