Because of Reasons

Hermione’s first breaths—this time around, the voice reminded snidely—in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place were a dizzying mix of nostalgic and altogether new. The air was still and old, the hallway smelled of Flourish and Blotts, of parchment and ink, except now there was also soot and something distinctly heavy weighing down upon everything.

She ran a hand along the patterned print of the wallpaper and her fingers came away coated in a layer of dust. It made her grimace but still felt like home. It felt right.

“Best get you off to Molly.” Mr. Weasley led the four of them down the dark hallway and through a ground floor she now remembered the layout of. “Good lot’s been going on lately, had to take part of yesterday off, so I have to go in today and finish a few things up. Harry’s here, by the way. Should be up with the boys.”

“Really?” And Hermione doesn’t have to fake her relief. She cradled Crookshanks carrier closer.

Mr. Weasley hummed in confirmation, and Kingsley spoke up from behind her with his smooth accent, “He arrived this morning, you haven’t missed much.”

She returned his kind smile with one of her own, though she doubted his words. Sirius escaping Grimmauld Place yesterday only to show up hours later with Harry in tow was bound to have been a sight to remember. The reactions would have undoubtedly been explosive.

“Make sure to keep quiet ‘round this bend,” Mr. Weasley instructed in a whisper, “most of the paintings don’t appreciate loud noise.”

They don’t appreciate noise of any sort.

Nothing else was said as the two followed Mr. Weasley into a hallway to the right, and then down a stone staircase and through the old paint-chipped door to the basement kitchen. Sirius was sitting along the middle of the long wooden table which took up the majority of the room, Mrs. Weasley by the stove with a large pot filled and boiling away. The two appeared to be in some sort of stare-off, though it quickly broke off at their entry. Sirius notably remained glaring for a second longer.

“Hermione! It’s lovely to see you, dear,” was whispered to her as she was pulled into a tight hug, Crooks’ carrier caught awkwardly between them.

The magic that surrounded the voice went all tense and rigid. Inside his carrier, Crooks hissed, either in response or due to the wobbling he was experiencing.

“Oh, you look in need of a good feeding up. Have you been eating enough?” Mrs. Weasley worried as moved to hold Hermione at arm's length, inspecting her. The familiar words from the woman were far more welcome than the hug, leaving Hermione feeling a warmth throughout her. Unlike previous summers, she knew the words weren’t only based on Mrs. Weasley’s fretting, her summer had been filled with concerned looks. “Oh, we just finished lunch but I’ll make you up a sandwich, you really are looking far too peaky.”

“Thank you,” Hermione replied as Mrs. Weasley bustled off, even as she wasn’t in the mood to eat.

“Hermione,” Sirius grinned from his seat, “How are you? Rescued any hippogriffs lately?”

“No, my summer has been rather quiet,” she replied good-naturedly. The voice snorted in response. “The most excitement I’ve had was when reading the Prophet’s Society Column.”

“Skeeter’s work remains sensational,” Kingsley said humorously. He retrieved her shrunken trunk from his pocket and walked by her to place it on the table.

Despite their previous silence, the voice managed to go quieter, its magic muting in a focused way.

“Quiet days are always a welcome,” Mrs. Weasley tutted, and Sirius rolled his eyes behind her.

“Headed out?” Mr. Weasley asked Kingsley from where he had been whispering to his wife.

“I’m afraid so.” Kingsley offered another kind smile. “I have a shift tonight and the meeting beforehand. I’m hoping to manage some rest before then.”

“Do you plan on staying after the meeting?”

“No, I will have to leave promptly.”

“Should we set aside a plate of supper for you?” Asked Mrs. Weasley.

“Don’t bother, Molly. I’ll be working overtime the next few days, Dwalish is down with the flu and I’ve agreed to cover his cases.”

“Oh, well do take care of yourself, dear,” Mrs. Weasley placed the saucer with the freshly made chicken sandwich in front of Hermione.

“Kingsley’s an Auror,” Sirius told her distractedly after the man had left. Then, more focused, “bloody good one too.”

“He’s won multiple awards,” Mr. Weasley added, scarfing down his own sandwich. “Fudge often requests him on cases. He’s a wonderful person too, of course, and a fine member of the Order.”

“Arthur!” Mrs. Weasley barked from the stove, and she threw Sirius a narrow-eyed look. He offered an innocent smile in return, and her eyes narrowed further. “Perhaps it’s best if you finish the rest upstairs with the boys.”

“Right-i-o, I’m headed out myself, I’ll show you the way,” Mr. Weasley said. He dropped her shrunken trunk into his pocket, and took off towards the door, Hermione readjusting Crookshanks’ carrier, the half-Kneazle giving a low growl, and following after him.

“Watch out for Kreacher!” Sirius called happily after them.

She was led back up the stone staircase to the ground floor, up past the first, past the second, and finally onto the third floor in front of the room she knew to be Ron and Harry’s.

“Boys–” Mr. Weasley knocked twice and pushed the door open. There had clearly been a silencing charm over the room, as the noise exploded outward. “I hope you’re not doing anything you shouldn’t be.”

“Course not,” a familiar voice said, sounding quite affronted.

“We’ve been on our best behaviour, see,” an identical one added.

“We’re setting the best possible example for Harry and Ickle-Ronniekins.”

“Stop calling me that,” the familiar voice of Ron grumbled. “And it’s not as if we could do anything, we aren’t even allowed to explore this pit.”

Hermione squeezed her way into the room from behind Mr. Weasley, who had been standing barely a step in front of the door. The familiar room was rather crowded, with Fred and George having claimed a spot on Harry’s bed. Oddly enough, Harry was also sitting on his bed, leaving it rather cramped, and Ron was crossed-legged on the floor, an addition of Seeker Weekly strewn haphazardly on his lap. They looked suspiciously unoccupied for being the cause of so much noise.

She spied what she thought to be the end of one of the twins’ prototype fireworks sticking out from under Ron’s bed.

The look was short-lived as she found herself engulfed in hugs from Harry and Ron. The stiffness which had surrounded the voice began to fade at the warmth now filling her. She squeezed them both back as hard as she dared without worrying about suffocating them—she had seen them die too many times in the past weeks.

“I’ve been so worried,” Hermione whispered to Harry, so quietly that if Ron hadn’t been glued to her other side he wouldn’t have caught it.

Harry didn’t reply, but he gave her one last squeeze, till she worried she might suffocate, before letting go.

“This ‘pit’,” Mr. Weasley began, having given the three of them a few moments to themselves, “needs to be cleared out, properly. Your mother and I have been quite clear, it’s too dangerous for you to be poking around without supervision.”

“Fred and I could supervise, we’re of age,” George complained from the bed.

“Even after my years at the Ministry I’m not comfortable handling most of what’s in this house,” Mr. Weasley told them. “The majority of the rooms will need to be looked at by Alastor before your mother can even have you go through them.”

“Doesn’t make sense why we have to stay here then,” Ron said irritably.

“Your mother and I have explained that to you numerous times,” Mr. Weasley sighed. “Best you fill Hermione in while you take the time to recall it all. I really do have to go now.”

He placed Hermione’s trunk down, made a quick circular motion over it with his wand, and murmured, “Engorgio.”

With swift farewells, and a warning look shot to Fred and George along with instructions to apparate Hermione’s trunk to her and Ginny’s room, and leave immediately after, he stepped through the doorway and headed off.

The five of them listened to the floorboards creak as Mr. Weasley rushed back down the stairs. Only once the sounds of his steps had faded did Ron move to close the door. She opened Crookshank’s carrier, allowing the grumpy half-Kneazle out, and noticed the firework which had been under his bed was no longer there. She gave the twins a wave and tired smile, which they returned with rather amused expressions.

“There’s been loads going on, ‘Mione.” Ron shuffled back, collapsing on his bed. “‘Course, we don’t know most of it, Mum’s not been letting us near the meetings.”

“That ignorance isn’t likely to last,” Fred told her with a conspiratory smile.

“We’ve been making the final adjustment on our new Extendable Ears,” George explained, looking like a cat that had got the cream.

“Oh?” Hermione sat at the other end of Ron’s bed.

“It’s a new age for eavesdropping.”

“Last time we tried one of those it blew up in my ear,” Ron glared at them. “Couldn’t hear properly out of my left’ for a week.”

“But we’ve made loads of improvements,” Fred assured them.

“You don’t even need to put them in your ears anymore, just have to be close to the end to hear it all.”

“It’s genius really. Like us.”

“Not that that’s a surprise.”

