A/N: There's a casually insensitive/ableist comment made in this chapter. I've left it since I think it's in character, but it's not a reflection of how I think or feel.

Hermione watched the way the breeze toyed with the trees, the letter clenched in her hand. She hadn't expected a letter from Viktor, or indeed a letter from anyone at all. The contents were vague enough to pass through any screening of the post, though Hermione wasn't sure if that was a tactical move on his part or a product of his poor English.

Violent and mysterious happenings were sprouting up all over Eastern Europe. Disappearances, murders, the ransacking of homes and shops… The populace feared a return of Grindelwald — or an heir to his debauchery — but it seemed Viktor suspected it to do with the rising Darkness in Britain rather than homegrown terrorism.

She put the letter on the windowsill. "Incendio!"

With a long exhale, she went to the Great Hall. Harry and Ron were whispering to each other, as they often did these days, but she pretended not to be bothered by it as she pulled out a chair and reached for toast and jam.

"Where's Tonks?" she asked in a selfish ploy to stop their whispering. The Aurors were always up at ridiculous hours; Tonks always beat them to breakfast.

Ron eyed Harry significantly and leaned over to Hermione, who had stopped preparing her breakfast with a sinking feeling. "She's off," he muttered. "McGonagall's ordered her to take a few days' leave. Hestia was killed yesterday."

"No." Hermione's hands fell to the table. "That's… that's awful. Poor Tonks."

Harry nodded sadly. "It's good that McGonagall's giving her time off, but I reckon it won't be long before we can't afford to do that anymore. We're just going to run out of people."

"Is it really that bad?" Hermione gasped hoarsely, nauseous.

Harry and Ron gave each other those looks again. Hermione gave up on solid breakfast and resolved herself to black tea instead.

When Hermione went to the lab next, she threw herself into Draco's arms before he could even say hello. "Are you alright?" he demanded, his arms habitually coming around her back, holding her against his chest as he rubbed strong circles against her shoulders.

"Just hold me, please?"

He did.

Dumbledore's memories just didn't make sense. Hermione wasn't sure what she'd expected to find, but the disjointed collection of moments spanning the last hundred years was almost incomprehensible. She didn't dare write them down for security reasons, but she couldn't fathom what the common thread might be. Could it have simply been the ego of an old man who wanted his legacy preserved? But then why leave it to the three of them?

There were moments of his time as a teacher, mere seconds of interactions with young Tom Riddle or Professor Slughorn. When they'd spotted Harry's parents, they'd had to physically force Harry out of the pensieve. So far, there'd only been the one: a brief interaction when Professor McGonagall had brought James Potter to the headmaster upon discovering his possession of an Invisibility Cloak.

"It is a gross violation of school policy," McGonagall had reminded him, but Dumbledore had been unmoved. Curious.

"It's a family heirloom, isn't it, Mr Potter?"

"Yes, sir."

So he'd let him keep it, and then the memory had begun to dissolve and Harry had launched himself at the misty figure of his father, younger than his own son now, with the most heart-wrenching cry Hermione had ever heard from him. She and Ron held him back as the office faded around them, back into the real one where McGonagall was the one behind the desk and James Potter was long gone.

Hermione had come to dread their appointments with the pensieve, so it was with great reluctance that she went to the gargoyle on the second floor. Harry and Ron had yet to arrive, but the gargoyle gave her a nod and stood aside. She'd never dream of going up uninvited, but if the gargoyle was willing to let her in, the headmistress must have been as well.

She entered the office expecting to find it vacant, save for McGonagall, and stopped short when she found herself pinned by the gaze of half a dozen wizards. Headmistress McGonagall was leaning against her desk, and around her stood Remus Lupin, Arthur Weasley, Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, Harry, and Ron. Above them, Dumbledore's portrait slept.

"Oh — oh, God, I'm sorry — I'll just —" She turned to flee, but McGonagall stopped her.

"Actually, Miss Granger, if you'll just wait a moment."

