Chapter 10: Polygeline

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Sirius slammed his hands against the tabletop and glared down at Peter and James, who sat ramrod straight in their seats.

"Let's review, shall we?" Sirius began, an acid-green quick-quote quill floated at the ready over a sheet of parchment by his hand, "We've tried the gentle way; thought of everything we could on how to approach Miss Granger on non-threatening grounds, and it hasn't worked. What we need to do now is be more direct!"

"'B-be more direct'?" Peter stuttered, "What do you mean?"

Sirius shrugged easily, "We act like what we are; wizards. All we need to do is confound her and Apparate her straight to Remus."

James choked on his own breath, "We can't do that! Do you know what the consequences are for exposing magic to muggles?"

"We're not going to end up in Azkaban," Sirius rolled his eyes before slapping at the quill which had been scribbling furiously beside him, "I said 'Azkaban', you stupid thing, not 'Alakazam'. Were you even listening?"

"Even so, Sirius, if we expose Hermione to magic like that who knows how it's going to affect her? She's one of those muggle healers after all – Lily says that they're the sceptical sort."

"I heard that Bertha Jorkins was dumped by a muggle just last week after he found out she was a witch," Peter added.

"Or it could have been her incessant need to talk about everyone and everything all the time," Sirius retorted unkindly.

Peter shrugged but didn't argue the fact.

James levelled him a look and Sirius threw his hands up in the air, nearly knocking the green quill entirely off the table, "Fine! What do you suggest we do then?"

James stroked his chin thoughtfully, "Plan G?"

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Hermione picked up a kaffir lime from the stand that stood outside the local market. With a frown, she quickly replaced it with another, staring at the green skin contemplatively. Vendors stood outside of their stalls yelling into the street at passing people, their arms laden with fresh fruits and produce.

Tucking the lime into her basket along with her pears and apples, she quickly brought it to the teller, smiling politely as the grouchy owner rung up her order before bagging it with less than a farewell and moodily called for the next customer.

Arms laden with fruits and meats, Hermione shifted her way through the thick crowd, dodging and weaving professionally around Danish tourists' wayward elbows and local Londoners' commonplace sneers toward the bus stop. She paused at the sound of somebody yelling.

"Hermione! Hey, Hermione!"

She swivelled on the spot, looking around for whoever was calling her, and over the crowd spotted a manically waving hand rise above the heads in her direction. Moving to the side of the path as to not get knocked over, Hermione squinted through the crowd to see who was calling for her; a hint of messy black hair made itself apparent as the crowd thinned and glasses sat on the end of a man's nose. He was in his forties and grinning manically at her. Hermione had the vague sense of knowing this man, but she couldn't recall from where…

Then, without any notice, the man tripped as if he had been bowled over by an invisible force, tumbling sideways into the grouchy grocers Hermione had just left. The man's arms flailed wildly, knocking over a display of strawberries and sending the open punnets flying onto unsuspecting customers, before pin-wheeling into a carton of honeydew melons, making them splatter to the ground until he finally collapsed on top of a pallet of unpacked mangos, which squelched unpleasantly beneath him.

He blinked stupidly as fruit juice soaked into his jacket and jeans, his glasses sitting askew on his face, and Hermione winced in sympathy as angry customers circled the man, yelling at having been hit by wayward fruit before the grocer stormed over, furiously swearing at the man in Bulgarian.

More and more people began to make their way over to the scene, and Hermione had to duck as a large woman barrelled her way through, beady eyes hungrily taking the sight in. With a shrug, Hermione decided it was best to leave while she still could and made her way toward her next stop on her list of errands – the chemist.

Just a few blocks down from the noisiness of the markets was a small square that Hermione had frequented more than once. An elderly couple called the Cadwalladers, owned the chemist shop in the far corner, with its hand-painted sign still advertising whooping cough medicine at only £0.59 and rose-fern latticing running up the far side of it. She spotted the elderly couple's grandson, Eurig, standing in the doorway, acting as security since it was the off-season for his rugby team, and gave him a cheerful smile as she entered the small store, receiving a short nod in response.

