Disclaimer: WHY are you reading this instead of the story? YOU know I don't own Harry, I know I don't own Harry, so why do we keep up with this ridiculous charade? Read!

While she waited for Lupin to get in touch with her, Hermione worked.

She set aside her ongoing projects and began sealing the more fragile and rare manuscripts so they'd survive if her stay turned too long. The other books she found places for, dislodging her personal books to make enough shelf space to keep all her acquired tomes neat. What wouldn't fit on a shelf, she pushed under furniture and in drawers.

It wasn't so neat, but it'd do.

She then moved around her now strangely tidy flat, doing other sorts of work. She checked the little book every day at least three times, occasionally writing some sort of detail about what she'd packed and who she'd need to water her plants while she was gone. Lupin had replied to each briefly, and always with the assurance that he'd get word to her as soon as he could about when she'd leave.

She had no choice but to wait.

So she worked.

She'd dug up what information she could find on Hannah Abbot, from the old issues of the Daily Prophet (which she kept in a huge binder on her kitchen table), to any letters she'd gotten from the wizarding world (which were kept in a well-loved folder in her desk drawer). She didn't find much. As an agent for the Order, Hannah must have been very, very good or totally useless. Maybe it wasn't fair to base her opinion on what she remembered of the permanently friendly, round-faced Hufflepuff, but she was inclined to believe it was the latter.

Which made no sense. Lupin wouldn't have allowed Hannah to even join the Order if she was useless, let alone assign her to an undoubtedly dangerous mission among probable enemies. So maybe she was actually a genius.

Thinking about Hannah Abbot only confused her, so she soon gave up.

She continued to work at the restaurant, carrying trays of steaming food without really being there. She had spent so much time pushing all of her past away from her, and now she suddenly had so much of it to go over.

For example, what was that 'King's Rebels' all about? Highly symbolic, obviously, and very dramatic. But from a society that used to refer to themselves as the blatantly menacing and none-too-subtle "Death Eaters", it was surprisingly poetic. What did the new name mean? And more importantly, in Hermione's mind, who had given them that name?

She worked during that time better than she ever had, and Molly, her cheerfully informal boss, made whispered comments as they passed each other that there must be "Some fella who you're savin up ta go ta. Yeh've never been this good before"

Well, there was a fella. Possibly a whole army of them. She'd thought this was riotously funny the first time it'd come to her, but as she thought more about it, it made her feel ill.

It was two weeks after she'd gotten home from her long drive to England and the suburban headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix that she was finally called.

Be ready. It's time.

Just in case she'd miss the significance of the note, the writer (who wasn't Lupin; for once the hand was in a totally different style) had drawn a box around the message and added several excited exclamation points. In three different colors of ink.

Not sure whether to be afraid or excited, Hermione settled for a little bit of both. After running to be sick in the bathroom, she cleaned herself up, made sure her bag and her books were in order, called Molly to tell her she was going to meet her fella, and sat on the couch, waiting.

Half an hour after she'd read the note, someone knocked at the door to her flat.

She braced herself as she went to the door, some part of her aware that all the work she'd done at forgetting her past was about to come fantastically undone. But none the less, it was too late to go back to her hermitage. She knew this, and she staunchly prepared herself for whoever was waiting for her on the other side.

Not enough, as it turned out.

As soon as she'd carefully cracked open the door, the woman outside it had practically knocked it off its hinges and had taken Hermione into a crushing hug. Hermione tried to breathe, fighting the impulse to run as far away from this attack as possible.

Then she was released, and Hannah Abbot smiled at her, hands on her hips.

"Hi, Hannah," Hermione managed.

"Hey, Hermione. You look great!" Hannah beamed at her, and moved past her to look around the flat.

Hannah hadn't really changed all that much. She still had a round, open face, though it had mellowed and aged over the six years that had gone by since Hermione had last seen her. Her plump form had settled itself into comfortable curves, and she'd grown taller. Her straight blonde hair was tied away from her face into a long ponytail. She looked healthy, and, oddly enough, happy. It occurred to Hermione that the few magical people she'd met in the last six years all looked haggard and somber. She wondered if this was a reflection on wizards today in general, or just on the type of people she was closest to.

Hermione closed the door, trying to think of the last time she'd seen Hannah. Was it at the fight? No… she'd seen her at some of the funerals. There'd been a group of them, the ones who were able to move around in the months after the Battle. Pale, thin children who talked either too loudly or not at all. You could always tell who'd been there, and who'd just heard about it afterwards. The latter group watched the former ones with awe, and a little fear.

