July 1997
Hermione looked out of the Burrow window. The garden beyond framed the image of three young men, no more mature than twelve year old boys, run about, degnoming the garden. In a few short hours, they, along with other order members, would be evacuating Harry from his cousin's home. Nerves twirled through her mind, as she resisted the urge to check on her beaded bag once more. She knew she had everything needed, but one could never be too careful. In addition, most of the Order were out for blood, specifically of their supposed traitor.
A frown marred her face, as Hermione reviewed the events of the past June. It never made sense to her, but she knew better than to bring it up with most of the Order. Ron spat his name like a curse, the twins devised devious devices to unleash upon him, and even the more mild tempered members scowled at the mention of her old potions master. Yet, the events did not sit right with her logic and previous knowledge. Something was off, and no one would listen.
"Boys! Dinner," Molly Weasley shouted through the open door, effectively cutting off Hermione's musings.
The rest of the evening passed in nervous excitement until, finally, the rest of the Order assembled. With a pop, they apparated enmass to the Dursley's rather plain suburban home. As everyone milled about, polyjuice potion doled out and administered, Hermione forcefully kept from hugging herself. It started now. Her best laid plans, the past month of hard, quick work, the negotiations, hiding in plain sight while the ministry held some shred of outward control. The Goddess within told her what Hermione already knew; once Harry got involved, even the best laid plans turned to dust.
Sure enough, the group of seven Harry's and their escorts left the ground only to be met by spellfire. Logic and instinct fought for control, her wand flicking and swishing in the air. Bright lights illuminated the clouds in a facsimile of lightning during an electrical storm. Clinging to Kingsley as he pushed the thestral beneath them as fast as he could, another sensation brewed just under her skin. A prickle of awareness and recognition, something that fought to be noticed. However, the masked menaces required her full attention, and Hermione could not spare a thought for it now.
Tunneling through screams and shouts, they raced towards the safe point. Ducking and deflecting, two bright, red spells shot out from her wand, hitting one, which caused the other to dive to catch his compatriot. A final burst of speed sent the trio careening through the protective wards around Kingsley's home. The world spun as the dizzy and disoriented Hermione leaned over and emptied the contents of her stomach, a grimace on her face.
"Are you alright, Hermione?" the dark man asked, concern in his eyes.
"I-I am just dizzy," she gasped before standing up and wiping the side of her mouth. "Nerves and all that swerving."
She offered the man a tight smile, knowing it to be the best excuse she had. After a moment of analytical contemplation, he accepted the proffered explanation with a curt nod.
"Then we best be off, come on, let's get out of here," Kingsley produced a small muggle debit card.
Gripping her side of the portkey firmly, the world swirled around her before landing on the ground in front of the Burrow. Grim and nervous Order members milled about outside, some darting in when they heard the gale of Molly Weasley's wails. With a shrug and curious glance, the older man turned towards the house to see the commotion. Hermione stood resolutely waiting for the rest of the moving party to arrive. Bill and Fleur greeted her, a bit beat up, but okay, rushing inside to check on George and his missing ear.
Only when Harry and Ron appeared did Hermione breath a sigh of relief, letting the past hour get to her. In a rush of activity, the rest of the night passed. Once or twice, she caught a scrutinizing gaze from Remus, and she tried to gain Professor McGonagall's attention a few times to talk. Yet, in typically Molly fashion, they were all bustled out of the kitchen and tucked into bed before anything truly meaningful could be said or done.
When the lights went out, and Ginny's breathing deep and even, Hermione allowed herself to reflect upon the night. Awareness felt like the prickle of a numb limb regaining feeling, that unsettling, pins and needles sensation with a mix of the lick of heat from the Midsummer festival. All of the implications swirled within her mind, eyes flicking across the ceiling, unfocused. Yet, it all made a perverse sense, and it pleased her Goddess, made her purr. Hermione laid in bed, and, if her hypothesis were correct, she knew her mate.