Hermione resisted the urge to wring her hands as their conversation was concluded in whispers. She had never felt more self-conscious and she wished for nothing more than to turn and run out the door.

The headmistress stood from her perch, cleared her throat, and gestured for Hermione to approach. "Good afternoon, Miss Granger."

"H-hi." Hermione approached slowly under the curious gaze of the other wizards. "Sorry I interrupted. I should have waited outside —"

"Not at all, Miss Granger. You've merely saved us the trouble of fetching you."

Hermione swallowed. Harry and Ron were grinning at her, but she couldn't shake the feeling she was about to be interrogated.

"Enough theatrics," growled Moody. "We've not got all day for this."

Hermione was convinced that, had she been a lesser person, McGonagall would have rolled her eyes.

"Very well, Alastor. Miss Granger" — Hermione nearly winced; she felt like a first year all over again — "are you willing and able to join the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Am I — what?"

"Maybe we shouldn't let her in, Minerva," chuckled Moody. "The girl's deaf."

Hermione couldn't move. "Is this real?"

"Of course it's real." McGonagall sounded almost insulted. "If you wish to decline, of course, that is well within your rights —"

"No! No, I don't want to decline. I — I would very much like to join the Order. Please."

The other Order members were smiling at her, even Tonks, who found it difficult to smile these days.

"You'll swear, then," McGonagall went on gravely, "to give your life before surrendering to Voldemort?"

Hermione straightened her shoulders. "Yes, I swear it."

"And to protect your colleagues in this organisation to the best of your ability?"

"Yes."

"You will do what is asked of you, trust in your peers, and offer everything you may possess or know to the end of fighting the ideology of the Death Eaters?"

"Yes, I do."

The headmistress nodded. "Very well. Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Hermione."

Hermione blinked, her gaze passing across each wizard in the room, all of whom were looking at her with various degrees of impatience or excitement. "That's it? No — no oath, or Unbreakable Vow, or — or binding charm?"

"We do not entrap our members with magic. Our organisation is held together by trust and trust alone, and I think you'll find it to be far more powerful than any charm."

Harry and Ron grinned at her from across the room. "We wanted to tell you," gushed Ron, "but… well…"

"Yes, well, now that's done, perhaps we ought to get to the business at hand. Shall we?"

Hermione took her place beside Harry and Ron, still reeling.

"We can establish a small fleet — say, half a dozen — but much more than that will attract too much attention," Moody said quickly, both his eyes looking sharply at the lot of them. "Smuggling Potter out of Surrey two years ago will be like herding chickens compared to this."

McGonagall nodded. "I agree, Alastor. Do you have a list?"

Tonks raised her hand. "I'll do it."

"No." Moody shook his head while Tonks bristled. "You're a known feature of Hogwarts; your leaving would be conspicuous. Let me handle it."

Hermione looked between the three of them, helpless, until Ron leaned over and whispered, "We're smuggling Scrimgeour out of the country."

"What? But he's the Minister for Magic! With him gone, the country will lose hope — the government will fall —"

"The Ministry will fall, Hermione." She hadn't realised she'd been speaking so loudly; McGonagall was looking at her severely. The effect was emphasised by use of her first name. "It is not a matter of if, but when, and by pre-emptively evacuating the minister, we mitigate the bloodshed when Voldemort inevitably comes."

"But shouldn't we at least try?"

"With what Aurors, girl?" growled Moody. "So they can stand around the fountain and get slaughtered when a hundred Death Eaters ring the bell?"

"Our forces can be more effective elsewhere," Lupin interrupted with a kind smile. "Scrimgeour can govern from abroad and no-one in the country will know the difference. It sounds counterintuitive, but it really is for the best."

"I — I suppose…"

"Your concerns are justified, Hermione. We appreciate your voicing them."

Hermione didn't quite believe the headmistress meant it. In fact, she felt like she'd just made a nuisance of herself not five minutes into her membership. She'd have to ask Harry and Ron to catch her up outside before she made a fool of herself again. "Thank you, professor."

