Disclaimer: See Prologue

A/N: As I have said, if I could I'd write this in one huge block. However: Here we have the first chapter of Phoenix Rising, and it's actually from dear Hermione's point of view. Read on and enjoy. And don't forget to review…please…

***

CHAPTER ONE:

The Daily Prophet

Someone crashed down the stairs of the Burrow. The noise woke Hermione, who first thought it was a thunderstorm, then another batch of Wizard Wheezes exploding before they left the cauldron, and finally figuring out it was really just one of the Weasley brothers banging down the steps, intentionally making as much noise as possible.

"Hermione!" that someone whispered sharply right against her door. "Hermione, it's Harry, he's got one of those dreams again…"

This simple statement galvanized Hermione into jumping right out of bed (giving herself a massive case of head rush in the process, but that didn't matter), throwing on the nearest dressing gown to hand, and scurrying out the door of the guest room right next to Ginny's room. "Ron—that's you, isn't it? Is he awake?"

Ron shook his head, looking rather bewildered and dead-tired. "No—it's one of the ones where he's talking in his sleep—he yelled once and that's what woke me up—"

"Was it words?" Hermione demanded keenly. Harry's dreams had become more and more frequent now, less than two weeks before Hogwarts.

"Nah—wait—it might've been—I'm not sure—let me think."

Impatient, she waited while Ron thought.

"Yeah."

Silent seconds passed after his monosyllabic answer. Hermione groaned and asked, entirely too gently, "What did he say, then?"

It was too early for Ron to realize that he was treading on rather thin ground at the risk of Hermione losing her temper. "Erm…I dunno…"

"This is hopeless!" she said hotly, stamping her foot and glaring up at him. "Come on, Ron, think, this is important…"

"Yeah, well so's sleep and I didn't get more'n a few hours," he spat, narrowing his eyes. "He said 'wake up, it's Him', and that's when I gave up on sleeping and actually having a relatively conscious day at Diagon Alley. Happy now?"

Hermione sighed. "Yes, I suppose…hmm…did he say anything else?"

Losing his patience entirely at the early-morning interrogation, Ron exploded. "I have no idea, I'd just woke up, d'you want me to set out a tape recorder so I catch absolutely everything? Girls!" With that highly original parting comment, he turned and thundered back up the stairs.

"Boys!" she whispered irritatedly at his back, pivoted, and went straight back into her room.

The day had dawned while she had been getting information out of Ron, and the room was bright and sunny. She'd been in it for two weeks now, after her parents had left for the dentists' convention in Dublin—after a nice bit of harrying, Hermione had gotten out of the week-long tie-up and been invited to the Burrow by Ginny, who seemed to have a knack for knowing just when to rescue someone out of an impossible situation.

Harry, too, had been rescued from the Dursleys a week after herself, from an absolutely awful summer. It seemed that Dudley had picked up a few friends who were even larger than Harry's cousin—which really said something—and even duller—which really, really said something—who liked to hang around and join Dudley in Harry Hunting. His aunt and uncle turned a blind eye—they'd taken to completely ignoring him—and Harry'd spent several weeks locked in his room of his own choice, with his homework and Hedwig. After that, finally, Ron invited him to the Burrow.

Then the dreams had started. Harry never remembered them—unless they were particularly odd enough so he'd wake up before they finished—but most of the time he'd end up talking in his sleep. They all had to do with the Dark Lord.

Hermione took an interest in them—seeing if they got any worse at times, or stronger before an attack (the Daily Prophet told of the small skirmishes and mini-raids as if half the world died each time He made an appearance) or if they had any other connections with the real world. After the first four days, she'd concluded they did.

She turned to her mirror now, at maybe six in the morning on August eighteenth. Just now she realized her nerves were tingling like they'd been doing more and more frequently around Ron—

"I don't have time for this!" Hermione muttered sharply to no one. "Absolute nonsense—I don't like Ron, he's one of the singularly most annoying human males on Earth—"

The mirror said sleepily, "Keep telling yourself that, dearie…"

"You shut up," she ordered her reflection (which promptly started sulking), marched back to her bed, and started to read Nightmarish Warnings: When Your Dreams Get Real.

***

"Hermione?" someone whispered—a girl's voice, two hours later—at her door. "It's Ginny—are you awake? Can I come in?"

