It was a stiflingly humid late July day, of the sort where every living thing moved as little as possible. Every window of every house on the street had been flung wide open in the hope of attracting a cooling breeze, but none came. On the second floor of one of those houses sat a girl, not quite yet sixteen, with a well-worn quill in her hand. Her bushy brown hair was tied back, but beads of sweat still dripped from her forehead, blurring her notes wherever they landed. A precariously tall stack of parchment lay next to her, crowned by a picture of the girl and a boy, set in a plain black frame.

Sighing, Hermione came to the end of 'Wizarding Law of the 18th Century in Great Britain' and closed it with an unsatisfying thud. She slotted it back into place on one of the study's many bookshelves. Most of the tall shelves held perfectly ordinary titles belonging to her parents, but her personal shelf was an exception. Over the course of four years' worth of trips to Flourish and Blotts, and a not-insignificant fraction of her spending money, that bookcase's former contents had been displaced by textbooks, histories, and encyclopedias of the magical world.

Yet despite her pride in that collection, nothing in it had helped her. She had sat down on the first day of summer eager to start her research, with two goals in her head: to learn enough about the law so that she could understand her upcoming trial, and to comprehend exactly how You-Know-Who had returned to life, or if indeed he had ever been truly dead. She'd spent weeks on those two goals, but all she'd really managed was to confuse herself further. The wizarding legal system was a mess that defied her best attempts to untangle it, and as for You-Know-Who, she had uncovered only shadows and whispers. There were tales, almost myths, of wizards who had evaded death, or returned from beyond the grave, but nothing concrete. And given what she knew about magic, she was inclined to be skeptical.

"Breakfast's ready, Hermione," her mum called from the foot of the stairs.

"Anything new this morning?" her father asked as she set the table.

"Plenty of new things, but nothing helpful."

"Are you sure you don't want us to ask Rodrick if he'd talk with you? I know he's not a wizard, but he's a very good lawyer. We've known him and his wife for years, I'm sure he'd be happy to help."

Hermione suppressed a sigh. This wasn't the first time her father had made that suggestion.

"Thanks, Dad, but I'm sure."

"This came for you while you were upstairs," her mum said as they sat down to eat, handing her an envelope covered with Ron's handwriting.

Hermione carefully opened the letter, and scanned it quickly as she started on her eggs. She had been exchanging letters with Ron all summer, telling him about her research efforts and hearing about the news at the Burrow, but over the last few weeks Ron's replies had started to contain less and less detail. In her most recent letter she'd asked Ron directly about what he had been getting up to, but as she came to the end of his reply, which mostly recounted a nasty-sounding row that Percy had had with his parents, it became clear that Ron hadn't answered her question. She figured that he was rather busy, as his letters sometimes took a full week to come back, but with what she had no idea. It was yet another mystery, and one that was growing increasingly aggravating.

"I don't suppose anyone has come by the house today?" she asked a couple minutes later, setting down her fork.

"Only Ron's owl," her mum replied. Her parents shared a glance, and then her mum continued. "Someone should have come to see you by now, shouldn't they? This... situation you're in, it's serious. I can't believe that the school would leave you to handle this all on your own."

"Neither can I," Hermione exhaled, her frustration coming to the surface. "The summons came three days ago. I'll face the Wizengamot in two weeks. I should have met my lawyer by now, and they should have crafted a strategy for my defense! I'm sure Professor Dumbledore has a plan for everything, but he doesn't seem to want to tell me what it is. He isn't replying to any of my letters, and I don't know who else to talk to."

"Is there any other way we can get you in touch with him?" her dad asked, leaning forward in his chair. "There must be something we can do to help."

"I'll sort it out," she sighed. "He's probably just busy now."

Her parents still seemed worried, but they didn't press the issue further. She was grateful for that; they'd had many variations of this conversation before, and they never really got anywhere. It was almost a part of her daily routine at this point: wake up, work, have breakfast and hope that Ron had written to her, continue working, eat lunch, work still more in the afternoon, and then eat dinner, watching her parents grow increasingly concerned for her all the while.

She always forced herself to stop working after dinner, but it was often hard for her to leave it behind. They'd all watch television, or play a round of Cluedo, or entertain the Clarkes (a lovely family of teachers whose eldest daughter Hermione had gone to primary school with), but the thought of the work she could be doing never fully left her mind. Even the weekend they'd spent on holiday in Cardiff hadn't distracted her, although that was probably her own fault for packing an extra suitcase full of legal texts.

