Chapter 25

"Are you sure that no one comes to the lab at this time of night?" Harry whispered loudly as Hermione deftly opened the Muggle Studies lab.

"Positive."

"How do you know?" He crossed his arms and glared at Hermione, whose face turned bright red.

"I just do. Lumos." She walked over to one of the sofas, and flopped down. "Are you coming in, or what?"

"I guess." He closed the door and sat down on the floor next to her. She extinguished the light. "There, that's better. So, do you think we can pull off this prank?"

"Oh, come on. The hardest part is breaking into Hooch's office."

"Right. We always have to turn in our uniforms the Thursday before a match, so I'm thinking really early Friday morning would be the best time," Harry strategized.

"Before daylight, though. What's our excuse if we get caught in the hallways?"

"Uh, we were up studying for the O.W.L. tests. Every professor knows how neurotic you are. Why do you study so much, anyway?"

"Because someone told me when I was a little girl that an education is a woman's greatest and hardest won asset. I think it's a quote from Veronica Franco or someone like that."

"Who told you that?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?" Hermione asked sharply.

"I'm related to you. Anyway, does my plan sound good to you?"

"Yup."

"Hey, what are you going to do this summer?" Harry changed the subject.

"What do you think? Rotting at my parents house," she replied sourly.

"Why don't you tell Sirius that you don't want to go there for the summer?"

"I tried. He won't listen. I hate being so removed from the wizarding world, especially with the Death Eater attacks and everything. It's not like their house is secure. There aren't any anti-Apperation charms or restrictions on the Floo network or anything."

"How would you know there aren't any security precautions? You act like wizards can just pop over your parents' house whenever they feel like it," he said somewhat sarcastically.

"They can," she said earnestly. "I swear."

"I'm sure that there are plenty of protections around your parents' house. We are the last Gryffindors and everything," he said in a spooky voice.

"Yeah, what's up with that? Has anyone ever explained why that's important to you?"

"Nope. It's one of those we'll explain it to you when you're ready things."

"That's what Professor Dumbledore told me, too. A load of crock, if you ask me. Who cares what my bloodline is? All that talk makes me feel like a poodle or something."

Harry laughed. "You had to just randomly pick the world's most neurotic dog, didn't you? Birds of a feather…"

"You really think you're funny, don't you? Anyway, what are you doing this summer?"

"I'm not sure. Fred and George are staying in Hogsmeade after graduation. Don't tell anyone, but Aunt Isabelle's heading up a highly secretive alliance against both Voldemort and the Ministry. She, and the people working with her, thinks that the Ministry isn't fighting Voldemort the way they need to. Point being, Fred and George are turning double agent."

"Really?"

"Yeah, their legitimate business is going to be the joke shop they always wanted to open. But, they're also developing new charms and weapons for the Ministry to use against Voldemort. Whatever they create they're giving to Aunt Isabelle along with information about the Ministry's tactics and plans."

"Wow. Who else is working with Isabelle?"

"I'm not sure. I'm really not supposed to know as much as I do. Ron's going to stay in Hogsmeade for the summer to work with Phillip. He, Fred and George are getting a house in town. So, I might stay with them if I can find a job."

"You're not going to Dover with Isabelle?" Hermione was surprised.

"Well, I thought Sirius was going with her. But, now – who knows? Professor Lupin says that they haven't even looked in each other's direction in days. I don't want her to go to Dover alone, so if it comes to that, yeah, I'll spend the summer with her. But, I doubt Sirius would allow that, so I didn't really consider the option. Worthless git."

"Watch your mouth, Harry Potter." She raised her voice.

"You heard what he called my aunt."

"I did, but--"

"But, what? Admit it, you've never been happy to have Aunt Isabelle around in the first place."

"How can you say that? She's my…" her voice trailed off. She sighed. "You're wrong about how I feel about her, ok? All I'm saying is that there are always two sides to a story. You should know that from listening to me and Ron."

"True. What do you think their fight was about?"

"Definitely lover's quarrel," she said with conviction. "Isabelle told me once that whenever she fought with Phillip or her useless husband, she always stuffed her face with Reese's peanut butter cups. They're an American Muggle candy. Didn't you see the huge bag of them on her desk?"

"That's what those were? They looked good."

"Oh, they are. She gave me a huge tin of them when Ron and I had our big fight after Christmas."

"Let me get this straight. You're telling me that your git of a father dumped my aunt?"

"Basically. I'm not really sure who did the dumping, but that's what Professor Lupin told me, more or less. Oh, yeah, and he's not getting in the middle of it."

