Hermione stood at a high window, gazing out over the grounds of Hogwarts, watching four small figures in black robes and one large, four-legged, red-furred shape strolling towards the hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. As her eyes rested on this building, its door opened, and a new form stepped out of it, one whose bubblegum pink hair was visible even from this distance—
Two of the black-robed figures and the dog which accompanied them broke into a run as they recognized the person awaiting them, and Hermione turned hastily away, her inner battle beginning anew. "I can't," she whispered, hurrying blindly down the corridor, head bowed against her tears. "I just can't. This ought to be the best time of my life, the happiest, it's everything I've ever wanted—"
Except it's not. It can't be. Not without them. My— She stalled on the word, even in her thoughts, and quickly found a compromise. My friends. Or the people who could be my friends. My Housemates are nice enough and so are the others in my book club, we really do have a lot in common, but we're almost too much alike sometimes, and other times we're so different I can barely understand them, and I know, I just know, that it wouldn't be that way with—
Hissing under her breath, she halted near the end of a staircase as she heard the telltale sound of stone rumbling around her, meaning a change in where and how these stairs connected to the rest of the castle. "I do not know that," she informed herself stiffly. "My dreams are not the same as real life, and thinking about them all the time just means I'm not paying attention to what's actually around me. If I weren't so stupidly emotional, I'd be able to put all this nonsense out of my mind and get on with studying magic, the way I've always wanted to do."
The door at the bottom of the stairs opened, and she pushed through it, angrily pressing her fingers against her eyes. What is the matter with me? It's been more than a month since I started at Hogwarts, I thought I would be past these ridiculous feelings by now—
The sound of cheerful voices around the corner froze her in place, and she looked around wildly for somewhere to hide, somewhere to go. Anywhere would be better than having her fellow students see her crying.
There. A door. She hurried to it and tried the knob, then growled in frustration. It would have to be locked. Let me see if this will work.
Drawing her wand, she pointed it at the doorknob. "Alohomora!"
The lock clicked and the door swung open. Hermione dashed inside, shut it quickly, and leaned against it, listening.
"—can't wait for the first match," said a girl's voice, though not one Hermione knew. "I'm so nervous, though. Charlie Weasley's a hard act to follow."
"Don't worry so much, Rosie," advised an older girl. "We never won the Cup with Charlie, did we? And we might with you. Wood's certainly got us practicing hard enough."
"I like the new thing they're doing with the first years," said another witch's voice. "That game from America. It's good training for quick turns and stops, and for keeping your eye on a ball in play. Smaller than the Quaffle, but that just means any new Chasers'll have an easier time keeping track of it…"
The group's voices faded as they rounded the far corner, and Hermione exhaled a guilty sigh of relief and turned to look at her hiding place.
Her throat squeezed shut, cutting off her scream before it could begin. Wildly she fumbled behind her for the doorknob—between humiliation and death, she'd take humiliation—
She tumbled backwards into the corridor, knocking the breath out of herself, and fetched up against a pair of scuffed brown shoes, hearing a wheezy cackle from above her.
"Well, well, well," said a thin, gloating voice. "We are in trouble now, aren't we?"
"What're you doing here?" Draco asked Tonks, who was sitting on Hagrid's front steps, scratching behind Orion's ears as he leaned against her legs. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, mind, but I know how busy you are."
"Well." Tonks reached into her pocket and pulled out a slightly flattened scroll. "Like I said in my letter, I'm going to need your help with something. And that's all of you," she added to the group at large. "See, being an Auror isn't just about shooting off spells at nasty Dark wizards. You have to learn how to think like the bad guys too, so you can figure out where they're going to be, and maybe even stop them from getting there. And my first assignment in that regard…" She unrolled the scroll enough so that they could all see the top of it. "Happens to be involved with somebody who's not where his relations think he is."
"Progress report on…Harvey Plotter?" Ron turned to look at Harry. "Mate, is this…"
"Her fault." Harry pointed to Tonks. "So's the school name."
"You're lucky it sounded as good as it did." Draco lay on his chest in the grass, his heels thumping together above him. "This is somebody who once claimed she needed to study for her History of Magical History exam." Tonks reached over to lightly swat his ear. "Ow."
"But what do you need from us?" asked Neville, reaching into the bag of sweets that Tonks had brought with her, then yanking his hand back quickly (Harry suspected one of the Peppermint Toads was loose). "We're not at St. Brutus's whatever-it-is. It doesn't even exist."
"No, but you are at school." Tonks gestured to the castle. "And I think it'll be even funnier if the reports we send back to the Dursleys are just the tiniest bit true. Like, if Harry's doing well in Transfiguration, we can claim his work is marginally acceptable in…what did McGonagall charm that book to look like, Harry?"
