Absolute Power

7 - The Traitor

Hermione paces the halls of Grimmauld Place. She can't remember when or how she got here, but with her lack of sleep these days, she's not that surprised in her lapses in memory. Currently, the Order is having a top-secret mission that she's not privy to, despite her constant nagging and protests. 

"But I can help!" She'd pleaded in the doorway to the kitchen. 

"When you are needed, you will know." Lupin had said before forcefully shutting the door in her face. They had cast muffliato charms and locked themselves in, she had tried both eavesdropping and opening to door to no avail. She spent a good ten minutes slumped against the hallway wall, defeated, before deciding to make her way to the library and catch up on whatever research she could. 

Although not nearly as impressive as Hogwarts', the library at Grimmauld Place has an exciting array of journals and books left by long-dead Black ancestors. They give her interesting insight into the minds of the death eaters and their pure blood ideals, and reading through them fortifies her against her enemy. Evil, bigotted, elitist... honestly, she could go on. Throwing the diary of Cassiopeia Black to the side, Hermione lies face up and the couch and sighs. Only one of the diaries had mentioned anything to do with Horcruxes, and it had called them 'infernal devices' that 'only the sickest of mind and heart' could create. She is somewhat glad that not all purebloods seemed to share Voldemort's views on splitting one's soul. Feeling stagnant, Hermione retreats to a desk and begins writing another letter to Harry and Ron. The one she had sent them on her first day here had gone unanswered, as was usual now, and she was getting increasingly worried. 

Dear Bucky and Jack,

I hope your outing is going as planned. An increase of foul weather is on the horizon. As I said before, I think that taking cover for a while would be wise. Let me know what you make of this forecast. I hope to see your smiling faces soon. 

Regards,

Fleecy.

The nickname comes from her Patronus: an otter. Harry and Ron thought it ingenious to come up with names that related to their own, much like the Mauaruders. She thinks it's cute, if not a little silly. But who is she to judge how Harry gets his kicks whilst being hunted like a deer. Or a doe, perhaps. 

"Why can't I just be Prongs?" Harry pouted. 

"Because it'd be too obvious," Ron said in a rare moment of making absolute sense. 

"Another name for a stag is a buck." Hermione supplied helpfully, pushing a plate of mashed potatoes across the table to her forlorn friend. Harry helped himself to a large serve. 

"What about Bucky?" Ron suggested. "That sounds pretty cool, actually." 

"Not as cool as prongs," Harry muttered around a mouthful of carrots. The three of them were eating dinner a lot later than the rest of the Weasley family, having gotten sidetracked in creating a secret code for them to communicate with whilst separated. Hermione was hell-bent on teaching them a language of her own invention but was stuck working within the limited mental capacity of her friends. And so, euphemisms about the weather were about as convoluted as they could get. 

"It's cooler than Jack." Ron snorted. 

"But you're a Jack Russel Terrier, it just makes sense." Hermione points out. 

"Yeah, but you said that they're annoying little shits." Ron waved his fork in the air. 

"True, small dog syndrome." She sniggered. "But if the shoe fits..." She dodges a flying green bean.