"So why didn't he ask me to come?" Ron asked, somewhat put off. He was holding Hermione's hand in his own, standing at a practical distance from where the class was gathered learning about Hagrid's newest creature. Class was about to end in five minutes, and the fifth year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were next. Luna Lovegood stood next to them, listening, early for her class.

"Because he thinks only I and Neville need to go because the Prophecy doesn't say anything about you," Hermione explained with the air of a kindergarten teacher. Ron looked miffed, and about to say something significant, but restrained himself.

"So when'll you be back then?"

"In two weeks," Hermione said satisfied, "Harry says to take care of the team while he's away, don't tell Ginny, she'll worry, make sure you practice weekdays atleast if you can't manage saturdays, and to feed Hedwig because he's going to stay at Hogwarts."

She kissed him goodbye firmly on the lips and turned, her brown hair brushing his face behind her.

"Bye, Herms," he said a bit sadly. Luna looked at him with pity.

"Tell Harry I said bye," she told Hermione. Hermione nodded, hugging her reluctantly.

***

Molly pored over a heavy tome miles away at Twelve, Grimmauld Place, holding her breath to keep from making any noise to offend her somewhat less that congenial hosts (more so now that Sirius was gone) or waking her husband lying next to her.

Oer the ages, wizarding culture has been dependent on the intermittent prophecy to determine critical pronouncements ranging from Tuesday's brunch and Friday's tea party to intervening in Muggle Wars. Indeed, the famed Hundred Years' War was terminated by an internal conspiracy of magical-muggle usurpers allying themselves with neighbouring countries. In the same way, the "World War", as characterized by the non-magic politicians of the age, was a result of an accidental blunder by the renowned Jewish alchemist, who unwittingly split the atom with muggle Marie Curie to bear witness. Articles still appear as recent as 1980 (Vol. MC, Issue 54, pgs. 5, 1008-1011) in the acclaimed Transfiguration Today hypothesizing on what exact enchantment was used to obliviate the woman's memory to adequately reaffirm the extent of accuracy of the muggle Laws of Parity observed as well by wizard alchemists and transfigurers alike, though we, by certain ability, do so a little deeper than they can...

She stifled a yawn, trying to keep her drowsing eyes open so that they burned and watered. She blinked frustratedly. Molly had wondered, speculated, and marvelled at Dumbledore's perplexing reasoning. If only he would explain things she wouldn't have to waste so much time finding out on her own. He really knew it was inevitable that she would find out why Hermione had to be initiated into the Order. He knew that when Molly Weasley wanted something done her way and not only didn't get it, she atleast had to know why to be moderately appeased, lest he have to face another Dark Lord. Well--Lady, really.

She stiffened to attention when she noticed a chapter entitled "The Requirements of An Identifiable & Catalougueable Prophecy"

" A Prophecy, by definition, implies a certain course of action needing to take place to bridge a noticeable gap in the logical course of events to ascertain the validity of the Laws of Parity as aforementioned, and faithfully explicated in Chapter 1. Usually, it involves a legendary battle between Good and Evil, compliant with and delineated by the moral values and ethical minutiae of the time period. It is by no other condition but popular support or other such trivialities that the parties are designated as effectively "Good" or "Evil", and the triumph of either over its corresponding does not signify a creation or destruction of parity. It is merely an accident which is orchestrated willingly, and only on the occasion that it does not take place as per direction of a certified, and recognizable seer or prophesier, does the violation of Parity take place.

On this occasion, the entire foundation of magic and muggle life, it is commonly assumed, will collapse from within. The convergence of dark and light matter, parity and non-parity, energy and the absence of energy will ensue, and the fragile balance upon which the entire universe exists will disappear, leaving only Nothing, Non-Existence in its wake as had been before the splitting of dark and light courses of being--that diversion being the whole foundation of our seemingly perpetual system. Summarily, which party wins does not signify much but that one of the two does win. Hopefully one that effects a course in which as few of these inconsistencies take place as possible..."

It went on. Molly became more and more irked, finally slamming the book on the desk in frustration. She hit her forehead, immediately recognizing her mistake. Arthur stirred in his sleep, muttering something incoherent, but went immediately back to a deep, imperturbable slumber once more, and Molly thankfully turned back to her perusal. Fortunately, the book had landed on a relevant page. She began reading eagerly.

"...it requires, on top of a culmination of the two contradictory forces which have caused, and must now rectify the elementary discordance, the two designated guides, the respective seer, or any sufficient, a rejected lead-bridger of the parity in contravention, and atleast three other elementary persons to play a critical role in the acceptable carrying-out of the Prophecy. These three are determined by the first seer of the vision of the violation in question, who need not necessarily be he or she who is present at the Final Confrontation of the offending forces. Of the eight cardinal participants (excluding the Seer[s] present), two serve a solely sacrificial purpose, predictably, one sacrifice to each side."

