Hermione's No Good, Totally Horrible, but Not Absolutely Terrible Summer - PART 2
One Month, One Week into Grimmauld Stay (Middle to end of July)
“No way,” Hermione mutters to herself in a fervor, eyes glued to the book in her hands. “There is absolutely no bloody way.” Ron and Fred momentarily freeze up before looking away from their own books.
Over the past week, random tomes would show up on their beds in the morning. It had taken about two days before Ron pointed out that each book referenced something on their questions list in the study. Sometimes it would be on the topic of wizarding law, other times manners and tradition.
Yesterday, it switched up with Fred getting one on obscure charms, George another on obscure potions, while Ron woke up that morning to a book on, of all things, Blood Magic. Something he found himself surprisingly absorbed in before Hermione's sudden and terrifying use of inappropriate language.
The brothers lock eyes in a concerned glance, neither sure if they should ignore her, ask what was up, or book it for safer pastures. Hermione has been in a right tizzy after the dressing down she got from their mother the night before after another failed attempt at contacting Harry.
“Er…” Ron starts, but trails off unsure. He can't help the slight flinch when Hermione's eyes snap up to him regardless. “Can we, uh, help you with anything?” Ron had been so caught up in learning about something actually interesting for a change that he has no idea what his friend is reading at this point. Merlin knows she can consume a book far faster than should be humanly possible.
Hermione frowns in either thought or frustration for a moment and, while obviously not directed at them, it puts both boys farther on edge. “Yes actually, I have a question.” She waves her tome around as if to accentuate her point, and he catches a glimpse of the title. Something about magical theory. “When you hear someone say ‘you are the brightest of your generation’, what word would you consider to be synonymous with ‘Brightest’?” She waits on them for a moment before adding, "Synonymous pretty much means words that mean the same, like wet and damp or dry and arid.”
Fred makes an O' face before relaxing into his seat, “Oh, easy, ‘Light’. You could sub lightest in for brightest and it would be the same sentence.” Ron makes his own face of understanding and nods along to the words.
“Really?” Ron doesn't think he’s ever seen Hermione look so unbelievably annoyed. “I bet you 100 galleons that if I were to ask any muggleborn or raised student, hell even Harry, they would tell me that in the mentioned context, bright would be the same as smart.”
Ron, being her best friend who has shared classes with her for four years, is the first to realize exactly what kind of miscommunication has happened. “Oh shit.. But- but that means…”
“Yes, Ron, it means that since first year, any time a teacher has said I’m the ‘brightest’ witch of my age, I misunderstood them for saying I’m the smartest.” She says with no small hint of embarrassment mixing into the irritation in her voice.
Thinking back on all the times he had heard it himself over the years, a sudden memory has him much more pissed off now than it did when it initially occurred. “That utter burk!” Ron ignores Hermione and Freds leaning back at his exclamation. He is rather like his mother in volume… “All those times Snape mocked you with the phrase, he totally knew what was going on!”
Hermione opens her mouth to protest before snapping it shut again and looking more than a little miserable, “As much as I hate to admit it, in hindsight, I can totally see why he did it now. But I am honestly surprised I haven't come across it in a theory book before.” She lets her head flop down onto the open pages, her hair flying dramatically in all directions. “Just… Whyyy?”
Ron calms down at the sound of her whining and can't stop the smile that works its way onto his face. The situation is a little funny. Fred certainly thinks so if his quiet chuckles are anything to go off. “Okay, going back a bit, what theory book are you even reading?” Ron asks.
Hermione lifts her head back up, more energized now that the frustration at the situation has ebbed away a bit. “It's a rather generic title, but it talks about the differences in Light-Dark Magic compared to White-Black. As well as basic ways on how to identify Wixen with white and black cores. I love the writing style, I’ll need to see if the author wrote anything else.”
Interested, Fred moves over to her desk to take a look at the book himself. “What are the ways to tell? Is it a spell George or I could help with?”
Hermione shook her head before answering, “I read through that section quickly, but when I say basic, I do mean basic.” She thumbs through the pages to find the section. “Here it is if you want to read it yourself. It gives more of a ‘what to look for’ rather than any actual spells. There are alot of references to wandless magic, do you know if that's tracked by the ministry?”
