Endlong into Midnight

CHAPTER FOUR
The City of Hesitation and Doubt

Hermione and Lupin returned to Cresswell's, careful around each other, and found both Spike and Wesley slumped on Cresswell's sofa. Angel and Illyria were nowhere to be seen, and Cresswell himself was seated in a corner of the lounge, reading a book and resolutely ignoring his visitors. Spike had Ravenclaw's brooch out of his pocket and was turning it over and over in one hand, idly.

"Not much of a thing, is it?" he said, fingering the carved eagle.

"No," Hermione said, stepping forward to let Remus past. He headed for the stairs, going to check on Ginny. "But it's one of the most valuable artifacts in the entire wizarding world. Trust Voldemort to take a priceless relic and destroy it."

Wesley eyed the little bronze piece. "And there's a piece of Voldemort's soul in there?"

"We think so."

Looking thoughtful, Spike asked, "And if someone smashes it, that does in Voldeybloke?"

"Well, it weakens him," Hermione said. "It won't 'do him in.' Only Harry can do that."

"So I could just --" His fingers tightened around the brooch.

"No, don't!" Hermione said, flinging out an arm and nearly tripping over the coffee table in her haste to stop him. "We don't know enough about the Horcruxes to know what happens when you destroy one. Harry said one of them nearly killed Professor Dumbledore."

Spike made a face and set the brooch down. "Been there, done that, don't want the t-shirt."

Hermione heard steps on the stairs and turned to see Remus carrying Ginny, who was limp in his arms. "Ready to go?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Meet you at the gates," Lupin said, and vanished with a loud crack!.

Hermione fixed the image of Hogwarts in her mind, started the turn, and Disapparated --

-- reappearing in front of the gates of Hogwarts, which were locked. "I'll call Hagrid," she said, and Remus nodded as he shifted Ginny slightly. She pressed her wand to her temple, pictured Hagrid, and thought, Hagrid, it's Hermione and Remus. We've got wounded. Will you unlock the gates?

She broke contact, waved her wand, and her otter shot off up Hogwarts grounds, apparently headed for Hagrid's cottage. "I'm sure he'll be right down," she said, and rubbed her temples, where a tension headache was threatening to form. They had the Horcrux, but they also had a host of problems to go with it. Aside from the fact that they didn't know how to destroy it, Voldemort was likely to want it back. The one advantage they had was that he didn't seem to be able to sense the Horcruxes, and the blocks on locator spells applied to him too.

"Do you think he knows?" she asked Remus. Far up on Hogwarts' grounds, she saw a massive figure loping down the lawn toward them.

"Voldemort? Oh, certainly. Mr. Montague hasn't yet realized what I said to him."

"What do you think he's going to do?"

"Do you really want me to guess?" Remus said mildly, and then Hagrid was there, all moleskin coat and gushing concern.

"Wha' happened?" Hagrid asked, fumbling in his many pockets for the ring of Hogwarts and producing them with a jingle.

"Inside, Hagrid," Lupin said. Hagrid stepped back, pulling the gates open, and Hermione followed Lupin up the path leading to the castle.

The walk to the castle was silent. Hermione watched Ginny's head loll as Remus walked and worried on the dual problems of what had happened to Ginny and what they were going to do with this Horcrux. Hagrid paced them, his face crinkled with distress. Once they cleared the castle doors, Lupin looked around to make sure no students were within earshot and said, "She fell into a trap Voldemort set. Poppy should be able to sort her out."

Hagrid made a noise of dismay and insisted on accompanying them up to the hospital wing, but then had to return to teaching his Care of Magical Creatures class. Hermione was privately relieved; the less Hagrid knew about what they were doing, the better. He was utterly loyal to the Order, but he was terrible at keeping secrets.

They entered the hospital ward to find it completely empty of students, an unusual occurrence for Hogwarts. Hermione turned to lock the doors behind them as Remus called, "Poppy? Poppy, are you here?"

Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts matron, bustled out of her office, wearing her usual look of bemused perturbation. She saw Lupin carrying Ginny's limp form and asked, with some consternation, "What have you done?"

"She touched something Voldemort enchanted that she shouldn't have," Remus said, depositing Ginny carefully on the furthest hospital bed from the door. He described to Madam Pomfrey a carefully edited version of the events in Monkton Farleigh. Pomfrey made a noise of dismay and immediately started examining Ginny.

Hermione stood back and fretted. Remus had been confident that Poppy Pomfrey could fix Ginny, but she remembered the terror and pain in Ginny's scream as she touched the Horcrux and doubted. She sighed, thinking back to that disastrous trip to the Ministry of Magic at the end of fifth year, when Harry was lured by Voldemort into the trap that resulted in Sirius's death. She'd been cursed by a Death Eater during the fight, hit with a spell that would likely have been fatal if he'd been able to cast it properly, and although Madam Pomfrey had cured her in a week, it had been several weeks before she was fully recovered. And that had been only a Death Eater, not a curse from Voldemort himself. Hermione recalled the agony she had suffered in the moment when the curse hit her and frowned, unconsciously worrying at a thumbnail.

The conversation she and Ginny had had after the Order meeting was tearing at her, too. She hadn't wanted Ginny to come, but she'd let her anyway. And one day into their trip, Ginny was gravely injured. A part of her was thinking, She shouldn't have come. I should have fought her harder. If she hadn't come, she wouldn't be in trouble now. But at the time she had been tired and upset and not up to arguing with Ginny, who was ferocious when she set her mind on something.

Madam Pomfrey examined Ginny for several minutes, shaking her head a few times. Finally, just when Hermione was beginning to fear the worst, she straightened. "I can help her," Pomfrey said.

"Can you heal her?" Remus asked.

Poppy was silent for a moment, then she repeated, "I can help her."

No guarantees then. Hermione asked, "What did he do to her?"

Madam Pomfrey's face went grim for a moment. "More than I can explain. It'll be a few days before she makes any progress. Come back then."

That seemed to be enough for Remus, who nodded and turned away from Ginny's bed. "Come on, Hermione," he said. "Let's go back to the others. Poppy, please tell us if anything changes. And please keep her out of sight."

"I certainly will," Madam Pomfrey said, pulling the sheets up over Ginny and heading for the storeroom where she kept most of her medicines. "Do be careful, the two of you. Between Miss Weasley and the current group of ruffians around here, I'll have my hands full."

"We will," Remus said, and he indicated to Hermione that they should go.

***

They reappeared outside Cresswell's home and entered to find things much the same as they had been when they left. Cresswell was still in his corner, although he was much further through his book now. Wesley was buried in a book he had apparently borrowed from Cresswell; as Hermione stepped closer to him she could see that it was Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires by Eldred Worple. Spike seemed to have disappeared, but she heard a spoon clinking on china from the kitchen.

The wireless beside the entrance to the kitchen had been turned on, and an announcer was saying excitedly, "And it's Loyer for Caerphilly, Loyer with the Quaffle -- Loyer passes to McKinney -- McKinney drops it! Zimmerman catches it, Zimmerman for the Arrows with the Quaffle -- Zimmerman is headed up the pitch, up the pitch -- Ohhhhhh! An excellent Bludger hit from Cage there -- back to McKinney -- Loyer -- Bruno -- SCORE! Bruno sneaks it past Thacker and scores for Caerphilly!"

