The kitchen in Sirius' mother's home was just as dark and depressing as the rest of the house.
Well, perhaps not as bad as that awful staircase with the heads of house elves mounted like some grotesque, barbaric trophy wall. Hermione shivered, remembering the revolting display.
How Sirius could ever have grown up here — how he could be related to people who would do that … there might be some distance between her and her parents, but she couldn't imagine what his relationship with his parents must have been like.
The kitchen was a cavernous room with rough stone walls, heavy-looking pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, and a fire on the far side that provided most of the light.
Sirius and Augusta were sitting at one end of the table with a group of adults, including Emmeline Vance and Baker, the blonde man who worked for Amelia Bones, while Ginny and Ron were at the other end. Ron looked more sullen than usual, but Ginny's face betrayed nothing. Hermione couldn't tell at all if Ron had spilled the beans to Ginny about her relationship with Harry.
Molly had already swept Harry into her arms, anxiously checking him over and clucking over him.
"You've grown so much! But, oh, this hair," Molly lamented, "it really just does what it wants, doesn't it?"
She patted her hands down over Harry's untamable locks, earning a slight blush and an uncomfortable shrug from Harry.
George, who was sitting in the middle of the table with Fred, waggled his eyebrows at Hermione suggestively.
Hermione blushed too, patting her own hair self-consciously. Had Fred told his twin or was it really that obvious? She averted her gaze from George, taking the seat next to Neville.
Ron was studiously avoiding looking at her. Well, there's nothing she could do about that. He'd get over whatever was bugging him eventually. She wasn't about to apologize for her relationship.
She bit her lip, unable to hide her smile.
It was a real relationship. Oh, she'd known it was something, but maybe there was a part of her that had been afraid to ask, to have the conversation, to define it. It's not like she thought Harry would say it was just a snog or two, but she wasn't entirely sure how relationships work and there really weren't books on this subject that were any good. By not asking Harry the question, she could avoid the whole uncertain situation. She hated uncertain situations.
But the way Harry had been so nonchalant about it—how natural it sounded when he called her his girlfriend—she hadn't known how that would feel.
She'd been happy and giddy and scared and like everything was just a little bit askew—but in a good way. And then Harry had held her, assured her that she mattered, and the look in his eyes was so intense she felt it in the very core of her. And she felt something else too—something dangerous and exciting at the same time.
And then Fred had gone and ruined all of it.
She looked across the table where he was watching her smugly.
"All right there, Hermione?" Fred asked, raising his cup to his lips.
"Fine," she replied as casually as she could.
Fred grinned and was about to say something else when his twin nudged him. George was now concentrated on the other end of the table. Hermione and Fred followed his gaze.
"So is Amelia really worried about it?" Emmeline Vance asked Baker, trying to keep her volume low.
"Not particularly," Baker replied. "Lucius Malfoy has always been in Fudge's ear and she's always known who he is."
"A self-serving parasite," Augusta muttered.
"Well, she's got us monitoring him more closely," a woman with pink hair piped up. "Two-Auror patrols at all times."
"I'm sure Fudge loves that," Sirius said.
Baker shrugged. "All for Lucius' protection, of course," he responded wryly, grinning at the others. "Seeing as he's such a close advisor to the minister."
"Ahem!" Molly cleared her throat loudly. "That's enough of that conversation."
She looked pointedly at her children, Neville, Hermione, and Harry, whom she was still standing next to, and whom it was very clear had been ignoring her in favor of listening in on the conversation about Malfoy. "We can save that talk for after lunch."
Baker and the woman with pink hair looked chastised, but Hermione could practically feel Sirius' eye roll.
"It all looks delicious, Molly!" Pink hair said enthusiastically at the spread before them.
"Thank you, Tonks," Molly replied, as she and Harry took their seats at the table.
This was Tonks? This woman with pink hair was the person who had been watching Hermione that she had been unable to notice?
"Yeah, Mum, really good," Fred agreed, passing Harry a serving dish.
It really was delicious—Mrs. Weasley's food always was—and the table was soon filled with the clattering of dishes, laughter and small talk. Harry, Hermione and Neville were introduced to the adults with Sirius, Augusta and Emmeline—Nymphadora Tonks, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, two aurors who were new to the Order of the Phoenix; Elphias Doge, a member of the first Order with Emmeline and Sirius; and John Baker, Amelia's right hand man in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Mrs. Weasley determinedly steered the conversation away from anything of interest with regard to You-Know-Who, earning a complicated set of eye rolls from her children.
Ginny shot Hermione a long-suffering glance. They hadn't had much time to talk earlier, but Ginny had echoed what Fred and George had said: The Weasley kids had spent the better part of the past few weeks stuck in this house, cleaning it, a decidedly torturous endeavor since Sirius' family appeared to own more cursed objects than you could find in Borgin & Burkes.
According to Ginny, members of the Order came and went at all hours, but Mrs. Weasley watched her kids like a hawk, making sure they didn't hear anything. The twins had fought back with a new invention of theirs—extendable ears—but Molly had managed to confiscate most of them.
Hermione looked around the table. Fred and George were whispering to each other, Kingsley was regaling Baker, Sirius, Emmeline and Tonks with some story from his auror training days that the group found hilarious, and Elphias Doge was listening intently to Augusta.
"I saw Griselda just the other day," Augusta informed him, leaning forward conspiratorially. "The Board has let her sit in on the testimony. According to her, it's been quite illuminating."
"How so?"
"Well, Slughorn had quite a bit to say about his former student's teaching methods," she said, and Hermione perked up at the mention. She'd read that name when she'd done her research about Snape, and Dumbledore had mentioned him as the former head of Slytherin house during her hearing about Sirius all those months ago. Griselda Marchbanks must be sitting in on the hearings about Snape.
Hermione leaned in closer. Neville noticed her shift in his direction, glanced at his grandmother, and then grinned at Hermione as they both listened in to what she was saying. Harry caught their eye across the table; he was listening, too.
