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So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight Ministry corruption and Black Arc members, and Crest defensive training at Hogwarts where she will soon begin her third year. After she and Harry were caught up in a deadly attack on a mini-mart near his home, they have to reveal her secrets to his parents, Sirius and Hestia. Now read on...
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Chapter 67
Strange Recruits
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A Sleepless Exchange
Harry Potter lay in bed gazing up at the dimly moonlit ceiling and trying to more clearly visualise his memory of a stretchy yellow t-shirt. Surely if he concentrated hard...? But no, he couldn't quite picture the garment other than as a hazy impression. A sigh gently released itself from his lips. The day had been full, with many conflicting emotions: that kiss in the front room, the dreadful attack on the mini-mart, the visit to Devil's Deep, and finally, the astounding truths that Hermione had revealed to his parents. Nothing would be the same ever again.
There was a movement in the room – only a breath of air – but Harry's hand was grasping his wand under the pillow immediately. Other than that, the boy remained very still – as he'd learnt and even taught others – waiting an opportunity...
"It's only me," came a whisper – Hermione's whisper.
Harry growled as he sat up. "How'd you know I wasn't asleep?"
"You were holding your breath."
He stared through the faint, silvery light then uttered in a low, strained voice, "Hermione! You're... wearing pyjamas!"
Though surprised, the girl hesitated only a moment in her forward movement. "Oh... forgot. Well it's not cold enough for a dressing gown, is it? And anyway, these are flannelette. I couldn't sleep for – listen, I didn't tell your parents everything yet, but the owl message I received about these new families... by the way, you have got the new Muggle-raised kids organised, haven't you? Oh, please say you have!" She swung onto his bed and wriggled into a comfortable, cross-legged position facing him.
Harry struggled to ignore the warmth that accompanied a faint waft of scented talc. "Uuh... y-yeah – well me and Neville and Luna. The letters have gone out anyway. Hopefully we'll have all the replies and can organise a meeting at Neville's well before the middle of this month. Recruit them into Crest, take them shopping, give them a head start with wands, and so on."
"Good. Look, I have more secrets for you."
Harry straightened up a little, more awake than ever. Hermione could see his eyes whiten in the shadows.
"The Zabini family are already indebted to me because I did them a favour."
"Zabini! But they're Slytherins! – well Blaise is!"
"Harry I've told you several times there are a lot of bad apples in the barrel so it's hard for the good ones to avoid becoming rotten too. But not all Slytherins let themselves become contaminated. It was I that helped prove Zabini's innocence when he was accused of blasting Draco off the Astronomy Tower. That was Daggard's doing, as you know."
Harry's mouth opened in surprise but no words came out yet.
Hermione didn't wait. "Madam Zabini is now a member of Cathesis and has persuaded three other families to give their partial support to the cause: voting, convincing others, and so on."
"Which families?" said Harry, not expecting a direct answer.
"The Greengrasses, the Davises, and the Farleys."
"Farley!"
"Shhh..." Hermione put a finger to her lips.
"But she's the prefect who cost me House Points when she nabbed me that night in the Entrance Hall! The one that Ron said tried to kill you all in the thorn dome! She's in the Black Arc!"
"She only supported Draco and didn't even understand what was involved. Her great-grandparents were Muggles so she's regarded almost as a half-blood by those who know. But not many do; the Farleys keep it quiet."
"Shame on them!"
"It's difficult being in Slytherin, and her upbringing was not easy either. From a young age she was instinctively drawn to behaving like a tomboy as a form of emotional protection. Later in life, joining the Arc probably helped her feel more secure. But Ron informed me of the contempt with which Draco treated Gemma near the dome. Her father says she's having second thoughts – doubts about what she's got herself into."
"How can she be trusted?"
"You won't be revealing anything seriously confidential to her. The news from Gemma's dad is that he had it out with her: there was a terrible row and she broke down, admitting how she was seduced and recruited while still only fifteen by a much older person: a former Death Eater. Mr Farley vowed to kill the man but has not been able to find him – nobody has."
