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Author Notes:

(A/N: BYOT for middle of chapter.)

Chapter 3: Seeing is Believing

With a small pop, a woman and a fox appeared in the front room of a capacious home in Devon. “All right?” Letha asked, looking down. 

Snow Fox nodded, yawning widely to get rid of the feeling Apparating always produced in his ears, then nosed at his Pack-mum’s supporting arm. 

“Down you get,” Letha said, angling him so that he could leap from her arm to the floor.  “Let’s see it.”

Reditio ipsi, Draco thought, and rose to his hind legs as the stretching feeling of retransforming swept over him. “How’s that?” he asked when he had a mouth that could speak again.

“Very nice,” said Letha, brushing a bit of dirt off his robes.  “You’re still a bit slow, but that will come with time.  I’m proud of you, that you stuck with this for so long and finished.”

Draco grinned.  “Still beat the Marauders, didn’t I?”

“The Marauders never had expert help, and a lot of their delay was due to potion trouble... but yes, you did beat the Marauders.  So be proud of that.”  Letha turned to look towards the kitchen, though she couldn’t see it from where she stood in the living room.  “I wonder what’s going on in there?”

Draco shrugged, but he was curious himself.  From the babble of voices, almost everyone who currently stayed in the Den was there.  “Easy way to find out,” he said. 

“Then let us take it.”  Letha started for the front hall.  Draco opted to dart through the den room and into the kitchen from that side. 

“Draco!” Meghan called, seeing him.  “Look what Ginny made!”

“Wow,” Draco said, hugging Meghan with one arm as he took in the complexities of the clay figure.  “That’s fancy.” 

“Thank you,” Ginny said with only a trace of a blush coloring her smile.

The foot-tall figure was shaped superficially like a human being, though its “feet” were very broad and the rest of the features were only hinted at.  Abstract patterns in swirled ridges and valleys covered most of it, though some places were smoothed out, or dotted with small raised mounds, or indented with punctures.

“If you wait for Moony and Danger to get home, they can fire it for you,” Hermione said.  “And I’m sure we can find some glaze for it, or get some.  What color do you think you want?”

Meghan left Draco’s side to join this discussion, which quickly drew in Neville and the other Weasleys as well, Fred and George insisting the only proper color was red while Ron held out for adding some gold to it.  Ginny listened to them all quietly, her arms folded.  Letha tossed her a hand-signed compliment, then opened the basement door and went downstairs.

Draco was about to join the discussion as well, when he noticed the one other person in the kitchen who hadn’t.

“Hi, Luna,” he said noncommittally.

“Hi, Draco.”  Luna’s gaze dropped to the floor, where it must have bounced, since it was back on him the next second.  “Do you have a minute or two?”

“All the time you want, m’lady.”

Luna shuddered as if he’d called her Voldemort.  “Thank you,” she said, forcing a smile.  “In private, please?”

“Upstairs, then, or in the living room.”  Draco stepped back, deciding not to offer her his arm as he might have a week or two weeks earlier.

What did I do?

Luna hurried for the stairs, mounted them quickly, and slipped through the door into Moony and Danger’s bedroom.  With so many guests at the Den, the Pack-parents had placed their bedrooms at the public’s disposal during the day, asking only that bureaus, armoires, closets, and cabinets remain off limits.  Draco followed her in and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching Luna curl up in the big burnt-orange armchair.

“Was it something I said?” he asked tentatively.

“No.”  Luna’s voice was rough.  “It’s not anything about you... but it is!”  The last three words hinted at a heartbroken wail. “Draco, I Saw something terrible, something awful, and I can’t stop thinking about it – I can’t see any way it could be good, or any way I could be thinking about it wrong, but it can’t be true, it just can’t...

“Something about me?”

“Yes – I think – but I don’t want it to be!”  The wail was more than hinted at now.  “You can’t... not like that... not so soon...”

Draco felt a chill down his back, and forced it away.  “Luna, you know I want to help you,” he said with a calm he didn’t feel.  “But you have to make sense, at least a little.”

Luna sniffed once, then sat up.  “I don’t want to tell you about it,” she said, reaching into her robes.  “But you can watch, if you want.  You can see what I saw.”  Her hand came out, cradling her pendants.  “Just don’t make me come too.”

Draco stood up to accept the pendants and chain from her.  “Can I do that?” he asked.  “Go into your memories without you along?”

Luna nodded.  “I’ll send you there,” she said, returning to her tight fetal curl.  “You’ll see.”

Draco slid the chain on and lay down on Moony’s side of the bed.  “Ready,” he said. 

A fall through darkness, then through white, with a crackly ozone feel-smell to it – Luna’s magic, Luna’s mind, Luna’s memory of her future-Seeing...

xXxXx

Draco stood in the hallway of the Den, watching Luna wash her face in the cubs’ bathroom.  She was singing quietly to herself.  “And from his heart grew a red, red rose, and from her heart a briar...”

As she looked up and met her own eyes in the mirror, the vision hit.  She, and Draco with her, were suddenly somewhere else, somewhere outdoors, at twilight, with blocky things about knee-height all around –

A graveyard?

Draco felt another chill; he didn’t bother denying this one.  Okay, I’m starting to see why she doesn’t like this.

Luna was walking as if in a dream towards one particular gravestone, which had sharply defined edges and looked clean and unweathered, where it could be seen for the climbing branches of a plant which had covered it. 

But how can it be new, if the plant’s had time to grow all over it like that?

A girl knelt in front of the stone and the bush, in grass whose vibrant green showed even in the dim light.  Her hand reached out to touch the bush, to caress a leaf here, a flowerbud there. 

Rosebud.  It’s a rosebush.

“And from his heart,” the kneeling girl sang quietly, “grew a red, red rose...” Her hand hesitated just before touching the one fully open flower on the bush, a rich crimson as though it had grown from her song, and suddenly she was weeping, racking sobs doubling her over where she knelt. 

Draco had to stop himself racing forward to comfort her.  I can’t touch her, he reminded himself.  I’m not real to her. 

