Hermione woke to the smell of pumpkin juice. She felt as if she had been kept in an underground cavern for a century and was only now clawing her way to the surface. Her right hand felt as if it had been encased in cotton. That was odd. She wiggled the tips of her fingers experimentally. A sharp pain lanced through her. Definitely not trying that again. How had she hurt her hand? She scrunched up her face trying to remember. They had been in London and the Death Eaters had found them. She had gotten separated from Harry and Ron. Lestrange had attacked her. The rest was a hazy, disjointed blur of pain, a cramped flat, and a man who reminded her of Percy Weasley, except she hadn't spoken to him since the Triwizard Tournament so why would he be here?

Pots and pans clattered somewhere nearby, but it was otherwise quiet. Dread coiled within her. Harry and Ron were always so noisy in the mornings. They wouldn't have been able to keep silent for her sake even if she was injured. And neither of them knew how to make pumpkin juice. She opened her eyes. It was as she feared: she wasn't in the tent. She lay in a small, Spartan bedroom that smelled like hers at home when her mother used too much air freshener. Had she been captured? There was no sign of guards, nor had she been tied up, shackled, or otherwise visibly restrained. That didn't mean much. Magical prisons didn't need conventional walls or locks. The door was ajar, though, which was promising. Even wizards usually bothered to lock a prisoner's door. Her wand lay on the bedside table. Well, that settled it. She hadn't been captured. The Death Eaters would have remembered to take her wand. But if she wasn't a prisoner, where was she and what had happened to Harry and Ron? Investigation was called for.

Hermione swung her legs off the side of the bed, sat up, and stood. She felt a bit unsteady on her feet, but at least it didn't appear like she was suffering from nausea or vertigo. She looked around the room, searching for clues as to whose house she was in. A quick glance through the closet turned up nothing but a few dark, nondescript robes. There were no photographs or paintings, moving or otherwise, on the walls or the dresser. A large metal box with a hinged lid stood under the bed. Perhaps this room had been used for storage recently.

She grabbed her wand in her left hand and crept down the corridor. There were no pictures here either, but a small bookshelf was tucked away in the far corner. Hermione stopped to peruse the contents. All were magical biographies or histories: Pre-Hogwarts Magical Education in Europe, Peter Abelard: The Forgotten Wizard, Prefects who Gained Power, A Brief History of the Runic Languages... Hermione nodded in approval. Whoever lived here had very good taste in books. So, she was definitely in a wizard's home. She held herself still and listened. Someone was playing extremely bad jazz somewhere above her. This wizard lived in the same building as Muggles. Curiouser and Curiouser.

A throat cleared nearby. "Oh, you're awake. I was beginning to wonder if what Lupin gave you would ever wear off."

Hermione startled and pointed her wand at the intruder. It was Percy Weasley. He was dressed for work at the Ministry and carried a briefcase in one hand. He was paler and thinner than she remembered. Dark circles ringed his eyes, as if he hadn't slept in some time. He watched her with a mixture of relief and alarm. "Could you please point that elsewhere? I've been threatened enough on your account as it is."

Hermione ignored him. Percy might have been Ron's brother, but that didn't mean that he could be trusted. His first loyalty had always been to the Ministry, and there was no reason to suspect that had changed. He might have considered it his patriotic duty to apprehend her. Snatchers or Death Eaters might be arriving at any moment. "What are you doing here? What am I doing here? And where the bloody hell are Harry and Ron?"

Percy sniffed. "I don't know where Harry and Ron are. I haven't seen them since last Christmas. And this is my flat. You've been asleep in my spare bedroom for the last two days."

"I ... come again?" She didn't know which shocked her more: the idea that she had been unconscious for two days or that she was in Percy's flat. "What happened?"

He told her, beginning with finding her on the street nearly incoherent with pain and finishing with the announcement that the flat was now under a Fidelius Charm. "Lupin's coming by later today to check on you, so please don't go running off before then."

Hermione suppressed a laugh. That was the most ridiculous story she had ever heard. If he was trying to deceive her into staying so that the authorities could arrive and arrest her, then he had failed miserably. Even in school, Percy had always cared more about following the rules then doing the morally right thing or behaving charitably. "I'm leaving." If she were lucky, Harry and Ron had not yet moved camp. Perhaps they were even now searching for her.

