A/N: I have a fire ant bite on my toe, AND IT HURTS LIKE HELL. Never go outside barefoot in Mississippi during spring or summer.

The major thing to note is that you shouldn't be too nitpicky about the times I keep giving at various intervals in this chpt. All the scenes are not precisely in chronological order, and there was one phrase I used in chpt 7 -- I think it was something like, Harry woke up in the hour before dawn -- that really needs to be taken very elastically, if that's even a word. It's just a figure of speech here. The actual time was probably more like 3:45 or so.

Oh, yeah, the way I mentioned chapter six was a bit influenced by Dickens? Um. Now I'm reading Terry Pratchett. Yeah. Big jump, but, again, I've tried my best to keep my reading and writing separate.

I know the accepted way of writing HP fic (for me, anyway) is to do it the same style as the books themselves: 3rd person narrative, but you follow Harry around all the time, so you don't see what other people are doing when they're out of Harry's sight. That's pretty much what I've been doing all along here, with a few exceptions. Now I'm going to break with tradition -- it's necessary from here on out, what with different groups of people being in different universes. This chapter is the that Harry speculates he's missed in the last chpt. So, rewind, people... back to the boys' dorm; the breakin...

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Chapter Eight: Convergence
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Hermione lifted Harry's Invisibility Cloak and Firebolt out of his trunk. Harry grunted and shifted in his sleep. She froze, but only for a moment.

She was no longer afraid. Fear was immaterial. She had always been the most intelligent, clever person in the school, and it had pained her immensely to lose the title of Head Girl to some cocky Ravenclaw this year. She was always the one who knew what to do. She was the crutch everyone else leaned on; the giant on whose shoulders they stood to see the world.

Well, this was the end for them. Her lip twisted in the dark, a face of utter disgust. She would be no one's crutch. She was Hermione Granger, and she deserved what it was in her power to take! Always under appreciated; but never again, now. She had proved herself better than Dumbledore and McGonagall put together: she had invented the bridge-spell; she could travel between dimensions. She could, and would!

What she hadn't told Dumbledore was that her calculations had led to the conclusion that the bridge-spell could do far more than build a bridge. If used correctly, it could rip entire universes apart at the fundamental seams. Her grin twisted further.

She'd have her precious ring, yes, she would. Dumbledore couldn't keep it from her. Viktor had sent it to her alone. And it was hers alone.

Her Christmas present!

She snickered as she closed the door of the seventh year boys' dorm behind her. Now, to business...

She crept through the common room, and into the hall. The muffler was establishing itself; it took several hours to weave itself together, but it had already been at work for many. She had begun the spell at ten o'clock. It would be complete at two-thirty. There was no point in destroying this world yet: she might need a base of operations, and she knew this terrain. The muffler would absorb the effects of building and crossing the bridge. That large a rip in time and space... that much power... Hermione felt almost giddy at the thought of what she was about to do.

She glanced out a window. Oh, yes, the muffler was coming along nicely. It was now completely pitch outside.

She paused to collect her mind. She would retrieve her precious and lure out the house-elf, and when it struck half-past, she would go out to the tree where she had made the initial preparations. The elf would provide power alone: she could rid herself of it as soon as she was in Middle-earth.

She flung the Cloak about her shoulders and strode confidently towards Dumbledore's office. She had been at that staff meeting, hiding and listening, when everyone else thought she was asleep; and she knew precisely where the ring was being kept.

The gargoyle leered at her in the dark. She pulled herself up to her full height and spoke a few words of power. The statue slunk away, and Hermione ascended the steps within.

Without bothering to announce her presence, she laid her hand on the doorknob: of course, it was locked. She bared her teeth and sent such a jolt into the locking spells as had never been seen before in that school. They dissolved instantly. Yes, everyone had always underestimated her...

The office was empty. Dumbledore's bedchambers were on the other side of the castle. Hermione silenced the warning song of the phoenix Fawkes with a mere wave of her hand. She could feel the power invested in the One Ring beckoning, feeling for her. Filling her with its magic, boosting her power. Such a warm feeling...

She smiled grimly and closed her eyes. Within moments she had found the piece of false wall hiding her precious from sight. A couple of the portraits were stirring and looking worriedly at her, but she made them mute with no effort whatsoever.

Dumbledore had put binding spells on her precious! She scowled, and called out mentally to it: it answered with a fresh wave of invigoration, drawing on her power to help itself; making them one and the same. She eagerly melded herself with it, power-hungry and feeling as though she had been starved for years. Precious corroded the spells like rust through iron: it corrupted them, and drew them into itself, storing more power. Hermione lifted it gingerly out of its hiding-place, stroked it lovingly, and slipped it on her finger. It was the perfect size.

She seemed to grow to twice her height; she wrapped herself in a monstrous shadow of power she didn't really have. She fell wretchedly under the control of the One Ring, and she did it with all helping hands. The Invisibility Cloak was no longer needed. She wrapped the Firebolt in it and proceeded to the door: the stairs: the corridor; all with air of unerring confidence and superiority.

Her smile grew wider, and did not lose its twist, as she made her way towards the kitchens.

-------

Eloise had gotten up to use the bathroom. Some idiot had flushed a bunch of newsprint down the girls' dorm's toilets, and it had plugged up half the plumbing in the Hufflepuff wing of the castle.