But it was doubly hard.  For with her singing, he had recognized her, though he still hadn’t seen her face. 

The girl who knelt by this grave was Luna herself. 

She looks older.  Draco rounded the gravestone to get a look at what he could see of her face, what wasn’t hidden by fingers and tears.  Definitely older.

The watching Luna now stood beside her counterpart, looking more frightened by the second, and this gave Draco a chance to compare them.  A couple of years, he decided, but no more than that.  She’s certainly not in her twenties.  Mid-to-late teens, I’d guess.

Movement in the distance caught his eye.  Someone else had entered the graveyard, hooded and cloaked, though the evening was warm. 

Whoever you are, better not come over here.  She’s not likely to be friendly if you intrude on her. 

Draco watched as the figure ignored his thought and closed in on Luna.  A man.  Not a young man, either, but not old by a long shot, even if he does limp... maybe Mr. Weasley or Mr. Longbottom’s age.  I can’t see his face too well...

The man stopped beside Luna and pulled back the hood of his cloak slightly, not taking it down but exposing his face.

Well, that would explain it.

The man wore a half-mask, like someone going to a masquerade ball.

Or like the Phantom of the Opera.

Draco looked past the mask, to the features of the face that he could see, and gasped in horrified recognition.  “Get away from her!” he shouted aloud, running around the side of the gravestone.  “Luna, run!

Both figures ignored him – of course, I’m not even as much here as Luna.  My Luna.  The younger girl stood several feet away, and from the horror on her own face, she had recognized the man as readily as Draco. 

The kneeling Luna, sunk in her own grief, hadn’t even noticed the man was beside her.  He smiled, a familiar triumphant look, before beginning not to speak, but to sing. 

Wandering child, so lost, so helpless,

Yearning for my guidance.  

Draco gritted his teeth.  “Phantom” was one of his and Luna’s favorite shows to sing from.  You bastard, how dare you...

Luna’s head had snapped up on the first note.  She stared at the man as he finished the phrase, her hand coming up to her cheek to brush away the tears lingering there.  When he stopped, she took up the song, singing Christine’s part in a halting thread of a voice, though it grew stronger as the phrases went on. 

Angel or father, friend or Phantom?

Who is it there, staring?

The man sang over her.

Have you forgotten your Angel?

Luna picked up the line.

Angel, oh, speak... what endless longings

Echo in this whisper?

Luna, get away from him.  Draco gripped the edge of the gravestone, breathing hard between his teeth.  Get up, run, go... this is beautiful, but he could kill you...

The man took the line again, his voice caressing. 

Too long you’ve wandered in winter,

Far from my far-reaching gaze...

Luna’s hand was to her chest.

Wildly my mind beats against you...

You resist, the man mocked her.

Maybe this Luna wants to die, suggested a small voice in the back of Draco’s mind.  Maybe whoever’s buried here has made her want to die.

The two sang together. 

Yet the soul obeys! 

Their eyes were locked on each other.

Angel of Music!  I denied you,

Turning from true beauty!

Angel of Music!  Do not shun me,

Come to me, strange Angel!

Draco held his breath.  This is the part where Raoul should come charging in... come on, Raoul, where are you?

The man’s song taunted and tantalized.

I am your Angel of Music...

Come to me, Angel of Music...

Maybe he can’t come, the voice said.  Or maybe he’s already here...

“Such a lovely voice,” the man said after a few moments of silence.  “A pity to choke it with weeping.  Did you love him so much, the one who lies buried here?”

Luna slipped her hand between the thorns of the rosebush to caress the writing beneath.  “No, I suppose I didn’t,” she said, turning her head to smile up at the man.  “Silly of me, to cry for him.”

“Indeed.  For when did he ever give either of us reason to love him?”  The man regarded the grave dispassionately.  “I regret what I was forced to do, but I had no choice.  You know that.”

“I do.” 

The man closed his fingers around the stem of the one blooming rose, deftly broke it off, and offered it to Luna.  “Come away with me, Starwing, silent huntress of the night,” he said quietly.  “Come and be my eyes and ears and hands, and my swift-winged messenger until messages are needed no more.  It cannot last much longer, and I believe I know how it will end.”

“So do I.”  Luna rose and accepted the flower.  “And I will go with you.  I will do what you cannot, and fly to carry your words to far-off ears, until your side – our side – reaps our well-deserved victory.”

The man smiled fully this time.  “My lady, your way with words delights me.”

Luna dropped a brief curtsey, then bent and laid the rose on the grave where she had been kneeling.  “We should go,” she said, straightening.  “I’ve wasted enough time here.”

The man undid his mask and laid it on the grave over the stem of the rose.  Draco tightened his hands around the gravestone again, barely noticing when a thorn pierced his palm and left a bright splotch of blood on the gray stone.  “No,” he breathed.  “No, no, no...”

Luna’s form rippled, and the white owl Starwing fluttered upwards to land on the man’s outstretched wrist.  She leaned inward and preened a long strand of silver hair which had escaped the hood of the cloak. 

Cradling the owl close to his chest, Lucius Malfoy pulled his hood forward again and walked away.

The watching figure of the Luna Draco knew stood irresolute for a long moment, then darted forward and fell to her knees, just missing mask and rose.  She stared through the thorny stems at the inscription on the gravestone, and her face crumpled.  “No,” she moaned, as though she had heard Draco.  “No, no, please no...”

Draco stepped carefully around her.  His feet seemed to mark out the beat of a funeral dirge. 

I have to see... I have to know...

He pushed the rose stems gently aside to read what lay beneath. 

Draco Regulus Black

Beloved Son and Brother

26 July 1980 5 June 1997

He took an involuntary step back.  His heel snagged against Luna’s calf, and he fell, and fell, and kept falling, through white and black and the sound of hopeless grief and pain...

xXxXx

Draco’s eyes snapped open.  Both his fists were clenched, his body rigid, his breath coming in ragged gasps.  

I’m going to die.

Before I turn seventeen, I’m going to die.

And Luna’s going to say she never loved me, and go away with my father.

