February 23, 2003 (Hermione)
The high streets of London were largely empty these days, especially given the dour rainfall that had persisted for weeks now. Shop-goers were sparse, even at this midday hour, which wasn't entirely due to the weather. This area near downtown was known for its high crime rates, and the culprit was not back-alley thugs. The men you had to be wary of were the ones who marched down high street in broad daylight, unafraid of who saw them. Locals called them the Ferrymen – not because of any service they provided, but because they nonetheless decided who got safe passage through these streets and who didn't.
It mattered not who you were with or what your business was. If a Ferryman made you his target, your best bet was to comply and hope he was in a forgiving mood. They were easy enough to spot, patrolling the roads with their bright green robes and unafraid to brandish their thin sticks of power to the mere mortals they so loved to torment. If you tried to run, you were killed. If you tried to fight back, you were killed. And if you tried to fight back with magic, you were brought in for questioning, tortured for defying wizard registration laws, and then killed.
The only real defense against the Ferrymen was to make yourself small and insignificant, so that you were too pitiful of a target to be worth their time. But sometimes that mattered not, as the weak were just as much fun for them to torment as the strong when the right mood struck them. So it was on this rainy day, as a stooped older woman tottered down Oxford Street, all alone, clutching a lone paper bag to her chest. As she paused to wait for the traffic light to change, there was a loud crack of Apparition, and before her stood a scruffy wizard in green robes, leering down at her.
"State your business, filth," the Ferryman snarled at her.
"Just bringing home some groceries, sir," the older woman muttered, keeping her eyes downcast to avoid the gaze of the intimidating figure looming over her. The Ferryman snatched the paper bag from her and upturned it, sending a loaf of bread and various fruits and vegetables tumbling to the muddy ground.
"You got a family?" the man demanded. "Where?"
"In Croydon, sir," the woman mumbled, not daring to bend over to pick up her things. "Just my husband and I. Our son works abroad."
"Hmm," the Ferryman mused, moving next to the woman's purse and upturning it as well. A tube of lipstick, a set of keys, and other various knickknacks clattered to the ground amidst the now-ruined food. "No magicals in your family, then?"
"None, sir," the woman shook her head vehemently.
"And you ain't heard of no magicals bein' harbored in your neighborhood?" the Ferryman demanded. "There's rumors of Mudblood children secretly being taught witchcraft in Croydon."
"I would report it straight away, sir," the woman stammered. "My family is strictly against witchcraft."
"Damn right," the Ferryman agreed, shoving the woman's now-empty purse back to her. "Magic is reserved for us proper wizards to practice. Any of you lot tries tamperin' with it, you'd only get yerself hurt."
The woman nodded vigorously in agreement, still not daring to look up at the man. She could still feel his cruel gaze upon her, sizing her up, deciding if she was worth further harassment. His wand hung loosely in his grasp, perhaps itching for action, but ultimately the Ferryman must have deemed her to be a waste of time.
"Glory to the Dark Lord," he said in farewell, and with another crack, he was gone. The woman sighed in relief, bending over to collect her fallen belongings. Then, checking over her shoulder to be sure she was no longer being watched, Hermione Granger wordlessly removed the glamour from her face and pressed on down the streets.
She hadn't been stopped by a Ferryman in months, but it was no less terrifying each time. Her disguise as a frumpy older woman usually evaded notice, after multiple trial-and-error glamours to test what irked the patrols most. Men were too risky, as even the slightest physical movement could be misinterpreted as aggression, and woman under a certain age were at serious risk of abduction. The stories of young Muggle women being snatched up by wizards and returned days later with their bodies bruised and memories wiped were prevalent in these parts, and Hermione wanted no such target on her back.
Hermione encountered more pedestrians on her long walk through town, as she reached more impoverished neighborhoods that the Ferrymen rarely bothered to frequent. She continued to keep her head down and avoid notice, as wizards were not the only people young women had to fear, but her subtle Muggle repellent wards woven into her traveling cloak kept her unnoticed. She finally arrived at her destination, a dilapidated apartment building on a nondescript street in the bad part of town. She looked over her shoulder once more before turning off the main road and hurrying inside out of the rain.
The interior of the building was just as shabby and dilapidated as the outside. Hermione hurried down the main corridor towards a door at the end of the hall, when a voice stopped her. "Oi!" a man called after her. "Witch! We need to talk."
