The Ransom of Albus Dumbledore

17. Wrn DDrsly

Hermione was finishing a letter to her parents. They thought she was staying with Ginny, and she kept up the pretense with an occasional owl, describing what she hoped were likely preparations for Bill and Fleur's wedding. She heard a noise outside. It sounded like scrabbling, probably the messenger Lily had promised her. Then she heard a distinct, un-owl-like "Damn!"

She walked through the curtained entryway and squinted in the noon sunshine.

"Yo, Hermione!" called a squat elderly woman, hobbling up the marble steps of her Greek temple. "Resting up for the next task?"

"Is that you, Sirius?"

"Yep. How do you like this get-up?"

Hermione took in his iris-print dress, massive purple purse, and violently violet pumps. The outfit was topped by a turban that reminded her of an oversized eggplant she had once seen in Hagrid's garden. She suppressed the urge to giggle. "Who are you today?"

"Maisie Pifflesmear, head of the local theosophical society." He flashed a maroon gash of a smile and peered at her over gold pince-nez.

"What did she die of?"

"Terminal bad taste." He brushed at his skirt, which looked as if it had wallowed in the dust of the woody path. "No, actually she's still alive, but her soul's off doing a stint of astral projection somewhere." He waved gloved hands at the air.

"And you just took over her body while she's gone?"

He shrugged plump shoulders. "She wasn't using it." He sauntered past her into the cool marble-walled room.

"But that's not right," she complained to his back.

"I'll give it back... eventually." He surveyed himself in her mirror and tucked a stray wisp of bluish hair back into the turban.

Hermione looked doubtful.

Sirius pressed his case. "I mean it is perfectly legal. I checked with Death. If your earthly essence is out gadding about the galaxies, your 'husk'--his word, not mine--is fair game for any wandering spirit that happens on it."

"Like you."

He turned this way and that, perhaps trying to see if his slip was showing. "Yep. Madam P. knows that. As I say, she's a life-long theosophist. If anyone understands the rules of inter-dimensional travel, that witch does."

"You will return her... erm... it as soon as we're done."

"Of course. You don't think I like dressing like this, do you?" He got up close to the mirror and grimaced at his reflection, then put a gloved finger inside his mouth. "How do you gals keep lipstick from getting all over your teeth?"

She ignored his self-conscious preening. "What would happen if you didn't give her body back... in good condition?"

"I suppose she could send some djinns from another dimension to come looking for me--if she has the clout--and then things might get a tad ugly. But don't worry about that. She has a reputation for going off on these spiritual binges for weeks at a time. And I promise to be very, very careful."

"You've already torn her stockings, and I bet she's got a bruise on her left buttock," Hermione pointed out.

"I'll fix those. I promise."

Hermione sat down and put a last sentence to her letter. "Erm... what happened with Healer Pye?"

"Tcha, Hermione, you messed things up big time when you promised not to blow the whistle on Narcissa Malfoy. Lily decided we couldn't send those letters you found to the Ministry after all."

"I'm sorry, Sirius, but... if you could have seen Blobby's face... I think he's half in love with her himself. As a general rule, I hate the way house-elves are treated, but..."

"I know. I know. Don't worry. It's all right now. I fixed things."

"How?"

"I--that is, Madam Pifflesmear--dropped in on Gus's mother--"

"She--you didn't."

"We did. It happens that Madam Pye is a staunch believer in Divination. She was appropriately impressed with Madam P.'s credentials. We told her that in our travels about the etheric plane, we observed her son wandering about in a moon-struck daze, utterly inconsistent with his aura. We sensed that he was under the influence of a fairly common love potion, and, as an honest witch and a mother ourselves, we felt we just had to warn her about it."

"So how did that help?"

"She put a bit of antidote into his evening tea, and by next morning, he was freed of his obsession."

"But what if Narcissa gives him another dose of aphrodisiac?"

"No fear. I owled him the forged letters, that sample of Nasty Narcie's writing, and the bill from Borgin and Burke's--anonymously, of course. When he examines them with a clear head, he'll see that she was lying through her pretty, pearly teeth. She can give him a barrel of that love potion of hers, and it won't change his mind."

"Won't he confront her about the letters?"

"Naah. His pride won't let him. Trust me."

Hermione beamed. "Oh, thank you, Sirius. Blobby will be so happy." She had to restrain herself from hugging Madam Pifflesmear's portly torso. "So what's next?"

"I'm glad you asked. What do you know about Dudley Dursley?"

"Harry's cousin? He's a... not very nice."

"In other words, you hate his guts. That's what I figured. Too bad. It seems that the next task involves helping him out."

