The Ransom of Albus Dumbledore

Hermione got off the bus a convenient block from the location written on Dumbledore's list. She'd gone home and put on her mother's primmest outfit, the navy-blue one, the one she wore to dental conventions, the one that said "Yes, I am a real dentist, not one of your cutesy assistants--and not, heaven forbid, one of those power-suited sales representatives." A pair of Mum's support hose, "sensible" shoes, a shoulder bag, and the Bag of Holding completed her outfit.

She strolled up the curving road, thinking about the choice she had made. She was both heartened and chagrinned by Sirius's offer of help. It came back to her how impetuous and self-centered she remembered him to be, always thinking he had all the answers and never pondering the consequences his actions might hold.

She told him about her meeting with Scrimgeour and was forced to admit that not being able to use her wand would pose something of a problem. If she was even once caught defying that decree, their adventure would be over all too quickly. For the time being, she would have to rely on him to do any necessary legerdemain.

As for her interview with the headmaster's brother, he could only add that the relationship between Albus and Aberforth had always seemed rather of the love-hate variety. The Marauders had, by fourth year, made the Boar's Head their hangout of choice, having been warned against it by most of the adults they knew. They had, by one means or another, managed to eavesdrop on more than one of the Headmaster's visitations. It always started out genially enough, but, as the ale flowed, deteriorated into a sort of civilized brawl, with Aberforth making veiled accusations about some event or events long past, and Albus, sighing and staring into his drink. Then, a few moments later, things would clear up with Aberforth once again agreeing to go off on an expedition to find some rare artifact Albus had read about. Yes, there was definitely been something dark between them.

She'd read over the first obligation on the Headmaster's list at least a dozen times:

Sv Mggl-brn chldrn fr D.E.s.

Two lists of names and locations, each headed by a date, followed it. She and Sirius had decided that the dates were presumably attack dates. And it became quickly obvious why there were only two dates for so many names. Four of the children lived together on one street and three lived on another, though the lists didn't give specific addresses.

It was so like Voldemort's followers to try to root out all the young Muggle-borns who were polluting their ideal magical world. Hermione wondered briefly how Dumbledore had known about the attacks. Likely he had one or more moles in the organization. Professor Snape came to mind, Snape who, when push came to shove, had chosen to betray his mentor, the man who'd taught him, given him a job, and shielded him from criticism, from arrest and imprisonment. No, of course the information couldn't have come from Snape. Perhaps the Headmaster had used Veritaserum on some of those Death Eaters they still had locked up in Azkaban prison.

The two neighborhoods they'd have to visit were a long distance apart. Hermione had never been to either, so she made herself familiar with bus routes and Tube schedules and arranged to meet Sirius near the first address, Daisy Terrace, in an old farming district west of London. As a spirit, he apparently could travel anywhere instantaneously, and Death had promised to provide his daily cover, so she wouldn't have to carry a mirror around. She wondered without much hope if some of his avatars might actually be physically useful.

She took a surreptitious swig of the Veterinaritaserum and walked up a rise on what looked to be a newly-paved roadway. There were no trees or bushes or grass anywhere, only bare, empty ground. It looks like a road to nowhere, she thought. But around a curve, it ended with three very new houses on greensward, spaced evenly about a circular parking pad. Each was unique. One looked very like a farmhouse of the old style with two storeys and a mansard roof. The second was an assymetrical ranch-type with a jutting wing. The third reminded her of a chalet she'd seen once on a trip to Switzerland.

Nearby on the unimproved, weedy ground was a small mustard yellow trailer with the words HEFFLEHOFFER BROS., LTD. on its side. And parked randomly about a huge mound of construction detritus were some earth moving vehicles--dump trucks and the like-- all the same yellow color.

She watched in the shade of a monstrous claw-and-scoop machine as a young, dark-haired woman in the door of the farmhouse waved to another woman who was down by the curb retrieving the post. Inside one of the houses a baby wailed. In two days, Death Eaters would destroy these people. And the area was so isolated and exposed. There would be no help for them and nowhere to hide.

