Flute in the Wall
For the next three weeks, as September blew out in cooling winds and a blustery October swayed the trees outside the castle's lower windows and swept over the Forbidden Forest, Hermione brooded and waited. She had taken to haunting the library after classes, sitting near the window, mind only partially focused on her work. As the first Quidditch match drew closer, the boys spent more time on the pitch. Only Remus accompanied her to the library, and she wondered how she would slip past him if she heard the music again.
But Snape seemed to have taken her attempt to speak to him in the corridor as a signal that he could not play, for she had not heard anything since her effort had failed.
The first Hogsmeade weekend was posted- it was to be Halloween. Her first dinner with Slughorn was also looming on the not-distant-enough horizon. Tonight, in fact. In spite of his joyfully boomed "no excuses" she had cited homework as her reason for not attending the last, which had caused him to roar with jovial laughter and "absolutely insist" that she and Lily come this evening. She had forced a smile and a light-hearted reply, told Lily and laughed genuinely at the girl's pained jade eyes when Hermione had announced, "If I'm going, you're going."
Hermione sighed, glaring into her mirror. She missed her harp. She missed singing in her little room under the tower. Sitting here, gathering the same dust as the books she read, she wasn't accomplishing anything. And, perhaps if he heard her sing, Snape would be willing to approach her.
But tonight she didn't have time to contemplate that. Instead, there was Slughorn.
"How're you coming?" Lily poked her head out of her curtain-swathed bed.
Hermione frowned at her reflection. "My hair just won't…" She shoved at it a little, sighed, and pulled the pins out, letting it cascade down her back in long, unruly curls. She brushed one that cheerfully flopped into her eye away irritably.
"Your robes are beautiful," Lily replied in admiration. She giggled at Hermione's expression. "Let me fix your hair." Setting both long legs on the floor, she came out.
"What are you wearing?" Hermione asked as Lily dragged her bathrobe closed over her slip.
"I'm debating. Mum found a pair of green dress robes in Diagon Alley. It took her forever- she's a Muggle, you know, so she doesn't know much about wizards, but she said she wanted me to have some 'fancy witch' clothes." She shifted a little as she ran a brush over Hermione's mane. "But…last summer, Trina and I were in an adorable little shop in Cornwall, and I bought some there that are sort of a silvery-black overlay on dark red cotton."
"Well, actually," Hermione said suddenly, as she watched her curls taking shape under Lily's deft fingers. A bobby pin brushed over her scalp and another set was pinned up to fall loosely next to her face. "How dressed up are we supposed to be for this?" Her own dark blue gown was semi-formal, neither as beautiful as the dress she had worn to the Yule Ball nor as rough as her school attire.
"You're right," Lily admitted, and laughed. "The ones from Cornwall are for, well, formal things. Like black-tie parties." Hermione laughed.
"What?"
"I haven't heard the phrase 'black-tie' in a long time. It's not a wizard saying, is it?"
"No, I don't think it is. Wait…you're a Muggle-born?" Lily asked in surprise.
"I am," Hermione replied quietly. As the last pin pushed the last curls into the knot that Lily had made, a core of hair where her curls spilled out all the way around like vines wrapping a wreath, she caught the other girl's eyes in the mirror.
"It's beautiful!" She admired herself, turning to face the glass from all directions, spinning and twisting her head over her shoulder to catch sight of it from the back. "Please don't mention that, though." Lily frowned at her, the smile the compliment had brought to her lips fading as she took a step back.
"What? Why not? Surely you're not ashamed-"
"It has nothing to do with shame. It has to do with simplicity. Where I am from, everyone knows and nobody cares. But here, here where some people so clearly do care, here I'd much rather that people didn't know."
Lily nodded slowly, and then, "Is it for the same reason that you don't like Peter Pettigrew?"
"I- what?" Hermione spluttered, spinning around to properly face Lily, instead of looking at her through the glass.
"I saw you at breakfast, and in class, and, frankly, well, all the time. You look as if he burns you every time he touches you."
Hermione stared at the girl, and then finally, "Yes. It's for similar reasons." She could sense the raw curiosity emanating from the other, and prayed the girl would not press her further. Fortunately, Lily seemed gifted with a skill that Hermione herself had spent many years learning, for she did not pursue her questions any further, but accepted Hermione's refusal to answer more specifically and went back to her own bed to retrieve her robes.
