tampered | log; ongoing;

log; ongoing;

When; Now. Pretty much.
Rating; PG-13?

Characters; ~~Tom Riddle is not invited to this tea party.~~ Hermione Granger [

honestlyrubbish], Remus Lupin [

lupusnonfacit], Severus Snape [

eduronox], Ron Weasley [

the_wheezy]

(Invited: Lily Evans [

abinitia], Luna Lovegood [

suncolors], Regulus Black [

facesdeath])

Summary; Hermione, as per usual, flips out. Domino effect. Remus is a chocolatier, Severus pwns, thank you and good night. Ron arrives fashionably late.

Log;

One might have thought that, after years of being forced to learn the art of rule-breaking with Harry and Ron, Hermione would have considered it a relief to return to following directions once again. If nothing else, the logic was easy to follow—Voldemort was in the City, had a certain level of fondness for purebloods, and between Ron and Regulus, the latter had the greater intellect, experience, and above all benefit of already having deceased, no more war sitting on his shoulders awaiting the day he eventually left the City. There was no doubt that even at such an age, Tom Riddle could have proven himself to be quite the adversary, and so Hermione sat, rigidly, in her room. Listening to the ticking—whether of her clock or the City, it was hard to tell.

At the very least, Remus had provided Hermione with something to do in her spare time, all arguments against tedium aside. Splayed across Hermione's desk was an impressive array of cookbooks, magical texts—a good half of them on chocolate, with a stray volume on pot roast. The teen thumbed through these rather quickly, jotting the occasional note furiously on her roll of parchment, but before very long her fingers were running through tangled tresses of hair instead.

Cabin fever.

Crookshanks watched from the corner, tail swishing back and forth, before he leaped onto Hermione's lap, mewling.

"I just don't understand—"

Hermione bit her lip.

Surely, there must have been something that she would be able to do.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"And you don't need to."

Lupin's voice comes from down the hall as he approaches, having checked around for anything suspicious or just off-putting, anything even mildly strange in the cabin. He gathers the robe he's wearing over his clothes around himself more tightly as he enters, grabbing a kettle off the counter and filling it at the sink while offering Hermione an honest and warm if very serious-minded sort of smile.

"You just have to listen. That's the way these things have a tendency of working. Want some?" he says, tapping the full kettle with a wand produced from his belt, which whistles for a second before he drops it on a pot holder on the table, staring at Crookshanks with a vague interest.

Where Lupin's actions are normally comforting, now they feel stifling. Frustrating. Mostly because there is a certain gravity in the current situation which he refuses to acknowledge openly, attempting to allay fears with a smile and gentle admonitions when all Hermione sees instead is a mask thrown hastily on.

"Back in third year, I might have agreed," Hermione admits, brow furrowing as she pulls Crookshanks closer, one heel hooked on the edge of her seat. "But after several years of succeeding only because I haven't listened, because I stepped out of that comfort zone whenever I felt the compulsion, it's hard to believe that this time should be any different."

The cat's tail stops swaying then, as he eyes Lupin steadily, unblinkingly, before suddenly breaking into a yawn.

"Voldemort's a skilled Legilimens, all my experience with Harry has shown me that, and I don't know much about Regulus but it can't be easy to bar should the slightest bit of suspicion arise in Voldemort." Hermione's hand automatically slips down to her pocket, grips her wand. "Remus, I still think we ought to go. Make sure he's alright. For the sake of the citizens as well."

He is in the process of pulling out things that they will need, milk and sugar and other proper tea service items, as well as some second-hand teacups he liked and bought recently, when Hermione utters 'back in third year.' His hand stiffens for a moment, jumps, like he's made a false start, and he sets one cup in front of her and one in front of himself. It does hurt, though he will never admit it out loud, that everyone seems to know more than him and to be somewhat estranged. Not that this is anything new, estrangement and being slightly out of the loop (occupational hazards), only that it is estrangement just after he has suddenly started to feel close to these children.

He shakes his head and, if possible, smiles even more broadly, which never reaches his eyes.

"Regulus will be fine. Severus gave me what you might call an order, and I have chosen to follow his orders. Beyond that, and this is not advice from an elder but a former peer, someone who has been in the spot you are now-- sometimes breaking the rules helps. Sometimes it hurts. I am right now following my only rule, which is to use rational judgment in all situations. There are no additional rules necessary."

