A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews! Please keep reading, the next chpt. introduces LotR for those of you who want to see Middle-earth. This is probably the least interesting chapter of the entire story (although it does finally have Snape in it! -- for, er, about 2 seconds) to me, but chpt. 7 is almost done, and it will be posted soon hereafter.

I'm sorry if this sounds a bit different but I've been reading Dickens for school and my writing tends to reflect whatever I'm reading. I've edited it and edited it over and over to make it sound more HP/LotR-ish, though.

Further up and further in!
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Chapter Six: The Sixth Chapter

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During the war, there were thousands of hostage situations, and quite often they ended with the death of the hostage. While memorials were being carved into enchanted stone around the world, however, there was one group of captives who stood out clearly in everyone's minds; not just Hogwarts students', but all the war survivors'. This group included Natalie McDonald, Eleanor Branstone, John Brocklehurst, Terry Boot, the Patil twins (Parvati and Padma), Eloise Midgen, Malcolm Baddock, and Ron Weasley.

They had ranged from second to sixth year at the time of the capture, and were varied from all four Houses. John was Mandy Brocklehurst's younger brother, a Hufflepuff, Sorted only the year before. The others were all at least two years older than him, but he had gotten along quite well with Eleanor, who was dating his sister's boyfriend's younger brother, Owen Cauldwell. Eleanor was sympathetic for him, being caught up in a large tangle of a family, which had always been a Muggle one until a few generations ago, when a strain of magically-inclined children began being born.

This group had been assigned together for a school project, to their utter dismays. They were all fairly creative and/or good at specialty magicks or acting. They were going to put together a play to entertain the school on Halloween.

(Ron was not there on any basis of creativity, but rather because he had been discovered by Professor McGonagall a few weeks earlier standing on his desk in a Transfiguration class for which she had been particularly late due to some rampant pixies in the staff room, doing a spirited and excellent imitation of Professor Snape trying to give everyone in England detention all at once but being stopped in the middle of the execution sentence by his own unwashed hair coming alive with things that had likely been growing there for years, and strangling the professor for the safety and sanity of the world. McGonagall, though she had had to have a good laugh in her office afterwards, had at the time told Ron off, given him a week's detention, taken twenty points from Gryffindor, and, worst of all, assigned him to the Halloween pageant project.)

The group of nine miserable students was sitting out by the lake one gray and potentially drizzly day, coming up on the two-week mark before their deadline -- Halloween itself -- and comparing their pitiful notes. They had not been thinking much about plays, but rather about the safety of their families and the midterm exams before Christmas and how on earth they were going to survive it all. Malcolm hadn't thought up anything at all, as a matter of fact, and spent the afternoon sneering at everyone else: Eleanor and John talking amiably; Natalie and Terry babbling on animatedly about Quidditch, their notes forgotten; Padma and Parvati comparing cosmetics; and Ron and Eloise sitting with their arms around each other looking out over the lake and sneaking a kiss when they thought no one else was looking.

That is, that was what they had been doing until the dementors came.

They had glided out of the woods behind the group silently, and the first indication anyone had of their presence was the wave of intense cold that swept over them. It was a cold day anyway, but they shivered beneath their cloaks when the dementors crept up. A few of the students, most memorably Malcolm, had turned around -- to be faced by a black-robed figure with a shadowed hood hiding its face (or what could be assumed to be a face), and one slimy, grayish, decaying hand slithering out from between two folds of sable fabric.... and behind that figure, to everyone's immediate leaded-down stomachs, stood thirty or more of the same.

Malcolm screamed. The others might have screamed, too, but afterwards they proclaimed that they could only hear Malcolm, and a white-faced Padma had insisted for weeks that several of the dementors flinched away from the piercing noise. For a thirteen-year-old boy whose voice had already broken, those lungs could produce one high note, and they could hold it forever.