"Need help?" squeaked a voice around the region of her ankles. She looked down. There sat a tiny white poodle with a pink bow in its tufted topknot and a glittering, sequined collar around its finger-thick neck. It looked like one of those dogs that perform in circuses with cockatiels and miniature horses.

"Sirius?" she asked, in what she hoped was a casual voice.

"Yep!" yipped the little dog.

She stifled a grin and the urge to reach down and pet it. Lord Death did indeed have a sense of humor, though not much practical sense. She squatted down. "Nice one," she said, looking into the very life-like eyes.

"Yip-yip! Thanks for not laughing."

"It is a bit different from your usual. Where did you get such a cute--erm, I mean clean--erm--corpse?"

"Grrr--actually it--that is, he--was stuffed. Madam Smythe-Hollins, bookkeeper and dog-trainer extraordinaire for Sibley's Traveling Show, died yesterday, and when Death made his visit, he saw Popsie, her first major success, stuffed and posed in grand style on the mantelpiece. It took a bit of shaking and un-stuffing to get him into shape, but it works." He pranced about, wagging the doggy-star's bit of a tail. "It's no 'Snuffles' but it'll do." But he didn't sound very convincing and added ruefully. "At least there's no odeur of decay."

"True," said Hermione, fanning herself with her hand, "only formalin." She stood up and turned about. "How do you like my disguise? Since I've got to win these people's confidence fast, I thought I'd go in as some kind of official survey-taker."

"Wowrf!You need to be older. They'll never believe anything you say, looking like a school girl."

She rummaged through the satchel and took out a small vial. "A little of the twins' Aging Potion should do the trick." She took a long pull and waited. Now she staggered backwards, trying to focus. She had 'floaters' in her eyes, which no amount of blinking would clear. And a pronounced tinnitus in her left ear. And nagging back pain.

"Oh," she gasped. "I think I went a bit too far. I feel like I'm a hundred."

The poodle sniffed at her ankles. "Ruff! Nope, you smell more like fifty-five, a most trustworthy age. I like the outfit. What kind of survey-taker are you going to be?"

"Someone no young mother can resist--a Board of Ed rep. I just need one prop." She took a clipboard and pen from the satchel then hid it inside the scooper part of the big earth mover. "You stay here and guard this. It's very important that no Muggle should get a hold of it."

Sirius started to growl. It quickly deteriorated into a series of yips.

"No offense intended," she continued, "but I think I'd better take care of this first one by myself."

"What if you get in trouble?"

"I'll manage." She patted her shoulder bag. "I have my wand. And besides, how would I explain bringing a small toy animal along on my job?"

"Well--"

"It's no use, Sirius. Anyway, it's not as if we're going to actually find a Death Eater in one of those houses. And even if there was, what earthly good could you be to me?"

Now she strode gamely up the driveway to the first house, noting the name THE WAGGONNERS on the post box, her canine companion forgotten. She was pleased with herself. She had been firm, but kind. He would wait patiently out by the dump with the satchel, where she could meet him to discuss the results of her interviews and decide what, if any, information they could use to form a plausible story to get those folks to evacuate.

She hadn't told Sirius that she had no idea how she was going to convince these people to leave their houses. She was hoping to get a clue as she talked to them. She wondered what had gotten into her? She never did things without a coherent plan, and had often chided Harry and Ron--especially Ron--for poor planning in some of their escapades. She had a sudden pang. What would Ron be doing right now? Was he thinking about her? Would he approve of what she was doing? He would certainly have been more of a help than Sirius. At least she knew his thought processes and could control him to a certain extent. Now she felt even more keenly the difficulty of this problem she had to solve, and Popsie the Poodle was certainly an unknown quantity in the equation.

~*~

Hermione rang the doorbell of the first house.

The young woman whom she had seen waving answered the door. She had a pleasant, open face and her short, black hair sat smoothly, like a cap, on her head. Hermione introduced herself as a census-taker for URBORED: the United Regional Board of Reorganisation, Education Division.

"They're changing the district boundaries again," she explained. "We're taking a head-count of area children, and answering constituents' questions."

A small face appeared at the door between the woman's hip and hand. Polly Waggonner was pleased to introduce herself and her daughter Susanna, her only child. The face looked the visitor up and down. Something at Hermione's feet caused it to split into a wide grin.

