Disclaimer: Not mine, all non-profit work, rights are fully owned by JKR, WB and others.
A/N: Again, my apologies for the time in between updates! Thanks to my beta, Tinka! Notes for previous reviews are at the bottom of the chapter – thank you to everyone who is reading!
Severus Major
"D'you think Hermione'll have finished with Dumbledore by now?" James asked as they slowly tilted the dung beetle eyes, now the consistency of coarse, black sand, into the deep emerald potion.
"Shhh," Sirius hushed him, his dark eyes seeming to grow more opaque with his concentration as he tipped the bowl the rest of the way, allowing the last of the powdered substance to float down to the watery surface.
As the last speck landed, both of the boys brewing and the two sitting on stools nearby held their breaths. If they'd done it right, the potion should hiss, bubble for twenty seconds and turn a pale shade of the same color – a pastel instead of jewel tone.
As it began to bubble, a tentative grin spread over James' face. Sirius remained absolutely still, willing it to become the color of the tall, wild grass on the moors in summer-
He whooped as the popping subsided and it shifted greens, smiling broadly as both Remus and Peter jumped from their seats to study their success. "Fantastic," Remus breathed. "See, James? Hermione was right – you can brew Potions."
"Only if I care about the outcome," James replied, and though his tone was flippant the sentiment was genuine, and Remus found himself smiling shyly. The werewolf had truly been lucky the day that James Potter decided to befriend him as a first-year, saving him from sitting huddled and alone at Gryffindor's lunch table.
"Now what?" Sirius asked, watching Peter skim over the recipe with a stubby finger. The round teen sighed impatiently, a displeased expression that Sirius favored scrunching up his chubbier face.
"Now we wait some more. This has to settle for the next six hours."
Remus and James reflexively checked their watches as Sirius groaned aloud. "We'll still have time to do the next step today, Sirius," Remus pointed out. "It's only about half-three."
"Almost tea time. Let's go see if Hermione is done with the Headmaster," James said, reaching for his schoolbag and slinging it over his shoulder. The rest of his friends followed suit and they quietly poked their heads around the door of the secret room, checking the corridor for signs of others. When none were found, they swiftly filed out, watching as the door was swallowed, wood giving way to smooth stone wall.
"This is an amazing room," Sirius remarked as they started down the corridor.
"Yeah – one has to wonder how Hermione knew it was there," James responded in the tone of someone who was not going to answer his own question. But behind him, Remus stopped walking, a nagging feeling in his gut increasing, the little details of too many incidents littering his mind, pieces of a puzzle that he had yet to determine the size or shape of, but knowing that at its center was their new best friend.
How had Hermione known it was there? She had been at Hogwarts for a mere six months. And though she read voraciously, no amount of book learning could account for the automatic knowledge her body possessed of castle and grounds, the ease with which she moved, the seeming innate sense of timing she had when jumping staircases or avoiding the fortress' quirky traps.
"Remus?" His friends had stopped at the far end of the hallway and were giving the werewolf identical looks of concern. "All right?"
"Yes. I was trying to remember whether I'd forgotten something," he fabricated vaguely, moving his feet again. He wished he could name the peculiar feeling that sometimes pervaded him, but it was dim, a ghost one caught out of the corner of an eye but disappeared when stared at full-on. "But I don't think I did," he supplied as Sirius raised his eyebrows, waiting for a conclusion.
One moving staircase later, they were in the corridor leading to the Headmaster's gargoyle. As they strode up to the imposing stone guardian, a solitary figure rounded the opposite corner, intent on the same destination.
"Snivellus," Sirius muttered, jabbing James in the ribs as the Slytherin drew closer.
"What are you doing here, Potter, Black?" Severus snapped. His family had requested his presence and after the events of the past two days, he had no desire to bandy hexes with Hermione's Gryffindor crowd. The Headmaster's office was in a little-used section of the castle – if the four of them decided to do something unpleasant to him, it could be some hours before their mischief came to light.
"I fail to see what business that is of yours," James rejoined quickly. The memory of his pale-faced rival's ease with Hermione butted to the front of his mind, and a poisonous thought occurred to him – was Snape here for the same reason they were? Indignation and protective jealousy roared to life, and James found his wand in his hand before he stopped to think about it.
"Leave off Hermione, Snivelly, or you will find yourself regretting that you were born," the messy-haired boy hissed dangerously.
Severus smirked. So that's what all their dirty looks during the previous forty-eight hours were about. "Sorry, Potter, but it seems that your," his flickering gaze took in the rest of them, lingering especially long on Peter, who had drawn his wand but was still tucked nervously behind Remus, "irresistible charms have at last found someone unaffected by them. My relationship-" his use of the word was deliberate, and he was rewarded with four sharp hisses of displeasure "-with Hermione is hardly relevant to you."
Sirius' wand point jerked upwards, but Severus cast a swift "Protego." The jinx dissipated harmlessly on the shield, showering the grey stone corridor with sparks.
As James fired another spell to rebound off Severus' defenses, Remus whispered urgently, "Professor Dumbledore!" Five pairs of adolescent eyes snapped up to the end of the corridor, where the Headmaster was striding towards them in a blaze of white beard and turquoise robes. Wands vanished as quickly as they had appeared, and by the time their professor had drawn level with them, their exchange had been limited to mutinous looks.
"Not fighting, I hope?" Dumbledore said briskly. An indistinct "No, sir," came from all parties. "Excellent – it is such a waste to see some of Hogwarts' best minds bent on causing one another pain. Now, Mr. Snape, your aunt and uncle are waiting, I believe?"