Hermione groaned. "What? Do we have to?"

"'Fraid so. He's on the list."

"Is he in some kind of trouble?"

"Yep. You know what happened two summers ago, right?"

"He made Harry's life miserable, like always."

"Besides that."

"Oh... you mean about the Dementors showing up in the alley near his house?"

"Right. How did you feel when you heard that they almost sucked out Dudley's soul?"

Hermione smiled grimly. "It served him right, the big bully. But frankly, I didn't think that there were enough Dementors in all of Azkaban to absorb that massive ego. I hope it gave his mum and dad a bit to think about."

"I'm sure it did. But you do realize that without the Dursleys, Harry would be at the mercy of the Death Eaters during the summer months."

"Yes, it's because of a spell of Professor Dumbledore's. He made a protection charm out of Lily’s sacrifice and her blood-relationship with her sister."

"Do you know how it works?"

She thought a moment. "Something like a Fidelius, isn't it? Voldemort can't locate Harry as long as his aunt provides him a home."

"And that protection extends to the Dursleys as well."

"How nice for them."

"But only so long as they don't go too far from their house. If they were, for example, to go on holiday to Majorca, the protection would be much weakened."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She thought she knew what was coming. "Oh, now, Sirius, I'm sure they've gone away lots of times and never had any trouble--"

"--but that was before Voldemort returned to full strength. Dumbledore was apparently starting to worry about their safety and, by extension, for Harry's too."

"But we'll be going off after Voldemort ourselves soon. Harry won't need them anymore," Hermione pleaded.

"We can't be sure of that. If something goes wrong, if he gets hurt or something, he'll need a safe house to rest up in. And anyway, Dumbledore wanted them protected, whether for Harry's sake or their own."

"That would be like him." She made a face. "So what do I have to do? Shadow Pig-Boy every time he goes to the corner sweet shop? I can't even use my wand."

"That part's covered already. There's someone in the neighborhood who's keeping an eye on him. And Dumbledore gave them all a good scare last summer when he turned up to pick up Harry. Lily thinks all you need to do is remind Dudley of the danger. After that last visit, he became cautious for a time, but lately he's been getting careless. He needs another mega-dose of fear... like the fear the Dementors put into him."

"Why don't we just get Mr. Weasley to talk to him? Or better yet, sic the twins on him with some more of those Ton-Tongue Toffees." She giggled, remembering what Ron had told her about that incident.

"No, I think a nice-looking girl his own age could get through to him better than any of them."

"You mean me? Well, all right... if you think so..." She cringed as Madam Pifflesmear grinned wolfishly. The expression looked positively obscene. "Sirius, can you please not behave so like a guy who's thinking about... erm... you-know-what... when you're in the body of a fifty-year-old woman? You're creeping me out... really."

"Oops, sorry." He averted his eyes. "The only question is: can you act the kind of girl Dursley would be willing to listen to? You know, kind of sexy..."

"Hmph! You forget I once changed myself into a cat with a Polyjuice Potion. And I've been told that I looked rather... alluring... at the Yule Ball." Arms akimbo, she tried out her idea of a sultry saunter about the room, then stared at him over her shoulder. "I'm sure can do 'sexy' quite well, thank you." Sirius pursed violet lips to rein in a devilish grin and said nothing. Hermione blushed all the same and changed the subject. "But first I have a few questions. You said there are people already keeping an eye on Dudley. Who?"

"Actually it's one of the Dursleys' neighbors, Mrs. Figg. She's a Squib. She sends weekly reports to Minerva McGonagall. And various Order members help out as they have time."

"I know. Dung Fletcher, right? That's not very comforting. How much does Dudley know about... our kind?"

"Not a lot, but last summer after the Dementor incident, his mother let slip some information about Azkaban, and Harry told them all that Voldemort is back. And Dudley knows that Voldemort was responsible for his aunt Lily's death."

"Does he know that Harry goes to wizard school every fall?"

"Yes, and the thought scares him poopless, but Petunia told the neighbors that Harry is enrolled at St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys."

"As if that were less shocking than having a nephew who can do magic. But, honestly, Saint Brutus's? Does such a place exist?"

"Yes, you should see it. Not quite Azkaban but near enough."

"Hmm... I have an idea. Can I get a look at Dudley now?"

"No problem." The witch took Hermione's hand in her gloved one.

~*~

They Apparated under a pavilion in a small play park. It was very humid; thunderheads were building in the sky. A stone's throw away, a group of teenagers clustered about an object in the center of a concrete circle. Their shouts carried clearly to the pavilion.