It was unusually dark. She blundered through the common room and into the hall, wiping her eyes and squinting. She wore a very old, unflattering bathrobe of faded pinks, purples, and the odd splash of burgundy, all in an abstract pattern that did nothing whatsoever for her fine red hair. She had never bothered to get a new one, because, well, who was going to see her? Only the girls in her dorm ever saw her in it, she was very careful of that. She'd had quite enough of being a laughingstock in her life, and now she was finally making a name for herself, she'd like to keep it that way.

By the light of the torches in sconces lining the walls, she managed to make it to the nearest toilet. She could see herself only faintly in the bathroom mirror, and the image was distorted: this was not a prefects' bathroom, and years of pranking, fights, and general wear and tear had left the mirrors in the public restrooms cracked, broken, and spattered with everything from tarnish to toothpaste.

Eloise finished washing her hands and opened the door. She stepped over the threshold.

And, in that utter darkness, ran smack into someone coming down the hall.

she grunted. I'm sorry -- hey, it's dark, isn't it? Are you okay?

No answer.

Eloise said nervously. The lack of light was finally getting through to her. It shouldn't be this dark... there was no new moon tonight...

said a voice she almost didn't recognize. It sounded familiar... but something was very wrong with it.

she said momentarily, placing the voice. Is something wrong?

A faint red light began to shimmer in the direction Hermione's voice had been coming from, outlining her silhouette in stark contrast. Eloise shifted uncertainly.

Hermione, what's up? she began, but was cut off by the other girl.

We will not answer you, mortal, Hermione's changed voice hissed.

Eloise began to back away. Hermione was more than a black figure now; Eloise could make out her face in part, and it chilled her straight through. Her Gryffindor friend was certainly not herself -- Eloise glanced down -- and there was the problem.

Eloise gasped in fear and turned to run. A glint of gold showed on Hermione's finger: the Ring! Eloise didn't know how she had gotten it, but this was not the time to question. If Hermione was wearing the ring -- but was still visible -- in the books only Sauron could wear the ring without the side effect of vanishing --

Eloise had the chance to take about four steps before a blast of raw power hit her in the back, and she fell to the floor. The blackness she saw now was deeper than any in the castle or grounds that night: the pitch of total oblivion.

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Stupid Potter, and his stupid bloody friends.

Draco Malfoy leaned on the sill of one of the windows in the corridor just outside the Slytherin dungeons. He couldn't sleep; and only when he had come up here, above ground, and looked out the window, had he realized what it was that felt so terribly wrong; what it was that had been nagging him for hours now.

It was about three in the morning, and where normally the Forbidden Forest would loom, vast and dark, with the treetops glinting in the moonlight, there was nothing. The great black lake was also gone. As was, apparently, the entire world. There was nothing outside the window but a solid, smothering blackness.

Draco just knew Potter had done this. It was always Potter: perfect Potter, prefect Potter. Draco hadn't been made a prefect until this year, where Harry had been one since fifth year. Headmasters weren't supposed to favor any students more than the others, but Harry was nothing better than Dumbledore's pet... or even the other way around. Perfect Harry Potter, the superhero, who had everyone else wrapped around his little finger.

There was no moonlight to reflect off of Draco's bitter tears.

He didn't invite friendship, sure. He didn't like people, really. He'd always followed Father's example, and it seemed to get him where he wanted to go. Other people were just baggage he could afford to lose. At least that was what Father had always said.

But now Lucius was in Azkaban. How'd he get there? Surely his way of living, the life he'd taught to Draco, couldn't have gotten him there? Was it really that flawed? Draco loathed the thought: if it was was, and it truly was, he knew -- then Draco had the same flaws. And he didn't know how to fix them, because part of the essence of everything Father had taught him was to never ask for help; to never show weakness.

Draco was simply not a people-person. It was the fault of nurture rather than nature, but over the years, in his subconscious, he had convinced himself it was his nature. He was a Malfoy, before and after all else: never give in; never disgrace the family name; never stoop to the level of your inferiors, and everyone was your inferior unless they were pureblood wizards educated in the house of Slytherin.

He sneered angrily in the dark, and swiped furiously at his eyes. What was he doing? A Malfoy never cried.

Even that idiot Fudge likes Potter, he thought, trying to keep himself in a healthy state of rage. It always worked on keeping any sentimental weaknesses at bay. Harry can get away with anything, and now look, he's gone and blown the world into oblivion!

Draco stood up straight and glared out the window a bit longer. Finally he came to a conclusion.

He went back into the dungeons. When Lucius had been incarcerated, the Ministry had allowed Draco to keep his father's old Invisibility Cloak. Draco hadn't even known about it until it had been turned over to him. Now he took it from his trunk with a twisted grin, knowing that Potter was no longer the only one in the castle with such a treasure.

Back in the passage he dislodged a flaming torch from its sconce and held it aloft. The blackness outside did not reflect its light, but seemed to absorb it. In any case, he could see no better out the windows now than he could with no light on hand at all. He shied away from the windows nervously and began heading towards Professor Snape's office. He had never once fallen out of favor with the Professor, and now that Father was gone, Draco wasn't sure who else to turn to. In any case, Severus hated Harry as much as anyone, and he'd be sure to help...

-------

The door to the kitchens, disguised as a still painting of a bowl of fruit, burst open. Several house-elves nearby looked up nervously at the person striding through. A few thought they recognized her, but they dismissed the idea almost straight off. She was very powerful, they could tell; and she meant business.

