Unplottable

24 - Hermione

Finding Remus Lupin, or maybe the Lupin impostor, had been sheer luck; all she had done was walk past an open door and cast a quick glance inside, and there he had been, talking to one of the Muggle musicians Professor Varlerta had brought to the castle. Then again, maybe the accident of finding him had been one waiting to happen, considering that he had rooms next to the Alchemists' laboratory. Now that she had found him, Hermione knew she had to plan her next steps carefully. It would not do to walk up to Lupin and say: "Hi, I've brewed a potion for you - care to taste it?"

Because of her many duties, time was scarce for Hermione. Therefore, she actually left the brewing of the Litmus potion to Harry and Ron - scratch that, to Harry. They had come a long way since their second year, when Hermione had been the only one able to brew complicated potions in secrecy. After five years of Potions class, she supposed that Harry would manage nicely. Without Snape breathing down his neck, he hardly messed up his potions anymore, as could be seen in Professor Lyons' class.

Then, between classes, homework, Alchemy and League meetings, Hermione found time to devise a plan with Harry. Once he had completed the potion, they decided that the two of them would take Ron to see Lupin and have a little talk. There were plenty of innocent topics: They could ask about Sirius, about Lupin's travels, about how he was feeling, and why he was obviously not as ill as Ron: Whereas Ron's will to live had suffered considerably after he had tried to curse Harry, Lupin had seemed quite normal when Hermione had seen him, even though the Ice Missile had succeeded in turning him into a killer.

If Lupin really was Lupin, the answers to all these questions were interesting to know. If he was an impostor, the more people were talking to him, and the more subjects he was confronted with, the better: Harry and Hermione would both have a flask of the potion hidden in their sleeves, waiting for a chance to sneak it into Lupin's omnipresent teacup.

Of course, there was still one problem: As the potion effected a colour change, Lupin himself would notice. However, if he turned red, indicating that he was not a Polyjuice impostor, this meant he was the real Lupin himself, and as an Order member he would understand their concerns, Hermione reckoned. If he turned green, if the potion proved he had indeed drunk Polyjuice potion, Hermione and Harry would have their wands ready. There might be a fight, but they reckoned that if push came to shove, somebody, maybe Nicholas and Perenelle working next door, would hear the noise and come to their aid.

When the potion was finished, Harry and Hermione agreed to go and see Lupin the next evening. As Hermione was working long hours in the Alchemists' lab now, Harry even did something he had never done before: He did Hermione's homework. Using a quill bewitched to write in Hermione's handwriting, he did one of Professor Lyons' too easy Potions essays and also copied his list of concealment charms for Defence Against the Dark Arts with it. Hermione knew the homework would not quite be up to her standards, but as the quality of Harry's work had much improved over the last few years, she knew it would be alright. Skipping her homework for once gave her the hour in the evening they needed to visit Lupin.

"Maybe we shouldn't take Ron, after all," Harry whispered to her, as the three of them were getting ready to leave the common room. "If it comes to a fight, he will be unarmed and easy to hurt."

Hermione fiddled with the small potion vial tucked into her sleeve, making sure it sat securely in its place. "Due to his injury, Lupin shouldn't have a wand, either," she reminded Harry.

"If he's an impostor, he is sure to have a wand," Harry retorted.

Hermione nodded; Harry had a point. Nevertheless, somehow she wanted Ron to come along. It wasn't that she really thought they needed him, but rather that the three of them had done so many things together in the past. To exclude Ron because of his injury was one more sign that showed the three of them were no longer what they once used to be.

"You are not taking me along, then?" Ron asked. He looked a little sad.

Hermione and Harry shared a glance. Ron rarely spoke unless addressed directly or showed an interest in anything whatsoever. Hermione realised that she and Harry had developed a slight tendency of talking about, rather than to, let alone with Ron.

"Yes, sure we are," Harry told him, and that settled the matter.

Upon their knock, Lupin opened the door for them. He was surprised to see them, but gave them a kind smile and asked them to come in and have a seat. As could have been predicted, he made a pot of tea and produced a few of biscuits for them.