"He's gone underground? Why? Because of Farley?"
"No, Harry, he's dead."
"How'd you know that?"
Hermione swept on with a new thought. "This may work to her advantage. It seems to me that The Black Arc have only a general central control; on the perimeters they are connected by anonymous cells so nobody can betray more than one or two. The downside – for them – is that links can be broken, as with the man who recruited Farley."
Harry spoke more fiercely. "How do you know he's dead, Hermione? How do you know?"
"He was killed in a fight, and don't ask me more. ... Perhaps I should Obliviate Draco concerning Gemma; that might sever all her ties with the Arc..."
"Was it you that killed him?"
"No, Harry."
"But you know who did." It was not a question.
"Yes." Hermione almost reached out to take Harry's hand but then thought better of it. "Listen, his name was Macnair, and he was the most evil, bloodthirsty Death Eater you can imagine. What he and his men did in my former life to people you know and care about was despicable and still turns my stomach. I'm glad he was killed, Harry; he deserved to die. Please don't ask me more. Please, Harry."
Through the gloom, Hermione was unsure of Harry's expression, but his silence suggested he was thinking hard.
Finally, he nodded his head, saying, "You're right of course, Hermione. Give me time."
A rush of fondness caused Hermione to lunge at Harry, arms squeezing him in a tight hug. "You're better than me, Harry. I didn't even begin to understand until the end of my previous life's fifth year when we all were close to being killed – I almost died from a curse."
The boy remained quite still, a question forming on his lips but unwilling to spoil the sensation of her contact. Finally, curiosity overcame him. "Why? What happened?"
"You led us all into attacking Death Eaters at the Ministry. You were brilliant, Harry. I was awful."
She felt it prudent not to tell Harry he'd also killed Quirrell when only eleven. The memory made her shudder and she pulled away.
He stared at her. "Me? I led...? When I was only fifteen?"
Hermione nodded, then from her top pyjama pocket, she took out a folded parchment which she handed to Harry. "Here's the letter that came this morning from Madam Zabini. Would you mind writing to the family head of the addresses listed in it? Use your formal title of 'Heir of the House of Black'. Their kids want to learn how to defend themselves but they daren't openly join Crest because they're all in Slytherin. Take Neville and meet with them; work something out. Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass are in our year, but Daphne has a younger sister starting at Hogwarts in September too. Gemma Farley will be starting her seventh year then, but she can still learn a lot from you. Then there's Blaise Zabini as well, of course."
Harry felt a thrill that he was being entrusted with such an important task. He curled his hand around the parchment – still warm from Hermione's pocket – and wished she would embrace him once more. What had he said before that so affected her? ...You're right of course, Hermione. Yes, perhaps if he said something agreeable... "Thanks, Hermione, I uumm..."
She smiled and patted his hand. "I'd better go. We have to be up early tomorrow if we're going to The Burrow. She kissed him on the cheek. "–'Night, Harry."
"–'Night, Hermione." He slumped back onto his pillow with an air of disappointment, still gripping the parchment and clinging to the fading sensation of her lips on his face. But instead of struggling to visualise a yellow t-shirt, he now began to happily picture soft, warm, pink flannelette while the image was still fresh in his mind.
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Family, Friends and... Kittens
The far-distant hum of the M5 motorway that served Devon was lost on the morning breeze. Only the pleasant drone of bees was occasionally heard as they gathered pollen from wild honeysuckle entwining the hedgerows. The crooked lane to Ottery St Catchpole rarely conveyed noisy Muggle traffic, and so the clear air crackled all the more sharply when two magical youngsters Apparated almost into the ditch on its sunniest side.
"Watch out, Hermione!" cried Harry. They braced each other from slipping down. "Don't want to have to explain muddy feet to Mrs Weasley, do we?"
