The next morning dawned sunny and breezy, and found Hermione cross-legged on her bed leafing through iMagical Species and Sprites of Cornwall , curled up next to her on the coverlet, was purring loudly as she scratched behind his ears and ran her finger down the page.
"This is where it should be, Crookshanks, look..."
A Brief Summary of Pixie Dust and Its Properties
One of the most well-known magical substances in our world is a secretion known as pixie dust. Found as a light coating on the skin of the Cornish pixie as well as in a varied form on some of its Egyptian and Pacific cousins, pixie dust's reputation has gone as far as to permeate even the Muggle vernacular. Although their information on its effects is erroneous, the term is found in multiple Muggle "fairy tales" and other cultural cornerstones, and the general perception of the substance is correct. It can be either ingested or applied externally, and its effects can include an upswing in mood, enhanced creativity, and vivid dreams. However, if used in mass quantities, it can cause feelings of weightlessness, giddiness, and even hallucinations, not dissimilar to /iCannabis sativai of the Rosales order. Pixie dust is known in the wizarding world for being one of Scamander's seven uplifting substances as well as its use in the extremely complex but wonderfully inventive potion Felix Felicis.
Hermione fingered the page thoughtfully. "No tingling to be had, Crookshanks!" She looked at him ruefully, and he stared back at her, his squashed face somehow mischievously knowing.
"Alright, alright," she said, closing the book. "Let's see what Mrs. Weasley has in store for me today."
She dressed quietly and crossed the landing, toothbrush in hand. It was barely past eight, but pale morning sunshine was already warming the faded carpet in the hall. Ron's door was still shut tight, and she could hear his soft snores from within.
Hermione stared at the snake-shaped tap as she brushed her teeth, thinking once again of Harry, and resolving to write to him as soon as she had spoken to Dumbledore – with any luck, by the end of the evening. Almost a week of her stay at Grimmauld Place had passed already; she was surprised she had not yet seen Hedwig tapping at the picture window.
Downstairs in the kitchen, as usual, there were already several people seated at the table. This morning it was Fred, George, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Tonks, and Sirius.
"Good morning, Hermione," said Mrs. Weasley, getting up immediately. "Do you want anything, dear? Tea? Pumpkin juice?"
"Oh, just tea please."
Before Mrs. Weasley, who was pulling a chair out for Hermione, could move towards the cupboard, Fred picked his wand up from the table.
"I've got it, mum." He took aim and a teacup zoomed out over their heads, landing in front of him just in time to catch the steaming stream of tea pouring from his wand.
"How many times do I have to tell you that you don't need to use your wand for everything, Fred!" Mrs. Weasley said crossly, retrieving the pumpkin juice flagon from the ice box.
"But mum," he said earnestly, pushing the tea towards Hermione, "how else will I practice? I wish McGonagall was here, she'd support me working on my Conjuring..."
Mrs. Weasley just tutted loudly as George and Tonks laughed.
"Thank you," Hermione said quietly. "Your Conjuring is well-executed."
Fred smiled at her in surprise, stowing his wand in his jeans. "Almost as good as a compliment from McGonagall!"
Hermione felt herself blush, even as she shook her head and sipped her tea.
"Where's Ron? And Ginny?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "I need the five of you together so I can let you know what we've got to do today..."
"I'm right here, Mum," came Ginny's voice from just beyond the doorway. A moment later she appeared in it, her long red hair plaited down her back. "I've just roused Ron, I expect he'll be down in a few minutes."
"Good, thank you," said Mrs. Weasely, pulling out a frying pan. "I'll make some eggs, shall I?"
Soon the kitchen was filled with the sizzling of breakfast. Ron ambled in a few minutes later, his hair stuck up on the right side of his head.
"M-morning all," he yawned, pulling out a chair. "Mum, I think there might be a chizpurfle infestation in my room, those fur coats in the wardrobe keep humming and the clock keeps going mad at random times."
