The Man of the Moment

Chapter Two: The Summer Guest

"So, can I come in?" the voice continued, in an authoritative manner.

"Erm... Yeah, yes, of course," Dudley stammered, shutting the door behind the guest as she waked into the living room. The entire Dursley household stared at her, Harry included, though his stare was a lot more welcoming than the others. No doubt about it, it was indeed his half-sister, on the visit she had promised just a few short hours ago. Harry wasn't too surprised at the way the Dursleys stared at her, for Persephone was a striking looking woman. She was taller than most men, and very skinny, though without the advantage of looking frail and delicate. She was almost unnaturally pale, and her long black hair, currently pinned back in a bun, emphasised this. Her face was slightly gaunt, with sharp angles and lines, and her cheeks were almost hollow, as though she had chain-smoked for twenty years. In fact, she looked very much like her father, Harry's Potions teacher, except for her nose, which was not as hooked, and her lips, which weren't as thin. The only feature that she and Harry really shared, except for black hair, were large, green eyes. Consequently, this was the only feature she had noticeably inherited from her mother. All in all, she vaguely resembled one of those Muggle fashion models that Petunia often sneered at and wondered why on earth some nutcase had decided they would make good clothes horses, when it was clear that they looked like they had just come off some class A drug.

Harry looked at her with concern, hoping she'd pick up on how dangerous it would be for her to reveal her true relation to him in front of his Aunt Marge. She gave him a small, conspiratorial wink, and Harry's mind was put a little at rest. He was still worried, however, for Persephone was, at best, a loose cannon in any situation. You could never predict exactly what she might do.

"Hello, you must be Mr. Dursley," she said, walking towards Uncle Vernon, who had hastily got up out of his chair and eyed her warily.

"And you are?" he asked. Persephone looked at him as though he were either chronically forgetful, or just stupid.

"Professor Beauchamp," she replied. "Mr. Potter's progress teacher at St. Brutus'- we had an appointment to meet today to discuss his teaching... You do remember, don't you?"

Harry had to bite his knuckles to prevent himself from laughing out loud. Uncle Vernon stared at her, slack jawed, clearly concerned as to who this woman might really be, but unable to demonstrate such concern under the watchful eye of Aunt Marge, who he had convinced for years that Harry was attending St. Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.

"Of... of course. I apologise- we're in the middle of a family gathering..."

"Oh, that's no problem, Mr. Dursley- I daresay it would be... interesting to meet some of Mr. Potter's home influences," she replied, breezily.

"Please," Uncle Vernon gestured towards the chintz sofa that Aunt Marge was occupying half of. "Do sit down, Professor. I'll just tell my wife that you've... Would you like anything to drink?"

Persephone smiled.

"A tea would be lovely, Mr. Dursley- no milk, no sugar," she replied. Uncle Vernon nodded, and practically ran into the kitchen.

Persephone settled happily into the sofa, and it struck Harry just how easily she blended into the Muggle world. She was dressed in a perfectly normal burgundy trouser suit; her perfectly normal white blouse had clearly been neatly pressed, and her perfectly normal black-heeled boots would not be out of place in any Muggle high street. This must be what it was to be a spy, to look unobtrusive no matter what the situation.

"So, Potter, have you been behaving so far? Not giving your Aunt and Uncle any grief, I hope?" Persephone said, playing up to her new role as St. Brutus' progress teacher. Harry suppressed a smirk.

"Absolutely, Professor," he replied. Aunt Marge tutted.

"That boy is a liar as well as a trouble maker," she commented. Persephone turned to face her.

"And you are?"

"Oh, Marge," she replied, holding out a huge hand. Persephone shook it, and Aunt Marge's arm was jerked up and down.

"That's a healthy handshake you've got there, Professor- you can tell a lot from a person by their handshake," Aunt Marge said, clearly stunned by Persephone's firm grip.

"Ah, well, you have to be firm in my line of work," she replied, though Harry could see she was almost transfixed by Aunt Marge's moustache.

