Chapter 5: Shadows of Purpose

Hermione lay motionless in her bed, as if the very act of moving might disrupt the delicate web of thoughts clinging to her mind. The early light peeked through her window, spilling across her bed in soft rays, but she found herself unable to summon the strength to rise. Her head felt heavy, weighed down by an endless stream of questions that refused to settle. The events of the previous night had woven themselves into her thoughts, tightening their hold on her with each passing second.

The walk back to her room with Harry had been marked by an intense, unspoken silence. She had stayed quiet, too lost in thought to speak, and Harry seemed equally subdued, casting her sidelong glances as if grappling with his own hidden turmoil. Had Luna's song stirred something within him, too? Did he feel that same inexplicable sense of destiny, that sense of being tethered to someone just out of reach?

Once alone in her room, Hermione had tried to find comfort in the familiar rationality that had always guided her. But her mind betrayed her, cycling back to the haunting words of Luna's song. Two souls, separated by time, destined to reunite. The song was just folklore, a melody from some ancient tale—or so she kept telling herself. But a small, stubborn part of her couldn't shake the feeling that the song had been meant for her. Why was she here, in this strange and dangerous time? Why did she feel this pull, this undeniable connection, to Harry as if their lives were intertwined?

Hermione prided herself on being logical, grounded, yet nothing about her current situation fit into any realm of reason. She'd never acted impulsively in her life, and yet she could hardly explain what had come over her that night. Why had she spoken an incantation without understanding its meaning? And why, when the ancient stone appeared, had she felt compelled to touch it, to leave her world behind without a moment's hesitation? Her actions had defied everything she knew about herself, as though some force had guided her here, to this very time.

As she lay there, her mind drifted back to the prophecy woven into Luna's song: Two souls, destined to conquer evil. The notion was absurd. Why would two people be separated by centuries, only to be united for some greater purpose? And what could she, a mere Hogwarts student, possibly contribute to this war when the Order already had allies as powerful as Dumbledore?

But then she thought of Harry. How was it that he—a boy of only seventeen—was destined to defeat Voldemort? She had seen his courage, his unwavering resolve, his strength, but there were others who were equally powerful. What set him apart from all the others? What was it that Harry possessed, something Voldemort lacked, that would make him the key to ending this war?

A chill passed through her as she recalled her studies of the Second Wizarding War. Dumbledore wouldn't survive. The wise, compassionate leader, who had guided so many, would fall, betrayed by someone he trusted. And Harry…he would be left to carry on the fight, to lead the Order in Dumbledore's stead, to bear the weight of a destiny that no one should have to face alone.

Abruptly, Hermione sat up, her heart racing. Is that why I was sent here? Was she here to change the course of events, to prevent Dumbledore's death, to help Harry in the battles that lay ahead? She held knowledge, secrets of the future that no one else possessed. But did the Order know of the prophecy? Did they understand the terrible weight that rested on Harry's shoulders?

The questions pressed down on her, insistent, unyielding. She felt herself drawn to the only person who could give her answers, the one man who understood the threads of fate and prophecy better than anyone—Dumbledore. She rose quickly, dressing with hands that trembled as if sensing the urgency of her purpose. There was no room left for hesitation. Whatever her fate in this time, she would not turn from it.

Straightening her robes, she took a deep, steadying breath. Her path was uncertain, shrouded in mystery and doubt, but she knew this much: she would find the answers, and she would do everything in her power to change the future for the better. With one final look at her room, Hermione stepped out, ready to confront the truth that awaited her.

When Hermione arrived downstairs to the kitchens, she found everyone seated, chatting quietly over breakfast. Mad-Eye Moody sat at the head of the table, his magical eye swivelling to take in everyone in the room. Kingsley, an Auror, was there too, his calm presence grounding amid the morning bustle. Across the table, she spotted Harry, Sirius, Remus, and Ron, all dressed as if they were about to head out on some mission.

The men glanced up as she entered, each standing respectfully.

"Hermione, dear! Good morning!" Mrs. Weasley greeted her warmly. "I was just about to come wake you."

"Good morning, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione replied, offering a quick nod to everyone before sitting down, her mind already spinning with questions.

Before she could ask about Dumbledore, Sirius leaned toward her, his expression serious. "Hermione, you'll be coming with us today. We're heading out to gather new recruits, and to visit the homes of Muggle-borns who haven't yet received their Hogwarts letters. We need to reach them before the Death Eaters do," he explained. His voice held a note of urgency. "That's how they're identifying new Muggle-borns, as you might know."

