Author's Notes:

I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters or references. I do not profit from writing this story, only my own enjoyment. A long Author's Note at the end. You were forewarned.

OoOoOo

A dark figure hid in the shadows, stoically observing the building across the street. Night was approaching, the last dredges of sunlight silhouetting the packed buildings huddled behind the sidewalk. Wizards and witches intent on using the last vestiges of daylight rushed hurriedly to complete their tasks, heads down and eyes focused ahead. No respectable magic user would stay in this part of town after the sun had fled, taking with it the certainty of sight. It was these twilight times the unsavory creatures of the night prepared to emerge from the woodwork, and begin with their nefarious and questionable practices.

But the figure in the shadows neither bustled nor hurried, instead stayed unmoving as time passed. Once in a while, the building's door would open, and the mysterious figure would lean forward, in anticipation of who would emerge. But none who passed met the expectation of the one watching, and slowly the figure would lean back to the comfort of the shadows.

But at last something worthy of notice captured the figure's attention. Across the street a commotion erupted. The door to the building slammed open and a man flew, landing in the street in a heap. A woman leaned from the step, shaking her fist at the crumpled form.

"Don't you ever try that on me again Lockhart! I don't care if you have won a million Most Charming Smile awards! We only print newsworthy stories, not made up stories you have bumping around in your head. And don't think I don't know what you said about Witch Weekly to the Daily Prophet. This is my Grandfather's business. You can't go dragging its name in the muck and expect me to write an article about your stupid book!" the woman raged.

The man on the ground leapt up, looking no worse for wear since his flight from the building. Lockhart patted down his colorful yellow robes, checking his hair for damage before turning back to the woman.

"Obviously you misunderstand me, Miss Misslethorpe. I have no intention of giving you false stories; in fact, Gadding with Ghouls will be but another best seller, I assure you! This is all just a big misunderstanding, some things have been misconstrued. You understand how it is, the world is enamored with me!" Lockhart threw out his arms dramatically, smiling charmingly.

"Well I can assure you, Mr. Lockhart, that your fall from grace will be closely monitored to inform our readers. It would take a miracle to clear up the debacle you find yourself in. I would suggest you blend into the background, or I might make you wish you had." The woman brushed back her hair, sneering.

"You can't do that to me," Lockhart blustered.

"Oh yes I can. In fact, for every reader I lose because of your slanderous comment, another article I will publish against you. Good day, Gilderoy." The witch disappeared, slamming the door behind her.

Lockhart stood in shock at the building in front of him. After a moment, he patted his pockets and spun, disappearing with a resounding, "crack".

The figure observed all this in silence, waiting another moment before stepping boldly into the street and climbed the stone steps, not bothering to knock as he slipped through the opening. Inside it was empty, the workers having left hours ago, the printers stilled or clicking as they reset themselves for the next morning. Empty offices and workstations abandoned in the mad dash to get home, a hard day's work done.

The figure moved through the space with ease, avoiding the information riddled files strewn across tables or the rough drafted newspapers meant for the next morning. Instead, he made a bee-line towards the stairs, knowing what he sought lay in the upper floors, away from the day to day menial labor of the lower factions.

The cloaked man pushed past the stairs swiftly, easing the door of upper floor slowly. Most of the lights were off, leaving the hallway dim. At the end of the hall, a thin strip of light illuminated the floor, implying there was still someone inside.

The man walked softly, pausing as he faced the wooden door. He gathered himself and raised a hand, knocking firmly.

"Just leave the report on your desk; I'll look at it in the morning." A woman's voice called out.

The man knocked again, insistently. After a moment the door wrenched open, the woman from the commotion glaring impatiently. The woman took an immediate step back when she realized it wasn't who she expected. But to the man's surprise, she wasted no time being meek.

"And just what are you doing here? This is private property, how did you get in?" The woman shoved a hand in her pocket, whipping out her wand.

"If you wanted to prevent unsavory characters, I would assume you would lock your door." The man drawled. "But you do seem far more confrontational than I recall."

"I know that voice," the woman spat, raising her wand as well as her eyebrows. "How dare you show up here, Snape. Leave at once."

"Is that hostility I detect? And raising a wand to a professor, Miss Misslethorpe, even I thought better of a Gryffindor." Snape swept into the room, breezing past into the office. He removed his hood, eyeing the room in distaste.

"I am no longer a student, Snape, as you well know. And you are not a professor here, not that you ever earned that title." The woman growled, moving to stand behind her desk.

"I have a story for you to publish, tomorrow paper if it's possible." Snape wasted no time, jumping into the matter at hand.

"Oh yea, I'll get right on that for my favorite professor." The woman mocked, rummaging through the stacks of papers on her desk. The office was large, but it was cluttered with filing cabinets and desks, all stacked to a dangerous point of tipping.

"Seriously Snape, why are you here? To mock my parents passing again? Or how I am a disgrace to my family? You know, I got it when you didn't speak to me when I was sorted into Gryffindor all those years ago, that was fine. You couldn't let me taint your biased image of "Slytherins do no wrong". But you could have showed up to my parent's funeral. They were your friends, or at least the closest you can come to friendship. Can you answer that?" The woman slammed the folders onto the desk. "Can you tell me why you couldn't pay your respects to them, especially when they helped you through your trial?"

Snape mouth thinned into a straight line. "The dead do not deserve my respect. And you know nothing of the trial. I do not have to explain myself to a self-righteous Gryffindor with a victim complex."

The woman's glare passed him, eyes glazed and unseeing. "Well you know what Snape, I don't have to talk to you, or run whatever story you brought me. So don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Snape's eyes roamed the walls, searching. "You are taking over your family's business. And I know it is not going well. I am not surprised, as your parents were Slytherins and a Gryffindor would know nothing of running a business. Lockhart's foolishness has slandered your name through Daily Prophet, and what do you have planned? Harmless threats and hoping nothing goes wrong. You need a story, one that rivals anything you have printed before. I have it. Now you can waste your breath attacking me with your childish words, or you can take what I have and run with it."

The young woman merely snorted. "Get out. I don't need help from you. I didn't need it 7 years in Hogwarts, and I turned out just fine. And this business will be just fine without whatever trouble you will bring. Just go, I have things to do." The woman collapsed in her chair, rubbing her eyes tiredly and signing another sheet of paper.

A pale vanilla folder landed before her with a thud, she jumped back, startled. She grabbed the folder and prepared to throw it at the man in the room, only to see a trace of the telltale black cloak disappear into the hall.

She growled, calling out. "The snakes weren't the only ones that needed your help! It wasn't just me you failed!"

No reply came from the hall, not that she expected one.

She sighed, tuning over the file in her hands. What was in it? Did she dare open it? It was Snape after all. What could he possibly be up to?

She opened the file to the first page.

OoOoOoOoOo

After Madame Pomfrey stopped hovering over them and left them to sleep, Hermione heaved her blankets around her knees and scooted closer to her pillows. It wasn't a moment too soon, because Harry crashed into her bed, tossing his blanket up to her. Hermione reached down to help her friend jump onto the bed.

"Thanks," Harry panted breathlessly, pushing himself upright.

"Sure Harry," Hermione reached over the bed to the nightstand. Hermione had suggested they try the jelly beans the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore had given her. She had tried to share them at dinner, but Madame Pomfrey insisted that eating sweets at night was simply barbaric, and it wouldn't do to get riled up before bed.

"Are you sure we should do this?" Hermione asked, suddenly doubtful they should be breaking the rules like this. "We could always wait until tomorrow."

"I don't think jelly beans are that dangerous, they are just sweets after all." Harry pushed his glasses back up his nose. He looked unsure however, and he looked back at the door Madame Pomfrey exited through.

