Author's Note: Thank you to absolutely everyone who read and reviewed, it really is incredibly encouraging.

I am terribly sorry about the long wait for this chapter. I've been insanely busy lately. I'll try to be better about updating in the future.

!Menolly

Chapter Ten: Honesty is the Best Policy

As Hermione descended the stairs into the kitchen the next morning, she saw Lupin disappear into the fireplace. Her mother sat at the table, sipping tea absently, watching him leave with an interested sort of distaste on her face. Alarmed, Hermione took the last of the steps two at a time, careening into the room and causing her mother to give her a rather surprised look.

"Where's Professor Lupin gone?" Hermione asked, before Mrs. Granger had a chance to speak. "He's not leaving, is he?"

If Mrs. Granger noticed anything remarkable about her daughter's desperate tone, she didn't say anything about it. "Not at all," she replied, serenely. "He said he had an urgent call this morning, and that he'd be back before noon with any luck. Sit down and have some tea. The Professor told me that I was to make sure you got plenty of rest today. He seems to think that you're still suffering a bit from your injury. How are you feeling?"

Hermione thought about that, and decided that in light of all the totally unexpected recent events, she really wasn't sure. "Fine," she said, around her thoughts. "I feel fine, thanks, mum. Don't worry about it."

"I'm a mother," murmured Mrs. Granger, with a small smile. "That's what I do, I worry." Standing up, she pulled out a chair for Hermione, who took it, feeling awkward. She didn't really have any idea what to say, and she wasn't sure how much her mother had overhead the evening before. She didn't really want to broach the subject if she didn't have to, but if she didn't, and Mrs. Granger already knew, then she'd be in even more uncomfortable waters.

"Mum," she began, a bit too forcibly.

"What's really nice," interrupted Mrs. Granger, "is that, even in the midst of all this horrible turmoil, we still are having exceptionally lovely late-May weather. Don't you think, Hermione?"

Hermione blinked. "What? Oh…yes, I thought so too. It's a beautiful day."

Mrs. Granger smiled, and Hermione was suddenly sure that she didn't have to tell her mother anything. Mrs. Granger continued to gaze distantly down at her teacup, smiling in a lost sort of way. "Next year is your last year at school, I think," she began. "Isn't that right? Seventeen was the age of majority for wizards and witches. I think that's what you told me."

"Yes," agreed Hermione, "but…I'll be seventeen in a month."

"Oh, trust me, I know," chuckled Mrs. Granger. "I'm losing my little girl all too quickly…but I guess it's part of parenthood. Still, all of my friends get to keep their babies until the little ones are eighteen. I feel a bit jilted by the whole thing."

Hermione clasped her mother's hand warmly. "Don't be silly, mum," she said. "Nothing will change between now and a month from now. I'll still be just exactly the same person as I am."

"And the person who you are is not a little girl anymore," murmured Mrs. Granger. Then, turning away from her daughter with another of her listless smiles, she finished her tea, and brought both her and Hermione's cups up to the sink.

Hermione returned to her room, thoughtfully pulling at the long curly braid which she'd kept in her hair while she was sleeping. She had promised herself that this morning, she would send an owl to Ron and to Harry, to let them know what was going on. She needed to talk to someone; she couldn't bear keeping all of this a secret any longer. They were the only people whom she really felt safe trusting with a description of the Death Eater attacks, and of…everything else.

As Hermione didn't have an owl of her own, she often used the Hogsmeade post office to mail her notes. IT occurred to her briefly that she could simply pop in on the Burrow and pay Ron a surprise visit, to tell him everything in person. She imagined the look on Ron's face when she told him that she was entering into an ill-advised romance with a former Hogwarts Professor, and the idea of visiting him died instantly. She couldn't think of how she'd word that particular piece of news in a way that wouldn't make Ron come tearing out to find her and kill her himself. There was no chance that he, the boy who had thought he'd only recently won Hermione's heart, would see reason on that score.

She was a bit sad to discover that the little piece of her, the piece that had harbored what she had thought were deep romantic feelings for her red-headed friend had died entirely. She'd always known that Ron wasn't the one, and yet it had been so nice to think that she could fall for someone so close at hand, and so near to her and Harry's hearts. She loved Ron, but without that same passionate need that she had for sad-eyed, troubled Remus Lupin. How strange, she thought, the way our emotions play these nasty tricks on us.

