Chapter 2: Carefully

Ron sits crouched on the floor, holding his leg in pain, Crookshanks curled beside him. I try as hard as I can to hold back the tears back tears and grab his hand, willing my voice not to shake. "Are you okay?"

"Where's the dog?" Harry asks before Ron can answer me.

He moans in pain and I bite my lip to keep myself from crying. Ron's hand is sweaty and clammy in mine. "Not… not a dog… Harry, it's a trap -"

"What-"

Ron grits his teeth and clenches his fist so tight I almost protest, but he cuts me off. "He's the dog, he's an Animagus, Ha-"

There's a loud bang. It's a trap, a trap, my heart races in my chest. When I turn around I almost drop my wand. A gaunt figure steps out of the shadow.

Sirius Black looks like there is no flesh left on his body, just skin stretched tightly over bones. His elbow-long hair is a matted mess, and his face – I look away again, I can't meet his eyes. Having met the Dementors, it's no wonder that he looks like this. The voice that comes out of his mouth when he disarms us is barely audible, a croak so faint I'm surprised the spell actually works. His eyes are trained on my wand, but he looks at me for the tiniest of seconds and I can't help but shiver. He hates me, I'm sure of it.

Hermione jolted awake and was entirely disoriented for a second. The unfamiliar room, the bed that was far too big, the surprisingly soft, cool blanket against her skin – it all overwhelmed her, and then she remembered. She was in Dumbledore's guest room, in a luxurious bed three years before she would even be born.

It was too much. She didn't want to deal with this, she could not. Sleep, she decided, was what she wanted and she closed her eyes again. But she knew it was a futile attempt. And really, it also felt quite childish, reality would still be there exactly as it was right now even if she went back to sleep. Shutting her eyes would just draw out the inevitable. Nothing to it but doing it, her mother had always said.

She sat up and propped a pillow against the headboard, drawing her legs against her chest and looked out the window. Far, far below her, behind the rooftops and turrets, she could make out the Black Lake and her heart ached in her chest. Just days ago, she had been sitting on one of its' banks, nagging Harry and Ron about having to study and about how being done with one exam did not mean they could now just slack of and waste the afternoon.

Harry and Ron. She'd dreamt of them.

The dream had been peculiar. It hadn't even entirely felt like a dream, it had been so clear to her. Sirius had been so angry, she remembered. Their eyes had only met for a second, and yet the rage he had given off had made the hair at the back of her neck stand up. He had not looked at her again afterwards, she was sure, and been oddly cold even when they had freed him from the Astronomy tower.

But still, something about it did not feel right. It was like she was catching her reflection on water, just slightly unclear, moving around. Something had not been like that, something had changed. And then it hit her: her memories were reforming because she had travelled in time. Sirius had not been cold and distant and barely hiding his anger at her when they really first met, he had cared far more about Harry and Pettigrew to pay any attention to her.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit!" She threw the cover off, jumped out of the bed hastily and went to grab her robes when she saw that they were gone. House elves had left new clothing, folded, on the armchair next to the fireplace. She whirled around, but could see neither parchment nor quill to write with, and what if she was running out of time, what if in a moment the old memory was gone? What if she would not even be able to remember that there had been an old memory?

She grabbed the folded robe, hoping that underneath it would be her other belongings, but they weren't there. She bit the fingernail of her thumb in anger. Why could she not find parchment and quill? There was a note she needed to make, something important, something to do with memories and she couldn't because there wasn't anything to write with in this stupid room. She turned around again and noticed that it was actually rather cold, even for a morning in June, the thick stone walls of the turret keeping out the summer heat and –

wasn't there something she had meant to write down? She couldn't remember it, only the sense of urgency and dread that had propelled her out of bed. But now she was cold, and the exhaustion she had kept at bay was creeping back in. Whatever it had been would come back to her, surely. Hermione climbed back into bed.

He'd been looking uncommonly thoughtful even by Remus' standards, swirling his spoon in his tea obsessively as if he was brewing a potion rather than having his usual breakfast Earl Grey. The name on the map was probably still bothering him, the fact that it had simply appeared in Dumbledore's office despite the supposed impossibility of Hermione Granger having just Apparated into the castle.

"You're still obsessing over the map, aren't you, Moony?" he whispered after making sure no one was sitting within earshot. "Why does this bother you so much?"

Remus sighed. Of course Sirius didn't get it. "We just worked out the last kinks, you know, finally figured out how to make sure it actually tracks people when they move and now -"

"Now some random woman used Apparition to show up in Dumbledore's office and got you all worked up over nothing." Sirius stabbed the sausage with so much force it shot off the plate. "Just, you know, relax. Accio sausage."

Remus leaned back as the sausage whizzed past him straight into Sirius' open mouth. "You are unreal." As annoyed as Remus was by his antics, his comment delighted Sirius to no end. "And I've told you a hundred times, you cannot just Apparate into the castle, that's just not how it works, there have been charms around it for ages and –"

"And Dumbledore probably disabled the charm on his office and let what's-her-face in," he said through a mouth full of meat.

James shuddered in disgust, ripped a bit off his bread roll and threw it across the table at Sirius' head, eliciting a chuckle from Peter. "Honestly, I knew the Black family was a mess but that it was a literal pig sty…" For a second, he caught Lily's disapproving look and immediately sat up a little straighter. "Seriously, Evans, you have to help me! Do you see what kind of table manners I have to put up with?"

