Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein Dennis appreciates the value of the Marauders Map, Hermione learns where LOSS really is, takes a trip to Hogsmeade, finds her Holy Grail, has an unexpected and revealing encounter with a powerful magical object, takes a walk, enlists Luna to help her cast dangerous spells, takes a side trip to the Trophy Room, has it out with Dumbledore, obtains Dumbledore's assistance, reads the Daily Prophet, and receives a shocking revelation from Dobby; while at almost the same time, Voldemort makes a similarly shocking deduction.

Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim any other rights in the characters and other concepts created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money, nor do I seek any commercial advantage from this work. As such it constitutes "fair use" as defined in 17 U.S.C. §107.

Chapter 33 - Lost And Found

…Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap….

"Urgh…." Dennis Creevey rolled over, his eyes blinking drowsily in the early morning brilliance flooding through his window. He always had been a light sleeper.

…Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap….

He looked at his clock. 5:45 a.m.

…Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap….

Nobody except bloody Hermione was ever up at this hour of the morning - and she would be getting ready to go to bed. That Time-Turner of hers….

…Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap….

Slowly, Dennis rolled off of his inviting mattress, threw on his pants from the night before, and opened his door. It was indeed Hermione - but not as he was expecting her. She was not the groggy, early-morning Hermione moments away from giving her Time-Turner six quick twists and getting some well-deserved sleep. Rather the witch who was the cleverest person he had ever known was hunched over the big conference table looking closely at a large sheet of parchment. She was tapping her wand rhythmically. Each tap produced a few guttering blue sparks.

He regarded her through half-opened eyes and whinged, "Hermione.… It's not even six in the morning. Do you mind…?"

The girl gasped softly and instantly stopped tapping.

"Hermione … what are you doing?" he asked sleepily.

She had been too single-mindedly focussed, and had quite forgotten about her own nervous energy. "Oh - hi, Dennis…. Just looking … looking for someone." She was not ready to involve any of her friends in her little tiff with the administration until she was absolutely sure she was right. Thus, she had to distract Dennis.

Hermione deliberately repositioned herself so he could see the Marauder's Map. He had always had a nose for gadgets.

"Who are…? Gee! What's that?" Dennis blurted, seeing the Map for the first time.

"This," Hermione said with exaggerated smugness, "is a map of the Castle and grounds. As you can see, it shows everyplace in the Castle and the location of everyone in it. Look, here we are."

Hermione could sense Dennis looking over her shoulder - presumably at the spot where she was pointing. But he remained silent. After allowing far more time than usual for a reply, Hermione turned partway and gave a careful, sideways glance at the boy. He was staring, all right, but obviously deep in thought.

"Dennis, what is it?" asked Hermione softly.

He continued to look intently at the Map, taking it all in. Finally he asked, "Does this show everybody even when everyone's here for the term?"

Hermione had not used the Map enough to know for sure. "I think so, Dennis, but it's not my map - it's Harry's."

Dennis ignored the obvious question of why she had Harry's map. His mind was mulling over something far more important. "Hermione, do you know how this map stores that much information?"

"I think so," Hermione responded. "This kind of map was touched upon in the training Harry and I had. There are charms on the paper. It's called Paneruditius Parchment."

"Do you know the charms?" Dennis asked.

"Oh, no. They're much too advanced - even for me," Hermione admitted. "But there's nothing secret about the paper. I've been told it's for sale at Dervish & Banges."

"Hermione, I think this is the answer," Dennis declared.

"What's the question, then?" Hermione responded, somewhat nonplussed, but hopeful too. Had she overlooked something? Also she needed to get Dennis to leave and stop distracting her. Madam Pince was making her way to the library. That witch was like clockwork.

"A magical memory for the D.A. communication system…. So you won't lose everything every time you turn it off," Dennis answered excitedly.

That was good news, and if Hermione had not been so riveted upon more immediate concerns, she would have been thrilled. Right now, however, all she wanted was for him - and everyone - to be gone, so she could concentrate on what she had to do.

"That's a wonderful insight, Dennis," she answered truthfully. "Tell you what. I may be onto something big myself, but I'm not sure yet. If you'll leave me in peace this morning and let me have some time to myself to figure things out, I promise I'll get you enough money to buy all the Paneruditius Parchment you need."

Hermione was sure that, once she explained the need to Mad-Eye, Harry's guardian would provide funds from Harry's accounts to pay for such a useful enhancement to the D.A. communication system.

Dennis was more than happy to oblige, and quickly went back to sleep. Hermione made doubly sure by casting a Door-Locking Charm on all of the individual room doors that opened into the conference room. She did not like shutting the others in their rooms, even though they were all sleeping. But this was important, and it was only for a bit.

Madam Pince was in the library now. She stopped moving. Hermione formed an image in her mind's eye of the librarian standing by her desk reading Dumbledore's note. Hot anger coursed through the girl's veins, and she clenched her jaw hard enough that she once again heard that ever-so-subtle ringing/hissing noise in her ears from her taut facial muscles.

The Marauder's Map provided a great deal of information, but even it was not sophisticated enough to show pieces of furniture. Madam Pince seemed rooted to the spot. After two of the longest minutes in Hermione's life, the unsuspecting librarian started moving again.

Madam Pince left the library and proceeded along the main fourth floor corridor. She moved steadily, like she knew exactly where she was going. On the Map, her name floated down a side passageway, and reached the rear set of staircases on the west wing. She went down one flight. The staircase obligingly moved, and Hermione's target set off along the main hallway on the third floor. She turned right, walked through another side passage to the end, and came to a door. Presumably she opened it, since she stepped inside and once again halted.

Taking advantage of the delay, Hermione examined the corridor and suite of rooms that lay beyond the door Madam Pince had just passed through. The Map revealed that the entryway, where the librarian was presently parking herself, also opened into an unusual vertical shaft, presumably to the second floor and below. That was unlikely to be Madam Pince's destination, at her age, so Hermione examined the rest of the hidden third-floor corridor - running her finger past a couple more nondescript rooms - and finally spotted it. Written quite clearly (if in rather small print) was "Library Off-Site Storage."

"There it is," Hermione muttered to herself. "My Holy Grail." She quickly gathered up the Map, unlocked all of the doors to her friends' rooms, and retreated to the privacy of her own flat. By the time she unfolded the pertinent portion of the Marauders' Map on her own bed, Madam Pince had moved again. She had left the anteroom and was now in the in the storage room herself.

Hermione studied the Map intently, committing the location of the hidden corridor and the L.O.S.S. room to permanent memory. Now it was just a matter of waiting for Madam Pince to do what Dumbledore had asked and leave. The girl began studying the various possible routes between the room she was in and the place she wanted to be. Mentally reviewing these routes, she got a strong sense of déjà vu.

Was it really the same place? Hermione strained to remember. So much time had passed. If indeed it were - and her memory was usually trustworthy - could it be that the old man would try the same thing again? Given Madam Pince's dalliance in the foyer, and what else was in the vicinity, Hermione concluded that it was not only possible, but probable. She would be prepared for that eventuality.

Once again, she knew, but Dumbledore did not know she knew.

By the time Hermione had posed and answered (as best she could) these questions, Madam Pince was again in motion. Hermione followed the librarian on the Map until it was obvious that she was headed for Dumbledore's office rather than back to the library.

"Mischief managed."

Now she had to wait.

The hours of the day positively crept along as Hermione bided her time. There was precious little original research left for her to do in the main library, and even if there had been, her mental state was hardly conducive to detailed investigation. She busied herself retracing her prior efforts and confirming exactly what materials she knew to be missing.

The recheck, even for someone as obsessively thorough as Hermione, took only a couple of hours. She had been over and over each of her research steps so many times already that there was precious little more for her to do. Just as she had thought, besides the one volume Dumbledore had requested, there were six specific titles - six bloody dead ends - that had all been marked with "L.O.S.S."

There may well be more.

The more she thought about how much valuable time had been wasted by the Headmaster's evident deceptions, the more Hermione seethed. The old S.O.B. had intentionally sabotaged her attempt to rescue Harry - for no good reason that she could fathom. Sure it was dangerous…. She knew she stood a significant chance of being killed, or worse descending into raving lunacy like the witch in that article. But that should be her choice.

Truth be told, Hermione's own life meant relatively little to her at the moment. How could she live with herself after disbelieving Harry and driving him away like she had? Conversely, she also knew that if she were hurt, Harry (being the kind of person he was) would have similar trouble living with himself. But at least he would be living. She would address that possibility as best she could, but his life was more important than any danger to her. The prophecy only confirmed this.

Danger.

What had been an abstraction was now becoming all too real. If she found what she expected to find, there was not much time left. She now had stark confirmation that neither Dumbledore nor McGonagall was going to help her. They were bloody responsible adults. For all their protestations, they viewed her as a child to be sheltered, not as a colleague to be assisted. Perhaps they were right. But right and wrong were becoming harder to discern as the days trickled away.

With Ron, Neville, and Ginny now gone home - more or less forced to spend at least a little time with their families - she would have to teach Luna how to perform whatever spells there were to perform. There was no other real choice. Luna had proven herself to be a powerful, if highly unorthodox, witch. Colin and Dennis were at best average spell casters. Their ingenuity lay elsewhere. She needed far more than average.

Briefly, Hermione toyed with the idea of drafting her own will, but she decided not to bother. She had precious few possessions of her own - one Gringotts account with a few thousand Galleons in it, the proceeds of her reward money and the various scholarships she had won. Her estate only became significant if Harry died. But if both Harry and she died, she no longer gave a damn what happened to all that blood money. There was nobody she particularly cared to give it to. The solicitors had discouraged any charitable bequest. Thus, the more chaos, the better.

It was one form of revenge - a posthumous retort to her betrayal.

Let Dumbledore have to sort it out, if worse came to worse.

There was only one formality she cared about, and even then only in one circumstance, for there was only one person she truly trusted. It was easy enough to find a form book in the Ceremonial Library, and the transcription did not take long. The rest - the tricky spells, and especially the Muggle means of concealment - took longer. After swallowing hard and signing her name, she placed the document where Luna would be sure to find it.

By then it was late morning. Feeling somewhat stir crazy, Hermione requested and received an early lunch from Dobby. She was not about to eat in the Great Hall because she did not trust herself around Dumbledore. Her bile had reached such a level that she was afraid she would fumble her advantage by saying something indiscreet.

Whilst eating, she felt it. Harry was conscious again. That was odd. It broke the every other day pattern. Her initial relief at receiving confirmation that he was still alive soon vanished, however. Instead of retreating into his trancelike state, Harry's emotions instead veered rapidly to shock, fear, pain, and rage … and then nothing.

