Foundations

A/N: My thanks, as always, to my alpha-readers, Anastasia, Annie Talbot, Indigofeathers, and Lady Karelia.

We're flying Air Demetrios for just a bit longer and will be landing shortly for refueling. As the plane lands, remember, should a loss of oxygen occur, a small black kitten will be provided for your comfort. Please make sure your laptops are open to their usual positions and that your seatbelts are fastened.

Summary: Things rise, things fall, and Hermione learns more about the coin.

12: Foundations

He was looking at Harry.

She scarcely had time to blink, and she was back in the archive.

-----

In the Potters' nursery, Harry and Ginny's infant son was spontaneously levitating the large, orange cat who was his constant shadow.

Crookshanks's face had adopted a more or less permanent look of resigned endurance.

His ear twitched, and the look vanished briefly, replaced with a flash of intent attention.

Then baby gurgled, and Crookshanks rose into the air.

Cats don't sigh, but if they did, he would have.

---

"... 'and the moment's gone'..."

Hermione stood in the shadowy haze of the lower archives, choking on her own breath. She reached a shaking arm to one of the shelves, which immediately stopped vibrating with song and stood firmly still.

Pressing a hand to her chest – her heart would not be still – she coughed out, "Demetrios!"

As the archive quieted, Demetrios floated up to her, still smiling.

"Demetrios, what just... I was there... I saw him..."

"What did you see, my dear?"

"I..." She couldn't get enough breath to think properly.

Demetrios gestured, and several ancient tomes on a nearby shelf scooted themselves aside to make room for Hermione to sit. "What has happened?"

She broke into a fit of coughing, and he hovered at her side, patting her back. "Inhale, my dear. Exhale. You've done it all your life; you can manage it now."

She nodded, and the coughing subsided. "I was at Hogwarts. Welcoming Feast." She had spoken too soon and burst out coughing again. "First year." She concentrated on breathing evenly until the strange feeling in her throat abated. "Demetrios, what does your owl do exactly?"

Demetrios looked at her curiously. "Why, she takes me to where I need to go."

"Through time?!"

His pale eyebrows furrowed. "Rarely, my dear... rarely... if it's really necessary, she will. She can be capricious sometimes."

"Capricious..." Hermione shot him a pale shadow of her usual wry look. "You might have warned me!"

"And she may work somewhat differently when you've a body," he answered vaguely. "I can't for the death of me recall... but, my dear, what happened?"

"I opened my eyes, and I was at Hogwarts. At my Sorting. Fifteen years ago – more..."

"You relived your Sorting?"

She frowned. "Not mine, not exactly... Harry's. I was already at the House table. Demetrios, I was eleven. I was... my legs were shorter!" She stood abruptly, her eyes slightly wild.

"Well, yes, dear, that would follow..."

"I'm serious!"

He patted her arm gently. "Of course, my dear, of course. What did you see?"

"I saw Professor Snape's expression when he first saw Harry. It was... he looked..."

Demetrios waited for her to find the word, rubbing her arm.

"... devastated? No – not devastated - destroyed. Like he was dying forever in that single moment."

He nodded soberly. "Can you think why?"

An acrid taste at the back of her throat, and she swallowed. No one – certainly no eleven-year-old child – should see another's soul that clearly – least of all his; he had hidden so much, so very much, so successfully, for so long. To have revealed so much, before so many... oh, Merlin, she'd known; Harry had told her – but she'd not realized, not really...

Her stomach dropped away, and she gripped the shelf.

Demetrios's voice brought her back to the moment. "Hermione, dear," he asked gently, "can you think why he might have looked that way?"

"Oh, I don't need to think; I know. It was because he'd been in love with Harry's Mum, and Harry had his mum's eyes, but he looked like his dad, and – well – because Harry was Harry, with everything he stood for then." Her eyes still wild, she looked at Demetrios. "I'm not explaining it well."

"Oh, no, dear, I think you've just explained everything."

She stared at him. "I have?"

"Of course, dear. This time you were eleven only physically, but tell me – at your actual Sorting, when you really were eleven, do you remember seeing Professor Snape's face in that moment?"

