To Meet the Black Crow

Chapter 1

Hogwarts Summer

As she walked up the winding road from Hogsmeade Station, Hermione Granger was struck by the uncanny stillness of Hogwarts in the summer. Everything seemed subdued in the quiet June heat, strange without the scattered groups of students in their black robes hurrying to class, without the shouts of greeting and laughter and the comic moans of after-exam despair. She paused beside the lake, watched the giant squid lazily explore the cattails nearby and savored the peacefulness, imagining an entire summer devoted to study, a library almost to herself, uninterrupted time to soak in the arcane knowledge she loved. Without the bother of formal classes, loads of homework, or Harry and Ron to drag her away from her books for some hare-brained jaunt, she might even accomplish a term's worth of research in a couple of months.

Her thoughts settled on her absent friends, envisioning them racing over from the Quidditch pitch, carrying their brooms over their shoulders and waving at her in excitement. Or standing, solemn and shaken, on the train platform just a few weeks past, the shadows of Cedric's death and Voldemort's return hanging almost palpably between them. She sighed, shaking away the twinges of loneliness and fear that inevitably stemmed from such thoughts, and continued toward the castle.

Its massive walls soared upward into towers and turrets, each dotted with stone gargoyles that shifted and stretched occasionally. Just ahead, huge iron-bound doors stood open in invitation. Even after four years as a student within those fantastical walls, Hermione still felt somewhat awestruck. Her muggle childhood had prepared her to build castles in her imagination only and she thrilled to the sight of fantasy made real, solid evidence of her place in the magical world.

Wrapped in her memories, she climbed the familiar worn steps only to be wrenched from her thoughts as a dull crash reverberated within the castle. Thin screams, the sound of shattering glass, and vociferous cursing issued from the beyond the arched doorway. A man's raised voice echoed in the emptiness of the entrance hall. "I'm getting tired of this, you miserable -"

Another crash. A dog barked wildly, the sound rebounding off stone and redoubling in volume. Small gasps, murmurs, and noises of outrage underscored the shouts and barks.

"-- bleeding little toerag--"

"What was it you taught here, again, Remus?" said a low, growling voice, heavy with irony.

"You know bloody well what I taught. Same thing you would have if you hadn't let that boy stuff you in his trunk last year. Now are you helping or not?"

Hermione smiled as she recognized the voice of one of her favorite teachers, even though it was more agitated than it had generally been during Remus Lupin's Defense against the Dark Arts classes. She hurried up the steps and paused, unnoticed against the doorframe, to survey the scene with surprised amusement. So much for the quiet peace of Hogwarts in the summer.

"Damn it, Peeves!" shouted Lupin, standing in the middle of the entrance hall in his shabby, faded robes and shaking one fist at the ceiling. His short wolf-brown hair fell into his eyes. His face, covered with a thin sheen of sweat, was creased in annoyance. "Get down here!"

Hermione followed his harried gaze toward a rotund little man who floated out of reach, screeching and singing manically off key. "Down!" he mocked. "Down! Down! Doobie doobie down!" Peeves the poltergeist tumbled over and over in the air a few times before cannonballing downward in a rush of outlandish colors and the incongruous tinkle of bells.

A great black dog erupted over the banister of a nearby staircase and flung itself into the air, snapping its teeth as the poltergeist shot past with a squeal. The dog missed, plunged to the floor with a grunt and slid across the polished stones, paws scrabbling for purchase and tongue lolling in what appeared to be amusement. It chased the careening poltergeist around the foyer, barking madly.

"Want Peeves down? Am down!" Peeves shrieked, darting around the huge black head before shooting skyward again out of reach. "Am up! Am down! Am up!" He chanted and swooped, pausing only long enough to kick portraits off the high walls with glee. The painted occupants screamed and shouted frantic obscenities at the poltergeist as they fled to the relative safety other nearby pictures. Peeves cackled evilly and unhooked a painting of cherubic figures picnicking on golden clouds. It plummeted to the floor with an angry cry, frame splitting apart on impact.

"Damn," Lupin repeated with feeling.

"Don't curse at him, Remus. Curse him. Where's your wand, man?" A fearsome-looking older man stumped from across the hall where he had been levitating several falling portraits to safe landings on the floor. Mad-Eye Moody's weathered face, with its missing chunk of nose, grimly set mouth and mismatched eyes, promised violence in keeping with his distinguished career as an Auror. Even in the summer heat, his dark traveling cloak hung over his robes and beneath it, a carved wooden leg clunked with every other step, the sound almost lost in the clamor of swearing portraits, hooting poltergeist, shouting werewolf, and barking dog. He leveled his own wand at the thieving spirit above them. "I always wondered if the Unforgivables worked on these critters."

"We can't risk him dropping the potion, Alastor," Lupin responded through gritted teeth. "It's rather late to be asking for more." In response, Peeves made a sound like a foghorn and waved a dark blue bottle in his hand meaningfully at the men. With a whoop, he tossed it high into the air and applauded crazily as it fell. Lupin swore again, rushing forward in hopes of catching the potion, but the poltergeist dove at the last second and snatched it out of the air.

