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So far... End of summer, 1987. The reborn Hermione befriended Harry and family (Sirius & Hestia) and is recruiting supporters to root out Ministry corruption. Using a Pensieve, she's shown Mike Worthing the nuclear fate of all mankind, and set her raven to dissuade Fred and George from bullying Ron. Read on...

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Chapter 11

Different Company


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An Invitation

"What have you to tell me?" asked Hermione when Aculus returned at the end of the month.

"The Weasley twins are deeply affected," said the raven. "Hopefully it will not last."

Hermione frowned up at the bird. Aculus always perched on a higher branch of the larch tree when he wished to show his disapproval of her orders. But she had no doubts herself. "You suppose wrongly if you imagine they might end up in the river instead of Ron; they are tough!"

"You do not understand the power of raven-speak as I do! We drive evil men to remorse or death – but the twins are still young children!"

"All the more reason to believe that regret might improve their character rather than weaken it to suicide! You will return once a month to watch and carefully remind them, Aculus. I will not let Ron be crushed again for their idle amusement! I will not! Report to me and we'll review the situation regularly."

"Let it so be." said the raven in Hermione's own voice as he flew off in a huff.

"Let it so be." murmured Hermione, cheerlessly.

Farrimond flew down with one of Harry's regular chatty messages; perhaps the owl had been circling discreetly above until Aculus departed. Hermione read it and her face softened into a smile – tinged with a little envy.

"Good news at last, Farrimond! Frank Longbottom has finally invited the Blacks for tea today. I'm positive that Harry and Neville will become good friends. There'll be more messages for you to deliver between us all!"

She read the letter once more and her expression became wistful. Farrimond sensed her mood and, with a fluttery hop, landed on Hermione's shoulder and began nuzzling her cheek inquisitively.

"Oh, Farri," giggled Hermione, as his feathers tickled her face. "Okay, I admit I'm just a little jealous. I've been so eager to see Neville alive once more, and now it might take a while longer."

The owl snatched the message from her fingers.

"Hey!" cried Hermione, but, with beak and claw, Farrimond was turning over the parchment.

"A postscript! I must teach Harry how to spell P.T.O.!"

She read the addition aloud:

"P.S. I nearly forgot to tell you what time to get here! We're leaving at four o'clock but can you come earlier because I'm a bit nervous about making friends. What do I do?"

With a leap and a dance and a wave of the parchment, Hermione cried out, "I'm invited too, Farrimond! I'm invited too! I'm going to see Neville today!"

The excited girl ran off to the house leaving the startled owl to fly up into his tree. "MUM! Is my lilac frock clean! I've been invited to tea!"

As she prepared, Hermione tried to imagine Neville four years younger than he had been when they first met on the Hogwarts Express – but it was a struggle to put out of mind the older headless grey corpse laid out beside the bodies of Hannah and their child.

"Hermione?" Mrs Granger was at her daughter's bedroom door with fresh underwear and socks. "What's wrong?"

Hermione faked a laugh and wiped her eyes. "Oh, I'm just so happy to be going to the party and making new friends!"

She accepted the embrace of her mother – who had not been fooled by her pretence one bit – then quickly brought her emotions under control by vowing retribution on all the Carrows. But it would not be their heads she would remove.

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Baking Power

"Memorise this, Hermione," said Hestia, "then do exactly as Sirius just did. Don't be afraid, this fire won't hurt you." Mrs Black held out a small piece of parchment on which was written an address.

"Longbottom residence," declared Hermione as she jumped melodramatically into the green flames. With long practice, she closed her mind to the unpleasant spinning then stepped briskly out as she came to a halt – feigning a stumble for effect.

"Alright, Hermione?" said Sirius. "Best stand aside then."

The girl heard the others, Hestia and Harry, whooshing out behind but her eyes were on the Longbottoms: smiling Frank and Alice she recognised from an old photograph, Augusta she had met many times in her old life, but Neville – he was shorter and more chubby than she had ever known him. Hermione had been hoping he might appear more self-confident than before but right now she could not read his expression. There was an air of firmness, true, but it was as if he was bracing himself rather than being relaxed about the occasion – and after one look at her, he quickly averted his gaze. Neville was sufficiently different that Hermione did not immediately embarrass herself with tears.

