Obviously, this fic has now turned AU (not that it wasn't already in terms of character). Enjoy, and don't worry, regularly scheduled Harry-Snape- AlternateJames&Sirius will reappear in two chapters.

Interlude No. 2

Summer of '94, Early June

From the Pen of Hermione Granger:

Dear Harry,

How have you been? I've barely heard a word from you this last week and I was starting to get worried.

Everything here is all right. Mum and Dad have been debating whether or not they want to go visit Grandmum and Granddad at their cottage in Wales. If they go, they'll be giving me the option of coming with or staying at a friend's house. I was thinking about writing to Ron and asking if I could stay there, or maybe going off to visit Viktor, as my grandparents don't know anything about my magic, not really, and it would be quite awkward for me there.

I found the most fascinating book the other day, all about the history of house elves. I think it could really help support some of my campaigns to get them equal and fair treatment in the wizarding community. Once I've finished taking notes and cross-referencing some of the chapters with a few of my other books, I'll send it over to you. You usually have good insight about these things.

Before I forget, I was talking with Parvati the other day (we ran across each other at Diagon Alley, while we were getting fitted for new robes), and in between talking rubbish about the newest, hottest wizard model, and the best hair spells and lotions, etcetera, etcetera, I learned a few interesting facts about what is going to be going on at Hogwarts this year. Apparently 'Vati knows because her parents are Unspeakables and her mum specializes in security. I can't tell you through this letter, but if we meet up soon I'll fill you in then.

I'll let you know where I'll be as soon as I figure out so Hedwig'll know where to go.

Hugs,

Hermione.

Written by the Thrice Broken Pencil (Mostly Because Dudley Sat on It) Now in the Possession of Harry Potter:

Hermione,

Sorry I haven't written much lately. I've had a hard time finding paper and something to write with. My Uncle locked up all my supplies this year, so fast I didn't even have time to get my wand out of my robe pocket before he was yanking it off of me. All my stuff is locked up in my former room, so I don't think I'll even be able to do my homework this summer. It's a wonder that Hedwig was left alone, but I think that Uncle Vernon was afraid she'd make a racket if he pushed her into the cupboard under the stairs with the rest of my 'abnormal, freakish rubbish'.

I finally sneaked into Dudley's room and stole a workbook of his that has never been used. If you turn this page over you'll see math equations that are Primary school level and he still doesn't understand, not really. I found a pencil too, underneath the sofa, but it's wearing down fast and I don't have a pencil sharpener. So this'll be a sort of short letter.

If you go to Ron's house this summer, I may be able to drop by for a few days. It all depends, really, on my Uncle's mood. Professor Dumbledore has left all of those type of decisions up to him, though I'm not sure why, and Uncle Vernon has said that if I don't do anything strange for the next few weeks I'll be able to stay a weekend or something at the Weasleys. I think he would want to get rid of me permanently except for the fact that he just found out that he can be compensated for having taken care of me all these years. He's milking it for all that it's worth. He's also kept me locked up so that I don't try to run away like I did in Third Year, though that honestly wasn't my fault.

I don't think you should send me your new book. If Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia see it, they'll probably burn it. They threatened to do that to anything of mine that they found out of the cupboard, so I haven't even dared pick the lock to get my textbooks. If I don't get my Potions assignment done, I can just imagine the look on the slimy git's face in September.

I recently got a letter from Professor Lupin and 'Snuffles'. They're doing fine and have assembled the old crowd, I've been told. The full moon's coming up and I'm worried for Moony, but he'll have Padfoot with him this time, so I imagine they'll be fine. Professor Lupin has invited me to his house for Christmas this year: maybe I'll go. He also said that you and Ron could come as well, if neither of you wanted to go home.

Aunt Petunia is thumping at my door. I have to go. I'll try to send another letter soon, and maybe find a new pencil while I'm at it. Could you give me just a hint about Parvati's news?

Harry.

From the Pen of Hermione Granger:

Dear Harry,

I think it's horrible how the Dursleys are treating you! They aren't making you go on Dudley's diet again, are they? I'm sending you a parcel of food just in case. I'm sure you'll find someplace to hide it. Let me know if you need any more.