Bring me Dobby, she snapped to one elf, standing and counting a huge carton of eggs with nimble, bony fingers. The elf squeaked, scared of the woman -- she was wearing a ring that gave her a bad feeling, a very bad feeling indeed. If this was another thing that crazy Dobby had gotten into -- a free elf, the sheer absurdity! And being paid! Dobby could just handle this himself. The little elf backed off, wringing her ears submissively, and turned to get Dobby from the other room where he was setting up his next batch of Heating Charms.

There he was, and, as usual, he was overdoing things. The little she-elf shook her head and whispered something to him, pulling on his overlarge maroon sweater, some gift or other from a student. Her large blue eyes bulged with fear.

Dobby's eyes widened as he heard the news. He hesitated before going out the door, and the she-elf shook her head worriedly once more, and dragged him out by an ear.

Finally he came out, head down, looking at the floor and wringing his hands behind his back.
Is there something Dobby can do for sir? he said piteously.

I need your help, Dobby, came the cold reply. Dobby looked up suddenly and his squashed face broke into a huge, gap-toothed smile.

Miss Hermione! Dobby squeaked. Biddy is saying you is from the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, miss! They is not liking Dobby much... they is coming to see him over the summer. They has bad things to say to master Dumbledore. Dobby looked dark. They is saying Dobby should not be paid. Help, miss? He looked up hopefully at her.

Hermione leered down at him. Yes. Help, Dobby. Come into the hall.

Dobby's smile flickered. He looked from Hermione's hard face to the hand she had clenched into a fist; the hand with a golden ring on the middle finger.

Dobby is having to help cook breakfast soon, miss, he said doubtfully.

It can wait, Hermione hissed. Come with me.

Miss Hermione, something is wrong? Dobby asked, tennis ball sized eyes looking widely and innocently into her face. She sneered.

Nothing is wrong. Dumbledore would wish you to obey.

Dobby's ears twitched, but eventually he complied and scrambled out into the hall.

Hermione shut the portrait behind her and looked at Dobby with a wide, twisted grin. Now, elf, this won't hurt a bit -- She raised her hand, and power sparked around the Ring; that hand was currently the deadliest weapon conceivable by any highly skilled war-trained wizard that world had ever known --

Miss Hermione! Dobby squealed, terrified. Something is wrong, Miss Hermione, something is wrong! Please don't be hurting Dobby --

The energy cracked out and lanced towards the tiny, pitiful house-elf --

NO, Miss! Dobby cried, and raised his little arms awkwardly over his oversized head, hands open, palms outward.

The raw, dark magic reflected off of the wretched little creature. There was a small explosion of furious, broken, tumbling magic -- and then, without warning, it stopped.

The kitchen door portrait was flung open by Biddy the house-elf. Dobby, what is you doing? Dobby?

The fact is, any average house-elf is really too simple-minded to understand the sight that met the overlarge blue eyes of Biddy. Dobby sat squeaking and whimpering on the floor, his face buried in his spindly hands, shuddering convulsively. An unconscious girl with straight red hair lay sprawled on her back on the stone next to the little elf. And suddenly, another girl appeared out of thin air, with a look of such horror and revulsion that Biddy was completely taken aback.

Hermione tore the ring off her finger as fast as she could and threw it away with all her strength, down the length of the corridor. It hit the stairs a long way off, and landed solidly, without so much as one bounce on the flagstones.

She knew exactly what had been happening to her, now. She stared in the direction the ring had gone, horror-struck. A tear born of mixed emotions -- something between confusion, terror, and loneliness -- worked its way down her cheek, and she backed into the wall of the corridor, using it as leverage to sink onto her knees.

Somehow, Dobby had broken it. Broken the ring's hold over her. She must have gotten more big-headed than she'd ever imagined was possible, and completely underestimated the power of a free house-elf. Dobby had saved hundreds of universes from tyranny and destruction without even knowing it. All he had done was unconsciously try to protect himself.

a squeaky elf-voice seemed to be calling from a distance. Dobby, what has you done? Oh, Dobby, oh, Dobby, you is in such trouble -- Hermione's wide-eyed stare came slowly around until it was facing another elf with blue eyes, wearing the usual Hogwarts tea-towel-uniform. This elf was hopping around from foot to foot and wringing her ears with fright. Several more elves were gathered at the door and were looking on with abounding curiosity and more than a little fear.

Several minutes passed before Hermione pulled herself together enough to stand up shakily and address the house-elves.

It's -- it's all right, she said, wavering a little and having to put out her hand to the wall for support. It's all fine. Dobby's done a very good thing. Go on -- back to work. She waited until the last elf had gone back inside the kitchens, (looking very dubious of the whole matter) and went over to Dobby, collapsing to her knees the moment she was by his side.

She tried her best to comfort the elf, but he jerked whenever she touched him, and he never let his face out of his hands.

You is a bad miss, he kept repeating.

No, Dobby, I'm not, she said, on the verge of tears herself. Honestly. There's a ring, Dobby, a very, very bad ring, and it was controlling me --

Bad miss, he sobbed, rocking back and forth.

Dobby, you have to listen! she cried. The ring -- the ring makes anybody who wants it too much go bad! I wanted it, because someone gave it to me, and it made me into a bad person. A very, very bad person. Dobby, are you listening?

He shook his head and went on sobbing.