Hermione groaned and turned to face the speaker: Miles, the grumpy landlord of this dump, who sat eyeing her suspiciously from behind his desk in the reception area. He was used to the sensation of her wards by now, and despite being a Muggle, was privy to her methods of avoiding detection.
"Evening, Miles," she greeted coolly. "How're things?"
"Still falling behind," Miles grumbled. "Can't keep enough tenants to pay our rent. How're we s'posed to attract people to this bloody neighborhood, anyway?"
"Tough times for everyone, Miles," Hermione sighed impatiently. "Anything I can do for you?"
"Maybe a bloody tune-up would help," Miles mused aloud, looking around at the run-down walls and ceilings. "Bet a few waves of that little stick of yours would fix this place right up."
"It would look suspicious," Hermione sighed; this was not the first time they'd had this argument. "The whole neighborhood is falling apart, Miles. Surely you don't want to stick out, put a target on yourself?"
"That's a problem for people who can afford to stay here, and right now we can't," Miles grumbled. "I'm beginning to wonder if I shouldn't cut my losses and move on. If you and your little vagabonds are more trouble than you're worth."
"I think our arrangement is perfectly beneficial for both sides," Hermione countered crossly. She had successfully smuggled goods in and out of the city for Miles' illicit side business for months now, and the protective runes she had hidden in the walls of the building had repelled any questioning wizards from snooping too closely around the premises. She was permitted to stay in the basement rent-free, but from the look on Miles' face, it seemed he was no longer thrilled with this compromise.
"Our arrangement matters not if I can't pay the bills," Miles repeated, crossing his arms.
"Perhaps I can help you smuggle more contraband to pay the difference?" Hermione offered, though she privately hoped he would decline this offer, given today's prior encounter.
"Yes, perhaps," Miles nodded. "Or we can explore alternate means of compensation." His eyes wandered from her face down to her cloak, which Hermione pulled tighter around herself with annoyance.
"Honestly, Miles," she huffed indignantly, and turned to march back down the hallway. It was fairly common in these parts for women to sell their bodies for money or favors, but it was no less humiliating to be subjected to it herself. And to think that he would dare suggest it from a witch, no less! Hermione was against using magic upon Muggles as the cruel overlords of the city loved to do, but she wouldn't dare compromise herself to another person, magical or otherwise. She hoped Miles would not have the gall to suggest such a thing to her again.
Hermione slipped into the back office at the end of the hall and closed herself in. She approached a bookshelf at the back wall and placed her hand against a dusty tome on the top shelf. "Harry Potter," she whispered, and the password caused the runes carved into the shelves to flare green. The bookshelf swung forward to reveal a narrow staircase spiraling down into the earth, and Hermione quickly descended the steps, allowing the hidden passageway to reset itself behind her.
She could hear loud voices below as she descended past the rows of runes that suppressed all sound and movement from reaching the outside world. Hermione stepped onto the landing of the magically-expanded basement, which was actually a large gathering area with a dozen branching hallways and side rooms. The enchanted windows brought sunlight streaming into the space, despite the true weather outside, and all around her, children of various sizes and ages ran about, engaged in carefree play that clashed mightily with the reality of their situation.
At the sight of Hermione's arrival, however, the children grew excited and began to call for the others. "Miss Mione is home, Miss Mione is home!" a young girl yelled excitedly, running up to give Hermione a hug. She awkwardly accepted the girl's embrace and nodded politely to the other children as yet more streamed out of the side rooms to greet her. Soon no fewer than thirty children, aged anywhere from six to twelve, were smiling up at her as she held up a hand for quiet.
"I've brought food for you all," she announced, to the delighted cheers of the kids. She set aside the paper bag of ruined food (which was merely a ruse) and reached instead into her purse, past the hidden Extension Charm to the hidden compartment beyond. She withdrew several warm loaves of bread, a dozen pounds of frozen meat, and armfuls of fresh vegetables, handing them to the gathered children who dutifully brought them to the kitchen for storage. It was enough food to make stew to last them a few days, though Hermione would soon have to brave the streets of London once more and seek a new grocery store to steal food from.
"Any sweets for us today, Miss Mione?" asked a timid younger girl, eyes wide with reverence for her provider.
"Not today, Jenna dear," Hermione smiled sadly, patting the girl gently on the cheek. Sometimes she was able to chance slipping a few lollipops or gumballs into her bag during her shopping trips, but today she'd felt too exposed, forced to venture too deep into London in search of a store with enough wares to feed her ever-growing brood.
