A/N: This chapter went a bit berserk. I had meant to include many more scenes, but then it would've ended up three times as long. So, unfortunately, the wedding etc will be in the next chapter. But that might be a good thing - I will be able to expand some key interactions that I think you all will appreciate.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".
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Hermione slept through most of the morning (thanks to a much needed gulp of dreamless sleep potion,) and after a long and calming shower, she went down to the Burrow's kitchen for lunch. Or, at least, that was the plan until she ran into Ron at the landing outside Ginny's room.
"Blimey!" he exclaimed, "Hermione! You're here!"
"It would appear so," she said, the end of her sentence getting muffled against his chest as he yanked her into his arms.
"Jolly good to see you," he chattered on as they descended, "Place is a madhouse, by the way. If you thought there were too many people here before..."
Mrs. Weasley had set up a table in the back garden to accommodate all her many guests, and when Hermione stepped out she was inundated by the sound of multiple, simultaneous conversations and the clattering of cutlery. As discreetly as possible, she slid into a chair between Tonks and Ginny. Ron dithered conspicuously behind her for a long moment, before taking a seat next to Moody on the other side of the table. She didn't need to look at him to know he was displeased by that arrangement.
"Hi Hermione," Tonks greeted with a glittering smile, "Lookie here!" She waggled the fingers of her left hand, and on her ring finger, a slim gold band gleamed in the bright afternoon sunlight.
Hermione looked from her to Lupin with surprise and delight. "You got married?" she gasped, "Congratulations!"
"Two days ago!" Tonks beamed, "Just a quiet ceremony in my parents' garden. Well, it was quiet until dinner, when –"
"That's enough, Dora," Lupin chided. Unlike his radiant wife, he looked more careworn and drawn than ever. But when he met Hermione's eye he offered her a tight semblance of a smile.
Curious as she was about what it was that had disrupted their quite dinner, Hermione's attention was stolen away from the couple due to a small explosion from the far end of the table. Mad-Eye Moody sat stock-still with his hand frozen in front of his open mouth... and every inch of his skin and hair was covered with chunks of ham, bread, and assorted vegetables. Utter silence struck the gathering as they all waited with bated breath for the impending second explosion that would be Moody's temper.
"FRED," he roared, pounding his fists on the table, "GEORGE!"
The twins were looking absolutely horrified.
"Now, Moody," said Fred in a conciliating manner, "Keep calm, yeah?"
"CALM?!" he bellowed, "You stupid, ginger, good-for-nothing cretins; I'LL KILL YOU!" He roughly wiped a globule of mustard off his glass eye and stood up thunderously, a motion that caused a great lot of food-debris to rain down on the grass around him.
"Okay, listen," George stuttered, "It was an accident, alright? That mini-bomb was meant to reach Ron's plate..."
"HA!" Ron barked, but everybody ignored him. They chose instead to watch the twins ditch their seats and slowly walk backwards and away from the table, hands raised in what was meant to be a placating symbol of surrender.
"I am," Moody growled, bearing down on them threateningly, "Going to kill you two. I'll turn you," he pulled his wand out of its holster, "inside out. I'll transfigure you into flobberworms and feed you to the chickens. I'm going to shove hundreds of those damned mini-bombs up your –"
Fred and George turned around and fled.
"COME BACK HERE!"
Moody limped behind them, brandishing his wand. They scurried around the garden before turning around the corner of the house and disappearing from sight.
"Those boys!" Mrs. Weasley wailed, massaging her temples. Her husband quickly rearranged his look of amusement to reflect a more disapproving state of mind.
On either side of Hermione, Tonks and Ginny were laughing irrepressibly... infectiously.
"Serves them right," Ron declared with glee.
"Must we 'ave zem at our wedding?" Fleur asked Bill miserably, "If zey ruin it, I will –"
"Oh don't you worry, love," said Bill, still chuckling over the episode, "They wouldn't dare cross you."
All laughter suddenly ceased when Moody returned to the table. He was whistling and perfectly clean as he sat back down on his seat.
"Pass us another sandwich would you, Molly?" he asked almost cheerfully.
Fred and George did not reappear.
