AN: I am so sorry to be late with this chapter! I had a feeling I would end up missing a deadline but I had hoped it wouldn't be this soon. Having said that, I am going to try and keep with my every two weeks schedule, but I can't make any promises just now. A combination of prioritizing my mental and physical health along with keeping up with a hectic work schedule unfortunately means I'm not as available to write as I would like.
Know your kind words and support for this story mean the world to me and I do promise to finish it. Updates just may be more like happy little surprises for now.
Lots of love,
AB
By day four, the complaining nearly made her snap. Their wands, her sanity? Who was to say?
"Come on Hermione, give us a break," Ron moaned, an ice pack held to the developing bruise on his shoulder while he tried to eat lunch with his other hand. It did nothing, however, for his severely beaten ego. "I can barely move."
"Trust me, you'll be moving a lot less if you encounter a B-Class."
"A what?" Harry asked. As patient as he was, even he was tired of her dropping names and terms like they were supposed to know what it meant. Like they had been with her the last four years, and each time, it reminded him that he hadn't been.
"B-Class. I suppose you could say it's their version of Aurors."
"Well, I'm not very likely to encounter them in this flat now, am I?" Ron grumbled, shifting the ice from his shoulder to his aching ribs.
She wanted to be angry for the snide remark, but even she had to admit he was right. They were hiding under the guise of training, simple as that. It was a waste of precious time and resources.
"We probably should split our focus, Hermione. It does no good to train if we don't have intel to go off of. And it sounds like there's still a lot we need to learn about these people."
She paused with her fork mid-way to her mouth, a piece of potato falling from the end of it. "You want Post lessons?"
"I think they'd be helpful," Harry told her as he tried not to laugh at her shock. "Know your enemy and all. Besides, we need something to go off of or all this training is meaningless."
For all her talk of "no going back", until then, the boys didn't have any truly damning information other than her identity. Harry knew the bare minimum of her research, but nothing of the mechanics. True information was precious and even a commodity she didn't quite have enough of. She knew Poland held some sort of larger operation, something important. That was it. Decisions needed to be made then and there. Either Ron and Harry started contributing to intel gathering and research or she continued on alone. Whatever it was, she didn't have time to continue lying low and waiting for them to lose patience per her original plan.
With a deep sigh, Hermione wordlessly summoned a small vial of clear liquid from her room. She uncorked the vile single-handed, tipping it back in one gulp. The glass clanged against the table where she dropped it unceremoniously before either Ron or Harry even realized what happened.
"What's that?" Harry asked, picking it up to give the remaining droplets a tentative sniff.
"Numbing draught." Her voice took on a detached and emotionless quality as the lines in her face smoothed. It was the most peaceful he'd seen her.
"What the hell is a numbing draught?" Ron asked as he eyed the vial in Harry's hand. All his life in the Wizarding World, he had never heard of any kind of numbing potion. The salve his mum used when he burned his arm on a kettle, sure, but not a potion.
"It's like a calming draught except it numbs you. Mind, body, soul, senses. Numbs everything."
"Hermione," Harry breathed in concern.
"You wanted to know. This is what it'll take." Under normal circumstances, her voice would likely raise to a shout. He would expect a fire in her eyes and crossed arms. Instead, she slumped heavily in the chair, her full weight resting against it as if the effort to sit up straight was suddenly too much. Her posture hadn't relaxed that much in five years. "Now did I take that for nothing or shall I continue?"
"What are the side effects of that?" It was odorless and colorless. For all he knew, it could be water without some kind of analysis.
"So far, haven't had one." Her dull eyes moved between the two of them as if looking straight through. "You've got three hours at best until this wears off. Ask your questions."
"Okay. Easy enough," Ron said, already thinking of every question that'd crossed his mind in the last week, waiting for an opportunity like this. "What exactly is a B-Class?"
"As I said, their version of Aurors."
