After Asher had flooed to St. Mungo's to set up an exam and penned a missive to the Ministry, and after a brief but loud conversation with her uncle, she ranted and raged her way around her tower. Hermione and Amon watched, reluctant to end up in the line of fire, instead whispering to one another as phrases like "hidebound idiots" and "prejudiced old bats" were shouted at no one in particular.

"I think she's taking it rather well," Amon commented, watching as Asher threw her miniature cauldron into the fireplace for a third time.

Hermione snorted, Charming the cauldron back to its rightful place once again. "This is rather well?"

"You should have seen her when Cornelius tried to tell her she wasn't allowed to join the Order, and attempted to stop her from leaving the house," Amon replied, snapping his beak in judgment. "He couldn't keep up with all the things she broke. And of course, she joined anyway, and not a thing he could have done about it; she was seventeen by that point."

"Who do you think it was? Who told the Ministry?"

"I've no idea," replied the bird darkly, "but if I did, be sure they'd find their shoulders soiled and their face pecked."

They watched a bit longer, until finally Asher picked up a massive pot containing a trembling plant. Hermione thrust her wand at it and it froze in place, the black-haired woman looking up angrily when it didn't move. "That poor Vestigial Worm Eater did nothing to you," Hermione said a bit sharply, easing the pot down to where it belonged. "I think you've had enough stomping about. Now drink this." She conjured a large decanter of a particularly strong Muggle spirit and shoved a glass of it into Asher's hand. "Sit."

Startled into obedience, Asher took a sip and sat in her desk chair.

"Now," Hermione said, leaning against the back of the couch, "we are going to figure this out."


The offices were abuzz at the Daily Prophet. This wasn't anything out of the ordinary, of course, but the hum had elevated this evening: They had caught a whopper of a story.

"Gentry! You're on the Ministry angle! How could she have evaded notice? What will she have to do now she's discovered? That sort of thing," shouted Barnabas Cuffe, editor-in-chief. He then rounded on a petite, dark-haired woman. "Blake, you're on the Hogwarts beat. Find out what she's like in class, what the staff think of her, and dig up anything unsavory!"

"Can I help?" came a sharp-edged voice at the edges of Cuffe's vision. He turned, then smiled toothily at the blonde witch.

"Yes," he said slyly, "I believe you can."

The blonde witch adjusted her glasses, smiled back, and pulled a quill out of her bag.


"For someone who believes she can't really trust anyone, you're being quite the optimist." Hermione brushed frizzy hair out of her eyes and lifted an eyebrow at Asher. "We've gone through every person on the list, and you keep saying that they wouldn't, but someone did."

Asher's lips pressed into a frown, waving a hand dismissively. "Some things you just know."

Hermione rolled her eyes and walked to the window overlooking the Forbidden Forest. "Well, someone reported you, so we just need to follow the trail back to them. I'm sure there's a way to trace the chain of thought through the letters," she said with determination, her hands propping her against the windowsill. "If I could repurpose one of the spells they use on Dark Detect- oh-" Asher had come up behind her and gripped her hips, causing her thought process to evaporate. The other woman now leaned against her, pressing her into the windowsill; Hermione could feel hot breath on the back of her neck.

"Have I ever mentioned," Asher said, nibbling on Hermione's shoulder, "how devastatingly sexy I find your large and crafty brain?"

"Actually, size has- no correlation-" Hermione began breathily, then gave up and leaned back as she felt lips and tongue move in a delicious line up her shoulder to her neck.

"We've been at this long enough," Asher murmured into Hermione's skin. "Time for a change of pace." Hermione turned in her arms and their lips met, quickly followed by tongues. Anyone looking in from outside could have seen them entangled and outlined by firelight; keenly aware of this, Asher drew the curtains and pulled Hermione away from the window to the couch.

She didn't want any interruptions.


Next day, a large tawny owl brought the Prophet bright and early, and Asher heard Amon chattering angrily from her bed as he argued with the owl. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and summoned her plush, non-holey robe, a Christmas gift from Hermione. She quickly tucked it around herself and entered the living area, where the two birds were hopping around each other and snapping their beaks in irritation.

"They're going to stop delivering if you don't quit harassing their owls," Asher yawned, digging some coins out of her top drawer. She handed the coins to Amon one by one, who cautiously deposited them into the owl's leg pouch.

"She was going to wake you, and I'm perfectly capable of taking a delivery, except you moved the money," argued the magpie after he'd finished. The owl dropped the paper and hastily took off out the window.

"Hermione put it there after last night's cauldron-throwing," Asher replied absently, unrolling the paper. "God damnit," she said with feeling.

There, smack in the middle of the front page, was a photo of her, looking irritated and waving her hand dismissively at the camera while walking away. "Danger at Hogwarts?" questioned the headline, but as she read through the main article, they made it seem not so much a question as a certainty. Everything was there- her father's death, her mother's imprisonment, and the truth of what she was. A side-column detailed her relation to Cornelius Fudge, and hinted at a conspiracy between him, McGonagall, and Dumbledore. There were quotes from students and parents, weighing in on her grumpiness the last school year.

