Author's Notes: A lot of my author's notes seem to have a lot to do with different types of pop, or, for my American friends, "soda". Vanilla Coke, Blue Pepsi, the works. Just a random observation in order to put something at the beginning of this chapter. I have no life.

Big changes in this chapter, many of them for the better, I think. Props to Night Zephyr for all her help on this one. ^_^

***

"I don't understand," Hermione said slowly to Pappy, her forehead creased. Behind her, Ron, Harry, and Professor McGonagall were standing very still, with their mouths hanging open. "Professor Drago has been the one poison - er, giving Professor Dumbledore his medicine? And she was the one who Petrified Dobby?"

Pappy bobbed his ancient, wrinkly head up and down. Ron took an abrupt step forwards, as if to question the elderly elf, but Harry shot out an arm and held him back.

"That's impossible," McGonagall spoke up sharply, seeming to have gathered her wits again. "Professor Drago would never harm the headmaster..."

"'Twas her, for sure!" one of the elves chimed. He suddenly looked bashful at addressing Professor McGonagall in such a manner, and hung his head. However, the rest of the elves all murmured their agreements.

"We is all seeing her come in many times to give Dobby the medicine," another added. "And then Dobby is getting suspicious, and Dobby is agreeing with Pappy that she is a bad, bad, witch."

"I don't understand…" Hermione repeated softly to herself, in considerable distress. She slowly rose from her kneeling position and turned to Harry and Ron, searching their faces for answers. But they looked just as confused as she did.

"There must have been a mistake," Professor McGonagall was saying now. Hermione noted that she sounded slightly less sure of herself this time, but it could have been her imagination. Hermione suddenly realized with a start that Diana's father had been one of the people who had tortured Minerva McGonagall all those years ago. And yet McGonagall had worked with Alonso's daughter for nearly seven years, never showing any ill will or hate towards her. Hermione marveled at this fact, her respect for her former teacher increasing even more.

McGonagall had now turned to the two Aurors. "One of you, please fetch Professor Drago and bring her here - "

"With all due respect, Professor," Ron said grimly, "I think the time for niceties is over." He drew his wand, as did Harry and, reluctantly, Hermione. "Shall we?"

A wordless nod from each of them, and despite Professor McGonagall's confused spluttering, they swiftly left the kitchen.

"Where…where are we going?" Hermione asked weakly, looking from Ron to Harry. The two Aurors exchanged glances.

"The dungeons," they said in unison, as if sharing a brain. Hermione stifled a whimper, but nodded silently. Ron reached out and squeezed her hand tightly, then reluctantly let go as the three of them started walking rapidly towards the dungeons.

"Still - I don't understand," Harry echoed Hermione, shaking his head as they hurried through the winding corridors. "Why would she want to hurt Dumbledore? And then why would she tell Hermione about the poison? It doesn't make any sense…"

"It makes plenty of sense," Ron said rather harshly. "I was right from the beginning, that's all."

"But Ron," Hermione whispered, her mouth twitching as if she was going to cry. "The Pensieve…"

"There must have been something we over-looked," Ron replied, narrowing his eyes as he thought hard. He suddenly shook his head, the thoughtful expression disappearing. "But it doesn't matter…the house-elves have no reason to lie…"

"Diana!" Hermione suddenly called, without thinking. She had just spotted the Potions Mistress hurrying in the same direction they were: to the dungeons.

If there had been any doubt left in Hermione's mind that Diana was the culprit, it vanished as Professor Drago cast a surprised - almost guilty - look backwards, then spun around and began to run, her black robes billowing out behind her. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed in hot pursuit, their wands thrust out in front of them.

"Arettementa!" Hermione cried. The thin stream of light which erupted from her wand narrowly missed Drago, and caused one of the statues lining the halls to topple over and fall to the floor with a crash. Diana turned a corner, glancing backwards at her pursuers. The three of them sped around the same corner, their feet pounding on the marble floors. They burst into a wider corridor, filled with students still hurrying up to their common rooms on Professor McGonagall's orders. Alarmed and confused students began jumping out of the way as their Arithmancy professor and the two Aurors chased Diana Drago down the hall, their wands pointed at her back.

"Arresti paralus!" Ron bellowed, roughly shoving a student out of his way. He swore loudly as his curse also missed the fleeing Potions Mistress. "Plummetus capitulate!" he hollered in frustration. Again, a miss.

