9. Sv Mgglbrn Chldrn fr DEs

9. Sv Mggl-brn chldrn fr DEs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yep!" yipped the little dog.

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

"Yip-yip! Thanks for not laughing."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What if you get in trouble?"

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

"Well..."

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

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

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