Beta love to CarbConnoisseur.

"How are you, Hermione?" Charlus asked softly, guiding her into a seat near his desk.

She sighed. "I'm… adjusting."

He hummed. "Your Aunt Dorea shared some of what you told her. What are you planning?"

Hermione paused, weighing up her options. "I don't know," she replied finally. "It's… complicated. Are you part of the Order?"

"Yes," he nodded.

"What's Dumbledore doing?"

"Not much," Charlus admitted with a grimace. "Defence rather than offence. There's some attempt at fact-finding, but given how covert most of the Death Eaters are, that's challenging. We know they're hiding in plain sight, and we have a good idea of who some of them are, but we have no proof."

She hummed, not surprised by his answer, however frustrating it was. "What's he telling you?"

"I don't follow?" Charlus frowned.

"Is he sharing missions? The outcomes, the purpose, what each person is doing, giving you all the information he has?"

Charlus' frown deepened. "To the best of my knowledge…."

"Do you know who Voldemort is?" she asked bluntly.

"Does anyone?" Charlus murmured with a sigh.

"Dumbledore," she replied succinctly, shocking him. "His name is Tom Riddle. He was a Slytherin, forgive me I don't know when you went to school…"

"I started in 1932," Charlus replied, sounding slightly stunned.

"Ah, he was 1938, I believe."

Charlus frowned trying to place the name before he shook his head, "Perhaps your Aunt will know. She was a Slytherin."

Hermione hummed. "She seemed to recognise the name. He was, is, a half-blood orphan, descended from Slytherin. His mother was a Gaunt."

"A Gaunt!"

"Yes," she replied serenely, not reacting to his agitation.

"And Albus knows this?"

She snorted. "Of course he knows."

"Then why not tell us? How many people don't know that their pureblood movement is based on the word of a half-blood?"

Hermione shrugged. "Because he's Dumbledore," she replied bitterly. "Why bother giving you the facts when it might make your life easier?"

"Hermione?" he queried gently, reading the tension that had taken over her body.

"He is the reason I… looked like I did when I arrived," she muttered, wincing as Charlus blanched. "He sent us, Harry, Ron and I, on a mission. Told us we couldn't tell anyone, and we were… still naive at that point, surprisingly, so we didn't. We spent almost a year in a tent, starving and scared. We didn't have a clue what we were doing. We had nothing to go on but our instincts and luck. He… knew far far more than he ever told us. And in the end, he made it so his spy had to tell Harry he had to die. He'd known for years. We… couldn't see if we could find a way around it. We didn't have time. And so Voldemort murdered Harry, just as Dumbledore planned. I don't know what he thought would happen but Harry's acceptance of his word as Gospel allowed Voldemort to win."

"Mother of Morganna," Charlus whispered, trying to accept what she was telling him. "What was your mission?"

"Horcruxes," she sighed. "Our mission was Horcruxes."

"What?"

"Tom Riddle made… seven in my time. Right now I think he has less, four or five maybe."

"That's… that's obscene!"

"Yes," she shrugged. "But it's also reality."

"Where are they? What are they?"

"We need to tread carefully," she cautioned.

"I know. I… Merlin. Albus knows?"

"I don't know if he knows now," she admitted. "He did in my time, but we weren't sure if the diary tipped him off."

"The diary?" Charlus repeated, sounding so confused, Hermione almost apologised for even bringing the subject up.

"His fist Horcrux was made when the Chamber of Secrets was opened and he murdered Myrtle Warren," she sighed, running a hand over her face.

"That was him?" Charlus shouted. "Hagrid was expelled for that."

"I know."

"And the rest?"

"Ravenclaw's lost diadem. If he's already been by to ask for the Defence job, it's in Hogwarts. Salazar's locket, I have no idea where that is. It'll eventually be given to Kreacher in 1979. It's directly responsible for Regulus Black's death. Hufflepuff's cup was given to Bellatrix. It was in her vault in the 90s. And the Gaunt ring, it's in the Gaunt shack. It's particularly nasty though, so don't be searching for that one on your own. It cursed Dumbledore."

"Fatally?" Charlus muttered.

"It would have been fatal if he hadn't had his spy murder him. Without fucking telling anyone."

"What?"