Fred hums noncommittally as he looks over the passages, “I’m not sure. I think they have a way of tracking bursts of underage magic in non-magical areas, which is how they know to send out the accidental magic reversal squad. But… This is an extraordinarily magic dense house despite the neighborhood, so hypothetically, there could be no way for them to track it so long you didn’t use a wand with the trace.” He took a moment to silently mouth out one of the lines before nodding once to himself.
Moving back to sit in his chair, Fred says, “I say you go for it! Wandless magic that is. You don't have warnings on your record if they are actually able to track it. We’ve been getting these books for a reason, and out of all of us, you'd be the only one that might get any results once we do find a spell.”
Reading over the passage again herself, Hermione drums her fingers in thought against the desk. “I’ll try later tonight when Ginny and George are let out of your moms supervision. Ginny will probably strangle me if we do anything without her.” The two other Weasleys are stuck preparing dinner with Molly after getting caught setting up the distraction for Hermione to send the most recent letter out.
Ron shivers at the thought of his sister. She’s been a right task master the past few weeks. “Perhaps Ginny should give the spell a shot too, once we find one.” His offhand comment gets him a quill to the face from Fred.
“GinGin is not a Black Witch.”
“Certainly acts like one,” Ron mutters unintelligibly to himself, rubbing his cheek. “Anyways, any progress on a different method to contact Harry? I can’t believe his birthday is only a couple days away already.”
He loves his family and Hermione, but it just wasn’t the same without his best friend here too. Ron has to fight not to sigh at the direction his thoughts keep taking him. Ginny's diatribe still sits heavy on his shoulders. He had tried to form an argument against some of her claims on their way to the study, but fell short when he got his first look at the work they had already plastered across the walls.
The following hours flipped Ron's entire world on its axis. The echo of his sister's words holding a far more bitter sting in memory than when they were first uttered.
This summer also really hasn’t shaped up to be what he thought it would be. Logically, Ron understood they would have to be more careful after the dark lord's resurrection, but he had assumed, like the rest of his siblings, they would stay at home. There's no reason Bill couldn’t have cast the Fidelius charm over the Burrow, or at the very least raised war wards.
Instead his mother has all but commandeered someone else's home practically against their will. Setting up camp and cleaning house as if she owned the property. Luckily, since Mum doesn't want to give them the chance to all be in the same room to scheme, they've managed to set up a rota where one or two of them can be in the study at most times of the day. But he really is getting to the point where if he has to De-doxie one more curtain, Ron might just commit violence.
Hermione pulls him out of his thoughts, “I need to try getting into the library. If we can’t send it by owl, elf, or muggle post, there might be a spell or ritual we can use.”
“Oh I like your thinking,” Fred props himself against Hermione's desk, “Something like that could come in handy for a lot of reasons.”
Ron bookmarks his page and sets the old leather bound book aside. Cracking his knuckles, “I got some ideas I've been thinking up on that since mum mentioned wanting to do a purge on the books.”
----
Hermione stares at the dark ceiling of the room her and Ginny have been sharing. The other girl had fallen asleep about an hour before, but Hermione doesn't think she'll be following behind anytime soon.
From what they know, after a confused Mr. Weasley answered their bombardment of questions, Ministry owls show up within the hour of underage magic use. That didn’t happen tonight. It may be the ward around the house blocking the registry, or the fact her wandless attempt could hardly be called successful. After about an hour of trying, she managed to lift her quill a few centimeters from the table. Regardless, no owl.
Mr. Weasley had been very wishy-washy on his knowledge on if they have a way to specifically track underage magic or if they just check up on any intense spikes in muggle areas. Since accidental magic is usually in big bursts, it would make sense if it's the latter. She also knows from the boys' written recount of events, their father used magic in number 4 and no one from the ministry showed up to investigate.
There’s also the situation with Dobby in ‘92, but the little menace had wanted to draw attention to the spell used in the house. Maybe she should call him again? The first time hadn’t been productive at all with the Headmaster having the forethought to order the elf away from Harry. Hermione had still made a point to explain as much as she could without risking the elf having orders to report to the headmaster. If anyone can find a loophole it’ll be Dobby, but it can't be something she can rely on.
Hermione heaves a sigh before quietly making her way out of bed without waking Ginny. In moments like this she understands why Harry roams the castle at night. An invisibility cloak of her own would be perfect at the moment.