It's clear, this time, the reaction that Hermione's words bring about in her former professor. Backlash, shock, and perhaps even a certain level of hurt, but Hermione hasn't the time to afford him any level of patience—she's not trying to estrange him, and if anything, Hermione's tried her hardest to see him as a friend more than a professor. He ought to appreciate that—no, he ought to set it aside until a later date, focus on the matters at hand.

What good will that smile do right about now, Hermione wonders.

"It still makes me uneasy, to be frank, to place so much control in Sn— Severus' hands, and believe me I am trying my best to curb that fear," Hermione retorts. "Telling me that you wish to follow his orders isn't... isn't a reason to. And I try to adhere to that very same rule of thumb, exercising rational judgment."

She shakes her head, curls practically bouncing with the movement.

"We're his friends, Remus! We can't let him do this on his own. Please. You value friendship as much as any of us, don't you?"

He continues working as she moves on, speaking, her voice getting to a point that he recognizes as strained. The tea leaves go into the cups anyway, and the hot water on top, and he hisses a little when he catches his wrist on the spout as he sets the kettle down, but listens to what she says with a grave ear the entire time.

After a moment of standing still over the table, eyes not quite meeting hers, as if the words are more important and he can't miss even one, he sits and runs a hand over his chin a few times.

"It isn't control. He has no control over me, or over you, or anyone; Severus. If one is giving control away willingly, he is not controlled. You can stand tall without standing on someone. You can be in control without necessarily controlling. He has whatever I've given him, and whatever trust I have asked you to give him. Nothing more. Now listen, this is still judgment, and I still care about Regulus Black no less than you do. This is simply judgment between principle and expediency. Unfortunately I have made your choice for you, and for that I apologize. Drink."

Edited 2008-11-25 09:48 (UTC)

"But you're the only one giving your agency away willingly, Remus, and I certainly don't consider being told to stop, to do this or do that, to be advice. It's control, at least from my point of view. And it's being told off by an elder, being made to give him my trust and being made to choose... expediency over principle?"

She shakes her head, appalled, her voice helping the words to sink in.

"You can't be any more sure that this is more expedient than Professor Trelawney can be sure in knowing what's in store for us tomorrow," Hermione exclaims. "And I'm not the type of person to turn away from my principles. I'm not. If this was Harry, we wouldn't let him do it."

Maybe that's the core of the problem. But she won't admit it, the fear she has in Harry pushing and pushing to search for the Horcruxes on his own, and if he does something stupid and stumbles out on his own, Hermione doesn't have recourse. Can't stop him.

But she'd want to.

"And I never even said that I wanted a cup of tea— not everything can be solved over a couple of sugars."

Severus is furious. Again.

It happens.

But he is furious in a way that's controlled like a storm in a bottle. He knows very well the impulsive collection of Gryffindors in that cottage, and he knows more than he'd like to admit how Lupin is at this time of the lunar phase. The possibility of him being bullied into going after Regulus and Tom Riddle by a worked up Hermione Granger is one he feels is quite real- so after he's sure his former housemate is in Bellatrix's old flat and not in immediate danger of being murdered again, he Apparates close enough not to set out their wards... and sends Lupin a text message.

Said text message appears in his handwriting on a piece of parchment, simply re-working the charm that Lupin sent him to begin with. Somewhere inside that cottage, something balls itself up and is sent flying directly at the werewolf's head.

'Open the damned door.'

He can monitor Regulus just as well from there, even if this is a terrible idea. And pretending not to trust Lupin is far easier than pretending that he does.

At some points he may have been tempted to bristle, or even command Hermione; for the moment, he just sits in his chair, legs crossed, leaning back a little more bonelessly and shocked than necessary. This is the Hermione Granger he remembers from the Shrieking Shack, the one who did not believe in anything merely on the authority of her teachers and elders, although the same could perhaps not have been said about textbooks.

"This is not Harry, and while Harry has talent, Mr. Black is an observably more polished wizard, much like yourself. And I will not let you--"

The paper hits him in the head just as he is speaking, landing on the table in front of him. He spreads it out quickly with palms, slightly sweaty, and taps it with the edge of the wand.

