Chapter Twenty-One

A/N: As usual, all fully italicized text is from DH, and everything you recognize belongs to JKR. All else is mine. Thank you to OpalJade for her insights on this chapter and to Shellsnapeluver, my beta extraordinaire.

Snape was walking down a narrow, moonlit lane. He had rarely approached Malfoy Manor from the street; more often, he Apparated directly indoors, but the Death Eaters found themselves more paranoid than ever, now, just before their inevitable rise to power. Voldemort insisted that nothing be left to chance any longer; Snape had not argued, and yet he knew he took a chance just walking down this deserted street.

A figure, hooded like himself, appeared at the other end of the lane. He gripped his wand more tightly in his fist until he recognized Yaxley. Ridiculous oaf. Still, he nodded in greeting.

Yaxley prattled on as they approached the Manor and raised their left forearms to be admitted through the gate. Snape startled suddenly as they entered--it seemed he'd caught the briefest motion from the corner of his eye. Yaxley drew his wand, confirming that there had indeed been a disturbance. Snape turned slowly, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as they tried to rise. He raised his wand--

And found that he had been about to curse a peacock. A pale, white peacock. Several thoughts darted through his mind, the first of which he buried so quickly it was as if he had never thought it at all. He had wished that Hermione were there, for he could almost hear the sound of her laughter at the self-important bird. Dangerous, terrifying, that sort of feeling, and yet he'd had it more and more often since he had seen her at her parents' home.

Secondly, he realized that the bird was a sign. Lucius had returned from Azkaban. The peacocks were unmistakably Lucius's. They were exactly the kind of crass, ostentatious, thinly-veiled symbolism he favored. Third was a surge of pure hatred for Lucius Malfoy, for the Malfoy family in general. They stood for nothing. He'd had more respect for them when he'd thought they truly believed in the Dark Lord and his plans. He wished that this did not have to be done in their house.

Still flanked by Yaxley, he entered the Malfoy drawing room, taking the indicated chair beside Lord Voldemort. Above them revolved the immobilized body of his former colleague, Charity Burbage. She was as good as dead. Snape refused to glance upward as he sat. Clearly, the image was meant to discomfit them all, and he would show no sign of it.

"News, Severus?"

"My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current place of safety on Saturday next, at nightfall."

"--from the source we discussed," said Snape.

Yaxley moved to interrupt, but the Dark Lord squashed his protest with a look. "And of your... task?"

Snape pulled from his cloak a Muggle newspaper, opened and folded to the second page, and slid it across the table to the Dark Lord. The article it revealed gave the details of a gruesome robbery, ending in the deaths of two quiet Muggle dentists and the torching of their home. Muggle authorities were at a loss for any motive, and the killer or killers had left no fingerprints, no sign of how they had entered. No sign, even, of how the occupants had died--if they had been murdered or if they had simply succumbed to the fire, for their bodies had been immolated beyond recognition.

Voldemort glanced through the paper, and his lips drew back in a dreadful rictus of pleasure. He tucked the paper into the folds of his robes. The other Death Eaters at the table looked curious and disappointed, as it was clear that he would not be sharing Snape's news with the rest of them.

Yaxley recovered first and began again to protest. "But, my Lord, Dawlish, the Auror, let slip that Potter will not be moved until the thirtieth, the night before the boy turns seventeen."

Snape drew his lips into his customary smirk, allowing the others to read the self-assurance there. "My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it."

He had been pleased to receive Hermione's message in his ring in the small hours of the morning, telling him of the revised date of the plan. So, it seemed, she had been able to follow through in getting the Order to accept Mundungus's idea. Finding Mundungus in order to plant the plan on him had proved much more difficult. He had tracked the sneaky, little slime ball for days before finally finding him in a Muggle bar, of all places. A Muggle bar where he seemed to have been quite the favorite. When Snape had found him, he'd been sitting, squashed between two scantily clad and rather buxom females, in a worn, beaten looking pub, being served some hideous concoction by a grinning barman who kept referring to him as Mundy.

