Falling Hippogriffs

"Our Guests of Honor have arrived," Slughorn announced, clinking his spoon against the goblet in hand while the assembled slugs applauded. Hermione slowed her step and eased her arm out of George's first, and then even more slowly out of Fred's bent arm. She let it linger on his back before she whispered, "Welcome home" before she stepped back to be with the other students.

She did note his profile had turned to follow her departure from his side, a smirk creeping at the corners where she knew he had registered what she said. This had to be the best deviation she had made from her original sixth year, having Fred and George back. She was starting to pick up on a look of suspicion from Ginny across the room, but it hardly mattered. Perhaps it was selfish, but she needed to have these slight deviations where she was genuinely happy. Where she wasn't following a script made from foggy memories.

"Hello dear ones, and welcome to the First Slug Club Christmas Party—although not the very first," Slughorn bubbled, rolling to the top of his toes and twisting his curled mustache. If he hadn't decided to be a Professor, Hermione could see him being a party coordinator. He lived for these simple distractions. "I've hosted twenty seven or so of these before retirement—but I digress." The old man smiled, nearly tipping over his goblet with an exaggerated hand movement. "In light of recent events, I thought it better to have some light entertainment than a previous student come and lecture you. Mr Weasley and Mr Weasley, brothers of our own Ginny Weasley were happy to supply entertainment. Gentlemen," he turned first to George and then Fred, " the Floor is all yours."

George turned towards his broth and both twins bowed, "Stand back now," George said, as the students heeded the twin's warning. Most of them having seen the twin's handy work the year before. Fred was removing his black, dragon scale jacket and Hermione was surprised to see both brothers were in muggle dress shirts, the kind her father would wear when he and her mother went out for dinner. How had she not spotted it earlier? They didn't wear ties, and Fred had just unbuttoned the collar to give it more room and was working on rolling up his sleeves. Both brothers wore suspenders and Hermione wondered if Madam Malkin's was tailoring a muggle line or if perhaps Fred and George had been getting into Muggle London more than they normally visited.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Fred finally said, his sleeves pulled up to his elbows, "When my Brother and I were last in the castle we made a display of items that could be used to dispose the castle's enemies," Hermione looked and George who gave her smug look. "This time, we're making a display of items that can be used for general protection in our time. Georgie?"

George raised his wand arm and with concentration Hermione had never seen on the twin's face before, only after the war. A silver filmed raccoon erupted from his wand, playing through the air and then scourging through the room, weaving itself between legs of the students before jumping up in the air again.

She hadn't seen the silver raccoon since the war ended. She hadn't seen it before either, but she knew he had been able to summon a Patronus then, or so Angelina said. After the war, George hadn't. He had been fortunate there wasn't a need as there had been. But there was the playful raccoon, for the world to see. So much George himself, darting around the room without a thought or care of what was going on.

"Meet Rascal, an imitation of a patronus that can stand guard on your loved ones when you're away and carry messages across the country in the event of danger. He's joined by Rapier," Fred's patronus that now zipped through the air, the Fox that was now searching faces throughout the room, "and both will be your coordinators of mischief for the rest of the evening."

The silver guardians looked at their masters and then each other before the darted around the boarders of the room. Slowly, the lights that Slughorn had put up beyond the emerald, gold and white fabric above them extinguished themselves till the room was dimmed. Sparks began from the corners and small, golden hippogriffs seemed to be dancing out of the corners towards the center. God Rest ye Merry Hippogriffs now echoed from the Gramophone, playing to the Hippogriffs as the dived above their heads, flying to the center of the room where Fred and George stood, looking up at their work with admiration.

It was particularly good magic; much like the fireworks that had blazed the school against Umbridge, only smaller and not near as temperamental as the dragons. The Hippogriffs circled above their heads in the center, but were now breaking formation. Flying towards the fabric that Slughorn had draped from the ceiling, they broke through the barrier and continued to fly above their heads. Hermione suppressed a smile. It looked like little fireflies like the ones she had seen in forests when she had camped with her father.

