Soon enough, the Order had another meeting. It was the first one since Hermione had arrived, but she was not surprised to learn that the youngest Weasleys already had an established routine for eavesdropping. From the disjoint whispers, they could piece together that the conversation revolved around how to safely move Harry from his relatives' to Grimmauld Place. Tonks suggested luring the Dursleys out of their house with an invitation to a "best kept lawn" contest, which Hermione thought was quite clever.
"Anything happen on the watch?" Moody rasped.
Hermione looked to Ginny. "Tonks and Kingsley are spying for us at the Ministry," the younger witch explained. "We think it's at the Department of Mysteries."
Hermione drew a sharp breath. This is exactly what she had been waiting for, maybe if she could just convince Tonks to help her somehow…
"Yes and no," Shacklebolt's deep voice interrupted her train of thought. "Lucius was there again last night, loitering about. Said he had an urgent appointment with the Minister and had gotten off on the wrong floor."
"Oh, likely story." Lupin said, with a snort. "Doesn't he need permission to be on that level?"
"Why would he need permission?" Moody snarled. "He's got half the department heads in his silk-lined pocket, the bastard."
Later, when everyone was still milling about after dinner, Hermione plucked up the courage to approach Tonks. She had settled on the pretext of telling the older witch that she was considering a career as an Auror, which wasn't technically a lie. Hermione was well aware that lying wasn't one of her strengths, so whenever she was forced to do it, she tried to incorporate bits of the truth.
"Oh I knew that was what I wanted to do since I was a kid! Even before Hogwarts. My mum always wanted to be an Auror too, but it was harder for women in those days. Alice Longbottom was the first, you know. She and mum were great friends," Tonks told her.
"Alice Longbottom - you mean Neville's mother? You've met her?"
"Yeah, she sure was something back in the day! Really powerful. It's such a shame what happened." Hermione nodded, an image of Neville's crying, childlike face springing to mind. More that once she'd found him like that, alone in the common room, watching the fire burn down to embers.
The conversation flowed toward Tonks's experience hunting Dark Wizards, of which, admittedly, she had had little so far, and towards the academic requirements of the field.
"Herbology's near completely useless. I don't know why they require it, but there it is. Then they want you to be top notch at Charms and Transfiguration, and pretty proficient in Potions. But I'm sure you don't have to worry about that, Miss Brightest-witch-of-her-age!"
Typically, Hermione loathed that monicker, but coming from the Auror, it made her flush with pride.
"Well I'm not so good with Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry is loads better! But, then I guess he has to be."
The Auror tilted her head, as though an idea had come to her. "Say, Hermione," she began, a little tentative, "maybe we can help each other out. You teach me some Potions, and I teach you some Defense? How does that sound?"
"Oh." Hermione replied, dumbfounded. "Ummm..." Say something you great big idiot, don't just stand there like some hapless mouthbreather….
But "OK" was all Hermione could manage as her heart beat a deafening staccato in her chest. Tonks, for her part, smiled and thought, Merlin, what an awkward girl.
She asked Hermione about her plans for the rest of the summer, and they spoke of other things until the younger witch lost her embarrassment somewhere in the easy flow of conversation. And while Hermione couldn't claim to possess any social graces at all (in fact, most of her interactions consisted of patronizing her fellow Gryffindors), Tonks had a certain gift for putting people at their ease.
Finally, Hermione brought the conversation around to the reason she'd come to talk to the Auror in the first place.
"Tonks? There's something I've been researching all summer but am not sure I fully understand…"
The other witch rolled her eyes, but without malice. "Studying in the summer? Why am I not surprised?"
"Well, you see," Hermione continued, sounding so much more nonchalant than she actually felt, "it's about the Trace. I just don't get how they can really pin-point for certain where magic comes from. Take Fred and George, for example. Now they're allowed to use magic, and they can't seem to waste a single opportunity to do so, but… before they were of age, they could have done it too and no one would have been able to tell!"
"Yes it's rather unfair, isn't it? Those who grow up in Muggle households get the short end of the stick, alright."
"But how does it actually work?"
"I'm not an expert or anything, but I know they have a map in the Department of Mysteries. It has a tiny mark for every underage witch and wizard in the UK who lives with Muggles. So you and Potter are probably on there, but the Weasleys wouldn't be."
"So they don't really monitor whether you cast spells... but when magic is performed around you when you're around Muggles?" She fervently wished this was the case- in fact, had counted on it over the last few weeks that she had been using spells outside of school. After all, if what happened at the beginning of the summer wasn't enough to land her in prison, no subsequent "Lumos" or "Accio" would do it.
"Sounds right. I think its a charm that's placed on your Hogwarts letter. Wears off when you come of age, but I'm not sure how."
Hermione recalled when Harry had been blamed for Dobby's well-intentioned mischief in their third year, thinking that it was a rather heavy-handed system, although perhaps in-keeping with the obscurantism of Ministry policies generally.
"But… they don't punish every type of magic, do they? If the Ministry never sends a notice, doesn't that mean that they want to overlook it? Or maybe they're just not very thorough?"