“Joke shop still on, then?” Harry asked, who had settled himself back against his headboard.

“All thanks to you, mate,” George said. “But don’t worry…Mum hasn’t got a clue.”

Harry grinned, and Hermione found herself relaxing more. “When did all of you get here?”

“Well, Mum and Dad had us packed and out of the Burrow less than two days after we got back. Wanted to tell you more, but you haven’t been answering your mail much,” Ron told her.

“I got here this morning, about six,” Harry said, voice dry and displeased.

“Yeah, Dumbledore’s been really against you coming. Been trying to write to you though, but not much to talk about when all you’d do is ask stuff he made us promise not to tell you about,” Ron admitted.

“Was in a right fit too, Dumbledore,” George told them. “Caught a little of it on the extendable ears.”

“He stopped by this morning, round nine,” Fred continued. “Stayed for a while talking to Mum and Dad, and Sirius, of course. Bloody hell, would’ve caught more with the Extendable Ears but they put up silencing charms once the yelling started.”

“It was a mess,” Harry said lowly. “Glad Sirius came though, only we haven’t seen him since.”

“We’re thinking of taking bets on where we’ll find his body if we don’t catch sight of him by dinner,” Fred said shamelessly. Harry grimaced.

“How long did Professor Dumbledore stay?” Hermione asked.

“Well, let's see,” Ron paused, chewing on his lip. “It was about a half hour after the silencing charms went up that a few other members of the Order showed up; Kingsley and the old guy with the hat. Oh, Tonks was here too! Set off the ruddy portrait again. She didn’t go with Dumbledore when he left though, Dad and the others did, but she stayed and talked to Mum.”

“We reckon she was there to try and talk some sense into Sirius,” Fred commented. “Well, their version of sense. I haven’t a problem with how things turned out.”

“Went pretty well, if you ask me,” George piped in his agreement.

Harry didn’t say anything in response, and though his expression hadn’t changed, something about him seemed vaguely pleased.

“And they left around…?” Hermione trailed off.

“Ten?” Fred approximated. “A few minutes past, maybe.”

They went directly to our home, the voice inferred. Hermione couldn’t determine why, but it left her feeling oddly relieved.

“It’s a shame to ruin your fun with how dreary this place feels,” Hermione changed the topic, “but I saw him not ten minutes ago. He was in the basement. I don’t think Mrs. Weasley likes him very much.”

“She didn’t much care for him either way before,” George divulged.

“Probably had something to do with the wanted status, don’t see why though, he’s innocent,” Fred added, earning himself a scowl from Harry.

George whistled lowly. “Might as well despise him now though.”

“She’s been furious since yesterday. Went ballistic when she realised that he’d disappeared.”

“She raged.”

“She stormed.”

“Merlin as our witness,” George proclaimed, “she even swore. In front of Ginny, too.”

“Might as well have been breathing fire.”

“Charlie will be devastated he missed it,” the two mourned.

“The Weasleys—that is, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, the twins, Ron and Ginny—were all in the basement when Sirius brought me. Funny enough, he didn’t tell me they were staying here,” Harry told her rather amused. “Of course, they didn’t exactly know I was about to walk through those doors either, so it was a surprise for everyone.”

“That part wasn’t as funny,” Ron mumbled, rather pale.

The twins shrugged. “They practically shoved us out, Harry too, poor chap.”

“Didn’t last three minutes before they were all shouting,” George grinned. “Made it easy to hear for about a second.”

“Then Good Ol’ Mrs. Black started shrieking down the rafters. By the time Dad had quieted her down, Mum or Sirius had put the charms up.”

Hermione would hazard a guess that it was Mrs. Weasley who had cast the silencing charms. Sirius, both from their meeting and the voice’s memories, didn’t seem as concerned with policing information.

“Where is Ginny?” Hermione asked after a pause.

“Collecting Dungbombs,” George said easily. “There’s gonna be another meeting tonight, some of the Aurors work over the weekend, same with a few of the Ministry folk. Ginny’ll probably try and rig a few.”

“She’s got it worse.” Ron ran a hand through his red hair. “I mean, I’ve been hanging out with the twins a bit, and now Harry, too, but Mum’s absolutely banned Ginny from hanging out with the twins if there isn’t an adult ‘round.”

“We let her set off some of our prototype Clay Face Rockets in the kitchen. Turned everybody’s faces purple for two days. Itched too,” George explained.

“Effects are only supposed to last a few hours. We’ve managed to bring it down to twelve hours worth of purple, though, so it was for a good cause,” Fred carried on.

“Mum’s even reading her mail,” Ron stressed, eyes bugged out. “Thinks Ginny might accidentally let something slip to one of her friends. Don’t see how, not when Mum won’t let us know anything.”

“Poor thing has stopped writing altogether. Unfortunately, she’s diverting her attention to causing as many problems for the Order as she can manage,” Fred said with false sympathy.

“It’s a tragedy,” George agreed, with the same overly-dramatic frown. “Even greater tragedy is wherever she keeps finding her supplies.”

“Just can’t manage to figure it out, so we haven’t been able to help,” Fred looked positively grief-stricken.

Ron and Harry grinned from their spots.

“It’s probably best they’re kept on their toes,” Hermione decided. “Simple practice for when they’re in the field.”

“What ‘bout you, then? Harry was stuck with his Muggle family, and we’ve been here, but what’ve you been up to? You’ve barely replied all summer,” Ron complained. “Replied, because the only letter you sent was the day after we arrived back at Kings’ Cross. Dumbledore’s been wanting you here for weeks.”

Harry glared at Ron for that last bit, who mumbled a sheepish apology in return.

“You said there would be a meeting tonight?” Hermione asked instead. At their nods, she said, “Do you know if anyone will be staying for supper?”

“Mundungus usually does; Remus, if he’s back from whatever Dumbledore has him doing; Tonks, if she isn’t scheduled to work tonight. She works weekends a lot. The others are really touch and go.”

The younger Aurors are often stuck with the less desirable shifts.

“My summer has been complicated. If we can’t be sure who will be here tonight, I think I should wait till afterwards to tell you.”

Ron opened his mouth, likely to argue, when Harry butted in, “Alright. Tonight?”

“What time do the Order’s meetings finish?” Hermione recalled from the memories that the length varied from meeting to meeting, however, she was curious if it was different this time around.

Establishing what was and wasn’t the same was a priority.

“Depends on if it’s a big one.” George shrugged.

“Tonight will definitely be big, though,” Fred said.

“Close to two hours probably.”

“Might not eat till midnight,” the two muttered in a horrified realization.

“Tomorrow then. We could wake up early?”

“Mum’s up with the sun, sometimes before, even,” Ron grimaced.

“Well, sometime tomorrow. We’ll be cleaning, right?” Hermione continued on, not bothering to wait for them to nod. “So either during lunch, or sometime before dinner. Worst case scenario, we have to play an old game of telephone, telling one person at a time.”

Ron and the twins appeared a little confused at the game, however Harry nodded along easily.

“Until then–” Hermione stood and studied Crookshanks for a moment, who was chewing on what appeared to be one of Ron’s socks, before she came to a decision and turned to the twins. “–would you two fine gentlemen take me to my room?”

It was after Hermione had unpacked her trunk and organised her toiletries in the lavatory she would be sharing with Ginny that she ran into Sirius. Quite literally.

He wrapped an arm around her back and yanked her into the lavatory she had just left.

“Is this the best time?” Hermione shifted her trainers, conscious of the fact that there was only a wall between Sirius, herself and Ginny.

“It’ll only take a moment,” Sirius assured, and the voice alerted her to the layer of magic which swept over her. At her look, he said, “Just an anti-eavesdropping charm.”

“The Imperturbable Charm?” Hermione asked interestedly.

“No, a little something James came up with while at school.”

Hermione found herself drawing on quite a bit of her patience to ignore her curiosity and focus on the matter at hand instead. There might not be anyone listening, but if Ginny decided to go to the loo, or Mrs. Weasley decided to hunt down Sirius, and the two were caught stashed in the small room together, it would cause a load of problems.

“If your plan was to do the rituals now, Ron and Harry will notice–”

“Not now, but tonight. I meant it when I said the Ministry would look into his whereabouts if they realised Harry left Privet Drive. Once you’re established as the Black Delegate, well, they won’t be able to do anything. I’m supposedly in Tibet, and you would be rightfully holding temporary guardianship of Harry as the members of the house you represent are unable to do so themselves.”

“Harry would become a ward of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, not Sirius.”

