What Secrets Keep

by Jennie Exell

Au Book 2. Sometimes there are just too many secrets, and sometimes all it takes to start unraveling them is a failed spell from a broken wand. But with secrets, lies, half truths, mysteries and a giant snake in the pipework, who can be believed? (Sirius x Remus slash implied) Formatting issued solved, and scrambled dialogue replaced.

6. Chapter Five - The Girl Who Cried Wolf

Chapter Five – The Girl Who Cried Wolf.

Weeks dragged on. The days grew longer. The snow melted but the cold dug its icy heels in, leaving the ground hard and the air biting. Around the borders of the school the Dementors kept up their silent vigil, ever watchful for their elusive prey, unknowing that the one they sought had already made his way onto the grounds.

Within the school itself the remarkable resilience (or short attention spans) of children were clearly evident as the halls rang with the sound of laughter and hurried feet, despite the presence of the Dementors or the fact that three of their classmates languished petrified in the hospital wing. Very few bothered to be concerned by such things. While many still suspected Harry Potter to be the Heir of Slytherin, with the last attack now being at least six weeks past, any that gave the matter more than a cursory thought assumed Harry had either given up or been successfully warned off. The escape of Sirius Black, whose crimes had been committed before a time any could remember - before some of the younger first years had even been born – was hardly considered at all; it hadn't seemed all that consequential once the initial rush of speculation had passed. Even the presence of the Rat-Man barely registered anymore; he had become, like the Dementors, just part of the background of the current year at Hogwarts.

There were more important things for teenagers to worry about after all. The fifth and Seventh years were increasingly aware of the shortening number of weeks that remained until final exams. Ravenclaw and Gryffindor were currently tied for the Quiddich cup, leading to a rather excessive amount of extra practice sessions, many of which seemed to happen at the crack of dawn. Valentine's Day had only recently been and gone, bringing with it its usual influx of budding romances, humiliations and heartbreaks, all of which were infinitely distracting and now many an over emotional teen could be found staring wistfully into space, or bursting into tears at the drop of a hat. Perhaps the most distracting of all however, was the reinstatement of Hogsmeade weekends after a three month halt, bringing much joy to the third years and above.

From the window of her office, high up in the castle, Minerva McGonagall watched the students headed for the village and marvelled. Oh some might claim that today's youth had lost its innocence - that teenagers were being forced to grow up too quickly - but she thought the students were doing just fine on that account. There wasn't an adult within the school who wasn't riddled with nervous exhaustion and constant worry, but the children had barely seemed knocked by the events of recent months. She was glad of it in many ways. Let them have their care-free innocence. Let the adults worry and the children ramble on obliviously through the complicated personal emotional mine-field better known as adolescence. They would have plenty of time to worry about escaped dark wizards and rampaging monsters when they were grown up, let them chose to forget about them for now.

She might even admit to a touch of jealousy. Her own youth seemed so long ago now she could barely remember it. But she did remember that the 'end of the world' dramas never actually involved an apocalypse and she doubted they ever would for any of her students either.

Well maybe they would for one perhaps. Although in saying that Harry Potter had been doing rather well lately. Quiddich injuries aside, he'd apparently managed to stay out of trouble since Christmas. A fine feat indeed considering everything that was going on. She wasn't fool enough to believe he was keeping his nose completely clean, and she remained vigilant, but so far this term Harry had remained if not a model student, then no more troublesome than any other.

In fact the only incident this term involving Harry appeared to be an attack against him, rather than something he had precipitated. The ransacking of his dorm recently, and the resultant destruction of most of his belongings hadn't seemed to disturb the young man overly, but it had sent the school into a couple of days of wild speculation. The culprit had not been identified as of yet, although Minerva was determined to catch them eventually; she would not tolerate bullying in her house. It had to be a Gryffindor, no-one else would have had access. The initial rumours that it had been Sirius Black were preposterous of course. There was no way the man could get into the school undetected, let alone all the way into the second year boy's dormitory in Gryffindor Tower.