She couldn't stop thinking about Harry, either. His death, her trial, and the return of You-Know-Who were all inextricably connected, threaded together like beads on a string. She often found herself wondering what he'd think of some fantastical dark ritual she read about, or what sarcastic remark he'd have about a particularly bizarre wizarding bylaw, and each time she did she was reminded that the wound within her had yet to heal.

This morning, though, Hermione had something to distract her from those thoughts. Her parents were attending a dental conference in London, and they'd agreed to drop her off near the Leaky Cauldron on their way, so that she could replace her wand at Ollivander's. She'd been looking forward to the trip for days. Even though she couldn't legally do magic at home, she would still feel better having a wand, just in case. Besides, it would also give her the chance to see if Flourish and Blotts had any new releases.

They set off as soon as Hermione finished replying to Ron. Her parents talked excitedly about the keynote speaker as they drove, but Hermione found herself unable to keep up with them. When she was younger she had thought that she might want to be a dentist too, but that was just one of the things that had changed when she had arrived at Hogwarts for the first time. Since then, she'd forgotten most of what she'd once known about the field, and she was always worried she was disappointing her parents when she couldn't contribute to those conversations any more.

"Have fun!" Hermione said as they finally turned onto Charing Cross Road. "And say hi to the Palmers for me!"

Hermione hopped out of the car and made her way towards the Leaky Cauldron, weaving through commuters on the crowded sidewalk.

Suddenly something grabbed her arm from behind, yanking her into an alleyway. She spun around, panicked, and saw that it was an old woman, who was breathing heavily and holding a broomstick in her other hand.

"Wotcher, Hermione," the woman said, letting go of her arm and pulling a silvery badge out of her pocket. "Don't be alarmed, I'm a friend."

The badge read "Ministry of Magic - Auror Office - Nymphadora Tonks" in dark ink, and showed a picture of a girl with bright pink hair who couldn't have been much older than twenty. Hermione glanced back up, confused, and saw that the woman's appearance now matched the picture perfectly.

"The name's Tonks," she continued, putting the badge away. "Full-time Auror and part-time bodyguard. I'm part of the team that's been keeping an eye on you this summer."

"There's been a team keeping an eye on me?" Hermione asked, shocked.

"Maybe 'team' is a bit dramatic, it's just me and Dung, but yea."

"Dung?"

"Mundungus Fletcher. Short, balding, always got a pipe. You'll know him if you see him. Utterly useless by the way, didn't even bother telling me you'd left the house when we changed shifts. Had a hell of a time tracking you down from the air. Almost as bad as that time you went gallivanting around Wales. That doesn't matter now, though. Today you're lucky enough to have the fine pleasure of my company, and not Dung's."

"Right," Hermione said, trying to process all of this new information. "And why exactly is all of this happening in the first place? Why have I needed bodyguards, and why am I just learning about this now?"

"'Cause people are paranoid, mostly, but nobody wanted to worry you. I reckon you've never actually been in any danger though, or Dung wouldn't have been on duty half the time. Still though, I'd be strung up if I let you walk around unprotected, given everything that's happened, so here I am."

"Given everything that's happened?"

Tonks grimaced, as if regretting her words. "Don't worry about it. Like I said, if there was any real risk, Dung would have been swapped out for someone more reliable. What're you out here for, anyway?"

"I need to replace my wand, so I'm headed to Ollivander's."

"Well that's sensible enough," Tonks said. She rummaged through her pockets for a moment and then handed Hermione a small vial from one of them. "Take the Polyjuice, and we can be on our way."

Hermione unstoppered it and took a whiff. It was definitely Polyjuice.

"Is this really necessary?" It felt ridiculous to disguise herself when going to Diagon Alley, a place she'd been a dozen times before.

Tonks nodded. "Better safe than sorry."

Hermione drank the potion. The taste was somehow even worse than she remembered.

"Don't you need to refresh yours too?" she asked Tonks as the transformation began.

"Nope!" she replied, looking smug. "I'm a Metamorphmagus. I can change my appearance at will, even without a wand. Height, weight, hair, you name it. Made the Disguise portion of Auror training dead easy."

She looked up, concentrating, and then her body shifted back to that of the old woman.

"Perfect," she said, looking Hermione up and down. "You look just like Emmeline. I reckoned she was about your height, so hopefully the clothes still fit. Also though, don't ever do that again."

"Don't do what again?"

