(A/N: We're still in Chapter Twenty-Four of Consequences – pitiful, isn't it? But we'll be moving along after this.)
"Neenie!"
Black knocked his chair over sprinting to the girl standing by the door and snatched her into a hug. She was crying, Draco noticed over Black's shoulder – no, they were both crying, he corrected himself as Black turned around. He'd lifted her off the ground and was turning slowly in place, holding her in his arms and laughing and crying at the same time.
This is disgusting. And demeaning. A Malfoy in tears over a Mudblood... she has to be his girlfriend, there's no other reason he'd be this damned happy to see her...
Black set Granger on her feet and brought his right hand up to his face, stroking two fingers down his jaw line. She did the same on her own face, then reached out and ran her fingers along the line of Black's scar. His fingers traced down her cheek at the same time, and when he took his hand away, Draco saw with some surprise that she had a similar scar – vertical, about two inches long, under her left eye.
Wonder where they came from.
"Now," she said briskly when their little ritual was finished, "a lesson in nomenclature. Just because Hermione Granger thinks Draco Malfoy is a wart, does not mean Hermione Granger-Lupin thinks the same of Draco Black. Are we quite clear on this?"
"But I thought you'd be... mixed in with Hermione Granger," said Black as they seated themselves at the table. "I felt it trying to happen to me, but we're too different. It didn't take right."
Granger – or was it Granger-Lupin? – sighed. "She's grieving," she said. "Her parents were killed recently." She shot a venomous look at Draco. "I've never lost anyone that close to me, at least not to remember it. So we're different enough right now that I can keep myself together, apart from her. But if we stay here much longer, and she recovers, I may not be able to."
"Do you know anything about anyone else?"
"Yes. First off, no one is dead."
Black looked confused, and absurdly hopeful, at the same time. It would have been hilarious, if Draco hadn't been able to identify the expression with the one he'd worn when his father had told him he could be initiated into the Death Eaters a year early if he wanted. "That's great, it's wonderful – but how did it happen?"
Granger-Lupin smiled. "Animagus forms. Danger was able to throw herself and Meghan and Letha into animal bodies, the same as their forms. They're at Hogwarts, in the Forest. And the others went to their counterparts, like we did."
"But they're so much more alike." Black chewed on his lip. "Won't they be mixed in?"
"Assimilated," corrected Granger-Lupin. "And yes, they might be. But Danger thinks she can reverse it, if it hasn't gone too far already. We talked last night," she said, forestalling the question Black was about to ask. "She's still recovering from saving the three of them, and she can't risk something as magically draining as bringing Padfoot or Moony back – if she made a mistake, it could backlash and kill her. But she can do a little dream-traveling now, and she thinks she'll be able to try it within the next couple of days."
Black scowled. "It's not going to do any good, though," he said darkly. "Not if we can't get home. We don't belong here, Neenie. We're messing things up. And people are going to be worried about us at home – Luna, and the Weasleys, and Professor Dumbledore, and everyone else..." He slammed his fist down on the table, making Draco jump. "This is such a mess!"
"What do you expect from Voldemort? He wasn't going to send us on a sunshiny picnic. And would you rather Luna be worried about you at home, or that she be stuck here with us?"
"You have a point. But I'd rather she not be worried at all."
"Luna hardly ever worries. And we'll find a way back, Fox. You know we will. If it's there to find, we'll find it."
"That's what has me worried. The 'if' part."
That's what has me worried too. Draco lay down on his bed, facing the wall, and tuned out their conversation. What if I'm stuck with him in my head forever? Will I have to watch him kiss her, or do other stuff, if she can visit him in his dreams – in my dreams?
And why were they talking about Loony Lovegood?
"Hey, Malfoy."
Draco looked up. Black was standing beside him. "I'm really sorry about this, I should have thought of it earlier. Here."
Draco sat up, accepted the little glowing ball, and looked at it dubiously. "What is it?"
"It's a dream. Any dream you want. No reason you should have to hang around here and listen to twin-talk. I've been told we're very obnoxious."
"Twin-talk?" Suddenly several things fell into place. "You mean – she's that twin sister you were talking about?"
"Hey, you are smart! I'd give you a prize, except you've already got one. Just think hard about what you want to dream, and smash it on your forehead like a soda can."
"Like a what?"
"Never mind. Like this." Black pantomimed crushing something into his head near his hairline.
"Now you know why he's so weird," said Granger-Lupin from the table. "Sixteen years of hitting himself on the head."