Not that she wasn't concerned for Harry with Sirius Black still on the loose - she was well aware of the threat he posed to her most challenging charge - but as long as Harry continued as he had been these last few weeks, keeping within the rules, not attempting to solve the world's problems by himself and therefore allowing the adults around him to do their jobs and protect him, she was fairly sure he would be all right. No, right now she had another student to worry about.

Returning to her desk, Minerva sat down and let her eyes drift casually to the second year currently knelt near her filing cabinets, painstakingly sorting the previous year's seventh year's files into boxes to make way for the incoming first years in the September. It was a task she usually left until the Easter holidays, and was not normally one she would assign as a detention, but she felt that this particular student was both up to complexity of the task, and was worthy of the responsibility it entailed. The surprise in young Hermione's eyes when Minerva had informed her of her task this morning was proof enough that she understood the trust being placed in her. The personal files of students, former or otherwise, were not something students were normally given access to.

Minerva hoped her message was clear. This was a detention, a punishment for her transgression, but her actions had not lost her the trust of her Head of House. That was the key here. Trust. Hermione was seriously in danger of losing her reputation for trustworthiness, and with good reason. Glancing down at the file on her desk, Minerva found herself shaking her head in dismay.

Last year's record was somewhat dotted, but nothing severe. Breaking curfew, speaking out of turn (all incidents reported by S. Snape Minerva noted with a mixture of mild irritation and resignation), a note from Madame Pince in the Library, voicing her concern over Hermione's rather advanced and often Darker choice of reading material, and her frequent requests to access the restricted section of the library. This year's however was far more worrying. The incident on the train at the start of term. Lying. Refusing to accept responsibility for her actions. Refusing to back down when caught in a lie. Theft. Possession of restricted potions ingredients. Brewing a restricted potion. Attempting to impersonate another student by use of a restricted potion (assumedly to gain access to the common room of another house). And now yet another incident of making up stories.

This time it was a dog in the library. For Merlin's sake she'd only been out of the hospital wing following the polyjuice incident a week and she'd had half the school in uproar. Screaming and shouting that there was a great big dog at the back of the library. Scaring the other students and causing no end of chaos. Of course when Madame Pince and two seventh year prefects had gone to investigate, there had been no sign of the fictitious dog. Not even a trace. What they had discovered was that where Hermione had 'sighted' the 'vicious, snarling, rabid' creature, was deep within the restricted section, where she had been without permission.

This habit Hermione was acquiring for telling tall tales was deeply troubling. As was her insistence that she wasn't lying. In fact Hermione had been so adamant about it, Minerva had felt she'd had no choice but to send for Madame Pomfry to check her over; just to make sure she wasn't unwell, or under the influence of some kind of potion or spell that could make her hallucinate. The school nurse had found nothing amiss; unfortunate in its own way, because now it meant Hermione was deliberately making things up to...

That was the mystery. Why? Trying to get Hermione to explain her actions or to open up about anything that was concerning or troubling her had been a resounding failure, and had been met with nothing but anger and indignation. Minerva's only hope lay in careful observation, and Hermione's parents. As Head of House and Deputy Headmistress Minerva had been left with little choice but to write to the Grangers, explaining both the transgressions past and present, and also her concern; she had also requested any information they might have that could explain their daughter's actions, any issues or concerns her parents might have that could shed light on the situation.

In the meantime, or at least until she could fathom out the root of this sudden change in behaviour, Minerva hoped that the tried tested method of a mix of firm discipline and responsibility would set Hermione back on the right path. Maybe give the girl some kind of stable ground on which to stand on if she was feeling off balance or worried.

And if nothing else, hopefully act as a deterrent.

~HpɸqH~

"Just admit you made it up."

"But I didn't! It was there!"

"So!? McGonagall isn't going to let you out of detention until you do, so just tell her what she wants to hear!"

"But that would be lying!"

"She already thinks you're lying!"

"But I'm not!"

"Urrrrrghhh! You're impossible!"

