From the Ashes

From the Ashes

They are not here.

They are supposed to be there. Did you get co-ordinates right?

Positive. Is correct location but no one here. Signs of struggle, one dead body, looks Muggle. Been dead for a while, few hours at least. No sign of target. Servants prolly got to him first.

What about other one?

What other one?

"Hurry up, fool. They're going to trace this."

"No, they won't."

Two Muggles, one wizard boy. You said one Muggle dead there, where's other?

Don't know. Prolly taken. For leverage.

Ok. Come back to HQ for now. I will check with CP.

Then she was gone. He rubbed a callused hand over his shaved head and over the short stubble that covered it. He would have to shave again in a few days before too much of the tell-tale red began to show.

"You should stop interrupting me while I'm sending updates to HQ."

"I will when you can update without the unnecessary chatter."

"Would you like to do it instead? Huh?" he glared at his companion, who remained silent. "Didn't think so." After all these years the man still wouldn't touch one of those 'infernal Muggle contraptions'. Even when they relied on them for communication.

His companion pulled a cord out of the phone jack. He looked agitated, but then he always looked agitated while in the field. "You left it connected."

"I was going to disconnect it!" muttered Ron Weasley. He slammed the portable computer shut and shoved it into a rucksack. The other man handed the cord to him.

"You took far too long," he said, sneering. "You know Voldemort has the Servants scanning the lines."

"I took thirty seconds. They probably didn't even know I was there."

"If they find us while we're in contact, they will be able to pinpoint -"

"The location of HQ, yes, yes, I know. You tell me this every ... single ... time." Ron sighed wearily, shouldering the rucksack. "I don't recall you being this much of a nag back in school."

"I'm older now. It comes with the territory," the other man said dryly. "What did she say?"

"We're going back to HQ for now. She's going to see CP."

The older man grunted.

"What?" asked Ron. "Are you still pissed off about losing your job to CP?"

"Shut up, Weasley. Fifty points from Gryffindor."

Was that an attempt at humour? He had changed so much, and yet so little. They didn't get along - they never had - but strangely, they worked well together. Ron glanced over the man he was partnered with. He took in the dark eyes and the black hair - now shot through with white - that was tied up in a messy ponytail. And then, of course, there was the nose, the distinctive hooked nose that you simply couldn't miss. Ten years ago, he would have called anyone mad who told him he'd trust Snape with his life.

But then again, the world had gone mad.

"What are you standing there gawking at?" Snape snapped. "This is no time for navel-gazing."

"I wasn't navel-gazing."

"I didn't believe that when you were my student, and I still don't. Let's go."

*****

She padded soundlessly through the alley, sticking to the wall and slinking behind dustbins whenever she could. She tried to keep to the shadows as much as possible. Making the journey by night was much easier, though still perilous. She paused by the corner of a building. This part was the worst. She had to walk in the open. She knew the Servants would be out and about, lurking in the shadows, patrolling the district.

She took a deep breath, sucking in air between her small pointed teeth, and shot across the road and down the street past the building that used to be a big department store. She darted behind an old mailbox. No one saw her. But even if anyone did, why would they pay attention? She was nothing, inconsequential, just a dirty, mangy stray. Some pure-blood brat threw me out on the street when I grew up and stopped being cute and fluffy, she thought, and drew that thought around her like a shield. That was all they would think when they saw her, and they would look away, and forget.

A left here, now a right ... she knew the path by heart. She no longer needed to look up. She could tell where she was by the chinks in the pavement, and by the cracks in the foundations of the building.

Ah, the dumpster. She jumped onto it lightly, walked to the other end and made an impressive leap, landing in a second-story window box full of mint and lavender, some metres away. She stood on her hind legs and tapped at the window quietly. It opened almost immediately and large strong hands emerged and started fussing with the lavender. Subterfuge, she thought, that would be much more effective if it were actually daylight when one could expect a person to fuss with their plants. Still, she didn't blame him for trying. She hopped up, over the ledge and into the room.

"I've been expecting you," the man whispered.

He stayed bent over the sill for a while before picking a spray of lavender. She sat on the floor, cleaning her paws. He shut the window, spun about and waved the spray at her before placing it on the bed; more specifically, on the pillow beside the head of a sleeping girl with silvery hair. Oh, very, very clever, she thought. Good reason to be fussing with the plants at night. She had underestimated him. Again.

Strong hands grasped her under her legs and lifted her off the floor. She was being cradled in the crook of one arm. As the man carried her out of the room she caught a glimpse of the girl on the bed - the white satin sheets clung to her slender figure and her skin seemed to glow in the moonlight. Hmm, interesting.

"She thinks I'm Fred," said a whispered voice close to her face, full of suppressed mirth. She hissed disapprovingly.

They were going down the stairs. On the landing between one flight and the other, he paused, standing in front of a huge mirror that covered the entire wall. They stared at it for a second and the centre shimmered, rippling as though it were made of water. Calmly, George walked through the centre of the mirror.

"Okay," he said placing her on the ground. "You stay here. I'll get Fred."

He walked back through the mirror, which looked like a plain sheet of transparent glass from this side, and went back up the stairs. She sat on her haunches for a moment, then shook herself vigorously, willing the transfiguration to end.

As she stood up she brushed some dust off her coat, and ran a hand through her short, ruffled brown hair. She stretched her limbs, feeling the strain in her muscles, then sat down on one of the suede armchairs placed around the table in the centre of the tiny room. She had never been able to tell where exactly in the house the room was. It should have stuck out the side of the building, but it didn't. It hardly mattered anyway, as long as it was there and no one else knew about it. The room was cluttered with all kinds of bizarre equipment. Quills were suspended in mid-air over parchment; some were still, but others were moving, writing things down tirelessly. A plaque hung on the wall over the quills. Constant Vigilance, it said. Hermione smiled. In a corner stood an old cabinet with scrolls and documents spilling from it. She had no idea how they kept things in order, but Fred and George always seemed to know where every single thing was.

There was a large crystal bowl full of sweets on the table. She eyed it suspiciously.

Fred and George came hurrying down the stairs and through the mirror.

"Sorry, 'bout that, Hermione. I couldn't get him up," said the redhead she assumed was George.

"It's okay." Hermione stood up and gave Fred a warm hug, and then George. Sitting down again, she glanced at the sweets. "Are these safe?"

"Oh, yes. Just normal sweets, those," replied Fred. "Well, at least the yellow ones are."

George sniggered.

"So, who's that girl? She looks like a Veela."

"She is a Veela," said George smugly. Fred nodded in assent.

"He knows about you ... I mean ... he knows you and she ..."

"Oh, yeah, I know," said Fred, shrugging. "We share everything. She thinks there's only one of us though."

Hermione shuddered, trying to push certain thoughts of out her mind.

"She looks offended," said Fred.

"And somewhat ill," George pointed out.

"Too much information?"

"Probably."

"Well, see," said Fred, sitting down across from Hermione, "she was a gift."

"A gift?" squawked Hermione.

George sat down at the head of the table. "From Draco Malfoy," he spat with disdain. "Poor girl. Quite a nice person, not too bright though." He sighed. "You know how things are with non-humans now that You-Know-Who rules."

"Yeah, I can't say it's not enjoyable -" continued Fred.

Hermione stared icy daggers at him.

"- but, uh ... we do it because we're expected to. We can't show any righteous indignation; we'll blow our cover."

"But it's so ... repugnant!"

"Blame Voldemort. And all things considered, she really doesn't have it as bad as the elves or the giants."

Hermione sighed, waving a hand to signal the end of the conversation, and also because the physical movement helped her to clear her head of awful, distracting thoughts. "Okay, enough small talk. I'm sure you know why I'm here."

"Yeah, you didn't find Maximillian Chase," said George.

"But that's all right, because we know why. The Blood Servants got to him first."

"Oh, really?" said Hermione snidely. "I had no idea."

Both Fred and George ignored Hermione's sarcastic comment. Fred walked over to the overflowing wooden cabinet and rummaged around in a drawer for a bit before coming up with a scroll.