"Thank you so much. This is lovely," Hermione said again, giving herself a final once over.
"You're welcome. I'll teach you how sometime, if you want." Lily's voice was muffled by her green robe. As she pulled it over her head and pulled the criss-crossing ribbon on the back tight, she gave Hermione a look, head cocked to one side.
"Will you tell me why- about Pettigrew, I mean? And how you know all the stuff you know? Not now, but, one day?"
Hermione hesitated. "Maybe someday. But don't…please don't talk to anyone else about it. Especially the other girls?"
An unladylike snort issued from Lily. "Naturally." A quick smile. "I don't betray secrets."
"Thank you." Hermione stood, allowing Lily her place at the mirror. "We should go soon."
"What's the rush?" The other girl wrinkled her petite nose, frowning. "I can certainly wait to fawn all over Professor Slughorn."
888
"We're already fashionably late," Hermione said, eyeing the oak door with some misgiving. "I reckon we'd better go in."
"Yeah." Hermione was surprised at the reluctance in Lily's dragging step and voice. She wasn't a girl with a flair for the dramatic or one for putting up a scene. She was quietly efficient while she went about doing her work. Her evident dislike and continued balking at this requirement indicated how much she loathed the idea.
"It's all right. We are all dressed up. What Slytherin is going to dare remark on our Muggle-ness when we look like this?" Hermione felt unfamiliar as the older sister as she cajoled the younger girl gently. "We can show them we're not afraid. We are invited, just as they are."
Lily scrunched up her nose fastidiously, but the comment had straightened her back, and, shooting Hermione a grateful smile and without hesitation, she shoved the door open. She had been given a mission, no matter how distasteful the crowd, and she had a goal. It steadied her.
To that end, Hermione was stunned to see Lily smiling gracefully into the candle-lit office. There were nine others seated there, a blonde girl who looked oddly familiar seated next to an unpleasant surprise on the left side of the table: Lucius Malfoy. His mouth lifted in mocking salute to her entrance, and he bowed his head in a courtly fashion. It was clear that he had not forgotten their encounter- or his challenge. She tore her gaze from him to look down the table and see-
Snape. Stiff-backed and clearly the youngest present, his eyes glazed over her, staring at a spot over her shoulder, and Hermione could feel the chill in the room increase at the absolute sense of invisibility he gave her.
"Ah, excellent, excellent, my, my ladies, we'll forgive your lateness on account of the fact that the look was well worth the wait!" Slughorn cried jovially, rising. Oak-matured mead was already in his cup, and the nods of his students accompanied his outrageous proclamation to take any possible awkwardness out of the situation. But Hermione narrowed her eyes as she watched Mafloy's gaze travel leisurely over her body. She was not, after all, the barely budding child she had been as a third year. She was nearly seventeen, and the dress robes displayed that as none of her school robes ever had. She winced as she thought of that. Perhaps she should have done something about hiding the curves that betrayed her true age.
It was entirely too late to worry about that now. If the older Professor Snape could only witness her ineptitude at 'under cover', he would doubtless never have supported Dumbledore's decision to send her here.
"Sit, sit!" The wave of his hand indicated the only two empty seats. One of them would sit next to Slughorn, across from a witch with long, black hair, and the other would sit next to Snape and across from Malfoy. Hermione quickly moved forward to seat herself next to Snape. It would make her uncomfortable, but at least she could watch them both more covertly from there.
"Have you ladies met everyone? Well of course not. Down there is Bartemius Crouch Jr., he's a Ravenclaw, son of Barty Crouch- Head of Magical Law Enforcement." Her eyes swept down to the end, where a pale boy with straw-colored hair was seated. He smiled politely. She felt her jaw clench, the memory of Harry after the Tri-Wzard Tournament bright in her mind, and wondered if the whole evening would be this way. Was everyone at the table except Slughorn, Lily and herself future Death Eaters?
