Disclaimer: I Disclaim!

A/N: The plot bunnies have been bugging me for a while to write this one down. A long while, actually. It's been incubating, till it acquired a life of its own and took control of it. ^_^;

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Number 12, Grimmauld Place, Summer Before 6th Year

If asked, Hermione couldn't quite remember when Grimmauld Place stopped feeling like a headquarters and began feeling like home. The first time she set foot in the house, she was amazed at the contrast the silent, forbidding, ancient stonewalls made with the bustle and noise and urgency of its occupants. For all the secrecy of the place, so many people seemed to go in and out of the front door, the back door, the kitchen door, the chimney, the French windows on the east wing, and once she saw, when sleep eluded her that night, through an old rickety closet in a forgotten corner on the third floor.

She would never admit it, but it intimidated her at first, seeing all these important people gathering, discussing recent Death Eater activities, discussing preemptory measures, discussing reconnaissance, contingency plans, covert operations—war efforts. She seemed to forget all of the sudden that she encountered Voldemort in his various guises on multiple occasions, perhaps more times than any of these people ever would in their lifetime.

Slowly though, largely due to Mrs. Weasley's campaign to humanize the house the previous summer, Hermione began to feel like herself again in Grimmauld Place. She started looking forward to waking up in the morning and having breakfast Molly made in the kitchen, or taking solitary afternoon walks on the grounds when Ron and Harry were too lazy to join her. Naturally, she found herself gravitating toward the house's impressive library during her free time, helpless to resist the prospect of perusing volumes of musty books, tomes, scrolls, maps, journals and other publications that perhaps hadn't been touched for decades. Sometimes, she simply sat on her favorite spot in the library, on the floor behind one particular couch, legs stretched in front of her and her back leaning against the back of the sofa. She realized that her best ideas came to her in this slightly hidden niche, especially when she simply stared into space and let the silence wrap around her.

Like what she was doing at the moment, at about thirty minutes past two in the morning. She was clutching a book in her hands, so hard her knuckles had started going white. She found the volume a month ago in Hogwarts, thick, faded, dusty and half-eaten by termites. It didn't look much at first, but now, a month later, it had her heart beating so fast, her mind whirring with thoughts she could barely hang on to. She stared at the book disbelievingly, wondering how such an unassuming-looking thing could affect her so. But she was spared from further attempts at logical thought when the door in the library opened and the sound of muffled footsteps reached her ears. She climbed onto her knees and turned around to look over the couch to see who came in. Warmth bloomed in her chest at the sight of the familiar features of a friend. Yes, what she needed most at the moment was a distraction.

"Remus!" Her voice rang over the silence of the library. Startled, the man in question whipped his head to the source of the sound. He smiled warmly at the face he saw peeking from behind the sofa.

"Hermione, is that you? What are you doing up still?" Remus asked as he walked over to where she was. She made as though to fully stand up, but he gestured to remain as she was. "Please, you looked comfortable back there."

To her surprise, he went around the couch to drop to the floor beside her, legs crossed. He smiled at the books scattered around her, eyes twinkling as he observed, "I see you've nested."

She returned his smile sheepishly. She hurriedly tried to straighten up a bit the mess she made. "I blame it on entropy. Things simply tend toward chaos these days."

She heard him heave a heavy sigh. "Chaos, indeed," he agreed in a quiet tone. He was silent for a while. Hermione took the opportunity to study him, noting the lines on his face, his hoarse voice, the dark circles under his eyes, the painfully thin shoulders beneath the clean but rumpled shirt he was wearing. He looked older, sapped of his strength and youth and stretched thin. She morbidly wondered when he would finally snap.

He was staring hard at the floor with a slight frown on his face. Finally, he broke the hush. "Hermione, in your third year, you kept a secret for me, a secret that on so many levels must have been very hard for you to keep." He shifted his gaze to Hermione's eyes. "Do you think you could keep another one?" Her breath caught at what she saw in his eyes, a wildness that was gone so fast she wondered if it was even there in the first place.

"Yes, of course," she replied with all the earnestness she could muster. Whatever his secret was, it was a burden that for the moment had begun to be too much to bear alone. "What is it?"

"The werewolves. They refused to work with us. They said they have no desire to help a community that has done nothing for them for so long," Remus sighed and rubbed his eyes with the base of his palm. "And if that's not bad enough, I have a feeling they're all too willing to join forces with the Dark Lord. He promised them things, Hermione, things that the Ministry never gave them—never gave us."

She couldn't help but let out a gasp. What he just revealed to her was highly classified Order intelligence. She was dumbfounded at the enormity of the secret, not to mention the secret itself. The loss of the werewolves' support was indeed a blow to the Order. At this point in their campaign, they needed all the resources they could tap into, and it seemed that these days, those they couldn't reach out to not only refused to help them, but also decided to fight against them. They already lost the Dementors to the Dark, and everybody knew how the Centaurs were reluctant to involve themselves in human affairs.

Things were looking very bleak. Chaos, indeed, she thought to herself. Mustering all the cheer she could, she managed a smile for the weary man at her side. "I'm so sorry, Remus, that is terrible news. But listen, if there's one thing I know about groups, it's that there will always be a minority. There will always be that group of people who thinks otherwise, who sticks to their position, and soon will raise doubts in the majority." More confidently, she forged on. "We only need to find those people, those werewolves, Remus. And that is simply a matter of research," she finished.

