Hermione found comfort in homework, when it didn't wrack her with anxiety. Being advanced two years meant she would be taking her OWLs at thirteen instead of fifteen. She wondered if that would make things more difficult for her. It was only two years, and she performed magic well enough if she focused.

You're going to fail.

No, stop this. You've made so much progress over the summer, found out so much about yourself, and Hiro even-

He's going to leave you. Why would he stay? Your own mother wouldn't. And it was so bad, your father thought lying about her being an alcoholic abandoning you was gentler than the truth.

Hiro said he'd write me weekly, he cares about me. I'm not selfish for wanting to be happy. I-

Aren't exactly the picture of stability, are you?

Hermione bit her lip and dug her nails into her hands. The voice had been more since she and Hiro got together. The dementors brought it back. She would silence this voice. Focus on the work. Arithmancy is the determining of future events and inner truths through numbers of the Greek alphabet and key words. The foundation of any arithmancy procedure is the method used. Pythagorean Method is the most popular with the Greek alphabet assigned numbers 1-9.

1-9, she thought with relief. Those are safe numbers. Three sets of three. I can do this. I have control.

As she suspected, arithmancy, at least by the book, was shaping to be her favourite subject. It was so ordered, predictable, consistent. Hermione felt something that she hadn't truly felt since the chamber, even when things were well. Control. She loved maths and numbers, she found something comforting about them. She never knew what would happen. She never knew if her father or friends would receive her with kindness or cruelty, nor what crime she had committed to earn that cruelty. But three sets of three always made nine.

"I thought I might find you here," her father said from behind her.

"Kuso!" she spat straightening the roll of parchment she was working on. Why didn't I study in the passage way?

"That happy to see me, eh?" he rested a hand on her head. "And I don't think I need to speak the language to know what that means."

No, I have a system and you know this...I found out some of my anxieties were normal...Someone please tell me resenting one's parent is normal! "Took me by surprise is all," she sighed. "I thought you had a staff meeting?"

"I did," he said. "They end. You've been here all day?"

"Only since eight or so," Hermione said.

"It's five," he said.

"Oh," she said slowly.

Where had the day gone? Sure, she'd gotten through her Standard Book of Spells Grade 5, Practical Potioneering, and started Arithmancy: Interpreting the Past, Present and Future through Numbers. For the first two books she even had her standard three notes paragraph. It was her practice since before her first year. She knew she would fail if she didn't do it. She couldn't say why. But wanted to dive into the archives and research Sirius Black. She had to know the full extent of his crimes. Perhaps she should have done that first...

"And you lost track of time because you hyper-focused," he sighed. "Are you still re-reading the same page until you can come up with at least three notes for it?"

Paragraphs actually, she thought bitterly. Oh, do you think I'm mad, Daddy? Ugh! Why am I so angry? He-I-ugh!

"I'll take that as a yes," he set his hand on the top of her head. "I know we've discussed the sorts of damage this obsessive behaviour can cause. Love, you're still recovering from both the jetlag and, more importantly, the incident with the dementors. Giving into the compulsion to engage in that behaviour can be really harmful."

It silences the voice...

How did he not understand that after all this time? It was her own fucked up pathology and she understood it. She would have the thought, 'you're going to fail, you're a failure' but if she wrote at least three notes per paragraph the thought would go away. But she knew how it would sound if she said any of that to him.

"I'm not trying to be critical," he sighed after a silence. "I'm worried."

"Dad, I'm fine," she said putting the last of her things in her bag. "The thing with the dementors, that was days go. Maybe you'd forgotten, but this is normal...for me."

"The ch-" he took in a deep breath. "I haven't forgotten anything. You just seemed better before you came back."

Based on what? Lies I told you overseas or the five seconds you saw me before the dementors attacked? "I have ups and downs, things were good that week. Is that not normal?" It's normal. Tell me it's normal. Please, tell me it's normal, Dad. Tell me I'm normal...

He regarded her with that pitying gaze she dreaded so much. That familiar sadness lurked behind his black eyes, endowed with the knowledge that Hermione was not normal.

Stand up straight, you stupid little girl, she told herself. Your father didn't raise a withering wall flower. Show him you're not broken.

