A/N: Hey everyone! Betcha wondered if I'd given up on this, eh? It was considered, to be truthful, but I hate authors who give up in the middle of a story I'm reading, so I'd hardly want to be one of those for you. Hence, on we go. Hopefully, you're enjoying the story and will continue on with us. I've finally wrestled this horrendously ill-mannered plot into complete submission (with thanks to JKR for help from HBP) and--well-- you'll just have to read on to see what evil the ingenious evildoers of the world can come up with! I'll try to make it worth your while. :)

Btw, any time you see a >>>, that means a scene break. I don't know if it's me or the ffn system, but it's the most they'll let me leave to indicate we're now in a different place or time.

So -- enough babble escept to say that I owe a million thanks once again to Christina Teresa and Seakays, my wonderful betas and advisors extraordinaire.

Happy reading! NZ

Chapter 20
Four O'Clock or Thereabouts

Chapter 19 Summary:
Hermione suspects someone or something is skulking around outside her cabin in the night, only to hear Ron's familiar whisper outside. She drags him in, thrilled to see him, yet upset that he's taken such a risk. Ron makes it clear that he's come to take her away from danger, but she'll have none of it and explains why she must stay to help the Yeti. Ron agrees to give her until midnight that night to find some answers to take to the Ministry. Exhausted, Ron falls asleep on the floor and Hermione, unable to stay far from him after being so lonely, joins him nearby to sleep. Ron awakens to find Hermione gone to the lab, but oddly, a second pillow on the floor. Breakfast for Ron and Pig is sent via Tod to be left on the doorstep, after which Ron overhears a very odd and heated conversation outside between Carl Smeggers, the man with the dog from King's Cross, and Dr. Voyde.

"I've got you," Harry said, hanging from his bedroom window. Clenched in his left fist was the leg of a graying old owl that was dangling upside-down. "Poor Errol. That had to hurt, but you're all right now. We'll just ease you on in here, old boy."

Harry pulled the owl into his room, turning him aright to look him in the eyes and noting that his rather dazed expression was even more pronounced than usual. What was truly sad was that the old bird had almost managed to complete the trip, too; all he'd done was misjudge the windowsill and hit the brick wall full force instead of the window opening. Harry laid him gently on the bed to untie the small package from his leg, then picked him up to set him upright in Hedwig's cage.

Hedwig looked up from being tucked under her wing for a nap, and Harry would have sworn she snorted at the sight of the ancient bird.

"Now, now, Hedwig. You'll want the other owls to treat you nicely when you're an old lady." Harry took in her disdainful glare at him before she tucked her head back under her wing. "Don't mind her, Errol. You just rest up."

Harry crossed the room back to the package on the bed. Ripping off the brown wrapper, he heard ticking, but paid it no attention while he looked inside a small box holding a small amount of silvery orange powder. The ticking continued, so he scrabbled around in the brown paper until he found that a parchment had been secured inside it. It was the parchment that was ticking, even when he unfolded to read what must have been a hastily scribbled note:

Agent 00HP,

Your mission, whether or not you should decide to accept it, is to field test our WWW Triple-Action Floo powder. Your bit of espionage is to arrange to be at the residence of one A. Figg and enter the hearth at precisely o-sixteen ten hours. M. Fletcher will be otherwise detained. Ordinary Floo powder allows you one destination only, but this magical wonder will help you proceed accordingly at your two-second-interval command to: 1) the Ministry floos, to 2) the Burrow to, 3)WWW headquarters. Eat the Canary Cream immediately after stating destinations so that, should you slow at any midpoint, you wil be unrecognizable as anything other than a very large, yellow bird. We will be in contact with you in short order at your final destination. Stand back-- this message will self-destruct in three minutes (in case you're a slow reader--who knows?).

Be slick and stay cool,

Agents 00F and 00G (couldn't use numbers because neither of us would take less than 001and 007 was taken by some fancy-pants Muggle bloke --sorry)

The parchment started to sizzle and Harry threw it onto his desktop, laughing louder than he probably should have under the circumstances. Beginning to spin in place, the note threw off narrow spirals of parchment that swiftly disintegrated into smoke. In less than a minute, the only evidence of the delivery was the wrapper, the small box of Floo powder, and the no-longer-visible instructions that Harry had quickly etched into his memory.

Though he always hated to do it, confusing Mrs. Figg was never very difficult. He'd left her in her kitchen just minutes before, looking completely baffled, after telling her in quick succession that he was hungry and would like some biscuits and milk, please, if she had them; then that he just remembered he had to go back and check the lawn sprinkler at the Dursleys because it had been acting up; suddenly he wasn't feeling very well; and oh yes, that the tortoise-shell cat and the little gray one were at it again, fighting in the back yard, and that he'd check on them in hopes that they wouldn't seriously hurt one another.

