Author's Notes: I changed a few things around in this chapter, but one thing that I refused to change was Crazy/Eccentric!Madam Pomfrey. Sure, she's not in character, but this is seven years later, and she could have tragically lost her mind in those seven years. ^_~ That's my way of justifying a character who was way too much fun to get rid of/change. ^_^

***

"Ron?" Hermione said tentatively, still standing next to a stiff Paul White. "Answer me…"

"Let's just get these boys to the hospital wing," Ron said with a weary sigh. He suddenly didn't look boyish and jubilant, but tired and distressed.


Reluctantly, Hermione nodded. She conjured two stretchers with her wand, then gently floated Paul onto it. Ron carefully placed Roger on the other. Hermione hesitated, then slowly reached out her fingers to touch Paul's forehead. She immediately recoiled, as if she had been burned. He was as cold as ice, his features frozen in an expression of shock and surprise. The duo almost looked as if they weren't real, like they one of those silly wax figurines you found in Muggle wax museums. Hermione involuntarily shivered; was that what Harry and Ron had had to look at when she had been Petrified in second year?

"All right," Ron muttered, running a hand through his hair. "We'd better take the back roads back to the castle. There's no use in taking the main streets and scaring the heck out of everyone."

Hermione mutely nodded. With a wave of her wand, she sent both stretchers gliding through the air before them. Ron and Hermione followed the Petrified victims, creating a strange, silent procession.

The two boys stared at the cloud-streaked sky, unblinking, the entire way back to the castle.

***

Professors Granger and Weasley stood side-by-side in the hospital wing, their faces pale, but their cheeks red from the harsh October winds they'd braved outside. Both jumped as a grey-haired, wrinkled Madam Pomfrey suddenly appeared beside them, wringing her hands.

"Gah! You're still alive?" Ron exclaimed, staring at the elderly hospital matron in disbelief. Hermione roughly elbowed him in the ribs.

The hospital matron had definitely aged in the few years since Ron had seen her last. Some of the more polite Hogwarts residents said that all of those stressful years during the time when Hermione, Ron, and Harry were students had 'affected her a bit'. The bolder residents and the gossips simply said that the Petrified students, the girls turning into cats, the multiple Quidditch injuries, and the stressful times before Voldemort's end had turned Madam Pomfrey downright...eccentric.

"I'm getting too old for this!" Madam Pomfrey moaned loudly. "Petrified! Both of them!"

Hermione shuddered visibly. "What…er…could have caused this?" she inquired weakly, trying not to remember the last time students had been Petrified at Hogwarts.

"Well, have you seen any giant snakes lurking around?" Madam Pomfrey asked sarcastically, sinking into a nearby chair. She noticed the wide-eyed look on Hermione's face. "Oh, don't worry. Of course it's not another Basi…Basta…"

"Basilisk?" Ron suggested dryly, folding his arms.

"Yes, yes, Basilisk. Don't be silly, my girl. I was only joking."

"Ha ha," muttered Ron sarcastically under his breath.

"But, to be serious, I haven't the faintest clue what could have caused this." Madam Pomfrey furrowed her eyebrows thoughtfully. "Unless…" she suddenly perked up, her eyes wide. "There is a spell that can Petrify people, but that's very, very advanced Dark magic…argh! I'm getting too old for this."

"We've established that," Ron murmured. "Well, thank you Madam Pomfrey!" he said loudly, turning to leave." Please tell us if you find anything new…"

"Oh no you don't, young man!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, clutching at Ron's robes. "Don't think you can just run off! You're going straight to the Headmaster to tell him about this, do you hear?"

"Uh…of course," Ron replied, trying to grab his robes back from the hospital matron. "Headmaster…yes…"

"And don't talk so loudly!" Madam Pomfrey yelled shrilly. "I've got people in here trying to get some rest!"

"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said in a whisper, grabbing Ron's arm and leading him out of the hospital wing. "Thanks again."

"Shhh!" Madam Pomfrey hissed as they closed the door behind them.

"She frightens me," Ron admitted as the two walked down the hall towards the headmaster's office. Hermione abruptly stopped in front of the entrance, folding her arms.

"All right," she said hastily. "Talk. Now. What's going on?"

Ron sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Maybe we should see Dumbeldore first - "

"Now."

Ron sighed again, glancing from side to side. He suddenly grabbed Hermione and ducked into a nearby, conveniently empty classroom and closed the door quietly. Ron hopped on top of a desk and sat there, swinging his legs back and forth. Hermione remained standing, tapping her foot impatiently, though her face was still pale and troubled.

"I didn't just come here to teach," Ron finally said. "Although it is a nice break from slaying vampires and such…"

"Go on," Hermione demanded.

