Disclaimer: Does Supercalifragilistic expialidocious qualify as a protection against all mislead interpretation of this chapter as a Copyright Infringement, or is it better if I state that I don't own the tiniest piece of the Harry Potter Universe? Better safe than sorry: I don't own the tiniest piece of the Harry Potter Universe (not counting the twenty print copies of the books, see chapter 2).

Miscellaneous statements:

a/ Skele-Gro is a registered Trademark of Reubens Winkius and Company Inc.

b/ No wrackspurts have been mistreated during the writing of this chapter.

c/ Nitpickers are reminded that Pureblood conspirators are not a protected specie. Thus, a few might experience various levels of suffering (from annoying to lethal) in this chapter (and up to the end of the story). You've been warned.

Chapter 9: Fan mail.

If it weren't for the cloak and dagger context, Loreena McDiff would run away from this madhouse. Granted, she had wanted to work for a few months in a European media company, she had it. As a dogsbody, she had to fill the voids in the Daily Prophet with meaningless information – new briefs, press releases, useless events – and embellish them to the likeness of information. Of course, as soon as the communiqué was of any importance, it was taken over by a "real" reporter.

But with regards to the mission Gaagi Lightfoot had assigned her, it was the best job ever, because she was at the very centre of the Prophet's gossip network, and by consequence Magical Britain's gossip network. This night was no exception, and she was perusing the various documents, briefs, nondescript reports of mundane events appearing one after another in the mail box. At some point, she picked a freshly delivered Press Release carrying both seals of Hogwarts and from the Ministry of Magic's Department of Education, and a familiar name caught her eye, like a huge neon sign above the paper. "top ranking student Hermione Granger…"

Bingo. Or should it have been Bloody Hell as they say here? A quick duplication charm, and a copy of the document was tied to an Owl's leg and flying above London.

-x-

There were two kinds of patrons at McDiff's. Most were tourists, here for a pit stop between the mornings spent rushing through Arches and the afternoon in Canyonlands. Or between Needles and Arches. Or something. They'd grab a hamburger and pile onto the bus to never return. Then, there were a selected few regulars, most of all witches and wizards. It was late on Saturday afternoon. Hermione was sitting in the booth, facing Jolene, who was visibly fidgeting, and Sue Ann, with Pamela on her side and a sixth year named Michelle on the open side. A jukebox was playing Frank Zappa in a corner of the room. Lynn, the waitress, laid five beers on the table. Pamela handed the bottles, theatrically giving Hermione hers at the end with a resounding noise.

"Okay…Sophie." She said, making Hermione wince to the emphasis on her borrowed name. "Spill."

"Spill what?" replied Hermione defensively.

"What the fuck was Harry Potter's Owl doing in the cafeteria on Wednesday?" asked Sue Ann. Jolene made an apologetic face, on the lines of "I didn't do it".

"Err…" Hermione sighted heavily, smiled shyly. "Delivering a letter?"

"To you."

She shrugged.

"So you're pen pals with Harry Potter?"

"That's nice." said Michelle "poor guy needs all friendship he can get these days. With his dramatic losses…you know, the guy killed in the Tournament."

"And now his Muggleborn friend…"

She winced.

She winced because she had a good idea of what was coming next: the news of her 'death' had made it into the Prophet and the Prophet had made it to Moab. She was just wondering who had bothered flipping through it to find the news, unless she was in the cover story, rather unlikely. She tried a surprised and not very convincing "His what?"

Michelle slid a folded newspaper in front of her. Hermione recognized the old-fashioned layout of the Daily Prophet.

"Freshly delivered, I'm not even sure the first copy has been opened over there."

Tragic Failure of Muggle Contraption.

It is only today that we discovered in an Hogwarts Staff release that prominent Muggleborn Gryffindor student Hermione J. Granger was killed last summer in a tragic aeroplane accident (Aeroplanes are those contraptions Muggle use to fly from a location to another). Once again, the Muggle technology is to blame for the loss of a promising individual and raises the issue of the mixed raising. The Muggle world is not safe for wizards and witches and many voices will be raised again to have a closer monitoring of Muggleborns.

She knew the story was due to spread today, but seeing it in print, and reading the contemptuous tone of the paper, coated with fake concern was disgusting, pushing aside all her questions regarding her schoolmate's unnatural attention the rag. Prominent Muggleborn…Wasn't she a devious hussy who'd resorted to Love Potions to bypass her 'doubtful natural charms' to toy with two boys' affections?