"Yes, all right," Hermione answered, shutting the book in the middle of Chapter Three: Methods of Study.

Quietly, Ginny opened the door and hurried in, fully-dressed, sliding a little in her socks. "What are you reading?" she asked. "By the way, good morning…"

"You too," Hermione replied, and handed her the book. Pretending to stagger under the weight of it, Ginny examined the cover, read the back, and pored over the inside of the cover.

"Is this about Harry?" asked Ginny, after a few silent moments had passed. "He's still getting those dreams, isn't he."

Hermione nodded. "Right—I wanted to find out whether they were actually warnings or if they're just nightmares of the common type—"

"Lord knows he's got enough fodder for them," Ginny muttered. "But—erm—the Prophet came half an hour ago. I've got it in my room."

"Really? Did something happen?" Hermione demanded.

Ginny nodded, eyes rather wider than normal. "I'll get it." As quickly and quietly as she'd come, she scurried out and came back about thirty seconds later, holding the paper. She tossed it to Hermione, who caught it awkwardly and stared at the front page.

The headline read, in two-inch-high letters (blinking alternately gold and black, which attracted even more attention):

MINISTRY CLERK DISAPPEARED FROM HOME—

SPELL TRACES DISCOVERED BY INVESTIGATORS

INVERNESS—Early this morning, Isabelle Yvonne Stone, 22, a clerk for the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, disappeared from her cottage in the wizarding neighborhood in Inverness.

"I didn't see anythin', didn't hear anythin', but the dogs were goin' right crazy and that's what woke me up," said a neighbor, who wished his name to remain undisclosed. "The dogs ain't never been wrong about smellin'—somethin' fishy's happened, no doubts 'bout that."

A team of Ministry Magic Investigators returned from their examination of the scene with grim reports. Says Mary-Margaret Merrin, long-time expert, "We came up with traces of strong magic—we're talking serious genius stuff here, power like you've only dreamed of. Furthermore, and a bit nastily, the traces haven't mapped to any of the spells they'd usually map—it's stealth, invisibility and so on—which means probably invented on the spot. And we all know that's impossibly hard and quite nastily illegal."

"So," added Janus Jenkins, who was nearby, "that means we're working with a real expert here—let's see, brilliant, ingenious, quick-thinking, and criminal."

The last spell used was identified as an Apparation to Little Hangleton, a small village in southern England. This location seems apparently random, as no crime gangs have been related to it or anything else even slightly suspicious.

"It's got the Riddle House though, and four Muggles died in there all of a sudden," said Dottie Retswinkler, a venerable witch from the same village (now residing in Kent). "Fifty years back the three Riddles died, and last summer the caretaker kicked the bucket, and no one could tell why."

After Retswinkler described the autopsy reports to Ministry experts, William "Pinky" Fidget, one of the spell-identifying experts, said, "It certainly seems that [the four Muggles] died through Avada Kedavra…which is confusing at best, because that means a wizard did it, and who'd be bothered with a handful of old Muggles?"

As any other evidence still lacks confirmation or investigation, there's nothing else to add to this case. The Daily Prophet will continue reporting.

"What d'you think?" Ginny asked.

Hermione thought for a long time before she spoke. "I'm not certain. Is Harry awake?"

The younger girl shrugged. "No telling. Ron's still dead to the world, so probably not."

"All right. I'll talk to him when he gets up." Hermione looked once more at the newspaper article, bit her lip, and shook her head. "It's important, though. Thanks, Ginny."

She nodded. "Sure. I better take this back to the kitchen—Dad will be wondering—" Ginny picked up the paper and left, crashing down the three sets of stairs to the first level.

Maybe it's hereditary, Hermione thought, and opened up the book again.

Barely a minute later, more thundering down stairs. She sighed and set down the book as Ron almost shouted, still running, "Breakfast! Come on!"

"In a minute!" she returned irritatedly, and started finding socks.

About five minutes later, she ran down the stairs, making about as much noise as both Ginny and Ron. Well—

"Fred, stop stomping around like an elephant and—" Mrs. Weasley screamed from the kitchen, and started rather when she saw who it was. "Oh, Hermione—I'm sorry, dear—"

"It's all right," Hermione said, a bit embarrassed, and slid into her seat next to Ginny a little quicker than normal, face burning.