"It's not safe for you to leave yet. Lupin said that you were supposed to stay here until your hand healed," he said with uncharacteristic fervor.

"I think I'd like to ask Remus that myself, thank you."

"How do you propose we do that? All owls are being intercepted and their post checked, especially those of Ministry employees."

"I didn't say that I was going to send an owl." She readied her wand. It felt awkward and clumsy in her hand. She thought of the day she had gotten her Hogwarts letter and how excited she had been at the knowledge that she was going to enter a new world. The memory had never failed to produce a Patronus. "Expecto Patronum!" A formless silver blob shot from her wand. Hermione waited a moment. It did not turn into an otter, and she dismissed it with an irritated flick of the wrist. She had never failed to produce a fully corporeal Patronus since the first DA meeting. The shock of waking up in a strange place and her irritation at Percy must have been affecting her concentration. She took a deep breath and tried again, this time remembering her first kiss with Viktor. But she only produced a few silver wisps.

What was wrong with her? Her technique had been flawless, and either of the two memories should have been enough to power a Patronus. Spells didn't just decide to stop performing properly for no reason. Something must have happened since the last time she produced a Patronus. The obvious difference was that her hand had been badly damaged. Had Lestrange's curse done something to her magical abilities? She had never heard of such a thing, but that was no guarantee that it didn't exist. Snape had created at least one other extremely dark spell that caused extraordinary pain. He might have created another that could also impair the spell-casting abilities of the victim and taught it to Lestrange. It seemed like Snape's sort of magic. If that were true, then she'd have trouble with every spell, not just casting a Patronus.

She pointed her wand at the bookshelf. "Accio Prefects who Gained Power!" The book drifted off the shelf and hovered for a moment before dropping to the ground.

Percy picked it up and glared in her. "I realize I'm a bit unpopular with your crowd, but that's no reason to go throwing my things about!"

Hermione stared at the spot where the book had fallen. "I didn't. It just fell." This was very bad. The Summoning Charm was far simpler than casting a Patronus. She had mastered it almost on the first go. She had always been so proud of mastering spells more quickly than her classmates despite being from a Muggle background. Every O she received on her exams, every scrap of praise from a teacher was a "Take that!" to Malfoy and every other pureblood fanatic who thought that she wasn't fit to walk the halls of Hogwarts. It was beginning looked as if those pureblood fanatics had gotten their revenge at last.

Percy looked from her to the book in his hand and back. "I'm going to fire-call Remus. This isn't normal."

"The Floo Network is probably being monitored. You should use some kind of code."

He glared at her as if to say "I knew that," but said nothing as he trooped into the sitting room. He tossed a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace, knelt, and stuck his head inside. "Mr. Lupin? Could you bring back the copy of the Dacworth-Granger file that your wife borrowed? My superiors have ... woken up to certain facts that might cause ... problems."

He had scarcely had time to stand before Remus was climbing out of the fire. "Merlin, Weasley. Could you have been any more obvious? You might as well have just told me Hermione was awake."

"Well, I am new to espionage, sir."

Remus muttered something under his breath, but his expression softened when he saw Hermione. "It's good to see you up and about. You were in serious trouble for a few days."

"I think I might still be." She told him about her difficulties casting spells. "I think Lestrange did something to me besides hurt my hand."

Remus thought for a moment. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. I'd like you to try casting a few spells for me now." She did as he asked, with varying results. She was able to turn a loose button that Remus had in his pocket into a beetle without much trouble, but changing the gray in his hair and brown was beyond her. She successfully Disarmed him after two attempts but couldn't cast a Shield Charm. An attempt to produce water from her wand created a trickle that petered out after a few moments. All but the simplest jinxes and hexes had no effect at all.

"The good news is that I don't believe you've been affected on a more than physical level," Remus said when she was done. "I know of no cases where the Mutalus Curse affected the innate magical abilities of the victim, though it often affects their ability to cast spells by restricting the movement of their hands."

Hermione held up her bandaged hand. "But I wasn't using this hand to cast spells. I can't even hold a wand with it."

"I wonder if that might be the problem. Did you remember the first question that Ollivander asked you when you bought that wand?"

