Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: I'll apologize here and now for the likely horrible butchering of the French language bits contained herein. If you know a better way to translate what I was trying to say, please let me know!

Shades of Gray

Chapter Ten: A Taste of Things to Come

Breakfast in the Granger house was served at seven sharp, every day, summer or winter, holiday or not. Spelt bread toast with peanut butter, soft-boiled eggs, and a bowl of steel-rolled oat porridge with a handful of blueberries, all of it organic. (1) Every day. Hermione exchanged a woeful glance with Emilia before sitting at the table. I miss bacon already, she thought while helping herself to the food on offer, and buttered toast made from real bread. Even though she knew – on some level – that Emilia was, for all intents and purposes, invisible to anyone but her, it still surprised her that their parents only exchanged greetings with their 'official' daughter. Emilia helped herself to a slice of the toast and some berries. Hermione noticed that neither the stack of toast nor the bowl of berries reflected Emilia's subtractions from their numbers.

"Blasted modern engineers rely too heavily on computers, if you ask me," Corin Granger grumbled, setting the newspaper aside.

"What was that, dear?" Miranda looked up from her own morning reading.

Corin gestured to the biggest headline on the front page. Death Toll Reaches 25 in BrockdaleBridge Collapse. "That bridge down in Brockdale, you know the one – they kept talking about it for years before they managed to get around to building it. Ruddy thing's less than ten years old, and it up and collapsed last night."

Hermione's mom frowned at the headline. "Do they know what caused it yet?"

Corin shook his head, "Not a clue. Paper says they're still investigating, but it's because of those ruddy computers. How else can you explain a brand-new bridge just up and collapsing when the Tower Bridge was finished a hundred years ago and is still taking traffic?"

Miranda quickly scanned the article. "It could simply have been due to poor quality building supplies. You know how contractors love to skimp on the important things, just to pocket more money."

A chill crept down Hermione's neck. She had several theories on why a new bridge might collapse, but none of them included such mundane things as poor construction or inferior materials. "Has my paper arrived yet?" Hermione asked, suddenly not very hungry at all.

Her father nodded. "Yes, it's in the den."

"Thank you," Hermione replied, then forced herself to finish her meal. Her parents weren't too keen on letting her leave the table once she'd sat down.

With her breakfast resting like a wad of lead in her stomach, she eventually made her way to the den and quickly located her copy of The Daily Prophet. The headline was enough to confirm her earlier suspicions. Dark Mark Spotted in Brockdale – Muggle Deaths Numerous.

"I'oh'nee?"

"Not now, Emilia." Hermione tried to focus on the article.

"Come on, I'oh'nee. I'm bored. Who cares about some stupid bridge? Let's go outside. Maybe we'll see if Kenneth Parksweather is as cute as he was when we were ten."

"Kenny moved to Portsmouth two years ago, Em. Hush a bit and let me read, please?"

Emilia let out an explosive huff. "Why's it matter that the bridge collapsed? I mean, sure it's terrible that those people died, but it's not like you can do anything about it. So why bother reading about it? All it's going to do is make you tense and nervous."

"Em, please!" Hermione glared at her 'sister'. "This is important."

"But it isn't, not to us." Emilia sighed when she saw Hermione continue to ignore her in favor of reading the paper. Soon she began humming. About the same time that Hermione was about to flip to page four to finish the article, Emilia's hum turned into singing. "The heart may freeze or it can burn, the pain will ease if I can learn," her voice was clear and tone-perfect. "There is no future, there is no past, thank God this moment's not the last."

Sighing, Hermione put down the paper and joined Emilia, though her own voice was nowhere near as strong or as on-key; in fact, it could hardly be called singing. "There's only us, there's only this. Forget regret – or life is yours to miss." She was also much quieter than Emilia, painfully aware that this particular song would be a giant, flashing red sign that she'd taken of the bespelled necklace. "No other road, no other way, no day but today." (2)

The pair lapsed into silence for a moment before Hermione shook her head at Emilia. "Fine. You win. So, what are we doing today?"