"That your dog?" asked Polly brightly.

It was Sirius backing up alongside her left shoe. He had one handle of the satchel in his mouth,and was dragging it along defiantly. When he realized he had an audience, he let go the handle, looked around at them all, and gave a single interrogatory "Yip?"

"Oh," said Hermione, hiding her irritation. "I forgot. This is--um--Piddles." She hoped Sirius would wince at the word. "I had to bring him along as I'm--erm--pet-sitting my neighbor's cat. They don't get along at all."

Susanna tugged at her mother's pants-leg and looked up, as if to say, Please, please, mum, can I play with him? Please?

"Oh, do bring him inside," said Polly. "He looks well-behaved, and we're quite used to animals."

"He's--um--not house trained."

Piddles, true to his name, walked over to a growth of plantain, lifted a leg, and watered it long and expertly.

How'd he do that? Hermione wondered. There can't be room for a bladder in there.

"Looks like he'll be empty for a bit," said Polly smiling. "Please come in, the both of you."

Hermione picked up the satchel and Sirius/Piddles followed them all into a cool, pleasant sitting room. It had a large arched doorway leading into a dining room. Hermione commented on the different styles of the houses.

"My sisters live in the other two," said Polly. "And we all have very different tastes, as you can see."

"So how did you come to live together like this?" Hermione asked.

"This property was part of my parents' farm. Dad willed it to us. We decided it would be nice to live together--for a while anyway. So we kept this bit of property and sold several parcels off to get money for the construction. My great-aunt Gaga still lives in the farmhouse--down in the valley there." She gestured out a window in the dining room.

The phone rang and Polly went through the dining room into the kitchen, tossing a "make yourself comfortable," over her shoulder. Hermione followed her as far as the dining room window, noting the table already set for tea, with a small plate of tarts and other treats, and another with tiny sandwiches, and two place settings. She pretended to stare out the window at an angle convenient to observing Susanna, who must be the incipient witchling of this household, and as such, marked for destruction. The list was specific: it was 'chldrn' who were marked for execution, not just 'pple' or even 'adlts', though doubtless the Death Eaters would not stick at wiping out whole families to reach their goal of purifying the Wizarding population.

She turned her attention to the valley outside. On this side she could see that the house was built on a high hill and the panorama was magnificent and extensive. But that meant the houses too were highly visible from this side. She guessed that the Death Eaters would have to approach stealthily and not perform any major pyrotechnics in their attack--unless they were feeling so confident that they no longer feared repercussions from the Ministry or the Muggle police. She could see a house in the trees down in a hollow, and a bit of smoke wafting up from a chimney, even though it was summer. That must be the farmhouse Polly mentioned, where her aunt lived.

A movement in the far corner of the sitting room interrupted her survey. Little Susanna had cornered Piddles neatly and was talking to him. Her head, haloed in fine reddish hair, bobbed about in animation. Hermione wondered parenthetically if Ron's hair had looked like that when he was just a little thing. She could only catch a few words of what Susanna was saying, but Piddles was evidently enjoying the conversation because his tiny tail wagged incessantly, and at one point he stood up on his hind legs and walked about briefly. Susanna clapped chubby hands in glee and nodded her head.

"Good Piddie," Hermione heard her say. "Want goodie?"

She turned and took a long look at Hermione, who had shifted her gaze back out the window, but could still manage a glance at the child out of the corner of her eye. Satisfied that this old lady was engrossed in the lawn outside, the child pointed at the dining room table. Suddenly a tart fell off the serving tray. It inched jerkily across the nappy tablecloth and flew to her hand. She broke off a piece and threw it to her doggie friend. Then, with a giggle, she stuffed the rest into her mouth.

