Reverse

by Lady Moonglow

Hermione is unexpectedly swept into a dystopian world of opposites where Dumbledore reigns as Dark Lord and Muggle technology and the Dark Arts have revolutionized Britain. A Light wizard resistance led by Tom Riddle and the Malfoys has been left to a nightmarish fate. Can Hermione, posing as her darker incarnation, help save a world more shattered than her own? HG/DM

33. Unfavourable Odds

*READ FIRST! Plot-relevant A/N: Let me reiterate before this chapter begins that, because I started this storyline before DH came out (hence the fact that in this timeline the war went on another half-year before Harry's final face off with Voldemort, which wasn't at Hogwarts), Snape's loyalty was not so clearly established. If Harry Potter had seen any of Snape's memories about his work for Dumbledore because of his feelings for Lily, Hermione didn't know about it before she got transferred to Universe B.

Anyway, this is a LONG chapter. Lots to absorb. Perhaps read it in parts. :-)

Unfavourable Odds

Hermione let out a long, heavy sigh and leaned against the stone wall of the rustic Tribute shower, the hot water surging toward earth from a simple pipe perched above her head pounding the tense muscles of her neck and shoulders like a soothing balm.

It was hardly 9:30, yet she felt exhausted.

She closed her eyes, and couldn't help but think of the conversation she'd had with Pansy only minutes earlier. The dark-haired woman had been silently rummaging through her armoire, her lips pressed tightly together. She hadn't said a word since she'd offered Hermione a change of clothes to use after Harry had stormed out of the Tribute.

Though Pansy had stood by Hermione during the row, Hermione couldn't tell if she was angry with her for tossing her relationship with Harry into the fight. After all, Pansy seemed to be the only thing that meant something to Harry. Hermione was actually somewhat concerned he might abandon his support of the conservatives entirely if their relationship was fractured or ended.

"I didn't mean to cause a rift between the two of you," she finally said awkwardly.

"No, Hermione." Pansy sounded tired. "You've more than proven your trustworthiness. They should have never put you through that. The fact that he doesn't even realise what he…"

She trailed off, as upset and frustrated as Hermione had ever seen her, and Hermione seized the moment to try to glean a fraction of insight into Harry Evans's befuddling psyche.

"I just wish I knew how to get through to him!" she exclaimed quietly. "I try and try to connect, but nothing I say ever seems to matter!"

Pansy sighed. "That's because it isn't just what you say, it's how you say it. Harry can give off an air of detachment, but he's very perceptive. I've seen it, Hermione — he can sense any aversion or disingenuousness or force behind someone's words, and it turns off his humanity, just like that. That terrible, despicable woman did that to him," she spat, her jaw clenched slightly. "It's as if he expects anyone who approaches him in all the ways she has to simply be some other form of her, cloaked in disguise."

"But that's mad! What does he expect everyone to do instead, bow and coo to him?… Not that you do," Hermione added hastily.

She shook her head. "This world is mad, Hermione. And Harry grew up in the midst of the very worst of it." She bit her lip, looking indecisive. "You… You can't tell him I said this, but he — he actually saw his mother kill his grandparents. When he was only three years old."

Hermione's eyebrows flew up, her eyes widening. She easily recalled the articles she'd read about James Potter's execution, and the few conspiracy speculations around Lily Evans that had been quickly hushed afterward. Still, the idea that Lily would go through such lengths as two brilliantly framed murders to ensure her husband was eliminated, when she'd only been married to him for less than four years, seemed insane. "Why would she—?"

Pansy pulled back from the armoire, a purple sweater and jeans in her arms, and closed it with more force than Hermione had ever seen her use. "Because she's a monster, Hermione. She hates him because he reminds her of James. She only married that poor man for his money and only carried Harry through term because she thought he was going to be a girl. She never wanted a son, and she actually tells him that to his face! Can you imagine how being raised in that kind of environment could affect someone?"

Hermione had formed a similar theory after she'd witnessed the brief, frigid conversation Harry and Lily had exchanged in her bedroom. Now that she knew with certainty it was true, she felt the last of the fury she'd flung at him that morning fade from her veins, the grudge wedged deep against him for his callous attitude toward her and the aid he'd provided Snape crowded out by compassion and sadness.

Even in a different universe in which his mother had lived, Harry still hadn't found familial happiness. If, as another article had suggested, Lily had indeed seen her step-father abuse and kill her mother and himself when she was young, or worse, and that trauma was manifesting itself now in an extreme tendency to hate and conquer men, then Harry could very well be the embodiment of everything Lily abhorred… possibly even explaining why she might have been inclined to adopt My.

But there was still one thing Hermione didn't understand.

"Why hasn't Harry cleared his father's name? Convicted his mother instead?" she asked in confusion. "It's obvious he hates her. I can't imagine any reason why he'd try to protect her secret."

"Oh, he couldn't, Hermione!" Pansy exclaimed, sounding horrified at the very thought of it. "They'd — They'd make him 'disappear' before he did! The Sovereign himself favours Lily. It was a lucky thing no one else witnessed it to know he witnessed it. Even Harry didn't understand what he'd seen, for years. When he finally made sense of it, it was when he and I'd first became friends… oh, back in third year, it was. He wasn't eating, he wasn't sleeping, the work he was doing was frankly just atrocious and he seemed to hate everyone more than normal… but no one else quite seemed to care."

Hermione's eyebrows flew up. "And you became friends with him then?" she asked in disbelief. If she thought Harry was unbearable now, she couldn't even imagine what he was like when he was worse 'than normal,' and if that were the case, she would have never expected shy, soft-spoken Pansy to be the one to face the dragon, so to speak.

Pansy shrugged. "We were paired together for a major Muggle Literature and Philosophy project. I couldn't exactly avoid him. And I — I saw so much of my father in him. Tough nuts on the outside, the both of them, but they've such a rich centre on the inside for anyone who can actually crack through the shell. So, I approached him the exact way I would my father, and - and it worked." Even she sounded surprised as she recounted it. "It took awhile, but… he let me in. I don't think he'd ever let anyone in, before."

Her blue eyes became distant, softening. "There was something so… innocent and sincere and genuinely grateful about who he became when we were together. Like he was — he was just so happy he didn't have to hide that part of himself anymore." She smiled slightly. "It was… quite sweet, really."

Pansy's glowing words of praise rang disbelievingly in Hermione's ears. Mother of Merlin, they weren't talking about the same Harry, were they? Was Pansy's Harry an interloper from yet another dimension?

Then again, the man was in love with Pansy, not her, she supposed logically… as difficult as the idea of Harry Evans possessing the capacity to feel love was for her to comprehend.

After a moment, Pansy shook her head, as if to clear herself from a fog, and finally handed Hermione the change of clothes. "When Harry trusts you and feels safe and accepted around you, you'll never find anyone more reliable, Hermione."

Merlin, wasn't that the truth, Hermione thought, feeling a painful ache in her heart at the memory of her grinning, good-hearted Harry Potter. Her recollections of him, of her parents and the Weasleys and her old life, had begun to remind her of a nursing home elder reminiscing about people and places long departed. It was as if, in the course of a single day, everyone she had ever known — everyone — had died, leaving her alone in a strange and foreign land.

Would she ever — could she ever — get used to the idea that she would never see any of them again?

"The problem," Pansy continued, "is that no one's really given him a chance to be himself." She studied Hermione closely, hesitating. "You haven't."

The comment jolted Hermione from her ruminations, and she stared at Pansy in shock. "What? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't think I'm taking his side; I'm not," Pansy said hastily. "I'm still upset with him. He needs to see that there are good people who exist who don't deserve his - his utter boxness sometimes!" She looked frustrated as she spluttered out the strange nickname Hermione'd heard her use toward Harry more than once. After a moment, her nervous gaze returned to Hermione. "But I — I know how much you wish he was the Harry from your world. I think you even were just now. And Harry knows that. He knows you think he's a — a lesser version of himself. So, in his mind… he's already discounted what you're saying and half tuned you out, Hermione."

._.

Hermione turned off the flow of water, still at as much of a loss as to what to do with Pansy's accurate insight now as she was then. She'd initially wanted to vehemently disagree with her, but she knew it was true: she did it all the time, sometimes whenever she so much as looked at Harry, it seemed. She'd honestly never thought that she might have contributed toward his seemingly blanket dislike of her. But she had no idea how she could get herself to actively stop comparing them, not when her memories of Harry Potter were so plentiful and strong.

Whatever the solution, it would undoubtedly require effort… effort she didn't have time to expend as she hurriedly pulled on the clothes Pansy had lent her beneath her riding boots, hastily pinning her hair up into a twist. She paused briefly by Draco's room. Her stomach fluttered slightly as she vividly recalled laying beside him the night before, the soft intensity of his bright grey eyes, the sensation of his fingers entwined with hers, tangled in her hair, his lips on hers…

No, Hermione — focus!

She shook her head and forced herself to quickly move on from beside his door when she heard movement inside. In her haste to exit Tribute CV, she nearly tripped over the front doorstep, shoving a(nother) slice of poppyseed bread in her mouth that she'd grabbed on the way out. Memories of the countless times Ron had done something similar during breakfast in the Great Hall caused her to smile slightly… until she looked at her watch and held back a curse, hastening her speed toward the building in which she'd duelled Riddle the night before.

She had exactly 17 minutes before his enigmatic summit began.

She was determined to corner him about Snape before it started.

Inside the central Tribute, Pansy was making herself tea in the kitchen area, and still seemed a bit morose even though she'd insisted to Hermione she'd be alright.

"Pansy, have you seen Tom?" Hermione asked as gently as she could, though loudly enough that her voice carried across the expansive ground floor.

"Oh!" Pansy looked startled and smiled weakly, placing a hand over her heart. "Sorry… What?"

"Is Tom around?" Hermione repeated.

"Oh, I, erm…" She pointedly jabbed the tip of her spoon upward. "He headed that way a moment ago, I think. You can't be too far behind."

"Thanks."

No thinking about Harry Evans/Potter, she told herself sternly as she dashed up the great staircase that soared toward the Tribute's closed top floors. No thinking about her intimate night with Draco. Just trying to ascertain exactly how and why Riddle could ever trust that slippery snake that was Severus Sna—

She abruptly hurtled into a tall body that suddenly entered the third floor landing from one of the open doors on her right.

"Oh!" Hermione gasped, swiftly catching her balance on the balcony's railing. "I am so sorry, I wasn't…"

Hermione glanced up apologetically, expecting to see Tom Riddle.

Lucius Malfoy was standing hardly a foot away, wearing non-designer robes and Muggle-like clothing.

However she was going to finish her apology halted on her lips, and in her surprise she flashed back to the last time she had encountered him in her universe…

In Malfoy Manor.