'Open the damned door.'

"Stay there," he says promptly, voice suddenly neutral and smile gone to a blank, but unrevealing expression. The chair screeches across the kitchen floor and he rushes to the door and does as instructed.

Edited 2008-11-25 10:21 (UTC)

He's standing at the edge of the wards, but moves forward when he sees Lupin approach the door from the other side, arms crossed, carrying something tucked away in his right hand. He looks anxious and very displeased, and it's obvious he feels he's here against either his better judgement, his personal tastes, or both.

"Full aware of the potential for moronic mutiny," he says, silken voice laced with an acidic edge, "I have determined that I am fully capable of conducting my observations here."

Translation: I'm party crashing and none of you have a goddamn choice and if you get hostile I am not in the mood to do anything less than murder. Deal with it.

"What on—"

There's a gripping fear for a moment as Hermione wonders if something's happened, and she knew that such would be the case and this is why one never abandons one's friends because there's always the chance that some harm can be prevented. But the fear is quickly swallowed by indignation as Hermione realizes that Severus has come to play babysitter, while Lupin practically hides his tail between his legs.

Didn't he just admit to Hermione that he wished that he'd stood up more? Hadn't Hermione said that he was more than capable of it now, that it's better late than never?

Well, wouldn't be the first time that she's been wrong.

"I can't believe this," she breathes, storming in, automatically setting herself between the two men. "That I've just been presented with proof that we're sitting at his beck and call—" she directs a look at Lupin, then turns to face Severus "—and that you would dare suggest that helping Regulus is moronic?"

She pauses briefly.

"That's it, I'm finding Ron—"

"Miss Granger."

Severus' voice is still quiet, but laden with such barely contained anger and weight that it seems to cut through the very atmosphere of the entryway, a tangible thing. He fixes her with his most intense stare, not hateful or mocking, but cold and deadly serious.

"There is nothing moronic about helping Regulus Black. What is moronic is rushing off to get yourself killed and, believe me, that is exactly what you would be doing. Regulus has taken Riddle to the flat which Bellatrix Lestrange inhabited during her stay here. Her wards would decimate you within a close radius, much less let you get inside. Riddle himself would turn you into a rag doll in a heartbeat. Regulus is safe with him, and in fact, you would only endanger him by meddling, making him appear a traitor and forcing him to split his attention in between his work and protecting you. If anything happens, there is one person, and one person only, who can do anything about it."

Which would be him, Hermione. He just stares at her, arms still crossed, shoulders tense. He is far from happy with sending his friend to go play nice with Tom Marvolo Riddle to ensure his distraction and graces in the event he becomes a permanent fixture in the City. Containable, yes. Easy, no.

After a moment of bitter silence, he continues: "Mr. Weasley is welcome to join our little circle of friends if you prefer it. Until then-" he shoves his parcel at her, a brightly colored plastic and cardboard box containing a 21st century cell phone at her- "figure out how to use this so that you can teach him," he indicates Lupin with a barely-not-loathsome jerk of his head. "If I have to waste time and send one more piece of parchment at either of you in here I'm going to lose my mind and start sending bricks through your windows."

He can sense it, well enough; he always has been good at reading people. One had to be good at reading people, to be the sort of trickster he'd used to be, despite his better sense. People were a lot like castle layouts, after all. You just had to know where to look to find what you think you're looking for.

On Hermione's face he sees frustration and disgust, but at least there is no anger and betrayal. What is she thinking, he wonders; likely that he's a coward. She would be correct enough, and he should only be glad she hasn't said it out loud. Severus' face he won't look at and refuses to meet, staring instead at Hermione's strained expression.

"There's no need to be so harsh, Severus. You're making a necessary point, but it's perfectly natural for Lily to want to rush to help. I would be, in her position. I would have forgotten about things on the spot, likely, if I weren't under other instructions."

At least, until Severus makes note of his presence on the other side of Hermione, and his own eyes snap up to meet Snape's matte-seeming black ones. He wonders, for only a second, through a flashback of the last few years he spent at Hogwarts being bullied by Snape and the early Death Eaters, what the other man is up to.

"What is it?"