He snatched at the anger this last thought carried, preferring it to the panic evoked by the other two.  “How could you do that?” he demanded, sitting up and wishing his voice hadn’t cracked on the second-to-last word.  “How could you?”

“I don’t know!” Luna cried, her own voice breaking.  “It’s not true, I do love you!  You know I do!  I wouldn’t ever do that – but I did!” 

The barely concealed panic in her voice struck a chord within Draco.  She’s as scared about this as I am.  Maybe even more.  She never wanted to see it, and she doesn’t want it to happen.

He stood up and crossed to Luna’s chair.  “I’m sorry,” he said, sitting down on the arm.  “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s no more than what I’ve been saying to myself.” Luna cast a quick glance at him before her face went back down against her arms.  “Draco, I’m so sorry... I don’t want it to happen, I swear I don’t... if there’s anything I can do, anything, to make it not come true, I will, you know I will...”

“I do know.”  Draco reached down and tapped Luna’s leg, asking her silently to move over.  “And I think there’s one thing we can do, and keep doing, to make sure it doesn’t come true.”

“What?”  Luna pulled herself in more tightly and sat up a bit, giving Draco room to slide onto the chair with her. 

“We can prove that what you said wasn’t true.”  Draco laid a hand on Luna’s thigh, palm up, and after a moment Luna slipped her own into it.  “We can love each other.  And keep on loving...” 

He stopped to swallow against a suddenly tight throat.  “As long as we can,” he finished.

“Mrs. Danger said the future wasn’t set in stone,” Luna said, lowering her other arm to look at him again.  “She said I was just seeing a possibility, and now that I’ve seen it, it might not happen that way.  Or at all.”

“Or it could be one of those inescapable things,” Draco countered.  “Every move you make to try to get away from it is actually a move towards making it happen.”

Wait – why am I arguing this side? 

The realization that he was trying to convince himself that his death was less than two years away brought a smile to his face for a moment.  Then it died as he realized why.

Hope hurts.  It’s hard work, and it’s never comfortable.  If you just give up, accept your fate, don’t fight any more, that’s easier.

He pressed his free hand to his chest.  But since when have Pack and Pride ever done anything the easy way? 

I am a Marauder, and a Warrior.  Maybe I have to die on 5 June 1997 maybe – but I’m sure as hell not going down without a fight! 

He turned and struck his first blow for life and a future beyond the age of rising seventeen.

xXxXx

“Whoops, we can’t go in there,” Meghan said, shutting the door of Moony and Danger’s bedroom quickly.  “Draco and Luna are in there.”

“Did they make up?” Neville asked.

“I think so.”  Meghan pursed her lips, making smooching sounds. 

Neville leaned down and took advantage.

xXxXx

By silent consent, Draco and Luna kept what they’d seen to themselves, and the rest of the Pride let it be.  “I just need to know that you’re going to be all right,” Hermione said to Draco the next day.  “I won’t ask what happened unless something comes up and I really have to know.”

“I’ll be all right,” Draco promised.  “So will Luna.  We’ve worked it out.”

Ron shot him a dubious look but declined comment. 

Fred and George were a little more persistent in their inquiries.  “Luna the ever-gentle hurt her beloved boyfriend,” Fred said.  “That has to mean something.”

“Even if it’s just a lovers’ quarrel, we can help,” George added.  “We’re developing a new line of sweets, mood-altering and completely legal...”

After Snow Fox and Starwing invaded the basement and carried off an important-looking notebook, though, the twins promised to behave. 

The Pack-parents were equally discreet, though each of them found time over the next few days to be alone with Draco for a few minutes.  Moony listened to his latest composition, made a few comments and suggestions, and borrowed a copy of the corrected sheet music with an eye to working out a counterpoint line for violin.  Danger found him alone in the boys’ bedroom staring out the window, and simply stood beside him for several minutes without saying anything, before she hugged him, kissed his forehead, and left. 

Letha had her own methods.  “The laundry needs hanging out,” she announced one day, letting a large basket drop onto the kitchen floor. 

“Doesn’t Winky do that?” Ron asked, looking up from his homework. 

“I asked her to leave it to me this week,” Letha said, putting her wand away.  “I find it soothing sometimes.  Draco, give me a hand with it?”

Draco nodded and got up from his place at the table, squatting down to pick up the basket.  The Pack-parents were understanding about underage magic, but it wouldn’t hurt him to haul the basket by hand.

Not to mention, I can use the upper body strength.  I still can’t do more than nine press-ups at a time.  Wonder how Harry’s managing?

Once outside, Letha conjured a basket of clothespins for them to use.  “They’ll disappear in about a day,” she said in response to Draco’s questioning look.  “But we don’t need them for any longer than that, and it’s easier than having them hanging around and getting lost.”

They started with the small laundry, socks and shirts and the like.  Draco noticed that the more embarrassing items had been left out, and wondered if Letha had dried them with magic in the basement. 

Probably.  No need to advertise that someone lives here who wears lacy pink knickers, or green and yellow smiley face boxers.

He grinned at a sudden stray thought.  And no, it’s not the same person.  

“How are you, Draco?” Letha asked quietly after several minutes of silence.

“I’m all right.”

“Really and truly?”

Draco shrugged.  “A little scared, I guess,” he said, sure that Letha would know what he was talking about.  The Pack-parents had never been good at keeping secrets one from another. 

“As well you should be.  I’d be petrified, in that situation.”  Letha shook out one of Neville’s shirts and pinned it on the line.  “But do bear in mind the probability factor.”

“Sorry?”

Letha looked around the shirt at him.  “How likely is it that we would simply let you die, Draco?  Why would we even let you be in a situation where you’d be in that kind of danger, if we didn’t think you were capable of protecting yourself?”

“Things happen,” Draco said.  “And even people who are strong can die.”

“Certainly true.  But you know that we would fight – yes, and we would die – to keep you, or any or all of your siblings, alive.” 

“Just as long as that doesn’t mean the vision still comes true, but you’re all buried there too.”

