She sat alone in a far corner, listening to the others talk with a strange sense of Déjà Vu
Hermione sat alone in a far corner, listening to the others talk with a strange sense of déjà vu. She had heard all that before, countless times, and she knew she would hear it again soon.
Her eyes absently surveyed the room, unconsciously searching for faces she knew weren't there; faces she would never see again.
So many had been lost over the years, so many lives destroyed in a war that seemed to never end.
Her eyes darted back to Dumbledore as he stood up and began speaking, looking at each of them in turn with blue eyes that had lost their twinkling light years before.
They had lost two more the previous night, he informed them. Fields and Burrows. She had barely known them.
In the last few months, many witches and wizards had joined the Order, the decision spurred, in most cases, by the loss of their loved ones. She knew only a handful of them.
For strategic reasons, and to try to keep them safer, Dumbledore had decided to split the Order into smaller groups, each acting independently most of the time, so that only he knew who all of the members were, and what they were working on.
As one of the Order members, Hermione usually took part on the general meetings, along with the remaining members of the original Order, and only met the heads of the smaller groups.
"It is a terrible loss," Dumbledore said solemnly, but they did not die in vain; not only did we gain important information through their work, but we also gained new members for the Order, new fighters for our cause; their brave friends and families."
She heard a few members nod and mutter in agreement, and saw a few others wipe away stray tears, but she couldn't bring herself to feel either way. She had seen too much, lost too much, and the cynical part of her saw a different meaning behind Dumbledore's words. To her, more Order members could only mean more losses; hadn't they already lost enough?
"Are you all right?" someone asked in a soft tone, sitting beside her, and she turned around to face Bill Weasley.
"Yes," she simply replied.
"Did you know them?"
"No, not really. I had only seen them here a few times."
"I worked with them on a few missions," he said, turning back to Dumbledore, although she could see he wasn't really looking. Lost in thought, he spoke again. "They were good wizards; good men."
"Those always seem to be the ones to go first," she replied.
"Sometimes, I wonder if we should even bother," he said softly, when his eyes fell on his twin brothers. "How much worse could this get?"
She didn't want to answer to that, because the truth was, she had wondered that very same thing more than once.
"They will be all right," she assured him, as she watched Fred and George, sitting in a dark corner, away from everybody else, their faces pale, their gazes lost. She couldn't remember the last time she had heard them laugh, or even seen them smile.
"Will they?"
"Hermione," Dumbledore called, just as she was about to answer. She hadn't even noticed that the meeting was over and the others were already getting up.
"Of course," she said, walking through the small crowd as she followed him out of that room and into another one.
"What did…"
"Just a moment," he interrupted, closing the door behind her and warding it against both unwanted visitors and eavesdroppers.
"Sit down," he finally said after a moment, putting his wand away and motioning for the sofa by the fireplace.
"What is it, sir?" she asked, beginning to feel worried. What could he possibly want with her that would require this kind of privacy?
"I am sure you have noticed the fact that many of our missions seem to be failing, as of late," he said, and she nodded. "The losses to our side have increased."
"As have the number of new members."
"Fortunately for us," he said as he sat down across from her. She was about to contradict that, but decided to remain silent. "There are a few things I have noticed myself, as well," he continued, "and although I wish I didn't have to burden you with this knowledge, I am afraid I have to. You are the only one I can trust with this information."
"Information?" she asked, wondering why he believed she was the only one he could trust with it.
"I have come to the conclusion that there is a spy amongst our lines," he said solemnly, his eyes searching hers, trying to measure her reaction to his words.
"A spy?" she repeated, shaking her head slightly. "But I…who?" she finally managed to ask.
"I do not know; that is why I will need your help."
"How can I help?"
"I will need you to keep an eye out for me; you are more likely to notice something strange in one of them than I am. Whoever the spy is, they will be careful around me, but they might let their guard down around another Order member."
