Chapter 05

Warning, gratuitous discussion of 'wands' ahead...how terribly smutty-sounding! ;-D ~Lotm

V.

They were running out of ideas. The locket still held a soul, they needed to find the missing cup of Helga Hufflepuff, one or two other miscellaneous objects that might or might not be Horcruxes...and they hadn't a clue where to look for any of it. Needing a trip to the lavatory, Hermione snagged Harry's Invisibility Cloak from Ron, who had just returned from his own trip, and crept out of the library. Madam Pince had threatened them most sternly if they disrupted the peaceful order of her domain in their nighttime accesses, and refused to let them Floo into her office, which left the trio sneaking through the school halls late in the night, as if they were still enrolled as students. It was an awkward situation, but it was the best they could do.

It didn't take her long to use the lavatory, nor to wash her hands. Making sure the Cloak covered her from head to toe, Hermione crept out of the bathroom, turned the corner that led back to the library--and tripped over someone. A very short someone, who had turned the corner from the other direction a bit sharp and a bit fast. They both sprawled painfully on the stone floor, the Cloak tangling about their limbs. Hermione ignored the stinging of her palms and the aching of her knees as she scrambled around. The other person had squeaked, and she was afraid she knew the owner of the voice.

It belonged to Filius Flitwick, Professor of Charms...as she'd feared. He shoved his diminutive body upright, dusting himself off with a scowl. "Lumos! When I find out who you are, I'll have forty points from your House!"

He snatched at the Cloak, fumbling for the rumpled, half-invisible, half visible folds. Hermione, seeing no other choice, flung the Cloak over his head as well. His eyes widened, recognizing her in the glow of his wand. There was a strange smell about him, too. Sort of reminiscent of...of alcohol? Smacking her palm over his mouth just as he started to blurt her name, Hermione hissed at him. "Shhh! Please, Professor! Don't let on that I'm here! The portraits have eyes and ears!"

He stilled under her touch, then nodded slowly. She removed her hand cautiously, and the aging wizard hissed, his breath smelling like firewhiskey and cheap ale, "--Miss Granger? Why aren't you in school? You're supposed to be in my Advanced class!"

"I'm busy doing other things," Hermione whispered back. "But I've Headmistress McGonagall's permission to use the library, if I go about it in secret. You can ask her, if you like."

"I'll definitely do that--for heaven's sake, Miss Granger," Professor Flitwick half-hissed, half-squeaked. "Why aren't you enrolled in this school, anymore?"

"It's a long and dangerous story, Professor, and I think you'll be a lot safer not knowing." Again, as she paused for breath, Hermione smelled the pungent vapors of firewhiskey on the diminutive instructor's breath. Frowning at him, she asked, "Professor--have you been drinking?"

"No! No...well, yes. I went down to--oh, my precious! I've lost my precious!" he hissed, distraught, and stooped to start patting at the folds of his robe, even the folds of the Cloak covering them.

Hermione's jaw dropped. Of all the things she'd expect to hear from the half-size wizard, a quote from Tolkien was not one of them. "You've lost your...what?"

"My wand! My new wand! My lovely, new, precious wand--ah!" Snatching up a narrow wooden box that had been concealed as much by a twist in the Invisibility Cloak's folds as by the hem of his own robes, Filius Flitwick cradled the box lovingly to his chest. "Oh! I hope I haven't broken it!"

His diminutive fingers trembled as he opened the case with a soft snap of the latch. Inside lay an age-darkened shaft of wood, oak from the look of it, about ten inches long. It was carved in a pattern that Hermione couldn't quite make out, until he shifted his own wand so that the light fell on it more steadily. Feathers. The wand had been carved with the shafts and barbels of feathers.

"...Do you know what this could be?" he whispered reverently. "It could--no. No, I will not speak the words aloud. If I am wrong, it would bring a disgrace not only to my collection, but to my reputation as the Head of my House. I must perform several tests upon it to authenticate it--goodnight, Miss Granger," Professor Flitwick stated briskly, bobbing his head briefly. "Try not to get caught by Argus. He'd be doubly interested in hanging you by his chains, now that you're not officially a student. A waste and a shame, that."

"Wait--Professor, what do you mean, collection?" Hermione couldn't help asking as he started to back out from under the Cloak, snapping the lid of the wand-case shut on its unusual contents. "What sort of collection?"

"My wand collection, of course! I used to take all the wands from my toughest opponents, back in my dueling days. I've added to it since then, with the wands of some of the more famous witches and wizards I can afford, though I wish I could afford more." He straightened and gave her a proud, if tremulous, look. "Albus bequeathed me his wand, in his will. That was the wand that took down the infamous Grindelwald, you know. It's quite the prize for my collection, even if I wish with all my heart I didn't have the chance to own it..."

His hands patted and stroked the case in his arms, then he backed out from under the Cloak and hurried away, clutching his 'precious'. Hermione blinked and watched him retreat. All this time, and she'd never known Professor Flitwick had a famous-wands collection... She wondered in brief amusement if he'd want Harry's wand for his collection, too. Or even the Dark Lord's wand, though she thought that owning and wielding it would be almost as icky as wearing that locket-Horcrux. Dismissing the encounter, Hermione hurried back to the library.