"I'm not surprised," the moustached woman replied, patting the armrest. "With young trouble-makers like Potter here. You know, I blame the parents- there's very little nurture can do when one is so unfortunately afflicted by nature. I breed bulldogs, you see, Professor, I know what I'm talking about."

Persephone pursed her lips.

"Indeed, Marge, I'm sure you do. In fact, we simply don't know what to do with the boy- he constantly flouts school rules, is incredibly nosey, and occasionally even gets into fights at school," she remarked, winking at Harry, who knew everything she had said was true, to some extent.

"To a large extent," Steve pointed out, and Harry was briefly unnerved to learn that his savage side actually had a voice.

"Tell me, Marge," Persephone continued. Aunt Marge leaned over, as though the action demonstrated she was paying more attention.

"Yes?" she asked. Persephone smiled.

"Have you considered bleaching?" she asked, thoughtfully. Aunt Marge looked nonplussed.

"I'm not sure I follow you," she replied. Persephone pointed casually at her upper-lip.

"The moustache, dear. It is rather conspicuous..."

Aunt Marge looked speechless.

"Or maybe waxing," Persephone continued, "you know, it only hurts for a few seconds, then it's gone- like magic."

It was all Harry could do to stop himself from shrieking with hysterical laughter. He daren't look up at Persephone's poker-straight face, nor Aunt Marge's shocked one.

"Well... I'll look into it," she replied, feebly, looking at Persephone, who's facial expression appeared as though she was completely unaware that she might have said something offensive.

"Ooh, what a darling little dog!" Persephone exclaimed, changing the subject. Aunt Marge was instantly more relaxed, and stared out of the window into the back garden.

"Oh, isn't he just- my little Ripper. 'Course, he's getting on a bit now, you know..."

"I meant that one," Persephone interrupted, pointing at the little dog cuddled up next to Harry.

"Oh, that one? Oh, no, no, no- it's an awful little thing," she remarked, sniffily, "Nasty temperament, you see."

Persephone was already on her hands and knees, examining it.

"Hmm- nasty temperament, you say?" she enquired. Aunt Marge nodded.

"Yes, it's quite ferocious around me, and I've never had such problems with all the other dogs I've bred." She got up out of the sofa. "If you'll excuse me a moment, Professor- have to visit the little girls' room," she said, waddling towards the hallway.

Once she was out of earshot, Harry gently punched Persephone's arm.

"You've got some nerve," he said, sniggering. Persephone grinned.

"Admit it, you're enjoying this," she replied, swiftly. Harry smiled back at her, and then turned his attention to her examination of the little dog, who seemed perfectly happy for her to handle it.

"Hmm, this is odd... ah ha!" she announced, suddenly.

"What is it?" Harry asked. Persephone frowned.

"Well, I can tell you why this dog's got such a nasty temperament," she replied. "It's half-Crup."

"Half what?" Harry asked.

"Crup," Persephone replied. "They're a small dog-like species that are very loyal to wizards, but dislike Muggles intensely. It's very possible that one of them had a good time with your aunt's bitch... anyway, see that?" She pointed at the tail, and Harry leant forward to see what she was looking at. Persephone gently pushed her finger against the tip of the dog's tail, and he saw a tiny fork in it.

"Forked tail- the most distinctive sign of a Crup. If they're bred with normal dogs, the fork is less pronounced..."

Aunt Marge re-entered the living room, and saw Persephone stroking the little dog.

"Well, well- it seems to like you," she commented. Persephone smiled.

"Indeed he does," she replied, having worked out the gender with ease. "In fact, if you don't want him, I'd be happy to take him off your hands."

Aunt Marge considered this.

"Well, all right. Give me fifty quid for it- that's less than a fifth of what I usually charge," she replied. Harry tried to let Persephone know that she was planning to take it to the dogs' home anyway, but Uncle Vernon came in at that point, and glared at him, preventing him from speaking to Persephone without it looking too odd.

"Hmm," Persephone appeared to be doing sums in her head. "Fifty pounds, that's... there's about five pounds to the Galleon, so that's... Okay, you've got a deal!" she announced, handing over two twenty pound notes and a tenner.

