Hermione's gaze settled on the little face across from her, the innocent curious look of Victoire. The girl's blonde hair brought memories of another, causing bile to fill her mouth. She had ruined enough innocence. She wouldn't take this girl's too.

"The girls shouldn't hear this." Her voice was low as she muttered into her plate, breaking the silence.

With the baby already on her hip, Fleur rushed to her daughter's side to usher her towards the living room. At the doorway, she met her husband's gaze, a look that clearly said, "You'll tell me later." Bill gave her a curt, almost indiscernible nod. But Hermione noticed. She watched and waited until Fleur disappeared around a corner. Anything to take her mind away from the task at hand. Anything to delay it just a moment longer. Harry noticed and placed a hand on her knee, offering what comfort and support he could. With a steely breath, she finally met each questioning gaze around the table. Silencing charms rose around the room to prevent the conversation from carrying over to the children as Hermione drained the last of her butterbeer, wishing for something stronger.

"Shall we?" she asked. When no protest came, she proceeded with an abridged version of the last four years. She refused to speak of the failure with her parents and relegated the months after the war as simply "traveling about." The kidnapping and the Post weren't as easy to skim over. It was the entire reason Harry forced her to come after all, but she couldn't relive the details. The pitying looks from certain Weasleys were bad enough. Ginny neared closer to tears the more Hermione spoke. Only the bare essentials of it all, Hermione decided, and barely that. She didn't tell them what her training consisted of. She excluded her specialties in research. She omitted the scars that littered her body and mind.

There were holes and sections that didn't make sense, but they were things she didn't dare say. Harry gave her a wary look for skimming over certain aspects, but she trudged onward, carefully choosing her words as she did. Finished, she snagged Harry's butterbeer and polished it off with a flourish before sinking deeper in her seat and releasing the silencing charms. But the Burrow remained silent as if she had extended the charm to the whole of the property and its inhabitants.

"Are you saying we could be in a war again?" Arthur asked as he gripped his water glass with shaking hands.

"Not like the last one. They're too smart for all-out attacks like Voldemort." Several people around the table winced as she said his name but there were also several sighs of relief to know this new threat wouldn't be as brazen. It didn't, however, make them any less dangerous. In Hermione's own opinion, it made them perhaps even more so. "The New Order is much more about strategy. They won't make any moves until all of their pawns are in place. Until they're sure they'll succeed."

"And how long before they start placing these pawns?" George asked as he leaned into the table, eager to hear every word. Now twenty-five, he refused to be left out of the conversations. His mother had no say in that.

"They already have," Harry answered when Hermione's jaw snapped shut. "Hermione already identified one mole in the Ministry. She's being monitored now."

"Oh, sweet Merlin," Arthur muttered and wiped at his forehead where nervous sweat collected on his brow.

"I would expect your department to see an influx of activity. That is, if you're still the head of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts," Hermione told the older man.

Arthur's eyebrows drew up towards his thinning hairline. "We have had a small increase of witches and wizards found with odd Muggle contraptions not unlike yours. Haven't figured out what they do, though."

Her jaw tightened as her fists bunched the napkin in her lap. "Yes, I suspect you may see more witches and wizards with those in the future. They should immediately be detained in isolation. And you'll need to be careful of those items. They're very dangerous."

"And what authority do you have to give orders such as that to a Ministry employee?" Percy bit out, receiving glares from half the table and a nod of approval from Molly.

"The authority of the Minister of Magic himself," Harry retorted, boring his glare through Percy.

"You went to the Minister before coming home?!" Molly screeched, strangling the napkin in her hands. "And he couldn't bother to notify us?"

Arthur shot his wife a look but stayed quiet as the tension mounted in the room. It was the calm voice of Fleur that broke through.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Every eye snapped to her rigid form. The clear truth was that she shouldn't be okay. Even the abridged version of the New Order Rising was enough to send each of them back into nightmares of war. But her training also sat in the forefront of her mind. She could not show weakness. Never show weakness.