Hermione would never forget the day. Her father had been so shocked by the trail of sparks that had flown out of her wand that he'd sworn off using fireworks to celebrate Guy Fawkes' Day. "He asked me which was my wand arm." Realization dawned within her. "That's why I can barely do magic, isn't it? I haven't been using my wand arm."

"I think so. One side of the body is usually better than the other at most tasks. Focusing magic is no exception."

"So it's like trying to write with your right hand if you're left-handed?" Percy asked. "You can do it, but you're not very good at it."

"Exactly."

"When will I be back to normal? I still have a very important mission." It was vital that she recover and return to Harry and Ron as soon as possible. She was the one who cast the protective enchantments on the tent every night. The boys had a tendency to forget. She was the only one who could read runes or perform any Arithmantical equations. If Voldemort had set up any kind of puzzle, they would be completely helpless. Neither of them could cook. Neither could she, but at least she hadn't accidentally started a fire like Ron had. Yet.

"I still wish you would tell me exactly what that mission is."

"That's Harry's decision. Not mine."

"I know." He shook his head. "As for when you'll recover, that's harder to say. Two or three weeks, I would say. You may not get all of the function back in your hand, but you should recover most of it. You should still be able to pick up and manipulate objects almost as well as you did before."

Almost as well? Not the most comforting words. "And my magic? Will I be as good as I was before?"

"We'll have to wait and see how well your hand heals. In the meantime, I would suggest that you keep casting spells. Over time, your left arm should grow accustomed to channeling magic. Right now, you seem to be about as skilled as you were back when I taught you, perhaps a little more so in Transfiguration and slightly less so in offensive magic."

Hermione sank onto the couch. She thought about trying to defend herself against Lestrange using only the spells she had known in third year and shuddered. As much as she despised the idea, she couldn't go back to Harry and Ron yet. She would only be a liability if they had to fight. She smiled ruefully. It was a moot point. Apparition was probably another item on the list of things she couldn't do. "Anything else?"

"Stay here. Percy has agreed to look after you during your convalescence, and Tonks and I have given this flat every protection we can manage." Percy grimaced, but Remus ignored him. "The Death Eaters won't find you."

Hermione gaped at him. Percy had been telling the truth. Ron was going to have an aneurysm when he found out where she had been. "Very well."

Remus clapped her on the shoulder. "Good. Would you like me to send a message to Harry and Ron to let them know where you are?"

"How are you going to do that?" Percy asked. "I imagine that if Harry could be found by owl, the Ministry would have done that already. And I thought Ron had spattergroit?"

Remus and Hermione both glared at him, and Percy blushed. "Your brother is fine. The Order has ways of sending a message." Remus turned back to Hermione. "Would you like me to send a Patronus?"

Hermione frowned. The protective enchantments she cast every time they Apparated prevented any magic not cast by the three of them from entering the area. A Patronus couldn't come within fifty yards of the tent. Harry or Ron would have to just happen to be outside when it appeared. On the other hand, she didn't really have much of a choice. Any other means of sending a message would be equally as magical. She would just have to trust that Harry's near supernatural luck would extend that far. They were probably frantic with worry. They might even be stupid enough to stay in one place while they waited for her to come back. Harry would never willingly abandon either her or Ron. "I'd appreciate that."

Remus smiled warmly. "I'll do it as soon as I get home, but I should be going now. Contact me if you need anything. I'll be back as soon as I can to check on your progress." He threw another handful of powder into the fire and vanished.

"I do hope you're satisfied that I'm not going to murder you or tell the Ministry where you are." Percy checked his watch. "And you've made me very nearly late. I won't even have time to eat breakfast."

"Sorry." Her brow furrowed. "Why are you doing this? Did you join the Order?"

"I most certainly did not! Only a fool would join a cause that has no chance of success. I took pity on you when I found you wandering the streets. One thing led to another, and I've been appointed your keeper until you recover. I assure you that I'm no happier about this arrangement than you are. You might have some mission you can't wait to run off and do, but I can't wait to resume my normal life." He walked to the door. "There's some food in the icebox if you get hungry. I'll see you this evening."

Hermione watched him go. There was more to this story than either he or Remus was letting on. That much was obvious. She smiled grimly. If there was one thing she loved, it was a puzzle. Even if that puzzle was Percy Weasley.