They grinned at each other and began the short walk to The Burrow. The boy's brave fingers sought, found, and tangled with those of his happy girlfriend, then their arms swung in unison.
"Hope we don't have to tell fibs again. I hate it when–"
"–She won't even ask," said Hermione. "They always assume I come on the Knight Bus." She shielded her eyes against the bright eastern skyline. "Is that Ginny?"
"HARR–EEE!" There were two madly-waving silhouettes further along the narrow roadway, close to the bend which led into the backyard of the Weasley home. "HERMION–EEE!"
"Yep, that's her alright," grinned Harry, flicking up a few green sparks of exuberance with his wand. "And Luna, I think."
As he and Hermione approached the welcoming pair, Harry called, "Don't tell your mum which way we–"
"–Not to worry," Ginny dismissed his anxiety with a limp-wristed throwaway gesture. "Mum's with Dad and Olive discussing that relative of hers he found in Europe. He's already got papers to sign. Ron's having kittens."
Luna's large, dreamy eyes blinked rapidly. "Is that a new spell, Ginny? For a start, he's a boy, and for another thing–"
"–I mean he's fretting that Olive will have to stay with her sister-in-law and might be adopted by her. I said it would only be part of the holidays and he'd still see Olive at Hogwarts most of the year."
Luna burst into giggles. "Oh, I see, he's only b–buying b–baby kneazles to keep him company while–! I thought you mm–meant–!" But Luna couldn't continue for laughing and she clutched her sides in uncontrollable merriment.
Ginny sighed and swung open the gate they'd just reached. Neville hailed from a flowerbed, or perhaps he was flinging a gnome over the wall; Harry couldn't tell.
"I do like kittens," added Luna, wiping tears from her eyes, "especially baby ones."
Neville called, "Ron's trying to listen in on his mirror but–"
"–My mirror," cut in Harry, as they neared each other.
"–Your mirror, but it–"
"–doesn't work that way," said Hermione. "One of them has to call the other."
"Told me to clear off out here anyway," Neville said mock-mournfully. "Said it was rude of me to eavesdrop on him while he was trying to use his mirror."
"–My mirror." Harry smiled. It was really good, he mused, to be back amongst his friends even though it had only been a few zillion days since they departed Hogwarts the previous week.
Once inside, they gathered around the kitchen table, screeching chairs out and slumping into them while Ginny summoned up jugs of apple and pumpkin juice, and little blackberry pies she'd proudly cooked that morning. Ron's keen nose drew him in from the parlour. "Hi, Harry."
"Twins? – and Percy?" said Harry.
"Upstairs plotting something – and studying."
"I'm surprised Percy's plotting mischief," smirked Harry as he fumbled the Zabini parchment out of his pocket, "and gobsmacked that the twins are studying during the summer hols."
"Prat," said Ginny, heavily sploshing juice into his goblet on purpose.
"Good," said Harry. "Ron you can tell Olive later because she's not directly involved: but as well as the new Muggle-raised kids, we'll have a few Slytherins who need defensive training in private so keep this strictly amongst ourselves."
"You're joking!" cried Ron.
Harry passed around the letter, and explained. Neville showed no reaction at all to the names of the Greengrass girls, Hermione noted; it was as if his infant humiliation at their hands was utterly unimportant in the light of his sturdy relationship with Luna. For the next fifteen minutes, Hermione remained quietly observing the discussion, pleased at the way Harry was listening to everyone's suggestions, and then organising the ideas into one plan.
Ginny said, "So they need to slip away at different times and move by different routes to secretly meet up with some of us in the Room of Requirement without anyone noticing? How?"
"The Room requires another entrance," said Neville, thoughtfully. "I suppose it might be possible."
"It is," said Hermione. "You already did it once – the other Neville, I mean. The brave hero who fought at the Battle of Hogwarts and faced off against the Dark Lord Voldemort to boot."