Every day. For a week. The same old argument. Every day Hermione would spend at least two hours in detention with McGonagall following the library incident, weekends included, and every time Harry saw her and Ron together, they would be having the same argument. It was beginning to get on his nerves. The problem was he could see both sides. Sort of. He wasn't convinced there had been a dog, in fact he was pretty sure there hadn't been – after all how could a great big dog get into the castle, all the way to the fourth floor and into the restricted section of the library without being seen by anyone else but Hermione?

Still, whether he believed it or not, Hermione clearly did, and she was right when she said there was the principal of the thing. If she believed she wasn't lying, then really he and Ron, as her friends, should be backing her up. But then again, as good friends, they should also tell her when she was being an idiot and how to get herself out of trouble, which was exactly what Ron was trying to do. They were both right, and they were both wrong. And neither was backing down. Stubborn as mules, both of them.

"I'm impossible!? Just because you have the ethical and moral awareness of a table lamp doesn't mean the rest of us do!"

"Moral awareness of a... In case you haven't noticed Hermione, you're the one in trouble, not me! I'm trying to help!"

"Help!? Help!? Turning me into a liar, making me look like some kind of attention seeking girl who cried wolf is your idea of help is it?!"

"I thought you said it was a dog?"

Instinct, a premonition, or simply reflex Harry wasn't sure, but the moment the words left Ron's mouth Harry had hold of Hermione's arm to prevent her from launching herself across the breakfast table to throttle the redhead. If looks could kill, Ron would be a bubbling puddle of goo on the floor right now given the expression on Hermione's face.

Unfortunately, despite the fact that he'd prevented Hermione from doing Ron any serious damage, the pair of them had been shouting loud enough to draw quite a bit of attention. Without the shield of their raised voices, all three could now hear the whispers flying around the great hall.

"...gone mad..."

"... heard it happens to mudbloods... not meant to have magic..."

"...just wants attention..."

"...hard living in Potter's shadow..."

"...Maybe he did something to her..."

"...mental..."

"...gonna send her to st mungos..."

"Hermione..." Harry spoke quietly, beseechingly, tugging her arm in the hope that she would sit down. He knew how hurtful whispers could be. Knew how cruel the other students could be when they thought they had hold of a juicy bit of gossip. He'd been living with the constant whispers of the Heir of Slytherin since he'd accidentally spoken Parseltongue during that ill fated duelling club. The best thing he'd found was to ignore it. Then at least it seemed people stopped whispering where he could hear.

But Hermione was too wound up. Her eyes met his and he could see the plea in them. Support me. Back me up. Believe me, they seemed to cry. But as much as he wanted to, he couldn't. He didn't believe her and she must have seen that. Her expression went cold, and then she sniffed, raised her chin and gathering herself with as much dignity as she could muster, climbed over the bench seat and strode from the hall, pristine robes billowing behind her.

~HpɸqH~

Not even Harry and Ron believed her. Her two best friends thought she'd made it up. The two people who she'd thought knew her better than anyone, and they still thought she'd made it up. They hadn't been much better about the man on the train back at the start of term either, but everyone had been so insistent, even the guard, she'd soon begun to doubt what she'd seen. Harry had suggested she'd dreamt it, saying some of his own dreams were terrifyingly real at times. And maybe she had dreamt what she thought she saw on the train, she couldn't tell for certain. But she certainly hadn't dreamt the Dog in the library.

Ron thought she was mad, and Harry kept looking at her with pitying eyes. She couldn't bear that look. She'd never looked at him like that when he said things. Why couldn't he believe her?

Better to avoid them, and the common room. She wasn't much welcome in Gryffindor Tower at the moment. To say her housemates were displeased with her was an understatement. She'd lost Gryffindor a hundred points - twenty points initially, then a further ten points each time she'd refused to back down when McGonagall spoke to her. The only reason McGonagall had stopped docking points was that she didn't want to see the rest of her house punished because Hermione refused to tell the truth. A hundred points lost had already knocked them off the top of the table for the house cup, and dropped them down to third. Just twenty points ahead of Slytherin. The second, fourth and sixth years all had potions with Slytherin tomorrow. That twenty point lead would vanish before first break. There would be no refuge for her in Gryffindor Tower for quite some time.