Edited 2008-11-25 11:02 (UTC)

There's no response to be made. Hermione hates being told off, particularly by this man, and it shows in the flush that rises to her cheeks. But maybe he's right. Maybe he's right, and that just happens to add insult to injury and Hermione isn't sure exactly what to do, what to say.

But you could have told me earlier, she thinks. Being informed about what exactly Regulus was going to do might've helped, would be Good To Know. She didn't know Bellatrix Lestrange had a flat, didn't know Regulus was planning on taking Voldemort there, and certainly Hermione has little doubt that there wouldn't be enough to distract him, convince him, at least for the moment. For the night.

"He shouldn't have to keep up with that forever," Hermione finally whispers. "It shouldn't be his burden to carry alone."

And in that tone of voice, an apology, perhaps.

She takes the box, pats her hair down as best she can, tempted to tell Lupin not to interject, not to defend her, that it feels condescending for him to be compelled to.

Except he manages to take it a step further, even.

Hermione can only stare.

Snape stares right back at her. He has no problem - obviously - putting people in their place, especially children who have even more reason to behave. He is under no obligation to extrapolate on the plans that he can come up with in an instant, and she should be grateful that he's even decided to tell her at all.

At her one utterance, something inside of him twitches in a funny way, and he nearly bursts out laughing. Poor Regulus, has to have tea with the sixteen, maybe seventeen year old Dark Lord, and she doesn't want him to do it alone. He imagines someone having that sort of concern for him all the years he spent nestled under the deformed wing of that full-grown, full-powered dragon.

... But then he's distracted, and, with eerie symmetry, looks over at Lupin the same time his ex-student does, and stares.

He's about to lean over and wrap a hand in Hermione's hair, lead them all further into the cabin, back to the warm tea and the kitchen that smells a little damp but homey and well-used. He wants to go back there, but he stops immediately, hands going limp at his sides as he once again looks away from Hermione and stares his peer, for whatever that was worth, in his black eyes. The look on Severus' face is different from the shock on Hermione's, and it worries Lupin.

He can feel the hairs on the back of his neck raise, like a storm's moving fast over Scotland. He states the obvious, then, knowing that it's obvious, but having no other choice. The words could have come out irritated or confused, but instead they are both aware and mildly full of some degree of awkward horror.

"Was it something I said?"

It's some awful punch line, worse than Ron's even, but there's a certain light in Lupin's eye that tells Hermione that none of this was meant to be a joke and he still doesn't realize. Well. In that case. What is she, exactly, to Lupin? Some replacement for a person long deceased?

That's not troubling at all, oh no.

Perhaps this is something similar to the way Harry often gets mistaken for James—even by his own godfather, in many ways, Hermione notes. Or how Ron gets lumped under the sum title of Weasley.

Hermione doesn't like it.

"You did say that you've always liked ginger hair."

Severus doesn't like it either. It's part territorial - despite everything - and part sheer disturbed confusion at this man expressing that level of displacement.

And he can tell with no effort at all that it's immediately made Hermione uncomfortable. He may find the girl infuriating and obnoxious, but seventeen years has ground into him the kneejerk impulse to protect his students no matter what, and he shifts in his stance, as if he's just held himself off from stepping between her and Lupin.

It gets even stranger at her remark - he snaps his gaze to her, and then back to Lupin, eyebrows knit.

"...It's a cellular phone," he deadpans, and the twist of subject makes it clear that the topic is closed, but his tone of voice and his expression, eyes boring into Lupin's, state loud and clear that oh yes, he'll be hearing about this again and oh yes, he noticed. "You can call me if something goes wrong."

When Snape shifts, he shifts as well, moving closer to Hermione, herding her back toward the kitchen bodily by standing behind her and leaning forward, though she's taller than she was last he knew her (only a few months ago, for him). He shoots a look over his shoulder at Snape, a supremely uncomfortable one which says, without actually saying, you may have been eminence grise of Slytherin House, and we may both be Dumbledore's men, but she is my student and not yours.

When he speaks again, his voice holds an apology in it, as if it's being spoken between the lines, in his tone, which is dismissive and followed by a footless smile, another shield.

His mouth is gone dry.

"Bad idea to stand in doorways in times like these. Better to move in further and sit down to let Severus get his work done, as I am sure it is much more important than anything I had to say."

