Oh, hey guys. Long time, right? Ya girl started uni on a whim in July (like, literally on a whim – I decided one night that I was going to do a course and enrolled the next day) and my life was full of assessments instead of Harry Potter. Tragic, but necessary. Anyway, I just want to thank those of you who have reviewed despite my absence, you're all ever so kind and I love each and every one of your comments. So without further ado, here is a long awaited update!

(And for those reading my other story, Darkness Underneath, I have no idea when I'll update that but it's on my to-do list, I promise!)

Lily x

EDIT: Thanks to Mary Nirvana for pointing out a date mistake this chapter! Fixed now.

Chapter 10: A Fiery Birthday

19th September, 1957

Hogsmeade

Life was rather monotonous for Hermione. It was almost as if she was on auto-pilot, merely going through the motions, not entirely 100% there. She woke up each day in her small little room at The Three Broomsticks, went to work downstairs at the bar, begged for over-time just to keep herself busy, ate dinner and went to bed, only to repeat it all again the next day.

The Ministry had declined her request to study, and was once more reminded that wizarding law was made for people with little common sense. Unfortunately, even those with plenty of said sense were no exception to said laws. According to whatever department Madame Artlock had spoken to, they were worried she might inadvertently create a law several years before its existence, or actively seek to change wizarding future by changing the law in the past.

Even just thinking about it made Hermione's head hurt.

To be fair, though, she could see why it was a risk and there were preventions in place for time travellers, but that did not make her any less annoyed. She would never be so foolish as to let slip a future piece of legislation, or advance a theory before its time, but she was willing to bet that not all accidental time-travellers would think the same.

Still, there was a small, irrational, Gryffindor part of her that was not merely going to accept that her life was to be a barmaid for the duration of her vacation, as she'd started to think of it. She knew she'd figure something out – some sort of escape from Hogsmeade – sooner rather than later. Despite her goody two-shoes reputation at school, Harry and Ron certainly knew that she was far from an angelic little Gryffindor. There was a sprinkling of Slytherin in there, it just took a while to come out. Given that her patience was running thin, it was only a matter of time.

Her goal now was to make it to Christmas, and if she wasn't home by then, then she'd start reassessing her options, even if it meant leaving Hogsmeade for good. She knew there was a reclusive Time Mistress living in France around this point in history who might be more pro-active in searching for a way forwards, or who might have more answers than the British Ministry were giving.

An overly enthusiastic knock on the door to her rooms broke her out of the recesses of her mind. She realised she had been staring absent-mindedly at her reflection for the duration of the sunrise while she mulled over her current life – she'd barely noticed that the sky was no longer dark, and was in fact bright and shining through the window. She shook her head at herself and finished applying rouge on her cheeks to at least make herself look alive. She'd lost count of the amount of hours she had lost simply because she got caught up in her own head over the past couple of months. The rational part of her mind pointed out that that was a symptom of depression, but there wasn't much she could do about it.

Instead, she put a smile on her face and waved the door to her room unlocked and open. She was greeted by a smiling Minerva and Ros, who upon seeing their friend, trilled, "Happy birthday!". Minerva's wand gave a pop and several bright, colourful streamers erupted to land on Hermione's dark curls.

Despite her less-than-festive mood, Hermione couldn't help but smile at the two witches currently dragging her out of her room with promises of brunch and, on Minerva's part, not too much complaining about the pile of essays she'd stayed up half the night marking.

"I'll be quick," the young Professor said as they left the bar, "But honestly, it's like the knowledge just drains from their pretty little heads over Summer and I've got to spend the first half of this term just re-teaching them everything we covered from last term!"

While Rosmerta and Hermione let Minerva finish her spiel – spiels that were just something Hermione had come to learn was simply a part of being friends with a young Minerva McGonagall – they found a table at the park, where Minerva then pulled a large picnic basket from one of the pockets in her emerald robes and, with a flick of her wand, the table was set for three with what looked like a feast prepared by the Hogwarts elves. There was croissants, hotcakes and French toast, fresh fruit and pumpkin juice, all kept warm or chilled under a protection charm. It smelled absolutely delicious.

