The dialogue in the second to last segment has been borrowed from DH.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".
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Wrapped up in her bathrobe after a fairly luxurious shower, Hermione stepped out into Ginny's room. Her face broke into a wide, genuine grin.
"You look beautiful, Ginny," she exclaimed.
"Thanks," Ginny mumbled with half a smile. Her bridesmaid's dress was pale gold and flowy, with an almost dangerously low neckline. She'd pulled her shorn locks away from her face using many tiny glittery clips, making rubbish of Mrs. Weasley's claim that they would take away from her appearance.
"Get here, you," Ginny ordered, patting the pouf in front of the dresser, "lets tame that wild bramble on your head."
Hermione scowled but obediently sat, and Ginny popped open a bottle of Sleekeazy with great fanfare.
There were quiet through the whole process; complicit in an unspoken understanding of each other's preoccupation. Hermione thought about how much her mother would've loved to see her getting dressed up, since she so rarely bothered. It was strange that someone as unconcerned with appearances as mum would be so delighted when her daughter made an effort. A small, wistful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth... and disappeared almost instantly at the sight of Ginny's face, which held more than a little rigidity – it was an explicit show of anxiety.
When her hair finally flowed smoothly and sleekly down to her waist, Ginny put her hands on Hermione's shoulders and rested her chin on top of her head.
"You'll take off, wont you," she asked, "once the wedding's over?"
"Yes," Hermione whispered.
Ginny's grip tightened, but she sighed resignedly. "Keep them safe. Promise me you'll keep them safe. And make sure they come back home. Please –"
"...I'll do my best..."
"– And you know... the only way you can ensure that is by bringing them back home personally. You have to walk them through the door. You have to be there."
"You make sure everyone's there to welcome us, then. Every last one of you."
"It's a deal," Ginny stated; then she straightened and half-turned away, "I've to go help the bride get ready now. Not that she needs any help, mind you. Just wants someone to bark orders at."
With a small chuckle, Hermione nodded. "Okay. I'll see you downstairs."
Once Ginny had left, Hermione went over to the pale purple dress laid out on her bed. She shed her robe and stepped into the light material, wandlessly coercing it to zip itself up. It fit her well... she ran her palms down the silky bodice, smoothening out creases that didn't exist. Returning to the dresser, she dabbed a bit of colour on her face: purple on her eyelids and coral pink on her lips. She bent to slip on the scary high heels that she'd borrowed from Ginny and transfigured to match the colour of her dress. And as the final touch, she conjured a small cluster of fresh lilacs and tucked them behind her ear. Then she took a step back and stared at her refection.
The girl in the mirror was undeniable pretty... Hermione hated her.
"What are you doing?" she asked out loud, "There's a sodding war going on. People are dying. Your parents have forgotten you. Your favourite person in the world is miserable and trapped in an invisible house. You need to help the prospective saviour of the world realise his destiny. What the hell are you doing?!"
The girl in the mirror gave her no answers. She just mimed her words back at her... mocking her. Huffing in disgust, Hermione spun around and walked out of the room.
She didn't go downstairs, where the first lot of guest were undoubtedly beginning to show up. Instead, she climbed upstairs, all the way to the fifth floor – Ron's room. There, she collected Harry and Ron's rucksacks and shoved them into her tiny beaded bag. She took one last look around, smiling at the Ron-ness of it all. There was nothing else to do now... she was as well equipped as she could be.
Descending in four-inch heels was not easy. Hermione took each step at a time while keeping a steady grip on the railing. On the third floor, she paused as voices filtered out of the slightly ajar door to Bill's room.
"...you bring a date?" said Bill's voice.
"Come off it, mate," Charlie's voice chided, "I didn't want to cause a scandal –"
"Oh fuck off, Charlie! We all know. Nobody cares!"
"Mum doesn't know, Bill. She'd explode."
"Nah. She has six straight children to give her all the grandkids she needs... and more. You should just tell her –"
Hermione moved on. On the second floor, from Percy's old room (or, the recently allocated Bridal station,) she heard:
"...Ma chérie! Ma fille! Tu es si belle!..."
"...Ces boucles d'oreilles en perles, Fleur...?"
"...Stop fiddling with my hair, mum..."
"...Auntie Muriel should be here soon..."
