A yellowed map rested in the trunk of a solemn-looking, black-haired, boy. Upon it, unseen and unnoticed, the name 'Albus Dumbledore' slid back and forth across the space of a room, a headmaster's office. It was pacing. It was anticipating the arrival of an unwanted change, an unwanted shift in what should have been a straight line... a shift that might affect everything...

"SIRIUS BLACK!"

The black-haired boy grimaced. "Yes?" he called down the stairs, a hint of fear in his voice.

"What do you mean 'yes'?!" she screeched, "You're leaving!" After a lack of reply she yelled, with even more distaste, "Now!" The boy slowly descended the stairs, confusion spreading over his features.

"The Hogwart's Express leaves tomorrow."

"I know that! Do you now think I'm stupid?"

"No, mother," he said, just barely containing his rage.

"Don't call me that! You're hardly my son." She raised herself to her full height, still not quite as tall as her son, but far more terrifying. "We won't be arriving with you and a night on the streets can only do you good now." She noticed he didn't have his trunk in tow. "Get your things, then!" Waving him off, she called, "Kreacher! Fetch Regulus' cloak; he's left it at the Malfoy's."

And with that swift dismissal, he gathered his things together in his room, taking one, last quick look about the room, grinning at the defiant red and gold coating every surface. He tucked his wand into his pocket and left the house, without so much as a goodbye, knowing he would never step foot in his childhood home again. The weight of sixteen years of contempt lifted slightly, his feet becoming lighter with each step.

***

Elsewhere, in a different time, a different place, a girl with brown, bushy hair sat on the end of a small, weary-looking cot, loss etched into the look in her eyes.

The wind hacked away at Hermione's will to do anything. It seemed to wash hopelessness upon her in waves and, though she knew it was the Dementors, she found herself inclined to believe it was her own doing. Bread and water wavered into existence on the end of her bed and she rushed for it, nearly choking in her haste to swallow half the loaf whole. Seconds later every last crumb was gone and she leaned back against the cold, hard stone, resigning herself to the fact that this was her existence. She couldn't do spells, she couldn't bend the bars on her window, she couldn't conjure up a nice fat turkey, she couldn't help, she couldn't fight, she couldn't do anything but remember.

So she remembered Harry. His last words to her had been 'I'm so sorry.' while she struggled in Bellatrix's arms as she was taken to this god forsaken place. On the way out she'd heard his scream: once, loud and strangled. She got pulled into the same memory she'd been going over relentlessly for the past month and found herself not even wanting to escape it, not even wanting to forget. It was her fault, and this somehow seemed like sufficient punishment…

Bellatrix cackled, just like Hermione had imagined witches would cackle when she was younger, had they existed. Harry's scream left Hermione still, her crying stopped, her breathing paused and her mind acknowledging one simple fact; We had lost. Seven years of trying, seven years of hoping and it was all finally over. We had lost. She moved forward like a ghost being swept by the wind, not even fully registering the side-along apparition until Bellatrix jerked her arm through a large stone archway that read, 'Azkaban'…

She banged her fist against the wall and sent obscenities reverberating into the distance until her throat was soar. Her body shuddered with empty sobs. She went to stand by the bars. As ever, all that could be seen were waves warring waves and sky pelting that which was originally sea back so violently she thought it might tear a hole into the very fabric of the universe. The noise of it all made her shudder and take a step back. She turned her back on it all and closed her eyes. She wished it all away for a moment until-

A light patter sounded in her ears, growing louder. She wondered if the ceiling was leaking. She opened her eyes. The patter stopped. She looked up; no leaks. A look towards the window confirmed that the wind wasn't blowing the rain in and a look at her cot made sure the bed wasn't knocking against the wall. What was it?

Then something in her peripheral version made her tense up and reflexively reach for her wand, though she knew it wasn't there. She pivoted slowly, gasped, then rushed forward to check it wasn't a hallucination.

A cat, with rectangular markings around its eyes, had somehow appeared in her cell.

"McGonagall!?"

The cat nodded.

"How did you- wha- wh- oh, thank god!" She hugged her old professor with so much vigour that the cat began scratching to get her to let go. She waved her paw in the direction of the other wall, a sign that Hermione should turn round. She did so. A light scuffling on the floor and the 'swish' of a spell being cast sounded behind her. A female voice delivered, "You may now turn around, Miss Granger."

She hugged her again and asked, in the voice of someone desperate, "Why are you here?"

"I thought that would be obvious," said McGonagall, almost in the same tone as Dumbledore used to have.

"Where are we going?"

"Back to school."

Hermione's brows furrowed in confusion and she took a step back. "But… V-voldemort's in control." She wavered, even now, on his name.

"We require something within."

Hermione took deep breaths, sucking in the cold air, feeling it sting her throat.

"But we've… Professor, we've lost," she whispered.

"I am well aware of- of the loss we've all had to bear, but we haven't lost until we've tried everything we can," choked the Professor.

