Yesterday is Tomorrow (everything is connected)
IX
*
"Sometimes the things presented to us as choices aren't choices at all."
-- 11/22/63, Stephen King
*
The boys' dormitory in Gryffindor was filled with a tense sort of quiet. None of them had attended dinner -- Remus was feeling too sickly to eat, with the oncoming moon; James and Sirius were too furious for hunger, and Peter had followed along.
Now, the four were in their room, hastily thrown up silencing spells layered through practice from four wands to blot the sound of the Common Room (and their room) out. Remus, pale grey in the face and sweaty, sank to the floor at the foot of his bed and cradled his head in his folded arms as his knees came up -- James sent him a worried look, swallowing thickly at the obvious display of nerves. His eyes then darted to Sirius, who, despite the toss of his head and the upturned, stubborn chin, kept glancing worriedly at Remus. Peter stood near Sirius, warily looking between him and James, and was slowly edging to his bed.
James, however, stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed. Finally, he inhaled deeply in the tense silence of the room. He tried to handle his anger -- his fear, his worry -- by counting his breaths.
In. One, two, three.
Out. One, two three.
In. One, two --
WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?" the worlds exploded out of James's mouth in a breathless rush, aimed directly at Sirius who flinched, his shoulders hunching just a bit like a shocked, misbehaving dog. "Oh -- I'll tell you -- you weren't! How could you, Sirius?! How could you do this to Remus?"
Bitterly, Sirius mumbled, "Don't you mean Hermione?"
James pinched the bridge of his nose, riding his glasses up a bit as he did so. "Sirius. You are putting our best friend in jeopardy because -- for some strange reason -- you have a grudge against a fourteen-year-old."
"She's not fourteen," he replied petulantly, "She had a birthday in September."
James stared at him, and even Remus wearily raised his head from the comforting protection of his arms to share in James's befuddled and exasperated look.
"I beg your pardon?" sputtered James, blinking.
Sirius's cheeks turned red. He then exhaled and cut a hand through the air. "Look -- it doesn't matter okay? I did what was right. And she's not going to show anyway, so who cares? It wasn't meant for her anyway."
Not meant for her...? James's eyes shut slowly and painfully as he squeezed them against the realization that there were a few others within hearing distance when Sirius had said that. And as far as I know, he wouldn't do anything to hurt his brother, and I doubt that he knows Crouch's name...
"Sirius. Please. Please tell me this still isn't about Snape."
The teen in question scoffed. "When isn't it about Snivellus?"
Remus groaned from his position on the floor. Peter's eyes were wide as they darted back and forth between the two black-haired teens.
James did his best to not launch himself across the floor and tackle Sirius in order to pummel him. His anger made his hands shake and he breathed deeply as he tried to maintain his composure. "Sirius. There is no reason to keep antagonizing Snape--"
"Of course there is," broke in the Black teen, "I have about a dozen springing to mind right now--"
Peter snickered.
"--when he hasn't done anything -- er, for the most part -- to provoke it," continued speaking James over Sirius, raising his voice. "It's different if he sends a spell to you first, Sirius, but to continue to bother him--"
"--I can do what I want, James--"
"--I'm not saying that you can't, Sirius--"
"--Oh? Because my ears are hearing something very different--"
"--No one is telling you what to do -- I'm telling you to be careful--"
"--I'm careful--"
Remus snorted.
"--Not careful enough, Sirius! Not when you're telling Hermione or Snape to go to the Shrieking Shack on a full moon!"
"Oh, come off it, Jimmy," sighed Sirius with an expressive eye roll, flopping down on his bed in one move, "I said it before; Evans won't go. And while Snape's curiosity will take him to the Shack, we'll make sure he doesn't get too close--"
"Really?" James's stare was hard on Sirius. "Are you sure? Because it really sounds to me like you're setting Snape up to be murdered by our friend."
"Well, I wouldn't complain if he was permanently out of the way," replied Sirius airily, Peter nodding along.
"Sirius!" both James and Remus were aghast and their cries reflected that.
The teen shrugged and reached for a discarded magazine on his night table, beginning to flip through it. James was not fooled by the nonchalant act, as Sirius's shoulders were still very tense and his body was held rigidly on the bed.
"Sirius, please tell me you don't want Remus to be used as a--" he struggled for a word, before blurting, "A-- a murder weapon to get rid of Snape because you're jealous of him!"
"Jealous?" scoffed Sirius, but there was a brittle quality to his voice. "Me? Ha! Jealous. Please."
The silence in the room suggested that Remus, James, and Peter thought otherwise.
When no one spoke, Sirius tossed his magazine down on the bed and stared hard at his friends. "Why would I be jealous of Snivelly?"
Despite the waxy sheen to Remus's face, his voice was all snark when he replied, "Oh, I don't know, Padfoot -- maybe because he's in Slytherin and has parental approval? Or that he's a Halfblood and still seems to have some sort of friend circle? I mean, it's not like you sling nasty Dark magic at him when he does the same back to you, or anything like that--"
"I'm not a Dark wizard!" shouted Sirius, rising to his feet and face red as he stared down his werewolf.
Remus's stare was bland, just as his reply. "Of course you're not."
Through his teeth, Sirius gritted, "Is that sarcasm, Moony?"
James sighed, his voice cracking with the strain as he spoke. "Sirius -- please."
Sirius turned to his best friend, his brother in all but blood (although, they were cousins, so blood-related as well), and met his hazel eyes. Although his blood was still boiling from the insults his friends hurtled at him -- the fact that two had even done so had Sirius stop and think, shortly, that maybe -- maybe -- he was in the wrong -- and he took a deep breath in reply.
"James," pled Sirius, grey eyes wide and earnest. "You know me. I'm not a Dark wizard -- I'm not like my family! You know that! I don't like Snivel--er... Snape--"
Remus snorted.
Sirius shot a glare at him. "--Okay, so I hate the bugger, fine, happy now, Moony? But I'm not a murderer. I'm not!"
James glanced at Remus who shrugged. Peter remained silent, happy to be out of the way while his friends worked things out between them, as his opinions tended to be more aligned with Sirius's but given how Remus and James were going after him, Peter wisely kept silent.
Turning back to Sirius, James said, pointedly, "Then prove me wrong and go find Snape. Stop him from going to the Shack tonight."
Sirius's pleading face drained and he nearly rolled his lower lip in to chew nervously on it. "But what if he tells people about Moony?"
James blinked. "Is that what this is about? You were planning on getting Snape seriously hurt because you're afraid he'll tell someone that there is a werewolf at Hogwarts?"
"Moony could be expelled, or hurt," argued Sirius, his voice small.
