The car ride was ultimately silent. Sure, the road was bumpy and the suspension system on the town car was taking a hit, gravel kicking up at the windows and doors, the faint buzz of magic shields thrumming around the car; but, the silence of the people around her drowned out any flippant, outdoor noise. Her mother had her arm around her- soft blue cashmere as fluffy as her black hair- and was absentmindedly stroking her arm. Mr. Granger sat across, his eyes gazing from Hermione back to the outside world. Mr. Green sat next to him, changing positions every now and again, giving Hermione comforting looks. Hermione just stared at the leather meeting the rough fabric of the floor.

She felt drained. Completely drained.

The car pulled up alongside the entrance to Vancouver International and before she knew it, they were standing in front of the security checkpoint. Mr. Green carried a simple leather tote, slung over his chest like a business man and his laptop. She hugged her dad. Hugged her mum. The movable gray panels that separated the security lines seemed to suck all the emotion out of the situation.

Hermione pulled away from her mother's embraced and tried to memorize her face. Soft brown eyes, frizzy black hair, high cheekbones, rounded jaw. Her thin lips contorted into a similar thoughtfulness. Scared, strong and loving. Her mum kissed her on the cheek and she could feel how much her mum was trying not to panic, not to take her in her arms and steal her away from the war. A part of Hermione almost wanted her to.

But she didn't. And with the promise of a letter once she reached London, she boarded the plane with only a short glance back. Mr. Green patted her on the shoulder and led her to her seat. It would be a long flight.

The sun hit Harry hard, but he didn't mind. If anything, it pushed him further. His glasses were resting on a lawn chair, Harry's eyes closed in concentration. The high fence of the backyard hid the lithe boy's darting figure. He seem to be following a very strange, very jerk dance. Dipping and rolling on the grass. Darting behind the birch tree, back to back with the bark, a twig in his hand, his mouth twisting around spells. From behind the tree, his hand swept into graceful move after graceful move. Figure eight, snap of the wrist, draw it up, punch forward, his tongue spitting spells without saying a word.

"Hullo, Harry."

Harry recognized the voice- lucky he did, or Remus Lupin would have been on the receiving end of a stick through the chest. Or at least a stick to the chest. Lupin looked more haggard than ever. His black robes were frayed and worn, patched with blacks of other robes in various stages of dilapidation. His hair was gray and thin over his worn blue eyes. He gave Harry a bit of a half-smile before removing the glasses from the lawn chair and having a seat.

"I'm not leaving. I'm not going back there."

Lupin shrugged. "I don't blame you. Fortunately, the Burrow's wards have been increased." He didn't add anything to that, just slumped as dignified as he could into the green and orange cushion and stared at the blue sky. "That doesn't change anything. I'm still not leaving," Harry replied blandly as he snatched his glasses from Lupin's hand. Lupin face was a blank- he still looked at the sky.

"Have you gotten any letters from Hermione? Ron wanted me to ask you that," Lupin said simply, not moving a muscle to meet Harry's quizzical glance. Harry looked back towards the house. He hadn't looked at any of his letters. When he turned his head back, Lupin was giving him a pointed look. "Not sure? Are all of your letters piled up in your room?" he asked without malice. Harry eyes narrowed. Lupin stood up and breezed by him, back into the house.

Petunia Dursley stood at the oven, pulling a cake out of the oven. She twisted to put it on the rack and came, rather abruptly, face to face with Remus. She nearly dropped the cake on the linoleum. "I hadn't realized you were still here, Remus," she said, trying hard to be civil and failing a bit. Harry raised an eyebrow to see his aunt address Lupin by his first name. "I shouldn't be here much longer, Petunia," he remarked gently as he left the kitchen and headed up the staircase. Harry trailed after him up the stairs and paused at the door as Lupin went in.

Books were stacked on his bed, the bed sheets neatly made. No clothes on the floor, no empty dishes on surfaces. The only thing messy about the area was a small pile of letters, the majority of what could be seen addressed in the messy, loopy scrawl of Ron's. Lupin pulled a letter from the top, the black parchment engraved in silver script. He cradled the message in his hand before handing it to Harry. "Audrey Longbottom died two days ago. Neville has already moved into the Burrow." He searched the pile further and picked up a letter neatly addressed in careful cursive. "Ah, here it is." Lupin pocketed the letter and went to walk out the bedroom door.