"Never better," she answered evenly, furthest from the truth. Fleur gave her a tight, knowing smile before moving to place a hand on her shoulder, the baby still balanced on her hip.

"Pudding?" Ginny asked with a nervous laugh before using her wand to clear the table. The clanking of plates and cutlery filled the kitchen as the rest of the party exchanged nervous or furious glances around the table. The cake was sliced, passed around, and eaten in complete silence. Hermione poked at her own slice, hardly able to stomach the idea of another moment spent in that kitchen. Luckily, her escape came in the form of an ever-curious Mr. Weasley.

"Perhaps you can show me how these devices work, Hermione. How to make them safe," he asked as he rose from the table with his empty plate.

George's chair scraped against the floor in his haste to stand. "I'd like to learn too."

The tension slowly diffused with the movement about the room. Mr. Weasley, George, and Hermione made their way to the back garden. Percy bid a hasty goodbye as Fleur cleared the table and set the dishes to wash. Bill and Harry occupied the children, the latter of which surprised the girls by presenting them with belated Christmas presents. Molly pulled Ron into a corner, her voice hushed and forced, getting more animated as Ginny joined. The tension still laid thick through the room as Molly shooed her youngest son off, who stomped away before she approached Harry.

She patted his cheek with all the affection of a loving mother. "Now of course I'm not terribly angry with you, dear. You just worried me sick this last month. I thought those Muggle healers might have you again."

Harry hastily cleared his throat and pulled away, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. "Uh, no nothing like that. And I'd rather not discuss that again."

Molly gave him a sympathetic smile and rubbed his arm. "Of course, dear, but I do think you should stay here tonight. There's too much going on, and I would just feel better if you were to stay with us."

"That's kind of you, Mrs. Weasley, but it's not necessary. Hermione said my flat is adequately warded. The two of us will be safe there. I don't think we should risk staying overnight."

The trio from the garden re-entered the kitchen, and Molly made no attempt to lower her voice nor hid her disdain as she said, "So it's dangerous for her to be here."

No one missed the fact she directed the comment at Hermione alone rather than the both of them. Hermione straightened, refusing to whither under the matriarch's glare.

"No," Harry insisted and caught Hermione's eye. He sent her a soft, trusting smile before continuing. "Hermione knows what she's doing. They wouldn't have been able to track us here. You all are safe, but we should get back."

Recognizing the sight of a losing battle, Molly returned to fussing over him, insisting he take leftovers, while George pulled Hermione aside.

"Don't pay Mum any mind," he insisted. "You know how she gets."

"You mean hating me," she deadpanned, still tracking Molly.

"She doesn't hate you. She's just overly protective."

Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes, but George chose to ignore it. He pressed a galleon into her hand that she recognized as her own communication galleons. "Harry let me tinker with his. They're like two-way connections now. Harry called them written talkie walkies, I think. I'm working on something a little more convenient but these work well enough. Contact me if we can help you. I've been working on some stuff at the shop. Could be useful for spying. And come back sooner this time, okay?"

Before George could fully release her from a hug, Ginny folded her own arms around Hermione, pulling her close. Over her shoulder, Hermione noticed a silent exchange between Ron and his mother before he stomped up the stairs.

"I'm really glad you're okay," she whispered before releasing Hermione with a small smile.

"Uh. Thanks," she mumbled towards the ground, unsure what to think of the youngest Weasley.

After a round of goodbyes and promises to keep them updated, Hermione all but ran out the front door with Harry following at a slower pace.

"Well, that went better than expected," he remarked, bumping his shoulder against hers. She scoffed a sarcastic laugh. No one ended the night in St. Mungos and that was perhaps the best outcome to be hoped for.

"Did you get what you were looking for from that?" Hermione stuffed her hands in her coat pocket, unsure of the answer she wanted.

"I think we got what we needed from it," he answered cryptically. Her mind flipped through the night. Their conversation in the garden, teaching Mr. Weasley and George how to render a firearm safe, Harry's terse conversation with Mrs. Weasley. What about any of that did they need? Instead of asking, she took hold of his wrist and Apparated them both to his flat as a door slammed behind them.