The only sound came from the rattling of the bottles on the table. Hermione was deadly pale, eyes closed, breathing slowly. The lights shimmered in sync with her breathing for never-ending seconds before stilling.

"Sophie?"

The four girls exchanged looks.

"Wankers." she growled, slapping the newspaper on the table and picking her bottle of beer. She took a long swig. "Bloody wankers". She picked the newspaper and shook it "who's is it?"

"Library" replied Jolene "who would subscribe to this?"

"I'll return it. Thanks for the hint."

The silence was thick.

"Sophie?"

"Hmm?"

"Er..I…I'm sorry" said Michelle. "It was my idea to…"

Hermione studied the girl. Michelle Robinson was an African American witch from Chicago (1), who had enrolled in MS-square after hectic years in Great Lakes. She was stopped in her musings by Jolene:

"Listen, Sophie…we…you know, it was difficult not to notice the Owl, she wouldn't release the letter to Venus, who just remembered that paper in Witch Weekly, on Potter. And well, the owl calmed down when she saw your cat…"

"They were awfully buddy…He went visit her in the Owlery the next day." Cut in Michelle.

"We asked Tanita about you, but she wouldn't say a word. So we went back to read some old issues of Witch Weekly, and then I saw this article about this girl, just an hour ago…"

Jolene slid the battered magazine in front of them, opened where a full page was filled with a picture taken before the Triwizard Tournament's First Task.

"Yeah," groaned Hermione, pointing to her younger self while wondering how many copies of this issue were available in town. "That's her. Hermione Granger."

"So?" asked Sue-Ann.

She shrugged. "Hermione Granger is dead. Blame those mad Muggles and their insane contraptions. It's written in the paper."

She dropped a ten dollar bill on the table and left McDiff's.

I should have summoned and burnt this rag to ashes earlier this week.

-x-

Harry had just received a strange letter at breakfast. It was half printed, half hand written on Muggle paper, most likely from a computer.

From:

To:

Cc: ;

Subject: [HP Media Alert] Prophet hoax

Sophie,

There's a Prophet situation here, scheduled for tomorrow on page 4: You didn't travel by plane, did you?

Hugs.

Dave.

He could not figure out all what was written in the sheet. Evidently, the part bellow his name made sense – something written in the Prophet was of interest – but the very first lines were rather cryptic.

Then, in the second half of the sheet, a few sentences had been hastily written:

Mr Potter,

Do not trust what's written in today's paper (page 4). We're sorting things out but someone is covering his tracks. Be smart.

David Woutter,

Chief Executive Officer - MoI Consulting Ltd.

"Who the hell are the Mothers of Invention?"

He folded and pocketed the letter, searching for a Prophet to borrow. Luckily, an owl had just delivered Neville's copy. Neville being absorbed in a letter, Harry relieved the bird from its package.

"May I?"

He opened the paper and quickly glanced at page 4, where he discovered Hermione's obituary, cursing himself for his lack of anticipation. He realized he was staring at the page, and some of his table mates had noticed: he forced himself to read the article, and the condescending tone was enough to upset him. Who had done this to Hermione? Who could scheme such a evil plot? The pitcher of pumpkin juice exploded. His scar was throbbing. Is Voldemort reading the Prophet too? He wondered. He willed the pain to recede, closing his eyes, focusing on happy thoughts. He could recall glimpses of a scene in a movie, cactuses and sand. Riding a horse with Hermione towards the sunset. The image was soothing, and a sort of cold lucidity appeared in his mind.

Time to put an act.

He shook his head in denial, hands trembling and bottom lip quivering.

"Harry? Is something wrong?" asked Neville.

Harry shook his head in silence, letting his shoulders drop in defeat.

"That's…" he began in a strangled voice, before fleeing the great Hall. He had even managed a decent tear.

-x-

"Remember Hermione Granger!"

As a whole - or almost - all the students in the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stood to their feet and raised their goblets. Harry managed his poker face to hide his anger. How could Dumbledore spread such a blatant lie in the face of the world?

-x-

From:

To

Subject: Fwd:[HP Media Alert] Prophet hoax

Sophie,

Attached is the scan of Harry's response.

Smart guy.

Dave.

Hermione opened the attachment.