...

You're not at the school. You haven't been there all month. We've just had word, coded, in a letter from one of the Slytherin students. Whoever is watch-dogging the mail has been keeping word of your absence out of the students' letters home. Where are you?--No, wait, don't answer that. I do not want to know any details, if you aren't at Headquarters. Unless you're in your bed, of course?

Hermione was glad he corrected himself. Since she was currently at Gringotts, standing in the queue with Harry and Ron while they waited to for an escort to Harry's vault, her position was a little vulnerable. Her two friends were busy discussing Quidditch as a way to pass the time. Apparently they'd come on the wizarding equivalent of payday, and there were a lot of people here. Tonks was here with them, and the Auror woman, Violetta, who had apparently joined the Order shortly before Dumbledore's death. They were a few bodies back in the queue, but that was all they needed to be; once they were in goblin hands, only a fool would attempt to attack the trio of friends.

Keeping the tablet close to her chest, Hermione wrote back, I'm in a public place. Mind your manners.

I'd love to ask you why you aren't at the school, but I haven't the time. I finally got a chance to be alone with Mr. O. A certain object of silver and blue significance apparently came through his shop twice, in his lifetime. The first time, he sold it to a puzzling fellow. The second time, it had been stolen from wherever the puzzling fellow had put it, had undoubtedly exchanged several hands, and wound up sold back to the shop without the seller knowing its significance. Unfortunately, Mr. O was not in the shop that day; his nephew filled in for him, and during the bustle of the day, the object, after being purchased and placed behind the counter for examination by Mr. O when he would return...it was stolen from the shop. The puzzling fellow is very much interested in where this object went, though he will not say. He is keeping Mr. O to extract information on tracking down wands, how to trace their ownership lineages--as some are resold and resold over time--and has been torturing a list of collectors' names from Mr. O...who has thankfully proven most resistant to coercion. Brian asked me to investigate unusual interests and activities on the puzzling fellow's part. I hope this information is significant to your quest. ~RUSSEL.

The page flared and the ring trapped under the joint of her thumb turned cold. Hermione ignored the curious look Ron gave her over his shoulder. Quickly scribbling down what she could recall of his words, she committed the three most important bits: object of silver and blue significance, Mr. O's nephew, and list of collectors' names. 'Puzzling fellow' obviously referred to Riddle. Tom Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort, was apparently interested in tracing down a wand. And 'silver and blue significance'...

"Rowena Ravenclaw's wand," Hermione whispered.

"What was that, Hermione?" Harry asked her.

She pressed the tablet to her chest, wondering how to reveal her information. "I...I just figured something out, that's all."

Ron turned to look back at her. His gaze narrowed, and he reached out, plucking on the chain and tugging the scale-patterned ring into view, eyeing it as it dangled and gleamed. "Where'd you get this ring, Hermione? Is this what you've been wearing all along?"

"I got my hands on it at my parents' place." Snatching it from his grasp before he could slide his hand down the chain far enough to touch the metal, she tucked it back down into her shirt, out of sight. It was the truth; she'd gotten it there, if out of a letter that had been mailed to her parents. "The line's moved."

They shuffled forward in the queue. Harry moved closer, prompting Ron to do the same. "So, what did you figure out?"

"Um..." Dropping her voice, Hermione offered, "I figured out why Mr. Ollivander was kidnapped. Tom," she stressed quietly as they strained to listen, "is looking for a wand. Rowena Ravenclaw's wand."

A bunch of clues had come together in her mind. The encounter last week with Professor Flitwick, Russel's information, the bits about collections and collectors. She had no reason to think the wizarding world would be any different in regards to collecting things than the Muggle world. Her two friends were giving her a puzzled look.

"Listen, it's simple," she explained as they moved forward again. "People like to collect things. Famous things. Mr. Ollivander sells wands. We know Tom wanted something special from Ravenclaw for...for you-know-what," she hedged carefully. "Why would he kidnap a wand-maker, unless it's because that wand-maker remembers where all of the wands are?"

"But why would he do that?" Ron argued under his breath. "Surely he had the wand hidden, like he had the locket."

"It's not a locket that hardly anyone ever knew about, it's an artifact of Ravenclaw history. And there are wizards out there who collect such things...and in the collection business, there are unscrupulous people. Thieves willing to steal objects, either for their own collections, or for profit, selling to those who don't quite care how they get their hands on their obsession. Some objects are stolen, fenced, sold, stolen again, lost, found, stolen, sold...hundreds of times! The more important it is, the harder it is to hold onto it, sometimes. Even if it's not overly famous outside of collecting circles."

It was their turn. Breaking off the conversation, the trio waited while Harry requested access to his vault. They were shown to a cart with a goblin, and as the cart rocketed along the tracks, Hermione huddled with her friends, clutching at the edge of the bumping, jostling cart as she revealed the last bit.