Harry knew that this overload of information and proposed activity would take sweet, but slightly daft Mrs. Figg a while to sort out and that by the time she did, she wouldn't be certain just where Harry was supposed to be or what she was supposed to be doing about it. She would also be dreadfully embarrassed that she'd lost him by then and would go in search of Dung Fletcher, who she would have assumed was doing as he should have been: acting as her backup outside on Privet Drive. Fletcher, Harry knew from Dung's mutterings to himself, was already en route to a 'very quick' clandestine meeting -- not to mention Harry knew just who was responsible for the Order member's absence.

But Harry was also quite aware that wasn't his problem. He stood at the entrance to Mrs. Figgs' hearth, his eye trained on the mantel clock while the four-o'clock cuckoo hung around outside his hole to suspiciously eye Harry right back.

"Four o-eight," Harry whispered to himself rather nervously, his eyes jerking toward the nearly closed room door just before he removed the tiny box from his pocket. "Fred and George, you two had better have this all worked out."

He'd already released Errol to return to the Burrow and given Hedwig instructions to head for the Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes shop for the next few days. A 'body' fashioned of outgrown clothes from Dudley's closet inhabited his bed under the covers. Harry had blessed the miracle of Muggle ingenuity when they invented electric tape recorders as he blithely 'borrowed' Dudley's old and discarded one from his cousin's closet shelf. Some ten minutes of gagging-sound rehearsal and taping later, he had looped the tape such that it would re-play at half-hour intervals and had smiled to himself at how certain he was the Dursleys would leave him to his own for days if they believed he was that ill. Just for good measure right before he snuck out to Mrs. Figg's down the back trellis from his window, he'd staged a wonderful performance downstairs in front of his aunt and uncle by pretending to wretch, slapping a hand over his mout! h, and running upstairs. All was set and hopefully, he'd be back before anyone from the magical world was the wiser as to his whereabouts. But oh, would it feel good to get out from under this constrictive security blanket for a few days, no matter what kind of situation Ron could manage to drag him into in Scotland.

Minutes had slipped away before Harry's mind returned to the task at hand. "Four eleven! Bugger!" he said, stepping quickly into the fireplace, scooping up a handful of the silvery-orange powder, and throwing it to the floor. "The Ministry of Magic! (One one-thousand, two one-thousand...) The Burrow! (Three one-thousand, four one-thousand...) Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, Diagon Alley!"

Harry hoped that the whispered two-second intervals timed his destinations well enough because he hardly wanted to stop and explain himself anywhere. He nearly forgot to remove his glasses and slip them into his pocket. Popping the Canary Cream into his mouth, and slipping his glasses into his pocket at the last moment, he felt the spinning of Floo travel begin immediately and in a blur of yellow feathers, he was off.

As he spun, Harry briefly wondered if Fred and George had actually field-tested this particular combination of products themselves, because the spinning and the Canary Cream were, together, making him decidedly queasy (no doubt cosmic payback for making the Dursleys think I was ill, he thought) . His motion slowed momentarily, long enough for him to focus on a Ministry Floo worker who also must have just had time to focus on him. After hearing a gasp, seeing her hand go to her mouth, and her face go white, Harry gratefully felt the spinning begin in earnest again.

A few minutes later, just as Harry was wondering if upchucking the Canary Cream in mid-Floo would undo its effects, he slowed again, this time even more than at the Ministry. He panicked momentarily to see that he was looking out into the Weasley's living room and that someone was seated on the divan, reading. It was Ginny, who looked up and did a double-take at the enormous yellow bird she saw Floo-ing into her home (though no doubt she was quite familiar with the effects of Canary Creams). She tossed her magazine aside and stood, taking a step in the direction of the hearth. Just to be sure, and against everything his stomach was telling him, Harry bit down hard on the remnants of the Canary Cream in his mouth and tried to concentrate on Diagon Alley. Thankfully, the spinning began anew before Ginny made it to the fireplace.

Finally, after what felt like an hour, Harry felt himself hurtling through the hearth opening in the back room of Fred and George's premises. Stumbling across the floor toward anything that looked like a loo, he left a wide trail of large yellow feathers and quickly eliminated the problem of the Canary Cream from his stomach. After splashing his face with cold water, he put on his glasses and emerged from the loo into what he thought to be an empty room, since Fred and George had obviously not yet arrived. But the eerie feeling of eyes upon him made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

"Harry Potter there, right?" said a low, gravelly, voice from somewhere. Harry scanned the room and could see nothing. "The Harry Potter?"

No sense in denying that now, Harry thought, looking down and realizing that any remnants of canary-ism were now gone from him and lying about the floor. "Yeah," he said warily to the air, still searching. "Who wants to know?"

"Had to make sure," the voice said. "Potter's on the list. Big yellow birds that might eat small flying creatures? No."