Clever girl, thought Hermione, remembering her own childhood experiments with her powers. Not everyone could actually control their wandless wishes at this age. As a small child, Hermione had taken it for granted that everyone could Summon treats and Silence barking dogs, but by the time she was five, she had figured out that hers was a rather unusual talent. At six, after almost causing heart-failure in a maiden aunt for whom she demonstrated her new trick of walking on the ceiling, she decided that showing off like that was a definite no-no, even though the aunt had a reputation for sneaking sips of whisky from a 'medicine bottle' she carried in her purse. Susanna obviously knew that pilfering sweets was against the rules, but did she yet know that using magic to do it could cause conniptions in the 'normal' folks around her? It would seem so, given her stealth.

Polly entered with the tea tray laughing. "Those contractors. They've always got some excuse or other for not finishing up. They were supposed to come out today and clear up that mess outside and plant grass on the embankment. " She pointed at the dump Hermione had hidden behind earlier. "Well, Mrs. Hefflehoffer just called and postponed. Something about her astrologer saying it was not an auspicious time. I'm not saying the occult doesn't have its place, but it sounds like a pretty lame excuse to me."

Polly set a place for Miss Granger and called Susanna to her and they all sat together at the dining room table. Hermione could see the little girl surreptitiously sneaking crumbs to 'Piddie' on the floor. Between bites and sips of tea, she asked what she hoped were convincing questions about the Waggoners' educational preferences, Susanna's aptitudes, and the like. Polly had been a teaching assistant herself, and was up on some of the latest instructional methods.

"And your sisters," Hermione queried, "Do they agree with your views on phonics-based reading?"

"Oh, Deanna--Lord love her--hasn't a practical brain-cell in her head. And Mary is so busy with her travel-agency, working out of her home--she's divorced, you know--she hardly has time to think about anything not directly related to keeping a roof over their heads."

"But she's getting some support, isn't she--from her husband?"

"Yes, but the split was so messy, she doesn't like to take anything from him--won't let him come round. Visitation rights haven't been established--she says he's a perv--oh I'm sorry--but he's not. Just can't seem to stay faithful. He hurt her pretty bad."

Hermione was a little embarrassed at the young woman's frankness and hastened to deflect the subject. "I thought I heard a baby crying as I was coming up your driveway."

"That'll be the twins. My youngest sister's--Deanna's boys. They're about six months now. They're such a cute pair."

"Twins can be so engaging."

"They're going to be little devils when they grow up. Sometimes when they look at each other, I could swear they're cooking something up together. Their dad's away a lot. He's with the government. A lot of hush-hush, you know. But Deanna's up for it. And she has us to help out…"

"You said your great-aunt lives in one of the farmhouses in the valley. I did see one out the window with smoke coming out of the chimney--"

"Oh, yes, that would be Gaga. She's a little funny in the head. Always has been. She says she can do magic. And sometimes she even had us kids believing her."

That was a possible explanation for the children's magical abilities. If Gaga was a low level witch--a hag or some such--

Polly brought up a question on the general educational policies of the current government, which Hermione was up on. Like Dumbledore, she felt that keeping current with Muggle news was every bit as important as subscribing to The Daily Prophet. Polly ended the interview pleasantly with "It's time for Susanna-girl's nap, and you've your interviews to complete, Miss Granger, before your driver picks you up."

"Yes," said Hermione, gathering up her things. "next door is your sister--"

"Mary."

"The one who's divorced."

"Yes. She's a little prickly, you know, and--"

"She has just one child?"

"Naomi. She turned ten yesterday."

Polly looked down. Her daughter was pulling at her pants-leg again and now lisped into it, "C'n the doggie stay wif us while the lady goes to Aunt Mary's?"

~*~

Her visit with Mary Parr was short. Mum was sullen and curt, but daughter Naomi was highly entertained by the lady with the dog, as if it was all a show for her benefit--which it was of course, but in deadly earnest. And Hermione got a full dose of a ten-year-old personality in full flight. While the adults talked on either side of a closed screened door, Naomi danced in the background about the tile floor, opened the coat-closet and hung from the hanger bar, then slid up and down the hallway in her socks. This one's a candidate for the Quidditch team, thought Hermione. Her mother ignored the stifled shrieks and thuds, as if she was used to it. Hermione tried and failed to imagine what it would be like to try to run a phone business as complex as a travel agency with such heady distractions all about.