Hermione never finished her lunch. Harry's emotions were poisonous enough to take anyone's appetite away. Ordinarily, she would have reported such an event to the Headmaster at once - but not today - not after what he had done. …That, and the fact that, for all their nastiness, Harry's emotions just did not have the feel of a prelude to an execution. Something else terrible was going on. What, she had no idea.

On edge and restive, Hermione could not stay cooped up in either her guest apartment or the library any longer. Unless she burned off some of this energy, she would go around the twist. First, she took a walk to the third floor - just for reconnaissance, not to attempt entry. That would come later.

Her suspicions confirmed, Hermione then decided to visit Hogsmeade. In two weeks she had barely left Hogwarts Castle except to testify at trials - two Ministry proceedings, and the closed hearing that concerned the Black estate. She needed a break … to get away by herself. Then she recalled her promise to Dennis. There was no need to bother Mad-Eye just yet. Between her scholarships and the reward money for her part in capturing the Death Eaters at the Ministry, she had more than enough funds to buy plenty of the Paneruditius Parchment on her own.

Besides, Mad-Eye was another of those blasted responsible adults.

Once off the Castle grounds, Hermione could have Apparated, but she decided to walk instead. She had both time and energy to kill. Not five minutes after leaving the grounds, however, she was startled by a loud Apparition "POP" less than ten feet behind her. Whirling around, wand in hand, she came face to face with a very exasperated Tonks.

The Auror demanded, "Just where in blazes do you think you're going, young lady, alone and on foot with all this Death Eater activity going on?"

"They have what they want," Hermione sighed. "They don't care about me."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Tonks replied, "I've been coming around to Snape's line of reasoning for some time now. All our intelligence.…"

"Intelligence? Bah!" scoffed Hermione. "Snape is a bloody traitor."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, either," Tonks snapped back.

"If you have something to say, then say it," Hermione complained. "I'm not in the mood to talk to you or anyone right now. I need a break."

"What you need is a bodyguard," Tonks observed, "and I'm at your service." Tonks started an exaggerated curtsey, lost her balance, and fell to her knees.

Ordinarily, Hermione might have laughed, but at the moment, anger welled up inside her. "How many times do I have to tell you that I don't want you or your services right now? I want to be alone."

"Say what you like," Tonks responded matter of factly, and with a little bit of hurt. "I'm not permitted to take no for an answer."

"Dumbledore sent you, didn't he?" Hermione accused.

"Of course," Tonks replied. "Did you think he'd let you - the ruddy royal widow - roam about loose at a time like this?"

"Sod Dumbledore, then," Hermione practically yelled. "…And what in Hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You'll see," Tonks said knowingly, "just wait until you get to the village."

That ended the conversation. The two witches walked in mutual, if grudging, silence. Hermione knew that, try as she might, she could not rid herself of her unwanted, although amiable enough, companion as long as she was outside the Castle. She resolved to say as little as possible, because she knew that anything she did reveal would be immediately reported to Dumbledore. It was best to get things over with as quickly and as painlessly as possible.

The trouble was - Tonks was right.

It began as soon as Hermione entered Hogsmeade proper - and it had nothing to do with the tacky, purple Ministry posters that seemed to festoon every blank wall. No, the passersby's reactions were telling. Everyone on the High Street seemed to be stopping to stare. Whilst not inherently unpleasant, Hermione was not at all used to being a recipient of other people's pity. That made her very uncomfortable.

Beyond pity, Hermione could barely get anyone to talk to her. Everyone maintained a respectful distance. When she tried to approach others, she quickly realised that even silence that was better than the conversation she was able to draw out of these people. Whenever Hermione tried, the result was the same.

"Poor dear, I'm so sorry for you…."

"You have my greatest sympathy…."

"It's too bad, that's all I can say…."

Hermione did not want to be the object of any behavior that assumed Harry's death - it was too depressing. Thus, she looked for someplace, anyplace, with a modicum of privacy. After finding a suitable side street, she turned to Tonks for an explanation. "What in Merlin's name is everyone on about?"

"I hate to say `I told you so,' but I did," the Auror informed her. "You need to start reading the Prophet again - for your own sake. Every day that passes, more people are convinced that Harry's dead. You're widely viewed as his…." Tonks searched for a sufficiently neutral expression. "…His surviving romantic interest. You're known to be at Hogwarts Castle, appearing in public only to defend Harry's legacy. A little of it's your family situation, but not that much. The general impression is that you're up there pining away…."

The false premises only made these assumptions all the more miserable for her.

"But why, Tonks?" Hermione beseeched, needing all her presence of mind just to keep her voice to a whisper. "Why would Dumbledore let everyone think that?"

"Better than broadcasting to the world what you've really been up to, don't you think?" Tonks answered. "He figures both you and Harry are safer that way."

The thought of the Headmaster keeping her and Harry "safe" whilst systematically sabotaging her efforts was too ironic for words. "Well you can tell ruddy Dumbledore that…." Hermione caught herself just in time. Not now. Not when she was on the verge of a break through.

"Tell him what?" Tonks responded curiously.

"Tell him…. Tell him that I'd rather he concentrate his efforts on rescuing Harry than wasting his time on me," Hermione lied convincingly.

"You won't believe me, but he is," was Tonks' answer. "You should leave the adults to it, and stop playing at being a hero…."

Tonks could have told Hermione that Harry and Snape were both in protective custody, passing the time playing friendly games of Exploding Snap, and the girl would not have believed her any less. She snorted. She was young, but no child - not any longer.

With Tonks eying her strangely, finally, Hermione simply requested, "Take me to Dervish and Banges, I need to get something Dennis wants, and then I need to get out of here."

"All right," Tonks agreed, "but the term starts in a couple of days. The other students won't act that much different."

"I know," Hermione conceded. "I'll just have to deal with that as it comes."

Less than an hour later, they were on the road back to Hogwarts, preceded by five large rolls of Paneruditius Parchment floating along in midair. The visit to D&B turned out no better than the rest of the trip, but at least Hermione had gotten what she - or more properly Dennis - needed. The clerk recognised her immediately (everybody seemed to now) and promptly fled, returning with Mr. Banges, the proprietor, in tow. There was more of the bloody sympathy bit…. She almost had to hex him (not really, but it felt that way at the time) to be allowed to pay for her purchases, rather than to receive them gratis.

But with her purse lighter by 200 Galleons, Hermione had what she hoped would prove to be the missing link for Dennis to create the wizard equivalent of a personal computer.

* * * *

Hermione awoke at fifteen minutes before midnight, with her time to act finally nigh. Over the rest of the afternoon and evening, Hermione had used the last of her Dreamless Sleep Potion to rejuvenate herself. She needed to be fresh tonight, and she knew she had not been getting enough quality sleep lately. She instructed her sphere to fetch several of the fattest books she knew. Then she summoned Dobby and requested a midnight snack.

Dobby and the sphere returned at about the same time. She thanked the attentive elf and unloaded the books. When she turned around, she saw Dobby still waiting, expecting another directive. He looked more apprehensive than usual.

"Dobby, what is it?" Hermione asked.

"I is…. I is … wondering if Miz Myown is to be needing anything else…." Dobby replied uncertainly, not quite meeting her eyes. That was not normal elven behaviour, even for this most unusual elf.

"Is there something else, Dobby?" she inquired gently.

For a moment Dobby almost looked like he wanted to slam his fingers in the nearest door, but he did not. "It's…. It's.… It's … just that … Dobby is very worried about Harry Potter, Miss…. We all is…. We elves don't feel right. Is anything happening?"

"Dobby, nothing is happening yet, but I feel - like I'm on the verge of a break through," Hermione soothed.

Dobby's agitated face brightened instantly. "Oh thank you Miz Myown! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" The enthused elf hugged Hermione's leg, the first part of her that he could reach.

She felt abashed, but determined. "Now Dobby," she spoke. "I need something from you - my privacy. You see this huge stack of books? I have to review them all by morning. Please don't let me see you until tomorrow, Okay?"

"Okay, Miz Myown," Dobby responded, and he vanished with a snap of his long elven fingers.

She felt badly at deceiving Dobby, but he worked for Dumbledore. Thus, she neutralised another potential complication.

Hermione positioned the Time-Turner around her neck and tucked it under her robes. Having already collected all of her absent friends' Memory Quills, she slipped a dozen of them inside two large rolls of regular parchment. To these supplies she added Harry's Invisibility Cloak, the Marauders Map, and her violin in its case. After wrapping the violin case in the Cloak, she left her room.

Dennis and Colin were in the common area, happily tinkering away, despite the late hour. Bits of enchanted glass, old wand cores, magical wax and Muggle wiring lay scattered about the conference room table amidst a clutter of other, less readily identifiable items. Their excitement was palpable.

"Hermione!" Dennis called out. "Thanks for the parchment! In a couple of hours, I think we'll have it! You won't have to lose everything you write anymore!"

She smiled. "Great, guys. Tomorrow you can show me how to use it. I hope I'll have amassed enough information tonight to make it worthwhile. Now, I'm off to the library for my nightly swot. Don't wait up."

"We won't disappoint," Colin replied.

`I hope I won't either,' Hermione thought as she exited the door. "I mean it. You need to get some sleep," she called to them as she departed.

After leaving, she snuck into the first empty room she came across and shrunk the violin. She attached the diminutive instrument to her Auror belt, which she now habitually wore with jeans under her robes. She wrapped the Invisibility Cloak around herself, gave it an accomplished twirl, and disappeared from normal sight.

"Time to piss or get off the pot," she muttered.

It was a long trek across the Castle from the guest flats to the third-floor corridor in the opposite wing. Hermione's trip was mostly uneventful, but for a three-storey detour (including a slog through the Weasley Memorial Bog) necessary to avoid Peeves. She could not discern what the poltergeist was doing, but it was undoubtedly nefarious.

When she reached the door at the end of the hall, she rechecked the Map. The third floor on this entire wing of the Castle was deserted. Hermione parked herself in front of the door, removed her violin from the case, enlarged it, tuned it and made it ready. Reattaching the case to her belt, she checked the door. Predictably, it was locked.

Drawing her wand, she tapped the lock with it and whispered, "Alohomora."

She heard the lock click. Absence of any additional security was a good sign.

Hermione pushed the solid door open, and spun inside. Squinting in the semi-darkness, she heard it before she saw it - heavy, if irregular breathing, then scrabbing noises as if something massive were sleepily trying to stand. Soon enough, three reddish-yellow pairs of eyes regarded her, with different degrees of focus. The thing let out a low, orotund rumble, which reverberated more like a foghorn than a growl.

This was no ordinary beast.

