Many thanks to my beta David James (TheUnrealInsomniac) for turning my mish mash of words into an actual chapter.
Silver
Lost
It was a quarter to midnight and the people of the small, working town Sirius found himself in were fast asleep.
Every so often, the sound of laughter cut through the silence. At this hour and in a place like this, it could only mean one thing- last call had come and gone.
With the exception of a few stragglers, he'd been alone most of the night.
Normally, the silence would've been cause for alarm but in this particular occasion, it was a good thing.
It meant they hadn't been found out or discovered.
With its old buildings and houses, you could easily see the bones of a once charming little town. Over the years however, it had fallen into disarray. Buildings had crumbled away to broken shacks. Shops were boarded up and closed down. Lawns were nothing more than dirt with the occasional yellowed patch of grass.
All in all, the place looked shit.
Sirius raised his fag to his lips, only to find that it had burned out and become ash.
He flicked it away and reached for his pack, finding it nearly empty.
His eyes flit down to the pavement. Scattered around him, were cigarette butts. Smoke still wisped up from a few. He picked up his last fag and crumpled the box, throwing it away.
Cigarette clasped firmly between lips, he reached for his lighter. As he did, a dog barked in the distance and he froze.
Sirius held his breath, eyes turning towards the sound. Roaming over shadows as he flicked his lighter. Inhaling deeply and with a casual grace that belied his rapidly beating heart, he leant against his motorbike and scanned the skies.
Nothing but stars.
Exhaling upwards, he watched as grey smoke morphed with the light breeze.
The image of a smoky Dark Mark flashed through his mind. Blazing heat and terrified screams. Flying spells and the smell of burning flesh.
Sirius took another drag. His throat tight. Gut aching.
He was just anxious. He always was before any mission. After two years, all of this really should have felt like second nature.
Except it didn't.
He'd been fighting for two fucking years now.
Seventeen and fresh out of Hogwarts, he'd been too young for this bollocks. Nineteen wasn't much better.
They'd all been too young. Too damn naive and idealistic. Hopeful, arrogant at best. They'd actually believed the end of the war was within reach. All it'd needed was a few people to reach out and claim it.
Now that he was a little older and a bit wiser, he understood that he hadn't known shit.
Many battles would need to be fought and won before the war came to its inevitable end. At this rate, it was going to get nastier.
Death Eater attacks every other day. Families tortured to death. Imperiused children killing their family members. Giants destroying entire towns. Inferi roaming the countryside, mauling Muggles- it went on and on.
War was so much shit and the glory he'd imagined had been nothing but a pipe dream.
The reality was dueling for your life and accepting the fact that you'd have to kill. It meant death, loss and fear. It was knowing that you weren't in control.
He'd nearly died twice.
Third times the charm.
His gut squirmed and Sirius took another drag.
It pissed him off that some people still didn't understand that.
Then again, he thought, these were the same morons who believed the Ministry was in control. Considering the day's events however, that idea was downright laughable.
Minister Bagnold had signed off on Crouch's Law, which permitted the use of Unforgivables by Aurors.
It had been a startling sign of the times to some and it had actually caused an uproar. A small number of people thought the new law unnecessary. As the good guys they'd reasoned, there was no need to resort to tactics used by the other side.
He raised his fag to his lips and inhaled. His mind buzzing with the stupidity that was wizarding kind.
Did they not understand that lines had become blurred ages ago?
This new law didn't do fuck all because, contrary to popular belief, Aurors had been using the Unforgivables long before any stupid bit of parchment had been signed.
Could anyone really blame them?
Honestly, what did people expect?
For Aurors to use Expelliarmus when an Avada Kedavra was being fired at their heads?
Of course scared witches and wizards used the Unforgivables.
'Fucking morons,' he murmured, pale eyes scanning the street.
It was ridiculous that it'd taken this long for that particular motion to pass. Frustrating too.
Damn bureaucratic bullshit.
