Chapter 3
Hermione had her wand of dragon heartstring pointed at the man in the white mask. The Owl Barn went completely silent. Ron surveyed the barn and saw a variety of weapons pointed at him and Hermione, a few he'd never seen before. Some of them wielded wands while others carried guns and blunt objects of different shapes and sizes. Hermione ignored the cold sweat he was developing. So Ron slightly nudged her in the side to get her attention. The young witch turned her head and noticed the predicament they were now in.
"Whoa, whoa," Logan shouted. His hands were up in the air, not as a sign of surrender, but to deescalate the situation. The bar patrons looked at Logan for guidance and then the old bartender, Martha, whom was standing behind the bar. A few of them settled down in their seats while others refused to let down their guard.
"Put yer wands down," Martha shouted from across the barn. "Yer may have wands but they can't stop my buckshot." Even though she was a muggle, Hermione was still very afraid of the shotgun she holding firmly in her hands.
"It's okay Martha," Logan interrupted. Martha grimaced, but gave in and nodded to the other patrons. Ron and Hermione didn't feel any safer when they placed their respective weapons away. Then the duo turned their attention to the wizard wearing the mask, their wands still drawn. "You don't need those."
"What's with the mask?" Hermione growled.
"Not yet," said Logan. "First let us enjoy a pint of warm butterbeer. Please, sit. Don't make me suggest twice." Hermione and Ron shared a look and took the chars opposite of the masked wizard. While Ron placed his wand into his pocket, Hermione kept hers out, under the table. Logan raised his hand, holding two fingers up.
"What is this place?" Ron asked, trying to figure anything out.
"It's the Owl Barn." Logan answered. Martha walked over to the table holding a tray of two butterbeers. She placed them on the table without looking and walked away in a matter of seconds. Ron took the opportunity to drink the warm butterbeer, and since it was free: it was tastier. Hermione ignored the beverage and examined Logan.
"Why are you wearing that mask?" the young witch pushed. Hermione didn't care, she needed answers and she was going to get them.
"Didn't I say-" he began.
"Answer the question," Hermione demanded. Logan paused and stared at her, or at least that's what she thought he was doing. The eyeholes of the mask were circular and the lighting in the barn created shadows that covered his eyes, but she could feel them on her, looking into her soul.
"First put away the wand," Logan ordered in a serious tone. It a sent a cold shiver down Hermione's spine. Ron was too occupied with drinking his butterbeer to notice her discomfort. The young witch conceived to Logan's order and placed her wand into her bag. "That's better. And by the way, you never told me your name."
"It's Hermione Granger." She answered quickly.
"Herm-Own-Ninny?" Logan chuckled.
"Excuse me," Hermione growled. She tried to stand up but Ron grabbed her shoulders to keep her back, almost knocking his pint over. The young witch shot him an angry glance and he let go of her immediately.
"I was just joking." Logan laughed. "Please, settle down." Hermione looked at him and then Ron. She took a deep breath to calm herself and sat back into the chair.
"Why are you wearing the mask?"
"I've spent the past few months infiltrating this organization known as the Vanguard," said Logan. "I've been forced into wearing this stupid mask as apart of my initiation into the group." He paused for a moment to pick his butterbeer. "Can't remove it either, they put a curse on it. Only they can take it off. When I pass their tests, the 'V' is to turn a light grey to symbolize my acceptance into the group. They're a very weird bunch if you ask me." The masked wizard pressed the thumb and index finger of his right hand against the bottom of the mask. He pushed up, used leverage to create an opening, and guided the straw into his mouth with his left hand.
"Vanguard?" Ron had finished his butterbeer and was back in the conversation.
"The Aurors know about the attack in Scotland?" Hermione and Ron didn't respond. But Logan knew they were aware of the incident. "They're responsible for at least six attacks this year that I know of."
"I thought Scotland was the only one."
"Oh, right. Just because it didn't happen in Britain means it didn't happen anywhere else?" Logan laughed and finished his beverage. "Look, the wizarding world doesn't end at the shores of the British Isles. I'm positive you two know that." Then he stood up.