Remus growled, "Moony could still be hurt or expelled tonight because of your stupidity, Sirius! Merlin!" the sandy-haired teen shot to his feet and, with a renewed vigor, snapped, "I'm going to see Madam Pomfrey and then heading to the Shack. For God's Sake, Sirius!" he turned to his friend, sliding into blasphemy from his mother's Muggle upbringing, "FIX THIS."
Remus stormed out of the dorm. With a glance between the two, Peter scurried after him, calling, "Remus! Wait for me!"
James waited a few moments, letting the silence linger a bit longer in the room as some of the tension bleed with the removal of Remus and Peter. Finally feeling like he might find the underlying cause of things because there was more than what Sirius was saying, James asked, quietly, "It's more than just Snape, isn't it? You've been out of sorts since January."
Sirius turned his face and eyes from his friend and moved to his bed, smoothing the duvet and fussing over it.
"Don't avoid, Sirius."
The dog animagus sighed. "You don't want to hear what I'm going to say."
"You're my brother; of course I want to hear what you say." James took a few steps forward and placed a hand on his friends' shoulder. "Even if I dislike it."
Sirius tensed under the hand, but then sighed heavily, and his shoulders fell. "You've changed."
"Changed?" shock laced through James's voice. "How?"
Sirius's look was dry, an unsaid really? sent to James, indicating how dumb he thought that question was. When James failed to respond, Sirius sighed heavily. "Jimmy -- James -- how can you not see? When was the last time you went after Evans?"
"Went after Hermione?" yipped James in shock, eyes and mouth wide as he nearly tripped on nothing, a stumble backward into the bed's poster.
"No, not Hermione," ground out Sirius, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "Although that completely proves my point. Not so long ago you would have mentioned Lily when I said 'Evans.' Now, your first thought is to her younger sister."
"I--" James snapped his mouth shut. There was a vaguely panicked look forming on his face as his eyes darted around the room and sweat began to bead at his hairline. His cheeks flushed a light pink.
"James," said Sirius, quite seriously, "Do you fancy Hermione?"
"Sirius! Merlin!" yanking at his collar, James's eyes slid away and toward his messy bed. His heart began to race. "What hogwash."
"Mmhmm."
Me? Fancy Hermione? Mentally, James scoffed, ignoring the furious racing of his pulse and the sudden sweat that raced down his spine. She's a good friend and she's helped me do well on my Arithmancy work, that's all. Of course, there was that kiss at New Years -- and she's a good laugh -- no. No, I don't fancy her. She's bloody scary -- I admire her.
"I think you're barking up the wrong tree, Padfoot," replied James finally, his voice low and tone stern enough that the conversation was closed.
Sirius's eyebrows shot up, but he kept his mouth shut. James could read his thoughts clearly on his best friends' skeptical face, though; it read you're not fooling anyone.
Frustration bubbled up. With a glance away from his friend (he wasn't avoiding, at all!), James watched the sun's descent.
James said crossly, "Anyway -- it's getting close to dinner and soon Moony will be heading to the Shack with Wormtail. Don't you think you have someone you need to find to stop them from being mauled or killed?"
The vague mirth in Sirius's face quickly faded to annoyance.
"Merlin, James, suck the fun out of it, why don't you?" he muttered, but listened to the silent suggestion, moving away from his bed and past his friend as he headed for the door. He grabbed a discarded jacket of Remus's, neatly hanging on a hook and swung it up and around as he smoothly stuck his arms through the sleeves. He was still muttering under his breath as he left the dormitory, leaving James alone.
For several long seconds, James held perfectly still, eyes forward as his ears strained for noise but the silencing spells they wove held. There was nothing but his harsh breathing, which increased its pace until he was almost panting nervously. Snapping his mouth shut upon realizing his quick breaths, he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.
I do not fancy Hermione Evans. I fancy Lily. I do not fancy Hermione Evans. I fancy Lily.
It became a mantra in his mind, looping and littering his brain as he repeated the sentences repeatedly as he calmed his racing heart: I do not fancy Hermione Evans. I fancy Lily. I do not fancy Hermione Evans. I fancy Lily.
Soon, his sweaty palms were dry, and his breaths were even and regulated. The sun was barely peeking over the mountain range beyond the Forbidden Forest, and soon the moon would be up. Remus, Sirius, and Peter would be waiting for him at the Shack, and the thought of leaving Moony alone without Prongs was an ache in his heart.
Turning, James made his way out of the dorm, taking the stone steps carefully and evenly as the mantra continued. I do not fancy Hermione Evans. I fancy Lily.
However, at the foot of the stairs, he realized that those in the busy common room were rooted in spot; some blushing furiously and keeping their eyes forward or on books or their game of Gobstones while others were facing the girls' dorm unashamedly listening to the shouts that were echoing down. While he couldn't make them just out, James knew in his gut that it would be something he didn't like.
James took a step, then another, forward. I do not fancy Hermione Evans. I fancy Lily.
"And you know what really gets me? What really bothers me, Hermione? You go to Ravenclaw and then you fucking excel in everything you do! Like it's easy or something without any hard work put into studying or practicing magic!"
His mouth turned down, involuntarily, against the thickness in Lily's voice. I do not fancy Hermione Evans. I fancy Lily.
"What's going on?" he asked the nearest person he could find, a third-year who glanced up at him with wide eyes.
"Some Ravenclaw came to the Common Room, asking for Evans, and now Evans is shouting at her," said the third-year girl in a timid voice.
"Some Ravenclaw?" murmured James, turning back to the girls' steps. Hermione?
Then, Lily's voice tore viciously through the suddenly silent Common Room as even those pretending to ignore the argument found themselves frozen at the vitriol of the Muggleborn Gryffindor as her voice echoed down the stone passageways. There was something vibrating in the air -- a tense, anticipatory air among the Gryffindors blatantly eavesdropping -- and they were rewarded as Lily's cruel tone reached a crescendo that cut through the thick sense of eagerness in the Common Room.
"I DON'T CARE! I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU GET UP TO! I DON'T CARE THAT YOU WRITE TO TUNEY AND SHE ACTUALLY REPLIES AND CARES FOR YOU OR WANTS TO KNOW WHAT YOU GET UP TO! I DON'T CARE ANYMORE ABOUT YOU. I DON'T! I DON'T!"
James felt his mouth tighten and his hands clench into fists at his side. It was an instinctive response because he knew who Lily was speaking to -- and his heart thundered in his chest and it was like he was outside again, listening to Snape call Hermione a mudblood but this time she wasn't there to stop him and then he was striding forward, toward the entrance, his hands shaking, his pulse racing --
"Just go back to Ravenclaw and hang out with your loser friend Crouch. Because you're weird and sociopathic and I can't even stand to look at you."
How could she? Even when she was at her angriest with me, she's never said anything that horrible, thought James. And to her own sister!
