Hermione wakes up at what she assumes is the crack of dawn, the basement was insulated from any indicators otherwise. Knowing her luck, Kreacher may have even gone so far as to adjust her alarm clock so he could serve her at his leisure. Scattered about her desk was every account of muggle fighting tactics she could commit from memory. The Black's library was noticeably lacking in military technology from the muggle world, so she did not have any concrete resources to draw from.

'I should have read those military histories Father was always pushing on me, but no, I had to concern myself with only the most current muggle, well, crap. The lot of it. It must have frustrated him to no end that I took so keenly to wizard history. It just seems there is more respect for it here. Here, as in the wizarding world in general, if I ever do get Harry or Ron or anyone in the house to learn something from a history book, I could die knowing I fulfilled my purpose.' Hermione smiled to herself, 'Boys will be boys, even in muggle lower school I remember the boys only valuing the skills they could actually perform. The girls didn't value education all that much either. And they still don't. I always knew I should have been in Ravenclaw. To think how much I could have furthered my education with peers to debate theories with.'

With her last thought, Hermione tapped the table. All her papers immediately moved to stack themselves neatly in front of Hermione's chair. Again and again, Hermione kept finding that she didn't need a specific charm to make things around her happen. It was how she first discovered the possibility for the tabula rastious charm. The charm was only needed to adapt her finding to others, and even that wasn't going well. Hermione was already poised with wax and a large parchment to seal her notes for filing. She pressed the insignia of her ring into the wax and readied a spot in her drawer while the wax cooled. Her drawer was already straining under the load all her notes had applied, but if it didn't get in this drawer, it didn't show up in the tabula rastious. Hermione forcefully gave the papers a shove to ensure the drawer would be able to close over the top of the pages.

'I need The Art of War and it could be helpful to have Father's notes. I need to go home.' Hermione thought definitively. There was nothing more she could do before she had those notes. She hated to make a decision without it being fully informed.

Hermione made an attempt to make herself presentable. Her hair, while not greasy, had taken on a hydrated look that weighed it down. With a little help from a pennello charm her hair may have passed for presentable. She wouldn't know for sure until she went topside and could find a mirror. Now for clothing. After graduation, anything that couldn't fit in her trunk was thrown in the rubbish bin. Books were the number one priority in packing up from Hogwarts, but surely she had left something from home. All of her shrunken belongings appeared in their actual size as she unceremoniously grabbed them from her trunk. Anything from the muggle world was at the bottom, naturally.

Hermione finally settled on a pair of black trousers and a simple black button down. Mother was not going to approve, but at least if she threw a hissy-fit Hermione could remind her, that the clothes at least came from a designer that Mother approves of. They remained some of the only muggle clothes Hermione kept, solely because they would fit under her work cloak. She just wouldn't mention that to Mother.

The stairs protested loudly as she hauled herself using the banister. This was the first time she had been outside in a long time. No, it wasn't exactly like there was someone keeping her here, but the work just kept piling up. She was needed here. It just felt a little odd to be, well, leaving.

There, in front of the door, appeared Molly Weasley. Hermione made to smile at her and apologize for not getting her most recent request filled earlier; not that she could remember even looking at the form, but before Hermione could get a word out, Molly said, "Where are going? There's Order business to be tending to."

"Mrs. Weasley, I'm so happy to have run into you. I've been meaning to thank you for your cooking recently. Even in the midst of war you manage to keep all of us at headquarters well-fed. I'm actually going out on Order business. Dumbledore has tasked me to research possible advantages of reorganizing our attacks, I'm going to my home to get a book my father has on war strategies," Hermione paused after noting Molly's look of disinterest, anything that wasn't happening in the kitchen wasn't important, "well, I'm doing research."

Molly seemed to take in Hermione's appearance, weighing her story, and try to decide a course of action. It was a slow process, but evidently came a conclusion since she finally spoke, "I'm going to have to find Alastor or Lupin. Clearly you shouldn't be going on errands when the danger out there is far too great for young girls."

