Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire

The Phoenix in Ashes - Part 3

“Young Mr. Balb is certainly a challenge, isn’t he? Dumbledore asked conversationally.

Gritting her teeth, she replied, “Yes, he is, but if one is willing to spend time with him and make sure he is paying attention and following instructions, he doesn’t do so badly.” She felt as though she had to defend the boy. Kiaya didn’t know if students were ever expelled from Hogwarts for general stupidity and clumsiness but if they were, young Balb would be a candidate.

Dumbledore nodded in encouragement, inviting her to say more.

Well aware that she was being led away from the topic of her pique, she plunged ahead. “He needs more one on one attention than I – than anyone can really give him in the time allotted in class. That alone is frustrating enough without adding more, like Emily Parlous. They all need the same thing – more time to work and ask questions in a setting that they won’t be under pressure to keep up with the class or be laughed at.”

“And are you the kind of person who can give such children the attention they need if there was time set aside to do so?”

Sure she was being tricked into the answer and knowing that she was being led, Kiaya answered, “Yes, but…”

“Did you know that Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater?”

Off guard, Kiaya replied, “Well, it was in the newspaper, but he told me…”

“He told you a bushel of half truths to manipulate you into doing as he has asked,” Dumbledore said, looking directly at her.

She could see the truth in his eyes but didn’t quite understand the point. “But I knew that – which is why I sent you the letter.”

“Miss Roundtree, Lucius Malfoy will get out of prison. He has enough clout and has manufactured enough evidence to sway the Wizengamot and jury away from a guilty verdict.”

Having already figured that this was a distinct possibility, Kiaya nodded.

“And he will still be interested in securing your services as a potions mistress and as a,” Dumbledore paused for effect, “evening companion.”

“Professor Dumbledore…”

“Albus,” he interrupted.

She winced and nodded gracelessly. “Albus. I’ve politely declined his invitations in the past. I really don’t see why I shouldn’t continue to do so.”

“To be quite blunt about it, your refusal is only a tease to Mr. Malfoy. He can – and has, used means that were not entirely ethical or legal to secure what he wants, be it a mistress, the destruction of a family or the return of Voldemort,” he said, looking over the rim of his glasses.

She gulped at the blatant use of the name, rather than a polite euphemism intended not to invoke the devil himself. Instinctively, she looked around the shop, just in case Vold… He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named showed up as summoned– then chastised herself for being silly. She looked up at Dumbledore and quite forgot whatever it was she’d been about to say. Quite suddenly, from deep within her mind, came the absolute knowledge that she was in a very precarious position, caught between the devil himself and some equally demanding but perhaps much better behaved... something. Dumbledore was offering to help her – in return for the oh-so-simply job of teaching.

“Lucius Malfoy has said, quite plainly to you and to others, that he wants you. There have been very few times in his life that he has not gotten exactly what he wanted. You may be assured that he will come to see you, sooner or later.” He looked directly into her eyes once again.

A bead of sweat rolled down her back. The shop was getting warm and the sun was barely up. It would be stifling in a few hours. She’d have to remember to refresh the Cooling Charms in the cold room. Fondly remembering the Hogwarts cold room for perishable ingredients, she thought of how some places – but not this one, had charms so ancient, they were practically embedded in the stones, and didn’t have to be refreshed weekly. The Hogwarts’ dungeons would be infinitely cooler. She’d be able to sleep without Cooling Charms or enchanting a book to fan her. It really would be safer, too. Dumbledore could keep Malfoy the Elder off her back and Snape would teach Malfoy the Younger, keeping the little slimeball away. She could move out of the little attic room and into one with a view of more than Mrs. Lewbody’s chimney. The elves could enchant a window to show the view of the mountains or under the lake, if she didn’t mind the squid occasionally peeking in. She’d not have to cook unless she wanted to and cleaning would be dealt with, too. Malfoy would be under control and her reputation wouldn’t suffer if she wasn’t here when he came. She could even make her excuses for the trial and move that day.

“… Miss Roundtree? Kiaya?”