This, all of this, was the Ministry's fault. Had they acted sooner, none of this would've happened. Voldemort could've been neutralised long before he'd spread his pureblood agenda. Fuck knows there'd been warning signs. Rumours had spread. Disappearances happened. Suspicions had been whispered, doubt had steadily grown.
Eventually, corruption and fear played their part but still, something could have been done. By the time Voldemort had been acknowledged as a true threat, it'd been too late. Now their lives lay in the mercy of a psychopath, hell bent on ruling them all.
It was doubtful that Voldemort could have ever been stopped. Determination had always been a bitch of a driving force but had he been watched, he wouldn't have become this powerful.
Innocent men, women and children died every other day now. All because idiots sitting on silk cushioned seats had been too stupid to act.
Now the man commanded an army of dark creatures and pure blood elitists who didn't think twice about ending a life.
A particular mask with distinctive markings flashed through his mind then. Familiar, grey eyes staring back at him from behind it.
Run you idiot! Get away from here! GO!
He clenched his jaw, shutting that train of thought down.
Sirius checked his watch, fifteen minutes to go.
His leg shook and he swallowed thickly, resisting the urge to pace.
Crouch's Law had been physical proof that their government was failing them. As unwelcome as the realisation was, it was also a relief. The unknowing masses couldn't hide from the truth anymore, they all had to face the facts.
Voldemort wasn't going away. The war was going from bad to worse and more needed to be done.
Ignorance was no longer an option.
No one in the Order had been surprised about the law - Dumbledore had warned them. He'd known of it from the beginning, so he hadn't been surprised. One of his many spies had warned him and he in turn had warned them.
Sirius doubted he'd been shocked by the information. It'd probably been nothing more than confirmation to him.
The man was two steps ahead of the game. Always and without question.
Which was troubling, because something had clearly caught him off guard.
In the past two months, he'd appeared to age a decade and they'd seen less of him as of late. The war could've been blamed, but it would've been a lie.
Dumbledore's mood swing had been far too sudden. Too abrupt.
The implication that the powerful wizard had been shaken made Sirius uneasy. That Moody was more paranoid than usual did not help.
He checked his watch again.
Twelve minutes to go. He couldn't wait anymore. Anticipation was doing a number on his gut. With a final drag of his cigarette, he pushed off his motorbike and made his way around the corner towards the mouth of an alley.
He was exhausted. Perhaps Remus was right- a night off wouldn't hurt. This fucking war wasn't going to end anytime soon. Nor would it suffer a devastating blow if he didn't volunteer for every mission.
Logically, he knew that ... but still.
He checked his watch and groaned when he saw the time.
Twelve minutes to midnight.
Sirius swore under his breath as he raised the time piece to his ear, half sure that the bloody thing was defective.
James and he were to be the distraction tonight.
Their mission, to attract the attention of the low ranking idiots stood outside a Death Eater hideout. A clumsy, Omniocular carrying, Phoenix T-shirt wearing James would be discovered nosying around. Alert and ready, he was to dodge and run. Never ones to resist easy prey, Death Eaters would naturally give chase. Prongs would then make his way to the alley where he would be hiding, ready to cover his friend. Together they would reach his motorbike and flee.
Again, Death Eaters would give chase, though more out of anger rather than sport. All the while, hidden Order members would storm inside and raid the place. It was their responsibility to keep the Death Eaters distracted and away from calling back-up. An hour's worth of chasing was requested with the firm order to keep the masked wizards at ground level and to not be seen doing magic. Or so demanded Dorcas the Great Obliviator.
It was an easy plan. Safe as far as Moody had been able to see and in Sirius' professional opinion, bloody fucking dangerous. Experience had taught him that there was no such thing as an easy mission. Plus, he didn't exactly trust Mad-Eye's definition of safe.
The Auror had just lost a chunk of his nose on what the mad bastard had dubbed, one of the easiest missions of his life. He felt justified in doubting the older man's judgment.
This easy mission could just as well be the one that did him in.
His stomach clenched and rolled as bile burned his throat. Sirius doubled over as he lost his dinner.
Spitting, he checked his watch.
Ten to.
'Fuck's sake,' he growled. The closer it got to twelve, the farther away it seemed.
