"Come back with me, Harry," Hermione insisted, heaving herself to an upright position. "To Arabella's. I'm making a cottage pie for dinner."
Harry wrinkled his nose.
"What?" she demanded, crossing her arms defensively. "My cooking is coming along quite nicely, thank you."
The corner of Harry's mouth lifted as he stood, dusting bits of dry grass off of his hands. "I'm sure you're great at it, Hermione. Like everything else. It's just… Arabella?" He scrunched his nose again, sniggering.
Hermione shrugged, a small smile curving her lips. "She insisted."
Harry rolled his eyes.
As they trudged down Wisteria Walk, Hermione and Harry discussed Ron's annoyingly ambiguous letters. Apparently, Harry's messages from Sirius hadn't been much better, mainly instructing Harry to be on good behaviour.
"Rich, coming from him," Harry said, shaking his head. Then he smirked at her. "I guess you living with Mrs. Figg explains how Hedwig was able to return so quickly with your letters."
Hermione grinned at him.
"By the way, Hermione," Harry said, kicking a loose pebble in the road, "your friend Nott found me after the end-of-year feast to give back the Map. Can you believe what he did after that?"
"Theo?" she asked, watching the pebble skitter down the road and into a storm drain. "What did he do?"
"He apologised. For his dad. At least, I'm fairly sure that's what he meant. Didn't seem to want to outright admit that his dad's a Death Eater. Can't blame a bloke for that, though."
Hermione smiled. "See? You just have to give them a chance."
"Yeah… maybe," Harry allowed with a wry twist of his lips.
As soon as they crossed the threshold, Arabella was waiting for them inside the sitting room, ready to give Harry as much of an explanation as she could. Harry sat rather stiffly in one of the mismatched armchairs to hear her out, while Mr. Tibbies wound around his ankles.
At Dumbeldore's request, Arabella had moved to Little Whinging not long after Harry himself arrived. She was to keep an eye on him, making sure he was reasonably cared for and in no obvious danger. She apologised profusely for the seemingly indifferent manner with which she had treated Harry over the years; she insisted that the Dursleys would never have allowed Harry over if they thought he enjoyed his visits. Begrudgingly, Harry nodded his agreement to that.
"But why should I have to go back to the Dursleys at all, now…" Harry muttered, looking sour. "D'you think he'd let me stay somewhere else, too? I mean, Hermione gets to…"
Hermione answered Harry's hopeful gaze with a small shrug.
"I'm sorry, dear," Arabella said, looking sympathetic. "In this instance, your guess is as good as mine. I'm sure Dumbledore has his reasons."
Hermione frowned. Dumbledore seemed to be keeping most of these "reasons" to himself.
The conversation became somewhat stilted after that. In the hope that staying busy would relieve some of the discomfort, Hermione asked Harry to help her prepare dinner in the kitchen. Harry visibly relaxed as the evening wore on, even helping himself to seconds of her cottage pie. He also seemed constantly surprised by Arabella's competent responses and overall warm demeanour towards him — she must have played her part of the batty old neighbour well.
Harry was back over before breakfast the next day. Despite his continuing anger at Dumbledore, he seemed largely cheered by the fact that he wasn't stuck by himself in the non-magical world any longer. Hermione's own spirits lifted at the prospect of having Harry around until it was time to go back to school.
"Won't the Dursleys wonder where you go all day?" Hermione asked, watching Harry fry up bacon and eggs on the hob in Arabella's kitchen.
Harry gave her a look. "No. As long as I'm out of the house, they couldn't care less. To be honest, they're probably disappointed when I show up again every night."
The next afternoon, Hermione and Harry were getting ready to walk to the market for the weekly shopping when another of Arabella's visitors dropped by. Hermione had seen him once before; he was a stocky, unshaven man with bloodshot eyes and a shabby coat. When they passed by him to let themselves out the front, Hermione could smell a mixture of liquor and stale tobacco wafting from his person. He nodded passively to Hermione, but gave a start when his eyes landed on Harry. Just before the door shut behind them, Hermione saw the man looking back over his shoulder with open confusion.
"Who was that?" Harry asked, regarding the man in a similar fashion.