A sad half-smile touched Letha’s face.  “Point,” she said.  “But think about it this way, Draco.  We’re eight determined people – twelve if you count the Pride – and we have a way of getting what we want.  And what I want, and I’m sure everyone will agree with me on this, is to get through this war without losing any of us.  We might not get what we want, but it won’t be for lack of trying.”

“I know.”  Draco caught the sheet Letha tossed over the clothesline to him.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.  Clothespin, please.”

xXxXx

“No, and that’s final,” Molly Weasley said firmly.  “You may be of age, but you still live under my roof, and I will not have any more of my children risking their lives than necessary!”

“Fine, we’ll move out,” George said easily.  “We could get a place in London easy.”

“We won’t need to until next year, if we stay at Hogwarts over holidays,” Fred pointed out.  “Not that we’ll be doing much there besides research, of course.  Still, why waste hundreds of perfectly good testers?”

Molly stared at them both quellingly. “Now you listen to me,” she said.  “If I hear of one child, one, being made ill by these foul messes you’ve been brewing up...”

“They’re not foul, Mum,” George protested.  “You should try one, you’d like it.”

“Yes, and what would it do to me?  Turn me into a canary, or give me a nosebleed that won’t go away?”  Molly planted her hands on her hips.  “Test them on yourselves if you must, but you will not endanger any of your fellow students with them.”

“But Mum,” Fred started.

“But me no buts, Frederick.  Every word out of your mouths is telling me that I was right.  You’re far too young to join the Order, and in enough danger as it is, with your father and myself and three of your brothers involved.”

“Ron and Ginny get to be part of things,” Fred protested. 

“Ron and Ginny will not be attending meetings, nor will they be going on missions.  I trust Dumbledore, and Remus and the rest of the Pack, to help Hermione know what to pass along and what not to.  And if you’ve been polite and kind while you’ve been staying here, the Pride might even share what they are allowed to know with you.”

Judging by the looks on the twins’ faces, that hadn’t occurred to them, and they didn’t think their chances were good.

“Should have thought of that a bit earlier, shouldn’t you?” Molly said with a certain amount of satisfaction.  She’d tried all her life to teach these boys that other people were not necessarily quite the fools the twins seemed to think, but the lessons had never sunk in. 

After Percy, they were my biggest concerns as possible Slytherins...

“I don’t think it’s too late to be mending fences,” she allowed.  “But you had best start as soon as possible.  And I don’t want to hear another word about the Order, from either of you.  To borrow an idea from your hosts, when you act like responsible adults, perhaps I’ll consider treating you that way.”

The glance the twins exchanged was fraught with emotion – disappointment, obviously, and resentment, but also some speculation. 

Dear heaven.  Could they finally be starting to grow up?

Molly liked the idea.  She loved the twins, of course, and never wanted them to lose the raffish charm that made them so adorable, but she didn’t think that was necessarily inconsistent with a bit more maturity and responsibility on their parts.

And I do wish it hadn’t taken a war to bring it about.

xXxXx

Moony came home early the day before Draco’s birthday.  “Hermione, there’s a meeting this afternoon,” he said.  “Can you be ready in an hour?”

“I... think so.  Yes.  I’ll be back.” Hermione ran upstairs, her heart pounding with more than just the motion. 

A meeting... my first Order meeting...

The other girls followed her.  “What do you want to wear?” Ginny asked, opening the closet. 

“Black robes, but not school ones,” Hermione said, picking up her comb. 

“Give me that,” said Meghan, holding out her hand. 

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to have to use my fingers.  Luna, would you grab mine?  It’s the ivory-colored one on the desk... yes, that.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Hermione protested as Meghan’s fingers began to separate the tangled masses. 

“Maybe not, but I want to.”  

“I’ll be right back,” said Ginny, ducking out of the room.  “Have to give these to Winky to get them ironed.”

Hermione sighed and let it happen. 

“You’re not just you when you go to the Order meetings,” said Luna, setting aside the comb to tease apart a tangle with her fingers.  “You’re all of us, the whole Pride.  We want you to look like it.”

“What, like eight people?  Maybe if I ate as much as Harry’s cousin.”

The girls laughed. 

“No, but Luna’s right,” said Meghan.  “We want you to look good.  Grown-up.  A lot of the Order will probably think we shouldn’t be involved, that we’re just kids.  You’re the right person to show them we’re not, but they’ll count on what they see before what they hear.”

“Who, the Order?” Ginny asked, coming back in.

“Yes,” said Luna.  “Hermione has to look good so that they don’t dismiss her.”

“That’s what Mum always says,” said Ginny.  “You can have the most important message in the world, you can say it in the most convincing way, but if you look too young or too old or too strange, no one will listen to you.”

“People listen to Dumbledore,” Meghan objected. 

“He’s been proving he’s right for more than a hundred years.”  Ginny sat down on the next bed over.  “Hermione has to make a good first impression.”

“Are you quite finished making me nervous?” Hermione inquired.

xXxXx

I don’t know whether this feels more like the Yule Ball again or being a sacrificial maiden on her way to the altar.

Hermione descended the stairs nervously.  Her black robes were free of wrinkles and smelled lightly of cleanliness.  She wore a necklace of red and blue beads Letha had given her for her last birthday but one and the matching earrings that had come from Padfoot.  Meghan had deftly pulled back the most unruly strands of her hair into a large clip, keeping it out of her face, and Ginny had applied the few touches of makeup Hermione would permit.

As long as I live up to my appearance, I should do fine.

A few jazzy notes trickled through the house, played on the piano.  A guitar picked up the same theme and added to it.  The piano took up the challenge and elaborated on the theme still more, and in a moment both instruments were playing together, backed by a complex beat. 

Hermione smiled.  Well, that answers the question of where the boys got to while we were off doing girl things.

She walked quickly towards the music room, thankful that she’d got her own way about shoes.  Walking in high heels tended to make her wobble, and that was the opposite of the impression she needed to make tonight.

Ron noticed her first, and broke off drumming on the coffee table with his hands to stare.  Draco and Neville turned to see what he was looking at, and both sets of hands went still. 