She closed her eyes and tried to remember. "No. No, I don't. I remember Percy looking awfully impressive with his Prefect's badge, and I remember the sky and wondering how that magic was done and who had done it. And the roar, of course, when Harry was sorted into Gryffindor."

"And Professor Snape?"

"No. No, I don't remember him all."

"There you have it, my dear." He folded his hands placidly.

"Um... Demetrios... there I have what?"

"Athena's owl took you where you needed to go to find his body. Into the past."

Hermione frowned. "But... but that's not what I meant."

"No, dear, I didn't think it was. But think what you saw this time, and why."

She'd seen her professor through eleven-year-old eyes, but the heart and mind behind them were hers as she was now. "Oh. Oh, my." She reached behind her for the shelf, the books scooting hastily aside as she sat down again, hard, blinking slowly, clutching the front of her robes. "Oh, Merlin," she said, pressing hard on her chest. In a low voice, she said, "It hurts."

"Wisdom sometimes does," Demetrios agreed quietly. "It almost never exists independent of the heart."

She nodded. Inhale. Exhale. Your entire life. Finally, after many long moments during which Demetrios stayed beside her, silent, she could breathe again.

"Demetrios?" she said finally, turning her eyes to his.

"Yes, my dear?" he asked quietly, lowering himself partway into the floor to meet her at eye-level.

"Tell me again, please, what your owl does. In theory. Not practice; theory."

His eyes sparkled. "Of course, dear. But perhaps in your office? You're rather squashing The Complete Works of John Updike at the moment, and although he was a joyful soul and is no doubt enjoying the view, I believe you're weakening the binding."

They made their way to Hermione's office.

The archive was quiet.

---

Severus had spent the morning reading Poe, pausing occasionally to mutter a critique.

"Floorboards, now a foundation... how utterly predictable," he murmured, turning a page. "Really." He flipped a few more pages, scowling. "Bloody house could have fallen six times by now."

Mimi looked up from washing her whiskers, paw hovering in the air, and the lack of motion caught his eye.

"You're not clean yet? How very inefficient."

She looked at him in utter disbelief and set down her paw. "Meee," she informed him.

He glanced at the cereal on the side table.

"Kitteh cleen. Baffs nyce."

Trying to pin her tail down for a good washing, she leapt after it several times, then fell over.

The cereal rearranged to read, "Ment to."

Severus raised an eyebrow and turned back to the book, flipping the pages to the table of contents. Perhaps if he tried the poetry it wouldn't involve bricking something up in the cellar.

---

Demetrios hung in the air next to Hermione's desk. "So. The theory, you say, my dear?"

"Yes, please." She was glad to be back at her desk. At the moment, she found its rounded metal edges strangely comforting.

"Very well, my dear." He adjusted his chiton and seemed to settle himself more comfortably in the air. "You are familiar with le Comte des Horloges, of course?"

"Hrm... no..."

"Oh, dear – of course not. Your parents are Muggles; I'm sorry... I'll be back in a moment."

He returned a few moments later with a tattered book and an official-looking scroll, the latter of which was already unrolling itself to a specific passage. He held out the book, which was entitled, Stories to Enlighten Young Witches and Wizards (Illustrated Edition).

"Not more fairy tales," she muttered.

"Not fairies, my dear."

She raised her eyebrows but took the book.

"Page three, dear." He folded his hands and waited.

Hermione's eyes raced over "The Harrowing Tale of the Count of Horloges." When she finished, she turned to Demetrios in disbelief. "They give these stories to children?"

He nodded. "Whyever not? Le Comte des Horloges created the first Time-turner in order to save his children from the Bastille, after all. Oh, I agree, it's not pleasant reading, but compared to the Spartans... and the ending is droll, is it not? All those ducks..."

Hermione nudged the book a bit farther away with a dubious finger. "Okay, so, the Count created the Time-turner based on the legend of a coin, said to have been minted by Athena herself, which was said to guide the spirit of the person she favored across distance and, if necessary, time... without unraveling history?"

"Yes, dear."

She scowled, eyeing the coin. "The Count did change history, though."