"We're so glad you came," Frank was saying to the newcomers. "It's been far too long since the old days... Children, let me introduce Alice and Neville, and my mother Madam Augusta Longbottom..."

"Neville, this is my wife, Hestia," began Sirius, then pointed at his adopted son. "Harry, of course, you will all recognise from newspaper articles – we try to stop them taking pictures as much as possible but inevitably some get snapped." He turned then, pausing only briefly. "And this is Harry's best friend, Hermione Granger."

"I'm very pleased to meet you all!" said Hermione brightly, hoping to make a good first impression. "Thank you Madam Longbottom for allowing me into your home." She grasped the hem of her frock and made a little curtsy to Neville's gran.

"Well, you are a well-mannered young lady, I must say – but how did you know Longbottom Manor is mine?"

Hermione froze only for a moment. She could not admit to having visited Neville and Hannah there many times before. "Oh, I... I've b-been thstudying magical custhtomsth, familiesth, and..."

"You're Muggle-born?" Madam Longbottom's eyebrows rose. "That explains your curious uuh... curiously-charming attire."

Hestia slipped a protective arm around Hermione's shoulders. "Hermione is a real bookworm, aren't you dear?" But she mouthed at the Longbottoms, "but prone to nervousness."

Alice rescued the mood. "Frank and I had a flat until recently but – well, you tell them, Frank." She nudged him lightly.

"Yes, strangest thing. We were on a case – you know we're Aurors, don't you? – and a peculiar stranger warned us of a trap – saved us from serious trouble, I can tell you! – and he cautioned that we Longbottoms might be at risk." Frank guided them into the parlour where they seated themselves on old leather furniture before he continued, "So, we decided to all move in together and use a protective charm as you do, Sirius. Incidentally, this is why you're really here."

"Why's that, Frank?" said Sirius. He accepted a glass of wine that a house-elf was offering on a tray.

"The same man – Adam Brown was his name – suggested that being too cloistered and isolated from other children would not benefit Neville's upbringing." Here he grinned in Neville's direction who winced and kept his gaze on the carpet. "Brown recommended Harry as an ideal prospect for company."

Seeing her son's discomfort, Alice spoke up. "Neville, why don't you show Harry the garden while it's dry? Hermione, would you like to help me in the kitchen for a few minutes? See how witches make cakes?"

Hermione stiffened for a moment as she watched Neville trudge off with Harry; she certainly did not want to be working on girly kitchen chores; she wanted to make friends with Neville. Then she realised what Mrs Longbottom was doing. "Oh, thank you, yes, I'd love to."

Seating her at a little table in front of a back window, Alice laid a small parchment in front of the young girl. "Here's the recipe, Hermione. Hestia told us you'd learnt to cast the summoning charm with only a toy wand. If you'd like to fetch these ingredients and a mixing bowl, I'll show you some variations of that charm you can use to measure and stir them together."

Hermione bristled at her trainer wand being called a 'toy' but she said nothing. Soon, sugar, milk, and flour were being tentatively drawn through the air with only one broken egg to make her performance convincingly amateurish. Shrieks of laughter from outside caused her to unintentionally splodge butter on the tabletop too. She stretched up on tiptoes and looked out the window. Harry and Neville were playing with what appeared to be a slippery eel down by the pond, and it was wriggling out of their hands. The sky was dull but the boys were lit up with excitement.

"They're getting along fine now," said Mrs Longbottom. "The only acquaintances Neville has had are a couple of distant cousins. though he was able to see them much less often than we would have liked – oh, and the Greengrasses, of course, but–"

"You know the–!" Hermione stopped herself by pausing to wipe up the butter spot with a charmed face wipe from her bag. "You know, that's a shame he's met only those few children. Who did you say they were?" she added innocently.

"Daphne and Astoria Greengrass – Frank knew their father. For most of a year he encouraged family visits with the purpose of strengthening future relationships. We believe he saw Neville as a suitable prospect for one of his daughters, but Daphne in particular teased Neville mercilessly, embarrassing him in front of Astoria. We didn't realise how painful this humiliation was until several months had passed. Thereafter we began excusing ourselves from the invitations, but the damage was done."

Hermione frowned. So that's why he's rather awkward with me – it's girls!

Alice read her expression and quickly added, "Neville is not at all standoffish when you get to know him." She looked at Hermione meaningfully. "He's just a little nervous with pretty girls because he's rarely even been in the same room with one since then, until today of course."