Remus stared at her for a moment, before throwing back his head to laugh. She blinked at his reaction, wondering if this was Remus finally snapping. Not quite how she pictured it a few minutes ago. After a few beats, she found herself giggling along with him. "That did sound a bit too optimistic, didn't it?" She scratched her head sheepishly.

He was still laughing lightly when he shook his head. "No, no. You're the voice of clarity itself. Thank you, I needed that. I'm afraid I was, well, I was wallowing a while ago, imagine that. Where do you come up with these things, Miss Granger?"

She grinned, "I was studying muggle social psychology two summers ago. I found it in one of my dad's old college textbooks." In a more serious tone, she added, "I'd be more than happy to help you, Remus. I mean, it's just research. I do that all the time for fun."

He held her gaze for a second, before nodding. "Thank you, Hermione. Really, thank you. But I rather you won't let what I just told you affect your daily activities too much."

"No, not at all!" At Remus doubtful look, she hurriedly added, "Okay, so I get a little carried away sometimes. But that's just what I do, you know. If it weren't this, it would be something else. Might as well obsess over something useful, right?"

He still looked a little unconvinced. "If you say so. But I still prefer that you continue reading whatever it was you were reading a while ago. What were you reading?"

Hermione froze. Holy mother of God, she almost forgot about it. She looked down to see the book on her lap. Was it there the entire time? She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. "Oh, this? Ha, just something I picked up in, uh, Hogsmeade."

"May I?" He held out his hand for the book. Hermione stared at it at first, then turned pleading eyes to his face. At her panicked look, Remus frowned. "Hermione, if that's a forbidden book, then—"

"It isn't! It's not Dark, I swear!" She burst out saying, "It's just… well it's just that—fine, here." Reluctantly, she gave the book to Remus. He carefully examined the book, squinting as he read the faded title on its spine.

"'A … A Gentle Warrior'…by Henrietta Hetherington?" She could only cringe at his next words. "Hermione, could this—is it—could this possibly be a—a regency romance?"

He stared dumbfounded at a very red-faced Hermione. She almost whimpered, but instead, she sat up straighter, jutting her chin out in an attempt to look less embarrassed. "Y-yeah, that's exactly what it is. A regency romance."

For the second time that night, or morning actually, Remus threw his head back, laughing till the whole library rang with the sound. This time, she gladly noted his laughter was more genuine, without the dark desperation that tinged his earlier one. The fact remained though that he was still laughing at her. "Are you quite finished enjoying yourself at my expense? So I read regency romances!"

His laughter had subsided to giggles. "It's just that it's a bit incomprehensible, you must admit. I listen to you recite college-level texts one minute, and the next, I find you reading something written by someone named Henrietta Hetherington."

"Well, that's not her real name, you know. It's Carol Delaney. So there." She nodded for emphasis.

"And of course, that makes this so much better."

They exchanged banter for a little while more, but at Remus' third yawn, she insisted that he went to bed. At his refusal, she grabbed his hand and dragged him up from the floor despite his protests, before finally pushing him out of the library and wishing him a tight sleep. She closed the door and leaned back against it. She was getting sleepy herself, but with all the things weighing on her mind, she decided to forget about sleep for the time being.

She walked back to the back of the sofa and picked up the book in question. In her hands, the silly title rippled; when it settled, a different title was in place. Majus, it read. It was an Arabic word that referred to the old religions of Iran, of Zoroastrianism, the oldest known religion in the world. Some accounts said it referred to a particular caste of people, the Magi, who practiced shamanism, sorcery and divination during the Sassanid Era in the unified Persia. Whoever they were, Hermione was certain of one thing—they practiced old magic. It was all there in the book—how life debts were incurred and invoked, how magic was done without wands, how the blood flowing in your family's veins can offer protection, and most of all, how to make it so that a life sacrifice can protect the ones you hold dear. Hermione felt her heart beat the hardest at the last one as her thoughts flew to Harry and Ron.

She felt guilty for lying to Remus when he trusted her enough to share with her something very confidential. The book wasn't Dark, but neither was it of the Light. It was simply Old. Nevertheless, she had a feeling not many would approve of her new reading material. Let the Order keep all the secrets they want, let them reach out to werewolves and centaurs and other creatures of this world and the next, let them plan all covert ops, counter measures and counterattacks. She had a secret of her own—this book in her hands, Old Magic—and this was her war effort.

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A/N: Uwaah… look at that, I wrote something! I could do my victory dance right now. Whew. Anyways, as I know you can tell, I'm very new at writing fiction. That's why, reviews are chocolates, but constructive criticisms is LOVE. Seriously, I really want to know the areas that need improvement, tips, advice for writing fiction, etc. Also, English is a second language, so I also hope to work on my English-writing skills with this exercise.

And one more thing, I will be the first to admit that this chapter is poorly researched, HPverse-wise and history-wise. Sorry bout that, but the people who borrowed my HP books still haven't returned them yet. What I said about the Magi and Zoroastrianism could probably use a little more research. And I took artistic license when I wrote that they practiced wandless magic and life sacrifice and such. Tehe….

Luff,

smellslikecitrus