Ginny and Ron kindly covered for Hermione with fanfare as she finally entered the Burrow, letting her avoid Mrs Weasley and any questions about her puffy eyes and grief. She sat on Ginny's creaky single bed, staring out the window at the apple trees as the sun set, and the heat of the summer day faded, and her tears finally dried.
"Hermione?" Ginny called quietly, opening her bedroom door gently.
She turned to face her. "Hi, Ginny," she said croakily.
Ginny shut the door. "Ron told me. You're very brave."
Hermione shook her head and closed her eyes, worn out eyelids complaining loudly at the deliberate movement. "No," she said simply, throat too sore and mind too shattered to explain any further.
Ginny jerked her head towards the kitchen. "Dinner's ready, if you're up to it. Lupin and Tonks are here."
She did need to talk to a member of the Order who wasn't Molly Weasley. "Thanks," she said, standing up to walk downstairs with Ginny.
" – so Moody said Thursday evening this week, because Scrimgeour is doing - oh, hi Hermione!" Tonks said as they emerged.
"Hi Tonks. Hi Remus," she greeted them both, as politely as she could. Ron gave her a meaningful look and a slight shake of his head as he cut up his steak, nodding towards his mother, and Hermione understood.
Tonks grabbed her arm and pulled her to sit beside her, and Hermione gasped as she waved her hand in front of her face.
"Oh my gosh!"
Tonks beamed, and Remus smiled too.
"What?" Ron asked.
"When will you be getting married?" Hermione asked, ignoring him.
"Well, don't tell Molly, but we're signing the paperwork next week," Tonks said while Mrs Weasley rolled her eyes gently.
"It's lovely news, dear," Mrs Weasley said kindly, while Ron and Ginny also congratulated the two of them. Mrs Weasley's ranting about rushing into things from a year ago may as well have never happened.
After dinner, Ron and Hermione managed to evade Mrs Weasley while they walked Remus and Tonks out to discuss the Order.
"So, we're helping Harry," Ron said conversationally as he stepped over a disgruntled gnome stealing rosemary, "but we want to formally join the Order. We're both of age now." Hermione nodded as Remus frowned slightly.
"I guess you're right," he said after a moment. "Given all the work to get Harry out of Surrey is about him turning seventeen. You're both older than him, I guess."
"I'm probably closer to nineteen, actually," Hermione said. "All that time turning."
Tonks nodded, but Remus only looked more troubled. "The passage of time only gets more horrific the older I get," he said, and Hermione tried to put aside thoughts of Crabbe Senior. "You were snotty thirteen-year-olds barely five minutes ago."
"Alright, old man," Tonks joked.
"We did indeed get older when you weren't around, Lupin," Ron said drily.
"How old were you when you joined the Order?" Tonks asked, a twinkle in her eye.
"That's different –" Remus started, interrupted by all three of them protesting at the hypocrisy.
"Ok, ok," he relented. "Next meeting is at the Burrow, actually, this Thursday evening."
"Moody's gonna discuss the plan for getting Harry out," Tonks said.
"Sounds good," Ron said, and Hermione and him both waved them off as they walked off into the twilight and Disapparated. Ron tilted his head, staring after them.
"Do they really think of us as kids that much?" he asked.
"It's just cause Lupin was our teacher," she replied. "We'll probably permanently be third-years in his memory."
A moment of silence fell and Hermione realised Ron was going to try and talk about her parents.
"So are you –"
"I'm fine, Ron, I just don't want to talk about it," she said emphatically, to Ron's visible relief.
"Ok," he said, and they turned to walk back inside. "Want to get started on our summer reading for Harry, then?"
"Oh – sure," she replied, surprised Ron would suggest it, but before long it was apparent Ron's ambition was greater than his motivation. Books on horcruxes were not exactly accessible; when he came across one that went from old English to Ancient Runes several pages in, he threw it aside angrily.
"For God's sake, how many foreign languages are we going to have to learn to read these ruddy things?" he half-yelled. Hermione got up from the windowsill and poked around in her enchanted bag.
"Most were written before the eighteenth century, Ron," she said. "Maybe we could divide the languages between us? I've got a guide for Old English, hold on…"
Ron stared at her, a shocked stillness settling on him. "You're serious," he said.
