You Call This A Holiday?

Hermione awoke from a dreamless sleep late that night. Luna and Ginny were asleep in their beds, their even breathing was the only sound Hermione could hear in the house. The nearly-full moon cast a cold silver glow across the floor, since the window coverings had been left open. The moonlight lit the way to the door as Hermione climbed out of bed for a glass of water. There were no lights on, so she navigated in the dark. Glass in hand, Hermione was about to push open the bedroom door when she heard whispers down the hall.

'No, I can't do that,' she heard Lupin whisper wearily.

'Why not? What's standing in your way?' The second voice sounded like Tonks in an uncharacteristic lament.

'Please don't mention it again. It's complicated and I just don't have the energy to explain.'

'As long as you're not using tomorrow's full moon as an excuse, Remus.'

There was a pause and a sigh. 'Would I do that to you?' Hermione shivered in the chilly night air, which reminded her of the present situation. Whatever was going on down the hall, she knew she didn't want to be discovered eavesdropping, no matter how innocently it started.

The following day was a slight departure from the days previous at Grimmauld Place. Despite how well the three young women were getting along, Hermione found herself drifting apart from the other two. True to female teenage form, Ginny and Luna were becoming what Hermione called 'obsessed' with things like boys and fashion and spent the majority of their time gossiping and giggling. Even eccentric Luna seemed to pay attention to celebrities and trends, probably owing to her continuous exposure to that outlandish publication of her father's. It seemed as if she and Ginny had formed a tight bond over these silly things to which Hermione just couldn't quite relate to. So she found herself alone in the hallway at the top of the stairs, perusing her new schoolbooks which Mrs Weasley had picked up in Diagon Alley for her.

The landing where she sat was at the top of the house—only the former Black master bedroom (AKA Buckbeak's room) was on this floor, while all other bedrooms and such were stratified on lower floors. Hermione sighed; it was really turning out to be a lousy day. Although the sounds from the other rooms were muffled, she knew the other girls were sitting on beds in the room below her, giggling over musicians and certain North American quidditch players. Neville had been taken by Moody to St Mungo's to visit his grandmother, who was due to return home any day now, while select members of the Order commandeered the kitchen as per usual. Only Ron was not properly accounted for, although Hermione surmised he was in his room taking the opportunity to polish his precious broomstick (or Prefect's badge, although he would never admit to it).

While she generally looked forward to quiet time with her books, it was generally if she was in the crowded Common Room and needed time to herself, not when she was bored and slightly lonely. She leaned back against the wall and fidgeted with the left cuff of her brown wool sweater. She had taken the time to knit the sweater herself (after making so many items for house elves, why not?), but she still wasn't satisfied with the finished product. There were tiny errors in the pattern that she hadn't been able to correct, but still it was a comfortable sweater and she was proud of it.

The previous day's damp greyness had turned into a total deluge—the sky had seemingly opened up, and relentless sheets of rain had been falling since early morning. The sound was loud and heavy overhead and Hermione imagined the rain breaking the roof and washing her down over the stairs on her backside. Through the door she could hear Buckbeak moving around restlessly in the room, probably also distraught by the sounds of the storm.

Suddenly a wave of recklessness took over her mind. She knew that everyone staying at number twelve Grimmauld Place had avoided entering Sirius's room, either out of respect for the dead or grief for the mourner. Despite that, Hermione felt an indescribably urge to look around his room.

What has gotten into me? she wondered, eager to name Ron and Harry as the primary causes for her sporadic nervy actions. Stealthily, she crept down the stairs and towards his room. Checking quickly to make sure nobody was watching, she tested the doorknob—it was unlocked. She stepped inside the darkened room, refusing to turn on any lights. The rain was streaming in thick ribbons down the window, adding to the eerie feeling inside. The growing layer of dust was a harsh reminder of the absence of the room's former occupant. The room itself was cluttered in traditional Sirius style, with old copies of the Daily Prophet and Quidditch Quarterly scattered over the floor, along with several old robes, several chicken bones (ew!), socks and assorted dirty dishes. The bed was unmade, as if the owner had rushed away suddenly, as he may well have—Hermione recalled the events of the night of the Ministry of Magic with a heaviness in her heart.

