AN: This has gone through Grammarly - I hope to be able to continue this, future pairings would include Hermione/Gellert, Severus/Lily, Harry/Ginny.

Thank you Elle Morgan-Black for the wonderful cover!

Hermione Granger

And The

Lies of Dumbledore

Hermione's No Good Very Bad Century

Hermione Granger had a very frustrating first week of classes to begin her 6th year at Hogwarts. First, there was Harry and Ron showing up unexpectedly in Advanced Potions, and then there was the matter of Harry following mysterious handwritten notes in the potions book he borrowed and turning in a better potion than she did, despite her following the book directions exactly while Harry did not. Harry didn't deserve the grade, nor the Felix Felicis he won from Professor Slughorn.

Hermione snorted in dislike as she dug through her books, looking for what she'd need to study in the library and thinking how much she utterly despised the ridiculous rotund Professor Slughorn. Was she related to Hector Dagworth-Granger? Of course not, she was muggleborn! That precludes being related to the founder of the Most Extraordinary Society of Portioners, obviously. And that ridiculous Slug Club! As if she'd attend that silly waste of time. Hermione looked at the clock and decided she'd work on Charms, leaving Potions homework for later. Clearly, Harry and Ron wouldn't be needing— or wanting— her help this year when they had the handwritten notes from whoever the Half-Blood Prince was. Another snort of disgust issued from Hermione as she gathered up what she needed for working in the library that afternoon and scuttled off to lunch.

She turned over in her mind what Harry had told her and Ron the previous night after he'd returned from his private lesson with Dumbledore, specifically mentioning that the Headmaster's hand was blackened and wizened. What did happen to the professor's hand, Hermione pondered as she ate slowly. Harry and Ron were no doubt still on the Quidditch Pitch, discussing how to run the trials for the Gryffindor team. Well, they weren't her responsibility, no matter how everyone said she was their keeper. They were her friends and she was not their mother, even if she was the only rational and logical thinker of their trio. Those two would be the death of her, Hermione, though bitterly, stabbing a potato with her fork.

After she finished and excused herself, Hermione made her way towards the library. About two corridors away, she ran into none other than the Headmaster himself.

"Ah, Miss Granger! I was just on my way to find you. Would you care to join me in my office for a moment? I would like to have a word if you please." Albus Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled merrily over his half-moon glasses.

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore." Hermione smiled and followed the professor to the gargoyle statue that protected his sanctuary, and up the spiral staircase to the Headmaster's office. The portraits of previous headmasters crowded the walls, discussing quietly amongst themselves. Dumbledore bade her sit in one of the seats in front of his desk and went and sat in his chair behind it. Hermione put down her bag and idly wondered what they would be discussing. The Headmaster pulled open a drawer in his desk, retrieving a necklace with a delicate glass hourglass pendant held in an elegant gold setting.

"I believe you remember this, Miss Granger. After all, it was in your possession in your third year." Dumbledore held out the Time Turner to Hermione who took it with curious wonder, light happiness she hadn't felt in years rushing through her at the thought that the battle at the Department of Mysterious some months prior hadn't destroyed all of the time turners. She'd thought it'd been a horrible loss when they glass cabinet holding them had been shattered in the Time Room.

"I was so worried all of the Time Turners had been destroyed!" Hermione responded, automatically placing it around her neck without thought.

"I'd been keeping this one for safekeeping, Miss Granger. And now it seems, the time has come when I must give you a very delicate mission for the Order. I need you to hold onto this and deliver it safely into my hands in the past. Aside from me, you must not be seen and cannot take anything with you." Dumbledore handed her a glass vial of swirling mist, which Hermione recognized as a memory from Harry's descriptions. Dumbledore stood abruptly and beckoned Hermione to follow. Leaving her bag behind, Hermione followed the Headmaster, glad her wand was safely tucked up her sleeve and unnoticed by the professor who did a visual cursory check she'd taken nothing with her. As they walked back into the main corridors of the school, Dumbledore continued talking in a hushed tone.

"I've modified this turner and removed the restrictions placed on it by the Ministry. It will now move backwards significantly farther in time. You will be travelling to 1942, deliver the vial to my hands."

"And how will I return Professor?" Hermione fidgeted with the chain of the necklace.

