When she finally managed to break free of the grip of her night terror, Hermione gasped for air like a drowning woman. Staring blindly at the dark canopy above her bead, she drew rapid breaths as she tried to reassure herself that she was indeed awake.

The sound of the other girls in her dormitory moving around in their beds grounded her more than her frantic thoughts. She'd probably screamed.

Hermione grasped for the glass of water beside her bed with trembling hands, then drew her wand and cast a Silencing Charm. She wouldn't need it now that she was finally awake, but it calmed her nerves.

Sitting on her mattress, she experienced flashbacks of the nightmare she'd been caught in.

Endless corridors, deep down within Hogwarts. The angles were all wrong, but she'd notice that stonework anywhere. Cold, so cold, and also… haunted.

No, not haunted, but rather hunted.

She was being hunted, running away from something unseen that was right behind her.

But not just that.

She was also running toward something… or someone?

The instinctive knowledge that she needed to find this person before her hunter caught up with her, or…

… or something terrible would happen.

Hermione felt frustrated because everything was so vague and difficult to put into ordered thoughts, let alone words. But the feelings inside were very real, and her heart was still racing as the sweat on her face and arms cooled.

Drawing another ragged breath, she pushed her tangled hair to the side of her head and leaned over to…

Harry.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she gasped for air as her entire body convulsed in the darkness of the dormitory.

He was in pain.

She knew it.

It was impossible knowledge, she didn't really believe in supernatural senses like that, except she sort of did because she'd acted on her gut feelings before, hadn't she? But this was different, it wasn't vague but a searing and intimate and most importantly absolute certainty that in this very moment, Harry was in pain. In need of help.

Her help.

She needed to get to him, no matter what.

Ignoring any ideas of putting on decent clothes or shoes or that she was about to do something forbidden, Hermione stumbled out of her bed and raced to the door. She was half-aware that her feet were freezing as she rushed out of Gryffindor Tower, ignoring the Fat Lady's protests as she rushed through the gloomy hallways and down the Grand Staircase in her nightgowns. There was no thought about what she'd do if she encountered a Professor on a late patrol.

There was only thought about Harry, who she knew was still in agony.

When she finally reached the Hospital Wing, Hermione was out of breath. Her hands and feet were cold as icicles, and she was shivering violently — yet her face burned as if she was having a fever.

After another labored breath, she touched the doors, only to notice that they were slightly ajar.

Madame Pomfrey would never leave her sanctum unlocked like this.

Another shiver ran through Hermione's body, and she stepped inside, anxious and afraid of what she'd find. But even without actual lights in the large room, she immediately saw that Harry's bed was empty.

All the beds were.

It stopped her cold in her tracks.

Where was he? Why was he gone? She knew, knew it in her bones, that there was something wrong with him!

Hermione's heart began racing as she turned around in a fruitless effort to locate him. Her rational mind knew he wasn't here, but something else inside her didn't accept that, didn't want to accept it. Bile rose up her throat and she tried to swallow once, twice, before she convulsed and dry-heaved, falling on her knees.

The room began spinning.

Where was he? Where was Harry?

Hermione noticed that she was whimpering as a full-blown panic attack overtook her. Her vision began to distort, and she took rapid breaths as her chest felt like it was about to explode. "No, nononono…" The words were automatic, despite the danger of waking Madame Pomfrey and having to explain herself.

Tears were running down her face as she tried to breathe, and Hermione tried to cry as quietly as possible as her thoughts were scattered by an unspeakable fear of loss. She was all alone now and Harry wasn't here, she was…

At last, she seemed to calm down a bit because deep within her confused mind, she managed to build one critical thought.

Why was she crying for Harry in the middle of the night like an emotional wreck in a cliché telenovela? That didn't make any sense, even with all of their crazy adventures during prior years in mind.

No, that didn't make any sense.

Also, she didn't feel about Harry like that, she somehow, in her own and very complicated way, fancied Ron, didn't she? What else was that whole Won-Won drama about?

Hermione slowly calmed herself down as she took hold of this thought.

What the hell was she doing?

Feeling as if she awoke from yet another dream, she looked around in disbelief, then at herself kneeling on the cold floor. She must've been out of her mind, quite literally. That… simply wouldn't do.

Slowly and with shaking legs, Hermione stood up and took inventory of herself.

This must be what losing one's mind felt like, she decided. There wasn't a single reason she could come up with to explain what she'd just done, at least not a good one. Intellectually, she knew that night terrors were a serious matter, and she would take it seriously. But to panic like that and run around the castle, half-naked, in the middle of the night?