"Took them a fair bit to get Slughorn there," Augusta added, seemingly unaware of her new audience. "Apparently, when Tobias Jones showed up with his summons, Slughorn's bags were packed and he looked ready to go on a very long trip."
"I've never known Horace Slughorn to give up a vacation willingly," Doge commented.
Augusta waved her hand in a gesture that said Doge should know the answer. "You know Slughorn," she replied. "Flatter him a bit and make him think he's important, he can't help but be the center of attention. Especially when he gets to remind everyone how much better he was at the job. Mind you, the man may be an insufferable kiss up, but in that regard, he's not wrong."
Doge frowned. "I admit, Severus Snape is—er—unpleasant, but Dumbledore knows what he's doing," he said confidently. "I'm sure he wouldn't let the man teach if—"
"My Frank arrested Snape for a reason," Augusta shot back sharply.
"But he's helped the Order, hasn't he?" Doge insisted. "I have the utmost faith in Dumbledore, and he believes in Snape." His mouth was set in a line and he nodded firmly, as if that settled that.
Augusta scowled. "Doesn't make him a good teacher," she spat back. "Hermione here has taught my grandson more about Potions than Snape ever has."
The adults turned toward Hermione and Neville, and his face was as red as hers felt. Still, she felt a ripple of pride run through her at the praise.
"And given how this one"—Augusta pointed at Tonks, who looked startled by Augusta's sudden attention—"is one of the only people during his tenure to do well enough on her Potions NEWTs to make Auror, that certainly says something about his teaching ability, too."
Augusta glanced over Tonks, a slight frown on her face. Tonks accidentally knocked over the water jug and, if it was possible, Augusta's frown grew deeper. Doge looked disbelieving.
"That can't be true," he said. "Tonks can't be the only… Becoming an Auror is difficult, and—"
"I just know what Griselda tells me," Augusta insisted. "And what she tells me is that the lack of eligible Aurors has a lot to do with failing NEWT scores. And she would know about NEWTs, wouldn't she? That's half the reason we're in this mess. Even with Amelia on our side, there's just not enough Aurors to keep an eye on all of the Death Eaters who were never sent to Azkaban. The Malfoys, the Goyles, the Crabbes, the—"
"Ahem," Molly interrupted loudly, her hands gripping the table like she was about to stand. The rest of the group was now listening to Augusta with rapt attention. "I thought we agreed not to discuss that particular subject."
"Oh, please," Augusta muttered. "If these kids of yours aren't bright enough to realize that the likes of the Malfoys and the Goyles are Death Eaters, then they're dumber than a pack of trolls. I'm not telling them anything they don't already know."
"Hear, hear," Fred cheered.
"Honestly, Mum, she's just talking about the Hogwarts Board and how they're going to sack Snape," Ron piped up for the first time the entire meal, a hopeful look on his face.
"We don't know that's what they'll decide," Molly sighed, and Hermione got the impression they'd had this discussion many times before.
"We can dream," Ron muttered, earning snickers from Harry, Sirius, Neville and the Weasley kids.
Molly smiled reluctantly, but still looked stressed. Hermione figured she must put a whole lot of her energy into keeping her kids from finding out things she didn't want them to know.
And there were a whole lot of things Molly didn't think they should know.
"Ginny says Bill's back from Egypt?" Hermione asked Mrs. Weasley, hoping to change the subject to something less tense. She could always ask Augusta more about what Griselda said when Mrs. Weasley wasn't around. She'd likely get better answers then (and certainly less resistance).
At the mention of Bill, Molly's smile brightened.
"Oh, yes," she gushed. "He took a desk job in London. It's been so nice having him back. Now we just need to get Charlie home, and we'll have the whole family together."
"Good luck tearing Charlie away from his dragons, Mum," Fred remarked, grabbing another helping of potatoes.
"We have dragons here," Molly said hopefully. "There's a whole reserve of Welsh Greens."
"Which are awfully boring compared to what Charlie gets to work with in Romania," George pointed out.
"I don't know," Neville shuddered. "That one Welsh Green seemed plenty awful to me during the First Task."
"It didn't have spikes on its tail, though, did it?" Harry retorted.
"No, the Horntail was downright horrific," Neville agreed. "But I still wouldn't exactly want to have tea with a Welsh Green either."
"The way Charlie talks about them, they're basically puffskeins," Fred commented.
Hermione eyed him. "I think your brother spent a bit too much time with Hagrid during his Hogwarts years," she said dryly. Fred grinned.
"It's not just the dragons," Ginny added. "Charlie's got a whole life in Romania. He's got his friends, and he just bought himself a new Nimbus for that Quidditch league he's in, and—"
"He did?" Ron asked, and Fred and George exchanged confused glances. This was clearly the first the Weasley boys had heard of it.
Ginny nodded. "He's giving me his old Wind Rider," she added, filling her water glass.
Hermione didn't keep up with broom models, but she understood that the Wind Rider was a very good broom—it was no Firebolt, or even a Nimbus, but it was a quality broom for a seeker. According to Ginny, Charlie was generally pretty frugal—but he always splurged when it came to his brooms.
Fred, George and Ron looked affronted.
"Why's he giving it to you?" Ron asked, annoyed.
"Yeah, why not one of his siblings who actually play on a Quidditch team?" Fred added, exchanging a glance with George.
Ginny shrugged unhelpfully. "I dunno," she responded, "maybe because I asked?"
None of the boys seemed to know what to say to that, but Ron glared at Ginny sullenly.
"Yes, well, there are Quidditch leagues here, too," Molly said, ignoring the looks of annoyance her children were exchanging, her body language signaling she was well used to their internal squabbles. "Regardless, at least we have Bill back."
"He's been dead useful, too, trying to help get the goblins on our side with You-Know-Who back," Tonks added.
Molly glared at her, clearly annoyed Tonks had brought up anything regarding the war.