"I know Professor Croaker mentioned Severus Snape. He was Dumbledore's spy. He put his life on the line repeatedly and Dumbeldore wouldn't even warn someone, anyone, that he had ordered Snape to kill him. He spent a year as Headmaster fending off actual Death Eaters masquerading as teachers with zero support before Voldemort murdered him because he thought it would bring him more power."

"Sweet Mother of Merlin," he breathed, looking at her in horror. "What do you want to do?"

"Keep that meddling arsehole as far away from me as possible. He is responsible for so many deaths."

Charlus hummed. "We'll… pull back slightly from the Order."

"Be careful," she warned. "Don't underestimate him. I don't like him, but there's no point in pretending he's not powerful. Just maybe… keep Alex and James away?"

Charlus sighed. "Easier said than done," he muttered. "We'll need more people."

"They had three teenagers before. I'll manage," she retorted.

"We'll manage. Don't think for one second that we're letting you do this alone, Hermione," Charlus growled.

"I don't… I don't want to drag you all into this."

He snorted. "Apparently we're dead either way. Perhaps this will give us a chance to live."

Her jaw dropped as she looked at him. "When you put it like that…" she trailed off helplessly.

"Exactly," he announced, seeming pleased with himself. "So, I expect to be invited next time you're having a chat with Professor Croaker."

"Yes, Uncle Charlus," she sighed, the honorific sticking despite the fact she'd only used it to tease Kingsley. She could hardly take it back now she'd seen the look on his face.

"Good. Now, how serious were you about the DMLE?"

She shrugged. "Partly. Some of the laws are horrific. I went looking after I watched someone dismiss their House elf for something that wasn't their fault. It was… awful. She turned into an alcoholic. I was… a little bit naive in my understanding, but some of the Hogwarts elves explained some things… after they let me make a fool of myself for a year."

He laughed. "I can't quite imagine you making a fool of yourself."

She grimaced. "Oh, I did. I made the mistake of assuming I was right rather than speaking to them. Anyway," she flapped her hand, "it led me down a rabbit hole of old laws that are truly terrifying. Because they've never been repealed, they could be enforced, even if we've grown out of the habit."

"Such as? Other than the delight you mentioned earlier."

"Under a law passed by Simeon Travers in 1315, women who are widowed are legally supposed to marry the nearest male relative. If none are available, the Head of House can demand a man take more than one wife to accommodate her."

"That's not law!"

"Oh, it is. Ancient, and no longer enforced, but very much still the law," she retorted.

"Sweet Circe," he muttered. "And there are more?"

"Hundreds," she replied bluntly.

"Right so… fixing that is probably in all our best interests," he murmured as if to himself, "But… quietly."

"So no one knows we're doing it?" she asked.

"Yes."

"So we weed them all out and present them all at once?"

He laughed. "Merlin, the Wizengamot will hate us. But yes. Probably. Or at least over the course of a few days together."

She hummed. "Will someone looking into the laws tip them off?"

Charlus sighed, pausing as he considered that. "Possibly, and let's face it, it's going to take months if not years to go through everything."

She hummed in response. "I know. I think we're probably just going to have to accept that other people are going to find out we're looking at them. Maybe we shouldn't start until after the noseless bastard is gone."

His eyebrows rose high on his face. "Your language is deplorable," he lamented.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't quite have time for etiquette lessons when they were trying to murder me for my blood status and choice of friends."

He looked at her pointedly. "How wonderful that you have time now then," he replied blandly. "I'll have a word with your Aunt and Euphemia."

Her jaw dropped. "Or you could not?"

He regarded her seriously. "Hermione, I was under the impression you wished to end this war?"

"And my language impacts that?" she asked incredulously.

"Perhaps. You are going to have to… play a part. While you are technically considered a half-blood, you have links to the Rosses through your great-grandmother, the Selwyn's through your grandmother, and of course, the Moody's are pureblooded going back many generations, with links to the Blacks via your paternal grandmother and the Gamp's via your paternal great-grandmother."

Hermione blinked. "I'm related to the Black's?"

Charlus snorted. "We're all related to the Black's, Hermione," he replied wryly.

"I don't remember seeing a Moody on the family tree at Grimmauld."

"You've been at Black Manse?" he asked sharply.

