Dear Harry (and everyone),

Hogsmeade is amazing! It's like being away at witchy summer camp, except that ends after a week, and this keeps going on and on. Well, and Mom's here, and the beds are more comfortable, and the food's better. But you knew all of that.

We're settled in nicely at the Weather Vane Inn, Mom and Serenity and I. (Serenity is our cat, if you didn't know. He's not very exciting, but he gives good snuggles.) The inn owners have a daughter who's my age, and I think Mom was hoping we'd make friends, but honestly she scares me a little. I think she'd be willing to do anything to get what she wanted. And yes, I know that's a funny thing for someone to say who wants to be in Slytherin, but being ambitious doesn't mean I'm evil! It just means I want to be the best at whatever I decide to do! So you can all go suck dragon eggs.

Hermione, Mom wanted me to let you know that she wrote to my dad's cousin, and they're finding a time when she can come to Hogsmeade. If you get permission from Professor Flitwick, Mom can come up to the castle and take you to the village so you can meet with her. I hope you find out what you want to know.

Mom also said that we might come to the next Quidditch match. It's Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff, right? I can't wait, even if I won't know what side to cheer for!

Mal, please pet Orion for me, and everyone else take care.

Write back soon,

Meghan

P.S. I heard that someone hexed Zacharias Smith's goblet to bite him on the nose at breakfast the other day. You're so mean! (Not to do it when I could see.)

Remus—

Yes, I've got that potion safe and sound, along with my notes on it. I suppose I should feel bad for spending so much time on it, but it might come in handy for a certain person, don't you think? Besides, it gave me the chance to develop focused working habits, which will be helpful if I want to pursue Thea's pet project instead. I'll see what I can recall about that on my own, and isn't there some magical artifact that lets you view and study your memories? Let me know what you can.

—Aletha

P.S. Thank you for sharing the contents of that note. I haven't laughed so hard in years.

"One quarter ounce ashes of jobberknoll feathers." Harry sprinkled an unappetizing black powder into his cauldron, agreeing to Ron's grimace with a nod. "Five drops of slime-mold extract." He dripped this in, leaning away from the smell which arose. "And—hang on, let me get my gloves—one teaspoon of streeler slime." Carefully he scraped out the measuring spoon, then deposited spoon and scraper in the specially treated metal pot Snape had set in between pairs of students for this purpose.

"And now, stir until combined." Ron lowered his stirring stick gingerly into the cauldron. "You can tell it's a Forgetfulness potion. Who would want to remember they'd drunk all this?"

"Why do you need a potion to forget things, anyway?" asked Lavender Brown, frowning. "I thought most people would want to remember things better."

"This potion, Miss Brown," said Snape, startling a squeak out of Lavender as he loomed over her shoulder, "as you would know if you had done your assigned reading for today, was the original response of wizards and witches to those accidental sightings of magic by Muggles which are today handled with a Memory Charm. A diluted version may also be used by Healers in cases where a person has undergone some horrific event, the memory of which overwhelms them. Five points from Gryffindor, for being unprepared for class."

Parvati Patil put a hand on Lavender's arm as she bristled. Harry could sympathize with his Housemate's feelings. Ever since classes had resumed, Snape had seemed even more ready to take points from Gryffindor than usual.

And it's not just us. Hermione and the others say he's docking their Houses too. Is he afraid Slytherin won't win the House Cup this year? Harry reached into his bag, feeling around for his vial of powdered sumac, encountering bottles, jars, papers, books, until—

He groaned under his breath as his fingers poked through a hole at the bottom. Good thing Hermione still has some of those Owl Order forms. I'm going to need a new bag. Always assuming she can't fix this one, or show me how to do it.

Setting the bag on his chair, he got down on his hands and knees, peering under the prep table. It can't have been like that for long, or someone would have mentioned it. So the sumac is probably here in the dungeon. I just need to—ah-ha! A glint of glass between two of the floor stones caught his eye, and he crawled forward to retrieve it.

Just as his fingers closed around the vial, someone howled in pain beside him. Harry jumped, bashing his head into the underside of the table, and hastily wiggled his way out to see Millicent Bulstrode cradling one hand to her chest, whimpering under her breath. Daphne Greengrass was down on her knees beside her Housemate.

"Someone," Daphne announced in carrying tones, rising to her feet, "tied Millicent's shoelaces together. That's why she tripped and burned herself on our cauldron." Her eyes were fixed on Harry. "But they would have had to be crawling around on the floor to do that. Wouldn't they, Professor?"

