A/N: Apologies for being so slow to update, and thank you for your patience. RL obligations have been eating lots of my time and energy, I'm afraid. Hopefully I will find more time to write over Thanksgiving. Reviews are always welcome, and thank you for reading!

Chapter 3: Preparations

The first days after the end of term were far less leisurely for Severus Snape than they had been for Harry Potter or Hermione Granger.

What with marking five years' worth of exams and assigning course grades (thank Merlin the 5th and 7th years were exempt due to OWLs and NEWTs), the graduation ceremony for the 7th years, end-of-year administrative headaches, and seeing all the blasted little blighters onto the train, the end of the school year was always hectic and exhausting for the staff. All of the professors stayed a day or two past the miscreants' noisy departure on the Hogwarts Express in order to tie up loose ends (two for the Heads of House, having more to do), then fled the castle at the earliest possible opportunity—with far more enthusiasm at their departures than most of the students ever guessed.

As he stomped away from the castle towards Hogwarts' apparition point on Saturday evening, Severus found himself keenly aware that Filius was lying on a beach somewhere in the Caribbean (undoubtedly drinking fruity cocktails with ridiculous umbrellas and delighting in garish swim trunks and towels); Pomona was on a cruise around the Mediterranean (working her way through a pile of Muggle mystery novels and a large bottle of liqueur—Severus guessed limoncello, though she was also quite fond of grappa); and that even Minerva had escaped to her niece's family in the wild north of Scotland, and would be spending a quiet evening in front of a cozy fire and sipping an excellent single malt whiskey (rumor had it that Minerva reserved the best of her cellar for her home in the highlands, though Severus had developed a great appreciation for the Muggle Balvenie Scotch she kept stocked in her rooms). Every one of his fellow professors was celebrating the conclusion of the "Year of the Toad" in the time honored tradition of all teachers at end of term: with peace, quiet, and alcohol.

But Severus had not had time for even a single solitary whiskey in his own chambers, he reflected bitterly. Between dancing attendance on Albus to iron out details of his supposed fatherhood and its disclosure and brewing all the potions that Albus's plan required, Severus had barely been able to snatch a few odd hours of sleep here and there over the past few days, much less find half an hour to enjoy a book and a dram of whiskey. To add insult to injury, he was forced to see Potter at meals when he attended them (which he did more often than not, since it was easier than dealing with Albus when he didn't)—a horrible precursor to the endless Potter-plagued hours to come.

Albus's addition of the Granger chit into the plan only added to the list of finicky potions he had to brew: age suppression potion (which, contrary to popular understanding, did not actually make the drinker younger, just made him or her appear younger and fooled magical tests for determining age); a rare plasticity potion that Albus believed would make it possible to move Potter's scar to a less obvious location; strong painkillers and sleeping potions in order to dull the aftereffects of the children's transformation; and now the dratted simulacrum solution for Granger. All well within Severus' prodigious abilities, but it was taxing to brew so many complex brews simultaneously.

And now he had to go dance attendance on the Dark Lord, on top of everything else. Severus grimaced at the thought. Still, there was no use in delaying the inevitable. Approaching the apparation point, Severus pulled the mask out of his pocket, silently affixed it to his face with his wand, pulled up his hood, and apparated away.

# # #

When the doorbell of her parents' house rang at half past 9 on Tuesday morning, Hermione hastened to open it, welcoming Headmaster Dumbledore inside.

He looked as genial as ever, though it must be admitted that Hermione had never really seen him up close until her late-night visit to his office the previous week. But his blue eyes twinkled merrily as he verified that she was alone in the house and expected to remain so. When she made to lead him to the sitting room, however, he demurred.

"If you will pardon my forwardness, Miss Granger, I suggest that for the preparations that will be necessary for completing the simulacrum, your kitchen would be a far more convenable location."

"Of course, Sir. This way." Cheeks heating at the strangeness of the situation, Hermione led the headmaster into her parents' kitchen, where he made his way to the center island. From the folds of his cloak Dumbledore produced an impossibly large cauldron, followed by a large glass bottle—at least five liters! —filled with what looked like a potion, a small pumpkin (whole), a cutting from an ivy plant, a small knife, and stirring implements.