Her eyes only widen as Lupin almost leans in, and the package is pressed even more tightly against her stomach, but Hermione listens. Takes a half-step back, which is still moving in further, right? This is a fear completely different than that which occurred all those years ago in the Shack. She doesn't know what happened those twenty, thirty-some years ago, couldn't venture to find out, even if she shoots a brief glance at Severus anyway.

I know how to work a cell phone, she wants to reply, but the words don't come.

As if sensing her discomfort, a flash of orange slips by her feet, as Crookshanks slips around her ankles, tail wrapped reassuringly before he sits himself down. Where his gaze had been resting on Severus before, from his quiet place in the corner, it's now focused on Lupin.

He catches her eyes, subtly, because that's what he's good at. Even Lupin's animal instincts can't track him all the time; Voldemort was better, Greyback was better, and he had them both blind. He doesn't glare at her or give her some cold coded message, but merely looks calm and - horrors - firmly understanding.

Severus is not a supportive, paternal figure, not by a long shot. But he has counseled a number of scared first year girls on their raw-new weeks away from home, and he's dealt with nearly two decades of Slytherins growing up. He's capable of being awkwardly, stoically accepting.

"The last time you were here," he says quietly, aimed at Hermione - his voice is mellowed, some soft tone she's likely only overheard glimpses of, him exchanging words with Minerva or Albus, "that cat of yours followed me around for damn year a week, and refused to so much as leave the premises until Mr. Weasley trudged down to collect him."

Some people might find it polite for him to hang back behind them as they walk - as if he has a choice - but with Severus Snape, it's always half-looming. He halts in the doorway, observing them for a moment.

"Regulus and I are able to communicate rather easily," he says, mild but calculated. "There will be no need for hand-wringing or any fanfare over it."

Edited 2008-11-25 12:12 (UTC)

He eventually gives up, feeling defeated, terrible, like he doesn't belong beside the two of them; it's not an unusual feeling for him at all, not given his circumstances, but it is something which he hasn't felt at all in the few weeks he's been in the city. It makes him, rather than snappish at this point, more morose than anything; lethargic and gloaming.

"I didn't mean to intimate anything, Hermione. We'll talk later about this, honestly," he whispers, as he peels off ahead of them and sits down at his seat, with his tea, shooting a raise-browed look at Crookshanks, and a shi-shi noise.

"They're attracted to suspicious things. People with secrets and whatnot. He followed Padfoot around when I was teaching, Padfoot told me," Lupin nearly drawls, before continuing in a sharper, more serious tone. "The Mark?"

Edited 2008-11-25 12:18 (UTC)

This time, she can nod, and it's difficult fighting off the wave of—sympathy, perhaps? Hopefully not pity, Hermione thinks to herself, because she's been made uncomfortable and she won't have herself believe that it was all a simple meaningless mistake, because no trick of the light will turn ginger into a tawny brown. Biting her lower lip, Hermione crouches down to pick Crookshanks up, patting his head—at least this is familiar.

"Or perhaps he was just especially fond of the professor," Hermione finally suggests. Not that she believes her words, not in the slightest, but if Severus can afford to shield her a bit, she's not going to take advantage of that gap to pry. "If he does so again, let me know."

The cat still stares unblinkingly at Lupin, cranes its neck as Hermione slowly shuffles into the kitchen, sitting down in a chair and placing the parcel on the table, gently unwrapping it by hand.

She doesn't interrupt when Lupin mentions the Dark Mark—or at least, she's pretty sure that's the reference. Just peers at Severus before opening the box for the cell phone, curling up with Crookshanks in her lap, flipping through the manual.

It's not that Lupin is in a position to be shoved out of anything. It's simply that despite years of animosity between them, there are still years between Professor Snape and Hermione Granger. He's watched her grow up, and he knows what terrifying, mad experiences she's had to live through. Stripped away of emotional content and personal reactions and trust and mistrust, the simple fact remains that on some base level, they are connected. It is, in fact, the same as the manner in which Severus and Remus are connected; mileage, wrenched into the both of them.

He doesn't respond on the topic of Crookshanks further, but brushes his fingertips of his left hand against the kitchen table near Hermione, as if acknowledging the cat in some old familiar way. When he raises his arm after, he twists it slightly, almost unconsciously, fingers flexing and curling against his palm. Yes, he seems to say without words, leveling his gaze to meet Lupin's, the Dark Mark.