Hermione giggled and let her bushy tresses hide her face by leaning to watch the wooden spoon that was vigorously stirring the mix. "You're very kind to pretend I'm pretty, Mrs Longbottom, and thank you for being so understanding as to keep me apart from the boys – I'd only have inhibited their getting to know one another."

A gasp made her look up. Mrs Longbottom's eyes were wide, and they were on Hermione.

"You're quite grown up for your age aren't you?" Mrs Longbottom smiled uncertainly. "Are your parents royalty? Or diplomats!"

"Dentists!" laughed Hermione. "They fix people's teeth – though I suppose they do need to be rather diplomatic when using the drill."

Mrs Longbottom's mouth fell open but she daren't ask how a drill could possibly be used to heal teeth.

At that moment, the spoon finally came to rest and Alice declared the mixture thoroughly beaten into submission. After demonstrating how to summon portions onto a baking tray she instantly cooked and cooled them with a wave or two of her wand. A warm aroma filled the kitchen. Another few swishes and she had coated some with chocolate topping, some with icing, while others had a variety of shredded nuts, coconut, and a glittery, gooey fudge.

"Here, take the boys two or three each. Let slip that I showed you how to make them and let them draw their own conclusions. Neville loves the chocolate ones; perhaps he'll forget his shyness long enough to start talking to you."

Hermione beamed. "Thank you Mrs Longbottom! You're very smart."

With a wry smile on her face, Alice murmured to herself as she watched the young girl skipping down the garden. "Me? I'm smart?"

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A Brilliant Idea

Neville's eyes lit up when he smelt the plate of cakes arriving and he did overlook for the moment who was carrying them. Hermione watched as he wiped eel slime onto his trouser hip then reached for one of the cakes she was offering to the two eager lads.

Boys! she thought, cringing inwardly while keeping a friendly smile on her face.

"Your mum's brilliant!" she said. "Taught me how to make them."

"Brilliant!" repeated Harry, who seemed to be picking up on some of Hermione's catchphrases which she was also feeding him.

Happily they sat together and watched the eel slither back into the pool. The surface barely rippled its silvery sheen under the overcast sky. "They're like snakes," said Hermione. "I hope I'm not in Slytherin when we go to Hogwarts together."

There was a thoughtful pause before Neville swallowed the last of his cake. "Together? Are we all the same age then? Anyway, I can't–"

"Yes," said Hermione, "you and Harry–" She stopped herself mentioning actual birth dates just in time. "That is, you and Harry look about the same age, and I'm only a few months older."

Neville studied her face. It was the first time they had made eye contact. When he became aware of what he was doing he looked away quickly with pink-tinged cheeks.

That is so wrong with him! thought Hermione. He was never this nervous with me before. "Another cake, Neville?"

"Thanks." He took one but only glanced briefly at her expression to see if she was laughing at him.

In an attempt to keep the conversation going, Hermione said, "Must be great having magical parents who can show you useful skills like magical baking – I'm Muggle-born."

"You should be proud of them then!" Neville flared at her. "Mum told me that Muggles are just as good as–"

"I am! I am proud of them!" cried Hermione. "I wouldn't change them for the world! I only meant it's handy having parents who are very knowledgeable about magic."

"Oh... right..."

Harry said, "Hermione and I have started to learn magic and been practising spells. Do you have a tutor, Neville?"

Neville shook his head. "Can't. I'm a... Dad says I'm a..."

"What?" said Harry and Hermione together.

"Nothing." Neville had finished his cake. There was no request for another. Instead, he snatched up a pebble from the grassy edge and threw it down into the pond with a loud plunk. He seemed much smaller outlined by the shimmering agitation of the water. I'm nothing.

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other; he always looked to her first for answers when something puzzled him.

"I think I know," said Hermione, softly. She recalled how Neville didn't display any accidental magic until he was older. Without parents, his other relatives had cruelly tried to induce some show of magic from Neville. Now, in this new lifetime, his mother and father had survived, so almost certainly they would have prevented such force, but instead, had the entire family quietly accepted he was a squib?

"Neville, I have a confession to make," she began. A tiny stiffening of his body indicated he was listening. "I see things." Hermione sighed as if she were burdened with a fault, hoping he did not assume she was bragging. "Only Harry really knows about it. I have to keep it a big secret; only the closest of friends can know."

