Chapter Twenty-Four
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One month
Hermione watched the boiling water in the pot she was holding. The kettle was so charred she couldn't guess the original color. Her brown knitted sweater was breaking at every seam and cold was leaking up the hems, her skin was aching of cold all over. She looked down at her white skin, exposed just above her wrist and focused on it for just a moment. She knew what freezing skin looked like, but she tried to shake the thought. If they had survived this long they could manage a bit longer.
"No!" she heard a young voice protest and she turned around. Her heart sank as she realized that the scene before her was not at all unfamiliar. It was a very young boy, six or seven, holding a large tin cup refusing to approach the fire. Behind him were around six boys urging him forwards.
Just the look on his face hurt Hermione. It had nothing to do with the tea they wanted him to drink. He was a refugee….
He was on his own, he was deserted - he was all alone!
The little boy was maybe five years old and he had raven black hair that curled around his head. His eyes were dark brown and as he looked up and met Hermione's, she felt like kneeling.
"Hi," she whispered completely floored by him. She had felt so much sadness by so many children and people before but she had never been affected like this. She looked into his brown eyes and he looked back.
"My name is Hermione," she whispered but had no idea what language he spoke
"My name is Thomas," he answered He speaks English, she marveled.
It took her less than an hour to find out that Thomas was an Irish refugee with a Spanish father. He spoke no Spanish, because before his parents were able to teach him Spanish they both were killed. Something about Thomas made Hermione take to him especially. She allowed him to follow her everywhere. And follow her, he surely did.
Two months
Hermione was pulling the laundry from the river. They had been rinsing there for one hour and it was time to pull them out. The wild river was pouncing hard and it was about the last time they could use the river for laundry. After this week one would have to boil the clothes.
She grabbed a hold of a clothes-line filled with skirts and drawers and it tugged back. It was dark out and the brook was too loud. She tugged back and felt like she was winning as the river pulled back.
She cried out in frustration, her muscles giving up. She heaved the clothes back on land and she slumped back, exhausted. Tears burned behind her eyes.
When she finally returned back to camp, her hamper overfilled she was handed a loaf of newly baked bread, she gratefully took it and walked exhaustedly back to her camp. She knew who would be waiting for her.
"You should be asleep!" she grinned as she entered.
"You have bread!" he called out excitedly.
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Three months
November
Hermione was asleep in her tent. The swift cool air hit her face suddenly and she opened her eyes.
"Thomas?" she said, he voice breaking.
"Wakeup!" he said eagerly, hurrying over to her fire warming his small hands.
"What? Someone else is supposed to make breakfast today," she said and pulled her covers tight around her.
"Dumbledore is here!"
Hermione's eyes shot open.
"What?" she sat up, "Are you sure?"
Thomas nodded and she sprang out of the cot. Her bare feet hurt from the cold floor. She grabbed Thomas shoulders and steered him out of the tent.
"Tell them that I'll be there in a moment," she ordered and shoved him outside.
She flung her clothes eagerly, but telling herself to calm down.
It might not be him, she told herself, Thomas had never seen him. All he knows is that he has a long white beard.
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She ran across the camp to the meeting tent and flung the opening aside. Her stomach fell because there he was; Dumbledore was sitting calmly on a stool sipping tea.
"Hermione!" he said and his eyes glittered warmly. "You shouldn't have hurried for my sake."
Hermione stumbled inside. She hadn't seen Dumbledore in months.
"What's wrong?" she gasped and sat down as Dumbledore gestured for her to take a seat on the floor.
"Oh nothing is wrong with Harry or anyone else," he assured her. "How are you coping in the camp?"
"I'm coping," she answered and avoided his peering eyes.
"Yes," he seemed to read her mind. "Tea?"
She looked over at the kettle hanging over the fire, something warm did sound excellent. As she poured herself a cup she felt Dumbledore following her every move and her hands shook.
"How is he? Where is he?" she blurted out before she had sat down on a pillow on the floor. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled again and she felt frustrated.
"This war is hard for everyone," he said and for the first time he looked sad. "Harry is also coping. He is in good health. As to where he is…"
"You can't tell me," she finished for him.
