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So far... By the summer of 1987, The reborn Hermione has befriended Harry and his family (Sirius and Hestia Black) and begun the process of establishing a temporary justice system for serious offenders to be used until Ministry corruption is rooted out. But she will need further help with that. Read on...

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Chapter 8

Gathering Support


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The Underachiever

The smart London borough of Hendon was stewing through a brief spell of hot weather in early July during which even the mornings were uncomfortably humid. A semi-detached suburban house at the midway point of Merrip Hill's meandering approach was home to the Gairs, an almost-middle-aged couple who appeared quite normal to their neighbours: one Ford Escort in the drive, one son recently married off to a nice girl down in Golders Green, and one colour television now showing morning TV, only the sound of which drifted through to them from the lounge.

"Thank you, Vera," Jop Gair said rather absently, after he had drained his breakfast teacup and pushed it past the open letter that lay before him on the kitchen table. He blew out heat and fanned himself despondently with one hand for a short while.

"Another rejection?" said his wife.

There was no reply other than a faint huff.

Mrs Gair waited a suitable few minutes before trying a different tactic to draw a response. "If you're not going into the Ministry today, don't forget the cottons, will you, dear?"

"Mmm...?" Jop looked up at his wife who was pointing at the overflowing laundry basket in the corner. "Ah, yes..." From his sleeve, Mr Gair slid out a wand, cast a deep-cleansing charm across the room, then stared down again at the curious message he had received.

Vera smiled as the now-spotless sheets and towels began neatly folding themselves. "You know, we really ought to hire you out – there are plenty of Muggles round here who'd benefit from magic, not just myself."

"That's what I keep saying, Vee," muttered Jop, "and plenty of wizards who'd be better off with the sort of help that only you Muggles can give. Trouble is, nobody will listen to me."

"Give it time, give it time, Jop. If you keep presenting your ideas, someone will accept them eventually."

"Maybe someone already has," he replied, lifting up the letter. "Listen to this, 'Dear Mr Gair, I have long admired your stance in support of greater connectivity with non-magical folk. Might I call this morning to briefly discuss how we might mutually benefit each other?' "

"Seriously? Who's it from?"

Jop nodded. "The letterhead says 'AMIS'. There's no address and I can't read the signature. What's interesting is that it's on paper not parchment, and I reckon it's been done with one of those new laser printers."

Vera's eyebrows lifted. "So it's from a Muggle-born or even a Muggle like myself married to a magical person? But how are you supposed to reply if there's no address? Is there a phone number?"

He shook his head. " 'Tap three times if you agree,' it says."

"With your wand?"

" I suppose so."

"Well... go on then."

"Should I, you think?"

"Of course."

"Right."

He did so. There was a knocking on the backdoor that almost echoed his taps. Jop looked at Vera. Vera looked at Jop.

After a few seconds of silence, Jop whispered, "Five quid says that's not a Muggle."

He got up and went to look out of the kitchen window where he immediately pulled out his wand in a defensive posture."Erm... Vee, perhaps you'd better... uuh... hide upstairs?"

But Vera was already at her husband's side. "What is that?"

"Big phantom... or... similar." His voice shook a little.

"Should we...?"

"I'll go."

There was no letterbox on the backdoor so Jop shouted through the paper-thin crack where the lock aligned with its keep. "What do you want?"

A deep, booming voice – muffled by the door – replied. "I'm from AMIS. You agreed I could visit. "Don't worry, I shall only stay a few minutes."

There was no sound for a while as Jop wondered what to do. "How do we know you don't mean us harm?"

He stumbled back a couple of paces and dropped his wand as a vaguely-human face – shimmering translucently and obscurely – poked through the solid, white PVC panel of the door. The voice was quite obviously indoors too, for it was now clear and close up and rather intimate. "If I meant to hurt you I'd have just come in without invitation, wouldn't I? You do know what 'amis' means, surely?"

"No." He did, but in the circumstances Jop couldn't think straight.

Vera whispered in her husband's ear but kept her eyes on the head which was protruding into their kitchen while the rest of the visitor was still waiting politely outside. " 'friends' – it's French. We should be friendly." Her advice did not stop her picking up Jop's wand and pressing it into his trembling hand.

"Very well. You can come in," said Jop, stepping forward to open the door which he then realised had been unlocked since the milk was fetched in earlier. "Leave it open – it's rather stuffy in here." He really intended to have a ready escape if needed.