With a final sweep of the street he made his way towards the middle of the alley where an overflowing bin stood.
Doing his best to ignore the potent stench of rotting and spoiled food, he nudged a nearby box with a boot clad foot. It moved slightly. With a firmer push, the box scraped closer to the bin. It was only then that he spotted a suspicious looking puddle.
Not at all enthusiastic with the fact, he crouched down between the box and the bin and over the puddle.
The combined smell of rotten egg and stale beer assaulted his nose. As the seconds passed and the longer he sat there, Sirius began to taste the unpleasant stench in the back of his throat. He gagged and his eyes watered.
Fighting the urge to be sick again quickly took a backseat when sudden noise alerted him to an audience.
Without a thought he reached for his back pocket.
In the alley entrance, staring at him, were four girls. Three were giggling. One was pointing.
Grey eyes zeroed in on the outstretched hand and his breath hitched as everything slowed to a standstill.
For one heart stopping moment he'd imagined a wand aimed at him.
Run you idiot! Get away from here! GO!
... Except there was no wand.
No uttered incantation to end his life. Not this time. Not yet.
He shut his eyes and attempted to steady his rapid and shallow breaths. His pulse pounded in his temples.
Laughter. He heard laughter. Not screaming, cursing or killing.
He opened his eyes and studied his surroundings. Seeing everything and nothing at once.
'Muggles,' he shakingly whispered. 'Just Muggles.'
Cold sweat ran down his body, causing his t-shirt, with its phoenix logo to cling to his torso.
Just four swaying Muggle girls, laughing at the guy crouched by a bin.
How he hated giggly, drunk bitches.
As they eyed each other a bang rang out, startling him much more than he would ever dare admit. Looking upwards, he saw ruby sparks fizzling out.
He needed to get the Muggle girls away from here and quickly.
'Oi!' he shouted, successfully drawing their attention back down to him. 'What you looking at? Never seen a bloke take a shit before? Go on, piss off you perverts!'
More giggles. As they staggered away his eyes remained on them.
Only when they became a vague mass in the distance did his focus return to the darkened alley in which he sat.
He loathed to admit it, but a part of him envied them. Here he was risking life and limb sat over what may-or-may-not-be-piss, and there they were, pissed and laughing. Completely unaware of the danger they had been in. Or that the bloke with the shits may have just saved their lives.
Taking a shit.
Were he to die, those would be his last words. He was oddly okay with that.
The highly expected, and yet still surprising sound of rapid footsteps caught his attention.
His wand's hold tightened as a wide eyed James came running down the alley at full speed. Occasionally throwing a random spell over his shoulder.
'They've got bloody brooms!' he yelled as he ran past.
In the blink of an eye, his best mate reached the alley entrance, shot a spell in his direction and quickly turned right.
'Shit!'
Jerking to avoid the spell, his back slammed into the wall and his arse fell right on the puddle. A cold and wet sensation crept up his back just as the massive container to his left glowed bright yellow. With a great hearty belch, the bin regurgitated all its contents and rubbish exploded into the night sky. He heard disgruntled yells and only then did he realise how close the black robed wizards really were.
'PADFOOT MOVE!'
He didn't need telling twice.
Sirius ran towards his messy haired friend, dodging spells as he did so.
James wave his wand once more and rubbish flew up and behind him.
As he reached the alley entrance he looked back and saw the two lead Death Eaters collide and fall. The ones behind them struggled to maneuver around the rubbish attacking them.
Sirius skid to a stop, raised his wand and with a hasty swish and flick, the box shot upwards with an innocent ping. It hit the closest Death Eater, shattering the broom from under him. With a resounding crack, the wizard fell face first onto the unforgiving pavement and didn't move again.
He ran- they needed to get to his bike.
'You could've fucking warned me!' he growled as he reached his panting friend, now stood next to his motorbike.
In response James grabbed him by the bicep and pulled, causing him to stumble just as a fireball passed his left ear.
Recovering, he reached for the handlebar, threw his leg over the seat and sat down.
