The Fifth Moon - Part I

I don't like secrets. I never liked them. I'm the worst secret-keeper of the wizards' world. I must be: when I was little I was truly convinced my mother was my best friend, and therefore I should tell her everything. I mean, everything. I was so naïve and hopelessly wrong. She was - she is - my mother, and that's all; it has nothing to do with friendship. Professor Trelawney would immediately deduct that my mother, although a muggle woman, possesses an 'inner eye' which has been telling her all along she'd better keep a sharp physical eye on me, or two.

Now, when I happen to hold a secret, well, I feel deep down so guilty for not telling someone.

This time especially I should not tell anyone. I will write about it, instead. Much safer. It may work. I will know soon enough: when I feel ashamed my concentration wanders and I do not accomplish much.

To be honest (with myself, since there is no one else), I should have started writing about it one year ago. I remember that day like it was yesterday. I was - guess where? - in the library, reading, so taken that I was not paying attention anymore to the constant squeaking noises coming from every corner, from every object or piece of furniture. I didn't hear him coming.

'I must warn you: keep reading that, and you will eventually find yourself transformed into an Oxyuranus microlepidotus. I'm not sure it would be of your liking; not to mention the fact that it would be totally inappropriate, for a Gryffindor. Then, again, I may be wrong.' It was Sirius - he had startled me. Leaning against the doorframe, he was looking at me with the friendliest of his smiles, which was not doing too much except giving the impression of being out of place, on his tense face. I had not read the book to the end, yet, nor had any clue what an Oxyuranus - microlepidotus or not - could be. He went on.

'Did you have time to take a good look around, before finding the library, Hermione? Good. Now, which kind of creature would someone living in this house choose, to become an Animagus? Try a wild guess.'

'A gigantic, venomous serpent?' I answered, without having to think too hard.

'No, not quite. A medium size, extremely venomous snake native of Australia', he told me. People living at number twelve Grimmauld Place had been, in general, not only black sorcerers and snake lovers but, present company not included, a good deal devious and sneaky. Great travellers, too.

The whole house was treacherous, especially to a ... witch like myself. It was so bad to look a lot more like a dirty hoax than a home, or the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. When Ron and I were brought here, without any forewarnings, we could not believe our own eyes and - oh yes - ears. For a couple of days Ron kept mumbling about Professor Dumbledore having lost his mind, at the news that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned, and done some funky wrong incantation on a quite normal house, to protect it from the very things which were jumping and yelling at us all the time. Voldemort - his name is Voldemort. I had learned to say it, when he was only a theory without a face, in my life.

Anyway, there was the library. I got bitten by the knob of one cabinet, first thing. I am much better than an old piece of hexed furniture, regardless of the kind of blood that runs in my veins (a detail I was reminded of at every corner). I opened it nonetheless and found an exceedingly interesting collection of books Ms Pince would never let me lay my eyes on. The one I was reading, when Sirius discovered me, was about Animagi-transfiguration. It was only the first of many I spent the past year studying, in secret.

I still don't know why I picked that matter so head-on, from the very beginning. I know instead exactly when I decided I'm going to become an Animagus: today, Wednesday, July 31st, 1996, after breakfast.

When I woke up I could not see Crookshanks anywhere. Odd, since he likes this house a lot less than I do, even though now it is much cleaner and quieter than it was when we first arrived, last year. Here, my cat follows me like a shadow and always sleeps on or around my feet. But this morning there was no trace of him. After breakfast I combed the whole house. I thought, Kreacher is still lurking about, who knows, he might have locked away my cat, just to be ... no, I shouldn't say this. Which reminds me: Harry will come; he should be here already. I don't know what will happen to the house-elf of the proud House of Black, which now belongs to Harry Potter. He might just order Kreacher to behead himself. I hope I'm wrong. Where did I get such an idea anyway? I must spend less time reading those books, as Sirius would have said.

At any rate, I didn't find Crookshanks in any of the spots where I could imagine a cat would hide. There was only one room left to check out, in the basement. The door was locked. I realized I'd never seen it open. I used a spell to undo it. This house is so protected that it is impossible for the Ministry's inspectors to detect underage-magic; we all have been throwing spells at objects and at more-or-less living beings all summer long, last year.

It was dark inside; I could not see a thing but I could hear my cat purring far from the doorway. So I cautiously dim-lit my wand. Crookshanks was cuddled in the far corner of the room, and there was another animal curled around him, his muzzle flat on my cat's belly. Last night it was full moon. I was looking at Professor Lupin, lulled to sleep by the soft humming.

He must have heard me; he opened his eyes, slowly raised his head a little. Maybe he meant to smile at me; it didn't come out just right - too big fangs he has, when he transforms. I didn't run away immediately, I think. Or maybe I did, the moment I looked into his yellow eyes only seemed to last an eternity.

As a child, he lost the possibility of a normal life; then he lost James and Lily; I would not even mention Peter Pettigrew. Now the last of his friends, who were there for him at the times he needed it most, Sirius, is gone forever. I will become an Animagus - I must become a wolf. Nobody deserves to be so lonely.

* * * * *

Surely I am not the only one who needs a notebook to write secrets into. For instance, there is Professor Dumbledore's new friend. All the members of the Order must know who he is, but no one has let as much as one shred of information escape about him (her, maybe).

I saw Professor Dumbledore for the first time since we left Hogwarts only two days ago. I was in the kitchen with Ginny and Mrs Weasley, cleaning up after supper. Remus came in and told us 'underage witches' we should go to our room right away. He looked tense, strange, but not the way he always does, for a few days after the transformation. He practically kicked us out. We, of course, walked upstairs as slowly as conceivable, so we were able to catch a glimpse of our Headmaster coming in, followed by someone clad in a black robe, hood and everything. The figure reminded us both of the Death Eaters we have recently encountered. But then we decided it could not have been a prisoner: Dumbledore would not have taken him here and besides, he was walking behind Dumbledore.

We 'youngsters' of course do not know everyone in the Order; still, this newcomer seems to be pretty important - we should know. I will leave it to Ginny. If anybody can find out, that's her.

Harry is not here yet. It goes without saying that we cannot communicate with him. He will be mad at us again, exactly like last year.

* * * * *

Tonks gave me a brass tablet with my parents' address engraved on it. It is an Auror standard issue surveillance kit. She activated it on their house's walls. She gave one also to Harry, she told me. His aunt was terrified and wanted something to warn Harry if anything weird (meaning magic) approached, so Tonks had the idea of using the same stuff Aurors use to keep track of wizards; it detects the tiniest variation in magical energy, so it is used to check if someone leaves the area where he/she is supposed to remain confined into. For the same token it would detect any increase in magical energy inside a defined area. Ingenious. I asked Professor McGonagall to help me transform it into a bracelet, so I can keep it with me all the time. I could have done it myself but, given the importance, I wanted to make sure the transfiguration did not screw it up. It was very kind of Tonks.

* * * * *

Ginny is positive that our mysterious guest is still in the house, locked in the basement, in the same room Remus uses when he needs a body-haircut. We have not seen her, thought, neither at lunch nor at supper. We have become convinced that she must be a woman, from her minute size, from the way we saw her walking. My friend went as far as trying to unlock the door, unsuccessfully. She ensures me she knocked, before, and there was no answer. It was very impolite of her, not to mention irresponsible. What if she is a prisoner, after all? I was hoping Ginny would have matured, now that she has a boyfriend.

I know she is going steady with someone because I find her time and again writing on a piece of peculiarly stiff parchment - always the same! It must be bewitched; she knows she cannot send owls to her sweetheart three times a day from here. Not even she would be so careless.

While I'm on the subject: Tonks told us that Harry has decided not to come here - too many painful memories, he says. I understand. Why does she know and what love has to do with it? A lot. Tonks has fallen for Harry BIG times. She goes visiting with the Dursleys' as often as she dares, without arising suspicions, or at least that's what she hopes. Everybody knows. Perhaps even Harry. It will be the second thing I ask when I see him.

She is too old for him, isn't she?

* * * * *

For two weeks now I have put off my first transfiguration. I know I'm ready for it. I am aware that it would be better to try it here than at school.

See, I'm using the verb to try. Wrong. Dangerously so. One does not try to transform, one does it. Bottom line: I'm afraid. I whish I could say that I'm being cautious, but I can't; I'm just plain terrified. Besides, the late Jeremy Black might have had a point, in choosing an Oxyuranus: to change into a snake is theoretically a lot easier than to change into a four legged, big and furry Lupus.