"This is what one of our beetles sent to us."

"It's a bug," said Hermione absently.

"The Muggle version is a bug. Ours is a beetle. We've been through this before."

"I know. I do it to annoy you."

"Where was this beetle placed?"

"In Pussy Weasley's office."

"His name is PERCY," corrected Hermione.

"Not to us, it isn't. It hasn't been since he betrayed everyone for a fat paycheck and Voldemort's favour."

"But we owe him. If it wasn't for him, you two wouldn't have got this job and our operation wouldn't have got off the ground."

"Eh," said Fred. "Our products were probably good enough to catch Voldemort's eye without help from Pussy." He saw Hermione's face grow menacing. "Uh, I mean Percy."

They were right about their products. Fred and George were the most talented craftsmen she had ever known. After the war, after things went bad, they had given up their joke shop to join what was left of the Order of the Phoenix. When they showed Hermione their first beetle - obviously modelled after something they had read about in the Muggle spy novels Arthur Weasley owned - she suggested they bring it to Voldemort instead. It took a while to convince them that it was a good idea, but in the end they agreed. Fred and George took to Occlumency like ducks to water. Hermione guessed that this was because throughout their lives as inveterate pranksters, they had learned to hide their true feelings from other people while seeming trustworthy. After a few months of intense training, they were ready to offer the beetle and their services to Voldemort.

Percy, of course, was absolutely delighted that his brothers had seen the error of the ways and wanted to join the side that had won. He was highly co-operative and brought them to Lucius Malfoy. The twins were given one chance to prove to the Dark Lord that their beetle could be of use to him, which they did, revealing in a spectacular fashion that Severus Snape was a spy, and had been for over a decade.

The twins were retained for their services, and their job was to design and make magical surveillance equipment for Voldemort and his Death-Eaters. Voldemort, while powerful, was also quite paranoid, and wanted to keep an eye on everyone and their mother. Unfortunately for the Dark Lord, he had no idea that the twin's inventions were based on Muggle technology and ideas in Muggle books. Hermione had no doubt he would have imploded had he found out, not that he ever would, since he thought everything Muggle was beneath him. He would also have imploded if he knew that the twins added a specific modification to every piece of equipment they gave to the Death-Eaters, a modification that made sure everything that particular piece of equipment recorded would be sent back to the twins. Hermione glanced over at the magic quills that stood poised over thick stacks of parchment. Voldemort could keep an eye on his followers, and now, so could the Order of the Phoenix.

Fred and George had been spies for over seven years. Few of the Order's members knew that they were spies, and those that did - Hermione, Ron, Snape, Ginny, among others - were sworn to secrecy. All of the ones who had joined their ranks later thought they were wholehearted supporters of Voldemort. Furthermore, few knew that the spy who provided the Order with intelligence was actually two people. Hermione always talked as though they were one, and referred to them as 'CP': Castor and Pollux - the twins of Greek mythology.

Of course, to ensure they always had Voldemort's trust, Fred and George had to make sure their equipment was central to the apprehension of several well-known rebels. The twins delivered and they were responsible for the well-publicised captures of many members of the Order.

Voldemort thought he was crushing the resistance. He could not have been more wrong.

"So," said George, unrolling the scroll and laying it on the table so Hermione could see, "this is what the beetle recorded in Percy's office. As you know, he's in charge of everything going on in the Muggle Enclaves. A day ago, he heard a report of someone living in Sector Nine of the East London Enclave showing signs of spontaneous magic. I informed you, and you sent someone to pick this person up -"

"Yeah, I sent Ron and Snape this evening. I don't like them going out in the day."

"Ah, I see ..." Fred nodded. "Well, this report was verified to begin with -"

"Yeah," interrupted George, "the boy blew something up while some Servants were watching. Or something like that."

"- so Percy sent people immediately and didn't bother to check it like he usually does. Anyway, looks like Ron and Snape missed the Servants by a few hours. That's a good thing though. We don't want them running into a group of Voldemort's lackeys. Someone might recognise them."

"What happened to the boy?"

"Well," continued George, "at six p.m. today, Percy received word that the Servants running the East London Muggle Enclave had the boy, Maximillian Chase, and his mother in custody. The father died while defending them."

"Yes, Ron told me there was a dead Muggle at the scene." Hermione sighed.

"Anyway, the kid and his mother are being held in the holding pen of the Administration Building in the same Enclave, under the watchful eye of Servants. Pansy Parkinson is in charge of that building."

"What? They're still in that Enclave? Percy didn't have them Portkey'd or Floo'd back to the Training Facility?" Hermione smacked herself in the forehead. If she had known this she could've sent Ron and Snape straight to the holding pen.

"Yeah, you know how it is with the government. No Portkey or Floo travel for Muggle and Muggle-borns without authorisation. The mother had papers that allowed her to Portkey only to her place of employment and the kid didn't have any at all."

"Oh, god," said Hermione, rubbing her temples. "I should've told Snape and Ron to just go get them instead of going back to Headquarters. When are they going to be moved?"

"Well, it was six when Percy got the news; everyone had left work and hit the pubs by then. I expect he'll get authorisation for the two first thing tomorrow morning."

"Why are they bothering with the mother? Why not just kill her?" asked Hermione.

George ran a finger down the scroll. "Oh, says here that after the boy's father was killed, the boy said he would comply with all of their wishes as long as they didn't harm his mother." George shrugged. "I expect they will kill her at some point, but I'm sure Parkinson is keeping her alive for now to make her job easier. She's probably going to just deliver both to Percy and let him deal with it. She's ugly, but not stupid."

"Okay," said Hermione, drumming her fingernails on the table restlessly. "Okay, okay ... ah, what time is it now?"

"I should think it's close to two in the morning?" said George.

"Yeah," agreed Fred.

"Right ... I don't want Snape and Ron moving in the daytime and I think they should be able to make it to the Enclave and back by sunrise if I send them now. But I need to get back."

"You can just talk to them by computer," said George, winking at Fred.

"We can't use a computer here. Too much magic around. It interferes with electronic functions!"

"Ah, yes, you think it would, but we shielded the main circuit thingamajigs in the computer with an anti-magic field. We've been working on it and we think we've got it almost perfect. There's still some interference now and then, but it seems to work."

"Anti-magic?"

"Yeah, it's like a using Protego, but slightly different," said Fred excitedly. "It creates a field through which no magic can pass."

"A magical vacuum, if you will."

"But doesn't the shield itself ..."

"We thought it might, but it doesn't. It's almost like a bubble, keeping all magic away."

"We'll just write a report on it, Hermione, so you can read all about it," said George, grinning knowingly at his brother.

"Anyway, I think you'll like the other thing we've done with our computer. You can connect from anywhere now."

Hermione raised an eyebrow as Fred as he smugly lay the small computer in front of her.

"Would you like to do the honours?" he asked his twin.

"No, no, you go ahead," replied George.

Fred raised his wand, pointed at the computer and said: "Quero Phone Line!"

"Phone line? Phone line?" asked Hermione, feeling slightly offended. "Could you have picked something less inelegant?"

"Shush, look," said George, pointing to the computer.

A wisp of pulsating light emerged from the computer and headed straight for the wall, leaving behind a ghostly trail of blue hanging in the air. "What's it doing?" whispered Hermione.

"It's searching for the nearest available, active phone line. It'll ride along with it as a passenger. Sort of. It's like a parasite. We think it's better than the cords because its harder to trace this way. It's still in the testing phase though," said George.

"We think that if they actually manage a trace it it'll probably only lead them to the unlucky sod who owns the phone connected to the line." Fred shrugged indifferently. "This would be somewhat malicious, except for the fact that most of the people who own the phones are rich Muggle businessmen who provide Voldemort with money and services in return for protection and limited freedom. So, we don't really feel that sorry for them."

"Yeah, once we get it perfected we can talk to Al and Gabe about modifying everyone's computer with something like this."

"Well done, guys," said Hermione, much impressed. She couldn't wait to tell Algernon and Gabriel, the Muggle members of the Order who worked on scavenged Muggle technology discarded by the wizards in power.

