Unplottable

6 - Hermione

Hermione had been expecting Penthesilea's owl for a few days, but the moment she untied the letter from the leg of the grey screech-owl, she felt fear rising up in her stomach. What had she done, what had she said? For a moment, she fervently wished she could turn back time, go back to being the law-abiding top student. She let herself fall onto her four-poster bed and unfolded the note.

"Large chestnut tree east of the Astronomy Tower - touch the trunk and say 'witch-doctor' - tonight, 10 P.M. - memorise this and burn it afterwards. P."

Hermione smoothed out the piece of parchment and re-read its short message. Ten o'clock at night, a truly brilliant suggestion! She whispered noiselessly: "Chestnut tree, witch-doctor, ten o'clock" to commit the information to her memory, then let the parchment dissolve into a small green flame.

When she had been a little girl, telling apart right and wrong had been fairly easy. Her parents and her teachers seemed to possess infinite - or at least superior - wisdom, so she took care always to follow their instructions and suggestions. She had learned that with a little effort, she could excel at school and earn her teachers' and parents' praise. Even though occasionally, this could only be achieved at the price of her fellow students' esteem, she never strayed far from that path, as it was obvious that her teachers knew so much more than the jeering crowd of her envious classmates.

When she had learned that she was a witch, the firm ground beneath her feet had been shaken for the first time: Many ideas she had learned and accepted as the truth became null and void, for example her firm belief that such things as magic, fairies and the Easter bunny were illusions created to keep the simple-minded entertained. Then one day, a letter had appeared out of nowhere, demanding that Hermione should leave her old life behind and become someone else, someone who believed and lived in a fairy-tale. Every illusion had come true, well, maybe almost every illusion. For the briefest second, Hermione grinned to herself as she imagined Molly Weasley with long, fluffy ears.

Hermione had coped well and used the well-known strategies of her earlier school days to adapt to the world of magic: Work hard, trust in your teachers because they know better than you, and when in doubt, go to the library. These old strategies had paid off in her new life, as well: Hermione had learned a lot, she had improved her skills, and most importantly, she had succeeded. Teachers' praise never strayed far from Hermione. - Of course, this wasn't all there had been to her first few years at Hogwarts, because there had been Harry and Ron.

Harry and Ron worked hard only if they could not help it, or if they truly took an interest in something - and that something did not usually coincide with their school subjects. Harry and Ron did not believe that their teachers knew better than them; if in doubt, they roamed the school at night, took matters into their own hands, and broke rules by the dozen. The two of them had shown Hermione what bravery was; they had shown her what friendship was. If she imagined herself as the person she would be if they had not become her friends - say, if after the mountain troll affair they had not given her these no-longer-hostile looks, encouraging her to sit down next to them during meals and classes - if she imagined that version of herself, she realised she would probably not like her very much. This friendless version of Hermione, she guessed, would still find rule-breaking very difficult, even if she knew the rules were wrong. As it was, she was able to decide, to choose her path according to the things her conscience demanded. Hermione blew away a speck of green ashes, building up determination. She would do what she deemed right, even if it was against wizard law; a thing as trivial as a school curfew would not keep her from it. She rose, cast a pitying glance at Lavender-the-parasite, who was enjoying an afternoon nap, and went down to the common room to meet Ron and Harry.

The two of them were trying to compose magic logs from scratch for Monday's Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson - Professor Varlerta had told them they would need last year's logs for a self-assessment test. Of course, logs made up like those of Ron and Harry would not tell their authors much about the development of their magical abilities, Hermione mused. She was very much looking forward to evaluating her own magic log, however, which comprised three tomes filled with her narrow handwriting. But, of course, before Monday could come, there was that meeting tonight.

Getting there unnoticed would be difficult, of course. How she wished she could ask Harry for his Cloak! Unfortunately, Harry didn't have it at the moment; he had lent it to Sirius last autumn, because for the escaped convict, remaining undiscovered was a matter of life and death. Even if the Cloak had been in Harry's hands, however, she would not have asked him: Undoubtedly, he would have inquired for what she needed it tonight. Hermione could not give him any explanation, however; her plans were a secret.