Hermione blinked, caught off guard. They'd never included her in missions before; she wasn't even an official member of the Order. Why now?

Sirius, sensing her hesitation, softened his tone. "I'm sorry about the short notice, Hermione. We wanted Madam Pomfrey to come along, but she's tied up with other responsibilities. Since we'll be on the road for nearly a month, we could use someone with healing knowledge...just in case," he added, a shadow of concern crossing his face.

Hermione felt the weight of his words sink in. A month? On the road, in the thick of it? She hadn't expected this. But at the same time, how could she turn them down?

Kingsley nodded thoughtfully. "We'll also need your help in explaining to the families of these Muggle-borns the unfortunate circumstances their child have." He said. "It could also be an opportunity to work out how we might arrange for your safe passage to France."

Mrs. Weasley sighed, a touch of worry in her expression. "It's not exactly proper, Hermione, a young lady traveling with only men, sharing close quarters. You don't have to go if you're not comfortable," she assured her, laying a hand gently on Hermione's shoulder.

Seeing her chance to be useful, Hermione nodded. "I'd like to help, Mrs. Weasley. If I'm going to be here for a while, I might as well make myself useful."

Mrs. Weasley smiled, her worry softening into pride. "I wouldn't expect anything less, dear. I trust these men to take good care of you." She glanced sharply at the group, eyebrows raised.

They all nodded solemnly. "Of course," Sirius and Remus agreed in unison, with Harry and Ron nodding earnestly beside them.

"Shame we can't come along to keep an eye out for her," George piped up, shaking his head.

"Not even a fly would dare bother Hermione with us around," Fred added with a wink—only to receive a sharp whack from Mrs. Weasley's rolled-up newspaper.

"Enough, you two!" Mrs. Weasley scolded, but her expression was warm.

When breakfast ended, Mrs. Weasley led Hermione upstairs to help her pack. Madam Pomfrey had left a collection of healing ointments, potions, and basic medical supplies that Hermione might need. It felt surreal as she placed each item into her bag, realizing that this wasn't just some short errand. She was about to embark on a real mission, a thought both thrilling and daunting.

Once ready, she rejoined the others near the door, finding Ron in the middle of an embarrassed farewell as Mrs. Weasley fussed over him, pressing kisses to his cheeks while his ears burned red.

Hermione glanced around, noticing the absence of brooms. "Are we Apparating?" she asked, a little puzzled.

Sirius nodded, his eyes crinkling slightly as he offered her his arm. "For now, yes. Care to hold on?" Hermione hesitated only a moment, then placed her hand on his arm, realizing that Muggle-borns of this era wouldn't know how to Apparate yet.

"Hold tight," Sirius murmured with a grin.

The familiar, unpleasant sensation of Apparition enveloped her as they were sucked through the tightening tube, and a moment later, she found herself standing on a windswept cliff, the salty air biting at her cheeks. Around her, the others had already begun pitching their tents, casting incantations to secure them against the elements. Two tents stood in the small clearing—one larger than the other.

Harry was setting up the smaller one, walking around it with his wand out, murmuring protective spells under his breath.

Sirius pointed to the smaller tent, giving her a reassuring smile. "That one's yours, Hermione."

"Thank you," she replied, a little relieved.

She glanced over at the men's tent. It didn't seem much bigger than her own. Were they planning to take turns sleeping? But as she stepped inside her tent, all thoughts of sleeping arrangements fled. She was greeted with a space far more luxurious than she'd expected—a cozy bedroom, a tiny living room, a small kitchen, and even a bathroom. The charm of magic never ceased to amaze her.

Smiling in awe, Hermione set her bag down and began arranging her things, feeling an unexpected surge of excitement. She was here, part of something bigger than herself, and as daunting as it was, she felt ready to face whatever lay ahead.

The night was quiet on the cliffside, with only the sound of waves crashing in the distance and a soft breeze stirring the trees. Harry and Ron were taking the first watch, the cliff bathed in silver from the half-moon hanging overhead. Hermione, restless and unable to sleep, stepped quietly out of her tent and approached them. Ron gave her a quick nod, his face shadowed in the low light, and then wandered off a bit to give them space.

Harry turned as she approached, a surprised smile crossing his face. "Couldn't sleep?"

Hermione shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself. "Too much on my mind, I suppose."