"Drink something that someone you don't know gave to you. For all you know, I could be a Death Eater planning to kidnap you. Sure, I showed you a shiny-looking badge, but I'm guessing that's the first Auror badge you've seen, so you wouldn't have been able to spot a forgery."

Hermione hesitated, realizing that Tonks was right. "Fair point. But also, I'm pretty sure you couldn't possibly have been a Death Eater. You would have been what, eight or nine when You-Know-Who tried to kill Harry?"

Tonks smiled. "Common mistake. What makes you think you know my age? I just told you I can change my appearance at will. That makes the picture part of the badge completely useless, too. For all you know, I'm actually a seventy year-old man who's worked for You-Know-Who his whole life. Anyways, going forward, you should be more aware of making sure that people are who they claim to be. Constant vigilance, and all that. With me, it's easy: if you're ever worried that someone is impersonating me, just name a random person and ask me to shift my appearance to theirs. Professor Flitwick, Molly, anybody. Doesn't matter. That skill can't be faked."

Hermione was struggling to keep up with everything Tonks was saying. She'd spent the whole summer studying the intricacies of wizarding law and being starved for information about the outside world, and now she was being told all sorts of things all at once.

"Anyhow, let's get going. If anyone asks, I'm your wise and doting mother."

She took Hermione's arm, and together they shuffled into the Leaky Cauldron and through to Diagon Alley.

The entire situation was exceedingly strange, Hermione thought. Tonks seemed confident that there was nothing for Hermione to worry about, and yet her sudden appearance and insistence upon Polyjuice implied that she thought walking down Diagon Alley - in broad daylight, no less - was too dangerous for Hermione to do alone. Diagon Alley was bright, bustling, and full of smiling people; it seemed absurd to think of a gang of Death Eaters strolling out of Madam Malkin's and firing curses around. Then again, the Quidditch World Cup grounds had felt much the same way, right up until they hadn't.

Hermione pushed open the door to Ollivander's, tapping the bell that sat on the counter. Tonks took up a position just next to the door, peering ever so often through the window at the street outside.

"Ah, Nymphadora Tonks," Ollivander said, emerging from the shadowy back of the store.

"I beg your pardon?" Tonks said, without missing a beat.

"You can change your appearance, but not your wand, and I remember every one I've ever sold. Aspen and unicorn hair, ten and a half inches. Eleven years ago this September."

Tonks muttered a word that was rather unbecoming of an elderly lady.

"I'm the one in need of a wand," Hermione interjected, wanting to move things along. "Are you able to help us?"

"And are you who you appear to be?" Ollivander asked pointedly. "I assure you that it makes no difference to me, but it makes a great deal of difference to the wands."

Hermione looked over at Tonks, unsure what to say. It had to be safe to tell him, didn't it?

Tonks glanced out through the window again. "Fine," she said quietly, walking right up to the counter. "The wand is for Hermione Granger."

"Hermione Granger," Ollivander repeated. If he was at all surprised, he didn't show it. "Vine and dragon heartstring, ten and three-quarter inches. Surprisingly flexible. A fine wand, that was. You aren't here due to carelessness, I hope."

"It was broken by someone who knew exactly what they were doing," she answered, trying not to feel defensive. As interesting as wandcraft was, she'd never liked being here. It felt like a place where knowledge would be lorded over you, not a place where you could learn.

"Let's start with something similar," Ollivander said, vanishing into the rear of the shop.

He returned a moment later with a single box. "Vine and phoenix feather, eleven and a quarter inches. Springy, yet firm."

Hermione took the wand and attempted to levitate the wand box straight up, but it spun wildly away from her, threatening to upend a tall stack of boxes, and Ollivander snatched the wand out of her hand. She shook her head, unsettled by her lack of control. It felt as if she was an eleven-year old again, just learning magic for the first time.

"Pity," Ollivander muttered as he put the wand away. "I'd hoped you would grow into a wand like that."

She didn't know if she'd been meant to hear that or not, and so she said nothing.

The next several wands that Ollivander fetched were no good either. She hadn't realized just how much of her mastery of magic was due to her connection with her old wand. It had always worked for her just the way she wanted it to, and without it she was lost.

"Ash," Ollivander said, holding out wand number six. "Unicorn hair, eleven inches. Deceptively rigid, though it may become more flexible with experience."

"Wingardium Leviosa."

This time, everything finally felt right. The wand box was completely under her control; it lifted up smoothly, zoomed around the room while weaving in and out of shelves, and then settled down on the counter without so much as disturbing the layer of dust that coated it.