Hermione reluctantly agreed, if the reports coming across her desk were any indication it was a slaughter out there. She let Molly seat her in the sitting room while Molly went to find someone capable of making a decision.

Lupin and Alastor were surprised to see Molly burst though the door, "The nerve of that girl. On my life, if Ginny ever gets so...so disrespectful, I'll throw her out on the streets. She even had the nerve to confront me about not cooking for her anymore. Merlin's beard if she thinks I'll personally deliver her my special liver pie when she can't even come out of that hole. And we think she's down there doing research to help my Ron and Harry. NO, absolutely not, she's looking up hair charms in Witch's Weekly and owling away for clothes." Molly stood directly across from Lupin and Alastor, panting, and red in the face with emotion.

Stepping away from the map in front of him, Lupin said, "Now, Molly. We haven't seen the girl in ages. Surely she has come to you for a reason."

"Come to me? You think she came to me? I would think not. If I didn't listen to Alastor's warning of constant vigilance, I wouldn't have caught her trying to sneak out the front door. On Dumbledore's business, according to her."

"That's odd. Dumbledore didn't mention assigning her anything at the meeting yesterday." Alastor and Lupin shared a look, Lupin continued, "Reguardless, I think we should send an auror with her just to be certain. I think Diggle is here." Lupin nodded to himself as silent congratulations, it was the first thing he had accomplished all morning. These attacks were getting to well organized, the Order just wasn't able to respond. Alastor and he had been debating moving aurors around all morning.

Realizing the wizards were too concerned with Order business to see the only logical thing to do was send Hermione right back down to the basement, Molly set off in search of Diggle. At least if Hermione was up to something fishy, the order would know about it.

Molly drug Diggle to the front door, "Hermione you remember Mr. Diggle. He will be accompanying you today. He is a very busy wizard though, Hermione, so no waiting about. We need our solider here home as soon as possible, you're lucky we could even spare him today." Hermione was used to Molly's intense scrutiny by now, so she just edged toward the door nodding.

She side-along apparated Diggle to a muggle neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. They arrived in a dense bit of foliage in the park across the street from their destination. Hermione checked herself to make sure no leaves clung to her clothes and led Diggle across the street in silence. Diggle kept eyeing her, he didn't look like he could do any harm, but he was making her uncomfortable. Thankfully, he seemed to be just as enamored with the babysitting assignment as Hermione was with the ball and chain she now had to drag around, but not for much further.

The house was plain at best; realistically it probably erred on the side of being a hazard to the environment. The neighbors weren't much better, but the constant evictions and fights made it easy to go unnoticed. Hermione led Diggle into the screened porch and gestured for him to sit in one of the chairs. Silently but clearly alerting him to the fact that he was not coming indoors. Diggle seemed relieved to avoid making small talk with muggles and made himself comfortable. Hermione breathed a sign of relief; she wasn't going to need to take more drastic evasive measures than she was already about to.

The door had a standard muggle lock, so Hermione fumbled around in her dragon skin bag for a moment looking for the key. As soon as it jolted into her fingers she unlocked the door and quickly closed it behind her. For only a moment she was able to take in the barren walls and dingy carpet. The next moment she was looking at an entirely different scene. Her bedroom in Kensington. Mrs. Granger's tastes always leaned toward the extravagant, but their home was much more. It was comfortable and welcoming, despite being pretentious. She didn't know how her parents did it, her parent's oral surgery and investments were lucrative, yes, but she imagined there must have been a little interference from her mother's parents to make this place happen. Just another one of the many things that made her seem like an oddity at muggle school. Kids and their parents were hooked on the gossip circuit like addict on felix felicis, and when money didn't quite add up, popularity was on short supply.

