"Honestly, Frisk," Hermione said, still giggling as they made their way back up toward the castle. "Ron isn't that bad. He's got some common sense!"

Frisk smiled as they trudged back through the snow across the grounds towards the castle. They had started seriously enough, but after a couple of rounds, Frisk had started trying to break Hermione's grim mood. Judging from the laughter from both her and Hagrid, it had worked. Crookshanks had vanished into snow and darkness as they'd left, but they'd both agreed that he was catlike enough (and he was certainly intelligent enough) that they weren't really worried about him.

As they crossed the empty great hall, Hermione's nervousness caught up to her again. "Do you really think this will work?" Frisk looked over her shoulder, Hermione had stopped, and was looking at Frisk worriedly.

Frisk held out her hand. Hermione took it, and they headed into the grand staircase, "I think if Ron didn't miss you, he wouldn't be so rough." They started to climb up the six flights of stairs towards the Gryffindor common room. "Besides, could it actually get worse?"

"No," Hermione said, "It really couldn't."

"I probably shouldn't have asked that," Frisk said brightly, and they both laughed. As Frisk wasn't paying attention, she plunged one foot down into one of the stairwell's trick steps with a surprised, "Yipe!" Hermione helped her out, and they climbed the rest of the way to the Gryffindor tower.

Hermione provided the Fat Lady with the password, and they began the final trek to the common room. "Okay," Frisk said, "Be listening for your cue." Frisk ascended the last few steps, hoping Ron hadn't gone to bed yet.

He hadn't. He was sitting with Harry working on what appeared to be star charts. Frisk walked across the crowded room to them. Harry looked up, appearing grateful for the interruption. "Hello, Frisk. Need something?"

"Actually, I do," Frisk replied. "Someone would like a chance to talk to you, both of you."

Ron looked up at that, his face a scowling mixture of anger and contempt. "Well, we don't want talk to her. Do we, Harry?" he said, nudging his friend. But Harry said nothing, and his face was wistful.

"Are you sure?" Frisk asked, "Because I hear something different in your voice. It's sorrow, about how you miss being friends with her." Ron tried to interrupt, but Frisk spoke over it. "Just listen to what she has to say, okay?"

Harry put his hand on Ron's shoulder and nodded. "Come on, Hermione," Frisk said to the stairwell, as she became acutely aware that the common room had gone very quiet. Hermione emerged from the stairwell, and she looked extremely focused. Frisk stepped back, giving her space to be with Ron and Harry.

"Ron, Harry," Hermione began, though she was staring at the table in front of them. "I want to say I'm sorry." It was clear by his mouth dropping open in amazement, that this, by itself, was the last thing Ron expected to hear. "I should have taken the threat to Scabbers more seriously." She looked up, able to meet Ron's eyes. "I know he was your friend, you even took him to Egypt with you."

There was silence as Hermione took a deep breath and continued, "I'm sorry for your loss. I know you blame Crookshanks, but, but." she paused for a breath and continued, "blame me instead. He's my responsibility... and I'm the only one he has. What you feel about Scabbers... I feel about my cat. Please, don't make me choose between you and him. It's my fault. Will you forgive me?"

The common room was quiet, and all eyes were on Ronald Weasley. Harry turned to his friend, "That sounds pretty fair to me, Ron," Harry's face was hopeful, if uncertain.

Ron had a blank expression, and he just stared at Hermione, apparently unsure what to make of what he had just heard. Frisk held her breath. Finally, Ron nodded. "I accept your apology," he said, holding out his hand. Hermione grasped it, and shot Frisk a quick smile.

Frisk smiled back as Hermione took a seat next to Ron and Harry, having their first good, pleasant, friendly, conversation in what must have been months. On the other side of the fire, Frisk sat down and started a letter home. She was interrupted a while later by Hermione. "Frisk, thank you. Thank you so much. I can't say how much I've missed them. But I just realized something. You've been trying to ask me a question for a while now, and you deserve a minute. What did you want to ask?"