The engine revved up and the headlight flickered on. He felt James sit behind him and with a step on the pedal, they were speeding down the street.
Spells rained down on them. Some missing them by a mere foot. Though aimed at him with the intent to injure, even he had to admit that their spell work was embarrassing. Behind him, he could hear James' return fire and by the sound of it, a Death Eater had gone on the defensive. He heard a muffled yell, swiftly followed by the clatter of a fallen broom. James laughed as another Death Eater landed before them, a few feet away from his rapidly approaching motorbike. He felt James move and the bike wobbled.
As they neared the wizard Prongs' magnified voice called out. 'Catch!'
A golden blur flew over his head and the masked wizard reached out a hand to do as he was told.
Seconds away from crashing into him, the Death Eater disappeared in a flash of light.
He shook his head in disbelief as his best mate cheered.
Twenty-three. Fucking unbelievable.
Cutting through alleys, main roads and a rather large park, they drove on. All the while spells flew past them or clashed with James' shield.
Their level of skill was pathetic.
Either these wizards were useless - or they were youngsters fresh out of Hogwarts.
Run you idi- he pressed down on the pedal hard. With a burst of speed they shot forward several feet in a matter of seconds.
A streetlight appeared in the distance, signaling a fast approaching intersection. With a slight nudge, the bike turned left. James' shield crackled as several spells hit at once. They flinched, ducking their heads on instinct.
Inexperienced or not, the robed wizards still outnumbered them.
A fireball hit the road and he swerved to avoid the smoking pothole. Several more spells flew past.
There were far too many of them and they were far too close.
He turned right, only to find he had driven onto a cul-de-sac. His eyes searched for an alley, a path, anything to aid their escape. There was nothing but quiet and dark homes, framed by sturdy trees.
Glancing at his watch he swore. They couldn't fly yet. It was still too soon.
He and James were now fast approaching the end of the street. There was nothing for it, they would have to duel. It wouldn't be much of a fight he had to admit, but it was still too public an area. Hopefully no kids slept by the windows. If they were lucky, the trees would take the brunt of the spells.
He stopped the motorbike.
Sweat dripping down his back, adrenaline pumping through his blood and with a pounding heart he got off the bike and waited for the Death Eaters to close in.
Confident in their victory, the masked wizards stopped firing spells and began lowering their height. White, unmarked masks gleamed in the moonlight. Black robes billowed behind them, catching on twigs, leaving a trail of falling greenery in their wake.
With a rush of inspiration Sirius reached for his wand. In one swift move, the two black haired youths raised their wands. With the sound of creaking wood, the trees came alive. One after the other, ancient branches swung down onto the black robed wizards and Death Eaters fell from the sky.
Dazed and groaning, they landed amidst torn branches and innocently falling leaves. He spotted a broken broomstick amongst the debris. A foot away, still holding on to its polished handle, lay a convulsing Death Eater.
James and Sirius jumped back on the bike as three of the Death Eaters started to stir.
'Mate?!' yelled James over the engine's roar, 'You're wet and smell like piss!'
Famous last words. Huffing a laugh, he revved the engine and turned the motorcycle around. With a screech of its tyres and the smell of burning rubber behind them, they once again found themselves racing down the street at full speed.
Around and behind them, lights flickered on. Chances of The Great Obliviator hearing of this increased by the minute.
They sped along through alleys, darkened streets, empty roads and a motorway for what felt like hours. The mission, now long over and forgotten, had given way to an impromptu high speed joy ride.
He didn't know what brooms the Death Eaters had, but he felt a rush of pride at the fact that his motorbike outran them all … as well as Muggle police cars.
He smirked.
As they'd neared the outskirts of London, a police car had appeared out of nowhere and had been chasing them for about twenty minutes now. Its loud siren almost drowning out the bike's engine.
He couldn't see the Death Eaters. The police car's headlights saw to that, but he knew they were there. He could still feel the bastards.
Death Eaters were flying after them and now the bobbies were chasing them as well. He laughed as he took a sharp turn and the car's wheels screeched behind them.
