AN: Oh, I am so sorry. So, so sorry. So, so, so sorry.
But what can I say? Writer's block has reared is massively unpleasant head. So after three weeks and the most reviews I've ever received last chapter, I come back to you with this. This chapter is not very good. I don't like it at all. Except the last part, which I think I dealt with decently well. But you won't like it. Other than the people who started reading this because I wrote "angst" as one of the categories for this fic. You romantic people – not so much. I'd just better get on with this.
Anons:
Sugarbaby – It's all good. And I'm sorry for the delay. I hope you haven't exploded.
nate – Um, you're not going to like me very soon.
lucy – You, too.
Shonnarae – Glad to hear it. Thanks very much. And you aren't to like me either.
Ako – Wow. Thanks. That's awesome.
Here we go …
Disclaimer: The only thing I have in common with J.K. Rowling is my first initial. And if we're going by that, I could've written Lord of the Rings.
Broom cupboards weren't meant to hold forty people at one time. Various spells for enlargement and reinforcement didn't change that. It was with great trepidation that the D.A. settled onto the crates and crude benches that served for seats.
Dry mouthed, Hermione glanced around at all the familiar faces. Neville was dressed in bright tartan robes, fake smile plastered on his face, as Hannah Abbott showed Susan Bones how well she'd stitched the sleeves. Luna was informing a scarred and pitted Lavender about the healing powers of the Egyptian Biting Moth; Dean and Seamus looked on, Seamus too uncomfortable and Dean too amused to save Lavender from Luna's friendly ramblings. Lee Jordan had a knot of admirers crowded around him as he spun a tale of an exciting interview he did with a recently caught fugitive in Bangladesh. Ernie Macmillan was deep in conversation with Percy about Ministry drivel. The old Gryffindor Quidditch lags had already convened in a tight corner, reliving their glory days and eagerly discussing England's chance at the Cup. Just like old times. Except this time Hermione knew exactly what they were getting into.
Her little army – for that's what she had realized they were – ranged out behind her, with the addition of Roland. Faiz nodded regally as Roland muttered dire predictions and advice at a mile a minute; he wasn't taking the news of Kregan's deception as well as Hermione had hoped. Still, Hermione did feel a little better to have her veteran fighters standing with her. Even if Randy was still pitifully hung over.
She was startled to feel Harry's fingers press into her shoulder. "I think you should probably start now. We've only got them for a little while."
"What do I say to them, Harry?" Hermione kept her eyes trained forward and her body still, but she let Harry hear the tremors in her voice. "They've been through too much already. We asked them to fight when they were still children. How can I ask them again?"
"Because we have to. Besides, we didn't ask them to fight the first time. We prepared them for the inevitable. I think that's what we're doing again. And you should remember that we were children back then, too, and we'd been fighting already for years."
"Harry, that is dead depressing," Ron informed him, thumping down next to his friend. "It's Christmas, mate. Not in the holiday spirit to bum everyone out." He smirked cockily. "Bill and Fleur are still keeping Mum occupied. They're bloody brilliant. Fleur actually just said they might want to have another baby. That'll keep her distracted for hours." He stripped off the cloak and mittens he had worn to trudge across the lawn to check things out in the Burrow. "So are we starting anytime soon? Because if this runs too long, George and Nessa'll be next."
"Right." Hermione stood up and took a commanding step forward. The clamor settled to a comfortable buzz, halting completely as she opened her mouth to speak.
"Hello, Dumbledore's Army. It's time to fight again."
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Winter rays of a dying sun fell despondently through the small windows of the shed. The snow crystallized and distorted the light until it cast eerie patterns onto Hermione's face. Patterns that had been there when the meeting had begun.
Roland valiantly attempted to scratch his arm while holding it stiffly at his side so as to not make any noise to disrupt the meeting. "Were we really necessary?" he asked Randy, whose head was resting tenderly on Gloria's shoulder, in a gruff whisper. "We know all of this already."
