decisions to decisions are made and not bought
It wasn't long before Hermione found herself at Grimmauld Place along with the Weasley brood, anxiously awaiting the arrival of Harry. Sirius had offered his ancestral home as headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, an organization Dumbledore had created during Voldemort’s first rise to power. They’d placed a Fidelus charm on the home and moved the lot of them in, claiming it would be undoubtedly safer than the Burrow.
Hermione was initially anxious about spending time around Mrs. Weasley, who probably still held some sort of grudge against her due to the foul and outright preposterous gossip that Reeta Skeeter had written in the Daily Prophet. While their interactions were still a bit forced, it was nowhere near the hostility of the howler Hermione had received last year.
Molly had quickly set them about to work on the house, cleaning and collecting dark magic objects to dispose of or cleanse, attempting to breathe new life into a place that seemed steeped in darkness. Hermione immediately volunteered to handle the library. Just the thought of Molly vanishing a potentially priceless tome made her heart rate quicken and sweat bead on her forehead. She filled her time pilfering the Black library, hiding behind stacks when she found a book she knew the adults wouldn't approve of. Setting aside books that held advanced defensive and offensive spells to practice later. She’d found a loose floorboard in the closet of the room she shared with Ginny and hidden the shrunken books there with multiple charms and wards to keep others from noticing. It would be a waste to destroy all this knowledge. You could read it without corrupting yourself.
Anxiety permeated through the house when news of the dementor attack reached Grimmauld Place, Molly and Sirius constantly bickering, Walburga screaming through the curtains about blood traitors and mudbloods.
If she was honest Hermione wasn’t nearly as bothered by Walburga’s outburst as she was by Sirius’ treatment of Kreacher, his house elf. Regardless of the vile things that he spat in her direction, Hermione laid the blame where it belonged, at the feet of the Black family ancestors. After all, it wasn’t Kreacher who had decided the words of their house.
Hermione had done research on the pureblood families during first year. She hated not knowing things and hated being caught uninformed. So she learned about each of the Sacred 28 families, their coat of arms, and their family motto "Toujours Pur." Utter rubbish if you asked her, a once great house now brought to its knees due to blood purity and bigotry.
She’d found a book with the name Shafiq embossed on the outside, it had hieroglyphs so Hermione knew she would have to do more research before she could read it. If she dared to read it, but she knew the name, had read about the family in her research about the Sacred 28. The family had died out in the aftermath of Grindelwald.
Despite her anger at Sirius’ treatment of Kreacher, she sympathized with him. His mother was a nightmare, and the house ghastly. She found herself grateful once again for her muggle dentist parents, she’d rather grow up in the warmth of their love than in the cold embrace of
pureblood politics and expectation.
Soon enough Harry arrived from his trial at the Wizengamot, his expulsion had been rescinded thank Merlin. They all greeted him at the door, Hermione and Ron quickly ushering him upstairs to the room he would share with Ron to get details.
Hermione listened to his recollection of the trial, she had already deduced that the ministry was trying to use this event to discredit and defame Harry. The Daily Prophet had slandered Harry and Dumbledore all summer.
Once that was done she filled Harry in on the Order of the Phoenix before returning downstairs for supper. After eating her fill and trying to avoid seeing Ron with a mouth full of food, the children were all ordered upstairs, prohibited from hearing the details of the Order meeting about to start.
Fred and George had invented an extendable ear, that was quite genius and allowed them to listen in on the conversation from the top of the stairs. Unfortunately, Crookshanks thought it was a cat toy and quickly ripped it off the string before bounding off happily. The others turned to go back to their respective rooms or probably play a game of exploding snap but Hermione was feeling restless so she journeyed to the library, grabbed a knitted blanket, and curled up on a couch in front of the fire.
Before long Hermione heard the sound of chairs scraping the ground as they pushed back from the table, farewells, and the front door closing, signaling the end of the meeting. Silencing her footsteps she crept down the hall. Just as she was to turn a corner she heard hushed urgent tones and retreated, pressing her body to the wall hoping it would swallow her whole.
“Constant vigilance, Albus! What are you going to do? He will collect the …...” Moody whispered gruffly.
“..... just a child Moody, we went to considerable lengths to ……., he won't be able to find ….., at least not right away. Let it be for now.” Albums responded tiredly.
“ …… a threat Albus, whether you choose to see it or not. He WILL not stop trying to …… or the …. now that he’s back. Once he ……, we will be no match for him. …… must be dealt with”
“ I refuse to condemn a ….. who has done no wrong Alastor, you should be ashamed for even suggesting it. ……. the portraits to keep an eye on…. in the castle. That will be all for now.” Dumbledore said before walking swiftly back in the direction he came. Leaving Moody in the hallway. Hermione retreated to the library and resumed reading, wishing Crookshanks hadn't ruined the extended ear, so she could have heard the entire conversation, her mind trying to make sense of their coded exchange.
The next morning Hermione woke up just as confused as she had been the night prior. She’d ruminated on the conversation she’d overheard for hours before Hypnos had whisked her off to haunting dreams of a faceless threat, but without the context and knowledge of who or what it was, Hermione was at a loss. It was obvious they saw this thing to be a real and tangible threat to them all and would be at Hogwarts at some point.