While she was being tortured.

"Tell me what else you took, you filthy mudblood, tell me!" an awful voice shrieked in her head, and she fought to breathe, gripping the railing tightly.

"Oh, my apologies, truly," he replied absently. Startled, Hermione jerked from her thoughts and forced herself to focus on him as he patted his front shirt pocket and then those of his pants. "I regrettably seem to have misplaced my spectacles…"

He paused. Eyes as grey as Draco's peered at her curiously, though his appearance was far less grizzled and shabby than it had been when she'd seen him briefly the night of his rescue. "Ah. Another new face. And who might you be, Miss…?"

Hermione swallowed hard, catching her breath. His platinum hair was pulled back in a ponytail, instead of falling down around his face like that of the man she remembered staring at her in with such contempt in the Hall of Mysteries. His present demeanour was also rather disarming, and both attributes went quite far in helping her mind to separate this Lucius Malfoy from the prejudiced Death Eater of Universe A. Not to mention how happy his reunion with him had made Draco…

Yes, she thought, drawing up her shoulders and standing erect. I can do this.

"Hermione… Granger, sir," she said, a bit nervously. "I'm a, erm…"

Maddeningly, another memory of the previous night's kiss chose that moment to bubble up to the forefront of her mind, and she flushed in mortification. Bloody hell, of course this would happen now!

"—a friend of Draco's," she finished hastily.

"Hermione Granger!" he exclaimed, at once turning back into the room from which he'd come. "Oh, goodness me, where are my glasses…?"

Hermione sucked in three quick breaths, trying to suppress the triggered memory of Malfoy Manor and wrangle her subconscious mind's obviously exceedingly twisted sense of humour back into submission. At last, she felt composed enough to glance after him into the room. She was astonished to see an extensive library, the volumes lining the rather cosy space beautifully maintained for a place that had likely not seen people for ages.

She wandered inside, her eyes wide and mouth partially agape. "Are these books available for anyone to use?"

"Oh — Oh, yes." Draco's father seemed surprised and distracted by her question, and his brow furrowed ponderously. "Well, I hope so, at least. I have been, and no one's scolded me yet."

Hermione realized she wasn't being particularly helpful, and closed her gaping mouth, joining him in his search. After a minute, she spied a pair of silver bifocals on the floor beneath the back leg of an armchair. She retrieved them quickly and hesitantly tapped the back of his shoulder. When he turned, she held them out to him. "Mr. Malfoy — here."

"Oh, there's no need to be quite so formal, Hermione. Lucius, if you please. And thank you." He accepted the spectacles from her and put them on. "Ah. Much better." He looked down at her, smiling pleasantly — a truly strange sight. "At least now the woman to whom I understand I owe quite a bit isn't simply another blur."

Hermione actually glanced behind her to see if anyone else was standing there before she looked back at him in surprise. "You… don't mean me?"

He seemed astonished she had to ask. "Of course I do. You… You saved my son's life, Hermione." His regal voice shook slightly. "Giving you my thanks doesn't begin to cover the extent of my gratitude, nor that of my wife, were she standing here beside me." Tears visibly sprung to his eyes. "For all we know of the life beyond this one, she very well might be." He took her hand and clasped it in both of his, grey eyes focused and shining. "I may not have all my faculties returned to me yet, but if there is anything I can ever do for you — anything at all — please do not ever hesitate to ask."

Her eyes began to burn. So often her efforts to assist the Light went unacknowledged… Such was the nature of being a spy, she knew, but it made even the smallest word of thanks deeply meaningful, and such an expression of warmth from Draco's father held even greater significance.

"It… it means a great deal to hear you say that. Thank you," she replied earnestly. "But Draco is a very special person, sir. I can't imagine anyone else with half a soul who might've found themselves in my position wouldn't have done the same for him."

An expression that could have been anger, anguish, or both entered his gaze, and his soft-spoken voice rose abruptly. "If the majority of this country had but a sliver of a soul, the beastly abominations he endured at the hands of t-those — those brutish, Dark Arts-twisted avaricious demons would have never gone on as long as they did!" His hands had begun to shake, and he hastily set her hand back at her side before he clenched his own and then crossed his arms, placing one hand over his mouth, his jaw tight. "Forgive my outburst," he said stiffly, taking several small breaths in an attempt to return to the mild-mannered persona he clearly preferred.

"I may have lost some years, but I am still well versed in the way of this world," he said quietly at last, his voice again as smooth, placid and genteel as the Lucius Malfoy she remembered… but lacking entirely in malice. "And I know you risked your very life to care for his when no one else could or would. Every day." His grey eyes studied her closely, looking amazed. "A man you hardly even knew."

Hermione shook her head, slightly embarrassed at the praise he was heaping upon her and wondering exactly what else Draco had told him about her. Realizing that, in some ways, she might know his son better than Lucius did, and hoping to deflect a bit of the attention off herself, she said, "That's one of the wonderful things about Draco, sir. I know I just met him, but in a way, I… I feel like I've known him my whole life. He has the ability to…"

She felt herself flush as she realized what she was saying. The voice that instantly berated her sounded like Ron's.

'I feel like I've—' deep sigh '—known him my whole life'? Bloody hell, Hermione— Couldn't've possibly picked any more of a romantic line to hide your romantic relationship, could you have?

"…erm, to make others around him feel quite at ease," she finished awkwardly.

Her blush only deepened when Lucius stopped looking distraught long enough for his brows to furrow curiously at her. She willed the heat away from her face and shifted uncomfortably, desperate for an excuse to leave before he guessed exactly how well she knew his son. Somewhat frantically, she glanced at her watch.

Sweet Morgana — Nine minutes!

"Merlin!" she gasped. "I'm so sorry, but I have to talk to Tom Riddle before the meeting begins…"

"Oh, yes, you're quite right, the meeting…" Lucius nodded and waved her away, seeming sufficiently distracted, thank Merlin. "Please, go ahead. I daresay my impudent interruption's delayed your plans, and for that I must apologize."

Hermione withheld a smile, and the urge to rush to the door. She could see exactly where his son got his manners, even if the two had spent most of Draco's life apart. "Oh, not at all!" she said. "Draco's spoken so highly of you. This was hardly an impudent interruption."

"You're far too kind, Hermione," Lucius said as he walked with her to the door. "Have you… any idea if Draco is on his way?" He sounded oddly hesitant. "I was about to see if he was awake, before we, er, had our collision." His eyes held poorly concealed worry. "I'm certain he's fine, of course; I know he's simply been trying to recover, but, well," he looked down, twisting his hands, "in my ignorance I've proved to be the worst kind of father and a horrid old sod to him for much of the week, and I feel as if I—"

"Oh no, I'm sure that isn't true!" she exclaimed before he could go on. "I'm never seen Draco seem so happy as he did when he told me you'd improved— " She caught herself a moment before she said, last night, and said instead, "—yesterday. I'm sure he'll be here in no time, if he isn't already."

Lucius gave her a small, grateful smile. "I'm glad to hear that, Hermione; thank you." He peered down into the Tribute's empty depths. "Ah, but perhaps there wouldn't be any harm in simply… popping by the old Coniunctus Viribus to have a look for him, regardless," he said to himself. "Unless…" He glanced at her, his gaze more uncertain than she'd ever seen Lucius Malfoy appear. "My boy's become… quite mature, hasn't he? A man, now; hardly a boy. It'll be no time at all before he's as old as I was when he was born." His voice was choked. "You… You must be about his age, aren't you? Do you believe he'd simply think me a bothersome old goat if I went to check up on him?"

Hermione felt her affection doubling for this starkly different, almost sweetly courteous iteration of the bigoted man of her world. "Not at all! I imagine it'd mean a lot to him to know you were thinking of him!" For some reason, Lucius's parental concern threw into greater relief the loss of her own parents, and she blinked back more tears as sorrow permeated her chest. "I know he's missed you very much," she said, her voice softening. "I'm quite certain he'd be ecstatic to spend as much time with you as he can."

Lucius's thin face collapsed slightly with a similar mix of grief and joy that Draco had worn when he'd discussed their reunion the night before. Hardly a second passed before he skilfully covered the expression with another small, polite smile and a nod, though his eyes were watery. "In that case, I… expect I'll do that, then."

"I'm glad." Hermione gave him a hurried but heartfelt smile. "It was very nice to meet you, Lucius."

Great Godric, never thought I'd hear myself say those words.

Promptly, Lucius faced her fully and took her hand, bowing slightly from his shoulders, while Hermione observed his chivalrous behaviour in bemusement. He straightened again, in possession of leagues better manners than Lord Ronáld and half the "Elites" she'd met thus far, and his exceedingly proper decorum led her to wonder if he'd somehow still experienced the stereotypical affluent Pureblood — or, rather, Old-Blood — upbringing that Draco and Pansy hadn't seemed to.

"The sentiment is very much returned, Hermione," he said, his voice aristocratically cordial yet, somehow, still genuine. "Draco and I will see you in what must only be a matter of minutes now, surely."

"Yes," she nodded, looking back at her watch. "Seven, to be exact."

She all but charged up the rest of the stairs to the war room. Upon reaching the door, her steps halted abruptly. She frowned. The glass-encased room seemed different, somehow. It took a moment to realize that its central, round table had been shrunk dramatically, now comfortably holding just seven plush chairs around it rather than the massive many that had so impressed her before.

Thankfully, only one of them was currently taken, by Pansy and her cup of tea. The dark-haired woman was conversing with Tom Riddle, who was standing near a wood-basined pensieve a few feet from the table, a small, worn leather book open in his hand, though he wasn't looking at it.

Hermione bit her lip, then decided that sometimes rudeness could save lives and hurried across the room toward them, glancing briefly at Pansy. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I need to talk to you," she said, turning toward Riddle without bothering to waste time with a greeting.

Pansy didn't seem terribly surprised. "It's alright, I know you were looking for him earlier, Hermione."

Nodding at her once in thanks, Hermione returned her attention to Riddle. She was struck by how tired he appeared, deep shadows hanging beneath his eyes.

"What can I do for you, Hermione?" he asked, his voice as gravelly as hers had been at 3:00 that morning. Hermione wondered how late he'd stayed up the night before and fervently hoped this wasn't a bad time to breach the subject, but she had no other choice.

"How can you trust him?" she whispered urgently.

Riddle closed the book, holding it under his arm, and rested his elbow on his wrist, the knuckles of his right hand at his chin. "And the 'him' to whom you're referring is…?"

"Snape!" she exclaimed in a low voice.