Only temporarily.

“I would have guardianship of my best friend,” Hermione realised in muted horror.

You will be the Delegate of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Your job will be to stand in their place, Hermione, the voice reminded. Use it, wield it like the weapon it is.

“I’ll have to wait till Ginny’s fallen asleep if we’re to do it tonight,” while Hermione believed that many of the problems which needed to be solved could benefit from more people becoming aware of the issue and working towards a common goal to solve it, Sirius’ freedom was not an issue they could risk becoming known too soon. Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t be pleased, and from the heart of her soul, Hermione knew he wouldn’t be satisfied sitting on the sidelines and allowing them to do as they pleased.

They would need to accomplish as much as they could in the brief time he remained ignorant of their efforts before he began to interfere.

Meddle, the voice corrected.

Unfortunately for her friends, they didn’t know how to guard their minds. She couldn’t mention these efforts when she filled them in tomorrow. Hermione had begun Occlumency breathing exercises a few days into the summer—initially in the hope she could block out what she had begun to see—and she had kept up with them.

Hermione looked up at Sirius. “I don’t suppose you would be able to glamour a book for me? Both the cover and the pages?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he grinned easily. “What’s it on?”

“Occlumency.”

He clucked his tongue, grin dropping. Slouched back against the wall, he gave her another of those studying looks. “How is your Occlumency?”

“It’s a work-in-progress. I wouldn’t be able to withstand an attack from You-Know-Who, but I can control my reactions and protect surface thoughts,” a great part of how Hermione had managed to reach such a level in the span of a few weeks was because while she may not have practiced or even heard of the art before the summer, a part of her still knew the art, like the back of her hand. She knew how it worked, how it felt, which methods felt most natural to her and how to properly achieve them.

If you continue at this rate, the voice said, within a few weeks if someone were to attempt Legilimency on you, assuming they weren’t a master of the mind arts, you could probably kick them out within a few seconds.

“Good, keep working on it. Too many people out there who don’t understand what bloody boundaries are,” he grumbled. “Leave the book under your pillow, I’ll slip in at some point and glamour it for you. You’ll only have to touch your wand to it and think about what book you want it to look like after that.”

“Meeting’s getting started.” George strode into the room, Fred and Ginny a step behind him.

It was past five, and Hermione had returned to Harry and Ron’s room. She had managed to talk the two into working on some of their summer homework—despite it being weeks into July, Hermione still hadn’t managed to complete all of hers. At the moment, she was adding the final touches to her Potions essay, the boys having deviated from their work almost an hour before, and they now discussed the possibility of Ron trying out for the Quidditch team.

“I quite fancy the idea of finding out what old Snape’s been up to,” Fred confessed to the startled teens.

“Snape!” Harry said incredulously. “Is he here?”

“Yeah,” said George obviously. “Giving a report. Top secret.”

“Git,” Fred said idly.

“If he’s on our side now…” Hermione began reprovingly. Because from the voice’s memories, Hermione wasn’t all that certain Professor Snape was on their side, or instead simply trying to fulfill his vow so he could continue as before. He had willingly joined You-Know-Who, he supported and believed the other side’s rhetoric. It was only when You-Know-Who targeted Harry’s mother that Professor Snape found an issue with what was happening.

Ron snorted. “Doesn’t stop him from being a git. The way he looks at us when he sees us.”

“Bill doesn’t like him, either,” Ginny told her, as though that settled the matter.

“Is Bill here?” Harry asked, and Hermione settled herself in for a conversation she had witnessed many times before. It was something she would have to get used to. “I thought he was working in Egypt?”

“He applied for a desk job so he could come home and work for the Order,” said Fred. “He says he misses the tombs, but–” he smirked, “–there are compensations.”

“What d'you mean?”

“Remember old Fleur Delacour?' said George. “She's got a job at Gringotts to eemprove'er Eeenglish–”

“And Bill's been giving her a lot of private lessons,” sniggered Fred.

“We’ve been calling her Phlegm,” Ginny said shamelessly.

“Charlie's in the Order, too,” said George, “but he's still in Romania. Dumbledore wants as many foreign wizards brought in as possible, so Charlie's trying to make contacts on his days off.”

“Couldn't Percy do that?” Harry asked.

At Harry's words, all the Weasleys exchanged darkly significant looks. Hermione tried to sort through all the new memories she had of Percy. He had spent quite a bit of time following the Minister around, however, had he, himself, done anything specific she needed to be worried about?

“Whatever you do, don't mention Percy in front of Mum and Dad,” Ron told Harry in a tense voice.

“Why not?”

“Because every time Percy's name's mentioned, Dad breaks whatever he's holding and Mum starts crying,” Fred said.

“It's been awful,” said Ginny sadly.

A pity that common sense and intelligence are so rarely found walking hand in hand, the voice huffed.

“I think we're well shot of him,” said George, with an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face.

“What’s happened?” Harry asked.

“Percy and Dad had a row,” said Fred. “I’ve never seen Dad row with anyone like that. It's normally Mum who shouts.”

“It was the second day back after term ended,” said Ron. We were about to come and join the Order. Percy came home and told us he’d been promoted.”

“You're kidding?” said Harry, and Hermione remembered feeling—remembered the voice feeling, she corrected herself tiredly—the same disbelief when they heard. While receiving record high marks, and being highly ambitious, Percy had not made a great success of his job at the Ministry of Magic. Percy had committed the fairly large oversight of failing to notice his boss was being controlled by You-Know-Who. The Ministry, still in denial, believed that Mr. Crouch had simply gone mad.

“Yeah, we were all surprised,” said George, “because Percy got into a load of trouble about Crouch, there was an inquiry and everything. They said Percy ought to have realized Crouch was off his rocker and informed a superior. But you know Percy, Crouch left him in charge, he wasn't going to complain.”

“So how come they promoted him?”

“That's exactly what we wondered,” said Ron. “He came home really pleased with himself—even more pleased than usual, if you can imagine that—and told Dad he'd been offered a position in Fudge's own office. A really good one for someone only a year out of Hogwarts: Junior Assistant to the Minister. He expected Dad to be all impressed, I think.”

“Only Dad wasn’t,” said Fred grimly.

“Why not?” said Harry.

“Well, apparently Fudge has been storming round the Ministry checking that nobody's having any contact with Dumbledore,” said George.

“Dumbledore's name is mud with the Ministry these days, see,” said Fred. “They all think he's just making trouble saying You-Know-Who's back.”

“Trouble is, Fudge suspects Dad, he knows he's friendly with Dumbledore, and he's always thought Dad's a bit of a weirdo because of his Muggle obsession.”

“But what's that got to do with Percy?” asked Harry, confused.

“I'm coming to that. Dad reckons Fudge only wants Percy in his office because he wants to use him to spy on the family—and Dumbledore.”

Harry let out a low whistle.

“Bet Percy loved that.”

Ron laughed in a hollow sort of way. “He went completely berserk. He said–well, he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he’s been having trouble having to struggle against Dad’s lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad’s got no ambition and that’s why we’ve always been—you know—not had a lot of money, I mean–”

“What?” said Harry in disbelief.

“I know,” said Ron in a low voice. “And it got worse. He said Dad was an idiot to run around with Dumbledore, that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble and Dad was going to go down with him, and that he—Percy—knew where his loyalty lay and it was with the Ministry. And if Mum and Dad were going to become traitors to the Ministry he was going to make sure everyone knew he didn't belong to our family anymore. And he packed his bags the same night and left. He's living here in London now!”

“Mum's been in a right state,” said Ron. “You know–crying and stuff. She came up to London to try and talk to Percy but he slammed the door in her face. I dunno what he does if he meets Dad at work—ignores him, I s'pose!”

“But Percy must know Voldemort's back,” said Harry slowly. “He's not stupid, he must know your mum and dad wouldn't risk everything without proof."

“Yeah, well, your name got dragged into the row,” said Ron, shooting Harry a furtive look. “Percy said the only evidence was your word and…I dunno…he didn't think it was good enough.”

“Percy takes the Daily Prophet seriously,” said Hermione tartly, and the others all nodded.

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, looking around at them all. They were all regarding him warily.

“Haven't you been getting the Daily Prophet?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, I have!” said Harry.

“Have you been reading it thoroughly?” Hermione asked again, a little exasperated. She suspected a bit of it was the voice’s feelings on the matter bleeding through.

“Not cover to cover,” said Harry defensively. “If they were going to report anything about Voldemort it would be headline news, wouldn't it?”