"And just last week, I told you I bumped into Professor Flitwick. He had a wand in a box, and smelled like he'd been drinking...like he'd been meeting someone down at the Hog's Head, like Hagrid sometimes does. The wand looked very old, and he said if he'd damaged it, it would bring disgrace to his House...and yet how many people know that Professor Flitwick even has a wand collection? I certainly didn't!"

"Probably only his Ravenclaws knew," Ron observed. "And maybe only a select few, at that."

"Yes, but is it her wand, and does it have...you-know-what in it?" Harry asked Hermione.

She rolled her eyes as the cart came to a stop. "Harry, I'd just come out of the loo. I wasn't expecting to trip over a professor, and I wasn't exactly thinking about any of this at the time. I was more concerned about him giving away my presence."

They climbed out, and the goblin used the small golden key Harry had provided to open his vault. While he was busy filling a sack with golden Galleons and silver Sickles, Hermione saw Ron averting his gaze. Moving close, she touched his arm and murmured in his ear. She had to lift onto her toes to do so, given how tall he'd grown. "...We're all in this together, Ron. Share and share alike."

He looked down at her, some of the pain of envy fading from his gaze. Then his nose wrinkled wryly. "Well, that may be, but I'm not sharing you. He can have my sister, for that."

Hermione wrinkled her own nose. "Eww! Harry's like a brother to me! The brother I always wished I'd had," she added as Harry joined them, the goblin shutting the vault door. "At least, I hope you don't mind I think of you as a brother, Harry."

His brows rose. "Mind? D'you think I'd mind having the smartest witch alive as my sister? You've got to be nutters, if you'd think I'd mind!" He looked at Ron, including him in the conversation. "The two of you are like the family I always wanted, but never got to have."

Ron grinned, climbing into the cart and helping Hermione in after him. He grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him in, and the goblin started the cart along the tracks once again. "Well, I'd take a blood-brother oath with you, Harry, but I think we both know how you'll end up a part of my family. That, and it'd end up being incest, so I'll pass...that is, you'll probably wind up in our family if you'll wait until after she's out of school. I'll have to beat you senseless if you try anything other than snogging, before then."

"Yeah, you and what Quidditch team?" Harry joked, nudging Ron with his shoulder.

"Me and my whole family, that's what team!" Ron shoved him back. Hermione watched them jostle each other very much like brothers would. Nervous, she gripped the edge of the cart, hoping it stayed on the rails. The goblin, unconcerned, continued to work the lever-like controls.

...

The sign in the window said 'Temporary Management under Redmond Ollivander'. Mr. Ollivander's nephew, once they stepped inside, looked a bit twitchy. He had the same shock of hair as his uncle, though his hair was dark brown. He was middle-aged, not quite to the point of wrinkles, but there was a definite set of tension in his body. He greeted them with a distracted smile. "Hello. Which one of you needs the wand? Replacement, or repair?"

"Enquiry, actually," Hermione corrected him gently. He seemed a bit high-strung, glancing at the doorway occasionally.

"We're looking for information on whether or not a certain wand ever came through this shop. What it was made of, what it looked like, that sort of thing." Harry stepped up to the counter. "I realize your time is valuable, keeping shop for Mr. Ollivander during his absence, but it's very important."

"Yes, well, Uncle Roland is still out of the country for the moment," the clerk offered with a weary, imperfect smile. Clearly, maintaining the pretense that everything was just fine had grown tedious after so long. "But I might be able to help you. What do you want to know?"

"We want to know if this shop has had a certain wand here within the last fifty years. Rowena Ravenclaw's wand," Harry stated, his volume low but his words crisp and clear.

Mr. Ollivander's nephew jumped, he twitched that hard. "R-R-Rowena R-Ravenclaw's w-w-w..."

"Please, Mr. Ollivander," Hermione coaxed him softly, moving up on Harry's left while Ron closed in on the right. If the man bolted, they'd be able to stop him, but their intent wasn't to hurt him. "We realize your uncle's disappearance makes you very anxious, and we don't want to add to your anxiety. Or to your troubles. We just want to know about the wand, that's all."

"In fact, we think we can ease your troubles, if you tell us what you know," Ron added. "Did you sell the wand to a short gentleman, an aging wizard about this high?" he asked, holding his hand down near his hip.

"No...no...that wand came through the shop, yes, but it was over three years ago. The wizard you mentioned, I do know him; he stops by every once in a while. That's Filius Flitwick. He teaches Charms up at Hogwarts; surely you're young enough to know him. As for the wand...well, I lost it."

"Lost it?" Harry asked, as Hermione mentally nodded, pleased that Russel's information was being confirmed. Harry pressed the point. "How did you lose it?"

"Well, I was filling in for my uncle while he was at St. Mungo's, since he'd been hit by a bungled charm from a broken wand brought in as a trade-in for a new one...er...I think it was ashwood, with a unicorn hair, badly splintered and frayed. Some fool had tried to fix it with Spell-o-Tape, but didn't bring it in immediately for repairs." Redmond Ollivander shook his head. "If he or she had done that, it could've been repaired, but by the time we got it, the unicorn hair had been badly frayed. Only my uncle didn't realize quite how badly, and the next thing he knew, he was picking his head up from the floor quite literally..."