Hermione shrugged. "No idea."
The store was only minutes from closing by the time Hermione collected the till receipt from the cashier. Harry, who had several string shopping bags swinging from his arms, followed Hermione out into the quickly fading evening light.
While they strolled down Magnolia Crescent, Harry hummed thoughtfully. "Hermione, remember when you asked me about vanishing cabinets a few months ago?"
She looked at him sharply. "Yes. What about them?"
"Well, after you told us about Malfoy, I was certain I'd heard about them somewhere before. I finally realised why they sounded so familiar, and I know for a fact there was one at Hogwarts."
Hermione stopped in her tracks. "You do? How can you be sure?"
"It was a few days before that deathday party for Nearly Headless Nick second year," Harry explained, also coming to a halt. "The whole reason I agreed to go to that party in the first place was because Nick helped me get out of trouble with Filch."
The shopping bags on Harry's arms clinked together as he gestured. "Oliver'd insisted on Quidditch practice in a right thunderstorm, and I tracked some mud in on my way back. Nick saw Filch drag me off to his office and convinced Peeves to smash something above it. I'm positive Filch said it was a vanishing cabinet. I even saw the thing — a great black and gold cabinet — although it was pretty banged up."
Hermione let out a slow breath. "Wow… that explains why Malfoy had to — will have to? — fix it."
"It also means it must still be at Hogwarts somewhere," Harry said. "Maybe if we find it, we can figure out what it is, exactly. How it works."
"Brilliant, Harry," Hermione said, throwing him an appraising look. They resumed walking, turning the corner into the alley that served as a shortcut between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. "Really brilliant. If we can't find it on our own, I think we might be able to ask—"
Hermione felt her breath catch, unable to finish her thought.
The skint glow cast by the stars above was abruptly snuffed out into complete darkness. Even the nearby street lamps had gone dark. A thick, heavy silence descended, suddenly accompanied by a penetrating, bone-deep chill. Next to her, Harry gasped softly, but the sound was quickly swallowed in the all-encompassing blackness.
She'd felt something like this before. The sensation was impossible to forget. In her memory, Hermione was immediately transported back to the lakeside on the night they'd met Sirius, watching in horror as a black mass descended upon them. But here? This didn't make any sense…
Shivering, Hermione turned to exchange wide-eyed stares with Harry, but found that she couldn't see him at all. She heard the shopping bags hit the ground at their feet with a thud and reached out for Harry, quickly realising that he was already fumbling at the pocket of his jeans. Bollocks. Thinking of her wand tucked safely into her dresser drawer at the house, Hermione cursed herself six ways to Sunday. How could she have been so stupid as to leave it behind? Thank Merlin that Harry wasn't lacking a healthy sense of self-preservation. No sooner had she felt Harry draw his wand than the silence was broken again.
"What're you doing?" came a terrified voice behind them.
Hermione spun around, straining her eyes in the darkness to no avail.
"Dudley!" Harry said urgently, "Be quiet! It's not—"
"Stop it!" Dudley yelled. "You're not allowed! Stop—"
There was a heavy thump and Harry grunted painfully, followed by the sound of wood clattering across the pavement.
"Dudley, you idiot!" Harry shouted. "I told you! I'm not—"
Harry cut off at the sound of something else shifting at the other end of the alleyway. It moved closer, drawing long, rattling breaths. Hermione's blood ran cold. She dropped to her knees, frantically trying to help Harry search for his wand. Heavy steps thundered past her.
"Dudley, stop!" she yelled wildly, her hands scrabbling across the ground continuing their mad search. "You're running towards it!"
Dudley's scream rent the night.
"HIDE YOUR FACE! KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT, DUDLEY!" Harry roared. "HOLD ON! My wand… where… LUMOS!" Harry yelled.
Several feet ahead, the tip of Harry's wand ignited, casting the horrific scene around them into relief. Dudley lay on the ground, curled up into a ball with his arms thrown over his face as the dementor crouched over him. Harry lunged for his wand. Before he had gone more than halfway to it, a second dementor swooped in, catching him mid-air. Harry flew bodily into the nearby alley fence with the dementor over top of him.