"Yeah," she said. "Here, I'll take Welsh if you do Old English."
"I thought we were leaving school," he grumbled as she slid an Old English interpretation book along the floorboards towards him.
"Ah, we were merely leaving formal education, Ron," Hermione said, trying to joke as she pulled out an Ancient Runes reference book, which fell open to a page with a loose note tucked into it. Hermione picked it up, recognising the jagged handwriting.
To my dear Hermione,
Happy Valentine's Day. In Bulgaria there is an ancient romantic tradition of forgetting all about your ex-boyfriends and spending the evening getting blind drunk with your secret friend in your pine forest from 10pm.
Yours in polite distance,
Viktor
Hermione had forgotten just how unconvincing Draco's Valentine's note had been. Ginny and Harry had been too busy poking at each other at the time to read it carefully over her shoulder, thank god.
She felt surprised realising how short a time had actually passed with Draco – this note felt like it came from at least a year ago, but in fact it had only been a few months. Hermione suddenly felt more sympathy for Lupin's shock that her and Ron were adults. Everything that had happened in the past few months had warped her perception of time as badly as when she had been using the Time-Turner in third year.
She'd also forgotten Draco had called her his friend in this note. It was uncharacteristically warm and kind of him. Maybe that was why she had kept it in the first place…
Hermione suddenly felt Ron looking at her and jerked her head up, remembering he was in the room. The look on his face was expectant, like he had said something and she hadn't responded.
"Sorry, what?" she guessed, snapping the note shut into her hieroglyph reference book again, but Ron merely shook his head.
"Never mind," he said, handing back her books and evidently making to go to sleep. "Let's pick this up again tomorrow."
On the landing by Ginny's room, a lumos revealed news from the east on the inside of her wrist.
My father is back from prison.
Lucius Malfoy had tried (and utterly failed) to kill her, Harry, and most of their friends. But would it be any worse than Azkaban to return to Malfoy manor at the moment? It might even be more of a cruel and unusual punishment, in fact, than sitting in solitude in the middle of the North Sea.
What's it like now he's back? she sent back. I Obliviated my parents, she added. They'll be leaving the UK shortly.
Really awkward, Draco replied. That's good, they'll be safe. Hermione remembered Harry's theories from a year ago that Draco had replaced his father as a Death Eater and the male head of the Malfoy family after Lucius' failure at the Department of Mysteries.
Wrapped up in a comfy blanket on the floor of Ginny's bedroom, her family safely out of Britain, it was easy to be generous. Hermione realised Draco had been right when he told her it would be easier once her parents had gone.
At least he's alive, she offered.
I wish I could Obliviate my parents and send them somewhere safe, her bangle blinked back at her.
It felt strange to discuss his parents without fighting about how truly heinous they were, or alongside threats to kill a bunch of unsuspecting school children. Draco was normally so closed up about them.
I know, she sent back. It's strange that they're causing the danger, but could still be hurt by it.
But Draco replied actually, that's one of the few things you three have in common, and Hermione realised her observation might be more subjective than she initially thought.
The Burrow was very calm for a week; sunshine, home cooking, and Ron increasingly becoming a distant supporter rather than active participant in deciphering the ancient horcrux books he and Harry had acquired from Dumbledore's office. Bill, true to his word, came by one evening with a stack of the latest publications in curse breaking, which made for a good break from trying to learn Old English and Welsh to interpret some mad hag's journal scrawls from the fourteenth century.
"Thank you so much Bill, this is so generous of you," Hermione couldn't help gushing as he dropped a heavy pile of books on a coffee table she had taken over in the lounge for reading purposes.
"Not at all," Bill said, glancing at the book in her hands. "'Geiria…Welsh Dictionary'," he read, skipping over most of the Welsh title to the English explanation at the end."Yeah, curse breaking is sometimes language learning by another name. Can be a bit painful sometimes."
"I don't mind," she replied, putting the book to the side. "Ron is less keen on picking up a language for research purposes."
"He should've found a nice foreign woman who could translate for him, like I did, then," Bill laughed. They both looked over at Fleur, who had a tape measure around an irate Ginny. Hermione giggled nervously and quickly changed the subject from Bill's fiancée.
