The board and figures belong to Ms Rowling. I am trying to play with a slightly different set of rules.

Chapter -1

Before the beginning something has to end

Around the stone life and time flow endlessly. Sometimes the stream is so fast that it flashes in all colours and in black. Sometimes it flows slowly, so slow that the different colours seem like heavy braids. To the stone, the most interesting of all is that which flashes as pure, unbroken light.

One stone is encased in more stones, and the stones around that lone stone pulsate, individually and together, and the pulse is a rhythm, and in the rhythm the stones are merging with each other and with the pure light.

The stones sing. One stone listens, though after a while it starts wondering how it does that. The stones twinkle with light and the one stone looks at it, but then it wonders: With which eyes?

And the singing stones laugh. The light breaks into all the colours of delight and the thing that flows is many things, frozen on the ever dancing ground.

Waiting. For the stone to ask what or who it is that puts these questions. And for all the colours of delight to explode into the swirling particles of pure ecstasy, to rain into the now still lake at the feet of the pulsating stones, the frozen mass of all living things that have ever been to Hogwarts Castle. Eliciting response, not so much for the actual question but for the pure, concentrated inquisitiveness behind it, the relentless mind of Miss Hermione Granger, cut away by petrification, looking for a way to return, a single drop of determined awareness navigating the endless dream of the stones that are Hogwarts Castle.

Petrification, according to wizarding wisdom, turns living beings into soulless objects by separating them – mysteriously and, in theory, temporarily – from their souls. Wizards have debated whether petrification implies the existence of animal souls, as animals have been known to have been petrified and revived. During these discussions the term 'animals' has been signifying all sorts of beings. Sometimes it would include magical creatures, sometimes it wouldn't. These discussions have not been conclusive.

Wizards have never questioned their concept of soul, or why it should be the humanoid Mandrake that can, via its own death, restore a lost soul to its original container. Wizardkind would have been woefully unprepared for what Hermione Granger had been accomplishing in her deep, soulless sleep. Happily, discovery had been prevented by the existence of a handy remedy.

Sadly, that will not always be the case. Sooner or later, discovery and innovation is bound to happen. Poor Wizardkind.

O

The Mandrake Restorative Potion awakes Hermione to a world, it seems, of excitement. The Heir of Slytherin has been discovered! Harry saved Ginny! Harry killed a basilisk! Harry did this, did that, and Harry – generally – saved the day. Ron was there, too! So exciting! So ...heroic!

Hermione is busy being excited, happy and proud of her friends. Did I mention how excited she is? She is buzzing through the castle like a one-person-beehive, listening, taking notes, reading and researching. Yes, researching. How else is she to comprehend the events of the last months, really understand what happened to her friends and herself? Hermione is buzzing, for the school year has ended, and tomorrow they'll be leaving for two months, and there are no books on magical beasts to be found in her local library, or even in the British Library. Or indeed, anywhere outside Hogwarts, the Ministry of Magic, and the libraries of a couple of old pureblood families. Henceforth the need for copious notes, to be taken in a hurry and examined later at her leisure.

During the end-of-year feast she will hear an older student talk about book-copying spells. She will smack herself on the forehead and manage to give herself quite a nasty bruise. This is a first.

"I've been waiting for that from the first day of first year," Ron snickers. Harry snickers too, but he also accompanies Hermione to Madam Pomfrey's. Obviously, Hermione can't startle her parents with a hand-shaped bruise on her face. They will worry. They might ask what led to it. Questions! Their questions might lead to more questions, and... No, questions must me avoided at all cost. Her parents, being parents, won't understand that it was just a harmless little spell of petrification, will they? No they won't. They will be anxious, even though she is perfectly fine. They worry a lot, already, but that's because they simply don't understand the magical world, despite Hermione's many attempts to explain everything and ...oh, it's all so complicated!

Madam Pomfrey gives Hermione an ointment for her forehead and a light calming potion for the smoke rising out of her ears. Harry, more to the point, offers his last few feet of parchment for more notes and his invisibility cloak for a last clandestine night-time stint into the library, causing Hermione to hug him very tightly.

See, she tells herself, this is why they mustn't worry. Meaning her parents. She has friends here in Hogwarts, real friends who really understand her and her interests. Meaning her obsessions. Well. Harry does, but Ron does, too. Deep down. Really. Anyway! Where was she? Ah! Notes, more notes, and maybe copying a book or two? That spell those guys mentioned at dinner can't be too hard, can it? And it is bound to be in Marian Knottyknee's Book of Useful Spells for the Diligent Student, to be found in the Restricted Section (because of some kind of complicated legal agreement necessary to avoid the defrauding of hard-working authors and even harder-working publishers through the use of the very spell she is interested in, preposterous, really, though interesting, from a legal point of view, and...)

