Chapter Text
July 1997
The windows in the Gryffindor common room were black, and all Hermione could see was the dying flames of the fire reflected back at her. She and Ron had fallen into silence, side-by-side on the overstuffed couch across from the hearth where they must have spent hundreds of hours, studying, laughing, arguing, worrying about Harry. Always worrying about Harry.
They did it now, together. Ron’s thigh pressed solidly against hers, offering her the comforting warmth that Ron always provided. Ginny remained downstairs as well, but had succumbed to exhaustion and was sleeping, curled cat-like in the armchair facing the portrait hole, where she had been watching and waiting for Harry. Always waiting for Harry.
Hermione had been thinking of Harry seeking out Sirius in the same fireplace so long ago when the door to the portrait hole swung open, breaking the not-quite-peaceful silence. She searched Harry's face in the habitual way she had done for years: was Harry angry, was he anxious, had something bad happened, had things gotten even worse somehow since she’d last seen him?
Harry’s tired eyes met hers briefly before searching and finding Ginny. His face softened slightly, and he stepped quietly over to the armchair next to hers, shedding his robes as he sank down into the overstuffed cushions.
Ron cleared his throat but kept his voice low in an attempt not to wake his younger sister. “How’d it go, mate? What did McGonagall want?”
Harry didn’t answer for a minute. His eyes remained on Ginny's sleeping form, trained on the slight rise and fall of her chest. Hermione imagined he was drawing comfort from the sight of her there, safe, alive, even though he had hardly been gone an hour.
“To offer help, I suppose. To let me know I could confide in her about—about whatever Dumbledore and I had been discussing.”
She and Ron exchanged knowing looks.
“Muffliato,” Hermione whispered, encasing the three of them in privacy. Ron quirked an eyebrow at her in a mild challenge, and she remembered, with what felt like miles of distance, a time when something as small as a spell that she couldn’t find in her textbooks had bothered her. She shrugged in response and turned back to Harry.
“What did you say?”
Harry let out a frustrated sigh. “Nothing, really. If Dumbledore didn’t tell her—or anyone else—about the Horcruxes when he was alive, I still don’t think I should now, either.”
Hermione frowned. They had largely been avoiding the topic of the Horcruxes for days, in some sort of unspoken agreement that these last days at the school were better spent in this strange, suspended state of denial before the inevitable reality that hurtled toward them.
But that hadn’t stopped Hermione from privately turning over the question in her mind endlessly, wondering how to broach the subject with Harry, pondering the reasons Dumbledore may have had for keeping his secrets and the wisdom of those choices given everything that had happened, and agonizing over whether they really ought to do the same.
“Harry,” she began tentatively. “I think we need to discuss this further.”
Neither wizard looked particularly excited at her suggestion. A weary sigh from Harry was her only answer for a long moment, but she thought it sounded more like the one he used when he was resigned to listening to Hermione lecture him about a particularly boring homework assignment, rather than the recent exhalations under his breath that seemed to indicate his bones felt about a thousand years old. This encouraged her slightly.
“Alright,” he finally replied. “Let’s talk about it. Do you think I should have just told her?”
“No,” Hermione said, twisting her fingers in the tassel of the couch cushion. “But the thing is, now that Dumbledore is—is dead, someone else will be put in charge of the Order. They will be responsible for making decisions about where and when and who to fight, and planning a strategy to take down Voldemort. Only now it won’t be someone who actually knows the only way to win, like Dumbledore did.” She looked anxiously at Ron to gauge whether she was getting through to him before turning back to Harry. “That just… doesn’t make sense.”
The only sounds for a few moments were the crinkle of robes from Ron’s anxious shifting on the couch and Ginny’s measured breaths across the room. Harry dropped his head in his hands. His voice was muffled when he finally spoke.
“So… you’re suggesting we tell everyone in the Order?”
“No, not that either,” Hermione replied quickly, sensing she had her opening now. “That would be dangerous. Obviously, anyone who knows about the Horcruxes could accidentally—or intentionally, Merlin forbid—tell the wrong people about it. And our biggest advantage right now is that Voldemort doesn’t know we know about them. If he figured out our plan, he could move them and scatter them across the Earth so we’d never find them, and then—”
She drew up short, not quite able to finish the thought.
Ron looked ill at her words and Harry still hadn’t raised his head. She hurriedly continued.
“But the Order is an army, right? Or at least it’s going to need to be now. And three teenagers aren’t going to be the ones in charge of making the plans, but someone will be. So we just need to tell that person, or at least convince them to listen to us so they can organize around this as the endgame. Otherwise,” Hermione drew a deep breath and made her final point. “What if the Order was to plan some huge surge or attack or something? It wouldn’t work.”
The nightmares that had kept her up since Harry had first told them about the Horcruxes were spilling out of her now and she found she couldn’t stop the spiral in her mind that she had been keeping tightly under control. What had Dumbledore been thinking. How were they supposed to do this, how was she somehow responsible for keeping everyone alive. Alive, alive, alive.
“It will never work unless the Horcruxes are already destroyed, but they have no idea. People could be led into a slaughter, for nothing.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
“Blimey, Hermione,” Ron said quietly. He was so pale she could have counted every freckle on his face.
Harry ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in a familiar way that slightly calmed her increasing hysterical train of thought, and sighed again. It was the bone-weary sigh this time. His green eyes looked hollow and she felt like she could see the weight of his tragic seventeen years literally pressing his shoulders downward.
“I know you’re right, Hermione,” Harry said quietly. “I just wish I could ask Dumbledore if it was what he would have done.”
The tension seemed to drain from his shoulders a bit as he straightened up in his chair and turned to face them more fully. Hermione felt very proud and yet horribly sick at how he pushed down the guilt and uncertainty in exchange for taking on the responsibility of making this decision for them. Because, ultimately, in the end, it was his decision. Wasn’t it?
“What do you think, Ron?”
As Ron’s brow furrowed in concentration in response to Harry’s question, Hermione had a vivid flashback to watching a gangly twelve-year-old boy plot out moves across a gigantic living chessboard. She realized suddenly that Ron would likely be very good at planning strategy for the Order in the coming world—the coming war—and the thought made her heart squeeze uncomfortably.
“I reckon you’re right,” Ron finally said. “We can’t divide the Order’s strength by having two separate approaches to this without either side knowing what and why the other side is doing something. But this information is dangerous. I’m not saying I think we’ve got another Snape,” his face twisted in disgust, “but Hermione’s right that people can get hurt for knowing things. Forget Crucio. Voldemort can fucking read minds.”
Despite the harsh conclusion, Hermione felt a rush of gratitude and affection for the redhead sitting next to her. “Harry, it’s up to you. But I think we can do it in a way that will only help. Possibly that can end everything faster.”
Harry smiled tiredly at her. “I trust you, Hermione.” She resisted the urge to throw her arms around him and offered him a small smile in return instead, the first time she could remember doing so in a while.
“Alright," he concluded, "but we say nothing until we all agree who to tell, and how to do it."
“Agreed.”
“Agreed.”
Conversation faded quickly after that.
They sat together for a few more minutes, the silence heavier than before, until Harry got up from his armchair and knelt next to Ginny’s sleeping form.
Hermione watched him place a hand gently on Ginny’s cheek and murmur something in her ear to rouse her. Ginny stirred sleepily and a look of contentment replaced confusion upon realizing who had woken her. Hermione felt very much like an intruder on an intimate moment and shifted awkwardly, causing her leg to pull away from where it had been resting against Ron’s. He started at her movement and caught her eye, his discomfort apparent as well.