"There probably is, I think Buckbeak might have them too," Sirius said grimly. "He's been fussing over his horse end much more than usual lately…"
Ron snorted, and Mrs. Weasley poked her wand at the frying pan, looking a bit harassed. "Alright, well, add that to the list, I suppose. Are we all here?"
Ascertaining that they were, she slid the eggs and some breakfast sausage onto several plates, which settled themselves along the table with gentle thumps.
"Thanks, Molly," said Tonks, who had dark circles under her eyes. "Is there any coffee?"
"I'll get it," said Sirius, standing up with the air of someone longing for something to do. "Why don't you sit down, Molly? Have something to eat yourself."
"Well, alright," said Mrs. Weasley, pulling up a chair somewhat reluctantly. "Put it in the copper kettle, not the silver, Sirius, we still need to clean that."
Sirius grunted, his head halfway in the cupboard above the sink.
"Right," said Mrs. Weasley, taking a drink of pumpkin juice and pulling a list out of her pocket. "The entire Order will be here tonight so we just need to get some loose ends tied up, I don't want to tackle anything that's going to take until the stroke of midnight."
"For once," muttered Ron into his toast.
"Don't complain so much, Ron, I'm not asking you to risk your life or stay up the whole night like Tonks and Kingsley," Mrs. Weasley snapped, while Tonks waved her comment off, looking uncomfortable.
"Just a joke, Mum," said George. "Go on, General, set us our labor."
"Ginny, I want you to tackle the curtains and lamps down here. Beat out the fabric, and get as much of the dust and cobwebs off of the fixtures as you can. Ron, I want you to take care of all the linens on the third floor, I don't know if anyone extra is going to be staying over tonight, and I want there to be clean beds available."
"Alright, mum," Ron conceded somewhat apologetically, corralling sausage onto his fork. "No problem."
"George, I want you to take care of the silver here in the kitchen. Wash it, sanitize it, and dry it. I'm sure everyone's going to be hungry tonight and we'll need more than the rotation of six clean plates we've been running. And last, Fred and Hermione, I need the two of you to go to Diagon Alley and pick up some things for me, I've a list for you here."
Hermione gave a little choke over her tea, but George was already protesting.
"What? How come they get to go to Diagon Alley, I'll take that over silver any day! Mum, why can't I go with them?"
"Because," Mrs. Weasley said severely, "if I send you and your brother together, you're more likely to bring me back some kind of… I don't know, ashwinder eggs or shrunken heads or something than you are chizpurfle repellent." She brandished the list at him threateningly. "Just be glad I'm not asking you to polish it, too."
"Ashwinder?" George said despairingly. "What, we're slipping people love potions now?"
At these words, Hermione could very vividly recall the year before in which Fred and George had evidently had absolutely no problem with turning people into giant canaries on the sly, but thought it might be more prudent not to mention this just now, as Mrs. Weasley was already swelling with irritation.
Fred, who had yet to say anything, shot his brother a 'drop it now' look. "It's fine, Mum. We'll take care of it."
"I'm counting on you to keep him under control," said Mrs. Weasley, with a pointed look at Hermione.
Hermione could feel herself blushing again, and, infuriated with herself, opened her mouth to respond, but the door of the kitchen creaked open before she could.
The oldest, dirtiest house elf she had ever seen had slunk through the doorway, dressed only in what seemed to be a very dirty loincloth.
"Blood traitors, bringing shame to my poor Mistress's house, eating and drinking out of the family silver, what would she say…?"
"Good morning, Kreacher," George said loudly.
The house elf bowed, eyeing George with deepest loathing, and continued muttering as if they could not hear him.
"No 'good morning' can it be when there are blood traitor brats in my Mistress's kitchen, oh no…"
Hermione, rather alarmed, shot a glance at Ron. Ron, his mouth full of egg, shrugged and rolled his eyes, twirling a finger around his temple as if to say, 'he's lost it.'