Harry's helpfulness extends to accompanying Hermione on her highly illegal stroll, holding an enchanted lantern, looking over his shoulder for other visitors and hm-ing encouragingly in appropriately timed intervals. Privately he is just happy that his friend is back among the living and buzzing. Holding a lantern instead of catching some sleep is nothing, really. He has two long months ahead of him, and while there will be many chores for him to do, there will be even more boredom and staring-at-the-walls-of-his-room. No, Harry can sleep later, Harry thinks, fondly and with more than a little melancholy. Tiredly he leans into the next wall.

Never noticing – and how could he notice? – the many little hearts that start beating a little faster, a little gayer for him. Start singing the melancholy away from him, start drawing the exhaustion out of his body. Stone remembers. Remembers the scrap of colourful flowing human fog that had become a stone, that had then been turned into a human being. A new one, with a special tiny heart, that stone now can read and care for. Care for its cares and friends. And so Harry rests while smiling indulgently at his friend. Who is buzzing happily through the silent night.

in the Hogwarts Express:

"What do you mean by saying he had put his memories into his diary?"

This was the second time Hermione has asked that and her increasing agitation made Harry sighs: "He had found a way to use his diary as a recorder for some of his memories. And the diary could play them, sort of, like a video, only a very aggressive one. Does that make more sense to you?"

"Harry what's a vi-"

"Not now!"

Ron jumps in his seat. Hermione looks ready to breathe fire.

"Was it a bad question?" he asks timidly.

Hermione rolls her eyes: "No, Ronald."

Ron shudders. His full name and in that tone of voice. He moves a bit away from her, but Hermione does not snap at him again. Instead she closes her eyes and takes two deep breaths.

"No, Ron. I will tell you what a video is but first I need to understand how Tom Riddle managed to charm his diary like that. We have finished our second year and I have never heard anything remotely like it. Never. And Dumbledore has told Harry that Riddle had accomplished this by the time he was sixteen."

"I see," says Harry, who had been beginning to wonder about her mood, if truth be told. "But that was all that Dumbledore told me."

"But that doesn't make sense Harry! Do you remember the exact words he used?"

Ron: "But Hermione, it's probably the same spell that is used on pictures"

Harry: "That was as exact as I remember it right now. Anyway, why all that fuss?"

Hermione closes her eyes again and takes several deep breaths.

"All right. I'll say it really slowly. First, pictures have no, and I repeat no capacity whatsoever to interact with the world outside. The one exception are the portraits of dead wizards, and both Flitwick and McGonagall assured me that the death of the portrayed person is an absolute prerequisite for that level of interactivity. You see, I've spend a lot of time researching them during our first year, I even bought several books on the topic in Diagon Alley, because they fascinated me so. Also, it is not possible to make a wizarding portrait if you do not take very elaborate precautions before the witch or wizard dies. I asked about that because I wondered if it would be possible to make a portrait of a deceased person after their death, so that one could speak with them. Really speak to them, the way the headmasters of Hogwarts can consult with the portraits of their predecessors that are to be in the headmaster's office."

"He consults with them?" asks Harry who, unlike her, has been in the Headmaster's office. "How do you know that?"

"It says so in Hogwarts, a History, Harry. And Flitwick told me that you cannot create portraits by way of necromancy."

"Ugh, Hermione! Flitwick was telling you about necromancy? That's really dark magic!"

"Yes Ronald. I surmised that much. And Flitwick mentioned it, he didn't teach it."

The full name again, and she is speaking extra slowly for Ron. Who is bit slow today. Harry hastens to distract Hermione from Ron, who seems to have forgotten proper procedure for her more inquisitive moods: "So portraits can only move and talk."

"Within limits. A portrait cannot visit every other portrait in the world, not even every other magical portrait."

"And with all that extra research, which you, if I may point that out, did during your holidays, you know, taht time of the year when you are supposed to relax, you found nothing that explains Riddle's diary."

Hermione blushes, and for some reason she looks very happy with herself. Could she be happy that he had noticed that she had spent her bloody holidays studying, Harry wonders. He had pointed that out to irk her, because, well, all her huffing and puffing? Her general air of being misunderstood ? It is grating on his nerves. A little.