Dear Jolene,

Thanks for the interest in my story. I'm not in the mood for fun since I learned - in the press, of all things - what looked like some bad news today in regards to a very dear friend of mine. I think that, thanks to the advanced warning given by a common friend, I managed the crushed hero face with quite a success. I buried myself in the bowels of the Library as a tribute to the memory of this friend. I had an uneventful encounter with a pathetic bully and two sidekicks (one of them was replaced by a sow named Millicent Bulstrode during summer break. Strike that, defamatory to sows). Not even worth getting angry, I just played the pathetic card and left.

I'd like to know more about your school, your syllabus, and the way things are in America. You wrote that your school is in South West US? You must be close to Mexico: is the weather nice down there? Here in Scotland, autumn is chilly and wet. The old castle is full of draughts and damp places. We are already piling up blankets and reviewing warming charms.

Cheers (if with little enthusiasm)

Harry.

PS: Would you enlighten me on what exactly is an email? Even if I can guess it can make you exchange stuff using computers.

Hermione smiled. Back from McDiff's, she had stormed into her room, eager to put running shoes on and burn her anger until collapsing. And she had done so.

She had ran for thirty miles upstream Colorado, on Route 128, almost collapsed from exhaustion, found a cave hidden amongst trees and used her last sparks of energy to switch to her Puma form and sleep a few hours.

It was only after breakfast that she had checked her computer, to find a flooding mailbox and Dave's warning, too late to be useful, comforting messages from her parents and a follow-up from Scotland.

The sun was shining, she was in her comfortable - by Muggle standards - and brightly lit room in MS Square. On a whim, she composed a reply, attached some pictures taken a few days ago with Sue Ann, Jolene, Ray and John on the university field and in town, and clicked 'send' before grabbing her schoolbag and running downstairs.

Harry was surprised when Hedwig landed in front of him with a brown paper envelope. He found yet another print, but also some photographs and two books. He glanced at the books: "Images of Colorado River: Needles, Canyonlands and Arches" was a heavy volume of pictures and the other one was a paperback with a flashy yellow and black cover.

"Internet For Dummies?" he read aloud. Then he picked the printout.

From:

To:

Subject: [For HP][Personal] Day life.

Harry,

I asked Dave to send you a couple books I knew he had available, along with some recent pictures. The news regarding your friend had reached us. Nobody here is supposed to know her, but it raised some suspicions.

Love

Sophie.

He quickly hid the pictures in the larger book and began learning about this Internet while eating his breakfast.

"What's that?" asked Ron, pointing to the book.

"A book." replied Harry.

"What's the…Internet?"

"A kind of super telephone, connecting computers, so you can exchange stuff."

"A Muggle thingy?" he asked, piling food on his plate.

"Hmm."

"Why bother?"

"Because it's huge! You can do lots of stuff with it."

"Yes, maybe for Muggles, but you're a wizard!"

"So?"

"So why bother?"

"Why not? You can do things using this Internet you can't do with Magic yet."

"Because!" yelled Ron, stopping his frantic collection of food, a feat Harry found disturbing. More than the redness of his friend's ears.

Harry marked the page, closed the book and laid it carefully on the table.

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"Because Magic is easier and quicker…"

"Are you sure? You know that, in the time span a Wizard travels through Britain on a broom, a single plane can carry several hundred Muggles for thousands of miles…I mean, a message with the Internet takes seconds to reach anyone in the world, wherever it's sent from. A couple seconds from America. How much time does it take to an Owl to cross the ocean?"

"Why do you care? It's not like you have someone to exchange letters with from America with, hey dude!" replied Ron in a laugh, before turning back to his plate.

Harry waited for the evening to check on the photos. They had been taken in the same landscape that the pictures he had seen in the book. He had been surprised, to discover Moab was in the desert. He admitted that those crystal-clear waters winding in this stony landscape were compelling. More than the dark ones of the Lake. He spent a lot of time looking at the photographs. Well, as he had discovered, they were not photographs, but printouts of scanned photographs, that scanning was a technique to transform the pictures in computer files so they could be sent as part of an electronic message, thus travelling from western America to Scotland in a heartbeat. He had hardly recognized Hermione - sorry, Sophie - with her shorter hair and the outdoor gear she was wearing in all of them. He had in mind what he had seen of her body a few months ago. She was less curvaceous, more slender, and even muscular. She had something predatory in her attitude. In one picture, she was doing pull-ups on a stadium, and her strength was obvious. Then, he examined the other people, girls and boys. He felt a slight pang of jealousy towards the little group, seemingly relaxing on a lawn, in front of a building labelled "University Of Utah".