Gloria's glare silenced him. Hermione continued on, blissfully unaware of the restlessness of her army behind her. She was too focused on the captivated audience before her.
"Alright. Let's sum it up so far. You have a pretty good idea of the size of the army we assembled and the areas where Gualtierro had control or was a threat. You can see how we split into teams, one for general fighting, one for quick hits, one for backup, and a special one for … reconnaissance. We've covered the marks, the signs, and the favorite spells they use. You know rough numbers and a brief history of Gualtierro and his own forces."
There was a general murmur of assent from around the room. It impressed Hermione how attentive the D.A. had stayed over the past couple hours.
"I promise, only a few things more," she said as cheerfully as she could manage. Tapping her chin, she wondered aloud. "What have I missed … ah, yes …"
A thread of smoke wound its way comfortably out of the end of Hermione's wand. She shooed it off with a sharp flick. Twisting in the air acrobatically, the smoke quickly formed a diamond containing a small circle, as perfect as if drawn by a compass. The points of the diamond and the center of the circle faded, then began to refocus, but with more colors and shapes to them.
A loud clatter interrupted the room's intent concentration on the image in front of them. The group collectively turned to see Ron splayed on the ground, limbs akimbo and hair stuck up at as many odd angles as its length would allow, the crate he had been sitting on was tilted on its end.
A few giggles permeated the tense air, but Ron's expression, coupled the set faces of Hermione's companions and the look of disgust that Harry couldn't seem to hide, quieted them almost as soon as they'd begun.
"Nex Ago Hic." Hermione's soft voice carried through the room. The only other sound was that of Ron quietly arranging himself back on his crate. "It's Gualtierro version of the Dark Mark. He puts it where he kills.
"Remember," she continued loudly, to cover the sudden outbreak of gasps and cries of outrage, "remember, he doesn't ignore Voldemort. He does not disrespect him. He seeks to improve upon him. To become more … elegant. More together. He wanted to be both feared and admired, to be respected by those who followed him and those who fought him. He thought he was of a higher class than Voldemort and his pureblood agenda. Above him. The difference in their signatures is one of the most clear examples I can offer you.
"Each point is a different element, just like the mark on the arms. The north point is air – a griffin." The tiny smoke animal preened its wings and hissed at the rapt audience before it. "South is earth; the sphinx. Left is water and a sea serpent, right is fire and the dragon. Right side is the most powerful for magic, hence the Muggle saying 'right-hand man.'" Each miniature beast stretched out their head and made threatening noises and gestures. "And in the middle … the Lethifold. Gualtierro's own special symbol." The word "special" was given the slightest of emphasis, as if Hermione had to force it out. "His arm was the only one that was black. The absence of light."
"Excuse me, Hermione?" Hesitantly, Seamus rose from his seat between Dean and Lavender, wriggling uncomfortably to find enough room to stand. "I don't mean to be rude or anything. But why are we studying this man's actions, eh? We've got a whole new person to be dealing with, don't we? Shouldn't we be looking at Kregan's work?"
She hesitated. What was wrong with her? She should tell them. They deserved to know – they all deserved to know. But now she knew the dilemma Dumbledore had faced so long ago, walking the delicate line of telling Harry what he needed to know when he needed to hear it. He had misjudged with Sirius but had prevented disaster by leaving her the clues to the Hallows to Harry would come upon them slowly. She didn't know which she was doing now – coddling or protecting. Either way, looking into Seamus Finnegan's deep Irish eyes, she knew that she couldn't tell them yet. Still, she could say she hesitated.
"I've tracked this group before, Seamus," she informed him brusquely. "I know what it is you should be looking out for. Trust me. It's Gualtierro that we should be looking at."
"But I …"
"Trust me, Seamus. I haven't led you wrong before, have I?"
Looking hardly satisfied, Seamus sat back down.
And Hermione continued.
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"We were the spies.
