Out of Time
By Rurouni Star
"Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so."
-Douglas Adams
She was lucky. Had it been only fifteen minutes later, she would've been out of bounds going to the kitchens. As it was, she was going to have to hurry. The thought struck her that the invisibility cloak would be very useful at this point, but she'd promised not to tell. And Harry… who knew what Harry would think. She had prided herself on being the cool headed one in the group and she'd still almost shrieked herself hoarse.
As Hermione turned another corner, keeping in mind the last turn, she found herself at the kitchens, finally. A house elf greeted her excitedly as she came in, and soon she found herself surrounded by a swarm of them.
"Is Miss hungry?" one piped happily. "We have tea and cookies!" He held up a very loaded platter, and Hermione found herself tempted. She hadn't actually eaten since that morning, having skipped lunch to do homework… but she held herself back.
"Oh yes," she said, trying to sound just as enthusiastic. "I'm very hungry. Do you- do you think you have anything more
filling-"
Hermione tried not to jump as about ten other house elves surrounded her, each pushing boxes and platters her way, their high voices blending into one another to become one giant mass of incomprehensible chatter. She groaned.
"One at a time?" she asked hopefully.
Then blanched as she realized her mistake – each one decided to go "one at a time", and louder…
-----
Hermione decided that next time she had to go to the kitchens, she would bring the invisibility cloak and just steal the food. It was an uncharacteristic thought, but the elves had been so very helpful that she shuddered at the thought of ever asking them for help again. Her arms had been stuffed full with dinner, breakfast, lunch, dinner again, snacks for in between, desserts, and three separate jugs that held different drinks. She wondered what time it was and whether she'd be able to get back to the secret passage at all, balancing this load. And really, the smell of roasted chicken was making her weak in the legs as she remembered she hadn't eaten very much that day.
"Hermione?"
Her eyes widened and she jumped in fright. Various packages of food scattered – she moaned and covered her eyes, unwilling to watch.
But…
No sound of food hitting the floor was heard.
She cautiously opened one eye.
Professor Lupin smiled at her, and let the containers float gently down to the ground, arranging themselves into a convenient pile.
"Whatever are you doing with so much food?" he asked her gently. She swallowed. Normally, she would have been ecstatic to see her favorite professor – she barely ever had the time to talk to him lately, what with, well, school. But now- he was the exact last person she wanted to see. Perhaps barring Snape.
"I-" she squeaked. "I- well, I was hungry, you know, I hadn't eaten today, and they just kept shoving more and more at me-"
He chuckled. "Oh yes, I should have remembered. The house elves are like that." Lupin gestured at the pile of packages and they floated into the air once again. "Perhaps…" His face turned indecisive. "Do you think you would be up to learning a new charm? I would help you with these, but I was just on my way to Professor Snape's office."
Hermione nodded, relieved. "Okay then," he said with a smile, "watch closely and follow my pronunciation."
He swiped his wand across himself, then pointed at each package in turn. "Legatus."
She watched as the packages rose as one, arranging themselves neatly into a line, then filing into order behind him. He grinned once before pointing at them one by one – as his wand rested on each, it began to lower itself gently to the ground.
Hermione found herself inordinately nervous as he looked at her expectantly. Hesitantly, she raised her wand, crossed herself with it, and pointed at each of the parcels. "Legatus," she said quietly.
To her surprise, they rose almost at once, moving behind her like a trained army. She felt her mouth split into what must have been an enormous grin.
Lupin raised an eyebrow. "Well done. I'd say that's five points to Gryffindor for mastering a charm your first try." He winked at her and said, "Just don't tell anyone I'm not the Charms teacher."
If Hermione's smile could have gotten any bigger, it would have. Instead, she said, "Thank you, Professor Lupin."
He nodded and moved to continue walking – but slowed just as she started walking. Hermione stopped abruptly with a surprised sound.
Lupin turned around with a strange expression, as though he'd just thought of something important. He looked at her intently. "Hermione," he said, in a very serious voice, "I was wanting to tell you – I am quite aware that you've taken on a great burden this year. And while I'm sure you're up to it, no one can keep up a rapid pace for a year straight. Should you ever need something, do come to visit. And-" The corners of his mouth turned up at her packages. "-if you want to talk to someone, I am always here."
She felt her mouth fall open. No – he couldn't. No. He didn't know.
If he'd known, she would be in Dumbledore's office by now – or worse, in the Ministry – so he couldn't know.
"Th-thank you," she managed. "That's very good of you."
Only now did he look at her penetratingly, as though sensing her unease. But her innocent expression must have fooled him (she didn't know how – she didn't exactly practice it routinely) for he continued his walk to Snape's office.
Hermione began to run as soon as he was safely out of sight, and hoped the packages also had some kind of sense of speed.
-----
It had to be some kind of miracle. She'd made it there, undetected, unhindered by staff or students, and all under fifteen minutes.
Hermione cast a hurried glance behind her before tapping the wall, speaking the word, and rushing inside, pulling a few reluctant packages along behind her with both hands. They seemed to almost sullenly settle as she pointed at each in turn.