"I think you can use some company." said a voice. Harry looked up to see Luna standing in front of the table.

He smiled, and she just sat beside him and went to work on an essay - Arithmancy, as far as he could guess. He raised an eyebrow expectantly, but she was actually working, so he put pictures and books about Utah aside to work on his own transfiguration essay, the first entry on his to-do list. They worked in companionable silence for two hours until Madam Pince reminded them of the hour. They packed and left. As their routes split, a couple staircases farther, Harry turned to Luna in a whim and asked:

"It's Hogsmeade weekend next Saturday, would you like to come with me?"

Luna looked at him with a small smile. "Of course I'd like to, Harry Potter. Thank you for asking."

"You're very welcome, Luna Lovegood."

-x-

Walden McNair was the average pureblood wizard, and acting as such. Well, almost. Because he was the Ministry Executioner, he had an appearance to maintain, but due to the tradition of contempt towards physical exercise, he wouldn't lift weights to take care of his impressive physique, but rather resort to proven techniques. And we must credit his intelligence for his admittance that Muggle steroids were far more efficient that strengthening potions. Not that he would have admitted the fact without Veritaserum. Walden McNair had another need for Muggle interaction, usually involving teenage females and this was not really frowned upon in the pureblood society. So if Walden McNair was inconspicuously wandering Muggle London, it was for his chemicals.

He had made the deal quickly, even if the vendor was not his usual contact. The man had nonetheless provided the accurate identification and had delivered the usual Icebox with the precious doses. He Apparated near to his home, and in his haste, did not notice the soft noise of another apparition. Sam settled himself in a tree offering a front seat view on McNair's study, pulling night vision binoculars. He watched him take the injection, taking note of the time and counting down. According to Hot Lips computations, it would need a couple hours for the neurotoxins to begin shutting down the vital functions of McNair's body. First, the skin's delicate sensing termination will send dramatically inaccurate signals, warm and cold up to a burning sensation, then arms and legs will lose motor control, then bladder and bowels, then breathing should become more and more difficult. The action on the brain itself was akin to a Dementor attack, hallucination, paranoia. If he was lucky, he might die from heart failure during a panic attack. Or maybe not. Sam settled himself down to observe. A couple of hours wait was not a bother to an inbred hunter.

-x-

Hermione was waiting for the morning sun, her head resting on her front paws. She was still out at ungodly hours for her morning run, switching from human to feline state to suit her state of mind. She had woken after disturbing nightmares of Killing and Torture curses, Portkeys dropping awfully familiar dead bodies. She did not notice the Night Hawk circling above her.

-x-

Arthur Weasley hurried through the corridors of the Ministry in response of a panicked call from Cornelius Fudge himself. It was very late this night and the office was surrounded by tense - almost frightened - people. There were more Aurors than usual and his own boss, Amelia Bones, was just arriving behind him.

"Ah, Arthur, Amelia"

"What's the matter, Minister?"

Fudge pointed to a half opened parcel on his desk, but it was his Junior Undersecretary who answered to Amelia Bones.

"This was delivered in the morning mail. It passed the screening but we can't figure out what it is. No magical activity at all"

Arthur, guessing he was consulted as the Muggle Artefacts guru, peeked into the cardboard, and levitated the object inside.

"What in Merlin's name is that?" asked someone.

Arthur cocked his head, making the object spin in mid-air to examine in thoroughly.

"This, Minister" he said, hiding his amusement at the best of his acting skills "Is a rubber duck."

-x-

Hermione was now ready to head back to town when she felt the presence above. A bird? With such a magical signature? She slid from the rock to observe it from a safe place. It was a Hawk, now elegantly gliding towards her. As it came close, she could feel it's Magic. That was no ordinary bird, and it was feeling familiar. She could feel it was no threat, and she jumped on the rock to watch it circle twice as if tasting the flying conditions on the mesa top, before it landed in front of her in a subtle twist of some feathers, before folding its wings. She cocked her head, sniffed. Yes, she knew this…'bird'. She reverted to her human form.

"Tanita?"