"Yes," Hermione said gravely, though she disagreed. Professor McGonagall sounded as though she'd been clutching at straws for a very long time. "How do we get out?"

"You are, I assume, aware of such a thing as an Animagus… seeing as I taught you, I'd hope you remember." Hermione nodded. "That is how I entered, how Sirius left… and how you shall leave."

"But… I'm not an Animagus, Professor."

"That doesn't mean you can't be."

Hermione finally understood. "Okay. Let's get started."

***

McGonagall had conjured a hair band for Hermione, who had tied back her hair with the first grin in months. Hermione had figured that they would have cast spells to prevent magic within Azkaban, but they must have been so sure that no one could enter without their having sent them, therefore wandless by the Ministry's law, that the specific charm must not have been cast. She missed her own, but thought it unlikely that she would ever see it again.

"Now focus. You must focus extremely hard, remember."

"Yes, Professor."

For the hundredth time that day, she closed her eyes and focused on her destination, as though it were apparition, and felt her body tingle somewhat. 'Follow the steps'. She repeated it over and over in her head. 'Follow the steps, Hermione.'

She felt the air swish about her and put her arms out to stop herself from falling. She didn't though, her hands just met the ground as lightly as though she had leant over to pick something up. She pulled open her eyes and had to look up to find the Professor, who, once found, was grinning from ear to ear.

McGonagall transformed, trotted to her side and said, "Let's go, shall we." Hermione, ecstatic after a month of trying, pattered off, after her favourite Professor.

Once they had reached the very same archway through which she had entered, passed through it, sprinted forward, beyond the boundaries of the anti-apparition charm, transformed back and confirmed their destination in a rush, they apparated… right in front of the school gates.

"Quickly, quickly," said McGonagall, "Granger! Before you're seen!"

***

Hermione padded back through the same hallways in which she had once laughed with Harry and Ron, somberly noting the dull sense of fear, grief and hopelessness that now coated every breath she took. She looked up at Professor McGonagall, who frowned as though saying, 'I'm sorry.' The professor looked up and nodded towards their destination at the end of the hallway: The Headmaster's office. Hermione stopped. McGonagall shook her head and whispered. "Severus isn't here." Hermione continued on, reluctantly, more aware of her surroundings than ever.

"Prince," McGonagall confidently stated to the gargoyles, who promptly nodded as the stairwell circled to meet their eyes. The staircase slowly moved upwards and, once they reached the top, she opened the door, walked in, and stopped in front of a stone basin. "You may transform now."

Hermione closed her eyes and felt the world turn about her once more. She used Professor McGonagall's wand, who had politely left it on the edge of the basin, and conjured herself some robes; Gryffindor out of sentimentality. "Okay," said Hermione, "What are we doing here?"

She gestured towards the basin.

"Is that a Pensieve?"

"Yes… Mr. Potter explained it to you, I'm sure."

"Yes, but… I don't understand. How can a memory help us?"

"I'm not sure, but Professor Dumbledore left you something in his will that the Ministry never deemed 'necessary' to give you."

"He left me the Pensieve?" said Hermione, slightly sceptical.

"No," said McGonagall, "He left you a memory. According to his will, it is to 'expand her serious studies and prevent any miscalculated and regretted mistakes'. I was rather hoping you could enlighten me as to what that actually means."

Hermione gave herself a moment to let this sink in. She was about to see something that Dumbledore himself had experienced. What could it be? Why her? Surely it should have been left to Harry. She warily eyed Professor McGonagall.

Disregarding her suggested question, she asked, "What's in it?"

"I don't know. So far, not a single person has gotten past pouring it into the Pensieve, including all the might of the Ministry. I have a feeling that Professor Dumbledore only meant for one person to view it."

Hermione began looking around surreptitiously for the cabinet in which Harry had said the memories were kept.

"It's not in there," said McGonagall. Hermione stopped looking and blushed lightly. "I've got it. It took some rather strenuous work, but I have it." She reached into a pocket of her robes and pulled out a small, fragile-looking vial, filled with a swirling silver mass. It looked to be half gas, half liquid. She reached for it unconsciously and McGonagall allowed her to take it. Carefully, she took out the stopper.

"Why didn't they give this to me earlier?"

"They didn't deem it an actual possession. Given that it wasn't the vial itself, but the thing inside it, which has no defined form as yet, they just about managed to keep it legally, stating it didn't exist."

"Oh," said Hermione, still slightly entranced by the swirling memory, "May I?" She gestured towards the Pensieve. McGonagall nodded and Hermione tipped the vial of unknown knowledge into the basin. "Are you coming with me?"

"I can't. Only for you, remember?"

"Right." She cleared her throat. "Well, um- see you soon, I guess." She felt a bit ridiculous, sticking her head inside a basin, but, seeing as that was what she had to do, she plunged in.

A/N: Thanks for reading that. I'd love to hear what you think. This is to be my first proper piece of ff. Hope you liked it.

Ever your faithful servant,

- QM