Chapter One - A Violent Beginning
Hermione Granger was bored. This was, admittedly, an unusual state for her;
summer homework or reading about various bits of wizarding trivia could usually
keep her occupied for hours, but there was a niggling feeling in the back of her
mind that something was wrong with Harry, and it was completely ruining her
concentration.
"Perhaps I should call him," she thought. "Yeah, but what if those horrible
people refuse to let him come to the phone?" asked another part of her mind.
"Well, I am sixteen, almost seventeen, I suppose I could go and see him. I think
they'd have a harder time not letting me see him." She laid her book down with a
sigh, grabbed her purse and went downstairs.
She scribbled a hasty note to her parents, left it on the kitchen table, and
then went out the front door, locking it behind her.
Truthfully, she was quite worried about Harry. He seemed to simply close in on
himself after Sirius's death at the Ministry, not letting her or Ron in on what
he was feeling. His eyes, normally a lively, sparkling shade of green, had
flattened and turned into hollow pits that spoke of the pain he was feeling, but
wouldn't talk to anyone about. He hardly spoke anymore, and when it he did, it
was short, monosyllabic answers that were the bare minimum necessary for
communication.
Harry... She sighed regretfully, mad at herself that she hadn't told him how she
felt about him before they split up for the summer. Maybe that would have pulled
him out his mood, she thought. Then again, it might have given him something
else to worry about. He had this annoying habit of taking the responsibility of
the lives of the people he loved on his shoulders. It was one of the things that
she loved about him, but it also drove her mad with frustration sometimes.
She stopped at the bus stop, and dug change out of her purse so that she'd have
enough for the trip downtown where she could catch a bus for Little Whinging.
"Too bad I can't take the Floo network," she thought. "It would be a lot
quicker. Wait a minute," she thought, "isn't Arabella Figg next door to Harry? I
could Floo from Diagon Alley to Arabella's, couldn't I? Oh, I hope she doesn't
mind."
That decision made, she boarded the bus that had just stopped in front of her,
and sat staring out the window thinking about Harry as the bus made its
meandering thirty-minute trip to downtown London.
"How do I get through to Harry?" she wondered. "I don't just want to come on to
him like...well, I don't want him thinking that's all I want from him." "Of
course," she thought, "I doubt seriously that Harry is going to think that, even
if you stripped naked and tore his clothes off." She giggled at the image.
"Instead I'd be too busy picking him up off the floor after he fainted," another
part of her mind said dryly.
"I just want him to know that I love him," she thought.
"But what about Ron?" asked another part of her mind. "What about him?" she
asked. "I love him like a brother, but that's as far as that goes. We argue too
much for anything more. I just can't see myself living the rest of my life with
Ron Weasley, but Harry..."
She paused for a moment, thinking that normal people would think she was
absolutely nutters with the way she held conversations in her head with herself.
But she'd read somewhere that really intelligent people always did something
like that, and so she didn't let it bother her much at all. It wasn't like she
was schizophrenic or something...those people thought the voices were coming
from outside themselves, and not consciously aware that they were part of
themselves.
She sighed and then grabbed her purse as the bus pulled up at the stop in
downtown London she had been waiting for. Conveniently, it wasn't that far from
the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, which was currently enchanted to resemble an
empty storefront.
Looking around for a moment, she whipped open the door and entered the Leaky
Cauldron. She noticed that the Floo seemed to be unused for the moment and she
went up to the bar to pay the Leaky Cauldron's proprietor Tom for the use of
some Floo powder.
"Miss Granger," he said jovially, "what brings you here? And where are your
friends, Mr. Weasley, and," he lowered his voice, "Mr. Potter?"
"Actually," she replied, also lowering her voice, "it's because of Harry that
I'm here." She looked around a little bit nervously, "I'm worried about him, and
I was going to give him a surprise visit. I know Mrs. Figg lives near him, and I
thought I'd Floo there."
"That's a nice idea," he said with a smile. He pulled the jar of Floo powder
from under the counter and handed her a pinch, "Here you go, on the house."
"Oh, I couldn't," she said, reaching in her pocket for a knut, the going rate.
"It's a gift for Mr. Potter," he said quietly, "I suspect he needs a friend."
She smiled shyly, "thank you."
"No problem, Ms. Granger. You enjoy your visit."
Nodding, she made her way to the fireplace, tossed the powder in, and whirled
away to Arabella Figg's house.
