Subplot

14 - Hermione

"They've got another one of these meetings tonight."

Harry's shadow fell on the chessboard. Startled, Hermione looked up from her game; so did Ron. Since the terrible events that had occurred at the end of the last school year, she found Harry strangely changed. At first she had not put much heed to it, because the change was a subtle one: More often than before, she found herself spending her time with Ron rather than with the two of them, while Harry was goodness-knows-where; and when he returned to them, he often seemed to Apparate out of nowhere as if they weren't inside Hogwarts castle. Their friend seemed preoccupied; most of the time he looked like he was enjoying himself as of old, but Hermione suspected his mind might be on other things. Ron had told her that Harry talked in his sleep at times now. Just last night, he had confided in her, Harry had repeatedly mumbled something about his parents, about Cedric Diggory, but most of all about 'You-Know-Who,' as Ron still preferred to say.

Hermione started wondering if it was not time to take some action. It was obvious that Harry was not worrying about his OWLs as he should, but about something completely different. She had told Ron he should take Harry aside and give him a chance to talk about the things that burdened him even in his sleep, but as far as she knew, Ron had not worked up the courage yet. Men, the incomprehensible species, she thought. She had considered taking Harry aside herself, and yet ...

"You mean that order thing?" Ron replied quietly, for once sensible enough to keep his voice down instead of announcing it all over the Gryffindor Common Room. Without answering, Harry pulled up a squashy armchair to watch their game. Hermione had her slightly phlegmatic king trade places with the more belligerent of the castles. She'd built up to that rochade for many turns now; Ron's wild chessmen kept hers in the defensive most of the time rather than allowing her to follow a strategy of her own. Her move completed, she looked back at Harry who seemed to stare at the board without seeing it. He is definitely not alright, she decided. While she was still trying to think of a remark that sounded sympathetic but not pathetic, Harry asked:

"You're not playing with your pawn, Ron, are you?" He took the little wooden figure in his hand and waved it at Ron, while Ron's eight flint pawns on the board turned their battered heads away from it in distaste.

"No, not you as well! Hermione's been bugging me about it since we started that game," Ron snapped at him. Of course, that was not quite correct; Hermione was positively sure she had let matters drop after no more than three attempts to inform Ron of his duty. However, looking at Harry's pale face, she decided not to argue. Without another word, Harry exchanged the wooden pawn for one of the club-holding little warriors on the board, ignoring the replaced figure's shrieks of abuse and its malicious club attack on the base of Harry's thumb.

"Useless piece of firewood," Ron complained, but did not take the practice pawn from the board again. Ron's original chessmen chattered among themselves in an unpleasant tone, probably planning another mobbing campaign against the immobile wooden pawn.

"Did you say there is another meeting of Dumbledore's secret order? There hasn't been one for ages," Hermione asked him in a low voice. She had been wondering about it, wondering whether Dumbledore was having second thoughts about inviting them.

Harry nodded and absently rubbed a finger across his forehead. "Professor McGonagall just told me. It's on in an hour. Quidditch practice is cancelled, too, Ron. Seems she had a word with Angelina, though what she told her I don't know."

Hermione commanded her queen to move diagonally across the board, keeping Ron's knight in check. "Just as well -I can hear the howl of the storm even in here, and I bet we are having snow again soon. You shouldn't be out in this weather, Harry, because you look ill, if you ask me."

"He didn't," Ron mumbled. With a frown, he took the wooden pawn and manually moved it to a spot where it covered the threatened knight. Harry gave the two of them a short nod, then got up from his armchair and left in the direction of the boys' dormitory.

"You shouldn't really rub his nose in it, Hermione," Ron said quietly. "Not everyone of us appreciates being told that he looks like shit."

"Ha - so you are worrying about it, too!" For once, Hermione ignored Ron's newly acquired habit of saying words Mrs. Weasley would not have approved of. "Do you think it has to do with You-Know-Who?" she whispered. "Or with - Cho Chang?"

Ron shook his head. "I don't think anything at all, Hermione, except that we'd better leave him alone."

"Well, that's not what I call friendship," Hermione retorted. "If Harry is sick, or worried, or having bad dreams, we've got to do something."

Ron shrugged while nudging his knight to take one of Hermione's pawns. "What do you want to do about it, then?"

