Hermione often wondered what her life wold be like if she was a simple muggle. Tonight she could have been completely drunk at her eighteenth birthday party but she was alone, her parents safe in Australia, oblivious to their daughter's birthday.
She ordered a fire whiskey from a grubby-looking barman in faded robes through one of the numerous faces she didn't own, a hair borrowed to be used in a polyjuice potion. Hermione had organised an ensemble of misfits to come suited to a group she had in mind to make. The tension from the recent fight in Hogwarts haunted her. Hermione was more at risk in her own skin than ever.
A youngish girl entered the pub nervously, Hermione recognised her at once as a girl who was sorted in her fourth year at school. Hermione could tell that Orla Quirke too was in hiding. The muggle-born had been travelling for over a year since she was fourteen years old.
"Over here," Hermione called quietly to Orla.
Orla looked surprised at Hermione's new disguise but slid onto the stood next to her. Orla took in the disguise – she was now tall with wild blonde hair and startling green eyes.
"You are…Hermione?" asked Orla anxiously.
"Yes. Hello Orla, I'm glad you made it. So, why do you need to join up?" enquired Hermione straight to the point.
Hermione knew this was a difficult question she had asked even if she needed answers. She waited whilst Orla rummaged through hurtful memories.
Orla cast Hermione a scared look before answering Hermione: "I'm a muggle-born, the Death Eaters – or the Ministry – have threatened to kill my family. The ministry demand my wand."
The young girls face showed no pain, she was too hurt to cry. Hermione looked at Orla's blank face and puzzled expression, she understood at once how Orla felt.
"I'm sorry," Hermione sympathised, she spoke again more business-like. "As you may have known: the Order Of The Phoenix collapsed once it was believed the Death Eaters or Ministry infiltrated it. Naturally we won't get anywhere without a band of people to fight the Death Eaters."
"Fine," Orla replied. "What good did The Order do anyway?"
"A lot, actually – before they all got their heads fucking blasted off!" hissed Hermione. "And I won't hesitate to do the same to you if you dare turn on me!"
Orla's face rose in colour, she snarled back at Hermione, "I'll have your throat if you don't shut it. I'm here not because I want protection but because I've got nothing to lose!"
Hermione's face cracked into a smile.
"We won't get very far headless. Oh. Sorry! I'll get you a drink."
Hermione ordered another fire whiskey for Orla, herself and a light- haired boy Hermione knew at once. The boy looked at Hermione and Orla furtively before seating himself with them.
"Swallowed your pride, have you? I knew your daddy's gang would want your head soon enough!" Hermione said, starting to laugh callously at Draco.
Draco simply replied, "I should hope that barman isn't listening, Hermione."
"Muffliato," Hermione said, pointing her wand discreetly at the barman.
"I knew we were in it together, Draco! So what did you do?" Hermione asked, taking a lazy swig of her fire whiskey.
Draco swilled his drink around the glass it was in before speaking, "My parents have been forced to join the Dark Lord's side once again as punishment. My mother told me to flee; the Death Eaters want to kill me."
"I'm not surprised," piped Orla.
"I agree," Hermione said. "Your parents were seen as unfaithful."
"So what you said before? We're going to join up?" Draco asked Hermione.
"To bring down the Death Eaters! And the Ministry!" finished Orla. "And I think we need a name."
The barman noticed a large gathering of about a dozen people congregating in the far corner of his pub, he did not know these people were the New Worlders. And the rowdiest youngest one was under-age drinking.