Harry swallowed hard as Snape turned towards him, and mutely held up the vial of sumac. Snape's eyes narrowed. "I'm warning you, Potter—" he began.

"Professor." The voice came from the other side of the classroom, and Snape wheeled to face the speaker. "Potter didn't do this."

A moment of silence fell over the dungeon, broken only by Millicent's gulping sobs. Snape looked back at Daphne. "Take her to the hospital wing," he ordered, then returned his attention to Blaise Zabini. "Explain."

"I could see Potter the whole time he was on the floor." Zabini motioned a straight line between his location and Harry's prep table. "All he did was pick something up that rolled away from his bag. He didn't go near Millicent, or anyone else."

"Very well," said Snape after several seconds of silence. "Proceed. But if we have any more disruptions…" He allowed the sentence to trail off into nothingness, then stalked back to his desk, where he dipped his quill with vicious precision and began to mark essays in a slashing hand.

Glancing across the room, Harry gave Zabini a slight smile, which was answered with a fractional nod. Ron had stepped back from the cauldron to wipe his forehead, and Parvati and Lavender were both stifling nervous giggles in their sleeves.

That could have been a lot worse. I'll have to remember to thank Zabini after class. Harry set down the sumac on his prep table and opened the lid of the vial, preparing to pour it out into a measuring spoon.

Then he stopped.

But…how did Millicent's shoelaces get tied together?

"Magic," said Ron, masked by the bustle of students clearing away ingredients and packing up cauldrons. "Someone waited till they saw you on the floor, then hit her shoes with a Knot-Tying Jinx. Fred and George used to use them on me from their window, until Mum caught them at it."

"But wouldn't Zabini have seen the spell, then?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Sometimes they're invisible." Ron shrugged. "Look, mate, you didn't get in trouble, so who cares? Come on, I heard someone saying there's split pea soup for lunch, and you know how nasty that is if it gets cold…"

XxXxX

Abraxas Malfoy stood in a dusty room in his ancestral home, gazing out a window towards the north, the setting sun painting the snowy landscape with the colors of fire and blood.

"You cannot hide my grandson from me forever," he said softly. "I will find him." A cool smile touched his lips. "As little as I liked it at the time, now I can see my dreams are pointing me in the right direction. Surely I'd never have imagined a Hufflepuff grandchild for myself! No, that's a bit of reality creeping in." He scowled at his reflection. "I can only hope the school governors will hear an old man's plea, once the boy is mine again. Allow a re-Sorting, just this once, to remove him from bad influences and place him among his proper peers…"

Though, Abraxas had to admit, a relocation to somewhere like Durmstrang might do even better. There, far from everything which might remind him of his kidnappers, the boy would surely grow into the fullness of what he should have been, a strong, proud, clever wizard, a credit to the name of Malfoy.

"And speaking of names…" Abraxas smiled thinly. "Something else important from my dreams. Likely this old brain of mine, gathering bits and pieces of information, and using this means to bring them to my attention. That these scoundrels may have chosen to hide the boy's identity in plain sight, possibly without his ever knowing it." His fingers closed, one by one, into a fist. "A Hufflepuff boy, a first year, who goes by a particular nickname…"

"Mal!" Cassie skipped down the hall to greet her cousin as he climbed out of the barrel which marked the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. "Are you doing anything this afternoon? Mummy wanted to know if you would come over and help me and Pearl with our lesson. Ron's there already, but another boy would make it more even."

"I don't have anything important." Mal dropped lightly to the floor and took Cassie's hand. "What kind of lesson is it?"

"Party manners." Cassie started back the way she'd come, Mal beside her. "Making polite conversation, and eating and drinking little tasty things without making a mess, and finding something nice to say about the musical performers even if they're awful. But you wouldn't ever be," she added quickly. "You've been amazing at all the Music Society concerts, or just when we're having fun in the courtyard during breaks."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Mal couldn't quite keep the dry tone out of his voice. "Do I get to be the only entertainment, or will someone else be helping out?"

"Oh, everyone's going to do something. Even Mummy." Cassie smiled up at him. "She has a really pretty singing voice. Did you know?"

"I didn't, but I'm not too surprised." Mal returned the smile. "Mine had to come from somewhere."

"Ah, Mr. Longbottom, here you are."

Henry looked up from the book he, Jean, and Neville had been studying between them to see a beaming Albus Dumbledore, wearing a traveling cloak and holding a soft-sided carrier in one hand. "Thank you again for the loan of your friend," the Headmaster continued, passing the carrier to Neville. "She was exceedingly helpful in my business today."