Ron's face had coloured; even his ears looked ruddy.

"...Anyway, I had a customer, a shifty-looking fellow, sort of short and dumpy, with dark hair, brown eyes, and a potato-nose--you know the kind, broken several times? He'd brought this box with this wand in it to me. I recognized it at once, of course; Uncle made sure I knew what all the famous wands look like, though I'm nowhere near as good at remembering wands as I am faces. You don't forget the sight of an oak wand, phoenix feather core, carved in a pattern of feathers. They don't make them like that anymore. These days, it's all plant-themes, or Danish simplicity, or Grecian column-themes... Yes, I'm very certain it was Rowena Ravenclaw's wand. I might've been a Hufflepuff, but I knew that wand was hers, the moment I saw it. I'm that much of an Ollivander...

"Anyway, the man wasn't asking nearly what the wand was worth, and I didn't want him to know what it was worth, so I dickered the price down a bit, paid for it, and tucked it behind the counter, since I had a sudden influx of customers coming into the shop. And that's when it happened. In the half hour or so between putting it behind the counter and finishing with my customers...the box had vanished. Uncle was furious with me, I can tell you that! He could've gained back thirty times what I paid for it, in auction to several interested buyers!" Redmond Ollivander finished. "Now...could you tell me why everyone is so interested in finding out where Rowena Ravenclaw's wand might be?"

Ron pounced on that one with a soft frown. "Who else has been asking?"

"Well...a woman, with dark brown curls, a little taller than this young lady. Middle-aged, too. And a tall, dark blond man--just earlier today, in fact! I didn't like either of them, but especially not the woman. She came by yesterday, actually. The man just seemed rather...intense. But the woman threatened me. It was a veiled threat, nothing I could've taken to the Aurors, but she was very unpleasant to deal with," he shuddered. "It was like her eyes were dead. Nothing human behind them. Horrid!"

"We're sorry you had such an unpleasant time of it," Hermione commiserated.

"Yeah. We'll just leave you, so you won't have to think about it any longer," Ron soothed him as the trio headed for the door.

"Wait--aren't you going to tell me why you're all looking for that wand?"

"...It's better if you don't know," Harry replied over his shoulder, pushing open the shop door.

Hermione really wanted to tell him his uncle was alive, though his condition and whereabouts were unknown but presumed unpleasant. She couldn't do it, though. Not by walking back to him and whispering in his ear, nor by sending one of her memo-notes. Oh, she could send the shop clerk a 'Ring of Truth' memo...but if word got back to the enemy that someone on the other side knew what had happened to Mr. Ollivander, things could go badly for Russel. Especially since Hermione had no way of knowing if he was the only person accorded the privilege of visiting the wand-maker, aside from his official tormentors. If he was, the finger of suspicion would point straight to the spy in their midst.

Even though there was still a part of her reserving judgment, most of her was beginning to trust in her secret correspondent. Russel had helped her to save several people, and given her a good piece of quest-related information. His sincerity about being on the Order's side seemed valid, so far. She really wanted to believe in him...but that unbelievable betrayal by Professor Snape had damaged her faith in her fellow human beings.

Until she could meet him, could look into his eyes and see what her gut instincts said about him in person, Russel had to be kept on the 'accept with some reservation and wariness' list in her mind.

...

Professor Flitwick's private parlour was a study in...shortness. Hermione, upon being let inside along with Harry and Ron, all three having snuck their way through the castle under Harry's Invisibility Cloak to this late-evening meeting, felt like she was back in her primary schooling days. It almost looked like the Head of Ravenclaw shopped out of a kindergarten supply catalog. Diminutive tables, half-sized sofa, scaled-down Muggle recliner... About the only things that were normal sized were the books crammed into the ceiling-high shelves, and the size of the hearth, which bore a cheerily crackling fire.

There weren't any display cases of wands in evidence, however. Disappointed, Hermione turned her attention towards the Charms Professor. He had doffed his teaching robes, and wore a purple satin lounging robe, replete with dark velvet lapels and a cream coloured ascot. She supposed it was better than finding him in curlers and a tatty chenille robe, but it was an awkward moment all the same.

"Well," Professor Flitwick asserted after gesturing them to take a seat on the sofa. Ron's knees were halfway up his chest, though he tried to look as graceful as their host, or at least nonchalant. "What brings the three of you to me, so late in the evening?"

The two younger wizards looked at Hermione, who had shifted forward to set her bookbag on the floor. She didn't think jumping straight in about Horcruxes and so forth was a good idea. "Er, well...you mentioned the other night that you collect wands. We're rather interested in wands, ourselves. Famous ones."

Professor Flitwick eyed the three of them in pensive silence, arching a fuzzy white brow.

Harry offered a smile. "So we were kind of hoping we could see your collection."