"Thank you." The tall apparition glided in – the thick, dark hair wafting through the top of the door frame – then the figure floated towards the table.

Vera responded instinctively. "Erm... would you... uuh, like to sit down and help yourself to a cup of tea?" she said, unsure how to address the creature but wishing to not make an enemy of it.

"It can't!" hissed Jop in her ear. "The tea would just fall through."

"Not at all," said the phantom, summoning out a chair and plonking itself down rather heavily as if to make a point. An empty mug sailed over from the dresser and the milk jug and teapot began to pour simultaneously.

"You can do wizard magic!" gasped Jop. "You're human? Impossible! No wizard can make themself incorporeal like this!"

"And why can't we see your face properly? You're translucent and all of a twinkly quiver," added Vera – rather boldly, she thought to herself, but supporting her husband's slightly challenging stance.

"Sorry about the disguise, but it's essential I remain unknown. I can be completely invisible if you prefer but I can't hold it as long. Still, since I'll only be here a few minutes – there!"

A few seconds of silence passed.

Vera said weakly, "You're... still here?" She was familiar with her husband's magic but had never seen complete invisibility.

In answer to her question, the tea mug lifted itself up, tilted, and a mouthful of tea was absorbed down a non-visible gullet.

"Ew!" said Vera with a shudder. "I think I prefer the twinkly thing."

"Oh, right... I'll make the distortion a bit thicker. ... How's that?"

The flickering, shadowy creature sipped its tea for a while.

"So, uuh...?" said Jop.

"Adam Brown," said the phantom, fanning itself with one hand just as Jop had earlier. The man drained his tea. "Right... to business. As head of AMIS – the Advantageous Muggle Integration Society – I represent the interests of an enormous number of Magical and Muggle folk. I foresee terrible consequences if there is no increase of cooperation between these two aspects of humanity. Changes are needed at the Ministry; I wish to see people like you, Mr Gair, on the Wizengamot."

Gair sighed and his shoulders drooped. "Aah... so you're just a naïve idealist. And I thought you might be a serious supporter." He frowned his obvious disappointment. "Listen, I spend my time trying to persuade key wizards at the Ministry to consider new ideas, but I'm no politician."

"On the contrary, Mr Gair, you network well and know more about how things are run at the Ministry than most of them do themselves. I see you becoming an effective figure on the Council, but you lack confidence in yourself. If I did nothing to help you then it would be half a lifetime before you'd be in a position to radically influence the changes needed. I'd like to see you in office within years, not decades."

"You know nothing of the Wizengamot! They have too many vested interests to ever vote someone like myself into their chambers. Anyway, they manage the legislation and the courts but it's the Minister who really controls things."

"Fudge will not always be Minister, Jop, and, as you well know, he can only apply the laws set up by the Council."

"His influence sways them!"

"I told you, he will not always be there!" growled Brown.

There was silence in the kitchen for a few moments. The television was faintly discussing Jimmy Connor's chances of winning a third Wimbledon in a few days' time. Distant traffic and street sounds could be vaguely heard through the still-open backdoor, but there was no appreciable wind. Jop swirled his wand and a little breeze began to circulate around the room.

Mrs Gair, too, tried to ease the heated tension. "Excuse me, uuh... Adam, but how do you know that – about Fudge, I mean? And what makes you think my husband would ever be a Wizengamot member? I may be a Muggle but we discuss everything together, and entering government has never been considered. My husband is a lobbyist, an influencer, rather than being part of leadership."

"I have a clear vision of how the future will unfold, Mrs Gair. I know the ideal person with whom I hope to replace Fudge." The eyes of both Gairs flashed wide at the audacious boast, but Adam continued with even more of a shock, "And Jop's position on the Wizengamot is certain, but it will be too little too late. I wish to alter that – bring it forward."

Both Jop and Vera gasped. Jop said, "This is too much... too much. ... You're a seer?"

"I see much of what is certain to be, yes, but I also know what might be but can be changed for the better."

"Then how do you know others might not change it for the worse?" said Gair.

"Because I am the only one who can view the whole picture!" growled the big man.

More silence. A large fly buzzed in, attracted by the remnants of breakfast on the dishes piled in the sink. Jop Gair banished the insect with a flick of his wand. There was something especially satisfying about still being able to perform magic while there was a stranger in his home.

