8 – Orphans
"You have got to be kidding me! You're going to ignore . . . ."
"Miss Granger."
" . . . this message too! We ignored the last message. No one would take it seriously . . . ."
"Miss Granger."
" . . . until we got more details so four good people died, nine disappeared, and the entire Ministry of Magic is compromised beyond . . . ."
"MISS GRANGER!"
Hermione's head jerked and her eyes met Kingsley Shacklebolt's. He was now standing, his face set. She opened her mouth as if to finish her sentence, but instead sucked a quick breath, bit her lower lip and sat down. She folded her hands on the table, and stared intently at her clenched fingers.
She needed to calm down, keep her cool. They weren't supposed to know that she was the contact, that she was the one translating the messages. She was going to give herself away. Anyone with eyes could already see that she was too invested in this, too desperate to get them all to take the new message seriously. But that was the problem – Shacklebolt told them only "we have information regarding . . . ." The idea was to keep confidentiality, to give no more information than was necessary. But the result was there was no one to trust but some nameless, faceless Death Eater.
So no one trusted the source. Except Hermione. For some reason she trusted her source. Most of them were frustrated because the information the source gave was so incomplete. The warnings, when they came, were always at the last minute. There was never any way they could prevent the attacks. It was all they could do to respond in time to minimize the casualties.
That was exactly why Hermione trusted her source - because that was how she would give information if she was the one giving it. Too much information and it would quickly become obvious that they'd been tipped off. Too much lead time and the other Death Eaters would know there was a spy within their ranks.
She glanced over at Ron and Harry. Ron gave her a puzzled frown, eyebrows asking why she was so worked up. Harry, though, was staring off into space, almost like he hadn't heard anything anyone had said. At least neither of them had figured out why she was so invested in this message, and they knew her better than anyone.
Shacklebolt allowed a couple of moments of silence to clear the air, then said "Minerva. You were saying?"
"I did not mean to suggest that we ignore the message. It's just that . . . it seems like more of a riddle than a normal message. What exactly are we supposed to do with it?"
McGonagall wasn't looking at Hermione. In fact, she was looking at everyone except Hermione, but she was right. As Hermione had explained to Shacklebolt and Mr. Weasley earlier, this message had come in written in an unusual type of rune, usually only used for riddles. It was a very strange message. All the stranger since most people didn't even take the time to learn how to decipher these rarely used runes. Maybe that was why she had such an affinity for their contact – Dumbledore was the only other wizard she'd met who had bothered to learn the riddle runes.
Shacklebolt, to his credit, was obviously taking the message seriously this time. At least he had included it as a topic in the weekly Order meeting.
Hermione took a deep breath. She needed to stay objective and try to handle this calmly. She looked up at Professor McGonagall. "That's just the thing. I think this message is asking for help."
"So now we're supposed to be helping the Death Eaters," grumbled Aberforth. He glared at Hermione as if she'd just pulled up her sleeve and shown her own Dark Mark.
"I think . . . our contact . . . is looking for a way to . . . minimize the death of innocent children without blowing their cover." Hermione clipped her words, as she again stared at her gripped hands.
"But it doesn't say where or when an attack on an orphanage might be." Charlie Weasley, as usual, wasn't sitting at the table, but pacing about in the rear of the kitchen. "Can you read it again?"
Shacklebolt nodded - "If an orphanage were to be attacked, what should be done?"
"The answer's obvious – unless you're a monster." Molly Weasley also seemed to struggling to control her anger. Her arms were folded tightly against her chest. "You get all the children out and far away, somewhere safe, before the attack even begins."
Hermione shook her head. "But no, because then they'll know we were warned. Our agent will be endangered and the Death Eaters will just choose another target. And there's no way we can evacuate all the orphanages in London."
"Of course not," retorted Mrs. Weasley. "Because this joker won't even give us a time and date. And for the lives of innocent children a little danger . . . ."
