Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1

A/N: Harry Potter et al belong to JK Rowling, with my thanks for letting me play with her toys.

This is a non-canon story. Hermione is called Jean in this story, though that will change as the story progresses.

I need to stress that this is Not Canon Compliant! Many readers have asked questions like: "Where's Harry? etc..." Be patient, this is going somewhere, I'm just taking a detour, I hope you enjoy the change in scenery.

I'd like to take a moment to give well deserved praise to those who have inspired me, edited my work or encouraged me, in no particular order, thank you to mylady phoenix, MUNKEYMANIAC, coffeeonthepatio, GenkaiFan MUGGLEDAD, MATTD12027, Abraxan, OldCrow, Clell65619, HPGunshot, S'TarKan, Thirst4Light, Mizuni-sama, canoncansodoff, and of course Megan, James, Aerin and Diana! If I missed your name bug me, it's my oversight not your lack of helping or inspiration.

On to the story!

Chapter 1 – Alone

A girl sat alone on a bench in a large, deserted station. Her blue and bronze scarf was wrapped tightly against the mist that hung thick in the air, dulling the afternoon sun. A single light blue case rested on the seat beside her, she had a novel in her hands. The girl's bushy hair obscured her face as she leaned close to read by the scant light. Occasionally a noise would pierce her concentration causing her to look up expectantly.

One of those times she saw an older woman approaching, a single bag under her arm. She walked past an empty bench to stand a few paces from the younger woman.

"Mind if I sit here?" she inquired, gesturing slightly to the girl's bench.

"Please," the girl replied as she slid her case to the cement by her feet, "there you go," she smiled at the newcomer.

"Thank you, dear." The woman sat with practiced grace, though she braced herself as she eased down onto the solid bench. "Frightful weather, I'm sure they'll be soaked goin 'round All Souls Eve... excuse my manners, my name is Sarah." She finished with a smile of her own.

"Jean," the girl replied simply. The older woman seemed very nice, a friendly interruption if one had to be interrupted.

Taking out a bit of knitting, the woman gave a glance to the book in the girl's hands, "I'll not bother your reading further, I can see you were quite involved and the light won't hold much longer." With that she began to knit upon something long, brown and undefined.

Jean nodded politely in thanks, a small smile accompanying her agreement, though she remained silent. That silence continued, only broken by the click-clack of knitting and the occasional turning of a page as the pair settled in on their wait.

The atmosphere was somehow more comfortable with the rhythmic background noise and Jean found herself lost once again in another world. She read that way for another half an hour or so, occasionally glancing up at odd intervals.

Eventually the light faded so badly that she could no longer make out the words. Closing her book with a heavy sigh, Jean leaned back and closed her eyes. She realized she may have strained them a bit from the poor light as motes danced beneath her eyelids. Her mind wandered in the quiet, the mist muting even the afternoon traffic to a dull thrumming in the background.

The sullen mood she had been fighting all day returned quite easily without the distraction of the novel. She wondered about the major changes that had already come and those that would shortly turn her life in a whole new direction. Her brow furrowed as Jean began to mull over all that was going on in her life.

...

Sarah Combs considered the young lady sitting next to her. She was saddened by what she saw. It was hard to guess the girl's age as she was rather short and slight of build. Perhaps barely into her teens? The girl's small stature was not what concerned the older woman; Instead it was her eyes. Those eyes gleamed with such intellect as she read, yet they contrasted with the drawn, haggard look upon her face. The girl seemed so… tired… for someone so young.

...

Jean _was_ tired. She was tired of being "Gifted", tired of being "Brilliant", mostly she was tired of being… Different.

As she sat waiting at the station, she hoped that this new chapter in her life would change all of that. She'd had her hopes dashed before, with a special school where she didn't fit in much better than she had at her Primary school. Well, it had been loads better than Primary, but still…

Still, this school _had_ to be better. Everyone there was going to be different, just like her. She was getting used to not fitting in, used to being treated as an outsider, but she did not like it.

Of course she realized that the obvious thing that made her Different was her intelligence, that and her zeal to apply her intellect to learning new things. Jean was always tops in all of her studies, yet she had not been able to make friends with her classmates. She thought she had tried very hard to make friends over the years, but most kids seemed more interested in taunting her. It seemed there was no end to the reasons she was teased.

Since starting Primary she'd had trouble with her name. Well, _she_ hadn't had trouble, but with a name like 'Hermione', some kids just couldn't get it right. So they tormented her with a dozen mocking derivations of her literary, yet awkward name. Hermione was already quite intelligent for her age and saw that this was an issue she could change, so she took action. Beginning her second year of Primary she told everyone that she'd changed her name to her middle name. They left her alone pretty quickly… about that.

As surprised as she was at how well it went at school, the response at home was quite the opposite. The argument over her name change was the first ever between seven year old 'Jean' and her parents. They had been her only authority figures besides her teachers and she'd never argued with them before. They tried to reason with her for a week solid, yet she would not budge on this 'sudden' wish to adopt her middle name at school. Eventually she requested to be called Jean by family as well. She didn't realize the hurt her mother felt over the changing of her given name for many years.

Meanwhile it seemed that the reason the kids mostly accepted Jean's name change was because they had a lot of other things to harass her over.

For one thing she could not hide her bushy "mouse brown" hair. It flowed in long, thick curls, down past her shoulders. Her wild mane absolutely refused to be tamed for more than a few hours – even after a professional salon treatment. The stylist had even said she was cursed!

Next of course she had large buck teeth. Her parents assured her she would grow into them, and there was nothing she could do about it. Since they were both dentists, she could hardly argue the point.

Then there was… is, her love of books. This obsession with reading led her to walk about, head down, face buried in her latest find. For some reason this amused her fellow students to no end, they made snide comments as she passed and sometimes even her knocked down, "on accident", of course.

At the end of the list was her love of learning coupled with her amazing memory. An outside observer would point out that it was more the fact that she answered every question in every class. Correctly. In her defense, Jean could no more restrain her enthusiasm for learning (and sharing that knowledge) than she could contain her unruly curls.

Yes, it was a long list and Jean loved lists. She mentally added that when she answered questions in list form she got laughed at for that as well. She began to review her mental list of where things went from there when she forced her mind to a stop with a physical shake of her head.

Jean sat forward on the bench again, coming out of her reverie. She felt terribly self-centered just now, with everything else going on, she was back to analyzing herself, specifically her failings. The counselor had said it was 'something to work on'. Yeah... right. The perfectionist in her felt compelled to review herself, to try to find where she had gone wrong. Jean tried to take a deep, calming breath, like her exercises, and only then began to remember her surroundings.

.o0o.

Suggested Reading is **Hermione's Plan **by Chem Prof, a great version of everyone's favorite bushy haired bookworm :)  
Update: grammatical corrections 11/21/12  
This is my first story, so Please review. If you like it, and if you would be so kind as to point out what I did well that would be great. Even if you just let me know where you think I can improve I'd really appreciate it.  
M


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Harry Potter et al belong to JK Rowling, with my thanks for letting me play with her toys.

This is a non-canon story. Hermione is called Jean in this story, though that will change as the story progresses.

Chapter 2 A Comforting Word

Glancing to the side, Jean noted that the click-clack of knitting had stopped. She found the older woman was looking at her, as if considering something important.

"That's quite a frown for such a pretty girl."

Jean saw kindness in the woman's eyes, and curiosity... and pity?

"What troubles you, young one?" she persisted.

The pity bothered Jean, yet she knew that she had been frowning, and without thinking further on the why, she tried to consider the what. What could she say to explain what had her upset, yet not delve too deeply. She settled for the simplified truth. "I was just remembering some troubled times, I guess I got caught up in the past." Jean explained, feeling quite a bit embarrassed.

"Well, it's true we all go through bad times in this life, that I won't deny. I am sorry someone of your tender years has suffered, but did things get better?"

The concern in the woman's voice warmed Jean's heart and she felt herself opening up to the stranger sitting with her in the gloom. "Well, yes, they did... for awhile."

Jean's mind began to flash through the memories of her time at the Academy, and earlier school years, it was a stark comparison. She knew she did not want to dwell on the darker times, but that was her mood, and she couldn't help the way her mind jumped to this last year and it's struggles. Realizing her eyes were tearing, Jean began to feel that terrible mix of emotions: Shame that she would cry, regret that she could not let loose her pain, and especially frustration as the two emotions swirled around, battering her vaunted self control. Bodily shuddering as she tried to come up with something more to say, some way to turn from this conversation, she could only lower her head to try to hide her emotions. Around the station the large overhead lamps seemed to dim and then flare, but Sarah paid it no attention and Jean's face was buried in her own hair.

"My goodness," the woman interrupted again. "Those better times sure didn't last, did they you poor thing?"

Before Jean could respond she was engulfed in a warm embrace. The sudden and gentle way she was treated pushed her grief to the fore. Finally the tears spilled from her eyes, though she did not cry. The faint smell of vanilla filled in the missing piece of her miserable recollections and she choked back a sob. She had no idea what was going on. She had not come undone like this for years. Hadn't felt like she could let everything out, like she didn't have to be strong...

The warmth she felt as this stranger held her, rubbing her back and murmuring soothing words was beyond calming, it was as if her heart was giving her mind permission to let go. So let go she did; Hermione Jean Granger released the pent up sobs and cried freely, and the woman who held her wondered at what troubles this young woman had held onto.

Again the bulbs almost seemed to strobe in brightness. This time Sarah frowned up at them, however Jean's face was now hidden by Sarah's coat in addition to her curls and continued to be oblivious to the light show.

At the back edge of the station a solitary figure in a long trench coat looked around warily at the lights, finally returning his gaze to the pair on the bench.

Though she felt foolish, Jean felt gratitude much more strongly. Not since... since her mother had gotten sick, had Jean allowed herself to cry unchecked. She knew she was the one who enforced that restriction, knew her mother would have handled it, her dad would have comforted her, yet she felt she had to be strong. She knew she had to maintain her self control. She didn't want to think about why, she just had to. Had she seen the lights...

Finally the sobs ceased, the tears slowed to trickles and then stopped. After a few hiccups Jean pulled out of the hug and tried to straighten herself up, though she still sat close to her comforter. Sarah gave Jean an embroidered kerchief, along with an understanding smile.

Jean's return smile was watery and tentative, "Ma'am, I'm sorry to..."

"Nonsense, Jean, I won't hear you apologizing for letting go of some of your hurts." Sarah interrupted, once again. "Please, call me Sarah. It seems a good cry is just what you needed, and long overdue. Do you want to talk about what brought these clouds to your eyes?"

The woman, Sarah, seemed so genuine. Jean searched her mind for what she should do, yet her fantastic brain was still stuck in neutral, trying _not_ to think of her troubles. She searched Sarah's face again, and again found kindness and pity. No, not pity, sympathy.

"You started to think of a better time," Sarah prodded.

Jean's smile was grim as she picked up the threads of her thoughts. Desperate to stay clear of That topic, she picked up from her musings on school troubles... a much safer topic.

"I was remembering a school I attended. That was the good, well, better memory." Her mind settled down and her memories of the Academy began to come into focus. She had not shared many details about that time in her life, even with her parents. It seemed odd to open up so much to a stranger; yet Jean realized she had nothing to lose by revealing these troubles to Sarah. While she didn't have a counselor's training, there was very little likelihood she would ever see the woman again. Logically, this was as good of an opportunity to release the pent up emotions as she might hope for. She had read many times that speaking about your problems was cathartic and helped the mind to heal.

Still, she wondered at the level of comfort she felt with this stranger. Jean could not quantify comfort, and that made her shoulders sag a bit, but at the same time she began to speak. Ever the organized mind, she began with the first real troubles she could recall.

"When I was in Primary I had trouble making friends. I was out of place among my own classmates and ended up being made fun of for pretty much everything. I learned to deal with the taunts and bullying; honestly they couldn't even come up with new material – still calling me the same names when we were eight as they used at six years of age." Jean turned her face to Sarah, unconsciously rolling her eyes at the memory. "Everything changed the Christmas of my third year. Right before holidays our class took an aptitude test. That test changed everything."

.o0o.

The results arrived at the Granger home two days after Boxing Day. Jean's anticipation as she opened the packet rivaled that of Christmas itself. She felt she had done very well on the test, yet she worried over a few of the algebraic expressions... and the mass equations... and the history of Phoenician naval battles, well, honestly she was a wreck.

Her parents stood by eagerly as Jean carefully read the tables, handing off one sheet of paper at a time as she interpreted the graphs and looked at the comparative data. Her parents on the other hand took one look at the first page and tried not to jump up and down while their daughter carefully and methodically studied the whole twelve page document.

"This seems to indicate that I did quite well on my tests." She beamed at her parents.

Jean's understatement brought a chortle from her dad and an amused snort from her mum.

"You scored higher than anyone in your year, fourth year too, only one fifth year and three sixth years tested higher... yes, you did quite well." The laugh Jeans mother held through her speech finally bubbled over at the end.

The very same day the Granger family received three phone calls from prestigious schools wanting Jean to be enrolled in their "progressive learning programs". Another eight called the next day. Two days after that the Granger family sat with a representative of one of the schools, it's name was long and sounded very important, but everyone referred to it as "the Academy". It was both fairly close by and had a student centered curriculum.

Jean did not return to her Primary school from Christmas holiday, instead her family enrolled her in the school just outside Oxford. They were just two hours away, yet this was the first time their daughter had been apart from them other than summers with Aunt Jane in the country.

Once settled in at the Academy, Jean quickly came to love the deep immersion in academic pursuits to the exclusion of almost all else. There was just so much to learn, and Jean wanted to learn it all!

The coursework was structured around improving the student, not conforming to an average score. Best of all, she could read all she wanted. During her first year at the Academy that is almost all she did. She read everything from the treaties under negotiation at the U.N. to Homer and Keats. She delved into histories and biographies and relaxed with French poetry. Life was a wondrous journey for the buck-toothed, bushy haired girl who never got teased unless it was because she was reading to herself out loud. For the first time in her life, she was not Different.

Or so she first thought.

She soon had to comfort herself however as things weren't the perfection she had envisioned. While she was certainly not taunted or ridiculed for her intellect at the Academy, she still didn't fit in. Though she related well intellectually with the few students she spoke to, her initial reaction to any overtures of friendship was poorly disguised suspicion. Suspicion born from years of petty jokes played by kids who would pretend to be friends just to play a cruel prank. Logically, she knew these kids were different, but the idea of trust just couldn't overcome her fear of rejection.

That fear began to be the overriding force in her life, causing her to turn away from even "safe relationships" such as study groups. Thinking practically, knowledge didn't reject you, books don't turn their back on you and tests only judge what you know. So, like many other 'gifted' students at the Academy, she did not participate in any extra-curricular activities. Instead Jean threw herself into her studies, her testing, her collecting of knowledge. Although she occasionally watched the other students together, she couldn't quite take time from the current paper, or homework, or new book, which is what she kept answering if anyone asked, including herself.

Two years later, Jean was 10 years old and already most of the way through her Secondary general studies. Her love of mathematics, politics and literature had her involved in University level courses – even though the work was quite difficult. That was what she enjoyed most about the courses, she might struggle, but she was challenged. It was over those years that she realized just how little school had challenged her until the Academy.

Unfortunately she never realized how little her life had changed with regards to relationships. Though everyone at her new school was intelligent, most of them did not let it hamper activities outside the classroom. Jean was so afraid of rejection she simply never took the chance to make friends. Thus, when things fell apart for her, she had nobody to turn to.

.o0o.

A/N: Well, there it is, what do you think? This is my first story, so Please review. If you like it, and if you would be so kind as to point out what I did well that would be great.

Recommended reading is **Banking on Her **by robst. It's a great take on Harry turning from the wizarding world and has an excellent ending.  
M

Update notes: Adjusted scene with Sarah and clarified a few lines. 11/21/12  
Grammar corrections, minor plot tweak 12/29/2012


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Harry Potter et al belong to JK Rowling, with my thanks for letting me play with her toys.

Chapter 3 The Practical Girl

Turning to her new friend, Jean marveled at how she had allowed herself to open up without holding back. It was as if the counselor she'd spoken to earlier had predicted the future: "You can not hold it all in, you'll have to open the door soon or you'll burst."

Gathering her wits, she considered the situation briefly. It seemed now, on this bench in the gathering gloom, that the unexpected comfort of a kind matron had been the key she needed. Letting out a breath she'd held too long, she plunged into the dark open doorway in her mind.

"I only saw my parents on the holidays. I was just so... busy at school." Jean paused, face scrunching in self-reproach, closing her eyes, she continued.

"The Christmas after I turned ten I learned that my mum was sick." Jean shuddered a bit. A harsh gust of cold wind swirled around the pair as the memory of the first time she saw her sick mum brought fresh tears to her eyes.

"She had contracted an infection which made her weak from pain. She could no longer work, she could barely walk. The infection spread until she was wracked with debilitating pain and had to be sedated much of the time. The doctors could not agree on a cause, let alone a cure. Specialists were called in and they couldn't cure Mum either."

Jean felt Sarah's hand grasp hers. She knew the tears were flowing freely down her cheeks and she simply continued, the memories and pain both sharp and dull in equal measure.

.o0o.

Jean got a leave from her coursework. She spent many days with her mother, first at the hospital and then at home helping the nurse that now worked days helping take care of her needs. Once home, Jean found that there was little anyone could do for her mother. Trying to keep her comfortable and tending to her personal needs was the extent of their ability to help.

Though she was overwhelmed by it all, Jean was a great help to her mum. Her practical self clamped down with her usual self-control. She rigidly shoved aside her emotional reactions and began to analyze how she could be helpful. After overcoming their mutual embarrassment of taking care of your own mum's diapers, she began to treat it like any other lesson. Jean learned everything she needed to do to care for her mum with her usual dedication; meaning she read lots of books. Medical books, research papers, anything she could get anyone to send her or check out from the library on her forays for supplies.

She never let on about her fears when the most important woman in her life was crying and blaming herself; though Jean could not get her mum to explain what she felt she had done wrong.

At night she willed herself to be silent, re-doubling her battle against feelings of helplessness and plain old sadness. The dark, quiet hours were the worst because Jean could not distract herself with housework or reading; she knew she had to get her sleep or she would not be able to help. She especially did not want her parents to hear her crying from feelings of helplessness. This was especially hard when she could hear her parents trying to argue quietly over his taking a second job.

The young woman knew she was having a tough time when she kept finding all her old stuffed animals in her bed each morning. She carefully put them back in their box, and assumed she was sleep walking to take them out. She pointedly refused to think about how they were all on top of the covers. It brought back memories of child-hood nightmares and the questions her parents had about her 'strange habits'.

Jean began taking on the majority of the household chores, though she was spared cooking after the third time she started a kitchen fire while lost in a manuscript or medical journal. She simply could not bring herself to see preparing the bland diet the doctors laid out as more important than looking for a cure. Thankfully mum's sister Jane had gotten involved, and when she wasn't there a half dozen frozen dinners fit the same dietary restrictions and were safer and far less stressful.

When the school leave was finished Jean went back to the Academy, but not full time. She was able to make arrangements to reduce her course-load and only attend on Tuesdays through Thursday. If she had made any friends they didn't seem to notice her absence. Those few classmates who came with condolences met a girl too awkward with emotions to respond properly.

Aunt Jane was a great help, but rarely there when Jean was. The little Bed & Breakfast that she ran in the country was also struggling financially and after the first few weeks her mum's younger sister was only there for the three days that Jean was in school.

Though the family cut every extra from their budget, still it was not enough. A year ago the successful couple had opened a new practice. Within months Jean's dad was working feverishly to pay for all the equipment and space the pair of them were supposed to be earning for. The medical bills were enormous and the cost of in-home care, medicine and doctor visits were beyond their income and insurance.

Each week seemed to find something else that the practical young girl took upon her shoulders. She buried herself in course work, laundry, monitoring her mum's health and even started organizing the bills.