"Descenda!" Harry tried, flinging his body forward a bit mid-run, as if this would somehow aid the spell in hitting his target. Instead, the hex barely grazed the top of a first-year girl's head. The smell of singed hair filled the corridor as the tiny, blonde first-year gasped and screamed. She frantically felt the top of her head, and then was promptly pulled out of the adults' path by one of her friends.

"Not around the students!" Hermione panted, flinging out her arm while still running to prevent Harry or Ron from trying to curse Diana again. Ron clenched his free fist, digging his nails into his palm, but obeyed. The frantic chase continued, through a few more corridors, which were now packed with alarmed and frightened students. The three pursuers suddenly lost Diana's jet black hair in the crowd.

"Argh!" Ron shouted, his face red from running. "Get out of the way!" he ordered the students, who hastily obeyed.

"There she is!" Hermione yelled, pointing wildly in the direction of a dark head of hair. She and Ron began running after her again.

"No, there she goes!" Harry shouted, abruptly changing course. Ron and Hermione did a double take; on their right, Diana Drago was pounding down the steps leading to the dungeons, and on their left, Diana Drago was disappearing around a corner in a blur of black robes and long, black hair.

"What…the bloody hell…" Ron choked out, his eyes wide. He shook his head to clear it, seeming to recover. "You take that one, we'll take this one!" he hollered to Harry, ignoring the fact that Diana seemed to have a long-lost twin for the moment. Nodding, Harry took off after the Diana closest to him. Hermione yelped as Ron grabbed her hand and hurried after the second Professor Drago. Hermione noticed, though she herself was trembling with fear, that Ron hesitated slightly at the dungeon steps. But he briefly closed his eyes, then began running down the stairs, his jaw set in determination. Hermione stood, transfixed, on the landing.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron coaxed, turning around and holding out his hand to her. He had a look of desperation on his face, but his eyes were resolute. "We'll lose her, come on…you can do it…"

Seeing the look of determination in Ron's eyes, Hermione squeezed her own eyes shut, took his hand, and then started running down the dungeon steps as fast as she could, her legs moving of their own accord.

They flew down the dungeon stairs, their feet barely grazing the cold stone steps. The two professors were slapped by icy cold air once they finally reached the bottom, but their efforts had not been in vain; they just managed to catch a glimpse of a cloak disappearing through the heavy, wooden door next to where the cauldrons were stacked before the massive door was thrown shut with a resounding slam. Ron threw himself at the door, tugging at it frantically. Hermione stood some feet behind him, exceptionally grateful that her shock and confusion of the moment made her feel numb. The numbness was bliss - because if she had been able to register where she was and what she was doing, the young witch was pretty sure she would have been paralyzed with fear.

A hollered, "Alohomora!" from Ron, and the door, which had always been locked and forbidden during their school days, promptly swung open. Casting a wordless glance back at Hermione to see if she was all right, Ron dashed through the door with Hermione on his heels.

Once again, if it had not been for the blissful numbness, Hermione would have felt extremely revolted. Finally she saw that the dungeons were aptly named. She and Ron were scrambling through a long, dark corridor with what looked like ancient prison cells on either side. Obviously, they had not been used in years - in fact, she knew this from Hogwarts: A History. The castle, in medieval times, had actually been the home of a long succession of wizard royalty, including the infamous queen, Vizelda the Vile - but it was still disturbing to know that the school still housed such facilities. In some of the cells, Hermione could see chains and shackles. And in one, to Hermione's disgust, there still lay what was unmistakably a skeleton, covered in bits of debris and dirt.

"Did you know that this was down here?" Ron panted, still running. A note of disgust was obvious even through his gasps for breath.

"I wish I hadn't," Hermione gasped back, remembering the horrible tales of torture she had read about. They had been committed in these cells. Thankfully, Vizelda had been overthrown a few years into her reign, and - Hermione suddenly winced as she felt pain shoot through her side. She held the stitch in her side with one hand, breathing hard through her mouth. The only thing that kept her going was Diana's rapid footsteps ahead of them, echoing off the dank, stone walls. But why…and where…was she running?


Hermione suddenly cried out as she tripped over something and fell to the ground, face-first. She flinched as she felt the rough, gravelly ground tear open her cheek. Warm blood started oozing out of the wound, dripping to the floor below her. Ron stopped running and yelled out her name, abruptly changing direction. He bent down to help her up, gingerly touching the large cut on her face. Even Hermione could sense that it was deep, and most likely riddled with gravel and dirt from the ground.