After a long moment, Draco pushed back the piano bench and stood up.  “Neenie, you look wonderful,” he said, coming to touching range but holding back, as if he didn’t dare. 

Hermione scowled.  “If you say ‘what happened,’ I’ll hit you.”

“But I know what happened.  Girl magic.”  Draco grinned.  “Boys can’t ever understand it.  It’s one of the rules of life.”

“I think the Order will be impressed,” said Neville.  “You look smart, and a little older than you are, but not like you’re trying to look older.”

“I’m sure they’ll know how old I am,” said Hermione.  “Considering they know I’m the same age as Harry, and most of them knew Harry when he was a baby.”

“But people don’t always make sense like that,” Neville pointed out.  “Their heads will say ‘she’s only rising fifteen,’ but if their eyes and their ears are telling them that you’re old enough to be taken seriously, then they will.”

“You look almost as good as you did for the Yule Ball,” said Ron, finally recovering his power of speech.  “And you didn’t take nearly as long.”

“Oh, well, if that’s your standard of measurement – how long it takes–”

“I don’t think they’ll take you seriously if you talk like that,” said Draco.

Hermione glared at him.

“And I didn’t mean it like that, either,” said Ron crossly.  “Do you always have to take everything I say the wrong way?”

Hermione sighed.  “Ron, I’m sorry.  Thank you for the compliment... it was a compliment, wasn’t it?”

“No, it was an insult.  Yes, it was a ruddy compliment!  I think you look good, all right?”

“Now who’s taking things the wrong way?”

“I really wish Harry would come home,” Draco muttered under his breath.

xXxXx

The Order of the Phoenix convened its first meeting of the Second War in a carefully secured room at Longbottom House.  Augusta Longbottom had accepted an ‘at-large’ membership in the Order, meaning that she would not usually attend meetings but would be available to help if needed.  “A meeting place is the least I can give you,” she had told Dumbledore.  “If there’s anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Dumbledore and McGonagall broke off their conversation with Frank Longbottom to greet Hermione, Moony, Danger, and Letha.  “You look well, Hermione,” said Dumbledore, bowing to her slightly. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“You have your points ready, I assume?”

“Yes, sir.”  Hermione had spent some time with Moony going over what would and wouldn’t be a good idea to bring up in the meeting.  Part of the point of having a liaison was to make sure the Pride could have their opinions heard, but there wasn’t much room between “useless doormat” and “young upstart” for her to work with. 

Most of these people probably still think children should be seen and not heard.

She had just one point to bring up today, the Pride’s polite request that they be told how they would be moving from the Den to Headquarters.  Moony had okayed it, and even been willing to allow a second point, but Hermione had backed off that on her own.  “Fewer is better to start with,” she’d said.  “Once they get used to hearing me talk, and they know I’m not going to waste their time, then maybe I can do a little more.”

The door opened.  Kingsley Shacklebolt entered, followed closely by Alastor Moody.  The grizzled Auror turned to shut the door again and grunted with his back still turned.  “Didn’t know this was a kiddie party, Dumbledore.”

Hermione clenched her teeth briefly. 

“Hermione is here as representative of her Pride, Alastor, as I think I told you,” Dumbledore said.  “She is as trustworthy as any of you, and as likely to have important information or good insights on that which is provided.”

Moody looked doubtful, but nodded to Hermione anyway.

“How’s Sirius doing?” Kingsley asked Letha.

“He’s homesick, and glad it’s almost over.  Apparently the main reason the purebloods welcomed him back was because they thought he was ready to leave me and settle down with a nice pureblood girl.”  Letha gave Dumbledore a suspicious look.  “I wonder what could have given them that idea.”

Dumbledore seemed not to notice.  “I know Alice is working tonight, and Arthur Weasley as well,” he said, looking at his pocket watch.  “Molly should be here soon.  Kingsley, have you heard from Tonks?”

“She had to leave early today,” Kingsley said.  “Planning, I think.  But she’ll be here soon.”

“Planning for what?” Moody asked, then shook his head.  “Never mind, don’t know where my brain was.  Her wedding.”  He snorted.  “Long as it doesn’t take her mind off her duties...”

“It should not,” said Dumbledore.  “And if it does, we can gently remind her.”

Charlie Weasley opened the door for his mother and fiancée.  As soon as they were seated and greetings finished, Dumbledore called the meeting to order.

Headquarters was the first order of business.  Hermione listened carefully, and at one point (after checking with Moony via a quick hand signal) raised her hand.

“Yes, Hermione?” Dumbledore said. 

“Sir, I’ve been noting what people are saying they’ve yet to do, and I think I see a duplication.”  She blushed, but continued.  “Is it Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom, or Charlie and Tonks, who are responsible for the in-the-wall wards?”

The mentioned people, those who were there, looked at one another in surprise.  “I wondered why they looked higher when we hadn’t been working on them,” said Charlie.

“That explains the section we had to tear out,” said Mr. Longbottom.  “We must have overlapped incompatible warding spells.  I thought Alice and I wouldn’t make a mistake like that.”

“What spells are you using?” Tonks asked.

Danger reached over and pressed Hermione’s hand as the discussion got technical.  Well done you, she said silently. 

I can understand why Harry gets the way he does sometimes, Hermione answered.  It’s heady to have people listen to you.

It is, but you’re wise enough not to let it get to you.  And Harry will get there. 

I hope.  Hermione squeezed her sister’s hand, then released it and went back to listening.

xXxXx

“So, how was it?” Ron asked as soon as Hermione was out of the fire.

“Were there a lot of people there?” Fred said over him.

“Were there spells on the room?” George wanted to know.

“Who was there?”

“What did you talk about?”

“What did you find out?”

The room disintegrated into a noisy babble.  Hermione grimaced and caught Ginny’s eye.  Ginny nodded.  “OI!” she shouted over the noise.  “QUIET!”