"C'mon, Big D, you can do it! Give it the ol' one-two, just like all those hair-balls you beat!"

"Yeah, just one more heave for another trophy!"

The boys were shoving each other and cramming their mouths with doughnuts from a large bag on the ground. Crumbs and spit spewed into the air as they shouted. There was also a piercing sound of yips and arfs on the edge of the crowd. One of the girls was minding three toy dogs on leashes, and despite weighing no more than a pound apiece, they were able to pull her about easily as they leaped and snarled. They clearly wanted in on the action, whatever it was.

The center of attention was Dudley, who was bent over and appeared to be trying to pull a water fountain out of the pavement. He pushed it one way and then the other, back and forth, back and forth, with accompanying squeaks and groans of metal rubbing against cement. His face was bright red with sun and exertion, and his muscles strained at his tight T-shirt. Hermione was grateful that she couldn't see any lower than that; she imagined pallid mounds of rump swelling out over his belt.

The fountain finally gave way with a CRACK. He wrenched the metal cylinder out of the hole and hoisted it over his head. "Tah--daaahhh! The new--world--champeen!" he shouted. There was an answering boom of thunder overhead. Water from the broken pipe spouted skyward and doused one and all.

"Ooh, that's cold!" The cry, half-delighted, was from a second girl, who was dressed in the skimpiest of shirts and shorts. Her bared midriff showed off a glinting navel ring.

"Brrr... feels good," shouted one boy.

"Great job, D!"

"Yeah. You da man! All-England heavyweight!"

His chums were pushing each other around playfully in the arcing stream. One boy and girl started rubbing up against each other.

The dog-sitter bent down to calm her charges. Her voice had a put-on, babyish whine. "Dudley, you thug, my doggies don't like that icy wa-wa. Do you, my babies?" Her long blonde hair hung over her face as she made to kiss the squirming mini-mutts. Her low-cut blouse drooped so that quite a lot of her chest was exposed. Hermione blushed. The girl wasn't wearing a bra.

The dogs were yelping and shaking themselves. One wriggled out of its collar and made straight for Dudley. It bit at his ankle and hung onto his jeans. The hulking Atlas looked comical trying to shake off this tiny terror while holding the shell of the fountain up over his head.

"Lucilla," he demanded. "come and get this little rat off me before he gives me rabies."

She screeched back, "Ecch! More likely he's the one who'll get poisoned."

"Ooh, that hurts, that does. I'm crying. Hoo-hoo-hoo."

The girl straightened and reached into the pocket of her jeans-skirt and tore at a packet of something. "Come back here, Cerbie. Come on. Mama's got something for you." The dog's ears pricked up at the familiar sound, and he bounded back to his mistress. Now all three dogs were jumping and slavering and beating their tails against their sides, begging for a treat.

Hermione turned to Madam Pifflesmear. "Sirius, can you give me a disguise?"

"Sure, who do you want to be this time? Grandma Granger or a displaced house-elf?"

"See that Goth girl over there? The one who's playing sucky face with the ferret-faced dude?" She pointed to the pair standing in the stream who now looked to be welded together. They were really going at it, gasping and groping in the slick coolness of the water. Hermione wondered if possibly their braces had become entangled.

"You want to look like her?"

"To the max. Piercings, chalky cheeks, black duds, black eyes, black lips--"

"I get it. Like Elvira... or Alice Cooper."

"Who?"

"Never mind. Your wish is my command." He fumbled in the witch's handbag for her wand and did the usual wave-and-mutter.

"Oi!" cried Hermione as she was shoved sideways by the spell's energy. Now she surveyed as much of her new get-up as she could see: a long black dress, fingerless gloves, and combat boots with thick studded soles. Then she put her hand to her mouth. "Oh--ow! Theeriuth!!! I never thed I wanted my tongue pierthed." She felt inside her mouth for the offending bit of metal. "Merlin! How do they put up with theeth thingth? Ehm--how do I look?"

"Fine--for a zombie."

She took a step and swayed a little. The boots were surprisingly heavy. "No, I can't do thith; change me back, but lighten my hair and give me shortth and a thkimpy tee. I need to look a little tough too."

"Gotcha!" Sirius intoned another Transfiguration charm. There was a flash of light and a crashing sound. But it wasn't due to the spell. The storm had broken right overhead. Huge drops of rain started falling. They stung the hot concrete and raised little flares of steam all about.

"Want me to stick around?" Sirius murmured in her ear.

"In that outfit? I'm afraid you'd kill the party, rather. And I don't need any angry spirits after us if you ruin the good Madam's 'husk'. I can handle this, I'm sure."