Harry nodded, looking out over the darkened landscape. After a few beats of silence, he spoke softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You know, I'm not even sure what I'm doing here. I'm supposed to… avenge my parents, help bring down You-Know-Who. But—" He trailed off, his voice growing thick, a vulnerability shining through his usual composure. "What if I'm not strong enough? What if… I'm just not… enough?"

Hermione studied him for a moment, her heart twisting at the sight of the weight he carried. This was a different Harry than the one she'd read about—a boy, still so young, yet with responsibilities few could imagine. She hesitated, feeling a strange compulsion to reassure him, and then, before she could second-guess herself, she spoke.

"Harry… you're a great wizard. I know you might not feel that way sometimes, but… I've seen it. I've seen you do incredible things." Her words came out softer than she intended, but there was conviction there.

He looked at her, searching her face as if her words might hold the truth he needed. "You think so?" he murmured, his doubt plain in his eyes.

"Yes," Hermione answered, her voice steady. "You have this… strength in you that I've rarely seen. You're brave, and you have this determination that people will follow. And more than that… you care. You don't just want revenge, Harry. You want justice. And that… that's what makes you different."

For a long moment, they held each other's gaze. She could see the vulnerability he kept hidden beneath his bravado, and he saw in her a kindness and belief that he hadn't expected.

"Thank you, Hermione," he whispered finally, his voice rough with unspoken emotion. "I don't know why… but that actually means a lot."

Hermione felt a blush creep up her cheeks, surprised by how much his gratitude affected her. "Anytime, Harry. I might not know you well yet, but I believe in you. You're not alone in this, okay?"

He gave a small, hesitant smile, nodding. "Okay."

They stood in silence again, but this time, a new understanding hung between them—a tentative bond, woven from shared purpose and trust, forming in the moonlight on the edge of the cliff.

The mission had been intense from the start. Traveling under constant vigilance, Hermione found herself surrounded by men whose very presence was a reminder of the grim purpose they all served. Each day was a new town or village, often hidden off the beaten paths. On their third day, they arrived in a quiet, run-down wizarding village in Northern England. Here, they were trying to persuade the townspeople to support the Order rather than giving in to the growing whispers of Voldemort's strength.

Hermione watched in fascination as Sirius, Remus, and Kingsley each spoke to small clusters of witches and wizards in the dimly lit back room of an old inn. The atmosphere was tense; families and neighbours who once trusted one another now looked around suspiciously, fearful that their words might be overheard by sympathizers to the Dark Lord. Remus spoke softly but with conviction, reminding them that they needed to come together if there was to be any hope of resisting.

"It's about protecting our children," he said, his voice firm but earnest. "We all know what's at stake. The Ministry may be compromised, but the Order fights for all of us. Stand with us, and we'll do everything we can to protect you."

Sirius, charismatic as ever, chimed in. "Look," he began, eyes scanning the room, "I know what it feels like to doubt. To feel like the world is spiralling out of control and there's no one left to trust. You look around, and suddenly friends, neighbours—everyone seems like they might turn on you at any moment."

The crowd nodded, expressions tightening. Sirius held them, waiting a moment to let the silence settle. He softened his tone, "But that's how they win, isn't it? They want us divided, afraid. That way, we're easy to pick off. But we're stronger than that, all of us together." His eyes swept over the crowd, full of earnestness. "We're not asking you to put yourselves at risk recklessly. We're asking you to stand up in the ways that you can, big or small. And I promise you, the Order is here for you. We'll protect each other, watch each other's backs."

Several people nodded hesitantly, the resolve in their faces slowly hardening. Even those who had seemed unsure now looked to each other with a sense of unity and quiet determination. Sirius, sensing their budding confidence, leaned forward with a glimmer in his eyes, "Remember, there's a reason they're so scared of us working together. That's because deep down, they know—no matter how many curses or threats they throw at us, they can't take away our spirit. We're still here. We're still fighting."

In the corner of the room, Harry and Ron watched in silent admiration, concealed beneath a thin glamour charm. Harry, who couldn't risk being recognized yet, appeared older with streaks of gray in his hair, and Ron's usual freckled face was disguised under a different set of features. Harry kept his head low, but Hermione could see his eyes glinting with pride as he watched Sirius ignite hope in these frightened villagers.

Afterward, as the small group dispersed, murmuring in newfound solidarity, Harry leaned over to Ron, "He's really something, isn't he?"

Ron nodded, his gaze steady. "Yeah… makes you feel like we can actually do this."