"Do you have any idea of who it could be?"
"I do have my suspicions, but it will be better if you are not influenced by them, or you might bypass someone else's behaviour."
"What do you want me to do, if I notice something odd?"
"Nothing; you are to do nothing on your own. If you suspect someone, then you must come to me immediately, and I will do what I consider necessary."
"Just come to you?"
"Yes. It is of the utmost importance that this matter remains between us. As I said before, you are the only one I trust at this moment, and we have to prevent anyone else from learning of our suspicion, or the spy might get away," he said firmly. "Do I have your word that you will do as I ask?"
"Of course," she replied firmly.
"Thank you," he said, slowly getting back up and lifting the wards on the room so that they could leave.
Not sure of what else to say, she silently walked out of the room and into the main hall. Most members had left already, and the few that were still there were sitting around the kitchen table, eating sandwiches.
With a pang of pain in her heart, she remembered what meals at headquarters had been like, back when Molly Weasley had still been alive. She could remember the delicious food the witch always made for them, and the cheerful mood they were usually in as they ate. For those few hours, nothing else mattered; they forgot about war, about their missions, and just had a good time together.
Those days were long gone now, the happiness all but forgotten as they made their way through the days, wondering if they would live to see a new one.
"Are you all right?" she heard Kingsley ask from behind her, and she blinked back the tears the memory had caused before turning to him.
"Sure," she replied simply. They both knew that wasn't the truth, but there was no need to say that out loud.
"You miss them, don't you?" he asked, his dark eyes fixed on hers, his expression calm and reassuring.
"Very much," she said, her tone broken.
There was no more need for words, no need for false reassurance that everything would be all right. Kingsley knew how she felt, because he felt the same way. He had lost people he loved as well; they all had.
"He would have hated to see us all like this," he said.
"Like what?"
"Defeated. He would have wanted us to fight; he would have wanted us to have hope."
"Probably," she said, feeling the tears run down her cheeks.
"You can't give up, Hermione."
"I know," she replied, taking a calming breath and wiping the tears away. "But sometimes I wish I could," she added in a whisper.
She couldn't say anything more or she would break; the strings keeping her together had become too weak. But she knew he understood, knew he wouldn't be upset when she turned around and walked into the kitchen without another word. He understood because he, too, often felt the same way.
"Hungry?" Fred asked when she sat beside him, and she shook her head, moving closer to him and resting her head on his shoulder. He was slightly taller than Ron had been, but it felt just as comfortable.
"Eat," George said, sitting on her other side and handing her a sandwich.
"Not hungry," she muttered, leaving it on the table before hooking her arm with his and pulling him to her.
"You look tired," he said. "When was the last time you slept?"
"When was the last time you slept?" she asked back, and watched him shrug.
"Do you need me to brew more Dreamless Sleep Potion?" she asked them both.
"We still have some left," Fred replied. "It doesn't help much."
"I know," she said.
She had dreams too, nightmares so vivid she often wondered if she was really asleep. The images of those she loved dying, the guilt of knowing she hadn't saved them, although there had been nothing she could have done…no potion took that away.
She didn't bother with words of comfort, and neither did they.
"We are going on a mission tonight," Fred said after a moment.
"Where?"
"Salisbury," George replied. "Dumbledore thinks there will be a Death Eater meeting in an old monastery there in a few days, to recruit more wizards, and he wants us to go and see the place, so we will know it well enough to set them up after the meeting."
"Who is going with you?"
"It will be just the two of us; it's only a reconnaissance mission, nothing dangerous."
"Those seem to be the worse ones," she said, her gaze resting on Tonks, across the room.
"We will be all right," Fred assured her.
"And so will she," George finished, following her gaze.
The change in Tonks had been as big as the change in the twins. The witch was merely a shadow of what she used to be. Her hair was black now, and her eyes always bloodshot, as if she spent her nights crying instead of sleeping. That was probably what she did.