"Good evening, Fluffy," Hermione calmly addressed the great, slavering, three-headed dog. "Back again, I see."

She began playing Brahms' famous lullaby on her violin, but soon switched to Kreisler's "Liebesleid," as she recalled the circumstances of her first visit to this room - and this beast - so many years ago….

From this place, in her First Year, she had gone with Harry (and Ron) in pursuit of the Philosopher's Stone. Ron had loyally sacrificed himself first. She had continued - until her solution of Snape's logic puzzle left room only for one. Harry had sent her back, and he had gone on to face Voldemort alone.

She still remembered that event, as if it were only yesterday. At that moment they both began journeys. Harry had started his journey of becoming the great wizard he now was - assuming he lived. That night he had left her as a boy, and when she saw him again, he was more than that. Before he passed alone through the black flames, she had embraced him … her first such act towards him, or any, boy.

For her part, the same moment marked the beginning of Hermione's journey of the heart. That embrace had been the precursor (she now understood, with benefit of hindsight) of her present feelings for him. She sighed, contemplating how it could take so many years to fall in love at first sight. Over time, those stirrings had grown and expanded into the all-encompassing feeling, at once majestic and melancholy, that now sustained her - a love for which she fully expected she would soon risk her life.

She would do it gladly and call it a bargain - the best she ever had. Life without Harry was hardly worth living. Hers and Harry's journeys were destined once again to intersect. They had to be….

By this time she had almost exhausted the Liebesleid, and the great Cerberus was fast asleep, his breathing like the rumbling of distant thunder. It was time for the main chance. The Invisibility Cloak trailing behind her, Hermione set off down the forbidden corridor at a dead run. She skittered to a halt at the last door on the left. It was ajar.

Full of equal parts trepidation and hope she creaked the door open, slid through, and closed it firmly behind her. With her wand, she further sealed the door with both Locking and Imperturbable Charms. She then employed Surveillius Revelato and established the absence of any hidden listening devices. Finally she conjured a bluebell flame, just like First Year.

Hermione's dimly visible surroundings hardly resembled a proper treasure chamber. Rather, she found herself in a musty old storage room, mostly chock-a-block with what looked like old, unused furniture draped with sheets of various colours and thicknesses. An old four-poster bed with Professor Binns' name carved on the foot loomed off to one side.

The ice-cold feeling that this was all a mistake briefly shot through Hermione's mind - stealing her breath away.

Then she saw it.

Half concealed by a paint-spattered drop cloth was a battered grey steel bookcase, about four feet high. Hermione almost ran to it. She ripped the covering off and stared at its contents.

There they were … all of them.

Before her were all of the books that she had sought, fruitlessly, in the library since she had began her quest - the Ministry report, books on Asiatic and Russian magic, medical journals, everything.

There were even books - plenty of them - on this shelf that were unknown to her. The Headmaster's perfidy had obscured so many intermediate research steps that she had by no means identified all sources relevant to affinities and how to strengthen them. Now that Hermione had solved the mystery, the greatest irony was that Dumbledore had more or less done her work for her. All the books she needed were conveniently collected in a single place.

She knew at that moment that she would be spending the night here. Hermione put a Scintillating Charm on the Marauder's Map so that it would start flashing if anyone touched the outer door to the corridor.

Working feverishly now, she ploughed through the numerous manuscripts as fast as she could read - and she was a natural speed-reader. She scribbled down page after page of notes. Each time she finished a paragraph she circled it and tapped the quill to her temple.

As Hermione's knowledge increased, so did her apprehension.

This was serious, and dangerous … no, potentially lethal … magic. She - or more precisely someone else working with her - would have to perform several spells, some of them virtually curses, in succession. First came Psycho Patefacius, a spell designed to open her mind completely to the affinity, and thus to Harry. If this were performed incorrectly, her conscious mind could literally explode, scattering her personality to the four winds and leaving her at best a vegetable.

Once she had been prepared, Hermione would next be subjected to a finding spell, Locus Personum, taking advantage of her affinity as a link to connect her magic (and that of the caster) with Harry's. This spell was dangerous as well. It could overload the affinity, with the effect of magically sundering that section of her brain. Once again, insanity or permanent catatonia was the penalty for imprecision.

The third spell was the barely concealed curse. The Mentanarus Curse exposed the mind to the combined thoughts, fears, dreams, and desires of potentially a multitude of people. Whilst it barely affected all the others, this curse could drive the victim to rapid, raving madness and inevitable death caused by massive schizophrenia, as hundreds or even thousands of separate personalities invaded the mind. Death followed, slowly but surely, as all of these personalities overtaxed the brain's billions of fragile synaptic circuits. The overload would create increasingly severe chemical imbalances - as her brain cells collapsed one by one until first conscious thought and eventually respiratory control ceased.

In the sequence Hermione was contemplating, a more benign version, Mentanarus Minimus, was designed to focus and limit the effects of the curse to the thoughts, fears, etc. of a single individual - in her case, Harry Potter. To restrict the Mentanarus Curse in this manner required a potion containing a small, but not insignificant, sample of that individual's person. The spell was centuries old, but recent texts revealed that the limitation was created by contact with the target's DNA.

The potion involved was called Ma Huang, and it originated in China. Unfortunately, this potion was not nearly as powerful at replicating DNA as the Polyjuice Potion Hermione had previously brewed. Multiplication of DNA through Polyjuice - or a number of related potions - followed by filtration and purification, was therefore recommended.

Unfortunately, Polyjuice took weeks to make. Under the circumstances, she could hardly drop by the Headmaster's Office and ask to borrow a cup from Dumbledore. Even the quickest of the related potions took several days. Hermione did not have that luxury. Time was of the essence.

Would she be trapped by a tautology? In order to find Harry, she needed some of him already. Hermione was not at all sure that the greasy residue from inside Harry's cap included enough of him to suffice. Her very life would depend on it.

She would have to drink the Ma Huang potion, but only after the caster's wand was dipped in it. The greatest danger was insufficient DNA. If too little were present, the targeting effect of the potion would fail - and Mentanarus Minimus reverted to the Mentanarus Curse, if not immediately, then within a few days. That was the most likely explanation for the fate of the unfortunate witch whose grisly case study had been reported in the Sherlock article Luna had found.

With a shudder, Hermione realised that even Ma Huang would take at least three days to make. At least the Auror field potion kit she had received as part of the summer's training contained all of the necessary apparatus. She would have to obtain several fresh ingredients from the greenhouses in the morning, and get to work right away with Luna. The brewing equipment could be assembled in the Room of Requirement.

The fourth and final spell, Hyperanimus Familiaris, was the safest. It had no known ill effects, but its success was not entirely within the user's control - even if the spell were perfectly cast. This spell was complicated. It required fully three paragraphs of spoken text, and that incantation had to be customised for the specific search. As the medium for its transmission, Hermione would have to say one line in each paragraph. The caster recited the rest.

The target, however, had to allow admission for Hyperanimus Familiaris to operate. If Harry refused her access, Hermione could not force her way in, and all of her painstaking - and dangerous - preparations would be for naught. When Hermione realised this, her heart fell as her thoughts immediately jumped to her last words to him, "I don't want to see you again," and the slap with which they were delivered. These words reverberated through her mind, and guilt cascaded down with the finality of the closing curtain of a West End flop. Within seconds she found herself sitting on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

All the while her rational side chastised her with demands that she `Get a Grip.' Disgusted with her frightened alter ego, Hermione grabbed a nearby sheet to dry her eyes. Either she pulled too hard, or the sheet was perched too precariously. Either way, three quarters of it fell loose, with the remainder snagged on one of the ornate, gilded carvings protruding from the upper right corner of the tall, thin piece of unused furniture.

As soon as she calmed down, Hermione stood up to restore the sheet to its proper place. Her attempt at this brought her staring straight at the inscription on above what turned out to be a large mirror: "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi."

As soon as she comprehended what she was reading, Hermione jumped back as if burnt. From many readings of Hogwarts, A History, confirmed by Harry's and Ron's personal experience, she was only too familiar with the attributes of this enchanted object, which had bedeviled successive generations of Hogwarts students. She did not intend to become one of them. Not with all of the other things she had to do right now.

Ignoring the temptations of the Mirror, Hermione turned determinedly back to the task at hand, once again scribbling furiously. She continued with the same modus operandi all night long - write a paragraph, circle it, and tap the quill to her temple. Repeat as many times as necessary…. Bash on until done….

Hours of frantic work passed.

With a sigh, Hermione slammed Prester John's massive tome on Himalayan Dark magic shut. It closed with a satisfying thud. It was now five thirty in the morning. With a Herculean effort she had finished all of the essential texts, committed them to memory and taken such extensive notes that she could begin teaching them to Luna - in about an hour by the Ravenclaw Sixth-Year's reckoning, but in somewhat less than seven hours courtesy of Hermione's Time-Turner.

There was no sense in starting anything else now. As she gathered up her things and made ready to leave, her mind turned back to the gnawing presence of the Mirror of Erised, which bulked bluish grey in the gathering dawn. She tried to shake it off, but when she raised her wand to remove the sealing and silencing charms from the door, she faltered. Her mind bounced like a ping pong ball, back and forth between "yes" and "no" - before finally settling on "yes."

She did want to see her heart's greatest desire. Hermione thought she knew, but magical confirmation from one of the Castle's most notorious instruments would fortify her for the perilous journey that lay ahead.

Always the practical one, Hermione took precautions. Recovering a spent inkwell from the corner, she turned it into a three-metre/ten minute custom Portkey. Ensuring its automatic operation, she bound the Portkey to the outside of her left wrist. She took a deep breath, pulled off the sheet and sat down in front of the massive mirror.

She saw a somewhat older version of herself, mid to late twenties, seated behind a cluttered but well-organised oaken desk. The elegant wallpaper, billowy pastel curtains, and surrounding furniture suggested that she was working from a home office. A mirrored vanity stood nearby, but in true Hermione style, several more inches of books and papers, not beauty aids, reposed upon its surface.

The Hermione visible in the Mirror was dressed in informal robes, further indicating that she was at home. On the wall hung several diplomata and numerous pictures, of herself, Harry, herself with Harry, and the entire Trio. Several were graduation photographs - the Trio from Hogwarts, and Harry in the immaculate dress uniform of a newly-minted Auror. Her own image smiled broadly from a commencement photograph taken against the backdrop of some ivy-covered archway. She was resplendent in the blue robes of a doctoral candidate, and with a summa cum laude badge pinned prominently on her swelling chest. She looked more closely, and the carved inscription on the arch read, "Institute for Advanced Magic" - that Princeton, New Jersey, USA institution was the most prestigious magical post-doctoral academy in the world.