Sitting down next to the two of them and hiding her face behind a book she needed for her History of Magic assignment, she permitted the significance of this thought to fill her mind: She was hiding things from her best friends! But then again, she did not have much choice - she wasn't sure, couldn't be sure from experience, that they would understand, and there was no way she could take the risk.

Still trying to think of a way to get to the meeting unnoticed, even to get out of the castle at night, Hermione let the words on the pages in front of her drift out of focus. All doors of the castle were secured by magic at night; even if she managed to break a door spell, certainly a magical alarm would go off right next to Dumbledore's pillow. The teachers opened the doors with a password, which, of course, was kept secret from the students.

Late at night.... There were two students who returned to Gryffindor tower late at night every once in a while - Ginny and Neville. Their audio magic mentor, Professor Varlerta, had a habit of taking them to stone circles to experiment with audio magic during the nights of the full moon. After she had been attacked at the circle they had been using, she had found a different one for her small research group, Ginny had told Hermione; their first visit to the place last week had been particularly exhausting. So exhausting, in fact, Ginny had told her in a slightly mischievous voice, that Varlerta had fallen asleep behind the steering wheel on the way home. Thanks goodness, her flying Ford Anglia was Ensouled and found the way to the castle without any steering. It had dropped them off in front of the castle and then taken the snoozing teacher away, Ginny had said. If this information was correct, Hermione concluded, it could mean only one thing: Ginny and Neville had entered the castle without Varlerta's help; therefore, they had to be familiar with the front door spell.

Over the edge of her book, Hermione's eyes scanned the common room; her mind was racing. This particular piece of information might not be had just for the asking: Most likely, Varlerta's apprentices had been warned not to impart it to any student. Consequently, Hermione would have to make one of them tell her by some sort of trick; she had to outsmart them, to find the weakest link. Her eyes came to a rest: Neville - of the two of them, he would be far easier to persuade. The weakest link within Neville was his clumsiness, his lack of academic success, Hermione decided, but then she corrected herself: If she wasn't mistaken, presently Neville's weakest spot was Ginny, or maybe Ginny and her band.

She went over to his table and sat down by his side. "Memory charm regulations," she stated rather than asked, because on his piece of parchment she could see his work.

Neville sighed. "This is so complicated! I don't know how the magical barristers remember it all! All these different regulations for Muggles, and for wizards, and...." He gave her one of his typical Neville-is-helpless looks. Hermione was tempted to reply that the regulations were fairly easy - as far as she had read, altering the memory of a Muggle was usually permitted, unless there was no cause for the spell whatsoever, while altering the memory of a wizard was usually forbidden. However, she knew that Neville did not need her zeal, but rather something that would help him remember.

"I summarised this from three library books," she said, taking her own notes out of the book she was holding, where they had served as a bookmark. On a piece of parchment, she had drawn up an easy-to-read table where all the relevant regulations were listed. "Do you want to copy? It becomes much more clear this way, I think."

Neville's eyes scanned the table, then they rounded. "This is fantastic, Hermione," he breathed, awe in his voice. "I wish you would write our schoolbooks! Why don't they use tables like that in the books, so people like me can easily remember?"

Hermione had sometimes wondered about this herself; when Neville gave her a questioning look, she replied with an encouraging nod - sure, he could copy her notes, no problem. Neville smiled gratefully, but, she guessed, not gratefully enough yet to do something he had most likely been specifically forbidden to do.

Putting aside the awful feeling that befell her because she was planning to consciously manipulate someone as gullible as Neville, Hermione played another trump card. "So how are things going with you and the band?"

Neville's face fell, giving Hermione's conscience another shove downwards. Ginny had told her all about it: She, Rhonda and Julian Hengert had, so far, met a few times in the unused classroom, practicing to play a few cover songs as well as they could, considering their limited experience. Most of them had been suggested by Julian, the guitar player, who had already gilded their endeavour with fame by doing something unheard of in Hogwarts: He had refused the office of the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, explaining that the highly-desired position would make too many demands on his time - only as a regular team member he would still be able to play in Hogwarts' newly-formed rock band. Ginny had related all this to Hermione with pride in her voice; her self-esteem seemed to have grown by a hand span. She had also explained to the elder girl why she had not asked Neville to join the band, so Hermione knew what his reply would be.

