Once they were inside, she turned to him.

"You're disappointed in me."

His gaze remained fixed ahead. "Something like that."

The lift rocketed them downward and to the side, and she stepped in front of him. He scowled down at her.

"I suppose you think I'm insane, then? That I should still be locked away at St. Mungo's?"

He tilted his head, and she didn't recognize Fred anywhere in his curled lip. "No. I think your mind is fine, and that you simply fell for a snivelling little coward. That's the worst part."

She flinched, feeling the sting. The lift stopped, and George pushed around her, exiting without a backward glance.

Hermione's blood simmered with rage, but she shoved it aside. Taking a deep breath, she stepped off the lift — and onto the same black tiles she'd sprinted across a year ago, running from Dolohov and Yaxley. Her shelves trembled violently, but she centered her mind, pushing back her memories.

She almost had to break into a run to catch up with George, striding down a corridor toward a black unmarked door. He knocked twice, and the door swung open.

Hestia Jones stared them up and down. Hermione's lips parted in silent surprise. Jones had been a member of the Order of the Phoenix — just a few years older than Tonks. Hermione had seen her in and out of Grimmauld Place over the years.

"Miss Granger." She reached forward and took her hand in a firm shake. George slid by her. "Good to see you again."

"And you."

Hermione entered what seemed to be a meeting room with a long oval table. A large map of Europe filled the entire far wall, stuck with pins. Two men were seated at the table. They stood to attention, turning to the doorway.

"Hermione Granger, this is General Pierre and General Jacobs of the True Order."

General Jacobs was a bland but handsome man, about in his late thirties. He greeted her with a posh British accent, shaking her hand when she offered it. But her eyes were drawn to Robert Pierre, the man who apparently held all power over decisions of her medical care.

He was the taller of the two, with broad shoulders and a crooked face. His eyes were penetratingly blue, and the scruff he wore on his cheeks contrasted with the straight, pressed lines of his black military clothes.

"Miss Granger," he said, his accent much lighter and crisper than Fleur's. "I'm delighted to hear that you are feeling better."

"Thank you." She forced herself to smile. "I'm honored to meet you all."

Hestia offered her a seat across the table from Pierre and Jacobs, and then took her own chair just down the table. George remained in the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Well, Miss Granger, you have our attention. Especially after your little stunt with the Prophet." Pierre gave her a tight smile. "Forgive me for skipping pleasantries, but we are all quite busy. So tell us, what is it that you want?"