Chapter 18

Falling Comforts

Fred could hear voices getting heated before he knocked on the door.

In hindsight, he ought to have tried to over hear and access the situation better before he knocked. For all he knew, Remus was being interrogated by a Death Eater who preferred to start the day with a murder rather than end it with one. Fred could hardly blame the early morning killer, the house was quite distant from the village itself. No one would think twice if they heard noises coming from the house, impart because the house was out by itself, as though it had ostracized itself much like its occupants had.

The former professor lived in the small village of Hay-on-Wye, which straddled the boarder of England and Wales. His father had told Fred this was the house that Remus's parents had bought not long after they realized their child was a werewolf. None of the villagers could hear if screams came from the tiny house, let alone peak in as interrogative neighbors. They just knew in that house lived a sickly boy who's family had moved there for the weather. If you didn't know the tragic story of the person that lived there, it looked like any other house that had faced its share of storms. But Fred knew the story and wondered now, staring at the scratches on the door, if it was a childhood pet or young Remus who made that mark on the door between them.

He knocked again and the voices stopped. One higher voice shushing the other. He saw thin, slender fingers fiddle with the drapes. Does Remus have company? Fred panicked. He hadn't thought of this. Remus never discussed his personal life. Part of Fred thought whatever personal life he once had was taken from him on a cold Halloween Night many years ago. What shadow that had remained disappeared along with Sirius in the Department of Mysteries. But obviously you're wrong— because that's definitely a lady friend's hand… he thought as the shadow of a silhouette now backed away from the window.

The letter, Fred determined, better be damned important.

A shuffle of feet from inside, and Remus opened the door. "Fred—" his eyes dancing up and down the yard, he could see his Professor grapple for what must have been his wand on the inside ledge, "—what's the matter?"

Fred tried to pull the letter out of his jacket. It had been just a flimsy piece of paper but now it felt thick and heavy as though it was weighing him down while sticking to his fumbling fingers. Really he could have just hand it over and turn around. That's what he should do. Hand it, be done with it, and let Remus go back to his lady—Like hell you could do that, you're too bloody curious, George mocked in his head. Remus saw the letter and seemed to know what it was, quickly ushering Fred inside, his eyes still fixed on what may be shadows retreating in the morning's horizon.

The house looked as though it had been undisturbed. Everything was in its place, and looking as though it hadn't been occupied in quite sometime. The picture frames on the walls all looked like they had been taken twenty years before, many of them showing the life of a tall, handsome man who resembled Remus and a woman of similar height with kind Welsh eyes. The others told the story of the little boy who had grown up to be a man in the house; a few shared with childhood friends—three particular friends who caught his eyes.

All of the photos were lost to decades past, except for one on the bookcase by the stairs: that was Sirius, Harry and Remus the year before, Christmas at Grimmauld Place. That photo seemed the most haunting of all. He supposed that was the last he'd seen Sirius alive, merrily laughing with Remus at Harry's Butterbeer Mustache. It had also been the last time the three of them had been together before Sirius had died. The last night before they had been sent back to school. If it wasn't for the lack of dust around it, he could have almost mistaken Harry for his Father—he wondered if Remus did the same.

The hallway led to the kitchen where a gleam of light shone on the woman. She was putting on her coat; headed towards the door. She had bumped into him as he was looking at the Christmas photo. When he retracted his gaze and met her eyes, he found them more familiar than he had supposed.

"Wotcher Fred," she winked, tugging at her leather jacket's collar. She was sporting a dark brown bob today, less mousy than last he'd seen her. Her face was thinner as well, as though the months since the Department of Mysteries had beaten her down until she was too worn to get up.

"Tonks what are you—?"

She paused at the door to get a bag that was hanging on the hook. Making a point not to gaze at Remus whose gaze was pulled from the dangers of the outside world to Tonks at his side. "Thanks for the advice, Remus," her voice was strained like her face, turning to look at the old Professor.

"I hope you'll listen to it this time," Remus replied, holding the door open for her as she went "Take care of yourself Dora," he said watching as she disappeared down the walk, her hand waving as she kept her face forward. Fred didn't want to know what was going on between the two, but knew that Ginny's hope of Bill and Tonks would be dashed if she had been standing in the house right now and not Fred. He wondered who else knew about the two of them. Even Ron would be able to recognize this, if he could be here watching Remus standing in the door, supporting himself by holding the door beam, waiting until he heard the tell tale pop of her departure into the morning mist.