James' exhilarated laugh rang in his ear. 'Go faster!' he yelled. So he did.
The Great Obliviator would definitely be giving them a stern talking to Sirius thought with a barking laugh.
If he survived the night, Statue of Secrecy speeches would be in his near future once again.
Fucking war was exhausting.
Death Eaters, Muggles and the Ministry.
One war, three different fronts.
He really was tired.
He didn't know whether to call Dumbledore's recent personality change another war front or not, but it sure as hell felt like he should.
Something big was happening and he didn't know what. That he was powerless to stop it left him feeling overwhelmed. He really hated not being informed and having information kept from him.
He didn't know what the future held. Didn't even know if there was a future for him to be had. He could just as easily die tonight.
At the moment however, none of that mattered.
Because here and now, with his best friend at his back, racing against death and law, he was invincible.
Hermione felt invisible whenever Albus Dumbledore looked at her.
His stare was a bit too penetrating and far too knowing. It gave her the sense that he could see everything that made her her. As if she was crystal clear to him. Like he could see right through her.
Perhaps he could. Or maybe, she was just easy to read. It could just as well be a bit of both.
There was no way to keep a secret from him, she was an open book laid out before him. Ready and waiting for his perusal. Every chapter, an important piece of the plot that would tell her story.
It made her feel judged, awkward and uncomfortable in her own skin. It terrified her to think that the longer he looked at her, the more he would come to know. Like he was studying her.
'Have you purposely locked me out Miss Granger?' he asked her yet again.
He'd phrased it differently though. As if switching the words around, or replacing one with another would change anything.
'Hermione...?'
She hadn't. Not intentionally anyway, but she hadn't said as much. So the silence, which may as well have been an admission of guilt, lay heavy between them.
Sat opposite her, he'd maintained his silent watch as she fiddled with her sleeve. She just couldn't bring herself to make eye contact.
Other times, his gaze made her feel guilty. As if he knew all her dirty little secrets. Most likely he did, now that she thought on it.
He never had asked her who she was. How she had come to be here or anything personal.
Yet, upon waking, his first words to her had been 'You are safe now Miss Granger.'
Her head had spun.
From the moment her eyes settled on his wizened face, she'd known exactly what had happened and what it had all meant.
Dumbledore was alive and he was years younger than she ever remembered him being. That alone had spoken volumes.
After a series of rapid fire questions that would've put any game show to shame, she had answers.
She was in nineteen seventy-nine. She had arrived on the seventeenth of January. She was to be kept in the castle and stay in her room. She could not be seen. She could not be heard. The walls had ears, eyes, and mouths after all. Not to worry, he would handle the situation. The Time-Turner was safe. She was safe.
Except she wasn't.
The world had shifted and nobody knew it but her.
'Miss Granger?'
According to Dumbledore, she had appeared at an Order safe house in the middle of a battle, began to scream and had to be Stunned. Because of her odd arrival, at that exact moment no less, Gideon Prewett had delivered her to him. When she had been resuscitated, she'd been unresponsive. He claimed it'd lasted a week.
That small fact replayed in her head.
Her mind had failed her. The one thing she had relied on to save her, turned out to be the one thing to betray her the most.
The Imperius Curse, shock and then her mental breakdown.
Weak. She was weak.
Hermione hated that she had been reduced to this.
It hadn't escaped her notice that while she had asked question after question, he had not asked her a single one.
The curly haired witch suspected that he already knew everything he needed to know anyway. Legilimency was a highly skilled art and though nothing she learned of the craft stated it could only be performed on an alert mind, she suspected it had been used on her when she had been unreachable.
How else could he have known her name?
She should have felt violated at the fact. Insulted and angry. Disgusted at the complete breach of her privacy.
Yet... she couldn't bring herself to care.
She didn't have enough energy in her to muster up the appropriate amount of indignant rage.
She shifted in her seat and the room spun. Shutting her eyes, she breathed in deeply through her nose.
'Miss Granger, when was the last time you slept?'
When had she slept?