George, clearly anticipating another lecture, interrupted. "And hey, you know who's working with him there?" he said in a booming, cheerful voice. "Fleur Delacour. She got a job at Gringotts to eemprove 'er English."
"And Bill's been giving her a lot of private lessons," Fred sniggered, earning a chastising look from Molly.
Hermione frowned. "You don't have to make it sound so tawdry," she said reprovingly, feeling protective of Fleur. She might rub Hermione the wrong way sometimes, but Harry wouldn't have gotten out of that graveyard without her lessons in nonverbal magic. She'd been a good friend.
Fred waggled his eyebrows at her. "Bit touchy about private lessons, Hermione?" he asked, his eyes sparkling mirthfully.
Hermione blushed, unconsciously patting her hair down again, remembering what Fred had very recently walked in on, and Harry shot Fred a sharp glare. Ron glanced between the three of them, understanding dawning on his face.
He turned toward Harry, his face contorting thunderously. "In my room?" he practically bellowed accusingly.
"Ron—"
"What on earth?" Molly interrupted Harry, clearly alarmed.
"These two," Ron sputtered, pointing between Harry and Hermione. "Snogging. In my room."
The way he said "In my room" made it sound like Harry and Hermione had spent the morning clubbing baby unicorns.
Hermione wanted to crawl under the table. Molly was sputtering shocked exclamations, Fred and George were openly laughing, and Sirius looked like he wanted to join them. Tonks was watching them all wide eyed like they were entertainment on the telly, Baker and Emmeline seemed to think they were all nutters, and Ron and Harry were locked in some sort of stare, Ron looking murderous. Ginny's face was blank.
"Is this true?" Molly asked faintly.
"Hermione's my girlfriend, yeah," Harry answered her, breaking Ron's stare to look over at Hermione, offering her a reassuring smile that clearly said, "Well, we're in this now."
Hermione smiled back.
"Well," Molly said, recovering from her shock, glancing between them both, taking in the way they were beaming at each other. "Well that's… that's lovely, for you two. Of course it is." She smiled at them both, though still seemed a bit thrown.
Ron whirled on Ginny, his eyes narrowed. "Did you know about it?" he asked, clearly expecting that he was the absolute last to know.
Ginny turned to him, her face impassive. "Hermione didn't tell me, no," she said evenly, shrugging her shoulder with a practiced air. "But I'm not exactly surprised, and I can't believe you are, Ron. They're always together. And Angelina did say that Fred thought Harry looked ready to shag her on the dance floor at the Yule Ball."
Hermione didn't exactly remember Angelina saying anything of the sort, and felt a surge of anger at Ginny for making the situation even worse.
Because, of course, Ginny's words had an immediate effect. Harry's head snapped toward Fred, and Molly stood, jabbing her finger at her son accusingly. George turned red with laughter. If it was possible, Augusta's lips got even thinner, set in a grim line as she surveyed the Weasleys.
"Fred Weasley! I raised you better than that! Talking so scandalously about a teenage girl like she's some sort of scarlet woman!" Molly cried, standing from the table.
Hermione thought it was a bit rich considering not that long ago, Molly believed Rita Skeeter's words about her and likely called her a scarlet woman—in her own head if not out loud.
Still, if Hermione thought she wanted to crawl under the table before, she definitely wanted to now with the way Molly was going on about her romantic life in front of all these people she had just met.
"And Harry! He's an impressionable boy who looks up to you! Not to mention your sister hearing that sort of vulgar talk—and repeating it! When your father comes home—"
"Mum, enough!" Fred yelled, bellowing over her litany, holding his hands up in surrender. "I said nothing of the sort. All I said was that Harry looked like a perfect gentleman, escorting Hermione around the dance floor. If anyone said something scandalous, it was Angelina. She can be a shifty sort, you know."
"It's true," George jumped in helpfully, having recovered from his laughter. "Angelina's always been a bit of a loose canon." He clucked reprovingly at Fred and Ginny. "You two should really choose your confidants more carefully."
"Too true, brother," Fred agreed, nodding his head vigorously.
"Yes, clearly Angelina is the bad influence in my life," Ginny deadpanned.
"Don't knock bad influences," Sirius chimed in. "Remus would've had a very boring time at Hogwarts if not for me and James."
Fred shot him a grateful glance for the conversation change.
Emmeline snorted, a move that was at complete odds with her regal-looking demeanor. "I seem to recall you and James being a bit of a bad influence long after Hogwarts," she commented. "Gideon told me about the time you all went down to McHale's the night of the Rosier wedding and—"
"And there's no need to talk of the Rosier wedding," Sirius interrupted hastily, adopting an expression not unlike Fred's a few minutes ago. "Besides, Fabian was the instigator that time. You know he always had an affinity for transfiguring just about anything into a rubber chicken."
Emmeline and Sirius shared a fond smile, while Molly looked stricken. Whatever righteous anger she had built up was completely gone. Sirius noticed her expression and sobered up.
"Ah, Molly—" he started to say, but she held up her hands.
"I'm fine," she said, a tight smile on her face. "You don't have to avoid talking about my brothers because—Well, we've all got someone, haven't we?"
Ron had mentioned before that Molly had two brothers who died in the war, but Hermione had never known their names. So they'd been members of the Order of the Phoenix, too.
They all seemed to sober at Molly's comment. She'd lost her brothers, Harry had lost his parents, Neville and Augusta had lost Frank and Alice, Sirius had lost the only family he'd cared to have—yes, everyone involved in the first war had lost someone.
Hermione was glad they were no longer discussing her love life, but she wished more than anything that the topic change could have been anything else.
The mood at the table shifted after that, and Molly soon ushered the kids out of the kitchen so the adults could talk. When they got to the drawing room, Ginny quickly uttered some excuse about finishing a letter to Charlie and scampered off.
Hermione had to talk to her. She hadn't been the one to tell her about Harry and she was sorry for that, but to be quite frank, she was also annoyed at that comment Ginny had made. The only reason she could come up with for Ginny lying about what Angelina said was that she was angry with Hermione and lashed out to embarrass her.