It was only after she'd stacked them into a neat pile that she realized she didn't know where Black had gone.
No! He did trick me, he's run off to do who knows what-
A sound from the couch made her jump for the second time that night, but she breathed in relief as she saw the dark man's figure laying on it. His breathing was sharp and erratic, and at first she thought he might have been injured and she hadn't seen it before. But as she looked closer, she realized he was asleep.
Ah. Well. Being on the lam from most of England will do that to you.
She set up a small dinner and stored the rest of the food in a neat corner, wishing the place had a cabinet or at least a counter. By the time she came back to eat something herself, the man was clenching his fists until they were white and muttering something under his breath.
A horrid curiosity seized her, and she leaned forward to listen, to gain some understanding-
"Not Prongs- not Lily-"
Hermione choked as she felt a vertigo seize her. Prongs. Prongs is familiar. Why is Prongs familiar?
Something set off in her head, then, and she cried out, grasping at it vainly to calm the fire that raced along it-
"-we came to write the Marauder's Map, and sign it with our nicknames-"
"Two more for Azkaban tonight-"
"-a tame werewolf-"
"But if- if there was a mistake-"
"KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL-!"
"They'll be very pleased to see you, Black… pleased enough to give you a little kiss, I daresay…"
EXPELLIARMUS!
Hermione gasped as a hand shook her, pains still shooting through her head, pounding with something, but not with blood, because blood didn't burn like this-
"What-" she breathed. "I can't- what is it-"
"Are you all right?"
Spots danced before her eyes, and she winced as the pounding in her head intensified suddenly. She waited a moment before rising to her knees and putting a hand against the table – had she hit her head there? – and her sight was suddenly clearing, and…
"Sirius?" she asked, confused. Because he was in the Shrieking Shack – no, he wasn't, he'd gone into hiding-
"Yes?" he responded.
The strangeness left her, the memories that weren't hers faded, and the pounding died away slowly. Hermione winced, rubbing at the bump on her head. "What happened?" she murmured. "I can barely remember now…"
He grunted and helped her to her feet. "You fainted. I'd guess stress, myself."
She nodded vaguely. Yes. She was under a lot of stress, just like Lupin had said…
"Oh!" she said. "I got food."
He smiled – the first true smile she'd seen on him. "I noticed," he said. "In fact, I hope you'll forgive me if I eat a bit. It's been twelve years since I had any decent food…"
Well.
Far be it for her to interrupt.
"Go ahead," she shrugged. "I've got something of an appetite myself."
He shot her a confused look. "You seem to be taking this much too calmly," he informed her.
Hermione realized that this was so. She tried to examine herself, to understand why this was, but all she could come up with was that she was hungry. "I suppose so," she said. "I'm sure the panic will come later, in the middle of Potions or some such thing."
Black chuckled, and she picked up a small part of the dinner the house elves had showered her with, moving back to the chair and picking at it slowly. The thought occurred to her that she was out of bounds, that she couldn't possibly get back without notice…
And then she remembered that she was a witch with a timeturner.
Handy.
So she decided to take her time and make herself comfortable, thinking all the while about what she was going to do.
"What is it, exactly, that you want to accomplish?" she asked the possibly-innocent man before her idly, toying with some cinnamon apples.
Black leaned back, seemingly full and already looking much better than when he'd arrived. His eyes flashed dangerously, though, and she was immediately reminded that she was in the presence of a criminal, innocent or not. "I'm going to kill Peter, of course."
Hermione could have laughed, but she didn't.
"What is that going to get you?" she asked.
"Revenge," he replied promptly.
Hermione rolled her eyes. Men. All alike, no matter the age. "Look, if you kill him, there goes your innocence. Poof. Back to Azkaban." At his flinch, she remembered she probably shouldn't remind him… "But, on the other hand, if you manage to catch him, you'll be free to go and he'll be sent to a living hell. Isn't that more befitting?"
Black seemed to consider this reluctantly. "Obviously, it would be better if I could capture him," he admitted. "But he's currently endangering my godson, and I can't leave him be like that."
Hermione blinked and looked up at him. "Godson?" she asked faintly.
The man raised an eyebrow, and she could have sworn, just for a moment- but no, there was no way he could be related to Malfoy. "Didn't you know? Or, no – I suppose they would've kept that under wraps too. I'm Harry's godfather."
The shock must have shown on her face, but he continued. "In any case, Peter has placed himself perfectly to kill him if he wants… it's going to be hard to get near him like that. He's taken an unknowing hostage, in effect."
Hermione narrowed her eyes, thinking hard. "How would he do that, though? I assure you, I haven't seen any wizards named Pettigrew hanging around Harry recently…"
The convict stared at her, as though to say You're smart, figure this one out.
Pettigrew… Peter Pettigrew… an Animagus…
She swayed as something tried to take hold of her again, and the voices came to her again, except they were soft and hazy, as though she were a radio with bad reception.