"Oh, yes. Headquarters were there for a while."

"Ah," he nodded. "Walburga must have been spinning in her grave," he grinned. "And as to why you didn't see it, I don't know. Lycoris Black married Roger Moody. You and Sirius share great-great-Grandparents."

Hermione frowned, attempting to work that out before she paused looking at him incredulously. "Phineas Nigellus was my great-great-grandfather?"

"Yes," he agreed, looking alarmed when she started to laugh so hard she was in tears. "Hermione?" he ventured, not sure what was funny.

"Oh! Oh, my gods! I stole his portrait and took it on the run with us! I blindfolded him! He was furious!" she laughed.

"Pardon?" Charlus asked faintly.

Forcibly calming herself down, Hermione grinned. "Sorry, but that was too funny."

"You took his portrait on the run with you?"

"Yes. He was at Grimmauld. It gave us a way to hear things that were happening at Hogwarts."

"Ah. I don't imagine he was hugely forthcoming."

"No," she agreed. "He really was rather cross about being shoved in my bag."

Charlus laughed. "Yes, I can imagine. In no recounting of the man have I heard it said he had a sense of humour."

"Not something I would ever accuse him of, no."

Charlus sighed, his eyes straying to the clock. "Right, I should probably get you home before your father comes looking for you. You'll need all your energy to keep up with your Godmother tomorrow."

She groaned. "I really hate shopping," she muttered, making him laugh.

"Now darling, we need something formal and some more day robes. Nine is not enough! Oh, and shoes, obviously, and some winter wear…"

"And some muggle clothing?" Hermione interjected, looking up at Dorea pleadingly.

Dorea sighed. "I am not the best judge of that," she admitted.

Hermione sighed, nodding. "Fair enough."

"Perhaps Alex will take you. He seems to know his way around well enough."

Hermione paused, kicking herself for not having considered it earlier. "I'll ask."

"Wonderful. Now Twilfit and Tattings first, I think. And then there's a tiny bespoke dressmaker I intended to take you to down Intern Alley. Dahlia is the best. And of course, Squires for shoes. After that, I've been instructed to take you to Gringotts to see if there's any jewellery in the vaults that suits. There will be, I'm sure."

Hermione blinked back at her. "Right," she mumbled.

"Well then, darling. Let's go."

Four hours later, Hermione groaned as she struggled shakily out of the cart at Gringotts. "You should be in charge of an army," she groused, looking at Dorea who was smiling smugly as she added the jewellery to her expanded pockets, leaving Hermione with the books she'd been unable to resist.

"You will find, darling," Dorea responded primly, "that such skills are needed as a wife and a mother. Especially as the mother of a boy."

Hermione shook her head laughing. "One more reason to never consider either then. I don't think I have it in me."

Dorea froze. "You don't plan to marry, Hermione?"

"I doubt it," Hermione responded softly. "Too much to explain… or lie about. And we all know my survival is far from guaranteed. Perhaps I'll just become a doting Aunt. Safer that way."

Dorea frowned, not quite able to put into words how much it pained her to hear Hermione dismiss her own chances of happiness. "But… perhaps one day…"

Hermione shook her head forcefully. "Not for me."

"What's not for you Kitten?" a voice sounded beside her, startling both women. Hermione's wand was in her hand and pressed into Alex's neck in seconds. "Woah, Kitten!"

She flushed. "Sorry," she mumbled. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to make sure you were surviving Mother. She can be a little intense when it comes to shopping."

Hermione laughed slightly. "Yes. I have enough clothing to last me several years."

"Nonsense!" Dorea dismissed. "This was merely the beginning."

"The beginning?" Hermione gasped, sounding horrified.

"Of course, darling. Now didn't you wish to ask Alex to accompany you for more muggle outfits?"

Hermione groaned. "Yes, Aunt Dorea," she muttered.

"Wonderful!" Dorea beamed, a small thrill shooting through her every time Hermione referred to her as she should. It tempered the flair of jealousy she felt that Charlus had, by some strange twist of fate, been first.

"Now, Kitten?"

"I…" Hermione sighed. "Why not?"

"Are you joining us, Mother?"

