Chapter 11

When Hermione was 15, she and her parents went to the National Gallery. It was certainly not the first time that they had been there and it wouldn't be the last, but it still stood out to Hermione because she noticed a painting. It wasn't the first time she had seen the painting, it wasn't the first time she thought about it, and it wasn't exactly an obscure painting, but it was the first time she really looked at it.

The Execution of Lady Jane Grey never really stood out to Hermione before. It was painted in a typical Romantic style, all dramatic lighting and technical skill. The subject matter, one of the many people left in the ruinous wake of Henry the Eighth, was typical as well. Sometimes Hermione felt like all she learned of British history at school was of and related to Henry the Eighth. But as her eye glanced lazily over the placard next the painting, her eyes caught on Lady Jane Grey's age, seventeen.

Hermione had sat down on the flat, shiny, wooden bench in front of the painting and stared up at the large canvas, at the Nine Days Queen's white hands reaching carefully for her own chopping block, and thought it seemed an awful waste. It was hard sometimes, with so much time and change between the past and present to remember that they were real people, just as real as she is. But it was hard to look at the vulnerability in the painting and not feel something for her, knowing that her death was unfair, politically motivated, patriarchal. A waste.

It just seemed so obviously, knowingly unnecessary to sacrifice a young, defenseless person for some removed purpose, sitting there, hundreds of years away, looking through the eyes of an artist who had been themselves removed from it by hundreds of years.

Sitting there now, with Harry, waiting for Neville, Hermione felt the same strange compassion, a frustrated indignation at the subjects plight, as she had in the past. Next to her, Harry sighed, "It makes you want to jump up and yell at the people in the painting that they don't have to do it, doesn't it? Seems stupid, in retrospect."

Hermione turned to look at Harry, an unnamed emotion filling her chest at his words. She opened her mouth to reply with something, she wasn't sure what, even as she drew breath, when she spotted Neville rounding the corner, staring at the paintings and people with open mouth wonder.

His eyes found them in the crowd of quietly strolling people and widened, his open face showing his excitement. He was wearing an argyle vest over a plaid shirt with what appeared to be tan riding breeches. He walked quickly over to them, sitting next to Hermione and whispering loudly, "All these paintings are still and quiet! I've never seen anything like it. Are all muggle things like these?"

Hermione and Harry glanced at each other, stifling laughs. "Uh, no, Neville, we have moving pictures too. You know, with televisions and films and things like that."

Neville stared at her blankly, clearly not understanding anything she was saying. Neville open and closed his mouth a few times, before shaking his head. "Anyway, we have a lot to talk about, do you want to walk around?" Harry and Hermione nodded, standing.

Neville glanced up at the painting, frowning. "Gloomy sort of painting, isn't? Makes me think of the the Twirling Witch painting up by the astrology tower at Hogwarts. She's about to be executed as well, but right as the axe is falling down she whirls out of the way, disapparating to the edge of the the picture."

It was Harry's turn to look at Neville blankly, not knowing what to think. Hermione coughed. "I'm afraid this young woman wasn't so lucky."

They moved around the edge of the room, speaking quietly. "I have so many questions I'm not even sure where to start, Neville."

"I feel the same way. There's so many things I want to know."

"Maybe we can take turns asking questions. Start with something small until we know what we want to know?" Harry suggested, a step behind them.

They nodded but continued in silence, contemplative. Finally Hermione stopped and looked over at Neville. "I suppose there is really just one question I want to know the answer to. Is there any place in the UK that we can study magic? An independent school or something underground? Harry and I can't be the only muggle raised people to figure out their powers?"

Neville looked at the floor, biting his lip. "I don't know anything definitive…"

"Anything you know can help us, Neville, even if it's just names. We are walking around blind and in danger," Harry said quietly, his expression earnest.

Neville continued to look down at the ground before nodding to himself, deciding something. Very quietly, so that Hermione and Harry had to lean closer to listen to him, he said, "There is one group I know of. I don't know if they are necessarily all good, but they are certainly better than what you'd get if you tried to go into mainstream wizarding society. Mind, even talking about them is very illegal…" Neville glanced around the room nervously, licking his lips.