"Who's ahead?" Remus asked, settling into the armchair in front of the window.

"The last time a score was mentioned, it was 80 to 50, Caerphilly's favor, I think they said," Wesley said, without looking up from Blood Brothers. "What is this game, anyway?"

"It's Quidditch," Remus said. Hermione picked her way past him to take a spot on the other end of the sofa from Wesley. "Played on broomsticks --"

Cresswell looked up from his book. "Keep it down there, lad, I'm trying to listen."

"My apologies," Lupin said. Hermione looked at his silvered hair and the lines in his face and wondered when was the last time anyone had called him a lad. It wasn't that he was that old, but that the lycanthropy and stress of turning into a werewolf every twenty-eight days had aged him before his time.

Spike appeared in the doorway to the kitchen then, holding a bowl. He spooned a bite into his mouth and Hermione could see it was Weetabix. "So what new and fun things have you got planned for us now? That there in the depot was worth the price of admission. I say we go now, while Peaches is still asleep, and look for another one."

"Spike," Wesley said, turning a page in Blood Brothers.

"That reminds me," Spike continued, undaunted, "did I ever tell you why he's called Peaches? There was this one time --"

Cresswell sighed and folded his book shut, marking his place with a finger. "Lad. The game. Can't hear it over you." He fixed Spike with a fierce glare, and Spike quieted down, much to Hermione's surprise.

They were all quiet for a moment. Hermione studied the many wizarding photos hung on the walls, most likely of Cresswell's family, all waving genially at her, and pondered what, indeed, they were going to do next. While she thought, the announcer on the wireless continued breathlessly, "And that was a Dopplebeater, a Dopplebeater hit from Mewberg and Serna, and things don't look good for Caerphilly. McKinney was hit in the nob and the referee has called a halt while the mediwizards are on the pitch. Concern all around, I can see from here it looks very serious, very serious injury to McKinney of the Catapults. And -- what's that -- time in, they've put a plaster on her and she's back in the air! And -- I say, has Giovinazzo seen the Snitch? He has! He's going for it -- Bonasera in hot pursuit --"

There was a burst of static, causing Cresswell to look up in some alarm, then a different voice said, "Please stand by for an address from the Minister for Magic."

"What? That windbag?" Cresswell said. "Not now! This is Quidditch!"

The wireless was silent briefly, then Lucius Malfoy's cultured tones filled the air. "Good afternoon," he said. "I am Lucius Malfoy, your Minister for Magic. Please do not be alarmed by what I am about to tell you. Earlier this afternoon, a Ministry facility was struck by terrorists. They injured several Ministry workers and stole an important item. We are tracking them, however, and do expect to apprehend them shortly. Please be assured that we believe this group is not a threat to individual members of the populace, and remember, if you see suspicious activity, report it to your nearest Ministry representative. Thank you, and I wish you well."

The speaker went quiet, then the Wizarding Wireless announcer said, "We will now resume normal broadcasting." After a click, the room was awash in raucous crowd noise, with the Quidditch announcer shouting joyously, "-- and the final score is 240 to 50, Caterpults win! That's a win for the Caterpults, bringing their record to 14 and 9, and the Arrows are certainly looking disgruntled this afternoon! What a match! I'd like to remind everyone to tune in tomorrow for our coverage of the match between the Chudley Cannons and the Wigtown Wanderers. From Ellis Moor, this has been Jock Rundy for the Wizarding Sports Network."

Cresswell swore and turned off the wireless. Remus echoed him, although likely for a different reason, and rubbed his temples quickly in a pained gesture. "Damn," he said again. "I admit I was hoping for a little more lead time."

"Well, there's one good thing," Hermione said. "He doesn't know where we are, or he would have delivered that message in person."

"Well, let's have it for small blessings," Spike said, still leaning against the doorframe. Hermione was becoming expert at ignoring him.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Wesley asked. "That they're out looking for you?"

"Not really," Lupin said, glancing at Hermione. "We don't necessarily have to travel as Remus Lupin and Hermione Granger, if there's need. There's a potion we can take."

She winced, remembering her experience with Polyjuice Potion during second year, when she'd meant to become Millicent Bulstrode and ended up as a cat. That had nearly put her off Polyjuice forever, but occasionally she'd had to take a dose when it wasn't advisable to be Hermione Granger.

"So," Spike said, chewing a mouthful of Weetabix, "what are we up to now?"

Hermione glanced at Remus in time to see him glancing at her with a well-this-is-your-mission sort of look. She eyed the eagle brooch still sitting in pride of place on Cresswell's coffee table and said, "I suppose we have to figure out how to destroy this Horcrux, but I just don't see how. Nothing I ever came across mentioned how to destroy them, and I searched most of the magical libraries in England."

Wesley frowned into his copy of Blood Brothers. "I admit the research I did in the Wolfram and Hart library was geared more towards finding Horcruxes than destroying them. Perhaps there may be something else there. If you could take me to London --"

"I'm sure we'd be able to arrange that," Lupin said. "It probably won't be today, though."

"That's all right," Wesley said, although he continued to frown.

"As for what we're going to do, Spike," Hermione said, her frustration at how things were going finally boiling over, "we're just going to wait and could you please go back in the kitchen to eat that?"

Spike looked at her with just a hint of admiration and then shrugged. "What the lady wants, the lady gets, then," he said, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

There was a careful silence after that. Hermione couldn't see Cresswell's face clearly from where she was sitting, but Wesley seemed to be keeping his face carefully still as he stared intently into Blood Brothers. Remus leaned forward and picked up the Daily Prophet off the coffee table, saying nothing.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Hermione sat and stewed, mostly angry at herself for the outburst. She'd been prone to bursts of temper as a teenager, but had grown out of that quickly once she left Hogwarts. But Ginny was hurt, and they didn't know what to do with the Horcrux, and there was still the matter of the Ministry coming after them . . .

After a moment, Remus gently cleared his throat from behind the Prophet. Hermione looked over at him, absently reading the day's headline upside down ("Man's Crup Saves Him From Attacking Muggle 'Salesman'", and in smaller print, "Muggle Says This Was All A Tragic Mistake"). The paper rustled slightly, and then Remus said, casual yet gentle, "You sounded a little shaken up there. Are you all right?"

She sighed and uncrossed her arms, working to calm herself down. "I suppose," she said. "I just . . ." She trailed off, unsure exactly what she meant to say.

"Mmm," Lupin said, not unkindly. The pages rustled again, and he looked over the Prophet just long enough to give Hermione a sympathetic look.

"Oh, never mind this," Hermione said, pushing off from Cresswell's sofa. "I'm going for a walk."

"Be careful, Hermione," Remus said.

"Of course."

"Ask Spike if he wants to go with you," Wesley said, somewhat acerbic.

"I heard that!" Spike said from the kitchen. Hermione rolled her eyes and left.

***

Hermione ended up walking into central Bath and wandering around the tangle of streets that were becoming a touristy shopping district. She ducked in and out of a few shops, not really buying anything, and then settled on a bench in a small park by the river and let the weather cool her off. She'd charmed herself to be unremarkable as a precaution against Death Eaters or Ministry goons (though they were really the same, nowadays) and it was in a way reassuring to watch people look right past her. She sat for a while, watching the water gush over the weir at the base of Pulteney Bridge, and then, when the temperature started to get to her, she walked back to Cresswell's.