One day Jean was sorting the 'dues' from the 'past dues' and was startled to find a late notice on the house – a second notice. The more she read the wider her eyes got. It seemed that even their home was in danger of bank repossession! She felt her tightly held self-control snap, panic welled up and then...

...

The Unspeakables in charge of her region had even come up with a nickname for her: "Hazardous Hermione". Of course they called her after the name that had been recorded when she was born. Names aside, her releases of accidental magic were less frequent, yet considerably more powerful than most muggleborns 'incidents' they encountered.

Jean's self control was one of her points of pride, though her emotions could only be pent up for so long; her magic keyed on her frustration, and being restricted it tended to be all the more spectacular in it's release. The fact that Hogwarts' own deputy headmistress had asked for this girl to be specifically watched was unusual. It only took a few 'incidents' for the team to see the old woman's wisdom, Hermione was now monitored 24/7.

This 'incident' was more destructive than anything the team members had seen in an untrained witch, it had taken two teams and a time-turner to effectively erase the poor girl's outburst.

...

… When she woke up on the floor she had a fleeting memory of someone else in the room, she looked around but nobody was there. She never saw the disillusioned wizards, and took the sharp _cracks_ from the street to be a car backfire. Her accidental use of magic was professionally _obliviated_, and the damage she had wrought was undetectable in their perfectly restored den.

.o0o.

Shaking herself a bit, Jean knew she'd gotten off track, she felt _so close_ to remembering something, yet in the end she became convinced it was not important. She felt Sarah squeeze her hand and realized she must have been silent for a bit. Furrowing her brow she picked up where her memories had gotten her off track.

"One day I was sorting bills and found out my parents were behind on their house payments. I got so... I don't know, so _upset_ that I guess I blacked out. When I came to my senses I thought through all the expenses we had. I realized we couldn't afford to pay for my school anymore. The Academy didn't offer scholarships, so that was the end of that."

Sarah could tell the young woman was very practiced with that last particular act of burying emotions. With nothing more to say, she felt compelled to offer her sincere, "I'm sorry."

Jean looked up at the sympathetic woman, nodded once, then returned to her tale. She was both determined and relieved to continue, now that she had started.

.o0o.

She had been the one to make the suggestion to her parents – well, she told her dad, as her mum was barely able to open her eyes these days. It was the logical choice given the situation and Jean was a practical girl. Her dad protested at first but she could clearly see the relief in his eyes… along with the unshed tears. When her mum was finally lucid enough to talk with she had already been out of school several weeks.

Her mum never seemed to forgive herself for 'taking away her baby's dreams'. She still carried on about it from time to time months later. Jean wondered if perhaps her mum was lucid in her apologies all those months ago - that she could see the future, see that they could not continue to pay for the schooling and the medical expenses. She knew she got her analytical thinking from her; Dad was a lot of things but an organized thinker he was not. It was one of the reasons their finances and such suffered without Mum to guide them.

Worst of all, even that sacrifice was not enough. The Grangers were forced to sell their practice and Jean's father went to work for a large clinic. Jean was to return to her old school, her dad stating that she would be 'more comfortable with kids she knew'.

Jean returned to her old primary school an entirely different girl. She tried to tell her dad how out of place she felt - the district had placed her back in her age-year. Jean pointed out that she'd finished Junior schoolwork her first year at the Academy. Her dad asked the teachers about ability-based placement, however the school year was well into second term so the paperwork would not go through until next year.

Her time home with her mum had given her the opportunity to reassess her situation. Having exhausted every resource she could find she came to the conclusion that her mother's doctors weren't incompetent, they just didn't have a cure for the disease that was killing her mum. Without academic pressure or medical research, Jean felt lost.

She was soon reminded that the differences between the two schools was startling. At the Academy her ability to speak intelligently with classmates was not an issue. The average IQ was in the 140's. With her return to primary school she found her peers' topics of conversation quite childish – and often vulgar. Their interests were juvenile in the extreme to someone used to debating the impact of period authors upon their peers and in-depth examinations of history and it's relationship to current events. While logically Jean knew that she wasn't well liked during her first few years there, now she could see she was just Different. She didn't feel as bad about it now, but she found that she still wanted to fit in.

She understood that her peers didn't like her for reasons beyond her looks and name. She knew deep down that she had built walls, using a bossy, know-it-all attitude to keep people from getting close. Jean watched her classmates getting along, teasing and having fun together and felt a loss deep inside.

Considering her situation practically, she knew she would not stay with these kids next year. Therefore she determined to try to get along and learn how to make friends. She made a list of steps to take towards this goal and set her plan in motion.

Jean considered the "smart kids" as a good place to begin making friends. Unfortunately these former class academic leaders were livid to find their battle for academic superiority crushed by the return of the girl who had disappeared two years previously.

Even though she had completed the majority of her school coursework over a year ago, she wasn't about to slack off on her grades. She would still have to take the tests, so she continued to actively take notes and participate in classes.

Standard classes would have bored her to tears except she was very careful to answer every question, or at least try. When she finally figured out that this was just causing her more trouble, the damage was done; she was glared at for answering and ridiculed when she didn't.

When she approached the study groups and 'smart kids' tables she received a rude awakening: Where she thought perhaps she could find camaraderie, the "smart kids" didn't understand her at all. They didn't share her love of learning and even belittled Jean for "knowing too much". Thus there were no friendly faces, even in the study clubs. She found their method of rebuke, ignoring her completely, to be even more upsetting than the irregular taunts that still haunted the hallways.

The only bright spot was in math class, the teacher was impressed instead of intimidated. He convinced Jean to sign up as a tutor and for once the girl had her own source of income. This was the last year of Primary and the results of the year end testing could place these kids in a good Secondary school. Or not. Since she had already completed the coursework she spent her 'study time' tutoring as many as eight kids a week. These kids, at least, did not make fun of her for her intelligence.

Outside of the classroom, in mandatory exercise hour, her classmates seemed to turn on her worse than ever. After over two years of a mostly academic life, Jean was badly uncoordinated. Even though she was next oldest in her year she was a rather small girl and the frequent opportunities for her to get knocked to the ground were often taken. "You're not one of us, freak!", was the new taunt and was all too often flung in her face, or more likely at her back as she fell. She briefly considered that they had finally come up with something new.

Despite the abuse she never lost her temper. Jean found that childish taunts and even physical pain were nothing compared to what she had already endured. They didn't know her. They didn't understand her. They just knew she was different, and so did she.

It wasn't that she wanted to be different; for the first month Jean desperately strove to fit in with her class. Knowing her hair was a lost cause and she was a long ways from growing into her teeth, she tried other ways to change her outward appearance.

An obvious need for change was her wardrobe. Her Academy clothing had consisted of a standardized school uniform and a bit of leisurewear for weekends. Armed with fashion magazines from the library, a careful observation of her peers and vigilantly watching for sales, Jean had changed her look to fit in nicely, at least for the most part. Because she was funding her own purchases from tutoring, she had a tight budget. She also had (self-imposed) limits – in a world where girls her age wore skirts – she wore trousers. Her legs were too pale after all, or at least that was her reasoning. There seemed to be no change good enough to end the sneers and taunting though. She simply didn't fit in.

Some things that kept her an outsider were really just her practical solution to problems. To avoid troubling her dad for a ride, Jean arrived early to school having taken the bus. It was simple economics: a monthly bus pass was cheaper than the petrol used in just eleven days of rides. She was proud of her practical solution.

Arriving early allowed her to help the librarian with returns and then read till class started. Though it was standard to gossip in the hallways she stayed behind and prepared for the next class or helped the teacher.

When school was done she tutored for one hour then went home, did her chores and took care of her mum. At night she had just enough time to re-check her homework, (which she invariably had finished at school), then read for a while.

On weekends her classmates went to the malls, visited the arcades or went to parks together. Jean never did those things. She told herself that it didn't interest her. Besides those activities were expensive for a household budget as tight as theirs and Jean didn't consider them to be practical expenses for her tutoring income. Never mind that the park was free, she didn't go there because she was never invited.

No, Jean had tried everything she could think of. She was done trying to fit in. With two months left till summer holidays, she turned her mind away from fitting in with her peers, she returned to what felt safe.

Jean returned to learning with a fervor. The girl who tried to fit in was replaced by the fully-dedicated student, her self-control never allowing the feelings of loss or self-pity to linger. She wasn't going to stay in primary school forever after all, it came down to practicality, and Jean was nothing if not a practical girl. She knew her intellect made her Different, she decided to strive to see where that difference would take her.

.o0o.

A/N: This is my first story, so Please review. If you like it, and if you would be so kind as to point out what I did well that would be great.

Recommended reading is **Partners** by muggledad, another great character driven story heavily featuring our miss Jean... erm, well you know who I mean.  
M

Update notes: Revised description of time at home to include a bit of Accidental Magic and more details in general, especially in regard to self control. 11/22/12  
Grammar policing, minor plot tweak. 12/29/12  
Removed 'moving to a flat' plot hole 2/24/13


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This is a non-canon story. Hermione is called Jean in this story, though that will change as the story progresses.

Chapter 4: Magic makes all the Difference

It wasn't just her intelligence or studious nature that made Jean Different.

If you asked anyone from teachers to her parents, even fellow students, what set Jean apart was her mind. Her professors would point out her ability to remember and call to mind obscure information of seemingly unrelated context and combine it to arrive at a brilliant conclusion. Her classmates would ruefully acknowledge she always had the correct answer. Her own dad knew he could ask her anything, from the balance of the checking account, which she knew to the penny, to her mum's medical status and she could recite it all from memory.

They would be mostly right, but what truly made Jean Different was...

Magic.

Jean did not know the name for this feeling she had, this knowledge that she was different, even from other 'academics'. Her self-control seemed something she had from an early age, thus she very rarely suffered from accidental use of magic as many other magical children experienced. In fact, other than 'incidents' such as getting dressed in seconds when she was running late, causing a stubborn bee to vanish or summoning a forgotten paper from home... she didn't do magic at all. In her early years at home with her mum, they both explained away anything odd that happened, making a game of coming up with the most practical and logical explanation. Dad had blamed Brownies for the suddenly found car keys or mysteriously chipped-then-repaired china tea cup, she and her dad also made a game of it, describing the fantasy creatures differently each time.

On her own, when she experienced those few rare losses of control, Jean did what most every rational person did in the face of the unexplainable: she made an excuse for it; 'I wasn't as late as I thought, it finally flew away, I forgot I had grabbed it'... and moved on.

She had no recollection of her more recent outbursts, from when her emotions were raw and she felt close to exploding from the strain. Then again she had no reason to recall those events... 'Hazardous Hermione' was well known by now.

Thus on an early summer day, just after Jean had cleaned up from tea with her mum, the arrival of a strangely attired woman was unforeseen. Jean's mum was having one of her 'good days', where the balance of drugs seemed to counter the pain without knocking her out. She could not rise to greet their odd guest, but she was lucid enough to hear the woman's offer to enroll Jean in a private school in Scotland.

She insisted that there would have been a letter, a parchment charmed to find it's way to Hermione. Jean didn't bother correcting the name. She remembered her dad mentioning putting a strange envelope on her desk... it was likely still there, buried under Netter's Atlas of Neurology. These thoughts quickly ceased to matter as the woman had just proclaimed that Hermione was a witch.

Her announcement caught the normally sharp-witted girl unawares. At first her mum replied that such a thing was ridiculous. A demonstration of spell-craft by the stern older woman, turning their coffee table into a 400 pound pig, stopped both mother and daughter cold... The woman then went on to discuss a place called Hogwarts as the two Grangers sat dumbfounded. The 'premier Wizarding school in Britain' she called it, and gave assurances that it's headmaster was none other than some ridiculous sounding too-many-named fellow, really the Grangers were too busy staring at the pig to care about names or titles.

When talk of a boarding school was raised Jean considered that once again she would be taken away from her classmates. This time it would be without regret. Jean sat speechless, her impressive mind somehow just catching up with the whole idea of "Magic". She reviewed what she had heard. She considered carefully the demonstration right there as the coffee table-pig looked back at her and grunted.

Suddenly she found herself trying to drive down the urge to jump up and shout! **She **_**Knew**_** It! She **_**Knew**_** she was **_**Different**_**!** The pig-table began to squeal and... dance? The woman's demonstration of magical powers had resonated with something deep inside the girl, something that made sense out the many strange events in her life... These thoughts were tossed aside as her practical mind seemed to clamp down, snuffing her emotions, and she began to think of this logically.

Jean immediately knew that they could not afford it. It simply wasn't economically feasible and she couldn't leave her mum. One glance at her mum and she knew she would have to exercise every bit of self control she had, she could not do magic. She was not a witch... looking back down, she confirmed that the coffee table was no longer a pig. Their visitor was staring at Jean wide-eyed.

Her mother took this hesitation to keep her daughter by her side… '_Witchcraft is Evil!_' dominated her panicked and somewhat medicated mind. Jean had never shown any of the signs that this "Witch" had asked about. Not that she would admit to them, or even could with her mind full of drug-cobwebs and pain. Instead she focused on that nervous voice, the one that insisted on keeping Hermione close. '_This woman may have demonic powers but that didn't mean her little girl had them!_' Such were the thoughts that dominated the mind of Jean's' mum as she started screaming at their guest to leave immediately.

The older woman was quickly sent packing… and the Granger women returned to their amusing chat about how hopeless the man of the house was with numbers, a vague memory of a salesman turned away some time before at the back of their minds.

.o0o.

But of course the witch had left her hosts _oblivious_ to her visit, a spell that she loathed and yet had perfected through necessity. She had other candidates to visit after all and sadly these muggles reactions to the announcement of a magical world weren't at all uncommon.

It was a pity, as Albus had agreed with her assessment of the young witch; if she could be taught to harness the control she had admirably demonstrated thus far she would be a fine witch. Conversations with her friend in the Unspeakables had convinced her that this girl would have to be monitored. If she did not change her mind by the end of the summer, another magic restricting spell would be cast upon her.

Minerva hated the Ministry's policy which required all muggleborn magical children to have a damper put upon their magic as soon as they had an 'incident'. She also realized that without it, some muggles would be seriously hurt, not to mention the threat to the Statute of Secrecy. It was a no-win situation which left most muggleborns caught completely by surprise on her first visit. Only a few had had accidents with the magical restrictions upon them, and a very few had been as... eventful, as Hermione Jean Granger's. Then there was the truly sad part of the law. Muggleborns who refused the magical world by their twelfth birthday were not just obliviated, not just dampened, they were magically blocked... essentially turning them into squibs.

Shaking her head, the deputy headmistress stood over the two Grangers. She felt _wrong_ leaving the girl to be denied her place in the magical world because of an obviously sick and emotionally backwards mother. With a nod to herself the witch cast another intricate spell, leaving the young witch a Token. Placing a memory trigger beneath the _oblviation,_ Minerva hoped the girl would never have need of it and promised herself to return in August for another try. She had to respect the wishes of the parent, but she didn't have to ignore the child.

Looking into the girl's mind, she spoke directly to her subconscious. "Should you change your mind, you will think of this little statue," the older woman said into Jean's mind as she handed her a small gray statue of a cat. "It will appear in your hand and you only need to rub it awhile and I'll come straight away."

.o0o.

Jean had found the little cat figurine in her hand several times in the last years, but she had never rubbed it.

She once again shook herself out of her recollections, she didn't share the memory of the 'witch', not then with her parents and not now. Even though her mum hadn't remembered the meeting at all, Jean had, right up to the woman's parting words.

...

The summer had ended with another visit from the old woman. This time she spoke to Jean and her dad, but the results were similar: her dad seemed to shut down at the thought of magic. Though he wasn't as orderly-minded as the Granger females, he was under tremendous emotional strain. Instead of leading to wonder and questions, the conjured butterflies and transfigured tea-cup led her dad to stand abruptly and ask their visitor to "leave, and take your fancy illusions with you." His forced polite tone brooked no argument and the woman had once again weaved her '_obliviate_' nonsense. Well... nonsense to Jean, since once again her parent was indeed oblivious to the woman's visit. The old witch left Jean with the same promise and reminder of the cat she could use to contact her.

Looking at her newest friend, Jean knew this was not the time to reveal all of her secrets. She also knew she only had one direction to go with her story.

"I threw myself into my studies that spring and through the summer. Mum wasn't improving, but she wasn't getting worse. We fell into a routine and I looked forward to my Secondary testing. All I wanted to do was avoid going to another school with the same class as those children who hated me."

.o0o.

Year six was her last year of Primary school and she was glad it was behind her. She resolved to look forward to a new school and a fresh start. With good enough scores she could go to a better school. She could only consider this option since her mum had stabilized enough that she didn't need a full-time nurse. What's more, Dad had hired a second dentist and things had finally settled down financially.

It was no surprise when Jean tested for Secondary that she had once again set the bar. She declined the invitations to the private schools, knowing that money was still very tight. Instead she took all the coursework she could from scholarship programs. She spent her seventh year of schooling almost entirely studying for and taking tests. She passed exam after exam, climbing through the years of secondary education. Jean easily finished her secondary work and testing within the year. She didn't even really remember any of her classmates, but then again she was rarely in any standard classrooms longer than it took to test out of them.

Jean sat her college entrance exams at age thirteen. She was accepted to the University of Cambridge with full scholarship. She chose Cambridge's Wolfson College as it had an excellent independent studies program with an emphasis on progressive students such as herself.

She smiled as she accepted the offer from the pleased looking entrance-board members, stepping forward to sign the various forms under her dad's signature. Jean enrolled as a Literature and Political Sciences double major; she would be their youngest student and promised to bring much prestige to their lesser known college. She left wrapped in the blue and bronze striped scarf of her new academic home. Her joy was such that the scarf seemed to glow as she wrapped it around herself. The few that saw the strange event believed it must have been a trick of the light.

Looking up she studied her dad's face as he held out his arms to hug her. It was a good hug, but the look was a mixture of pride and sadness. She'd be home for a few more weeks and would then begin living in the dorms with other Foreign Exchange, Gifted and Special Needs students. She'd have a mentor as well as be living in a secure facility but she knew his thoughts: his little girl was leaving, again.

.o0o.

"I spent my first year of college much the same as my first year at the Academy. Head buried in a book, avoiding other people, going home on weekends while mum was doing good. We had good talks sometimes, and..." Jean wiped furiously at her eyes, clenched her jaw once (the flicker of the overhead lights seemed commonplace to them both by now) and forced her mind and her voice to return to the story she now felt compelled to complete.

"After Easter I met some people talking in olde English out on the commons. They were talking to people as they passed by, getting reactions and laughing. When I responded in proper form and diction I thought I'd broken them, they were all stunned." Jean's first genuine grin of their talk lit her face and Sarah smiled in response. She could see the beauty that Jean would be someday... if she could smile more and dwell on her tragedies less.

"Somehow I started spending some time with this group of misfits and... well, as a misfit I fit." Another grin, another answering smile. "It was only a few times that we got together, our schedules were all crazy since we were, well are, independent studies kids. But it was nice." Jean sat quietly for a moment, as if gathering her courage for what came next.

"Over the course of that spring I spent less time at home. Mum was mostly unable to stay ahead of the pain. She wasn't aware much of the time when I was home. Dad said he understood, truthfully he was working himself too hard and he wouldn't hear a word about it from me. Put his foot down and all that." A grimace, but quickly discarded with a shake of her bushy head, Jean looked back into Sarah's face. The conversation was turning serious, Sarah could feel a tension mounting. It almost felt like the bench was vibrating with it.

"I went back to Wolfson after that long, sad summer and felt like I belonged someplace at last. I felt guilty at the relief I experienced when I got to hang out with my friends."

.o0o.

September saw Jean fully immersed in her college life. In what was the best weekend she could recall since she was just a little girl, Jean had celebrated her fourteenth birthday twice. She went home from school that weekend and spent all day Saturday and the Sunday after church (he'd stopped going) with her dad. Mum was back to full time sedation and they left unspoken what they knew in their hearts.