"I know how he feels," Harry mumbled underneath his breath. "Well, we can't do anything about it, so why worry about it? They're adults. Besides, they might work things out on their own."

"Doubtful. Anyway, are you ready to go back to the dorm? I want to look over my Potions notes again before class tomorrow. I don't want to do anything to irritate Snape before Saturday."

"Good idea."

-----

Harry followed Hermione into the Gryffindor common room, but was nowhere near the frame of mind necessary to study. He stomped over to an armchair in the farthest part of the room, and sat down, brooding. Ginny watched him over the top of her fashion magazine. She waited a minute, took a deep breath, and dragged a chair across the room to where he was.

"Good evening, cheerful," she said, putting her magazine in her lap.

"What are you reading?" he asked, ignoring her comment. She held it up.

"Just checking out the fashion reviews of Fleur de Paris' new summer line." She shrugged. "It's a secret vice of mine. I know, it's hopelessly girly."

"I didn't say a word," he protested, trying not to smile.

She smacked him over the head with the magazine. "I know exactly what you're thinking, which is why I hide this stuff from all you guys."

"So, what's up in the world of high fashion?" Harry managed not to laugh.

"Not much. I'm really not impressed. I finally get a job to where I can afford some of this stuff, and there's nothing I like," she lamented.

"Virginia, you could wear a burlap sack and look great," he said with a charming smile. She blushed at the compliment.

"Thanks. But, I still want to look nice. You're a guy. You wouldn't understand."

"I understand more than you think. Picture this: me having to go to primary school wearing Dudley's old clothes. With frayed elbows and knees because he's too clumsy to walk fifty meters without falling down."

Ginny winced, having heard the stories about Dudley's enormous size from Fred and George. "That sounds horrible."

"No, this is horrible. Before I found out that I was a wizard and everything else, I was going to the local secondary school. Instead of buying clothes, Petunia decided to dye some of Dudley's old clothes to make uniforms for me. Isn't that sweet?"

She looked at him with a mixed look of horror and rage. He smiled wryly.

"Well, at least she didn't try to send me to an asylum for retarded children, like she did with Aunt Isabelle. Anyway, my point is that I understand what you're going through. If you like this stuff, fine. But, don't try to impress other people with clothes and stuff to make yourself feel better if you're insecure about yourself. That's what Aunt Petunia does, and it's so fake."

"Why do you have to be so sweet?" she asked, a little misty-eyed.

"It's a curse. I try to deal with it the best way that I can."

She swatted him with the magazine again. "You know what would be fun?"

"What?"

"To go to Fashion Week and see all of the shows. I'd love to go see everything, and then write about it for a newspaper or magazine. Sounds kind of petty, doesn't it? I mean, look at Ron over there. Mr. Lawyer. And then, there's perfect Hermione. Enough said. Even Fred and George--"

"I get the point, ok? So, you want to write about the finer things of life. Big deal. Not everyone has to devote their life to curing strange diseases I can't pronounce." He shrugged. "Maybe I like it that you're a little crazy. Makes life interesting."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Definitely." He leaned over and kissed her.

"So, why did you stomp over here in the first place?"

"Right now, that's about the last thing on my mind," he said, kissing her again. Ginny giggled nervously.

"Uh, you do realize that three of my brothers are in this room."

"I'm the Boy Who Lived. If I can survive facing Voldemort, I think I can handle your brothers."

Ginny just laughed. He might change his mind if he could see the look on Ron's face, she thought.

-----

"I can't believe you won't be around for the Quiddich match tomorrow," Harry lamented, glaring at Ron, who was quickly packing a bag.

"Yeah, well, I'm going to court for your aunt," he pointed out.

"Which I appreciate, but I still don't see why you need to go."

"To learn how the appellate system works. And, to keep Phillip from ripping Remizov into shreds in case he shows his face at the courthouse."

"Are you serious about this lawyer stuff?" he joked.

"Yep," Ron said, pitching socks into the bag. "Harry, I'm the youngest of my brothers. Growing up, no one really listened or valued what I had to say because I was always too little. For the first time, what I think matters. When I finally get to argue in a courtroom, people will listen. I'm good at this stuff. Not to mention that it impresses girls."

Which was true, Harry had to admit as Ron walked out of the room, bag in hand. He jumped up, racing down the stairs to catch up with his friend.

"Hey, wait up," he called across the common room. "I'll walk you to Phillip's. I think Aunt Isabelle is spending the weekend over there watching the kids for him."

"Is she still sick?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, her cold just doesn't seem to be getting any better. Now she's having flu-like symptoms. At least that's what Professor Lupin says. He thinks she's making herself sick because she's stressed about the trial. I just want to see how she's doing."