Lifting his wand and waving it in a complex pattern, the headmaster chanted a long, low string of words too quick for Hermione to follow. When this was done—it took nearly a minute—he turned to her and smiled. "An old yet useful warding spell, my dear. Neither the Ministry nor other interested parties will be able to track magic performed inside this house for the next day or so."

"Oh." After thinking for a moment, Hermione questioned, "is the ward itself traceable?"

"Only while it is active, with a faint residue for a short time afterwards." The headmaster beamed, pleased by the thought behind the question. "But it cannot be detected remotely, and it is highly unlikely that anyone would notice it who was not examining the wards quite closely. Nor would such a ward be entirely inexplicable if it were noticed here, at the residence of a sixteen-year-old witch known for being precocious. But in all likelihood it would go unnoticed amid the other wards, even if someone should look—you are aware that the Order has placed other wards on this house, yes? Nearly two years ago now, it would be." Seeing her surprise, he continued. "Naturally, we would not wish to leave you or your parents vulnerable. Of course the thing was done discreetly, so as not to alarm your family."

Hermione nodded, face blank, wondering just how many decisions and precautions had been undertaken on her behalf without her knowledge—and how many more she was implicitly accepting by following Harry into hiding. It was disquieting to realize how many vital questions she had failed to ask. Privately, she vowed to to better in future.

Seeing that Miss Granger had no further questions, Dumbledore turned his attention to the assortment of items he had placed on the counter island. After peering for a moment at the countertop (granite), he poured the potion into the cauldron and lit a gentle fire beneath it.

As accustomed as she was to the presence of magic after five years at Hogwarts, Hermione was struck by the incongruity of the headmaster standing in her parents' kitchen, in the very same spot where her father usually chopped fruits and vegetables and occasionally kneaded bread dough, wearing a flowing blue cloak and matching robes with silver stars and moons embroidered around the hems (a small corner of her brain acknowledged that these were among the more restrained of the headmaster's robes), merrily stirring a large cauldron that had not been visible a mere minute before.

After a few moments spent stirring and another moment to adjust the flames beneath the cauldron, Dumbledore looked up at her. "If you would be so kind as to retrieve the papers you have collected for the simulacrum, as well as a full change of clothing—something similar to what you're currently wearing, I think, and do be sure to bring underthings—for it to wear when we finish."

Murmuring her assent, Hermione turned and rushed up the stairs to her bedroom. Socks, underwear, and a spare bra were easy, of course, as was a spare pair of jeans, slightly lighter in color than the ones she was wearing. She initially made to grab a lime green t-shirt, but overcome with images of the headmaster deciding he needed robes to match, she prudently put it back in favor of a leopard print t-shirt that her mum had bought for her last summer. It was a bit louder than the plain grey t-shirt she was wearing (chosen because its disappearance from her wardrobe would go unremarked, unlike her dark indigo boot-cut jeans, which she had selfishly chosen to take because they were her her favorites), but certainly would not surprise her parents when they came home that evening. Placing the light blue cardigan she planned on wearing upon departure on top of her trunk so that she wouldn't forget it, she grabbed a black cardigan out of the closet to complete the simulacrum's outfit, grabbed the waiting pile of parchment off of her desk, and hurried back downstairs to Dumbledore.

Placing the pile of clothing on the kitchen table (very carefully ensuring that the bra and underwear were fully hidden by the t-shirt and cardigan stacked on top of them), Hermione brought her small pile parchment over to the Dumbledore.

"If you would take the rod from me and continue stirring—counterclockwise, at a pace of about two dozen stirs per minute—so that I can examine these…"

"Of course." Taking the stirring rod from the headmaster, Hermione began stirring, timing herself by the clock on the wall. The pumpkin and ivy had disappeared from the countertop, presumably into the potion, which now opaque and considerably thicker than the potion that had initially been poured into the cauldron—and the height of the liquid was steadily rising.

Several minutes later, she was startled to hear the headmaster's voice coming from immediately next to her. She had been so wrapped up in her stirring that she hadn't noticed him come up beside her and peer into the cauldron. "You may stop stirring, Miss Granger. We will let it simmer for a few moments now. That will do quite nicely."