The hallway is much darker than she expects when the door closes shut. The windows are still too dirty to let much moonlight through, so she lets her fingers find the wall to act as a guide to the stairwell. Hermione doesn’t know what she's hoping to gain by wandering Grimmauld at night, but it's better than wallowing about things she can't fix or understand yet.
Her footsteps are a soft sound that doesn’t echo far in the space of the hall. Sound dampening charms maybe? It is not anything she would have noticed during the day with all the other noise the Weasleys bring everywhere with them.
As much as she hates the grime and confinement of the circumstance, Gimmauld itself has interested Hermione since the moment she stepped through the threshold. It had felt… bristling. Like the magic of the house was reserving judgement rather than outright hostilities, but they were still entirely unwelcome guests regardless of Sirius’ invitation. The only time she's felt anything similar from a building has been at Hogwarts and in a small way, the Burrow.
That initial unwelcome has changed over the past month, she muses. The pad of her fingers tingle slightly where they brush against exposed wood under peeling wallpaper. It was tentative at first, things like doors opening easier, curtain rods not falling off the wall and strategically onto them while cleaning, or everything in the kitchen no longer working against Mrs. Weasley. Hermione is still confused to hell and back over how the Weasley Matriarch got herself into better standing with the house than Sirius.
The biggest changes, however, started after they began their work in the study. The more information about Harry and what they planned to do to fix it that went up on the walls, the more Grimmauld seemed to cover their tracks and hide them from prying eyes.
Hermione had lamented for days over whether to call Kreacher to them or not, knowing the chances of the spiteful elf helping would be slim to none. But a couple days ago she finally relented and called for him after Dobby popped out. Only, in tune with the house, Kreacher had been surprisingly forthcoming with the knowledge he was ordered by Sirius not to have contact with any member of the Black family.
She hasn’t said anything to the others, but she’s pretty sure Kreacher has been spying on their activities for at least the last week. It’s the only explanation Hermione can think of to explain the books they've been receiving that are all embossed with the Black family coat of arms. Sirius is too spineless and bad at lying to go behind Dumbledore and Molly to do it himself. Now, if Kreacher would just include a book with a ritual to send a damn letter, Hermione would be grateful.
So, between Grimmauld and Kreacher, their best conclusion so far is that them being so set on helping a member of the House of Black must have tipped the family magics favor toward them. It makes the house's indifference to Molly and her recent actions all the more of a puzzle. Perhaps it's because she’s doing a pretty good job cleaning? Hermione shakes her head, that seems entirely incorrect and something they should brainstorm on again when they have the time.
Hermione can't help but think the house is quite captivating at night as her eyes adjust to the dark. Captivating, if a bit twisted, she corrects herself as she eyes a grotesque wall hanging. The magic in the air seems more alive, poking at her like she's just as much a curiosity as itself.
The stairwell comes upon her quicker than expected with the slow pace she set for her journey. Now the question is if she wants to go up or down. Sirius’ room is upstairs and Hermione isn’t sure she wants to open the wrong door and stumble upon him or a sleeping hippogryph. Down it is. At least Mrs. Black portrait should be covered and asleep at this hour.
Halfway down the stairs Hermione starts to get the creeping feeling she's being watched. It's a feeling she’s become more accustomed to as the last week progressed, and what officially clued her into Kreacher's increased interest in their group. Why he seems to have taken a peculiar focus to her however, remains a mystery.
She shoots an uneasy glace into the darkness behind her. Perhaps she had been a bit hasty in exploring the house at night. Despite many of the Blacks never fully siding with the dark lord, the family as a whole certainly held many of the same beliefs. Beliefs and ideologies that she knows Kreacher also subscribed too.
The portraits on the walls all dozed away without care. Perhaps she's just paranoid and overthinking it since Mrs. Weasley has been on her ass so heavily lately. The woman seems to pop up at the worst and most unexpected moments.
Hermione is so wrapped up in her thoughts once she reaches the ground floor that she walks two full steps past Mrs. Black's uncovered portrait before freezing in renewed panic. The weight of painted eyes burning into the back of her head.
Her hair, that had been flowing gently in the ambient magic, puffs out like a spooked cat at being caught out by, quite literally, the last person she would want to find her. A mantra of ‘please don't scream, please don't scream, please don't scream’ rattles around Hermione's head. Whether it's directed at herself or Walburga Black, Hermione doesn’t know.