She found things much the same as they had been when she left. Cresswell was gone, as was Spike. Instead, Illyria was standing near Cresswell's chair, staring perplexedly at his shelves of books. Remus appeared to be done with the Prophet and was working his way through He Flew Like A Madman. Wesley had moved on to, in a strange coincidence, Hairy Snout, Human Heart. Hermione took a moment to wonder at the contents of Cresswell's bookshelves. She glanced at Remus, who appeared to be steadfastly ignoring Wesley's choice of literature.

He looked up as she walked past him to sit on the sofa. "All right, Hermione?" he asked.

"All right," she said, and she did feel better.

Remus nodded and went back to his biography. She leaned forward and snagged the Prophet off the coffee table; it was a worthless rag but it would pass the time.

She was midway through an article on page three ("Minister of Magic attends dedication of new hospital wing") when she heard a scratching at the window. "Is that . . .?" she asked, looking up from the Prophet, but Remus was already on his feet. He managed to pull open the window, and a tiny owl zoomed in, beginning to do wild loop-de-loops. Hermione recognized it as Ron's old owl, Pigwidgeon, with a pang. Pigwidgeon had wanted to go with her after Ron was killed, but she had been unable to stand having the excitable little owl around. Arthur Weasley had taken him in, instead. Which meant . . .

Remus caught Pigwidgeon in one hand and started working the letter free with the other. He let Pigwidgeon free once he had the note, and Pig did ecstatic circles around his head as he read.

Frowning, Lupin handed the note to Hermione. "Arthur wants to meet us at Hogwarts. I think," he added. "I can't always keep our codes straight."

Hermione skimmed the letter herself. Dear Aunt Matilda -- that was the code for her and Remus -- glad to hear you are well, met up with an old school friend last week, went to tea with the missus on the seventh -- yes, it was all there. She could guess what Mr. Weasley wanted to meet with them about. "At seven," she said. "Not long from now, is it?"

"No, we should get ready to leave," Lupin said. "We can take Pigwidgeon back when we go."

Pigwidgeon, who had settled on Hermione's shoulder, twittered happily at the mention of his name and pulled at a lock of her hair. "Pig, stop that," she said automatically, reaching up to grab him, and then she had to hold still for a moment at the painful familiarity of it. Even though it had been five years since Ron's murder, there were still some wounds that hadn't healed.

"Are you ready?" Remus asked. She looked at him, and he frowned. "Are you all right?"

"Just remembering," she said. "I'm all right. Let's go."

***

They Apparated up to Hogwarts a few minutes later. Lupin handled calling Hagrid, as Hermione had her hands full dealing with a twittery Pigwidgeon. Hagrid didn't appear surprised to see them, saying, "Ah, yer here. Minerva wants to see yeh in her office."

So Arthur Weasley was here already. He must have come straight from the Ministry, Hermione thought, and wondered what was so urgent.

Hagrid left them alone for the walk up to the castle in the rapidly darkening twilight. The breeze made Hermione shudder slightly. Spring wasn't here yet, but it was certainly on its way.

They worked their way through the castle to the office Hermione still thought of as "Dumbledore's office" sometimes, although it had been Minerva McGonagall's for almost seven years. After winding their way up the moving spiral staircase, Lupin knocked for them and Hermione heard McGonagall's crisp voice say, "Enter."

McGonagall was seated behind the massive headmaster's desk, wearing the tartan robes she favored when not actually working and a frown. Arthur Weasley stood before the fire, looking more disheveled than usual and upset.

"Ah," McGonagall said. "Good evening, Remus, Hermione. I'll just be outside --" With a swish of plaid, she was out the office door, no doubt standing guard to prevent eavesdroppers. Once the three of them were alone, Arthur Weasley's agitation seemed to burst out of him.

"Oh, good, you're here," he said, absently trying to straighten his rumpled robes. "I had to talk to you but I wasn't sure I'd gotten the codes right, I have to tell you --"

"What is it, Arthur?" Remus asked.

"They know it was you," Mr. Weasley said, frowning more deeply. "Malfoy, V-Vol -- He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Snape, Bellatrix Lestrange, the whole lot. I don't think they've tracked you down yet, but they're working on it. You can't go back to London. They've got people watching your flats -- both of yours," he added, nodding to Hermione. "They'll take you into custody the moment you set foot within a block of your flat."

Hermione looked at Lupin, who was frowning to match Arthur Weasley. "I'd expected that," he said, "after the announcement. Both of us, you say? Are they watching Ginny, too?"

"I believe so," said Mr. Weasley, rather unhappily. "The boy apparently recognized her from Quidditch and gave her name. I'd be in disgrace now if I weren't already in disgrace. You made it easy for them by giving the boy your name, and as for you, Hermione -- well, he didn't know who you were, but Voldemort knows you and Remus are -- associated, I think is the word that was used."

Hermione tried hard not to blush. She'd participated in several Order missions as a sort of second-in-command before she'd broken off to research Muggle Watchers, so the information itself wasn't surprising. It was the word choice that made her uncomfortable, given Lucius Malfoy's penchant for knowing things he shouldn't.

Remus appeared not to notice, asking Arthur Weasley, "Are they looking for the rest of the team?"

"The Muggles? I'm not sure. The boy apparently spent some time talking about a man with a funny face, but he didn't seem to have much more detail than that."

"How close are they to tracking us down, do you think?"

"I'm afraid I don't know," Arthur said, looking apologetic. "He's got the Death Eaters after you, not the Aurors, although they're all rather the same thing, now, aren't they? They try to watch what they say around me." He smiled, rather shakily. "Muggle-loving fool, and all that. Word still gets around."

"Yes, well," Remus said. "Thank you, Arthur. I do appreciate the warning. We'll stay underground as much as possible. Be careful, yourself."

"Oh, I will be," Mr. Weasley said. "Molly would kill me if anything happened to me. And there's the baby." He brightened. "Any day now, Molly reckons. Our first grandchild!" He paused, fidgeted in place for a moment, then said, "I should be getting back to the Burrow. Come by for a visit."

"Arthur," Remus said.

Mr. Weasley looked at him, frowning slightly.

"It'll be all right."

With another unsteady smile, Arthur Weasley said, "I suppose it will."

"Good evening, Mr. Weasley," Hermione said.

He smiled at her, a real one. "Good evening, Hermione." With a last pat of his wrinkled robes, he headed for the door. "Oh!" he said as he opened it. "Minerva. Well, come in, it's your office, after all. I'll just be on my way . . ."

As the door closed behind Minerva McGonagall, Hermione could see Mr. Weasley starting to spiral out of sight down the moving staircase. McGonagall took her seat behind her desk again and surveyed the pair of them with a dour expression. Hermione had rarely gotten in trouble at Hogwarts, but she still felt some apprehension at the look on McGonagall's face.

"I don't suppose it would do any good to tell you two to be careful, would it," she said, after a moment.

Remus smiled, and Hermione saw, just for a moment, a schoolboy getting called up in front of his Head of House for the antics of his friends. "We're always careful, Professor."

McGonagall snorted. "Go well, you two."