They both stood.
Ron walked her to the steps of the girls’ dormitory, feet shuffling and hands stuffed in his pockets, not close enough to brush her arm but not as far as he once would have lingered.
It had been like this for weeks; Hermione had thought there was some sort of growing closeness between them, some understanding, when everything had settled after all that Lavender nonsense, and then shifted even more by the shock of Dumbledore’s death. But now, whenever she felt that they should’ve been turning further toward each other, neither seemed able to draw up the courage.
Or, she wondered sometimes to herself when she was alone at night in her bed and his comforting presence wasn’t quite as nearby, perhaps the desire?
But that was wrong, wasn’t it, she told herself, this was Ron and she’d wanted him for so long. The frozen state of the world was just keeping them in suspense as well, surely. Everything would change soon; she and Ron would have time to sort out whatever was going to happen between them.
Surely, they had time for that.
…
Hermione awoke with a renewed sense of purpose the next morning.
They hadn’t agreed on any concrete action the night before, but their now-shared understanding that something would have to be done had sent her brain whirring into motion in a familiar pattern.
She was the one who would plan. Who would figure out the steps they would have to take, what order they should be in, and how they would take them. Action felt better than inaction to her, as it always had, but especially now when the looming sense of something ending, or maybe beginning but in the worst way, pressed in on the castle and in on her chest.
She dressed quickly and left for the Great Hall. It was early, even by her own standards, but she didn’t want the boys with her for what she had in mind. Better to fill them in later, she thought to herself, reaching the entrance to the Great Hall quickly in her haste.
Breakfast was nearly empty. She passed the Slytherin table and noticed Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass sitting alone at one end of the table, talking quietly. They stopped talking when she neared and Hermione met Blaise’s eyes by accident. He leveled her with an expression that she couldn’t read and didn’t look away as she expected he would.
Hermione averted her eyes and hurried to her intended destination.
Professor McGonagall was joined only by Professors Flitwick and Slughorn at the staff table. Each offered the slightly pained smile that every person left at the castle seemed to be mustering these days as she approached.
“Good morning, Ms. Granger,” Professor Slughorn said with an attempt at his usual geniality, gesturing to the seat next to him. “You’re up quite early. You are certainly welcome to join us rather than dine alone at your House table.”
She smiled in thanks at him but shifted toward Professor McGonagall.
“That’s kind of you, Professor, but I won’t be long. Actually, I was hoping to make an appointment with you, Professor McGonagall, whenever it is convenient.”
Professor McGonagall lifted her eyebrows, setting her teacup down. “Of course. I’ve time now, if that’s suitable for you.”
Hermione nodded quickly, relieved. “Yes, absolutely.”
She waited while the headmistress bade her colleagues goodbye and stood. As she trailed behind Professor McGonagall out of the Hall, Hermione thought she felt Blaise Zabini’s inscrutable eyes on her back once more.
Hermione settled somewhat uncomfortably into the chair across from what had until recently been Dumbledore’s desk. There was an air of melancholy in the room, as if it felt abandoned, too, though Professor McGonagall herself seemed unbothered and as stoic as ever. She summoned two cups and poured from a teakettle sitting on the desk, offering Hermione one before gesturing to the milk and sugar dishes.
Hermione splashed her drink with milk—no sugar, she did have dentists in her family, after all—stirred slowly, and took a deep sip before saying anything. The habitual motions worked to steady her nerves. Professor McGonagall made no sign of impatience, merely sipping her drink as well and waiting.
“Thank you for speaking with me, Professor McGonagall,” she began. “I understand you also spoke to Harry last night.”
A sad look appeared in the other woman’s eyes for a moment, making her lined face look even older.
“Yes, I did. Rather, I tried. I assume he has shared more with you than with me, to be frank. I can only say that I extend the same offer of support to you as I have offered to him.”
Hermione looked down at her hands, which were gripping the teacup too tightly.
“Thank you, Professor.” She gathered her courage again. “I think—I have spoken with Harry about taking you up on the offer, in some manner, soon. That’s sort of why I’m here, though I will admit that it is to ask you for something, rather than offer information, at least for the moment.”
This earned her a rare look of surprise. Hermione set her cup down firmly on the desk.
“Professor, I’d like to know what the Order’s current plans are. I intend to join the Order in any capacity you will have me, and I’d like to be as useful as possible. I’m of age, and I have no magic parents or guardians in any case to object—or to fight for me. I’m aware that I have not finished school, but,” she hesitated, “I mean no offense, Professor, but I find it quite hard to believe I’ll be back at school in the fall, one way or another. So I am not sure I’d have anywhere else to go anyway.”
Despite the somewhat pathetic-sounding conclusion, Hermione’s words rang oddly formal even to her own ears. Unsure whether to continue, she paused, and an awkward silence fell. A few of the portraits in the room were visible from her angle; they had mostly been sleeping or pretending to sleep, but some were watching with interest now, which only added to her growing embarrassment at her little speech.
There was no judgment in Professor McGonagall’s reply, however, and possibly, Hermione thought with secret pleasure, there was a hint of pride.
“Ms. Granger, I want to first assure you that I will do everything in my power to keep this school open—not only to you but to any student who wishes to attend. But I am afraid that there may be a chance that you are correct.”
She sighed deeply and the heavy look settled into her face again.
“However, I also want you to know that you are not alone in the magical world, Ms. Granger. Anything but, in fact.”
Hermione blushed at these words but nodded gratefully.
“As for joining the Order, I wish for nothing more than that I could prevent you from having to do such a thing. If I could stop this war, and if I could allow you all to—” the headmistress paused and seemed to have to gather her emotions. “I know you are not a child anymore, though I may wish that you did not have to be an adult so soon, my dear.”
Professor McGonagall scrutinized Hermione's face for another moment, hands also wrapped tightly around her teacup. “You have already given too much. But the Order will certainly accept your offer, Hermione.”
She started at the use of her first name. Professor McGonagall smiled slightly, noticing. “And you must call me Minerva if we are to be soldiers together. Or, at the least, very soon, outlaws.”
Hermione felt her mouth tug upward in spite of the jolt she felt at the word ‘soldier’ so bluntly and felt, for perhaps the millionth time in the last six years, immensely grateful for Minerva McGonagall. “I can do that.”
A brisk nod and the moment shifted.
“Now. I assume you did not come here just to formally declare your allegiances. Am I correct?”
Hermione shook her head quickly. “That’s true. I was hoping you could tell me more about what’s going on, actually. For one thing, I was wondering who’s in charge now that—now that Professor Dumbledore isn’t,” she finished a bit lamely.
“Well,” Professor McGonagall began thoughtfully—Minerva, Hermione reminded herself, the informal address sounding odd even in her own head. “We have not had the time to officially vote, which we will, but it is assumed that Alastor will be leading our strategic decisions. Kingsley and Remus and I are the other most senior members, so to speak, but I will remain at Hogwarts as long as possible, and Kingsley at the Ministry until he is likewise forced to leave. Therefore, Remus will probably play the most active role in day-to-day planning other than Alastor, both assisted by Aurors who are also in the Order such as Nymphadora. We do tend to operate as democratically as possible, though, as things progress...” She sighed again. “War does demand organization and hierarchy in certain ways.”