Hefting up a rickety wooden basket Hermione made her way down the aisles, collecting vitamins and toothpaste. As she reached for a packet of plasters she froze. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled in warning and Hermione had the odd feeling again of being watched. Careful not to turn her head, she looked up at the large, rounded security mirror bolstered up in the corner of the room. From her spot in the feminine hygiene aisle, she saw the back of a rather dumpy-looking man, hunched over and sneaking recurrent glances, before shuffling down to the far side of the aisle by the rash creams to peer at her through the shelves.

Slowly, Hermione lowered her arm, quietly and carefully crossing the length of the aisle. The man followed, shoving bottles of sunscreen out of the way to stare at her. She bit her lip nervously and walked back to the front of the shop, gesturing to Eurig with a sharp hand before subtly nodding her head in the strange man's direction. She hadn't caught sight of his face, but they were the only two in the store for it to be any less of a coincidence.

Eurig, at over six feet and weighing two hundred and fifty pounds, glanced over her head to see the man dawdling in the feminine hygiene aisle, back turned, staring adamantly at the box of pads Hermione had been considering earlier – his basket was filled with the exact items she had collected. Eurig's eyes narrowed before he gave a brief nod in Hermione's direction and ambled his massive self toward the man.

"S'there anythin' I can help you with?" the guard grunted out.

The man jumped and swivelled to face Eurig. Hermione watched curiously, trying and failing to peek over one of Eurig's hulking shoulders which nearly spanned the width of the aisle, "N-n-no, no problem, sir!" the man squeaked.

"D'you need any help in findin' somethin'?"

"N-no! I'm all done here! D-d-don't need a single thing else… sir!"

"Then you better purchase your items at the register and leave," Eurig said finitely.

"R-r-r-right away, sir!"

But the man didn't move.

Eurig flexed his arms unsubtly, and Hermione watched fascinated as he stood nearly a good foot over the man, "Didn't you hear me, little man? I told you to leave."

Hermione could spot the man's knees shaking from behind Eurig, "I-I-I can't."

The security guard's voice dripped with sarcasm, "You can't?"

"…I'm stuck," the man finally whispered, "M-m-my feet… they're stuck to the floor…"

Eurig snatched the man by the collar of his shirt, lifting him over four inches above the ground, his feet swinging limply.

"Funny. They don't seem to be stuck anymore. But just in case… how about I help you on your way out?" Eurig hefted the man higher and began dragging him to the front, the man dropping his basket with a squeak, sending vitamins tumbling across the aisle.

"No, no, no! I have to talk to Hermi—!" the man called, but Eurig tossed him onto the street, slamming the door behind them, making the bell above the door jangle furiously. Hermione stood in the quiet of the shop, not certain what to do with herself before Eurig flung the door back open, clapping his hands free of imaginary dirt.

"Got a lift home?" Eurig grunted, turning to shuffle behind the counter where Hermione had nervously emptied her basket in an attempt not to stare.

She shook her head, "I took the bus."

Eurig reached for the corded phone, "I'll call you a taxi."

Hermione gave him a grateful smile as he quickly dialled the number for a cab, speaking to the operator for a few minutes before hanging up, "They shouldn't be longer than five minutes. You wanna pay by cash or card?"

Soon Hermione was giving Eurig a cheerful goodbye, arms filled with shopping bags as she made her way toward the main road, glancing down the street in hopes of catching sight of a hackney. The street wasn't overly busy, only a few cars filled the parking spots.

Standing stagnant against the side of the road, Hermione groaned under the weight of her shopping exploits, refusing to let them go in fear of somebody walking by and snatching them out of her tired fingers.