The look on the little thief's face when he had recognized Snape had been worth all the effort. But Snape had quickly dragged him aside and Confunded him, and the look was replaced by a blank kind of stare, a stare Snape hated. With extreme distaste, he had suggested quietly that the date of the move be changed, that Polyjuice Potion be used, not to disguise Potter, but to make duplicates of him, as many as they could round up. He further suggested that Mundungus would have no memory of seeing him and would present the idea as his own. Hermione's message had confirmed that things were proceeding as he'd hoped.

The rest of the meeting was simply distasteful. The Dark Lord had always been prone to grandiosity, but his efforts seemed, lately, to be almost vulgar in their affectation. The snake slithering around his neck, the killing of the Muggle-lover... The only high point was when the Dark Lord requested a wand and took Lucius Malfoy's, to the man's obvious discomfort and displeasure. Wandless, Lucius resembled nothing so much as a sulky teenager, denied the latest broomstick by his wealthy parents for his naughty behavior.

When Snape arrived back at Spinner's End, he hesitated just before opening the door, as he had done each time he'd returned since he had foolishly given Hermione that piece of parchment. He had known as he'd written it that it was likely the most incredible risk he'd ever taken, outside of joining the Death Eaters. She could not tell his secret; no, not with her mouth. But she could take the parchment directly to the Aurors. She could Apparate onto his doorstep with an Order member riding the tail of robes. He had known it was unwise, and yet he had done it anyway. And even as he'd handed it to her, he knew he should be forcing her to read it then and there, to make her burn it in front of him. But her face, back in her parents' house, her tortured face, still open to him... it would have been an insult to her to indicate that he did not trust her, when she'd stood there, trusting him with everything.

He pushed the door open and was greeted, as always, with silence.

***

In fact, Hermione had secured the plan only the day before.

"Hermione, I'd like a word." Arthur Weasley had barely stepped out the flames and into his kitchen when he spoke. His face was unreadable, but in his hand he held a newspaper--a Muggle newspaper. Her heart dropped. She had suspected this might happen but had been hoping for a more opportune time. Ron had not yet broken the news to his family that he would not be returning to Hogwarts in September, and she had not wanted to discuss her parents with the Weasleys until Ron, too, was ready to unveil his plan. She cast a significant look at him as she rose from the kitchen table, where she had been snapping peas for Mrs Weasley in preparation for the evening's Order meeting.

Wordlessly, she followed Mr Weasley into the cramped sitting room of the Burrow with Ron right on her heels.

Mr Weasley shot a disapproving look at his son, but seemed to realize he was defeated and held out the paper to Hermione. "You said your parents were going on vacation," he said. When she looked into his eyes, they were clouded with concern for her.

"Sir, I'm very sorry to have lied to you. I didn't mean to impose upon your trust," she said. She glanced at Ron. He needed to step in here, to explain.

"Hermione, it's not my trust I'm concerned about. I want to know what's going on here. Is this true? And if it is, why didn't you tell us? This is too much to bear on your own. Surely, you know that we wouldn't have turned you away."

Is that what he thought? That she had been afraid to tell them for fear that they wouldn't take her in, that they would see what terrible risk followed her presence? She felt miniscule. Worse than lying to them, she had not even considered the risk she caused the Weasleys. They were harbouring a Muggle-born.

"I--I know that, sir. And I'm very grateful. You have always treated me like family. I didn't tell you, well, because--"

For a moment, she could not go on. What could she say that would make him understand what she'd done?

"Hermione, it's all right," Mr Weasley said gently. "I understand if you don't want to talk about it. This article isn't common knowledge--no one outside of those with Ministry connections has seen it. It won't be reported, you know that all the news is being--"

"No, it's not that," she choked. "I didn't tell you because--"

"Because it's not true," Ron broke in. Took him long enough.

Mr Weasley looked flabbergasted. "Beg pardon?" He was still brandishing the newspaper.