Ron, Eloise, Malcolm, Terry, Natalie, Eleanor, Parvati, Padma, and John had been easily surrounded despite their desperate attempts to ward off the dementors. Natalie, who (though no one else but Dumbledore, her mother, and a few others had known at the time) had been abused by her alcoholic Muggle father when she was very little, was the first to pass out, followed by the Patils; who, it was unanimously agreed later (except by Parvati and Padma), hadn't got the strength of mind or will between them to escape from a wet paper bag. The others could have dealt with one dementor, maybe even two, on their own... but then, they had forty of the hideous creatures swarming at them. Quite unsurprisingly, they were taken captive with no trouble whatsoever on the dementors' part.

They had been held by the dementors for the better part of two months. The entirety of the castle (especially Harry, Hermione, Owen Cauldwell, and Mandy Brocklehurst) had worked itself into such a panic that the professors decided it was useless to even try any longer, so they gave up teaching and went about with their business in fighting Voldemort. All the students were given some hands-on experience in magical warfare by helping out as best they could. Sirius came and stayed at the castle, and he and Lupin were hardly ever seen out of each others' company, much less without expressions of concentration or frustration on their faces. Harry and Hermione had contributed to the effort in such earnest that they had to be enchanted to sleep by an exasperated Sirius for the first two weeks, and had only been forced to eat by an extremely anxious Dobby.

Eventually information came by way of Owen Watson, one of the other six registered Animagi of that century besides Professor McGonagall; Owen could turn into an overlarge blackbird at will. Voldemort's airborne army consisted mainly of magically enhanced crows and ravens, so Owen fit right in, and was able to listen in on just about every conference held by Voldemort and the top-ranking Death Eaters. There he found out where the nine students were being kept: in Voldemort's New Azkaban, a castle he had built in the place of the old Riddle House which spread out over much of what had formerly been Little Hangleton; a castle created for the dementors' use. (They had been allowed free reign of the country by Voldemort and a large portion of the castle was filled with half-crazed prisoners and, quite often, bodies.)

The nine Hogwarts students were in what amounted to the dungeon of New Azkaban, though it all looked rather like a dungeon. A raid was eventually put together, with Sirius, Owen, and Professor McGonagall in charge, by Dumbledore's orders (Sirius knew how to navigate in a place so similar to Azkaban, and they could all turn into animals, and thus not be affected so badly by the dementors). Snape and Lupin were directly under them, to their utmost dislike. Despite the fact that Sirius felt extremely odd in the lead next to two such old people -- one of whom could have been his grandfather and the other of whom really was his old teacher, who had given him the idea for becoming an Animagus in the first place -- the raid was executed practically flawlessy. Lupin's medal, commendation from the Minister, and ten-year teaching contract had stemmed from this excursion, as a matter of fact: his bravery was completely unintentional, however, being induced by the common problems in New Azkaban of fainting and getting lost, then meeting other lost people and eventually finding an outer door by some tricky guesswork.

None of the nine kids would say anything about their time in New Azkaban for a long time, saying that they didn't want to think about it, but that at least the dementors hadn't separated them, so that was all right. There was surprisingly little damage done, actually; although Sirius hovered around them anxiously all the time, being the most worried of all the adults, since he could relate to their situation more closely than was comfortable.
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People had, for the most part, gotten over the strange doings of the infamous Gryffindor seventh years by the next day. They were used to most of the pranks and dangerous spells that made their presence known in highly unlikely ways originating in Gryffindor tower or in one of the second-generation Marauders' other favored hideaways (most of which were well-known, so the hide' part didn't work too well).

A rumor was spreading, though, as Harry found out at breakfast:

Hey, Harry! said Colin Creevey gaily as he sat between Harry and a very sleepy-looking Hermione who had The Fellowship of the Ring open in front of her -- she'd insisted that she wanted to read the books straight after they had gotten back to their common room, and she was already on the last chapter of Fellowship, having tackled The Hobbit in about an hour and a half -- at the sparsely seated Gryffindor table. Have you heard, Harry? Do you know? I bet you do, he's your friend --

What, Colin? asked Harry wearily as Dennis came over and sat on his other side.