"It is normal to an extent," he admitted. "And a girl your age-you're going to be experiencing many complex and new emotions, I'm sure. The joys of being your age, I'm afraid. But even accounting for that, this is rather dramatic."

"Everything is fine," she sighed.

"Even so," he sighed, moving a lock of hair out of her face. "I want to talk to you. Walk with me."

Hermione followed him out of the library and onto the grounds. What did he want to talk to her about? Did he find out about Hiro? Her dating a boy half way across the world barely affected him, so it couldn't be that. Maybe he found out somehow that she was bi? He didn't seem homophobic, but she knew people reacted differently with their own children deviating from what they thought was normal. Or maybe it was any of the things that were actually wrong with her. Or what she'd failed to do.

He had a camp set up. He didn't jump...Hermione never considered the possibility he jumped before the dementors attacked. Now the thought jumped on her when she least expected it. Some part of you had to consider it for the dementors to bring it out of you...

The two of them walked along the lake shore and Hermione felt the last rays of golden sun light reflect off the water, and poke through the thick foliage, warming her skin. She understood why he brought her out here. The warm breeze, the late afternoon sun, the golden rays bouncing off the crisp blue water might have given her a sense of calm. If the British wizard didn't weigh so heavily on her mind.

"I know things have been less than ideal between us since you've started school," he said slowly. "I have made mistakes, you know that."

Erasing my memory, lying to me about my mother...those aren't mistakes, Dad... Hermione thought but turned to face him.

He looked troubled, it was always hard for him to admit he was wrong. He normally waited until after something catastrophic had happened. This was strange and Hermione was unsure how to navigate it. Was he-was he well?

"Are you okay, Dad?" she asked.

"I've just had a lot of time to think while you were away," he said resting a hand on her head. "I know I've already apologized (about some things, Hermione still hadn't confronted him about her invented mother.), but that doesn't mean you weren't affected beyond that point. And you're not wrong to be upset about damage already done. You've never been told that, I imagine."

No, no one ever told her that. She had always just assumed not forgiving someone after they apologised, harbouring resentment, made her a bad person. In truth Hermione did and thought a lot of things that she felt made her a bad person. An amoral fuck-up, it was hard to see herself as anything else. Save for the moments she could make herself useful. Or the brief moments of intimacy with Hiro, Saiyaka, or Luna...they could make her feel like something a little more than a fuck-up or a game piece soon to outlive her usefulness. In very brief moments, her father could make her feel that way, but it wasn't often.

"I know why you did what you did, Dad," Hermione said with a sympathetic smile. "And I forgave you a long time ago."

That was a lie. But she did care about him, and to look at his face, drained of what little colour it usually had, the uncomfortable twist of his mouth and the haunted look in his black eyes. Hermione was well acquainted with guilt, and she could set aside her anger to give him absolution. He needed it.

"I'm not looking for absolution, Hermione," he sighed. "Listen to me. I'm your father and nothing is going to change that. What you mean to me isn't predicated on your forgiveness. Nor is it predicated on you being a some kind of saint. People, as it turns out, love, are messy, imperfect creatures. I expect you're very aware of that by now."

"It's hard not to be," she bit her lip. Where are you going with this? "I'm surrounded by people all day. I'm a person."

"Then you know that the idea of good people and bad people is an oversimplification. One that I believe hurts the people who hold those beliefs as much as the people who have made too many mistakes to ever fit under such a narrow description."

"I don't think you're a bad person, Dad," Hermione said.

"That's not what I-" he started but then sighed, drawing her into a hug. "You know, love," he said after a silence with a weak chuckle. "I'm terrified that once you're old enough to take interest in boys that you'll still not have outgrown that desire to tell people whatever you think they want to hear."

"Bold of you to assume I'll only like boys," Hermione teased happy to embrace the levity and testing the waters. Or that I haven't started yet...

"Indeed," he said, mussing her hair. "I suppose we'll figure that out in a few years' time, won't we?"

Okay, I am definitely not telling him I'm already dating someone.

"Security trolls will be posted along the entrance hall, the entrance to the dungeons, and on the roof starting August 20th," Dumbledore told Severus. "Remus will be joining us with the students on the train. The potion will be ready for the week of the full moon?"