"Ah, yes. You will be assisted by my past self." Dumbledore remarked as they came up to a deserted corridor

"But what about Eloise Mintumble? I won't suddenly age 50 plus years upon my return?" Hermione asked fretfully, thinking back on the book about time travel she had to read before she was allowed a time turner.

"My past self has instructions on how to cast the stability charms so that you can travel unimpeded and unaged." Dumbledore gave her a quick smile, before stopping near an alcove.

"Ah, here is a good place. Now, Miss Granger, the Transfiguration corridor and the office are the same in 1942 as Professor McGonagall's office. When you arrive, you should head directly there and," Dumbledore checked a pocket watch in his robes, "I should be there grading. Introduce yourself and insist that I view the message in this vial. Acts just like a normal memory in a Pensieve. And then you'll be returned. A quick but extremely important mission that no one else can undertake. Just like in your third year." Dumbledore smiled at Hermione broadly.

"Okay, Professor. When I reach the past, I go directly to the Transfiguration office and will find you there. I will not be seen by anyone other than you," Hermione jutted her chin proudly at being trusted with such a highly illegal charge.

"Good luck and goodbye, Miss Granger. Remember, you must not be seen!"

Dumbledore pointed his wand at Hermione and a pale blue light shot out and encompassed the hourglass pendant which began to spin madly. Hermione's knees began to weaken, and she felt light-headed as the world spun around her, faster and faster— worse than she'd ever experienced previously with time travel. Slowly the world around her came to a halt, but the dizziness overwhelmed her, and Hermione fell to the floor, as she heard a shout of alarm and running. Before Hermione could protest, darkness overtook her.

September 1942

"Rennervate."

Hermione stirred weakly, and blinked, slowly coming to consciousness.

"Hello. I assume you're Miss Granger?" A much younger, less round Horace Slughorn hovered over Hermione, who was stretched out on a comfortable couch in a private office. Judging from the green and silver decor, Hermione had to guess it was his own. She sat up quickly, alarmed. She wasn't supposed to be seen!

"Easy now, you hit your head when you fell." A boy with perfectly coiffed dark hair and dark blue eyes put a gentle hand on her arm, keeping Hermione from getting up.

"I need to see Professor Dumbledore! I—" Hermione began but was cut off.

"Now, Miss Granger, I think we should probably discuss that. Tom and I saw you materialize out of thin air in the corridor and pass out. Time travel without stability charms is incredibly dangerous. We brought you to my office to recover, this memory provided your story. I don't know what Albus is playing at, but his days of endangering students are over!" Horace Slughorn explained gravely, growing into anger.

"What— what do you mean? That message is for Professor Dumbledore. He said it had to go directly into his hands—" here Hermione was interrupted by the dark-haired boy who scoffed loudly.

"Who are you, anyway? I know that's Professor Slughorn, but who are you ?" Hermione asked, annoyed.

"Tom Riddle, Slytherin Prefect." The boy held out his hand to her, which Hermione recoiled from.

"You're— you…" Hermione gasped, realizing this boy was the future Lord Voldemort.

"Just a Prefect. Wrongfully maligned by Dumbledore. The professor has been against me since before I arrived, and according to the message he sent himself, had tried to prevent my birth and only succeeded in removing all of my family from me." The boy said bitterly.

"W-what? Professor Dumbledore wouldn't…" Hermione gulped and stopped when she saw the angry look on the boy's face. Her thoughts definitely trailed off when she turned her head to see the contrast of sympathy on Professor Slughorn's soft features.

"I wouldn't have believed it either, my dear. I've been colleagues with Albus for many years now and had it not been for this message you carried, I never would have full evidence." Slughorn nodded sympathetically. "I think you should see the message that you unwittingly tried to deliver. Despite our loquacious natures Tom and I would be at a loss to explain this level of insanity in a respected figure of our society."

Hermione looked at the two people who'd helped her when she'd passed out in the corridor helplessly. "It wasn't meant for me…" She murmured weakly. "I cannot look..."

"Nonsense. Your life was forfeit by sending you into the past on a destabilised time-turner, it is only right that you should be privy to the sensitive information and what that could have meant for you," Slughorn said, as he stood up and walked over to the Pensieve on the large wooden desk across the room.

"Forfeit?" she squeaked. "What do you mean, forfeit? Professor Dumbledore said he included instructions to help me return back to 1996!" Hermione said indignantly and made to get up but was stopped by Tom who put his hand on her arm again, shaking his head.