"Yes," Ollivander murmured, "That's the one. How very interesting."

He repackaged the wand, and made a note on the ledger that sat behind the counter.

"What's so interesting?"

Ollivander didn't answer her question. Instead, he pushed the box towards her, and said, "You didn't kill him, did you?"

"No," she replied, taken aback.

"A wand like this would never choose a killer. At least, we should hope not." He trailed off, his hand still resting on top of the box. "The person who did kill him. The person who, I presume, broke your wand that night... was it him? The Dark Lord, who tried and failed all those years ago?"

"Yes."

"Then there is no avoiding it," Ollivander whispered. "There is a great conflict ahead of us, Miss Granger, a great conflict indeed. You will have many uses for that wand in the times to come." There was something deeply unsettling in his voice, but Hermione couldn't put her finger on it.

Tonks shifted uneasily. "Let's get you back home, Emmeline."

"Eleven galleons," Ollivander said, his voice normal again.

Hermione paid, and then they were back in Diagon Alley, the door to the dark shop swinging silently shut behind them. Tonks began to march them back towards the Leaky Cauldron, and Hermione realized that she was soon going to lose the best chance she had to learn more about what had been going on this summer.

"Do you mind if we stop in at Flourish and Blotts?" she asked, thinking quickly. "I've been meaning to check their new releases."

Tonks hesitated for a moment. "So long as you're quick."

"So what else have you been doing this summer besides watching me?" she asked Tonks when they reached a quiet corner of the store, keeping her voice low. "You mentioned Mrs. Weasley earlier. Have you seen the Weasleys at all? Do they have guards too?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you anything about that," Tonks said apologetically. She poked her head around a bookshelf. "I think it's stupid, mind you, but orders are orders. 'Sides, we definitely shouldn't be gabbing out in the open like this."

Hermione was about to press Tonks further when she felt her skin begin to bubble.

"It hasn't been a full hour already, has it?" she asked nervously.

Tonks took one look at her and steered them quickly out of the store and into a narrow alley between Flourish & Blotts and the Daily Prophet's head office.

"I knew we spent too long in there," she muttered. "Thankfully, I always keep a—"

There was a loud smashing sound as a glass vial slipped from Tonks' hands, shattering across the cobblestones. A passer-by stopped, poking his head into the alley, but Tonks shot him a glare and he scampered away.

"They make the damned things so slippery," she cursed, rummaging quickly through her pockets. She pulled out a dozen different vials, but none of them seemed to be what she was looking for. After a minute or two she glanced up at the open mouth of the alley, where people were continuing to stream by, and she abandoned her search.

"Right then, time for the fallback plan. Nobody at your house has a heart condition, do they?"

"What? Not that I know of!"

Tonks hooked her arm into Hermione's and they Disapparated. The awful pounding and squeezing and crushing of Apparition seemed to last longer this time than when Dumbledore had Apparated her and Neville, and when they finally arrived in the backyard of Hermione's house, both her and Tonks were gasping for air. Hermione used her spare key to let them inside, and they both collapsed onto chairs in the kitchen, trying to catch their breath.

"Haven't tried Side-Along-Apparition in a while," Tonks panted, "but I don't remember it being that bad. You're all here, though? Didn't Splinch off a finger?"

Hermione shook her head.

"You never said how you know the Weasleys," she pressed. This was another chance to get information out of Tonks, and she wasn't going to waste it.

"That's because I can't."

"Why?"

Tonks gave her a look that rather plainly said, Do you really expect me to answer that?

"Isn't there anything that you can tell me? I know something must have happened, or else you wouldn't be here. I know Ron and the rest of the Weasleys are busy with something, but he won't tell me what. And I know somehow you and them are connected. This all has something to do with You-Know-Who, right?"

Tonks sighed. She stood up, stretching her legs, and somehow managed to kick her chair over.

"Sorry! Sorry, let me get that."

She sat back down on the chair, looking flustered. "Look, I'll tell you something, but only because I think it'll help keep you safe. And as far as everybody else is concerned, you don't know this, ok?"

Hermione nodded.

"People have been going missing," Tonks said. "Not a lot, but enough to worry us. The Prophet hasn't been reporting on it, because all of the disappearances are unsolved."

"Do you think they're being kidnapped by You-Know-Who?"

Tonks shrugged. "Maybe, but we can't even be sure of that. Some of them are people he wouldn't even know, people who weren't around last time. People who aren't even connected at all, like the Arithmancy professor, Vector. That's the reason for the guards. You don't fit the profile of those who've been taken, but nobody really understands the profile. For all we know, anyone could be next."