As they ate, Hermione realised that despite her melancholy moments, Minerva and Rosmerta had turned into the shining lights of her life, and she couldn't help but beam at them for planning this little brunch for her. Young Minerva was still a marvel to her, but she was certainly endearing, and Rosmerta – Hermione regretted barely paying attention to the barmaid in the future. She was quite possibly the most wholesome person in existence. How could I ever think of leaving them? she asked herself. Vowing to keep her dark thoughts at bay, she relaxed into the conversation that was flowing; mostly town gossip, but Minerva was full of stories of the funny start-of-term student antics that were still going on in the castle. By the sound of it, it seemed as though The Marauders and the Weasley Twins weren't the only destructive trouble makers Hogwarts had – or would – be home to. The current group of misfits had tried surfing on the Giant Squid's tentacles the previous day, resulting them being flung into the canopy of the Forbidden Forest trees by the lake.

"I wanted to tell them that you need to bribe Squiddy with smoked salmon first if you want to be friends with her," Minerva said nonchalantly, "But I think that's frowned upon now that I'm a teacher."

When brunch was over, and Minerva had gone back to teach her afternoon lessons and Rosmerta was helping in the kitchens, Hermione went back to her room, clutching the presents her two friends had gifted her with close to her chest. Rosmerta had given her a lovely quill, ink and parchment set, while Minerva had given her a Jane Austen collection. Hermione was touched she had remembered her fondness for the muggle author.

As she placed her gifts on the small desk by the window, she saw a letter waiting for her on her coffee table in familiar curly handwriting. What do you want? Hermione thought as she opened the envelope with narrowed eyes.

Jean –

Many happy returns on your birthday. Please meet me at the Hogsbend Bridge at 9pm tonight – I require a dark magic expert with battle experience. Dress appropriately.

A. Dumbledore.

Hermione twisted her lips as she read. She was curious, yes, but her experience with the Old Dumbledore made her rather wary of getting too involved with his younger – if far more pleasant – self. Even here in 1957, there was just something she was unwilling or unable to trust, yet if asked to explain what it was, she'd be unable to put it into words.

But she couldn't deny the fact that Albus' requirements worried her. Was Riddle back in the country? Was an early Death Eater attack being planned? Had he found an Object that even he was confused by?

In the end, she knew her curiosity – and slight anxiety – would get the better of her. So it came to no surprise to her that after her dinner shift ended, she quickly transfigured some of her clothes and shoes to black slim pants and boots and threw on a black shirt before hurrying out the back door, pulling on her dragon-hide coat as she did so. She heard Ros try to call out to her, but she simply told her friend to not wait up. She almost felt like Hermione Granger again, and she absolutely loved it.

19th September, 1957

Hogsbend Bridge

Albus was waiting for her at the end of the bridge. Like her, he was in black and as she approached, she realised that this was the very first time she had ever seen him wearing that particular colour. In her time, he was rather fond of colourful robes and an odd assortment of hats.

"Jean," he greeted with a warm smile, "Delighted you could come. I trust you've had an enjoyable day?"

Hermione nodded, and smiled. "I have, thank you." Not quite in the mood for small-talk, she cut straight to the point; "So what can I do for you tonight, Albus Dumbledore?"

Even in darkness, his eyes sparkled. He gestured for her to walk with him further out of the wizarding village. Once the streetlamps and cottages were out of sight, he stopped suddenly. "I'm unsure if this is documented in its entirety in your history books, my dear, but thanks to Tom, Great Britain has become a smugglers haven for Dark objects." He paused for a moment, before continuing. "There's a shipment tonight, and while I'm unsure if Tom is directly involved, it certainly involves some of his lesser acquaintances. From past experiences, I know that they do not shy away from using rather nasty spells-"

"I'm in," Hermione said quickly. "This is like what I do at home. Raids, interceptions…then I study whatever we find." She was unable to hide the longing in her voice. She hadn't picked apart a curse in far too long, in her opinion.