"But it feels so good when I stop."
Draco had been about to ask how in the name of Merlin they could be twins, but decided in the interest of sanity that getting away from them was a higher priority at the moment.
He stared at the tiny ball of light. I want to dream of everything being normal again, he thought at first, but then changed his mind. Why settle for half measures? He deserved a little happiness for what he'd gone through these past few days.
I want to be a Death Eater, he told the glowing dream sphere. I want to please the Dark Lord. I want to crush my enemies and bring them down. And I want it all now.
He pressed the globe into his forehead, and everything blurred around him, then cleared again.
He was down on one knee, and his left forearm throbbed with pain. Blinking back tears, he looked at it, and felt hot glee flood his veins. He bore the Dark Mark, the brand of his master for all to see. No one could make him join the weaklings of the light side now. He would fight with all his soul for darkness, and for his own pleasures.
"Your first assignment, Draco," he heard the Dark Lord say above him, and looked up. The Darkest wizard in a hundred years lounged on a throne-like chair, wand in one long-fingered hand, drawing lazy patterns of green smoke in the air. "Your first assignment is one of tremendous importance. I have chosen you, from all the young and promising of my followers, as the most likely to carry it out successfully. Will you?"
"Command me, my lord," said Draco, bowing his head.
He heard the Dark Lord's laugh. "Very good, Lucius. Very good indeed. I am quite pleased. Your first assignment, Draco, is to bring me one of Harry Potter's friends. Who it is matters not, only that it be someone he cares about enough that he would try to rescue this person himself. What you do with your hostage is also your business. I trust you have been trained in the proper use of... certain spells."
"Yes, my lord." Draco's glee remultiplied. Revenge for years of petty insults and humiliations would soon be his. He would make Potter sorry for everything he and his stupid "family" had ever done to the noble house of Malfoy, starting with making his father a fugitive way back when Draco had been only six...
"Where do you think he went?" asked Hermione, looking at the place where Malfoy had been a moment before.
"Who cares?" Draco hadn't known his heart could be so light. His Pack was alive. Stranded in a strange world, yes, but alive. And his twin, who knew him better than anyone except Luna, was here with him again. "Let's go somewhere else. I'm sick of this room."
"I can imagine. How long have you been in here?"
"Too long. You figured out what happened when he 'went insane'?"
"It wasn't hard, since I knew you had to be in his head. But wasn't it hard to take him over like that? It is his body."
Draco snorted. "Hard? No. He's a bully, Neenie. He's not used to people fighting back. He's used to throwing a few insults and running away, or cowing people with his name and his so-called wit. He's smart, but he's not a prankster. And no one's ever taught him to really use his mind. Not like we were taught, with all the extra stuff we've done with the Pack."
He willed the room different, and it shifted around them, four walls reconfiguring to eight, the furniture changing size and color, until they sat side by side on the bed in the blue bedroom of the Hogwarts Den.
Hermione laughed. "No one had to teach us how to play pranks. We just learned it. But you're saying he never did war games, or studied to be an Animagus, or learned Occlumency."
"Exactly. Though he was about to start Occlumency lessons with his dear Auntie Bella." Hermione made a gagging noise. Draco nodded. "If I'm any measure, he would have been good at it once he'd learned, but he hasn't had any training yet, so even with less than a year's worth, I was able to shunt him aside long enough to yell a lot of stuff that was calculated to make them think he'd gone totally mad..."
"It wasn't all calculated, was it?" she asked quietly, laying a hand on his arm.
Should have known she'd know. She always does. "No. It wasn't. The beginning of it was me just yelling for the Pack, because I was scared to death. I didn't understand what was going on, or why I was back there, or where everyone was. It took me a while to figure it out. And when I did..." His hand sought hers and found it. "I was scared even worse. Because I thought I would never see you again."
"I know." Hermione pressed her other hand against her breastbone, where Draco was sure, in this dream world, her pendants still hung, as they did not in the real world. "Draco?"
"Mmm?"
"Do you think they really miss us at home?"
"They have to. You know we're important, Neenie. Harry Potter and his family don't just disappear with no one noticing."
"No, I mean... the Pride. The rest of the Pride. Do you think they miss us?"
About to laugh at her for being stupid, Draco noticed the quaver in her voice. "I think so," he said carefully. "Are you thinking of anyone in particular?"
"No, of course not," said Hermione automatically.
"Liar."