But she needed to know the truth.
Hermione turned to Harry. "I'd better go talk to her," she said quietly, not wanting the others to hear.
Harry frowned, moving closer to her. "She seemed all right when she found out," he said. "She said she basically knew already."
Hermione stared at him, dumbfounded. "Honestly, Harry," she said, shaking her head, "she obviously practiced that reaction."
"Really?"
Hermione smiled. He was so endearingly naïve sometimes, and the surprised expression on his face was adorable. He was also close enough that all Hermione would have to do is lift her face a little and…
"If you two are looking for a room, just don't pick mine," Ron said huffily, interrupting them as he brushed past them into the room and flopped on the couch.
"We're sorry about using the room you're staying in, Ron, but it's not like we were in your bed," Hermione snapped, and Ron turned red at the thought.
"Lay off them, Ronniekins," Fred added. "Just because they're having a bit of fun this summer doesn't mean you have to be so sour about it. We'll be back at Hogwarts soon enough and you can snog that Ravenclaw of yours all you want. We'll even tell you where the good broom closets are."
"As long as you promise not to use them for any more boring chess matches," George warned. "If you want to charm a girl into snogging you, there are better ways to go about it."
Ron's entire face was now as red as his hair.
"Well—just—that's beside the—Who wants to play Exploding Snap?" he sputtered. Apparently, he wasn't fond of the direction the conversation had taken.
"Sounds good," Neville agreed quickly, grabbing the deck of cards.
Hermione turned to Harry, her hand grazing his. "I'll be back soon," she promised.
Harry nodded, squeezing her hand lightly before joining the others on the sofas.
When Hermione got to Ginny's room, the door was open and she was definitely not writing any letters. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her back against the wall.
"Ginny? Can I come in?"
Ginny looked up, blinking rapidly.
"Sure," she said, motioning for Hermione to sit with her. Hermione sat gingerly on the bed, watching Ginny's face carefully. She looked paler than usual, and there were dark circles under her eyes, like she hadn't been sleeping much.
"Listen, Ginny, I was going to tell you," Hermione said diplomatically. "But Harry and I just figured out what we were. And I couldn't tell you before I even knew."
Ginny's face was full of trepidation. "You two might've just now decided your relationship status, but you can't tell me you haven't had an inkling about this for a while. I'm not stupid you know."
"I know that," Hermione answered. "And you're right. I have known that I liked him for a while. For months, really."
Ginny narrowed her eyes. "You told me about Viktor, but you didn't tell me about this."
It wasn't a question, and yet, it was.
Hermione shrugged uncomfortably. "It felt a bit odd," she said. "You used to gush about Harry to me, and now it's reversed and…"
Ginny's face turned stony. "Right," she bit out. "I'm Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter's biggest fan, the dumb girl who sent him a singing valentine when he didn't even know who I was."
"That's not true, Ginny, no one thinks that," Hermione insisted, but this was exactly why she hadn't felt comfortable talking to Ginny. Here she was, reassuring Ginny about her former crush on Hermione's boyfriend.
Boyfriend… she still liked the sound of that.
Ginny raised her eyebrow disbelievingly. "It's fine, Hermione," she said. "You don't have to worry that I'm going to stalk your boyfriend or cry into my pillow that he's dating someone. I'm dating someone too, remember?"
"For the record, I never thought that," Hermione said. "I just didn't want you to be hurt."
Ginny smiled bitterly. "I realized a long time ago that my crush on Harry was going nowhere," she said. "Believe me, whether it was you or someone else, I've known this day was coming for a long time."
That, Hermione believed. The nonchalance in Ginny's response to Ron's question, the way she'd shrugged with trained effortlessness—she probably had practiced her reaction not once or twice, but countless times before. It seemed very important to her that people not see her as the girl who crushed on Harry.
Of course, there was something else about her reaction that was bothering Hermione.
"Why did you exaggerate what Angelina said?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" Ginny asked, her face a mask of confusion.
"You know perfectly well that Angelina never said what you said she did," Hermione responded, narrowing her eyes. "At most, she said Harry was flirting a bit."
Hermione stared at Ginny directly, and finally, the redhead looked away.
"Oh, all right, I'm sorry about that," she muttered. "But Ron—everyone, really, did you see the look on Fred's face?—clearly expected me to have some over the top reaction and I got annoyed."
"So you lied to get Fred in trouble?" Hermione asked.
"Well it got the attention off me, didn't it?"
Hermione searched Ginny's face, but there was no embarrassment. She clearly had no shame over setting Molly off.
"Doesn't that go against your Weasley code?" she asked. The Weasley kids were very clear on that topic: Tell Molly nothing.
Ginny shrugged. "Did you see the way they were all so shocked that Charlie was sending me his broom?" she asked. "They deserved it. And that crack about Quidditch—maybe they'd know how good I was if they ever actually bothered to ask me to play."
Ginny looked furious now. Hermione knew it was a sore topic for her. She'd ranted for hours last summer when the boys had asked Percy to play Quidditch with them and not Ginny.
"Still," Hermione said tersely, "I don't really appreciate being used to get back at Fred or Ron or anyone. You took the attention off you and put it on me. How would you feel if your mother was railing about your love life in front of Augusta Longbottom and Emmeline Vance? I just met Elphias Doge and Kingsley Shacklebolt—and that was my introduction."
Ginny said nothing.
"Did you do it because you're mad at me? For dating Harry? Or not telling you about it?"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Didn't I just tell you I don't care about who Harry's dating?" she asked, her tone completely even. Hermione studied her, not able to tell if she was telling the truth.
"Look, I'm sorry for setting mum off about you two, all right? My brothers just made me so angry and I said the first thing I thought of in retaliation," Ginny sighed miserably.