As she contemplated finding a bus service Hermione heard the roaring of an engine and a large motorcycle appeared almost enigmatically out of thin air from the end of the street. Hermione cursed her lack of focus and watched as the bike rolled its way down the road toward her. The rider was wearing a thick black helmet with a reflective visor. They slowed down after spotting her on the side of the road, coming to a halt just a few feet away, the motorcycle purring complacently.

"You need a lift, love?" the biker called out and Hermione wrinkled her nose.

"No, thank you. I am perfectly fine at this point in time."

But the biker ignored her. Lifting his visor, Hermione spotted only a sliver of pale grey eyes sparkling at her mischievously and a lock of long dark hair that had escaped the trappings of his helmet.

"Come on, those look heavy. I can't just leave you out here by yourself to carry all that home. Say, how about you come join a few of my friends and me for a drink? Ever had a butterbeer before?"

Hermione huffed indignantly, "If that is your attempt at flirting with me then I can assure you that you are both far too presumptuous and far too lacking in tact for me to ever even consider such a proposition!"

The stranger blinked, his eyes crinkling in confusion, "Flirting with you? No, 'Mione, you've got the wrong idea! I wouldn't want to—! Er, that is to say, that you're not pretty – I'm just trying to—!"

But then the smoothly purring engine of the motorcycle gave out an almighty roar that would have made a lion seethe in envy, and Hermione stumbled back a few steps with a yelp, dropping her bags to cover her ears, slamming her eyes closed against the outrageous noise as the bike continued to wail.

Hands placed securely by her head, Hermione creaked an eye open to see the biker still trying to yell at her over the top of the engine, which only bellowed back more furious in response, the bike vibrating so furiously that the man had to lurch forward and snatch the handlebars as not to get bucked off.

The moment he touched the handlebars, however, the motorcycle gave a shuddering whine and fell silent. The man heaved a relieved sighed.

"Now, where were we?" he asked.

"You were just leaving," Hermione grunted, lowering her hands from the sides of her head to glare at him.

The biker rolled his eyes, "Come on, I just want to talk about—"

Before he could even finish his sentence the motorcycle's engine flared back to life again and, with an ungainly squeal, the man was dragged after the bike as it torpedoed off like a bullet. Hermione watched astounded as he narrowly missed clipping the side of an expensive-looking sports car and bounced safely over a pothole before disappearing around the bend into figurative dust.

A soft honking pulled Hermione out of her daze and she glanced around to find a cab waiting for her.

Hermione didn't hesitate. Shoving her groceries into the backseat, she scrounged around the leather interior for her seatbelt and ordered, "Just get me out of here!"

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"What was that?" Sirius hissed, yanking his helmet off and stomping away from his bike which gave a final gurgle before quietening, "What happened out there? You tripped?"

James, seated by the side of the road, was tiredly wringing mango juice out of his sweater, scoffed, "I'll have you know that somebody pushed me. I didn't trip."

"There was nobody around to even push you!"

"Well, I felt it!" James snapped back childishly, "They must have been wearing an invisibility cloak or something – and like you were any better! What did you get; three speeding tickets? I didn't even know muggles had tickets for speeding!"

Sirius shoved the yellow slips of paper he'd been angrily clenching into his back pocket before turning to Peter, "Well, what about you? What happened in that weird little apothecary?"

Peter, who was now sporting a rather nasty black eye, gave a whimper, "I-I don't know. Somebody jinxed my feet to the ground, like how Anguson used to back in first year – I got stuck."

Sirius groaned, thrusting a hand through his hair. James dropped his own head into his hands and Peter leant heavily against a lamppost.

"This girl is more trouble than she's worth," Sirius muttered. James looked up sharply at that.

"Yeah, but Remus isn't," he said, invigorated. He hopped up from the side of the curb, abandoning his attempts to dry his shirt and snatched Peter and Sirius's arms, "Maybe we've been going at this all wrong. After all, the Marauders always worked better as a team than alone…"

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Hermione released a sigh as she rubbed her neck. The hour-long bath she had taken had been close to magical after such a long and stressful day. She had a graveyard shift in the veterinary emergency room in just a few hours and felt she deserved a wind-down before her life became once again chaotic.