"Whatever you say, Miss Independence." Sirius/Maisie Disapparated with a pop.

Another clap of thunder shook the pavilion. Panicked cries erupted from the knot of kids.

"Jeeze, that was close!" one boy quavered. "Better leg it back home."

"Naw, just head for shelter," commanded Dudley. "C'mon."

Three boys, three girls and three dogs hurtled straight for Hermione's hiding place. She calmed herself and posed languidly against an upright, resisting the urge to pull at her miniskirt. Now she had a navel ring and several ear-piercings, but the crowning touches she could see were faded barbed-wire tattoos on each arm. She gave them all what she hoped was a hard, jaded stare.

Seeing her, Dudley dropped his trophy on the cement with a clang. The rest of the group ignored her and settled themselves on picnic tables, shoving and chattering. The girls played with their wet hair; the dogs shook themselves, bristled, cowered. The rain was unexpectedly chill and accompanied by swirling winds. Hermione shivered, more from fear than the cold. She scolded herself: You've faced centaurs, Death Eaters, a giant, a basilisk, and... Professor McGonagall for heaven's sake. How can you be scared of a bunch of scruffy kids your own age?

Dudley flexed his muscles and eyed her like she was a hamburger he was longing to devour. "Hey there, chickie. Great weather, isn't it?"

Hermione affected a bored monotone. "For ducks maybe."

"You new around here?"

"Just passing through." She felt a sudden lurch in her stomach as he approached her. He was much bigger than she remembered.

"I'm Dudley, but my friends call me Big D." He grinned at her. His skin had relaxed from its earlier redness into a mottled tan.

"I'm Her--Hera."

"Hera. Different." He ran his tongue over his lips, then unexpectedly turned about and made introductions. "This is Malcolm, Gordon... Piers and Ramona... Trilby... and Lucilla." He sounded like he was consciously imitating an adult--his father maybe--at a business meeting. The dogs started yapping again as if slighted. "Oh, yes, and what do you call your sweet little doggies, Luce?"

"Who wants to know?" Lucilla pouted.

"Oh, don't be such a grouch."

She rattled the names off, "Tartarus and Cerberus and Charon" and turned away. Hermione recognized the names, all denizens of the Greek Underworld, and thought whoever came up with them--not Lucilla, surely--had a bizarre sense of humor. She sensed jealousy in the girl's sulk. All Big D's showing off had obviously been for Lucilla's benefit, but she had ignored it. So now he's pretending to be interested in the new girl. Well, I can play along so long as it suits my purpose.

Dudley came uncomfortably close and grinned. "So, Hera, what's new?"

Hermione steeled herself not to recoil. "Nothing. Same old, same old."

Piers looked up from his exploration of Ramona's neckline. "Ooh--her-uh named Hera."

"No--Hair-uh," grunted the big goon named Gordon. "She's got a lot of it too. But at least she shaves her legs. You don't, do you Ramona?"

Ramona didn't hear. She and Piers were at it again. It looked as if she was trying to bite his ear off, and he was pretending to like it.

Hermione stared at Dudley. He looked as if he craved a little ear-biting himself. She said loudly to distract him, "You're Dursley, aren't you? Potter's cousin?"

This stopped the banter and the chewing. Even the dogs subsided to faint whimpers.

"Dirty Harry Potter?" squeaked Lucilla. "You know him? I heard he's... like... a homocidal maniac."

"We're in school together," Hermione retorted defiantly. She was settling into the role of street-wise outsider rather nicely, she thought.

Lucilla nudged her dogs. The hush was complete.

"But he goes to St. Brutus's," the boy named Malcolm sneered. "They only take boys."

"That's all you know," Hermione retorted, thinking quickly. "There's a new girls' annex. We even have some classes together."

"In what?" said Piers. "Lifting stuff?"

"No mostly making stuff. You know, with drills and acetylene torches and rivet guns and chain saws...." She let the litany of dangerous power tools sink in.

"Chain saws?" echoed Lucilla, horrified.

"Yeah, we get in a lot of practice, cutting and burning and putting holes in..." she leered at the dogs, "... stuff."

Lucilla drew the tiny, shivering creatures to her. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I have a message for Big D."

Dudley watched her narrowly. He had to know that she was lying about Saint Brutus's unless he was even stupider than Harry claimed. But he could hardly go back on what his mother had told the whole neighborhood about his hated cousin's schooling. He cleared his throat. "What's the message?"