There were no pictures of any children.

She was obviously a fully-credentialled Healer now. The items on her desk were equally divided between talismans and texts.

Hermione-in-the-mirror was dictating something to what looked like a Quick-Quotes Quill. The quill scratched away on a piece of parchment of its own accord whilst she turned towards at some pentacle-shaped diagrams on what looked like a magical version of a personal computer. She frowned, pointed her wand at the computer and the pentacle changed.

That Hermione made some statement about the change, which the quill scribbled. Her handwriting (faithfully reproduced by the quill) had distinctly deteriorated. Hermione-on-the-floor supposed there must be illegibility classes in Healer College.

Hermione-on-the-floor sighed as disappointment creased her face. She had hoped that her deepest desires would not be so clichéd - that her desires would be something more than those of an insufferable know-it-all.

Hermione-in-the-mirror mirrored this dissatisfaction. She was obviously ready to be done with whatever she was doing. Suddenly she looked up, and her face brightened into a smile wider than any Hermione-on-the-floor could remember displaying in real life (save in the graduation photos). The object of her affection - a debonair adult Harry Potter clad in an Auror officer's dark maroon robes, took several quick steps across her threshold, closing the distance between them … all of the distance.

"Yesssss," Hermione-on-the-floor hissed. She felt as if a great weight had lifted.

Hermione-in-the-mirror barely had time to stand before mirror-Harry had her wrapped tightly in his arms. She responded by leaning into him and capturing his lips hungrily. Her hands drifted up his sides until entwined in Harry's neatly trimmed, but barely controlled locks. All the while their kiss deepened.

Hermione-on-the-floor gasped as she noticed the sparkle from a triptych of multi-carat gemstones that her mirror image sported on her left hand. Two substantial red stones shimmered from a golden band as they flanked an even larger glittering blue-white diamond -unmistakably Gryffindor colours. A second, more familiar, ring flanked the first.

The real Hermione sighed - happily this time. Her conscious and subconscious desires were indeed synonymous.

In the mirror, Harry had broken the kiss and buried his face in his wife's ample brown hair, somehow no longer bushy, but still full and bouncy. He exhaled a soft, fluttery breath that must have tickled her ear and shoulder. Back on the floor, Hermione shivered along with her counterpart. It was almost as if she also felt his breath upon her.

The hands of the mirror-image Hermione snaked down either side of Harry's back, from his shoulders, to the small of his back, to his waist. She drew him as close to her as humanly possible whilst caressing him. Goose pimples were sprouting abundantly on the pale, flawless skin of her forearms.

Doppelganger Harry gently drew back and kissing her cheeks and forehead. Her hair now more characteristically mussed, he laughingly blew some of the stray strands out of the way. They longingly looked into each other's eyes. He said three words that took little skill in speechreading to decipher. She responded with some choice words of her own. He brought a hand to her throat and stroked her exposed and flushing neck with an odd combination of his thumb and little finger extended, the others pressed to his palm.

Hermione noticed her mirror image mimicking the same hand gesture at Harry's waist.

As they traded what must have been suggestive whispers, the look in both their eyes was no longer sweet and innocent. This Hermione was an adult. Her eyes now held the deeper and more urgent look of a lover - an expression floor-Hermione had never seen on her own face. Mirror-Hermione's hands moved slowly lower. Simultaneously she gave both cheeks of Harry's buttocks a positively wanton squeeze.

He responded with another round of passionate kisses, which she returned in full. The mood was no longer light and fluffy, but heavy and sensual. This second round of kisses left them stroking and fondling each other intently, their level of lust for one another rising by the second. Mirror Harry pulled one of his hands loose and made some sort of motion. Both his and Mirror Hermione's robes split at the seams and fell away.

Hermione-on-the-floor sighed in sympathetic pleasure. Obviously the Harry of her desires had become exquisitely skilled with wandless, silent magic.

Which was not to say that his wand in any way lacked magic of its own….

Without breaking, or even loosening their embrace, the intertwined couple turned. Mirror Harry sat Hermione on the front edge of her desk. Mirror Hermione freed a hand. Even whilst searching out Harry's tonsils with her tongue, she made a swishing motion with her right hand. Instantly, all of the clutter from her desk swooped into the air in perfect formation and vanished from sight - last seen headed in the general direction of the ceiling.

Hermione-on-the-floor sighed again. Apparently, her ideal older self was no longer any slouch with wandless magic either. Then her eyes went wide as she realised from the facial expression of her alter ego in the mirror that this would be no mere snog session. In her desires, she meant to take him right then and there, without even retiring to the bedroom.

The mirror couple completed a half-circle rotation, neither releasing the other from their mutual embrace. Harry leaned forward, gently but firmly pivoting her against the built-in blotter on the polished wooden desktop. With his left hand he braced himself as his right hand worked its way down her blouse, closely followed by his flicking tongue. He paused only slightly at the clip of her brassiere.

Hermione-on-the-floor silently applauded her image's practicality. There was much to be said for bras that unfastened from the front - especially those having magically reinforced clasps.

The woman in the mirror was so aroused now that Hermione scarcely recognised herself. However much of a genius she might be in all other situations, Hermione-in-the-mirror dispensed with all vocabulary save Old English monosyllables. Yet those words more than sufficed to express with great clarity exactly what Hermione-in-the-mirror wanted - along with when and where.

Mirror Harry looked flustered and embarrassed, but only for an instant. Then he smiled roguishly at her - as he nodded his assent. Again, it took no special skills in visual speech recognition to understand what Hermione-in-the-mirror desired. She grabbed him by the buttocks again and pulled him to her, kissing him hard, first on the lips and then on the neck as she murmured how much she needed him in the most immediate way.

With Harry now between her and her reflected equivalent, Hermione-on-the-floor could not see exactly what her mirror image was doing. Nevertheless she had a pretty good idea - as buttons suddenly ricocheted left and right. Harry's clothes began to loosen and fall open. She wondered how long the images shown by the Mirror of Erised had gone without sexual intimacy.

By now Hermione's repeated expressions of love, mingled with lust and seasoned with urgent longing, were having their intended effect on Harry. Almost desperately he removed or shoved aside whatever other clothes remained under her robes. As his desire mounted, he continued to look to her to tell him - graphically - what to do.

Hermione-on-the-floor supposed that a woman talking dirty - expressing sexual desire in an open and forthright fashion - was a universal tool for male arousal. It certainly seemed to be working.

Harry shed the last of his robes, giving Hermione-in-the-Mirror the proverbial Full Monty. Hermione-on-the-floor was jealous. She had to settle for the rear view - good enough, but not nearly enough. Hermione could hardly see her own counterpart any longer, except for her bare legs flailing against the highly waxed desk, seeking purchase.

Evidently counterpart Hermione made her wishes known, as Harry knelt before her and prepared to shift their bodies' amorous conversation from Old English to subjects best described in Romance language. Hermione-on-the-floor saw her mirror image abruptly wave both hands in the air. In a pinch, wandless magic can do wondrous things. From thin air, her counterpart conjured grab rails that instantaneously installed themselves right on the desktop.

In erotic desperation, Hermione-in-the-mirror seized the grab rails and practically flung her nether region at Harry's kneeling, eagerly awaiting figure….

What happened next is best left to the imagination.

That is what Hermione had to do. At that moment, the ten-minute function of the Portkey activated, abruptly terminating her private NC-17 showing. She found herself sprawled, hot and bothered, on the floor next to her neatly gathered belongings.

Sexual frustration boiling, Hermione's first instinct was to rush back to the Mirror so as not to miss the surely torrid climax (probably plural) to come. She started to do just that, but whilst righting herself, the rational side of her brain asserted control and throttled the urge by reciting the description of the Mirror of Erised that appeared in Hogwarts, A History.

"The Mirror offers neither wisdom nor truth. Rather it provides a window into the deepest, most desperate desires of the heart, whether hidden or acknowledged. The Mirror has often been an instrument of madness, as those affected by it frequently become transfixed by its images and come to prefer the enchantments of the Mirror to the more mundane realities of daily living."

She repeated this description - learnt by heart - over and over until, with the third recitation, her insistent craving had been tempered. She had discovered what she needed to know; confirmed what she had already suspected. The Mirror, for all its delights, would provide only variations on that theme. Harry was indeed her most profound desire. But Harry was not in the Mirror. He was out there - somewhere - in captivity.

To have any chance at realizing her desires, she first had to get him back.

Now - finally - she had a pretty good idea how to do precisely that.

Using Wingardium Leviosa on the sheet, Hermione quickly restored the Mirror to its previous hidden state, without once looking at its inviting surface. Then, as quickly as her feet would carry her, she returned to the guest wing and to bed. Tomorrow she would tell Luna….

* * * *

Hermione cheated herself - just a bit - on sleep with the Time Turner. It was only a little past 6 a.m. when she cracked open the door to Luna's room.

"Luna, wake up, we need to take a walk," she hissed.

Luna Lovegood was a lot of things, but not a spontaneous morning person. She groaned and rolled away, pulling the sheets around her more tightly. Hermione tried again with no better results.

"Eeeek!" Luna finally awoke when Hermione doused her with a spray of ice-cold water. "Hermione, I'll get you for that…. What? What brings you here?"

"We need to take a walk - now," the older girl insisted.

"Why?" the Ravenclaw sleepily responded. "Where do you want to go?"

"Out," Hermione explained tersely. She gave her would-be partner in crime a very meaningful look.

"Oh … ooooh!" Luna exclaimed as she at last woke up enough to get Hermione's drift. "You found…?"

Hermione put her forefinger to the other girl's lips, silencing her.

"Not here," she mouthed, hoping that Luna had at least the minimal level of speechreading skill required to comprehend dialogue in the Mirror of Erised.

She did. They both dressed in silence and met in the conference room. From there Hermione made infuriatingly bland small talk until they had left the Castle and were halfway to the Quidditch Pitch. Finally, Luna could contain herself no longer.

"For the love of Merlin, Hermione, what's going on?" she blurted.

"The walls have ears," the Gryffindor declared. "Dumbledore has listening devices in our suite. I know a spell that detects them. Before, there was no reason to bother, but now…."

"You've found the answer," Luna gasped. "Oh, Hermione, I knew you could do it. What do you have to do?"

"You mean, `What do we have to do?'" the older girl replied, emphasizing the first person plural.

"Oh my, what is it? Something you can't do to yourself obviously," Luna replied.

"Obviously," Hermione echoed. "Fancy a walk around the lake? I know a secluded spot on the far side."

