Hermione Granger and the Order of the Phoenix

Dear Hermione,

How's your holiday going so far? Things aren't going so well here--Percy's been more of a git as usual and causing all sorts of problems around here. He's been fighting with Mum and Dad. He doesn't want to believe what Harry said about You-Know-Who and siding with the Ministry, the stupid prat.

Anyway, I'm writing to ask you if you'd like to come stay with us for the rest of the summer. We're actually moving out of the Burrow for a bit--since Mum, Dad, Bill, and Charlie are all involved with helping Dumbledore, Dad reckons that we'd be safer somewhere else. He hasn't told us where, but so I don't go mad with putting up with Fred and George Apparating all over the place and Percy being such a ruddy idiot, I thought it might be fun if you came along too. We're trying to see if Harry could also, but Dumbledore's still insisting that he stay with the Muggles.

I know you may all ready have made plans for your holidays, but just think about coming. Unless you would rather go abroad. Send a reply with Pig--I told him to stay until you wrote me back.

Ron

P.S. Have you heard from Harry recently?

Hermione Granger rolled over on her stomach after reading her letter, frowning slightly. No, she hadn't heard from Harry recently, actually, but then again, she'd only been home for six days. She of course had sent him a nice long letter in an attempt to cheer him up, but he hadn't responded yet. Then again, Harry didn't always reply to her letters rather promptly, so she wasn't very worried about him. Yet.

And although it should, it didn't bother her that Ron had insinuated in his last paragraph about her possible trip to Bulgaria. It was really none of his business where she went on holiday, and if he was going to stick her nose into her business, she would rather he just tell her flat out he disapproved. It wasn't like Ron to make snide comments.

What worried her about this letter was Ron's invitation. Honestly, she'd been home for less than a week, and he wanted her to leave home for the rest of the summer? She had barely seen her parents at all for the past couple years since she had stopped coming home for Christmas and Easter, so she had been looking forward to being at home with them for two months. Sure, spending a week the Weasleys was fine, but seven weeks? That was a whole lot of Weasley.

Not that that was a bad thing, Hermione thought as a slight flush colored her cheeks. She quickly shook her head to clear it. It wasn't the time to dwell on those confusing feelings for Ron. She needed to focus on what Ron was asking her, and if she wanted to go.

Judging by the way her heart had leapt when she had read the words stay with us for the rest of the summer, Hermione was observant enough to notice that she, in spite her joy at seeing her parents again, she really wanted to go see Ron, and hopefully Harry would be able to join them for a while. Besides, she reminded herself as she grimly rolled off of her bed, leaving home may be a good thing for everyone.

"Mum?" she called as she hurried down the stairs where her mother was preparing dinner. "Mum, I just got a letter from Ron."

"That's nice, dear," Helen Granger said absently as she stirred whatever was simmering on the stove.

Hermione took a deep breath. "He asked me if I could come stay with him this summer."

"Of course, dear," her mother replied while she set down the spoon so she could start dicing some vegetables. "You always have a good time with the Weasleys."

"Great," Hermione continued cautiously, "They didn't give an exact date, but they actually would like me to join them in about a week."

"That's a little early," Mrs. Granger said with surprise, "You usually get invited at the end of the summer. How long do they want you to stay?"

"For the rest of the summer," Hermione said quickly and quietly.

CLUNK

Mrs. Granger dropped the knife she had been holding and let out a sigh.

"You just got home, darling," she said under her breath.

"I know," Hermione said in the same tone of voice.

"But you still want to go," Mrs. Granger finished for her daughter flatly.

"Well, I--uh, I..." Hermione stumbled, trying to find the words to express why she felt she had to spend these several weeks with Ron and his family. Her mother was the one person that could really cause her to get completely tongue-tied.

"What about the holiday we had planned?" Mrs. Granger pressed, "Didn't you want to go visit a friend of yours? That chap who took you to that dance?"

"Viktor," Hermione supplied, "And yes, I do, but I can always go to Bulgaria with you and Dad to see Viktor, maybe we could even go during Christmas," she added hopefully. "But I think I should go. For everyone's sake."

"Hermione, what are you talking about?" her mother said wearily, "You aren't making any sense."

Hermione bit her lip as she stared at her mother, wondering if she should tell her everything that she had kept hidden for all these years. She had never told her family about You-Know-Who and all the adventures she gotten herself mixed up in, because if her parents had an inkling of the danger she had been in at Hogwarts, she'd be at some Muggle school in a heartbeat. But now everything was different. You-Know-Who was back, and her parents needed to be aware of the danger that every Muggle was in.

And it didn't help that Hermione couldn't help thinking that her family was likely to be targeted about other Muggles. After all, she was a student at Hogwarts who was in the top of her year, a prefect (hopefully, when was that letter coming anyway?) who was also best friends with Harry Potter wouldn't help her out any either. She had even started carrying her wand around at all times, even when she was just lying in her room reading, as she often was. She wasn't going to take any chances.

But if she wasn't here, they probably would leave her parents alone. And if she was under the watchful eye of Mrs. Weasley and several other fully trained wizards, Hermione herself would be just fine. It was an ideal solution to the problem Hermione had been wracking her brains for a solution for, but now the only thing was should she tell her mother that? And if she shouldn't, what should she say?

Hermione finally spoke. "It's the O.W.Ls."

"O.W.Ls?" Mrs. Granger said with confusion.