"No!" Hermione screamed and threw herself forward desperately, feeling the course gravel tear gashes into her knees and arms. Her fingers closed around the end of Harry's wand.
Heart pounding, Hermione struggled to stand. An overwhelming sense of despair threatened to crush her from the inside out. Time seemed to stretch as she watched the first dementor begin to turn Dudley over. Harry was struggling against the second dementor, thrashing uselessly as it wrapped its long, slimy fingers around his wrists.
Harry's wand felt unfamiliar in her hand, but friendly and biddable nonetheless. She pointed it towards the second dementor, trying to summon her courage against the visceral fear clouding her mind. She knew the incantation, so why wasn't she saying it?
Icy cold constricted her airway, and her breaths came raggedly. Hermione could only recall her failures. Her failure to help Harry protect Sirius against the dementors last time, and her failure to produce a Patronus even in a controlled practice session last year. Her failure to discover and prevent Voldemort's means for return. Her failure to save her parents from the effects of the magical world. Her failure to save Malfoy and Theo from certain harm because of her. Her failure to save Harry and Dudley, or even herself, right now.
"Something happy, Hermione," Harry choked out, throwing his head wildly to the side as the dementor began wrenching his wrists apart to uncover his face. "Please. Something happy… you can…" Harry's movements became frighteningly weak.
Trembling like mad, Hermione furiously wracked her memory. Her parents' faces floated by, and Harry's and Ron's. Theo's and Malfoy's. Malfoy… a one-time enemy who had kissed her to save her. Malfoy, who had held her while she cried. Malfoy, who had changed for her.
She fixed his face in her mind.
"Expecto Patronum!" she cried.
Something large and silvery burst from the tip of Harry's wand, streaking towards the dementors. It flew first towards the one over Harry, causing the dementor to drop Harry to the ground immediately and soar into the night. Hermione looked at Dudley next. His face was inches from the other dementor's, its hood thrown back to reveal a sickly face with no eyes, but a gaping, shapeless maw.
As if directed by thought, her Patronus soared quickly towards the other dementor, throwing it backwards as Dudley let out a terrified whimper. The dementor shot into the air, disappearing just as quickly as the first. As soon as they were gone, sight and sound returned and warmth flooded the air.
Harry groaned, rolling onto his side to retch noisily into the dirt. Dudley remained curled into a ball, moaning wordlessly with his arms thrown back over his face.
Exhausted, Hermione toppled back to sit on the pavement. She bled freely from numerous small cuts that littered her knees and forearms, and bits of gravel stuck to her clammy skin. Pushing her hair out of her face with one hand, she kept a tight fist on Harry's wand with the other, glancing around warily for anything else intent on trying to murder them tonight. Her Patronus floated back to settle at her side.
Now that she had a better look, Hermione was startled to realise the form her Patronus had taken. A lioness? If not for the seriousness of the situation, she might have laughed. A lioness for a Gryffindor. How poignant. If there were any doubts about which House she belonged in (And there were — though Hermione alone knew how close she'd come to being put in Ravenclaw), they were dispelled now.
The Patronus sat patiently next to her, tufted tail swishing back and forth as it awaited further instructions. Looking up to see its face — it was quite a bit taller sitting up than she was — the solemn lioness met her gaze, blinking slowly.
Harry's voice interrupted her study.
"Makes sense," he said, eyeing the lioness up and down. He stood tiredly in front of her. His hair stuck out every which way and his clothes were dirty and even more rumpled than usual. Harry offered a hand.
"Thanks," she said, clasping his open palm to pull herself to a standing position. "It does?" she couldn't help adding. "Make sense?"
"Well, yeah…" Harry said, grinning proudly. "Everyone knows you're clever, Hermione, but everyone who really knows you knows how strong and brave you are, too. You're always watching out for us, even when we're the ones landing ourselves in trouble in the first place."
Hermione felt herself flush with pleasure. With a growing pride, she looked back once at the lioness, her fierce protector, then let it vanish into the night.
"Thank you, Harry," she said quietly.