"Listeners, that brings us to the end of another Potterwatch. We don't know when it will be possible to broadcast again, but you can be sure we shall be back. Keep twiddling those dials: the next password will be 'Fawkes.' Keep each other safe. Keep faith. Good night."

Hermione turned off the radio. She would have to thank Remus profusely for giving her the password the next time he came over. It was wonderful to know what was going on in the outside world again after months of isolation, even if the news was often grim, as it had been today. A Muggle father of two had jumped to his death off Tower Bridge. The man had shown signs of being fed on by Dementors. This was what she, Harry, and Ron were fighting against. Sometimes, they had gotten so caught up in chasing leads or keeping Slytherin's locket safe that they forgot why they were even doing it in the first place, and what it would mean if they didn't succeed in finding and destroying the Horcuxes.

It had been wonderful, too, to know that they were not the only ones fighting. She had known intellectually that the Order had not vanished into the air after helping Harry escape Privet Drive, but it had been all too easy to believe that they were alone in the world while they were in that tent. But Lee, Remus, and Kingsley were risking their lives to bring people the truth. Dozens more were risking their lives to do what they could to protect Muggles and others in danger.

She supposed that Percy fell into the latter category, but it was difficult to think of him as a hero. He was her stuffy, somewhat cold roommate. They had fallen into a routine of sorts over the last week and a half. He would cook breakfast for them both, and she would clean up afterwards. Cleaning spells were relatively simple and good practice for learning to channel magic through her left arm. Hermione had the house to herself for most of the day. She would read one of Percy's history books or practice simple charms. She tried listening to the Wizarding Wireless Network once, but the blatant anti-Muggle propaganda had sickened her. After Percy came home, he would retire to his bedroom, and makeshift, study to do some unspecified paperwork. He never talked about his job. She remembered how he had used to yammer on every other minute about how proud he was to be Barty Crouch's assistant. The change disconcerted her. Occasionally, he would make awkward attempts at conversation, asking her opinion on some point of magical theory or nuance of runic translation. On most days, however, they said barely three words to each other.

Hermione had always considered herself an introvert, but she hadn't realized how accustomed she had grown to the company of others until she had lost it. She had been an only child, but there had been hundreds of other children at the local primary school. Her parents had always made sure someone had been there to greet her when she got home from school. Hogwarts had been even more crowded. She had not even slept alone. The common room was always crowded and lively. She had had to threaten the Weasley twins with bodily harm on several occasions so she could study in peace. Hermione had treasured the rare oasis of silence in the library and wished that her life could always be like that. She ought to be thrilled that Percy left her in peace, but she wasn't. This place wasn't silent; it was a mausoleum.

But her discontent was neither here nor there. It was time to practice. She had been working on Locomotor for the last few days. Each day, she could lift heavier and heavier objects and move them a little farther. Today, she was going to try to move the box under the bed from one side of the room to the other. Whatever was in there was heavy enough that she couldn't lift it without straining. If she could move it by magic, she would know that she was making progress.

She marched into her room and dragged the box until it rested against one wall. Then, she took up her position by the dresser, took a deep breath, and readied her wand. Now or never. Locomotor box!" A surge of energy burst from her. The box careened toward her. Forty pounds of metal was going to hit her in the leg unless she acted quickly. Depulso!" Hermione screamed. The box stopped six inches from her and tipped backwards. The lid popped open, and a sea of paperbacks spilled out.

Hermione's breath came in short, quick gasps. That was ... unexpected. Since her injury, her spells had been less powerful than usual. She wondered what could have caused the sudden "surge" that had nearly crushed her and made a mental note to ask Remus about it.

Whatever the cause, it had made a terrible mess. She knelt and began to pick up the books. She started to toss one back in the box but paused when she saw what it was: Goethe's Faust: Part One. Percy owned a copy of a Muggle play? Percy knew that Muggles had plays? She picked up another book at random: a worn and well-thumbed copy of The Diary of Anne Frank. She picked up another: Les Misérables. There were other, slightly lesser works, too. Heinlen. LeGuin. Sayers. Lewis. Tolkein. It was as if she had stumbled onto the reading list for a literature course at the local comprehensive. How had Percy gotten them? Most of the books were cheaply made, and the binding was coming loose on several of them. She didn't think they could have been part of the Muggle Studies course. Professor Burbage had always seemed to be more interested in explaining how the "poor Muggles" got by without magic by using "airyplanes" and "eckletricity" than introducing her students to Muggle literature. Percy had never seemed particularly interested in Muggles; indeed, he had seemed slightly embarrassed by his father's hobby.