She didn't know. She could easily lie and say last night. But he'd know. He always knew things didn't he? Especially now and especially about her because she was an open book and because she didn't belong. She was a dangerous, non-entity with no right to exist here. So he kept a close watch, and asked her questions that he already knew the answers to.
Fact was, she couldn't sleep. It evaded her. She'd tried, but she may as well not have, for all the good it did.
Hermione had lost count of how many nights she had lay in bed and waited for sleep that would never come.
Instead, she'd find herself staring at the darkened stone above her. Watching as the glow of torchlight danced across the ceiling and gave way to golden morning light. Birds would sing, owls would hoot and the ancient castle hummed with life.
The need to sleep would then give way to her, willing herself to get out of bed. Only to find that in the blink of an eye, another day had passed her by.
After three weeks, her skin had begun to itch with the need to contribute. To research. To do something.
She wasn't some helpless little girl in a fairy tale. She couldn't sit idly by, locked in a tower waiting to be saved.
After much begging on her part, Dumbledore had offered to let the house-elves supply her with books.
She politely declined his offer.
Instead, she proposed the idea that she be moved to the Room of Requirement. To her surprise, he hadn't known of it. She doubted it would affect the timeline if he became aware of its existence sooner rather than later.
So she was moved. From a hidden room reserved for the current Headmaster's family, under the cover of night, and a powerful Disillusionment charm, they moved silently towards what the house-elves knew as the Come and Go room.
After stepping inside, she found herself in her childhood room. Photographs of her parents, the Weaselys, Dumbledore's Army, of Harry and Ron smiled back at her.
She'd slept and had felt at peace for the first time since waking in nineteen seventy-nine.
Then her research had begun.
Upon her command, book after book on the theory of time travel materialized. Hidden away from the world as she was … it became far too easy to believe that here in her room with a book, that everything was as it should have been. She soon found herself losing track of time.
It also didn't help that here in the Room of Requirement, days and nights blurred together.
She struggled to find a reasonable explanation. Something, anything, which would justify her lack of sleep and take away the saddened look that was surely aimed at her by the great Albus Dumbledore.
Finally, she decided to answer with an honest, 'I don't remember.'
'You cant recall?'
'No.'
'I see,' he said quietly. 'Considering your situation, a lack of sleep is most assuredly understandable.'
Still avoiding his eyes, she nodded.
More silence.
'The house-elves have informed me that you have not been eating or taking proper care of yourself.'
Shame. Embarrassment. Guilt.
Her clothes were stained and sticky, her hair a tangled, oily mess, the fingers of her right hand were a purplish hue from all the ink...
She just hadn't cared at the time. They did not matter, not when she had other, more important things to worry about. Looking after herself seemed too trivial an issue when compared to the overall picture. So yes, she had neglected or forgotten a few things. But she was fine. She was okay. It wasn't a big deal.
'I'm not hungry,' she murmured.
'Hermione-'
'-I found new research!' She got up and made her way towards the cluttered desk. All of a sudden realising how much mess was strewn about. Books, parchment and broken quills littered the floor and seats, the bed, the tables …
When had that happened? When had the room become so messy?
Embarrassed at having Albus Dumbledore see this, she willed the room to tidy itself up. A blink later, stacks of books and parchment sat on her desk. The documents she had been looking for moments before now lay proudly atop a stack of parchment.
Picking them up, she made her way back towards Dumbledore.
'In Time Unwound or Defining and Explaining the Paradox of Time. Maybe it was Time-Turners: Myth or Fact? I don't remember.' Shuffling through the parchment she found a page she'd been looking for. 'It was Magical Theory of Time. In chapter one hundred and twelve, page nine hundred and seventy-eight it says that under special circumstances, the Ministry of Magic can supply another Time-Turner, but that they need to be told of the severity of the situation first. I know you said that was unwise and I understand, but you know people who would be able to bend the rules Professor. You're Albus Dumbledore. This is another one of those situations.'
He sighed. 'Miss Granger.'
'I know what you're going to say Professor.'
'Hermione-'
'Please sir! Just listen!' she pleaded.
'That's enough.'