"Well, he was using a Time-turner, not the owl, and even so, he changed it only by a very little. Every wizarding child knows the story of his daring rescue." He continued, "In any case, my dear, neither twin grew up to be terribly important, and neither had children of his own."

"You know?"

Demetrios smiled. "Of course, dear. I got curious."

Hermione thumbed back through the story, the illustrations for which were quite bloody. "I think I prefer Beatrix Potter, thanks," she said drily. "But I still don't quite understand the theory behind the coin."

He nodded, and the scroll floated toward her.

She took the scroll and read it. "Interesting... the owl was actually her, not 'hers.'"

"Of course. The very spirit of wisdom."

"Whereas 'Athena's owl' is actually the coin." She looked up. "Why an owl?"

Demetrios laughed. "They can see in the dark, my dear. A simple metaphor, really... For all her caprice, Athena was usually quite linear." He swept his arm back to the scroll, and Hermione continued reading.

" '... the origin of the modern owl post'... fascinating... I'd no idea."

"So often do we inscribe our spirits in our words and send them winging toward another..." Demetrios sighed happily. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Hermione remembered her memo of the night before and blushed. "Quite."

"Which brings me to the theory. You've no doubt surmised that the coin they call 'Athena's owl' is no legend, of course. You've been holding it in your hand for nearly an hour."

Hermione looked down, and, indeed, she had her fingers clenched around it as though it contained her last, best hope. "Erm..."

"Oh, yes, my dear. It's all quite true. Athena was born from Zeus's forehead after someone hit him with an axe, and... well, Muggle literature has it – quite rightly; isn't it charming? – that she founded the city of Athens by..." His hands fluttered, then he let them fall, chuckling. "Well, it's all fairly dense... but in essence what happened was this: she swooped in, put an end to a great deal of unfortunate nonsense, and drove a bunch of caterwauling strumpets underground, enraging contemporary feminists no end."

"Aeschylus's Oresteia - yes, I saw it performed in Orange one summer. But I don't remember an owl."

"Well, owls are notoriously difficult to train for the theatre, my dear. Oh, Aeschylus tried, but he had to gave it up as a bad job. Eventually he just scribbled some lines, stuffed an actor into a basket, and hauled him into the air – a frightful racket it made, too – and called him 'Athena.'"

"I... I don't follow."

"Deus-ex-machene."

Hermione sniffed. "An awful cliché."

Demetrios chuckled. "Not the first time, dear." He hummed a few notes of something then said, "My pretty little owl moves only your spirit, not your body. Follow your float, you see." He opened his hands and beamed at her.

"So if I... follow my float, as you say, it will all come right in the end?"

"Well, no, dear, not necessarily... but things will unify, for better or worse. Athena always disliked dangling threads, you see – oh, the rows she had with the Fates over that lovely tapestry – and since she's sent you skidding around in time, and your professor has no body... I'd say there's a dropped thread involved, wouldn't you?"

Hermione's tone was guarded. "If you accept the whole premise..."

"That's the beauty of her wisdom, my dear; you don't need to accept anything. You don't need to believe in the legend of the coin, as you already know it exists. And you don't need to request Athena's favor, as it's already been granted."

"Demetrios, I... I'm really uncomfortable with this. I may be a witch, but my parents are C of E... Church of England... and... well... divine intervention just doesn't happen."

"Why no, my dear, not in this case. That would seem to be your job."

"Mine," she said flatly.

"Why yes, dear. Wasn't that your real purpose in asking for a Time-turner?" He patted her arm reassuringly. "Relax, my dear. Athena herself isn't really involved any more; her time is long past. The coin merely retains the spirit of her wisdom, minted into metal. Think of that coin you're holding so tightly as... what's the current term? Bus fare. Or perhaps a broomstick."

Which did not make Hermione feel any better.

---

Notes on sources, allusions, and other shinies... do feel free to skip these; there are rather a lot of them for this chapter. ~ A.

3. Demetrios's account of the founding of Athens and the origins of the literary device known as "Deus-ex-machene [-machina]" is taken, at least in spirit, from Aeschylus's Oresteia.

~ A.