Hermione looked around the dimly lit room. The wallpaper was shabby and peeling, the curtains threadbare, and despite all the cleaning the Weasleys had done, there was still a slight musk in the air. It was a depressing place, and she could only imagine that the Weasley kids had been getting on each other's nerves a bit, cooped up here together. Ginny was more irritable than usual because of it—that much was understandable.
Ginny looked smaller as she apologized, the dark circles under her eyes somehow looming larger. Hermione couldn't help but remember that night in the tent last summer—the night of the Quidditch World Cup—when Ginny had woken her up screaming because of her nightmares.
She was still annoyed at what Ginny had said, but some things were more important.
"Are you sleeping?" she asked.
Ginny looked up sharply. "I'm fine," she replied quickly, making it obvious that she wasn't.
"Well, that's clearly a lie. Tell me what's going on," Hermione insisted. She was getting a little tired of people having nightmares and not wanting to talk to her about them.
Ginny hopped up off the bed, keeping her back to Hermione as she shuffled some papers around on the scratched up desk. "Nothing's going on," she replied, annoyed.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. If she were being completely honest with herself, she'd never be sure if she said the next thing because she was annoyed with Ginny making that crack about the Yule Ball or because she honestly wanted to help her friend—perhaps it was a little of both.
"Oh, all right, then," she said. "If you don't want to talk to me, I'll just go and get your mum, and you can talk to her about why you're not sleeping."
Ginny whirled around, her hands gripping the chair behind her.
"You wouldn't," she said through gritted teeth.
Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "We're not following the Weasley Code anymore, right?" she asked.
Ginny stared at her for what felt like ages, their eyes locked in a battle of wills, fighting for dominance. Finally, Ginny looked away.
"It's just these letters from Michael," she replied, her voice smaller. "He keeps talking about Quidditch matches, his family's beach holiday, getting ice cream with his brother everyday—just all of these normal things. And I'm here, in this house, watching members of the Order come in and out, and Harry fought You-Know-Who a month ago, and how can he possibly be thinking about ice cream at a time like this?"
She sounded frustrated and annoyed and a little bit helpless, and Hermione understood her completely. She knew what it felt like to feel powerless, to want to scream at the world that You-Know-Who was back, to want people to care more about the important things she cared about.
"I suppose it's not as real for him," Hermione said, trying to put herself in Michael Corner's shoes. "He doesn't really know Harry that well, and he's not living like we are, seeing it everyday. He… he didn't see the bodies."
Ginny looked up wide-eyed at that. "You saw them?" she asked, her voice a whisper.
Hermione nodded miserably. She'd never forget Winky's slight frame next to Crouch's lifeless body in Dumbledore's office.
Ginny's eyes shone with unshed tears.
"Do you think it hurt?" Ginny asked quietly. "When he killed Winky?"
Hermione shook her head. "Everything we know about the Killing Curse says that it doesn't hurt," she replied robotically, reciting what she'd read in a textbook. Of course, the only person who had ever survived one and knew what it felt like was Harry, and he'd just been a baby. She had to believe it didn't hurt, though. All those people who had been killed, Harry's parents—she didn't want to believe it was painful.
Ginny nodded, her eyes wide. She was rocking back and forth, like the movement was comforting her somehow.
"It was my fault, you know," she blurted. "Winky. I'm the one who told her to go see Crouch."
Understanding dawned within Hermione, but she couldn't believe Ginny still blamed herself. She'd been annoyed when Ginny had made the suggestion to Winky all those months ago, but only because she thought Crouch treated Winky terribly. Never in a million years had she imagined what would happen.
"Ginny, for all we know, Winky would've gone to see Crouch whether you said anything or not," Hermione insisted. "But even if she didn't, there's no way any of us could've known what would happen."
Ginny laughed bitterly. "That seems to happen with me a lot, doesn't it?" she asked viciously. "I didn't mean for Winky to get killed. I didn't mean to set a basilisk on you and Colin and Percy's girlfriend. I didn't mean for Harry to get trapped in the Chamber of Secrets. But that doesn't change what happened, does it? I'm Ginny Weasley, the little girl who keeps helping You-Know-Who."
Her face was hard, her eyes glittering.
"And I've got this boyfriend who only cares about sailing and ice cream and all of these stupid, trivial things, and I'm stuck here in this house cleaning, not doing anything useful. Oh, Ginny can't be told anything important, she's just the baby, she's just our little girl, she's just the idiot who got possessed by a lunatic diary."
Ginny was breathing hard and the look on her face was positively lethal.
"They're being that overprotective with all of us," Hermione said carefully.
"At least Neville's Gran tells you things," Ginny muttered. "At least you guys are doing something. Sirius says he's training you?"
Hermione nodded.
"I just wish I could be doing something," Ginny muttered helplessly.
Hermione couldn't help but feel for her. And then it came to her—there was something Ginny could do, something that might make her feel better about Winky.
"Well," she said, venturing forward carefully, "it's not the same as training, but Neville and I are going to Hannah's next week. So we can research the house elves and help others like Winky. Hannah said we could invite anyone else, and Luna might be coming."
Ginny's face shifted hopefully at the thought. "I doubt Mum would let me go though," she sighed.
"She might. Emmeline's going to be there, so someone from the Order will be with us," Hermione rationalized.
She could see the wheels turning in Ginny's head. "If I ask Dad when he gets home from work tonight," she murmured, chewing on her lower lip as she considered her options. Then she looked up, a confident smile on her face.
"That sounds brilliant," she beamed.
The rest of the afternoon passed much more peacefully after that. When Ginny and Hermione returned to the drawing room, Ron seemed to be in a much better mood (Hermione had to assume that had something to do with Fred's eyebrows getting singed off in their game of Exploding Snap).
The only odd moment had been when Tonks said goodbye to them all, pulling Sirius aside for a moment.
"Have you given any thought to dinner?" she asked cheerily. "Mum would really love to have you."
But Sirius had been evasive, making all sorts of excuses about being busy with Harry. Tonks didn't look like she believed him at all, but merely nodded and said, "Well, Mum's going to keep asking. If there's anything I've learned from two decades of knowing her, she's going to nag us both until you come. You might as well just relent now and save us the hassle. She really wants to see you."
