You Call This A Holiday?

Eventually Ginny, Ron and Neville woke up, and Hermione and Luna were able to fill them in on the plan. Their next task now would be to draft a message for Harry that Dudley would feel compelled to share with him. The trouble was that they couldn't be too specific, just in case muggle email was also being monitored by Voldemort's loyalists. It was a slight chance, but they needed to minimize as many potential risks as they could. They also had to make it clear to Dudley that this was important, not just the junk-mail that muggles call 'spam'.

It was Ron who finally came up with the idea of writing the message in the form of an advertisement, with the important details disguised.

'What if he just reads the subject line and ignores it?' asked Ginny with real concern. 'Obviously, he's not going to assume it's from any of us. Why would he even think that there's a hidden meaning?'

'Well I guess we'll just have to mention something that he can't ignore,' Hermione answered simply. 'But what? We need to make him realize the ad is either for or about Harry, so it would have to be something really significant.'

Neville spoke up then. 'How about a Dementor? We can let Harry know about the attack at my Gran's; wasn't Dudley attacked once before, as well? He won't be forgetting about Dementors in a hurry,' he said, ruefully.

'That's perfect, Neville!' Ginny squealed as Neville blushed with pride. Ordinarily he wouldn't have offered his opinion, afraid of being wrong, but since the DA began, his self-confidence had been steadily improving.

Finally, with that idea, they were able to compose a message they hoped would work:

We Must Be DEMENTED!

For the first time ever in London,

select members of Dancing Actors

have REUNITED under one roof!

For only 12 (grim!) Pence, you can

see them together again!

WE MUST BE DEMENTED

to make deals like this!

Tell your cousins! Don't miss it!

It will be MAGIC!

Tickets on sale soon, watch for details

When they were content they had done the best they could, they tracked down Tonks and Lupin to accompany them to the library.

The librarian's assistant who showed them to the computers was amazed; he had never known young people to be so uninformed about technology.

'Where are you kids from? The moon? Don't tell me you don't even have your own email addresses.'

'We're reformed Amish citizens,' replied a bushy-haired girl sarcastically. He quickly showed them how to use a search engine and find a way to create their own 'web-based email'. When they had learned the basics, he shook his head and left the group of them alone. He couldn't believe it - the adults and the kids looked equally clueless.

At the computer station, they all faced each other, wondering where to start. They all felt somewhat intimidated by the technology. Actually, Ron wanted to try, but they were afraid he might be a little over-enthusiastic and accidentally break something. So Ginny volunteered.

She took the chair and tentatively move the mouse with her hand, tracking the cursor movements. 'Okay,' she mused quietly. She scrolled down the page where the words 'FIND A PERSON' were written.

'What do you lot think?' she asked, and clicked the button.

'How will we know if it's the right address, anyway?' Hermione questioned.

'A lot of people use their nickname or something personal that should be easily recognizable,' Luna replied immediately. 'Just like Ron set up ours with the name 'Pigwidgeon', after that adorable owl. Harry will understand that,' she confirmed.

Ginny typed a few times, and the screen changed to display the email addresses of several Dudley Dursleys.

'And Harry had us believe Dudley was one-of-a-kind!' Ron joked.

'Oh! That's it! It has to be!' Ginny exclaimed excitedly, pointing a finger at the fourth Dudley on the list.

'[email protected],' Lupin read over Ginny's shoulder. 'Big D?'

'Harry said that's what Dudley's friends call him now,' Ron scoffed. 'At least it made him easy to find!'

*************************************

It was another quiet night in Little Winging as Dudley Dursley was walking home with his friends. It had been a clear and uneventful evening, as they hadn't been able to find anyone of terrorize. Dudley thought about picking a fight with his cousin who didn't even leave the house that night, but he quickly thought better of it. Instead he contented himself with bragging again about the brand new computer his parents had bought him for his birthday,

'It has Internet access and everything,' he gloated to his jealous friends. He even told them his email address, even though none of them had access at home yet, and so wouldn't be emailing him anytime soon. That didn't matter to Dudley, as long as his system was better than anyone else's.