Neville's head half-turned involuntarily. "What things? Bad things?"

"Some bad, some good." She braced herself; timing was important. "I know I can trust you, but Harry and I, we want you to be our friend first."

She was nodding at Harry and he nodded back. Neville twisted fully around to face them. "You want me to be your friend?"

"Yes, no matter what," said Harry, "but you can never share the secret with anyone else."

Neville said earnestly, "I swear not to give away your secret."

Hermione pressed her lips together while she thought how to say what she had to tell him. Finally, she spoke. "You are to become a great wizard, Neville, brave, and powerful, and highly respected – I've seen it. I'm honoured to be with you." She knew she was laying it on extra thick, but it was the truth so her sincerity was conveyed by the emotion in her voice. In her mind she saw the scarred and injured resistance fighter standing up to the most powerful dark wizard of the century. She struggled to continue...

"This isn't my wand." She drew it out and held it up. "It's yours. A gift I hope you'll accept."

Neville blinked, not comprehending anything of what she was saying. He looked at Harry for some indication when this practical joke was to end – but Harry was nodding seriously.

"I don't understand what you mean," Neville said firmly. "This won't work because–"

"Take it. It's a trainer wand so it will work for you, but we're only allowed a few spells until we're eleven. I'll teach you one and then you'll believe me."

She leaned forward and held out the wand; it was difficult for Neville to refuse it without appearing rude, but he clasped it as gingerly as he had held the wriggling eel – like it might bite him.

"Hermione..." said Harry.

"No, grip it like this," persisted Hermione, drawing out her own wand, and ignoring Harry's interruption. "You show him too, Harry."

Neville gulped. Holding the wand was possibly the most curious sensation of his entire life, on a day which had been possibly the most unusual he had ever known: visitors, new friends, pretty girls, high praise, and now... magic? Surely not. He must be dreaming.

Hermione knew she had to act quickly before Neville realised what he was doing and remembered what he had been told to believe all his life. "Try this movement; it's quite easy."

Neville watched her draw an imaginary circle in the air then copied her motion. She ignored his disappointed expression. "Again ... again ... again."

"Hermione..." said Harry again, looking over her shoulder anxiously.

But Hermione pressed on. Only when she was sure Neville had the correct movement did she give him the spell. "Now say, 'Lumos' quite firmly while you make that motion. No need to shout it, but you do need to speak with authority – the same certainty you showed me when you said it wouldn't work. You can do that because you already have the attitude."

A light breeze was ruffling the surface of the pool as they sat beside it. Anticipation hung tangibly in the air. Neville was staring at this strange girl, trying to absorb the enormity of what he was about to attempt. He braced himself...

"Hermione..." said Harry, for a third time, then he rocked forward in a crouch and whispered in her ear. "His mum's watching out the window, and... it's starting to rain."

"LUMOS!" declared Neville, rather fiercely.

Abruptly, the dull, sunless garden blazed with light and colour. Neville's face became radiant with astonishment and unspeakable joy, his own wand dazzling his wide shining eyes. Around him, a faint rainbow shimmered like a halo amongst the falling droplets.

"LUMOS! LUMOS! LUMOS!" cried Neville, leaping to his feet and dancing himself and his wand around in excitement. Tenuous auras of radiance were left chasing after his triumphant rush. Harry clapped with glee. Hermione joined in the applause and beamed at Neville.

BUMP!

Neville's jubilant rain dance came to an abrupt end as he collided with his dumbstruck father. By his side, Alice was staring wide-eyed, oblivious of the increasing rainfall. And in the kitchen doorway, out of the weather, stood Madam Longbottom, Neville's grandmother.

The drifting lights faded...

Mr Longbottom grabbed his son's arms to prevent him falling over. "Neville... we'd almost given up hope that you..." Lost for words again, he looked pleadingly at his wife.

"We're proud of you, Neville," said Alice with a tender smile and a hug to follow. "We're very proud."

"My boy's a WIZARD!" Frank shouted with a cocky grin on his face, half to the cloud-wracked sky and half back at the house. "A WIZARD!"

"Humph!" said Neville's gran from the doorway, "Of course he is – he's a Longbottom!"

