Author's Notes:

HEY what do you think of bringing Lupin back? No, seriously, readers will have to forgive me, it's one of the things I've resolved from 2005 (!) for this plot, absolutely impossible to change. So please assume he outlived Tonks - aww...

Life had changed so much yet so little. Here she was, at a library, trying with all her might to concentrate on books as she looked for answers to questions from the outside world.

Thick raindrops hammered the tall panels. It was all heavy rain that time of the year, so she had no hopes for good weather that day. Her bag laid on its side by the table, near one of the three large books she was to borrow today, since she hadn't managed to read a sentence without daydreaming. It was concern, she told herself, it was the need for closure. For a long time no secret was kept between the trio, but these moments were coming back to their routine. McGonagall said she'd write at seven to tell if her traveling had been successful and that was about as much as they all knew.

Harry and Ron would be there, and so would Lupin - apparently more out of mistrust than hope for breakthrough. She hadn't seen them these past four days. Long days at the office, they said, of heavy paperwork, and a need for overtime. Their only chance at being aurors without impeccable NEWTs results was to prove one's drive that way. She wrinkled her nose at the long text columns in front of her. Amidst other arguments (expressed in lengthy letters to both her friends), she thought this was far from the proper way of admitting people into any of the Ministry's positions, much less the Magical Law Enforcement. And even if the papers insisted on generalized euphoria, the Eaters' trials were far from an end.

Moreover, justice was served long cold. This was the matter at hand that day: the aurors had failed to find Bellatrix Lestrange. Or was it Black?, her husband having made it clear she was a traitor, and a blood-traitor, for leaving him. Hermione felt it was her duty to attend to all trials, beyond sickness and revenge. What had drawn her, unlike Ron and Harry, to apply for St Mungo's Training School was a morbid desire to judge human nature and to mend all harm done by the War.

But what she failed to grasp was crucial and always stopped her from reaching the ultimate truth - there was no ultimate truth. The good she believed in was engraved in her spirit.

It was almost six thirty when she gave up trying to read that final volume. A thunder roared outside. What she needed was to think, consider separately every element presented to her, as she couldn't stand trying to get any more information out of Lupin as he refused to talk. For the tenth time that week, she tried to recall the whole scene to try to pick more clues of his involvement.

McGonagall reported that, having consulted with Dumbledore's portrait on Bellatrix ("a rather desperate measure, I admit, but well rewarded"), she followed his suggestion to find something left untouched from his ownership and found an envelope magically attached to the top drawer of his old desk. "After a... whimsical chase," McGonagall was then able to open the envelope and read the letter. However, she said, "it was not until I searched again for magic that a name and a land were revealed: Russia," she gave Lupin a significant look as he raised his eyebrows.

Dumbledore probably meant for that envelope to be sent, and even found by someone else, otherwise he would have actually tried to conceal it. A more thorough search would certainly find the letter. But he intentionally hid the receiver's name - again not completely -, for someone who was actually looking for it. The letter itself could not be read or sent accidentally and it did not accidentally give evidence to whom it was addressed.

But who was this mysterious wizard who lived in Russia and how could he help them catch Bellatrix? She had to assume Lupin knew him, or his fame, so she had been looking for a name in magic or related to any historically remarkable achievement in tracking-related areas, but somehow she felt she was being dragged by a stride and couldn't reach any conclusions. The Russian and English magical community had exchanged little or nothing in recent years, as far as living beings were concerned, and the little she managed to find about that nation (only on papers that dated back to the First War) showed that their policy was more restrictive than cooperative.

Hermione had to admit to herself that she was in the dark. She remembered the librarian's expression as she stumbled through possible dates for the papers - she hadn't a clue. But then again neither had McGonagall because she was the one who asked Dumbledore's portrait what to do, not him who asked her a favour. The letter had no date and was only sent because she found it, and she only found it because she was looking for it. So maybe it was a general request for assistance or a warning of sorts, the latter requiring little or no involvement - which was not the case, given to McGonagall's latest traveling - but both implying Dumbledore knew that the Lord's most faithful follower might eventually leave other Death Eaters and run away on her own.

Finally, six fifty. The librarian was jumped as Hermione shut her book and hastily waited to check them out. The raging storm inspired visions of winds blowing curls everywhere and that insane cackle, but as she left the storage where the exit of library led, she made herself impermeable.