Scattered

Hermione opened each cupboard door in turn, inspecting the contents and finding herself oddly relieved that they seemed to have everything they could possibly need in the near future. There were pots and pans and dishes and mugs and glasses, food stocked up and disposable necessities plentiful. She hadn't seen any Muggle cleaning supplies, but they wouldn't need them, after all, when a spell was much easier. The only thing she needed, really, was shampoo -- they were bound to run out soon. For once she didn't feel entirely guilty; that hank of hair Bill fussed over meant he'd be going through hair products just as quickly as she would.

Why on earth am I thinking about shampoo? she wondered, chastising herself. Like that's what's important right now. There were so many bigger concerns, so much to learn and figure out, and here she was fretting over not being able to get her hair clean the way she liked. It was all nonsense. Then again, nonsense was easier to dwell on than reality.

Bill, Ron and Neville were out in the yard. It was a beautiful day, bright and sunny and not too hot, and she'd thought about joining them herself, but old habits die hard. Practical, logical Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something, forgetting to do something terribly important. And so she organized, arranging the kitchen to her liking, making herself some toast to nibble on while she rummaged about and set things to rights. Ron had scowled when she'd told him what she was doing.

"I expect you think we're staying here a long time, then," he'd mumbled, looking miserable.

"Ron, I don't have the faintest idea what to expect right now. For all I know we're leaving for Bulgaria in five minutes. Or we're staying here for who knows how long. I don't know. I don't care. I want to rearrange the dishes."

He'd grinned suddenly. "Figures. But," and his then face had darkened a little, almost comically, "we're not going to Bulgaria, no matter what."

Hermione smiled and shook her head, remembering the scowl on his face and how she'd rolled her eyes and shooed him outside with the others. Bulgaria. To her, it was a country on a map. To Ron, apparently, it would always be an excuse to be surly. But not jealous, of course, she thought with a snicker. Oh, of course not.

She was still a little surprised at what she'd done this morning.

If it had been any other boy... any other man... Hermione might not have been so direct. She didn't consider herself "forward", nor was she shy -- but the bossy little girl who always spoke her mind had grown up a bit, after all, and she'd learned that a little restraint was sometimes justified. Unfortunately, when dealing with other human beings, it turns out that saying exactly what you're thinking is not always the best policy.

But it wasn't any other man, and deep down in the burrows of her mind, a small voice whispered, and it quite likely never will be any other man.

Hermione wasn't ready to think about that yet, though.

The point was, it was Ron -- Ron who had, it was true, grown a bit beyond the sensitivity of a teaspoon or even a tablespoon, but still was Ron... When they'd said goodnight and gone to their separate rooms, he'd obviously been just as confused and anxious as she had been. For just a moment it had seemed as if he was about to tell her what he was feeling... but then he'd turned away and gone, and they'd each been alone, and worried, and miserable.

She'd tried to sleep, she really had, but it was no use. In her whole life Hermione had succeeded, to some degree, at almost everything she'd ever attempted. But she'd never been able to successfully turn off her mind when it was determined to run at full tilt. Dumbledore's plan and his subsequent death, their journey, the fate of all their family and friends, the house, their future, there was so much to think about. To worry about. She'd started making a list of it all and run out of parchment -- and then she'd worried, maybe irrationally, that she shouldn't be writing such things down at all.

The Burrow was gone. She still couldn't believe it. She'd charmed her walls the same color as Ginny's room had been, and transfigured curtains into a similar style, not realizing what she'd done until the finished product was before her. She missed Ginny. She was so, so grateful that Ron had ended up with them... for whatever reason... and it was awfully lucky to have as nice a friend as Neville around. Bill was a good man and a clever, interesting wizard, in addition to being Ron's eldest brother. She'd always enjoyed talking to him in the past and hoped, while they were here, that he would be willing to teach her some advanced spells and charms; curse-breakers like Bill knew some of the most obscure incantations. Hermione's two best friends were boys and she certainly wasn't uncomfortable with being surrounded by the male perspective. And anyhow, many girls her age didn't share her experiences and priorities. They never had. But, Ginny was different. Ginny was her first close female friend, really, and someone Hermione trusted implicitly. She could tell Ginny anything. Not that Hermione was closer to Ginny than she was to Harry and Ron.... There were simply a few things, after all, a girl couldn't tell her two best mates who just happened to be boys. Especially...