They quickly walked through the castle, taking a shortcut to Hogsmeade. Harry really didn't feel like bothering to get a pass to go to town, so they wound through the tunnels, emerging in Honeyduke's. They quietly exited the store, and hurried to Phillip's flat. Bill opened the door.

"Hey," they said to him, walking into the living room. Phillip was deep in conversation with an incredibly exhausted-looking Isabelle. Her seemingly endless energy looked completely drained.

"I'm telling you, I have him nailed on every legal point imaginable," he told her. "Remizov doesn't have a leg to stand on, and if it was up to me, I'd remove his legs. But, that's another point entirely."

She smiled wanly, leaning back on the sofa. "You and me both. Break a leg, no pun intended. What would I do without you, Phillip?"

"Pay a whole lot of legal fees for starters," he said lightly, standing up and putting papers into his briefcase. "The kids are going to be home from school in about a half hour. Dinner's in the fridge; I ordered some food from that deli down the street. If Stephen asks, and I know he will, it's ok if he follows Harry around like a shadow. That is, if it's alright with you, Harry."

"Fine with me," he said quickly, looking at his aunt. The last thing she needed was to have to entertain a high-strung boy. She gave him a grateful look.

"Here's the number of the hotel we're staying at. If you need to reach me, call me. Or use Saskia. And Isabelle, get some rest please," Phillip said, walking to the door.

"Thanks for everything," she said sincerely as he and Ron left for the train station.

"I'm going to the kitchen to get a drink. Do you want anything?" Bill asked.

"Ginger ale, please," she replied.

"How about you?"

"Water's fine. Phillip always has weird drinks in his refrigerator." Harry wrinkled his nose.

"Like what?" Isabelle wanted to know.

"That iced tea junk, for starters. Not to mention that Gatorade mess. That's disgusting."

"I'll agree with you on the Gatorade. What are you doing here, anyway? Don't you have, er, other plans?" she said, narrowing her eyes.

"Already taken care of this morning." He grinned.

Isabelle opened her mouth to reply, but shut it quickly when Bill walked back into the room.

"You didn't answer my question," she reminded Harry.

"I just wanted to see how you were feeling," he answered truthfully. "I was going to offer to keep you company, but I think that it would be better to go play Quiddich with Stephen or something. Especially since you have Bill here."

"Are you sure you have time? The O.W.L. tests are coming up soon."

"Oh, come on. I study with Hermione. I'm already as prepared as most of the other students will be test day."

"True enough." Isabelle laughed.

She heard the back door open and close with a loud bang. Stephen bounded into the room, lighting up immediately when he saw Harry. He absolutely worshipped the ground the older boy walked on. After a minute, a sobbing Abbie hovered in the doorway.

"Abbie? What's wrong, sweetie?" she asked the preschooler, who bounded into her arms, crying loudly.

"I hate school," the little girl pronounced in a hurt voice. Isabelle gently brushed the hair out of her face.

"Why do you hate school?"

"I just do," she pouted.

Isabelle sighed. Trying to reason with a four-year-old was difficult anytime, but especially when she didn't feel well. It was time to cut to the chase, she decided.

"Why don't you want to learn how to read?" Isabelle inquired.

"Because it's too hard."

"Oh, everybody says that when they're first learning, Abbie."

"I'll never learn," she cried, in a surprisingly Scottish accent. "Everyone else in the class knows their letters but me. I'm just stupid."

"You're not stupid. Want to know a secret?" Isabelle asked in a mock whisper. "I didn't learn how to read until I was nine years old."

"Why not?" Abbie whispered back.

"Because my teachers didn't think I was ready yet. So, you're doing really well if your teachers think you can start learning to read already."

The little girl smiled proudly. "I do know all of my numbers."

"Wow," Isabelle said. "See, you are smart. And, you need to work real hard in school. Do you know why?"

She shook her head no.

"Because we're girls, and it's harder for us to make it in the world. Trust me, an education is a woman's greatest and hardest won asset."

Abbie looked at Isabelle and nodded seriously as a chill went down Harry's spine. Where have I heard that before? he thought, racking his brain.

"Is that a quote from someone?" he asked his aunt.

"Veronica Franco. Why?"

"No reason," he lied. Isabelle was clearly unconvinced, staring at him through narrowed eyes. Harry changed the subject. "Stephen, would you like to go play some Quiddich?"

"Sure." The little boy jumped up, ready to go.

"Ok, we'll be back in a couple of hours." Harry led Stephen outside and to the Quiddich pitch. He needed to clear his mind.