Hermione now saw the house elf's rather bloodshot eyes fall on her and widen, the nostrils of his snout-like nose flaring. "And now there's a new girl, Kreacher hasn't seen her before, not a blood traitor like the other one, no indeed, it's a mudblood in the House of Black, oh, the shame…"
"I don't care for that word, Kreacher," said Sirius loudly, thumping the coffee pot onto the table.
Tonks murmured thanks, but Sirius hardly seemed to notice. It was clear that from the way he was eyeing him that Sirius detested Kreacher quite as much as the elf obviously detested him.
"My apologies, Master," Kreacher croaked, before continuing to mutter at the same volume, "the shame, the shame, my poor Mistress, what would she say?"
Everyone, including the elf, jumped as Fred abruptly pushed his chair back, the legs scraping on the flagstones of the kitchen floor. He had an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face.
"Come on, Hermione. Let's go."
Hermione, having almost finished her tea and with no desire to continue to hear herself insulted as if she wasn't there, stood up as well, glancing at him.
Mrs. Weasley pushed the list and an old, battered leather purse at him across the table. "Here, Fred. That should be enough for what we need."
He nodded, pocketing it, and with one last distasteful look at Kreacher, strode out of the room.
Taking a moment to down the rest of her tea and compose herself, Hermione gave herself a brief mental shake. With a wave to the others and a brave effort to ignore the butterflies beginning in her stomach, she followed Fred out of the room.
He was waiting for her in the entrance hall with his arms crossed, standing half in the sole beam of dusty sunlight coming in through the upstairs picture window. It fell across his face, shining off of the darker and lighter strands of his hair, deep auburn red to strawberry blond, and throwing his profile into sharp relief as he turned his head towards her.
"Sorry," he said, his expression much softer than it had been moments before. "I just can't stand that bollocks."
Hermione shrugged, studying his face. "It's not like you've got anything to apologize for. Don't worry about it, Fred, I doubt he knows what he's saying, he's so old…"
He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I think he does, but that's beside the point. I'm not alone, Sirius can't stand him either, and I'm quite sure he'd just free him but he knows too much about the Order now." He uncrossed his arms and shoved his hands in his pockets, and Hermione found herself admiring his nose. It wasn't as long as Ron's but prominent and straight, with its grecian nature undermined by the sprays of freckles across it.
He caught her eye and smiled his half-smile, straightening up. "Come on then, let's get going, shall we?"
She nodded, and he, after hesitating a moment, reached out and patted her shoulder in a reassuring kind of way.
The fact that she had put on a tank top that morning had not been significant to Hermione until this moment, but when Fred's fingers brushed her bare skin she felt that strong, tingling warmth from the night before spread rapidly through her shoulder. Unless it was her imagination, he drew his hand back rather quickly, but the rough callouses on the pads of his fingers scratched her skin lightly as he did. To her consternation, Hermione could feel herself blushing for what felt like the hundredth time in two days.
As they turned to the fireplace and Fred retrieved the Floo powder from the mantle, he seemed to be avoiding her gaze. But then again, she thought mutinously, that might be for the best, since her cheeks needed time to cool off.
To her relief, when her spinning slowed and she toppled onto the hearth of the Leaky Cauldron, there were very few people to see it. It was a weekday, and other than Tom behind the bar, only a couple of the little round tables were occupied. She got to her feet and brushed herself off, shaking some ash out of her hair as Fred came whizzing into view behind her.
Tom waved a greeting to the both of them. "Anything to drink today, young Mr. Weasley? Miss Granger?"
"No thanks, Tom, just Diagon Alley today," Fred replied, patting his pocket where the purse sat. Tom bowed them through, and Hermione followed him into the dumpy little courtyard behind the inn. The sky above them was fast losing its morning paleness, deepening into a cerulean blue, and with a few taps of Fred's wand later, Diagon Alley was opening before them.
The street was less packed than Hermione was used to, having only ever seen it the week before term before, but still just as chattering and sparkling as ever. It was hard not to smile as her eyes fell upon the dear familiar storefronts, and with a glance up at Fred, she saw that he was smiling too. She was doubly glad for her choice in clothing now; the sunshine and warm breeze wrapped around her bare arms and shoulders, and she felt a flood of the happiness that comes with a perfect summer day.