She jolted when the voice interrupted her musings. Dumbledore was speaking and looking down at her with those damnable twinkling eyes that knew far too much. Thankfully, he was not smirking nor pouting as so many are wont to do when finding a conversational companion drifting off to Avalon.
Face aflame, Kiaya stammered her apologies and exclaimed, “I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry. It must be the heat. Normally, I wouldn’t ever do that. I’m really not a daydreamer. Mr. Basilton would have flayed me if he’s caught me like that. I’m so sorry.”

“I completely understand. Now, about that salary increase?”

Still mortified, Kiaya nodded and babbled, “Of course! That’s just fine. That’s very generous of you, thank you.”

“Hogwarts is so much more comfortable, isn’t it? I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself this year. You will let me know if I can be of assistance in your tutoring, won’t you?”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m sure I will.”

“It should be quite an adventure – it always is with so many students and cramming so much knowledge into their wonderful young minds. I’m quite sure we’ll all learn much more about ourselves this year, too,” Dumbledore said with a grandfatherly smile.

“And Lucius Malfoy’s trial is on Tuesday?”

She nodded.

“Excellent! Not that I am happy that he will be deprived of the hospitality of the Aurors, but that we shall have you safely tucked away at Hogwarts. Perhaps I shall go to his trial instead and give him your regrets?” he mused.

Kiaya felt her face screw itself into an expression of horror.

“Ah, perhaps not. Now then, I shall expect you at dinner on Tuesday. Your rooms will be ready sometime in the morning. Feel free to bring anything and everything if you like. There is plenty of room. Bye now.” With that, Dumbledore disappeared with a sharp crack.

Kiaya stood rooted to the floor, sure that she’d been snookered.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sunday proved to be a lazy day for all involved. Molly Weasley had postponed the trip to Diagon Alley until the next day; the kids took the opportunity to sleep in. It wasn’t until nine that Hermione awoke and crept downstairs, book in hand. Out of habit, she stopped outside the kitchen door and listened for a moment. She heard Remus’s voice, sounding more tired than usual, and Molly’s voice had the same tone that she usually reserved for her youngest children.

“I’ll go to bed as soon as I’m done eating your breakfast, Molly.”

“The oatmeal could have waited until you were awake to appreciate it. I don’t see why you had to go haring off at two in the morning, just to meet with that horrible man,” she answered briskly.

“Because that’s my job. Greyback wanted to crow over a Muggle children’s house party that he’d laid waste to, so the pack gets to listen and pretend that we’re all so impressed by his hunting prowess. That’s how it works.” He sounded weary but resigned and almost cold.

“Dear God, he…?”

“Three little girls, all about ten years old, plus the parents of the one.”

“Did he bite them? It wasn’t a full moon,” Molly said in a begging tone.

Hermione could hear the tears choking her voice. When one of the doors upstairs cracked open, she waved madly to attract attention. Ginny saw her and stared in confusion. Hermione, still listening, made a pushing motion and ignored Ginny’s arms-out shrug. Finally, Ginny retreated back into the room and Hermione concentrated on the voices coming from the kitchen again.

Around the sound of silverware clanking against crockery, Remus said, “No, he just wanted to kill them. He didn’t want converts. Just victims – and a late night snack.”

“He...?”

Remus sounded more cold and bitter than Hermione had ever heard him. “I’m told it’s rather like veal, Molly. Very tender.”

Hermione gasped. She’d heard of Greyback, mostly from Remus, and knew he was a monster but eating children? She thought that such things were from fairy stories or the bizarre true-crime shows that her mother liked watching on television.

“Come in, Hermione,” Remus called from the kitchen.

She crept into the kitchen, abashed and set her book on the table.

“I heard you out there,” Remus said, looking tired, cross and beyond frustrated.

“Sorry,” Hermione said.

“Hermione, what on earth are you doing out there?” Molly demanded and bustled about looking slightly frantic.

“How much did you hear?” Remus asked before she could answer.

“Almost everything. I was just coming down for breakfast.”