"I think you should see this message, Miss Granger. I am so sorry." Slughorn prodded the centre of the basin with his wand, and the figure of Professor Dumbledore from 1996 rose out of the Pensieve and began speaking.

"Ah, Albus! I am you and you are me, thanks to the ingenious methods of time-travel and my messenger, Miss Hermione Granger. She's completely loyal to us and will have delivered this message without being seen, directly into your hands. For me, it is currently 1995 and is Headmaster at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, old boy, we are at an impasse and have royally screwed up now. A very dark curse was released on our person by an evil Dark Lord, the one that Tom Riddle was prophesied to become. As we suspected, he is the son of Merope Gaunt, as when her brother and father were sentenced to Azkaban for Muggle Baiting at our tip-off, the ridiculous Witch was not a squib after all, but likely used Amortentia to ensnare the local lord's son into marriage. Bob Ogden who investigated the Gaunt's didn't know a thing about the girl beyond the knowledge that even her father thought she was a squib. Another prophecy was made that would be the Dark Lord's downfall, and we have been fighting him since his rise in the 1950s. He knows, Albus. I thought he'd met his doom when a boy was prophesied to be his downfall in 1981, but Riddle has been resurrected with dark magic and has been after me since.

"He found out the truth from one of my teachers whom he possessed while Riddle had nobody. I should have done more when the Chamber of Secrets opened, and Myrtle Warren was murdered by the basilisk and Riddle was behind it— descended from the House of Gaunt he is the last descendant of Salazar Slytherin after Morfin died in Azkaban for the murder of the Riddles, Tom's father and grandparents. I've suggested that it was Tom who murdered them, but apparently all he did was take the Gaunt ring from Morfin and curse it. He must have known that the stone was the Resurrection Stone, and when I tried to take it, the curse hit me. I've slowed its course, but if we don't stop this then I will die. The Potter family has the third Hallow, the Cloak of Invisibility and as you know Gellert has the Death stick. You'll take it from him in 1945 when he knows he can't hide from us anymore. He rots in Numengard for his treachery and we become champions of Light and surprisingly enough, muggle relations.

"But, I get away from myself. I've sent you this message so that you can engineer a way that Riddle will die instead of Myrtle Warren. Keeping him in London during the summers despite the muggle war doesn't kill him, so we need to take action. It is for the Greater Good. This message should reach you in 1942, and by the 13th of June in 1943 the basilisk will kill Miss Warren. That is the time frame in which you need to stop Riddle. He needs to die, as other courses have not stopped him from turning to the Dark Arts in efforts against me and the Greater Good. I managed to twist his message to blood feuds— hilarious, yes? With him being a half-blood no less! He rallies many of the Sacred 28 against me, as they were displeased with my reputation for being pro-muggle. As if they or the rest of the blood traitors and mudbloods know what is best for them. No, the Greater Good meant that I needed the majority of the population and the Sacred 28 are quickly dying out, especially after the first war against Riddle. Oh yes, he changes his name to Lord Voldemort. Or rather, I changed it for him through the press and he accepted it. Where was I? Yes, so Voldemort was our creation and ended up becoming the prophesied Dark Lord because of our actions. The last heir of Slytherin must be destroyed; there is no stopping him from becoming a Dark Lord. Do it before Tom Riddle figures out who he is— kill him. The Blitz of London does not do him in, and he comes after us specifically after he figures everything out…

"Mm, and about our messenger— do what you will. I adapted the time-turner to send her back. She's a mudblood of startling intellect but little use otherwise if you dispense with Riddle. Hence why I sent her to you. I'm sure you will find a use for her and can convince her to aid you. As I said, she's completely loyal to us thanks to Riddle's reputation for killing muggles and mudbloods. Good luck, Albus. Don't make my mistakes and fix this mess. The Deathly Hallows are in our grasp, and it's up to you to do what is for the Greater Good. Gellert may have lost his way in violence and gore, but we have not. Do what ye will, Albus."

The pacing form of Albus Dumbledore from 1996 sank back into the Pensieve on the desk. The silence seemed to echo in the office, with all the occupants in contemplative thought. A tear trailed down Hermione's cheek, and Tom offered her his handkerchief.