On the staircase between the first and second floors, Hermione ran into a shrivelled up bird of prey in very frilly magenta dress robes. Mr. Weasley, from a few steps below, said, "Ah, Hermione! This is Madam Muriel Prewett, Molly's great-aunt –"
"Oh dear," said Muriel dryly, her red-rimmed eyes looked down her enormous hooked nose at Hermione, "Is this the muggleborn?"
"Hermione Granger, madam," she sniffed, "Nice to mee–"
"Don't muggle's feed their children anymore? She looks half-starved," Muriel sniped. She was like some highly caricaturised Dickensian dowager. In her hands was an ornate antique box that no doubt contained her famous goblin-made tiara.
"Er," Hermione muttered, stealing a look at Mr. Weasley who was gazing heavenwards as though begging for forbearance.
"Speak up girl," Muriel barked, "And straighten up! Bad posture and skinny ankles – such a shame."
With those grim words, Muriel clomped away with her nose in the air, and Mr. Weasley offered Hermione an apologetic smile as he followed.
The white marquee in the orchard gleamed like alabaster that afternoon. A rich purple carpet divided the space into two, and delicate golden chairs were set on either side. Supporting poles were covered in gold and white flowers, enormous floral arrangements stood at every corner, and suspended above the pulpit were large golden balloons, courtesy of Fred and George.
The guests were all mostly seated in place, and the low buzz of excited chatter swelled and ebbed rhythmically.
Hermione stood outside with Ron, the twins, and their so-called 'cousin Barny', (who was Harry in the guise of some unspecified plump and red-haired boy from the nearby village). They were in splits, all of them, as Fred and George told stories about their notorious Uncle Bilius... which was why Hermione jumped about a foot in the air and dropped her bag on the ground when a voice extremely close to her ear said, "You look vunderful."
"Victor!" she gasped, after hastily picking up her bag, "I didn't know you were – goodness – it's lovely to see – how are you again?"
Lord, she sounded like a silly fifteen year old. Victor did look good though… in that intense, distinguished way of his. In dapper dress robes and a newly cultivated beard, he was somehow taller; more imposing. But he smile he bestowed upon her was sweet. He took her hand and kissed it, and opened his mouth to speak when –
"How come you're here?"
Hermione gaped at Ron for his ill-timed and crusty interruption. He was awfully red, and scowling sullenly at Victor.
Victor raised his eyebrows, "Fleur invited me."
Before Ron could say anything more, Barny (or, The Wizard Formally Known as Harry,) quickly offered to show Victor his seat, and rushed him inside the marquee.
"What the hell, Ron?" Hermione demanded.
"What?" he snapped, his ears in flames.
"You were so rude! Why –"
She stopped on account of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's arrival.
"It's time! It's time!" Mrs. Weasley squealed, "Go sit down, children... the bride's on her way!"
And so they dutifully hurried down the aisle, ("Children, she says," George muttered,) collecting Barny (or, The Wizard Formally Known as Harry,) on the way.
From her place in the second row, Hermione looked about her with a sense of disconnection – the excitement, the anticipation, the eager humming – none of it made sense to her.
Bill and Charlie marched up to the pulpit, both looking extremely sharp in fitted black dress robes that looked like ankle length morning coats. Fred wolf-whistled, much to the delight of Fleur's veela cousins.
Suddenly, from nowhere and everywhere, music bloomed and the guests fell silent.
Fleur floated up the aisle, her hand daintily placed on her beaming father's elbow, with Ginny and Gabrielle following behind in matching dresses and similar smiles. She looked... oh, to say she looked beautiful, would've been extremely trite. She was faultless, she was exquisite, she was glowing. Her dress and jewellery were simple – the most ornamental thing on her was the tiara – but for once, surprisingly, it wasn't her appearance that made her so breathtaking; it was the pure, incandescent joy on her face... in her stride... it radiated out of her and touched everyone watching.
Hermione turned to look at Bill. He was gazing enraptured at his bride with shining eyes and a mile-wide grin. The scars on his face – all marks of distress and trauma – seemed to have melted away. There was nothing but untainted, absolute happiness in the space between the couple.
And just like that, Hermione understood. The reason for that whole elaborate circus; for the fancy cutlery, for the expensive hors d'oeuvres and beverages, for all the planning and nitpicking... it was obvious, really. It was for this exact moment: Bill and Fleur generating so much joy that all those lucky enough to be around were caught in the swell of it.