"Remember those two Demen--I mean--the goons that visited you and Harry last summer?" Dudley looked blank. "The guys dressed all in black?" He looked blanker still. Then Hermione realized: as a Muggle, he wouldn't have been able to see the Dementors though he could feel their effects. She tried to give him a clue in a way that wouldn't betray her background to the others, who were listening avidly now. "You know: they turned out the lights and made you feel cold all over. The ultimate chill, you know?" Dudley got the hint. He held onto his blank expression, but it was a struggle. He shivered, not entirely from the cold.

Thankfully Malcolm came to his rescue. "Jeeze, Dud, you didn't tell us about that." He was busy chewing on his nails, so it came out as more of a mumble. "Who was it? Skinheads? Terrorists? Ninjas?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Dudley rasped. "Listen, you--" He tried to grab Hermione's arm, but she slid away from him, no mean feat in the stiletto heels she just realized she was wearing. Damn you, Sirius! she thought savagely as she lurched down the narrow aisle between tables, skinning a thigh on the splintery wood, catching a heel in a pavement crack.

"Come over here if you want to hear more," she growled over her shoulder. He trailed her to the other side of the pavilion. The rain was coming in on that side, so she could be sure none of the others would follow.

"So what's this all about?" he muttered. "You're from that stupid Pigpimple school, aren't you?"

"That's Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Hermione said with what dignity she could muster. She forced herself to smile at him, but then she heard a voice behind her, the last voice on earth she wanted to hear right at that moment.

"Dud! Dudleyyyy. Your mum wants us home--rrright nowww."

Dudley cupped his hands about his mouth and shouted past Hermione's face, "Why? It's not dark yet."

"They're going out, and they want to have dinner earlyyyy."

It was Harry. She was sure of it. She risked a glance over her shoulder out through the pouring rain. She saw a skinny, bedraggled figure in overlarge clothes under a tree, his usually unruly hair plastered to his head. Rain drops were pinging off it; she could see his skin through his threadbare tee. She hoped he didn't recognize her.

She whispered to Dudley, "Can we meet someplace else later?"

"Sure. My house. Just down the block there. Number four."

She frowned. "Actually, Dudley, I don’t think that's such a good idea--"

"Take it or leave it. Ten o'clock."

"All right."

"Hermione, is that you?" Harry's voice was right at her shoulder now. She turned and looked up into his emerald eyes. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "You two know each other?"

"No, but we will," Dudley said, grinning. "We're going to get to know each other really, really well." He turned and announced loudly, "We were just making a date." He walked back to his friends and did a fist pump. They all--except Lucilla--whooped.

"Oh, yeah, like I believe that," Harry threw at his cousin's back. But he stared at Hermione all the same.

She clutched his arm. It was slick with rain, the muscles very taut. There was no place to go in the small space to have a private conversation, so she kept her voice low. "Listen, Harry, Dudley and I have things to discuss."

"What things?" He didn't bother to whisper.

"Erm... nothing important."

"Right. You don't want to tell me. Same old thing. Protect Harry. Harry doesn't need to know anything. He's just lost the nearest thing to a father he ever had, and now he's got to go out to face--"

"--Harry--"

"--at least tell me where you've been all this time. Ron's been writing you every day, and you haven't answered a single owl."

"He has?" She felt a blush coming on. "Oh dear... look, I can't talk about it right now--"

"--I know. Later. I should be used to that word by now. But you'll write to Ron, at least, right? I mean, he's worried about you."

"I... I'll try."

"C'mon, freak." Dudley was back. "Stop messing with my girlfriend. We gotta get home."

Harry gave her a piercing glare, then turned on his heel and followed his cousin into the rain.

~*~

"So what's this all about?" Dudley rasped when he finally met Hermione on the sidewalk that night.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked.

"He went off after dinner. Something about he wanted to see some friends." Dudly snorted. "As if he had any."

"Harry has friends, lots of them. I'm his best friend... girl friend, I mean." She didn't want to slight Ron, his real best mate, even from this far away.

Dudley frowned. "You lie. A hot chick like you and that four-eyed freak?"

She realized his mistake and thought to correct it, but decided it wouldn't hurt to have this bully know that Harry was popular with the opposite sex. "I just said I'm his best girl. There are lots of others lined up behind me--there's Romilda and Cho and...Parvati and... Ginny--."

"--whatever. So what have you got to tell me about the... the Dismembers?"

"Dementors," she corrected. "Actually, I have some good news. First, I don't think you need to worry about them particularly any more. They weren't sent by the major enemy--"

"--Moldymort."

"Uh... close enough. But there's bad news too. The Dark Lord has unleashed an army of Death Eaters, and they're looking for Harry and you, your whole family in fact."

"But why?"