The bird morphed into the young native, whose sparkling eyes were expressing all her love of flying, an expression of primal happiness she had seen Harry wear after his first experience with Buckbeak. She briefly had to fight the urge to kiss the girl – and more – on the spot, just because she had sought for her and could share their experiences. She had not grown so close to Tanita as expected, both girls having their workload issues to deal with. Tanita was travelling a lot across the Navajo Land for her studies with Professor Makeya and her voluntary work with the Nation's Educational Services – in which she had squeezed and extra credit project for Sociology. They could spend little time together, little moments, precious times.

"You never told me…" whispered Hermione.

"It's just been a few weeks I mastered everything. And we had so little time to talk." said Tanita, hugging her 'sister'.

"Oh gosh, Tani, I'm so glad to see you"

"You're not so alone, are you?"

"The girls and boys are nice, but I need family, y'know."

"You miss him terribly, don't you?"

"It's painful. With my Magic free, I don't have those urges anymore. I just crave for him. Not for sex. For him to be close. To see by myself he's okay, to feel he's okay."

-x-

The letter had not came scanned as an attachment to an email sent by swilkins to dave, but rather as a thick white envelope with blue and red lettering, stealthily given by Hedwig in a deserted corridor. After solemnly swearing, he began his reading in the library, practicing the vanishing spell McGonagall was obsessed with on the boisterous packaging.

Dear Harry,

I hope that this letter finds you well. Since I wanted it ciphered, I could not use the email, so I chose to have it fedexed by my parents. They now live in Boulder, Colorado, an apparition jump away from Moab. Yes, guess what? I passed my licence a couple days ago, and I can visit them whenever I want. I suppose you won't find apparition as fun as a broom ride, but it's far more efficient, unless you have to travel very far, then a plane is the best imho.

Things go well, and I'm quite level with most of my classmates, even if the curriculum is challenging, since lots of Muggle knowledge is involved. Btw, I wonder (do I, really?) how it comes that the Magical Education in Britain is so secluded. Once I graduate here, I could join Muggle University, albeit having a hard time at first, but I could. I don't see how a Hogwarts educated Muggle raised could fit in the Muggle world after graduation – besides taking years of tutoring.

Apart from that, I've more that fully recovered from the bindings, but something did change. I've more raw power available now but less accuracy in my casting. Somehow, my wand seems less fitting than 'before'. I seem to struggle with some spells and summoning, for instance, is easier wandless (smoother, because easier to power at a lesser level). I spend lots of time with Profs Bellerive (minds arts) and Martin (theory of Magic) to help adjust. It's funny those two had to team to help me, for Bellerive, who was really instrumental in my release, was born in Haiti: He's a huge black man, while Julie is from East Coast. She's a petite blonde, so thin you're afraid to break her, but she's a Charms and Enchanting prodigy, and a wonderful and enthusiastic teacher. The school is rather small (less than a hundred students, including Post NEWT apprentices) with eleven teachers from all origins (Makeya is from Japanese ascent, Asok a Goblin, we even have a Centaur, a New-Yorker (that's Julie Martin) and a French!)

There are so many things I want to tell you, but I do not trust my privacy charms with them, my safety and yours are at stake. I miss you so much!

Love

S.

PS.1: On the matter of Charms, try and talk to Flitwick about your mother.

PS.2: Attached is the ciphering charm, just to be sure he knows the trick.

Dear Sophie,

I'm sitting in one of those plush armchairs close to the fireplace, in our common room. Today was a 'Hogsmeade weekend', and I wandered into town with a friend of mine, a 4th year Ravenclaw called Luna Lovegood. She's a childhood friend of Ginny and you met her a couple times, she's quite fond of you, and she just knows you are alive. She is convinced you managed to apparate – in a bout of accidental magic – from the plane before the crash, but were so distressed that wrackspurts confused you so you forgot to come to Hogwarts. She's a nice girl, sometimes strange, rather an outcast in her House. Beside her odd looks, she's a surprisingly insightful person, very refreshing in those dull times.

The day was pleasant, sunny, if cold. Pleasant if you forget (and I try very hard to) the behaviour of some of my dorm mates (a red-headed one in particular) who were involved in an drinking contest with dire consequences - for them: the Caretaker will have loads of help in the following weeks).