I could ask Professor McGonagall's help, since she comes here very often. If I were to do so, then she would surely insist that I abide by the law and register myself. I don't want to do that. In principle, I agree that the matter needs to be regulated, but then, I'm planning to put it only to worthy uses, like keeping Remus company; maybe to spy on Voldemort, if I can. What good would it be, if everybody knows?

I have performed illegal magic before, for instance with the Polyjuice Potion. The fact that I partially turned into a cat, at the time, and that it was downright horrible, should not play a role: I made a mistake, that's why it was so atrocious. I am a great deal more experienced, now; I'm not going to make any mistakes whatsoever. Hell, I'm almost seventeen. That's why in my mind I keep hearing Professor Dumbledore laughing at me, from the towering height of his age.

Self-doubts could kill me.

* * * * *

As if I were running out of secrets to write, here comes another one, good-sized and scary: I have joined the Order of the Phoenix.

This morning Professor Dumbledore told Ron, Ginny and me that he had something very important to discuss with us. The others left without a word. Molly had a big don't-worry-dear pinned to her smile; she was the last to leave the kitchen.

Coming straight to the point, Dumbledore informed us that the trial of the Death Eaters captured last June in the Department of Mystery is about to begin. The three of us, plus Harry, Luna and Neville, will be for sure called as witnesses. This brings about a few crucial problems. For one, certainly the fact that Sirius was there will come out, since it is a great opportunity to discredit Dumbledore by proving he was hiding a wanted criminal. The only adult wizard who could rehabilitate him is Professor Snape, who saw Peter Pettigrew alive at a few Death Eaters Gatherings, and it goes without saying he cannot report that. Which means, Sirius officially died a wanted criminal. The other big problem is that Kreacher has probably told the Malfoys' that we spent last summer at Grimmauld Place. Lucius Malfoy knows this place was already the headquarters of the Order. He still has associates in high places, wizards who may be working at the Ministry and for Voldemort. He may find a way to have questions asked which would prove extremely damaging to the Order; we are not house-elves, we are not easily bound to silence. Easily doesn't quite ring in this case, to tell the truth. Anyhow, this brings about the scary part of the story: if we have learnt anything from Harry's hearing, last year, it is that we can expect the unthinkable, down to the most unpleasant version of it. We could even be given the Veritaserum.

The solution? A spell, which would bind us to protect the Order's secrets; the incantation that seals the ceremony of joining the Order itself.

Professor Dumbledore was adamant: we will be recruited, but only with the purpose of empowering the secrecy bond. We will not be given any assignment, we will not play any role and we will not be informed of anything more than what we are by now aware of. We are all underage (not for long, I reminded him). We have already fought a battle which was not our to fight, he reminded us. Harry was admitted in early July - with the same limitations, I presume.

If I think about the prospect of sitting in a room full of Death Eaters, being asked questions, perhaps under the effect of the Veritaserum, like I'm the one under inquisition, and not them ...

* * * * *

A few days and we will be back to Hogwarts. I have not transformed, yet. I'm too stressed right now: it would be unsafe. It's not an excuse.

The thought of the trial has taken permanent residence around a few dark corners of my brain circumvolutions, and the darkness spreads. I have nightmares, every night. I can only hope it will be over soon.

* * * * *

Hogwarts, finally! It's great to be back!

Not everyone is so thrilled about this school though, not anymore. It may be because Harry is here, and he is a lure for troubles. There were only four first-years. The Hat was disappointed as much as a hat can be, and sung a sad, quite short song about the coming of winter, like there is not going to be spring, after that.

But the major excitement of the evening came at the banquet, with the introduction of our new teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts: Brother Constantin Arkadyevich Shcherbatsky, son of a Russian Prince (whom else, with a name like that?) and of a Russian witch, Marfa Ivanovna. That alone would have been something, but there is more: he was born in Saratov in 1759. So, how come he is still with us, ready to teach? Simple: he is a vampire!

Professor Dumbledore was right in hiding from us his latest guest at the headquarters; it would have looked suspicious, if we had not gasped together with the other students. This way we only recognized the cloak, the walking, the uneasiness that floats about him. Then he raised the hood barely to his eyebrows and looked around. His eyes are dark, magnetic, black holes in his emaciated face, framed by long, straight, black hair. If he wants to teach us to defend against darkness, sure he brought the homework with him.

Ron went immediately back to last year's idea that our Headmaster has lost his mind. At least, when he tried with Remus, no one knew he was a werewolf. This time, anticipating objections, he declared that Brother Constantin has been a monk for well over two centuries, he is a wizard a vampire of unquestionable integrity, who never sired anyone in his long - how can I say it - after-life, maybe? I don't know what to think. He surely must have a great deal of experience, and he was a teacher before. After all, just like it is with Remus, it is not his fault if he came to be a vampire; we should give everyone the right to prove him or herself - shouldn't we?

This is interesting, in a scaring, wicked way. Especially because it has already stirred up all sort of discussions among us students. I have the feeling he will ultimately teach us to defend ourselves not only from the darkness outside, but also from some not-so-well-hidden shady spots inside.

* * * * *

I like our new DADA teacher; I like him a lot.

Let's take today, for example: the door opens and we students all together enter the classroom; that young delinquent of Malfoy pushes aside everyone on his path and goes to sit in the front row; our teacher waits for all to be seated, then begins by welcoming us to his abode; Malfoy, as if speaking to his cronies, makes a comment loud enough for Brother Constantin to hear, something like:

'I wonder if he is not afraid that somebody might inadvertently let some object fly toward him, for instance a piece of wood - a sharp piece of wood. What do you think it would happen, if it pierced him through the heart?'

Silence did not have to fall over the classroom: we were already dead silent. Brother Constantin turned his gaze to Draco, and then moved to him, gracefully, almost gliding, while making curious waving movements with his left hand. Draco's desk split in the middle, a long, spear-like splinter broke off from the crack and floated up in the air between them.

'It would terminate my existence. But then, wouldn't a sharp object through the heart terminate anybody's, Mr Malfoy?'

The splinter was still hovering, undecided.

'Dumbledore said you have never killed anyone,' whispered Draco, more to calm himself than to prove that, for once, he had paid attention to our Headmaster's speech.

'In truth, Albus correctly reported that I have never bitten anyone.'

He made another gesture with his left hand; the splinter flew past Draco's right ear and disappeared into the rear wall's wooden panel.

It is going to be a fascinating sixth year; I'm already having a ball.

* * * * *

As far as Transfiguration goes, instead, I'm not enjoying it much. This year we embark on the study of human transfiguration. I usually know a lot, in class, since I always read most of the books before the beginning of school. This year, I know a HUGE lot more than everyone else and I must pretend that I don't.

I think I overdid it, this morning, so worried I was that Professor McGonagall could discover my secret project. I will be more careful, in the future, with my made-up ignorance. Besides, I don't want my grades to slip below my usual excellence level. Let's see: if I took Draco Malfoy and transformed his little willie into a venomous snake, then made it bite his owner, I could prove I am still an outstanding student. Maybe for his birthday ... it would be so totally Slytherin ... Professor McGonagall would be proud of me!

Maybe not. I have borrowed five books from the Black's library. That's where I get creepy ideas from. At any rate, Malfoy deserves it. After what happened, he still acts like the usual moron, regardless to the fact that his father is enjoying the comforts and the free lunches of Azkaban.

* * * * *

Brother Constantin Arkadyevich does not use a wand. He can't, of course: to all practical purposes, he is just a walking, rotting corpse. Not that one could tell, judging by the nose. Malfoy keeps making faces only because he is an idiot. I cannot wait for the day he will make a face or a comment in the wrong place and at the wrong time. Patience. He is such a hopeless fool. It will happen.

This morning our DADA teacher detailed the main themes of this year's course. Among others, he will teach us to perform some magic without a wand, like he does. Having had over two centuries to perfection the technique, he must be a true expert. In a fight, one can lose one's wand, or it can end up broken, as some of us know well. Frankly, for Neville it was a good thing, amidst all the tragedy: he was using his father's wand, and it didn't suit him at all. This year, with a new wand fitting him, he is doing unbelievably better.