"Next to him is Thomas Marchbanks, grandson of Griselda who sits on the Wizengamot. Also a Ravenclaw." A friendly-looking boy with dark hair gave them a grin. Hermione grinned back. The Marchbanks' were friends of Dumbledore. He was all right. "And Narcissa Black." The girl next to Malfoy smiled coolly, and Hermione understood why she had thought her so familiar. She had met the future Mrs. Malfoy only one time, at the Quidditch World Cup. She had not thought meeting her again would be at a social gathering where they were supposedly equals. "She's the niece of Orion Black, head of the ancient pure-blooded family, a Slytherin. Next to her is Lucius Malfoy of the Malfoy family. Know his father Abraxas very well, also a Slytherin…" Hermione could not summon a smile for the boy who not only looked so much like his son, but whose gaze raked her with a refined insolence at their first formal introduction. "And next to me is Kassandra Zabini, daughter of Anthony Zabini. You know Severus- he's her cousin… and…ah! Down next to Severus is Klytemnestra Zabini, Kassandra's twin, as you can probably guess and let me see…yes! Beyond them is Amos Diggory- son of Archibald Diggory, who is quite the rising star in the Department of Magical Catastrophes, I understand. He's a Hufflepuff."
Hermione felt her heart seize with a dread that had become customary. Fortunately, Amos shared few physical similarities with Cedric- but there was an honesty about his nature radiating from the grey eyes that reminded her of the Hufflepuff from her own time. But she allowed her mouth to curl up as she looked at him, as she had managed to smile at the others.
"Ladies and gentlemen, these are two of the, as I'm sure you will all admit, exceedingly rare, Gryffindors to enter the club, Hermione Granger and Lily Evans."
Introductions finished, Slughorn sat down at his place, peered at the menu, and ordered, "Roast beef." The food materialized on his plate. Hermione knew the system, it was the same one used for his dinners at Hogwarts twenty years later and the one put into place for the Yule Ball. She absently scanned the menu, trying to glance around Snape to the girl seated just on the other side of him. Unless she was much mistaken, the twins were the two who shared his company the most often. But the sallow, pinch-mouthed boy blocked her view of the dark-headed girl, and she had to confine herself to studying the one seated on Malfoy's left side.
After everyone had ordered what they wanted, Crouch asked from the end, "Why haven't you been to dinner before?" The question was directed at the three new students, but Slughorn answered for them.
"I told you about my three absolutely brilliant Potions students, Barty. Severus, Miss Evans and Miss Granger here are quite adept. I thought it was time to take a- shall we say more involved?- role in their education."
Hermione could feel the interest at the table sharpen. Slughorn's exclusive club was carefully picked, the qualifiers a combination of bloodline and brains, the former counting for much more than the latter. Someone in the club for merit alone was well worth taking an interest in- and Slughorn had made no mention of family for either of the girls.
"Potions?" Malfoy idly swirled his wine glass, entirely for effect, as he did not so much as sip from it before setting it down. "Brilliant, eh, Professor?" It was clear he was baiting Slughorn for more, and the professor gladly handed it to him, never one to stint while bragging about his favorites.
"Don't know if I've ever had three more talented students- and all in the same year! No, if all three of them don't end up with their masteries, I'll be a very disappointed man. Not that I'm worried about that." He gave the two girls an enormous wink. "I've marked you already, and I'm never wrong. Severus will probably be running the Experimental Potions Department at the Ministry within the next fifteen years."
Seized by the sudden need to snort with laughter, Hermione ducked her head and reached for her water. Snape, run a department? The man would need to learn more about people than a lifetime of experience was going to give him. And fifteen years would see him teaching. In Slughorn's place. In fact… she glanced up at the old wizard. His hairline was thin and receding, the lines of his face were already heavily drawn. He would not teach for many more years before his retirement.
"Why Potions?" Malfoy made sure the question was directed at Hermione, his gaze cutting both Lily and Snape out of the discussion. Hermione saw Narcissa shoot him a look, then give Hermione a speculative glance that bordered on rude, and sit back, a malicious smile tugging at the corners of her too-blue eyes. Kassandra also gifted her with an appraising perusal, Malfoy's deliberate attentions focusing her dark gaze on the Gryffindor. But where Narcissa seemed relaxed, the Zabini girl tightened, anger underscoring her gaze. Hermione was left with the thoroughly uncomfortable feeling that some information of import had passed between Malfoy and the two girls on either side of him, and the clearly possessive quality both of them exuded confused and worried her.
"Why not?" she answered quietly, focusing on Narcissa. He shrugged in reply, and before he could ask her anything else they were, thankfully, interrupted by Amos Diggory at the other end of the table.
"Sir, I heard from Professor Sprout that we're going to have visitors." Every head in the room trained on him. He smiled a little nervously before apologetically adding, "She was ordering the house elves to fix five extra rooms."