"Do you know, I think I've been shut inside for too long."
He laughed and spread his arms wide, stretching in the sunlight. "I think I have too. Come to think of it, we all have. Mum should come down here some day soon, it might improve her mood."
"Is she alright?" Hermione asked timidly as they set off down the street. "I know she's stressed about the Order and all, but.."
She trailed off, and he looked at her, grimacing. "It's that, and she's worried about Harry, and Sirius, not to mention George and me."
"What's wrong with the two of you?"
"Well, that depends on who you ask," he grinned. "We would say nothing. But she's worried about our futures, you know, wants us to get Ministry jobs like dad, and I think she must know that even after everything that's happened, she hasn't converted us."
"Well, what is it you're aiming to do?" Hermione asked briskly. "You could go into the Department of Magical Games and Sports, you're a brilliant Quidditch player. Or the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, with all that stuff you've enchanted, you'd probably be good at reversing it -"
"Wait, wait," Fred put up his hands in a 'stop everything' gesture. "Can you go back to telling me that you think I'm brilliant at Quidditch? Let's talk about THAT."
"Oh please," Hermione rolled her eyes, but he gave her such a serious look that she couldn't help but laugh.
"Let's not talk about me, Hermione," he waved a hand dismissively, "let's talk about you. You're taking O.W.L.s this year. The time is nigh. What is it that YOU want to do?"
"Oh, I don't know. There are so many choices, aren't there? I really enjoyed Ancient Runes, and Transfiguration, and Arithmancy. And Astronomy too, really. But I haven't thought much about what exactly I'd like to do."
"I'll tell you this much," said Fred, who could not seem to keep his hands still. He was now braiding the strings of the purse with ease. "The world is wide open to you, Hermione. You could do literally anything you wanted to do. So just do something you love, because you're going to be successful either way."
She couldn't help but tut. "You can't know that."
"But I do," he told her, pulling the list from Mrs. Weasley out of his pocket. "Just trust me when it comes to talking about the future. You never were any good at Divination anyway, from what I hear from a certain brother of mine..."
She opened her mouth furiously to retaliate, but he cut her off with a laugh. "I'm kidding, Hermione. KIDDING," he emphasized when she frowned at him. "I'm with you, anyway, Divination is bollocks for anyone that's not a true Seer."
"So you believe that's possible, then?"
"'Course I do, but it's not something that can be taught, all the crystal ball and tea leaf stuff is a bit dodgy. It's a great novelty to people though, very mysterious, and I suppose that's why people take Divination, out of curiosity. I doubt Trelawney is one of the real ones, though, at least from what I heard from Ron."
She raised her eyebrows and smiled wordlessly at him, still skeptical.
He smiled back, brown eyes twinkling mischievously, and she noticed for the first time a slight dimple in his left cheek.
"You're stubborn," Fred observed. It was not a question, but a statement. "Let's get started on this list of mum's, we can go into Magical Menagerie here for chizpurfle repellent."
Hermione, who was feeling the strange and sudden intimacy of walking down Diagon Alley and discussing the future with Fred Weasley, agreed.
Magical Menagerie was just as she remembered it; bright, noisy, and packed with cages of every kind. A bell chimed above the door as they entered, and a young wizard came out from the back, his robes covered in what looked to be cat hair.
"Welcome to Magical Menagerie, how can I help you?"
"Hi, I was wondering if you carry chizpurfle repellent."
"Chizpurfle?" the wizard furrowed his brow. "I think we might, let me check in the back…"
Fred hung by the counter, twisting the strings of the purse, and Hermione allowed herself to drift towards the chittering and glittering walls. One large cage in the corner was humming peculiarly, and upon closer inspection seemed to be full of large, cream-colored balls of fur, rolling around the bottom of the cage and over each other. A small, plated sign next to them read "PUFFSKEINS".