But you made it go away, Dobby, you fixed it, she wheedled. You did a good thing. I'm better, I am, really. Dobby? Dobby, I still need your help. If you don't help me, the ring will make everyone bad. Harry will be bad, Dumbledore will be bad! Winky and, and Biddy, and all the other elves will be bad elves! They'll hate working! They'll all have a revolt, and all the students and teachers will try and kill each other. Don't you remember what war was like, Dobby? So many people got killed, and if you don't help me, it'll happen again...

Dobby finally looked up into her face with that ugly, but somehow incredibly endearing, face. His green tennis ball eyes bulged with fear.

War again, miss? he whispered. Oh, no, miss, Dobby doesn't want another war. A lot of Dobby's friends died in You-Know-Who's war. Dobby can help stop another war?

Yes, Dobby, Hermione whispered back, and a smile came over her face. You can help. You're the only one who can help. To Dobby's complete surprise, she put her arms around the elf's small neck and gave him a hug. He hugged her arm back, being unable to reach around any other part of her.

Dobby will help, then, he said decisively. Harry Potter and Master Dumbledore mustn't go bad. Dobby likes them, and they is nice to Dobby. Dobby won't allow them to have another war.

Thank you, Hermione said with an extra squeeze of the elf's neck. She stood up, composed herself briefly, and helped Dobby to his feet.

She frowned momentarily. Dobby, do you -- do you think you could get some food from the kitchens? A pretty good bit, and wrapped up for traveling. I'm -- I'm afraid that if you help me, you'll be gone from Hogwarts for a long time. So... pack anything you might need.

Dobby looked a little sad, and his ears drooped, but he said again that he wouldn't let there be another war, and went inside to get what Hermione required.

Hermione frowned. It was too late now to turn back. She looked darkly in the direction the ring had been thrown, and felt more than a little reluctant and afraid to go down the hall that way. She edged hesitantly towards the stairs at the end of the hall.

The ring lay there, on the third step up, a small, bright, golden object. It was warm, inviting...

Hermione almost tripped over her own feet in her haste to back away.

That was it. She was going to Middle-earth tonight, Dumbledore or no Dumbledore. She would bring Dobby, because he'd be the ultimate help in doing the bridge spell. House-elves were so powerful that not even the most talented of wizards had ever been able to map the structure of their magic. Somehow it was bound up by enslavery, and they had simply evolved to be slaves: if they hadn't, the dominant species on the planet would, with almost full certainty, have been house-elves. Dobby, on the other hand, was a free house-elf -- perhaps the only one. He had full use of his powers, and those were unfathomable. Hermione was certain that his mere presence in the vicinity of the performance of this spell would ensure that it had all the power boost it needed. Generally at least two or three quite powerful human wizards would have to work on it for a whole 24-hour day. Hermione hoped to have it completed in less than 10 hours.

She'd already raided Snape's office for supplies she needed. She'd gathered some wood from the forest for the fire that was required. The muffler should be completed by now; it was two forty-five, according to her watch. She had done everything but pack. She winced. That was what she hadn't expected to need to do -- while the ring was working its will on her, all she had thought of was power and destruction. Now she had power and destruction on her mind all right -- Dobby's power, and the ring's destruction. She had to go to Middle-earth and get rid of the thing before it could do anything to anyone else: there simply was no more time for waiting. The ring wanted bloodshed, and who was to deny it? Only Hermione knew what had to be done, and had the conviction to do it.

She leant forward again, and this time, she rebuked the ring's invitations with all her will. She battered at it mentally, holding it at bay. She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket, folded it to a four-layer thickness, and picked up the ring carefully within it. Then she tied a complicated double knot that even this evil little sucker wouldn't break anytime soon. She pocketed it, and sighed with the beginnings of relief. But... she could still feel the weight of it... tugging at her pocket...

She hitched her robes up defiantly and turned on her heel. There she froze.

Eloise! What on earth was she to do with Eloise? She couldn't just leave her here... put her back in her dorm? Order the elves to take her to her bed? Hermione winced and looked at Eloise through narrowed eyes. The blast Hermione had used to knock the girl out was enough to merit her a visit to the hospital wing...

But she didn't have time now to hassle with Madam Pomfrey! Hermione fidgeted and fought the urge to whimper. Why'd that stupid ring have to go and make this harder than it ought to be? She stamped her foot angrily, trying to stay on target and avoid thoughts of the ring in her pocket.

She could... take Eloise with her?

If she was going to Middle-earth, she could, by use of the variables in her spell, tweak around with the space dimension, and hopefully land them in Rivendell. She aimed to get to the world after Frodo and Elrond and the others had already left it, departing from the land by way of taking a boat across the Sundering Seas. But still, there had to be someone left in Rivendell who knew some medicine? Or did everyone leave Rivendell? She frowned; she wasn't sure there. Of course, she could always go to Lorien. Celeborn had stayed behind... maybe...

Well, any elf would do, she eventually concluded. Anyway, Eloise had always wanted to see Middle-earth. She'd said so herself, many times, while Hermione had still been compiling her bridge spell. Maybe Hermione would make all her dreams come true. Hermione rolled her eyes at that last thought.

Well, it was decided. She'd take Eloise with her. A larger number of people would probably fare better in the wild, anyway. I mean, look at the Fellowship, she thought desperately. They had nine!

The backwards logic of this did not occur to her at the time.

She went over to the inert girl, took a deep breath, and muttered a Displacement Charm. What the hell. It wasn't as if she were being stingy with the magic tonight, anyway.