Seven people fell magically silent.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, nodding to Ginny.  “There were twelve people there, not so many.  There were spells, but I didn’t see them.  I’ll tell you who later.  There’s something more important.”  She grinned.  “We’re leaving for Headquarters the day before Neville’s birthday.”

xXxXx

Remus, Apparating in, thought for a moment he’d missed his destination. 

Something wrong? Danger asked.

No, just noisy cubs.  Remus smiled at the impromptu war dance being done by the Weasleys, to the chant of “Headquarters, Headquarters, Headquarters...

xXxXx

The peace of Number Seventeen, Privet Drive, was rudely broken the next morning as a yell emerged from the smallest bedroom.  Its occupant was highly apologetic later, and explained that his favorite sports team had won a decisive victory the night before.

“Liar,” Dudley said when Uncle Vernon had gone to work and Aunt Petunia out shopping.  “You don’t even have a Quidditch team.” 

“Do so.  Ballycastle Bats.”

“Why d’you root for an Irish team?”

“Because I do.”  Harry turned back to the dishes, humming a little.  Nothing could puncture his mood today.  He was going home. 

Well, not home home.  But away from here, and back to the Pack.  And the Den is where the Pack is, so I am going home. 

He had just enough warning to start ducking before Dudley’s first punch hit him, on the shoulder instead in the back where Dudley’d obviously been aiming for. 

“Come on, fight back,” Dudley taunted, bringing his fists up.  “Fight me, Potter.  You can do it – why should you be afraid of me?  You beat the Dark Lord, didn’t you?”

Better part of valor time.  Harry ducked a second punch and took off running.  Dudley gave chase, but his heart wasn’t in it, and he gave up around the second block.  “Wait till tonight!” he shouted after Harry.  “You won’t be running so fast tonight!”

Harry swore under his breath.  He noticed.  He noticed I never leave the yard after dark.  I wonder if I can lock myself in my room...?

He’d fallen automatically into the easy, sustainable pace he used for his exercise runs.  It was close kin to the untiring lope Wolf used to cover distances, and had been inspired by it.  Might as well get some out of the way now.

He swung into his four-mile loop, two miles out and the same back.  It was one of his favorite paths to take, because on the way back to the Dursleys’ he always stopped to cool down at a little park, a park he knew he’d seen before, when he was very small. 

I was so proud the day I figured out what it was, what it had to be.  Benches here and here, swingset there, sandbox over there...

He’d danced on the bench where Moony had sat, and the one Danger had used, and run around the swingset as he had that day, wishing Hermione was with him so that they could reenact it. 

Maybe sometime she will be. 

He gave himself over to thoughts of Pack and Pride, what they had been and what they could be, and let his body do the running. 

A bit over half an hour later, Harry jogged into the park and started his cooldown walk.  He’d stretch here, then finish with a brisk walk back to the Dursleys’, where he’d start packing.

I know it’s early, but why wait?  I’ll just leave out what I need. 

“Prrrrrt?”

Harry spun, his hand on his wand.

Slit-pupiled hazel eyes blinked at him from Danger’s bench, where a slim calico cat was sitting, tail coiled neatly around her legs.

“Don’t do that,” Harry said, relaxing.  “I was just thinking of you.”

Neenie purred. 

“Thinking of when we were little here,” Harry went on.  “You know this is the same park, right?”

Neenie nodded, then looked carefully around.  No one was in sight.  Leaping off the bench, she trotted into some nearby bushes, and a moment later Hermione stood up.  “You got the letter, didn’t you?” she said.

“Of course.”  Harry hugged his sister tightly.  “I can’t wait.  Are you here for just a little while, or staying the night?”

“Staying the night, if I can.  If not, I’ll call and someone will come to get me.”

“If I could smuggle Snow Fox around, I don’t think I’ll have trouble with you.  You’re a little better behaved.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Don’t I know it.  So this is the same park where it all started...”  Her mischievous smile dawned.  “But Danger isn’t here to save you this time, pushover boy.”

Harry dodged her shove, laughing.  “Fool me twice, shame on me!” he called.  “You won’t beat me again!”

“Not unless I need to, I won’t,” Hermione shot back, before words were lost in the fun of two-person tag. 

It was almost afternoon when Harry returned to Number Seventeen, a small calico cat darting from bush to shrub behind him.  A car in the drive made him swear.  “Aunt Petunia’s home, you can’t come in with me...”

“Mrrrt?” questioned the front hedge. 

“Here’s what we’ll do,” Harry said after a moment of thought.  “I’ll open the front window for you.  Hide behind the big armchair in the corner, then listen for my voice.  I’ll get her talking in the kitchen.  Run upstairs and find the room that smells like me.  If you want anything to eat, it’s under the loose floorboard under the bed.”

“Mrow, maow,” said the hedge.  Harry nodded.  One for no, two for yes was standard Marauder code, adopted by the Pride.

He opened the front door.  “I’m back!” he called. 

“About time, too,” said Aunt Petunia snippily, appearing in the kitchen doorway.  “Where have you been all morning?  You never finished the dishes, the floor is filthy, and the kitchen window needs to be washed again...”

“I’ll be right there, Aunt Petunia.”  Harry detoured into the living room.  “I was a bit hot, so I went for a run.”  He pulled the window open and started for the kitchen.

“You were hot, so you went running?”  His aunt’s voice rose shrilly.  “Are you stupid or ignorant?  Running makes you hotter, with all that sweat and that nasty smell coming off you... you go and get a shower before you get near my good dishes.”

“Why don’t I do the floor first?”

“Absolutely not, you’ll get that stink all over my tiles and I’ll never get it out, perhaps you’ve not been a burden but you’re certainly no pleasure to have around...”

“Then you’ll be glad to know I’m leaving on the 29th,” Harry said, his ears open for the small sounds of paws on carpet.  Ah-ha, there... and another...

“Are – are you?”  Aunt Petunia seemed taken aback.  “Well, then.  The 29th.  Vernon will be glad to hear it.”  She went over to the calendar hanging on the wall and added a notation.  “What time, do you know?”

“Late, I think,” Harry said.  “Probably after dark.” 

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know.  The letter just said they might be coming late, and mentioned sunset.”