Hermione nodded. That was essentially all what she had guessed, but she had wanted the confirmation.
“And are there operations right now? Are headquarters still at Grimmauld Place?”
“We are in the process of securing more safehouses. Grimmauld Place has been compromised with Severus’ betrayal.”
Minerva’s fury flashed through her calm and Hermione was reminded of the quiet but—at least seemingly—genuine friendship that she had observed between the two teachers over the years.
“He may have been able to tell the other Death Eaters about it given our Secret-Keeper has passed on. Therefore, it has been vacated temporarily. But I believe Remus has an idea of how to properly ward it again, and then we will likely resume the majority of operations from there.”
“Other than that, the Aurors who are on our side are continuing to gather as much intelligence as possible. Those of us with connections abroad have been contacting friends for support, in all forms. We need funds, primarily; we are also attempting to increase our stores of items such as healing potions that may be critical in times to come.” Her voice softened and her gaze leveled on Hermione, searching for her reaction. “It may seem drastic but we have to assume things will get much worse before they get better.”
She tried to absorb everything Minerva had shared as quickly as possible. It all made sense; she was sure there was even more happening than these common sense preparations. Hermione was already running through a potential list of ways she could help with the Order’s current efforts with half her focus.
“When will all of this... happen?” she asked, mind still churning.
Minerva looked grim. “The preparations are happening now, as I said. As for what happens next, we don’t know. We can only assume the other side is regrouping right now, just as ours is. However, they are coming off of a victory, not frankly, a devastating blow. We are hoping to send the students home after Albus’s’ funeral safely and then gather the Order in earnest, as well as ramp up our recruitment efforts.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Recruitment?”
One side of Minerva’s mouth quirked in a sad smile. “I expected nothing less than volunteering from you, Hermione, but, yes, we have plans to approach any witch or wizard of age who is willing to fight and can be trusted. As much as I despise all of this, we need every bit of help we can get.”
Recruiting Order members of age meant many of her peers from Hogwarts who also hadn’t finished school. The thought of an empty Hogwarts next year, of spending most of what was supposed to be her seventh year on some extended and even more real version of the training sessions she’d done with Dumbledore’s Army, sunk in even harder.
“Right. Of course. I can help with that if you want.”
Minerva nodded. “I would appreciate that. We can discuss at once after the funeral. However, Hermione, given that your intent seems to be to join us imminently, we should discuss your plans to meet up with the Order, if you are ready, as I assume you will want to visit your parents’ home first.”
Hermione’s heart sank. This had been the conversation she had been dreading most, for days now, even more than the discussion with Harry and Ron the night before.
“I know,” she said quietly. “Prof—Minerva, I had a thought about that.”
She took a deep breath. “I’ve already been in more than one battle with Death Eaters. Rita Skeeter spread my name, and my blood status, all over the papers in association with Harry’s for a year. It’s hardly a secret that I’m one of his best friends, or that I am opposed to their cause in general. I am concerned that—that my parents may become a target, just as I might.”
The pity in Minerva’s eyes almost made her look away.
“I will not lie to you, Hermione,” Minerva said gravely. “That is entirely possible. It happened last time, and it has already started again. I can only expect the Death Eaters will grow bolder and more aggressive with such tactics.” She briefly placed a reassuring hand over Hermione’s where it sat on the table between them. “We can ward their home to the fullest extent possible, or they will be welcome at the Order safehouses, Hermione. We will not abandon your parents.”
She had already dismissed relying only on protective spells, having seen how most could eventually fail. But Hermione considered the second offer briefly. It was tempting. Having her parents nearby, being able to see them, possibly stay in the same safehouse with them, even if her responsibilities to the Order took her away for days or weeks at a time…
She shoved the image down. Her childish desire for comfort from her mother and father was not the most important thing right now. Forcing her parents into hiding in the magical world, to make them live full-time with the terror she now lived with in her gut everyday—only in their case without even a chance of defending themselves—it wasn’t right. And not when she wouldn’t really be able to know they were completely protected. Safehouses could be found. Probably would be found, she thought darkly.
Hermione had already made her decision.
“Thank you very much, Minerva. But I would appreciate your help with something else.”
…
Time moved in fits and starts after that.
Dumbledore’s funeral passed in a haze, Hermione’s emotional state torn between gripping anxiety that the Death Eaters would use the gathering to attack the huge number of Light supporters present and the complicated grief caused by the passing of their headmaster.
Before they all left Hogwarts, Harry, Ron, and Hermione agreed to tell the Order, somehow, about the Horcruxes once they were reunited on Harry’s birthday, which was when he planned to travel to the Burrow, or, if possible, Grimmauld Place.
Instead of Ron and Hermione, Ginny accompanied Harry to the Dursleys’. It was hard to tell whether Molly or Harry’s relatives’ disapproval was greater. Ginny had managed to pull off such a thing by simply announcing it at the last minute and boarding the Hogwarts Express with Harry and Hermione instead of using the Floo connection that was set up for students with Wizarding families.
By the time Ron showed up at the Burrow alone, sheepish and mumbling excuses about not wanting to have been a third wheel and gone to Little Whinging too, it was too late to retrieve Ginny.
After the service, Hermione turned down Minerva’s offer to escort her to her parents’ house and went alone. Minerva had stayed up with Hermione the last several nights, teaching her the practical aspects of the complex magic of Obliviation, and never once passing judgment on her decision. Hermione was grateful, since she wasn’t sure she could go through with it if questioned too intensely by anyone else.
Her mother and father had been expecting her home from school.
They were brimming with questions for her about classes and Ron and Harry and exams and did she want tea or to go out tonight for dinner to celebrate finishing another year and Hermione thought she might vomit if she tried to answer. She locked herself in her room and recited the plan in her mind until she felt numb.
When she finally had the courage to turn her wand on her parents hours later, the enchantments took longer than she expected. The magic had drained nearly everything from her magically and emotionally, and she could hardly gather herself to cast a basic concealment charm on the house and Apparate away once it was done.
When she cracked into existence at the end of the familiar lane leading to the Burrow, her sobs drew Ron out of the house running. He found her collapsed on the ground and had to half-carry, half-levitate her inside.
When she came to in Ginny’s dark room hours later, her mind was blank. The others tentatively tried to talk to her about it at breakfast the next morning.
She didn’t answer.
…
Hermione had only been at the Burrow for a week when Lupin and Tonks showed up, a decidedly frenzied energy about them.
They announced in excited shouts that they had just eloped, that they were pregnant, and that they had figured out a plan to secure Grimmauld Place again. There was only a few seconds to contemplate the absurdity of their new wartime reality before Molly conjured several bottles of celebratory champagne (and cider for Tonks) and Lupin launched into an explanation of how they could harness both Tonks’ and Harry’s magic as remaining Black family members to seal Grimmauld Place again with blood wards on top of a modified Fidelius charm. It was quite brilliant, really, if, Hermione noted to herself, a bit Dark sounding.
Molly, Arthur, Fred, George, Ron, Hermione, Lupin, and Tonks stayed up past midnight that night, drinking far too much and eating the unending platters of food Molly couldn’t stop putting together while she watched Lupin and Tonks with shining eyes and gave Ron and Hermione suggestive looks that made Hermione cringe and gulp more champagne.