"Her parents are fine. Hermione was afraid for their safety, so she moved them."

"Moved them? But--"

"I modified their memories," she said, lying quietly and with great regret. "And I hid them far away. They no longer remember having a daughter or anything about magic. Even if Voldemort were to find them somehow, he wouldn't be able to torture anything out of them."

Mr Weasley sank onto the worn looking couch. "Anything about what?" he asked wearily.

Hermione and Ron exchanged another glance.

"Whatever it is, come out with it," he said, clearly losing patience. Why hadn't she noticed before how awful he looked? His face was gray with fatigue and thinner even than usual. Even his eyes seemed to have dulled.

"Dad, Hermione and I aren't going back to Hogwarts."

Mr Weasley sat silently. He seemed to be sizing them both up.

"It's Harry," Hermione said. "He's been given a job. By Dumbledore. And we're going to help him do it. My parents... they didn't know anything more about this than you do. But they knew a lot about Harry, about his history, and I didn't think--"

"You didn't think," he repeated quietly, but there was no venom there. He sighed. "That was very brave, what you did, Hermione. I can't imagine how hard it must have been." There was silence for a moment, and the weight of what they were setting in motion settled like storm clouds in the air. "Your mother is going to kill you, Ronald."

"I know, but Dad--"

"I can't know, can I? What you're doing?"

Ron looked down, and Hermione wished she could comfort him. He was nearly trembling. But she was immensely grateful to Mr Weasley, who was not protesting, who was, in fact, talking about this as if it had already been decided.

"No."

"Have you thought about what you're going to tell your mother?"

"Only every moment for the last week."

"I wish you had come to me."

"I didn't--I don't--want you to think that I would leave you vulnerable. No more so than you already are. Hermione and I have come up with something you can say when I don't show up at Hogwarts. I didn't want to tell you until I was sure it would work, but we've been having trouble and--"

Mr Weasley stood and quickly embraced his son. Hermione had never seen Ron cry, not even when they had been children, not even during Dumbledore's funeral, but she could tell by the way his back twitched with his breathing that he must be crying into his father's chest. She stood there awkwardly until Mr Weasley's arm snuck out and folded her in.

"Tell me your plan, and I'll do what I can to help. No matter what your mother says, Ron, she will be proud of you. You are a good man."

Ron shook harder, and Hermione felt tears prickling at her eyes. She wanted her own father so fiercely.

***

The Order members began to arrive just before dinner, Apparating into the meadow, just as she had done on her arrival. The twins, Ron, and Hermione had been given the job of escorting them through the wards and into the house. Remus and Tonks arrived first, Tonks sporting electric pink hair and holding firmly to Remus's hand as if she intended never to let him out of her sight again. She swished her left hand in Hermione's face, dissolving into very un-Tonks-like giggles as Hermione goggled at her wedding ring.

"It was my mother's," Remus said gruffly. Fred and George took charge of the two of them and led them toward the house.

Moody appeared next, and before Hermione could speak up to claim him, he said, "Miss Granger?" and offered her his arm.

Walking on Moody's arm was difficult, as he didn't so much walk as hobble, but Hermione was grateful for the chance to speak with the gruff and scarred old wizard alone.

"I saw the paper," he growled in his strange, low pitched voice. "I take it you've heard from our friend."

She nodded and gathered her courage. "Sir, did you know?"

"Know he would kill him? They didn't come right out and tell me, if that's what you're asking. But I had a pretty clear idea of what would happen. I'm surprised you hadn't figured it out, Miss Granger. Perhaps you're not quite the brain everyone says you are. I thought the old man had made it quite clear on the night of your birthday. I thought that was why you... made the choice you did."

His words stung, but Hermione knew there was truth behind them. Why hadn't she guessed? In retrospect, it had been quite clear what Dumbledore had been trying to tell her.

"Either way," he said, "I could see in your face that night that you had a hand in it. Brave of you. But you'll want to work on your acting, young lady. I'd have thought our friend would have taught you that."