"Maybe we should talk to Dumbledore about it - or at least to Madam Pomfrey. I think he's ill - at least at times he seems to be, and today he definitely is."

Ron shook his head; he looked up from the chess board and into her face. "Waste of time," he quietly dismissed the idea. "Don't you think they are keeping an eye on him after what happened last summer?"

Hermione did not like to be outsmarted by Ron, least of all when she was once more losing to him at chess. "If they are, it's not good enough. Come on, you have to see that we've got to help him. Can't you just for once take things around you seriously?" She commanded a bishop to take the knight even though she was sure it was one of these chess traps Ron liked to set up for her; she just couldn't see it yet.

"There are some problems that can't be solved just by notifying the proper authorities, Hermione," Ron sighed . "Why do you always have to complicate matters by being such a know-it-all?"

He should think of a new insult for me one of these days, Hermione thought wryly as she watched her beaten bishop leave the board, holding his stone rear end with both stone hands.

"And why do you always have to be so careless and immature, Ron?" she countered. "You-Know-Who is on the rise, Harry is ill, and all you seem to think about is how to keep the Quaffle out of the goals and what silly misfortunes you'll make up for your next, worthless Divination class. Don't you see it's high time to grow up? I can't believe they chose you to sit in the order with Harry. If you had at least come up with some original ideas, or had a special skill, such as Ensouling, or if you had ..."

But before she could finish her sentence, Ron's small wooden pawn sprang into motion and, blatantly ignoring the rules of chess, stepped forwards three steps and rudely punched Hermione's queen into the face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione, Ron and Harry were still discussing the miraculous vitalisation of Ron's practice pawn when they made their way up to Dumbledore's office. Ron had at once fetched Harry from the dormitory where Harry had probably been leafing through his parents' old research log again. One look at the angry little wooden figure had brought Harry's laugh back on: The pawn was standing in the middle of the chess board with raised wooden fists, while all other chess figures had respectfully moved to the side. Hermione felt a part of her worries lift from her heart.

"He's mental," Ron had told Harry happily. "Ensouled, but completely mental. I'll never make a chess figure out of him."

Hermione still could not believe what she had seen. In a strange way, she felt proud, even though she kept telling herself that the only one who should be proud of himself was Ron. "I can't believe you did it, Ron," she said with a smile.

"Me neither - and don't ask me how I did it, because I have no idea whatsoever." Ron gave her the grin of a rascal.

All arguments were forgotten. He is an Ensouler, she thought without the slightest trace of envy as they were walking up a spiral staircase. For once Ron stood out before Harry, and all three of them seemed to like that. Harry gave Ron another clap on the shoulder and said something about Ensouling Quidditch balls. They are just silly boys, Hermione thought, but this did not deflate her good mood in the least.

When they entered Dumbledore's circular office, Hermione felt her happiness evaporate, though she did not know why. All she could say was that the air seemed to weigh down on her. This time, they were far from the first to arrive. Many order members sat behind the tables provided for them, talking among themselves. For a second, Hermione had the impression that a dark cloud of smoke hung beneath the ceiling, but when she looked up, all she saw was magical lamps lit because of the early December darkness.

As they took their seats behind a small table crammed between larger groups of witches and wizards, Hermione looked around. Compared to the last meeting, less 'order members' were present; yet there were a few faces she had not seen the last time. The most surprising of them were those of Ginny and Neville who were sitting on the opposite side of the circle of table. They had to be here as Varlerta's apprentices, as they sat next to her and listened with rapt faces to an animated conversation between Varlerta and Professor Sinistra. Sirius and Remus, Harry had quietly told them, would not come this time because their whereabouts were better kept a secret.

As could have been expected, many of the teachers were present again. Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout, Flitwick and Snape were sitting on their right, forming a circle around Dumbledore's desk. On the other side of Harry, Hermione and Ron sat Alastor Moody and a few Aurors; the best-looking of them was called Hawks, if she was not mistaken. Professor Vector sat between Rosmerta and Arthur Weasley; Professor Quibster stood on the side of Mundungus Fletcher, whispering something in his ear.