***

After a quick side trip down to the closet-sized room in the dungeons that the Order used as a secret potion storehouse, Hermione and Remus returned to Cresswell's house. The lamps had been lit, casting a warm glow over the empty living room. Hermione followed the clink of utensils on plates and the sound of conversation and found Cresswell, Wesley, Angel, and Spike sitting around Cresswell's small kitchen table. Cresswell, Spike, and Wesley had plates of something Hermione's nose identified as shepherd's pie, while Angel had another mug in front of him.

"Aah!" Cresswell said, spotting Hermione as she came through the kitchen door. "Wasn't sure when you'd be back, so I went ahead and did up a bit of dinner. Help yourselves, if you're hungry." He waved a hand, causing pots on the stove to rattle.

"Thank you," Hermione said. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that the last time she had anything to eat was at breakfast, and all she'd eaten was a piece of toast at that. She fixed plates for herself and Remus and took Angel's place at the table, which he insisted on giving to her. He did look more at home, leaning broodily against the wall, although the brightly-flowered coffee mug in one hand somewhat ruined the effect.

Wesley, Spike, and Cresswell continued their conversation as she ate. Wesley and Cresswell seemed to be trying to explain football and Quidditch to each other, while Spike happily maligned the parentage of Manchester City and Chelsea supporters. She kept quiet, never a fan of sports, not even when Harry, Ron, and Ginny were playing Quidditch for Gryffindor. Remus leaned against Cresswell's kitchen cabinets, working his way through the plate of shepherd's pie, and was also silent.

After dinner, without anything else to do, Hermione returned to Cresswell's parlor, picked up the Daily Prophet, and started working through the crossword. Wesley excused himself and headed upstairs, while Angel and Spike, separately, decided to go patrol. Illyria, as seemed to be its preference, simply vanished. Remus murmured something about wanting to finish He Flew Like A Madman and resumed his position in the rocking chair, although Hermione noticed he didn't seem to be turning pages very fast.

Some time later, Hermione was staring perplexedly at Sixteen-Across, when there was a pounding on the door. "I'll get it," Remus said, forestalling her. Somewhat agitated, he rose and opened the door.

Through the opened door, Hermione could just see a dark-haired young woman, about her age, who said urgently, "I'm sorry to come like this, but I had to tell you --"

"It's all right," Remus said. He turned back to Hermione. "We'll just be a moment," he told her before stepping outside and closing the door behind him.

Hermione put the Prophet aside, stuck on that puzzle clue anyway, and frowned at the closed door. It seemed as if Remus had been expecting this all night, but who was the girl? She hadn't seen her before, and Hermione had been in the Order for a long time. It wasn't unexpected that Remus would have contacts she knew nothing about; indeed, he might even have inherited some of Dumbledore's extensive web of contacts. But although she knew it wasn't really any of her business who this girl was, it still bothered her.

Through the front window, Hermione could see Remus and the girl talking, the girl agitatedly motioning with her hands. The conversation ran for a few minutes, then Lupin put a hand on the girl's shoulder. She frowned and he dropped the hand, turning and running back toward Cresswell's house.

Hermione was already on her feet by the time Remus burst through the door. "Start packing," he said. "We've got to go. They know we're here and they're coming in a few hours."

"What about Angel and Spike?"

"I'll find them. Get Wesley to help you pack. And Cresswell --" Remus frowned. "Find something to do with Dirk. We can't just leave him here for the Death Eaters to find. They'll kill him."

Hermione was bursting with questions -- where will we go, what do you mean find something to do with Mr. Cresswell, and above all, who was that girl? -- but instead she said, "All right."

Remus nodded and said, "We'll talk later," before turning and heading out the door.

Hermione ran upstairs and pounded on the door of Wesley and Remus's room. "Wesley!" she called. "Get up, get your things together! We've got to go!"

She heard movement inside the room, and then Wesley, fully dressed and with a book in one hand, yanked open the door. "What's happened?" he asked.

"Death Eaters. Coming for us. Can you get Remus's things together too?"

"Of course. Have you seen Illyria recently?"

"Not since before dinner."

Wesley wrinkled his eyebrows. "Something to worry about later. I'll get started on that."

"Thank you," Hermione said, and hurried down the hall to the room where she and Ginny had been staying. Her things were mostly in her battered old valise, but Ginny's were scattered across their small room. Hermione took the time to store her dressing gown and slippers in her valise, then laid open Ginny's suitcase and, chancing greatly, waved her wand and said firmly, "Pack!" This was a spell that despite Mrs. Weasley's best efforts, Hermione had never quite mastered; she suspected it was because she had spent too many years packing up the Muggle way.

To her surprise, Ginny's many scattered belongings soared across the room from all directions and landed in the suitcase: perhaps not neatly, Hermione admitted, but they were there. She retrieved their toothbrushes from the upstairs loo, nearly ran into Wesley, who was doing the same, and then wrestled their bags downstairs, to be ready for Remus when he returned. That settled, she went to look for Cresswell.

She found him, sitting at a desk in his room and writing industriously in a diary. "Mr. Cresswell," she said, from the doorway.

"Aah?" he said, turning. "Miss Granger?"

"We've been discovered," she said, stepping further into his room. "There are Death Eaters on their way to your house, now. They'll be here in a few hours. We're leaving. We can put you in a safe house, or you can come with us --"

Cresswell looked surprised, but he said, calmly enough, "Ar. I'm not fool enough to stay here for a horde of Death Eaters. Safe house is fine. I'll pack a bag."

She nodded and went out to the parlor to wait for Lupin to return. Wesley was there, sitting in the rocking chair Lupin favored and looking as if he were trying to mask his concern. His bags and Lupin's were waiting neatly by the door. Cresswell's old grandfather clock ticked loudly. Hermione, unable to stand the tension in the room, went over to Cresswell's overstuffed bookcase and looked for something, anything to read. She grabbed a book at random and was somewhat put out to discover that it was another book about Quidditch. She decided to read it anyway.

Hermione settled on the sofa and started resolutely ploughing through the book. At some point during Chapter One, Cresswell came in, carrying a small travel bag, and took his usual seat by the wireless. She was midway through Chapter Two when the door banged open.

She looked up to see Remus barreling through the door, body language tense. "You're all ready to go?" he said. "Good. Let's go. It's a long drive."

Wesley nodded and started hauling the luggage outside. Cresswell stood and hoisted his bag. "All ready," he said.

"Wait, Mr. Cresswell," Hermione said, standing up and holding out a warning hand to him. She fumbled for her wand with her other hand.

"Aah?" He gave her a puzzled look.

"I'm sorry," she said. Then, acting before he could get his guard up, she brought her wand up, mentally focused on the faces of their group, and cried, "Obliviate!" A jet of light shot out of her wand, hitting Cresswell in the chest. He staggered, woozy, and she followed it with, "Stupefy!"

Cresswell hit the floor as if he'd been dropped. It wasn't a soft landing, and Hermione regretted it.

Remus nodded. "What he doesn't remember, he can't tell the Death Eaters."

"We should leave him at one of the safe rooms. Voldemort can break Memory Charms."

"Leeds, maybe. It's on the way. He'll be a little confused when he wakes up, but he won't be here for the Death Eaters." Remus nodded again. "Are we ready to go, then? Angel and Spike are waiting in the car."

"There's just one thing." Hermione ran to Cresswell's room, and after a quick riffle of his desk drawers, she had his diary. "He keeps a journal," she said to explain, as she returned to the front room. "I saw him making an entry earlier."