"Yes, sir," was all she could manage.

"Ministry's on the way out," Moody said as they approached the door. "It'll be Death Eaters in charge before we know it. You've kept your bargain, Miss Granger, that much is clear. If you like, I could destroy the records."

"No," she blurted before she'd had time to think, to stop herself.

"That's what I thought. Fair enough. But remember--your acting."

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, then," he said and released her arm, stumping his way into the kitchen. "What smells good, Molly? I'm starved."

She turned and walked back to the meadow, her head spinning with thoughts. Should she have allowed him to erase the records of their marriage? Would the binding spells between them still hold if she did? What did it matter? It was just a piece of parchment and a spell. It was just a plan. It was just... but in some way that she could not articulate, it mattered to her very much. Snape was the only family she had now, the only home, the only person who shared her secrets. If their marriage were nullified, would he drop from her life as quickly as he had come?

And yet, if the Death Eaters were taking the Ministry, Moody would not be in a position to cloak their records any further. She could not bear for harm to come to Snape because of her foolish desires. Not to mention what the boys would think, what the Weasleys--who had not even blinked when she'd shown up two weeks early, but welcomed her wholeheartedly into the fold--would think. She resolved that she would speak to Moody and change her decision the next chance she got.

She passed Ron, who was escorting Hagrid to the house, and watched as George joined up with Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had just appeared. Hermione took the arm of Dedalus Diggle, who had removed his purple top hat with a flourish when he saw her, and stooping, escorted him to the meeting.

Fred was the last to return to the kitchen with Mundungus Fletcher in tow. Mundungus looked deeply conflicted, an emotion that rode oddly on his pouchy face. Clearly, he did not want to be here in the slightest, yet something compelled him.

As soon as the last bite of treacle tart had been taken, he blurted it out, seemingly unable to contain himself any longer.

Having downed more than his fair share of the wine that, to be honest, had been flowing rather freely that evening, his words came out in a slurred rush. "So, I've been thinking about moving Harry--"

He was abruptly cut off by Molly Weasley, who exiled Ginny to her bedroom.

Ginny sat defiantly in her place. "Why can't I stay? Don't I have just as much right to know what's going on as anyone here?"

"Ginevra, you are not of age," Mrs Weasley said, glaring at Ron and Hermione as if she thought that they had been terribly inappropriate in turning seventeen.

"Molly--" Mr Weasley began.

"No. I've given all my sons to this cause," she said, her voice alarmingly near tears. Her eyes swept the table. There were an inordinate number of redheads seated there. "I will not give my daughter as well. Not until I absolutely have to."

There was an awkward silence until Ginny relented and exited the room, though Hermione suspected she would be employing one of Fred and George's Extendable Ears before they had got in more than a few sentences.

"Right, so as I was saying," Mundungus said. "I was thinking that now that Snape's gone, moving Harry on his birthday isn't such a good idea."

"Yes, we've already agreed that the date--" Kingsley began, but Mundungus would not be deterred.

"No, listen, see. They'll know--and I'd bet all my gold they'll know we know." Mrs Weasley gave a rather undignified snort at that, presumably doubting that Mundungus had any gold to be wagering. "They'll be hanging round that house he's in, won't they? Watching, waiting. We'll need a better plan than the one we've got."

"Yes, we see the problem," Kingsley said shortly.

"Well, I was thinking. What if we had more than one Harry?"

Remus rolled his eyes and turned to Hestia Jones. "Have you secured the safe house for the Dursleys?" he asked.

But Moody was looking thoughtfully at Mundungus, Hermione was pleased to note. "More than one Harry," he growled in a considering way.

"You know, Polyjuice a bunch of people to look like him--they won't know which one to chase!"

This seemed to have caught everyone's attention.

"You know, that could work," Mr Weasley said slowly.

"But whoever looked like Harry..." Mrs Weasley said, "whoever looked like Harry, they'd be in terrible danger." Hermione knew that she was concerned for all her sons, who were sure to volunteer.