“A pleasant evening for a stroll about my home it seems,” The voice that breaks through the silence, while sharp, is far softer than anything else she's ever heard the woman speak in. Continuing in a sterner tone, “Come girl, proper greetings are always necessary when in the presence of your betters.”
Irked, Hermione finally unfreezes and opens her mouth to respond before remembering she's supposed to be quiet. A panicked glace at the stairs gets her a dismissive wave from the deceased Black Matriarch, “You’ll find most too scared of my home to leave their rooms at night, if they heard anything through the sound buffering spells to begin with.” The looks she pins Hermione with reminds her of Biology class before attending hogwarts. Likes she's nothing more than an interesting specimen to be examined.
Hermione has read about the Blacks. They are heavily entrenched all throughout British wizarding history whether it be in politics and government, economics, or war. If any living family could consider themselves royalty in this world, then the Blacks, at the height of power would have been it. The money, influence, and privilege practically drips from every facet of the painted women in front of her. Walburga Black is someone that Hermione has no doubt received anything and everything she desired in life besides genuine happiness.
And in this dark hallway, lit by stray moonlight, Hermione feels wholly inadequate in a way no other pureblood has been able to make her feel. The differences between them isn’t simply blood status, and it shows in every fiber of their bearings.
Grateful she hadn't rushed at the initial insult, Hermione gives herself a moment to remember the book on manners and traditions that showed up in the study the other day. While she still thinks much of the wizarding world is rather archaic, the last month has shown her that she really has stepped into a different world. Things are different here because they have to be, she just has to learn what can be evolved. Updated to match the times.
Manners, however, will always be a necessity, and Hermione is so extraordinarily annoyed with herself for not looking into it sooner. The ways she's accidentally insulted dozens of people, classmates, over the years is haunting her every night recently. Apology letters are definitely on their todo list.
“Good Evening, Lady Black. Apologies for intruding on your night.” The accompanying curtsy must have been as uncomfortable to watch as it was to perform if the tightening around the older woman's mouth is any indication.
“Heaven child, you are in dire need of a tutor. I'd recommend the Weasley woman, but she clearly hasn't passed anything along to her own children. Tragic that, Muriel's Prewit’s elocution is rather impressive, and I know she taught that woman and her brothers what was proper for a member of a noble house.” The portrait gives her a clear once over before snapping her fingers. Hermieons has to keep from yelping when Kreacher materializes next to her, the lack of pop has her questioning how long he’s been standing at her side.
Hermione takes a hesitant half step back, suddenly feeling like she's walked into a set up. “Kreacher, retrieve a chair for our guest.” Definitely a trap. Hermione's eyes dart around the foyer looking for a quick escape, but the old house elf was back before a clear route could fully process through her head. “Sit.” She sits at the command and frowns at her own lack of hesitation to comply.
“Ma’am?-” She trails off. Hermione feels like she’s losing the plot, and it’s more than a little unnerving.
The painted woman gazes down at her for a long moment, and Hermione takes it as an excuse to study her in turn. There genuinely hadn't been an opportunity before now. What with Mrs. Black's curtains either always closed, her yelling so bad you evacuate to another room, or simply not looking in her direction in an attempt to fly under the radar.
Hermione wonders if she should feel bad for the surprise at the realization that Walburga Black isn’t quite the hideous hag she had been led to believe through Sirius’s insults and her own experiences while the portrait was in a rage. When not sneering, crinkling in disgust, or screaming obscenities, her face is a perfect example of the beauty the House was once renowned for.
However, Hermione can’t help the niggle of thought that she also, even painted, seems aged beyond her years. Weathered, wrinkled, and gaunt in a way she shouldn’t be when you take into account magic's innate ability to massively slow the physical signs of aging.
Mercurial gray eyes lock onto her own, “Any known relation to the Dagworth-Grangers, child?”
Hermione blinks slowly at the question, “Not that I’m aware of. My paternal grandfather, however, was adopted but incapable of tracking down family records due to the destruction during the blitz.”
“Hmm… I recommend getting an inheritance test from Gringotts,” Mrs. Black's nose wrinkles minutely in disgust, “Disgusting, greedy creatures they may be, Goblins are the only licensed practitioners of Blood Magic in Britain with access to the ritual.”