Eloise disappeared with a whoosh of air equalizing pressure. Hermione waited in the hall until Dobby came back out with a great sack of food, packed in what looked like a makeshift backpack made out of a large burlap flour sack and two of Dobby's mismatched belts for shoulder straps. The elf was so short that when he wore it, the bottom dragged on the floor. He was carrying a bundle of odd items carefully wrapped up in another of Ron's old sweaters, and looked up at Hermione expectantly as he came out.

I is ready, Miss, he said, shifting the backpack uncomfortably.

Okay, Dobby, I'm going to use a charm now that'll send you right to where you need to be. It's outside. Eloise'll be there, but she's unconscious. Don't touch anything, just wait for me to come out to you. Got it? He nodded. She murmured another Displacement Charm and he vanished with the familiar rush.

Well, then, she muttered. We're off to see the wizard, I guess.

She made her way out of the underground floor housing the kitchen and dungeons, and continued on to her dorm room, thinking bitterly all the while of yellow brick roads and the ungodly weight in her pocket.

---------

Sirius threw a couple of light bags down into the Divination classroom, then jumped down after them. He sat still for a moment, looking at his broom, his belongings... he really hated having to keep Harry in the dark, but as it didn't feel right to do this anyway, he had decided long ago not to muck it up even further by telling his godson.

Surely Harry had wondered why Sirius never brought any luggage when he came to visit for the holidays. It was because Sirius hardly ever really left. He was so lonely, out in his untidy little place near Ottery St. Catchpole. Even being cleared and all that. Propaganda dies hard when it's so old that its been accepted as truth by almost everyone in the world he'd once thought he'd known... he was not an innocent man in a lot of peoples' minds. And to be honest, he wasn't all that innocent. All his school years were proof enough. Some of those pranks were hardly all in fun... he had used, consciously used, his reputation as a joker, to get revenge on people he didn't much care for. Snape, Malfoy, all those little Slytherin buggers -- some Ravenclaws -- some teachers -- hell, even a few of his dormmates. He sat in the heavily perfumed classroom and shook his head sadly. He had been so stupid...

His background did not lend itself to making friends. He currently had one good friend, and that was Remus. Well, and Harry; that made two.

Dumbledore understood it all, of course, and was sympathetic. He let Sirius stay at Hogwarts, in the rather spacious attic at the very point of the North Tower, whenever it got too much for him to stay at home alone -- which was most of the time. He had enough money to keep up with life in the real world... he didn't have a job, but that was fine with him. He didn't really like people much anymore. They didn't like him, anyway, so he supposed it was mutual.

But this business of the ring had him concerned. He'd decided to go home for a while, see if he had anything that could help. He had quite a collection of books, actually, a lot of them James' old things that had been left to his best friend in the will Sirius had never known he'd written. Sirius preferred to leave in the middle of the night, when no one would be watching. He'd already told Dumbledore where he was off to.

Finally he stood up, stretched a bit, and went over to a window. He frowned. He kept track of the lunar calendar very closely, and tonight was certainly not a new moon. Why was it so dark out?

He pulled out his wand and lit it, peering out the window. The little light barely made a dent in the darkness.

Estella directivus, he muttered. Whoever invented that spell had his languages mixed up, he thought absently. Wait a second... he frowned. James had invented that spell. In third year.

A beam of bright, concentrated magic shot out of his wand into the darkness. He looked over the grounds, not really expecting to see anything out of place. It was just a little dark out, that was all...

He jerked in surprise. There was someone down there... He tried to find them again with the light, which had gotten off place... yes, there. Far out, by the forest. He couldn't make out any details, because the light was so faint, but there were certainly two human figures, and one was moving... doing something.

he sighed to his wand. The light went out. It was probably just some kids doing something they shouldn't be... He closed the trapdoor in the ceiling, which was disguised to fit in perfectly with the stone, and went over to the other one, in the floor. Lowering the little silver ladder, he once again followed his luggage down to the next floor.

Sirius slung one bag over his shoulder and held the other by the handle. His broomstick, a fairly new model in the Cleansweep series, was tucked under his arm. As he walked briskly towards the entrance hall he decided he'd do Dumbledore a bit of a favor and find those kids on the ground, break up whatever they were doing, and send them to bed before he went on his way. He had to get to Hogsmeade pretty soon in order to be able to patch that whole debt thing up with the guys at the Hog's Head and still Apparate home before sunrise.

Sighing, he opened the front doors and stepped out.

That checked him, but only momentarily. He'd done some similar things, on a smaller scale, when he was younger. He shifted his broom and waved his arm about in the air, testing the rough Velcro feeling. Yes, this was definitely some sort of sheet spell. You used them to absorb the effects of a stronger charm, so, say, you could put a sheet spell about your wand, and when you performed Avada Kedavra, there would be no green light, no flash, no rush of air... simply a dead person at your feet...

Sirius had seen it done once. Only once. He shuddered at the memory.

But this one was not impervious to all sorts of magic; light had shown under it. Sirius suspected that any natural light wouldn't, but the light of a spell would. He murmured lumos magnificus to his wand and satisfied that answer.

It must have been specifically designed, he concluded, to absorb the refraction of some specialized kind of magic. A general sheet spell, or muffler, as some would call it, did away with light first thing. (Sirius was very good with the technicalities of magic.)

Well, they had to be doing something big, then, whoever they were. He walked cautiously into the dark, going by memory towards the place he thought he'd seen them standing. They'd been by a tree. It seemed... a familiar spot... oh, yes, he'd told Harry and Hermione all about Remus in that tree.