"Holographic Hippogriffs," George said, a fast jazzy number replacing the carol on the gramophone, "Our latest model carries a sensory charm and guard windows and doorways from Dark Magic. Ideal for evenings when you are away from the house but someone is left behind. These were the originals that perform when they are not in use protecting."

The firefly hippogriffs darted left, and then right. They were faster than they had been darting. But the light was changing, it had dimmed a little bit, and there weren't near as many floating above them. They were definitely coordinating something different than before.

Suddenly, one darted through the gaps in the fabric. It wasn't a Hippogriff anymore, but a quidditch player, darting through the air, quaffle in hand.

"While not particularly for security or communications, the Weasley Wotcher Quidditch team allows you to coach your own team while they play above your heads," Fred smirked, as a red headed beater sent a mini bludger through the air, clinking it toward's Slughorn's goblet. "They have elements similar to Wizard's Chess where they will actually argue back if you give them bad coaching and the beater's can throw their bludgers towards unwanted visitors."

The group watched as the opposing team made it through the canvas above them and the plays began to unfold like it was one of Wood's tried and true moves. Hermione thought they were all the size of her thumb and they could all move rather quickly. It was amazing to see how good at magic the twins were. She had never doubted that, but she had never truly admitted or appreciated how talented they were at it. When the three of them had disappeared for the search for Horcruxes, she had no idea what was left behind in the joke shop. It was only natural for them to expand the bad day boxes into a bad day line for the house bound witch or wizard.

A part of her wondered what else she had missed from the twins when she was on the run. The shop stayed open and operational almost until the end. It was only once the Death Eaters could confirm Ron was with Harry that the Weasleys went into hiding. She wondered if these Quidditch players would some day be dive bombing Muriel's dining room. The Chasers weaved between the Canvas for the Quaffle, The Beaters were actually able to beat what looked like a small marble sized ball towards the Chasers.

"Wotcher Quidditch was designed for the younger crowd who made need distractions or entertainment on the run," Fred said and she wondered if he knew how many in this room were going to be forced into hiding. Of course he doesn't. And he doesn't need to know. Hadn't her conversation with Dumbledore shown her that much? No one should know that much of their future—

But what if he did?

"Hermione, Duck! " he called as the silver marble came her way. His voice snapped her out of her momentary bout of insanity as she swerved her head. Cormac McClaggen was behind her and took a toothpick he had been using and wielded it like a beater's bat, sending the ball back up into the canvas area. Hermione felt his arm stead herself around the shoulders and while she was midway through thanking him a glimpse of gold hovered next to his ear. "McClaggen—"

A small blonde haired seeker came zipping through the air, darting between guests and flying under people's noses. As the snitch moved higher, past McClaggen's ear, the little seeker couldn't slow down and slammed into McClaggen's temple, McClaggen trying to swat it away like a fly. The Blonde was shaking it off and yelling at McClagggen in a rather high pitch voice before fishing his broom out of the stunned seventh year's hair.

Hermione, and she noticed the rest of the guests, looked around the room trying to find where the snitch had gone. Another small seeker, this one with black hair, seemed to be doing corkscrews through the air before he finally had the little ball in his grasp.

The moment that they did, thirteen magnificent fire works seemed to illuminate the room. Fred and George always seemed to have a particular flair with fireworks, Hermione had decided. As one would fade away another seemed to go off, and she wondered if all of the Wotcher Quidditch games ended with explosions or if this was just a part of the show. The Lone surviving player, the Seeker zoomed around the room in a victory lap, the small fleck of gold no bigger than an earring in his out stretched hand.

As he made his way to the center of the room, Hermione noticed how the broom was sloping vertically. Its rider was no longer riding, but had a hand at the top and his feet were hanging on by lodging themselves a top the needles of twigs assembled at the base. If she didn't know better, she thought the broom was growing. Still slender, but it was gaining in length until it was nearly the size of a real broom.