The twins were found later that day, immobilised and silenced, bobbing up and down in the middle of a scummy pond just outside the Weasley's orchard. A sickening layer of slime and algae covered their faces.
A large group of garden gnomes had congregated around the pond, and had made a game of out lobbing clumps of wet mud at Fred and George's heads.
Instructed to buff up every piece of silverware in the house, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny sat at the kitchen table with a pile of rags and a bottle of Madam Glossy's Silver Polish.
Ron was muttering petulantly under his breath, and only a few odd words were audible from time to time. "Bloody... sodding... miserable... house elf..." and the like.
The door opened and Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, Bill, and Kingsley walked in.
"That's enough for now," Mrs. Weasley announced, "You can finish the rest after dinner."
"Oh thank you, thank you, mistress," Ron gushed.
Mrs. Weasley spared him a sneer before moving on to pull a casserole from the oven. "And incidentally, we'll be going to Diagon Alley tomorrow, to pick up your schoolbooks. Kingsley here has very kindly agreed to chaperone us..."
"It's nothing," Kingsley said in his slow, deep voice, "The muggle Prime Minister is in Berlin for two days, so I'm officially off duty."
Hermione and Ron shared an apprehensive look.
"Um... mum," Ron ventured, "Hermione and I aren't going back to Hogwarts."
She turned around in slow motion, looking like she hadn't quite comprehended what Ron had said, "I beg your pardon?!" she spluttered.
"Hermione and I aren't –"
"You're dropping out?" Bill asked looking bemused, "Seriously?"
"Yes," said Hermione, "We're –"
Mrs. Weasley rounded on her before she could finish. "You!? Hermione? You're abandoning your education?"
"Unfortunately," she ground out, "We're going with Harry. Dumbledore had given him a task, and we're going to help him."
Since the Weasley matriarch was too busy turning purple to speak, Lupin took over. "Dumbledore gave him a task?" he asked eagerly.
"Yeah, but he also told him not to tell anybody but us," said Ron.
"But, surely with recent events in mind, you can –"
"No," Hermione interjected shortly, "Dumbledore made him promise."
"If Dumbledore made him promise," said Kingsley decisively, "Then that promise ought to be honoured."
Lupin's mouth thinned with disapproval, but he fell silent. Mrs. Weasley on the other hand, had regained her speaking abilities.
"No," she raged, "Absolutely not. I'm you mother Ronald Weasley – I deserve to know where you'll be going. And what about your parents Hermione? They're perfectly content with you running off like that?"
Under the table, Ginny clasped her fingers around one of her hands, and Ron took hold of the other. Grateful for their support, Hermione faced Mrs. Weasley with bravery she wasn't feeling and said, "I am of age. I make my own decisions."
Hermione Granger: Ragpicker. That was her new designation.
She'd taken to scrounging around the Burrow, pilfering items she thought might prove to be useful for the forthcoming quest. And so, while everybody else was assembled in the sitting room indulging in a post-supper nightcap, she was raiding Mrs. Weasley's potion cabinet. When she walked into the living room a few minutes later, her little beaded bag contained a good stock of healing balms and ointments.
Over the next two days, she also picked up:
1. A book of basic household charms,
2. A book on remedial spells,
3. A kettle, mugs, plates and cutlery, a billycan, and a large knife,
and 4. Mr. Weasley's detailed map of wizarding London.
One afternoon during lunch, she feigned tiredness and snuck into Fred and George's room. Understandably nervous, she judiciously waved her wand over everything, not wanting to set off any booby traps. From their room she took:
1. Two Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Broom Broom Kits,
2. A handful of extendable ears,
3. One large box of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder,
and, 4. Half a dozen Decoy Detonators.
She hurried out as soon as she'd gotten all she needed and closed the door softly, letting out a relieved sigh. Then a voice spoke from behind her and she jumped out of her skin.
"Got all you wanted, eh?"
She turned around slowly to face Fred who was leaning casually against the wall.
"I... I..." she stammered, shamefacedly, "I'm so sorry, I'll put everything back –"
"Don't be an idiot," Fred reprimanded, "I just hope you've taken at least a couple of U-No-Poo pellets to put into Ron's tea from time to time. Just in case he misses us too much."