It was probably just a coincidence that these troublemakers had picked it to work under.

-----------

I'm sorry to get you up so late, Professor, Draco Malfoy began. He was feeling rather nervous, now. Professor Snape stood before him in the hall, almost indistinguishable from the shadows in his regular black robes, with his shadowed face, and black eyes that reflected no light, as there was none left to reflect.

Snape turned to face the teenager, a smooth movement that caught Draco unawares. The only part of Snape that was visible was his sallow, almost gaunt face. He was wearing dark dragon-hide gloves, and his fingers twitched spasmodically, as if he itched to put them around something which more than likely would have a pulse, be flesh-colored, and serve to attach one's head to one's body.

Fear, boy, he said silkily. Don't let it get to you. He turned again and began walking towards the entrance hall. In fact, I thank you for alerting me to Potter's new nighttime activities. I'm sure I will be able to make Professor Dumbledore see reason this time. I'll need a witness, of course; had I had one in the boy's third year, he would certainly be gone now, and that idiot Black would be where he belongs, locked up. Come along, Draco.

Yes, sir, Draco muttered. You know, he thought, without Lucius here, Professor Snape isn't nearly so nice as he used to be.

He walked along behind the Professor, feeling rather like a mark for a sniper next to Snape, who moved more like a cat than anything. Draco was sure he could only hear one set of footsteps, and those were his own: they were loud and clumsy to his ears. He put a nervous hand to his almost-white hair, and swallowed, tense.

Deep in his bones, he knew something big was about to happen. Snape had already said that this darkness was but a prelude to the actual magic, and that hopefully they'd catch Potter before he could proceed to that. But Draco knew, somehow, that that wasn't going to happen.

Perhaps he had finally discovered what it meant to learn from experience. The easy way never works.

----------

Hermione looked moodily into the space where her fire was currently making a muffled crackling sound.

She had lit hers and Eloise's wands and stuck them in tree branches nearby, but there still wasn't nearly enough light to see what she was doing. She had sparked a fire as best she could... it had to be a natural flame, so she couldn't use a spell. Suddenly she had appreciated the Fellowship a whole lot more; they'd done that every day. Of course, they probably had a better method than hitting rocks together, or at least they were better with rocks than she was. It was now nearing three-fifteen; she'd spent about twenty minutes working on this alone. Of course, she'd need a lot more time to complete the rest of the spell.

This spell was highly technical, and she was rather proud of it. She hadn't written up any mystic incantations or verses, which, on the whole, she found pointless from the get-go. No, there was merely one word of activation. Before that, it required toned skill, a lot of knowledge, and more power than would generally be used in a small war.

No wonder the ring liked it so much, she thought darkly, shrugging up her robes. They kept slipping off her shoulder, the thing was so bloody heavy.

Eventually she deemed that the fire had thoroughly consumed the fresh leaves and green bark she had put in it. Although she couldn't see the thick black smoke, she could certainly smell it. She had all her ingredients directly at hand; she didn't want to go off somewhere and come back to find that she had lost her place. She might walk straight into the fire by accident. She shook her head... this really was so dangerous...

But she had to do it; setting her shoulders straight, she took a deep breath (and in the act nearly choked).

Wincing and waving smoke away from her, she croaked,

I is here, Miss, came the reply from across the fire.

Okay, you feel the sort of spiky plant? Yeah -- throw that in next. Count of three, and we throw at once, okay?

Yes, Miss. I has it.

One -- two -- three!

Hermione tossed a handful of dragonsbane into the fire. It hissed and flared up; she held her breath... there. Slowly, the fire was becoming visible, as the plant shriveled up, releasing its magical qualities. There fire was now a magical one, and quite a violent shade of purple, at that.

Hermione blinked and squinted, making out the outline of the house-elf across the flames. He looked up with bulging eyes at her; the reflected purple light made them seem exceptionally bright.

She gave him a strained smile. she said, putting down her bundle of ingredients. That's good, Dobby. Now, I've got to make this circle sealed from the muffler, like the castle. You'll have to keep the fire going. Just, um... if it looks like its getting any fainter, add a leaf of the spiky one, that's dragonsbane... and in the meanwhile, shred up some of that belladonna. No, here's some gloves, don't do it with your bare hands, that stuff's poison. When it's in little bits about -- oh -- this big, -- she held up two fingers to demonstrate -- add some of the greenish powder, that's dried feverfew, and mix it all up. Okay?

Dobby gave a little nod, as if uncertain whether he had committed all that to memory, but was still willing to try and do as the girl said.

Hermione walked over to Eloise's inert form and felt her neck. The pulse wasn't as confused as it had been thirty minutes ago... that was good... she hesitated, tucked the girl's hair behind her ear, and stood up. She felt awful just leaving Eloise like this, but at least it was only for a little bit. She'd gone ahead and snuck into Eloise's dorm, packing the necessities and a few personal items Hermione knew Eloise would want with her in the girl's old duffel bag, before coming down here to finish up her spell.

She was full of apprehension. What if this didn't work? What if it killed them? Certainly even Dobby wouldn't survive it if this thing went to hell. This was the most delicate, fragile spell she'd ever put together, and she had invented several over the years, though Harry and Ron hadn't known it. Her waterproofing spell, for instance, that she once used on Harry's glasses during a Quidditch match: that had been her first attempt at improvisational magic, and it had worked like a charm (no pun intended). She only hoped this one would be so successful....

