AGH!

Thanks for all the reviews, I was on vacation in Italy and couldn't update! Sorry! And my vicious plot bunny attacked me(!), so I might have a LOTR fic up soon, I'm not sure.

And LIFE-SIZED OLIVER GUMMY BEAR TO MY 100TH REVIEWER!

YAY!

Chapter Nine: The Death of the Abbot Sisters

The day had arrived. The day when, finally, the Golden Trio, Oliver, and Ginny would return to Hogwarts.

Hermione, sitting on her bed, was staring into space, her hand clutching the amulet to her chest. She hadn't breached the topic of the kiss with Ron yet, and she still wasn't sure if she was ever going to work up to the courage to do so.

It was all so complicated. She still wasn't sure if it was an idea or actual Ron that she had fallen for. According to Ginny's sordid teen magazines, one was supposed to fall in love with the little things – the way he tilted his head when he looked at her, or his smile – but the only thing congruous with love was that kiss.

Mmm, that kiss.

Hermione fell back on the thin bed, her eyes closed as she remembered floating in darkness, and then the feeling of softness on her lips, and the jolt of electricity. She smiled a small smile, with her lips turned up in the corners.

She relived it in her mind, rolling into the details until her desire spilled over her lips in little noises. The warm, chocolate eyes were burned to her eyelids, and she imagined the face that surrounded them.

Finally she opened her eyes to find Ron and Harry standing next to her, a pair of concerned, brotherly green eyes and another pair of bright blue.

Hmm, I thought he had brown eyes, thought Hermione. I wonder where I remember those eyes from.

"Are you alright?" asked Harry, worried, jerking Hermione from her musings. His quilt was steadily increasing as the days to September 1st disappeared. Now he was going to Hogwarts, and even there he doubted that she would be safe. After the attack the year before . . . well, no where was fully safe.

"You were making funny noises," added Ron insensitively, and his curious face turned red at the corners as Harry stomped on his foot. Hermione suppressed a laugh at the ridiculous image.

"Just thinking," Hermione replied, smiling. "About the hospital, and things." Ron, being who he was (oblivious) apparently didn't get her hint, and shrugged.

"You want me to take down your trunk?" he asked. Hermione nodded, and Ron picked up her trunk with no apparent difficulty. Hermione hadn't been able to lift a corner without Ginny's help, and she watched appreciatively the biceps flex in Ron's arm as he lifted the load. Perhaps she was in love with the little things?

The siblings let Ron disappear down the stairs before turning to each other. "What were you thinking about, 'Mione?" asked Harry. Hermione knew she couldn't tell him, so simply smiled. Harry was still more of her best friend than her brother, and she felt uncomfortable telling him of her kiss.

"Oh, really just about the hospital." Harry looked like he didn't believe her. They stared at each other for a moment, daring the other to back down.

"Fine," he finally said. "We should head down."

"Yeah," she conceded.

Oliver stood at the doorway to Ron's room, giving a final glance around to make sure he had not left anything behind.

Wand? Check.

Trunk? Check.

Brain? Check.

All except my heart, he thought sadly, but that was with someone else, who, from the sound of it, was downstairs, talking to her brother in Ginny's room.

I should tell her, he told himself. But she was in love with Ron.

Even Ron, who was generally out of the loop of things, had realized Hermione was acting differently around him. The other Weasleys had long since noticed and stopped caring.

Perhaps Harry was the only oblivious one left, but that was mainly because of self-preservation. He really didn't want to know that his sister was in love with his best friend.

Oliver imagined the scene in his head when he would tell her. They were alone, on the quidditch field, and Hermione was wearing her school skirt and shirt. It was raining, and the white fabric of the shirt was transparent with the water. She looked up at him, her dark eyes framed by long lashes like the black lace of the dress. . .

NO.

They were in the midst of millions of people, in the Great Hall. It was dinner, and she had been eating with Harry and Ron. Watching her raise the silver fork with a small size of mashed potatoes on it to her mouth, purse her pink lips around the damn lucky utensil, and then repeat the process, he could take it no longer, and rose from his seat at the Head Table, walked down to her seat, grabbed her hand, and led her from the Hall into the empty corridor. . .

No.

They were in the Gryffindor common room after Gryffindor had won yet another quidditch game. She was, as she always was after games, in the corner, nursing a single bottle of butterbeer, smiling at the occasionally passing person who said hello. He slid in next to her, smiling, and told her the truth. That he kissed her. That he loved her.

What would happen if I told her, and she didn't care?

She's Hermione. Of course she'd care.

But Hermione is still a girl.

And that matters how?

Maybe she's going to be a girl before being Hermione.

That made no sense.

And there's always the issue of Harry.

Who cares about Harry? You're in love with Hermione, not her brother.

But Harry's still part of her life.

Ron is too, but you don't care about that.

