(A/N: I was extraordinarily remiss, last chapter, in not crediting my sterling beta reader, Mary Caroline. Her insights have been indispensable… especially those into the social dynamics of prepubescent females. Sevenfold thanks, MC.
This story is strictly canon-compliant… which is to say, I took the situation that existed at the end of all six books as my foundation. To those who still wonder whether this story has been posted in the right place, I can only repeat what I said to one of my reviewers: Either I'm very stupid or I'm very, very clever. You make the call.)
(Disclaimer: Still don't own these characters. I do take a slight bit of credit for the plot.)
*********************
"Restoring Hope"
by Paracelsus
*
2 February 2008 - Year 9 P.V.
*
It was a sign of the Death Eaters' confidence that they sent up the Dark Mark before they'd completed their mission. Certainly they had every reason to be confident: everyone on the team had killed many times before, and their leader had been a high-level Death Eater under the Dark Lord himself. Besides, how difficult could it be to kill a game-legged Quidditch teacher and his family?
"Stupefy!" roared Ron. A Death Eater fell unconscious, looking very surprised.
Ron crouched in the middle of his living room, his wand in one hand and his cane in the other. He spun, ducked a curse, and fired his wand at one of the remaining Death Eaters before blocking another attack with his cane. The cane had a permanent Shield Charm built into it, saving Ron's wand for offensive spells. He needed only a suit of armor to complete the impression of a medieval warrior.
Two Death Eaters down now. He whirled and struck again.
The remaining Death Eaters were probably regretting the Anti-Apparation wards they'd placed over Ron's cottage. Not only did the wards prevent their intended victims from easily escaping, they kept the Death Eaters themselves from retreating prematurely. Only their leader could lift the wards, and right now he seemed obsessed with killing Ron. Which has its good points and its bad points, thought Ron dispassionately.
Now they were trying to coordinate their attacks. There would be a moment's lull, then a flurry of curses in rapid succession. Ron had to struggle to block them all, and he was finding it harder to target his opponents. Time for a strategic retreat, my lad.
Ron continued to fire hexes as he backed away from the center of the room, towards one of the bookcases on the wall. The side of the bookcase would provide cover… from a frontal assault. But the open hallway nearby was ideally located for an attack from behind, if a Death Eater could get there unseen.
At least, Ron hoped they'd try it that way.
He fired a Stunning Spell into the open area beside the couch, just as a Death Eater tried to duck there. The timing was perfect. Three Death Eaters down now.
A sudden volley of spells caused Ron to press back against the wall. They were firing so many, so rapidly… without regard for whether he could spot their hiding places. And none of these curses were the Killing Curse, what was up with that…?
Distraction, you idiot! Ron dropped flat to the floor, just as a dagger thrust itself into the side of the bookcase at the level where his neck had been. The dagger's edge dripped with poison. Panic spiked through Ron's body, and he reacted without thinking: he pointed his wand at the empty air behind the dagger and cried "Reducto!"
The empty air screamed. There was a loud thump, and the Death Eater leader landed across the back of the comfy-chair, his Disillusionment Charm cancelled. Which made sense, since Ron's Reductor Curse had left a bloody hole where his lungs used to be.
It was supposed to be a set-up, remember, stupid? They were supposed to try to get at you from that direction. You were supposed to be ready. Ron nearly gave way to a fit of the shakes, before he pulled himself together. There were still two Death Eaters out in his living room…
And amid a quick series of popping sounds, the fight was over. Three Aurors had Apparated into the cottage - evidently the wards had dissolved with the death of the leader - and had taken the remaining Death Eaters by surprise. They lay on the floor now, unconscious and hogtied. "Weasley? You all right?" called one of the Aurors.
Ron nodded jerkily, then shouted, "Luna! Hope!" He bounded for the stairs and took them two at a time, ignoring his throbbing leg. One of the Aurors followed close behind.
Both the master bedroom and Hope's bedroom were empty. Ron stood there in the hallway, hyperventilating, as the Auror approached. "We had emergency Portkeys ready," Ron said, trying to control his breathing. "Luna must've activated them and gotten Hope away safely. O God, let it be so…"
"You can go to them in a few minutes. Right now I need you to answer some questions," said the Auror. It took Ron's adrenaline-charged brain a second to realize that he recognized her voice… He looked up.
"Tonks?"
She nodded without smiling, every inch the professional Auror. She kept her natural appearance almost constantly these days - light brown hair, face and body hardened by combat - as though to emphasize that the days of playful hair colors and cheerful optimism were gone forever. "So tell me what happened, condensed version."
"I was downstairs getting a snack… I left the lights out, Luna and Hope were asleep, and I can get around the kitchen in the dark, which was lucky, since I managed to surprise them when they Apparated into the living room, and I remember screaming for Luna…" Ron was babbling, and worse, he knew he was babbling, but he didn't seem able to stop. "Then they were around me, but in bunches, so I almost didn't have to aim, well, at least at first, when I thinned them out a bit, one bloke tried to knife me while Disillusioned, poisoned knife, I think… did I kill him? I didn't mean to kill him…"
"Slow down, Ron," interposed Tonks. "You're still wired. Slow down." She waited for him to take a few deep breaths. Only when she was satisfied that he'd regained control did she say, "Downstairs. I want to see what they've found in the way of spell residuals."