The following week, Moody, Lupin, Tonks, and Bill ventured to Grimmauld Place with a vial of Harry’s blood that Lupin had Apparated to the Dursleys’ to retrieve (“Creepy,” Ron snarked helpfully). A Patronus in the shape of a wolf appeared a few hours later in front of Arthur, proclaiming success and offering instructions on how to access the newly secured headquarters, protected now by a combination of Black blood magic and a new Secret-Keeper in Lupin.
Molly promptly refused to let Ron leave the Burrow again so soon after returning from Hogwarts, making many comments under her breath about how Ginny had managed to run off, but Hermione relocated with Lupin and Tonks to Grimmauld Place that night.
Despite their mildly nauseating public displays of affection (to be fair, they were more like Tonks’ displays), Hermione found it easier to be around the newlyweds than the much more parental figures of Molly and Arthur.
She was still trying to suppress the images her mind kept conjuring of her parents literally forgetting her as she watched.
The rest of the Order was busy setting up a series of safehouses, and Hermione understood from Tonks that Moody and Lupin were contemplating who would be assigned where once the need for the majority of the members to go into hiding realized. For now, she didn’t mind Grimmauld. It was at least familiar, though she supposed that living somewhere besides a Dark mansion filled with cursed objects, paintings that shouted slurs at her, and rotting house elf heads could be potentially more appealing so long as Harry and Ron were there.
She unpacked a few clothes and toiletries in the bedroom she and Ginny had occupied what felt like a million years ago, still leaving most of her belongings in the beaded bag she was now carrying at all times. A smirk crossed her lips as she wondered whether Ginny would even pretend to stay there once she and Harry returned.
Hermione would have paid money to see the expression on Petunia Dursley’s face when Ginny Weasley showed up on her doorstep and announced she’d be shacking up with Harry in their house for a month. They had only heard from the couple in the last couple of weeks via a few reassuring—and in Harry’s case, somewhat mortified—owls and then from Lupin’s quick visit to ensure the protection for Grimmauld. Molly had tried to demand he bring Ginny back with him but he’d pretended not to hear her before Apparating away quickly. In any event, Ginny had alluded, with a bit maniacal glee that was apparent even on parchment, that Petunia was not enjoying her stay.
The Order’s plan was to retrieve the young couple on Harry’s seventeenth birthday, when the Trace was no longer attached to Harry. Ginny’s decision to abscond with Harry had somewhat complicated this plan, as she would still have the Trace. However, Hermione and Tonks had been spending the last week researching how to make illegal Portkeys, which would make both the retrieval of Harry and Ginny as well as the general movements of the Order immensely easier.
Portkeys had several obvious advantages, as well as the benefit that the magic the Trace could recognize was the spell creating the Portkey, not the magic activated by the use of the Portkey—therefore allowing underage witches and wizards to use them without potentially having their location tracked.
Tonks was brilliant, as Hermione already knew, and quite enjoyable to work with on a tedious project. Over the next few days at Grimmauld, however, it became clear that the Portkeys’ creation was more complicated than Hermione had initially realized. The Ministry regulated their use not only for logistical and immigration purposes, but because the potential consequences of improperly made Portkeys were horrendous. It made splinching look inconsequential in comparison.
Ministry employees who made Portkeys were trained and licensed specially for the job. Among other tricky elements, the magic required that the maker’s magical ability and strength when casting the spell correlate to the distance a Portkey could carry someone. The Ministry required the testing of all Portkeys without anyone attached to them before it would allow the same employee to make another with the same spell and route.
After some initial disappointments and many coins, hairpins, and marbles lost entirely to some void in space, Hermione and Tonks had so far been successful in each getting a Portkey to travel properly from Grimmauld to the Burrow, Shell Cottage, and the Weasleys’ Aunt Muriel’s house. In a few more days, they planned on coordinating with Minerva to test their ability to send the Portkeys to Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, and then they would begin trying them with actual passengers.
It felt like actual progress to Hermione for the first time since Dumbledore had died. If they were successful, each member of the Order could carry an emergency Portkey that would lead them back to a safehouse, plus use them to travel between safe locations, and potentially even have a way around Anti-Apparition Wards. After the intermittent depression she’d felt since Obliviating her parents, the idea of providing such concrete assistance to the Order had been buoying Hermione greatly. Working with Tonks, who was somehow both darkly funny and brightly optimistic, also helped.
“Hermione!” a loud voice bellowed from the ground floor.
She had been attempting to read in the Black library, which contained a disturbing number of Dark texts she hadn’t found at Hogwarts when Tonks’ shouting interrupted her.
“Can you please come down here and help me shut up Kreacher from his rant about the misuse of proper pureblood silverware before I lose my fucking mind?”
Hermione smiled. Perhaps she could get Tonks to get along with Kreacher for the night if she distracted him with an offer to teach her again about which fork she was supposed to eat her salad with and which one was only for fish, or something. It had worked before.
…
Ron arrived at Grimmauld on the same day that Hermione and Tonks successfully transported Hermione to Minerva’s office in Hogwarts and back with one of their illicit Portkeys. They celebrated by promptly sending Ron back and forth to the Burrow with a series of small objects until he got annoyed and stomped upstairs to unpack.
When he returned to the kitchen, Lupin and Bill were standing together near the fireplace eyeing the two witches incredulously. Hermione and Tonks were seated at the huge dining table, surrounded by random objects of varying sizes, Tonks’ handiwork clearly the items scattered haphazardly around them and Hermione’s the ones neatly organized in piles by what appeared to be destination, item size, and duration of the spell.
Ron whistled lowly. “I feel I’ve been a bit useless compared to you lot. Mum’s mostly had me charming paper flowers and making canapés and whatnot for your stupid wedding, Bill.”
His older brother glared at him briefly but ignored the remark.
“Well, this is incredible, both of you. You should probably teach some of the others how to do this as well so it won’t be your responsibility all the time, but this is a decent start. I reckon we have almost enough to give everyone an emergency backup transport, for now.”
Tonks nodded enthusiastically in agreement. “You’ll be able to pick it up quickly, Bill, given your cursebreaking background. The charm work is sort of similar. Remus, too. For now, we’ll give everyone a Portkey to keep wrapped and on their person at all times that would transport them back to one of the safehouses we have set up. The Hogwarts and Hogsmeade ones are certainly useful, but not right now.”
Hermione began tapping Tonks’ creations with her wand in order to sort them into her piles.
“I’ve made one for Harry’s relatives’ house as well,” she offered, turning to Lupin. “I know that we said we would wait until his birthday, but,” she hesitated. There had been a rash of attacks on Muggles in the outskirts of London that the Order was certain were the work of Death Eaters. Each time they’d shown up it had been too late to do anything but Obliviate the remaining witnesses and clean up the damage the best they could. Shortly after, the Order had received the horrible news that Amelia Bones had been found dead. “Maybe we could just do it earlier? Grimmauld is safe enough, right?”
Lupin smiled sadly at her.
“I think you’re right, Hermione. There’s no sense waiting anymore, now that you two have made it so easy.” He turned to face Bill. “Will you send word to Alastor and Kingsley? We should get a message to Arabella Figg, as well.”
Ron shuffled over to Hermione and took a seat as the other men conversed lowly while Bill pulled his cloak around his shoulders.
“So this is what you’ve been up to, huh?” he asked quietly. She glanced over at him to find his eyes intense upon her.
“Well, yes,” she said, confused. “And we’ve been stocking the potions stores, and when Remus or any of the other members are around I’ve been doing some defensive training with them.”