It was exactly as she had feared. Sacrificial. It had a very ominous ring to it. She hastily designated in her mind each task to the actual person. Harry and You-Know-Who were the two forces, Dumbledore and Peter Pettigrew, guides, Sibyll was the Seer, Neville Longbottom and Hagrid were the Rejected, and Lily, James, and Hermione were the three others. Aberforth had been the first seer of the vision, and Trelawney had repeated his predestination accurately. Lily and James were the Impetus, and Hermione...she was obviously the last remaining. She was the Sacrifice. Molly felt the tears welling up, and she banished the book (The Logicality and Plausibility of Prophecies by Embridge Solace) angrily out the window somewhere far away to land possibly on some unsuspecting muggle head. That poor girl, to die, for no fault of her own. She should just trust Dumbledore, and not ask any questions anymore. Molly closed her eyes telling herself what she regularly told her children--It would all get better in the morning--but it did not. It did not get better at all.

***

It took nearly a day and a half for Harry, Hermione, and Neville to reach the Headquarters by Knight Bus. They had all ridden it before, apparently, and the almost reverent driver and assistant were ever more so to Harry. He was sick of it, as usual, but being in a spotlight for so long--and sometimes not a very flattering one--had taught him how to put it to the back of his mind. Neville, on the other hand, was surprisingly taking advantage of all the attention that the Potter-worshippers (for that's what they genuinely were) were giving him to be found in his company. Ernie and the Driver had already met Hermione, and knew her to be a friend of Alastor Moody and so did not approach her, being greatly disturbed by the scary Auror's snappish manner with them.

This gave Harry and Hermione quite a bit of time to talk to each other, but that was not well received by either of them. They sat quietly next to each other, Hermione looking out of the window at the things flying by, and Harry, staring straight ahead, lost in thought.

There were a few unrecognizable passengers that they picked up on the way, but they said nothing to the three, being mostly old or indifferent and involved in their own affairs.

"I'm sorry," Harry volunteered to Hermione slightly after midnight that night; she was then leaning on him, seemingly asleep, but snapped to attention, though, as soon as he'd said it.

"It's okay, Harry, it isn't you," she said really quickly, as if to hold on to his fleeting attention.

"Look," he silenced her firmly, "It is my fault okay, you needn't lie. I don't know what I was thinking and I don't at all intend to--I mean to say, I don't want to mess things up with you and Ron, what with things going so perfectly and all. It's disgusting, really, you'd think you were Molly and Arthur the way you're constantly at each other's throat and then kiss and make-up." Harry pasted a wide smile on his face, hopefully convincing, while secretly plotting to kill Ron. Hermione's face, surprisingly, fell.

"Harry, I'd just like to know what you were thinking, that's all," she queried tentatively, raising her eyes to meet his embarrassed gaze.

"I don't know," he answered, knowing that he wasn't completely honest, "You're the only constant thing in my life, besides Ron, but I can't kiss him, now, can I?" he joked, and positively glowed when she laughed back. The tinkling sound filled him with sick, sappy, glee, but he found he cared very little.

"What are you trying to say, eh?" she said, one eyebrow raised challengingly.

"Nothing, Hermione," he said, settling a friendly arm around her and feeling slightly drowsy himself.

He heard a blood-curdling scream somewhere in the distance, and a persistent ache on his forehead. It was dull and throbbing, and his vision blurred with the pain. To his horror, he looked down to see that he was walking on the pallid faces of dead men and women. There was a sickening crack as he stepped on the neck of a little blond boy, whose physical build was no more than that of a five year old. He felt nauseous, but held it back, clutching his stomach and continuing to walk, but treading softer. It wasn't that hard, as he'd done it many times in similar (though not exactly the same) circumstance.

The woman stopped screaming, and just as soon, there was a hungry wailing, slightly quieter. A man yelled, and then there was a flash of green on the horizon. Harry stopped altogether, feeling a slight lurch in the bottom of his stomach. But as he were propelled by something other than sympathy, something crucial to him and only him, he began walking again. He persisted until he met a stream in the way. A stream which he had seen somewhere, but couldn't recognize it as that from his previous dreams, as the Sleeping Draught had formerly archived the information. The stream was red, flowing quickly and carrying remnants of flesh and sinew. He saw the stones on the bottom, occasionally checkered with an eyeball or a fragment of bone. He felt even more sick, if it were at all humanly possible, and willed himself awake.

When he opened his tear-crusted eyes, he saw Hermione's anxious face hovering over him.

"Don't worry," Harry said, mustering a slight grin. It (unfortunately) was not remotely close to the more gruesome of his dreams, and had in fact been one of the better ones. "I ran out of that Sleeping Potion. I'm sure Pomfrey'll owl it to me tomorrow," he explained, preparing for the lecture that Hermione was obviously going to give him on his irresponsibility. One which never came.