"But really, quero phone line?" She couldn't get over it.

"But that's what it's doing. It's looking for a phone line," said George.

"Okay, Hermione, looks like you're in," said Fred, pointing to the screen with a blinking cursor under the words 'Connected to OPHQ'. "Do you have someone watching the computers over there?"

"Someone's on duty all the time, you know that."

HQ, this is HeadGirl, who is there? typed Hermione.

Batty.

"It's Ginny."

"Hi, Ginny!" said Fred and George in unison.

Batty, CP says hi. Need to talk to RdKnight or StopprdDeth.

Hi, CP. HeadGirl: StopprdDeth has not got over fear of technology. Will get RdKnight.

Hermione tapped her foot impatiently. She didn't like waiting while connected. Voldemort's Blood Servants kept close watch on the phone lines to make sure the Muggles weren't plotting against their rulers. She had been traced before and things never ended pleasantly.

"Snape still won't touch a computer, huh?" asked Fred (or George) from behind her.

"We've got him to touch one on a few occasions. He still avoids them for the most part."

This is RdKnight.

Target and parent are still in E. London Enclave - Admin Building holding pen. Guarded by Servants. P. Parkinson may also be there. Should not be a problem, but bring back-up. Suggest Swan for mem-charms and ToadPickle or Batty for general support. You have till sunrise.

On our way.

"Okay, they're on their way. How do I disconnect this thing?"

Fred pointed his wand at the wraithlike trail of light and said: "Solvo!" The trail diffused and faded into the air.

Well, at least Solvo was better than Quero Phone Line. But she had little time to worry about that. "I need to get back to HQ," she said. "I should be there in case they run into problems."

"You're going cat again?"

"Yeah, I should. I have a Portkey but you know I can't use it here." Hermione stared accusingly at the twins. "I can't stand Knightsbridge. This neighbourhood is the most heavily-warded in all of England. Can't apparate, can't use a Portkey ..." she grumbled. Fred and George looked at her sympathetically.

Hermione always complained about this, although she knew she had sent them there herself. A lot of Voldemort's favourite people lived within the protection of the wards, and it would be slightly suspicious if they had decided to live somewhere else. She had hidden them in plain sight and it seemed to have worked.

"Hey, wait. Before you go," said Fred, with a grim look on his face, "you ought to know that they raised the price on your head."

"Really?" said Hermione, feeling slightly flattered.

"Yeah. You're now worth ten thousand Galleons alive. And ..."

"And what?"

"And five thousand dead."

"Ah, dead or alive now, huh?"

"Yeah, even Ron's not in the same league as you. He's worth only four thousand dead or alive."

"What rubbish," said Fred. "Our little brother's worth more than that."

"Yeah, they know she's the leader though," said George. "She has to be worth more."

"It wasn't really a job I asked for, guys."

"You're good at it, Hermione."

"I try my best." She hugged Fred and George tightly. "I'll be in touch. Take care."

"You too."

"One of you bring me to the window." Hermione stretched her arms out and transfigured herself into the form of a bushy-tailed cat. It was almost second nature to her now; she had done it so many times. Professor McGonagall had taught her personally. Poor, dear McGonagall, Hermione missed her terribly. She had died in her sleep the year before, and Hermione liked to believe she had gone peacefully.

Fred picked Hermione up and walked through the mirror and up the stairs. The Veela was still sleeping in the bed, lavender clutched in her hand. Hermione felt a swell of pity for the girl. No one deserved to be passed from person to person as a gift. Fred opened the window and placed Hermione on the sill.

"Be careful," he whispered.

Hermione looked at him, blinked, and jumped down into the window box. Fred watched her as she crouched and took another impressive leap down onto the dumpster, disappearing into the shadows.

Hermione hurried along, running when she could. She needed to get away from the wards before she could risk apparating. She scampered past the house with the red back-door, past the broken drainpipe and turned at the street-lamp with a rude word painted on its base. The street she had to cross was empty and devoid of life and she darted across as quickly as she could. She was halfway there.

She had just turned into the alley leading away from Knightsbridge when something went wrong. Her legs weren't working right. Her centre of balance had shifted. Hermione lurched and fell on one knee. She winced as she broke her fall and her hands scraped against the rough pavement.

Hands? She had hands?

"Well, well, Hermione Granger," said a soft voice, taunting her. "I knew it was the same cat I kept seeing running up and down these streets as though it had some purpose. But who knew it'd be such a celebrity?"

Hermione looked up and saw the glint of eyes in the shadow. She knew that voice. It was familiar. She remembered it being higher, more girlish ... less broken.

"I knew one of you was out here, but didn't think it would be you. But then who else could manage the animagus transformation? Thank goodness I laid a True-Form ward out. It was a little tricky, but I managed it."

Hermione leapt to her feet, drawing her wand from the pouch at her waist and instinctively assuming the classic duelling stance. She knew who it was now, she had placed the voice.

"Lavender Brown," she said. "I wondered what happened to you."

Lavender Brown emerged from the shadows, wand raised. Hermione looked her up and down. She was a textbook Servant. Grey robe, red lining, her hair drawn up and away from her face to reveal the brand on her neck.

"I see you're doing Voldemort's dirty work. Things his precious Death-Eaters won't do."

"I am one of the Dark Lord's enforcers," said Lavender proudly.

"I'm sure you tell yourself that so you can sleep at night. What are you? Half-blood? He wouldn't even spit on you."

"I am a Servant of the -"

"Of the Blood. Yes, yes, I've heard all the propaganda. Even the impure have a place in Lord Voldemort's New World Order. Sign up to be a Servant of the Blood, blah blah blah. Servant of the Blood," she spat. "What an accurate description. You serve the pure-bloods; you are a slave to this mad concept of blood purity."

Hermione laughed scornfully. "Voldemort would kill anyone who wasn't pure-blood without a second thought, except then he'd have no one to rule over. You're only here because of Voldemort's huge ego."

Lavender's hand began to shake. Her knuckles were white around her wand. Hermione could see the anger in her eyes.

"They killed my family," she hissed. "I did what I could to survive."

"And going against what you've always believed has brought them back to life?" Hermione said mockingly. "They killed my family too. And my friends. But I won't let them die a second death by serving their murderers."

"Shut up."

"You know I'm right, don't you? You were a Gryffindor. Don't you remember what we stood for?" Hermione accused. "You, Lavender Brown, should have died before you served Voldemort. I know I would have."

"Shut up!" shrieked Lavender. "The Dark Lord will reward me greatly for your capture. Stupefy!"

Hermione easily jumped out of the way. "What? You think you'll get to see Voldemort himself? Don't you have to report to some pure-blood Death-Eater first? What makes you think that pure-blood isn't going to take all the credit?"

"STUPEFY!"

Hermione dove to the ground and the bolt of light flew past her head. Lavender was getting serious now.

"Don't do this, Lavender," she said, getting up. She didn't want to hurt Lavender. If she could just turn Lavender to their side ... Hermione was certain she would be a great asset to them. Once Hermione retaliated, she would have no chance of winning her over. She had to keep talking.

"Don't do this? Are you afraid? Is the great Hermione Granger afraid of me?" Lavender laughed.

"I am not afraid. But I am warning you. You don't want to fight me. Join with me, stand with us against Voldemort. Avenge your family."

"Don't speak to me about my family!"

"Lavender, this is your chance! No more torture at the hands of the power-mad Death-Eaters. None of that. You won't have to endure their questioning, or their mocking. You won't be beneath them anymore. You'll be free!"

"Free? I will never be free from the memories ..." Lavender sighed bitterly, her hand trembling. "I would like to go with you, but ... how could you trust me?"

"I trust you, Lavender. I know the Lavender I knew as a child is still there. You're still a Gryffindor! And all of us live with the memories. We can help you." Hermione walked forward, her hand outstretched. She knew she could get through to her. She had -

"CRUCIO!"

Pain coursed through Hermione and she fell to the ground. Her wand slipped from her grasp as uncontrollable spasms wracked her body. "Lavender!" she gasped.