The facade of a house was her father's idea. An old investment that hadn't, and probably will never, mature. It was a struggle at first, her father didn't want his lifestyle to be under the scrutiny of magicfolk and he was insistent. As Hermione's life in the wizarding world became more high profile she considered it a blessing. The less people knew about her regular life, the better. Even in Hogwart's files her real address wasn't listed. Her father's doing no doubt. He didn't want any more of his money disappearing into the wizarding world than was absolutely necessary. She had written him of Harry's rapidly depleting finances toward the end of school - it was the one thing her father could offer advice on from her wizarding life. Harry was pouring his inheritance into the Order, and Hermione was the only one who knew. She managed to glimpse into his vault before they graduated. Her father immediately sought protection for Hermione's finances. The Goblins were surprisingly familiar with the financial practices of the muggle world, and took to having her father discuss the limitations on Hermione's account much better than listening to Hermione try to remove them.

Hermione didn't have long before her mother appeared in her doorway, "Could you have bothered to wear a jacket? Some pearls? It is no matter. I am delighted you are here. And look at you, finally beginning to take after my side of the family; it would be a shame to have you looking like your father for any longer. The rugged, outdoorsmen look is really only for men."

Confused, Hermione snapped her head to look in her vanity mirror. "Oh. My." Was all Hermione could utter. She scrutinized her reflection, months in the basement had lightened her skin tone to match her mother's and without sunlight to bleach her hair, it was dark. Very dark. Combined with the darkness of her outfit, Hermione almost startled herself. How could someone at headquarters not comment on this, but really the only person she had seen since her birthday was Snape. Snape was not the kind of person to notice cosmetic changes in an insignificant little girl.

"Darling, you look fabulous. Do not make this into a bad thing. Perhaps we could go to the salon together, manicures? No, alright, a quick pedicure? Hermione you cannot continue to deny my only pleasure."

Hermione had been taking a turn about her room. Feeling the smooth texture of her bedding made even her finger tips feel rough. Her bookshelf was rearranged, most likely by an interior decorator attempting to create the look of attractive disorder; Hermione just noticed all the subjects were mixed together and no one author in the same place. Her favorite curtains that blocked out the sun better than Hogwart's charmed ones. Her paintings - wait. Hermione's eyes darted back to the window.

'I swear I just saw someone appear out of thin air at that corner.' Hermione made her way to the window in an attempt to identify the perpetrator, but by the time she got there the only thing happening outside was a mailman walking to stoop of the house next door. 'I must be paranoid of leaving Diggle at the midway point unattended, but I thought we didn't have neighbors.'

"Mother, when did we get neighbors?" Hermione questioned.

"Hermione you can not be serious, we got them after your forth year. You remember my letter after they declined an invitation to dine. Intensely private people, but the best neighbors I could have asked for."

Remembering the real reason she was here, Hermione asked, "Is Father around? I need to borrow a book from him, and hopefully I can get his notes."

"Yes, he is in the library. Surely you would like to borrow some jewelry, or even some clothing now that we have the same color wheel?" Hermione's mother trailed after her hopefully. It really did break Hermione's heart that she wasn't a better daughter to her mother. Maybe, if all goes well with the war, I will have the time to put more effort into my appearance, for her sake.

Hermione easily made it in an out of the library quickly, her father, like Hermione, was easily engrossed in reading and was eager to get back to his work. On her way out the door Hermione makes promises to come visit more often, usually empty, she might actually follow through. She has been so isolated at headquarters it felt good to be out in the open air. That, and she could do with some color back in her skin. She was starting to look like a Malfoy.

Once under the cover of the carriage house, Hermione apparates back to the midway point. She opens the front door and looks to the bench she left Diggle on, oddly missing. Upon spotting Diggle on the way to the curb, looking, for all intents and purposes about to leave, she calls to him.

"Merlin, woman. I have been pounding on the door for all of five minutes and you don't even have the common decency to pop your head out and tell me to give you a minute." Diggle grabbed her roughly by the arm and started to drag her across the street to the brush they arrived in. Not a moment after Diggle gripped her arm, he pulled his hand back as though burned, "Fine. Have it your way. But we are leaving. Now. There has been another attack."