After Dumbledore had formally opened the meeting, Hermione realised to her dismay that keeping her attention on the ongoing discussion was an effort. There seemed to be world-wide preparation for a fight, if not a full-fletched war between Voldemort and his opponents. Whether in London or in Hogsmeade, witches and wizards were doing what they could to enhance the strength of those that were willing to fight the Dark Lord. Yet the Ministry of Magic seemed to be split in two halves, those who feared Voldemort was on the rise again, and those who loved their routine too much to believe in anything else. Witches and wizards from abroad were offering their support, acknowledging that a Dark Lord back in power would be a problem that ignored national boundaries. Hagrid told them that Madame Maxime was raising funds and magic-power in France. Varlerta read a letter from an American friend to them which declared the support of a small group of witches and wizards should Voldemort strike again. Penthesilea Finnegan, Seamus' youngish aunt and, as Hermione had heard from Ron, Percy's new boss at the ministry, discussed her contacts to Greece.

Professor Quibster asked the order for their support for the pro-Muggle activist group called League. Hermione had read about them, but had not known they were still active. As Quibster put it, all the witches and wizards recently murdered by Voldemort were League supporters. He asked the order for their assistance in finding a safe place where the more than one hundred British League members could hide from the Death Eaters. Hermione saw the present witches and wizards nod politely; several said they would think about it, while Dumbledore kept silent. Somehow this was odd, Hermione thought; if these people were in such immediate danger, why wasn't anything done to get them out of harm's way? Yet after a few order members had assured Quibster of their goodwill, other speakers continued.

Arnold Peasegood, the Obliviator had finished his contribution to the meeting before Hermione had recovered from the fatigue caused by his drowning voice, so she sat up in her chair and tried hard at least to listen to the next speaker. Professor Varlerta introduced Ginny and Neville as her apprentices and gave a brief report of her full moon experiments. Agatha Longbottom put her knitting aside for a while and beamed at her grandson, while Neville did his best to look dignified (which wasn't saying much). He does not offer her something to be proud of every day, Hermione thought. She had heard in meticulous details about the stone circle research from Ginny and now found it hard to pay close attention.

As far as she understood the report of Ron's father, Charlie Weasley and his dragon-taming friends were trying to train dragons for combat in a camp hidden out in the sticks of Romania. Bill however had not made much headway in three months of negotiations with the representatives of the Goblin Financial Empire.

All this should have been exciting to hear, but Hermione came to realise she just did not like meetings like this one. Report followed report, and discussions seemed to run on and on. Her mouth was dry, and she was developing a slight headache due to a slight lack of water and oxygen.

Next to tell the meeting of their activities were Mundungus Fletcher, Penthesilea Finnegan and the wizard sitting between them, introduced to the order as Steven Ricket. He was in his early forties; his neatly cut hair and his immaculate robes set off with a subtly striped tie - an odd accessory for a wizard, Hermione thought, but oddly befitting Ricket's spotless appearance - looked out of place between Mundungus and Penthesilea, whose robes were slightly stained and torn. Yet when Ricket reported of their secret guard on Azkaban, he spoke with authority.

"As there is a certain probability that You-Know-Who's supporters will try to free their prisoners from Azkaban, we are keeping a watch on the place, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. The Dementors guarding the prison are no help; rather they are a threat, because You-Know-Who might bribe them to change sides. Unfortunately, there is only eight of us, working in teams of two. Among other things, I am here to ask your assistance. What we need is some funds because some of us may have to drop our day jobs; but I truly hope we will also find a few witches and wizard willing to participate in ..."

"I don't really care to know about your sissy guard on Azkaban, because it is little more than a decoration," Mad-Eye Moody interrupted him rather rudely. "If the Death Eaters decide they want to run down the Dementors or maybe to team up with them, none of you will even live to warn us. Not even eighty wizards would be up to this job, let alone you eight." Moody looked coldly from Ricket to Mundungus, his voice derisive.

"Of course, it's a nice, heroical gesture, but as such of little significance in the bigger picture and of little interest to all of us. What I really want to know is how is our progress on one of our real problems." Now Moody rose from his seat and looked down at Snape who was sitting next to him. He nearly poked the Potions Master into his chest with his gnarled finger. "What I really want to know," he growled, "is how you are proceeding with breaking the memory charm of Azkaban's most dangerous prisoner, Dolores Lestrange."