"There's these tests that I'll have to take at end of term next year," Hermione explained, "They practically determine your whole future at Hogwarts as well as what job you want to go into after we leave."

Mrs. Granger's eyes widened. "I hope you have started studying!"

Hermione almost laughed in relief--her mother was a fanatic about grades, which was probably why Hermione was so driven to do well in her classes. She'd believe this story.

"I haven't," Hermione quickly amended her statement when she saw the unmistakable anger and surprise in her mother's brown eyes. "I can't, since I can't use magic here. But I can if I stay with Ron. And you know how hopeless Ron is with his studies. He agreed that I should come and help him study and then I'll be able to study and practice all I want."

"Oh," Mrs. Granger stared down at the dinner she was preparing for a long moment. "Well, I'll have to talk to your father about this."

"Of course," Hermione agreed instantly. "Thank you," She turned to go, silently congratulating herself.

"Wait," Mrs. Granger called after her daughter, brow furrowed. "I thought all magical children under seventeen couldn't use magic."

Hermione paused, closing her eyes for a moment as she cursed the fact that her mother's memory was as sharp and photographic as hers. "That was true," she lied, "But they changed the law a year or two ago. Underage witches can practice magic if there is a witch or wizard of age present to supervise."

"Oh, right, dear," Mrs. Granger returned her attention to her dinner. Hermione pushed through the swinging door of the kitchen, and stopped in the parlor, biting her lip, feeling rather guilty.

It was the first time she had lied directly to her mother's face. She had stretched the truth before, or she had conveniently left out some tidbits of information, but she had never actually lied. But she had to, it was for their own good, it was for everyone's own good if she went to stay with Ron's family. She just didn't like the fact that she had to lie to ensure her parent's safety, she hated that she couldn't tell her parents what was really going on.

Hermione shook her head to clear it, and hurried back up to her room, bitterly hating not for the first time that a boy named Tom Riddle had been born.

**

"Hermione, over here!"

Hermione turned around in the crowded pub and smiled when she spotted Mr. Weasley standing next to the bar. Seeing how crowded the Leaky Cauldron was and that Hermione was already having difficulty managing her school trunk, Mr. Weasley quickly made his way towards her.

"Hello, Mr. Weasley, how are you?" Hermione asked warmly.

"We're just fine," Mr. Weasley stooped down to help Hermione with her trunk. "We better get moving."

"Sure," Hermione answered with a trace of puzzlement as Mr. Weasley pushed open the door and led the way back to Muggle London. "Where are we going?"

"It's not that far of a walk," Mr. Weasley told her, not slowing his step, "Well, we are going to have to take the Underground," Hermione stifled a giggle at his obvious enthusiasm. She couldn't help noticing that Mr. Weasley seemed rather nervous and although he was rolling her trunk along with one hand, he had his other hand near his waistband where his wand must be hidden.

Hermione didn't ask Mr. Weasley about his concern until they had rode the Underground without incident and were walking through a deserted square. "Mr. Weasley, is everything all right?"

"Of course," Mr. Weasley replied a little too quickly. She didn't believe him for an instant, so she adopted the technique she knew worked on his youngest son; she raised her eyebrows and just stared expectantly. He met Hermione's eyes and after a moment, smiled ruefully. "You're more observant that Ron."

That's not exactly saying much, Hermione thought a tad bitterly. The row she had with Ron after the Yule Ball was still very fresh on her mind.

"Everything will be fine once we get you to headquarters," Mr. Weasley reassured her, "We were just a little concerned about getting you here." He glanced about him cautiously. "Muggle London isn't the safest place right now."

"Do you--well, I don't know exactly to say this," Hermione didn't know why she was embarrassed about asking this, she had a right to know. Maybe it was because she knew that there were so many other people who would be more obvious targets who needed protection more than she did. She felt selfish somehow asking this, but she knew she had to. "Do you think that maybe You-Know-Who could come after me?"

Mr. Weasley stopped walking. They had reached the edge of the square, and he set down the trunk so he could put both hands on her shoulders. "We have considered that possibility," he told her truthfully, "And if Ron hadn't begged us to let you come stay with us, I would have suggested it." Hermione let out a long breath; she had been expecting this, but it still was a lot to take in. "Hermione," Mr. Weasley continued, "I want you to know that it is on our agenda to send a representative over to your house and set up some sort of protection measures so we can know as soon as possible if a wizard is anyone near your house. We're going to do everything in a power to protect you and your parents, ok?"

Hermione nodded. "Thank you," she added gratefully.

Mr. Weasley smiled. "Don't worry," he said reassuringly. "Your parents will be well-looked after. Harry too." He laughed. "And now that you're around to keep an eye on him, Ron will be just fine." Hermione joined in the laughter. Mr. Weasley patted her on the shoulder before picking up her trunk once again. "We're almost there," he told her, picking up the pace after glancing at his watch. "We are a little late, so hurry up."

Hermione obediently picked up the pace. They were not in the best of neighborhoods, and the majority of the houses along the street she was currently walking down appeared to be vacant for years. They stopped in front of one of the ill-kept homes and Mr. Weasley set down her trunk so he could pull out a sheet of paper.

"Here, read this and memorize it, but don't ask any questions."

Hermione looked down at the piece of paper:

The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

The Order of the Phoenix! She had read about them, of course, but she had no idea they had been reinstated. Well, that news wouldn't be exactly printed in the Daily Prophet, but it still shocked her. And she certainly hadn't been expecting spending her summer in the Order's headquarters.