"There there," Tom whispered sitting next to her and wrapping a commiserating arm around her. "Don't cry, Miss Granger. We'll sort things out for you. I'd always known Dumbledore was the wrong sort. I am sorry he's taken such dastardly advantage of your sweet trust."

"I—I just—I don't know. This is unlike anything I've ever known from him. Before he was so kind, bit odd, but supportive. That was definitely Professor Dumbledore as I saw him before I left. Same robes and... and..." Hermione gulped down the tears that threatened to start and focused on her wrapped hands. Suddenly, Hermione looked up at Tom. "As for you...well..."

"I am tough, I survive the London Blitz remember," he smirked. Hermione swooned.

"I'm sorry he did that to you. I hate that he's so hung up on prophecies. Divination is a load of flim-flam!" Tom was entertained by her show of smug pride as if she had discovered a secret no one else has: "After all, one is better off with Arithmancy, then one can at least factor in a margin of error but... but..." she took in several deep breaths before she went off on a wild tirade about all things foul and evil in the world. "Attempting to prevent your birth… Such a level of hypocrisy... I cannot believe... all this time... he is a bloody hypocrite! He always told me that dangerous things happen to those who meddle with time! Only to IGNORE THE RULES AND FLOUT THEM WHEN IT BLOODY WELL SUITS HIM! I WANT TO HANG HIM BY HIS BEARDED BALLS FROM THE TOP MOST TOWER! I WANT TO CHOKE HIM ON HIS OWN BEARD! I WANT TO...TO... THAT MANGY, BLOODY HYPOCRITICAL SNAKE! THAT HYPOGRIFF CRAP OF A HUMAN BEING!" Hermione had turned to an attractive light red shade in her diatribe assessment of his character. Always, when she got a bee in her bonnet, once she got going, she did little things like scrunch up her nose causing the centre of her brow to crease. "Anger does not describe the feeling I have to know now that someone I trusted, betrayed me and called me a...a..." that word from his lips was the biggest sting of all. "All so he could murder a student that was supposedly prophesied to become a dark lord! Divination! PAH!" little beads of spittle coated her lips at the physical manifestation of anger, "and why?" she screeched. "Because it challenged him and his Greater Good! I will show him. I will show him what being bloody good is all about!"

"Miss Granger, we cannot send you back to your future. Not with your time-turner lacking stability charms." Slughorn waved his hands, more out of habit than an actual gesture.

Hermione's heart, as well as her legs, plummeted at his words.

"But," Tom said as he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the sofa, laying her body down on the old worn black leather sofa, "we can help assist you to be as comfortable as possible here."

"Are you by any chance related to Hector Dagworth-Granger?" Slughorn asked her gently as if his last truth-bomb had not floored her to be asked this again had the opposite effect.

"No— As Dumbledore said in that… message…" she sneered as she continued to fume over her current situation. "I am Muggle-born. As far as I know, I am the only witch in my family," she whispered.

"Hmm, yes. Well, it is a good cover nonetheless and Hector does owe me favour… I'm sure he has some sort of family he can attach you to— a very private man, which is helpful to us in this case." Slughorn nodded and went behind his desk to sit.

"Once we have a suitable background for you, we'll take you to the headmaster's office, Armando Dippet is the current headmaster, Miss Granger. I am sure we will have you enrolled shortly. Dumbledore doesn't know you're here— only me and Tom are aware of that sensitive fact. I'll floo Hector and have him come to enrol you as your last remaining relative and guardian. Do you want to say you're home-schooled or that you went to Beauxbatons? Hector has connections there, you know. I'll also need to know what your OWLs were, so I can place you in the correct classes. What house were you, Miss Granger…" Slughorn was cut off by Tom who noticed Hermione start to panic at all the questions.

"Professor, I think Miss Granger could do with a little calming draught. She's been through quite a bit. Why don't you floo Hector Dagworth-Granger and I'll help Miss Granger?" Tom suggested.

"Oh— Oh yes! Right, of course, m'boy. I'm terribly sorry, Miss Granger, I was getting ahead of myself. Tom will assist you and I'll settle things with Hector." Slughorn stood and rummaged in his desk, drawing out a vial of purple potion, the tell-tale shade of a calming drought. He handed the vial to Hermione and bustled out of the office, towards his private quarters to use the fireplace unmolested.

"Thank you for your kindness." Hermione murmured as she drank the mouthful of potion in the vial.