"It may have been stupid to return here," he told them when Harry asked about his pursuit of Wormtail, "but we met a number of people who said they had heard of him. He is supposed to have frequented certain wizard bars in Boston and New York as well as in London. We went to the places where people say they have seen him - for example the Basilisk Bar in New York, but we never had any luck. Of course, we had to be extremely careful, because we are wanted in the States, too, and it has been made public that we are likely to be together. Therefore, we finally decided to split up: I could not rid myself of the suspicion that while we were looking for Wormtail in Boston and New York, he was really in London, so I took a flight back. When I realised how dangerous it had been to come here, I turned to Dumbledore for help, and look where it's gotten me. Locked in here, I have no chance whatsoever of cornering Peter Pettigrew." He sighed. "Really, I should have stayed with Sirius."

"But isn't it good to be here, I mean because of the Ice Missile and everything?" Hermione asked. "I mean, I am quite surprised, because you seem to feel much better than... than Ron, for example." She did her best to sound and look as if she regretted saying something like that, as if she did not feel comfortable with the subject. Next to her, Ron made the tiniest of noises, as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't or wouldn't.

Lupin shifted his position until he faced the two of them. Hermione forced her eyes to stay on Lupin and Ron, rather than to shift to the side; it was perhaps the best opportunity they would get to sneak the potion into Lupin's teacup. Harry will do it without me prompting, she told herself while listening to Lupin tell her that he was indeed suffering from a lack of willpower and focus in his life since the Ice Missile had caused him to curse Cornelius Fudge to death.

"I know it is maybe too private a thing to tell students," he said, "but I'm not a teacher anymore, so I suppose I can tell you - maybe it will help you, Ron. When I had finished school and found that there weren't too many career options for me as a werewolf, I fell into the black hole of depression. All my friends had their own lives now, had careers and maybe even spouses, only I did not seem to have one. I felt that my life was useless, and that no kind of effort I could ever make would be worth it. Inactivity pulled me down into a state of mind that felt like a bottomless pit. I woke up in the morning and dreaded the day before me. Somehow, I managed to get out of that state of mind. I told myself over and over again that my life must have meaning, and that there had to be something useful for me to do during the day. Gradually, I got better, and I gathered strength from that. In a way, the things I felt when the Ice Missile made me kill Fudge were quite similar to that depression I had experienced before. This is why I knew how to fight such feelings, and to stay myself, at least as well as I could."

He averted his eyes and turned to the table, taking his teacup to sip the steaming, golden liquid. Harry's and Hermione's eyes met. He had done it, Hermione realised. She felt anxiety suddenly burst into her stomach as if someone had pulled a lever.

"What you've got to do, Ron," Lupin said, "is to tell yourself over and over again that your life is worth the fight. I know it's difficult to do so if you doubt it yourself at times - goodness knows that I know how that feels. However, you must remember that unless the Alchemists manage to complete a panacea," with these words his eyes strayed to Hermione, "you are the only one who can really help you. You've got to convince yourself that you-"

Noticing Hermione's, Harry's and even Ron's stare, Lupin looked down at his hands. They had turned a bright red.

"Oh, you, too," he said, smiling sadly at the three of them. "You know, you are the third party sneaking a Litmus potion into my teacup. You must all think me a spy tanking up on Polyjuice potion every hour. I suppose I understand that, but I still can't help wishing that at least some people would take me at face value."

So he wasn't an impostor, but the real Lupin. Hermione felt shame well up in her, and from Harry's face she could tell that he wasn't happy about what they had done, either.

"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. "I know it was a mean and maybe even cowardly way to find out. But don't you see, we've got to trust you, and since Professor Moody was impersonated by an impostor - well, I suppose we have all grown careful. Please, don't think we did it because we don't care for you - it's rather that we did it because we do care, and we want to be able to trust you."

"I know," Lupin said, but he still looked a bit hurt. "It's just a little strange that everyone in this castle seems to want to give me this potion. Couldn't Dumbledore have told you that he subjected me to it, and that it proved I wasn't a traitor?"

"Dumbledore? He didn't even tell us you were here in the castle," Harry replied. "Hermione found it out by accident, and then..." Harry gave Hermione a look which clearly suggested she should explain. She knew that was only fair, as brewing the potion had been her idea altogether.

"Look, we are sorry, Professor Lupin. I didn't know what to think, I only thought it was strange that nobody told us about you, and I'm still surprised that you and Sirius split up. When you went to the States, we were told that you - well, that you couldn't be left alone due to your injury, and that Sirius was taking care of you. It seemed strange to me that he sent you back on your own, into such danger, and without a wand and everything, when you are not well. It just does not sound like Sirius."