They wandered through a series of old London book stores he had plotted out. Her dad even promised to take her to those stores they didn't make it to the next time she came home. They each had a cupcake at their favorite French restaurant to finish the day and he drove her back to the dorms. She knew that her dad missed her, still he also appreciated that he had to sign her in before nine pm or they'd come looking for her.

That night her friends threw her a surprise party, with games and punch and even a cake. They settled in and watched "The Princess Bride" which someone had managed to figure out was her favorite story. Perhaps the fact she had three worn out copies amongst her otherwise pristine books was a clue.

While she sat with her friends, Jean felt she belonged for the first time. She looked around at the motley crew surrounding her. They ranged in age from Thomas, the group's unofficial 'mentor' at seventeen, to Jean at fourteen. Thomas was the too-tall fellow who adored Star Wars and planned to be an Astrophysicist. Aerin was the Scotch-Irish lass with a penchant for acting and love of movies (her four VHS copies of The Princess Bride were a testament to her contribution) yet who was studying politics so she could 'change the world'. Next was Megan, another Irish girl with long flowing red locks, who was the soft-spoken one of the group – until she let loose her laugh – who was deep into her advanced psychiatry studies. Lastly James was the 'undecided genius', having done coursework in political science, criminal justice, physical science, theoretical science... and theatre.

...

Jean's birthday party was also special because the students rarely spent much time together. Most of their schedules clashed and even when they had free time their studies kept them bound to a desk somewhere, in Jean's case usually the campus library.

Still, the five of them had managed to eek out time together about a dozen times as October came to a close and they were easily the best friendships Jean could recall ever having. School continued to challenge her, she had begun running in the morning with James, and she felt more at peace with her life than she could remember.

With a little more help from her 'unspoken friends' in addition to her new friends she had pushed magic to the back of her mind. Sometimes she still found a small gray cat figurine on her desk or in her pocket, but she didn't let it bother her.

The only thing she was concerned about was her mum. She was powerless to change what was coming, but knowing it didn't make the end any easier.

.o0o.

Minerva Mcgonagall sat back and half-listened as the staff meeting turned into a political discussion. Things were finally settling down at school, and though last year had had it's share of tragedies, by mid term things were settling down. So far this term had been much quietier, though apparently not so peaceful outside the school.

Word had filtered in just as the Halloween feast approached that muggleborns were disappearing throughout Britain.

The 'oversight' by her friend in the Unspeakables was being investigated. They suspected that several muggleborns were not 'squibbed' as the law required. She refused to dwell on it and dashed off a quick prayer for her kind-hearted friend.

Returning to the conversation at hand it seemed that the winds of change were blowing at the Ministry. Albus believed that a dark power was moving in the shadows of the government. He dismissed out of hand the rumored return of Voldemort with a maddening confidence that was supposed to be reassuring, yet still left the deputy headmistress with a raised eyebrow.

Albus apologized for his absence of late as he was away from the school a great deal in his role as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Given last year's Halloween, Minerva's already tight lips formed a grim frown as she pondered what might go wrong this year. She resolved to contact someone to look out for the Granger girl. Minerva McGonagall had no use for the poppycock of divination, but she was not going to ignore that 'gut feeling' which told her that something bad was coming.

.o0o.

Sarah Combs considered the girl whom she had only known for roughly an hour. She had never heard so many miserable experiences short of a few wartime-stories from the lads. This was no veteran in her presence, and yet she was just as scarred by trauma. She'd had a few bright spots in her story, which once coaxed, had flowed like water through a broken dam.

This last term of college seemed to be going well for her. It was the first time the girl had mentioned other people before talking of coursework. The first time she had used the word 'friend'. Probably the first time she had experienced friendship. Sarah shook her head sadly. What a sad tale, and yet she knew by instinct that there were things left untold. More to the point, there was something more to be told, something hanging over the girl like a dark cloak.

Sarah waited patiently, almost dreading Jean's continued tale. She had no idea why she had pushed the girl into talking, why she had taken a stranger into her arms. The young woman obviously needed comfort and that seemed to be good enough at the time. It seemed odd now, but... but Jean had started speaking again, and her tone told everything.

...

"Things have been going well at school... it's just." Jean shrugged again, this time listlessly. Tears silently tracked down her face as her mind failed to find a way to express the helplessness she felt.

Sarah had know the girl was building towards something. Given how long her mother had been sick, it wasn't hard to guess at the source of these latest tears. "Is it your mum, Jean?"

The nod was almost too slow to catch, if not watched for. Sarah moved once again to take the young woman into her embrace, this time with slow deliberation. Jean didn't respond awkwardly like the first hug, instead melting into the arms of this woman she felt like she could trust with anything.

Running her hand over the fly-away curls, Sarah held Jean as the tears turned to choked sobs which shook her small frame. The two sat that way for a long while. Jean cried and Sarah consoled her, while a man dressed in a dark duster stood back in the shadows and watched in silence.

"My, uhh, my Mum was so sick for so long." Jean sniffled, glad for the embroidered kerchief still clutched in her hand. "So I went back to school. And I wasn't there for her... or my dad. She passed away today."

Sarah barely heard the words, yet she clutched the girl ready for fresh sobs.

Jean stayed steady though, having cried herself out. She sat up a bit, leaning back against the bench and speaking aloud her immediate plans as though reminding herself. "I, I have to take the bus because dad's car won't start. He's going to meet me at the change-over and we're... going home."

The London-Paddington bus came along five minutes later, and Jean squeezed the woman again as she let go to stand.

"Oh, this is yours?" Sarah asked, her voice obviously disappointed.

Jean glanced quickly at the still-seated matron. "Yes," she replied hesitantly. She had memorized the schedules and knew she would have another hour wait – and her dad was waiting. "I have to go." Jean stated the obvious, but the regret was thick in her voice.

Sarah stood and took Jean in her arms. "Your dad will need you and you need him. Don't close yourself off again, do you hear me?" The authority in Sarah's voice took Jean by surprise, but she nodded acceptance, knowing it was true and she needed to hear it.

A few other passengers had moved from other benches, and were boarding the bus. Jean gathered her case, tucked her book in her pocket and then realized she still had the kerchief.

"Keep it." Sarah's voice held laughter as Jean looked at the sodden cloth helplessly. "Remember me, and my 'wisdom'." Sarah mocked herself with a smile. "Remember everyone needs to let go sometimes."

Jean nodded, unable to find words, and got on the bus. A large, dark haired man got on behind her, his face concealed behind the upturned collar of a dark duster.

.o0o.

A/N: Seriously, I expected by now that we'd get to Hermione and Jean just took off talking. I apologize, but I hope the background will be helpful in explaining who our heroine was as it impacts who she will become.

I know this is a long chapter, sorry if that's not good for some, as mentioned Jean had a lot to say before she fades away. She will have some more time next chapter, but I promise Hermione will emerge either then or the chapter after. Sometimes characters really do have more control than you would think!

Just so you know, any time her mum thinks of her it's always as Hermione. McGonagall also calls her by her given name, having no idea about this 'Jean' business :)

Also I never used anything other than mum or dad and that's on purpose. Mildly irritating I know, but it is how I see them. Unlike our dear Jean they just never got a voice for the most part... we'll see what happens in the future.

As two private messages mentioned it, I tried to add a few Magical 'incidents' in earlier chapter edits. If you read CH 1-3 before Wednesday, November 21st you may want to go back. You could also leave a review while you're there :)

I respond to all registered reviewers by PM, so I will respond to a few guest reviews here:

Re: **public health care**: I understand it is available and yet Jean's mum had something very unusual. Something that the doctors couldn't figure out. Add in that the Grangers are fairly well off and likely had private insurance, they would have spared no expense bringing in specialists. Even that didn't help as this malady struck her nervous system rapidly, leaving her almost incapacitated. I added a line to hopefully clarify things. I'm sure Britain's health care is excellent, I'm sorry I didn't make the details more clear for their motivation for private care.

Re: **poor cook**: Canon Hermione is an excellent potions student. Jean is a frazzled thirteen year old who spends most of her time compulsively cleaning, reading medical journals (revised that section to add more detail) and generally worrying. She can start a single-minded project (such as doing research) but cooking has too much down time for her and her mind wanders. Again, she's was a mess, and that was her first real foray into the kitchen, and it's completely un-coached. Perhaps she'll be better once the pressure comes down. Perhaps she's scarred for life as a cook :p

Re: **emailed**: not emails but reviews are what I crave! Now that you've sent yours, here is chapter four, just like magic! =D

Re: SmolderingJade: Thanks for those editing catches, and the praise. Perhaps, if you would consider getting an account, I could run a chapter by you to edit :)

Recommended reading is **Her Story: Philosopher's Stone **by HPGunshot

Update Notes: Grammar police and minor plot tweak. 12/29/12

Blessings to all, and remember: Reviews feed me!  
M


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Harry Potter et al belong to JK Rowling, with my thanks for letting me play with her toys.

Chapter 5 – Last Bus Home

This chapter takes place entirely on Sunday, October 31st 1993

Emotionally spent, Jean leaned against the window, trying not to think too much about all that had transpired in the last hours. She was truly glad she was riding through to the end of the line as she doubted she would have recognized that they'd stopped a half dozen times. She knew one thing had come of unburdening herself of all... of all the long held hurt.

The time she had spent with Sarah had left her exhausted in one sense, and yet deep inside she felt energized. It was as if the tiredness that had been leeching at her heart had been washed away by her confession to the woman who took the time to care and listen.

Jean was at peace, genuinely at ease for the first time in, well she didn't know exactly how long.

A voice in the back of her head scolded her that she ought not to feel at ease when her mother lay dead. Jean reviewed the thought, considered and analyzed it. It was the negative voice, the one that always seemed to be looking for trouble. Of course she felt terrible that Mum was dead... yet at the same time the young woman's long-dormant beliefs spoke up loudly and told her that Mum was in a better place. Those beliefs also taught her that forgiving – even herself, maybe especially herself – was crucial to living life.

_'Where did that come from?'_ Her eyes squinted, then she shook it off. Yes, she'd been raised in the church, but neither she nor her dad had stayed with it once Mum had fallen ill.

Shrugging both mentally and physically, Jean took a deep breath and held it, then let it out slowly. She repeated this twice more before she shook her head, realizing she was doing the exercises the counselor had taught her just that morning, after she learned about... '_not thinking about that yet_.' She closed her eyes, focusing once again on her breathing. Inwardly shrugging again, her practical self proclaimed _'well, it seems to be working'_. As for her sudden deep thoughts on religion, the subject seemed to raise so many more questions than answers right now, then again, you didn't lose your... '_stop!_'

"Last stop! London Station" rang out through the bus. Jean held on as the massive vehicle executed a final tight turn, her thoughts switching gears as the bus lurched to a stop. The doors opened and the two dozen or so passengers began the process of filing out into the bustling station.

Checking her watch, she saw that the bus was right on time. She scanned the crowd out the windows but the odd tint combined with the interior lighting made everyone outside there seem eerily blurred; like how she imagined a ghost would appear. She filed towards the exit with the last few people, trying to keep her unwieldy case balanced as she walked down the steps.

Jean was wrapped in her dad's arms as soon as she cleared the step. The earlier feelings of peace seemed to amplify as her small frame was engulfed in the rare hug. The familiar smells of Dad permeated her senses and brought happier memories to mind, setting aside once again any misgivings of why she was here.

His tight embrace was released and she looked up to see an equally tight smile on his face. It was a bittersweet reunion, yet she tried to convey in her small answering smile the love she felt for her dad. The clench of his jaw seemed to relax and he leaned his forehead to hers in a move that brought bittersweet memories of getting tucked in after prayers. Sure enough he followed it up by laying an exaggerated 'smack' of a kiss upon her forehead. Father and daughter smiled genuine smiles at each other.

They had no more time than that for greetings as he took up her case and the pair of them turned towards the stairs. She had memorized the schedule and earlier over the phone the ever-organized daughter had made sure he had the route written out in detail. They needed to walk quickly across the station, take a subway, then another few-blocks walking to get the Bedford bus stop and on to home.

They never noticed the continued presence of the dark-clad fellow that followed in their wake.

.o0o.

Albus watched his deputy as she paced. Darkness had fallen and they both knew the attacks would begin tonight, though she once again had to take his word for it. They both glanced at the fireplace at odd intervals.

"Holding the feast early hasn't backfired too badly..." The sharp look from the woman as she strode back from the door answered the old man's attempt at levity.

Standing before him, Minerva McGonagall stood ramrod straight and peered down at the sitting wizard. "She's in danger, she and dozens more, and you ar e making jokes?" She whirled around, her feet resuming their task as the stern eyes were drawn worriedly to the flames again.

.o0o.

The single bench was full, though it hardly mattered as the Grangers had just caught their breath when the last bus home pulled to a stop.

Once on the bus they had just settled in for the ride when the engine died, the heavy bus drifting to a stop not a block from where they boarded. A collective groan went up, and Jean glanced about to see mostly middle class folk, likely wanting to get home from work. A ragged cheer met the bus's roar back to life, but the inquisitive young woman was not encouraged as she saw the driver shrug at its return to operation.

A reassuring grasp of her arm brought her attention back to her dad. Giving a small smile she moved her hand to his, returning the squeeze of his hand. She left her small hand in his and saw the smile tug at his lips. They hadn't been close like this for a long time, she realized with another guilty pang.

Quashing the guilt, the bushy-haired girl decided to be there for her dad. She knew she had to talk to him, not just 'be strong' for him. Mentally she understood she had to open up. Logically she grasped the concept, but putting her emotions out there was another matter altogether.

Jean frowned, her musings interrupted as she felt a strange sensation pass through her. Simultaneously the lights within the long vehicle began to flicker and the engine died once again. The collective groan returned, a few angy mutters added for flavor.

A few harsh coughs filled the silence as they sat. A couple had left, apparently close enough to their stop that they would rather walk in the drizzling rain than wait for who knows how long.

The bus driver had called in on the radio and was waiting for instructions when once again the engine sputtered back to life, then seemed to settle down.

What bothered Jean was that once again she felt the strange pulse down her spine. A feeling of mild discomfort settled in her stomach as her mind seemed to be picking at a long-lost memory. It was slightly maddening as she had no idea what was going on around her or in her own skin. The earlier feelings of peace were quickly turning into discomfort, but not of the same variety as had haunted her for some time.

Jean exchanged a raised-eyebrows look with her dad as they listened to the driver trying to explain to someone on the radio that he had no idea what was going on, and yes, they had fuel and yes, the maintenance schedule was complete, and so on. Finally, somewhat exasperated, the driver shifted into gear and they were once again moving.

The lights continued to flicker oddly and Jean's physical discomfort rose as the odd tingles continued to crawl up and down her spine.

Then one of the passengers became belligerent, demanding to be let off the bus, claiming it was broken and raising all manner of fuss about the state of this and that and everything between.

Since they were between stops the driver tried to holler back to ask the man to wait. Jean didn't look to the back to see who was causing the trouble but she felt her dad tensing next to her. The man became louder, ringing the bell again and again demanding to be let off.

The driver had little choice, and pulled over to the next corner with enough room. The rude bloke actually had the nerve to complain about the location, claiming it was a bad neighborhood and demanding that the driver go on a few more blocks.

This happened once more until they finally came to a scheduled stop. They were further delayed as the trouble maker claimed this wasn't his stop! Finally the driver put the bus in park, walked to the back of the bus and had a few words with the fellow. Soon the large, darkly dressed fellow was escorted off of the bus but not before he caught Jean's eye.

He seemed to look at her as though he knew her, and yet she was quite certain she'd never seen him before. A bit unnerved, she was glad to see him gone, and said as much to her dad who found the statement odd for his usually quiet girl, though under the circumstances he quietly agreed.

The bus hadn't made it half a block before Jean felt another surge through her body and the bus sputtered and died once again. This time the lights were off as well and even the radio was dead. A dapperly dressed older man pulled a large portable phone from his case but found it was dead, too. With a slow, steady rain outside, the dark bus held many of the occupants for another ten minutes. This time however the bus seemed to have finally and truly quit.

"I've fare for a cab, it's miserable out there."

Jean turned and could see by the glow of streetlamp that her dad was looking for a response, she hadn't realized it was a question. "Well, I do have an extra umbrella." she answered with a small smile at her preparedness. "How far is it? I can't tell where we are in this gloom."

Her dad returned shortly from conferring with the driver. "Ten more blocks to the stop, two from there to home. We can cut diagonally through the park and save quite a bit though." It seemed his mind was made up as he helped Jean to her feet. Turning to the driver as they approached, Jean thought her dad's tone was sympathetic, unlike some of the grumps that had already left. "We'll get out here, sir."

The pair stepped out into the wet night with simple black umbrellas shielding most of the rain as the wind was fairly calm.

Considering the walk ahead, Jean was trying to find the right words, mostly trying to deduce where she should begin. Her dad didn't seem big on conversation and they trekked along silently for awhile, skirting the outside of the park which allowed them to cut through two blocks. Memories of the park were not generally good, she'd mostly stopped going as being bullied in school was bad enough without seeking it after class and on weekends.

Clearing the park they turned up a sidewalk, staying near a tall fence that nicely blocked the small breeze. Walking with her arm in her dad's, Jean had almost completed her opening statement and first three follow ups.

.o0o.

The headmaster stood slowly and walked to large ornate fireplace, warming his hands briefly before meeting his old friends gaze. He had considered his friend's words before. Several times now they had had this conversation, though it had become more of a dressing down with the dreaded night finally upon them. "You are right, of course. I'm sorry. We will know when it begins, and then we will do what we can. I realize there is a madman out there and I can only ask you to trust me when I tell you that it _cannot be_ Lord Voldemort."

If anything the response seemed to draw more ire from the primly dressed witch. "_We,_" she spat, "should have done something when _I_ told you what the Unspeakables said." Turning fully to face him she stabbed one hand towards the fiery portal. "_We'_ could have saved them already. You knew that these reports were accessible to their spies. You knew that these children would be targeted, that she in particular would offend their sick view of purity! It doesnay matter wha'the name o'this 'dark lord' is, or calls himself!"

Wincing, the aged man stepped back towards his desk. She was right in many ways but yet the issue of _when_ to move was much more complex than the normally restrained woman wanted to acknowledge. As deputy headmistress Minerva knew all about the plans, responses and contingency plans. Standing next to his massive seat of power Albus also knew that logically working through those ideas was much different from waiting for the...

The roar of the fireplace cut off their respective thoughts as they turned to see the orange flames turn a bright blue then settle down to a dark green. Minerva gasped as Albus fairly leaped into flames, though she was on his heels a heartbeat later.

.o0o.

Jean was jerked from her thoughts as her dad stopped in his tracks and pulled her forcibly behind him. There was barely enough time for her to consider that she'd once again felt that tingle up her spine when her dad spoke, but not to her.

"Just what do you want? Money? We've only a few pounds but you can have it if you'll just move on." His voice was harsh, carrying a menacing undertone that Jean couldn't believe came from her dad at all. His grip was just shy of painful, unyielding in a way that again brought no frame of reference in all of Jean's years.

She stuck her head out around his body to see the troublemaker from the bus. The man's long dark hair fell unruly about his head, his large frame was covered in a heavy black coat, more like a robe. He stared not at her father, but right into the eyes of the girl sheltering behind him. The look in his gaze was a strange mix of feral anger and indignation, as if he'd been insulted. _'Great, the man is crazy and is probably going to mug us.' _Jean wondered why a mugger would be wearing such fine clothes, they were almost vintage...

Shuddering, she forced her mind into action – '_what to do in case of a mugging?_' Taking in her surroundings, Jean observed that they were between houses but not in the alley proper. Tall fence-rows blocked much of the view this side of the street but the other side was lined with sidewalks that led up to a nice row of homes – who gets mugged here? They were in the suburbs for goodness sakes!

When no reply was forthcoming Jean felt herself being led into the street, her dad was heading them towards the opposite side where the harsh blue-white streetlamp bathed the area in secure-seeming light.