Dorea looked at them shrewdly. "Perhaps not this time. Bring Hermione home with you. I'll take all our purchases there. Perhaps Alastor will indulge our request that he join us for dinner. Books, dear?"

Handing them over, Hermione accepted Alex's arm. "If you're busy I can…"

"I'll stop you right there, Kitten. I'm never too busy for you," he smiled slightly. "I've wanted this for fifteen years."

"To take me shopping?" she teased.

Rolling his eyes he nudged her. "Nope, not rising to it. You're here, you're alive, and you've given me wonderful teasing material against Kings."

Shaking her head even as she smiled at him indulgently, "Poor Kings."

"Nonsense. I very much doubt you'll get one over on him again, so let me enjoy his humiliation."

Laughing, she followed him out of the Leaky and into muggle London, wondering how she'd ever repay him for making this easier than she'd ever believed it could be.

"You're worse than your mother!" she groaned, both of them laden down with bags of clothing as they slipped back through into Diagon Alley several hours later.

Alex laughed. "You wanted this Kitten!" he reminded her.

"Yes! One or two things! Merlin, we must have bought enough to clothe the entirety of Hogwarts!"

"Don't exaggerate!" he chided as a man stopped dead in front of them. Alex moved automatically, shoving her behind him and raising his wand.

The man stared at the spot Hermione had been standing as if he'd seen a ghost. Alex's eyebrows rose even as Hermione dodged around him, scowling at him for daring to treat her as weak.

"Sir?" she ventured when the man didn't move. "Sir!" she tried again.

The man blinked, seeming to shake himself. "I… I apologise," he rasped. "Sweet mother of Circe. I… Gods."

"Sir, are you alright?" Hermione asked, watching him with concern. Alex pulled her back as she went to lay a hand on the man's arm.

"Morganna have mercy," the man murmured, before attempting to collect himself. "Forgive me, Miss. You… you reminded me strongly of someone you cannot be."

Both Hermione and Alex blanched. "If you'll forgive me," Alex began softly. "Who did you think she was?"

A small sad smile appeared on the man's face. "I had a daughter once. Ailsa. She… died."

"Fuck," Alex hissed softly, startling the man. "I… Mr. McGonagall? My name is Alexander Potter." Robert McGonagall nodded warily, making Alex sigh. Hermione stood frozen at his side. "You've not spoken to your sister lately, have you?"

"Minnie?" Robert asked in confusion. "What has she got to do with anything?"

Alex groaned. "Gods, she told us she'd owl you. Will you… come with us for five minutes? Somewhere not in the middle of the street?"

Robert frowned. "Why?"

"Fuck. Kitten. Kitten, I need you not to look like that just yet… can you… no," he finished, sighing as Hermione kept her eyes trained on her grandfather's face. "No, you quite clearly can't."

"What in the name of Godric is going on?" Robert demanded.

"Sir. I promise we'll… I'll explain, but not here."

Robert harrumphed. "A Potter you said?"

"Yes. Charlus and Dorea are my parents."

"You called the lass Kitten," he whispered as something seemed to click.

"I did," Alex agreed.

"I… don't… it's not possible!"

"It really is but… perhaps not here," Alex insisted.

Robert ignored him. "Catriona?" he whispered with something akin to awe, reaching out a shaky hand towards his granddaughter's face. Something seemed to snap when he touched her and he hauled her forward into his arms, whispering words Alex couldn't hear into her hair. Surprising him, Hermione allowed it, clinging to the man as she sobbed.

It took several long minutes before either of them let the other go, Robert cradling his granddaughter's face in his hands, staring at her as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"Where have you been, mo sholas?" he asked softly.

Shaking her head, Hermione whispered, "Not here. I…" she shot a glance at Alex, finally seeming to come back to herself. "I know we were meant to…"

He shook his head sharply. "She'll understand Kitten. Go home. I'll come by tomorrow."

She nodded, biting her lip before she impulsively shot forward and hugged him. "Thank you."

"You're my baby sister," he replied gently. "You don't ever need to thank me."

"Where's home?" Robert asked hesitantly, not at all sure how to process this. Minerva had known, based on what the Potter boy had said. Known and hadn't mentioned it. Why?