Emilia grinned. "How about we just spend the day outside? See what there is to see. Explore a little. You might've lived here for the years I've been… away, but I don't think you've ventured out very much."

Hermione let out a little chuckle. "I suppose not," she agreed. "Want to take a picnic with us?"

For reasons which had never been sufficiently explained to Severus, the international portkey arrival point for travelers from France was located in the back room of a grotty little pub in a no-name village more than ninety miles from London. The only thing the dark and dusty arrival point had going for it was a private exit, so he and his soon-to-arrive charges wouldn't be required to traipse through the pub proper.

Right on time, Gabrielle and her friend arrived. Severus stepped forward and greeted them. ""Je présume que vous êtes Gabrielle Delacour?" (I presume you are Gabrielle Delacour?)

The taller of the two girls nodded. "Oui, c'est moi. Voici mon ami, Nicole Morel." She offered her hand. (Yes, I am. This is my friend, Nicole Morel.) "Vous êtes Severus Snape?" (You are Severus Snape?)

Not wanting to anger the veela girl – one veela-induced scar was more than enough – Severus shook her hand only long enough to be polite. He inclined his head towards the diminutive brunette. "Oui," he replied. (Yes.) "Si vous posez la main sur ce portoloin, nous pourrons y aller." He held out the umbrella Albus had given him. (If you would take hold of this portkey, we shall go.)

The girls traded nervous glances before simultaneously reaching out to grab the umbrella.

So far, this had been Neville's best summer holiday to date. Not only did a trip to Diagon Alley the day before provide him with a new wand, one suited to him in a way that his dad's wasn't, but his gran was actually treating him with a modicum of respect. In fact, she was allowing him to determine just what he wished to do with his time, for the first time ever. It was a heady feeling, to see pride in him in her eyes. Neville figured he could get used to seeing it. And so he worked hard on making sure that look didn't fade. For all that his gran hadn't woken him up, he made sure to be down at breakfast on time, and had taken care in his appearance, ensuring all buttons were done up properly and such.

"Have you any plans for the holiday other than the obvious?" Augusta Longbottom added one lump of sugar to her morning tea.

Neville shrugged. "I'm not too sure yet, but the first thing I'm going to do is get all my summer homework out of the way. I figure if I get it all done early, then I don't have to worry about it, and if something comes up that I need help on, I'll have more time to get it right before I have to hand it in." He helped himself to a couple of poached eggs and the bubble and squeak on offer.

"A sound plan," Augusta nodded decisively. "Algie is planning on making a trip to the Keukenhof Gardens sometime this summer – he indicated it would be nearer to the end of August, though, so if you plan on accompanying him, plan accordingly."

Keukenhof was considered to be one of the grandest botanical gardens in the world, and Neville would certainly like to go, but tulips – even magical ones – just weren't his cup of tea. Instead of saying so, he simply nodded. "I'll keep it in mind. Thank you."

Harry had just finished his breakfast and was collecting the dishes to get them cleaned up when he heard voices in the hallway. Snape must be back with… Well, whoever it was that he's 'babysitting' this summer. Wonder who it is? He turned off the sink tap and poked his head around the door frame. It only took him half a second to realize that yes, he was right about it being Snape, and that none of the three people in the hallway were speaking English. I didn't know he could speak other languages. The surprise had managed to divert his attention from the newcomers until the blonde girl nodded and said the only French word Harry knew – merci. Snape said something else and apparated away.

While the newcomers looked around the hallway, Harry took the time to give them a once-over. The taller of the two was pale, with white-blonde hair, and a pair of the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. She was also about his same height, maybe even a fraction taller. The other girl was much shorter, with curly dark hair, dark eyes, and a pretty impressive figure for being so short. The short one noticed him first and elbowed the blonde before saying something in French. The blonde laughed at whatever it was and replied in the same language.

