Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. All characters, places, descriptions, etc. (unless original and created by me) belong to her.

Summary: It was a small pack, of course, just the five of them, but together they were something wild. Hermione finds herself in the Marauder's Era with four new best friends.

A/N: Storm's here, lovelies. Take cover.

Chapter 70: Ad Tenebris, Ad Obscuro*

14 March 1979

From: Regulus Black, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry

To: Hermione Granger, The Shelter, Yorkshire

Granger—

I wrote to my uncle. The earliest he can meet you is the 28th, but he will meet with you.

You intrigue him, despite me keeping as many details from him as possible. All he knows is that you are interested in the study of time travel, particularly without a time turner. In short, he doesn't know much, but apparently enough to grant a meeting. I must admit, however, this makes me quite nervous. I wish you would reconsider waiting until I could join you, but I understand. Just know that I always wish I could do more.

He requests you meet him at the Ministry, in the Department of Mysteries. The 28th of March, at 10 o'clock in the morning, if that is suitable.

Be careful, Granger. He may not be as fanatical as my mother, but I do not know where his loyalties lie. He is an eclectic sort who visits rarely and briefly. I cannot vouch for his temperament or capabilities beyond familial rumors of his intellect and magical power.

Good luck. I hope he can give you some answers.

Be safe, Hermione.

- Rabbit

28 March 1979

The Ministry of Magic

It had taken two weeks for Regulus to hear word from his uncle, and two weeks since then for the meeting to finally arrive. The days had passed like a fading as Hermione had counted them down. She had never felt more like a ghost, so focused as she was on this singular task before her, this unfinished business.

It was stupid and reckless and a desperate move that was sure to have unintended and potentially dangerous consequences. But as Hermione walked through the lobby of the Ministry of Magic, she felt armored in hope. The Department of Mysteries held untold magics and knowledge, answers to questions few dared to ask. Maybe not to the problem she was trying to fix, but she could feel it in her bones that answers could be found.

It wasn't until she was crammed in the corner of the elevator that the nerves started to kick in. The last time she stepped foot in the Ministry, she left unconscious.

Her stomach dropped just seconds before the elevator jolted away, pinning her to the walls to suffer through her panic in silence. She started to sweat. Jostled here and there, muttering blank apologies to those around her, Hermione fell into her thoughts. Bodies entered and exited the elevator unnoticed until a voice echoed through her swimming head.

"Arrived. The Department of Mysteries."

The automated voice had Hermione blinking back to the present. She pushed through the few bodies left in the elevator, but hesitated before that final step. A man behind her coughed. She blushed, steeled herself, and stepped onto the dark marble floor. The elevator disappeared behind in a short burst of wind, pushing her forward a second step.

She'd given herself time to be early, precisely for this moment. Time to gain composure, to prepare herself, to calm her emotions. But time hadn't been on her side for a while now. As Hermione lifted her gaze from the floor, a man was already waiting.

He was only just a bit taller than her, but his height was not imposing. No, it was the rest of him that seemed to fill that space. Impeccably dressed in a shade of black that seemed to draw in the light around him. He had short white hair and was older, clearly, but Hermione thought for a moment she knew him. The memory came quickly. King's Cross Station, December of her seventh year. A group of refined, poised, and positively frightening people. So cold. Regulus amongst them. The Blacks. Unknowingly, she had already seen this mysterious uncle before, and even then, something about him made her feel like she should be paying attention.

She was silent in her approach, her mind working quickly behind the scenes, but for a moment, she wondered how she must appear to him. His gaze traversed her, assessing quickly before returning to meet her eyes.

"Miss Granger, I presume." He nodded before turning on his heel. "Please, follow me. We can speak in my office."

Hermione's hand moved to her beaded bag slung at her side. She had laughed at herself this morning when she'd shoved the little black rabbit inside. She was an adult and hadn't clung to a stuffed animal since long before she'd started at Hogwarts. But it wasn't just a stuffed rabbit, was it? It was a borrowed strength and comfort, and she needed it today.

The first step following Regulus' uncle was stilted, but step by step, Hermione regained herself. She took a deep breath and followed this man into the depths of the Department of Mysteries.