But she was already deep in conversation with Mary Macdonald again. "Disgusting as he is, Moony, Padfoot's probably right though. You wanna go to the library once we're done?" He suggested, knowing very well that an afternoon bent over books and studying for their upcoming OWLs was the only way to take Moony's mind of the map.

Remus sighed. Even with Sirius' explanation something didn't sit right with him, but he knew the others didn't get it. "Yeah, okay." He sipped on his tea and searched the teachers' table for an unknown face, wondering if Hermione Granger was sitting with them, meeting Dumbledore's eyes for just a second.

He could never really help but wish to know the consequences of his own actions. As Remus Lupin looked at him, Albus wondered once again what would become of the young man he had given a chance when he knew many others would not. He had kept an eye on him, always, not just because of his lycantrophy but also because of Lupin's particular group of friends. When he had been sorted into Gryffindor and sat down beside Sirius Black – possibly one of the biggest Sorting surprises of the decade – Albus had had an inkling of the trouble to come.

A hot wave of shame rolled over him when he saw Remus' look at Dumbledore. He knew how much it meant that his best friend could even attend school, that under any other headmaster it would have been impossible. And still, Sirius had almost cost Remus' everything, out of a stupid need to get back at Snivellus, of all people. Snivellus had found his weak spot, of course, Regulus, and had goaded him mercilessly, but the way he had lost his head still made his stomach churn.

He was incredibly grateful that James had kept his cool head and interfered, dragging Snape out of the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack just in time. He was even more grateful that James had thought to invoke Snivellus' owing him his life to make sure he could never spill Remus' secret. But perhaps the thing Sirius was most grateful for was that Remus did not know what had happened. James had promised not to tell him even as he raked Sirius over the coals for almost turning their best friend into a murderer. James understood, after all, he understood how it felt when Snivellus pushed one's buttons and how scared he was for his brother, that the possibility of Regulus turning his back on Sirius terrified him more than anything in the world. His mistake was their secret, he was sure of it, but sometimes, when Dumbledore looked at him, he felt like maybe it wasn't entirely.

He wished he had an inkling regarding the right course of action now. Miss Granger was still asleep in the guest room, so he had some more time to consider. Though Albus doubted that there was a real possibility of it, reversing whatever magic had brought her here seemed like the best solution. Still, that would take some time and she would need to be protected until then, and even more so if she could not be returned to her own life.

As much difficulty as her appearance could cause, he could not help feel intrigued rather than worried. The girl clearly knew him, and as necessary as it was to tread carefully, he assumed she could offer at least some insights. Lately he had often felt like he was just a step away from the precipice, though few people around him seemed to know it yet. Minchum's appointment, of course, had been the first hint that he was no longer the only one perceiving Riddle as a threat, but the sense that he was one of the few with an accurate outlook remained. So he would take any assistance he could, and he was quite sure that Miss Granger could be of some.

Someone cleared their throat behind him and he turned around. "She is awake, Headmaster," Lucy squeaked. Albus nodded, and the house elf disappeared as quietly as she had appeared. Standing up, he caught Minerva's eye and knew that she understood. Together, they left the Great Hall and made their way through the castle back to Albus' office, each leaving the other to their thoughts.

Only when the large stone gargoyle guarding the office came into view, Minerva finally cleared her throat and asked "So it is still your conviction that Miss Granger should stay at Hogwarts, I presume?"

He could not help but smile, acutely aware that Minerva disapproved of his plan but correctly took his silence as a sign that he had not changed his mind. Those were the small joys of decade long friendships, knowing each other as one does the back of one's hand. "Of course it is. And it is also my conviction that she should remain in Gryffindor, not just because it is clear that she belongs there but because I trust you, and you alone, to ensure her safety." The gargoyle came to life as they stepped on the first step. "I know I am asking a lot from you. Please trust that I would not do it if I did not believe it to be of paramount importance, Minerva."

"I'm aware, Albus." For a second, she wondered if that was really all it was – if he truly believed that he could trust only her or if he also saw Miss Granger's appearance as a convenient opportunity to try to distract her from her grief.

She had been wondering if she would be able to simply pass through the bookcase in Dumbledore's office disguising the stairway while she had been making her way down the stairs, but just as she reached the bottom, the doorway opened as if of its' own accord. When Hermione stepped through it, she realized that of course it hadn't: Dumbledore, who was standing in the other doorway with Professor McGonagall, had opened it from the other side. She suddenly felt a bit awkward – had they been waiting here for her?

"Miss Granger. Last night's rests seems to have done you some good." He could not help but use Legilimency. She did seem more calm, more determined as well, but her mind still gave him the feeling of gears constantly turning. "Would you care for some breakfast?" Albus asked. When she answered affirmatively, he swished his wand and conjured a small tea table as well as a large burgundy armchair and a two seater couch in the middle of the room. With a second swish of his wand, he summoned some tea, biscuits and English breakfast from the kitchen.

When the Professors took their place across from her on the couch, she could not help but feel as if she had gotten into some form of trouble. Still, the tea and classic breakfast was surprisingly comforting, even as it felt rather odd to be the only person eating. She had finished half her plate when the Headmaster cleared his throat.