I asked Brother Constantin if he was ever an Animagus. One of the books I'm studying (the one about the Oxyuranus transfiguration) details quite well, at one point, how to do it without a wand. It looks exhausting, even though not much more difficult than the usual way. I'm getting ahead of myself; I haven't tried the usual way, yet, why do I bother with the unusual? See, there I go again: trying. Damn. Anyway, I should not have asked him. He came close, stared at me with his piercing eyes, then answered he was never an Animagus, he began doing magic without a wand only afterwards. I felt like Death was checking on me. He is dead.

* * * * *

It would have been too obvious if Brother Constantin had began his teaching with the topic of vampires; but he likes to surprise us, so he hasn't spoken a word about it, so far. That's why I still don't know how comes he walks about in daylight. I crave to ask, but the thought of his eyes set on me makes me change my mind every time I come across him, which happens roughly ten times a day.

My nightmares about Death Eaters have taken a new twist, since last week: now, besides Malfoy's icy eyes, I dream of a pair of obsidian shreds, gazing at me through the slits of a black hood.

* * * * *

Ginny is still writing on her stiff piece of bewitched parchment, every night. It may mean that her boyfriend is not a student at Hogwarts, or simply that they don't want to be caught. Knowing her - and Ron - I favour the latter.

Ron has played the knight in not-so-shining armour for as long as I can remember, around me. He was downright jealous of Viktor. On the other hand, he has never said anything out loud, to me or to his sister. The Weasleys like keeping secrets, it appears. I forgot: so do I, now.

And it is not just I: our raid at the Department of Mystery has changed a lot our relationships. Ron has become obsessively protective of me; Harry has withdrawn into a hard shell and barely speaks to anybody; Luna behaves weirder than before, if that is at all possible; Ginny and Neville came out of it with a renewed determination to fight, which is at times positively scary. Ginny and Neville ... hummm. Could it be?

I wonder about Tonks. She was sloppy to the point of being dangerous to herself and others already last year, before falling in love with Harry. At the House, this past summer, she was pathetically careful - to no avail. I hope Harry answers her owls. It must be so sad to worry about a loved one far away. He receives letters every day - heaps of them. Mostly fan mail, now that his credibility has been restored by the public reappearance of Voldemort, at the Ministry. He wraps them up without interest, every morning; I have seen him burning them unopened, in the common room fireplace. I'm sure Tonks writes him. I hope he doesn't incinerate her letters. Challenging, to help he who doesn't want to be helped.

* * * * *

It is a beautiful late summer day, sunny and warm. I'm here, sitting by the window near my bed, in Gryffindor's dormitory, writing. I have been excused from class because I am still experiencing some distressing side effects of the Veritaserum. Distressing for the other students, that is. I could not stop talking and I kept asking questions, all sorts of them, to anyone on my horizon. The nurse said the best was to let it wear off by itself, so basically Minerva locked me up here. I talked to Crookshanks till he climbed up some tapestry and disappeared. So I decided to write, instead. My throat hurts, I need to shut up. Besides, I find no satisfaction in talking to a mirror.

I even asked Coscha how can he survive in the sunlight. He stared at me with his black eyes, genuinely surprised, then pulled off his hood. He didn't say a word. I found myself being stared at by three black eyes, or so was my first impression. He has a crystal embedded in his forehead, the blunt side slightly sticking out. I touched it, and it was burning hot. He told me the crystal adsorbs the light and converts it into a form of energy he uses to sustain himself. That's the reason why he needs fresh blood only occasionally. His hair is dull and kind of stiff, like an old wig, forgotten in the attic. He grabbed my hand and I felt the cold seeping into my veins. He is dead. His lips are plump and soft, though. I kissed him. I don't know why. It was the Veritaserum ... it made me do it. No, that would not have been enough. The potion only removed some control mechanism. I'm still under the influence, I'm sure, or I would be a lot more preoccupied. I will write about the trial, then. This damned serum will wear off, sooner or later.

We, then-unrecruited fighters against the forces of Evil, were summoned to the trial yesterday, without a hint of forewarning. At breakfast Albus received an owl. He got up and told the six of us to walk with him to his office, immediately. He did not utter a sound, on the way. He didn't have to, it was all too obvious. He had a Portkey, which landed us in the atrium, at the Ministry, where a squadron of wizards was waiting for us. I noticed that they had not re-built the fountain. Good. It was an ugly display of what our society should be. Astonishing how one's attention ends up locked to unimportant details, when one's mind is paralysed by fear.

Anyway, I was the second to enter the chamber, after Harry, after an eternity. The seats were all taken, but I did not recognize anyone except Dumbledore and Fudge, who was presiding the hearing. None of the accused was in the room, with the exception of Lucius Malfoy who, as we were told afterwards, was defending himself, and therefore had the right to question all the witnesses.

He questioned me all right. He treated me with uncanny respect, for someone who thinks Mudbloods should be eradicated like vermin. He would have made a fine actor, I must admit.

But first it was Fudge's turn. He ordered me to recount the 'incident at the Department of Mystery', as he called it, and I did. He made no comments, asked no further questions. Then it was Malfoy's turn. He began with what could well have been small talk in front of a cup of tea. He asked what I like to eat at breakfast; if I ever go to the movies, when I'm by my parents; why have I chosen a cat for pet; which field of study I favour; if I like to put on hearings; which career am I planning to pursue, after school; if I have recurring dreams. All the talking had made my mouth dryer than it already was, so I took a sip from a goblet on the table. That was the most stupid thing I've ever done. They didn't have to make me drink the Veritaserum, I did it all by myself! He smiled, and kept asking irrelevant questions, at times repeating himself, for a little longer. Then he asked me about Sirius, if I knew how he escaped, and I told him. Next he confessed to me that he had not become a Death Eater by choice but he had been forced to do so under an Imperius Spell, and asked me if I believed him.

'No way in Hell I would believe such crap. You are guilty to the bones and yet probably will get away with it only because you are worse than Voldemort, in your cunning,' I answered.

So he asked how I thought he should be punished for all his alleged crimes, and I told him a kiss from a Dementor would serve him right. I then added something like: 'the Dementors are Voldemort's allies and this makes it unlikely, at the present time - unless of course Lord Voldemort too happens to have enough of your scheming'. He was close; I could smell a faint sweet scent and it was taking my breath away. I told him I would have liked to bite him, to verify how different from mine that pure blood of his tastes. The fire of the torches was burning in the mirrors of his glittering eyes, so light grey to be almost transparent. I told him I would have liked to transform them into balls of iron, then melt them and watch him cry tears of blood and liquid metal, hear him scream, beg me; I would have gone on but he turned to Fudge and hastily declared the session closed. Someone dashed me out, while he was again talking, the swindling scorpion:

'My son ... your sons and daughters go to school with ...'

I know all about the wizard who accompanied me back to Hogwarts; I asked him a zillion questions; pity that I could not care less.

Back in Dumbledore's office, I waited with Minerva and Harry for the return of the others. I kept questioning the wizards in the paintings, till there was no one left in sight. At one point Ron interrupted my stream of queries by asking if I loved him.

'You? No, not you,' I replied in a flash. I wish he'd asked me who is that I love, then. This way at least I would know.

I hurt him. I didn't have to. It was the serum.

Still, it is true that I don't love him - he is just a friend.

He is my best friend, how could I've been so insensitive?

What else have I done?

I told Malfoy - and the jury - that Harry and I freed Sirius, using an artefact that was entrusted to me with the sole purpose of helping me in my studies. For all the good it will do, I also told them that Sirius was innocent, and we broke the law only because we knew no one would have believed us and he would have been executed.

Later on I recited to Draco the complete list of things I would like to do to his father, with all sorts of colourful details. I asked Minerva - Professor McGonagall - is she ever had sex with a tomcat. I asked Snape if he ever had a girlfriend, or he was the same pitiful loser since birth. I asked Filch why he hasn't killed himself, since he obviously hates everyone and everything, and therefore should have no reason whatsoever to live.

I kissed a dead monk, who happens to be one of my teachers.

I will find a nice crypt, in the dungeon, and bury myself in there - for a couple of centuries.

* * * * *

I don't have to. Dumbledore took care of all my problems in one single shot.

I have cried enough, I suppose: two days and three nights is an appropriate length of time. Now I'm about ready to start doing something else, like wrecking havoc, for example. But first I must be able to at least write it, without bursting into tears again:

I have been - expelled - expelled - EXPELLED - from Hogwarts.