-*~*~*~*~*-
It was a sunny afternoon outside Harry Potter's bedroom window. What he could
see of the yard through the double-strength bars that Uncle Vernon had had
installed looked peaceful and quiet.
He sighed and went back to watching dust motes float in the afternoon sunshine.
The Dursley's still wouldn't let him have his trunk in his room, even after the
impression that the Order had made on them at King's Cross station. It meant
that he would be horribly behind on his homework for the summer, and he could
hear Snape's snide voice commenting "Too busy answering fan mail to do your
homework, Potter?"
He heard the slam of the front door as Uncle Vernon came home from work.
"Potter!" he bellowed, "get down here immediately!"
Harry got up and opened his bedroom door. That was the one concession the
Dursley's had made to the Order; as long as he kept his door shut, he wasn't
locked in. He went downstairs wondering what Uncle Vernon could want with him.
"Potter!" Uncle Vernon bellowed again, as Harry came downstairs.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" he asked.
"I've got something for you!"
Harry looked puzzled, for Uncle Vernon had never given him anything before in
his entire life. He looked at his uncle more closely, and wasn't sure he liked
what he saw. The man's eyes were glassy, and he was sweating profusely.
"What is it, Uncle Vernon?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes, Vernon, what is it?" said Aunt Petunia, who had wandered out of the
kitchen to see what the commotion was about. Dudley followed behind her, eating
a chocolate cupcake.
Uncle Vernon seemed to ignore the questions, and said, "I met the most
fascinating man at work today; he was inquiring about a large purchase of
drills. What was his name? Oh, yes, Malfoy, that was it, Lucius Malfoy. Anyway,
Harry, he asked me to give you this." He pulled a pistol out of his pocket and
pointed it with shaking hands at Harry.
"Vernon?" asked Aunt Petunia, alarmed. "What are you doing?"
Harry stood frozen like a deer in headlights, as the barrel of the gun seemed to
swell into a huge black hole.
"Vernon," said Aunt Petunia, "You know you can't do this! Think of what the
neighbors would say! Vernon! We agreed to keep the boy here. I admit he's been
nothing but trouble, but..."
Without taking his eyes off Harry, Uncle Vernon moved his hands slightly, and
with a bang, a third eye appeared in Aunt Petunia's forehead. She slumped to the
ground with a look of disbelief in her eyes.
Dudley, who had been standing behind her, looked with horror at the pieces of
bone, blood, and brain matter that had splattered over him. "Mum!" He screamed.
The scream attracted Vernon's attention, who turned, and before Harry could do
anything about it, shot his son, who dropped without a sound on his mother's
dead body.
Harry forced himself to move at this point, as his uncle's attention returned to
him. Frantically, he dove at the kitchen door, feeling a burning pain across his
back as his uncle's next shot missed impacting solidly against him and instead
creased his back.
Swearing, he picked himself up and hurled himself at the door to the backyard.
It was locked of course, and as he frantically turned the deadbolt, he heard his
uncle's heavy footsteps entering the kitchen.
"Potter! You hold it right there, boy! I've got something for you!"
Harry whipped the door open, and almost fell through the doorway as he felt a
smashing impact against his upper left arm. He heard the report of the pistol a
moment later and knew that he had been shot.
Gasping in agony, he stumbled across the back yard, trampling several of
Petunia's prize rosebushes in the process. Not that she'll care now, a part of
his mind commented cynically.
He crossed into Arabella Figg's yard, hoping that she would be there and could
get him to safety. He stumbled up the front steps, and, using what little
strength he had left, pounded on the door. "Mrs. Figg!" he yelled.
-*~*~*~*~*-
Hermione tumbled out of Arabella Figg's fireplace, and then stood up, brushing
soot off of her clothes.
"Mrs. Figg?" she said loudly. There was no answer. Puzzled, she looked around
and noticed that the house seemed dark and quiet. There was food laid out for
the many cats that seemed to reside here, but otherwise there appeared to be no
one home.
Just my luck, she thought disgustedly. She found Mrs. Figg's Floo powder pot,
took some out, and debated returning home, as she doubted she would be able to
get back in to return home once she left the house. I could come back by more
normal means, she reasoned.
Suddenly, a pounding at the front door attracted her attention. "Mrs. Figg!"
shouted a voice.
That sounded like Harry, she thought as she rushed to the front door.
She unlocked the door, and opened it, and was astounded to see Harry, bleeding
horribly, standing outside it. "Harry?!" she said.
"Hermione?" he asked quizzically, "what are you..."
