not worth the mention

Borrowing was a dark endeavour.

In the literal sense, since it was safer for Arthur and Hermione to venture out of the Burrow into the upper Riddle Manor, and the world of human beans as a whole, under the cover of night. 

The butler's pantry they emerged into after the intricately designed pulley-system (Bill's work, the Weasley patriarch told her proudly) launched them up from the deep recess of the ladder leading into their underground home, was musty and bare. Hardly anything was left on the dark shelves around them, just nondescript sacks and moth-eaten bits of rags.

Certainly nothing worth borrowing. 

Something must have shown on her face, because Mr Weasley was soon leading Hermione to climb the shelves, using some dental floss he'd fashioned into a rudimentary rope attached to a sharpened earring hook, stuck into the wood above them.

"We'll go through the window," he told her, his gaze directed upward. "Walk along the sill out there, and we'll soon find our way into the pantry."

Hermione nodded, following after the older man obediently, and hearing the unspoken rest of his sentence. There would be more supplies there, in the actual pantry.

More for them to actually borrow.

The curly-haired girl let her mind wander as they continued their perilous climb. The clock had just struck the third hour past midnight— it was still dark outside, but the dawn chill would hopefully keep them awake.

(awake: adjective. —  the state that Mrs Weasley, Harry, Ron, and Ginny kept themselves in out of solidarity for Hermione's first borrowing adventure)

The rest of the family kept Hermione's thoughts occupied as she remembered the conversation they'd had before she set out with Mr Weasley. Molly had been smothering as usual, her concerns seemingly genuine but also overly cautionary, like she was hoping to talk Hermione out of the endeavour altogether. The boys' attitudes were entirely the opposite, with their excitement, it almost seemed like Harry and Ron were the ones going. But Ginny was the one that struck her the most, in the end.

The younger Burrower had told her to stay safe, but also, very hesitantly, she'd asked Hermione to consider. She'd asked for her to keep an eye out, her tone softly imploring as they asked for the one thing all four of them had been seeking for so long.

Radio batteries.

(radio: noun. — the yooman beans called them talkie-talkies or some such nonsense, but the twins found a pair of handheld radio transmitters that they dragged back to the Burrow, to the little scuttle with the rusted grate that had since become Hermione's reading hideout. When Fred and George left, they'd taken one and left the other behind)

Hermione was brought out of her thoughts when they finally reached the windowsill of the opening above the bare shelves. Once again, she followed along dutifully as Arthur packed up their borrowed gear, and then again when he gestured for her to carefully edge her way along the opening with him. 

The two of them made their way outside, shivering in the chill, before heading into the next open window — into the pantry that was actually well-stocked whilst simultaneously well-ventilated. Mr Weasley directed her amongst the stacks of food and supplies, filling both of their sacks with the list of items that his wife had requested. It was methodical, and Hermione soon got used to the act of borrowing with one hand whilst directing her tiny lamp with the other.

It wasn't an actual lamp lit with gas. Hermione herself had helped the twins fashion the borrowed 'lamps' into something workable when they'd found tiny remnants of phosphorescent on the floorboards by the Burrow's entrance. They'd been elated to discover that the lumpy plastic emitted a soft glow of light in the darkness. 

That was one of the last happy memories she remembered sharing with Fred and George.

"Hermione." Mr Weasley came up next to her, his hand held over the opening of her lamp, smothering the soft light. The older man didn't say more, only looked intent as he quickly packed up the rest of his gear and gestured for her to follow.

There were voices coming towards the pantry — towards the two of them.

Human voices.

"Why you insist on visiting us at such ungodly hours, I'll never understand." Even though he was grumbling rather lowly and irritably, Hermione could still hear the caretaker as he shoved the key into the locked door of the pantry. She swallowed thickly and tried to stay still as she hid behind a jar of herbs on the top shelf with Mr Weasley.

"It's practically morning, Pettigrew." Another voice, this one sounding wry, intoned. "It's the very nature of my work to rise with the sun and tend to the plants of Riddle Manor."

Resisting the urge to inch along behind the jar and watch, Hermione knew the moment the two men stepped into the small room, as she heard the door open and their snipes at each other continued. This time at a much closer, more dangerous, range.

Beside her, the Weasley patriarch looked just as troubled, as he was probably trying to think of a way for them to leave without being noticed by the human beans as well. After several hair-raising moments, Arthur tapped her on the shoulder and Hermione followed him as he wordlessly gestured for the two of them to make their way back through the same way they'd come, out of the ventilation window above the shelves.

They moved quickly, Hermione feeling particularly anxious when they got outside and she saw the first rays of the sun greeting the horizon.

"And the fertilizer, Pettigrew?" Faintly, they heard the second man speak again, the gardener who kept rather unorthodox hours. Arthur and Hermione stilled, waiting to hear the caretaker's response. "It's in the butler's pantry, Snape, keep your knickers on."

The two Burrowers exchanged a look of alarm, made even worse when they saw the light turn on in the next room.

"Window?" Hermione suggested, hardly believing her own nerve, and gesturing to the windowsill a ways above them that she'd spotted when they'd first ventured out into the chill of the morning light. Mr Weasley nodded, looking pleased with her initiative and already unravelling their handcrafted grappling hook.

Their climb was perilous, and the room they found beyond the cool glass of the window didn't look like much of a sanctuary either.

But it was their only choice. 

Hermione followed behind Arthur as he directed them under the slight gap of the windowpane, straightening up cautiously when they stepped inside. The air was still inside the room, almost musty, and even through small eyes Hermione could see the accumulating dust and peeling wallpaper that characterised its lifelessness. With a start, she realised there was a sleeping bean encased in the monstrous bed in the center, its head turned away from the window thankfully, dark locks of hair staining the pillowcases like an oil spill.

"Down there." Arthur whispered to her, pointing out a vent just above the carpet, recessed into the wall. The curly-haired girl nodded, and they set off once again.

As they made their way through, movements cautious and slow, Hermione gingerly took in their surroundings. This must be the master bedroom. And the sick human bean must be the one sleeping soundlessly on the bed. She couldn't see his face though, couldn't ascertain how weak he actually was.

When they'd crept through the carpet, the curly-haired girl took one last look around, and her eye was caught by a bright red box in the corner of the fireplace mantle.

Batteries.

She almost missed it when Mr Weasley directed her to start climbing again, toward the vent opening this time. Following along dutifully, Hermione bit her lip as Arthur began spooling their dental floss rope. Ginny hadn't directly asked her to borrow the batteries, just to watch out for them. 

And she could hardly be blamed for not wanting to risk their discovery any further.

Nevertheless, Hermione stopped before she followed after Mr Weasley into the dark depths of the ventilation tunnel. In the vastness of the master bedroom they were leaving behind, she thought she saw some movement on the human bean's colossal bed, a shift of something underneath the woollen blanket.

But the curly-haired girl just turned back around and resolved to put it out of her mind.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light.