When Hermione made her way through the portrait hole, she was greeted by a crackling fire. It was 3am. Shadows flickered over the stone walls. Everyone else was asleep, so the common room was empty. She'd been asleep herself, in a dark corner of the library. One minute, she was reading about the lesser-known uses of Valerian. Then, she woke shivering in the darkness, wondering why no one had roused her.

She clutched a copy of Restless Remedies to her chest. She really ought to finish reading chapter twelve. But something stopped her from using the time-turner yet again. Three times, she'd used it today. Yesterday.

While it was tempting to use it a final time, perhaps to return to earlier in the night, she hesitated. Her thoughts were too scattered to remember where she'd been. And when she'd been there. Had she returned to her dormitory at any point? Would Parvati or Lavender be stunned to find her there if they'd seen her somewhere else? There were too many uncertainties.

She sighed. How old she felt. Thirty, instead of thirteen.

Rain pattered on the windows by the fireplace. Drops gathered in rivulets to stream down the glass.

The common room felt too hot. It was cozy, but no longer comforting. It was… too small. Trapped air.

Hermione needed to be outside. She needed to breathe.

Tossing her book and book bag onto a nearby table, she turned, leaving Gryffindor tower. The warm glow faded behind her. It was replaced by cool moonlight beyond the fat lady.

Stairs.

Corridors.

The farther she walked, the lighter her steps became. Something was awakening within her. Each breath seemed to fill her chest, her soul. Stones blurred as her pace increased. Wisps of hair breezed over her face. Where she was going, she didn't exactly know. Her eyes darted. The nearest exit was—

There.

She turned down a narrow passageway partially hidden behind a statue. A wooden door, old and poorly-built, stood closed ahead.

She grit her teeth, prepared to break it down if she had to. The impulse surprised her. Surely that wouldn't be necessary.

It wasn't.

The moment she unlatched the door and threw it open, it was as if she set herself free.

Rain soaked her through in seconds. She gasped at the shock of it and then laughed, turning her face to the sky. The air smelled of mud and pine. An urge to feel overwhelmed her, and she turned back to the castle, running her hands over the moist, rough stone.

Dropping to the ground, she combed her fingers through the grass. White flowers reflected what little moonlight streamed through the clouds. She gently caressed the petals, spreading beads of moisture. How gorgeous they were! Fine lines stood out against the darkness.

Her robes weighed her down when she stood. They were heavy, too heavy. Her hand moved to release the clasp around her neck, and they fell to her ankles, awakening her spirit all the more.

A thrill raced down her spine. Glancing around her, she hesitated.

She couldn't. Could she?

But she had to. Had to feel, had to run. Had to go somewhere she could scream with exhilaration.

Reason left her then, and she didn't fight it. She made quick work of the rest of her clothes, uncaring if anyone saw. Rainwater hit her shoulders, rolling over her back and breasts. Her hands shook as she crouched and stowed her clothes behind a large rock near the door.

The time-turner glistened. It hung low between her ribs, but she didn't remove it. Instead, she turned to the hills. Away from the walls and cathedral ceilings that had suppressed her—caged her—for so long.

Muscles coiled, heart pounding, breaths coming faster…

She sprang.

The gentle slope fell away beneath her, and for a moment she was free, flying through the rain. Then her feet hit the ground one at a time, slipping through the grass, breaking into a run. Twigs and rocks scratched her but she barely noticed. Her blood thrummed through her veins. She panted like a wild thing. At last, she was alive.

The forbidden forest called to her. It was where she needed to be. She cut across the hillside by Hagrid's hut and disappeared into the trees.

An elated scream ripped itself from her throat. Rumbling thunder echoed her cry.

Gasping for breath, she slowed, climbing giant tree roots to shelter herself against the bark. It was hard, uneven against the small of her back. Her eyes darted, taking in soft rays streaming through the treetops and water dripping from the branches. A gust of wind jostled them.

How long she crouched there entranced, she didn't know. The rain seemed to be falling harder when she came back to herself. The light had shifted.