Hermione laughed and shook her head. "I am sorry, though," she felt it necessary to reiterate, "I should've just asked you or George. But I just... um..." she trailed off uncertainly.
"You're far too used to sneaking around, you thrill-seeking little junkie," said Fred fondly, "Now come on, we're going to the attic."
"What for?" she asked, even as she let him apprehend her arm and drag her up the stairs.
"It's a surprise."
Once they'd reached the fourth floor landing, Fred pointed his wand at the ceiling and muttered, "Descendo." A panel slid away to reveal a small opening, from which a ladder dropped down to the floor. Fred tilted his head towards it, gesturing for her to climb.
A horrible sense of nausea infiltrated her senses when she stood in the small, dusty space, and it wasn't just because it stank to high heavens. She was brutally thrown back to the day she'd spent cosseted in her own attic, pouring over photographs from happier times.
"There you are," said George appearing in front of her jarringly. Fred, too, had climbed up by then, and looking around, she saw Ron and Mr. Weasley there as well. They were all staring at something on the floor, and Hermione looked down and...
...And she nearly vomited all over her shoes.
Curled up on the floor was the most revolting creature she'd ever seen. She knew it was a ghoul, slimy and gnarly, but for some reason, it was clad in striped pajamas.
"What the hell?" she yelped. The ghoul moaned loudly.
"Hermione," said Ron, "Say hello to my doppelganger."
She pursed her lips and eyed the ghoul doubtfully, "Your doppelganger," she repeated blandly.
"My doppelganger," Ron affirmed, "We're going to give him spattergroit."
"What –?"
"Fake spattergroit," Mr. Weasley assured her, "Okay then. First we need to give him hair –" He tapped his wand on the ghoul's head, and from it sprouted a vast quantity of red hair, "– And now for the boils and pustules. They need to be large and purple... and ample. Fred, George, take a leg each; Hermione, the arms, if you please..."
And so they set about the truly horrendous task of covering the ghoul's body with oozing blisters. Ron watched from a distance with a sickened grimace twisting his features.
"Merlin's saggy left testicle," he spat once they'd finished, "He's really repulsive."
"Yeah," George agreed, "But that's good. People will believe it's you."
"Just one thing though..." said Fred, before lengthening the Ghoul's nose so spectacularly that he would've put Pinocchio to shame.
"That's enough!" Mr. Weasley ordered, and cuffed Ron on the head when he saw him bestowing the twins with a two-fingered salute. Then, squatting by the Ghoul's hideous head, he spoke in a very deliberate manner, "Er... Mister... Ghoul –" (Fred and George began to snigger quietly,) "– Ron here," he pointed at the same, "will be leaving soon." The ghoul simply moaned, and Mr. Weasley went on, "You are to move into his room when he goes. Do you... do you understand?"
This time when the ghoul moaned, he accompanied it with a fit of fervent nodding. One would think he was actually... excited by the prospect.
"Can we leave now?" Ron begged.
They left. Out on the landing, Mr. Weasley pushed a small watermelon-sized bundle into Hermione's hands – "This is Perkin's tent. You know... the one we stayed in during the quidditch world cup..."
"Thank you, Mr. Weasley. Thank you."
It was a beautifully embroidered, long-sleeved blouse in navy blue, and Hermione slipped it over her head, relishing the feel of it. It had belonged to her mum, who'd handed it down to her a few years back. With a deep sigh, she walked out of the bathroom.
She entered Ginny's room in a state of distraction (she couldn't stop her mind from constantly running over protective enchantments and defensive spells,) and hence, didn't quite pay attention to the owner of the room, who was standing in front of the full-length mirror by the dresser.
A few seconds later, the image registered and she spun around in shock. Ginny had a large pair of scissors in her hand, and her glorious, shiny, long red hair lay in heaps on the floor by her feet. That which was remained on her head, barely went past her jaw.
"Ginny," Hermione gasped inanely, "You... cut your hair!"
"So it's noticeable then?" Ginny asked with a twisted smile.
Hermione's subsequent laugh was more incredulous than amused, and she went closer and sat on the edge of her bed. "I'm sorry, I'm just... well, stunned."
Ginny shrugged, "I... I needed to do something reckless, y'know? Does it look really bad?"