It had been three months since Remus' death, on a mission that, like the ones the twins were going on, had seemed hardly dangerous. But there had been 'complications', and he had been lost, along with the two others that had gone with him. Ever since that day, Tonks had gotten worse, instead of better. She rarely talked to anyone, and moved around the house so slowly she didn't even stumble or trip anymore. She was like a ghost, going through the days without hope.
She tore her eyes away from the witch, feeling the memories of her own loss return to her. She had been so close to ending up like Tonks, so lost in the pain and sorrow, she still wasn't sure how she had managed to move on. Perhaps it had been the fear of losing herself that had actually saved her, if that was what it could be called. She hadn't broken down, hadn't allowed herself to, because there were others that needed her, there were things that had to be done. She had forced herself to keep on fighting, if only for the memory of those that couldn't fight for themselves anymore.
But she was tired, like they all were, and she wasn't sure it was worth it any more. What was there to gain, after all? What would be achieved by finally winning? They had lost most of what they had been fighting for, and had also lost themselves along the way. Would things really change through victory? Could they ever recover, move on with their lives, or would they simply continue to fade away? The thought of another life seemed impossible to her, thoughts of a fool, a utopia so strange she couldn't even dream of.
"Hermione," she heard Fred whisper gently into her ear, and she pushed those thoughts away as she tilted her head slightly to face him.
"We should get going. There are a few things we still have to do before we leave."
"When will you return?"
"Tomorrow afternoon, probably."
"You'll be careful, won't you?"
"Of course," Fred said, and George nodded in agreement.
"Be good while we're gone."
"I will," she said, with a small smile.
Who would have thought they would ever get so close? She had thought them nothing but pranksters, as smart as she knew they were, and they had always thought her bossy and opinionated. Now, they were almost all she had left, their family, or what was left of it, had become her family, and she couldn't imagine her life without them. It was strange how pain and loss could bring people together.
She hugged them tightly, as she always did before they left on a mission, and watched them leave, wanting nothing more than to see them return safely.
She had a mission of her own that night, but she hadn't told them, not wanting them to worry about her. She hadn't told anyone in fact, deciding against it after what Dumbledore had just told her. If he was right, if there was a spy among the Order members, then she didn't want to risk alerting them.
She had followed a Death Eater after a mission a few nights before, and had found out who he was and where he lived. She had been keeping tabs on him since, using a tracking charm she had created for when he Apparated away. She knew it was just a matter of time before he led her somewhere important; a meeting perhaps, or even their headquarters. Either way, she would get something useful out of him. She just hoped she wouldn't have to resort to other tactics, such as Unforgivables.
A few minutes after the twins left, she did the same. She considered telling Kingsley where she was going, perhaps ask for some back up; he was, after all, the team's leader, but what good would another person do when simply tracking? She could ask for help if she needed it; there was no point in keeping someone with her when they could be doing other useful things for the Order.
It was raining outside, the wind blowing so cold it made her shiver even under her thick cloak, the crescent moon barely lighting the night. She was hidden behind a parked car, not wanting to get any closer in case they might notice her. Reaching inside her pocket, she retrieved a pair of Extendable Ears she always kept with her and put them to her ear, the faint voices suddenly becoming much louder.
She had been tracking the Death Eater, Mulland, since she had left the Order's headquarters, and just as she was beginning to think following him was nothing but a waste of time, something strange happened.
The wizard Apparated away and she activated the tracking charm to follow him, but when she got there, he had Apparated again. He was clearly trying to make sure no one was following him, and only seemed to be satisfied after the fifth Apparition. She was glad the charm had proved untraceable so far.
She was surprised to see the Death Eater's final destination seemed to be a dark, deserted alley in what looked like a Muggle town. Not wanting to be seen, she had crouched behind a car parked across from where they were standing. The night was so dark she couldn't see who the others were, but she didn't want to risk getting any closer to them. They were, after all, three Death Eaters, and she didn't know if they were expecting someone else.