"Then you'll be perfect for this. Please bear in mind," he added warningly, "That this might be a complete waste of time, or something bigger than we thought. We only have a small amount of information, and even that is questionable Last chance to change your mind."

He was serious, but so was Hermione. Was this the right thing to do? Would this change the future? What if the Ministry found out? That theory that she hated – the one that makes her being here historical fact rather than a random accident – was gnawing at her.

And it made her angry. She was certainly in the mood to disrupt a dark smuggling operation.

"Just try and keep me away, old man," she said determinedly. "How many others are joining us?"

"Oh, just a few like-minded friends and associates," he said, offering his arm. "Some of the others have taken to calling our group The Order. Personally, I think the name is a tad on the dull side, but regardless, we'd be delighted to have you with us."

Oblivious to Hermione's wide eyes, and before she even had the chance open her mouth in shock at hearing the words 'The Order', Hermione felt the familiar squeezing sensation as Albus apparated them away from Hogsmeade into the night with a soft pop.

19th September, 1957

Somewhere South of Hastings, England

"A woman, Dumbledore? This is the expert you spoke of? I've never seen her before in my life!" Were the first words Hermione heard once she regained her bearings - she could already feel the protection spells around them, and floating fireballs were providing a bit of light. The minute she processed what she heard – rather typical of the era, but irritating nonetheless – she stepped forward into the dim firelight of whatever clearing Albus had apparated them to.

Her quick scan showed her that there were at least six others there along with her and Albus. "Excuse me?" she asked dangerously, drawing her wand to point it at the group, almost daring the first speaker to step forward. She sorely hoped he didn't – she'd spent another shift at the bar turning down people who assumed the reason a barmaid was talking to them was because she was in love with them – not because she was merely doing her job – and was in the mood to throw a few hexes.

"I assure you, Mr. Smith," Albus said coolly, "Ms Gray's skills are exceptional."

Once upon a time, Hermione would have blushed and tried to deny it. Instead her lips curled into a hint of a smirk as she stared at this Smith man. She was willing to bet he was a relation to Zacharias.

"Can confirm," a cheery voice piped up from the back. "She's good even without a wand in her hand. Don't test her, Roderick."

Hermione lowered her wand and smiled. "Alastor," she said, somewhat surprised that the sandy-haired young man was there. This really is the beginning of the Order, she thought.

"Jeanie," he nodded. "Just ignore Roddy, he's a prat. You'd think someone his age would know better."

Roderick sniffed. "Someone my age wouldn't put a woman in this dangerous situation."

"I can handle myself, believe me," Hermione said coolly. "Now I'm sure Albus here would much prefer to run through tonight's operation instead of having to listen to this nonsense?" She folded her arms across her chest, fingers tapping along the edge of her wand impatiently.

Albus pointedly cleared his throat, and shot Hermione a small smile. "Yes, well … Let me assure all of you that each and every one of you are here for a reason. Now, the plan is to wait until they've unloaded the crate from the boat. I'm curious to see how they're cloaking its presence so do keep a close eye on their wand movements, if indeed they are using magic to hide it. Once they've removed the crate, or crates, from the boat, our aim is to secure it and get it to Hogsbend Bridge, where I will then deliver it to the Ministry.

"Resistance is to be expected," Albus continued seriously in the dim firelight, "And as always, I implore you to stun rather than kill-"

Hermione heard a few clearly undisguised scoffs and mutterings at this request. She was curious as to who else was here – by the time she was a part of the Order – or, rather The Order of the Phoenix – it was the second incarnation, and she knew they had lost many in the first war.

"Purely because it would be rather nice to get a conviction, should it come to that," Albus said pointedly. He stared down everyone in the room, before checking his pocketwatch. "It is almost time, according to our source-"

"Yer welcome, Dumbledore," a gravelly Irishman said from the shadows. "Regards from Auror HQ."

"Many thanks again, Rauri," Albus said with a nod. "Now, a quarter of a mile that way-" he pointed to the left, "-is the shore. Silencing spells over shoes, please, and spread out. If you get injured, apparate to Hogsbend and help will be there. Ready?"