"Philosophy." Harry nodded, enjoying the idea. "And I'm all right at botany, but I'm failing history because I don't pay attention, and I won't stop causing trouble for the teacher in organic chemistry."
"If only." Ron scowled. "What's Snape got against you, anyway?"
"'Snot about Harry, really," said Hagrid, coming around the corner of his house. "Snape was at school with Harry's dad, they were always gettin' into it back then. Afraid yeh look enough like James that it sets him off, even now," he said to Harry.
Orion grumbled under his breath and nudged his head more fully onto Tonks's lap.
"Hang on, let me get that down." Tonks pulled a brightly colored quill from her pocket, tapped it twice with her wand, and unrolled the scroll one-handed, sticking the quill's point against its surface, where it stayed, hovering in midair. "What'd you say again, Harry? All right at botany, failing history, and…"
"Causing trouble in organic chemistry."
"Trouble in organic chemistry. Got it." Tonks nodded once. "Right, then, everyone quiet for a minute. Quote. Plotter has acceptable marks in botany and philosophy, but he fails to pay sufficient attention in history, and the organic chemistry master has had to give him three detentions for cheek in the past two weeks alone…"
Harry watched, fascinated, as the quill scribbled across the surface of the parchment in time with Tonks's words. "What is that?" he asked when it had come to a halt.
"DictaQuill. Mum gave me a couple of them when I started apprenticeship, says they saved her hands through Healer training." Tonks deactivated the quill and returned it to her pocket. "Wouldn't do for school, though. Where at Hogwarts are you going to get it quiet enough that the spell can pick up your voice and no one else's? And you couldn't even take lecture notes with it, because it has to be tuned to the person who's talking. Not unless you had a whole set of them, one for every professor."
"Bit like a self-stirrin' cauldron, I think." Hagrid sat down on the grass nearby, as Fang accepted a bit of Pumpkin Pasty from Neville. "Useful fer some, but not fer everyone."
"Pretty good way to say it." Tonks leaned back, crossing her legs at the ankles. "You were awfully quick with those examples, Harry. Have you been thinking about this?"
"You did say to, in that one letter you sent Mal." Harry extracted a Cauldron Cake from the bag for himself. "And it's fun to come up with stuff like that. Stuff that didn't ever happen, but might have."
"Like the letters from no one." Draco grinned as all eyes turned to him. "Oh, hasn't he told you about this?"
Harry smirked. "Just for that," he said, "I'm going ahead with what I was planning for it."
"Uh-oh," muttered Draco.
"What's he talking about?" Ron squinted at the scroll Harry had pulled from his pocket. "'The Journey from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters'?"
"It's something I worked on over the summer. Writing the story of how it might have happened with my Hogwarts letter, if my teacher hadn't helped me think about what to do with it." Harry looked up at Hagrid. "I brought you into it. I hope you don't mind."
"Depends." Hagrid eyed the scroll dubiously. "What'd I do?"
"Took me around Diagon Alley, like Professor McGonagall did in real life. But before that, you yelled at my aunt and uncle for never telling me about magic." Harry smiled. "And you gave Dudley a pig's tail when Uncle Vernon insulted Professor Dumbledore."
"Sounds about right." Hagrid chuckled. "Go on, then, give us a bit."
"I have to explain one thing first." Harry ran his finger down the lines in his own handwriting, seeking the proper place. "Miss Gray told us once that when you're writing a story, the best thing to do in terms of being an author is usually the most horrible thing for the characters. And if I never had any help figuring out what to do, maybe someone else wouldn't have either." He glanced at Draco, seeing understanding and chagrin dawning in the grey eyes. "So here's what I came up with."
Clearing his throat, he began to read.
"'Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle,' said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry was looking. 'And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.'
"Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him. 'Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.'"
Draco groaned, covering his face with his hands. Neville had his fist shoved against his mouth. Ron was sniggering openly, and Tonks had a faint, fond smile on her face as Hagrid nodded thoughtfully.
"He turned back to Harry," that young man continued reading. "'You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.'
"He held out his hand to shake Harry's, but Harry didn't take it. 'I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,' he said coolly."
"Thanks, I hate it," grumbled the actual Draco, lowering his hands to reveal his face approximately the same color as Tonks's hair and glaring at Ron, who was now rolling on his back in the grass laughing. "Oh, shut up, Weasley. Just because you're his best friend no matter what…"
"Am I in there too?" asked Neville, nodding tentatively towards the scroll. "I mean, I don't have to be, but I was just wondering."