"She doesn't want me," Neville said with infinite sadness in his voice. "She said they are a rock band, not a jazz band or folk band or whatever, and that Jethro Tull is ancient history. They don't want a flute player in their band."

Jethro Tull? For once, Hermione did not have the faintest idea who Neville was talking about, which was a rare and rather strange experience; however, she knew how to interpret his complaint within its context.

"They are still looking for a singer, though, aren't they? We all know that you've got a nice voice."

Neville kept his eyes firmly on Hermione's notes. "It's too nice, apparently. Ginny said they are looking for a rock singer, and that I'm not a rock singer," he mumbled.

"Hm, maybe you should prove her wrong? Show her what you can do?" Watching herself systematically needling Neville so that he would be indebted to her even more was disgusting in a way. Deceit and pretence - was that the way things were going to be in the future? Hermione banned such nagging inner voices from her mind, focussing on her strategy. When Neville finally whispered, "I don't dare to," she put a hand on his sleeve.

"You really should give it a try, you know," she told him. "I'm sure you are exactly what they are looking for - they just haven't listened to you properly yet. It would be so nice for Gryffindor if you could sing with them. Everybody would be proud of you. You know what? Maybe if you know their songs ahead of time, if you get a chance to practice them, you can make a head start."

"I'm too embarrassed to ask her again about singing with them, and I don't dare ask about the songs," Neville confessed in a whisper, his face flushed with shame. Hermione's heart filled with sympathy for him. She could almost convince herself that she was doing this for his sake at least as much as for the sake of her own plans.

"I'll ask her what they are playing, then," she said, "and I'll tell you. Maybe Professor Varlerta can help you a little, too. You've got to get your courage up and try out singing with them! I'll talk to Ginny, too, because I'm sure that in her heart, she would really like you to sing with the band. I'm sure that when I talk to her, she'll agree."

Neville gave her another of those looks which clearly said that Hermione was too good to be true. "You'd do that for me? Really?"

Hermione nodded. "No problem," she said. "I like to help if I can."

"But you always help me," Neville said unhappily. "You help me with my schoolwork, you saved my life at least a hundred times in Potions during my first four years, and now you are helping me again. Is there never anything I can do to help you, too?"

"Don't worry about it, Neville," Hermione said with a smile, forcing herself to be patient.

"Nothing? Come on, Hermione, there's got to be something I can do for you, too. Please, tell me, I would feel so much better."

Hermione leant back in her armchair and pretended to think for a while. "You know what? There actually is something," she finally said. Neville beamed at her.

"Could you show me how to open the castle's entrance at night?"

Neville hesitated for the briefest second; Hermione's heart beat in her chest. Would he ask for her reasons?

"No problem, it's really easy if you know the password," Neville replied, giving Hermione a look filled to the brim with trust.

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

The grounds were dark and chilly; a fine, drizzly rain was falling. The smell of wet grass hung heavily in the air, insisting that in spite of the unfriendly weather, summer wasn't entirely over yet. Hermione took care to keep the light of her wand dim, and to shield it with her hand in places where no trees obstructed the view from the castle. Her hands clenched her wand tightly; she was nervous, maybe even afraid. As far as she knew, teachers were patrolling the grounds regularly at night; she could not be caught, or seen, or she might very well be expelled. Scratch that, they were not likely to react so drastically, she told herself as she walked down the path that led around the castle in a wide arch - but she certainly would be punished.

Keeping in the shade of the extensive shrubbery, large bushes heavy with inedible berries, she walked towards the chestnut tree east of the Astronomy Tower with utmost care. Another twenty steps or so would do, she thought to calm herself, when something touched her lightly on the shoulder.