"Sorry I should have sent an owl ahead of myself," Fred apologized when Remus left the door and walked towards the kitchen, Fred trailing behind him. There was a kettle on the stove, not quite whistling yet—he supposed Tonks must have put it on before she left, two cups sitting next to the stove top.

"These days its better if you don't," Remus sighed, glancing at the cups and pulling two spoons the drawer and a chipped sugar pot. "There's a reason Dumbledore has us passing letters—" he said, gesturing to Fred's pocket. "They're less likely to be intercepted on a person then they are an owl these days."

"Have they started doing that?" Fred asked. Although he considered himself a member of the Order, this was really the first true assignment he felt he had. They didn't meet as they used to. It was to be conspicuous, some said. Protect covers and identities, but that was codswallup if he had ever heard it.

Remus nodded, "At the start of last summer, shortly after Amelia Bones was killed; she wasn't an official member of the Order, but she had her sympathies for us—she'd sway things in our favor in the Wizengamot. Dumbledore was informed there was a threat. Had made arrangements to get her into hiding but—there were some owls that may have been intercepted and false letters circulated by the enemy—Well, that's another story. Let's see the letter."

Fred took the letter out and set in on the table. Eyeing it like a time bomb. Remus took his wand and tore the side down, and then waved over the kettle and cups to join them at the table. "Help yourself Fred, there's some milk in the fridge if you'd like—"

He got up and put a little bit of milk in his cup, just a smudge, and let it steep a little bit longer. He was focusing more on Remus' face than he was his tea. It didn't look as grave as he thought it would, but perhaps everyone's face was already grave and anything more would be considered drastic.

"I thought the letter was for someone else? That we were middle men ?" Fred started, gesturing to wards the letter. "McGonagall made it sound as though someone was going to be picking it up from you."

"They will be," Remus said, tucking the letter back in its envelope. "Like I said, Dumbledore doesn't have faith in the owls anymore; Communication between fireplaces—we've had too many close calls," he looked at the letter and shook his head, "and we can hardly send out an Order of the Phoenix newsletter. Every now and again, Dumbledore will send a courier with news. I match that with reports and send him back an analysis of the two and we forward that to those in the field." He shrugged, the crinkled letter between the two of them. "To be completely honest Fred, this is most likely one of the last letter runs we'll do until we're able to train everyone in Patronus messages. Have your parent's taught you how to do them yet?"

He nodded—it was a partial truth. He knew how to conjure the patronus, but he wasn't yet sure how to get it to stay there and forward a message to someone else. The nod turned more into a shrug, "I know the theory, just haven't had a need to execute it quite yet."

Remus nodded slowly, "You'll want to. Practice with George for now. Dumbledore's said it and I agree—it's going to get much worse than it gets better."

Well this has been a cherry conversation. Thank you Professor for bringing hope of a new day, you're always so good at that, Fred wanted to say. But instead he dared farther, "What does the letter say?" he asked.

The Professor raised an eye brow, "Classified," he answered simply. 'It's safe to say the letter has come through a trusted handler."

"Messenger can't know what he's carrying?" Fred asked again.

"Not this time," Remus chided, although this time with a sympathetic "But you'll know well enough; keep an eye out in the Prophet."

Fred sat down at the table, "George and I haven't gotten to do anything for the Order since we joined, " annoyance bubbling through him, he could only imagine how juvenile he sounded. " Is there something—anything we could do?"

Remus stirred his tea looking up briskly, "Your work for the morale of the public is contribution enough," he said evenly, " Its a Public Service that few others could do."

"Selling Peruvian Instant Powder to sixteen year olds isn't going to stop the war though," Fred challenged, "What good is a joke shop when it's doubling as a defense arsenal least the world implodes over night? There has to be something else we could be doing."

"Staying alive is the first step," Remus started, clearing his voice, " and the second is waiting for Orders to follow. Trust me, your time will come Fred and when it does, you're going to wish it was working in your store. Someday morale won't be easy to sustain—but hope, hope will be vital to keep us going during the war. Keep giving people that." Remus pointed at another ghostly picture of four teenagers by the Hogwarts lake, hanging on the wall, "War comes for us all, there's nothing wrong with not rushing to meet it as it comes to us all."

"But you can't hide from it, standing on the sidelines while the missing and murdered notices fill up the Prophet everyday," Fred blurted out. "My tombstone's going to read Here Lies Fred Weasley who did nothing to stop Death from Falling,at the rate I'm going. We're supposed to do something, aren't we? Not just sit here and write letters that are to be dropped off in back alleys and in between pages of dusty books?"