Back in the living room, they found the two remaining Aurors trussing up the captive Death Eaters. A couple of them had regained consciousness. "You're dead, you blood traitor," spat one. "The Dark Lady wills it. Her will be done."
Ron strode across the room to the Death Eater as he continued, "You will live in fear of her until the end, Mudlover. You will never again know peace URRGK!!"
His tirade had to stop at that point, since his larynx was in the process of being crushed by Ron's cane. "Dark Lady?" Ron yelled in the Death Eater's face. "Dark Lady?! Is that what she's calling herself now?!"
"Ron, no! You're choking him! We want him alive!" barked Tonks.
Ron didn't seem to hear her. "What's Bellatrix ever done, besides be Voldemort's toady? Voldemort was an evil bastard, but at least he was really powerful and a genius. Hell, he found a way to make himself unkillable before he even left school!" He pushed his cane harder into the man's throat. "And we killed him anyway," Ron finished viciously. "If Bellatrix ever crawls out from under her slimy rock, she'll be a joke compared to him. 'Dark Lady,' my arse."
He released the Death Eater, who was left coughing and glaring mutely at Ron. "I almost wish we could let you go, just so you could deliver that message," he muttered. "Almost." He adjusted his grip on his cane, handling it now as though it were a Bludger bat.
"Step away, Weasley..." Tonks's tone was a warning shot across the bow.
"Okay, okay. It was just a thought." Ron turned away and, using his cane as a cane again, limped back to Tonks. She was now examining the dead Death Eater, trying to pry off his mask. Behind him, the two Aurors watched him with undisguised admiration.
"Six to one," one of them said in a low voice, "and not a scratch on him." The other nodded approvingly before Stunning the prisoners again.
There'd been a time in his life when Ron's ego had craved such adulation… had envied Harry for getting it. He couldn't understand, then, why Harry had so hated the attention. He understood now, though. He understood perfectly. Because the price is too effing high.
By now, Tonks had succeeded in removing the dead man's mask. She gave a low whistle. "Merlin's beard, Ron," she said. "Do you know who this is?"
"Other than some sicko who tried to kill me? Sorry, no."
"Rodolphus Lestrange. He's like the number two man in the new Death Eaters… was, I should say. If Bellatrix didn't hate you before, she's really going to want your scalp now…" Tonks looked up to see Ron looking positively nauseous. "Self defense," she reminded him firmly. "Remember your wife and child. It was self defense."
"I… I… Right. Self defense." Ron stared at Lestrange's dead face - tried not to stare at the hole blasted in Lestrange's chest - tried hard to choke back bile. "Bloody wonderful."
She startled him by reaching up and briefly touching his arm. Her expression turned almost tender. "You were wonderful. You fought to defend the ones you love. And that's… that's the ultimate in love, Ron. Trust me." As she spoke, Tonks reflexively caressed the ring on her left hand. A delicate ring of gold, shaped like a spray of leaves and set with tiny alexandrites, it sat on her finger like a miniature garland of lupins. Ron knew it was the only jewellery she ever wore, and that she never took it off.
"Yeah," he agreed quietly, feeling the adrenaline rush finally draining away. "You'd know, at that."
Tonks nodded once, lost in memory, before abruptly turning professional again… her tender expression quickly gone. "Go. Make sure they're all right. We'll finish here, then take our new guests to their new luxury suite." Ron started at her words… as on top of all the shocks he'd had this evening, he began to feel a sickening sense of déjà vu.
She stood and jerked her head impatiently. "I said go."
Once Ron had Apparated away, Tonks turned back to her colleagues. "Right, then," she said in a hard voice. "You two have five minutes to get these nutcases back to HQ and dosed with Veritaserum. Maybe we can locate Bella's hidey hole before she finds out the mission failed." She barely waited long enough for the Aurors to say, "Yes, ma'am," before she began to cast Prior Incantato charms on the captives' wands.
*
"'The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.'" Ron looked up from the bit of parchment as memories flooded back into his brain. "I remember now! I'd forgotten about it until I read… Harry, what the hell's going on?"
"Far as I can tell, when Dumbledore died last month, he took the secret of Grimmauld Place with him," said Harry, taking back the parchment and handing it to Hermione. "I remember Flitwick talking about the Fidelius Charm… he said the secret is hidden in the Secret Keeper's soul. Well, if the Secret Keeper dies and his soul leaves, the secret goes away with it, right?"
"It makes sense," commented Hermione. "When a Secret Keeper dies, either the secret dies too, or else it becomes available to be known again. Those are the only two possibilities. And if it were the latter, then there wouldn't be much point to having a Secret Keeper, would there? Take your parents, Harry - if all Voldemort had to do to find them was kill everyone who might have been their Secret Keeper, he wouldn't have had to depend on Wormtail's betrayal."