Rascal and Rappier appeared again at its base, looking up at the seeker who was sitting on top with the snitch in hand. The two silvery patronuses looked at each other and seemed to nod in agreement as the ran circles around the broom, each time flying higher and faster until they reached the top and a burst of white light snapped through the room leaving in its wake a Christmas tree, a golden snitch as its topper and quidditch players and hippogriffs now stationary as ornaments.

The rest of the Slug Club seemed to notice the orange boxes with purple twine under the branches of the tree, but Hermione's eyes followed the silver fox that now rested in Fred's arms. He seemed to mutter something to it, because the fox had a grin on its face before it faded away. Or perhaps it always had that grin and she hadn't noticed? she told herself. George's voice now echoed, "Happy Christmas, from the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes to you. There's a box each under the tree, only one mind you."

While the students seem to dig around the tree, Hermione looked past to see Slughorn clasps both brothers on the shoulders in what Hermione was sure was a talk that the Old Slug thought would led to more gatherings and connections. She tucked back a stray wisp of hair and smiled. She could already hear George gripping "Granger, what have you gotten us into" and she was sure Fred would add a sarcastic comment about spending the entire evening with an oldman when all the pretty girls were out, but she tucked that aside. She would have time to hear it later, she told herself as she tucked her own small orange box back in her evening bag.

After all, the entertainment was the first part of the Slug Club party. In the second act, she needed to overhear Snape and Draco's conversation about the unbreakable vow.

Of course, she needed Draco to show up so he could get kicked out first.

((*))

The party was busy shifting into the second phase she could remember; All of Slughorn's successful alumni had been assembled with a master's touch, now paired off with several of his up and coming students. She had just escaped a conversation with Florence Livesley from the Department of Magical Research, Advancements and Records. It was a lesser-known branch, a side department of a division that McGonagall had given her a pamphlet for when she had sat in for Career Advice. It studied magical theory and the evolution of spell casting. It had seemed very enlightening to sixteen-year-old Hermione but nineteen-year-old Hermione didn't care for it. There was so much more to do than sit in an archive all day when a society's laws had to be changed and improved upon. Or at least, so she thought at the time of the accident. Even in her post war life, Hermione wasn't sure what she wanted to do. All she knew was she could smile, and nod to Ms Livelsley and say she'd send an Owl. She wouldn't be surprised if I must not tell lies didn't pop up on her hand she had told that lie so often.

The more ornately dressed former slugs seemed to be circling Harry like vultures, waiting their turn to see what they could gain from the Boy-Who-Lived. A Biographer, another looking for an endorsement on a quidditch line, it never seemed to stop. Slughorn himself was still talking to Fred and George, just as he had when their presentation had finished. Fred's face reflected the expression he usually reserved for business partners and over exuberant patrons, while George was rocking on heels—

She darted her eyes away from the brothers; to anything other than them. George's tell—when he was stressed, or overwhelmed—when he felt trapped and like he needed to run—she was all too familiar with that. It was only slight now, anyone else—Slughorn for example—he would have missed it. But Fred seemed to have acknowledged it and was now trying to break away from the Professor who had now tried bringing the two brothers over to a former Slug drinking a sherry.

But she had already turned away. She had deviated tonight in too many ways already; she couldn't make any more deviations until she found Malfoy.

In the dim light, she hadn't seen him when Fred and George were doing their presentation and performance. Even now, the light restored, she couldn't find him. There were more people than she had remembered. She had spent so much time her first go around hiding from McClaggen, had she really over estimated the amount of people Slughorn had crammed into the room?

There was a sudden shuffle. For a moment, Hermione thought that it was the songs changing on the gramophone, the needle scratching at the outer rim. Instead, it was Filch hustling into the center of the room, pulling Malfoy in by his ear.

After the war, Draco had largely disappeared from the public view. The last time she had seen him clearly had been in when his family was called before the Truth and Reconciliation Tribunal. Looking at him now, she realized she had forgotten how gaunt Malfoy had looked. His face was thinner than she had remembered, his cheekbones sharp as though it was a thin square of skin pulled too tightly over marble cheekbones. But his eyes were the same: angry, sharp and annoyed. She'd say embarrassed but she knew Malfoy too well to know it was his pride that was hurt. Not him personally.