He frowned, his gaze sharpening as he stared down at her intently. "If this is because of last night…"

"It isn't because of last night!" Hermione hissed, and found she felt somewhat insulted at the insinuation. "It's because he was a spy in my world as well, but he was more than that — he was a double agent! Our leader believed in his allegiance, even though no one else did. And, big shocker, not only did Snape end up betraying our side, he was the one who killed Dumbledore! The man who trusted him most! Don't you see the parallels?"

For a man who apparently hadn't gotten much sleep, Riddle seemed to absorb the shock of information in stride. To her frustration, though, he only shook his head. "Hermione, as evidenced by everyone who will soon be sitting around us, you and me included, our two universes are very different creatures. You said so to me yourself less than twelve hours ago."

"But that's just it! They aren't always!" Hermione protested, thinking of Filch and Lavender and even Dumbledore, who had sounded so similar to the Headmaster she had known.

For a split second, Riddle's gaze became pensively distant before he focused back on her closely. "Answer me this, Hermione: If I broadcast to each and every person who will be arriving at this meeting the exact reasons behind your conversion to our cause without seeking your consent, how would you react?"

"I wouldn't care. I've nothing to hide," she said unhesitatingly. "The horrible oppression of these people— Mandatory use of the Dark Arts— Violation of- of practically every human rights code on the planet—"

"Ah, that may be true, but it wasn't the plight of all oppressed people that caused your earliest acts of defiance, was it?" His dark eyes probed hers deeply and she knew what he was doing, but against his constantly searching gaze she had to wonder if her Occlumency was of real use. "No. You originally, and continually, put yourself at risk because of one very specific person. You know it. I know it. Now, would you like the rest of the world to also know who that person is and just how very much he means to you?"

Hermione pressed her lips together unhappily. She knew exactly the point he was trying to make and hated that he was using her own weaknesses against her to make it. "Are you saying Snape has a—"

"No, I'm not saying Snape has a Draco," Riddle said in a low voice as behind her, more people became audible in the stairwell outside. "What I hope you'll take from this is that the driving motivations for our most fundamental loyalties are intensely personal. I have my reasons for trusting Snape's allegiance, but they are not mine to share. Now, you're welcome to ask him yourself, but something tells me he won't be terribly keen to divulge it."

"That's right. I won't."

Hermione stiffened, clenching her wand.

She felt, more than saw, a hulking black form move alongside them.

"Does anyone not see the diverting irony of this?" Snape asked. "The body-snatcher from another universe comes to my planet and says I'm not to be trusted. I think the better question is, how do we know we can trust you?" He swivelled his head toward Hermione.

"I can't believe you're still asking me that after last night!" she bit out furiously. When he simply raised his eyebrows, she exclaimed, "I know I'm trustworthy!"

"Well, I know I'm trustworthy. It would seem we're at an impasse."

Riddle briefly brought his hand to his forehead. "Children, please proceed to the table and take a seat," he said, sounding beleaguered.

"But—"

"Ms. Granger. We can discuss this further afterward if you would like, but my answer will remain the same, though likely delivered in a more personable voice and pleasant tone!" he said firmly, sounding very much like Professor McGonagall on one of her more curmudgeonly days. "In case you haven't had the chance to notice, the name of this Tribute is Absit Invidia, and I'd prefer that motto also extend to our interactions while we're inside it — both of you," he said with a stern look at Snape, who was in the process of sticking his tongue out at Hermione and making a face.

Snape instantly straightened with an artificial expression of utmost innocence.

Hermione's mouth dropped in disgust at the potion instructor's repulsive lack of professionalism, not to mention maturity. Scowling, she followed his gaze back to Riddle. "Fine. Go ahead and accept his - his feigned smiles and pseudo good will," she hissed. "But if the tables turn and he's at the wheel, don't say I didn't warn you!"

She brusquely brushed past the urbanely dressed professor, angrily dropping into the seat beside Pansy. Thankfully Harry, who must have entered with Snape, had chosen to sit several spaces away from her, and was staring at the table rather than toward either of them, wearing his usual, brooding expression.

Pansy silently reached over to pat her knee, her eyes sympathetic.

'Thank you,' Hermione mouthed, glad to have anyone else's support.

With a flourish of his cape-like robes and another snide glance at her, Snape sat down next to Harry, and the two began speaking in low tones. Honestly… How could no one else see the warning signs she did?! She found it incredibly ironic that in her universe, she had usually been the one holding back Harry and Snape from spitting hatred at each other — well, Harry at least — and now, here the two old enemies were, sitting together congenially, while she was the one feeling acrimonious.

Hermione glanced back over at Pansy, who was looking idly around the war room, anywhere but where Snape and Harry were sitting. Hermione tapped her leg and tilted her head toward Harry questioningly, her gaze silently asking if the other woman was okay.

Pansy sighed, leaning over to murmur, "I suppose it helps that he's trying to avoid looking at me as well…"

Just then, someone dropped down in the seat beside Hermione, and she saw a flash of blond hair before Draco bent over, sliding his cane beneath the table. Her heart started beating faster as he straightened, his loose hair neat but damp, as if he'd just showered.

"Morning, Pans," he smiled over in greeting at the other girl. He turned his attention to Hermione, something softening in his eyes and easy smile. "Hello," he said quietly.

She felt a nervous tremor in her chest, and berated herself for it. Merlin, Hermione, really? Draco was her closest friend here, yet she suddenly felt like — like some silly schoolgirl who'd come face to face with her crush. Why couldn't My's self-assured sex goddess persona accidentally spill over into this part of her life?

"Good morning," she said tentatively, offering him a small smile.

Draco hesitated, then turned his head toward her ear. The smell of pinewood and lemon followed the motion, stronger now that his hair was wet, and it triggered a burning sense of warmth and wanting in her stomach that she tried to ignore. "Thanks for the alarm," he whispered.

"I was hoping you'd sleep long enough that you'd need it," she whispered back.

"It's only thanks to you I did." He scanned her eyes, deep gratitude palpable in the sudden, soft intensity of his own. Hermione felt drawn into them, couldn't pull away from them. Sweet Morgana, so much had happened between them the night before… so many emotions had poured from the both of them, and so much had been said, and not said at all…

With some force, she made herself look away and around them nervously, hoping no one else was noticing their close exchange — Merlin knew she didn't want to give Harry any more fuel after his derisive comments that morning.

When her gaze returned to Draco, his expression had lightened to one of amusement. "I must say, awakening to the gentle sound of Tibetan bells ringing high in the Himalayas on an autumn day was much more pleasant than birds screeching in my window at 5 am. Can you even make alarm charms that specific now?"

She sensed he was teasing her. "Be thankful I chose that and not an air horn," she retorted.

Draco's brow furrowed. "Air horn?" he echoed blankly.

"Yes, and take good care not to get on my bad side," Hermione replied with an arch smile, "or you'll have the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of discovering what it is."

"Bad side? Impossible," he said, shaking his head in what was clearly mock disbelief. His voice lowered slightly, the twinkle in his eyes never fading. "From where I'm sitting, I rather think all your sides are exquisitely—"

"Don't you dare finish that!" she hissed. She restrained herself from swatting at his arm, her face flushing as she hazarded a glance over his shoulder, where Riddle was standing in conversation with Lucius a few feet away.

He laughed. "I was going to say useful, Hermione, useful!"

His amusement was contagious, but she tried to maintain a halfway chiding expression. "Right, of course you were. And in front of your father—"

Draco followed her gaze. "Who isn't paying us the slightest attention now. Breathe easy, Hermione."

"Thank Merlin for that," she muttered, remembering how she'd already contemplated their kiss while speaking to Lucius; the last thing she needed was for him to see them publicly flirting when he'd only just met her — and his son, for that matter. Still, she couldn't help but smile. "I ran into him this morning, you know."

"Yes, he… said that." he suddenly looked nervous. "What'd you think of him?"

"Oh, Draco, he's lovely. You can see how much he cares about you," she whispered. "He's wonderfully proper and polite, isn't he?"

Draco nodded, smiling. "My grandparents brought him up that way. He was actually raised entirely in our family home, and of course that included plenty of formalities you can't quite imagine a child being required to learn. Private tutors, regular etiquette lessons and coming of age cotillions, all of that." He tilted his head appraisingly. "It was perhaps a bit too proper, actually; my mother had to make quite an effort to shake out the stuffiness a bit when she moved in."

Hermione's eyebrows flew up in surprise, vaguely remembering a story she thought Draco had told her, though she couldn't recall when, about… about throwing a large party for Bathilda Bagshot while living in a small flat. "Did you live at all in Malfoy Manor?"

A strange, pained expression crossed his face. Abruptly, he looked down at his hands, clasping them tightly. "Not… exactly," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. Her gaze flew to his in concern, but he didn't look at her. He cleared his throat. "I was born there, apparently. And— And mum and father spent a few years there together, before it was, erm… taken from us."

Hermione remembered reading that many Old-Blood families had been stripped of their estates and titles following the first conservative "intervention," and she was about to ask him who on earth had taken possession of his family's… when she noticed the other conversations around them had hushed.

Tom Riddle pulled out the chair next to Pansy, while Lucius sat beside Draco. He placed his hand on his son's shoulder and then leaned past Draco slightly to give Hermione a nod and a friendly smile, which she returned, eternally grateful he hadn't been close enough to overhear their conversation a few moments earlier.

Riddle cast an alert gaze around the table, his posture at once poised and relaxed. "Before we begin," he said conversationally, "I'd like you to take a look around you."

Given that the two people directly across from her were the two people she'd rather not look at, Hermione glanced toward Snape and Harry only briefly before returning her attention to Riddle.

"Who you see here," he went on, "represents the only coalition of witches and wizards in the United Kingdom who are free, willing, and able to defy the Sovereignty. Now, I believe we've all met each other. Harry, I was just pointing you out to Lucius; Harry, Lucius Malfoy," he said, holding out a hand to gesture between them.

The two men glanced at each other to exchange rather taut nods. Then Lucius clasped his hands in front of him. "I hope you'll… all forgive me if I take upon the role of observer rather than participant," he said, a bit more reserved than he'd been in speaking with her. He smiled, though discomfitedly. "I'm still in the midst of regaining my footing in a wide swathe of areas, I'm afraid."

"Of course; thank you, Lucius. We're simply glad to have you with us," Riddle said.

Hermione suspected he wasn't just referring to Lucius's physical presence in the room, and she nodded understandingly and saw Pansy do the same, while Draco reached out, briefly rubbing his father's arm in solidarity. Lucius patted Draco's hand, and the two exchanged nearly identical small smiles that caused Hermione's lips to tug upward ever-so-slightly as well.