"I'll prepare supper in about an hour," Hermione announced to the room. "In the meantime, Jenna, will you gather A Group in the classroom for today's lessons?"
"Yes, ma'am!" Jenna said, and bounded off across the room to round up her fellow classmates. Hermione had divided the group roughly by age, with the youngest being the more critical group to teach quickly. She had to laugh at the idea of not starting her own magical education until age eleven – Muggle-borns these days had to learn much earlier how to survive in this harsh world.
Five minutes later, Hermione found herself at the head of a makeshift classroom, as a dozen pairs of eager eyes looked back at her. Most of these kids had just learned they were magical just months ago, and Hermione's heart broke at the thought of what that realization must have been like for them and their parents. When the Granger family had learned, it was a celebratory moment; nowadays it was akin to a death sentence. The parents of these kids were faced with an impossible choice: hide their child's abilities and hope they aren't discovered, or give them up to be raised by a witch like Hermione and hope that allows both the child and parent to survive.
Hermione thought back to the summer after her eleventh birthday, poring over the dozens of Hogwarts textbooks she'd be studying in the coming term. These kids would never know such luxury; Hogwarts was reserved for only pure- and half-bloods now. They would never be accepted in wizarding society, branding as "thieves" who stole their powers from more deserving bloodlines; nor would they be able to pass in the Muggle world without learning how to control their powers and keep them hidden. Without access to wands, their accidental magic would only grow more temperamental with age, until they were discovered and executed for their "crimes". It was Hermione's job to prevent that from happening.
"Okay class," Hermione said, clapping her hands together to call the kids to attention. "Now, I heard that there was a disagreement yesterday while I was gone. Can somebody tell me what happened?"
The class sat silently for a moment. Then, a young boy named Calum raised his hand. "Vince called me a scaredy-cat," he pouted.
"Well, you were being one!" the boy called Vince protested, and the class laughed at this.
"Just because I don't like rats, and Jenna saw one in the boys' bunks!" said Calum, looking upset by the laughter in the room. "It's not funny."
"Okay, everyone quiet now," Hermione ordered, and the room hushed once more. "Does anyone notice what's happening?" All eyes eventually turned to the ceiling, where the lone bulb overhead was pulsing, its light growing brighter and dimmer in irregular intervals.
"Is it magic?" asked Jenna, eyes wide with wonder.
"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "Calum is causing it to happen because he's upset. He can't control what's happening, but his emotions are affecting the magic in the room."
"Too bad he can't control it at night either, or he wouldn't need a stupid night-light to sleep!" Vince guffawed, and again the room exploded in laughter. Calum's face scrunched in in dismay, and Hermione was about to chastise the room once more, but she held her tongue. The lightbulb was pulsing brighter and more furiously now as the children's laughter reached a cresendo. Calum clapped his hands over his ears and let out a wail of despair.
Just then, the lightbulb exploded, plunging the room into darkness. The children's laughter turned into screams as the broken bulb rained down upon their heads. "Quiet!" Hermione barked into the darkness, drawing her wand. "Reparo." The broken bits of bulb returned to their rightful place, and the light returned soon after. The children stared at wonder at the wand in her hand, which she rarely allowed them to see – a rare display of controlled magic they'd never be able to harness themselves.
"Do you understand how dangerous it is to provoke the emotions of a young witch or wizard?" Hermione demanded, making her voice icy to underscore the importance of her message. "If this had happened in broad daylight, wizards would have arrived within seconds to take you all away and slaughter you. Everyone in this room is responsible for watching out for each other, because if one of you accidentally uses magic in public, all of you will be caught. Now, apologize to Calum."
"Sorry, Calum," Vince muttered forlornly, and the rest of the class uttered their own apologies to the sniffling boy, who nodded appreciatively at them.
"Now, there are a few techniques you can use to control your emotions if you're upset or angry," said Hermione, grabbing chalk and turning to the blackboard behind her. "Witches and wizards can create barriers within their minds to prevent intrusive thoughts from getting in, or more importantly, getting out." She began to write some rudimentary mental techniques they could use to control their emotions, and the children dutifully jotted down notes. The irony was not lost on Hermione that the one branch of magic they could learn without wands was Occlumency, which was so advanced even adult wizards had trouble with it, but it was their one hope of even reaching adulthood.