"Oh, that Neville," grinned Neville. "I thought you–"
"–Harry! Hermione!" A far door had opened and Mrs Weasley bustled through the parlour, followed more sedately by her husband – and Olive who appeared to be struggling to control her emotions.
Harry stood up to receive Mrs Weasley's embrace. Over her shoulder he could see Mr Weasley waving a document in the air, trying to attract attention the moment that Harry might be released.
"Managed to persuade young Olive here," smiled Mr Weasley. "It's for the best."
Olive was hiding her tearful face in her hands now; she looked overcome.
"Adoption papers. Only need filing at the Ministry," went on Mr Weasley. "Everyone!" He seized a spoon and tapped sharply with it on the nearest jug. "It gives me great pleasure to announce that Olive has accepted and is effectively now... Olive Weasley! Ron, Ginny, you have a new sister."
Ginny's eyes brightened and she leapt up from her chair with a rush to hug Olive whose face was shining with joy and barely able to speak: "F–Family! Family again! Th–this is... the HAPPIEST day of my life!" and she gave way to a flood of tears.
But Hermione's eyes were upon Ron. If ever she'd believed he had the emotional range of a teaspoon, Hermione now felt compelled to dismiss that notion, for Ron's face was a tortured mask of conflicting feelings all of which he was fighting to hide. His face was pale and constricted but the tips of his ears had reddened. "Th–that's..." he finally spluttered. "That's w–wonderful, uuh... Olive." The boy dragged himself to his feet and, with leaden boots, marched himself over. "Erm... welcome to our uumm... we can be... see each... uuh..."
Hermione's heart warmed to him. How Ron had changed in this lifetime! Formerly, he'd have ranted and raved and probably slammed out of the backdoor. She knew the reason for his pain, and resolved to release him from it as soon as she was able. Along with all the others, she congratulated Olive. The twins and Percy were called down for the announcement – though all three soon competed noisily for the stairs once more – owls were despatched, Mr Weasley hurried off with the adoption papers to the Ministry, and Molly began summoning copious ingredients for a very large celebratory cake.
"How did you–" began Hermione, as she dodged a huge mixing cauldron flying from its cupboard. Ron wisely edged into the parlour out of harm's way, showing confusion when Olive followed him. Harry and Neville inched the opposite way out the backdoor to further discuss the plan for the new batch of Crest trainees. "–learn all these recipes?" finished Hermione.
"Witch Weekly, dear," smiled Mrs Weasley. "I wouldn't be without it."
"You subscribe?" But Hermione knew she did.
"Always have." Mrs Weasley contemplated two small bags of different types of flour. "There are articles, and advice, and quizzes, and–"
"–Quizzes!" squealed Hermione quite girlishly, and both Luna and Ginny gave her a curious stare. "Perhaps I might reconsider my opinion of the magazine then, for I imagined it full of puerile, shallow romance!"
"Ah, well..." Mrs Weasley, looking suddenly uncomfortable, made a hurried decision, and banished one of the little flour sacks back to the pantry. "Yes, mmm... perhaps you're not quite old enough yet for some of the.. erm... grownup stories."
Hermione feigned immense disappointment, slumping her shoulders quite dramatically. "You're right, of course, Mrs Weasley. I suppose I could buy one to consider, then cut out the quiz and the recipes, and throw the nonsense away, or I'll never learn how to–"
"–You'll do no such thing!" A cloud of flour was slapped into the air. Mrs Weasley stared at her hands in consternation. "Ginny! Be a good girl and fetch me down last year's bound version of the Weekly, would you? They're at the back of–"
"–your wardrobe. Hidden behind the secret panel. I know."
Ginny scampered off with Mrs Weasley gawking after her.
Luna leaned towards Hermione and whispered, "You should have been in Ravenclaw – if you're good at quizzes, that is." Her attempted wink was more of a half-squint and made her sneeze.