She sniffled. "Yeah. You're right. I just... oh, mouse guts!" She jumped up, pulling her hand free of Draco's, and swiped the candlestick off the bedside table, sending it rolling across the floor. "I hate this! I hate it! I bloody hate it!"
"What do you hate?"
"I hate watching her do what I want to! And now I'll never get a chance!" The small items sitting on the dresser followed the candlestick to the floor.
"Hate watching who do what?"
"Her! The other me, the other Hermione! She's getting what I want!"
"What's that?"
"Ooooohhh–" Hermione groaned in frustration. "Do I have to tell you everything?"
Draco concentrated briefly and changed his appearance, then cocked his head to one side questioningly.
Hermione burst into laughter. "Don't do that!"
"Why not?"
"Because! Just don't. It's... you look terrible with red hair. And the freckles are too big. They make you look like you have dragon pox."
"But am I right?" Draco turned his hair back to silvery blond and erased the spots he'd sprinkled across his face.
"Of course. You know that."
"No, I didn't know that. Despite popular opinion, I can't read your mind."
"Not when I'm over here, you can't."
"And you will get a chance to do what you want to." As much as Harry and I might not care for it... or Remus and Sirius, for that matter... but ride that broomstick when we come to it. "We all will. We're going home, Hermione. You have to keep believing that."
"Why?"
"Remember what Professor Dumbledore told us last year, during the third task?"
"Oh." Hermione nodded. "Yes. I do remember."
He said, "If we lose hope, we lose everything, and Voldemort has already won."
And I'm not about to let that happen. Not at home, and not here.
We will go home again.
Sirius awoke early the next morning, troubled by a vague recollection of another dream starring the mysterious dark woman. This time, though, instead of being the vamp she'd been in his first dreams of her, she was almost all business, with just a hint of tease lurking deep in her brown eyes. They'd been working on something together in the basement of Number Twelve, paperwork of some sort, and talking as they did, just idle chitchat, nothing important.
There'd been a child in the dream as well, a girl, obviously some relation to the woman, probably her daughter. As Harry had said, she looked to be about twelve, but she was already... blossoming was the word that came to Sirius' mind, now that he'd seen her for himself. She'd been curled up in a chair near the fire, petting Hermione's Crookshanks and reading a book, and listening with half an ear to the conversation, more likely than not.
The dream had given him a strange feeling of peace, something he hadn't felt for he didn't know how long, which meant it had obviously been too long. He had been aware of the war in the dream, as he was every moment of his life, waking or sleeping, but it had been more of a distant concern to his dream self. It was as if he had chosen to put it aside for a while, to spend some time with his...
My what?
That's a good question. What are they to me?
And why am I suddenly dreaming of them every night, when I've never seen or heard of them before?
The questions were unanswerable. He shoved them to the back of his mind and went downstairs to find some breakfast.
The oddity of Emmeline sitting so close to Remus she might as well be on his lap didn't strike him until his second plate of bacon and eggs. "Thought you two were on the outs," he mumbled.
"Swallow, Padfoot," recommended Remus, grinning. "We're not on the see-food diet here."
Sirius swallowed as commanded. "You're in a good mood," he said. "What happened?"
Remus and Emmeline both laughed. "Come on, Sirius, I knew you were thick, but I didn't think you were that thick," teased Emmeline. "You know what happens at night... a witch, a wizard, a bed..."
"That's not what I meant."
"We made up," said Remus. "My enormous and glaring blunder has been forgiven, and I have sworn upon my sacred honor that I shall never stray again."
"You'd better not," said Emmeline, glaring at him. "Or I'll feed you to that grindylow of yours."
Sirius shook his head. "Moony, you need to work on this thing you have about violent women. It's really not good for you."
He couldn't figure out why they both laughed.
After breakfast, Harry caught Ginny's eye and jerked his head off to one side. She nodded and got up, following him out.
"What's wrong?" he asked once they were safely ensconced in a small room on the ground floor.
"Nothing."
Harry shook his head. "Uh-uh. You keep staring at me, and you hardly ate anything at breakfast. The last time you acted this way, you were possessed by Voldemort."
Ginny laughed. "It's not that."
"Good. What is it?"
She sighed. "I just had a bad dream. I was running around Hogwarts, looking for you. I was always convinced that you were in the next room, or around the next corner, or up the next flight of stairs. And then I ran into Ron. He was standing still in the middle of a hall, and he looked at me and said, 'They're gone, and they're not coming back.'"
"Who?"