"Ready," they all chorused, keeping their voices low.

Hermione chose to stay back once people started moving. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim light from the floating fireballs, and she could make out a few of the other men there. Most looked to be in their 30's or 40's – she and Alastor were clearly the younger ones. Roderick shot her a distrustful look before making a beeline for the far end of the group away from her, his mutterings indistinguishable. It seemed he was not happy about a woman being there. She wondered what his speciality was. Truth be told, she hadn't really concerned herself with who the Ministry personnel were of this day and age, but by his demeanour, she assumed he was on the Wizengamot, at least. Perhaps a Department Head.

She caught Albus' eye and he jerked his head, indicating for her to follow him. She quickly silenced her shoes and stayed by his side as they walked. Once they were out of the safety of the protection spells, she could hear the sound of the water being carried through the night. It was the only noise she could hear, so despite her curiosity, she daren't ask for their exact location.

Ahead of them, they heard the distinctive sound of apparition cracks – she guessed at least seven, one right after the other. Next to her, she saw Albus had a very satisfied smile on his bearded face.

He signalled to her to go around, to follow them from the side. She lead the way, amazed she hadn't tripped on fallen twigs in the limited moonlight. It didn't take them long to reach the shore, where Albus reached for her arm to hold her back, pressing his finger to his lips, before pointing at the figures gathered at the shoreline. Whoever they were weren't trying to keep quiet, they were laughing, and she heard someone complain about water ruining his boots.

It was several minutes before they stopped fooling around – they were alert and focused on the water, while Hermione was entirely focused on them. She was trying to see if there was a hierarchy, or if they were concerned about being seen.

They were completely oblivious to the fact that they were surrounded on land.

One of them turned briefly, and the moonlight shone directly onto his face for barely a moment, but it was enough to identify him.

Yaxley. Corban Yaxley.

Hermione gasped. She would know that face anywhere. While younger, his features were still incredibly blunt, and that jaw-line was unmistakable. The last time she saw him was at the battle of Hogwarts, and she had bombardaed his chest open – a handy little trick she'd picked up from an off-hand comment from an Order meeting in The Burrow.

"The blond man on the left," she said in a barely audible whisper to Albus, "Works for Riddle. He might be involved in this after all."

"Interesting," Albus murmured back. "Avoid killing him, we don't want to change anything."

A few more minutes passed, and at last, a boat started rising from the water, achingly slowly. It was covered in grime and seaweed, almost as if it spent most of its time under water. The only thing similar she could think of was the Durmstrang boat from the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Or-

"Harry," she breathed, recalling what he said about the cave Professor Dumbledore had taken him to to locate one of Voldemort's horcruxes.

"Sorry?" Albus asked.

Realising her mistake, Hermione shook her head. "Nothing. But I think this boat thing is Riddle's design. It's…familiar. These people are dangerous, Albus-" she turned to look at him. "Very dangerous."

"I'll take your word for it."

Hermione focused on the figures once again. They were finally unloading their cargo from the old boat – a rather nondescript, large wooden crate, but even she could feel a waft of dark magic in the air as they were placed on land. It sent a shiver down her spine, yet it was so familiar.

Whatever was in it was positively fermenting in darkness.

"And it's show time, I do believe," Albus hummed, straightening from his crouched position.

Across the shore, Hermione saw Roderick Smith emerge from the shrubs, holding an official looking Ministry scroll in his hands. His walk was stiff, and authoritative, and she could see him holding his wand tightly.

Within moments, Albus had joined Roderick, and the rest of the assortment of the Order joined a moment later. Hermione herself chose to stick close to Alastor – she didn't exactly want to be remembered if Corban Yaxley was here. She remembered him as a particularly vile, antagonistic man who essentially ran the Ministry during the take-over. As with everyone else she recognised here, it was odd to see him so young.

By now, the smugglers realised they had company, and had turned, wands raised threateningly. They were poised to curse.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Roderick said calmly. "I have a warrant here for an inspection for the goods you're handling." He held out the scroll, and from her view behind the Order, she saw Corban step forward. He read the warrant with a lighted wand tip, frowning slightly.