"Lucky I found that bit of parchment in the stuff Dumbledore left me," said Harry, retrieving it from her. "He wrote that when he revived the Order - he made a fair few copies, Moody showed me one when I first arrived at the Place - and without it, we'd never be able to remember the Place existed."
"So nobody remembers about Grimmauld Place at all - not Lupin, not Snape, not McGonagall - nobody but us?" Ron asked.
Harry nodded grimly. "And as the owner, I intend to keep it that way."
Hermione eyed him speculatively. "You're thinking it will make a good base of operation… while we look for the Horcruxes." It wasn't phrased as a question.
"Place to start, anyway… whoops, it's almost time." The clock in Harry's bedroom read 11:58. It was the thirtieth of July, 1997, and in two minutes Harry would be of legal age in the wizarding world - and the protections placed around number four, Privet Drive would crumble.
"Shall we?" Ron levitated Harry's trunk and moved it towards the door. It still surprised him that all of Harry's worldly possessions would fit into a single trunk. Except for Grimmauld Place, he reminded himself, but that hardly counts.
Together the Trio left Harry's bedroom. "I still say you shouldn't be Apparating," Hermione scolded Harry as they walked downstairs. "You may be of age at midnight, but you still don't have a license…"
"Neither of you can Side-along Apparate with me," Harry said shortly. Ron knew that very few wizards could carry another person with them while Apparating - his own father couldn't, he knew - but it still sounded like Harry was putting them down unnecessarily.
They paused in the living room to allow Harry to say goodbye to his loving guardians. The Dursleys were seated on their sofa, petrified with fear… as the rest of the furniture in the living room paced in front of them like lions, back and forth, snarling, watching them hungrily.
"Y-you… you can't d-do this," Vernon managed to stutter, as Hermione proudly patted one of the growling comfy-chairs. "You aren't a-allowed…"
"I'm not. But they are." Harry jerked his thumb at Ron and Hermione. "They're of age and everything."
"Don't worry, Mr. Dursley," Hermione said cheerfully. "If you stay very still, they won't try to attack you. The charm should wear off in a day or so. I think," she added. "It may recur spontaneously, every once in a while. But if that happens, just throw them some raw meat, and you'll be fine. You do keep raw meat in your house, don't you?"
"Brilliant," Ron murmured to his girlfriend. She beamed at him… then jumped as the clock began to strike twelve. From outside, they could hear a creaking sound, like a web of metal being stretched to its breaking point.
"Well, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia," said Harry, "I'll say goodbye for now. I won't promise we'll never meet again, as much as I'd like to. It all depends on how Dudley's kids turn out, doesn't it?" The horror on their faces, when they realized that they might still have magic in their lives, warmed the cockles of Ron's heart to see. He could only imagine how good it felt to Harry.
"Meet you at our new luxury suite," Harry told them… and as the last stroke of midnight sounded, the Trio Disapparated away. None of them ever saw the Dursleys again.
*
"Of course it's no trouble," Fleur assured Luna yet again. "Stay as long as you need. Ma foi, we're just thankful you weren't hurt."
They were sitting in the kitchen at Ma Maison. Ron and Luna had chosen that destination for their emergency Portkeys: possibly no wizard alive knew as much about magical safeguards as Bill Weasley, and he'd put every bit of his expertise into securing his home. Ron had arrived the night before to discover Luna and Hope unharmed, and the three had spent the night together in the living room.
"Thank you," nodded Luna as she sipped her tea. "Ron's already gone back to the cottage. He thinks the damage was remarkably light, all in all - a few Reparo charms should take care of it." She blinked thoughtfully. "Daddy sent another owl asking for an interview, but I've already explained that things are rather hectic at the moment…"
Angelina rolled her eyes at this; Ginny only smiled. "I think that would be why he wants the interview, Luna." Ginny was clearly more comfortable with Luna's odd world-view than Angelina would ever be.
"Yes, I suppose you're right." Luna's wandering eyes came to focus on her sisters-in-law - the Red Hennery, as George had once called them (very imprudently and to his everlasting regret). They'd come to offer moral support for Ron and Luna, and Luna was grateful for their presence.
"Does your father still use owls, then?" Angelina asked. "Fred hardly uses them at all anymore. It's always the Speaking Glass these days. Men and their gadgets," she added with a snort.
"Owls are still better in some ways," Ginny reminded her. "They can track down people on the move, like Luna." She gave Luna a friendly wink. Over the last couple of years, she'd made an extra effort to be nicer to Luna, and especially to Hope. They were now on much friendlier terms as a result.
"It's the Floo Network that will become obsolete, not owls," said Luna. "Daddy says that's why Speaking Glasses are still so small. The Ministry is pressuring Speculum to not make full-length Glasses, so they won't replace the Floo. Otherwise the Floo Network Authority would become just another Centaur Liaison Office."
Ginny paused. "Y'know… for a conspiracy theory, that actually makes a certain amount of sense." Angelina began to smile, then paused and looked thoughtful.