"Thanks for saving our lives," Harry replied seriously, taking back the wand she offered him and pocketing it. They started towards where Dudley lay still. "I knew you'd work out that spell soon enough. Just didn't think you'd actually need to use it so soon…"
Together, they heaved Dudley up off of the street. Dudley didn't seem to want to move on his own, though, and Harry had to take most of Dudley's weight around his shoulders. Hermione loaded the shopping bags on her arm from where they had fallen in Harry's haste to reach his wand. After a short debate, they decided to drop Dudley off at the Dursleys first, then go to Arabella's and let her know what had happened.
By the time they turned onto Privet Drive, Harry's breathing came in sharp, laboured pulls. Hermione tried to help on Dudley's other side, but Dudley and Harry were both significantly taller than herself. They had just started up the drive to Harry's house when a crack echoed in the distance. She traded looks with Harry.
"Something…" Harry gasped, "...something to do with us?"
Hermione looked around fearfully. "I don't know. Let's just get inside."
Harry made no reply, but pushed on, struggling profoundly to go the last few metres up the Dursley's garden path. Hermione darted forward to ring the bell, and a shadow appeared behind the glass in the front door.
The door cracked open to reveal a thin, angular woman with blonde hair. Hermione had seen Petunia Dursley once before at King's Cross.
"Who…" Petunia began, trailing off when her eyes travelled behind Hermione, where Harry was supporting a half-conscious Dudley. The door flew open wide.
"Diddy!" she shrieked. "Vernon! Come quick! He's ill!"
Hermione moved to stand to the side of the porch, allowing Harry to pull Dudley up to the doorway. She easily recognised the beefy man with thick moustaches that appeared in the hall behind Petunia.
"What's happened? What's wrong? Speak to me, son!" Vernon urged.
Petunia started pulling on Dudley's arms, trying to get him to move inside the house. Vernon was close behind her, knocking Harry brusquely out of the way and taking Dudley's weight onto himself to steer him over the threshold. The three Dursleys moved noisily down the hall towards where Hermione knew the kitchen would be.
Harry wiped his brow with the back of a hand and looked at Hermione. "To Mrs. Figg's?"
Before she had a chance to do more than nod, Vernon's voice burst deafeningly down the hallway. "BOY! IN HERE! NOW!"
Harry sighed, looking resigned. "Go on, Hermione. I'll meet you there as soon as I can. If I can."
Her brows drew together. "Harry... I think we should stay together for now."
"Really, Hermione," Harry said with a grimace. "Go back to Mrs. Figg's. You don't want to be in the middle of this."
Hermione shook her head vigorously. "No. I'm staying with you. Plus, I don't even have my wand. What if the dementors return?"
Harry didn't have an answer for that. Tight-lipped and pale, he nodded and gestured her inside the house.
The Dursley's kitchen reminded her forcefully of a hospital room. Every surface gleamed and the faint scent of cleaning solution lingered in the air. Dudley sat in a chair by the table, his parents hovering mercilessly over him as they poked, prodded, and questioned. When Vernon looked around at their entrance, he did a double-take.
"Who're you?" he shot roughly, glaring between Hermione and Harry with narrowed eyes, lingering briefly on the dried blood caking her knees and arms.
Hermione cleared her throat. "A friend of Harry's."
Vernon's eyes narrowed further. "Friend," he repeated slowly, as if unsure what the word meant in connection to Harry. "Why are you here?" he asked gruffly.
"I was with Harry and Dudley tonight when they were attacked by dementors."
Petunia gasped. Vernon looked at her sharply.
"A whatsit?" he grunted.
"A dementor," Harry supplied, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall. "And there were two of them."
Petunia scoffed. "You expect us to believe that those — things — came all the way here from Azkaban just to—" she cut off, clapping a hand over her mouth and looking wide-eyed at Vernon. Harry watched her with his mouth hanging open.
Petunia was saved from explaining her knowledge of the wizard prison by a screech owl sweeping in through the kitchen window. It deposited a letter at Harry's feet, then departed back into the night at once. Vernon, purple-faced and fuming, immediately stomped over to slam the window shut.
"NO — MORE — OWLS!" he bellowed. Hermione flinched involuntarily.