It sounded as if the voice was coming from somewhere above him, so Harry checked the room's upper corners until his eyes fell above the interior door. There, suspended in mid-air by his rapidly-flapping, stubby little wings, was a creature like Harry had never seen before. He appeared to be hiding behind a birdhouse of some sort, apparently a bit wary of coming out himself until he was sure who or what he was dealing with. But yes, that was one thing Harry was quite sure about -- he was definitely a he, and unlike anything Harry had ever seen. Was he -- a fairy? It was quite hard to believe that such a deep, resounding voice could come from such a tiny throat.

The creature gave a quick smile, at least what his mouth could manage around a half-smoked fag that was large enough for him to treat as a cigar. He then swooped down in what looked to Harry to be more of a plummet than a graceful flight and landed his pudgy, bare, but hairy legs on a supply shelf at about Harry's eye level. Now that he could see him better, Harry realized the creature was really a bit too big to be a fairy, plus he did seem to have some apparent intelligence and the ability to talk.

"Howard," the creature said, offering a tiny, plump hand and obviously trying to be pleasant, but blowing wisps of smoke in Harry's face as he talked. "Howard Plunck -- pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm the new bloke."

"Harry Potter," Harry said, taking the proffered hand between his thumb and forefinger to shake it. He was, though, distracted by how much the creature's two-decimeter-plus body looked like it belonged to an overly-chubby and aging baby, while his head looked like that of a slightly balding and swarthy fifty-year-old man. "But then, I suppose we've already discussed that."

Two resounding pops behind Harry interrupted the formal introductions.

"Harry!" George said. "You made it! Any problems?"

Harry turned a wan smile toward them. "No problems getting away or ending up here. The trip itself? That was something of another story."

Fred looked at Harry tentatively. "Motion sickness?"

"Yeah," Harry said, "you might say that."

"Sorry 'bout that, mate," George said. "Haven't quite got that bug worked out yet. I see you've met Howard."

Harry and Howard both nodded.

"Howard's something of our partner in crime here now," Fred said.

Howard beamed proudly around his fat stogie at that announcement.

"Helping to cover us for your great escape is only the first episode of his illustrious career with us, I reckon," George said.

"So where have you two been?" Harry asked.

"Espionage is a tricky, tricky business, my boy," Fred said sagely. "We were just out making certain your tracks were covered-- or, if nothing else, that they were a bit muddied for a while."

"What do you mean?" Harry looked a bit wary of their answer.

"The Ministry can trace Floo travel if they get the right authorizations to do it, right?" George asked.

Harry simply shrugged.

"Well, they can," Fred said. "But -- since Apparation requires a license, and there are far more legitimate legal offenses committed involving Apparation than Floo travel, any Apparation hides Floo travel made from and to the same location at the same time, at least until the Apparation is officially examined and deemed legal."

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," George said. "More people Apparate, you know. Apparation's much less, erm, jarring to your system and it's no wonder people choose to Apparate over Floo-ing. But they do it more illegally, too. I know you've never done it, mate, but trust me. You'll like it loads better than that trip you just made."

"Won't take much to improve on that," Harry said. "Oh -- just so you know -- I think Ginny saw me in your fireplace at the Burrow-- but as a canary, of course. Only thing is-- she knows a Canary Cream victim when she sees one."

George glanced at his twin. "Hmmm --- possible complication. Make a mental note, Fred -- debrief Ginny."

"Check," Fred said, sounding official.

"Well, so -- I still don't understand," Harry said. "You two Apparated the same places at the same time I was Floo-ing to cover me?"

Fred and George looked at one another, obviously quite proud of themselves, but Fred spoke first. "Not... exactly. We just made sure someone did--except for the last bit, the Burrow to here -- that one was ours because it was perfectly logical."

"Besides, we didn't want our upstanding businessman-type selves to be overly implicated in all of this evil scheming of yours and Ron's, Harry," George explained, winking. "So we sort of arranged for Dung Fletcher to Apparate to the Ministry the moment you Floo-ed there."

"The Ministry?" Harry asked, sounding shocked. "What in the world did you tell him?"

"Oh , it was quite simple, really," Fred said. "Dung had a business meeting with our imaginary, yet Security-cleared friend, Mr. Keypsia Gessin, who, even though he is a Ministry official, seems to find his fingers in quite a few tasty little pies."

"Yeah," George added. "Great businessman, that bloke -- really finds some amazing deals. Mr. Gessin wanted us to assure Dung that he was ready to bargain for a large supply of black market disposable cauldron liners of questionable origin, perfect for resale-- at highly inflated prices, of course."

"Only thing about Mr. Gessin, though," Fred said with very authentic-looking sincerity. "The man has a terrible habit of living up to his name and not showing for his appointments."

George nodded his head in very serious agreement.

"But wouldn't Dung Fletcher be suspicious of someone who works at the Ministry?" Harry asked.

Fred shook his head. "Harry, Harry, will you never learn? Who do you think created the wizarding black market? And where better to run illegal operations than directly under the nose of those in charge of the law?"

