Chapter XV

The Best Laid Plans

Hermione couldn't tell her fellow Gryffindors what she was having to do, but she could try to enlist their help all the same. Not many people would go along with a plan not knowing the reason behind it, but the two she was hoping to get on board were exactly the sort… Assuming their part to be played was sufficiently mischievous. Breaking into Filch's office and nicking a questionable object? Should be perfect. They've probably done similar already.

Tracking them down outside of the common room was easy enough; she followed the sounds of chaos.

"Weasleys!" she called when she recognised their distinctive laughter. "I need to speak to-"

Arms hooked under each of hers, lifting her off the ground and bearing her back the way she had come.

"Best talk and move chick," George said in her ear; she stopped struggling at his voice.

"don't wanna stick around-"

"-at the scene of the crime."

They high fived over her head.

"Are you intending on putting me down?" she huffed as they turned a third corner; she had neither the time nor inclination to put up with their antics.

"Just a sec, luv,"

"got to get us some privacy."

"Too many prying ears,"

"listening noses,"

"and poking eyes in this castle."

True to their word, they deposited her, quite gently, in what she believed should be the old transfiguration classroom in the third floor corridor. The one previously, and without it ever being explained, off limits to anyone not wishing to die a horrible death. Those students with a sense of self-preservation had been skirting around it ever since.

The Gryffindors had damn near moved in.

"Right," said Fred, pulling up a chair for her, "what can we do for our Salvation of Education,"

"Deliverer from the Blitherer,"

"And all around decent chick?"

"You changed my titles again," she noted as she sat - after cautiously sweeping the cushion for booby traps.

"Mm. Still needs work, but we're close, we can-"

"-feel it."

"Fine," she dismissed with a flippant wave. "Whatever. Are we alone?"

"Alone? There's three of us?"

"Don't start."

"I didn't start…"

"… he did!"

"Boys! Really! This is about Ronald."

Their butts hit seats in unison. "Oh."

"I have come upon an idea to help us track Sirius; possibly even capture him should he try the castle again." It was the best lie she could come up with, by virtue of being almost the truth. No way would she have slipped a barefaced lie past the twins.

"Sounds fab, what is it?"

"It is a map."

She tried not to dwell on how underwhelming that sounded. Seriously, what does Black want with a map? How is a map for a student, even Ronald, a good deal for him?

"A map."

"Useful things, maps," Fred commented.

"Very useful. Depending on the map."

"And the persons using it, wouldn't you say so Fred?"

"Undoubtedly, Fred."

Hermione sighed as her shoulders slumped. "Is there any point me event trying to explain this to you?"

"Come on Mimi, we're just pulling your leg."

"Mimi?" she challenged. They are not going to get away with calling me Mimi.

"Yeah, she's right, that one sucks."

"Sorry."

Apology accepted. This time.

"As I was saying, I need to get my hands on this map, but it is currently residing in Filch's office."

"A map in Filch's office," George whistled.

"How peculiar."

"How unusual."

"How-"

"I expect it was confiscated, possibly back when Black was a student here," she said, hoping laying all the information she dared on the table might lead to some amazing revelation. Anything to help at this point.

"And…" Fred muttered, sounding serious at last, "how did you come to know about this map?"

"Nevermind that. Can you help me get it?"

"Now see, chick, ordinarily we'd love to."

"But then, we've snuck ourselves in that git's office before, you see."

"So you're bang out of luck on this one."

"You've been in there before?" she asked, leaning in so fast she nearly slipped from her chair. "You didn't see it, did you? It's disguised as a blank piece of parchment, so maybe-"

"She misunderstands us brother."

"A momentous day."

"A terrible occasion."

"What? What are you saying?"

They sighed, purposefully. "It ain't that we didn't find it, per se."

"Not that we're saying we did…"

"More the problem is, Filch-"

"-the git-"

"-went and upped his security since last we visited."

"Regarding us, that is."

"Aye. Last time we was ickle firsties, not yet having our necks breathed down quite so tight."

"No way we get in and out unseen this time."

"No way. Wards y'see."

"Tied to us all special like."

"A compliment really."

"Nicest thing Filch's ever said to us."

"And we barely made it out the library last favour you asked of us, we did."