But the survivors hadn't really talked to each other. Though there were a number of them always at a funeral, they didn't associate or even stand together. It was easier, back then, to ignore it all. Watch the burial, and pretend that you weren't there when the person in the coffin had died.

It had become a macabre sort of superstition, having a surviving child at a funeral. Hermione had been invited to a few for people she'd never met, just because she had been there. It was good luck, people believed, to have one of 'Them' (how the survivors were ceremoniously referred to) at a funeral. Why this was wasn't really discussed. Some people thought it was encouraging for the dead, and some for the living. It didn't really matter. Hermione had gone to a few of them, but stopped after the first couple. It was too much, to have to worry about the dead you'd never met as well as the ones you'd loved. Maybe it was selfish. But they were all just kids at the time, really.

Hannah had cried at Ernie's funeral. She was the only one of the surviving children who'd ever cried. That made them all avoid her, a little bit. It seemed like she was exposing a part of their shared vulnerability. It had seemed like a minor betrayal.

But Hermione hadn't heard from her in the intermittent years. She'd fled to Scotland, and they'd never been too close even before… everything happened.

Hannah was examining a stack of books under the coffee table. She was letting out occasional admiring noises, but didn't really seem to need any sort of reply.

"Would you like some tea or something, Hannah?" Hermione asked, figuring that the sooner she got a grip on herself, the better the whole thing would be.

Hannah straightened up. "That would be wonderful, Hermione. Thanks."

"Not at all." Hermione replied, relieved to be able to do something. "Come on into the kitchen. I'll see what I have"

Hannah sat at the table, and Hermione stood by the kettle, leaning against the counter for support.

What a day.

"So," Hannah said, spreading her hands out on the table and looking at Hermione "Are you ready?" Something about her had changed from the bubbly woman from just moment before. She still smiled, but her voice was now very serious.

"I'm all packed. My bag's right by the door." Hermione said airily

"That's not what I asked." Hannah said evenly. Hermione was surprised. She looked at Hannah intently, and the woman returned her stare calmly.

Hermione eventually turned to the kettle, adjusting the gas burner. She felt the heat coming off the red kettle, tightening the skin on her hands and face. She tried to form some sort of a reply, but couldn't seem to think of anything she could say.

"You're really being enormously brave." Hannah said to her back. "Lupin thinks so as well. I looked into your file…" she paused, looking at her carefully.

Hermione shrugged without turning around. She'd figured she must have had a file somewhere. She couldn't think what it would say about how she'd spent the past six years, but she'd had some idea that there was one.

Hannah continued "… and you've hidden."

Hermione whirled around. "Hidden? I've been here the entire time!" The word 'hidden' made her think of a wizard who'd vanished from the wizarding world without a trace. And she didn't like thinking about him. It made her feel oddly hollowed out and tired.

Hannah shook her head "Yes. You have been out in the open, that's true. But you've still been hiding from us. You're pretty lucky, actually. You had a life to hide in. For most of us, hiding wasn't an option. Live like Muggles? We wouldn't know how to even begin. It was unthinkable."

Hermione decided that the tea should be ready. She turned the heat off, and rummaged in the cupboard for two mugs. Hannah watched her back as she moved.

She was surprised by Hermione. Reading the file, she was ready for some more neurotic version of the Hermione she'd known in school. Some blend of eager, bright, and impatient, maybe tempered with a touch of anxiousness. But she'd forgotten about the Hermione from after the Battle. Hermione had changed. She no longer drew attention to herself, and when she spoke it was with a quiet despair. Hannah had sympathized with her then. Hermione's two best friends, the two boys who were the only people her age who she'd ever gotten close to, had vanished. Ron into a vegetative state, and Harry as a shadow fading into the distance.

Privately, Hannah had always harbored a little resentment against Harry Potter. He'd walked off when the whole world needed him, and when he could have done such good for everyone in both worlds. But even more unforgivable was his walking off when Hermione had needed him. His best friend.

And Hermione was shaken by it. Hannah wasn't close enough to her to become her confidant, but it was evident by how thin and tired she appeared after the Battle that she was suffering. Though Hannah never knew if she felt any bitterness towards Harry, she imagined that the pain must've been acute.

But, Hannah though, watching Hermione swear under her breath as she stood on tip toe to search for the last tea bag, at the time she had been a little busy with her own grief to spare any emotion for another girl who'd lost friends. It was selfish, yes, but it was how they all were. She regretted it a little now.