"She knew where I was for 12 years," Sirius muttered bitterly, almost under his breath. Tonks smiled sadly at him, but didn't say anything else. They both left the room quickly after that.
"What was that about?" Hermione asked Harry, totally confused.
Harry shook his head, clearly not understanding.
"Tonks' mum is Andromeda Black—well, Andromeda Tonks now," Neville answered them. "She's Sirius' cousin."
Harry looked shocked. "Sirius has family that's alive?" he asked. "He's never mentioned it."
Harry looked disturbed by the thought.
Neville nodded. "The rest of his family isn't worth much—it's just Andromeda and her sisters left. Narcissa Malfoy and… and Bellatrix Lestrange."
His voice was strangled on the last name, his eyes going dark. Hermione knew she was the woman who had tortured Neville's parents along with Barty Crouch Jr. She was still in Azkaban.
And she was related to Sirius. Now the contents of this terrible house were beginning to make more sense.
But still— how could Sirius be related to Draco Malfoy, the woman who tortured Frank and Alice, and Tonks? Purebloods made her brain hurt sometimes. Harry looked like he was thinking the same thing.
"Sirius is related to Bellatrix Lestrange?" Hermione asked disbelievingly.
Neville shrugged uncomfortably. "There are only so many pureblood families. We're all related in some way or another," he said. "I reckon Sirius doesn't want anything to do with most of his family, but I think Tonks' mum is okay. Gran's never said anything bad about her."
Harry looked troubled. "It sounded like he was mad at her," he said, "for never visiting him in Azkaban."
"She might've tried," Neville said. "It's very rare that someone who's not a high-ranking Ministry official gets an approved visit."
"Or… she might've believed he was guilty," Hermione added sadly. It was the most likely scenario and she couldn't imagine Andromeda would've tried if she thought Sirius was a Death Eater.
"But why is he so mad at her? Sirius didn't blame Remus for not believing him," Harry pointed out.
Hermione thought back to that night in the Shrieking Shack. "Well, think about it," she said. "Remus was the first person in a decade to believe him. He was probably just so happy and relieved that he didn't have time to think about any resentment. Plus, he felt guilty because he had thought Remus was the spy, remember? So how could he be mad at Remus for thinking the same thing he had? But now, he's had time to adjust, time to reflect on his time in Azkaban—and he's angry."
"I don't blame him," Neville said, shaking his head. "When you think about how much he's lost, it's a wonder he hasn't snapped."
Harry seemed to consider what they were saying, but his worry didn't abate.
"What are you thinking?" Hermione asked.
"I'm thinking that if I had a cousin who was decent, I'd want to see her no matter what," Harry said. "No matter how angry I was."
"All right," Hermione nodded. "So we'll just have to get him to that dinner then."
That was easier said then done, though. When Harry asked Sirius about his family, he was more than willing to tell Harry about his cousin Andromeda—whom he'd always liked best—but when Harry brought up seeing her, Sirius deflected: He had business with the Order, he had business at Hogwarts, he needed to train Harry, Neville and Hermione, he needed to knit scarves with Augusta. Sirius had an excuse for everything.
Where they did have a breakthrough, however, was the house elf front. Harry and Hermione were sitting by the lake one afternoon (under the watchful eye of Diggy, of course, though the family elf did at least do them the courtesy of watching from across the lake). Hermione was reading a book while Harry transfigured blades of grass into snowflakes (Sirius had finally upgraded him from bubbles), sitting together in the companionable silence she'd come to depend on, when Neville came tearing out of the house.
By the time he reached them he was completely out of breath—he stood, doubled over, hands on his knees, trying to huff the words out.
"Mag— Magnus," he wheezed. "Magnus Smith."
Harry and Hermione shot up, exchanging quizzical glances. Hermione's book lay beside her, completely forgotten.
"Who's Magnus Smith?" Harry asked.
"I don't really know," Neville replied, recovering his breathing. "He lived a few hundred years ago. But I was up in the attic to see if there were any books up there that weren't in the library, and I found some of the family portraits that…er…don't really make it into the main gallery."
"Why not?" Harry asked.
Neville looked uncomfortable. "Er, well… because they were Slytherins," he admitted. "They used to be in the Gallery, but Uncle Algie says that during the last war, my grandpa packed them all away and Gran's kept them there ever since."
"They can't all be bad, can they?" Harry asked. "I mean, the lot that's in Slytherin now is awful, but…"
Neville shrugged. "I reckon not," he said. "They all lived long before You-Know-Who. Centuries ago, really. Who knows what Slytherin was like back then? Of course, considering Salazar Slytherin kept a basilisk in the school…"
He trailed off, looking confused.
"So… Magnus?" Hermione prompted, impatient to learn what Neville had about the house elves.
"Oh, right!" Neville cried, his eyes lighting up. "Well, there's this one bloke up there—Charles Longbottom—who went on and on and on about Magnus Smith and how he used to talk about some secret room he found. Bragged about it, he said. Was real smug."
"That's brilliant!" Hermione cried, finally feeling like they were on the precipice of something.
"We don't know that it's the right room," Neville warned. "It could be Rowena Ravenclaw's room."
"Or just some random room that only pops up on Tuesdays because it amuses Hogwarts," Harry added.
"But here's the thing," Neville said, cautiously optimistic. "Smith is a common enough name, but there's a pureblood family of Smiths—and they're all said to be descended from Helga Hufflepuff."
This was the best lead they'd had in ages.
"Did Magnus say anything about where the room was? What did Charles know?" Hermione asked eagerly.
"Nothing. He was more interested in telling me about the time he turned Smith's hair purple," Neville replied, and Hermione felt her hope drop. "But he did say Magnus was best friends with Tiberius Abbott—they were completely inseparable. So when we go to Hannah's, we can focus on those journals."