Ron took a deep breath, his eyes looking as weary as Hermione felt. "Dumbledore sent me and Harry an owl a few months ago, which wasn't unusual. He writes us quite a lot. Anyways, so this letter was all cheerful and normal and whatnot, and then out of nowhere, he writes, 'By the way, I think someone at Hogwarts may be trying to dispose of me. If either of you are interested in a teaching job, please let me know.' Just like that. Me and Harry – "

"Harry and I," Hermione corrected automatically. Ron gave her a look and she promptly shut her mouth.

"Harry and I thought it was a joke at first, but then we figured Dumbledore wouldn't joke about something like that. We thought that maybe the bloke had gotten a bit too old and a little nutty and paranoid, you know?"

"He isn't nutty and paranoid," Hermione snapped defensively.

Ron looked grim. "I know that now…" he glanced out the window at the darkening sky. "So I had really wanted to visit to Hogwarts anyways because…" his cheeks suddenly went pink. Ron cleared his throat and continued. "Because, you know, I…missed the old place. Anyway, I wrote back to Dumbledore saying I'd come and check it out. See, he wanted an Auror around, because he seemed to think that whoever's out to get him is…"

Ron abruptly stopped and shifted his weight on the desk, looking uncomfortable. Hermione looked at him expectantly. "Yes? Go on…"

Ron looked reluctant. "Don't go mental on me."

"Why would I?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because…because Dumbledore thinks that one of You-Know-Who's old followers is out to get him," Ron blurted out. "One of the loonies that thinks he's still alive."

If Hermione had been pale before, it was nothing compared to the shade of chalk white her face had turned now. Her knees seemed to give out, and she leaned against the desk behind her for support. "What?" she asked weakly.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Ron said sympathetically. "I really am. But please, please, believe me, I didn't bring this…stuff here. I only came to help."

Hermione shook her head, trying to clear it. She put a hand to her temple and stared at the ground. "How did he know?" she asked after a few moments of silence.

"How did who know what?"

"That…" Hermione made several motions with her hands, trying to get the words out. "That…someone was trying to…and that he's one of…You-Know-Who's…"

Looking grim, Ron reached inside his robes and pulled out a piece of worn, ragged-looking parchment. As he unravelled it, Hermione could see that the words in the letter were made up of letters that seemed to be cut out of a magazine. Feeling her hands shaking slightly, Hermione leaned forward and stared at it.

DuMBLedorE,

yOUr TimE iS UP.

There was no signature, but a picture of someone's eye, also cut out of a magazine, was pasted at the bottom of the letter.

"Well," Hermione said shakily. "T-there's…obviously…nothing to be afraid of," she tried to say airily. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself. "I mean, obviously the person's not too bright…if they're plotting a murder, then…then…why would they send their… victim a warning letter?"

"Like I said," shrugged Ron. "Loony."

"I mean, he can't exactly be a criminal mastermind," Hermione continued, feeling a little better. Practical reasoning always helped.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Ron said with a long-suffering sigh. "Look what our loony did to those two kids."

Both professors were silent after that. Hermione was using every ounce of energy she possessed to stay calm.

This isn't a threat, Hermione told herself sternly, looking down at the letter again. It's just one of You-Know-Who's old followers who went completely insane after he died, and has nothing better to do with his life but cut out letters from magazines and…

Hermione suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream as the cut-out eye on the bottom of the page did something extremely strange. It winked at her. Still screaming, she dropped the piece of parchment and ran to the classroom door, trying to open it.

"Hermione?" Ron said in concern, crossing over to his old friend. She was frantically tugging on the door. "Hermione? …Hermione!"

Ron placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. The usually collected professor stopped tugging on the door and whirled around; her hair had come loose, her eyes were wide, and she was breathing in ragged gasps.

"Calm down," Ron said soothingly, placing his other hand on her other shoulder and looking her in the eye. "It was from a wizard magazine…the pictures will move occasionally. C'mon, Hermione, you know better by now. Just calm down…"

Hermione's heart gradually stopped thumping painfully against her ribs. Taking a deep breath, she slumped her shoulders, Ron's hands still on them. With a start, Hermione realized that he was way too close to her. She stepped out of his grasp and took a few more calming breaths.

"All right," Hermione breathed, "I'm fine…I'm fine…oh, who am I kidding?" she wailed. "Why, why, why did this have to happen? Everything was fine and peaceful and I was finally just getting over what happened – "

"If you blame me, I'll slap you," Ron said in an extremely serious tone, although the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile.

"I know it's not your fault…" Hermione admitted, waving her hand dismissively. "But still...I hate…argh. Why can't I lead a normal life?" she finished gloomily.

"Maybe because you're a witch who practices magic and teaches at a school of witchcraft and wizardry?" Ron suggested brightly.

"That's not what I meant."