"Nothing at all. I did find a book on memory preservation and pensieves, though."

"On what?"

"Pensieves, Ron. Rare, intricate and unbelievably expensive magical items that can be used when you want to share a memory with someone else. You extract the memory in liquid form – the process is not as bad as it sounds – and put it into a special magical basin, and then you kind of go into that basin and land inside the memory, and see it for yourself. Like stepping into a movie," she tells Harry. "You only see and hear, and you can't change a thing. And they are rare and expensive and it take whole teams of specialist wizards to create one. Also, I did only skim that book, but I did get the impression that they are not considered absolutely reliable. For example, you cannot use pensieved memories in court."

Harry nodded silently. He had seen Hermione researching, had kept her company for some of that time, had fetched her books and even copied portions of text for her. And yet he was surprised how much she had found out about what had to be pretty advanced magic.

"Hermione, did you understand how all of that stuff works?"

He asked quietly and is glad to see her shaking her head quite energetically: "No, not at all. I have detailed timetables that should take me there over the course of the next few years. In some of these subjects, not in all. Professors Flitwick and McGonagall were very helpful, really."

Hearing that Ron wisely chooses to bite his tongue rather than say what he is thinking.

"Could one person extract their memories alone from their head

"Apparently yes. But you might loose them in the process, and what that would do to your personality is everyone's guess."

"Hm. I don't see Riddle letting go of his memories, and he certainly did not turn any less bloodthirsty after he made the diary. More, if anything." Harry mused, now more to himself. He hated Tom Riddle with all his heart. For what he had done to his parents, for what his damn shadow had nearly done to Ginny. But hating him was an emotion. This emotion had caused him, Harry, to fight Riddle twice already. He knew he would fight him again if need be. And here was his friend, trying to ...what?

"Know thy enemy." Ron says suddenly.

"What," he said, when both his friends turned to stare at him as if he had sprouted a second head: "It makes sense. It is like chess." he added, as if that explained everything.

It did, Harry thought. It did.

"Is that what you meant Hermione? Why it means so much to you?" he asked, quieter than ever.

Hermione nodded, looking at her hands.

"Dumbledore said that Tom Riddle was the most brilliant student ever to pass through Hogwarts."

"Really?" Hermione asks. "It makes sense, I suppose, but-".

Harry guesses that Hermione doesn't like hearing that brilliant students can turn into murderous monsters, but this one, he knows, was brilliant and did: "Yes. Come to think of it, Olivander said something similar, too. When I got my wand. Apparently he sold Riddle his first wand, too."

Hermione looks unhappy but convinced.

"Blimey," says Ron. "How old is Olivander?"

at the Granger home:

Hermione hears somebody calling her name and looked up from her current book.

"Mum? Did you say something?"

Her mother doesn't answer. Maybe she did not hear her. Reluctantly, Hermione gets up from her bed and walks over to her open window. Her mother, however, has not called her from the garden. Which is weird, because her voice sounded quite clear, and unless she was in her studio next to Hermione's bedroom- Well, is she? No, she isn't. Hermione goes down the stairs and into the living room. Empty, but there are books lying open on the coffee table, Which means that her mother – an exemplary tidy and well-organised woman – was in this room and has only left for a moment. Unless... Did called for Hermione and went then to the front garden, assuming that her daughter has heard her calling and is coming after her? Hermione goes to the front door, but before she can opened it she hears sound coming from the kitchen. There her mother is. She's cooking.

Is that lasagna? Oh, no. Lasagna is a Bad Sign in the Granger household: "Mum? Are you all right? Do you need help?" Hermione can't fight the rising panic. There is something disquieting about the way her mother stands there. Hermione tries to regain control. Why is it disquieting, she asks herself.

Mum's hands are barely moving. She is just standing there, doing nothing. She has forgotten her books.

"Mum," Hermione asks worriedly. "Mum, what's the matter?"

"What? Oh, honey, it's you. Sorry, I got a bit lost in my thoughts for a moment. Do you want something?"

"Oh no, not at all," Hermione replies hurriedly. Ever so relieved that (the presence of the well-established danger signs of untidiness and lasagna notwithstanding) her mother seems to be in a good mood.

"I thought I'd heard you calling me, to tell you the truth, but I must have dozed off."

"Oh honey, were you reading again? You should really spend more time outside, you are studying hard enough while you are at school. Relax a little. Don't you want to call one of your old- No, you wouldn't, would you? Call one of your former classmates and go out with them?"

