A/N: Over the years I have developed a distaste for author's notes but I feel this one is necessary. Hello all, this was written in the heady times before the Harry Potter series was finished. I never had any intention of returning to it but as it happens it's a nice way to de-stress. I have revised the existing chapters, mostly aesthetically. I have lost my notes for this so I'm not making any promises. Thank you, and enjoy.

CHAPTER ONE

Third Year

"Professor Lupin!" the bushy-haired third-year called out, skidding to a stop in front of her Defence teacher.

Remus gave Hermione a soft smile. "Now I know you can't possibly need help on the homework."

Hermione blushed. "No, I finished that essay ages ago, I just wanted to ask you about something you said in class today."

With a slight frown, Remus racked his brain. Merlin, what did he teach the third-years today? Oh yes – magical creatures.

"Was there another error in the textbook?" Remus asked, with a light chuckle.

"Oh no, that was only once. Everyone knows that the Wolfsbane Potion delays the transformation until moonlight hits the werewolf." She paused, as if waiting for him to make some remark. Remus merely cocked an eyebrow.

"Well," she continued, flustered, "I was just thinking about what you said about the Great Archives. I've read in Hogwarts, A History, that our own library is one of the best in the world! But it doesn't seem to match up with the Great Archives in size." Here she suddenly looked worried. "Unless I've somehow missed an entire wing of the library!"

Remus stifled a laugh. "No, no, I can assure you there are no parts of the Hogwarts library you haven't accessed, except for the Restricted Section of course. The difference between it and the Great Archives is simply that the Hogwarts collection, though it may not seem like, has been extensively edited. Only the best educational and scholarly materials are selected. On the other hand, the Great Archives strives to maintain a record of all of wizarding documents. That is to say, it contains more than just books. Newspapers, magazines, maps, photographs, even old radio broadcasts. And unlike Hogwarts, the Archives are open to the public."

"Open to the public?" Hermione nearly shouted, eyes sparkling with excitement. At Remus' chastising look, she lowered her voice a modicum. "Professor, do you mean even I could have access to the Archives?"

This time Remus couldn't smother his laugh at her reaction. "Yes, even you may access it."

"And where exactly are the Archives located?" Here she suddenly looked worried. "Not too far away, I hope? Not America… or China?"

"No need to fret, the Archives are located relatively nearby in Europe. France, to be exact." Remus answered, a bit amused with her curiosity.

Hermione lit up, a childish glee appearing on her face. "La belle France," she sighed, dragging out the syllables.

"I take it you've visited France before?" Remus asked, with a small smile at her delight.

"Oh, it's absolutely lovely," Hermione gushed. "My favourite place in the world! After Hogwarts of course. Have you ever heard Édith Piaf sing? Probably not, she's a Muggle but absolutely talented." She sighed dreamily, "Non, je ne regrette rien!"

Remus froze. In his mind, he was transported back to a smoky room, dark save for the single spotlight shining on the woman standing centre-stage, dark eyes revealing nothing as she raises then drops her hands, opens her mouth and start to sing "Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien…" A thousand theories burst into his mind, but before he could even begin to comprehend what was happening, he found himself saying, casually, "That's an interesting thing to say. Have you heard someone sing it before?"

Did she know? Did this fourteen-year-old girl somehow know something he didn't? It was impossible, since she hadn't been born yet, but maybe…

"Of course! Her songs are still famous in the Muggle world, even though she died in the sixties."

Remus closed his eyes. It wasn't her.

Hermione was smiling now, obliviously. "Being in France, it's just as nice as Hogwarts, sometimes even more so." Her face fell, almost imperceptibly. "Harry and Ron don't seem to think so. I wish I could go back to France –" then she stopped abruptly.

Remus sighed and rubbed his eyes. What was he thinking? That this tiny slip of a girl, wrapped up in her teenage angst, could somehow unlock the mystery that had gripped them for so long? She didn't know anything. She was just a bright, clever witch, perhaps too clever for her classmates liking.