She was banned from the library until the end of the month too. One of her favourite places and she was banned. Madame Pince had wanted her banned until the end of the year at least, but thankfully Professor McGonagall had over-ruled the librarian stating that the second years would all have Easter assignments to complete and access to the library was essential. Still the ban was galling and had left her with nowhere to go.

The main courtyard was deserted; it was too cold for anyone else to be out. But huddled up in her cloak on one of the benches, Hermione ran the scene in the library over and over in her head. She hadn't lied. The Dog had been real, huge and really scary.

And its eyes. Hermione remembered the eyes. Dusky grey blue. No dog had eyes like that. Not that colour nor filled with such malice and madness.

Closing her own eyes, Hermione concentrated on the memory. It had all happened so fast. The library had been busy, noisier than normal. Lots of first years. Madame Pince had been bustling about trying to help them and also keep them quiet. A group of fifth years had come in talking loudly, Madame Pince had stalked off to chastise them and that's when she'd made her move to the restricted section.

Looking for Dark creatures. Monsters. That section was near the back. As she'd come closer she'd heard something. Growling... and something else? She'd stopped at the end of one of the aisles, and that's when she's seen it. The Dog.

It had been huge, shaggy, but skinny too. Not like one of those naturally slender looking dogs, but emaciated looking.

Stalking. It had been stalking something. Someone. Not her. Someone else.

There had been someone else there! The other sound! It was someone talking... no pleading. She couldn't remember words just the sound. The voice! She knew the voice. Who? Who was it?

Then she'd screamed. She hadn't meant to. She'd just been so startled. That huge head had turned to her. Snarling. Huge teeth, bared as it growled. Fury and rage in those eyes. Oh Merlin those eyes. It was going to pounce on her. It was going to kill her. Death. There was death in those eyes.

She'd screamed again and run.

She hadn't made it up. It had been there. The Dog had been there. She hadn't lied. She hadn't. She hadn't. The Dog was real and it was dangerous and it was loose in the school.

Could it be Salazar Slytherin's monster? Somehow she doubted it. That beast wasn't the kind of creature to bring about a drop down dead in an instant kind of death. It was more of a tear someone limb from limb and play fetch with the remains kind of death. Could it petrify someone? Certainly, but only in the pee their knickers sense of the word.

She hadn't lied. That Dog had been there. And that meant there were now two monsters roaming the castle. And she was the only one who knew, because no-one would believe her.

She wasn't the only one who knew though was she? Someone else had been there! Someone else had seen it!

If only she could work out who it was.

~HpɸqH~

The ice edged wind whipped callously around the stands around the Quiddich pitch, and without the shelter of numerous others to huddle with, Hermione was feeling the effects of the chill full force. She wanted to be indoors, but it wasn't like she had anywhere she could go. She still had a week of her library ban to go, and the common room still felt as frosty as the air outside.

At least Ron had given up trying to get her to back down about the Dog. Now he and Harry just rolled their eyes at her if she brought it up. So she didn't. Bring it up that was. Avoiding them had been lonely, and there was only so much isolation her stubborn pride could withstand. The last week had been like the beginning of first year all over again. Shunned by everyone, no friends, no one to talk to. No. Pride was one thing, but loneliness was quite another. She wasn't going to back down, she would still do her detentions and ride out her library ban, but she wouldn't give up Harry and Ron.

She would just have to work out the mystery herself. And then they, everyone, would see that she wasn't delusional.

Wrapped up in a thick winter cloak over her pristine school uniform - which today included two pairs of her thickest tights, an under-vest and cardigan as well as her standard white shirt, black skirt, tie and robes, red woollen gloves and red and gold Gryffindor scarf - Hermione hunkered down on the bench and stubbornly tried to remind herself why she was out here watching Harry's quiddich practice.