She looked up to signal that she had finished with Mr. Weasley's request, and he nodded. "Good. Now think about what you've just memorized."

Hermione complied, and gasped when she had finished. She had noticed that number twelve was mysteriously missing when she had first arrived on the street, but now it was currently appearing right before her very eyes smack dab in between number eleven and thirteen. It was just as grimy and dirty as the other houses, but Hermione was too amazed to be appalled. It never ceased to amaze her how the magical world could still shock her after five years.

She followed Mr. Weasley open-mouthed to the front door, and watched as he tapped on the door once with his wand. Clicks and clatter immediately followed Mr. Weasley's gesture, and the door creaked open.

She stepped into the dim hallway, and it kicked in for the first time how dirty and musky this place was. It was obvious that the house had been decorated several, several years ago, and possibly hadn't been cleaned since: the wallpaper was peeling, the carpet was threadbare, and the chandelier was covered in cobwebs. It was strangely eerie here, and it made her rather ill at ease. Suddenly, spending two months here didn't seem like the greatest of ideas.

"You'll have to keep your voice down while out in the corridor," Mr. Weasley warned, "You don't want to wake the portraits."

Hermione frowned slightly as she peered at the dark frames. "Why not?"

"I'm sure you'll find you at some point," Mr. Weasley said grimly, "But trust me, you'd prefer it to be later than sooner." Hermione nodded and started to reach for her trunk, but Mr. Weasley stopped her. "We'll get that later. Why don't you find Ron?" He indicated the stairs that were just past a hideous troll's leg umbrella stand. "Second landing, door on the right." He glanced at his watch again. "He's probably still asleep. I'll go report that you made it safely."

"Thank you," Hermione whispered before making her way tentatively towards the stairs. She had only walked up three of the steps before having to stop to gape openly at the décor of the stairwell.

House-elves HEADS!

But it was true: a long row of shrunken heads was mounted on plaques on the wall, and unless she was mistaken, all of the heads belonged to the same family since they all had the same nose. She had the terrible urge to scream in outrage, but she remembered Mr. Weasley's warning just in time. Why, why were these awful heads displayed so auspiciously? And why was the Order of the Phoenix who was dedicated to eradicate the world from evil staying in a home that clearly promoted Dark Arts?

The sight of the heads was starting to make her nauseous so she quickened her step and only slowed down when she reached the second landing. She stood outside the door that Mr. Weasley had told her Ron was in, and paused to smooth her skirt, readjust her blouse, and run her fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to tame her frizzy locks.

Oh, honestly, why do you even bother, the voice in the back of her head asked, he still doesn't know that you're a girl.

That didn't stop her from continuing to comb her hair with her fingers, and taking a deep breath before knocking lightly on the door.

"What?" Ron called.

Hermione took that as an invitation to enter, and so she wrapped her fingers around the serpent's head doorknob and pushed the door open.

And there he was: Ronald Weasley, git extraordinaire and the object of her affection.

Mr. Weasley had been right, he was still in bed but it was obvious he had been awake for a while. He was sprawled out on one of the twin beds on his stomach, a comic book open in front of him. He was still wearing his maroon paisley pajamas that she had first seen him wearing in second year, so the hem of the bottoms hit about mid-calf, and the sleeves were nearing elbow length. Although he was lying down, it was instantly obvious to her that he had grown already in the few weeks that had been separated. Other than that, everything was the same: brilliant copper-colored hair, vivid freckles, bright blue eyes and long nose.

It was rather irritating that her heart had skipped a beat like that just at the mere sight of him. Honestly, she thought she had more self-control than that.

"Hermione!" Ron jumped to his feet, scrambling for his dressing gown. "What are you doing here?"

Hermione arched her eyebrows. "Well, if I remember correctly, you invited me to stay here for the holiday."

"That's not what I mean," Ron fumbled, hastily tying the sash of his robe. "You shouldn't be here,"

"Ron, I have seen you in pajamas before," she said with false sternness as she tried to hide her smile. He was really adorable when he was flustered. "Besides, your father told me to come up." She really wanted to give him a hug (well, she actually honestly wanted to greet him in another way, but that would obviously give away how she really felt about him), but one of the things she hated about fancying her best friend was this dreaded awkwardness. Yes, it was plausible that best friends hug each other, but it could also be misinterpreted as making a move, and yes, of course, she wanted that, but she wanted him to make the move. It was all rather complicated, which was probably why she had kissed Harry good-bye at King's Cross a few weeks ago, and Ron had only received a quick hug. But that hug had meant more to her than any peck on the cheek ever could. But maybe Ron wasn't as thick as he acted, maybe he could sense how much that hug had meant to her...why did she have to over-analyze every little thing?

Hermione's arms jerked upwards as she started to head over to embrace him, but she changed her mind and quickly changed the arm movement to awkwardly tuck some hair behind her ear. "It's really good to see you again," she said earnestly.

Ron's irritated look faded as he grinned. "Good to see you too," he replied. He raked a hand through his own hair before gesturing to the other bed. "Take a seat."

Hermione smiled her thanks before perching on the edge of the musty mattress. "So what do you think of this place, eh?" Ron asked as he plopped back down on his bed.

"What is this place?" Hermione asked curiously. She scowled as she remembered the decorations in the hall. "And why on earth are you staying in a place that uses house-elves' heads as decorations?!"

Ron in spite of himself smiled again. "I knew that those were going to make you nutters."