"You're welcome, sir." Neville set the carrier on the table, peering in through its mesh front. Trixie glared back balefully, grumbling under her breath. "I hope she didn't cause you too much trouble."

"Not at all." Dumbledore waved the suggestion away airily. "Although I might suggest giving her only a small meal this evening, and something easy on her stomach. And perhaps keep her in the carrier until you reach your dormitory. She may be a trifle disoriented, and it would be a shame if she lost herself in the hallways."

"Of course, sir. Thank you." Neville watched as the Headmaster walked away through the tall shelves of books. "I wonder what he needed with her," he said, turning back to Henry and Jean. "Why Trixie?"

"Some magical workings require animals who look a very particular way," said Jean, though her brow was furrowed as though she weren't entirely sure she believed what she was saying. "A dog that's all black without a single white hair, or an otter with a special marking on his paw. Maybe Professor Dumbledore wanted to cast some magic that needed a cat like Trixie, and decided to borrow her instead of trying to go out and look for a different one."

"Or maybe what you and Mal were saying that one time is right, and somebody put a spell on Trixie before you had her," suggested Henry. "She might have magical traces on her, and Professor Dumbledore needed to study them to find out where the caster is now."

"I like that idea." Neville smiled, sliding his hand through the handle of the carrier. "Should we stop for today, then, since I need to take Trixie back to the dorm? I think we were just about done, anyway. Temperature control was the last thing Professor Blake asked us to go over before next week's classes."

"It sounds so strange to hear that, but it's correct." Jean closed the book and tucked it away in her bag. "Since Professor Snape wanted more time to spend with his family, so he agreed that Aunt Thea could take over his lower-level classes as an adjunct, the way Dad did for Professor Quirrell. So now she's our Potions teacher, along with being the on-call Healer."

"Oh no," said Henry with a straight face. "We have to get taught Potions by somebody who actually cares if we learn. How terrible."

"You're terrible," accused Jean, but she was smiling. "Now if we could just get an adjunct for History of Magic…"

Albus Dumbledore hummed a little tune to himself as he set a delicate golden cup carefully inside a well-shielded box, one of several he had created years before when the scope of his self-appointed task became apparent. "Almost I pity you, Tom," he said, closing the lid and latching it shut before adding three different Locking Charms. "To have all your careful plans destroyed by things and people you would barely consider worthy of your notice." He glanced back towards Fawkes, who was preening a wing. "But then, is that not always the way?"

Returning to his desk, he opened one of the drawers and removed an apparently blank sheet of parchment, laying his wand against it. "I solemnly swear," he pronounced with care, "that sherbet lemons are very tasty."

As the parchment filled with a handwritten list, Dumbledore dipped his quill and ceremoniously scratched off one of the items. "Only one left to find now," he murmured, running his finger down the entries he had so laboriously compiled. "And given its associations, as well as the period in which he acquired it, I should likely be looking at the earliest parts of his life…"

XxXxX

"You must be Hermione," said a slender, brown-haired witch with an elegant face, standing up as Hermione and Healer Freeman stepped into the lobby of the Weather Vane Inn. "My Nymphadora's terribly impressed with you. She says she's never met a first year who was so good at figuring out what magic could and couldn't do, and all the whys and wherefores behind it."

"Oh." Hermione raised her hands to her cheeks, trying to quell her flush. "I—I had no idea…"

"Andromeda, you're embarrassing her," said Healer Freeman, chuckling. "Come on, we can use my sitting room upstairs, and Mrs. Vane said she'd send us up some hot butterbeers in a little while."

"A good plan." Healer Tonks, as Hermione knew this witch must be, let her fingers trace along the top of two small books she'd brought with her. "As you'd probably guessed, this isn't a pretty story. Something comforting will do us all good."

Her eyes asked a question as they rested on Hermione, and Hermione straightened her back in response. "I want to know," she said, meeting the older witch's gaze squarely. "Maybe not everything, maybe not all the details, but I want to know what happened to my sister. Why I never even knew she existed, until Healer Freeman told me so."

Or I wouldn't have, if it weren't for my dreams.

"And I will tell you, as much as I can." Healer Tonks motioned towards the stairs. "Shall we?"

Together, the three witches climbed to the first floor, Healer Freeman directing them to a door near the end of the hall, which led into a small but pleasant sitting room. Meghan looked up from her book as they entered, and hurried over to hug Hermione, before disappearing through one of the doors near the rear of the room. "She won't spy on us," Healer Freeman assured them, drawing her wand. "Since if she does…" She raised her voice. "She'll be cursed with twitchy ears for a week."