"Accio wand!" shouted Lavender in triumph as Hermione's wand flew into her hand. "You're too trusting," Lavender said, admiring Hermione's wand. "And you always did talk too much, even though no one was listening."

She will stun you next, and then you're as good as dead, said the cool, calm, logical voice at the back of Hermione's head, behind the pain. You are unarmed, you have to get way from her.

Hermione gritted her teeth, and clenched her fists, ignoring the pain that was beginning to subside slightly. She dragged herself to her feet and dove behind a group of three old dustbins as a dull red bolt narrowly missed her. She squatted behind the flimsy aluminium cans, panting heavily, knowing she was cornered.

"What? Hermione Granger, hiding in rubbish? Leviosa!"

The first aluminium can floated into the air and crashed down somewhere else. Hermione peeked through the space between the remaining two bins; Lavender was standing a few metres away. Once she levitated the second bin, Hermione would have nowhere to hide. The alley was long and narrow and if she tried to run for it, Lavender would stun her before she took three steps. If she stayed here, she was a sitting duck.

There was only one thing she could do. Hermione braced her foot against the floor and put her hands flat on one of the dustbins. Then with a piercing screech, she lunged in Lavender's direction, staying low, pushing the metal can before her as a shield. The bin was lighter than Hermione expected and she was able to carry it further and faster than she thought she would. She heard a startled squeak, and felt a rude, bone-crunching impact. The sound of crashing metal was thunderous, but it had the effect Hermione was hoping for.

Unexpected attack by garbage disposal equipment had left Lavender startled and sitting on her bum. It was enough. Instead of stunning Hermione - who was right in front of her - the disoriented Lavender's first instinct was to try to get up. This was a mistake. As Lavender scrambled to her feet, Hermione reached for the smooth leather-wrapped hilt sticking out of her boot, and as her fingers tightened around the handle, she knew she had won.

With a loud grunt, Hermione reached out and stabbed the part of Lavender that was most easily accessible to her: the foot. The knife slid through her leather shoe easily, and Lavender screamed as it impaled her flesh. Hermione heard Lavender's wand clatter on the floor. She rose swiftly to her feet, grabbing Lavender's wand first and then retrieving hers from where it was inserted into Lavender's belt. Lavender did not seem too concerned about this; she was busy shrieking, clutching at her ankle.

"You ... you bitch!" she cried.

Hermione saw a light go on in a window that overlooked the alley. The awful cacophony had awoken someone. The window opened and someone shouted 'Hey!' into the alley. Hermione ducked down and flattened her back against the wall, hiding herself in the shadow under the window.

"Help me!" Lavender screamed raggedly. "Help!"

Lavender was on one knee, clawing at the knife, afraid to pull it out for fear it might do more damage. Hermione knew that in a few seconds, someone would come running. She had to think quickly.

She was still in a warded area. Apparation was out of the question. And using her Portkey would set off an alarm somewhere and they would know that someone used an unauthorised Portkey in the Knightsbridge area. And what of Lavender? She could transform and leave her here but she would immediately tell someone that she had been injured by Hermione Granger, who was an animagus. No, Lavender had to come with her. No one could know that she was an animagus. Hermione was also afraid that if they found out she had been here, that they would draw a connection to Fred and George. She didn't want to endanger the twins. Yes, they were essential to the rebellion, but they were also her good friends.

Quickly weighing the options, Hermione knew she had only one choice. She ran to Lavender's side, pulling at the chain around her neck. She drew out a locket and quickly undid its clasp. In it was a lock of bright red hair - something for good luck, and also her Portkey.

"Give me your hand!" she hissed to Lavender, who was now quietly sobbing.

"Y-you bitch! They're coming for you!"

Hermione heard footsteps. There was no time. She grabbed Lavender's left hand roughly and turned it palm up. She inverted the locket so that the hair fell out of it, and as it settled on Lavender's bloodstained fingers, Hermione clasped the hand in her own so that the Portkey was between both their palms.

Hermione felt a rude jerk, and as torch-light appeared at the other end of the alley, the world spun and swirled and disappeared.

-

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, dedicated to destroying the reign of the Dark Lord Voldemort, was located in the last place anyone would expect: the Forbidden Forest. When Voldemort won the war and the members of the original Order were running for their lives, Dobby the house-elf had suggested they hide out in the Forbidden Forest, a place most sane wizards would not enter. The Forest was dark, dangerous, and unmapped, and though they feared it, the beleaguered wizards knew it was their only chance of survival. One by one Dobby sought out the scattered members, and one by one he brought them to an abandoned cave in the Forest.

With Dobby's help, one cave grew into a vast network of different caves stretching deep under the Forbidden Forest, capable of housing the growing numbers of muggle-born and half-blood witches and wizards seeking refuge with the Order. After a while, more freed house-elves came, helping to expand the hideout with their innate and powerful magic. The dirt walls were reinforced with stone, hallways were built, then corridors, staircases and different levels. It became a veritable underground fortress. Sure, there were some odd things about it - stairs that went nowhere and doubled back on themselves, doors that opened into the very earth, rooms that were completely blocked off from the rest of the complex - but it was where everything happened, and for the Order, it was home.

While the members were advised to steer clear of the monsters that dwelt in the Forest, it seemed that these creatures had, over the years, grown used to the Order sharing their territory. The Order's members were never harassed or attacked, as long as they kept to themselves and did not stray too far from Headquarters. One could say that the rebels became part of the ecology of the Forest, just another group of living things that were part of the habitat. Like the other Forest inhabitants, the rebels were feared, reviled and hunted; perhaps the other non-humans of the Forbidden Forest knew this, and knew that the Order hated Voldemort as much as they did.

Hermione walked down the hallway of this sanctuary, a wailing Lavender Brown levitating behind her. The members of the Order emerged from rooms, wondering what the fuss was all about.

"Hermione, who is -" Parvati noticed the distraught and floating Lavender following in Hermione's wake. "Lavender?" she whispered, her eyes widening in surprise.

Lavender saw Parvati in front of her. "Parvati? You're dead!"

"Well, thanks awfully," said Parvati sarcastically. "It's nice to know I was missed."

"I saw you die! I watched you die!" cried Lavender, her eyes wild.

"Where's Hannah?" said Hermione, ignoring the mad shrieking.

"She's probably asleep, though she might not be for long with that one carrying on like this. Why?" Parvati caught sight of the blood on Hermione's hands. "Are you hurt?"

"No, it's not my blood. I stabbed her."

"She stabbed me!" wailed Lavender. "In the foot!"

"It's a long story." Hermione pushed her hair back wearily.

"You're going to leave that knife in there?"

"I'm going to let Hannah deal with it. She's the trained medi-witch." Hermione scratched her nose absently. "And get word immediately to CP. This one," she jerked her thumb at Lavender, "caught me coming from the house. I do have a plan but CP needs to be here now."

"Okay. I'll take care of it after I bring Lavender here down to the sick bay and get Hannah to deal with her." She looked at Lavender. "We can catch up along the way. Now isn't that nice?" Parvati raised her wand and took over the levitation from Hermione.

"They killed you!" howled Lavender to Parvati as she floated down the corridor.

Hermione walked away in the other direction, shaking her head. She turned left through a wide archway and past the huge sign that said 'No Magic Beyond This Point' and down the winding stairs to the cellar where all the Muggle technology was kept and worked on. She walked down the long, lonely corridor that stretched into the distance and disappeared into darkness. The Muggle technology had to be kept as far away from the rest of Headquarters as possible; magic seemed to interfere with everything, especially the computers. There were a few different rooms at the end of the corridor. Hermione poked her head into Al and Gabe's empty workroom to say hi, forgetting that it was three in the morning. She muttered something to herself about hellish schedules and not being able to see the sky while underground as she walked across the hall to the heavy iron-bound door that had 'Absolutely No Magic Allowed Here' carved into it. Grunting, she pushed it open and entered the communications chamber.