Was there something wrong with her?

Her eyes found Harry's bed again.

Despite her problems, he still was gone. Had he slipped back into the Boy's Dormitory under the cover of darkness? That didn't sound like him, he'd never done that before because he'd know how Professor McGonagall would chew him out afterward.

Still, he wasn't here.

This was leading nowhere.

Squaring her jaw in defiance of her own emotional state, Hermione turned around and left the Hospital Wing. As she snuck back to Gryffindor Tower, still trembling from the cold, she vowed to get some answers tomorrow.

And she definitely would not worry about a certain someone who'd left his bed in the Hospital Wing without permission — she wouldn't.

Hermione almost believed herself.

~.~.~.o.~.~.~

As used as he was to people staring at him, Harry felt extremely self-conscious as he slipped into the Great Hall the next morning. It wasn't as bad as during that thrice-damned Tournament, or Umbridge's reign of terror, but there were a lot of eyes on him. The Quidditch match's outcome, or rather his fall from his broom, seemed to have left an impression.

It put his anxiety into overdrive, since he still felt strangely vulnerable and unsafe.

Hogwarts, his home, wasn't safe right now.

Somehow.

It didn't make sense, it just was — well, wasn't.

Trying hard not to sniff the air or look at anyone in particular, he hurried over to the Gryffindor table. His head was buzzing under an avalanche of sensory input, but the Charm prevented him from hyper-focussing on anything in particular, or from a splitting headache.

Harry shook himself as memories of last night resurfaced.

He'd woken up somewhere after midnight and been completely overwhelmed by everything around him, even in the quiet of the night. The castle's groan, the infinitesimal movements of the windows and the door, the scents, the impressions left in the very air… all of it.

His flight from the Hospital Wing and escape to the dungeons, where he'd hidden in an unused and empty storage room, had been surreal — Harry had no memory of actually navigating the castle. He'd regained full consciousness cowering in a corner of the room in complete darkness, his cheek pressed onto the cold walls in hopes of escape from his own mind.

There'd been nightmares and complete loss of control over his own body, but thankfully no migraines. It'd still hurt, though, even with that Charm.

Harry had a feeling that its effects wouldn't last, and he didn't think it was a failsafe method either. Right now, he was just glad that he could stand the feeling of his robes and underwear on his skin, and that he wasn't drowning in the scents and sights around him.

"Mornin'," he mumbled as he sat down on the free space beside Neville.

"Hey, how are you?"

He shrugged. "Better now, but… I still have a headache." That was as close to the truth as he felt comfortable sharing.

Neville nodded. "Hope you get better."

"Yo, Potter!" Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote waved to him as he grimaced slightly at the volume. "That fall was crazy, please don't do that again!"

He smiled. "Don't plan to."

"I'm still having nightmares from those screams", Coote said. "If my mum ever learns of this, I'll never be allowed on a broom again." The duo started bickering about parental influences and Harry tuned out. He noticed that he still didn't like having lost the Quidditch game, but somehow it didn't bother him as much as it should… or would've at any other time in his life.

Yet another weird thing bothering him.

A quick look down the table showed that neither Ron nor Hermione were present, which was unusual given how late it was.

Neville was watching him, though. "They're not here yet. Ron is arguing with Lavender somewhere on the second floor, I think. No idea about Hermione."

He looked at his roommate. There was a spot of soap on his throat, and his shirt smelled of greenhouse. A tiny feather was stuck in his hair, probably from his pillow. All in all, it was somewhat calming, since Neville was just so very much himself.

"Thanks, Nev."

The boy just nodded and proceeded to butter a toast. The scraping of his knife on the bread's crust caused goosebumps to run down Harry's spine, but he tried to play it cool and hid behind a mug of tea.

Then, everything kind of stopped.

Harry was half-aware of lowering the hot mug as he slowly turned around, unseeing but very much smelling something. There was a scent in the air, a sweet scent that he remembered… from before. When he'd been screaming for mercy. When his brain had almost leaked out of his nose and ears.

Sweet but with an earthy note, almost like caramel, and something else, something that reminded him of…

He flinched and spilled hot tea as Hermione suddenly and loudly sat down in front of him. Then he flinched again as she slammed a stack of books on the table while glaring at him. Harry hastily vanished the spilled tea and put the mug down, almost missing the table.