Lupin gave her a rather strange look. Then he said in a choked voice: "You see, I got better after a while. Sirius was quite right to send me off on my own; the injury and its consequences do not bother me very much now."

Hermione looked over at Ron. "Then why doesn't Ron get better?" she asked, feeling a sudden surge of despair.

"I don't know," Lupin replied softly. Then, after a short pause, he added: "Perhaps, all we can hope for is that the panacea will be done as soon as possible - for Ron, and for all those other poor students who were hurt."

It was very much like Lupin, Hermione thought, to think of the students' cure first, not of his own.

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The next afternoon, Hermione met up with Nicholas, Perenelle and Ambrose Curtis at the Alchemists' Lab as usual. They were working hard: The panacea was making great progress, but the twenty-first of March was approaching rapidly. With Nicholas and Perenelle gone, Hermione did not know how she would be able to continue their work. At times, asking questions, learning from them, would have slowed down the progress in the lab. Therefore, she often seemed to be at cross-purposes with herself: If they worked as quickly as possible, they might still finish the panacea in time, but if they didn't make it, Hermione would not know enough to complete it on her own. However, if Nicholas and Perenelle took time off their work on the panacea to teach Hermione, it was less likely that they would finish it in time before they - well, before they died. Therefore, every question she asked, every time she put learning first and the panacea second, she felt selfish. Still, she knew that she was expected to learn, that she was expected to continue their work if it wasn't finished after the twenty-first of March. That accursed Equinox! Not only was it the expected Death Day of Nicholas and Perenelle, but also the day of the upcoming election - a bad omen, Hermione felt. Somehow, the world looked bleak, even terrifying these days, and being granted the chance to study Alchemy with the ancient couple did not make things look brighter anymore. While she had been excited about the chance to learn from the Alchemists at first, now she often perceived her situation as a burden.

The one person who seemed able to ease her worries was Ambrose Curtis. Not only was he always cheerful and optimistic; he also did not expect quite as much from Hermione as everyone else appeared to do. He did not expect her to save the 'afflicted' and the world to boot; he just saw her as the youngest member of a team which was working hard at a difficult task.

As often, she found Ambrose and Perenelle meditating, while ancient Nicholas Flamel was shifting about with his retorts and glass dishes. In a hushed voice, he greeted her.

"Lo, behold, my lass, what treasure I have secured for our labour," he said, and showed her a tiny glass vial holding less than a teaspoon's worth of fine, grey powder.

Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. "Is it ...?" she began, but did not dare to finish the question, fearing that her hopes might be disappointed.

"Aye, my lass - 'tis from the ashes of the almighty bird of rebirth, of the Phoenix," Nicholas replied, awe in his eyes. "The bird possessed by my dear lad Albus has sacrificed a fraction of his flesh for us."

Hermione felt her skin crawl, but suppressed it. They had been waiting for Fawkes' transformation for ages, but there had been no way to know when the bird would die, and whether he would grant them a part of himself. Phoenix ash was maybe the most precious of ingredients in potion making and Alchemy. As Dumbledore had told them, if you broke the life cycle of a Phoenix by stealing a part of its ashes, you did not only kill the bird for good, but also turned its ashes into a deadly poison. Only when the bird itself willingly granted you a part of itself, thereby suffering a wound that only time could heal, only then this fraction became one of the most powerful ingredients for a panacea or healing potion.

They had stated their cause to Fawkes, telling him of their need. Then they had waited. Now, it seemed, when the bird had died in his flames, a tiny part of his ashes had gathered on a tiny, separate heap, signalling that the Alchemists were permitted to take it.

Together with Nicholas, Hermione weighed out the ashes on a miniscule scale and divided it into fifteen equal portions. Snape would have been proud of her, she thought grimly as she dished out the ashes with tools so small she needed a magnifying glass to see what she was doing. None of her year mates would have succeeded at such a delicate task.

When the fifteen dishes for the fifteen 'afflicted' each held their share of Fawkes' ashes, it was time to add the other concoctions. There was a substance which combined the properties of diamonds and ginkgo leaves; there was a transparent, potion-like liquid made from mistletoe and snake's poison; but Nicholas also opened the bottle that contained newborn babies' first yells mingled with the chirps of birds greeting the birth of a day. As the noises oozing out of the bottle could be heard in the room, Hermione once more felt awed by the powers of Alchemy. It was called 'the magical craft among magical crafts,' Perenelle had once told her, and Hermione well understood why this was the case. Potion brewing was comprehensible; influencing objects or even people with your willpower and your inherent magical strength was also something Hermione felt she understood. A few rules of nature appeared to be broken by magic, but the limits of magical powers still dominated over spells and hexes. Alchemy, however, often seemed not only to break the rules of nature, but the rules that were behind the rules; true Alchemy, Nicholas had once told her, had no limits.