"I've been staying with Alastor," she replied softly. "I don't know what wards he has up…"

"I still have floo access," Robert murmured. Alastor had known too, then. Who the fuck else had known? The Potters clearly. Fuck that hurt. Why had no one told him?

Hermione nodded. "Shall we then?"

He followed her to the floo, his mind whirling. Janet would murder him for not contacting her immediately, but he had too many questions he needed answered. And truth be told, he was terrified that if he left her now she'd vanish again.

Hermione exited the floo, her mind whirling. Why had she reacted so strongly to her Grandfather when her relationship with her father was still a work in progress? None of it made any sense and she hated things that didn't make sense. She couldn't deny it though, Robert had felt like home. There was a familiarity there that meant she knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were related, and that she had in some way missed him. It reminded her strongly of the inexplicable feeling she had when she first met Alex and she wished she had pushed her Aunt Minerva more for answers.

"Are you alright, mo sholas?" Robert's voice sounded behind her.

She smiled wanly. "I assume you know where you're going? I don't know if Alastor is home."

He nodded, accepting her dodge of his question as they walked towards the living room.

"Now then, why don't you tell me what's going on?"

"Why do you feel like family?" she blurted instead.

Robert paused before he laughed. "I am family, hen."

Hermione gave an impatient huff. "That's not what I mean… I… my relationship with Alastor is still a struggle. It's better but it's not…"

"The instant familiarity you felt with me?" he supplied, a knowing look on his face.

She shook her head, frustration plain on her face, "It doesn't make sense. Alex was the same."

"That ritual took?" Robert asked in surprise.

"Ritual?" Hermione repeated.

"When a new bairn to the Ross line is born, the family completes a ritual to welcome them. It gives… a greater affinity for the Ross magic. If things had gone as they should, you'd have grown up surrounded by Moody magic," he rolled his eyes when she smirked. "Aye, the names fitting alright," he agreed. "Crabbit bunch, the lot of them when they want to be, but it would have evened itself out. It was just their way of assuring that the Ross magic held in new bairns."

"You say that like magic is different within families."

He looked momentarily startled. "But it is, hen! Why do you think we keep those grimoires? Each family has a particular affinity for certain types of magic. Amongst other things, Moodys have an affinity with defensive magic. It's what makes your father such a good Auror. The Ross magic favours transfiguration. All of us are animagi. It comes more naturally than to others. The Blacks have the same trait along with an unfortunate affinity for the dark arts."

"No one mentioned it before," she murmured. "I… how does it work with people who marry into families?"

"If you live in the family seat, the magic of the other parent can become diluted. It's part of the reason the Rosses insist on the ritual for all their bairns. It keeps the magic strong."

"And that's why I can feel you?"

"Aye, hen. And young Alex. The boy insisted on his own ritual. We humoured him, of course, but I must admit I didn't think it would work. I assume you've met the other Potters?" She nodded. "Same feeling?"

"No," Hermione admitted. "Just Alex." She frowned as a thought occurred to her. "How persuasive is it"

"In what way, lass?"

"Well… say my magic has a link to Alex but… for whatever reason… only a relative of his is left… would it… influence my feelings there?"

Robert frowned. "I don't know," he admitted slowly. "How close a relative?"

"Ah… damn it. I…"

"Catriona?"

She grimaced at the name. "I need to speak to Professor Croaker, I think. I don't know what I'm allowed to tell you."

"Allowed to tell me, hen?" he asked, startled. "What in the name of Merlin are you mixed up in that you need Croaker?"

"Please! I… I'll contact him. Just…."

"Hermione?" she could have cried with relief at the sound of Alastor's voice.

"Who the hell is Hermione?" Robert asked bewildered as his son-in-law came into view.

"Oh, thank Merlin. Alex wasn't making a huge amount of sense."

"We need Croaker," Hermione replied, willing him not to question her.

"Already sent for," Alastor dismissed, moving to sit beside his daughter, wondering how this was going to play out as he wrapped an arm around her. It was a sign of how rattled she was that she not only allowed it but leaned into him slightly. "Robert," he nodded.

"Alastor," Robert greeted warily. "Is someone going to explain?"

"As soon as Croaker is here."

"Which would be now," an amused voice sounded from the doorway. "Mr. McGonagall, I presume?"

"You're not what I was expecting," Robert replied bluntly, eyeing the short man warily.