"You can't go home. They've been waiting for you." The large man spoke in a calm voice which was much in conflict with his fierce visage. A quick glance showed Jean that the crazy man hadn't moved, yet he continued to stare at them - or rather, it seemed, just at her.

"Listen, I…" Jean's dad stopped talking, in fact he stopped in his tracks and seemed to sway in place a moment before standing completely still. Looking from her dad to the mugger, Jean saw that the strange man was now pointing a stick at them.

The crazy mugger continued to speak in that maddeningly calm, deep voice. "Minerva said you were a smart girl so listen carefully Hermione Jean Granger." His eyes were intense, the stick was still in his hand, his words were now urgent, forceful. "You've got trouble waiting for you at home, they've found you."

Jean didn't need to hear any more. She had no idea what he had done to her dad but this Crazy looking man was saying Crazy sounding things and she was scared!

So she screamed. "FIRE!" Taking a deep breath, she really let loose, "HELP! FIRE"… she spun in place, belting out for all she was worth, "FIIIRRRRE!"

Turning full circle she checked on the man's position, ready to pull her dad towards the streetlamp… but the dark stranger was still just standing there. He was even smiling!

"Go ahead and scream Hermione, let me know when you are well and done. You're safe 'nuff here for a moment more and I'd just as soon you did not panic the others."

Regardless of the rational tone he seemed to be so fond of, his words made no sense. Instead of calming her, they twisted around and confused her. Jean _Hated_ being confused!

So she screamed some more. Rational thought be damned, this was freaking her out! Why wasn't her dad moving!? Why was this maniac just standing there grinning at her!? Switching out of her internal debate, Jean let loose with another screamed question: "WHY ISN'T ANYONE COMING OUT OF THEIR HOUSES?"

Wait... why wasn't her voice echoing down the street?

A strange calm fell over the young woman. Realizing that the logical response to her actions was not working, Jean pushed everything else aside, considering her next move as calmly as she could.

It was difficult, with her pulse pounding in her ears and a complete stranger calling her by name and talking nonsense, but she forced herself to think practically, to search her logical mind for some rational explanation for these completely irrational events.

This calm persisted for about ten seconds. _'I can't run to a house as that would leave Dad with the crazy guy. I have no experience fighting and this man is big, and scary looking and... and why the hell isn't Dad moving?' _A cold feeling took hold in her core, none of this made any sense!

Her mind clamped down again on the useless fear. Jean forced a few deep breaths and fell back to trying to think of what to do next. '_Buy some time, yes, that's good!' _She had to talk to the crazy man, to get him to slip up and make some kind of sense. Jean tried to think of a question to pose to the man. A quick glance confirmed he was idling in the street still.

Her debate classes taught her never to ask a question she did not have the answer to. Mind whirling, Jean tried desperately to form a question that she wanted to hear the answer to – let alone one to which she had any clue as to the answer.

"Ok, uh… who… who is uhm…" _'What? Who is waiting at our house? Wait, how did this man get here ahead of us… How did he know where we were going?' _Jean knew that she was losing the battle between logic and panic. Fortunately the man seemed to somehow pick up her questions from her babble.

"My name is Sirius Black. I knew where you were going because I've been tasked to follow you by a friend of mine named Minerva McGonagall. She told me to tell you: 'Remember the cat'."

He smiled a disarming smile and it quite suddenly occurred to Jean that she was holding the small cat statue in her hand, with the umbrella – her other hand was once again locked on her dad's motionless arm. Memories of the witch and her promise came back and she rubbed the little cat furiously while she awaited the miraculous rescue from the fairy tale witch... or the other shoe to drop. She didn't have to wait long.

"We found out that you had been targeted, that if you went home as scheduled then you'd be dead right now, that's why I delayed your bus. Hermione, you and your father are in danger."

With that, as if on cue, a terrible scream resounded through the air, followed quickly by a heavy '_Thump'._ Jean could feel the air ripple with… something. Something terrible, like and yet totally unlike the feelings she'd been having all day, especially since her talk with Sarah. Jean vaguely mused that the talk with the kind woman seemed to have happened days ago.

Once again Jean was torn from her thoughts as a bloom of orange shot into the air, illuminating a horrid visage floating in jet-black smoke. The flicker of flames played upon the terrifying sight of a snake slithering through a huge skull. Jean's mind picked up the many visual cues and suddenly came to a terrible realization. That horrid cloud was in the direction of her home. One glance at her immobile dad and her head began to throb as she panicked. '_Our Home Is On Fire! Dad!? How do I... What do I do?_' Her dad's motionless form provided no answers as the snake continued to writhe in the sky even as the flames slowly died down.

The calm, dark, crazy mugger had finally moved, yet Jean looked helplessly at the grotesque symbol over what she now _knew_ was her home. Used to be her home.

She was trying to deny what she increasingly felt was true: this was about her... other difference. Thinking again of the cat, she felt vaguely reassured that it was still in her hand. If only to have something to hold on to, she tried to keep it out of view from the man. She continued to rub the statuette even as the relief of it's presence warred with the rational part of her brain that simply wanted to deny that any of this was real.

The man now stood before her. He was speaking, but all Jean could do was rub the figurine, rub and stare, stare at the snake and the skull and the orange glow at the base of the smoky symbol. The orange glow of their house on fire.

A feeble attempt to work out what all of this meant fought with the dull ache in her head while a high pitched whine seemed to blot out all noise.

Jean came to a measure of awareness when the man grabbed her hand and placed it on a small length of rope. Her eyes followed the rope to find that her dad's hand was being held to the other end. _'He's tying us up in the street?'_

The thought hadn't even fully formed before it was discarded - even as she felt the most extraordinary sensation in her stomach.

The _tug_ was startling and for a moment Jean really wanted to be sick. Instead she picked herself up, not even aware of how she was knocked down. She was disoriented and confused, her senses on overload. She could see, though what she beheld just added to the questions; somehow she was in an old, dark museum-like house. Smell seemed to come back with a vengeance and it was not a pleasant change from the wet street as _musty_ and _moth-balls _joined to assault her poor nose.

Then she could hear again, the whine was finally gone, but her head continued to ache horribly. Jean was still rubbing the figurine as she was gently being led by the elbow through an old-fashioned foyer and into a more serviceable looking, brightly lit kitchen. Jean absently noted a few others in the room, including children who were either eating at the large table or staring, either at her or... just staring. She supposed she was staring as well. The shell-shocked young woman could hardly bother to consider herself rude.

An older woman in a nurse's outfit bustled up and began waving another stick at her. Jean flinched from the object that she remembered from the dark man, and suddenly she was frantically looking for her dad.

"Daddy!?" She cried out, trying to bat away the stick and pull away from the hand on her arm she hadn't realized was there. She turned in place to see her dad walk right past her, though his movements were jerky and uncoordinated. He sat down with a thump and Jean saw the dark man in the doorway. He was lowering one of those sticks. Somehow her attention became riveted to what she could only grasp as the cause of all this...

The crazy mugger, or kidnapper, or whatever he was, was staring at her again. His previously calm demeanor now appeared tired. The bright lights brought out worry lines and up close she could see that his face was drenched in sweat, though his clothes were strangely untouched by the rain. Jean was pulled from further study of the fascinating subject of how dry her kidnapper's - for that's how she was coming to see him - overcoat was when the nurse spoke.

"Finite Incantatem" was pronounced, and the nurse moved one of those sticks to accompany the nonsense - although part of Jean's mind considered the Latin meanings, briefly.

Then her dad slumped a bit before his eyes bugged out and he jumped up to grab hold of his daughter. The tight hug from the bus station was no match for the grip he engulfed her in. The smells of rain added to those uniquely 'Dad' and Jean finally let go of all pretense of self-control.

All of this, whatever was happening, it was just too much. For the second time on that same terrible, emotionally exhausting day Jean began to weep without restraint.

A/N: The muggle world is no longer safe for Jean. How will she handle the magical world she has been denied (and denying) for so long? What changes will be demanded of her, and how much more can she handle?

Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapters 1-4, I truly appreciate your feedback and will continue to answer each signed review by PM.  
Unfortunately I cannot continue to answer anonymous reviews. Though I will take into consideration anything you wish to share that way, it makes my A/N's grow into mini-chapters to try to give even cursory answers to each anonymous poster. accounts are free - and after several years as a member I've never gotten spam from the site.

Recommended work is another fic with a strong Hermione presence. **The Strange Disappearance of SallyAnne Perks** by Paimpont will take you on an enjoyable ride through Hogwart's lore...

Thanks once again for reading, please take a moment to review. Your encouragement is appreciated and your comments help make me come back to share what's next.

Update Notes: minor plot tweak. 12/29/12  
Grammar, grammar, grammar! 12/31/12 (Thank You myLady Phoenix!)

This is my first story, so Please review. If you like it, and if you would be so kind as to point out what I did well that would be great.

Even if you just let me know where you think I can improve I'd really appreciate it.

Thank you for all of the follows and favorites!

Blessings,  
Majerus


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Harry Potter et al belong to JK Rowling, with my thanks for letting me play with her toys.

The votes are in... they were pretty much in on Wednesday, but I have a little compromise for the Action fan(s?). Because of the timing involved I will have a few additional scenes, which will force me to split the chapter.

There have been mentions of how sad the story it. Yes it is. It Will get better, but this is where my Hermione comes from, you have to know Jean to know Hermione. As to the action, that's the state of the magical world... and where Hermione is going, right?

Enough delays, here is,

**CH6 Hermione Granger… Witch?**

Sunday, October 31st 1993 (Continued)

The evening had passed in a blur which at times seemed to crawl. That made no sense. But then again nothing about this night did, ever since they had gotten on that last bus home.

'_Home. My house has burned down. At least Mum was safe in the funeral home... not now!_' Jean blinked, trying hard to make sense of things, but _now_ things, not... not the _thing_ she couldn't deal with. Finally she stopped trying to think altogether and just sat and waited.

Jean had sat in the kitchen with her dad for what seemed like hours, the world spinning with activity around them. Some sort of crisis was going on, that much was clear. She had no idea how long it was until the dark man that had 'magically' snatched them off of the street came back.

She knew when he walked into the kitchen because the bustle stopped for a moment. He looked terrible and smelled worse. Her dad's eyes got really wide when he looked upon their captor, but then he closed back down and stayed silent.

The man in black spoke briefly with the red headed woman who seemed to run the kitchen (and Jean felt sure was watching the Grangers closely) and then left again. When he returned a few minutes later he had changed clothes and didn't have that smell any more, but he still looked out of sorts.

Now the three of them were in a small room which had the vague odor of detergents. She had wrinkled her nose as they first entered and he had told them that this 6' by 8' room used to be a cleaning closet; but they had needed the space so they expanded it and converted the closet into a bedroom. He had apparently noticed the smell as he mentioned not being any good at 'those charms' and said someone would take care of the smell later.

The closet-turned-bedroom had two small beds, one on either side of the doorway, and the chair in between as the only furnishings. The Grangers sat huddled on one rickety bed while their 'host' sat on the chair, by the door.

She sat quietly next to her dad as their kidnapper/rescuer explained the new world she was now a part of. Or was she? Did she want to be? Did she have a choice?

Looking at her dad's face she could see he was just as tuned-out as she was. Perhaps he was in shock? She squeezed his hand, still clasped in hers since they had left the kitchen, and got an answering squeeze. He turned to look at her and slowly shook his head, but what that meant she could only guess.

"Perhaps we should continue this tomorrow." The man seemed to have realized that he had lost his audience and had already started towards the door.

Returning to the present, Jean realized she really was feeling out of it when the dark man glanced at the chair as he turned at the exit; with a wave of his hand it was gone. She tried to feel something about that. It should have been astonishing or startling at the least, but right now all she could think was how hard she was trying not to think about…

"One of the nurses will be by in a bit with some clothing and to show you to the loo. You can change there and use the robes on the beds as you go between. Or do you want a curtain in here? I don't mean to put you in an awkward spot, but I figured you wouldn't want separate rooms, at least for tonight."

That was very thoughtful of him. She should really thank him for being such a thoughtful host. Or kidnapper, or whatever. Lord she really had no idea what to think. Her dad picked up the heavy, dark blue cloth robe and looked at the man who called himself Sirius Black.

"Thank you, Mr. Black." He said, rather mechanically, and turned his back on their host to look at Jean.

She saw the exhaustion plain on her dad's face, that and… something else, something she had never seen before on his usually calm face. Was it fear?

"Please, call me Sirius. Mr. Black was my father." His forced laughter fooled none of them. "Hermione," the man continued, but her dad turned quickly and interrupted him.

"Why do you call her that? She hasn't been called that since she was a little girl!" The vehemence in her dad's voice startled Jean when disappearing furniture had had no effect. It didn't seem to faze the tall dark man who had stalked them on the bus one bit.

"Her name is recorded in the rolls, the way all witches and wizards names are recorded once they demonstrate their magic. Hermione's name has been there since just after she was born… she is a powerful witch, or will be once she learns to use her magic properly."

The man, Sirius, spoke these words as though he were discussing yesterday's weather. His tone was calming, yet he spoke with an authority that brooked no argument. It was as if he were trying to handle a troublesome dog. Jean shook that thought away, her full head of hair swishing to the side as her tired body copied her thoughts.

Mistaking her action, their host sighed rather dramatically. "Listen, I know you are overwhelmed, but denying what you are is not going to make it go away. As I said earlier, there are some very evil people out there who know who you are and want you dead. Their reasons are not important, but their abilities are. We fooled them with an illusion tonight, but by morning the papers will report that there were no bodies found in the ruins of the fire... and you will be hunted with renewed fervor. Voldemort has put his most trusted servant on your trail…" The dark look that passed over his face was only there for a moment, and Jean wasn't sure what it meant, but it couldn't be good. He continued in his reasonable, yet passionate voice; now that he had her attention he was a very convincing speaker.

"If you deny your abilities and choose not to learn how to use them, you will be defenseless when you eventually have to face these murderers. There are many people in this house and other safe houses around Britain that are just like you, though some of them are not as lucky as you two are. Some of them are orphans who only survived tonight because their magic saved them accidentally; the Death Eaters killed their families anyways. We are at war. Unfortunately, you don't get to choose to sit it out, let alone choose a side. I'm sorry, I truly am. I have lost friends, family, my best mate… just try to get some rest." The look on his face had grown gradually less controlled, taking on an almost fierce expression until the end, when his eyes blanked and his shoulders slumped. He silently closed the door behind him.

His sad tone upon concluding his speech made more of an impression than his words had. The Grangers stared at each other for just a moment before they slowly closed the gap and hugged. Before stepping into her dads arms she caught that look in his eyes. It was not fear, yet she couldn't place that look… but she wouldn't push right now. For now she just wanted to be held. They hadn't hugged like this since she was a little girl and right now all she wanted was to go back to when Daddy could fix anything and Mum...

A whimper escaped her unbidden and her dad began to rub her back and make shushing sounds, just like all those years ago.

They stayed, standing there, until there was a light knock at the door. Even then Jean just held on as her dad turned and opened the door. It was awkward but she simply didn't care. There was a quiet conversation and Jean felt a keen sense of loss as her dad pulled away, resting a rare kiss on her forehead.

"I am going to go get cleaned up, I'll be just down the hall, this lady has some clothes for you to sleep in."

Finally looking up, Jean met the eyes of a gentle-eyed, yet very tired looking young woman wearing the same nurses uniform she remembered from her arrival. She immediately looked for a wand in the woman's hands, but found none. Instead the nurse held only a bundle of clothing. Her dad left with his bundle after giving assurances that he would return right away. The woman turned to go, then paused.

"You look like you're really scared but you shouldn't be. No matter what happens you are safe here. I... I heard, I'm really sorry about your mum." The woman finished, her voice full of genuine grief, she turned away quickly.

Jean could see the young nurse was exhausted and felt bad for the suspicious way she knew she first reacted. "Thanks." she croaked out, her voice raw with emotion and disuse.

Stopping half turned, the young nurse wiped at her eyes before replying. "If you need anything just come down to the kitchen. Someone will be there all night." With that the nurse turned and closed the door behind her, leaving Jean standing numb in the stinky room.

As if jolted, Jean tossed her night-clothes on the bed and opened the door to find the nurse talking to a very small boy in the doorway across the hall. Jean watched the way the woman soothed the obviously distraught boy, finally taking a small bottle out of her apron and giving the boy a spoonful dose. She led the boy back into his room and shortly returned to the hall.

"Can I help you?" She asked, her smile seemingly forced, she looked close to tears.

"What did you give him?" Jean asked, her voice returning, though she realized too late that her question held all of the suspicion she felt. So much for masking her raw emotions. Her face likely betrayed her feelings as well, which would explain the way the nurse looked at her. She shook her head, now wasn't the time for analysis.

"It is a potion called Dreamless Sleep. With what he has gone through even the House magic can't keep him from having nightmares. Any other questions?" The woman had spoken pleasantly enough, but her whole demeanor declared just how tired, and frustrated, she really was.

"Sorry. I, I didn't mean, it's just..." Jean had no idea what to say. She really didn't know what she was thinking and felt really bad for her tone, as well as her suspicion.

The nurse smiled in return, this time it reached her eyes. "Don't worry about it. Just get some rest."

"Sure, oh, the man... Sirius, he said you might be able to, well, the room stinks." Jean couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. He she was asking a nurse to clean her room after she was rude to her for helping a little boy.

"Oh?" She stepped into the doorway, her nose instantly crinkling in the same way Jean's had. "Do you mind if I use magic? Sirius said you and your father were a bit wand-shy."

"Please?" Jean agreed quickly. Having been in the hallway for just a minute had made the smell seem even worse upon re-entering the room.

Laughing, the nurse pulled a slender light colored wand from her sleeve and pointed it at a few places around the room, mostly under the beds. She seemed to repeat the same word each time, just under her breath, Jean thought it sounded like Latin. Intrigued, she was just getting ready to ask for details when her dad gave a startled gasp from the doorway.

"Please leave." His tone was not quite hostile, but it was sharp enough that the young woman left quickly, giving Jean an apologetic look as she turned down the hall.

"She was just..."

"It's fine, I just want us to go to sleep so we can get an early start." His voice was calm, reasonable even, but Jean knew he was upset.

Moving to the door, she gave her dad a small frown of apology. "I'll go get changed then."

In the hall she found the nurse hadn't made it very far, this time she was down on one knee consoling a little girl. The child couldn't have been more than five, and though she wasn't crying, she did have a very tight grip on the helpful woman. Once again the solution seemed to be a few soothing words, a long hug, and a dose of the potion. When she came back out of the girl's room Jean smiled to show she wasn't upset with her.

"One potion cure-all?" She tried to joke.

The nurse gave a weak smile in return. "For tonight, yes."

Intrigued, and tired of fighting with her restless mind, Jean pressed the woman for more. "What does it do, exactly?"

"It is basically just a sleeping draught. It causes the person to sleep without dreams for about eight hours, depending on dose." She stopped, seeming to regard Jean more closely. "Do you... would you like some, just in case you, you know?"

Jean was about to protest as the nurse held out a small vial, but she was having a hard time trying to stop her mind from trying to sort through everything, and it was giving her a headache as well. She knew she would not likely sleep tonight with everything that had happened.

A small voice was heard down the hall and the woman turned, her face anxious. "This has barely a dose left, and I need to go. I'll talk to you tomorrow." With that Jean found herself holding the small glass bottle as she watched the nurse stride quickly down the hall.

She regarded the 'potion' critically, then walked into the bathroom to change and get ready for bed.

. . .

Sirius stood with his back against the stove, the warmth of the oven working up his back and giving him some comfort from the aches that seemed to be coming from every fiber of his being. He listened carefully as the others gave their reports, his own battles detailed as best he could manage when he was sent home from St. Mungo's for the second time.

The pain potions had worn off shortly after he had left the Grangers. He flexed his right hand, his wand hand, and was happy to see he hadn't lost any flexibility, so far. It was a close thing, according to the healers.