"Nobody that I know has gone missing, have they?" Hermione asked. "None of the Weasleys, right?"

Tonks was quiet for a moment, and then shook her head. "This has already been far more than I should have told you," she said. She stood up again, very carefully stepping away from the chair. "Sit tight here for the rest of the day, alright? Dung is coming on shift any minute now. Oh, and don't worry about your parents, I'll leave a note on their car that explains where you are."

Tonks Disapparated, leaving Hermione on her own. She knew that she should probably get back to work, but she doubted that she'd be able to focus. Tonks might have given her some answers, but in doing so she'd only raised more questions. How was You-Know-Who (for surely it had to be him behind this) choosing who to target? Hermione couldn't think of anybody less significant than the stern but fair Professor Vector, who had been teaching one of Hogwarts' least popular courses. If You-Know-Who wanted to take over the world, Hermione couldn't see how abducting her would help him. It wasn't logical at all, and that bothered her.

Several more days passed, with little change to Hermione's routine. Her trial was creeping closer and closer, and yet there was still no word from Dumbledore. She was starting to truly resent the fact that her only news on the matter was coming from the Prophet, which had begun gleefully speculating on the case now that the charges against her had been made public.

She had taken to walking around the neighbourhood in the evenings to try and clear her head, and it was at the very end of one of those walks, as she walked up the drive and opened the front door, that she realized the news had come to find her. Standing in the foyer, chatting with her parents, were the unmistakable blonde curls and ritzy eyeglasses of Hermione's least favourite creative writer.

"Ah, Miss Granger, excellent!" Rita said quickly. "I was just talking with your charming parents here about your progress in my class last year. And of course, this very unfortunate situation that you're in. Professor Dumbledore asked me to have a chat with you about all that."

Before Hermione could so much as scream, Rita had seized her by the wrist, closed the door behind them, and pulled Hermione around to the side of the house.

"They really are charming," Rita said sweetly. She waved to the treeline at the edge of the yard, and two cameramen emerged. They set up their tripods and flashbulbs in a semicircle, surrounding Hermione completely.

"How in Merlin's name do you know where I live?" Hermione exclaimed, trying to buy some time. There was no sign of Tonks, but surely she would patrol in this direction soon, wouldn't she?

Rita removed her cloak, which bore a large Hogwarts insignia on its front, revealing her usual magenta robes beneath. She bundled the cloak into a ball and thrust it at one of the cameramen, who handed her a notebook and quill in return.

"Jenkins here saw you in Diagon Alley the other day," she said, flipping through the notebook. "Being the smart man that he is, he rushed to tell me immediately. I'm sure you can imagine it wasn't difficult for me to follow you back here."

"I'm quite sure I can't imagine it," Hermione said dryly. No wonder Tonks had struggled with the Apparition. "You should tell me, or else it'll bug me all week."

"Well then," Rita said, completely ignoring her jibe, "Let's start with the question our readers have all been dying to know the answer to: Why did you kill Harry?"

Flashbulbs popped, nearly blinding Hermione.

"I didn't kill him," she said, keeping her voice level. "You-Know-Who did." All she had to do was refuse to give Rita anything new, and she'd eventually give up. Almost all bullies would.

"Was it a jealous rage, after discovering there was another girl? Did the dashing Viktor put you up to it, as a test of your love for him? Or a debt, maybe? A massive bet that Harry would lose the tournament, that saw you grow more and more desperate with every task he won, until you had no choice but to take things into your own hands?"

Hermione saw red, and as much as she knew that pulling her wand and Stunning all three of them would only add to her problems, she nearly did it anyway.

"No," Hermione said, as calmly as she could manage, "You-Know-Who killed him. Go ahead and print that, because it's all I have to say about the matter."

"I wish I could," Rita mused, glancing down at her notepad, where her quill was scribbling madly. "But these days … ooh, 'Eyes brimming with tears, but backlit by a burning rage'... that's quite good, isn't it?"

"Why can't you? We both know it's not because of your strict commitment to verifiable truths."

"Always have to be so very clever, don't you," Rita said snidely. "My editor won't take anything related to this You-Know-Who story. I can't imagine why – people love fear, it'd sell like hotcakes – but that's how it is. But enough of that. Why don't you tell me more about your trial. Are you scared to be brought to justice? Has Dumbledore been helping you rehearse your testimony?"

"Oi, leave 'er alone!"