Yes, there was a sodding war going on, and yes, people were dying. But still... look! Look at how effortlessly true bliss and deep love had empowered an entire room!
It didn't mean a lot; it meant everything.
The sun had set, but the wedding reception was at its peak. Twinkling lamps hung from the golden canopy that the marquee had been transfigured into. The band was playing particularly energetic jazz numbers. Bill and Fleur were in the middle of the dance floor, twirling and giggling as though drunk on happiness (and copious amounts of champagne). Ginny was dancing with Lee Jordan, Ron was dancing with Gabrielle. Victor had found some veela-type to keep him company after Hermione had turned down a second dance with him. Hagrid, Charlie, and a Bob Hoskins lookalike were sitting on the floor in one corner, singing. Tonks was trying to pull Lupin onto the dance floor, but he shook his head adamantly. Then, Fred offered to dance with her instead, and laughing brightly, Tonks agreed. Lupin continued to stare into his glass of firewhiskey miserably. Leaning against the bar with a glass of gin and gillywater in her hand, Hermione felt a sort of kinship with him.
Her spirits had come crashing down as she imbibed more and more... well, spirits. Her feeling of detachment had returned, but now she also felt hollow and melancholy. She took a long sip and sighed; her eyes continued to skitter all around the throng dejectedly. She saw George disappear under a table with one of Fleur's cousins. She watched as Ron towed Gabrielle across the crowd to get more cake. At a corner table, she saw Barny (or, The Wizard Formally Known as Harry,) talking to... of all people... Old Auntie Muriel and Elphias Doge. She thought she ought to go rescue him... maybe even wrangle a dance out of him... But no. Nothing could induce her to go anywhere near Muriel again.
There was an outbreak of laughter from the dance floor, where Luna and her father were dancing utterly ridiculously. Hermione scowled. She'd tried no less than eight times to drag that insane girl aside to talk... but each and every time Luna had pulled away and initiated a conversation with the nearest person. Hermione was one drink away from casting her first Imperio...
"Hi."
With a bit of a jump, she turned to look the young man who'd sidled up next to her. He was dark haired and stocky, wearing a pleasant smile and clutching goblet of mead.
"Hello," Hermione replied curtly, hoping that the unspoken 'please go away' was clearly put across through her tone.
"You look beautiful," he went on, undeterred, "Would you care to dance?"
"No thanks," she gritted out through her teeth.
The young man's smile widened, "Don't worry... I'm not on the pull. I'm actually here with my girlfriend."
"Really," Hermione drawled.
"Yes, really. She's right there," he said and pointed. Hermione disinterestedly followed the line of his finger, and her eyes came to rest on a blonde girl in bright yellow robes...
"Pshaw. She's not your girlfriend."
"Excuse me?! Yes she is!"
"That's Luna Lovegood," Hermione said, getting seriously angry, "I know for a fact that she is NOT your girlfriend."
"Oh really?" He tilted his head down and eyed her meaningfully, "You're sure, are you –"
"Good grief, YE–"
"– Buddy."
Hermione's entire body seized. Her hands suddenly began to shake, so she carefully placed her glass on the bar.
"Oh my god," she gasped.
"In the flesh," the man said cheerfully. Then he grinned, and he looked entirely wrong, but... she knew that grin.
She launched herself at him, and he caught her tightly in his arms.
"Oh my fucking god," she breathed into his ear, "Theo. Theo. You're here. Theo."
"Well, of course I'm here," he laughed, "The moment Luna told me her father had gotten an invite, I insisted they take me along." He pulled away, but kept his arms around her as he ran his eyes all over her face. "Merlin, it's good to see you."
"Wish I could say the same," Hermione quipped as best she could, (her fanatical grin wasn't letting her speak clearly,) "Who are you supposed to be?"
"Some bloke," Theo replied with a shrug, "Luna got his hair off the floor of a barber's shop in the muggle village down the hill. Terribly unhygienic, yeah... but... desperate times and all that. Now. I'm going to ask you one more time... would you care to dance?"
"I would love to. Absolutely."
He hauled her onto the dance floor and whirled her round and around, and around once more. He pulled her close and twirled her away. He picked her up by the waist and spun. Hermione was laughing breathlessly when she caught Luna's eye over Theo's shoulder. "Thank you," she mouthed, and Luna grinned before returning to the alien square dancing routine she had going with her father.