She decided to tell Harry, rather than Ron, because Harry would at least try to understand. No doubt he'd be equally horrified, but at least he'd attempt to convince himself that he could come to terms with his best friend and a member of his father's high school gang were involved. She needed someone mature enough, gentle enough to handle her feelings delicately at the moment, and Harry would probably do that. He'd learned a lot since his first kiss with aggressive and peevish Cho Chang, and Hermione had to admit that she was impressed with his recent sensitivity. Maybe that was partially Ginny Weasley's doing.

Drawing out a piece of paper and a ballpoint pen from one of her bedroom drawers, Hermione sat on the bed, and attempted to write.

Dear Harry, she began. I hope you're having an excellent summer. Frowning, she stopped, and crossed that part out. Of course he wasn't having an excellent summer. If he wasn't' trapped with his horrible aunt and uncle, he was probably being hidden away by the Order of the Phoenix, and wasn't very likely to be having a great deal of fun. Dear Harry, she wrote afresh, I hope that you're well. That was better.

It's really kind of amazing how much has happened in such a short period of time, she went on, thinking as she wrote. I have so many things to tell you, and I have absolutely no idea where to begin. Don't be angry at me, Harry, for keeping all of this quiet until now. Professor Lupin insisted that it was totally top secret, and I haven't told anyone. And, at the mention of Lupin, Hermione realized that she'd now have to explain exactly how she'd ended up in his house, and what had been going on there.

She balked at the task. It would be hard enough to keep Harry from rushing off to find her when he heard that she'd been attacked by Death Eaters more than once. It was unthinkable to compound that with descriptions of…other events. She let out an exasperated sigh, and let go of the paper so that it dropped off her lap and drifted to the floor. It would take a good deal more thought and planning on her part, she decided, to figure out how to phrase this one.

"What's that?" asked Lupin, striding into the bedroom. Hermione looked up, and was surprised to see that he was holding a large bouquet of peaky-looking purple flowers in one hand. She raised her eyebrows at him, and he smiled slightly. "I thought we could at least pretend to start this off…you know, the way one's supposed to. Romantically."
Lupin held out the bouquet, and Hermione took it, both touched, and trying not to laugh at the same time. There was something almost childish about the gesture, and yet terribly grave and appropriate. Laying the flowers down on her bedside table, she smiled back at him, and Lupin looked suddenly just a little bit less weary.

He sat down next to her on the bed, and she squeezed over to one side to make room for him. Eyeing the letter at her feet, Lupin frowned. "I think we'd best leave those explanations for another day," he murmured. "In the midst of everything that's going on at the Order, I don't think they need any more little shocks."

Hermione winced. "I believe in honesty being the best policy," she announced feebly.

"So do I," agreed Lupin, looking uncomfortable. Hermione realized he was just as nervous as she was about letting the truth come out. Then again, she reasoned with herself, it made more sense for him to be concerned. No matter what she did, everyone could always say that she had been silly and childish, whereas Remus Lupin had a mature reputation to uphold.

"Oh well," she sighed, shrugging and dismissing the letter with a gesture. "You're probably right. It can wait." She leaned over, and hesitantly kissed his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into it, and she drew swiftly away, although she was unsure exactly why the reaction had so alarmed her.

"I'm sorry," said Lupin, his eyes fixed on the letter. Hermione shook her head.

"No," she said, "it's okay. We'll…we'll get used to it, I think. It'll get easier, eventually."

"This shouldn't be difficult," muttered Lupin, chuckling mirthlessly. "Romance isn't supposed to be a chore."

Hermione looked fixedly at him, until he finally glanced up into her face. "Is what's happening to us a chore for you?" she asked him, more curious than hurt.

"Yes," he said, shrugging. "It's slightly terrifying to be...involved with a girl you taught in school, whom you watched grow up as the best friend of your childhood companion's son. It feels absolutely vile. And," he added, reaching up and taking Hermione's chin between his fingers, "it's also amazing, and incredible. Bear with me."

