Desperate Measures

Chapter 25 - Hermione's Summer

--June 21--

Hermione glared at the man sitting across from her calmly sipping his tea. He smiled and she scowled back at him. She transferred her scowl to the open box in front of her. This was...something.

Oh, the contents of the box were easily identifiable. There was a torc sitting there on its blue velvet padding. It was a nice golden torc with engravings of squirrels along it. And the squirrels on the torc just happened to suspiciously have the same markings as her own squirrel form.

Her emotions, however, were not so easily identifiable. She'd been surprised, then frightened, then angry, then dumbfounded and all those emotions now blended and swirled with the healthy amount of suspicion she'd approached this meeting with in the first place. Now, as she continued to stare at the centuries old torc (she'd checked the date with a spell), she wasn't sure what she felt.

She'd never told anyone about her animagus form. No one. Not even Harry.

She'd been fascinated by the concept of being an animagus from her very first exposure to magic in the form of an extremely convincing display by a visiting Professor McGonagall when the professor had come to explain about Hogwarts. A book about how to become an animagus had been one of her first non-schoolbook purchases at Flourish and Blotts. She'd been studying to become an animagus since before she'd even seen the Hogwarts Express. As she couldn't practice wand magic during the summers she had turned to studying non-wand magic, like runes and arithmancy and potions. And becoming an animagus.

She'd actually been a full-fledged animagus since just before she'd started her fourth year. Three years of concerted study had given her success on August 27, 1994. She'd been ecstatic and had pranced about in the trees in her backyard for nearly four hours. The next day she had snagged her mother's tripod and camera, the one with the timer, and had very meticulously set up everything just right so she could take an entire roll of film worth of pictures of her form. She still had all twenty-seven of those pictures in a small album in her room.

And this 600-year-old torc looked as if she had been the model.

It was...creepy.

It was also very convincing.

Her squirrel form was, after all, the only reason she had even agreed to this meeting. The prophecy Harry relayed had mentioned a squirrel. The Unspeakables had several reasons why they thought she was their squirrel. She was a squirrel. She hated divination, but it was a bit hard to argue with so many coincidences all gathered together.

"We can teach you how to be an animagus," Rookwood said mildly. "It takes several years of training and practice but I'm sure you won't have any problems."

Hermione looked up from the torc and raised an eyebrow at the man.

"It's an immense advantage if you find yourself in a tight spot," Rookwood said.

"I don't need help," Hermione said blandly.

"I'm sure you could accomplish the transformation on your own," Rookwood agreed. "However, it's much easier if you have a tutor."

"I'm sure," Hermione said with a smirk. "But I don't need help. I've been an animagus almost three years now." She smirked wider when the man choked on his tea.

"I see," Rookwood said after he'd recovered and cleaned himself up. "You did that on purpose."

"No, actually, but it was certainly satisfying," Hermione said, still smirking.

Rookwood chuckled. "I suppose it was, at that. So, you're already a squirrel?"

"Yes."

"Grey?"