Theo made her dizzy through three songs, then led her, stumbling and giggling, back to the bar.
"So," he said after they'd got a drink each, "How are you?"
"I am..." Hermione hedged, "...As expected."
"I see," he pronounced with a raised brow, "And your parents...?"
She breathed heavily out of her nose. "Safe."
"Good girl," he said and squeezed her hand.
"What about you?" Hermione asked, "How have you been?"
"Er, as expected?" he ventured, "Wait no. Worse. Definitely worse. Hermione, I'm going crazy."
"Cabin fever?"
"Not exactly," he said with a scowl, "It's fucking Xenophilius. He's a madman. No listen, believe me. Luna's quirks are adorable, right? His are outrageous. He hates me. He absolutely loathes me."
"Oh, come on," Hermione reasoned, "He's probably just playing the part of the overprotective father..."
"Yeah, see, if that was the case, he'd simply have warded Luna's room to keep me out. Which he has done, by the way –"
"Oh, you poor thing!"
"– but he does not have to make me spend the afternoon peeling and slicing those bloody awful dirigible plums, and then bake them into a pie and have me eat it for dinner every single day! And that Gurdyroot infusion! I spat it out the first time, so he's punishing me by making me have a glass with every bloody meal. As if it isn't bad enough that I have to scrounge around in the garden like a fucking niffler, digging the blasted things out! I also have to fish for Plimpies, keep out the Wrackspurts – which basically involves me batting at empty air for hours, and... Stop laughing, you monster!"
Of course, Hermione did no such thing. "Oh, the Labours of Theodore..."
"Far more than ten," he grumbled, but then he brightened, "Luckily, the miserable sod has a weakness."
"Oh?"
"Yes. He trusts Luna implicitly. So he hasn't put any wards on my room."
"Ah."
"Exactly. So she visits me every night."
"Lovely."
"It really is. We don't sleep much."
"I'm sure you don't."
"We spend a lot of time not sleeping."
"Yes, I get it..."
"Not sleeping every night is doing me a lot of good."
"That's nice."
"And Luna really does love good. I mean, really, really –"
"Theo!"
He threw back his head and laughed. Hermione's own lips quirked up reflexively at the sound. In her mind's eye she could picture him as he ought to have been – thinner, taller, with his light brown hair falling into his fine blue eyes.
"Oh, sweet Salazar, darling," he chortled, "I've missed you."
"I've missed you too," she said softly, "So much."
He sipped his drink after the last vestiges of his amusement subsided, and adopted a more solemn tone.
"When will you set off on your great, secretive adventure?"
Hermione cleared her throat uncomfortably, "Tomorrow."
"Fuck," he muttered, "Potter's here isn't he? That tubby red-haired fellow..."
"Huh? How'd you know?" she demanded in shock.
"Luna told me."
"How did she know?!"
"It's Luna," he shrugged offhandedly, "She knows things. But anyway. Are you... well... are you prepared?"
"Yes. I am – I think – I suppose I've thought of everything."
"I can believe that," he said with a sigh, "Carelessness and cutting corners aren't your style."
"No," she agreed, wanting to say more comforting things but drawing nothing but blanks. Fortunately, that's when Luna joined them, flushed and glinting with sweat. (The sunflowers in her hair were beginning to wilt, making Hermione wonder about the state of her lilacs...)
Luna ordered herself a glass of sherry and leaned into Theo's side as he put an arm around her.
"Had fun, love?" he asked affectionately.
"Oh yes," she beamed, "Daddy is a wonderful dancer, isn't he?"
"Superlative," Theo remarked dryly. Hermione grinned.
"By the way, Hermione," said Luna, "I'm sorry for ignoring you all evening. Theo wanted to surprise you."
"Please don't apologise. It was a fantastic surprise. In fact," Hermione bit her lip, "I should apologise for even thinking about using the Imperius curse on you."
"Hermione Granger!" Theo admonished playfully.
"Oh never mind," Luna laughed calmly, "It wouldn't have worked anyway. A gnome bit me this afternoon."
"Er... okay?" Hermione said, puzzled.
"Gnome saliva is extremely beneficial! It makes you immune to the unforgivable curses and bestows the gift of many tongues."