"Now, I might be leading this discussion, but it is that — a discussion," Riddle continued as matter-of-factly as if this were simply another planned classroom lecture. "To best facilitate this, I'd like to ensure you feel you can trust each other enough to share your opinions and what you know. Any bit of information, no matter how seemingly small, could be critical. So," he placed the leather bound book on the table and turned it toward them, opening it to a page that was blank except for his own name at the top of it, "if you wish to remain part of this conversation, sign here. Should you disclose any of the information conveyed around this table to anyone other than those to whom I myself have permitted access, well…" His lips stretched into a wry smile. "Let's just say you'll need more than a bezoar to save you."

He passed it, and a quill, to Pansy. She didn't hesitate to sign her name before pushing it onward. Hermione paused for a moment, gnawing her lip, then wrote Hermione Granger, and watched as, like Pansy's, the letters seemed to sink into the journal and disappear, leaving the page as blank as it had been initially.

She remembered how easily she'd attached a nasty jinx to the code of secrecy for Dumbledore's Army, and she couldn't imagine what kind of fate awaited a parchment Tom Riddle had bewitched. She glanced over at Snape and had to admit that this did offer her an element of relief… though if anyone could be devious enough to somehow find a way around it, surly this version of the Potions professor was it.

"I must insist upon some ground rules, and they shall apply any time we come together here," Riddle continued as the book made its journey around the table. "If, at any point, you have constructive insight to add, please do so. If another is speaking, don't interrupt; raise your hand and wait your turn. Finally —" Here he cast a somewhat stern eye between Hermione and Snape, "—ill will in any form will not be tolerated."

Hermione arched an eyebrow in disbelief. He thought she would cause issues? She wasn't the juvenile delinquent in adult form!

Snape added the last signature to the journal, flipping it closed and dismissively pushing it aside. Riddle thumbed through it briefly, then set it down and smiled, a bit nostalgically. "The Hogwarts professor in me considered asking you to volunteer your ideas as to why we're all here, but seeing the diversity at this table, I fear the scope of your responses would require far more time to address than we have together this morning. So I'm going to expedite the process."

He leaned toward them, his dark eyes glittering in the morning light. "We are here to plan the restoration of freedom and magic to those from whom it has been stolen… and establish a state where such persecution will never happen again."

The simple words were so calmly and casually stated that it was almost easy to miss that they were bloody well insane.

Hermione stared at him, her eyes wide. It was simultaneously everything and more than anything she could have ever hoped for when she'd committed to this path with Firenze as her witness. Yet the execution of it seemed impossible to comprehend, even to her. In her world, Voldemort and his followers might have been powerful, but the fact of the matter was that she, Harry, Ron and the Order of the Phoenix had ultimately still been fighting against a minority group —and look how many lives were lost and years were spent winning that war!

Here, she suspected nothing short of completely overturning an entire government of staunch believers and roughly 80% of the Sovereignty wizarding population who supported it — fanatics and moderates both— could free and protect the 20% of Old-Blood Light wizards who'd been enslaved — if it could even be done.

"And how, if I may be so bold to ask, do you plan on accomplishing such simple, straightforward tasks?" Snape asked, sarcasm lacing his faux politeness.

"Every bondage spell in history has included a built-in release mechanism. Whether cross-class promotion, marriage, adoption, genius or an incentive to engender good behaviour, a variety of reasons have always existed for society to ensure a servitude bond was never a one-way condemnation," Riddle said. He seemed to be the only one undaunted by his earlier statement. "I believe this House-Wizard bond is no exception, and I intend to find a way to reverse it. Once there, Bella and I have devised a number of pathways for the aftermath, but let's cross one bridge at a time."

Hermione's chest swelled with hopefulness, and she immediately glanced toward Draco. He was sitting rigidly, staring at Riddle as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Without thought, she reached out, finding his hand beneath the table and resting hers on it. When he looked toward her quickly, such hope — and fear to hope — in his expression, she squeezed his fingers briefly, giving him a small smile of reassurance.

"I hope to god you're right," Harry said suddenly, and from the grave expression on his face, he seemed like he actually meant it. "But that bond is the most closely guarded secret in the Sovereignty, aside from this mysterious prophecy you still haven't told us more about. As far as I can tell, only the senior-most Ministers have any idea of how it works. Believe me—" He cast a dark gaze toward Hermione, and she stiffened, "—I've done my damnedest to find out everything I could about it. How do you expect one of us to get our hands on that kind of information without every MLE agent in the Sovereignty coming down on our heads?"

He must have meant when My was blackmailing him over Pansy, she realized, and her ire allayed as quickly as it'd flared.

Riddle's gaze shifted to Draco. After a moment, the blond wizard twisted toward Harry. "That isn't… entirely accurate, Evans," he said slowly.

Every one of the table's occupants — Riddle excluded — looked toward him in surprise.

"What? You mean you… remember? What they did to us?" Pansy asked incredulously.

"You don't?"

She shook her head. "I woke up feeling exhausted, and so… so empty…" Abruptly, her eyes shone with tears. "But I don't even recall leaving my cell."

Draco nodded, letting out a long breath. "I suspect I… may have awoken prematurely, then…"

He heard garbled voices speaking nearby as he groggily became conscious.

"The first subject… prepared… your Grace."

"Excellent … —et's begin."

The sound of something slowly grinding to life cut through the otherwise still silence, the vibrations growing louder and more powerful until Draco's teeth began to chatter, the back of his head hammering painfully against a rock solid slab of — of ground? Was he lying flat? Propped upright?

He frantically tried to see but he was surrounded by darkness; he tried to move but his limbs were frozen. Suddenly, jets of coloured light began to swirl in a circle all around him, shooting forward into the darkness for as far as he could see.

Searing agony exploded through his entire body.

He screamed but heard nothing. All he knew was darkness and swirling light and deafening noise, until suddenly, out of his chest emerged…

A cloud of sparkling, brilliant white light.

Very slowly, it began to rise into the blackness above him, as if a Dementor was sucking out his soul. Panic and terror gripped him, choking his chest and throat until his gasping, shallow breaths brought him no air. The mechanical noise abruptly increased so much he felt a pulse of the thundering sound hit him.

With a shock of excruciating pain, another silent scream and the cloud of light ripped from him completely—

And his world imploded to black.

Draco inhaled a shaky breath after he finished relaying the memory. He curled his hands into tight fists, then shook his head. "Granted, it isn't much to go on, but… it's a start."

Hermione swallowed burning anger, clenching her own hands tightly to keep them from shaking with fury. What he had described sounded like nothing short of magical rape. That such violently barbaric methods had been employed to strip defenceless beings of something so integral to their very identity made her wish she could storm the Phoenix then and there and destroy everything and everyone inside it, and she forced herself to take deep breaths before the rage inside her exploded.

"It'd say it's much better than that," she said, a bit more bite to her voice than she would have liked. "It shows us that this bond is different. What's hindered House-Witches' and Wizards' magic isn't so much the result of a spell as it is of a — a machine."

For at least the 200th time, she fiercely cursed My for not showing any interest in Muggle-Magical integrative technology.

Immediately, Snape swivelled in his chair to face her. "I simply must ask. Is that profoundly observant statement coming from you as My, or is this your legendarily brilliant, other-worldly self speaking?"

She spluttered indignantly. She had become adept at ignoring snubs and insults, but her blood still boiled from the previous night's encounter with him, and she opened her mouth to snarl back a reply —

"Sir, that was an unsolicited attack!" Draco flung his hand toward Snape, though his statement was directed at Riddle. "You can't let him talk to her like that!"

Hermione stared at him. She'd gotten so used to defending herself here from either Harry or Snape or anyone else as My that she'd forgotten what it was even like to have someone else stand up for her.

To her astonishment, Riddle glanced at the Potions Master sharply. "That's your first strike, Snape," he said warningly. "You know what happens at three."

Snape sat back with an irate scowl, crossing his arms in a childish huff, and a rather chuffed warmth spread through her chest. Between Riddle and Draco, she felt sufficiently vindicated, but she couldn't help but shoot him one last, waspish glance, wondering what Riddle would do should someone rack up three strikes. Whatever it was, she'd have to count on someone else to find out for her.

She secretly hoped it would be Snape.

Riddle turned toward Hermione, his stern expression fading. "You're right, to an extent. I suspect it may be a combination of both. If Dumbledore built a spell-powered apparatus to literally siphon magic from a living source — perhaps using the dark energy of creatures like Dementors as inspiration, as Draco's description seems to indicate — he could have tacked on even a basic bond of servitude afterward. Without latent magic to draw upon to break free, one would have very little ability to resist even the simplest commands."

Harry sat up. "Right then, if all this is true, then we've got a number of problems that don't exactly make restoring freedom and magic to these conservatives a bleeding walking in the park," he said, holding up his thumb as if to list them off by count. "One, we've got a machine… somewhere. The Phoenix, I imagine, and it's likely to be so heavily guarded no one without the highest level of security clearance and a kiss from the Sovereign himself would be able to get within a Quidditch pitch's length of it, let alone spitting distance."

Snape had leaned back, arms crossed, observing Harry's scathing dissent with an amused smirk.

"Say, by some combined act of god, Merlin and nothing short of dumb luck, we do manage to find it and get there without capture. We'd have seconds, perhaps a minute, at maximum, before we're discovered," he continued, glancing toward Draco. "From Malfoy's description, the blasted thing's massive, and it's sure to be complex. How in the bloody hell would we be able to disable or destroy it that quickly, let alone know if it can be disabled?"

Hermione's head had begun to pound as she followed his stark but accurate logic, and she was grateful when Riddle held up a hand.

"Let me stop you there, Harry. Every one of your questions is legitimate and we must carefully consider them moving forward. But why do you think the secret surrounding the very existence of such a contraption is so protected?" Riddle paused; when Harry didn't respond, he said confidently, "I submit it's because it can be broken. That is the frustration, and beauty, of combining magic with Muggle inventions. Eliminate this machine, and we face the distinct possibility we can release the magic it has taken, allowing it to safely return to its original caretakers."

"Possibility. Possibility." Draco leaned forward, shoving a hand through his hair. "But we don't know that it can be returned, do we? Who's to say Dumbledore hasn't gone and done something with it once he got it? We're talking about magic from hundreds of witches and wizards… You can't honestly expect it's all still sitting there, somewhere, just waiting to float back to us, can you?"

"It very well might. Magic by its very nature is associative; look at wands that feel loyalty to their specific owners," Riddle responded, his gaze pensive. "Harry, perhaps you can offer some insight, but within the past year or so, I've noticed several countries' Ministries have installed magical-recognition security technology. The devices eliminate the threat of Polyjuice infiltration via sensors that detect one's specific magical identity and link it to his or her appearance and security clearance," he explained with a glance toward Lucius, Draco, Hermione and Pansy, before he returned his focus to Harry. "Since each contraption bears a Sovereignty stamp, I imagine this is what Phoenix security looks like these days?"