Belatedly, he realized that there were several silent students behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw many were staring at him, at the passage, at the stairs; some of the Gryffindors had a gleam in their eyes, and no matter what James did during the day in the corridors of Hogwarts, and he could never be as cruel to subject Hermione to the taunts that were sure to come.
A wave of protectiveness rose in him and he barked, "Mind your own business!" in a sharp voice.
Immediately, students began to talk loudly and kept their heads pointedly in the opposite direction of the stairs; approving, James nodded once and turned back, just as he heard the soft steps of someone walking down the stone.
The girl who emerged was not the confident and coolly collected Ravenclaw that James knew; Hermione's shoulders were hunched over and there was a glazed look to her light honey-coloured eyes.
"... Hermione," he heard himself say, his voice trembling as he tried to control his emotions.
She sighed, glancing up and then away. "I guess you heard all that, huh, Potter?"
His jaw tensed again and shifted to the side as he grit down on the back of his teeth. His shoulders were tense and he was clenching and unclenching his fists at his side, trying to get feeling in them again.
"I--" he shook his head and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. All thoughts of going outside and to the Shack were gone from his mind -- instead, all he could focus on was Hermione's bright brown eyes, the slight sheen in them, and the tremble in her lips when she spoke. When he opened them, they were fixed firmly on her. "I wanted to speak to you."
"Sure, why not? How about we go up to your dorm room," suggested Hermione, her shoulders falling further. "If Black is up there, I can have someone else yell at me, too. I can have a matching pair from Gryffindor. Maybe then, I can visit Hufflepuff. I'm sure I've done something to offend them, too."
A stricken look passed over James's face. Oh, Hermione...
"Hermione," he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder, but quickly withdrew his hand. "Walk with me?"
She glanced up again, her lips pursed. She looked around his face, like searching for an answer. Whatever she saw in his face -- which he tried to make earnest as possible -- satisfied her. She sighed. "Yeah. Okay."
Silently, they exited the Common Room through the Fat Lady's portrait; James's hand ached and he wasn't sure if it was from his tight clench or whether his hands itched to reach out and touch Hermione.
*
After her rather public "outing" when she stepped in between Sirius and Snape, Hermione elected to eat her dinner in the kitchens, with Barty at her side. Regulus bowed out.
("Why?" Barty asked.
"Because I want to get a read on the Slytherin Common Room right now," explained Regulus, his face strangely solemn. "Snape and Evans were known as best friends from day one at Hogwarts, despite being in different houses and different statuses." He sent an apologetic look toward Hermione, who shrugged. "Him calling you a Mudblood like that, and then being linked to his best friend as her sister will change how those in Slytherin view outside friendships."
"And my obvious connection to Lily now might make things difficult for you," sighed Hermione.
Regulus shrugged in reply, a rather un-Pureblood move. "Maybe. Everyone knew I was friends with you before--"
"Ah, yes, the pet Mudblood," said Hermione with a fond if not dry twist to her lips.
"--but Snape is merely a Muggle-raised Halfblood whereas I am a Black," finished Regulus, sending a glare at Hermione for interrupting. "I have more standing in Slytherin than he does. If everything Sirius has done over the years hasn't caused me problems, I doubt this will."
Barty sent Hermione a worried look as she narrowed her eyes at Regulus and said, cryptically, "We'll see.")
In the kitchens, surrounded by the warmth of several fires in stoves and ovens, as well as the ever-accommodating House Elves, Barty watched as Hermione stirred her spoon through her cold summer soup.
"What are you going to do?" he asked quietly, brows furrowed.
Hermione shrugged, eyes remaining down on the bowl.
"I know you said that you were going to give Black a fight, but surely you didn't mean that?" continued Barty, his voice starting to strain. "I know you're more than capable, Hermione -- especially now -- so that's not why I'm worried."
Hermione looked up now. "Worried? Whatever for?"
Barty stared at her. "Not even five months ago, that Gryffindor was proclaiming his love for you. You were starting to be friendly with him. Now you want to fight him?"
"Oh, he doesn't actually want to fight me," replied Hermione easily. "He just wants to release his anger and this is one of the few ways he knows how."
"What are the others?"
The look Hermione sent Barty was obvious and dry, and the brown-haired teen blushed so hotly that his ear tips went scarlet.
"And," the female Ravenclaw said pointedly, "I'm not offering myself up for that." She shuddered. "Having him chase me around Hogwarts reciting Shakespeare was enough. I don't ever want to be caught in his amorous gaze."
Barty narrowed his eyes. "So -- then why do this?"
Hermione looked down again and frowned. "I think --" she began quietly, "I think I need to do this for myself, too. Like..."
I need to learn to divorce myself from the Sirius of my past - or, the future - and the Sirius of the now. With my presence, he's bound to change. Things won't remain the same. He's already a different person than the man I knew, she finished in her head, grimacing and looking away. But that doesn't mean I'm going to let him get away with this shite.
Barty stared at her for a bit longer, mechanically chewing at his own meal. Finally, he swallowed and muttered, "If this is what you're planning on doing, well, then -- fine." He sighed. "But don't think you're doing it alone."
The smile Hermione sent him made his chest tighten and warmth spread through his body. "I know you've got my back."
"Any day," replied Barty.
The two grinned at one another and finished the rest of their meals in silence. Once done, after profusely thanking the House Elves, Hermione and Barty meandered the halls until they were on the same floor as the Fat Lady and the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione unconsciously did it, but, the closer they walked to her old, familiar stomping grounds from another time, Hermione realized that she needed to speak with her sister. What she had witnessed boiled within, and it was in direct contradiction to much of what she knew the Lily Potter of her past (future?) to be like.
Their walk slowed to an amble, and then to the dragging of her feet until they both stopped before the fat woman in a pink dress. Barty glanced at Hermione quizzically. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
Hermione took a deep breath. "I don't want to do this. I need to do this."
With a sigh, Barty placed himself opposite the portrait, leaning against the wall and idly pulling a book from his school bag, neither of them having gone to their Common Room after the fight. "I'll be here, then."
Hermione nodded and turned back to the Fat Lady. She was sure she could use her magic to nudge the portrait open, but a laughing pair of Gryffindor fourth years tumbled out, their breathless gasps silenced quickly when they spotted the blue and bronze of her uniform.
"I'm looking for Lily Evans," began Hermione carefully. "Can you please let my sister know Hermione is here?"
The two eyed her like some strange creature, but then shrugged.
"Go right in," one said, and then the two tripped over the lip of the portrait and went on their way down the hall.
Hermione stared after them as the portrait remained on its hinges.
"Well," urged Barty. "You heard them. Go in."
Hermione took a deep breath and stepped into the brightly lit room. The large fireplace that she used to sit in front of was inviting and warm; the armchairs and low-slung scarlet loveseat in front of it was occupied by several students, one who had their feet up on the coffee table, an arm slung around his girlfriend.