Her friend Harry had started out like this, sunny and trusting and gung-ho, despite his unpleasant upbringing. But after the death of Sirius, who was his godfather, he had spent a lot of time in the black hole of teenage depression. She wondered if Naomi would succumb eventually to the pull of her mother's darker nature. She hoped not. She would receive her invitation to Hogwarts in just a year--if all went well.

~*~

She stepped from there into the bubbly presence of Deanna Maturano. This youngest sister was very busy with her twins, changing their nappies right there in the den while they chatted. Sirius/Piddles curled up politely in front of them, and pretended to go to sleep. Deanna explained that her husband was away for a week, and as she prattled on, Hermione realized the young mother was desperate for some adult company. But Deanna was not much interested in the finer points of the National Educational Syllabus and kept getting off the subject.

"Do they teach Creationism? I've never been a very spiritual person myself, but I would like the boys to get the whole picture, if you know what I mean. A person should be spiritual, don't you think? My husband's half Jewish His family's from Spain--what do you call 'em?"

"Sephardic Jews, I think," opined Hermione.

"They have some interesting ideas. I read this book about the Moors and cabals and such. Talk about bizarre." A noise from the kitchen interrupted her. She left the babies sitting up with Hermione, who played with them a bit, letting them try to grab her fingers. They really were darling--fuzzy little bald people with big brown eyes. And they did seem to look at each other with a knowing glint in their eyes, like Polly said. It reminded her of another pair of twins she knew…

Deanna returned, still talking. "You know, I really think this house is haunted," she breathed. "I mean things keep moving around. I'm sure I didn't take any baby bottles out of the fridge, but there they were on the kitchen table again."

"Does it happen much?"

"At least once a day. Steve says I need to get out more, but honestly! No there's something weird going on. Maybe I should ask Gaga about it. She'd know what to do."

"That would be your great aunt, wouldn't it? Polly mentioned her."

"Yes, she was such fun when we were kids. She'd visit all the time. Her stories were the greatest ever."

"Mmm…sounds interesting."

"Oh, yes. She has such an imagination. She told us about witch burnings, where one old lady escaped by freezing the flames of her own pyre, and this great evil wizard who hates non-magical folk and goes around trying to off them. But my favorite is the one about this whole other world of magical creatures living right alongside us, only we can't see them because they disguise themselves with spells and such. Isn't that a riot?" She tittered. "But I really do think we have a poltergeist or something in here."

Poltergeist. And a haunted house. Hermione began to see possibilities in these loaded words. The outline of a plan began to form in her mind. Could it work? It was the only decent idea that had presented itself all afternoon. I'll go with it, she thought. I only hope Sirius will agree with me.

Her father once told her, when she was going on about Hagrid's boring Flobberworm lessons, that every experience, every bit of knowledge, every mistake even, had its value; a person just had to tuck it away until it would be needed. She tried to think how to introduce the idea of a seance into her conversation with Deanna. Her only experience with the Beyond consisted in a nodding acquaintance with the castle ghosts and--oh yes--her days in Divination with the odious Sibyll Trelawney. Perhaps Dad is right. Perhaps, Sir Nick's Death-Day party and Peeves' torments and Trelawney's tea-leaves can be of some earthly use to me now. She concentrated on memories of Sibyll, her innumerable scarves and beads flapping about, her twitchy, flitty hands, her myopic squint behind huge convex spectacles. Yes, yes, that'll work. She took a deep breath and let fly.

"Oh, you know, my dear," she twittered in what she hoped was an appropriately distracted voice, "I did detect some rather disturbing vibrations as I entered. And I see now the aura of your kitchen is quite dark and this room positively shivers with destructive emotion."

"Ooh, are you a Sensitive?"gushed Deanna, "I've read about those too."

Time to put on the hauteur of the unfairly trivialized. "Well, I like to think I have some small talent in making contact with the astral plane." Now a touch of humility. "But I am merely an amateur--though gifted in a small way--as my friends in the Theosophical Society are always telling me. I do Read a bit, you know--palms, tea-leaves and the like..."

