A Second Channe Through Time

CHAPTER NINE

Page count: 15

Sirius' Apartment – Friday 11th December 1981

Hermione sat cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by a fortress of blankets and pillows, while Harry slept sprawled across the soft mess like a tiny king. James, Sirius, and Remus had left a few hours earlier—Remus having downed the last dose of Wolfsbane with an expression so offended it had sent all of them into laughter. Even so, when the grimace eased into a hopeful, almost disbelieving smile, Hermione felt a weight lift off her chest. Tonight, Remus would face the moon with a clear mind for the first time in his life.

The apartment felt strangely quiet without the boys, but in a peaceful way. Hermione watched Harry sleep, his tiny chest rising and falling, a small fist curled beside his cheek. He was safe. He was warm. He would never know the burden of being "The Chosen One." He would never scream awake in a cupboard. He would never face a destiny carved in prophecy.

He'll grow up loved.
Just the way he should have.

But peace didn't erase the ever-present list of things she still had to do. In just over a week, Hogwarts would empty for the holidays, and she and the Marauders would head to the castle to destroy the first Horcrux. The cup was easy—they already knew exactly where it was and exactly how to get to it. But the ring... and the diary...

She still hadn't confirmed those.

No matter how many books she'd torn through, how many pages she'd scribbled on, she still only had suspicions. And suspicions weren't good enough. Not for this.

Hermione flopped backwards onto the blanket-strewn floor and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. "I'm losing my touch," she muttered.

A gentle chuckle broke the silence.

Hermione's entire body snapped upright—wand already drawn, eyes sharp, magic humming beneath her skin.

"Dear child," a warm voice said, amused, "please lower your wand. I am not a target."

Hermione exhaled sharply, her wand-arm falling lax as she stared at the glowing figure in front of her.

Red hair. Green eyes. A soft white dress that seemed woven from moonlight.

"Lily," Hermione breathed. "Merlin, you scared the Gryffindor out of me."

Lily laughed, the sound ringing like soft bells. "I doubt it. You have enough Gryffindor in you to power twelve lions."

Hermione actually smiled.

Lily stepped closer, her presence both soothing and powerful. "I'm glad to see how much progress you've made," she said gently. "But you seem frazzled. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Can you tell me where the last two Horcruxes are?" Hermione asked immediately.

Lily smirked. "Not directly."

Hermione sighed. "Thought not. Okay then — if I ask the right questions, you can confirm or deny?"

Lily inclined her head. "Precisely."

Hermione nodded. She could work with that.

"The diary — was it in the possession of the Malfoys?"

"I believe so."

"Is it in Malfoy Manor right now?"

"As far as I'm aware, yes."

Hermione cursed under her breath. How in Merlin's name was she supposed to get into Malfoy Manor?

She shifted gears.