The Department of Mysteries

The office was bare, no windows, no papers, no pictures, nothing. Hermione would have assumed it wasn't even his but for the chair behind the desk. It was nice, worn but clearly expensive and well made. The kind of chair that didn't belong in this cold and empty office. The kind of chair that seemed it was brought specially here, displaced from its usual home to provide a bit of comfort.

The rest of the office was surprisingly basic, standard even. Hermione shifted awkwardly in her chair as she glanced around the windowless room. Regulus' uncle sat back in his chair behind an empty desk and stared at her. His face, unreadable.

"Thank you, sir," she started, blushing slightly at the way her voice caught. "Er, thank you for taking the time to meet with me."

He leaned forward, joining his hands in front of his face. The pause drew out before them. Hermione clenched her jaw. Regulus' uncle leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath him.

"The few bits of information Regulus has shared have proved to be—" He paused. "Intriguing may be the right word. Not many people are interested in temporal displacement. Fewer still are as young as you. I'm curious, before we get to why you are here, as to what led you to this particular area of study."

Hermione blinked. Regulus' uncle waited for an answer. She blinked again, her thoughts diverging in two paths. The first was a dive into her own memories.

A full schedule clutched in her hands. Professor McGonnagal standing before her. A lecture of responsibility and safety, trust and expectations. That first night spent clutching the necklace so tight she woke with drops on blood on her hand. Then, a whirlwind of time. Missing and gaining. Always too little or too much. Bated panic and private laughter at near misses. Mistakes, too many to count. But above all, a singular wonderful victory. More than one innocent life spared. Then, a reluctant parting. A steep learning curve readjusting to the normal passage of time. Always too little or too much. A faded memory, but still always there. A lingering curiosity. Then, a glimpse of time again in a heated pursuit. A shameful desire to reach out and touch. Then, the memory pushed aside for more pressing matters. Not to be touched until the day she awoke to a grey-eyed boy crouching down and reaching out to touch her arm.

The other path was fearful. Sitting before Regulus' uncle, Hermione could see the similarities, the things inherently Black about him. The grey eyes, the aristocratic nose. Even the slope and fall of his hair. It was easy to forget, with Regulus and Sirius, who the Blacks really were. They had cleansed her understanding of the name, or perhaps just painted over the ugliness that still remained below. Regulus had vouched for his uncle in his intelligence and power, but for his kindness or human decency, he had had nothing to say on the matter. This man before her was unknown, for sure, but still very much a member of the Noble House of Black.

As images and faded imprints of moments passed behind her eyes, Hermione clenched her jaw tight, unsuccessful in bidding them away. She had wondered, in rare moments, whether Regulus was skilled in the art of legilimency. The thought came back again to haunt her as she sat before his uncle.

You are protected.

She jumped slightly in her seat, a heated blush dashing across her cheeks. It was the new moon, as far away as she could get from the influence of her wolf, and yet… She took in a deep breath. The possibility that Regulus' uncle was capable and skilled at legilimency did not matter. Her mind was free to wander. She was protected. She lifted her chin and let out her breath.

"The origins of my interest are not what I came to discuss, Lord Black." She tiptoed forward with her words. Her forearm burned slightly, a reminder of her vow to Dumbledore. No revealing, no suggesting, no confirming. Not that she wanted to do any of that right now. "I am seeking your professional opinion on several theories. Regulus has spoken highly of your accomplishments and intellect. I am hopeful you can provide some commentary or insight on my thoughts. That is what I came to discuss."

"Mr. Black will suffice," he started. "I do not hold such a position in my family." He paused to look her over once more. If he was attempting to infiltrate her mind, Hermione felt no notion of it. "I am a man of academic and knowledgeable pursuits, so I can appreciate your want of a straight forward approach to this conversation. Though, my curiosity remains."

Hermione merely nodded in understanding. Every fiber of her being was focused on pushing out this calm and collected display. There would be time to catch her breath later.

"Regulus has been rather tight-lipped in his offering of information, mentioning only an interest in temporal displacement without the aid of a time-turner. Is this correct?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione began. "That is one of the theories I have been considering of late. I have been wondering of the possibility that prolonged use of a time turner can affect one's anchoring to time."

An eyebrow quirked, the smallest bit of emotion peeking through faint wrinkles. Interest.