Harry watched all this in utter confusion. He opened the invitation and read through it. Neville's gran alright. When he heard thumps going further away, Harry chased down the stairs to watch Lupin bidding his farewells to his aunt. "Where are you going?" he demanded before he could catch himself. Lupin looked up at him surprised. "You said you weren't leaving. Did you expect me to drag you away kicking and screaming? You are more than welcome to stay at the Burrow; I'm sure nothing would make Molly happier, let alone Ron and Ginny. But if you'd rather stay here, then by all means. Tonks said she would have no trouble picking you up the day before term started." Lupin looked up at him, the same blank mask of indifference he had his entire stay.

He was being manipulated and he knew it. Harry wasn't dumb- this was reverse psychology. He loathed the idea of being pestered by Ron, Ginny and apparently Neville about how he was feeling and how he was doing, and if there was anything they could do for him.

Hold Voldemort down while he cursed the life out of him. Harry winced as he thought it. He didn't want that, not really. He wanted the lot of them as far away from him and Voldemort as possible. Petunia gave him a sharp look before turning back to Remus. "Be sure to tell them he's being taken care of," she nearly shouted, beginning to close the door. He didn't really want to stay.

Lupin looked back up at him. Harry glared at him. His eyebrows shrugged as he walked onto the doorstep and Petunia shut the door.

1. 2. 3.

Lupin didn't come back in. He waited an entire minute. Harry fumed- he couldn't believe that he had just left him here. "Fine," he spat and clomped up the stairs. He threw open the door and slammed it behind him, collapsing on his bed. Harry growled and turned his head to keep from choking on his pillow.

"I suppose that means you're ready to come now?" Lupin stood in the doorway, a small, but wry smile on his face.

The lights above his head flickered annoyingly. The glare from the lacquered desk was thankfully cancelled out by the coating on his glasses. His inbox was high, but not nearly as high as the outbox, which seemed impossibly steady and neat for its height. Percy Weasley sat in his ergonomically designed, high backed chair, his head pressed backwards against the headrest. He pulled the square horn-rims from his face and pressed a thumb and forefinger across the bridge of his nose. He opened his eyes and tossed a small globe at the ceiling. The paperweight bounced off the casing of the light and dropped back into his hand- the light quit flickering.

He pulled a quill from the top drawer of his desk and set it upon the paper. It stood stock straight. Percy slipped the glasses back on his face and leaned forward.

"It has come to the attention of this office that certain illicit affairs involving you and Mr. Eamon Babcock, proprietor of Babcock, Thames and Lundgrave Exports, 1821 Knockturn Alley, London. According to financial records obtained by subpoena in the case People vs. Babcock, Thames and Lundgrave Exports, several thousand galleons were paid out to you on a monthly basis. We would appreciate your remarks on this discretion at your earliest convenience."

The quill scribbled furiously across the paper as Percy spoke slow and loud. He stretched his arms out and rolled the bit of parchment up. He tagged it with the Minister's seal and charmed it for the 6th floor. He checked the clock. 4:56 pm. Just as the memo had reached the door, the door swung open to reveal the minister himself, Cornelius Fudge. The memo sharply bounced off his purple bowler and continued its way to the elevators. Fudge shot the memo and look of annoyance before refocusing his attention on Percy. "Ah, Mr. Weasley. Glad I caught you before you left."

Percy hadn't left the office before nine the last two months for just this particular reason.

"There are a few reports that have just come in from Minister Peregeaux that I want you to review and just, you know, jot down the highlights for me. If you could have that done before you leave," he spoke as he dropped about 15 thick rolls of parchment on his desktop. Percy looked back at Fudge, who gave him a piercing gaze. Percy gave a small huff as he took the first roll and broke the seal. "Of course, Minister." Fudge nodded approvingly, but the pointed look didn't vanish. "Good evening, Mr. Weasley." Fudge swished out of the room, the door shutting soundly behind him. Percy's grip tightened around the parchment roll. 'Deep breath... it's fine,' he repeated to himself.

It had never been this bad, but since the resurgence of... Percy could hardly think his name. In any case, Fudge had been more watchful than ever, waiting for some sign that Percy would snap. But that wasn't going to happen; he wouldn't let it. Percy let the roll fall into his lap and leaned back in his chair, his mind switching gears from English into French. It would be another night of overtime.

Author's Notes: Is anyone out there reading this? Am I performing an exersize in futility? Well, even if you don't review, thank you for reading this and giving me purpose.