Hermione sat anxiously in the armchair in front of Dumbledore's desk, her hands folded carefully in her lap, staring at the professor, who also looked at her without blinking. They hadn't spoken a word to each other since their argument a fortnight ago and if Hermione had had her way, they would have kept it that way. But they had to discuss their plan. Clarify all the details one last time.

"You are currently doing better than your classmates in all subjects," Dumbledore finally began the conversation without further ado. Hermione nodded and waited, so he continued, "I assume that you won't let your academic performance slip in the last few months here either. So there's nothing to stop a portrait of you being painted for our graduates' gallery."

"When will the picture be painted?"

A cup of tea stood untouched on the large desk in front of Hermione. Steam rose from it in gentle in curls, but she ignored the cup. She wasn't interested in responding to Dumbledore's politeness. He had let her down and reproached her when she needed his support.

"Two days before graduation so that it can be unveiled in time for the feast when both graduates receive their honours," her future Headmaster explained. "Afterwards, they will be received by the wizard and the witch and hung up in the gallery under the supervision of the professors. I'll take it down afterwards and keep it here."

Hermione knotted her fingers together. As much as she hated to admit it, she found it difficult to say the next words. " I'll be leaving on the day of the graduation feast. I'll come to you after dinner, get the painting, and sneak to the Chamber unnoticed."

Dumbledore took a sip from his teacup before continuing the thread. "As soon as I receive your signal, I will remove the Confundus charm from the time turner. I have discussed all the details with Nicolas. We are confident that we can cast all the necessary spells on the time turner."

"What are you going to tell Tom?"

The question was out before Hermione realised it was burning on her tongue. She couldn't help but feel awful at the thought of leaving Tom here alone.

"Nothing," Dumbledore replied cooly. "No one will know anything about your disappearance. My brother won't say anything either. We'll both be just as surprised and ignorant as Tom."

Tensely, Hermione bit her lower lip. Tom wouldn't believe a word Dumbledore said. He would be convinced that her supposed uncle was responsible for her disappearance. He would accuse him of hiding her from him. She could already see him getting angry and wanting to curse and torture everyone and everything to get what he wanted.

"Tom won't like it," she voiced her concerns as she deliberately separated her fingers and placed them flat on her thighs. "He'll turn over every stone looking for me."

"Well," Dumbledore replied with a shrug, "you'll be gone. He'll never be able to find you." Then, as if something had suddenly occurred to him, he turned his gaze into the distance and stroked his long, brown beard. It took several minutes, during which nothing could be heard apart from the ticking of the magical clocks in the office, before he continued. "Will he be looking for you in the Chamber?"

Suddenly, all the blood drained from Hermione's face. She hadn't even thought about that. Even if he didn't find her there in person, he would certainly see her portrait hanging there and then he would know that something was wrong. And even if he didn't notice, what about Harry or Ron or even Ginny, who would also all turn up in the Chamber at some point?

"Can we hide my picture somehow? Put a spell on it so that only I can see it and find it?" she finally suggested after much thought.

Dumbledore remained silent for a long moment, then suddenly stood up and nodded to her. "Come along, Miss Granger. In my experience, it's easier to think about problems when you have them in front of you."

Reluctantly, but resignedly, Hermione stood up and followed the professor to the corridor with the graduates' gallery. She doubted they would come up with a better idea there, but she didn't have the energy to argue with him about it.

oOoOoOo

Lost in thought, Abraxas wandered through the castle. He normally favoured walks in the fresh air when he wanted to think, but the temperatures in January didn't allow for that at the moment without having to maintain a constant warmth spell. And so he was now walking through the corridors and stairs of Hogwarts without a destination, without really seeing where his steps were taking him.

He had hoped that the turn of the year would give him a fresh start, but that was not the case. The cruel attack on Hermione, to which he had unwittingly contributed, was still gnawing at him. He could see that this usually brash witch was always tense around Lestrange. She tried not to let on and maintain a cold façade, but he could see that she was suffering.