"Sorry, Luna dear," called Mrs Weasley, swishing the cloud of flour out through the open window into the garden. She gazed out as it dissipated, her eyes on the fruit bushes and trees in the orchard. "Cherries, I think... Luna, would you...?"
With a smile, Luna accepted the little basket offered by Mrs Weasley's next conjuration, and skipped out the backdoor.
There was quietness in the kitchen for a while as Mrs Weasley worked her magic on the cake mixture. "Where has that girl got to? ... GINNY!"
Hermione looked out into the hall. Ginny was poised halfway up the stair with a heavy card binder under one arm.
"Ginny...!" hissed Hermione.
With a nod, Ginny came back to the kitchen. "Mum, you're not making a fish cake again, are you? Only there's an odd smell in the stairway."
"Smell? On the stairs? Can't be. I Scourgified the whole house only yesterday ready for our guests. Go and help Luna pick cherries."
"Oh, so I imagined it then?"
Ginny stomped towards the backdoor, and Hermione had to grab the binder from her in passing. Boldly written on its cover was: Witch Weekly 1992. Inside, the well-thumbed weekly editions were held in order by vertical strings. Hermione flipped through January and February until her finger rested on the title page of the 13th March edition and she read to herself the largest blurb angled across it:
BEGINNING THIS WEEK:
RITE FULLY YOURS!
by Marinatta Tosche
Hermione smiled to herself.
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Deadly Flights
Mid-morning, and Ginny seconded the twins to make up Quidditch sides until lunchtime.
"I need to keep in practice for September!" she insisted. "Harry, Ron, me and Neville, against you two with Luna and Olive?"
"One Beater and Chaser a side?" Fred and George looked at each other.
"No, two Beaters, no Seeker," called Ginny, who was already taking off on a broomstick. "Hermione can randomise from a time charm to simulate a Snitch being caught. Unless you want to rope in Percy and Mum?"
"Erm... probably not a good idea," grinned Fred, leaping into the air to follow Ginny to the paddock. Harry wasn't far behind. All the youngsters were looking up – especially when they heard a banshee howling towards them.
From way up on her broomstick, Ginny screamed. She screamed again. And pointed.
High in the sky from the northwest, cartwheeled an immense metal object like a giant hammer end over end but trailing smoke and fire. Hermione instantly thought it an asteroid about to impact the village of Ottery. But the reality was too bizarre to absorb for the several seconds it passed overhead – until the head of the hammer separated from the shaft. "A truck trailer! And its cab – oh God! That poor driver!" She whirled about to judge the direction of its source. "From the motorway!"
"Another!" cried Ginny, zooming down to rejoin the others, with the twins on her tail.
To everyone there, it was obvious the new projectile threatened to pass perilously close to the yard side of The Burrow – the kitchen.
"MUM!" Ron was sprinting back to the house, his broomstick forgotten.
"CRESTERS, HALT!" Hermione's amplified command spun the boy around in his tracks, white-faced and terrified. He watched the power of her spell pushing the trajectory of the missile away from the yard to the other side of the house, but just as the spinning vehicle was about to clear the rightmost gable, it broke apart. Metal shafted through wood, exploding to matchsticks most of the upper bedroom on that side. A voice could be heard screaming hysterically from deep within the house. Then it fell silent.
"PERCY!" Ron resumed his headlong race to get into his home.
"Luna!" cried Hermione. "They made a correction!"
"A watcher? A forward spotter?" Her long blonde hair swirled as she turned to look. "Then he must be on–"
"–FIND HIM! DOWN HIM! ANY MEANS!" yelled Hermione. "CRESTERS! TO LUNA!" She rounded on the nearest flier. "HARRY – WITH ME!"
Onto the back of his broomstick she leapt and twisted into a Disapparition. There was only a small pop but she, Harry, and broom were almost instantly assailed by traffic noise and dropping within a narrow coppiced strip that bordered the wide roadway of the M5. Harry could barely control his flight, though managed to swerve quietly to a safe landing behind a thick range of ugly pollards – not before Hermione saw a robed figure whirling round to face their direction.