"Yes, sir." At the sour look on Sirius' face, Severus could not restrain his swift, almost inaudible barb. "Fancy that, Black, I have a reason other than unadulterated nosiness for coming."
Remus' next words wiped out his surge of superiority, even as they distracted Dumbledore from giving Severus more than a stern look. "Sir – Hermione?" The same flood of envious possession that James had just grappled with jolted through the Slytherin's blood, choking his veins as he glowered at the gentle boy, consciously restraining twitching fingers that wanted to do no more than slam the Gryffindor against a wall and order him to keep his paws to himself. Hadn't she turned Lupin away?
Apparently unperturbed and unaware of the seething undercurrents eddying around him, the Headmaster smiled down at the anxious Remus. "Miss Granger should be in the Great Hall at tea – I interrupted her lunch, and felt she should get something to eat."
"Thank you, sir," they chanted in unison, and as Dumbledore turned to quietly murmur his password to the gargoyle, Sirius locked eyes with Severus, obsidian mirrored there, hard light reflected in both pairs of eyes.
"We'll finish this later, Snivelly."
Severus' lip curled. "How utterly unoriginal. Sirius Black making threats. I'm quaking where I stand." He sketched a mocking half-bow as the gargoyle moved aside, taking refuge in the Headmaster's averted gaze. "I await your convenience – be sure to bring your gang. You'll need them." The ugly look that maligned James' face promised another fight right here, but then Severus was being ushered into the dark, winding stairwell with the elderly wizard's impeccable knack for keeping the peace, and the four Marauders were left to stare after him furiously before continuing downstairs in their quest for jam, scones and the witch who had become indispensable to them.
888
"Lucius." His lord dragged the name, the 's' at the end elongating into a hiss that seemed to delight in slithering down the young man's spine one agonizing vertebra at a time, chills spreading to tingle in all the nerves on his back, peaking painfully at elbows and wrists, flushing the proud blond with cold. His school rivals and underlings would have laughed to see the boy who flagrantly flaunted his influence in their corridors and common room shivering with no more decorum than a ten-year-old caught with his father's racing broom.
He swallowed his nervousness, hoping his voice would be the correct pitch as he moved forward and dropped to his knees. "My lord."
Over his bowed head, Voldemort laughed. "You fear, and yet you grow better at concealing it. Your improvement indicates spine." Lucius could hear approval in his master's voice and though he did not dare feel triumph, he did allow himself a spurt of satisfaction. The Dark Wizard's favor was not something quickly granted or easily gained, and though the son of Abraxas knew he was a long way from such accolades, at least he was no longer enduring his master's severe displeasure.
"The girl has proven as valuable as I had foreseen – and she is talented as well. Your part in her capture has fortunately been kept quiet – or at least, out of the Prophet." Though Voldemort had not phrased a question, the silence that fell indicated his expectation of an answer.
"My lord, there were no witnesses. Only the American witch, and you were gracious enough to allow us to return to Hogwarts in time for Walden and I to rejoin our Housemates in the Great Hall. When Professor Slughorn counted us, we were precisely where we were expected to be. She cannot prove anything, and she is a foreigner, while my father's standing at the Ministry is such that no one will believe her if she talks." The pale wizard still towering over him smiled thinly at the son's veiled contempt for his father. If only the younger Malfoy knew...but there were some things that had to remain secrets, even within families.
"So you believe yourself still fully capable of acting as my servant at Hogwarts?" the lord pressed quietly. It was a test for the boy, one of his youngest and most inexperienced followers who, nevertheless, held a highly coveted position within the enemy camp. Cowardice would not serve, but neither would false bravado or arrogance. No matter what the evidence was, teenagers lived in worlds of fluctuating fantasies – what was real today would be false tomorrow, best friends were made and discarded in a matter of months. Lucius' daring kidnapping from under the nose of Albus Dumbledore was being kept quiet from the world at large – something that Anthony Zabini himself had a large hand in – but at school, enough people might believe the truth sheerly because it was sensational enough to appeal to their dramatic view of life.
And it was the student body of Europe's finest school of witchcraft and wizardry that the Dark Lord was interested in plundering, not her myriad treasures or knowledgeable professors. It would not suit at all if Lucius had been rendered impotent as a recruiter and subtle guide with this single act.
The caution in platinum blond's voice betrayed his parallel thought process, knowing the cost of lying, desperate not to displease again. "I think so, Master. Maybe a few of the girl's friends will believe her, but not more than that...and a hint that you taught me some magic to breach the wards around Hogwarts will bring more of our esteemed House to your banner, not less."
Voldemort tilted his head, red-flecked eyes dimming to velvet black as he considered the suggestion. Rumor and the gossip mill – both eagerly expounded upon by the Daily Prophet – were allies more insidious than Dementors and farther reaching than even the best-placed spies. Objective truth was irrelevant – it was what people believed to be true that affected decisions of fight, flight and side. That his few Death Eaters could be stamped out with relative ease was something a terrified population and ineffective Ministry hadn't recognized, and their campaign of terror aimed to keep it that way.
He was pleased that the student was already demonstrating a complete grasp of this principle. He had despaired, in the eight months since giving Lucius the Mark, that he had, indeed, misjudged the boy's potential. But his instinct for always coming out on top made Voldemort certain that with a few years hard experience under his belt, Lucius Malfoy would make an excellent general. "That is agreeable. Be careful that you do not overdo it." Lucius nodded. "Now, in addition to dropping all the right hints in the correct ears for your few remaining months prior to graduation, I need you to find another direct connection to the transfer girl..."
888
"How much do we have to take?" Sirius asked eagerly. Peter, in his self-appointed role of Book-Reader, found the requisite instructions at the bottom of the page.