"Naughty, naughty werewolf! Trying to steal Peevsies' pretty bottle," he chattered, grinning maliciously and treating Lupin to a series of rude gestures before skyrocketing upward again to sit on the enchanted chandelier. He dangled his outlandish, curly-tipped shoes over the edge and alternately jeered at them and sang vulgar limericks at the top of his ghostly lungs. The bear-like dog sat down beside Lupin and howled along, tail sweeping the floor energetically.

"Padfoot, do you really think that's helping?" Lupin sighed wearily, dropping one hand to give the animal a brief pat.

Beneath his hand, the dog sat back on his hindquarters and seemed to stretch, transfiguring itself into a tall, lean man with hair as dense and dark as the dog's fur. He shook himself vehemently. "Well," began Sirius Black with an arch sparkle in his eyes and a grin that was almost as gleeful as the poltergeist's, "I believe I can officially pronounce our geist-trapping methods thoroughly ineffective." He rubbed his stubbled chin and furrowed his brows melodramatically. "We need a new plan, lads. We're not catching him this way."

Hermione pressed one hand over her mouth to stifle the delighted laughter that threatened to bubble up inside her as the three grown wizards shouted and gestured and were soundly outclassed by the resident poltergeist. Peeves strafed over Moody's head, blowing a noisy raspberry and swinging the precious bottle within inches of his skull. Moody, who had paused to fiddle with his magical eye, ignored him.

In a puff of pink smoke that smelled decidedly like shepherd's pie, a house elf appeared among the trio, clutching its hands together nervously and shivering in the misshapen dishrag it wore belted at its waist with a shoelace. "Lunch is being served in the Great Hall, sirs," it squeaked. "Blixy is asked by the Headmaster to let you know." It nodded once, bat-like ears flapping, and then vanished as quickly as it had come.

"Ah, lunch," Moody rumbled. "About time, too."

Obviously put out that Moody had ignored him, the poltergeist plummeted toward the ex-Auror once again, bellowing and brandishing the stoppered potion above his head like a club. One gnarled hand shot up and back so quickly that Hermione actually missed the motion until Peeves squawked indignantly. Moody bit out an incomprehensible string of Latinate spellwords and Peeves, finding himself unable to discorporate, began shrieking and struggling in Moody's sudden iron grip.

"Bugger," Sirius breathed, mouth gaping open in shock. "Merlin's beard, Mad-Eye, I thought Pomfrey said you weren't up to snuff yet."

"Good woman, Poppy," Moody replied gruffly, holding the noisy poltergeist further away and frowning. "But she don't know much about constant vigilance!"

Lupin blinked and wiped his perspiring face on one frayed sleeve. "You were just playing with him? With that potion? Severus would go insane if he knew that."

"Reasons to do it, eh?" Moody's grizzled eyebrows lifted, distorting his heavily scarred face even further. His oversized magical eye rolled crazily in its socket as his normal eye tracked from one startled face to the other. "What? I could let him go, if you'd prefer."

"Death and damnation," Lupin muttered, looking relieved, amused, and vaguely disturbed all at the same time as he pried the bottle from the poltergeist's pudgy fingers. Peeves howled louder and rocked rapidly back and forth against Moody's hand.

Unable to stay quiet any longer, Hermione giggled and applauded.

Lupin looked around sharply, his tired face breaking into a broad but sheepish grin when he saw her. "Hermione! I didn't see you standing there." He pocketed the blue bottle and came over to shake hands. "Glad to see another familiar face this summer. And, ah, sorry about the language. Minerva wouldn't be too happy with us, I expect. I don't usually..." He trailed off with an apologetic shrug

Hermione returned his smile, gesturing to the battlefield of swearing portraits that lay scattered and broken around them. "I'm sure I've heard worse," she offered brightly. "And, if that's your Wolfsbane Potion, I can imagine you'd be a bit desperate. Peeves is horrible."

Lupin gave a quiet laugh. "Sharp, as always." His eyes carried genuine warmth in their glittering amber-gold depths and Hermione flushed a little at his casual praise.

"It's good to see you again, Professor." She noticed that his hair seemed greyer now and new lines engraved his friendly face around the eyes and across the forehead, giving him an older, more worn expression. As the rush of the chase left him, Lupin seemed shakier and slightly ill despite his pleasantness. His eyes had been an ordinary shade of brown the last time she saw him, as well. Full moon tonight, she remembered but said nothing, unwilling to draw attention to a subject she knew would be painful for him.

Behind Lupin, Peeves hiccupped random rude words and tried to bite Moody's thumb, only to be shaken soundly for the trouble. His round little face bopped back and forth in an impossible whiplash effect and he gurgled unpleasantly.

"I'm hardly your professor anymore," Lupin noted, glancing back at Moody and Peeves without much sympathy. "You're welcome to just call me Remus. Most folks do."

"We call him that and a few other things less appropriate for the ears of the young or the beautiful." Sirius strode over, grinning at her through his long, unkempt black hair. "How've you been, Hermione?" Unlike Lupin, he looked far better than he had even a couple of weeks prior, heavier, better-nourished. His voice remained rough but had a cheerful undertone and his deep eyes were less unsettled. The amorphous marks of Azkaban prison had faded substantially over the last year and his return to Hogwarts seemed to have improved his disposition. "Have you seen Harry since you left?" he asked almost immediately, as expected. "I've been running around so much for Dumbledore that I haven't been much of a correspondent, if you know what I mean. I only sent him a note this morning. Is he doing all right with those muggle relatives of his?"