"Do you ever do séances?" Deanna coaxed her into admitting that, yes, she was a medium and yes, she had done some rather good work, if she did say so herself, helping a friend who had been violently murdered to Pass Over and rousting out an overexuberant spirit or two for grateful relatives. Then she pouted that Deanna was her last interview of the day, and she would have to wait two hours in the hot sun for her ride. Deanna took the bait--why not beguile the time with an impromptu seance and see if they could communicate with whatever ethereal essence was plaguing her house? Hermione acquiesced graciously. Excitedly Deanna rang up her sisters to invite them to join in the adventure. Then she put the twins down for their nap.

While Deanna prepared tea, Hermione used the toilet. Sirius followed her in and said he had a pretty good idea where she was headed.

"I can do a couple of wandless spells," he said, "but only the most basic--Leviosas and such."

"That's fine," she said. "The Ministry must know about these children, so hopefully they won't be suspicious if they detect some minor magic in the area."

Hermione sent him to entertain Deanna in the kitchen while she searched for information on possible 'spiritual contacts'.

She eased herself into a small office next to the bathroom. Quickly she found what she was looking for in a file drawer: the deed to the house and grounds and the names of the sisters' deceased parents.

The guests arrived shortly. Polly, who was carrying a pink-cheeked Susanna, seemed mildly interested. Susanna was at first bewildered by the whole affair, having just woken from her nap, until she saw 'Piddie' cavorting about, and she leaped on him. He squirmed in her arms and licked her face. Hermione couldn't tell if he was enjoying it or not, but she hoped Susanna wouldn't try to take him off to another room to have him all to herself.

Mary looked put-upon. She had obviously been pestered into coming by Naomi, who confided to Aunt Deanna that she'd listened in on the conversation on the upstairs phone. The ten-year-old had also insisted on bringing her leftover birthday cake to share.

Tea promised to be an elegant affair; Deanna, for all her fluffiness, had a real talent for decorating. The dining room, she explained, was meant to evoke a sense of grandeur in the style of Le Roi Soleil. She had managed that with polished imitation-period furniture, satin wallpaper, and matching giltwood mirrors at each end of the room. She led Hermione with a kind of reverence to the head of the table. Hermione caught her breath, gazing into the rectangular looking glass behind it. It was most unusual, a definite period-piece with a second rounded triangle of glass above it in an ornate, curlicued frame like an arch over a door.

And the mirror did for a moment seem like a doorway to Hermione. As a child, she had been enthralled by the effect of two mirrors placed directly opposite each other, with their endless, concentric reflections, receding back, back, back to a tiny point. In each of Deanna's handsome glasses, the gold-painted, rococo frames, thus multiplied, resembled the support beams of some fantastic tunnel, like an entrance to Ali Baba's cave of riches or the Elysian Fields. And Hermione's reflection made a sentinel at each rib like a guide to the Afterlife, beckoning others to join her for a heady adventure into that endless cavern. She wondered briefly if Sirius' spirit encountered such enticing pathways in his journeys to and from Death's abode.

Naomi broke the spell as she charged in, her mother barely hanging onto her shoulder. The child yelped with glee and made a dash for the seat next to Hermione, but Mary grabbed her hand and led her to the opposite end of the table, as far as possible from this probable charlatan. Hermione took her own seat with some misgivings. Would Mary behave herself? She thought she would, if only for the sake of the children.

Polly and Susanna sat together on her left with Piddles at their feet, and Deanna served them all from the spot closest to the kitchen door, befitting her role as hostess-cum-servant. Susanna made sure her doggie friend was not left out, 'accidentally' dropping bits of bread and biscuit into her lap and periodically brushing them off in what she imagined was a ladylike way. Piddles did his duty and kept the carpet about her feet immaculate with delicate pawings and lickings.

Conversation rolled easily among topics as diverse as the price of wheat (the sisters still farmed the bit of property around their great aunt's house), the most popular tourist destinations this year, and Susanna's loss of her first tooth, which she proudly displayed in a bit of cotton wool. Hermione learned little of possible importance, except that Mary thoroughly disapproved of Aunt Gaga and never invited her to the house, as Polly and Deanna did.