"Ah. Well, my collection is off-limits at the moment. I'm authenticating the newest acquisition, and bringing the lot up to snuff. With Mr. Ollivander's unfortunately disappearance, I don't quite trust his nephew to take care of the oldest ones adequately. But...there will be an exhibition of wands in just over a week at the estate of a friend and fellow collector of mine, Frederique Marselle. Collectors from all over Europe, and even a few from the Americas, will be attending. It's strictly by invitation only, for the serious collectors, but...as one of the exhibitors, I'm allowed to bring a few friends," Filius granted, slowing his words with dramatic deliberation. "As I told Miss Granger, I've got Albus Dumbledore's wand in my collection. That'll be a huge draw among our circles. And..."

"...And?" Harry prompted him.

"...And it would be a huge draw if I could also have on display the wand of the Boy Who Lived...and Who Faced Off Against You-Know-Who," the diminutive professor finished. He quickly held up a hand as all three drew sharp breaths at his temerity. "I realize you don't want to go about unarmed--and I certainly wouldn't blame you, given that you're surely a target of You-Know-Who's wrath...but if you could just come to the exhibition, and, oh...showed off that marvelous Patronus Charm of yours..."

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged looks. Hermione instantly thought that, if word got out Harry Potter would be at this wand exposition, it might draw the Death Eaters out of the woodwork. They'd have to put the Order on alert. Harry, however, was already nodding slowly. "I think we can manage that. So long as you understand I'm not handing my wand over to anybody to touch or examine, not even for an instant, and that's including to anyone I do know and trust."

"Given the current state of the world, I think that's quite understandable. Well. Pack for the weekend, and be here at my chamber door by no later than seven o'clock in the evening of October 24th. I'll have a Portkey ready and waiting. And, er, do bring a couple changes of dress-robes? It's bad enough none of you were in my House--though I really wish you had been, Miss Granger--but I'm not going to let you come to such an elite weekend without promises that you'll be on your best behavior, and that you'll dress appropriately," Professor Flitwick instructed them.

"We'll be clad to the nines, Professor," Harry promised. "Better even than the Triwizard Tournament Ball."

Filius eyed Ron, who was blushing. Standing and gesturing them towards the door, he sighed, "Yes, well, you'd better. Seven o'clock, on the Friday after my birthday--don't forget! And Miss Granger, if you'd be so kind as to lend yourself towards a few Charms demonstrations for some of my colleagues, I'd appreciate it. Consider it your payment for disappointing me by not returning to this school."

"Yes, Professor," Hermione sighed, hefting her bookbag back onto her shoulder. Between Harry and his fame, and her and her grades, she could envy Ron his anonymity.

"One last thing. Mr. Weasley, one of the collectors is Jens Yorsen, of Denmark."

Ron blinked, frowned briefly, and then his eyes widened. "--The famous wizarding chess master?"

"The one and the same. Do not disappoint me, if you have the opportunity to play a game or two with him. The Marselle chess set is a full-sized one. It's kept in their rose atrium, I believe," Flitwick informed him. "If the three of you cannot uphold the honor and glory of Rowena Ravenclaw, then you'd better well do it for Hogwarts as a whole."

That was the opportunity they needed, and Hermione pounced. "Professor--that wand I saw the other night, was that Rowena Ravenclaw's wand?"

He gave her a startled look. "Well, you certainly are quick-witted, even if you weren't bright enough to come back for your seventh year. Only time will tell, Miss Granger. Only time will tell. Now, off you go. I have too many classes tomorrow to not need my beauty sleep!"

Manfully, Ron held himself back until they were in the hall and the door firmly shut behind them, though his face had reddened with the effort of silencing his laughter. "...Beauty sleep?"

Hermione whapped him on the arm as Harry cast the folds of his father's Cloak over the three of them.

When they arrived at the library, their former Head of House awaited them. She sat perched on the edge of the checkout desk, facing the double doors. Once they had closed and Harry had removed the Cloak, revealing the three of them, she spoke. "You are needed at Headquarters."

The three friends exchanged looks. Ron was the first to speak. "...Why are we needed, Professor?"

Her mouth tightened for a moment before she spoke. "The Order is going to discuss your situation."

"We're not coming back to this school," Harry stated flatly. "We're making progress on our task, and we're not giving it up."

Minerva McGonagall's mouth tightened further. "Nice of you to tell me that, Mr. Potter...when I told you to keep me apprised of said progresses."

"--We just figured out one of the clues to the quest," Hermione interceded quickly. "Just today."

"Well, I'll need a bit more than that, before I can allow the three of you to continue to use--or should I say abuse--this facility," Headmistress McGonagall chided them crisply.

Hermione and Ron looked to Harry. He sighed roughly and admitted, "...We're looking for a wand. At least...we think we are."

"What do you mean, you think you are? Either you are, or you aren't," the Headmistress reminded him.

"It's like this, Professor," Ron explained. "We're looking for a set of objects. We don't know what one or two of them are, not for sure, but based on what our opponents actions have been, we're reacting to those actions, sort of like chess. Predicting outcomes."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "If it is a wand, then we're pretty sure the wand we're looking for is now in Professor Flitwick's keeping, because the most logical wand to be looking for is one that he says he's got...only he won't let us see it right now, to see if it's the one that we want. But we'll have a chance to see if it is, in a couple weeks. Only..."

"...Only to have the chance, we're going to be letting a number of people know exactly where Harry, or should I say, the Boy Who Lived, is going to be for a weekend."