As if losing the Burrow wasn't bad enough, then there was Hogwarts, her favorite place in the world. Truth be told, she'd already begun dreading the necessity of leaving it behind after seventh year, and her only solace had been the discussion she'd had with Professor McGonagall, in fifth year, about possible post-graduate work as an apprentice. She'd been giddy at the very idea of continuing on at Hogwarts, though the thought of being there without Harry and Ron had been somewhat disconcerting until she began imagining them coming back to visit her there, and all the fun times they'd have again. Hermione loved being a student, and studying and researching, and working in a school and becoming a Hogwarts professor was something she'd daydreamed about for a long, long time. Now, though, it wasn't to be.

Her parents gone away, maybe forever. Hogwarts gone. The Burrow. Even Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. Harry somewhere else. Dumbledore dead. Hermione considered herself, generally, to be made of strong stuff. That which does not kill us makes us stronger, her grandmother had always said. In the past year Hermione had taken those words to heart and learned them better than any other lesson. She wouldn't allow herself to crumple and fall, regardless of what fate threw at her. She would stay on her feet, no matter what, and do her best to fight. She still would, even now, when things had gone worse than they'd ever imagined possible.

But... there was only so much she could bear alone. Sometime in the past twenty-four hours she'd passed the threshold of her own singular endurance. And she knew Ron was at the end of his, as well. They couldn't do this alone. She couldn't do this alone.

She'd been so relieved to see him standing at her door last night, just when she needed him most. It wasn't that she wasn't capable, or that she was needy and helpless. She'd do what needed to be done to get through this. But at night, when she was so tired and the world seemed full of nothing but loss... she needed him there. When she looked at him, she saw the one last thing in the world that she loved that was still there, standing beside her, unbowed. And, she did love him.

Hermione took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment and gathering her courage. Ron would always be there for her, and she for him, and that was enough about that for now.

There was nothing to read, that was the final straw. By now they should have gotten their Hogwarts letters and gone to Diagon Alley for their books. Lovely new books she could drown in, all of the exciting and rather advanced magic she'd planned on studying in her last year at Hogwarts. Actually, she'd... well, it felt horribly trivial to be thinking of this now, but... she'd kept buried in her heart of hearts the hope that she'd be named Head Girl this year. The boys and Ginny had known about her anticipation, of course, and teased her often -- she was a lock, they'd said, she was silly to worry about it so much, she must be fishing for compliments, they'd jokingly accused. She'd railed at them about that rather unfair accusation, she never fished for anything -- but they hadn't known what she'd really been hoping for. Oh, she'd wanted to be Head Girl, of course, but Hermione wasn't entirely stupid or without self-worth. She knew she had a fairly good shot; Professor McGonagall had all but said as much at the end of last year. Hermione smiled, remembering how her favorite professor had been talking to her of new events planned for the next term, just words away from flat-out stating that Hermione would be Head Girl and therefore responsible for their implementation.

Hermione didn't believe in counting one's chickens before they were hatched, so she hadn't allowed herself to assume she'd be named Head Girl... but she'd been less anxious, perhaps, than she might have been. At least on her own account, because what Hermione really hoped and wished for was that Ron would be named Head Boy. She knew his chances weren't quite as good as hers: Ron never applied himself to his schoolwork the way he should, much to her everlasting despair. But grades weren't all that mattered, and Ron had proven himself worthy in many other ways. Surely their professors would agree. So, she'd spent more than one lazy, boring summer afternoon thinking about how wonderful it would be to spend so much time together, how there was no one she'd rather work alongside in their seventh year... then, and always, really, if she was being honest with herself.

On this one issue, though, Hermione Granger was not always entirely honest with herself.

She berated herself silently for daydreaming. There was too much else to focus on, things much more important than school badges and honors. It had been a lovely daydream for some time, but -- it wasn't to be, now.

The cupboards were all finished, and the drawers. She just wanted to wipe down the counter and she'd be done.

As she wiped carefully, lifting up the toaster and an urn containing kitchen implements, she glimpsed something lurking beneath the microwave oven. She dropped the cloth she'd been using back in the sink and nudged the appliance up a bit; it wasn't heavy. A bit of parchment, it was, with writing... a letter! Her eyes quickly scanned the contents and she jolted at the name at the top -- and the signature at the bottom.

"Bill!" she cried, running into the yard. "Ron! Bill! Bill, I found--" Once outside, though, she stopped abruptly, unsure.

"Hermione, what? What's wrong?!" Ron was saying, running towards her, panicked, his face white. Bill and Neville were close behind.

She smiled and hastened to reassure them. "No, no, it's okay, I'm sorry, I just--"

Ron had reached her by then, panting and out of breath. He grabbed her and enveloped her in a huge hug, letting out a great gasp of relief. "Christ, Hermione, don't do that."