* * * * *

Dumbledore said he was doing it because Harry and I would have been arrested, for Sirius' liberation, and the only help he could provide was to expel us both and take us here, to the Black's residence, where no one can find us. We are both adults, now; we can be charged, put on trial, convicted. Neither of us goes by Malfoy, as last name.

So, on my birthday, I was expelled. Happy Birthday, Hermione!

I am an adult, now - I have responsibilities. I will not keep on moaning in a lousy, stinking and hideous room - in a house I abhor - while that arrogant liar enjoys his stolen freedom. I WANT REVENGE.

* * * * *

This is much worse that it appeared to be at first and the detail that Harry and I will not be prosecuted for having helped Sirius escape doesn't make it any better; especially since we have Lucius Malfoy to thank for it. Yes, later on at the trial he declared he had seen Peter Pettigrew at Voldemort's side, and relayed the facts which led to Sirius' conviction exactly as they happened, pretending Wormtail told him the whole story, to 'tighten the grip of fear' on his throat, poor battered victim. He restored Sirius' name. I should be happy about it; I would be, were I not anxiously asking myself why did he do it. He went as far as 'pardoning' Buckbeak, since he was instrumental in saving an innocent's life.

It goes without saying that he was released, and with public acknowledgment of his courage, his commitment to the defence of our society, his blah blah blah. Professor Dumbledore had to apologize, for having captured him in a slightly rough manner, in the Department of Mystery. I always thought that our Headmaster was too much of a gentleman, for dealing with those ... well, maybe not always; when I was younger I had a lot more faith in the ultimate goodness of human nature; I used to believe that there is always hope for redemption, even in the darkest of souls. Only a year ago I still thought possible that Kreacher would have turned into a decent creature, given time and motivation. It's not going to happen. Harry saw to it, as soon as he arrived.

Also, according to Mr Liar, this house now belongs for one third to his wife Narcissa, and she (meaning he) wants to take possession of it. I imagine the house will 'accidentally' catch fire and burn to the ground, before Dumbledore allows Mr Swindler to lay his gloved hands on it. Harry could bring forth Sirius' testament - he should do it, if anything else, for the Order. Then there would be a fight over it, on grounds that it was written by an escapee from Azkaban, who by definition at the time would have had no power over land or money. Gee, I sound like a lawyer: I must have spent too much time in close proximity to Mr Big-mouth. Truth to be told [sic!], it is not too big. I don't remember making comments about his mouth, thanks heavens; I only said that his eyes are gorgeous. It was ... no. No excuses. His eyes are really stunning, the fact that he is a murderer notwithstanding. He is also a full-bloomed traitor. Ginny informed me that the atmosphere at Hogwarts is notably heavy also because Mr Malfoy senior worked his way out in total disregard of his associates, in particular of Mr Crabbe and Mr Goyle, who have been convicted with the rest of the gang. As a result, Mr Malfoy junior is on his own - for the first time in his pampered life. I would give anything to be back there - to laugh on his pale face - to corner him and try a few new spells ...

I know all this because when I was packing, in a hurry, before Professor McGonagall rushed us out, Ginny gave me one stiff piece of parchment, 'to keep in touch,' she said.

'Are you sure?' I asked. 'I don't want to end up writing to your boyfriend; it would be quite awkward,' I commented while desperately trying not to drown her in my tears. She assured me that I could have it, because he doesn't need it anymore. Which may mean either that they broke up, or simply that they have decided to come out in the open. Will she tell me, one of these nights? It is a piece of harmless gossip she could risk writing down, it's not too sensitive. I could reply by informing her that here there is at least one witch who looks happy enough: Tonks.

It will be full moon in three days, so we haven't seen Remus yet, or he too would surely have granted us a warm welcome.

This house feels so cold and dead quiet, now. At least Tonks' heart is heated by her love for Harry. Hiding in the library is not so soothing as it would be in Hogwarts, but it will have to do.

* * * * *

I'm beginning to understand what Sirius must have felt like, being locked up in this house, mutatis mutandis.

Harry has come to the conclusion that he'd better bring forth his godfather's will and fight over the house, instead of just obliterating it. Professor Dumbledore agreed that he could risk it: his popularity has never been so high, now that almost every wizard is convinced that he told the truth all along, about Voldemort, but the fear of what this actually means has not yet sunk in. So, he is back in the open while I'm still here. I am guiltier than he is: after all, it was I who took Harry on our time-adventure; he didn't even know it was possible. And besides, reckless Mudbloods are not as popular as orphaned heroes. We all concurred it is best if I stay put a little longer.

Unlike Tonks, I'm not displeased if I don't see Harry for a while, after what he did to Kreacher. She forgives him everything, even murder.

I wasn't present, when it happened: the minute I arrived I run upstairs, barricaded myself in my room and started flooding it with tears. But I was in the kitchen with Harry when Professor Dumbledore stormed in, last Tuesday. He looked hurried, old and tired. Still, he did not say anything; he stood there, fixing Harry with his deep-blue eyes, until he blew up.

'I did not kill Kreacher. Tonks finished him off.

'I thought it would have been a good target-practice.

'Must learn to do better than that, if I want to get out of that prophecy ...'

I could not believe my own ears. In fact, I had not seen Kreacher, but I thought he was hiding someplace. Harry went on explaining.

'The night we got here ... I could not sleep. I went down to get a glass of water in the kitchen. Must have stumbled on something. The old hag started screaming. I could not take it. I run to the painting and shouted back that Sirius is dead - thanks to that disgusting piece of shit of her house-elf and to other notable members of her hellish family.

'She laughed and said that he finally got what he deserved.

'I burned the painting. I could not care if the whole house went up in flames.

'While I was there, enjoying her last screams, the elf appeared out of nowhere and tried to extinguish the fire, while yelling - and moaning - and insulting -

'I wanted to kill him. For what he did to Sirius ... I wanted him to pay for it.

'Apparently that curse is not so easy to use. Voldemort must not have transferred too much of that proficiency to me, the night he murdered my parents.

'He fell, in agony. Then the crying stopped, but he was not dead, he was just twitching there, on the floor. His body was beginning to catch fire. That's when Tonks arrived and killed him. It didn't seem that difficult, when she did it. I think I figured a bit more about it. Still, if I could have some more practice - maybe you could get me into Azkaban. Bellatrix is free but there is plenty of ...'

Horrified, I left. I doubt Professor Dumbledore will smuggle Harry inside the prison, for more target-practice. I'm doing my best to refrain from judging Harry, but his words are engraved in my mind, one by one, as is the despair in his voice.

Then again, if Malfoy had killed my mother, wouldn't I ...?

* * * * *

Remus is back among the humans. I was so happy to see him, at dinner. Molly grilled a huge steak and he ate it with evident pleasure. I did not intend to stare at him; I was only delighted to see his healthy appetite at work.

'I do not eat, when I transform. You know,' he mumbled, 'meat only increases my aggressiveness.'

I was so embarrassed. I blushed to the tips of my ears.

Later on, he asked me if I needed any help with my study, since we are both here and he was, after all, one of my teachers. As answer, I blushed again. Of course I would welcome his help with my transfiguration, for encouragement and moral support, if nothing else. Will I find the nerve to tell him about it, one day?

* * * * *

Tonks informed us at dinner that this house still belongs to Harry, but very likely not for long - because Malfoy is one slick, ruthless, arrogant and unabashed scorpion.

I suggested Remus to begin booby-trapping from the attic down. Laughing, he agreed that it was an excellent idea and told me to be there after nine, tomorrow morning. He looks so much younger, when he laughs. Even Molly smiled, before beginning with the expected sermon about responsibility and the misuse of dark, if not black, magic. I'm afraid I blushed again. I felt a complete idiot - unable to articulate a logical reply. The more I am uncomfortable, the worst it gets. And then Tonks giggles, and giggles ...

* * * * *

I ended up spending the past two days with Remus, but neither in the attic nor receiving private lessons. We investigated Kreacher's garbage, instead. It is conceivable that when the elf went to the Malfoys' he might have received some spying device to plant in here, probably without knowing it, to avoid giving it up under interrogation. Needless to say, we found nothing. I still think the best way to avoid troubles is to burn the house; I'm sure Sirius would agree 100%.

Another possibility would be to ask Mr Flip-flop himself; pity I gave away to his son all kinds of details, or I could volunteer to return the favour and question him. It should be fun - I'm certain he would be surprised anyway, to see how much I have learned from the books in the Black library ... There is the Caepa Curse, for instance: it slowly dissolves the body of the victim, starting with the skin, one thin layer at the time. It can be targeted to spare the head, to keep the talking capability unaffected for a while - the screaming capability as well. I've never tried it, not even on a rat, but it's just a transfiguration spell, a subject at which I'm quite proficient. Somehow, I imagine his crying would be high-pitched, a bit woman-like.