Neville grinned at them both, clearly proud of his discovery. Harry also looked pleased, but at the mention of Hannah's a bit of the light left his eyes. He was still unhappy that he wasn't allowed to go.
And that mood didn't change the day they went back to Grimmauld Place to meet up with Emmeline and Ginny for the trip to Hannah's. Harry was going to stay there and spend the afternoon with Ron while the others went to the Abbott's.
"Have fun," Harry said to her, a wistful smile on his face, when they went to say their goodbyes. Neville had gone to retrieve the others so they were left alone in the corridor.
She felt bad for Harry, but she had an afternoon with a giant stack of books in front of her and for the first time, she felt like she had a direction for her mission—she would have had more fun if he were coming too, but she couldn't pretend she wasn't going to enjoy it.
"Hopefully, the next time I see you, I'll have something useful," she said.
Harry grinned confidently, taking her hand in his. "You will," he said, kissing her lightly on the lips, the slight graze sending tingles throughout her body. "You've got a name to research and access to hundreds of books. I've seen you figure out harder puzzles with a whole lot less."
Buoyed by his faith in her, Hermione left for Hannah's optimistic about their chances. This only increased when they arrived at the apartment to find Hannah wasn't alone: Luna, Susan, and Ernie were all already going through the journals. Hannah's carefully ordered piles of books had dramatically changed, and it was obvious that she'd spent a good amount of time over the past few weeks poring through the pages.
"I figured you wouldn't mind the extra help," Hannah beamed at Hermione.
"No, not at all," Hermione agreed, as she, Neville and Ginny settled in with the rest. "Do you have the journals for Tiberius Abbott? One of Neville's ancestors thinks he might know something."
"He would've went to Hogwarts in the early 17th century," Neville supplied.
Hannah went over to one of the piles with a practiced ease—she must've spent her whole summer in this room—pulling more than a dozen books into a new pile.
"He's got quite a lot," Hannah explained, and Neville hopped up to help her, with each of them both carrying a large stack back to where the others sat.
"Why are we doing this anyway, Hermione?" Ernie asked. "Not that I mind helping out, of course, but how will finding Helga Hufflepuff's office help in the fight against You-Know-Who?"
Hermione had told Hannah and Susan that's what they were doing, and in a roundabout way, that was true. She wasn't sure if she should tell them the truth—wasn't sure if they'd still want to help—but Hannah was looking at her with such a trusting face that she didn't want to lie.
"Helga knew something about house elves," Hermione explained. "And since You-Know-Who used one to kidnap Harry"—she glanced furtively at Ginny, whose eyes were concentrated on the journal in her hand—"if we can figure out more about them, we can keep him from using them as a weapon again."
She was expecting to hear opposition. She almost always heard opposition. But the Hufflepuffs looked thoughtful.
"It makes sense," Susan said. "Aunt Amelia said that one of the first things he did last time around was try to get the giants and the werewolves and all of the other creatures on his side."
And then Hannah and Ernie murmured their agreement, and Hermione felt relief that no one told her the house elves liked being slaves. Granted, it's possible that they all believed that, but they could at least see the danger in leaving the status quo intact.
"Well, we'll all be in trouble if You-Know-Who gets the heliopaths on his side," Luna murmured thoughtfully.
Ginny snickered good-naturedly, while Ernie and Susan exchanged a significant look that they thought Luna was a bit mad.
"Heliopaths don't actually exist, Luna," Hermione sighed, unable to comprehend how someone who was clearly so intelligent believed in such ridiculous things.
"Cornelius Fudge has an entire army at his command," Luna insisted, her eyes wide.
"If that were true, he would've set them on Dumbledore already," Hermione retorted.
"Or Rita Skeeter," Neville piped up. "Did you see her latest article about Fudge?"
"No, I don't read The Prophet," Luna said. "It's all propaganda and lies, of course."
But Hannah didn't seem to share that opinion. "'Cornelius Fudge deserves the respect one would afford to the smashed up bag of cockroach clusters left abandoned on the back shelf of Honeydukes,'" she quoted with a giggle. "She's really been going after him lately."
"The Prophet has never been better," Susan agreed.
Neville and Hermione exchanged a conspiratorial grin.
"Speaking of stories in The Prophet, did you see the one about Professor Snape's hearing?" Hannah asked. The story had been very small and buried in the back pages, but there had been a mention of it.
Susan nodded, turning to Ernie. "Has your grandfather said anything about the hearings?" she asked eagerly.
Ernie puffed up as all eyes turned to him. "Well, what goes on in the hearings is strictly confidential of course, but Grandfather has said that if he has anything to say about it, Snape won't be teaching any of us anymore," he answered.
"If only," Neville muttered.
"Oh, come on, you can always just attack him again," Susan said admiringly. Neville blushed.
Hannah watched him closely. "What did it feel like when you actually hit him with that spell?" she asked shyly.
"Glorious," Ginny supplied, earning a small laugh from Neville.
"Honestly? I don't even really remember it," Neville responded. "One minute we were in class, and the next, Harry, Hermione and I were in Professor McGonagall's office."
Hannah seemed to consider that. "So it was just pure adrenaline?" she asked, looking like she'd never done something on pure adrenaline in her life.
"I guess."
"Still, it was very brave," Hannah added.
"Or stupid. If Snape is our teacher this year, he's definitely going to have it in for me now," Neville said miserably.
"And how will that be any different than last year?" Luna asked.
She had a point. Snape always targeted Neville.
"Besides," Luna added, flipping a page, "it could always be worse."
"How?" Neville asked.
Luna looked up briefly. "Well, you could be Professor Snape," she answered earnestly, and everyone laughed. "Imagine being so grim and miserable all the time."
Susan shook her head. "If there's one thing I never want to do, it's picture what it would be like to live Professor Snape's life."
After that, they settled into agreeable silence as they all searched Tiberius' journals, the only sound the flipping of pages.