A few computers were set up on the central table, and the generator that ran them hummed quietly in the corner. The generator was a life-saver, since they needed the computers running continuously, and there was no electricity. Someone had found it - was it Ginny? - Al and Gabe repaired it and Fred and George altered it so it ran on sugar, which the house-elves provided in abundance.

A large figure sitting on a weather-beaten sofa in the corner looked up from his knitting as she came in.

"Hermione! You ar'right?" said a booming voice.

"Hagrid!" Hermione smiled, genuinely happy to see her old friend. "And Ginny!" she said as Ginny waved at her from where she sat in front of the computers. "Didn't you go with Ron and Snape?"

"No," Ginny replied, a little wistfully. "My ankle is still giving me trouble. I don't want to endanger anyone by slowing them down, so I'm homebound for now. They took Neville and Cho."

Hermione nodded.

"What are you doing down here, Hagrid?"

"He's just here to keep me company while I watch these things," Ginny reported. "And I'm always glad to have him around."

Hagrid seemed to blush under his bushy beard.

Hermione grinned at both of them. "Any word from Ron?" she asked Ginny.

"No, not yet."

Hermione nodded solemnly. "Oh, I ran into Lavender Brown tonight."

"Li'l Lavender Brown! I remember her! Got on famously with our Parvati."

"She's a Servant. Or was until about five minutes ago."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "A Servant! Imagine that. Are you going to -" Ginny pointed a finger at her head, making jabbing motions with it. "- you know?"

"Yes," said Hermione sadly. "I'm afraid we have to. I think someone saw me with her."

"Dark times we live in," said Hagrid gravely as he picked up a ball of yellow yarn and started knitting with it. He noticed Hermione staring at the yarn.

"Aw, would the little kitty animagus like some yarn to play with?"

"Hagrid, don't be silly. I just wanted to see what you were knitting."

"Oh, it's just a jumper. With a nice Snitch pattern for old times' sake. Winter's coming, you know."

Hermione loved watching Hagrid knit. His hands were so large and seemed so awkward, but the needles flew in his hands and he made the most delicate, dainty stitches. He was indeed quite the artist.

Hermione reached for the knitting so she could see the Snitch pattern more clearly. No one played Quidditch anymore except for the pure-blood wizards and their families. She didn't like to think about Quidditch much these days. It reminded her too much of ...

"Hermione! Your hands!" exclaimed Hagrid in horror, looking at her bloody palms.

"Oh, damn. I forgot to watch them off. It's Lavender's blood. I stabbed her in the foot when we fought." Hermione realised she was starting to sound rather blasé about it. She sighed. "I'll go wash up and then I'll take over here. Just in case Ron and Snape make contact."

Hermione left the room, the soothing click-clack of Hagrid's needles following her as she walked down the hallway.

*****

"Three or four Servants," said Ron as he pulled the invisibility cloak off his head, rolled it into a ball and stashed it under a bush with their broomsticks. He crouched down and drew a diagram in the dirt. "Holding pen is on the first level of the building, at the end of this hallway. One Servant in the first guardroom on the left. Two others are on patrol and I'm sure there's one stationed where the boy and his mother are being held."

"What about wards?" asked Cho Chang.

"I'll assume that they have all the usual wards on the place. No apparation, unauthorised Portkey alarms ..."

"The last time we were here, someone," Snape shot an accusing look at Ron, "was careless and accidentally stuck his idiotic head out from under the cloak, so they will probably have some Revealer wards."

"I think we need a diversion," said Neville Longbottom.

"Oh, you do, do you?" sneered Snape, his eyes glinting in the darkness. Neville shifted uncomfortably.

Ron waved a hand between the two of them. "Oi, play nice."

Ron sighed. Neville had certainly done more than his fair share for their cause, but Snape just could not let him be. That was the irritating thing about Snape; he just could not bury the proverbial hatchet. The man was carrying so much bitterness around Ron was constantly surprised he could still function. Sometimes he wondered if Snape wanted to let go, but was just prevented from doing so by his pride.

"I think a diversion would work best," said Ron decisively. "It would draw one or two guards away, and we can go in and deal with the other Servants."

"And Pansy Parkinson?" asked Neville.

"The office is upstairs, but it's four a.m., and I don't think she'll be here."

"Okay," said Ron. "Snape, you and Neville create the diversion. A burning bush, maybe. Set off an alarm somewhere. Not too far away; we don't want to draw Servants from the other Sectors. Cho and I will get the boy and his mum."

Snape frowned. Ron looked at him expectantly. "Well? What do you think?"

"I cannot immediately see a problem with this plan, except for the part where I'm paired with Longbottom," muttered Snape. "However, I'm sure if I gave it more thought ..."

"No time for that," said Ron, scrubbing out the diagram in the dirt with the toe of his boot. "This should be a fairly routine pick-up."

"Okay, let's go," said Cho, with unnerving eagerness.

Ron and Cho started moving to the wall surrounding the Enclave, while Neville and Snape went in the other direction. Snape prodded Neville in the back with his wand to make him walk faster.

"Be nice!" Ron whispered to Snape as the two pairs separated.

They crawled through the grass, staying as low to the ground as possible. They were approaching the Enclave from the west, some distance away from the main gate which was quite heavily guarded. Ron knew that the Administration Building was a few buildings away from the tall, thick wall that surrounded the entire compound.

Ron approached the wall and ran his hands across the bricks. "I think this is directly across from the holding pen."

"Evanesco!" said Ron, vanishing a brick at waist-level. He peered through the newly-created hole. "Yeah, I'm right. I can see the entrance of the building from here."

"What now?"

"We wait. They shouldn't take long. I hope Neville is manages to survive with Snape."

"They've worked together before."

"Yeah, I know. I still worry about the two of them," said Ron, shaking his head. "Snape is just so ... unpleasant. What he really needs is the ministrations of a good woman. Yeah, that's probably it."

Cho looked down at her feet and sniggered. "Can't argue with you there, Ron."

She pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette from a pocket in her vest and lighted it with a whispered Incendio!. Ron watched her as she brought it to her lips and took a long drag. She had her black hair pulled into a high, tight ponytail and on the surface she looked like the same Cho he had known in Hogwarts. She was still pretty, and the years had not aged her much, although over time her eyes had grown hard, and now she smiled but rarely. In fact, she seemed most comfortable in battle. It didn't make her happy, but she would walk away from fallen opponents with a look of grim satisfaction on her face.

Ron knew that Cho was the only member of the Order who could use the Unforgiveable Curses without batting an eyelid. She wasn't cruel or evil and she didn't take pleasure in causing pain, she just did what she needed to do to get the job done. Cho was efficient and coldly clinical in almost everything she did. It disturbed Ron. He wondered if her detachment was her way of protecting herself; if she had got too emotionally involved in the things she did, she would have driven herself mad. Cho showed considerable skill with memory charms; when creating false memories, she had more finesse and subtlety than any of them. Her talent doomed her to years of delving into other people's heads, changing some things and destroying others, all from the inside. It wasn't a pretty job.

Cho saw Ron staring at her. "It keeps me on my toes," she said simply, assuming he was looking at the cigarette. "You know I only do this before a mission. And stop watching me, watch the hole."

"You only think it keeps you on your toes," replied Ron. "And I am watching the hole."

"Good. Wouldn't want to miss our opportunity." She held the cigarette between thumb and forefinger and examined it. "I'm running low. I think Ginny's been into my stash."

"My sister doesn't smoke!" said Ron indignantly.

"Yeah, and you would know better than me because ...?" She offered the burning bundle of tobacco to Ron.

He accepted it, took a puff, and gave it back, while making a face. "This is going to kill you."

"The war is going to kill me, not smoking." She flicked the ash off the cigarette. "I'm bad luck, Ron."

"No ... You're great. You've managed to stay alive till now."

"I think I'm some kind of jinx. Everyone who ever dated me is dead. Cedric, Michael, Roger... And, of course -"

"Yeah, him too." Ron dug in the ground with his foot, not meeting her gaze.

"I always liked him best," sighed Cho.