"Professor, I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor," Filch bellowed, as though he wanted to make an example of Malfoy to a set of students he couldn't care less for. A good number of the new Slugs had been members of the DA who hadn't forgotten the role Malfoy played a role in Umbridge's rise to power. Filch cleared his voice and continued, "Claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him with an invitation?" the caretaker wheezed, as though he knew the answer already and knew that he would get a response that would result in a punishment.

Malfoy pulled from Filch's grasp and looked disgusted at Filch. "All right, I wasn't invited!" he spat, "I was trying to gatecrash, happy?"

"No, I'm not" Filch responded, although his face shown with the joy usually reserved for a child at Christmas. "You heard what the Headmaster said at the start of term feast, no night-time prowling with out permission. No invitation means no permission boy!"

Fred and George had found their savior in Malfoy, as Slughorn stepped away from them and towards Filch, "No need to march off to the Headmaster's office," Slughorn waved, looking at the boy with pity Hermione had missed the first time, "It's Christmas, and it's not a crime to want to come to a party. I knew the boy's grandfather after all," the last part he said more for himself than for the audience that had developed. Slughorn snapped his fingers and the music started up again on the gramophone and the atmosphere returned to the jovial state it had been before its interruption.

But Filch wasn't done yet. His eyes had landed on the two brothers that were now eyeing him over like a pair of cats and their favorite mouse. "What are they doing here?" he stuttered at first before turning to Slughorn, more mania tinged to his voice, "What are they doing here?"

Slughorn glanced at Filch as though he was the one gatecrashing. "Now Argus, these are my guests who were approved by Dumbledore himself—"

"They were banished! Life time bans!" Filch erupted, 'Mark my words—"

"Oh we can do that," George said lazily, "Mark them in a swamp"

"In a firework," Fred suggested, his voice bored as he looked at a Filch with the same contempt Malfoy had.

"Or maybe something more original Fred, he's familiar with the fireworks and swamp tricks," George answered, "We could Mark his words on his face, then he wouldn't have to repeat himself. Do that service for a week or so."

"Or we could bring Mrs Norris into it somehow, she could mark it in every tapestry on the seventh floor—"

"And place a swamp there for good measure."

Filch stormed off, presumably to place his dearest cat out of perceived fear and to do a preemptive strike on the seventh floor for an attack she knew wasn't going to come. By the time Filch was gone the music had resumed and so had everyone else in the nightly festivities.

Hermione continued her searched the room and her memories. She tried to think how it panned out before. She hadn't overheared with Harry of the Unbreakable Vow, instead she was trying to prolong a conversation with Ginny and Dean in hopes McClaggen would get the hint she didn't want to find a broom cupboard. She had missed Malfoy in the midst, she couldn't find Snape in the room either. They had escaped just as they had before.

The Corridor, they'll go out to the corridor…

She was out of the room before she realized it. The Corridor was dim, the torches had now been charmed to extinguish themselves now when the student curfew began. There were only a few still alight near Slughorns Office. But what really lit the corridor was the moonlight flickering through the glass panels, the soft pale glow giving the castle, or at the very least the corridor, the gentlest whisper that tomorrow would be kinder than the horrors she had foreseen.

She stood for a moment and listened, hoping for a betraying step or the pull of the carpet from fast moving travelers. Something that would indicate they had already left and she could follow them. She wouldn't have Harry's invisibility cloak, but maybe if Harry saw her he'd pull her under it as well.

A tug of her hand made her jump for her wand; she was halfway through a hex when she heard the laugh that she had grown so accustomed to surprise her first.

"What are you doing out here?" Fred asked, slowly raising his hand and gently brushing her wand down.

Why is it whenever I'm about to follow Malfoy I get sidelined by a Weasley? She thought to herself. She tucked her wand away and looked back at him. His hair was glowing amber in the moonlight, more so than it had in the bustling room. "I needed to catch my breath, if Slughorn sent one more of his little slugs for an alumni connection I might gag."