"Better do it quick though, just in case." Harry urged.

Hermione opened the drawer and felt around the empty drawer until her fingers curled around the cardboard box. She pulled it out and showed it to Harry.

"Bertie Bots Every Flavored Beans." Hermione read aloud. She was secretly excited, she had never shared candy with someone before, and certainly never in the middle of the night, breaking someone's rule.

"Are you sure they don't mean real beans? Like green beans or something?" Harry took the box and shook it experimentally.

"It's Wizard candy Harry, I doubt they would do something so ordinary. Though I suppose candy green beans isn't that ordinary." Hermione frowned. It was candy from Wizards. What if they turned into rabbits or something?

"Does the label say it will do anything to us?" She asked worriedly. Harry handed the box back to her, and she squinted in the darkness to read the small print.

"It's too dark to read anything." Hermione sighed, dropping her hands in her lap.

"Well, let's hope for the best then." Harry took the box and opened the top. He sniffed it experimentally. "Smells like candy." He shoved his hand into the box and picked a bean. "Looks like a regular jelly bean."

Harry looked at her and shrugged, before popping the candy into his mouth. Hermione watched on, half fearful something horrible would happen, and half curious to see what would occur.

But to her relief and disappointment, Harry neither changed nor sprouted extra legs or any manner of weird thing. The moment of anticipation passed. "Well?" She prompted, after Harry sat there unmoving, a thoughtful smile on his face while he chewed.

"Blueberry. Tastes good." Harry laughed. "Here, you try one." Harry handed the box to her.

Hermione rummaged through the box, bringing the selected bean close to her eyes to make out the color.

"What do you think green tastes like?" Hermione glanced over to Harry.

"Lots of things. Apples, Green beans…." They looked to each other and burst out in laughter, they covered their mouths with blankets, smothering the noise to avoid alerting Madame Pomfrey.

Hermione popped the jelly bean in her mouth, when she could safely pull the blanket away without danger of laughing. She bit down, the flavor flooding her mouth. Her eyebrows drew together in confusion as she continued to chew.

"It tastes like leaves, or salad lettuce." She elaborated, seeing Harry's expectant face. "Grass, it tastes like grass. It's really strong. What an odd flavor." She swallowed the bean, trying to wash the taste out of her mouth.

Harry took the box from her hand, plucking another jelly bean. He bit into it, popping the rest in his mouth, utterly believing that it would be yet another fruity tasting candy. But that was not the case. Hermione looked on as Harry's eyes seemed to bug out of his head. Harry gagged, a strange squeaking noise accompanying it. Harry dove to the side of the bed, spitting the candy to the floor. He coughed, spitting any remains of the tainted candy from his mouth.

"What just happened?" Hermione was torn between laughter and concern for her friend.

"That…." Harry wiped his mouth, straightening back up. "was the worst jellybean I have ever tasted!"

Hermione grabbed the box; relived Harry wasn't taking it badly. "So it has trick candy too. What did it taste like Harry?"

"Dog food. Really bad dog food. I can still taste it." Harry grinned.

"How would you know what good dog food tastes like?" Hermione teased, rolling her eyes.

Harry's grin dimmed a little, his eyes a little less joyous. He shrugged, "We probably shouldn't eat anymore, I don't think we can hide the stuff we spit out so well."

Hermione frowned, did she say something? "Harry," Hermione interrupted, "You know I was only teasing you right?"

Did she make him feel bad? She hadn't meant to hurt his feelings. They were just having fun, she hoped she hadn't mucked it up.

Harry was quick to assure her. "I know! It's just…" Harry fell silent.

Hermione didn't understand. If he knew she was teasing then why did he turn sad? All she had said was how he would know if dog food tasted…good. Oh.

"Hav-ve you ever eaten dog food?" Hermione tentatively asked. Maybe he did it as a bet, or maybe he was upset about something else entirely.

Harry's gaze was set squarely on his hands.

"Um, it's alright Harry. I don't care either way." Hermione added. It felt awkward, waiting in silence. Dog food was gross, but what did she know about Harry's situation?

When Harry finally spoke, it was softly, and the story came tumbling past his lips in one go, each word like a forbidden story, one that never should have been aired.

"When I was younger, I would have to wash the dishes after dinner was done. At first I wasn't very good at it. I would wash them and then rinse them. But every time I went to dry a plate, they were slippery. They always slipped. And I would try really hard to hold on to them, but they were too heavy. I dropped one and it broke on the floor. I was in my cupboard for a day. But each time one of the plates would drop and break. The third time I had to go without food for a week as my punishment. I was walking home from school, and our neighbor, Mrs. Figgs, always had food out on her porch for her cats. I was so hungry, I didn't think I would make it home. I thought that maybe it would better to go to sleep on the sidewalk. But the bowls were full, and before I knew it I was eating it. I have never eaten dog food, but I can guess it's a lot like cat food." Harry spoke softly, but in the quiet of the infirmary he might as well been shouting for all the attention Hermione was focusing on his words.

Hermione was speechless. Her friend had to eat cat food to survive? His relatives were horrible! How were they allowed to keep Harry all those years?

"Harry, I-" Hermione didn't know what to say.

Harry shrugged, "It's alright."

Hermione's hand darted out and grasped one of his own. "It's not alright." She whispered fiercely. "What happened to you is never supposed to happen to anyone. They won't get away with what they did to you." Hermione didn't know if her words would be fulfilled. But she would make sure that one day, Harry's relatives would pay. She didn't know how, but she would do it.

"Maybe I'll try just one more." She hedged, picking up a jelly bean as though it was dangerous. Harry's warm smile flashed back at her.

OoOoO

Neville was hidden, deep within his grandmother's garden; shrouded from view by the bushy leaves of an overreaching hedge. His legs were pinned to his chest with iron locked arms, his head buried in the safety of his knees. Under the watchful eyes of the shrubbery and plants, it was here Neville came to be alone and shed his tears.

Neville was a lonesome boy, confined to the borders of his grandmother's property. His heart ached for what he could not have, his parents. But they were taken from him, before he ever truly knew them. Oh, he was raised with the heroic stories of their deeds and sacrifices! But Neville would never truly know them, not how he wanted. And he could not help but compare himself to his parent's proud image. He was not brave or heroic, he was clumsy and small.

Neville unclenched his arms, letting his feet slide out and stretch before him. His hand brushed the ground beside him, pulling the well-worn letter lying there to his lap. The package was feather light, script crawling over the envelope in elegant swooping curves. He mouthed the words, whispering to himself. It was addressed to him, possibly one of the first letters he had personally received.

Neville sighed and removed the paper from the envelope, tracing the edges of the parchment. The letter had come a while ago, and he hadn't been able to stop reading it since. He had been accepted to Hogwarts.

Everyone had long suspected he was a squib, even he feared it. He didn't dare wonder the disgrace that would befall his grandmother if her grandson turned out to be a dud. No Longbottom had ever been a squib, not that Neville had heard.

Even so, once the news had spread, every relative that was ever connected to the Longbottom house had shown up to celebrate. Never mind the small shy boy drifting away from the party, the very reason they were celebrating in the first place.

Not once did they look around and notice the object of their celebration had disappeared, nor when one by one they left, wishing the best of luck to his grandmother. For everyone assumed Neville was a handful, too much for one aging woman to have a hold on. After all, he was a direct decedent of Alice and Frank, was he not? As the years passed and Neville grew from a toddler to boy, all who met him stressed the importance of being polite and gentle, and to listen to his grandmother.

