Even the Stars Can Be Moved

Hermione turned over the horn in the light of her dormitory. It was slender and white--made from a fallen unicorn's horn. It was unadorned, and when she'd pursed her lips and put it to the mouthpiece for the first time, it had blown as clearly as if she had transfigured water into sound. It was a thing of beauty, and very few outside of the centaur population had it in their possession. But, as Hagrid had once been wont to say, you can find almost anything in the Hog's Head. And you got an especially interesting set when you went outside of the scheduled Hogsmeade weekends. Despite her collusion with Dumbledore and, in a lesser way, with O'Bleeke, Hermione was not above breaking a few rules if necessary. After all, you could take the girl out of Gryffindor, but not the Gryffindor out of the girl.

Going into the Forbidden Forest now more than ever constituted a broken rule. Dumbledore had taken the time to have a word with her concerning her formerly frequent excursions. Apparently the future Dumbledore was aware of her, Harry, and Ron's frequent trips into the forest and permitted them, having had a shrewd idea of what they were getting up to. And the Defense Diagram was and continued to be vital, just as all the other things that had come from rules she and Harry and Ron had broken and bent had been vital. Looking back to that moment in the Hospital Wing in third year, when Dumbledore had practically told them to break a few rules to save Sirius, Hermione wondered exactly how much Dumbledore had had a shrewd idea about.

Still, she did have a restricted access to the Forest, given that it might give her clues to her project. But going into the Forest near midnight with the sole intent of making contact with the centaurs was certainly nothing she had any hope of obtaining permission for. In fact, Hermione had a shrewd idea that her little word with Dumbledore was motivated by that last warning, a warning he'd surely given to himself. Don't get involved with the centaurs.

Hermione went to a clearing near the unicorn patch, which she knew was recognized by centaurs as a neutral territory, and blew the horn. She heard a faint rustle within minutes. It grew louder. She could hear not just hooves, not just leaves brushing against fur and skin, but the characteristic sound of leaves brushing over wood. She remembered it well. She remembered the encounter from fifth year very well. Her heart was pounding, and she forced herself to take a deep breath, knowing the centaurs could smell fear. She had prepared, after all. She knew exactly how to make contact. There was nothing to fear.

A band of centaurs broke through the remaining leaves and stood before her, arrows cocked at her. The centaur in front was a rich bronze color. She didn't recognize him at all. But there was Bane, on the left flank. He stomped the ground and snorted. The bronze one was far more composed.

"What is the meaning of this?" he intoned. His voice was deep and had a tendency to rumble. "That is a sounding horn. You know what it is for; you must also know we hold no meetings with humans. The penalty for such is death."

Not breaking eye contact, Hermione dropped to her knees. She had on her basilisk armor just in case. She took another steadying breath. "I am at your mercy," she said, and placed the horn and her wand in front of her.

"Why do you seek us out, foal?"

"She is no foal," broke in Bane. "She is fully accountable-"

"Enough-" said the bronze centaur, holding up a hand.

An idea blossomed suddenly, and she grasped it quickly. "Bane is right," she said. "I am fully accountable for my actions."

A silence fell among the group. Bane cantered to her, his arrow still pointed at her, only closer now. "Tell me how you know my name."

"I have met you before," said Hermione quietly, trying not to pay attention to the arrow. Or the fact that her face was not protected by basilisk armor..

"A lie!"

"You have not met me, it is true, but I have met you. Fifty years from now, I will meet you."

"She is a paltry human playing at foretelling the future," he said angrily.

"No," she said. "I do not have the Sight, nor have I ever had patience for human Divination." She thought she saw a bit of a smile on the bronze centaur's face. "I am from the future."

The silence that fell now was deeper than the last. The bronze centaur stepped forward. "A time turner," he said, but it was an inquiry, not a declaration.

"No. A Time Machine. One that brought me back fifty years."

"Even if that is so, which, little foal, I have reason to question, this does not answer my original question," he said.