"Do what?" she said, her voice muffled by his chest. She pushed him away as gently as she could, a bit baffled.

He ran his hands over his face. "Oh, I don't know, come tearing out of the house as if someone's after you? You're right, carry on. I can't imagine why that would, you know, worry anyone unnecessarily."

"Ron, really--"

"Well, actually, Hermione, you gave me a bit of a fright there as well," Bill admitted. "But no harm done. What did you need to tell me?"

Once again she hesitated. Their yard was walled off by hedges, but there was no way to know who was on the other side. "Would you come inside?" she said finally. He nodded and she turned, leading the way back into the house.

Hermione stood by the kitchen counter. Ron slouched in just behind her, followed by Bill and Neville. She held out the parchment. "I found this. Here in the kitchen."

Bill took it and began to read. He stopped abruptly. "Where?" he asked.

"Under the microwave." She looked sheepish. "I was, you know, tidying up."

He nodded and focused on the parchment again. Hermione could feel the impatience and the tension coming off Ron in waves.

"Let me just..." Bill said, not insensitive to their anxiety. Finally, he glanced up at Ron. "It's a letter from Charlie."

"Charlie?!" Ron said, crossing to his brother eagerly, reaching for the parchment. "What does it say? Let me have it."

Bill gave him the letter. "Read it out loud."

Ron scanned the length of the page, took a deep breath, and began reading. "Dear Bill... I wish I could've stuck around long enough to see my big brother in person but..."

...I've got a bit of a schedule to keep. I'm sure you understand. I'm just starting out here in my new job and there's a lot to juggle. Good thing the boss was really great at planning ahead, eh?

So, I've made sure you've got all the supplies you'll need, as you've no doubt already discovered. It's top-notch stuff, Bill, you'll swear it's lasting you forever, practically. And I know how you hate shopping, so remember to be properly grateful.

I'm afraid I don't have a clue about what the rest of the crew is up to. I heard through the grapevine you were bringing a couple of friends of ours to stay with you; tell them hello for me, and that I hope we can all get together soon.

I'm afraid I used a bit of that special coffee you're so fond of -- the powdered kind -- so you may run out of that sooner than the rest. I can't say when (they really keep my nose to the grindstone!) but I promise I'll bring more with me the next time I come through town. So leave a light on for me, hear?

"...That's all for now, Charles."

Ron stared at the parchment a moment longer, then looked at Bill. "So he was here? Just before us?"

"Seems that way," Bill said thoughtfully. "Obviously he didn't want to say too much in case someone else found the letter."

Neville coughed. "How could... how could anyone else have gotten in here? I thought we were safe."

Hermione felt her heart race a little. She'd thought of the house as their fortress, and yet there was a possibility that someone might break in at any time?

But Bill was shaking his head. "We are. Our house keys aren't ordinary keys -- there's a special curse-breaking charm on them that lets us enter the house safely. If the doors are locked, anyone trying to get in without a key would get a nasty surprise. I should know, I built the spell."

"So why bother to write a letter like this?" Ron asked, sounding frustrated.

"What does Moody say?" Bill replied.

Hermione sighed. Point taken. "Constant vigilance. In other words, no one can get in here but us, or members of the Order. But there's no harm in being cautious."

Ron looked unconvinced. "Why? Either they could have found this place and broken in or they can't. One or the other."

"Nothing's ever simple, Ron," Bill told him tiredly. "Try looking at it this way. No one knows this place is here. No one can get in without a charmed key, or by using the safehouse Floos, in which case they'd still need a charmed key to one of them. So it's not possible. But -- what if we'd been attacked on the way here? And our attackers got hold of the key, and figured out -- somehow, I don't know how -- what it opened. Then they'd waltz in here and find Charlie's letter, and if he hadn't written it in code, possibly even more people would be in danger."

Ron was still scowling.

"Four words, Ron," Bill said. "Better safe than sorry. Most things that seem impossible are actually just improbable. We're safe now, but we weren't when Charlie wrote this letter; he took that into account when he wrote it. And that's exactly how we have to start thinking from now on."

"That was a lot more than four words," Ron muttered.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"So what does it mean?" Neville asked, sitting across the table from Bill. "Is he trying to tell us something?"

Hermione took the letter from Ron and sat next to Bill. "I think I get the gist of it," she said. He's talking about a new job; he must mean whatever he's doing for the Order now, I mean, as part of the plan."

Bill nodded. "Right. He talks about Dumbledore planning ahead... Charlie must have been put in charge of getting the safehouses ready. Or at least this one. It sounds like he had more to take care of, though."