"Ophelia, Faiz, Randy, Gloria, Pascaline, and I were in one group. Roland was with two others. Neither survived. He barely did. All of us barely did.
"We were inducted into the society. With us were millions of hairs of unsuspecting Muggles, so that we could disguise ourselves. We couldn't look like we did normally, most of us being too distinguished in our fields - or, as the case might be, too recognizable on a global scale for being Harry Potter's brainy friend."
There were a few laughs to accompany this, breaking a little of the tension her story had created.
"Yes, curses come in all shapes and kinds, including signature bushy hair."
More laughter. Hermione managed to smile.
"For months we watched and waited, feeding information to people outside. Too often we would be almost too late to avert catastrophe; sometimes we didn't even manage that. So Ophelia and I got closer. Too close, in the end. Ophelia was caught and tortured for days before we could mount a rescue. We were caught as well. And I … I helped … all of us escaped. And in the end, Gualtierro was killed and the thing he was looking for was taken."
Taken and hidden by me, she reminded herself.
She also reminded herself, One of the things.
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"You've all seen war. You know it. You know how it changes you. But as you can probably tell, the experience I had with this war changed me more than that of Voldemort's war. Maybe you won't have the same thing happen to you, but you should be warned. It's possible you might come out of this more scarred than before.
"This is why we won't be telling any of the older fighters about this. They've done enough. It really is our turn this time.
"Kregan will have the full army of Gualtierro at his back. They are trained and they are ruthless. But they've never seen anything like you before. They hide in the shadows. You've already defeated everything that dwells there. I'm tempted to quote Shakespeare, but not a single one of you knows who that is, so I'll say this instead: We are Dumbledore's Army. That still means something."
"Oi!" George burst into the shed, struggling to hold the raging snowstorm just behind him at bay, and officially killing the moment. "A little help here, O Mighty War Council!"
Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson and Oliver Wood sprang up with their wands in hand. A great globe of red magic erupted from all four of them, holding back the snow until George managed to slam the door shut.
The shed quaked. The walls shivered. A collective breath was taken and eyes turned to the ceiling above. Riddled with holes, buffeted by angry winds, and covered in three feet of snow, there were only a few spells and fervent prayers to keep the entire thing from caving in.
George ignored this general fear with his usual cheerful attitude. "Look, ladies and gents of the Weasley clan. Dear old Mum isn't having it any longer. Bill let it slip that there is no way they're naming any of their children after any of our relatives because Fleur hates British names. Now she's all sulky and wondering where Ron and Ginny's been for the last three hours and if I don't tell her soon, she's going to tear the grounds apart looking for them." He, too, at last heard the desperate groans of the surrounding shelter. "Although she may not need to help."
"He's right." Hermione shook out her weary arms and smiled tiredly at all of her friends. "I want to thank you for missing your holiday. Get back to your families."
"Happy Holidays, all of you," Harry added.
Amid the subdued chatter and scattered holiday well-wishes, Hermione sank down to the bench beneath her and hid her head in her hands. "I did the right thing, didn't I?"
She hadn't asked anyone in particular. Nobody answered.
"We'd all better go in," Harry said uneasily.
"And I'll go visit Ophelia."
She could practically feel her friends sharing concerned looks above her head. Laughing gruffly, she turned her face up to them. "And then I'll go to her apartment and have a nice, normal evening with a cup of tea and a good book."
From the raised eyebrows of George and Ron, she knew that neither of them associated "a nice evening" with "a good book," but they didn't say anything; it seemed to be an unspoken agreement that anything that kept her from spiraling back down into the pit she'd been in was a good thing. They needn't have worried. She had a focus now.
"You all go on. Just … I need to talk to Ron for a moment. If you don't mind."
She hadn't known she was going to say it until she did and she felt a jolt of nerves surge through her as she realized that she had.