"Oh, come on," Hermione scoffed, "You'd look good even if you shaved it all off and wore only bin bags for the rest of your life."
"Don't tempt me."
It was true though... once Hermione got over the shock of it, she realised that the cut suited Ginny; it gave her an edgy sort of look that matched her personality. "Your mum's going to lose it," she warned.
"Oh yes she will," Ginny said with obvious delight. She waved the scissors about and asked, "Shall I do yours too?"
"No," Hermione declined flatly, "My hair explodes the moment you cut it. It's like –" she gestured wildly with her hands, "– POOF! A veritable lion's mane. I'll be declared the new Gryffindor mascot." She paused to let Ginny laugh, and then after fixing her eyes obdurately on her toenails she continued, "And besides... I've already done my reckless something."
"Oh?" Ginny sat on her knees in front of her, infiltrating her line of vision, "Do tell."
Hermione felt her face heat up, and she squeezed her eyes shut before saying, "I had sex with my neighbour the night before I came here."
When she finally gathered the courage to steal a look, she was faced with a wide-eyed Ginny whose mouth had fallen open.
"Galloping Gargoyles," she whispered in awe, "Is this the same muggle bloke you went out with last year?"
"We didn't exactly go out... but yes."
Ginny's mouth opened and closed a couple of times as she struggled to find the right words to say. Finally, she settled on, "How was it?"
"Oh god," Hermione groaned.
"Did it hurt? It's supposed to hurt, yeah?"
"It did hurt," Hermione admitted, "A lot. But at that point, I really wanted it to."
They stewed in silence for a while. Hermione's face eventually stopped burning, and Ginny shook the astonishment off her own.
"Well, shite. My recklessness seems really insipid now."
Hermione chuckled lightly. And again... they fell quiet once more.
"So," Ginny broached by and by, "You definitely don't fancy Ron anymore?"
"I do not," Hermione mumbled.
Ginny exhaled heavily out of her nose and said, "That's for the best, I suppose. You two aren't well suited at all."
"No," Hermione agreed, "We really aren't."
"And this muggle...?"
"No. I mean, he's lovely... but..." Hermione pulled a face, "Even if there's a chance, I can't think about it right now."
Ginny stood up and signalled for Hermione to follow. "Alright then. Come on –" she tossed her short locks dramatically, "– let's go downstairs and give my mother a heart attack."
Late one Friday evening when dusk was at its most violent stage, sending blood-red shafts of light piercing through the Burrow's window panes, Mad-Eye Moody paced in front of the large fireplace in the sitting room. He vibrated with flagrant impatience as the room slowly filled up, until every surface available became a perch for somebody or the other. Hermione was comfortably sat on a sofa with Ginny and Hestia Jones... until Ron come by and squeezed in next to her – unnecessarily close.
Once everybody had settled, Moody cleared his throat and revealed the reason behind convening an emergency meeting of the Order.
"I've called you all here because we need to come up with an alternative plan to get Potter here from Little Whinging," he rumbled, (and Hermione huffed to herself as she remembered how her suggestion to call the plan Operation Spring the Stag during a previous meeting had been met with a full house of blank looks.)
"Hestia and Dedalus," Moody continued, "Your part still holds. You are to reach the house and take the Dursleys – in their car – at least ten miles away before disapparating to the safehouse in Upper Flagley.
"Now here are the problems: First, Pius Thicknesse, newly appointed Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, has gone over. He's made it an imprisonable offense to connect the house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey there, or Apparate in or out; all done apparently to protect Harry, and to prevent You-Know-Who from getting to him. Absolutely pointless, seeing as his mother's charm does that already. What he's really done is block him in.
"Second problem: The boy's underage, which means he's still got the Trace on him. We can't wait for the Trace to break, because the moment he turns seventeen he'll lose all the protection his mother gave him."
"Brooms again, then?" Tonks asked, "The trace can't detect those."
"Brooms an' Thestrals," Hagrid replied from his place by a window, "I'll get a pair of 'em from Hogwarts. An' I'll haveta use Sirius' bike... nothin' else can take me weight."
"When will we do this? Harry's seventeenth is four days from now..." said Mr. Weasley.