"I rarely am," Saul agreed. "Now. What seems to be the issue? We have an explanation, do we not?" Hermione looked at him pointedly and he sighed. "I am going to have to put a limit on it lest word gets out." he cautioned.

"Word gets out about what?" Robert asked with a frown that only deepened when Saul thrust a piece of parchment at him.

"Sign this and then we'll talk. Hermione, perhaps a list would be wise?"

Nodding, Hermione considered who would be best, "Perhaps some guidance in terms of family," she suggested, "And… how thorough does this need to be?"

Saul sighed. "It can be flexible," he admitted grudgingly, "but I'd like a general idea."

Hermione hummed. "We might need it as an option to get people onside… and keep them safe."

"Such as?"

"Regulus and Narcissa to convince them onside. James, with probably his parents and Sirius to keep them safe. They're impulsive. The Longbottom's might be another consideration."

"And the young Mr. Snape?" Saul asked.

"I don't know," she admitted. "He's… not the same here as he was and I… I don't know. Perhaps?"

"You think you can trust them all?"

"The ones I knew, yes," she answered without hesitation. "Obviously there are unknowns."

"Which makes me nervous," he replied pointedly.

"Me too," she admitted, "But we all knew that this was dangerous. It's always been dangerous. I'm not backing out now."

Alastor sighed. "Are you sure you won't allow me to send you off to an island somewhere?"

"Not a chance," she retorted.

"Will someone tell me what in the name of Cirice is going on!" Robert shouted, ending their conversation.

"Sign the contract and we will," Saul shot back. "All it'll do is ensure you can't pass on what we're about to say unless it's someone we've already approved."

Robert's eyes flew to Alastor's. "You've signed this?"

"Aye," Alastor sighed.

"Who else?"

"Charlus, Dorea, and Alex. Minerva. I think that's all."

"Is this why Minnie couldn't tell me you were alive?"

Hermione grimaced. "I thought she had, to be honest. We have a… modified history that she can use."

"Remind me to murder my sister," he muttered as he signed his name, betrayal and hurt threatening to overwhelm him. What in the name of Merlin had she been thinking? "Now then, who's going to start?"

There were several beats of silence before Alastor sighed, "I was called to St. Mungo's just over three months ago…."

Robert sat in stunned silence. "You mean to tell me you've been living several decades in the future?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded.

"And you think my Ailsa made it happen?"

"It's a working theory," Saul offered. "We don't have anything else.

"I see," he murmured, his mind filtering through the spells he knew were in that damn book before he paused.

"Is it possible?" Hermione asked slightly desperately.

"Aye," he nodded, "But… you'd need to have been in severe danger, which I suppose you were. But to come back…" he frowned, "It'd need to be life or death, mo sholas."

"And if it was?" she whispered, the faces of Bellatrix and her master swimming into her head, their wands raised as they cursed her trying to torture the answers from her as the bodies of her friends lay still around her.

Robert paled. "Was it?"

Slowly she nodded, wrapping her arms around her middle as she unconsciously leant further into her father, allowing him to tighten his hold. "They wanted information I wouldn't give them. They'd… I don't know who survived, but even if it was no one, I wasn't going to make it easy for them to get the answers they wanted. They didn't appreciate that."

"Morganna have mercy, Catriona…" Robert trailed off, forcing himself not to react to the detached way she spoke of her likely death. "What in the name of all the Gods have you gotten yourself mixed up in, mo sholas?"

"Mo sholas," she repeated, "What does it mean?"

"Don't ignore my question!" he warned. "It means my light. You were born not long after your great-grandfather died, your great-grandmother was not coping particularly well. You were a light when the word seemed so dark it was threatening to devour us."

"Oh," she whispered.

"Now, what in the name of Merlin are you involved in Catriona!"

"Hermione," she corrected gently. "I've been Hermione as long as I can remember." Robert grimaced.

"I imagine that will take some getting used to," he admitted. "Are you keeping your middle name?"

"Jean?" she frowned.

Robert rolled his eyes. "You were named Catriona Isobel Ailsa."

"Oh. I… I suppose I could."

"So that's not sorted then?" he probed.