"Because you're all... special. Even though you're not wizards yourselves, your mother has this... power--"

"--My mum?"

"Erm... yes. She can protect you all, but you have to stay close to home for the protection to work."

His eyes fogged over as if she had just given him an advanced calculus problem to work out in his head. She fell back on an explanation her dentist dad used to impress on her the need to brush and floss daily. "It's like there's this invisible barrier she projects... like the one that prevents cavities in those tooth cleaning adverts. Only it's not bacteria, but evil wizards that she's able to shut out."

A light came on in Dudley's dull, piggy eyes. "Whoa, I think there's an X-man that does something like that."

"What? Oh, never mind. Listen. It means you'll need to stay close to home from now on, so you can be under your mother's protection."

"Huh? Hide behind mummy's skirts? No way. Me and the gang are going camping this weekend." He licked his lips. "The girls too..."

And your parents don't know about it, I bet, Hermione thought, but she didn't say it because she wanted to keep things peaceful between them. Instead she essayed a gentle "You mustn't, you know."

He shook a fist at her. "Don't tell me what I can't do."

She took a step backwards. "Look, I only mean that it wouldn't be a good idea as things stand now. The further you go from your parents' house--"

"--the greater the danger. Yeah, yeah, I know. You made that crystal clear, Miss Know-It-All. But what I want to know is, if those Deaf Feeder blokes come sneaking around, how do I know it's them?"

"Well... erm... you'd need to keep your eyes open for people who dress oddly. I don't mean in robes and pointed caps, but in Mug... erm... clothing combinations that don't seem to quite work... like if they're wearing a blazer with hip-waders or a poncho and kilt together or..." She giggled as she thought about old Archie at the Quidditch World Cup. "...a flowered night-dress."

"Right."

"Or if they don't seem to know how to work ordinary gadgets like pay phones and door bells and things."

"All right, so I recognize the enemy. Then what do I do?"

"If you can get to your house, you're safe. If you can't, there are some people in the neighborhood who can help you."

"Like who?"

"Erm... do you know a Mrs. Figg?"

"Old Lady Figg? Yeah."

"Well... she's one of us... sort of."

"She a witch?"

"Not exactly, but she can get you help if you need it."

"Nuh-uh. I'm not going to trust that old biddy. She doesn't like me anyway, all because I scared her once, and she tripped over her cat. No, there's got to be a better way." That light came into his eyes again. "Say, do you think maybe I've inherited some of my mum's power?"

"What? No!"

"Why not?"

"Well... I mean... I don't think so...."

Dudley's face went red. "Look, if the Freak has it, and his mum, and my mum, then why not me?"

"This kind of magic... it... erm... it's not hereditary...."

Dudley started towards her, muttering angrily, "What do you mean? Not redditary. It's not fair is what I say. I have to be able to defend myself too, don't I?" He started yelling and waving his arms about, like a little boy starting a tantrum. She backed up to stay out of his reach, as he amped up his rant. "It's all his fault. That freak cousin of mine--" Although she had left her stilettos back at the park, it was all Hermione could do to keep her balance in bare feet on the gravelly surface. He started poking at her, and she stumbled backwards. "--he attracts them: owls, Demenders, stupid old men in purple cloaks, kids that look normal, but then they try to poison me--" His cheeks were shining in the light of the street lamp with sweat--or perhaps tears--and his whole body was quaking with barely controlled emotion.

He pushed her into a path between some hedges and shouted into her face. "If it wasn't for 'Dirty Harry,' we wouldn't be having all this trouble. It's because of him that my dad's business is gone to pot. We could've had a summer home on some fancy French island, but no. Not with my freak cousin around. Mum should never have taken him in. I've had to share everything with him all my life. All my toys and games, my room--"

"--that's not true--" she retorted, but her courage failed her as he wrenched her arm savagely. His grip was like iron.

"Course, it's true. You don't know how helpless it felt when those Dementy things came down on us, and then that freak yelled at me. Me! 'Shut up,' he says. Like he's the adult, and I'm just some little, scared baby. But I got him. Got him good. Punched him and made him drop that stick of his so he couldn't spell me like he wanted to. Augh! It makes me sick just thinking about it. You've got a stick too, I bet." He grabbed her other arm. "Give it to me. Give it to me now!"

Her heart was pounding with fear, but she couldn't break his grip. "Dudley," she panted, "your mother's power... it was really a... gift... from Professor Dumbledore...."

He started shaking her. "A gift? I want it too!" he screamed. "It's my birthday! I deserve a gift like that!" He threw her to the ground.