The slower turn of her head towards Amos allowed Hermione to catch it. The Zabini girls were engaged in the most animated silent conversation she had ever seen, their dark eyes glowing and snapping in the torchlight. Klytemnestra's eyebrows were lifted in question, and Kassandra's head dipped knowingly, an affirmative answer to her sister's unspoken query.
"Goodness, Amos, I'm afraid my Slytherins are having a bad effect on you," Slughorn chuckled, distracting her. "Eavesdropping on a teacher?"
Amos blushed readily, and Hermione smiled. No matter what Slughorn said or thought, regardless of how many doses of Slytherin influence he received, Amos, like his son, had not a single deceitful bone in his body.
"It was an accident," he explained hurriedly.
"I see," Slughorn murmured exaggeratedly. "An accident."
"Sir-" the boy protested.
"I'm only teasing you, son."
"But is it true?" Barty Crouch pounced in, light eyes eager with a shadow of the man he would be. "Are there going to be visitors? Who?"
Slughorn let out a massive sigh, clearly for show. "I believe I'm not supposed to let items of such a sensitive nature slip around my dinner table."
Ten pairs of ears leaned in, everyone eager to bite, though Hermione's eyes were still locked on Kassandra's, the other girl listening attentively for an answer she already had. Their professor took a swig from his cup, plainly enjoying being the undisputed center of attention. "However, I believe you all worthy of a least a little trust…" Hermione watched the students hold perfectly still, hardly daring breathe lest they change his mind by too overt a display of excitement, and wondered for the first time exactly who played who. In her own time, Slughorn was viewed as little more than an old man who enjoyed his drink and his minor power-plays, plucking his favored students from the mix. But this man, no matter how much mead he had consumed, had an air of refined sharpness, a sure knowledge of what he could and would say- and the response he would receive.
"We are going to be having a few…inspectors, if you will, at the school on a matter of a rather delicate business," he finally allowed. Kassandra's mouth lifted briefly in sardonic amusement, she sent a glance to her twin and relaxed in her chair.
Slughorn sat back. Glances crossed as the students frowned at one another, clearly disappointed that no more was forthcoming. Hermione and Snape locked eyes and he acknowledged her for the first time, her puzzlement mirrored in his features, his eyes cutting to his cousin across the table. He knows she knows something, Hermione realized. Had they both been watching the exchanges?
"What kind of delicate business?" Malfoy's voice was casual, but there was no mistaking the interest in his tense shoulders and fingers that gripped the stem of his glass a shade too tightly.
"Business that is none of yours," the professor replied. "In seriousness now, we must discuss other topics, and I don't want to hear anymore about it- nor do I want to hear of you telling your little friends what I said." He gave them all a look from his chair, clearly expecting a response from each one.
"Of course not," chimed ten voices, some honest, some lying.
"Very well. Now, Lucius, tell me about your preparation for your N.E.W.T.s…"
The rest of the evening proved to be an obstacle course of subtle and not-so-subtle attempts on the part of the Slytherins to get Professor Slughorn to answer more about the 'delicate business' and the nature of the inspectors. Each time the subject was broached again, the twins' eyes danced merrily. But the Potions professor refused to tell them anything further, and waved them away merrily at the end of the dinner, promising them another invitation soon.
Hermione and Lily walked out together, each occupied with private fuming on the waste of what could have been a productive evening, and had gotten no farther than ten feet when Hermione heard her name.
"Hermione Granger."
She sighed and whirled around, exasperated. "What do you want, Malfoy?"
"The invitation still stands." His voice was silky, and quite against her will, Hermione felt a pleasurable shiver meander down her spine. "I was wondering if you'd given it any further…thought. Perhaps without Potter and Black interrupting every two seconds."
Hermione felt a cold smile rising to her lips, and she let it ice her eyes as she replied: "But how can I, with you being promised to someone else?"
He looked momentarily surprised, but replied with the same unflappable smoothness. "That's not really an issue," he sidestepped neatly and without hesitation. Her eyes flashed.
"Interesting. I would say it's an insurmountable barrier."
He laughed genuinely at her aloofness and leaned closer to her. "Play hard-to-get, girl. It is, without a doubt, one of the most thrilling games. And have little doubt that I will win." He seized her hand, pressed his cool mouth to it and straightened with a wink, strutting away.
"What was that about?" Lily was staring at her, amazement and revulsion both flashing on her features.
"Nothing," Hermione replied, setting her jaw. "He won't leave me alone."