"I'm fine," Hermione huffed, brushing Ron's hand away. "Ron, she's getting away!" she cried out in alarm as Diana's footsteps became fainter.

"You sure you're fine?" Ron's voice was worried, but he was obviously anxious to continue the chase. This dungeon labyrinth had to end somewhere, and then Diana would have nowhere to hide. "I can fix you up really quick, you know - " Ron held up his wand.

Hermione gave a short laugh and pushed his wand away. "No, I'd like to keep my nose, thank you," she tried to say sarcastically. But there was a definite wobble to her voice.

"All right…let's go," Ron agreed, almost reluctantly. Ron took her hand in his, and they set off at a frantic run again.


The passageway was now beginning to twist and turn, often abruptly and unexpectedly, and the sparse light in the corridor was becoming even dimmer as they continued. Still, the two of them scrambled along, flecks of blood flying out of Hermione's cut, leaving a sickly, crimson trail on the ground behind her.

Quite unexpectedly, Ron stopped running. He stood very still and cocked his head, as if listening carefully for something. Hermione slowed to a jog, and then stopped altogether, breathing heavily. After a few moments, she finally heard what Ron heard – silence.

"She's stopped running," he whispered. During the entire chase, the sound of Diana's footsteps ahead of them had echoed loudly, bouncing off the stone walls of the labyrinth. Now the only sounds that could be heard were an eerie dripping sound, and Hermione and Ron's breathing.

"She must have come to a dead end," Hermione panted. "She must be hiding…up ahead…"

Ron moaned, then crouched over and rested his hands on his knees, breathing hard. Hermione was in no better shape; her face was shiny with sweat, her hair was tousled and damp, and she was shivering with cold…or perhaps fright. She seemed to have been shocked into reality by the jarring impact of her fall, and the blissful numbness had faded.

Ron finally straightened. Taking a deep breath, he held his wand in front of him and looked ahead warily. "Come on," he murmured, walking slowly forward. "Get your wand out, and keep on your guard."

Hermione obeyed, her heart thudding painfully against her ribs, and the two of them silently moved forward through the stone passageway. They heard no other telltale footsteps, save for their own. The torches along the walls were becoming few and far between, but the torches that they did see cast flickering shadows that began to look like figures in black robes after awhile. Hermione's hands trembled as she slowly followed Ron, whose head would snap around at the faintest sound. He paused warily, eyes darting around in the darkness, and then turned a corner. Hermione stopped behind him as he suddenly came to a halt. She peered over his shoulder and groaned inwardly.

Ahead of them was a fork in the path.

"Which way did she go?" Hermione whispered, even though she knew that Ron was as clueless as she was.

"I don't know," Ron muttered despondently. He ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair and started pacing, swearing under his breath.

"Well," Hermione finally said, unable to keep her voice from wavering slightly, "it's obvious what…what we have to do…"

"No, Hermione," Ron said firmly, stopping in his tracks. Even in the dim, flickering light Hermione could see his eyes flash determinedly. His breathing had returned to normal, and he looked much more formidable as he drew himself up to his full height.

"I'll go left, you go right," Hermione continued shakily.

"No!" Ron said sharply. "Listen, I can Apparate in the castle…I'll just Apparate down both ways, and check if – "

"Are you mad?!" Hermione shrieked. "You can't possibly Apparate if you don't know exactly where you're going, Auror's privileges or not! You'll be splinched!"

"Well it's safer than you going off alone!" Ron argued.

"I am not a damsel in distress, Ron!" Hermione said shrilly, hands on her hips. "I may not be an Auror but I can take care of myself!" She jutted out her jaw stubbornly, trying to look as brave as possible and failing miserably.

Ron looked her up and down appraisingly, obviously not convinced. But there was no other way, and he knew it. There was a very long silence, in which Ron stared into the darkness down the left path, as if trying to judge if Diana was lurking down there somewhere. "Fine," Ron finally stated, his voice betraying worry and anxiety about this change of plans.

"If one of us is in trouble, we'll send out a warning to find the other," Hermione decided, her hand trembling as she flicked her wand to demonstrate. Red sparks burst forth from her wand, accompanied by a sound reminiscent of fireworks. The sparks immediately sped towards Ron, disappearing after they had stopped in front of him, briefly illuminating his face. He nodded stiffly, apparently thinking the same thing Hermione was - what if they were in a situation where they couldn't send out sparks? But neither said anything.