Aunt Marge, took the money, but frowned.

"Galleons?" she asked. Persephone giggled.

"Oh, I'm sorry- I've been marking the childrens' History projects- I'm afraid I'm still in that old monetary mode," she replied, with a casual air that Harry instantly envied. Aunt Marge appeared satisfied with her answer. Uncle Vernon, however, most certainly wasn't. Any use of 'funny' words from anyone associated with Harry was not to be tolerated, in his book.

"Now look here, whoever you are," Uncle Vernon said, pointing at an unflustered Persephone. "You'd better have a damn good explanation... who are you?"

"I told you, I'm Professor Beauchamp," she replied, breezily.

"She's not lying, you know," Harry ventured, but was glared at by a purpling Uncle Vernon.

"Shut up, you!" he bellowed, before turning back to Persephone.

"Now, what's your name!" he bellowed in her face.

Aunt Petunia entered the room, carrying a tea tray with four cups and a plate of biscuits balancing on it.

"Vernon, what's the matter?" she asked, staring wildly at the scene in front of her.

Persephone looked unimpressed, and wafted her hand in front of her nose.

"My full name, if that's what you want to hear, is Persephone Beauchamp," she replied, airily. Uncle Vernon looked irritated.

"Well, if you're going to play games with me..."

Something interrupted him. It was a loud crash of china. Aunt Petunia has dropped the tea tray and was staring at Persephone as though she were a ghost.

"Perseph... no, no, it can't be... You're... you..."

She sank onto the floor, tea and coffee spilling over the pristine carpet, her face pale and frightened.

"Petunia, what's going on?" Aunt Marge asked, in concerned tones. Persephone was staring at Aunt Petunia with suspicion.

"That's what I'd like to know," she retorted, her steely glare still fixed on a quivering Aunt Petunia.

Uncle Vernon took charge of the situation, and grabbed his sister's arm.

"Come on, Marge, how about I take you shopping, hmm? You did want to buy that new dog kennel, if I recall..."

Aunt Marge gently loosened her arm from Uncle Vernon's vice-like grip.

"It's quite alright, Vernon- I'll go myself. I can see you've got one or two things to sort out," she replied, grabbing her walking cane and entering the hallway. Uncle Vernon brought Ripper in from the garden, put him on his lead, helped Aunt Marge into her coat, and a slam of the door indicated that she had left the house, Ripper in tow.

Dudley, who had been watching the whole scene with interest, looked concerned.

"Mum? What's the matter?" he asked, though Aunt Petunia made no reply. Eventually, she looked up at Dudley.

"Go to your room, Dudley," she replied, quietly.

"But, Mum..."

"Just do it!" Aunt Petunia shouted, and Dudley was shocked enough to obey. He shot Harry a nasty glance before he went upstairs.

Uncle Vernon stood right in front of Persephone again, though he didn't quite reach her height.

"Now," he seethed, "I for one would like to know why you've come in here, upset my wife..."

Persephone waved her hand in front of her face.

"Be quiet, Vernon," she said, brusquely, and to Harry's amazement, he obeyed her. She looked back at Aunt Petunia.

"How do you know me?" she asked, calmly. Aunt Petunia was still shaking.

"You... you died... sixteen years ago..."

Persephone laughed.

"Oh, that!" she replied, airily. "Yeah, well, I didn't stay dead, you see."

Aunt Petunia stared at her as though she were demented.

"You didn't... stay dead?" she stammered. Persephone nodded.

"That's right. It's a funny story, actually..."

Harry interrupted her.

"How do you know her?" he demanded, hotly. Aunt Petunia looked at him, furiously.

"Your mother wasn't as sweet and innocent as you'd like to believe, boy," she spat, viciously. Harry glared at her.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" he retorted. Persephone tugged gently at his sleeve.

"I think she might be referring to your mum being a gymslip mother," she replied, softly. Aunt Petunia nodded.