"That's not- a rat-" one of the voices spasmed.
"-a wizard-" "Pettigrew."
Hermione swallowed, pushing harder this time, and the strange voices stopped, shoved over a dark precipice somewhere in her mind. But the message was clear.
"Scabbers," she whispered.
"What?" he asked.
Hermione rubbed at her temples. "It's Scabbers. Ron's rat. Oh god-" she laughed incredulously. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation. No. No, no, no – Ron's rat – it's a rat! It sleeps and eats and takes up space and so what if it's missing a finger-"
"Hermione-"
"It's a rat!" she said, suddenly angry. "I am not here, having this conversation with an insane, escaped wizard. I am not talking about a dead man as though he were alive and a rat!"
She could feel the tears coming now, and she was curling in upon herself, sitting up in the chair and hugging her knees. "You're mad," she said. "I'm mad. Got the voices and everything to prove it."
Black watched her with an inscrutable expression – then leaned across the table to close his hands around her wrists, prying them from her knees.
"You are not mad," he assured her. "You're simply having that breakdown we were talking about. Believe me, if anyone's got a right to doubt their sanity, it's me, not you."
She shuddered, trying to fit it all into her mind, but it wasn't working – the pieces were getting squashed and stuck, like they didn't quite snap together right. And the voices were taking up space, only she'd just now noticed because they were at the very bottom…
"I don't understand," she whispered. "This shouldn't be happening."
Bastards. Leaving me all alone to deal with this, when they know awful things always happen to people that tamper-
Black had released her wrists, now, and was leaning back into the couch. "How many subjects are you taking?" he asked mildly, as though it were an everyday occurrence, talking to an Azkaban escapee.
"Twelve," she muttered, suddenly embarrassed at her outburst.
He coughed in surprise, nearly spitting out a small gulp of apple juice he'd been taking. "Wh- what?"
She groaned. "It's not fun, I assure you. But I'll get a better idea of what I want to do this way, and it looks really good on college applications-"
"I take it back," he told her, shaking his head and laughing. "You are mad."
Hermione hmmphed. "Yes, well, why don't you tell me how many you took while you were here?"
Black waved his hand. "At least four less than you, that's for sure. Although, I must say, I did rather well at them." He raked his hand through his hair, suddenly looking infinitely younger. "How are your grades, taking all of these at once?"
She flushed a dark red color and mumbled something.
"What was that?" he asked. "I couldn't hear you."
Obviously, Hermione thought hotly to herself. Never expected Sirius Black to be such a smartass-
"I said," she repeated a little louder (but not much), "About… um… a hundred and ten percent. Except in Potions, but no one gets good grades in there except the Slytherins."
Another incredulous laugh. "It figures I'd get the best witch in the school looking after me. I should count myself lucky. Well, my little third year, what's our plan?"
He must have missed her glare. No, he was looking straight at her – that meant he was doing it on purpose.
"Our plan?" she said. "We do not have a plan. I haven't been able to think coherently since before the beginning of the year. I'm afraid you're coming up with your plan, Mr. Black." I'm an idiot. I am, I know I am. One night and I'm already saying I'll help him in whatever he comes up with.
His face took on a thoughtful expression. "I suppose I'd first better get cleaned up. I seem to remember being pretty strict on a shower every day… rather hard to accomplish in Azkaban, after all…" Black's face brightened at something. "I could- yes. As long as Remus doesn't make the rounds tonight…"
"If you mean Lupin," Hermione said, "He's gone to Snape's office. I don't know what he's doing, but I have a feeling he'll be out for the night because he wasn't looking too well." She frowned. "Of course, he never looks too well…"
The man across from her frowned suddenly. Snape? he seemed to mouth to himself – but there were more important issues, apparently, because what he did say was, "What kind of night is it?"
Hermione blinked.
"I don't know, it's the middle of October- why?"
Black watched her with a guarded face. "I suppose trusting you with another secret won't do much at this point, but it's not mine to tell…" he murmured. Nevertheless, he mulled it over for a moment. "What phase is the moon in?" he asked, finally.
She shrugged. "I'd guess it at three quarters because next week's got a full moon – why?"
He immediately relaxed for some reason, but she didn't comment on it. "Well then, that's that," he said. "I'll be going out for a bit," Black told her with a smile, as though she were his mother. "Be back by morning, surely – you can check up on me then, if you want, and we'll go to stage two."
She raised an eyebrow, trying to imitate him. "Stage two?"
"Getting my map back."
With this, he walked straight outside. Hermione almost let out a cry of disbelief that he could be so stupid – but when she followed him out, all she could see was a black tail, disappearing behind a corner.
Well.
That was that.
Her night's work was done – having successfully housed an escaped convict, stolen some food, and waved said convict goodbye as though he might not be going to perform dark magic on one of her friends, Hermione felt she was just about ready to go to bed.
One, two, three.
The hourglass spun.
And she ran back to the common room, just as she knew her other self was leaving.
Her dreams were not pleasant.