"No, I can't I am afraid."
Hermione drank some of the tea and the hot beverage woke her insides up. She looked over at the old wizard across from her. She had waited to hear from him for so many months. Now she couldn't think of what to say. Once she had heard that Harry was alive, all other questions seemed lost.
"The others? How are things going for us?" she had a pretty good idea about how things were going, they all received fairly close updates but she still wanted to hear it from him.
"There are ups and downs. But I want to hear how you like life in the camp."
She took a deep sigh and he smiled, she was pretty sure he knew what she was about to say.
"I feel," she took yet another deep breath," I could do more useful things."
Dumbledore nodded along with her as she spoke. "I mean just returning as a spy, I could work back at the pub. I could clean someone's house, I could do anything. I do have magical training, and I am working here like a housewife, a babysitter…. Not that there is anything wrong with what is happening in the camp, I just mean…"
Dumbledore held up his hand, trying to quiet her.
"Cedric Diggory has been injured," he said and Hermione put a hand over her mouth, stifling the loud gasp that had just escaped her. She couldn't ask any questions, she was shocked. "Not to worry, he just injured the same leg again as last time. But he needs to rest from battle for a while.
"Do you need me to care for him here?" Hermione asked, quickly running through her supplies in her head. There wasn't too much in the camp and she worried she couldn't help him enough.
Dumbledore smiled kindly again, he looked very patient.
"I am sorry Hermione," he sad sadly. "I see now that I have left you isolated for a long time." Dumbledore looked down at his hands. "Things are getting very violent in many parts of Europe. Many friends need somewhere to hide. Many have gone into hiding but some are left behind."
Hermione looked skeptically at him.
"What can I do?" she asked, honestly wanting to help.
"I want you and Cedric to bring lost children here, to this camp."
The tent went quiet for a moment.
"How?" Hermione asked, eager to get started.
"They need to be smuggled. But the borders are harder guarded then ever, and you will need to be very careful. There are a few temporary camps around Europe, especially in the East. They can't possibly take care of all the orphans and lost children, they hadn't have time to prepare like we have. That's were I need you two. I need you to bring them here. We need to take some of the heavy load from these camps before they all cave-in."
"Of course." She felt eager; she wanted to jump out of her seat. "When will Cedric get here?" He smiled again and a small chuckle escaped his lips. "Is he well enough to travel" she added in a worried tone.
"He is well enough."
Hermione eyed her mentor and hero; he was looking frail and very tired.
"Sir?" she asked.
He looked up and he looked older than she had every seen him. "Are you okay?"
"This war is taking its toll on all of us Hermione. I am eager for it to end well, and I, as you, sometimes get frustrated at staying behind when all we want to do is fight. Qui desiderat pacem, praeparet bellum."
"Sorry sir, I don't…
"Let him who wishes for peace prepare for war."
She nodded, understanding all too well.
"Please Sir; don't make me stay behind anymore. I am just wasting away in this camp," she pleaded.
"I wont' Hermione, I promise I won't anymore. As things have become, we need everyone at this point." He started to get up and he seemed hard at getting up. Hermione hurried forwards and grabbed his elbow. He smiled gratefully at her.
"Cedric will be here in a couple of hours," he continued. "He won't come to the camp, we can not afford to chance it just now, and you will meet him in the closest town. He is at the Inn."
"Always such a hurry with you," she joked and he chuckled.
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Hermione was running from side to side of her small tent. She had only a short time to prepare on what to pack. She had no idea yet of where her journey would take her. It was winter, and all of Europe would be cold. But going to Spain in December was a huge difference then going the north of Finland. God, she hoped she wasn't going that far north just now. She didn't do well with ice and reindeers - nor did she have a particular wish of meeting Santa Claus.
Thinking about it, it wouldn't surprise her if Santa Claus was actually Dumbledore dressing up just to give the muggles a lovely treat, and amusing himself. She grinned at the thought as she stuffed down her sleeping bag in its holder and from it a blue t-shirt fell out. She reached for it quickly and clasped it close.