"They should make everyone nutters," Hermione argued, leaning forward avidly, "Ron, it's degrading and sickening that those poor creature's heads are being used to adorn the walls; it's disgusting!"

"I know," Ron agreed, "Sirius tried to take them down but they're charmed or something..."

"Sirius?" Hermione interrupted, "Sirius is here?"

"Yeah," Ron answered, "This is Sirius' family's house."

Hermione just gaped at him.

"But--but--I don't understand," Hermione admitted after stuttering for a few moments. Ron smirked, and she quickly asked a coherent question before he could taunt her for actually revealing that she didn't understand something. "Does the Order know about Sirius being innocent?"

"Of course they do," Ron replied, "Sirius is in the Order, after all." He wagged a cocky eyebrow. "Do you know what the Order of the Phoenix is?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," Hermione retorted.

Ron's self-satisfied expression faded as his ears started to turn pink. "Oh," He remained silent before shifting his position on the bed slightly. "Um, do you mind telling me; Mum insists we don't know anything about what's going on with them."

Now it was Hermione's turn to wag her eyebrows cockily. "The Order of the Phoenix was founded by Albus Dumbledore in order to challenge the threat that You-Know-Who posed almost twenty years ago. Membership in the Order requires the utmost secrecy." She glanced towards the door, quite wanting to slip downstairs and see if she could overhear what Mr. Weasley was telling them. "Are your parents members?"

"Yeah," Ron revealed, leaning against the wall. "Bill and Charlie too."

"Wow," Hermione said under her breath, impressed but worried at the same time. The Order had a high mortality rate, and she fervently hoped that none of the Weasleys would join that statistic. "Who else is in it?"

Ron glanced at his watch and got to his feet. "Tell you what," he proposed, "You go get settled while I change and then we'll make Mum cook us some breakfast and I'll tell you everything I know."

"Fine with me," Hermione also rose. "Do you happen to know where my room is, by any chance?"

"Oh, right," Ron gestured towards the stairs. "You're sharing with Ginny again, go down to the first landing, door to the right. I'll come down when I'm ready."

"Sure," Hermione agreed. "See you in a bit."

"See you," Ron called after her as she closed the door behind her, smiling.

It was funny; in those few moments she had spent with Ron, the dusty, dank house suddenly seemed more like home.

**

"I haven't heard from Harry in a while," Hermione continued, "Have you? Do you think he's angry at us?"

"Why would he be mad?" Ron inquired.

"Because we haven't told him anything about what's been going on," Hermione answered in a tone of voice that conveyed she thought that any sensible-minded human being should know the answer to Ron's query. "He's probably really antsy by now, cooped up with the Dursleys with very little contact with us, and then he'll be..."

"Shh!" Ron warned as they continued down the stairs, now almost to the main floor. "Don't wake the portraits!"

"I wasn't speaking that loudly, Ron," Hermione couldn't help muttering.

"You were about to, though, I could tell," Ron shot back.

But Hermione had lost interest in that conversation. "Ron, who's that?"

"Who?" Ron scowled deeply. "Oh. Kreacher."

"Kreacher?" Hermione repeated, staring at interest at the house-elf who was lovingly polishing the troll leg umbrella stand at the base of the stairs. It was very inadequately dressed in only a filthy loincloth, and it was clear that he had been in service to the Blacks for ages by the baggy skin, white hair poking out from the ears, bloodshot eyes, and large, fleshy nose. Hermione glanced at him then up at the heads on the wall. Kreacher must be a member of the family, all right, she thought angrily. It was appalling that Kreacher's entire family was out on display like this while he was forced to slave away. "You didn't tell me Sirius has a house-elf!"

"I wonder why," Ron muttered sarcastically. Hermione continued to walk down the stairs towards the poor creature, and Ron quickly grabbed her arm. "Just ignore him, Hermione, honestly, you don't want to talk to him, he's not like Dobby..."

"Yes, because Dobby is free as he should be, and Kreacher here is still enslaved!" Hermione snapped in a low tone. Despite her temper, she still remembered to keep her voice down. But Kreacher still seemed to manage to hear her, for his head snapped up and he peered myopically at the two. He gave an exaggerated bow of greeting, causing Hermione to shake her head in disapproval. "That's all right, Kreacher, you don't have to do that."

"Hermione, shut it," Ron hissed, trying to steer her past, but Hermione yanked her arm away and smiled down at the old house-elf.

"Hello, Kreacher, I'm Hermione. It's nice to meet you." She knelt down alongside of him and held out her hand for the little elf to shake. Kreacher stared at it apprehensively, as if this had never happened to him before and he really didn't like that it was happening to him now. Ron rolled his eyes and tried once again to hurry her along, but Hermione only jerked again out of his grasp.

Kreacher eyed her carefully. "Kreacher is glad to make your acquaintance," he growled, lowering his eyes in respect. "Ugly little girl, she is."

Hermione and Ron both started. "Excuse me?" Hermione asked in indignation. "Did you say something?"

"Kreacher says nothing," Kreacher responded. His eyes traveled up to Ron, whose ears were glowing red with anger.

"Hermione, I told you that you didn't want to talk to him," Ron looked as though he would like nothing better than to kick Kreacher in the ribs and send him flying down the dark, deserted hall. "He's a nutter!"