The others flinched at the sound of the name. The exasperation from the voice turned into downright annoyance. Hermione hurried on, “Well, you'd need to read it cover to cover to pick it up, but they–um–they mention you a couple of times a week.”

“But I'd have seen–“

“Not if you've only been reading the front page, you wouldn’t,” Hermione snipped, shaking her head.

“I’m not talking about big articles. They just slip you in, like you're a standing joke.”

“What d'you–“

“It's quite nasty, actually,” Hermione continued, in a voice of forced calm. “They're just building on Rita's stuff.”

“But she's not writing for them anymore, is she?”

“Oh, no, she's kept her promise–not that she's got any choice,” Hermione added with satisfaction. “But she laid the foundation for what they're trying to do now.”

“Which is what?” said Harry impatiently.

“Okay, you know she wrote that you were collapsing all over the place and saying your scar was hurting and all that?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, who was not likely to forget Rita Skeeter's stories about him in a hurry.

“Well, they're writing about you as though you're this deluded, attention-seeking person who thinks he's a great tragic hero or something,” said Hermione, very fast, as though it would be less unpleasant for Harry to hear these facts quickly. “They keep slipping in snide comments about you. If some far-fetched story appears, they say something like, ‘A tale worthy of Harry Potter’, and if anyone has a funny accident or anything it's, 'Let's hope he hasn't got a scar on his forehead or we'll be asked to worship him next’–”

“I don’t want anyone to worship–” Harry began hotly.

“I know you don’t.” Hermione rubbed a hand against her temple. “I know, Harry. The Daily Prophet may be the ones reporting it, but it’s the Ministry who owns the majority of the paper.”

“Fudge is behind it, I’ll bet anything,” Ron chimed in.

“The Ministry wants you turned into someone nobody will believe. They want wizards on the street to think you’re just some stupid boy who’s a bit of a joke, who tells ridiculous tall stories because he loves being famous and wants to keep it going.”

“I didn’t ask–I didn’t want–Voldemort killed my parents!” Harry spluttered. “I got famous because he murdered my family but couldn’t kill me! Who wants to be famous for that? Don’t they think I’d rather it’d never–”

“We know, Harry,” Hermione said earnestly.

“We do,” Fred agreed distractedly, sticking his head out the door.

“Fact, we’d love to hear all about how it’s making you feel,” George offered him, beaming. “Don’t want to bottle your anger up, Harry.”

“Not like this morning.”

“You’re dulcet tones should be heard by all.”

“Might even be some people fifty miles away who didn’t hear you this morning.”

“Giving it another shot is probably for the best.”

“But not now,” Fred stressed. “Now, the meeting’s started. Best get to the first floor stairs.”

“Right-i-o,” George agreed, and with a crack, the two of them apparated out.

“You didn’t mention anything happening this morning,” Hermione said after a moment. She wondered if the scene resembled the first discussion Ron and herself had when Harry arrived at Headquarters after being attacked by Dementors in the voice’s life. If it had been that explosive.

Likely, the voice assumed. Harry has often been hotheaded. Even if his scar hasn’t affected him yet for as long this summer, it has affected him.

Ginny grinned. On their way down she gave Hermione a rushed summary of the explosive scene which took place between Harry and Ron as the adults had their row that morning.

Hermione shuffled as Ron leaned in closer to their end of the Extendable Ear, squishing her further against Fred. The twin in question also shuffled to the side, leading to George, Harry and Ginny grunting and lurching sideways in response.

“–How touchingly paternal, Black,” the voice of Professor Snape came through. “Perhaps Potter will grow up to be a felon, just like his godfather.”

“Now, you stay out of this Snivellus.”

“Snape really is a part of the Order,” asked Harry in disbelief.

“I don’t care what Dumbledore says about your supposed ‘reformation’,” Sirius bit out, “I know better.”

“So why won’t he take your word for it, Black?” Snape hissed. “Perhaps the word of a man who has been hiding inside his mother’s house for a month is not worth taking seriously.”

“Severus,” Professor Dumbledore’s voice jumped in, clearly reprimanding. “Sirius, you are aware–”

“Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he’s delighted his lapdog’s working at Hogwarts, isn’t he?”

“Speaking of dogs,” Snape said softly, “did you know Lucius Malfoy recognized you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea Black, getting yourself seen in a magical alleyway…gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in the future, didn’t it?”

A screech as a chair was pushed back.

Hermione grimaced. If Lucius Malfoy saw Sirius, was it before or after meeting her? Had he seen her too? Had Sirius been followed? Had she been followed?

“Are you calling me a coward?”

“Why yes, I suppose I am.”

“That is quite enough,” Professor Dumbledore said gravely. “Sirius, please take your seat. The Order shares a common goal, we are not fighting against one another but together. Severus, Sirius has done the Order a great favour by allowing us access to his home, his contributions will not go unacknowledged.”

But they are, the voice laughed softly.

“Please, Severus, continue with your report.”

“Much of what the dark Lord has done requires time and patience, virtues few share,” by the snarl heard in response, Hermione assumed Professor Snape had shot Sirius a look. “Perhaps it will put you all at ease to know there has been little progress with the tasks he has assigned his followers. Macnair remains unsuccessful, in fact, the Dark Lord was displeased with how he has made zero headway. He expressed that displeasure quite thoroughly.”

“Remus?” Professor Dumbledore asked.

“I’m not surprised. Werewolves keep to themselves, for the most part. I’m considered to be an oddity in that regard, and many others. I haven’t managed to get into contact with any werewolves either, let alone packs. However, again, it’s not altogether a surprise. It has been years since I spoke to another werewolf, I don’t have any contacts within werewolf communities.”

“It is unfortunate, however not unexpected,” Professor Dumbledore agreed.

“Lucius Malfoy has continued his efforts in convincing Minister Fudge of your ill intent, and has been instructed to ‘restructure’ the Board of Governors,” Snape continued, sounding incredibly bored and snide at once.

“I take it You-Know-Who wants some of the ‘right type’ to be instated,” Mr. Weasley sighed.

“The parents or heads of houses of his followers’ children were strongly suggested, however, the Dark Lord will accept it if all Lucius is able to accomplish is the nomination of sympathisers.”

“And how likely do you believe Lucius is to succeed?” Professor Dumbledore asked thoughtfully.

“It is almost guaranteed,” their professor replied plainly.

“And Minister Fudge is likely to help in any way he can. It appears that this coming term there will be Ministry interference at Hogwarts after all.”

Loud protests broke out, too many for Hermione to distinguish the words spoken.

Once peace had been regained, Professor Dumbledore asked, “Is that all to have occurred?”

“Avery and Parkinson’s task remains the same, they were not called on to report their progress the last time we were summoned. There are other Death Eaters present, as I have previously mentioned, however, the Dark Lord has not made known any tasks they may have been assigned.”

“Tom has always had a habit of policing information—doing so has allowed him much of the power he has today, much of the power he has begun to regain.”

“There is the matter of Potter’s disappearance,” Professor Snape said, after a pause. “While the Dark Lord remains unaware of it, I will need to inform him before the Ministry realises, and releases a statement about the boy running away.”

“You need to inform Voldemort of a lot,” Sirius said nastily.

“I do, Black,” Professor Snape snarled in response. “That is the very purpose of the Dark Lord’s awareness of my supposed place within the Order. Perhaps the complexities of it all are too much for you.”

Sirius, Hermione assumed, growled in response.

“The Ministry will be quick to announce it once they become aware that Harry is no longer living at his summer home,” Professor Lupin’s voice intervened. “If Voldemort learns that Snape has deliberately kept such information from him, he won’t react well.”

“He would be beyond furious,” Professor Snape stressed. “You haven’t the faintest clue the horrors he can inflict when he feels such.”

“Severus’ role provides a priceless advantage,” Professor Dumbledore calmly reminded them. “You may inform Voldemort that Harry has been moved, no further harm can come to him now that he resides at Headquarters.”

If it wouldn’t cause any harm, why wasn’t Harry moved earlier?

“Regarding Avery and Parkinson, Albus,” said a voice Hermione recognised as being identical to the one who taught her Defense last year, and the voice recognised from their own fifth and sixth year. “Aurors are present at trials, but in the Wizengamot’s deliberation and meeting chambers, we aren’t exactly common visitors. We have no clue what they’re up to.”

“I have already informed you of what the two are ‘up to’,” Professor Snape shot back.

“Don’t know how they’re doing though,” the real Alastor Moody responded. “Their progress with other members of the Wizengamot and foreign wizards is unknown.”