She became aware that she was shaking with cold. An ache had settled into her back. For the first time since she'd taken her clothes off, she felt vulnerable.

"What have I done?" she whispered, teeth chattering. The forbidden forest? Naked? An inkling of panic wormed along the edge of her consciousness, but she tamped it down.

No.

Stop.

Think.

If she hurried, she could return to the castle before anyone saw her. It was the only thing to do.

Wincing, she crept back to the treeline. Maybe there was something around Hagrid's hut that she could use to cover herself. A burlap sack, a pet blanket, anything—

Merlin.

Fang, the boarhound. She couldn't risk disturbing him by creeping around the hut.

Nevermind, then.

Summoning her courage, Hermione braced herself. She waited for the lighting to flash. Once only moonlight illuminated her way, she ran for the castle.

The ground was horribly uneven. Unlike her graceful descent, she stumbled several times. When she was nearly at the crest of the hill, she stepped on something sharp, crying out as she fell. Her hands slipped over the ground, doing nothing to break her fall.

There was an audible crack as her head hit a rock.

Warm blood dripped into her eye. Blinking hard against the tears in her eyes, she struggled to focus. Self-pity threatened to overwhelm her. All she'd wanted was a bit of freedom. Now, her dream had turned into a nightmare. She didn't know how it had happened, or why she'd left the castle in the first place—

"Stop it," she snapped at herself. It wasn't the time, place, or state for regret.

Setting her jaw, she weaved to the safety of the castle wall. It was farther than it looked. By the time she reached it, she was exhausted. Her head was throbbing. And her hands and feet were numb.

Ignoring her soaked clothes, she shrugged into her cloak and closed the folds in front. She slipped her bare feet into her shoes. After ensuring her clothes were hidden from plain view, she slipped out of the rain and into the passageway.

Small. Confined. The antithesis of the hillside.

But it offered dry warmth, something she sorely needed.

She silenced her footfalls as she reached the larger corridor. Her wand was in her book bag just inside the common room. If she could reach it—

Why would you go anywhere without your wand?

—then she could heal herself.

She turned the corner once, and again to ascend the stairs—

And ran into a semi-solid wall of body heat. The impact jarred her head, knocking her off balance. She would have fallen backward if not for the sudden grip on her arm through her robes. It yanked her forward and released her just as quickly.

A thin, silky voice said, "Well, well. Miss Granger."

She felt herself grow pale. "I—"

"Out for a little walk in the moonlight?" The shadows hid his expression.

"I was just… checking. I heard—"

"I don't suppose it's occurred to you, Miss Granger, that dementors are soulless creatures and therefore nocturnal in nature. Setting foot outside at this hour is not only dangerous, but highly stupid."

Hermione didn't reply. She hadn't even considered the dementors.

"Can I assume your injuries are the result of an encounter?"

She shook her head.

"Speak up, you silly girl."

Anger flared within her, unexpectedly. It wasn't as if he had no reason to be cross with her.

"They are not," she bit out. Then, as an afterthought, "Professor."

He stiffened. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for wandering the corridors and leaving the castle at night. Detention, tomorrow evening. Return to your dormitory immediately." He moved to walk around her, then paused, retrieving his wand from his robes and tracing it over her forehead. "Vulnera sanentur."

The throbbing in her head abated.

Then he was gone.

She sighed. Detention. As if she didn't have enough to worry about. Humiliation crept over her as she trudged up the stairs. She'd only ever received detention once, and that had been as a first-year student.

But the thrill of her venture lingered. She could still feel the grass beneath her feet and how she'd plunged into the forest. No fear. No uncertainty. The concerns that plagued her during the day, wearing her down, hadn't existed. Primal instincts had eclipsed all reason and conscious thought.

But why?

###

The next night after dinner, she entered the potions classroom. She'd been too embarrassed to tell Harry and Ron the truth about where she was going. They would sympathize, but they'd also bring it up every time she scolded them for breaking the rules. The pressure to be perfect herself only escalated whenever she did.