"What are you doing?" Hermione asked.
"It's time to go," Logan said and started walking towards the door.
"Where are you going?" Ron demanded.
"To a place with deaf ears," he chimed. "Aren't you coming?" Hermione and Ron exchanged confused looks and chased after him. Before they reached the door Logan stopped and turned around. In that instant, he grabbed both their hands.
* * * * *
The forest was cold due to a new layer of snow that covered the ground. It was light and thin, but the cloud cover helped keep the temperature down. The cold crept silently through their bodies as they registered the winter weather. Hermione pulled out a scarf from her bag and wrapped it tightly around her neck and covered her ears while Ron relied on rubbing his arms and hands together to keep warm.
"Where are we?" Ron asked, his teeth chattering. His body was now shaking uncontrollably.
"I'll explain later. I can only answer so many questions at one time." Logan responded as he pulled out a wool blanket out of his shoulder pack. He tossed to Ron to warm his body. Logan turned his back against them and started walking up the hill. Hermione and Ron were forced to follow. "The Vanguard may be new to Britain, but they're not to the rest of the wizarding world."
"But why now?" Ron was now trying to blow warm air into his cupped hands.
"Because Voldemort is gone," Hermione guessed.
"Exactly," Logan smiled. At least Hermione imagined he was smiling by the tone in his voice. "With You-Know-Who out of the picture, it's time for a new bad guy to take the spot light in Britain."
"Should we be afraid?" It was a dumb question and Ron was the only one to ask it.
"I don't know. Do you bleed?" Logan chuckled. "Of course. The Vanguard is composed of very dangerous and fanatical wizards and witches. They may not be as powerful as the Dark Lord, but they're more methodical and calculating."
"I don't follow," Ron muttered.
"I figured you wouldn't. Please Ronald, keep up. The Vanguard aren't about instilling fear or setting up puppet governments through coups. They prefer to be more stealth. They don't want to be seen or noticed. Members have been planted throughout the Ministry and even in offices of muggle governments. The members are also loyal and they don't have to rely on the Imperius Curse. A servant willing to die for the cause is much more dangerous."
"Do you know how many members are there?" Hermione wondered.
"No. I've met a few, but I'd be lying if I said I knew." He looked back at them, sharing their dissatisfaction with his answer. Logan paused for a brief moment and turned his head to the east. With a fist, he signaled them to stop. There was nothing. At least they couldn't see or hear anything except for the ambient sounds of the forest.
"You told Ron you saw Harry?" Hermione asked about her best friend. With the silence broken, they continued up the hill.
"Have you heard of Winter's Crest?" the masked wizard asked. Hermione glanced over at Ron, neither of them knew of the town. Ron just shrugged and Hermione shook her head, even though Logan couldn't see them. But their silence was a good enough response. "Well, that's where your friend, Harry Potter, was headed." This time the look Hermione and Ron shared was one of happiness and excitement.
"Where is Winter's Crest?" Ron asked immediately.
"We're about a day's hike from the village, actually," said Logan. "Unfortunately, the town is protected, so no apparating. And someone cast an invisibility charm over the damn thing too. So only those who've been there know where it is."
"Does that mean you've been there before?"
"Duh. At least, I hope I remember."
"Do you know if Harry's still there?" Hermione inquired.
"No idea. I haven't been there in months and I only saw Harry at Province." Hermione felt colder after his response. She was afraid that this might be a wild goose chase, but she needed answers.
* * * * *
They decided to make camp in a small opening along the trees. It was already nighttime and according to Logan: they were a few hours' trek from the village. The fire they built was small but it gave off enough heat to warm their bodies. Logan was trying to drink from a flask, the contents of the small tin smelled like butterbeer, while Ron lay on the ground, half asleep and wrapped in the wool blanket.
Hermione couldn't bother with sleep; she was too cold to let her rest. Instead, spent the night trying to read the Daily Prophet. Her body was completely frozen from head to toe, but she wouldn't shiver. Her bones felt like they were made of glass. Her legs were numb from the layer of snow beneath the wool blanket. Her hands and arms were like goose skin but the small fire kept them relatively warm. Steam slowly rose from her mouth as she breathed out.