After ten minutes of listening to them, she was beginning to wish for a cup of steaming tea and a warm bed. She was cold, her clothes were soaked through, and her muscles sore from crouching. She didn't want to risk them finding her, so she hadn't even cast a charm to protect her from the rain.
Why on earth had they met there? Ever since Mulland had Apparated there, they had been talking about the weather, their families, even the news they had seen on the paper! Were these not self respecting Death Eaters? Shouldn't they be talking about death and pain and evil, and perhaps openly, and loudly, discussing their plans of attack, if only for the benefit of the poor witch spying on them under the rain?
But luck didn't seem to be on her side that night, or that was what she thought until the topic of conversation suddenly changed.
"Where is he?" one of the Death Eaters asked gruffly.
"He should be here by now," another said.
"The Dark Lord told us to wait as long as we had to," Mulland told them sternly. She couldn't recognize his voice through the Extendable Ears, especially not with the wind blowing around them and noise the raindrops made when they hit the car in front of her, but she knew he was the one standing to the left.
"Well, he better bring us some good information on those Muggle lovers, or I swear I am going to hex that bastard half to death for keeping us waiting here under the rain."
Muggle lovers? Information? Could they, perhaps, be waiting there to meet none other that the Order's spy Dumbledore had told her about? Could her luck have suddenly changed so abruptly? Well, if so, that Death Eater definitely wouldn't be the only one to hex the spying bastard that night.
Feeling her heart beat faster, both at the possibility of finding out who the spy was and the rage of knowing someone had betrayed the Order, she tightened her hold on her wand and crouched even lower. Suddenly, neither the wind nor the rain bothered her anymore; her focus was solely on the man standing across the street, and on the one they were expecting.
"Well, it was about time," the Death Eater with the gruff tone said, and they all turned to the figure that had just Apparated a few feet from them.
"What the hell took you so long?" Mulland asked, as the man walked closer to them. He was wearing a long cloak, and the hood over his head hid his face, although she was sure she wouldn't have been able to see him through the night even if he hadn't been covered.
"That is none of your business," the man said briskly, in a voice that sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite place.
"The information better be good."
"It is," the man replied confidently.
"Well, get on with it," the gruff Death Eater said. "We don't have all night."
"Of course you don't. I am sure you have a lot of important things to do; you must be high amongst the Death Eaters' ranks. But then again, your Master sent three of you to deal with only one of me…perhaps you are not as good or important as you seem to believe you are."
"You little…" the gruff Death Eater started, lifting his wand to the spy, but then a loud, threatening growl broke through the night, chilling her, and all three Death Eaters took a step away from the man.
"Do you think your Master would mind losing three of his servants?" the man asked, but the others didn't answer.
"The information," Mulland said, almost shyly, after a moment.
"Dumbledore is planning on recruiting witches and wizards abroad. He has already contacted Gailhac in France, and Diermissen in Germany. Now he's sent a team to Pugliese in Italy and one to Russia, to try to convince Svetlana and Andrey Kuznetsov to support him."
"Who are those?"
"That is not for you to know; simply repeat to your Master what I have told you."
"That's it? All the information you have for us is a bunch of foreign wizard's names?"
"You really are as stupid as you look. Just limit yourself to do what you have been ordered to do."
"I do not take orders from you, you filthy…"
Before the wizard could finish the sentence a red flash of light erupted from the spy's wand and hit him square on the chest, sending him flying across the street and landing loudly on top of the car right next to the one Hermione was crouching behind.
The other Death Eater lifted his wand at the spy, but Mulland stopped him.
"Maybe not all of you are that stupid," the spy said, looking at Mulland. Without another word, he turned around, and she knew it was her only chance.