"Please, do not mention the Ministry," begged Fleur. "Bill has been having a terrible time with them this week…"
Angelina laughed. "They must not be making their quotas or something. Fred's always being hounded by them. Little Tristam's sure his Dada's an international master criminal." She laughed again, then groaned and put her hand on her bulging stomach. "Ooops. Sorry, honey…"
"The little one's kicking again?" asked Fleur knowingly. "Tristam and Lance will soon have other things to think about than Fred's criminal record…"
"Uh oh, watch out, they're getting all gooey and Mum-like," Ginny smirked. "You and Ron'd better be careful, Luna, or you'll end up the same."
"Well, it's not like we aren't trying," said Luna. She spoke calmly enough, but there was an echo of wistfulness in her voice. Ginny immediately stopped smirking.
"Luna," she began anxiously, "I didn't mean…"
"Oh, I know," Luna said serenely. "I am starting to be concerned, though. I have to wonder if we're doing it right."
Ginny turned red. "I'm pretty sure you are. Well, uh, I mean, not that I'd know, of course…"
"The Healers haven't found anything wrong with either of us," continued Luna. "And we've tried all sorts of new techniques. Ron was very enthusiastic about some of them, especially the one with the balloons…"
"Too much information, Luna," said Angelina pointedly.
"We even tried eating some vervain-and-acorn mash that one of Daddy's readers recommended. She said it was supposed to promote fertility. It did turn out to be rather romantic: Ron and I spent the entire evening together, ralphing in the bathroom." Luna smiled reminiscently.
The other three witches exchanged uncomfortable glances. "Maybe you and Ron should just… not try so hard," Angelina suggested. "It's not as though Ron's in some sort of competition with his brothers."
"No, of course not," Luna readily agreed. "And we do have Hope, after all."
"In more ways than one," came a voice from the doorway. Bill stepped into the kitchen and snagged Fleur's cup of coffee. He grinned at the assembled ladies as he took a sip. "Hello, all. Glad you could be here - Ma Maison, ta maison. Luna, you holding up?"
"Is all well, Bill?" asked Fleur, rescuing her coffee. "You aren't normally home in the middle of the day…"
"Promised Ron I'd help with some new security spells on their house," Bill explained. "It made for a good excuse to get out of Gringotts for the day… it's pretty tense there right now. The Ministry and the goblins are about ready to go after each other, hammer and tongs…"
A sudden, loud shriek of rage echoed from another room of the house. "Maman!" cried Michelle. "Mamaaaaaan! Elle le fait encore!"
"Ah, zut," muttered Fleur, hastily rising from the table. "Isabeau, what am I to do with you…?"
"Mum?" came Hope's voice, "we need your help." She sounded determined not to shriek, but the strain was noticeable.
"Oh dear," blinked Luna. She followed Fleur out of the kitchen to deal with the unknown calamity.
Ginny watched them rush from the room, and couldn't help chuckling. "And that, lady and gentleman, is why I've avoided both matrimony and motherhood to this day. Sorry, Angelina."
"Just you wait, girl. Some bloke will hook you right and proper someday. And you'll marry him and get all sappy-eyed and gain twenty pounds overnight. And I'm going to throw your baby shower and remind you of what you just said, and I'm going to laugh."
"Pfft. Not gonna happen." Ginny looked up at Bill. "What's the deal with the Ministry, anyway? I've heard rumors about some problems they were having with the vampires, but I thought they left the goblins pretty much alone…"
"I imagine someone in the Ministry's getting greedy, and the goblins are responding by getting stubborn," said Bill. "It's all about Harry's estate."
Ginny immediately lost her smile. "Harry's estate?"
"Yeah… it's impressive. He started out well-to-do, you know, with the money his parents left him. Then when Sirius died, he inherited the Black fortune and properties. And then Dumbledore left him his money - a fair bit of gold there, you can save a lot in a hundred and fifty years - plus all those rare books and magical devices. Some of them were worth a fortune, all by themselves. Long story short, Harry was an extremely wealthy man when he died - and he died without leaving a will."
"And of course, he has no immediate relatives," said Ginny impatiently, "or at least none that matter. Wizarding law would exclude the Dursleys. We know all this, Bill."
"Fine. Do you also know what wizarding law says about people who die intestate? No will, no heirs… after ten years, if there are no legitimate claimants, all that money reverts to the Ministry. And trust me, the Ministry is quite eager to get its sticky little hands on it." Bill scowled as he again picked up Fleur's cup and took a deep sip.
"But it's not ten years, not yet," Angelina pointed out. "It's almost six months too early for that. Doesn't the Ministry at least have to wait until July before they ask for Harry's money?"
"As I said, someone's getting greedy. They want to start the process now, for some reason." Bill shook his head. "I can't really blame the goblins for getting their hackles up. Hell, I'm offended. But I have to play mediator between Gringotts and the Ministry, and I need to at least appear impartial. It's no fun, I assure you."