She stepped back, setting the stirring rod on the counter beside the cauldron, absently noting that not a single drop of residue stuck to it. Turning, she faced him.

"These will do quite well," he said, gesturing to the parchment he still held. "I will do my best to see that the originals of the essays are delivered to your teachers at the appropriate moment. Professor McGonagall in particular, I believe, will very much want to read your effort for her class."

Hermione nodded, steadfastly ignoring the lump that formed in her throat at the thought of her Head of House and favorite professor believing her dead. You agreed to this, she sternly reminded herself.

The headmaster continued, seemingly satisfied with her non-verbal response. "While these essays and letters will help imbue the simulacrum with something of your mind and heart, the potion must also be imbued with your body. I will need to take a lock of your hair, and you yourself will need to add your own blood. Both must be freely and willingly given. Do you understand and accept that, Miss Granger?"

Ever a Gryffindor, Hermione raised her chin and responded, "Yes, Sir. I understand, and I give of my hair and my blood freely and willingly, without threat or compulsion."

"Very well," he responded gravely. Taking the knife from the countertop, the headmaster sliced a single curl from her head and dropped it into the cauldron. Handing the knife to her, he instructed "Cut once across your palm, just deeply enough to draw blood, and let the blood flow freely into the cauldron. I will pull your hand back and heal it once we have enough."

Nodding, she did as he said, watching the drops of blood fall into the cauldron below with a detachment that surprised her. Blood magic was strong magic, Hermione knew, and coercive blood magic was almost categorically dark magic. Voluntary blood magic was usually light magic, and included some of the most powerful healing spells and protective rituals known to wizard-kind. As blood magic went, preparing a simulacrum was relatively minor, she reminded herself. But it was the first time she had ever used blood magic herself (attracting Thestrals in the Forbidden Forest most emphatically did not count), and it was both sobering and thrilling to watch the bright red drops fall from her own hand into the simmering cauldron.

Lost in her reverie, Hermione was unsure of how long she stood allowing blood to flow from her hand into the cauldron: it could have been mere seconds, or it could have been several minutes. Gently, Dumbledore pulled her wrist away from the cauldron, and with a wave of his wand her hand was healed. He directed her to sit in a nearby chair and rest as he added her pile of parchments, one by one, stirring clockwise several times after adding each page.

He then stirred the potion counterclockwise precisely four times, banished the flames from under the cauldron, and moved the entire cauldron onto the floor—somehow without spilling any of the contents, despite the obvious weight. Curiously, he also conjured a large folding screen, about 2 meters tall and 1.5 meters wide, and placed it so that it did not quite block his view of the cauldron. Pointing his wand at the potion, the headmaster began to chant.

Slowly at first, the mass of substance rose up from out of the cauldron (Hermione was not sure that it precisely qualified as a liquid any longer), spinning all the while. As the headmaster continued chanting, it formed a column roughly as tall as she was—or rather, she supposed, as tall as she would be if she were to stand in a large cauldron. A formless cylinder at first, it took on a more human shape as it spun, light and shadows chasing each other and finally separating into pale skin and darker hair, an obscuring mist emanating from the body.

When the headmaster finally stopped chanting and lowered his wand, he stepped to the side, so that his view of the figure in the cauldron was fully obscured by the screen. This was much to Hermione's relief as the figure stopped spinning and she found herself staring at her own naked body, down to the large mole on the underside of her left breast. Even so, she felt her cheeks heating in mortification at the situation, and intensely grateful for Dumbledore's attention to propriety.

As the simulacrum stepped out of the cauldron (still hidden from the headmaster's view), Dumbledore sent the pile of clothes on the kitchen table sailing over to it, and her double quickly dressed herself. Hermione sighed in relief and he queried her: "Is she fully dressed?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent." With another wave of his wand he banished the screen, and then stowed the cauldron and other potions implements back in his robes. (Hermione still couldn't see how such a large cauldron could possibly fit, and made a mental note to research charms for expanding space.) Turning back to the simulacrum, he again brandished his wand and began chanting.