Something was obviously bothering her, but all he could do right now was take a deep breath because that scent... that was her.

It was all Hermione.

Harry felt as if he was experiencing a vision as he bathed in her scent. His heart slowed down. The noise of the Great Hall faded into background noise, easily tuned out. The rough surface of the table and the cloth of his trousers stopped being so noticeable on his skin.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was shouting at himself that he needed to stop staring at her like that, to stop being such a...

... a freak.

The unwelcome thought brought Harry out of his sensory reverie.

Hermione still glared at him, her eyebrows now drawn together in irritation as she tried to make sense of his behavior. Neville was giving him worried side glances but remained quiet — a welcome contrast to Ron's usual and inevitable commentary.

"Are you feeling better, Harry?" Her voice would've cut through steel.

Harry blinked and tried to focus. "Morning, Hermione," he said awkwardly.

"Don't." She pointed a finger at him. "Just... don't."

He gulped. "What did I do?"

Hermione huffed and grabbed two slices of toast. She completely ignored him now as she filled her plate. "Can you pass me the bread, Neville?"

"Of course."

"What did I do? Please, what's going on?" Harry looked up and down the table, but people didn't pay close attention — yet. "Hermione?"

Neville swallowed. "I... I think I left something in the dormitory. Yeah... I did. Be right back." He was gone before anyone could question him.

All alone, since Ron still wasn't there and Seamus and Dean seemed to have an intimate discussion about something or other down the table, Harry felt very exposed. "I know you're not happy with me, what did I do?" he whispered, feeling a sliver of anger rise up from his chest. None of this was his fault!

"It doesn't matter since you're better now and everything's all right, isn't it?" Hermione still didn't look at him as she poured herself some tea. "Everything is just... all right."

"Hermione, I..."

"Potter! Good to see you! That was quite the fall, but what did you expect trying to catch the Bludger like that." A hand grabbed his shoulder, and Harry winced as McLaggen's voice boomed behind him.

"I didn't catch it, you misplayed and hit me in the face, you daft idiot!" He shook off the hand and turned around, focussing his anger on this new target. "What were you thinking?"

McLaggen smiled. "Me? I tried to show you, and the team, how it's done."

"In case you didn't know, knocking over your own Seeker isn't part of the game." Peakes was staring daggers at McLaggen from his seat. "You could've seriously harmed Harry."

"Nah, that's in the past." McLaggen waved the younger student off. "And as I said, it would've been way better for the team if we..."

"Are you serious now?" Harry stood up, his ears ringing and his heart pumping violently. He smelled the hair gel on McLaggen's head, and that his trunk had transferred a faint aroma of old incense onto his robes. He saw how the irises of the other boy narrowed as he glanced at Hermione, almost leered at her, and heard saliva rush in McLaggen's mouth.

It was nauseating and caused his anger to spike.

"You almost killed me, you stupid ponce. And you can't even say you're sorry?" Without conscious thought, Harry shoved McLaggen away.

"Hey, that's no way to talk to a teammate," the blonde protested.

Harry advanced and was immensely satisfied when he noticed that McLaggen flinched ever so slightly.

"Stop it!" Hermione had joined the fray, at least verbally. "Stop fighting!"

"Listen to Granger." McLaggen gave Harry a level look. "What's done is done, and I didn't lead the team to utter defeat. You did, Wonder Boy."

Harry's fist hit the Gryffindor Keeper straight on the cheek and made him stumble and fall backward.

"Harry! Stop it!"

"What the hell is going on?"

"Yo, they're at it!"

"Did Potter knock him out?"

"I can't see anything?"

"Mister Potter! What is the meaning of this?" Professor McGonagall stepped into Harry's field of vision. "Why is Mister McLaggen on the floor with a bloody nose?"

"He... he didn't even say he's sorry," Harry mumbled as he looked at his hand, feeling ashamed for his outburst under his Head of House's angry stare.

"That is not reason enough to attack other students at will, as you well know. I... I'm very disappointed, Mister Potter." McGonagall looked at McLaggen. "Are you all right?"

"It's nothing." The blonde tried to play it cool as he stood up, but his eyes were blazing when he looked at Harry. "Just a scratch." He wiped his bloody nose with a hand.

"Go to Madame Pomfrey anyway, I'll inform Professor Vectra that you might be late, Mister McLaggen."

"Yes, Professor." Surprisingly, McLaggen didn't say another word as he left the Great Hall, accompanied by stares and whispers.