"Of course, Miss Granger." Tom smiled at her.

Hermione was surprised and pleased to note how handsome he was.

"Call me Hermione. Miss Granger seems so formal." Hermione blushed slightly as she was certain that was a faux-pas.

"Of course, Hermione. Do reciprocate and call me Tom. It may seem formal for everyone to address you by Miss, but it is polite for this era. Does that change in the future?" Tom inquired.

"Well, sort of. The professors call everyone by their last names. The students tend to call each other by their first names if they become friends. Last names are considered stand-offish. Only the Purebloods continue such archaic traditions. I haven't really thought of it. I guess it doesn't change much in the wizarding world, but the muggle world is definitely more informal. Before Hogwarts, all of my teachers called me by my first name." Hermione blushed again gazing at her hands wishing she was not so affected by a stranger.

"Interesting. Now, while Professor Slughorn is arranging things with his friend, shall we figure out your new background? Perhaps we should start with how old you are. Accio!" Tom asked, using a summoning charm to retrieve parchment and quill from his bag in the corner.

"I'm 16 legally, my birthday is September 19th, 1979. Due to the use of a time-turner in my third year, I suppose I am chronologically closer to 18.

"Why did you need a..."

"To take all of the electives, exhaustion caused me to drop Muggle Studies and Divination."

"When did you wake up?"

"This morning?" Tom nodded. "I woke up at 06:30 am precisely, on September 5th, 1996. I had just started my 6th year. What day is today, by the way?" Hermione queried.

"September 5th, 1942. It seems like the time turner you used moved in years only." Tom responded, fast becoming fascinated by Hermione as her own self, rather than just a stooge, a messenger Dumbledore sent to himself from the future.

"Indeed. I don't know when my birthday should be now." Hermione shrugged, grinding the toe of her shoe into the carpet.

"Why not September 19th, 1926? The same day, just change the year? I'm in 6th year as well, so you'll be in classes with me."

"That would be quite nice, actually. I would not be quite so alone." Hermione said, nodding gently but still not looking up.

"So," Tom sighed, "what were your O.W.L scores?" Tom asked, quickly moving onto the next subject hoping to relieve the awkward tension in the room.

"All O's, except for Defence Against the Dark Arts. I got an 'Exceeds Expectations.' Ridiculous, I deserved an 'O' on that as well. Harry— My friend, got an O because he has a corporeal Patronus! I know that is impressive but so do I" she sat back and pouted. "I wasn't asked to do one! It wasn't even on the exam!" Hermione exclaimed angrily, blue sparks were shooting from her hair, the air practically burned due to her magical output. "They only asked him because he was famous, not because he was better at things than I was!" Tom looked at her in amazement.

"What subjects do you take? I got an 'E' in Divination, but 'Outstanding's otherwise as well." Tom asked excitedly.

"Oh! I took the normal courses," Hermione waved her hand airily as if her course load were nothing but a butterfly on her hand to admire.

"Astronomy, Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Defence, and Herbology. My electives are Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures. Though, I'd rather like to drop Care of Magical Creatures for N.E.W.T level." Hermione responded. "What did you take for electives?"

"Ancient Runes, Arithmancy and Divination," Tom responded satisfactorily. "I'm continuing with all of them for N.E.W.T.s"

"We'll have the same classes, then. Except you'd be taking Divination," Tom smiled at her displeasure in knowing someone liked something as incorporeal as prophecy. "I don't care if it is a different teacher, I certainly don't believe in that clap-trap. My school career has been influenced by prophecies. Although, now it seems like they don't even matter! If you are a manipulative, sadistic chess master of a Headmaster, an old scrote who deserves to be... be..."

Tom chuckled as he continued writing notes: "Go on."

"Sorry, but I prefer Arithmancy."

"I gathered," Tom smirked, Hermione swooned in his company more times than she ever did in front of anyone else. "It'll be nice to have intelligent conversations. Now that leaves the matter of where you are to be Housed, Hermione."

"Oh, it's Gryffindor. Though… I don't think I'd like to be under Dumbledore's manipulative autocratic thumb anymore. The hat did consider me for Ravenclaw. Maybe I could resort?" Hermione suggested.

"That does sound like it would be a better idea. While Ravenclaws are, naturally, legendarily fastidiously studious, many of them are… also... rather eccentric," Tom chuckled, while Hermione tried not to drool as she nodded in agreement.