Though barely spoken above a whisper, Hermione felt the full impact of those words and shame flooded her. The weight of his disappointment crushed down on her. She finally looked at him.
He looked tired and worn down. As equally overwhelmed and lost as she felt.
'I'm sorry.' For doing this to you. For everything.
'No my dear,' he said. 'I am the one who is sorry. After everything you have been through, I had asked you to trust me. Without so much as a shred of doubt have you questioned my actions since. Your faith in me means much more than I am able to say Miss Granger and I in return, pay you back in kind with failure.'
'That's not true Professor.'
He raised a hand to silence her. 'It is my dear. Forgive me, but it is. I had seen it then, as clearly as I see it now. You have not been coping well. Under your current circumstances, you are handling the situation well. As well as can be expected at any rate. Better in fact, than would most. That is not to say however, that you are well. Against my better judgment, I still allowed you to remain here.' He moved his arm across the Room of Requirement. 'In perfect solitude. It was to ease your discomfort, I told myself, as you helped research time-travel. Knowing perfectly well that your research would yield no results.'
'I could help!' she argued.
The Headmaster shook his head. 'You cannot help.'
'The books …'
'Are based on educated guesses with facts thrown in to support the authors' theories.'
She stared down at her notes with her cramped writing. At the ancient books scattered around them.
No, she refused to accept that. It was a lie. Shed find something.
She would.
She had to go.
'Magic at this level is far beyond even my scope of knowledge. And I must admit that even if your notes were to provide a small fraction of light on the situation, I would no longer allow you to continue your work. It has overwhelmed you and you have focused on little else since. Researching and taking notes has, forgive me, become an unhealthy obsession.'
She squeezed the parchment held between her hands. Her miniature and messy writing mocked her. No longer desperate to read her notes and share her findings, she placed them on the table between them, written side down. It didn't help.
She had written on the backs of the parchment as well.
'I explained to you, soon after you recovered, the situation at hand. That immediate action would be impossible,' he stated and she nodded.
In her time, she had read enough material on the First Wizarding War to know that the Ministry was infiltrated by spies and cursed individuals. The Department of Mysteries had not been an exception.
One wrong move on his part and her safety would be compromised.
'Though I know of many individuals who could be of some assistance, I feel most secure speaking only to one man in regards to your situation.' Sighing, he removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his crooked nose. 'Reaching him however, has proven to be most difficult.'
He put his glasses back on and pierced her with his all knowing stare.
'It seems that certain Ministry officials have been tagged and are under watch for their and, I'm sure, our safety. Saul Croaker appears to be one of these individuals.'
At the mention of Croaker, Hermione raised her head and stared at her former headmaster.
'I've heard that name before,' she said quietly.
He nodded. 'No doubt you have read of him. He is, as of today, considered the topmost authority on time-travel.'
Always with his silence or half-truths!
She shook her head and swallowed a painful lump. 'No. Not from books. The Unspeakable who sent me here ... She mentioned him.'
'All the more reason to speak to him alone,' he said somberly. Silence, and then, 'Miss Granger …'
'What about him?' She asked desperately. 'What's the problem?'
She didn't like interrupting him but she couldn't bear to hear him apologise. Not again. She wouldn't be able to handle it.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, settled further back into his seat and crossed his legs.
'His owl post is monitored. His Floo connects directly to the Department of Mysteries and as his personality can be found to be lacking, he has no known friends. A house-elf tends to his home and keeps him well fed. In short, the man has no reason at all to ever leave his home. His sole purpose in life is his work, socialising is the least of priorities. He is in fact known to have as much a friendly disposition as that of Alastor Moody. On the rare occasion he is so inclined towards human contact, he seeks the company of others, not the other way around. Suffice it to say, were I to suddenly fancy a cup of tea with the man, it would be highly suspicious.'
Great, she thought. Her life and by default the fate of the world, lay in the hands of a hermit with a dislike for human contact.