Ron shook his head. “Like I said, I’ve mostly been doing chores for Mum. I’m just impressed, Hermione.” He smiled ruefully at her, and she felt like she was missing something. “As always.”
She flushed, still confused at why his words felt like a compliment but also not, and looked back at the Portkey piles in front of her. “Well, that’s what we’re here for, right? To—to fight?"
Before Ron could reply, Lupin interrupted to ask Hermione for the Portkey that would take them to the Dursleys. She scrambled out of her chair and carefully picked up a small whistle with a handkerchief.
“Here,” Hermione instructed. “Don’t touch it until you’re ready; we’ve done it like—well, like the one that tricked Harry at the Triwizard—so the moment you make direct contact it will transport you. That way the traveler doesn’t need to use a spell or magic that could be Traceable.”
Lupin nodded in thanks and accepted the bundle. “Nymphadora and I can go together. Really, there shouldn’t be any trouble, but Alastor’s orders are that no one is to do a mission alone unless absolutely necessary.”
Tonks picked up another Portkey gingerly—a small silver spoon—and tucked it in her boot.
“This will bring the four of us back in a pop. Personally, I can’t wait to get out of this house for a minute. After another few months, I won’t even be able to use these Portkeys,” she mused wistfully.
Hermione felt a little jealous, despite Tonks’s reminder that her pregnancy was about to limit her traveling further. Tonks had taken a leave of absence from the Ministry, claiming abnormally terrible morning sickness, when Kingsley had instructed her that it was getting too dangerous to report to work. Both of them had been confined to Grimmauld for nearly two weeks at this point, which involved a serious lack of sunlight.
Bill shook Lupin’s hand and nodded at the others. “I’ll be going straight back to Shell Cottage after reporting to the others. Send us word when it’s done.”
He walked toward the front door to perform the careful, contorted Apparition on the porch that they had all learned in order to remain within the boundaries of their charms.
Tonks grinned at her husband and grabbed her wand a little too enthusiastically, causing sparks to shoot out and singe the wallpaper. “To the Muggles!” she declared, grasping Lupin’s hand. He smiled fondly at her and drew back the cloth from the whistle Hermione had given him.
“See you both soon.” He made a quick motion with his hand and when Hermione blinked, the couple had disappeared.
A second later it occurred to Hermione that she and Ron had not been alone since—well, since Hogwarts, certainly, but even then it was hard to say when exactly they’d last been completely by themselves. She felt incredibly conscious of this fact as she busied herself wrapping up the rest of the Portkeys and began to store them in conjured jars.
“I don’t suppose it’ll take them more than a few minutes,” she said lightly after a moment, avoiding Ron’s eyes. What was wrong with her? Was she going to act weird around Ron for the rest of their lives because they had—they had nothing, she reminded herself. Literally nothing.
Ron cleared his throat. “Er, right. Hermione, I wanted to say, though, you know, I’ve missed you the last couple of weeks.”
His hands were fidgeting nervously on top of the table and she had to resist the urge to remind him not to accidentally bump the uncovered Portkeys.
“I’ve missed you, too, Ronald,” she replied, turning back to face him. He was not quite looking at her now and she suddenly did not want to have this conversation, whatever it was, certainly not right now in the bright kitchen and possibly not ever.
“Do you want a Butterbeer or something?”
The fridge was only half open when she heard a muffled shout and a mess of tangled limbs and trunks appeared on the middle of the kitchen floor behind her. Hermione shrieked in surprise and clasped her hands to her chest. Ron leaped to his feet and drew his wand, looking bewildered more than defensive.
“Harry?” she wheezed, recovering. “Ginny?”
Lupin and Harry must have both been carrying the trunks, because they were wincing and partially obscured by the luggage. Tonks was giggling and looked delighted despite being sprawled across the floor half lying on top of Ginny. The redhead was wedged awkwardly between Tonks and Hedwig’s cage, which had crashed open and allowed the owl to flap out to circle the ceiling, hooting indignantly.
“’lo, Hermione!” she called brightly, attempting to yank a leg from under Tonks’ ribs. “How’s your summer vacation going?”
…
The arrival of Harry and Ginny without any major injury raised the mood considerably in Grimmauld that night. Molly, Arthur, Fred, and George turned up, as did Kingsley and Moody, and, to much fanfare, Hagrid, who somewhat unfortunately managed to bring Fang by Side-Along Apparition and had broken the front door in half precariously trying not to fall out of the wards while cradling the boarhound like a baby.
After many handshakes and hugs and early birthday wishes to Harry, who was only a few days shy now of his coming of age, Hermione, Ron, and Harry escaped quietly to the second floor. Harry glanced back guiltily at Ginny as they rounded the staircase. The redhead was sitting across from her mother, arms folded and scowling, clearly being lectured for the hundredth time about her semi-scandalous flight from Hogwarts.
“It’s fine,” Ron said, rolling his eyes and steering Harry down the hall. “She can handle Mum. Besides, she left me to deal with her all by myself for nearly a month. She deserves this.”
Hermione pinched Ron’s arm in response to this remark, eliciting a yelp, and brushed past the two boys into her and Ginny’s room. As soon as Harry and Ron were inside, she silenced and locked the room, causing both to raise their eyebrows at her.
“Listen,” she began. “It’s time.”
Ron flung himself onto her bed, not bothering to take off his shoes. Noticing this caused a flicker of irritation to distract Hermione for a moment.
“Knock off Hermione, Harry’s been here about five minutes. Can’t we talk about this later?"
Before Hermione could snap at him, Harry raised a hand in placation.
“No, she’s right.” He smiled gently at Hermione. “It’s been really wonderful, spending so much time with Ginny, despite being at the Dursleys. But it’s also made me feel a bit mad, not being able to do anything to help, again, and not being able to talk about the Horcruxes with her—” a shadow crossed his face at this but he didn’t dwell on the subject “—I’ve actually been thinking about this almost nonstop the last few days.”
Hermione shot a pleased look at Harry while Ron looked a bit disgruntled.
“Well, I definitely want to hear what you have come up with, Harry, but I can tell you what I’ve been thinking. We should talk to Remus.”
She could barely contain herself; Harry wasn't the only one who had found it excruciating to keep their secret in the last few weeks, especially when Lupin and Tonks had brought her into their confidence discussing Order business.
Harry considered her thoughtfully. “Why Remus?” he asked. “I don’t disagree,” he continued quickly as she opened her mouth to retort. “But part of me thinks I want to tell Remus instead of one of the others because…” He trailed off and blushed, running a hand across the back of his neck. “Well, because of my dad, you know.”
Harry’s face made Hermione very aware of the crack in her chest that throbbed when she thought of her own parents these days. She smiled kindly.
“I understand,” she replied. “That’s not a terrible reason, Harry, first of all. But there are other reasons, too. Remus is around the most, at least now, and he’s taking the most active role in intelligence missions, as far as I can tell. Kingsley and Moody are going to be a bit more inaccessible, and possibly less understanding of us withholding anything but the entire story, for that matter.”
Harry nodded, looking relieved, but Ron’s brow furrowed. “Hold on, what are we withholding?” he asked, puzzled. “I thought the point was to tell someone the whole bit.”
She shrugged and tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the dresser as she paced. “I’m not sure. The less, the better, I think. Do they really need to know all we know about the Gaunts, for example, or the story about Professor Slughorn’s memory? Maybe not, not right now. It’s just more information that could be found out and used against someone, and it’s not particularly relevant to the remaining Horcruxes, as far as we know.”