Severus doesn't want to speak of it. He never has, likely never will. The two Gryffindors have no idea, but just last week he was caught by a sixteen year old as he experimented in trying to scour it off with concoctions darker than most peoples imaginations. For a moment, he remembers the feeling of flesh melting away from him, and it's nostalgic.

"They're a bit more technologically advanced, here, as far as Muggle electronics go," he says as he leans against the kitchen counter, as casual as Snape gets. "But it's convenient."

Edited 2008-11-25 12:45 (UTC)

"I never meant to suggest that there was a reason that Crookshanks would be tailing anyone, Hermione," he says, with a laugh, which is deep-voiced and hoarse and very tinny. "Maybe he does just like some people. He's intelligent enough, if he is what I think he is. They're very nearly sentient, Kneazles are."

The cup lifts to his mouth, covering it and hiding whatever expression could have decided to camp in the far too early lines on his face with the rim of it. His eyes meet Snape's for only a second, with some little promise of privacy, not meant to edify but out of respect for that night in the cellar. Don't look at me, don't ask me any questions about this.

Don't look. So Lupin doesn't, in turn.

"Just show me how to work the power button, Hermione. You're welcome to do what you'd like with everything else, and borrow that at any time it is necessary. Ron as well, and Luna and Lily. All I need to know is how to turn it off, turn it on, charge it and get ahold of Severus and Regulus."

"I've always thought him rather intelligent," Hermione murmurs, running her fingers through the cat's fur. As though sensing that the worst was over, or perhaps simply feeling no desire to delve further into the quagmire, Crookshanks laid his head down on Hermione's lap, closed his eyes.

The tail still swished back and forth, however.

"I doubt you'll be able to do very much with the power button alone, Remus, but that much is simple. This button here—the red button. Simply hold it down until the phone's display lights up, and then it'll be on. Do the same when turning it off, except obviously, wait for the display to disappear instead."

Her brows furrow; how odd to be speaking about phones when Tom Riddle was so close.

"I'm also not sure if we ought to be sharing a single phone between all of us. I..." Hermione turns to Severus, licks her lower lip—is it weird that she calls one by name and the other by former title? Severus doesn't roll off her tongue easily yet. "I assume that there's a shop in the City for electronics, Professor?"

Perhaps she'll dip out soon enough. All those hidden layers to their conversation—it wasn't worth stifling.

"There are quite a number of them," he says, somehow biting back a response of obviously there is where else would I have gotten that thing?, though it took a shift of effort. Capability does not make him in the habit of anything.

Nobody, for the record, is going anywhere until Regulus has returned. And even then, he may force you all to sit here and work out a buddy system until he's sure the lot is safe from potential Killing Curse snipe attacks, which the Dark Lord is not above.

He takes his own phone out of his inside breast pocket and pulls up his contact information easily, then hands it to Hermione so she can copy the number down. "Regulus' is on the next screen," he tells her idly.

Frankly, Ron was more worried about his sister than he was about Regulus Black. Saying it out loud would probably be very callous and, judging by the way Hermione had been reacting to this whole damn thing, would earn him a surprised, probably disappointed glare. Regulus was capable of taking care of himself, though, and, well... He was already dead. What's the worst that could happen, really? Mind that he's pointedly not considering what fates could be worse than death.

He didn't want Ginny getting wind of this at all, though. Despite having been years ago, the image of that nasty scrawl, "Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever," still made him want to puke. The name Tom Riddle was something he hadn't known, but now he was sure that Ginny would recognize it, and he wanted to do his best for her while she was here. He'd missed her, even before he'd arrived in the City.

So he'd muffled his room and let her have his bed. He might not need it at this rate, anyway. Rubbing at his eyes, Ron Weasley stepped from his bedroom and into the cabin's more common area. He spotted Hermione first, because it was impulse and that wasn't unusual. He even opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when he realized Snape was there. And Lupin. Hell, it was a regular party.

"S'going on?" It was probably a very, very stupid question. He might've thought things were more settled than they were, by the look of it.