Mundungus' had paled in anger; Hermione could see that Penthesilea Finnegan's face was tense, while Steven Ricket's brows contracted slightly. Yet none of them looked as upset as Snape. On his sallow cheeks burned two red spots, and something seemed to be amiss with his breathing. But before he could even reply, from the other side of the room Varlerta said, or rather shouted: "Dolores Lestrange is alive?"

All heads turned to her, even those of the belittled Mundungus, Steven and Penthesilea, who had exchanged a few whispered words. Varlerta blushed, but looked directly at Snape. "Verus, did I just get that right? Dolores Lestrange is alive?"

Hermione tried to remember whether she had heard that name before or read it in a book, but had to accept that it meant nothing to her. She saw Snape swallow and then say with pretended nonchalance: "Oh yes, she's alive and kicking, if you do not count the fact that she is presently serving a life sentence in Azkaban and has suffered a considerable loss of mental faculties."

"I did not know that," Varlerta replied, nervously fiddling with a piece of her left sleeve. "She's alive but insane then?"

His voice matter-of-fact but audibly shaky, Snape answered: "A large part of her memory is inaccessible even to her, probably due to a rather destructive, self-inflicted memory charm. And of course she is in Azkaban, so insanity is what we have to expect." Then he looked at her with eyes that had narrowed to slits. "By the way, what is Dolores Lestrange to you?" he almost whispered.

"Well, she was my aunt, my mother's sister. Is my aunt, should I say."

Now it was Snape's time to get up from his seat so rapidly that chair toppled over backwards and hit the floor with a thump. "Bloody hell, woman," he hissed at her, the profanity sounding especially monstrous as it came out of his mouth, "is there no evil witch or wizard in this country that is not a close blood relative of you?"

Varlerta leant back in her chair in a gesture of defiant relaxation. "There's loads, actually," she replied to his question. "Only think of the inbreeding we'd have to deal with if they were all related."

Dumbledore's mouth twitched into the shadow of a grin which faded before it could properly resemble an expression of amusement. Moody however looked like he was close to a fit or seizure. He darkly stared at Varlerta with his normal eye, while the magical one was frantically rolling in his head. Then he slammed his fist on the table.

"Dolores Lestrange, Dolores Rosier before she married Lestrange, was your aunt, then? Well, now I recognize you, Ellis Cawldon, or Varlerta, or whatever alias you are presently using. You deceived and eluded me twice now, but you won't get a third chance." He pointed a gnarled finger at her; his voice rose to a scream. "Seize her, seize her, people. Right here in front of you sits our traitor, the daughter of Lord Voldemort!"

Varlerta put her booted feet up on the table in front of her and folded her arms on her chest. "That's not even proven, Moody," she replied icily. "My mother could have cheated on her husband. For all I know I might be a bastard."

An avalanche of murmuring rose in the circular room. Witches and wizards talked with their neighbours; some of them stared incredulously at Varlerta. Moody's surged forward in direction of Varlerta's seat. When he passed Dumbledore, the headmaster grabbed his sleeve. "Leave it, Alastor," he said quietly but with authority. "She is no traitor; I can vouch for that."

Hermione could not believe her ears. Lord Voldemort, a daughter; and that daughter a teacher at Hogwarts? It was unheard of. Dumbledore's order was in uproar. Almost frothing and visibly baying for blood, Mad-Eye Moody tried to break from Dumbledore's grip. People's whispered conversations had turned into shouting matches. Gesturing wildly, Steven Ricket and Penthesilea Finnegan were discussing the merits of their guard on Azkaban, but everybody else seemed to be discussing Moody's unexpected revelation. Varlerta slowly got up from her seat and walked across the room towards Moody with an air of a witch who has nothing to fear, gazing straight ahead. People hurried to give way for her as if they were afraid of her. Dumbledore's shouts for order for once availed to nothing.

"Recognised me, Sir, didn't you?" Varlerta spat at Moody. "Well, I haven't forgotten you either, to tell you the truth. Your eagerness to send me to Azkaban, your complete indifference towards my obvious innocence are still vivid in my memory. Captain of the Aurors, my ass. Captain of the bloodhounds would be more like it. I can't remember much about you that sets you off from being a primitive-minded imbecile once you are on somebody's scent!"