Whilst they were walking, Hermione explained the situation. It took her fifteen minutes just to run through the litany of spells required to implement the magical sequence necessary to contact Harry. There was no sugarcoating. Hermione did not flinch in describing what could go wrong and why. It was essential to convince Luna that she, Hermione, was voluntarily accepting any and all risks of the endeavour. Only then did she have a chance of receiving Luna's assent and assistance.

By that time they had reached the hidden outcropping. Unbeknownst to either of them, not long ago Harry and Bill had used this place to discuss the very girl who now was recumbent on the large rock by the fallen tree. From that selfsame rock Harry had for the first time admitted aloud what he had felt for her.

That had been then.

At present Bill was dead, and Harry missing.

"Oh, this is nice," Luna complimented. "How did you learn about this place? Not from Hogwarts, A History, I presume."

"Umm…," Hermione hesitated. "It was an accident really … rather embarrassing."

"Well, if you're planning on having me open up your mind like a watermelon at a Midsummer Eve picnic, you might as well tell me," Luna admonished.

Hermione had no real choice, so she confessed the little secret.

"In First Year, actually…. I was still a bossy little martinet, offended that anyone would want to break the rules of our benevolent despot and cost Gryffindor House Points to boot. One day, I saw the Weasley twins setting off, up to no good, I thought…. And I followed them."

"You didn't," Luna giggled. "And you were right, no doubt. You almost always are."

"I suppose I was, but for once their misbehaviour was totally harmless…. Just a bit of … of starkers sunbathing." Hermione blushed noticeably.

After their laughter at that image had died down, Hermione finished. "Several years later I overheard them - quite accidentally this time - discussing one of Fred's dates with Angelina. Apparently they learnt about this place from Charlie, who found out about it whilst spying on Bill's snogging sessions with his many girlfriends. I guess I'm invading a Weasley family tradition."

"Well, you could go snogging with Ron and make up for it," Luna joked.

Hermione drew back. "No thank you," she said. "Anyway, he's already taken…."

Luna frowned.

"…And so am I - I wish," Hermione added tentatively.

Luna smiled knowingly but steered them back to business. Looking the older girl straight in the eyes she declared, "Anyway, Hermione, let's get this over with. I have a pretty good idea what you want me to do. I'm not at all sure it's advisable to do this…. Frankly, I'm terrified for you. What you're contemplating is brain-cracked perversity, it's so bloody risky. You could die, but that's hardly the worst thing. You could end up a raving lunatic, or a vegetable. You could be trapped that way for decades…."

"That's why I gave you the document," Hermione responded. "I'm fully aware of those risks, and I accept them."

"Sod the document. You could come to a bad end without ever rescuing Harry," Luna reminded.

"I understand that. Do you want me to execute another one in your favour?" Hermione queried. "I will, you know…."

"It's not that, and you know it!" Luna protested. "It's just…. It's just that I don't … I would feel … responsible if things went a cropper. And so would Harry, if he survived. You know how he is. It's just … you're so much more than I am. You're so clever and powerful. I'd feel much better if the tables were turned and you were performing these spells on me."

"But I'm the only one with the affinity," Hermione reminded her.

There was no answer to that.

"I know," Luna conceded. "Why don't you go to Dumbledore?"

"Sod Dumbledore and the Thestral he flew in on," snorted Hermione. "Don't be daft. I know now that he's been against us from day one - constantly sabotaging our work." Then she told Luna the whole sorry tale of L.O.S.S. and how she had discovered what it really represented.

Luna replied with a few choice expletives of her own towards the Headmaster that could have drawn blood from a stone. Still she was visibly hesitant. Devious or not, Dumbledore might not be all that far wrong. Besides, she doubted not only her capability to perform the very advanced magic Hermione had described, but also her capacity to bear the guilt she would feel if thing went horribly awry.

Thus, Hermione gave the little speech she had prepared. "Look Luna, you're not responsible for any of this, I am. I've told you - and nobody else - what happened that put Harry in the position where he was taken. Who knows how much blood I have on my hands? If the worst were to happen … to … to Harry…. I-I-I don't think I could survive the guilt I'd feel for very long anyway. I'd probably go crazy within a year. Or else do myself in."

"No you wouldn't," resisted Luna. "You're stronger than that."

"Stronger than that, am I?" Hermione responded as her voice rose. She stood up and advanced on the Ravenclaw. "You want strength? You want determination? I am strongly determined to do this and I need your help! You're an empath! Go ahead! Feel what I feel, and then give me your answer!"

Luna hesitated. Hermione's eyes were a bit wild. Her expression was quite unlike anything she had ever seen on the older girl's face before. Before Hermione could reach for her, Luna threw her arms around her.

The sensation was much stronger than anything Luna had felt since she had become aware of her empathetic proclivities several years earlier. Hermione was even more profoundly magically endowed than Luna had suspected. Throbbing through her was a magnificent combination of power, resolution, love, guilt, abnegation, magic, intelligence, and will - all surrounding a core of … utter desolation and despondency. Luna felt the hole in Hermione's soul caused by the absence of Harry Potter. She could not refuse to do this.

Slowly Luna separated herself from Hermione. "All right, I shall do as you ask," she surrendered. "What do I have to do?"

Hermione let out a huge sigh of relief before responding. "I have the directions and instructions right here." She pulled a tiny cylindrical object from the Auror's belt that had become part of her standard wardrobe.

"Engorgio."

Luna could barely contain her surprise as Hermione handed her more than fifty feet of parchment, both the front and back of which were full of Hermione's smallest handwriting.

They returned to the Castle before nine in the morning. The rest of that day, the dying day of the eighth month of the nineteen hundred and ninety sixth year of the Venerable Bede's calendar - and the last full day before the students returned to Hogwarts - was spent in frantic, but orderly activity.

The Creevey brothers greeted the two girls upon their return. They were in equal parts excited and proud that they had successfully installed the five rolls of Paneruditius parchment as a working magical memory bank for the D.A.'s central station. After taking time out to cast Surveillius Confundus on herself and her three compatriots (anyone listening in would hear them discussing their course selections in nauseating detail), Hermione set to work testing the new machine's capabilities.

The entire rest of the morning and into the early afternoon were spent copying Hermione's voluminous notes and instructions concerning the four-part magical procedure they were contemplating.

Luna transcribed the information longhand, using her own set of special quills to commit everything to memory. The first spell she found odd indeed. Luna was a Druid of longstanding, if heterodox, belief. If translated from the Latin into Druidic Keltoi, Psycho Patefacius resembled an ancient consecration spell. This odd, but seemingly irrelevant, information she kept to herself. There were no other Druids involved.

For her part, Hermione entered all of the information into the central station's new memory, confirming regularly that the material was indeed being saved and could be closed, opened, restored, and manipulated. She grew to appreciate what she had previously considered to be one of the truly horrible experiences of her pre-magical existence - QWERTY - the touch-typing course her father had virtually forced her to take during her fourth form of primary schooling.

All the while, Hermione and Luna discussed and analysed the nature and theory of the spells they were learning. Hermione was shocked that, once the Creeveys understood exactly what was being planned, they both volunteered as human guinea pigs - offering to let Hermione curse them in succession in order to create an affinity upon which she and Luna could practise. Their attitude was that it was "the least they could do to help save Harry, and to protect Hermione."

She probably would have refused their offer in any event, since she was determined to bear this burden alone (since her view was that she alone had caused the problem). But even had she been inclined to allow others the same right to self-sacrifice that she demanded of herself, Hermione simply was in no position to accept. She could not reliably cast any spell sufficiently traumatic to create an affinity. The only ones she knew were from that terrifying Lesson 128 - something she had spent the rest of her summer trying to forget.

Once the immense transcription task was complete, Hermione handed out new assignments. Colin and Dennis were assigned to create a procedure for securing the data Hermione had just entered from unwanted intrusion. They immediately set to work, intent upon using Stinksap, purified urushiol oil, and a perfume nebuliser Ginny had left behind to create a security system that would drive off any unintended users.

Luna took her own quick trip to Hogsmeade to obtain certain potion ingredients -powdered onyx, crushed Chizpurfle carapaces, thornapple, and Fire Seeds - that were beyond what Hermione had on hand in her Sixth-Year potions kit. Hermione, who was loathe to return to Hogsmeade after her recent unsettling experience, assigned to herself the task of raiding Professor Sprout's greenhouses for the Herbological supplies that the second half of the brewing process would require.

Hanging over both of their (but especially Hermione's) heads was the inescapable fact that they had far too little of Harry himself - a bit less than a gram of hair grease scraped from the inside of his cap - to ensure the safe performance of Mentanarus Minimus. They could clone it, but that would add at least a full week to the brewing process. Harry probably did not have a week to spare. The convicted Death Eaters' extraordinary appeals to the Minister would be ruled upon before then. Should the Dementor's kiss were administered, Hermione did not doubt that the Death Eaters would murder Harry in response.

Once reunited at the Castle, the four conspirators had a private supper, catered by the ever-helpful Dobby. After that, they packed up their things, since they would be moving into their respective house dormitories the next day.

Hermione and Luna then snuck out under Harry's Invisibility Cloak and made their way to the Room of Requirement, where they intended to set up their potion brewing operation. Upon entry, they immediately realised that their respective afternoon forays had been totally unnecessary. The ever-obliging Room was now a fully equipped Potions laboratory that even ex-Professor Snape would have envied. They had access to every potion ingredient that they could possibly need.

Every ingredient save Harry.

Hermione pulled out a separate piece of parchment bearing a schematic. She had studied the potion recipe very closely and prepared a critical path diagram that outlined how to brew several steps of the process simultaneously. But like a ghoul in the attic, the problem of not enough residual Harry loomed over these proceedings - unspoken but unavoidable. They had only 24 hours to resolve it before this shortcoming would start causing delays.

Once they had several cauldrons all simmering, mixing, or stirring at the same time, both girls pulled out their respective rolls of parchment. They passed the next several hours discussing the spells and making a list of points that needed clarification.

That list had reached 37 items when the clock on the wall struck midnight.

Hermione flicked her wand and her parchment began rolling itself up. "Well it's time," she sighed.

"You mean I'm finally going to see your Holy Grail?" Luna asked.

"Don't set yourself up for a disappointment," Hermione replied. "It's not much, just a dusty old storage room actually…. Certainly not holy."

"Well, you'd have to be whole to be holy," Luna observed, thinking of Hermione without Harry.

"That I certainly am not," declared Hermione. She thought of the one to whom she was intent upon offering her last full measure of devotion. "One certainly doesn't have to be well to be wealthy, though." The more material possessions Harry had obtained, the more tormented he had seemed.

"Then let's do it," Luna urged, with a nudge to the older girl's midsection to get her moving.