What would Hogwarts be like, Neville wondered. Would he get very homesick, because it was so different? Would he be in Gryffindor, like his parents? Or would the entire world know once and for all that Neville Longbottom was nothing special like his parents were, and the Longbottom legacy would fall with him? That seemed a very dark thought to him, one that he banished at once. He would do his best to make Gran proud, wouldn't he?

Neville startled when he heard a loud pop, his hands clumsily shoving the letter back in its envelope and into his pocket. The bush rustled, and a head popped through the bushes.

"Master Neville, what is hurting you? Why is Master Neville all alone? Mistress does not like it when Master Neville hides in the garden." A squeaky voice asked him. Eyes as large as saucers stared up at him, ears stretching wide. Neville relaxed, it was merely Trevor.

Neville's mouth twitched upwards, pulling his knees back to his chest. "I'm not hurt, just thinking."

"Well," the house elf fought through the bushy leaves to sit beside him, straightening his uniform. "Trevor likes to think too, tell Trevor what Master is thinking."

"I am going to Hogwarts. I'll have to leave gran all alone." Neville glanced at Trevor, tightening his arms around his legs.

"House elves always take care of the Mistress. Yippy, Wonky and Twilly will take care of Mistress." Trevor squeaked, shaking his head. "Master Neville is not worried about that."

Neville shrugged, hiding his head in his knees. "What if nobody likes me? What if I really am a squib?" he muttered. Neville waited for a reply. No reply came and he closed his eyes, his fears confirmed.

Neville felt a small hand on his arm, and he raised his head to look down at the house elf. Trevor had a plant in his hands, roots and all, offering it up to him. Neville took it carefully, handling it delicately to prevent damage to the roots and stem. Neville smoothed the yellow petals of the flower between his index finger and thumb. It was soft and merely a seedling.

"Master Neville is like flower. Master Neville starts as a seed, small and quiet. But you will grow, like this flower. And you will have many petals." Trevor waved his hands dramatically, his ears bouncing as he nodded.

Neville laughed, thinking of himself with a mane of petals.

Trevor turned serious. "Master Neville must always do his best. What you plant now, you will harvest later. Trevor knows this." Trevor patted Neville's hand reassuringly.

"Does Master Neville remember first time in the garden? Trevor was working for one moment and Master Neville was gone. Trevor was a very bad elf for losing Master Neville." Trevor flapped his hands at Neville, who was trying to protest.

"Trevor was a bad elf." He stated firmly, "But Master Neville was not far. Master Neville was helping the roses grow, with his magic. Master could never be a squib. Master uses his magic to help the plants, and Trevor is very happy."

Neville smiled, his heart warmed by the kind words of his friend.

Trevor patted his arm once more. "Master will be ok. But Master is needed inside, lunch is ready. Trevor will walk you."

Neville sighed, shifting around until he could climb out. He wrestled his way out of the plants, who seemed to lean towards the boy, as if to keep him close. Together boy and elf made their way through the immaculate lawn towards the manor, the plants and trees seemed to whisper and groan as they felt his footsteps lead away from them.

"Do..do you think you could come with me Trevor? To Hogwarts?" Neville bit his lip, not daring to look down at the house elf as they tread through the grass.

"Trevor at Hogwarts? Oh no no no, Trevor can not do that. What would Mistress say? She would not like that, not at all.

Neville sighed, "I thought you might say that."

OoOoOoOo

Hermione stared at the wall, her eyes squinting and her head turning. It was there, she knew it. Only yesterday had she climbed these very steps and on the wall it had been there. The frame was still hanging, its gilded braid design clashing horribly with the stone walls, but there nonetheless.

She didn't spend much time on the stairs, taking McGonagall's words to heart as she rushed about the castle with a fixed goal in mind. The stairs had yet to move on her, but she wasn't taking any chances. She only used them to get to the Library, and even then she considered the stairs a snake ready to strike if she didn't stay aware.

The stairways were covered in empty picture frames, frames of every size, shape and color. As far as she could see up the stairwell, the continued on and on. At first Hermione had attributed it to the overall odd nature of the castle in general, but that was until Madame Pomfrey dusted a picture frame of her own, and mentioned how she couldn't wait for an intellectual conversation about medicine. Why would an empty frame discuss medicine with her? Hermione could tell something was going on, something no one thought important to mention.

What was odd was the entire first floor looked like what you would expect for a normal castle. If you could excuse the suits of armor that seemed to watch her, but once you reached the second floor everything seemed to just get odd. Why would someone need all these empty frames anyway? But something was missing; she just couldn't put her finger on it.

Was there something different about this empty painting that wasn't there yesterday? She couldn't figure it out; she only knew it was different.

She huffed in irritation, before turning and walking up the stairs. She would figure it out; it would only be a matter of time. She reached the Library without any problem, stair or frame otherwise. Madame Pince was already inside, sitting at her desk. Hermione was impressed with the state of the library, what was once stacks and stacks of books piled in any which direction, things seemed to be spotless and back onto the shelves. There were now open areas spotted all across the library, with tables and chairs anywhere convenient. The door leading to Madame Pince's office was cleared, where there had once been cluttered books. It had only been a day, and everything looked perfect. The only explanation was magic. Hermione flinched without realizing it, and she scowled. The mere thought of magic made her twitch now? That simply wouldn't do. She walked up to the librarian, dipping her head.

"Hello Madame Pince." Hermione greeted.

Madame Pince smiled down at the polite girl. Why couldn't all children be like her? Rather than running around with troublesome antics and destroying property.

"As it turned out, your suggestion of reorganizing the muggle history section was very much founded. I had not realized how out of date our collection is. I am pleased to tell you this will be fixed before the school term begins." Madame Pince sniffed in disapproval. She still couldn't believe that the first section a new student pursued turned out to be ill informed. She would be far more diligent in the future.

"If, in your studying adventure, you come across something else that is under represented, you may come and tell me." Madame Pince allowed. Giving a student reign to point out things wrong was highly unorthodox for her, but Madame Pince had watched the small girl like a hawk. Her old friend was right, Hermione treated books with care. She reminded Madame Pince of herself when she was a young witch starting out at Hogwarts. The library was a mess back then though, it was much better now. And the girl had the manners of a pureblood, at least when it came to respect. Maybe she could watch out for this young witch, muggle children always had it roughest in the first year.

"Is there something you needed?" She asked Hermione.

Hermione hesitated before deciding to ask the question she came up here for originally, rather than the rather impromptu empty frame question. "Do you need a library card to take books out? Why are there bars in the back of the Library?"

Madame Pince drummed her fingers against the desk. "I do not use cards, I scan a person's wand to keep track of what goes in and out. You would find a book you like and come to my desk to check that book out. I would take your wand and spell it with my own. That keeps track of what you have. There is a limit of twenty books unless you can get a professor's approval on why you need more. At the back of the library, on this floor and the others, there is a restricted section. That means you can only get a book from there if you have written approval from your professors or head of house."

"So could I check out books to take with me to the hospital wing?" Hermione asked hopefully.

Madame Pince shook her head. "Unfortunately, only Hogwarts students can check out books from the library, and you aren't considered a Hogwarts student until you are sorted into your dorm. You can read to your hearts content within the confines of the library walls however." Madame Pince informed her.

Hermione tried not to let her disappointment show. "Why are those books restricted? I have never seen that before, except maybe the Library of Congress. I visited there once with my parents."

Madame Pince suppressed a snort. "Unlike the Library of Congress, whose books are completely harmless, well the side the muggles see anyway, the books in Hogwarts restricted section are as much for your protection as theirs. Some books have curses set on them to act like wild wolves or beasts, or the information can't be lying around for any first year to read." Madame Pince did snort this time. "Merlin knows how much trouble they get into with the simple jinxes and such."

"Now run along, unless there was something you needed?"