“I’ll heed your recommendation ma’am, but may I ask why?” This is really starting to get confusing, and with how the summer is already going, Hermoione doesn’t know when she’d even get the chance to get t o Gringotts. Let alone the time away from any adults to get said test finished.
The older woman's face smooths out into more of an amused sneer, “We find you curious enough to revise some opinions.” A subtle gesture to Kreacher shows he’s included in the ‘we’. “Family magics, bloodline traits and affinities are sacred. Blessings that are bestowed by Mother Magic herself and are often extraordinarily unique. Such as the Metamorphmagus trait, which only an individual with Black family blood running through their veins may possess in part or full.”
Mrs. Black shifts closer in her portrait. Hermione feels tense, locked in place by the swirling metal colored eyes, “We have been watching you, Ms. Hermione Granger. And through observation have come to the conclusion that perhaps Houses long thought dead, may not be as lost as once was feared. Gifts from magic thought beyond our mortal reach, much closer to home than our previously narrowed eyes would let us see.”
The older woman leans back, easing off the mounting tension, “We are starting to believe that perhaps magic found a way to survive. To carry on through the generations til it was strong enough to reemerge. And I see now, it is a reemergence rather than any other idea that has been levied about since Muggleborns began to pop up more frequently as the decades progressed. In the interest of the success of my dying house, such things have needed to be taken into consideration. I failed greatly in life, grief doing a number to my mental stability in my later age, but the new heir brings the hope of a chance.” She looks contire to be admitting to the last part, but no less resolute.
It's quiet for a moment while Hermione is given time to absorb the deluge of information dropped on her in one go. If anyone had told her an hour ago that she would be having a civil conversation with Wahlburga black, she would have laughed in their face. The surreal feeling of it all hasn't subsided in the slightest yet.
Hermone latches onto the last part in lieu of what to say to the rest because really, she's feeling out of her depths at the moment. “New Heir? I thought Sirius was the Heir for the house of Black, or at least that's his assumption considering he was never formally charged and tried.”
The laugh from the portrait catches both Hermione and Kreacher off guard. Mrs. Black wipes at a stray tear before answering, “My idiot of a son was magically disinherited, with strict guidelines for reversal. Of which, I know he has not met. It wouldn't matter if he was the last Black on the face of this planet, he will never hold the position of head of house. His Godson, however, is a different story entirely.”
“His Godso- Harry!” Hermione can feel her jaw hanging open at the realization. She hadn’t been sure exactly how her friend was tied into the family enough that Kreacher wasn't able to contact him, but she hadn’t thought for a second that it was because he was the Heir to the whole bloody house. Does Dumbledore know? How could Sirius forget something so monumental as his own Godson being the future Lord to his family? Has he forgotten at all, or is he protecting the information for some reason? It certainly answered her questions about why the house has been so forthcoming with help.
“So- So you’re just going to throw all of your ideology out the window because the future lords, a what, a halfblood?” Hermione eventually asks incredulously. Harry being tied in such a way to House Black changes, not everything, but quite a few of their plans. And after spending the summer locked away with Sirius, Hermiones not about to let her best friend have anything to do with this woman if there's a chance he’ll come out the same way. “How is this any different than when you disinherited Sirius or disowned Andromeda?”
The mirthful tears had dissipated by the end of her outburst and the older woman was back to looking at her like Hermione's an interesting bug. “The difference, girl,” Hermione flinches back minutely at the chidement, “is time. It took running out of it, and waking within this frame to realize how far my house had fallen. If, as Kreacher puts it, a tweak in belief, so long as family value and history isn't besmirched, has the potential to bring life to the desolate remains of House Black? I am honor bound, even in death, perhaps especially in death, to try anew.”
Kreachers seems to preen under his mistresses' words. Looking all the worlds more confident than any other time the teen had seen him. Hermione knows without needing any further clarification that it was Kreacher who initiated this change in Whalburga.
“There is also the palatable fact that the boy is no mere halfblood for all he has a muggleborn mother.” The older woman seemed exorbitantly pleased at the announcement. “The Potters allowed my son to perform a blood adoption either before or shortly after young Harry's birth. By blood and magic, Harry Potter is a pureblood child of House Black.”
Hermione really needs to get her hands on heritage books. Her mind started to whirl as she thought back on everything the older woman had said so far tonight. She always had a hunch DNA played a bigger role than wizards realized in magical talents and traits. If what Mrs. Black says is true, then family magic may work similarly or in tandem with DNA markers.