"Skin of our socks."

Hermione rubbed her temple. She knew she shouldn't rise to it, but: "Socks do not have skin."

"Mine do, after how Pince yelled at me."

"Sometimes, brother, you make no sense at all."

"Why thank you; I must get it from you."

"You came out first."

Hermione thought fast as the twins back-and-forthed. Even with extra security, surely they were the best at what they did? The best she could get involved, anyhow.

"Did I? Are we sure?"

"Yeah; I remember shoving you."

"BOYS!" she shouted, snapping her fingers. "Focus! Filch's office; will you, or not?"

"Sincerest apologies, Miss Granger, but…"

"…not," they chorused.

She ground a fist into her thigh, channelling the frustration out before it clouded her mind any further than it was already was thanks to the dementors and lack of sleep and struggle to track the time and magical exhaustion from magical experimentation and worry about Ron and Sirius and stop going there. "Well, thanks for-"

"Unless."

"Unless?" George queried, which piqued Hermione's interest like nothing else - the twins in disagreement?

"There is a question we've been meaning to ask you."

"Ah, yes, the question."

"I'm thinking, if we were to get an answer to our question, maybe we could see fit to arrange a little excursion to Filch's domain, as risky-"

"-and fruitless-"

"-as it may be."

There was a saccharine tilt to their voices Hermione did not like one bit; she felt like a kid being offered candy by a stranger.

"Fine; ask away."

"Ooh, fab-u-lous. So, do tell: How is it that a little third year-"

"-plucky and brilliant as she is-"

"-manages to be in two places at once?"

She froze, then cursed herself for the way she froze, then froze at how she'd muttered the curse to loudly under her breath. Then cursed how she was taking too long cursing and freezing and not answering - deflecting! - the question.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

Smooth, Hermione. Real smooth. That'll certainly keep the secret safe, no way will the Weasley twins keep probing after that stunning-

"Ah, well then."

"No matter."

"Would've loved to help you out."

"But if you're sure…"

"Extremely sure," Hermione asserted. "You must be seeing things. Or else someone is playing with polyjuice."

They snapped their fingers. "That must be it then. So sorry we couldn't help."

Hermione knew they didn't believe her. But so long as they only had suspicions, not answers… they would have to deal with not knowing. She, meanwhile, would have to find another way to get that map.

"Do let us know if you have any general mischief needing to be managed."

"We do solemnly swear to get up to no good."

"That we do indeed, brother; that we do."

Potions, Harry decided, could go to hell, and take their vile professor with them. Another decent attempt at a brew marked as abysmal; another berating in front of the whole class. He was sick of the git; sick of having to watch Neville's cauldron for exploding; sick of Ginny shooting him a range indecipherable looks from across the room. And every time a dementor floated by, he felt sick in the more literal sense.

It barely lifted his mood to see Hermione lurking outside the classroom, trying to blend in with a pillar (which might have worked had she not picked the brightest spot to stand in). She was meant to be in divination, he was sure of it. Maybe she'd finally dropped the subject she complained so much about?

"Harry?"

"Yeah, I'm here," he grouched as he went over. She wants something. She always wants something.

"Can I ask you for a favour."

"Sure." Knew it.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," he lied as he waved off a lingering Neville. "What do you want?"

"I was hoping you would, um… break-into-the-caretaker's-office-and-steal-something-for-me."

He thought he caught the words that tumbled from her mouth, but he also thought she'd just asked him to steal for her, so he thought he'd better check. "Ok, say that like you're talking to someone with a splitting headache and human ears."

"I need you to steal something from Filch's office."

Huh. "Why would-"

"It's for Sirius," she butted in, taking an eager step toward him. "For the Sirius problem, I mean."

"Thought you'd be happy Ron's gone," he grouched. He certainly didn't mind it most days; Gryffindor common room was a more peaceful place.

"Harry! That is not nice!"

"True though."

She gaped at him. "Not at all! Just because he's an inconsiderate, idiotic, incompetent arsehole does not mean I want that for him."

"Ok, whatever." He stuck his hands in his pockets; damn pervasive cold. "So, what am I stealing?"

"You'll do it?"

"Like I've got a choice."

"You obviously have a choice."