"Boys, you heard Mr. Smith," he said coolly, stepping aside to let Roderick pass. "Dumbledore, fancy seeing you here."

"Good evening, Mr. Yaxley," Albus said as he went to follow Roderick, but Corban placed a hand on the older man's chest.

"Uh uh," he admonished, "That warrant is for Ministry employees. You, Professor, work at a school, do you not?"

His smile was unnerving, and the shadows made it more so. Of course, he's a lawyer, Hermione remembered. She hoped this was a Ministry sanctioned bust and not anything dodgy – the Order was never exactly legal, even when she was in it.

"Of course," Albus replied, "I'm merely here on an academic level, to identify any dangers-"

"Bullshit," one of the other smugglers chuckled in disbelief, which elicited a similar response from the rest of the group.

Hermione noticed a change in the atmosphere, and she gripped her wand tighter. She started looking around at the environment to see what she could use with her spells in case it came down to a fight. Sand could be useful, and the water.

"You look like you're plotting murder, Princess," Alastor whispered from her left, flashing her a grin.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "'Princess'?" she asked at the term of endearment. She shook her head at the ridiculousness of a mental image of Mad-Eye calling anyone princess and not meaning it as an insult. "And no, not murder. Just a bit of destruction."

"They are itching for a fight," he agreed.

Hermione was about to reply when she heard Roderick's voice. "Well," he said, "Unfortunately I can't let you take these, Mr. Yaxley. They-"

The chaos was instantaneous, and Hermione barely had time to react. No sooner had Roderick finished his first sentence, a bolt of red light had been aimed directly for him, and he'd ducked just in time. The smugglers were on the defensive, trying to gather around their cargo, while sending curses flying at the Order.

Everyone else jumped into the fray, but Hermione held back observing. She knew Albus needed to get to the crate to get it to the Ministry. That was the priority, that was the mission.

That she could do.

Her plans were halted, however, when a spear of green light barely missed the top of her head. "Jesus," she muttered, ducking and shooting a stunner back in retaliation. She got her usual shield charm up as the smugglers focused their attention on her. It seemed her lurking had been discovered. Heeding Albus' wishes, she didn't use anything that could result in death, but a few well-aimed bombarda's at the sand scattered the smugglers away from the crate for a few moments at least, rubbing the grit from their eyes furiously.

She looked for Albus, only to see him duelling two smugglers expertly, inching ever closer to the crate.

"Goods to the manor!" she heard Corban yell over a flurry of spells. The air was alight with brightly coloured beams from wands and shouting and movement from everyone around. Corban was trying to get his people back into line, clearly losing patience.

"Occu-Harenae," Hermione said without thinking, wanting to keep them distracted for a while yet. The spell caused the breeze to pick up, blowing sand directly upwards into the eyes of the smugglers without mercy.

"No-!" Corban yelled, blindly thrashing his way to the crate before Albus – or, indeed, any of the Order – could make it. "Carrow, Tony – hurry!"

The smugglers started firing spells randomly. Hermione saw one of the Order members take a fall, but Alastor evened the score with a well-placed stunner.

"Stupefy!" Hermione yelled as a smuggler appeared on her right. He hit the sand hard, and she ran forward, yanking Alastor and another Order member with her. She summoned over the body of the stunned Order member she'd seen before. At least, she hoped he was only stunned. They had finally created a barrier between the crate and the smugglers. "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ," she growled as killing curses started flying from Corban's wand – clearly he had realised her play.

"Step away Smith – Dumbledore-" Corban yelled while shooting off more spells. "No one else needs to get hurt, we just require that crate-"

"Oh, shut up, Yaxley," Hermione snapped, sick of that smarmy voice. She had been forced to endure it for far too long when she broke into the Ministry years ago as Mafalda Hopkirk. Clearly, he had always been an arrogant bastard. "Murus arenae." A thin line of sand gathered between groups like a wall, turning the smugglers into nothing more than fuzzy figures from Hermione's perspective. While it didn't prevent the onslaught of irritated spells being shot at them, it certainly weakened them.