Molly scooped up a bowl of oatmeal and set it at the table. “No matter that now. You just forget everything you’ve heard now and eat up. No day starts without breakfast. It just isn’t healthy.”

Remus’s gaze never left Hermione. He looked terribly sad. “You must hate me now.”

She stopped eating, her spoon halfway to her mouth. “Why would I hate you?”

“Because I didn’t stop him from doing that – from killing them.”

She took a deep breath and then the bite of oatmeal before answering. “No.”

Molly was uncharacteristically silent throughout, though bustled about making tea without magic, clanking the dishes with every movement.

He muttered, “You ought to.”

“I could never hate you, Remus,” Hermione said, looking directly at him. “You’re a friend and you always will be.”

“I shouldn’t be your friend,” he muttered, then paused, his usually pleasant face working through a myriad of thoughts and emotions – the last was quiet desperation. “I’m… I shouldn’t be your friend.”

“Yes, you should.” She sat the spoon back in the bowl and demanded, “Look, did you do it?”

“No.”

“Were you there?”

He sighed, “No.”

“Did you even know it was going to happen?”

Remus shook his head. “I’m not nearly high enough on the food chain to know what Greyback is planning, unless he howls about it – though half the time, what he howls about is empty threats.”

“What do you do about the other half?”

“Tell whomever needs to be told and then pray,” he said baldly.

Just then, the kitchen door opened. Harry trudged in, yawning and holding a handful of something that he carefully dumped in front of Hermione. The shards of mirror gleamed under the chandelier.

“I think that’s all the pieces. I couldn’t get little dust stuff from the corner. What do you think?” Harry asked hopefully.

Automatically, Hermione started putting the pieces together like a puzzle. “I think it’ll go back together, though without all of the dust – well, we can go back in your trunk, if we have to.”

Remus set an edge piece into the gold frame. Murmuring her thanks, Hermione smiled at him and silently vowed that they would discuss the value and definition of friendship. The crush didn’t matter anymore – but she would hate to lose his friendship because of… this. No mention was made of his activities in front of Harry who was busy scarfing down a bowl of oatmeal and juice.

Hermione finished her breakfast and set pieces into the mirror while Remus told Harry about the charms on the Contact Compact mirror and how to activate it – should they be able to get it working again. Molly happily refilled the bowls of oatmeal and clucked about Harry not needing such a device if was in class or studying, as he ought to be.

“Dumbledore has already given him some of James’s things. As he’s old enough now to inherit the rest of it, he’s old enough to get this too.”

“But…”

“I think I’ve got it,” Hermione interrupted and pulled out her wand, ready to repair the broken glass.

“Oh no you will not, Miss!” exclaimed Molly, plucking Hermione’s wand from her fingers. “The laws on underage magic use are very clear and apply to you, too.”

“But…” bristled Hermione, irritated at being reminded of her youth when she knew perfectly well that she could do it. Being embarrassed in front of Remus stung.

Harry stifled a laugh and said, “You don’t want a letter from Miranda Hopkirk – she’s tough on underage wizards.”

Offended, Hermione sniffed, “I practice every day during the summer - and you’ve been glad for it, too when I mend your glasses. I’ve never received a letter from the Ministry about it.”

“You’re very lucky then, but we don’t want you to get in trouble while you’re in my charge, do we? We’re already in a precarious position with the Ministry as it is and I don’t want them to cause any trouble of they don’t have to,” Molly stated.

Remus took Hermione’s wand from Molly with a tired smile. “That’s true, so let’s not take chances, shall we?” He tapped the wand on the broken mirror and it mended itself with a sizzling sound. He blissfully ignored the fact that he’d seen Hermione use magic the night before and had, himself promised to show them more before school started.

One of the caged rats squeaked and Molly started a grumbling tirade about keeping rodents in the kitchen.

“They’re for Buckbeak,” Remus explained. Hermione grimaced.

“How’s he doing?” asked Harry.

“He’d be better if he had some space. Being locked up in Sirius’s mother’s old bedroom isn’t doing him – or the room, any good.”