"Many tongues, eh?" Theo murmured licentiously.
Don't say anything, Hermione firmly told herself.
Just then, somebody shrieked, and Hermione jerked around in alarm. Something enormous and blazing fell through the canopy and landed smack-dab in the middle of the dance floor. All the revellers fell silent and gaped in unified astonishment at the silver light which turned out to be a patronus in the shape of a lithe and graceful lynx. Its mouth opened and Kingsley's voice issued forth:
"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."
All hell broke loose.
The panic-stricken crowd turned wild, with people running around in shock, or screaming, or promptly disapparating. The protective enchantments around the burrow had been decimated.
"Shit," Hermione cried. She rounded on Theo and Luna – "You need to get out. You need to leave –" Theo shouted... something, but she ignored him. "Shield charms. NOW. Protego!" she ordered, "Shit shit shit. Go! Theo, Luna, GO!"
Guests were running around hither-thither like headless chickens. Tonks emerged from an especially dense huddle, barking orders at Bill, Charlie, and Hagrid.
"Theo!" Hermione half-sobbed, "They can't find you here. Hurry!"
"But –"
"Luna. Get him out of here. Find your father and go. GO." She shoved them both, "I'll be fine – I need to get to Harry and we'll be out too – Damn it – MOVE."
And that's when they appeared: Death Eaters – at least thirty of them. With perfect synchrony they raised their wands and let loose a violent flow of spells. There was madness, madness everywhere. Furniture flew all over the place, amid an outburst of explosions and lights and screams.
Luna grabbed hold of Theo's hand and ran towards her father at the other end of the floor.
She was one and they were three.
Three rancorous Death Eaters were attacking her with all they had and she could do nothing besides struggle to maintain her shield charm.
"Not so tough now, are you, mudblood?" yelled one Death Eater – the woman from the night of Dumbledore's murder. Hermione was pushed back brutally from the force of her curse.
"Protego Totalum," she wheezed.
A little behind her and to the left was a large table that had been knocked over on its side, effectively forming a partition. If she could just duck behind it, she might be able to fend off the brutes...
Suddenly, from behind the table, three jets of light shot out and hit all three Death Eaters squarely in the chest, knocking them out cold. Overwhelmed with relief, Hermione took a moment to collect her breath before diving behind the table-screen.
But her words of gratitude died in her throat. What came out instead was, "YOU!"
Instantly, her wand was levelled at the young man before her. "You..." she spluttered, "What – YOU– Wha –"
"Is this how you thank someone for saving your life?" asked Draco Malfoy with his mouth twisted sardonically, "By stuttering and pointing your wand at them?"
"Saving my – Go to hell!" she snarled.
"Oh, put away your wand, Granger," Malfoy commanded. He kept his own wand harmlessly at his side, pointing towards the ground. "You aren't really going to do anything –"
Hermione laughed humourlessly, "Is that what you think? I'm not going to make the same mistake twice, you arsehole."
Malfoy scoffed. "It wasn't a fucking mistake, and you know it. The reason you let me go that night... the reason I saved your miserable hide just now... still holds."
"Save it, Malfoy. I think the reason would prefer knowing where you are – even if you're chained and shackled."
Malfoy smirked. It was such an aggravatingly familiar expression that Hermione nearly hexed him there and then. "What makes you think he doesn't already know?"
That stumped her. She gaped at him and his smirk grew. "Wha – he – he –"
"Stuttering again, Granger? Shit, you're a dreadful conversationalist."
"I simply don't belie –"
A blur rushed into their tiny shelter and pinned Malfoy to the back of the table by this throat.
Lupin.
Hermione's gasp of shock was lost under the livid growl that tore out of the older man.
"You double-crossing little maggot. I knew we shouldn't have trusted you!"
"GET OFF ME –"
What was going on? Hermione stared at the two men in astonishment.
Lupin's grasp tightened. "This was your plan all along, wasn't it? Lull us into a false –"
"Plan?" Malfoy choked out, "Plan?! D'you think 'm allowed to make plans?! GERROFFME!"
He kicked his leg out, catching Lupin in the shin and causing him to jump back with a howl of pain. Gingerly rubbing his reddened neck, Malfoy seethed, "There was no time to warn you, alright? Yaxley showed up with the news that they'd taken the Ministry, and minutes later we were apparating here. There was no time, you hear me?"