Mr. Weasley sat up and looked like he might interrupt, but Shaklebolt cut off the discussion before it could get out of hand again, "Molly, why don't you write up a list of all the orphanages in London . . . ."
"No reason it has to be in London," muttered Aberforth.
"All right, England then. Aberforth, help her with that," said Shaklebolt. "Now, we have to move on."
Hermione spent the rest of the meeting trying to calm herself down. She practiced the deep breathing that her mother had shown her. It worked to relax nervous dental patients, but its effect on her racing heart was miniscule, and it didn't help her budding headache at all. She tried counting the cookies remaining on the plate in the center of the table, then running through her head all of the steps in the recipe for sugar cookies. But that reminded her of baking with Mrs. Weasley, which brought her back to Mrs. Weasley's refusal to really listen to her. If they wanted to keep the orphans actually safe, not just feel good about protecting them, but really protect as many as they could . . . .
So she distracted herself with making notes about how to make an orphanage attack proof. Anything too obvious, like iron-clad wards, conspicuous Order guards, would just send the attackers to a different orphanage, and the recent carnage in both the Muggle and wizarding worlds had caused orphanages to spring up all over the U.K.
It would be best if the Death Eaters thought that their attack on an orphanage had been successful, that they had killed a bunch of helpless children. Then maybe they wouldn't feel the need to do it again. How could they trick the attackers, without hurting any children?
If you evacuated the children – which shouldn't be too hard, some sort of offer for a free trip to the zoo or to a park across town, but then – how to create the illusion that there were still orphans there. A glamour? They'd see through it when they broke in. Memory alteration? It worked on Muggles, but if they could pin the Death Eaters down long enough to do that, then they could just imprison them. Transfiguration. Could something be transfigured to look like children? It would be tricky magic, but surely . . .
"Hermione? Coming?" Ron was standing, one eyebrow raised. The room was emptying.
"Yeah." She closed her notebook. He held out a cookie to her – he'd grabbed half a dozen – but her stomach was too unsettled so she shook her head. They left the kitchen and she headed upstairs to her room, Ron following behind as she figured he would. She wasn't sure where Harry had gone.
She shouldn't be mad at Ron. He couldn't help what his mother said. She wasn't mad at him, just frustrated with the whole situation, except that he didn't say anything to help her, didn't defend her to his mother, point out that she wasn't trying to get innocent children killed. Did he understand? Did he think she didn't care about the children? Like the rest of them?
"You know you're stomping hard enough to wake up old lady Walburga downstairs," Ron said as they climbed the stairs to the third floor.
"Oh. Sorry." Hermione took a deep breath and tried to walk more quietly.
"I don't get it. Why do you let this get to you so much? Why do you care if they don't trust some Death Eater?"
She hated this. She couldn't talk to him. She couldn't explain what was really going on. The worst thing of all was that she wasn't sure that she wanted to. If she could talk about her assignment, if she could tell him what she had translated, would he believe her? Would he help her? She didn't know the answer, and that was answer enough.
"I don't know," was all she said.
She pushed open her door, tossed her notebook on her desk, and went to stare out of the window. Her forehead was starting to pound. She just wasn't in the mood to deal with him or with anyone right now.
Ron came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, pushing them down, trying to rub the tension out of her neck. Instead, she felt her muscles tighten at his touch. He had wonderful strong hands. Why couldn't she relax? Because she knew where he was going with this.
"Hermione, you are so tense." His voice was soft, right in her ear. He kissed the back of her head, then began to kiss down the side of her neck. "I could help you relax."
She used to love when he would touch her tenderly, rub her neck, kiss her. What had changed? Why did she . . . .
"Hermione!" The door flew open and Ginny dashed in, followed a few steps behind by Harry. Ron jumped back, but Ginny had already grabbed Hermione into an enthusiastic hug. "How've you been? I've missed you all so much. What's been going on? What've I missed?"
Hermione smiled at the gush of questions. "Nothing much. Just the same old, same old." She smirked and Ginny let out a sharp laugh.