"Ron!" Hermione chided, "Don't. I don't think he's in his right mind." She had reacted a tad strongly when she had first heard Kreacher insult her, but that was mainly out of surprise; she had never heard a house-elf to be so belligerent. But now, she was starting to see why. It seemed obvious to her that Kreacher didn't realize what he was saying or that they could hear him. Poor thing must have gone batty in his years of slavery. Honestly, she was going to have to have a talk with Sirius about freeing poor Kreacher.

"Ugly girl is with one of those blood traitors who are messing up my Mistress's house, that scum..."

"Hermione, can you hear what he is saying!" Ron was starting to get more than a little worked up.

"He doesn't know, Ron," Hermione said earnestly, "Just forget it. We'll go now, okay?" She could always talk to Kreacher later about S.P.E.W. and the benefits of becoming free. She held out her hand again for Kreacher to shake. "It was nice to meet you, Kreacher."

"Kreacher has a question for new girl," Kreacher asked slyly, big eyes now locked again on her. He leaned his head close to her and sniffed loudly, so loudly that Hermione could hear the mucus rattle in his nasal glands.

"Of course," she replied, "What is it?"

"Hermione," Ron warned again.

"What family is new girl from?"

"Hermione, don't!"

"The Granger family," Hermione answered with a sinking feeling. She had a feeling about where this was going.

Kreacher's eyes widened and he sniffed her again. "New girl is not a pureblood!"

"No, I'm not," Hermione said calmly.

Kreacher backed away as if repulsed. "Mudblood!" He drew his head back sharply before flinging his head forward to eject a sticky wad of saliva which landed directly on Hermione's outreached hand.

"Hey!" Ron roared, going straight for his wand.

"Ron, no!" Hermione leapt to her feet so she could pull down on his arm while she hastily wiped the spit off her palm, shuddering slightly at the mucous slid off of her skin. "Let's just go."

"Mistress, Mistress!!" Kreacher shouted, pointing a shaking finger at Hermione. "They brought a Mudblood! A Mudblood in the house!"

"Kreacher, shut up!" Ron shouted.

But it was too late, and Hermione learned the reason why there was such an insistence of quiet in the hallways. One of the many curtains in the hallway began to shake, and was quickly followed by one of the most horrendous screams Hermione had ever heard. She instinctively clapped her hand over her ears, but even that movement could not effectively block the shrill, resonant wailing from slicing through her eardrums. Hermione winced in pain; she was going to have an awful headache if this kept up.

The curtains finally flew open, and Hermione's jaw dropped. The curtains had concealed a life-size portrait of an elderly woman, and Hermione could see why the Order had chosen to shield people from the horror of the painting. The black-capped woman was the one doing the screaming, bloodshot eyes rolling around in her sockets, drool dribbling out of her gaping mouth.

The portrait's screams were very successful in awakening all of the other pictures on the wall, which joined in the yelling. Ron leapt forward in a vain attempt to close the curtains around the horrible woman, and Hermione reluctantly dropped her hands to help. The noise level rose and Hermione winced, but the worse was yet to come.

The moment she came near the portrait, the woman, who had been lowering her head in an attempt to screech in Ron's ear and drive him away, recoiled backwards, still screaming louder than Hermione thought was humanly possible.

"Mudblood! Filth! Begone! How dare you show your horrible little face here at the house of my father, the noble house of the Blacks! Get out! Get out!"

Hermione tried to ignore her as she whipped out her wand to see if she could close the curtains by magic, but the shouting grew even louder at the sight of a Muggle-born with a wand.

"How dare you attempt to use magic on me, you filthy Mudblood! Begone! BEGONE!"

"Will you shut UP already!" Hermione blinked in surprise and stepped back as two men hurtled past her to grab hold of each side of the curtains. "On three. One, two, THREE!"

They wrenched together, and almost toppled into each other at the effort, but it worked. The curtains pulled shut, and the screeches instantly began to die down, leaving behind blissful silence. Hermione lowered her wand, and smiled weakly as the two saviors straightened up and looked at her and Ron.

"Sorry about that," Remus Lupin apologized with a weary grin. "Sirius' mum can be a bit of a handful if you don't stay quiet out here."

"It was Kreacher's fault!" Ron protested, still very red in the face from exertion and fury. "He woke that hag up when he found out Hermione's..." His father cut off the rest of Ron's sentence by firmly placing his hand over Ron's mouth; Ron's voice was starting to get more than a little loud.

"I see," Lupin said serenely, smoothing down his rumpled hair and straightening his patched robes. "Well, we always knew she didn't approve of werewolves and half-breeds, but now we can add Muggle-borns to the list too." He held out his hand. "It's good to see you, Hermione."

"You too," Hermione shook her former professor's hand, remembering all too late that it was the hand that Kreacher had rudely spat into. At that thought, she glanced around for the house-elf, but it appeared he had rushed out in the commotion he had caused.

"Well," Mr. Weasley said quietly, "Why don't we head down to the kitchen for a bite, eh?"

Hermione nodded, and followed them, still wiping her hand. She could still feel sticky warmth of the saliva clinging to her skin, and the insults that had been slung at her still echoed in her ears.

12 Grimmauld Place now seemed like anyplace but home.

**

Ginny Weasley laughed uproariously as she closed the door to her bedroom and saw her friend sprawled out on her bed, fully clothed and almost already asleep. "Is someone a little tired?" she teased in a baby voice.

Hermione turned over on her side, keeping her eyes clothes and burrowing her face even deeper into her pillow. "Yes, I didn't realize I was going to be used for manual labor during my holiday."