When she didn’t hear any dissent to her mutterings, Molly banished the cage and rats to the back yard and whisked her wand around the area they had inhabited. The room smelled much better than it had for months.

“Couldn’t he go back to Hogwarts or to that lady’s house?”

“Lady’s house?” asked Remus, confused.

Harry explained, “We visited Sirius at a lady’s house last year. Snape was there.”

“Professor Snape,” Molly chimed in, only to be ignored.

“It was the year before and her name was Miss Swan. She’s the one that taught me to knit, remember?” Hermione said. “She had Buckbeak hidden away – I think Professor Dumbledore gave him to her, to keep him safe.”

Remus was quite for a moment, musing. “I wonder if she knows about Sirius?”

Just then, Ron and Ginny stumbled into the kitchen, yawning. “Who knows about Sirius?” Ron asked.

“The lady Sirius was staying with, in Hogsmead,” Harry explained.

“Snape’s ex-wife?” Ron sneered.

“Professor Snape,” Molly reminded him; again, she was ignored.

Around her yawn, Ginny said, “I saw her at the Ministry that night….”

Her mother clucked at her but Ginny ignored it, “She was there with Dumbledore.”

“Then I suppose she does know,” Remus said and pulled his own mirror from his robes. He tugged the mirror closer, and, with some effort, duplicated the enchantments to make it work again. His was the only voice to be heard as Ron and Ginny ate some of the seemingly endless supply of oatmeal and Harry and Hermione watched.

With a spark and a squawk, the mirror shuddered. Remus’s mirror hummed in counterpoint. With a pleasant sound of satisfaction, Remus handed the mirror to Harry, saying, “That looks like it works. Go into another room, and answer when it vibrates. Just put your finger on the little lump there,” he pointed to the lid of the compact, “and press down until the lid releases.”

Harry dashed out, a hopeful grin plastered on his face; Ginny stared at the empty doorway, long after he’d disappeared through it.

Her mother noticed and nudged her – none too gently – in the back of the head. “Did you finish your essays, miss? Professor McGonagall will skin you alive and with my permission if they aren’t done.” When Ron snorted, Molly rounded on him. “I know you’re not done with all you need to be. Best you stop shoveling your face full and get to writing or you’ll be spending your first week in detention, too.”

Knowing the futility of argument, the young Weasleys grunted, grumbled and groaned as they cleared their places and trudged away.

“Be back here in forty-five minutes, Dumbledore has called a meeting for everyone – even you lot!” Molly called upstairs. Midway through, though, the covered portrait of Mrs. Black coughed and muttered, as though her sleep had been disturbed. Molly’s words ended on a whisper, “… Though I can’t understand what he needs to discuss with you.” Then she turned to Hermione, “Dear, did you get all of your work done, this summer?”

Before Hermione could answer, Remus said, “Molly….”

“I was just asking. Now is a good time to start if she didn’t. I’m not her mother, nor would I ever pretend to be.”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Weasley, thanks. I finished the assignments in the first week of break but I’ll spend more time reviewing, too,” Hermione said quickly, not wanting to start another incident like Mrs. Weasley had had with Sirius about ‘who was in charge of children around here’.

Remus smiled pleasantly and activated his mirror, “Harry?”

They heard fumbling for a moment, followed by a piercing shriek, but finally Harry answered, “….stupid thing, I can’t believe I can’t get this thing… hello?”

Hermione grinned at Remus; her heart leaped when he smiled in return. He really did have a perfect smile. The scars on his face made his smile seem even more perfect. Coloring, she knew she was probably embarrassing herself, but couldn’t help it.

“You’ve got it, Harry. Now, all you have to do to open the connection is to press the lump like you did before and think of who you want to talk to. Close the mirror and try to contact me.”

“Right!” came Harry’s disembodied voice.

Remus closed his mirror and they waited silently for Harry to make the connection. As thirty seconds passed, then sixty, a frown marred Remus’s face. He tapped then opened the mirror, calling, “Harry?”