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Nightmare Accusation

October began as moodily, with grey weather and unpromising skies. In the small hours of the tenth day of that month, within another large house far from Longbottom Mansion, a high-ranking Ministry official was about to have his life changed forever.

In a thick, unconscious sweat, Bartemius Crouch senior stirred fitfully in his sleep, moved by a strange waking dream. His heartbeat was racing out of control and rapid panting did not ease his aching lungs.

"You failed everyone, Barty. You failed me."

"Martha?" he gasped faintly, from within his slumbers.

"Did you not promise to lead all into the light?"

"Young B-Barty's hateful atrocity d-destroyed that hope..." choked the wizard, half in and out of wakefulness.

"Our son was to be free, not enslaved by your curse! Did I die in Azkaban for naught?"

"Aaaaaah!" The man struggled out of his nightmare, fighting for breath.

"Keep watch tonight," said the voice as it faded. "Wait for Adam..."

Lacking the immediate leverage to sit up, Crouch rolled over onto one side and wedged down an elbow so he could raise his head. "Wh-Who's there!" he gasped.

There was no reply save for a rhythmic draught of air that faintly cooled and fluttered his wet hairline like a spectral caress.

The man tumbled out of bed, hands down on the thick blue rug beside his bed, his chest heaving. With an upward stumble, he headed for the door. "Winky! Winky!"

As he escaped his room there was a soft pop on the landing. A little house-elf, a female, had appeared there.

"Master! Is Master unwell?" bleated the elf, her large round eyes gummed up and bleary.

"My son...?"

"Is sleeps, sir."

"And... the portrait down there? The one that keeps him company while in the basement?"

The elf's eyes fluttered for a few moments in temporary confusion. "His mother's painting is sleeps too, Master."

The wizard hesitated for long seconds, listening to the distant ghostly echoes that large half-empty houses convey at night, then he said, "Very well, that will be all."

"Might Winky brings sir a soothy potion? A hot chocolate drink for Master to drifts off again?"

"No, no, I merely suffered a panic attack induced by a nightmare. It was nothing. Anyway, I wish to remain alert... keep watch for a while."

Bemused, the elf remained at the top of the stairway for another minute, staring at the lampglow under her master's bedroom door after it had closed. Then, with the softest of pops, she was back down in the cellar.

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The Girl in the Garden

The House of Crouch was a long sprawling cottage on the north edge of London, smothered now with ivy and a flush of late-flowering abelia in a variety of pinks and purples. On every side, other eager garden plants swaddled the walls under magical drifts of blue and saffron.

But the colours were suffused by the limits of dawn's tepid radiance, and anyway, the girl who was frowning at the slight movement of the weather vane atop the tallest chimney had no time to admire the beauty of the setting.

"Aculus!" she called very softly.

There was a swoop of air that alighted on her shoulder. She nodded. "How did he react? Does he remain vigilant?"

"He is... receptive, I would say," replied the raven. "I spent time in the basement yesterday learning to mimic the tone and idiom of the painting of his late wife – I'm sure he was completely convinced, though confused and highly anxious, of course."

"Good. He will not dismiss me lightly then."

There was a stirring from the nearby hen coop as daylight approached. The girl took a vial from her robes and drank deeply. "I'd better hurry."

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Seeing Is Believing

Despite his intentions, Crouch's head drooped. He'd suffered a busy week at the Ministry, put in extra time on the long Saturday, and had hoped to catch up on his sleep so as to enjoy Sunday. Though demoted a few years previously, he still had heavy responsibilities – yet all without the rewards he had yearned for in his youth. He was still young, he told himself – not quite yet out of his forties – perhaps there might still be time to... he sighed. Who was he fooling?

"Regrets, Barty?"

Crouch jerked upright in his chair, a wand already in his grasp. Before him was a shadowy vapour in the form of a large man.

"How did you come here! What do you want! Who are you!"

"I am the one called Adam Brown," came the reply in a deep, strong voice, "and I know who you have kept hidden here all these years."

Utterly shocked, Crouch was on his feet. "You cannot know this! Impossible!"

"He would face the Dementor's kiss if discovered, and as for you–"

"So, it's blackmail, then?" The contempt in his voice was mixed with despair.

"On the contrary, I wish to provide more freedom for you and your son so you can serve your people as you've always wished."