"Creep," Lily hissed.
Hermione turned with her friend to resume their walk back to Gryffindor Tower only to see Snape, standing not twenty feet away at the juncture of two walls, watchful and unsmiling, his cousins just beyond him- one with a puzzled look, the other with narrowed eyes that glittered cold menace.
888
At breakfast the following morning, Hermione's eyes swept the hall, eager to find James. She saw Remus instead, sitting alone as usual, the Prophet opened, headline facing her.
She joined him, and he gave her a shy smile. "Hi."
"Good morning," she greeted him. "Where's James?"
"Probably cursing his alarm clock. Why?"
"I need the cloak."
"What for?" he asked, interest piqued.
Hermione thought about Amos Diggory's revelation the night before, and the knowing, nonverbal exchanges between the Zabini twins. "I'll tell you later. I don't quite know myself, yet." She noticed the suitcase next to his place at the table. He glanced up at her, and she knew he had caught her staring at it.
"Are you going home to visit your mother again?" she covered, a little awkwardly. A half-smile crooked in the corner of his mouth.
"Yes."
"Good luck," she offered.
"Thanks." A short silence, and Hermione felt compelled to ask something more.
"Does the paper say anything?"
"As a matter of fact, it does." Remus flipped it closed and slid it to her. Hermione glanced at him, surprised by the grimness of his demeanor, unfolded it again and looked at the cover.
MYSTERY MERCENARIES ENGAGE DEATH EATERSAt two o'clock this morning, in front of Madam Malkin's
robe shop in Diagon Alley, the owner reported hearing a
loud bang in her shop under her flat.
"I stayed upstairs, naturally, what's a little stolen or
damaged merchandise compared to staying alive?" The
Death Eaters apparently did not enter the shop, but sounds of
Appartition and then of dueling were heard by the residents
of the alley shortly thereafter.
"And then…I heard the most eerie music, like a, a kind
of a howling, but in the loneliest, most beautiful lament…"
"They ripped the street apart. Tore out the top row of
apartments just like that," an anonymous source reports. The
residents cannot claim with any certainty what happened, but
the second-story homes over Fortescue's ice cream parlor, the
broom shop and Flourish and Blotts have been shredded.
"If this was done by music we could be dealing with
another Dark Lord the likes of Grindelwald," was Tom
Barrister's (owner of the Leaky Cauldron) opinion. The magical
community has not forgotten the numerous massacres that
accompanied Grindelwald's use and abuse of music, which led
to the ban of most classical forms of music in the wizarding
world.
Perhaps most puzzling were those engaged with fighting the
Death Eaters. Inside sources confirm that they were not from
the Ministry, nor did they remain in the area after engaging the
Death Eaters and music was heard…
888
"Who was it?"
"I don't know, Master," Rookwood gasped, doubled over, breathing hard. But even as the stabbing pains subsided, his face was wrenched upwards, almost-black eyes searching his face, flickers of red flaring to life. Obediently, he opened his mind, quashing the urge to shield himself that always accompanied his lord's prying eyes.
"Not the Ministry. That much is clear from your mind." The self-styled Dark Lord paced in front of his bleeding servant, apparently blind to the gaping hole in his side that ran rivers of blood from between Rookwood's fingers to coalesce in a rippling puddle oozing over the floor.
"I heard music, master," the man whispered, stretching his free hand to seize a chair as his knees buckled.
Reddening eyes snapped to him, and finally flickered over the wound. "Heal yourself," he commanded dismissively.
"Thank you, master," Rookwood breathed. He painfully dragged himself away, stumbling at the door. Voldemort returned his gaze to the low-burning fire, index fingers pressed together against his chin. His servant would survive the blood loss- the agonizing wait while he reported was no less than he deserved for his carelessness.
Underneath the still face of the lord, fury seethed. Music. Someone else was utilizing his weapon.
888
"What do you make of it?" Walden hissed, pointing at the article.
"I don't know. I'm going to ask our master. It'll change his plans if we're fighting two groups. He may want the girl sooner."
"How?"
Lucius shrugged. "There are plenty of potions that I can use to silence her. I'm not worried about how. I am worried about when."
888
After their last class, James and Sirius watched Remus walking into the sunlit Great Hall, prepared to meet Dumbledore.
"Go get your cloak," Sirius murmured.
"Why?"
"Just do it."