"Just a tablespoon full," he said.
"That's all?" James asked.
"Not really all that surprising, is it?" Remus asked, peering into the small pewter cauldron the five of them were hunched around. It wasn't much larger than his mother's medium-sized mixing bowl, and even so, it was only half-full. "If you had to take a lot, we'd have needed a bigger cauldron and more ingredients."
"Even so...we used a lot of stuff...I thought there would be more."
"Water evaporates when it boils, James," Hermione reminded him with a smile. "Leaving us with a potion that is almost more paste than liquid." This could not be denied. At its final stage, the potion had cooled to a lighter brown, the density giving it the appearance of chocolate fudge. Sirius tentatively started to reach in with his spoon, only to have Hermione's hand stay his wrist. "Where did that come from?"
Sirius blinked, shrugged. "Great Hall. I swiped it during breakfast."
Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to Peter. "Does the recipe specify anything in regards to ingestion?"
The boy read the final paragraph and shrugged. "It says the potion should remain effective as long as it doesn't come into contact with wood."
The witch released her friend, waving at the silver implement clutched in his fingers. "Go for it."
Sirius completed his dip, measuring out a careful mouthful and sniffed it cautiously. The action reminded Hermione so much of a dog circling a bone it was going to eat that she stifled a laugh. No wonder the wizard in front of her had become Padfoot.
"It certainly doesn't smell like chocolate," he said ruefully, and, taking a deep breath comprised of excitement and nervousness, he popped the thick mess into his mouth.
His eyes widened in surprise, and Hermione found herself holding her breath, praying that it was merely because of the flavor and not some ghastly mistake they'd made in the brewing process. The last five days had been so packed with frustrations that sometimes the time traveler felt that if she didn't scream she would surely go mad with the sound rebounding under her skull. James and Sirius' prickliness about Severus, the peculiar, intensely uncomfortable moment she'd shared with Klytemnestra's father, and worst of all, their enforced silence as Lucius Malfoy swaggered through the halls grated on nerves already raw with the enormity of the task she was facing – and the fact that she had dragged three others, unknowingly, into its path.
If the potion had been botched, she was sure she would break down right now-
"Gack! That stuff tastes awful! Like...like the Quidditch locker room mixed with a touch of scorched butter and charred fish," Sirius gagged as he swallowed the last of it.
"Thanks, Siri, for making it easier on the rest of us," James muttered dryly, but he didn't look revolted, merely curious, as they waited for the minutes to tick past. The book said to allow five minutes for the effects to begin.
Remus' hazel eyes were fixed firmly on his watch as he counted seconds, then minutes, and... "How do you feel?" he asked, head coming up as his clock ticked past the five-minute marker.
The tallest boy's eyes had dropped closed, though he stayed quite steady on his feet. As he opened them, his lips parted, but words were not forthcoming. "Uhh..." A large black dog gamboled from Sirius' tongue, following this incoherent noise, growing larger as wisps of transparent smoke formed the fullness of legs, coat and shaggy head – the appropriate shape and color of the animal, but insubstantial, like a Patronus. Following the dog came a panther, which bounded around three walls of the room before stopping to wait, crouched, in one corner, eyes luminous and predatory even though they were smoke. The final creature to erupt from between the tall boy's lips was a parrot with brilliant red, green and blue plumage. It flapped to settle on James' shoulder, perching proudly and fluffing its head crest, showing off its magnificent beauty.
Sirius stared, waited until it seemed clear that these three were his choices, and swallowed hard. "A bird, a dog and a wildcat," James voiced curiously when it became obvious that Sirius wasn't going to speak yet. "Interesting choices. I wonder why?"
"Each animal says something different about the wizard or witch who conjures it," Hermione recited from memory.
"So these are all different aspects of my personality?" Sirius finally managed to find his tongue again.
"Probably," she answered.
"Makes sense," Remus added, and with an honesty Hermione never would have used on Sirius Black, he continued, "The dog because you are friendly, loving and playful." And indeed, the great beast had run circles around all of them, planting barely-felt paws on shoulders and jumping excitedly when Peter had fished out a marble from a pocket and rolled it across the room for him. "The panther because you are slick, graceful and enjoy hunting." Sirius darted a glance at Hermione, looking significantly less pleased with his friend's last comment. Hermione schooled her face to neutrality. It was true – both the way that Sirius deliberately pursued girls and his harassment of Severus bore the mark of one stalking, seeking a prize. "And the parrot...a bird probably because you have lofty ideals, and this one because you are so concerned with how you look."
James, Hermione and Peter burst into laughter with this final, deft comment, and Sirius' sour expression. "If we're all quite finished skewering my psyche, why don't we let James go next?" he snapped irritably.
"Oh, leave off, Siri – we love you because you can be a vain prat sometimes," James said with a wide grin. "We wouldn't change you for the world. I'm sure my options will tell everyone some rather unflattering things about me, too." With much less trepidation, James measured the same careful spoonful for himself and shoved it in his mouth, nose wrinkling in disgust as his tastebuds came in contact with the paste for the first time.
Five minutes later, the first animal to bounce into the room was another dog, although this one was slightly smaller, a golden retriever with ears and paws that were slightly too large, making the dog probably only three-quarters grown, which brought Hermione up short. Was it possible to undergo growth as an Animagus? If one became a caterpillar, for instance, would one wrap oneself in a cocoon and become a butterfly?