Hermione ducked her head and once again entered the forest of books, minding her path as to not lose her way, the towering stacks of knowledge beckoning out to her.

OoOoOoOo

"Hermione!" a voice called out to her.

Hermione jerked up, her body tensing in surprise. She looked around wildly, but saw no one in sight. She gazed down at the book she had been reading. The table around her was strewn with books she had pulled from the shelves hours before.

She had been engrossed with the heavy tome detailing theories on the creation of the magical world. She must have zoned out, she was apt to do that when she was reading. The world around her would melt away and it would be nothing but her mind and the words on the page. But soon even the words on the page floated away, and she found herself thinking of her parents. What were they doing right now?

"Hermione!"

Hermione nearly fell out of her chair. "Harry?" she called out.

"Hermione? Where are you?"

"I'm over here Harry, wait, I'll come to you." Hermione left her chair behind and wound through the shelves. She turned a corner and smacked into something hard. She bounced backwards to the ground. She slapped a hand to her forehead, rubbing it to ease the pain. She saw Harry do the same on the ground opposite from her.

"I told you to wait," she groaned, pulling herself up.

"Didn't hear you." Harry grinned. "Are you alright? I didn't mean to plow into you like that."

Hermione offered a hand to him, and hauled him back to his feet, bracing herself against the bookshelf.

"It hurts a bit, but I'll be alright. You?"

Harry rubbed his head. "I have a headache, but I had that before. What are you doing in here, I couldn't find you anywhere."

Hermione led him back to the table. "I just wanted to read about the history of magic, they have so many books in here."

"Yea, I have never seen so many." Harry shoved himself into a chair.

"Did you ever go to a library, you know, at your school?" Hermione plopped back into her seat, stacking her books into piles so they would have more room.

"My school didn't have a library and my Aunt told me to come straight home after school." Harry jumped up to help her.

"Did you like school? I liked some of it, teachers and homework and projects. It was all great fun." Hermione pushed back her wild hair.

"Not really," Harry grinned sheepishly. "I didn't get good grades, and Dudley made it sport to catch me and hit me."

Harry looked away from her and down at the books. "I didn't have any friends, everyone listened to my cousin Dudley." Harry seemed reluctant to admit he hadn't any friends, afraid she would turn away from him.

Hermione rubbed the corner of the table with her thumb, smoothing out an imaginary knot in the wood. "I didn't have any friends either. That's what I didn't like about school; sometimes people would tease me about my grades. Or being a teacher's pet. Or how I looked."

Harry glanced up at her through his bent and worn glasses, and graced her with a smile. They had more in common than either of them thought.

"Why did your cousin dislike you so much?" Hermione frowned.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know really." Harry shrugged. "Because I was a freak, and he wasn't."

Hermione was silent, thinking of her own past. Hadn't she always thought to herself, that she was a freak?

"I think," Hermione thought aloud, "that perhaps, they were right about us. We aren't exactly normal are we?"

Harry stared at her, wondering if her words were going to hurt him, like Dudley's or his Aunt and Uncle.

"But maybe it's a good type of not normal? Maybe you were meant to be different, and that will help you later on in life?" Hermione looked at Harry, offering him a small smile. Hermione was willing to think greatly of Harry, even when the way she thought of herself didn't match up with the ways she saw Harry.

Harry sighed in relief, and smiled back. Hermione was his friend, she wouldn't insult him.

Hermione was struck by a fantastic idea. "Harry, is there anything you'd like to know? You could probably learn anything in this library. I could help you. You don't have to wait until school starts, you could learn anytime. Read books on your own, I know you must get bored hearing me read all the time."

Harry seemed to wilt. He tried to play it off, but Hermione could tell. "Yea, that sounds great Hermione. But, let's do it later, let's go explore or something first."

Hermione didn't understand, because Harry seemed so interested when she read her textbooks aloud to him. He even asked questions and talked with her about whatever she was reading about. So why was Harry so keen to do something else? Was she being to bookish? The girls in her school often teased her about being too engrossed in books. Was she being too pushy?

"Harry, do you like reading?" Hermione asked. When Harry didn't answer her, she tried again. "It's just that I don't want to force you into something you don't like. I know most people don't like staying inside and reading like I do. Most people aren't as infatuated with books as I am." Hermione rubbed her toe into the carpet.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck and ruffled his hair, making it even messier than it was before.

"Hermione…" He drew out her name, uncertain. She knew it, she was being too pushy. Harry didn't like reading a lot, that shouldn't hurt her feelings. Just because she wouldn't have a reading partner didn't make Harry any less of a friend.

"No really Harry, it's all right. I just wanted to know. I understand." Hermione reassured him quickly, to show it wasn't a big deal.

"No, Hermione. It's not that I don't like reading. It's just that…" Harry took off his worn glasses and rubbed them angrily against his shirt. He shoved them back on his face.

"It's just that… It's just that I can't read very well!" He ground out angrily. He looked away, ashamed.

Hermione blinked owlishly. He couldn't read very well? "What do you mean?"

Harry was red from embarrassment. "My Aunt and Uncle didn't like it very much when I got better grades than Dudley. So I just figured it was easier not to listen, you know, to the teachers. They never asked me anything, and the Dursley's were happier when Dudley got better grades than me. Dudley got D's. So it takes me a while, with letters and words."

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again. She pressed her lips together, wanting to condemn the Dursley's once again in Harry's presence. But maybe this was something she could help with. She was top of her class in grade school wasn't she?

"It's alright Harry, if we tell Professor McGonagall than maybe she can help."

Harry shook his head. "No, I can't. I won't"

"Why not Harry? They are here to help us." Hermione was bewildered. The teachers were here to help them.

"What if they think I'm stupid, and decide to take us out of Hogwarts. You heard the Healer, they might already take us out of this years." Harry shifted foot to foot. "I don't want to be taken back Hermione. I like it here." And he did, he wasn't willing to risk his difficulty of reading to get in his way.

Hermione shook her head. "But you have to be able to read and write Harry. We were already doing papers in my school."

"I won't do it. Don't tell McGonagall or Madame Pomfrey, or anyone. Promise me, please?" Harry stepped closer to her, his eyes pleading.

Hermione hesitated. Was this really the right thing to do? She didn't want to lose Harry as a friend. But McGonagall really should know about this shouldn't she? It would hinder Harry's progress during the year.

"Alright," she agreed, Harry's face sagging in relief. "But I'll teach you, with my help, you'll at least have an easier time reading the textbooks. Harry nodded vigorously, simply relieved she wasn't going to tell.

With that settled, and both of them feeling a bit more trustworthy of each other, they found themselves fleeing the library and into the empty corridors.

"Do you think it will be much different when school starts?" Harry asked her, his hand trailing along the stone wall.

"Probably." Hermione mused. "It won't be so empty, or as quiet. I kind of like the quiet don't you?" The empty silence reminded her of the days spent in her bedroom reading. It was peaceful then, as it felt now.

Harry shrugged. "I like noise and people. It feels nice, being around people." Harry didn't like empty spaces, or closed spaces. Noise and people meant no one could forget him. Harry liked being around people who didn't hate him, or punish him. This was the only period in his life so far that didn't have the Dudley's in it. The only time in his life where people seemed to care about whether he was hungry or tired, if he was happy or celebrated his birthday.

Right now, noise was Hermione's footsteps against the floor. People were Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey and Dumbledore, Hagrid. That was more people than Harry ever had. And he felt content.

"Where do you want to explore?" Harry turned back to Hermione.

"Actually Harry, have you noticed all he empty frames on the second floor up?" Hermione grabbed his hand and pulled him along. She wanted to show him the ne frame that was bothering her in particular. They reached the stairwell and Hermione pointed up at the frame.