Her gaze was next drawn to the opposite by the tall, skinny window, heavy velvet curtains drawn back. A chair and small, round table were unoccupied, but in her mind's eye, she could visualize a younger her, with bushy brown hair and slightly buck-toothed, frantically combing through a heavy text for answers for her latest assignment, unaware of everything around her.
Fondness crept through her and Hermione forcibly banished such a feeling as soon as she recognized it. I'm no longer a Gryffindor. That past of mine is barred from me, she thought viciously and turned to the girl's staircase.
She received a few curious glances - her blue and bronze uniform striking among the red of the Gryffindor Common Room, but no one stopped her as she began to ascend -- mainly because she could hear the whispers that they thought they kept from her:
"That's her - the girl who stood up to the Marauders!"
"Evans' sister, I heard--"
"--she must be really smart, as a Ravenclaw--"
She climbed up the four floors and knocked on the fifth-year girls' dormitory door, which was shut. After a moment, it swung open. The lithe, black-haired girl in a rumpled uniform who answered quickly shifted her annoyed expression into wariness, as she looked Hermione up and down.
"Oh." She glanced over her shoulder and pushed the door open wider. "Lily -- it's your sister."
Hermione tentatively stepped into a room she knew well, looking around. It was the first time in this decade that she entered the Gryffindor Common Room, and the girl's dorm by extension. She had never visited Lily in the past, and her sister never visited her in Ravenclaw. It was an odd feeling, seeing familiar four-poster beds, the silky red hangings, but not seeing Lavender's Weird Sisters poster or Parvati spreading out her exercise mat for her morning salutations.
"Thanks," she said, leaving the door open.
She didn't press her advantage further into the room, feeling -- for the first time ever -- like she was a stranger in this time. Before, she had distanced herself from mental self-preservation and forced apathy. Now, having tried and beginning to make an effort with people in this time, integrating, she never felt more like an interloper in a sacred space.
Lily jackknifed up from where she was lying on her bed, staring wide-eyed at her sister in the doorway. She too remained in her school uniform, a rumpled white Oxford and unknotted tie. Her red hair was dishevelled and her eyes red-rimmed from crying. "Hermione? What are you doing here?"
Frowning, Hermione cut her eyes at the other girls in the room, all of whom were shamelessly watching. "I wanted to let you know what happened after you left."
"We already told her," said the black-haired girl who let her in, her voice dry. She crossed her arms and took up an aggressive hip-cocked stance against her bed. Her blue eyes were cool as they watched her.
Marlene, Hermione's brain supplied. Her eyes shifted to the curvy witch on the bed opposite to Lily, who had a brush in her hand and was working through a curl in her hair. Mary MacDonald, Hermione continued and looked for the last girl who sat next to Lily on her bed, Phoebe.
"I see," said Hermione lowly.
Lily's face pinched. "Did you go to dinner?"
Hermione shook her head. "I ducked out with Barty. I didn't see the point." And I didn't want to be stared at.
Lily nodded. "I guess that's why you didn't know that I knew -- the girls already told me. Phoebe had stayed behind as she was talking to Alice. Oh - you don't know her--"
Sure I do, thought Hermione, although the thought didn't appear on her face. Instead, it smoothed a bit more, mimicking Regulus's Pureblood look. She's Neville's mother.
"--but she's a sixth year," finished Lily. The redhead sighed, scrubbing at her face. "Listen – 'Mione -- I'm not really in the mood to talk, okay? Why don't you go back to Ravenclaw and just read your books or whatever it is you do?"
The tired tone to Lily's voice, as well as her bland delivery, had Hermione frowning. By the time she finished the sentence, Hermione felt a spark of anger rise in her.
Go read my books? She scowled.
"I came here to check on you, given that you lost your so-called best friend today, but now I see that there's something else we need to discuss," she began, her voice tightening. "Like whether or not what Sirius said is true."
Lily's entire form stiffened. "I beg your pardon?" her voice was shrill as it rose.
Hermione nodded. "Oh, you heard me. Are you ashamed of me, Lily? Is that why you don't tell people who I am? Go out of your way to never address me?"
Lily launched off the bed to stare at Hermione, paces away. Around her, the Gryffindor girls tensed; Mary slowly let her hand that was holding the brush fall to her bed.
"Ashamed?" Lily gave a tiny laugh, but it was mocking. "How can I be ashamed of you, Hermione? You said it yourself - it's not like anyone knows who you are."
"Oh, but you definitely have a problem with me right now," said the other sister, keeping her voice cool. "And I think you have for a while. Since your third year or so. So - what gives?"
"Nothing!" The denial was quick and sharp.
Hermione slowly nodded. "You know what, Lily? I don't think you quite know yourself. I mean, you pretty much sold out your best friend because he called you a nasty slur--"
"He's a racist! A bigot!" snapped Lily, two spots of red appearing on her cheeks. "He's been hanging around the likes of Mulciber and Travers for years now and doing unspeakable things in the dungeons!"
"He was with those two when they cursed Mary," inserted Marlene, jerking her head to the girl on the bed who froze as all eyes swung to her. "What was it, Mar? A striptease that would've progressed a lot further if Flitwick hadn't come around?" the teen's cool eyes turned back to Hermione. "A variant of Imperio, I believe the Professors said."
"And was Snape involved in it?" asked Hermione pointedly.
"He stood by," argued Lily hotly.
"But it didn't bother you at the time," replied Hermione, eyes narrowed. "So it was okay then when he was an observer to your friend and roommate forced to give a striptease -- but it's not now. He was still hanging out with Mulciber and Travers when that happened, too. Oh! -- It was okay last year when Marlene called you a boyfriend-stealing ginger cunt, if I remember correctly, when Gideon Prewett asked you out, and you forgave her."
Lily breathed heavily in through her nostrils. "That's different."
"You can't have it one way and not the other, Lily," said Hermione quietly. "Either Snape is bad news because he called you a racial slur just as Marlene called you a nasty word because the intentions behind it were both to hurt and harm you -- or it's okay with your Gryffindor friends mess up and call you names but not the Slytherin."
"There's a difference to what he said to what Marley said!"
"Really?" Hermione's eyebrows rose. "Also -- let's point out that he wasn't even speaking to you -- he was speaking to me."
"Yeah, about that," replied Lily hotly, "What gives? You never liked him so why are you suddenly so invested in me staying friends with him?"
"I find it hypocritical," sighed Hermione. "I understand and recognize that being called the equivalent to a racial slur is not the same as being called a cunt, but the intent to harm is the same behind it. It was said because he felt threatened and hurt."
Marlene shifted to glare at Hermione.
Lily began silently to seethe as she clenched her hands at her side. Hermione watched her warily as Lily's green eyes narrowed, recognizing the signs from childhood that Lily was about to unleash her temper. Her voice began to rise as she spoke.