"Where did you get the name Tiberius Abbott?" Hannah finally asked, and Neville launched into the story of Charles Longbottom and Magnus Smith, with Hannah and Luna listening to him intently. Ginny seemed bored as she flipped through the pages of her journal, but her demeanor was decidedly determined.
Hermione hunkered down with her section of the journals, but didn't find anything of use. Tiberius Abbott seemed like a good sort of person though—he constantly wrote about tutoring younger students, breaking up fights in the corridors, and how much he worried about his best friend's—Magnus—home situation, which Hermione gathered wasn't the best. But there was no mention of any secret rooms.
"Huh," Luna mused. "This is odd."
Hermione looked up, full of trepidation, wondering what Luna could possibly consider odd. "What is it?"
"This is his sixth year journal, but look," she said, displaying the open book for them. "Someone ripped out the entire back section."
Hermione inspected the journal; Luna was absolutely right. There were definitely torn out pages.
"Why would someone do that?" Ginny asked.
"It might not be anything," Susan suggested. "It could just be he fancied a girl and was later embarrassed about what he wrote, so he ripped it out or something."
"Or maybe there's something he—or someone else—didn't want us to read," Hermione theorized. "Does he have a seventh year journal?"
They all looked around, but couldn't find one. Had Tiberius stopped journaling or was the book missing for a reason?
"So what do we do now?" Ginny asked.
"One of Hannah's other ancestors could still know something," Ernie suggested.
"Or, if Tiberius and Magnus were hiding something, Magnus could have passed the information down to his descendants," Hannah offered. "Maybe it's some Smith family secret."
Ginny groaned.
"What?" Neville asked, confused by her response.
"That means one of us has to talk to Zacharias Smith," Ginny said miserably, "and he's just about the biggest toerag I've ever met."
"I don't think I know him," Hermione mused, exchanging a puzzled glance with Neville.
"He's a Hufflepuff in our year," Ginny answered, pointing between herself and Luna, "and he's completely full of himself. He thinks he's so fascinating, when really, he's just about the biggest, most obnoxious bore I've ever met."
Susan, Ernie and Hannah exchanged a three-way glance. They didn't look like they disagreed with Ginny exactly, but Hannah and Ernie definitely seemed put off by her vehemence.
"Well, I can talk to Smith," Hannah offered. "He's always been all right with me."
"Thanks Hannah," Hermione said, offering her a tight smile, though she didn't really feel like smiling.
"What's wrong?" Hannah and Luna asked her in unison.
"It's nothing, really," Hermione sighed. "I just thought that Tiberius Abbott would actually lead us to a breakthrough. But we're still just stuck."
Here she was, still completely helpless, still stuck in the same place.
Neville patted her shoulder comfortingly. "We'll figure it out Hermione," he reassured her.
"Besides, we can't expect to figure out something in a month that most people haven't figured out in centuries," Luna pointed out.
Hannah studied Hermione thoughtfully. "And we did make progress," she said. "The pages were cut out for a reason,right? I don't know about you, but everything I read in Tiberius' journal said he's not the sort of bloke to tear out pages for something trivial. So he must've known something important—and if he and Magnus Smith could figure it out, so can we."
She looked so determined, so set on figuring out this mystery, and as Hermione saw that the looks on Neville and Luna's faces mirrored Hannah's she felt bolstered by the support.
Hermione nodded, formulating a plan. "We should look at the other Abbotts from this time period," she said authoritatively. "Maybe Tiberius told one of his siblings or a cousin about the room."
And so they did. But while they learned a fair amount about wizarding customs in the 17th century—not to mention a detailed account of what it was like going to Hogwarts during the Goblin Rebellion of 1612 when the Hog's Head served as headquarters, which Hermione found absolutely fascinating—there was nothing about any secret room.
And then Mrs. Abbott burst into the room, her face flushed, her smile wide, waving a thick envelope.
"Hannah," she said breathlessly, "your Hogwarts letter has arrived—and it's heavy."
Hannah was up in a flash, ripping open the envelope the way most kids tore into presents on Christmas morning. She was rewarded with the flash of a shiny badge dropping into her hand. Hannah let out a little shriek, hopping from foot to foot in an odd sort of jig, while her mother gathered her up in a hug.
"Oh, congratulations, honey," Mrs. Abbott exclaimed. "You worked so hard for it."
"Thanks, mum," Hannah replied, turning red when she realized everyone had witnessed her outburst. "Um—"
"Congratulations, Hannah, that's brilliant," Hermione enthused warmly, knowing that if their roles had been reversed, she'd have had the same exact reaction.
"Better you than me," Susan laughed cheerily, eyeing the badge like it had spattergroit.
"You'll do great," Neville agreed, and Ernie and Luna offered their own praise.
"Thanks," Hannah repeated, smiling widely.
Hermione was happy for her friend, but now that she knew the letters were arriving today, there was nothing she wanted more than to get back to Neville's house. She felt antsy and wondered just how rude it would be to look at her watch. She caught Ernie's eye, and he raised his eyebrow at her, like he was reading her mind.
"Oh, like you're not thinking the exact same thing," Hermione retorted.
Ernie laughed. "Fair enough," he said.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, you two have been down for prefect for ages," she said.
"Honestly, are you sure you're not prefects already?" Susan laughed. "I definitely remember you trying to take points off me for being out of the common room late, Ernie."
Ernie's ears turned red. "Well, you shouldn't have broken the rules," he muttered.
Susan had a reply to that, but Hermione didn't really hear it. She was too busy staring at the badge in Hannah's hand. She'd wanted Prefect for ages and over the years, that dream had become more clear. When they were first years, it was just this amorphous thing, her wearing a shiny badge, having earned the respect and recognition by her teachers and her peers. And as she got older, it had grown more vivid—patrolling the corridors with Harry and spending her afternoons with Hannah, helping to make up the prefect schedules. She hadn't realized how desperately she wanted that dream until she saw Hannah's badge.
Oh, she couldn't wait to get back to Wiggentree Manor.