Once inside the flat and re-warded, Harry moved to the kitchen to start a kettle for tea while Hermione pulled out the intelligence files from her bag. Playtime was over, and she needed to get back to work.

As she opened a file on new ministry employee Elliot Stone, a thump against the door sent her on high alert. Even Harry peeked his head from the kitchen, wand ready and pointed at the door. She signaled for quiet and for him to come towards her. She pressed his free hand to the back of her neck in case they required a hasty apparition. With a silent spell, the door flew open dumping a slack body with bright red hair into the room.

"Ron?" Harry asked as he rushed to his friend's side. Hermione cast a silent Enervate to counterattack the stunner he triggered. He came to with a gasp and scrambled back into the room.

"New wards, mate?" Ron groaned, slowly moving to his feet again.

Harry's gaze flicked up to Hermione before he reached over to help his friend up. "Yeah, had to up them with everything going on."

"What are you doing here?" Hermione bit out, arms crossed. Noticing the bag slung over his back, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I wanna help." His voice wavered and his eyes darted away from her hard face. It wasn't exactly untrue. He did want to help, even if he wasn't sure what that meant.

"You don't have to do this mate," Harry assured him. "You've got Hannah and the shop. You've got a lot going on."

"Yeah, well, so do you. You would do it for me though, mate. So I'm doing it for you."

"And you'd do it for me?" Her voice was accusing and bitter. She knew good and well what the answer was before the lie tumbled out.

"Yeah, course," he breathed, gripping the strap of his bag harder.

It left Hermione in a difficult spot. While the whole reason Harry wanted to come to the Burrow, other than to reassure Molly, was to recruit help, she didn't expect it to end in any of the Weasleys wanting to come along, much less Ron.

"Hermione." Harry's soft voice pulled her from her reverie.

Looking up, her eyes met ice blue instead of mossy green, and in those blue eyes, she saw a past, one she hadn't thought about in years. One that involved a strange mix of dark magic and happy memories. Nostalgia. It sent her off-axis. Her center no longer felt solid but tilted to one side and then the other. And she needed it to stop.

"No."

Before either man could respond, Hermione stormed down the hall to the bedroom she'd claimed. Behind her, someone followed, but she didn't care. She needed to close herself away and think where no one could see or judge.

"Hermione, stop." Harry caught her arm before she could lock herself in the guest room. "Why won't you want Ron to come?"

"Why would I want him to come?"

"It's Ron," he said simply as if it was the only reason she should need. And it was the only reason she needed. The only reason she needed to say no.

"Exactly. It's Ron," she hissed, sure he could hear the argument from the living room. Perhaps it would do the job for her and he'd simply leave. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't re-stun him and dump him back off at the Burrow?"

"He could be useful!" Harry retorted in defense. Ron and Hermione had never been the closest, but he never imagined her being so cold towards their friend.

"Please give me an example."

"Well, there was the chess game." He crossed his arms proudly "First year. We'd have been screwed without him."

"I highly doubt there will be any games of wizards' chess our lives will depend on."

"We thought that first year too, didn't we?" She glared at him mimicking his posture but couldn't disagree. "Look. He's not the same as when you left, just like you aren't the same. Just- Give him a chance? He wants to help and we could use some of that." When she didn't respond, he shot her a smirk and added, "Plus he makes a mean BLT." The comment earned him another hard glare and for half a moment, he thought she may smack him.

Involving more people meant more liability, but even she had to admit that having a direct line to a long-standing Ministry employee would be useful, especially the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. The New Order certainly loved to use those. She wasn't, however, quick to forget the Horcrux hunt. The tantrums. His disappearance. But he was also a pureblood, someone who knew the ins and outs of the Wizarding World and its entire history through sheer birth. Something no amount of studying could afford her. Worst case scenario, she would obliviate him.

"If he sticks around, you're responsible for him," she relented.

"Okay, but you need to tell him what this is about. The real story. You left out a lot at the Burrow."

"You know everything he'd need to know. You tell him."

"It would be better to come from you."