“A grave concern, Alastor,” Professor Dumbledore agreed. “There is little that can be done at the moment. The two have been careful not to say anything out of the ordinary when I am present.”

Moody responded with something, however, it came out all static on their end of the Extendable Ear. Hermione furrowed her brow and leaned back a touch when Fred gave their end of the cord a good shake.

“Hey!” George hissed, looking through the rails of the staircase to the steps of the flight below. “Get off it.”

Hermione turned to see Crookshanks had pounced on the Extendable Ear and had begun to chew on it.

“Get off it!” Fred whisper-shouted indignantly, yanking the cord back.

“Get off, you bloody cat!” Ron groaned from beside her.

“Ronald!” it wasn’t Crooks' fault it looked like a toy to him. “Crooks, leave it alone.”

With one final yank, the cord came shooting back at them. Fred’s grin dropped pretty quickly when he realised the ear had come unattached and Crookshanks had made off with it. “Hermione, I hate your cat.”

“Don’t you have any others?” Ron complained.

“Not unless you want your ear blown up again,” George told him snidely, grimacing at the cut cord in Fred’s hand.

A burst of noise they could hear without the Extendable Ears came from the kitchen, and the six of them scrambled back away from the landing.

“Quick,” one of the twins mumbled, Hermione too distracted as she tripped over a rug to notice which. Whoever it was, grabbed hold of her shoulder and apparated.

Hermione experienced the sudden feeling of a hook around her navel, followed by the impression of being squeezed through a tight rubber tube. She gagged as soon as she landed.

It doesn’t get better, the voice told her.

“Wonderful,” Hermione grumbled, forcing herself to straighten with a grimace.

George. It was George who had apparated her, and Harry, who was still bent over and looked dangerously at risk of being ill.

“Sorry mate,” he said sheepishly, “first time’s not exactly fun. You learn what to expect after that.”

“All good.” Harry sank onto his bed. “Good thinking, really.”

A loud crack sounded, and Fred and Ron appeared a few steps away. Ron looked about as bad as Harry. Considering he had apparated twice, Hermione couldn’t help but feel a little impressed. The voice mirrored it.

“Meetings done,” Fred announced. “Ginny’s back in her room, none the wiser. Mum should be headed up in a moment.”

Hermione sighed quietly. The meeting wasn’t one the voice had overheard last time around. In fact, from the voice’s memories, the Extendable Ears weren’t supposed to be working well enough for the twins to let them try listening in on one of the meetings for another week and a half. Once again, Hermione found herself wondering just how much she had changed by staying home this summer.

Hermione settled herself at the table, the Occlumency book she had Sirius glamour to look like A Historical Study of British Wizarding Plumbing by Haddassah Crouch laid out in front of her. She had originally taken out the book during second year when she was trying to figure out how the basilisk was traveling through the school. It was the first title to come to mind which she was certain none of the other guests would have any interest in reading over her shoulder. And while perhaps it wasn’t the wisest to be carrying around a glamoured book in the sight of Order members, none of the Aurors were to be present tonight, the only guests were Mundungus, the Weasleys, Professor Lupin, Harry and herself. The voice had reassured her that the dinners at Grimmauld Place this summer would often be hectic.

And as she had chosen to sit between the twins and Ronald, she doubted any of the adults, bar perhaps Sirius, would be too focused on her.

“For the last time, Mundungus,” Mrs. Weasley called from the counter, breaking Hermione’s focus, “will you please not smoke that thing in here, especially not when we’re about to eat!”

Hermione looked over to see billowing piles of greenish smoke spreading through his end of the table.

“Ah,” said Mundungus, “Right. Sorry, Molly.”

The cloud of smoke vanished as Mundungus stowed his pipe in his pocket, but an acrid smell of burning socks remained to fan through the kitchen.

“And if you’ll be wanting dinner before midnight, I’ll need a hand,” Mrs. Weasley told the room at large.

“No, No. You can stay where you are, Harry, Hermione, dears. You’ve had a long day.”

“Are you sure?” Hermione bookmarked her page. “I could even just help get the plates out, everything might go smoother if there are more helping hands.”

If the twins are responsible for less, the voice agreed.

Hermione rooted through the cupboards Mrs. Weasley directed her to, pulling out the patterned plates, their edges painted with neat ravens flying through twisting golden leaves and vines. To her left, a series of heavy knives were chopping meat and vegetables on their own accord, supervised by Mr. Weasley, while Mrs. Weasley stirred the large pot over the stove. The twins were rummaging through cupboards and drawers of their own for goblets and serving utensils, while Ginny began laying out cutlery on the table.

Harry and Sirius, who were sat at the opposite end of the table close to Mundungus, were having a low conversation she couldn’t quite pick up on.

A lot of what I know of this summer might not happen, the voice started as Hermione began stacking the plates. Even seeing the life I lived has changed things.

“I was supposed to be here earlier.”

Yes, and as we continue, the help I’ll be able to offer will only become more vague. Your future has already blurred from mine.

“But the major things have remained the same.”

As of yet, the voice conceded. Sirius isn’t free, the Order is likely still overly obsessed with an old crystal ball in the Department of Mysteries, You-Know-Who still plans on an eventual hostile takeover, and it can be assumed that if it was enough to alert the Muggle world previously, it will be again. However, this time Harry is here.

“This time it isn’t because of Dementors,” Hermione replied, allowing herself to feel the relief of it. If they could prevent such an event from occurring altogether, or delay it till they were at Hogwarts, with plenty of other students from all different families as witnesses, they would be better off.

“Pardon me, Hermione,” Fred said with a grin—at least she was fairly certain it was him. The voice was less familiar with his magical signature, and morbid as it was, she took that to mean he was the twin who died first.

“Oh.” She squished up against the counter, plates held tightly against her chest—in an ineffective shield and also for the purpose of keeping them out of the line of fire.

The twins bewitched the pot, which Mrs. Weasley had just taken off the stove, along with an iron flagon of Butterbeer, and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with a large gleaming knife, to hurtle through the air and onto the table.

They likely intended to just fly them over, the voice told her. When their temperatures aren’t baseline, manipulating multiple things at once can be hazardous. They weren’t focused enough and put a bit too much force into it.

“Fred–George–NO, JUST CARRY THEM!”

The pot skidded along the length of the table and came to a halt right at the end, leaving a long black burn on the wooden surface, escaped stew lay in puddles along the table; the flagon of Butterbeer fell with a crash, spilling its contents everywhere; the large knife went flying off the board and landed, point down and quivering ominously, exactly where Sirius and Harry’s hands had been seconds before.

“FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!” screamed Mrs. Weasley, “THERE WAS NO NEED – I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS – JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW, YOU DON’T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT OF EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!”

“We were just trying to save a bit of time!” Possibly-Fred said, hurrying to wrench the knife out of the table. “Sorry, Sirius, mate–didn’t mean to.”

But Harry and Sirius only laughed; Mundungus, who had toppled backwards off his chair, was swearing up a storm as he got to his feet; Crookshanks had given an angry hiss and shot off under the dresser, where his large yellow eyes glowed in the darkness.

Hermione hurriedly placed the large stack of plates she had cradled onto the table, some of them clinking dangerously in her hurry, and maneuvered her way around the people and chairs in the room to the dresser to begin coaxing Crooks out.

“Boys–” Mr. Weasley lifted the pot back onto the middle of the table, “–your mother’s right, you’re supposed to show a sense of responsibility now you’ve come of age–”

“None of your brothers caused this sort of trouble!” A red Mrs. Weasley raged at the twins as she slammed a new flagon of Butterbear onto the table, spilling almost as much again. “Bill didn’t need to apparate every few feet! Charlie didn’t charm everything he met! Percy–”

She stopped dead, catching her breath with a frightened look at her husband, whose expression was suddenly wooden.

“Let’s eat,” Bill said quickly.

“It looks wonderful, Molly.” Professor Lupin began ladling stew onto the plates and handing them down the table, offering the first to Mrs. Weasley.

For a few minutes there was silence but for the chinking of plates and cutlery and the scraping of chairs as everyone settled down. Hermione returned to her seat, a still rather puffy-looking Crookshanks nestled in her lap and eating the little pieces of buttered bread she handed him, the glamoured book she had been reading earlier on a small dresser along the wall. Then Mrs. Weasley turned to Sirius.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, Sirius, there’s something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing room, it keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it could just be a Boggart, but I thought we ought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out.”

“Whatever you like,” Sirius said indifferently.

