The Time-Traveler's Dilemma
Chapter Four: Snakes and Tales
Hermione stared into the flames leaping behind the grate of the fireplace, her eyes glossy with introspection.
She was curled into one of the wide, soft armchairs of the Burrow's living room, relishing being alone at last and trying in vain to empty her mind of the events of the day so she could invite sleep.
Harry and Ron had gone up to bed nearly an hour ago, but Hermione preferred to remain downstairs, afraid that if she went up to her room, Ginny would be awake and ready to ask her all sorts of questions. In a sudden flash, she thought how many times Harry must have felt like this, dreading the company of others.
Grimacing, she burrowed further down into her chair.
Outside, the moon hung like an orange in the sky and wisps of fog chased noise from the hollows of the Burrow. All was quiet, even the ghoul in the attic. On her lap, Crookshanks kneaded at her thigh contentedly, and she distractedly scratched behind his ear.
"Good Crookshanks," she purred absent-mindedly, her mind still exhaustedly mulling over her adventure with the time-turner.
Several hours had passed since she had returned from the future, from the passageway off of the Hufflepuff Common Room. She had immediately told Harry and Ron exactly what had happened, leaving no detail out. They had seized her by the elbows and almost dragged her to the corner of the deserted living room in which she still sat and hashed out the entire chain of events as the wedding reception progressed outside, as the house filled and emptied of guests saying goodbye, as dishes were washed and dried in the kitchen, as nighttime fell and waned into the early morning hours.
Footsteps brought her out of her reverie, and she looked up to find a pajama-clad Ron picking his way across the room, a steaming mug of tea in each hand, his feet shoved into slippers a little too small for his feet.
"You're still awake. Here, I thought you might need this ..." he said, his voice ringing with a sincere hesitancy, his lips upturned into more of a wince than a tentative smile. He extended a cup to her. His hand shook slightly.
Hermione looked sleepily at him and wordlessly reached out a hand for the mug, then scrunched herself into one corner of her armchair and patted the space next to her. Ron paused for a split second, then folded himself in beside to her.
He placed a shaky arm around her shoulders and she sank into it, beginning to sense that if they were to start something, like they always seem to be on the verge of, this was the moment, right now. There would not be another.
The thought sat heavily in her stomach, like there was large ball of clay in there rising and falling with her breathing.
He had been so sweet ever since she got back from the future, so sincere, so concerned about her well-being. As Harry watched amusedly from the armchair opposite them, Ron had positively fawned over her, fluffing the pillows on her chair, bringing her mug after mug of tea, even looking up the cure for headaches in Magical Maladies and Their Remedies.
Honestly, she'd thought, he might as well have transfigured the tea cozy into a fan and started fanning me with it to stave off fainting fits...
She wasn't used to this Ron, this boy who didn't bicker, who treated her like a ... like a girl who needed to be taken care of ...
Hermione gave a small sigh and was just on the point to sipping her tea when something silvery streaked through the living room window, swooped over their heads, and curved up the rickety staircase behind them and out of sight.
"What the bloody hell was that?" said Ron quietly, getting to his feet and staring up the staircase as if the silvery something would reappear any moment.
"It ... It looked like a Patronus ..." breathed Hermione, and Ron turned his gaze on her, flabbergasted.
"A Patronus? Here, at the Burrow? But what for?"
Hermione scratched her chin, thinking. "I wonder if ... I mean, it could be ... That is to say ..."
"Come on then. Spit it out."
She spared him an amused look; here, at last, was the Ron she knew. "Well, members of the Order use Patronuses to communicate with each other, don't they? I wonder if it wasn't just something bearing a message to Mr. Weasley. But ..." She hesitated.
"But what?"
"But it was in the form of a snake. Didn't it look like a snake to you?" She didn't wait for an answer, but gathered from Ron's unsettled expression that he grasped her meaning.
She continued: "I can't think of who in the Order could possibly have a Patronus that would assume the form of a snake. Certainly not McGonnagal or Lupin. Or Mad-Eye. And not Tonks, I'd wager. Unless ... But it can't be--"
Just then they heard rushed footsteps clamoring down the stairs and the swiveled to find Harry vaulting down the last four stairs in one go. He landed hard on the rug with a loud thwump!
"Harry? What--"
"Hermione! Ron!" he hissed, his breaths coming rapidly, his eyes a stormy, molten green. "I just got a Patronus from-- Well here, read it."
And he thrust a crinkled piece of parchment into Hermione's hands and flung himself angrily into the armchair beside them. She and Ron bent their heads together to read the letter.
Potter:
R.A.B. Regulus Arcturus Black.
And Potter, reprehensible though your reasoning skills tend to be, I trust you know to destroy this note immediately upon receiving it.
S.S.
Ron looked up, looking as if he had swallowed a cockroach cluster. "S.S.?" he asked, is mouth agape. "S.S.? Not Severus Snape? It can't be Snape."