Ron and Ginny grinned slightly maliciously. "Yeah, Fred…" Ron muttered.

"Oh, shut up," Hermione hissed. "Where is everyone?"

Ginny answered, "Fred and George are both out for the count and so is Harry. Percy's at work, and so is Dad, and Bill's in Egypt and Charlie's in Romania—I think that's everyone."

"You forgot us."

"Right," she said, taking Ron's slightly teasing comment in stride. "And we're here, and Mum's cooking breakfast. That's everyone."

Quite suddenly, Percy appeared in the kitchen.

"All right, never mind—" Ginny started, but stopped when she saw her older brother's face. Percy looked rather confused—miserable, like someone had died, but also proud, like he'd just caught the murderer.

"Percy!" Mrs. Weasley said shrilly as Ron and Hermione twisted in their chairs to have a look. "What are you doing home? I thought you were at work—oh, dear, what's wrong?"

Getting quickly to the point, Percy said shortly, "Minister gave all clerks and secretaries the morning off because Isabelle Stone's missing. Dad will be home soon." He paused, staring at his feet, and then added, "I've been promoted until she's found."

"Really?" said Ginny in a rather awed tone. Hermione thought briefly that it really wouldn't be that flattering to have your little sister amazed that you've gotten a promotion… "Where are you now?"

"Clerk to the Minister," Percy answered, unable to keep a little of the smug pride out of his tone. "Mr. Yeardley told him I was excellent on shorthand and reliable with everything. I'll be getting fifty Sickles an hour, starting at noon today."

"Excellent!" said Ginny.

"Yeah, congratulations, Perce," Ron said.

"That's really good," Hermione added.

Two more sets of thundering footsteps, and a second later Fred and George careened into the kitchen and skidded to exaggerated stops. "Percy!"

"What are you doing here?"

"Skiving off work?"

"Been—" Fred glanced at George, George glanced at Fred, and they both gasped. "Fired?"

"No," said Percy coldly. "You haven't seen the Prophet yet, I presume."

George asked, "Why? Did something bad happen?"
Fred pretended to half-faint. "Zonko's is closing!"

Ginny sighed and threw the paper at them. "Shut up, the both of you, and take a look at the front page."

Fred caught the paper easily and unfolded it, saying as he did, "Ah, no, Zonko's really did—" Then George hit him across the stomach and they both started reading.

"Bloody—"

"That's really— so what, did they close the Ministry?" George asked.

Percy nodded. "I'll go back after lunch."

"He's been promoted to a clerk for the Minister!" Mrs. Weasley cried, seemingly in a flurry of joy for her third-eldest.

"Brilliant, Percy," Fred said, looking up quickly from the article and going back to it almost immediately.

"Yeah, really good," added George absently, not even glancing up.

Mrs. Weasley waited a beat—maybe her dear sons would show a little more enthusiasm for their brother—and then said brightly, "Well, Percy, I suppose you can eat another breakfast! We'll be going off to Diagon Alley right after lunch, so until then you're free to stay here."

"Yes, thanks, Mum…"

Mr. Weasley appeared suddenly, looking haggard.

"Hi, Dad," Fred and George said simultaneously, still reading the article. Fred finished it first and went on, "Nasty business about Stone. Got any news about her?"
"Yeah," said George, tossing the paper neatly back to the table. "Did either of you work with her?"

"No news," Mr. Weasley said to Fred. "And no. I've got to go back soon—just dropped in for a minute—wanted to say that Investigation did more analysis on the magic-traces and found they're from a thirteen-and-a-half-inch yew wand with a phoenix feather."

Harry showed up in the doorway just then, and blanched.

"Oh, good morning, Harry dear!" Mrs. Weasley almost sang. "But Arthur, what's the wand type have to do with anything?"
Slowly, and looking rather warily at Mr. Weasley, Harry asked, "Sir, could you repeat that?"

"Thirteen-and-a-half-inch, yew, phoenix feather. Why?" Not waiting for an answer, Mr. Weasley turned to his wife. "And Molly, now that they know the wand type they can go to the wand experts, who keep records of these things—Ollivander especially. Cross-reference them, narrow down the suspects…now, I've got to go back to work."

