ALLERFORD, SOMERSET, ENGLAND

The following week

Hermione spent an hour exploring the forum before she started any real chores. There was a lot of information to sift through and it was hard to tear herself away. She looked at each screen-name with a growing sense of yearning. Who were these people? Was she interacting with someone from her past without even knowing? It was enough to make her head reel. She turned the laptop off and got up from the table with a lingering smile on her face.

She stretched and then perused a small shelf in the kitchen filled with a wide variety of cookbooks. The edges were aged, and from the titles, Hermione knew that Christie's late wife, Laura, must have been the one to purchase and use them. A red and white plaid one titled Quick Meals from Betty Crocker looked like an okay place to start, so she pulled it out and unfolded it on the table. She browsed through the index and came to a stop, her finger just below 'beef stew...pg. 64.'

They didn't have any beef, she knew, but there was a rabbit left that needed to be cooked soon or frozen.

Following the instructions in the cookbook, Hermione soon had a stew simmering on the stove and had even tried her hand at home-made rolls. They didn't look like the picture, but they were...well, they were horrible. Maybe with a generous amount of butter? She frowned at the lumpy and flat bread; she could have sworn she followed the instructions perfectly. She poked one with a sigh. It was rock hard. She couldn't help thinking rather fondly of Hagrid's rock cakes. A deep breath later, she started laughing. Apparently she had a long way to go before she should think about making bread.

What to do with them? Christie was out bird-watching again, and she was glad he hadn't seen this mess.

An hour later, Christie walked in the front door as Hermione was mopping up the kitchen and pantry floors. "Why, looky here! Tanks, lass, tis lookin' sparkly in 'ere, surely. Ye ready ter take a break?"

Hermione smiled and nodded. "Actually, yes. I wanted to ask you about something."

"Sure, what's dat?"

Hermione wrung out the mop and stepped carefully over the wet floor in her socks. "One second, I'll show you." She went in and came back out of her room with a carefully rolled up newspaper in her hands.

Christie followed her into the living room and she spread it open on the coffee table. Actually, it was an old chest she had found in the pantry filled with Mason jars, newspapers, and cardboard, but she had commandeered it to use as a coffee table.

She bit her lip as she viewed the picture of Mr. Weasley once more. "This...this is why I wasn't at my camp when you got there. I..."

Christie nodded and smoothed the paper respectfully. "Oi tink 'e's proobably dead," he finally said.

Hermione's head jerked up and her eyes widened. "What do you mean, probably?"

"Walll—"

"You mean there's a chance he isn't? How could that be?"

"Isn't dat waaat ye were gonna ask me?"

Hermione shook her head and blinked away tears. "I was going to ask if you knew anything about...about him...or his family. What happened to them. The Weasleys."

"Walll nigh (now), Oi wish Oi did, girlie. Supposedly they're all dead, but Oi wud only take it with a grain av salt. Dis trash is propaganda tiddle. Naw wan (No one) actually reads it. Or believes it. Oi jist keep dem fer me compost." He winked at her, nodding at the stack of newspapers on top of the bookcase in the corner.

Hermione's heart started pounding with the possibilities. There was a chance, however small...

New life buzzed through Hermione's veins. She tackled everything she could during the day: deep cleaning, dusting, organizing, and cooking. Christie kept on at her to slow down, to take a rest, but she couldn't. It was wonderful to feel useful again. Wonderful to be clean and to be able to eat seconds of anything she liked. But even more wonderful than this was the few hours after dinner when Christie retired for the evening and all was quiet in the house. She would make herself a hot cuppa and have a bit of shortbread or whatever dessert she had made recently, click on the Tiffany lamp on Christie's roll-top desk, and bring the laptop out of sleep mode.

Hermione was slowly getting to know a few of the regulars. No personal information was allowed, nothing specific whatsoever. It was a little odd, at first, greeting someone by pseudonym only and having no idea who they really were or where they were from. She wanted to learn every bit about The Resistance and about the rebels that she could, so she had been taking notes in an empty spiral-bound notebook Christie had given her. She hoped putting on paper what she learned about each member would help her to discern if she might know them. Too, she had been jotting down thoughts of how the rebels could one day turn the tide. Her ideas weren't practical in the least, but she wrote them down anyway.

The more that she learned about what was going on in the world, the more desperate she became to make a difference. Everything had changed. She couldn't figure out how Voldemort had overpowered so many countries so quickly after she and Harry were taken prisoner. It had taken Voldemort seven years to defeat a child, after all. Something didn't add up. There wasn't any pertinent information concerning the end of the war on the forum that she could find and she made a mental note to ask Christie about it when he returned.

The current topics garnering the most attention on the forum revolved around recent rumours. Hermione felt sick to her stomach when she read that the standing Minister, Montague, was passing a new act that stipulated that Muggles in Europe were not going to be able to make any wages. Decreased rations, again, too, were around the corner. A few members, Asphodel and ManDrake, were rather grim on the subject.

"Ye missed a lot whaen ye were trapped in de Tower, dat's for sure, lass. Oi don' tink Oi shud tell yer all av it. Tis too...ah, tis 'ard ter even say. An' much av waaat Oi nu (know) is pure speculashun, understan'." Christie paused and watched Hermione's face carefully for signs that she couldn't handle what he was about to tell her. "People jist...dropped dead. Dare was naw (no) rhyme or reason. Rumour 'as it dat most major cities are abandoned or overrun by gangs."

Hermione trembled. "What-what do you mean? How could...?"