-----

Phillip stared out the window, mentally reviewing his appellate argument. Although he brought notes to the podium with him, he always made a habit of memorizing a rough outline of talking points. He learned that lesson halfway through law school, when he completely blanked out during a moot court competition.

Unlike most of his arguments, Isabelle's case was fairly straightforward legally. The difficulty came with the knowledge that the appellant, Sergei Remizov, murdered his family in cold blood. And, he had no means of proving that, which infuriated Phillip.

He took a calming breath to focus as his eyes clouded over briefly. A sense of futility washed over him. Although Phillip Spence had an excellent international reputation as an attorney, his legal skills were no match for Remizov's cunning and heart of pure evil. He knew the second the case moved from Virginia to London, Isabelle had as good as lost already.

But, there was no way he had the heart to tell her that. Besides, he saw in her eyes that she knew, and that they were both saying lines from a script designed to reassure everyone else. He smiled briefly, recalling their conversation earlier that afternoon. Isabelle was a prize actress, he admitted. She said all the right words, at the right times, never giving anyone a clue that she was petrified. If he didn't know better, he'd believe that she was a fearless optimist.

Well, he thought, if nothing else, the experience will be good for Ron. Which is why he invited him in the first place. The young man was all too willing to leave Hogwarts for a weekend, and Phillip had a sneaking suspicion that Hermione had everything to do with that.

"Hey, Phillip?" Ron asked, peering over a large stack of notes with a puzzled look on his face. "What's the Abuela argument?"

He laughed. "That's what Isabelle called it when she first reminded me of the theory, and it stuck. She got it from Abuela a couple of years ago, before she died."

"Abuela, as in Hermione's great-grandmother?"

"The very same. Brilliant woman, from what Isabelle says."

Ron looked completely confused. "Why would Isabelle be around her in the first place?"

"Long story. The short version is that Abuela saw through the secret-keeping spell, and they kept in touch." Which had everything to do with our breakup, Phillip remembered with a sad smile.

"Did you ever meet her?"

"Once, when she traveled to Washington, D.C. on business. Great sense of humor," Phillip said, rummaging though his bag for a Moon Pie. After a minute, he found one. Ron wrinkled his nose as he unwrapped the snack and began devour it quickly.

"That is just disgusting," he pronounced. "What do you mean, on business?"

"You're awfully curious about Hermione's family, aren't you?" Phillip mumbled through a mouthful of Moon Pie.

Ron's ears turned pink. "Just making conversation."

"Sure, you are," he teased. "Abuela was a medical doctor."

"What kind of doctor?" he pressed.

"For pity's sake, why don't you ask Sirius if you really want to know?"

"Uh," Ron stuttered, completely at a loss for words. Phillip felt sorry for the teenager, and decided to put him out of his misery.

"A pediatrician specializing in childhood diseases. She went to medical school to learn how to care for her daughter, Sirius' mother, who got polio when she was seven."

"Oh. I didn't know that. You see, no one talks about that stuff, and I was just curious. Well, not curious per se--"

"Enough!" Phillip threw up his hands. "I get it."

"I wonder if that's where Hermione gets it from," Ron wondered.

"What?"

"Her weird fascination with curing diseases no one can pronounce."

"Yeah, I hear you find her weirdly fascinating in general," Phillip said with a wicked smile. Ron turned bright red, completely at a loss for words.

"Just fascinating. She really isn't very weird, to tell the truth," he stammered, pausing to think about what he had just said. "That didn't sound right, did it?"

Phillip decided to twist the knife. He couldn't help himself. "No, it didn't. And in that case, I feel sorry for you then."

Ron wanted to crawl under the train seat and die. He'd settle for the earth opening up and swallowing him whole. Or spontaneous combustion. Anything he said now was fair game for Phillip's sardonic remarks, and he knew it. And, he'd learned over the past few months that Phillip Spence was the master of sarcasm. Which is probably why he's a lawyer, Ron decided.

At least I didn't say something that stupid in front of Sirius, he thought, looking on the bright side. Or Harry, for that matter.

"What I meant was," he tried to explain, "is that Hermione has a pretty normal personality, although people tend to think she's a little odd."

"If that's what you want to call it," Phillip said in a lofty tone. Ron had had enough.

"And what kind of personality does Isabelle have, then?"

He raised his eyebrow suggestively, and grinned evilly. "Do you really want to know?"

"Er, no thank you. I can imagine."

"No, you really can't," he said with a nostalgic look on his face. "She's so fun and full of life. A true free spirit."

"How do you do it?" Ron wondered.

"Do what?"