He took a long breath. "Suppose – just for a moment – suppose I believe you about seeing the future, the fact remains there is no path for someone of my views by which to penetrate the closed inner circle of government – I'd have no more chance than that fly had of getting into our freezer."

"As it stands at the moment, yes, and on your own, yes, that is true, but I shall prepare the way for you, Jop – will you be ready?" Adam Brown stood up and began to fade as he floated backwards towards the still-open door. "We shall meet again to discuss this further when you have had time to ponder. Just remember, you are the key to a better future, Jop Gair."

Mrs Gair gazed at her husband in a new light. She had always known he was a much better man than was evident to the world, but had even she underestimated his worth?

"How can we be sure that you can truly see what will happen?" she said to the fading, drifting spectre – now almost invisible once more.

"Look to your husband for the fruitage, Mrs Gair. His place shall be critical – as will yours."

"And your place?" asked Jop with a note of scepticism. "You hope to be the new Minister for Magic?"

Brown's laughter was quite girlish for such a big man. "I? No, that task awaits another..."

A gust of wind blew in and the white door swayed ever so slightly.

"This hot weather won't last..." came Adam's voice back faintly from outside, "but long enough for Pat Cash to beat Jimmy and go on to win Wimbledon this Sunday..."

Then nothing.

"Who did he say will win? Hello?" said Vera. "Hello?" Then, after a while, "He's gone, you reckon?" She went over to the area around the backdoor and began wafting her arms about as if trying to grasp smoke.

Jop nodded. He had a lot to think about.

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Prince of Birds

Fifteen minutes after the encounter with the Gairs, Hermione walked out from behind the Grangers' garden shed. She had a man's jacket and trousers draped over her arm but she quickly bundled them up and threw them inside the shed.

"Where've you been, Hermione?" shouted Harry, running forward. "It's time to go!"

"Oh, just visiting some people. When did you get here? ... Still no sign of Farrimond?" Her head swivelled back and forth rapidly as she peered up at the empty blue sky.

"No. Do you think he'll be alright?" He knew the answer.

Hermione shook her head. "I just don't know. It's been a long time. I'm worried. How long have you been here? Did Sirius bring you?" Hermione glanced towards the kitchen window.

"No, Mummy's here." Harry grabbed her hand and led her indoors, into the slightly cooler shade of the kitchen.

Hermione smiled. "Hello, Aunt Hestia, sorry I'm a bit late."

"Don't worry, we were just having a nice chat – your mum and I." She gestured at Mrs Granger who sat beside her at the table.

Mrs Granger nodded at Hermione. "And how was old Mrs Arkwright's arthritis?" She turned her face away from Hestia and gave Hermione a long wink from the furthest eye.

"Mrs Arkwright...? Oh, yes, Mrs Arkwright – she'll be alright. It's the morning's when she's sometimes a bit stiff and sore. I helped her with breakfast again."

"Right then, you two," said Hestia, standing up. "If you'd both like to take my arm, we'll–"

"HERMIONE!" shrieked Harry, who was looking out the window. "Farrimond! I think it's Farrimond! He's hurt!"

Hermione raced outside followed by the others. Farrimond was unable to perch in his tree and was fluttering awkwardly on the ground. There were dark marks on the owl's wings and his plumage was in a bad state.

"Farri! Farri!" panted Hermione on her short sprint.

She crouched down beside the bird and was almost ready to cast diagnostic charms when she remembered Mrs Black was there. "Aunt Hestia! Can you help him?"

Hestia was already doing so. "These injuries are not fresh; I think they're from a few days ago." She conjured a large shallow bowl of water from which the owl gratefully began to drink. "Nothing broken but lots of damaged tissues and small cuts. Most likely attacked by a flock of wild birds. You said you sent him overseas?"

Hermione nodded and wiped her eyes. Her mother patted her on the shoulder.

"He'll be alright," said Hestia. "It's time he needs. Don't send him anywhere for a week or so and keep him supplied with owl food and supplements until he can fend for himself." She turned to her son. "Harry, can you fetch my bag, please?"

Mrs Granger shouted after him, "It's down at the side of the kitchen table." After a moment's thought she jogged after the boy. "I'll come with you and bring back some nourishment for the poor creature."