He smiled all too knowingly and he eased on the grasp of his hand. "Persistent man isn't he? Malfoy did George and I a favor gatecrashing like he did. If Filch hadn't caught him, we'd be standing there still listening to him rambling about the avenues he could place before us even though we were out of school, cheeky bastard."

She flashed him a look that she felt resembled Mrs Weasley too well because his laugh died midway again. He looked back to the door they had emerged from, "We could go back and run the risk of him setting both of us up with a Slug," she could hear the mischief in his voice, "Or—"

"Tell me what the or is," she interrupted, "I think I'd take any 'or' that didn't lead to a Minister's Under Secretary's Intern position."

"Do you trust me?" he asked, and she could feel it again, his fingers lacing between her own. When did this become a thing? Where he could intwine her hand with his and it be almost natural. "Is that a trick question?" she asked and he smirk sprung free again.

"Let me show you one of my favorite places in the castle" Fred started, guiding her before she could answer, " It'd be beautiful right now."

"What about George? Won't he wonder where you've gone off too?" she asked. She couldn't help noticing that Fred's hand gave a slight flitch in her own, "George's talking with Ginny's latest boyfriend, he'll be fine."

"Will Dean be alright?" Hermione asked as she matched her stride to his. Fred turned his face to hers and she could see a flicker of mischief in his eyes, "He's expendable."

((*))

"Believe it or not, George and I had a knack for running off and having to find places to hide when Filch would discover a prank," Fred explained as they reached the top of the tenth floor. She had been a good sport following him this far but knew it best live up to memory or there'd be hell to pay.

But he hadn't minded at all, getting to follow Hermione for a walk through the castle. He and George had wandered it enough during their time, and he had made this walk in particular a hundred times over. But a walk with Hermione— that was different—it was becoming a pleasant surprise he could make routine.

He was hoping it wouldn't become routine trying to pick up a sign or signal that she was under threat or Dark Magic's control. Dumbledore hadn't answered his letter, but he was almost of the persuasion no news was good news. She was still Hermione. Giving him tidbits of trivia on the castle she had read about. Laughing at him when he missed the invisible step on their way up to the stairs. She had loosened some of the elaborate braids that she had done on her hair and she had the frizzy halo he had grown accustomed to seeing behind a book in the common room.

"Impossible, you two are regular angels," Hermione scoffed.

"Winter of '88—Filch had a bad limp; We had popped up on his radar with a Prank that led to a fall—anyway, he was persistent as you could get when it came to the two of us. But George and I figured that the easiest way to out run him was to out climb him," he answered, tapping his wand against the lock on the door two times before jiggling loose the handle, "And when you climb, you find things."

He opened the door and followed her through it. There was a stone staircase; the wind wasn't howling, the weather they had journeyed through on their way to the castle was now peaceful, and the bright glow of the moon that had been in the corridor downstairs now shined like a morning sun from the tower's top

"Careful, the staircase may be slippery," he warned following her from behind, "We're almost there now, trust me the view—"

"For as far as we've come I'm sure its amazing," she said between steps, "That or you're pushing me off the tower. In which case I want you to know I always knew you were the evil twin."

"Not the first time I've been accused of that," he answered, "You'd be surprised how often George tells me that. But evil translates to reckless for him—apparently I don't value my life as much as he'd like me too."

He tried not to notice how she straightened up at this, and turned back to look at him, "What do you mean?"

"Remember last summer when the Death Eaters took Florean?" he asked, "I wanted to run towards the danger, not away. George will follow me into muggle dueling with the Slytherin team or throwing snow balls at Professors, If I was hell bent enough I think he'd have followed me to the fight—"

"You do know Voldemort was under that turban, right?" she prompted, as though she was urgently trying to find an excuse to change the subject. "You and George threw snow balls at Voldemort's face."

"We did, didn't we," he said with a smile, " don't go telling that to mum. That story will be saved for the grandchildren. May have been one of our finest hours."

"You've had finer since you were fourteen Fred, you just don't notice them till after the fact," she said as a matter of fact. They had reached the door that led to the outside of the tower, "Why isn't this one locked?"