"Liar!" Lupin roared.
"I'm NOT fucking lying! Here –" Malfoy spat, shoving a piece of parchment into Lupin's hand, "– a list of all raids and attacks intended for the next two months."
Glaring furiously, Lupin tucked the list inside his robes.
"Quit frothing at the mouth, would you?" Malfoy snapped, "You know what they do to rabid dogs."
Hermione made a noise of deep indignation on Lupin's behalf, which finally alerted him to her presence. "Hermione?" he started incredulously, "What are you doing here? Where's Harry?"
Oh dear god... Harry! What was wrong with her?
Muttering a stream of oaths, she tore out from behind the table and into the chaos. Her eyes darted all over the place, searching...
She saw Ron attempting to stave off that same large blond Death Eater who'd gone berserk on the night of Dumbledore's death. He was wearing Ron down, so without wasting a second, Hermione rushed forward crying, "Impedimenta!"
"Fuck," Ron panted, "Bloody maniac. Thanks, Hermio –"
"Where's Harry?" Hermione urged, cutting him short.
"Donno... I haven't... THERE!"
He was at a far corner, duelling two Death Eaters. Much to Hermione's horror, his disguise was fading – as she watched, he seemed to get thinner... his hair was darkening...
"Come on," she yelled, grabbing Ron's wrist and pulling him along. In a strangely serendipitous moment, that was exactly when Harry shook his opponents off and looked up...
At once, he ran towards them, cutting frantically through the crowd. They met in the middle of the dance floor, and Hermione grabbed onto his hand tightly. Her mind filled with the image of a wide street lined with electronic shops and glitzy nightclubs... a mishmash of architectural styles... a big blue sign that read Tottenham Court Road Station...
She spun on the spot and vanished.
Getting attacked by Death Eaters in Central Bloody London: what a bizarre nightmare. And here she had believed they'd be relatively safe in a heavily populated muggle area. Hermione blew a strand of hair away from her face and glared at the dark-haired Death Eater sprawled on the floor. Dolohov – her old friend from the battle at the Ministry; the one who was responsible for the fading scar above her bellybutton.
The café where they'd taken sanctuary was in shambles.
"Lock the door," Harry said to her, "and Ron… turn out the lights."
She rushed to do as he said, glad that he was taking charge. She was on the brink of a meltdown… she had no idea where to go next.
Ron used the Deluminator to extinguish the lights, and then whispered, "What the fuck are we going to do with them? Kill them? They'd kill us. They had a good go just now."
Dimly illuminated by the yellow light that streamed in from outside, Hermione could just make out his face – and it made her shudder. Harry, bless him, shook his head. "We just need to wipe their memories," he said, "It's better like that, it'll throw them off the scent. If we killed them it'd be obvious we were here."
"You're the boss," said Ron flippantly, "But I've never done a Memory Charm."
Hermione muttered hoarsely, "I know the theory."
Taking in a gulp of air, she focused on the events of the last fifteen minutes and – "Obliviate." When Dolohov's eyes glazed over, she knew she had succeeded.
Harry patted her on the back. "Brilliant! Take care of the other one and the waitress while Ron and I clear up."
She nodded and turned to the large blond Death Eater as Ron sputtered in dismay: "Clear up? Why?"
"Don't you think they might wonder what's happened if they wake up and find themselves in a place that looks like it's just been bombed?"
"Oh right, yeah ..."
"Obliviate," Hermione whispered, tuning them out.
When they'd taken care of everything, she leant her hip against a table, and looked askance at Harry. "How did they find us? How did they know where we were? You—you don't think you've still got your Trace on you, do you, Harry?"
Ron promptly refuted that theory, "He can't have. The Trace breaks at seventeen; that's Wizarding law. You can't put it on an adult."
"As far as you know," Hermione countered, "What if the Death Eaters have found a way to put it on a seventeen-year-old?"
"But Harry hasn't been near a Death Eater in the last twenty-four hours," Ron argued, "Who's supposed to have put a Trace back on him?"
They both looked at Harry, and Hermione nearly groaned out loud. He had that typically tortured, self-loathing look on his face. "If I can't use magic," he said slowly, "and you can't use magic near me, without us giving away our position–"
She'd heard enough. "We're NOT splitting up!"
"We need a safe place to hide," Ron reasoned, "Give us time to think things through."