"In the Order, I am Minerva. But only in the Order, Hermione."

"I understand. Minerva."

"I'm still Tonks, though. Call me Nymphadora and I'll clock you 'round the head." Tonks' attempt at humour was tempered by her sad eyes.

Mr Weasley — Arthur, she told herself in her head — cleared his throat. "Shall we move on, then?"

"Yes." Minerva straightened her spectacles. "We are in woeful need of intelligence. What have we found since last week?"

"Voldemort is definitely out of the country," said Arthur. "There hasn't been a trace of him in Britain in weeks, just Death Eaters. Wherever he is, he's likely alone."

"And covering his tracks damn well," Moody (she'd never be able to call him Alastor) grunted.

"I know we're done talking about the Ministry," Tonks started, "but I really think he's got more people in there than we know. Or under Imperius, at the very least. Some people I still know in the proper Aurory have mentioned some suspicious stuff, but I've no idea how we'll get in there to do any proper reconnaissance."

"And with Voldemort overseas," mused Minerva, "now may be the ideal time. Or, indeed, our only chance before the Ministry falls…"

"I — I think I know where he might be."

Everyone turned to look at Hermione. Minerva peered at her over her spectacles. "Oh?"

Hermione straightened her back. "I got a letter from Viktor Krum, in Bulgaria. There's been a sudden increase in violence over there. Break-ins, murders, kidnappings. The same sort of thing we've been seeing here. Viktor thinks it might be Voldemort."

"When did you get this letter, Hermione?"

"A-about a week ago. I would have told you sooner, but…"

"And where is this letter now? May we read it?"

"Oh — I — I destroyed it."

Moody chuckled. "Good girl."

"I'll keep an ear out for anything in Eastern Europe," said Arthur. There were various nods around the group. "I'm afraid I must be going now, though."

"Of course, of course. I think we're done here."

"You said we won't meet until after start of term, Minerva?"

"Yes, I think that would be best. It'll be easier to mask your travel when the castle is full, and there will be a few select students traveling by Floo — yes, Alastor, we've vetted them. You helped, if I recall correctly."

"Excellent. Shall we say the second of September? In the evening, after dinner."

There were nods around the group as Hermione's heart sank. "I — I won't be available then. I've got to brew."

Minerva waved her hand. "I'm sure you two" — she nodded at Harry and Ron — "will have no trouble catching her up?"

"Not at all."

"Very well."

The group disbanded, Remus and Tonks staggering their exits from the office through the traditional entrance whilst Moody disappeared through the Floo in a spectacular eruption of green flames.

Arthur pulled something from his pocket as Minerva returned to her desk, sorting through parchments there.

"I believe this is yours, Harry."

Harry took the textbook gratefully. "Thanks, Arthur."

"Next time, maybe don't bury your textbooks in my back garden, eh?"

"Yeah, will do…" Harry gingerly tucked the book into his robes.

Goodbyes were said, and then they were four, plus the memory cabinet looming in the corner.

"Welcome to the Order, Hermione." Ron grinned.

She smiled weakly. "Thanks."

Harry was already rifling through the cabinet.

"Do take care, Mr Potter."

"Thanks, Minerva — er, headmistress."

Harry found a vial in the seemingly endless collection and tipped it into the pensieve. With great reluctance, Hermione made her way to the basin and leaned in.

She was exhausted, suddenly, and as she fell into the familiar mist of the past, she closed her eyes and imagined Draco's arms around her instead.

A/N: Thank you for all your comments! I've enjoyed your feedback and reactions, and I hope you've been enjoying the last several 'slice of life' chapters. Though I can promise things will not be this calm for long and we won't be spending the rest of this story at Hogwarts.

On a personal note, I'm currently losing my mind waiting to see if I got an offer for the master's program I applied to. I'm desperate for distraction, so if you have any prompts (drabble idea? missing scene? meta?), send them my way! My Tumblr is 16-pennies and I will love you forever.

See you in December!