"Yes, headmaster," he nodded. "It has to be attended daily, which is plenty of effort to put forward for-"

"A colleague that I expect you will treat with the utmost respect," Dumbledore peered at him over his glasses.

"But of course," he sighed. "Anything else I should know, sir?"

Dumbledore shook his head before looking to the direction of the sunset. "I don't imagine we want to be here when the dark comes, Severus."

"Very well," he replied.

Dumbledore mused a bit, stroking his long beard. "Anything of interest with you?"

Severus smirked at this. "You mean aside from the expectation I cater to a man who used to torment me? No, I don't imagine so, unless you find that both the Weasleys and Xenophilus Lovegood seem to think it appropriate to invite my child over the one month I have her to myself interesting."

"That might be good for her," Dumbledore mused. "She seems troubled."

How true that seemed. Hermione wandered the corridors like a ghost, performing 'fine' when she knew she was being observed. Was it the abduction? Did she simply miss her little friends back in Japan? Ever think the problem is you and not the bloody dementors? He thought maybe something happened in Japan and the encounter with the dementors resurfaced it, making her have to reprocess whatever the trauma was. That would explain why she seemed so different...but she proved difficult to talk to over the week. She wasn't defiant, just not forth-coming. There was something she was so thoroughly ashamed of. She wasn't ready to talk about it, and his attempt to reach out to her failed.

"Which is precisely why she should stay at her home with her family," he said. "Throwing her to the world now seems cruel. Not to mention the mass murderer prowling about freely? I'm not letting my little girl off these grounds until he's caught."

"Did it just get colder or am I getting older?" Dumbledore shivered.

No, they left the forest to a faint mist and darkness shrouding the grounds and it was most certainly colder. Was a storm coming in? Or-

"Dementors," both men breathed.

"I thought they were to be off the grounds!" Severus snarled before running to the lake where Hermione had been studying.

I'm the one that suggested she spend some time outside...I thought she was safe, I thought a little bit of sun...I'm a damned fool!

Sure enough, he found a single dementor floating over the lake, its faded black cloak reaching out in wispy tendrils, dangerously close to a now unconscious Hermione. Its gnarled, grey hands reached out to her. His heart pounded in his ears at the site of the cloaked, corpse like figure. Hermione, his baby...

"Expecto Patronum!" he cried.

A silver doe bounded around the small girl, staring down the hooded figure. She reared up before standing over Hermione like a mythical guardian.

The tendrils were interrupted by beams of silver light. An inhuman shriek filled the sky as the mist rolled in on itself, and the dementor retreated in trails of faded wisps, back across the lake.

"Hermione!" he cried, kneeling by her.

She laid amid open books on the grass, her breathing shaky, but she was breathing. Colour drained from her usually warm olive skin, and again it was cold to the touch. She wasn't Kissed, he was sure of that. But if he'd been later...

"Why are these things so interested in her?" he said, dismissing the doe and lifting his freezing daughter.

"They feed by creating misery, Severus," Dumbledore explained catching up to them. "An unwell teenager is like a beacon. I clearly didn't have the handle on this I thought. I'm speaking with the minister."

Why are a group of creatures that feed on the mentally ill stalking the village? "If one unwell teenager is a beacon how do you imagine they'll look at hundreds?"

"I'm going to fix this," he said with a cold edge to his voice. "If they can't respect the boundaries I set, they can send them back to Azkaban! I will not-she'll be okay. I swear, Severus, this will not happen again. To her or any other student."

"Can't we ward the barrier?" he asked.

"Don't you think we would have already if that were an option?" Dumbledore hissed as he marched into the castle.

"Say whatever you're about to, headmaster," Severus paced the length of the entrance to the hospital wing while he waited for word.

"A doe?"

"You have impeccable timing," he hissed.

"Yes, I'm sorry, Severus," he said quietly. "Not a conversation for when your daughter is in the hospital. I just found it-even after all this time?"

"Always," he whispered.

"Of course you can't make a patronus," her father sighed with a shrug. "It's well beyond OWL, and you're twelve. I'm a little worried you tried it unsupervised to be frank."