"Oh yes it can," said Hermione, her eyes wide and riveted on the parchment.
She could think of nothing but what she had seen in the room with the horcrux. She racked her brain. Hadn't Ron almost said Snape's name? It had been on the tip of his tongue, she was sure if it. And had he not mentioned something about Harry receiving a Patronus... ?
"It has to be Snape," Harry spat, breathing hard. He was on his feet again. "I'd know that murderous traitor's hand-writing anywhere. And--" He bent his head to scan the letter again. "'Reprehensible though your reasoning skills tend to be ...' That sounds like him. That slimy, horrid, maggoty ..." His voice trailed indelicately away and he continued to mumble mutinously under his breath.
"Yes, it does ..." Hermione said vaguely, still looking at the letter, her finger resting under the letters R.A.B. She tapped the page. "'Regulus Arcturus Black ..." She looked up at Harry disbelievingly. "Harry, he's helping you. Professor Snape is actually helping you. He knows who R.A.B. is."
"How?" Harry shot back. "How did he know about R.A.B.? We haven't told a soul about that note or the locket."
"Maybe he's been spying on us?" suggested Ron.
"I don't see how he could be," began Hermione, setting her mug down on a table next to her and leaning forward. "But I suppose it's possible. But then why let us know? Why not try to remain hidden so he could continue to pass information to Voldemort, assuming he is? And don't forget: if Professor Snape knows about R.A.B., he might know about the rest of the horcruxes."
"Not 'professor' anymore," said Harry, a menacing bite lacing his voice.
"And who says he's helping anyone?" shot Ron, an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face. "Maybe he's trying to throw us off. What's the idea of using Sirius' last name, anyway?"
"My thoughts exactly," said Harry. "Don't tell me you think that after all he's done--after what he did to Dumbledore--that he would actually be helping the Order again."
"Not the Order, Harry," said Hermione simply. "He didn't send this to Kingsley or Mad-Eye or anyone else. He sent this to you." She poked a finger at Harry.
"But why? It's not like I'm going to start trusting him just because he sends me a note."
"We don't have to trust him," she said quickly, sitting up a little straighter. "We just have to figure out who Regulus Black is."
"And how're we going to do that?" questioned Ron. "Didn't you notice? Snape didn't even say. And I don't want to go traipsing off after information that Dumbledore's killer sent us. That's absolutely mental, Hermione."
Harry, too, was looking stubbornly at her.
"We don't have to traipse, Ron. I have absolutely no intention of going anywhere but Grimmauld Place." She looked back and forth between their blank faces.
"Oh honestly!" she continued. "The family tree, remember? It's a good think Mrs. Weasley couldn't get that Permanent Sticking charm off of it. We can check to see if there even IS a Regulus Black. That way, we can tell if Snape is trying to throw us off or not. And the best part is, Grimmauld Place is totally secure now that Harry's the Secret Keeper. Snape can't touch us there."
Harry looked at her, his eyes now alight, and snatched the piece of parchment from her hand, tossing it into the fire. He was trembling slightly.
"C'mon," he said abruptly, watching the edges of Snape's letter curl in the fire, the black spidery script disappearing rapidly into the flames. "Get your cloaks. Let's meet back down here in five minutes."
With a triumphant grin, Hermione turned and hurried up the stairs to grab her cloak and put on shoes. She was suddenly full of energy, the exhaustion and confusion of the day falling off of her with the excitement welling up in her chest. When she returned downstairs, both Harry and Ron were waiting by the front door, their cloaks fastened under their chins.
Silently, they stepped out the front door, turned on the spot, and Apparated to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
Feeling the now familiar but still uncomfortable sensation of apparating melt off her, Hermione looked up to find the oak front door of the old Black home looming up out of the darkness. The windows were completely dark, the only light spilling weakly from a lantern hanging above the door.
Harry and Ron stood on either side of her.
"I'll never get used to apparition," grumbled Ron.
"Hey, at least you still have both of your eyebrows ..." said Harry, glancing at him and grinning. "Lumos."
The three of them light their wands.
He tapped the door handle with his wand and it sung open immediately. They stepped quietly into the hall.
"No one here. Oh, remember the umbrella stand," whispered Harry, just as Hermione's leg brushed against it and it tottered. She righted it before it could fall and awake the screaming portrait of Mrs. Black.
Warm light appeared out of nowhere to her left, and Hermione looked up to find Harry lighting the lamps in brackets along the walls. They did not linger, but made their way quietly up the staircase and found the drawing room exactly where they had remembered it, and in about the same condition.
A thick layer of dust muffled their steps, and their wands sprayed cold white light onto the olive-green walls, long fragile-looking velvet curtains, and dark wooden furniture. It looked like a room that might wither if you breathed too loudly in it.