“And who’ll be coming for you?”  This in a poisonous tone.  “Your... adoptive mother, perhaps?”

“Maybe.  I don’t know.”  Part of Harry hoped Danger would know better than to show up, but another part of him wanted to see her have a fresh face-off with his aunt.

I know who’d win, for sure...

“But you’ll certainly be gone by the morning of the 30th?  Completely gone, not coming back?”

“As far as I know.”

“Good.”  Aunt Petunia made another notation.  “We’ll have to go out to dinner.”

To celebrate, hung unsaid in the air.

“Have a good time,” Harry said politely, and started for the stairs, grinning to himself.

Yes, my leaving will be a cause for celebration on several different levels...

xXxXx

They discussed how to move us a lot, Neenie said, lying on the bed beside Harry.  Because of that dream you had that you wrote us about.  Dumbledore thinks Voldemort knows how the pendants work, and he’s hoping to get around them by swearing some of the Death Eaters not to kill us.

“How would he know how the pendants work?”

Dumbledore told the fake Moody about them.  Neenie sounded embarrassed.  Back in the fall, when you disappeared after the Goblet of Fire happened.  Fake Moody wanted to know how the Pack-parents knew to come, and Dumbledore told him. 

Harry blew out his breath.  “Oh well,” he said on the tail end of the exhale.  “Spilled milk.”

Yes.  So Dumbledore wants to be very sure that nothing happens to us while we’re moving from the Den to Headquarters. 

“Is there a reason we can’t just Apparate there?”

Wards again.  You can Apparate around inside the house, but you can’t Apparate in or out.  Besides, Dumbledore brought something up that we hadn’t thought of.  Neenie’s voice was grim.  Voldemort knows some way to disrupt Apparition.

“He does?”

You found out about it.  You and Padfoot, back when you were three.  Lucius Malfoy did something to Padfoot to change where Padfoot Apparated to.  Where do you think he learned that spell?

“He could have made it up himself.”

But even if he had, don’t you think he would have shown it to his Dark Master?  The cat snorted at the title.  We have to assume Voldemort knows it. 

“But he’d have to get close enough to cast a spell, or one of the Death Eaters would.”

They could get close to the adults.  We don’t know who all the Death Eaters are yet, and I’m sure they’re recruiting just like we are.  And we know the spell doesn’t leave any visible or tangible traces, or Padfoot would have noticed it.  So we can’t all go by Apparition.  It’s too dangerous.

“All right, so what else is there?”  Harry considered wizarding travel.  “Floo is easy, but easy to interfere with too.”

And the Ministry’s watching the Network. 

“Scratch that.  Ditto the Knight Bus.”

Thou shalt not use the Floo Network, nor shalt thou use the Knight Bus, save when going away from Headquarters, Neenie said in a silly voice.  Portkeys are right out. 

Harry chuckled.  “One, two, Portkey.”

Three, sire.

“Whatever.  So what can we use?”

Well, some of us are Apparating there.  The twins went to the Ministry two days ago and passed their tests – did we remember to tell you that? – so they can get there themselves.  And Mr. Lovegood volunteered to Side-Along two of us, one at a time, since he knows he doesn’t have any spells on him. 

“How does he know?”

He hasn’t been out of his house for two weeks, except to putter in the garden.  Danger’s been buying his groceries. 

“Oh.  So who will he take?”

Luna, of course, and probably Draco.  The rest of us are being driven.  Mr. Weasley said we could repaint his car, so it’s going to be purple now, and Danger’s going to drive while Moony and Letha and Tonks guard us.

“What about Charlie?”

Neenie giggled.  Charlie can’t come.  He’s having problems at work.  Apparently one of the dragons in the preserve doesn’t get on with the others, and Charlie’s been asked to head a team to take it back to Romania.  And guess what kind of dragon it is?

“Norwegian Ridgeback?”

That’s it. 

“Baby Norbert.”  Harry thought back to the floppy dragonet, all black scales and orange eyes, that had hatched on Hagrid’s kitchen table two and a half years ago.  “I wonder how big he is now.”

Big, Charlie says.  Not quite full grown yet, but getting close.

“Still.  A dragon can do a lot of damage, especially if it doesn’t get on with other dragons.”

I’d imagine. 

“Hey, what about me?” Harry said, realizing the one person who hadn’t been mentioned.  “How do I get to Headquarters?”

You get to go a special way.  Neenie purred again, and kneaded the bedspread with her claws.  You get to fly there.

“I do?”

Well, you’re the one they’re most worried about.  Not that they’re not worried about us, but if the Death Eaters get you...

“Yeah, I know.  But why brooms?”

Dumbledore said the more in control of your own travel you were, the fewer things could go wrong.  You can’t Apparate yet, and anyone who showed up here to Apparate with you might be a Death Eater in disguise, or under Imperius, or have the disruption spell on them.  You can’t make your own Portkeys, and you definitely can’t set up your own Floo Network. 

“So brooms are best.”  Harry nodded.  “I get it.  But does that mean Dumbledore doesn’t trust the Order, then?”

No, he trusts them.  But didn’t you tell me yourself there was a spy?

“Yes.  But why would he send a spy to get me?”

Does he know who it is? 

Harry sucked in a breath.  “That’s right, he doesn’t know.  He said he suspected, but he didn’t know for sure.  And if he kept on not giving the bloke assignments, he’d – the spy would – start suspecting that Dumbledore suspected...” He stopped.  “My head hurts.”

I know the feeling.  But just think, Harry.  Three more days, and we’ll all be together again.  Neenie’s purring grew louder.  I think that’s wonderful. 

“I think so too.”  Harry began to stroke the cat.  “Except we won’t all be there.  Padfoot’s still gone, until August something... the fifth, I think.”

Yes, the fifth.  You’re right.  Neenie sighed.  All right, on the fifth of August we’ll all be together again.  Happy now?

“Not yet, but I will be on the fifth of August.”

Neenie hissed mildly through her teeth.

xXxXx

Another night, another dance.  I haven’t been this bored since History of Magic.