Having ripped open the parchment already, Harry's eyes were moving swiftly across the letter's contents. His face began to colour a shade rivalling Vernon's.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, watching Harry with concern. Wordlessly, he handed over the letter.
Hermione scanned it quickly, disbelief and outrage building steadily within her. The Ministry thought Harry had cast the Patronus Charm? He had to attend a disciplinary hearing? He had been expelled from Hogwarts? She re-read the last line, mouthing the words silently to herself.
Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.
Stunned, Hermione met Harry's panicked gaze.
"Hermione, I need to go," he said, ignoring Vernon's attempts to question him further about what had happened to Dudley. "I have to get out of here now. Get word to Dumbledore—"
Hermione nodded. "I'll help you pack. We'll go to Arabella's. Maybe she has a way to communicate with him directly."
Vernon cleared his throat loudly. "Now wait a second, boy! You're going to tell me exactly what you did to my son—"
"No time," Harry cut him off curtly, turning on his heel to thunder down the hall towards the stairs. Without waiting for the Dursley's reactions, Hermione ran after him.
Darting around Harry's room, they threw things haphazardly into his trunk, uncaring as to what ended up where. Harry wrenched up a loose floorboard and threw in a few additional items, then slammed the lid shut. Hermione picked up his Firebolt one-handed; Arabella's shopping bags swung off of her other arm.
Trunk sorted, Harry opened his window and went to pick up Hedwig's cage.
"Wait for me at Mrs. Figg's house?" he murmured, stroking the pristine feathers on her head. She nipped his finger affectionately before swooping out through the window.
Harry looked around the room once more. "Okay," he breathed. "Let's go."
Hermione followed close behind Harry as they rushed for the stairs. His trunk hit every step on the way down with a solid-sounding thunk. At the bottom, they found Vernon blocking the front door.
"I demand an explanation at once!" he shouted, reaching for Harry. Harry dodged expertly.
"No time!" Harry yelled back. "The Ministry is coming! They think I've done magic—"
"What did I say about the M-word—!"
"—and I've got to talk to Dumbledore!"
Vernon sneered maliciously. "On the run from the law, are we? You're going to tell me right now—" He cut off, small eyes widening at something over Hermione's shoulder.
She turned to see Dudley leaning against the wall by the kitchen with Petunia hovering anxiously behind him. He raised a shaky finger to point directly at Hermione.
"Her." It came out as nothing more than a whisper.
"What's that, son? What did she do?" Vernon turned his intense scrutiny to Hermione.
"M— Magic," was Dudley's next whisper.
"Ah ha!" Vernon said, "You're one of those, are you? And you dare come into this house after attacking my son?"
She did her best not to quail under his furious gaze, instead glaring right back at him. Vernon looked back over at Dudley, who was shaking his head back and forth as vigorously as his weakened state allowed.
Dudley opened his mouth again. "Saved… me."
Harry's mouth fell open in astonishment for the second time tonight. Petunia began fawning over her son, hands fluttering over his forehead, while Vernon's mouth worked soundlessly, head swivelling to look back and forth between Hermione and Dudley.
Recovering himself, Harry took Vernon's discomposure as an opportunity to slide past his uncle to open the front door. Hermione brushed past Vernon to follow Harry out onto the porch.
Halfway down the drive, a weak voice called from the still-open doorway. "Where are you going?"
Dudley stood there, a hand resting on the doorframe for support and the light from the hall outlining him and his parents behind him. Harry glanced over his shoulder in consternation.
"Somewhere else," Harry said roughly. "Better that you don't know. That way you won't have to lie when the Ministry comes calling."
Dudley opened his mouth but soon closed it again, seeming to think better of whatever he had been about to say. Harry took a step forward, then hesitated, looking over his shoulder once more.
He cleared his throat. "Thanks… Big D."
Dudley nodded once. His eyes shifted to Hermione, briefly meeting her own. Hermione swore she saw the corner of Dudley's mouth lift just as she turned back to the road.
At the sight of Hermione and Harry coming through her front door covered in dirt and blood, Arabella flew into a panic. She rushed forward to meet them, demanding to know where they'd been and what had happened. Harry explained as concisely as he could.