Their former Head of House frowned softly for a moment, then her expression cleared. "The wand exhibition! Filius wanted the weekend off from his duties to attend it. That's being held down in the Marselle Mansion, just outside of Dover. That's where he'll let you see the wand in question, isn't it?"

"Yes, and Professor Flitwick invited all three of us...in exchange for being able to tell people that they'll get to see me and my wand," Harry muttered, visibly embarrassed. "And Hermione's skill at Charms, and Ron's at chess."

"Basically, we're supposed to show-off, to make him look good in front of his peers," Ron summed up. "Not that we don't want to make him look good, but it's the price of admission, for us."

"So we're worried about the Death Eaters hearing about it, and maybe attacking," Hermione finished for him, shifting the strap of her bookbag a little more comfortably on her shoulder.

"This exhibition is drawing collectors from all around the wizarding world; it's only held once every three years," McGonagall cautioned them. "Filius told me that security will be very tight. Still...this does dovetail in nicely with what tonight's meeting is about. I think I can use this information," she murmured half to herself. Her gaze sharpened, falling on each of them in turn, ending with Harry. "One more thing. Why do you need to get your hands on one of Professor Flitwick's wands?"

"...We can't tell you that," Hermione apologized as Harry flushed again. "The fewer people who know exactly what we're doing, the fewer leaks will make it to our enemies' ears."

"There's going to come a point, Miss Granger, where that will not be good enough as an answer," the older witch cautioned her.

"Trust us," Ron retorted dryly. "You're a lot safer not knowing. If...V...if Voldemort," he forced himself to say as the Headmistress flinched, "found out what we were up to, he'd throw everything he had at us just to stop us. Even if he had to kill off his own Death Eaters to do it."

"That's a bit melodramatic, Ronald Weasley, don't you think?" Minerva countered, blinking at him. Her gaze slipped to Harry's grim face, and to Hermione's equally set features. "...Isn't it?"

Grim silence met her enquiry. Blinking it off, the Headmistress shook her head. Her hand dipped into her pocket, extracting a short length of tartan plaid ribbon.

"Well. We haven't any more time for these matters, though we will discuss them later. Behave yourselves, young gentlemen, young lady, and touch my bookmark. It's a Portkey to Headquarters," she explained as they moved close. When they were all touching a bit of the ribbon, McGonagall touched it with her wand, and their navels yanked sideways. Hermione didn't like Portkeying because of the bruises--including a particularly painful one from Ron's elbow slamming into the side of her breast--but it was better than broom-flying, and somewhat less uncomfortable than the breathless squeezing of Apparation.

The jostling stopped as they landed in the library of 12 Grimmauld Place. They weren't alone. Caught in a half-clad clinch on the rug in front of the hearth were Remus Lupin, trousers rumpled halfway down his thankfully shirttail-covered arse...and Tonks. Who was blushing redder than her fuchsia-pink hair. Her sports jumper was pushed up to her armpits, with Remus' shirt-clad chest smothering her own torso, and her dungarees clung in rumpled folds to the lower half of one leg, and there was no denying why that very long, knee-to-waist length of skin was so bare. Namely because both legs--the fully naked one on the other side, as well as the denim-clad one on the near side--were wrapped around Remus' hips.

The pair were oblivious to the arrivals forced into inadvertent voyeurism a few lengths away. Between the movement of their hips and the frantic, groan-muffled interlocking of their lips, Hermione doubted even the Hogwarts Express roaring through the room a yard away would've been able to get their attention. Minerva's wand snapped up, and an afghan shot off the nearby loveseat, Transfiguring into a privacy screen between them. She chivied the others out of the room with a silent, impatient flutter of her hand. Grateful to leave, Hermione shut the door...but not before hearing the gasping of a name, and a mild profanity reminiscent of one another wizard had shouted in her presence...if one counted words scrawled on a tablet to be a form of shouting.

"There are times when I really wish I could perform a Memory Charm on myself, and that incident is one of them," Minerva muttered as she hustled her charges down the hall. "Into the parlour with you! And not one word out of you about what we just saw."

"Believe me, I'm trying to forget," Ron muttered. They reached the parlour and entered in time to see Molly and Arthur Weasley Transfiguring chairs out of end tables and knicknacks. "Hello Mum, hello, Dad."

"Ronald," Molly acknowledged. Her jaw was tense, but she didn't say a word against his presence. She did give him a brief hug, though, the same with Harry and Hermione.

Others in the Order were beginning to enter the hidden house, and Hermione found herself pressed into conjuring a few more chairs herself, wedging them in wherever they could be fitted. A flushed but tidied Remus came into the room a short while later, his fingers twined with Tonks'. They took a pair of seats next to Hermione as soon as Minerva cleared her throat, indicating everyone should take their seats, and the young witch could smell musky hints of their activity in the increasing warmth of the body-crowded room.