"How can you be around Isabelle, especially after she dumped you?"

"I couldn't, at first," he admitted. "Eventually I just got over it."

"Just got over it," he repeated. "Yeah, me too."

"I said eventually. It took a couple of years."

"Thanks," Ron said gloomily.

"Why aren't y'all together, anyway?"

"I have no earthly idea. Everything was great over Christmas, and then all of a sudden, she starts getting all wishy-washy on me."

Phillip smiled, realizing immediately what the problem was. "So, y'all hooked up over the holidays, then?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Ron's ears were blood red.

"That would be the problem."

"What do you mean?"

"Let me give you an example. I met Isabelle one night when she was sitting on the roof of our apartment building. Don't ask why either of us was up there; it's a long story. Anyway, we got to talking, and became friends. Well, she snuck over to this huge party that I was throwing that weekend. One thing led to another, and, you get the idea."

"Is that when you started dating?"

"Not hardly. She wouldn't speak to me for six months."

"Say what?" Ron exclaimed.

"Yep. Finally, I got up the nerve to talk to her. She starts going on about how she's not the type of girl who randomly hooks up at parties. Basically, she thought all I wanted was a physical relationship. Naturally, that was part of it. I mean, you've seen her. Point being, she had a false perception of my intentions."

"I think I'm hearing you."

"I don't know the details about your relationship with Hermione, and frankly, it's not my business. But, it seems to me that she's pulling a classic Isabelle and would rather ignore you than admit that she's scared."

"Then how do you explain Krum?"

"Another classic Isabelle tactic. Date someone nice and safe while working up the nerve to deal with the person you really want to be with."

Ron slouched down on the train seat, obviously depressed. Phillip smiled sympathetically, remembering his relationship with Isabelle. Although he loved her deeply when they were together, there are some things he just doesn't miss about being involved with her romantically. And her unintentional, but still frustrating, mind games are at the top of the list.

"Are you sure she's worth all the trouble?" Phillip asked, half-jokingly. Anyone could plainly see the poor boy worshipped the ground Hermione walked on. Anyone but her, that is.

"Yeah. I love her," he admitted, shrugging sheepishly. "Always have, to tell the truth. I'd give anything if she felt the same way."

Phillip fought the urge to roll his eyes and strangle Ron. After all, he is the best law clerk I've ever had, he reminded himself. How could someone be so astute with the law, but so clueless about his own life? He clearly needed the situation to be spelled out to him, because Ron sure wasn't taking the hint.

"Ok," he said as calmly as possible, looking Ron dead in the eye. "You love her. She loves you. Otherwise, she wouldn't bother with all of the Isabellean mind games. You need to beat her at her own game, or she'll never admit her feelings because she has too much pride."

"So, how do I do that?" he asked helplessly.

"First, you apologize for whatever broke y'all up," Phillip began.

"For what?" Ron roared. "She's the one messing everything up."

"That may be true, but trust me, the woman's never to blame. Learn that now, and it'll save you a lot of trouble in the future. Even if something is totally her fault, in her mind, it's at least half your fault."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Women don't make any logical sense. If you randomly walk up to her and apologize, that puts her off guard. So, then you smile real pretty and say that you've missed spending time with her. And, that you'd like another chance to see how things work, but you'll take things at her pace. Which, if Hermione's anything like Isabelle, is like a snail crawling through molasses in the winter."

"Nice image." Ron made a face.

"Oh, yeah. When she gives you the look, you know, the one that says, 'you big fat liar,' tell her that you value your friendship with her more than any of that other stuff."

"Then what?"

"Back it up, you git," Phillip replied, exasperated. "Trust me, it'll work."

"I do miss hanging out with her. I even miss her hounding me about my homework and the O.W.L. tests. I've been studying with a group of Ravenclaw girls, but they're not half as smart as she is," Ron said with pride.

"A group of Ravenclaw girls?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "They take Muggle Studies, and were in the lab a lot when I used to work there. So, I got to know them. They're ok."

"Has Hermione seen you study with this group of Ravenclaw girls?" Phillip asked pointedly. Ron looked at him for a minute, puzzled.

"Oh, no," he groaned. "I'm an idiot."

"Pretty much."

"She thinks that I'm…" his voice trailed off.

"Yup."

"So, this is basically a big misunderstanding. One that I can fix with lots of begging and apologizing," Ron tried to convince himself. "Picking up a present couldn't hurt, either. I need all the help I can get at this point." Phillip successfully hid a smile. He was quite thankful that in all the talk about Hermione, Ron completely forgot about the whole Abuela argument conversation. Even after all these years, it was a still sore spot with him.