"Oh," Harry said, feeling a bit stupid for his own naiveté. "Then who Apparated from the Ministry to the Burrow while I Floo-ed there?"

Fred looked at George, for once seeming a bit worried. "Erm...Dad."

Harry was shocked. "He knows?"

"That we're helping you escape?" George asked. "You think we're mental? Actually, Dad seems to think his boss told him he could leave work early today. So he did."

"But won't that get him into trouble?" Harry asked. "If he thinks it was okay to go home, but his boss never said so? I mean, his real boss?"

The twins did look a bit doubtful on that issue, but they seemed able to successfully ignore worrying too long about it.

Fred spoke first. "Ah, it's just a couple of hours. Who could be so petty as to quibble about that?"

Harry sighed. This was getting to be quite a mess. He hoped Ron wasn't really going out on a limb here with this Umbridge thing, no matter how suspicious everything seemed. And there were still a few hours to wait until dark...>>>

Again, Ron had paced for a while, wondering what Hermione would think of Carl and Voyde's heated discussion, though it made no sense to him. But Hermione's quarters were no larger than his room at the Burrow and they eventually became equally warm, so he resigned himself to sitting and flipping through the few books Hermione had on her desk. Patience had never been a strong suit for him and this day had really pushed the limit.

It wasn't until nearly four o'clock that Ron heard the lock in the door jiggle soundly, enough to make him grab his wand and bolt to hide in the short hallway to the loo. But a quick open and shut of the door and the familiar voice re-setting the Security Spell put him at ease.

"Finally," Ron said, knowing that there was likely a bit of an edge to his voice.

"Sorry," Hermione said, rather breathlessly. "We had some reports to get out and I couldn't get away any earlier. In fact, I had to beg off with a headache even now."

"So you're working hard then, with this Dr. Null?" Ron asked.

"Well, there was actually more research being done and more complex reports to write before all of these problems with the Yeti came about, but it does seem like there's always something to do," Hermione answered, throwing her jumper on the bed. "That, and I always have to be some sort of human Remembrall for him."

Something about her spending all of that time and doing all of those things with some brilliant scientist rather irked Ron, though he wasn't certain just why. "Although, knowing you, you're probably enjoying that-- all the work -- with Dr. Null, I mean."

"Of course I am! He's a brilliant zoologist, even though they want to investigate him for what happened with Flaime. But I know he's innocent, it's just that they won't take my word without proof, even though I was there. He was trying to protect the Yeti and the handlers were--" Hermione began enthusiastically, then stopped suddenly and eyed him suspiciously. "Wait a minute. You're not starting in on that again, are you?"

Ron was clueless. "On what?"

"Your stupid remarks about Dr. Null wanting to research me, or some such nonsense."

Ron thought a moment longer, then remembered. "Oh -- that's right. I did bother you about that, didn't I?" Then he paused and looked at her warily. But that couldn't be why she doesn't want to leave...could it? "So... was I right? Does he?"

Hermione narrowed his eyes at him. "You know, if both of us have to stay in the same room, at least until dark, I'm going to pretend you didn't ask me that." She huffily started toward the bathroom, but he stepped into her path.

"Okay, okay, but it was kinda weird that your good doctor first has some bloke for an intern, and then -- poof!...a few days before the thing starts, they--" Ron stopped dead in the middle of his rant, realizing that he'd just blurted out the very thing he'd fought so hard not to tell her the night before.

"What did you say?" she asked softly.

Hermione looked up into his eyes questioningly, doubtfully, perhaps a little hurt and confused-- and he felt his heart twinge. He really hadn't wanted to be the one to tell her-- and now, because of his own blasted big mouth, it was him that was going to have to explain. He didn't know if there was any foul play behind it or if everything was perfectly innocent and legitimate. But the fact was, it could have been that Hermione was not their first choice of an intern to come to Trapperton.

Ron had to look away from the intensity of her eyes. "Ergh ---I didn't want to have to tell you this way, but it was something weird, Hermione--and it made Harry and me wonder. It could be that you weren't supposed to be here in the first place. In Sharpe's office-- I found a parchment that said some bloke was supposed to be the intern for your zoolowizard this summer. Then there was a copy of a letter sent to him to cancel it-- and the same day your invitation was sent," Ron said gently.

Hermione looked as if someone had slapped her. Her silence was almost painful to him, but he didn't know what else to do or say. He really wished he was better at these things...

"But it didn't say why," he finally blurted, apparently trying to soften the blow. "You know, they probably found your application after his and just decided you'd be better for Dr.--er, what's-his-name. Yeah, thinking about it again, I'm sure that was it." He smiled a bit and tried to pass it off. "It's funny-- at the time, I was really worried and I reckon I was sure that someone had made the switch on purpose, but I 'm not so sure now--"

"But the letter -- it came directly to me, there was no mention..." Hermione appeared to be dazed by the information.

Ron looked at her a bit worriedly, and he really could have kicked himself at this point, considering her reaction.