Of course I do.

Do you? Do you really?

He didn't have an answer to that, and quietly closed the door behind him, when all he wanted to do was slam it as hard as he could, and bring the entire Burrow down on the head of the infuriatingly thick youngest Weasley son.

In Hogwarts Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, filing paperwork, reading bills, and in all looking like the classic boarding school headmaster.

Except, of course, for the pointed hat.

The regular (and therefore, incredibly boring) aspects of Hogwarts life were necessary now. Life was so full of surprises, mostly unpleasant, that Dumbledore was starting to find himself longing for the more menial tasks associated with his position.

He was also finding it harder and harder to keep the truth from his lieutenants. Dumbledore had spent weeks carefully plugging the flow of bad news away from the Order, but the plugs were popping out, and each day he was informed of more and more defeats at the hand of Voldemort.

There was a soft scratch at his window, and Dumbledore sighed, removed his half-moon spectacles, and motioned the owl in the window. The umber-colored creature dropped the day's copy of The Daily Prophet in his lap, and Dumbledore traded a few knuts for the rag.

He scanned the front page, and the news on it shocked him, less for it's contents and more for the fact that he had not yet received the information. It read:

MUGGLE CAR CRASH KILLS YOUNG HOGWARTS STUDENTS

London – Last night in lower London, a travesty occurred that would shock the Ministry of Magic and possibly destroy any current moral the Ministry possessed. A family of wizards – Reneé and David Abbot, both 43, and their daughters, Hannah, 18, and Michelle, 13– were traveling across downtown London when Death Eaters appeared and brutally attacked their car, forcing it head-on into the opposing lane of traffic.

According to eye-witness, Oprah Young, "They just appeared out of no where, all black and flappy looking, and they pushed the cars into each other. It was so fast no one could react."

Currently the Ministry has no suspects, and is refusing to reveal their information on whether or not any Muggles where killed in the opposing car. Due to the high profile of the crash, however, Muggles at the scene received a Confounding Spell rather than usual Ministry-procedure Memory Eraser.

Meanwhile, rumors are quickly spreading across the community. Most popular (and perhaps most believable) is that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has taken a special interest in the lives of Hogwarts students following the attack on the wizarding school last June. Both Hannah and Michelle were Hogwarts students, and their parents alumni.

The Minister is asking for "help in catching the individuals responsible for these horrendous acts" and that everyone "stay on guard for possible suspicious person who could be after children."

Dumbledore, aghast, stopped reading. The Abbots? Of all the wizarding families to choose, Voldemort chose the Abbots? Certainly Mr. Abbot had been a member of the Order, and both Hannah and Michelle were DA students, but there was no way that Voldemort could have known that.

"Bring me my spy," hissed Voldemort happily. The leak within the Order of the Phoenix was proving especially useful. Just think – another set of ugly muggle-loving family members down the drain.

Lucius Malfoy sneered at the cloaked figure who all but sauntered to the throne of Voldemort. No one, other than the Dark Lord himself, knew the identity of the spy. But his information, whoever he was, was good, and that's all that mattered to most of them.

That is, except Lucius Malfoy.

And he wondered, who was the short little man who betrayed his leader for Lord Voldemort? And why?

But, as usual, Lucius and the rest of the Death Eaters were dismissed. They, annoyed, shuffled out in an orderly fashion. Skulking at the end, Peter Pettigrew closed the massive wrought-iron doors that lead to his master's hall.

Perhaps if any of them had lingered, they would have heard the bright voice coming from under the hood – and it's decidedly feminine aspects.

"Are they gone, Voldemort?" purred the voice. A soft, female voice. A woman.

"Yes," he replied. The woman lowered her hood, and her delicate face appeared above it, pale skin lending her face an ethereal look when matched with her silky hair and large eyes. Although Voldemort thought himself above such petty things, he was instinctively proud that this beautiful woman had betrayed the Order to turn to him.

If only he knew her reasoning.

"I have the information you requested," she said, smiling, and with a graceful flick of her wrist, a long list of Order members appeared in his hands, the first five or six with a long, elegant scratch through them. The parchment smelled of her perfume.

"Very good," he purred, and his red eyes lowered a notch to glowing olive. There was a pause, and the chamber was filled with absolute silence. Then: "Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't," replied the woman, and she gave him a long look before raising her hood and sweeping from the throne room.

Well, my SPY has finally shown herself. Who is she? WHAT is she? What are the secrets she has yet to tell? Wait and see . . .

And yes, to all you impatient people, OliverHermione fluff is coming up. As well as some (sorry) HermioneRon fluff. But don't worry, this is still an OliverHermione centric story. THERE WILL BE LOVE, DO NOT WORRY.

And blame the word "umber" on my summer school art teacher. She's obsessed with brown.

PLEASE REVIEW!

Love and such!