Did Ron really conjure the shadow, Harry? Justin said --



Justin Finch-Fletchly said Natalie told him that Voldemort came and offered them all freedom when they were with the dementors if they'd just listen to him, join his side, maybe, and Ron went to another room with him for a while--

Ron is not a Dark wizard! Harry snapped. But then... how did Ron know how to do such an enormous release spell...? Anyway, that shadow messed Natalie up pretty badly, so don't believe Justin...

Still, he was left with something new to chew on.





Have you ever heard anything about Ron talking to Vol--

Give me a second, Harry, the orcs are attacking.

Harry turned back to his breakfast in exasperation.

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As it was, Hermione didn't really talk to Harry for the rest of that morning and early afternoon. She was too enveloped in Lord of the Rings. Harry saw her curled up in various chairs around the castle, now appearing to only be beginning a book, now turning pages every ten seconds or less somewhere around the middle, now sniffing as she put down The Two Towers and picked up The Return of the King, opened the first page, and realized that it didn't pick up where the last one had left off, with Frodo and Sam -- and stared at page one for several minutes with a horrified expression. Harry could just feel that her hands were itching to skip chapters to the next section about the Ringbearers, but she put on a determined expression and started at the beginning.

Meanwhile, Sirius appropriated Fellowship the moment Hermione was done with it, and Harry, realizing that this chain-reading method was not going to work for long since no one read at the same speed, sighed and made a mental note to get some more copies, somehow, sometime soon.

Harry couldn't put one thing off any longer, though: he had to go see Dumbledore.

He came to the stone gargoyle blocking the entrance after another long bout of walking, and started to do the familiar run-through of candy brand names, wizard and Muggle alike.

Jelly Slug... Acid Pop... Blood Sicle... Chocolate Frog... Mars Bars... lemon sherbet... Snickers... Hershey --

Finally, the gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside. Harry shook his head. It seemed he had memorized every sweet in existence just for this. He rarely ate half of them -- Blood Sicles were for vampires, and who in their right minds would eat a Cockroach Cluster...?

He let the stairs carry him up, uninterested in yet more walking. Because the stairs ascended very slowly, it was a couple of minutes before he got to the top.

He heard no voices inside, so, gingerly, he knocked on the heavy oak door.

Yes? Come in, said Dumbledore's muffled voice.

Harry pushed the door open to find him standing behind his desk with Professor Snape, bending over some papers. Harry's throat went dry. He'd been hoping Dumbeldore would be alone.

Sir -- I, er...

Please come sit, Harry. Severus, kindly inform Miss Turpin of the coincidence, but we'll place no blame until -- unless -- it happens again. Agreed?

Yes, Headmaster, said Snape icily, glaring at Harry as he came in and sat on one of the two poufy chairs facing the desk.

Good. Cheating on tests is something of a natural ability among students, and I dare say sometimes they do it without thinking. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and he glanced at Harry as he said it. Harry felt his face getting warmer. That had only been a couple of questions... in Charms... Flitwick wouldn't have come to Dumbledore about it, would he? He fidgeted.

Snape turned on his heel and marched out of the office, with yet another withering glance at Harry. Snape seemed torn between being happy that Voldemort was finally gone and he no longer had to play the spy, and the fact that Harry had been the one who defeated the Dark Lord. As a result, he was more horrible to Harry than he ever had been, but he relaxed his iron grip on the other students just slightly. Neville was no longer paralyzed with fear at the sight of him, at least.

When Snape was safely out the door, Dumbledore turned to Harry. he said, Severus is picky about little wrongs that do no harm. If Miss Patil and Mr. Pruitt feel the need to share ingredients notes during class, then we must hope that it helped their understanding of the lesson rather than hindered it. Now, Harry. What is it you've come to see me about?