"So the next time anyone upsets or angers you," Hermione concluded, "try using these steps to center yourself and clear your mind. If you can master it in here, you stand a much better chance at surviving out there."
"Miss Mione," said a girl in the front row, "when do we get to go outside again?"
"As soon as you can master these techniques and avoid using accidental magic in public," Hermione said firmly.
"But I'm bored in here!" the girl complained, and several other kids around her nodded fervently in agreement. "Can't we go on a field trip soon? Please?"
Hermione sighed, taking in the eager faces all around her. She would normally never agree to allow the youngest children out in public, not when they were the most volatile and prone to accidents. Even the older children weren't immune to accidental bouts of magic. And that wasn't even to acknowledge the Ferrymen that might choose to harass a group of schoolkids anyway, magical or otherwise – the epidemic of abducted girls was unfortunately not limited to just teens and adults these days. The risks were simply too great.
"Maybe soon," she lied. "Once the weather improves and security loosens in London. Until then, this is the safest place for you all to be."
The students looked crestfallen at this, though a glimmer of hope still remained in their eyes that one day soon they'd be able to venture out on their own again. That, Hermione realized, was her one true job here: to give these children hope at a brighter future. She could teach them every subject known to man and it would mean nothing if they didn't believe they could lead happy and fulfilling lives.
Hermione adjourned the lesson soon after and set about to preparing food in the kitchen. She used mainly Muggle means to prepare the stew, using a miniature stove-top to heat up the ingredients in a large pot. The one exception was in chopping the vegetables, which she did with her wand, unwilling to leave the children unattended with physical knives. The kids gathered around and watched in wonder as she swiped downward with her wand and used Diffindo to chop the celery, carrots and onions into smaller chunks before adding them to the pot with a Levitating Charm (which she didn't need to use, but she loved the wonder on the children's faces whenever she did it anyway).
Soon after, she ladled the soup into three dozen eager bowls and watched as the kids huddled around the large tables in the main room and eagerly devoured the meal. It wasn't Hermione's best work, and the ingredients weren't the best she could find, but it was nourishment nonetheless. There was enough left over for the hungriest of souls to get a second scoop, but then that was it for the day. The unused ingredients went into the fridge to be used for the next two or three meals, then it was time to hunt for more ingredients all over again.
"Miss Mione?" a girl asked as the children dutifully assembled for clean-up. "Can you tell us the story of the Chosen One again?"
Many ears perked up at this. Hermione hadn't told the story in many months, and several new faces had arrived since then – but they all knew the story. Every Muggle-born witch and wizard had heard the tale at one point in their lives, exchanged between Muggles and magicals alike. Hermione didn't like telling the story much because of her own personal connection to it, but that only intensified the burning desire in these children's eyes – to hear it told once more, from someone who was really there.
"All right," Hermione sighed, and the children gathered in a semi-circle around her as she waved her wand to clear the tables to the side of the room. "Once upon a time, there was a boy named Harry Potter. He was just a baby, but when he was born, a prophecy foretold that he would have the power to defeat the Dark Lord." She dared not speak the name Voldemort aloud; although the Taboo had long been lifted on the name, the fright it brought to these small children was enough reason to avoid it altogether.
"The Dark Lord tried to kill Harry Potter as a baby, but he failed. Instead, Harry Potter grew up to be a strong wizard. He knew that someday the Dark Lord would rise again and take over the world, and it would be up to him to stop it. So when he became a man, he traveled far and wide to gain more power to defeat the Dark Lord once more. And one day, he will return to Britain and fulfill his prophecy to destroy the evil plaguing this world."
"My dad reckons Potter just ran away when the Dark Lord returned," said Calum skeptically. "Nobody's seen him since he left."
"I have," Hermione said simply, and a few gasps issued from some of the newer kids who hadn't known this about Miss Mione before. "I was his friend, and I helped him for part of his journey. He didn't run away. He is coming back."
"Why didn't you stay with him?" asked Jenna, and several others nodded their head vigorously, also curious to hear the answer.
"I was more needed here," Hermione said simply. "I was a Muggle-born witch myself, so I knew how much kids like you would suffer under the Dark Lord's reign. I had to come back to Britain to make sure you were taken care of."
"What's Potter doing out there, then?" demanded Vince. "Why can't he come back and help us too?"
"He's still training," Hermione said apprehensively. "He has a long journey ahead of him to become powerful enough to defeat the Dark Lord. But once he does, he will come back."