"Keep low, Harry," murmured Hermione. "There's a group of them. Thought so. They need the magical power of several wizards to lift–"
–A petrol tanker was already taking off like a wingless aircraft. The tank was never designed for such a bending force and immediately split apart, spewing fuel over the speeding vehicles below. Within moments, a huge sphere of hot flame exploded outwards, engulfing all within range.
"NOOOO!" In a fury, Hermione banished the fireball directly towards the woodland before them. Screams mingled with rapid cracks of Disapparition and the noise of traffic crashing heavily beyond Harry's view.
"Stay here!" Hermione rushed forward, wand thrust ahead. Despite her command, she could hear Harry crashing through the coppiced woody material behind her. "You don't want to see this, Harry!"
Breathing hard, they emerged into a war zone. Several distorted, blackened corpses littered the blasted area. Harry cringed and turned his face away from the nearest. Hermione scurried low, searching for identification on the bodies. "Damn! I'm sure I spotted Lucius Malfoy, but he's long gone."
She turned to look at Harry. He was being sick. "Good, you held onto your broom. This is what happened: you flew me here but as we approached, the petrol tanker crashed into the wood. Seems the Arcanists' magic wasn't strong enough to keep it in the air. Agreed...?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks, Hermione," spluttered Harry, wiping his mouth.
"Are we agreed?"
"Yeah, damned right as usual!"
"I'm trying to keep us alive, Harry. Not just now but what will follow because of it."
"I know," muttered Harry. "Sorry."
They raced back on the broom to The Burrow, arriving just as Mr Weasley Apparated into view. There were two youths' bodies sprawled amongst the carrots in the garden, well away from the house; one was Percy with his mother leaning over him, weeping. He was glistening, shining with light, as though his soul was seeping from the mortal body. The other children were gathered around with terribly strained expressions and wands still nervously pointing back and forth.
"What happened, Molly?" shouted Mr Weasley as he ran to them, and crouched down next to his wife.
"Oh, Arthur..." sobbed Mrs Weasley, glad of his arm round her shoulder.
Harry sniffed. There was something rather fishy about this.
Fred stepped forward. "Our fault, Dad. Sorry. Cod Liver Oil hex. Percy slipped and skidded down the stairs and banged his head a few times."
"Maybe I should knock some sense into both your heads too!" barked Mr Weasley.
"He wasn't in his room then?" said Harry. "Percy, I mean."
"No," said Fred, "he heard us all shouting and ran down to give us a rollicking. Excitement triggered the uuh... excessively oily sweat. Flowed out of his boots and pants and... down he went."
Harry saw Hermione's shoulders relax with relief, and she covered a sob with her hand. She had been the one who'd bent the course of the flying truck to near where Percy's bedroom was located. Maybe she wasn't so hardened after all, he realised, and one of the twins' pranks had done some good for a change. He turned to Fred and George. "You saved Percy's life. There's not a splinter on him. He chuted away from the danger faster then he could ever have run."
They stared at him, digesting this new thought.
Mr Weasley stood up. "He'll be alright when he wakes up."
A gaggle of Ministry officials and Aurors popped into view, with Dumbledore half a minute later. Questions and explanations flew back and forth with several officials re-Apparating away to the motorway and the other impact site beyond Ottery. A Healer began reviving Percy and the other youth who, Hermione recognised once he groggily sat up, was Theodore Nott. A short pole and a couple of small dead animals lay beside him.
"We searched and searched and found him signalling Arcanists with his fishing net. Way over there," pointed Luna, "and waving hello to the birds."
"The Black Arc? They disbanded years ago. Anyway, their calling card is a dark rainbow – as everyone knows," said the most senior-looking official. Hermione frowned. The man was Pius Thickness. He was an unknown quantity, yet to prove his affiliations.