"I hear you're mixing it up with my mum. I thought you were smarter than that."
"No kidding. Is she mad at me? What did she say?" Hermione sat down on the bed, still clutching Ginny's hands. She couldn't believe how good it was to see her. Ginny was such a breath of fresh air after being around nothing but the boys for too long.
It would be lovely to be able to talk to Ginny privately, to really talk to her, but Harry had already sat down on Ginny's other side. He wasn't going to let her out of his sight just yet. Ron, however, was now staring out of the window. He hadn't greeted Ginny at all. Hermione rolled her eyes and looked back at Harry.
"So this explains why you were a million miles away during the meeting. You knew we'd be getting a visitor," Hermione teased.
"It's better than that." Ginny was exuberant. "I got here this morning. Harry didn't want to say anything until after the meeting. He didn't want anyone to give anything away."
"He just wanted to keep you for himself. Seriously, Gin, what's going on?" Hermione had a dozen questions, but Ron interrupted.
"Do Mum and Dad know you're here? Are they okay with this?"
Hermione bit her lip. She didn't think it was right for Ginny to be locked up at the Burrow, but she wasn't sure she was ready for all-out war with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley - and Ron too, judging from his tone.
"Yes. They know. Well, they expect me to come over tonight. They didn't know that I sneaked out this morning. Are they okay with it? Dad is more than Mum, but Shacklebolt talked to them. They don't have a choice." She leaned back on her arms, looking more smug than Crookshanks when he perched on his favorite pillow.
"How'd you pull that off?" Ron didn't seem to believe her.
"Bill helped. It's not fair for me to be the only one cooped up, the only one kept safe. I'm of age. You guys have been fighting him forever. Now there's lots of people in my year who're helping the Order – Colin Creevey, Geoff Stebbins. Even Luna – and she's barely older than me and she's, well, Luna. There's no reason why I'm any different. No reason to treat me like . . . ."
"So what've they agreed to?" Ginny was starting to rant, and Hermione thought it'd be better to stop her before she said something she'd regret.
"I get to be included like everyone else. No more locking me in my room. When the others in my year are inducted into the Order, I can be too." Hermione was glad that Ginny's voice had dropped. She seemed to be realizing how dangerous all of this was.
"Are you going on raids?" Ron's voice was low and angry.
Ginny sat up straight and jutted her chin out. "Yes," she said at the same time that Harry said "No."
She rolled her eyes over her shoulder at him. "Everyone's important to someone. It's not fair if some people get to protect the ones they care about and others don't."
"But they won't let me go on raids," retorted Harry. "And there are plenty of Death Eaters who were at Hogwarts, who knew we were dating. They're going to go after you."
"Not if they don't know I'm there," she said blithely.
They stayed up late into the night, catching Ginny up on the raids, their theories about Snake-eyes, even the riddle from Hermione's Death Eater. Hermione didn't tell her she was the handler, but it was going to be hard for Hermione not to tell her what her role was - maybe even harder than not telling the boys.
Ginny had always been good at coming up with ways to get things done, and when she got involved, Ron and Harry did too. They all agreed right away that the thing to do was to clear the real orphans and their guardians, then use decoys so that the Death Eaters would think they'd killed the orphans.
"We've got to talk to George. Surely he's got some stuff that could help. He transfigured a doll of mine once – made it come alive, but . . . ."
"What? That'd be great." They were all sitting on the floor now and Ron was sitting with them, finally coming out of his sulk.
"Well . . . it wouldn't fool anyone. It was actually kind of creepy. Not like a real kid."
When Hermione finally chased the boys out, she cast an expanding charm on her bed and let Ginny crash with her. They'd add another bed tomorrow, although Ginny said that technically she was still going to be living at the Burrow.
They were just drifting off when Ginny asked "So . . . what's going on with you and Ron?"
Hermione bit her lip. Ginny was his sister. She couldn't ask her to listen when Hermione complained about him, especially since her complaints were so vague, just something not quite right. But she was dying to talk to someone, to somehow figure out what she was doing wrong. And Ginny knew more about relationships than anyone Hermione knew.