Hermione wheeled around, shaky with a sudden outpour of adrenaline, but at least she managed not to scream out in terror. When she found herself facing the large, soft-mouthed head of the Thestral, almost invisible in the nightly darkness, she almost sobbed with relief. Curse that beast - he had a knack of appearing where he was least wanted, she thought, but could not resist running a hand over his nose. The winged stallion neighed gently. At first, he had been unwilling to let anyone touch him except for Harry and, of course, Hagrid, but recently he had transferred his unbidden affection on Harry's two best friends. Neither Ron nor Hermione were entirely comfortable with this; the belief that the Thestral was unlucky hung over him like a black shadow. However, Hermione thought as she patted his neck, the beautiful, friendly beast had something about him which made him irresistible - neither superstition nor reason could change that.

"Go back to Hagrid - I've got to go," Hermione whispered. The Thestral affectionately breathed in her ear; then he turned aside and strode off as if he had understood. Hermione shook her head to clear it and walked the last few steps towards the tree Penthesilea had described. "Witch-doctor," she whispered as she touched the tree's trunk. Left of the tree, a trap door appeared and opened; inside the dimly lit passage, a ladder could be seen. Apprehensively, Hermione tested the ladder with one foot, then put the other one on the step beneath it. This had to be the path into the camp. Very carefully, she descended the ladder. Just as her feet touched the ground of the secret passage, the trapdoor above her closed with a soft thump!

Hermione trotted along the roughly carved passage for a few minutes, wondering where exactly it would lead her. Out of curiosity, she had taken a cursory look at a library book about hidden places during a spare hour two days ago. To hide a place from Muggles, you could protect it with Muggle-repellent charms, which strongly dissuaded Muggles from taking a closer look. To hide a place from your fellow witches and wizards was much more difficult. Making it unplottable was a method to make a place hard to find over a long period of time. Durmstrang, Hermione knew, was unplottable, but Hogwarts wasn't - otherwise, Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs could not have drawn up Harry's highly cherished Marauder's map. Every witch and wizard in Britain knew where Hogwarts lay; hiding a refugee camp in Hogwarts was no simple task as far as she knew.

The library book, Hermione remembered as she ascended a few steps hewn into the soil, had listed another method of hiding a place; it sounded likely that it had been the one used in this case: To hide something large, a building or even something the size of a village, you could perform a highly complicated Parallelus charm which worked much like a mixture of a strong Muggle-repellent and a Fidelius charm: If you were not admitted from the inside and did not know the password to get through one or several hidden barriers, you saw the area the way it had looked before the building had been erected.

Students of Hogwarts would see their grounds as they knew them, completely devoid of a League refugee camp. They would look at the area it covered from afar and believe it unchanged, but they would feel no inclination to go there; most likely, they would just turn around and find something else to do. If some students forced themselves to stray into this particular area, maybe consciously fighting the manipulation of the Parallelus charm, they would start feeling queasy and dizzy until they returned to the castle, demanding the help of Madam Pomfrey. - Hermione had arrived at another ladder which lead upwards to another wooden trapdoor. She climbed up and knocked, knowing that she was passing the hidden barrier: If she was admitted, she would see the Hogwarts grounds as they really were at the moment, not an illusion created by a Parallelus charm.

The trapdoor above her head opened; in the light of a good-sized campfire, Hermione saw Penthesilea Finnegan, who offered her a hand to pull her up onto the ground.

"Hermione, I'm so glad to see you." Once Hermione stood safely on the moist grass, Penthesilea greeted her with a warm smile. "Did you find the place alright?"

Somehow the question struck Hermione as sounding awfully trivial, just as if Penthesilea had given her directions to find a house in a Muggle suburb, not instructions to walk through an underground passage into a magically hidden refugee camp at ten o'clock at night, breaking a handful of school rules on the way. Nevertheless, she replied pleasantly: "Thank you, I found my way without a problem."

Hermione looked around. She was surrounded by a small, village-like arrangement of two-storey wooden huts - lodgings that looked solid, but by no means comfortable. Undersized windows were lit in most of them, throwing a dreary light on the slightly muddy alleys, the empty clotheslines and miniature flower and vegetable beds. These people were here for a long stay, she realised - there was no telling when they would no longer be in danger.

Penthesilea led her through one of the narrow alleys without any comment referring to the bleakness of the camp. Hermione reminded herself that it had nothing of the squalor of the Muggle refugee camps she had seen on her parents' TV; add broad and sunny daylight and subtract the drizzly rain, and the place might almost look like a toy village, she tried to cheer herself up. However, she had to concede as she almost stumbled over an abandoned Quaffle, it was no place where she would have liked to raise her children.