Remus' spoon clattered against the table, " If you go a structured path, an Order path you're less likely to compose an epitaph," Remus looked as though whatever he and Tonks had spoken about, coupled with this, was enough to drive him back to bed. "Talk with Dumbledore, become a courier and ferry letters for now—but don't rush into something like an idiot, wands blazing. That's a sure fire way to get you killed. Trust me—I've seen a few of my friends take that route."

Fred sat there, blood pounding in his ears like frustrated drums. "We could hide letter in products. Couple it as a Delivery from the shop. All that business from the Ministry, we have packaging that can be more discreet than orange boxes and purple trim. Hell, we could even design a way to send secret messages so you could have a bloody newsletter if you wanted."

"I'll suggest it to Dumbledore, that could be just what we need," Remus responded. He patted the letter and looked at Fred. "I can tell you though—You need to be on your guard the next few weeks. We've gotten some intelligence that Death Eaters are planning attacks in the major cities, wizard shopping areas during the Holiday. We were able to weed out enough information to stop the attacks in London and Bristol, but we don't know if those were the only two or if there were more. They've declared war on our sympathizers in the Ministry; it won't be long before they declare it on the children next. With all the muggleborns home for Christmas, they're going to make sure there are open seats when the Hogwarts Express heads north again."

All the muggleborns home for Christmas—"Any cities in particular?" Fred asked, trying to remember the town she had told him, "Any in Essex?"

"When we apprehended the two circles, they wouldn't tell us anymore than Bristol or London. But we're keeping watch in Nottingham and Devonshire—those have higher Muggleborn populations," Remus opened a book from across the table, looking through and tapping the bottom of the list, "Essex wasn't one of the threatened areas."

"Can I volunteer to keep an eye on it then?" he asked, "Not planning on rushing in with my wand blazing a hex. Just keep an eye on a town—"

Remus looked more confused than anything else, "I just said it wasn't on the watch list?"

"You also said the Death Eaters only admitted to attacks in London and Bristol. If you'd like, I'll keep tabs on the Essex region. Oliver Wood said a few of the Puddlemore guys are going to be there for the Holidays, their chasers are all muggleborn."

Remus Lupin stared at him for an uncomfortable amount of time. As though he was trying to carefully craft the words that would talk Fred off this dangerous cliff he was so desperate to jump from. "I don't care how much you do or do not watch Essex, but don't you dare get yourself killed, I'm not explaining that to your mother."

Fred gave a nod, and put his teacup in the sink. He said he had to meet up with George to go over some things before they opened the shop for the day, and there was still the matter of trying to meet the train as it came in.

What none of them seemed to realize yet, it wasn't a what that was in Essex, so much as there was a who. He knew quite well Puddlemore wasn't going to be in the area, but knew there was going to be a girl who had worn the blue dress the night before and laughed with him on the tower as the snow fell down.

And in a way, that seemed enough to barge into fight, to jump off any cliff, to cover any falling walls.

((*))

It had been one of the best Granger Family Christmas Holidays since Hermione had left for Hogwarts.

In hindsight, that should have been her first sign that there was danger on the horizon.

But in the moments that had made up the Granger's holiday in Newcastle, there wasn't any hindsight. There was just her parents taking her through the city where they had met. The two of them taking Hermione to the University Commons and buying her a new sweatshirt with the school's name and crest cast against the blue. They had talked about getting her the purple one for the medical school, but Hermione favored the blue one saying she was still undecided.

They had had the talk again. The one of what she as going to do when she finished her studies at Hogwarts. They refused to believe that seven years of formal education was it when it came to the wizarding world. "You should try for Newcastle Hermione," her mother had pointed out as they sat amidst the red brick buildings following a surprised tour her parents had put her on after they had robed her in the sweatshirt. "You can prepare for your A-Levels this summer. We can get a tutor for you if you like, just to bring you up to speed and offer tips— it won't hurt either that your father and I make you a legacy—"

Before, when they had this conversation, Hermione was always quick to change the subject. She had dealt with it head first a few years earlier and lied to them by saying there was a Wizarding University in London, but they had actually discussed the topic with McGonagall following her career meeting and she had nearly been grounded the entire summer for that lie. She never wanted to let her parents think they had that option, because then she'd have to disappoint them yet again with another life milestone swept under the magical rug. It was just difficult to explain why she couldn't go to a school where she was carrying her wand in the pouch of her hoodie.