"I'd rather not, mum. They always want to talk about school and guys there and I am such a rotten liar. I will let something slip and then- Well, you know."

"Yes, yes, your statute of secrecy. I know. To be honest, honey, if you weren't clearly happy there..."

She trails of, but after a moment she smiles again and hugs her daughter:

"Go back to your books. Don't mind me, I am a bit sentimental today."

Hermione grins: "I expect the Moon is retrograde."

"Actually, it's the unicorns of Mars. They are breeding."

Mother and daughter share a Look. Then they both start giggling. Hermione is starting Divination this year, and for the first time since enrolling at Hogwarts she is less than enchanted with a subject.

"I expect you are right as usual, honey. Go and consult your charts and tell me what we can do about the inconsiderate behaviour of Martian semi-equine population."

Hermione snorts: "Right. I think I will just call the Death Star. I expect that Darth Vader will be happy to help with a unicorn pest."

Evelyn Granger has finally regained control of herself and the strangely sentimental mood that was plaguing her today: "Hermione, it doesn't make sense now, but I am sure that once you meet your Divination teacher they will be able to properly explain everything. Some subjects need expert introduction. Now, leave the kitchen. I need to fry the aubergine."

"Really? Aren't you cooking lasagna?"

"It's vegetarian. I had it at Winnie's shortly before you returned from school. You'll like it, you'll see."

"I know I will,"Hermione reassures her. "I like aubergines."

Hermione is not at all keen to return to the topic of Hogwarts and the fact that she's spending most of the year away from her family, so she hugs her mother and leaves But she pauses in the living room to take the books from the coffee table and return them to their proper places. If her mother is already over the kind of mood that could make her leave things lying around, then it's better to make sure that there are as few external reminders of it as possible.

Then she returns to her book on Romanesque monastic architecture and her musings on the burning of holes into the heads of recalcitrant bishops as a means of persuasion. It's unsettling. She has heard about 'fighting fire with fire'; fighting Lucifer might just have ruined St. Michael's character for eternity.

interlude set in stone:

Back again. Back, back, back. Returned. Proper places for everything, all things, thoughts in proper places. Proper, original, natural. Back. Where he belongs.

Harry is peacefully asleep. He spend almost three weeks at the Burrow. Three very happy weeks. He found he liked every single member of the Weasley family he had met so far, and he is sure that Bill and Charlie (the two he had not met yet) are just as cool as Ginny claims they are. Even Percy came unstuck this summer, especially after Harry asked him for help with Potions and Charms. Last year's finals hadn't gone too bad, really, but Harry felt that a little revision during his holidays would take him a long way. He is taking two electives this year, after all, which means less time altogether.

During the Welcoming Feast it transpired that Hermione, unable to choose among the proffered riches, is taking all four, actually causing Ron to swallow before pointing out that that wasn't possible, technically speaking.

Harry spend several happy hours of his stey at the Burrow trying to explain muggle technology to Mr Weasley. Ron mostly avoided those sessions but he has learned the expression 'technically speaking' and warmed to it. Harry didn't press Hermione for explanations. If the portraits could talk and the stairs could move around, he reasoned with himself, then Hermione can be at two places at once. The portraits, now. The portraits... Seeing them again had made him realise how much he really missed the castle.

Back again, back again, back again. Back where balance could be restored, would be restored. Balance, harmony with the proper beat of her own heart.

Hermione is dreaming. In her dreams she is examining gaudy strands of magnetism. She is to choose colours and patterns for a tapestry. The patterns are served as sparky drinks in tall leafy glasses. Nearby stands an intense dark faun. He is trying to engage her in a discussion about fugues.

Hermione turns around in her bed, disturbing her new cat's meditation on his new human's friends and what to do about them. And all around her the stone keep beating their song, beating and beating, driving the hungry ghost back out of her mind.

a discussion on absent persons and their motives:

"What do you mean he hasn't come back?" Harry very nearly shouts.

"Harry, please don't shout at me. I meant that Malfoy wasn't on the train yesterday and didn't arrive in any other way, either. He simply hasn't come back yet."

"Yet? It's the second day of September! School's started yesterday."

"Yes Ron. Thank you for that very concise summary."

"We wouldn't have noticed otherwise."

"Seeing as Hermione here just said it."

"Never mind that we wouldn't have found out what half-chewed sausages look like."

"True, Gred."

"Isn't it, Forge?"

Ron gapes as his brothers who are currently taking place on both sides of Hermione. Fred / George reaches across the table and touches Ron's chin with one finger:

"It's not responding, Forge. Maybe we should get him to Pomfrey."

