"So how did you of all people come to know where this secret Muggle-born sanctuary is hidden?" Harry asked suspiciously. "Who's to say this isn't some sort of trap?"
Oleandra glanced at the Marauder's Map lying flat on the table. She would be the first to be suspected if it went missing, so stealing it was out of the question. Perhaps a sufficiently powerful Confundus Charm would do the trick… that is, if she could use her magic.
"That's because I—" Oleandra began, before quickly correcting herself. "Or rather, Oleandra's been there before."
"What?" Hermione said, frowning. "When!?"
"Also, why?" Ron added. "And how?"
"Don't forget about who," Sirius said, and when the others looked at him strangely, he shrugged. "Sorry, bad joke. Carry on."
When it came to misdirection, Oleandra hated being unprepared. She was physically incapable of telling lies, so when she was put on the spot, she would usually begin with the truth and gradually push the discourse towards a favoured outcome.
However, the entire premise of Oleandra's argument on this occasion was founded upon an impossibility. She and Mai had raided the Ministry of Magic on the first of September, but by that time, her Reflection Doppelganger had already been in the Gryffindor Gang's custody. Even if they believed the Reflection to be a Muggle implanted with Oleandra's memories, it was a physical impossibility for it to possess memories the real Oleandra had made long after its capture!
Of course, there was a slim chance that Oleandra might convince the boys that this impossibility was actually plausible via some sort of wireless memory sharing magic, but if Hermione pressed on and asked for details about how such magic would work, Oleandra would be forced to come up with unverified magical theories, and in the end it would all be far too complicated to be worth the effort.
Better to stick to the easier lies.
"The Muggle-Born Sanctuary's founder is actually a distant relative of Oleandra's," Oleandra explained. "She's called Maëlle Dulac, but she likes to go by Mai, since her twin sister's name is awfully similar to hers—"
"Hang on a second," Hermione interrupted her. "Is she a Slytherin?"
Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously. He had always harboured a healthy distrust of Malfoy's ilk, and the Greengrass sisters' betrayal only served to cement his belief that none of the Slytherins were decent human beings.
"Maëlle… I'm certain I know that name… she would have been a second-year this year, yes?" Hermione said thoughtfully. "French-born, if I'm not mistaken… I remember because it struck me as odd that a Muggle-Born had been sorted into Slytherin."
"Hang on, isn't that the girl you kept moaning about over the summer?" Ron snorted. "The one who smashed the records you set for first-year exam scores?"
Hermione's face flushed bright red. "That's beside the point!" she snapped. "Anyway, if she's Muggle-Born, how can she be related to Oleandra? The Greengrasses are one of the few remaining pure-blooded families."
Rather than answer, Oleandra merely shrugged nonchalantly. Hermione was clever enough to work out a theory for herself. There were myriad ways such genealogical shenanigans could be arranged.
"Now that you mention it, I remember her too, the small girl who kept hanging about Oleandra last year, at the start of term…" Harry said thoughtfully. "Invading the Ministry of Magic and rescuing full-grown wizards right from under the Death Eaters' noses, and creating a sanctuary for them? That's not something an eleven-year-old ought to be capable of…"
When Harry thought back to his first year at Hogwarts, he really hadn't been the best of Wizards; he'd spent more time than he was willing to admit trying to remember which way to hold his wand. Even Hermione, the cleverest girl he knew, couldn't have replicated such feats one after the other at eleven years old.
"It's not that odd, if you ask me," Ron said. "Didn't you defeat You-Know-Who when you were eleven, mate?"
Perhaps spending too much time hanging about with the Chosen One, a genius, and an inhuman monster had skewed Ron's sense of reality; it was hardly normal for children to accomplish such feats.
"That one doesn't count," Harry argued, always one to downplay his achievements. "I didn't even have to do any—"
"Believe it or not, it's the truth!" Oleandra said cheerily, interrupting him. "So, are we going, or not?"
Harry, Ron, Sirius, and Hermione looked at each other. Should they go? On one hand, they were running low on magical supplies and could do with purchasing more potion ingredients, and they would finally be able to offload their useless Muggle hanger-on; on the other, they might be walking into an ambush…
"Hermione," Harry said after a few moments' thought. "How are we doing on Polyjuice Potion ingredients?"
"We're running low on everything, and I'm completely out of boomslang skin, so I can't brew more," Hermione said grimly. "But I did keep one blank dose in reserve from when we planned our own invasion of the Ministry, just in case."
"I thought we had loads left," Ron said obliviously.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "We do, but those are already locked into the guises we planned to take on for the second phase of the Ministry-invasion plan we had to abort. Unless you fancy walking into a place full of disgruntled Muggle-Born, disguised as Death Eaters, I really wouldn't drink those."
"Oh," Ron said, looking downcast.
Hermione looked pensive.
"How about this?" she then proposed. "I'll take the last mouthful of Polyjuice, and Sirius can come with me, since I doubt anyone will recognise him. We'll scout things out, buy potion ingredients if they have any, and, if it's safe, we'll bring everyone in."
Hermione's reasoning was that only she would be able to recognise the ingredients they needed.
"Out of the question!" Ron said hotly. "It's too dangerous!"
"You don't think I can handle myself?" Hermione said coolly. "Last I checked, you've never won a single duel against me."
"Maybe in a fair, one-on-one duel under proper rules, but Hermione tends to get flustered when things don't go her way," Oleandra piped up. "In a real fight to the death, I think Ron would have a better chance of surviving."
Ron shot Hermione a smug look.
"See?" he said, puffing up his chest. "Even Oleandra thinks so, and she's the strongest Witch I kn…"
Ron's voice trailed off.
"Hang on, why am I taking compliments from the Muggle!?" he spat. "Shut up, it's none of your business!"