"They're very pro-muggleborns, very against this administration and the Dark Lord. But, well, they are a bit of a terrorist group. They like to raid Diagon Alley from time to time, and don't get me wrong, I definitely want to stick it to them sometimes, but none of this is really the shop owner's fault, is it? It just seems destructive. And their leader, I heard her name is McGonagall, she use to be a professor at Hogwarts, I heard she lost her mind when their old leader, Dumbledore, died. She did something horrible to Hogwarts, now the place isn't as it use to be. It's lost something, everyone says so. Hogwarts is the center of British wizardry, every witch or wizard in the UK passes through there, and she ruined it. Even the Dark Lord wouldn't have done that, would he?" Neville shook his head, taking a deep breath. "Anyway, at the very least I know that they wouldn't hurt you because of your blood. They're called the Order of the Phoenix."

Harry and Hermione shared a glance over Neville's back, disappointed. "Is there anyone else? We-We've already met them, and we didn't see eye to eye."

Neville looked up at them sharply, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "You've already met them? I-I-How? They are suppose to be impossible to find?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer but Neville cut him off, "No, nevermind, I don't want to know. I don't want to." Neville turned around and walked to the next painting, his shoulders tense. "I'm sorry, then, you two, that's the only group I know of that has dared to resist, that has been known to help Muggleborns. The only other thing I could think of to do is leave the country, but well, that's impossible, at least by magic."

"How do you mean Neville, surely there must be some…"

"No." Neville glanced back and them seriously. "They've made it nearly impossible to leave the country by any magic means. You can leave by muggle, of course, but say that you want to do magic in another country, then you will be found and registered there and they will find out you're British and send you back. When the Dark Lord took over he made a treaty with the continental countries and others that they would leave each other alone. It was a long process, and for a while other countries took refugees in secret, but eventually it became too large of a problem...from what I know, I think all the other wizard societies hate the lot of us now." Neville scratched his head in frustration. "You could all live as muggles somewhere else, I suppose?"

Harry shook his head, "Even if we wanted to that, live as muggles in other countries, we can't, I'm wanted by the muggle law enforcement, too."

Neville stared.

Harry shrugged, "They think I've murdered my family."

Neville's mouth fell open and he took a half step back.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "He didn't actually, Neville, You-Know-Who did."

He glanced between the two of them, pale. "He-He murdered your family?"

Harry nodded as Hermione spoke, "He also ki-almost killed Harry, destroyed my home, and forced my parents to go on the run."

Neville shook his head, frowning. "You're parents were able to get out then?"

"Yes, by muggle means, to Australia."

Neville shook his head some more. "You two are properly, well, fucked. I-I don't even know what to suggest."

Hermione reached out for Harry's hand, fighting the sinking feeling in her stomach. Harry squeezed her hand softly, running his thumb over the back of it.

Neville suddenly stood tall, his expression serious. Hermione again saw a glimpse of the kind of man he was becoming. "No, I'm sick of this, of being helpless, watching all this...this wrong happen. At the very least, I will help you, I'll..." Neville looked around the Gallery like he hoped to find the answer written across a nobleman's pale forehead. "I'll...I'll teach you!"

"I'll come round to your place every once and awhile, when I can, it won't be frequently, as I have to finish up school, but...but during breaks. And! And I can owl you all...hmmm, maybe that will be a little conspicuous...I'll have to think through some details, but at least if you are stuck here, you might as well learn something while you try to figure another way out, or, or you come up with something else to do."

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes watery. Harry cleared his throat. "You don't have to do that, mate, that sounds like a lot of work for you. And not to mention just a little dangerous, as Hermione and I aren't exactly well liked by the government."

Neville shook his head, his eyes sincere. "No, I actually really want to. I've stood by for so long...and people should help their friends…"

Hermione held back a sob and threw her arms around Neville, who patted her arm awkwardly. "Oh Neville, thank you."

Hermione stepped back from him, dabbing her eyes with her wrists. "W-What questions do you have for us, Neville? At the very least we can teach you somethings as well."

He smiled down at them, blushing "Well, first, what is a film?"