"Maybe we should hex it."

"Maybe we should wire it."

Ron's jaw snaps shut.

"Hello, Fred, George, " Hermione greets them happily. She chose the place opposite Harry, not Ron, but somehow her gaze found the wrong direction at the right time. It must be akin to the sick fascination of traffic crashes, she supposes.

"Was Mr Weasley entertaining you with gory stories about muggles?"

"The wiring, you mean? That was young Harry here." George says, sounding proud of Harry's foray into proper, as he sees it, Weasley-ness. "Dad was fascinated, though."

"Even Mom was."

"Makes you wonder about the things that you never wanted to know about your parents."

"Somehow they always trick you in thinking this way."

"Which is why you two never think," Ron says spitefully.

"A retort!"

"From our little brother!"

"Do you think he's growing up?"

"Our own little Ronniekinns!"

"You don't happen to know anything about Malfoy's disappearance, do you?" asks Hermione, who is still in the trajectory of Ron's mouth and is getting worried. And now the twins are grinning over her head, she is sure of it. Can't they stop teasing Ron? Those sausages will not get out of her hair easily!

"We know that neither his friends nor his Head of House were expecting him yesterday," George says meaningfully.

"If you will look over you'll see that his usual place is occupied, so they do not expect him today, either."

"Miss Greengrass wasn't in the train yesterday and Miss Parkinson had hysterics. Quite impressive ones, we heard, considering her young age and lack of practice. But Greengrass was just sick and arrived by coach an hour ago."

"That means that they didn't both go to the same place?" asks Harry.

"That means that no-one knows where Malfoy is, or they would not have connected his absence with Daphne's."

Hermione considers their reasoning and finds it sound.

"He could have changed school,"she suggests. "After all, the muggleborns are all still safe and sound, Dumbledore ist still headmaster and Malfoy Senior is no longer on the board of governors. That's two projects that went wrong last year and one mishap on top. From what I've heard about Malfoy Senior he is not the type to stay when he doesn't have control."

"From what our father says he is not one to loose control. He tends to have enough money to buy it, if not from one source then from another," Ginny comments grimly.

Harry smiles at her and Ginny, instead of blushing, simply smiles back. The three weeks he spend at the Burrow have helped her to relax around him, Hermione thinks. But how is Ginny dealing with last year's events, she wonders. Is there counseling in the wizarding world? She cannot picture it, but she has not been here for long, and, let's face it, she is mostly at school. Hermione did look for books on society, habits, etiquette, a tour guide, as it were, for muggle-borns. It was the first thing the – generally bookish – Grangers looked for. The closest thing she found is a language-spell and travel guide on magical Britain. Purchased in Paris, not London. Other than that her only resource were books such as Hogwarts, a History, which actually mentions many useful things en passant.

"He is good at rebounding, isn't he?" Harry says thoughtfully. "He claimed having been cursed by Voldemort and got away with it, from what your father says."

"Yes," Ginny hisses, and falls silent again.

"Maybe he went to that place where they learn Dark Magic. What was it's name?" Ron asks Fred.

"Durmstrang? Not Malfoy! They encourage the students to ambush each other and fight between classes, there," George says dismissively.

"Exactly!" Ron says. "That would be perfect for Malfoy! He's always attacking people!"

"Malfoy insults people from a safe distance and then complains to Snape. They will eat him alive at Durmstrang."

"Are you sure about the fighting," Hermione asks doubtfully. Sure, wizards were robust (and so was their world view, sometimes) but constant ambushes in the corridors? Who could survive that?

"As sure as we can be. They say they do themselves, and they are proud of their discipline there, as they call it."

"Malfoy's reflexes weren't bad and he's fast when he wants." Harry interjects. "He plays Seeker, after all. He could have hired dueling tutors for the holidays if he wanted to go to that school."

"He'll need more than a holiday to learn watching his back," Fred says decisively. "Here he had his Quiddich teammates or Snape or his mini-goons for that, and they are all still here. We reckon it's got to do with Black. His escape changed something. They say he was You-know-who's right-hand man. Malfoy Senior might be frightened what he will tell when they catch him."

"Black won't have a chance to talk. The Dementors have been ordered to kiss him at sight. That's why they are here." Hermione says.