Ron still looked puzzled but shrugged. “As long as I’m not the one who has to do the talking,” he said finally. “I trust you, Hermione.”
A shout of laughter could be heard from downstairs that sounded like it came from Fred or George, or both.
Hermione looked at Harry, who nodded, and then she took a deep breath.
“I think we should do it now.”
Harry’s eyes widened in surprise at Hermione’s declaration but he didn’t protest. Ron sat up quickly, causing the bed to creak loudly.
“Hermione, you’ve been with him the last few weeks—if you think now’s the time, let’s do it.” Harry looked determined, and a little green. She couldn’t help but feel the same.
Hermione returned to the room a few minutes later, slightly out of breath, with a very confused Lupin.
She found Harry and Ron sitting side by side on the bed, looking like they were about thirteen years old and expecting Lupin to give them detention. It took all of her restraint not to roll her eyes. Gesturing to the open armchair, she smiled nervously at Lupin.
“Thanks for speaking with us, Remus. I’m sorry to take you away from the party, but maybe it will be less noticeable while there are so many other people here.”
Lupin raised an eyebrow and settled warily into the seat. “It’s no problem, Hermione. Please, tell me what it is you would like to discuss.”
Hermione looked at Harry for final confirmation, which he gave with an affirmative jerk of his head.
“Remus, we have some information that we believe will help the Order. Dumbledore shared it with Harry before he died. But we have been very careful not to tell anyone else because…” She stumbled on her words for a moment and swung her eyes back to Harry.
He pushed off the bed and went to stand beside Hermione, a silent offer to be the one to explain after all. She imagined she was seeing him literally stepping into the Chosen One role as he began to speak, and it made her heart ache again.
“Remus,” he began solemnly. “It’s not about trust at all. It’s that we can’t let anyone have this information if it could possibly lead to Voldemort discovering we have it. Dumbledore asked me not to tell anyone besides Ron and Hermione, but, frankly, Hermione convinced me that things are different now that he’s gone. Ron and Hermione and I aren’t in charge of the Order, and we shouldn’t be the only ones who know how to win.”
“To win,” Lupin repeated. His face was incredulous.
Harry kept his gaze level. “To win.”
No one spoke. Hermione could see Ron fidgeting with his wand nervously out of the corner of her eye.
Then, to Hermione's amazement, Lupin broke into a smile.
“If this is not a matter of trust, Harry, but of the potential for the information to be unwillingly passed into the wrong hands, you do not need to worry about that in my case.”
The trio stared at him in confusion. Hermione started to worry that they were being too cryptic and she would need to rethink their approach.
“I am a werewolf, remember?” he replied calmly.
And then, understanding dawned on Hermione. She was too lightheaded with relief to even feel foolish. From Ron’s continued confusion and Harry’s wary expression, it was clear that they had not had the same breakthrough.
“Harry,” Hermione breathed excitedly, eyes shining as she beamed at Lupin. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. It’s so simple. Legilimency—it doesn’t work the same way on magical creatures as humans—” she immediately pulled a face at her choice of words and shot Lupin an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Remus.”
He waved it away.
“No need to be, Hermione. You are quite correct, of course, as always. Mind magic is complex. There are many different theories about why human minds are affected differently. Much seems to depend on the type of magical creature, as well. For example, I would be curious if Ms. Delacour has had the same experience as myself.”
Lupin looked thoughtful, like they were back in his Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom discussing the differences between a Boggart and a Dementor.
“But, in any event, I can say that my werewolf side seems to have come with a sort of natural Occlumency ability, one that takes much less practice and very little effort than something comparable would take of most wizards, who must usually work very hard to achieve the same results. There are actually similarities to the training one undergoes to become an Animagus as an Occlumens, you know; an ability to achieve good results in one area often indicates that the other will come easier.”
Lupin seemed to rouse himself from his musing, realizing Hermione was the only one still following him that closely.
“Anyway, it is a lot of interesting magical theory to contemplate, but it all goes to say that you should feel free to speak freely with me so long, of course, as you trust that I would not willingly divulge the information.” He dipped his head solemnly. “I can only promise you, as always, that you may trust me, and I hope I can do the same.”
Hermione thought sadly of Peter Pettigrew’s betrayal and knew Lupin must be thinking of the same thing.
“We trust you, Remus,” she said softly. “Completely.”
The older man’s lined face transformed into a grateful smile. “Thank you, Hermione.”
He turned to Harry. “Harry, do you still wish to confide in me?”
The relief on Harry’s face was palpable. It occurred then to Hermione how grateful she had felt in recent days to be living with adults who could shoulder the growing responsibility of the war with her, and she realized Harry must be experiencing some magnitude of that feeling for the first time in a while.
She caught sight of Ron’s expression and was surprised to see a similar look of understanding to hers on his features as he gazed at Harry and Lupin. It made her heart warm further.
The feeling quickly dissipated as she remembered the actual news that they had to give Lupin and the intense dread she had felt since learning it herself. Harry seemed to be steadying himself as well.
“Remus,” he began. “What do you know about Horcruxes?”
…
It turned out that Lupin did know something of Horcruxes, enough to cause him to immediately pale and demand to know as much as they could tell him. Harry had talked until he was hoarse, Hermione and Ron filling in when needed, and Lupin had absorbed everything in a kind of shocked silence. By the time they finished, Lupin had discreetly summoned a bottle of firewhiskey from downstairs and was passing around very full tumblers with a wild sort of expression on his face.
“Alright,” he said finally. “This is…”
“Horrifying?” Ron suggested.
“Good to know,” Lupin finished. He took a gulp of his drink and appeared to clear his head of lingering thoughts. “I understand why you thought you couldn’t tell anyone, but I also agree that the Order has to take this into account. It was wise to choose to tell as few as possible.” A thoughtful look fell upon his face. “Tell me again what you think the last ones are and where they might be.”
Hermione felt like she could recite the morbid list in her sleep. Perhaps she even did sometimes.
“The locket, the cup, the snake, and something of Gryffindor’s or Ravenclaw’s.”
Lupin nodded thoughtfully, a finger tracing the rim of his glass. “The snake will be with Voldemort. We can worry about that last. I’ll have to think about the cup some more. The locket is familiar for some reason. As for significant items belonging to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, I know only of the sword and the diadem.”
Hermione nodded. “We think it’s unlikely to be the sword, given that Harry’s handled it before and seen it since. And surely Dumbledore would’ve been able to tell. So, more likely, something of Rowena Ravenclaw’s.”
“And you believe they are hidden in places of significance to Voldemort? Dumbledore believed this?”
“Right,” he confirmed. “We don’t have a lot of ideas about the other objects, though, besides possibly Hogwarts. He—” Harry hesitated. “Hogwarts meant a lot to him. It fits, to me. More than anywhere else.”
Another murmur of voices downstairs roused Lupin from his contemplative state. “I should return to Nymphadora. We all should go downstairs—we’ve been gone for some time. But I am very grateful you three have shared this with me.” He eyed them seriously. “You have probably saved several lives tonight alone. I will be able to influence our plans with this information. I promise you that.”
Gratitude swelled in Hermione again and she reached beside her to squeeze Harry’s hand. He gripped back tightly as he nodded at Lupin.
“I trust you,” he replied quietly, echoing Hermione’s earlier words. “Completely.”