In all honesty, Ginny Weasley wasn't terribly high on Hermione's list of concerns. Not because that Hermione didn't care—the girl was basically her best girl friend, after all—but instead because of the many times Ginny had complained about not being included, not being taken seriously, being treated like something to shelter and protect despite how all evidence pointed to Ginny being a very competent witch and certainly more learned than she had been in second year. It would be one thing for Ron to worry, and Hermione had no doubt that Ron would, but on a more pragmatic level Hermione knew that with the current plan, Tom Riddle wouldn't be going out of his way to harm Ginny. There was little benefit in it at that point, for the Slytherin prefect.

And Hermione trusted Ginny to cope well, should she have gotten wind.

When Ron padded into the common area, Hermione looked up, in time with the cat in her lap. The latter gazed for a few moments before yawning—again—while Hermione breathed an inner sigh of relief.

"I'm... just looking through this manual and setting up Remus' cell phone for him," Hermione explained, tilting her head almost imperceptibly to the seat next to her as she peeked through Severus' phone, punching in the numbers. "Don't you think we should get a pair, Ron? It'd make contacting each other a bit easier—or at least, less conspicuous—should anything be urgent."

Her fingers combed nervously through her hair again. Okay, she couldn't—

"He's alright, isn't he?" Hermione chanced, glancing at Severus, with a flicker down at the man's arm.

By contrast, Ginny is a concern of his. Which is why she is included in the everybody stay the fuck in the house order. He doesn't feel the need to go beyond that - it isn't as if he's going to be the one offering any comfort or counseling for potential traumatic flashbacks. He has the necessary confidence in her (perhaps temporary, hopefully - he wants Riddle gone) peers to handle that.

Severus gives Ron a look - don't do anything weird, don't freak out, I know you're capable of being something resembling an adult about this - and then lets his gaze transfer down to Hermione when she addresses him.

"He is perfectly fine." For the moment.

Edited 2008-11-25 20:05 (UTC)

He looks up immediately when Ron enters the room, having been too dissolved into his teacup and trying to figure out why he's been placed very far into the doghouse to have noticed the sound of his steps coming. His face is only shocked for a moment, though, his mouth a straight line, before his expression turns to something a little more urgent and pleading: come in here, Ron, and make Hermione happy and I will do anything you want for at least a week.

And he is very good at bribes and he is very good at pleading looks, as he's been making them for a fair part of his life. He drops the cup on the table and sits up a little straighter, taking a breath.

"Can't sleep, Ron? Everything is alright here, we're just huddling up intelligently and whatnot, having a little house meeting now. You should work with Hermione on that phone, I think it's a great idea she has that you both get one. Better than what I was trying to get in contact quickly, anyway."

'Text' messages. Only handy if there was paper nearby.

The whole deal about phones caught Ron off-guard from the start. Here he was expecting to walk into a heavy, heavy atmosphere, and folks were talking about mobile phones. He didn't even really get cellular phones, or even regular phones. He just never considered it, and shrugged at Hermione's question a little carelessly before looking up to the older crowd members again.

And then his eyebrows raised a little higher. Was he getting paranoid, or was he getting... Looks? Snape's looking directly at him (expectant?) was a little off, but easy enough to brush off. Lupin, though... His face sort of made all of his statements come out as questions. Something like that.

Right. So he'd just keep on with the whole phones idea. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he began to shuffle over to the table. "D'you think?" He could still look skeptical about it, though, leaning on his hands on the table and looking over Hermione's shoulder at it. "Huh. That's it?"

It didn't look all that impressive, really.

Edited 2008-11-26 03:46 (UTC)

Absolutely not paranoid, Hermione would have said, but all of the eying and pointed looks had Hermione fully aware that she was no longer in possession of the right to divulge. Not when her plans had been so ridiculously overdramatic anyway. Deliberately avoiding eye contact with the other two at the table, Hermione gave Ron a half-grin of sorts, pressing the phone into his hand.

"What, you want to try fidding with it, Ron?"

She kept on thumbing through the manual. She had one of these at home, mobile phones, but as Severus had suggested, this one was a little more complex. Didn't have a blue screen, for one thing.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

log; ongoing;

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late to the party... >>

YAAAY hi bb <3

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HAI GAIZ BRB STORE CONTINUE WITHOUT ME

Re: HAI GAIZ BRB STORE CONTINUE WITHOUT ME

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