“The curtains in there are full of Doxies, too,” Mrs. Weasley went on. From her left, Hermione felt George perk up at the mention of the creatures. “I thought we might try and tackle them tomorrow.”

“I looked forward to it,” deadpanned Sirius sarcastically.

Mrs. Weasley continued to talk about the cleaning that had yet to be done. Beside her, Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Professor Lupin were having an intense discussion about goblins.

Hermione leant to her left and nudged George with her elbow.

“Personally,” Hermione said quietly, “I think it would have saved a load of time if it worked, seeing as how many people are in the room.”

It was rather crowded, she wasn’t sure how they’d manage if more of the Order decided to stay for dinner. Things hadn’t seemed quite as busy in the memories.

“Suppose we’re too used to our Beater bats,” George replied with a hidden grin.

“I’m sure they’d never go over to You-Know-Who,” Mr. Weasley said from down the table, capturing their attention. “They’ve suffered losses too; remember that goblin family he murdered last time, somewhere near Nottingham?”

“I think it depends on what they’re offered,” Lupin argued. “And I’m not talking about gold. If they’re offered the freedoms we’ve been denying them for centuries they’re going to be tempted.”

Justifiably so, the voice huffed. Hermione was suddenly reminded of her goals with the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. She had originally planned to work on it over the summer break, but the entire organisation had been neglected after the dreams began. Focusing on much else had become too difficult. Never underestimate what a person would do for freedom, Hermione. Or what they view as freedom.

“Have you still not had any luck with Ragnok, Bill?” Professor Lupin asked.

“He’s feeling pretty anti-wizard at the moment,” Bill laughed humourlessly. “He hasn’t stopped raging about the Bagman business. He reckons the Ministry did a cover-up, those goblins never got their gold, you know–”

A gale of laughter drowned out the rest of Bill’s words. Fred, George, Ron and Mundungus were rolling around their seats.

“...and then,” choked Mundungus, tears running down his face, “and then, if you’ll believe it, ‘e says to me, ‘e says, “Ere, Dung, where didja get all them toads from? ‘Cos some son of a Bludger’s gone and nicked all of mine!” And I say, “Nicked all your toads, Will, what next? So you’ll be wanting some more then?” And if you’ll believe me, lads, the gormless gargoyle buys all ‘is own toads back orf me for a lot more’n what ‘e paid in the first place–”

“I don’t think we need to hear any more of your business dealings, thank you very much, Mundungus,” said Mrs. Weasley sharply, as Ron slumped forward beside Hermione, howling with laughter.

“Beg your pardon, Molly,” Mundungus replied at once, wiping his eyes and throwing a very indiscreet wink in Harry’s direction, “But, you know, Will nicked ‘em orf Warty Harris in the first place so I wasn’t really doing nothing wrong.”

“I don’t know where you learned about right and wrong, Mundungus, but you seem to have missed a few crucial lessons,” Mrs. Weasley said coldly.

Hermione couldn’t hide her smile at the way the wizard puffed up indignantly. To her left, Fred and George buried their faces in their goblets of Butterbeer, and George was hiccoughing. Hermione noticed Mrs. Weasley threw a nasty look at Sirius before she got to her feet and went to fetch the large rhubarb crumble pudding she had made for dessert.

Hermione took a generous helping of the crumble and custard, despite already being stuffed. She had taken to eating only one or two meals a day the past few weeks, and she already had a bowl of porridge this morning and the chicken sandwich Mrs. Weasley had made her earlier. Not to mention the helping of stew and buttery bread just eaten. But it was her first day at headquarters, and she didn’t want to offend Mrs. Weasley by not eating the food she had worked hard to prepare. And, well, it really did smell wonderful.

Crookshanks had jumped off her lap at some point during dessert, and Ginny was sitting crossed-legged on the floor, rolling Butterbeer corks for him to chase.

Mrs. Weasley yawned. “Nearly time for bed, I think.”

“Not just yet, Molly,” Sirius said, pushing away his empty plate and turning to Harry. “You know, I’m surprised at you. I thought the first thing you’d do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort.”

The magic that surrounded the voice got all prickly.

The sleepy atmosphere in the room turned alert, and Professor Lupin, who had been about to take a sip of wine, lowered his goblet slowly, looking wary.

“I did!” Harry said indignantly. “So did Hermione! We asked Ron and the twins but they said we’re not allowed in the Order, so–”

“And they’re quite right,” Mrs. Weasley said. “You’re too young.”

She was sitting bolt upright in her chair, her first clenched on its worn arms, every trace of drowsiness gone.

“Since when did a person have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?” Sirius asked in disbelief. “Harry’s been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He’s got the right to know what’s been happen–”

“Hang on!” interrupted George loudly.

“How come Harry gets his questions answered?” Fred asked angrily.

“We’ve been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven’t told us a single stinking thing!” added George.

“‘You’re too young, you’re not in the Order’,” Fred said, in a high-pitched voice that sounded uncannily like his mother’s. “Harry’s not even of age!”

“It’s not my fault you haven’t been told what the Order’s doing,” Sirius said calmly, “that’s your parents’ decision. Harry, on the other hand–”

“It’s not down to you to decide what’s good for Harry!” Mrs. Weasley said sharply. Her normally kind face looked especially dangerous in the dim light. “You haven’t forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?”

“Which bit?” Sirius asked politely, but with the air of a man readying for a fight.

“The bit about not telling Harry more than he needs to know,” Mrs. Weasley said, placing a heavy emphasis on the last three words.

Ron, Harry, Hermione, Fred and George’s heads swivelled from Sirius to Mrs. Weasley as though they were following a tennis rally. Ginny, kneeling amid a pile of abandoned Butterbeer corks, watched the conversation with her mouth slightly open. Professor Lupin’s eyes were focused on Sirius.

“I don’t intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly,” Sirius replied. “But as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back–” again, a collective shudder went around the table at the name, and the voice was hissing lowly at the back of Hermione’s head, “–he has more right than most–”

“He’s not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!” Mrs. Weasley raised her voice. “He’s only fifteen and–”

“And he’s dealt with as much as most in the Order,” Sirius shot back, “and more than some.”

Hermione felt a hand take hold of her own underneath the table and realised absently hers had been shaking. Ron.

“No one’s denying what he’s done!” Mrs. Weasley’s voice rose higher, her fists now trembling on the arms of her chair. “But he’s still–”

“He’s not a child,” Sirius said impatiently.

“He’s not an adult either!” fired back Mrs. Weasley, the colour rising in her cheeks. “He’s not James, Sirius.”

“I’m perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly,” Sirius told her coldly.

“I’m not sure you are!” Mrs. Weasley admitted. “Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it’s as though you think you’ve got your best friend back!”

“What’s wrong with that?” Harry butted in.

“What’s wrong, Harry, is that you are not your father, however much you might look like him!” Mrs. Weasley’s eyes remained boring into Sirius. “You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!”

Except Sirius is responsible for Harry, he’s the one who is supposed to be, the voice pointed out. Not Mrs. Weasley.

“Meaning I’m an irresponsible godfather?” demanded Sirius, his voice rising.

“Meaning you have been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is why Dumbledore has to keep reminding you to stay at home and–”

“We’ll leave my instructions from Dumbledore out of this, if you please!” Sirius retorted loudly.

“So there can be a repeat of yesterday?” Mrs. Weasley said in disbelief. “Arthur! Arthur, back me up!”

Mr. Weasley did not speak at once. He took off his glasses, and cleaned them slowly on his robes, never looking at his wife. Only when he had replaced them on his nose did he reply.“Dumbledore knows the position has changed, Molly. He accepts that Harry will have to be filled in, to a certain extent, now that he’s staying at Headquarters.”

“Yes, but there’s a difference between that and inviting him to ask whatever he likes!”

“Personally,” Professor Lupin said quietly, looking away from Sirius at last, as Mrs. Weasley turned quickly to him, hopeful that she had finally found an ally, “I think it better that Harry gets the facts–not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture–from us, rather than a garbled version from…others.”

By the quick glance he shot the twins, Hermione was sure Professor Lupin knew something about the existence of the Extendable Ears. A quick look at Harry confirmed that he caught the look too, and likely came to the same conclusion.

“Well,” Mrs. Weasley breathed deeply and looked around the table in search of support that did not come, “well…I can see I’m going to be overruled. I’ll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has Harry’s best interest at heart–”

“He’s not your son,” Sirius said quietly, coldly.

“He’s as good as,” Mrs. Weasley snapped fiercely. “Who else has he got?”