…
In the days that followed their discussion with Lupin, Hermione noticed a subtle shift in the former professor’s tone in their strategizing.
When Hermione sat in on the meetings Moody, Kingsley, Lupin, and the other higher-ups in the Order held at headquarters, she noticed that Lupin suggested plans that kept Harry, Ron, and Hermione together but separate from other groups headed to various safehouses. He pushed even harder than before for the focus on the hiding of Muggleborns and the continual stocking of supplies and securing funding. When Moody growled on about attacking Death Eaters, Lupin advocated for surveillance missions first to pick Dark supporters off one by one, rather than risking a confrontation with large numbers or even Voldemort himself. She wondered if Tonks could sense the change, and felt a stab of guilt as she thought of Lupin having to keep secrets from his new wife.
Currently, Hermione and Tonks were seated across from one another at the kitchen table of Grimmauld Place, quietly debating the merits of trying to acquire more bezoars rather than spend their limited funds on unicorn horn to make stores of antidote potions. Harry, Ron, and Ginny had given into Molly’s pleading to have a family dinner at the Burrow, but Hermione had elected to stay behind and keep Tonks company while she waited for Lupin to return from a late meeting with Kingsley and Moody.
She was just wondering how much longer they would have to wait when the fireplace suddenly roared to life. A tall, thin figure stepped through, brushing ash from his trousers, temporarily backlit by the green flames so the man’s features were shadowed.
It was Lupin, who they had been expecting for over an hour. Hermione could see Tonks relax almost imperceptibly from the corner of her eye; she’d been trying to distract Tonks with questions about Auror training in potions mastery as the minutes had gone by and made her new husband’s tardiness, while not unusual, more obvious.
“Remus,” Tonks stood quickly, reaching for his cloak and gesturing for the chair next to hers. Her tone was deliberately light. “We waited for you for dinner.”
“Thank you, Dora,” he replied quietly. Lupin sank wearily into the offered chair, eyes first sweeping around the kitchen as if to ensure they were truly alone. His gaze seemed to linger on Hermione longer than usual before coming to rest on Tonks and softening.
“There has been a… development,” he said slowly.
“What? Is everyone okay? Did something happen with—”
“No, no, nothing like that.” Lupin’s voice was reassuring, though he still seemed uneasy about something. “Apparently, the Greengrasses want to… defect. I just found out. They came to Kingsley this morning.”
Hermione frowned, trying to remember what she knew about the family. There was Daphne Greengrass, in their year, who she hadn’t had much interaction with, and she was fairly certain that she had a younger sister who had also been at Hogwarts. Amelia? Amira?
Ginny, Tonks, and Hermione had spent the afternoon Disillusioned, covertly gathering anything useful from neighboring gardens for their growing makeshift apothecary. At Lupin’s pronouncement, Tonks placed her forearms down on the table without looking down, crushing their carefully constructed piles of lavender and peppermint and eyed Lupin sharply.
“Kingsley? Why Kingsley? How did they know he would be sympathetic?” she demanded, ignoring or missing Hermione’s wince at the partial ruination of their afternoon’s work.
“Apparently, Montgomery Greengrass and Kingsley grew up together. Their mothers were old friends or something. Sacred Twenty-Eight and all that.” Lupin shrugged. “Kingsley didn’t find it strange, and I trust him. And in any case,” his voice grew quiet, “Kingsley’s cover is thin these days anyway. Many are aware of his allegiances.”
The other two exchanged uneasy glances at this reminder. Kingsley had warned the Order just two nights ago that he was prepared to have to flee the Ministry at a moment’s notice. Moody, Lupin, and Bill had spent hours that night strengthening the wards on Kingsley’s flat in Muggle London where he planned to decamp.
“How involved are the Greengrasses with Voldemort?” Hermione asked, breaking the tense silence. “Is Montgomery a Death Eater, or…?”
“No, he’s definitely not. And as he tells it, they have done nothing at all but give funds to Voldemort’s cause. It doesn’t sound like they were given much of a choice about that, either. Which we already suspected about many of the older Wizarding families who never showed much interest in Voldemort before recently.” Lupin frowned. It was a problem that Hermione knew was already putting the Order at a serious disadvantage.
“As Kingsley explained it, the Greengrasses managed to avoid the whole mess altogether during the First Wizarding War. Montgomery’s wife Camile is a pureblood witch from France, and they were staying with her family after they married. When Voldemort was rising to power and his more fanatical friends began pressuring him to return and join the cause, the Greengrasses were able to justify staying in France and out of the fray because of the timing of the births of their two daughters. There was trouble with the younger one in particular; Camile and the child became quite sick, and she wanted to remain near her own mother and father. I think she and the child almost didn’t make it.”
“So what are we going to do with them?” Tonks arched an eyebrow. “Find a safehouse, put them up somewhere with us?”
“Perhaps,” Lupin said thoughtfully. “Though their preference seems to be some sort of arrangement where the other side remains unaware of their allegiance. Going into hiding completely would have repercussions for them down the road if their friends or Voldemort were to…” He trailed off. Hermione felt uneasy. “Well, essentially, they would like to support us, and thereby avoid the possible charges they would face later for supporting Voldemort, but without doing so publicly.”
Tonks snorted in disgust. “How noble.”
Lupin shrugged again but didn’t look bothered. “Others may be willing to do the same.” He smiled gently at Tonks. “Not everyone is as brave as you are, my love.”
With a roll of her eyes, Tonks gave a grudging smile in return and gestured for him to continue.
“They have offered money. It would have to be funneled to us inconspicuously somehow, of course, but we are working on that with others already. I am inclined to take them up on it. As you both know, we are sorely lacking in funding, particularly compared to the other side.”
“That’s not enough,” Tonks shot back. “They’d have to keep donating to the other side, too, or it’d be too suspicious and they’d be back at square one. So what's the real benefit to us? They would just be playing both sides, not helping.”
“I agree,” Lupin said simply. “As did Alastor and Kingsley.” At this, his gaze shifted back to Hermione again. She thought she could detect some hesitance in his eyes. “However, Alastor had another idea. I believe it may have been inspired by his own unfortunate experience a few years ago.”
Tonks looked intrigued now. While Hermione couldn’t help her own curiosity, she also felt a slight sense of apprehension at the way Lupin was watching her, as if for some reason her reaction was what he cared about most.
“You mean a spy?” Tonks asked excitedly. “Since we lost Snape, having someone that close to Voldemort again… Could Montgomery do it?”
Lupin shook his head slightly. “Montgomery doesn’t think it would be believable and Alastor and Kingsley agreed. He has never shown interest in the ideals nor the actual inner workings of the movement before, in this war or the last. It would be quite out of character for him to ask to be included now. Besides, he doesn’t know Occlumency. He couldn’t be that close to Voldemort without risking his role being revealed. Or to Severus or Bellatrix, for that matter.”
Hermione’s stomach dropped. For so long they had thought Snape had been able to conceal his double role from Voldemort because of his skill at shielding his thoughts, but now… Had he ever even bothered? Had he been using Occlumency successfully against Dumbledore instead all along?
She tried to clear her mind of the depressing and unsolvable mystery of Snape’s betrayal. While she was distracted, Lupin had been continuing.
“…we think Montgomery and Camile can probably get away with telling their friends that they need to go back to France for some time to take care of Camile’s mother. She is elderly and it will be simple enough to bolster a story for them that she has taken ill through the Order’s contacts there.”