She nearly had her soul sucked from her and his concern was overexertion? What if he wasn't there when he was? What if- She didn't want to be a victim anymore..."I can't just wait around to be rescued, one of these days it's not going to happen."

"Is that your concern?" he set a hand on her head. "The headmaster assured me they will be off the grounds from now on. And he was so upset I'm inclined to believe him. Nothing's going to happen to you."

That wasn't the fucking point! Hermione was tired, she tried figuring it out on her own through books. That's how she figured out that she was supposed to use a patronus, but summoning it...she could barely produce wisps before getting weak. This particular conversation was only happening because he'd found her collapsed on the floor of their living quarters.

"You know I'd never let anything happen to you," he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You're not always going to be metres away and I'm not always going to be on the school grounds," she explained. "More happens here than what you allow to happen, and even if you somehow have perfect control over what happens here, what about when I'm in Hogsmede?"

Her father raised an eyebrow. "You must be mad if you think I'm letting my little girl traipse around the village unsupervised while that maniac is on the loose."

Why am I not surprised? Hermione clasped her hands together, digging her nails into the gaps between her fingers before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. One, two, three... "That's not the point," she said evenly. "I'm not a child-"

"Not only are you still very much a child," her father snapped. "But you're my child."

Hermione dug her nails deeper and took another deep breath. "My point is that I need to learn to be self-reliant. To defend myself. I thought you'd want that for your child."

He stared at her a moment, his face once more impassible. Whatever vulnerability he decided to show the previous week was gone. Though he at least seemed at a loss for words. He couldn't say no to that, it actively contradicted everything he'd wanted for her. She just needed to wait for him to be done whatever outburst he was about to have in response to her words.

One, two, three...

Still nothing as he brought a hand to his mouth, pensively stroking his face. "I hate that the tracer doesn't work on the grounds. You're going to keep trying to do it on your own if I say 'no' aren't you?"

"Yes," she drew herself to her full height.

"Fine," he sighed. "We start tomorrow after breakfast. Which I expect you to eat more than a third of. Yes?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded.

"Expecto Patronum," Hermione waved her wand and three faint silver wisps vanished as soon as they appeared.

What did he expect from the unwell twelve-year-old? The presence of the dementors on the school grounds undid whatever progress she made abroad. Dementors and whatever shame she carried with her.

"You need to concentrate," Severus explained straightening her wand arm. "Think of something that makes you truly happy, hold that thought. Erase everything else from your mind. Close your eyes. Breathe."

Hermione followed his instructions to the letter, closing her eyes and taking a controlled breath, but the tension in her muscles and white-knuckled grip on her wand remained. She didn't erase all those thoughts that kept swirling about in her head. She was normally better than this when it came to focus, why was she so preoccupied now? Not that she had the energy to produce anything substantial, but the wisps should have been more visible, and stayed longer than a second.

She's never seen it successfully cast, Severus took out his own wand.

A silver doe stood before Hermione, lowering her head to his daughter's eye level, blinking at her. Hermione's eyes widened as she stared at the silver doe in awe. She reached out her hand, stopping herself just short of her snout. It seemed whatever serenity and awe washed over her at the proximity of a patronus, she still knew to be cautious.

"Is that-" she breathed.

"My patronus," he explained leaning on the table. "You won't be able to make a corporeal one for some years yet. You're still too young to have a handle on that, but I know how you like to break things down to their elements from the whole."

"If that's the case," Hermione bit her lip and fidgeted with her wand before turning to him. "C-can I-erm- ask what-erm-do you think about?"

He was certain she had plenty of memories and thoughts to chose from. Why did she have to ask him? What help could that possibly give her? He had no interest in baring his past to her. It wasn't as if he was completely emotionally unavailable to her, he was entitled to his secrets and telling Hermione about Lily would give her all of them.

Hermione looked up at him for a moment before averting her gaze to the ground. "Sorry! Forget I asked! It's fine!"

His daughter stood before him, shrinking under her mountain of bushy hair, trying to sink into the floor as if she wanted him to forget much more than, what he had to admit was, an innocent question asked by a daughter to her father. Hermione shouldn't have felt so guilty for that, and it seemed something in his expression and silence told her she should.