"My parents never found out- they believed Lily's story, that she was merely babysitting the girl for a friend's sister. But I knew the truth. She didn't try to deny it when I confronted her with it," she replied, angrily. Persephone smiled and shook her head.

"Actually, morally speaking, your sister was telling the truth- her friend's sister was my legal guardian..."

Uncle Vernon's neck muscles had gone into mild spasms.

"More freaks! Good God, Petunia, your sister was a menace!" he roared. Harry felt his stomach grow hot with anger, and was about to retort, when he realised he didn't need to. Persephone glared at Uncle Vernon.

"Oh, pipe down, you great lump," she roared back, and Uncle Vernon sat down quietly. Harry couldn't blame him- Persephone just had intimidation down to a fine art, and Harry didn't need to guess hard as to where she had learned it. Snape sprang to mind, closely followed by the Brethren of Tyr.

"I didn't come here to argue my parentage- I came here to give my half-brother his birthday present," she announced, haughtily. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia looked at each other carefully, as though they were both sharing the same thought about the evils of allowing a present for Harry to enter their house. Persephone rolled her eyes, and handed Harry a long, oblong package that was wrapped with shiny silver paper printed with dozens of number seventeens, each of which were blue in colour and danced energetically around the paper. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia looked deeply offended by the decorative effect.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," she said, as Harry took the parcel and sat down to open it.

"Thanks, Persephone," he replied. Persephone laughed.

"Hang on- you don't know what it is yet," she joked. Harry smiled at her, and cautiously unwrapped the parcel.

"It's not going to explode, you know," Persephone remarked, sitting down opposite him on the carpet. Harry cocked his head.

"Coming from you, Persephone, I expect the unexpected," he replied. Persephone seemed to find this comment most amusing.

"But, if you're expecting it, it's no longer unexpected- and then the things you were expecting before become unexpected themselves," she commented. Harry was at a loss as to what he could say to this, so he merely continued to pull the wrapping paper away from his present.

A long, slender purple leather case sat in his hands. Gingerly, he flicked open the latches and prised the lid up along its hinges. What he saw stunned him. Nestled in a protective velvet cushioning, lay possibly the finest broomstick he had ever seen.

"A Lytenbolt?" he managed to croak. Persephone beamed.

"I take it you're pleased," she teased. Harry managed to nod.

"Wow- it's amazing... Wait." He shook his head, and handed the gift back. "I can't accept this."

"Why not?" Persephone asked, her tone of voice suggesting she was a little affronted.

"They're at the prototype stage. It must've cost a fortune, I couldn't..."

Persephone threw her head back and laughed.

"Oh, don't worry about that!" she exclaimed. "I told you a while ago; Viktor has sponsorship from Nimbus Incorporated. I just got him to pull a few strings, you know. So there's no need to feel guilty." She pushed the broom back into his hand, and Harry's guilt lifted.

"It's not every day you come of age, you know," Persephone said, patting Harry gently on the arm. He placed his hand over hers for a brief moment.

"Thanks," he replied, looking at her. She shrugged off his earnest gaze.

"Just remember- you're a dead man if you forget my birthday," she joked, nudging him in his side with her elbow. He offered her a mock salute in return.

Uncle Vernon was eyeing the broomstick as though it might leap up and bite him on the nose.

"What... what on earth is that?" he demanded, looking purple in the face and rather offended by the whole ordeal. Persephone tutted.

"It's a broomstick- I'm sure even you can see that, Vernon," she replied, in an 'everyone knows this' way. Uncle Vernon looked doubly offended by her casual use of his first name.

"We use them to fly on- this model in particular is quite exquisite. I suppose the Muggle equivalent might well be a motorbike, or perhaps a car of some sort," Persephone explained, though her efforts were in vain, as both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia looked grossly affronted by her words.

"Just go and take it upstairs, boy," Aunt Petunia instructed, waving her hands at the broomstick as though she were trying to shoo it away. Harry obeyed her and took the parcel upstairs, hearing Persephone complain, "He has a name, you know- only two syllables, it's not hard to remember," as he entered his bedroom. A slam, followed by a hammering of heavy footsteps suggested to Harry that Dudley had got bored with waiting around in his room.