Sirius was starting to consider giving up his mission as a bad job.  He’d done his best to spread the word about Voldemort, hinting here, asking delicately pointed questions there, but his hosts seemed convinced that he was still the naïve sixteen-year-old boy who’d run away from home, rather than a man of thirty-six with experience of life and living, with a job and a family.

Which is more than most of them have.  They live on their family money, they strut out their trophy wives and trophy children, but what do they have at the end of the day?  Empty rooms filled with expensive things.  No wonder so many of them are alcoholics or abusive.

The more he saw of pureblood society, the more he wondered how he’d ever escaped at all, let alone with his mind and soul relatively intact. 

And what about someone like Corona?  How do you explain her?  She was even a Slytherin in school, and she still managed to turn out decent, unless she’s scamming me...

He shrugged.  You get freaks in every society.  But this one’s inbreeding and stultifying itself to death.  It’s like Elladora said – within a couple of generations, there won’t be any more pureblood society, at least not as we know it...

Wonder what’ll take its place? 

He filed the thought away for future reference and returned to self-pity.  Missed Draco’s birthday this year – couldn’t even be there in Animagus form.  Sent him a card, and a nice long letter, but it’s not the same.  And I’ll miss Harry’s too... I can’t believe my baby boy’s going to be fifteen in just two more days.  Where did all that time go? 

His mind drifted.  So, I’m going back to the old home, twenty years later.  Dumbledore had found him in the garden the evening before and murmured the secret into his ear before disappearing again.  Not counting that little stop after Snivellus invaded us in London, back when the cubs were little.  Wonder if Kreacher’s gone any madder?  Or Mum’s portrait?

“Not dancing?” asked Corona’s voice from beside him.

“No, I don’t feel like dancing tonight.”  Sirius smiled half-heartedly at her.  “A private pity party suits my mood better.”

“May I join you?”

“Certainly, if you don’t mind listening to my whining.”

“Better your whining than Ulysses Crabbe’s groping,” Corona said bluntly, sitting down.  “He’s a widower and looking to marry again, for a mother for his son, he claims...”

“What do you know about his past?” Sirius asked delicately, looking for a good way to tell Corona what he knew about Crabbe.

“Oh, don’t worry, I know where his sympathies lie.”  Corona stared out onto the dance floor.  “I know where all their sympathies lie.  They babble platitudes about kindness and generosity, and then they support men, and women too, who...”  She shut her mouth with a snap.  “What makes us so different?” she demanded, turning to him.  “What freaks of nature are we?”

“We are the normal ones,” Sirius said firmly.  “Not them.  Normal people don’t backstab others every chance they get.  Sometimes they do, but not every single time.  And normal people have at least one person they trust.  Like their spouse.”

“Yet another reason I have never married.”  Corona’s laugh was bitter.  “If you only knew how many times I have wished there were some way out of here...”

Sirius’ reply was cut off by one of the least welcome sensations in his life. 

The pendant chain around his neck was growing cold.

“What is it?” Corona asked in concern.  “You look distraught...”

Sirius wasn’t listening.  The pendants were in his hand, fanned out, he’d see it in a second...

He stopped in surprise.  “Hagrid?” he said, staring. 

“What?” 

“It’s not important,” Sirius said, regaining some sense of where he was.  “It’s just... a message from home.  I have to go.”

“Go?”  Corona was on her feet.  “Go where?”

“Home.”  Sirius was on his way, weaving carefully through dancers, already concocting his story. 

His host listened tolerantly to a tale of a just-received owl, an emergency at home, a friend in trouble, and smiled and nodded.  “Of course we’ll miss your company through the rest of the season, but there’s always next year,” he said, bowing.  “I hope your trouble sorts itself out well, M’sieur Black.  Au revoir.

Au revoir,” Sirius answered in kind, returning the bow.

Make that Adieu.  I am never coming back here, I don’t care what Albus needs.

He was halfway to his room when he heard running feet behind him. 

xXxXx

“Sirius, wait!”  Corona dashed up to him, wincing with every step.  Curse these shoes. She kicked them off and scooped them up, pattering beside him as he started off again.  “You’re going home.”

“Yes.  A friend of mine is in trouble, I wasn’t lying about that.  I just didn’t want to have to explain this.”  Sirius reached into his robes without breaking stride and pulled out a gold chain with four carved medallions hanging from it.  One of the carvings glowed with an inner light.  “They’re magical, they tell us if someone needs help.  And Hagrid needs help.”

“Hagrid?  The gamekeeper at Hogwarts?”  Corona kept pace with him, her shoes in one hand.  “What kind of trouble would he be in that he couldn’t get out of himself?”

“I don’t know.  That’s why I’m going home.  If I can’t do anything else, I can watch the children while someone else goes to help him.” 

Am I hearing things, or did he just hesitate over the word children?

“And to be perfectly honest,” Sirius went on, “I can’t stand another minute here.  Thank you for your company, it’s been the one bright spot in a very unpleasant experience...”

“Wait.”  Corona put her hand over Sirius’ on the doorknob to his room and gathered her courage in both hands.  “Take me with you.”

Sirius looked as if he would have liked to groan.  “Corona, I thought you understood,” he said with audibly fraying patience.  “I’m married, I have children...”

“Not like that! I don’t mean it that way!”  Corona shook her head, trying to find the words to express what she did mean.  “Sirius, you’ve been a friend to me, you’ve talked to me like a friend.  Be my friend one more time.  Give me a way out of here.  Just take me to wherever you’re going.  You talk about fighting, about opposing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.  I want to help.  Take me with you.”

Sirius looked into her eyes for the space of two breaths.  Corona prayed he could see how much she meant this.  This is all I’ve ever wanted... a way out, a way to fight for what I believe in...

Finally Sirius broke the silence.  “How fast can you pack?”

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Author Notes:

I could have gone on, but it’s late and I want to post.   Besides, the next scene will make a nice little opener for Chapter 4.

Re the vision: Cry if you must, but do keep Danger’s caution in mind... things don’t always fall out exactly as Seers see...