Harry didn't really care what they were saying, and he didn't think he was being egotistical by assuming it was about him, but he likewise didn't want to appear rude. He stepped into the hallway and pasted a polite smile on his face. "Hi," he said, wondering if either of them had any familiarity at all with the only language he knew.

As it turned out, he need not have worried. The brunette smiled back at him. "Hi yourself," she said, her accent an odd amalgam of French and southeastern US. "I'm Nicole. This is Gabrielle. You can call us Nic and Gabby, if you like."

"I'm Harry," he replied, then instantly regretted it as Nicole translated it. Gabrielle smirked at him and rattled off a long string of French. Nicole replied to her, and that seemed to trigger a conversation. After nearly five minutes of standing there, Harry sighed and retreated back to the kitchen. He wasn't positive that either girl noticed.

He finished washing the dishes and then headed back to his room. He hadn't forgotten his promise to Hedwig – he had kept a couple of pieces of bacon for her. After feeding his owl, he returned to his desk and reread the letters he'd received. Harry decided to start with Ginny.

Ginny,

Thanks for writing, and so early in the summer, too. It's good to hear about Fred and George – I'll have to drop by the next time I make it to Diagon.

I agree that we're lucky to be alive. Even luckier that the worst injury was Hermione's. That whole string of events at the Ministry did make me realize something – I'm in way over my head on this. I'm hoping to get some extra tutoring this summer (and I'd appreciate it if you could keep that under your hat as I'd prefer not to let anyone know but those I tell myself).

I have to say I'm relieved that you're not looking to me to be your knight in shining armor. I've got enough to do to keep my own neck in one piece, and I'd much rather my friends be able to look after themselves, too. (I hope I haven't managed to earn one of your bat-bogey hexes for saying that, by the way.) You know what? I think I'll simply come right out and speak what's on my mind – there's value in plain speaking, and trying to figure out how to word it so you won't be upset is making my brain hurt. I'm really happy you're not trying to get me to date you. I don't mean that you're not pretty, but you're Ron's sister, and with him like a brother to me… On top of that, I never showed you the one photograph I've got of my mum from when she was a second year, have I? If not for the fact her eyes were green, the two of you could have been twins. So, yeah. The whole idea of dating you is kind of gross. But friendship? That I can do.

I'm a little perplexed at what you might want to talk to me about, though. The only thing I could come up with was the whole dating-thing you'd shot down before getting to that point in your letter – everything else seemed either stupid (why hesitate to talk Quidditch in a letter?) or silly. I don't know if I'll be allowed to go anywhere this summer – my aunt, uncle, and cousin are currently out of the country, so I'm stuck in a safe house. I hope I'll be let outside at least, but I'm not expecting it.

I'll write when I can,
Harry

He reread it twice before nodding to himself. I know she was one of the ones Lily said was under Dumbledore's thumb, but if he doesn't come to me about that 'extra tutoring' bit, then I'll consider trusting her with more. The sound of girlish giggling filtered through the wall he shared with their bedroom. He shook his head at it. This must be a little like how Hermione must feel, having to live with Lavender and Parvati. Harry selected a fresh piece of parchment and set to writing Neville, making sure to suggest times when they might be able to use the communicators from Lily.

While Harry was busy working on his letters, Gabrielle and Nicole were unpacking. Their room was slightly larger than Harry's, and similarly furnished (but with two of everything), with the colors tending toward greens and blues. Putting the last of her clothes in the armoire, Nicole flopped onto the bed furthest from the door. "This place isn't as bad as I'd thought it would be."

Gabrielle shrugged and joined Nicole. "But it's not really what I'd had in mind, either."

Nicole nodded. "True. It's like English wizards don't know how to use construction magics." Neither one realized that it wasn't simply a matter of magic, but of money. Both girls came from well-off families. Had they ever visited some of their classmates at home, they would have seen similar accommodations.

"Or even permanent transfigurations."