Ginny recovered fastest. Clapping her hands to her hips in a pose reminiscent of Mrs. Weasley at her most terrifying, she glared roundly at all of the tiny army that had remained behind. "You heard her. Out you get! Out!"
Off they went, shooed away by the pint-sized ginger-haired woman with the fierce demeanor and terrifying Bat Boogey Hex.
Considering how many people she had just given instructions to, it was ironically amusing that Hermione couldn't seem to look at Ron's face. She settled for fixing her gaze on his freckled hands instead.
"You kissed me."
There was a long pause following this statement. Independent of her will, Hermione's eyes rose, from hands to arms to shoulders to chin and above. Ron's nose was flared dangerously, but his tone, when he finally spoke, was that of innocent consideration. "You are absolutely correct, Hermione. I did."
If he had slammed a door in her face, the message could not have been clearer. Well, that was fine. She had some repenting to do.
She stood up again and took a few steps back; not to acquiesce, but to give Ron room to breathe, so to speak. "I know I haven't been doing a lot to get you to forgive me lately. I know you're still angry at me."
"And how," Ron supplied pleasantly.
"I got side-tracked," Hermione told him, shoulders set. "But it's not just Kregan I'm re-focusing on. It's you, too."
"Stop it, Hermione."
"It's not that simple, Ron," Hermione informed him calmly. "Besides, I wasn't exactly the one to start it."
"Well, oh dearest one, let me be the one to end it."
With a grand parting wave of his hand, Ron turned to leave. Hermione was too fast for him. Quick as a sparrow, she darted under his outstretched arm and cut him off. "Who's running away now?"
"Do you deny deserving it?" he asked impatiently.
"No, I don't," she said eagerly, willing to pile the blame on as thick as he could dish it. "I mean, I'm not. I mean … I'm sorry. I really am. I know you won't forgive me for a long time, but Ron, I can "Just tell me."
"I'm not actually hearing this," was Ron's reply.
Hermione chuckled wryly. "You're surprised? I thought it was fairly obvious."
"What was obvious?"
"That I still l-"
"Don't bother finishing that sentence," Ron said with a snort. "It's been a damn long time since I've wanted to hear that from you, Hermione."
This time she moved backwards involuntarily. "Do you not understand what I've just said? All the things I did? Everything I risked to keep everyone safe?"
Ron laughed. It was an evil sound to Hermione's ears. "Oh, it's just wonderful. You're ruddy perfect, you are, just bloody brilliant as usual. I understand what you've done. What I still don't get was why in Merlin's name it had to be you who did it."
To use an expression of Ophelia's, he had finally hit upon the million dollar question. She couldn't tell him as much as she wanted to. Not that she didn't try. Her face contorted into quite a few interesting positions as she tried her best to break those unfortunate magical barriers. Mouth gaping, tongue twisting, throat producing endless unintelligible gurgles, all she accomplished was to look particularly unappealing.
In the end, all she managed to say was, "I can't."
"You can't." Ron met her eyes squarely so she could see exactly what these words did to him. The hurt and anger and sorrow she saw there threatened to tear her apart. "It's better that you move out of my way. Mum's waiting for me. It's a dangerous thing to keep Mum waiting."
She stumbled off to the side. Without so much as another glance, he swept from the shed and out into the driving snow. A cloud of flakes blew across the room to her. White crystals stuck to her lips and eyelashes and melted on her robes and into her hair.
Wiping a snowflake off the end of her nose with tip of her finger, she made a vow to the empty shack.
"You just try and get rid of me, Ronald Weasley. You'll love me again. You'll see."
AN: And it's short! My girl's getting her arsenal ready. You just wait. She's got her priorities straight now. I'm going to have fun now. You know, other than that whole war thing going on. Heh. So was I right? Are you all mad at me now? Won't change anything, of course, but I do hope you aren't too upset. Because I have all sorts of squishy-happy love for my reviewers! Especially since you got me over the 200 review limit. Yay for you! Thanks very, very much. Love? Hate? Review!