"Bill," said Ginny slowly, suspiciously, "if wizarding law says the Ministry gets Harry's money, how can the goblins ignore that? What possible argument could they give for not handing it over?"
Bill didn't immediately reply. "I couldn't say, Gin-Gin," he said after a cautious pause.
Ginny stood abruptly, all traces of friendliness gone. "I'd best be on my way. Good talking with you both. Angelina, tell Luna I hope she'll be okay." With a curt nod to them, she Disapparated and was gone.
*
In the twins' bedroom, meanwhile, the calamity turned out to be of a cosmetic nature. "Look at us!" cried Michelle. "Look at what she did! I look like a mini-troll!"
"I didn't do anything," Isabeau objected smugly. "You did it to yourselves."
"After you told us to! You said it would work! Ooohhh!" Michelle ran her fingers through her metallic green hair as though she wanted to tear it out by its roots. Her nose had expanded considerably, and seemed to have sprung a leak in its left nostril.
"Silence!" commanded Fleur. "Both of you! How many times have I told you to stay out of my cosmetic potions? This is why!"
Hope stood to one side, trying to avoid Fleur's wrath. Luna caught her eye. "Hope," she said calmly, "did you use your Aunt Fleur's potions without permission?"
"I thought we had permission, Mum," Hope replied, staring stonily at Isabeau. "It had been… implied." The stony expression was apt in this case, since Hope's complexion now resembled volcanic mud in color and texture. Her hair had been gelled into something akin to a sea anemone.
"No one made you…" began Isabeau, before falling silent at her mother's Glare of Doom.
Fleur allowed her daughter to steep in her own guilt for a minute, then said coldly, "Luna… if you would remain with this… this instigatrix, I will try to help her unfortunate guinea pigs. And you…" She gave Isabeau a fearsome look, promising dire punishment in store. "You should consider just what I'm going to do to you when I get back." Isabeau gulped.
Hope and Michelle were escorted to Fleur's room. "You two are not completely blameless here," Fleur told them, "but restoring you to normal will be punishment enough, I think." She rummaged through a drawer on her vanity and brought out a bottle of vile-smelling fluid. "Potions aren't meant to be combined, mes petites. I think we can deal with most of this quickly, but it will sting."
Fleur raised her wand. "Accio chairs. Accio towels." A pair of small chairs slid into the room, as a couple of towels flew in from the bathroom. "All right, sit there." She covered the girls' shoulders with the towels. "Hold your breath and try not to move… Scourgify!"
"Ow! Ow! Maman!" yelped Michelle. "Owwww!" Beside her, Hope gave a sibilant hiss of pain.
"Almost… I think that does it. Now one last step - Finite Incantatem!" Fleur lowered her wand and gestured towards the vanity mirror. The girls saw that their faces, at least, had returned to normal. Their hair, on the other hand, still looked like wigs from a nightmare.
"And this should take care of your hair," said Fleur, handing the bottle to Michelle. "Shampoo with it, then rinse very thoroughly. You can use my bathroom. Yes, I know it smells," she added unsympathetically, as Michelle wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Consider it a reminder to not do whatever your sister tells you." Giving them a final stern look, Fleur left to deal with Isabeau.
The two young witches sat silently for a moment. "She said it was okay," Michelle grumbled. "She told us she'd tried the potions herself."
"No… she only let us think that," said Hope evenly. "She was very good."
Michelle looked askance. "You admire her for that?"
"No, no, no. Just noting that we'll have to be better." Hope cocked her head curiously at Michelle. "Or don't you believe in revenge?"
Michelle grinned wickedly. "Only when it's sweeeeeet."
"I think I can promise that." Hope gave Michelle a tiny, secret smile that boded Isabeau no good. "I have some ideas."
"You always do, brain." Michelle sighed and looked at the bottle in her hand. "Best to get this over with. I'll go first." She went into the bathroom, dragging the towel behind her, and closed the door.
Waiting her turn, Hope examined herself in the mirror. Her face was just the same as before… nothing wrong with it, but nothing exciting about it, either. She knew what Mum would say: that she shouldn't care so much about her appearance. Which was easy for Mum to say. Mum didn't look so boring. She scolded herself for falling for Isabeau's trickery, while wondering why Michelle had done so. Michelle had no reason to be insecure about her looks, she had as much Veela blood as Isabeau…
Her train of thought stopped suddenly. Hope leaned closer to stare at her reflection. Had the mixture of potions had a permanent effect after all? Her eyes were no longer blue, like her father's and Mum's. They'd turned green - brilliant emerald green.
She leaned closer still and stared deeper into her own eyes, almost as though she were mesmerizing herself. Not until she heard Michelle open the bathroom door did Hope tear her gaze away from the mirror. She kept her eyes lowered as she took the shampoo from Michelle and went into the bathroom. Hope didn't need more attention drawn to her looks today - she'd suffered quite enough, thank you very much.
*
When she awoke the following morning, her eyes were blue once more. She decided it must have been a side-effect of too many cosmetic potions, and redoubled her plans for vengeance.