He groaned and pinched his nose, painfully aware as he did so of how often that was Snape's reaction to her. How does she not get this by now? "No I don't. You ask; I do. That's how this works isn't it?"

She tilted her head at that. He could imagine the piercing stare he would have received from anyone else, and was briefly glad she couldn't. "What is with you today?"

"I'll give you a hint: It starts with Sna- and ends with -ementor." Like that wasn't obvious.

"Very funny. But if you don't want to do this, you only have to say."

"Uh huh. So what am I stealing?"

Hermione sighed, finally giving in to the inevitable as he had. "It's a map. Only it looks like a blank piece of parchment."

"Right. How am I meant to find that? Accio? Couldn't you manage that yourself?"

"I expect it to be protected against such things. You'll need to look for it; there shouldn't be many blank parchments in there - why would there?"

Her logic was as irritatingly impeccable as ever.

"Right. Break into Filch's office, steal all the blank parchment I can find, try not to get detention for the rest of forever. Or expelled."

"You'll be fine," she said, making one of them with confidence in his chances. "I'll be creating a distraction elsewhere."

"So they can expel you, not me? Good plan."

"Oh, shut up." She puffed her chest out a little. "I do not intend to get caught."

"Who does? Got some fancy escape plan lined up?"

"How does a pouchful of darkness powder sound?" she asked with a wry grin, carefully producing the item in question. Harry had been wondering what happened to that particular gift from the twins.

"Sounds chaotic."

"My thought exactly. So, when are you free to do this?"

He shrugged. "Why not right now?" he asked, his voice stubbornly not reflecting any of the eagerness he felt to get it over and done with.

"Don't you have history of magic now?"

"Don't you have double divination?"

He suppressed a chuckle at how well they knew each-others' timetables. Not that he had ever seen hers, or that there were a few lessons she took which he simply couldn't fit anywhere into his mental model of it. There was something funky going on there, but for the life of him he didn't have it in him to care.

"I guess you won't be missed by Binns. Though you won't have an alibi."

"Would I any other time?" he pointed out. "And you won't either."

"My alibi won't be a problem. I suppose yours can't be helped though."

"So, let's get this over with. What do I need to break in?"

"Hang on, I wrote it all down," she said, producing several pages of paper covered in braille. "I put it in braille for secrecy. You did finishing learning, right?"

"I'll manage," Harry sighed.

He had learned braille, but to read it he still needed augmenosensus to make out the indents clearly enough. Normally that was fine, but if there was one thing supersensory charms did not play well with, it was a headache, as he had yet to master the delicate art of enhancing only one sense. The things I do for my friends.

"Excellent. I'll get to the distraction, you go grab the map."

"Right now? Don't I need to read-"

"No, next week. Yes now! Read on the way, you'll figure it out."

Again with the confidence in my ability. It's like she doesn't know my head is cracking open like an egg.

"Alright, sheesh, calm down."

"Why? What about our lives is calming right now?"

Fair point.

Harry headed off to Filch's office, reading Hermione's instructions as he went. He knew all the spells she thought he'd need; he'd learned the advanced unlocking charm of from her only a few days prior, in fact, when he helped her practice it. Come to think of it, she had been rather proficient already, and most of the time was spent getting him to the point where he could understand what a successful casting was. Crafty b-witch.

It did occur to Harry that the caretaker's office was the sort of place that should be guarded against a spell a second year could conceivably learn, but then he had given up on expecting common sense from the faculty at Hogwarts, so he dismissed that tangent of thought as a waste of his limited time.

The problem of going unseen was almost trivial to overcome; he had only to duck into an alcove and come out wearing the invisibility cloak. It was cheating, frankly. Actually finding the map was going to be the issue; how are you supposed to find something warded against being found?

He was still struggling with that conundrum as he stood in Filch's office, listening to the distant echoes of whatever chaos Hermione had unleashed to draw the caretaker's attention. She definitely spends too much time with the twins.

He tried a point-me to no avail. He tried accio; a dozen maps flew to him, but all of them the plain, mundane sort. He tried doing that thing Hermione talked about, casting out his senses to feel for active magic. It didn't completely fail; he could pick up some subtle tingling, a background signal from being in Hogwarts, but if the map was in that mess it was lost to him. He wasn't surprised; if Hermione had expected that to work, she would have been there to do it herself. She was frighteningly in tune with magic, whereas he sucked at it.