But this time, she thought to herself—it was awkward enough returning to Hogwarts after the smoke had cleared and the castle was still under construction. She couldn't imagine what it would be like going back mentally a 21 year old. It would feel like College. Remedial College. She would be lying if she was actually considering it, but there were a lot of schools. What better place to escape the paparazzi. She could even go abroad if she wanted. There was this University her great-Aunt Emma had attend in America—Brown something—no one would know Hermione Granger over there. She could disappear into glorious oblivion until she corrected the timeline—the hell if Muggle College utterly derailed that timeline.

"We'll talk about it more this summer," Hermione told her parents, believing the lie herself. Why couldn't she? When her parents were working she'd be studying. It would take her mind off what was to come—wiping their memories and sending them away to be safe. Looking at her surroundings, she almost let herself think she could come back when the war was over. Newcastle wasn't bad. It was closer to the Weasleys and Harry than Brown would be. But what exactly are you going to be studying, Finance with an emphasis on Goblin Relations? Marketing in Muggle and Magical Business?—she wanted to ask herself. But then the words came out before she registered them " I should be able to get the tests situated before I leave again."

Her dad gave a smile and put his arm around her as the three Grangers made their way off Campus towards Market Street, "I'm holding you to that Hermione. Lets get some dinner to celebrate. "

While the Market Street had been all done up for Christmas, it was really the New Years Market now. The shops that had been all done up with elaborate window displays and the shop on the corner had set up a little German Christmas stall with wooden windmills rotating in perfect clock work gears framing a nativity. Those were gone now, and in their stead were other woodwork items, jewelry boxes, drawers and trap boxes.

The family had eaten at one of the little restaurants that had survived since her parents university days. They had strolled through a few more stores. It was the day after new years. The holiday crowd was starting to thin out; in full honesty it was they had only one day left now. Crowds were a minimum. Tomorrow, they'd go down to the shoreline and rent a boat, sail around for a little bit before retreating to the shops to warm up with their tea mugs. Then they'd wake up the next day and get on the train down home where she would have a weekend before she had to return to Kings Cross Station.

"Come on sweetheart, there's a book store around the next corner," her dad called as they headed out of the music store. She followed, awkwardly trying to tuck her wand in the paper sack she and gotten from the store. A bag was better than it looking out of her pouch. She had thought about just making the sweatshirt larger so she could tuck it in the arm or deepen the pocket. She had debated bringing the wand at all, but had to remind herself she didn't have the trace anymore and there was a war going around. Whether in her pouch or her bag, she needed to have her wand with her. If even if it was for paranoia.

The noise was so loud, so unexpected at first, Hermione was convinced it was a car backfiring up the street. It was possible. But cars that backfired didn't backfire in jets of purple or green light.

She threw her eyes down to where the wooden trinket tents had been set up, In their place was billows of smoke and flames. Screams echoing against the clatter of feet against the cobblestone. "Get down!" Hermione called, yanking both her parents behind the truck as she dug through her brown paper bag and retrieved her wand.

"Protego!" Hermione bellowed, casting her spell at a Death Eater raising his arm at a muggle family scurrying into a curry shop. "Conjunctivitis!"

"Hermione," her dad called from beside her " We need to get off the street, we're exposed—"

They had the height from the truck they were behind. So long as she could cast spells discreetly, no, eventually, they'll find you.

She rummaged through the bag to find the little music box her dad had just bought her. "I've never tried this one before—well other than for my O. " she muttered, more to herself than to them. There was explosion too close to the car, cobblestones pulled from their beds raddled as they were throne against the building, falling down to the hiding Granger's feet. Her mum shrieked and she saw her grip her father's arm "Evan—"

"Portus" she said evenly, watching the blue light surround it. That was illegal. Magic infront of muggles was illegal. But she'd have to survive tonight in order to get the letter from the Ministry telling her to surrender her wand.

"On the count of three, we all reach the box, understand? It'll take us back to the flat," she said, "Once we're there I'll put up the defensive spells and we should be alright. Do you understand?" she asked, staring at her parents, "On three."

"One—Two—"

A Death Eater emerged from the front of the truck, She couldn't see the face from behind the tarnished silver mask, but she could make out the bright, blue, haunting eyes. The arm raised with wand pointing at her mum, "Avada—"

"Three!" she bellowed and the three Granger's disappeared before the green light filled the street.