This time the words were slower and less peculiar—closer to standard Latin than before—and Hermione was able to understand enough to realize that he was giving it instructions, parameters for behavior. Stay away from magical—places?—put off any invitation to visit the Weasleys until later in the summer, decline any other invitations to visit magical households. All believable enough, and obviously aimed at keeping the simulacrum away from situations in which it might be discovered.

The chanting changed again, getting either further from standard Latin or using unfamiliar voices and declensions, she wasn't quite sure. This part was more commanding somehow, making the air feel heavy, and Hermione's exposed arms prickled in response.

This time the headmaster made no explanation after he finished, and Hermione found herself questioning whether she wanted one. Wordlessly, simulacrum Hermione stood up and walked out of the kitchen. Real Hermione watched her go, unnerved to see herself doing something so normal from such a strange perspective.

Dumbledore turned to face his student, smiling genially. "Are you ready to leave, Miss Granger? Where are your things?"

Hermione swallowed before responding. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be, sir. My things are upstairs, in my room."

"Then let us proceed there, if you don't mind. Unless there's anything you need from downstairs?"

#

Upon reaching her room, Hermione slipped on the blue cardigan and faced the headmaster. "Everything I need is in my trunk, sir."

"Excellent." He smiled yet again, pleased by her readiness. "Now, it would not do to have your entire school trunk disappear. I propose to copy it, complete with its contents. If anyone attempts to use them intensively, they will all wear down rather quickly, but the simulacrum will not touch them, and it seems unlikely that the things will see real use."

Hermione nodded, thinking that it must take immensely strong magic and mental organization to copy the contents of her entire trunk, but she supposed that if anyone had such skills it would be Dumbledore.

He continued, "There are just two details. First, if there is anything in your trunk that you do not wish to have copied and left behind, you had best remove them before I do the spell."

Hermione nodded, opening her trunk and removing both the small envelope of Muggle photos and her old diary. The former her parents would find too peculiar, and the latter she did not want them to read.

"Second, I'm afraid that magical books are warded against such reproduction, as part of their manufacture. For the sake of verisimilitude, I think it best that you leave your texts from this past year in the copied trunk." Seeing the stricken look on her face (Hermione hated to be parted from any book, most especially her schoolbooks) he hastened to reassure her. "Don't worry, I have replacements for you right here," he said, patting the vicinity of his robes where the giant cauldron was stored.

Reassured and slightly chagrin at her own panic over losing books that were so easily replaceable, Hermione nodded.

Pointing his wand at her trunk, the headmaster incanted, "Rem integrem gemino!" and a duplicate trunk appeared next to it, the only clear difference being that it was much less full without books.

Hermione knelt between the two trunks, restoring her photographs and aborted diary to the full one. She then began picking out her school books from the past year, starting with the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, and moving them into the duplicate trunk. After she moved each fifth-year text, Dumbledore handed her its replacement, allowing her to keep all of her books in their proper order.

But when it came to Slinkhard's Defensive Magical Theory, the headmaster did not hand her a replacement, instead murmuring, "Oh dear, I'm rather afraid I forgot that one," his eyes twinkling expressively.

A gurgle of laughter caught her unawares, and Hermione grinned up at him. "Not to worry, Sir. I shan't miss it in the least."

When the process of moving and replacing books was finished, Hermione closed both trunks, dragging the first one out into the middle of the room and stowing the duplicate in the original's place. Turning to her closet, she found a battered pair of trainers, recently replaced by her parents, and put them on. The new ones would have been more comfortable, but these would do well enough.

She proceeded to the bed, where Crookshanks lay ensconced on her pillow. Stroking him gently, she whispered, "I wish I could take you with me, Crooks. I promise you'll be well taken care of, but I'll miss you all the same."

Straightening, she turned once more to the headmaster. "How are we leaving, Sir?" The words cost her something to ask, standing in the middle of her childhood sanctuary, uncertain of when or if she would see it again. But it was better to move forward and keep momentum. If she paused it would only become harder to leave.

Once again he smiled. "Given the need for secrecy, Fawkes has volunteered his services. Are you ready to go?"

She nodded, tears filling her eyes as she struggled to keep her lips from trembling. "Better to go quickly, I think."