Well, sir, began Harry, weary of repeating his story but resigned to do it again, you know the shadow-thing day before yesterday? Dumbledore nodded, still smiling. And how you couldn't pick up Hermione's ring? Another nod, though the smile flickered. Er, I think I may know what the ring is... it brought the shadow when Professor Lupin did Revalium Incantatem on it -- anyway, there are these books by a Muggle, Tolkien --

Dumbledore gestured for Harry to stop. Yes, the Lord of the Rings. Don't look so surprised, Harry, said the Professor as Harry opened his mouth in astonishment. I like Muggle books quite as much as I like Muggle sweets. Yes, I have read Tolkien's works -- they are some of my favorites. And the thought had already crossed my mind that there was a strong resemblance between our current situation and those books.

Harry stared in wonder. He should have known Dumbledore would drop something like this on him.

Sir, shouldn't we... I don't know... do something? I mean, in the books, they had to destroy the ring, I thought...

That we must travel to Middle-earth and cast the ring -- again -- into the fires of Mount Doom? Harry nodded. Well, yes, perhaps -- but that remains to be seen. Have you, perchance, heard of the theory of the existence of parallel universes?

Hermione said something... mumbled Harry.

Dumbledore had moved Snape's papers into a drawer by now, and sat down behind his desk, facing Harry. He now opened a different drawer and took out some different papers; these he laid facing Harry, and pushed them across the desk towards the boy. Harry pulled up his chair closer and looked at the pages. Three were maps or charts or something; and the others were covered with small, neat writing, which Harry assumed was Dumbledore's hand.

He scanned over the written pages: they seemed to be an essay on the theory, as Dumbledore had said, of the existence of parallel universes. It wasn't one of those dull, dry, long-winded essays, though; this one looked quite interesting and Harry had to tear his eyes from it to look at the charts.

Two of the drawn-on pages were old and yellowing around the edges, like the essay-papers: these two were charts showing what could, with more than a little imagination and more intelligence than Harry currently had, possibly have been drawings of a line in the fourth, fifth, and sixth dimensions. They made Harry's brain hurt just to look at, so he slipped out the newer page instead. It looked a lot like the Marauder's Map, only without the minute detail and the labeled dots representing people; and this map, rather than being of Hogwarts, was quite clearly a map of Middle-earth.

Dumbledore gave Harry a minute or so to look over the papers before speaking again. he said, -- minus the map, of course -- is the Magical Theory essay I was obliged to write before I could graduate from this very school. They have taken Magical Theory off of the curriculum since then, unfortunately -- it was replaced by Defense Against the Dark Arts in your parents' second year at school, due to the sudden unveiling of the Dark Lord. My subject, as you see, was that of parallel universes... I have read and reread those things I wrote so long ago, recently, and have come to the only conclusion I can: I must have been right. At the time I thought it nearly as ludicrous as everyone else did, but with more years on me now, it seems to make a bit more sense. Several of the facts that were theory at the time have now been proven true, and they all point in the same direction.

Harry thought a moment, then said, Well, if it's true, then how do we get into one of these other universes? I mean, if Middle-earth is one of them?

That is another thing I've been thinking over. I know, of course, having read the books, the danger of simply keeping the ring hidden from its master for long periods of time rather than actually going to the trouble of destroying it -- and besides, I am certainly not going to keep it, active and angry, inside a school full of unknowing children -- so I believe it is necessary to get into this other universe somehow. This -- he pointed to the diagrams of lines, -- is the only idea I have as of yet of how to manage it, but I am afraid I haven't gotten any further. I've informed Professor McGonagall of the difficulty and my ideas about it and she has -- quite reluctantly, I may add; I don't think she is particularly inclined to believe me -- been helping.

Harry felt a bit stranded by this. Dumbledore was ahead of him by far, whether he said he hadn't made any progress or not.

Er -- I was wondering, said Harry lamely, changing the subject, if I could go into Hogsmeade and get some more copies of the book? Everyone's taking mine and they'll start fighting soon.

Dumbledore smiled even wider. Have you not had Duplication Charms yet, Harry? -- oh, no, Professor Flitwick told me they'd be covered in the spring semester. Well, give me a moment.

He bade Harry stay put, and went into a little private room that opened off the back of his office. When he came back a few minutes later it was with a large armload of books.