As for where I'll be for the next two weeks or so: I've decided to go with my parents and visit with my grandparents for a few days, three at the least, and then portkey over to Bulgaria where Viktor will pick me up and spend a few days with him and his family. Then I'll portkey back to England and stay with the Weasleys for the rest of the time, which will be about a week. Everything has been pretty much arranged by now, so if you could make your way to Ron's in about a week's time, then I could tell you Parvati's news.

Well, I'm quite sure that my parents will want me home for the actual Christmas eve and day, but for the rest of the break, I'll hop on over to Professor Lupin's. I'm sure both he and Snuffles are doing fine, so you needn't worry.

Who do you think will be our new DADA teacher this year? I'm betting on someone from the old crowd that Professor Dumbledore told Moony and Padfoot to drag together. I hope that it will be someone not evil or incompetent for a change. We will need all the preparation we can get for what's coming soon. Your scar hasn't been hurting too much lately, has it?

I've been writing to Ron and he told me to tell you to write to him soon else he'll send a howler to your house. He's quite annoyed that you've been ignoring him lately, but I explained that it was probably just because you don't have anything to write with or on, and also pointed out that he hasn't been writing very much at all to you. He's in an over-all bad mood because the twins are using him as their primary guinea pig. They used to use Ginny as well, but she did something that scared them so much they backed off. If you want details, I suggest going to her for them. Whatever tips she has could prove useful in getting the twins to back off with their numerous practical jokes.

I got the Daily Prophet this morning and Rita Skeeter is back at it, making up new and improved lies to tell the whole of the wizarding world. At least they're no longer harmful or scandalous lies, however, so I'm sure that my hold over her is still strong. The whole animagus business of the last few years has brought in my mind an idea that I'm already researching. Again, when we all meet up at Ron's, I'll tell you and him. I'm sure you'll both be eager to start training for it.

It's too bad that I won't be able to send you the book I wanted to, but it can wait a while longer. I've got to talk to Dobby and Winky about it anyway. Some of the plans I've made up may be too radical for them to go along with; you know how house elves can be.

Along with the parcel of food I've enclosed a pad of paper, a pencil, two pens, and a sugar quill. You no longer have any excuse not to keep in touch with either myself or Ron. Write again soon.

Hugs,

Hermione.

From the Tip of a Sugar Quill Belonging to Harry Potter:

Hermione,

Thanks loads for sending the food and paper and pens and things. They were a lifesaver, literally. I was starting to feel like keeling over in hunger. Yes, they have got Dudley on a new diet proposed by the Smeltings' School Nurse, which doesn't seem to be decreasing Dudley's size any less. I think this could be because he sneaks downstairs while Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia are sleeping and steals some jam and scones and things to eat up in his room. If only I could do that! But Uncle Vernon locks my door at night, so that's difficult.

The diet is a purely liquid one. You would not believe how fast my body uses up all the energy in the 'protein' shakes that Dudley and I have to drink. I'm hungry again in about fifteen minutes, especially since Dudley usually drinks all of his share and half of mine as well.

The chocolate chip and oatmeal cookies were wonderful. Did you make them? And I really liked the banana bread.

I'll try to make my way to Ron's, but as I said, Uncle Vernon has tightened the leash. I'm getting so restless being cooped up in this one tiny room all the time, with only Hedwig and the spiders for friendly company. I know Dumbledore said not to leave the house unless for an important reason, like a life or death situation, but I'm going stir crazy locked up in here. I'm thinking of sneaking out tonight through the window. Thankfully Uncle Vernon hasn't put the bars back in, so aside from the drop to the ground, it should be pretty easy to get out. My problem will be getting back in, but I think I can probably climb the pipe up the outside wall, jump to the window ledge, and get back inside. I've been planning this for a while.

I wrote to Ron just last night, so he shouldn't have anything to complain about. Oh! Here's Pig. Give me a second while I read the letter Ron sent.

Okay, I'm done. Ron was pretty angry that I hadn't written earlier, but not as angry as I thought he would be. He said that the latest twin prank being tested out on him made his eyes grow out of his head in antenna fashion, his skin turn into scales, and his vocal chords changing in shape so the only sound he could make was 'crick, trick, crick'. It finally wore off after two days or so, but everyone is still making jokes about it. At least he didn't turn into a spider, because then he would have been REALLY angry and freaked out.