“He’s got me!”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Weasley, her upper lip curled, “the thing is, it’s been rather difficult for you to look after him while you’ve been locked up in Azkaban, hasn’t it?”

Sirius rose from his chair at the dig, the legs screeching loudly against the floor.

“The Ministry’s corruption will never be his fault,” Hermione butted in, colder than she intended, as the voice went positively frigid within her.

“Yeah, they were wrong when they expelled Harry for blowing up his ruddy aunt too! Fudge went to apologise and all,” Ron was quick to add, tightening his grip on Hermione’s hand.

Not exactly what happened, the voice said, sounding rather amused. Close enough, I suppose.

“And Fudge getting everyone in trouble ‘cuz he’s a coward isn’t the public’s fault,” Fred pointed out.

“Molly, you’re not the only person at this table who cares about Harry,” Professor Lupin said sharply. “Sirius, sit down.”

Mrs. Weasley’s lower lip was trembling. Sirius slowly pulled his chair back in and sank into it, his face white.

“I think Harry ought to have a say in this,” Professor Lupin continued, “he’s old enough to decide for himself.”

“I want to know what’s been going on,” Harry replied at once, not looking at Mrs. Weasley.

Refusing to speak of the wolves that live outside your cabin won’t prevent them from tearing you apart, the voice said, similar to what it had told her a few days prior.

“Very well,” said Mrs. Weasley, her voice cracking. “Ginny–Ron–Hermione–Fred–George–I want you out of this kitchen, now.”

There was an instant uproar.

“We’re of age!” Fred and George bellowed together.

“If Harry’s allowed, why can’t I?” shouted Ron.

“Mum, I want to hear!” wailed Ginny.

“NO!” shouted Mrs. Weasley, standing up, her eyes overbright. “I absolutely forbid–”

“Molly, you can’t stop Fred and George,” Mr. Weasley said wearily. “They are of age.”

“They’re still in school.”

“But they’re legally adults now,” Mr. Weasley reiterated, in the same tired voice.

Mrs. Weasley was scarlet in the face.

“I–Oh, alright then, Fred and George can stay, the rest of you head up.”

“Sometimes,” Hermione breathed, “it feels like we know more than you realize. We do get the Daily Prophet every day.”

“And Harry’ll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway!” said Ron hotly. “Won’t–Won’t you?”

“Course I will,” Harry said.

Ron beamed.

“No, absolutely not!” Mrs. Weasley turned on Sirius, Ron and Mr. Weasley temporarily forgotten. “Her parents did not send her here so she could hear this. Hermione is here so she’ll be safe away from it all.”

“Oh, but she’ll be perfectly safe when she walks into a school filled with Death Eaters' children as a muggleborn and completely ignorant,” Sirius said snidely.

“Fine!” Mrs. Weasley shouted. “Fine! Ginny–BED!”

Ginny did not go quietly. They could hear her raging and storming at her mother all the way up the stairs, and when she reached the hall Lady Black’s ear-splitting shrieks were added to the din. Hermione grimaced, wondering what state she would find her in when she headed up to bed herself, and if Mrs. Weasley would still be standing guard outside her door when she did.

Professor Lupin hurried off to the portrait to restore calm. It was only after he had returned, closing the kitchen door behind him and taking his seat at the table again, that Sirius spoke.

“Okay, Harry…what do you want to know?”

“Where’s Voldemort?” he asked, ignoring the renewed shudders and winces at the name. “What’s he doing? I’ve been trying to watch the Muggle news, and there hasn’t been anything that looks like him yet, no funny deaths or anything.”

“That’s because there haven’t been any funny deaths yet,” Sirius said, “not as far as we know, anyway…and we know quite a lot.”

The voice tsked, tired and annoyed all at once.

“More than he thinks we do, anything,” Professor Lupin added.

“How come he’s stopped killing people?” Harry asked.

The voice laughed hysterically at that. As if You-Know-Who had suddenly decided to go into retirement. As if he changed his mindset.

He’s making use of an advantage he hasn’t had since he first began. The public, the Ministry, isn’t monitoring his every move, trying to make sense of them, trying to predict what he’ll do next.

“Because he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself,” Sirius said. “It would be dangerous for him. His comeback didn’t come off quite the way he wanted it to, you see. He messed it up.”

“Or rather, you messed it up for him,” Professor Lupin said, with a satisfied smile.

“How?” asked Harry.

“You weren’t supposed to survive!” Sirius admitted, ecstatic with the outcome. “Nobody apart from his Death Eaters was supposed to know he’d come back. But you survived to bear witness.”

“And the last person he wanted alerted to his return the moment he got back was Dumbledore,” Professor Lupin said. “And you made sure Dumbledore knew at once.”

“How has that helped?” asked Harry.

“Are you kidding?” Bill said incredulously. “Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever scared of.”

It was those beliefs that cost us lives, the voice said bitterly. Believing in weaknesses that don’t exist.

“Thanks to you, Dumbledore was able to recall the Order of the Phoenix about an hour after Voldemort returned,” Sirius said.

“So what’s the Order been doing?” asked Harry, looking around at those in the Order.

“Working as hard as we can to make sure Voldemort can’t carry out his plans,” Sirius told them.

“How d’you know what his plans are?” Harry asked quickly.

“Dumbledore’s got a shrewd idea,” Professor Lupin replied, “and Dumbledore’s shrewd ideas normally turn out to be accurate.”

The voice gave another bitter laugh.

“I have a question,” Hermione piped up, and she watched as Mrs. Weasley drew in a large breath further down the table.

“Yes?” her former professor replied quickly, halting whatever Mrs. Weasley had been preparing to say.

“Professor Dumbledore’s ideas, I’d assume he’s basing off the information you know. But what about everything you don’t know?” Hermione asked slowly. “I’ve read about the First War, quite extensively. Many of the Death Eaters now in Azkaban held high-up positions in the Ministry, a few were even Unspeakables.”

Hermione knew she wasn’t the only one noticing the way the Order had begun to get tenser and tenser the more she mentioned the Ministry.

“What about it Hermione?” Professor Lupin asked surprisingly patiently for how stiff he looked.

“Well, I met Kingsley, and he’s an Auror. But Unspeakables hold a higher position in the Ministry, and they aren’t bound by the same laws. So I suppose my question is if anybody in the Order is an Unspeakable. And if nobody is, if nobody has access to the information they have, or has any awareness of what they’re doing and covering up behind the scenes, then how can any of the predictions the Order is making be all that accurate?”

“While that is true, news travels fast in the Ministry. Little remains a secret for long,” Mr. Weasley said.

Hermione didn’t allow herself to scoff. For twelve years one of the wizards at the dinner table had been wrongfully imprisoned, and it was covered up with none the wiser. The Ministry was filled with secrets.

“And,” Mr. Weasley continued, “Dumbledore is the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Not a lot gets past him, and he has ways of finding things out.”

It won’t last, the voice said blandly.

Hermione only nodded in reply. The other occupants of the table either looked pale, or unconcerned by her words. Sirius looked thoughtful.

“So what does Dumbledore reckon he’s planning?” Harry asked after a moment.

“Well, firstly, he wants to build up his army again,” Sirius said. “In the old days, he had huge numbers at his command: witches and wizards he’d bullied or bewitched into following him, his faithful Death Eaters, giants; well, they’ll just be one of the groups he’s after. He’s certainly not going to try and take on the Ministry of Magic with only a dozen Death Eaters.”

His numbers are already far greater than twelve.

“So, you’re trying to stop him getting more followers?”

“We’re doing our best?”

“How?”

“Well, the main thing is to try and convince as many people as possible that You-Know-Who really has returned, to put them on their guard,” Bill said. “It’s proving tricky, though.”

“Why?”

“Because of the Ministry’s attitude,” Professor Lupin said. “You saw Cornelius Fudge after You-Know-Who came back, Harry. Well, he hasn’t shifted his position at all. He’s absolutely refusing to believe it’s happened.”

“But why?” Harry asked desperately. “Why’s he being so stupid? If Dumbledore–”

“Ah, well, you’ve put your finger on the problem,” Mr. Weasley said with a wry smile. “Dumbledore.”

“Fudge is frightened of him,” Professor Lupin told them.

“Frightened of Dumbledore?” Harry said incredulously.

“Frightened of what he’s up to,” Mr. Weasley explained. “Fudge thinks Dumbledore is plotting to overthrow him. He thinks Dumbledore wants to be Minister for Magic.”