It made her think inappropriate thoughts, not just about Remus and Tonks...but about Russel. Inappropriate as much because she was supposed to be thinking such things about Ron, as for the nature of the thoughts themselves. If she was going to wonder what she'd look like half-clad and wrapped around the body of her lover, she should be imagining Ron's freckled form...not some mystery gentleman she'd never even seen in a photograph. She liked Ron. She knew Ron. She shouldn't be so intrigued by someone she didn't know, had never met, and wasn't completely able to trust. And she certainly shouldn't be viewing the mystery of Russel the Death Eater Spy as something exciting or stimulating... Uncomfortable, Hermione crossed her legs and her arms, and waited for the meeting to begin.

Minerva called the meeting to order by firing a single golden spark from the tip of her wand. It arced over everyone's heads and banged, catching the attention of eyes and ears alike. Silence quickly settled through the room.

"Thank you," the thin, greying witch stated primly. Hermione watched her tuck a strand of hair behind one ear, only now realizing just how much grey was beginning to salt those dark locks. "First order of business, the question of inducting Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger into the Order of the Phoenix. The point was raised in our last gathering that all three are of-age, and no longer attending Hogwarts. Having passed these qualifications, having proven their dedication to the cause of fighting against the Dark Lord and his followers, and having--to our knowledge--not revealed the identities of any of our members, it has been suggested they be allowed to join our ranks. This voir-dire has been arranged so that you may ask any questions of them that you might have before voting on the matter.

"Any questions?"

Shacklebolt, Moody, and several others raised their hands. Hermione received curious looks from Remus and Tonks, but they weren't among the ones raising their hands. Minerva called on Shacklebolt.

He stood, eyeing the trio in the corner near the podium the Headmistress had Transfigured out of a lamp. "Yes, I think I can ask the foremost question on all of our minds. Why aren't these three in school, where they belong?"

"Harry?" Minerva invited him, gesturing with a hand for him to stand. The use of his first name was an additional invitation, a courtesy for him to join the others as an adult, on a first-name basis.

"Thank you...Minerva." Standing, Harry faced the older wizard. "Before Du...before Albus died, he entrusted me with a secret quest, one that he believed would lead to Voldemort's destruction."

Most of the room flinched at the use of the dreaded name, and several Order members averted their gaze. Hermione and Ron, used to hearing it by now, didn't twitch. Harry continued, nonplussed at the others' reactions.

"He gave me permission to tell Ron and Hermione, so that they could help, but cautioned me against telling anyone else the nature of our mission. If Voldemort were to find out, he would stop at nothing to destroy anyone who attempted...and that is all I can tell you."

Moody stood as Harry and Kingsley sat down. "What do you mean, that's all you can tell us, boy? We're the Order of the Phoenix! Anything Albus told you, he could tell to us!"

Hermione spoke up, cutting through the murmur of agreeing voices stirred by Alastor's assertion. "It involves the prophecy that Voldemort tried to get his hands on, last year." She was rather pleased at how smoothly the Dark Lord's name fell from her lips, causing everyone to wince reflexively as she hedged around the real purpose of their quest. "If he knew what that prophecy entailed, Alastor, he would not hesitate to launch an all-out attack. Just as he would for the nature of our quest. The whole Order is far safer with him not knowing about either subject."

"Yes, but that's him knowing," Fred's voice piped up from the back. Or maybe it was George's. The twins were sitting next to each other, after all. "That's not the same as us knowing."

"Have you studied Occlumency, George?" Ron asked his brother, nailing the correct twin. "I'm studying it right now, with Harry and Hermione, and it's really hard. The fewer people who know a secret, the fewer who can give it away...and there's at least one other bastard besides the basilisk-snogger himself who's on...Voldemort's side," he added, hesitating only a little over the name, "someone who can use Legilimency without having to say a word in warning. You wouldn't even know you'd been hit until it was too late, and if you were thinking about these secrets at the time, it would be very bad for us."

"That doesn't explain why you're not in school," someone else asserted. It was Violetta, the blond Auror witch.

"The sooner we can complete our quest, the sooner this war will be over," Harry asserted firmly. "I'm not going to waste time by being stuck in that school. And I'm not going to risk any unnecessary lives. The longer this war goes on, the more people will get hurt...and killed."

"What makes yeh right fer this quest o' Dumbledore's?" Hagrid asked from his seat on one of the sturdier chairs near the back of the crowded parlour. "What says someone else couldn't do it in yer place?"

"Prophecy."

The one-word answer came from Ron's and Hermione's lips as well as Harry's. The three friends exchanged quick, grim looks. Harry finished answering for the three of them.

"That's all we can tell you. Either you trust us, or you don't; it's up to you. We're going to do what we have to do, and we'll do it whether or not we're in the Order. We won't betray the Order's secrets, if we can help it," Harry added, "but if you want us, it's on the understanding that we've got our own task to take care of...and that we won't take orders that conflict with it, nor answer demands to tell you what it is."

His quiet, firm delivery did more to convince the others in the room that they were adults, Hermione decided from the thoughtful expressions around her, than a more impassioned speech might have tried.

"...I am being kept apprised of their progress," Minerva stated into the pensive quiet filling the parlour. "They will let me know what is needed, and how they are faring, and I in turn will judge how much the Order should know. You gave me your confidence after Albus passed, when you voted for me to lead you. I am giving my confidence to these three."