"Please accept a gift in exchange for your time in hearing my explanation," said Hermione. She took a bag off her shoulder and lay it beyond the wand and her horn. "It is both a gift and proof of my story. I brought with me many books which have not yet been written. Among them are histories. They could prove to be vital data in your studies."

Now there was whispering among the group. The bronze centaur tilted his head to one near him, who had black fur and hair. He came forward and picked up the satchel.

"You have done your research," said the bronze. "Stand." Hermione did so. "What is your name, little foal?"

"Mione," she said.

He fixed her with a shrewd look, with not a little warning in it. "Your real name."

"Hermione," she said. "But I must ask that you tell no one, and address me as Mione, if it pleases you."

"Very well. I am called Griot." He bowed his head, and she did the same. "Now it is time, without any further delay, to tell me why you have sought us out."

It took a longer time to tell the centaurs her story than it had to tell Dumbledore. After all, what would come to pass had little significance for the centaurs, and a boy named Tom Riddle had none whatsoever for them. But Griot was very interested in the question of whether or not the past could be changed, and not a little pleased that Hermione was familiar with their philosophers and mystics.

And then there was the final question. The thing that only they had any hope of answering, however trivial a thing it may be. But it was the key to her, the only way she had of preventing Ron's death, of preventing all the deaths that had occurred on that last night in her own time. Seers had no control over what they predicted. The centaurs did have, although they rarely bothered themselves with individual's fates. They were the only ones who might be able to discover what even Dumbledore had been unable to--where Harry had been taken to after he disappeared.

*

*

Hermione surveyed the seventh year Arithmancy class as they worked though a proof Professor O'Bleeke had just assigned. She had always liked the Arithmancy classroom, and in the afterglow of her successful contact with the centaurs, she felt serene, as if the future had never happened, content that things had not yet come to pass and may come to pass more smoothly. The rustling of papers, the scratching of quills, and the keen light of the afternoon quite nearly made her content. She had even managed to ignore a certain black-haired head bent down over the proof. That is, until it came up. Tom was, as usual, the first in the class to finish. He didn't quite meet her unfocused gaze, now less serene; he hadn't since their confrontation. Hermione wasn't sure whether to regret it or not. Her response had been thoughtless and foolish, but it had served to distance him, and his presence had after all been growing somewhat claustrophobic.

After a moment, Tom furrowed his brow a bit and made a few more scratches on his paper; he usually used the extra time to suss out some of the implications if they were working on a proof. She knew what he was doing because she had done it herself. In fact, their study habits were annoyingly similar. Hermione steepled her fingers in front of her and looked down between them, now incapable of her formerly placid, wandering gaze. She reminded herself that even if he was there, would be there until the end, she had at least made the first positive steps towards accomplishing her goal, and if nothing else he served as a constant reminder of it.

Professor O'Bleeke clapped his hands together when he was ready to go over the solution. He didn't, in fact never did, ask if anyone had any problems, and one or two of the students obviously did. Hermione noted it, planning to speak to them after class if they still looked confused after they'd gone through the proof.

"Let's go over this one in steps, as the solution is a bit... abstract. Anyone?"

No one immediately volunteered.

"Riddle," he said, some tension in his voice, "you look exceedingly pleased with yourself. Dazzle us with you solution."

"The whole thing," Tom responded evenly, "or just the first few steps?"

"Well, if you're so eager, then yes, why don't you explain the whole thing to the class?"

Hermione bristled despite herself as Tom went over the first few steps. It wasn't that she felt any sympathy for Tom, but O'Bleeke's constant picking irritated her. It was as unprofessional in him as it had been in Snape, even if O'Bleeke was more genteel about it. Then she noticed, as Tom proceeded to the next step, that Tom was going about the proof very unconventionally. She quickly wrote down the steps he'd recited from his paper. Yes, it looked like it might work, but it wasn't anything like the standard solution. It drew on Velerian theory, which was a topological branch of Arithmantic theory, and the proof they were concerned with was polar... but the fields did have their overlap.