Ron also says that he'll be staying with his family this year for Christmas, and that Mrs. Weasley was planning on inviting me along as well, but since I've decided on going to Professor Lupin's, that Ron and Ginny, if she wants to, can come and visit for a few days in the Christmas Break.

And no, my scar hasn't been hurting very much lately, so there's no need to worry.

Harry.

From the Pen of Hermione Granger:

Dear Harry,

We've just arrived at my Grandparents. Grandmum is a year or two older than Granddad and is slightly senile. She makes excellent cookies, however, and has a beautiful singing voice. Grandpa told me that she's been looking forward to seeing me for so long since I was ten the last time I saw them, and she used to dote on me when I was younger. I've been given the guest room that looks out over a small pond, populated this summer by two mallards. Sometimes I amuse myself by throwing bits of bread out to them and watching them duck to eat them.

How did your late night adventure go? I don't think you should have done it, but since Hedwig only just found me, I suppose this letter won't come in time to stop you. At least you'll have gotten the chance to breathe some fresh air, I imagine, but I do hope you were extremely careful getting out of the house and climbing back in.

Those twins are getting worse every year we've known them, no matter what's going on in the world around them. They don't seem to notice that there's a war brewing; poor Ron, having to endure them. When I go to stay with them in a week, I'll have to have a long talk with Ginny to see what she did to make them so terrified of her. Do you know if you'll be able to make it to the Weasleys yet?

I have to go, Grandma wants help with her cookies.

Hugs,

Hermione.

From the Pen of Hermione Granger:

Harry,

Why haven't you written back yet? It's been almost a week; I'm in Bulgaria now, with Viktor. Has Hedwig been unable to find his home? I've sent the address with this letter in case.

Viktor's hometown is a very pleasant place, rustic and with the smell of magic all about it. His family finds me 'charming', as Natalya (Viktor's elder cousin) informs me, and his Mother is delighted with all the charms I can do. She tells me with her hands, since she can't speak English nor I Bulgarian, how impressed she is with me. Viktor's Uncle, Tradenov, is a very shifty fellow who very obviously doesn't think my presence is appropriate. I have the feeling that he may be Dark; his daughters are hardly any better. Their names are Katya and Irina; his son has a strange disposition, and I rather think that he may be mad. Viktor is constantly at my side whenever this family comes visiting, and I get the feeling that he fears for my safety. He certainly acts in an overprotective fashion, which would infuriate me if it weren't so endearing and sweet.

We've taken to flying over the countryside on his broom; initially I was afraid that our combined weight would cause us to crash, but Viktor assured me that I weighed less than a feather, and I must say I'm glad I listened to him. The view is breathtaking; One day, when all of us are over this madness that is beginning, we'll have to take a vacation to see the sights in the country.

Please tell me how your life has been; I'm really eager to see you and Ron and Ginny, to go to Diagon Alley, to catch up with Snuffles and Professor Lupin.

Write back promptly!

Hugs,

Hermione.

From the Pen of Hermione Granger:

Harry, don't be a jerk!

You haven't answered for the longest time, and you were supposed to meet the Weasleys in London; Ron told me that you'd already set everything up with them! Mrs. Weasley's going out of her mind with worry, never mind about Ron, Ginny, the twins, and Mr. Weasley! If the Dursleys wouldn't give you a ride, you should've told Ron or sent a letter, or something! Everyone's getting really worried by now.

Just write back, okay? We're supposed to be going to Diagon Alley tomorrow and it wouldn't feel the same without you. If you don't write back, I'm going to send a letter to Snuffles and Professor Lupin, and I know you hate worrying both of them.

Hermione.

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Hermione Granger watched the small owl that belonged to Ron Weasley speed off into the daytime sky. Her teeth worried at her lower lip, and she nervously pulled on a lock of hair. The letter she'd just sent off had sounded mostly angry, but she was truly very worried. It wasn't like Harry to not answer his mail, not counting the summer before Second Year, which hadn't been his fault because of Dobby.

Ron, who'd grown even more and towered high above the shorter witch, laid his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. Best friends since mid-way into First Year, they made up two-thirds of the trio that consistently helped to save Hogwarts: School of Magic, and were also the main confidantes of one wizarding hero Harry Potter. They understood the worry that each underwent every time something strange happened because of Harry or around him.