There were six other students awaiting detention. Four scared-looking Gryffindor first-years, a Ravenclaw fifth-year (who'd no doubt contradicted Snape in class), and, surprisingly, Malfoy. So much for secrecy. He smirked when he saw her, but said nothing.

She made it a point to ignore him, choosing a desk on the other side of the classroom.

Snape was nowhere to be found.

The minutes ticked by. Beyond the occasional rustle of robes, water rhythmically dripped onto stone. It was another rainy night. The dungeons had always been leaky, but tonight they seemed especially so.

Drip, drip, drip.

All around her. Irritatingly loud.

She huffed. In the quiet, the sound was louder than she expected, drawing the attention of everyone. Most looked away. But Malfoy stared, amused.

Where was Snape? Scrubbing cauldrons would be better than just sitting here, doing nothing. She shifted impatiently. All day, she'd been impatient. She couldn't stop thinking about last night.

Truth be told, she couldn't stop thinking about tonight. Even with dementors on the outskirts of the grounds, it would be worth five minutes of freedom to—

"What's the matter, Granger?" Malfoy drawled. "Are you late for a date with Weasley?"

Her jaw clenched, and she closed her eyes. Deep, calming breaths. Nevermind that the air was damp and heavy, more suffocating than not. Or that it was inexplicably warm, as if they were bacteria in a petri dish.

Sweat broke out on her forehead.

"Not that I blame you for choosing Weasley. Bottom-feeders are drawn to one another."

"You would know," she snapped.

But instead of being insulted, he seemed delighted that he'd gotten a rise out of her. "And what's it like to kiss a parasite? He's only after your class notes, you know. It's a wonder he's made it to third year."

Don't answer, she thought to herself. Same old Malfoy, different day.

Something stirred inside her, transcending her logic. He was so arrogant. Just because his father held a position of power, he thought he could say whatever he pleased. It would be a favor to everyone if she ripped that smug grin off his face.

Her hands curled.

The door to the classroom flew open and Snape breezed inside, robes billowing behind him. The draft soothed her temper, although it didn't compare to fresh air. She welcomed the distraction Snape provided. Perhaps she could take her anger out on whatever he had planned for them.

"First years will reorganize the supply shelves, without dropping anything." He turned to them, eyes flashing in warning. "Third years will brew elixir to induce euphoria, as we'll most certainly need it this year. You, fifth year! You'll be assisting me directly. I know you're as elated about it as I am."

No one appeared thrilled with their assignments, least of all Malfoy. He looked like he'd eaten an acid pop.

"Get to work," Snape spat.

Hermione rose from her seat, thankful to move, and stalked over to the supply cupboards. She grabbed castor beans and peppermint, porcupine quills and shrivelfig, and was just about to ask for more wormwood when Malfoy appeared at her side.

"Don't think that just because we're working together—"

"Take these." She shoved the ingredients into his arms.

"Now listen here—"

"Do you want to be here all night?" she snarled, noting with some satisfaction that his eyes widened in surprise. He didn't have to like her to take orders from her.

Now, where was that wormwood? The shelves here were empty. There must be more in Snape's personal stores. Without a second thought, she waltzed into his office.

If they started brewing the elixir in the next few minutes, detention would only last an hour longer. Less time around Malfoy. More time outdoors.

Opening the corner cupboard, she rummaged around inside it.

"What do you think you're doing?" Snape asked softly behind her.

Hermione froze, becoming distinctly aware of her presence within his office. She clutched the wormwood herbs before her, stored in a glass vial, and turned around.

"There was no wormwood left in the classroom, sir."

"I see," he said. "And you saw no issue with stealing from my own stores, disregarding the fact that if I required it and found it missing, the consequences could be unthinkable."

"If it's so important, why are you running low?" The words flew from her mouth before she could stop them. A fresh layer of sweat beaded her upper lip.

Snape's expression darkened. "What did you say?"

Her heart pounded hard, urging her to repeat herself. But she remained silent.

"Listen to me, you insufferable girl," his words were clipped. "If I catch you in here without permission again, I will see to it that your Hogsmead privileges are replaced with detention for the remainder of term. Do I make myself clear?"