"Dear Farrimond," said Hermione, stroking the soft feathers at the bird's throat. A sudden thought struck her. "Sorry to be such a nuisance, Aunt Hestia. Madam Gawtley will be wondering where we've got to."

"She'll understand. She does like you, you know."

"I'm not sure she does."

"Oh yes, she's coming round. She was an Auror for a long time so is naturally suspicious. She taught... have you ever heard of a great Auror called Alastor Moody?"

Hermione looked up in surprise. "She trained him?"

Hestia nodded. "She drummed vigilance into him night and day. But being so observant means she notices the good in people too. She sees how much you care for Harry – that can't be faked, she told me."

"She did?"

"That and the..." she glanced over her shoulder as Mrs Granger and Harry were coming back outdoors, then continued in a whisper, "that and the Veritaserum proof convinced her you'll be good for Harry; that you'll watch out for him and suchlike."

"Of course, I will," said Hermione, firmly. "Aunt Hestia, do you mind if I stay with Farrimond today? Will you apologise to Madam Gawtley for me?"

"Very well." Mrs Black rummaged in her bag as Harry held it open, and took out a vial of essence of Murtlap, much of which she dispensed into the water bowl.

Farrimond seemed to understand, for he immediately clambered in and sprawled about, soaking his badly-ruffled feathers in the solution.

Mrs Granger placed a small tray of dishes on the grass for Farrimond to feed on when he was ready, then walked back to the house with Hestia and a reluctant Harry.

"See you Monday then, Hermione!" he called rather despondently when they reached the back door.

Mrs Granger bid the two visitors farewell, and as soon as they had Disapparated, she went to the kitchen window to see how Hermione was coping with the wounded owl. The woman had a much better understanding of her daughter now and could sense in her both the young child and the more mature personality that often helped her through those immature emotions. Even so, Anne Granger was startled by what she saw:

Farrimond was still soaking contentedly in the soothing Murtlap solution, but Hermione – she appeared to be bowing to the great larch! Anne felt her legs brace ready to run out there, but she stopped herself. Was her daughter talking to trees now? The window was already open to funnel the slight breeze indoors, so the woman leaned closer to listen...

"How knew you of my presence, and why pay me such homage?" The voice was that of a young man and very pure in tone. Anne's eyes widened, for she could see no one.

"Oh, dear Aculus, I have known you a long time in my inner vision and sense your nearness with ease. Though you do not know me now, I can speak freely. I once saw you give your life that I might live – I do not forget the curse you willingly may take in my stead. Only now am I able to thank you, and to honour you."

"You speak in riddles, Mistress. Am I to understand you are foretelling my death?"

There was a flutter. A small raven, black as black, starkly revealed itself against the lower branches of bright summer greenery.

Hermione waited for the bird to settle again before replying. "Not all that I see is certain; much can be changed. I shall take great care to avoid the circumstance arising. Together we shall seek out those who would harm not only us, but others, and the whole world, including your own beloved forests.

There was a thoughtful pause before she continued, "They name you the harbinger of doom. You might be a sign of my coming if you will! What do you say?"

"Mistress, I am called. I need no other inducement to serve you."

"Let it so be!" cried Hermione.

"Let it so be!" repeated the raven in Hermione's own voice.

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In Search of Reality

In little more than a week, Farrimond was eager to prove himself fit again. Over the following days, but with some reservation, Hermione sent him to every magical bookshop she knew with an order for any books about déjà vu. With a wagging finger, she gave him strict instructions not to bring back any heavy tomes but to let the trader provide their own delivery in such cases.

Aculus, meanwhile, was sent in search of and to observe a wealthy businessman called Mike Worthing. Hermione knew well of his public activities and of the respect in which he was held by his fellow investors, but she wished to know that he treated well his family and house-elves. He was a secretive man and little was known of his home life. The astute girl did not wish to deal with anyone who presented a carefully-manicured appearance to the public while dominating and abusing those he might think his inferiors. He had, after all, been a Slytherin. Why was his personal life so mysterious? What was he hiding? Could he be trusted, she wondered?

An anguished conflict swamped her thinking. To spy on a probably-innocent man was repulsive to her, and yet the world had great need of a just man to prevent its downward spiral into suffering and madness. Inwardly she still saw the skinned bodies lined up in the ashy streets, heard the wailing... it never stopped. A sob escaped her own lips.