"I am glad I could win your interest for our endeavour," Penthesilea said, wiping a hand across her moist face. "You would be most welcome among us. Of course, being underage, you cannot become a full member yet - our statute says that only adult witches and wizards can do that. However, we accept younger people as membership candidates, who are entitled to be present at general meetings, and to take part in any activity which is not considered too dangerous for them." She gave Hermione a questioning look, almost as if she expected her to object, but when the girl merely nodded, she continued:

"I asked a couple of members to meet us at our headquarters here. It is not a general meeting, as you are not sworn to secrecy yet; we could not risk telling you anything that is not to be known outside the League. However, please be aware that we welcome you to this place in good faith, but that we do hope that even if you decide against becoming a member of the League, we expect you to keep silent about everything you see and hear in this camp."

Hermione nodded again, this time masking a trace of annoyance with a friendly face. Being told so blandly that she was not to be trusted unless she swore a formal oath did not go down well with her. Moreover, to be told to keep silent about the things she heard and saw in the League camp seemed pointless to her in view of the fact that she had broken so many school rules just by coming here - who should she tell any secrets, if coming here was a secret in itself?

Penthesilea led the way into a larger hut which almost deserved the term 'house.' Inside, a witch and two wizards sat on mismatched armchairs around a low table. The warmth of a small cast-iron stove and the teakettle heating up on top of it gave the dimly lit room a welcoming touch. After a short exchange of greetings, Penthesilea and Hermione took off their damp cloaks and hung them on hooks nailed to the walls; then they sat down at the table, too.

Penthesilea introduced the three other League members. Florean Fortescue was well-known to Hermione, of course. Her face must have betrayed her surprise of finding that the ice-cream salesman of Diagon Alley 'was League,' as people termed it, because the wizard winked at her mischievously. The kind-looking witch in her mid-thirties was introduced to her as Lucy Callahan, while the name of the tall, young, dark-skinned wizard was Ambrose Curtis. Hermione shook their hands in greeting.

"Hermione Granger, you have come here because you think of becoming a member of the League for Magic and Non-magic Cooperation. Tonight, we will get to know each other better; you can ask us questions, and we would like to know more about you. The common proceedings in such a case is that you get two weeks' time to come to a decision concerning your membership, and that we will investigate you during the same period of time to make sure that there are no objections to your wish of becoming one of us."

The earnestness in Florean's talk about objections, about investigating her, reminded her that this was no game, no place for a childish decision to be reversed whenever it pleased her. The League, Penthesilea had told her, were a radical organisation; some of their members fought for their beliefs with violent means. Hermione had no intention of blowing up a wizard mansion, not the Malfoys', not anyone's, but her long talk with Penthesilea on Percy's wedding had convinced her that she believed in many of the things the League seemed to be fighting for. She nodded to indicate that she was listening, and that she agreed with the things Florean had said so far.

"The League promotes Magic and Non-magic Cooperation. We believe that the problems of this world should be solved by magic and non-magic people together, that we should cooperate with the Muggles as well as we can to fight the evils of this world. We believe that there must be a reason why there are witches and wizards on this planet, magical people who are able to break the natural laws which are binding for Muggles - and we believe that we have magical powers not to secure ourselves the most comfortable lives available, but to do our part in making this world a better and fairer place." Florean accepted a cup of tea from Ambrose and thanked him with a short nod; Lucy put a cup in Hermione's hands. The warmth of the beverage was reassuring.

"Innumerable years ago, there was an unwritten contract between Muggles and magical people, the Ancient Order: The Muggles clothed, fed and sheltered us; we healed their sick, provided the rain for their crops and the entertainment for their holidays," Florean said after a careful sip of his scalding tea. "For many centuries, we lived in peace with each other, and I believe we lived well, because we could benefit from each other's skills. After some time, however, many witches and wizards decided to enslave the Muggles; they wanted to be clothed, fed, and sheltered without fulfilling their side of the deal. Since then, there is a hidden war between magical and non-magical people. Muggles tried to get by without our help and invented technology - technology which today creates innumerable problems on the planet which we share with the Muggles, whether we like it or not. To rid themselves of their magical Feudal lords, Muggles fought innumerable wars, mostly ending up harming each other. Today, the world is full of Muggle wars, and the suffering is immense. Even we witches and wizards fight amongst ourselves: Our current struggle with You-Know-Who is only one of many wars among wizards, wars fought to accumulate power, to rule over others and to exploit them for selfish reasons.