He set the six paperbacks he was carrying down on the desk, and said, I've made two duplicates of each of my copies of the trilogy. I believe that will suffice. Miss Granger will be likely to have finished them by the day after tomorrow, but Mr. Weasley, I think, may take longer. His eyes twinkled, and Harry didn't feel like correcting him about Hermione -- it was more likely she'd have them finished by lunch time today.

That was all you came for?

Harry nodded. May I -- may I borrow your essay? I'd like to read it, he said, glancing at the papers on the desk.

Certainly, Harry. Good reading, and enjoy the holidays while they last.

This was clearly a dismissal, so, feeling somewhat put out and yet more hopeful than he had ever been in the last two days, Harry picked up the six books and stack of papers awkwardly, and started walking towards the door.

Ah -- Harry? said Dumbledore from behind. Harry half-turned to look at him. Please give my apologies to anyone you lend those books; I think I wrote in the margins quite a bit over the years, and Duplication Charms, unfortunately, copy things detail-for-detail.

Harry grinned and said he would do just that. Now he wanted to look at them himself. Who knew what sort of things Dumbledore might have written in his books?

Harry went down the stairs and through the abundance of halls, yet again, to visit the hospital wing. There he found Professor Lupin's curtains drawn; but Ron was sitting up and wide-awake in bed.

he cried enthusiastically when he saw his friend come in. Thank God! I keep telling that woman I feel fine, but she won't let me go! His reference to Madam Pomfrey as that woman' did not go unnoticed by the nurse herself, who was sitting in her office reading a book with the door wide open: she gave Ron a piercing glare, which he returned full force.

I went to see Dumbledore, panted Harry, dropping the books on the foot of Ron's bed and sitting next to them with a flump. He already knew about Tolkien and Lord of the Rings and all that... Harry gave a quick recount of his conversation with Dumbledore.

Ron bent forward and picked up one of the books, a duplicate of Dumbledore's copy of The Two Towers. Opening to a random page and quickly scanning the contents, he snorted.

said Harry.

Page 219, Ron sniggered.

Picking up the other copy of the same book and looking at the indicated page, Harry had to agree with Ron's reaction.

The Riders gazed up at Theoden like men startled out of a dream. Harsh as an old raven's their master's voice sounded after the music of Saruman. But Saruman for a while was beside himself with wrath. He leaned over the rail as if he would smite the King with his staff. To some suddenly it seemed they saw a snake coiling itself to strike.

In the middle of this paragraph, the name Saruman was circled, and, with an arrow from the right margin indicating it, the words were written in a neat, loopy hand Harry recognized as Dumbledore's, Mood swings. Bit in need of a psychiatrist.

This ought to be entertaining, said Ron. Which one comes first again?

Fellowship. That one is second, Return of the King is third -- half of it is appendixes, but you don't have to read those. Harry veered over to the more important subject. But really, Ron, what about that essay? If Middle-earth is a parallel universe -- even in the books it sort of seems like England, only a really long time ago --

Let me read them first. I'll get back to you.

Harry gave an exasperated sigh.

Well, Hermione might've finished your set by now, go talk to her, said Ron irritably.

All right, I will, said Harry, standing up. How's Professor Lupin? he added as an afterthought.

said Ron. All morning. Full moon night after tomorrow. Blue moon, too -- those are particularly strong -- the effect is probably wearing him out. I heard voices last night -- I think he and Sirius were talking -- something about suicide. Do you know what all that was about yesterday?

Harry sighed again, resumed his position on the foot of the bed, and told Ron everything Sirius had said in the tree. Intruiged by Ron's mention of suicide, he finished with an inquiry about it.

said Ron; Well, I was really half-asleep, and they were talking in low voices... I didn't catch a lot. Something like, Sirius was the only one who suspected? And then Lupin said he made it look like his own folly. I fell all the way asleep then.

Harry sat dumbstruck. Lupin try suicide? He'd always seemed perfectly composed... just not the sort for that kind of thing... still... the wolf...