Matches she wouldn't miss for the world. Even if she hadn't felt house loyalty she would have come for Harry, but training? What had she been thinking? The common room might not exactly be welcoming but she could have stayed in bed. It was barely dawn, it was freezing and although Ron, who was sat beside her, seemed enthralled by the odd little games, activities and exercises the Gryffindor team were throwing themselves into with their usual single minded enthusiasm, she was quite frankly bored.

It wasn't that she didn't like Quiddich. Because she did, to an extent. And it wasn't that she didn't appreciate Harry's skill on a broom, because she would have to be blind not to acknowledge that. She was actually damned proud of him. Youngest seeker in a century, and a damned good one if all the quiddich nuts were to be believed. She'd read up on the game, and on the house stats from the last thirty years or so, mainly so she didn't seem completely ignorant and partially because she loved to correct Ron when he misquoted (he turned an adorable colour when she did) and she knew that Harry could at least be partially thanked for pulling their house out of its rather lengthy losing streak. But that didn't mean she was interested in watching him, and some of her other housemates doing seemingly random skills based drills. The games were interesting, training was not.

And nothing Ron said would convince her otherwise. Damn but she wished she'd brought a book. For some fool reason she'd allowed Ron to convince her she wouldn't need her bag. She could have been doing her homework, or reading ahead for next week's new topic in potions or herbology, or researching the elusive monsters loose in the school. She might have been banned from the library, but the girl who sat next to her in Magical Lore (the class all the Muggle-borns or Muggle raised took while the others took Muggle Studies) Lisa Turpin, had agreed to check out anything she needed for her. Of course she couldn't ask Lisa to get her anything from the restricted section, but at least with her help Hermione felt like she wasn't slipping behind with her homework.

Rubbing her gloved hands together, Hermione tried to get some warmth into the stiff digits, and failing that, shoved them under her armpits, her attention drifting from the streaks of red in front of her - who seemed to in the middle of some kind of reflex training with a really mean bludger - and wander over the pitch. There were no banners today, and the towers were bare of their usual dressings, leaving them to look like skeletal figures looming over the oval of frost white grass. Despite the wind, the only movement around was that of the team, whose red and gold uniforms stood out brightly in the barely risen sun.

The frost was so thick on the ground it almost looked like snow, broken as it was only by the few footprints that crossed it. The grass was just about peeking through where the team had trudged out into the middle of the pitch, in other places the footprints were more like grey dents. Hermione found herself following the tracks. The round dots that were clearly made by dear, likely hours before dawn. A few paw prints – cats or foxes maybe? She couldn't tell from up here. One set seemed to cling close to the edge of the pitch, only visible now as the sun came up and around.

She kept following this set, wondering if the animal had been looking for a way out. And that's when she saw it. Sat on its haunches mostly in the shadow of one of the towers, staring up at the sky. No, not at the sky, at the players on their brooms. The Dog.

It was here.

"Ron! Look!" Elbowing Ron in the side, Hermione desperately groped for his attention. "Ron!"

"What? Hermione..." Ron groaned keeping his attention firmly fixed on the Gryffindor team.

"Ron!" Hermione practically begged, now pulling on his arm as she continued to keep her eyes fixed on the huge black dog on the edge of the pitch. As she shouted though, it turned. It looked right at her. Turning to face Ron she practically yanked him from his seat and belted down to the front of the stands. "The Dog! The Dog it's there! Look!"

"Hermione!" Ron yelped, stumbling behind her. When he reached the front of the stands, he glared balefully at her.

"Just look!" Hermione snapped, pointing in the direction of the base of the Ravenclaw tower.

With a sigh, Ron looked. "I don't see any..."

"The Dog! Its right..." Hermione turned back to the tower. The dog was gone. "... there."

"You and that bloody dog! You're mental you are." Ron huffed angrily. "You nearly broke my bloody arm and for what? A shadow? You've lost it Hermione!"

"But..."