((*))

She slipped some sleeping drought in their tea once they got back to the room, one that she had made before the term ended incase she had nightmares—with any luck it would help block out any they'd have tonight. While she was putting up the same spells she had put up they year she had spent on the run they had taken it and retired for bed, holding her close before they fell asleep. They'd be safe for the night. She was sure the blue eyed Death Eater she had seen, the one that had almost killed her mother wouldn't try again tonight, but there was no doubt in her mind that they would try again.

And they might try when she wasn't there to protect them.

In full honesty, she had worried about her parents safety since the summer after her third year. The year before she had realized just how strongly some in the magical community could hate people like her. That summer they had gone to France and it was just the distraction she needed. But the next year at the Quidditch World Cup, she began to think of it again. She'd have nightmares where it was her parents she saw in the air, helpless to the jeers of masked men below.

She had thought of dozens of ways to keep them safe. Flee the country. New Identities. Kwikspell to make them look like proficient squibs—she had even thought about having them be magical but choose to live like muggles out of enthusiasm like Arthur Weasley. But there had only been one option that would be believable. One that would be the best guarantee for her parents survival.

It was her only option then, and it was her only option now.

Hermione sat in her room of the flat they had rented for the holiday. Her wand resting next to her. Waiting to do what needed to be done. She stared at it as though it would answer the questions she had. This hadn't happened last time. None of this had happened. There hadn't been an attack in Newcastle. Her parents had stayed in Essex for Christmas. She had been stuck in the castle. She had wished, desperately wished, that she had gone home to see them. How many nights had she regretted it when she and Harry were on the run?

It doesn't make any sense, she wanted to bellow to anyone who might be listening from the floors of heaven, How did going on a Christmas holiday with her parents end up this way?

Had they seen her get off the train? Had that given them the idea? What better way to mess with the war effort than killing one of Harry Potter's best friends and her family? Harry would never forgive himself and end up pushing away the people that would want to help him.

Now the plan for Harry would be their plan of action for Hermione. What better way to damage Hermione Granger than kill her parents? Or perhaps they'd keep them alive, and they would be spending their next Christmas with the Longbottoms.

Nothing ever happens the same way twice, she thought, staring at the wand. Her parents would be asleep by now. Their bags were already packed, they were leaving town in the morning.

But they weren't returning to Essex.

They were leaving for Australia.

She had taken the train tickets and made them plane tickets. They'd fly out of the airport in Newcastle and land in Melbourne. After that, she wasn't sure where Wendell and Monica Wilkins would end up. Maybe she would find them in Brisbane like she had last time. Or maybe she'd find them in Sydney. Or maybe you won't find them…

They were going to be on vacation, and fall in love with Australia. They would put the house up for rent, and have an indefinite leave of absence from their practice. She'd have to do some wand work at the house and the office, make the deeds match their new names. But they'll be safe—you won't have to worry about them—

She picked up her wand and grabbed the bag Fred had given her back in August. All of her belongings where already in there, ready to disappear with her on the Knight Bus once she had finished her work. There wouldn't be a trace of her once she left.

She slowly opened their bedroom door and paused, her wand out as though she still wasn't sure. Before, she had every detail of her summer meticulously planned out. When she was sent back, she knew she would have to do this again, and she had thought maybe this time she would have someone by her side to help her. Perhaps she'd confide in someone who could talk her off the edge and make her see reason and a loophole she had previously overlooked. She didn't think she would be saying good-bye to them six months early.

Hermione Granger raised her wand and muttered the damning word.

"Obliviate—"

AN: I'm alive!

First off, thank you for all you darlings who have reviewed/followed/favorited this story over the past two months. You are all little cheerleaders who are fantastic and worth your weight in gold.

Secondly, I've been grappling with this chapter for the last few weeks. My poor friends have been subject to "Is this too out there?" and "Is this jumping the gun?" but I'm going to stand by this. At least until you lot start hurling cabbages at me...

Ultimately, this is one of those defining "Magic comes with a price" and "Dangerous things happen to wizards who mess with time"-we'll touch on this more in the coming chapters. Same with Remus and Fred. I know, this may have been two unexpected curve balls, but they are necessary. . . I'm sorry we weren't able to keep to calendar, but the next 5 chapter have their bulleted outline, so updates may be more consistent. That being said:they just updated the overtime calendar and I'm going to be swamped till Easter, but you can't get rid of me that easily...

Next Chapter: Fred finds a familiar face in the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione grapples with what has happened to the timelines and a very important bracelet finds its way to her wrist...

Until next time- KH.