Bloody, blistering hell.
oOo oOo oOo
The eve before the wedding, Hermione sat by herself in front of the pond. Her mind swirled as she played with the bag in her hands. The adult members of the Order sat within the Burrow for a last-minute security meeting. While still not allowed to attend, Hermione did not truly mind. She knew what Harry planned to do, and one of the contingencies she arranged would go into effect tonight. On her lap sat three nondescript journals. To go forth into the unknown without any contact felt foolish and short sighted. Not to mention, she'd be needing these quite a bit sooner rather than later.
Harry's birthday proved be a rather joyous affair, and the party went on for quite a while. Even if the adults were now being serious, the remainder of the younger generation remained within the sitting room playing exploding snap and laughing at everything. Hermione could not stand to be with them right now, for a multitude of reasons. From the looks Remus gave her all day, she knew he would be giving her an earful, though she found it frustratingly hypocritical if his over protectiveness about Tonks was anything to go on. She craved to speak to Minerva the most of any. Even if Bill and Ginny were also festival babes, the Weasley family did not follow or understand the old ways with quite the same intensity that Minerva kept them.
At least, Hermione reflected as the moon began to rise over the distant trees, when I tell Ron, he'll understand. Harry will be the one to fly off the handle, but that I can deal with. He listens to Ron better anyways, and if I just can get that containment spells to hold, they should be able to function. Theoretically. So, I just need to stay until then.
The trickle of the less known members cued Hermione to stand, swiping at the stray grass on her denims. Making sure none were the ones she had to speak to, Hermione twined through the departing individuals with a smile and goodbye. Settled along the long, wooden table in the cosy Weasley kitchen sat most of the 'inner circle' of the Order.
"Kingsley, Professor, Remus, may I speak to you three alone?" came her tentative question.
Pensive brows furrowed as several of the others dithered with platitudes that meant nothing to her. With a nod or a word, all three acquiesced, and naught a moment later were left alone in the room. A silencing and imperturbable spell kept all the other nosy Gryffindors (and an excitable Hufflepuff) from the conversation.
"What is this about, Hermione?" Minerva McGonagall, severe bun and spectacles all, regarded her with concern.
"Yes, is there something you wish to tell us?" a slightly accusatory note colored Remus' question.
"No more than you wish to inform us of as of yet, Remus," Hermione replied in clipped tones, satisfied when an abashed blush stained the man's cheeks. "It's important, though."
Upon the table sat her three journals. Each embossed with a golden phoenix, though with subtle differences. A moon and wolf curled within the bird of the first, the warm, brown leather worn and soft and parchment pages, uneven and jagged. Another had the profile of a lion, black and formal, with even, pressed pages between the covers. The last book shone a burnished burgundy with a cat curled up within the phoenix, yellowed parchment a warm compliment to the outer leather.
"I made these over the summer," Hermione began, passing out the books to each person, "They are communication journals, charmed to be water and fire proof, and disguised to anyone not keyed to the journal itself. Remus, if you wish for Tonks to be keyed to your journal, I'll do so after this," the werewolf nodded. Vinewood slid from her sleeve as she instructed each person to place their palm upon their books, and, with three quick flicks, they were attuned.
"Now, you know that Dumbledore gave Harry a task, and that Ron and myself will be accompanying him no matter what you say," grimaces and nods greeted this statement. "He meant for us to do so without communication to anyone. I find this insufficient and short sighted." Minerva snorted, knowing well Hermione's rants of unpreparedness. "So, I have taken matters into my own hands. Each one of these have a variation of the protean charm; we can communicate back and forth about whatever is necessary. They are now attuned so only you can see what is written and by who. When others look, they will see different things. Remus, they would see a detailed journal and notes about werewolves and any research you could be doing. Kingsley, they would see your notes of the Aurory and related ministry news. Professor, they would see one of your working journals.
"They will copy messages from all three of you into one of my books, and you will each be able to see what the others wrote. Write your message, in whatever inks you wish, and tap your wand. It will transcribe into the corresponding journals. When a message appears, you will hear a slight bell in the back of your mind. The louder the chime, the more urgent the message, which is determined by the intent behind the sending spell. Let me show you," she brandished a thin, small journal with a leather thong holding the cover closed.