She leaned down for a closer look, and a few puffskeins rolled to the edge of the cage, seemingly queuing up for her attention. Tentatively, she reached one finger through the bars and stroked one of them; its fur was as soft as cashmere, and after a few pets, its eyes closed and a loud, content humming vibrated out from under her fingers.
"What're you looking at, Hermione?"
"Puffskeins. Come look at them, they're so social…"
Fred soon had several puffskeins of his own vying for attention.
"Mine's humming louder than yours."
"He is not," said Hermione indignantly, scratching her puffskein behind its tiny ears.
"He is," Fred insisted, grinning at her. "Better step up your game there, Hermione…"
She tutted loudly again but before she could retort, the young wizard had returned.
"Here you go sir, we did have some…"
Fred tore himself away from his puffskein and went and to collect the orange spray bottle.
"There you go, there are instructions on the back… that'll be seven sickles."
Fred counted out the coins and soon they were stepping back out into the bright sunlight of the street.
"Bloody cute, weren't they?' he said fondly, glancing back at the shop window. "Alright, we'll go to apothecary next, it says here she needs knotgrass and lacewing flies…"
Hermione glanced at him, and he raised his eyebrows at her.
"Polyjuice potion."
Fred nodded his head in satisfaction. "I think so, yeah. I mean, lacewing flies and knotgrass can be used for a couple of different things but I know for a fact that Tonks dropped off a boomslang skin this morning, and those three things together are hard to mistake."
"D'you know what they're using it for?"
"No," he shrugged, "but it could be anything. I don't know exactly what they're getting up to, none of us do, but I'm sure there's spying involved. And they're always talking about 'guard duty', remember…"
They both fell silent, Hermione sobered by the remembrance of what they were really doing in Grimmauld Place. It was not all about cleaning, and that was alarmingly easy to forget on days like these, in moments like these, arguing over Divination and puffskeins with Fred.
Inside Apothecary, they were able to pick the lacewing flies and knotgrass bundles out of the many bins lining the walls. When they reached the counter, however, Fred had a request.
"Could I also get a tin of ashwinder eggs, please?"
Hermione glanced sharply at him as the witch nodded and reached under the counter, setting a small round container next to the bundles. "These 'ave got a freezing charm on 'em, so don't open it until you're ready to use 'em."
Fred nodded and reached for his back pocket. This time, he didn't take out the leather purse, but a larger brocade one that Hermione hadn't noticed before.
"It'll be seven galleons and four sickles with the ashwinder eggs included."
And Fred, who Hermione had never seen with half that much money before, carefully counted out the coins and slid them across the counter.
"You have a nice day."
Hermione, who was bursting with questions, had just opened her mouth to start asking them when Fred spoke first.
"Don't mention that to mum, would you?"
She didn't quite know what to say, so she just looked at him, biting her lip.
"C'mon, Hermione," he implored, stuffing his own purse back into his pocket. "Say you won't."
"Fred, didn't you JUST buy exactly what she told you not to?"
"Well, technically," Fred said delicately, "she said that it was LIKELY that I would. She never said not to."
Hermione gave him a severe look, and he gave her a wide-eyed gaze back, the picture of innocence.
"Ashwinder eggs," she said slowly. "So you either have ague, which I'm pretty sure I would have noticed by now, or you're brewing something that I'm absolutely SURE your mum wouldn't approve of."
"Oh, go on," he wheedled, and put an arm around her shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. "It's not like I'm doing anything ILLEGAL."
She rolled her eyes, inwardly very conscious of the feeling of his warm palm flat against her bare shoulder. He released her a moment later, and she crossed her arms. As much as she may not approve, as suspicious as she might be, there was also no way that she was going to run to Mrs. Weasley and tell on him. She had been many things, but a tattletale was not one of them. Fred knew this, and, she was forced to concede, was going to use it to his advantage.
He smiled broadly at her silence - he knew he'd been victorious, and she made a silent but firm resolve to get him back for this gloating sooner rather than later.
"Only Wiseacre's left now, and," he checked his watch, "it's not even eleven yet. We definitely got the prime deal here, Ron'll be working on those linens into this afternoon, knowing him."