Her guilt for entering the room was beginning to assert itself and as she turned to leave, she noticed several photographs on a bookcase near the door. The first photo was of Harry's parents on their wedding day, with Sirius himself smiling and waving with them. Hermione recognized that one—it was the same photo Harry had in the album Hagrid had given him in first year. The second picture was of the four Marauders, although Pettigrew's face had been magically removed and the caption 'TRAITOR' had been added in its place. The third was of Harry, Hermione guessed sometime just after the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. The fourth and final photo on the shelf was the only one not in a frame. There were fingerprints all over the picture, which was of a slender-looking Remus Lupin, asleep on a couch. Even with his back to the camera, Hermione instantly recognized the figure as she watched his chest rise and fall with the steady regularity of sleep.

The image didn't leave her all day. The memory of seeing the photo of her soft-spoken former professor in deep repose practically haunted her, and it only got worse when she noticed he sat down across from her at supper. Naturally, she had her own suspicions as to the nature of the picture, or its implications at least, but it was so subtle and she dared not mention it aloud. Lupin, as quiet and unreadable as ever, offered Hermione no further clues. Was it possible that he was mourning Sirius in a way that no one else could understand?

She noticed he wasn't eating very much, then glanced up at the clock—it was just after six.

'Thank you again, Molly, that was delicious,' he praised as he rose to his feet.

'Oh Remus,' Molly Weasley lamented, 'you haven't eaten much. Will you be alright?'

'I'll be fine. Guess I just don't have much of an appetite today, I'm afraid.' He chanced a small wry grin in her direction. 'It is certainly no reflection on your formidable culinary skills. Excuse me.'

Mrs Weasley fretted and tutted as he left the room, probably wondering if she should bother making him some tea or coffee, but did nothing. The chatter around the table was low, until Hermione spoke up.

'Where does Professor Lupin go to transform?'

A look was exchanged between the two Weasley parents. 'Ah. As Severus is only able to brew a half-strength Wolfsbane potion away from Hogwarts, he, er—that is to say, Remus—locks himself in the cellar,' Arthur Weasley explained. 'As long as he's isolated, he's a harmless wolf. But you kids listen—' His face was grave. '—under no circumstance should you even go near the cellar door—your very scent could provoke him. Please don't give him the chance to turn violent. The last thing Remus would tolerate would be to harm someone he cares about.'

Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna all murmured their agreement. Even Tonks at the end of the table was nodding, although it seemed as though she were nodding more to herself than to what Mr Weasley had said.

As Mrs Weasley began to clear away empty and abandoned plates, two identical, well-dressed young men Apparated beside her.

'Oh, of course it'll be you two!' she exclaimed in mock-exasperation, clearly delighted to see her twin sons.

'Sorry Mum, bad timing!' said George slyly.

'Yeah,' replied his brother Fred, 'we meant to get you while you were still sitting down!' The two young men grinned widely.

'Boys, do you have the, er . . . .' Mr Weasley faltered.

'Yeah, got it right here,' Fred tapped the breast pocket of his dragon-hide jacket.

George looked at Fred and their father in turn. 'Want to . . .' his head tipped almost imperceptibly towards the door.

'Certainly boys.'

Fred and George started across the kitchen to meet their father. Almost unnoticed, Fred prodded Ron on the shoulder with his wand tip as he passed by. Outraged and demanding an explanation, he stared at his other twin brother as he passed by, but received only a deliberate wink in response.

'What was that all about?' asked Neville warily, echoing Hermione's curiosity. Ron and Ginny gave only shrugs in answer, Ron's punctuated with rubbing his stinging shoulder. Only Luna appeared unconcerned as she methodically dipped each of her fingers on her right hand into her half-empty glass of water.

'You five,' Mrs Weasley addressed the teenagers, pointing in their direction with a dripping wooden spoon, 'make yourselves scarce. Run out into the other room and stay out of trouble.'

Ron opened his mouth to argue something, but she interrupted him.

'Ronald Bilius!' The others around the table repressed sniggers while Ron fumed in indignation at being addressed by his full name. 'Do not try my patience! I need to clean up this mess, and I don't want to be tripping over you. And if your father and the twins are in there, say nothing and just go upstairs until they're finished.'

'Okay, Mum.'

'Oh and take Crookshanks with you, please!' she called to their retreating backs as the bandy-legged feline rubbed his squashed face against Molly's leg, meowing forcefully in a request for leftovers.

'What kind of day is this, anyhow?' grumbled Ron as they trouped out to the lounge. Nobody had any answer for him. They sat around the room, full from their meal but not very talkative.

Luna planted herself on the carpet playing with Crookshanks, teasing the large car with a long piece of wool from a blanket. Ginny had curled up in an armchair, apparently with an intent to read the paper, but promptly fell asleep.