"It's almost curfew. Perhaps you should return to your dorm?" Remus suggested, and she nodded.

"Of course, Professor," she said dutifully as she left for the Gryffindor tower. Remus headed to his own quarters and pulled out a dusty bottle of firewhisky. He knew returning to Hogwarts would spark unwanted memories, but he never thought an encounter with a student would bring him back so unexpectedly to his own schooldays. He drank, ignoring the burning in his throat, remembering…

She smiled. Remus thought it would be a confident, perhaps conceited smile, but it was hesitant, small. It seemed odd that someone like her wasn't so very sure of herself. Sirius was; James was; and she definitely had more of a claim to cockiness than they had.

"You two must have the most scintillating conversations, with one listening and the other not speaking," a familiar voice said. It was Sirius (Traitor! Traitor! Oh Sirius, how could you have betrayed those who considered you family?), larger than life, a loud, barking laugh escaping from his lips…

Fourth Year

It was a typical night in the girls' dorm. Hermione was on her stomach, lying on her bed, perusing her Arithmancy textbook, while her two roommates were sprawled on the floor, doing their nails and flipping through magazines. It was a routine of insincere amiability – Hermione thought the two girls shallow and flippant, and Lavender and Parvati considered her too prim and serious – but they had survived each other for four years and that had formed a tolerant, if strained understanding between the three.

"Look, I just got the latest copy Which Witch!" announced Parvati, dangling a fluorescent, sparkling magazine in front of her. "It's got an interview with Celestina Warbeck."

"Oh no, not that frumpy old hag," Lavender sniffed as she carefully painted her toenails Siren's Scarlet, a deep red with sparkles that flashed and danced. "She's so passé and – old!"

Hermione rolled her eyes at that and fought the urge to comment on the infamous gossip rag, worse than even Witch Weekly. She distinctly remembered a particularly scathing article she had read just a week ago about her stringing along Harry, Viktor, and Cedric all at once. The mere thought was absolutely ludicrous!

"Yes, but see here, it says this is the first interview she's ever given talking about Cerise's disappearance," Parvati said, her voice dropping to a hush.

Lavender straightened up, eyes wide, nearly knocking over her bottle of nail polish. "Let me see! I can't believe the cow waited this long to start talking about her, she probably needs the money. I bet Cerise was kidnapped!"

At this Hermione couldn't stay quiet. "Not another Beauxbatons debutante, I assume?" she said in a tone that said quite clearly what Hermione thought of Beauxbatons debutantes. Air-headed, vain girls who could only cast beauty charms, groomed to become the trophy wives of rich diplomats and purebloods.

"You don't know Cerise?" Parvati asked, shocked. "Merlin, I know you're Muggleborn, but how could you not!"

"Cerise! She was an icon! She defined the generation! And her singing voice… A Parisian bombshell!" exclaimed Lavender dramatically, flinging the Which Witch magazine across the room.

On the bed, Hermione snorted. "I hardly think some French debutante who probably couldn't even cast a Patronus to save her life could have defined a generation. What was she, one of those girls famous for being famous?"

"What's so wrong with being famous for being famous?" Parvati shot back. "It's a perfectly respectable occupation."

Hermione merely gave her a Look. Parvati sighed, but Lavender had worked herself up into a righteous anger.

"Oh, so you're saying Cerise was a useless trophy?" Lavender shrieked. "It's an utter insult to her name. You're tainting her reputation! She changed the world!"

Hermione sent the blonde a level stare. "Could you please let me return to my Arithmancy?"

Lavender ignored her and summoned the magazine from across the room. Which Witch ruffled open with a flick of her wand, advertisements bombarding from each page ("The latest in robes – best selection of engagement rings – chance to meet the band in person? – voting for the hottest bachelor has – singing earrings, imported from Athens – be the prettiest witch in your year with our Beautifying Potion! Side effects may occur.") before finally settling on an open page. Celestina Warbeck, her face unnaturally young from her ardent use of cosmetic charms, gazed woefully through the magazine photo, tears welling in her eyes. Letters floated across the page, before assembling into the words THE TRAGEDY OF CERISE – Celestina's Untold, EXCLUSIVE! Story. Lavender snorted with uncharacteristic truculence before turning the page, revealing another wizarding photo, this time of a young woman, maybe twenty, with perfectly groomed raven-black hair. Hermione hated her on sight.

