Just a heads up. My brain is a little fuzzy as I write this chapter, so I don't know if it's any good, or if it's even going to make sense.

Chapter Five

Glimpses in the Darkness

Poking her head around the bend in the corridor, Hermione found her path to the library blessedly vacant. Given the time of night, and the distance from the Night Class' portion of the school, she supposed that wasn't surprising. Even so, a sigh of relief escaped her as she slipped out of hiding and hurried for the doors.

Oh, she was positive she was behaving ridiculously, slipping through the castle like some ruddy cat burglar, but she couldn't help herself. There was no way for her to speak to Remus or Sirius—at all, even thinking of discussing what she'd overheard from their room when they were supposed to have been at dinner last night rendered her speechless and caused a flare of color in her cheeks so hot and bright, she half expected her face might burst into flames. Not a good look in front of faculty and students harboring primal fear responses to fire.

. . . Okay, so perhaps she was being more than ridiculous, she considered as she pushed through the doors and entered the peaceful, nocturnal silence of the library. But honestly, she had no idea how else she was supposed to manage herself around them, so anything she could do to not happen upon them accidentally—or get snuck up on, herself—she was willing to do.

Even at the expense of looking like a lunatic to any potential onlookers.

Classes for the second night had finished without incident, and Sirius was with Madame Pomfrey for his routine examination. Where Remus was, she hadn't the foggiest. Maybe with Sirius?

Holding in a groan at herself—it was hardly any of her bloody business where either of them were, now was it?—Hermione made her way to the Restricted Section.

There was something oddly . . . unfulfilling about letting herself into this shadowed, once-forbidden portion of the library now that she had free reign to access the materials here whenever she liked, and without supervision. Sure, she'd always acted as though the hijinks she'd gotten up to with Ron and Harry were stressful and possibly borderline traumatizing, but they were, in truth, some of the liveliest, most fun memories of her life. Memories that very much included sneaking into this very place in the dark of night.

She trailed her fingers along the spines, her touch delicate, reverent, as she moved toward the shelf housing volumes on extra planar entities. Sirius' situation brought her the realization that whatever was beyond The Veil wasn't some great empty void from which there was no escape as everyone seemed to believe. It had to be a place, or realm, perhaps even something static,

The thought made her imagine Sirius trapped in some great, cosmic gelatin mold.

Giving her head a shake to banish the ludicrous mental picture, she turned her attention to the shelf. Marshalling her focus, she read over the titles before selecting one . . . no, three, and turning away to start back for the tables.

But this thing with Sirius and The Arch was simply that if he could be summoned up and spat back out at some later date, than something had to be on the other side. Whether that be a simple, fuzzy limbo state, or an actual place, like their world, that one simply could not remember if they ever traversed back through The Veil. Whatever the case, he hadn't magically vanished and reappeared; he'd been somewhere all this time. And if that were true, perhaps no one who'd passed through that Arch was truly lost.

Settling at the closest table, she took a moment to set out her quill, ink bottle, and parchment.

Incubus energy or not, if she could figure out what sort of realm lay on the other side, that might give them a clue about what had happened to him. Maybe he wasn't even an incubus. Maybe—as she'd first considered—he was merely something with a, um, similar appetite.

She gave herself over to her research, letting her senses absorb the information. Anything to avoid thinking about how she was avoiding Sirius and Remus. They'd both tried to speak to her about last night, but she'd simply shook her head and shrugged, stammering at them that she had no idea what they were fussing about, she'd gone to the door, heard nothing at all, assumed they were sleeping, and returned to the table.

They were aware she was lying. Worse, she was aware they were aware. Hermione didn't know how she felt about what she'd heard, or about Sirius' revelations before that. All right, that wasn't entirely true. She knew how it made her feel physically, but emotionally? She wasn't even certain she could process any of it. Denial seemed the safest response.

But she didn't stay still long enough for either of them to attempt any further questioning. Following last night's disastrous dinner, she'd retired to her room. After breakfast this morning, she'd hurried off to the potions storeroom to make sure they had adequate supplies for pending lessons.

Now that today's lesson had concluded, she was here. Though, were she thinking this through, she shouldn't be hiding out at the library of all places. It was the one spot everyone who'd known her longer than a day knew to go looking for her.

Two chapters seemed to be about nothing more than the other types of planes that existed—or potentially existed. It was a little like those hokey metaphysical programs on the telly. The universe was not only endless, it was—according to the author—a thing which existed in many layers, leaving room for all manner of things to exist on top of each other without ever knowing. There was an interesting bit which seemed to suggest that if one could generate enough energy, they could imagine a plane into existence.

Her brows drew together. That sounded like utter rubbish, but still it was an intriguing idea. After all, magic was fueled by one's own energy and aided by their imagination. She scratched down a few notes on this.

Hermione turned the page and jumped a little in her seat. Staring back at her was a disturbingly lifelike sketch of a one-eyed creature that was . . . well, confusingly put together was a mild way of putting it.

Frowning, she set down her quill and hefted the book into her hands for a closer inspection. Beneath the image was a small inscription. She ran a fingertip over the name and date. "Augustin Selwyn, 1437."

So . . . this creature was something sighted and reported by an ancestor of a Sacred Twenty-Eight line? The Wizarding world must've put stock into all this at some point. Still, begged the question what the bloody hell it was.