Harry hastily packed his broomstick and its casing away in one of the compartments in his new trunk, endeavouring to get downstairs before Dudley caused any real trouble with Persephone and found himself pinned to the ceiling with a well-aimed hex. Not that he'd have minded Dudley enduring such shame, Steve reminded him, but Harry shook away any savage thoughts he may have, and concentrated on Persephone causing as little aggravation for herself as possible.

By the time he got downstairs, precious little had happened, except that Aunt Petunia had her arms wrapped protectively around Dudley, and Persephone was staring at her with indignation.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, what do you think I'm going to do? Put him in my cauldron and season him with salt and pepper? Honestly." She shook her head in dismay. "I've met some odd Muggles in my time, but you lot... never mind taking the biscuit, you lot take the whole Family Selection box!"

"Persephone," Harry found himself saying, "don't worry about them- they're always like this."

She shrugged.

"I suppose it's better than them trusting every single witch or wizard they meet, especially with things being as they are now," she replied, calmly. Aunt Petunia visibly bristled at this.

"Th... things as they are now?" she stammered. Persephone leaned her head towards Harry's ear.

"Does she know? About Voldemort and everything?" she asked, surreptitiously. Harry nodded.

"She's got an idea," he replied. Persephone nodded at Aunt Petunia.

"Yes, dark times- are you with me?"

Aunt Petunia nodded, numbly. Persephone gave her a grim smile, and then clapped her hands.

"Let's not talk about all that now," she announced, briskly, walking towards a slightly trembling Aunt Petunia.

"Would you like a hand? I reckon we could all do with a good brew," she suggested. Aunt Petunia seemed even more offended by this remark.

"If you don't mind..."

A loud crash interrupted her words, followed by a sudden rush of cold air, and they all turned to face the direction of the noise.

"Repairo!" a voice commanded, and Harry saw through the open door to the hallway that their front door was being joined back onto its hinges by a figure backing into the living room. The figure turned around, and Harry was almost winded with shock at the sight that greeted him. Alex Ridley was standing in their living room, panting a little from exertion. Her curly black hair was pushed back from her face with a hair-band, almost hiding the deep red streaks from view. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, and wiped that hand on the front of her black vest top. Harry could clearly see, emblazoned on both of her upper arms, the tattoo of a roaring sun bound by chains.

"Sorry, guys," she said, glancing at the Dursleys, and at Harry, before glancing up at Persephone's amused expression.

"You know, Al- most people would just knock," she quipped. Alex did not take her piercing gaze off Persephone.

"No time, Perce," she explained. "I've got a job for you," she announced. Aunt Petunia looked ashen.

"Where did you come from?" she asked, fearfully. Alex ignored her completely, whilst Persephone's demeanour quickly became rather business-like.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Severus contacted me," Alex explained. "There's a Death Eater attack planned for," she looked at her watch- "about ten minutes from now. Standard infiltrate and attack from within should cover it." She threw a bundle of black fabric at Persephone, who caught it deftly, and began shaking a white mask free from the folds of material. Harry shuddered as he realised where he had seen them before- they were the masks that Voldemort's Death Eaters wore.

"Put those on," she instructed, and Harry watched as the two women began to fasten great black cloaks over their attire. Persephone picked up the white mask from the floor and looked at it with distaste.

"Where do we need to go?" she asked. Alex shrugged.

"Still waiting to hear from Severus," she replied, tapping what looked like a black leather wallet.

"What's that, Alex?" Harry found himself asking before he could stop himself. Alex eyed him critically for a moment, and then her gaze softened.

"Oh, it's... well, it hasn't got a name yet. Faith came up with it- you can carry it around with you, and other witches or wizards can contact you through it. I suppose it's a portable version of our trusty Cup Communication Devices," she replied. Harry was instantly reminded of Persephone's vile yellow mug that had the words 'Professors do it whilst demonstrating to a class of twenty' printed onto it. No wonder it never left her desk- that had been how she had kept in touch with the Brethren whilst teaching in Hogwarts!