"'Course you are." Harry rolled the scroll a bit further down. "There was a knock on the door of their compartment and the round-faced boy Harry had passed on platform nine and three-quarters came in." He skipped over the next sentence, so as not to embarrass Neville unduly. "'Sorry,' he said, 'but have you seen a toad at all?' When they shook their heads, he wailed, 'I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!'"
Neville blushed, but he was also grinning.
"And let me guess," said Ron, sitting up. "I say something about wanting to lose a toad as quick as I could, but I brought Scabbers so I can't talk?"
"Almost word for word." Harry turned the scroll so that Ron could see the conversation. "I didn't have to change much about that day."
Draco sat up, looking outraged. "I beg your pardon!"
"He means about the rest of them, trouble. You know that." Tonks ruffled her hand across the pale-blond hair. "Speaking of Scabbers, though. I hear he's still missing?"
"Yeah. Haven't seen him since our first night here." Ron glanced over at Orion, who returned the look levelly. "You don't suppose…"
"Orion hasn't been anywhere near Gryffindor Tower," said Neville. "It'd be more likely to be one of the owls, or somebody's cat."
"I'll keep an eye out, in case he's hidin' somewhere." Hagrid shaded his eyes, peering across the lawns. "Bear in mind, though, it's a big castle. Fulla hidin' places, 'specially for somethin' the size of a rat."
"Could your brothers maybe help?" asked Harry, remembering the advice Ginny had put in her letter. "Fred and George, I mean. They always seem to know where everything is, even before Filch does."
"Dunno. I'll ask." Ron looked thoughtfully at the scroll in Harry's hand. "This might sound weird, but can Scabbers get a moment in the story? Do something funny? That way, even if he did get eaten, we'll never forget about him."
"Sure." Harry pulled an ordinary quill from his pocket, and Neville passed him an inkwell. "What'd you have in mind?"
"Well, we've got Malfoy and his goons bothering us in the bit you were reading first." Ron grinned at Draco, who made an obscene gesture at him, earning a swat from Tonks on the other ear this time. "How about one of them tries something? Maybe make a grab for our food? And then Scabbers could bite him on the hand…"
Hermione had never thought much of the type of girl who fainted, but unconsciousness was looking more and more desirable by the moment. She'd been caught literally falling out of the forbidden corridor on the third floor by the caretaker of Hogwarts, Argus Filch, who liked nothing better than threatening students with horrific and painful detentions.
Unless it's actually putting us through them. And with me being in the one place we were specifically told not to go, by the Headmaster himself, no less—
"Hang you up by your thumbs all night long," muttered Filch, flipping through a rusty card file. Mrs. Norris, his scrawny, dust-colored cat, sat on the corner of Filch's desk, cleaning a paw and shooting Hermione smug looks. "Better still, by your ankles. Or send you out to the Forest to do rounds with that great oaf, Hagrid." He glanced up to send her a triumphant smirk. "For your own good, that'd be. He could give you some tips how to live without a wand, once yours is snapped in half. Or—ah, here we are." He drew out a specific card, his watery eyes lighting. "Maybe, just maybe, given how vital this is, the Headmaster'll finally let me—"
Someone knocked firmly on the door of Filch's office.
Filch swore under his breath. "I'm busy," he snapped. "Come back later."
The door swung open nonetheless, and Filch looked up with a snarl. "Here now, that was locked—"
"I'm afraid not," said Professor Lupin, twisting the knob under his hand to demonstrate. "My apologies for barging in, but Filius was asking about Miss Granger." He glanced at Hermione before returning his attention to Filch. "Has she done something wrong?"
"I'll say she has." Filch glowered at Lupin. "Only been poking around that forbidden corridor! Popped right out of the door as I was passing by. Brazen little hussy that she is, just like all the others, no respect for rules or proper authority—"
"That's quite surprising to hear." Lupin slid his words deftly into Filch's pause for breath. "Miss Granger has always seemed dedicated to following the rules. And doors at Hogwarts are tricky things. But I'm sure you know your own work best." He met Filch's bulging eyes steadily. "Now, as I mentioned, Miss Granger's Head of House wanted her. If you don't mind?"
The mounting fury on Filch's face seemed to say that he did mind, that he minded a great deal, but grudgingly he nodded towards the door.
"Thank you." Lupin motioned for Hermione to join him. "Miss Granger, if you would?"
Hermione forced herself to breathe, let go of the two handfuls of her robes she'd been clutching (she was fairly sure the weave was imprinted on her palms), and walked unsteadily forward to her professor's side, following him out of Filch's office, down a corridor, through a secret passage and up a narrow flight of stairs, out the other end and through a different door—
It wasn't until that door clicked shut behind her that she looked up and realized she wasn't in Professor Flitwick's office at all.