"Have you heard of any curses related to blood purity?" she asked. Bill gave her a knowing look.
"Have you?" he asked back. Hermione pulled her feet out from under her, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.
"No," she replied. "Theoretically, I thought you could code a blood ward to pureblood family lines, but that's a specific blood link and not a general one based on magic."
"I didn't pick you for a blood purist, Hermione," Bill said, too casually.
"I'm not!" she exclaimed.
"No, because you know it's nonsense. Why are you looking for a spell that discerns based on something that doesn't exist?" Bill asked.
"Magical capability is a different question to how long magic has existed in someone's ancestry," she huffed.
"I suppose," Bill conceded. "But I haven't heard of any curse or spell that can determine that."
They fell silent as Ginny started swatting and hissing at Fleur like a cat. "How's the wedding planning going?" Hermione asked. Bill sighed heavily.
"I'm working with the Order on the security side. I've left fighting with Ginny and all my relatives to Fleur and Mum," he said.
"Ah," Hermione said dumbly. Of course security was the paramount concern.
"Harry arriving is one thing. Two hundred vaguely Order-aligned witches and wizards is going to be something else entirely," Bill said.
"Is there anything Ron or I can do to help?" she asked. Bill snorted.
"Yes, you can keep Mum out of my hair," he replied.
"Oh," she said – that was not exactly what she had meant. "That might be more difficult than helping with warding and security checks," she reflected, and Bill laughed.
"Of course it is, Hermione!" he said, and his happy reaction caught Fleur's attention, who abandoned Ginny and sidled under his arm.
"Of course what, sweetheart?" she asked them both.
"I was just saying how hard you've been working on the wedding," Bill said. "Hermione and Ron have kindly offered to help you."
"Oh, that would be so wonderful, Hermione!" Fleur said, smiling excitedly. "Honestly there is so much work to do in the next few weeks, now the wedding is happening here and not in France, I am trying to get the chicken smell out of this house but SOME people seem not to pay any attention when I –"
Hermione supposed she owed Bill a favour for handing over his expensive book collection, considering his evil grin as Fleur described a long list of offences the Burrow had personally caused her. Ron, however, was much less impressed with the deal when she described it to him later over horcrux research.
"I'm not helping with wedding stuff," he said indignantly, trying to shove Pigwidgeon out the window. "I don't care what you told Bill."
"Well, what do you want to help with then, Ron," she replied, unable to keep the impatience out of her tone. "Because so far I'm learning Old English, Welsh, Ancient Greek, all of Bill's curse breaking books, all the other shit I stole from the muggle library in Birmingham, preparing so we can go to ground at a moment's notice, and banishing my parents to Australia."
"God, Hermione, the answer is not going to be in a muggle book," Ron said, finally succeeding in getting Pig out and slamming the window shut.
"Fuck you, Ron," she spat back. "What did Dumbledore tell Harry? He focused on Volde-"
"Don't say his name," Ron interrupted.
"Are you serious?" she asked. "How can you still be scared of his name when you destroyed one the other day?"
"It's not my fault I'm better at magic than you for once, Hermione," Ron said, voice quiet and full of acid.
She was on her feet, wand pointed at him to cast something she'd regret, when his bedroom door burst open and they both jumped. Mrs Weasley stood there, looking very angry, and Hermione could tell that she and Ron realised at the same time they hadn't cast any protective spells to stop her listening at the door.
"Could I speak to you two in the kitchen, please?" she said, a command more than a question, before she swiftly headed downstairs. Hermione shoved the horcrux books into her charmed bag as Ron gave her a surly look and left the room.
When Hermione reached the kitchen, there were three mugs of tea on the table, trying their best to make the atmosphere less like an interrogation. She sat beside Ron as Mrs Weasley glared at them over her Earl Grey.
"So," Mrs Weasley said. "Bill tells me you're doing a lot of work on curse breaking, Hermione."
Bill was not the only Weasley who could throw someone under the bus, it turned out. "Er – yes," she said, looking at Ron, who was steadily avoiding both her and Mrs Weasley's gaze. "It's to help Harry with a mission," she said, deciding to cut to the chase.
Mrs Weasley's eyebrows disappeared entirely under her fringe. "A mission?" she repeated.