"I could plausibly have attended Beauxbatons, being able to speak French fluently, it would probably make more sense to be home-schooled. My parents were dentists, so I suppose it could easily be translated to Healers that got killed on the continent responding to calls for aid." Hermione sighed deeply.

"I'm really sorry this happened to you, Hermione," Tom told her, as he placed a gentle hand on her arm. Immediately, she gazed up and was moved by his genuine concern that was plainly written on his face and sighed again. "No one deserves the humiliation you have suffered today."

"Thank you, Tom. I'm sorry for what happened to you… it seems like he's committed foul felonies against you more than I. In my future, he certainly damaged my friend's life beyond repair as well. We all thought it was…" she squeezed his bicep treading cautiously as she whispered, "Voldemort's doing," goose bumps formed on where her breath fell on and around his ear. Then, she leaned back and was business-like in a flash, "but that was his name for you.

He's created damaging evidence against your character, planting it in our way so that we had no choice but to implicate you. In my second year, a diary that was supposed to have been yours possessed my friend Ginny and used her to open the Chamber of Secrets." Hermione said sadly.

"The Chamber of Secrets? It's real?" Tom tried to mask his excitement and failed.

"Yes, it's real. It's Moaning Myrtle's— but, she hasn't died yet… It's an engraved tap in the second-floor girl's lavatory. I warn you that there is a basilisk inside. Salazar Slytherin's legacy to rid the world of people like me." Hermione answered.

"The more I think about it," sighed Tom as he tapped his quill against his notebook, "the more I wonder if it was truly about blood purity or," he crossed his legs drawing her gaze to their beautiful length, "it had more to do with the time in which Slytherin lived. The Catholic church was taking over, and it was exceedingly dangerous than to have any outward sign of magic ability. Distrusting muggle-born students could have stemmed from that, before the rise of the church; muggles and wizards co-existed peacefully." Tom explained thoughtfully, to which Hermione found herself nodding in agreement.

"It does make sense. I mean, if purebloods only ever married purebloods, you'd end up with a significantly inbred population. Not that I don't doubt that scenario happening, but it's not exactly a safe idea. Genetics aren't widely understood in the 1940s, though it will be more of a concern in the near future with the..." she stopped herself from saying too much as she was not sure the experiments Nazi's were forcing on people was common knowledge, "at least people have learned not to marry their cousins!" Hermione laughed and Tom cracked a smile as Slughorn tottered back into the room.

"Ah, Miss Granger. Hector will be here shortly, once he throws some stasis charms on his brewing. Did you and Tom…" Slughorn began and left off when Tom handed him the parchment that was covered in his neat, organised writing. They watched apprehensively as Horace quickly scrolled down the notes on Hermione's new background.

"You are as brilliant as Mr Riddle, Miss Granger— resorting is a logical step. What with Hector arriving to admit you to the school and have not attended previously. I have never, in my knowing him, to be this excited - 'It is delightful to have gained a great niece!' - were his exact words but coupled with an Irish jig I was tickled pink. Anyway," he breathed in as his own face glowed with joy. "Now, I'll call in a few favours from various persons within the ministry who own me a few. You will be properly documented before Albus even thinks to look," Slughorn nattered and nodded enthusiastically.

"Carry on you two, get to know each other, it won't hurt the timelines, in fact, it may heal them. Talk, be merry, be bright, be joyful. You two young ones can surely find something to converse about."

"Professor," Tom said.

"Yes, Tom?"

"Ministry, Professor..."

"Oh, right yes, certainly. Some people own me favours you know!"

After his second departure, Hermione giggled: "Now that is what I call eccentric."

When Slughorn returned he announced the favours were all called-in and all were delighted to be going behind Dumbledore's back for some of them were treated in a less than stellar way as they were either Slytherin's or non-descript Hufflepuffs.

"Oh, thank you, Professor. How can I ever repay you?" Hermione bounced up and rushed to hug him tightly around the neck, awed at the generosity of a virtual stranger.

"Don't even think of it, Miss Granger. It is my pleasurable duty to assist you. You have been wronged by a colleague of mine and I intend to help you in any way that I can." Slughorn responded resolutely. "I think once Hector joins us, all of us should make wand oaths to ensure your safety, Miss Granger, and the secrecy of your identity."