"Ginny's still alive," said Ron, shrugging, looking for something cheerful to say. "And don't say she's going to die because you're a jinx; I refuse to listen to talk about my sister's death."

"Well, she is different from the others," said Cho, wryly. "She is a girl, for one ..."

"Yeah." Ron stared through the hole left by the missing brick, then glanced back at Cho. "You've changed lots since I knew you in school."

"And how many times did you speak to me in school? Five times in six years? You didn’t know me, Ron. Not really."

"Yeah, guess not."

"But I supposed I am different. Can't go through the things we've been through without being broken or damaged somehow." She tossed the butt of the cigarette into the wet grass. "I think I like me better now anyway."

"You're not quite so weepy."

"No, definitely not." Ron thought he heard a hint of mirth in her voice. "And given the state of the world, I can't really be interested in clothes or boys anymore. The shopping centres are all closed and the cute boys all live in Enclaves." Cho rapped a knuckle on the wall to prove her point. "I'm still as superficial as I used to be, I just have a different focus."

Ron chuckled.

"I hear something," said Cho, shoving Ron aside and looking through the hole. "Yeah, they're moving." She stood up and pointed her wand at the wall. "Evanesco!"

A huge chunk of wall disappeared with a soft pop.

They ducked in the hole and hid behind a hedge growing next to the first building they came to. Cho repaired the hole in the perimeter wall with a flick of her wand. "You're going to have to lead," she said in a low whisper. "I don't know this Enclave."

Ron nodded. He peeked around the corner. Two Servants were running away from the building, probably in the direction of Snape and Neville's disturbance. "Coast is clear," he said. "Move."

He led them past three buildings, running as silently as he could. When they got to the Administration Building, Ron jerked his head towards a window and they both crouched down beneath it.

"Window or front door?" whispered Ron.

Cho grabbed the window ledge with both hands and raised herself slightly so she could look into the room. "It's the guardroom, there's a Servant in there."

"What's he doing?" Ron stood up slightly to look in.

"Not much. Paperwork, I think." She slowly began to pry the window open from the outside till there was a gap large enough to insert her wand through. The Servant in the room looked up from his paperwork, just in time to see a red flash emerging from Cho's wand. He flew backwards and slumped against the wall, stunned.

"I think we'll go in by the window," said Cho.

Cho opened the window the rest of the way. Ron locked his fingers together to give the petite woman a boost, and after she clambered into the room, he pulled himself through the window.

"Cho, I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me before you do these things," he said, pointing at the stunned Servant.

"Okay," said Cho, squatting over the fallen man and patting him down. She found his wand in a pocket sewn into the lining of his robe and inserted it into a pouch at her waist.

"Is it standard issue?" asked Ron.

"Yeah. But we do need wands for the new members and these are good enough for training."

Ron nodded. He reached for the handle of the door that led into the main hallway and turned it very gently and slowly. The door creaked, and in the quiet night, the creaking was deafening.

"Corridor's empty," whispered Ron as he peered out. "I think the two on patrol went to check out the disturbance. There should be one in the holding pen but he shouldn't be difficult to overcome."

Cho nodded. She cast a silencing charm on the unconscious Servant, in case he woke up, and followed Ron out the door. They hurried down the hallway to the reinforced wooden door at the end. Ron took out his wand and was about to magically blast open the lock, but Cho stopped him. "No, wait," she said.

She reached out and knocked politely on the door instead.

"Who's there?" came a harsh voice from inside.

Cho cleared her throat. "It's Parkinson!" she barked. Ron wasn't sure if Pansy Parkinson actually sounded like that, but the Servant probably wouldn't be able to tell through the thick door.

"Why are you here so early?"

"Are you questioning my orders, Servant?"

"Sorry, sorry ..."

They heard a scratching as a key was inserted into the lock. Then the handle turned and the door opened to reveal a timid-looking Servant who's eyes widened in fear long enough to take in Cho saying: "Surprise!" before Ron's stunning spell hit him in the chest.

They stepped into the holding pen, and Cho leaned against the door, shutting it. "I'll guard, you get them," she said.

Ron approached the iron bars of the pen. "Alohomora!" he said, blasting the lock. The boy and his mother were huddled together in the corner furthest away from the bars, looking fearful and haunted. "Hullo," said Ron, walking towards them.

"Is that all you can say?" muttered Cho.

"Hi," Ron began again. "I'm Ron, and this is Cho. We're here to rescue you."

The mother wrapped her arms protectively around her son. "S-stay away," she said in a tremulous voice.

"Mum," said the boy, tugging at his mother's sleeve. "I think that's Ronald Weasley. He's wanted." He seemed quite in awe of the fact that Ron was a wanted man.

"Yes, I am Ron Weasley, and I am wanted. Maximillian Chase, Mrs Chase, we really have to get going."

"You're part of the Order of the Phoenix?" said Mrs Chase.

Ron nodded.

"You're not going to kill us?"

"Mum, he's Ronald Weasley! He's a hero!"

"No, not really a hero, but I would like to get you out of here."

"Ron," whispered Cho urgently, her ear pressed to the door. "I think there's someone coming!" She bent over and stared through the keyhole. "I think it's Parkinson!" She squinted, staring a little harder. "Yeah, it's definitely her! She still wears ugly shoes!"

Maybe Cho hadn't changed that much after all.

"What? She's not supposed to be here!"

"Maybe she got the permits for them early, I don't know! Maybe she was upstairs working overtime. It doesn't matter! We have to get out and we can't go out this door!" She pointed at the back wall. "Does that lead out to the compound?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Reducto!" said Cho, quickly blasting a hole in the wall.

Ron jumped out of the way of the flying rubble. He wasn't sure why she had done that instead of using the usual Vanishing spell. Reducto was much noisier and it was more difficult to repair holes destroyed that way. He stood there looking at Cho in horror.

"Ron! Why are you staring at me? Go! Quickly!"

Ron snapped to attention at Cho's admonishment. He grabbed Mrs Chase by the shoulders, despite her protestations, and herded her and her son out the hole. Behind him heard Cho sealing the door with magic, but she only got halfway through the incantation before the door flew open. As Ron made his escape with the boy and his mother, he heard Parkinson's surprised shout of: "Cho Chang!" There was a scream, and Ron hoped that it wasn't Cho.

Ron had to pick Mrs Chase up a few times when she stumbled as they crossed the field outside the compound. The trek to the rendezvous point seemed endless to Ron. The woman was hysterical, whimpering and squeaking every few steps. She shied away from Ron whenever he reached out to help her; she was just as afraid of him as she was of Death-Eaters and Blood Servants. I can't blame her, Ron thought grimly. The Muggles had their world turned upside down and if I were her I would also be afraid of anyone with a wand and magic at their disposal.

Looking back, Ron did not see Cho, and he was worried. Luckily, no one else seemed to be following them. He'd left a hole in the perimeter wall for her, so she could make her escape.

"Where's Chang?" said Snape harshly as the three approached.

"Parkinson came in and she told me to take these two and go."

"You left her?" squeaked Neville.

"I thought she'd be right behind me!"

"We have to go," hissed Snape, pulling their broomsticks and the invisibility cloak from under the bush.

"What about Cho?" protested Neville.

"If Chang has fallen, Parkinson will alert all the guards in that compound and this field will soon be swarming with them."

Ron put a hand on Snape's shoulder. "No, we need to wait. Five minutes. That's all I ask. If we see the Servants coming, we'll leave."

Time seemed to drag. Neville twiddled his thumbs nervously while Ron tried to calm the wheezing Mrs Chase. Then someone came crashing through the long grass, falling at Snape's feet.

"Ow," said Cho, matter-of-factly, clutching her shoulder.

"You made it!" Ron sighed in relief. "You're hurt!"

"I know that, Ron. What with it being my arm and all."

"What happened?" he asked, picking her off the ground.

"I dealt with Parkinson." Snape handed her broom to her as they walked away from the Muggle Enclave into the safety of the darkness. "She was surprised to see me."

"I imagine she would be," said Snape, "since you're supposed to be dead."