Harry nodded. "The Sovereignty's making a killing off them; Weasley's father received the Order of Merlin, First Class at the unveiling gala last November for his involvement with their development."

Hermione listened in fascination. The idea that magic could have a genetic-like signature very much resembled Muggle forensics, and as far as she knew, nothing like it had been contemplated in Universe A.

"This is an incredible divergence from the leading magic theory where I'm from," she said, leaning into the conversation. "We're taught that magic doesn't identify with specific witches and wizards, but simply flows through magical beings who can genetically harness it from the environment around them… some more skilfully than others."

"This theory replaced that one here in the fifties, when Muggles discovered DNA," Riddle said with a nod of acknowledgement. "I was involved with the Ministry of Mysteries at the time. Several of my associates began to examine whether magic might have similar properties: if it identified with its casters, if within the broader energetic field specific manifestations of it could be mapped or traced back to the original casters once it had parted from them, etcetera. Cutting edge research then; now it appears to have been adopted into mainstream curricula."

"Which will make breaching the Phoenix even more difficult," Harry said, shooting Hermione a look that wasn't entirely malicious. "We can't just waltz in under Polyjuice as government employees like you did in your world."

"But… not impossible." Riddle sat back. "Indeed, my friends, this is very good news. It harkens back to your point, Draco: If magic is distinct to its owner, even in the case they are separated — as this theory postulates — then a witch or wizard's individual magic, if forcibly removed, can and should find its way back to its original possessors if given the opportunity." He drew his gaze around the table. "The importance of the dissolution of the machine Draco has described cannot be overstressed. Successfully completed, we can release countless people from their suffering and be one step closer to a long-term solution for their safety."

Snape snorted.

Riddle looked toward him, his eyebrows raised. "You disagree."

"Disagree?" Snape echoed. "Oh. Heavens no." His calm voice began to raise steadily. "No, I'm simply trying to maintain an iota of good will before I respectfully suggest, sir, that you walk out of this room and commit yourself to St. Mungo's Hospital for the Mentally Insane!" He leaned forward beside his godson, his dark eyes filled with genuine anger. "You're telling me you think two Squibs, one amnesic, and a man with a Trace directly linked to one of the Sovereign's little grey cells should he step foot outside this chamber — so, oh! I suppose that just leaves me, my godson and the stab happy anomaly from another planet — will break into the Phoenix, or wherever this 'sucker' is, destroy it, somehow, simultaneously free all eight hundred or however many conservatives there are imprisoned around the country, and safely escape with them, somewhere, before we are utterly obliterated?"

As Snape ranted, Hermione tried to wrestle away the same, horrible feeling of being trapped that she'd battled nearly every day her first few weeks here. Their mission to break into Dolores Umbridge's Ministry office seemed like a skip through the park in comparison to something like this, and Snape, damn him to hell, was right: the only ones among them who could masquerade about the Sovereignty relatively undetected to accomplish any of it were him, Harry, and her.

The rational side of herself began to panic, and she frantically fought to breathe evenly as Snape exclaimed, "It's mad!" He slammed a pointed finger against the table with every emphatic syllable he spoke. "I'm telling you now, it is all mad, and if you legitimately believe this is a jolly good idea, then so are you!"

Beneath the table, a hand rested on hers, and Hermione's rigid shoulders collapsed in the rush of warmth and calm that followed Draco's fingers curling between hers.

She swiftly looked toward him to see mirrored in his eyes the same fear she felt…

But also reassurance. Strength.

Draco gave her a weak half-smile, holding her hand firmly, and, to her astonishment, the panic threatening to overtake her began to loosen.

She nodded at him gratefully, tightening her own fingers around his calloused hand, and couldn't help but wonder if her entire conception of romantic partnerships was wrong. Perhaps a relationship didn't have to make her feel weak like Ron did, when her feelings for him had never failed to make her upset or cry or feel unwanted or insecure, or be a bothersome distraction like hers with Viktor, when he'd kept her from focusing on her classwork with penetrating stares and amorous claims for her attention.

She remembered her earnest talk with Draco the night before.

Perhaps he had been right.

Perhaps it really was possible to be with someone… and be stronger for it.

Whatever the answer, she returned to Snape's stand-off with Riddle feeling much more clear-headed. Oddly, rather than paying Snape any heed, Riddle was looking in their direction with a puzzlingly analytical expression… but then the Potions instructor's finger hit the table again, drawing everyone's attention once more.

"— consider that the seven of us are collectively outnumbered 700 to 1," Snape was saying, then shook his head and gestured toward Draco and Pansy, "Make that 1,000 to 1, these two don't have magic!"

"The Battle of Brigota had worse odds," Lucius commented mildly.

Riddle looked toward him swiftly, his eyebrows raised slightly. Even Lucius appeared to be surprised the comment had exited his mouth. Perhaps, Hermione thought eagerly, his awareness of this information indicated he was regarding more of his memories?

Snape, of course, seemed to be entirely unaware of anything but himself. "Yes, but that was against Muggles with pitchforks when they were still working out how to invent the wheel. If we infiltrate the Phoenix, we're talking about very likely going up against one of the greatest wizards who ever lived, who in and of himself constitutes 200 extra opponents!"

"The Lithuanian Coup of 1579," Lucius burst out. Then he blinked, appearing startled.

Hermione's vaguely recalled her Eastern European history from fifth year History of Magic, and her eyes widened. Of course!

"Oh, do enlighten us, Rain Main," Snape said sarcastically.

Lucius shifted uncomfortably. "Oh, I-I…" He stared down at the table, his brow furrowed deeply, as if he was trying desperately to search his memory. His shoulders slumped slightly. "I don't… seem to have more than that…"

"The Lithuanian Coup of 1579 was an attempt by a small handful of dark wizards to split Lithuania from the Poland after the two had established a joint Commonwealth a decade earlier," Hermione cut in, unable to watch the man continue to struggle for a memory he clearly hadn't yet regained except in small snippets. "They felt too much power had been given to Poland, so they decided to take matters into their own hands." Her brow furrowed. "At least, that's how it went where I'm from; I would guess here they were light wizards. And they succeeded, for eight days, until…"

She trailed off, her heart sinking as the rest of the story came back to her. "Until they were systematically overtaken and… and executed," she finished in a mumble.

Draco's hand again squeezed hers, and she gripped it back tightly.

Snape didn't seem impressed; Lucius did.

"Good gracious. Did you recite all that off the top of your head?" he asked, sounding flabbergasted. "Are you a scholar of history as well?"

Hermione flushed at the praise, but before she could respond, Snape said, "Yes, thank you, Ms. Granger for contributing that startling large brain of yours toward reminding us that we are considering going where no wizard has gone before because it's impossible. It can't be done — at least, not in the month and three weeks we have before the Sovereign discovers his version of Malfoy Senior here is a fake. So unless you found an army while you were out wandering the globe, Riddle, which I'm fairly certain not even you managed to do, I'd like to be remembered as the one who pointed out that any plan to hoodwink the Phoenix or attempt to undo something the Sovereign himself created is complete and utter stupidity."

Draco sat forward rigidly. "And what would you have us do instead? Leave the country and every Light wizard in it to a fate you can't even imagine?" he asked, his voice low. "What kind of human beings would that make us?"

"The sensible kind," Snape retorted.

Riddle, who, curiously, had been watching the table's exchange keenly with an otherwise unreadable expression — she suspected Voldemort would have murdered dissenters immediately — responded then. "Dumbledore may be powerful and we may be outnumbered, but we won't be subverting the Sovereignty by strength. We'll be doing it by strategy. Stealth is essential in these early days. Our small number will work to our advantage."

"I defy you to name one group of five that's managed to evade, not to mention stage some kind of heroic rescue mission in the midst of, an entire country of hostile wizards," Snape countered. He tilted his head toward Lucius. "Eight thousand galleons says not even you can, Binns Junior. And if you accept that challenge, you can expect me to collect on it."

A brief silence followed his words.

"There's so many of them, and so few of us," Pansy suddenly said quietly, her head and shoulders drooped. "It's — It's overwhelming to even imagine being able to — to fix what was done to us when we hardly know how it was." She stared down at her hands, folded tightly in her lap. "It all… really does seem rather hopeless, doesn't it?"

Harry looked up at the dark-haired woman abruptly, his eyes burning with an expression Hermione recognized — she'd certainly seen her Harry wear it enough around Ginny.

Longing.

He wanted to be beside Pansy then like Hermione was beside Draco, and he wasn't, and that, for a moment, made him seem, at once, almost as human as Harry Potter.

No, Hermione corrected herself sternly. Harry Evans was as human as Harry Potter.

"It doesn't matter if this has been done before," Riddle said all too placidly for someone who had minutes earlier been accused of madness. His shrewd gaze slid from Snape clear around the table to Pansy. "In fact, it's better it hasn't. Because the scepticism you have expressed is exactly what Dumbledore, in all his arrogance, believes to be true. That every Light wizard in the Sovereignty has been permanently oppressed. No possible chance for recovery. Any defiance like I have proposed has zero odds of success. His quick dismissal of the explosion here is evidence enough of that." A smile filled with secrets pulled at his lips. "And that, my friends… will be his downfall."

He lifted a hand. Silver mist rose from his fingertips and into the air, hovering in a soft gray haze above the centre of the table.

"These specific words are protected by Fidelius Charm, not because I don't trust you, but to defend against others who might seek to trick, deceive or interrogate you. You are all aware a prophecy exists which has driven Dumbledore strategically since 1985…"

'I always knew I would see our most valuable prediction come to pass before my own light too was extinguished…'

Hermione's heart began to pound.

Perhaps too abruptly, she pulled her hand away from Draco's, focusing her every attention on raising her Occlumency shields.

Dumbledore had once told Harry that prophecies didn't have to mean anything. A vague prediction based on the movements of stars certainly didn't have to mean her. Divination wasn't an art, it was simply rubbish… absolute rubbish…

Riddle twisted his uplifted hand. "I invite you now to see what it is."

At once, the cloud solidified into a column of beautifully scripted silver letters that rotated slowly, gleaming brightly in the sunlight. Hermione tilted her head back, scanning them swiftly.

Her eyes widened.

Relief, and confusion, swept through her.

The prophecy was not the centaurs'.

The prose, however, was equally ambiguous:

'Beware, you who hear:

The day of eclipse draws ever near.

Before you breathe your last, you will see the Ancient Ones' Magick restored to the earth, succumb beneath the luminous red nova at the heart of the firebird's power, witness magic stand still before your very eyes and experience death itself turned backward.

The strength of the Source will manifest at the joined…'

At the abrupt ending, she felt like she'd been slapped.