A short, rather bald man in tattered robes had rounded the far corner of the house and was now wandering towards them, his wand pointed threateningly at the nearest cameraman.

"And who might you be?" Rita asked, reaching for her quill.

"That's none o' yer concern," the man, who Hermione presumed must be Mundungus Fletcher, replied.

Hermione was relieved that someone was here, but the smell of alcohol wafting from him quickly undercut that relief.

Rita nodded to her nervous-looking cameramen, who began to pack up their equipment. "Is this gentleman a friend of yours?" she asked.

"I've never seen him before," Hermione replied truthfully.

Mundungus stumbled and his cloak flew open, revealing something sleek and jet black hanging from a loop on his belt. It was a crossbow, but not at all like the enormous, bulky one that Hagrid kept by his door. Mundungus hastily refastened his cloak, looking guilty, but it was too late.

"I said leave 'er alone," he repeated, gesturing aggressively with his wand.

"Such… interesting company you keep," Rita said, a predatory glint in her eyes. Then she Disapparated, the cameramen and equipment following a moment later.

Mundungus tucked his wand into his back pocket. He looked remarkably self-satisfied, and of all things it was that that finally pushed Hermione over the edge.

"Do you normally drink while you're supposed to be protecting me?" she snapped. "If that had been a Death Eater, I could have been kidnapped, or killed, or Merlin knows what else. Do you care that little about everyone you're assigned to guard?"

Mundungus looked guilty again. Hermione suspected that it was a very well-used expression.

"I should be leavin'," he said hurriedly. "Jus' tell Mad-Eye I did my job, right?" He Disapparated as soon as the last word was out of his mouth.

Hermione was shaking, even though it wasn't cold. Talking about Harry, even in the most general sense, still brought back memories of that night, and of her failure to keep him safe. Seeing Mundungus be so irresponsible, and seeing him get away without any consequences, infuriated her.

But as annoyed as she was with him, she still shouldn't have lashed out. He knew Tonks, and that meant he might know the Weasleys. Maybe he would have answered some of her questions if she hadn't scared him away. She had learned one thing, though. Besides Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, a semi-retired Auror, was also involved in all of this. Did that mean that she was under the protection of the Auror Office? Was this some strange sort of witness protection program? Maybe the Weasleys were in a similar situation, and that was why nobody would say anything about them. It didn't make all that much sense, she had to admit, but it was her best guess as to what was going on.

Hermione walked back inside, double-locking the door behind her, and briefly explained Rita's deception to her parents, who looked equal parts apologetic and worried.

"After all that I think I'm going to need an early night," she concluded, failing to stifle a yawn. "Love you both."

She traipsed upstairs, already thinking about everything that she had to do tomorrow. She would try not to dwell on this whole mystery with Tonks and the Weasleys, she promised herself, or on whatever Rita might write in tomorrow's paper. She had to prioritize her time, with how close the trial was.

She brushed her teeth distractedly, debating whether it was a good idea to talk with Rodrick after all, just in case. Advice from a Muggle lawyer might not be directly applicable, but it couldn't hurt, could it?

When Hermione walked back into her bedroom, still undecided on the matter of Rodrick, she found that Pigwidgeon was waiting for her, an envelope held tightly in his beak. It was from Ron, of course, who had finally replied to her letter from the morning before her Diagon Alley trip. She scanned it quickly, but it contained only a few amusing stories of mischief that Fred and George had caused, and no information about what anybody else had been up to. Hermione scrawled a quick reply, telling him all about Diagon Alley, Tonks, and her unpleasant encounter with Rita and Mundungus. Maybe his reaction to all of that would tell her something. She gave the letter to Pigwidgeon, along with a treat, and he hopped out of her window and soared away.

Exhausted, she drifted into sleep soon afterward. She dreamed about the library within the Room of Requirement, about the cool breeze that blew over the lake, about shushing Harry and Ron when they were whispering in class. She dreamed about how things used to be, and it was wonderful.

"Ow!"

She was awoken by a sharp pain in her right hand. She yanked it back towards herself out of reflex, still half asleep, but then the same pain blossomed in her left hand, too. Her eyes flickered open. It was still dark outside, but by the moonlight that trickled in through her window, she could see Hedwig standing on the bed next to her, with her beak hovering over Hermione's finger. A letter lay on top of her talons.

She tore the letter open, upset at having her dream interrupted, but what she read drove that thought out of her mind.

Be ready to leave at three-thirty this morning. Pack everything.

- Arthur