"How are you time traveling?" Frisk whispered. Hermione's hands flew to the neck of her robe, and her face paled. "Uhm, why don't we go someplace quieter," Frisk suggested, nodding to the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

Once up the stairs, they sat down on Frisk's four poster bed, and drew the curtains closed. "How did you figure it out?" Hermione asked. Frisk gave her the details about seeing her in the hall outside Defense, and how Neville and Harry had put her in two different classes at the same time, and how the simplest explanation of all this was in fact, traveling time. "I tried to be careful," Hermione said, "and vary my routes. But you noticed anyway."

"So," Frisk asked, excitedly, "How do you do it?"

Hermione's face fell. "I promised not to tell, Frisk. I swore up and down to both the headmaster and McGonagall that I wouldn't share the device with anyone if it wasn't a life or death situation. Wait... wait," she said, as Frisk's emotions came crashing down. "Why do you want it, anyway?"

Frisk went over the story her friends already knew, Hermione listened intently.

"I see why you were so excited," Hermione admitted. "But I'm not sure what I use will help you, anyway. It only goes back an hour at a time, that would be over seven thousand times to go back one year, and you want to go back even further than that. That doesn't mean you should give up!" Hermione added hurriedly. "You should ask the headmaster! He might know a way to help you."

"Dumbledore?" Frisk asked doubtfully. "Isn't he likely to tell Mom?"

"I don't think so. Just say you don't want to get her hopes up if you can't actually do it," Hermione explained, "I think he'll understand. In the meantime, I'll ask Ron and Harry, I'll bet they'd be willing to help."

"I guess I don't have a choice," Frisk said. "But... thanks. That'd be all seven people, if all three of you can help."

"I wish I could have helped you more, but if we can do it, we will," Hermione told her. "I trust Dumbledore."

It had taken all of her determination to approach Dumbledore during breakfast, surrounded as he was by Frisk's teachers, but his kind face and twinkling eyes had put Frisk at ease. "Certainly," he had told her, when she asked if she could meet with him in private. "I will have time after dinner to meet with you. Six o'clock, in my office on the second floor. Tell the Gargoyle: Affy Tapple."

Just before lunch, Hermione had pulled Frisk, Harry, and Ron into an empty classroom, and explained to them what Frisk needed. "Ginny asked me this morning," Ron said. "If Dumbledore says it's okay, we'll be there." Harry grinned at him. "It's not like there's spiders involved..." Ron said, annoyed. Then he looked nervous, "are there?"

Frisk had a sudden mental image of a terrified Ron being forced to sit in Muffet's spider bakery, and was forced to stifle a not-very-nice giggle.

"Can we see monster soul magic?" Harry asked.

"I was hoping to see it too, but I figured I'd wait for you two to be with me," Hermione added, eagerly.

"Thanks, Hermione," Ron said. Hermione beamed at him.

It wasn't as if Frisk hadn't been expecting this question. "Okay, gather close." She focused, and again, brought her soul up to the surface for the others to see. And again, the echoes of the magic resonated to bring the other nearby souls into view, too. Ron's was a bright orange, like the fruit. Hermione's a deep violet. But Frisk's concentration almost broke when she saw Harry's soul. The surprise wasn't that it was as red as Frisk's own, but that there was a black shape, slithering on top of it, trying to remain out of sight. It almost looked like a snake, feeding somehow on Harry's soul. She wasn't sure anyone else noticed, and that was probably for the best.

"Wow," Ron said, looking at the other three.

"They're different colors," Hermione said, fascinated. "Why is that?"

Frisk let her focus slide, and the souls faded from view. "The theory I was told is that it's based on some ideal that drives your being. Orange is bravery, that you're driven by a need to prove yourself. Violet was perseverance, though I'm not sure that's right, as the violet soul I encountered was extremely studious, and knew the value of words." She went through the others she'd seen, green for kindness, yellow for justice, light blue for patience, and a darker blue for integrity.

"And Red?" asked Harry.

"Determination," Frisk said, "The will to see through your goal all the way to the end, no matter what it takes."

"That's not really an ideal, though, is it?" Hermione asked. "Isn't that more of a... quality?"