“But Dumbledore doesn’t want–”

“Of course he doesn’t,” placated Mr. Weasley. “He’s never wanted the Minister’s job, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power instead, but he’s never quite forgotten how much support Dumbledore had, even though Dumbledore never applied for the job.”

“Deep down, Fudge knows Dumbledore’s much cleverer than he is, a much more powerful wizard, and in the early days of his Ministry he was forever asking Dumbledore for help and advice,” Professor Lupin revealed. “But it seems he’s become fond of power, and much more confident. He loves being Minister for Magic and he’s managed to convince himself that he’s the clever one and Dumbledore’s simply stirring up trouble for the sake of it.”

“Bloody wanker,” Ron muttered and Hermione kicked him under the table. He hissed.

“How can he think that?” Harry questioned angrily. “How can he think Dumbledore would just make it all up–that I’d make it all up?”

“Because accepting that Voldemort’s back would mean trouble like the Ministry hasn’t had to cope with for nearly fourteen years,” Sirius said bitterly. “Fudge just can’t bring himself to face it. It’s so much more comfortable to convince himself Dumbledore’s lying to destabilise him.”

“Burying your head in the sand won’t make your problems go away,” Hermione sighed.

“No,” Bill agreed, “it won’t.”

“You see the problem,” said Professor Lupin. “While the Ministry insists there is nothing to fear from Voldemort it’s hard to convince people he’s back, especially as they really don’t want to believe it in the first place. What’s more, the Ministry’s leaning heavily on the Daily Prophet not to report any of what they’re calling Dumbledore’s rumour-mongering, so most of the wizarding community are completely unaware anything’s happened, and that makes them easy targets for the Death Eaters if they’re using the Imperius Curse.”

“But you’re telling people, aren’t you?” asked Harry, looking around at Mr. Weasley, Sirius, Bill, Mundungus and Professor Lupin. “You’re letting them know he’s back.”

They all smiled humourlessly.

“Well, as everyone thinks I’m a mad mass murderer and the Ministry’s put a ten thousand Galleon price on my head, I can hardly stroll up the street and start handing out leaflets, can I?” Sirius said restlessly.

And we’ll ensure he receives ten times that in reparations, the voice sniffed.

It would never repay what had been done, nothing could. But it would hurt the Ministry when they were already struggling against Dumbledore. And after everything, Hermione wanted them to hurt.

“And I’m not a very popular dinner guest with most of the community,” Professor Lupin admitted, ignoring the sharp look Sirius shot him. “It’s an occupational hazard of being a werewolf.”

“Arthur would lose his job at the Ministry if he started shooting his mouth off, same for Kingsley and Tonks, and many of the other Order members who work there,” Sirius laid out the facts. “Mad-Eye would probably be alright. He’s certainly gone around saying crazier things. Doing crazier things too.”

“It’s very important to have spies inside the Ministry,” Professor Lupin stressed. “As Hermione said, Voldemort certainly does.”

“We’ve managed to convince a couple of people, though,” Mr. Weasley told them. “Kingsley for one–he’s been a real asset, too; he’s in charge of the hunt for Sirius, so he’s been feeding the Ministry information that Sirius is in Tibet. There’s Alastor too, of course, he was in the Order last time. He brought Tonks with him–she was too young to have been in the Order of the Phoenix last time. Having Aurors on our side is a huge advantage.”

“But if none of you are putting the news out that Voldemort’s back–”

“Who said none of us are putting the news out?” Sirius asked, looking as if Harry was being silly and adorable. “Why d’you think Dumbledore’s in such trouble?”

“What d’you mean?” Harry asked.

“They’re trying to discredit him,” the former Defense professor said bluntly. “Didn’t you see the Daily Prophet last week? They’re discussing voting him out of his position as Chairman of the International Confederation of Wizards, claiming he’s getting old and losing his grip. The Wizengamot–that’s the Wizard High Court–has been discussing doing the same for a while now.”

“They’re even talking about taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class, too,” Bill told them.

“Wonder if they’ll get rid of his Chocolate Frog Cards,” Fred said curiously, ignoring his mother when she hissed his name in reprimand.

“Dumbledore says he doesn’t care what they do as long as they don’t take him off them,” Bill said, grinning.

“It’s no laughing matter,” Mr. Weasley said sharply. “If he carries on defying the Ministry like this he could end up in Azkaban, and the last thing we want is to have Dumbledore locked up. While You-Know-Who knows Dumbledore’s out there and wise to what he’s up to he’s going to go cautiously. If Dumbledore’s out of the way–Well, You-Know-Who will have a clear field.”

“That’s horrific,” Hermione exclaimed. “They can’t imprison him for speaking the truth. Even if he was making it up, you can’t sentence someone to Azkaban for it.”

“Unfortunately, they can,” Professor Lupin told her. “A lot of the emergency acts put into place during the last war, and at the end of it, were never removed.”

“But that's a gross miscarriage of justice.”

“The Ministry is justice,” Sirius told her. “That’s how they see things, at least.”

“Wait a second,” Harry said desperately, as Hermione continued to simmer in rage, “if Voldemort’s trying to recruit more Death Eaters it’s bound to get out that he’s come back, right?”

“Voldemort doesn’t march up to people’s houses and bang on their front doors, Harry,” Sirius tutted. “He tricks, jinxes and blackmails them. He’s well practiced at operating in secret, but things haven’t been this much in his favour for a while. In any case, gathering followers is only one thing he’s interested in. He’s got other plans too, plans he can put into operation very quietly, and he’s concentrating on those for the moment.”

“What’s he after apart from followers?” Harry asked swiftly. Sirius and Professor Lupin exchanged the most fleeting of looks before Sirius answered.

“Stuff he can only get by stealth.”

Hermione clenched her hand tighter around Ron’s.

Harry only looked puzzled, so Sirius added, “Like a weapon. Something he didn’t have last time.”

Her hold tightened further, nails digging into the back of his hand.

“When he was powerful?”

“Yes.”

Ron hissed as she dug deeper still.

“Like what kind of weapon?” Harry asked. “Something worse than Avada Kedavra–?”

“That’s enough!” Mrs. Weasley spoke from the shadows beside the door.

“Hermione,” Ron hissed urgently and kicked at her. The twins gave them an odd look.

She blinked, pulling her hand back quickly and mumbling an apology. There were pale indents on the back of his hand where her nails had been.

She returned from taking Ginny upstairs about a minute ago, the voice filled her in.

“I want you in bed, now. All of you,” she added, looking around at Fred, George, Ron and Hermione.

“You can’t boss us–” Fred began.

“Watch me,” snarled Mrs. Weasley. She was trembling slightly when she turned to Sirius. “You’ve given Harry plenty of information. Any more and you might just as well induct him into the Order straightaway.”

“Why not?” Harry questioned. “I’ll join. I want to join, I want to fight.”

Liar, the voice sing-songed.

“No.”

It was Professor Lupin who spoke this time.

“The Order is comprised only of overage wizards,” he said.

They just have those who are underage put in harm's way to see to their end goals, the voice sneered.

“Wizards who have left school,” he added, as Fred and George opened their mouths. “There are dangers involved of which you can have no idea, any of you…I think Molly’s right, Sirius. We've said enough.”

The voice didn’t disagree, and Hermione knew he was right. The types of horrors she had witnessed, that she now knew of as well as the back of her hand, were things she hadn’t the slightest idea of before.

Sirius half-shrugged. Mrs. Weasley beckoned imperiously to her sons and Hermione, and herded them out of the kitchen. Hermione noted Harry following behind a moment later.

Hermione, aware Ginny and herself wouldn’t be able to meet up with the boys again that night, and the twins wouldn’t be able to apparate from their own floor to the girls’ without their parents hearing them, decided to fill Ginny in herself.

She gave a very matter-of-fact relay of the entire conversation, not leaving anything out as the voice whispered to her. By the time she was done, both girls had changed and were curled in their beds. Ginny was noticeably pale, her freckles standing out like blood on a white shirt.

Staring at the girl, Hermione couldn’t find it within herself to remain quiet at the sight of her clenched jaw. “Ginny, you don’t have to worry about the weapon. I can’t explain much, not while we’re here, maybe at Hogwarts, but the weapon isn’t actually a weapon. It can’t hurt anyone.”

The prophecy will only be used as a means of justification.

Ginny stared at her for a long minute, appearing to determine how truthful she was being. She only received a stiff nod from the redhead, but as she looked less likely to have a nervous breakdown, Hermione decided it was worth it.