"Hi, Sirius. Good to see you, too." She accepted his quick hug, knowing that in some small way she was a substitute for the man's absent godson. "I had an owl from Harry a few days ago. He's bored and worried about - well, you know -" She trailed off, feeling suddenly cold as she remembered the last few weeks, the vacant pages of the Daily Prophet, the uncertainty, the insistent replaying of Harry's story in her dreams. Nightmares.

"Paws off the female students, Mr. Black," came a stern voice from the staircase behind them. Minerva McGonagall swept across the entrance hall, glaring at them from behind her square-framed glasses. "And for heaven's sake, Alastor, can't you do something about that creature?"

While they chatted, Peeves had settled into a pattern of banshee wails with the well-timed irritation of a prank fire alarm. The ex-Auror nodded to himself, fixed the poltergeist with his good eye, and pointed his wand at him. "Silencio spectis." Peeves' mouth stayed wide open for a few seconds. When sound refused to come, however, his pale face turned a furious scarlet and he kicked madly, babbling and mouthing without the slightest noise.

"Pity we can't banish you," Moody growled. 'But Dumbledore won't have it, I'd wager."

Peeves stuck his tongue out smugly and pried at the hand locked onto his collar.

"But I think you might learn to enjoy being seen and not heard from now on, eh Peeves?" the grizzled elder wizard continued, his electric blue eye revolving slowly, a sinister half-smile on his face. "Of course, I could disembody you, too. You wouldn't exist. Except, you would. Got me?" He chuckled, a dry mirthless sound. "Voiceless, formless. Worse than a ghost. And not likely to fly off with things that don't belong to you."

Peeves stopped wriggling and dangled sullenly in the scarred hand.

After one last, long stare, Moody opened his fingers and the poltergeist shot upward and vanished through the ceiling with a small pop. "Never did learn how long those geist spells would hold. But either way, he's not likely to go screaming around the castle for a bit." He slid his wand into his sleeve, then placed two blunt fingertips against his magical eye and pushed it back and forth a few times. It made odd squelching noises.

Hermione stared and McGonagall cleared her throat. "Do you mind, Alastor? Some of us still have appetites."

Moody shrugged. "It itches," he groused, matter-of-factly. "After not wearing it for ten months, it's been a bit of a bother to get used to again."

On that note, McGonagall turned her back on the men and motioned for Hermione to join her. "I'm so glad you accepted Albus' invitation, child." Her austere face broke into a fond smile and she rested one hand on the girl's shoulder, peering down at her as she spoke. "It's been some years since there was a Gryffindor studying Alchemy during the summer term. I'm so very proud."

Hermione felt the color creeping back into her cheeks. "Well, I'm certainly interested, but I haven't really even begun yet, Professor. None of our other classes even mention Alchemy except in passing," she explained quickly. "And unless you count the manuscript reprints I was able to read at the local muggle university last week, I hardly even know what I've volunteered for. They were quite interesting, of course, but I'm not sure they have anything much to do with wizarding Alchemy - except in name."

The Deputy Headmistress beamed. "I told Albus he'd have to work to keep up with you this summer." Despite her habitually proper demeanor, she sounded delighted and her light Scottish brogue was more evident than usual. "Now, the other students aren't expected for another few hours, so you'll have time to get settled in. Your things should be sent up from the station shortly and I'll show you your rooms after lunch. We couldn't put you up in Gryffindor Tower, I'm afraid, thanks to the progressive reinforcing of the wards on the castle. These gentlemen are supposedly helping us with that task." She waved one hand at the three wizards who were magically repairing and restoring portraits to the walls nearby. Sirius snorted.

"Besides," McGonagall continued astutely, "as the only Gryffindor student on campus, I thought it might seem a bit empty without classmates for company." She beckoned the others and turned to lead the way into the Great Hall. "You've arrived just in time for lunch. Albus absolutely insists on the staff dining together whenever possible. Collegial bonds and all that. You and the other three students, of course, will be expected to join us for most meals." She hesitated in the doorway to the Great Hall and then turned back abruptly. "Mr. Lupin - Remus, please -"

Hermione turned. Lupin was across the foyer, standing on the top step leading down into the dungeon level of the castle. He glanced furtively up at them and gave a slight smile. "It's fine, Minerva. I wouldn't want to make anyone uncomfortable."

Patting Hermione on the arm briefly, the Transfiguration teacher crossed the empty space in a sweep of emerald robes, shooting a passing glare at both Moody and Sirius. Moody rolled his eyes (the magical one spinning 360 degrees), but Sirius had the sense to look slightly chastened. "Nonsense, Remus. Everyone trusts you implicitly, even today. And Albus would be upset if you weren't at table. You know how he gets."

"But, the house elves can easily -"

She refused to hear his protests, tucking her hand neatly beneath his arm and forcing him to escort her back toward the Great Hall. With a prim nod of her head she sent the others ahead and followed behind in quiet, determined conversation with the werewolf.

"So," Sirius said as they entered the Great Hall, "you're running with the big dogs this summer, I hear? Part of Dumbledore's little Alchemy workgroup? Quite an achievement, you know. He only takes the best out of each year, and sometimes he doesn't choose anyone at all for several years running."