"Hmm… maybe it's because the bloke who's supposed to be watching the map was having a bit of a nap? Boring job, I imagine!" Tonks joked, but this response was profoundly unsatisfying to Hermione, who tried to approach the subject from a different angle:
"And you said this map is in the Department of -" She was interrupted by a jovial call of "Nymphadora!" from the other end of the room.
The Auror cringed. "I've told you not to call me that a hundred times!"
It was Remus Lupin, and Hermione felt a sudden, blistering surge of anger for the man, which was odd, because he had been one of her favorite professors. Not to mention her boundless respect for him as a victim of an unjust and deeply prejudiced society, who nevertheless managed to be a kind, understanding, and very knowledgeable person.
"Sorry, Miss Tonks, I was just wondering if you'd like to accompany us to the Cauldron for a pint? Sirius got ahold of some Polyjuice and wants to get out of the house for a bit."
"Oh, well, I guess that would be alright," Tonks replied, pleasure conspicuous on her face. "As long as we take the necessary precautions, of course. Constant Vigilance!" she thundered, and her imitation of Moody was so good that several heads turned towards her in alarm.
Tonks had already turned to follow Lupin, when she seemed to recall the young Gryffindor she was abandoning mid-sentence.
"Catch you later Hermione!" she tossed out, clearly too excited to be apologetic.
Feeling inexplicably bereft and more than a little furious, Hermione stormed out of the kitchen, waking the Black matriarch as she shut the door a touch too forcefully. Shrill calls of "filthy scum", "plague on my house" and "disgusting Mudbloods" filled the hallway, but the object of the abuse was deaf to it, for once.
Doesn't she realize how important this is for me? Hermione fumed. What does she even have to say to that...that…
But she couldn't bring herself to insult a professor, even in the privacy of her own mind.
"Mione! Hey! Wait up!" A voice called to her, and she reluctantly turned around, half-way up the stairs.
"What is it, Ronald?" He really was the last person she wanted to see at that moment.
The boy paused, indecisive, and then, summoning his courage, blurted: "Are you alright?"
"Me? I'm just fantastic." Her tone could have cut ice. "Why ever do you ask?"
In for a knut, in for a Galleon, Ron thought.
"Well…it's just you've been weird this whole time, since you got back. Ginny's noticed too - "
"Don't bring me into this!" The youngest Weasley, who had followed her brother out of the kitchen, now stood at the bottom of the stairs wearing a disapproving look that she would have been horrified to learn was identical to her mother's.
"Weird? And what's that supposed to mean?" Hermione demanded. She had been trying so hard to act as though nothing was the matter.
"I don't know...moody, sulking, staring off into nothing... just, you know, weird."
"Well…" Hermione paused, searching for words, "well, maybe I'm just tired of people butting their obnoxious noses in where they don't belong!"
Somehow, Ron had a feeling that she wasn't just talking about him.
With that, she stomped all the way up the stairs. A moment later, they heard the resentful slam of her door.
Ginny shook her head. "I told you to just leave it alone."
"Well I can't, can I?" her brother replied, exasperated. "Not when she's going about acting like the bloody sky is falling, or something."
"I think she's just sad, Ron."
"I bet it's because that Bulgarian prat stopped writing her. I told her that nothing good would ever come of it!"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Well, it must be exhausting to be so wise."
Another gloomy morning found Hermione back in her favorite window seat in the drawing room. Curiously Convenient Charms of the 11th Century, An Introduction to Time-Numerology for the Advanced Arithmancer, A Comprehensive Guide to Concealment Potions, and a number of other enormous tomes were piled high beside her. The cup of tea Ginny had brought her, now long cold, sat atop it all.
Things are looking grim, Hermione thought as she rubbed again at her sore shoulder. It had just been made painfully clear to her that she was an absolutely inadequate duellist. Tonks was too nice to say so, of course, but she had seen it written all over the older witch's face.
They had started their lessons with Potions: basic antivenin, Polyjuice, Veritaserum antidote. Tonks was an impatient student, and her clumsiness was ill-suited to the precise art of Potion-making, but Hermione felt that they were making progress. Teaching Tonks to brew was, at the very least, not as unpleasant - or dangerous- as teaching Neville.
Then, they moved on to defense drills, and everything quickly went south.
"Hermione!" The Auror called, while the younger witch crouched lower behind what had once been a lovely Sopophorous bush, but was now scorched and oozing a yellowish mist.
"You can't hide forever. At some point you're actually going to have to cast a spell, you know!"
They'd been going at it for nearly two hours, and the garden of Grimmauld Place looked rather the worse for wear. If Tonks didn't get her soon, she was sure that the Venomous Tentacula - which had started quivering uncontrollably and shooting acid in every direction - would.
But Hermione couldn't seem to make herself move. All she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears. The sense of panic was overwhelming, and no matter how many times she told herself that Tonks wouldn't hurt her, her body didn't seem to get the message.
As she looking around distractedly, her eyes came to rest on a shiny black stone and an idea began to materialize.
"Glisseo," she whispered, and the stone transformed into a smooth slate in which she could see her face mirrored. Angling it carefully around the edge of the tree trunk behind her, Hermione tried to spot the Auror's reflected form.