"You could be right," Hermione finally said matter-of-factly.

Ron could almost see her mind ablaze with thoughts and the effort to look at them logically, instead of emotionally. He wondered if she fought so hard to think about him that logically.

"It could have been either one," she continued. "It's true they didn't give me much time to respond, I remember, only a few days, but I didn't know whether or not that was the way those things are usually handled. Like you said, they could have decided at the last minute that I was the better choice for some reason and cancelled his internship. Or it could have been that someone cancelled his to make sure it was me who came here. Yes...I see how you could think that."

"That's one of the big reasons we wanted to come--along with everything else added in, Hermione," Ron said. "Harry made sure I came for you last night, too. Too many things about you being here are just too-- weird."

Hermione searched his eyes seriously for a moment, then looked solemnly at the floor and turned away from him. She walked to her desk, starting to absently re-organize the books Ron had left scattered on top of it; finally, she spoke, apparently to deliberately change the subject. "So you were the big topic of conversation around camp all day."

Ron was startled from his painful observation of her. "Me?"

Hermione shrugged. "Well, of course, they didn't know they were talking about you -- just about the wards being broken and re-set and the popping noise setting off the dogs..."

"Oh -- well, that's a relief...I reckon," Ron said dryly, thinking this was the perfect chance... "Because today, right outside that window--"

A knock at the door interrupted Ron. The two friends looked at one another, momentarily panicked.

Then Hermione moved her hand away from her mouth, looking relieved. "Oh, I forgot..." she said. "It's probably Tod. I asked him to see if Tulip would send me an early dinner--"

Suddenly Ron's face and stomach were both smiling. "Food? Yes! I'm half-starved!"

"Then you'd best get over there in the hallway so he can't see you," Hermione directed, waiting until Ron was hidden to reverse the Security Spell and open the door.

"Greetings, Miss Granger," Ron heard a strangely-accented voice say. "Tulip she sends the headache for the lots of food and hopes it will help."

"Yes, thank you, Tod, I'm sure it will," he heard Hermione say. "Here -- I can take the tray."

"Oh no, no-- Tod takes it inside," he said. "All right is the desk?"

Ron heard light, quick footsteps cross the floor and something being set down.

"We hope all is better, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, Tod," he heard Hermione say. "And please tell Tulip thank you -- it all looks delicious. I'm sure Tulip's cooking could cure most anything."

It all smells delicious too, Ron thought, holding his arms over his stomach to stifle the volume of the growls.

"Tulip will know when I go back," Tod said, then Ron heard the light footsteps travel to the door again.

"Goodbye, Tod," Hermione said.

Ron peeked out to see the edge of the door closing, heard the door latch touch, then took two large strides across the room toward the food before the door swung open again swiftly.

"Miss Granger, have the Security Spell on all times when alone, daytime too--"

The two males in the room froze.

Tod gaped at Ron, Ron gaped at Tod, and Hermione gasped as she turned from her desk to see why the room was so silent and tense. Tod said nothing more, but backed out of the door, pulling it shut as he went.

Hermione rolled her eyes skyward as she headed for the door. "Nice one, Ron."

Stupid stomach! Blame it! Ron thought, but all he could get out was a sheepish, "Sorry." His eyes followed her. "What are you doing?"

"Fixing this," Hermione said. "We can't just let him leave like that." Hermione leaned through the door and called Tod back into the room. She closed the door behind the hesitant house-elf, re-setting the Security Spell and the Silencing Charm. Then she turned to find Ron and Tod still gaping stupidly at one another.

"Tod, this is Ron Weasley," Hermione began formally. "Ron, this is Tod." She motioned with her eyes for Ron to offer his hand.

At least Ron thought that was what she wanted him to do. He and Hermione had become quite good at reading one another's body language and 'silent indicators', especially when they had had to communicate in their own personal code over Harry's head for most of last year. Ron had no particular problem with shaking a house-elf's hand, it's just that the whole thing felt like such a weird, awkward custom all of a sudden. But he didn't think Hermione would see it that way at all if he refused.

So -- offer it, he did. "Pleased to meet you, Tod."

Tod had been standing with his long-fingered hands clasped uncomfortably in front of him for most of the time he had been in the room. He looked blankly at Ron's extended hand and then questioningly at Hermione.

"It's perfectly all right, Tod," Hermione encouraged. "You're allowed."

Tod leaned closer to Hermione to whisper. "But a wizard he is, miss. Is he not?"

"That kind of difference doesn't make anyone better than you, Tod," she said firmly. "And yes, he is a wizard -- rumor has it." Hermione stated the last with a teasing lilt to her voice and though she at first tried to avoid looking at Ron, she couldn't keep from sneaking a glance.

Ron shot a sneering glare her way, then turned a smile as the house-elf finally took Ron's hand to shake it firmly.

"Your acquaintance is pleased to make it," Tod said formally. Yet as soon as he released Ron's hand, he bowed deeply from the waist.