"All right. See you in a bit," Hermione said, trying to inject false confidence into her voice. As she took a step towards her chosen path, not daring to look back lest she lose her nerve, she felt Ron's hand abruptly shoot out and grab her wrist.

"Wait," Ron said. His voice sounded oddly strained. He was breathing hard again, which was odd, because the athletic Auror seemed to have caught his breath earlier. "Hermione…I…I meant what I said before." The words tumbled out rapidly.

"What, that you were right about Diana all along?" Hermione asked impatiently.

"No, before before." Ron's voice sounded hoarse. "In the…in the common room that night…I meant…I meant that I love you. And I…I still do."

The fear that had seeped into Hermione back on the dungeon steps was suddenly replaced by a strange, dizzy sensation. She felt a rather large lump lodge itself in her throat. Ron abruptly pulled her towards him, clinging to her dusty robes. And then everything - Diana, Alonso, Dobby, even Dumbledore - was swept from Hermione's mind as Ron suddenly pressed his warm lips to hers. Surprise and shock faded quickly as Hermione automatically kissed him back, feeling him run his fingers through her rather disheveled hair. The kiss was long, passionate, and serious, with seven years of pent-up desire poured into it. However, it was tinged with a hint of desperation and worry that Hermione attempted to ignore. When Ron finally pulled away, breathless and extremely red in the face, Hermione felt cold and somehow empty, her lips still tingling.

"Sorry it took so long for me to do that," Ron muttered as he stared at the ground, at first sounding shy but then looking very serious when he glanced up and met Hermione's gaze. "But I do…and I just wanted to tell you…before…"

Hermione stared at him for a moment, exhilarated and bursting with all kinds of emotion. Her mind was reeling, and her heart was pounding. All thoughts of Diana had been temporarily wiped from her mind. Without warning, Hermione threw her arms around Ron's neck and held on to him tightly.

"Why is it that we always have to be in some sort of peril before you can tell me how you feel?" Hermione mumbled furiously into his shoulder. "Oh, I love you too, idiot that you are - " she blurted out.

She was quickly silenced as Ron's mouth met hers again. Hermione couldn't help giving a sigh of contentment against Ron's lips before he abruptly pulled away, leaving that now slightly familiar empty feeling in his wake. The second kiss had been far too brief, and though right now Hermione wouldn't have cared if they stayed down in those horrible dungeons kissing forever, the logical part of her brain was screaming at her to get a move on before she lost her nerve.

"Be careful," Ron warned her huskily, reluctantly breaking away from Hermione but still clutching her hand. She nodded, trying to swallow the ever-present lump in her throat. Hermione took a few steps towards her chosen path as Ron finally let go of her hand unwillingly. She heard his footsteps on the right passageway become fainter and fainter, until they had totally faded away.

She was alone. In the dungeons.

Summoning the courage that had landed her in Gryffindor, Hermione purposefully strode on, breaking into a jog and not looking back.

The path she had chosen was a short one; the passageway kept becoming wider and, thankfully, a bit brighter as Hermione ran on. She gave a gasp of surprise as torches suddenly burst into flame on either side of her, illuminating the dank corridor and revealing cold, stone walls. She could only assume that there was some sort of spell on the torches that made them light up when someone was near. Water was slowly and methodically dripping from the stone ceiling, occasionally splashing onto Hermione's head and making her already disastrous hair situation even worse. Not that it mattered right now.

Hermione was jerked out of her thoughts to find that, unexpectedly, the corridor had widened into a brightly-lit, round chamber. Torches lined the circular walls, casting shadows everywhere. A glance around the chamber revealed several torture mechanisms, including a rough, wooden table with shackles on it for the arms and legs. Hermione gawked at it, horrified, as she noticed what looked like a crank. She remembered seeing something like this in a Muggle movie once - prisoners had been laid on the table, and then the crank was turned, stretching their limbs. Hermione shivered and hurriedly tried to find a way out of the chamber. She ran her fingers over the solid, stone walls, searching for some kind of secretive exit.

Hermione suddenly inhaled sharply as she felt an icy chill run up her spine. It was the familiar feeling that accompanied being watched by someone. She definitely felt eyes boring into her back, making her flesh crawl. There was no escape in this long-forgotten chamber, no one to hear her scream. Except for maybe Ron. The logical part of her mind seemed to have pushed aside the emotional, frightened part. She coolly decided that since there was no where to run or hide, she would have to whirl around as fast as she could, hope to curse her watcher, and then immediately send out red sparks. She breathed in deeply, squeezing her eyes shut.