Hermione walked beside him, taking a moment to glance up at the cloudless summer sky displayed by the enchanted ceiling. Beams of sunlight slanted down through the rafters, dazzling and warm. A lone post-owl slept snuggly on a cornice. "How long has Professor Dumbledore been offering summer courses? I hadn't heard anything about them until I got his owl." Truthfully, it had startled her that Hogwarts offered educational opportunities that she had not known about. Hogwarts, A History never mentioned anything about extra courses of study, even in the most up-to-date version. She wondered with some concern what else she was missing.

Sirius chuckled. "He keeps it under his pointy hat, somehow. I don't know why he doesn't advertise or how long he's done it." He caught her doubtful look. "That's the truth. I guess it's not something many of us think about, really. Alchemy is a dead wizarding discipline these days, though it was once quite respectable." He shrugged.

As was customary during the winter breaks when only a few students remained at school, the house tables had been cleared from the Hall and replaced with a single, more intimate dining table. Several of the faculty had already taken their seats and were immersed in conversation. Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, argued affably with the school librarian, Madam Pince. Professor Flitwick perched on a pile of books, his little white-haired head nodding emphatically at Poppy Pomfrey, the school's mediwitch. Professor Trelawney was in the process of reaching across the table for Flitwick's teacup. She pointed to something in the bottom and he nodded blithely, without looking at her or the cup. Taking up most of one end of the table, the groundskeeper and Care of Magical Creatures professor, Rubeus Hagrid, listened with interest to the talk around him. Sirius gestured for Hermione to join him across from Hagrid, and she slid into one of the empty seats with a polite smile of greeting. The half-giant broke into a huge grin and reached over to pat her affectionately on the shoulder with one enormous hand.

"Heard yeh was comin' back," he said gruffly, eyes bright beneath his tangled eyebrows. "Glad I get ter see yeh before I 'afta go off fer a bit."

"You're leaving, Hagrid?" Hermione felt distinctly disappointed that he might not be available for company and tea over the coming months. Hogwarts was never the same without him.

"Jus' fer a bit. I'll be back ever' so often, I think. An' I should be done before nex' term."

"That sounds like a lot of traveling. Where are you going?"

"Can't tell yeh that, now can I?" he responded, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. "Dumbledore's business, that is." Plates of small snacks materialized on the table in front of them and he fell to munching cheerfully without further comment.

Sensing that the subject of Hagrid's journey was closed for the moment, Hermione resolved to ask again later, sans audience, and turned back to the animagus beside her. "Speaking of Dumbledore's business, did he teach Alchemy in the summers when you were a student, Sirius?"

"Actually, yes. Although I didn't know about it until later."

"So." Her fingers stayed to her bushy brown hair, twisting a few strands as she considered. "That means he didn't select you, or Harry's dad, or Mr. Lu- erm, Remus."

"Nah." Sirius snorted. "We were good enough students grade-wise, but only Moony really cared much about book-learning. And, well, James and I weren't exactly ones to encourage him in that."

"So true," smiled Lupin. He settled beside Hagrid with McGonagall on his other side and reached hungrily for a small meat pasty.

"Who then?" Hermione asked. "Do either of you know?"

Sirius' cheerfulness subsided a fraction, a hint of a scowl appearing between his eyes. "Old Snivellus, believe it or not. Guess it's not surprising, though. Alchemy and Potions are related, I think, and the git was always bloody good at Potions."

"Sniv - You mean Professor Snape?" Hermione's voice betrayed her surprise. From Harry's stories, she knew Sirius and Snape had loathed each other during school, but it was difficult to imagine the older man to her right still holding grade school grudges. Then again, she thought with a small internal sigh, Snape certainly held grudges. Look at the way he antagonized Harry. And Neville. And her, if she was completely honest.

"Yeah. Sodding bastard never told anyone, of course. But James found out he had scheduled a special NEWT in the subject, which seemed odd at the time, even for over-achieving Snivelly. Figured it out later. "

"Language, Mr. Black," McGonagall chided. She frowned at the light fare before them then looked around with a small show of impatience. "Has anyone seen Albus?"

As if on cue, Dumbledore wandered into the Hall. His golden robes sparkled in the sunlight, faceted with detailed embroidery, looking lush and all too warm for the summer heat. Strolling beside Professor Sprout, he bent his head toward her almost conspiratorially, giving the stout brown-robed woman his undivided attention. Each of them carried urns overflowing with a large flowering plant and the Herbology professor seemed particularly excited about the one in her hands. As she spoke, her frizzled grey head bobbed animatedly, her voice carrying to the table. "...very rare to find male Nettles with such vivid color," she was saying. "Almost impossible to cultivate in captivity." She lovingly placed her plant on the table between Hermione and Hagrid and stood back to gaze at it with distinct fondness. Three wide bugle-shaped flowers swayed gently for a moment, their reddish-purple petals delicately veined with blue. Elegant fronds curled out of the dark foliage in twists like confetti, falling over the sides of the urn or stretched upward toward the ceiling.

"It's lovely," Hermione said earnestly. "What is it, Professor?"

Sprout startled a bit, and then looked delighted. "Why, Hermione, is it Friday already? I get so immersed in the greenhouse, I do lose track of time when we aren't on term schedules!" She plumped into a seat beside McGonagall where she could look at the striking plant with pride. "This is one of my prize specimens, a remarkably hardy sample of Campanual vexium. It will be quite the toast of the Herbologists Council Meeting this August, I expect."