Nicholas opened a few more bottles with ingredients they had carefully prepared - like the taste of fresh spring air, the smell of wet, fertile soil and the roar of the ocean, the mother of all life. After these had been added to the concoction, Hermione and Nicholas waited for Ambrose and Perenelle to come out of their trance and take a seat on the two chairs facing the panacea-in-progress. What they needed now was the power of the source; the elements of the panacea had to be connected, to be merged into one, by the powers the Unspeakables commanded.

Watching Unspeakables work fascinated Hermione - maybe because there was nothing to be seen altogether. They just sat there motionlessly and communicated with the source by no means visible or audible to Hermione. Then, often much later, a subtle change occurred in the structure of the panacea. Hermione found it difficult to put into words, but she was learning to perceive how matter and sound, light and smell were interacting in the metaphysical substance, even though she often could not say whether she was seeing, smelling or hearing this.

While Ambrose and Perenelle were adding source powers to the panacea, Nicholas Flamel was murmuring a Latin incantation: "Licet omnis haec jungat inam unas et facere animus vitae; licet labrum corporeus platanus est supero ut facere magia totus."

Hermione murmured with him, having learned the incantation by heart. However, she had the impression that while he was controlling a complex experiment with his voice, she was only parroting along. In contrast to the spells she was casting every day, the incantation did not feel powerful to her. The power it was supposed to hold did not reveal itself to her, at least not yet. She yearned for more knowledge, but knew that once more, getting on with the panacea was more important than her education.

After little more than half an hour, Nicholas stopped chanting for no reasons apparent to Hermione. He closed his eyes for a moment; then he trotted off to the sofa on the other side of the laboratory, slouched down and put his feet up on a stool. Perenelle and Ambrose started moving again; they shared a look and rose from their chairs. Their work was completed for now, but once more, Hermione had no idea how to tell whether or not this was the case. She would have greatly liked to ask Nicholas, but saw that the ancient wizard had started snoring. Obviously, everyone but her was exhausted. She could have gone on working for hours, but then again, she had not really participated in the work they were doing, the work she did not really understand yet.

Seeing how tired the others were, Hermione decided to make them some tea. While she was fiddling with kettle and tea leaves, Ambrose joined her at the small stove that had been placed in one corner of the laboratory. As she knew he would not be able to tell her anything about his work anyway, she decided not to ask him. Instead, she told him what she and Harry had found out the day before.

"We gave the Litmus potion to Lupin," she whispered, hoping the hiss of the kettle drowned out her words so that Perenelle, who had taken a seat next to the sleeping Nicholas, couldn't hear her. "He turned red, not green, so it really is him."

Ambrose nodded. "That's what I heard, too. Someone else tried the same, and they also said he can't be a Polyjuice impostor."

Hermione felt annoyance rise in her. Not only had she taken much trouble to gain this information in spite of her overfull time-table, but she also felt she had hurt Lupin for nothing.

"You knew already? Why didn't you tell me?" she asked Ambrose, hearing the edge in her own voice.

Ambrose gave her an apologetic smile. "Yes, I suppose I should have done that, shouldn't I? Penthesilea told me a few days ago, and I didn't think of telling you, but I admit that was a mistake. After all, I asked you if you could find it out for us. Will you forgive me?"

"Well, I suppose so," Hermione said, still moderately put out. "But how did Penthesilea find out about Lupin? I haven't seen her in the castle since the last Order meeting, and that's been ages ago."

"I think the President of the League told her," Ambrose replied, taking the overfull teapot in both hands to carry it off to Perenelle's table.

He did that on purpose, Hermione thought. He scuttled off so I can't ask him any more questions - like: Who is the President of the League, and what does he, or she, know about Lupin?

However, she knew she was not supposed to discuss League affairs in front of non-members like Perenelle, so she returned to the table and poured the tea like a good girl.

"That was quite a piece of work we got done, wasn't it?" Perenelle asked Ambrose.