"Why are they all empty?" She questioned. "Do you think its magic?"

"I don't why they would waste magic on empty pictures frames. Do you think it's like the picture books like in the hospital?" Harry traced the edges of the frame, pushing and leaning on the frame. "They won't budge."

Hermione hadn't even thought of that. Were they like the picture books? Moving and such? But they were just empty, not even moving. There was nothing to move.

"There isn't anything in them to move though. They are just empty. Nothing but backgrounds. Maybe it's just the way wizards make art? They must have their own culture. Maybe they just really like backgrounds."

"That would be a little odd. We could check higher up. You know, on the higher floors, see if any of them do have something in the frames." Harry suggested, pushing his glasses higher on his nose.

"Higher floors?" Hermione squeaked. "But the staircases…"

"They move I know. We have to get used to them sometimes right? I mean what are we going to do when school starts? Don't you think it would be better if we already knew our way around?" Harry was getting excited at the prospect of exploring.

"Well, I suppose. But I don't really think it's a good idea. What if we get lost?" Hermione hedged uncertainly.

Harry pulled his medallion from under his shirt. "Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall will rescue us. I'm sure of it. Come on Hermione. It will be fun."

Hermione shifted foot to foot. She really didn't want to get lost, but she didn't want to spend the rest of the afternoon alone either, knowing Harry was roaming the castle.

"Alright" she conceded. "But we can't split up, and you go first on the stairs. Promise?"

"Promise!" Harry shouted, ecstatic. He led the way, climbing the stairs leading to the third floor.

"Oh bother." Hermione huffed, following her friend.

OoOoOoOo

"Harry, maybe it's time to use the medallions now?" They had just passed the same window they had trudged by thirty minutes ago. The light was fading from outside as well. They should have been back in the infirmary by now. It was getting close to their lights out. They were somewhere on the fifth floor. They hadn't found a single frame with anything in it, much to Hermione's disappointment. And there had been some rather large frames over doors or in the middle of a hallway. It simply made no sense at all!

"No it's alright Hermione, I think I know where I am now." Harry assured her. Hermione pursed her lips, but decided to humor him for a couple more minutes, until he could admit to himself they were utterly lost.

A deep chuckle sounded behind them, and they both whirled around in surprise.

"Hello?" Hermione called out to the empty corridor. She edged backwards to Harry's side. McGonagall had never said anything about creatures roaming the halls, but then again they had never asked had they?

"Should we run for it?" Harry whispered. Hermione opened her mouth to agree, when she was interrupted.

"Running won't do you any good." The voice rumbled.

Hermione jumped, her heart racing a mile a minute. She grabbed Harry's shirt, prepared to drag him along with her. She wasn't going to be separated with some unknown thing chasing after her. And she would like to disagree, as running seemed like a very valid option.

"Who's there?" Harry called out. "Show yourself. We aren't afraid of you!"

Hermione shook her head at him, her eyes wide. Why was he antagonizing it? She was very much afraid, thank you very much.

From the dim corridor the chuckle came again, loud and deep.

"Show myself he says. Step closer boy, and you will see."

Harry squinted and tried to look further down the dim corridor.

"You have to step closer. Without a step, how can you leap? Hurry along now, I haven't got all day."

Harry took a hesitant step forward, but Hermione pulled him back.

"What are you doing, listening to a voice in an empty corridor?" She hissed. "We should just leave, not go on listening to whatever he tells us to do." Honestly, was she the only one with a brain?

"Smart girl, you should listen to her. Or you could just take two tiny little steps and see what the hassle is all about. Now really, is that so much to ask? Besides, the way you're going won't get you to the first floor. But I know a shortcut. But you have to come here."

Hermione glared at the corridor. Harry shrugged, before pulling her along, as she still had a firm grip on his shirt. They took, one, two three steps into the corridor, and yet nothing revealed itself as the source of the voice.

"Run now?" Harry whispered.

"Yea," Hermione agreed.

"Wait, wait wait. On your left, on your left."

Hermione swiveled slowly on her heels. She gasped and tumbled backwards away from the wall. She let out a small scream as she tripped over Harry and tumbled to the floor. Harry was jerked down to the floor with her, but he quickly scrambled up to face the threat.

On the wall was a large frame, and inside was the largest wolf creature Harry had ever seen. Its head was completely wolf, but it melted into a furry human body. Its teeth glinted even in the dimness of night, and its red eyeballs shone with ferocity.

"Haven't gotten a reaction like that in a while." The werewolf chuckled.

"What are you?" Harry demanded, his voice wobbly.

The wolf shook his head violently. "I'm a painting, obviously. I'm a werewolf. My name is Regiul."

Hermione picked herself off the ground, staring at the painting on the wall. Hermione huffed, patting her pants down. She was irritated that she had fallen, and that they came up exploring on the fifth floor at all.

"You guys flatter me, you really do. But look, can't hurt ya. I'm just canvass and pigment." The wolf demonstrated by clawing at them, but he didn't move towards them at all, or move farther than the frame around him. "Feel it if you want, I won't move, I swear."

Harry took a step forward, placing his hand on the painting. The wolf's fur moved under his hand, but not out of the picture. Hermione took a step closer as well, to test it out for herself. All she felt under her hand was canvass, despite seeing with her own eyes the creature shift about in his painting.

The wolf clicked his jaw together, shaking out his mane. He dropped down on all fours and ran his head under their hands as further proof.

"So you guys are from muggle families then?"

"Not quite." Harry answered. "Hermione is, but mine is a bit more difficult."

"Well, Muggle enough families then." The wolf replied. It was odd, hearing such a human voice coming out of such a head when it shouldn't be possible.

"How is this even possible?" Hermione asked, after overcoming her fear she was mostly curious now.

"Are you talking about magic in general or just my painting?" The wolf asked, winking at her.

Hermione scowled. "Can you answer any one of those questions?"

"You wound me. Paintings that talk like mine are made with a spell, pretty complicated so you have to get the right person to cast it for you. And they only work with certain frames. And they really don't work until you die. A part of your essence is transferred into the picture frame and voila! Just another way for witches and wizards to live on."

"You're a wizard then?" Harry asked.

"Do I look like a wizard?" The wolf snapped.

Harry blinked. "What are you then?"

"I'm King of the Fains." The wolf creature reared up upon its hind legs and posed proudly.

"What are Fains?" Hermione questioned. This painting was actually turning out to be quite useful, and she hoped she would be able to actually learn something and this all wasn't just a large hoax. Though it really did freak her out a painting was talking to them at all. Exciting, but terrifying.

"They are a pack of werewolves. My pack." The werewolf eased back down.

"But you just said that you only get into a painting if you're dead." Hermione pointed out. Hermione wasn't surprised when he mentioned werewolves. I mean, there were wizards and witches weren't there? What other creatures might exist then?

The painting growled. "Once a king always a king. Besides, I only died last year, I'm still in the process of training my predecessor."

"How can you be in a painting if you're not a wizard?" Harry added.

"Every king and queen of magical origin is offered a portrait at Hogwarts. Anyone of importance is offered a portrait at Hogwarts. You know you've made it in the Wizarding world when they offer you a portrait at Hogwarts. Remember that. I must not be very important obviously, because I'm on the fifth floor. Location, location, location. Remember that as well."

"That can't be true, because all the frames are empty!" Hermione accused.

"Well, can you blame them? I mean Hogwarts is pretty boring in the summer, and I've only been here a year. They have other portraits you know, other places to visit. I personally spend most of my time with my pack. I only checked up here to make sure they hadn't moved me higher. They'll start showing up. None of them can miss the drama of a new school year. Old bitties the lot of them." The wolf crouched low in its frame, sitting at eyelevel to them.