"Potter!" interrupted a voice, "Just stand still, boy. Mr. Malfoy really wanted
me to give this to you!"
Harry instinctively felt the gun fire, and he pushed Hermione back into the
house as he dove through the doorway. He grunted in pain as he felt yet another
bullet hit him, this time in his lower back.
"Harry!" screamed Hermione. She glanced out the door for a moment and saw a
strangely emotionless Vernon Dursley headed up the sidewalk towards the door. He
was calmly reloading the pistol as he did so.
She reached down and dragged Harry to his feet; he had almost no strength left
and couldn't support himself with the pain in his back and shoulder.
"Get out of here," he whispered, "it's me he wants."
"No way, Harry," said Hermione. She dragged him towards the fireplace, thanking
whatever Gods there were that she had already grabbed some Floo powder. She
could see Vernon Dursley coming in the front door, bringing the gun up as he did
so, as she tossed the powder into the fireplace and shouted "the Burrow!"
-*~*~*~*~*-
Ron Weasley was sitting in his family's sitting room at the Burrow playing a
game of Wizard Chess with his sister Ginny. He wasn't concentrating very hard on
it, which is why he was losing.
"I wonder how Harry and Hermione are doing this summer?" he wondered out loud,
as Ginny, eyebrow raised in amazement at her brother's poor play, moved a pawn
and watched as it clobbered his Queen.
Molly Weasley, who had entered the room carrying a tray with a teapot and
teacups sitting on it, said, "Why don't you owl them, dear?"
"I have been," he said, "I get one word replies from Harry, and Hermione can do
nothing but talk about how worried about Harry she is." He sighed, "I suppose
that's sort of knowing how they're doing...not well."
It was at that moment that there was a burst of fire from the fireplace and
Harry and Hermione fell out of it.
"Harry! Hermione!" shouted Molly Weasley.
"Help Harry," gasped Hermione, "he's been shot. He's dying!"
The three Weasley's immediately moved into action, Ron and Ginny helping
Hermione to place Harry on the couch, while Molly tossed Floo powder into the
fireplace. She stuck her head in the fire and shouted, "Albus!"
"Yes, Molly," came Dumbledore's calm voice from somewhere out of her vision.
"Harry's been hurt badly. We need Poppy here at the Burrow immediately! He's
dying, Albus!"
"We'll be there immediately, Molly!"
Meanwhile, Hermione had ripped off the lower portion of her dress and was using
it as a bandage to stop the bleeding in Harry's shoulder. Ron was doing the same
to the exit wound in Harry's stomach with a tablecloth he'd grabbed off of one
of the side tables. Ginny had run upstairs to grab the small stash of healing
potions they had in the house.
"What happened?" asked Ron, looking at Hermione curiously.
However, Hermione wasn't paying any attention to him; she was too busy talking
to Harry. "Don't you die on me, Harry James Potter! I haven't even gotten to
tell you how much I love you! Don't you dare leave me here!" Tears were running
down her face and dripping onto the makeshift bandage, which was now fairly
soaked with blood.
She loves him, realized Ron with a tinge of jealousy. However, he shoved that
aside for later examination, more concerned with preserving his friend's life.
"Ginny!" he shouted, "Where are those potions?"
"Right here," she gasped, having run the whole way back. Hermione reached over
and grabbed one out her hands, pulling the cork out and upending the bottle over
Harry's mouth. She grabbed another, and before long had upended all ten bottles
over Harry's mouth.
"Come on Harry, " she murmured, not caring if anyone was listening, "come back
to me. I want to marry you, and have your children, and spend the rest of my
life with you. Don't you dare die on me!" She was almost wailing now, hoping to
see some sign of life from Harry.
Molly had been standing nearby, with a look of concern for both Hermione and
Harry on her face. It was obvious there was little she could do at the moment;
her children had taken care of the immediate issue remarkably well.
Harry suddenly coughed, and opened his eyes. "Hermione?" he whispered, reaching
up with his good arm to touch her face. "I wasn't dreaming then. Did you...did
you really say that you loved me?"
"Oh, yes!" she wailed, burying her face in his chest.
Harry looked at Ron, "Hey, mate," he said weakly, smiling, "This wasn't exactly
how I expected to be coming to the Burrow this year."
Ron smiled weakly, but then looked away. Harry frowned.
Ginny laughed suddenly. "Same old Harry, always looking for the bright side of
things."
The fireplace flared, and Albus Dumbledore and Madame Pomphrey stepped through.