The dark-skinned wizard nodded. "But it's a pleasure. I've never participated in any work of Alchemy, so it is exciting to see the effect that source powers can have in this context."

Perenelle smiled. "You should get together with this young lady to do Alchemy even after our - after the panacea is done."

'After our deaths' is what she wanted to say, Hermione realised. Time was running out. She admired Perenelle's serenity, considering that after living almost seven hundred years, the ancient witch was going to die in less than two weeks when the elixir of life was finally used up. Still, Hermione wished the ancient Unspeakable would understand the importance of getting the panacea done in time. This was Ron's health and sanity they were talking about, for goodness' sake, and the health and sanity of so many others. She did not feel she could complete the panacea without them, so they had to get it done before March twenty-first.

"So what is the next step?" she asked.

Perenelle gave her a weary smile. "You are right, I suppose. Let's get ole' Nick woken up so we can prepare the next big piece of magic. We might as well get some more Unspeakables to support us, too - Molly Weasley has just completed the first step of her training, and it will be a good experience for her to help us." She gave her snoring husband a shake. "Wake up, old man, and explain to your apprentice what's to do next!"

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While Hermione had been busy up to that point, only now she learned what being truly overworked was all about. Alchemy filled her afternoons and evenings; homework was done before and between classes, in classes under the desk or even with the help of Harry. For the first time in her life, Hermione learned what it was like to fall behind in her schoolwork. It is only for a short period of time, she told herself. By now, she knew herself well enough to be assured that she would be able to make up for her negligence in no time at all, but she still did not like the feeling. She actually considered asking Professor McGonagall for another time-turner, but remembering the dizzy spells and attacks of nausea the device had sometimes given her in her third year, she decided against it. She needed her wits about her and could not afford to fall ill. Therefore, she clenched her teeth and got on with her work. If only the panacea was finished in time, no sacrifice would be too great.

As for her History of Magic project, she had to let it rest for now. True, it was an extra NEWT credit, but this was Ron's life, this was far more important. Every morning she set her alarm-clock an hour earlier than everybody else did, denying her fatigue which was due to having worked late into the night with Nicholas and Perenelle.

Hermione even excused herself from all League meetings. Once the panacea was completed, she would attend again, she told Ambrose. The Unspeakable indicated that he found her decision completely acceptable.

Harry did his best to shield Hermione from all further inconveniences in life. He took care of Ron, did research for Hermione in the library, and kept his own worries to himself. Worries he seemed to have in plenty: There was Ron, and Cho, neither of whom were feeling very well, and then there was that strange business with his supposedly stolen Invisibility Cloak. Even though Hermione secretly suspected Harry had only misplaced the Cloak under a pile of jumpers, she knew her friend was upset about the disappearance of one of his most treasured possessions. All in all, Harry looked drawn and overworked these days, just like her. Hermione knew he had a lot on his plate; she knew that she was adding to his load, but she could not help it. There was only one week left until March twenty-first, then there were only four days left; everybody was talking about the upcoming election and nothing else - only Hermione worried exclusively about the panacea.

Molly Weasley had come to Hogwarts to support the small team of Alchemists and Unspeakables. They worked together almost the whole day. Professor McGonagall had finally decreed that until the panacea was finished, Hermione would not need to do any homework for any of her classes, and could skip classes whenever she felt it was necessary. What, however, did 'necessary' mean? The 'old' Ron, for example, Hermione thought with a smile, would have thought it 'necessary' to skip all of his classes for a far lesser reason than the one she had. The 'old' Hermione, the one who mostly defined herself through her academic accomplishments, would have found it hard to skip any of her classes. As it was, she decided that not the importance of her classes, but the current state of the panacea determined when she would attend her lessons. If there was work to be done, she stayed in the laboratory; if, however, the panacea was in a state of slow transformation, if all they could do was to wait for the next thing to happen, Hermione decided she might as well wait in class. Knowing the importance of her task, all of her teachers accepted her sporadic attendance; she was not sure whether Professor Snape would have done the same, but Snape, of course, was no longer her teacher.

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On the nineteenth of March, Nicholas Flamel finally decreed that the panacea was ready for some of its final ingredients: The tenacity of plants which had clawed through concrete, the energy that made a bulb live through a fierce winter and the first dewdrops of spring were added to the metaphysical concoction.