Finally they got down to business. Deanna cleared away the pastry dishes and refreshed their tea. Hermione explained to the little girls that they could join in the fun of calling up some 'ghosties,' but that they'd have to be very quiet about it so as to not frighten them away. This made Naomi giggle and she worked off some energy gliding about, peeking around corners and into the drawers of the buffet, whispering "Ghostie, ghostie--come here, ghostie." Susanna only nodded gravely while surreptitiously dropping yet another biscuit onto the carpet for her faithful doggie companion to scarf up.

Hermione had decided to try to 'channel' Nearly Headless Nick, whose doleful voice and manner she was sure she could imitate--although nothing like so well as Ron could. She was just warming to her task, essaying a trance-like state, when Mary made a skeptical remark. Sirius sat up, perked his ears, and her teacup floated right out of its saucer and up to eye-level. Bewildered, Mary grabbed it out of the air, and that effectively silenced her for the time being. Deanna and Polly were astonished, but the two little girls just smiled as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Hermione started again, relaxing and closing her eyes. "I call upon Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington," she cooed. "Do you have you any messages for us from beyond the Pale?"

Then she rolled her eyes up and let her head fall back, as if the spirit were taking over her body. She'd seen bits and pieces of a horror movie once--a supernatural thriller--and hoped her effort was convincing her audience. She changed her voice to Sir Nick's stuffy Queen's English. "Only one message, madam. And it is directed to the sisters here present-- from the two people who love them best."

"Dad?" said Polly.

"Mum!" shouted Deanna.

"Yes, your dear parents, Roddy and Joanna. They wish to warn you of grave danger."

"What?!" All three sisters reacted as one.

"Tomorrow night your homes will be invaded by evil men who seek your money--and your lives."

"What? How can you possibly know that?" This from Mary.

"In the Afterlife all time is One."

At this, Mary gave a bark of laughter, which seemed to break the spell. "This is ridiculous," she said, rising. "How dare you come in here and worry my sisters with this--this claptrap? Pretending to have a message from our father--and Mum."

"Mary!" gasped Deanna.

Hermione's head jerked forward abruptly. She'd never expected this. But she should have, of course. She sought to buy time with words. "I assure you, my dear--"

"Please, Mary, don't get yourself upset--" started Polly.

But her sister paid no attention. Her eyes were boring into Hermione's. "What were you going to do? Promise to rescue us all from the terrible danger if we only give you a couple thousand euros apiece? Well, I'm sorry to spoil your little scheme--"

"It's no scheme. It's true."

"You'd better get out of here right now, before I call the police--" Mary picked up her bag and rummaged around in it until she found her cell phone.

All this time, Hermione had been keeping eye contact, but feeling through the bag in her lap too--for her wand--thinking: Now I've done it. I'll have to do a Stun on her I guess, so she can't complete the call, then an Obliviate on the whole family. Oh Merlin, there's no way I'll be able to explain this to the Ministry...

But now Mary's gaze shifted and focused on a point behind Hermione's head. A look of horror came over her face.

Arrogant meddler! How dare you? an unearthly voice thundered. Hermione didn't dare turn around. She feared that she must have accidentally Summoned a real spirit to their tea party, and an angry one at that. Or had Rufus Scrimgeour somehow read her mind and Apparated an Auror in to arrest her? She froze, staring rigidly ahead of her, and realized that something was moving in the mirror behind Mary's head. It must be a reflection of whoever it was behind her chair--a white face, almost translucent, haggard, but stern, with tousled black hair, and--Sirius! He must have abandoned Piddles and appeared in the mirror behind her.

Listen, he intoned, all of you. I speak with the wisdom of the ages. You are in the gravest danger. You must leave your homes--tonight!--and stay away for at least--two--Hermione caught his eye and shook her head quickly--no--three days. He glared at them and gave a deep groan for good measure, then receded in the mirror, passing all those reflected arches. Hermione stifled the urge to stand and applaud his performance.

Naomi and Deanna just sat there, their mouths gaping, silenced for once. Mary was dead white and sagged back into her chair, looking as if she would shortly faint dead away Susanna leaped off her chair and grabbed her adopted pet, who seemed to be sleeping, unaffected by the hubbub.. "I take care of you, Piddie," she cried, cradling him in her arms. "No bad ghosties can hurt you."