Even in the gloom, Adam could see the silhouetted man's eyes blinking in disbelief.

The vaporous intruder continued quickly, before Crouch could gather his wits to respond. "You have enslaved your own son with a curse and burdened yourself with worry. I propose he be moved to somewhere with more space yet more security and without the need for the Imperious Curse. In return, and with my help, you must promote your original dream of guiding the Ministry out of its darkness."

"Both impossible! My credibility is beyond saving and no prison but Azkaban can hold a wizard. Without the mental control of Dementors or repeated dark curses, almost any magical person might set his mind to escape from the deepest of physical dungeons, even without a wand – and my son is not just any wizard."

"True, but I hope to change all of that."

"You? And what are you? What's in it for you? Do you aspire to become the next Minister for Magic?" Crouch's gruff laughter evolved into a coughing fit, and he reached for the glass of water on the table beside him.

Adam waited while he drank a few mouthfuls then said, "No, Bartemius, that will be your post."

With a choke and a splutter, Crouch steadied his glass back down onto its lacy coaster. He was unable to see any further humour in the situation. "Me? As Minister? That can never be. You are deluded. You fantasise about a miracle – why?" His brow creased with a deep furrow of puzzlement. "I suppose you imagine yourself as the power behind the throne?"

"I repeat, I have no interest in blackmailing you. Indeed, there will be no remaining evidence with which to coerce you. You will be completely liberated from worrying about your son and free to pursue your own goals and to apply your own values and beliefs. I shall have no control over you, indeed, I shall make myself available should you wish to consult or use me."

There was a pause. Far off down the garden, a cockerel began crowing.

"You speak of helping me. How? And why would you do this, Brown?" Crouch said eventually.

"Because after much suffering, I have come round to your way of thinking, Barty. In many ways, your values now approximate my own. These are troubled times – far worse than you know – and often one needs to be ruthless to combat evil."

Sensing Crouch's growing interest, Adam released his immateriality charm and came closer. "The entire project will take many years – decades even. You will not be alone in this endeavour. I have recruited two powerful supporters. One will assist with the gradual changes needed in the Wizengamot – I shall play my part there too; the other is a wealthy businessman who will add to our funding – as will I. Both will also have a major role in securing Muggle cooperation."

"Muggles!" Crouch broke into another coughing fit and reached once more for his glass. "Have you taken leave of all your senses! What have they to do with us?"

"I have foreseen a terrible catastrophe. Without Magical and Muggle cooperation..." Adam's voice tailed away to inaudibility.

"Yes? What of it?" prompted Crouch with an impatient growl.

"All of us shall die."

"Preposterous! Are you claiming now to be a seer? What proof is there of this nonsense? How do I know you have foreseen anything?"

"Beware the ides of this month, Barty! Best shield your weather vane and your chicken coop. Your beautiful garden too will not survive unless you protect it." Adam began to fade and dematerialise.

"What is this nonsense!"

"There'll be high winds that night, Barty. You'd better prepare yourself."

Adam swept forward at high speed – right through the astonished Crouch who dropped his glass of water in alarm. When Crouch turned around... he was alone.

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A Friendly Warning

"Always with the drama," smirked Aculus, who had perched on the garden gate awaiting Hermione's return.

"There's no time to build up a gradual acquaintance, that could take a long, long time before I became accepted – if ever. Political networking has to be built up over the coming years, contacts must be made, a team of dedicated activists need to be ready to replace some of the dubious characters who now sway the Council."

"Replace? Are you expecting early retirements?"

"Well, as early as possible," murmured Hermione.

"And your storm? How will you summon winds strong enough to damage his home and garden?"

Hermione stared at the raven's dark shape against the eastern light of the coming day. "Only his home and garden, you think, do you, Aculus? You'd best not roost in the larch tree on the fifteenth – and warn Farrimond too."

A gimlet eye blinked and glittered within the black silhouette.

"Mistress, your home is on the other side of London from here! No wizard can or should control the weather, let alone on such a scale!"

"And Crouch knows it."

Irritated at his own assumption, Aculus clicked his beak rapidly against the fence post. "So you have truly foreseen it then? Of course you have. I will caution Farrimond. We can roost in the garden shed."

"Uumm... that might not be enough to avoid a good shaking. I suggest you both come indoors on that particular night, my friend."

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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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