"Correct me if I am wrong, Miss Granger, but it seem you are suggesting that someone with experience using a time turner could find themselves—for lack of a better word—turning unintendedly."

"Yes." She took a deep breath. "And further, I am wondering, if this theory holds any value, whether a person could turn—" She breathed again. "—Intentionally."

Regulus' uncle averted his gaze, his eyes glassing over and darting about in thought. When he started to speak, he spoke to the room, to himself, not to her.

"While there has been extensive study on the use of the time travel, these reports are, of course, inherently coded and sparse. Meant for those specifically trained in the area, of which I am not. But to travel in time uninhibited… Intentional displacement is dangerous in and of itself. The elementary reason time turners are not mass produced. But unintentional displacement?" His eyes snapped back to Hermione. "What you propose is highly dangerous, Miss Granger, surely you realize that."

"Of course, no, I understand." She steeled herself. "I am wondering of the possibility as a matter of study, not of ambitious pursuits."

"A matter of study? I wonder again what brought you to this realm of questioning. Not even a year out of Hogwarts, right? Why are you truly here, Miss Granger? What exactly are you hoping to learn?"

"As I said, Mr. Black, my background is of no matter. I am simply curious."

"My expertise does not lie with time." He leaned forward, again somehow stealing the light around him. "Surely Regulus has seen fit to mention that."

"He has, but I admit he has failed to mention what is your expertise." Hermione struggled not to squirm in her seat, watching the man before him. He seemed not to move a muscle as he stared her down.

"My focus?" His lip quirked in an unforgiving smirk. "Death, Miss Granger. My focus is death."

The door behind her burst open and Hermione jumped in her seat, a tiny yelp escaping her lips.

"Lycoris. Good, you're here." A voice called from behind her. "Just the man I was looking for."

Hermione couldn't tear her eyes away from Regulus' uncle.

"Ah, I apologize for interrupting, but it's a bit of a pressing matter. Will only take but a moment."

Without removing his gaze from Hermione, Regulus' uncle stood and moved toward the door. He paused beside her chair, their eyes still locked.

"A moment, Miss Granger. I shall return. Stay here and do not touch a thing."

And then he left, the door closing soundly behind him.

Hermione immediately deflated, her breaths coming short and quick as she brought a hand to her chest. Her mind was swimming with thoughts she couldn't pin down to examine. But one thought alone swam like a shark amongst the rest.

The name. His name. Like an itch she couldn't scratch. A familiar itch. Like the name of Nicholas Flammel. It itched at something that was there, right there. Somewhere already in her head. She knew it, but what was it?

Lycoris. Lycoris Black.

Hermione's feet, it seemed, unlike her brain were still able to move. She started to pace. Back and forth across the office, across the empty desk and the windowless walls. The name repeated like a prayer in her head, begging to be remembered. She paced. And then, when the room became too small for the expanse of her mind, she started to wander.

There was no familiarity in these halls, despite this not being her first foray into the Department of Mysteries. The shadows of fear and panic felt familiar, if not in a different shade, but these halls were still strange. She tried to remember the path they had taken that fateful night, but her thoughts were disjointed. Her feet led of their own accord.

Not a soul was seen as she passed by doors and hallways. She entered and turned at random, opening doors and choosing her path without a solid thought. Her eyes passed over wonders and tomes and whirring machines and vials and potions, but she saw none of it.

Lycoris. Like a name from another life.

In the end, it was of course obvious, because she had in fact already known who he was. It was there—he was there—from the beginning of this all. The words came slowly as if lifted letter by letter from the page. And it was bittersweet. Because she'd found her answer, but it was not—could never be—easy.

She passed the Time Room, acknowledging its presence and its history and future for her, but she kept walking. Now, though she still did not know the direction, she knew where she was heading.

The Death Chamber

Absolute silence reigned over this large, square room. Light glowed from unseen sources, casting shadows onto the stone tiers leading to a central pit. Hermione's footsteps rang out like death bells as she descended. She tried to compare this room to the picture her friends had painted, of the battle that consumed this space but for moments. But of course, there was no evidence of that. This room was unscarred, but still it held in its space tremendous loss.

The stone arch rose up before her like a faceless idol of death. But Hermione knew better. The tattered black veil waved and shuddered against an impossible breeze, and for a moment, Hermione felt it too, her skin breaking out into goosebumps. Harry had described being near the Veil as the feeling someone was watching him from the other side. Hermione wondered how many forgotten people were stuck behind the black.

