Waiting for Maxima

The First Assignement

June 1996

Sunshine touches her cheek, warm and floating. She dreams she is sinking, but there is no pain, just serenity. She is the center of a lightning storm, the faces of her friends far in the distance. Horror, they look horrified. Even sweet dream Hannah Abbot hangs her head. Hermione lurches to reach them, desperate, wanting. There is laughter in the distance, water splashing, and she slowly sinks below the surface. "MAX" a voice jolts her awake, Hermione can't be sure if the voice was part the dream or not.

Sirius Black is at her bedside, handsome and disheveled. The smell of smoke brings her forth to upright consciousness. The blue dawn of early morning covers the horizon outside her window. Her bedsheets are charred and the chair where there once was her cloak and a majority of her belongings now held only scotch marks. What had happened.

Hermione takes a regretful glance at her nightwear; cartoon rabbits adorn her t-shirt and her shorts. Her cheeks heat up and colour red. She is again sixteen; juvenile and a child sporting a crush that will not be reciprocated but tumbling over words, nevertheless.

"What happened," She asks finally, addressing the male in her bedroom who seems to be looking anywhere but her eyes. What she means is there appears to have been a bomb that went off without her knowledge and she seemed to have slept through it. But there is a weight of more than accidental magic. Silence that feels pregnant.

He doesn't question her remark. There would be no point, the charred remains of her belongings were proof enough, he had only just cast a spell to subdue the flames. Sirius ran a hand through his long black hair his mouth perking up into a smirk knowingly. That smirk. Hermione, book smart crazy intelligent Hermione, could be brought down with that smirk.

"Magic"  is all he says. He wants to say more. But she is not ready to hear what he has to say, and he is not sure he could find the words if she were. For once, for him, Hermione and not max is the most comforting thing in the world.

The pair don't speak any more words. Hermione is fluttering on trapped butterflies in her stomach and Sirius is trying to look at Hermione without seeing Max's face. The two women that were so similar almost sharing a face but so far apart.

He makes his exit mumbling a few words about making tea receiving only a nod in response. Hermione turns to grab items for her shower. She doesn't see the way Sirius Black pauses at the door. The way he stares at her, a desperate man.

Remus finds him moments later; Tea with strong hints of flightburbon. Remus had seen it before and knew no other course of action than to take a seat.

The two old friends do not talk, just share tea breathing in the morning, as the sun begins to rise. a long pause and a big question:

"how long?" Remus asks, it's a simple question yet It asks so much. How long until It all changes.

"her birthday. It begins and ends there." Sirius responds, having heard the story many times and gone through it in his head more than he could fathom in the past decades.

"How does she leave?' Remus asks, regretting it almost immediately. He uncomfortably runs a hand against his stubbled cheek, the sound audible in the dead air. He knew the touchy subject he had stumbled upon, but she was always difficult.

A deafening silence before Sirius, his voice hard and rough like sandpaper;

"she never told me".

Minutes later Hermione smelling less like a campfire and more like lavender sits perched on the stairs, nervous to move. She is clothed in muggle jeans and a worn jumper, accidentally overhearing the conclusion to her hosts' conversation. It was their home and she wanted to give some semblance of privacy, but the name, Max, rung like an alarm. She made a note to look up the person, she had never met before, a friend from school perhaps? Or maybe one of the many order members who had died in the early days.

Dumbledore entered the house determined. He had made requests of people before, Harry Potter and other witches and wizards but she, she was his prized possession the hidden gem. She would be their salvation, even if it would be at her great cost. A request for her held more weight, each action she made forming who'd she become.

He saw her now, perched on the stairwell eavesdropping on a conversation in the kitchen. She is young now, not as old as she'd become nor as young as he'd seen her. Time was a fickle thing, and she had a long way to go.

"Ms. Granger, I ask briefly for your audience" he called barely looking in her direction.

It was a dangerous ground he stood on, time rewriting itself and folding over onto its own. She followed him to the study, two sitting chairs facing the overstuffed bookshelf.

"I am going to ask you to do things In the next few weeks. You will ask no questions and you will follow the directive to the letter." He looked at her the lines of confusion folding into her forehead. He remembered the baby she was when he first met her, sparking with magic as he had never seen before. He. Needed. her.

Dumbledore slid a stuffed envelope across to her, on the coffee table that separated the two. It was closed with the red order seal and items made noise as they made contact.

"I'll give you some time to read" Dumbledore nodded and stood popping candy from his cloak into his mouth.

"stawberrythrasher?" he questioned holding the twitching pink candy in her direction. She shook her head.

He smiled and made his way to the door and just as he was about to leave he turned abruptly. Looking Hermione in the eyes, void of smile for the first time since Hermione had met him.

"wear a cloak, Ms. Granger, hood on. These are dangerous times. The order thanks you for your service." A pause and then a tense look crossed his features "Tell no one. No matter what happens. No one is to know." And with nothing more he disappeared, disappearing into thin air despite the anti-apparition wards that coursed so strongly throughout the house.

Hours later when she had delved into the envelope in her slightly smoke smelling room she was shaken. Not for the assignment, but rather, the unease and fear she had felt by the way Dumbledore had looked as he left. These are dangerous times. The sentiment echoed in her mind on loop for hours.