"Tomorrow," said Moody firmly, "Tomorrow evening, after sundown."
Kingsley raised his hand; "I've leaked a fake trail to the Ministry: they think Harry's staying put till the thirtieth. However, this is You-Know-Who we're dealing with… he's bound to have a couple Death Eaters patrolling the skies in the surrounding area, just in case…"
"And that's the third problem: Azkaban has seen a mass breakout. There will be more than just a couple of Death Eaters. So we'll need a diversion," Moody explained, "Multiple diversions." With a wave of his wand, he unravelled a large map, and hung it mid-air like a large screen in front of them. "We'll give multiple houses the best protection we can throw at them. They all look like they could be the place we're going to hide Harry. So far we have... My house, Kingsley's place..." as he named a location, the corresponding point on the map lit up, "...Ted and Andromeda's... Remus, your place too? Okay good..."
"My Auntie Muriel's place isn't too far from here," Mrs. Weasley added.
"Excellent," Moody barked, "Sturgis Podmore's flat is lying empty since his arrest... we can use that too. And... here... Minerva said we could use her niece's house... Now, here's the deal – we'll travel in pairs, each flying to a different location. It'll force the Death Eaters to scatter."
"But why would they even bother with the rest of us?" asked Bill, "They'll just follow Harry..."
"That's where this comes in." From within the folds of his robe, Moody pulled out a large flask of sludge-like liquid.
"Polyjuice!" Lupin exclaimed, "So there'll be seven Harry Potters flying the skies tomorrow?"
"Precisely," Moody confirmed, "Mundungus' idea, if you'll believe it."
Every single person stopped to stare at the droopy pile of rags that was Mundungus Fletcher. He met their disbelief with an inordinate amount of smugness.
Hermione couldn't help it. She scoffed. Loudly.
"–Is there a problem?" Moody asked testily.
"Harry will never go for that. Six people risking their lives for him? Oh no."
"I'm sure Harry will listen to reason..." Kingsley began. And this time, Ron and Ginny joined Hermione in expressing disbelief.
"Reason? Harry?" Ron jeered, "Ha. Not in these situations."
"Well we'll make him do it then," Moody growled, "Hold him down and tear his hair out if necessary."
"We volunteer," said Fred and George simultaneously.
Moody dived back into the plan – "We have seven 'protectors', or companions – Kingsley, Tonks, Remus, Arthur, Bill, Hagrid, and myself. Now we need the decoys..."
Half a dozen hands shot up in the air immediately.
"Good, good," Moody muttered and began noting down names, "Ron, Hermione... Fred, George... Erm... Miss Delacour? Are you sure?"
"Yes," she said simply, taking Bill's hand.
"Okay... And..."
"ME," Ginny yelled fervently.
"Absolutely not Ginevra –"
"Underage," Moody barked dismissively, (Ginny glowered but held her tongue,) "Mundungus old chap... I'm sure you'll want to participate in this ingenious plan of yours."
"Nah, thank ye very much... I'll pass, I will."
"Shut it."
Half an hour later, with their plan more or less cemented, the party sat down for supper in the garden, amid the sound of gentle winds and unremitting cicadas.
...That and Ron's unassailable grumbling – "Why me? Why Muriel's? Why do I have to go to bloody Muriel's? Right nightmare, Muriel is..."
It was so bloody odd, inhabiting Harry's body. The ground was further away, she felt unnaturally broad and heavy, and the glasses sitting on her nose were very annoying. She was also very, very adamantly trying to not think about the situation below her belt at all.
Kingsley helped Hermione-disguised-as-Harry climb onto a thestral out in the Dursley's back garden before leaping onto one himself. Though it was a dark thought to have, she was glad that this time she was able to see the great winged steed she was set to ride. Gibbon, you louse, your death was worth something after all.
On her right, Ron-disguised-as-Harry and Tonks were poised on their brooms. Beyond them, Hagrid sat like a boulder on Sirius' bike, with Harry crouched comically in the sidecar.
"Good luck, everyone," Moody blared, "See you all in about an hour at the Burrow." (...Hermione-disguised-as-Harry stared at her larger, tawnier imposter hands gripping the Thestral's silky mane...) "On the count of three: One... Two... THREE."