“How would I test for magical affinities?” Maybe it was like the’ leaf in a cup of water’ test she’d read in a couple fantasy novels. No, she shakes the thought away feeling stupid, that would be to test elemental leaning if it even was a thing.
The look of disgust is back on Mrs. Black’s face as she mentions the goblins again. “There is a test we can perform now. I think it will answer some of the questions posed in your study earlier today.” Hermione's shoots a narrowed eyed look over at Kreacher, knowing he was likely spying on them again when she had her little breakdown about ‘light’ and ‘bright’.
Without needing an order, Kreacher pops out of the room and back in seconds later with a milky white, egg shaped crystal. Little blue bolts of light zipped around the part of the stone in contact with the elfs hands. It’s innocuous in its beauty, and Hermione can't help but feel suspicious of it.
Rather than reach for it, as Kreacher is clearly intending with how he holds it out to her, Hermione settles her attention on Walburga. No way is she touching a mystery stone without some explanation. Lesson learned after 1st year.
Kreacher's voice croaks out, drawing her attention to him again, “Yellow with blue, Black Witch. Pink with blue, White Witch. The crystal remains unchanged for anything else.”
Well… that is a better explanation than most adults have given her before. She eyes the softly glowing stone warily. It might answer her questions, but at the cost of Walburga Black showing a deep personal interest in her? Hermione knows, even as her hand reaches out for the stone, that she should have slept on the decision.
August 6th
Fred eyed the door warily as a commotion could be heard happening down the hall. “Hermione, cover it, hurry! I think someones coming.”
Hermione startles at the announcement, and quickly grabs a rug to throw over the runic circle she has been painstakingly painting all day. It seems to take forever to lay the rug gently enough that it won't smudge the wet spots. Hermione thinks she might cry if the circle gets ruined this close to her finishing it.
It could be safe to say, their group descended into utter histrionics when news came that Harry had been attacked by Dementors. By this morning, Molly looked dead on her feet from a mix of trying to keep them and Sirius in the house, and her own mounting concern for Harry's wellbeing.
In response to realizing how much danger his Heir was in, and needing to work around Sirius’ restrictions, Kreacher scoured the family library for a way for them to contact him. The answer to their problem ended up being in an obscure book on transportation. The ritual had been used primarily for transporting small, non-living items back before the commercialization of owl breeding and portkey creation.
The ritual fell out of favor due to the complex nature of the runic circle limiting users based on practicality and capability. Hermione hopes it won't be one they have to use more than for emergencies.
They decided to set up in Hermione and Ginnys room to lessen the chances Molly would grow suspicious of her locking herself away all day. Rug secured, Hermione quickly grabs a book to make it look like she was reading on the floor. The pillows beneath her to protect her knees while painting helped to sell the act.
A glance out the window shows her how much time passed while she was focused on her task. The sun looks like it set a while ago. The commotion in the hall turning to loud voices has her and Fred sharing a look before deciding to check it out themselves.
Carefully maneuvering around the rug, Hermione sidles up next to him as he opens the door. The volume change is immediate as voices overlap each other in a bid to be heard. “How can you still be saying that after flying soaked for an hour?!”, “Constant Vigilance, trainee!”, “I know why I didn’t, but why didn’t you cast a water repellent charm?”
At the sound of the last voice Hermione gasps out a cry and bolts toward the noise. “Harry!” And there he is. Looking a bit worse for wear, thin, and with an entirely too short haircut. Did… Did he try to style it? The thought flies out of her head when she's within lunging distance.
“Hermione!” Harry sounds more surprised than excited to see her, but she expected it. From his perspective, they ignored him all summer only for him to learn they've been in the same house as his godfather. The one person he wanted to spend the summer with more than anything else. She’d be pissed and she’s not the one with an anger issue.
Whispering urgently in his ear, “They wouldn’t let us write,” before pulling away. Hermione can see the moment his face blanks before her words register and his face does a weird thing where it both softens while looking at her and gets progressively redder in anger. She feels her lips twitch up into a smile at her best friend's predictability. At least she was quick with the redirect.
Twin pops sound and Harry's suddenly sandwiched between Fred and George. “Boys! How many times do I need to say, "NO APPARITION IN THE HOUSE!” Molly's bellow sounds from the other end of the gathered group of people that apparently went to get Harry.