"No, we can't leave that. Good thinking, Hermione."

"Thank you," she said, flipping through the book to find the latest entry. She scanned them, looking for keywords. Cresswell appeared to have been circumspect, never mentioning any of them by name, but there were several references to "the visitors."

Hermione pointed her wand at the last entry. "Evanesco!" she said. The ink faded off the page. That seemed to be the only entry in which they were mentioned. With some luck, Cresswell would only think he'd missed a day journaling.

Wesley appeared in the doorway behind Remus. "Shall we go?" he asked.

"I've just got to put this back," Hermione said. She returned the journal to its drawer, careful to put it back facing the same way as it was before, and went back to the front room. "Let's go."

***

It was a long drive. Before they left Bath, they stopped at a cashpoint so Hermione could withdraw some money, and then Remus turned the car north. Hermione had the front passenger seat again, and Wesley, Angel, Spike, and Cresswell were all pressed into the backseat. Cresswell was carefully and artfully propped against the window, so that he appeared to be sleeping instead of unconscious.

Compared to the drive from London to Bath, this drive was agonizingly silent. Sensing the tension, Angel and Spike refrained from arguing, and the few attempts people made to make conversation died quickly. Around Birmingham, unable to stand the quiet, Hermione reached forward and flicked on the radio. Considering the age of the car, it worked surprisingly well, and although it hadn't been charmed to pick up the Wizarding Wireless, it picked up Muggle radio stations just fine. She twiddled the dial until she found Radio 3, figuring it was least likely to bother the group.

They rounded Birmingham and continued north, driving into the night. Hermione occasionally adjusted the dial to keep the station coming in clear. She looked over her shoulder once and saw that while Angel and Spike sat alert, Angel looking grim, Wesley had dropped off to sleep.

Shortly after one in the morning, Remus pulled to a stop and parked the car outside the tiny rowhome the Order maintained as a safe house in Leeds. The house, in a nondescript side street on the outskirts of the city, was unremarkable on its own, quite aside from the assortment of charms the Order had placed on it. In the light from the streetlamp, Hermione could just see the battered and fading FOR LET sign they'd placed in the postage stamp-sized front garden as a cover for its being empty most of the time. The number was fake, but it didn't matter; the place had just enough of a Muggle-Repelling Spell on it that nobody wanted to let it anyway.

Angel helped them wrestle Cresswell's limp and heavy body out of the car, throwing Cresswell over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. They decided, as a group, to settle Cresswell on the sofa. Hermione wrote a quick note explaining that he was in Leeds and that he was to stay away from his house for at least a day and left it beside him for when he woke up.

Cresswell delivered, they returned to the car and headed north again. The car was less crowded, but still quiet. Hermione stared out the window and tried not to feel that dumping Cresswell in Leeds, memory wiped, was a betrayal.

After a few hours of traveling north, through Yorkshire and into northeast England, they hit the outskirts of the cities ringing Newcastle. Remus navigated around the city, traveling on ever-smaller roads, until finally they hit the small farm that served as an Order safe house. The house and accompanying acreage had been the home of an Order member, murdered by Death Eaters, who left the farm to the Order in her will. It was nearly as secure as Grimmauld Place, and often used by Order members who were in the area as a meeting place. And sometimes, as now, it served as a hiding place.

Hermione yawned as she helped carry bags in from the car. Wesley had been able to sleep, but she had been kept awake by tension and stress. It was hard to believe that only twelve hours ago, they had been underground in Monkton Farleigh, searching for the Horcrux (which she had pocketed before leaving Cresswell's; it wouldn't do to leave it there for the Death Eaters to reclaim it and hide it somewhere else.) She had that peculiar unsettled feeling that came after a long car ride.

The house had that musty smell that came with being shut up for a while. Hermione cracked the window in the upstairs room she'd claimed, and then fell onto the twin bed without even changing into pajamas.

***

Hermione slept hard and late, not waking up until close to eleven. After changing into clean clothes and washing her face, she went downstairs to find Wesley sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea. Remus stood at the stove, putting the finishing touches on what smelled like eggs. Her stomach rumbled. Remus was a rather competent cook; he said he'd had to learn to feed himself or starve after he left Hogwarts.

"Good morning, Hermione," Wesley said pleasantly. Remus echoed him without turning away from the stove.

"Morning," she said, reaching for the carafe in the middle of the table. She'd been able to smell the coffee even upstairs. Looking around the coffee, she spotted a row of mugs sitting beside the kitchen sink, freshly washed. Pulling her wand from her pocket, she said, "Accio mug!"

The mug soared across the kitchen to her, landing in her hand with a firm thwap. Hermione filled the mug with coffee and started downing it, black, as quickly as she could. "Scrambled eggs?" she asked Remus, who was poking at the pan with his wand.

"It was supposed to be an omelette," he said, tipping it onto a plate. "I guess the pan wasn't quite right. It should still be all right. Here you go," he added, setting the plate in front of Hermione.

"Thank you." A second later, she realized that she hadn't any silverware. Accio fork! she thought, with another wave of her wand, and a drawer opened to let a fork zoom out to her waiting hand.

"Bon appetit," Lupin said, pouring some water from the kettle on the stove into a mug and sitting across from her.

For a few minutes, the kitchen was silent as Hermione attacked her eggs with a ferocity that would have done Ron proud. The nerve-wracking drive up from Bath had spent her energy and left her needing a recharge. And in a dingy house in Leeds, Cresswell is waking up, or has already woken, she thought, and this is our thanks to him . . .

When she had eaten enough to be able to slow down and hold a conversation, Lupin said, "There's still the matter of getting Wesley to London."

"Mm, yes," Wesley said. "I would still like to see what I can find in the library. And it would be one less person for you to shepherd around."

"Do you want to take him?" Hermione asked.

"It'll have to be you. I've never been to Wolfram & Hart."

"All right. I'll need a few minutes to prepare."

Wesley raised an eyebrow, fractionally. "Take as long as you like," he assured her. "I'm in no hurry."

"No, it's all right. We really should get this done." Before the Death Eaters cotton on to where we've gone. They were safe now, but Hermione knew Voldemort would be furious at their escape. It wouldn't be long before he tracked them to Newcastle, and they'd have to run again.

Hermione forked up the last bits of egg from her plate and stood up. "That was very good. Thank you. I'll go get ready now, shall I?"

***

After breakfast, Remus rooted through his luggage until he found the bottle of potion they'd retrieved from Hogwarts, and the small packet that went with it. Hermione accepted them both, took a cup from the kitchen, and went to the upstairs loo to prepare.

She was well acquainted with the effects of Polyjuice Potion by now, but taking it never got any more pleasant. Hermione poured herself a half cup of the potion, dropped the hair in, and unhappily watched it fizz and change color to a rotten-looking bluish-purple. Steeling herself, she picked up the cup and downed the whole lot as quickly as possible.

At first, as always, nothing happened -- then everything happened very quickly at once. Hermione gasped sharply as the pain hit her, her body rippling and melting into the shape of another woman, one several inches taller than she. It had been a few years since she'd taken a dose, and she had forgotten how badly it hurt. She hung on, trying to breathe deeply, and resisted the urge to curl up in a ball and whimper.