She could see the hope and wonder in the children's eyes at these words, but also the growing skepticism, mainly from the older children. They'd been hearing this story for years now, of the Chosen One who would return to save them all, but he hadn't been heard from in nearly five years. What if the rumors were wrong? What if he wasn't coming back? What if he'd already been discovered and killed, or worse, simply given up? Hermione had wondered all these same things herself, but she couldn't admit that to these kids. That wasn't her job.
"Bedtime," she announced instead, eliciting groans from the kids. "You don't worry about the finer details. When he comes back, you will know."
The following hour was spent managing late-night disputes and corralling the kids into their bunks. It was always this time of night when the tears came to some, when the younger kids began to miss their parents they may never see again, and it was Hermione's job to somehow placate them all. Once the last few stragglers had finally laid down their heads for the evening, Hermione retreated into her office. She placed a Muffling Charm on the door to prevent being overheard, then sat in front of the radio to make her nightly calls.
She'd long ago identified Muggle communication as the safest means of passing messages back and forth, as they were less likely to be monitored by Voldemort's regime. A few simple wards on the antenna atop the building's roof would suffice to evade magical notice. Hermione turned on the transmitter and picked up the speaker from the table. "This is Otter, transmitting from the London Enclave. No incidents to report, over."
She clicked off the speaker, waiting for a response. In theory, all across Britain there ought to be twelve other radios receiving her message, manned by other protectors of Muggle-born children. But lately the nightly reports had been more sparse, and the number of other enclaves checking in was dwindling. Over a half-dozen of them hadn't been heard from in weeks, if not months, and it was hard not to fear the worst. Hermione hadn't the time to visit them all and check in personally on their well-being – she had her own brood to worry about.
A moment later, the radio crackled to life. "Swan checking in from the Bristol Enclave," a dreamy voice spoke clearly. "All is well over here, over."
Luna, Hermione thought with a sigh of relief. She hadn't heard from Miss Lovegood in a few days, but it appeared her base of operations was still intact. "Good to hear, Swan," she said into the speaker. "Any word from the other enclaves?"
"We received a distress signal from the Manchester Enclave last night," said Luna. "We have attempted contact to no avail, over."
That was troubling news indeed. The London Enclave was rivaled in size only by the one in Manchester, operated by the Creevey brothers, who had reported signs of increased Death Eater activity in the city in recent weeks. Had they been discovered? Were the children there in danger? Hermione could only pray that wasn't the case, because if they were, there was nothing to be done about it now…
A new voice came in over the receiver to break up the uneasy silence. "Tweedle-Dee checking in from Cambridge," it said. "We brought in a couple new families this week. I think Tweedle-Dum is smitten with one of the Muggle single mothers."
"Am not!" protested George Weasley from the background, and Hermione stifled a laugh. The Weasley twins had been eager volunteers when Hermione began the Muggle-born underground program, despite being the only pure-blooded guardians in the operation. Their joke shop had been profitable enough during the war that they could afford to feed and house many people without suspicion, which made them invaluable assets.
"Shoot your shot, Tweedle-Dum," Hermione couldn't help but joke over the airwaves. "That bloodline of yours could use some diluting anyways."
"As if I would dare fraternize with someone like her," George drawled back, in an excellent imitation of Draco Malfoy. "A Newcastle United fan, I mean honestly…"
Hermione was about to make another witty retort when a more solemn voice interrupted the banter. "Dawnstar checking in from Liverpool," the voice said. "We lost half our students yesterday."
Hermione's stomach dropped at the sound of Hannah Abbott's voice. "What happened?" she asked.
"Took the kids out to the park, just for some fresh air," Hannah said shakily. "Some Ferrymen came around asking questions, and they tried to snatch one of our girls. She burned him with some kind of accidental fire spell, and he called for backup. I rounded up as many as I could to get back to base, but the rest…"
Hermione's heart ached at the news. Muggle-born witches and wizards were not treated kindly upon being captured. They were first interrogated about whom they stole their magic from, before either being killed or sold into slavery, and it was hard to say which was worse.
"You did what you could, Dawnstar," she said in as reassuring a tone as she could muster. "Keep fighting for the ones you saved. They need you right now."
"I don't know how much longer I can do this," Hannah choked. "It just never stops."
"It will," Hermione said. "We will win. We only lose when we give up."