Too busy preparing herself to go to the front lines, Hermione doesn't react to Diggle's grip. Hermione lets herself be apparated. When she opens her eyes she notices she is at the apparation point for Number 12 Grimmauld Place, but the spot where Diggle was standing when they arrived is now empty. She had been left. When there aren't but 60 aurors in all of London to fight, Diggle made a detour to drop her off.

Hermione stomped up to the entrance of the Black family house. She had half a mind to take off and scour the spots she had predicted an attack would take place this week, but hadn't any idea where to start.

From the basement, Hermione was able to hear the arrival of the Order members coming back from the attack, or at least those who did return. The groans were unbearable, Hermione was an expert at healing charms but Dumbledore requested she always stay near the books incase a particularly nasty injury came in and she would be able to find the antidote or counter curse.

No requests came down Hermione's pipeline. Hermione had just finished the last portion of her meal and was nodding off at her desk when Kreacher popped back into the basement only minutes after taking away her last plate. "Mistress Hermione, Kreacher has come for Dumbdore. Dumbdore asks that Kreacher bring Mistress Hermione."

Her heart nearly leapt from her chest. Now, after all this time he had finally realized what an asset she could be for the Order. No, she wasn't going to dwell on the nagging feeling she had that he only wanted her now because too many had died in the latest attack. She was going to be a member of The Order of the Phoenix. Think of all the things I could better explain in meetings. They will finally see what I have been trying to say in my reports, and I will be able to update my reports much more quickly because I will be at the battles.

It was everything Hermione could do not to pick Kreacher up and run him up the stairs, he little legs were too slow, they were still in the basement. Doesn't he know there is going to be an Order initiation soon?

Kreacher pushed open the door for Hermione and bowed as he backed out of the room. Hermione had to contain her smile, because although she was getting a much deserved promotion, by the look of Dumbledore's face it was at the cost of many lives.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore said solemnly. "Have a seat." Hermione began to get a nagging idea that this meeting was not about her becoming an Order member. Hermione sat. "Diggle brought it to my attention that today, just moments after he got word of the attack, you, were missing." Dumbledore took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. "To an Order member who doesn't know you, that might look suspicious." Hermione sat forward in her seat to protest, but Dumbledore held up his hand. "I am not accusing you, but some will. Molly has already sparked suspicion in the new recruits by scandalizing your...new appearance."

Hermione's shock quickly turned into defiance. She had been living in a hole since graduation and people had already been accusing her of betrayal before she even left the house, "Headmaster, let's be honest. The Order was suspicious of my long before I came to stay in this house."

Dumbledore froze, then nodded. "Miss Granger. We're all very concerned with the direction you are taking. Can you not be content with what Hogwarts has taught you? Very few wizards and witches seek much further education than their professional speciality. Those few wizards who do are the ones we are fighting against."

This time it was Hermione's turn to freeze, "So I am to understand that I have gone as far as I can in the wizarding world under your tutelage?" Hermione paused, "you see, that seems odd. The enemy, who is not residing in these walls, has no qualms about 'furthering their education'."

"That is the very reason members of the Order fear you."

At this point in the conversation Hermione had no reservations about interrupting Dumbledore, "So now they fear me? Just a moment ago you seemed to be trying to say they fear for me, for the path they fear I may take. Now it seems as though you have been allowing a monster to grow in your basement. I am not that monster. I have been best friends with Harry Potter since first year. I have been by his side this whole time. I thought I was helping."

"Miss Granger. It seems as though we have come to an en passe, if you will. I cannot in good conscious allow you the freedom to continue studying the books from the Black library. It seems a majority of the books in your possession have been of the Dark Arts sort. I also cannot allow you to join the Order because no one will consent to be your partner." Dumbledore's face took on an ashen quality, "I'd like to prepose your return to your muggle family. It would only be temporary, of course. You need time away from Dark Arts that have been effecting you so, and the Order needs time to remember you as you were in your first year."