The long-legged, prancing stag that came second brought tears to Hermione's eyes and wiped out questions about insects as memories of Harry desperately casting this image of his father forth to save her life streamed in front of her eyes, and she swiftly rubbed her face to remove the tell-tale water. It lacked the silvery glow of her best friend's Patronus, but the large, liquid eye it turned on her nearly brought her to her knees with remembrances, and she gripped the table beside her to keep herself upright, grateful that the boys were all too keen on admiring the beautiful creature to notice her strange reaction,
James' last incarnation was a lion, which shook its large mane and gave the panther a disapproving look before padding to the wizard with glasses, sitting on his haunches and remaining almost as tall as the young man.
"Blimey," he whispered, reaching out slowly to touch the coarse mane.
"Peter?" Remus asked briskly, apparently uninterested in analyzing James as he had done Sirius. The pudgy third-year approached the cauldron with only a little trepidation, having seen the potion work exactly as promised twice now. Like his friends, he grimaced at the taste and hurried to clear his mouth, going still as they had, eyes half-closed as Remus' remained glued to his watch.
Peter's first animal was a large badger, white stripe running down its nose and back. "Hufflepuff's symbol," James muttered, and Hermione frowned at him. Peter's insecurities about being the smallest and undeniably least-talented student included in the Marauders were deep seated and growing. His unlikely Sorting into Gryffindor House was something that his peers in Slytherin had never ceased to use against him, and it was unkind of James to bring forth the question that had become a taunt, no matter that he had not meant it as such.
The creature ambling on the heels of the badger was a brown bear. Hermione's amber eyes went round in surprise, and she could see her shock reflected in James' and Sirius' lifted eyebrows. Only Remus looked unperturbed, and, as the slender, gentle boy was the one amongst them who became a mindless monster once a month, Hermione could understand why looks and even character didn't fool the werewolf. He had learned the hard way that what was hidden in the hearts of men was always unknown to those outside.
She found herself strangling sudden regret and a sense of sorrow as to the path Peter would carve in history. He had traits of the fiercely loyal badger, of the large but mostly peaceable omnivorous bear. But it would be his final form that indicated his road.
The rat scurried out last, curious and eager, sniffing for food and running over the paws of the lion, which shook it away easily. Peter shook his head in disappointment at the unimpressive creature. "Well, I definitely won't be taking that form."
As a unit, all four boys turned to her expectantly. Hermione hesitated. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to be an Animagus – some of the effects were life-altering for her physiology, and history had written of only four Marauders...
But it wouldn't hurt to know her potential. Perhaps, twenty years from now, they had discovered a cure to the nastier downsides of using this magic. Maybe she could complete the process in her own time...
Stepping forward, she dipped the last spoon in, scraping out the bottom, and shoved the disappetizing mass into her mouth before she could convince herself otherwise. From the amused crinkling on the faces staring at her, she knew her features were telling them her dislike of the flavor. But Sirius had been correct. There was something about the texture that was distinctly reminiscent of old gym socks, down to the cottony dryness she felt as the last of the paste went down her throat in a glob.
Even as the weight of the ball settled in her stomach, a strange feeling of lightheadedness filled her, as if her brain had detached from her body and was reaching upwards...
Her eyelids had fallen as her mind ascended, swamped in white, fogged by mist, hiding shadows that shifted and moved, most of them fading even as she stretched forth mental fingers to find them...
Pressure began to build in the physical body she had left behind, like a kettle whistling as the water boiled. It was uncomfortable, pulling her back from this place she had yet to explore, she had to let it out-
Her mouth opened and out floated an otter, the twin to the Patronus she had learned to conjure in this very room last year with Harry. The sea animal flipped over on its brown, smoky back in mid-air and lazily began to swim, curious, intelligent face watching her closely as it inscribed circles around her person.
The pressure built faintly once more, peaked and she felt it subside as she breathed more smoke, feeling vaguely like a chimney as a horse formed before her eyes, trotting silently around the room, its hooves, like the paws of Sirius' dog and the claws of James' lion, making no noise against the granite.
For a final time, like a dam releasing its last flood of water, her throat tightened in preparation to loose her last option. An enormous bird of red and orange, looking more like a streak of flame than a live creature, winged from her lips to soar around the room, curved beak open as it dipped around them, weaving through the boys, looking for all the world like it was singing—
"A phoenix?" Sirius' voice brought her firmly back into her own body, severing her connection with the realm the potion had delivered her to.
"It can't be," she heard herself objecting, mind automatically spitting out the information it had digested long ago. "Humans cannot become animals that possess an innate amount of significant magic."
"We read the book, 'Mione," James replied, his eyes never leaving the brilliant bird that was now soaring over them in circles. "But there's nothing else that could possibly be. There are no non-magical birds of that size and color." His eyes met hers, dark brown shining with excitement.
Hermione tipped her head back, lifting her chin to observe the circling creature, feeling a pull on her body, a desire so tangible as to become a need – the hunger to fly, to stretch her wings and her voice together. The otter and the horse were beautiful, but they did not inspire such raw wanting, as if she were being denied life by holding to this crude, earth-bound form.
Her first thought went to the Echo. Ordinarily, witches and wizards could not take magical form, but the bird flashing over them put the lie to that assertion.
But she was far from ordinary – she was the key to the magic of life, her true talent lying not in the wand she wielded with deft precision, but in her harp and her voice.
And phoenixes alone, of all land-dwelling animals normal and magical, were gifted with the Power of Song.
888
Hermione glanced surreptitiously at Professor Torrenwright, who was currently circling Timothy Wilkes and Michael Avery, patiently demonstrating the proper wand movement for the counter to Petrificus Totalus. Severus stood at the desk in front of them, his mice properly Petrified and revived several times, he had carefully set his books in a wall around his desk and was watching them run to and fro, expression distant.