"And an A-Class?" Harry asked as he finally set the vial down, giving up on figuring out what it could be. If this was the one chance he had to ask questions, he would take full advantage. "You mentioned a First Commanding A-Class to Sarah. What's that?"
"A-Class is intelligence. Jones specifically was over intelligence coming from the research sector. Each command level is a clearance level. First commanding is the highest level clearance known to any of the Post positions. The only thing higher would be Command itself."
"And I'm guessing we don't know who that is?" Ron questioned.
She shook her head, habitually sipping from the tea in front of her. The warm liquid barely registered as it slipped down her throat and settled around the pit in her stomach.
"How'd this even happen? I mean, I figure you don't know how it all started, but how did you get sucked into this?"
"Ron-" Harry attempted to head off another conflict, but the potion seemed to be doing exactly as Hermione described.
"I got caught," she spoke over Harry. Her reactions were slow and dull, far less reactive than her usual temperament. "Their trace is on all magic, not just underage. They have systems in place for members to apprehend any magic user, then impress them into the group."
Ron leaned further back into his seat as he eyed her nervously. The week of training had taught him to be extremely cautious of this new Hermione Granger. If recruitment was a part of the New Order Rising, what did that mean for him and Harry?
"Have you ever done that?"
Her eyes drifted to a set of tally marks on her right forearm. Twelve. One for each month of failed training quotas. Harry tracked his gaze down to her arm, tracing over the scars.
"No."
The leg squeaked as Ron shifted in the hard wooden chair. Harry began to realize how uncomfortably stiff they were, which made him wonder how Hermione could possibly seem comfortable in them.
"Ron, help me transfigure the mats into armchairs, would you? We'll be talking for a while."
He shot Harry an appreciative look as he stood and rubbed his back. Ron darted from the room so quickly, Harry wondered if he might have Apparated from the room.
"Thanks. mate," he muttered once Harry entered the room. "That chair was killing me, and I'm not sure how much longer I could handle her staring through me like that."
"Yeah, I don't like that potion," he agreed as he pointed his wand at a mat, working to transfigure it into a comfortable chair.
"It's not just today. Ever since she came back, it's like being locked in a room with a wild dragon. Like she's not even human anymore." Harry shot a wary glance towards the kitchen, hoping Hermione couldn't hear or the potion made her not care about Ron's accusation. "Seriously Harry, are we positive this is even her? Because the Hermione Granger I knew doesn't know how to shoot guns. She doesn't take potions without knowing every single bloody thing about it."
Harry had to admit, it was a fair point. The girl knew everything there was to know about the potions in their textbooks every year. The ingredients, their uses and properties. For her to now take a potion without knowing every single thing about it was concerning. But he also remembered seeing her in that alley. Remembered the way she attempted to push him away to keep him safe. This was Hermione Granger. Perhaps not the school girl they knew to be swotty and mouthy. Nor the weary and hardened woman who endured the raging of a mad woman. But this was Hermione Granger, he was certain of that.
"I know she's not the same person we knew." Harry paced the floor as he spoke, refusing to meet Ron's eye again. "But she's still Hermione."
Ron shook his head and sunk into the transfigured chair. "Listen, Harry. You know I'm with you 100%. After the last few years, I just wanna make sure you're absolutely sure. But if you say so, I'm with you."
Clapping him on the shoulder, Harry set back on his original task. The conversation wasn't comfortable, but he could at least provide a more comfortable seating arrangement. After fifteen minutes of transfiguration, three large armchairs similar to the Gryffindor common room stood in the dingy living room, making it far homier than either thought possible. Harry gently guided Hermione by the elbow, still clutching her teacup, to a chair before taking one of the two opposite of her. Her movements were slow as if the effort was exhausting and too much for her. The vacant stare in her eyes reminded him of the descriptions Lupin gave of a Dementor's Kiss victim. A shell of the body remained, but the soul forever removed. The image haunted him for weeks during third year, and he knew this image of Hermione in such a state would haunt him longer.