To her bemusement, the adults watched her with a mixture of wonder, awe, and curiosity. A similar phoenix stood out upon the cover, a tawny owl perched within. Deft fingers removed the strap of leather and fetched a muggle ball point pen. She flashed a cheeky smile at the bemused purebloods, noticing Remus' conspiring smirk, and wrote.
Keep these hidden from the rest of the Order. Any information regarding us should be kept to a minimum incase of leaks due to well meaning parents or unsure alliances such as Mundungus. The tip of her wand tapped it, and she could tell the three other gathered around heard the notification.
"Marvelous," Minerva breathed as she opened the book, seeing Hermione's elegant script before adding her own message.
The chime rung in her head, and Hermione opened the journal. As always, I respect your decision in this matter. If all goes as we fear, you three leaving Hogwarts will be a blessing. The brunette witch smiled at her mentor, and kept her book open.
"If you have the journal already open and are currently corresponding with someone, the alert will not sound. No need to have headaches and hear noises while actively communicating," Hermione added as she watched Kingsley take the quill from Minerva.
A most amazing invention, indeed. I will keep your counsel. What types of things shall we report? His bold text added to the page.
She responded with, Anything that may be of help or interest. I will be relaying information to the boys. They are, despite all their virtues, very rash, emotional, and prone to recklessness of action. I want to temper their actions to the best of my ability, and knowing everything all at once is not necessarily the best option.
Remus' eyes narrowed for a moment before he opened his journal and began to scribble in it with a similar pen from his pocket. Cinnamon eyes narrowed, suspicious of the werewolf. Hermione had always liked the mild manner man, for the most part. Some aspects of life they simply agreed to disagree, and neither touched upon those subjects without great care. However, she knew he had a latent less-than-cruel-more-than-funny streak, and that worried her.
I believe it best we talk about all of the expectations before we go further with this arrangement. What terms are we talking about? To whom can we speak? What should we report? How do we know it's you? The unspoken, can we trust you laid heavy between the were and herself.
"Excellent, now that these are all working, I will answer your questions," Hermione continued, matter-of-factly, as if not being accused. "My terms are simply. Keep us abreast of important, pertinent information. What laws do we need to be aware of? Who can we trust? Where is it safe for us to go? Where not? Is it safe to temporarily go to a safehouse to regroup? Likewise, I will inform you of any major events we encounter. Runaways, news, whether we are safe or not, if we are supplied, or injured.
"I would like this to stay within this circle. At most, as I said earlier, you can tell Tonks, Remus," the young woman met the man's gaze. "I do not want this information to be out and about. As it was, someone tipped off the Death Eaters when we'd be moving Harry, and that was changed after Dumbledore died." A frown marred the features of those around the table, letting it sink in that Snape could not have known and tipped off the Dark Lord himself. "In addition, I don't need the Weasley clan out hunting for Ron. You can tell the Order that you have, on high authority, that we are safe, but not to be found. That is what I ask of you if you agree to take these with you."
"I accept your terms," Minerva solemnly spoke, a flare of magic lighting the face of the journal. "I take it that sealed the enchantments?"
"Naturally," she smiled at her mentor.
"Clever, my dear," the older witch grinned.
"I accept your terms, as well, Hermione," Kingsley added, a thoughtful look on his face. "I only further ask that you lot don't try to do everything on your own. Reach out when you are able, and when it is safe."
"That is my intention, Kingsley," Hermione smiled at the dark skinned man. "Harry will want to do it all alone, I know, since he is convinced that is Dumbledore's plan. I rather we use anything we have to our advantage."
"Just as well," his rich voice chuckled. "Albus was many things, but forthcoming was not amongst them."
A quiet snicker left her lips as she settled back. Remus, she knew after the night they retrieved Harry, would be a gamble. He most likely knew her secret, an unfortunate but necessary evil. Being the man of integrity, and having the reasoning of any muggle-raised individual, Remus did not do well with the unknown, especially since she knew exactly what he was trying to protect. Two of three, accounting for Minerva's understanding, was not bad, and they were three of the most likely to survive if the war were to be won.
"I accept your terms," the werewolf finally said. "With great trepidation. I do not like any of this, Hermione, but you have given me no reason to doubt you. See that it stays that way."