The motorcycle roared, and everybody took off. They ascended rapidly, all in a cluster; the phthalo blue sky and wispy clouds embraced them...
Like a bolt from hell, a score of Death Eaters on brooms materialised from all sides. Without giving them a chance to recover, the black-cloaked figures set off a barrage of bright green streaks of light.
She heard screams... maybe she screamed as well... and the Order members paired up and dispersed.
Hermione-disguised-as-Harry directed her thestral to follow Kingsley, veering to the left... then to the right... and left... to dodge the myriad of curses coming her way.
Thousands of feet up in the air with five Death Eaters hot on her trail... she thought she might actually go mad with terror. The wind whistled in her ears, adding to the cacophony of alarm bells and sirens going off in her head: Danger, Danger, Mayday, Abort, Abort, Fucking ABORT.
There were two Death Eaters on either side of her – two thickset men by the looks of them. The other three shot ahead to deal with Kingsley.
"Bombarda Maxima!" she shrieked, aiming straight for the Death Eater on her right. She didn't care that if hit, he'd fall to a certain death... somehow she didn't care at all. The bastard moved out of the range of the explosion just in time – and his colleague took the opportunity to try and hex her. She retaliated – he evaded – and by then the other Death Eater had recuperated.
Fuck fuck fuck. They were relentless... she wouldn't be able to keep this up for long. Not without solid ground under her feet. She tried to stun them – a spell she was really, very good at – but fuck they were nimble fliers.
Suddenly, her thestral bucked so violently that she was nearly thrown off. She flung her arms around the creature's skeletal neck, as it whinnied in a horrible, agonised way.
"STOP, OH GOD STOP," she screeched.
The Thestral did nothing of that sort. It reared and thrashed like a rodeo bull, so hard her bones began to rattle. And then it hit her – the smell of smoke – she dared to twist her neck and look behind...
The thestrals tail was on fire.
"Mum," she sobbed irrationally. Digging her knees into the thestral's flanks and looping one arm tightly around its neck, she pointed her wand over her shoulder, and without looking long enough to aim properly, she conjured a powerful jet of water, followed by a swift numbing charm.
"Shhhh..." she whispered into its mane, "Shhh."
It calmed... and the Death Eaters were back on her. Two bright white beams of light burst on either side... "Protogo!" she yelled, and then, "Ventus Duo!" Both her adversaries were blasted off course, giving her the opportunity to race ahead... maybe lose them entirely...
Up ahead, Kingsley knocked a Death Eater off his broom, who, with a dreadful almighty scream, spiralled headfirst towards the ground, and then –
The world around her froze... but she was still moving. Somewhat. It was like her thestral was flying through some sort of viscous gel. Kingsley and the Death Eaters were paralysed mid-duel – set dramatically against the dark sky, as if they'd been painted by Caravaggio. There was a static owl a few metres away with its wings arched. What the fuck had happened?
And suddenly he was in front of her, hovering with no apparent means of flight keeping him airborne. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream. Vol – Voldem – for the first time in a really long while, she couldn't bring herself to even think his name. Not when his ghastly, cadaver-white, snake-like face was mere inches from her own. Not when his blazing, blood-red eyes were boring holes into her own. Not when shards of something alien and malevolent were piercing into her consciousness. She was choking on her fear... but she could not look away. Red eyes. Red red red eyes...
Voldem – he hissed in fury... and then he vanished as abruptly he had appeared.
The world was jolted into motion again.
"IT'S NOT HIM. IT'S NOT THE REAL POTTER!" one of the Death Eaters behind her shouted. His four remaining comrades retreated immediately.
She pulled in a deep tremulous breath. It was over – for now – it was over.
"Hermione," Kingsley called urgently, "Hermione, are you okay?"
"F – fine." She raised a shaking hand reassuringly.
And so, the final stretch of their journey was (relatively) peaceful. Hermione, who was gradually regaining her true appearance, trusted her Therstal to stay on track and closed her eyes.
And she saw red eyes. Red red red eyes...
No more than ten minutes later, they landed in Kingsley's small and tidy garden. On dismounting, Hermione found that her legs could not hold her up, and she stumbled straight into a heather bush.