"It's real, isn't it?" said Harry, who, she now realised had been watching her closely. They were sat on the Grangers' lawn again, awaiting news from either bird. The summer weather had almost caused Hermione to doze off.

"I don't honestly know, Harry. Sometimes I wonder if it ever occurred at all. In a way, it has never happened – how could it have because, well... it hasn't yet, has it?"

"You know it must have. How else could you have known the Wimbledon winner or uuh... that I like treacle tart – or all those other things you told me? And what about those billions of children and their mums and dads? How could they be nothing?"

Hermione clutched the side of her head and winced. Harry's words were not helping. The idea of billions of instances of personal love being meaningless and worthless in a world that never existed was unbearable. "I can't handle it all, Harry. Sometimes it's just too much."

He hugged her then in his innocent little-boy way, spontaneously expressing affection in a manner he had never been capable of as a teenager in her previous life. "We'll do it together, Hermione," he whispered in her ear. "You don't have to do it on your own."

She patted his back, nodding into his shoulder until she mastered her emotions enough to speak again. "Thanks, Harry, I know I can rely on you."

She was grateful then that she, as a quasi-adult, would be more able to bear the burden of world-saving than the 'Boy Who Lived' had needed to shoulder as a vulnerable child in her previous future. With her abilities and the advantage of foresight, she would have the mastery over dark wizards this time around, and Harry would not have the on-going threat of Voldemort seeking him out or those agonising, nightmarish visions.

Thinking about that monster's connection with Harry, reminded her to make a note in her log to research Horcruxes once more. Why had Voldemort died and not merely departed to roam as a disembodied half-spirit like before? She was sure he was truly dead, but pure curiosity demanded of her that she find out why. There had been nothing to be found on the subject down Knockturn Alley when she had investigated, and only one other source of such information remained: Hogwarts. She had other reasons to visit that castle before she was of age too.

Her thoughts drifted back to those days she had spent mostly with Harry and Ron. The Horcrux books she had summoned from Dumbledore's office. Perhaps he had retrieved them from the library much earlier in this lifetime – but why would he? While still Transfiguration professor, Dumbledore had kept a suspicious eye on Riddle. At Dumbledore's own request, the librarian of that time had informed him weekly of any unusual reading material taken out by the boy – Hermione remembered the note in one of the books. He couldn't have known before Tom studied those books so what prevented the boy from learning the secret of immortality? It was a mystery that was probably unimportant, so Hermione filed it away in the back of her mind and continued daydreaming about her former years at Hogwarts.

The earliest days had been the best, beginning with the excitement of the first ride on the Hogwarts Express. Harry, so bright and eager and excited – just as he was now. He'd escaped the emotionally-brutal Dursleys for the first time, discovered magic as she herself had, and was looking forward to learning more at the castle. Her face darkened a little as she remembered how Snape and Draco had clouded his near-perfect happiness. Then in his second year, he learned distrust and hatred. The betrayal of his parents he discovered in the next. The forced entry into the Tri-wizard tournament and its consequence dragged him down further while his fifth year began with injustice, terrible isolation when he most needed counselling, and ended with the loss of his godfather. Small wonder that his features had creased prematurely and he died young from a heart broken by sacrifice and an ultimately pointless struggle.

"NOT THIS TIME!" She sprang up to a sitting position on the grass, eyes blinking in the sun.

Alarmed, little Harry stepped back. "Hermione?"

Eyes shining with tears, Hermione enfolded him in her arms. "I'll give you back your childhood, Harry. I won't let them hurt you again!"

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The Burden of the Future

Meanwhile, there were lessons to attend with Harry – partly to keep in touch with his progress, but mainly for his company which she had sorely missed for decades and so valued more highly. His seventh birthday came and went and he was now practising regularly with the junior wand. Harry was already growing out of his infant cuteness and Hermione occasionally glimpsed aspects of the Harry she had known formerly – the one she had memories of meeting on the Hogwarts Express all those years before.

"Hermione? Why do you go there?" The two of them were sat in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place, sipping ice cold juice and studying their class textbooks.

"Sorry, what did you say, Harry?"

"You're gazing off into your other world again." He looked slightly resentful of her inattention. "Don't you like it here... with me?" He got up and went to look out of the window, perhaps to give Hermione a taste of her own medicine.