"Harry has a mission from Dumbledore," Ron said, finally deciding to join in. "Me and Hermione are helping him with it."
"Harry is not even seventeen yet," Mrs Weasley said. "What possible mission could Dumbledore have given him?"
"Well, if you think about it for a minute, Mum –" Ron said testily. Hermione interrupted before he could completely blow up the conversation and the secret.
"I'm sorry, Mrs Weasley, but the mission is secret," she said. "We aren't able to tell anyone else, even Order members."
Mrs Weasley shook her head, taking an angry sip of her tea. "You are both being ridiculous. What mission could three young people still at school undertake?"
"We're of age, mum," Ron said. "And we're not going back to Hogwarts."
Mrs Weasley coughed, returning her mug to the table untidily, tea slopping over the sides. "I beg your pardon?" she said.
"None of us are, Mrs Weasley," Hermione confirmed.
She was silent for a moment; Ron swallowed some of his tea and Hermione studiously watched her own mug steam away.
"Let me see if I understand you two correctly," Mrs Weasley said. "You are all dropping out of education, to go on a mission that Dumbledore entrusted to three teenagers, that you cannot tell anyone else about?" she recounted, voice heavy with sarcasm.
Ron nodded. "Yep, that's about right," he said brashly. Hermione couldn't help but admire his unflappable stubbornness a tiny bit.
But now Mrs Weasley was staring her down. Hermione fled into her tea, taking a long sip. "And what did your parents have to say about this, Hermione?" she asked. Voice quiet and dangerous. She must have overheard her and Ron arguing.
Hermione put her mug down and gathered her courage to stare Mrs Weasley in the eye. "They don't know about it, Mrs Weasley. I have sent them overseas for their safety."
She was glad Ron was there to stare at his mother stonily as well. The look of shock and revulsion on Mrs Weasley's face might have made her wilt otherwise.
"And they just agreed to do that, did they?" she asked, tone soft but acetic. Hermione stared back, wondering whether to explicitly admit to the wife of the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office that she had committed several prison-worthy sins against her muggle parents.
"The Death Eaters have already tried to kill Hermione twice, Mum," Ron retorted for her. "It's only a matter of time before they go after her family."
Mrs Weasley's attention snapped back to her son, to Hermione's relief. "Like you would know. Don't you dare speak to me like that, Ronald," she said, voice harsher than Hermione had ever heard it. Ron shifted slightly, and Hermione suddenly wondered how many people in Mrs Weasley's family had died in the First Wizarding War.
But the talk of death had changed something in Mrs Weasley's resolve. When she looked back at Hermione, it was only a quick glance, and Hermione could see something aside from anger in her face now.
"We will finish discussing this later, Ron. With your father." And with that, she took her tea and stomped upstairs to bed.
Ron breathed out slowly, and looked at her. "Could have been worse," he said bracingly.
But Mrs Weasley's words had brought Hermione back to earth. "I committed a crime, Ron," she whispered, clutching her tea and staring into the liquid rather than look at him. "Against my muggle family."
"You saved your parents, Hermione," he said, reaching over to pat her hand; she curled her fingers around her mug for warmth. "That was what got Mum off your back, by the way. She would have done the same thing." He grabbed his mug and emptied his mostly undrunk tea in the kitchen sink. "Her brothers died in the First War. Five Death Eaters against the two of them. And they were armed, they were powerful wizards with wands. Your parents couldn't defend themselves if the Death Eaters showed up. It'd be a fucking miserable death."
He was right. Some guilty feelings about the unfairness of magic against muggles was a small price to pay to save her parents from a certain torturous end, and give them many more happy decades of life together. Draco had even said he wished he could have done what she was able to do for her mum and dad. She had no right to feel sorry for herself.
"Do you think she'll tell your Dad?" Hermione asked. "If he's going to report me to the Ministry –"
Ron interrupted her, laughing. "Dad's not going to turn you in, Hermione, good grief," he said, chuckling.
Hermione wasn't so sure. "He's one of the most pro-muggle wizards I know, Ron," she said, but he shook his head.
"I really don't think you have to worry about that. And," he suddenly stopped, walking over to speak in a lower voice. "How would he find them, anyway? They've already gone overseas with new names."