"Castle's got a wonky security setting," Fred shrugged, pushing open the door to the top of the tower. "It's not quite as high as the astronomy tower, but you get a good enough view," he said, trying to watch Hermione's expression to see if he should have shown her the kitchens instead. Nah, House Elves, she'd have them unionizing before Christmas.

The tower was high enough up and on the opposite side of Gryffindor Tower giving a vantage point the average Gryffindor would never have seen. It looked down more at the Lake then the grounds although, if you were looking from the right angle you could see the Lone Hill where he and George had tested many of their larger, more explosive products while they where at school. It was a nice spot, the hill. They had liked going up there in the spring. If you sat their long enough, you could see the giant squid coming up from its winter slumber, its puckers popping in the white waves. While the lake took up most of the landscape, he could also see the lights of Hogsmeade flickering in the distance. His hopes where right, the thick blanket of snow they had traveled on earlier looked majestic from up in the tower. The clouds had cleared and with the moonlight in looked like a field of diamonds on the ground, reflecting the moon and stars above.

"What is this place?" Hermione asked, wide eyed, looking down the castle wall. "We're right above the lake—"

"George and I figure this tower is one the founds put up to look impressive but actually has no function. I've never had any astronomy students try and head up this way."

She smiled, almost to herself, "Just your place to run and hide?"

"Oh I never hide Granger," he said, puffing out his chest ever so slightly, "But I did seek sanctuary here a couple times with Umbridge about last year. All you need is a proper disillusion charm and you can make the door one of those fake ones that are all over Hogwarts."

She brushed the snow off the stone guardrail in front of her, watching it fall down to the bottom of the wall. "I swear, this castle—you think you have all the secrets found out and then a bloody tower pops out of no where."

"Who has the language now?" Fred said, leaning next to her on the stone. He looked at her realized she wasn't wearing a jacket. He was supposed to offer her his, wasn't that the tradition? You take a girl out to see something and its cold, you give her your coat? He started shaking off the leater and tried dumping it on her shoulders. Hand holding, he was a natural at that. But this—

She looked at him confused, "Fred, what are you doing?"

"Here, you'll catch your death," he said, echoing what his mother would say. Hermione knew better than to argue with mum, maybe if you act like your mother—no, no don't do that…

The jacket was still lopsided on her shoulders, her arms still not through the sleeves. "Oh and you won't? Fred I'm fine—"

"I'm Fred Weasley," he said confidently, "I'll live forever."

She turned and gave him a look as though she wanted to swat him off the tower just to prove how mortal he actually was. Instead, she tucked her arms through the jacket and zipped it up to her chin. "You better," was all she said before she folded her arms and looked back to the landscape before them.

"There, that wasn't too hard was it?" he asked, leaning again against the rail, trying to split his attention between Hermione and the view.

"It's fine, but you need to clean out your pockets, There's something jabbing me—" he could hear a rustle "What's this?" she pulled out a letter.

He didn't recognize it at first and then everything came back at once. The Letter McGonagall had given him hours earlier. Her words that it was to stay secret and be delivered in the morning.

Idiot, he swore, looking at the little white square with red wax seal. Bloody Idiot. He swore again, looking from the letter to Hermione's inquisitive brown eyes that shone with intrigue. Perhaps some secrets can be shared, perhaps some secrets are meant to be shared, a shadow of reason suggested. After all, could you keep a secret from Hermione?

((*))

AN: This chapters is long since over due; not my particular favorite (Falling Hippogriffs! What sort of title is that?! And you actually read it!?) , but updates are progress. I hope you all have and continue to have a very safe and happy 2016. Thank you all for you love and support the past few months. They mean the world. I'm sorry if I haven't responded to your reviews quite yet, we're finally slowing down at work so here's to hope!

Next Chapter: There's more than one person with a secret in the tower, will Hermione share hers? Christmas at the Burrow and in Essex. And something lurks in the New Year, a new word Harry will need to learn from Slughorn and one Hermione wishes they never had: Horcruxes and those made by Tom Riddle...