"Yes," she agreed. "Our supplies. I've been going through everything and we've got tons of everything, though we're sure to run out of some things eventually."

"I don't think so," Bill said thoughtfully. "I think Charlie was trying to say that our food and basic necessities will self-replenish." He stood and opened the refrigerator, peering inside and shuffling a few things around. "Right... yes. There were a dozen eggs in here this morning and Neville and I ate several each. But there's a dozen again."

Hermione knew she was gawking at Bill in amazement. "Charms and charmed objects that can self-replenish are always so costly; even a Never-Fade self-inking quill costs so much more than a regular quill, and that's just a small thing. Who could afford a whole house full of replenishing supplies?"

Ron grumbled, "Incredibly wealthy families like the Malfoys have them."

"Exactly," Bill agreed. He grinned at his brother. "Remember the year Charlie and the twins and I saved up all year and got Mum Replenishing Soap? And the scent we picked out gave her the hives and she had to return it?"

Hermione was frowning. "Then how is this possible? Those things are expensive because the charms are so difficult; it's really advanced magic and takes someone with rare talent to perform the spells correctly. I'd no idea Charlie had developed such amazing skills."

"He's not bad, but I suspect someone else crafted the actual spells and he's overseeing their distribution," Bill said. "Probably... well, if I had to guess, I'd say Flitwick, to be honest, back when Dumbledore started planning all of this. It would've taken months to work out. And he had the talent."

They were silent for a moment. Hermione couldn't help but think of their diminutive Charms professor, always so encouraging and positive... No, not now, she thought ruthlessly. Later. Not now.

Ron sighed and put his hands on the back of her chair, staring at the letter over her shoulder. "He says he doesn't know where anyone else is."

"No, he wouldn't have, really," Hermione said. "He was here right at the beginning, maybe even before we left Neville's house."

"He doesn't even know I'm here," Ron mused. "What's that nonsense about coffee at the end, though?"

Bill chuckled. "That one I'm pretty sure I know -- he's talking about Floo powder, I'll bet. He might have used some to get to the next safehouse, but what he's really getting at is that our magical supplies -- things like Floo powder, potion ingredients -- won't self-replenish, obviously. He'll have to bring us more eventually. Hopefully."

"Are you sure?" Neville asked nervously.

"I'm sure. It's been a concern of mine from the beginning, how to restock the kind of magical ingredients we might need. Trust Dumbledore to have thought of it as well," Bill said respectfully. "Though it's going to have to be black market purchasing, now, and Charlie's the right bloke for that kind of work, so it fits. The joke is," he added with a bit of a grin, "if there's anything I hate, it's that powdered instant coffee crap, which Charles knows all too well. He's having a bit of fun there."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Ron. He gave her a distracted smile. She knew he was terribly glad to have heard from Charlie, but it wasn't enough. Charlie had been here yesterday; yesterday, he'd stood in this kitchen and written this letter and left it there for them to find. Yesterday he'd been okay. That was good news. But there was no way of knowing where he'd gone, or what had happened to him, since. There was no way of knowing that he was still okay today. Still safe. Still alive.

She reached up and took Ron's hand in hers, squeezing it gently. He moved closer and slid his other hand beneath her hair, rubbing her neck lightly in gratitude.

"Hermione, I was wondering if you could lend me a hand out in the yard?" Bill asked casually. "I've got some ideas about the kinds of wards and charms I'd like to put up, but I could use someone to bounce them off of, you know, sort of a second opinion."

"Of course," she said, feeling a little flattered.

"I missed breakfast," Ron said, moving aside when she stood up. "I need to get a bite to eat before I take on anything else today."

She swatted him on the arm lightly. "You had toast."

"That's not breakfast," Ron said seriously. "That's just a teaser for brunch."

Neville laughed along with her, but admitted he wouldn't mind a few extra biscuits himself.

"Fine, then," she said. "We'll be out back actually getting something done."

Ron stuck his tongue out at her.

Bill graciously held the door for her and then gestured towards the picnic table in the corner of the yard. She sat down, thoroughly relieved, truth be told, to have something useful to do.

"Hermione, just so you know, I really do want your help with setting up some wards," Bill said, sitting on the other side of the picnic table and looking a bit uncomfortable. "But... I wanted to talk to you about something else first."

"Yes?" she said, feeling herself stiffen with apprehension.

"I'm sure you've got it all taken care of, but it's my responsibility to make sure." He paused; then, with a deep breath, soldiered on. "I've got all of our magical supplies stored in my room, including potion ingredients and a cauldron. When you run out of Contraceptive Potion, everything you'll need is right there."