"Hedwig probably caught cold or something," Ron said comfortingly. "And Harry just didn't want to send her out when she was feeling below the weather. That's something he'd do." His voice was a low rumble; it was another of Ron's traits that had changed since Hermione had seen him last, before a normal boy voice, now transitioning into a mature, deep one.

She leaned back into him, and murmured, "I hope so."

The atmosphere in the Weasley household that night, and the night after, was tense and unmanageable, everyone filled with the knowledge that someone each and every one of them considered family might be in serious trouble. They all waited in stiff anticipation for the white feathers of Hedwig to come swooping in through the open window, bringing with her a letter.

Mrs. Weasley masked her unease with brisk efficiency and strained cheerfulness, comfortably managing to put enough food on the table to feed two girls, six boys, one man, three owls, and herself. In fact, all she seemed to be doing the entire time since Hermione had arrived was cooking, frying and baking and mixing with a single-minded intensity that was almost scary.

Ginny kept herself mostly out of the way of everyone's path, often disappearing into her room to be alone. When Hermione joined her, which wasn't often as Ron needed her as much as she needed Ron, Ginny smiled slightly, but didn't go out of her way to make Hermione feel welcome. She painted quite frequently, but would never let anyone see a finished product. Every morning she'd read the Daily Prophet cover to cover; every time she saw Ron, she'd ask, 'any news then?' She was waiting on word from Harry, or about him, in her own, quietly unobtrusive fashion.

The twins were feverishly working on new products, much to the dismay of Mrs. Weasley and particularly Ron, whose temper was snapping frequently. Hermione wanted to tell the twins to back off until Harry was around, because Ron didn't mind being the guinea pig for their pranks half as much when Harry was there to calm him down. Harry was quite good at calming Ron down; Hermione only seemed to make him angrier, and so she avoided him mostly when he went on his fury-fueled rampages. Hermione noticed that the twins seemed strangely subdued, even in their fervor of invention; she thought, perhaps whimsically, that they too felt the absence of Harry's presence.

Percy, who still hadn't moved out, was quite the twitchy individual. He even had the strangest tic under his left eye, and he seemed to seldom get much sleep. He barely left his room, not even when Bill and Charlie attempted to drag him out. When Hermione woke in the middle of the night and went to the hall bathroom to get a glass of water, she saw a light peeking out from the space in between Percy's door and the floor. When she'd first arrived at the Weasley house, she'd asked Ron what was going on with Percy, and had been answered with a brusque shrug and a 'Prolly just Ministry business. Don't ask him, because then he'd tell you'.

Bill and Charlie, who were visiting again this summer, disappeared for a few days at a time. They came back looking tired and either very pleased with themselves, or grimly hopeful. They never left at the same time, and so one was always at the Weasley's the entire time Hermione had been there. Charlie's burn scars from the dragons he'd taken loving care of showed more vividly than ever before, and Hermione surmised it was because the tan he'd always had, ever since she'd met him, was fading in the not-so-hot English weather. Bill, too, was becoming paler, though he looked no less cool.

The trip to Diagon Alley, the one that Hermione had mentioned in her letter, didn't happen. When the day for it came, everyone made out like they were too busy to actually go; Hermione knew the truth, that no one wanted to go when Harry wasn't with them, when a letter from him might come in while they were gone. No letter came, and Pig finally made it back, Hermione's letter still in his talons. Even more alarmingly, Hedwig followed after him, hooting tiredly.

While they fed Hedwig, Hermione and Ron exchanged worried glances. Hedwig would never have left Harry unless she had a letter to deliver, and she had brought no letter. "Snuffles?" Hermione made the single word a question.

"Snuffles." Ron answered.

Hermione wrote the actual letter, though a lot of the words came from Ron's mouth. They sent it off with Hedwig, and silently hoped that Sirius would have all the answers, would have, more importantly, Harry safe with him.

Two days later they learned this was not the case, when Hedwig swept back to Ron's room, a scrap of paper bearing Sirius' conspicuous writing on it. Ron grabbed it first, read it, then passed it on to Hermione with grave eyes.

It said, simply, "Flourish and Blotts, Thursday, 2:30." That was in two days; Hermione didn't know how they were going to get anyone to take them into Diagon Alley. Ron didn't either; but he wasn't going to let that stop him. He said, "We can just go by ourselves through the Floo. Mum'll be furious for sure, but she'll get over it. I know that we can't get Perce or Bill or Charlie to take us, because they'd never leave our sides, and Dad won't have time to take us because of Ministry business."