"Welcome to a Weasley holiday," Ginny laughed, "Congratulations, you're one of us now."

"I'm so honored," Hermione replied dryly.

"Chin up," Ginny continued perkily, much to perkily for 11 o'clock in the evening for Hermione's taste. "First day is always the worst. At least most of the kitchens are done. Mum reckoned they'd be the hardest and that's why we did them first."

"Are we going to clean all of the rooms?" Hermione asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," Ginny smirked, taking off her shoes and pulling her pajamas out from under her pillow. "Aren't you glad to be spending your holiday here?"

Hermione groaned for her answer.

"Well, I know someone is glad you're here," Ginny said in an I-know-something-you-don't-know voice.

"Who?" Hermione asked drowsily, hoping that if she feigned interest, Ginny would shut up and let her sleep.

"Oh, no one," Ginny said with a fake sigh, "Just one of the gits who are supposed to be my brother."

Hermione lifted her head a little. "Ron?"

Ginny's grin grew even wider. "Yeah,"

Hermione's head fell back down on the pillow. "Well, of course, he's happy I'm here, I'm his friend. Friends are always glad to see each other."

"Yeah, but do friends always getting into a screaming match with their mothers in order to get their friends over for the holiday?"

Hermione suddenly felt a lot less weary, and she sat up straight. "What?"

Ginny leaned forward excitedly. "You should have heard them. The only time I've seen him that upset is when he rows with you."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at the comparison. "What happened?"

Ginny suddenly seemed to realize that this conversation may not be suitable for Hermione's ears. "Well, Mum was at first against you coming," Ginny hurriedly kept talking before Hermione could express her surprise. "She said she had talked to your parents, and they were saying how much they missed you and were looking forward to spending holiday with you at King's Cross, and after everything that happened with Percy...you do know what happened with Percy, right?" Hermione nodded soberly; Ron had told her all about earlier that day. "I think that Mum wanted family bonding time, you know? After all that happened?"

"I understand," Hermione said quietly. And she did, it made perfect sense why Mrs. Weasley would be against her coming to stay for so long. But it also made sense because Mrs. Weasley and her never got on that well. They were perfectly polite to each other, and Mrs. Weasley treated her very warmly and kindly, but it was nowhere near the relationship Mrs. Weasley had with Harry. Perhaps it was because Harry had such an awful family life and everything that had happened with him, but Hermione had a feeling there was something else brewing underneath the surface between her and Mrs. Weasley. There had always been an odd formality, an unspoken tension that had always been prevalent since the day she had met Mrs. Weasley at Diagon Alley in second-year. She didn't know why it existed; all she knew that it was there, and it contributed to the reason Mrs. Weasley didn't want her to come to Grimmauld Place.

"But anyway, Ron, you should have seen him! He was livid! He was furious at her for trying to get Harry to stay but not you, and said that it wasn't fair to you, and that besides, he was worried about you," Ginny's excited ramblings slowed down as the conversation took a more serious turn. "Because, you know, you're a Muggle-born and with You-Know-Who out there." Hermione nodded again; it wasn't like she hadn't considered that possibility too. "And he also thought it was best that you stay in England," Ginny smirked knowingly.

Hermione's temper flared. "So he wanted me to come just to keep me from visiting Viktor in Bulgaria! Well, that's just like him, isn't it!" She got to her feet, and made towards the door, ready to give that git a piece of her mind.

"And he also blurted out that he really missed you already, and that with everything that was going on, he'd really rather have you here to keep him company,"

That stopped Hermione from storming out of the room. She whirled back around to stare at Ginny.

"Really?"

Ginny's grin grew wider. "He said that he wouldn't want anyone but you."

"Is that right?" Hermione felt her cheeks turning pink, and she unconsciously straightened her jumper as she sat back down on the bed. "Well, I guess that's an acceptable reason."

"You bet it is," Ginny chuckled as she flopped down on her bed. "So Mum was so shocked with Ron yelling like that that Dad was able to get a word in, and said that he agreed with Ron, so Mum finally gave in."

Ginny didn't think she could laugh harder at the lovelorn smile plastered on Hermione's face, but indeed there was. She actually snorted milk out of her nose at the sight of Hermione smiling at Ron when he first appeared in the kitchen in such a way that he actually stopped dead in his tracks and stared until Fred slapped him on the side of the head and told him to move or become a tester for their latest invention.

**

"Aah-Aah-ACHOO!!!"

"Bless you," Hermione sputtered out as she gagged on the massive amounts of dust that had been released when Ron had wrenched open the wardrobe and heaved out the large quantities of clothes that had still been hanging inside. She waved her hand distastefully in an attempt to clear the air while kneeling down next to the pile to examine what Ron had found. "What do you think? Bin all of these?"

"Yeah," Ron agreed, fingering a moth-eaten velvet robe that must have been fashionable at least a century ago with a wrinkle of disapproval on his face. "Similar to my dress robes, don't you think?" he noted wryly.

"A bit," Hermione conceded, keeping her voice as flat as she could manage. Any reference to the Yule Ball still made her a bit ill at ease. "But your robes honestly weren't that bad, Ron." I actually thought you looked rather cute in them, she added in her head, and she kept her head down in the pretense of examining the robes to hide her smile.

Ron snorted in disbelief while bending down to drag the clothes out in the corridor for Fred and George to collect. "Well, at least I don't have to worry about those things anymore."