"Mmmhmm," Ron replied, not convinced. "So…are you going to help me find out who's trying to get rid of Dumbledore?"

"What?" Hermione exclaimed in disbelief. "Absolutely not!"

"Please, Hermione?"

"I won't blame you for bringing trouble here, but I draw the line at helping you!"

"Come on, it'll be just like old times!"

"You're sick."

Ron glanced down at the floor and became quiet and serious. "I need your help, Hermione. Don't make me get down on one knee."

Hermione started, her head snapping around to stare at Ron. "What?"

"Er…I meant, like…begging - on one knee - begging…" Ron's face flushed red. "…You know?"

"Oh…yes…of course."

There was a very long, awkward silence.

"Please?" Ron pleaded suddenly.

"No!"

"Pretty please?"

"No!"

"But I need your – "

"I'm not getting involved in this, Ron," Hermione said firmly in her no-nonsense voice.

Ron sighed heavily. "Fine. Let's go to Dumbledore, then. Pomfrey - crazy old bat that she is - was right. He needs to know about this."

Briefly feeling triumphant, Hermione walked out of the room and stood beside the stone gargoyle leading to Dumbledore's office. The feeling of triumph faded away quickly, however, and was replaced with a feeling of queasiness and anxiety as Ron also exited the classroom, stuffing the threatening letter back into his robes.

***

Click, click, click, click…

Albus Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, sky-blue eyes peering in amusement at the device before him.

Click, click, click, click…

While the deep blue eyes themselves looked young and roguish, surrounding them was a multitude of wrinkles and laugh lines; blemishes - or perhaps gifts - of age, depending on how you looked at things.

Click, click, click, click…

But behind the amused, twinkling eyes seemed to lay something else, something more. Dumbledore had long ago learned that eyes were truly a window to the soul, and had long ago mastered the art of reading them. His eyes were no exception; a power occasionally seemed to crackle through the seemingly innocent eyes; a power that had once radiated from the wizened man keenly staring forward, but a power that seemed to be diminishing slowly. Probing even deeper into his eyes, into his very soul, lay an emotion that even Dumbledore himself wouldn't admit was present.

Click, click, click, click…

Fear.

"Headmaster?" a soft voice said kindly, causing Dumbledore's gaze to be torn from the instrument before him.

Hermione Granger's face peered into his office, framed by a multitude of soft – yet often messy - brown curls. Her face was still young, and still looked capable of the mischief she and her friends had once caused in the castle, but her eyes were sharp, truly those of a professor. Reading his former student's eyes took patience for Dumbledore; Hermione had learned to disguise her emotions well. Today, however, was an exception - even someone untrained in the art of reading eyes would have noticed the fear and worry written all over Hermione's face.

"Hello, Hermione," Dumbledore said brightly, seemingly unperturbed. "Fascinating thing, isn't this?" he said, gesturing to the device in front of him. "Amazing what those Muggles will come up with."

"What is it?" said another familiar voice. Ronald Weasley ducked into the enormous, circular office, his red hair tousled and his freckles nearly jumping off his face. He, too, had worry etched into the expression on his face. Dumbledore immediately wondered why, but decided to continue his light conversation with them both.

"I believe it's called a pendulum," Dumbledore answered, tapping his fingers in time to the sound of the smooth, steel balls clicking together. "Entertainment for hours. I can't fathom why they bothered inventing television…"

Hermione cleared her throat. "Um, Headmaster? I…" she fidgeted slightly, smoothing her robes and purposely not meeting the elderly wizard's gaze. "I believe…that Ron has something to tell you," Hermione finished hastily, nudging Ron. "Well…go on then."

Ron shot her a glare, then sighed and withdrew an all-too familiar piece of parchment from his robes. He dropped it on Dumbledore's desk, in front of the pendulum, which continued its clicking. "I'm afraid our 'Eye' has taken out his frustration…on two of the students."

This was no time for games anymore; Dumbledore swiftly stopped the pendulum, and then glanced up at the two professors, grim. "Which students?" he demanded, that frightening power he possessed flashing through his eyes.

"Roger Ramone and Paul White," Hermione replied in a small voice.

"Ah," Dumbledore replied, leaning back thoughtfully in his chair. "I should have guessed."

"This isn't just a threat anymore, Professor," Ron said, his voice deadly serious. "He's acted upon it now. I think we should consider getting you out of the castle - "

"Nonsense," Dumbledore cut in, waving his hand dismissively. "You should have learned by now that in times of crisis, this castle is the safest place to be. And I refuse to leave my staff and students to fend for themselves, especially with a crazed lunatic on the loose."

"But Headmaster…" Hermione began in a cajoling voice.

"Continue, Professor Weasley," Dumbledore said shortly, ignoring her. Hermione looked crestfallen. Dumbledore knew she was rather fond of him, but nonetheless, he refused to be treated like a frail old man.