"Mister Potter, you'll follow me to my office now."

Harry drew a deep breath and hung his head. He still wanted to punch someone or something, and his head felt like cotton again. "Yes, Professor," he whispered, knowing his day had just turned from okay-ish to awful.

He'd probably get detention until summer.

Hermione was staring at him, her face a mask of worry and exasperation.

He noticed now that he'd forgotten about her scent when McLaggen had arrived, and registered it only now again. He took a deep breath.

But, as he followed his angry Head of House out of the hall, he felt a headache rise.

That wasn't good.

The Charm should still work for another few hours.

As Harry neared the doors, he winced as hot white pain interrupted his train of thought.

"Mister Potter?" McGonagall had stopped to look at him.

"Sorry, I'm just... Aaaah." Harry sank to his knees as his senses went into overdrive again and set his brain on fire. "My... head..." He pressed his hands against his temples. "Not again..."

"Mister Potter!"

Harry screamed as another wave of pain erupted behind his eyes. He knew he'd fallen to the floor, but he had no control over his limbs as his awareness burned away under the sheer agony of the migraine.

There was Hermione's scent again.

Then, thankfully, everything went dark.

~.~.~.o.~.~.~

"Man, I would've loved to see McLaggen go down." Ron shook his head.

"Focus, Ron. Something's wrong with Harry, and we need to find out what." Ginny glared at him for a moment before she looked down on the floor. "We need to do something."

"I've never seen him scream like that before," Neville added. "But it was much like I imagined how being tortured by… by the Cruciatus must sound like."

Luna, who like everyone else was aware of Neville's familiarity with the aftereffects of that particular Unforgivable, grabbed his hand. "Harry is still in pain, I think", she said in a low voice. "But it's something different, I can feel it."

"But what?" Ron threw his hands in the air, not caring for the annoyed looks of the other students in the Common Room.

"A curse, maybe?" Ginny looked at them in turn. "Something that He-Who… Voldemort does? He's sent him visions before or made his head hurt. You know that."

"But that was different." Ron crossed his arms, but he appeared to be thinking. "Whenever the damn snake tried to mess with Harry, it was more subtle. More of a nuisance than… whatever this is. Dammit, I really should've been there."

"Believe me, it was almost frightening." Neville shook his head. "Man, every year it's something new, isn't it?"

Ginny and Luna nodded.

Ron looked at the ceiling. "So now what? Shouldn't we, I dunno, ask Hermione? This is something she's good at figuring out."

"I asked her, and she said that... that she's busy. Whatever that means." Ginny huffed. "Great friend you have there, Won-Won."

"Hey! Don't call me that!"

"Make me!"

Luna sighed. "I thought after Ron almost died it would be different, but you two are just the same as always."

The tall redhead blanched. "You… you can't just say stuff like that!"

"Welcome to my life." Ginny sighed. "But she's right. Sorry."

"I wonder..." Neville removed his hand from Luna with a slight blush. "Why would Hermione not help? She's Harry's best friend, aside from you, Ron. They did have a row of some sort during breakfast, but I assumed..."

"They did what? Tell us everything." Ginny stared at the tall boy.

Neville squirmed. "I don't feel comfortable gossiping like that."

"Everything, Neville. Now."

Ron grunted when his roommate stared at him. "Don't look at me, man."

"Okay." Neville sighed and rubbed his face. "When Harry came, he appeared to be a bit frazzled. His clothes were crumpled, and I suspect he hadn't been sleeping. When Hermione arrived, he looked as if he had an episode, he was staring off into space like I've only seen Crabbe and Goyle do in class."

"Well, he's not exactly a morning person," Ron wagered.

Ginny shook her head. "A blind wizard guiding those without sight."

Ron flipped her off.

"It was different, I'm telling you." Neville clenched his hands. "Anyway, Hermione eventually came down and was visibly angry with him, but wouldn't say why. Harry was completely lost and asked her, but she was… you know. It became so awkward that I left, to be honest."

Ginny groaned. "Neville, why? That was important."

"We should ask Hermione," Luna said. "If she was angry, Harry must've done something. She's a very reasonable person."

Ron grumbled something about a Potions book under his breath but didn't argue the point.

"Where is she, by the way?" Ginny looked around, but there was no bushy-haired witch in sight. "Is she in her room?"

"Ron, can't you ask Lavender to look?"

"Nope."

"Why?"

"Just let it go, Ginny. Can't do it."