"That bad, huh?" Oops. She'd been quiet too long.
"Kind of. I don't know. Things just aren't . . . right."
"You're not happy. That's obvious. He's not either."
"Yeah. . . . What should I do?" Hermione rolled on one side so that she could look at Ginny. Her eyes were stinging, but she wasn't sure that she would cry.
"Maybe there's nothing you can do. Maybe it just doesn't work."
"Maybe."
The euphoria over Ginny's return lasted for several days. But Mr. and Mrs. Weasley finally insisted that she stop sleeping over at Grimmauld Place every night, and the reality of the ongoing war crowded back in on them.
Hermione was having trouble sleeping. As the late summer sun leaked into her room she groaned and rolled over, but a few minutes later she opened one eye and glanced at the clock – 5:27. No wonder the house was quiet. She closed her eyes for a bit, but she knew herself well enough to know that she wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep.
A few minutes later, she'd thrown on a t-shirt and jeans and headed downstairs to start some tea. As she passed through the front hall she stopped suddenly. Had she heard her name?
"Miss Granger," came an urgent whisper.
She looked back up the stairs – no one. And she hadn't heard anyone stirring in the house yet. In this creaky old house it was impossible to open a door, or go up or down the stairs without making some sound.
"Miss Granger."
The sound was coming from above, back and to her left. As she looked up motion in one of the portraits caught her eye. In a formal family portrait, one of the young girls, hair in ringlets, wearing pink dress robes, was waving at her. The others in the painting were ignoring her, although one, perhaps her mother, was franticly shushing her.
"Miss Granger," the girl was nearly jumping up and down with excitement now that she'd caught Hermione's eye. "Miss Hyacinth wants to speak with you. As soon as you can."
It took only a moment for the message to register in Hermione's sleepy brain. After a quick "thank you," she hurried into the library.
Hyacinth was standing, maybe pacing, when Hermione came in.
"Did you need me? What's happened?" Hermione asked. Hyacinth didn't say a word. She sat back down, resumed her pose, but gestured with her head over her shoulder at the vase.
Hermione smiled. Hyacinth seemed to enjoy the secretive nature of her role. Hermione grabbed a parchment from the table and began translating the new message. Her eyes grew wider as she worked, then she rushed from the room, almost forgetting to call a quick "thank you" over her shoulder.
Within a half hour there were a dozen Order members crowding the kitchen, as Mr. Weasley explained that there was to be an attack on the London Underground sometime in the morning. Hermione thought that she was the only one who'd actually ridden on the Underground, until George admitted that he'd spent a day riding the trains when he was only 12. He didn't mention whether Fred had been with him and no one asked. Then Mr. Weasley admitted that he had been to one of the stations, but he never got past the ticketing machine.
Soon they had a hasty plan. They sent out scouts on brooms – Ron, George, Oliver and Neville, even though Neville wasn't a very good flier. They were disillusioned then they split up a list of the main underground lines beginning in central London. Between the four of them they'd have to check the lines one at a time. They'd fly low, and signal as soon as they found the disturbance using the magical galleons they all now carried. There was no time for fancier planning than that.
Sitting alone at the kitchen table, finally drinking her tea, Hermione realized that she had forgotten one detail. She'd forgotten to have them let her know when they found the attack. She knew they'd be busy fighting Death Eaters, healing Muggles, cleaning up the mess with the Muggles' authorities. They'd have better things to do than to contact her. Better to go get Harry and go do their mission for the day, although it was absurdly simple.
She brought Harry a cup of tea, puzzling over the fact that all the noise and hubbub earlier hadn't woken him. She knocked on the door of the room he shared with Ron, but heard only a groan in answer. Worried, she pushed the door open.
"Harry?"
"Hmmm." A sort of groan was the only answer.
"Are you okay?"
"No. . . . I feel like death."