The mere idea of being forced to remain here like a caged thing incensed her. Her whole body shook. A low growl rose in her chest.

Snape frowned slightly—

The glass vial shattered in her grip, littering the stone with shards of glass. She gasped in surprise, looking down at her palm, which was streaked with blood. The wormwood lay on the ground. It was useless now, too contaminated to be pure.

She felt Snape's gaze drilling into her.

Refusing to look at him, she fled from his office.

Malfoy was standing just outside. "What's taking so long?"

"Move," she demanded, shoving him out of her way. First destroying the wormwood, now pushing other students. If she wasn't careful, detention would be the least of her worries. But she couldn't think about that now. She could barely think at all.

Up the stairs. They spiraled around and around, seeming to never end. Entryways to other floors whirled by and she let them. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and the dungeons as possible.

Night was falling beyond the windows, but it wasn't dark enough. Not for her.

Finally, she reached the top floor. Surely it had a room where she could be alone. There was a short corridor leading around the corner and she followed it.

Only to find that it ended at a wall. That couldn't be right.

She doubled back, growing more restless by the minute. Why weren't there any rooms up here? What was the point? She must have missed something, maybe a door hidden behind a tapestry. It wouldn't hurt to check one last time.

There was nothing. No windows, no doors—

Except the door appearing before her. Had she been clear-headed, she would have proceeded with caution. Rooms didn't simply appear because someone required one.

As it was, she merely glanced up and down the corridor. It was clear.

She shoved open the door, closing it firmly behind her. Swallowing hard, she rested her forehead against the wood. Only when she caught her breath did she turn towards the room.

"Merlin's beard," she whispered.

Uncertain of what she was seeing, she blinked hard.

It was the forbidden forest. Had she gone through a portal? But no. It looked like the forbidden forest, yet it wasn't. Somehow, she knew this.

The boundaries of the room weren't visible. It was too dark, nearly pitch-black except for the moonrays that shone on the ground.

A gentle breeze billowed through her hair, as if beckoning her forward. She didn't trust it. But she couldn't resist the temptation to explore. It appealed to her natural curiosity and another natural urge, one more unconscious and impulsive.

She was tired of fighting it.

Whipping off her robes, she ran several steps into the room, gazing around. The ceiling—the sky—was filled with stars partly veiled by the forest canopy. Tree trunks rose up all around her, rooted on gnarled foundations. She breathed in the yew-scented air, running forward just a bit more and then hesitating.

How far did the illusion stretch? Was it an illusion at all?

Turning back, she noticed that the door had disappeared. There were no walls here.

She smiled.

And ran. Trees blurred into shadow as her shoes pounded against the dirt. The wind roared in her ears, but instead of blocking other sounds, it brought them to her. She heard an owl take flight, matching her pace as it glided overhead. She heard her own breaths. Sharp, yet controlled.

The forest quenched her thirst for lush, untamed wilderness. It was a place where she could join native life instead of observing it. Somewhere she could find solitude and yet never be lonely. It was home.

Her muscles burned. But she needed them to burn, to stretch, to change. As her heart beat wildly, she knew it was changing too. Her blood, her vision and hearing, all of it.

A bolt of pain tore through her head. It staggered her, dropping her to her knees. She clutched her head between her hands, her mouth opening in a silent scream.

Agony pulsed through her entire body in waves, washing outward from somewhere within. It was white-hot and icy at once. Embers of the dawn shining upon an age-old natural order.

Her bones cracked, shifting and lengthening beneath her clothes. Muscles, tendons, cartilage. Tearing. Knitting back together. The anguish dragged on and on, in no great hurry to end. She couldn't pull another gasping breath.

As oblivion crept over her, she resisted the word rising in her thoughts.

But all the signs were there. She couldn't escape them. Couldn't escape the beast overtaking her human mind or the brutality with which it did so. Couldn't escape how the moon induced the low tide that swept away her reason, her sense of self, everything that made her human.

It was a word that terrified and thrilled her.

A word that offered salvation and damnation.

Werewolf.