This was a good point – perhaps being quiet and not answering any awkward questions would be sufficient to get through the next planned round of interrogation by Ron's parents. "You might be right," she admitted, pushing herself out of her seat. "I'm going to have a bath and go to bed."
Ron nodded, and Hermione locked herself in the Burrow's tiny bathroom. It was close to midnight – Draco might have escaped Death Eater hospitality duties by now. It was weird to know the little, bizarre administrative details of hosting the death machine. Like that Death Eater meetings usually ran from 9 to 11pm, or that Voldemort scarcely ate anything except vegetables when they served meals.
She pulled off her bangle and saw a familiar complaint waiting for her.
Aunt Bella yelled at Father in front of everyone today. It's so uncomfortable to watch.
"Aunt Bella" was not just a war criminal who tortured good people into insanity; it turned out she was also a rude houseguest who did not suffer fools like Lucius Malfoy gladly.
What did your mother do? she sent back, scrubbing her legs and watching a moth flit about the open window by the showerhead. Narcissa was the familial link between Bellatrix and Lucius, after all.
Pretended it wasn't happening, Draco replied. Even when the Dark Lord isn't here this house is miserable.
Hermione sighed. She knew Draco had thought his father returning home might herald some shift in the tensions at the place. But even the strongest patriarch was going to be no match for Voldemort moving in, and Lucius seemed to be struggling to find his footing in the new dynamics of what had been his house.
Lucius and Narcissa could choke on the tiny karma of unpleasant visitors all day long, for all Hermione cared. But Draco, of course, did not see it that way.
Do you get out of the house at all? she asked, trying to change the subject from tedious complaints about Bellatrix's sense of manners.
I'm on the continent this evening, actually, he replied, to Hermione's surprise.
Business or pleasure? she asked, hoping he wasn't idly messaging her while some other Death Eaters were off torturing some poor French people or something.
Well, both? I'm setting up a safe house in the nicest, safest tourist trap I can find, Draco replied.
Hermione felt her heart skip a beat, then wondered if she was being too presumptuous. That's a smart idea, she sent back politely, pulling the plug out of the tub. The water noisily circled the drain as she wrapped a huge towel around herself and wandered to Ginny's room.
Assuming we both get out alive if you get caught, sure, he replied flippantly, and Hermione bit back a smile.
A holiday after escaping the wrath of Voldemort sounds ideal, she joked, falling clean asleep before he could reply.
Mr Weasley pulled her and Ron aside before dinner the next evening, hushed tones and avoidant eyes.
"Molly is very concerned about you two," he said quietly, fiddling with some spanners in the garage the three of them stood in, hiding from the witch in question. "Seems to think you're leaving school and going off on some secret mission."
"It's Harry's mission, Dad," Ron clarified. "Dumbledore gave it to him. Hermione and I are helping him."
"And it has to be Harry?" Mr Weasley asked, looking at Ron and Hermione seriously.
"Yes, Mr Weasley," she confirmed. "It's top secret. We three are the only ones allowed to know about it."
He sighed and stared into the engine of the new muggle car he had acquired since Harry and Ron had surrendered his previous vehicle to the Forbidden Forest in second year. "She says you've sent your parents abroad," he said quietly. Hermione looked at Ron and then nodded.
"Yes. I think they might be targeted by Death Eaters otherwise," she replied. Mr Weasley nodded and Hermione breathed out slightly.
"We'll all be targeted by Death Eaters soon enough," he said, eyes glazed over with tiredness. "But we'll discuss that more at the Order meeting tonight. Do you know where you're going?"
Ron hesitated. "Yes…initially. But we might be going all over Europe," he replied. Mr Weasley opened a cupboard behind him and pulled out a large backpack, handing it to Hermione.
"Magical tent. If you're on the run or don't know where you'll be going…might come in useful," he said. Hermione blinked. She wasn't expecting any sort of generosity from this conversation – more preparing to get arrested. Ron had been right to laugh at her doubt last night, it seemed.
"Thank you, Mr Weasley," she said.
"Thanks Dad," Ron agreed, and Mr Weasley clapped him on the back.