"She's not going to remember she saw me," Cho stated flatly.

"Mem-charmed?"

"Yeah, she's going to think the boy escaped in a grand display of spontaneous magic -"

Oh, thought Ron, that's why she used the Reducto.

"- and also that she killed a Servant as punishment for not being vigilant enough."

"Cho, we're not supposed to -" said Ron, aghast.

"Pfft," said Cho, waving her hand at Ron in a shooing motion. "It's one less to worry about. And he did stab me in the shoulder. Idiot."

"What with?" asked Neville anxiously.

"Don't know. Something wooden, like a stake. Piece of broken furniture, perhaps." She examined her wound. "Hannah's going to have the time of her life removing splinters. Anyway it all worked out well with the guard. The last spell Parkinson tried to cast on me was a Killing Curse. If they check her wand it will just corroborate the story."

"Clever," said Ron, grudgingly. He always knew Cho was an expert at memory charms, but he didn't think she'd remember that someone might check Parkinson's wand with a Prior Incantato. After all, he wouldn't have. But then he wasn't a Ravenclaw. Ron gripped the handle of his broom. He couldn't wait to get back to Headquarters. It had been a long day.

*****

Hermione Granger woke up with a start. For a moment she didn't know where she was. Her head spun and all she could feel was a dull, throbbing pain in her eyeballs. Then she noticed the smell. It was musky - the stink of stale sweat. She gagged on the smell; she needed fresh air but something was hampering her breathing. Slowly she opened her eyes, and saw nothing but black. As her mind cleared she realised that she had a bag over her head. Panic gripped her and she lifted her hands to tear the bag away but her wrists were bound to the chair she was sitting on. So were her ankles. She struggled against her restraints vainly.

"That's enough of that," said a cold female voice.

"Let me go!" Hermione pleaded.

The bag was ripped off her head. She looked around her in fear. She was in a small, dark, windowless room, sitting on a crude wooden chair. There were five people in front of her, all cloaked and masked. Death-Eaters. She struggled again.

"She looks good," said one of them - a man. "Well-done," he said, turning to another masked figure. The other masked figure made no comment.

The first Death-Eater who spoke - the one with the cold voice - stepped forward and bent over her. Hermione knew she was looking into her eyes. "What is your name?" The Death-Eater asked her.

"Hermione Granger!" she said. Am I? a small voice in the back of her head questioned. It seems so strange. She shook her head, trying to clear the fog. They must have drugged her.

"Good," said the Death-Eater. "Do you serve Lord Voldemort?"

"Never!" spat Hermione.

"Excellent. Do you remember how you were captured?"

"Why are you asking me this? Don't you know?"

"HOW WERE YOU CAPTURED?" the Death-Eater shouted in her ear, harshly.

Hermione winced. "Lavender Brown ...?" she said. That name was familiar somehow. It was somehow comfortable and rolled off her tongue easily like she had known it all her life. "She caught me coming from Fred and George Weasley's house. We fought. I stabbed her. I transported her to another place when I saw someone coming. And then I killed her, and ... I don't remember anymore."

"Were you knocked out after killing Lavender Brown?"

"Yes ... yes, I think that's what happened."

"What were you doing in Fred and George Weasley's house?"

"I was looking for something ... Information. Information that could help the resistance." Why was she answering all their questions? Had she been given Veritaserum? Yes, that was probably it.

"How did you get to the Weasleys' house?"

"On foot. Because of the wards." The answers seemed to spill from her, as though they were rehearsed. She barely had to think about them. And yet there was that voice at the back of her head, screaming. No! No! No! it shrieked over and over again in the deep recesses of her mind where she knew her true self lay hidden.

"Now, you've been a good girl, Hermione. But I have one last question. Where are the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix located?"

Hermione didn't answer. She was surprised. She would answer if she had been given Veritaserum. But she knew she wouldn't answer. She could not.

"I don't know," Hermione said wretchedly.

They couldn't make her answer this. The Death-Eater pointed a wand at her. They were going to torture her. Hermione shut her eyes, bracing herself. "Where are your Headquarters?" the Death-Eater asked again.

"I don't know!" cried Hermione frantically, struggling again. She didn't know. She didn't know why she didn't know, but she didn't. "Just kill me!"

The Death-Eater still had her wand levelled at Hermione's forehead. Then one of the others - one who had not said anything or even moved till then - walked forward and put her hand on the shoulder of the first one.

"That's enough," the second Death-Eater said, and it was also a woman. "We don't want to damage her."

The first Death-Eater nodded and put the bag back over Hermione's head, in spite of her protests. She heard a door open behind her; her back must have been towards it. Someone's robe brushed her bare hand. They were leaving the room.

"Let me go!" she shrieked. "I'm Hermione Granger! My friends will come after you! Voldemort will pay for what he's done! I'm Hermione Granger!"

But it was no use.

-

Hermione pulled back the hood of her cloak and removed the mask. The voice coming from the interrogation room was still shrieking that she was Hermione Granger. She turned to the closed door and whispered: "No, I'm Hermione Granger."

In front of her the others were also removing their disguises. Fred and George revealed themselves, then Snape and Cho.

George (or Fred) thumped Snape on the back. "Very nice transformation, old chap! She looks exactly like Hermione."

Snape ignored him.

"And great memory modification, Cho!" Fred (or George) said.

In the small cell behind her, Lavender Brown started sobbing to herself. Hermione shook her head and crushed her mask in her hand. "I hate this," she said.

Cho squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. "It has to be done, Hermione. Someone saw you leave the alley with Lavender."

"We don't know for sure that they did."

"It's better to be safe than sorry," said Snape. "We've done this before."

"Never with an old friend of mine." Hermione slammed her hand into the wall in frustration. "She doesn't deserve this. They'll torture and kill her."

"She's a casualty of war," Snape said coldly.

"You heartless bastard," Hermione said through gritted teeth. She glared at him stonily, then pushed past them all, leaving the interrogation chambers located in the depths of Headquarters. The sound of Lavender Brown's sobs followed her all the way up, though Hermione could not tell if she was just hearing them in her head.

*****

Hermione couldn't sleep. She lay in her bed, silently, thinking about Lavender. The twins had taken her away that evening, after Cho had spent a few more hours grilling her and refining her false memories. Lavender had been poked, prodded, forced to drink potions against her will; she had had her very personality destroyed forever, and Hermione knew that for her, the ordeal had only just begun. She hated herself for letting the twins take her away.

Voldemort's forces would be delighted to know they had caught Hermione Granger. The Dark Lord himself would sing the praises of Fred and George for personally bringing her in. They would say that she was in their house, looking for information, stealing a beetle so the Order could use it, that one of their alarm wards alerted them to her presence. They would say they followed her, to see if she would lead them to her Headquarters. They would tell him of her fight with Lavender Brown, talk about how she used a Portkey to get away. They would laugh as they scoffed at her stupidity, how the great Hermione Granger did not know that Fred and George designed the beetles so they could find out exactly where they were. They would say they apparated to where the beetle was, and found Hermione Granger murdering Lavender Brown in a street in front of an old warehouse on the waterfront. They'd admit to being foolish not alerting the other Death-Eaters, after all, she was the formidable Hermione Granger. They would be congratulated by the Death-Eaters for being able to best her in combat. Then they'd say they were sure the warehouse was Headquarters, though they could not enter it.

Voldemort would send Death-Eaters to the old warehouse, and find nothing there. They would assume the Order was alerted and Headquarters moved, or that it was protected by a Fidelius Charm, when really, there was never anything there in the first place. When the Hermione Granger they had in custody refused to talk about Headquarters, even under the influence of Veritaserum, they would assume she couldn't because she wasn't a Secret-Keeper. Voldemort would be slightly peeved, but still pleased that he had Hermione Granger, leader of the resistance, in his clutches. She would be sent to Azkaban, of course, thrown to the Dementors, like so many of her comrades-in-arms had been. Comrades like Lee Jordan, Parvati Patil, Cho Chang, Bill Weasley, Colin Creevey, and of course, Severus Snape.