The following afternoon, Hermione accompanied Kingsley to the modest, weather-worn home of a young Muggle-born witch. A nervous woman opened the door, clutching her daughter's hand tightly. The girl, no more than seven, peered up at them with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," Kingsley greeted with a kind but solemn smile. "I know it must feel strange to see us here. But we're here to protect you and your family." They explained the extraordinary things that the little girl was able to do. And what she is...a witch, and the danger it imposes on her, and all of them. "Right now, things are… dangerous for Muggle-born witches and wizards, and we need to take steps to ensure that you're safe."

The woman's face paled, and she glanced down at her daughter, her eyes wide with worry. "But… she's just a child. She doesn't mean any harm. Why would anyone come after her?"

Hermione stepped forward gently, placing a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder. "Your daughter has a gift," she began softly, "and it's a beautiful one. But in this time, it's misunderstood, even feared. People—on both sides of the magical world—are threatened by it. The Muggles, people who don't understand magic, see it as something dangerous and… they respond with violence."

The woman's face twisted with fear and anger, her hand tightening around her daughter's. Kingsley continued, his deep voice warm yet firm, "Witches like her are in danger with Muggles, yes, but also in the wizarding world. There are those who would exploit her, or worse. Some pure-blood wizards, those who think they're better simply because of their family line, hunt young witches and wizards like her."

"They use them as servants," Hermione added, a steely resolve in her voice. "And sometimes worse. They don't see her for what she is—a gifted, wonderful girl. They see her as something to be controlled, or worse, eliminated."

The woman's eyes shimmered with tears, and she pulled her daughter closer. Hermione met the girl's gaze, her voice softening. "You should never have to fear your own magic, or what you are. The Order is here to help. We can help you go into hiding, protect your family until it's safe again."

After a long silence, the mother nodded, her shoulders heavy with the weight of the decision. "We'll do it," she whispered. "We'll go."

Hermione and Kingsley left the small house with a bittersweet sense of relief, knowing they'd managed to keep one more child safe. They were just about to Apparate when Hermione's stomach twisted, her instincts prickling. Before she could say a word, they were surrounded by dark-robed figures.

"Well, what do we have here?" a familiar sneer pierced the air as the Death Eaters closed in. Their leader, a tall man with cruel eyes, took an appraising look at Kingsley, a smirk stretching across his face. "Shacklebolt. The Ministry's finest Auror, lurking in Muggle neighbourhoods?"

Kingsley met the man's gaze evenly, his face unreadable. "I'm here on Ministry business," he said in a steady tone. "I don't answer to you."

The man let out a cold laugh. "The Ministry is under new management, Auror. And we're the ones you answer to now. No one moves without our say-so." He looked over to Hermione with interest. "And who's this? A young lady travelling with you, I see. How interesting…"

Kingsley's face darkened. "Leave her out of this. She's just a Ministry assistant."

The Death Eater raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twisting into a mocking grin. "A Ministry assistant? We'll let the lieutenant decide what to make of her. Both of you will come with us for… questioning."

Kingsley gave Hermione a reassuring glance, but she could see the worry in his eyes. They had no choice, not with half a dozen Death Eaters surrounding them. Reluctantly, they allowed themselves to be taken, wands confiscated and hands bound.

Moments later, they were forced to Apparate alongside the Death Eaters, landing in what appeared to be a dark, abandoned manor house. They were escorted down a narrow hallway lined with eerie, flickering torches, until they stopped in front of a heavy wooden door.

One of the Death Eaters knocked, and a familiar voice echoed from within. "Enter."

The door swung open, and Hermione's heart sank as they were shoved inside. Behind the desk, his cold gray eyes gleaming with malicious delight, sat Draco Malfoy. His face lit up in surprise, quickly replaced by an arrogant smirk as he realized who had been brought before him.

"Well, well," Draco drawled, leaning back in his chair with an air of satisfaction. "Kingsley Shacklebolt. And… Ms. McLaggen? This is a pleasant surprise."

Hermione felt a chill run through her veins. She was trapped, face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, in the heart of Death Eater territory, with only Kingsley beside her. The situation was dire—and the glint in Draco's eyes told her he was more than prepared to make the most of it.

Author's Note:

Hi everyone! I realized I haven't properly greeted you all yet—welcome! This story kind of took hold of me, and I couldn't shake off the urge to get it all down, so here I am, writing as much as I can to give it justice. I truly hope you're enjoying it so far! I'd absolutely love to hear what you think, so please feel free to leave a review, follow along, or even just drop a comment to say hi. Happy reading, and thank you for joining me on this adventure!

Love from,

Ziyan