"The end. That's been cut off," Draco said, sounding strained. "It's what they've been trying to get out of my— out of Father," he amended hastily.

Riddle nodded. "Precisely. And therein can we see Dumbledore's dilemma: the missing half is critical to executing the sweeping predictions of the first."

Again, Hermione skimmed the prophecy. "The Ancient Ones," she repeated. "I'm not familiar with that reference."

The dark-haired man nodded and surveyed the table. "What can any of you tell me about the Ancient Ones? One concise explanation… Lucius, go."

Lucius' mouth opened and closed. He appeared to be at a loss.

"You excelled in Astronomy clear through Seventh Year, Lucius, I know you did."

Hermione's heart went out to the man as he visibly struggled to remember. Finally, he said, "I-I… I don't know." He looked defeated. "It's still… lost in me."

For a split second, Riddle appeared disappointed, but he gave the blond man a reassuring smile before perhaps Lucius himself might have noticed. "That's alright," he said, his voice kind. He looked around the table. "Anyone else?"

Hermione wracked her brain for any memory of 'Ancient Ones' she may have encountered during her Universe A education. The name itself veered dangerously toward the realm of mythology and soothsaying, which — before she learned the truth behind the Deathly Hallows, at least — she'd never paid as much heed as more fact-based disciplines.

"Well, there's Ancient Runes, of course," she proposed. Her earliest Runes courses had mentioned legends taught that such runes were gifted by another, more ancient and original form of magic, though she'd never heard any mention of things or beings called "Ancient Ones."

Riddle pointed at her. "Yes, and the two are related. There are some who believe Runic magic stemmed from the Ancient Ones. But, of course, that returns us to your primary question."

"In old wizarding lore, the Ancient Ones are the original source of magic," Pansy spoke up, though her voice was hesitant. "They gifted it to humans millennia ago from the heavens themselves. At least… That's what my father would tell me." She smiled, though she shifted uncomfortably. "It was just a bedtime story, really. He'd sparkle gold light down around me afterward."

"But who are they?" Hermione burst out.

"Not who, but what," said Riddle. "The equivalent of the Ministry of Mysteries investigated the myth of the Ancient Ones centuries ago. The closest estimate was that magic was left on the planet as residual astral energy when the earth was formed. In other words, the Ancient Ones can be equated with—"

"Stars," Draco murmured suddenly, his voice taut.

"That's correct." Riddle cocked his head sideways slightly, his dark gaze surveying him closely. "Or the matter and energy that constitute such celestial bodies."

Oh goddess.

Hermione flashed back hard to more of Firenze's words, seared irreparably in her memory:

'Inter-dimensional shifts require vast astral power. They do not just happen in error…'

She stared up at the floating prophecy, searching for any kind of tie that could link it to her otherwise. But really — nothing about it logically applied!

"I don't see how this supposedly helpful prophecy provides us with any kind of advantage, then," Harry said, leaning forward. After a long moment, Riddle shifted his gaze to him from Draco. "Look at it — It seems to favour the Sovereignty entirely, doesn't it? 'Day of eclipse?' Certainly conservatives experienced that in the Final Suppression, if not during some other point in their persecution, wouldn't you say? And 'succumbing beneath the luminous red nova at the heart of the firebird's power'? Look no further than the government's trifecta: The Sovereign, my mother, Weasley. All redheads. Again — here we have the conservatives succumbing, not the Phoenix."

"Exactly! Dumbledore has assumed precisely the same thing!" Riddle said enthusiastically. "And he might have been right… were it not for another prediction made by none other than Hogwarts' centaur herd that indicates very clearly this is not the case."

Hermione's blood went cold.

Riddle lifted his hand, and another sentence materialized beside the others.

Region: Cassiopeia. Projection: Binary star Catus Hilaris will eclipse red giant Xeranthemus Dai. Estimated celestial event: 500 − 525 years from observation date. Observers: Felengyn, Bard

"The centaurs made this astrological observation a little over five centuries ago — only one celestial event of a great many recorded over half a millennium," Riddle explained. "After Dumbledore rose to power, they guarded it even more closely, believing it to predict his downfall." He glanced somberly toward Hermione. "I've learned that in my absence he suspected they had something to hide and attempted to extract it from them by whatever means necessary. Every one of these brave creatures — every one them—died to keep him from learning the truth." Pansy let out a soft gasp of horror, and the heavy shadows she'd seen in Riddle's face that morning returned. "That the eclipse of which the above prophecy speaks is not of his enemies… but of him."

Hermione's eyes filled with tears, but she deliberately kept her gaze and mind blank, clasping her hands tightly in her lap and waiting — just waiting — for him to say this was all about someone, anyone else… even him, perhaps.

"If the centaurs protected this secret so closely, how did you come to know it?" Harry asked.

Riddle tilted his head in a slight nod, as if acknowledging the fairness of the question. "During my time as Headmaster I was a friend and ally to the herd. We shared the same views about the Sovereignty and its Magical Integration Act during a time when oppression of those who disagreed was worsening. They asked me to perform a Fidelius Charm to additionally protect their prediction." He sighed, his expression grim. "Unfortunately, their Keeper must have been one of those killed, which is the only reason I've been able to share it with you so easily. I invite you to note other parallels: Binary star, luminous red nova — both astrological terms to indicate a connection of two celestial bodies. Likewise, we have this phrase: 'the joined.' Both predictions point to a merger that will destroy Dumbledore… possibly through manifesting an ancient source of power."

"Perhaps all this astrological mumbo jumbo will align for us nicely. Perhaps it won't," Snape cut in, his voice still laced with critical scorn. "What I want to know is, how you do see this fanciful hogwash helping us on your suicide mission? You expect us to believe that control of this — this mythical Source-like 'Magick' with a 'k,' whatever that is, will fall to a British wizard? And why… because whatever astral omnipotence floating around the high heavens is bored enough doing whatever it is it does everyday to concern itself with the sorrowful plight of one tiny fraction of a infinitesimally negligible planet that's already gone to hell?"

"Dumbledore thinks so," Riddle said evenly. "I know him. He's bought into this completely, which is why he's been desperate to know the conclusion. I can only assume he's based a number of strategic objectives around it. Prophecies are tricky beasts; they matter very little unless they are given due attention, and believe me, he's given this one plenty. We cannot rule out that concrete forms of these vague predictions may very well come to pass."

"I temporarily grant you that argument. And if — if — that may be the case, I have a theory. It all boils down to one thing… oh, alright, one person." Snape swivelled in his chair and shoved a finger at Hermione. "Why is she here?"

Blood rushed to her face as every one of the table's occupants turned to look at her. Bloody hell, was he still blathering on about this issue… in front of everyone?! "I have proved—" she exclaimed.

"Yes, yes, I know; you know you're trustworthy," Snape interrupted. "What I mean is, why are you in our world?"

Hermione bristled. "If I knew the answer to that—"

She swiftly forced herself to stop speaking before the words, "do you think I'd still be here?" left her lips.

Draco glanced at her tensely, something inexpressible in his eyes, and she prayed to Merlin it wasn't because he knew exactly what she'd wanted to say.

"I don't know why I'm here," she tried again. "And to be honest, if you have any theories, I'd be quite eager to hear them."

"I think your presence alone is dramatic enough to warrant a prophecy," Snape said, and Hermione stiffened, her breath catching. "Manifest at the joined… universes?" he suggested.

Abruptly, she hated him again with the ferocity of a thousand suns, and she was doubly grateful she'd maintained focus on her Occlumens shields when Riddle's dark eyes surveyed her. "I'll admit your transfer here is a wild card I had not anticipated."

She sat back, her heart racing. Should she tell them what Firenze had said to her? What if, under the effects of the poison, the centaur hadn't been thinking clearly? What if he'd confused her with someone else? No need to introduce more uncertainty and pure conjecture into the mix…

"You can't possibly think Hermione could have something to do with the prophecy, sir," Draco stiffly said for her then, sounding like he hoped as much as she did such a thing couldn't conceivably be the case.

For a moment, Riddle was silent, and Hermione held her breath.

"At this point, nothing is certain," he said slowly. He sat back in his chair, rubbing his forehead in his hand, and suddenly appeared as tired and old as perhaps he truly was. "For many years, we've had reason to believe the prophecy, or at least one of them, pointed to someone else."

Hermione blinked. "Who?" she burst out before she could stop herself, then cursed herself for sounding so eager for the response.

For a moment, Riddle's gaze remained heavy — almost sorrowful, even — but then he straightened, again perfectly composed. "Speculation of this nature can be dangerous. Dumbledore has pigeonholed himself into believing one interpretation of the prophecy, while additional information has revealed quite a different projection. For a time Bella and I believed the merger could even be us." He shook his head. "It would be wisest for us to place as little stock in the minutiae of the prophecy as possible. What is important is that its ultimate message is clear: Before Dumbledore breathes his last, he, or the Sovereignty, will face an eclipse. And that gives me hope that we are not destined to lose this fight."

Hermione let out a soft breath of relief. His downplay of the prophecy's target appealed greatly to her rational brain. Use the prophecies as inspiration, but move forward based on facts and solid plans…

And a desperate desire to make things right.

"What's our next step, then?" asked Harry, ever the pragmatist.

Riddle glanced toward him. "Thus far we have only two perspectives on Dumbledore's machine, the nature of the bond and the conservative's situation. I want a third. A community House-Wizard or Witch, not a 'personal' one like Draco and Pansy were… their experiences may be vastly different. Hermione's elevated her visibility over House-Wizards enough. It's up to you to obtain custody of another conservative, and quietly. Do you have the funds?"

Harry frowned. "I have a separate account from my mother's. If I could bargain one down, I could afford it, and she wouldn't have to know… immediately."

Draco winced, his expression taut. "It'd be rather nice if you could be a bit more conscientious of your language when the product you're talking about buying is another human being."

Harry tensed, glancing tersely between Draco and Pansy. "Well… sorry, Malfoy, but that's the language that's going to get you your friends back," he grunted. "I've never expressed interest in owning a House-Wizard; it's going to seem strange that I suddenly want to take someone on."

Hermione's eyebrows rose in disbelief. Had Harry Evans just said he was sorry? Even if it was grumbled? "That's easy enough; you're Head Boy," she said. "You could tell McGonagall the workload's getting heavy… you need assistance."

Pansy looked up hopefully. "What about — What about my father?" she asked anxiously. "Or — Or Blaise Zabini? They're both here at Hogwarts, so their transfer wouldn't be terribly obvious."