He kissed her, gently, but steadily, and she nodded. "I will."

"I've been to headquarters," Lupin told her, when they were standing in the kitchen a quarter of an hour later, washing some leftover dishes. Mrs. Granger had gone out, and Hermione was trying to do her part to clean up after herself. It was only appropriate, she thought. After all, she'd better be nice to her mother, since Mrs. Granger seemed determine not to say anything about any tensions she may have noticed between her daughter and Lupin.

"Why?" asked Hermione, as she slid a sopping wet plate on to the counter for Lupin to dry. "What's going on?"

"We're being reassigned," he replied, with a sigh. "Tonks and Charlie are being taken off your house and moved…somewhere else, for the time being. After all, it seems unlikely that there will be another attack, now that Voldemort's followers know your home is fully guarded."

"But it's not fully guarded, not anymore," insisted Hermione, disturbed. "If all of you leave-!"
"We certainly aren't all going to leave," Lupin assured her quickly. "I, for one, am not going anywhere."

That's a relief, thought Hermione, although she didn't say anything of the sort out loud. Instead, she said, "and where's everyone getting reassigned to? Have you discovered a hideout, or something?"

Lupin scrubbed very pointedly at one of Mr. Granger's coffee mugs, not looking at Hermione. "I…can't tell you that," he demurred. "It's Order business."

Hermione snorted. "Fine," she said, whipping a towel at the last of the plates, and turning towards him. "Keep your Order secrets. That certainly does the Chosen One a lot of good."

"You," started Lupin, "are not-!"
"No," retorted Hermione, "I'm not. I'm his best friend, and I care more about him than most of you do…present company perhaps excluded." She nodded curtly at him. "So you might as well tell me what you all are planning, so that I can help if need be. I'll be of age in a very short time, and I've already told you that it makes no sense to keep an able-bodied witch in the dark about all of this. You're not protecting me' by letting me be ignorant of the danger, either."

Lupin hesitated, but only for a moment. Hermione's determined stare and pointedly calm words did seem to be working their magic on him. "We have our suspicions," he said simply, "about a Ministry official by the name of Musetta Paolini. We think she might be the link between the Ministry of Magic, and the Death Eater headquarters. Tonks and Kingsley are supposed to be looking into it, subtly, and Charlie's acting as a second assistant to Arthur, so that he can be in on Ministry doings as well. It's a shot in the dark, to be perfectly honest, but we shouldn't leave any stone unturned."

"Musetta Paolini…" Hermione said the name slowly, as if working her lips around it, trying to figure out where she'd heard it before.

"She is renowned," added Lupin, noticing Hermione's thoughtful look, "for discovery of and excellence at certain obscure aspects of memory modification magic, such as memory locking, and recollection replacement."

"Oh yes." Hermione remembered now. She'd read about Musetta Paolini in the History of the Ministry – Third Edition, while she was trying to discover what took place in the Department of Mysteries. "She applied for the position of Minister, but never got it, because-!"

"Because," finished Lupin, "it's very difficult to trust a woman who invented her own means of re-creating the truth." His eyes clouded over briefly, and Hermione thought with equal disgust of Severus Snape, who had fooled them all with his flawless use of Occlumency.

"But you're staying here," Hermione said, although it was more of a question than a statement. "You're not going to spy on the Ministry with the rest of them. Did…that is, was everyone all right with you staying…with me?"

"No one in the Order had a problem with my continuing on as your guard," murmured Lupin, although something in his tone made Hermione think that his 'no one,' did not include Nymphadora Tonks. "Moody's been watching Harry, and Molly and Arthur are both capable wizards who are able to look out for their own."

Hermione was forced to assume that Lupin, like her, hadn't told anyone about their recent meeting of minds. No doubt if he had, the Order wouldn't be so eager to let the two of them remain in close quarters. All the better, she decided. It would just be their little secret then…for the moment.

But Tonks knows, said a voice in the back of Hermione's head. She knows, and she'll tell. You don't want to be caught red-handed. You'd better tell everyone before she has a chance.

"Done," said Lupin, plunking a clean glass on to one of the shelves containing the dishes. "You'll be of age soon, you said? Good. When you are, we won't have to do this by hand."