Logan replied immediately, never one to back down from a challenge. "What happened to you in your war?" Hermione stayed very, very still. Trying to keep control, I bet, Logan mused, watching as she strove to find her equilibrium. "I suppose you need to know the truth; it will help you to understand why I so needed to come here, and why you have to avoid your own." She stood up, then, and paced away from them.

She quickly chose a new seat – near a window, back to the wall, and a good 2 metres away – and slipped into it. "It started when I was 11, really," she raised a hand at Logan, stopping him from opening his mouth. "Don't ask me any questions; I'll tell you what I can tell you, and you'll have to be happy with that." She cocked her head then, and looked at Logan. "After all, I'm not the only one with secrets that could change things." She settled down again, closing her eyes and leaving Logan speechless. "When I was 11, I was sorted into the same house at Hogwarts – the premier magical academy in Europe – as Harry Potter. He is the only person who has survived the Killing Curse, and has subsequently defeated Voldemort. Because of this, he's a little bit famous," she deadpanned. "Thankfully, he's managed to keep his ego smaller than a planet, even with girls throwing themselves at him willy-nilly, being hailed as the Chosen One, and regularly needing to test his drinks to ensure that no over-eager fans have slipped him a love potion." Her face cleared itself of what little amusement there was, and it faded into a soft, and extremely sad, nostalgic gaze.

"We were friends, along with Ron –" a soft, melancholy smile, flitted across her face. "- and we had adventures together that should have killed us. Thinking back, we were, really, being trained. Manipulated, sent into situations that easily has the capacity to lead to death, and forced us to become ever stronger, ever better . . . He made us the perfect soldiers." Her eyes snapped open, and she glared at Xavier. "He died, you know," she said conversationally, eyes boring into him. "He arranged so that he would be killed be his servant, though we, of course, didn't know it. He, ever the puppeteer, organised his own death for his own purposes and desires." She sneered, an ugly expression. "He manipulated us all; he made us so distraught and furious, that if we'd had any doubts about what was to come, they were gone. It cemented his servant's credentials in the Death Eaters; and it united the Wizarding World into action, into doing something that would actually give it a chance of survival." She looked Xavier up and down, taking in his slightly wary stance, and his apparent calm. "Get onto the front lines, Professor, so you can see exactly what is counted by the leaders and generals as "light" losses."

Xavier returned her look, blank faced. "You are losing control, Hermione," he said gently, eyes still cautiously watching the volatile woman. "The sea may rise and fall, but –"

"It always wins." Hermione finished, eyes no longer set in their burning rage. She drew in a deep breath, drawing back in the power that had leeched into the room. Logan shivered. There was so much of it, and that was what had only spilled over from her brief loss of control. What could she do if she really wanted . . .

"We had adventures," she said abruptly, apparently continuing from where she stopped before. "We stopped Voldemort from regaining his body, we stopped a creature from terrifying the school, we saved his god-father from being unlawfully soul-sucked –" they all sucked in a breath at that one – it just sounded so dark, and cruel; and so unbearably wrong. "And Harry was there when Voldemort did rise again; and he not only survived, he carried word to us. And there Dumbledore manipulated us again. He 'tried' to warn the public; but they turned against him." She snorted. "Albus Dumbledore could have told them all, and they would have listened. But he had thrust his tool into the fire, and needed to make sure that it would not have any weak points, that it would not crumple under the pressure; that it would survive." She leaned her head back, sounding so weary. "And in our fifth year, Voldemort invaded Harry's thoughts and tricked us into leaving the school, where we were safe, and brought us to the Ministry. We were under the impression that Sirius – Harry's godfather – was being held captive there. We were wrong. He'd planted the idea in Harry's mind, being careful to make it seem as though it was actually happening, and as though he didn't know that it was being seen by Harry." She shook her head, her eyes still shut. "He lured us in, got what he wanted, and killed Sirius; as well as indirectly killing Ron." Her voice did not shake, but she stopped talking for a minute. Logan watched her, and watched as her breathing was so even and under control, how her hands were in fists, and the knuckles were white.

"Everything changed. We started training, as I told you. Harry mastered Occlumency – being able to stop his thoughts from being invaded – and moved on to Legilimens – being able to invade. He told me, once, that he was able to master it after Ron died because he knew that Ron would have yelled himself hoarse if he didn't. He, of course, taught me, and we practiced on one another, whenever and wherever, so that we'd always be prepared." She gave a ghost of a smile, and murmured something that sounded like 'Constant vigilance'. She shook away that thought, and continued.