"Maybe," Frisk said, shrugging. "It's interesting, though, this is a monster theory. And I've had a chance to see theirs through the same type of magic. Their souls are all silver, only human souls have these colors to them. So I don't know how they came up with it, or if they're even right. I'd like to think that souls had all these ideals to them. What's bravery without kindness?"

Ron's stomach rumbled audibly. "And what's any of these things without lunch? C'mon. Let's get down before all the food is gone."

That evening, after classes, when Ginny sat down next to Frisk, Frisk told her everything she'd learned in the last day. Though, as Frisk sneaked her tenth or so glance at the staff table, to see if Dumbledore had left, Ginny finally told her to calm down.

"Dumbledore's a kind person," Ginny said, "You'll do fine. Have some pumpkin juice to settle your stomach."

Frisk wasn't actually feeling hungry, but tried to force some food down at Ginny insistence. When she finally noticed Dumbledore had left, she gave herself two minutes, then excused herself. Ginny wished her, "Good luck!" as she departed.

When she got to the second floor, the gargoyle that blocked the passage almost blended in with the other statutory in the corridor, but she finally spotted it. "Excuse me," she said politely, though her heart was pounding, "Is this the headmaster's office?"

"It is," the gargoyle confirmed, "Do you know the password?"

"Taffy Apple," she supplied.

The gargoyle didn't move.

"That's not it? Oh, what was it? Oh, right, Affy Tapple!"

The gargoyle leaped aside, revealing a small spiraling staircase. "Go on in, he's expecting you."

Frisk climbed the stairwell. When she reached the top, she stood transfixed by the sheer number of gizmos, gadgets, and magical mechanisms that puffed, smoked, and whirred in various places throughout the office. Portraits hung throughout the office, labeled with golden plaques that indicated they were previous headmasters of Hogwarts, most of them appeared to be asleep, though a few gazed at Frisk as she entered. On a perch in one corner was a large orange and red bird, staring at her with golden eyes. In the center of it all was Dumbledore, examining the contents of a large stone basin. "Ah, good evening, Ms. Dreemurr," he said, his eyes twinkling, when he noticed her entry. "Take a seat," he said, flourishing a wand at a chair that she didn't think was there a second ago, "How can I help you this fine evening?"

Frisk gratefully sat down. "I wanted to ask you, Headmaster Dumbledore, sir: How does Hermione Granger travel in time?" She explained, much as she did to Hermione the previous night, how she had made the connections.

"Ms. Granger has been given care of a device called a time-turner. Why would a first year student need such a powerful item? Surely you don't wish to follow her footsteps and take more classes then there are hours in the day, do you?" he asked, smiling at her.

"To save a soul," Frisk said. She was about to explain about Asriel, when Dumbledore interrupted her.

"Why don't you tell me your entire story from the beginning," Dumbledore said. "I like a good story well told."

Frisk hesitated. She didn't really want the story of her being able to force her timeline backwards to get out further. But she needed this, and it seemed like a very bad idea to lie to the headmaster. So, after asking for his promise that he not share it (unless it was to prevent people from being hurt), she told her story, from the beginning, with nearly nothing left out. The true labs, the experiments with determination, even her letting the monster kid fall, were all covered in detail. And through the entire tale, Dumbledore didn't interrupt her, or express doubt, one single time.

"So, you wish a time turner," Dumbledore said, "To retrieve a soul that would have otherwise been lost, and use it to help Asriel find himself again. That I can understand and appreciate. There is a problem, that I am sure Hermione has pointed out to you already. A time-turner goes backward an hour at a time. The level of precision you need, especially at that distance of time, is very nearly impossible," Dumbledore said, meeting Frisk's eyes with a shrewd expression, suspecting this problem might have already been solved.

Frisk had, indeed, been thinking about it. "My friend Sans created a time machine, partially with monster magic, partially with human technology, but he couldn't figure a way to power it. I'm certain he could use the time-turner as a focus, and find a way to automate all of that."