His parents were away for the weekend, so the only ones home when Dudley came in were his 'freak' cousin and his stupid owl. Thankfully Dudley didn't see either of them when he stepped inside the house. He went to the kitchen and fixed himself a rather large snack, and stealthily poured a hefty portion of rye whiskey from his parent's liquor cabinet. He piled everything on a tray and proceeded to carry it all up the stairs to his room. He was glad to see that his cousin's bedroom door was closed.

Dudley settled down at his computer desk and connected to the internet. Before he played one of his favourite games, he wanted the luxury of checking his email (he heard that sometimes people sent pictured of sexy women, so he was very excited at this prospect). After logging in, he was excited that he did have one new message. Crossing his sausage-like fingers, Dudley hoped it was photos of swimsuit models.

'Who the bloody hell is 'Pigwidgeon'?' he asked aloud in a disgusted voice. He was nearly about to delete the message when he read the subject line: We Must Be DEMENTED!

It made his skin crawl; it reminded him of those dementoid-whatsits that showed up last summer. The memory made him just a bit nauseous, and he took a big gulp of his contraband whiskey to chase away the sudden chill.

Then he read the message. That work was in it again! With a sinking feeling in his gut he realized the message also mentioned the words 'magic' and 'cousin'. Instinctively he swivelled in his chair to face the wall that separated him from his cousin Harry. Could this have anything to do with him? How would 'his kind' get to use email, though? The very thought of the message was making him sick, but even when his eyes left the screen, the text did not escape his mind.

Dudley knew that if his parents were home, he's be punished for even mentioning the email to Harry. On the off chance that the word 'magic' in the message and his cousin were connected, his father would start a war. He certainly would not allow his son to encourage his nephew's unsavoury lifestyle. Then again, his father wasn't home, and what he didn't know couldn't hurt him, Dudley figured. Not to mention the appeal of ignoring his parent's rules - some days it was a joy just to defy them. But to converse with Harry...?

Dudley weighed his options carefully. Then, having made up his mind, he strutted out into the hallway & grasped the doorknob of the next room, only to find it locked.

'Hey! You in there? Open up!' Dudley bellowed into the door.

'What do you want? I'm busy,' was the reply.

'Open the door. I want to show you something on my computer.'

'You know I don't give a rat turd about your computer. Bugger off, I'm writing a letter.'

'To Pigwidgeon?'

There was silence behind the door, then Dudley heard the door unlock, then swung inwards revealing his skinny, nerdy-looking cousin. 'What did you say?' demanded Harry.

'Who's Pigwidgeon?'

'Are you serious?'

Dudley nodded, narrowing his eyes.

'Pig, Pigwidgeon, is my friend Ron's owl. How would you know about him?'

Dudley wrestled with his mind, knowing he couldn't stop now. 'Do you people use computers?'

'Not likely,' Harry was growing suspicious. 'What's going on?'

Dudley was silent, but beckoned for Harry to follow him into the other room. He gestured with his beefy hand, 'There. Read that.'

And Harry did. Although he wasn't exactly clear on just who the 'Dancing Actors' were, he certainly had his suspicions. It was clearly a reference to the DA, and the '12 (grim!) Pence' would be a risky reference to the Order Headquarters.

'What does it mean?' asked Dudley in an uncharacteristically small voice.

'Some of my friends are staying at the Order Headquarters,' Harry replied, ignoring the fact that his cousin wouldn't really understand. 'You knew this was for me?'

Dudley nodded his fat head, pointing to the subject line. 'It made me think of those thingies last year.'

'The Dementors.' Dudley nodded again. 'Wait! It mentioned 'demented' twice. Is that the message?' Harry reread the email. Everyone must be okay, otherwise they'd have said so, right?

'Are your friends in trouble?'

'What do you care?' Harry snapped instinctively, but immediately regretted it when, surprisingly, his cousin appeared hurt by his harsh reply. 'Sorry Dudley.'

'S'okay. I know I've been a jerk to you about your friends, but now I know what those... things, are like.'

'Yeah, well I guess there's been another attack like last year. They don't say who, but I guess they're fine.'