"Quite," Hermione agreed. She produced the Marauder's Map and the Invisibility Cloak. In a moment, they were on the move again.

The two girls spent another sleepless night in the Library Off-Site Storage. Exactingly they revised every line of every spell and pursued to ground every point of ambiguity. Luna even performed an intentionally much attenuated version of Psycho Patefacius on Hermione. That felt passing strange, as if her arms and legs extended into infinity. She supposed that was a good sign - but it meant very little. Harry was not conscious, and until he was, there was no way to tell if the spell was actually effective.

Otherwise, luck seemed to be with them. They suffered no intrusions or interruptions. Their worst moment, if it could be called that, came when Luna, taking a short break, curiously took a peek under the sheet that covered the Mirror of Erised. Hermione quickly stopped her, by warning Luna about the mirror. That prompted an uneasy exchange.

"And how did you discover that?" Luna inquired pointedly.

"Umm … it was an accident," Hermione tersely admitted, hoping that would satisfy her friend. No chance. She was Luna Lovegood.

"So, did you use it?" Luna followed up, once Hermione's reticence became unmistakable.

Hermione stayed mute, but even her continued silence was eloquent. Hermione, hardly stupid, realised that soon enough. "Only once," she reluctantly conceded. "And I took precautions."

Luna was relentless. "What did you see?"

"It … showed me … what I needed to see," Hermione answered carefully.

"Is that why….?

"That's enough, Luna," Hermione cut across. "We've still got lots to do. Let's get back to it."

Luna shrugged, and complied.

Dawn was just starting to tint the eastern sky crimson when the co-conspirators were ready to wrap things up. As Hermione stowed her violin after once again serenading Fluffy into insensibility, she made an unusual request. "I want to stop by the Trophy Room on the way back."

"What on earth for?" Luna replied. She was extremely tired, did not have a Time-Turner, and heard the siren call of her warm, soft bed.

"A hunch," Hermione answered mysteriously.

"Can't it wait?" Luna asked somewhat testily.

"You don't have to come." Hermione offered. "We can split up at the Charms Corridor. You can have the Map and the Cloak…."

"No, I'll go," Luna conceded. She was not about to leave Hermione wandering about the Castle by herself at this odd hour. "It better be good."

"I hope so too."

Ten minutes later the two friends slipped into the Trophy Room, having narrowly avoided an encounter with Peeves in the adjacent armour gallery. Hermione had the presence of mind to notice a lost silver Sickle lying at the base of one of the pedestals. She Banished it at high speed down the hall, where it clanged flush into a breastplate at the opposite end. When Peeves went to investigate the loud gonglike sound, the girls skulked by.

Hermione made a beeline for the silver caryatid bearing a statuette of Morgan le Fey emblazoned with the names of every Hogwarts Head Girl dating back to back to 998. Luna stared uncomprehendingly as Hermione used her wand to slowly rotate the age-old figurine.

"There!" Hermione exclaimed in an excited whisper. "Look right there. Head Girl, 1921."

Luna gasped. "Oh sweet Merlin, do you really think…?"

"I sure do," Hermione affirmed. "Beyond a reasonable doubt. That explains a lot."

"Like why we've been sabotaged," agreed Luna. "Are you planning to confront her?"

Hermione sighed and shook her head. "Who knows - maybe someday? For now I'm content just to know who my adversaries are, and why they are."

Under the Cloak, they walked in anxious silence back to the guest flats. Hermione waited for her earlier self to leave. Back in the conference room at last, Hermione drew the golden Time-Turner chain out to its fullest extent, and threw it around them both. Then they sought solace in sleep.

For Hermione sleep was not much solace. A succession of vaguely disturbing dreams tormented her. In the last and most powerful of these nocturnal visions, she and Headmaster Dumbledore were walking some windswept Scottish ridge. The Headmaster was explaining the significance of something, but Hermione could not quite make out his words. She leaned in to hear him better when a tremendous disturbance, like an earthquake - only magical in some way - rent the ground beneath her feet.

All at once the entire slope of the hillside gave way … or else disappeared, it was not clear. Hermione suddenly teetered on the edge of a precipice, with nothing but smoking rock and raging torrents far below. She lost her balance and to steady herself above the chasm she frantically grabbed a fistful of the Headmaster's beard.

As sooner as she got a firm grip on the Headmaster's beard, it pulled loose altogether, as if shorn off. As Hermione toppled over the edge of the cliff, she looked back. Instead of Dumbledore, Harry's the clean-shaven face stared back at her. He reached for her, but the more he reached, the faster she fell.

The falling sensation caused Hermione to wake with a start.

It was 5:30 in the morning. As she started to settle back in after that unsettling experience, Hermione sat up straight. She had an epiphany - a Eureka moment - the light bulb lit over her head. Leaping out of bed, she blurted, "That's it!"

Ignoring her disheveled appearance, she pounced upon the first clothes she saw. Not bothering with the Marauder's Map or the Invisibility Cloak, Hermione single-mindedly made her way to the Gryffindor dormitory at a fast trot.

Whilst en route she reflected on the irony of it all. Hogwarts was probably the most magical building in all Britain. She was contemplating the most complicated set of spells she had ever sought to master. But all of this magic was useless - without something so mundane that only a Muggleborn such as herself could have recognised it.

"Gone but not forgotten."

The Fat Lady swung back with a cheery "Hello, Hermione," but closed again with a harrumph as the preoccupied girl ignored her entirely.

Hermione rushed through the now fully refurbished and restored Gryffindor common room and bolted up the stairs to the bedroom that, later that day, would house the Sixth-Year boys. Harry's trunk was neatly on the bed nearest the door. She briskly repeated the sequence of spells that fooled its locking charm and began rummaging through its contents.

She had just uncovered the object of her search when she heard a familiar voice.

"Good morning Miss Granger. Happy hunting I hope?"

Hermione whirled around to see Headmaster Dumbledore calmly regarding her from a seat on the opposite bedstead. Her jaw dropped as she almost screamed in surprise. Then she did scream - but not in surprise:

"YOU LYING, SPHERICAL BASTARD!!!" Hermione shrieked. "HOW DARE YOU SAY ANYTHING TO ME AFTER YOU SABOTAGED EVERYTHING I WAS TRYING TO DO FOR WEEKS!?! YOU USED ME!!! I TESTIFIED AT ALL YOUR BLOODY HEARINGS!!! I DID EVERYTHING YOU ASKED OF ME!!! AND YOU REPAY ME WITH BETRAYAL!!! WORSE THAN THAT, YOU'VE BETRAYED HARRY!!! HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY DO SUCH A THING!?! I TRUSTED YOU!!! YOUR'RE NO BETTER THAN SNAPE!!!"

She followed up her diatribe by furiously hurling the nearest throwable object - one of Harry's shoes - at Dumbledore.

Hermione's first surprise was that the Headmaster calmly allowed the shoe to hit him, not raising a magical finger to stop it. It bounced away after a striking a glancing blow to his left shoulder. The old man winced as he mutely regarded her, no twinkle in his eyes and a look of profound sorrow on his face.

Panting heavily, Hermione stared daggers back at him. Each second of utter, heavy silence that passed between them seemed much longer than it was. Finally, Hermione broke the silence - this time in brisk but considerably more measured tones.

"As you undoubtedly know, I've figured out what to do despite your obstruction. Don't you have anything to say for yourself? Are you going to try to stop me?"

Dumbledore exhaled audibly. "First things first. I stand guilty as charged. I have reasons - excuses - but, yes, everything you accused me of I did. I sabotaged you. I used you to accomplish my own ends. And I betrayed your trust. In that, I am not as bad as Professor Snape. I am far worse. My purpose for everything was to keep you safe - because I believed that you would needlessly endanger yourself. I only hope that, through my actions over the coming days, I can regain a small modicum of the trust I have lost. Second things second. I am not going to try to stop you. Rather, if you will allow me, I shall assist you in every way possible."

Hermione was taken aback, but hardly mollified. "Why should I trust you now?" she asked accusingly.

"Because I have exhausted all other options," Dumbledore confessed. "You are young and headstrong. I could not allow you to sacrifice yourself on Mister Potter's behalf as long as there was any reasonable hope that he could be rescued in some other fashion. I am simply out of hope. You need to see this."

He held out a very rumpled newspaper to Hermione. "An advance copy of today's Prophet," he added as Hermione took it.

She flipped it open and viewed it only long enough to comprehend its contents. Then Hermione dropped it as if it were on fire.

The entire front page consisted of a screaming headline and a picture:

Potter Held Hostage!!

Ransom: Eleven Death Eaters

Beneath the words was a photograph of a naked (but censored, the Prophet was a family publication) Harry Potter. He hung limply from a set of steel bars, chained in spread-eagle fashion, manacled at the wrists and ankles, with a heavy metal collar around his neck. A masked Death Eater grasped a fistful of Harry's filthy and matted hair and held up his head for the camera. The captive's eyes were blank, and he was obviously unconscious. A low table stood just in front and to the left of Harry's body. A copy of the previous Saturday's Prophet perched on the table, the banner headline blaring news of the Death Eater convictions.

"They … they want to trade Harry for the convicted Death Eaters?" Hermione choked out - as much a statement as a question. "Why now? Why after all this time?" She stooped to retrieve the newspaper.

"Read as much of it as you wish," Dumbledore commented. "But you will only get a highly sanitised version of what has happened - just as bowdlerized as that photograph. In my opinion, you deserve the full, unvarnished truth."

The Headmaster made a hand gesture at the bulldog edition Hermione was holding. She watched in horror as the air-brushing fell away, revealing Harry as the photograph had originally depicted him. She almost dropped the paper again as she sat down heavily on Harry's bed, her jelly-like legs no longer capable of supporting her weight.

All of her remaining rage at Dumbledore ebbed away in an instant, leaving only numbness and desperation behind. "What … what's going on?" she said meekly.

Dumbledore's voice sounded as if coming from the opposite end of a long tunnel. "Beaten. Flogged, actually … with a short-handled, multiple-lash whip having something sharp in the end of the lashes. The Death Eaters gave him Mosaic Law, at least … maybe more. They whipped him all over his body … within an inch of his life. Judging from the spatter marks, they then doused him with some sort of liquid - no doubt unpleasant."

"But … but … but why? Why now?" Hermione protested ineffectually.

The Headmaster shook his head. "A very good question for which there are no good answers. Neither you nor I can fathom the cruelty that motivates Death Eaters. To the extent that these actions have any purpose at all, they were undoubtedly undertaken to underscore the seriousness of the Death Eaters' ransom demand - a purpose that, from my perspective at least, has been entirely successful."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked reluctantly.