"Hey you two." The new voice made both Hermione and Ron snap their gazes from one another and they found themselves looking at a rather displeased looking Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quiddich team. "If you're gonna disturb my practice sessions you're gonna haf'ta leave. I'll not have Gryffindor lose the cup this year because you two distracted the team in training."

"Sorry Wood." Ron mumbled contritely, shooting daggers out of the corner of his eye at Hermione. "We were just going anyway. Hermione needs to see the nurse."

"No I don..." Hermione began to protest, but the look Ron sent her was enough to silence her. He was really annoyed. Feeling a tug on her arm, she let herself be led away, too embarrassed to protest.

They were almost back at the school when Hermione broke off her silent communion with the ground just in front of her feet and glanced back over her shoulder.

The huge black dog with dusky grey blue eyes stared back at her from the shade of whomping willow for just a moment, before it seemingly vanished into the tree itself.

~HpɸqH~

By the time the end of the month came, and with it an end of her library ban, Hermione was about ready to crawl out of her skin. She was beginning to think Ron might have the right of it and she really had lost her mind. The Dog was everywhere she went. Its shadow tracking across the grounds in the glow of the waning moon. A glimpse of a large black blur darting around a corner in a hallway, only when she turned the corner herself there would be nothing there. The sound of running paws in an empty corridor. Desperate lonesome howls on the night of the full moon.

She hadn't told Harry or Ron about any of this. She'd truly learnt her lesson after what happened at Quiddich practice. Ron had calmed down quickly, but he hadn't been impressed with her to say the least. She knew he was embarrassed, and that he felt she'd somehow damaged his chances of being picked for the house team next year by getting them into trouble with Wood. Harry had been more sympathetic, but had begun to watch her worriedly all the time, like she was about to snap at any moment. She'd overheard them talking one night in the common room. They hadn't known she was there and they'd gone through all kinds of theories to explain her 'madness'. Everything from a left over side effect of the polyjuice potion accident, to being so scared of the Monster from the Chamber picking off Muggle-Borns it had driven her round the bend.

The last was positively insulting. She was a Gryffindor! Scared senseless indeed. Pah!

Whatever the monster from the chamber was, she wasn't scared of it. She had a rational and healthy respect for the threat it posed, even if it hadn't petrified anyone in weeks, but she was not out of her wits with terror. Letting it get to her like that would be counter-productive, especially if she planned to work out just what it was.

Which is exactly what she planned. Right now in fact. Her ban was over, the last class of the day finished, and she was on her way to the library.

Head held high, she pushed open the large oak doors and strode confidently into the familiar space. She could feel Madame Pince's stare boring into her as she made her way through the stacks but she ignored it. Provided she didn't break any of Pince's thousands of rules regarding proper conduct in the presence of books (In Pince's mind, books were clearly the betters of humans) then Hermione knew she was safe. Professor McGonagall had assured her that she would not allow Madame Pince to bar her re-entry to the library once her ban was over, no matter how much the miserable she-vulture protested.

Finding the correct section she was finally able to escape the hawk like stare, and after a few moments browsing titles with a considering eye, she select a few she thought might prove helpful, found a table and settled down to read.

It was in Daloop's Bestiary Horribilis that she finally, finally, found what she'd been looking for. All the evidence fit. Granted there was no mention of petrification but it had everything else... this had to be it. Placing a piece of parchment over the page she waved her wand over it muttering a duplication spell, then settled down to read in more detail. She liked to make notes and Madame Pince would have stroke, and likely cause her some seriously bodily harm if she wrote on one of the books.

Oh dear god. Oh if this was it... Oh dear god. How on earth had a creature like this been moving around the school without anyone noticing?

Wait a minute. Water... there had been water on the floor during two attacks. What went all through the school, that no-one ever thought about? Water water water...

Pipes!

"You! Granger! Second year curfew was an hour ago! Out!"

Startled, Hermione leapt to her feet, finding herself looking down the business end of a feather duster being held by an irate librarian. " . Right now. Just let me get my things."