She dug further, looking for some clue. Deep within the pile were books she would charitably described as "rubbish:" self-help books, sword and sorcery novels with bare-chested men on the cover, old Mills & Boons with titles like Marrying the Boss. These were in better condition and looked as if they had been read once or not at all. Maybe they were part of the Muggle Studies curriculum, after all. Holding up a romantic novel as the pinnacle of Muggle literature seemed a very wizarding thing to do.

Hermione was still curious about where Percy had gotten these books. She picked up the nearest book to hand, Crime and Punishment. Maybe there was a stamp or other mark that would tell her where it had been purchased. She opened the book. There was a note written on the inside flap:

In hopes that you will remember that the same people capable of great atrocities are also capable of great beauty and great good.

-Quirrell

Hermione let the book slide from her hands. Quirrell? Professor Quirrell? No, it couldn't be. He'd been Voldemort's faithful servant and had shared a body with him, for Merlin's sake. She felt sure that if he had ever thought Muggles were capable of great good, then Voldemort would not have been able to exert the power over him that he had. All the Death Eaters had been vile racists even before Voldemort had recruited them. Why should Quirrell be any different?

A sharp intake of breath alerted her to a presence nearby. Percy was bracing himself against the doorframe, watching her. He had gone pale, and his expression was a curious mixture of surprise, embarrassment, and what might have been regret. They looked at each other for a long moment. It was the longest that he had ever looked at her since she had come here, but Hermione had the feeling that he didn't quite see her.

Percy coughed, and the spell broke. "You're home early," she said.

"An accident in Experimental Charms turned all our quills to Yorkshire pudding. Let me help you with that," he said softly. He waved his wand. The books on the floor jumped back in the box, and the lid snapped closed.

"Thank you."

He shrugged and magically pushed the box under the bed. "It looked like you needed help."

She stood. If she was going to get some answers, now was as good a time as any. "Are these your books?"

"Yes."

"You bought all these?"

"On my salary?" He smiled ever so slightly. "Dad bought the less ... prestigious ones."

She held the book out to him. "And this one?"

Percy gulped and stared at his shoes. "Professor Quirrell gave me that a few weeks before he left for Albania." He shook his head. "I know what you're thinking. He wasn't always as you knew him. Before he took the Defense job, he was probably the most brilliant Muggle Studies professor Hogwarts had ever had. I took his class my third year. He taught us about Muggle culture and science, and, er, other things."

"Other things?"

He looked at her. "How very good they were at torturing and killing their own." He counted on his fingers. "The gulags. The Children's Crusade. Eugenics programs in Europe and America. The witch hunts of the sixteenth and seventeenth century." He laughed bitterly. "I think that was the first time I realized that people had died because of them. To hear Bagshot and Binns tell it, they were just an excuse for us to play a good joke on the Muggles and cast Flame-Freezing Charms. I took the truth harder than most."

She laid a hand on his shoulder. "They aren't all like that you know. My parents are wonderful people."

"I know. So are most people when they aren't being sheep. The problem's that they're sheep most of the time. Even the smart ones." He stared at the book in her hand. "Especially the smart ones."

He wasn't talking about the Muggles anymore. She tried to picture Quirrell as something other than the faux-bumbling host for Voldemort she had known but couldn't quite manage it. He'd always been a cardboard villain in her mind, and incapable of depth. "Tell me about him."

"Quirrell? Brilliant, like I said. Not very well thought of, because of his field, but still brilliant. He was a good teacher, too. Never berated me like Snape did. I thought he was perfect. My first in a long string of bad judgments."

Percy had just admitted he'd been wrong. If she weren't a fugitive, she would have owled the Prophet. "It's never too late to correct a mistake," she offered in what she hoped was a sympathetic manner.

"That depends on the mistake." Percy grabbed his wand and flicked his wrist. The books flew back in the box and it snapped shut. "Feel free to read anything here if you get bored. No sense in letting them go to waste. I'm going to do some work now." He left. Hermione watched him go.