Rubbing a towel through her rapidly curling hair, she spotted the little red light of her answering machine flashing. She tapped it as she wandered into her bedroom to find some clean clothes.

"You have five new messages."

Five? It was rare that Hermione even got one. Shimmying into a knee-length skirt, she waited for the message bank to start playing.

The answering machine calmly stated: "Message one."

"Hello, hello? It anyone there? Why can't I hear anything?" an unknown man asked.

"Maybe you have to speak louder? She is kind of far away," came a muffled voice in the background.

"HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?"

There was a pause.

"Nothing."

The line ran dead, and Hermione stared in amazement as the answering machine proclaimed: "Message two."

"Machine? What do you mean I'm talking to a machine? I want to talk to Hermione, not a machine! How do I get it to do that? Go ask Lily, Prongs!"

There was silence.

"Message three."

"Hello? Mr Machine? Lily told me that I have to speak to you to be able to talk to Hermione. Can you help me out?"

A pause.

"Why isn't it talking back?"

"Maybe I have to talk louder again. HELLO, MR. MACHINE? CAN I PLEASE SPEAK TO HERMIONE GRANGER?"

"It's an awfully rude machine, isn't it, Wormtail?"

They hung up.

"Message four."

"Am I holding this the right way up? Maybe I've been speaking to the wrong side…"

There was fumbling and then the voice sounded muffled and distant, "Ah, that's better. Maybe the machine can hear me now. Excuse me, Mr Machine, can I speak to Hermione yet?"

The line was silent before the man spoke up again in an annoyed tone, "Now see here, I've tried being nice and polite but now I demand that you put Hermione on the feletone right this instant— Hey, wait, James, give it back! I'm not done yet!"

There was the sound of scuffling and a few muffled curses before a new voice held the receiver, this time the right way up, "I'm really sorry, Mr Machine, he didn't mean to be so rude. But could you please let us talk the Hermione?" there was a pause before the new voice angrily said, "Well you are a right sod, aren't you?" and slammed the receiver down.

"Message five."

"Hey, what's this cord for?"

"I dunno. I think Lily says that it's how we can connect to Hermione's feletone."

"Well, why don't we just follow that then?"

"Er, she said something about there being more than one line…"

"How's that possible? There's only one cord! It must connect to her place! We'll just follow it and then we can go speak to her ourselves without that machine interrupting us. Hey, why is it stuck to the wall?"

"Sirius, maybe you shouldn't pull that—"

And, for a final time, the line went dead.

Hermione had paused halfway through pulling a shirt over her head to stare at her answering machine blankly. Shoving her top down the rest of the way, she stormed over to the phone and firmly pressed 'DELETE'.

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"Lils! Come on! Let us have one more go at it!" James begged his wife. Lily held the landline in her hands which she only gripped onto harder.

"Not on your life, James. I think you three have bothered that poor girl enough without you harassing her home life as well. Besides, one of you is now going to have to fix the gaping hole from where you completely tore the outlet from my wall!"

Sirius rolled his eyes as James cowered away, "Lily, come on. Give us another go, just so we can explain everything to her."

"Yeah, we just need one last try. I haven't even had a chance to talk to her yet," Peter argued.

Lily's eyes narrowed into slits and James was thrown on how suddenly she resembled her estranged sister, Petunia Dursley. "None of you will be using my telephone and that is final."

With that, she stormed off, the frayed end of the telephone cord slithering across the ground behind her.

Sirius scoffed, "That's not fair. She doesn't even know how to pronounce 'feletone' properly."

"Next plan then?" Peter offered.

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A review guest asked how Hermione didn't seem to recognise the guys. If you read closely, you can see that she only ever catches glimpses of James and Peter before someone or something interrupts, and Sirius is wearing his helmet the entire exchange, so the majority of his face isn't even visible for her too see.

Bededu forlade en anmeldelse.