"I will do everything in my power to make it so," Hermione nodded, with a relieved sigh. As the adults made to stand up, her charms dismantled, the young woman called out, "Minerva, would it be possible for you to stay a bit longer? There is something I must speak to you about."
"Of course, my dear," her Scottish concerned lilt answered.
With a final goodbye to both men, Hermione and her former Head of House walked out into the night. They spoke of general topics as the warm glow of the Burrow shrunk. Two cracks of apparation sounded in the distance, and, when Hermione satisfied herself that both the men to be gone, she turned their stroll to the bench. In silence, similar wards were erected around the two women, and so they sat for a time.
"You know of my fascination and love for the ancient magics, Professor," Hermione began, soft and wistful. "My connection with all of those ideals, the truth about myself even," her lips quirked. "I decided after last term that I had best get on with it, you know. I knew my time was limited. That it is likely I will die before this is all over."
"Hermione," Minerva whispered, worried, sad downturn to her lips speaking volumes.
"Professor- Minerva, you know I am right. Muggle born and best friend to Harry Potter? I might as well paint a bright, red target on my back," a humorless chuckle escaped her. "So, I do what needed to be done, as always. I-I sent my parents away," Hermione choked back a sob. "Took their memories and sent them to Australia, to keep them safe. They wouldn't see reason, nor believe me when I told them of the real danger."
"Oh, you dear," murmured the older woman, her hand rubbing soothing circles now on Hermione's lower back.
"S-so, I did what I always wanted to do before I died," the younger woman soldiered on with a deep breath. "I went to the Midsummer festival in Ireland. The one you and Augusta always twinkle about when you talk of it. And it was as amazing as you said. More than spiritual. More than magic. I can't even describe how it felt to be one with everyone and everything."
"Aye, lass, it is quite the experience," a small smile tugged at the stern professor's face. "But that's not all, is it?"
"No," chestnut curls bounced back and forth. "I- well that is to say-"
"You found him, didn't you?" a hushed reverent whisper swirled into the night air.
"Yes," Hermione gulped a moment later, just as quiet.
Neither spoke for a time. Fireflies blinked in and out of existence across the meadow and above the pond. Owls sung their nightly song, as the bugs chimed and chirped. A soft breeze ruffled hems of robes across the grass, hair upon the wind. All fell still and silent in the night's calm, lulling quiet. From the corner of her eye, Hermione watched as Minerva observed her, openly and frankly. Without a doubt, the older woman understood.
"Why not go to Molly about this?" Minerva asked at last.
"I thought about it," a concentrated, thoughtful expression on Hermione's face. "However, I do not want it to be a well known fact. If Molly knew, then everyone would know. And if everyone knew, well…"
"Ah yes, the Weasley inability to keep truly important secrets," the cat animagus chuckled. "Well known trait in the Prewitts, if I remember correctly."
"It will make it easier for the boys to understand, though," the young woman added as an afterthought, a touch bitter. "Harry always listens to Ron about such things."
"Well, boys will be boys, Hermione," Minerva clucked. "They don't like always being corrected by women about everything. It takes a truly strong man to withstand formidable women such as ourselves."
"Mayhap we have never been with many men," Hermione answered with a mischievous smirk of her own.
"Ah, but who we are with count the most," her mentor gave a sage nod.
"Very true," she murmured her agreement.
The older woman broke the silence. "What is it you need of me, child?"
"Support, advice, and a place out of the way to stay," Hermione whispered. "I have much of what I need, and have been researching various spells, wards, and enchantments. If you have something on a minor ley line, moreso the better. It will take a day or so for me to reinforce whatever you would have on it. I will make a fortress fit to last a decade long siege."
"I have a few family properties I can check for you," pinched lips and furrowed brow met Hermione's gaze. "However, I think I know just the spot. However, it will be staffed with family house elves. I don't want any trouble."
"I've learned that lesson well, Minerva," Hermione huffed in exasperation. After a long heart-to-heart at the end of fourth year, she understood better the point of view of normal house elves from Winky. She may have also accidentally bonded with the elf, as well. "No dismissing of the McGonagall elves. You have my word."