There was radio silence at these words. None of the other enclaves checked in, nor did any of the prior check-ins dare disturb the silence. Hermione sat there listening for any sign of activity until the hour was up. She could feel Hannah's anguish, and knew it wasn't an isolated incident: everyone was losing hope. Even the Weasley twins, the normally unflappable duo, sounded worn down after years of hardship. Their silence now spoke volumes.
When the clock struck ten, Hermione switched the transponder to a different channel and picked up her speaker again. "This is Otter calling from London," she said. "Any Order members have a status report?"
Unlike the enclave channel, Hermione had no hope of anybody receiving her message. The official Order of the Phoenix channel had remained dormant for almost a year, as old members were either captured and imprisoned, killed, or had long given up the fight. The allure of a resistance movement was far lesser when the war seemed all but lost. Hermione fought to stay awake for the remainder of the allotted hour, though she didn't know why she bothered. The Order was dead and gone.
But to her surprise, at twenty minutes til eleven, the radio crackled to life again. "Wildcat checking in," an all-too familiar voice said. Hermione's heart leapt as she scrambled for the speaker.
"Ginny!" she blurted, forgetting to use code names for a brief moment of joy. "You're alive! What's been happening up north?"
"Nothing good," Ginny sighed heavily. "Family's still alive, somehow. They finally dropped the Potter investigation at the Ministry last month; I guess we oughtta thank Harry for cutting us out after the wedding, eh?"
Hermione almost laughed, but she remembered how tense things had been at the Burrow before she and Harry departed and it suddenly didn't seem that funny anymore. "Silver linings," she said instead. "What brought you back to the channel?"
"Dunno, honestly," Ginny said frankly. "Curiosity, mostly. Had to see if that crazy Granger gal was still out there fighting the good fight. Even if she's the only one left."
"There are others," Hermione defended. "The enclaves are the priority now. If we can protect the next generation—"
"Then what?" Ginny laughed. "Keep 'em alive to adulthood when they can go out into the world and see how impossible their lives will be?"
Hermione didn't respond to this right away. She had dealt with bitter rejection in the past as she tried to recruit helpers for her cause. Many had been like Ginny, not seeing what good it would do trying to "rescue" such doomed souls. Lord Voldemort always got his targets in the end.
To Hermione's surprise, Ginny chimed back in shortly after this remark. "Sorry," she apologized. "I didn't mean to snark. I think it's noble what you're doing, honest."
"Appreciate it," said Hermione. "Have you heard from any former Order members lately?"
"Yeah, I saw Longbottom the other day," Ginny replied. "He looks a little worse for wear, but he's still working at the Ministry last I heard. I used to worry about the scrapes and bruises he gets, but I reckon that means he's still got some fight left in him."
"Good to hear," said Hermione. Neville had been one of the last remaining rebels to quit the Order, emboldened by his final year at Hogwarts opposing the Carrows to no avail. His status in the wizarding world was safe due to his pure-blood lineage, of which numbers had been dangerously dwindling as of late, so no matter his past transgressions against the Dark Lord's agenda, he (like the Weasleys) would never be harmed so long as he toed the line closely enough.
"What's next on Miss General's war plans?" Ginny asked nonchalantly. "Tracking down more mystery trinkets?"
"Just focusing on the kids for now," Hermione sighed. At one point early in the war, she had enlisted the Order's help in tracking down Horcruxes with actually tipping anybody off to what they were. But no leads had turned up, at least none that didn't risk tipping off Voldemort to their true plans. She couldn't exactly waltz into Hogwarts or approach the snake Nagini without tripping about a hundred alarms.
"No marching orders for this lone soldier, then?" Ginny asked wryly.
"Not today, Wildcat," Hermione smiled sadly. "Just keep on keeping on."
There was a bit of static over the line as Ginny hesitated with her next words. "He's coming back, Hermione," she said, somewhat uncertainly. "Right?"
"Yes, Ginny, he's coming back," Hermione reassured her. There was a prolonged moment of silence on the other end.
"Wildcat out," Ginny said simply, and that was that. Hermione placed the speaker back on the table and shut off the transmitter, massaging her temple at that last exchange.
Children were not the only ones who needed reassurance in these dark times.
A/N: Drop a review if you're enjoying the story so far! Most of the story from here on out will be in the present-day narrative, but these flashback chapters will continue to be peppered throughout. Any feedback on the frequency of the time jumps would be welcome!