'-taken to having me followed. Just the other day, I became aware that my own movements are highly monitored as well. An older gentleman followed me all throughout Hogsmeade. From Scrivenshafts to Zonko's, he was there. He was soon replaced by a young woman, whom I'd recognized walking these very halls only a year prior. She followed me into a shop. Remained there the length of time I did, bought all that I did, and left seconds only after I myself departed. Why the Dark Lord would be interested in the type of hair care products I use is admittedly, most disturbing.'
She couldn't help it, she smiled. It felt foreign and odd. Like her facial muscles were just now trying a new exercise for the first time.
Something in her face must've shown because his eyes roamed over her face. His stare, contemplative.
She was a book again. She looked away and stared down at her joined hands. Her jagged nails were bitten down to the nub. A few had bled. She didn't remember biting them.
After a prolonged silence, in which she felt the full weight of his calculating gaze, he spoke. 'Needless to say, reaching Professor Croaker had proven to be a most difficult task. More so than at first anticipated. However, after much work on behalf of Alastor and Gideon, he reached out to me. He arrived late last night, and after Veritaserum, many reassurances and vows, he took the Time-Turner with him.'
Her head snapped up, eyes wide, 'What?'
She was not stupid. Whatever else she may have become, her intelligence was the one thing that had not yet failed her. Hermione had known long before tonight, that her situation was much worse than he was letting on. Far more complicated than she was allowing herself to accept. She had touched the Time-Turner with blood soaked fingers, and the golden trinket had shined silver soon after. It did not take a genius to figure out that that was decidedly not normal. That Dumbledore had become increasingly agitated over these past few weeks only worked to prove the fact. That he had now allowed the Unspeakable to take the powerful object away from Hogwarts spoke of a growing desperation.
Which meant that Dumbledore didn't know what to do.
She may not be able to go home.
Panic. Sudden and wild ran through her. Overtaking all her senses.
She struggled for breath as her chest tightened. Her vision blurred and her palms began to sweat.
The one thing that could help her was out there. Away from Dumbledore. Away from her.
Unprotected.
The large room suddenly felt too small.
The walls were closing down on her.
'Miss Granger...?'
The room spun. No. It was shaking.
Trembling. Crumbling. Falling. The walls were going to crush her. She was going to die.
'Hermione?'
The walls were morphing. She was back in the cellar. She couldn't breathe. She needed oxygen!
Where was the window?!
A cold rush of air invaded the room.
Rain.
She smelled rain.
She shivered and her skin broke out in gooseflesh.
Somewhere thunder roared and the wind howled. Lightning flashed and the room continued to shake.
Sounds were muddled.
She was trapped and alone again, no, she wasn't alone. Someone was talking.
She looked upwards and found the small rectangular window. The grass, swaying violently in the turbulent wind.
Were they the ones calling her?
She trembled from the cold as she took rapid breaths. A strong, reassuring pressure gripped her shoulders.
'Hermione!'
She looked away from the small window in search of the sound and found a pair of blue eyes an arm's length away.
Blue eyes. The Woman.
Hermione fought to break free from the older witch, but her grip was too strong.
A woman was screaming. A deeper voice was yelling. A man. 'Breathe!'
A mouth. A white beard. A crooked nose.
Dumbledore.
He was the one shaking her, ordering her to breathe. Terrified eyes drifted over the cellar.
Had Dumbledore rescued her? Was she safe now?
The Woman! Where was she?! Had she gone?
She turned to look over her shoulders, but the elder wizard's hold remained firm.
'Look at me Hermione!' he demanded with a firm shake. 'Eyes on me! Now breathe.'
She took a deep, shuddering breath, and then another.
Sturdy arms encircled her.
Realisation slowly flooding back.
As it did, the cellar disappeared and her room returned.
Lightheaded, Hermione's knees gave away and she crumbled to the stone floor.
At the last second, the room supplied a soft cushion. It never registered. Nor did the fact that the headmaster had joined her on the dirtied floor.
Desperately clinging to Albus Dumbledore, she sobbed against his chest as the powerful wizard held her to him.
She wanted to go home.
When her tears were finally spent, she fell into a restless sleep.
She had been awake three days.