"I think she got the idea from those Muggle pagers," Persephone added. "You know, those little black boxes that you can pin onto your belt, that beep when someone sends you a message?"

Harry nodded.

"Yeah, I know the ones," he replied, staring at the wallet. It didn't look particularly special...

"Hang on- Faith invented it?" he asked, suddenly. The first, and last, time he'd met Faith, she was absolutely out of her tree. She had tortured Snape and hurt Draco (which Harry felt he owed her for), kidnapped Ron and Hermione (which Harry felt cancelled out his previous debt), and seemed in no fit state to invent anything.

"She may be mad, Harry, but she no less of a genius because of it," Alex replied.

"It doesn't look like much," Harry commented, then instantly wished he hadn't, figuring it was a rather rude thing to say to someone he knew for a fact carried two wands and a hefty sword at all times.

"Ah- I've transfigured it to resemble a Muggle wallet. When I'm in the wizarding world, it looks like a money pouch," Alex explained, as she tucked it away into her robes. She looked up at Harry and, most likely upon seeing his nervous expression, started to laugh raucously.

"Calm down, lad, anyone would think I was about to disembowel you!" she said, clapping Harry on the back. He smiled weakly, and had just recollected the moment when Alex Ridley threatened to do just that to the previous Minister for Magic, when he was distracted by what sounded like an almighty explosion. He instinctively ducked, then noticed the noise was emanating from Alex's left hip.

"What the Devil was that!" Uncle Vernon bellowed, whilst Dudley sat by, looking rather terrified of the whole situation. Alex rolled her eyes, and felt between the heavy black robes on her person, and fished out that black wallet, which was now shaking violently in her hands. She tapped it with her wand, and the wallet began to unfold... and unfold, and unfold, until it was the size of a Muggle magazine. The features of the wallet began to dissolve away, and were replaced by a black, shiny substance- it could have been satin, except it was too thick and not nearly flexible enough. Harry watched with curiosity as grains of golden coloured sand began to trickle from the top of the black substance to the bottom, and formed words as they fell. He tried to crane his neck to see what was being written, but Alex saved him the trouble.

"Right, Perce, you listening?" Alex asked. Persephone nodded, Death Eater mask in hand. Alex cleared her throat.

"It's from Severus," she announced. "He says that he, Rookwood and Macnair are heading out there to do the deed in five minutes. We should tag onto the back of the group, and knock out Crabbe and Goyle, who are bringing up the rear- I'm supposing you're tall enough to pass for Goyle, and with my cloak adding some bulk, I'm average enough to take Crabbe's place. Besides, the others aren't likely to check- if they do, say you went on a diet, or something. Severus is going to try and lure them away from the Muggles, and we're going to get them out- if we have to dismember a couple of Death Eaters on the way..." She shrugged to show her indifference to the suggestion. Persephone nodded curtly, which Harry assumed meant she understood the instructions.

"Right, where do we have to go?" she asked. Alex's eyes flicked across as she read down the black block.

"Number Sixteen, Primrose Terrace, Ludlow, Shropshire..."

Harry felt as though his heart was slowly filling with molten lead. His hands began to shake a little, but he found a voice he was sure he had lost somewhere between the words 'Primrose' and 'Terrace'.

"Th... That's Hermione's address!" he said quietly, although it sounded far too loud in his head. Persephone grimaced, and clicked her mask into place over her head. The image was not a pleasant one.

"It's all right, Harry- we'll make sure they're okay," she said, through the slit of the mask that covered her mouth. Alex nodded as she put on her own mask.

"Look, I knew her parents- believe me, I won't let what happened to mine happen to hers. Nor will I let what happened to me happen to Hermione," she replied, briskly, as the two of them checked their clothing.

"Passable?" Alex asked. Persephone nodded.

"Passable- let's go," she replied, before turning to face Harry.