Ginny grinned evilly now. "What, did your smooching session on the second floor not work out as planned?"

"Stop putting your nose where it doesn't belong!" Ron roared. "I mean it, Gin!"

"Coward."

"Shut up."

Luna looked at Neville. "Why don't you ask Lavender? You're really nice, she might do it for you."

The boy stared at her. "Err... what?"

Ron shook his head. "This won't end well."

~.~.~.o.~.~.~

When McGonagall came out of the Hospital Wing, she saw Hermione sitting on the floor with a book in her lap.

"Miss Granger?"

"Professor." Hermione sprang up. "Is... is he okay?"

The older woman sighed. "As far as we can ascertain — yes. For the moment, at least. The Headmaster has called for a specialist from St. Mungo's, though, because Mister Potter seemed just fine yesterday evening."

Hermione nodded. "That's probably for the best."

"I take it that you want to see him?"

"Yes, Professor."

McGonagall looked at the closed door behind her. "Normally, this isn't the time for visiting hours, Miss Granger, but I guess an exception can be made under these special circumstances." She turned back to her student. "But only a few minutes, Mister Potter needs rest."

"Of course."

When Hermione entered the Hospital Wing, McGonagall motioned to Madame Pomfrey. The school matron nodded, understanding that Harry's friend had been allowed to enter. "You know the rules, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, I'll be brief."

Madame Pomfrey nodded. "Very well, then." She pointed toward Harry's bed, where the curtains had been drawn. "Be careful opening them, he is sensitive to loud noises."

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment as she tried to understand Harry's pain and his current predicament. She still was angry about the surreal episode last night in which he had to be involved somehow…

… because she didn't obsess about Harry like that.

Normally, at least.

And if Hermione had anything to say about it, she wouldn't turn into another Romilda, thank you very much.

After steeling herself with a deep breath, she approached Harry's bed with careful steps, feeling slightly anxious about disturbing him. But she had no other choice.

Not unless she wanted to feel absolutely awful for the rest of the day.

She'd regretted her choice of words — or rather the lack thereof — immediately when Harry had broken down at the Great Hall's entrance. To know that he'd begged her to explain her anger at him just before... she didn't even know why she hadn't chosen to have words. Being cross with Harry wasn't the same thing as with Ron. Both of them were rather oblivious when it came to the nuances of communication, but Harry, for all the things he noticed that Ron didn't, was always overwhelmed by the silent treatment.

Ron would just get riled up and eventually blow off, but Harry… just retreated.

And she should've known better.

She actually knew better.

His continued use of that blasted Potions book was literally all the proof needed. Her needling him about it had gotten her exactly nowhere.

Why were things always so complicated?

Hermione reached out for the curtain. "Harry?" she asked in a low voice. "It's me, Hermione. Can... can I see you?"

At first, there was no answer, and she hesitated. But then Harry's voice came through the curtain. "It's fine, Hermione. I'm not made of glass."

She removed the barrier slowly and looked at him on the bed.

Harry was a bit pale and there were dark rings under his eyes. He appeared to be both exhausted and… angry. She knew that clenched jaw and the way his eyes narrowed when he was upset. He didn't look at her though but stared at the ceiling, his hands behind his head.

"What… what happened, Harry?"

"I don't know. Nobody does."

Hermione fiddled with her robes. "Why?"

He grunted and finally made eye contact. She noticed that his eyes widened as he took her in, and he took such a deep breath that she almost imagined him… sniffing her scent or something. "Because I'm me and there's no such thing as a normal school year? Don't ask me, Hermione, I really don't know why I'm such a fr… such a mess."

She stared at him for a moment, summoning all her bravado for the question she actually wanted to ask him.

"Are you okay, Hermione?"

"I'm fine."

His sardonic smile told her how inane that response had been. "Haven't heard that one before."

"Harry."

"Hm?"

"Where… where have you been last night?"

He blinked a few times and slowly removed his hands from behind his head. "What?"

Hermione turned around, but Madame Pomfrey was in her office. She leaned closer. "I was here, last night, to check on you. You weren't there!" she whispered furiously. "So, where were you?"

Harry swallowed as his eyes darted between hers rapidly. "I didn't feel well, so I… got out for a bit."

"In the middle of the night?"

"Yes."

"That's very irresponsible, Harry."

He took another deep breath. "Really? I'm having my head split from what feels like a Cruciatus, losing my mind and control of my senses in the process, but Merlin beware of breaking curfew."