He sighed, letting the latest report wash over him, traveling with them through their ordeal in his mind's eye.

The Night of Terror the muggles were calling it. How right they were.

. . .

Earlier that evening.

(On televisions across Great Britain news bulletins interrupted scheduled programming around 6:30 pm. A phone number flashed slowly at the bottom of the screen and then the picture switched to a somewhat startled looking young woman. She stands in a bright glaring light with the glow of two separate fires burning low in the background.)

"Mellissa Pembroke reporting live from Sutton where yet another series of deadly fires has been reported. Three homes within scant blocks of one another have burned quickly to the ground, and once again the ghastly fireworks have reportedly been seen above all three. Authorities say that they are not sure if the proximity of these homes is somehow important but the fact is that the police seem to have nothing more to go on; no link has been found to connect the over two dozen homes, businesses and apartments that have been torched this deadly Halloween eve."

(Voice over) "Melissa, George here, we were wondering if the police were considering terrorism yet? It doesn't fit, uh… past incidents, and yet with so many attacks how can they still be considering vandals? Also, you mentioned the fireworks have been seen, did anyone manage to get a photo yet?"

"No, George, on all counts. The Police of course are remaining quiet on any detailed response at this time. I just spoke with the Metro Police commander on scene and he would only repeat his call for any information to be immediately reported to the number shown at the bottom of the screen. My sources privately confirm your statement about the inconsistencies with past attacks. Lastly although witnesses at each and every site give the same account of a huge, smoky snake writhing in a skull over the attacks, Polaroids taken by those on the scene are all coming up over-developed. I've heard reports of several regular cameras confiscated by police but no word on if their lab has had better luck than the Polaroids have..."

(Voice over fades into the studio as the on scene reporter is cut off)

"I'm sorry Melissa, we've just had another report, this one from the West End…"

The sound dies as the TV goes dark, the whole house in fact is plunged into shadows. Three people sit holding each other on a couch, their faces cast in stark relief by the faint streetlight coming through the window.

Behind them, in the hall, a small voice whimpers.

"Anna? What are you doing up?" A masculine voice echoes in the dark as a stocky man rises from the couch. A woman, his wife, rises with him, but another female, younger, the sister of Anna, sits and stares out the window.

She felt it too. "Hide, Anna!" She speaks quietly but urgently, and the parents turn to look at her with wide eyes.

"Abby hush! She's scared enough with the dark and the…" Abby doesn't listen, yelling over top of her mothers voice.

"Anna, it's them from the fires on T.V. Go to yer room and get in the wall, do it Now!"

Anna doesn't move, at least not until the house shudders. Then all hell breaks loose.

It happens in slow motion to Anna, who watches from the darkened hall.

First are the cracking noises, loud, like fireworks, and suddenly there are five dark-cloaked figures standing in their living room. Words are yelled, at first by the new people, but then a horrible scream erupts from Dad and then Abby is screaming too. But Abby is screaming curse words, the worst words Anna has ever heard, and when she screams the cloaked people scream too! One of them flies across the room and smashes into the T.V. and Anna thinks she'll miss Rugrats in the morning… then another man is doing something but Mum jumps… no she… oh…

Then Anna runs. She runs to her room, slips behind her closet door and pulls on the old metal door in a section of original stone wall. It opens with the slightest creak, Abby oiled it last week, and Anna pushes herself into the darkness. She scoots all the way down, into the place that smells musty and is rather cold but is the best hiding place in the house.

She stays there, shivering, long after the shouting. She stays as the air begins to smell like smoke. She stays, terrified and alone until a goblin 'pops' in next to her. It's not the same kind of goblin as in that elf show she watched with Abby, but it has the big ears and it's smaller than her so it must be a goblin. The goblin takes her shaking hand and she is not cold anymore. Just as she hears a strange creaking noise above her the goblin snaps his finger and they are in a new place! "There you are, miss, now go to sleep." The goblin squeaks, and Anna goes to sleep.

.o0o.

Monday, September 1st 1993

The next day Jean awoke in a strange bed wearing strange clothes. The small room she found herself in was faintly lit by an old fashioned gas lamp turned almost all the way down. The faint smell of detergent was the first oddly-familiar thing she noticed. The scent was not quite masked by a fresh fragrance that one of the nurses had produced when she had come in to help her the night before. Produced by a wave of a wand. Produced by magic.

With that thought the whole night came crashing back and Jean practically jumped up to find herself alone. Her dad's bed was made, the tight hospital corners showing that he had done the work himself as opposed to… well she had no idea if these beds made themselves; but that's not what it looked like when they got here last night.

She glanced around the small quarters and found no indication of his belongings… and then she saw the plain cloth robe folded neatly at the foot of the bed, with a small scrap of old-looking paper tucked under it. Jean sat back down hard. She felt paralyzed, somehow knowing that she did not want to read that paper. A quick knock on the door shook her from her quiet terror and she stood quickly, snatching up the paper before turning to the door as the knock was repeated. "Who is it?"

"Hermione, it's Sirius Black, may I come in?"

It was the man from last night. Had he come to tell her about her dad? She had no idea what time it was, though now that she thought about it she hadn't slept that well in quite some time. What was that 'potion' the nurse had given them? "Dreamless Sleep"… it certainly was.

Glancing at her plain sleeping shift she decided to opt for modesty and slipped into her robe. The soft cloth seemed to warm her quickly in the cool room. "Come in."

The disheveled man from the night before had been replaced by a dapper-dressed gentleman. He looked as if he had just stepped out of a Jane Austen novel, though she hardly thought him Mr. Darcy material. The look on his face however stopped her flight of fancy cold. It was about her dad for certain.

"I don't know how to tell you this except to just come out with it. After you went to sleep your father came into the kitchen in a fit. He demanded to know what we had done to you as he could not seem to awaken you. It took awhile, however after some questioning we discovered that one of the healers had given you a potion to help you sleep. Your father was livid and made some pretty harsh comments. I finally silenced him to force him to listen to reason. He went completely still when he realized he could no longer speak. When I removed the hex he just turned and went back to your room. I tried speaking with him but it was like talking to a wall.

Hermione... Your father left early this morning. He is apparently a rather clever fellow because nobody thought to put a ward against someone sneaking _out_ the third story window."

The man's tone was serious, upset even, yet Jean couldn't get past the image of her dad shimmying out a window in the middle of the night. What was he doing? He couldn't think… she didn't know what he would be thinking. There was that strange look he kept getting, and the note… The Note!

Turning her back on the man in the doorway, Jean read the note by the scant light coming from the hallway.

"_Jean, I will come back but I must get help, we are not going to be a part of their war! These wizards may mean well but they cannot hold us against our will. I Will come back, just stay put and don't go anywhere. Love, Dad"_

Her host interrupted any further thoughts on the subject. "He didn't fall, at least there is no sign of his having been injured on the grounds. I know this is a lot to take in but we have people out looking for him…"

It was a lot to take in. Her dad had run out, but she knew he would return. It wasn't what Sirius had said so much as what he had left unsaid. There would be others looking for him as well. Looking for him because of her. As bad as the night before had ended, today didn't look to be starting any better.

"There's nothing more you can do and I'm sure he'll be fine. Please, come downstairs and get some breakfast, you can meet some of the others."

Her stomach loudly proclaimed her feelings about food before she could protest. Embarrassed, she tried to think of a reason to stay in the room and wait. She was dressed inappropriately, that seemed lame, and yet... Looking down at her robe, Jean didn't have to explain her discomfort as Sirius spoke up. "I can help with the clothing. If you'd just think of what you'd like to be wearing and look at me please?"

A moment later Jean stood staring at herself in open mouthed shock. Disappearing chairs was a neat trick. Turning her pajamas and robe into trainers, socks, pants and a jumper was pretty darn impressive.

"Isn't magic cool?" The grin on his face was clearly heard in his voice though Jean declined the offered arm as he led her downstairs to the kitchen. He chatted a bit about the house on the way down the stairs, but Jean's attention was on the wonderful scents wafting up from below. She realized as her stomach spoke again that she had missed supper in the confusion of the previous night. They made their way into the kitchen, yet it was hardly the same room.

"We take our meals in here in shifts. This is the only room not converted into apartments or sleeping quarters. The house is magically expanded as it is, so expanding the rooms within can only be done safely to a limit."

Jean nodded at the information, filing it away even as she took in the cutting board where three knives and a cleaver were dancing through a bin of potatoes. One entire wall was taken up by a vast array of containers. The colors and shapes of many of the objects were unknown to her, though there seemed to be a fair number of seeds, roots and flowers. And… eyes… wings… and legs? "Are those…"

"Yes," Sirius cut in, "those are potion ingredients. Sorry, we had to move all the supplies up here. Don't worry though, there's a magical barrier in place to keep anything from getting in or out. The potion lab is still down stairs, I can show you later if you like." Jean balked at the prospect, and he directed her to take a seat.

Sitting down at the table was a lot different from last night. Jean had to squeeze into a spot. It seemed as though a small army of kids were eating at the table… a table that had definitely not been this big last night. Then there was the food. Dishes of eggs and meats, potatoes in every form she had ever seen and breads, jams, rolls, pastries… the selection was boggling.

She began to reach for a bowl of eggs when it slid right to her hand. Freezing in place she saw a girl across from her smiling.

"You get what you want." She said, matter-of-factly, then reached out her hand and an apple tart _flew_ to her hand from down at the end of the table. "Magic." The girl grinned.

Jean couldn't help but grin back, and scooped up a heap of eggs, smiling widely as she snatched the toast she had 'ordered' out of the air. Her stomach growled in approval.

"I'm Anna, are you the oldest one?"

The question caught Jean off guard. The girl appeared to be around five or six, and looking about the table she realized that she was obviously the oldest by at least a year of two, even though she was small for her age. Shrugging, Jean looked back to Anna. "Pleased to make your acquaintance Anna, my name is Jean. As to your question, I don't actually know, I just got here last night." Glancing over her shoulder she found Sirius had departed so she had no source for an answer anywhere in sight.

"All of us just got here last night silly." The young girl stated in her no-nonsense way, and went back to eating her tart.

Jean didn't know what else to say, or what was safe to ask, so she returned to her breakfast. Distracted by the swirl of questions and concerns that just seemed to be growing every moment, she only ate a few bites before some room opened up on the benches. As the kids around her finished and left the kitchen, their plates were floated to the sink by an older red headed woman that Jean remembered vaguely from last night.

The way all these children were sitting around so calmly, just eating, no horseplay or talking, kind of creeped Jean out. Then something occurred to her after the fourth or fifth small child quietly got up and left the room. Every one of these kids was eating without an adult. She suddenly lost her appetite as her worries echoed in her head.

Jean slammed the lid on the thoughts of what might be happening with her dad. '_I am not an orphan!_' she declared to herself. The dark voice of doubt only added one word. '_Yet._'

Standing, she tried not to be wowed by her floating dishes. She caught the eye of the red head doing the… well, conducting the dish washing. She seemed to be frowning at Jean, and directed a sharp glance to her uneaten eggs and toast. Perhaps wasting food was a major no-no? There was food on some of the other kids' plates. The woman cleared up the confusion quickly enough by coming over and introducing herself.

"Hello dear, I'm Molly and I'm sorry for whatever you've been through, but not eating is no way to keep your health and you will need your health and energy in the days to come… And if I may say you are such a small thing to start with, you can't afford to skip any meals, so keep that in mind, ok? Alright dear, now run along." The woman finished with a bright smile and bustled back to the dishes. Jean found that she somehow had a piece of toast in her hand.

The only thing that stuck in Jean's mind was how the woman had said all of that in one breath. She was saved from stifling a smile by the sharp, barking laughter of her host. It seemed that Sirius had returned in time for, and was quite amused by Molly's short speech.

"Molly, dear, don't ever change!" Sirius barked out a harsh laugh and winked at Jean.

"Sirius Black, I am not your "dear"." The woman's abrupt response was only tempered slightly by her tone, not quite angry, but not exactly teasing either. "You take care of that little one or Minerva will skin you and make a rug out of your flea-bitten hide." With that she turned to the table once more. The remaining children had dwindled until only a few of the more portly kids remained. Molly seemed to have decided that they had had enough as she shooed them from their unfinished plates. Wasting food was definitely not the issue.

"Lets escape while the gettings good." Sirius mock whispered. His fake conspiratorial attitude was hard not to smile at. "I have it on good authority you will like the third stop of our tour, but first we have to make introductions." Jean was already being guided out the back door.

. . .

Sirius stood in front of the crowd of children and few adults. He tried to focus his thoughts on how these people were going to be alright. They would make it. As he looked over the remnants of over a dozen different families he could not help but think of the dozens that they could not save.

.o0o.

It was surreal, as so much of the last day had been. Jean sat and watched as one by one the forty or so children and eight adults introduced themselves to the best of their abilities. None of them outright cried, although emotions were obviously high as one after another clearly stated that they lost their parents the night before. When Anna's turn came she calmly announced that her sister had killed three of the 'Death Eaters' before they got her. Nobody cheered, and yet nobody cried either. Each of them were spared from the attack either by intervention of some sort or by their own accidental magic. Sirius merely guided them away from talking about killing, and towards how they were now safe.

When Jean's turn arrived she actually felt somewhat guilty that her escape was not nearly as dramatic as many of theirs had been. This caused her to wonder once again what her dad was up to. She thought a moment about praying for him, but the revelations of magic had done nothing for her struggling faith. Jean haltingly spoke the plea anyways. Pride and logic were worthless when your dad was in danger.

When Sirius had insisted that she introduce herself as Hermione she balked. He reasoned that it was the name that had been magically recorded, an argument that didn't really impress her. When he pointed out he was named after the dog-star, and then methodically listed off over twenty-some ridiculous sounding names from his school years – interjecting choice commentary as he went – she relented.

"But just for this, I still want to be called Jean." She had insisted.

None of the kids laughed at her name. Then again, none of the kids laughed at the unfortunate boy named Gropnik Hetepsabet...

After the bafflingly reserved introductory time, Sirius had introduced a few adults including three nurses, Molly Weasley and her son Bill (who many of the children seemed to know somehow). He then went over a few rules which mostly seemed to be about not going downstairs, staying out of the kitchen until meal time, what time meals were and not going downstairs.

Sirius had then escorted her on the 'tour'. This consisted of the three common areas of the house: number one was the kitchen, two the garden out back, and three the massive library-turned-dormitory which had Jean wide eyed.

They were currently sitting in the library entry-way in one of the few remaining squashy chairs. He had turned Jean's so she couldn't see the books and she felt an almost overwhelming urge to stick her tongue out at him. She settled for giving him a glare that seemingly had no effect on his good cheer.

Sirius then explained that a vestige of the Black Family magic was in effect. "My family truly believed that old motto, 'children should be seen, not heard'. They wove enchantments into the House Magic itself that keeps young ones from expressing themselves in more than polite requests. It's not ideal, and certainly not helping them heal, but you only met one of the groups living here… we have eighty three people living in this house right now. The adults have been instructed not to get emotional around the children and as a precaution they are regularly hit with cheering charms. The real threat of accidental magic released by emotional outbursts makes this the default safe-house for the orphans and the younger, more unstable kids."

Jean was somewhere between boggling at the sheer numbers mentioned, boggling at the idea of magical fields repressing emotions and being insulted at the insinuation his last comment made. "I'm not…"

Once again she was cut off, "I know you are not unstable, although you should ask McGonagall to tell you the stories of how many times your house was repaired before you get too peevish. She's the reason you're here - do you remember ever being visited by a witch?"

From the way Sirius asked the question Jean could tell he was only asking rhetorically; he was floored by her quick response.

"Of course I remember the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Floored might be an understatement. If only she knew what an accomplishment she had achieved – Sirius Black sat before her gaping like a fish, opening and closing his mouth, unable to get words to form.

"Was I not supposed to remember that?" Jean tried to go for innocent in her reply, but ultimately that's what snapped Sirius from his stupor. He easily read her false tone and realized that he had been played.

"You knew? You not only remember, but you knew you were supposed to forget?" His tone was actually kind of frightening to Jean. It wasn't so much the accusation as the awe. This big powerful wizard seemed shaken by her revelation.

"Is that… a big deal?" This time she really was asking innocently, and not just a little fearfully.

"A big deal?" He smiled, then continued, "Hermione, it's huge. It's not been done before… Minerva McGonagall may dislike that spell, but she's very much a stickler for following procedures." The smile he gave her brought some relief to Jean's fears, but his ominous words made her stop short of relaxing.

"Is that so, my Lord Black." The voice from the hallway brought Sirius up short and he turned in his chair to find the witch being discussed staring at him rather pointedly. "And just what procedure am I supposed to have not stuck to?"

Standing abruptly, he motioned for the older woman to join them. As he turned back to Jean, Sirius's expression went from chastised to predatory in a flash, and before the older witch could detect the change, the 'Lord' standing in front of Jean gave his answer in a cheery, sing-song voice. "Hermione Granger, I _would_ introduce you to the Professor who has intruded upon our conversation, but I don't think that will be necessary, do you?" Shooting another wink at Jean, he turned back to his prey, his voice accusatory and yet still cheerful. "She remembers you, and even remembers that you tried to make her forget."

"Both times." Jean added, which only caused Sirius to whip back around, then return his stare to his new guest.

"Twice?" he seemed to inquire to either or both.

"Mm-hmm" was Jean's answer. "I'm afraid so." was McGonagall's simultaneous, and much less enthusiastic reply.

Sirius only whistled in response. Then, with a spring in his step, he walked out of the room. "Seems you two have much to discuss. I have business to attend to, I'll be back by supper." Lord Black made a most un-Lordly exit from the company of ladies as he trotted down the hall, giggling.

With that the two witches were left staring at one another for a full thirty seconds before the elder one cleared her throat.

"Yes, well, let's talk about these memories you have then, shall we?"

.o0o.

A/N: That's all, for now, we're already past the longest chapter thus far. I haven't heard any complaints about chapter size :)

The bit of action is to make it clear how bad things are on the outside. The rest, and Hermione's decision, will come in next weeks chapter.

I would like to thank all of you who voted in the poll – final tally was 7-1 (Character).

A huge thanks to those of you who have posted reviews of chapters 1-5, they keep me up on how you feel about the story, or if anyone's even out there reading :P

So thank you to **SmolderingJade, muggledad, nikyta, Thirst4light, NA, saris305, Sydell, WhenTheWorldEnded, arabellagrace, Rubbya Maac'SSIS, twilliams1797, Emmet .Jasper .Carlisle **and **Frutality**. Of course I thank all my **Guest** and **Anonymous** reviewers as well, sad to lump you all together, but maybe you are all the same person? =D

Recommended reading is **Bearings** by MattD12027. This fic is M rated for a reason, so, be careful little eyes.

Blessings,  
Majerus


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: WARNING: The following chapter delves into the T rating, with Violence the leading cause. If you believe that this deserves an M rating then please let me know before you complain to an Admin, I'm basing the contents of this rating on the PG-13 movies that I've seen dozens of. There will be no gore, sexual content or explicit descriptions.

Besides the violence there will be some really sad stuff coming along, although for a change our heroine is not directly involve... much. Death Eaters are some of the worst examples of the human race. Their tactics reflect the fact that they use terror and murder as tools of their agenda.

Even some of the actions taken by the 'good guys' may seem questionable, all will be explained.

It is an unfortunate reality that I found myself doing a lot of flash-backs in this chapter. I will try to avoid such a heavy reliance upon them in the future. Another unfortunate reality is that my update of Chapter 6 does not count to , even though the chapter went from 1,400 words to 7000+. I guess you'll have to suffer through an early release of Chapter 7 :P

Just be aware that I'm sure I'll be forced to make several edit sweeps, as this has not had the usual tender care of my Beta, Mylady Phoenix, or much of any feedback from my usual crew.

As always, Harry Potter et al belong to JK Rowling, with my thanks for letting me play with her toys.