Dumbledore swallowed hard and stated, "I mean that I am prepared to go before the full Wizengamot, as early as this evening, and argue for compliance with the ransom demand."

Hermione's eyes nearly popped out of her head, but she said nothing further.

"We can always apprehend more Death Eaters," the old man explained. "We cannot replace Harry Potter, and Voldemort knows it, at least I thought he did. Thus, I do not expect the Death Eaters to act in good faith. The chance that they will voluntarily release Mister Potter alive is remote. That is where you come in. Time, I fear, is growing quite short."

Hermione gestured at the picture. "Where did this - this obscenity - come from? How did it end up in the bloody Prophet?"

"That is a long and sordid story of its own," Dumbledore continued, kneading his aged brow with his right hand. "For some weeks an untrustworthy publication, Playwitch magazine, has been making a most ill-advised public offer of 100,000 Galleons for an unclothed photograph of Mister Potter. With their perverted sense of humour, the Death Eaters sent this photograph, accompanied by their ransom demand, to that magazine. In this fashion, they knew that the photograph and the demand would become public. Then there was the additional advantage of the recipient having no capacity to trace the delivery owl - which, of course, they could not."

"The editor of Playwitch elected to sell the picture to the Prophet, whilst turning the note over to the responsible authorities. Other than the ransom demand, the note contained directions that led to the discovery of precisely eleven untraceable Portkeys. They appear hardwired to respond only to Dark Mark-bearing wizards. My suspicion is that they will transport the user directly to Voldemort. The note demands that these Portkeys be given to the eleven." There, the Headmaster paused.

"You…. You said you were going to help me," Hermione pressed. "What do you mean?"

Dumbledore gave the girl his most searching look. "I am now prepared to cast all the necessary spells to enable you to make your attempt to reach Mister Potter through your shared affinity. Although I had hoped - and worked - to prevent this eventuality, I have nevertheless been practising each of the four spells almost from the day that you arrived…."

Hermione was not sure she believed him. "How could you possibly do that? You would have had to create an affinity!"

"Precisely what I did," Dumbledore hastened to confirm. "You, of all people, should know that something about Harry Potter creates strong loyalties - including the willingness to sacrifice oneself on his behalf. When I sent out a discreet request for volunteers, one of the Aurors who taught Mister Potter this summer, a flight instructor named Mannock, responded. He has a twin brother, which is the optimal combination for creating an affinity…."

"I met the brother here in the Castle not long ago," Hermione remembered. "They do look alike."

"Indeed, they do," Dumbledore replied. "He reported your encounter to me. The long and short of it is that they both permitted me to Cruciate them until I had created an affinity running from Mister Mannock to his brother. I have practised these spells upon Mister Mannock multiple times, and I have not killed or incapacitated him yet. Thusly, I have made myself as ready as I could possibly be."

As attractive as the Headmaster's offer sounded, the logic behind it made no sense to Hermione. "Why, then…? Why did you betray me - betray us - like this? Why didn't you just tell us?"

"Another long and sordid tale, I am afraid," the Headmaster responded with a sigh. "I cannot make such a decision as this alone, nor did I want to. Your feelings for Mister Potter are - intense. I believed, as I still do, that you are too young and impetuous to be trusted with your own safety where he is concerned."

"You had no right!" Hermione seethed. "You should have…."

"On the contrary," Dumbledore interrupted in a louder voice. "I had, and have, every right in the world. Notwithstanding the holiday, I remain the Headmaster of this institution, and you are but a student. It is my job - perhaps my primary job - to provide responsibility to those who lack sufficient maturity. How can you deny it? You have been Hell bent upon risking your life since the moment you realised that Mister Potter was still with us…."

As the echoes from the Headmaster's lecture faded away, the suddenly red-faced girl said nothing. Dumbledore let her sit in silence until she finally conceded, "You're right…. But there's never been any other choice…."

"Yes and no," the Headmaster continued. "There have been other choices - just not for you to pursue. The Order and the Ministry have been in a state of highest activity since your first revelation that Mister Potter was still alive. For once there has not been the slightest disagreement between the Ministry and myself concerning how to proceed. The Minister knows full well that an … untoward … conclusion to this episode will almost certainly result in the fall of his government."

"Thus everyone that the Order can spare - and over a hundred Ministry Aurors - has been devoted to searching for Harry. We have been following and confronting Death Eaters constantly over the last fortnight. Death Eater activity has indeed increased, and we have redoubled our efforts in response. Our spies within the opposite camp are risking their lives daily to keep us informed, but Voldemort and his supporters are playing this one uncharacteristically close to the vest … so much so that our intelligence is conflicting as to whether this is even a Death Eater operation. Thus we have also been chasing after Dark practitioners other than Death Eaters. We have received the considerable assistance of the goblins. The French have actively pursued rumours that Mister Potter has been spirited across the Channel. We have even involved the Muggle authorities … although they are quite fully engaged in dealing with the aftermath of the London fire."

"Our failure has not been for want of trying," Dumbledore concluded. "The Death Eaters have simply kept everything too well hidden, and too isolated for our best efforts…."

"That's all well and good," Hermione conceded, "but why not help me … us … as well?"

"The fear has been that your zeal would present a distraction," the Headmaster admitted. "There has been dissention among my advisors from the outset whether to have you and your friends here at all. You basically forced our hand - as you have been forcing our hand ever since."

Hermione thought she knew exactly to whom Dumbledore was referring.

"I was in agreement with bringing you here, on the theory that you would be less likely to take any rash action if you were in a known environment with access to trusted adults. That was the hope, anyway. With my advisors, I made the conscious decision to remove certain publications from the library shelves, so that you would spin your wheels - something that has cost us precisely that trust upon which we had relied."

"But why not just tell me? I'm not that unreasonable," Hermione protested.

"On this subject, I beg to differ," Dumbledore replied. "You were not told because it was thought … I believe correctly … that you would not have waited. If you had known from the outset what these spells were, and that I could perform them, you would have come to me demanding that I do so almost immediately."

"Oh tosh…," Hermione began arguing reflexively. Then she stopped. On any number of things, the Headmaster was badly misguided, but this particular point was incontestable. She knew in her heart of hearts that Dumbledore was right. From the moment she first realised that Harry lived, she had been more than ready to do anything, however dangerous, to rescue him. "I can't really argue with that," she conceded.

She quickly appended a question, however. "How long have you known?"

"Known what?" Dumbledore asked in return.

"That we…. That I was on to you."

"For several days," the Headmaster admitted. "Since you arrived, you kept a picture of Mister Potter and myself on your night table. One of the perquisites of being the Headmaster of Hogwarts is the ability to utilise images of those who have held this position as sources of information. Through that picture, I kept apprised of your activities - although out of respect for your privacy, I pursued that avenue as infrequently as possible. However, almost exactly two days ago you destroyed my image. With that, I deduced that you knew."

"But why continue with the charade?" Hermione demanded.

"I felt that a suitable demonstration of your determination would have an effect on the diss…."

All of a sudden, Dumbledore went quiet. He reached inside his robes, and Hermione could see a red glow from something. The Headmaster pulled out a mirror.

Hermione caught only one side of a most two-sided conversation.

"Yes, Minerva."

"From whom was the owl?"

"You know what I am doing now. What did Dedalus have to say that is so important?"

Dumbledore was silent for a much longer period.

"I see. You did the right thing to interrupt. That is an important fact."

The conversation ended, and the Headmaster looked gravely at Hermione. "We have just received an owl from Dedalus Diggle from his farm in Kent - about Mister Potter. Do you see that device in the corner of the picture?"

Hermione looked closely at the Prophet. Lying inconspicuously against the bars to which Harry was chained was something that looked vaguely like a gardener's tree trimmer. "Yes," she answered.

"Dedalus owled to inform me that that tool is a burdizzo…." Seeing Hermione's uncomprehending look, he was more explicit. "…It is a castration device commonly used on livestock. I believe that its presence in this picture can only be interpreted as an implicit threat to mutilate Mister Potter unless the Death Eaters' demands are quickly met."

Hermione nearly fainted, but resisted the feeling. Instead her tears silently began to flow.

Taking another deep breath, Dumbledore cut to the chase.

"That brings me back to the crux of the matter. I cannot overstate the danger inherent in the course of action that you have already chosen, despite my active discouragement. Nevertheless, at this moment, but I see no other timely choice. Will you allow me, rather than Miss Lovegood, to perform these spells so that you can try to reach and locate Mister Potter?"

Hermione clenched her teeth with enough force that the hissing in her ears returned. Like Dumbledore, she could think of no better choice. She still thought him highly untrustworthy. Her faith in the Headmaster had been broken, but he was the most powerful wizard she knew - and he had been practising. His way would certainly be safer. More to the point, the odds of success were immeasurably greater. Because the Headmaster's participation would exponentially increase her chances of actually rescuing Harry, that question had but one answer.

"Yes," she responded, her reluctance plain in her voice. Then she leant over and reached her arm into Harry's trunk. "But you'll need this." She pulled Harry's electric shaver into view.

"What is that?" Dumbledore asked out of genuine curiosity, as he contemplated the strange Muggle artifact.

"An electric shaver," she informed the Headmaster. "If Harry is anything like my father, he never cleaned it until he absolutely had to. I expect that the top compartment is filled with Harry's shaved off whiskers - more than enough of him to make the potion … although I suppose I could borrow some Polyjuice from you, now."

"Ordinarily that would be the case, but unfortunately Polyjuice goes flat if not used within a lunar cycle…."

"I know that," Hermione declared impatiently.

"…and Hogwarts is, unfortunately, between Potions masters at the moment," Dumbledore completed his thought. "I've been too busy…."

"And Snape's a bloody traitor!" Hermione said hotly.

Dumbledore sighed at Hermione's characterization, but offered no defense of the ex-professor. Then he took the shaver from Hermione, handling it as if it were a precious jewel - which in a way it was. He had encountered the same dilemma as Hermione, but she had solved it, whilst he had not. He had even ordered the Dursley residence turned upside down seeking any stray bits of Harry he could find. He had been through this very trunk more than once. But she had known what to look for, whilst he had not.

The Headmaster conjured a crystal chalice the size of a large brandy snifter. He held the shaver over it and attempted to remove the head. Seeing him struggle, Hermione offered, "May I?" Dumbledore nodded and Hermione carefully released the catch that held the top in place. Black facial hair poured out.

"You are indeed remarkable. I cannot thank you enough, Miss Granger," he acknowledged. "Now I have something for you. Let me see your Time-Turner."