Harry draws a sharp breath. George whistles. Hermione realises what she had just said. This is so bad.

a discussion on presence of mind:

"Relax, Hermione," Harry says for what felt like the tenth time in so many minutes. In truth it is closer to ten times in one hour; even persons with Hermione-grade nervousness need time to build up enough steam to get their nervousness noticed by others, but Harry, tired after the first lessons of the year and desperately wishing he could concentrate on lunch is in no mood to deal with even a tenth of her nerves.

"But Hagrid has no experience with teaching! He became a gamekeeper after his OWLs! What if he-"

"What if doesn't get it right without your help? You have no experience with teaching either, Hermione," Ron observes. Hermione scowls Harry grins. Ron, having imparted wisdom and seen that it was good, turns his attention to his other neighbour: "Hey, pass the sausages!"

"What I am trying to say is that Hagrid has been minding dangerous animals for fifty years."

"Which is what the gamekeepers of Hogwarts do, Hermione," Harry points out.

"The thing is, minding animals doesn't require you to talk to them, or to explain things to them, or to plan lessons for them."

"I'm sure that Hagrid knows the difference between animals and pupils," Harry answers impatiently. There was no other way to put it: this discussion was getting on his nerves. Extremely so. Hagrid did fetch him from the hut the Dursleys were hiding two years ago. He showed Harry Diagon Alley! He is great with kids!

Hermione glances at Ron for support, but Ron is – noisily – occupied: "Does he? Then why did he send you and Ron to the acromantula?" she asks under her breath.

"He expected them to help us! He couldn't know that they were too afraid to speak of the basilisk!"

"Harry! They tried to eat you and Ron!"

Harry scowled mutinously. Hagrid had not meant for that to happen. What was Hermione thinking?

"Harry, I know that Hagrid did not mean to endanger you. I am trying to explain that he may be suffering from a lack of judgment when it comes to dangerous creatures. As he thought that since the acromantula didn't hurt him they would not hurt his friends, either."

"But he won't take us to the Forbidden Forest, will he?" Harry hissed. "We will be staying close to the castle, not going into the forest! And he will be there, too. We will be perfectly safe with him."

"Harry, did your copy of the Monster Book of Monsters try to bite you?"

Harry pauses, but only for a moment: "It did. But-"

"Wait, please. Do you remember Professor Dumbledore's exact words when he announced that Hagrid was the new Care of Magical Creatures Professor?"

Harry considers that for a moment: "He said that Professor what's-his-name, Kettleburn, had retired."

"And what else?"

"Hermione, what's the point of these questions? Everyone knows that Professor Dumbledore says strange things! Don't you remember how he opened the welcome dinner in our first year?"

"Harry, please. What did Professor Dumbledore say yesterday at the Welcoming Feast? I know you remember it."

"All right, all right. He said that Professor Kettleburn decided to retire while he had an arm and a leg left. Words to that effect." He scowls for a moment: "Hagrid won't have that problem. Nothing short of a dragon will impress Hagrid. Fluffy was his pet, for goodness sake."

"Exactly Harry. Would you consider Fluffy a pet? Would you want a dragon of your own?"

"No. I wouldn't . What are you trying to say?"

"Harry. Hagrid is extraordinarily strong and tall and, I assume, tough. He can carry whole trees, wrestle giant three-headed dogs and spend time in the Forbiden Forest without a magic wand. On the other hand, he forgot to inform Flourish and Blotts how to handle the book he had them order, and he certainly did not consider that his pal Aragog eats mammals. We know that he is a very good person, but do you really think that he is capable of thinking something through?"

"You are trying to say that Hagrid might make mistakes. Unintentionally, that is. And that that might lead to dangerous situations. And you want us to talk to him and try to make him tell us about his lessons in advance so that we can guarantee that that does not happen?"

Hermione winces: "No, I mean yes. Look, I know that we do not know anything about Magical Creatures, but maybe we can talk Hagrid into being careful when he plans his lessons. Remind him that the rest of us aren't some sort of giant, and so on."

Harry smiles despite himself. Hermione is just worried, and while he's rapidly coming to resent Hermione's brand of worry, he can see that she's not entirely wrong.

"And consider this," Hermione adds: "We might be able to give him tips on how to make a lesson ...attractive. We are the pupils here, after all. And we want him to be a popular teacher, now that he's got his dream job, don't we?"

"You are right Hermione. We want Hagrid to be popular. He deserves it."

"Exactly," Hermione says relieved. "He deserves this, and he shouldn't loose it because he forgot some small detail. Something we could have told him, if we'd known his plans beforehand."

Harry looks thoughtful: "Something small, right. Yes, we can help him with that. All right, we'll go to Hagrid's directly after lessons today."