She had a piece of the puzzle but no idea where it fit.

"Hey, Weasley, pass me the ink, would you?" Percy jumped, spilling the aforementioned ink on the desk. Warrington cursed. "Would you stop being so on edge?"

"Sorry," he said, cleaning up the mess with his wand. "I'm nervous about our evaluations, I suppose." Inwardly, he cursed. Hermione had been living in his flat for two weeks now. He ought to have learned not to be frightened out of his wits every time someone spoke to him. At this rate, the DMLE would be bringing him in for questioning any day now because of his suspicious behavior. Unbreakable Vow or not, he wasn't keen on learning how well he withstood torture.

Warrington smirked. "Of course you would be. Children of blood traitors need every advantage they can get. I, on the other hand, am from a decent family and can afford to slack off every now and again."

Or all the time. Percy bit back a snarl. Those now in power were not only monsters, they were lazy, incompetent ones. It was a wonder that the machinery of government did not grind to a halt with people like Thicknesse and Yaxley in charge and people like Warrington as their faithful lieutenants. If the Order somehow pulled off a miracle and defeated the Death Eaters, they would have their hands full just making day-to-day operations run smoothly again. Hermione could just about manage it, but he shuddered to imagine Tonks in charge of anything.

Warrington went on. "Can you believe that some people are actually resisting the Ministry now? We finally get a government that has the sense to put the best people in charge, and some people want to overthrow it. The Mudbloods and the traitors stupid enough to marry them I can understand. But rumor has it that a lot of people from the old families have thrown their lot in with Potter and are actually praying for him to defeat the Dark Lord." His lips thinned. "Your dad's a blood traitor. Explain it to me."

Percy shrugged noncommittally. "No use trying to understand them. Completely incomprehensible." To you. You made up your mind long ago that Muggle-borns were dirt, and to hell with the facts. No sense arguing with you.

Warrington clapped him on the shoulder. "Quite right. Their brains are too primitive to work like a normal wizard's. Maybe they shouldn't be thrown in Azkaban after all. Crazy people belonged in St. Mungo's. Either way, we'll get--" The overhead light flickered on and off and Warrington cursed. "What now? If this is Magical Maintenance trying to prove they deserve a raise, someone deserves to get hexed."

Percy never got the chance to respond. Umbridge's magically amplified voice echoed throughout the building. "Attention, all Ministry personnel. While waiting to be summoned before the Muggle-Born Registration Committee, a wizard named Simon McKenzie broke away from the crowd and escaped." Beneath her sickly-sweet tone, Percy thought he detected a note of rage and just the slightest hint of fear. "He is believed to be at large somewhere within the Ministry and to be in possession of a stolen wand. Dementors have been dispatched to deal with the situation and will be searching throughout the building. We appreciate your cooperation in this matter."

Percy shivered. He remembered the Dementors searching the Hogwarts Express the year that he has been Head Boy. He'd nearly fainted and had to spend all of his pocket money on chocolate from the trolley just to recover enough to perform his patrol. That was before You-Know-Who had returned and war had begun. In retrospect, he ought to have learned how to defend himself from Dementors. But they had always been the guards of Azkaban, and he'd foolishly believed that he had nothing to fear from them. He'd always been better at more abstract subjects like Arithmancy than defensive magic, anyway

Neither of them spoke for a long time, and the only sound was the ticking of a cuckoo clock that hung on the wall. The air was cold and thick. Percy was forced to take quick, shallow breaths to breathe at all. The Dementors were coming. I will not faint. I will not make a fool of myself in front of Warrington.

The door opened. For a moment, Percy could see nothing but a gray, glistening hand on the knob. The Dememtor swept inside. Warrington cringed slightly but otherwise held himself perfectly still. Percy gripped the edge of his desk and tried to clear his mind. Above all else, he must not think of Hermione. The Dementor might have been looking for an escapee, but that didn't mean it wouldn't decide to Kiss anyone it thought might be harboring a fugitive. The Dementor ignored Warringon and fixed its gaze on Percy. He could do nothing but remember.

The turban was new and made Quirrell look like a poor imitation of a swami. He regarded Percy with ill-disguised contempt. "I don't have time to discuss Muggle literature with you."