"Why is it okay that you get to have the friend in Slytherin and no one bothers you about it? It's so unfair! Do you honestly think Regulus Black is your friend, Hermione? He's a Pureblood and a Slytherin and a Black -- he and his kind look down on people like us! How can you stand there and talk about friendship and hypocrisy?"
"I know very well where I stand with Reg," answered Hermione calmly, but there was a hint of steel in her tone. "Just like I know what people in Slytherin call me when they realize I'm around him. I don't care about being called a mudblood, Lily. I never have."
How can I? thought Hermione, glancing down at the carpet and then her left arm, where Bellatrix once had Fenrir Greyback hold her down and carve the racial slur into her arm as a reminder of her position in magical society -- that she was nothing better than mud, nothing special. Hermione lived with the scar for over twenty years, and she had time to become numb to its meaning and to take it back as a badge of honour that she -- a nineteen-year-old Muggleborn girl from Crawley -- could scare the shit out of older and more dangerous witches and wizards.
Being called a mudblood was like calling the sky blue - it rolled off her back now. She had been called that and many other things -- and maybe it was just her mental age that gave her the apathetic slant to name-calling. She didn't condone the use of the word, but she did think she was immune to its power over her.
"Oh, spare me," groaned Lily, although it was sneeringly said. She rolled her eyes expressively, and her mouth was pulled down tight into a scowl. "Look at you -- Hermione Evans, so removed from everyone and everything that nothing bothers her!"
Hermione blinked. What?
Lily caught the facial tick. "What? Like this is news to you? Hermione -- you don't care about anyone or anything."
"No--" Hermione found herself shaking her head in denial. "That's not true--"
"Yes it is!" shouted Lily back. "Do you know why I don't acknowledge you? Huh? Hasn't the clever and great Hermione figured it out? I'll tell you!" she stepped forward and thrust an accusing finger at Hermione's chest. "Because you don't care about anyone or anything!"
Hermione felt her breath catch in her chest and she aborted a step back in response. Her anger disappeared. That's not true. Not anymore.
Lily, however, was on a roll.
"God, I was so excited to introduce you to magic when you first came here! But you didn't care, Hermione, you didn't want to know any spells, you didn't want to know anything about Hogwarts. You get this amazing opportunity, a letter like me inviting you to this exclusive school where there is magic!" Lily shook her head, her cheeks flushed red and her emerald eyes sparkling with unshed, frustrated tears. "But instead of wanting to know everything, or enjoying Diagon Alley, what do you do?"
"I--"
"You just get your books and then disappear. You don't gawk or ask questions or seemed awed by this amazing thing!" Lily shouted, her flush growing from her cheeks down her neck and towards the neckline of her shirt. "But I am! Magic is this wonderful, gorgeous thing and there you are, all clinical and detached. How could you? How dare you?"
"That's not fair, Lily--" Hermione sputtered, eyes wide.
But Lily did not stop, her chest heaving as she continued to spew her thoughts. "But I thought -- hey, that's my sister. She's always been a bit weird, never mind! She's never been interested in anything, even at home with mum and daddy! Except when we get to Hogwarts, you don't need my help. You don't want my help."
This is a strange echo of Petunia, thought Hermione wildly, her eyes wide and her mouth open as she watched her relationship with her sister implode in the Gryffindor dorm.
"And you know what really gets me? What really bothers me, Hermione? You go to Ravenclaw and then you fucking excel in everything you do! Like it's easy or something without any hard work put into studying or practicing magic!"
Because it is, thought Hermione furiously, her anger roaring back as Lily continued to talk. Because I have thirty years' experience on everyone here! How dare you belittle my accomplishments because you have to work harder than you thought.
"I struggle and study and work my arse off to do well in my classes because I fucking love magic! I love it! I love this world!" tears began to spill down Lily's cheeks, but she didn't notice. Hermione stared, transfixed.
"But you --" Lily shook her head. "Jesus, Hermione, you don't give a shit about this world! You don't care about grades or magic -- you just see it as something with purpose and what it can do for you. You don't deserve the wonder it brings."
Hermione's mouth turned down in a matching scowl. "You don't know what I--"
"I DON'T CARE!"
Hermione's mouth snapped closed.
"I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU GET UP TO! I DON'T CARE THAT YOU WRITE TO TUNEY AND SHE ACTUALLY REPLIES AND CARES FOR YOU OR WANTS TO KNOW WHAT YOU GET UP TO!" she furiously stamped her foot on the floor, and her red hair crackled with magic, making Hermione eye her warily. She shifted her stance slightly in case she needed to throw a protego up. "I DON'T CARE ANYMORE ABOUT YOU. I DON'T! I DON'T!"
Finally, Lily seemed to lose her steam, but she finished with an icy, "Just go back to Ravenclaw and hang out with your loser friend Crouch. Because you're weird and sociopathic and I can't even stand to look at you."
Well.
Hermione's eyebrows shot up, and she used that to tilt her chin up in a stubborn, Hermione Granger move that she had never utilized in this time. Ron and Harry, and Neville, Seamus, Dean and Ginny, Fred, George, and even Parvati and Lavender would recognize the move for what it was: the stubborn, furious tilt of a righteously scorned Hermione Granger who was plotting her targeted enemy's downfall -- usually Draco Malfoy or Pansy Parkinson or Marietta Edgecombe.
But here -- Lily didn't know her. Didn't want to get to know her. Her sister - by blood in this timeline - thought she was weird. A loser. Someone who didn't see the beauty in magic. Who called her a sociopath for not feeling the things she felt.
(Not true! a part of Hermione wailed in protest. I feel things too! I feel hurt and anger and rage and love -- you're my sister how could you--)
Hermione may not ever sympathize with Severus Snape for his racial slur in a moment of emotional compromise, but at that moment, she'd happily march up to him and tell him that her sister wasn't worth the effort. With a cold band wrapping around her heart, locking it securely from the feeling of abandonment and betrayal, Hermione took a deep breath and exhaled.
"Very well," she replied, coolly, eyeing Lily's form as she panted in exertion from her catharsis. Her eyes swept over the other girls in the room, all frozen and wide-eyed at being front seat spectators to the sisters' fight, and then turned on her heel, stomping down the stone steps to the Common Room.
As soon as she emerged, she wanted to groan, as all eyes swung to her and then immediately moved away. The Gryffindors in the Common Room began talking loudly and obviously about homework of all things after OWLs and NEWTs were done!
Hermione could've smacked herself in the head for not remembering it sooner -- she had left the door open! They had all heard!
But there was one person who didn't move away or talk -- rather, he stood transfixed at the bottom of the stairs, staring up with a rigid jaw and flashing hazel eyes as they moved from the darkened space to the weary Ravenclaw.
"... Hermione."
She sighed. "I guess you heard all that, huh, Potter?"
