No Longer Helpless

Chapter Six
Questions and Answers

The meeting of the Order of the Phoenix was being held specifically to answer and resolve the situation of Hermione Granger. It was general knowledge among the members that the young girl had suffered an attack, and while she survived in a rather dramatic fashion, her parents had died. Now, the shocking news that only a few had known about was that she was in some sort of state of denial or shock.

Professor Snape shifted uneasily in his seat at the large kitchen table. He had just arrived from his other meeting with Voldemort. The only relief he found in explaining the Dark Lord’s plans was that Granger and her knights were not there to hear it.

Everyone was hushed when Dumbledore asked him to report. All eyes fixed on him, he didn’t like it, but there was nothing to be done about it except get it over as quickly as possible. He much preferred his private meetings with Dumbledore, who didn’t have that glint of mistrust at his words about Voldemort.

“The Dark Lord has become rather focused with the events of the attack. Going by what he saw in Lestrange’s mind and that of several muggles who arrived on the scene before we did. He has asked me to watch and follow Miss Granger’s every move. It is no longer his desire to kill her. He would rather,” he cleared his throat, “use her for his cause.”

The silence remained. Everyone seemed shocked by the news except for Dumbledore. Just when it seemed like the Headmaster would begin speaking, explaining Voldemort’s angle and more to them, there was a loud knock at the door.

Tonks and Snape stood hastily, wands drawn and ready.

“It’s Mad Eye,” came a gruff and unmistakable voice from the other side.

Tonks walked to the door and let him in. Outside in the hall Moody stood leading the group of young members. “I see you’ve brought half the members with you,” she commented with a smile.

There seemed a tension in the room once everyone had settled down.

Fred and George almost began laughing at the sight Hermione and Malfoy made. While blondie had taken his seat next to Moody, the timid mouse stood near the doorway, lingering. Her eyes looked at everyone with obvious fear and hesitancy.

Of course each member did all they could to remain impassive and not hurt Hermione’s feelings, but they couldn’t help but smile as they all fought back laughter. The robes she wore were undoubtedly Malfoy’s, as they seemed to match his own, and looked most awkward on her.

“Hermione dear,” began Mrs. Weasley softly, she too was holding back laughter. “Why don’t you take off those robes, it’s terribly warm in here, and have a seat.”

Having been address as ‘Hermione’ by Harry and Ron often enough on the way there, she seemed to have comprehended that this too was her name. Upon hearing the motherly woman speak, her head shot up with utter terror written all over her face.

Her reactions to being around another person aside from Draco had been bad enough, but now she was in a room full of strange faces. She wanted nothing more than to dart away and hide. She would have too, had Draco not been present. Not being able to run away and hide, she did the next best thing. She dropped the folds of the robe she’d been holding and drew the hood up over her head, covering most of her face. Bowing her head down, she remained hidden from view.

“She’s gone bonkers,” Fred commented to George. Together they began laughing, unable to control it anymore.

Their laughter seemed to trigger a couple others who were too close to the brink to contain it. Remus, Tonks, and Arthur began a short fit. They were trying too hard to hold it in to really enjoy it, but that didn’t matter.

Fred and George fell silent upon the death glare Ron gave them. The twins knew it would be a sad day for anyone who angered Ron enough over either Harry or Hermione.

While each member seemed keen on watching Hermione, no one seemed inclined to do anything, except for one. Draco stood back up and walked over to Hermione.

This ended all laughter abruptly, as each of them knew of the rivalry and animosity between the opposing groups, which were Draco’s posse and the golden trio.

Once the blonde Slytherin reached Hermione, he waited for her to stir. Gently, having come to terms with the girl being in his charge, he grasped the robes and tugged up slightly. It was rather warm in there, even he was boiling hot, and his robes were hanging open.

Complying immediately, Hermione untied the belt and lift her arms to let him pull the cloth over her head.

Back still turned to the rest of the group, Draco growled fiercely, “Not a word.” Standing back, he walked to his seat.

Moody’s good eye rolled as he was resigned to seeing the girl in those clothes once again. It would seem there really weren’t any alternative clothes to dress her in. She wore a pair of black pants, folded at least three times and still falling to the floor, and a forest green t-shirt that hung completely off her right shoulder. The shirt was partly tucked into the pants, which were being held up by another belt that tied in a knot for lack of a hole far enough up the dragon hide band to do any good.