She bit her lips and swallowed the angry response she'd already prepared. "So it is really bad."

"I… yes, it really is."

Hermione looked down again. "I'm sorry about being… being so difficult this morning. I didn't want to give you trouble."

He tilted his head. "Why were you looking for me last night anyway?"

She groaned inwardly. That was a question she'd hoped wouldn't come up, but sometimes Harry wasn't as oblivious as she thought him to be. Just her luck, because she had absolutely no idea how to explain that... episode of hers, or why she suddenly felt so deeply worried about him in a way that surpassed everything she'd been through before.

"Hermione?"

"I had a nightmare," she whispered. "Something terrible that made me fear for your safety, so I had to look for myself."

"You had a nightmare?" Harry raised himself, seemingly drawn to her now. His eyes grew large. "What kind of nightmare?"

She blanched. "That… is none of your business, Harry. It was terrifying, let's leave it at that."

"But it made you leave your bed and come here? I know it was past midnight when I left, so it was very late. Hermione, that's not normal, especially for you, if you don't mind me saying so."

"None of this is normal, Harry."

"That's not an answer."

They looked at each other, and Hermione felt herself squirming under his emerald gaze. It felt as if he could see everything as if he could pierce her skin and see her innermost thoughts. It was quite unnerving.

"What is happening, Hermione? Are you somehow connected to what's going on with me?"

"Why are you saying that?"

He broke eye contact. "Nothing… I figured just because you had a nightmare, and I had a nightmare, and I seem to… "

"What, Harry? Tell me."

But he shook his head. "Just my confused mind playing tricks on me, I think. It's nothing, really."

She didn't believe him but didn't know how to make him trust her now, either. They hadn't been close recently compared to the prior years, and Hermione didn't know how much of that was her fault. She knew she'd been difficult to be around lately, and that whole Won-Won drama certainly hadn't helped.

Harry had removed himself from Ron and her in some way, and only now did she realize how much she disliked it. How much it hurt.

"Where did you run off to, last night?" Not what she wanted to know, not really, but hopefully a safe middle ground.

Harry opened his mouth, but then his eyes moved to a spot somewhere behind Hermione. "Never mind," he mumbled.

"What do you mean?" She turned around, only to watch the Hospital Wing's doors open. The Headmaster was there, accompanied by another wizard she'd never seen before. How had Harry known they would enter just now?

"Miss Granger, nice to see a friend visiting Harry." Dumbledore gave her a friendly nod. "I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave, though."

Hermione turned back to Harry. He seemed to be annoyed by the interruption, if anything. "See you later?"

"Hm."

"Harry."

He looked at her again. "Yes?"

"Tell them whatever it is that bothers you, please."

His eyes darted between hers again. Then, he swallowed. "We'll see."

That wasn't the response she'd hoped for, but Hermione found herself shooed out of the Hospital Wing by Madame Pomfrey now.

Standing in the empty hallway outside, she suddenly remembered that she'd wanted to ask Harry about his suspicions about Malfoy because apparently, she'd inherited those now. That was another mess left for her to untangle on her own, it seemed.

"Bloody hell," she mumbled.

~.~.~.o.~.~.~

After reading the healer's report for the third time, Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and looked around his office. He didn't like Harry's diagnosis, didn't like it at all. In the back of his mind, he was trying to adjust everything to incorporate this new and unsettling piece of information.

Harry's lessons would need to be adjusted.

And not just that… a lot of things would need to be.

Dumbledore sighed, then leaned down behind his desk to rummage in one of the lower drawers. It took him a while to find the old wooden box he was looking for. He opened it and looked at the silvery device in it — something that would add seamlessly to the collection of puffing and wheezing knick-knacks and odd instruments on his desk.

Only that this piece of hardware did something very special.

Or would do, once activated. For that, he needed to visit Gryffindor Tower, though.

"Are you sure about that, Albus?" The portrait of Headmistress Slorah nodded to what he was holding in his hand.

"Not entirely, Gillian, no."

"It would complicate things considerably."

He nodded. "All the more reason to be sure, then. There are too many mysteries surrounding both Tom and Harry already."

"I do hope you're wrong," Headmistress Slorah said.

"Bwah." Phineas Black waved her off from his portrait. "I've yet to see a single one of those… things in the real. I bet it's just overly dramatic teenagers, nothing serious."

"We'll see…" Dumbledore said quietly. Then, he stood up. "Fawkes? I'm in need of your assistance, old friend."