His jaw tensed again and shifted, and Hermione imagined she could hear him grind his molars. His shoulders were tense and he was clenching and unclenching his fists at his side.
"I--" he shook his head and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. When he opened them, they were fixed firmly on her. "I wanted to speak to you."
"Sure, why not? How about we go up to your dorm room," suggested Hermione, her shoulders falling. "If Black is up there, I can have someone else yell at me, too. I can have a matching gender pair from Gryffindor. Maybe then, I can visit Hufflepuff. I'm sure I've done something to offend them, too."
A stricken look passed over James's face.
"Hermione," he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder, but quickly withdrew his hand. "Walk with me?"
Hermione glanced up again, taking in his face. There was something fierce in it, with his square jaw, almost jutting out in his annoyance; his jaw was clenched and tight, and she could see his pulse thudding furiously along his neck. His eyes were wide, the hazel a brighter green than brown behind his glasses -- but they were pleading, aching to do something.
It was because of that, that she sighed and said, "Yeah. Okay."
He didn't extend his hand and she didn't step forward to meet him, but they turned at the same time and moved toward the back of the Fat Lady's portrait, ever aware of the silence behind them and Hermione's realization that by tomorrow, the entire school will know what Lily thought of her.
I just hope that's the biggest news piece for tomorrow, and not Severus Snape being mauled by a werewolf, she thought morbidly.
However, once they were through the portrait, Hermione stopped dead, her eyes looking back and forth.
"Is something the matter?" asked James.
"Barty's missing."
Hermione stood, tense. She was still coming off the high from her argument with Lily, and her nerves were wrought with the idea of something happening to her truest friend in this time. Desperate to hide her trembling hands, she crossed her arms and hugged herself tightly as she glanced around the deserted hallway.
Her companion sighed, and muttered, "What I wouldn't give for a map that shows where everyone was."
The comment had Hermione's lips twitch and she glanced at the tall, black-haired teen beside her. "You do realize you could make that, right?"
Startled, Potter turned wide hazel eyes on her. "What?"
"A map? That shows where everyone is?" elaborated Hermione. "Arithmancy. I mentioned the Poincaré theory before, I'm sure."
"I--"
"Oh, you know what? Never mind. I need to find Barty," Hermione broke in, her voice just shy of anxious. She felt the urge to pace. "If you're interested in Poincaré, I'll tell you some books to read, later."
With that said, Hermione strode forward in one direction, aiming toward checking the Ravenclaw dormitory first, and then her practice classroom second. If both those spaces were empty, Hermione would be forced to search a wide spread of areas that Barty would rarely visit -- like her, he was a quiet creature that preferred a few locations that he felt comfortable in compared to a vast array of spaces. Many of the places where students could congregate at Hogwarts were meant for socializing, like the dorm common rooms, the Great Hall, or the grounds.
Despite her hurried steps, James kept up with her, nearly on her heels.
What could have taken him from waiting for me? She wondered, chewing on her bottom lip as her thoughts whirred through her mind. Barty keeps his promises. He wouldn't have just left without a reason, and he knew I was inside. He knew I hadn't left. So why...?
It wasn't until they were down another hallway, with the dusky sun going down and casting long shadows that stretched and warped against the dark grey of the stone that James paused and cried, "There!"
Hermione whirled and raced to the teen's side. He was leaning up against one of the thick mullioned windows that overlooked the Hogwarts grounds -- particularly, the forest. In the distance, behind the mountains, the sun dipped, turning the sky mottled shades of orange, indigo, and inky blue-black as the stars for that clear night began to appear. Above, the moon -- full -- was beginning to cast its light.
Hermione's eyes roamed the ground, from Hagrid's hut -- Barty wasn't there and there was no smoke coming from the man's home -- to the Lake -- he wasn't there, either, casting stones toward the Giant Squid -- nor was Barty walking the various paths that led back to the school. He wasn't by the gatehouse towards Hogsmeade, which left --
NO.
The gut-wrenching, instinctive cry nearly burst from Hermione's mouth and she clenched her hands against the cold stone of the windowsill, her shoulder brushing James' as she leaned forward and nearly brushed her nose against the cold glass.
Barty, with his tall, lithe figure, was dogging the furious steps and pace of a lanky-black haired teen whose Hogwarts robe blended in with the growing darkness. If it weren't for her familiarity with Barty, his straight brown hair, or his harried steps and gait, Hermione would not have been able to guess it was him from the distance.
"Shit," muttered James at her side.
She glanced over and saw that his eyes were bouncing between the two figures and the full moon above them.
"Tell me your friends didn't set Barty up in my place," pled Hermione, turning fully to him, and reaching out to clutch at the sleeve nearest to her. James looked down at her in shock. "Tell me Black didn't!"
"I wouldn't!" protested James. "I would never! And as far as I know, neither did Sirius. I sent him after Snape to stop this from happening. I swear, Hermione, I have no idea why those two are together."
Hermione stared at him. "But they're going to the Shack."
James's eyes narrowed behind his glasses, but he wet his lips and stammered, "Oh? And?"
"Don't play stupid. I know you know that Lupin is a werewolf," replied Hermione.
James jerked back out of her grasp and she saw him twitch, an aborted move from going for his wand.
She instinctively reached for hers, her hand hovering outstretched for her wand to slip from its holster around her wrist and into her waiting palm. Hermione kept her eyes focused firmly on James while his bounced nervously between her face and the outstretched hand.
"Easy, Hermione -- I wasn't going to curse you," he said slowly, moving his hand away from his side pocket where he kept his wand.
Hermione waited for a beat longer before letting her arm fall to her side; not that it wouldn't take more than a flick for the wand to slide into her hand there, either. She relaxed her stance slightly. "Forgive me if I don't believe you. You and your friends have a habit of cursing students in the hallways."
The pained looked was back on James's face. "Not you."
Hermione made a noise of disagreement. She turned her back on the Gryffindor and began walking away. "Excuse me - I have a friend to rescue."
"I'm going, too."
Hermione whirled on the spot to stare incredulously at James. "What?"
"You're not going alone," he replied, jaw tense. His hazel eyes flashed with something -- conviction? Determination? -- but he strode past her before Hermione could get a good look. Hermione's mouth had dropped open a bit, and she closed it with a firm click as she followed behind, their steps increasing in pace until they were running by the time they reached the Entrance Hall.
Despite the balmy spring day from earlier, the night was chilled and there was a faint sheen of dew on the grass as the two left the shelter of their school and headed towards the Whomping Willow at the edge of the grounds near the Forbidden Forest.
Their steps were faint, and as James -- ahead of Hermione by a few paces -- turned around the corner of Hagrid's pumpkin patch (now barren), Hermione followed and felt herself skid and slip with the momentum of her turn.