Christie sighed. "Tis...tis 'ard ter explain. De sun an' moon turned red; Ah'll never forget dat as long as Oi live. De skies rained fire, an' water, it turned ter blood. Lord Whatsit, it wus everywhere dat he wus gonna stop de death an' de destruction. He lifted de plagues, as he called dem, turnin' oceans an' lakes an' everythin' back ter water; the skies cleared－many av dose lef worshipped 'im. Called 'im a 'ero." Christie shook his head. "Oi cannae brag aboyt much, lass, but Oi can say dat Oi never fell for de act."

It took Hermione a minute to collect her thoughts and when she met Christie's eye, she still felt disbelief. "That doesn't make any sense. How could anything like that happen? And, what did you mean, before, about the cities? How many people exactly...?"

Christie shook his head sadly. "Ye don' want ter nu, trust me. Too many. Too many good people died. An' that's jist a rumour aboyt de cities, ye nu. Oi don't nu it for a fact." He paused, then looked thoughtful. "Some...well, i' sounds a bit crazy ter me, but waaat doesn't dees days, aye? Dare are dohs who tink dat 'e's got de power av de gods on 'is side." Christie exhaled loudly at the idea. "Hogwash in me opinion, but Oi'm at a loss as ter waaat de truth might be."

"The..."

"Towl (Told) yer it wus crazy." Christie laughed, then turned the conversation in a different direction. "Naw matter waaat, dis Lord Whatsit fella won't win forever. We Muggles might not 'ave magic at our disposal, but our ver' nature is defiant. An', we've got weapons enoof av our'n."

Shaking, Hermione fought away the nausea at the thought of so many innocent people lost. She couldn't believe it. The only way she could breathe was to pretend, for the moment, anyway, that it wasn't true. "We have to do something. I can only imagine what Dumbledore would do in this situation...but, we...if we could divide his ranks as much as possible..."

Christie nodded. "Better yet wud be some well-placed spies."

Hermione's hands trembled even harder at that thought and she shook her head forcefully once, but then sighed. "I concede. Yes, that would be helpful..."

"Rumor 'as it dat we 'av a few, but t'be sure, Oi'm no' high up enoof on de ladder ter nu a tin' aboyt it."

Hermione drummed her fingers on the cover of her notebook for a few moments, lost in memories of a spy who had been too good at his job.

Christie interjected, "Oi wonder, lassie, oy (how) ye do it? Ah've been stewin' and ponderin' and plottin' til me 'ead's fit ter burst."

"Hmm?" Hermione's fingers suddenly stilled as the depth of his question reached her. Her mouth opened a few times, but it took her a minute to get the words past the lump in her throat. "Oh, Christie. I-I can't pretend I haven't been to hell and back. You can't imagine..."

Christie didn't say anything; he just nodded, his eyes kind.

Hermione's hands started shaking and she clasped them between her knees. She rather wondered if talking about it would help. She finally said, "I thought I was going to die. No—I knew I was." She paused for a few deep breaths. "I was desperate to, well before the last...to be honest." Her eyes welled with tears and she stared down at her hands for several silent seconds. When she spoke next, her voice was quiet and Christie had to lean forward in his chair to hear. "It's strange. I'd never liked him, you see. I suppose, over the years, I despised and felt sorry for him in equal measure, and, well, despite everything, I did appreciate his thirst for knowledge. By my last year at Hogwarts I...I did wonder about him." She sighed, a few tears slipping down her cheeks, and her voice was thick. "I'm not sure I can talk about it."

"Aye. 'course. Sorry, lass, yer don't 'av ter (have to)."

Hermione nodded, then exhaled slowly. "No, I－I think...I...should. You've been ever so kind to me and it's the least I can do. I just—I might need a moment here and there."

Christie nodded and Hermione was about to open her mouth to begin, when he stood up and insisted on making them both tea first. "Ginger root, tis jist waaat ye nade (need). Ah'll jist be two shakes av a lamb's tail."

Hermione gathered her wayward emotions while Christie made them each a quick cup of tea. Her hands stopped shaking and she eased back onto the side of the couch, pulling a soft pillow in front of her protectively. Christie handed her a warm cup and settled in the chair nearby.

Hermione absently stirred the tea, dissolving the honey settled in the bottom of the cup with a small spoon for several moments before she began. "It may come as a surprise that I owe my life to a Death Eater. We...we knew each other from Hogwarts. I am not sure, exactly, how long I had been held prisoner when I saw him. Harry had been...gone...oh, Merlin...it felt like forever. I longed for the end. To be reunited with—with Harry and Ron and my parents and countless others. It was the only thing I had to hold onto; that eventually, it would all be over and I would be free from the pain and the dark and the..." A soft sob escaped her and she tried to take a sip of the tea, tried to catch her breath.

Several moments passed in silence and then Hermione continued, her eyes fastened on the teacup in her lap. "I...the few hours before had been..." she shuddered, "I was still delirious from the pain. I was lying in my cell, alone for once, when he came in very quietly with a bowl of broth. I'd never...his eyes...he was shocked. I remember he locked the door and tried to help me sit up. He kept going on about how I had to eat the soup." She laughed softly, still overwhelmed by the difference she had seen in him. "I hadn't eaten anything in ages—I had given up. He held me up and spoon fed me, which at the time didn't really register, but ever since, I can't seem to...to get it out of my head. I still find it hard to believe. He Apparated us outside of the dungeons and to a deserted countryside in the Highlands, not far from a farm. I collapsed after that. I wish I remembered it all better. Part of the time, there was a lot of pain, from healing spells. He healed me as much as he could, but was running out of time. I remember that he said he had to go. He settled me under a tree to rest and said that he would return soon with decent clothes for me and food and such, but...he never came back." Hermione bit her lip and closed her eyes for a long moment. "I never saw Draco Malfoy again."