"Wrong, wrong, wrong," interrupted Professor O'Bleeke with evident relish. "As you can see from the confused looks on your fellow classmates' faces, that isn't at all how you go about it. You're not even in the right branch. If you were instead to..."

Hermione tuned him out and turned back to the proof. It seemed like it could work. She vaguely registered a quiet protest from Tom. Yes, it could work. Definitely. It was far more complex in terms of calculations than was strictly needed, making it a less elegant solution, but as Professor O'Bleeke had noted, the standard solution had some funny little abstract hurdles that some students never got over. Hermione herself had never gotten over them, because she thought the abstractions themselves were rather dubious. Tom's proof was actually a rather brilliant solution. She worked furiously to finish it, and check it, and looked up from her parchment in vague triumph. Tom was looking at Professor O'Bleeke with suppressed but resigned anger. Professor O'Bleeke was nearly done explaining the standard solution in his haphazard fashion. She waited for him to finish the last two steps. Picus Smith had his head in his hand. He'd been unable to jump the hurdle after all.

"Professor O'Bleeke," Hermione intoned as he drew the last symbol with a flourish. "The other solution is quite right."

"Excuse me, Miss Potter?"

"Mr. Riddle's solution--it's quite right. It's complex, but I've worked it through, and it doesn't have any of the complications with the abstractions."

"Well, then... go ahead with it, Ms. Potter."

Tom's lips thinned. It was an affront, after being publicly berated, to let someone else explain the solution. Hermione sighed. "Permission to use the board, sir."

"Go ahead."

All she really needed was that first step. She gave a last glance at her parchment and stood up at the board. She hadn't yet taught a class, or even proctored an exam, and she felt a bit nervous standing up in front of everyone. As she scrawled the solution on the board, however, she began to be lost in the equation. It was really quite beautiful. There were three places that required proofs to link the two branches, and each of those proofs had required no more than three or four lines. And there were quite a few less than obvious leaps of intuition. All of it rested on the brave bedrock of that first step which had linked the branches to begin with.

Hermione explained the less obvious bits as she encountered them. Years of helping her friends with their homework allowed to to find the clearest, concisest way to put things without too much trouble, and she was undistracted from solving the problem once again. When she turned back to the class, she saw no confusion on anyone's faces, and not a little bit of awe. No one had really had much of a chance to see her in action. If anyone had doubted that she deserved her apprenticeship, their concerns were likely allayed. Tom was not avoiding her gaze anymore. She turned quickly to Professor O'Bleeke, handing him the bit of chalk she had been using, and he smiled broadly at her.

"How wonderful of you to pick up on that and work it through so quickly. Well done, Miss Potter."

"It was the first step," she replied diplomatically. "Everything you need is in it."

"Well, yes. A creative solution, but not, to be sure, elegant enough to be used in place of the other," he said dismissively.

A sudden irritation flashed in Hermione. How many times had Snape brushed aside some particularly well thought out bit of her work? And why? Not just because she was a Gryffindor, but because she was Muggle-born. And she saw it clearly, now, in O'Bleeke. The prejudice Tom had spoken of.

"I think it was brilliant," she said, her irritation rather evident. Professor O'Bleeke looked taken aback. "There are three proofs smuggled into the thing, each of no more than three lines. How much more elegant can it be?"

"Miss Potter-" he said.

"I'm sorry, sir. It's merely my opinion on the solution." And with that, she sat quickly down, not daring to look at Professor O'Bleeke. The class was unusually quiet. Her heart was pounding in her ears. She had never talked to a teacher out of turn, not even Snape. And Professor O'Bleeke was her partner; it was vital to maintain a good working relationship with him. Dimly, she noticed that he had gone on with his lecture, which was fortunately cut off by lunch. Professor O'Bleeke swept coolly by her as she gathered her things. She shrugged it off, and headed for Picus Smith.

"Erm--hello, Picus. It looked like you had a bit of a problem getting the induction step," she said. Picus broke out in a relieved smile.

"Oh, yes. I just can't wrap my head around it, you know."