Madame Pomphrey immediately moved over to Harry. "Ms. Granger," she said gently,
"you need to move so that I can check him over."
"No," said Hermione, her voice muffled by Harry's chest, "I'm never leaving him
again." She sat upright, and said defiantly to the room at large, "Do you hear
me?! I'm never leaving him again!"
"Hermione," said Harry, "I'm not going anywhere. It's okay. Let her check me
over." He felt strange having to be the logical one at the moment. Hermione
looked at him for a moment, but then moved out of the way, clutching his good
hand.
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at the interaction, but merely asked, "what
happened here?"
"I don't know, Albus," replied Molly. "The children came out of the fireplace,
and we haven't had a calm moment since."
"It was Uncle Vernon," said Harry, his voice dry and scratchy. "He came home,
and was mumbling something about Lucius Malfoy wanting him to give me something.
That something was a bullet, apparently."
"Lucius Malfoy?" said Dumbledore in astonishment.
"Yeah," replied Harry.
"I thought he was in Azkaban?" asked Molly.
"He's supposed to be," said Dumbledore, "but with the Dementor's gone..."
"He killed Aunt Petunia and Dudley," said Harry. "He shot me once, in the
shoulder, but then I managed to get out of the house and over to Mrs. Figg's,
where I met Hermione coming out the door."
"Yes, Ms. Granger," said Dumbledore, "why were you there? I am very grateful
that you were, for obvious reasons, but Arabella had left on Order business for
the day."
"I went to see Harry," she replied unsteadily. "I was worried about him; he
hasn't seemed himself since...since the Department of Mysteries...and I wanted
to tell him how much I loved him. Oh, Harry!" she wailed, "I almost lost you."
"Ahem," said Dumbledore, "yes, well..." He smiled at Harry and Hermione for a
moment. "How is he, Poppy?"
"He's lost a lot of blood, Albus, and his shoulder is broken, I suspect from the
bullet hitting it. But with some blood replenishing potions, a little
skele-grow, and plenty of rest, I think he'll be just fine." She answered.
"No bullets in me?" asked Harry, "sometimes they don't go all the way through."
Madame Pomphrey frowned. "No dear, they apparently went straight through you.
That's probably why you lost so much blood." She turned away, muttering under
her breath, "Bloody Muggle weapons!"
"I guess that means I'm staying here then?" asked Harry, sitting up slightly.
Dumbledore frowned. "What concerns me, Harry, is why the wards at Privet drive
did nothing to protect you. Admittedly, Vernon Dursley did live there, which is
why they could not prevent him entry, but they should have prevented him from
inflicting mortal injury on you."
"Is that why you left him there?" snapped Ron, "Even knowing what great bloody
gits they were?"
"Ronald Weasley!" said Molly angrily, "You apologize this instant! And watch
your mouth, young man!"
"Actually, Molly," replied Dumbledore, "no apology is necessary. It is a rather
reasonable question, considering, and one that I suspect Harry would like
answered as well."
Harry nodded, glancing down at where Hermione still held his hand in a tight
grip, sitting next to him on the floor. Her sobs had softened until only the
occasional hiccup could be heard, but she was staring at the floor and didn't
look up at anyone.
"Well, Harry," said Dumbledore, "up until this point, that is exactly what I
thought the wards would do. I can't imagine how Voldemort or his followers could
have found a way around them. And that is exactly what concerns me."
He paused, "I know you aren't going to want to hear this, but I really think
that you should spend the remainder of the summer at..."
"Grimmauld Place, " came Harry's disgusted reply. "Not only do you manage to
arrange for me to cause my godfather's death, but now you want me to spend the
summer at the one place guaranteed to remind me of that fact."
Dumbledore's face saddened, while Molly, already angry at Ron, snapped, "Harry
Potter! How can you say such a thing? Dumbledore has always tried to do what's
right for you..."
Harry sighed, and closed his eyes. "I know." He looked up at Professor
Dumbledore. "Professor, I'm sorry, I've just had a very trying time, and..."
"No Harry, " said Hermione, looking up, "You shouldn't be apologizing. You have
every right to be angry at him." She looked up at Dumbledore a little wildly,
"How can you make him go back there? You know how it hurts him! Why not let him
stay here? Or even at Hogwarts? Can't you keep him safe there?" Her normally
calm voice had risen almost to a shriek.
Harry looked at her concernedly. "Hermione, you're being hysterical." He
squeezed her hand.