Hermione wanted to shrink under the wolf's gaze. Why was he staring at them?

"If my pups were as skinny as you, I would declare a feast for them and watch them eat. That is the human's problem. They have no alpha wolf. So their children go hungry." The wolf's fur rippled as it stood once more on its hind legs.

Hermione and Harry looked at each other, shrugging. Hermione agreed that Harry was too skinny, and Harry agreed Hermione was too thin. Not that they would ever admit that to each other.

"I will help you, since there are no others who will. If you need my help, you may call on me. I will bring you to the first floor, pull on my frame." The wolf ordered.

Harry tugged on the darkened wood frame, and to his and Hermione's surprise, it opened to reveal a hallway, presumably leading to the first floor.

"How is that even possible?" Hermione whispered. There was no way a hallway led straight through the fifth floor, they would have run into it! They surely would have noticed the space it occupied.

"Go through, it will bring you to your destination. However, do not forget about me here on this floor. Remembrance is gift easily forgotten."

"Thank you," Harry held the picture open while Hermione climbed into the hall. She did the same for Harry as he clambered in beside her. The picture swung shut, and they were once again alone amidst the hallway.

"Do you realize how odd that was?" Hermione whispered, tugging Harry away from where they had came.

"I thought he was nice." Harry argued.

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Yes, the black wolf with huge teeth was just charming. The fact that he was a moving picture aside, what about the fact that all the pictures in the castle go on holiday? Or the fact that we just met a werewolf, that moved in a picture?!"

Harry beamed at her. "Isn't it brilliant?"

Hermione spluttered, "Brilliant? We could have died! What if it wasn't a picture in the corridor?"

"But, it was a picture Hermione. Besides, we just solved your question. Now we know why there are a bunch of empty frames on the second floor." Harry pointed out.

"Yes that's true, but Harry," she halted. "Next time we run, alright? You can't tell me you weren't scared, not even a little bit?" Hermione didn't know if she could keep roaming the castle with him if he rushed into danger every time something weird happened. She wasn't used to things growling at her in the dark!

Harry blushed, and looked down guiltily. "I was, especially when it told us running was no use. I didn't mean to scare you. I just thought it would be better to see what we were up against."

They stated walking again, looking at the hall surrounding them. It was just one long, empty hallway. It seemed to go on forever, and just as Hermione was going to give up and grab her medallion, a door came in sight. Hermione picked up her speed, and reached the door first. She turned the brass know and pushed against the door, expecting it to be heavy like the painting.

Instead, the door swung open swiftly, dumping Hermione on the floor outside it. She groaned picking herself off the floor for the second time that day. She rubbed her elbows, which were now rather sore.

"This is why I stay in the library." She joked, watching Harry hop down.

"At least it took less time than climbing the stairs." Harry noted, closing the door.

"That's the thing, how is it even possible to get to the first floor from the fifth without using stairs? We went in a straight line, there was no decline or anything. Hogwarts, A History didn't mention this."

"Maybe they don't mention that stuff because everyone knows it?" Harry suggested.

"That isn't how a book should be written." Hermione twirled around, trying to get her bearings. She would have to go through Hogwarts, A History again, to see if she had missed such an important piece of information.

"So… We need to go that way?" She pointed to the right. "How did we even end up near the courtyards?"

After turning around several times, they tumbled into the infirmary, Madame Pomfrey bustling around them like a bee to pollen. She checked them over for injuries while Harry recounted their adventures. Harry liked telling stories, as Hermione was finding out. Madame Pomfrey tsked and tasked when he detailed her fall. Hermione rolled her eyes at her dramatic friend, enduring the extra attention from Madame Pomfrey as she checked her elbow for scrapes.

She had tried to shush Harry when he first started detailing their adventure, sure that Madame Pomfrey would be upset at them. But apparently a talking portrait wasn't enough to be alarmed, and Hermione was both confused and relieved.

Madame Pomfrey brought out their dinner, and they were joined by McGonagall, who swept into the room to sit in her conjured chair. Harry recounted the story once more with a new audience.

McGonagall was bemused, happy at the carefree antics so typical of year one students. Harry was coming along nicely. Excited and inquisitive.

"Why didn't you just ask Madame Pomfrey and I about the portraits? We could have told you in a moment, as we are very familiar with portraits and the castle." McGonagall asked, why go to all the trouble when all it would have taken was a simple question?

"Well…" Harry trailed, "Hermione had a theory that people already know this stuff, and nobody thinks it's important enough to mention." Harry cast a side glance at her, motioning with his hand, encouraging her to speak.

Hermione scowled at him, but spoke anyway. They all seemed to lean in subconsciously, to better hear the soft spoken girl.

"Some things weren't mentioned in Hogwarts, A History. Like the portraits, or parts of the staircases. And that seems rather big to me. Like I'm missing something." Hermione fidgeted with her food, pushing it around her plate.

They seemed to wait to see if she would say anything else, but Hermione was already embarrassed and would say no more.

"Well, I suppose that is a problem." Madame Pince agreed.

"I agree," McGonagall concurred, smiling tightly at Hermione and Harry. "Something that can be easily remedied. I can set some time aside to teach you both the basics, I think I even know where some books are about it."

Before McGonagal could open her mouth to say more, the double doors of the infirmary burst open to admit Dumbledore, robes flowing behind him. He stepped quickly, his boots clicking against the floor. His eyes were fierce, the twinkle in them gone.

His voice was soft however, when his eyes turned to Hermione and Harry.

"I am sorry to intrude upon your dinner without the intent of enjoying it with you all, but I must be an ungracious host and have a moment with you Professor McGonagall." He nodded to Madame Pince as McGonagall rose. Together they exited through whence they came, disappearing into the halls of Hogwarts.

Hermione watched they leave, her heart feeling heavy in her chest. And she had no idea why.

"Well, eat up. No use letting good food go to waste, showers after and then to bed. You both have had a busy day."

Neither of them bothered to argue, not that they would, but instead finished of the plates and medicine given them.

OoOoOoOo

"What is it Albus?" Minerva closed the door to the Headmaster's study. She would rather be in the infirmary where she spent most of her time lately, observing the complexity that was Hermione.

"I am taking the liberty and assuming you have not read the morning's paper this morning?" Albus sat at his desk, pulling from within its depths a newspaper.

"No, I was busy all morning with the teacher's budget. Then I went to convince Sibyll that she had to return teach divination, despite her prediction of her own death in the fall. And I don't even care for the subject. Never mind she makes the same prediction every year. Heaven forbid she predict she dies in the summer." She stated dryly.

"Yes, but Sibyll is important to this school. I assure you she has proven to me the viability of her predictions." Albus ignored her snort of disbelief. He handed the paper to her, and sat back to review her reaction.

McGonagall's eyes squinted through her eyeglasses, analyzing the article gracing the front page.

McGonagall gasped as it comprehended what she was reading. "It can't be! Are you sure of this Albus?!" She gripped the paper within her hands as she read on. This simply couldn't be possible. Not all those years…

"I am very sure Minerva, I even sent Severus to be sure." Albus picked up a lemon candy, reviewing it the light. He stroked his whitened beard in thought.

"What… What are we going to do then Albus? We can't just leave things the way they are."

"That is exactly why I need you. Three days from now there will be a hearing. I need you to be a witness." Albus rose, prying the paper gently from McGonagall's shocked fingers.

"Of… of course Albus, I just can't believe this. We all thought…" She trailed off, distraught.

"I know. Even I was misled." Albus patted her shoulder sympathetically. "But maybe this wrong can be righted. Even warriors of the light make mistakes sometimes. Goodness knows I am not infallible."

"I'm going to have to think about how I feel about all this." McGonagall was still shocked by it all.