"Mundungus!" Arabella shrieked. "Mundungus Fletcher, get out here!"
The droopy man that Hermione and Harry had passed on their way out that afternoon appeared from the kitchen.
"Wassup, Figgy?" he said dolefully, then caught sight of Harry. "Oh! You found 'im! Knew he'd be close with that great bird of his showin' up—"
Arabella squawked indignantly, snatching a shopping bag off of Hermione's arm and promptly tottering over to whack the man across the head. Judging by the resulting sound as it collided with his skull, the bag she'd chosen was full of canned cat food.
He threw his arms over his head, protesting loudly. "Blimey, you old bat! Ouch! Get off!"
"Dementors!" she cried. "Dementors on your watch! And the Ministry thinks Harry cast the Patronus. They're on their way to snap his wand!"
Mundungus cowered, looking uneasy.
"Go!" Arabella shrieked, thumping him again across the shoulders. "You — need — to — tell — Dumbledore! Go!" She punctuated each syllable with another whack.
Looking eager to be out of reach of the shopping bag, Mundungus turned on the spot and vanished with a resounding crack.
Seething, Arabella straightened her hairnet and exhaled sharply. Hermione traded shocked glances with Harry. Who knew the pleasant, docile elderly woman she'd come to know had been hiding such a fiery temper?
"Now," Arabella said, motioning for Hermione and Harry to leave Harry's things in the corner and follow her to the kitchen. "Dumbledore will get this straightened out. Best you two stay here with me until we receive further instructions."
Relieving Hermione of the rest of the shopping, Arabella ushered them into chairs at the table and turned to rummage through the fridge. She returned to set a large, rather stale-looking piece of chocolate cake in front of each of them.
"Eat up, now," she urged, offering a tremulous smile. "You'll be needing it all after an ordeal such as that. Dementors…" she shook her head in disbelief, scurrying back into the sitting room.
They ate in silence until Hedwig flew in from the conservatory to land on Harry's knee. He stroked her feathers absently, humming in thought.
"That bloke — Mundungus?" Harry said, a hint of question in his voice. "Sounds like he was supposed to be following me, right?"
Hermione reached down to scratch Crookshanks as he wended his way around her ankles. "I think so. Probably to prevent something like this from happening. Maybe Dumbledore expected Voldemort to try to get to you here."
Arabella bustled back into the kitchen then, followed closely by Dumbledore himself. Chair scraping loudly across the linoleum, Harry stood abruptly, sending a reproachful Hedwig fluttering to the back of his chair.
"What's going on?" Harry asked immediately. "Am I still expelled?"
Dumbledore held up a mollifying hand, looking sombre. "The Ministry has agreed to revise its prior decision until such time as your disciplinary hearing. If you and Miss Granger will consent, I should like to extract your memories of the event from this evening as evidence for the Wizengamot, whom you will both need to appear before on the twelfth of August."
Hermione nodded numbly. Dumbledore withdrew two small vials from his robes, then proceeded to ask each of them to recall the incident from beginning to end while he used his wand to syphon a silvery substance from their temples.
"So what now?" Harry asked quickly, attempting to catch Dumbledore's eye. Dumbledore seemed oddly reluctant to look at him directly. "Am I just supposed to go back to the Dursleys?"
Dumbledore hesitated, looking torn.
"I'm not going back," Harry added belatedly. His expression challenged Dumbledore to contradict him. "I don't belong there. Not anymore. I know you're moving against Voldemort, and I want to help."
Dumbledore sighed heavily, clasping his hands across the beard hanging down the front of his robes. His face appeared more lined than ever. "I'm afraid, Harry, that even should you be willing again, it may not be possible for you to go back to the Dursleys."
Despite Dumbledore's mournful tone, Harry looked as if Christmas had come early.
Dumbledore studied the ceiling, looking more uncertain than Hermione had ever seen him before. He turned to Arabella, who had been flitting around the kitchen whilst Dumbledore worked, busily preparing tea for everyone.
"My friend," he said to her wearily, "might I take advantage of your hospitality a while longer? There is something I need to discuss with Harry, and I'm afraid it will not be quick."