Hermione frowned, not because she didn't understand Ron's statement, but because she had just realized how dust-riddled her hair had become in the few hours they had spent cleaning out this bedroom. "What do you mean?"

"Fred and George bought me new ones."

Hermione couldn't help it; her jaw dropped in shock. "Fred and George?"

"Yeah,"

"Weasley?"

Ron smirked and dusted off his hands, having completed the chore of removing the robes from the room. "Yeah," he repeated, "I was right shocked too."

"Well," Hermione got a hold of herself and shrugged, "That was very nice of them."

"Yeah," Ron returned to the wardrobe and began opening the drawers. Hermione was frowning again and biting her lip. Dress robes could be awfully expensive; where on earth had Fred and George gotten the money to buy them? And if even if they did manage to save several Galleons, she would have thought they'd have saved it for that joke shop they were always talking about opening. Why would they instead buy a gift for their little brother? Maybe they were turning the other cheek...

Hermione then remembered how the two of them had scared her to death earlier that morning by Apparating directly in front of her while going down the stairs to breakfast.

No way, she decided firmly. Something funny was going on.

"Hermione!"

She jumped and instinctively scowled at Ron. "Honestly, Ron, you don't have to shout like that!"

"I said your name four times already," he retorted.

"Did you?" Ron nodded, a hint of a smirk starting to play on his lips. Hermione quickly looked away; don't think about his lips, don't think about his lips. "Well, I apologize. I was just thinking," She knelt down in front of the wardrobe to explore the lower drawers while Ron took the upper ones. "You should try it sometime."

"What about?"

"Well, I was just wondering how Fred and George got the gold to buy you your robes, that's all,"

Ron grimaced as he extracted an old-fashioned pair of women's knickers and threw them across the room. He wiped the mold from his fingers before replying. "Hadn't really thought about that." He glanced down at the top of her head. "They really aren't that bad, you know. They do nice things every once in a while."

"Really," Hermione gritted her teeth as she tried to free a pair of high heel shoes that had become wedged in the drawer. "I'd never have known."

Ron shook his head and laughed. "You're just huffy because they scared you this morning."

"I am not huffy!" Hermione protested, sitting back on her heels so she could look up defiantly at her best friend. "They scared me to death, and set off Mrs. Black's portrait again!"

"Bloody bitch," Ron muttered under his breath as he savagely yanked out an entire drawer and emptied it out onto the floor. Hermione opened her mouth to comment on his use of language, but a knock on the door stopped them both. They raced over to the window to press their faces to the glass in a vain attempt to see who had arrived. "Come on," he urged as he turned to stealthily jog out of the room. Hermione followed him the landing. Sure enough, Fred, George, and Ginny were already huddled, straining to listen. "What's happened?" he whispered.

"Dumbledore's just arrived," George whispered, clutching the long, flesh-colored string and straining to listen. Hermione bit her lip nervously. They had been using Extendable Ears for a fortnight now without being caught. Although she was glad that had learned loads of information from them, it still made her more than slightly nervous every time that string was lowered. She had seen Mrs. Weasley in a fury, and it wasn't a sight she fancied on seeing anytime in the near future.

"Well, what does he want?" Ginny demanded, trying to push George to the side so she could listen.

"Now, my dear little sister, do you really think it's proper manners to shove your brother like that?" George gasped melodramatically. "To think that I taught you nothing during our years together!" He winced as Ginny jabbed him harder in the ribs so she could press her ear down. He grinned at his twin. "Our girl is growing up," he said sorrowfully, wiping away a pretend tear.

"If only we could have had the same influence on that one there," Fred jerked his thumb towards Ron, who scowled at him.

"I've done plenty!" Ron argued.

"Yeah, but not for the right reasons," Fred pointed out. "Reckon it's because of that one," His head slighted towards Hermione.

"So if we get her to join us..."

"We'll get ickle Ronnikins."

"Damn!" Ginny gasped as the string was suddenly pulled magically out of her hands and disappeared over the edge of the landing. Fred and George both simultaneously paled and Disapparated with a loud crack.

"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY, GET DOWN HERE THIS SECOND!"

"Come on," Ginny hissed, "She doesn't know we're involved!"

"AND I KNOW YOU LOT ARE UP THERE TOO!"

Ginny let lose a flow of curse words that Hermione certainly didn't know when she was Ginny's age. Must be the influence of six older brothers.

"RON, HERMIONE, COME DOWN HERE!"

Ron's face clearly showed that he wanted to go anywhere but to his mother, so Hermione had to pull his arm towards the stairs. "Let's get it over with," she urged, "It won't be that bad."

To her surprise, it wasn't Mrs. Weasley waiting for them at the foot of the stairs.

"Professor Dumbledore," Ron lied rather poorly, "We didn't know you were here."

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. "Yes, I'm certain you didn't, Mr. Weasley." He crooked a finger towards the two of them, and they obediently followed him to a dusty room that had yet to clean. Probably a drawing room of some sort. Kreacher was lurking in a corner. "Hello, Kreacher," Dumbledore said serenely. "Would you mind if I could have a word with Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley in private?"

"Certainly, sir," Kreacher mumbled in his throaty growl. "Barmy old codger, he's just as bad as the rest of the filth living in Mistress' house."

"Thank you, Kreacher, that will be all," Dumbledore called pleasantly as he waved Kreacher towards the door. Kreacher shuffled away, but not without leering at both Ron and Hermione.

Ron scowled straight back. "Ugly little nutter!"

"Ron!" Hermione chided.