*
Ron and his family moved back into their home a week later, before the pre-teen skirmishing could escalate into all-out war. (Hope and Michelle had had the last word, something involving Isabeau's inappropriate choice of underwear. Ron had made a conscious effort to not know all the details of that one.)
All the damage to the cottage caused by the Death Eater attack had been tracelessly repaired… and a few new additions had been made. "Bill arranged for some special doors for us," Ron explained proudly. "Apparators stop at these doors, guaranteed. And here…" He gestured at a new mirror hanging by the kitchen door.
"A Speaking Glass?" asked Luna in amusement. "May I assume this is a gift from Fred?"
Ron looked puzzled. "No, why? This is from Speculum, the firm that makes them. A complimentary gift, you might say."
It was Luna's turn to look puzzled. "Complimentary, Ronald?"
"Well, yeah. Seeing they're also paying us royalties on each one they sell…" Ron paused. "You didn't know? Speaking Glasses are the first practical application of the new research from Hermione's journals. Speculum wanted to call them Granger Glasses, but I vetoed that idea."
"Ah. I see." Luna looked perfectly composed, as always - an outsider would have thought nothing amiss - but Ron had been married too many years not to notice her sudden coolness.
"I thought I'd told you, love," he said contritely, putting his arms around her. "I must've forgotten… I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to keep it secret from you."
"Just as well," she smiled. "You're appalling at keeping secrets." She kissed his nose to show that she wasn't upset, then tilted her head in thought. "So… any other discoveries based on Hermione's journals will likewise bring us royalties?"
"Part of the contract with Purvue," nodded Ron, glad he'd diverted her. He started to tell her about the other security spells Bill had used, in an effort to change the subject, when fate changed the subject for him.
"Mum? Dad?" Hope called from her bedroom. "What's all this?"
Luna looked at Ron. "More additions?"
He shrugged, mystified. Together they went upstairs to Hope's room. There they found Hope standing amidst half a dozen large boxes. She'd opened one; it appeared to be full of books.
"Where'd these come from, sproglet?" asked Ron.
"They were here when I came into the room," said Hope. "Didn't you bring them in? With everything else?"
Ron shook his head. He hesitated a second before recalling all the newly cast security spells - there was no way these boxes could pose a danger. He leaned over the open box and looked inside. Some of the books looked vaguely familiar to him…
He pulled a volume out and read the title on the spine. "Hogwarts, a History. Don't tell me…" He quickly opened the book and read the bookplate on the inside cover. "These are Hermione's old school books!"
"Are they indeed?" asked Luna coolly. "I wonder how they got here." She was opening another box as she spoke.
"I have no idea. I certainly didn't bring them in…!"
"There was a note attached to the top box," offered Hope. "'To Hope Justinia, when she's ready.' What's that supposed to mean?"
"Let me see, Hope." Luna took the bit of parchment and examined it closely. "Hogwarts stationery," she said after a minute. "With some sort of notification charm on it. Hermione must have left all this at the school and trusted someone to deliver it when the time was right. I wonder who."
Ron snorted. "Given that this all was delivered to our house without being seen… my money's on Dobby."
"You're probably right, My King," she replied, smiling again. "You should thank him tomorrow." She reached into the box she'd opened and brought out a set of brass scales. "All your mother's old school supplies are here, dear. She wanted you to have them."
"Did she write anything else?" Hope selected another book at random and flipped through its pages. They were all pristine and unmarked. "No class notes? No scribbles in the margins?"
"We've had bad luck with books that had scribbles in the margins," said Ron darkly. "And anyway, your mother would never have sullied a book by writing in it. She practically considered the printed word to be sacred."
"But no other messages?"
"Apparently not," said Luna. "Though the gift is a message in itself, isn't it?"
"I s'ppose. Well, it'll be nice to have my own copies of these books. I won't have to…" Hope broke off what she was saying and kept her eyes glued to the contents of the box.
Luna regarded her thoughtfully. "Hope," she said after a moment, "have you been reading my old school books?"
"Um… some of 'em, I guess." Hope looked up. "You aren't angry, are you?"
"Not that you've been reading about magic. A little hurt that you didn't ask permission, perhaps. You do seem to be making a habit of that." Luna waited until Hope had mumbled an apology, then smiled encouragingly. "Talk to me about anything you don't understand. And I'd prefer if you restricted yourself to reading only… no experimentation." She lifted a small pewter cauldron out of the box she held. "Or do I need to remind you how dangerous potions can be?" No longer smiling, Luna looked deadly earnest.
"No, Mum, I understand. No experimentation." She glanced at Ron and gave a startled cry. "Dad?"
Ron had backed away from the boxes and was leaning against the wall. His face was white; his hands were shaking. He was staring at the cauldron in Luna's hands. Luna immediately dropped the cauldron back into the box, out of sight, and rushed to hold her husband. "Ronald, what is it? Ronald?"
"That smell," he whispered. "It's Polyjuice…"
Luna sniffed carefully. The cauldron did have the stink of Polyjuice Potion, but that shouldn't make Ron react this way. "But it's only Polyjuice…" she tried to reassure him.