"It's not as good as The Quibbler," Logan said as he managed to get the opening of the flask under the mask. Hermione lifted her head from the newspaper with an eyebrow cocked, but didn't answer him. She merely watched the masked wizard struggle with the flask in vain. "The Quibbler at least has something interesting to say." The young witch looked back down at the picture she was hiding with the Daily Prophet. It was the same picture of her and Harry swaying at the party.
"Why did you join the Vanguard?" Hermione asked.
"If I wasn't going to do it, who would?" He responded. "What? You think I joined them because I wanted to? I may be a little crazy, but I'm not… stupid."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to question your motives," she answered him.
"No," Logan stopped her. "It's good to question. If you don't, you'll never learn anything. You can't solely rely on people telling you things, now can you?"
"What's it like, wearing the mask?" Hermione gestured with her hand by making circular motions around her face.
"It's not so bad. It smells after a while. And it's hard to eat… and to drink."
"Oh. Um, so you actually saw Harry, right?" Hermione met his eyes, or at least the eyeholes in the mask. It was like staring into the darkness of night, engulfing everything and anything that looked into them.
"Yes," he nodded. "He was at the Owl Barn when I saw him. He was talking with Martha about Winter's Crest." There was a long silence between them.
"How was he?" Hermione wondered. "Was he all right? Did he look okay?"
"He looked fine to me."
"That's good." Hermione turned her attention back to the Daily Prophet. She carefully folded her the picture back into her pocket and pretended to read the front page. Even though her eyes were looking at the words printed on the newspaper, her mind wasn't registering them. All she could think about was Harry. She could only hope he was all right and safe.
"Do you know what the Vanguard is planning?" Hermione asked. Logan stared at her for a moment before answering.
"I have a question for your question," said the masked wizard. He dropped his flask into his pouch and lean forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Do you know why some pure-bloods hate Muggle-borns?" Hermione shook her head. She used to think about it when she was growing up in Hogwarts, but after a while, it faded out of her mind. The young witch had moved past the irrational hatred and embraced her parentage. Then Logan answered the question. "They're afraid of you, Hermione."
He smiled. Hermione could sense he was smiling.
"I don't understand and how did you know…" she responded.
"Please, I knew who you were when you walked into the Owl Barn. I'm very well versed in the wizarding community." He answered her. "My next question is: do you know the origins of magic?"
"No," said Hermione. "I never really thought about it."
"Well, neither do I, but that's what the Vanguard are trying to discover its origins. Besides that, I'm not entirely sure," replied Logan. "Magic is a wonderful phenomenon that we still don't fully understand."
"But what does that have to do with pure-bloods being scared of Muggle-borns?"
"You defy the 'natural' order of things, Hermione. Pure-bloods are born with magic because they are without Muggle ancestry and half-bloods are born with magic because they have a wizarding parent. So we can assume magic is passed down from parent to child. Then my next question is: where do Muggle-borns get their magical abilities?"
Hermione just sat there in silence. She often questioned her place in the wizarding world, but the origins of her magical abilities never really crossed her mind. Could one of her ancestors been a wizard or witch at some point, but somehow the inherent abilities never manifested until her? Or was it something else her mind couldn't grasp or comprehend? Hermione merely stared into the flickering flames of the dying fire. The light danced across her face and distorted the serious expression she wore.
"You should get some rest," Logan interrupted her trance. Hermione looked back up at him.
"And what about you?" she asked.
"Well, someone has to keep an eye out," the masked wizard stood up and stretched his arms and legs. "Besides, I don't sleep much. We'll talk about this later." Hermione nodded and pulled out her own blanket from her bag. She placed the blanket on the snow-covered ground and used her bag as a pillow. The only thing she could picture in her mind was Harry before she lost herself to the night. With her eyes closed, sleep finally took her.
* * * * *
A/N: Thanks for reading. I'll be changing things up after this chapter. Each will be told in POV of a different character, primarily: Hermione, Ron, Logan, and Harry, at least until new characters are introduced. And again, thanks for reading!
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