Hermione nodded. "It would be the safest thing, for Snuffles, if we went alone."

Ron grinned, though it didn't look to be a particularly healthy grin, and said, "Maybe we can stop off by Zonko's and get something to prank the twins with, to get back at them for using me as their experiment tester."

As it was, they very nearly didn't make it to Flourish and Blotts on time. Hermione supposed it was some kind of universal law that whenever one tried to make a quiet escape from an unconventional, unlikely prison, all sorts of factors conspired to disrupt the attempt. First, Ginny had decided it was time to let loose all her worries and insecurities, and kept Hermione busy until noon sobbing all over her and saying how badly she felt over being the youngest child, the only girl, how alone she always was, how much she loved Harry, and she was so miserable Hermione hadn't the heart to tell her to stop whining about it and take proactive action.

Ron finally broke in on it, storming into their shared room with bright purple and green polka-dotted hair, pale carrot-orange skin with blue freckles, and neon pink teeth. He snarled at Ginny and said, "Get out, I need Hermione to uncurse me." Ginny, who'd been staring slack-jawed at Ron since he'd made his entrance, started to giggle and wouldn't stop, the sound strange coming from a girl who'd been sobbing her eyes out only a few seconds previous. Ron growled again, then shoved Ginny, not ungently, from the room. He took Ginny's position sitting on the bed, and groaned. "I can't go out in public looking like this!"

Hermione made a shushing noise. "I happen to think you look quite colourful," she soothed him. Then she frowned, and said, "You know, Ginny's going to remember in a few seconds that none of us are allowed to use magic over the summer, and she'll come back to yell at you."

Ron grinned, quite suddenly, and grabbed her hand, tugging her up. "I know. That's why we're making a break for the chimney now, before she comes back to use your shoulder for crying on."

They made it halfway down the hallway when Percy's seldom-opened door opened. He stood in the doorway, hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot and weary, and said, "I need you to get Dad to come home; and make me a cup of coffee. Thank you," and retreated back into his room.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a strange glance, and held a furiously whispered conversation.

"We can't waste anymore chances," Ron hissed, hunching down for easy access to Hermione's ear.

"But it could be important! None of us know what Percy's been doing; he hasn't been going to work and he stays up all night, and your parents are really anxious about him. If he says that your dad has to come home, then we should get your dad to come home!"

Ron sighed, shut his eyes, and rubbed his forehead tiredly.

As it turned out, the three cups of coffee that Hermione brewed grew cold while they waited for the Ministry office to connect them with Mr. Weasley. The receptionists kept on re-routing their call to another desk, and not to Mr. Weasley's, until Hermione started screaming enough like a banshee that it brought back Pig's repressed childhood memories of a close call, and made him flap frantically around the kitchen, squawking feverishly. He knocked into all three of the lukewarm cups of coffee, and, when trying to clean up the mess with magic (illegal as it may be, Hermione just didn't give a damn any more), Hermione somehow managed to transform the litre or so of coffee puddling on the floor into an ankle-covering sludge of brown goo which smelt slightly of cinnabars.

"Bullocks!"

Hermione's muffled curse somehow coincided with Mr. Weasley finally coming to the fire-call. Arthur's face creased in mild concern. "Ron, Hermione? What're you doing? Is everything all right at home?"

Ron slumped tiredly over, and delivered his message. "Perce says you need to come home now. Please."

Arthur immediately tensed up. "Did he mention why?" He seemed to think to himself, then said quickly, before Ron could reply, "Never mind, that doesn't matter. I'll be there as soon as possible. Tell your mother that we'll need an early supper tonight, all right? And a large lunch would be good as well." Arthur's head winked rapidly out of view.

Hermione stared grimly at the sludge. "I don't know about you, Ron, but I'm about done running other people's errands. I'm about done making coffee. And I think your father," her voice, rising, sounded particularly ominous, "can tell your mother," and was now reaching almost shrieking levels, "himself that he needs HER TO COOK MORE THAN SHE ALREADY HAS BEEN!!!"

"Quite right," Ron agreed hastily. "It's almost two. Let's just hop through Floo, all right? The Burrow can stand without us, and Snuffles would be quite upset with us if we didn't make an appearance."