"We used it… hunting the Horcruxes…" Ron pressed his lips together as he saw how Hope was paying close attention. He took a deep breath and managed a shaky smile. "Sorry about that… didn't mean to be such a drama queen. Excuse me?" He gently removed himself from Luna's embrace and left the room quickly.
Luna and Hope looked at one another helplessly. It had been happening more frequently, as the tenth anniversary of Lord Voldemort's defeat approached. Some stray image, or scent, or sound, would remind Ron Weasley of his Terrible Year… the year he disappeared with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, fighting in secret against Voldemort. The year that had ended with the deaths of his closest friend and his all-but-fiancée.
Hope was coming to realize what Luna had known for years: that Ron really needed to talk about it someday, and that he never, ever would. "Hot chocolate, Mum?" she suggested instead.
"Laced with firewhiskey," Luna nodded. "Don't worry, ducks, your father will be all right."
"'Course he will. He's got you."
Luna blinked, then gave Hope a bright smile. "Thank you, love. Now why don't you start putting away your new books while I help your father relax?" She kissed her daughter on the forehead before leaving the room to find Ron.
*
"Our problem," Hermione told them the day after they'd settled in Grimmauld Place, "is that we know nothing about Horcruxes."
"Don't really want to, do we?" Ron asked. "I mean, they're really Dark magic according to Slughorn. I can't think it's too healthy to know too much about them."
"About how to make them, perhaps, I agree. But there are some things we do need to know about them." Hermione ticked off the points on her fingers. "How to locate them. How to identify them. And most important, how to destroy them."
"Without frying ourselves in the process," added Harry, "like Dumbledore did to his hand." He slid his glasses up onto his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Unfortunately, the spells he used were not among the memories he left me in his Pensieve."
"He left you a Pensieve?"
"Among other things. Lots of pretty memories there, but nothing really practical." Harry replaced the glasses over his eyes and sat up a bit straighter. "Dumbledore told me there were originally six Horcruxes. There's four left: Slytherin's locket, Hufflepuff's cup, Voldemort's snake, and something that used to belong to either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Finding them will be the real problem. Well, finding them and getting them. Finding them, getting them, and destroying them…" He let out a frustrated groan.
"That's what we have to discover," said Hermione, keeping them on topic. "The Hogwarts library had virtually nothing on Horcruxes. And given the injury he suffered to his hand, I don't think Dumbledore really knew that much about them, either. He certainly didn't know how to destroy them safely."
"It's Dark magic, Hermione," Ron objected. "I mean seriously Dark magic, the kind that can corrupt your mind just by knowing about it. The only real expert is You-Know-Who, and it's not like we can walk up and ask him."
Hermione furrowed her brow in thought. "But even Voldemort had to learn about Horcruxes from somewhere," she said slowly. "He didn't invent them. So there must be a source for the information we want. If it isn't at Hogwarts, and it isn't in Dumbledore's collection - and I'll check the books here at Grimmauld Place, but I'm betting it isn't here either - then we have to go where they do have the information."
Ron and Harry looked at each other in confusion. Hermione tsk'ed impatiently. "What school were we always told catered more to the Dark Arts than was healthy?"
"Durmstrang," said Harry promptly. "You think the Durmstrang library…?"
"Its Restricted Section, certainly. It's worth a shot, anyway." Hermione dove into her bag to bring out a roll of parchment, giving her an excuse to avoid Ron's and Harry's eyes. "I've written a letter to Viktor, asking him for help… without giving away any secrets, Harry, don't worry! He hates the Dark Arts as much as we do…"
"Krum? You're asking for help from Viktor Krum?!" Try as he might, Ron couldn't keep the outrage from his voice.
"Whose help would you suggest, Ron?" Hermione shot back. "If we're going to travel to an Unplottable school, we need someone's help to get there!"
"What makes you think Krum's interested in helping us? He didn't do anything against Karkaroff, did he? Even though Karkaroff was a Death Eater! Why should he help us?"
"He'd help me! We've been friends for years, and I think I'm a good enough judge of character…"
"You mean, like Kreacher? Snape? Oh, did I hear someone say Lockhart?"
The argument was interrupted by the sound of Harry furiously slamming his open hand on the table. Once he had their attention, he ruled, "I agree we should try Durmstrang's library, see what they've got on Horcruxes. Ron, that means we have to have Krum's help: we don't know anyone else who can get us into Durmstrang. Hermione, I'd prefer to involve Krum as little as possible - for his own safety, if nothing else." He waited a beat, then asked more quietly, "So how were you planning to go about it?"
"I thought… well, everyone knows that Krum and I are friends…"
Ron muttered something about grown men snogging fourth-years. When Hermione glared at him, he glared right back - but he stopped muttering.
"You were planning to have him escort you to Durmstrang, as his guest? Just paying a visit to the old alma mater?" Harry thought about it for a second. "He wouldn't really have any reason to visit, other than to show you the place. Problem is, everyone also knows that you and I are friends."