"Be kind to your mother," he said. "It's hard for her. Particularly after Bill." They both nodded, and Hermione did several charms to fit the magical camping apparatus into the beaded bag that contained all of their earthly belongings.
"All right, everyone be – Nymphadora! EVERYONE SHUT UP!"
Mad-Eye's voice boomed across the Weasley's packed living room. Tonks guiltily hid her twinkling hand behind her back as her conversation earnt the most of Moody's ire.
"I'm calling this meeting to order," Moody growled. "First up, Ministry temperature. Arthur?"
"Death Eater sympathisers are in at least once a week, now," Mr Weasley said. "Increasingly bold. They know a shift is coming."
"I've had arrests of importance ready to proceed to trial for weeks, but still nothing back from Scrimgeour's office to get them going," Tonks said, looking at a man Harry had once told Hermione was named Kingsley. "Have you got anything out of them?"
"Only a brief response to another Imperius attack, and that was from Fudge," Kingsley replied, face creased with concern.
"And I've had not so much as a boo since reporting Thicknesse for pushing through that emergency law cutting off magical transport from Potter's house," Moody spat. "Meanwhile the last of the Death Eaters have been sprung from Azkaban – old pal Malfoy and chums. The coup may as well have already happened. I want everyone here to check they're ready with go-bags. It'll happen any day now."
Hermione looked at Ron, and she could see on his face that he was feeling quite as out of his depth as she was. She should have expected it, really – no messing around with pleasantries when Moody lead the resistance.
"Unless anyone's got anything else interesting to note, we'll move onto how we're getting Potter out of Surrey," Moody said, his magical eye sweeping across the room quickly. "Well th – oh."
It stopped on her and Ron, and a few faces turned towards them.
"One of your's, Arthur?" Moody asked. "And –"
"Hermione Granger, sir," she spoke up, and Moody barked out a laugh.
"'Sir', huh?" He suddenly frowned. "I take it you ran into a certain Barty Crouch, young lady."
Hermione nodded, and Lupin came to their rescue. "Hermione and Ron are Harry's friends, Alastor," he said.
"That kid needs friends," Moody replied, eying them up. "Were you lot at the Department of Mysteries?"
"Yes," she and Ron replied. "And the Astronomy Tower," Ron added. Hermione suddenly tried to focus on Antonin Dolohov striking her down, and not waking up from an Imperiused betrayal, but it appeared Moody was already satisfied.
"Good," Moody said. "Then maybe you can help with the plan." He poked an unsavoury looking man to his left, scowling under a pageboy cap. "Well, Mundungus. Tell 'em your brainwave."
The man looked at Moody uneasily, but started to address the group. "Can't Side-along 'im out without leavin' the ward. Can't Floo 'im out either, Ministry blocked it. Mad-Eye reckons an illegal Portkey ain't worth it."
"Mad-Eye would be right about that, Dung," Moody said. "If you'd been listening five minutes earlier, you might have picked up that Transport has been infiltrated good and proper. So, what's the best way to get Potter out of his muggle Aunt's house before Lily's blood magic fades?"
The shifty man rubbed his neck. "By getting a whole lot of 'im out, at the same time. Bunch of us can Polyjuice an' take off to multiple different safehouses. Will split up an' confuse any Death Eaters watchin' his house."
Moody turned from Mundungus to the group. "Well?"
"Not bad," Remus said thoughtfully, brow furrowed as he considered the proposal. "You could also Polyjuice Harry into someone else, to hide him further."
"He'll really hate it," Hermione ventured. "He might not go willingly."
"I don't give a kneazle's nut what Potter thinks," Moody said cuttingly. "Dumbledore said getting him out of Surrey in one piece was critical, and I intend to do just that."
Hermione nodded. "I know," she said. "Just wanted to note that we may have to force him."
"Well, assuming the Order can overcome one annoyed underage wizard," George said sarcastically, "I presume you'll want volunteers, Moody?"
"Yes," Moody said, turning back to the wider group. "For pretend Potters and people protecting them. We'll need at least ten."
Hermione and Ron raised their hands, as well as most of the Weasleys and a few others. Moody counted and looked satisfied.
"And with me and Dung, that'll make six fake Potters and seven guardians," he said. Mundungus did not look happy about this.