Hermione turned to her, with the two mugs firmly in hand. Setting one down before Hannah, she eased into the chair opposite, and wrapped her hands around her own mug.

Hannah sipped, and made the appropriate appreciative noises. And then she sat the mug down and waited for Hermione to speak.

Hermione hadn't touched her tea yet. She rolled it gently in between her hands, and thoughtfully addressed the tabletop.

"I suppose I never thought about it like that, that I was lucky to have something to fall back on. But you know, I've thought about it a little, and I think I might have been… well, I mean, it probably wasn't the bravest thing to do, running up here and acting like I wasn't involved, but…" she trailed off, and took a small sip from her cup "… it made sense at the time. Ooh, this is awful. Sorry about that. I'm a little out of practice, I suppose. What about you? How did you get involved in the Order?"

Hannah shrugged "I ran into Ginny Weasley. Yes, I know, she's not really the type you'd just run into," she said in response to Hermione's shocked face, Ginny Weasley now being one of the loudest (and most famed) voices for change and rehabilitation "But I really did. In a little bar in Slough. It was very strange. But she seemed to know I hadn't been doing much, and she asked if I had time to set the world right again." Hermione laughed softly, and sipped again.

"So I joined. And it was nice, though not all the time, I suppose."

"How did you get stuck with this job?" Hermione asked, smiling

"Stuck?" Hannah asked, tilting her head to one side "But you… didn't you agree…"

"Oh, yes, of course," Hermione said lightly "But I wasn't sure if anyone else would want to go. It's… um… well, it's an odd job."

"Yes, it is. But Lupin asked me. And I still owe him so much for all that he did for us after the Battle"

The 'us' was justified in this case. There were kids who'd lost their entire families, and Lupin had seen to it that they were either placed under the protection of other families or set up so that they could live easily on their own. Hannah had lost her parents and a brother, but the horrible fact of it was somewhat eased for her and her remaining brother by not having to worry about living alone. And he had helped everyone, sliding gently into the position that should have been filled (in Hannah's opinion) by Harry Potter. Someone for the whole community to look to, and to rely on. Someone who was taking care of them, and who was there for them all.

Silence fell. Hermione stared at the table again, stirring her tea with a finger. Hannah drained the mug, and then stood.

"Alright. Let me see what you've packed. I can tell you if you're missing anything."

Hannah ended up adding a clean and brightly patterned towel, a heavy winter coat and mittens, and a sturdy pair of boots that had belonged to Hermione's father. She also insisted that she bring her old bathrobe, and a few 'really comforting books' that Hermione hadn't known that she'd had until Hannah had unearthed them from a pile beside her bed.

"Hannah?" Hermione asked as Hannah rummaged through her closet

"Hmm?"

"How long do you think we're really going to be out there? I mean, there wasn't any date or anything on the message. When do we have enough of an idea that they're all ok?"

"We don't know," Hannah said from within the closet "We think it could be any time from a week to a few months. It's pretty much impossible to tell. Wereally know," she said, emerging with a pile of clothes in her arms "almost nothing. We don't know how many of them there are in there; we don't know who their leader is; we don't know what their plans are. We barely even know that they're former Death Eaters. It seems that they've swelled from just the Death Eaters into anyone who isn't overly fond of the wizarding world at large. We've carefully collected all the rumors. They have armies of medieval elves with guns, or they've successfully replicated dinosaurs, or they have some Muggle musician from the sixties penned up with them. We don't know anything at all, really."

"Oh. Alright then." Hermione said faintly. "Do we have some sort of a plan¸ at any rate?"

"Hmm… yes. Get in, don't get killed, get information, don't get killed, get out. And, of course, how could I forget, don't get killed."

Hermione didn't say anything. She just very slowly sank onto her bed and put her head in her hands.

"Now, now, cheer up. We'll be fine. Where's your wand?"

Hermione reached inside her jacket and pulled it out. She hid, but she still carries it, Hannah thought, nodding and returning to stuffing the clothes into the duffel. This is important. It makes her still a witch; for all that she tried to cut herself away from it.

"Ok. Good. Bring it. We're definitely going in there with wands. We don't know what other forms of defense we might need, but wands are pretty much all we can count on being allowed."

Hermione nodded dazedly and slid the wand back inside her jacket. The situation had a strong feeling of unreality. She kept wanting to laugh at the insanity of the whole thing. It was too surreal.

Hannah, having finished repacking all Hermione's things, stood up and looked hard at her.

"Alright. You're ready. Let's go."

Hermione blinked at her "Now?"

Hannah nodded, pulling out her own wand "Now."