Naomi ran over to her mother who was now weeping, climbed into her lap, and gave her a fierce hug.

Deanna's loquacity reasserted itself in a spate of questions. What to do? Call the police? Their husbands? They'd hardly be believed. Hermione reverted to type and tried to calm her down with some logical observations, but that only served to put a blank look of sensory overload into the young mother's eyes. Then she gave a little yelp and ran upstairs to check on the twins.

Surprisingly it was Mary who suggested a perfect solution. She recovered quickly from the shock with the help of her daughter's caresses and a generous tot of whisky from a decanter Polly brought from the buffet. She opined that she didn't really believe all this nonsense, but if her sisters were really adamant about it, she could arrange for them to have a nice couple of days at a hotel in town. There was a relatively cheap family matinee of The Lion King musical, and nowadays all the museums had activities for kids, even six-months-olds. Even if Polly's husband couldn't get off work, they could still meet him afterward for dinner at The Rain Forest--a restaurant geared to children. Listening to her, Hermione had the feeling that Mary might actually have been dreaming of sharing an outing like this with her sisters, but bitterness had kept it locked away inside her. Making their plans, now laughing and joking, it seemed as if the sisters had forgotten the imminent danger.

Susanna interrupted them with a wail. "Mummmmmmy--it's Piddie--he won't wake up!"

Hermione took the small ball of fluff gently from her convulsively clutching hands.

"What's wrong?" the little girl sobbed. "He sick?" She was in her mother's arms now, alternately craning to see her beloved poodle and burying her face in Polly's neck.

"Yes, honey, he's sick" Hermione said, as she placed the deflated body of Popsie aka Piddles aka Piddie in the satchel. Thinking fast, she turned her remarks to Polly. "It's all right--really. He has a condition, something like epilepsy. It comes on him suddenly, usually during periods of high excitement. He'll sleep it off in his--er--carrying case and be good as new tomorrow."

~*~

The dog and his girl watched from the construction midden as the families drove off for their London holiday. "Yip-yip! Well done," barked Sirius, having managed to worm his way back inside his disguise. "I think you've saved some grrrr-relationships as well as lives."

"Yes," said Hermione. She was standing in the shade of the claw-and-scoop, feeling more herself now that the Aging Potion was wearing off, but she couldn't wait until she could get home and change into tank top and shorts and relax. Poor Sirius, he'll never be able to relax and be himself truly until he crosses over and joins with his friends. She stifled this unhappy thought with one of pride and satisfaction. "Those little girls will be a big help to their mothers some day. But what will happen to these nice houses? Will the Death Eaters destroy them when they find their plans frustrated?"

"Rowrrr--well--actually, I thought we might send an anonymous owl to the Ministry to warn them what's a-foot."

"How perfect. But wherever will I get an owl?"

"Arf! Arf! There's a corrrrrpse of a Grrrrrrrreat Bark--Barrrrrrred up in that tree over there--rrrrrrr. Quite grrrrr-gamy, but it should last a shorrrrrrrt flight."

"So why didn't we do this in the first place--just warn the Ministry, I mean?"

"Brrrk--Because I only just thought of it. But we still can't be sure they'll believe an arrrrrr-onymous tip, so it's just as rrrrell the families arrrrrrf out of here. But you can be surrrrre that whoof--whateverrrrrrrowf they do--put a whuff--whuff--watch on the houses or come in afterrrrrr the DEs' attack, they'll keep an eye on these three families frrower--frrrrrrrom nowrrrrr on. Yip-yip-yowrrr-whuf. Owooooooo."

It was clear the Veterinariserum was wearing off too. But before Hermione could get the vial out of the satchel, there was a popping sound behind them., and she saw three men closing in on her in black robes. Death Eaters--so soon? Oh no--

Sirius launched himself at one wizard's leg, but was Stunned quickly, and the three brandished wands at her.

"Miss Granger--you're to come with us--immediately."

Hermione was almost paralyzed with fear, but she managed to blurt, "To--to--Voldemort?"

"No, Miss. We're Aurors, and the Minister himself wants a word with you."