A few minutes later, it was all over. Hermione looked in the mirror and adjusted to the queasy feeling it always gave her to see a stranger looking back. The woman blinking back at Hermione from the mirror had dark brown hair, cropped short, dark brown eyes, and a nose just a shade too big for her to be considered conventionally attractive. She frowned, watching the features change.

"Hello, Hermione," she said as a test, and was surprised by the flatness of it. An American, then.

The problem of disguise had first come up seriously shortly after the war started in earnest, not long after Lupin had taken over. The Order was hemorrhaging members as Death Eaters picked them off by sight. The Aurors tried to train the other members in some of the concealment techniques they knew, but the Death Eaters were finding ways to counteract those. Tonks, the Metamorphmagus, was the only one of them that was truly safe, because she never went on a mission with the same face twice.

"What we need," Hermione had said at the time, "is a way for us to disguise ourselves with faces that the Death Eaters won't recognize -- and no one else will either."

The Order members assembled then had been silent for several moments. Then Kingsley Shacklebolt had said, with his usual calm deliberation, "Then we need to ask people they don't know if they can borrow their faces."

"And where are we going to find a group of people the Death Eaters are guaranteed not to know, Mr. Shacklebolt?" Minerva McGonagall had asked.

Kingsley Shacklebolt smiled. "America."

The Order had put out the word through the network of international contacts they had built, and soon hair and nail samples were arriving from around the world -- it seemed that while people were unwilling to aid the fight against Voldemort directly, they were willing to contribute by letting Order members borrow their likenesses, if it was for a good cause. The system wasn't foolproof -- Polyjuice Potion required hourly dosages, or the taker resumed their natural appearance -- but it helped in cases where they needed a disguise for the short term.

Of course, even Tonks had fallen . . .

Hermione shied away from that thought and turned to examine the clothes she'd brought into the bathroom. She held a few of them up to herself, but they were all too short for the taller woman she'd become. Aware that she was burning minutes she might need in London, she quickly conjured and donned simple clothes for herself. Thinking, she also conjured a small flask and poured a dose of Polyjuice into it before slipping it into a pocket.

Dressed and mostly ready to go, she headed downstairs, feeling a bit like a teenager after a sudden growth spurt. Remus and Wesley were waiting in the living room for her, and both of them turned as she walked in. Remus, inured to shape changes after dating Tonks, merely lifted an eyebrow and smiled slightly, but Wesley blinked and narrowly averted a comic double-take.

"I suppose this is what you meant when you said you had ways of disguising yourself?" he said.

"Yes," she said, trying to get used to the sound of the voice. It was one thing coming from Angel, but it was another to hear it coming out of her mouth. She'd never been an American before.

"I say," Wesley said, and blinked a few more times. "Fascinating."

"We need to go. This doesn't last forever."

"Oh, certainly."

"Can I borrow your watch, Remus?" she asked.

"Oh, of course, Hermione." Lupin fiddled with the clasp for a moment, then slid the watch off his wrist and handed it to her. It was large and clunky, solidly Muggle, and possibly ancient. She slipped it into her other pocket.

"Ready to go, Wesley?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, and braced. She took hold of his arm and focused on his office, careful to see the Thames out the window -- Apparating to his Los Angeles office would splinch both of them. Then she focused her will and started the turn . . .

***

They popped into the London branch of Wolfram & Hart with a crack, startling several employees who then gave them a bored look and went about their business again. Wesley visibly relaxed and said, "Thank you, Hermione."

"You're welcome," she said. "Are you all right?"

He frowned, slightly, and rubbed his jaw, which was getting stubbly. "It takes some getting used to, Apparition."

"It does," she agreed. "Is there anything else you need?"

"I don't think so, no."

Hermione nodded. "Ring me if you do. I've got my mobile. It should still work up there."

"I will. Thank you. Good day, Hermione."

Wesley turned and headed into the office he was using in the London office. Hermione considered a moment and then leaned across the front desk to the receptionist. "Excuse me," she said in a low tone of voice. "Could you direct me to the ladies' toilets?"

The receptionist pointed. "Up the stairs and to the right."

"Thank you," Hermione said, and trotted up the stairs. She found the ladies' and picked a stall -- no reason she couldn't be discreet about her departure. Did she have enough time to go check on Neville and Harry? Hermione checked Remus's watch. She did.

Considering, Hermione tilted her head. Well, there was no point burning Polyjuice. She pictured the courtyard outside Grimmauld Place, and started the turn.

***

Grimmauld Place was as filthy as it ever was, leaves littering the courtyard and garbage bags bulging out of the skip. Hermione picked her way through the litter of kids' toys in front of Number Fourteen and mused on the possibility that the general dilapidated state was some clever sort of camouflage charm.

She knocked on the door of Number Twelve before doing some quick wandwork to undo the locking spells. With a click, the last lock retracted, and Hermione quickly stepped inside.

"Hello?" she called, looking around the foyer. "Neville, Harry, are you here?" She suspected they were; although the house was still dingy, the outright filth had largely been dealt with. Neville appeared to have made an effort to erase Harry's graffiti from the walls.

Hermione stepped forward, craning her neck to see down the hall (and noting reminiscently that the frame that used to hold Walburga Black's portrait was empty: they had cut her out of the frame after discovering the Permanent Sticking Charm was only on the frame.) "Is anyone here?" she called again.

She paused, hearing a rustle from upstairs. A door opened, and then Neville Longbottom was standing at the top of the stairs, wand drawn and pointed at her, formidable.

"I want to know who you are, and why you're here," he said, "and I'd like that now, if you please."

Oh. She'd forgotten to warn Neville she was coming under Polyjuice. "Neville, it's Hermione. I'm Polyjuiced. I can't move around in the city otherwise."

He didn't look convinced. "Prove it. Otherwise we wait until the Polyjuice wears off, if you really are Polyjuiced."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. But this was why they had trusted Harry to Neville for the duration; he was gentle, good to talk to, but he was a redoubtable security presence. She thought for a moment and then conjured a handful of bluebell flames, tossing them into the air around her. The bluebell flames generated heat but did not burn, and had been her specialty at Hogwarts.

Neville shifted position and relaxed the wand slightly, but shook his head. "Not good enough."

She extinguished the bluebell flames burning quietly around her with a quick, "Aguamenti!" Then, thinking, she said, "Ask me a question."

Neville's eyes drifted off to the side for a moment as he thought. Then he asked, "Who did you go to the Yule Ball with?"

Hermione snorted. "A less obvious question, Neville."

He thought for a while, and then his face softened. "A long time ago, first year, you and Ron and Harry were sneaking out to get the Philosopher's Stone, and I tried to stop you, and --"

"I cast the Full Body-Bind on you," she said, smiling regretfully up at him. "And Ron told you that you'd understand later. I really am sorry about that, you know."

Neville nodded, and put his wand away. "It was a long time ago." He thumped down the stairs and joined her in the foyer. "I suppose you're here to check on Harry?"

"Yes. I know it's only been a couple days, but I was hoping maybe some human contact . . ."

Shaking his head, Neville said, "Not just yet. I think those pills, whatever they are, are helping, but he's not ready yet to see anyone. I've been keeping him with me as I clean, keeping him talking. He's . . ." Neville laughed uncertainly. "He's spooky sometimes, Harry."

"Yes. He's not well."

"He seems to be getting a little more clear lately, I think."