"He's always offered to show me Durmstrang, if I ever came to visit him," Hermione replied, blushing but holding her head up - and pointedly ignoring Ron's renewed grumbling. "I don't think the school staff would be that suspicious. And if I go there before term begins, I won't run into as many people."
"No, they'll still be suspicious of you. C'mon… they're so paranoid, they made the whole school Unplottable. You can't tell me they welcome visitors." Harry held up a hand to forestall her counter-argument. "And if they do let you on the grounds, they'll watch you. Even if you weren't my friend, you are Muggleborn. You wouldn't be allowed into the library, let alone the Restricted Section."
Hermione looked crestfallen. "I hadn't thought of that… You're right, they wouldn't leave me alone for a minute. Does this mean we have to ask Krum to look in the library for us, after all?"
"We still don't want to involve him," said Ron with an edge of snide satisfaction. "For his own safety, don't you know."
"Hold on, just a moment…" Harry thought hard for a minute, then nodded. "C'mon, let me show you something. I have an idea."
Mystified, Ron and Hermione followed Harry up the stairs to his bedroom - what had once been the master bedroom/study of the House of Black. Ron saw a large stone basin, which he assumed from Harry's descriptions to be Dumbledore's Pensieve… there were some bizarre silver contraptions, and piles of old books… "Did Dumbledore leave you all this junk, Harry?"
"Yeah. It was here when we arrived. I reckon he arranged for Dobby or someone to bring them from his office at Hogwarts." Harry dug through the clutter until he came up with a flask full of grayish liquid so thick it was almost sludge. "Polyjuice Potion. Merlin only knows what Dumbledore was using it for… maybe to search for all the memories he showed me last year…"
Hermione looked puzzled. "I don't understand, Harry. You surely aren't suggesting that you Polyjuice into Viktor, are you? Because you wouldn't be able to search the libraries at all efficiently…"
Harry shook his head. "No," he said, fighting to keep from smiling, "I'm suggesting that you Polyjuice into Viktor. We'll get some of his hair, and he can tell us how to get to Durmstrang, and there his involvement will end. That'll keep him safe enough."
"And what excuse do we give for Vickie popping up at Durmstrang?" asked Ron.
"The same as before," replied Harry, and now the smile had broken out full force. "He's showing the school to his good friend Hermione Granger."
Hermione blinked twice before she began to return his smile. "And while everyone's attention is focused on Hermione, keeping her from learning anything, Krum will be free to search the library at leisure."
"Not quite leisure, but yeah. What d'you think?"
"I think you're going to need a crash course in how to walk and talk and act like a lady. I've a reputation to maintain."
"Keep my legs crossed when I sit down, and chew with my mouth closed. How hard can it be?" Harry grinned and flipped an imaginary head of hair behind him. He furrowed his brow and chewed his lip anxiously. "Oh no," he said in a breathy falsetto, "I mistranslated that rune as 'ehwaz', it should have been 'eihwaz', I just know I'll lose points for that…"
"Shut it, you," Hermione grinned, with a friendly swat to Harry's arm. It had taken that long for Ron to catch on to their plan: Hermione would go to Durmstrang disguised as Viktor Krum - and Harry would go disguised as Hermione.
Looking back and forth at them as, amidst friendly banter, they discussed how they would contact Krum, when they would make the trip, what sorts of diversions they might attempt, Ron felt as though he should raise some sort of objection to their plans. But by the time he could verbalize anything that didn't sound churlish and petty, the plans were already set.
*
Hope was still sorting through her boxes a week later. The books had mostly been removed from the boxes, but hadn't yet made their way to the bookshelves: they were stacked in piles on the floor of her room. It seemed like the full seven-year Hogwarts syllabus had been included… she looked forward to reading some of the more advanced books later. At the moment she was pawing through the one box that contained no books. It contained school supplies instead: the scales and cauldron that Mum had found, a telescope, some Potions ingredients neatly labeled, a circular Arithmancy calculator…
And a small package wrapped in dark paper, sealed with wax. Hope turned it over in her hands thoughtfully. It didn't look like a school supply… looked, in fact, like something secret. On the other hand, it was in a box addressed to her, so presumably it was intended for her. Which meant her parents didn't need to know about it, did they?
Nodding at her own impeccable logic, she broke the seal and unwrapped the package. It was a cabinet portrait, slightly larger than her hand - a painting, not a photograph - in an antique bronze frame. It showed a bushy-haired young woman, her eyes closed and her face peaceful. In one hand she held a closed book; her other hand was pressed low against her stomach.
Hope recognized her at once. Even if she hadn't sought out pictures of this woman (ever since she'd been told her birth mother's name), the face could be found in dozens of history books. This was Hermione Granger - her mother.
"So hello there," she whispered to the portrait. "Thank you for the books."
And then, to her surprise, the portrait moved. The figure stirred, blinked its eyes as though awakening from a long sleep, and squinted up at her. As the figure's eyes focused, it began to smile. "You must be Hope," said the portrait. "And you're entirely welcome."