'Bit too much excitement for her today, d'you reckon?' Ron joked to the others, indicating his dozing sister. Neville grinned warmly, then gave a great yawn himself.

'Ron, would you please pass the Prophet? I don't believe Ginny will miss it,' Hermione asked her friend, who quickly obliged.

As she scanned the headlines, Tonks stepped into the room. Her hair today was long and blonde, like Luna's, and she was wearing what suspiciously looked like radishes in her ears.

'Wotcher. I'm going out for a bit; anyone need anything while I'm gone?'

'Mum said we need another case of Butterbeer, but I think she's picking it up tomorrow,' Ron answered.

'Good enough. Oi, she wasn't wasting any time, was she?' Tonks commented in amusement, noticing Ginny sleeping in the chair. She waved goodbye to everyone, and as she opened the door to step outside, a small brown ball flew in the door. 'Looks like you've got mail, Ron. See you!'

Tonks pulled the door shut behind her and the tiny owl flew wildly towards the lounge, giving the impression of a feathered snitch.

'Pig!' Ron exclaimed happily as he caught the over-excited owl with his left hand.

'Who's the letter from, Ronald?' Luna was suspiciously eying the roll of parchment attached to Pigwidgeon's leg.

Ron unrolled it and scanned to the bottom of the letter before actually reading it, just to make sure of who it was from.

'It's from my brother, Charlie. He hasn't been around in a while cos he's really busy with work. I was afraid Pig wouldn't even be able to find his way to Romania and back.' If the owl had taken any offence to his comment, it gave no sign. Ron plopped down on a couch cushion without taking his eyes off the page.

Meanwhile Hermione was flipping to the 'Spellbinding' section of the Daily Prophet to find the crossword. She read her horoscope out of both habit and humor (Virgo: Curiosity and patience will be rewarded. No need for Cheering Charms—you're giddy already!); she laughed derisively, dismissing what the stars allegedly had in store for her when she noticed that the crossword was already partially completed.

'Who started the crossword?' she blurted out in surprise.

Neville eyed her meekly. 'Sorry Hermione, I didn't know you wanted it.'

'No, that's okay, Neville,' she replied. 'I was just surprised—I thought I was the only one here who likes them.' She looked through the Across and Down clues and checked over Neville's answers. 'Wow, these are really tricky! I didn't know you were so good at these. I mean,' she blushed slightly, feeling kind of stupid, 'not that I didn't think you could, just that I didn't know you had the patience for it.' She eyed Ron pointedly, while he remained oblivious to her comment.

Neville grinned a little with pride. 'No performance anxiety, I guess,' he joked. Hermione thought she heard Luna giggle, but when she turned to look at the girl, her face was perfectly composed as she scratched Crookshanks behind the ears.

Meanwhile, Ron was busy folding up his letter from Charlie into a tiny square. He glanced furtively around the room at his friends until he caught Hermione's eye, and stuffed the folded note deep in his jeans pocket. Unfortunately for Ron, the twins took that moment to join them in the lounge.

'Ooh! What was that?' taunted Fred, nearly tackling his younger brother on the couch. 'Does ickle-Ronnikins have a letter?'

'Wouldn't be from a secret admirer, would it? Give us a peek, brother dear,' chimed George, taking cues from his twin.

Shove off, you gits!' exclaimed Ron loudly in exasperation. 'It's from Charlie!' Regardless of his explanation, Ron couldn't help that his face was quickly turning as red as his hair.

'Ah yes,' said George wisely, 'I understand our dear brother does have that impact on people. But, his own family . . .' The twins winked and smirked at each other mischievously. Fred leaned close to Ron and cupped his hand to his brother's ear, whispering something unknown to the rest of the room. Actually, unknown to everyone else except George who grinned broadly while monitoring his two brothers, without saying a word.

Ron's eyes grew wide and bulged while his brother relayed his secret message. 'Are you serious?' he whispered hoarsely. The twins nodded solemnly, but their shining eyes betrayed the fact that this couldn't possibly be a serious matter.

'Upstairs, then, Ron,' George nodded towards the ceiling.

Ron looked dazed and a little awestruck. 'Yeah. Yeah, okay.'

'Now that we've got everything taken care of,' Fred said, facing his twin, who was apparently in agreement. 'We must be off again. Very busy in the joke business these days.'

'Very busy indeed,' echoed George, the smile on his face never faltering.

'We bid you adieu!' they said at once, before they Disapparated with a sharp crack.

'Hm? Wha? Who has the whip?' Ginny was awake again and peered blearily around the room before closing her eyes again.