The thought of another threat with them at Hogwarts gave Hermione a sinking feeling. She’d been excited about the possibility of a year without a million distractions. It was an important O.W.L. year and she was determined to do well to get into as many NEWT-level classes as possible next year. Last year had been chaotic with the Tri-Wizard tournament, Harry and Ron’s bickering, her quasi-relationship with Viktor Krum, then the finale of a shite sandwich, the resurrection of Voldemort, and Cedric’s death.
Hermione felt at once that she'd made the right decision hiding away the books and getting them wands.
After breakfast, Hermione motioned discreetly for the boys to join her in the library. Ron, of course, went to grumble but Harry quickly elbowed him in the ribs, silencing his protest when he noticed the serious look on her face.
Once inside the library Hermione quickly cast a muffliato charm and warded the door to alarm them if someone was approaching. She dragged the boys down an aisle and turned to them with a fierce look in her eye.
“We need to train.”
“Blimey Hermione, did you have to drag us through the house to tell us this? We’ll get plenty of “training” in DADA this year” Ron exclaimed, rubbing his arm where she had grabbed him.
Harry searched her eyes, noticing the panic swirling in orbs of honeyed brown. “What happened Mione?”
She lowered her voice before responding, “I overheard Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Moody talking last night in the hallway. I couldn't hear everything, they kept lowering their voices. There's a threat at the school, a student, I couldn't determine who exactly. We can't be caught unaware Harry. We’ve been lucky so far, we cannot count on that. We can only disarm or stupefy so many times, and the Death Eaters aren't going to be using lower-level magic because we’re kids. No. They will use the darkest spells they know to ensure victory.”
Ron and Harry turned towards each other before turning back to Hermione with a determined look on their faces. Ron spoke first “What's the plan? How are we supposed to train without anyone finding out?”
“I was looking for Crookshanks the other night and came across a dueling room on one of the lower floors. We can sneak down after everyone goes to bed. We just have to avoid Kreacher.” Pulling the spare wands out of a hidden pocket on the inside of her jacket, she held the Blackthorn out to Harry, who looked at her with confusion.
Ron looked horrified. “Good Godric Hermione! What are you doing with extra wands?!”
“Clearly I’m trying to avoid the trace, Ronald”
Ron pondered for a moment before the metaphorical lightbulb above his head flicked on. “You're bloody brilliant Hermione! Is this one mine?” He reached out to grab her Snakewood wand.
“Ronald, you live in a magical household. What cause do you have for an unregistered wand? This one is mine.” She responded, pulling the wand close to her chest.
Ron’s face started to redden, a telltale sign that he was a cauldron about to blow. Harry quickly tried to defuse the situation. “Ron mate, Hermione’s right. We live in the muggle world while on holiday. I just had a hearing at the Wizengamot for saving myself and Dudley from Dementors and they tried to expel me. You live surrounded by magic, the trace doesn’t register the same for you as it does for us. I’m sure if you still want one we can try to sneak off during the next visit to Diagon.”
“I guess, that makes sense, I want one too though! S’ only right.” Ron grumbled.
That night when the house was quiet and Hermione was sure everyone was asleep she transfigured her extra pillow to look like she was still sleeping in bed and crept out of the room. Silencing her footsteps, she made her way to the Boys’ room, knocking quietly. The door opened a crack, and a bespeckled face peered back through the crack at her before opening the door completely. Harry grabbed the cloak and motioned for Ron and Hermione to squeeze under, casting a disillusionment charm on them to cover their lower bodies.
After jostling down the stairs, feet getting stepped on and elbows catching each other's sides occasionally they eventually made it downstairs to the dueling room.
Hermione had snuck down here earlier, to tidy the room, repair the dueling dummies, and stash a few books that held new spells. They quickly stood in front of their own dummy, drawing their wands. Hermione and Ron both looked expectantly at Harry, waiting for instructions.
“Why are you looking at me? This was your idea, Hermione.”
“But I don't have experience dueling a dark wizard Harry, you do.”
“I wouldn't call what happened a duel, I'd call it getting tortured and running for my life.”
Ron finally chimed in, “Either way, you have more experience and are undoubtedly better than us in Defense Against the Dark Arts. What do you say, prof? What's first?”
Sighing before running his hand through his already unmanageable hair, “Stunning, and disarming. Once we’ve mastered that we’ll move on to some harder stuff.”
“Your new wand Harry, you have to get used to it.” Hermione reminded him.
She swapped her vinewood wand for the snakewood wand still in her holster. Hermione once again felt the tingle run up her arm. While it wasn't as comfortable as her vinewood wand, it held a certain familiarity, as if the wand was still deciding if she was worthy. She was determined to earn the wand's allegiance, even if it was only to be used in emergencies.
They practiced for two hours, first with the dummies then practiced dueling each other. Hermione found herself in awe of Harry's natural ability in dueling and her motivation for training multiplied tenfold. She refused to be a liability.