Both boys were beginning to feel mildly uncomfortable about the conversation.

'You did that thing...' said Dudley stupidly. 'They kinda went away.'

'Yeah, the Patronous Charm is the only defence against them. I wonder whose Patronous chased this one away?' Harry mused.

'I said you were trying to kill me.'

Harry smirked bitterly. 'Your parents would only believe the worst in me wether that was true or not.'

'You really did save my life,' said Dudley, looking at his cousin, as if for the first time.

'Yeah. Well.'

They shifted their eyes away from each other, and Dudley felt a prickling sensation in the corners of his eyes.

'Get the hell out of my room!'

Several evenings later found Hermione, Luna and Ginny sitting around the lounge, each relaxing with a magazine. Propped up with pillows and quilts, the girls were drowsy and lazy with the boredom that comes from being cooped up inside one place for too long. They had finished reading their own magazines hours ago, so now Ginny was skimming through Hermione's 'Modern Magical Monthly', Luna skeptically thumbed through Ginny's "Bewitching Witches", while Hermione plodded through Luna's copy of "The Quibbler".

Ron and Neville were at the back of the room playing Wizards Chess. Surprisingly after much protesting about a lack of strategic ability, Neville was actually giving Ron a run for his money. The Order members were having a meeting in the kitchen, and as a result the house was generally quiet with the lack of activity.

Ginny, who had been lying on her front reading, rolled over onto her back and said to no one in particular 'Ooh I wish they'd hurry up and finish up in there, I'm starving!'

Neville and Ron echoed her sentiment, and Ron joked about having a 'proper' house elf around to prepare them food like at Hogwarts. Although comments like this usually prompted Hermione to start rambling about the rights of house elves, this time she simply asked 'Wait; where is Kreacher, anyway? I haven't seen him around trying to 'rescue' Mrs Black's things lately.'

'Kreacher is being here no more, miss,' said a squeaky voice, seemingly out of nowhere.

'Winky?!' chimed Hermione and Ron at once in disbelief.

'What happened?' Ginny asked the house elf.

'Kreacher is being here no more, so Master Dumbledore is asking Winky for a transfer.'

'So Kreacher's gone and you've filled his place? You've left Hogwarts; does that mean you're asserting your freedom by leaving? Hermione asked hopefully.

'Oh no! Master Dumbledore is asking Winky to work in his house, not the castle. He is thinking Winky is being more comfortable here.'

'Dumbledore's house?' Questioned Ron, as Neville and Luna looked politely confused.

'This was Sirius's house,' Hermione addressed them, 'Before he dies, he must have arranged for Dumbledore to inherit the house for the Order. There were no 'proper' Blacks left; although I had thought that Harry might get it.'

'Maybe it's Dumbledore's until Harry's old enough to claim it,' offered Neville quietly from the back of the room.

'Well that makes sense. So what do you think of your new home, Winky?' Hermione turned her attention to the elf.

'Winky likes to keep busy, miss!' she responded before hurrying out of sight.

Ron only shrugged and turned his attention back to the game of chess, avoiding any possible chance Hermione could take to mention SPEW, but she remained silent. Almost as quickly as she had left, the house elf returned, this time with a tray larger than her own body, laden with a teapot, cups and an assortment of snacks. Winky squeaked as Neville reached out his hand to pour his tea, causing them both to blush slightly pink. Ginny took her teacup and walked across the room to the window. It was a dark day for early July, the sky was heavy and grey, thanks to clouds that had been threatening rain since morning. As the young girl stepped closer, the steam from her tea began to fog the glass, partially obscuring the dismal view. Wiping her palm across the window pane, Ginny spotted something white emerging from the murky sky.

'Oh!' She exclaimed suddenly, 'It's Hedwig; look!' She was right; as the snowy white owl came closer, the group of young people drew nearer to the window to welcome her in. The owl swooped straight to Luna, who held out her arm automatically while wearing a slightly dazed expression on her face. Hedwig settled her wings, then turned her warm amber eyes on each one in the room, hooting softly. Hermione removed the minuscule note attached to the owl's leg and unrolled the parchment.