Some bullies also tried to interfere. A blond ponce tried to get at me: I surprisingly managed to cope with his crude remarks on my choices with regards to female company, past and present, until he found himself victim of a freak accident: hit in the leg by an 'unidentified object' (like, roughly conical, made of lead and copper?), he had his kneecap shattered in such a cursed way that the usual strategy of vanishing the bones and skele-growing them back is not failsafe. That's what the rumour mill says, at least. Maybe a slight limp will tame his usual pureblood arrogance. I was of course targeted as the prime suspect, until cleared by the inspection of my wand and the lack of any spell residue on his person. I heard that the object left a lot of metal in the wound.

Next week is the first Quidditch match of the year, and as usual, we play Slytherin. I honestly don't look forward to it. I'll play because I would be unfair to our Captain, Angelina. She has enough on her plate with the Keeper position to fill - my friend Ron made it barely, but I wonder if our Head of House will let him play after today - he's still vomiting in the bathroom a couple hours later.

Hermione smiled, frowning a bit at the almost imperceptible ink blot on 'friend', as if Harry has pondered writing the word down. Of course, she knew that Hawkeye was having an itch to fire his old Lee-Enfield L42A1, and to scratch it, had shot Draco Malfoy in the leg with a bullet coated with an infusion of mescal and rattlesnake venom, releasing a neurotoxin - another one - lethal for sixty percent of motor nerve endings around the wound – and 7.62 NATO bullets usually make large holes. Even with all skele-gro in the world, he would limp for his whole life. And not slightly. She resumed her reading.

As a matter of fact, for all my love of flying, Quidditch is a bit of a waste. But the changes in my social habits are enough so I'd rather not seek any more attention by quitting. So I cope. Padfoot gave me an enchanted mirror to use for communication. Luna helped me copy the runes on it and I managed to analyse some parts. I'll attach my data, there are many things I don't understand, but after all, they were built by the Marauders for fun, I can't imagine we could not reproduce them! It would be pretty cool if we could have a set of those for us. I miss you and there are so many questions I'd like to ask, discuss…I know quite nothing of your life out there, the friends you have, what you learn, what you do for fun, how you cope with what happened, and moreover, why, who…there's another damn threat out there and I need to know what/who it is!

Moreover, I don't know how long it will take before someone notices I'm receiving much more mail than usual, and with the Ministry appointed "Inquisitor", I'm really concerned with safety.

I'm sorry for your difficulties with your wand. Maybe you are no longer the same witch. Your wand chose an eleven year old girl and I wonder if the 'sweet sixteen' young woman is the same. Is she? So much happened…Look at me: how can I be the same? How can my magic, so tied to who I am, be the same four years later? I killed Quirrell, was bitten by a Basilisk, and travelled in time, faced Dementors... I look back and things seem to belong to an Alternate Universe.

Whatever.

I can't express how much I feel alive since I know you are safe. I have been on autopilot for weeks, and the changes I have made in my life were…I don't know. It was just what I felt right, but out of desperation. Sort of. Now, I know. I will keep fighting for you. And I'm gonna win.

Because you're worth it.

Because I love you!

Hermione bit her lip to avoid a tear (fail) and pondered Harry's statement about her wand. She made her chair spin to face the computer, to check on the availability of Julie Martin. A point of magical theory was open for discussion. A point about awareness, magical foci, power channelling and other intricacies of Life Forces

-x-

"Dave and his pals are really geniuses. Making readable electronic copies of the magical Newspaper with text search feature…They are going to make money out of this story!"

Hawkeye Granger looked at his wife above his mug of tea.

"I take you found something interesting?"

"Hmm hmm" nodded his wife from behind her laptop.

"Listen: Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizengamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on August 31st."

"So?"

"Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watch-wizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak in his own defence, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban."

"That gives? Which side does that Podmore guy belong to?"

"Fried Chicken."

"Oh. There's a story behind this."

"I'm writing to Loreena, she might have more information than what was printed."

"You know, I love you."

"I do, but thanks for the reminder." replied Mrs Granger with a mischievous smile. "But you won't get lucky for all that, I have a couple wisdom teeth to remove in ten minutes."

"Aww…"

-x-

"Mr Potter? A word please."

Harry paused his packing, frowning. The transfiguration class had gone well so far, he had mastered all the variation of the vanishing spell and he wondered what could his Head of House want. Of course, he'd given her a rather cold shoulder since the fuss over Umbridge's detention in early September…When the last of his classmates had left the room, he walked to the desk.

"Professor?"

"How are you faring, Harry?"

"I'm quite fine, Professor." he replied, noticing the sadness in McGonagall's eyes.