Both Ron and Hermione had to smile. Old habits were hard to break.

Hermione behaved as if she wasn't sure where to go from here. "Ron is here because...Well, he works for the Ministry. He's here to help out when Dr. Nardstone comes."

"Oh," Tod said, now acting as if he understood better. "For Dr. Nardstone Mr. Weasley works?"

"Oh -- no," Hermione said, a bit worriedly. "Not for Dr. Nardstone. He works for...me. I mean with me. We work together." She pointedly ignored Ron's death look until she corrected her first statement.

A look of realization came across Tod's face. "Ahh --like Tulip and Tod."

Hermione didn't look certain about committing to that comparison. "Well, rather like that, yes."

"Always Dr. Null says partners are Tulip and Tod. Dr. Voyde says mates we are," the house-elf said, appearing to try and understand the nature of Ron and Hermione's relationship. "Mr. Weasley, sir, are you the partner or, may I ask, the mate of Miss Granger?"

Ron was pretty sure he knew what the question meant, even if Tod's terminology was a bit strange in direct translation. Partners would mean they were a couple, right? -- and he didn't want to make any wrong assumptions with that yet. But mates were just friends -- like him and Harry -- and that'd be safe. Yeah, he was quite certain he had this one nailed. He also knew he didn't want to cast a bad light on Hermione's reputation either, even with a house-elf, and the fact that Tod had found him wandering across the middle of her sleeping quarters...

"Oh, yeah -- she's one of my best mates. Has been for some time, actually." He looked over at Hermione proudly, but for some reason she didn't seem as pleased about what he'd told Tod as he expected her to be.

"Then one cabin is enough, and one --" Tod said, obviously trying to avoid letting his gaze drift to the bed.

"Yes, Tod, one cabin is just fine," Hermione jumped in to assure him.

"--For mates," Tod repeated as if to make certain.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Yes, Tod, for mates. One cabin."

Tod was mentally preoccupied for a moment, looking around. "More food? For two?"

Ron thought that was a splendid idea and opened his mouth to say so, but Hermione shot him a warning glance. "Lots of food on one tray is even better -- just like you've brought. Erm...we like to share."

From the very moment she'd dragged Tod in here, Ron couldn't quite figure out just why Hermione was giving the house-elf all of this information. But he'd gone along with her because she obviously had something in mind. However -- "we like to share"? Since when?

"Oh, and before you go, Tod... please don't tell anyone that Ron's here -- well, maybe telling Tulip would be okay if you tell her not to pass it on," she said.

"Not tell anyone?" Tod was confused again.

"Ron's -- well -- he's, um...shy," she finally spat out. "Do you know what that means? He doesn't like to be around a lot of people or talk to them much -- makes him uncomfortable."

His eyes wide in disbelief, Ron slowly turned to look at Hermione as if she'd just said flying Bandycorns would be here any moment to manicure the nails of everyone interested.

"Ahh -- shy," Tod repeated with a note of understanding. "All's right then. Everyone must be comfortable. Tod has work and must go. Nice to make you meet," Tod said to Ron and then turned to walk out the door. Again he stopped before closing it and pointed upward.

"I know," Hermione said as she followed behind him, wand in hand. "Security Spell -- thank you for reminding me."

"But now you are not alone," Tod noted cheerfully. "It is better so much."

Hermione looked back at Ron and couldn't help but smile briefly. "That part's true, Tod. It is better so much." She closed the door behind the house-elf and fell back against it after re-setting the spells; she released a loud sigh.

"Just how mental are you?" Ron started with a quick change of attitude. "What was all that about?"

Hermione shot him an irritable look and headed for the desk. Looking as if she was considering where to start her explanation, she tore off a piece of scone and popped it in her mouth. It must have tasted good because she immediately tore off another and ate that, too. "You know, I haven't had a thing since breakfast-- and I'm tired of explaining things. Let's just eat." Scooting the chair up with her foot, she sat down and began to eat in earnest from the many items on the tray.

Her tone of voice told Ron that it might be in his best interest to do just that rather than press the issue about Tod. Besides, he certainly had no objections to eating -- that was what had got them into this mess. He dragged over the only other chair in the room, which was old and rickety, and sat down next to Hermione at the desk.

Ron watched her eat for a moment. "So if you get the fork, then I get the spoon."

"Fine. All the better for you to shovel with, I suppose," Hermione said tersely without looking at him.

"Still have a problem with teaspoons then?" he asked, just to be irritating.

"No, actually," she replied haughtily. "I rarely get emotional over them at all. Now can we just eat?"

There was a minute or two of silence, aside from the consumption noises, of course.