Hermione walked around the edge of the circle she'd drawn up in the grass. It was about fifteen feet in diameter, about large enough to hold two humans, one house-elf, and three sets of gear. At the moment it would still be possible to erase the line and make it bigger, but sealing it from the solid darkness of the muffler would cement its position, so to speak.

There were so many things that could go wrong...

She shook her head, and took a bundle of what looked like sticks from her pocket. They were cracked, chipped, worn down and often broken, with tape holding them together. Hermione had been collecting them for quite a while now, all these old wands. Of course, you didn't have to use wands as the barrier, she just thought it would be a nice touch. She'd disabled all of them, anyway, so they couldn't accidentally spark up and ruin the entire thing. You could use rowan twigs, or a line of powdered feverfew, or just about anything with powers of protection. She'd had to use feverfew around the castle, because that was the easiest to get hold of, and she had about a sackful of it still left over.

She walked around the circle, shoving the sticks in the ground about a foot apart, and muttering the whole way. Slowly, the blackness started to disperse, and when the last wand was in place, she could look up and see the pale half-moon glinting down on them. (Anyone standing on the roof of Hogwarts would see the same, but they all looked out windows.)

She let out a repressed sigh of relief, and went over to Dobby. She felt rather weak in the knees; she used strength of will on this spell more so than relying on the strength of magic, and it was far more exhausting.

she croaked to Dobby. Let me see. Okay, that looks fine. Scatter it in a circle around the flames. When Dobby stood up to do so, she sat down hard in his place.

Something is wrong, Miss? he asked, looking at her worriedly.

No, I'm fine, she breathed. Just catching my breath.

She could already feel something, something, opening up in the back of her mind... it felt rather like a little tunnel, but she couldn't be sure... it was all dark, the swirling greyness of the mind's eye. She tried to look down it, see what was on the other end...

Dobby let the first handful of belladonna and feverfew fall.

Hermione twitched unconsciously. The tunnel-thing had leaped a bit with the addition, and she wondered...

She scrambled to her feet and peered into the thick black smoke. Of course...

Hurrying over to her bag, she picked up a small bottle that held nothing but a sickly green-colored fog, and began to struggle with the cork. Hang on, Dobby, she panted. Keep a pinch of that stuff ready...

Unfortunately, the cork was being rather stubborn, and before she had a chance to do anything useful with it, she was frozen by the sudden sound of a twig breaking.

For a moment, there was silence. Dobby looked around, confused.

Who's there? Hermione called at length.

came an incredulous voice.

Sirius? What are you doing here, I thought you left after Christmas? Hermione said stupidly, forgetting her bottle. Why on earth was Sirius here?

Not precisely. What the hell are you doing? Hermione could just make out the outline of a man in the darkness beyond her little circle of purple light.

You can -- you can come in, she said hesitantly. Don't step on the wands.

Sirius stepped into the ring of firelight, looking at the wands in the ground with bewilderment. He blinked and shook his head as he took in his surroundings: Hermione and a house-elf doing who-knew-what with what looked like a veritable truckload of magical odds and ends, some of which were very rare; and Eloise lying unconscious on the ground by four bags packed as if they were about to walk to France.

What are you doing? he repeated, utterly confused.

Sirius, um... now isn't a good time, and why are you here? Hermione was wrestling with the bottle again.

It doesn't matter why I'm at the castle, but look, whatever you're doing, you should break it up now, he said sternly. You can't have Dumbledore's permission, if you're working in the dead of night. Am I right?

Well, no, of course I don't have permission, she snapped irritably. I'm trying my bridge spell, now if you don't mind --

You're not old enough to take that tone with me --

Oh, great, this from the person who needed twelve years in prison to cure his chronic immatureness --

Do you know what you're doing? If you mess this up everyone here will be dead!

I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING AND IF YOU DON'T GET OUT OF MY WAY --



Hermione and Sirius froze, red-faced and breathing hard with anger. An immense tenseness, a boiling hatred with no particular meaning or substance, had come over both of them, and with no real reason why, they were taking it out on each other.

What do you want? Hermione yelled at the person who had interrupted them.

Severus Snape stepped delicately into the light, followed by a slinking, miserable-looking Draco Malfoy. Snape's eyes glinted dangerously.

Miss Granger, I advise that you step out of this circle immediately and go back to the castle. One hundred points from Gryffindor for putting everyone present in immense danger, without any acknowledgement of, or from, your superiors, and... his eyes swept over her sack of ingredients, raiding my office once again, which, I may add, you have done at least four times prior to this. I will have words with the Headmaster. It would be a pity to be expelled, right when it seemed you were so on top of things. He gave her the icy look he usually reserved for Harry.

Shut up, Snape, Hermione snapped.

A pause.

Disrespect to a teacher, Snape growled. Another twenty points.

Where I'm going that won't matter, she muttered, yanking at the cork without much success.

Granger, I order you --

Shut your trap, Snape, Sirius snarled, stepping up to the teacher. You and your little sulking pet -- he gave Malfoy a withering glance -- can shove it up --

Easy to switch sides, isn't it, Black? Snape said softly. History does repeat itself.

-- and leave that out of it --

BE QUIET!

Hermione had stepped between them, at this point too far gone to care anything about who it was she was shouting at; and she delivered a sharp slap to both their faces.

Shut UP! Professor, get out of here, and Sirius -- you -- you too. Just go. She glared at them both in such a way as to suggest that she could do far more than slap, if necessary.