"Oh, I've read about those." Hermione studied the plant carefully, noting the nettle-like leaf clusters visible amid the fronds and larger, jagged leaves. "But I thought they made awful indoor plants. Something about being too nearly sentient."

Before Sprout could respond, Moody's voice rumbled from the far end of the table. "That'll be Nettling Bellflower, will it?" Professor Trelawney had moved next to him with an airy smile and he paused to push his chair a few inches away from her. "Never could abide the notion of a sneaky plant," he grumbled.

Sprout huffed and stared down at the ex-Auror. "Only the females, Alastor. Males such as these are quite harmless, I assure you."

With a short bark of laughter, Sirius elbowed Hermione. "Just like with wizards, eh?" She rolled her eyes and noticed that McGonagall did the same.

"Plants shouldn't have genders, either," Moody added, glowering suspiciously at the second plant which Dumbledore had sat on his end of the table to balance the decoration. "And stop messing with my teacup, woman!" he groused at the Divination professor who blinked at him owlishly. "Told you before I'll not be using it." He suited action to words, drawing a silver flask from beneath his cloak and taking a swig. Hermione was sure Trelawny's sudden sharpening of expression had less to do with Moody's reprimand and more to do with figuring a way to read the dregs in the bottom of that flask.

The Headmaster settled into a chair in the middle of his colleagues and looked around with satisfaction. "I see the house elves have provided snacks while waiting on Pomona and myself." His eyes roved over the table, taking in each person in quick turns and meeting Hermione's look with a charming twinkle. Not for the first time, she realized how impossible it was not to smile at Albus Dumbledore. "I hope everyone will take time to welcome Miss Granger back among us, as well. It's delightful to have students around during the summer months and I'm sure everyone will help make her studies productive and her stay enjoyable. Now, I imagine you are all quite hungry. I apologize for keeping you waiting this long." He clapped his hands together once. The appetizers vanished immediately, replaced with golden platters piled high with sandwiches, tureens sloshing with soup, individual tins of shepherd's pie, and a variety of summer vegetables in gilded bowls.

Hermione found it both invigorating and peculiar to take lunch surrounded by the adults who usually sat above them in the Hall. Even during winter break meals, when students and staff frequently shared a table, conversation was usually quiet and light, the teachers behaving no differently than they did within the walls of their classrooms. While she was aware that professors did have other personas, glimpses of these were rare and sometimes uncomfortable.

Today, however, the faculty spoke and acted almost as if she were not there, which she found rather flattering, and she followed the discussions with interest. They sniped and teased one another mercilessly, shared tidbits of their private affairs, and wrestled with serious matters such as the castle defenses and Ministry politics. Pomfrey was apparently seeing someone in Hogsmeade, to the apparent approval of the other witches present, who encouraged her to provide details. Hooch had crashed one of the brooms she was test-flying for the Nimbus Corporation, turning a prototype into a spectacular shower of splinters. Lupin made somewhat hoarse excuses to beg off the usual Friday night drinking binge at the Three Broomsticks and Professor Sprout reached across McGonagall to press his hand sympathetically. McGonagall passed around a pair of postcards from the missing Astronomy and Arithmancy professors. When Dumbledore stretched over the empty seat between them and handed the postcards to Hermione, she hesitated for a moment. Should she read them? He smiled brilliantly and turned back to his meal, so she chanced a quick glance - pictures of sand and surf with hastily scribbled notes about having a good holiday. She smiled to imagine the dark and dramatic Sinistra sunbathing on a Hawaiian beach and quickly handed the cards on.

While listening was fascinating, she found the regular attempts to draw her into the conversations to be slightly disconcerting at first. But they genuinely seemed interested in her opinion and listened attentively while she gave it, or questioned her about her own holiday, her family, her friends and plans.

"I trust your parents weren't too disappointed not to have you home this summer?" McGonagall asked.

"Oh no," Hermione assured her. "They were overachievers when they were in school. Still are, really, if you count all of their conference presentations and workshops. So, I guess they understand."

Very soon, she found herself talking more freely than she would have imagined, describing her parents' busy schedule and her brief, awkward visits with the next-door neighbor's children, two girls of almost her own age. Since her letter arrived from Hogwarts, she no longer had much in common with these childhood friends and they had long-since drifted apart. Between her frequently absent but loving parents and her entirely absent friends, Hermione was happy to be back among familiar faces.

Then, there was Mad-Eye Moody, a familiar face and a few stories but nothing else. Despite the sense that she knew him from class last year, she had only seen the real Moody once, during the Leaving Feast. Curious, she peered past Sprout's plants occasionally to watch him. He eyed each bowl of food with his one dark eye, examining everything carefully before partaking while his magical eye kept a constant, whirling watch in all other directions. He spooned a small portion of peas onto a plate, and then selected a sandwich from half-way down a large stack, unbalancing several others and letting them fall to the tabletop. He sniffed it with his mangled nose before taking an experimental bite.

Madam Hooch interrupted Hermione's study, calling down the table, "How do you like being back at school over the summer? Not much of a vacation, was it?" The retired Quidditch star had barely said three words to her outside of flying lessons, an experience which Hermione still recalled with dread. Flying wasn't something you could master by reading numerous books.