Hermiome sighs: "Let's do that."

Harry looks sideways at her: "Do you have time for that with that insane schedule of yours?"

Hermione smiles: "I'll make time, don't worry about me. This is important, after all."

"If you say so."

Harry's trying not to get angry again and failing. Professor Dumbledore explained to him why he had to go the Burrow during summer; instead of visiting Hermione and studying with her as they had intended. He had explained why it was important not to ask Hermione about it, and that she would speak about her family as soon as she was ready, but... Here she is, pretending that nothing happened during the summer and blithely embarking on a new help-a-friend project. And then it will become too much and she'll ditch this one, too, he thinks. Possibly when Hagrid will have started relying on her. What then, he wants to shout: "Maybe we should just leave it alone. We are just pupils, and Professor Dumbledore would not have chosen Hagrid as a teacher if he thought that Hagrid would be careless."

Hermione feels her self-control dissolve. And she has tried so hard to stay calm! Hagrid has already been careless! He send Ron And Harry to the acromantula! The assistant at F&B had cried when she had asked for the book!

Calmly she says the worst possible thing: "Professor Dumbledore trusts Snape to teach, Harry."

And Harry explodes: "And what is that supposed to mean? Do you think that Hagrid is going to turn into an ass like Snape, or that Dumbledore is careless and needs your help? Because you really need to have your mind checked if you think that, Hermione!"

They finish lunch in uncomfortable silence.

monologue, internal:

What happened, Hermione wonders, again and again Because something did happen. Something had happened to Harry during his holidays, but what? But Harry spent the holidays with the Weasleys! The Burrow had to be safe!

Something creeps into her mind. Something cold. What did she just say, right now, or think – right now, one moment ago! – that is wrong? Which part of her memory is deceiving-

(Here Hermione's thoughts jump like a needle over a bent record.)

They are now three weeks into the school year, not even half-way to Halloween, and the shit is already hitting the fan; though Hermione does not know that expression and wouldn't use it if she did. Obviously. Still, this offensive substance is provided in ample supply, and it is coming from several directions at once. One of those directions is Hogsmeade and the impending weekends there. Upon realising that Harry would not be allowed to leave the castle with his friends the treat had turned sour, and not in good way. It's funny: Hermione had actually expected that that matter would somehow be put right. Because it isn't right that a thirteen year old boy – who has done so much for others – has to stay behind while his friends are going out to amuse themselves. That is punishment. And for what? For being a nice person, or maybe for being insanely brave? So his relatives did sign the permission. What was wrong with a little reward, privately given, for saving the life of a fellow student?

Hermione, firmly convicted of the righteousness of her little cause had decided to pursue the matter. Professor McGonagall squashed her righteousness in the bud by springing a deranged and insanely powerful prison escapee on her. No, Hermione does not want one of her two best friends to get killed by a maniac, but-

There has to be an intelligent solution, but she, big brain and attitude notwithstanding, is not seeing it. She has even tried to consult with Ron. Unfortunately, these days Ron is mostly interested in conveying his worries for his pet. Honestly! Crookshanks is living in her dormitory – to the utter delight of Lavender and Parvati – and Scabbers in Ron's. No problem there! But no, Ron insists that her cat 'has it', as he will so irrationally put it, for his stupid, smelly pet rat. Hermione doubts that. Really, why would a cat with three adoring caregivers go after a smelly old rat?

Because cats eat rats, a portion of her mind agrees sensibly. Hermione throws a boot at it. Cats eat birds, too, yet Crookshanks has never so much as glanced into the direction of the owls that were supplying her dorm-mates with letters from home, magazines, and treats for Crookshanks.

The sensible voice evades the boot and comes back for more: But the birds are useful, whereas Scabbers is just a smelly old rat.

She has to agree with that. Who knew, maybe her darling cat is objecting to the existence of such a useless animal? An unhygienic useless animal, if the sensible voice might add. She should simply get Scabbers from the boys' dormitory herself and give him to Crookshanks. It would resolve one of her troubles and it's not as if Ron's behaviour could get any worse.

Where did that come from, Hermione wonders. Did I really just consider using a friend's pet as a snack for my cat? She shakes her head. She's just tense. A very demanding schedule, tense friends, troubled sleep. It will pass. But in the meantime she really needs to discipline her mind.