CH7 The Return of Lord Voldemort

Sunday, October 31st, 1993 (continued)

Throughout magical Britain families gathered around their Wizarding Wireless boxes. Doors were double-locked and floos were password protected. People shuddered as they realized they were taking the same measures they took when... nobody wanted to complete that thought.

The wireless had been broadcasting sightings of the Dark Mark all over Britain. Finally, around 6:30 pm, a ministry spokesman announced that the government had gone on emergency alert. All Aurors were called to immediate active duty and citizens were warned to be go home and stay there.

Just over one hour later another official alert breaks through the regular news reporting.

"This is a News Bulletin. The Minister for Magic, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, has been killed by a wizard claiming himself to be He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named! In a lightning fast raid on Ministry offices, a group of wizards and witches forced their way into the atrium through the floo system. From there they killed or severely injured many of the senior staff, including the cold blooded murder of Minister Fudge as he tried valiantly to negotiate. The group all wore Death Eater paraphernalia and their leader was a grim, though younger looking man who we repeat, claimed himself to be none other than the Dark Lord himself! It is reported that the group left only moments before legendary wizard Albus Dumbledore arrived with a group ready for battle. They found only death and destruction."

"Again, this is a Wizarding Wireless News Bulletin, The Minister for Magic is dead. Fudge, 77, has been replaced as interim Minister by former head of the Aurors, Rufus Scrimgeour. The Ministry itself is on high alert and all Aurors are recalled to active duty. Around the country there have been reports of deaths and disappearances of muggleborns leading up to today. Then around 6 pm, open attacks upon homes up and down our great British Isles have been reported on the muggle news. The muggles themselves are apparently unable to record the Dark Mark that floats above these attacks with their primitive teknologee, but nearby magical folk have confirmed that they are in fact there."

"We go now to a special announcement given by the interim Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour. Minister?"

"I urge all people listening to my voice to remain calm. This attack was well planned, but cowardly.

The Unspeakables have briefed me on two very important details that all citizens need to know: Firstly, the man who calls himself Voldemort is one of two things: He is either an impostor or a shade. If he is an impostor then he's just another crackpot with an agenda and will be put down like the vermin he is. If this murderer is in fact a remnant of the man we fought not so long ago, then he is still a man. Yes, and what's more a half-blooded wizard as well! His name was Tom Marvolo Riddle and he was born of a muggle father and the destitute witch who seduced him. Tom was an exceptional student at Hogwarts but ultimately his thirst for power corrupted him. If this is indeed his shade, he will not be nearly as difficult to defeat this time around.

"The second thing is that the Unspeakables have uncovered irrefutable proof that to gain the dark mark a person must rape, torture And murder an innocent. Willingly. They cannot be compelled, even by use of the Unforgivable Imperius Curse."

"Just so we're clear: There will be no quarter or mercy given to the twisted, murderous rabble calling themselves "Death Eaters". The only way a surrender will be accepted is if they do not bear the Mark.

That should make it an easy choice for those of you who hear this broadcast: before you flock to this mad man for some revenge or riches, know that he is not only Not a pureblood, but you are signing your own death warrant should you stain your soul in his service."

"People of Britain, do not lay down your wands. Do not cower in fright. When you see a Death Eater, kill him like the coward he is. That is all."

(silence)

"I... that is, was, that was very inspiring. Yes, Minister for Magic Scrimgeour has laid it all out there, you don't..."

(The broadcast continues through the night, incidents of violence continue to be reported, but only against muggleborns. Scrimgeour's speech is repeated every hour, on the hour, for three straight days.)

.o0o.

"You know," Tonks panted, sprinting up the hill, "Dumbledore has hundreds…" almost to the crest, "of those little guys…" She grunted to a stop as she dropped to her stomach, then went quiet. The young Auror and her partner remained silent for a moment, surveying the large stone cottage on the hillock. There was almost nothing to hide behind and the moss-covered rock they lay against gave proof that the Scottish Highlands are not a comfortable place to lay about at the end of October.

"What was your point?" Whispered the dark form laying next to her. His head slowly turned, eyes scanning, even looking behind them several times. He took in his partner's perfect Death Eater disguise and shuddered.

"Man, Moody really got to you, huh?" She grinned at his paranoia. "I was just thinking, since they get through these AA wards, it would have been nice to have one around, you know, a house elf?"

The quick flash of a grin was all Tonks got in answer before they both frowned. There was a noise, like a muffled 'pop', but not like an apparition, not even house-elven.

There it was again, they looked around, both returning their gaze towards the house. Then they felt the magic in the air shimmer as the ward suddently fell.

"Didn't Diggory say the Death Eaters had just arrived?"

"Yeah…" her partner, Auror first class Robert 'Bob' Summers, was genuinely confused now. He didn't mind the chatter of the newbie, she did her job when the time came and it broke the monotony. Besides, her infiltration abilities were unmatched. "Guess you better do your thing."

Nymphadora Tonks slowly worked her way down and away from her partner. Staying to the shadows wasn't an option as the cottage was situated at the flattened 'peak' of the only rise in the area. Coming up the far side of the rise she strode boldly towards the front door, just as a Death Eater would. She admired the strategic location, though she dismissed the idea of muggles choosing it for such a reason. '_Probably for the view_…' was the thought in her head as she was blown off her feet backwards, tumbling head over heels down the hillside.

. . .

Not every battle had gone quite so poorly. Though that was a matter of perspective.

"Ava.."  
"CRU.."  
"BOMB.."  
"Sto.."  
"I.."  
"Ar.."

A pale witch dressed in dark lace, stood panting, arms hanging limply at her sides as she faced the small man before her.

He didn't seem to have exerted himself at all.

Around them lay the wreckage of an old farm house, several fires burned and the roof had collapsed in one corner. Their makeshift battleground was strewn with the remains of two dozen Death Eaters and four Aurors, but thankfully no sign of the former residents.

Only the two combatants remained.

"Bellatrix Lestrange, your reputation far exceeds… ahht aht ahhh… as I was saying, it far exceeds your actual capabilities."

An outside observer would have been astonished to watch the Hogwarts Charms Professor simply twitch his wand and literally slap Bella's spells away by slapping her in the face with a magical force. Even her attempts at silent and wandless casting were brushed aside. Or in the case of the first spell she cast silently, the blast of furnace-hot air she thought would blow away the tiny man had instead nearly cooked her where she stood.

He also quite refused to let her move about, she hadn't been able to move more than her wand tip since he caught her with a spell she did not recognize. Even the small action of a wand-jab took every ounce of concentration she could muster.

While most people considered Bellatrix to be quite insane, she was also well known to be quite a cunning and deadly duelist. Well, that's what everyone believed. She certainly had. Now she was losing badly to a squeaky little half-breed. Her blood fairly boiled with impotent rage.

"Listen, Mrs. Lestrange, I believe it will be time for you to run along to your Master soon, so I will have to make ask you to pay attention. Albus is rather looking forward to besting the his old student himself and he wanted you to give Riddle a message, personally."

It was she who now squeaked as her indignation at these insults made her eyes twitch and her ears turn a rather Weasley shade of red.

Redoubling her efforts, Bella threw her entire being into breaking free of the maddening hold the runt held her in. Smoke actually began to curl from her wand tip as she poured her magic directly into destroying whatever spell he had used, she was counting on the backlash giving her time to recover and held nothing back…

At first nothing happened, then, little by little, Bella could feel the magic coursing through her. She focused all her might on that feeling, the way it rushed from her body to that one point, she started to shake and her teeth chattered around the sickly triumphant smile as finally she wrenched herself free and whipped up her wand. She'd recover later, but now:

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" She screamed, actually tearing her vocal cords in the process of her venting her victorious rage.

. . .

In yet another battle that night:

"To your left!"

A grey bolt smoked through the air over the Auror as he fell prone. Spinning on his free hand and one knee he brought up his wand and released one, two… three spells in quick succession as his partner deflected and evaded the attacks of the Death Eater.

Across the room the black-robed murderer was forced back on the defensive. He shielded, moved out of the way and died, in that order.

Kingsley saluted the young man at the door and tossed a weak blasting hex through the doorway before rolling through into the kitchen. "Two dead here, one civy."

His tone was clipped and deliberate, no time for more as he quietly cast a revealing spell and once again dropped and rolled. His body was not impressed by all the dropping and rolling.

The burst of purple energy that the Death Eater had put through his recently vacated space would have made his body complain a lot more… if he had been hit. The Death Eater himself didn't appreciate the answering cutting curse that started at his mid-chest and left his right arm nearly severed.

The young Order member _Stupefied_ the murderer from the doorway before the white-masked-man could react further. The large veteran leaned down and snatched the wand from the prone form. A quick search found the man's spare, both wands landed broken on the still man's chest. Neither of the 'good guys' bothered with their enemies wounds.

Instead they moved on silenced feet towards a closed doorway at the back corner of the kitchen.

Outside, the sounds of battle were done, which the pair counted on as being good news. If their partners had lost their battle then the two inside would already be as good as dead: the Death Eaters would have sealed the house and engulfed it in flames. Anti-Apparition wards were already in place and both had used up their three port-keys getting civy's to safety. They focused on what could be the next fight, the door in the corner.

If the Death Eaters knew they were trapped, they would not surrender, and would likely kill every prisoner they had. Even if they were the rare more-cowardly-than-psychotic variety of Death Eater, Rufus had made sure that surrender was a very unattractive proposition an hour ago.

Quickly recalling the layout thus far, the young man gestured with one hand: fingers walking down… Kingsley nodded, again whispering _Homenum Revelio_. Looking downward at the three markers floating in front of him, the Auror passed his hand over them one by one. One glowed faintly, another brightly, the third not at all. The third seemed to be in front of the second. He released the spell and turned to his young partner.

Leaning together the two conferred in whispers. "D.E. using the muggle as a shield?" Inquired the younger man, whose red hair caught the light through the kitchen window. The Auror nodded, a sharp, urgent movement that demanded more.

"Open the door, banish his buddy through, follow with a flash-bang, then we both do area _Torporous_ followed by…"

"That should do it," the older wizard spoke with a small laugh, "Remember, we've got to save our reserves."

The redhead nodded, his over-kill plan probably induced by the various cuts and bruises that fighting under powered most of the night had earned him. As well as way too many near death experiences for him to recall, especially for one short night.

A quick levitation spell put the fallen Death Eater in line for his fate. The younger wizard prepared the muggle device used by strike teams the world over. Kingsley cast a localized silence on the lock, then unlocked it with a jab of his wand. In all their actions took fifteen seconds from the beginning of planning to being ready-to-implement. Unfortunately, their enemy was not idle during that short time.

With a nod, the pair were readying for action when the door opened before the Auror had released the spell… first revealing a little boy with a tear-stained face. The Death Eater standing behind and a few steps below the boy was just as surprised as the other two adults, but the boy put it all into perspective when he saw the prone form by the stove. Once again, things happened rather quickly after that.

.o0o.

(Some time the next morning)

Bill shook himself, physically and mentally from reliving the fight, as Molly nudged him gently on the shoulder. "Bill... the kids."

Looking around he found himself the center of attention. He saw quite a few faces in the crowd that he knew were 'his'. By ones and twos he picked out the faces of children, and in one case parents too, who he had helped live through last night. Each one of them seemed so precious now. He thought about them instead of the ghosts that likely lingered where he was too late.

"Bill..." His mother again.

"Yes, mum?"

"Say hello, you've been introduced." She admonished, but her words were filled with worry instead of reproach.

'_Oh_.' He thought. "Oh. Hello." He smiled sheepishly. "I'm Bill Weasley, I, uh, well keep watch on the place for Lord Black."

The fact that both Molly and Sirius snorted at his use of the title of the scion of House Black was not missed by many. As loud as the two snorts combined were, only the truly distraught could have missed it. Even they were hard pressed to miss the chuckles that swept the crowd as both adults looked at each other with grins. Bill was just happy to see his mum smiling again. Finally.

The Weasley male turned to see the eldest 'child' of their group staring off, lost in thought. Dark thoughts by the look on her face. She appeared to be old enough that she should have been at one of the safe houses with schools. He knew there was a story there, that Sirius and Minerva had both taken an interest in her, but didn't know more.

He wondered, briefly, if she had any siblings. She reminded him, the way she stared dully at nothing, of another girl he'd seen last night. Before he could stop it the memory he had just been shaken from, came back with a remembered scream.

.o0o.

"Daddy!"  
"Avada…"  
"Depulso!"  
"Get Do…  
The battle took three seconds.

"Daddy!" The child stood in front of the Death Eater and screamed at his father's still form, just to the side of the doorway.  
The wand of the Death Eater began to glow green.  
The still-masked body of his fallen comrade slammed into his shoulder.  
And Bill Weasley pulled his third feat of dual casting of the night, wandlessly summoning the boy while attempting to disarm the killer in the doorway.

Between the boy being torn from his free hand, the body hitting his shoulder and his wand _almost_ leaping from his hand, the killing curse never quite finished.

The first time he tried.

The second time he began the Unforgivable curse both wizards of the Light stopped holding back.

Bill stunned the boy shortly thereafter. They found the body of his twelve year old sister, the muggle-born witch the Death Eaters had come to kill, at the bottom of the stairs.

Signaling with short message charms, the team began to clear out signs of the magical struggle.

They left no bodies of friend, foe or victim. It would be up to the healers and obliviators to decide the boy's fate.

The team healed up, took some nourishment and left for their next assignment.

The mission was a success in that they had lost none of their team.  
It was a success in that they killed four and captured one Death Eater.  
It was a success in that they saved a life.  
They dared not think of anything else.

.o0o.

With those thoughts Bill again looked around the room full of children and a very few parents. It was going on nine in the morning. What would they do if the Death Eaters attacked again tonight?

.o0o.

(The night before)

The Headmaster stood against one of the remaining solid walls, cloaked not in magic, but natural shadows. He had long ago learned that to trust in magic led to being betrayed by it. One had to keep ones wits sharp as well. Watching his oldest friend goad and taunt the formidable witch had been quite a wake-up call. If one of Voldemort's most powerful followers could be bested by Filius's invention, it was a great step towards the end of this "Voldemort's return".

Looking about at the carnage, he only wished he could have arrived earlier.

Then the true power of the most feared witch in Britain seemed to come to bear as she snapped her invisible bonds and literally screamed the most feared curse of all.

But no Killing Curse formed to fulfill her monumental act of magical power. In fact, nothing happened at all.

Well, except for the small man clapping his hands and squeaking out: "It worked!"

"Well done, most impressive my old friend!" Albus stepped out from his concealment. "It is rather demanding in setup and timing, but the results are beyond refute." The aged Headmaster turned to the re-paralyzed Death Eater. "Now, let us have that useless stick of yours, hmm?"

The question was of course less a request and more of a flowery way of disarming the one-time powerful witch.

"Now, Bella, I can see that you do indeed believe this to be your risen Master. I believe the message I would like you to deliver to your half-blooded psychotic 'lord' is this: 'If you are in fact Tom Riddle, I will leave you wishing your could share my fate.' Repeat the words, Bellatrix." The old wizard spoke low and calm, as he floated the broken halves of Bella's wand back to her, tucking one behind each of her ears. She repeated the message word for word, even using Dumbledore's speech inflections. "Good. You will deliver that message, and then you will release what you have been holding back."

Professor Flitwick physically recoiled as the elder mage forced his spell work into the mind of the defeated witch.

With that Bella found herself involuntarily reaching up to her choker and grasping the small red stone – her emergency portkey. At first nothing happened, and then, with a sickening pain in her stomach, Bella realized why when Dumbledore looked back at her and spoke. "Oh, and you may go now." And it activated.

The wizards each departed for separate destinations, Filius to Auror headquarters for another team assignment and Albus to Order Headquarters to get an update. Neither of them reported on their accomplishment.

.o0o.

Auror Summers reviewed his report one last time before tossing it into the "to process" tray. He didn't even notice as each page seemed to melt out of the box, appearing in some clerks tray on another floor in the Ministry.

Stretching as he stood, he wondered if his partner was as sore this morning as he was.

He remembered how tough she tried to be as she laid there and demanded the story after she got 'hit'.

He remembered the shock he felt as she tumbled at least half a quidditch pitch before she came to a stop. Just about stopped his heart, too.

. . .

"Merlin!" Bob swore as the blast ripped through the silence of the night. He counted on the enemy not having a fix on his position and sent up a modification of the _lumos maximus_ spell, the delayed effect not bursting into light until it reached twenty feet away from him. By the time it went off he had apparated to Tonks and then took both of them to the rally point at the base of the hill behind the only bush big enough to offer cover.

Laying her down, the veteran officer noted there was no blood, but that Tonks had reverted to her normal form. Easily tearing through the remains of her Junior Auror robe, he found the reason for the lack of blood: a strangely bumpy dragon-hide vest. A check of her pulse confirmed that inside that vest was a very lucky young woman, lucky to be alive. Then the experienced Auror noted something about the blast around her armored chest. There were dozens of small pellets imbedded in the magically tough hide. He hadn't been around this long not to know a Muggle weapon. But it did take all of the clues before he realized Tonks hadn't been cursed, she'd been _shot_!

Concentrating, the Auror whispered a quick phrase and then quickly put a proximity alarm. That done he cast the status charm and sighed in relief as he passed his wand over his partner's head. Just unconscious… oh, as he reached her mid-section he revised his plan to tickle the woman to wakefulness… unconscious with four broken ribs. Ouch. _Impedimenta_, he whispered, keeping her from further harm while he repositioned her petrified form deeper into the brush.

Bob settled in to wait, occasionally recasting the status charm to keep tabs on his beat-up partner. It was around ten minutes later when a shrill bird call to his left brought him low and wand out. He gave a quick hoot and waited. The hoot was returned and Bob began to make out the fuzzy outline of three disillusioned figures as the entered his ward perimeter. Once they were about ten feet away he gave the challenge from his covered position. "Constant…"

"Moody's mantra," came back through the darkness. "SITREP?" The old Auror himself asked as the three newcomers crowded in and settled behind the natural blind. '_Too bad she missed this, Tonks would have laughed herself silly watching Moody give his own pass-code. "Sitrep indeed"._' His thoughts might have been light, but his face was impassive as he listed off his 'situation report' even as he was thinking. '_Where does he come up with these terms?_'

"There appears to be a muggle holed up in the cottage, I believe he killed the DE that cast the AA ward just as we were making our initial survey, as that's when we felt the ward drop. We weren't here long enough to gather any other info before the sounds, which I now realize were small arms fire. Tonks was… disguised as a DE and circled around from my position to approach the house and try to get invited in as we have been doing all night. That's when the bastard shot her, bird shot, heavy gauge shotgun to the chest." All four looked towards the immobilized form in the brush. "Vest saved her life, four broken ribs and a concussion, but she'll live."

"So… why are we here?" This from a dark haired youth, still crouched next to Moody. The third fellow was busy keeping lookout.

"Diggory reported that one or both of the Lestrange brothers was with the group. They've taken to wearing those blood red stripes on their robes, like rank, and they were reportedly only worn by the inner-circle. Additionally the brothers are the only known inner-circle members who hunt in the same group. Diggory reported seeing two DE's with red stripes on their robes arrive."

"Good Intel Summers, action plan?" The retired Auror commended then demanded.

Bob hesitated, thinking things over, but the younger Auror didn't hold back.

"If a muggle shot Tonks for wearing the DE's getup, I say we post a lookout and wait till tomorrow. We need every able body out there, it's still happening." His voice was passionate, and they all knew he was right, at least about the last part.

"But if either of the Lestranges are still alive, we have to capture them alive… they could be an intel gold mine. Besides, with as many attacks as are happening there has to be a very organized plan, a plan with a schedule to it. When they don't return, this will be a high-priority target." Bob finished, his tone thoughtful, trying to see any flaws in his own logic.

"Bellatrix or Voldemort will certainly show." Moody agreed.

To his credit, Auror Summers didn't shudder at the name.

