To Make Much of Time

Hermione ran down the corridor as fast as her feet could carry her until she came to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his dancing trolls. She closed her eyes and thought as hard as she could, I need to get into the portraits.

To her great relief, the door appeared and she slipped gratefully inside.

Inside the Room of Requirement, she found a wardrobe filled with dozens of gowns in every imaginable style and fabric, a fancy vanity with a lit mirror and all the cosmetics she could ever want, and rows upon rows of shoes. However, Hermione barely registered this- she was staring at a beautiful portrait of Merlin, from whose fingertips fireworks were shooting.

Her vision blurred with tears. She'd found a way back.

"Excuse me," she said to Merlin politely, "I was wondering if I might enter your portrait. I won't be staying for long, I'm going in search of a friend."

Merlin examined her over half-moon spectacles, and she felt as if she were standing before Headmaster Dumbledore. "Well, I suppose, as long as you promise not to get into any mischief."

"I have no interest in mischief," she said. "I only want to take my friend to a Ball tonight."

"Very well," said Merlin. "I am curious as to how you expect to enter."

"Just like this," said Hermione, and recited her poem.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione leapt into Alan a Dale's arms, and he spun her around, laughing.

"It's so good to see you, lass!" he cried.

"I've missed you," she replied, grinning. "You look particularly dashing tonight," she said, admiring his green velvet tunic.

"Well, I am escorting the Falcon to the Ball," he said with a courtly bow. "But my dear, you can't attend the Ball dressed like that!"

"There were some dresses back in the Room of Requirement," she said. "I thought I'd use one of those."

"I think I might have a better solution. Try this on for size." Alan held up a white gown of fine lawn. It was simply cut and contained no adornments beyond the belled sleeves, which draped nearly to the ground.

Hermione ducked behind a bush and slipped the dress on. It fit like it had been made for her. "It's perfect. Where did it come from?"

"Marian said you could borrow it this evening."

"If I'm wearing this, what's Marian wearing tonight?"

"Robin," replied Alan with a grin. "A number of us have rather got into the mingling spirit that the Headmistress mentioned."

"Please tell me that's not what you expect, you great flirt," said Hermione. "I asked you strictly as a friend."

Alan roared with laughter. "What, d'ye think I'd go with you tonight if my fair Ellen hadn't given her blessing?"

"And exactly what will Ellen be doing tonight?"

"Lesson number one about a successful marriage," said Alan. "It's not based on questions. Come, lass. Let's get you ready."

O Falcon fine, above us flying,

No, really, Sir Gawain, it's beautiful, but I couldn't possibly take it."

"For quat gome so is gorde with this grene lace, while he hit hade hemely halched aboute, There is no hande under heven to hewe hym that myght, for he myght not be slayn for slyght upon erthe," said Gawain with ceremony, offering the green silk kirtle to her again.

The green knight patted Gawain's shoulder with a huge hand and gestured for her to take it.

"Go on lass," said Alan with a grin. "The color suits you."

"Really?"

"Aye, you should always wear green."

Hermione blushed and bowed to Sir Gawain. "Thank you, Sir Gawain," she said. "I'll have it back to you tomorrow morning."

Alleviate our ceaseless sighing,

"Smaug," said Hermione sternly. "I can't possibly wear all of these. I wouldn't be able to move to dance."

"But I have so many emeralds," wheedled Smaug. "I'll tell you what, you just take the ones set in platinum."

"The earrings, the necklace, and one bracelet, and that's final," said Hermione.

"But the whole effect is spoiled if you don't wear the tiara! What do you think, Alan?"

"I've never been to a Ball with the crown jewels of Gondor before."

"Fine, I'll wear the tiara," said Hermione, weary of haggling with the dragon.

Smaug looked very pleased with himself and leaned down to give Hermione a warm, sulfurous kiss on the cheek. "You'll look so lovely in them. I'm so glad I finally have the opportunity to dress someone. I never had a dragonet of my own, you know."

"You're too good to me, Smaug."

"Pshaw. That was the scratch to end all scratches you just gave me. Even if I never saw the jewels again, it'd be worth it."

Set thy sword and scabbard down.

If there was one thing to say for Alan a Dale, it's that he knew every woman in the portraits, and they would all do just about anything for him. Even Scheherazade paused in her tales for Sultan Schahriat to bid the sultan's courtesans to attend to Hermione.

She emerged from the steamy hamam squeaky clean, buffed, and with artfully smudged kohl lining her eyes. Alan whistled approvingly.

"Are ye ready, lass?"

"I feel like a piece of spaghetti," she replied with a contented sigh.

"Excellent!" said Alan. "No shoes tonight?"

"I'd rather not," said Hermione. "Women's shoes never have any traction. I'm not so good a dancer that I'd risk it."

"Ah, but I am," said Alan, spinning her.

Thrown off balance, Hermione instinctively pulled away and dropped into en garde.

"Sorry," she said, coloring.

"I wouldn't have you any other way, lass," said Alan, tweaking her nose.