She inched away, still trying to reason with him. "Please, Dudley... you have to believe me. Only your mother has it. It's because she's your Aunt Lily's sister."

"No, that can't be it. I'm her son. I'm worthy, much more worthy--" He thumped his chest.

"It doesn't have anything to do with that. And you wouldn't want it anyway."

"Why not?

"It puts your mum at great risk."

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. She carries the charm that is protecting you all because it's her blood that Harry shares. If the Death Eaters find that out, they'll kill her."

"So let her stay home. It's her favorite place anyway."

"Please, Dudley, you don't understand. This is serious."

He leaned over and leered at her, his sweat and his slaver dripping down onto her bodice. As she tried to worm away, he dropped onto his knees, straddling her, his buttocks pressing her chest, all but crushing it, his breath hot on her skin. The moon rose over his shoulder, blinding her. He put his huge hands around her neck. They felt hot and remorseless. "No, you're the one who doesn't get it," he mumbled thickly. He started squeezing rhythmically on her windpipe, as she clawed ineffectually at his hands. "I'm trying to get out of this place. I'm sick of Privet Drive. I'm sick of Little Whinging. I'm sick of sicko freaks like you and Harry Potter. I'm sick of this whole... bloody... island--"

"--Dudley, no..." But he had cut her air off completely. One frantic brown eye watched in despair as the moon disappeared. It was as if a Dementor had swallowed it. And she felt so cold....

Her hands went limp against his steaming flesh. The earth beneath her began to dissolve, or was she being absorbed into it?

There was a sound like an explosion, then a shout. She tried to make sense of it. "Gerofferbloodibigblob!"

She felt herself jerked out of her gravel grave and dragged forward. Pain in her neck roused her. She was released roughly and skidded in the grass on knees and elbows. She heard someone cry out in an animal rage and heard an answering cry, a deeper voice, one she almost recognized, "You freaking coward! Don't you ever touch her again--" The rest was muffled in punching sounds, grunts, and groans. Two boys--no, two men--were wrestling on the grass in the moonlight. She rocked back onto her bum, cradled her skinned knees, felt her wrenched, bruised neck. Someone came up to her and blocked her view a moment, then squatted and reached out a steadying hand. It was Harry.

"Hermione, are you all right?"

She nodded, and he settled next to her, putting a protective arm around her. They watched the show before them in silence.

There was Dudley, trying to get away, but the other fellow managed to trip him up. The hulking behemoth hit the sidewalk, face first. His attacker dived at him, and they rolled over and over into the street and came to a stop with Dudley on his back, looking like a great white whale, beached, his shirt half torn off, his exposed stomach gleaming in the light of the street lamp. Astraddle him and pummeling away at the mound of quivering flesh was a tall, slender figure with red hair. The surprise of recognition made Hermione feel lightheaded, and she leaned against Harry....

~*~

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, Ron." They were sitting together under a tree in the back of the Dursleys' house, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. "Where's Harry?"

"Levicorpusing the Blob up to his bedroom."

"You knocked him out, didn't you?"

"Think I might've broken something too. He was yelling about his leg before I cold-cocked him. He won't be waking up for a bit at any rate."

"How did you do it, Ron? I heard Dudley's some kind of wrestling or boxing champion."

He raised his eyebrows, and she thought she saw his ears pinkening in the moonlight. "It's a good thing I didn't know that going in. I might not have been so eager."

"I'm so glad you were, Ron. He was berserk. I think he might have killed me."

"Don't worry. He won't be bullying anybody else for a bit."

"He needed a lesson, and you gave it to him."

"Wait a minute. What am I hearing? No 'Ron-you-shouldn't-be-fighting' or 'Ron-how-dare-you-bait-a-Muggle' or 'you'll-end-up-just-like-Fred-and-George'?"

She giggled and put a finger to his lips. "I'll leave that to your mother." She looked at him for a long moment. "Oh, Ron, you saved my life, and you didn't even use your wand."

"Well, it wouldn't have been Quidditch, you know. I mean, with him a Muggle and all. Don't get me wrong. I was dying to try out Ginny's Bat-Bogey Hex on him. Then I thought, 'Nah. Don't want to get Harry in trouble.' He wanted to help, you know, but I waved him off. The twins showed me some moves last year, and I wanted to try them out." He leaned back into the bark of the tree, a satisfied smile plumping his cheeks. "I must say, when it comes to settling scores, the Muggles have it all over us wizards. Kicking and gouging and your fist in their face. Really gets the blood flowing, you know? Like no wizard's duel ever could."

"Yes, I know. It got my blood flowing too." She put a hand on his chest and brushed his lips lightly with hers.