"At Equinox, it will be thy task to gather the first dewdrops of the coming season one more time, Hermione," Nicholas told her. "Mayhaps the dewdrops we now possess will suffice. Yet only when springtime waxes beyond the point of Equinox, shall its magic rise to its full strength. Thou shallst offer the dew to our panacea on that day in a chalice placed beside its dishes, and if the panacea wants them, it will absorb them. If only my wife and I could wait for that day to add them ourselves, but, alas, I fear we can not."

"We may still live in the morning, don't forget that," Perenelle reminded him, squinting at the metaphysical substance held in fifteen porcelain dishes to check whether there was any development. "And if a miracle happens, our work will be done tomorrow."

"Oh, please," escaped Hermione's lips, though she did not know with whom she was pleading.

Perenelle turned to her and smiled encouragingly. "If not, you will make it on your own, don't worry," she said. "Nicholas and I have observed you, and we find you are doing quite nicely."

I do not know enough to be left alone, Hermione wanted to say in desperation, but knew that pleading was no good: The two of them would not leave her out of their own free will; in fact, there wasn't any kind of choice for them anymore in that matter. Dully, she stared at the fifteen dishes. Couldn't they just hurry up and develop into something that Nicholas would declare finished? She knew that the panacea was approaching its completion, but she was not even sure how she would know when it was finished. Once she had asked Nicholas, and the ancient wizard had replied that she would know in her heart if she was a true Alchemist. Well, what if she was not? What if she was unable to find out whether the panacea was ready to be administered to the fifteen people who needed it so desperately?

"How's your History of Magic project coming along?" Perenelle asked her. Hermione realised that her despair must have shown, and that Perenelle was trying to make her think of other things.

"I haven't had time to work on it for ages," she replied dully. She knew it was wrong to blame Perenelle and Nicholas for their approaching deaths, but could not help feeling she was going to be deserted in her greatest need.

"It's a pity that I am not permitted to help you, as I knew all ghosts of Hogwarts when they were still living witches and wizards. Unfortunately, rules are rules," the ancient Unspeakable told her.

Hermione nodded, her mind on other things.

"You might want to check their names in the Department for the Discovery of Lost Lines," Perenelle added almost in an undertone.

Again, Hermione started nodding, but then she suddenly looked up at Perenelle.

"I might want to check where?" she asked loudly, too astonished to check her voice. Not only did it seem that Perenelle had offered her information she was not supposed to get from anybody else; also the source the ancient witch had mentioned was one she never would have thought of herself. The DDLL, as it was abbreviated, was a department in the Ministry created so the pure-blood fanatics could indulge in their games of genealogy. It was a place where you could get the proof that your Muggle grandmother had really been a squib of wizard descent -provided you paid a high fee. Hermione had heard Arthur Weasley speak of the department with distaste, and of course, she knew that none of the other League members would approve of it. Therefore, the DDLL was enemy territory for her.

"Just an idea," Perenelle said with a smile and a shrug, but then she gave Hermione a very meaningful look. It seemed she really wanted to help Hermione with her History of Magic project. Or was it possible that there was something she wanted Hermione to find out, something that had little to do with her NEWTs?

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On the night of the twentieth of March, Hermione couldn't sleep. She tossed from one side of her four-poster to the other, trying to put her worries aside. The panacea would not get finished any quicker if she deprived her body of sleep, she told herself. However, whenever she felt her mind approach sleep, adrenaline tore her out of the descent into unconsciousness. Anxiety would not let her rest. Hermione tried to inhale and exhale deeply, like in meditation; she even tried to Coax her body to sleep with the Coaxing methods she had once learned from Professor Varlerta. Yet all her efforts only increased the unrest in her body and mind; sleep eloped each time she tried to catch it.

In the early hours of the morning, Hermione gave up. Peeking through the half-open curtain of her four-poster, she could make out the sleeping body of Parvati, who had not closed the draperies, either. Lavender and Parvati, Hermione thought, were friendly and sociable airheads. She did not mind sharing a bedroom with them or even spending time with them, but still, the two girls seemed light-years away. They had to worry about so very little, and their joys and fears were so small compared to Hermione's. No wonder they were slumbering peacefully, Hermione thought. Noiselessly swinging her legs out of bed, she decided to dress in the dark and to look whether there had been any change in the panacea.

Shoes in her hand, she tiptoed down to the common room, managed to pry open the portrait covering the hole without waking up the Fat Lady (an accomplishment in itself), and sneaked down to the Alchemists' Lab. Nicholas' and Perenelle's quarters were a couple of doors down the corridor, so she was sure she would be alone with the metaphysical substance. That was to be a first - she had never been in the laboratory on her own before.