"That's what I asked. And he said, 'Who do you think? Harry and Hermione.' And then he started crying." Ginny looked at Harry in confusion. "I've never seen Ron cry. Except once. It scared me so much I backed up. But I forgot I'd just come up a flight of stairs. I fell down them backwards, but I woke up just before I hit the bottom."
Harry nodded. His mind was on something else. "When did you see Ron cry?"
"You mean you don't know?"
"If I knew, would I be asking?"
"Now you sound like Hermione."
"No need to be insulting, Ginny."
"It was a compliment."
"Ouch. But I still want to know."
"I'm not sure I should tell you."
Harry drew his wand and locked the door. "Not letting you out until you do."
Ginny growled at him. "I'll put a hex on you."
"And I'll put one right back on you. Tell me."
"Fine. It was back last summer, when you got poisoned. When we all thought you were going to die. Happy now?"
Harry stared at her.
"That works better if you make sound come out of it," said Ginny, pointing at his open mouth.
"Ron cried over me?"
"There, see? Much better. Yes, he did."
"I never knew."
"I don't think it's the kind of thing boys go around telling each other."
"I think you're right."
"Boys don't tell each other a lot of things, I think," said Ginny musingly, tipping her head to one side to think. He'd never really noticed how pretty she looked when she did that, Harry thought. "I wonder why that is?"
Impulsively, Harry took two steps closer to her and leaned down slightly.
There was a long pause.
"In this case," he said when he'd caught his breath, "it's because he'd kill me if he found out."
"No, he wouldn't."
"Why not?"
"I wouldn't let him."
"You wouldn't?"
"Well, not if you'll do that again."
All in all, Harry thought, it was a good thing the door was already locked.
Hermione sat in the front room, running her hand mechanically over Crookshanks' fur, feeling his purr rumble through her.
She had really liked to hear him purr, once. She had liked a lot of things. Reading, and sitting outside in the sun, and talking with Harry and Ron and Ginny... she had liked those things once upon a time.
Do you not like them anymore?
I can't like them now.
Why not?
Hermione sighed. If I had to have a voice in my head, couldn't it be a smart voice?
She allowed the images to play through her mind again. The owl wearing the seal, dropping down to the table in front of them. Harry handing her the letter, sympathy on his face mingled, horribly in her opinion, with relief. And then the ultimate blow – that it was not just one of them, but both, both at once...
I'm alone now. I don't have anyone.
Don't you still have Harry and Ron and Ginny?
Yes, but...
I know. They're not your parents. No one ever will be. But you're not alone.
Fine, but I don't have anyone I can ask questions of now. No one to tell me things, or help me.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would help you. They'd love to help you. So would Sirius and Remus. So would most of the Order. They hate seeing you so sad.
Aren't I allowed to be sad?
Of course you're allowed to be sad. But maybe it shouldn't take over your life, is all I'm saying. Your parents wouldn't want you to be sad all the time, would they?
I don't know.
But she did, and they wouldn't. They'd want her to enjoy life, the way they always had, even when it meant she spent more and more of her time away from them, in a world they could never enter, never even really understand.
So what you're saying is maybe I should try a little bit to enjoy things, even though I'm still sad?
Maybe. It's worth a try.
"Hermione?"
She looked up. "Hi, Ron."
"We're just getting a game of Exploding Snap together. We wondered if you maybe wanted to play."
"I think I do." She set Crookshanks on the sofa and stood up. "Are you all right?" she asked. "You look like you didn't sleep well."
Ron shrugged. "Just had a dream, about Hogwarts and Ginny and you and Harry. Nothing important."
"All right."
They left the room together, side by side.
Hagrid woke up late that morning. He was stiff and sore from his exertions of the night before. It would have been a lot worse, though, if it hadn't been for his mysterious helper.
He wondered about that as he aimed his umbrella at the water in the large tin washtub and muttered the incantation to heat it up to bath temperature. Whoever it had been knew quite a bit about magic. It would take a lot of control to make fire appear in the air all around Grawp's head like that and startle him into letting Hagrid go without harming Grawp in the process.
"An' they didn' hurt him any," he muttered, starting to get undressed. "I'm grateful ter them, whoever they are." Fang was still in his basket, snoring. The little doe he'd found lying at the edge of the Forest the night before had retreated under his bed.
Now she was a puzzle, Hagrid thought. A pretty little thing, just losing the last of the spots that marked a fawn's coat, with a deer's usual great liquid eyes – but they were grey. He'd never seen a deer, buck or doe, with grey eyes before.