I suppose, said Harry slowly, it all just hit him after Sirius did his joke on Snape. That he couldn't get rid of what he was, and how dangerous he really is... and he didn't want to hurt anyone...

Harry, you really have been visiting Dumbledore. You're having deep insights again. I can't ever make sense of those. Ron had picked up his wand and was trying to make The Fellowship of the Ring float open in front of his face without him having to hold it.

Don't you care at all that Professor Lupin tried to kill himself? said Harry, rounding on Ron, surprised.

Of course I do, Harry, said Ron, seriously this time. He turned from his experimenting and looked gravely into Harry's eyes. I don't think it's that remote, though. Really, I would too, if I were a werewolf. You know how I was closer to him when he transformed out on the grounds, in third year? Right after he and Sirius had explained about Wormtail? Well, he looked right at me halfway through, for a split second -- his eyes had gone all sickly yellow with slit pupils, and his hair was all gray and thick and spreading down his neck, and he had fallen on his hands with his back legs already a wolf's... he looked right at me, and there was actually a bit of humanity left. I could tell... it was awful to watch anyway, but then the look he gave me... he was in pain, Harry. Real pain, I mean, I'm sure when your scar hurts, that's painful, and I know being with the dementors for two months was painful, but since nothing really bad had happened to me before for the dementors to bring out in my mind, it wasn't real pain. Even the Cruciatus Curse isn't real pain like I saw in Lupin. I don't know if you follow me. But Lupin didn't just look like the transformation hurt; I could tell he was fighting the wolf's mind, and it was winning. For that split second I thought it would've been perfectly safe to go near him, because all he was doing was asking for help. Then the next split-second, he went completely animal and I wanted to run as far away as I could. Would've, too, if my damn leg hadn't been broken. There wasn't a scrap of Lupin left in it, it was just an animal, and one that would've eaten me in a heartbeat. That's the kind of thing that would make anyone kill themselves, Harry. He wanted so badly for it to stop because he didn't want to hurt anyone, but once he lost his grip on himself, there was nothing he could do -- he wanted to hurt people. Hagrid's textbook says, you know, something like werewolves are one of the few breeds of magical beasts that actively seek human prey as opposed to other animals,' or whatever. Hermione will have memorized it.

Anyway, yes, to answer your question, Harry, I know why Lupin'd kill himself, and I really do care. But it didn't work and now he's our best teacher, and I really don't think he'd try it again. With his potion every month, and Sirius cleared, and a good job, I'd say he probably hasn't had a better time in his life except maybe when he was in school.

Harry stared, open-mouthed, at his suddenly philosophical friend.

said Ron, throwing up his hands and accidentally knocking his book out of the air. It's your fault, I tell you! You're rubbing off on me... I'm having bloody insights and junk...

Ron -- said Harry, then stopped. Okay. Well. Er. Yeah, that... that kind of... explains it nicely. I think.

Harry and Ron sat in silence for a while. Ron picked up his book again and tried to re-cast his levitation spell, but it didn't seem to want to work anymore. He whacked his wand on the bed a few times as if that would help.

Stupid thing... he muttered under his breath. Hasn't done anything right since that stupid release charm....

Harry said finally, a new train of thought triggered by Ron's comment. Ron looked up expectantly from his fussy wand. The Creevey kids were going around at breakfast... they said that when you and the others were with the dementors, Voldemort came and offered clemency... and you went with him. Colin thought you had conjured the shadow. What's up, and why didn't you tell me?

Ron slapped his forehead in exasperation. Okay, who ratted?

Nataile told Justin Finch-Fletchly and he's been spreading it...

Agh! She just had to tell a Hufflepuff, didn't she? They're all the gossipers of doom... yeah, You-Know – sorry, Voldemort -- it's feels weird to say that -- came and offered freedom to us if we'd just listen to him for a while, see his side of it. I wasn't ever going to go to the Dark side really, I just played along for a while... he thought he'd won me over, and put me back in the cell with the others to try and convince them to see their errors'... Ron said this last with little quotation marks formed by his fingers at the sides of his head. He made a face. It was probably too risky for a sane person to do, but I just wanted to get away from those other guys for a while... except Eloise, I mean -- they were so annoying. Especially Parvati and Padma. Wailing and screaming and stomping around all the time. I swear, I was more miserable because of them than any dementors. I can't believe I ever let Padma dance with me.