"Why don't we get back to the infirmary while you do so? I am very partial to the stew the elves make during the summer."

"Only you could think of food in a time like this." McGonagall snapped.

"Well I suppose I have had more time to come to terms with it." Albus conceded, leading her away from her office.

OoOoOoOo

Hermione hopped out of the shower, snatching the towel hanging in midair. She couldn't even operate the shower, because it didn't have handles or temperature gauges like any normal shower would have. Instead she had to wait while Madame Pomfrey did everything for her with a couple waves of her wand.

She felt pretty useless that way, like she was incapable of even cleaning herself. She felt pretty useless when it came to magic anyway. She was still embarrassed she couldn't get Harry's present to work. Madame Pomfrey said just a tap of her wand, but nothing happened when she tried it. She must have tapped that silly black box at least a hundred times. Then Harry had tried it once and it worked! How was a piece of wood supposed to make anything happen anyway?

She toweled off and graced around for her clothes. Madame Pomfrey always set them- there. She grabbed her clothes off the sink. The infirmary bathroom was pretty big, with each stall having its own shower, but a seemed a little more cramped today. Then it hit her why. Near the wall there was something leaning there. Hermione approached it and realized it was a mirror. She wiped down fogginess caused by the steam with her towel.

She caught her breath, deciding whether to walk away or stand in the mirrors path. She hadn't been near a mirror since the night McGonagall came and took her away. Would she look any different? She took a deep breath and held it, stepping up to the mirror and turned, trying to catch a sight of her back. No one would let her see what remained of her back since they used magic to heal it. Hermione assumed they used magic, she was rather fuzzy on the details of that night. She knew it must be hideous, if they refused to let her see it.

Sometimes she feared this was all just a dream, and she was really just passed out on her bed from the pain from her back. She still felt remnants of pain that would lace across her lower back, like a ghost flitting to and fro whenever it was convenient.

She could see a bit of her back, but it was hard to crane her neck and stay twisted to the mirror at the same time. She danced in circle trying to catch view of it and when she finally caught a glance, she didn't recognize a bit of it. It was too smooth, the hard red lines and faded blacks and blue were gone, vanished without a trace. But she looked closer, searching for anything familiar, anything that would identify as still being her. But the marks on her body that used to be so familiar to her were removed, and in its place infinitely small, pale white lines ran under her skin like a delicate spider web. Gone was the burn marks and long healed scars, everything that identified her as, well, her.

What had happened? Was this the price for the magic that healed her? Her breaths came quicker, she was panicking just looking at it. She faced the mirror, staring at herself. Her hair was just drying, but it would be bushy and stick out all directions, she was sure. That was the same. The old marks and scars were still present on her body, and she was secretly relieved for that. She wasn't disappearing. That calmed her, and she drew out deep breaths. She could deal with this, couldn't she?

She nodded and looked again at her reflection in the mirror. There, right above her belly button, was the mark that had showed up after her terrible nightmare. The mark Ollivander had warned her about, another price for magic. It had stopped burning, thankfully. It only twinged here and there. It looked like an upside down question mark, with a bit more squiggle in it. There was one dot below it, and one to each side. The black tattoo was dark against her pale skin, making it the most noticeable thing on her body. Yet another mark telling the world and herself she wasn't normal. She threw herself away from the mirror, tugging on her clothes as she fought tears.

Nothing was the same, nothing! Everything was too different, too far from ordinary. She couldn't even claim her body as her own, with marks and scars she wasn't aware of acquiring. Her hands gripped the towel, squeezing it tight in her fists. Not for the first time, she wondered why everything happened to her. She hadn't asked for this. She hadn't made a resentful wish set against a shooting star, or blessed a coin tossed into a fountain, prayed on a flower and blew until all its petals floated away.

She hadn't asked for any of this! She had no control, she was losing any control she had. There was no order, no guiding hand! Was she to be forever set adrift? The loss of her parents cut deep, the knowledge that she assisted in destroying her parents was almost too much to take. Because even though McGonagall claimed her agreeability in testing and exams did nothing, Hermione knew some must be used.

She was to blame. If she never saw her parents again, like McGonagall so claimed, it would be her fault. The evidence was collected from her, founded or not. Her parents were gone, forever.

Hermione squeezed her eyes closed, feeling as if the world was closing in her, pressing on her. Unbeknownst to her, the mirror began to rattle against the wall, the showerhead groan under pressure. But all she could feel was crushing disappointment, in herself, and in the world around her. For the world surely only wanted her to crumble into the ground, useless and alone. To collapse with knowledge she was a worthless and unloved thing, by her parents, her non-existent friends.

She sank to the floor, tears falling drop by drop to the ground. Her arms wrapped around her stomach, pressing against her tattoo. Even after all that had happened, she would trade anything to be back with her parents. And it stung even worse to realize they didn't want her anymore, had left her to be taken away by a complete stranger.

Why would they do that? She cried bitterly. She wasn't enough. Wasn't deserving of their love. She was an ugly canvass of scars. She felt the blackness rise in heart. Her fingers tingled as sadness brushed through her mind. It leeched at her, flooding her mind with it.

She clutched onto it, pulling and straining against it as it tried to escape her. She squeezed her eyes tight. It was happening again! But it had been days, weeks! But like each time before, she fought in vain against the force in her body. The power seemed to shove against her mind, tearing and shredding whatever was in its path. No, this couldn't be happening again!

"I don't want you!" Hermione screamed, pressing her palms to her temple. She could feel her body rocking back and forth; restless energy forcing her body to move, forcing it to respond. For it was truly an "it" now, her body and mind separated by the ravaging power eating away at her. The battle was lost in her body, common ground given up for the most important battle. The fight over her mind. It was there the power always lingered, right before it exploded.

She curled up under the pain, her body bowing to the blackness in her mind. Even now her body was a traitor. The power gained ground over her, throbbing and pounding into a crescendo.

"Hermione!" someone, something called out. It sounded muffled, like the sound one makes underwater, or calling from a distance. Something you would turn and look for to see if your name was truly shouted.

"I hate you, I hate you." She sobbed. She cursed the force that made her abnormal and weak. Couldn't she be upset without this thing taking advantage of her? The pain in her temples increased and she cried out.

"Hermione," she heard the far away voice. "Tell me where it hurts. Tell me where it hurts." The voice soothed, she felt arms around her, rocking in time with her body.

Where it hurt? Where did it hurt? In her soul, her heart? Her mind? Was there even an answer that question? She wanted to speak, but she could not find the proper words.

Her battleground was receding, diminishing to the leeching darkness marching through her mind. She held desperately to the last shred, the last bit before even that too was gone. It exploded from her, like she knew it would, snapping her head back from the force. It lashed out from her, shattering the mirror into a million pieces, grinding it to dust. Her back arched and the shower head burst; hailing a torrent of water over the bathroom stall. The tiles of the floor cracked as if under enormous pressure, wind whipping through the bathroom. The power rushed out of her in a raged display, howling and roaring. It expended itself from what it could find, leaving Hermione to collapse, limp and exhausted.

She felt herself lifted from someone's lap, at set down carefully on the cracked tiles of the floor. The floor felt cool against her back, it felt…nice. Why was she on the ground? She forced her eyes open, a half lidded view. McGonagall was above her, touching her neck and her wrists, holding her face, smoothing her hair. She was screaming for something, what could it be?

Why did McGonagall care so much? Why was she worrying over her? She wanted to push McGonagall's hands away, tell her not to bother. She wasn't worth saving. Hermione smiled, a ghost of a thing really, a twitch of her lips.

"Hermione, that's a good girl, can you hear me?" McGonagall's voice reached her, coming into focus. "Are you in pain? Can you tell me where it hurts?"