She looked back at Harry and continued, "I...You...you almost died, Harry. I...I
know you've been hurt before, but...I just couldn't...I..." With a cry, she got
up and ran out of the room. They heard an "oof" from the front hall, and a
confused, "Hermione? What's wrong?" from Arthur Weasley, and then the front door
slammed as she went outside.
Harry tried to get up and go after her, but the pain in his broken shoulder was
too great. "Ah," he hissed.
Arthur Weasley entered the room. "When did Hermione...?" His voice trailed off
as he noticed the crowd of people in his living room, and Harry lying on the
couch wearing bloodstained clothing and bandages.
"Harry! What happened?"
Harry grunted. "Uncle Vernon decided to use me for target practice."
"What?" asked a confused Arthur Weasley.
"His Uncle decided to shoot him, with that thing the Muggles call a gun."
answered Madame Pomphrey.
"What? But how could that happen? I thought the wards around the house prevented
that sort of thing?"
"So did I," replied Dumbledore grimly, "but it's a moot question at this point,
Petunia Dursley is dead, as is her son. Because of that, the wards will have
dissipated."
"Are you alright, Harry?" asked Mr. Weasley.
"I am now. But Hermione..." Harry frowned, "She's the one who brought me here
from Arabella Figg's house. I saved her from getting shot, that's how I got the
one in my back. I've never seen her like this."
"I'll go check on her," said Molly Weasley, and she left the room.
"Mr. Potter," said Madame Pomphrey, "you need to rest. Decisions about where you
are staying and the like can wait until at least tomorrow. Drink this." She
handed him a potion.
"What is it?" he asked.
"You should be very familiar with it, considering the number of bones you've
broken, or...had removed."
"Yuck, " he said, but then drank all of it. Shortly thereafter his eyes closed
and he fell asleep.
"I mixed a sleeping draught and blood replenisher in there as well. He should
sleep for several hours at least--he needs the rest," she said.
Arthur and Dumbledore nodded.
Arthur said, "Albus, I'm going to see if Shacklebolt and Tonks can nose around
and see if they can discover anything about what happened. A Muggle going
nutters and shooting off one of those popper thingies..."
"A gun, Arthur," came Albus's reply.
"Right, one of those gun thingies. Well, that would probably make the Muggle
news, don't you think?"
Dumbledore nodded. "That sounds like a good idea. And I'm going to ask Severus
if he knows anything as well, or has heard anything. According to Harry, Lucius
Malfoy was behind this, or at least that's what his Uncle was saying as he was
trying to kill him."
"Lucius Malfoy? Hmm, I better have an Auror check Azkaban and make sure that he
hasn't done something similar to what Crouch did."
Albus turned to Madame Pomphrey. "Poppy, are you ready to go?"
"Just a moment, Albus." She turned to Arthur Weasley. "Here is some more blood
replenishing potions. He needs one when he wakes up, and then every couple hours
after until his color is better. Also, here are some more healing potions to
replace those you used today." She handed him a basket with all of the potions
in it.
"We may go now, Albus." There was a flash of light as they flooed back to
Hogwarts.
-*~*~*~*~*-
Molly Weasley went out the front door and found Hermione sitting on the front
porch swing with her face in her hands, crying. She sat down quietly beside her
and rested her hand on Hermione's back. After a moment, Hermione leaned over and
let Molly hug her to her.
"He's alright now, Hermione, " Molly said quietly. "He's going to be alright."
"But he almost wasn't," said Hermione weakly, sniffing back tears. "He was
covered in blood...he...he almost died. And I hadn't even told him how much I
love him."
"Well, that's over now, dear. And there will be plenty of time to tell him just
how much you love him."
"I know, " answered Hermione, her voice growing stronger. "Thank you for helping
him."
"Hermione, I think of him as my own son, of course I would help him," replied
Molly.
Hermione sobbed quietly for a moment. "This is so unlike me, " she said. "I'm
the strong, intellectual one. I don't break down at a moment's notice like
this."
"Hermione," said Molly, "you experienced something horrible today. I don't think
you're being that unreasonable. Plus, I think you just realized the extent of
your emotions for Harry, and that can be a bit unsettling as well."
Hermione nodded.
The porch door opened and Ron stepped out onto the porch. "Harry's asleep. How
is she?" he asked his mum.
"She's fine, Ron. Would you like to sit with her? I need to go get some dinner
started." She got up and entered the house.
He nodded and took his mother's vacated spot on the swing. Hermione had her face
in her hands, her hair hanging down past her face.
"Hey, 'Mione, " he said quietly.