Hermione felt his forehead. "You're burning up. Do you want me to get you a fever reducing potion?"
"No. I'll be okay. Give me a moment and I'll be . . . cough . . . ready to go."
"Don't be ridiculous. Besides this is the easiest mission yet. I'll be back in a couple of hours even without your help. Go back to sleep."
Harry grumbled, but he was already drifting off again.
Checking over Snape's office and quarters probably wouldn't take long at all. It was fortuitous that Harry's illness had hit on a day when their assignment was so simple. Hermione bit her lip and hummed to herself. Was it just luck or . . . . She decided that she needed to have a little chat with Harry when she got back.
Hermione stepped out of the floo and into McGonagall's office, where the professor was waiting for her. Minvera led her to Professor Snape's old rooms, which had been magically sealed as soon as he abandoned his post. Others, including Professor McGonagall, had already checked his rooms to see if there was anything crucial there. At Spinner's End, Harry and Hermione had the distinct impression that a good number of his belongings had somehow been removed. Professor McGonagall believed the same thing had happened at Hogwarts. The question was how. Since Snape had left abruptly, at the start of the Battle of Hogwarts, then been killed by Nagini later that same night, it was quite a mystery.
Hermione was playing detective. She was there to see if she could figure out what had been taken and who'd taken it. She wasn't very hopeful. Snape had been many things, but he clearly was an extraordinarily competent wizard who wasn't likely to leave careless clues. Although, given what she now knew about his true loyalty, it was possible that he'd purposefully left some indication of where anything important might be found.
Unfortunately a careful sweep of his quarters, including a check for magically hidden compartments, turned up nothing. His few dust-covered belongings appeared as though he'd just stepped away, but his book shelves were empty.
It did appear that he'd left in a hurry. The chair by his desk was overturned. Hermione righted it. After this last check McGonagall was going to have his chambers cleaned out anyway. He must have been interrupted grading papers when the battle began. How strange that anything so mundane had been happening. She hadn't realized that he'd kept teaching while he was headmaster. His inkpot had overturned, spreading black ink all over the topmost paper. Unable to resist, Hermione checked to see whether a grade could still be made out. Of course, Snape had been giving Draco Malfoy an O+ for some sort of advanced Potions special project. Hermione felt a flash of competitive angst. He'd never given her an O, but at least Malfoy would never know he got a perfect score. She immediately felt childish for still caring at all about grades.
The last place she checked was his private bathroom. The cabinet where he'd kept his personal potions was almost empty. There were two small pills left in the lower corner. She picked one up. It looked familiar, but out of place. She was almost certain this was a Muggle painkiller, the kind her parents always offered her if she had a headache while she was at home. She hadn't actually taken one in years since they didn't work as well as the simple pain relief potion she usually had with her. Why would one be here? Why would Professor Snape, the Potions Master of all people, take these? Or did he use them in a potion? Would that even work? He never failed to be puzzling.
She stepped out of the room and frowned, noticing a hand mirror propped on the mantel above the fireplace. If Harry were with her, he'd probably have made some snide comment about being surprised that Snape even owned a mirror, but the memory of Snape's hideous murder kept Hermione from finding any humor in such thoughts.
She took one last thorough look around. She'd bottle that memory and review it later. Maybe Harry would see something she'd missed. She was about to leave when the hand mirror caught her eye again. Suddenly she remembered seeing a strange mirror at Spinner's End. She crossed over and examined the mirror more closely. Sure enough it didn't show her reflection rather she seemed to see a dark cloth draped in it. She picked it up and studied it, then the pieces fit together. It was a mirror – like Harry's – with a partner and its partner was wrapped in dark cloth, somewhere. Could there be more than two to the set? There could be or it could be two separate sets. One way or another it was just too much of a coincidence to find mirrors, and almost nothing else, both at Spinner's End and in Snape's rooms at Hogwarts. That meant that when she'd seen something move in that other mirror someone had seen them, seen she and Harry the day that they looked through Snape's empty house.
But who?