'Read it out, 'Mione,' Ron spoke for everyone present.

'There's not much to read,' she replied, 'all he wrote was "got it".'

Hedwig hooted in Hermione's direction and propelled herself once more through the window and into the dark sky.

As they were so transfixed at the window, nobody noticed when Molly Weasley stepped into the room.

'What's going on here?' She demanded in a voice more concerned than angry.

'Hedwig was just here, Mum; Harry got our message!' Ginny replied.

'Oh I see. Hermione, dear, may I have a word in the hall?'

Hermione thought fast; it sounded as if Mrs Weasley was about to reprimand her for something. Had she done anything wrong? Was she going to ask about what she and Ron were doing up late the other night? Her heart sunk, but the only response she gave the older woman was a slightly bewildered nod as she walked towards the door.

'Have you read today's Daily Prophet?'

Hermione shook her head. 'Mr Weasley had it in the kitchen this morning, but I didn't get a chance to see it before the Order meeting. Why?'

Mrs Weasley let out a weary sounding sigh as she handed the paper to the younger woman. There on the front page (not the headline, but not far from it) were the words "Toying with boys again?" She gasped and proceeded to read the article, which mirrored many of the same comments that Luna had alerted her to about her so-called "relationship" with Viktor Krum. The article said that she had admitted to leading Krum on romantically, only to break his heart suddenly prior to the most recent Bulgaria-Albania quidditch match. It even unfairly re-hashed references to her supposed two-timing of Viktor and Harry nearly two years previous, despite never officially having dated either boy.

Needless to say Hermione was infuriated. Her grim face met Molly Weasley's warm eyes before her mood softened. Mrs Weasley grasped her hand, saying 'Of course, dear, I don't believe a word of it. I just had to let you know what they're saying.'

Hermione lowered her eyes, although she did feel slightly relieved. If Mrs Weasley hadn't believed her, who would have? She felt glad that she hadn't mentioned any of it to her own mother. As much as it eased her mind to know that Mrs Weasley didn't believe the lies in the paper, she knew there were people who would. But people like that would blindly believe anything if it was printed in a newspaper. They didn't know about -

Her mind stopped cold. She refused to think about it. If there was anything that clever, know-it-all Hermione Granger was ashamed to discuss, it was that situation with Viktor.

'Dear, you're looking a bit peaky, do you need to sit down?' Mrs Weasley's concerned voice broke through Hermione's thoughts. She was about to decline when she felt a wave of dizziness overtake her, and black spots began to flicker in front of her eyes. Mrs Weasley noticed the girl's face grow pale, and caught her by the arm to prevent her from losing her balance and falling down. She led her to the staircase to sit, then conjured a glass of cool water for the girl to drink.

Hermione took a few sips and murmured her thanks. Her vision was returning to normal, but a dull humming sound in her ears gave the moment a strange, otherworldly sensation.

'Hermione, are you alright?' Mrs Weasley questioned, with the young woman's hand clasped in her own.

'Yes, I think so,' she replied weakly, as her auditory discomfort dies away. 'I was only thinking about . . . and felt uncomfortable . . .' Words were failing her in her embarrassment of the situation.

'Was it what we were talking about?'

'Yes, well . . . Sort of.' Her face took on a pained expression as she attempted to tell Mrs Weasley something she hadn't been able to mention to even her two best friends. 'Viktor was never my boyfriend . . .'

'No, of course not, dear! That nasty Skeeter woman started all that.'

'Partially. We did spend time together, but we weren't serious. Didn't do anything serious . . .' She waited a moment to search the older woman's face for understanding before she went on. 'I didn't tell anyone anything; everyone thought we were dating, but . . . Oh I just couldn't!'

Molly Weasley was startled by the pleading look in the girl's eyes.

'He wanted to . . . But I couldn't. I was only fourteen, but that didn't seem to matter. We haven't spoken in a long time.'

Hermione felt herself being gathered up in a motherly embrace, and held tightly. Even as the hot tears spilled down her cheeks, she felt better for having told somebody at last.