Obviously, she couldn't even talk about Hermione, not for lack of desire, but due to the pain of losing her favourite student. This discovery helped Harry relax. She was clean.

"I miss her, Professor"

"She would be proud of your excellent schoolwork this year."

He frowned. "I don't see the connection" he replied, making eye contact.

McGonagall flinched. She had not seen such a mix of cold anger and determination since Head Girl Lily Evans had confronted her on Death Eater wannabes in the seventies.

"Professor, I loved, and still do, Hermione Granger. I can't foresee anyone else being able to fill the void she left. As I already told Professor Snape, my improved schoolwork only reflects my growing up, since I'm rather left to my own devices in front of Voldemort and his allies of all kind, from Malfoy to Umbridge."

"Yes, you are quite right…" she paused, opened her mouth a couple times as if trying to say something she knew she would regret later. Then, she asked, "The staff noticed you had been receiving more mail than usual lately."

Harry stiffened. McGonagall saw his reaction, and recoiled a bit.

"The staff? Like in Headmaster Dumbledore's staff?"

"Harry! We are just worrying…"

"He should have worried a bit more when He left me alone in Durzkaban after the events last June!" he exhaled deeply, regretting his outburst. "'m sorry Professor, but it is still a sore point."

-x-

The Portkey dropped Hermione and Julie Martin in a clearing, somewhere in the forests of Montana. Hermione almost had a bout of longing for the Scottish autumns, walking on the thick carpet of fallen leaves of all shades of red. They walked for ten minutes on a barely visible trail, when she felt a pulse, the crossing of a ward line. A hundred yards in front was a small village, half a dozen wooden houses. They paused in front of a nondescript one, with a huge pile of wood waiting to be cut up, an huge axe stuck in a block seemingly waiting for this purpose.

They entered through a short hall with heavy coats and a shotgun hanged on a side, into a rather dark workshop. A rather stocky man rose from his chair to greet them in a surprisingly gentle manner considering his wood cutter look, red shirt and denim overall, boots and baseball cap included.

"'Mornin' ladies…Oh, Miss Martin! Long time no see. How's your mangrove and thestral hair combo been fairin' lately?"

"More than adequate Mr Alcott, thank you very much. May I introduce Sophie Wilkins? She's a student of mine and has experienced some…events lately that might have changed the ways she interacts with her wand."

The wand-maker nodded, acknowledged Hermione with a simple "Miss" and held his hand, palm up.

Hermione frowned.

"Your wand, please?"

"Oh, yes. Sorry."

"Oh. Brit you are, aren't you?"

Hermione drew her wand and presented it, handle first.

"From Ollivander, I guess?"

He took the wand, examined it. "Vine wood and Dragon Heartstring…you took great care of it…born from non-magicals?"

"Yes."

He laid the wand on the counter, produced his own and quickly cast a few charms, showing surprise at some point.

"Interesting. And you are sixteen?"

"Yes, sir."

"Show me your form."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're an animagus, a cerval or a puma, something like that. I need to see you handling it."

Hermione nodded. At least, it seemed she would not be required to stroll around naked with her wand stuck in…er, never mind. She chuckled and changed form. She jumped on the counter and on a nod, changed back in mid-air.

"Good."

He cast a few more spells, without visible results.

"Excellent!"

He went to a storeroom behind his workshop, and soon was back with half a dozen cardboard boxes. Then, opened a trapdoor, went down a ladder and came back with another set of boxes. Hermione watched the proceedings, opening her senses to feel the magic from the boxes. Woods and cores, she guessed. But the wand-maker had once again disappeared upstairs, bringing more boxes. She could feel the pull on the boxes, or rather their contents, as if calling for her. Without being told, she found a pull stronger than the others on a box in the first set, then the second…

"Good, Miss is a quick thinker. Let me see…Oh oh. Yes."

Juniper wood with Griffin feather, sealed by rattlesnake venom and Lethifold fur on the handle. I can do that." He sent both teacher and student away for a couple hours, and they walked aimlessly, exchanging a few words with the villagers. They grabbed a quick lunch at the local Inn – which was also the grocery, apothecary and bookshop, and the new wand was waiting for Hermione on the counter top, laid on a velvet cloth.

"Go, go, pick it up!" said the wand-maker.

Hermione examined the wand, trying to feel it. It did look appealing, and she moved her hand closer, pausing an inch above the handle, closing her eyes.