After some initial hesitation, she pulled it from her robes. Dumbledore applied his wand to it and muttered a long incantation in Latin that included the word "septiformus." From his own robes, he produced a bag of powder, a phial of liquid, a piece of parchment, and something else.

"There," he said. "I have given you seven additional twists. I want you - your mind - to be well rested and strong. Here is some of my best and most gentle Purple Sleeping Draught. I want you to retire to your room and take the full seven hours of sleep. When you awake, I want you to take your ablutions using this Defæcens Potion. In the bath, you need to recite the Autopurgus Charm that I have written here. Before your ordeal, you had best be cleansed and purified. Use the Prefects' Bathroom. You also should have this."

He handed her a Gryffindor Sixth-Year Prefect badge.

"And congratulations, you've more than earned it."

Dumbledore paused, as if waiting for Hermione to acknowledge the honour. She said nothing, so after an uncomfortable moment, he continued.

"When done, dress yourself in the plain white linen robe that you will find on your bed in your flat. Then come to my office. The password is `Black Diamond of Périgord.…'"

"Your passwords, at least, are moving up," Hermione interjected waspishly.

"…We shall then proceed. Do not worry about Miss Lovegood, or the Creeveys. I shall inform them."

Grimly determined, Hermione did as she was told. Her only additional request was for the advance copy of the Prophet, so she could read the story about Harry. She also found that she preferred the sanitised picture. It was less unsettling.

Hours later (by Time-Turner), she was well rested, but full of mental foreboding. Hermione prepared to make the trip to the Prefect's Bathroom. With a fluffy Hogwarts towel around her neck, she paused before the mirror in her room to pin her new Prefect's badge on her cleaned and pressed Hogwarts robe.

"Miz Myown?"

Hermione nearly jumped through the ceiling.

"What is it Dobby? You nearly scared me into a coronary - again," she chided the house-elf.

Then she noticed that Dobby was not even looking at her. This was highly unusual, because elves viewed averted vision as discourteous towards wizards. Dobby was gazing intently at Hermione's copy of the Daily Prophet with such a sober look on his face that she hardly recognised him.

"What is it Dobby?" she repeated.

Slowly Dobby raised his head, his expression unreadable. "Harry Potter, Miss…. Dobby knows where he is."

"WHAT?!?"

"That table, beside the Great Harry Potter. Dobby recognises the design right there.…" The elf pointed at an almost imperceptible detail in the low wooden table upon which the kidnappers displayed the earlier Prophet. "…Dobby made that table Miss … when Dobby was owned by the Malfoys … very bad wizards…."

Hermione did not bother to listen to Dobby's assessment of his former masters. She hurtled across the room to her dresser. She grabbed the panic button that Mad-Eye Moody had given her at the beginning of her stay and pushed it - hard - over and over again.

All Hell proceeded to break loose at Hogwarts Castle.

* * * *

Killiechonate Castle had clung to the steep slopes of Carn Mor Dearg, directly opposite fabulously rainy Ben Nevis mountain, for well over a millennium. That almost impregnable spot amongst windswept moors, dense oak woodlands, and sheer cliffs overlooking the valley of the upper Allt a Mhuilinn had sported some sort of fortress since Pictish times. The current castle had its origins around the year 800 in the handiwork of refugees from Lindisfarne, Iona, and other places along the Scottish coast that were being ravaged by Viking raids.

Thought by Muggles to have been razed in 1298 during the first Scottish War of Independence, Killiechonate Castle had actually come into the possession of wizards. Soon rendered Unplottable, it passed from one magical cult to another. Its last occupants, a group so ascetic that they denied themselves all pleasures of the flesh, died out in the early Eighteenth Century - as a consequence of those precise practices.

The castle now housed the headquarters of Lord Voldemort.

The Dark Lord was not happy. For weeks he had deployed every one of his Death Eaters (save his inner circle) and over a hundred of his Lotus mercenaries, all in a futile attempt to locate whomever had succeeded where he had failed - in kidnapping Harry Potter. He drove his minions mercilessly, with instructions to search everywhere and everyone who could have accomplished such a stunt. His instructions were neither to seek out, nor to avoid confrontations with the authorities and other wizards, but there had been enough incidents to unsettle the wider wizarding world, and to drive his potential enemies to greater preparations.

It had all been for naught. To add insult to injury, 99.9% of that same wizard world believed that he was responsible for Potter's abduction, and for the spectacular æroplane crash and fire that accompanied it. Were that only the truth, Harry Potter would have been dead long ago. After his defeat at Potter's hands in the Department of Mysteries, the Dark Lord had resolved that he would stage no more elaborate Dark magic events involving Potter. The boy was maturing. He was becoming too dangerous and too powerful - and he had always been too lucky.

The only bright spot was that he now had the undivided services of the leading Potions master in all Britain. And Lord Voldemort needed those services. His return to the flesh had not gone as planned. Potter had escaped him then, and that had ruined the final magical levels of the spell. Snape's potions kept the consequences at bay and shored up their occasional physical manifestations. But he still needed Potter's blood - and Potter's life - to stabilize the transformation permanently.

Now, nobody knew where the blasted brat was. The Dark Lord was even beginning to regret having so imperiously rebuffed the kidnappers - or at least someone claiming to be the kidnappers - in the days shortly after the abduction. He had been too sure of himself. He should have lured them out. He had underestimated them, which he should not have done after the competent manner in which they had carried out their attack. Lord Voldemort was determined not to make the same mistake again.

Thus the Dark Lord was enraged at being forced to stoop to Cruciating the latest petty wizard criminals he had seized in his fruitless search for information. He was in the main hall of the castle overseeing the torture of four of these pathetic creatures when that equally pathetic excuse for a wizard, Fosdick Napier, stumbled into his presence.

Napier was never very eager to come before the Dark Lord, but now he feared his Master's wrath even more. If he failed to bring this news to the Dark Lord immediately, he would not live to make the same mistake again.

Once he realised who had entered, Lord Voldemort broke the Cruciatus Curse on his current victims, and lowered his wand. He heartily disliked seeing Napier because as of late, he had so often been the bearer of bad news.

"What is it, knave?" he snapped. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Your - your most loyal servant begs his Master's pardon, but upon seeing this news, I could not stay away," Napier apologised profusely.

"What news is that?" demanded Lord Voldemort.

"Th-th-the boy's … P-P-Potter's captors…," the terrified messenger stuttered. "Th-th-they have s-s-surfaced again." Shaking, he approached, holding a copy of the Daily Prophet in front of him.

"Give that to me," Lord Voldemort scowled. With a sweeping motion of his free hand, he tore the newspaper from Napier's grasp.

Hot rage bubbled up as the Dark Lord realised that Potter's captors - now masquerading in Death Eater regalia - were offering to trade Potter for the eleven convicted Death Eaters. Only Bella, who had killed Potter's godfather, had proven herself worthy in that fight. Lord Voldemort had decided early on that Lucius Malfoy and the ten others had embarrassed him one time too often to be worth rescuing. The Dark Lord was infuriated that anyone would attempt to overturn his condemnation.

Had he been alone, Lord Voldemort might have screamed in rage - but he had learnt to control himself in front of his servants. Instead, with a disgusted sweep of his wand he sent the unfortunate torture victims plunging headlong into the stone wall opposite, crushing their skulls and shattering their vertebrae.

Turning his back on their now unmoving corpses, the Dark Lord was on the verge of torching the newspaper, when he suddenly stopped and stood still as a statue.

Then, slowly, Lord Voldemort broke into a broad hideous grin. "I have you now," he burst out. "Those chains - I charmed those chains…."

"What is it, Master?" one of the onlooking Death Eaters asked.

"I now know where Potter is being held," the Dark Lord declared.

All Hell proceeded to break loose at Killiechonate Castle.

* * * *

Author's notes: Paneruditius is Latin for "all knowing"

Clench your jaw tightly in a quiet place and you'll hear a high-pitched whine

The reasons Hermione discounts are precisely the reasons why she has been obstructed

Hermione's decision to address the possibility of Harry surviving, but not her, soon become important

The document Hermione prepares will also soon assume critical importance

What happened to Harry this time becomes clear by the end of the chapter

As previously mentioned, Snape's line of reasoning is that Harry is not being held by Death Eaters

High Street" is the British expression for what us Americans call "Main Street"

"Young, but not a child" is a line from the Who's "Acid Queen"

Dennis' creation gradually turns him into a wizard version of Bill Gates

LOSS, and Fluffy, are in the same suite of rooms where the PS trapdoor was located

Liebesleid, or "Love's Sorrow," is a well-known melancholy piece of violin music, appropriate for Hermione's current state of mind

"Call that a bargain, the best I ever had": another Who line, from "Bargain" (which begins "I'd gladly lose me to find you")

Psycho Patefacius - literally "mind opening" in Latin

Mentanarus - literally "mental immersion"

Ma Huang is actually the Chinese name for ephedra

Hyperanimus Familiaris - literally "greatest living friendship"

I've read surprisingly few Hermione/Mirror of Erised confrontations

The Institute for Advanced Magic plays on the Institute for Advanced Studies, actually in Princeton; the arch is modeled on Blair Arch, at Princeton University, my alma mater

That med school teaches illegibility is an old joke

The rings - both of them - feature later

The change in Hermione's hair will also be explained

The extended thumb-pinkie hand symbol will eventually be explained. It's Hawaiian

If you don't understand the "Romance language" reference, you are too young to be reading an R-rated fic

Brain-cracked perversity is a phrase from ELP's song (not album) "Brain Salad Surgery"

The Venerable Bede reference is accurate

The Druidic parallel of the Psycho Patefacius spell becomes important later

Urushiol oil is purified poison ivy extract

I accurately describe the critical path concept

"Whole to be holy" and "well to be wealthy" are ELP lines from "Hallowed Be Thy Name"

"Last full measure of devotion" is from the Gettysburg address, referencing military sacrifice

I see the Morgan le Fey base being like the Stanley Cup

The Trophy Room discovery will soon be revealed

Hermione's epiphany is revealed later in the chapter

A "spherical bastard" is a bastard any way you look at him

A "bulldog edition" is a very early printing of a newspaper

The whip is the same cat o' nine tails in Harry's earlier vision in the Room of Requirement. The whipping was what Harry experienced earlier in this chapter

Mosaic law refers to forty lashes

The Playwitch offer from a much earlier chapter was not just passing humor

Mannock's presence is thus explained

The burdizzo reference is thus explained

The earlier references to Harry shaving were not just humor either

Defæcens and Autopurgus are both forms of self purification magic

The black diamond is an expensive type of truffle

All of the Scottish names in the Voldemort sequence are accurate. The castle is fictional

The description of Viking raids is accurate, as is the Scottish war

42

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