"Anti-apparation wards and only one way flooing between my quarters and the parlor. Only those of my bloodline allowed to enter without expressed permission. Anti-portkey wards, naturally," the woman began to list, and Hermione smiled. "Not to mention all sorts of nasty things for those who try to break in. Layer them well, dear."
"I have those planned and more," Hermione smiled softly. "Will I need to perform the fidelus? And if I do, who do you wish to be secret keeper?"
"The charm is already in place, along with quite a bit of family warding. We are a private people, McGonagalls," Minerva smirked. "As the last survivor of the family, I am the keeper, naturally. How do you wish to communicate, though? I can't imagine that the Order need know about this. At least, not yet. Granted, with the way Remus eyed you tonight, they may be informed far too soon as it stands."
"Hypocritical werewolf, if I ever saw one," the girl growled. "Up in arms about me, when he won't even tell his wife what's happening to her."
"I did notice that as well," a small twitched at the professor's thin lips.
"You are correct, of course. There is much that I will need to tell you, and none of it do I want to be seen by those two," Hermione nodded. She reached into the beaded bag on her hip and withdrew another burgundy journal. Styled much like the other, all but the front logo remained the same. Gold outlined a tabby cat curled about a tawny owl, both appearing asleep. "Do you accept this from me?"
"With pleasure, my dear," genuine warmth suffused the older woman's voice, magic flashed gold. "You are quite the artisan. Well made engravings, quite lovely indeed. Let me guess, another one of my transfiguration journals?"
"Full of incoherent spell structures, formulas, and ramblings," Hermione chirped answered by a laugh.
"Do you have others of those stashed about?" her mentor asked with humor.
"Of course," Hermione replied in kind. "I have one for the boys for when I leave, and a last one for him. I wanted to give it to him tomorrow, as it is Lughnasadh, but I do not know…"
"You feel it, too," Minerva nodded.
She did. That instinctual, gut, purely magical part of her awakened and personified as her inner Goddess did not like the morrow. It told her to enjoy the calm of tonight. To rest, for it will be some time before she is able to. That some great, horrible event will occur. Her only recourse was preparedness. The books to research, journals to note, food, medicine, clothes, pots, pans, everything they would need to live on the run. Even a good chunk of muggle and wizarding money.
"My next chance would be Samhain, to slip it to him," Hermione sighed. "He left before the magic receded. If I knew who he was, without a doubt, I would find a way. As it is, I have a very strong suspicion."
"How sure are you?" the tabby asked, leaning back to watch her protege's expressions.
"When I first hypothesized it, the Goddess purred," her wry response.
"Ah. As sure as you can be without actually seeing him then," chuckled the professor. "And do I get the dubious honor of knowing who has captured your soul so completely?"
"That is the problem," Hermione frowned, looking down at her hands. "It would be complicated, and I cannot express so much as a question without being told I am mad or off my rocker or something worse."
"I see," Minerva pursed her lips together, thinking of all the likely candidates that fit such a mold.
"I believe that my mate is greatly misunderstood by the world as a whole, and have thought so for some time," Hermione continued, not quite hearing. "I have seen and heard things that point more towards the man and magic I mated on Midsummer, but many are blinded by outward appearance and obvious, glaring motives. They do not take the time to sit and think and appreciate. It is like this for everything he does."
"That is not quite the answer I am looking for, lass," the Scotswoman scowled.
"I know," Hermione gave as sheepish grin. "But, until you understand that, and start to think and see that way, I don't want to endanger him further. I trust you, truly I do, but this- this is beyond me Gryffindors are obstinate, and won't accept or change our way of thinking without evidence being thrown into our faces with flashing signs. Even then, it's not a sure thing. I simply ask you look beneath the surface and see what else actions can accomplish. Not just skin deep."
"My, it must be quite the man if he requires all of this," she raised a brow. "I will do as you say, child. Do not fret. In the meantime, I will take up looking at the properties. I have one up north that may just do."
"Thank you so much," the brunette gushed, holding her mentor's hands within her own. "I can't tell you how much this means to me."
"You don't have to, dear girl," Minerva smiled softly at the girl. "You are like the daughter I never had. It is not a problem in the least."