Percy held the book in front of him like a shield. "But sir, you promised that once you returned from Albania that we would discuss what I read while you were gone. I did everything you asked: looked up words that I didn't understand, made notes--"

Quirrell waved him away. "My travels have taught me what things are truly important. Muggle doggerel isn't among them. You'd be wise to forget them and focus on your magical studies."

The scene shifted. Now, it was Percy who scowled at his father. "Don't tell me you believe all that rubbish Dumbledore's spouting. The dead stay dead."

"Dumbledore wouldn't say it if it weren't true. We have to do everything we can to help defeat You-Know-Who."

"Who said anything about 'we'? It's just you and the rest of the family acting like fools. I'm on thin enough ice already after the debacle with Crouch. If you want to destroy what's left of your career, Dad, I can't stop you." He sneered. "Don't expect me to destroy myself just because you tell me to." Percy walked out and slammed the door.

The Dementor moved on, and Percy was suddenly back in the office again. He was hunched over his desk, sweating furiously. The Dementor passed him by and brushed past the remaining clerks in turn. None of them doubled over their desks, though several of them did turn pale. The Dementor glided out as swiftly and silently as it had come. He could almost feel everyone exhale. The other clerks took out their quills and ink and began writing again. Percy followed suit. He must pretend that he was as unaffected as the rest of them. To do otherwise would invite uncomfortable questions.

An hour later, Umbridge spoke again. "Simon McKenzie has been apprehended, and the Dementor's Kiss has been administered. Justice has been served. Have a nice day."

Percy's hand trembled only a bit as he wrote. He told himself it was the weather and forced himself to think of nothing but his work. It was a relief to return home. Hermione was curled up on the couch, holding an open, battered paperback copy of Ender's Game in her good hand. Percy almost smiled. He remembered badgering a Muggle-born dorm mate to explain to him how spaceflight worked for Muggles just after he'd discovered science fiction. The poor fellow had gotten so sick of it that he'd given Percy an illustrated children's book on the moon landing just to shut him up.

"Good evening," Hermione said without looking up. "Did you have a nice day at work?"

"Same as always." There was no need to tell her what had happened. She had enough to worry about already.

Hermione closed her book and looked up. "That's nice. What's for--" Her eyes widened, and she stood up. "You look awful. What happened?"

"Nothing happened. There's some roast in the icebox, if that's what you were going to ask."

"You're a pathetic liar, do you know that?" She took a step closer and studied his face. "You look like you've seen a ghost--or a Dementor."

He was not a pathetic liar. If he was, she would be dead by now. "I have no idea what you're on about."

Hermione ignored him. "You encountered a Dementor. You must have because you look just like Harry did in third year when he was around them. The haunted look in your eyes gives it away."

Percy sat his briefcase down and hung up his cloak. "My eyes are not haunted. I'm just tired. There's this little thing called work. Perhaps you've heard of it."

"I've seen you tired before. This isn't it. Tell me what's wrong. Maybe I can help."

Enough. He'd tried to protect her, but it was clear she didn't appreciate the effort. Maybe he would tell her the truth and see how she liked that. Percy rounded on her. "Fine. The Dementors did come by my office today. They were looking for a man who'd decided to run instead of facing the Muggle-Born Registration Committee. They found him, of course."

He had managed to shock her. It didn't feel nearly as satisfying as he'd hoped. "What happened to him?"

Percy shrugged. "The Dementor's Kiss. What else?"

"I ... see." Hermione sank back onto the couch. "At least he died fighting. There's something to be said for that, anyway."

"For reckless stupidity, you mean?" He followed her into the sitting room and perched on the edge of the chair opposite her. "He ought to have known he was never going to get free, not when the Ministry is infested with Dementors. The McKenzie fellow lost his soul for a few hours of freedom. Somehow I doubt he thought the trade was worth it."

Hermione's expression was grave. "Perhaps not, but the Dementors were going to get him one way or another. Either right then or by chipping away at him for years in Azkaban. A slim chance of freedom, even with the possibility of annihilation, is better than slowly losing everything that makes you human." She bit her lip. "Still, it's a choice I hope that I never have to make."

Percy hoped she never had to, either. A choice like that was no choice at all.