Feeling her gaze, the boy turned, black eyes shining with something that would have been a smile if it had graced his mouth. As it was, the look of wholly innocent, secretive delight caused an ache to bloom somewhere in the young Gryffindor's heart. She could not imagine the man he would become wearing such an expression.
Banishing the melancholy before it could move to claim her, she pointed her wand at a scrap of parchment on her desk and whispered a charm. It twitched, as if taking on a life of its own, and then fluttered upwards, madly beating little paper wings. Lifting from her desk, it floated through her peers to his scarred wooden table, where he unfolded it.
Stay after.
He jerked around again, eyebrows already prepared to rise in silent query, their ability to communicate without words well-developed by the presence of her four-man guard. Her thick curls blocked her eyes as she swished her wand over Remus Lupin's mice, Petrifying them for him. He ignored the twist in his chest that now occurred several times daily when observing her with the Gryffindor boys – her friendship with them so open, so easily established and maintained. The strength of his longing for another night of practice was a double desire for both the music he craved and the ability to converse with her without fearing her classmates and his own.
As he turned away, he caught Sirius Black's suspicious, hate-filled gaze locked on him. I must have been staring, Severus thought, and as a blush tore up to his face for what he had likely betrayed, he ruthlessly suppressed it, swapping the revealing scarlet for a sardonic smile.
A quick glance at the clock told him to wait another five minutes. He returned his attention to his white mice, now wrestling with one another. "Mr. Snape? If you would be so kind as to show me your work?" The deep voice of their Defense professor pulled him from his thoughts, and Severus murmured, "Petrificus Totalus!", freezing the hapless creatures together in their competition. He performed the counter-curse flawlessly, as expected, and received an approving nod from his teacher before the barrel-chested wizard moved on to the next row. Severus sighed. If only he could earn one such nod from Professor McGonagall...
"Class dismissed!" The words he had been waiting for fell on his ears, and he began to slowly, methodically, pack up his bag, grateful that the pen he had created for the rodents involved most of the books in his sack – volumes that he could now replace very, very slowly as his classmates rushed out around him, eager to be finished with the day.
"I'll stay with you," Sirius murmured in a low voice when Hermione indicated that she intended to ask their professor a question.
"You don't need to," she replied quietly. "It's just a quick question, then I'll be along." Sirius didn't so much as look towards the door that James, Remus and Peter were all headed for.
"Sniv-" he stopped as she glared at him, swallowed bitterly and corrected himself, "Snape is still here. I'll wait."
The witch glared at him, fury bubbling up in her. Why was it that all the boys she had decided to be friends with now and in the future felt as if they owned her? The memory of Ron Weasley's senseless jealousy over Viktor Krum jumped to mind, and she gritted her teeth in remembered and present anger.
"In case you've forgotten, Sirius Black, I can handle myself. And Severus' presence here doesn't concern you. So what if I found a friend in Slytherin?"
Sirius glanced over her head at the sallow boy, who was deliberately keeping his back to the miniature intra-House storm brewing in the back of the room. "He doesn't just want to be friends, Hermione," Sirius told her firmly. The look in his nemesis' eyes earlier had disturbed the handsome boy greatly. It was one thing for Hermione to be forgiving and kind to the young man who had always been an outsider. It was a female weakness that he had observed in other girls he knew – a compulsion to help the 'underdog'. But the look on the sallow face had been so similar to the one Remus had worn a scant couple of months ago – hope, hunger and caring merging on the thin, despised features.
He found himself stumbling backwards, Hermione having pushed him away from her in fury. "What he wants or doesn't want is no business of yours. I'll see you in the common room."
"Hermione-"
But she had turned her back on him firmly and marched right past where Severus waited, making up a spurious question to put to her professor until she was certain that Sirius had reluctantly retired from the room, unwilling to engage in open disagreement in front of the enemy. A quick answer later, and while Torrenwright leisurely set his classroom back in order, she returned to where Severus waited, his bag now completely ready.
"What happened?" he asked her tensely, all-too-cognizant of the fight she'd been having with Black, knowing that it shouldn't delight him and unable to quench his pleasure.
Hermione's teeth found the bottom of her lip, worrying the tender flesh as she suddenly wondered how to phrase her peculiar suspicions. "I think your uncle may try to kill or capture me," was out of the question. And there was no name to give to the distinctly unsettled feeling he had left her with. She knew that one day she would stand with him on a battlefield, both of them twisting their gift of music to attack and defend. But there had been no outward evidence of that in Hogwarts, no hint of the future his glance had convinced her existed.
It took her no more than a few seconds to shake her head, dispelling the hopes of telling him now and praying he had answers. Klytemnestra was grieving the loss of her twin, gone only four days, for all that it was Kassandra's own fault, and Hermione could not bring herself to add to the family burden. It would likely be some time before she encountered the Zabini family patriarch again. She could resolve that problem later.
"You know Sirius," she answered his question blithely, switching grooves of thought. "Thinks any girl that passes through his orbit belongs to him. Do you have time to practice? Tonight?" Her brown eyes glittered like a child with new toy, apprehensions banished for the excitement of the moment as she thought ahead to bringing her harp out into the snow and playing it for the first time...
Like a mirror, eagerness bounced back towards her from his black gaze, and a boy's grin creased his face, shaving off the premature years and making him look fourteen for the first time since she'd met him. "Your wish is, quite literally, my command. What time?"
"7:30."
888
The four figures that met together in the dark near the tall oak traded probing, solemn looks, as if testing the mettle and determination of one another. Hermione broke the stand-still first. "The headmaster has adjusted the wards to allow us to play without being heard by the rest of the castle. We can experiment without worrying that everyone is going to be hearing us."