"If you would take my left arm with one hand, and hold onto your trunk with the other—" he instructed. She did so, and he raised his right arm. Fawkes appeared in a flash of feathers and song, and a moment later they disappeared in a flash of white light. On the bed, a fluffy orange half-kneazle yowled his displeasure.

# # #

When Harry awoke on Tuesday morning, it was to the tell-tale pop of his breakfast being delivered on a tray—a first in his experience at Hogwarts. Not knowing that Snape had stumbled to his own bed an hour after dawn, having finally delivered the last of the necessary potions to Dumbledore, and that Dumbledore himself was busily conversing with Fawkes over a quick breakfast in his office before going to Hermione's, Harry was rather surprised by this turn of events, though he quickly decided that it was infinitely preferable to breakfast with Snape.

Harry grew even more pleased when he realized that there was a folded piece of parchment tucked under his silverware. Opening it, he read:

Dear Harry,

Please join me in my office for lunch today at noon. My preparations on your behalf having been brought to a satisfactory completion, there is much to say and much to do. I look forward to seeing you then.

Most sincerely yours,

Albus Dumbledore

P.S. Please have your things packed before you come to lunch if at all possible, though there is no need to bring them with you.

Grinning, Harry set to his breakfast with a will, generously spreading marmalade over toast and relishing the smell of perfectly cooked sausages. Finally, something was going to happen!

#

Just before noon Harry approached the gargoyle outside the headmaster's office, chagrined to see Snape approaching from the other direction.

Snape didn't look happy to see him, but he didn't look the least bit surprised, either. When Harry stopped in front of the gargoyle, he barked, "Well, Potter? It's rude to keep the headmaster waiting." Without waiting for a response, he bit out the password (fainting fancies) and swept up the spiral staircase ahead of Harry.

Gulping, Harry followed.

When he walked into the headmaster's office a few steps behind Snape, Harry saw that the headmaster was sitting with a fine-boned woman with dark hair, pale skin, and freckles (though not quite as many as a Weasley), bent close as if in deep conversation.

Looking up, the headmaster greeted them. "Severus, Harry! Welcome, my boys, welcome. Severus, if you could show Harry to the dining room, Maureen and I will join you in just a moment. Everyone else is here."

Nodding curtly, Snape turned back to Harry. "Come, Potter."

Harry followed him across the room, his spirits suddenly dismal. Of course it had to be Snape who was involved, out of all the possible teachers and Order members.

"In." Snape had led him to a door that Harry had never noticed (Dumbledore's office contained so many fascinating things that a mere door had never garnered so much as a second glance from him). Inside, Harry found himself in a hallway, with a stairway upwards to his left, two doors on the wall opposite, and another door facing the stairs at the end of the hallway to the right.

Harry had no time to be curious, however, as Snape has already crossed to the nearest door and was pulling it open. "In," he ordered again, all but propelling Harry through the doorway.

Inside, a dining table was set for six. Two people were already there, and they both turned to smile at him. Harry rushed forward to crush the curly-haired figure into a tight hug, as ecstatic as he had been despondent merely moments before.

"Tonks! Hermione! It's so good to see you."

"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks grinned back, her hair turning turquoise as she spoke.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked around Hermione's hair, still clutching the friend he had not expected to see so soon.

"Dumbledore needed someone, and he reckons I'm less likely to be suspected than most of the other choices. Besides, happens my metamorphmagus abilities may come in handy."

Harry nodded, finally releasing Hermione. "And you! How are you here? I didn't think I'd get to see you for months, at the least."

Hermione smiled back, though it struck Harry that she looked somewhat strained. As did Tonks, when he looked beyond the bright hair and big smile, Harry realized with surprise. Suddenly nervous, he added, "Are you okay? Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine," she reassured him. "I— I'm coming with you."

"You're what?"

"I'm coming with you. I told the headmaster it wasn't right to send you into hiding alone, and he agreed that I could come with you. So here I am."

Eyes burning, Harry hugged her fiercely, wondering simultaneously how Hermione had managed to convince Dumbledore to include her, and what he had done to deserve such a friend.

Behind them, Severus Snape rolled his eyes at such a maudlin display, and Tonks glared back at him.