Dumbledore's expression was thoughtful. He rested his hands on his desk, tapping his fingers together rhythmically. "A lot of wizards would think a... technomancy of that sort, barbaric. I would have to... or rather, find someone to talk to your friend to see if such a machine could be developed. Maybe Kurt Kairos... he works in the Department of Mysteries, and I think this might be fascinating for him."

"Now," he continued. "Let us presume that with help, such a machine can be created, and you retrieve the soul to return to young Dreemurr. You said that he was able to 'absorb' souls, so it stands to reason that he can accept his own. Yet, in order to return his body, he needs the assistance of others, correct? But you have those that who have offered, right? Who?"

"Luna Lovegood from Ravenclaw," Frisk began, "Opal Oxtoby, from Hufflepuff. Myself, Ron and Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger from Gryffindor..." she continued, then stopped. Could she count the other?

"I was waiting for Mr. Potter's name to turn up," Dumbledore told her, "Especially if Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley are there."

"I saw something in his soul," Frisk admitted, "It was like a piece of black light... both part of him and not part of him..." Dumbledore didn't look surprised, but for just a moment, infinitely sad. "I think there's something wrong with it."

"There's that confirmed, then," Dumbledore said softly to himself. Then he said to Frisk, "I do not believe there is anything wrong with Mr. Potter's soul, but I think you're right. There is something foreign there that you will not wish to expose to Asriel. You should not mention this to anyone else, not even to Harry, am I clear?" The twinkle was gone from his eye, and his seriousness was intimidating.

"Yes, headmaster."

"And I cannot say," he continued, and the tone was pleasant again, "that this project will be without risks. From what you have told me, I think it will be safe, but we are messing with a magic that even the Department of Mysteries has not tried to research: souls. If you are going to ask wizards to risk their souls, they are going to need to be perfectly sure they understand what is going on. So I will need to ask them to talk to me, and sign consent forms. As they are underage..."

Frisk felt her stomach lurch.

"They will need to have a parent or guardian sign as well. I will make sure they understand the need for secrecy. The only thing worse than fear is a dashed hope, especially for something like this. But if it word gets out – and it will – parents will need to know that I held the safety of their own children in the highest esteem."

But Frisk was feeling her heart sink. Would her mom let her do something like that, even if she had already? Would she be happy knowing she was risking others? And would the parents of anyone else sign on to something like that?

"I see your face, but I think people are better than you might believe, and parents understand parents, in general. Parents understand the lengths one would go to protect a son or daughter, and how much it would mean for one to be restored." Dumbledore frowned suddenly. "Frisk, are you crying?"

Was she? She wiped at her face, and found that, yes, tears had escaped from her eyes, though she didn't understand why. Everything Dumbledore had said made sense, and she didn't feel especially worked up about it. It was just another obstacle to be overcome, and she would overcome it. "Okay, sir. I understand. I'll ask them to see you when they can," Frisk said.

"Very good," Dumbledore said, he was smiling once again. "Now, is there anything else?"

"There is," Frisk admitted. "I was hoping to bring the body of Asriel's friend, Chara, and find a way to," Frisk looked up at Dumbledore, an exaggerated smile on her face, "a way to," she wiggled her fingers hopefully. "Bring her back, too."

"I'm sorry, Frisk," Dumbledore said sadly. "There is no spell in the world that can return a soul to its body."

"But... but it won't have to!" Frisk said, quickly. "In order to come back through the barrier, Asriel absorbed Chara's soul... it'll be right there. We can bring it back as well. The body and the soul will be together. We just have to... reconnect them, somehow."

"I don't know Frisk..."

"She wouldn't have even been 'dead' long, not really. Just long enough for Asriel to take her home, and back. That's not even that far, since he could go through the barrier!" Frisk said. She was speaking quickly, and it was bordering on babble.

"But I'm not sure, even if we could, if it would be the right thing to do."

Frisk felt herself hyperventilating, and Dumbledore's eyes were growing wide. Did she dare drop her one last bombshell, and obliterate her one last lie?

"Frisk, are you feeling alright?"

"I hope it is," Frisk said softly, "Because I've died."