"Good thing they gave us lots-- especially since we like to share." Ron pointedly ignored the evil glare he felt boring into his cheek. He knew perfectly well that she'd picked up on the hint of sarcasm in his voice and that was just as he'd meant it. Strange thing was, he found he didn't really mind sharing --not with Hermione, anyway.>>>

Although her nerves were on edge, it felt good to be out in the cool, soft, evening summer air. Hermione was briefly reminded of another evening earlier this summer, alone with her current companion, overlooking the lights of Ottery St. Catchpole at sunset. But that time felt so long ago and so carefree compared to what she'd gone through since and what they were about to embark on.

"When do you reckon she does this?" Ron's deep whisper filled her left ear as he peered over her shoulder; she involuntarily shivered.

It was all perfectly innocent, of course, and she was quite certain that he had no idea how the things he did affected her. Heaven knows she had no idea why they affected her so, either. Ron would just go on doing his normal, everyday Ron things-- it was simply natural to him to stand close, to lean, to touch, to invade someone else's personal space without a qualm--especially someone he trusted and was close to. And it made sense --no doubt living in a small house with a big family of warm, affectionate people made someone grow to think nothing of it.

Of course, that was as long as he wasn't thinking too hard over it -- or if that closeness might be taken to actually mean something. Then everything -- his actions, his words, even his intentions-- froze up and got stilted and awkward. Oh, yes, after five years, she knew that very well.

But right now, they had stationed themselves at the far side of the lab building, on watch for Dr. Voyde at the postal shack. They were hoping to catch her receiving the daily food shipment for the Yeti, thinking they might be able to find some way to record or report her actions and words if she immediately dispatched a good amount of the food to be burned, as Hermione had overheard the handlers discussing.

Hermione knew she should have been thinking about a plan, a way to entrap Voyde and Carl and the rest and help Dr. Null. But what was she thinking about instead? Ron. Ron standing right behind her, cluelessly breathing in her ear, on guard to protect her from any immediate danger after all he'd heard and seen at the Ministry; Ron with his hand planted on the wall above her head to steady himself as he leaned over and around her to look farther toward the lab building for Voyde. Even though he wasn't touching her, she felt warmly surrounded by him -- and she was finding that just a bit overwhelming, considering they had work to do.

She let the lovely feeling continue just a moment longer, and then she took the only course possible if she wanted to actually think. She 'accidentally' elbowed him gently in the ribs, causing him to jump, recoil with a surprised "ow", and pull away from her a bit.

"Sorry," she mumbled. She knew she was going to have to get this under control if they were to accomplish what they needed to, especially in a short amount of time. But then, he'd only been here less than a day and after several weeks away from him, she was out of practice in fending off those strong, errant, natural feelings he brought about in her. Besides, she told herself for what felt like the millionth time in her life, they were only friends.

"Ugh," Ron said in exasperation. "This is taking forever. Are you sure she's coming?"

"She should be," Hermione said, frowning. "The shipment has to be accepted by someone, unless they've changed the shipment times to earlier or something. You'd probably know better than I do on that -- do they have a lot of room for adjustments on shipping times-- for the basic, everyday shipments?"

Ron looked thoughtful. "It's kind of weird to be all the way in Scotland thinking about shipping and talking with you about it. Anyway, I didn't work nights, when they do those, but Leo was always complaining about people wanting to add shipments when there was no more time for additions. Probably changes would be the same-- unless those people happen to know somebody big enough to force them."

"Hold on--" Hermione said suddenly, seeing movement behind the commons.

She and Ron both peered into the twilight, trying to make out who was causing it.

"Oh, never mind," Hermione said with some disappointment. "It's just Tod. That's where he lives, behind the kitchens."
'
"Seems like a very 'house-elf' place to live," Ron agreed, ignoring Hermione's scowl. "I'm glad we got that all straightened out earlier --about me being in your cabin..." He paused in panic, looking rather like someone who had blundered into the deep end of a lake without thinking, then suddenly remembered they couldn't swim. "I mean, not that I'd mind--it's just...I'm glad that he understood we were just mates because I wouldn't want him to think we were in your cabin doing...well, you know--because we're not..."

Just to irritate him and because she was most interested in what he might say, Hermione pushed on. "Why? That would bother you?"

Ron's ears were already crimson. "Well, of course! I wouldn't want him to get the same idea that stupid Skeeter woman tried to pin on you--that you were some kind of scarlet woman or something..."

"He's a house-elf. It's not like he's going to head back to the newspapers with it..." Hermione said, looking up over her shoulder at him. Still too close, she thought when she found herself fascinated by how tall he was getting and how strong his jaw line was becoming; she purposely tried to lean away a bit.

Ron acted amazed that she would even say such a thing. "Yes, but...Do you think blokes like to have anyone think their, uh, friends-- are like that? Especially girls they're, erm, really close friends with?"

"I did get the impression that some blokes do indeed like girls like that, for a number of reasons."

"Some do--but not for--well, they like them for certain things, but not for a long time, not for a real--"

She was quite satisfied that Ron had been reduced to blushing and spluttering. That should get him back in part for all the harassment about 'Bilius'.