"Oh, I hope." She hefted Remus's watch and checked the time. "I really should be going. I don't know when I can come back. You'll let me know when he's . . ."

"Himself?" Neville supplied.

"Functional," Hermione said, agreeing, and sighed. "You'll let me know?"

"Of course, Hermione."

"Thank you. Good day, Neville," she said. Hermione opened the heavy front door and slipped out, wincing at the abrupt sunshine. Before anyone could notice she was there, she focused on the house in Newcastle, and Apparated.

***

The house was very quiet when Hermione returned, which could be expected when there were only four people staying there and two were asleep. She found Remus sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of tea in front of him and a half-eaten plate of toast beside him, poring over a sheaf of parchments. "Oh, Hermione," he said, looking up as she walked in. He frowned and turned back to the parchment. "Aberforth learned some more about that Death Eater plot he mentioned last week. Seamus did some reconaissance and just sent his report."

She poured herself a mug of tea and sat down across from him. "What does he say?" She took a sip of the tea and nearly spat it back into the cup -- it was cold. A quick tap of her wand, and the mug was gently steaming in front of her.

Lupin shoved a page across the table to her. "They're planning a purifying."

"Oh, no," Hermione said, taking the page and scanning its contents. "Where?"

"Stockbridge Main."

"I haven't heard of it."

"Neither had I, before now." He pushed a map to the middle of the table. "Down in the Midlands. It's about forty people, all Muggles. I suppose you can guess what they want to do there."

Hermione shuddered. "Please."

"Mad-Eye's planning to stage an intervention tonight, protect the village."

"Mmm . . ." Hermione said, reaching for another paper.

"We should help."

Hermione looked up then, convinced for a moment that Harry had died and his spirit had taken over Lupin. But Lupin looked much as he always did, calm, thoughtful, without that maniacal gleam that accompanied Harry's wildest plans. "We can't," she said, and was reminded of Wesley telling Illyria the same thing in much the same tone of voice.

Remus's face took on that professory expression he got sometimes when he intended to let someone else make his point for him. "Explain why you say that."

"We've got visitors," she said. "And the Horcrux. And we're supposed to be in hiding --"

Looking thoughtful, Remus said, "That's right, Angel and Spike. We should ask them along. I think they'd like it."

"-- and going along on a mission is like asking the Death Eaters to come after us!" Hermione continued, keeping her voice just a shade under shrill. "Can you think of any good reasons why we should go?"

"Can you think of any that we shouldn't? We are members of the Order, Hermione, and they need our help. You're a talented witch in a fight."

"Oh, don't flatter me."

"And I wouldn't want it said of me that I stood by and did nothing while Death Eaters attacked a Muggle village and exterminated its residents. I wouldn't think you'd want that said of you either, Hermione. We have a chance to act and to defend, and I think we should take it."

"Oh . . ." Once again, Hermione was reminded of Harry as a teenager, all bravery and heroics, shouting down her nervous protestations that perhaps he had a "saving-people thing." Lupin had been a Gryffindor, too, and although he didn't share Harry's tendency towards the dramatic, he shared the courage that drew students to Gryffindor House. So, for that matter, did she; after all, she had accompanied Harry to save the Philosopher's Stone, and back in time, and to the Ministry of Magic, and other places besides. Staying in for a safe evening of tea and Exploding Snap sounded far preferable to a risky fight, but the memories of what the Order had found after the Muggle "purifying" at Courtwick kept rising in front of her eyes. Could she stand by, even to protect her mission, while that happened again?

"Oh, all right," she found herself saying, "we'll go."

Remus nodded at her, an approving light in his eyes.

***

Angel and Spike agreed to go along readily enough, when Hermione took them down their mid-afternoon mugs of blood. Spike looked happy at the prospect of getting to "scrap a bit," while Angel went grimmer than usual when she described some of what the Order had found, doing cleanup at Courtwick.

"It's not why we came over here," he said, "but it's the right thing to do. We can't let them wipe out an entire town. Not if it's within our means to prevent it." He paused, frowning so deeply it creased his entire forehead. "I'm tired of people dying because I didn't stop it from happening."

Hermione thought, unkindly, that Angel was possibly the only person she knew with more baggage than Harry, and then decided to keep that to herself. He was gloomy and dour, but they wouldn't have been able to subdue Montague without him, and he had agreed to help her in the first place -- that was enough for him to deserve charitable thoughts from her. She did wonder what he meant, though. Before they left, she was going to have to get someone to give her a straight answer about Illyria.

Angel and Spike assured her that they didn't need anything else, and so Hermione headed upstairs to see if Remus needed any help. She found him sitting in the parlor surrounded by stacks of parchment, frowning down at the sheaf of papers he held.

"Ah, Hermione," he said, hearing her approach. "I sent out the word to everyone. I asked them to meet here; I thought it might be best."

"What time do you think we should go?"

"I asked everyone to meet here at nine. I believe if we're in the village by midnight we should be there in plenty of time. You know the Death Eaters prefer to attack in the small hours of the night."

Hermione nodded. "That sounds all right. Angel and Spike agreed to come with us. I think we should keep them away from the main fight, if we can."

Remus looked up at her. "How do you figure that?"

"Well, it's just that they're vampires, Remus, only it might not be such a good idea to have them around a bunch of people with pointy wooden sticks. Particularly when they've got that thing with the face, and people might not recognize them immediately . . . They can't exactly do magic, can they?"

"No, I don't suppose so," he said, frowning. "I can see your point. We'll have to keep that in mind. Good thinking, Hermione."

She smiled wanly.

The afternoon and early evening passed as they made and remade plans, trying to anticipate what the Death Eaters might have in mind for the residents of Stockbridge. Around eight o'clock, the first Order members started arriving, trickling into the house a few at a time. Hermione made tea a few times for everyone as a way of keeping down her nerves.

The house gradually filled. Seamus Finnegan and Mad-Eye Moody both arrived early, and pulled Remus aside to talk tactics. Molly Weasley came "for support" and started to bake bread for the group. Luna Lovegood meandered in, trailing her usual mien of absentness behind her. George Weasley and Angelina Johnson came in together, shortly followed by Terry Boot and Katherine Bundy, and Susan Bones walked in wearing a vicious expression. Zenaida Quince, who was 82 if she was a day but couldn't be kept out of a fight, stalked around in sweeping black robes. Parvati Patil, who was always good for a battle after Death Eaters killed her sister Padma, ran in at 9:15.

Angel and Spike came up from the basement at some point during the evening, although Hermione missed exactly when. She found it amazing how inconspicuous Angel was able to make himself, despite the fact that he was fairly tall and dressed all in black. He took a mug of tea and settled himself against the kitchen wall with his usual morose expression, and people seemed mostly to look past him. Spike, on the other hand, she spotted regaling a group of women with some sort of wild tale; somehow, it seemed typical.

Around ten, Lupin gathered everyone in the front room, gesturing for them to pack in so they could hear him. "Thank you," he said, "thank you, good, everyone. I'd like to thank you all for coming and helping out. And I'm sure the residents of Stockbridge Main thank you, although they don't know it. Now, Stockbridge Main is a small Muggle village in the Midlands . . ."