Harry lit the lanterns around the room with a muttered "inflamare" and the room looked slightly more cheerful.
"Here," said Ron, who had walked the length of the room and was standing in front of a huge, faded tapestry that took up the entire far wall. "Here it is!"
Harry and Hermione quickly followed, squeezing between moth-eaten chairs. In large words at the top of the tapestry, it read:
THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK
"JOUJOURS PUR"
"There's Regulus!" said Ron disbelievingly, jabbing a finger at a name towards the bottom of the tapestry. "He is here. He exists!"
Hermione bent down to look more closely, and she mouthed the name. "He died over seventeen years ago..."
"Regulus Black ..." said Harry very close to her ear; he, too had kneeled down to inspect the tapestry. He hit his forehead with his palm. "Sirius talked about him!"
"What? Really?" asked Hermione, surprised.
"Sirius talked about him when we were here that summer before fifth year," he breathed, his words coming rapidly. "He died because ... because he had joined the Death Eaters."
"Blimey, you're kidding!" shot Ron. "Was he caught by Aurors?"
Harry shook his head. "No, I asked Sirius the same question. I remember now ... Sirius made it sound like he got in over his head with the Death Eater stuff and tried to back out. That's why he was killed. That's why he died. He tried to desert Voldemort."
"Whoa," muttered Ron, shaking his head.
"But Harry!" said Hermione excitedly. "Harry, that fits. Don't you see? Regulus wanted to desert the Death Eaters. What if he--"
"What if he did more than desert Voldemort ... What if he started to actively work against him." finished Harry, and Hermione nodded vigorously. Harry was looking intensely at her, his mouth a hard line. "Snape was trying to help," he said shortly, as if he could not quite figure out why the words were coming out of his mouth. He made a face.
Hermione sat back on her heels.
"But let's not go-to use Ron's word--traipsing off to find out what other help he might be," said Harry. He cast them a significant look. "This might just be a ploy to get us in his confidence."
Beside her Ron was looking relieved, and Hermione put out a steadying hand to Harry, a smile on her face. "Don't worry. Snape is the absolute last person in the world I want to--"
I
n a flash, Hermione felt an odd tingling sensation in her hands and that rose quickly up her arms and throughout her entire body. She felt as if she were dissolving into the musty air around her. Catching one last glimpse of Harry and Ron kneeling on the carpet, their eyes wide open and astonished, Hermione immediately recognized the sensation as time-travel.
"Ow," muttered Hermione, opening her eyes with a wince and this time finding herself looking up into a sky that had very little daylight lingering in it. Long fingers of pink light shot into deepening blue-black.
Ugh, there's got to be a better way of doing this ... And just when we were learning something about R.A.B... ! Her mood of excitement was quickly draining out of her.
Struggling into a sitting position, she brought her hand to massage the back of her head. It was throbbing painfully again, as if she had struck it hard against the ground beneath her.
Hermione stood up and looked around, revolving slowly on the spot. She did not recognize a single thing, but if she were to guess, she would guess she were somewhere in muggle London. It did not look wholly unlike Grimmauld Place.
Dingy brick buildings sprouted like weeds from the cobblestone street in which she stood, and the smell of burning coal and old cooking chased a tangy odor something like dirty river water in the short gusts of wind that swept along the sidewalk. A factory loomed into the sky a short way down the street and deposited copious amounts of black smoke into the air.
Hermione wrinkled her nose and looked down. She saw that she was wearing muggle clothes, but none she recognized from her current closet. The thin jacket and the fact that the breeze was not particularly cold told her that it was most likely in the summer months. What year, she had no idea.
"Harry...? Ron...?" she asked tentatively into the stillness surrounding her. Her voice got lost in the street. There was no answer. Not that she was expecting one.
With a shaky breath, she took a few steps in a vague direction, not at all sure where she was supposed to be going.
The only light came from the rapidly departing daylight and the yellow squares of windows which hung, here and there, in the buildings lining either side of the narrow street. It was a street full of shadows, a street where a scream wouldn't be heard.
Then, at the end of the block, she noticed a street sign planted next to an unassuming brick building. Quickening her pace, she hurried towards the sign.
Maybe she could figure out where she was and ... and ... well, get the hell out of here, for starters.
Her footsteps echoing off the cobblestones and her breath coming quick, Hermione peered up at the sign, reading it, her lips forming the words "Spinner's End."
She frowned. Spinner's End. She'd never heard of Spinner's End.
Just then, a voice crawled out from the shadows to her left. "Miss Granger," it said softly. "I was not aware you were coming to call. And me, not even prepared with elf-made wine ..." It was a dangerous voice, a voice like a silk noose.
Hermione spun around, drawing her wand, and was just in time to see a figure step out of the shadows, a faint sneer marring his sharp features. She was face to face with Severus Snape.
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