"Grimmauld Place," said Harry, simply.
And so it was.
The insalubrious old house looked exactly as Hermione remembered. She placed her bag on a dusty sofa, and waved her wand to set the rusty gas lamps aflame. She pulled the filthy curtains aside and peered cautiously at the street outside: it seemed deserted. She backed away and pointed her wand at the large fireplace, and conjured a fire sans the heat. The warm orangey tint that subsequently spread across the room somewhat lessened its dreadful drabness.
Harry was standing in front of the massive Black family tapestry, staring hard at Sirius' name. Hermione swallowed, and looked apprehensively at Ron, who merely shrugged bleakly. Then, abrusbtly, his eyes widened, as he pointed at something behind her.
Hermione spun around, and a tiny shriek tore out of her. As before, a bright slivery light zoomed into their presence, and gradually took on the form of... a weasel.
"That's dad's!" Ron exclaimed, and in a moment of insanity, Hermione wondered what Draco Malfoy would've said on finding out that Arthur Weasley's patronus was actually, truly a weasel. She gave herself a solid shake just as Mr. Weasley's voice projected out of the glowing animal:
"Family is safe. Do not reply... we are being watched."
The Patronus dissipated, and Ron emitted a choked whimper. "They're alright," he gasped, "They're all safe!"
She smiled widely at him, and he laughed, ("THEY'RE ALRIGHT!") and hugged her.
But, alas, fucking shit, as always, their jubilance was short-lived: Harry let out an agonised cry and fell down heavily on the sofa. A cloud of dust exploded all around him.
"Harry!" Hermione shouted, "Harry! What is it?"
He moaned, and clutched at his forehead.
"Bugger!" Ron yelped, "It's another vision, innit? What is it? What did you see?"
Hermione stared between the two of them, flummoxed and worried. "What? A vision?! Your scar, again? What's going on? I thought that connection had closed!"
With his fingers pressed against his scar, Harry groaned. "It did, for a while. I – I think it's started opening again whenever he loses control, that's how it used to –"
"But then you've got to close your mind–" Hermione was horrified, "–Harry you have shut that connection down... use Occlumency! Otherwise Voldemort can plant false images in your mind, remember –"
"Yeah, I do remember, thanks," Harry spat, "I try. These fucking – these visions – they just come to me at the most random moments. I can't – FUCK. Damn it. It hurts like hell."
Hermione didn't have the heart to berate him anymore. She fished a handkerchief out of her bag and cast a cooling charm on it. She perched on the arm of the sofa next to Harry, and pressed the cloth against his scar.
"Thanks," he sighed.
"So, um..." Ron broached, "What did you see then?"
Harry closed his eyes. "It was just a flood of rage at first. Burning hot rage. Then... a long room dimly lit room..." (Harry's hand convulsed, and Hermione reinforced the cooling charm on her handkerchief,) "...that giant blond Death Eater – he's called Rowle, by the way – was on the floor, thrashing and screaming, and I was... I mean, Voldemort was... threatening to feed him to his snake for letting us escape again. There was another person in the room... Draco... and... and Voldemort forced him to torture Rowle..."
"Oh.. god," Hermione groaned.
How awful. How sickening. And ghastly. And... And... And...
"Stuttering again, Granger? Shit, you're a dreadful conversationalist."
How utterly wretched.
"Oh come on, he forced him?" Ron jeered dismissively, "It's all exactly what that little shit willingly signed up for –"
"He didn't willingly sign up for anything," Hermione burst out before she could stop herself.
Ron stared at her.
"She's right," Harry seconded. His eyes were open now; the brilliant green streaked with reflected firelight, "You didn't see him, Ron... he looked completely petrified. Voldemort told him that if he didn't do it, he and his parents would face the consequences."
There was a terrible weight inside Hermione's chest. She jumped to her feet and collected her bag saying, "I need to get out of this bloody dress. I'll – I'll be right back..."
She scarpered into the nearest bathroom and shut the door firmly behind her. Sitting on the edge of the large and garish bathtub, she rummaged around in her bag till her fingers closed around her old DA Galleon. Then, praying – to deities she didn't believe in – that Luna still had hers at hand, Hermione altered the coin's engraving: 'Fine?'
No more than a minute later, the galleon burned hot.
'All are fine'.
She pressed her palm against her heart and breathed.