"Well, he is!" Ron protested, "He tells me what he thinks of me; why can't I say what I think of him!"

"Because I think it would be most prudent, Mr. Weasley, to be kind to Kreacher," Dumbledore warned. Hermione smiled in satisfaction, and Ron replied with a scowl in her direction. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled even brighter. "Take a seat," he invited, and with two flicks of his wand, two plump armchairs were Transfigured out of thin air. Hermione sat down in one in amazement; she couldn't wait to get into N.E.W.T level Transfiguration.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, I would like a word with you about our young Mr. Potter."

Ron and Hermione instinctively glanced at each other before replying. "What about him?" they asked as one.

Dumbledore bit back a smile. "Have you received any owls from him recently?"

"Yeah," Ron answered, "Just the other day."

"You didn't tell me that!" Hermione couldn't help that accusation from escaping her lips.

"You don't tell me about every owl you get, do you?" Ron shot back.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore interjected calmly, "Surely you can continue this conversation later?"

"Yes, Professor," Hermione mumbled, cheeks pink as she hung her head abashedly. Honestly, she didn't know what got into her sometimes: picking a row with Ron in front of their headmaster?

"He sounded okay," Ron relayed uncomfortably. "It was a pretty short letter; he didn't say much. Just talked about his cousin being a prat and asking if anything was going on with You-Know-Who. He's been reading the Prophet, and he doesn't believe that nothing is happening."

Hermione winced. Oh boy, that meant he had been reading those nasty snide remarks the Daily Prophet kept slipping in about him. That couldn't make him even happier, and from the two letters she had gotten from Harry, she knew he was anything but happy.

"Miss Granger?"

"The last letter I got from Harry was about a week ago," Hermione replied, "He basically said the same thing as Ron's."

"And do you believe that he is all right?"

Hermione shook her head. "I think he's still very upset about what happened last month."

Dumbledore nodded soberly, stroking his long white beard. "Right," he said slowly. "And you are adhering to my request of not telling Harry anything about what occurs in this house that I hope Molly told you about after arriving?"

"Yes," Ron answered, shooting another glance over at Hermione, widening his eyes to let her know that he wanted her to ask the question they had discussed a few nights before.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you something about that, Professor," Hermione leaned forward. "I know that we're being careful in case our owls get intercepted, but is there any other way we can relay information to Harry? We think that one thing that Harry is really upset about is not knowing anything. I mean, from our letters, it's obvious that Ron and I are together, and he might feel left out."

"I understand Harry's distress," Dumbledore looked over the edge of his half-moon spectacles to give each her and Ron a stern stare. "But I must ask you to swear not to tell you anything about what occurs in this house, is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore," Hermione replied obediently.

"We swear," Ron added dejectedly.

"Thank you," Dumbledore pulled out his pocket watch and smiled ruefully at them. "I know it is difficult, but I assure you, you will be able to tell Harry when you see him at end of August..."

"You mean he won't be able to come here at all?" Ron sounded even more depressed at the thought.

"Well," Dumbledore conceded with a smile, "Maybe not." Both Ron and Hermione smiled hopefully, "But not for at least another fortnight." He glanced at his watch again before tucking it back into the folds of his robes. "Now, I must leave I'm afraid. Molly tells me that the two of you are helping her immensely, so keep up the good work." Hermione and Ron nodded and rose from their chairs, which vanished with a pop. He swept past them, and was about to exit when he stopped to turn back. "And since you're wondering, Hogwarts letters will be delayed for a bit this year, but you will receive them soon enough." His blue eyes met Hermione's. "Nothing to worry about there." Hermione turned pink; he knew that she was praying for that letter to arrive so she would know if she was a prefect or not. "Good day," And Albus Dumbledore vanished from sight.

Ron kicked the floor sullenly, his good mood evaporating as quickly as it had sprung up. Hermione looked at him sympathetically. "Ron, I'm sorry," She knew how much he was hoping that Harry would be able to come for his birthday. She did too, of course, but Ron was always much closer to Harry than anyone else. She swallowed hard. Sometimes she even felt a bit left out at times. But they always came through when she needed them...most of the time. She sighed, and shoved her hands in her pockets. Ron's depression was only succeeding in making her feel similarly.

"I wish there's something we could do for him," Ron muttered.

"Me too," Hermione whispered before raising her voice brightly. "Well, we'll just have to think of a really good gift for him, that's all. Something to get him out of this funk he's in."

Ron laughed sarcastically. "What lifts depression?"

"Chocolate," Hermione responded instantly.

Ron's eyes brightened. "Yeah, it does," he remembered with a smile. "We should send him chocolate."

"Honeyduke's chocolate, of course," Hermione added.

"Of course," Ron answered, "They are the best." He grinned, and Hermione smiled in relief. She was just glad that Ron's good mood was coming back. "I'll send Pig today with our orders."

"Good," Her smile faded as the perpetually prevalent worries about Harry flooded her mind again. "I hope he's okay."

"Me too," Ron replied in a husky, serious tone that she didn't hear from him very often. Hermione smiled back weakly. She wished that Ron had taken her hand or done some sort of reassuring gesture or touched her some way in order to help console her, but he just stood here, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other, hands jammed unnecessarily tight into his pockets. She wasn't reassured entirely, so she continued on.

"Do you think he is?"

"No," Ron said earnestly, "I know he is. He has to be."

And although it wasn't a squeeze of her hand, it was enough for now.