"Not if George finishes first and does it magically."
He raised his eyebrows at her. "Can you really see George doing that?"
"No," she admitted.
"No," he agreed. "It builds character, Hermione, doing laundry without magic."
Wiseacre's was a dim but clean shop, full of assorted scales, hourglasses, and maps. Fred made his way over to the household supplies aisle while Hermione wandered towards the books. There were few sights she loved more than that of a fully stocked, antique bookcase.
But this time, after the initial pull of the books, it was something else that grabbed her attention. On top of the shelf among several other dusty curios was a small glass globe marked with gold ancient runes. Drawing closer, she could see within the sphere a three-dimensional sky map, stars and miniature constellations twinkling on a swirling cloud of silver vapor, each marked with tiny gold runes floating beside them.
She picked it up carefully, the dark wooden stand smooth under her fingers. She watched as Aries tilted slightly towards her, the eye of the ram seeming to wink at her.
"What's that?" Fred's interested voice came over her shoulder.
"A runes sky map," Hermione answered, turning it in her hand. "Isn't it gorgeous?"
He bent down next to her and watched interestedly as she turned it, the sparkling clouds twisting and curling. She could feel it when his gaze shifted from the little globe to her face, but she avoided his eyes and instead stared stubbornly at Io's path across the sky.
"I've got mum's stuff," he said, in a rather quieter voice than usual. "Do you want to look around a bit more, or should we go?"
"We can go," she answered, reluctantly reaching up to put the globe back on the shelf. "Did you get the Floo powder, and Miss Skower's, and -"
"Doxy repellent? Yes, Hermione," he said amusedly. "Don't you trust me?"
"Not really," she answered truthfully.
Fred shook his head. "Shameful." He picked the globe back up from where she had set it and examined it carefully. "Don't you have an Astronomy O.W.L. this year?"
"Yes," she answered suspiciously. "And Ancient Runes, at that. Why?"
"We'll go ahead and take this with us too, then," he decided, and turned for the counter with the globe in hand, leaving Hermione to bob after him.
"Oh, no, Fred, it's probably really expensive, you don't have to do that…"
He shrugged her off. "I'd like to. I haven't ever gotten you a proper birthday present, I ought to start making up for lost time. This can be an early one."
She opened her mouth to point out that she'd never gotten him a proper birthday present either, but they'd reached the counter and she was forced to fall silent.
The witch behind the counter wrapped up their things for them and pushed her glasses up her nose. "That'll be ten galleons and two sickles."
And once again, instead of reaching for Mrs. Weasley's purse, Fred pulled out his own and counted out the coins. Hermione bit her lip and looked up at him, but he was avoiding her gaze - she had a sneaking suspicion that he was hoping she wasn't going to ask him the exact question that was burning in her mind. But talking about money was never easy, especially with the Weasleys. As the exited the shop back into the bright sunlight, she decided there was nothing for it.
"Fred -"
But he was already shaking his head, stuffing the purse back into his pocket. "Come off it, Hermione, don't scold me."
"I wasn't going to scold you," she said, hurt. "I was going to thank you. But, I'm worried about you. I'm not going to ask any questions," she said hurriedly, spotting the look on his face. "But if you're doing something illegal, and you get arrested -"
"I'm not doing anything illegal," he said, smiling slightly. "Don't you worry about me. Just don't say anything to my dear mother, like I said, and there'll be no problems."
She looked at him skeptically, feeling deep down that she was quite sure where that money was coming from, and equally sure that Mrs. Weasley would skin the both of them if she found out.
He smiled broadly at her. "Want to get ice cream?"
She looked back wearily, sure they were going to have to have it out about this sooner or later. "As long as there's mint chocolate."
"Oh good, you like it too? George doesn't," Fred said, wrinkling his nose. "He's got no taste." And he marched off towards Florean Fortescue's, leaving Hermione to trail behind him and wonder what kind of conspiracy she'd gotten herself into with him now.