"Have a seat," said Lupin, motioning to the two visitor's chairs which sat in front of a battered desk. "I'll make some tea. Assuming you don't mind?"
"I—no, not at all." Hermione sank down into one of the chairs, her mind whirling. "But what about Professor Flitwick? You said he wanted me, that he was asking about me."
"He was, just the other day." Lupin looked up from the tea kettle he was filling with his wand, his smile so familiar that Hermione had to close her hands around her robes once more to keep herself in place. "Wondering if we couldn't find out what helped you become such an intelligent young lady, and duplicate the process with a number of our other students. And as for wanting you, of course he does, both as a very fine student of Charms and as a member of his House. But asking about you just at this moment…" He chuckled softly. "Well, I never said that, now did I? And if Filch thought I did, that's his mistake. Not mine."
Hermione sagged against the back of the chair. "Thank you, Professor," she whispered. "I never meant to be in that corridor. It was an accident."
"Do you know, I had a feeling it might be." Lupin tapped his wand against the kettle, and a coil of steam began to rise from it. "You don't strike me as someone who would break the rules for the fun of it. Maybe if you thought you needed to, but even then, I think it would be difficult for you." He took an apothecary jar off a crowded bookshelf, lifted the lid, and measured two spoonfuls of greenish leaves into an off-white teapot with a strawberry pattern painted around its middle. "Of course, by the same token, not every rule is equally important. But I'm still working to discern those differences myself, so I strongly doubt you could have a perfect grasp of it at your age."
"I know some people who could stand to think a little more about it, though," murmured Hermione, letting her fingers explore the wood grain on the arm of her chair.
"Yes, your year certainly has its share of spirited students, doesn't it?" Lupin chuckled again, pouring the steaming water over the dried herbs. "Do any of them come to mind in particular?"
"Well, I barely know most of them, but…" Hermione inhaled deeply, feeling a sense of comfort and safety drift over her. "Harry Potter," she said with certainty, recalling the diagram she'd picked up outside the Herbology greenhouse, and her surge of mingled fury and fear as she'd realized Harry was actively pursuing a line of research he should have known was far too dangerous to continue. "What he's doing isn't something that almost anyone would ever notice, but it could hurt him and a lot of other people if he keeps it up."
"That's a shame." Lupin took down two blue-glazed mugs from the top of the bookshelf. "But if Harry believes it's important, I doubt he'll be easily stopped." He smiled. "That's one way he's very much Lily's son."
"Did you know Harry's parents, Professor?" Hermione sat up, her desire for knowledge overriding her caution. "Someone mentioned you'd been at Hogwarts around the same time."
"We were in the same year, as it happens. I knew James a bit better than Lily, at least to start with, but we came to be good friends all around before we were done." Picking up the teapot, Lupin filled the two mugs with pale green liquid. "Would you care for sugar?"
"No, thank you." Hermione held out her hands to receive the mug by its handle, balancing it on her knee with a fold of her robes to keep the hot ceramic from scorching her. "What were they like? If you don't mind my asking," she added hastily.
"Not at all." Lupin turned the other visitor's chair to face her, seating himself and cradling his own mug between his hands. "There were only four wizards Sorted into Gryffindor that year. Myself, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius Black. Perhaps it was inevitable that we should become particularly close, a tight little group, united against the world." He gazed into the distance, his eyes sad. "I never thought I would be the last of us left. But war plays tricks like that. The strong, the brave, the valiant, those seem to be the ones it takes first of all."
Hermione lifted the mug to her lips and blew gently on the mint-scented liquid within, careful not to make any noise which would disrupt her professor's concentration.
"How I wish it could have happened differently." Lupin's hand tightened around the mug, though Hermione could feel the heat radiating off her own and knew his would be no different. "That some of them could have been spared. Not only for their sakes, or for mine, but for Harry's, so that he could still have his parents. Or, failing that, his godfather." A soft laugh, holding little true humor. "But listen to me, bringing up old woes. This is nothing you should have to hear, not at your age."
"I'm the one who asked, Professor." Hermione leaned forward, careful not to spill her tea. "And there's something I've been wondering for a while. What does it mean, that Sirius Black was Harry Potter's godfather? Is there some kind of ceremony, a magical one, or is that just a way of saying that he'd be the next person to take care of Harry if his parents died?"
"More the latter than the former." Lupin smiled at her across the rim of his cup. "In a better world, all it would have meant is that Harry had another adult to rely on. Someone to care for him when his own parents couldn't, whether that were permanent or temporary. Someone he could always talk to, or ask questions of. Not supplanting his parents, but in addition to them."