She contemplated for a moment then turned to face him and crossed her arms. Harry Potter would not be bullying her into anything. Not without terms, especially after the night she had.

"Fine then, I want that whiskey you've got tucked at the top of your fridge."

"Sorry?" he asked, sure he must have misheard her.

"Firewhiskey. Top right corner. Merlin's Reserves 1821, if I'm not mistaken. I want it. If I have to relive that hell again, it's only fair I do it with the best whiskey."

He huffed incredulously at the fact he was bartering with her using alcohol, but if it worked, who was he to argue. "Deal."

Surprise flickered in her eyes before the stone mask slipped back on. Shaking her head, she moved past him, muttering about making higher demands next time.

The firewhiskey drifted to the table with Hermione's silent summoning. Despite his earlier nerves, Ron appeared perfectly at ease leaning against Harry's kitchen island, a half-eaten custard in front of him.

"So what exactly are we trying to do here?" he asked around a mouthful of food. Even Harry had to roll his eyes as he took a seat across from Hermione and accepted the glass she slid to him.

"The short of it - take them down," she stated, taking the first glass of whiskey as a shot.

"How?"

"That's the hard part. I have no idea right now."

"Seriously?" Ron asked. He had been certain a Third Wizarding War would be a quick in and out with Hermione at the helm. She wasn't called the Brightest Witch of Her Age for nothing, after all; she always had a plan. It seemed like a fair question to him. Harry's icy glare silenced him as he slumped into a chair. To nurse his wounds, he poured a heavy hand of the whiskey for himself.

"Hey," Harry called softly to her, grabbing her free hand. She flinched at his touch. "We'll figure it out. We always do."

Drinking deeply from her glass, she wished she could have his confidence.

"So what do we do right now?" Ron sighed, taking another sip of his whiskey. He'd been begging Harry for years to crack open this bottle gifted to him after the war. It was as good as he'd been fantasizing about, and despite the tension, he was going to enjoy it.

"Compile intel. Attempt to piece together the master plan."

Harry slowly sipped his whiskey as she gave a slightly more detailed debriefing. Her eyes flickered over to him at the mention of research. She quickly skimmed over her specialty, regaling it to simply "magic research." That section Harry thought Ron could do without. A world without magic would be unfathomable to him and knowing this group was dabbling in such an idea would likely do nothing for him. Not to mention if the Muggle science terminology was over Harry's head, it would probably cause Ron's to implode if he didn't fall asleep first.

"Then Harry found me," she finished with one final flourish of her glass. She resolutely refused to meet Harry's eye, the retelling clearly taking a lot from her. While he hated to force her through it again, Harry knew it was necessary.

Desperate for escape, she set her glass in the sink and left for her room before either of them could form another question. Before she exited the room, however, Hermione turned back to the table telling them, "Don't get too comfortable. We leave tomorrow."

"What?" Ron squeaked, breaking his information and an alcohol-induced stupor. "But I just got here."

She took a deep breath and leaned against the door frame. "Yes, Ronald, we leave first thing in the morning. That's how this works. We keep moving."

Her eyes flashed to Harry, daring him to say anything about the amount of time they had already spent in his flat, but he was preoccupied with other thoughts of dead men's houses.

"But why can't we stay another day?" Ron whined. "Or go to my flat?"

"Because it was one thing for Harry to disappear for a little while. If both of you suddenly vanish from the public eye, someone is going to start asking questions. We need to be away from anything associated with either of you before that happens."

An argument sat poised on Ron's tongue, but Hermione stormed out before he could get the words out. Instead, he turned to Harry who sat quietly swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

"We're really about to do all this shit again?"

Harry took a deep breath, recentering himself. While he knew Hermione would have a hard time, he hadn't anticipated how listening to the horrors of the New Order again would affect him. "Not really another choice, is there?"

Ron merely hummed into his glass, mulling over choices made in the past and choices to be made now. The instructions his mother gave him before he left were clear: Watch Harry. He's never sensible when it comes to that girl. Choices weren't exactly in abundance at the moment. They never were for the trio.