You too, Malfoy, she snapped, barely giving him a passing glance, and headed back to the fire. She snatched up a knife and viciously loosened the cork, ignoring the malicious stares she was receiving from Sirius and Snape.

How dare you... began Snape, taking a step towards her.

Dobby, give me that, she snapped, paying the professor no heed. Dobby handed her the last pinch of the belladonna/feverfew mixture fearfully, and scurried back, looking up and around at the upset humans with bulging eyes.

Hermione unwedged the cork just a tiny bit and, letting out as little of the greenish gas as possible, sprinkled the powdery mixture inside. She closed the lid, gave the bottle a couple of really good shakes, then held it out, with a grim, determined look, to the two adults.

Belladonna, feverfew, evaporated Chimaera saliva, she said in a low voice. Snape at least knows what that means.

If it were at all possible, the Potions professor had gone paler than usual.

You're really attempting this nonsense Dumbledore was on about tonight, aren't you? he hissed.

Hermione said nothing, but turned back to the fire and made as if to uncork the bottle. Snape lunged forward and grabbed her wrist, twisting it slightly. Malfoy began to back away, but Sirius snatched his shoulder and brought him back into the circle with a hissed, You're not going anywhere.

I forbid you --

Forbid this, she said, with some slight satisfaction, and sent a small surge of power up his arm. He shrieked and let go, as if he'd been burnt.

said Sirius, almost pleadingly, as if a sudden change had come over him. Don't do this.

You have about five minutes to get out of the circle, she said, checking her watch. It was now four o'clock...

You do see the ring's working on you, don't you? he asked, desperate.

She snapped her head up and looked at him. Yes, he was being honest. A small smile broke over her face, and slowly grew bigger, until she had to burst out laughing before her ribs broke from holding it in.

Don't -- don't -- don't look at me like that,' she cackled. I'm not crazy! Nhng... She bit her lip to stop herself, tears streaming down her face. Oh, yeah, ring mojo. I'm already over that part. Good guess, though. You'd better get out of here, spell's about done --

said Sirius, drawing himself up. Hermione glanced sharply at him. We have time. He gave her a grin... a familiarly... twisted grin...

Oh sh -- Hermione uttered a word she would never have said under any other circumstances. Dobby, blast him!

he asked, terrified, huddled as far away from Sirius as possible.

The ring's trying to take him, blast him like you did me -- She grabbed at her pocket, trying to keep the ring from escaping --

Sirius, snap out of it! she shouted. This is not a good time!

Everyone hates us, but we'll have it, and there will be no more betrayal! he shrieked, about to attack her, when --

Snape and Malfoy tying to escape --

Someone burst into the circle --



Again the magic broke, and for a moment, utter confusion....

Hermione scrambled for her bottle, dropped when Dobby had sent a cascade of protective magic towards Sirius from behind her. Sirius himself was sprawled on the ground, half-conscious. Snape and Draco had been bowled over by a seventh figure, who was now kneeling by Sirius and raging at an oblivious Hermione, who was currently uttering every single syllable of profanity she had ever learned.

The grey swirling in the back of her mind was no longer a little tunnel... more of a huge chasm... roaring, hungry for something to dare its depths... bugger the extra people, there was no time to get rid of them; in only a few moments, if the word of activation wasn't said, the whole world would fall into that bottomless opening...

She yanked the cork out of the bottle and poured the vaporous contents over the fire, scorching her hand a bit in the process. The flames turned black and spiraled up into the distant sky, the inverse of the chasm in her mind; a well that was quickly drawing near to the line between imagination and reality, and crossing it with no trouble at all. Now, the most important items of the whole spell...

She stood up, drew a small, lumpy package out of her pocket, and threw it in the fire, paper and all; at the same time she gave herself a voice boost and uttered one word:



----------

They never felt anything.

It might have been because they stood at ground zero of the ripple that followed; an eye-of-the-storm effect: it was calm, undisturbed. It might have been because the bodies their pure magical consciousnesses had just left behind were clinically dead, and couldn't feel anything. It might also have been that they were paying far less attention to the uproarious activities of little things like nerves and glands than to the sight before them, as they were drawn into the void of the spell; the void of space; and the void of time; and finally...

----------

Certainly such a magnificent shade of green could not be found anywhere in the world Hermione knew.

She found herself lying on the floor of a forest, in bright sunshine that made her eyes water after so much darkness. She felt empty, to say the least. Something was horribly wrong, despite the unrivaled beauty that surrounded her...

She shut her eyes, ignoring the bit of tree root that poked into her back, and settled for drawing in the fresh, green-tinted air in great draughts. This had to be Lorien... she'd had no time to set a location, but if this wasn't Lothlorien she'd eat her hat... a smile flickered on her face, but could not find the stamina to stay there long.

She levered herself onto her elbows and looked around.

She was completely alone.

There was no sign of another human being around as far as she could see in any direction. Of course, there was no telling how long she'd been asleep, and they might have wandered off if they'd woken up first; but, still, something pressed on her mind...

She felt in her pocket worriedly, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach...

The ring was gone.

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distort v.t. 1. to twist awry or out of shape; make crooked or deformed [1580-90; L distortus (ptp. of distorquere to distort), equiv. to dis- + tor(qu)- (s. of torquere to twist) + -tus ptp. suffix]

Etymology Key:
ptp. = past participle
equiv. = equivalent
s. = stem

–Webster's Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary, © 1996 Random House Value Publishing, Inc., first published 2001 by Thunder Bay Press
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