"Underage magic was detected. Who Stupefied him?" Thickness demanded.
"Uuh... that would be... well, most of us," admitted George. "We found him directing traffic towards our home! What else were we supposed to do?"
"Preposterous! Are you saying this young boy summoned heavy Muggle vehicles from out of sight over a mile away and hurled them at the house? Dawlish, check Nott's wand!"
George glared at the senior official as if he were stupid. "No, as Luna said, he was signalling to his accomplices nearer the... uumm... erm... Muggle road." The doubt in his voice showed on his face too, which he grudgingly turned to gaze in the direction of the sounds from the M5 – near-inaudible despite the present chaotic noise of sirens and shouting.
Thickness looked too. "That far off? Nearly half a mile, I'd guess? And over the slope?" He bent down to pick up the net. It had a very large mesh but its shaft was less than six foot long. "With this?" he scoffed. "You had to search for him? You couldn't even see him from the garden so how–?"
"–And waving at the birdies," said Luna, much to Hermione's disappointment.
"There are many ways of sending messages," said Hermione, then bit her lip in regret.
Dumbledore came to the rescue. "There are indeed. Sparks from a wand, for instance. Two-way mirrors. I could sneak a Patronus down to the Hogwarts kitchens when I was only fourteen." Fred and George stared in astonishment at their Headmaster.
Thickness shook his head. "Patronus? At Nott's age? And two-way mirrors are an extreme rarity – search him anyway, Dawlish."
"Already have, sir. No magical objects at all except for his wand." He handed it over.
"And?"
"No sparks. No Patronus. The only recent spells were those of the freezing charm."
"Immobulus?" Thickness walked over to the boy who was being helped to his feet by the healer. "Well, young Nott? What have you to say for yourself? What were you doing here? Fishing so far away from the river?"
"It's not for fishing! It's my butterfly net. I have a big collection. Everyone knows. You can ask anyone who knows me! I'm staying with my aunt and uncle in Ottery for the summer. This is a good area for –" His expression indicated a recent memory had just sprung into his mind. "– I finally got me a Painted Jezebel! Where's my jar!" He began looking around mournfully.
"And those rabbits?" said Dawlish, indicating the little furry creatures sprawled near where Nott had once lain.
"They make good stew. I often nab the odd one when I'm butterfly-hunting – if you know where to look."
"How? You're not old enough to master the Summoning charm. Are we to believe you laid snares, traps? Waited all night?"
"I use Immobulus of course! Same as for butterflies. Those freeze and drift in the air and I can catch them easy with my net." He looked around again. "Where's my jar?"
Thickness nodded. "Dawlish, send someone to find his butterfly jar. If his story checks out, give him his wand back."
"WHAT!" came many shouts – mainly from Weasleys. Ron was furious. "He tried to destroy our home! Almost killed Percy!"
"There's no evidence that he was involved and no sensible way he could have communicated with–" Thickness glanced around. "Two children were seen near the roadway. Who were they?"
Harry stepped forward. "Me and Hermione. We flew in the direction where the trucks came from to find out what was going on."
"Potter? You're Harry Potter? And...?"
"Granger, sir – Hermione Granger. As Harry said, we went on his broomstick. We saw a great ball of fire and then... oh, it was horrible ... horrible dead bodies." She began crying and sobbing.
"There, there, Miss Granger. Put it out of your mind," said Dumbledore sympathetically. "Molly? Would you?"
"Of course, Headmaster." Mrs Weasley took Hermione towards the backdoor of The Burrow. "Come on, dear, and I'll make you a nice cup of tea."
Harry stared after them. Then, still tasting bile in his mouth, followed.
"Wait!" Theodore Nott had hurried after him. "Wait up, Black. I have to apologise."
Harry paused, frowning, then resumed his march with Nott still on his heels. "Clear off. It's not me you need to apologise to."
