Kingsley Shacklebolt's bald head gleamed softly in the flickering flames, and his hoop earring flashed as it caught the light of the flickering fire. Even thought Oliver was accustomed to this method of communication, he still found it quite irritating when his superior's head popped into his fireplace, requesting to talk to him. On this particular occasion, however, Oliver had neglected to light the fire in his office, and Shacklebolt was muttering about incompetent agents. Oliver suspected that this had to do with the fact that when someone tried to communicate via fireplace and it wasn't lit, it culminated in a nasty headache which refused to go away for a few days. However, Oliver had other things to worry about. Hermione had just left his office, and she knew now that he worked for the Order.

"You called?" Shacklebolt asked, rather shortly.

"Hermione knows," Oliver said abruptly, standing up and walking over to the fire. He couldn't get her face out of his mind.

"How much?" Shacklebolt said, his eyes widening in surprise. "She wasn't supposed to know for another two months. You weren't supposed to tell her for another two months."

"I know, I know," Oliver said, frowning. "But Malfoy tipped her off, no doubt trying to stir up some trouble. He wanted her to suspect me, and he probably expected her to come to some false conclusion about my job."

"Does she know about the Prophecy?" Oliver's superior asked quickly.

"No," Oliver said gratefully, and Shacklebolt audibly sighed with relief.

"She can't know, and under no circumstances are you to tell her. We'll need a change of plan." 

"I know, I know," Oliver said crossly. "I just don't think it's right…"

"Oliver, you can't start questioning whether it's right or not at this point. You just have to make sure she doesn't find out."

"But why? I mean, don't you think she has the right to know?"

"No. It's the same with Harry, in his 5th year. Remember? You can't know your Prophecy, or else it won't come true. I don't care what you have to do, ignore her, spurn her, whatever it is you have to do. You have to keep quiet until the centennial anniversary of the Prophecy, Oliver!"

"I know, Shacklebolt. But she's different, sir. She's smart, even cunning. She'll see right through it."

"That's why she's been chosen," Shacklebolt said matter-of-factly. "She's got important work ahead of her, whether she likes it or not."

"I still think she should know about the Prophecy," Oliver grumbled. "Seeing as it involves, well… her and me."

"She can't, Wood," Shacklebolt said crossly, a hand coming out of nowhere to rub his forehead. "Damn headache…"

"And why can't you tell me about the Prophecy?"

"We already talked about this, it's about you too."

"I still feel really awkward, knowing that there's a Prophecy involving the both of us. What if I'm supposed to kill her, or something?"

Shacklebolt sighed in annoyance. "We wouldn't let that happen, Oliver. Your fates are closely entwined, whether you like it or not."

"You sure like that phrase," Oliver grumbled.

"What?"

"Nothing." Oliver sighed. "Are you sure about all of this? I mean, am I doing the right thing by being here? Was this all meant to be?"

"Yes," Shacklebolt said. "Even if you hadn't been hit by that Bludger, you still would have been drawn to Hogwarts, only in a different way."

Oliver was slightly amazed at the order of the world.

"Well," he sighed, "I guess."

"I didn't come here to talk about your personal problems, Wood. Now, is there anything else you need?"

"No," Oliver said, shrugging. "I just wanted to let you know that Hermione found out, about, well… you know," he finished uncomfortably.

"Well, then, until next time. Send Fawkes if you have to- the fires are being watched. This one's only one of the few that is clear."

With a soft pop, Shacklebolt's head disappeared from the fire, and Oliver was left alone with his thoughts.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was later that night, and Hermione found that it was easy to be in denial. It felt like she had carried a burden on her shoulders all day, and each step only added to the weight she felt. The fact that there was a Prophecy about her, and Oliver suddenly showing up in her life claiming he worked for the Order… It was easier to pretend it was all an elaborate scheme to make her question her sanity.

Well, there was only person she could talk to: Harry.

She found him in the common room, sitting in his favorite squashy armchair by the fire, reading a book about Quidditch. His black hair was as untidy as ever, and his face expressed a maturity beyond his age; no doubt his many brushes with death played their part in robbing Harry of a normal childhood. Ron was nowhere to be seen.

Harry snapped his book shut and smiled at her. The common room was blissfully empty, and Hermione collapsed in a chair next to him.

"I know," she said dully, all pretenses forgotten. She had to talk to someone.

"I'm sorry?" Harry said, his brow furrowing slightly.

"I know, about Oliver, and the Order, and you being groomed to be the leader, and the Prophecy, and me somehow being important…"

"You know?" Harry repeated, his eyes wide, book forgotten. "How?"

"Oliver," she replied grumpily. "As if I didn't have enough on my mind with the N.E.W.T.s this year."

"Shhhhhh!" Harry said, his gaze darting around the empty room. He continued in a lower voice. "I thought they weren't going to tell you for a few more months."

Hermione threw up her hands in the air, exasperated. "Know what? Does everyone know something about me? Because I had no idea all this was going on!"

"Calm down, 'Mione. You weren't supposed to know," Harry said simply. This did nothing to soothe her anger.

"Oh dear," Hermione said, hand on her head. She wanted the chair to swallow her up. "I guess this means we'll be seeing even more of each other, huh?"

"Haha… yeah," Harry said, smiling. "I mean, you'll be going to all the important meetings now."

"Great. An infringement on my study time."

"You know, there are more important things then studying."

"I was being sarcastic, Harry."

"You could be anything you wanted to be, even if you decided not to do your homework. You're brilliant, Hermione."

"Say what?" came the voice of Ron, from behind them. Both Harry and Hermione jumped, and Hermione looked up at Ron with a guilty look on her face. He had just come into the common room, splattered with mud.

"Where have you been?" Hermione asked quickly, hoping he had not overheard Harry and hers conversation. She felt slightly guilty that she and Harry had to keep such a large secret from her best friend.

"Quidditch," Ron said slowly, looking from Harry's innocent gaze to Hermione's guilty face. Hermione marveled slightly that Harry could hide his emotions so well. Or maybe he wasn't feeling anything… a scary thought.

"I thought I might get an hour in before we turned in."

"Well, you're doing really well lately," Hermione said quickly. Ron looked suspicious.

"Well, thanks," he said. "Anyways, Harry. Finished that essay for McGonagall?"

Harry groaned, and once more lapsed into a teenager with nothing more to worry about than homework.

"Not yet."

"Well, I'm off to bed," Hermione said, wanting to be alone with her thoughts.

Her feet carried her up to her room, where she changed and fell asleep almost instantly, finally overwhelmed by the day's events.

a/n: Thank you to my faithful reviewers! I love you all tons! I hope you like this chapter.