He looked at her, thunderstruck.

"What's the matter, Ron?"

"Nothing. But... you don't know how long I've waited for that."

"What do you mean?"

"Just this." He returned the kiss gently with one on her temple, lingering long, feeling her pulse beneath his lips. She sat perfectly still, fearing that any movement would cause her to awake from this most perfect dream.

But she had to break the spell; he would hate her for it, but... "Ron," she breathed, "don't you want to know why I'm here... at the Dursleys'?"

"Nope." He continued his exploration of her warm brown skin, the small hollow of her collarbone, her firm, rounded shoulder, her arm, her fetchingly dimpled elbow, her wrist, pulsing now like a spring freshet, her fingers, one delicious joint at a time.

"That's good," she murmured, leaning into him, "because I can't tell you anyway.... "

He stiffened. "What?"

"Erm... it's a secret."

"Huh!" He let his hands fall, limp, to his sides. "Order business, I suppose."

"Order business? What do you mean?"

"Order of the Phoenix. They made you a member, didn't they?"

"What? No--"

"--sure they did. They made Harry one too."

"Harry? Really?"

"He told me when he came over. Got an owl from McGonagall after dinner. He was so excited about it, he almost forgot to mention he heard you making a date with the Blimp. He's not even of age, but they made an exception for him."

"Well, that makes a certain sense..."

"Sense? I am of age. Practically my whole family are members. I've stood by Harry through thick and thin. I saved you from a bloody-arsed troll. I'm a prefect, damn it. But no one's asked me!" He looked away, and his shoulders heaved in an Erumpent-sized sigh.

Hermione hung her head. He was suffering so, and it was at least partly her fault. For six years, she had tried to remake him in her own image of perfection, damning him with faint praise, making light of his ideas, scorning his every ability, especially the ones she did not excel in. "I'm sorry, Ron," she murmured.

"Why? It's not your fault. Guess they think I'm just a bungler. Not serious enough. Couldn't even pass my Apparition exam. I suppose you knew all about it."

"McGonagall offered. I told her you should be asked too."

"You did?"

"Yes." A sob escaped her. "Ron, I'm sorry for every time I ever hurt you. You're just about the best friend I ever had, and I've let you down time and again."

"What are you saying? You've never let me down, Hermione. It was me let me down. You only wanted to help. I mean you were always trying to make me study. I should have listened. And Lavender and all. I know I hurt you, but I couldn't help it. I never knew a girl that liked me before, and when she--"

"--but you did. I mean, I liked you, and I was there the whole time. If I'd given you a hair of support... been nicer to you..."

He looked horrified. "Oh, no, Hermione, I would never have... I mean, taken liberties like that... with you. All that with Lavender was just practice."

"Practice?"

"For the real thing." He looked pointedly at her, and she got his meaning. She ran a hand up his cheek.

He caught the hand, kissed it. "Look, I've decided. I'm going to take that stupid test again, and I'm going to pass it. Then I'm going to ask--no, I'm going to tell McGonagall that she has to let me in the Order."

"That's wonderful, Ron."

"And if you can't tell me what you're about, well, so be it. I'll find my own way to help the cause."

"Oh, Ron." She hugged him and pulled back to look at the young man she had once accused of having no more sensitivity than a sugar spoon. His eyes were dreamy, almost crossing.

He leaned in and kissed her, and she responded willingly, rejoicing in her own passion. He followed the kiss with a tracery of nips along her hairline to her earlobe, which he tasted lightly, savoring her woman's scent like an epicure, before continuing on, sliding his mouth down her neck. She started to shiver and giggle uncontrollably.

"What's the matter?"

"I don't know. I'm so happy. But scared too. There's this job I have to finish.... You do trust me, don't you?"

He kissed her again and brushed a stray curl off her forehead. "I know you, Honey. Whatever you're doing, it's for people you care about."

She nodded gravely. "Aren't you worried that I'll do something stupid? Like tonight?"

"Nope. Harry was worried about you, but I wasn't. You've gotten me and him out of trouble so many times, somehow I just know you'll be okay. And now that you know you're not perfect, you'll call me if you need help, won't you?" His hand tightened on her arm for just a second, then relaxed. "I've had some time to think, and I've decided I care about you, Hermione Granger. I care a lot, but I can wait.... "

"Oh, Ron, do you mean that? After all I've done to you--"

"--Don't think about that. We're not kids anymore, and as soon as we finish here, I'll take you home...."

Finish? she wondered. She saw his eyes go misty again, and then she knew what he meant and found herself hoping they wouldn't "finish" for quite a while.