"What was it like in there?" Ron asked to break the silence. He lounged almost lazily in his seat, clearly far more comfortable than he had been in the kitchen. It showed in his emboldened tone. "Daily, I mean. Was it like lessons at Hogwarts or-"
"It was hell." The serene quality of her voice contrasted her words. As if hell could be peaceful. As if it brought some comfort. Regardless of knowing it came from the potion, it made the statement all the eerier. "For the first year, it's nothing but training. Combat spells. Fighting. Weapons training. Medical and triage. There were lessons too. What would happen to those that stood against us. Indoctrination of sorts. How we would be the peace bringers of the earth, ushering in a new dawn of equality for those who joined us. Then you received your assignment in playing a part in that utopia we'd bring. Research, training, intelligence, or combat. Everyone had a part, and everyone played their role for the greater good of the New Order Rising."
The statement came out like a mantra, one memorized and engrained from days, months, years of repetition. As easily as the Hogwarts creed.
"What is that greater good?" Harry whispered, almost afraid of the answer. Every cause believed their fight was for the greater good, even Voldemort. "What's the New Order Rising stand for?"
"Power. Isn't everything about power? Their symbol is a Thunderbird. Historically, the Thunderbird is a notoriously elusive creature, but one that stands for power and strength. There hasn't been evidence supporting a recorded sighting in millennia. Legend says they were hunted to extinction for the power they represent. A Thunderbird feather core wand is alleged to be stronger than most any core when awarded to a deserving witch or wizard. Stronger than even the Phoenix feather. If a person weathered the storm of a Thunderbird and the animal found them deserving, it would shed a feather to be used how that person saw fit."
The lecture felt almost normal to Harry as if the last few years had been some horrible nightmare. In the oversized chair, she seemed smaller and more vulnerable as she tucked her legs under herself like he'd witnessed her do a million times at Hogwarts. If he pushed away everything else, he could pretend they were simply back in Gryffindor tower, perhaps chatting during their lost seventh year, discussing their Christmas holidays or upcoming exams.
"Where's the name come from then?" Ron asked wandering back into the kitchen to grab a bag of crisps, noisily opening the bag as he did. "This New Order Rising? Are they trying to seem like the Order or is it someone from the Order? I bet it's Mundun-"
"It's unrelated to the Order entirely if what I know is true. It's far older than the war, much less the Order itself. The base is at least fifty years old. Besides the number of people with dark marks indicates it's definitely not someone from the Order, even Mundungus Fletcher."
"I don't understand that," Harry chimed in. "The dark marks. Why are they using them if they're all for this equal treatment? That definitely wasn't what Death Eaters were about."
"The dark mark isn't their symbol. There were simply former Deathearers there out of desperation, I suppose. And a lack of ability to leave once they knew. The dark mark didn't ensure any sort of power in the New Order Rising. I don't know of anyone with a dark mark holding any special classifications or authority. If anything, they seemed to be the newer of the members. I assumed most of them simply fled the country at the end of the war, snatched up like me."
"Why are you here?" Harry gave Ron a sharp kick for his blunt question. "Ow! I, uh, I- no offense, Hermione, I just meant why here specifically? I'm sure there's loads of places you could have run to. Like last time." He glanced sideways at Harry, sure that he too remembered the months of dead-ends when she first ran away.
Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, the first sign the potion was losing effectiveness. The edges of her pain and grief started sharpening and cutting through the haze as flashes of blonde hair and clear blue eyes stared back in fear, in accusation. "Before me, there was another person to break out. She managed to get a portkey and escape right from under their noses."
"What's that have to do-"
"You asked a question and if you would lend just an ounce of patience, you'd have an answer, Ronald." A hard cut flickered in her gaze. "Now, when she escaped, mutters of security breach and safety started circulating. I overheard an A class telling one of the researchers he would likely be moved soon to a more secure location overseas. Since their entire operation is based on magic and taking people with magic ability, I reasoned they would likely be moving somewhere with a large wizarding community. Here."