"I just arrived, really. But I expect to like it very much. Although - well, it isn't as quiet as I expected it would be."

Lupin grinned. "I'm afraid we're to blame for that. Peeves again."

Hooch leaned back in her chair and laughed. "Could be worse, you know. Remember last summer?" She cut her hawkish eyes over at Hagrid, who was already turning red beneath his whiskers. "What was that thing, anyway?"

"S'not a thing," the groundskeeper said, a little defensively. "Griftin' greylocks are mighty sensitive critters. And very challengin' ter raise."

"What he means is 'they eat everything that doesn't run away,'" she translated for Hermione with a wink. "It was supposed to help keep the grounds mown, I think."

McGonagall looked amused, as well. "And it did. I remember looking out the staff window one morning and seeing that little grey fluffball haring across the Quidditch pitch carrying one of those enormous trees from the side gardens. Thought I was seeing things at first."

Hooch snorted loudly. "Eating its way into the broom stables was the last straw, though." She paused a beat. "Last straw. Brooms. Heh. Sorry about that."

The required chorus of groans passed around the table. Hermione winced. "It got into the broom stable?"

"Well, you probably noticed the new Cleansweeps for the chasers last year?" Hooch seemed to savor the story even more after her accidental pun, so Hermione chose not to mention that she hadn't noticed the brooms. She recognized Harry's Firebolt and knew the Slytherins rode Nimbus models, but that was the extent of her interest in brooms. Hooch continued. "It chewed right through the stable door and proceeded to make a fine lunch out of about a third of the schools' better brooms." She shook her head. "Right mess it was."

Hagrid looked slightly aggrieved. "Well, 'e couldn't help it! Th' man what raised 'im fergot to train 'im off brooms and trees and things. They'll eat anything, yer know, without proper care bein' took. I found 'im a good home up north after that though."

The flying instructor chortled. "And I suppose you've got some new beastie out there in your hut, ready for next year's classes?"

Hagrid's face lit up. "Now tha' yeh mention it, I do 'ave somethin' very special this time. Jus' got 'er last week." And then his face fell a little. "Not tha' I'm gonna get all summer wif 'er. She'll miss me while I'm gone."

Sirius looked up with interest. "What is it? Another hippogriff?"

"No, no. Nothin' quite like tha'. But if'n yeh don' mind, I think I wanna keep 'er fer a surprise later this summer." He looked quickly over at Hermione, as if getting an idea and Hermione slid down in her seat a fraction. Hagrid's great ideas usually involved the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night or living things that exploded unexpectedly. "Hermione, yeh might like ter come down an' see 'er. Yeh'll be impressed, I think, and maybe yeh an' the other kids might like ter help take care of 'er while I'm away."

Hermione was suddenly aware of sympathetic glances from all around the table. She bit her lip briefly but said, "Um, sure, Hagrid. We can talk about it."

A sharp growl rose from the far end of the table, punctuated by the clatter of falling silverware. "The blasted thing is stealing my peas."

"What's that, Professor Moody?" Madam Pomfrey's smile carried a touch of sedate bedside manner when she responded. It was clear she had heard him, but hoped that he perhaps had not heard himself.

"My peas," the ex-Auror repeated firmly, his magical eye rolling up at her while the other glared at the plant near his plate. "And don't try any of that mental-case mumbo-jumbo on me, woman. I know what I see. And that thing is taking my peas." He gestured to the offending flora with his spoon.

Hermione leaned closer to Sirius. "Back in the entrance," she whispered, "I thought Professor Moody seemed less - well, twitchy - than he did at the Leaving Feast."

Sirius guffawed, his mouth full of mashed potato and sausage. "Don't let him fool you. He has his moments, yeah. I think chasing Peeves gave him something to focus on for a bit. But he's not quite right. Never was, from what I hear." He chewed thoughtfully. "'Course, after spending a year knocked out in a magical trunk, you can hardly blame him if he's a tad more paranoid than usual."

Apparently thinking along the same lines, most of those present went back to their conversations and ignored the outburst. After a minute of scowling, even Moody returned to his meal, though one of his eyes continued to watch the plant narrowly.

The lunch chat waxed and waned and a few of the staff made their excuses and left. Trelawney gave Moody a long, indecipherable stare before wafting off toward her tower. Madam Pince mentioned a new shipment of magical tomes and hastened to make sure they arrived safely. When Lupin mentioned the re-warding of Hogwarts, most of the remaining group fell enthusiastically to brainstorming new and better concepts for protecting the castle and grounds. The annual task had apparently been intensified by the events of a few weeks ago. Hermione listened avidly, amazed as tiny Professor Flitwick described a series of complex and brutal charms he was developing to undergird some more common barriers proposed by others around the table.

Every so often, Hermione noticed Dumbledore glancing in her direction, a shadow passing over his normally bright expression. Although he participated in the warding conversation almost eagerly and always had a ready chuckle for the everyday antics and stories, Hermione noted that he ate very little, pushing his shepherd's pie around on his plate idly. Something about the set of his shaggy white brows occasionally struck her as pensive, as if he were worried but unwilling to share the burden with the rest of the staff. At first she thought his worry might be directed at her and she looked to make sure she hadn't slopped pumpkin juice down her shirt. Perhaps he disapproved of the freedom with which the adults spoke in her presence after all? Surreptitiously, she tried to catch his eye just to be certain. She - like Lupin - didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable.