Hermione's eyes flew open as she spun around and pointed her wand at her watcher. The words of the worst curse she could think of had barely formed on her lips as she registered that the person standing before her was none other than Ron. A wave of relief washed over Hermione, and she tried to restrain herself from throwing herself into his arms.

"Ron! You scared me half to death!" Hermione exclaimed, putting a hand to her pounding heart. "What happened? She wasn't down the other - ?"

She abruptly stopped talking as everything seemed to go into slow motion. Slowly, a smirk had begun to form on Ron's lips. He had drawn his wand, and had painstakingly pointed it at Hermione. She took a step backwards, confused. Bewildered, she searched Ron's face. His eyes were cold - they glittered madly, looking haunted…and…brown?

"Expelliarmus."

"No!" Hermione cried, but she hadn't come to her senses fast enough. Her wand was wrenched out of her tight grip by an unseen force. It sailed in a neat arc through the air, landing in Ron's outstretched hand.

Hermione took a few more shaky step backwards, feeling the jagged wall meet her back within seconds. There was no place to run. Rather than succumb to fear, her mind kept itself pre-occupied with trying to process who - or what - was standing in front of her. Surely it wasn't Ron…unless the Imperius curse had been performed on him. But then what of the eyes? Was it an imposter, using Polyjuice Potion? It briefly seemed to explain the fact that there were two Diana's. But how had they made the switch from Diana to Ron so quickly?

Even Hermione's mile-a-minute brain went blank with shock as she watched what happened next, horrified, yet unable to look away.

Ron had begun to slowly walk forward, the smirk still on his face; yet as he did so, he seemed to be growing shorter and shorter. Then his skin began to crawl, rippling as if it was some sort of liquid. Aghast, Hermione watched as his flaming red hair darkened to the colour of ebony and lengthened, spilling over his shoulders, which had now become less muscular. His athletic frame had changed into a dainty one. His lips became fuller, his long nose shorter, and his skin an unmistakable porcelain colour. Now Diana Drago was slowly walking towards her. Yet Diana's icy blue eyes did not stare back at Hermione; rather, the crazed brown ones had remained.

Hermione opened her mouth - to say something, to scream, to gag, she didn't know - but her tongue felt thick and her throat was too dry to form any sound. Then, to her utter dismay, the gruesome spectacle began again with Diana. As the Potions Mistress moved towards Hermione, her flesh contorted into another form. Her hair shortened and lightened to the colour of straw. The slender body became masculine again, and instead of a frigidly beautiful face, a dashingly handsome one stared back at her now. Hermione felt physically sick, because in the new form her attacker had taken, the brown eyes actually belonged. Yet it couldn't be…it was impossible…

Hermione's mind seemed to have re-awakened with a vengeance. Memories of fables, of wizard legend, came pouring back to her, flooding her previously paralyzed brain. She remembered reading about an ancient talent so rare among wizards - rarer even than Parseltongue - that it had now been dismissed as mere folklore, the stuff of myth. There hadn't been a wizard with this gift for hundreds of years. Though it seemed quite impossible that this gift actually had survived through many, many generations, the evidence that it had was standing right in front of Hermione - evidence in the form of a sickeningly familiar face. The face leering unpleasantly at her, contorted into a sinister expression that looked foreign and uncharacteristic on it. Hermione felt nauseous as thoughts swirled around in her brain, furiously making connections in a dizzying sort of way, finally coming to a painfully blunt conclusion.

Charles Griney, Hermione realized as she stared at him in utter terror and revulsion, was a shape-shifter.

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DA NA NA!!!

…

All right, so that plot twist was a lot more effective before Order of the Phoenix. JKR totally stole my plot twist. I mean, it's obvious she ripped the Metamorphmagus idea off of me. It's just a tad coincidental, don't you think? I write this fic involving a "shape-shifter", and the next thing you know, Order of the Phoenix comes out a few months later with a new character who is also a "shape-shifter", just with a fancy name! I'm very suspicious…I think JKR surfs ff.net in her spare time…very suspicious indeed…^_~

So, just to re-iterate, Charles is not a Metamorphmagus. This is a pre-OotP fic. In this world, there is no such thing as a Metamorphmagus. Charles is a shape-shifter. My shape-shifter. Damn you JKR…

I take it back! I take it back! I love you, JKR!!!

Review!