"Look at her!" Parvati sighed, clutching the magazine to her chest. Lavender scowled at her and snatched the magazine back, "Stop that, you'll wrinkle it." Carefully smoothing it out, Lavender laid the magazine in front of Hermione.

The girl in the photo was leaning carelessly against a piano, dressed in a slinky violet dress, an almost haughty look in her eyes as she stared into the distance. Every few seconds she repositioned herself, tossing her hair or trailing her fingers against the piano keys, looking everywhere except directly at the camera.

Hermione ignored the picture of the undoubtedly conceited and vapid female and turned the magazine around. "Lavender, Parvati, it says here that this photo was taken in the seventies." She said bemusedly.

The roommates sighed loudly and exchanged looks that said Isn't-She-So-Silly? "We know that, Hermione. She'd only be about 35 or so these days…if she was still around."

"It was quite a mystery, you know," Parvati began dramatically. "She appeared out of nowhere from France. She began singing in nightclubs, and then Celestina Warbeck took her as her protégé, then she got really famous, but there was –"

"Parvati, please," Hermione cut her off with a long-suffering sigh.

"- Anyways, she eventually disappeared at the height of her career. Even the Ministry tried to find her, you know, it was such a mystery. There's a whole lot of theories around it, like she lost her memory and now she's living in a convent in Venice, or that a fan stabbed her in a jealous rage when she rejected him, or that You-Know-Who himself killed her for refusing to sing at his Death-Eater soiree."

Parvati paused, expecting Hermione to make some sound of astonishment. But the girl was absorbed in examining the magazine. "It says here that Cerise wasn't even her real name," Hermione accused her roommates. "It was just her stage name! And a terrible one, at that."

"Oh, right," Lavender blushed. "Forgot about that. Her real name was something like Hermione Veneva? Grenada? Hey, since you two have the same first names, maybe you're related!" she enthused.

"You have the same last names if you're related, Lavender," Hermione replied in exasperation.

"True, but look at the picture! She kind of looks like you, doesn't she?" Lavender said, pointing at the picture of Cerise.

"Yeah, I see it," Parvati added. "Her hair's much darker and straighter, but basically the same. And she has the same kind of face. Bloody hell, maybe she's your mum or something."

Hermione sat up in bed and sent the two the fiercest glares she could muster. "My mum is blonde, tall, British, and her name's Sarah, not Cerise. Honestly, you two…" She gathered her homework and stalked out the door.

"I have absolutely no idea what Viktor Krum sees in her." Lavender said, bewildered. "I, for one, would be flattered if someone compared me to a famous singer."

"Well, she's the bookish sort. Maybe he likes talking about deep things, so he asked her to the Yule Ball." Parvati offered, twirling a strand of black hair around her finger.

"He's a bloody Quidditch player. How deep can he get?" Lavender asked mockingly, and the two fourth-year girls tittered.

Fifth Year

It was Ginny and Hermione's turn to wash the dishes, while an angry Harry retreated upstairs, followed reluctantly by Ron. Hermione didn't mind working with the redhead – she chatted easily and was much more sensible than her roommates at Hogwarts. Ginny was going on how none of her brothers listened to any good music, since they had no taste, while Hermione hummed as she dried and put away dishes, her mind on Harry's earlier outburst.

"I haven't ever heard you sing, Hermione!"

That remark broke her out of her reverie. "Me? Sing?" Hermione asked confusedly.

"Why, are you horrid?" Ginny asked, teasingly, as she scrubbed a plate clean.

"Oh, I'm sure I'm not horrid –" Hermione began, and so Ginny jumped in. "Let me hear, then!"