She opened the door and lit up two of the lab's six magical lamps: In the dark and silent castle, it somehow did not feel right to set the deserted laboratory ablaze. Her eyes, used to the darkness of the stairways, easily took in the fifteen porcelain dishes sitting on the table in three neat rows. Hermione pulled up a stool and sat down in front of them, not knowing what else to do.

Given the panacea's magical ingredients, she had expected the dishes' content to gleam or shimmer, to show some sign of life or at least energy, but the amorphous, non-descript substance in the dishes seemed inanimate, even non-magical to her. As she did not dare to touch anything, she stretched out her palms over the dishes, wishing to feel anything at all which might indicate imminent success. Yet all she felt was blankness. An immense frustration overcame her. She knew the panacea was nearing its completion; her mind told her that only yesterday, Nicholas had said he could feel the energy accumulate in the concoction. Only she, only Hermione the mundane, Hermione the rational, the non-Unspeakable, the non-seer, could not feel a thing. How could she ever hope to be an alchemist if she was unable to feel the development of a metaphysical substance? With all her knowledge of Arithmancy, with her outstanding OWLs in Transfiguration and Charms, with all her magical powers, she felt cold and insensitive.

"Come on, talk to me," she desperately whispered to the dishes. Then she waited. Nothing happened.

For a long time, Hermione sat there at the table, staring at the dishes. Wasn't there anything she could do? She knew she was to offer the substance the dew of Equinox, but dawn was still hours away. She realised she did not know when exactly dew would fall, anyway.

How could she finish the panacea on her own? How would she ever know when it was ready to be given to those who needed it? How would she give it to them, come to think of it? Panic rose within her when she realised that this was another thing she did not know. What if Perenelle and Nicholas never saw the morning? What if they had already died? Should she run to their room, wake them and ask them? There might still be time to do that.

Hermione rose from her stool, but then she sat down again. It was unheard of to disturb an ancient, possibly dying couple, in the middle of the night. They would have thought of leaving her a note or something, right? "I certainly hope so," she whispered to the panacea.

Suddenly Hermione felt immensely tired. She rested her head on her arms and closed her eyes, longing for oblivion. Before her eyes, she saw Ron as he used to be - carelessly laughing, a little reckless, someone who often seemed to see little beyond the horizon of a schoolboy - kind and good-natured up to the moment when somebody messed with the people he cared for. In spite of herself, Hermione smiled into the palms of her hands. Wearily, she permitted herself a moment of daydreaming. Before her eyes, she saw Ron, older and a bit more mature than in the past, but in his own way, just as careless. He will be alright, she whispered to her palms, he's got to be.

When they woke her, it was bright daylight. The tap on her shoulder startled her immensely; she was surprised she had fallen asleep at the table. Rubbing her stiff neck, she looked at Perenelle in amazement.

"Don't say, 'aren't you dead yet?' - it isn't polite," Perenelle chided.

"I wasn't going to," Hermione replied, embarrassed. This was such a macabre subject. Perenelle's and Nicholas' calmness deeply impressed her, however. Looking over at Nicholas, who was checking the panacea, she asked: "When ... I mean, what happens now?"

Perenelle smiled crookedly. "I don't know exactly, to be honest. A couple of centuries ago, we experimented with the elixir of life, and from what we found, it seems if you stop taking it, you suddenly drop dead about a week later, and that should be today. As for the exact time, I'm afraid I can't give you that."

Hermione shook her head to clear it. "You experimented on humans and let them die?" she asked incredulously.

"Like us, they had exceeded their normal life span and would have died without the elixir," Perenelle replied. "If we felt there was a good reason for it, we granted people the elixir of life for a while. This happened a few times over the centuries we have seen. In each case, the people knew that the time we could grant them would not be infinite. No one can live through an eternity; everybody's life must end, just like ours will end today, or at the very latest, tomorrow. If the people we gave the elixir had completed the task for which they wished to prolong their lives, we stopped giving it to them then. Some pleaded with us, some even tried to threaten us, but most of them accepted their fate. They understood that the world would fall into ruin if everybody were granted eternal life. In the end, all of them died, most of them in our care."