Shrugging, Nicole sat up. "Well, we don't know that for certain. Maybe it's just that they lack imagination."

Gabrielle waved her hand, "Whatever. It's livable, and I suppose that's all that really matters. But moving on… Harry isn't quite what I'd imagined, either."

Nicole snickered. "He's shorter, you mean."

Gabrielle nodded. "That and he… Well, you saw him! He just stood there, like he was never taught proper manners."

"Could be he's just shy."

The two shared a look before dissolving into giggles. "Shy?" Gabrielle shook her head. "I doubt it."

"Yeah, me too. I don't think anyone who entered the TriWizard competition could really be called 'shy'." Nicole stretched. Her stomach growled noisily. It was met by an answering growl from Gabrielle's. The pair shared another look and laughed.

Even though is was a brightly sunny day outside, the study was dark. A cold fire burned in the hearth, providing an odd pale yellow light. A single candle burned on the corner of a heavy desk, covered in parchment scrolls. He was working his way through the reports of his agents within the Ministry when a knock sounded on the door. "Enter," he called out, not looking up from the update from the Department of Magical Transportation.

"Milord, Rowle is here with an urgent message."

Suppressing a wince at Pettigrew's simpering tone, Voldemort glanced up. "Send him in."

Pettigrew disappeared almost as though he'd apparated away and a moment later a tall, swarthy blonde man with a face like a hatchet entered. He made a cursory bow. "Milord."

"Thorfinn. What news?" Voldemort gave the man his full attention. Rowle wouldn't be there if it wasn't urgent.

"Milord, a petition is being circulated for a no-confidence vote on Fudge. When I left, it already had half again as many signatures as was needed to present it to the Wizengamot."

Voldemort hissed through his teeth. "You are certain?"

Rowle nodded. "Yes, milord."

Frowning, Voldemort closed his eyes and considered. This is sooner than I had planned. We don't have quite enough supporters in the Wizengamot to ensure a loyalist placed as Minister. He opened his eyes. "Who are the top three choices for interim Minister?"

"Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour are the only ones being considered at this time, milord."

Voldemort scowled. Neither of the pair would be conducive to his plans. "When will it be put to vote?"

"Ten o'clock tomorrow morning, milord."

Nowhere near enough time to introduce a third candidate. He nodded levelly at Rowle. "Thank you, Thorfinn. You are dismissed." He waited until Rowle had gone before shouting for Pettigrew.

"Yes, milord?"

"Send Bellatrix in."

"Right away, milord."

It was nearly five minutes before Bellatrix appeared. She entered and sank immediately to one knee, but didn't bow her head. "You called for me, my lord?"

Voldemort got to his feet and strode over to her. He held out a hand and she clasped it in her own. "Yes, my dear. We've a pair of attacks to plan for tonight."

Bellatrix gracefully rose to her feet. Voldemort indicated for her to take a seat as he resumed his own. "May I ask on whom, my lord?"

"Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour."

Bellatrix smiled. "Worthy opponents."

"Indeed."

"It seems that simultaneous attacks would work best, my lord. Three. One for each of them, and a diversion elsewhere."

Voldemort nodded. "That was my thought as well. Assassinations are always best if the attacks are small. Therefore, you will go after Scrimgeour. Pick no more than two or three others to accompany you. I will take Selwynn and attack the estimable Madam Bones personally."

"And for the diversion, my lord?"

He smiled. "Azkaban."

A/N2: 1. 'Spelt bread' is bread made from a specific type of grain that's a close-cousin to wheat (it's often referred to as 'spelt wheat'). It's far coarser than typical wheat bread and (the one time I was talked into trying it), it was bitter and just plain gross. I would rather eat a sweat-sock than spelt bread.

2. The song that Hermione and Emilia sing is 'No Day but Today' from Rent. I don't own anything to do with it, either – though I do have the DVD.

Thanks to Sandrine Lupin for the edit (07/21/2012) to the French bits.