When he interrogated me, at the trial, he was so kind and considerate. The voice, the body language - the picture of a perfect gentleman. All the contempt was in his eyes, looking down at me - without a wink - never leaving me till the end. His eyes are so beautiful: they would make a stunning pair of hearings.

* * * * *

I still have nightmares. There must still be hope for me, then: I'm not completely taken by those books, this house and all the memories stored in these walls. How could I write something so horrible - how could I have thought of it? God, I miss Hogwarts, Ginny and even Luna!

I will move back with my parents. To remain here is more dangerous than to be out there on my own.

I will have to tell them that I've been expelled from school. I will have to tell them why.

* * * * *

Everybody thinks it's a lousy idea. Why not just stay away from the library? No one likes to be in this house. Molly is a wreck. She has even lost weight (in itself, not such a bad thing).

* * * * *

As I was saying, no one will miss this house. We didn't have time for a well planned move out: thanks to Mr Slick, we only had like fifteen minutes or so. Members of the Order took care of their 'stuff', while I packed the library. I left while the flames were starting to come out from the roof.

I invited Remus to stay at my parents'. He didn't have a place to go, right away, and I feel better with him around. We have a week to come up with a suitable accommodation for a werewolf; for the moment, he sleeps in the attic.

After my explanation of why I'm not in school, followed by a lengthy exposition of a lot of other facts I was not too happy to share, Mom concluded that to have Remus stay with us is a good safety precaution. Dad is not too convinced, especially after hearing the howling part of the story. He'll get over it, I'm sure: Remus is such a nice wizard, it's impossible not to be fond of him.

Being an adult is great: now I can bewitch at leisure, even here. I need to figure what to do with the books. There is a ton of them. The best would be to dig a secret underground chamber and set them down there. Two chambers, maybe. One for furry-Remus and the other for the library. He will have to help me; this way, he can make a den the way he likes it.

* * * * *

Tonks is a half-blood. She would not be allowed to join the Death Eaters. Shame. She could help us by doing some serious damage over there. She almost got us all killed. She is so sorry. I AM SO MAD! I would not trust her to slice onions. She did not perform the correct incantation when jinxing my parents' house; I cannot believe the Ministry provides such faulty charms. And it could not have been the transformation into a bracelet: McGonagall carried it out, and she - unlike Tonks - doesn't screw up.

I was in the library, alone. Crookshanks was locked up in the den with Remus, or at least my cat would have heard him coming. When I realized there was somebody sneaking up on me I reached for my wand, but it was too late; it flew off my hand while I was sent crashing into a bookshelf. And there he was - Lucius Malfoy - looking down with contempt at me, again.

'I have more questions for you, Mudblood.' He paused, waiting for me to be scared enough, but it didn't work. I was too infuriated to feel fear. What was he doing in my home - in my library? It was quite dark. I like to have only a pair of candles lit, when I'm studying. He bubbled a bunch of glowing blue globes off his wand, which were floating about, producing dancing shadows. He was close - I could smell again his sweet fragrance.

'I was going to question you our way, but then ... you were so entertaining at the trial ... I brought some more Veritaserum ...' Grinning with malignant anticipation, he pulled a small vial out of his pocket. I was so furious. I was not going to let that cheap excuse for a wizard humiliate me again. My heartbeat was a deafening rumble in my ears. No wand. One doesn't need a wand to transform, not really.

I coiled and sprang. He dropped the vial and raised his arm to shield his face, so I bit him right over the Dark Mark, then pulled away, a few drops of that pure blood of his trickling down my throat. He was looking at me in complete disbelief. I could sense the temperature of his body rapidly falling - the wound was pouring - his face was paler than usual and sweaty.

'I will see you again ... soon,' he whispered. 'Are you sure those Muggles are your parents?' Mixing in one last smirk pain and amusement he Disapparated.

Now I wish I were still in Grimmauld Place; maybe I could find a painting of Jeremy Black and thank him - his book saved my scaly skin.

* * * * *

I am confused, and that's an understatement. Let's see:

____Good that Mr Ice-eyes forced me to transform, or I would have put it off for who knows how much longer.

____Bad that I transformed into an Oxyuranus: cute and effective as they are, this was not my choice.

***_At this point I'm not sure I will be able to turn into a wolf, as I originally intended.

____The reason why Jeremy Black devoted an entire section of his book to the subject of conjuring up poison glands was not that one needs to study the matter separately: when you turn into an Oxyuranus, the poison comes for free; it was to explain how to do it independently, and then combine it with another Animagus-transfiguration (for example, to transform into a deadly venomous mosquito).

____This means I actually poisoned Mr Lucius with a cocktail of the worst toxins known in the animal kingdom - gee, I'm so sorry!!!

____I found out that old Jeremy chose a common snake instead of, let's say, a Manticore, because this way he could kill magical beings as well as Muggles, without arising suspicions - what a nice chap!

**__I must register myself as an Animagus before Malfoy spreads the news to the four directions, which I'm positive he will do as soon as he is well enough.

____I didn't find out what he wanted with me; bad - his questions might have revealed something interesting.

____Tonks is a menace; Dumbledore must take care of it.

*___My parents know nothing about last night; shall I inform them?

*___I must find a better way to protect them, besides fixing Tonks' blunder.

____Remus smelled Malfoy's blood through the door and went berserk; his accommodation needs improvements, before the next full moon.

____Harry told me to take the books while it was common understanding that they had burn together with the house; now that Lucius has seen them, it may turn out that Narcissa wants them - if he finds a plausible explanation for having visited my parents' cellar.

____I'm almost certain Malfoy spoke to me in Parseltongue, before Disapparating, and I understood it; I must check it with Harry, first chance I have.

____I need to get back to Hogwarts, full stop.

* * * * *

After sorting all listed items in order of importance, I went back to the cellar, into Remus' den, and then transformed into a wolf - a BIG wolf - without encountering any difficulty. I should not have waited this long: it is already the fifth full moon, after I decided I was going to do it.

He hurt himself pretty badly, when trying to get out. Crookshanks was in a bad shape as well. We sniffed each other, howled together a while. I could tell he was exhausted and starved. We slept for the next day or so, which was good for me too: I needed time out to let my troubles revert to a normal size inside my brain.

What an exhilarating experience to be a wolf! I was still myself, I'm sure my thinking was not affected too much; and yet, there was a lot more, concentrated in my senses. The sense of smell, mostly. Remus' odour made me wild in a way I never faced before. I didn't do anything. I'm not sure what I would've wanted to do. Hu, maybe I do know. I need lots of time to sort that out.

Be honest, Hermione: was it all that unexpected?

Anyway, we are both back among the humans. We ate two huge steaks, more or less raw. I did not consider that aspect, when I opted for a carnivore; I used to be almost a vegetarian.

When I asked Mom if she is sure to be my biological mother she run away crying. I hope I only offended her, not that -

* * * * *

I sent an owl to the Improper Use of Magic office, declaring I'm a wolf Animagus and asking for the certification, and another owl to Professor McGonagall to inform her about it and to ask for some private counselling before the examination. I want to communicate to her the whole story, including my sneaking adventure with Malfoy; I don't want that part to come out, if at all possible. Maybe I should send a get-well note to Mr Smooth-talking, to tell him to keep quiet about it; after all, if he gets bitten again, no amount of anti-venom could save him ... it would be only kind of me to remind him.

* * * * *

The assessment will take place in twelve days, Remus is avoiding me like the plague, McGonagall will meet me tomorrow evening at the Three Broomsticks, in Hogsmeade and my mother doesn't speak to me anymore.

* * * * *

No mention of any poisoning, either suspicious or accidental, in the Daily Prophet. No report of stolen books. No deaths in the Malfoy family either. So far so good, sort of.

Professor McGonagall gave me two distinct lectures: one on transfiguration tips and one on the 'unexpected irresponsibility' I have demonstrated in this case, and so on and so forth; that before telling her what it felt like impersonating Jeremy's favourite snake. After, she was too worried about Malfoy's visit to scold me any further. Before rushing away, undoubtedly to inform Professor Dumbledore, she told me that in her opinion I should not mention I also transformed into another animal: theoretically, any Animagus can do that, it is just awfully difficult, so no one bothers.