Hermione scooted over on the bench, attempting to look in the mirror. All she saw was a thatch of black hair bobbing around. Remus tilted the mirror so she could see and called Harry again. The image in the mirror shifted to the right and turned around. Sirius. Hermione could see Harry in the background, standing in a yellow room with his mouth agape.

“How the hell did he get in there?” Remus said under his breath.

“Where is he?” Hermione answered, eyes wide.

Remus stood quickly, almost knocking his chair backward. “Harry’s in a room he’s not supposed to be in and it’s playing havoc with the mirrors,” he said and walked out of the room.

Hermione followed, puzzled. Remus led her to the closed salon – a room they weren’t supposed to go in because of all of the “dangerous objects” that Hermione figured she could probably handle, given the right books. The door was wide open; she could see Harry sitting on chaise lounge in a hideous floral print that was probably in fashion some 300 years ago. The faded and stained cabbage rose print did nothing for his now ghost white complexion.

“Harry, you know that this room is…”

Harry leapt from the chaise and interrupted, “He’s alive! He’s trying to say something! We have to find him!”

Remus settled on the chaise, his elbows falling to his knees. “He’s not alive, Harry. I’m sorry.”

Shoving the mirror in Remus’s face, Harry gleefully argued, “Look at him! He’s waving and pointing! He’s there!”

“Go over there,” Remus said, pointing to the center of the room, to the Mirror of Erised. He looked exhausted but resolute.

Harry did as he was instructed, holding the Contact Compact to his chest. Hermione couldn’t see Harry’s deepest desires of the moment, but figured it had to have something to do with Sirius. He kept looking down into the compact and back into the Mirror of Erised.

Hermione stepped further into the room, rested her hand on Harry’s shoulder and said gently, “It’s your heart’s desire, not reality. You know that, don’t you?”

Harry nodded.

“Now go over to that one,” Remus said and pointed to the mirror over the mantelpiece. “Look into it and say “Requius.”

Hermione found it disconcerting that the reflection of the room was visible, but none of the people were shown. She would have liked to get closer and observe, perhaps even try it out, but as it was Harry’s time, she’d ask Remus later.

Harry did as instructed but started when he saw something in the mirror that Hermione couldn’t. Gaping, he stared to lift a hand to touch, but fell short when Remus made a small sound.

Looking at Remus in question, Hermione waited for an explanation.

“He’s seeing the dead. Everyone he knew that’s he’s accepted as being dead – their images cycle across the mirror.”

Slowly, Harry turned his head. “I saw my dad and mum. And Professor Quirrell, and Cedric and Sirius. Then they started over.” He looked gray and solemn. “But why is he in this too?” Harry waved the small mirror around and begged for the answer that he wanted.

“The mirrors in this room all have very powerful magic in them. I think it’s just… rubbing off on the little ones. It’s not him, Harry. It’s just his picture,” Remus said, looking ancient, tired, and ill.

“But what if…”

Ginny poked her head around the door, looked at Harry and said, “Dumbledore’s here with McGonagall and a few others. He wanted to see you.”

“Thanks, Gin,” he said, not turning around. His eyes were still searching Remus’s face for answers.

“No problem,” she said and looked at Hermione in confusion.

Hermione just shook her head and held up one finger. They’d be there in a moment.

“We have to go, Harry. Dumbledore wants us.”

He shoved the Contact Compact in his pocket, as deep as it would go and left his hand buried. Without another word, he trudged out of the room.

Hermione waited for Remus to stand before going into the kitchen. She could feel him behind her as she entered the crowded kitchen.

“Harry, thank you for coming - this won’t take long at all.” Dumbledore said with a smile that didn’t twinkle in his eyes. He separated himself from a grim looking Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Professor McGonagall - who was looking sharp in a tweed suit. He led Harry to the pantry, firmly closing the door behind them.