"Well then…" Ron stopped and shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets. "That's it, I guess. I came to tell you about the attacks, and to see what you think I should do now."

"Only I?" Dumbledore inquired, raising an eyebrow at Hermione. Her cheeks went slightly pink.

"I'm sorry, Headmaster, just…you know," Hermione said, flustered, "I'm busy with my studies…I mean, my classes…and, I can't possibly make time to - "

"To keep an eye out for a murderous fanatic who could be a threat to myself and the rest of the inhabitants of this castle?" Dumbledore interrupted rather sharply. "Well then, by all means, do not let me impose anything on you."

"I…I didn't mean like that…" Hermione mumbled.

Dumbledore turned to focus his attention on Ron again. "I believe, Mr. Weasley, that you should do some investigating. And perhaps tighten security a bit…have all the common room guardians change their passwords, and make certain that students are supervised in the hall."

"What should we tell the students?" Ron asked as Hermione began fidgeting. She often did so when she was nervous, or worried.

"Nothing," Dumbledore replied shortly. "They do not need to know…yet. There's no use in frightening them. They can be told that Paul and Roger had an accident in Hogsmeade, and that is all. Tell Poppy that they should not receive any visitors."

"And the staff?"

Dumbledore paused. "Who already knows?"

"Just me, you, and Hermione," Ron answered. He abruptly made a face. "And Madam Pomfrey," he added.

Dumbledore hesitated. His staff was incredibly dependable, and he knew that. And yet he had been taken advantage of twice before, by two people on his staff that he had thought also thought extremely trustworthy – Professor Quirrel, and Barty Crouch, Jr. in the guise of Alastor Moody. Contrary to popular belief, Albus Dumbledore made mistakes. He had always considered himself an excellent judge of character, and yet his judgment had now failed him twice in the recent past. It could be dangerous to tell the staff about Roger's and Paul's conditions, and the threat on his own life. Not only for the staff and student's own safety and well-being…but because Albus could no longer trust himself with deciding who to trust. Dumbledore briefly marveled at that particular sentiment; it was one of the most puzzling paradoxes he had ever come across. Bringing his mind back to the situation at hand, Dumbledore sighed heavily.

"Tell no one else," he said gravely.

"What?" Hermione blurted out. "But…they have a right to know!"

"If our crazy friend does indeed decide to carry out his threat," Dumbledore said grimly, "then that means that he or she would have to have access to the castle. Our lunatic, or an accomplice of theirs, could very well be a member of the staff."

Hermione inadvertently let out a gasp. "Surely you're joking, Headmaster! None of the other teachers would even think of harming you or - "

"Oh, wouldn't they?" Ron interrupted, folding his arms. "That Drago woman seems quite capable of violence. Just the other day I saw her shove a student in the halls," he announced. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him skeptically.

"What?" Ron exclaimed. "She did!"

"Oh, how clever, Ron - let's blame the Slytherin Head again," Hermione muttered.

There was a long silence, devoid of the pendulum's incessant, yet somehow comforting clicking. Dumbledore let out a long sigh then waved for the two to go.

"Thank you, Ron," Dumbledore said, nodding. It was not a thanks meant to make Hermione feel guilty or left out, but she did just the same.

"Oh, fine!" Hermione burst out. "I'll help him find out who it is." She crossed her arms, looking unhappy.

"Excellent," Dumbledore smiled. "Thank you very much, Hermione."

Hermione sighed in response. "You're welcome," she answered, starting to leave. She abruptly stopped and turned around, looking at Dumbledore imploringly. "You'll take care of yourself, won't you, Albus?"

"Of course," Dumbledore answered warmly. "Now you two should get going; you're both a mess," he stated, a twinkle in his eye. "I'll see you at supper."

"Goodbye, Headmaster," Hermione called as she and Ron left the room, closing the door softly behind them.

Dumbledore sank into his chair, his eyes now tired and weary. He stared hard at the pendulum, thinking.

Outside, Hermione and Ron made their way down the winding staircase, their feet thumping softly on the carpeted stairs. Hermione looked sour; Ron, however, was smiling to himself, staring at her.

"What are you smiling about?" Hermione snapped. "I hope you know I'm doing this for him, and not for you."

"I know," Ron admitted. He suddenly grinned as the stone gargoyle swung open, and they stepped out into the halls. "But there's got to be a tiny little part of the old Hermione Granger still in there that can't wait to go down to the library and solve the mystery, isn't there?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron just grinned again and started down the corridor. "See you at supper!" he called, turning the corner.

Hermione folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. He was getting cocky.

She hated it when he got cocky.

----------------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------------

Review dance of old: *Does reviewing dance, which, curiously, is to the theme of Ghostbusters*

Good times.