Edging around the furious crone, Hermione quickly replaced her borrowed books, grabbed her bag, and clutching her scribbled on parchment, she made her way towards the exit. She wouldn't give Pince the satisfaction of seeing her run, but she genuinely hadn't realised how late it was, and being caught by a prefect out after curfew was more trouble than she needed right now.

Of course, with her run of luck lately and seeing as it was more trouble than she needed, the first person she encountered upon leaving the library was in fact, a prefect. A particularly officious one at that.

"Granger! What are you doing out here? You should have been back in your common room an hour ago." The tall, blonde haired sixth year bit out, folding her arms over her chest.

"I know. I got caught up in my reading and lost track of time." Hermione replied in what she hoped was an apologetic tone. This prefect was a Ravenclaw, making a point that she was studying she hoped would buy her some leeway; Ravenclaw was after all the house of the studious.

Pursing her lips, the prefect studied Hermione for a moment then softened slightly, shaking her head. "You're Muggle-Born aren't you? You really shouldn't be out after curfew you know. That monster could still be out there. Come on, I'll walk you back to your common room."

For a moment Hermione was stunned, then felt like laughing. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but you're a Muggle-born yourself, and I hardly think the monster is going to leave either of us alone because of your prefect's badge."

"No, but I have this." The prefect announced a little triumphantly, holding up a small hand mirror. At Hermione's bemused expressed, she rolled her eyes in a very Ravenclaw way; it was expression they adopted a lot when talking to Gryffindors, and although Hermione often sympathised when it was directed at the likes of Ron, Neville or Seamus, she was rather affronted by it. Her affront faded to genuine appreciation when the Ravenclaw explained. "To see around corners. This way, if we see it coming, we can find a better route. You might want to face the monster with all your Gryffindor courage, but I'd rather still be animate by the end of my patrol."

"Sounds reasonable to me." Hermione shrugged. The prefect wasn't planning to take her anywhere she hadn't already planned to go – she needed to tell Harry about what she'd found anyway. She'd considered going to straight to McGonagall, but somehow she felt the professor was more likely to believe something Harry told her right now. And the prefect's plan was a good one. Hurrying a little, she quickly caught up and fell in step with the taller girl.

The first of what was likely to be many corners was quickly upon them, and obediently Hermione hung slightly back, peering around the other girl's arm to get a glimpse in the mirror.

And that's when everything seemed to happen at once. Behind her there was an almighty crash, beside her the prefect gasped, then knocked into her hard, just as she spun around the source of the noise. Knocked off balance, she yelped and stumbled, her attention turning to the stiff grey continence of the prefect, falling frozen to the floor with a deeply inorganic 'thonk'.

Petrified. Hermione screamed. Eyes fixed on the fallen girl.

Something growled. She looked up. Not down the hall, but towards the sound.

The Dog! The Dog was there! Growling, snarling, charging towards her.

She felt rooted in place, unable to move in her terror. Instinctively she raised her arms to protect her face just as the huge beast leapt, knocking her to the floor.

Pinning her down. Long course black hair caught in her throat and nose, the smell of unwashed dog overpowering her senses making her retch and struggled harder as the great beast lay across the top half of her body and head.

Just lay there. No teeth. No claws. Just lay on top of her. Smothering her. Blinding her. She felt dizzy. Her legs stopped kicking, no longer working under her control. Dimly she was aware that the Dog was completely silent. It wasn't even breathing.

She held her breath too. To conserve what little air she had. To stop the hair from getting in her lungs. To keep the smell from her nose. Frantically, instinctively she forced her head from side to side, until a sharp pain filled her face, the beast above her made a noise like a stifled yelp, and she could finally turn her face toward cool fresh air. She opened her mouth, mindless of the wet that now poured from her nose. She opened her eyes.

And the breath she longed to take stuck in her throat as she watched a seemingly endless procession of scales slither past her view.

It was too much. In the hallway outside of the library, buried under a Dog no-one believed existed, next to the petrified form of Ravenclaw prefect Penelope Clearwater, Hermione Granger fainted.