"Harry, you're in my other memories too."

"I am?" Harry turned around to look at his friend.

"Of course you are! You're the reason I dwell on them!"

He came back then and took his seat again on the rug beside her. "Tell me about your world, Hermione."

She shook her head and closed her eyes tight, seeing the horror all around her. "You really... ought not to know, Harry." But the memories drew her in, seeing them vividly almost as if in a Pensieve, torturing her, goading her. "All... All that's left are scattered tribes and... a few small city-states cannibalising resources... they were plagued by insurgents and terrorists and criminals and..." Forgetful of Harry, her voice was rising as renewed anger took over. "Activists and reformers are set to labour on treadmills to generate electricity. Those too old or sick are declared insane and locked up in–"

She opened her eyes and, seeing his confusion, reminded herself how young he was. "I mean cruel, frightened people fighting each other for control, Harry. Nowhere is safe. And all because of the earlier instability caused by dark wizards."

"What happened to them, Hermione? All the wizards?"

Hermione's eyes again glazed over out of focus once more, seeing her past-future within. "They were thinned out like the general population – more so, because magical shields cannot block nuclear fusion nor deflect plasma drones. They could not comprehend nor manufacture the new materials that lined the Muggles' clothing and underground shelters. Blood supremacists knew nothing of Geiger counters that mapped out the safest locations. In their ignorance, they dismissed the power of science and the weight of technology."

"Yes, there were a few who began purging non-magical folk, but they incurred the wrath of these remaining Muggles who were now heavily armed with ferocious new weapons, and extremely warlike – had to be to survive. Their witch hunts wiped most of us out – magical folk in general, I mean. And so..."

Again she stopped her rant, looking at Harry's expression. "In short, Harry, the future will be really, really bad if we don't do something."

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The Secretive Slytherin

It was after mid-August before Aculus succeeded in tracking down Mike Worthing but the larch tree was still in full summer vigour when the small bird descended into its fine leafery. Hermione came running. Farrimond waddled off to one side of his branch, somewhat miffed by his inability to help in this matter.

"Worthing dwells in a protected home that even I cannot penetrate," complained the raven. "From what I hear in their outer conversations, I believe it's a modest-sized mansion that has been in the family for many generations, but they keep it very private."

"Probably under a powerful Fidelius charm," said Hermione. "How then did you locate them?"

"The furthest grounds of the house extend beyond the house shielding. The youngest child often plays amongst the trees there with her friend, and the family sometimes picnic with guests too. I have flown around the area where the house must be but can see only wild meadow surrounded by thin woodland."

"Then I must find a way..."

"Why do you wish it so? His business address is public. You can approach him there more easily."

"A show of strength and power. Mike Worthing is not easily impressed. A stammering child tugging his sleeve in the street will not have the impact of a bulky, dominant, phantom-like wizard gliding effortlessly through the walls of his secret domain and into his parlour. I must compel him to take me seriously from the start."

For a few moments she frowned thoughtfully. "You say he has guests? Do they ever stay, Aculus? That is, do they disappear into his home with him, and stay overnight?"

"They do, and many of them. Trusted business associates, cousins, the occasional Ministry official."

"Then stay as close to him as you can, Aculus, for he is almost certainly the Secret Keeper. If you overhear him divulge his address to another then you too will be able to enter his abode. However, if he uses an envoy – perhaps a family member for he would not risk an owl – to convey the address in writing to someone elsewhere, might you borrow the message? It is said you ravens are adept at picking pockets."

"Borrow yes, but likely lose the mark while delivering it to you. I assume you would wish it quickly returned to the pocket from which it was appropriated, or Worthing will know someone is trying to penetrate his home."

"That is a problem..." Hermione sat down with her back to the trunk of the tree while she thought for a while.

Apart from the breeze hushing through the leaves, and the clicking of beaks, the garden was quiet for a few minutes.

The raven spoke next. "Farrimond reminded me that if I invoke our bond, Mistress, then you can Apparate to me in a few moments."

Hermione clambered back to her feet. "Farrimond said...? You said that, Farrimond?"

The owl puffed out his chest and looked down at the girl, as if surprised by her tone.

"Then let it so be," murmured Hermione, thoughtfully.

"Let it so be," repeated the raven in the voice of his mistress.

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—oOo—

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Author's Notes

Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)

- Hippothestrowl

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