Ron snapped to attention, concern suddenly clouding his features. Memories of the Second War reeled through his mind. Running from Snatchers, listening every night for the announcement of the death or disappearance of someone he loves. He couldn't do it again. "You think they have a spot here?"
"Not here specifically. Not anymore. Perhaps Poland." She locked eyes with Harry, and he remembered the significance. Poland. Exactly where they were warned not to go.
"What happened when you left?" Harry asked, finally feeling a weight lift from his chest at being able to ask the one thing she'd refused to tell him before. "How did you manage to escape after this other break out?"
"I've always been delaying my research, and they must have figured it out. My chip stopped working."
"Chip? Like the potatoes?"
"Microchip," she explained and tilted her left arm towards them. A ragged elliptical scar sat at the end of her Mudblood mark almost like a punctuation. A name. A brand. A sentence. "They insert a microchip into each of us as soon as we're brought in. It's our security access and tracker. I tried to enter my lab after breakfast one morning, and the chip wouldn't work, so I knew I must be in trouble." Her mind fought against the potion as the memory became too strong. Flashes of flames licked around her feet as smoke thickened across her face forcing painful coughs from her lungs. Blood sprayed through the air as she watched herself slice clean through Brian's arm to try his chip instead, catching the severed limb by the wrist before it fell to the floor. Dimly, she was aware someone was calling her name. Everyone was calling out to her. Yelling after her. Crying to her. A warm hand wrapped around hers, forcing her shaking cup out of her grasp. Blinking, her vision cleared the room in front of her. A dirty, smokeless room. "I fought my way to the Apparition point. After half a dozen Apparitions, I stopped long enough to Accio the chip from my arm and toss it."
"So the trackers worked outside the base?" Harry knew his knowledge of Muggle technology was not the most complete, but long-range tracking such as that was a feat he hadn't even realized possible with magic let alone Muggle technology.
"Everywhere. They would have tracked me across the world with that thing."
Hermione considered a second dose when Harry continued on to a less volatile question.
"What's the goal of all of this? I mean, what are they focusing on?"
"None of us know," she sighed, wiping a hand across her eyes. "We were all working on different things and if you asked us, we would all say our project was the most important. I was working on how magical energy works, I know Ralph was looking into potion development, creating new ones and making old ones more effective. I believe Charlotte was studying raw uses for magical plants and herbs but I can't be sure. Her fingers were always stained with some berry or another. Intelligence and Training always thought they were the big fish, but most of us knew it was research. At least we thought so. We all thought our specialty was the main focus. It's genius really. Keep everyone separated, at odds, and feeling important."
Something deep in Harry told him Hermione's research must have been a key to their main goal. But he could also see how telling everyone their project was the main goal was beneficial. When everyone felt important, they were more likely to keep their projects to themselves, working hard to complete them. And if he were in charge, no matter who she was pretending to be, Hermione would be his first choice to work on anything of importance.
"How are they funding all these projects and research? It can't be cheap to run something like this," Harry asked.
"The casinos and residences from magic acts. Las Vegas is about 135 kilometers from the Post, and occasionally we'd see Squibs and Muggles dressed in casino or performance venue uniforms. I always assumed they were funneling the profits. Then again, the site is supposed to be a notorious Muggle military operation. For all I know, their Muggle government funds it."
"Why would they do that?" Ron asked around another mouth full of crisps.
"Power," she and Harry said simultaneously. He knew a little from the news reports his uncle Vernon listened to. The United States and its government would do anything to be first. Including accepting and weaponizing magic. His uncle would gripe and shake his fists at the television whenever a new development came from the US.
Hermione clenched her hands around the arm of the chair, shifting uncomfortably. The emptiness of the potion began to replace itself with a sinking cold. With a flick of her wrist, the tea mug refilled and floated into her waiting hands as the boys processed. It was a lot under good circumstances, and Harry was sure he'd have more questions once he slept on it. He also wished he'd taken notes as his mind was struggling to keep hold of every single detail she gave. The clock ticked closer to the three-hour mark when Ron found his voice again.