* * * * *

At dinner I asked my mother if she would mind to watch me transfigure a few times, to train in a more stressful environment than in the cellar, by myself.

'With all your magical friends, why ask a poor woman, who cannot understand you or any of that at all?' That's what she answered.

So I told her it is true I have a few friends in the magical world - although not as many as I thought I did, I added, looking strait at Remus - but I have a few enemies as well. I told them about Mr Malfoy's visit, the whole story, ending with his comment about my parents.

'Minerva had informed me already, and I have been working on it. I corrected Tonks' mistake and added a few touches. I will show you in a couple of days, when I'm done with it,' commented Remus, quietly, while my father was walking up and down like a lion in a small cage.

'For all I know, you are my daughter, Hermione,' murmured my mother. She would have said more, I'm sure, but Dad jumped in and started cursing (the Muggles' way). I never heard him using such language. He was livid. I don't remember exactly all that he said. I'm happy I don't, because it was dreadful. Mom began crying, again. It must be the menopause, she has always been a pretty strong woman, it is not like her to break down this way. Of course, these are unusual circumstances to say the least. The best I can do is trying to forget the entire evening.

* * * * *

I can transform easily, but there is no way I can materialize more that a flimsy veil of glassy-something, while I revert to human form. Quite embarrassing. I hope the assessment will be closed-doors, at least. I will ask Professor McGonagall tomorrow night. She is coming here because Dumbledore doesn't want me to go to Hogsmeade all by myself.

* * * * *

So, I'm a certified Animagus. The most painful experience of my short and yet intense life. The transfiguration lasted altogether not more than ten minutes. The remaining four days I had to endure Bureaucracy in full regalia. Excruciating. Besides filling out dozens of rolls of parchment, I was scrutinized by wizards and witches of various departments, summoned to test: my health; my psychological soundness; my knowledge of thirty-seven Animagi-related laws Professor McGonagall gave me copies of at our first meeting; the depths of my understanding of wolves anatomy, physiology and social behaviour.

I had to solemnly swear I would not transform into any other animal, from now on. It is understood that one can try out different things, before choosing. They didn't ask - I didn't tell.

With one notable exception, I don't like wolves that much anymore.

* * * * *

Ginny wrote me that she saw Malfoy senior at Hogwarts. So my poison wasn't that bad, after all. I asked her if he looked all right - in good physical conditions, I mean - and she replied he looked the usual arrogant self, despicable and in control. Anyway, he went to visit Malfoy junior, who was in the infirmary, having been cursed senseless by unknown assailants. Ginny maintains she had nothing to do with it. She then saw Professor Dumbledore joining him. Who knows what they spoke about?

Curiously enough, this morning there was a very short piece in the Daily Prophet about the need to reform our schools, which should be places where troubled children receive proper attention and are brought back to a responsible way of life through love and understanding. Remembering that Tom Riddle went to Hogwarts, one cannot but agree ...

* * * * *

Remus showed me the security measures he has implemented to protect my parents. He sure knows his way around black magic! In fact he was an excellent DADA teacher, for as long as it lasted. I wonder how Brother Constantin is doing. I wonder if I will ever see Hogwarts again.

Harry came to visit us. Tonks was with him, officially as a bodyguard. She reiterated how displeased she was about Mr Malfoy's break in. My father didn't reply with more than a grunt. Evidently he used up all his profanities last week. The dinner went smoothly. Harry looks a lot less on edge; it seems the trial, the expulsion, even having to fight for the house in Grimmauld Place and losing have been a welcomed shake up for him. Better than sitting in a classroom, day in and day out, pretending it was business as usual and the horrors of last summer never happened.

Afterwards, I asked Harry to speak to me in Parseltongue. He was not surprised by my request, but could not do it: he still has not learned to do it at will; he does it only instinctively when face-to-face with a snake. I did not want to break my promise after just two days, so I did not transform. I may ask Mr Flipper next time I see him, hopefully (for his sake) not here at home.

On second thought, it may be easier to go to the zoo and see if I can talk to the pythons.

* * * * *

What a fun day I had! Hell knows we all needed some unwinding ...

Harry, Tonks, Remus and I went to the zoo. I had to know if just one brief transformation was enough to make me a Parselmouth, so I sent an owl to Harry suggesting a visit to the Reptilarium and he agreed, although not too enthusiastically.

I had not been there for many years, I had forgotten that muggle students take field trips: the place was packed-full; no way we could try anything without attracting attention. So we decided to wait till the end of the day, hide under Harry's Invisibility Cloak, all four of us, and then verify my communication skills after closure.

We spent quite some time observing the wolves. I wish I knew already how to Apparate: I would have sneaked inside and tested my officially certified understanding of their social behaviour. Instead, we strolled around, ate, joked and had a good time like four friends on a double date. Tonks kept making noses like the animals we were watching; not completely - just a hint - enough to stir up some laughter. Well ahead of time we returned to the Reptile House and squeezed in a corner, under the cloak Harry carries with him all the time as a safety precaution.

I have been under it with Harry and Ron before, but this time it was different: if it had been only Remus and I, no way I could have done it: I would have died of embarrassment - so close to him. And yet, when I was a wolf, we licked one another in rather private places and ended up sleeping curled together ... I can't believe I did that ... I enjoyed it ... it was natural, the obvious thing to do. I kept thinking about it, while we sat silent and almost motionless, waiting for the guardian to switch off the lights and lock the door behind him. Then we set out to talk to the snakes.

We stopped at the display where still lives the Burmese python Harry talked to a few years ago, the first time he spoke in Parsel, without realizing it. They chatted, I listened, I could not understand a hiss. Remus commented that I was forcing it too much and in his opinion that was the reason for not getting any of it. He told me to relax, think about something else, let the sounds float around me. He was right, as usual. The moment I stopped paying attention, I begun picking up bits and pieces. The snake was telling Harry that a few nights before there had been a big commotion: some wizards came and milked one of them, in the Australian section. I was grinning, so he asked me why and I told him I had bitten one very bad wizard, and those people had probably come to get a dose of the same poison to make the antidote. He was very curious, at that point, but I let Harry expose the story, while I went to the adjacent room.

She was coiled under a ledge, in a very small enclosure, my sister the local Oxyuranus. As soon as she noticed me, she tried to hide even more - a frustrating attempt, in her situation. I struggled to reassure her without achieving much; perhaps she could not understand me, I thought. When the others joined me, it was Harry's turn at trying to communicate. She must have had enough of Malfoy's associates: she sprung out and begun to strike blindly. I felt so sorry for her. Behind that special glass she could barely figure that we were wizards; she was scared and didn't have a place to run. Remus grabbed my arm and Harry's, and hastily made us leave. That part of the evening was not fun, not at all.

* * * * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Hermione,

I'm writing you, after too many failed attempts at talking. I have so much to say; I don't know where to start. Maybe from the end, by saying that I wish I was twenty years younger, and not a werewolf. You deserve more.

You are such a compassionate witch, dedicated and honest. So ironical, that you and Harry were expelled from school, while so much injustice is perpetrated every day ... inside and out of Hogwarts.

How can I tell you how much your decision to become a wolf has touched me? I was desperate: the potion was keeping one part of me under control, while the rest of me was scrambling at the door, bloodthirsty and raving mad. And you came to me, beautiful in your shining silvery fur. I know you were scared, I could smell it. But you came anyway, to my rescue, while I should have been the one defending you and your home.

We are living in a horribly dangerous world. Voldemort has suffered the loss of many supporters but, more than that, it is now public knowledge that he has returned. We can expect the unimaginable. We are sure he will not retreat at the risk of compromising his credibility beyond repair. Five months have gone by. It is time for something unbearable. I know it is coming our way.

You must return to Hogwarts, and so does Harry. It is safer, there, with Dumbledore watching over you. Don't laugh if I remind you to be careful. I'm so worried, especially after what happened with that undeclared bastard of Malfoy. Don't let you courage and your good heart doom you.

It is best if we don't see each other for a while. I need a different kind of potion, to control more than a werewolf aggressiveness, before I can look into your eyes again. It's not going to work, between us; I have been repeating it to myself over and over. I am a fool, taken by surprise by feelings I never experienced in my life. I don't know if you feel the same about me, or it is just empathy. I don't want - I must not know - please do not reply.