"Well, truth be told, I'm not sure it can be completely wrapped, actually. I've doubts about how valid it is. There's actually a proof of Kutz's that turns out totally different if you apply that sort of an induction step. Here's the more usual one, and it seems to work, although I still have some doubts." Hermione quickly jotted it into her notebook and handed it to him. He leaned over it for a moment, nodding.

"Yes, that does seem to make more sense."

"If you ever need any help, that's what I'm here for," she assured him.

"Thanks, Miss Potter. Honestly, I don't even go to O'Bleeke for help anymore. He makes me more confused when he tries to explain things."

"Yes, he can be that way," she said with a parting smile. Picus sat back down and took the induction step Hermione had written down and the standard solution. Hermione left the vacant room. Not five steps out of the door, Tom fell into step with her.

"Thanks for that," he said.

"Oh," said Hermione, suddenly finding occasion to regret her behavior even more. "It was in the spirit of intellectual verity more than anything."

"Perhaps forcing him to acknowledge the proof was, but you didn't have to say it was brilliant."

Hermione stopped despite herself, and looked, exasperated, at Tom. "Don't read too much into it."

"If you're worried I think you don't dislike me, don't. I know how true the Muggle cause is to the proud Potters. I just wanted to tell you there's no need to make a cause out of me. I had it sorted two years ago."

Hermione just looked at him. She hadn't any idea what to say. He'd read her pretty well, even if his interpretation had been misguided by her false history.

"I suppose you heard the whole thing from Dumbledore?" he asked, his expression somber.

"What whole thing?"

"My fifth year."

Her heart skipped a beat. Was he alluding to the Chamber of Secrets? No, he couldn't be. "I don't--I've no idea what you mean."

"Then how do you know I'm a half-blood? As far as I know no one speaks of it anymore, and if they do, I'd like to know."

"Why wouldn't they speak of it?" But he was right. She'd never heard anyone reference that bit of information about him, and people did tend to talk about Tom Riddle.

"I've taken steps to ensure it."

"Steps?"

His voice because cold and smooth. "Would you stop repeating fragments of what I'm saying and please tell me who told you of my lineage?"

Hermione answered the only way she could. "Dumbledore."

"Yes, I thought so. He told you a lot about me, didn't he? All pity and wariness, wasn't it?"

"Tom, I don't--"

"Yes, don't. I don't need sympathy or pity, and for that matter I don't need any judgement about how I took care of it either. I'm not proud of being a mudblood like some of the others--frankly, I'd be happy if there weren't any such things as muggles, but all the same it does require extremities to make a place when there isn't one there for you."

His face could rival Victor Krum's for intensity, that was for sure. "Extremities," she said softly, "tend to do more damage than patience, and clear-headedness, and a bit of strategy do. You may find extremities have a way of carving out a more precarious place than the other way does." She let out a breath, and stepped back from Tom. She could practically feel his warmth, and he was five feet away from her. His expression had softened, bore evidence to listening, and she wasn't even sure what they were talking about. She nodded. "Good day, Mr. Riddle," she said. And couldn't help notice the look of distaste at hearing his own name.

Tom smiled as he watched her depart. Like tended to draw like; the way to obtain information, particularly when you didn't want it known that it was being obtained, was to offer information. Although he wouldn't have anticipated Mione would provide such an opening. Lord Voldemort had been right; prying into what she knew of him would be interesting. For all Mione Potter seemed to know him, understand him, she was ignorant of Pendrake Malfoy's little stunt, ignorant of Tom's use of the Imperius curse, and ignorant of the greater part of his doings with his companions. And that certainly didn't match up with her wariness and aloofness, not even if Dumbledore had provided a warning. And that bit about extremities, as though she were alluding to something... And she was right, wasn't she? He'd read Machievelli. If one uses extremities to secure a place, one is obligated to continue their use to secure it. And then, in a flash, when Mione's figure was small in the distance, two puzzle pieces came together, and he could see a partial image of the whole.

Whatever Mione Potter had come to Hogwarts for, it had something to do with him.