"Oh, well, it's been so long…" Hermione said doubtfully. It was true. She remembered her years of piano and vocal lessons before Hogwarts, but in the magical world it seemed useless. Why write out notes and tunes when you can wave your wand and make your silverware put on a musical? Nobody here, she realized, understood the beauty of a soaring aria, or an orchestral piece that touches your soul –

"I'll sing with you," Ginny offered, a grin spreading on her freckled face. "I'm no opera singer, but I'm sure I can manage fairly well."

Hermione smiled at that. "Well, if you're sure…" With a knowing grin, she launched into song. " – Move your body like a hairy troll, learning to rock and roll! Spin around like a crazy elf – "

Ginny's eyes widened as she recognized the song and jumped in. " – Dancing by himself!"

The two girls laughed at each other and continued, "Boogie down like a unicorn, don't stop until the break of dawn, put your hands up in the air like an ogre who just don't care!"

Hermione knew that the song Do The Hippogriff had been Ginny's favourite ever since the Weird Sisters had performed at the Yule Ball, and watched laughingly as Ginny performed a little dance in the kitchen, forgetting about the dishes they were supposed to wash. "Can you dance like a hippogriff, flying off from a cliff? Swooping down to the ground, wiggle around and around and around – "

The two of them formed a very nice duo. Ginny's voice was confident, only a bit off-key and hardly wavered at all, while Hermione had a higher range. Unfortunately they hadn't counted on anybody listening into their impromptu duet.

"Nice singing, ladies!"

Ginny and Hermione both jumped, knocking several plates and a glass to the ground. Ginny winced at the mess.

"Sirius!" Hermione said breathlessly. "I – we didn't think – anybody would be listening in…you're not going to tell anyone, are you?"

"Don't worry," he told the two girls, laughter dancing in his eyes. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Secret?" Ginny asked bemusedly. "Merlin, Hermione, singing isn't a crime. You're not…bloody hell, are you embarrassed?"

Hermione shot Ginny a severe look. "I'm not embarrassed about it," she huffed. "It's those bloody boys, that's all. They'll laugh over it for days, knowing Harry and Ron –" she stopped abruptly when she saw Ginny's expression. She wasn't a part of the trio; she didn't understand their convoluted friendship. Ginny – oh, sweet, confident Ginny. She thought everything was just peachy keen. I wish it was, Hermione thought.

"For what it's worth," Sirius interrupted with a roguish wink, "You could compete with angels with that voice."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but a faint blush dusted her cheeks. Ginny just smirked.

"So I suppose you've met a singing angel to compare me to?" Hermione shot back. Sirius chuckled.

"You remind me of a girl I once knew," he said slowly. "Good singer, like you. Had all the boys chasing her, and blimey she had the nicest legs I ever saw -" Hermione's mouth opened, and then snapped shut as she tried to slap him.

With a bark of laughter Sirius jumped up and darted from the room.

"He's insufferable!" Hermione complained.

Ginny laughed. "How about continuing our duet?"

"Gladly." Hermione shot back, raising her eyebrow. The two girls looked at each other and burst into song. "Move around like a scary ghost, spooking himself the most!"

Hermione laughed and laughed and laughed, but once school came there were fewer times to laugh and after Sirius died there were no times to laugh. Hermione wished she had spent more time with the man she had previously dismissed as irresponsible and reckless. She only had a short glimpse of who Sirius had been before he was haunted by the shadow of Azkaban.

Present

"The horcrux is just over there – " Harry craned his neck. He could only make out a glint of something shining on top of a faintly glowing pedestal. The tall, imposing, jagged edges of the cliffs surrounding them did nothing to protect them from the stifling heat. The trio were in the midst of the Sahara desert, having Apparated to an oasis several kilometres out before making the arduous trek to the canyon. The name of the canyon in the nearby indigenous tribe's language roughly translated to Canyon of Magedeath, and the trio had good reason to believe Voldemort had chosen this place to hide a Horcrux.

"We can't get to it until the sun arrives in the right position," Hermione said calmly, looking up to the sky.