He resorted to rifling through the muggle way. He cracked open the locked cabinets with laughable ease; it was an open secret that Filch was a squib, but the fool still could have brought in a wizard to ward things instead of relying on keys. It didn't even take the advanced spell! All sorts of interesting items showed up, many of which he recognised as Weasley twin specials, but there was no map. No blank parchment that might have been a map.

He slunk out of the office, (not a second too soon as an irate Filch stormed past him in the corridor) and went to meet Hermione empty handed.

At the very least, going by the soot in her hair; ambiguous stains on her sleeves; and manic grin plastered on her face, she'd had fun. He hated to be the bearer of bad news. Hated seeing that smile fall from her lips. Hated it.

Hermione was left with a dilemma. The map lay somewhere beyond her reach, assuming it still existed. If it ever existed. But a gibbous moon was waxing merrily somewhere just below the horizon; she didn't have to see it to feel the oppressive growth she charted in her mind. Between her astronomy lessons and having a werewolf for a teacher, she stayed fully in tune with its phases. (Truthfully, she'd had to check not two days ago, but only because it was hard to maintain a cyclic sense of time with so many turns each night).

Her chart was telling her she had six hours until Sirius would be in the shack. Six hours until her best chance to rescue Ronald, and not the slightest scrap of a plan was coming together in her mind. She debated calling in the aurors to lay an ambush. She considered doing the same thing using the Weasley twins, Patricia, and possibly the rest of Gryffindor quidditch team minus Harry, who would no doubt jump the gun and ruin any strategy they had.

She thought how terribly those ideas could go wrong, and discarded them, leaving herself once again with about as much idea of what to do as she had evidence that Black was even that dangerous to begin with.

Nothing added up. The werewolf rumours; the blame for the attacks to go with them; the idea a man - even a bloody death eater - would betray his best friend and godson. No matter how she applied it to Sirius, it refused to stick. The only thing he had was a conviction passed by the ministry in the chaos of an ending war, and having flirted with that judicial system, she didn't trust it as far as she could spit.

That system had let her walk free after killing a man, with nothing more than a cursory interview, because one man had intimidated the head of the DMLE on her behalf. That system had allowed people like Lucius Malfoy to beg the imperius, and with enough silver lining the right pockets, all was forgotten. That system had installed dementors in a school!

She snapped a quill between her fingers. I simply don't know! Innocent? Guilty? Dangerous? Insane? Dangerously insane, or desperately in need of help? What would twelve years under the dementors do to a man's mind?

She traced over the ransom note once more, searching those dots for clues she wouldn't find. Useless! Scrunching the paper into a ball, she drew her arm back to throw it in the direction of the fireplace, not caring that it should be recycled, or that the dry glue smeared over it for whatever unfathomable reason would release fumes.

Crazy bastard couldn't even use normal parchment like a normal wizard. This harsh shit in her hand was more like wrapping pap-

She brought her arm down, letting the paper unscrunch a little; listening as it did. Taking a deep sniff; noting the scent; wondering if she'd smelled its like before. Wondering when, because she had. Checking her memories; replaying event after event, backwards through time, trying anything that could have involved paper and glue. Valentines? No, the envelopes were all sealed with wax. Christmas? No, there'd been such a permeating scent of steaming puddings that morning, she wouldn't have made out anything else had it been wafted right in front of her face.

The broom.

The, what was it called, a firebolt?

The one from a mysterious benefactor, which she'd been so worried was a trick by Black until Minerva finally brought it back, saying there was nothing wrong with it. The broom Harry rode without issue in his last game, and countless practices to boot.

The broom that came wrapped in crinkling paper which smelled of still-drying glue; the same paper Sirius used a scrap of for his ransom note.

The broom wanted criminal Sirius Black gifted Harry Potter for Christmas, with no sign of ill intent or foul play towards his Godson.

Why?

How?

Why?

All Hermione knew, was she needed to know. And the most obvious way to know? Ask.