A little squeak emerged from the bedroom, and Healer Freeman smiled. "That should do it," she said, sliding her wand away again. "All right, Andromeda, let's have it. Why are we talking directly to you, instead of putting in a request for records at St. Mungo's?"

"Because St. Mungo's wouldn't have the records to give you, not if we're talking about the time period I think we are." Healer Tonks opened the first of her little books, flipping through a few pages, then running her finger down the lines of neat script within. "17 August, 1980. That's when the case I'm thinking of happened. Does that fit with what you know?"

Hermione's throat tightened, a soft voice inside her head reciting the words of a story. "And always, every time, the dreams ended with the image of a calendar page—the calendar hanging on the wall in her parents' kitchen, with the seventeenth of August circled in red…"

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, it fits."

"That's what I was afraid of." Healer Tonks sighed. "A fire broke out at St. Mungo's back in September, in the records room. Just about everything from the last ten or eleven years was destroyed. We've reproduced as much as we can from whatever was stored in other places, but some information was simply lost. Bad luck for you, I'm afraid. But I do have my personal journal from that time." She tapped her finger against the page. "Obviously I never recorded names, that would be a terrible breach of confidentiality, but it may be enough to start with. Shall I?"

A soft trill made all three witches look down, and Hermione smiled, holding out her hand. "Hello," she said, letting a damp black nose sniff at her fingers. "You must be Serenity."

The slim black cat chirruped in answer, and reared up to place his paws on the edge of Hermione's chair. She patted her lap in invitation, and Serenity flowed upwards in a single smooth motion, turning once and settling into place with a tiny prickling of claws through Hermione's school robes. A soft rumble vibrated from his form, and Hermione rested her hand against his back.

"I'm ready," she said, looking up at Healer Tonks.

"All right, then." Healer Tonks looked down at the page and began to read. "I was called in for a consultation today on one of these terribly sad cases involving Muggles. Only one person hurt this time, a young woman about nineteen or twenty, but her parents took it hard, insisting they be told what had happened to their daughter and how she could be helped. The Aurors tried to feed them a story about a rare airborne poison in the house, but the patient's mother wanted to know why her younger daughter, less than a year old, hadn't also been affected."

Hermione pressed her free hand to her lips as Healer Tonks continued. "I examined the patient and found signs consistent with several curses often used by Death Eaters, but combined in a way I hadn't seen before. Instead of shutting down the body or forcing the soul inwards to hide, they seemed to have pushed the soul away from the body, leaving it functional but untenanted. This is similar to…" She paused, glancing at Healer Freeman. "…another phenomenon, but the brain damage usually present in those cases was absent in this one, and no sightings of…the creature responsible had been registered during the necessary time frame."

She probably means dementors, and the Kiss. Hermione scratched lightly behind one of Serenity's ears, enjoying the way the cat leaned his head into the caresses. It's kind of her not to bring that up, even if I do already know about it.

"I reported my findings truthfully," Healer Tonks went on, "but now I'm not sure I should have. The Aurors used the parents' understandable horror at hearing this news to argue that their lives would be too damaged to continue if they remembered what had happened to their daughter, and that their daughter's likeness might be used to harm them or others if they recalled her at all. For their own good, and that of their remaining child, it was decided that they should be relocated from their current residence and given an extreme course of Memory Charms, with Obliviators assigned to find and remove the physical evidence of the patient's existence…"

"For our own good?" Hermione repeated, fighting to keep her voice from soaring into a shriek. "They thought that lying to us forever, stealing an entire person out of our lives, would be good for us?"

"I wasn't happy with it either." Healer Tonks shook her head, closing her journal. "But the decision was made by someone far away from the reality, someone who probably saw everything to do with the war as neat little bunches of letters and numbers on parchment. Not as human beings with names and faces and lives." She met Hermione's eyes, smiling sadly. "For what it's worth, I was more careful what I said to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement after that day. Seeing my words used to justify those actions made me furious, and I never wanted to feel like that again."

"It wasn't your fault." Hermione forced her hands to relax, resting them against Serenity's soft side. "You didn't know what they were going to do. But is that all? Or is there more? You have that other book there…"

"So I do." Healer Tonks held it up. "My journal from a few years later, when things took an unexpected turn." Opening the book and finding her page, she began to read.