Three heads nodded briefly and Hermione felt compelled to continue. "Be that as it may...as far as I know, only I have to do this..." She forgave herself that small lie even as she uttered it. She knew what path Severus would choose. "If any of you would rather not-"
"You heard Professor Dumbledore," Klytemnestra said quietly, but her black eyes glittered with a hot, forbidding light. "He can do nothing, no matter how much he believes us. I don't know how Malfoy made it back in time to escape suspicion, but this is the only way to help Kassandra. And," she gave Hermione a brief, spare smile, "I have spent my life hearing of you. You have the oath of my blood. It is not a word given lightly, and one that shall never be withdrawn."
"I'm not letting you come down here with two untrustworthy Slytherins on your own," Lily said before her friend's eyes could lock on her, but the cheeky smile she bestowed on the victims of her fun soothed ruffled feathers before they could truly rise. "What would Sirius Black say?" she added in mock horror.
Three snorts followed this ludicrous question and when she turned her eyes to him, Severus' obsidian depths spoke eloquently and firmly, erasing a need for vocalization. Hermione bowed her head in acceptance. She'd had to give them the option one more time. The dryad had told them that their road would not be an easy one, but Hermione alone had stood in front of the Death Eaters first hand, and knew that it was not a theatrical or grandiose statement.
Decision cemented, furtive smiles turned four mouths as they settled down to unpack their instruments. Lily's flute flashed in a line of silver in contrast to Severus' ebony-black clarinet, the warm wood of Klytemnestra's viola complimenting the lighter hue of Hermione's harp as the Gryffindor witch enlarged and transfigured it from a pretty trinket to a curved and polished work of exquisite craftsmanship, her spare cloak spread under it to protect it from the snow.
Lily brought the flute up, mouth pursed and ready to blow. Severus' lips were already fastened on his mouthpiece, tongue wetting the reed. Klytemnestra's right hand drew her bow as the viola found its well-worn place tucked under her chin. Hermione lifted her hands, faintly touching the goat-gut strings, savoring their feeling even under fingers that were now largely without their protective calluses.
Silence surged through them, almost as loud and potent as anything they might play, and all four shivered as they waited.
"He said he would be waiting..." Klytemnestra murmured as the quiet extended, seeming loaded and unnatural, the dryad markedly absent.
Hermione reached for the connection that she had awakened less than a week ago – had so much transpired in so little time? – seeking guidance, fighting the sudden fear of abandonment on this treacherous road that they had chosen to walk. He had not appeared for the headmaster, but that had not surprised her. The elderly wizard was an unknown factor, and the unfamiliar always carried with it the potential to be threatening. But last time he had revealed himself before all those assembled without a trace of hesitation.
So where was their teacher now?
Almost immediately in answer, though without consulting her brain, her fingers began to slowly pluck the harp strings, single droplets of sound rippling from her like a gentle fall of summer rain striking the surface of a lake. As both hands engaged, notes coming faster, she was aware of the others picking up her tempo and following her lead.
Hermione directed the efforts of her skillful hands towards the tree in front of them, hearing Severus' clarinet almost instantly shift with her intent, the woodwind calling entreatingly, inviting the tree spirit to emerge and join the dance.
They were rewarded in their efforts when the vast expanse of tree-bark began to part and the faun's cloven goat hooves stepped forth, the branches forming his hair arching like antlers as the tree disgorged him and sealed itself once more.
"Well done, Daughters and Son," he said warmly, and all four relaxed at the sound of his deep, rough voice, as if passing a test they had only just realized they were taking. "I am delighted to see that you have all returned and summoned me by virtue of request, not demand. May I assume that you are honoring your heritage and your world by taking up the burden you have been asked to bear?"
Feeling as if her feet were roots themselves as the pulse of the earth quickened beneath her boots, the world itself propelled Hermione's words, and her reply contained such inexorable power that Severus felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as the witch who had begun haunting his dreams dipped her head with the grace and command of a queen.
"We have."
888
"Heal her," the dryad commanded, gesturing to a young tree. The four peered at the sapling, twice Severus' height, oozing thick sap like heavy tears where a slender branch dangled by a few splinters, struck by the late-March lightning storm the previous night.
Hermione winced as she laid a hand on the tree. Her connection to earth had grown with six weeks of constant practice, and touching the smooth bark of the aspen now brought pain reverberating up her arm, feeling like her own limb was broken.
She heard the viola's long notes begin behind her and Lily's gentle whistling, flute sounding almost like the wind. But Severus was closest, and he placed the bell of his clarinet against the tree trunk, muffling his music as if he were blowing it into their unusual patient. Hermione did not return to her harp, but brought her other hand up and brushed her fingers over the split, singing in a low monotone, urging the shards to re-knit.
It was one of the first practical tests they had been given. They had melted and re-formed snow, helped call forth the early spring flowers and coax seeds to push through the earth, but that was all part of the natural order that occurred anyway year after year. It had not proven taxing to speed the process slightly as they learned the necessary control for the music they were creating.
But the art of healing plants had long been forgotten, and the quartet found themselves tiring even as they strengthened the aspen, listless branch gradually lifting as wood sealed itself, sap hungrily filling gaps, eager to be the necessary adhesive. The power expenditure was enormous, and Hermione heard first Lily fall silent, drained, then Klytemnestra, and finally the clarinet next to her, Severus dropping to his knees, sweat running down his long nose to drip into the soft spring ground.
She had to finish...
She was barely aware of her own voice faltering, then failing, the branch not-quite-sealed, and she ducked her head, embarrassed as she swayed and allowed herself to fold into sitting position. It marked the first time that they were unable to do all that the dryad had asked of them.