With a wave and a tap of his wand, Lupin enlarged the parchment map of Stockbridge Main until it was the size of a Hogwarts chalkboard, charming it to float beside him in the air. Hermione studied it as Remus spoke about the village. It really wasn't much of a place, just a high street and a few streets branching off from that, houses widely spaced and back from the road. Some of the houses, according to Lupin, were vacant, and he highlighted the one he had picked out as their operations base while in the village.

From there he moved into a discussion of tactics, outlining strategies and assigning Order members to groups stationed around the village. The village's forty-two residents lived in seventeen houses, and there were enough Order members present for a team of two per house. Lupin shrewdly assigned Hermione, Angel, and Spike to a house that was separated from the others by a few vacant houses, giving them a buffer.

After that, Lupin opened up the floor for questions, but there weren't many. They had all been fighting long enough that they understood how operations like this worked, and they all knew a useful selection of jinxes, curses, and healing spells. Hermione took a moment to look over the group, noticing first that the former members of Dumbledore's Army were well-represented, as always, and second, that the group packed into the parlor was a young one. Most of them had been within a few years of her at Hogwarts. She was proud to see that even the ones too young or too old for the D.A. had rallied to help the Order, even if it was only for occasions like these.

"Is there anything else?" Remus asked, after assuring Luna Lovegood that he didn't think the Death Eaters would bring their double-headed beebums.

Silence. A ripple shifted through the room, Order members checking to see if anyone else would put their hand up.

"All right, then. Thank you all for listening," Remus said. "We'll start leaving in --" he checked his watch -- "two hours then; that should give us enough time to beat the Death Eaters to the village."

The room erupted into noise, Order members restarting the conversations that had been quelled before the briefing. Ears ringing from the din and nerves tingling from the anxiety in the room, Hermione quietly slipped out through the kitchen to the back porch. She looked to the left and jumped slightly: Angel was there, leaning against the wall in the darkness underneath the porch roof, and scowling out at the glow of Newcastle lights over the distant trees.

"Oh -- Angel," she said. "Did you hear --"

"I got it," he said. "It's going to be a battle, us versus the -- what are they called again? Death Eaters?"

"Yes."

"Stupid name," Angel said under his breath, and then continued, "You always think you can plan a battle until you get on the ground, and then it's just a fight. Whoever hits best, wins. Nothing more to it than that."

She stepped across the porch, leaning on the rail and following Angel's gaze, looking past the granny flat and play set, to Newcastle beyond and the stars. Behind her, Angel was totally silent, enough so that she could forget he was there if she wanted. Hermione thought about his constant brooding, and wondered what other demons he had besides the obvious one.

"Tell me something about yourself," she found herself saying.

She looked over her shoulder to see Angel shifting uncomfortably. "I don't like talking about myself."

"Well, it's just --" she said, and paused, turning around. "You're a vampire, but you're not like the vampires I learned about in Defense Against the Dark Arts. They're these . . . weedy things, barely sentient. They don't run law firms. But you . . . you're more than that. You're complicated."

"I am."

"So tell me something about yourself. You've come all this way to help, you're getting involved in our battles, but I don't know anything about you."

Angel was silent for a long moment. Finally, he said, "I have a soul."

Hermione frowned at him.

"Most vampires don't," he said, clarifying. "We're dead. Evil. But I was cursed. Gypsies. I got my soul back. It gave me a . . . a conscience. Made me regret all the things I'd done before then. So I started to atone. I thought, if I just did enough good, if I just helped the right people, maybe I could make up for what I'd done . . ."

He shifted again, recrossing his arms and looking past Hermione. "But then I learned that there is no atoning. Whatever you do, whatever you've done, it's never enough. There's just the fight. You fight, and you keep fighting. So . . ." He moved slightly, in what might have been a shrug. "The law firm. And your battles."

"How did you end up as president of Wolfram & Hart?"

"I was hired."

"What did you do to --"

"I don't want to talk about it." Angel looked back to her, his face snapping shut. "I told you something about myself. That's it."

"One more thing," Hermione said. "Does Spike have a soul too?"

Angel scowled fiercely. "Yes. Can't do anything without him deciding he's got to also. Got a soul, he did that too. And Buffy --" He abruptly stopped. "Yes."

Quiet minutes passed while Hermione mulled over what Angel had told her. A soul. And a conscience. What were the things he had done? What could be so bad that there was no atoning for it?

Probably things like we're going to Stockbridge Main to stop, the back of her brain told her, and she frowned, working a thumbnail again. No wonder he doesn't like to talk about himself.

"Thank you," she said.

Angel looked at her.

"I can understand why you don't like talking about yourself. Thank you for telling me that much."

Angel grunted and rearranged himself against the wall again.

The kitchen door opened, and Molly Weasley leaned out. "Hermione, dear? I've knocked together some dinner, if you want to eat."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said, standing up straight.

"Molly, dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "It's ready when you are," she added, and the kitchen door closed behind her.

"Go on," Angel said. "I'll be all right."

Her stomach rumbled, even though she was so anxious she couldn't imagine eating, and she went back inside.

***

Molly Weasley had a bowl of steaming onion soup waiting for her at the kitchen table, which Hermione ate half of but barely tasted. The nerves were settling in hard; not just for her, she noticed, but for everyone, and they were all dealing with it in different ways. George and Angelina were making boisterous jokes, with Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet giggling appreciatively, while on the sofa in the front room, Hannah Abbott was having what appeared to be a full-bore panic attack. Justin Finch-Fletchley sat by her, helping her through it. In a corner of the living room, Spike was surrounded by a group of girls ranging from little Anna Montgomery to Laura-Anne Jetter, who was Hermione's mother's age, and from the motions he was making, he appeared to be telling a story about some epic fight. Out in the hall, Ernie Macmillan, as full of pomp and bombast as ever, regaled a group of former Hufflepuffs with stories about the battles he had fought in since leaving Hogwarts. Hermione headed up the stairs, passing Brian Dunstan and Sarah Capper, who were flirting madly, and found Remus sitting at a small table in the upstairs hall. It had the austere look that meant he had probably conjured it himself.

"Remus," she said, conjuring a chair herself. This was a spell she had taught herself during the months when she, Harry, and Ron had been traveling England looking for the Horcruxes, and even now, she tended to produce three-legged stools.

"Oh -- Hermione," he said, jumping much like she must have when she found Angel lurking next to her. "Is there -- do you --"

"No, there's no trouble," she said, looking over the banister where raucous sound was drifting up. "It's just -- loud down there. I needed . . . I guess you did too."

"Mmm," Remus said, shifting some parchments across the small table. He pulled one out and scratched a few words on it with his quill.

Hermione sat there for several minutes, listening both to Remus's abstracted and tuneless humming as he shuffled through his parchments, apparently making and remaking plans, and to the dull roar from below of thirty people distracting themselves. She thought about starting a conversation with Remus, realized she had nothing to say, and lapsed back into her own thoughts.

Eventually, even his quiet presence was too much. Rather than lapse into worried hysterics, as she had a tendency to do at Hogwarts, Hermione headed out to the front garden to pace. Conjuring a light jacket for herself, she decided she fancied a walk. She was far enough away that she couldn't see the lights of the house when she saw a silvery Patronus rushing towards her; as it approached, she could see that it was Remus's bear. It hit her, dissipating, and then Remus's voice whispered in her ear:

"It's time."

Focusing on the house, she pulled out her wand and Apparated.