Hermione coughed, her body convulsing. She breathed a laugh, her eyes glazing over as she lost focus of McGonagall. What a simple question really. One she knew the answer to. Would she raise her hand? Maybe she would drift away to the ceiling.

"Everywhere," she whispered. "Everywhere."

OoOoOoOo

Hermione regained consciousness bit by bit. It was quiet; she couldn't hear Harry or Madame Pomfrey preparing for another day. She dragged her eyes open, she felt exhausted.

The first thing she noticed was she wasn't in her bed, in the infirmary. A different hospital bed, a different place. She tried to push herself up, but found it increasingly hard to do so. She collapsed back into the bed. Why was she so tired?

Then she remembered the mirror and McGonagall. She cringed, remembering it all. That's why her head felt like it was splitting. It always felt like that after an episode. She was never this tired though. She groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes, to drown out the place that was obviously not Hogwarts. Had they kicked her out after destroying the bathroom? Was she in a norma-muggle hospital?

"Ah, so she is awake. How are you feeling Hermione?"

She knew that voice, she slowly pulled her hand from her face. It was the healer, from Saint Mungos.

"Where am I?" She whispered, her voice hoarse.

"Saint Mungo's." The Healer confirmed.

Hermione groaned, turning her head to the side to bury it in pillow.

OoOoOoOo

"Mrs. and Mr. Granger, thank you for your patience." A man in a business suit walked through the door. He sat in the metal chair offered by the on-duty guard, and faced the handcuffed couple sitting opposite of him. He laid his brief case on the table, removing a heavy vanilla folder and a pen.

The couple was still in their work clothes, they certainly didn't look like the sort of people to land themselves in trouble. They had already lawyered up, but the lawyer present didn't seem too pleased about the situation he found himself in.

Andrew cleared his throat, and searched through the file laid before him. "My name is Andrew Dramous, and I am here to explain to you the actions that will take place today. Before anything else is said I have to inform you anything you say will be recorded for future reference, whether any information stated will be used in a court of law is up to a judge or their equivalent."

He looked at each person in turn, and when no objection were made he looked back down to his file. "You were taken into custody five hours ago is that correct?" He asked.

Mrs. Granger snorted in disbelief as her husband answered. "Yes we were, five bloody hours ago, and we have been sitting here since!" Mr. Granger growled.

Andrew simply nodded. "Were you told why you are being detained?"

"We were being arrested because some claimed we abused our daughter! And that is an outright lie! You don't have the authority to detain us on some rumor! I demand my wife and me to be released!" Mr. Granger demanded.

But Andrew could only shake his head. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger, my report here states that we now have documented evidence by a physician that points to severe abuse over a period of several years. Can you explain that?"

"We didn't give permission for our daughter to have an exam. Those people took her and made it up!" Mrs. Granger insisted.

Andrew looked up sharply. "Who are "they" Mrs. Granger? It says very clearly that child services took custody of your daughter."

"The witch! The crazy school who took our baby! They did that to her! How dare you accuse us of hurting our only child! That woman," she spat. "the representative of that school came to our house and took our child! And we are the ones who get arrested? What was that schools name? Showwarts, what was it… Hogwarts! That's the school. They kidnapped our Hermione."

Andrew frowned, "Mrs. Granger, child services are not required to obtain the permission of the parents in a case of child abuse. I'm afraid I don't understand what you are trying to tell me. Are you claiming child services kidnapped your daughter?"

Mrs. Granger leaned forward, placing her handcuffed hands before her. "I am not claiming, Mr. Dramous. I am telling you that a representative of Hogwarts, a school, came to our house and took our daughter. That is what I am saying."

Andrew's eyebrows drew together. He glanced to their lawyer, who was massaging his temple with his index fingers, as if he didn't understand either.

"But Mrs. Granger, if that was the case, then why is there no police report filed by you or your husband? I have never heard of a school called Hogwarts. If you thought your daughter was kidnapped, why didn't you inform the authorities?"

Mrs. Granger's face became pinched, and she slumped back into her chair. Mr. Granger moved to comfort his wife, all the while glaring at Andrew.

Andrew grimaced, he had one of those cases again. "Well, in that case it should be a relief to know your daughter has not been kidnapped, but in the custody of child services."

Andrew handed a file to the lawyer, "With the evidence gathered, Mrs. And Mr. Granger will be charged with child endangerment and child abuse." Silence greeted his announcement.

"Your case is being transferred to D.M.L.E. That department will inform you of your court date and any other specifics involving your case." Andrew was immediately interrupted.

"The D.M.L.E.? I am not aware of this department. Why are they not being channeled through the regular law enforcement?" The lawyer asked.

Andrew shuffled through his papers before finding the correct one. He squinted down at the paper, which was in extremely fine print. The… Department of Marshal Law Enforcement has exclusive rights to any case brought in that qualifies its requirements."

"The Department of Marshal Law Enforcement?" the lawyer repeated doubtfully. "What requirements are they?"

"That I do not know, I would suggest contacting the D.M.L.E. and asking them." Andrew faced the Grangers. "From my experience, the D.M.L.E. picks up cases from all spectrums of committed crimes. Their cases are taken randomly from what I see. I haven't heard any complaints about them yet."

If Andrew liked the Grangers, he might have mentioned no one returned from being transferred to D.M.L.E. If he liked the Grangers, he might have suggested setting their lawyer to work to get their bail bonds figured before the transfer happened. But Andrew Dramous had no respect for child abusers.

"Any questions? No? Alright, you will be staying in a holding cell until you are transferred. I will be your case holder until that time. If you would sign here and here, I would appreciate it."

He slid the paperwork over to the couple, waiting as they signed, handcuffs clanking against the metal table.

Andrew reached out to shake the Granger's hands, before locking his briefcase. He nodded to the lawyer and guard before exiting the room. He had a lot of paperwork and phone calls ahead of him. He hated D.M.L.E. cases.

OoOoOoOo

"Master, what is your plan? What must I do to assist your rise of power?" Quirell called out, trying not to think. HE could hear his thoughts, and HE had already punished him twice for the thoughts racing through his brain. It was his own fault, thinking things that would displease his lord.

The back of his head twitched and itched, but he refrained from touching the turban that wrapped around his head.

"Fool… There is no need to speak. Your thoughts are my own. You know what to do. March, march to Hogwarts." The voice rasped.

OoOoOo

Author's Notes:

So, lots have happened to me, the author of this story. While no incident is more important than the creation of the storyline, I myself fall prey to the many distractions life has to offer. Such as getting a job, dealing with interviews and generally being a goofball. I hope you all appreciate the time I spent making sure this chapter was the longest yet, to make up for any slight of procrastination on my part. You can thank the sun for keeping me inside, for without its harmful rays I might be outside enjoying nature, instead of hovering over this computer screen keeping my sunburn cool.

As always, the reviews and support given from all of you make me all warm and fuzzy inside, without the need to lather on the sunscreen. Ah, such the sentiment.

If YOU have a fantastic idea for this story, and want to save me the trouble of being creative, then by all means, give me a shout out! I appreciate every idea, especially the ones that makes sense. And if you see something that doesn't fit, that's what that comment button is for!(And praising, I mean come on, who doesn't like a good praising?)

I really like this chapter, anyone want to guess what I'm doing with Trevor the House Elf?

I assure you I am already hard at work writing the next chapter. Another instalment coming to you soon!

Thanks for reviewing everybody, and hitting that like button. It's my goal to make this the biggest story ever!

*Meowwww*

Crookshanks? Is it getting time to end this message? I think it is. Come on boy, I'll feed you some cat kibble.

Until next chapter!