Then, at the bottom of the page, she saw a heading that stopped her breath. "Hermione!"

Hermione stumbled out of the bedroom a few moments later in a tank top and undies, eyes sleepy but alarmed.

"Listen to this. 'Hermione Granger: Complicit in the Conspiracy or Erised's next victim?'" She scowled at the header, then continued reading aloud. "'Hermione Granger, once the golden girl of the Wizarding world, is rumored to spend a lot of time with the dangerously beautiful Asher Erised. When asked about the nature of their relationship, most of those this reporter spoke with claimed friendship, but a few hinted more. Always known to be attention-seeking, is Hermione Granger now dancing with the devil to bring the spotlight back onto her once more? Or has Erised corrupted her in service of her dark desires?' This one did all but say we're in a relationship."

As she listened, Hermione's eyes had narrowed; now she said "Wait a moment- give me that!" She snatched the paper from Asher, found the byline, and practically growled, "That rotten woman is at it again!" She pointed to the name. "That Rita Skeeter bitch!"

Asher's face went blank with surprise; Hermione rarely swore, and even more rarely called people rude names. But the name clicked somewhere in her subconscious. "Wait- the one who wrote that book about Dumbledore?"

"Not to mention she mocked up all sorts of drama our fourth year, during the Tournament," muttered Hermione. "I trapped her in a bottle and swore I'd tell she was an animagus if she didn't agree to my terms."

Asher grinned, her eyes dancing. "In fourth year? Suddenly I think my crush on you has extended back a few years."

Hermione gave her a brief smile, but her eyes were deep in thought. "There's no reason I couldn't do it again.."

"I doubt it would work this time, Herm," Asher said thoughtfully. "If she's writing this about you now, she must not be afraid of what you'll do anymore. Or she's got someone at her back." She sat as Winky brought out coffee and tea, picking up the mug and sipping from it inattentively.

"Thanks, Winky," Hermione said, lifting her teacup to her lips. Winky curtsied and hurried back behind the fireplace, presumably to fetch breakfast.

"Wonder how Minerva is faring," Asher said grimly. "I imagine her office looks like the Owlery just now."

"Yours is about to," Hermione said after parting the curtains. "Look."

Asher rose and saw a crowd of owls outside her window, great and small, snowy to brown, and let out an exasperated breath. "Might as well let them in, they're only going to shit all over the outside sill and scratch up the panes if I don't."

She unlocked the window, released the catch, and opened it wide. The owls streamed in, depositing their envelopes and scrolls upon her desk, and one by one, flew back out again, screeching and squawking as they went. By the time the flurry was over, there were no fewer than twenty-three envelopes on her desk, four of them Howlers. She opened those inside a desk drawer and shut it on the noise, the yelling still painfully audible.

"Shouldn't be too long," shouted Hermione over the epithets and threats.

Asher ignored the letters' words willfully and sorted through the rest, resolving only to open those from people she knew or official post. The remaining envelopes were thrown in the fire. She was left with three letters, one from the Ministry, one from St. Mungo's, and one, surprisingly, from Ronald Weasley.

"Your old flame is weighing in," Asher intoned, sliding a finger under the flap. She opened the letter and snorted. "According to him, he's 'always known there was something wrong' with me and 'hopes I understand that he won't hesitate to bring me down' if he needs to."

"Oh that blustery idiot," Hermione groaned. "He's all talk. Well," she amended, "mostly talk. I wouldn't put it past him to pull something stupid. I do hope Harry hasn't told him about us." She bit her lip in worry.

"I guarantee he has," Asher replied after a moment, pointing to a passage in the letter. "Apparently, I've enchanted you to be my love-slave."

"Are you-" Hermione grabbed the letter, examined the relevant section, and let out a disgusted sound. "He's such a git. Feel free to ignore him. I do." She threw the letter down violently, then thought better of it and tossed it into the fire along with the others.

"Hey, I was going to respond to that," joked Asher.

"If anyone's going to send something back at him, it should be me," Hermione said, an angry glint forming in her eye. "I'll post a Howler. To his office."

"Better not. The last thing the Prophet needs is more fuel. You know how connected to the Ministry it is."

"Yeah," Hermione said dejectedly. "It was a nice thought though." She glanced at the two remaining envelopes. "What are those?"

"Instructions for my appointments, I'm sure." Asher opened them, glanced through each of them, then set them down again. "I'm to abstain from my potion before my appointment with St. Mungo's, and I have to bring my wand to the Ministry for registration."

"If they take it away, I'm sure I can convince Minerva to storm the castle with me."

"They won't, they just want proof I can do magic so I can keep it." Asher reexamined the letter from St. Mungo's. "And I'm to bring it to the hospital as well." She sighed gustily, glaring at the newspaper. "My appointments are tomorrow. I'm going to have to go in disguise."

"Not a bad idea," agreed Hermione.

"Your breakfast is getting cold," Winky said, startling them both. They brought their trays to the desk and ate slowly, each lost in their own thoughts.

When they'd finished, and had no more excuses, Asher stood and summoned her brush. "I'd better go see the Headmistress."