Mrs. Weasley was so uncomfortable seeing this that she stood and bustled over to the stove, putting on a teakettle. Likewise, Harry and Ron were looking anywhere but at Hermione. During the short trip over here they’d become rather upset with Hermione herself, concluding that shocked or not, there was no excuse for hanging all over a Slytherin, especially Malfoy.

Now that she could be seen more clearly, no hood to hide under, most eyes were drawn to her not just because of her unusual clothing. Fred and George, Charlie and Bill, even Remus and Snape found that they were slightly enthralled with the image she portrayed. A wild mane of curls falling down her back and shoulders, her features delicate. This hadn’t been the young witch they’d known from before.

Just as she began toeing her way over to Draco, Dumbledore cleared his throat. “I believe I have a solution to this problem.”

Everyone looked to the older wizard, some of them having to shake off the slight daze and tear their eyes from Hermione.

Once Hermione had settled in by pushing her way under Draco’s arm and leaning in close, Draco turned his attention to Dumbledore, who was looking right at him.

“I’ll need your help Draco. Hermione won’t willingly let me perform any spells on her, so you have to get her to let me.”

Draco quirked a brow, the way the Headmaster was going on made it seem like it would be difficult. “Okay. Easier done than said, I suppose,” he agreed coolly. “Granger, go to Dumbledore and let him do whatever spell he needs to do on you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed closer.

“Be good,” his stern voice commanded. ‘Merlin, shoot me!’ he thought at the same time. By the nights end his reputation for the past six years would be in shambles.

Again, listening to Draco, she stood and walked over to Dumbledore, who smiled reassuringly. Hermione glanced back at Draco, before giving tacit permission by bowing her head and not moving.

Dumbledore was still seated, so he stood up before Hermione. Placing one hand on her head, he closed his eyes and remained silent for a few moments. Finally he opened his eyes again and spoke, “Yes, it’s as I thought. Well, no matter, easily fixed.” Raising his wand he let the tip fall an inch before her head and incanted, “Memoria Teneo”

Nothing appeared to have happened, but the second he said the words Hermione’s head shot up and she stared fiercely at the Headmaster before her. Her eyes darted back and forth between his, while her brain worked a mile a minute sorting out what had happened. She turned to face the rest of the room.

As if taking down notes in class or writing down the numbers required to solve the problem, she began to verbally note the facts. “A meeting of the Order,” she mumbled, “The attack, the Death Eaters, now I’m here.” She turned back to the Headmaster. “I’m alive, but how?”

He looked gravely at her, not even relishing in the fact that he had finally solved the puzzle. “That is what we are here to discuss. Please take a seat.” He gestured at the only empty spot, the one she had left beside Malfoy.

She stared at the spot, then at Malfoy. “What is he doing here?” she asked heatedly, with complete confusion gracing her features.

Why in all the world would Malfoy be at an Order meeting? She didn’t have much time to contemplate things however, as she was crushed in a sandwich like manner between Harry and Ron.

They had known their Hermione was back the second they saw her eyes flash with that determined look of trying to figure a problem out. Now, having heard the tone in her voice when she spoke about Malfoy they had become so happy they couldn’t sit back any longer.

“I can’t breath,” she attempted to gasp out, muffled beneath the two of them. She knew they were glad she hadn’t died, but surely they’d known she was alive for some time, as it would seem some time had progressed since the attack. How much time and why didn’t she remember were the questions she wanted answered most.

Finally standing back, the two of them looked down on Hermione. She was flustered for only a second before she saw the slight gleam of watered emerald and blue eyes. Harry and Ron were truly upset over something, which meant it was her job to console them. So, she reached up and wrapped her arms around both their necks, which she managed only on her tiptoes.

“Before I’m sick, would you three please sit down? This is an official meeting, not a zoo. Grope each other in your spare time!” Snape barked, only to receive a malevolent glare from Potter and Weasley.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “If you would please take your seats, we have much to discuss.”