Hermione didn't have a photo of Harry; all she had was a t-shirt he had left by mistake the last time they had met. She had clung to it every night since he left even though the smell of him had left just a few days after he had. She pressed it close to her face, willing a small fraction of his scent to come to her. It didn't. It never did, no matter how much she wanted it to. She looked down at the shirt, she couldn't bring it? Could she?
Tears burned again, almost three months since she had gotten a letter, she was so frustrated.
She heard a sound behind her and spun around.
"Hi sweetie," she smiled as she saw Thomas there.
"Are you leaving?" he asked looking around. She quickly saw the look of terror on his face and hurried to him. She huddled down and looked into his eyes.
"Just for a while, but I am coming back," he looked panicked from side to side.
"Someone will take your tent," he stammered and she smiled kindly at him.
She placed her arm around his shoulders as they sat down on the bed.
"Maybe they will, if they need it. But do you know what, if they do, I'll just sleep in your tent." Thomas snorted.
"But there are five boys in there," he snickered and Hermione smiled.
"Yeah, can't sleep in the same tent as boys, might get some kind of disease," she teased and tickled him. Thomas got serious again.
"I can come with you, I can help."
"Yes, yes you can. Do you know how?"
She looked into his dark brown coffee colored eyes. "Keep an eye out for things around the camp for me, I'll want to know what I've missed when I was away."
Thomas nodded seriously, tears started to fill his eyes.
Hermione hated hearing people tell others to be brave, be a good boy. She knew exactly what he felt like, being left behind. Losing the only security he had.
Instead she just squeezed him as hard as she could.
"I will really really miss you," she whispered. "But I'll be back before you know it. And I'll bring loads of friends for you."
She ran a hand through his dark brown curls and they tangled around her fingers. What would happen to him now when she left? This camp was the safest place in Britain, she reminded herself and she got of the bed.
"Are you sad?" he asked and looked innocently at her.
She bit her lip and turned to him.
"Yes Thomas, I am sad because I will really miss you, Why lie, she thought " But then again, no I'm not sad, I am just thinking how about how many friends I can fit in my bag when I bring them back to you," she answered and Thomas broke out in a big smile.
"You can't carry children in your bag!"
She smacked her forehead.
"You're right! I'll have to remember that. Now give me a hug and run a long, I think I hear lunch being prepared."
Thomas hugged her and she let her lips graze his head quickly, she didn't want to make a big deal of her departure.
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Dumbledore walked next to her in the forest. Hermione hated November in England. There was no snow, just a lingering feeling of frost in the air. She exhaled as she trotted next to Dumbledore and her breath came out as a smoke cloud.
She slipped on a frosty branch and cursed under her breath.
She looked over at Dumbledore hastily.
"Never mind me," he smiled and continued walking. "We are almost near the border, soon it will be safe…" he insisted.
He had told her this for twenty minutes, she trusted him without a doubt but she really wished he would give her and idea of how much further they could walk before they find the portkey.
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After another ten minutes Dumbledore finally stopped.
"I will leave you here Hermione."
She swallowed hard. "You have left me hardly any instructions.
"And I am sorry about that," he agreed. "Things have been rash, but as you yourself pointed out, that is often the case with me." He smiled, and the smiled reached his eyes. "A letter will be delivered to you tomorrow with further instructions. You will be traveling to the areas around Austria/Hungary. I do not know the exact place at this moment. Stay the night at the Inn in town, make sure Cedric is rested and then wait for the letter."
Hermione nodded.
"Will I meet…?"
"No one will be in the same area," he finished and she swallowed. "The portkey is that pinecone over there," he nodded towards a pile with around twenty pinecones. "Good luck!" he said and with a poof he was gone.
Hermione couldn't help rolling her eyes. She started rummaging through the pinecones frustrated. What was wrong with just telling her which one was the one?!
Suddenly something yanked inside her belly and she didn't have time to realize she had found the right one.
With a large thud she landed on something hard. A wooden floor? Yes! She had her face pressed hard against a floor.
"Finally!" she heard the familiar voice of Cedric Diggory.
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