"We, more or less, started our own duelling club. There was me, Harry, Luna and Neville. The others were just as committed to being prepared; we all knew the risks that we faced, both here and now, and then and who knows where. And after that year of school, where we survived Umbridge, whose official purpose was to spread the 'truth' about how Voldemort was actually dead, whilst her real mission was to get us expelled permanently, and have our wands snapped. We were smarter than her." She stood, and started pacing. "We didn't do what Fred and George did; we kept quiet, and we let her think she was winning." She gave a harsh bark of laughter. "It was actually me who gave us away. I lost my temper." She shrugged, and the others blanched. That didn't sound healthy for this Umbridge woman . . .

"I called her out on her behaviour, and she attacked me." Hermione smirked. "I drew it out for a few minutes, but it was obvious to all that I was the one with the real power. She was more than a little pissed that a mere schoolgirl, 'Miss Bookworm', could not only hold her own, but toy with a senior Ministry representative." She shook her head slowly, smiling dreamily. "I ended it, quite properly, and gave her back her wand. Then I gave her an opening." Her shark's smile came out, grinning at them all. "I turned my back. She sent a hex my way – I'm pretty sure it was an illegal disfiguration hex, but those are harder to identify without sight – and Harry jumped in." She leaned against a wall, and let herself relax against it. "That was nice. Harry had such anger towards her; you know, she gave him detention for the most stupid things, only calling him and me up on it, never anyone else. It wasn't even that he was getting punished; it was that I was too." She leaned a bit closer to them, like a child confiding a carefully kept secret. "I think he accepted his own punishment because he blamed himself for Ron; which was silly, as it was obviously my fault." She leaned back, that strangely young look gone.

"And her type of detention was not that nice. She had him write out letters to her friends, using his own blood. She tried to explain it all away, saying that it was how they always did it, and if he didn't like it, there was always more . . . inventive methods." Everyone was white with shock; they were teachers themselves, or at least in charge of a large number of children. For someone to abuse the trust that was placed in them, was tantamount to sacrilege.

And for someone to do it with so much vindictive pleasure . . . it was horrifying.

"We couldn't really stay around long after that. By this stage, Dumbledore had realised that he was going to die soon, and told us about the Horcruxes. We started hunting them down, keeping to forests and places where we wouldn't be recognised. We managed to do the first few without too many hassles, but when we had to break into the Ministry. We managed, more or less, to get the Horcrux we came for – Umbridge had it, pleasantly – but then things got . . . complicated. Harry managed to get away fine, but I was caught."

Her face smoothed out, banishing all emotion, leaving only a blank, blank mask; her robot face, Logan dubbed it. Trying to keep control over her feelings – and her memories. "I was taken by Bellatrix Lestrange to the Death Eaters headquarters. Malfoy Manor, it was. Draco was there – we were in the same year, did you know? – but he wasn't very interested in torturing me."

That was enough for Storm, who had slowly gone more and more pale throughout the narrative. "Torture!" she blurted, eyes fixed on the woman, hands automatically reaching out to comfort her.

Hermione was gone.

She was suddenly on the other side of the room, back against the wall, wand bared and in a defensive crouch. Her eyes . . . Well, they weren't the kind you'd see on a visiting professor. They were filled with anger and hate, and there was a very large chunk of resignation.

"What did Bellatrix do to you, Hermione?" Xavier asked, his tone calm and in control, as though he was not currently being threatened by someone who could probably take them all down if she so wished.

Slowly, recognition returned to Hermione's eyes. She straightened up, and returned her wand to the now visible holster on her right forearm.

She tilted her head, taking them all in, seemingly unaffected by the tension in the room. "I've given you plenty of information for now, Xavier, and if you would use your eyes properly, you could figure it out without my having to relieve a not very enjoyable two weeks."

She turned on the spot and vanished, leaving behind a distressed Storm, a visibly perturbed Professor, and a seriously worried Logan.

~4~

A/N: If you hadn't realised by now, I don't really do these; I feel they detract from the actual work. I'm going to start making an effort, so I'm therefore going to respond to any suggestions, but it's not very likely I'll incorporate your ideas into the story. Oh - and I'm not going to develop this into a romance; I can't write those, and my perfectionism won't allow me to post substandard work.

Et maintenant: enjoy! :)