The three of them squeezed in, Hermione at the center. The two boys placed protective arms around her, still basking in the glorious light that came from having their bookworm girl back to normal again. What was better was that she didn’t seem to remember any of her disgusting behavior from before.

Mrs. Weasley sat down as well, after placing a hot cup of tea in front of Hermione, who smile appreciatively up at the woman she’d come to think of as a second mother.

Something clicked, triggered from thinking about Mrs. Weasley being like her mother. Now, she recalled what she had known the whole time but failed to linger on long enough to have it really register. Her parents were dead. ‘Wait! Maybe not. If I’m alive, then they might be too!’ Desperation like she’d never known before over took her. “Sir!” she exclaimed, looking with eyes so full of hope at Dumbledore.

He seemed to read her mind, for the twinkle fell from behind his spectacles. She hesitated at seeing this, but didn’t accept it as a sign of loss. “My parents. If I’m alive, then they…” she suddenly found the room terribly cold and her throat was so tight. Her eyes burned, she didn’t know why she was choking on the last few words. They just wouldn’t come out. There were tears swimming before her vision, blurring all images, before Dumbledore even answered her.

“I am most grieved to tell you that they did not fair the same fate as you my dear. Rest assured they did not suffer.”

‘Suffer,’ she thought about the meaning of that word. Thinking back, flashes of their bodies coming before her eyes. If that hadn’t been suffering, then what was? There was so much blood, so many wounds. That dagger, that damn dagger, it had killed them. No, the Death Eaters had killed them.

Words echoed in her mind, ‘They didn’t have to die.’ She held back a sob, convulsing slightly as her lungs demanded air. She had killed them, indirectly she’d been the cause of their demise.

The arms protecting her tightened. “Sir, might we be excused?” Harry asked, reeling with concern for Hermione, who had apparently just realized her parents had been killed.

Hermione shivered. It was hard to tell which was causing her to jostle, shivering or sobbing. Only a few tears escaped before she began coughing violently. It seemed to be the harshest battle she had ever fought was right then. Demanding control over her own body at this moment was a struggle.

After a fit of coughing, she straightened up. ‘Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!’ she chanted over and over in her mind as she fought to keep her emotions under wraps. Having always been subject to the typical emotional patterns of a teenage girl, she had never found fault in crying when the situation condoned such a reaction.

Now, however, she couldn’t have felt more foolish or childish at her short display of weakness. There was a pride in her that wouldn’t let it happen, even though her chest still burned with the need to sob uncontrollably. If she broke down now, she feared she might never be back to normal.

Still fighting, a light sparked in her mind. Another thought occurred to her. If she broke down now, she would waste precious time. It would surely be weeks before she’d stop crying if she started. Her time should be spent exacting revenge. Lestrange would pay, so would each and every one of them that had been there that night.

Thoughts of revenge seemed to do the trick, for her breathing returned to normal and her eyes stopped leaking.

“No Harry,” she voiced evenly and calmly, if only a bit too cool for what was normal. “There is much we need to discuss. I for one would like to know more about what happened, and why Malfoy is here.”

Across the table Draco watched the display of emotions pass over Hermione. Anguish was the only word he could think to describe it. She was feeling so much anguish from it all that even he felt prone to feel it. But, she struggled so valiantly to master it all that even though she was the insufferable Gryffindor princess, he came to find respect for her.

Admittedly, even he would have found some difficulty in remaining cool and collected in her situation. He never would have thought it possible for an emotional Gryffindor to accomplish such a feat. He was pulled from his reverie as his name rolled off her lips. Yes, tonight his official recognition would be made.

Dumbledore spent a few moments staring into Hermione’s dark chocolate colored eyes, seeing a spark of angry revenge in them. Though she might be young, he would have to settle for the fact that she could take care of herself and be an adult during these troubled times. “Very well, we will begin.”

The old wizard ignored the slightly surprised glances at having called the meeting to a beginning, when it had already begun. They had expected him to retell what they were just informed from Snape’s report. However, being the elite group they were, everyone caught on that Dumbledore was keeping this information away from the younger members. “Hermione, you don’t remember how you managed to survive?”

Calmly, she thought back, it was all a blur. Lestrange lunged at her and everything went dark. “No sir, it’s all a blank.”