Hermione went very still, a concept which had always lived somewhere within her mind suddenly taking on new and intriguing dimensions.
"But, sadly, all we have is the world we've been given." Lupin took a drink from his cup. "Still, we can always do something to make it better."
"Put our heads and our hands to work," Hermione murmured. "To bring about the wishes of our hearts."
"A fine way to put it. Almost poetic." Lupin's eyes sparkled briefly, as if he were amused by his own words. "Do you like poetry, Miss Granger?"
"Oh, yes." Hermione nodded eagerly. "Everyone at my old school would always moan and complain whenever we had a poetry unit, but I thought it was wonderful. How every word seemed to mean more than one thing, and how such simple ideas could grow and combine to mean something so big and grand."
"I feel just that way about my favorite poems." Lupin drew his wand and half-turned, waving it towards the bookshelf in the far corner. A soft-sided book, its edges nicked and bent, soared through the air and landed neatly in his lap. "Would you mind if I shared one with you? It's not terribly long."
"I'd love to hear it." Hermione settled back in her chair to listen, sipping from her mug as she did.
Sliding away his wand and flipping open the book one-handed, Lupin found his page and began to read.
"Out of the mud two strangers came and caught me splitting wood in the yard…"
The words, with their careful rhyme and meter, formed a frame in Hermione's mind, through which she could see the young woodcutter with his axe, the rough men passing by on the road, the countryside all around them, halfway between winter and spring. Lupin looked up at her and smiled when the poem mentioned a 'witching wand', and she found herself smiling in return.
"My right might be love, but theirs was need. And where the two exist in twain, theirs was the better right—agreed." Lupin stopped and checked his watch, frowning. "Goodness, I hadn't realized it was so close to dinnertime. We should be going."
"But there's only one more stanza," Hermione objected. "Please, won't you finish it?"
"You know it, then?"
"Robert Frost. He's one of my parents' favorite poets." Hermione looked more closely at the well-worn book in Lupin's hand. "I think my mother has that exact collection."
"In which case, I wouldn't dare deny you the ending." Lupin laid the book on his lap and closed his eyes. "But yield who will to their separation," he recited softly, "my object in living is to unite my avocation and my vocation, as my two eyes make one in sight."
Hermione held her tea mug close to her chest, breathing the familiar scent from the small measure of liquid left within it, allowing the well-loved words to fill her heart. "Only where love and need are one," she whispered in time with him, "and the work is play for mortal stakes, is the deed ever really done for heaven and the future's sakes."
Jean Reynolds' love, Hermione Granger's need, flowed together as they seldom had before, and the young witch lowered the mug to her lap and looked at the older wizard. "I feel so lonely most of the time," she said. "But I'm afraid to reach out to the people I want to be my friends, because there isn't any reason for it."
"Isn't there?" The wizard opened his eyes and smiled at her. "You have at least one interest in common with a certain Lion you mentioned earlier. Maybe try inviting him to join you in that. And as for the year's most unexpected Badger, why not attend something that matters to him? Give him the gift of your time, your presence, your attention?"
"Oh!" She laughed a little. "Of course! I feel so silly for not thinking of that sooner."
"No one can do everything alone." He bowed slightly to her. "That's why teachers, and parents, and friends exist."
"Yes, it is." She drained her mug and passed it across to him. "Thank you, Professor. For everything."
"You're quite welcome, Miss Granger." He accepted the mug and set it on the corner of his desk, along with his own. "Have a pleasant evening, now."
"You do the same." Hermione stopped with her hand on the doorknob. "Professor? I did have one other question."
"And what might that be?"
"Why in the world is there a three-headed dog at Hogwarts?"
Lupin smiled. "I couldn't say," he informed her blandly. "And of course I would never encourage anyone to go poking around where they're not supposed to be. But secrets at Hogwarts have a way of being discovered by the right people, at the right time. So long as the right people are both clever and vigilant, that is…"
(A/N: Sure you wouldn't encourage people to go exploring, Moony. Sure you wouldn't.
I obviously disclaim the lines quoted from HP canon. The line Harry skipped, so as not to embarrass Neville too much, was "He looked tearful". The poem Remus reads to Hermione is entitled Two Tramps in Mud-Time, and is attributed correctly in the chapter.
A quick note due to mild reported confusion: in the more canon of the two worlds, Draco is usually addressed by his friends as "Mal", but he will always be referred to in descriptions as Draco. Also, a question for you along the same lines, O readers. Would it help you if I went back through this story and added a double section break or some other visual indicator to show when the scene is changing from one world to the other?
Please leave a response if you are able and willing, and I'll see you next time!)