...which is the opposite of what she is being taught to do in Divination. Professor Trelawney wants her to broaden her mind, to expand it, to stop clouding her inner eye! Hermione hisses a few choice words. The long-awaited professorial help has turned into a professorial joke that mutters about death omen and smells like too much cooking brandy.

finally, a discussion on light

The first dream felt like being a kitten in a place that was sure to contain some string. This feeling translated itself into pictures which stayed with Hermione after she woke up, to her not inconsiderable surprise. Hermione rarely recalled her dreams. Dutifully, she picks up the notebook waiting on her bedside table and takes notes. A long corridor, stairs, more corridors. Empty and lit by- Hm. Double candle holders in regular intervals on the walls. Not flying candles, no. An exceedingly soft carpet. She remembers thinking that if she jumped she would start bouncing along the corridor. In a Romanesque monastery in France. All that makes no sense at all, but at least it gives her something for Trelawney's next lesson.

Come next lesson Hermione wishes she had burned her notes.

"I can't believe she said that," she is telling Harry for the umpteenth time in not nearly enough minutes. "Who does she think she is?"

Harry pats her on the shoulder, albeit from a certain distance. Hermione, when angry, will heft her book bag from one shoulder to the other, a little as if preparing to hurl it at somebody. Standing too close is a hazard. Especially as she screeches, too.

Harry empathises. He has been listening to predictions of his imminent death for well over two months now and he's not amused. He feels caught between Ron's fearfulness and Hermione's increasing rationalism, unable to choose either view. He should choose ratio, he knows it would be better for him, but how? Sirius Black is a real threat. The Dementors are undoubtedly around. His friends are constantly bickering. Trelawney's predictions of certain doom are beginning to sound reasonably reliable. Something like- like a weather forecast.

He doesn't care to share that thought with Hermione. Instead he chooses the sensible route: "You do not believe what she says about my imminent death, anyway. Why would you care that she said some nonsense about your dreams?"

"Exactly!" Ron exclaims from an even safer distance than Harry. "Tell her, Harry! You know Trelawney's right, Hermione, you just pretend you are cleverer than everybody else!"

Harry groans. Parvati snickers from behind them: "You liked Professor Trelawney's dream analysis, didn't you, Ron?"

"What? Why? What did she say?"

Hermione rolls her eyes: "Leave him alone, Parv. Ron hasn't deciphered yet what Trelawney said. Try again in a year or two."

And all of a sudden, she starts giggling. Ron and Harry stare at her, then at each other. Parvati and Lavender join Hermione. In mere moments the girls are talking in howls and fragments while holding their sides:

"I bet he did!"

"Two candles, Mi!"

"Light in your life!"

"A long, long corridor!"

"Two candles! Two!"

The three girls, no longer able to move for laughter, are creating a commotion on the stairs. Some of their classmates, sensing entertainment, are coming back up the stairs. The problem, to Harry, is the way all the girls seem to know something he and Ron don't. Is it a girl thing? Susan Bones, for example, who is coming at a run had not even been in Divination: "What happened?"

"Trelawney-" Hermione gasps.

"No, Ron!" Parvati interjects

"Ron happened?" Susan looks hard at Ron. Ron takes a step back.

Lavender catches herself: "Ron wants to lighten up Mi's life," she explains.

"What?"

"Yes! Mi, dreamed, you see, about candles. And Ron thinks he's one of them."

"He's sure he's one them!" Parvati screams, falling against Lavender.

"Trelawney said that my life will be brightened by two strong candles." Hermione smiles. "And Ron here thinks he'll be one of them. Insists, in fact."

"Oh," said Susan. "Oh-oh. And Ron?"

"C'mon mate," Ron says, pulling Harry's arm. "They are mental." Harry, understanding nothing at all, follows Ron. A moment later the girls are laughing again. He does not yet know that Hermione just gained three new friends.

What the cat thought on the matter:

Crookshanks opens an eye. His keen sense of scent didn't deceived him: His human managed to relax today. Even better, instead of throwing her book bag at the floor and hurling herself onto the bed she sat cross legged on it. Aaaah, much better. That ear had needed scratching. Today his human took the time to talk with the two resident cat-feeding-persons, too. Crookshanks approves. What they said was of no consequence. What mattered was that they had talked and laughed together. Humans needed that and a cat appreciated it when it's main-feeding-person was well cared for. And she was up to something. Hmmm. Sleep. His human had realised that cat-care-persons need to sleep. In that case Crookshanks would have to stay where he was. His cat-care-person would sleep deeply tonight. She would need Crookshanks to guard her against the not-rat. She would need a lot more than that, his acceptable-for-a-human-person, but there was only so much a lone kneazle could do.