Is that how you knew the release spell? asked Harry, playing on his suspicions of earlier.

said Ron, furrowing his brows. Voldemort taught me some stuff... I forgot most of it right off, it was awful, but there were a few useful things... all really powerful, I couldn't actually do them for a long time. He made me do the Cruciatus Curse on a rat. It wasn't too hard to look like I enjoyed it, I mean, with Wormtail and all. You know, he added thoughtfully, it might have been Wormtail. I didn't see him around -- human, anyway...

He was part of the raids they did on the castle and Hogsmeade while you were in New Azkaban, Harry said quickly. He almost killed Professor Lupin with that silver hand...

Oh, yeah, said Ron, not quite sorrowfully. Well, he taught me the release spell. Seemed to think I was a fast learner -- I think he was going to put me pretty high in his ranks. Ron shuddered. I'm just glad you got us when you did. I think he was about to take me away from the others in a few more days, and give me an... an assignment or something. Put me on duty.

Harry shook his head. Why didn't you ever tell anyone before?

said Ron, with a fleeting expression of hollow terror, as if he were suddenly remembering the way he had cowered before something far greater than he, not so long ago. I dunno. I didn't feel like it.

Harry didn't pursue the subject.

... Er, mind if I trot off? said Harry, trying to take Ron's mind off of dementors. I've got to go show Hermione this stuff... I think she'll be interested in the essay... maybe she can make something out of it.

All right, said Ron, cheering up. I'm going to start these books you're fussing about all the time... they'd better be worth it... they're not like the History of Magic textbook, are they? Dry, long sentences, no point to get to? he asked anxiously.

Not at all, said Harry. The fact that I read them for fun ought to be proof...

Ron looked relieved, as he finally managed to get the book to hover in front of him again. See you tomorrow -- if that woman will let me out by then. He recieved another glare from Madam Pomfrey. Harry suddenly wondered if she had heard all they said, and felt rather uncomfortable at the prospect.

Harry opened the hospital wing door with one hand, the other busy being full of books, and gave a small wave before popping out into the hallway and heading towards the library, where he supposed Hermione to be.

Neither he nor Ron had listened very hard in the hospital wing, and after Harry left, Ron became too concentrated on his book to take any notice of the small ambient sounds in the room; but, if either of them had paid any attention to the single other room occupant's breathing, they might have noticed that it was not the deep, constant breath of a person sound asleep, but was ragged and shallow: the breath of someone weeping silently, wrapped up in their own little miseries.

Remus Lupin had heard every word they'd said.

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

Hermione was, as Harry had suspected, still curled up in a chair by a window with fading light. She had lit a candle on the table near her to make up for it, and Harry saw that she was currently deep in the middle of The Return of the King.

Herm -- he began, dragging over another chair and sitting in it, but she cut him off with a savage wave of her hand. He blinked and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose absently.

Just ten minutes, Harry, really, they're at Bree again, I'll be done in a moment... go on...

Harry sighed and, stacking the three books he carried on the small table that already held the candle and his own set of books, he resigned himself to reading Dumbledore's graduate essay.

It turned out to be just as interesting a read as he thought it would be, despite the fact that he had no idea what it was talking about. He sniggered once or twice at some particularly effective wording by Dumbledore, eliciting glares from Madam Pince, the librarian, and deep frowns from Hermione, who never once looked up from the pages of Harry's hardcover copy of Return of the King.

Twenty minutes had passed since Harry had entered the library when Hermione's mouth fell open and she stared at a page somewhere around two-thirds through the book. She didn't turn the page for almost a full minute; the silence finally got through to Harry's ears, and he looked up.

he said.