Contrary to their disappointment, the tree spirit smiled, and loosed a throbbing note that completed the job in the space of one breath. As the four adolescents looked up in amazement to see the sapling waving at them, and Hermione glimpsed, for an instant, the lithe form of a young girl – perhaps eight-ish – dancing in the healed tree, her message of gratitude quite clear.
"She has a faun?" the Gryffindor witch asked, rising.
"No. She has a nymph. My shape belongs exclusively to Oak." He favored Hermione with a rare look of surprise. "Every one of us has a spirit. It is how you, as a human, are capable of feeling us, of connecting to us. I am, however, pleased that you could see her. Spirits cannot emerge until their hosts are mature – which means you were looking into the aspen. That is an improvement."
He turned to the rest of them. "You did well – it is no small thing to ask, the reparation and removal of pain. Can you feel it, yet? The relationship between you and the earth?" Both Lily and Klytemnestra shook their heads regretfully. Hermione had discovered that the welcoming she had received from this patch of ground had not been as automatic for the rest of them, though their mentor seemed unconcerned. He assured them that it was natural and that it would come with effort.
But tonight, Severus nodded. "Just for a moment, right before I stopped. I felt..." he paused, groping for the right language to describe something that could not be found in books, "I felt stronger, just enough to play my last few notes, like someone had pushed power through my feet."
The dryad's bark-beard twitched, and Hermione knew he approved. "Excellent. Son of Earth, I believe you are her Major, as I suspected you might be."
888
"What is a Major, sir?" Severus' question tumbled from his lips before they had even finished sitting down, the question eating at him for the past two days finally holding the promise of being answered as green grass rippled underneath them, providing them with dry, soft places to rest in response to Hermione's hummed request.
The dryad's eyes twinkled at the boy's eagerness, and Hermione was struck by some of the similarities between their tree-spirit guide and their human headmaster. For all their physical differences, they exuded the same boundless energy, genuine joy in teaching and the annoying certainty that they already knew far more than you ever would.
"The old world of magic was governed by strict hierarchies. Those that were purely social faded with the civilization they structured, but some of them are woven into the fabric of magic itself, and thus can neither recede into time nor be ignored, however irregular they might prove for modern convention." Hermione smothered a grin. The faun would probably always carry that dubious note in his voice when he spoke of the world that his four charges had introduced him to: a world without kings, where all the magical races were strictly separated except for business transactions, and where secrecy from Muggles had become ironclad law. Hermione had to admit that while she approved of the first, the last two were regrettable marks of the centuries yawning between the previous One and their current crisis.
"Learning how to use the Echo of Creation is no different. I told you weeks ago that two, three and four are stronger numbers than one, and so it has always been. The One of old surrounded him or herself with hundreds of extremely capable musicians, but even so, there was usually a group of a few – a half-dozen at the most, who were the most talented of these gifted players and the best scholars of music, and who played directly with the One. The most powerful of these was the Major – the rest were termed Minors – and they were the musicians who tapped deep into the power of the Echo, surpassing the surface abilities and effects of their fellows." His wooden face twisted, bark rippling in displeased lines. "They were those who accomplished the greatest amount of good – and, eventually, evil."
"If Severus is the Major, does that make Lily and I the Minors?" Klytemnestra asked.
The dryad nodded. "It does. Like planets circling a star, you orbit at close range. But the Major is more like a smaller, binary sun. He is her partner, his power overshadowed by hers but nevertheless greater than yours, and this makes him your secondary focal point. Daughter of Men and Daughter of Heaven, you complete their system. You form their buttresses and shoring, tied to the milder seasons of Spring and Autumn, the softer elements of Water and Earth, treading worlds between the extremes of absolute darkness and radiant light."
"In practical application, how does this take effect?" Hermione queried. Poetry was all very well, but thus far they had worked together, any power rift between the individuals largely submerged.
The dryad's face grew solemn, all traces of humor gone. "Wizards and witches may have forgotten or scorned such magic, but not all of the magical, and even the non-magical, world has. Think of how you healed the tree. Instinctively, the music knows your places. As the Node, you actually touched her, an intimacy you knew you had. Your Major used his instrument as a median for contact – not as close as you, but not nearly so far away as the Minors, who remained at a distance. You will find, as we practice, that sometimes your Minors and even your Major do not play to effect the world at large but to give you the strength to do so. Right now, you are learning the fundamentals of your power, and the illusion of equality is easy to maintain. But when you move to consolidate the alliances of the other races of earth, you will understand the functions you perform – none of you less vital than the others, but all of you performing different tasks."
888
"It is good of you to care so deeply for your surroundings, Daughter of Creation." The dryad's crackling voice interrupted Hermione's check of the aspen as she hummed her pitch-perfect 'A', listening to the tweaking of Klytemnestra's viola as the Slytherin tuned her instrument. The young woman had made it habit to ensure that the skinny limb now pushing out tiny leaves showed no sign of snapping. It did not, as it had not in the ten days since they had healed it. "A rare attribute in one so powerful."
"She has taught us a valuable lesson, sir," Hermione replied carefully. "And it takes no time to look."
"Be that as it may, you will find that not many take that small amount of time."
Hermione turned, inspection complete as Klytemnestra brought her bow across taut strings with an expression of satisfaction that brought a smile to Hermione's face in turn. How often had she longed for this sound, the low murmur of piping, whistling and vibrating that signified an orchestra's preparation to begin? For years she had feared she might never find it in her adopted world, and the illegality of it did not impinge on the one-time rule-quoting Gryffindor's happiness as it filled her ears.