And so that was what they did.

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Sirius, in animagus form, led Ron and Hermione down a dark alley. He turned back into a wizard in an eye-blink, and his face was more haunted than ever before. His lips did quirk ever so slightly when he saw Ron, though. "Nice colouring," he commented, and Ron's cheeks flamed a darker orange.

"Twins," was all Ron would say, and Sirius nodded understandingly.

He raised his wand just a bit, and grabbed Hermione's shoulder. "Hold Ron's hand," he told her. "We're Apparating."

Ron and Hermione exchanged frightened, but determined looks, and grasped each other's hands tightly. They closed their eyes, and breathed deeply, and when their eyes had opened once again, they were in the familiarity of the Shrieking Shack. It had a small round table in its middle, with five chairs arranged around it. Sirius took one of them, and Ron and Hermione another two.

Sirius' right-hand fingers drummed restlessly against the table-top. There was a deep, profound silence. Then, "Harry's been missing for a while now, as I'm sure you know. You and the rest of the Weasleys." Sirius' shoulders sagged. "Voldemort's taken him."

Hermione felt her vision turning spotty, and turned someone breathing harshly nearby; later she realized it had been the combined gasps of her and Ron, being breathed out in unison. "Wh – what?"

"Voldemort," Sirius repeated. "But Harry's not dead, not yet, and we're doing all we can to find him. Me, Dumbledore, the old crowd."

"How can you know?" Ron asked, his changing voice cracking as it went higher and higher in pitch. "How can you possibly bloody BELIEVE that Voldemort hasn't killed Harry yet?!" His hand, still clenched around Hermione's, turned yellow it was squeezing so hard. Hermione didn't notice the pain.

Sirius looked down. "I'm his Godfather. Of course I know."

Hermione found her voice. "Well, do you know where he might have been taken?"

"Nowhere in England," Sirius said grimly. "We've contacted the other European Ministries, but it's been hard to get them to pay attention and to realize that Voldemort is back in power; not to mention that we only just realized that Harry's safety had been compromised a few weeks ago. It's been rough trying to cross off possible locations for him."

"Too bad the Marauder's Map didn't extend past Hogwarts," Ron muttered darkly. "How'd he get taken? I thought he was protected at the Dursleys."

"That's one of the main mysteries," Sirius' frown deepened. "Dumbledore swore to me that he would be protected at that house. He laid some of the most ancient and powerful protection charms on it. I can't imagine how they would have failed, or how the Death Eaters got around them."

Dim horror welled up within Hermione. "I think I know how..." she whispered. She found herself the bearer of two suddenly sharp gazes, and hastily explained. "I... I, that is, he sent me a letter – his last letter to me – and he said that he was desperate to get out of the house. He said that he'd been planning on sneaking out for so long, since his uncle had kept him locked up forever and he was dying for a breath of fresh air, and I told him not to! I TOLD him not to, but he'd already gone, his letter came too late, or mine did, and oh Merlin."

In the silence that ensued, Hermione could very clearly hear her own harsh breaths and Ron's gasps. Sirius sighed. "Well," he said, "that's one mystery explained." He slumped over in his chair and ran one bony hand through his shaggy hair. "I can't believe he'd be so bloody STUPID." Then, very quietly, "dammit."

Ron and Hermione shared a glance, and then echoed Sirius.

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A large black dog had apparently taken up permanent residence in Dumbledore's office.

Severus Snape felt distinctly uncomfortable every time he saw it. It seemed to glare at him with baleful eyes, as if it hated him. It typically stayed in its corner, however, so Snape was resigned to its presence.

"You summoned me, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Surely by now you have learned of Harry Potter's disappearance from his Muggle family home. Traces of Death Eater magic have been found in the surrounding area, and it's believed that Voldemort currently has Harry in his possession. However, it's also believed that Harry has not been killed, so there is hope yet for his safe recovery." He steepled his fingers on his desk and looked over them to Snape. "I am well aware that he is not your favourite student, but I would hope that should the opportunity arise for his rescue the next time you are Summoned, it should be taken."

Snape growled softly. "Trust that damn fool Gryffindor to get into trouble like this. Of COURSE I'll try to save him, Headmaster, but I don't know how effective I'll be. The Dark Lord has been tightening his fist around all of us. We no longer even know where we Apparate to, and we're not able to leave without his express permission."