Crawling to the side of the car, she carefully aimed her wand around the car's trunk and muttered the words to the tracking charm. She saw the spy stop mid-step for a fraction of a second, and she felt her hand shake slightly, fearing she had been caught, but a moment later he was walking again, moving away from the Death Eaters before Apparating away.
Tightening her hold on the wand, she followed him.
As soon as she Apparated after him, she knew something was wrong. She wasn't sure why, it wasn't a conscious thought; it was just instinct. But her instincts had saved her life more times than she could count, so she always followed them.
Without even taking a moment to think, she ducked and rolled to the side, barely missing a curse aimed at her. Quickly getting back up and twisting her arm around her, she blindly shot back as she ran for cover.
The spy had clearly known she was following, for he had Apparated to a large, scarcely lit room that was almost bare, not leaving many places to hide and giving him the advantage that came with surprise.
She had to duck again to dodge another curse that hit the wall instead, sending bits of it flying all around her. Not able to see exactly where he was, it was hard to aim right, but she didn't want to light the room or she would give up her position too in the process. Using a Shield Charm to stop the next attack, she conjured a large stone and covered behind it.
The wizard was powerful, but so was she.
Twisting her arm around the rock, she shot a few curses, the range wide as to increase the chances of hitting the target. A low, pained scream was her reward, but it wasn't enough to stop him. She felt more curses hitting the stone in front of her, and she knew the charm wouldn't last long.
Taking a step away from the stone, she did the only thing she could think of at the moment, short of running away. She Disillusioned herself and crawled out of cover and towards the far wall.
A few more curses hit the stone, and she knew the spy hadn't realized she wasn't there anymore; not yet anyway. Keeping her back to the wall, she walked closer to the spot the curses were coming from, finally making out a figure in the dark. Careful as to not make a sound, she walked around him, trying to get close enough to disarm him without taking risks.
She didn't know how he noticed, because she was sure she hadn't made a single sound, but still he suddenly turned to her, his wand aimed straight to her chest, although she knew he couldn't possibly see her through the Disillusionment Charm and the darkness in the room.
"Expelliarmus," she screamed, so fast he didn't have time to fire a curse of his own, and she saw his wand fly from his grasp, clattering loudly as it fell to the floor across the room.
With the adrenaline still pumping, she lifted the Disillusionment Charm and stepped closer to him, keeping her wand aimed directly at his chest.
"Who are you?" she asked, but he did not speak. "Push the hood back," she said, but he did nothing. "Push it back, or I will hex you and then remove it myself," she threatened, taking a step closer to him, and finally his arms moved, his hands grasping the edges of the hood as he slowly pushed it back.
She gasped loudly when she saw his face, framed by red hair she knew only too well, a voice deep inside her screaming it had to be a mistake, a trick, something. There had to be an explanation.
"It can't…it's not possible," she murmured, taking yet another step towards him, needing to take a closer look.
He still didn't speak, keeping his face expressionless as he watched her.
"It can't be you, you'd never…" she muttered softly, shaking her head even as she kept her wand trained at him.
"I'm sorry you had to find out this way," he said softly, taking a step towards her.
"Stay where you are," she said when she saw him move, but he took another step closer to her.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said in the same soft tone, his gaze darting from her eyes to the wand she held in her shaking hand.
"Stop. Stay there," she said, her voice weak. He smirked at her. "I'll hex you if I have to," she threatened.
"No, you won't," he said, taking one final step, so that the tip of her wand was almost touching his chest.
"Tell me it isn't you," she all but begged. "Tell me you didn't…"
He moved so fast she barely saw it. One second she had her wand in her hand, the next it was flying out of her grasp, landing somewhere in the darkness.
"No," she gasped, turning around and trying to run away from him, but in a matter of seconds he had caught her, wrapping his strong arms around her from behind, and trapping her arms by her sides. "Let me go," she said, struggling to free herself, but his grip felt like iron around her. "Please, Bill."
"I wish that was possible, love," he said, "but I can't just let you walk away, not with what you know."