"Gah--Hermione, how can you make what I'm saying sound so mad when I'm so sure about what I want to say in the first place?"

Hermione had to stifle her giggle and turn away quickly before he caught the satisfied smirk on her face. "Sorry," she choked out.

Ron and Hermione watched as Tulip wandered out from inside to join Tod.

"So that's his partner, then, is it?" Ron asked.

"Yes, that's Tulip," Hermione answered. "But he wasn't lying when he said Dr. Voyde says Tulip's his mate as well."

Tulip playfully walked her fingers up Tod's back as he bent over to pull a random weed from the small flower garden near the door to their apartment. When she got close enough, she pulled his ear, then jumped back, laughing. Tod stood straight, holding a plucked flower in one hand behind his back and something small and roundish in the other; Hermione guessed it might have been a snail. Tulip couldn't see either item, but Ron and Hermione could. Tod said something in his native tongue that made Tulip gasp in mock fear.

"So..." Ron said, still watching with interest, "what's the difference? They're playing and they're friends and they're--"

They watched as Tulip shrank back, but when Tod pulled out his hand to offer the flower, she burst out in a huge, only partly-toothed elven smile and threw her arms around his neck.

"What does it look like?" Why didn't Ron ever get it about relationships? His own or anyone else's? Not only that, she noticed he was slipping into nervous, stilted, and awkward mode, but Hermione didn't care. "Haven't ever worked much with creatures or animals, have you? Weren't listening in Hagrid's class very well, were you?" She turned around completely and stood her ground, even though she realized she was much closer to him than she'd intended. "Tulip is indeed his partner and his mate, and no, not mates like you and Harry are."

Tod reached up to stick the flower into the hair on top of Tulip's head and, gazing into one another's huge round eyes, the two walked inside hand in hand.

Ron swallowed, still watching, now in shock. "You mean--?"

"Yes, earlier today you were very proud of yourself for convincing him that we were indeed in my cabin doing -- how did you put it? Ah yes, doing 'well, you know'!"

Ron face went several shades redder. "But we're not! We can't have him thinking that! I'd better straighten this out." He took a step away from the building to check for anyone else nearby. When he saw no one, he made as if to head in the direction of the elves' apartment.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione reached out and grabbed him by the elbow, pushing him back into place behind the corner. "For one, it doesn't look like he wants to be interrupted right now. For another, there was a reason that I wanted to let him believe that. Otherwise, he's going to be making arrangements for another cabin for you. He's a house-elf--that's his job--and you know how they are about their jobs. If we ask him not to say anything about you being here, he'll be as silent as a lamb because it's not his job to tell people what he knows about others. But he'll never be able to help himself from preparing another cabin for you if he thinks it's his job--and that would definitely arouse suspicions. Same with the double food trays."

Ron was frowning, looking as if he was arguing with himself over what to do next. Finally he sighed in frustration. "You know, as wrong as it is, you're probably right. Damn! Sorry, Hermione, I didn't mean to--"

She could tell he truly did feel awful about making that implication (not to mention she found his intent to set things right incredibly sweet), but it did happen to be quite a convenient explanation. "I know. You probably did what was best, even if you didn't know it at the time--"

Still looking apologetic, Ron was obviously struggling with the words. "You know I wouldn't say anything like that and mean it-- about you, I mean."

"I know," she said. "It's okay--really. We're the only two that know--and him...Well-- and probably her, now, too."

Ron was horrified anew with that. "No! You think so? He'd tell her?--"

The sudden, loud clang of the habitat gate interrupted Ron's thoughts and words. Both of them swung their attention toward the far side of the camp. It was difficult to see, but if she focused, Hermione could tell it was definitely a man and a woman who were heading into the habitat. The man was far too wide and cumbersome to be Null -- it had to be Carl and Voyde.

"Don't think she'll be coming to accept that shipment right away," Ron whispered. "They're going where the Yeti live, right?"

"Right," Hermione said. "But at night--" As she turned to explain the way things worked at night in Trapperton, she heard nothing but footsteps running away. She turned completely around to follow the sound, spotting Ron as he stopped behind the commons building.

Frantically checking toward the center of the camp for fear that someone had seen Ron, Hermione could see no one except a lone handler with box in hand, far away and heading for the still-open habitat gate. That must have been why Carl and Voyde had left it open behind them. Hermione ran up behind Ron as he checked the far side of the camp for other onlookers. She was worried that she quite clearly understood his intentions.

"Once that git's gone, we're in the clear," Ron said, staring hard at the handler now passing the gate. "What do you think he's got there?

"Hard to say from here, but it could be one of the food boxes," Hermione answered. "But listen, Ron, we can't go into the habitat at night. It's--"

Again, the sound of footsteps in the dirt stopped her warning. The place beside her was again empty, and she focused in the waning light just in time to see the white flicker of Ron's trainers disappearing through the habitat gate.