"Careful, there," said Kingsley, coming over to help her up.
"How did this happen?" she whispered as they walked into his Spartan living room, (plain white walls, minimalist furniture,) and to the bent coat hanger that was their portkey to the burrow.
"Somebody betrayed us," Kingley spat, "And I intend to find out who that was. Here," he held out the coat hanger, "Any second now..."
Hermione was standing by the pond where Moody had vengefully deposited Fred and George a mere week ago.
Now, he was dead.
It was almost implausible that someone so powerful, so durable, so constantly vigilant had died. She felt the same horrified disbelief she'd felt when Sirius and Dumbledore had been killed. Did anyone ever truly get used to death? Would it happen to her as the war progressed? Would she become that jaded?
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
The sound of people approaching had her looking over her shoulder, and she smiled thinly as Harry, Ron, and Ginny joined her. Nobody spoke.
"Oi, you lot," called out a voice, "Mum says we've got to de-gnome the garden."
"Again?!" Ginny and Ron grumbled simultaneously.
The twins stood under the shade of the orchard, waving them over. As Hermione got closer, George's t-shirt caught her eye. Bright purple it was, and on it, printed in bold, white letters were the words:
COGITO
EAR-GO
BUM.
Harry began to laugh. It was that full, unencumbered laugh of his... the one that Hermione never understood. How could someone as fraught as Harry summon such pure joy? But it was also contagious; soon enough they were all joined together in boisterous mirth.
"Told you, Freddie, didn't I?" George elbowed his brother and grinned from ear to... gaping hole, "I told you it's funny."
"Listen Ginny, please let me fix it," Mrs. Weasley implored, "A simple lengthening charm – just for the wedding. You can hack it all off again after –"
"I've told you a hundred times, mum. I like it like this. You may not 'fix' it!" Ginny snapped.
They were in the kitchen, preparing vegetables for dinner. Hermione had shuffled into the pantry allegedly to fetch some carrots, when actually she was seeking a good vantage point. She kept a keen eye on the bickering Weasley women, glad that they were so focused on each other.
"But the wedding, poppet! You're a bridesmaid! You cannot have your hair looking like that. Fleur is quite distraught!"
"Well, Phlegm can go straight to –"
"Ginny!"
'Accio Polyjuice potion; Arresto Momento,' Hermione pronounced in her head, and from the top shelf of a nearby cupboard, an entire crateful of vials started gently floating towards her. 'Silencio,' she added, for good measure. It had been Moody's stash, but she refused to feel bad about taking it.
"You're such a beautiful girl; I don't understand why you feel the need to sabotage –"
"Mum, you're being absolutely ridiculous. Lay off, please –"
As the vials soared over Mrs. Weasley and Ginny's heads, Hermione held her breath. They cast the slightest of shadows as they passed, but thankfully, the women were too distracted to notice. When finally, they drifted into the pantry, Hermione held her little beaded bag open, and one by one, the vials fell inside with nary a sound.
When she had told Ron about her parents, he had looked troubled and hugged her.
Then she told Harry about her parents. He looked troubled, and let Ron hug her.
Neither had looked straight into her eyes and said, "It's the right thing to do, Hermione."
Oh, Theo. Theo. Theo.
She couldn't stop thinking about how close he was... and yet so utterly out of reach. Within her reach, however, were piles of Ron's socks and underpants that she was packing into a rucksack.
"To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive."
What a bizarre day it had been.
Hermione had so hoped that it would be a day as close to normal as possible – that Harry would have a pleasant birthday full of cake, presents, and cheerful chitchatting. But things like that tend to go out of the window when the Minister of Magic decides to pay a visit.
Dumbledore's will had stumped her. Why did he do that? Why was it always cryptic clues, hidden agendas, and coded secrets?
Here she had a book of children's stories written in runes. Harry was stuck with riddle-embossed snitch, (I open at the close – what the earth?!) And Ron could play with lights.
...Excellent. Lovely. Dead useful, Professor Dumbledore, sir.
Hermione set the book aside and lay back in bed with a groan. She was just tired – tired of it all. And so she decided to read Catch-22, using her fist to muffle her laughter lest she wake Ginny up.