"You want to go after him?" James followed his best friend's thought and his gaze.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I think he's hiding something and I don't want him to feel like he has to lie to us. It's obviously a big deal if he has to go somewhere once a month."
"His mum being sick-"
"She's not. But he might be. And we should be able to help him out."
James frowned at his friend, but Sirius was staring resolutely at the retreating figure, Remus' brown hair crowned gold in the shafts of light slicing from the ceiling.
"Hurry," Sirius urged.
One more look at the hunched figure of his other friend, James made up his mind. He sprinted back towards the Gryffindor dormitory for his cloak.
888
Klytemnestra tapped her lip with her quill. Inspectors. Slughorn had been teasing, his little nibble of truth tossed to her anxious classmates so vague it might as well have been a lie, but that much had been all too obvious in his delivery. She snorted, dotting her 'i's' with slightly more pressure than needed, annoyed at her occasionally supercilious, always smug, Head of House and Potions professor. The arrival of the guests and their purpose was a carefully guarded secret- she was only hazily aware of it herself, and that because her father knew them- entirely too well.
She had debated writing him another letter relating the events of the previous evening, and had decided against it. Slughorn's enjoyment of baiting them had not revealed anything remotely approaching the truth, nor would it. Perhaps Slughorn himself did not know the real reason for their coming.
Klytemnestra frowned, put her quill down and rose abruptly. Anyone bearing the family name would be spared their guests' suspicion as a matter of course. But Snape was not a known name. Her mouth twisted with displeasure. What had her Aunt Eileen been thinking, marrying a Muggle? Especially that Muggle? In a world where name was everything, her mother's sister had permanently crippled her brilliant, stubborn son. He would have been better off illegitimate. At least the Princes still carried authority and a fortune.
Crossing to the door of her dormer, she slid into her shoes and started down the spiral stairs, seeking her cousin. Her mother's words sounded in her ears. "He's Eileen's only. Protect him, Kly. You know what Slytherin is like, and he'll probably get himself into trouble." Her mother hadn't predicted the going-to-prison type trouble that Severus would be in if his clarinet were discovered under his bed, and Klytemnestra was setting out to ensure that she never would.
Severus was, as usual, in the library, occupying the entirety of one of the larger tables on his own, charts spread everywhere as he scribbled Arithmancy Runes and equations over various pieces of parchment. She reflected that it was fortunate that most students did their homework in their common rooms and dormitories. There wasn't enough room in the library for them all to work as her cousin did. She frowned as she spied several different handwritings among the parchments, and the names 'Rodolphus Lestrange', 'Michael Avery' and 'Timothy Wilkes' scrawled at their heads. Perhaps most surprising was the spidery, elegant handwriting capped by a calligraphic 'Narcissa Black.'
"Severus." One hand flew up, indicating his need for silence as his lips moved furiously, quill scratching. A minute of this went by, then he dotted something, underlined a word with a self-satisfied stroke and dropped the quill, his head lifting at the same time, heedless of the ink that splattered over his robes and the table. It did, however, miss every single sheet of parchment.
"Yes?"
"What is this?" She was distracted momentarily from her original purpose, her fingers straying over the essays belonging to the other boys. Snape followed her fingers, shrugged.
"The price of peace."
"What kind of peace?" Her 'v'd eyebrows deepened as she tried to interpret her cousin's answer.
"A truce. I glance over their essays, they help me with other stuff. And we don't hex each other in the bargain." Klytemnestra subdued a snort. For her cousin to agree not to curse those who annoyed him, the other boys must have been able to offer him that which was not easily accessible to him otherwise. But she had no further time to debate over his uneasy alliances- her warning carried more weight than childhood politics.
"Come with me." He frowned, and the wave of his hand took in the full spread of his work that he would have to pack up if he left the library.
"Cast a ward around it," came her immediate solution. He opened his mouth to object, recognized the logic, and glanced around quickly for Madam Pince- after all, there was a general ban on magic outside of class for anyone under sixth year- and poked his wand furtively at the table, delighted when he felt a gentle, pulsing shield spring into place over his texts and homework.
He left the library with his cousin, following her as she walked down a hallway. "I don't want anyone to have the chance of overhearing us," she told his as they strolled deeper into the castle, passing the main floor and heading for the dungeons.
Finally, in a deserted corridor, she turned to face him. "Severus, you have-" and stopped. For his eyes had glazed over, and his index finger on his right hand lifted and fell gently, marking time to some unheard stimulus. "What-?"