He paused. “However, there is an additional problem, one to which Alastor had an idea of a potential solution.” His fingers drummed absently on the table. “The two daughters are expected back at Hogwarts in the fall and if our intelligence is correct, by the time the first of September arrives, attendance will not be optional.”
Suddenly, it was hard to look directly at either of them. Her tea, forgotten when Lupin had arrived with news, had grown cold, but she took a listless sip anyway, trying not to dwell on the emotions that always threatened to come to the surface when this topic came up.
She had known, of course, for weeks, or even longer, really, that she, Harry, and Ron wouldn’t be returning to Hogwarts. When she, Lupin, and Tonks had first arrived at Grimmauld, a similar conversation to hers and Minerva’s had taken place.
“Hermione, a lot depends on how quickly and how openly the other side moves. We’re making preparations now for what we think will be eventualities.”
“Eventualities?” Hermione had repeated. “Like what?”
Lupin and Tonks exchanged a look. At Lupin’s nod, Tonks settled Hermione with a grim look.
“Right now, the other side is operating in the same way they did last time: in the shadows, positioning themselves to pull the strings, but making it near impossible to know who to trust or turn to. Countering that misinformation campaign and simply recruiting people to our side will be our biggest focus for the immediate future.”
Though she had discussed much of this with Minerva, Hermione felt a grim reassurance at the confirmation that the Order wasn’t planning any sort of surge. What they needed most was to buy time, whether they knew it yet or not.
“However,” Lupin picked up the conversation. “We will also be organizing to find ways to counter his accumulation of power. But at some point, it is likely that this war is going to spill further out into the open than it is even now. And that could be sooner than we think. We already know from our own sources in the Ministry that Muggleborns will need to go into hiding very soon. Known members of the Order and their families will be right behind them. Hermione,” Lupin shot another hesitant look at Tonks.
“You won’t be safe.”
The inability to return to Hogwarts felt inevitable, as inevitable as when she’d stood by Harry Potter’s side the first time they faced Voldemort. But the Order was also certain by now that Muggleborns would be unable to move about safely in general. Safehouses, Muggle identities, food stores, and extra supplies such as wands, brooms, and potions supplies—like the ones that Tonks and Hermione had been organizing alone when Lupin returned—were all being procured with as much speed as possible by the Order members who weren’t actively on other missions at the moment.
Tonks spoke again, dragging Hermione out of her swirl of thoughts.
“What do you mean, Alastor thought of a solution? Are the girls going to pretend to be sick as well?”
“No,” he said slowly. “Alastor thinks Minerva’s movements are going to be closely watched at Hogwarts, as well as anyone else known to be associated even in a remote way with the Order. As you said, we lost an asset—if he ever was one—with Severus’s defection. Alastor thinks a spy at Hogwarts would be beneficial.”
Tonks and Hermione shared puzzled looks. This time it was Hermione that spoke.
“Are you suggesting that Daphne Greengrass agreed to spy for the Order?” she asked skeptically.
“No,” Lupin repeated slowly. “But someone pretending to be Daphne Greengrass could.”
It took a minute for his words to sink in. Tonks had perked up and looked like she was about to ask about a million more questions, but Lupin was looking squarely at Hermione.
“Someone?” she asked warily.
“There are going to be at least four known Death Eaters at Hogwarts this year,” Lupin said, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. He took Tonks’ hand in his own, and Hermione realized absently it might have been for comfort.
“Four?” Hermione blurted. “Professor Snape and those Carrow siblings you told us about—and who?”
Lupin’s eyes held something uncomfortably close to pity, or maybe something entirely different. “Draco Malfoy was Marked last year, Hermione,” he said quietly.
Her face flushed and she chose to look at the ornate grandfather clock in the corner of the kitchen instead of at Lupin or Tonks. It was late. “Right. Sorry,” Hermione muttered, not quite sure why she was apologizing.
“Alastor thinks this could be to our advantage,” Lupin continued without commenting further on her slip, "and the Greengrasses were, frankly, amenable to keeping at least one of their daughters out of harm’s way. They would ask in return that the Order member promise to keep Astoria safe as a priority of their mission while at Hogwarts.”
“Hermione, we thought of you as the obvious choice,” Lupin finally voiced aloud, in a clear but soft tone. “You would have been in her year, and are her same age. You will need to be in hiding anyway at all times, as a Muggleborn, and a prominent one.”
He leveled his gaze on her. She felt too hot, and like her thoughts were moving through mud.
“And you are brilliant, and capable, and we believe you would be an asset in supplying the Order with information about what the Death Eaters are planning within Hogwarts.”
The words sounded far away to her ears rather than like the praise she would have normally been touched to hear from Lupin’s mouth.
“However, this is just a conversation. A conversation that has not gone beyond the three of us, Alastor, and Kingsley, and does not need to. If you are uncomfortable with the idea in any way and ultimately decide against it, no one would judge you, Hermione. And there are other options. Other female members of the Order that we could approach, for instance, and we could always come up with another way to hide the entire Greengrass family despite their current hopes.”
“Who else?” Hermione frowned and glanced at the older woman across from her. “Tonks can’t be spared, and in any case she can’t use Polyjuice while pregnant.”
“Well, I’ve considered Angelina Johnson or Katie Bell. They were close enough to your year and are likely going to go into hiding soon as well. But Hermione,” Lupin’s tone grew even more intense and he seemed to now purposely avoid Tonks’ curious gaze, “you have informed me previously that there may be another reason for you to need to be at Hogwarts at some point soon.”
Hermione stared back at him for a beat before it clicked.
The Horcrux.
They were almost certain that Voldemort would have hidden one there. If she could have access to the castle, undetected, for that long without raising suspicion… surely she’d be able to figure out both what the item was and where it was hidden.
“You’re right,” Hermione said quickly, shutting down the doubts that threatened to bubble to her surface. The chance of finding a Horcrux settled the matter. She could take months—maybe years—off the war if she pulled this off. “It should be me.”
Tonks, still confused, opened her mouth to ask a question. Hermione shook her head, cutting Tonks off before she could speak.
“It makes the most sense. And maybe it won’t have to be for long. I can use the library to research for anything the Order needs, too, and I’ll be able to help Minerva if she knows what’s going on...” she trailed off.
Parts of this sounded almost logical, but she couldn’t imagine what Harry and Ron would think.
“But won’t people notice I’m gone?” she asked, feeling a little silly. “I mean, the rest of the Order? We’d have to keep the truth to a small number of people.” How many times had she said that lately?
Lupin nodded. He seemed both more at ease and more purposeful now that she was following along with this plan.
“I can cover for you. So can Nymphadora. Everyone else will think you are with Harry and Ron, who we can tell the true story if you think it wise. We can have you join us at Christmas when others will see you, which will help with your cover. Daphne will stay hidden at a safehouse herself with her parents.” He looked like he was thinking as he spoke. “People will be rotating in and out of different safehouses for the next few months. I’ll just make it seem like you’re everywhere and yet… nowhere.”
Despite the look on her face—which made it clear she knew she was missing something—Tonks jumped in.
“I’m not particularly good, but we all learned some Occlumency during Auror training. I can help you with that, just in case.”
More details were flying through Hermione’s mind faster than she could hold onto any of them. She latched onto the most pressing issue.
“So,” she said slowly, “what does Daphne think about all of this?”