She gasped loudly as one of her feet fell out from under her, dropping to her knee and skinning it, and her palms, as she braced herself and pushed back up to continue.
James, however, had heard her and stopped, turning in surprise. He reached for her, wrapping his hands around her upper arms and hauled her to her feet. His hands were warm on her. "Alright, Hermione?"
She nodded. "Thanks."
"C'mon," he muttered, letting go slowly and turning back to the way they were heading. "We don't want to be -- late."
Hermione pressed her mouth into a thin line. James did not have his wand out, letting the moonlight light their way across the grounds. Hermione followed suit, but she began subconsciously to reach for the magic in the air around her, like she had done earlier in the Room of Requirements and when she had shown Barty and Regulus her ability to manipulate magic.
Shortly, they arrived at a clearing out of sight from Hogwarts, just at the edge of where the Willow had been planted. Its limbs were still, the tree resting. That would change the moment they stepped close. Hermione remembered from her own adventures in her third year with Harry and Ron and the desperation that nipped at her when they had seen the Grim -- later revealed as Sirius -- drag Ron by the leg into the passage underneath the Willow.
Just as easily, she remembered the knot to push to get the Willow to stop flailing -- but without Crookshanks, how were they going to do it?
"Do you - do you think Barty is already in there?" she whispered through bloodless lips. God, I hope he's okay...
James's own mouth thinned but the worry in his eyes betrayed the calm tone of his voice. "I'm sure he's fine."
Hermione stared at him.
Flushing under her gaze, James raced forward -- and then the Whomping Willow came alive. There were hints -- the slow creaks of the bark as the tree began to shift and sway -- and then the leaves rustled, there was a whistling noise as the limbs cut sharply through the air and the tree came alive.
James ducked under one thick branch and hopped another. Hermione bit her lip and took a few aborted steps forward, but remained out of reach, her eyes locked on the Gryffindor teen, and his lean figure as he wove and ducked and even rolled in a forward somersault to avoid being hit. It was clear he had practice avoiding the branches.
Then, breathlessly, he pressed up against the thick trunk and began to flail, looking for the knot to freeze the tree. With a slam of his palm, he hit the knot and the Willow paused, its branches outstretched and a few close to whipping James away from its trunk. Hermione darted forward, changing her direction at the last moment when she remembered doing the same to Harry and both of them tumbling down into the passage underneath. She instead slammed into the trunk next to him.
"Blimey, Hermione!" gasped James, stretching a hand out and running it down her back. "Are you okay?"
"Fine. Fine! We need to go!"
He nodded and then ducked down, sliding feet forward between a wide gap in the roots into the tunnel. There, he did withdraw his wand and lit it with a murmured "lumos," just as Hermione slid in behind him. Her pupils went wide, adjusting to the lack of light except for the pinprick of James's wand.
Both stood shock still, for a long, breathless moment as they listened to the creeks of the Willow coming alive above them. Hermione closed her eyes and strained for a bit more, ignoring the sound of her breathing.
Barty. Barty, where are you? She thought, swallowing thickly. Please, we can't be too late, please.
Then she heard it, the creeks of floorboards and the soft voices of swears and reprimands, two harsh tones of young men in far over their heads with something that maybe only Snape vaguely understood in his own desire and punish Remus and the other Marauders.
"Let's go," she mouthed to James, who had his own head tilted in the direction of the noise. Hermione was reminded that it was likely he was already an animagus, given the nicknames he and his friends had brandied about; and that stags were able to recognize and hear sounds with a greater field than human ears could.
James nodded, ending the light from his wand and plunging them into darkness. Despite the pitch-black tunnel, Hermione could tell James had moved; but forward or back, she wasn't sure as she was frozen, unable to extend her senses to make her move.
Then, a warm hand wrapped around hers. Tingles raced from her palm up her arm and her heartbeat reflected the sudden onset of nerves and anticipation. She felt a flush creep up her cheeks, and was thankful that James couldn't tell. There was just something about being in the dark with him. Maybe it was his presence or confidence he wore, as he expertly led her down the tunnel with their feet sending tiny rocks and pebbles skittering away that captivated her.
Hermione didn't remember how long the tunnel was; the last time she and Harry had been down, they were both nearly mindless with worry and fear about Ron. This time, even though she was worried about Barty, about what she was about to walk into (a teenage werewolf - a bloody mess - a battle?), she had experienced and her mental age, as well as several battles' experience, to draw back on. She took a deep breath.
Then, her breath froze in her lungs as James pressed up to her, his front to hers as he leaned down and in close to her ear. Their bodies were touching from shoulders to stomachs to hips and thighs. Hermione's heart, which had started to calm, racketed up to thundering levels.
"There's a trapdoor coming up," he breathed into her ear, hotly. Hermione blinked and repressed a shiver. "Your friend and Snape are there. We need to move quickly before they open it."
"If they open it...?" Hermione let the question trail.
James's voice was grim when he replied. "Then I'll have Remus to fight off."
Hermione nodded her head once, brushing against his chin and jaw. Taking that was a sign of agreement, James moved away, turning. His hand held in hers, but she knew that would end soon enough, so she slipped her wand into her hand.
They turned a corner, suddenly blinded by the light of both Barty and Snape's wands. Barty was hanging just slightly back from Snape, an irate expression on his face as he scowled deeply and leaned against the rough tunnel wall. Snape, on the other hand, at a feverish expression on his face, his eyes alit with inner conviction as he slung spell after spell at the trapdoor that led into the ground floor of the Shrieking Shack. The iron lock remained latched, the wooden square not even shuddering as each colourful unlocking spell splashed harmlessly against it.
"Why won't it open?" he muttered, just as James launched himself forward, slamming bodily into Snape, crushing him against the slope of the tunnel where it ended.
"Barty!" gasped Hermione, racing forward and launching herself at her friend, whose scowl and crossed arms (and wand) dropped to his sides as she collided with him. "Are you okay? What are you even doing here?"
"Hermione...?"
There was a scuffle and Snape sneering, "Get off me, Potter!"; they both turned to see James being shoved away, tripping over his feet. Hermione caught his arm and steadied him, the three of them facing Snape who was breathing heavily.
"Come to stop me, have you?" the Slytherin taunted, his chest rising and falling with each panted breath. "You can't stop me! I'll see what secret keeps Lupin here once a month! I'll unmask him to the entire school! Then they'll know what a monster he is, and what monsters you are for being in league with such a disgusting creature!"
"Leave Remus alone! He's done nothing to do!" shot back James, brows furrowed.
Snape laughed darkly. "Yes, exactly. He's done nothing!"
And before James could reply, the lock on the trapdoor above Snape's head clicked.
Everyone froze, their eyes fixated on the lock.
Then, the wood shuddered, and something that sounded like claws or nails scraped across it.
"Snape," said James, through trembling lips. "Move away. Slowly. Come here."