"I'm not going," he said.
"Yes you are," Moody growled. "Your idea, you can bloody well do it too. Remus, Nymphadora – take names and figure out a draft plan to get him out. I want options on volunteer combinations, dates, transport modes, safe houses, and the safest option for the real Potter."
"Got it," Tonks said cheerfully while Remus hurriedly scrawled down volunteer names.
"I'll sort Polyjuice. Alright, next item is a Hogwarts update. McGonagall, have you heard anymore from that blasted Umbridge woman?"
The rest of the meeting quickly passed by in a blur of names and information that Hermione had to focus on intently to keep up with. Concerns about Ministry interference at Hogwarts, and what it might mean for Muggle-born students next school year; losing Snape as a Death Eater informant and the lack of good options to replace him (Hermione tried to sit still and not feel guilty during this depressing, unsuccessful brainstorm); whether Inferi reports were out of control rumours or a serious threat. After an hour, Moody wrapped up the meeting, but pointed at her and Ron as everyone stood up to leave.
"You two," he said, jabbing at them with a short, amputated finger. "I want a word with you both." Remus also hesitated and Mrs Weasley shot them an angry look as she bade goodbye to the many Order members leaving to Disapparate.
Remus lead them outside by the herb garden the gnomes liked to steal from.
"McGonagall tells me Potter and you lot have a mission," he said.
At least the interrogations from Mr and Mrs Weasley had been good practice to stand up to Moody, Hermione thought, as she and Ron ran through this conversation again.
"Yes," Ron said patiently. "From Dumbledore. Top secret, can't tell anyone what it's about."
"Oh yes, whatever could it be?" Moody asked sarcastically. Remus frowned at him and Hermione wondered whether he did know, or knew enough to guess. "Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard that lived, wasn't he? And that mission killed him."
It wasn't a question, but Moody stopped talking like he expected them to jump in. Remus helpfully cut in to save them.
"We know it's your mission and it's secret. Are you sufficiently equipped to carry it on, now that Dumbledore has died?" he asked, looking between her and Ron very intently.
"Dumbledore was training that boy. Did he do enough?" Moody asked too. Ron's expression grew blank with surprise and apprehension; he looked to Hermione.
"Yes," she replied stoutly. "We have the –"
"Don't tell me, girl," Moody interrupted rudely. "Isn't it meant to be secret? Good god."
"You have the knowledge, tools, power you need?" Remus asked, looking to Moody for confirmation his language was suitably abstract.
"Yes," she repeated. "More than any other witch or wizard that isn't Voldemort." Ron nodded as well.
"We do," he said. "We know we do."
This comment caught Moody's attention; his magical eye whizzed around and his remaining eyebrow raised in slight surprise.
"Well, then," he said. "You're going to want alibis. Ministry and Death Eaters will come knocking soon, looking for people Potter's close to."
"I'll talk to my father. Should be able to manage something, there's tonnes of Weasleys and we're pure-blood," Ron said. Moody nodded approvingly and looked to Hermione.
"And you?" he asked.
"I'm muggle-born. My family is leaving the country with new identities. They'll figure I'm with them or with Harry," she replied.
"They left? They're ok with you staying behind?" Remus asked, surprised.
"I Obliviated them," Hermione replied coolly, deciding to omit the Imperius curse. "They couldn't stay. I've fought too many Death Eaters."
Moody laughed darkly. "If you run with Potter, you're right about that," he said. "Muggle-born, eh? A lot to fight for then, young lady."
"Yes," she said stiffly.
"Good enough for me. What say you, Remus?" Moody said, looking at him.
"You're all very young. You must let the Order know if there's anything we can help with," he said, worried wrinkles creasing all over his face and up into his greying hair. "You are likely going to face unspeakable evil magic. You don't have to do it completely alone."
An image of a fetus being devoured by a huge snake flashed in Hermione's mind. "We know," Ron said.
And with that, they disappeared back into the house to leave, leaving Ron and Hermione to catch their breath amongst the dill the gnomes hadn't yet eaten.
Author's note: Not me self-inserting as Remus to comment on the horrifying subjective experience of time.
I am having the time of my LIFE writing Mad-Eye, if you've never written with him before give it a go, I bet you'll love it!