"We'll get her out of there," she affirmed, before both she and Alex apparated away with a small pop.

Harry sank to the floor and wrapped his arms around his knees. He wished he could be out there, helping them, doing something. He hated the idea of being stuck at number four Privet Drive while Hermione was in danger, and felt frustrated, angry, helpless and guilty all at once. Was this simply an attack on Muggles who had born magical children? Or was this because she was his friend? If only he could get his hands on them... He ought to let Ron know, at least... or should he just wait? He didn't want to get Ron all worked up, for as much as Ron denied it, he cared for Hermione almost as though she were another younger sister of his, and Harry had a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach that, should Ron find out what was happening at Hermione's house, he would go there himself, wand in hand, to try and save her from harm... No, best not to contact Ron, at least not until Persephone or Alex were able to shed some light on the whole situation.

"What's the matter? Your girlfriend in trouble?" Dudley teased, maliciously. Harry jumped up and stormed over to him, pointing his wand in the large boy's face.

"Just shut your mouth!" Harry shouted, and he felt the words ring in his own ears. The grin on Dudley's face wiped away in an instant, and he stared at Harry in fear.

"All right, all right," he whispered, folding his arms.

"Who is Hermione?" Aunt Petunia asked, suddenly. Harry was so stunned by the gentleness in her voice that he struggled to answer for a few seconds.

"She's... she's one of my best friends," he replied, "the cleverest witch in our school, and a Muggle-born..." He trailed off, noticing the ugly grimace on Uncle Vernon's face.

"Thank goodness Marge isn't hear at the moment, having to listen to all this rot..."

"It's not rot!" Harry retorted, hotly. Aunt Petunia looked up at him.

"She's Muggle-born?" she asked, quietly. Harry nodded.

"Yeah. A witch born of two Muggles," he replied, sadly. "It's probably why the Death Eaters are..." He daren't finish the words- he didn't want to even think about what might be happening. Aunt Petunia was looking steadfastly at the floor.

"Like your mother was," she half-asked, half-stated. Harry could only nod. Aunt Petunia merely nodded, and said no more, though her expression was altogether softer than Harry had ever seen it before.

Uncle Vernon got up out of his chair and began to pace the room angrily.

"Muggles! Wizards! Death Eaters! This is all nonsense..."

"It's happening, and one of my friends could get killed!" Harry shouted back, the mere though of what could befall Hermione making him feel quite nauseous. Uncle Vernon turned on him.

"This is my 'effing house!" he bellowed, "and I say this rubbish isn't happening!"

Harry stood mere inches from Uncle Vernon's face, and glared at him with loathing.

"Oh, good! Then I suppose Hermione's completely safe, now you've cleared that up!" he yelled back.

Aunt Petunia was still looking at the floor.

"Vernon, please just sit down," she said, quietly. Uncle Vernon's face paled at this. He stared at Aunt Petunia for a few moments, as though he had imagined her words, and then walked towards the hallway.

"Where are you going?" Aunt Petunia called after him.

"I'm going out," he announced, gruffly, as he put his coat on. The door slammed violently.

Dudley looked at the hallway in horror, and then jumped up out of his seat as well.

"Dudley, sweetheart..." Aunt Petunia began, but Dudley glared at her.

"I'm going to see if Dad's okay!" he retorted, before exiting the house in much the same manner, leaving just Harry and Aunt Petunia sitting on the floor of the living-room.

"Aunt Petunia..." Harry began, but was silenced by just one look from said woman, who was twisting the fibres of the shag-pile carpet between her fingers.

"Don't. Just don't," she said, very quietly, her lips having gone so thin, they were almost non-existent. Harry sighed, and stared out of the window overlooking the front garden. He didn't really understand why Aunt Petunia had been so affected by all of this, but he knew the danger he had spoken of had triggered something in his aunt. Right now, though, he knew the only real thought that was currently taking any form that made sense to him right now was that of Hermione- if she was alright, if the Grangers were okay as well, or...

He didn't want to consider the 'or'.