"How could you not tell us you were still taking a Sleeping Potion...and for so long?" she asked incredulously.

"Well--" he began, abruptly being cut off.

"Do you know what taking that stuff regularly can do to someone?" she asked. He shook his head, honestly bewildered.

"It's lethal, Harry! The aged herbs in that potion repress the desires in you mind, and with no warning at all, all of them can unleash on your conscious doings! A person can be going through all their bad nightmares as if they were reality, and consciously happening! And for you--that's really dangerous!"

"Dumbledore recommended it, Hermione, and Pomfrey gave me the instructions herself, I doubt it could really do that," he said.

To his great surprise, Hermione smacked him upside the head.

"Harry! Think about it!" she yelled impatiently, "Their both willing to risk this because they think you're strong enough in Occlumency to be able to fight it all off if it ever happens!" Harry thought about it, by her will, trying to disregard her attack to his pride; if he really had gotten any better in controlling his mind to take on all of Voldemort's bad memories and future torture plans. Obviously, he decided not. Yes, he had gotten better, but it seemed to him that his dreams--next to dementors--had mounted to be his biggest fear in these days.

"Neither of them have seen you talking in your sleep, or screaming in agony," she said emotionally, "how in the world would they know anyway if you could fight it off or not!" And Harry suddenly felt as angry as she sounded. "Now I'm not saying your not a good Legilimens, but you are in pain, and I frankly think they're idiots for putting you in it, for however brief a time!" Hermione finished, raging.

"But what else could they do, Hermione? I was already experiencing my dreams consciously, and it had gotten so bad that it interfered with my Occlumency studies. They were just trying to put it off until I could fight it," he reasoned.

"I suppose so." But she didn't sound it.

For the remainder of the trip, Hermione made her best effort to stay awake with Harry, catching up on all the details about classes and all his late light meanderings that she had missed in their awkward phase. Harry also felt much better, and talked to her like they were first years again, attributing all his former hesitancy as a side-effect of the Potion.

Alastor Moody greeted them when they'd reached Grimmauld Place, jumping out of a dark corner and nearly scaring all three out of their wits. He gave Neville a piece of paper and commanded him to memorize quickly, and both Harry and Hermione watched the familiar routine. At first, Neville was shivering, too petrified to even move and stared dumbly at an annoyed Moody, but at some encouragement from Hermione, he looked hesitantly down at the paper. He thought about the place and Number Twelve squeezed through in a manner that, seemed to Harry, was never unsurprising no matter how many times he saw it. Moody went up to the knocker and tapped with his wand.

A haggard looking face appeared when the door clacked and tittered open a minute later, and it filled with a large smile when Harry came into sight. Molly gave him a long, tender hug, with his arms also helplessly tight about her now frail form. Though they were not physically related, Harry felt that he was in the arms of a loving mother, who albeit not Lily, was the nearest thing he would have wished for. He returned her kiss on his forehead, and extricated himself from her as she moved to hug Hermione, and then a little later, even Neville.

"Ah, Longbottom, is it?" she said, "I knew yer parents when they were your age. Frank was in nearly all his classes with Charlie, and they were almost inseperable in those days, if I recall correctly." Molly started leading them further into the eerie house.

"Really?" Neville asked in blatant disbelief, his eyes glimmering suspiciously in the dim light.

"Mm-hmm," she said, "Now all of you, quiet for a bit until we get to the kitchens, eh? Need to fatten you up, dunno what Dumbledore's been feeding you up there," she said a little jokingly. They did not talk until they reached the kitchens, where a few members of the Orders were bustling around, fixing themselves a lunch.

"The meeting ran late yesterday, so a lot of us had to sleep over," she explained, "What to drink?" she inquired, sticking a sandwich under each of their noses. Without waiting for an answer, she summoned three matching glasses of water. "Never mind," she told them, "Kids are never hydrated enough these days." All this time, she was staring particularly at Hermione, who was looking slight uncomfortable under the unexpected scrutiny. Neville hungrily devoured sandwich, having had nothing but Ernie's bad Cooking for the past four meals. His cooking charms were unsurprisingly renowned more for their defensive properties than any distinctive taste.

"Neville!" boomed a cheery voice suddenly, and Neville jumped a foot in the air. Arthur came over to Neville and took his hand in a crushing grip with both of his, then hugged both Harry and Hermione absently. "I knew your mother, great woman she was, and Frank and Charlie were really good friends at Hogwarts too," he said, repeating Molly's observation, "Come on, I'll introduce you! He'll be home shortly."

When the two had exited, Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance, nearly as surprised as the one on Neville's flustered face.