"More than we are now?" George said, indicating the Weasley family clock with his fork. All hands stood, as they had for months, on 'Mortal Peril.'

"He's right, Mum," Fred said. "What's important is to get Harry someplace safe. Without Harry, we might as well all pack it in, hadn't we?"

"We would need volunteers," Moody said. "At least six to play Harry, to make it worthwhile, and seven escorts. I could secure enough Polyjuice."

"I'll do it," Hermione said.

"And me," Ron said.

"No! You're too young; you don't know what you're risking!" Mrs Weasley interrupted.

"Yes, I do," Hermione said quietly. "I'm Muggle-born. If Voldemort can take Harry... I'll be dead or in hiding for the rest of my life. I'd rather die fighting. And it has to be us, doesn't it? There aren't enough of you to play Harry and the escorts, too. And I'm sure they'll be expecting Harry to have the strongest protectors we've got. It wouldn't look right to see me trying to defend Harry--"

"We're in," said Fred firmly.

Mrs Weasley looked mutinous.

"I will do it," Fleur Delacour said, unexpectedly, before Mrs Weasley could speak again. Hermione's head whipped around to stare at the beautiful silvery-haired witch who sat proudly beside her fiancé. "This is important, yes? Maybe the most important thing we do. I will help."

Hermione felt the oddest stab of tears behind her eyes again. She had expected the twins and Ron. But sometimes valor came from the most unexpected places. She did not really know Fleur Delacour, but suddenly, she felt that she would die to protect her.

"We need one more," said Moody.

No one spoke.

"Mundungus?" he said pointedly. "It was your idea, after all."

"Oh, no, I don't think... that is, I'd rather be a protector if it comes to that--"

"Nonsense," said Moody firmly. "As Miss Granger said, they'll expect our most powerful Order members to be the protectors. So, Dung, Miss Granger, Miss Delacour, and Ron, Fred, and George Weasley will play Harry." Mrs Weasley looked as if she would be sick any moment. "Naturally, I'll be a protector. We'll need six more."

Bill, Remus, Tonks, Mr Weasley, Kingsley and Hagrid all volunteered in quick succession.

"We move him next week. Saturday. Everyone to a different location. Then we'll Portkey back here. They'll have to be unregistered Portkeys. Pius Thicknesse has turned, which means the normal modes of transport are out. I'll take care of that--"

The meeting proceeded on in the same vein as the Order members volunteered their families for safe houses. It was agreed that they would meet every night until next Saturday. There was much to be done--the enchantments on all the safe houses; acquiring the Polyjuice; modes of transport (Mr Weasley had volunteered to add extra charms to Sirius's flying motorcycle for Hagrid); getting Harry's sizes for robes and glasses to be distributed among the Harry imposters; making the hiding place ready for the Dursleys.

Hermione was nearly asleep on her feet when the meeting finally broke up. She crept into the room she was sharing with Ginny. Her friend was splayed, fully clothed, across her bed, deeply asleep with an Extendable Ear still held tightly to her ear. Hermione took it gently and rolled it back up. On impulse, she threw it into the bag that was packed with Ron's and her things. Perhaps she should speak to Fred and George about getting some supplies... Peruvian Darkness Powder... maybe even some Skiving Snackboxes...

She inched around Ginny's bed and climbed into her own, pulling her notes out from underneath the mattress. She unrolled the list she'd made for this week. Next to 'Tell Ron's Family,' she placed a firm checkmark. She also checked off 'Take Up for Mundungus's Plan' and 'Make Sure Moving Date is Changed.' Remaining on the list were 'Transfigure Ghoul,' 'Pack Harry's Things,' and 'Update Friend.'

She placed a checkmark next the last one, and checking to make sure Ginny was still sound asleep, touched her wand to her ring.

Saturday next. All go, she sent. And wished she could add, How are you?

On the list she kept in her heart, 'Get Phineas Nigellus Black's Portrait' was still hanging, unchecked, at number one.