"Just try your best, Severus, and don't get yourself – or young Harry – killed."

"If that was all?"

Dumbledore solemnly inclined his head. "You may go. And Severus – next time you are Summoned, be careful."

Snape walked out of the room, down the stairs, tossing back a casual, "Aren't I always?" behind him.

As soon as the door clicked shut, the large black dog transformed into the shadowed form of Sirius Black, who immediately began to pace back and forth. "I don't trust that git," he said.

"You don't have to trust him," Dumbledore said evenly, fingers still steepled. "I do."

Sirius tossed him an inarticulate glance. "Whatever. That's not what I came here to talk with you about. I need a classroom."

"A... classroom?"

"Yes, you know - one of those places where students go and sit in desks and teachers stand up in the front and lecture them on... changing puppies into beetles, or the many contributing factors to Circe's downfall, or whatever. One of those. I need one."

"To teach?"

Sirius stopped pacing momentarily to glare at Dumbledore. "Of course not! If not only for the fact that all of my students would run screaming at the sight of me, what would I teach? 'How To Survive and Escape Azkaban in Ten Easy Steps'?" He breathed an exasperated sigh. "I need a classroom for a project. Preferably one of the classrooms that hasn't been used for a few decades; one that almost everyone has forgotten. Could you manage it?"

Dumbledore eyed him carefully. "Yes, you'll have your classroom." He significantly paused. "You do know that the Aurors are all greatly committed to finding Harry, right? They're looking everywhere for him."

Sirius growled, sounding astonishingly like Snape or just a moment. "Yes, I know, Albus. I also know that the majority of them are ineffectual doddering idiots, and that Remus is also working on it, and I trust his tracking abilities far more than theirs, and that I can't actually go out in public to search for my own bloody godson because if I tried that, I'd have a murderous mob on me in seconds. Trust me, I'm well aware of all these things."

Dumbledore gave him a commiserating look. "I know it's difficult. I have maintained the lines of communication with Madame Maxime of Beauxbatons, and she has certain links to influential wizards and witches in France and Belgium. It'll be...."

Sirius scowled, and Dumbledore very hastily did not say 'all right'.

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Ron and Hermione stepped off of the train together, staring at the familiar sight of Hogwarts in awe. Because, not so familiar, were the spiraling forms of flying dragons, dark against the dim early evening sky.

"Part of Hogwarts' new protection you think?" Ron asked shakily. Hermione nodded.

They stepped into a carriage with Neville and Ginny, and waited quietly to come up to Hogwarts' entrance. Ginny was wearing a smug look on her face as the three others speculated wildly about the dragons. When Ron, who'd seen that look right before she'd pulled off pranks that put the twins to shame, asked her about it, she said, "Haven't you wondered yet what Charlie's been doing all those days he wasn't at home?"

Ron sputtered for a few moments. He hadn't really wondered. Apparently he should have.

Then Ginny added, "Now think about what Bill's gone and done – and HE'S a curse breaker."

Ron went pale.

The Sorting that year was short. Not many first-years were coming into Hogwarts this year, and the Sorting Hat sang its shortest song to date. Its tone while singing was morose, and its tip folded over dejectedly. Hermione nudged Ron to get him to notice, but Ron just shrugged.

When all the first years had gone to their tables (Gryffindor got eight new members), instead of Dumbledore making his traditional speech, a familiar face rose to address everyone. He was stocky and had close-cropped red hair. Burn scars criss-crossed visible flesh. Charlie Weasley.

"Hullo, I'm Charlie Weasley." He grinned broadly and ruffled his hair absentmindedly. "I'm sure by now that everyone has noticed the dragons outside. I'm their handler – I feed them, make sure they go to bed on time, stop them from eating any students who happen to come across them. There are five of them, and they're here for your protection – this means that they stand guard against anything that comes from the Forbidden Forest, or from Death Eaters. This is not to say that they won't attack YOU if provoked. So please, stay clear of the beasties because it's been a long time since they've tasted wizardflesh and I'm sure that they would have no conflict of conscience if given the chance to taste it again."

Hesitant clapping awarded Charlie's speech.

Dumbledore stood after Charlie had sat back down, and spoke with uncommon graveness. "I trust," he said solidly, "that you all have a had a restful summer. Now is the time to learn - to learn all that you are able, and not just from the classroom. And, since I dislike long speeches, may the feast begin."