"Now tell me, you two, how're my rowdy children doing up there in that school of yours? I know you're making sure Ron behaves, Hermione, but I'm not quite sure I'm too pleased with Harry letting Ginny run amok however she pleases." Molly gave a suggestive grin and Harry crinkled his nose at the almost incestuous note in the accusation. Hermione began on her endless complaining to Molly of all the petty grievances she had of Ron's behaviour, and quickly their talk turned somewhat girly. Harry finished his sandwich and rushed out, not particularly interested, and went in search of any of the members that he knew.

"Why hello Harry," said the sandy-haired fellow, who had been curled up on a corner of the house elf room (as it was called).

"Hi," said Harry, "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you. Last night being a full moon and all." Remus frowned sullenly.

"Don't remind me." There were still traces of gold in his eyes, and gruesome teeth marks right above his left wrist. Harry smiled consolingly.

"Sorry," he said again. He stuck out a hand to help him up and then Remus enveloped him in a fatherly embrace in greeting.

"How're you holding up?" he asked, eying Harry plaintively. Harry knew he was referring to Sirius, who had been even closer to him than himself.

"Better. You?"

"Not too good. Some of his old school friends--Slytherins came up to me at Diagon Alley and expressed their condolences yesterday," he met Harry's gaze unsmilingly, "I almost killed them. Unfortunately, I was with Arthur at the time, so the poor blokes didn't quite get the recognition they deserved." Lupin gave an almost mischievous smile that proved to Harry how much of a Marauder Lupin really was, and how much of it he had regretted to see.

"Speaking of Slytherins, Malfoy and his gang are really strange these days."

"How so?" Lupin inquired, yawning as they stumbled down the halls aimlessly.

"Well, they stay out of my way mostly, and...well, that's all. It's quite out of character, to say the least."

"I dunno what it is, but I'll bet you its some interference from Lucius, and he doesn't exactly give all of his own orders."

"Suppose you're right."

"Filth, Scum, Unworthy freaks, get out of my house..." they heard in the distance.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry..." Harry recognized Neville's faint voice.

"Seems Longbottom's discovered Mrs. Black," Lupin said, grinning ruefully. "Where's Hermione?" he turned to Harry.

"She and Mrs. Weasley are talking," Harry suddenly remembered something, "Remus, do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Maybe..." he said tentatively, "What is it?"

"Why are we here?" Lupin gave him a guarded look.

"It's Dumbledore's intention to initiate the three of you into the Order. Personally, I'm against it still, but he's somehow got even Molly convinced, so I have no choice but to go along with it."

"But I though Underage Wizards weren't permitted..."

"Well," he said perplexedly, "You three would be the first."

"And what about the Statute of Secrecy?"

"Dumbledore's taken care of that for now. Or will in a few weeks. But for now, you'll just be learning Apparation and 'Elementary Wand Safety', which Moody takes very seriously and draws out as much as he can, so you'll have no worries in that department."

"Err...why did Hermione have to come along?"

"All went with that Prophecy nonsense. I was never much of a Divination person myself. I took the class at Hogwarts, and got so tired of Trelawney's predicting "Dark Times Ahead" for me that I could've just strangled her. "Oh," Lupin said, "How's it going with dear Snivellus? Is he harrassing you any?"

Harry was unsure of the answer to that question. Was he being harrassed exactly?

"Well--maybe," he began. Lupin raised his eyebrows, cocking his head slightly, "I guess we reached sort of an understanding after the Pensieve incident, but he's still being as nasty as ever, yeah," he explained.

"That's good then." Lupin nodded. They walked unknowingly into the room where Molly and Hermione were still talking.

"Hello," Hermione said, looking up at Remus. Molly took in his appearance.

"You're looking hungry, Lupin," she commented, "Care for some lunch?"

"Of course!" Remus agreed, his face taking on a childish expression that was oddly out of place on his serious face.

Remus and Molly began conversing about improvements with the Goblin Alliance and Harry and Hermione retreated upstairs to her bedroom to talk--or more like exchange the findings of their investigation.

When Harry had told her what he'd known, Hermione said, "I tried to ask Molly why I was here, but she just got all weird and sentimental. You'd think I was going to die or something."

Harry began to reply that indeed, she was not, but was suddenly filled with foreboding. Remus had once said that there were unimaginable dangers that went along with being in the Order, and he suddenly became aware of the fact that they could all very well die. Hermione was obviously thinking along the same lines as she looked at him darkly.

"Don't say things like that," Harry said, stammering unconsciously, the full reality of his situation fell heavily upon him like an iron anvil. And then Hermione'd pulled him wordlessly into a hug that neither reassured nor comforted him. It was more like a farewell, a last wish, and both of them were immediately scared, and somewhat hoping that they could go back to safe old Hogwarts again, and be innocent, underage witch and wizard.