Both opponents had their wands out by now. Gerold Hawks stepped behind Moody and put a hand on his shoulder, urging him to go easy on his blood pressure. Snape's black-robed figure suddenly appeared in the middle of what threatened to become a battlefield.

"Leave it, Moody. Professor Varlerta has been cleared from all reproaches, if any ever were made. It will harm our cause if we accuse each other without reason instead of uniting for the challenge ahead."

"Severus is right, Alastor," Dumbledore said quietly, and once more had the whole room's attention without raising his voice. Yet if Hermione was not mistaken, he shot Snape a slightly ironic gaze which made the Potions Master turn his eyes downwards to his dragon-hide protective shoes. Moody, however, was not convinced. He stood up straight, displaying an unexpected height which was normally obscured by his skewed peg-leg walk, and shouted over their heads like a professional public orator.

"You know the witches of that clan, Albus, and should know better than to trust them. Secretive, sly, power-hungry and seductive, that's what all the Rosier women are and ever were. That Slytherin serpent -" he pointed at Varlerta, "has bewitched Severus, and I'm afraid she has hexed your body and mind as well. Look how gullible Severus was as a young man, entangled in the nets of that deadly spider Dolores, serving her and killing for her. Even now he defends Dolores against our attempts to crack open that mind of hers, probably because when he goes to see her in Azkaban, she manages to seduce him still."

Looking at Snape, Hermione almost felt sorry for him. While Moody seemed to have grown in stature, Snape seemed to have shrunk; his hands shook visibly. She also noticed that Varlerta, none too ruffled by Moody's accusations directed at her, seemed to take a new measurement of the Potions Master with her gaze, looking up and down his slightly hunched figure. Somewhere in the background, Mundungus Fletcher's low and slightly ironic voice spoke.

"If you think any man physically able to have sex at Azkaban, you've never been there, Moody."

At this, Dumbledore, Gerold Hawks, Varlerta and even Arthur Weasley snorted out loud, while many witches and wizards present at least hid a black-humoured grin. Hermione flinched inwardly when she saw Professor McGonagall and Agatha Longbottom exchange dark looks.

"You are wrong to accuse Severus of being under undue influence, just as you are wrong to accuse Varlerta of being a follower of Lord Voldemort, Moody," Dumbledore said gravely. "None of us can change our parentage, or our past, for that matter. I agree with you that we need to have the information Dolores Lestrange withheld from us by hexing her own mind fourteen years ago. However, I also agree with Severus that breaking her memory charm will most likely kill her. Even if you think that an acceptable loss, you must see that she cannot help us anymore once she is dead."

"Neither will she be of any use when she is permitted to keep her secret stashed away in her obscured memory," Moody growled. "I am warning you, Dumbledore: That witch is a risk as long as she lives - a risk to You-Know-Who and a risk to us. She alone is reason enough for the Dark Lord to overrun Azkaban any day now." With these words, Moody sat down again, disagreement on his scarred face but obviously unwilling to stir up any more arguments. Now and then he shot Varlerta an acidic glance, but the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher just turned her chair away from him until she faced the other way.

Dumbledore looked into the circle of order members, a great weariness in his face. "We will have to pull ourselves together, my dear friends," he told them. "If we go on like this and let our unity be broken by distrust and hatred, we will be an easy prey for Lord Voldemort."

The meeting dissolved shortly after. Hermione could not help feeling a little depressed, because she knew Dumbledore was right. If the opponents of Lord Voldemort could not cooperate properly, they did not have much chance. Most witches and wizards in the room seemed to feel this, too, leaving it with downcast eyes and very little small talk. Hermione could only hope they would learn their lesson.

Be that as it may, Harry and Ron seemed to be less affected than most by this hopeless mood. They raced each other up the staircase of Gryffindor tower, eager to see what mischief the Ensouled pawn had achieved in their absence. In spite of herself, Hermione had to grin when she saw them waiting for her in front of the Fat Lady and heard Ron's shouts urging her to catch up. After all, she thought, whatever miracles they will expect of us in future, we are only teenagers. She could only hope that the adults remembered that and found ways to sort out their personal differences themselves, and in time, even if they appeared to be so childish now and then.