"So you've said, many times," Ron mumbled grumpily. Hermione ignored him, still gazing up at the almost blindingly blue sky.

"Just…about…NOW!" She said suddenly. Then sun inched higher in the sky, casting light into the formerly dim cavern.

Harry started forward, but stopped as he noticed the yellow sand surrounding the pedestal. "Hermione? What's with the sand?"

"Probably some sort of evil, soul-sucking sand," Ron put in helpfully.

She frowned. "I have no idea…let me cast some diagnostic spells…" Waving her wand, she cast several rapid-fire spells towards the yellow sand. "It's not quick sand and there's nothing overtly malicious about it…"

Harry edged his way towards the sand. As he got closer, he noticed the sand almost – twinkled. As he moved to step onto the sand, Hermione's eye widened. "Harry, don't!" she shouted as she recognized the sand. She had no idea how she'd missed it, but then again, she'd never seen it before in such large quantities… "It's Time Turner sand! Stop!"

He turned to her, but his foot was already descending. Both Ron and Hermione darted forward towards him, but Hermione reached his faster. She clutched his sleeve and pulled him backwards. Harry fell with a thump towards Ron, looking bewildered.

A bubble of hysterical laughter grew in Hermione but she quickly clamped down on it. "That was a close one, mate," Ron commented, helping Harry to his feet.

"But how are we going to get the Horcrux?" frowned Harry. "I'm not too sure how well magic will work here, this is called the Canyon of Magedeath…"

"It's the natural magic destabilization of the canyon, but I've read up on it. It only affects those who perform powerful magic, such as mages." Hermione informed him.

"How does it affect mages?" Ron asked suspiciously. "The name itself, 'Magedeath', well that doesn't leave me too comfortable."

Hermione threw him a disdainful look and pulled out her wand. "The phenomena absorbs the magic and uses it to warp the caster's nightmares, quite visually. It's not directly fatal but there are unsubstantiated rumours that several wizards died from fright. It's rather similar to Dementors, in fact, there are several theories that Dementors' natural habitats were these areas of destabilization, which caused them to evolve in an unnatural way."

Ron gave Harry an alarmed look.

"A simple Accio shouldn't hurt, and we might as well try." Hermione added, and flicked her wand.

Nothing happened. The horcrux stubbornly stayed put. And then a horrible chill descended upon the gorge they were standing in. A cluster of black-looking clouds on the horizon, quickly growing in number, slid in front of the sun, turning the canyon threateningly gloomy.

"I don't think this was supposed to happen, Hermione!" Harry said tautly.

"Oh dear, I can't believe I didn't think of it before, Riddle must have tampered with it, probably some sort of magic-enhancing negation – " she babbled nervously.

"What do we do to stop it?" he demanded her.

"We can't, we can only grab the horcrux and run!" Hermione answered, looking distressed. Already, tendrils of mist were snaking along the rocky floor – no, make that grass – and curling around a tombstone… tombstone? Harry shook his head violently to dispel the images and turned to Hermione and Ron.

"This place rather reminds me of the Department of Mysteries…" Hermione whispered in a hollow voice, hands ghosting across the old wound on her stomach.

It was too late, Harry realized, even as he gazed across the graveyard that haunted his dreams so often. He turned to Ron, but instead found Cedric… "Kill the spare."

A scream echoed off the canyon's walls, and Harry thought it might be coming from his own mouth though he wasn't sure. He clamped his eyes shut, hoping to escape the dream – the dream – the dream!

It was only a dream. Just as the scream was cut off, Harry opened his eyes again. Instead of seeing a lifeless Cedric, his eyes found Ron - pale, visibly shaken, but completely alive. The sinister atmosphere of the canyon seemed to have disappeared, and the two friends smiled at each other.

"How - did it end? Did you - did you stop it?" Ron asked, stumbling over the words.

Harry shook his head. "I don't think it as me, it must have been Hermione –"

The two suddenly looked at each other with dismay as realization slowly sunk in. Time Turner sand was scattered among the dirt, still twinkling maddeningly.