Next to them Neville sat gasping, asking too many questions. ("But why doesn't that robber just give up? Clearly that little boy is smarter than them?") He kept going in carrying whispers until the person in front of him turned around and snapped at him to kindly shut up. Neville blushed but continued to watch the film, enraptured, stuffing his face full of popcorn.

Hermione watched the film and Neville with equal amusement, turning to look at Harry with a small smile that dropped as soon as she saw him. Harry wasn't watching the movie at all, but was instead staring at her with frown. She leaned close and whispered, "What's wrong?"

Harry looked at her for a long minute, before shaking his head. "I think I have to fight."

Hermione's brows furrowed in confusion. "Fight what?"

"Vol...You-Know-Who."

Hermione leaned back from him, looking at his serious face intently and snorted. "You can't be serious? Fight him with what? Your ability to half transform a shirt into a cloak? Or perhaps with the cunning trick of being able to stun a room on accident and then pass out afterward?"

Harry looked at her, a strange sort half smile on his face. "Shut up." He shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth, laughing as she narrowed her eyes and hit him on the shoulder, chewing.

Harry looked back towards the screen, grinning, but Hermione continued to look at him, worried.

Hermione wandered into her parent's living room and flopped down on the couch across from her parents, who were doing the Granger family pass time, reading. Her mother was leaning against her father, her head against his shoulder, his arm around her, the other hand holding up a black book. It was a beautiful spring day, the curtains blowing gently in the wind, the late afternoon sun filling the room through the bay windows. The air smelled of wet grass and flowers. Hermione gave a relaxed sigh, looking at her parents' focused faces with a feeling of content. She tried to lean back into the couch, but was finding it annoyingly difficult to get comfortable.

The couch felt like it had lumps in strange places, or the fabric was rubbing her the wrong way. She squirmed in her seat for a while before giving up and leaning forward on her elbows. Her mother turned the page of her book, which Hermione now realized was "The Art of War" by Sun Tzu. Hermione snorted. "Mum, why on earth are you reading that?"

Her mother glanced up at her with dark stern eyes that didn't belong in her face, her hair back in a tight, smooth bun that Hermione had never seen her in before. "I think that should be obvious, Hermione."

Hermione's heart started to beat faster, a feeling of foreboding filling her. "I-I don't understand what you mean?"

Next to her a quiet whisper answered, "Why, because you're going to war, Hermione." Hermione turned and saw on the other end of the couch, sitting primly, Lady Jane Grey. As she turned to look back at Hermione, her head slid gracefully from her neck into her lap, her eyes wide and dripping tears.

Hermione's eyes snapped open but she laid still and silent, trying to get her breathing under control. Her eyes adjusted the the darkness, taking in the vague shapes of their battered transfigured furniture, Harry laying on his back next to her. She realized with a jolt that his eyes were open, the gleam barely noticeable in the dim lighting of the room.

Hermione's mind was wide awake, her heart beat not slowing in the slightest as she stared at Harry's dark profile. "Harry."

Harry's face quickly looked towards her, surprised. He rose unto his elbow, looking down at her through the blackness. "Hermione? What are you doing up?"

Hermione waited three breaths to get her thoughts straight. "You weren't joking, were you? In the theatre?"

Harry stilled above her, silent for a long moment, then whispered, "no."

Hermione brought her shaking hands up her temples, swallowing a lump in her throat. After a beat she reached for her wand and tapped it against the wall, muttering lumos. The room's lamps lit up. Hermione and Harry sat up, looking at each other. "What can you possibly be thinking?" Hermione's voice shook with emotion.

Harry sighed and shook his head, his fingers combing through his hair. "It's not like I...like I've decided that the order has the right of it, Hermione. I know that however hard I train, I won't be able to fight him and win. We saw him back at your parent's house, he was…" Both They shuddered. "Look, the point is that we can't do this forever."

Hermione's eyes glanced around the shabby room, to the corner with their ever-shrinking pile of money, the once again empty cooler. "So your solution is to fight him?"

Harry frowned. "We can't run, Hermione, and we can't keep hiding." He turned more fully towards Hermione, sitting cross legged in their makeshift bed. "So that leaves one option."