"But, zey are children!" That was Fleur Weasley's voice. Hermione hadn't noticed her enter, and couldn't exactly see the other witch, though she could just see the edge of a blond figure leaning over to peer at Minerva past Hagrid's bulk.

"They are adults in the eyes of wizarding law...and adults by the fact that they know what is the right thing to do." The Headmistress' mouth tightened for a moment, then she sighed. "As much as I would prefer to have them safe at Hogwarts...they must do what they must do, the same as we ourselves. That is the mark of maturity. I would have them acting as Order members, to give them better resources for their quest, letting them feel free to call upon the rest of you for assistance. I had faith in Albus Dumbledore to lead us with the clearest vision, and I will have faith in the three whom he entrusted with his most secret strategies. I vote that we should include them.

"All in favour, raise your wand-hand."

Some arms rose immediately. Others took a few seconds. Hermione made a note to see who was immediately enthusiastic and who wasn't. Some of the latter might merely be feeling pressured to include them...and some of the former, her mind acknowledged with uncomfortable cynicism, might be trying to curry their favour, perhaps to use their presence to further their own ends within the Order, in the future. By the time the last arm went up, nearly everybody that she could see had raised their hands. It looked like Fleur's hand was one of the last, as was Moody's, but Mrs. Figg had been the first one to raise her hand, even though it meant interrupting her knitting.

"Hands down. All those opposed, raise their hands, please?" Minerva strained to see past Hagrid. "...None against. Abstentions uncounted. Well. Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Ronald, Harry, Hermione," she acknowledged with a tip of her head. "Don't disappoint us. We'll settle the details of what the expectations will be, the alarm codes, and how to contact the various Order members at the end of the meeting. Right now, we've got reports to hear. Remus, you have a report from the werewolf community?"

Hermione tried not to blush as he stood. From where she sat, she had a clear shot of his trouser-front...and the way his zipper sat at half-mast. Desperate to look elsewhere, she stared at the china hutch in the corner as she listened to his words, trying to quell the heat in her face and chest...chest? The ring in her cleavage had grown warm. Digging into her book bag, she pulled out her tablet and her pen, then surreptitiously fished out her ring while the others' attention was diverted by a question from a plump, grey-haired witch near the hearth. Ready to write down an address, she found herself relieved and annoyed that the ring was smooth.

Are you ready for another session of scribbled sex?

I'm in a meeting, she wrote on the pad, watching both sets of ink fade one after the other, his black and hers blue.

The Order?

Good. Don't. Congratulations on joining, by the way, Russel wrote to her. Now you can officially throw your life away along with the rest of us total nutters. Harry and Ron are with you?

Not yet, at any rate, she wrote back. Remus leaned close, bringing along another whiff of sex with him. She protectively cradled the tablet against her chest.

"You're not planning on taking those notes out of this house, are you?" he whispered.

"It's just a mnemonic aid," Hermione dismissed, cobbling the excuse together quickly. "I'll burn the page when I'm done. I just remember things better if I write them down while I'm learning them."

"You were always diligent in your note-taking," her former teacher reminisced briefly, before falling respectfully silent as Shacklebolt outlined the Ministry's supposed progress in the war against the Death Eaters.

Hermione glanced at the tablet again. Words faded from the page even as she focused on them. Quickly, she reapplied pen to sheet. What was that? I missed it.

Russel didn't respond for a few moments. I just said I don't want to know what the Order is doing, either. Call it a double-blind experiment, but so long as they don't know what I'm up to, and I don't know what they're up to, the safer we'll all be... I have a question for you, Jane.

Go ahead, Hermione encouraged him, splitting her attention between the tablet and the meeting, which was turning out a bit duller than expected.

Is it better to die a martyr to the cause, or to continue living afterwards, knowing that you'll be reviled for your past, and unwelcome anywhere?

That was a heavy question. Hermione gave it careful thought. ...While there's life, there's hope, Russel, she finally wrote. Once this war is over, we'll be free to tell everyone all the good things you've done. You've already saved several lives, working with me. Mr. Lubbock, Ms. Cathcart, the Weasleys, the Creeveys, the Turnbulls, Mrs. Whidbey...

That again required some thought before she could answer him. If it were me...I think I would have trouble resolving these questions, too. But I would remind myself that while I cannot save everyone, I can still save many. And that I am needed, that my position is necessary. And that those who take the time to understand my task will understand my actions, too, and the occasional necessity of them.

You have a strange way of flattering a person, she wrote.

I'm a strange man, some days. I'll consider your words, for what they're worth. I need you to research something for me, he changed the subject. Hermione kept part of her attention on the meeting, but Russel's request had surprised her.

What do you need?

She nibbled on her lower lip. That's a tough one... It would have a limited range, I think, if it could be made to work at all. I take it you have some metal objects you need forging?

The paper flashed, vanishing from the tablet. Remus, Tonks, Ron and Harry all eyed her suspiciously. Even Minerva glanced her way. Tucking pen, paper and ring close to her chest, she gave them blank looks, returning her attention fully to the current speaker.