Between thy wings and claws concealing,

"I really don't know what you expect me to be able to do for her," said the lady with a flutter of her golden lashes. She raised a tress of Hermione's hair, extended it to its full length and let it bounce back.

"I'm sure you and your sister will come up with something," said Alan. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've had a pain in my leg, if your charming doctors can be persuaded to examine it."

"Yes, yes," said the lady absently. She clapped her pretty hands twice. "Dingo?"

"Yes, Zoot?" came another musical voice.

"Bring what you and the girls have been knitting today, and every comb you can lay your hands on."

"Yes, Zoot!"

Beats thy heart, its strength revealing

"Thank you very much, Master Merlin, for allowing us passage through your portrait," said Alan, seemingly perfectly at ease addressing the greatest wizard of all time.

"It's no trouble, my boy," said Merlin, who turned to Hermione. "Be sure you have him back no later than midnight. I am concerned about the ability of a complex oil-painted construct to exist outside for more than a few hours."

"Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained," said Alan. "Besides, the Green Knight had my head off once, and I just reappeared back in Sherwood Forest a moment later."

"Very well," said Merlin.

"Repeat after me, Alan."

Merit worthy of renown.

Hermione opened her eyes and was much relieved to find Alan standing beside her. She tentatively reached out and touched his arm.

"You're real," she breathed.

"As a fiddle," said Alan. His merry face fell. "Oh drat. I meant to bring my lute with me."

"Well, look," said Hermione, gesturing to the wall of the Room of Requirement, which contained a wide selection of stringed instruments. "Can you use one of these?"

"I could," said Alan, tone clearly indicating that he'd rather not.

"Let me get it for you," said Hermione. "I'll only be a moment."

"Nonsense, you're all prettied up," said Alan, making for Merlin's portrait. "It was my flufflebrain what made me forget it, I should be the one to fetch it."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," chimed in Merlin, fingertips glowing red for emphasis. "By my calculations, the stability of an oil construct will significantly decrease in direct proportion to the frequency in which said construct crosses the threshold of the frame."

"What?" asked Alan.

"He says jumping back and forth is bad for you," translated Hermione.

"Please, Alan. You've been so good to me already. Let me do this for you."

Alan considered her. "Very well, but take this with you." He offered her a sword that Hermione swore hadn't been there before. "You never know who you'll meet."

She took the weapon. "I'll be back before you know it."

Alan was perusing the array of music books on the shelves. "Take your time," he said absently.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

For the first time in her adventures in the portraits, Hermione had to admit she was lost. She knew she'd made a wrong turn at the Faerie Queen's portrait, but now she was in an empty portrait with no idea of where to go, and she was furious with herself. She had gotten Alan a Dale's lute with no trouble, but had foolishly decided to visit Snow White and Rose Red, whose portrait she'd only visited once before.

Having ventured into the portraits without her copy of Hogwarts: An Art History, she was feeling utterly foolish. There was no one useful to ask, at least, no one that she could understand, and she wasn't keen to run through the London fire again. She didn't want to think what her hair would have looked like had Zoot and Dingo not fastened it so firmly to her head.

She steeled herself. There was nothing to do but keep moving. Eventually, something would look familiar, and she'd be able to find her way back to the Room of Requirement. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the darkness in the center of the portrait.

In the distance, she could make out a tiny point of light, which gradually widened into a broad light. The sound of hushed voices reached her ears. She came up behind a portly wizard, who shushed her emphatically and went on listening at the edge of his frame.

It didn't take her long to figure out why.

She'd arrived in the portrait of a former Headmaster, and he and all the other former Heads of Hogwarts were listening intently to a meeting of the Heads of House and the current Headmistress. Professor Snape was speaking, still in the register of a choirboy, but the others looked deadly serious. Professor Snape's clear treble carried easily to Hermione's portrait.

"-horrible Umbridge woman offered MacNair a sizeable bribe to see that Miss Granger was to be the next target."

Professor Sprout gasped. "She wouldn't."

"You saw her, Pomona," said Professor Flitwick, voice unusually grave. "And from what Severus has said, sacking Sibyl was the least of her crimes."

"If it was a crime at all," commented Professor Snape.

The Headmistress turned her snicker into a cough. "We've been through this already," she said, "and we all agreed that this was the best way to draw their attack. The greedy blackguards couldn't resist. Filius, you did sell them tickets, didn't you?"

"I did, and it was all I could do to keep from casting a Dysfunctus Charm on them."

"We applaud your restraint," said the Headmistress. "Pomona, have you erected your barrier?"

"Indeed, I have," she replied with a small smile. "A wall of thorns sixty feet high and twenty feet thick around the castle, even the towers. Nobody will enter tonight without our knowing of it."

"Excellent," said the Headmistress. "Filius, is the Enchanted Sleep Spell in place, should the unthinkable occur?"