Riddle shook his head apologetically. "Your father might have come around in the end, but he disagreed with our positions enough before then that I can't risk bringing him into this. I'm sorry." His eyes slid toward Draco and Lucius. "Mr. Zabini, on the other hand, is an interesting choice." He paused, leaving Hermione to wonder what he meant. "Very well. Harry, Zabini it is, and I trust you to use the utmost discretion as you go about it."

A broad grin burst across Pansy's face, and Hermione tilted out of the way when the woman leaned past her, grabbing Draco's sleeve and shaking it. "Blaise, Draco!"

Draco nodded, too, though his smile seemed a bit… tense, somehow. It occurred to Hermione then that Draco and Blaise had been best friends here, or so it had seemed in the yearbook pictures. Briefly, she wondered how his presence would affect their dynamic, but didn't allow herself to worry about it.

She almost missed Riddle's next command, directed at the formerly greasy-haired Potions professor. "Snape, Harry has informed me that he and Hermione have a problem in Ginevra Weasley. I'd like you to handle it. Again, discretion."

Her mouth dropped.

"Gladly," Snape replied. "There's one nutter who should be committed." A broad smile chilling in its genuine delight spread across his face. "Hm. Perhaps she will be."

She stared between him and Harry in astonishment, though she didn't know why she was so surprised; getting someone else to somehow 'handle' Ginevra — and with Snape, she didn't even want to consider what that might involve — would obviously benefit Harry as much as, if not more than, it did her.

After a moment, Snape noticed her gaping, and winked at her. "Why yes, Ms. Granger, I'm bending over backward to come to your assistance. Can't have you thinking I'm entirely evil and untrustworthy, now, can I? However will you continue to feign your avid interest in my Potions class if you did?"

Bloody hell — was she actually supposed to grant that with a response?

Luckily, Riddle saved her the trouble, raising his voice to address the group.

"With this, we are all on the same page," he said. "Harry, Snape, Hermione — keep in mind what I said earlier: Dumbledore believes a grand prophecy is working in his favour. He does not feel threatened, and the Sovereignty must not suspect anything is amiss."

Hermione nodded, glancing toward Harry, who similarly gave a short nod, while Snape merely looked thoughtful. Riddle waved his hand, and the floating prophecies disintegrated. He leaned forward, his eyes deeply focused as he gazed around the table at each of them.

"Bella and I have thoroughly considered the odds just as you have now. Before we part, I will leave you with this. Children have been ripped from their families and are forced to practice dark magic. Innocent witches and wizards are being exploited, tortured, executed as we speak, while darkness spreads like an insidious curse in the hearts of Sovereignty youth, who have come to delight in witnessing the pain of other living beings. Indeed, to any sane man or woman, this status quo is unacceptable. It must be challenged, and it must be stopped."

He sat back slightly, shaking his head. "Unfortunately, other countries are blind to the deplorable crimes being committed here… they enjoy the technology and the toys the Sovereignty sends them. I've personally ascertained those countries that don't are unwilling to provide more than dissenting rhetoric unless it can be demonstrated that Dumbledore is not invincible — which, make no mistake, he is not. So then, it all comes down to one simple question." Riddle leaned forward, resting his hands atop the table, and looked into each of their eyes. "If not the seven of us… then who?"

The words chilled and electrified her, even after he dismissed them. After he did, he rolled two galleons across the table, one each to her and Harry. "Protean charmed. It'll notify you of our next assembly," he explained. "Snape made them, so they can't be traced back to me."

Hermione stared down at it in surprise, then back at Riddle.

He tilted his head to the side slightly. "You find this mode of communication inadequate, Hermione?"

"Oh… no, sir. Not in the least. It's just…" She felt a bit like a sea-faring Ancient Egyptian who'd stumbled across a Mayan pyramid in Mexico. She held up the coin. "Where did you get this idea?"

Riddle appeared thoughtful. "I believe Draco suggested it. Very early into our second defiance, in fact."

Hermione frowned and glanced toward the blond wizard, but he and his father were deep in conversation. Anger had again tightened Lucius' face, and she heard him exclaim, "They did what?"

Hermione turned back to Riddle, shaking her head. "It's funny… I created something like this for our communications as well, when we had just begun fighting the Dark Lord."

Riddle's calculating gaze shifted between her and Draco briefly before it settled back on Hermione. "Indeed, that is a remarkable coincidence… though not impossible, of course."

Hermione nodded, thinking of the countless other uncanny similarities between this universe and her own. "Right. The multiple independent discovery theory at work across universes, rather than continents. Sometimes it can be a bit hard to wrap your rational mind around, though."

"I may not be able to offer substantial insight into the reasons behind your presence here... yet," Riddle added, which she found encouraging, "but I can tell you that if I learned anything from our Ministry Astroarithmancers, when it comes to theories surrounding time and space, the irrational is far more prominent."

"As I've unfortunately discovered," she sighed, tiredly remembering the days' and days' worth of mind-numbing inter-dimensional travel theory and body-swapping Dark Magic texts she'd read the first month she'd arrived... which had nonetheless failed to shed any light on her situation.

Before she left, they arranged a regular training schedule for Defence and Occlumency — every other night, during a time she'd originally used to conduct extensive research. She'd dubbed them her "second nights" and claimed she needed them to herself for private pampering and beauty sleep, thereby managing to escape any social obligations on them very early into her time here.

A second before her conversation with Riddle would have naturally concluded, she hesitated. Now, if ever, was the time to mention her encounter with Firenze. She thought back again to the specific words he had said. He had never - never - directly stated that the prophecy was about her, she reminded herself, though the way he'd phrased his comments meant they could certainly be interpreted as such. Still, even if it wasn't, perhaps the centaur had said something else that could support Riddle's unspoken theory of who it could be.

She took a small breath, steeling herself to admit what she'd learned…

….But at that moment, Snape cut in and began speaking about the progression of Lucius's memory restoration potion.

Hermione's shoulders slumped slightly, and she let out a sigh.

The opportunity had passed.

She wasn't entirely sure if she felt guilty or grateful she had let it.

Draco was still talking with Lucius — further explaining Riddle's rallying if not incredibly inflammatory concluding statement, it sounded like, so she decided to depart with Pansy. The gentle-hearted woman briefly touched her arm as they both stood. "Oh, Hermione… I'm so glad about all of this. I'm so glad." She shook her head, a relieved smile on her face. "I know this is… an impossible fight, almost, but it's a— a start. A real start."

Hermione nodded understandingly. "I know it is." She was already contemplating how massive and complex this undertaking was going to be. For as much as she disliked Harry and Snape, they were two additional, brilliant minds to add to the mix, and between them, Riddle, Draco and his father, and Pansy, she was unspeakably grateful the burden of undermining the might of the Sovereignty was no longer just on her shoulders, as it had initially seemed to be.

"I hope you'll like him. Blaise, I mean," Pansy was saying. For a moment, she glanced toward Harry, but then determinedly looked forward again, continuing with Hermione out the door. "He's a bit forward and perhaps a tad presumptuous, but he always meant well—"

"Hermione!"

She glanced over her shoulder at Draco's quiet exclamation. He was already up and following after them.

"Draco, can you imagine?" Pansy said excitedly as he reached them, pausing in the doorway. "The three of us, all down here together? It… well, I suppose it can't exactly be like old times, but it can't be entirely bad, can it? Merlin, I hope he's alright…"

Draco didn't respond immediately, and Hermione studied his tense features with a frown. He'd seemed a bit strained throughout the meeting, but then again, so did they all. "You don't seem quite as excited about all of this as your other half," she noted, tilting her head toward Pansy.

He shook his head. "No, I — I am," he said, sounding distracted. He shoved a hand through his hair before he looked up at them, his gaze traveling between her and Pansy before returning to her. An inexplicable shadow darkened his eyes. "Could I… Could I talk to you?"

They were only seven words, but he voiced them with a heaviness she hadn't seen in him since his captivity. Her brow knit in concern. She barely noticed when Pansy moved away, and she stepped closer to him, lowering her voice. "Draco… what is it?"

For a moment, his gaze was frozen in hers, almost as if he were — as if he were afraid, she thought in confusion, and for some reason, that made her afraid. "There's, erm—" He took a small breath, briefly closing his eyes. "There's something I—"

"Draco!"

They both jumped slightly, Draco turning his head while Hermione looked over his shoulder. Riddle was gesturing at him from across the war room. "Excuse my interruption, Hermione, but I have an urgent matter I must discuss with Draco, if you would be so kind as to join me…?"

Draco glanced back and forth between him and Hermione. He seemed legitimately torn. Then he nodded once, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Of… course, sir."

Hermione rested her hand on his arm. "Tell me later," she suggested.

He nodded and gave her small, half-hearted smile, poorly concealed gratefulness and something else she couldn't quite name in his expression. "Listen, if you… need or want to talk about anything that just transpired in there, I'm… always around."

"Thanks. I've got to leave soon for a prefect meeting, but…" She smiled and nodded. "I'll remember."

Confused, she watched him walk away, and slowly descended the stairs alone, her mind buzzing. What had he wanted to tell her? They had laid so much honesty out on the table the night before, she couldn't imagine there was anything left to say. Unless, perhaps, this had something to do with his father? Or the machine he'd mentioned… something he'd encountered in his imprisonment?

Pansy was waiting for her at the next landing, her gaze playful. "So," she said in a low voice, a smile tugging at her lips, "You and Draco…?"

"Oh!" Hermione flushed. "Oh no. Well, I mean, yes… Perhaps."

Her smile widened, her blue eyes bursting with delight. "Hermione! I can't tell you how happy that makes me! I can't imagine anyone else with him… or you." She paused. "He's fancied you for a very long time, you know." Her eyes widened, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh! I wasn't supposed to say that!"

Hermione laughed, though the very small part of her that had wondered about him and My couldn't help but feel pleased and somewhat reassured hearing that. "Don't worry. Considering I've only been here two and a half months, if you were ever going to break a secret, I don't think that one's terribly devastating." Her mirth faded slightly, and she sighed. "It's so complicated, Pansy. The thought of starting a relationship at the same time we're launching some kind of — of offensive against Dumbledore himself seems so… risky," she said, gesturing upward toward the war room.

Pansy nodded sympathetically. "There's really no right time when you're living with so much uncertainty, Hermione. Believe me, I know. But you can't let it stop you from trying to be happy, either. If it feels right, you just have to go for it."

Hermione accepted her advice gratefully, especially since Pansy still seemed optimistic about her own relationship despite the tragic saga of lies and blackmail she and Harry had experienced through My's ownership of her. "Well, we're just seeing where it goes."

"That sounds wise. Draco's great, though, Hermione, and I'm not just saying that because I've known him forever. If you're going to start a relationship with anyone here…" She smiled fondly. "He's a good one."