George looks over Harry's head to meet his twin's eyes, “Run?”
Fred looks from George, to Hermione, back to where Molly is making her way through the receiving room. A quick, decisive nod, “Run,” and their bodily grabbing Harry to haul him up the stairs.
“Guys, what the hell?” Harry complains as they drag him through an open door leaving Hermione to close it behind them. “Where are we? What are you all doing here too? Moody would let anyone say details on the way over.”
Ron's voice pipes up from the corner where he’s getting out of his makeshift blanket nest. The twins decided Ron's room would be the best since that where they'd probably room Harry anyways. “Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. It’s so good to see you mate,” Ron envelopes Harry with a hug of his own.
They’re interrupted from saying anything else by a brief knock before the door is swinging open. “Sirius!” Harry's whole countenance brightens at the sight of his godfather.
“Prongslet,” Sirius’ smile is just as large and infectious as Harrys as he opens his arms wide and braces for the incoming impact. “You ran off so fast, almost thought I wouldn’t get to see you before the meeting started.”
“Meeting?” Harrys pulls back to look up at the older man confused.
“I’m sure your friends will explain what they know, but it's for an old resistance group we formed during the last war. We’ve started to meet up again this summer. With everyone here tonight, we decided to touch base.” Sirius ruffles his hair and laughs, “Ever thought of growing it out?” He throws his own long hair over his shoulder and adds in an eyebrow waggle for extra effect.
Righting his hair with a grumble, “Aunt Petunia would never let me get it that long.”
The room seems to suck in a collective breath as Sirius freezes at the name before he relaxes and continues on as if nothing was wrong. “How are you doing? It couldn’t have been easy to be around them again unexpectedly.” Hermiones heart hurt at the empathy in his voice. Harry apparently wasn’t any better as he pulled his godfather in for another hug. She hadn’t thought about how Sirius must have been feeling since hearing about the attack.
“Been better, and the trip here was kind of bullshit,” that got a barking laugh in response.
“I haven't seen my cousin that upset all summer, you’ll need to tell the story when we have more time.” He squeezed Harry tighter for a moment before releasing him and stepping back into the door frame. “I have to go before they send a hunting party up here, I’ll see you in a little while Harry. You kids be safe and don't do anything I wouldn’t do!” And he was gone.
George listened out the door for a minute before giving the all clear, “Let's grab Ginny and head to the study. We should have at least an hour before they start wrapping up.”
Ron slung his arm around Harry's shoulder and pulled him into the hall. “You won't believe how mental our summer has been, mate. We tried like, what was it? 12?” Hermione throws out a 13. “Right, sorry, 13 different ways to contact you. I had really high hopes for 14, magic number and all.”
“Who wouldn’t let you contact me?” Harry looked and sounded bewildered.
“It was Dumbledore's orders, but mum has been the one enforcing it.” Ron gut twists at the betrayal worming its way onto Harry's face. “I’m sorry,” it comes out as a whisper, but his best friend catches it all the same. “If it makes you feel any better, she’s made herself sick worrying about you this week. She just…” Rons hates how his voice trails off.
“Trusts a bit blindly in the headmaster?” Harry finishes for him with a sigh and Ron just nods lamely. “You don’t need to make excuses for your mum, Ron. I get it. It’s just… neither Sirius nor Professor Lupin wrote either. When I saw them after the tournament, they promised they would.”
Ron tightens the arm around Harry in a facsimile of a hug. Personally, Ron had hoped that one of the marauders would have flipped the headmaster the bird and sent something anyway. Sirius might have done more if he was a click or two saner, but Lupin, the utter berk, more often than not helped Molly in stopping them.
“Harry!” The two jump at Ginny's yell as she bounds out of the bathroom to greet the group.
“Hey, Ginny,” Harry shoots a raised eyebrow at Ron causing him to laugh. This summer had done wonders in tearing down the Hero Complex his little sister had built up around Harry in her head. With the added benefit of her crush fizzling out too. To Harry however, the personality shift is probably night and day.
Ron nudges his friend's shoulder, “Come on, you’ll want to see what we’ve put together.”
A small smile works its way to Ron's lips as he watches Harry's dumbfounded first look at the study. It took almost 2 months, but his friend is safe and with people who care about him. He takes a second to breathe in the relief because for better or worse, things are only going to pick up speed from here.