With a sigh, Abraxas stopped and looked around. The corridor to the right would inevitably take him to the headmaster's office, and he didn't want to end up there under any circumstances. The corridor to the left would lead to a dead end after he turned right several times. The logical choice would be to simply turn round and take the next set of steps back towards the dungeons.

Shaking his head, Abraxas took the corridor to the left. His thoughts always ended up in a dead end, so he might as well go straight down one. Lined up on the walls were the many, many outstanding witches and wizards that Hogwarts had produced over the past centuries. They all whispered amongst themselves as he walked past them, looking after him anxiously as if they didn't appreciate his presence, but none of the pictures spoke to him.

Abraxas stopped in amazement at the strange behaviour of the paintings. Normally, the people in these paintings were silent and asleep, or they were trying to engage the students in conversation. It was rare for them to whisper to each other, and usually only when a living student was doing something wrong. But he didn't do anything, did he?

Suddenly, a slightly louder voice reached his ears. Was that Hermione, who he heard talking round the corner at the end of the corridor? What was she doing here of all places? Could it be that she had ended up here by chance, just like him? In a better mood, he walked on, but the closer he got to the corner, the more clearly he heard another voice. It was Professor Dumbledore's.

"The spell only works on Muggles, as you should know."

That was definitely Professor Dumbledore speaking. A feeling of unease shot up Abraxas' spine. Without thinking about what he was doing, he pressed himself against the wall just before the corridor turned left and concentrated fully on the words being spoken.

"Of course I know that. But can't you adapt it? Or use it as the basis for a new spell? You and Flamel have already invented a spell for this whole endeavour, what's the problem now?"

Abraxas opened his eyes in surprise. Was Hermione working on a secret project with Dumbledore and the famous Flamel? And why did her voice sound so harsh? If he didn't know any better, Abraxas would have thought that Hermione's tone sounded like dislike. He laboured to control his breathing so as not to draw attention to himself.

"Of course, we can try, but I don't know if it will be successful," Dumbledore's voice rang out again.

A frustrated groan from Hermione was the answer. "Don't you think I would have had that idea? I'm standing here, so it worked, that's for sure. No matter what we do, it'll work. That's how the whole thing works, isn't it?"

Abraxas was getting more confused by the second. What were they talking about? Why was Hermione talking about herself as if she were another person?

"You're still a person with freedom of choice. Every single decision you make is your own and arises from your values and what's going on around you. Even in your situation, nothing is set in stone or predetermined. You can still make the wrong decisions."

Abraxas stared wide-eyed at the opposite wall. Predetermined? He knew that some witches took fortune-telling very seriously, but Hermione never made a secret of how little she thought of the subject. So it couldn't be about her believing in some predestined fate and being reprimanded by her uncle for it. What was it about then?

"Do you know what I believe?" Hermione's voice sounded icy and hard when she finally gave an answer. "I believe that as soon as I make a wrong decision, I cease to exist. The fact that I'm still here means that I've made all the right decisions so far, doesn't it? So. My decision is that we adapt and use the Muggle defence spell."

Horrified, Abraxas slapped his hand over his mouth to keep from making a sound. Cease to exist? Did she mean that literally? Everything inside him was screaming to turn the corner and confront both parties, but he suspected he wouldn't get any answers in this situation. Especially not if Dumbledore was present.

The rustling of Dumbledore's long cloak made Abraxas freeze. There was only one way out of this place - and it led right past him. If the two of them went back to wherever they were going now, they would pass him. Although his thirst for knowledge was far from satisfied, Abraxas forced himself to slip away quietly. Pursued by the paintings looking after him discontentedly, he took a few quiet steps before quickening his pace and making sure to find the nearest staircase down.

Whatever was going on between her and Dumbledore, he would confront Hermione about it. Not right away. Not until he knew more concrete things. He didn't want to insinuate anything, he cared too much about her for that. And above all, he didn't want to jeopardise his relationship with her. Whatever Hermione's secret was, it wouldn't change his affection for her. So he wanted to make triple sure that he wouldn't hurt her if he confronted her. Half-truths and a few overheard sentences would only make him look like a creepy eavesdropper.

He would find out what Hermione's secret was, and then he would reveal it to her and be there for her. He would support her no matter what.