Hermione's back was straight, her shoulders squared, and her face a perfect, emotionless mask. "I'll collect my things and be out by morning." Hermione slowly stood up, make a half curtsey in way of excusing herself and walked calmly out the door, down the hallway, and descended into the basement.

The following eight hours were methodical, emotionless, and did nothing to quiet the burning rage Hermione felt right under the roaring hum she heard in her ears. The books from the Black library were gone, a few books she had purchased while at Hogwarts were missing too. Her potions had all been removed and all her ingredients locked behind enchanted glass. Her notes were gone, the tabula rastious charmed paper was gone and thanks to testing the paper on Ginny the Order had the means to figure out its operation. All that was left for her to do was pack her meager belongings into her trunk. Thankfully, she had her dragon hide bag with her all day. Her few precious items were untouched. Hermione kept having to remind herself: 'everything they took is already in my head'. Kreacher, that thieving wretch, must have taken her personal notes and given them to Dumbledore. Kreacher's theft and her dismissal being so close together was too circumspect for her to ignore. Kreacher popped in sometime in the middle of the night.

"Miss, miss. Kreacher is wondering what is going on. Kreacher was cleaning the upstairs library and all of miss' things are there." Kreacher was wringing his hands together.

Hermione wheeled around at the sound of Kreacher's voice. When he looked up at the end of his questioning and finally met Hermione's eyes, he had to apparate way momentarily. As soon as he was gone though, he feared his punishment more and apparated right back. "You. You little thief." Hermione forced out through her gritted teeth.

Kreacher wailed so horrendously it was enough to snap Hermione out of her anger. Kreacher is just a house elf, he would never have operated without direct orders. The sound of Hermione's controlled breathing calmed Kreacher enough to peek out from behind his bony elf hands. After a pause, Hermione was able to form questions for the elf that wouldn't have him in trouble with whoever was ordering him around. The poor creature took orders from the pureblood fanatic paintings; Hermione didn't intend to add any more undo stress to his life. "Kreacher," she began with almost an eery calm compared to her anger the moment before, "I want you to remember my personal notebook. Do you?" Kreacher's disproportionately large head wobbled up and down. "Is the notebook accessible to and members of the Order or do you have instructions to give it to any member of the Order?" Kreacher clearly didn't know the bounds of his instructions of his instructions to keep quiet and Hermione's unexpected behavior - seemingly wanting the book not to be in the hands of the Order - evaded his explicit instructions of what not to tell the witch.

"Kreacher does not understand what Miss Hermione is asking." Kreacher was weaving around on his short legs, unable to stand still under the hot scrutiny of Hermione's glare.

Hermione bent down to Kreacher's level, "Kreacher, any minute I am leaving this shithole and never coming back. I want to make sure no one in the Order ever finds out what is in that notebook. Does that go against any order you already have?"

"No Miss! Kreacher would be honored to help Miss Hermione. Kreacher sees how hard Miss works and Kreacher would be honored to hide information from the Order. Kreacher already has a great many thin..." Kreacher stopped himself and was clearly searching for the nearest loose object he could take to lob against his skull, but Hermione stopped him and let the corner of her mouth twitch upward. Kreacher immediately took to sending Hermione's belongings to the front door. There wasn't much to send, but by the time Hermione made it to the top of the stairs she could see all of her belongings had be shrunken to fit inside her dragon hide bag, which was hanging on the hat rack next to the door.

It wasn't Hermione's intention to steal out in the middle of the night, but packing her belongings went much more quickly than expected with no books to debate leaving behind. There was no reason to stay until morning. Dumbledore was still sitting at his desk when he heard the front door open. He stood at his window to watch the girl walk to the apparation point. If only he knew forcing her out of the wizarding world would send her directly into the grips of the Dark Arts. Not just any Dark Arts, but the most advanced.