"Shhh." Dark eyes closed, his mouth relaxed, peace spread through him. And as she concentrated, afraid to breathe lest she miss it, Klytemnestra heard the quiet thread of sound as well.
The piping notes of a flute floated to her through the stone wall, faint, but undeniably there.
"Who is it?" she asked, voice hoarse with dread, praying it was not someone she knew…
Her cousin's eyes snapped open, oddly shuttered in the guttering torchlight. "I don't know." His gaze sharpened. "But I intend to find out."
888
Hermione sprang out of her armchair as James sailed through the portrait hole.
"James-"
But his feet were already disappearing up the boy's staircase. She frowned after him, and stayed standing next to her chair, waiting. No more than a minute later saw him tumbling back down, a suspicious bulge now added to his bag.
"James!"
"Yes, Hermione?" he asked, not pausing in his rush to the hole to leave again.
"Can I borrow that?" She followed him out and jerked her head at the bag.
"Ermm- sure, later."
"Why later?"
"'Cause Sirius and I are using it now!" He was running flat out already, his answer shouted to her as he tore down the corridor.
"What for?" she called, pelting after him. He did not reply as he screeched around the corners of the halls, sprinting to his destination.
She raced in his tracks, barely keeping him in sight as they hit the largest staircase leading to the atrium just outside the Great Hall. She saw him skid to a halt in front of Sirius, the silvery cloak slithered out of his bag and into his hands as if eager for use, and he threw it over them. The boys vanished.
Hermione stopped dead in the middle of the stairs, throwing her arms on the banister to keep her balance. To stay with them, she was going to have to listen.
She watched one of the benches in the hall move of its own accord through the open double doors, heard the thud and the mild cursing. She stepped quietly down the rest of the stairs and into the hall. She heard the snick as the side door at the end of the hall closed on their exit.
Abandoning any pretense at stealth, she tore across the hall, jumping over the empty table at the end of the hall and wrenching open the door.
Across the lawn, she could see the Whomping Willow, and near it, two figures, one with long graying hair, the other slight and much younger. Her heart clenched. They were following Remus.
And on the open green, there was no effective way to tell where James and Sirius might be. She squinted into the setting sunlight, looking for where the grass was flattening unnaturally. She shivered. She had left in such a hurry that she had no defense against the cold air-
-there! A patch of grass sank beneath an invisible weight. Keeping her eyes on the progress of the pair, she began stalking them.
"What?" she heard the audible hiss as Dumbledore prodded the knot of the violently thrashing tree and the branches stilled.
"Good luck," Dumbledore's voice carried faintly on the wind.
"Thank you, sir."
"I'll be back here in two days for you, Remus."
"Yes, sir."
Hermione installed herself behind a tree, peering through leaves as Remus vanished into the ground and Dumbledore watched until the tree resumed its usual activity. As soon as he had turned and started for the school, James and Sirius pulled the cloak off not ten feet from where she was standing, staring at the place where Remus had gone.
"Well, at least we've established he's not going home to see his mum," James offered in a shaky voice.
Hermione snorted. Both boys whipped around, startled, and glared.
"What's up with Remus?" Sirius demanded.
Hermione hesitated. A little too long. Sirius crossed to her furiously. "You know, Hermione. Where is he going? Where does that go?" His finger was pointed, quivering, at the closed roots of the tree.
"The Shrieking Shack," she answered softly.
"The Shrieking Shack?!" James echoed. "That's haunted!"
"It's not. Remus goes there."
"Why?" Sirius pressed.
"What happens tonight?" she returned. Both boys glowered at her, impatient with the idea of riddles, but she gave them an equally steady glare.
"What do you mean?"
"We're in Astronomy. What happens?"
Sirius gave her a puzzled look, and glanced skyward, as if the two stars now winking out of the darkening night would give him the answer he sought. But she could almost see the wheels turning as he thought, staring up. And as his gaze came back down, his eyes snagged on the moon growing above the horizon, a tiny sliver of what would soon be a whole.
"Full moon."
"He's a werewolf," James was fast on his friend's heels. A fleeting look of smugness crossed both boys' faces, conquered swiftly by surprise and fear. They stared at Hermione as if hardly daring believe their own pronouncement.
"He's a werewolf?" Sirius asked again, softly. Hermione could see in his eyes how desperately he wanted her to deny him, but she bit her lip and nodded her head.
"He's a werewolf."