Saul shook his head. "We were letting her adjust. Her paperwork has to be in her old name anyway to ensure the story holds. Once she'd been announced we were going to discuss the amalgamation of names which would help with the legitimacy."

"You were?" Hermione asked.

"Yes. You answer to Miss Moody, did you notice?"

Hermione flushed, shaking her head. "Not… not consciously."

Saul hummed. "So, Hermione Isobel Ailsa Moody?"

Hermione sighed but nodded. "Very well."

"Splendid," Saul grinned. "Now. I'd still like to see the ritual but your grandfather has at least removed any lingering doubts that it was likely your mother who sent you forward. Which leads us to our next steps."

"You're not seriously letting her be involved in this!" Robert thundered his eyes on his son-in-law who sighed, rubbing a hand agitatedly down his face.

"I'd like to see you attempt to stop her," he groused. "She's more stubborn than Isobel."

Robert blanched. "She can't be! My mother is the most infuriatingly stubborn woman I've ever met!"

"Oh, she is," Alastor warned. "And as she pointed out, she's of age and we can't stop her."

"We could invoke some of the old laws," Robert muttered ominously, eyeing his granddaughter. Her eyes narrowed.

"And what would those be?"

"As an unmarried witch, you are technically under the protection of your Head of House, who happens to be your father. He technically has the final say."

"Don't even think about it," Hermione growled, the feeling of her agitated magic beginning to fill the room.

Alastor held up his free hand placatingly, tightening the arm around her shoulders. "Despite wanting to, I wasn't actually going to. You'd murder me in my sleep."

"Wonderful, now that that's cleared up," Saul interrupted, "I hear you're attending the Blishwick ball."

"I wasn't given a choice," she muttered.

"No," Saul looked amused. "Try and make some sort of impression. We can't just call in Madam Malfoy, nor the current Heir Black. We need a reason for them to talk to us."

"His death and her being subjected to a madman living in her house and torturing her only son isn't enough?" Hermione asked scathingly.

Saul sighed. "Well I wouldn't suggest opening with that."

"Your being alive will be enough of an impression," Robert cut in. "Don't do anything special. Will you know anyone there?"

"James, Sirius, Alex."

"Kingsley will be there, Merlin help us. The Prewett twins. I heard you met them," Alastor added.

"Yes," she smiled. "Their nephews are very like them."

"We'll introduce you to some of the others, Augusta Longbottom is a good ally to have. The McKinnon's girl is around your age. Did Minerva introduce you to the Bones girl yet?"

Hermione shook her head. "She's spoken to her but I've not met her."

"We can arrange that then."

Robert watched them plot, wishing he could stop it. "We'll be there," he stated as if daring them to argue.

Alastor's eyebrows rose. "You haven't gone to one of these things in years."

"Things change," he replied shortly. "Now I expect to be kept informed. Don't think I don't know you're not telling me much of anything. Perhaps your grandmother will be more successful. The woman's relentless. When do you intend to meet her?"

"Oh, I… whenever you think is best?" Hermione hedged knowing that there wasn't another safe answer.

"Now then," Robert nodded. "Leave some of your wee parchments."

"How many are you considering Mr. McGonagall?" Saul checked, looking alarmed.

"Janet will need one, Malcolm and Elspeth, Callum and Sarah, Scott and Marie oh and Isobel."

"All of them?" Saul asked faintly.

"Aye," Robert's tone was challenging. "Do you think they're going to let anything happen to the lass now we've got her back?"

"Mr. McGonagall, the more people who know…."

"They're family and they need to know," he repeated stubbornly.

"Very well," Saul muttered before looking at Hermione. "I hope you know what you're doing."

A fleeting amused smile pulled at her lips. "Not in the slightest," she admitted. "But it's how it always worked. In my experience, regardless of how well we plan, it'll all go to hell in the end and we'll get by on nothing more than luck."

Saul groaned. "That's not how this is supposed to work!"

"Ah," Hermione shrugged. "I don't know what else to tell you. It's how it's always worked for me."

Sighing, he withdrew the parchment. "Make sure they're signed before you tell them anything," he warned.

Robert's smile was smug when he realised he'd gotten his way. Good. The family would ensure the lass was protected. And they damn well deserved to know what they were protecting her from. "I'll be back shortly."