Hermione came to life a fraction at a time, alternately looking on the edge of tears and spluttering indignantly. How's that a way to end a book? she managed finally, in a high squeak which got another glare from Madam Pince. I mean -- really -- what happens to Sam and, and Pippin and...! Frodo doesn't just leave? Just like that? Leave Sam behind? That's just -- that's just --

She couldn't think of what it was, though, and she lapsed into silence as a tear rolled down her cheek.

That's not fair, she said in a half-moan after a long pause. She rubbed the back of her hand furiously under her eyes, and sniffed loudly.

Good books, huh? said Harry, grinning slightly.

Harry -- you think this stuff really happened? said Hermione, finally looking up at him. Because -- well -- it's just awful in places. Poor Frodo! If he's a real person, I mean... his fate was so terrible, succumbing to the Ring and Gollum biting off his finger for it... if we get into Middle-earth, will he be there? Won't he have left already for the Elves' island? Because I don't want him involved with the Ring again... poor guy...

Harry shrugged, completely at a loss. I have no idea -- I never thought about when we'd be going there... I guess we just go when our time and their time coincide.

Hermione bore a puzzled look.

Harry handed her the essay. It's Dumbledore's graduate paper... He explained to her about his visits to Ron and Professor Dumbledore. When he'd finished, she read the papers much faster than Harry had, and spent several minutes perusing the line-drawings and shooting comments out at no one.

Yes, that makes sense, the space-time continuum isn't really space-time... there's a space continuum and a time continuum but they're not the same... that's why... ooh, I see... that makes so much sense! Harry, I'm glad you got this... hmm... yes, so a Time-Turner can change time but not space!...

Harry tuned her out after a while and stared at the ceiling, tapping his fingers and waiting for her to get done.

The fourth dimension is another space dimension but the fifth is a time dimension!... oh, Harry, this is just a massive breakthrough... I think I can have it by a week or two... can I keep these? She brandished the papers at him.

Harry snapped out of his stupor at the question. Huh? Oh -- sure. Glad they make sense to you, I just liked the writing style...

What? Well, yes, it is somewhat entertaining... but Harry, I think I can figure out how to get into Middle-earth with this... I just need to think it over for a couple of weeks, and do some experimenting...

That fast? asked Harry, somewhat startled.

Well, yes, it's really quite obvious...

Well, that makes you smarter than Dumbledore and McGonagall put together, then, muttered Harry skeptically.

What was that? said Hermione, who was looking at the map of Middle-earth and hadn't heard.

said Harry quickly. Look, I'm hungry, I'm going down to dinner... are you coming or do you want to stay with your papers?

Hermione eventually chose to eat dinner with Harry, but she brought the essay along and mumbled to herself the whole time, even through mouthfuls of beef casserole; and her brows never lost their deep furrows. She left for the library again immeditely afterwards.

After dinner Harry went up to the Gryffindor common room, and, finding nothing of interest to do without Ron or Hermione there, he went up to his dorm. There he lay and looked over Dumbledore's copy of Fellowship, reading all the tidy little notes in the margins until his own thoughts about the past few days claimed him and he had to out the book down because he couldn't focus on the pages.

He had his doubts as to whether Hermione really was onto something -- surely she couldn't be wiser in the matter than Dumbledore and McGonagall. But then... Hermione was always popping up with something new, like when she walked out of Divination in third year, or slapped Malfoy, or stole things from Snape's office. There was no telling what she'd come up with, and if it was of any use at all it would probably be the answer to all their questions.

Ron, now, was a different matter... that time with the dementors must have changed him more than Harry had previously thought... suddenly he was showing skill with advanced magicks, and a learning of the Dark Arts; he'd been subject to a face-to-face confrontation with Voldemort, and survived two months in New Azkaban... and his reaction to the news about Professor Lupin had been remarkable. It was the kind of thing Harry always expected to hear from Dumbledore or maybe Sirius, but certainly not Ron.

His thoughts became more and more muddled, however, until he drifted off entirely and began to snore. Tomorrow would be tomorrow; and as it wasn't here yet, he needn't worry about it for the time.
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