"To fight?" Hermione asked, her tone empty, her mind working fast.

"Yes, though not stupidly, not by, just...just jumping in front of him and hoping for the best." Harry's voice was adamant, his face more alive then Hermione remembered it being in a long time.

"Yes, we saw what happened the last time you jumped in front of him." Hermione's voice seemed to come from far away, she was thinking as hard as she could, something just out of her reach dancing the shadow of her thoughts. "What are you thinking of then?"

Harry's focused look froze on his face, momentarily stumped. "Well... since we can't fight him with brute force, we have to be more subtle. And also, we have to find the other horcruxes and destroy them too, which might take some time…" Harry's voice trailed off, his shoulders slumped, an uncertain look on his face.

"We need to write to Neville." Now Hermione's back straighten, her fevered thoughts clearing into a sense of purpose.

"About what?"

"About the current wizarding world climate. The political climate I mean. I've been reading the modern history of magical Britain, about the changes that You-Know-Who made in the last decade...Really, the whole book is propaganda, but if you read between the lines… a lot of things sound really terrible, I mean dementors are everywhere... even Neville, who should be at the top, doesn't… Hogwarts has fallen apart…" Hermione's voice lost power as she spoke, dissolving into a quiet muttering. She reached toward her bag, pulling a thick book, a pen, and a piece of paper and started writing, Harry reading over her shoulder.

"Neville told us that he will write to us tomorrow, and we would be able to send a reply with the owl." Hermione paused both her speaking and writing and looked over at Harry. "They had an owl shop in Diagon Alley, do you think he means a real owl?" Hermione asked incredulously.

Harry scoffed. "It must be an acronym for something else, I mean, what, they use owls like messenger pigeons?"

Hermione shrugged and started writing again.

Dear Neville,

How are you doing? Did you enjoy the last of your winter break? You mentioned feeling nervous about your N.E.W.T.s, are you busy preparing for them? Harry and I are doing well, we've been doing a lot of thinking.

Well, Neville, while of course we would still love your help learning, we think that we might have another idea in mind too. But before we can even begin thinking about that, we need to ask, in all sincerity, how do you feel? Not just you, but everybody? Your classmates, your family? In particular, how do you all feel about this government you're under? I'm not talking about what they think of blood purity, or what have you, but what do they think of the day to day?

Do they think things are okay, that they are fair, or do you think, if they weren't so frightened, that if things were different, that they would want to things to change? The point in asking all of this is that, you had mentioned before that if people were to met us, it would cause quite a stir. But what kind of stir, do you think?

Hermione paused, tapping the end of her pen against her mouth. "I think I should leave it like this for now, we might have to respond to something in Neville's letter, as well."

Harry took the letter from Hermione as she shoved the pen and book back in her bag. "Are you asking him if our showing up some place, some place public, and, what, saying something, I don't know, anti-Monster, might cause a revolution?"

Hermione bit her lip, her cheeks flushing. "Well, when you put it like that, it does sound a little silly, doesn't it?" Hermione shrugged. " I guess, I don't know, Neville said that it would be a big deal, show that they aren't all knowing, right?"

Harry nodded, lying back down in the bed. Hermione followed, tapping her wand against the wall and whispering nox before turning to face Harry in the darkness. "The way it looks like to me, the way that he took over is partly because he frightened everybody and partly because there was something wrong with wizarding society in the first place. He staked his claim based on blood purity, right? If the wizarding world hadn't already kind of thought that muggleborns were awful, he wouldn't have been able to get a foot in the door at all. So we can't fight him physically, but we can fight his ideology and we can fight the fear he has placed everybody under. If what Neville says is true, if I interpreted him correctly, then if me, a muggleborn with perfectly fine magic, and you, the Boy-Who-Lived, show up, it then not only proves that he isn't all powerful, but also if you and me talk about how things don't have to be the way they are, then maybe, maybe…"

"We could start a revolution." Harry finished for her. Hermione nodded. She could feel his hand moving towards her and felt his fingers lightly pull at her curls. "You're a smart lady, Hermione Granger." Hermione smiled into the crook of her elbow at his sincerity. But then Harry sighed, "A few problems though. I hardly think that that monster or any of his followers are going to let us wander around the wizarding public, spreading propaganda. And also, for all we know, Neville might be an exception. The rest of the intact wizarding world might be fine with how things are."