Hermione thought that it was well past time that Dumbledore called Harry to a private meeting. The pantry seemed to be an unlikely place for one but she didn’t say that aloud. Hopefully, Harry would learn more about his role in all of this but Hermione tended to doubt it. She was afraid that she knew his only role as well as he did; Harry was a weapon. No one knew if Harry would be destroyed while being wielded in whatever Dumbledore considered the final battle, but Hermione knew that unless Dumbledore gave Harry more information – about everything – he probably would not live to celebrate. As she settled at the table in her usual spot, Hermione wondered if she ought to have a word with Dumbledore. Surely it couldn’t hurt. It might offend the old man, but Hermione thought his consequence could probably stand it. He probably already knew that Harry was suffering from a lack of knowledge of the history of the whole thing, It couldn’t hurt, she reasoned, to remind Dumbledore that basic Defense Against the Dark Arts classes – the same ones that everyone else took, weren’t going to be enough to protect a teenager from a horde of murderous Death Eaters and the Big-Bad-Ugly-One himself. If Harry was going to be treated like a weapon (and Hermione knew that he was), he ought to have all the information he needed to be an effective one. Taking a swig of the juice Molly had set in front of her, she made up her mind to have a word or five with Dumbledore as soon as he reappeared with Harry. She noticed that Remus was close to snoring in his chair, Mr. Weasley was staring at the hair on his knuckles and Ron and Ginny were reading their textbooks – probably ordered to do so by their mother. The other order members stood about looking bored. Hermione gave up on people watching and opened her book on enchanting jewelry. They all waited patiently and quietly for Harry and Dumbledore to come out of the pantry.

When the door opened, everyone looked up expectantly. Harry came out first. His face was a mixture of emotions that Hermione couldn’t read. He’d gotten good at hiding everything but anger, she thought to herself. She thought she saw joy but it was mixed with the anger she was used to seeing in him. Raising her eyebrow as he sat down, she silently questioned him; he shook his head.

“Ladies and gentlemen. I am sorry for the delay. I have several announcements to make, then we can all get on with it. First and foremost, with Sirius now gone, we must cease using this house as home and headquarters.”

The Weasleys didn’t look at all surprised, just resigned. Remus, too, looked like he’d been expecting it.

“This morning, I received a letter that, while it may amount to nothing, I have sent to my solicitor for double checking. Until I receive an answer, I do not want any of you to be put in danger.”

Over a chorus of queries, he continued, “Narcissa Malfoy has written to tell me that upon doing research into the inheritance laws after her cousin’s tragic death, according to Ministry records, the house and all but one of Sirius Black’s properties, by right of entail are legally hers. She expects me to vacate the house but leave all material contents exactly as I found it before the death of Sirius Black or she will be forced to pursue the matter in high court.”

The room exploded with variations of, “That’s not fair!” and “She can’t do that!” Hermione was sure she heard more than one, “That bloody bitch.”

Dumbledore raised his hands to quiet the room. Once settled, he continued, “Sirius granted me title to all of his estates except the Godric’s Hollow house called “The Kennel,” which now belongs to Harry. I do plan to defend that inheritance. Until I can be sure that Mrs. Malfoy does not have the right to simply walk into this house, however, I do plan to protect you all.”

“Well, we can just go to The Kennel, right?” came from a voice in the back that Hermione thought sounded like Mundungus Fletcher.

“I am afraid not. Between past amours and members of his dubiously connected family – including Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy, that house is too well known. It was a private purchase and not made part of the Black estates. Sirius was quite vociferous in making his wishes for succession known on that property many years ago. Because of that, they will be looking for us there.”

“And you can’t go visit, either,” Hermione whispered to Harry who nodded glumly.

Ron leaned over, “So when are we going to go, Harry?” he whispered.

Harry gave him a crooked smile and shrugged. Hermione glared. That was so typically Ron. If there was a rule or bit of practical common sense, he and Harry would just hare off to break it. She couldn’t imagine why Ron had been elected to be a Prefect - he was one of the worst of the lot. Now that he was a Quiddich hero, she knew the year was going to be a disaster when it came to rules and studying.