Hermione nodded, but felt immense discomfort. Bent on creating a panacea and curing the victims of the Ice Missiles, she had not yet reflected upon what being an Alchemist might mean. The ultimate success of the guild of Alchemists, the Philosopher's Stone, granted the owner not only eternal life, but power over life and death. She did not desire such power, did not want to decide who was permitted to live a little longer and who wasn't.

"Take hope, ye dear ladies, and behold - Hope has entered the panacea!" Nicholas exclaimed joyfully, his wrinkled face almost touching the porcelain dishes.

Both Perenelle and Hermione bent over the table. Hermione could not spot the difference, but somehow, the metaphysical substance floating in the dishes seemed to have increased in strength. She could not tell why she felt this, so maybe she was only imagining things.

"Is it completed now?" she asked, trying not to get her hopes up, unwilling to admit that she had no clue whether or not the panacea was finished.

"Nay, it is not, but it is progressing," Nicholas replied with a benign smile.

"Please," Hermione asked in a choked voice, "can you tell me how to find out whether the panacea is ready, and how to administer it when the time has come?"

Perenelle and Nicholas exchanged glances. They see how unsuitable I am, Hermione thought, her heart sinking.

"Dear lass," Nicholas said, "as we find that thou will have need of the knowledge we could not yet impart to you, we shall give thee this." With these words, he opened his Alchemist's bag and took out an ancient, leather-bound tome. Giving it to Hermione, he said: "We have found thee worthy of receiving the ancient 'Book of Alchemy', which holds all the knowledge of our trade. Its value exceeds its weight in gold, as it is the only one of its kind still in existence."

Awed, Hermione stared at the book in her hand. Could it really tell her all she needed to know to complete the panacea? Could she become an Alchemist by learning from a book?

"We have observed you, and find that as things are, you are the most promising successor we have - the only successor, as Albus Dumbledore will not be able to practise much Alchemy in the future," Perenelle told her. "According to the rules of our guild, you can only receive this treasure if you have passed the test of the guild. However, let's face it, there is no one else of our kind left to argue, so we'll just give it to you without a test, confident that our knowledge falls into the right hands."

"I am deeply honoured," Hermione replied softly, blushing with embarrassment. She had never felt more unworthy of such a gift.

"Take heart, dear lass," Nicholas said; with his outstretched, claw-like hand, he gently touched her cheek. "Thou dost better than thou thinkst. Be confident that thou willst yet become an Alchemist. I believe it was thee who has added Hope to our panacea."

Hermione shrugged. She could not remember doing any such thing. When Perenelle put a small vial of water on the table, she felt even worse. The first dewdrops of Equinox - she had completely forgotten them!

"I'm so sorry I forgot," she murmured. "It's - I mean, you should have had the time to sleep in." She bit her tongue, unhappier than ever. She had almost said: 'It's your last day,' as if Nicholas' and Perenelle's holidays were ending, not their lives.

"It's fine," Perenelle said with a smile. "Like many old people, I tend to wake up early. Go and offer your dew to the panacea."

Dutifully, Hermione poured the cool liquid in a glass chalice and placed it between the porcelain dishes. If the panacea wanted those dewdrops, it would absorb it, Nicholas had told her.

Turning around, she saw that Nicholas and Perenelle were putting on their cloaks.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked, confused.

"We are going to make the most of our time - we are taking a Portkey to London, and then we are going to vote for Arthur Weasley," Perenelle said.

Yes, of course, now Hermione remembered: It was Election Day, and everybody who was of age would take a Portkey to the ballots at some point during the day. More than ever before, she realised that Perenelle and Nicholas were looking towards the future, even if the future wasn't theirs anymore.

"Sure, of course," Hermione replied, hearing the slight tremor in her own voice.

"We are in a bit of a hurry to get to London, because there is no telling how much time we've got left," Perenelle told her. "But of course, we did not want to go without saying goodbye." With these words, she hugged Hermione tightly. Wisps of her thin, white hair touched Hermione's cheek. "You will do fine, girl, don't worry. We are immensely proud of you, and it is a good feeling to be leaving a part of our knowledge in such good hands."

Hugging her and her ancient husband, Hermione had to blink back the tears. Before she even found something to say to them, the two of them had once more waved to her and then had walked out the door. Hermione stared after them, realising that she would never see them again.

She turned to look at the fifteen porcelain dishes. She could not see Hope added to them in any way.

"It's just you and me now, I suppose," she whispered to the panacea.