"As League members, we look around in the world, and we do not like what we see. We believe that many kinds of injustice and violence could be eased if Muggles and magical people worked together again, both sides renouncing all claims of power over the other. The old contract, the Ancient Order, should be re-established; together, we may succeed where divided we have failed for centuries. This may sound like an illusion, like a dream. So be it, then - we set this dream against the nightmare of exploitation and violence which rules both sides, rules the lives of many Muggles and presently rules all of our lives, too." Florean gestured to indicate that the refugee camp they were in was connected to the violence he was talking about. While he drank some more tea, maybe wetting his throat after this long speech, Hermione wished fervently she could have had him for a History of Magic teacher instead of being bored into a stupor by Professor Binns for so many years. She had once come across a book written by him, and she knew that he was an expert on early magical history.

Toying with his teaspoon, Florean continued: "As League members, we believe in equal rights: Laws which work to Muggles' disadvantage, which grant witches and wizards power over Muggles, are opposed by the League. We disapprove of the excessive use of memory charms; one day, we hope, Muggles will come to trust us again, so that our magical powers will no longer need to be a secret. Magical and non-magical people should live side by side again one day, intermarrying without any regulating laws. We strongly oppose any discrimination against witches and wizards of Muggle parentage, and, indeed, any regulation which is based on descendance. Oh, yes, and we oppose You-Know-Who in any way we can, of course."

Hermione nodded; this was the reason why she was here. She wasn't entirely sure about the League - some of the things she had heard about them were not to her liking. However, even if she thought that people calling the League a bunch of dreamers might have a point, Florean's speech had moved something within her. She doubted that all the problems of the world could be solved just by a cooperation between Muggles and magical people (she liked it that he used that term, instead of just saying 'wizards' all the time), but a relationship built on trust and cooperation might certainly help in many respects. Could witches and wizards maybe help to fight pollution, or to alleviate the injustice in many poor countries - not to mention the violence?

"If you decide to join the League, you have to be aware that it is a highly heterogeneous organisation," Penthesilea said. "While we all agree on the things Florean has talked about, many of us disagree about the means used to reach our aims. Some League members oppose all violence under any circumstances; some fight for their beliefs with more drastic means than sit-ins. No League member is ever obliged to join in any activity he or she does not believe to be right; however, it is against the League statutes to hinder others. League members are sworn to secrecy; never may they betray an activity of their fellow members to the Muggle or wizard authorities, or, of course, to You-Know-Who and his followers."

Hermione frowned. "What do I do if a League member is planning an activity I consider simply wrong? Do I just stand back and let them go ahead with it?"

"If you believe your fellow League members are doing something wrong, you can always talk to your local or even national head member," Penthesilea replied. "The League is semi-hierarchical, but democratic in structure: Every two years, all members vote for head members; all head members vote for the President of the League. The heads coordinate activities, but they also insure that all action taken agrees with the League statutes. These statutes demand, for example, that no innocent people, be they magical or non-magical, are harmed by any kind of League activity. If you believe a League member plans something that does not fulfil this condition, you are encouraged to discuss this with your head member, who is authorised to forbid this kind of action."

"The statues of the League command all members to comply with such an 'activity ban,' and to keep the head members informed of all their plans." Florean continued. "Other than that, the heads do not have any authority over the other members, though they may ask or encourage members to participate in plans which find their approval. In very rare cases, they order for a member to be punished if he or she has gravely betrayed the League. However, such decisions are always confirmed by a group of League members; even in a case of obvious treachery, we would never put the power to punish into the hands of one person alone."