"Cessabitae!" Corban shouted angrily, bringing the wall down.

Well that's just rude, Hermione thought, holding up her protego shield to deflect a stunning spell. "Albus, get going!" she yelled over her shoulder.

"Don't you dare, Dumbledore-"

"Silencio!" Hermione yelled. The others were fighting once more, and Corban had his attention focused entirely on her. His eyes bulged when he realised she had silenced him.

"We need another wall," Albus said hurriedly, "I can't apparate and defend at the same time, and this crate requires power to move."

"Protego!" she screeched as Corban utilised non-verbal magic against her. She had an idea. It was mad, as hers usually were, but they could all disapparate to Hogsbend safely without being bombarded with spells. She shot a few stunners at the smugglers closest to her, before running to the edge of the group, ducking from killing curses, as well as Merlin-knows-what.

"Moody, get back!" she yelled, seeing Alastor diving too far forward in his duel.

"Jean-?!" he began to say, but Hermione cut across him. "Back! Now!"

"What are you doing-?!" Roderick demanded, but Hermione paid him no heed. She knew there was only one wall that could provide the safety they needed, and allow her time to look at the boat for a moment.

She took a deep breath, hoping using dark magic was fine with Albus.

"Feindfyre," she said softly, letting all tension go from her body. She cast the flame from her wand, directing it into a single, thin straight line between the duelling parties. Within moments, its signature smell permeated the air as the flames grew higher. Rotting flesh. It wasn't pleasant, but no spell could pass through it. Nor could anyone else douse the flames.

She sent the tips of the flames to the right, to force the smugglers back, and she could hear them cursing beyond the roar.

"Ya mad, girly?!" the Irish Order member demanded. "Ya tryin' ta kill us all?!"

"Perfectly sane – go!" Hermione ordered calmly, keeping her focus entirely on the fire. She saw the Order members slowly disappear one by one; Albus and Roderick apparating together to take the crate between them. Unless condensed or rather small, apparating with dark objects was difficult. She was glad Albus had help.

With the Order gone, and Corban having ordered his to clear off back to whatever manor they were using, Hermione channelled her anger. "Finite flammara!" she yelled, feeling the emotion coarse through her veins. Feindfyre relied on opposing emotions – calmness to conjure and control, anger to end. It was easy if you had emotional intelligence.

Alone at last, she hurried to the shoreline to see the boat. "Lumos," she murmured, trying to look at the vessel from every angle. It was nothing more than an old dinghy, and while the chain tying it to the water was invisible, the algae, barnacles and seaweed were not. "Curious," she said, before picturing the bridge clearly in her mind and disapparating with a crack.

19th September, 1957

Hogsbend Bridge

She re-appeared amongst a heated conversation, clearly about her. She was standing behind Albus and slowly stepped forward into the light, although the arguing wizards were oblivious to her presence.

"-Don't know what kind of game you're playing, Albus, but no one uses that spell-"

"-I assure you, Ms. Gray acted appropriately-"

"-'Appropriately', my foot, man! It-"

"-Justice, I know Jean, she's the lady Scrimgeour keeps raving about-"

"-I don't care, boy! Every single one of us could have died-"

Hermione rolled her eyes and cleared her throat. "Just because you're too incompetent to handle Fyre correctly doesn't mean we're all useless," she said curtly. "We got out, did we not? We got the crate, did we not? I fail to see what the problem is, gentlemen," she said bluntly. She shook her head at them, and strode towards the crate, shooing Albus out of the way as she levitated the top off.

The dark magic was almost overwhelming – she'd become weaker since arriving in 1957. It was like a drug; constant closeness lessened the nauseous effects, but two and a half months without had rendered her no longer immune. "Lumos," she murmured, trying to get a good look inside.

She saw skulls, books and cursed trinkets – including that cursed necklace that had nearly killed Katie Bell. It was disheartening to know that despite Albus taking this haul to the Ministry, it would end up in Knockturn Alley at some point anyway.