His next sidelong glance, however, assured her that she was not the focus of his concern. Rather than resting on her, his gaze fell short to the empty chair between them, lingered briefly, then returned to his plate.

"Sirius?" she asked, pushing her plate back in satisfaction as light desserts appeared. "Who usually sits here?"

"Snivellus," came the harsh reply. Even around a bite of biscuit, the condescending nickname seemed unexpectedly hostile.

Dumbledore looked sharply at the animagus, his mouth pressed into a disapproving line. How odd, Hermione thought. The potions master's absence had seemed insignificant, since she imagined that he avoided lunchtime camaraderie whenever possible. And why would anyone miss him? Ill temper, mocking expressions, and not-so-subtle threats? I'll pass, thanks.

But Hagrid looked back and forth between the two men with concern. "Aw, Sirius," he began softly. "Yeh ought ter let tha' old business go, yeh know? Professor Snape's a good man. 'E works hard fer the - er -" He gave a small smile to Hermione and nervously fingered his napkin. "Fer Dumbledore. Great man, Dumbledore," he finished lamely.

At the other end of the table, Moody slammed his fist into his silverware, scattering it and upsetting his empty teacup. "That's it!" he shouted and shoved himself up, badly-shorn mane of grizzled grey hair flying, eye rolling madly in his gaunt face. "I've had enough, you pea-thieving -" He seized the Campanula vexium with one hand, as if prepared to rip it from it carefully tended soil.

"No!" Professor Sprout leaped to her feet. "Alastor, don't you dare!" Her chair overturned with a clatter as she hurried around the table to rescue her prized plant.

The Nettle's curling fronds suddenly arched and whipped around to grasp Moody's wrist and fingers. One of the massive blooms lifted as if staring up at the angry ex-Auror, swelled ominously, and promptly spat a pea at him. It bounced off his face and rolled across the table.

"Oh, dear," Sprout sighed, reaching out to untangle the foliage around Moody's hand before he could fling the plant against a wall. He jumped at the touch, but she managed to keep her grip, nimble fingers gently prying at the prehensile leaves and stems. "Albus, you must've picked up one of the females."

Dumbledore smiled innocently. "Oh, did I?"

"I'm so sorry, Alastor." Sprout said to the twitching ex-Auror. The Nettle made a small choking sound and shot a second pea straight up into the air.

Moody stood stiffly, his magical eye fixing Dumbledore in a sinister glare. "Not funny, Albus. Not at all. I think your worry for your pet Death Eater is impairing your judgment on other fronts."

Silence fell sharply around the table. Several of the staff stared at Moody with shocked expressions. Others, including Sirius, discovered a new and profound interest in their plates. Hermione found that she did not know where to look, so she bit her lip and rubbed at a blemish on the table.

Dumbledore rose from his chair slowly, his robes whispering in the sudden quiet. "Alastor, we have already had this discussion. Thrice, as I recall. I am aware of your opinions and I thank you for your concern. But the matter remains closed."

Moody scowled. "Then it needs to be reopened until you see sense. It's one thing to have the man teaching here, but it's quite another to bring him into the front lines. At this precarious time, no less. No matter what he tells you, he works for himself - not for you."

"I trust him," Dumbledore said softly. "That should be enough."

"So you've said. But you're a grand old fool if you actually mean it. I have a hell of a lot of experience with these things, and I'm tellin' you - once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. Justice, not mercy, will be our key to surviving this war."

"I would not willingly disagree with you, Alastor," Dumbledore replied, a quiet finality in his tone. "But there are men who deserve better than the fate decreed by the Ministry. Or the Aurory."

"There isn't a Death Eater alive that should've walked away from Azkaban, and that includes Severus Snape." Moody snatched his hand free from the plant's remaining tendrils and stumped toward Dumbledore, passing him closely on his way out of the Hall and muttering beneath his breath. "We've all got work to do," he growled over his shoulder. "We should see to it."

In the silent wake of Moody's departure, Sirius began to snuffle softly. Hermione stared at him as his shoulders began to shake with stifled laugher. "I'm sorry," he grinned, glancing apologetically up the others. "It's just - I've never seen a pea-tunia before!" He snerked. "Get it? Pea-tunia?"

Madam Hooch hooted with laughter and the rest of the group relaxed, pointedly ignoring the exchange that had just occurred as they pushed back from lunch and rose to go about their daily business. McGonagall alone stopped to speak with Dumbledore, resting her hand lightly on his arm. He nodded, patted her hand, and followed the others, leaving Hermione and McGonagall alone beside the empty table.

"Come, Miss Granger. Let me show you to your rooms."

They had reached the staircase that led down into the dungeons before Hermione worked up the nerve to ask. "Professor? Can you tell me what that was about?"

McGonagall glanced sideways at her. "Certainly nothing for you to worry about," she replied briskly. "You'll soon be busy enough without trying to get involved in faculty silliness."

Hermione plunged on, undeterred by the casual redirection. "So, you don't think Professor Snape's a Death Eater anymore, then?"