"Do you feel it?" asked Julie.

"I do." whispered Hermione. "It's…she feels good."

To the witness' surprise, the wand obeyed Hermione's non-verbal summons and jumped into her hand. She felt the energies balance, somewhat like they had done in Ollivander's shop a few years ago, but on a greater scale. She felt a slight arousal, but to her relief, did not find herself in an embarrassing situation. No, it was power, comforting and unadulterated power. A single charm went to her mind, a charm she had not managed so far.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A blinding white light erupted from the wand and shaped itself in a little animal who moved towards the wand-maker, then the teacher, to eventually stop in front of her. It was almost solid.

"Is that an Otter?" asked Julie Martin, unable to hide her surprise.

"Looks like it."

"Wow. I was expecting a Puma. Usually your Animagus form shapes the Patronus…"

"Don't you think the inner desires shape it, instead? I'm not a natural born predator, Julie." said Hermione softly, fascinated by the otter. Then, she whispered "you may go" and the Patronus vanished. She was ecstatic. Now she was once again feeling like a witch.

They left the village with a spring in their step, and had just crossed the ward line when it happened; Hermione barely felt a pulse of Magic and dived out of its path, before hearing the shouted "stupefy". (3)

She used her momentum to roll farther and got her wand in her hand, casting a wide shield covering the area where Julie had fallen and crouched beside her. She could make the outlines of hastily disillusioned wizards. She tried to get control over her rising panic, holding the shield while searching for a solution. The shield looked powerful, yet didn't drain her magic, so they were safe for a while, but she couldn't stay this way for ever.

She was not even prone to swear. How could she fight back with her wand kept busy by the shielding?

You've got another wand, idiot.

She rummaged in her bag to get her old wand. She could feel that the channel was not very powerful, because of the amount energy she was spending in the shield.

I don't really know how to fight with a wand.

She could feel the spells pummelling her shield. Hear yells from the wizards, lewd comments on those two ladies who'd they have fun with.

Two ladies, idiot!

She pointed her old wand towards Julie: "Enervate". The teacher twitched and stirred a bit. "Enervate!". Julie moaned. Each time Hermione would cast the reviving spell, she would lose focus and her shield would weaken. "Merlin Balls, Enervate!"

Julie shook her head, trying to get her senses back.

"What the…"

"Okay there?"

She rolled, steadied herself and crouched beside Hermione.

"Nice shield. Crap, Snatchers."

"What now? Looks like they just want quality time with our bits." replied Hermione, sliding her almost useless old wand in her belt. She took her wand in her left hand, letting the shield shimmer and picked her gun in her right hand. Julie frowned.

"I'm useless with two wands. That balances things. Six guys, eight bullets"

"We'll not play heroes. I'll Portkey us out, I doubt those guys are able to ward the area." Said Julie, pulling the enchanted four feet of nylon rope from her bag.

"No heroics, copy that. Just some souvenirs"

She pointed the P7 and pulled the trigger. A first bullet shattered a kneecap, a second a wand-arm elbow, and the third a wand handle and the hand wrapped around it. She noticed the Teacher's bewilderment and yelled.

"Beam us out, Julie!"


A/N

(1) If Darth Drafter enrolled Ségolène Royal in "The little Veela that Could", I can have my president-inspired OC as well! [for those out there who are neither Americans nor French, Ségolène Royal was running for President in 2007 – lost (unfortunately) to Sarkozy, and Michele Robinson is better known nowadays as Mrs Obama…]

(2) I'm quite fond of otters and I could not bear the idea of changing Hermione's patronus.

(3) That would've been a perfect cliffie, innit? Fortunately I'm not that bad…

(Edit1) Why does ff net remove Supercalifragilistic expialidocious when I write it in a single word? Weird.

Supercalifragilisticexpiali docious? ok

Supercalifragilisticexpialido cious? ok

ous? Fail.

Supercalifragilisticexpialid ocious? ok

Weirder. 28 characters only? Is it because Shakespeare's longest word is 27? ("Honorificabilitudinitatibus", try to use it in your next conversation…)

(Edit2) Next chapter might take a few more days than the usual one-week delay. Let's say, one two weeks? My boss expects I do some actual work these days...

(Edit3) Since Old-Crow did insist, I fixed the caliber issue when Draco Malfoy is shot by Hawkeye. Can I refuse an Old-Crow suggestion? He added this fic to his favs, by golly!