Scattered

... And so it was that the system of House points for merits and demerits was solidified at Hogwarts. In the first year, the House Cup was awarded to Gryffindor; in the next, Slytherin. The long-standing rivalry between these two houses was forged over

"Bloody hell, your feet are cold, Hermione!"

"Don't swear," she replied automatically, pulling her feet back from the end of the couch where Ron was sitting. "I was just stretching out, sorry."

Ron scowled at the chessboard. "You don't have to be sorry. Just wear socks."

Hermione glanced up from her book and saw that Ron's attention had drifted back to chess. If there was one Weasley -- or anyone, for that matter -- who stood a chance of ever breaking his winning streak, it was Ginny. At the same time, she thought, Ginny was the only person who might be able to get away with beating him without creating an uproar -- after all, he'd taught her, he often said, everything she knew. Hermione wasn't so sure about that, but a quick glance at the board told her this wasn't going to be Ginny's day, regardless.

She yawned and let her book - Hogwarts, a History, of course - slide closed. Another summer at the Burrow, she thought. Only this year, her last before entering her seventh and final year at Hogwarts, they were kept inside like virtual prisoners. Even the garden was considered too wide open, and trips into London and Diagon Alley weren't even worth asking about. She and Ron and Ginny had spent the whole summer in this room, or another, boredom warring with anxiety and frustration. They'd been completely maddened at being shut out of Order business once more -- and separated from Harry, who was spending his summer with the Dursleys for what would hopefully be the very last time. Finally, tired of their constant complaints, Arthur Weasley had given them an actually rather brief description of the latest Death Eater attack. After that, they'd stopped asking. The girl had been only thirteen.

So they waited, the days slipping by. Ron and Ginny played chess. Hermione studied. When the twins dropped in, they were actually a welcome diversion. Well, sometimes. They tried to keep busy. Ginny taught Hermione how to braid hair. She also taught Ron, but he'd sworn them to secrecy on that. Molly taught them all how to cook -- or rather, she taught Hermione, as Ron and Ginny were already quite good at it. And they talked, they argued, and they counted the hours until they could return to Hogwarts, and to relative freedom.

Hermione felt warm and drowsy; her eyes wouldn't stay open and, with a mental shrug, she gave in and settled more comfortably into her corner of the couch. A nap would be just fine about now.

She was drifting off, incredibly comfortable, when she felt her feet bump against Ron's denim-clad thigh once more. Reluctantly, she began to pull her legs up so as not to disturb him, feeling a bit grumpy about it as she did so, wishing she could stretch out more. She was startled, then, to feel his hand stilling her movements, plucking her feet up and into his lap.

She peered at him suspiciously through heavy-lidded eyes, but his attention was still riveted on the chess board.

"Like I said, though," he mumbled distractedly without turning in her direction, "next time, wear socks." Then he took Ginny's bishop and settled back with a satisfied grin at his frustrated but still determined sister.

Hermione stared at him for a few more moments, but she was too sleepy to keep at it. Her eyes closed once more and she began to drift off, not really hearing the good-natured taunts Ron and Ginny were throwing at each other as the game continued. Vaguely she felt Ron's hand drift down to her ankle, the sleeve of his sweater covering her chilled feet. His thumb was moving on her skin in a lazy sort of circle and she wondered about that, in the back of her mind, just as she started to drift off. Later, she thought hazily. It feels good, but I'll have to think about that later.

Later, in fact, much later, she remembered that moment as one of the last utterly peaceful times in her life, because that was precisely when all hell broke loose.

Every single window of the Burrow slammed shut at once, causing the entire poor, dilapidated house to shake. The curtains and shades swished closed as well, dimming the family room considerably. Hermione sat up with a start when the windows closed; Ron and Ginny blinked at each other, shocked. Hermione felt Ron's hand tighten around her ankle.

"Wha --"

Footsteps thundered down the stairs; Fred and George appeared in the doorway, each carrying a large knapsack. Fred looked around the room frantically. "Go upstairs and pack. There's a bag on each of your beds. Only what you can fit in the bag. Make absolutely sure you bring your wands."

"And clothes. Pack mostly clothes, don't worry about other supplies, just your own personal things," George interrupted.

"Right. Just make sure you can carry what you pack."

Ron, Ginny and Hermione remained frozen in place. The twins were flushed and out of breath, obviously agitated. They hadn't left the doorway and looked like they hadn't a moment to spare. What was truly frightening, though, was that neither of them had even the barest glimmer, the least hint of humor in their faces. Hermione sat staring, confused; she hardly recognized them.

"Come on, GO!" Fred yelled. "We have to leave. You need to hurry, too."

Finally, Ginny was able to speak for all three of them. "What on earth is going on? Where are you going? Why should we --"

"Gin, there's no time," George interrupted in a calmer tone, but with no less fervor. "I'm sorry. There'll be time later... You just have to get ready. They'll be here soon to get you and you'll regret not packing. Go!" he said one last time, and followed Fred into the kitchen. There was a distinctive popping noise and they were gone.

Hermione took a deep breath. She didn't understand, and in the back of her mind she couldn't help wondering if this could be part of an elaborate prank...

"They weren't joking," Ron whispered, and the two girls stared at him. "I know what they're always like but... they weren't joking." He stood abruptly, reached back and tugged Hermione to her feet, and prodded Ginny from her chair. "C'mon," he said, pushing them ahead, into the kitchen.

Without a word, they each glanced at the Weasley family clock. Hermione felt her heart stutter and then pound in her chest, the blood rushing to her ears and her breath coming loud and harsh.

Every single hand on the clock -- including Ron's and Ginny's -- was pointed to Mortal Peril.

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