"I was at St. Mungo's today when one of the apprentices came running into the tearoom, looking for me. At first I thought she was talking nonsense, but when I followed her down to ward 49, I discovered she was entirely correct. One of the patients there, a Muggle who'd been harmed by Death Eaters during the war and remained unresponsive for several years, had unexpectedly awakened, by all appearances a normal young woman in her mid-twenties, though with some signs of premature aging due to her injuries."

Healer Freeman sighed, a little flutter in the end of the sound which could have been either laughter or tears. "I really must reconsider the people I'm drawn to," she murmured. "They keep doing this to me."

Hermione couldn't stop her own incredulous smile from blossoming as Healer Tonks went on. "My first impression was borne out by my more detailed examination. The patient answered to her name, could solve simple maths problems, demonstrated both gross and fine motor control, and even seemed to be aware that a fair amount of time had passed, though obviously she didn't know how much, or what else had occurred. I had the unenviable task of telling her that she had been, essentially, erased from her world, that her own family wouldn't know her any longer. Strangely enough, she didn't seem surprised."

"She wouldn't." Healer Freeman pressed a handkerchief to the corner of one eye, but her voice was level as she spoke. "Danger was like that. Never quite sure that she deserved to be loved, or even to exist. And yes, that's what we called her," she added at Hermione's incredulous stare. "She always claimed she hated 'Gertrude' with a passion, so after her first time roller-skating ended up with a broken nose for her and cuts and bruises all over me and the rest of our friends, I said we ought to call her 'Danger' instead, just to tell everyone what they were getting into. She sulked for three days, then decided it was funny."

"I did remember she had an odd nickname," said Healer Tonks thoughtfully. "Just not what it was. And her nose had been broken at some point, but it healed almost straight. You'd never notice it if you weren't looking for it specifically. But I digress." She found her place and continued reading. "Obviously the patient can't stay at St. Mungo's now that she no longer needs care, especially since she was, and is, a Muggle. I talked to my department head, who went to some of the hospital administrators, and we've found her a place on one of the recovery wards for now. Most likely she'll work with the same team who help magically injured wizards and witches set up Muggle identities for themselves."

"So she's alive." Hermione felt a bubble of happiness rise in her chest. "My sister is alive. She's out there somewhere. All we have to do is find her."

"That might be difficult, though." Healer Tonks closed her journal. "Since the team who assisted with creating her new identity also worked out of St. Mungo's…"

"And St. Mungo's had the records fire," finished Healer Freeman with another sigh. "I'd assume the odds are fairly low that anyone had a secondary copy of her information, or remembers it clearly after all this time?"

"I'm afraid so. But it's still not impossible." Healer Tonks folded her hands together. "I'll talk to my friends, and have them talk to theirs. Someone may remember something. And you know her original name, what she looked like, what she enjoyed and was good at doing. All of that will help us narrow down the possibilities, when we find them." She met Hermione's gaze with the same clear confidence Tonks usually displayed. "Because we will find them. It may take time, but we will find them. And that means we will find her."

"I believe you." Hermione lifted the cat into her arms, cradling him close to her chest. "And thank you, both of you," she added towards Healer Freeman, "for telling me the truth." A small smile reappeared on her face. "That's more 'for my own good' than any amount of lies could ever be."

Dear Mal,

Thank you for your letter, and for being patient. I have part of the answer you wanted, but I think I can learn more. Can you give me another week or two, or do you need to know right away?

I don't mind that you thought I was playing a game when I talked about my dreams. A lot of people think that, and sometimes they're very rude about it. You never were, so that makes it all right. People are allowed to believe whatever they want, after all.

I'm very glad to hear about you meeting your cousin, and hope I can meet her soon too. Maybe over the summer, or next fall, when I'm a student at Hogwarts myself.

We really should try to meet in person, so that we can exchange stories. Do you think you'll be able to slip away during the Easter holidays? Daddy won't mind if I have a friend over, so long as we don't get in the way of his work. He's very thoughtful like that.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Your friend,

Luna

Snape—

I want a word with you. Meet me at the Hog's Head tomorrow at 2. Come alone.

(A/N: And I was starting to write the next scene here, but I think it should wait for chapter 35. Just a touch of mystery, though it shouldn't be too big a surprise.

Pieces are starting to fit together some, no? A fair few of you have figured things out, but don't blame the characters too much if it takes them a while. Remember, they don't have the advantages you do, of being able to see all sides of the story, and going back to check on things if they want.

I won't say too much here, since the story is continuing to chew on the inside of my head. If I keep up this pace, we'll be finished by the end of August. Everybody stock up on your paper products, now…)