The Transfiguration teacher led the way down the stairs and, for a moment, Hermione thought she would simply refuse to answer. At the bottom, however, she stopped and looked down at her seriously. "No, I do not. But these are dangerous times, Miss Granger, and the less said about some things, the better. I know Severus displayed that abominable Mark in front of you and your friends, but that was probably unwise on his part. Do I make myself clear?"

"I understand," Hermione nodded. "I just thought that Professor Moody seemed awfully sure of himself. It can't be easy to challenge Professor Dumbledore like that."

McGonagall sighed. "In some ways, Alastor still lives in his past. Over a decade ago, he was tasked with rounding up criminals left in the lurch after young Mr. Potter first met You-Know-Who. He has not quite recovered from the experience." She turned to continue down the dim stone corridor, changing the subject as she went. Magical sconces set in wrought-iron brackets flickered into life as they approached, casting an uncertain light across their path. "Now, I'm afraid most of the guests this summer are living in the castle's lower levels since the towers are the focus of our first round of re-warding," she explained. "This includes you, but I think you'll find the rooms comfortable enough, even if the hallways are a bit chill."

Hermione looked doubtful. Inevitably, the dungeons reminded her of Professor Snape, part of the vindictive man's territory that he was rumored to patrol extensively most evenings. He was notorious for seeking out wayfaring students with a tenacity that bordered on obsession. Not that many students chose to rendezvous in the dungeons, which were inevitably cold, dark, and haunted by Slytherins as well as their Head of House.

As they passed a series of ancient tapestries, McGonagall pointed out the living quarters of other guests. "The suite of rooms behind the hunting party tapestry is shared by Remus and Sirius. These across the hall belong to Alastor alone. If you're coming and going late at night, you might want to make some noise announcing who you are. He's perfectly safe, if a little jumpy, but you don't want to aggravate him if you can help it."

"What time is curfew?" Hermione asked.

"No specific time in the summer. But please use discretion and some wisdom. You can read just as well in your rooms as in the library. And under no circumstances are you to be gallivanting about the grounds without a faculty escort. Understood?"

They turned a corner and stopped in front of yet another faded tapestry. "Your door is here, and you'll be sharing space with a rising sixth-year student named Arida Zakari. Further along, you'll find the Pruitts- a brother and sister in the seventh year." She pointed to a coat-of-arms hanging some way further down the hall, hiding yet another door.

Hermione studied the faded tapestry in front of her, thinking how appropriate it was for the dungeons. A pair of dragons, one red, one green, twined about each other, their mouths agape with aggression, their wingspan filling the wall-hanging from edge to edge. Stylized runes wound in between them and glittered around the edges of the tapestry in dirty gold thread.

"The password is 'Tootsie Pop,'" Minerva informed her with a wry twist of her face. "Albus set them earlier this week."

Hermione laughed and let them into the suite of rooms.

As the tapestry drew itself aside and the heavy oak door swung open, she gasped, eyes widening. Expecting a dank dungeon room reminiscent of their potions classroom, she found instead a place flooded with sunlight. The far wall showcased three massive gothic windows, mullioned and framed in worked metal. A stained-glass inset of Celtic design highlighted the center of each window, casting brilliant colors onto a floor of highly polished tawny-grey stone. Woven rugs in crimson and green lay underfoot, sectioning the large common room into sitting and work areas. A pair of worn leather sofas and a single damask armchair sat before the fireplace, where a small blaze crackled merrily, assisting the sunlight in banishing the natural chill of the stone-walled room.

A door to her immediate left led into a shared bathroom that was also stone, with a shower and a separate bath inset into the floor. Fluffy towels covered the racks and the air had a pleasant citrus scent. Hermione had noticed that smell lingering around the female Gryffindor prefect occasionally and had always assumed it was a personal fragrance. Perhaps it was special Hogwarts issue, she thought. The next door over led to her room, a vast chamber compared to her shared quarters in Gryffindor Tower. Its dark walls were draped with crimson and gold tapestries. Lion's Den colors, she noted with pleasure. A large canopied bed filled one wall and a mahogany desk surrounded by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled another. Her windows, also large arches with touches of stained glass, overlooked the lake and she imagined that she could see Hogsmeade in the distance, despite the fact that they were close to ground level.

She turned to McGonagall, amazed. "Are the windows real or charms?"

"Quite real. On this side of the castle, the upper dungeons are well above the ground. One of the many benefits to building into a cliff."

"The Potions classroom isn't on this side, then."

McGonagall laughed. "Nowhere near. Severus claims that sunlight harms his more precious ingredients. And, of course, he fairly demanded that guests be quartered well away from him and his work." She gestured to Hermione's trunk which had been left unopened at the foot of her bed. "I suggest you take some time to get settled. I'm sure Miss Zakari will be joining you here in the next few hours."

"I don't think I've ever met her."

"Most likely not. She's a Slytherin. But very bright, as you might guess by her repeat invitation to study with Albus. Despite the difference in your houses, I imagine the two of you will get along famously."

Hermione nodded, but she had yet to meet a Slytherin with any proclivity toward friendship with the mudblood sidekick of Harry Potter. McGonagall gave her the schedule for dinner and left her to her thoughts and her unpacking.

She turned toward the looming bookcases first, scanning the numerous empty shelves with something akin to awe. "I don't even own that many books," she said out loud. "But I'm going to be working on that." With a spark of excitement, she threw open her trunk and began heaving her precious texts out first and foremost. Everything else could wait.