"One wonders why you would willingly enter a room entitled the Death Chamber, Miss Granger."

Hermione didn't have to turn to know it was Lycoris Black who had found her. The slight click of his shoes against the floor echoed out into the cave-like room.

"Only that's not quite right, is it?" She didn't turn to face him as he settled beside her, both of them watching the hypnotizing ripples in the veil. "It's not death."

Lycoris remained silent beside her. Hermione closed her eyes against the tears that had started to fall.

"An environment of stasis. That's what you called it. A perfect equilibrium." She reached out, her fingers just falling short of the looming darkness. "You just need to know their name."

He was silent as he reached her, standing beside her in front of his own creation. She looked at him, his head bowed in some sort of deferential respect. To her or to those lost, she did not know. But he did not speak. He stood and waited, but she could tell he was thinking, trying to put together the pieces of who she was.

"It took me longer than it should have to put you and the veil together," she smiled sadly. "So I won't fault your confusion."

"No, I—" He cleared his throat. "I understand now why you have been so adamant to seek me out. While I cannot comprehend how you have come to quote my own words, I understand your pursuit now."

He turned to face her, his demeanor changed. The severity and rigidity to his composure faded to what Hermione could only describe as regret.

"Who, if I may be so bold to ask, did you lose?" His voice, his stance, wiped of all trace of the Noble House of Black. What was left was that which was found in Regulus and Sirius. "You speak of my own words, but do you know? Do you know how to bring them back?"

"I—" Hermione blinked back at him, stunned into a momentary silence at this change. This man was the same she had feared just minutes before, sitting like a frozen deer in his office. But now, now she remembered his private words.

…I cannot allow myself to create something so… permanent.

If I had more time perhaps I could develop alternative options, but I fear this is all I can do at the moment…

"I haven't lost them yet."

She watched, waited, as the puzzle started to fit together in his head.

"How far?"

"What?"

"How far did you fall? How far did you come to find me?"

"I didn't come for you, Mr. Black." Hermione looked back to the veil, her forearm burned at his question. A second warning, but she could barely feel it over the relief. "But I'm so glad I found you."

He was silent again beside her, stunned by her tears. His wand, which had been held firmly in his hand, was returned to its holster at his side. He breathed in deep. He had, in truth, always wondered when someone would come to collect for the things he had taken. He'd never imagined it would come to the hands of a mere slip of a girl, but he had known for a long time now not to assume when it came to death.

"And what are your intentions now that you have?" He turned from her to face the veil as well. "If it is my life you are after, know you will not find any hinderance on my part. I have long come to terms with the consequences of my actions."

Hermione heard his words, but continued on her own.

"Do your superiors know about the truth of the veil? That it's not permanent?"

"Do you think they would call this the Death Room if they did?"

"From what I know, I wouldn't put it past them."

"That is," he paused, "a fair assumption. But no, I managed to keep most of that secret to myself."

"So they think it's death on the other side."

"Yes, Miss Granger, they think it's death."

"So you have managed to trick magic and magicians alike."

"I'm afraid I don't understand." Lycoris turned again to face her.

"It's a terrible thing you've created, but I know you already know that. Terrible, but a feat all the same. I suppose convincing your superiors was the easy part. But magic itself?" She wiped away at falling tears, laughing at her own emotions, the current situation and revelation. She looked at him, her eyes searching his own. "Do you know, Mr. Black, just what you've accomplished? Managing to fool magic that someone has died. Managing to fool even that as powerful as familial blood magic."

Before Lycoris could respond, Hermione spoke again.

"My intentions, Mr. Black, have always been to find answers. I was hopeful before, but now I know you can provide them. I told you time was only one of the theories I have been considering. An ongoing interest, but not my most pressing. No, Mr. Black, I have been searching for a way to thwart death. But once again, I've been looking in the wrong section."

"Miss Granger—"

"I've known all along, and all because of you. All because I had picked up your writing, out of everything in that library, for just a bit of light reading."

"Miss Granger, I—"

"Mr. Black, I am not here because I've lost someone beyond the veil. I am here, because I need to put someone in it."

A/N: *Into the Darkness, Into the Dark