Hermione rolled onto her back, thinking. "The first problem is just a logistical problem." Next to her, Harry snorted. Hermione breathed out a small laugh. "A very large logistical problem, but a logistical problem, which is something we can potentially figure out. As for the second, well… We will just have to wait and see what Neville says."

The next morning Hermione woke to hooting. Rubbing her eyes, confused, she turned on the lights. she heard it again, apparently coming from the other side of the door. Hermione stood up and walked towards it, pulling a robe on as she went. Behind her she her Harry groan and push himself out of bed, grumbling, "What is that sound?"

Hermione waited in front of the door for a moment, listening. She heard it softly this time. If she didn't know any better, it sounded almost irritated. She pulled the door open cautiously, glancing at Harry behind her who looked a mix between grave and curious, his wand clutched in his hand. Swinging the door the rest of the way open, Hermione revealed...nothing. No one was there.

A sharp hoot came from below, this time definitely irritated. Hermione looked down towards the noise and gasped. Harry came in closer behind her and also looked down, then burst out laughing. Hermione started shaking her head. "No, no, it's too stupid, they actually use owls."

Out in the hallway a brown scoop owl stared at Hermione indignantly before ruffling his feathers. He stuck out his leg, which had a white envelope in a small pouch attached to it. Hermione stared down at it, still shaking her head. "I...I just can't. Harry… Harry, you… can you?" Hermione moved away from the door, towards her half finished letter. "I just can't believe it."

Harry, still chortling, moved towards the owl and cautiously put in on his shoulder. He took the letter from it's leg and started reading. Hermione came back over, to Harry's shoulder without the owl, and read too.

Dear H and H!

I feel nervous sending this out by owl, sometimes it's not the safest method of communication (Hermione scoffed) but I think that it should be okay for now, at least for a little bit. I thought we might do this a bit like what we did in the art gallery and take turns asking questions.

First, thanks for taking me to the cinema, that was brilliant! I guess I was just wondering what other films you might suggest? I feel like I learned a lot about muggles from the last one. (Though I'm hoping ( for the muggle's sake) that robbers aren't that common, though I do wonder if it is usual to forget children and leave them home alone like that?)

Second, I guess this isn't as light hearted a question, but, Hermione, are you sure that there aren't any wizards in your family? That you aren't adopted or something? It's just...well, we've been taught that there are no such things as muggleborns, that they either stole their magic or were secretly from families with wizards somewhere in it. I obviously don't think you stole your magic from someone, but I don't know, I guess I just want to make sure that you really truly are a muggleborn. I hope this question doesn't offend.

Third, and equally awkward, Harry, do you perhaps, remember, or some how know, why you survived, or what happened that night? The night you got your scar?

I guess that's enough questions for now. I wrote this letter about 10 times, changing my mind on what I wanted to ask, what I wanted to say. I hope that you all don't hate me now, but those things have been on my mind, and I hope that you understand. I'm willing to answer any questions too, if you all still want to talk to me.

Your friend,

Neville

PS. The owl's name is Mercury. Just put your (hopeful) reply in the pouch, he'll know how to find me.

Hermione took the letter from Harry, sat down, and finished her letter, Harry now reading over her shoulder. She wrote a list of movies, assured Neville that she wasn't adopted, nor had any wizards in her family that she knew of, and glanced at Harry before writing that they would have to meet face to face to answer the last question. She finished the letter with a small rant about how, while the owl seemed very smart, she insisted on finding a better way to communicate as soon as possible.

They sent the letter off after giving the owl some water and crackers.

Hermione glanced up at Harry, a strange expression on her face. "Neville, in a way, already answered one of my questions, though."

"How so?"

"They taught him anti-muggleborn propaganda, and like all stupid dictators, he made that propaganda obviously, provably false. I am that proof, me, and hopefully dozens more out there are proof of his lying."