They parted ways outside the Tribute. The Prefect meeting started at 14:00, but Hermione didn't feel quite prepared to plunge back into her My persona yet… there were too many things to still process, and she didn't want to face the hanging threat of Ginevra's retribution for last night until dinner at least. Instead, she wandered through the Chamber's various ecozones, noting with fascination the diversity of plant life and the immense complexity of the magic and understanding of the natural world that supported it.

Between Draco, Riddle, and these "Group of 7" meetings, she knew she was going to be coming here much more frequently than she had in the last week. She felt more grateful than ever that this Chamber of Secrets was protected by Fidelius Charm. The serpent she knew was on the second floor lavatory tap hadn't appeared until Peia had shown her and Draco a message about the Chamber's location that Tom Riddle must have written, and that would make it that much harder for anyone to deliberately or accidentally follow her here.

She paused beneath the inscription above the doorframe of one of the other Tributes, this one in the same arid environment as Absit Invidia.

Memento Mori, it said.

Remember your mortality.

Hermione chuckled humorlessly and shook her head. The irony of it was incredible; in her world, Voldemort had stopped at nothing to seek immortality and feared his own destruction above all. In this world, his counterpart actually seemed to possess it, or at least a fraction of it in his very slow aging… yet he had chosen to honour this saying.

The same man's voice echoed in her head.

If not us… then who?

Faces and phrases scripted in silver swirled through her thoughts. Ancient Ones… the joined… the Lithuanian Coup of 1579… Draco… Firenze… Blaise Zabini… Dumbledore's mysterious, heinous machine… and the impossible conundrum to which not even Tom Riddle seemed to be able to offer an answer:

How in the bloody hell had she even found her way here in the first place?

There was so much to think about, now… so much that was unknown. Was the prophecy about her, or wasn't it? Was she here because of some grand cosmic design, or wasn't she? Could the prophecy help them, or couldn't it?

And perhaps most pressingly of all… if this evolving scheme were to go awry, and there were a terrible many ways it could, what could she do to save the few people she knew and cared about, escape with them, and survive?

Hermione had never done well in situations that were unclear; she worked well with facts and protocol: if she didn't have them, she could find them and devise them, and deduce the most logical course of action from there. Unknowns, on the other hand, were crippling. It was almost comedic to think that the night before, the only thing about which she'd been tremendously uncertain was her relationship with Draco.

Now, her developing relationship with Draco, it seemed, was the only thing in her life that was stable —

"Hermione!"

She swivelled her head toward the call. Her gaze landed on a girl with hair even wilder than her own, swinging in a hammock hanging from two trees along the side of Memento Mori, a book open in her lap.

"Peia!" she said in surprise, altering her course to say hello. She couldn't help but smile when she saw she was wearing the sweet chameleon shirt she had helped her make a few weeks earlier, when Peia had dropped five textile magic spell books on Hermione's bed and asked if she could help recreate something to remind her of Cami the Chameleon, a beloved stuffed animal her mum had given her on her second birthday. Upon their separation during the final suppression, child relocation services had promptly destroyed it.

"How was your 'top-secret, highly confidential' gathering?" Peia asked, raising her fingers in quotes.

"Oh. It was, erm—"

Being the only child from a small, older family, Hermione had very little experience with children and still wasn't always quite certain of what to say and do around Peia, especially when parenting decisions came into play, like Riddle's obvious choice in excluding his daughter from the meeting.

Given what they had just discussed was nothing short of insurrection, she wasn't entirely sure she could blame him.

"—extremely boring and quite honestly a waste of my time," she finished facetiously, remembering that even around Peia — especially around Peia — she couldn't let her Occlumency down.

Peia let out dramatically heavy sigh. "That's what Tom said. He's teaching me defensive spells as soon as he gets out. He said you lot would just be going on about 'things I shouldn't have to worry about. Bor-ing.'" The last few words she sounded like she was quoting verbatim, and seemed greatly irate about this fact. "But it isn't as if I'm not going to find out about them and worry anyway!"

Hermione couldn't help but feel sympathetic. "The same would happen to my friends and me when I was younger. I'm sure the adults doing it thought it was for the best, but…" She sighed, shaking her head. "Sometimes I wonder if things would have been so much easier if they'd simply told us what they'd known upfront."

Even so, looking down at the guileless second year, Hermione could see how anyone would be torn at the thought of dragging a child into heated discussions of oppression, war and possible execution, especially since a Dark Lord wasn't directly targeting Peia like Voldemort had Harry.

When Peia nodded vigorously and exclaimed, "Exactly!", Hermione knew it couldn't be her place to rally her to arms.

Instead, she gave her a small, encouraging smile. "Well… You're a very bright witch, Peia. If Tom's keeping you out of this one, I'm sure he's got a good reason for it. Anyway, you've got quite a bit on your plate as it is, don't you? Leading on the Longbottoms and your housemates…"

"Oh, that!" Peia sat up in the hammock and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Don't tell Tom, but I'm trying to find a way to move down here permanently. Pretend to run away, fake my own death, try the spell he used for Uncle Luc…"

Hermione's eyebrows flew up uncomfortably. None of those ideas sounded safe or prudent. A massive child hunt… surely that, if anything, would attract greatly unwanted Sovereignty attention! She wondered if Peia's father (perhaps because of her request that Hermione not mention it to him) had some idea what she was planning and had already discouraged her.

She also sympathised deeply. She knew how isolated and alone Peia felt in Gryffindor, and a question struck her she was surprised she'd never considered before. "Are there many other conservative children at Hogwarts who've been placed with other families, Peia?" she asked. "Do you ever talk with them?"

Peia shook her head, looking glum. "Only eight so far. Mum said there weren't too many conservative children born around the time I was because the first suppression was at its worst then." She sighed, her eyes sad. "I knew one girl close to my age — Adelina Nott. We lived right next to each other in East Belham. Her birthday and my half birthday were on the same day! We'd get into all sorts of trouble; mum'd be so mad…" She grinned, but it faded quickly. "She hasn't looked at me since we got to Hogwarts." She cleared her throat, and when she spoke again Hermione could tell she was trying to sound unaffected and matter-of-fact. "She's a Bones, now, in Hufflepuff. I think she's too scared."

"Have you tried talking to her?"

Peia nodded. "We had Herbology together last year. Sprout was going to have us share the same partner for the entire year, and I tried to be hers, but…" Her shoulders slumped and she stared down at her book sadly. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "She switched with Essemee Vance before I could even say hello."

Hermione's heart flew out to her. She had never forgotten how awful her first few months at Hogwarts had been, when she'd tried to befriend Ron, Harry, and the other Gryffindors and had been thoroughly rebuffed by all but Neville.

She had cried herself to sleep almost every night.

Gingerly, she lowered herself down on the mesh hammock and put her arm around Peia's brightly coloured shoulders. The girl moved over to make room for her and then instantly curled up against her side, wrapping a thin arm over Hermione's waist. To the sound of rushing water that one could never quite escape in the Chamber, they silently rocked back and forth in the hammock together.

It was strange that Tom Riddle and Peia's mother (thinking of her like that had helped Hermione to avoid imagining anything to do with 'Bellatrix' whenever Peia mentioned her) had found the time to create a child during the worst part of the First Conservative Intervention — or defiance, as Riddle had called it. Not that Hermione had ever given much thought to child-making, but after she'd so carefully weighed something as simple as beginning a relationship with Draco, she'd become more aware of the hazards of embarking on major life decisions during a perilous time. And Riddle and Peia's mum had been at the very centre of the danger.

Wouldn't they have wanted to wait until they knew the future would be better for their child — that there would even be a safe future for her as their daughter?

Then again, she thought, Riddle had said he'd overheard the second prophecy in 1985. If Peia was 12, that meant she'd been born in 1986, likely after he'd known about both.

Something he had said earlier floated through her head.

For a time Bella and I believed the merger could even be us…

Hermione froze, and her breath hitched.

At once, she also remembered Draco's fervent assertion a week earlier of how immensely Peia's mum had loved Rudolphus Lestrange, how they were only days away from eloping at his death, and how he couldn't possibly imagine Peia as the result of a love affair between her and Riddle. How deeply Riddle still appeared to be mourning his dead wife, and his enigmatically sorrowful expression as he avoided detailing the other possible target of the prophecy.

Manifest at the joined…

Dread clutched her chest.

No. It couldn't be… could it? They couldn't have possibly had a child simply in the hope that she would be the one to go on and defeat—?

"I'm so glad you're here, Hermione," Peia suddenly whispered waveringly. Hermione jolted from her troubled thoughts, looking down at her, but her face was partially hidden by her mass of black curls. "I-I… I miss my mum so much, and in - in some ways you… remind me of her." She sniffed, and sounded like she was struggling not to cry. "Being around you makes m-me feel like… like I can be b-brave and strong, too, just like you are."

Unexpectedly, tears sprung to Hermione's eyes. She tried to blink them away and gently rubbed the back of Peia's chameleon shirt. "Peia, you are the bravest, strongest, cleverest girl I've ever met," she said softly, and meant every word. "You don't need me or your mum around for you to be any of those things; you are them, already. Don't ever forget that, alright?"

The child sniffed again and hugged her more tightly, her face buried in her side. "Thanks, Hermione," she whispered, the words partially muffled against Hermione's sweater.

Hermione gently stroked the back of her dark head, worriedly considering again her plan to escape from her cruel classmates. "Why don't you come by the Head Commons and tell me what you've thought about doing to slip away from upstairs," she suggested lightly. She didn't want Peia to feel isolated enough that she did something impulsive that could endanger herself — and, possibly, others. "Perhaps I can lend a brain."

She was grateful when Peia looked up at her tearfully and nodded. "Okay," she agreed quietly, wiping at her eyes.

Hermione gave her a kind smile. When Peia lay her head back against her side and closed her eyes, though, she stared straight ahead again, dread seeping into her bones. Sweet Morgana, even the child's very name, Cassiopeia, supported her burgeoning theory.

Her own relief that the prophecies might, just might, pertain to someone else instead disintegrated into horror.

Because if that someone else turned out to be the good-hearted little girl clinging to her side…

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, though a tear still managed to slip down her cheek.

Then she would much rather Firenze was right when he had believed the prediction they had made 500 years ago had been about her.

---

A/N: Oh my goodness gracious! Sorry for the wait for the update. This puppy takes a LONG time to write and this chapter in particular gave me a lot of difficulty. I know it was long, long, long, but we had to get though it, so thank you for sticking with me if you have! As anyone who has sat through plenty of planning meetings knows…

Also, I cannot pass go without mentioning Robin Williams. What a wonderful, giving man and master comedian whose presence and talent will be greatly missed… going to watch Mrs. Doubtfire again now.

Do leave a review on your way out! :)