He disappeared with a slight popping noise as Harry edged to his seat across from Hermione, looking absolutely petrified.

"What happened?" he mouthed at Ron, who handed him the paper and glanced at him worriedly.

Harry looked at the headline alone and then hurled the paper across the table. Hermione just managed to catch it and looked at him carefully. "What was so important about the wand, Harry?" she asked in an undertone as Mrs. Weasley started setting down plates.

He shook his head. "Later."

Percy took a seat at the foot of the table. An awkward silence descended—for some reason—and no one spoke for several minutes.

"Ginny," Harry said suddenly, "give me the paper again."

She started, eyes widening and ears—Weasley ears—going very slightly pink. Then, nonchalantly, she slid the paper across the smooth surface of the table and smiled a little when he caught it. Hermione grinned at her hands, carefully not looking up.

Silence again.

"She worked with me, you know," said Percy, apparently at random. "Nicer girl you couldn't find."

"Penelope wouldn't like to hear you say that…" said Ron, grinning a little.

Percy went red up to his eyebrows, and was just saved by Mrs. Weasley coming in with waffles and sausage.

***

After fifteen minutes of forks chinking against ceramic, Ron pushed his chair back, scraping against the floor loudly. Harry followed suit almost immediately. Hermione stood a little more quietly, and they left the kitchen, marching out in silence.

As soon as they hit the stairs, all three started running, all the way up seven flights and through the door at the top into Ron's room. They stood around a bit, catching their breaths, and then Hermione demanded, "What's so important about the wand, Harry?"

Harry, dropping to sit on his camp bed, said shortly, "It's Voldemort's wand, that's what."

Ron's jaw dropped, and Hermione stared. In a very, very small voice, she asked, "H—how d'you know?"
"Mr. Ollivander told me—when I got my wand—said that he remembered every wand he'd ever sold."

"He did that with me, too," Ron said.

"And me."

Angrily, Harry said, "I wasn't finished! He told me about the wand and the phoenix feather in it, and he said the wand's brother gave me—" Rather than finishing his sentence, he gestured at his forehead. "Said 'Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious how these things happen…' and then more stuff about how odd it was."

"Thirteen-and-a-half inches, yew, phoenix feather," Hermione recited, thinking hard. "So he kidnapped Isabelle Stone…but what would he want with her?"

"Remember, she was a clerk for the Minister?" said Harry.

Ron asked, "What'd you do, memorize the article?"

Harry just glared, and Ron backed off.

"So he kidnapped Stone for information," said Hermione, ignoring both of them. Ron could get in his sarcasm another time, but this was serious. "And he'll know all the Ministry's plans."

Rubbing his face tiredly, Harry said, "I'll have to tell your dad when he gets back—he has to know, and then he'll tell Fudge—"

"—who will of course believe all of it, as he thinks you're a gibbering madman," Ron muttered. "You still got Skeeter in her jar, Hermione?"
Hermione stared up at the ceiling—where several new Cannons posters waved at her—and thought, mentally going through the contents of her bureau. "Yes…she's around somewhere."

Harry, who'd gone stony immediately after Ron's not-so-innocent statement, straightened suddenly and wiped the Neanderthal-esque look off his face. "What d'you say we let her go in the garden and get a gnome to eat her?"

"Yeah, they like beetles…" said Ron thoughtfully. "Excellent idea, Harry, really…"

Even while she knew they were just kidding, Hermione rearranged her face into a horrified expression and left. As soon as she was in her room, she found the jar and stared in at the beetle.

It glared back at her and wiggled its antennae threateningly. Really, it was hard to guess that this slightly overlarge insect had managed to mess up their fourth year so badly.

"Maybe I will feed you to a gnome," she said to Rita Skeeter, special correspondent, and rather enjoyed it when the beetle started backing away and fell off the twig. When it got stuck on its back, though, Hermione twitched the jar just enough so it tipped right-way-up again. Rita twitched her antennae irritatedly and then scuttled under her leaf.

Hermione looked at the jar for another three minutes, then slid it back in her top drawer and went out to help Ginny wash the dishes.

***

A/N: Oh, I like this one! Hope you did too…please tell me in a review, hint-hint…er, yeah…

~Flamewing