"Bob, Justin and I will remain on post. _Portus_. Ethan you take Tonks to St. Mungo's and find Healer Price when you get there. Don't let anyone else do anything to her. Tell her "patch her up for Moody" and you two should be able to get back for the fireworks. While you're at it repeat the alert to Dumbledore. He's almost constantly in motion though and these message charms aren't any good at tracking folks so send an owl to Order HQ, he'll check in there. And you keep a watch on her until Price is done; I don't want some Death Eater scum in disguise taking out our best covert agent while she's unconscious.

Ethan arrived at St. Mungo's at a quarter past nine pm. He left with a somewhat groggy Auror Tonks at a quarter to eleven pm.

. . .

Elsewhere, things had again been going a little better for the Light side.

"Get out! It's Dumbledore!" The Death Eater screamed, sprinting back out of the doorway he'd just entered.

"No. No. Not you either." The old man's voice rang clear in the night, with each word another Death Eater was yanked from their feet and came flying awkwardly back into the small house.

The three would-be murderers didn't make it to the ward line they had erected. They joined their companions, the first two to enter, which had found Dumbledore in their target house. All were now entombed in their own robes. They were obviously alive by the way they all continued to squirm after the old wizard had left. Within moments a house elf popped in and then away with them one by one.

. . .

Back on that hill, again.

Tonks fell asleep and the others let her, even providing a cushioning charm under her. Then a warming charm and a small silence spell to let her rest up.

An hour later the group, including a much restored Tonks, moved up the hill. Somehow, though rather haggard, Albus Dumbledore was still chipper as he announced that he had "just the thing" and began weaving a spell.

Soon the group was standing in a mist that the headmaster had created, though Moody could see perfectly into the stone-built home.

He quietly murmured his report: "Three moving, two with big guns. One looks to be tied to a chair. Two… no, there they are, four bodies stacked two on two, blocking the back door. I'd say they must have drank more coffee than we did." The grizzled veteran finished his report with a snort.

"Coffee?" inquired the headmaster.

"Ran outta pepper-ups five hours ago," the old Auror replied. "Some of the new crowd swear by the muggle stuff... and with the night we're having, we've made do."

The twinkle returned briefly to the aged eyes of the greatest wizard of the age before he returned a speculative look at the house. He seemed to be thinking for some time and the motley group stood tiredly around him in complete silence... the expectation clear on every face but Moody's.

Then Albus Dumbledore did what the rest of them were kind of hoping he would. He got them their prisoner and nobody got hurt. Taking a small gold flute from one of his myriad pockets, her asked the rest of them to slip down the hill a ways until they only heard the echo of the song.

They immediately complied, although Ethan and Tonks both cast reluctant glances in the direction of the cottage, even though Tonks needed Ethan's arm to navigate down the hillside. Soon they heard a gentle tune and only felt the slightest urge to lay down right there on the hill. Of course after the night they had just had, this was more than enough to cause a mighty struggle for the minute or so Albus played.

Popping down to them, Albus turned to Ethan, "Take miss Tonks back to St. Mungo's and have them look at her lower back. She didn't tell them about the pain, and I'm afraid she will regret that for at least a week if untreated."

The look Tonks gave the old wizard was a mix of disbelief and embarrassment. She didn't have any protest when the young Auror took her arm. Together they disappeared with a crack.

Turning to the remaining three, the Headmaster smiled, his eyes alight in the scant moonlight. "We have succeeded, if nothing else this night, in crippling the madman's inner circle. Good work, now get some rest. It is over, for tonight."

. . .

Once back at Headquarters, Albus presented Sirius Black with their first high-profile prisoner for their newly renovated 'holding cells'. In the wizened wizards hand he held a life-like doll of none other than Rabastan Lestrange.

.o0o.

Professor McGonagall tried to calm her nerves. Again. She was back at the castle and could not wait to finish her morning class to go see the survivors at 12 Grimauld Place, one witch in particular. She had to stop at St. Mungo's on the way though, to check on that reckless boy. The only one of her team that had survived the night.

Her mind drifted once again to her last battle of that horrible night.

. . .

Minerva shielded quickly, then flicked her wand and shielded again. A marble flew from her hand and expanded into a slab of granite, blocking the Killing Curse. The results of her first wand flick bore fruit as the debris-turned-scorpions swarmed and distracted both of the cowardly killers hiding at either end of the wall. She promptly turned their defensive position to mud and then back to brick in a pair of seconds, turning away from the rather unpleasant results.

Creating a portkey, she returned the downed Auror to St. Mungos. Returned, because the brash young man had come back after losing sight in one eye and, well, it was a terrible curse, yet he came back. He'd almost died with the rest of his unit, but his presence had also likely saved her life.

She had activated the emergency portkeys of her fallen comrades next, not wanting to leave their bodies to the possible return of, well, not wanting to leave them. Transfiguring the dead was less taxing, since she had no care for their surviving the process, and in minutes the scene had no direct evidence of the magical combatants. The Ministry clean-up crews were not equipped to handle three battles in a day, let alone thirty per hour for... she glanced at her thin watch. "Gracious God, six hours?"

Sighing aloud, Minerva turned away from the carnage of the first floor, feeling weary to her bones. The creation of a portkey was no small bit of magic and the elderly professor was starting to realize her fighting days may well be behind her.

She certainly felt her age, and then some, as she climbed the stairs. That weariness was much alleviated when she found the family safe behind the couch.

"Alright, lets get gone before another batch show themselves, shall we?"

Herding the group together like a bunch of first years it never occurred to her that they would not obey. Perhaps it was that supreme attitude of confidence that caused them to do just what she said. She placed each of their hands on the small rope and activated the enchanted item. They would be taken care of at the safe house, and with any luck this house of theirs would still be standing when it was all over. She wouldn't take odds on that though...

With another, shorter sigh, Minerva glanced about the nicely decorated den, pausing to look over the pictures on the wall. Five family members pictured, five family members portkeyed away. One entire family, whole and uninjured. That was her high point of the night. They hadn't even witnessed any of the fighting. She doubted the obliviators would have much trouble and that was another reason for celebration. She tallied them one by one, holding each victory as precious and specifically denying herself any time to dwell on the failures.

With a flick she transformed the dozen or so pictures into an album and tucked it into her pocket. The house might not be standing, but the family was, and she could at least save their pictures. Smiling thinly, the Gryffindor lioness disappeared with a crack.

.o0o.

(A tall dark haired man looks around, holding his hand to his ear. Turning to look straight into the camera, he begins to speak. The scene behind him shows a large building on fire.)

"Charles Simmons on the scene of yet another massive fire tonight as the world now watches in horror along with the people of Great Britain. The apartment building behind me is a total loss as you can see. The only good news is that, as it came on the heels of so many other disasters on this terrible night, the response time for evacuation was as good as could be hoped for. Only one family – certainly the original targets – is confirmed to have been lost to the blaze. Many were taken to local hospitals for smoke inhalation, however there have been no other fatalities reported. This is Charles Simmons live from Wood Green, back to Jim Benson in the studio."

(The scene returns to the studio where a stately looking man looks up, his face solemn and drawn in exhaustion.)

"To cover again our main story, police are baffled to find any link between any of the victims one to another. Analysts report that the targeted victims seem to come from almost all possible political, economic and regional backgrounds as well as a broad… hold on please."

(The reporter seems to be listening to something, he nods and then a sheet of paper is slipped on to the counter before him.)

"OneNews has in fact made a connection, the one thing that ties all of these targeted victims together, and I'll beg you to wait just one moment for that revelation, because OneNews has uncovered another, perhaps more sinister happening which has been overridden in the news by the tragic fires.

"Members of the press from around the country have discovered that there has been a massive campaign of kidnapping across our land. Many families throughout Britain have been confirmed to have gone missing without a trace. Worst cases have found signs of a struggle at the residences and in some cases evidence of violence but still others cases have left no clues at all. Vehicles and personal belongings remain and yet whole families are just gone. The bizarre cases of missing people now total one hundred eighty three at this time. Now I mentioned the tie that binds those who were attacked? It is the very same tie that binds these missing families. Yes, that's right, families. In every single case, without exception, those attacked and those 'vanished' include children between the ages of infants up to early teens. We have no further information, and of course we gave this information to the authorities as soon as it became verifiable. Unfortunately is sheds less light than confusion.

(The reporter seems to be lost for a moment, shakes his head and sighs. He is obviously disheartened.)

"Going back to the attacks, we've received updated numbers, the grim tally at this time is one hundred forty seven known dead, including fire fighters and others who tried to save the victims. The number injured is expected to be closer to four hundred.

"The police have now stated that a terrorist group is being blamed for these attacks, but no one has stepped forward to lay claim. In related news, the IRA released a public statement denying any involvement and furthermore claiming that any information they discover would be given to the authorities."

The TV is turned off by a large, scruffy looking man in a waist-coat and tails. He scurries to close the cabinet which houses the old-fashioned console style television. He locks the cabinet with an elaborate, old-fashioned skeleton key (though most do not glow when used as this does). Once this act is complete he walks as quickly as he can without running to pick up a tray and stand still beside an ornate high-backed dark-wooden chair. At no time does he look at the man seated in the throne-like chair.

The occupant of the ornate seat release a sigh, a sound easily recognized as resigned acceptance by millions of children with a cough or cold. Taking a glass from the tray, it is not a child but rather an elegantly dressed man which reluctantly sniffs at the grey-green substance and then quickly tosses it back, swallowing the contents.

Giving an involuntary shudder, the drinker suppresses any noise, closing his oddly shaped eyes in the effort.

The servant has already poured a glass of water and presents it. The man, who appears almost aristocratic in his bearing and dress, accepts the drink with a gracious nod of his head, though he has not yet opened his eyes.

Seated on a throne, attended by a servant, this is the picture of a some sort of minor lord or elite gentleman. However the lord of this domain would be hard to describe as a typical gentleman. His sallow complexion and somewhat sunken, hollow-cheeked appearance causes an overall effect that emphasizes the man's skull. (It also makes guessing his age a hazard.) Then of course there are his eyes. For when he opens them to look at his servant, the dull red is not just the color of his iris, it is in fact the color of his entire eye. It is also noteworthy that his servant, a man who has been with him constantly for some time now, quickly looks away from his Master's gaze.

If this bothers his Master, it does not show on his emotionless features. Setting the empty goblet on the tray, the man speaks, and like his face, it is not a voice one would describe as… gentlemanly.

"Peter… tell Bella to come in now." The lord rasps to his servant.

A/N: Well, there we have it. The battles were short, pitched affairs for the most part.

Recommended reading is **Vox Corporis** by MissAnnThropic, a truly prolific and versatile author. Another warning, this story may hit the squicky button for younger/more reserved readers.

Thanks to all of you who have reviewed chapters 1-6, I truly do appreciate it!

Chapter 8 is half written and after I comb through 7 for my inevitable goofs I'll gather my notes and see where my muse leads me :)  
Update: Grammar, clarity corrections and a few lines added to the last hilltop scene 2-10-13

Blessings  
Majerus


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Harry Potter et al belong to JK Rowling, with my thanks for letting me play with her toys.

The muse was finally active again, but her words were not flowing as heavily, so a couple chapters are coming, but this one at least is a bit short.

Beta'd, thankfully, by Mylady Phoenix

CH8 All it takes

Monday, November 1st, 1993 (continued)

"Hermione," the woman paused, hearing the slight sigh the girl let out at her name. "I'm sorry, it's a beautiful name, but I..."

"No, it's not that." '_Well, that's not the important bit_,' she thought, grimacing. "When can we talk about what's being done to find my father?"

Minerva sat back in the chair. She wanted to find out more about the young witch's remarkable ability to overcome – no – _ignore_ the memory charm that had been cast upon her. Still, perhaps... "I know they asked if you knew any place he would go, but has anything else come to mind from last night, anything he may have said, even in passing?"

The look of concentration was obvious as the young woman worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Hermione methodically recalled the night before, detail by detail, all in perfect clarity until she had taken that damnable potion.

Then everything began to turn fuzzy, as though she was looking through a bit of fog just in front of her eyes.

'_...all it takes..._' Taking a sharp breath, the younger witch stared at the elder. Closing her eyes, she began to dig at that memory. The effort was so frustrating, she _Never_ had this much trouble remembering things! She was _Never_ going to take another potion as long as she lived!

It was right there, right in her grasp, she remembered that she was feeling droopy, sitting on her small bed in the small room; after all the '_nevermind that_' her dad was telling her _something_...

. . .

"Remember when you were a little girl, when you saw me in my uniform?"

Jean sat up a bit, the memory not exactly sluggish, but oddly... fuzzy... in her usually clear mind. "Yes daddy," she answered in what sounded to her like a small voice.

"Do you remember how upset you were when you found out I was going to be gone, and I told you why I had to go?"

The memory seemed to waver, but the stab of remembered fear brought a surge of clarity to her mind. "Yes, daddy. You told me about the Light and the Dark." The memory of that talk was sharp now, and the logical conclusions she was drawing made that remembered fear spark anew, but her thoughts were interrupted as he resumed speaking.

"That's right, the Light, and the Dark, and the Grey."

And as if she were on a long slide, Jean found herself plummeting into the memory of her barely 2 ½-year-old self, staring up at her dad, even though she was in his lap. The crisp Naval uniform so new and different, yet his smile was just as warm, and it reached his eyes, which is why she loved him so. He was telling her the story of the Light, the Dark, and the Grey, where once upon a time, so very long ago that man has lost track of when, there was a time of Light when people lived without anger or pain. They did not call names or hurt one another, they were content and at peace. There was a Darkness, a place which the dwellers of the Light did not go, but it was separated, and no one had any desire to go there.

Then came the Grey, and those who, though they dwelt in the Light, were somehow farther away from the Light, saw the Grey first. The Dark still seemed far away, yet somehow the Grey gradually drew nearer. And in the Grey they saw movement. Shapes twirled and danced and enticed and were calling to them to move a little closer. They were not leaving the light, they were not entering the Dark. They were just... looking at the Grey.

Little by little some of the people moved out of the Light and into the Grey, closer and closer to the Dark, until some could not tell the difference any longer. The others, those still in the Light, were not blind; they could see what the Grey was doing. For those in the Grey were now afraid of the Light. And in the Grey, people used hurtful words and fought and refused to help one another.

Still most people just stood by. And some in the Light turned away and others looked down upon the others and called them 'lost'.

Hermione took these words in with comprehension. Her dad marvelled at his daughter's intellect, but he did not question it and certainly didn't fight it. He spoke to his two and a half year old child this way because he knew he may never have another chance to teach this lesson. "Hermione, you must remember, all it takes for the Dark to win is for good men to do nothing."

. . .

As if surfacing from a depth, Hermione sucked in a deep breath. She let it out as an anguished moan, the memories merging and overlapping, her head pounding with the exertion and her heart with pain. The last words of that memory, as she fought desperately to stay awake, finally made her tears fall:

"If I do not return, it is because I cannot 'do nothing'."

Worse, though she understood the words and she understood his motivation and knew he would do all he could, she still did not know what he may be doing to fulfill his promise.

Looking into the eyes of the woman across from her, she gave voice to her painful thoughts. "He thinks he must do something. He cannot sit by and wait... but I don't know... I don't know what he would do. What would he do?" She still had no idea where her dad had gone or if he was safe. Lost in that helplessness, she wept bitter tears, not even noticing when she was scooped into the arms of the older witch.

. . .

Sirius Black arrived at his family home with a sigh that was part relief and part exhaustion. He had checked in with the other safe houses and ensured all were well supplied. Operating under the notice of the Ministry was expensive and difficult – it required obtaining even basic supplies in round-about ways because of the quantities. It was common knowledge that the Ministry was infiltrated by, well, by whoever it was that had finally declared open war last night.

But that wasn't exactly right. No 'real wizards or witches' were hurt. Just the muggleborns. That was a common enough sentiment among purebloods, and even spoken of in the wizengamot. Another sigh forced its way out of his throat as he stepped onto the steep stair to his ancestral home.

Walking in the front door he was greeted by the only child who seemed able to overcome the heavy magical restrictions of the House of Black. Anna bounded up to him and gave him a hug, then asked, in her typical, direct approach, "Where have you been?"

"Out, why aren't you outside playing with the others?"

"I wanted to play with Herminny but she was crying on the old lady in the lib-ary."

Frowning, Sirius shooed the oddly exuberant child toward the backyard and turned down the hall to the library. As he approached the door he could hear quiet sobbing. Stopping in his tracks, the grown man grimaced his discomfort. Consoling a grieving girl was hardly his strong suit. A series of small sounds reached his ears and his grimace shifted to a look of disbelief. Edging down the hall he peeked around the corner into the library.

There, half turned from him, was the stately form of Professor Minerva McGonagall with a young woman curled in her lap. The normally reserved older woman was murmuring some sort of tune full of brogues as she rocked her charge gently back and forth. Sirius couldn't make out much about the girl, since her massively bushy curls obscured much of her form as they fanned out over her hunched-over body. He only needed to take that glance to decide on beating a quiet retreat, not sure whether he could even use the scene to tease the old Professor because of its tenderness. '_Merlin, I'm going soft!_' Sirius mused to himself as he went in search of a late breakfast.

. . .

It was some minutes later that Hermione realized that she was wrapped in the arms of another near-stranger, another older woman upon whom she was crying her eyes out. Crying as she had not allowed herself to with her own mother.

Shaking away the new but still melancholy thought, the young woman looked up at the Professor she had thought so stern, and yet offered ready comfort. "I'm sorry."

Smiling kindly, Professor McGonagall offered her an embroidered kerchief. The move was eerily similar to that of Sarah, the woman who had held her as she cried at the bus stop, and a moment passed as Hermione just stared at the pretty cloth.

Mistaking the girl's hesitation, Minerva spoke, "Tosh, there's no reason for apologies," voice choked with her own restrained emotions. "Ye've had a lot of hurts piled on ye one on t'other in a short time, lass." She let the girl right herself and offered the kerchief again.

Taking the cloth with tired hands, Hermione cleaned herself up mechanically. Her mind was numb, she could not stop the thoughts that were whirring through her mind. Eventually it was the silence was what broke the cycle. She looked up to see the professor staring at the floor, her long fingers picking at hem of her robes.

Realizing that she had to get control or she'd just go on crying all day, Hermione tucked her legs under herself as she leaned back in her own plush chair. This seemed to allow the older woman to settle back into her seat, their eyes meeting with a mutual understanding of helplessness.

"Let's..." she cleared her throat, swallowing the lump that had formed, "What did you want to know about my memories?"

.o0o.

There was not even a wisp of smoke, though ashes seemed to swirl in blackened remains at the edge of the property. Muted sounds came from within the ruin, as though the half walls and collapsed sections of roof were settling. Then a cough broke the early morning silence, though it too was restrained.

A man, dressed in ash-blackened, wet clothing, was using a prybar to dislodge a section of wall. He worked carefully, mindful of the jagged edges of charred wood. Though he seemed nervous, as he was looking around quite often, the man worked methodically, going from crack to joint to crease and gradually the blackened, leaning wall slowly came down with a dull, "squish-thump" sound.

Stopping to wipe his brow, the man cast another worried glance around. The outer walls had not been burned completely, so he was somewhat sheltered from view from the outside. Still, he had reason to fear: last night his house was set alight on purpose and those that did it had wanted him and his little girl to have been inside! If they had found out otherwise...

He had been warned about all of this, he knew it was dangerous. And yet he could not abide by sitting still and doing nothing, not again.

For months... Years he had sat by and watched his wife slip away in fits and starts of agony and drug-addled 'peace'.

The thought of sitting in that old, decrepit house, listening to the whispers of how many families had been killed for how long? How long until they were discovered in that ancient fire trap? He could see the fear in the eyes of the nurses. He wouldn't go through that kind waiting, this time waiting until death came for his daughter.

So he had spent hours scouring that magically huge manor while people slept in rows of bunk-beds. On the third floor he finally found an open window.