Finally she saw Tonks, partially obscured by the columns of an old, roofless gazebo.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Hermione rose with lightning speed and fired a "Confringo!" in the Auror's direction, ducking back down for cover. There was the sound of something exploding, followed by a sharp yell.
Hermione's heart nearly skipped a beat. "TONKS! Are you OK?"
"Yeah, you great big bloody prat, I'm fine!" But the Auror's voice was strained, and her erstwhile opponent rose cautiously and, seeing the other covered in rubble, ran to her side.
"Oh my goodness! I'm SO sorry!" Hermione levitated the broken stone away, and her hands frantically searched the other woman's body for injuries. "Are you hurt? I'm so sorry."
"It's my own fault, I should have seen it coming." She gave Hermione a grim smile, shifting into a seated position. "Don't look so guilty. It's a duel. The point is to get one over on the other person, and you certainly did that."
The girl's expression reminded Tonks of a dog that had been caught chewing a slipper. Hermione ducked her head and began healing some superficial scratches on the older witch's arms, but Tonks narrowed her eyes as a thought crossed her mind. "You were aiming for the wall." It wasn't a question.
"Yes." Hermione looked away. "But I swear I didn't want-"
"No, using your surroundings to your advantage is good form. It's just… you don't really fight like a Gryffindor."
"Well, I got tired of getting knocked on my arse."
Hermione had spent the first hour of their practice session unsuccessfully dodging Tonks' binding spells. Eventually, she'd sent an angry Mandrake flying at her opponent and used the commotion to find shelter.
"Don't get me wrong - sneak attacks can be really useful in battle. But if your reflexes aren't good, you won't stand a chance."
"I know." Hermione sighed. "It's just...I'm afraid of getting hurt, or hurting you. Accidentally. I mean, violence is just so..." she trailed off, lost for words.
The Auror's face turned somber. "We're at war, Hermione, and Death Eaters aren't going to play nice, especially with you. If you ever find yourself facing one of 'em, you need to win. Or you won't live long enough to regret it."
A sharp stinging sensation pulled Hermione out of the memory, and she realized that Crookshanks was trying to get her attention by kneading at the fabric of her jeans. She raised a careless hand and began to stroke behind his ears, drawing a quiet purr. He looked up at her and tilted his head, inquisitive.
"I don't know what to do anymore, Crooks!"
Hermione looked around at the chaotic spread of books, lists, maps and notes on the floor, and sighed. She felt a looming hopelessness weighing her down; she was out of ideas, out of leads to follow, and nearly out of time. For all the duelling tips the Auror had given her, she hadn't gleaned a single thing about the Department of Mysteries or the security measures at the Ministry.
The half-kneazle nipped at the now stilled hand, and it resumed petting him.
"Do you think I should find a better library?" She looked expectantly at her familiar, and he began to twirl languidly under her ministrations, brushing her with his luxuriant tail.
"You're absolutely right: I need to get back into the Restricted Section. Maybe McGonagall will- "
But this thought was cut short by a loud BANG, as the door flew open and slammed hard into the wall. Suddenly, the room was a commotion of flapping wings, flailing limbs, and incoherent cursing.
"Ger'off me, you wretched bird!" Ron shouted, one hand clasped protectively over his face and the other waving blindly at the white, feathery whirlwind circling his head.
"Ron! Stop it, you're going to hurt her!" Hermione rushed forward, worried, while Crookshanks gave the entire scene a single scornful glare and sauntered out of the room.
"Not before she claws my eyes out! Just HELP ME GET IT OFF!"
"Hold still then!" She aimed her wand and cast a nonverbal Immobulus, causing the confused looking owl to float to the ceiling as though trapped inside an invisible balloon.
Ron, now entirely covered in white fluff, looked up at the dazed bird and shook his head.
"Hedwig's finally lost it. I knew it was only a matter of time,what with living with Harry!"
"Don't be ridiculous. You probably forgot to give her a treat."
An uncharacteristically serious look came over the redhead's face. "Actually, I think it's because of this." There was a ripped scrap of parchment in his outstretched hand. "It's from Harry."
Hermione took it, and read aloud: "I've just been attacked by..." she gasped, but continued, "B-by dementors...and I might be expelled from Hogwarts. I want to know what's going on and when I'm going to get out of here." Their eyes found each other's, sharing a moment of fear for their friend. It was a feeling both were used to.
"Dementors? Why? More importantly, how?" Surely the only explanation was that the horrible creatures had escaped from Azkaban, where they were captives just as much as the wizards on whose spirits they subsisted. But why would they target Harry?
"I don't know anything else, Hermione. But I think we should write to him." Things between them had been strained since the argument on the stairs, but they bonded, as they often did, over their shared concern for Harry Potter.
"But Dumbledore said not to, no matter what."
"But it's not right! I can't stand that they want to keep us all in the dark about everything. Especially Harry."
Hermione couldn't disagree. And while she was not willing to disobey a direct order from the Headmaster, she refused to do nothing. They had to talk to someone who would listen to reason. "Come on. Let's go find your dad. They need to go get Harry now."