"Hi, Ron." Her reply was equally quiet.
"There's never a boring moment with Harry around, now is there?" He remarked.
"Oh, Ron, " she cried quietly, "I almost lost him today, and before I could even
tell him how I feel about him."
"You really love him, don't you?" he asked quietly, wondering why it didn't hurt
as much as he thought it would to ask that question.
She nodded. "I didn't even realize it until this morning, as I was on my way to
see him, and then..." She gave a small sob.
He reached out and gave her back a tentative pat. "Hermione, " he said, "I just
want you to know that I'm okay with you and Harry. I'm not going to be a jealous
prat, and ignore you for the next six weeks, or however long it was in fourth
year." He sighed, "Besides, we weren't ever going to be more than friends, you
and I, were we?"
Hermione looked up at him in amazement. "Ron, that is without a doubt, the most
grown-up thing I've ever heard you say." She smiled briefly, "Who are you, and
what have you done with Ron?"
He smiled in return.
"How's Harry doing?" she asked.
"He's sleeping. Madame Pomphrey slipped a sleeping potion in his skele-grow." He
looked at her. "He was so worried about you, he actually tried to come after you
when you ran out here."
She sighed. "Oh, Harry..."
He looked at her. "You look about done in. Why don't you go get some sleep in
Ginny's room? Mum can leave some food out for you."
She suddenly sat upright. "I can't stay. I need to go home, or mom and dad are
going to be worrying about me. But Harry, I don't want to leave him."
Ron frowned, "Maybe Dad can think of something; let's go ask him."
They got up and walked into the house. "Dad," Ron called.
"Yes, Ron?" he replied, coming out of the living room. "Keep it down, Harry's
sleeping."
"Hermione needs to let her parents know she staying here tonight. You have any
ideas on how we could do that?"
Arthur smiled. "Well, it just so happens..." He looked nervously at the kitchen
entry. "Let's go out on the porch."
Once out on the porch, he reached into a pocket and pulled out, of all things, a
cell phone.
"What's that, Dad?" asked Ron.
"It's a Muggle device. I think they call it a cellyphone or something like that.
It's like a portable fellytone--operates off of stored eckeltricity. This one
had been charmed by a Death Eater to bite a Muggles ear off if they went to use
it. I removed the curse, however." He handed it to Hermione, "Would you show me
how it works?"
Hermione giggled. "Actually, it's called a cell phone, Mr. Weasley." She flipped
it open, and looked at the signal display. "Hmm. You actually have cell
reception out here. Amazing." She dialed her home phone number.
"Hi, Mom, it's me," she said, and then listened for a minute.
"Yes, I'm sorry. I should've called you and let you know I was leaving," she
said. "Mom, I'm at the Weasley's." She nodded, "I know, I'm sorry. What? Oh, Mr.
Weasley brought home a cell phone from work. Look, Mom, I'm going to be staying
at the Weasley's for a while. We'll be by to get my stuff tomorrow, and I'll
explain then. I promise." She listened for a moment, "How's Harry? Not good,
mom. He...what? His address? Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging. Why?"
Her mother's voice could now be heard coming out of the phone. Hermione held it
away from her ear. "Mom! Mom! Calm down! I'm fine. Harry got shot twice, but
thankfully magic can fix a lot of things..." She resolved not to tell her mother
how close she had come to getting shot herself. "What? He's dead too? The police
shot him? Okay. Okay. Look, mom, the battery is about to run out on this phone.
I'll see you tomorrow, okay? I'm fine, really, I am. I'll see you tomorrow, I
promise!" She hung up the phone.
"What was that about?" asked Ron.
"Apparently the shooting made the evening news, " replied Hermione. "Mom
recognized the name Dursley, and it went downhill from there. Apparently the
police had to shoot Vernon Dursley; he wouldn't give himself up." She frowned,
"we're going to need to go sneak Harry's stuff out of the house tonight. The
police will have the house locked up and we won't be able to get it for quite
awhile, otherwise."
"I can take care of that," said Mr. Weasley.
She added, "Apparently, I was also on the news story. Somebody was there with a
video camera, and got a shot of Harry pushing me back into Mrs. Figg's house as
Mr. Dursley shot at us. That's why she was so upset."
Hermione handed the phone back to him. "Thanks for letting me use it," she said,
"although whoever owns the phone is going to get charged for the phone call."
"You mean Muggles pay money to use these things?" asked Mr. Weasley in
amazement. "What will they think of next?"