I love you, Hermione. I love your pure mind and your exciting body, human or animal. I wish I were young and healthy, I wish I could offer you a future. Instead, all I can offer is to make your life a little easier by remaining with your parents and do my best to protect them while you are away.

With all my heart,

Remus

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We didn't even say goodbye, because I received an owl from Professor Dumbledore, urging me to return to Hogwarts immediately, without packing, without a word to anyone. At first I was afraid something had happened to Ron or Ginny, but instead it was only a precaution.

I'm back, I should be happy. I am happy. Remus' message was waiting for me on my bed. Why didn't he say something, while there was still time? I feel like I swallowed a huge stone. He doesn't want me to write back. What if I don't see him again? It's a silly thought, he'll be all right - I hope. Divination is mostly a bunch of crap, and was never for me anyway.

* * * * *

One week of disappointments, and then Christmas Holydays will be here. I will have time to catch up with all that I should have been studying: Herbology, for instance and [alas!] Potions. Harry should do the same: study, instead of be withdrawn and depressed again.

Truth to be told, not all my lessons are a complete disaster: thanks heavens, there are Transfiguration and DADA. Good that I brought with me a few books from the former Black's library. Brother Constantin was quite impressed by my proficiency, when we practiced levitation without wand. He asked me if he could borrow Jeremy's volume, when I explained that I had learned all I know about it from its pages. And of course I've been running on all four and howling to the sun in Professor McGonagall's classroom, to the amusement - and envy - of everyone except Draco, who is not enjoying much of anything, these days.

Ginny wasn't kidding, when she told me about the depths of shit Mr Malfoy junior is bathing in. At least something good has come out of his father's acquittal.

* * * * *

Brother Constantin did not exactly 'borrow' my books, he more like confiscated them - all of them - saying they belonged to the restricted section of the library, if anything, not certainly in Gryffindor dormitory, where 'they could attract the attention of young pupils who should not be introduced into the world of magic in such perverted manners'. Yep. The one about potions would have turned the pale face of Professor Snape to a rainbow of colours - quite literally - and not just that. I wonder if our oh-so-responsible teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts will show it to him.

* * * * *

Professor Dumbledore has indeed gone out of his mind, as Ron has been suggesting all along: he called me to his office and told me I must 'help Draco Malfoy to get by, in these difficult times'. I began laughing, naturally. But he was dead serious, so I stopped and listened to the remaining of this incredible story. It turns out that Mr Lucius volunteered to submit a petition to reinstate Harry and me at Hogwarts on condition that I became his son's new bodyguard! Also, he threatened to bring out his version of my poisoning him, which would for sure gain me a sojourn for an undetermined amount of time in Azkaban, pending investigations, if I did not comply. And it's not all: to make it work, I must pretend to be Draco's girlfriend!

'I'm a Muggle-born, how could such monstrosity be conceivable?' I asked, as soon as I regained the use of my voice.

'He didn't actually use the word 'girlfriend'. You are not a minor anymore; I cannot imagine which legal action could be taken. Besides, you have seen the efficiency of our Ministry ... you cannot risk being accused of attempted murder by him, it would be suicide.

'Try to use it to our advantage, Hermione. Sadly, the Malfoys can teach you a lot, in the deceptions' department. Lucius wants to gain information ... let us play along. Perhaps it is time to start a new batch of spies. With caution, understood?'

That's what he said to me, our beloved Headmaster! In Remus' opinion, we were coming back to Hogwarts to be safe; if this is Dumbledore's idea of protection, I can't wait for the next chapter.

Furthermore, since one way of reporting our encounter would be for him to say that he was looking for his books, in my cellar, when I attacked him, I wrote Remus to find a way to anonymously ship all of them to Malfoy's Manor. Damn it! Burn them would be a lot easier, but I just can't do that to books.

Lucius Malfoy - why is he doing this? True that Draco is in a very tight spot, now that his former gorillas Crabbe and Goyle have resigned and the other students stand in line to settle over five years of scores with him. But why me? With all the pure-blood geeks who infest Slytherin Tower, why not coerce somebody else into watching his son's back? What does he want with me?

* * * * *

I'm a genius, my cunning surpassed only by my modesty: as I saw Draco, surrounded by a bunch of Hufflepuffs, in dire need of a sanctuary, my inner eye had a sudden vision of our future together - colourful, dynamic and full of smells. Smiling, I whispered, almost to myself: 'Oh ... please ... leave him to me!' They did. They all moved back, forming a well-defined circle around him, and let me through.

Still grinning, I got close to him; so close I could imagine a sweet scent, which was not there. I murmured: 'Let's go find a nice and private place where I can bite you at leisure, you pitiful heir of a glorious family.' He took my lead and forced his way out of the ring. He may be smarter than I have given him credit for. I transformed (into a wolf, naturally) and followed him, growling, pushing, chasing him through the corridors till we lost all the others.

This could turn out to be fun, perhaps.

* * * * *

No, not really.

I'm back from the most incredible and unnerving Christmas vacation of my life. That's because until last year I spent them at home, with my family - not at Malfoy's Manor.

I will sit here, in my comfortable little corner in Gryffindor's common room, and write all about it from the beginning, slowly and deliberately, hoping I will help make some sense of it.

I never finished recording what happened when Draco and I were finally alone, in a deserted and dusty corridor in the west wing. That's easy: nothing happened. He stopped, abruptly, turned to me with his wand inches from my nose and told me to disappear.

'Nobody can Disapparate at Hogwarts, you moron,' I had the presence of spirit to remark, after reverting to human form. He did not reply, so busy he was staring at me. I realized how much improvement my clothing conjuring ability still needs and did the closest thing to disappearing: I run like hell.

The next morning, five days before Christmas, I received an owl from Lucius Malfoy. The whole school knew: their owl is a huge one, impossible to go unnoticed. She landed in front of Draco, dropped an envelope, took off again, circled like a vulture for a while, waiting for the other birds to fly away, then landed by me and, as histrionic as an owl can be, delivered her second letter. A lot of fuss for a very short message:

Granger, you will be at Malfoy's Manor for the duration of recess.

Signed, as if that was necessary.

As I looked up again I crossed Draco's eyes. He had obviously received the same news and was as incredulous as I was. I put my message in my pocket and so did he.

We didn't have to search for an excuse to talk in private: Professor McGonagall requested that we stop by her office after morning classes. Professor Snape was there as well, when we arrived. We could hear him yelling through the closed door about privacy, censorship, the good old days and the rampaging hysteria brought about by the return of Voldemort. Indeed he sounded pretty hysterical, right there. We knocked and entered. We had not exchanged a word till then.

Professor McGonagall greeted us and kindly informed us she had reasons to believe we had a lot to do with the recent wave of turmoil disrupting the days at Hogwarts. She had summoned us to offer counselling and asked if there was anything we would like to share, in an environment more suitable to solve issues than the school's dark corridors. Slick move, for an old cat!

I handed the message to her. Stone-faced, she stared at it for quite some time, till our Potions Master lost what little was left of his temper and snatched the piece of paper from her.

'Well, I don't see any reasons to consider this a problem, Granger,' he started to blabber, 'especially in the light of Professor McGonagall's specific concerns,' he was still saying, when Draco, stiff as a mummy, handed him his message. Then it was her turn to rip it off his hand. She spelled it out loud, just for me. It read:

You will bring home with you your new puppy Granger for the Holidays.

It is imperative that you make it believable.

Father

Silence fell on us all. Professor McGonagall returned the letter to Draco and then addressed Snape.

'You are right, Severus. I should not fret too much about our students' personal relationships. I will leave the worrying in the capable hands of Mr Malfoy.

'If there isn't anything else, I invite you to hurry to the Great Hall,' she then threw at the two of us. 'Especially you, Miss Granger. You should enjoy a good and safe meal, while you can ...' We left, while Snape was again starting to complain, this time keeping his voice too low for us to understand a word.

'I hope my father will kill you, when he is done with you, and that he will make it very special,' declared bluntly Draco while we were walking. There was no hesitation in his voice, only pure hatred.

Hell knows how much I enjoyed explaining the message to Ginny and Ron, and then to my parents. I had to beg them not to try to interfere. Full moon coming on December 24th, Remus was nowhere to be found. Like he could have made a difference! I was not completely on my own, though: Professor Dumbledore gave me a pouch full of stinky herbs, which were going to be my breakfasts, lunches and dinners for the whole time. They were not too bad, once soaked in what I was every day hoping to be just water.