"N–Need to explain!" puffed Nott. "Made up th–that story."
"What!" Harry stopped and gawked.
"Oh, I really am staying with relatives in Ottery. And I really do have a big butterfly collection. But..."
"But what! Killing insects not enough of a blood sport for you? Thought you'd try netting a few people into your sick collection?"
"It's not like that, Black. That's not what happened. I know nothing about that attack. Oh, I saw those vehicles soaring over. Scared the Merlin out of me! Without thinking I waved my net to warn anyone at the house – but obviously you were all too far away."
"Then how'd you know where the house was?"
"I could see the roof, and I knew roughly. I was on my way to meet you, you see."
"What!"
"My friend told me she was joining you – well, not exactly told but–"
"–WHAT! WHAT! WHAT! ... WHO? Who told you?"
"Farley. Gemma Farley."
The yard fell silent but for the faint murmuring of the Aurors further into the garden, still taking notes from the other children, and the occasional sighing of the breeze in the branches of the few trees that helped divide the areas.
"She had no right," Harry said finally. There was great disappointment in his voice. "I've not even written to the Farleys yet. I won't now. Shove off, Nott."
"No, no, you misunderstand. She didn't exactly tell me. I uumm... I overheard her talking with her dad. They'd had a terrible row and I'd politely slipped away into the kitchen. They must have forgotten I was with them that day. Did you know she... she might have been involved with the Black Arc? I wanted to leave. But then they'd suspect I'd heard. I didn't know what to do."
Harry groaned and muttered, "So much for secrecy..."
"What? Look, you have to help me, Black. I don't know who else to trust. You don't know what it's like in Slytherin."
"How'd you know that I'd be here?"
"Nobody seems to know where you live, but everyone knows who your friends are, Black. I took a chance. I walked over to the Lovegoods first. They said Luna was visiting friends at the Weasleys. It was a safe bet that you'd be here too."
"You'd better go."
"Please, Black? Give me a chance?"
Harry hesitated. "I'll discuss it with my friends. But the Weasleys will want to kill you if you hang about here much longer."
"Thanks. You've given me hope for the first time in – I won't forget this, Black!"
He dashed off. Harry watched as one of the Aurors handed him his net and what appeared to be a large jam jar hanging by a string handle. Whatever was within, its fluttering days were over.
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—oOo—
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Author's Notes
Now that the Blacks will be joining Cathesis, dennisud asked how the Longbottoms and Lovegoods are doing. Well, they won't be told the truth about Hermione yet, if ever, and I've not considered whether they need to be formal members of Cathesis. My thinking so far is that Madam Longbottom has been networked by Jop Gair so she's aware there is some 'political movement' afoot in the background and so would support with her vote. I don't see the Lovegoods having a vote on the Wizengamot but would support with making views and facts public in the Quibbler. Maybe Pandora would fit nicely into Cathesis one day.
In case you didn't know, 'a rollicking' is rude Brit speak for a severe reprimand. Rhyming slang you see. Also, the verb 'seconded' is Brit speak meaning (in this chapter's context) to temporarily assign (requisition, officially seize) someone to another post. I guess you'd say the german translator in 'Saving Private Ryan' was seconded by Tom Hanks' character for their mission. It's pronounced si-conded in this usage.
Just to remind you, underage detection spells at the Ministry cannot tell who cast such a spell and anyway, do not inform anyone if there is an adult Magical nearby. However, officials can check if any underage magic was detected as a routine part of their investigation of a crime.
In other news trivia: this fic now has almost 1,000 followers! Woohoo! Thanks everyone! Of course, that's nothing like the 20,000 plus followers of the very top stories but at least we're now on Page 60 out of almost 19,000 pages of Potter stories with filters set to Follows (or Page 135 of over 23,000 if you include Mature.) All of which proves that if you make a big enough pile of garbage, more people will notice it! :D
Many thanks for all 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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