“What about the passed day?” A mildly amused twinkle came to his eyes as Draco paled and Harry and Ron squeezed her tightly.

“Ow! Harry, Ron. Lighten up, will you?” They had squeezed a bit too much. “No,” she answered Dumbledore. “I was going to ask, how long since the attack?”

“Not more than two days. You seem to have been in shock and woken up with your memory locked away.” This had been his first guess and could have been taken care of earlier, but he hadn’t collected all the facts until recently.

She nodded, accepting his answer as though it had been among the top three of her own possible conclusions.

Draco settled, more than happy to leave behind the sappy, clingy, kitten of a Gryffindor. Regardless of the slightly empty feeling he now had, his side vacantly cold while he watched dumb and dumber hold onto her, he was still more content to have the lioness back. Potter and Weasley sent glares his way, so he tore his gaze from Hermione’s face and continued to listen to Dumbledore.

“I have come across some rather interesting findings. While the question of your previous state was solved easily, I didn’t know how to explain what had happened during the attack.”

Every person who had witnessed the event for themselves shifted uneasily. Part of them wondered if what they’d seen wasn’t just some crazy dream. They were all curious as to what Dumbledore had found out.

“Have you ever heard of the Angelus?” he asked, more to Hermione than anyone else.

Thinking over the term, she couldn’t think of anything familiar. “No.”

“I didn’t think so. There isn’t much you could find, even when you know what you’re looking for.” He thought back to his old friend Garon, the historian, who had taxed out all his resources to gather every shred of information. “Indeed, there isn’t much known about them.”

“Them?” Hermione asked attentively, just as if she were in class.

“They are a race, a wizarding race, much like the Veela.” He cleared his throat, preparing to divulge what he’d learned. “The Angelus are actually something of a distant cousin to Veela. They receive their name from the wings they possess.”

A dawning understanding came over a few of the members. They now stared at Hermione.

“You, Hermione, are an Angelus,” Dumbledore stated.

Her brows furrowed, looking at Dumbledore like he must have had one too many sips of fire whiskey. “That’s not possible. I’m muggleborn.”

“Yes, both your parents were muggles.” He paused for a second, hoping he hadn’t struck a cord with her at the mentioning of her parents. She made no sign of caring over the matter, so he continued, “However, that does not mean that somewhere along the way there isn’t wizarding blood, Angelus blood. I’m sure you know the vagueness of the understanding we have on what produces a wizard or witch. After all, did you not accept being a witch when your parents were muggles?”

She sighed, looking wearier for all her years than Dumbledore did for his. “I think I’ve heard enough.” ‘Could things get any more complicated?’ she wondered briefly.

“Yes, of course.” He smiled acceptingly and produced a book, small and ancient looking, from thin air. “You’ll find what you might seek to know in this.” As it was, he hadn’t planned on detailing all the aspects of the Angelus to Hermione or the rest of the members present. Having her read on her own was for the best.

Hermione stood and retrieved the book from Dumbledore, before sitting back down and giving him a look that asked for the rest of the meeting to end quickly.

“The only other matter to be discussed is Mr. Malfoy here,” he pressed on, seeming to catch on to Hermione’s need to leave. “As unwilling to accept it as some of you might be,” He glanced at Harry and Ron, “young Draco here is as much a member of the Order as anyone else.”

Harry and Ron showed no signs of change at his words. Everyone else had been well aware of the matter, except Hermione, but she was too preoccupied at the moment to indulge the energy consuming bickering they usually did.

Draco kept his emotions hidden underneath his mask, no longer caring that the cat was out of the bag.

“Is there anything you’d like to add, Draco?” Dumbledore asked.

Raising his eyebrows, Draco glared coolly at the old man. “No. It isn’t the business of everyone to know my reasoning.” His comment left no room for argument.

It was clear he was not about to start gabbing over his seemingly sudden change of pace. Being Lucius’ son, it had been a logical assumption he’d become a Death Eater and support the Dark Lord. Not to mention the obvious animosity between him and Harry, which seemed to make it factual that he’d be backing Voldemort.

Now however, he sat there at the table in the middle of a meeting for the faction that defied and sought to destroy Voldemort, calmly as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

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