This speech received no applause at all, and the students slowly began to fill their plates with food.

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Remus Lupin came in out of the cold. It was a bitter sort of cold that gnawed at the tips of his fingers, and he came into a musty sort of inn that swallowed duskily around him like the yawning mouth of some great beast.

It was called 'World's End'. In it, they really did.

Remus had heard about such way-places that could only be found on the darkest nights of greatest need. You had to be very close to death before you were allowed entrance into this type of inn, which spread out across a multitude of times and dimensions. You also had to be ready to pay in blood.

Remus smiled pleasantly at the young woman standing behind the front desk, wearing a Muggle-type uniform and a quiet smirk. She had curly black hair and seemed to look straight into Remus before nodding. "There's a free room up the stairs and to your left. Number Two Thousand Two Hundred Twenty Eight. The Commons is open all night, and perhaps you'll find what you seek among them that speak there."

"Payment?" Remus asked warily.

"On your way out."

Remus nodded thankfully, and walked past her and her desk into a candle- bright room that housed a flaming fireplace twice as tall as him. The room was filled with wizards, witches, vampires, sprites, and assorted other creatures, all assembled on log benches, involved in spirited debates. Among them would be Someone, as there always was in these way-places. That Someone was just who Remus had braved death for; that Someone would know where Harry was.

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There were no new Prefects. It was a disappointment for Hermione, to be sure, since it was almost guaranteed that she'd be one of them. As it was, the Sixth Year Prefects were the ones that took the First Years up to the dorms, and Ron and Hermione hung back from the rest of their House's departing the Great Hall.

"It doesn't seem right, being here on the first night back without Harry," Ron said despondently.

"That's because it isn't," Hermione replied. They both stared at the rapidly emptying room with unseeing eyes.

"We should go," Ron said. Hermione nodded. Neither moved.

Hermione swallowed thickly, and her small hand found Ron's. He squeezed it reassuringly. "Yes. We should go."

They were stopped outside of the Fat Lady by Professor McGonagall, who glared down at them from behind her spectacles. "What has kept you two? I've been waiting for half an hour."

"Sorry Professor," Hermione replied. "Did you need us for something?"

McGonagall scowled slightly, but not at them. "Just to key you into the new security system for Gryffindor tower. It needs to know to recognize you before letting you in; if you tried to get in without being in its list, you would presumably be short by an arm for the rest of your lives."

Ron and Hermione exchanged wide-eyed glances. "Guess we know now what Bill was up to," Hermione muttered.

"Miss Granger, place your hand on the Fat Lady's frame, please, and say the password."

Hermione put her hand on the frame, then blushed and said, "Professor, we don't know the new password. No one's told us yet."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake," McGonagall rolled her eyes. "It's 'Phoenix Tears', Miss Granger."

"Thank you, Professor. Phoenix Tears." Hermione's eyes widened and she went 'oh!' as her hand sank into the frame and a golden glow enveloped her. She pulled her hand free easily, and stepped back from the portrait uneasily. The Fat Lady blinked down at her owlishly.

"Now you, Mister Weasley," McGonagall prompted, and Ron repeated the procedure. "There. All done. Both of you should go to bed immediately," she said after Ron's glow had faded. "You'll have a busy day tomorrow."

The Fat Lady swung open and Hermione and Ron stepped through, saying quiet good nights to their Head of House.

Ron headed up to his room shrouded in his own whirling thoughts. He couldn't believe Harry was so stupid. The idiot survived four years of various people trying to actively kill him, catch him, or otherwise use him for nefarious purposes, and he got himself kidnapped – even after having been extensively warned. It made Ron want to scream.

Then he was in his shared room, which had beds filled with Dean, Seamus, and Neville; and two beds conspicuously empty.

Bitterness in his eyes, Ron no longer felt like screaming.

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It was the witching hour.

Which wasn't, in fact, at midnight; or the hour before midnight; or the hour after midnight. It was from two to four, where the barrier between night and day was the weakest. In the fields surrounding Hogwarts, where dark dragons swooped ominously, one figure cut that barrier in half and stepped through.

She was the new Dark Arts Defense Professor, and she was here to get things done.

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To be continued...

And no, the new DADA teacher is NOT Umbridge.