"You have mentioned twice that we must seek the help of the other species of magic-holders," she started slowly on a question that had been nibbling at the edges of her brain for the past two months. "Who are they? And how do we approach them?"
"Before you can speak with any of them, you must immerse yourselves fully in the music and understand its potentials and properties. It is not so much their help that you require as their blessing and their promises of magical fealty, oaths you can only expect if they trust both you and your grasp on the power they will grant you."
"Power-?"
"I told you once that it is better to ask than to demand, young one. All created things are tied to the Echo, sentient beings who used music in ages past more so than most. Their willing consecration of your efforts is necessary for you to face the Other, for their unique relationships with the Echo will be added to yours. But they are wary of humanity – your race has not treated the rest of the inhabitants of this world particularly well since you wrested control from the centaurs."
"How long must we wait?" Hermione asked hesitantly. Mastery in music took a lifetime to achieve, and she was fairly certain that she did not have the decades required. In less than twenty years she would run into herself on these very grounds, and that had not happened.
The branched head cocked slightly, casting long shadows from the sun's last light in the early spring evening. "It is not a question of time, but of learning. Towards these races you must display the utmost respect – in how you approach them, where and when. When you are certain you know, it will be time. But like any teacher, I can only show you so much, lead you so far. Look to the world you were born in, Daughter of Creation, and you will find that not all of mankind has forgone the ancient traditions as wizards have. Wrapped though they are in superfluous ritual, you can discover what you seek – and you will better understand why you searched for it."
He had refused to say more, directing them instead to practice, and the mood that night was reflective as the four strode across the lawns in darkness, dropping in through the entrance next to Slytherin's common room as had become their custom. The Gryffindor girls ducked a few yards to the right and into the moving fireplace that allowed them a passage back to their tower dormitory as the Slytherins re-joined their fellows. Hermione knew with surety that this narrow tunnel had never been included on the Marauder's Map, and she wondered if it was luck they would never find it or her own deliberate secrecy.
"You think he means the Muggle world?" Lily ventured, voice reverberating oddly off the low ceiling as she shuffled behind Hermione, single-file in the narrow passage.
"He must. He said the world I was born in..." Hermione frowned. She had never heard of cross-disciplining between the magical and non-magical human worlds. Even Muggle Studies wasn't for such things, but rather, for pure- or half-blooded wizards intrigued by a society foreign to them, a study of culture, not of magic.
"And considering Hogwarts is miles from any Muggles, where are we going to start looking?"
"Tomorrow? In the early history part of the Muggle Studies section of the library."
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A/N: Thank you all for reading, feedback is appreciated!
shogi: Yay! Thank you for commenting on Zabini and Hermione's interaction...I will confess that in the current plan of things, he does not have a happy ending. How can he? I like having a Pegasus Patronus for Dumbledore. My beta remarked that she thinks it's a phoenix in canon, and I think she's right, but I'm using the phoenix for Hermione, so I didn't want to repeat. Hermione and Harry are going to have an interesting time back in the future, whenever she manages to return. And Remus and Snape have a curious relationship over time. Right now, it's very antagonistic...thanks, once again, for a superb review that I truly enjoyed!
Elisandra1, daring2dream, KITTYKAT, Monnbeam, Linnorria, gray-eyed Athena, iloveseverussnape, Wind of Freedom, and The Queen of Confusion: Thank you all so very much for reading! A new chapter is up, sooner than the last, and I pray that it doesn't disappoint! Hopefully I can have chapter twenty-one coming out at some time in the near future...
eanne: Thank you – that's a huge compliment! This story is rather complicated, isn't it? I'm glad you're enjoying it.
Sarah116: Severus and Hermione are getting there. This chapter has the forging of their individual connection, which will definitely be leading into some interesting territory later on...
missevilprincess: Ah, the Zabini family...we'll have to see, won't we? And yes, Hermione will both be learning by trial-and-error and with the Dryad. For some reason, he doesn't want to show himself to Dumbledore...
xaxstoryxaboutxlovex: Severus and Hermione'll be doing a lot more than kissing eventually – but keep in mind that she is still three years his senior, and he has to get up the courage to make some kind of move. Gratified that you like Dumbledore – he's an interesting piece of work, no?
Maddie50: Magic, my dear...Voldemort didn't want to endanger his servant at Hogwarts, and with all of the confusion, there was enough time for the job to be completed and for Lucius to make it back.
: Oh, thank you. Dumbledore is a difficult character for me to get right, especially after the publication of DH (I think the man got what he deserved when Snape killed him, personally) but, taking into account that he has been at war or preparing for war for much of his life, he has made some very difficult decisions. And I'm glad you liked the meeting between Mr. Zabini and Hermione – he won't be back for a few chapters, but they'll be seeing each other again.
dogmoon183: Thank you, thank you for coming back and reading! This fic is working its way towards being quite long, but I hope to be updating more regularly than I have in the past!
T: Hehe, I liked Lily's rant. In some ways, it makes a lot of sense and sort of ties in to Dumbledore's wondering of whether they sort too young. I am exceptionally glad you've stuck with me – thanks for reviewing!
PrincessTilly: Woot! This fic is much nicer to Dumbledore than Paradise Lost, I've given him a rough ride and little mercy in that piece, but I like writing a kinder, less pressured Dumbledore as well. Hermione and Snape's parting will be...interesting. And, needless to say, difficult. And as for whether Hermione's navigated path between the Marauders and Snape will be successful...we'll see! Thank you so much for a wonderful, detailed review!
Estriel: More Severus-Hermione is definitely on the horizon...and I hope you enjoyed their development in this chapter as well!
alkrodien: This chapter had some action! And the next should as well. Thanks for reading!