Snape's dark eyes were locked on the trembling trapdoor above his head, but he obeyed silently and began to take a few tentative steps in their direction.
A loud growl from above had him freeze.
"Snape! Please!" begged Hermione, reaching out with a hand. "We need to go!"
But something dark crossed over his face and he let his eyes drift from the trapdoor to Hermione's face. His face twisted into something ugly as he spat, "I came all this way -- I won't stop --"
The trapdoor shuddered once more. Above, something howled.
Then the door was pulled back, open.
There was no light in the Shrieking Shack, its windows boarded up and crisscrossed with planks, but even so, the four beneath in the tunnel could see the gleaming amber eyes and the flash of white from sharp teeth.
"Oh fuck," muttered James, eyes wide behind his glasses. Hermione, who still held onto James's side from when she caught him earlier, could feel his entire body spasm underneath her hands.
"Move." The word was said quietly, but then he shouted it in her face: "MOVE!"
The word broke through the air. Above, Remus in his werewolf form let out an ear-splitting howl and pressed his body through the small opening of the trapdoor, landing nearly on top of Snape who shrieked loudly.
Someone shouted her name -- Barty, likely -- but both Hermione and James were moving forward, James' form rippling and the red of his uniform turning brown while Hermione swung her wand from the tunnel walls and ripped chunks of loose rock toward Remus, sending them into his side and knocking him off course and away from Snape.
Barty was there, reaching low and dragging a stunned Snape forward just as above them, a large stag, head low and antlers sharp, barrelled into the wolf. There was a loud snort from the stag and the wolf growled in response.
"Let's go let's go let's go!" shouted Hermione, eyes wide as they caught Barty's. They turned as one, with Barty shoving Snape ahead of him. The Slytherin was shaking, his already pale face entirely white as the three scrambled after one another back down the tunnel.
Bits of loose dirt and even some small stones fell from the ceiling around them as the walls shuddered, a few hitting Hermione on her shoulders as she ducked and brought her non-wand hand up to protect her head. Behind them, they could hear the sound of grunts, growls, snorts, and short barks, often timed to the shudders.
There was a yip, and then the sound of claws scrambling on stone.
Hermione met Barty's eyes. The fear in his brown eyes had her turn, jutting her jaw and swinging her wand up as she nonverbally transfigured the loose rocks and hanging roots from plants above them into a stone and wood barrier. It wasn't perfect, the transfiguration shoddy and quick, with irregular gaps between the squares and with some latticed pieces thicker than the others. But it would buy them some time.
Ahead, Snape disappeared beyond their sight. Barty's expressive mouth twisted into a scowl. "Dick," he muttered. He turned to Hermione. "Will that hold?"
"For now," she replied, eyes wide as they began to back up just as a dark shadow moved. Hermione had no time to call out a warning as the shape crashed into her gate, sending shards of wood and rock everywhere. It broke the wolf's momentum, though, and he tumbled headfirst into the floor, scraping the lower part of his jaw against the tunnel's earthen ground. Dazed, the wolf swayed and stumbled as it tried to rise.
"RUN!" Barty shouted.
Hermione wasted no time, nearly skidding on her heel as they raced shoulder-to-shoulder down the narrow tunnel. Hermione could hear Remus's wolf counterpart behind them, the wolf's stench gaining on them.
Just as they spotted the wide, root entrance from the Willow, Barty let out a cry of surprise. Hermione turned -- just as Barty went flying into the side of the tunnel, his eyes and mouth wide and open as he stared down at his side. His hand fluttered above the four long gashes, cut through his jacket and sweater to his skin. Blood oozed out thickly.
"Hermione?" he weakly asked, eyes looking at her, just as something heavy slammed into her and sent her sprawling to the ground.
She bit back a scream as she rolled onto her back, staring up at the dripping snout of Moony. His mouth opened and she watched as his gleaming teeth descended.
No! She cried in her mind and reached for the ambient magic in the ground, soaked with Hogwart's magic that leaked from the castle and permeated the very earth the castle stood on. It was weak, being far from its source, but enough that sparks of fire and electricity raced down Hermione's hand and collated into her fist. She swung.
Moony's wolf face twisted to the side and he whined painfully, the move forcing the majority of his mass off her. It was enough for her to pull back and stand, just as James in his Prongs animagus form, followed by a large black dog, skidded to a stop near them.
The stag glanced between Barty and herself, tossed his head, and then planted himself firmly between them and the wolf. In the meantime, the dog was nipping at the wolf's legs, making him dance and whine as he was forced from his bloodied prey.
Hermione stumbled the few steps to Barty's side and slung her arm around his back while pulling his non-injured side to hers. Still, he moaned and hissed.
"C'mon, Barty," she whispered, her throat tight. "You can do this. A few steps, a short climb, and I promise everything will be okay."
His glassy eyes focused on her shortly, before shutting, but he nodded. There was a sheen of sweat and his face was pale, a milky-white that Hermione didn't like. Each step was painful and exceedingly slow in Hermione's mind as they moved as one closer and closer to the entrance, until they were at the slope.
Hermione bit her lip. How am I going to get him up? Levitate him?
Then Snape was there, reaching down through the hole.
"Here!" he shouted, stretching his hands and Hermione wondered at the relief she felt from someone she thought abandoned them. She shoved Barty forward, just as Snape grabbed his arms and hauled him up; Hermione pushed against Barty's bum and legs, and the Ravenclaw teen groaned.
But he was out.
Hermione turned her head, watching as Padfoot and Prongs kept Moony busy, away from them. James must have sensed her look back, because the stag drew up to his full height, antlers scratching the top of the tunnel and bringing rocks down around him as he turned to look at her. His body blocked the entire tunnel from one side to the other, his form massive in the confined space.
She nodded once, and said, "Thank you," before turning and scrambling up the slope.
Snape's hands reached for her, and yanked; she resisted crying out against the sharp pull on her shoulders until she was face-down in the dewy grass, legs still dangling half in the hole behind her. Above, the Whomping Willow remained frozen, but only just.
"We need to go," she muttered to Snape.
The Slytherin teen nodded frantically, once, twice; and together they hauled Barty up and between them, trying to matching their steps as they left the Whomping Willow's clearing.
They made it only to the edge of the clearing.
"What is the meaning of this?!"
At the furious voice, Hermione, who had been looking down and concentrating on counting her steps, glanced up.
At Barty's other side, Snape froze and between them, Barty's groan of pain merged into a moan of despair.
Just steps from them stood Albus Dumbledore, in a vibrant fuchsia robe with twinkling stars, his blue eyes furious, and his white beard stiff in his anger, the elder wand in his dominant hand nearly thrumming with magic.
Hermione closed her eyes. Well, maybe the students of Hogwarts will get to hear about more than just my falling out with Lily tomorrow morning, after all.
*
TBC...