The doe moved to nuzzle against Hermione's cheek. She smiled and straightened out of her formally withdrawn posture, looking up at him rather than the doe. Her eyes, large and expressive as always, pleading for answers he couldn't give her.

"You were always a difficult child," Severus sighed, dismissing his patronus.

"Erm," Hermione nervously wrung her hands. "Beg pardon, sir?"

"Perhaps 'difficult' is a strong word," he admitted placing a hand on her head. "When you were a baby, ten-months-old, you were not well. I know I've told you how ill you were back then, but I believe that's all I've said. For weeks, you cried and coughed and wheezed to no avail. One day, I remember it so well, you were lying on your side and crying. Wailing like a banshee when you could get the air. I picked you up, and you produced a stinging hex. I thought it was a bee at the time, it was summer and the window was open, you see. But no, it was you. You did not want to be handled at all-" he left out the part where he plucked her out of her mother's arms and she had every reason to be suspicious of him at the time. "You hadn't slept for some time. I remember you had these little purple rings under your eyes. So, I mixed a sleeping draught into your milk. I figured you wouldn't drink it otherwise. For the life of me, I couldn't get you to drink for me. The way you squirmed, you'd think I was trying to poison you. I don't know how long I fought with you, but eventually you drank. You slept soundly in my arms for a couple hours. I remember thinking, 'how could something so small and frail be such a terror?' and-"

Hermione looked away again. When he started she had been captivated, this was the most he had ever told Hermione about their past, but shame and hurt replaced the hungry curiosity in her eyes as the story went on. This wasn't the reaction he expected. Anyone caring for an infant had those thoughts, so why did she seem so hurt by them? He lifted her face by the chin and continued before he could find an excuse to back down.

"Listen to me, love," he said. "Two nights later you started crying and you could not be quietened. You levitated different objects around you, books, blankets, your toy cat. I had to use magic just to get to you. As I mentioned before, you were quite ill. Looking back on it now, it seemed you were quite aware that you needed help and attention, but at the same time was scared to receive it. The young and overwhelmed don't make for the most stable environments, I'm ashamed to admit. I finally did what I should have done long before then and took you to Saint Mungo's. They had to regrow entire portions of your lungs that hadn't developed properly at birth. No doubt the volume at which you cried was aided by magic, given your condition. It's a bit of a paradox really, your body needs all the energy it can to heal, yet the mind wastes it lashing out magically, which in turn depletes your magical energy when it could be better used. Indeed, I suppose that's why you could accomplish that as a baby, but while you're unwell now you can't summon the necessary energy for some intentional spells.

"You had to stay overnight, and I didn't sleep at all that night. I remember pacing the waiting area just waiting for word-" again he left out the part where her birth parents and her fate at a magical orphanage were heavily weighing on his mind. "Finally, a healer came forward and placed you in my arms. You didn't cry, but you were awake. You looked up at me with those big brown eyes of yours and wrapped your tiny hand around my finger, and in that very instant I knew no one had ever trusted me as much you did then. I held you close and promised you that everything would be alright, that I had you," he smiled and brushed her hair out of her face. "That moment is what I think about when I cast my patronus."

"Honest?" Hermione blinked up at him with an expression that made him wish it were true.

"Of course, love," he kissed her forehead.

The story leading up to it may have been true with some major omissions, but like so many things he told his daughter this was a lie. However, the truth would open old wounds for him and create too many new ones for her to count. No, this lie would serve her well.

He wondered what might calm the anxieties preventing her from following his instructions fully as he watched her attempt to create a patronus once again. It dissipated once more with less than a second life-span and Hermione bit her lip so hard she bled. Why all this frustration over a spell beyond her level?

That's not the point...Why do I think the point was more than asserting your autonomy? Should I give her another break from this place? That might be good for her...

He had intended to take her to Diagon Alley after she got back home, but didn't. He read something about cats and their affect on those with severe anxiety. And he had suspected for a while that Hermione fell in that category. If it wasn't for the damned potion brewing in his office, they could make a weekend of it, something to stop her obsessive nature from driving her into the ground.

She looks nothing like you, if you send her to stay with someone else Black won't target her out. She'll be under adult supervision.

So the question remained; did he send her to the Weasleys or the Lovegoods?