Anyway, December 23rd came and I left Hogwarts with my master Draco. We walked to Hogsmeade and used the fireplace at the Inn.

What can I say about Malfoy's Manor? Not much, actually. There is a huge fireplace in the hallway, on the ground floor, and that's were we landed. Nobody was there. Draco pointed a door to me and I went. Luckily - or so I thought at first - it led to the library. I closed the door behind me and went for the books, so relieved I could almost sing. I thought: if all Mr Malfoy wants is to have me at his house, to further the new and improved image of himself, now a paladin of the fight against Lord Voldemort; someone who could extend his hospitality even to a Mudblood, so democratic and open-minded he has become, then so be it; I would spend the time doing what I like best - reading. But it was not going to be so simple.

I was left alone for the entire day - almost alone. Occasionally, I could hear hasty footsteps; I would get a glimpse of a big nose or a pair of floppy ears. I'm sure no-one had informed the house-elves of their Master's grand plan, so they were plain disgusted and coming to see with their own huge eyes a Mudblood soiling the library of their sparkling immaculate house. The sun went down, a gorgeous full moon came out, and I was still browsing through the books. The dark magic section was surprisingly limited; the most numerous volumes were about history and economy, but not only ours: there were shelves dedicated to China, India and Tibet; Russia and the associated east-European countries; Patagonia; Atlantis. Books going way back thousands of years, packed full with details. A good third of the books were in what appeared to be native languages. I was beginning to enjoy myself, lost in my natural environment, in the soothing light of dancing white-blue globes, but then I heard the door slam shut. It was Draco, who had managed to whack the massive and heavy solid-mahogany double door. Obviously his mood had not improved, during the day. He marched to a corner and sunk into one of the leather chairs, his gaze fixed and at the same time lost, cold and utterly livid. My wand firmly in my hand I approached him, and we waited.

A while later his father walked in, silent and snotty as expected. He didn't sit down. He began speaking softly, his customary disdain barely surfacing here and there.

'Quite an impressive library, wouldn't you say? Books have always fascinated me, since when I was very young.

'I was an excellent student, in my days at Hogwarts. Curious. Experimenting new things all the time. Potions, especially.'

Curious, yes. That makes two of us, I thought. He went on.

'Early on I got into the habit of spending the weekends in one room in the garret of Slytherin Tower, to brew my special stuff away from prying eyes.

'One fateful Friday evening I was up there, mixing a concoction way too complex for a twelve years old, when all that could have gone wrong did. Toxic fumes started rising from the beaker, I could not breath, my eyes filled with tears. I clumsily tried to remove the beaker from the flame, but it blew up right in my face. I fell to the floor, unconscious.

'When I came to it was already morning. I was laying in a pool of blood, my eyes burning like hell, nauseated, generously covered by minute glass shreds.'

He had been speaking to the room, till then. Abruptly he turned to me.

'Are you enjoying this little tale of pain, Granger? It was truly excruciating, although nothing compared to the agony I suffered when you bit me over the Dark Mark. A nice touch. I have been wondering if you did it on purpose, or if it just happened by chance. I'm quite sure even Voldemort felt it.'

That wizard can bring out the worst of me so easily! I caught fire immediately and replied that I was sorry I could not repeat myself, as much as I would have liked it. Maybe I could find an acceptable substitute to poison, if he relished it so. Some horrible but safe curse that would not kill him and automatically land me in Azkaban, where I don't think I would appreciate the company.

'Go play with children your age, girl,' he spat back, arrogance and contempt shining through every syllable, again. I decided to shut my mouth and see where his little tale of childhood suffering would end. Satisfied with my silence he smirked and continued.

'I needed to clean up the mess, cover my tracks in order to carry on my extra-curricular activities undisturbed, but I was having a hard time with my eyes, still offended by the fumes. I remember using my robe to wipe out the blood from the floor.

'Suddenly, I thought I saw words written on the wooden board I was cleaning.

'A creature neither dead nor alive is the key.

'A creature with two legs, and four, and none

'Knows what to read to melt my heart of stone.

'She cannot be here.'

He paused. I was petrified, my heart pounding in my throat.

'Please, continue,' I whispered.

'I mopped the floor, sneaked back into the dormitory and with some help from the older students I plucked the shreds. I never told anyone what I read on that wooden board.

'I went back many times, afterwards; I tried all I could think. I smeared that floor with every cocktail of bodily fluids I could come up with. The writing never reappeared. Throughout the years I became convinced I had dreamt the whole story. After all, I had been unconscious for hours. But then ... a few days ago it all became clear, when I read in the Daily Prophet that you had the predictable idea of registering not as a snake but as a wolf Animagus.

'Ironical, wouldn't you say, that those words written in blood - my blood - spoke about you? You, a Muggle-born, the very kind that could never be a Slytherin ...'

At that stage I was frantically searching for an objection, anything, but Draco beat me.

'So you are going to turn her into a zombie and then lock her in here, to devotedly read you your fascinating moneymaking books. Mother will be overjoyed!'

Lucius answered first with a look filled with frustration, anger and almost as much contempt as he had bestowed upon me at the trial.

'Your persistent stupidity would amuse me, were you not unmistakably my son.' He paused, to make sure Draco heard him well, then went on to elucidate, with the patronizing tone of a very bad teacher.

'Would I have told her this whole story, if I had intention to kill her?'

I hate to admit it, but for one brief moment I felt sympathy for Draco. Hell, with a loving father like that, what can one expect? I jumped in and commented that whether it was a dream or a premonition, it could not have been about me. I pointed out that when repeating those words he had used the present tense. But the fact happened at least thirty years in the past. It must have been related to something that was actual at that time, not now - it couldn't be about me.

'Don't start preaching about time-lines ... you, of all people!' he snapped back.

'I know, as I knew then, that it was a message from ancient times, a window opened for me to see some prodigious event that would become reality only in an undefined future,' he replied. 'Furthermore, I am sure it is about two creatures: one, who could be a zombie, or a vampire, even a Dementor, is to be instrumental in gaining access to ... a place, probably; the other has to use three different forms - that of a human, of a four-legged animal and of a snake - to break an incantation. The last sentence seems to indicate that it all has to happen in a place where you are not supposed to be, like for instance here, or perhaps inside Slytherin Tower, where it all began.

'It is not my heart that will beat for you, Mudblood - although I find the notion pleasantly disgusting,' he added with a malevolent smile.

'You will remain here. I suggest you do not waste too much time sleeping, if you are to find what you are supposed to read.'

That was it. He turned around and left us there, in the library, which by then had become a cold and dark prison. The sudden realization that Lucius had no intention of killing me, as long as he was convinced he needed me alive for breaking some fantastic incantation, made me face the underlying assumption that I would probably end up roaming Slytherin Tower with Draco, while pretending to be his girlfriend, to solve the above-mentioned puzzle. Might just as well try to lay some foundation for our work together.

'Why do you let your father treat you that way?' I tentatively asked him.

'What's wrong - have you run out of house-elves to rescue, Granger?'

Having so said, he turned around and walked away.

I spent thirteen days (and nights) in the library at Malfoy's Manor. I read more pages than I normally would in a year. I did not find a single clue, neither by consciously searching nor by letting my very tired inner eye guide me through the maze of history books, economical reports and family portraits.

I'm exhausted, worried sick and out of options. Now that I've written everything down, it appears much more clearly to me that I have no idea where to turn.

* * * * *

I got my diary out, went to Professor Constantin Arkadyevich Shcherbatsky's office and read him the last entry. While I was doing so, and my voice was getting lower and lower, he kept mumbling to himself in Russian. I don't think he was cussing or anything - he is such a nice un-dead - and besides, he is a monk. When I was through he switched back to English.

'I was convinced nothing could surprise me anymore. I was underestimating the complexity of life, it would seem,' he commented dryly.

He glided to one of the cabinets, pulled out a small metal flask and gave it to me, then went on.

'That potion will keep any vampire, including myself, at a safe distance from you. In case Mr Malfoy were to change his interpretation and become convinced that his premonition relates to one creature only, not two.

'I would prefer to have the opportunity to teach you a number of specific defensive spells, before you drink it. Nevertheless, you should have it with you at all times, for safety.

'I would also favour if you did not inform Professor Dumbledore about these new developments, at least for the moment.

'A good night, Miss Granger. I will see you in class, tomorrow.'

He smiled and waited for me to leave. I'm feeling a little better; not much, just a little.