They had drugged his little girl, of that he was certain, so he had had to go alone. He'd slipped out of the window onto the ornate edge of an outside decoration and found it solid enough. From there he'd made it to ground with nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises and begun his way through the cold night to his home.

Initially Daniel had approached his street with the idea of slipping into his ruined home under the cover of darkness, but then those warnings had seemed to get louder in his mind as he approached through the neighbor's small back yard.

Despair had filled him at the sight of it. The dream that he and his wife had been saving for. Had poured years of work into. The place they had planned to leave to their daughter some day. The place where instead, his wife had slowly died.

The initial shock at seeing that his house was truly gone shook him from his reckless zeal, finally giving over to caution.

So he had waited, crouching in the bushes. Watching the remains for an hour in the darkness of pre-dawn for some sign that it was being watched, that he might be walking into a trap. With legs cramping and the cold seeping into his bones he felt he'd waited long enough, he saw no sign to raise his suspicion.

Still, he had spent another agonizing half hour moving quietly along the shrubs, up to the wide open back door; carefully stepping through what had been his living room and into the corner of what had just yesterday been his sanctuary, the den.

Finally he had found the right place, though an interior wall had collapsed upon his prize. The cold, wet, difficult work had brought the sun fully up, though it was hidden behind leaden clouds. Still, every move had been cautious, quiet, careful.

Hours later, after straddling that line between hard, physical work and desperation to remain unheard, he was stopped cold. Standing ankle deep in the slurry of wet ash and the ruined remains of his life, Daniel Granger tried not to focus on the bit of china he had just uncovered; tried, and failed.

His memories came unbidden, of him and his young, beautiful, healthy wife shopping for the first substantial gift he had given her. They had discussed the pattern, the color, the meanings of owning their very own '_stop it!_' He clamped down on the memory.

Biting back a curse, he allowed himself a small groan when his back protested the strain as he pushed the wall completely off his reason for returning to... well, for returning. He allowed no more thoughts past working on the next obstacle to his goal.

It took a bit more work, more careful prying and quiet levering. He finally had to use the remains of the china cabinet to prop up a fallen support beam, but he had done it. After fishing the key out of his grimy clothes he pulled open the heavy door of the safe. His breath caught as the door swung open, his eyes widening as they read the gilded writing on the large old album, 'Memories'.

Daniel was positive that his wife had been working on that book in their bedroom; he glanced up reflexively, feeling like a fool. There was no longer an upstairs, let alone the room he had shared with his wife.

Shaking his head, he reached past the precious treasure and took hold of the much more practical object of this part of his quest.

Closing his hand on the pistol grip, Daniel Granger closed his eyes. His stomach was churning in a harsh mixture of relief and disgust. Pulling the Browning semi-automatic out of the safe, he realized he hadn't even trained with the weapon since just after he left the service, when Hermione was three years old.

Clearing the weapon, he loaded a clip and pulled the slide, cocking the single action pistol with an increasingly shaky hand. He wasn't nervous because of the weapon; having grown up in the country guns didn't bother him as they did many of his fellow countrymen.

He was shaking because he had heard someone behind him.

Daniel thought about his tired body, and hoped the noises were from the imagination of his equally tired mind. But he couldn't take any chances.

Spinning on his heel, the pistol was already swinging up and forward as he caught sight of the black robed man who had been standing just a few meters behind him.

The man's hand was already pointing at him, his lips moving silently. Daniel Granger cursed his slowness as he realized that the man had one of those damned sticks.

Even as he was ready to fire he found to his horror that he could not, that he couldn't even twitch.

Daniel would have groaned in defeat, but he lacked even that much self-control. He felt so _stupid_!

The man before him had very dark eyes and seemed to be boring into his mind the way he stared so intently. Somehow he had cast a spell upon Daniel in the moment before he could bring his pistol to bear.

.o0o.

A/N: We're in the home stretch. I've received some commentary about how I'm stretching things out, even with the action sequences they want things to move _Forward_. Am I writing what you want to read or are you biding your time as well, waiting for something more?

Also a few remarks have been made about the Summary lacking much appeal.  
I'd gladly welcome any suggestions to give it more draw, or character or whatever. :)

Recommended reading is **The Trial of Dolores Jane Umbridge** by apAidan.

Thanks to all of you who have reviewed chapters 1-7, my muse is always hungry for reviews, and a sated muse is a productive muse!

Update: grammar, clarity update 2-10-13

Blessings  
Majerus


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Harry Potter et al belong to JK Rowling, with my thanks for letting me play with her toys.

Thanks for reading! This is my first story and I'm really proud to have over 1,500 views! Thank You!

Warning: There's a bit of squeamish-making if you're squeamish-minded. It's not graphic, but it's there. Again, there will be no gore, sexual content or explicit descriptions.

Beta'd by the lovely and talented Mylady Phoenix =)

It has been requested that I put a bit of the last chapter as an intro... either that or drastically pick up the pace of my posting :p

See my answer, below.

from CH8:

_Daniel thought about his tired body, and hoped the noises were from the imagination of his equally tired mind. But he couldn't take any chances._

_Spinning on his heel, the pistol was already swinging up and forward as he caught sight of the black robed man who had been standing just a few meters behind him._

_The man's hand was already pointing at him, his lips moving silently. Daniel Granger cursed his slowness as he realized that the man had one of those damned sticks._

_Even as he was ready to fire he found to his horror that he could not, that he couldn't even twitch._

_Daniel would have groaned in defeat, but he lacked even that much self-control. He felt so stupid!_

_The man before him had very dark eyes and seemed to be boring into his mind the way he stared so intently. Somehow he had cast a spell upon Daniel in the moment before he could bring his pistol to bear._

CH9 Hermione Granger, Witch.

Monday, November 1st, 1993 (continued)

"I don't think your studious daughter would appreciate it if you were to deprive her of one of her professors before she even arrived at school", the long haired man drawled out, a smirk upon his thin lips. Those penetrating eyes narrowed as a new voice mocked from behind him. Daniel saw another man in dark robes seemingly fade into view behind the first man.

"Oh how funny Snape, were you going to try and flatter the information out of him? Talk takes too long, he's just a muggle; _Crucio_ him already." the nasally voice taunted.

Daniel practically raged inside his non-responsive body. The enemy stood before him, and he - with his pistol in his hand – was caught. Not just caught, but paralyzed, unable even to shoot the man standing right in front of him, his finger was poised on the trigger! His frustration must have been evident in his eyes, but the second man took it for fear.

"Ohhh, does he know what 'Crucio' is? Oh, look at his face! He's gonna piss'emself!" the crude remarks were finished by a coughing laugh that made Snape take a step away before the newcomer hocked spittle upon the chest of the captive man.

"Hammish, why are you here?" The one called Snape asked, his tone bored as he turned back to the captive form in front of him. He finally got the paralyzed man's attention as he looked into Daniel's eyes, then glanced pointedly downwards. Daniel followed the gaze to see that his pistol was... gone? No, he could still feel it, cold and hard in his hand; it was invisible! The one called Snape turned back to face Hammish.

"Same reason you are Snape," the lanky, hard-eyed man had replied. "We lost too many people last night. This bastard thought he fooled us, but I was the one what torched this place and then Travers says there ain't no bodies found. I been waitin' here for at least an hour now. This muggle's gotta pay for makin' me look bad. The Dark Lord tortured me because of this bastard! After I get done returnin' the favor he's gonna lead us straight to their bolt hole."

"Fine, you do it, since you are more... familiar with the spell." Snape smoothly replied, stepping once again to the side.

Hammish began to raise his wand, but the elder wizard grunted, "Idiot, he's petrified. Get up close, so you can see it in his eyes."

Quickly moving forward, Hammish raised his wand once again, a manic gleam in his eye.

.o0o.

"Hermione, erm," the older witch seemed quite embarrassed, "I'm sorry, I keep using your given name. When you attend Hogwarts I will need to address you as Miss Granger, it's custom. However, at best, that's months away. What would you like me to call you until then?"

_'Wow,_' the teen thought. '_Why __is __that __such __a __hard __question __to __answer? __How __can __I __consider..._' Sitting quietly, she began to worry her bottom lip as she tried reasoning through the many positives and negatives for each name, and then questioning the motivations for each, when suddenly the answer became very clear to her.

The young woman looked up with a start, yet she spoke with a calm, if somewhat quiet voice. "Please continue to call me Hermione."

A tight smile graced the teacher's lips. Hermione noted that though small, the smile reached her eyes, which made the girl feel oddly pleased.

"Very well, though I could tell you gave that quite a bit of thought. May I ask how you arrived at your decision?" The curiosity was plain on the older woman's face.

"Actually it's for two completely different reasons. One: the reason I changed my name originally was to try to fit in, to be normal. If I'm, that is," the girl exhaled loudly, her eyes slightly unfocussed, before she spoke in a low, steady voice, "I am a witch." She glanced up, knowing it was the right term but still looking for the approval she thankfully found in her professor's eyes.

Continuing, the girl once again spoke with her usual precision, though there was a touch of wonder in her tone. "That is a huge change in my life and I think it fitting to mark that change with something equally important, my name."

She finished her thought in a rush of words. "As everyone around here seems to think that's the name I should be called anyways, the name you all have given me, as the witch you all see me as."

Growing silent after her quick outburst, she lowered her eyes to the dark carpet. "I... I think my mum would like it as well."

Hermione looked up to see understanding in the others' eyes.

After a small silence the pair settled in, and Hermione told the professor about her recollections. She included accounts of both of the witch's visits, touching only briefly on the conditions of her parents at the time of her recruitment attempts. They talked for a while about accidental magic and the need for concealing the magical world from the muggles. Hermione was fascinated.

Professor McGonagall was just exploring the idea of obliviation with her raptly attentive pupil, when someone cleared their throat at the door.

.o0o.

Hammish had just opened his mouth to speak the spell when a sudden blast of noise interrupted him.

Eyes wide, Daniel watched as the horror of realization crept into the other man's face even before the captive man noticed that he could move again.

"Again!" Snape's voice startled Daniel as he watched the dying man's lips begin to move. Not quite sure why, he followed the command as if he were under a direct order. As Daniel Granger fired twice more in quick succession, he became fully aware that he was killing a man.

Severus Snape was not in the habit of giving praise, so he did not. It wasn't exactly the circumstance one gave praise for in any case. He could easily see by the look upon the face of his charge that this was his first time killing someone. The former Death Eater briefly closed his eyes, realizing how ridiculous his thoughts really were. '_Of __course __it's __his __first __time __killing, __not __everyone __in __this __land __is __running __around __murdering __their __fellow __men __as __a __matter __of __course._'

Returning his focus to the matter at hand, Severus quickly disarmed the man as Daniel turned his weapon on his rescuer. His action didn't anger the potions master – the man had no idea who he was, let alone that he was being rescued by him.

"I'm on your side. I'm a spy, which is why that vermin treated me as an ally." Severus spoke these words as though in a casual conversation, further confirmation that he was indeed a long way's past being bothered by death.

"Why... why didn't you... stop him, then, why?"

Severus exhaled slowly. He would try to take it easy on the fellow. The man was covered in a dark mud consisting of the ashes of his own home. But his family – what remained of it – was alive, and that was what was important to Minerva, for whatever reason. "I'll owe you one." were her words... as if the Potter affair hadn't made her in his debt enough already. Still, he'd try to be gentle.

"I will explain all of that in a moment," Severus deflected. "I am going to take care of a few issues here. I want you to take what you need from your safe and be ready to go in a moment. Oh, and," Severus waved his wand, once, then again as the magic stripped the grime and ash from the man's clothing and then his body. "There."

He noted with interest that the muggle was warily tracking every motion of his wand, the intense distrust plain on his face.

Snape gestured with his empty hand to the safe behind the now clean man. Turning away, Severus was gratified to hear the door to the safe swinging open again and the rustling of papers. With the misdirection complete, the wizard once again raised his wand.

There was much to do here, but first things first, "One more thing, Mr. Granger?" Severus met the man's questioning eyes with a whispered, "_Obliviate._"

. . .

A few minutes of intense mental and magical work later, Severus began to relax. All incriminating traces of Snapes' involvement in the Death Eater's demise were removed from the muggle's mind.

He found it much easier to work with muggles in this state. Their were completely open to his inquiries; he did not have to bother with tiresome chit chat to put their small minds at ease.

He simply conversed with the man quietly, gaining the information he needed, and then smoothing away the rough edges in the distraught father's mind. It was a taxing job and not one suited for the location, but Snape needed this muggle's cooperation to find the balance between hostility and complacency, and could ill afford the possible downsides of stunning the man.

Minerva had been quite clear in her instructions, and he had no intentions of straining the fragile balance that had been achieved in these last few years. Besides, she'd wagered a case of her best single-malt that he was not up to the finesse work she requested… Oh how he wanted to see the sour look on her face as he enjoyed her scotch at the next staff meeting. He might even share a bottle with the old man!

Once he was satisfied that he would have a pliable, if somewhat dazed muggle to work with, he turned to the other unfinished business that needed to be taken care of before they could leave.

Shortly thereafter Snape was absorbed in a very complex transfiguration... one that would make Minerva either impressed or sick, most likely both.

Perhaps due to the experiences of his recent life, much of which was spent in instruction, he found himself speaking to the complacent man as if he were in a class, giving a lecture.

"Mr. Granger, I'm going to use Hammish's corpse as a decoy for you, but I will likely need his body to be found as well, eventually. I am going to use a spell that will allow me to separate his body into two corpses, however the process is not particularly pleasant so please don't look this way."

Daniel obediently turned away, his somewhat glazed view just as unfocussed on the broken wall as it had been on the wizard's black eyes.

As he worked, Snape reflected upon the project ahead of him. It wasn't so much the visual element that was disturbing, as that mostly just split the corpse in two and both halves were already re-forming into new, whole bodies as it happened.

It was the sound that made even Severus wince a bit once or twice.

Once he had created a viable corpse of Hammish, he shrunk the body down and placed it in his pocket for later disposal.

Turning, he performed a 'dark' charm on the back of the befuddled man. Severus contented his meager conscience that the pain he surely felt was short-lived. Directing the small amount of blood drawn from the muggle, he lowered it onto the face of the second corpse, all the while was chanting under his breath.

Carefully working with a steady wand, the potions master sculpted the spell to use the slightest bit of magic found in all blood to create an exact duplicate of the owner of the burned-down house.

This spell was in fact one of the reasons why he had realized that the Pure Blood rhetoric was nonsense. If the spell required the magic of the donor's blood, and it worked on muggles who, by the rhetoric had _no_ magic… why was it nobody else saw the simple truth? Likely the label of 'dark magic' held sway over common sense, he mused as he worked over the corpse.

At last finished with the most difficult spell work, he began the unpleasant task of making the body appear to have died in the fire. Twirling his wand, he created a small cloud of ashes and whipped it into smoke above the face of the now look-alike Granger corpse. Casting wandlessly with his off hand, he slowly pushed down on the lungs, then lifted up – sucking the smoke into the body.

Becoming absorbed in his work, Snape made a few more modifications, some burns and bruises upon the face, back and arms…

Feeling eyes upon his back, Severus turned and found that instead of remaining entranced as expected, it was a rather clear eyed man that met his gaze.

'_Oh, __I __ha__ve __an __audience_,' the wizard smirked, then returned his attention to the 'dead' Mr. Granger and continued the ghoulish remodeling of the corpse, the '_crack_' of a broken leg and then…

Paling, Mr. Granger quickly turned around, hands on his knees, leaned forward and emptied his stomach rather loudly.

Frowning, the potions master allowed a small part of his mind to remark upon the unusual nature of a muggle that was able to process information in his supposedly befuddled state. The rest of his energies he continued to devote to completing the necessary – ghastly, but necessary – damage to the corpse.

When he finished he returned his attention to the man that should still be standing complacent, however Mr. Granger was staring at Severus like he was a monster. Which, upon quick reflection, Snape could certainly understand. Even if it did raise an unbidden smirk before he could restrain himself and school his features into his more familiar scowl.

"My apologies, I did instruct you quite clearly," the wizard stated, his ironic sarcasm lost on the man who seemed to suddenly find himself scolded.

"Yeah, I, uh, sorry. I thought you were done when the... they stopped..." His gaze kept wandering back to 'his' corpse laying there in the muck of his burned out home.

"The noises? Yes, unpleasant as I mentioned, however now," and with this the wizard directed the large, fallen section of wall up off the floor, where it stayed hovering. Then, with another few wand flicks, the body and safe were quietly covered by the fallen wall. Finally, after a thorough search – and no small effort to cover their presence – the wizard returned his attention to the waiting muggle. Snape noticed with some satisfaction that if he had accomplished little other behavioral modifications, the man no longer seemed scared senseless of his wand. He had only extended this comfort to cover himself, the man's daughter and, begrudgingly, Sirius Black.

"Now, when they get the missing persons report from your distraught daughter, they will find their 'mistake' in reporting that there were no casualties. Have you any other family around Mr. Granger?"

Embarrassed, the man held out his hand to shake. "Call me Daniel. I owe you my life, sir."

Casually shaking the man's hand, Severus motioned for Daniel to press on, knowing his time was not endless.

"Around England? No. I have a couple of cousins in the States, more distant relations in Canada. My wife, well, she had family in France, but they weren't really close."

"Very well. Mr. Granger, I have gathered your papers and reduced them in size; also, I'm going to give your pistol back to you. I want you to keep it upon your person and speak with Mr. Black about it, when you have a private moment. He can also undo the charm on your other belongings."

Daniel nodded his understanding as the long haired man returned the firearm, along with a small bundle which easily fit in his pocket.

"Now, we are going to take a short ride, using magic. It's called apparition and it is painless, though a bit..." Severus took Daniel by the arm and the pair disappeared with a *pop*.

Reappearing in the back garden of Grimauld place, "...uncomfortable." Severus finished.

While he waited for the muggle to regain his balance he admired the ward stones as he felt the magic thrum under his feet. The apparition pad Sirius had installed was a clever bit of magic, he had to grudgingly admit, even if only ever to himself.

Turning to his charge, he felt his duty almost complete. He remembered, however, the admonishment of – and a certain wager riding upon – finesse.

"Given the circumstances you'll forgive me for not exchanging pleasantries earlier." The mild sarcasm, which was for Severus a monumental restraint, did not register in the slightest to the other man.

"Mr. Granger, my name is Severus Snape. I am a Professor at the school your daughter will be attending some time - I believe in the near future. I think that you will now see that your impulsive choice to leave the protection of this house was ill considered. You would have been killed outright by that moron had I not been here. A much worse fate awaited should he had finally cast the spell correctly."

Daniel took up the dark haired man's hand in a firm grip. His awareness of just how close he had come to death was more intensified by this wizards spells upon Hammish's fallen body than anything the Death Eater had done or said. Still, he knew he owed this man his life, and he was not one to forget a debt.

"I cannot thank you enough with words. I understand that your people are at war. Someday I hope to return the debt I owe, please let me know if I can help."

Severus could not miss the earnest look, or the man's serious tone. He had no idea what aid this muggle could lend, yet he knew he had an ally should he have need. Allies were especially handy if you in turn owed nothing to them, he mused with an inward smile. He motioned towards the house by way of reply.

"Mr. Granger, I believe you will find your daughter quite upset with you. Perhaps you should not keep her waiting any longer?" His tone was light, but held no humor, and it was with those words that Severus Snape departed with another *pop*.

. . .

Around the back yard children played quietly. A few had observed the two men arrive in the back corner, and the more curious among them noted that one of the men went inside. A few short moments later the whole house resounded with a joyous cry,

"DADDY!"

.o0o.

A/N: Thanks so much to the reviews and PM's! A special thanks to Tellur for pointing out a ridiculously bizarre issue where the words in italics ran together!

At last! Soon we'll move into the next phase of the story, next chapter: Transitions

Recommended reading is **Grief, Faith, and the Future** by apAidan This is not a specifically Hermione-centric fic, but rather one which I feel is just beautifully written all the way around.

Blessings,  
Majerus


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