Hermione shuddered inwardly, thinking of Prometheus Quibster. The Muggle Studies teacher had betrayed Dumbledore's order as well as the League, but he had meant well. If not for his treachery, the refugee camp might not have been permitted on the Hogwarts grounds. Not for the first time, she wondered what had become of Quibster, if he had indeed been punished by the President of the League, as Penthesilea had announced. She felt tempted to ask about him, but thought better of it: Surely, this was not the time and place for such a question.

"Mummy, I need to wee-wee!" All heads turned to the door leading - probably - to an adjoining room; Ambrose Curtis chuckled, and Florean smiled. The speaker was a curly-haired little girl of about four or five; her plaintive voice had a sense of urgency.

Lucy Callahan raised her eyes heavenwards. "She's too scared to go to the outhouse when it's dark," she whispered to the people at the table. With a sigh, she rose to accompany her daughter outside. Once again, Hermione thought that she would not like to raise her children in such a camp, but then she suddenly remembered all the League members who had been killed since the raise of Voldemort. Nine children had been killed with their parents, Quibster had told Dumbledore accusingly before the holidays; more might have been killed in the meantime. They had died because their parents opposed Voldemort. Those children who had made it safely to the refugee camp did not live in comfort, but at least they were alive.

While Lucy Callahan was gone, Florean continued to tell Hermione about her potential League membership: "As you are underage, you cannot become a full member yet. We do not allow underage witches and wizards to participate in dangerous and illegal activities, and for safety reasons, we cannot admit them at certain meetings. However, please be aware that even as an underage membership candidate, you are required to swear loyalty to the League, to obey its basic statutes, and to keep all you hear in the meetings absolutely secret."

Hermione nodded; this made sense. Coming here to apply for League membership was nothing she had done on the spur of the moment. Since Percy's wedding, she had thought about it every day. She had not made her decision lightly, and she would not behave childishly as a League member even if she was underage. "I am prepared to swear loyalty, and to behave accordingly," she said with a dry mouth just as Lucy returned with her daughter. The witch sent the child away to the other room with an affectionate pat on the back and sat down at the table very quietly, obviously embarrassed that she was interrupting at an important moment.

"Do not rush into anything," Penthesilea said kindly. "As I said, both you and we will have two weeks to think things over. We will investigate you, as we investigate everybody who applies for membership, but we also want to hear as much as possible from your own mouth. Don't hesitate to tell us things I know - Florean, Lucy and Ambrose probably won't know them. Who are you, and why do you wish to become a League member?"

"I am a sixth year student at Hogwarts," Hermione began, unsure what they wanted to hear about her. "My parents are Muggles. I lived with them until I started here at school, and I never knew that I was a witch, or indeed that magic was real. I know both worlds, and I love them both. When I grow up, when I get my NEWTs, I don't know exactly in which world I want to live, but I cannot imagine ever abandoning either of them completely." She hesitated, wondering whether to disclose any personal feelings to them, but Penthesilea nodded encouragingly, and Ambrose gave her a warm smile.

"I hate any kind of injustice," she said firmly. "I hate it when it happens to me, when they call me Mudblood -" she saw Ambrose flinch and Florean scowl, "and I hate it when injustice happens to others. What I wish for most is a world where everybody - not only Muggles and witches and wizards, but also house-elves and giants and hippogriffs - where everybody has equal rights, and can live according to his or her nature and needs. I want all people and creatures to live in peace, to live as neighbours. I want to be able to ask my school friends to tea at my parents' house, and not to have to think twice about it. I want to have a job that is useful to Muggles and to magical people. I do not generally approve of violence, but I have come to the conviction that the aim of the League is not to blow up others irresponsibly, but to fight against injustice in every sensible way. This is why the aims of the League are my aims as well. - Oh yes, and I want to fight Lord Voldemort." She saw the younger two League members flinch at her use of the name, but did not correct herself. Straightening her back, she continued:

"Together with my friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, I have been fighting Lord Voldemort since my first year at Hogwarts, simply because where Harry is, there is always the need to fight Voldemort. So far, all I have done is help Harry wherever it was necessary. I want to do more - I believe I can do more, and I want to do it on my own account from now on. However, on my own I am weak and useless. As a member of the League, I believe that I can make use of all the things I have learned in the last five years."