"Have you killed someone for them?"
The question shocked Harry into silence.
"You say that like we never killed anyone during the war," she said, cooly sipping from her tea.
"Yeah, but Hermione, those people weren't innocent."
"Trust me. Neither are they."
"This New Order obviously isn't," Ron muttered through a hand as he bit nervously on his thumbnail. "But can you tell me those potions weren't tested or used on innocent people - those Muggles or Squibs or-"
"Ron!"
"What?" He spun harshly on Harry, a hard cut in his glare. "Someone had to ask it. You can honestly say they only tested it on themselves. That no one else was hurt along the way."
"I can't honestly say anything. I wasn't privy to that sort of information." Even as she said it, the bright blue eyes and blonde hair came back to her mind threatening to break the potion's remaining hold on her. She took a long sip of tea to swallow down the lump forming in her throat. As the effects of the potion faded, the fidgeting increased while her eyes cleared. Each sentence came with greater effort, and she struggled to form the words through the torment of her memories.
"Did you miss us at all?" The words slipped out as soon as Harry thought them.
"Of course. When I could."
"What does that mean?" he pressed further. How could someone control when they missed someone?
"It means your three hours are up," she breathed, an oddly rigid yet tired posture returning as she rose on unsteady legs. After nearly three hours of reliving the most gruesome parts of her life, Hermione was spent, potion or not.
The click of her door triggered a silence louder than Harry had ever experienced. Even the sirens that had blared nearly non-stop since arriving couldn't quite pierce the unsettling quiet of the flat. In a room with any Weasley, quiet was a difficult feat, but naturally, Hermione had accomplished it.
Harry rolled his wand between his fingers, watching as the smooth wood reflected the single light. The last three hours rolled through his mind like an old film as he took notice of certain answers and filed away information for a later day, but each time, he held on to her last one. "When I could." The longing he felt every day of the last four years never left him. It wasn't something he could simply file away to process later; however, Hermione had always been able to compartmentalize when she needed it most. And that then made him wonder what could make her need the use of that skill.
A low rumble to his right broke his reverie as Ron sent him a sheepish look holding his stomach. Lunch. They talked for three hours without ever finishing their lunch. With a task in mind, Harry summoned Hermione's forgotten tea cup and set to work on preparing a meal, glad for a task to preoccupy his idle hands.
Once the food was cooked, he let Ron know, who eagerly shifted to the kitchen table and tucked in as Harry headed on to Hermione's room with a knock on her door. His quiet calls of her name were met with silence. For a brief moment, he wondered if, and a small part of him hoped, she had taken a nap after the exhausting day. A chair creaked in response, confirming she was not asleep. On instinct, he retrieved her plate from the kitchen and returned, pleased when the door handle turned for him.
She was hunched over the black journal that sat on the conjured desk. Over her shoulder, he noticed it was a different section of the book. One that wasn't encoded and in a messier scrawl. A child's clumsy handwriting. Feeling eyes at her back, she turned to see him standing in the doorway and quickly slammed the book shut.
"Your time is up to ask questions," she muttered, tiredly pressing the heels of her hand against her eyes. "I won't answer anything else. Not tonight."
"I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He set the plate on her desk careful to avoid placing it too close to her journal.
The ragged way she drew in each rasping breath, how her eyes darted from door to window gauging exits, it was clear she wasn't okay, but he also couldn't simply sit in the kitchen eating dinner with Ron and not check on her.
"Fine," she clipped out, turning back to a set of papers, pulling them over the black book. "I need to get back to this. Thanks for dinner."
Even though he wanted to point out that the whole reason for today was so they could help her, Harry nodded and shut the door to give her the space she clearly needed to recollect herself. Despite the silencing charms around her room, Harry knew that night would hold nothing but screaming and nightmares for Hermione.