Carefully, she levitated out what seemed like a mass of black. Under her wandlight and with the added advantage of the moon, she saw whatever it was was shining. It reminded her of polished stone.

"No way," she breathed, realising what she was looking at. She'd only ever read out them before – even her Department didn't have a real one for reference.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Roderick demanded angrily, but Albus and Alastor shushed him. "Do you even know what that is? That could be dangerous, you can't-"

"Do you know what it is?" Hermione challenged him, turning around furiously. "Because I do."

He gaped at her, frowning before his eyes started darting between her and the ball. "You tell me if you're so bloody competent," he snapped after a minute.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "No, I'm a bit tired after conjuring that fyre," she said lazily. She'd had enough sexism for one day. "Albus, I'm taking this as my payment. Goodnight, gentlemen." She reached to the levitating ball and grabbed it, her hand closing around it perfectly, before stalking back into the village.

In her hand, she now held one of the most incredibly valuable and dangerous items she'd ever held – a black sapphire orb. It was one of the few divination tools she trusted, although she hadn't a clue how to use it. A Seer, however, would.

Maybe then she could find out when – or if – she could get home.

After sneaking back into her room at The Three Broomsticks, she spent the next hour creating a replica of the safes they used in her Department. Tools to tell the future were dangerous in the wrong hands, and with Riddle clearly on the rise, she needed to keep this precious orb protected.

Just as she crawled into bed, a note appeared in front of her in a flash of fire.

Welcome to the Order. Smith isn't happy, which I'm sure was your intention. Everyone else is mildly wary, and I believe young Alastor is smitten.

Very well done tonight, Jean. Fyre was a stroke of genius.

AD.

PS: What did you take?

Hermione waved over a quill and ink, and reached for some scrap parchment from her bedside table. She was familiar with the spell Albus had used to send the letter, and intended to reply the same way.

Many thanks for the invite. It's a black sapphire orb. I'm going to see if it can help me out of my predicament.

Jean.

With a tap of her wand and a murmured spell, the parchment disappeared, and Hermione fell asleep feeling much more like herself than she had in a while.

1st July, 2001

Ministry of Magic

Minerva shook her head. "So what you are saying," she said slowly, "Is that as of this date, you don't know how she was brought back."

Saul nodded. "Aye."

"So how do we know this memo is even real, then?" she demanded. "There were Death Eaters after her, Death Eaters in the Ministry – possibly in this Department – maybe that cover-story was the truth? And she's really-?" Minerva refused to say the end of that question. Despite the Ministry's incompetence, Yelena had no reason to lie on that memo. It was time-locked by her, and there was no way she worked for Riddle. Jean had done everything in her power to protect this Department from his clutches.

While Minerva regained her composure, Kingsley cleared his throat. "And how do you two propose we break this to her friends? I'm her friend, and even I'm at a loss for words over this. The Weasley's, Potter-"

"-Will be fine, she wrote them a letter," Minerva said, a small smile on her face. "It's the questions from those who lost loved ones over the years that I'm worried about; Susie and John, Pippa, Belle, Milly, Malcolm, even Poppy-"

"Ah!" Saul said brightly, "I can help with that. We've found it best to hold a class on time-travel basics to select nominated people close to the traveller-"

"Yes, I know, my mentor wrote the material," Minerva informed him. "She also… She…" Silence fell as Minerva's mouth opened slightly in confusion and her brow relaxed, then furrowed ever so slightly. "Oh, Gods," she breathed, thinking of Perri.

The lack of answers, no paper-trail of Jean's return, collected by someone she recognised. "Professor Croaker, I'm sorry," she said, her voice sounding quite far away, "But I don't believe that this is your investigation."

She felt in a daze as she stood up. Her skin had erupted in goosepimples and her breathing was shallow. "Arrange the time-travel information session for friends and family," she said vaguely. "Get Rufus to tell you Jean's friends – Minister, you know who Hermione associated with. I…" she took a deep breath. "I'll be in touch. Do excuse me."

Ignoring the calls for her to return, Minerva swept from the room in a flurry of robes.

Please review! And I hope you all are enjoying the festive season. x