Together, the pair of powerful witches stood from the bench. The younger cancelled the charms, as the elder patted down her robes. Sure steps and quiet conversation trailed behind them before they stood upon the threshold of the Burrow. A quick hug and goodnight left Hermione by herself upon kitchen door. Only when she heard the tell-tale crack did she enter the hodgepodge homestead of the Weasley family. Quiet surrounded her, as she walked without a sound into her shared room with Ginny. With such a crucial part to her plan secured, Hermione drifted into a deep, restful sleep.
August 1997
Lughnasadh dawned, warm and rosy. Frantic instructions and harried commands flew through the house even before Hermione fully awoke. Pulling her dressing robe tight against her body, she shuffled down to the worn kitchen table to find it in full chaos. Between the loud sounds, strong breakfast smells, and haphazard, accidental shoves from members of the Weasley clan pushing and shoving about, Hermione felt her stomach turn. It took her several minutes to choke down a piece of plain toast and a weak cup of tea.
"Come on, Hermione," Ginny exclaimed, all but tugging the brunette out of her seat. "We can eat after the photos!"
Groaned protests and a spinning head caused Hermione to dart into the loo, complaining about vertigo and not enough food. From then, the redhead girl slowed down just enough to help keep Hermione's stomach down. The ceremony went off without a hitch. Beautiful bride blushed as she glided to the beaming groom, roguishly handsome, scars and all. A traditional handfasting, in the gentler, milder ways of the holiday, ended with a beautiful shower of sparks. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but Hermione fought them back. Their joining would be a happy, fortuitous one, the old gods had blessed them as such.
"It quite lacks something, doesn't it?" the mischievous voice of Augusta Longbottom whispered from her left.
Hermione beamed at her unexpected companion. With the end of the ceremony came the cocktail hour and mingling. The young witch happily sat herself with the strict woman before her. They chatted for quite some time, simply catching up on gossip and the going ons of the wizarding war. At some point, they migrated towards a back table, watching everyone else laugh and wait for the newly married couple to emerge.
"I can see the Goddess is awake and well within you, child," Augusta murmured, eyes upon the crowd. "Minerva told me of your predicament. I hope you don't punish the old dear too harshly. Do I get one of your fanciful journals, as well? Or have I been left out of the club, hm?"
"You know you get one, Augusta," Hermione blushed at her forgetfulness, a hand fishing through her handbag. "Here it is, plum with a golden lioness. Did she tell you everything?"
"Indeed, she did," the older woman gave a pointed look at Hermione. "I had hoped you would trust us enough to simply inform us of your guess, as to better ascertain and judge the individual."
"Then you know her clues," Hermione snorted. "I say the same to you, Madam. Once you both can think the way I need you to, I will give you heavier hints. I sincerely hope it will be sooner rather later. It will make everything go far quicker."
"As you say, young one," a sigh whooshed from Augusta. "I will be accompanying Minerva on the hunt for your future homestead. Be careful, child. The Goddess is anxious today."
"That she is," Hermione murmured as she watched Bill and Fleur enter, flushed and happily smiling. "You are right, though. The ceremony truly did lack something fundamental."
With a parting, knowing smirk, Hermione gracefully excused herself. Gait gliding, head held high, she made her way towards Harry, Ginny, and Ron. The rest of the evening passed in an enjoyable blur. Viktor surprised her by taking a few turns on the dance floor. At one point, Ron fumbled around with her in his endearing yet clumsy manner. Harry stood up to dance with her as well as Mr. Lovegood, who remarked about her lovely, glowing aura and complimented her on the brilliance of her inner Goddess. She even shared a girl's dance with Ginny and Luna.
In the middle of her dance with the ever elegant and well practiced Neville, the world crashed down around her. A silvery lynx pounced onto the middle of the dance floor, causing Neville to jump and squeeze Hermione too tight. His booming bass rung out, "The ministry has fallen! They are coming!", and panic ensued. In the chaos, Ron and Harry appeared in her path, and, by some miracle they escaped to Tottenham Court, amongst the muggles. She handed out clothes, and gave instructions to her boys, all the while a single thought echoed in her mind.
It has finally begun.