"Of course," squeaked Professor Flitwick. "I set it even before spiking the punch bowls. It wasn't difficult to alter the spell from pricking one's finger to fingering one's-"

"Yes, yes. Well done," said the Headmistress. "Severus, is there anything else you can tell us about the men you expect this evening?"

"Malfoy will be the easiest to spot," he said. "He can't bear to conceal his hair for love or money. MacNair will probably have a long knife of some kind- it's his preferred weapon. The vital thing is that we watch Miss Granger like hawks." The baleful look at the Headmistress made Hermione gasp.

"Yes, your objections to the plan have been noted, Severus," said McGonagall tartly. "But if the girl saved you from the goblins, I suspect she'll be fine against a few out-of-shape dark wizards, especially given the number of powerful wizards and witches protecting her."

Professor Snape seemed to be considering additional comments, but he bowed his head. "As you see fit, Minerva."

"Good," she said, with a hint of a frown in the corners of her mouth. "Pomona, you and Filius will be stationed on either side of the entrance to the Great Hall. Be sure to inactivate any Portkeys that come through the door. Severus, you will mingle with the students. Stay as close to Miss Granger as necessary. I will be stationed next to the bandstand, appearing to keep an eye out for unsanctioned behavior. I will have your back, Severus." She looked at the other Heads. "Have you any questions before we take our places? Then let's be on our way. And Severus?"

He turned to face the Headmistress. "Try not to say anything. It'll exponentially increase your chances of remaining close to Miss Granger."

The other three left the office, leaving McGonagall to put the finishing touches on her costume. She removed her square glasses and put vivid blue streaks on her face with artful waves of her wand. She released her waist-length hair from its customary bun and teased it into disarray. She removed the wrinkles from her tartan sash and kilt and grabbed an enormous two-handed sword from the suit of armor on her back wall. Even her mien seemed altered, which would not be impossible, given the Headmistress's skill at Transfiguration.

The portraits on her walls stared at the transformation, and even the statue of Atlas on her desk lost his grip on the world, and it tumbled across her desk.

The Headmistress turned and looked at the statue, not unkindly. "You dropped your rock," she said as she swept out the door of her office.

Hermione watched her leave, mind in a whirl from what she'd overheard.

"Excuse me, sir?" she asked the gobsmacked wizard in the frame with her. "Can you please tell me the quickest way to the Charms section of the Library?"

"Oh!" he said, noticing her at last. "What the devil do you want to go there for?"

"I need to see a friend immediately. What's the best way?"

"Well, my portrait will put you on the wrong side of the Library," said the man. "I'd advise you to sneak through Armando Dippet. His portrait will drop you in the Dungeons, but going straight up from that portrait will put you right where you want to be."

"Perfect. Thank you very much for your help, Headmaster."

The polite address earned her a searching look. "What did you say your name was?"

"Hermione Granger, sir." To her dismay, the wizard began singing the song Alan a Dale had written about her.

"Granger? Really! How marvelous! O Falcon fine, oh something something, do something on our something sighing... Curses, what are those words?"

"I really couldn't say, sir," said Hermione. "Thank you for your help, sir. Goodbye!"

She clambered across the curious portraits of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses until she came to Armando Dippet, who appeared to have slept through the meeting.

Not wishing to wake him, she slid to the back of his portrait and disappeared into the darkness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Took you long enough, lass!" chided Alan when Hermione finally reappeared in the Room of Requirement. "I'd begun to think I might have to send Cadogan after you!"

"I'm sorry, Alan, but there's been a change of plan. I overheard an interesting conversation."

"And here was I, working on a lovely descant for your song on sopranino," he said, pulling out a small wooden recorder. "I almost didn't need my lute. But since you've brought it, t'would be churlish to not play. Now tell me lass, what sort of conversation did you hear?"

"It was the Headmistress. You were right, she-" she paused. "Hold on a moment, what did you say you were working on?"

"A descant for your song on sopranino recorder," explained Alan, holding out the instrument for her examination.

"Sopranino," she repeated, eyes alight. "What are the names of the lower recorders?"

"There's the soprano, or descant, the treble, the tenor, the great basso, the contrabasso, the subcontrabasso, the sub-subcontrabaso, and the octa-contrabasso, but that's entirely too big for anyone to actually play. But what's all this about my being right?"

"Contrabasso," repeated Hermione. "That must be it. I'm sorry Alan, as I was saying, you were right. The Headmistress does have an ulterior motive. Tonight's Ball is a trap to catch the criminals behind the attacks on girls."

"A trap?" said Alan with a frown. "And all the girls are to be bait?"

"No," said Hermione. "Just me."

Alan gaped at her for a moment. "You cannot be serious, lass."

"Perfectly serious," said Hermione grimly. "They never would have told me, either. They would have let me go tonight without the slightest idea that I might be in danger."

"If that's true," said Alan solemnly, "then it speaks poorly of them all."

"I don't disagree," said Hermione, "and that's where my plan comes in."

"God save us from your brilliant ideas," said Alan, only half seriously. "What should we do, then?"