“This house must be empty of everything that concerns the Order in two days time – by Friday. In that time, we must figure out what it is that Mrs. Malfoy wants with the house – or if she wants it only to cause irritation. I believe that she has been informed of our presence here…”

Ron muttered, “Snape.”

“Mr. Weasley, Professor Snape is not the Secret Keeper for the Order. It would be impossible for him to reveal the information of its location. Rather, I believe that the source is the missing Kreacher and because of that, it would not behoove us to stay here longer than necessary.

“The Weasleys will be returning to The Burrow with Harry and Hermione. We will reinforce the protections on the house itself, make it unplottable, invisible, and under a Fidelius Charm just like this house. That will not prevent attack, but it will forestall it enough for escape or aid. It will take some doing, but it will be done. We will use it as our headquarters until another option presents itself. “

“Can we not tell Percy where the house is?” wondered Ginny who was immediately shushed by her mother.

Dumbledore looked over the rim of his glasses and said, “Ah, Miss Weasley, you will not have the option to tell or not to tell your brother about the house. I will remain Secret Keeper for the Order – thus, I shall be the only individual able to discuss the location of your home.”

Hermione pondered that for a moment and why, if Dumbledore could put The Burrow under that barrage of charms, why he couldn’t put The Kennel under the same ones. He clearly didn’t want them – didn’t want Harry – in Godric’s Hollow. She wondered what he was hiding and why he had done the song and dance about the Kennel being too well known. The Burrow was just as well known – in that the Weasleys were practically famous – or infamous. Harry owned not one, but at least two houses in that town, why should he not be allowed to visit them, especially now that he was sixteen? Godric’s Hollow was apparently where all of that dodgy prophecy stuff and the Boy-Who-Lived legend started. Hermione rather thought that a trip to Godric’s Hollow might be a good idea, so Harry could see the beginnings of it all. What was Dumbledore hiding – or protecting - Harry from?

“What shall we do with the hippogriff?” asked Mrs. Weasley. She wore an expression of I’m-not-having-it- in-my-house, so-you’ll-need-to-get-rid-of-it, thank-you-very-much.

“He can just go back to Hogwarts, right?” offered Harry.

“Yeah, so he can attack Malfoy again. Maybe this time, he’ll do a better job of it,” snickered Ron.

Dumbledore cut in, “I believe my great-granddaughter will keep him. She has both the space and resources to manage Buckbeak and no one will blink an eye at him being there. Now, thank you all for your attention. I suggest that you go and get ready to make the big move.”

Amid the shuffling, grumbling and clattering of dishes into the sink, Dumbledore beckoned Remus to his side. Hermione was reluctant to leave her place at the table, instead pretending to study the cuckoo clock on the wall. She wasn’t in a hurry to pack – she hadn’t unpacked much in the first place. Vaguely surprised that Dumbledore didn’t use an Imperturbable Charm, Hermione shamelessly eavesdropped, sipped at the glass of orange juice in front of her and started at the same sentence in her book.

Remus gave a detailed story of the night’s events with the werewolves. While she couldn’t see him, Hermione assumed that the soft sighs were coming from Dumbledore. When the story was over, Hermione sniffled back more of her tears and listened as Dumbledore instructed Remus to write everything down so he could give it to the Aurors.

“I know you’re tired, Remus, and I hate to ask it of you, but I have something else for you to do, as well – of course, after you get some rest.”

Hermione couldn’t hear Remus’s answer but Dumbledore continued, “I have reason to believe that Voldemort’s plans for my great-granddaughter are coming to pass – and quickly. I need someone to look out for her, as she won’t consent to live at Hogwarts.”

“You want me to follow her,” Remus clarified.

“Yes. While she is at home or in the store, she is as safe as she can be, but outside of those places, I want her followed. As Voldemort can see her leave the store, I think it will happen sometime when she is in London.”

“Will she accept me?”

“No, which is why you must be discreet. You will switch off with other Order members throughout the day, until I can convince her to move to Hogwarts.”

Hermione was outraged on Jasmine Swans behalf and had half a mind to say so. Discretion made her stay still and silent in her chair until both men left the room.