Severus Snape: the man who had invented the improved version of the Polyjuice Potion that allowed for permanent transformations.

It was so easy. It had been done before, and they would most likely do it again, but it always left Hermione torn and filled with self-doubt. It gave Voldemort a false sense of security, but it was despicable and loathsome. What gave her the right to destroy a person in this way? She tried to tell herself that it was war, that Snape was right. People die in war, and the Death-Eaters and Blood Servants they had chosen as scapegoats would have been killed some other way. At least this way their deaths worked for the greater good. Eventually it would be worth it. Besides, they had chosen to follow Voldemort, chosen to be part of the tyrannical government that caused widespread pain and suffering, and they deserved a fate like this. They deserve it! she told herself, and yet she wasn't convinced.

And this was Lavender - schoolmate, housemate and friend. Hermione had not only sentenced her to death; she had destroyed the very essence of Lavender Brown.

Hermione sighed deeply and turned to her side. Next to her, Ron slept peacefully, snoring softly. Poor boy, he was completely knackered. It had been a long week. She traced the scars on his arms and chest with a gentle finger. Even under Hannah's skilled hands, not everything healed perfectly. She could hardly remember how he had got some of these. She touched her own scars, the large one on her shoulder and the one over her left eye. They all carried these scars now, some on the surface, most hidden deep down where they could never really heal. It had been over ten years, after all, and it was to be expected.

Hermione watched Ron sleep for a while, then kissed him tenderly on the shoulder and got out of bed. She dressed slowly, taking her time; she always had something to do and somewhere to go, and she savoured the moments when she could relax and do things at a more leisurely pace. Then with a lingering look on the sleeping form of her best friend and the love of her life, she left the room.

Headquarters was silent. She had ordered everyone to take a good rest. Lots had happened and everyone had earned it. Of course, Headquarters was never really asleep. She knew Parvati was downstairs in the communications room, watching the computers. And she was sure the house-elves (all free) were doing something somewhere, possibly adding more rooms to the already immense underground maze. Hermione wondered idly if she had somehow created a new class of house-elf that preferred to build and design houses instead of doing domestic chores. It wouldn't be so bad if she did.

As Hermione patrolled the hallways, she saw a light coming from a room in front of her. The door was open. She knew immediately which room it was. She stood in the doorway, leaning on the frame. The Muggle-born wizard boy, Maximillian Chase, was in it, staring at his surroundings.

"Hi," said Hermione. "You must be Maximillian."

"Max," said Max.

"Max."

Max nodded. "You're Hermione Granger."

"Yes."

"This is a funny room."

"It's our place of remembrance," said Hermione, stepping into the room and looking at the walls. "We put stuff in here. Things we want to remember." She reached out and rearranged some newspaper clippings that were crooked. "Sometimes people need to be reminded what they're fighting for."

Max looked at the pictures and the articles that were stuck on the walls, and at the little handwritten notes pasted all over. He read what he saw: "Music, movies, bookstores, freedom, family, healthcare for all, justice, peace, shopping, love, good curry ... You're fighting for good curry?"

"Well, it's partly symbolic. And sometimes you just miss the simple things that you took for granted before. But yes, we're fighting for curry."

Max frowned thoughtfully. "I've never seen a movie."

"I guess you wouldn't have." Hermione looked at the boy. He was probably around ten - too young to have experienced life without Voldemort in power. "One day you will."

Max nodded, staring at her with grave eyes. In the dim torchlight his messy hair looked dark brown, maybe even black. He reminded her of a boy she once knew.

"You knew Harry Potter," he said and Hermione thought for a second that he had read her mind. But he hadn't. He was just pointing at a photograph stuck on the opposite wall, amidst other pictures of happier times.

"Yes," said Hermione. "He was my best friend." She walked over to the other side of the room and touched the picture fondly. It was a picture of Harry, Ron and herself, taken with Colin Creevey's camera. She had her arms draped over both their shoulders, and was saying something to Colin. Harry was smiling, holding his Firebolt in one hand. Ron was laughing and waving. "We had a lot of good times," she said.

Max was silent for a while, looking at the different photographs: Harry's parents holding hands and smiling, Hermione's own parents standing in front of their old house in a still photograph, the Weasley family in Egypt, Parvati and her sister Padma in their Hogwarts uniforms, Cho with the Ravenclaw Quidditch team ... Hermione sighed and walked over to the sofa in the middle of the room. She sat down, resting her legs on the coffee table in front of her. She felt old all of a sudden, old and weary.

"Can I join you?"

"What?"

"I want to join the Order of the Phoenix," said Max. "I want to help you. Ron said that I was a wizard. He said Voldemort would have forced me to become a Servant. I don't want that. I want to do good."

"Your mother wants you to escape England. We have to respect her wishes," Hermione said. "We've arranged for the both of you to be brought to America. Voldemort doesn't have as much influence there."

"But I can help!"

"It's not all fun and games, Max. It's not about being a hero." She was irritated. The boy did not know what he really wanted. "People die - people that you love - and every time someone dies, a part of you dies along with them."

"But ..."

"I survived the Cruciatus curse, kid, but the pain of watching your best friend dying in your arms never goes away. You don't know what you're asking for."

Max's disappointment was plain. He looked away from Hermione, avoiding her gaze.

It was better that way. They did take trainees and new recruits, it was true, but all of them had been orphaned, or had been separated from their families. Max still had a mother and she was adamant about leaving. Hermione sighed, looking at the crestfallen boy who was fidgeting uncomfortably. Had she been too harsh? She had never been good with children. They were too difficult to reason with and too unpredictable. Ron was better at it, but then he had loads of siblings. "Max," she said, as kindly as she could, "I'm sure we'd like to have you here. But your mum wants to get you as far away from all this as possible."

"She's frightened. She should go on her own, I will stay here."

"No," said Hermione with a note of finality. "You will go with your mother. You still have family, and you don't know how lucky you are. Besides, our members there can teach you to be a wizard." Bill Weasley and Colin Creevey came to mind. "When you're older, and know the basics, you can come back and join us. I promise."

"Oh," said Max, slightly mollified. He shuffled his feet. "I guess ... goodnight then," he said, leaving the room and shutting the door.

She stretched and leaned back, staring at the far wall. The wall on which hung a plaque that said: Never Forget, and under it, a huge list of names etched in gold. The names of those they had lost.

It started with Cedric Diggory. Then Sirius Black. After that, came the names of all those that died in the great battle: Arthur and Molly Weasley, Michael Corner, Padma Patil, Dennis Creevey, Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody ... Hermione scanned the list of names until she came to Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Harry Potter.

Below that came other names, names of the people that had fought with the resistance and died for their cause: Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Oliver Wood, Roger Davies, Susan Bones, Fleur Delacour, Kingsley Shacklebolt ... the list went on.

But Hermione's eyes always came back to one name: Harry Potter. They had been so sure Harry would win, but he hadn't, and he had lost his life. So much had died with Harry: hopes, dreams, faith... They were lost for a few months, but they picked up the pieces and carried on. The Order of the Phoenix had risen from the ashes, and now she knew they were winning.

"It's almost over," she whispered partly to herself, and partly to the room. Harry was her best friend, and he had always been a good listener. Hermione imagined he was listening now. "It's almost over, I can feel it. We're going to win this one, I know we will. Voldemort's love of tradition and the old ways are too deeply ingrained. He can't adapt. We can and we have. They are just wizards and witches. We are witches and wizards, but also elves, giants and Muggles. There is no way Voldemort can stand against all of us."

There was a knock on the door, and Parvati stuck her head in. "Knew I'd find you here."

"What's the matter?"

"Received word from CP. Something big is going on."

"Get the others and call for a meeting. I'll be right there."

Parvati left and Hermione was alone again. She stood up and took one last look around the room. Something big was going on. Maybe this was the end. A part of her hoped it was; she needed a rest and a really long holiday. But if it wasn't, it didn't matter, because she knew they would keep fighting and one day soon, they would win.

"This is for you, Harry," she whispered as she shut the door behind her.

END