Terrible idea Hermione. Showing up to a ransom exchange, alone and empty handed? Idiotic; moronic; utterly fucking dense. Worst idea ever.

Five and a half hours later she was pilfering Harry's cloak from his bag, mentally bracing herself to sneak out for a meeting with a maniac. Going over the vague plan (which barely deserved the name) in her head. Willing the universe to go along with it, because it involved setting a turn to avoid her and the cloak being missed. Triumphantly brandishing the book she had claimed she was dipping into Harry's bag under the table for, even as her other hand stuffed the cloak into the hem of her skirt under her robes, she excused herself to use the bathroom.

She didn't make it to the bathroom; halfway there she slipped into a room nobody ever used, a perfect spot for travelling in time, and took out her time turner. With her thoughts set on her intentions, and how innocuously non-paradoxical they were, she spa-

"Hello Hermione Granger," Luna chirped from the other side of the room. "Are you using your time machine again? Can I watch?"

Hermione span on her heel, hand reaching for her wand, to face the new threat. Which isn't a threat. Just Luna. Just Luna, catching me using a time machine she apparently knows about already.

Or Luna being weird and getting lucky. It would not be the first time the girl had stumbled on the right answer through all the wrong methods.

"What? Time machine? What are you talking about?" Hermione snipped, denying it until she was sure the game was up. She had promised Minerva, after all.
"Please don't lie to me. I understand you're meant to keep it secret, but since I already know…?"

Ok, that is pretty conclusive.

"How?" she breathed. "How? I was so careful."

"Yes, it was very impressive." The genuine praise in Luna's tone didn't raise Hermione's spirits at all.

"You still caught me," she griped.

"I catch plenty of things other people don't notice. Funny looks; mean lies; Humdingers. Daddy says I have a knack for it, but it's very simple really. There's a trick to it. Can I watch you time travel now?"

Nothing in Minerva's briefing had said anything about in-the-know observers. She had done her first turn right there in front of the professor, though, so it must not be dangerous…

"If you know, you might as well," she conceded.

"Yippee! I'd been wondering how you were resolving the causal paradoxes."

Hermione did a double take, astounded at her friend's casual understanding. Most people wouldn't recognise a causal paradox if it killed their grandpa.

"You'd been… how long have you known?"

"It was obvious when you said you were taking divination; Hermione Granger would never waste her time on divination, unless she had time to spare. So, time travel."

"Luna," Hermione groaned, wiping a hand across her jaw, "when you said you knew…"

"But I did know."

Hermione sat down on the floor right where she was. She needed to redirect the strength in her legs to dealing with Luna's Luna-ness. "You knew I was taking extra classes, and you went straight to time travel? That is hardly knowing."

"Isn't it? I collected my evidence, I reached a conclusion, and the conclusion was correct. Is that not how knowing things works?"

"I… Fuck." She's got me there.

"You should swear less, Hermione," Luna said gently, bumping into Hermione's shoulder as she came to sit next to her.

"I never used to."

"A witch of your vocabulary can come up with much better profanities than 'fuck'. Maybe you could come up with some in all the spare time you have?"

"Actually, I am in something of a rush."

"Oh. Don't let me keep you then. Just pretend I'm not here; that's what Natalie does."

Hermione ignored that comment - no time to handle Luna's bullies, again - and reached for her turner. "Luna, you know you can't tell anyone about this, right?"

"Oh, that's a relief; I've been not telling people for ages now. I'd feel very silly if you'd wanted me to be sharing it all this time."

Hemione gave up on the conversation and span the glass, listening for the-

"That's a very pretty time machine," Luna commented.

"Thank you?"

"So, what happens now? You don't seem to have gone anywhen."

"It doesn't work like that; it pulls me back through time to this point, from the future."

"Oh. So, where are you then?"

…

"What?"

"Where are you? If you're meant to have come back? Or does it take some time to happen?"

"Luna, don't play games about this, it's very serious... If I hadn't come back, that would mean…"

"I would never play games with time travel," Luna intoned, utterly sincere. "But there's only one of you here."

A/N:

Two days late and far too short, doodah doodah.

Call Luna 'wrong girl' for sport, all the doodah day.

Rewrite plot arcs on a whim, doodah doodah.

In the deep end but can't swim, that's the author's way.