Scooting lower in the chair a bit, she curled her hands over the top of the pages, hunkering down, her gaze glued to the text beneath the creature.

On occasion, an individual might pass through other planes either whilst in dreams or perhaps in a location were the division between layered worlds is porous. Some, however, are particularly sensitive to otherworldly energies, and might glimpse unusual beings in their waking hours. Such instances are often—and readily—dismissed as a shadow, or trick of light, from the edge of one's periphery.

Hermione found herself scooting lower, still. Something about the words weighed on her, touching along her shoulders and down her spine in a faint, spidery touch.

A trait often found among such entities is that they possess forms which could not, if they were to survive, exist in the physical plane as we know it.

She darted her gaze about furtively. That implied there were physical planes the author and reader, alike, did not know. Her attention flicked back up to the rendering of the strange being. Maybe . . . maybe physical planes were such creatures could survive?

She turned the page, already braced when the movement brought another unsettling, physically impossible, beast into her field of vision. The writing here read, Adaline Dagworth, 1529.

Hermione's jaw went slack just a bit as she forced herself to sit up straighter. Sliding the book back onto the table, she started turning the pages methodically.

Bulstrode, 1598.

Lestrange, 1602.

Shafiq, 1642.

MacMillan, 1690

Bones, 1712.

All pure-bloods. Some, just as the first image, members of Sacred Twenty-Eight lines. No apparent order, or pattern to the years.

She turned the page again.

"Hermione!"

The witch literally jumped in place. Reeling herself back before a startled yelp could tear out of her, she snatched her hands back from the book and looked up.

Remus and Sirius stood at the library doors, both appearing shocked by her response.

As they approached the wide-eyed young woman, she realized it wasn't that Sirius had shouted—he hadn't even spoken her name particularly loud. It was the silence of the library. It was how unaware she was of the book sucking her in so completely.

"What?" she asked when they reached her.

The wizards exchanged a glance. Sirius shook his head as he pulled out a chair. Remus remained standing, a sigh escaping him as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Are you going to keep running away from us?"

She barely refrained from rolling her eyes at Remus' question. He was spot-on, of course, but she couldn't answer that particular question without it leading into the very uncomfortable, potentially impossible to process reasons she kept running away from them.

"Actually, Mr. Snarky Werewolf, I was researching about Sirius' dilemma. Like we were all supposed to, remember? I'm trying to learn more about whatever might be on the other side of The Veil."

Sirius breathed out a quiet, airy chuckle. "And I appreciate your help in this. I'd like to know what the hell happened more than anyone, but . . . ."

Hermione and Remus, both, seemed to go on high alert at the way Sirius' words trailed off.

"Pads?" Remus rested a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder, but Sirius didn't respond.

Sirius reached across the table and grabbed the book by one corner. Sliding it closer, he turned the image around so he could look at it right side up.

"Hermione?" he started, his voice barely a whisper, gaze stuck on the unearthly creature. "What is this?"

"I . . . I don't actually know." Standing from her own seat, she circled the table to stand at his shoulder, her earlier reticence about being near them forgotten in the moment. "This book is about other . . . possible types of existences and realities—"

"What?" Remus' single word was loaded with incredulity.

She held up her hands, shrugging. "I know it seems a bit . . . barmy, but these illustrations are creatures witnessed by people who'd supposedly, glimpsed those other planes, somehow."

Remus Lupin, werewolf and wizard whose best friend had just returned from what was previously thought of as a void from which there was no return, rolled his eyes. Refusal to believe was etched, clear as day, across his features.

"I've seen this one," Sirius said, his voice low, numb, and sounding as though he hadn't heard a thing either of them had said.

"What?" Remus asked again, his attention suddenly rapt on the image in the book.

"You have?" Hermione pulled out the chair beside his and sat down. "Where? You mean . . . behind the Veil?"

"I don't know. I can't—" Sirius cut himself off, wetting suddenly parched lips with the tip of his tongue and then shaking his head. "I can't remember."

She gently moved his hand aside, looking to the inscription beneath this rendering. "Oh . . . . This one was seen by one of your ancestors, Sirius."

Something about that settled like a ball of ice in the pit of her stomach. She exchanged a glance with Remus around the back of Sirius' head.

Sirius' expression went blank. "That's not a coincidence, is it?"

Sliding the book over, Hermione read quietly the text that followed this creature. Reported numerous times. Black, Black, Black . . . .

Taking a steadying breath, she met his expectant gaze. "No."

Sirius slumped forward then, startling her and Remus, but just as startling was witnessing that blue-white specter of him burst from his physical form. Hermione stood up, trying to keep his attention on her.

"Wait, Sirius, please don't panic. We'll figure this—"

He vanished toward the doors.

"—Out." Her shoulders drooped as she fell back into her seat.

"You stay with his body, I'll go track him down."

Swallowing hard, she looked to the werewolf as he crossed the floor toward the exit. "Remus? Does this mean what I think it does?"

He turned his head, capturing her gaze as he nodded. "Whatever that . . . being is? It's stalking the Black family. We'd probably do well to find out why."

She nodded, the motion stiff, lifeless, as he rushed out into the corridor.