He tested the water and almost yelled. It was much too hot. He poured in some from the bucket he'd filled it with to cool it off and stirred it with his umbrella, still thinking about the doe. Someone might have been experimenting on her, perhaps, practicing Color-Changing Charms, and she'd run off before it could be reversed. She was also housetrained, another thing Hagrid hadn't been sure was possible. And she was as friendly as any dog, and accepted food from his hand without a quibble.
"Ar, it's none o' my business," he said aloud, lowering himself into the steaming water. "I just take care o' creatures, I don' go pryin' inter their lives."
After he was clean and dressed, he headed out back to feed Buckbeak, Fang and the doe – she needs a name – playing a friendly game of chase around his feet. As he got closer, though, he saw the hippogriff wasn't alone. A sleek black winged horse stood beside him, regarding Hagrid calmly.
The doe shot between Hagrid's legs and galloped towards the paddock, clearing the wall in one leap. She butted her head against the horse's forelegs, then twined around them like a cat. The horse bent to sniff her, folding its wings around her.
"Friend o' yours?" Hagrid asked the doe, chuckling a little. The horse was a mare, he noticed as he sat on the paddock wall (he'd built it himself and knew it was up to his weight). "C'mere, beau'iful, I won' hurt yeh."
The mare walked sedately forward and blew into his face, a horse's courteous greeting. Hagrid returned it, then allowed her to sniff his hand while he tossed dead ferrets for Buckbeak to catch. Before the hippogriff had finished his meal, Hagrid was stroking the mare's mane and the feathers of her wings. The little doe nibbled at the leg of his breeches until he stroked her head as well.
It was odd, he thought when he got up to go to the castle for breakfast. He didn't seem to hurt as much as he had when he'd woken up that morning.
But that was what a good hot bath could do.
"My lord, I beg your indulgence," said Lucius Malfoy, kneeling before his master. "I fear I am not myself today."
"Yes, the unfortunate malady of your son. I was quite shocked to hear of it, Lucius. I am sure no blame attaches to you, however. It was not your fault that you were forced to be away from him for so long."
Lucius breathed a silent sigh of relief. He was not going to be punished.
"I believe you would enjoy it if we struck at the one whose fault it is, would you not?"
"My lord?"
"Everything is prepared, Lucius. We are, perhaps, a little ahead of schedule, but that will not matter. It is time to deprive the Auror Office of its so-capable Head." Lord Voldemort laughed. "One way or another."
Remus knelt on the floor of the bedroom at Number Twelve and prepared himself for pain.
I should be used to this. I've been doing it for thirty-two years.
But the child he loved more than life itself had never been going to join him before. Harry, inspired by the stories of his father and Sirius, had followed in their footsteps and become an Animagus. His form was fitting for a Quidditch Seeker – a Golden Snidget, the tiny round bird which had originally been used for the role the Golden Snitch now played in the game.
I should never have agreed to this. There's no way Harry can defend himself if something goes wrong.
But Sirius can handle me. That's been proved. And Harry can fly. He'll be fine.
Still, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was missing. Something was not there which should have been there. It was an emptiness in the back of his mind, chill where there should have been warmth and silence where he expected laughter and chatter...
You have no idea how much I wish I could give you what you're missing, my love. You have no idea how much this hurts me, to lie here without you and know you're hurting, and I'm not there to help. But you wouldn't know me if I came to you now. I'd confuse you and scare you, and you don't need to be confused and scared any more than you already are.
Tomorrow. We'll be together again tomorrow. At least, I hope we will. I hope you're not already too far gone for me to reach you. I'd do it tonight, but you have to be asleep, and I know you and Sirius, and Harry. Sleep is very low on your agenda for tonight.
So enjoy your company and your games, and know I love you, even though I can't tell you so until tomorrow.
A soft, mournful howl echoed through the Forest as the full moon rose.
(A/N: So, things starting to come together a little more now?
Clarification: The transfer between worlds will not take place in the main universe of the Danger world. However, everything that the characters talk about or refer to has or will. So, by the time Draco and Hermione are going on sixteen, they will have scars on their faces, they will think of each other as twins, etc. And yes, there is a pattern to who has dreams and who hears voices.
Coming soon: An attack on Sirius has an unforeseen consequence, and the Order of the Phoenix gains a new member. Lovers are reunited, freedom is gained, and one young man is very unhappy with his new form in Chapter Four of Dangerous Truths!
See you next time! Please don't forget to review!)