Kingsley Shacklebolt was no ordinary Auror, no ordinary Minister of Magic, and certainly no ordinary man. Brought up in a world filled with angst and despair and glimmers of hope, he had perfected the art of controlling himself, even in the darkest of times and situations. It was a quality that made him likeable in the eyes of others, and it made him the Auror to rely on when everything was going wrong. In fact, he had been even been offered a job once or twice for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, with his knowledge about Muggle life and the ways to behave in front of them.

Conquering Voldemort and his followers was something that would be written in historical books for the next century or two. The act itself was one of the greatest victories ever in the Wizarding World. The mess to clean up directly afterwards, though, was another task entirely. There were owls to be sent and families to be contacted, and funerals to be arranged. And in Hermione's case, there were memory charms to be removed and things to be explained. As Kingsley tiredly rubbed his temple, he realized the enormity of the daunting task ahead of him.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger were not stupid, and Kingsley knew this after examining their case file closely. They were two, smart dentists, making comfortable incomes and living lavishly in their home. The intelligence came in by the methods of the way they raised their only child, Hermione. Their smarts weren't coming across strongly, though, as they continued to glance at the Pensieve with unease. Kingsley knew for a fact that he could be the most rational person in all of Australia, but he'd need the Grangers cooperation for things to go smoothly. So he sat back down in his seat grimly, and began to explain the events that had just taken place.

"What you just saw," he began, "was my memory from last year. The Daily Prophet was a heavily relied newspaper in Britain, but also corrupt with false headlines and news stories. We, meaning the Order of the Phoenix, needed a way to address the Wizarding World stealthily but successfully, and we did this in means of a news broadcast. Thus, we were able to report correct news, and those who were wise enough to listen learned the truth about Voldemort, and deaths among Muggles." He waited politely for the Grangers to digest this small amount of information.

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Jean spoke up, in a faint, timid voice. She looked a little scared, with one hand clasped firmly in her husband's, and the other resting in her lap. Her face showed mixed expressions of fear, anxiety, relief, and even a hint of determination. "I had The Quibbler subscribed here." Ignoring the strange looks she received from the few people in the room, including those of her daughter's, she continued. "Well, not here, I mean. But back when Hermione came home for the summer after her fourth year." She directed her attention away from Kingsley and towards Hermione. "Remember, dear? You told me about that horrible woman who wrote false things... I can't remember her name."

"Rita Skeeter," Hermione promptly said, with Harry and Ron mumbling in chorus.

"Yes, her. I occasionally got a Daily Prophet, but I stopped after what you told me. And then you wrote home once, mentioning that odd friend of yours and her father's newspaper."

"Luna Lovegood and The Quibbler."

"Precisely," Jean answered. "I'm sorry, dears, but my memory is still a bit hazy."

"That's quite normal," Kingsley said, reassuring her. "I'm quite surprised, actually, that the two of you are recalling things so quickly. Normally, the after effects leave one confused."

"We had a bit of time to regain our thoughts, when Hermione... er, left." This time Jack spoke.

Jean continued to talk. "Now, there were plenty of odd things in that newspaper. I had never heard of a lot of the creatures mentioned in that newspaper, and though I'm not a witch, I thoroughly read all your textbooks. Especially the 'Care of Magical Creatures' one and it never mentioned Nargles." She dismissed the small issue with a wave of her hand, though a faint smile played on Harry's lips as he thought fondly of his friend. He thought to nudge Ron, but the vacant expression on his face told Harry otherwise. "No matter. The point is, I had a good idea of what was going on, but nothing was too serious then. No deaths or strange disappearances. I couldn't understand how this wizard fellow returned, either."

At this point, Harry tensed. Even though Voldemort was gone, he still felt bitter towards those who printed the lies about him, and those who blindly believed it. Sometimes, it took all his willpower to not scream I told you so! at the Ministry of Magic. For a second, he caught sight of his hand, and could still make out I must not tell lies. And yet, the 'lies' proved to be true.

Jean sensed Harry's anger. "Then again," she countered quickly, "like I said, I'm not a witch. I wouldn't even know how this person would return, or how he would proceed to attack. But after seeing that..."-She motioned towards the Pensieve with a trembling finger- "I'd certainly think it would be foolish to not believe the Order of the Phoenix."

Kingsley nodded. "If only we had more people with common sense like you..." He shook his head, pressing his thumbs to his forehead once more, before continuing. "Anyway, this method of broadcasting was the only way we could alert the public about the true dangers. I don't mean to frighten either of you, but if it hadn't been for your daughter's resourcefulness, you could have possibly been an innocent family killed. The founder of the Order, Albus Dumbledore, once told us that times were getting hard, and eventually we'd have to choose between what is right and what is easy. Hermione did precisely that, and it very well saved your lives."

Hermione blushed again, trying to avoid the looks of awe from the Minister and her parents, and instead chose to focus on a very interesting line on the palm of her hand. Kingsley made her sound so good and brave about the memory charm, where as she could only thing of all the things that could have gone wrong. The only thing that made her feel a bit lighter were the looks of gratitude on her parent's faces.

She had almost expected Ron to crack a joke about how she had saved his and Harry's lives by not making them repeat first year a couple of times with all her homework help. Ron said nothing, though, and his eyes looked glassy. Clearly, he wasn't paying attention to anyone in the room. It looked as if he were replaying the events of the Pensieve over and over again in his mind, particularly the part where Fred was speaking.

"I guess you didn't get all those top marks for nothing," Jack said, in an almost teasing manner. Hermione immediately understood that he had forgiven her. Jean nodded in agreement with her husband, looking at Hermione affectionately.

Kingsley breathed a sigh of relief, feeling that they were finally getting somewhere. "Shall we proceed with the next memory?"

Jack shuddered a bit. "I think that last one very well made us understand," he mumbled.

Hermione stood up. "Just one more Dad, please. This one will prove your point." Without waiting for approval, she marched over to Kingsley, closed her eyes, and began to concentrate. Kingsley understood, and drew his wand to her temple. They had already seen it once, but it still startled the Grangers as a long, silver strand slid out of her head and was placed in the Pensieve.

She stood precariously near the coffee table, her face mere inches away from the wisps of memories. On her right, Harry grabbed her hand, followed by Ron. On her left, she felt her mother's warm hand grasp hers rightly, followed by her father and Kingsley. Without a second though, she plunged headfirst into the bowl, dragging the others behind with her. They continued to fall, for what seemed like the longest time, until a large courtroom appeared, similar to that of the Wizengamot.

"Next- Mary Cattermole," called Umbridge.

A small woman stood up; she was trembling from head to foot. Her dark hair was smoothed back into a bun and she wore long, plain robes. Her face was completely bloodless.

It was not the same room in which Harry had once been interrogated for improper use of magic. This one was much smaller, though the ceiling was quite as high; it gave the claustrophobic sense of being stuck at the bottom of a deep well.

There were more dementors in here, casting their freezing aura over the place; they stood like faceless sentinels in the corners farthest from the high raised platform. Here, behind a balustrade, sat Umbridge, with Yaxley on one side of her, and Mafalda-Hermione, quite as white-faced as Mrs. Cattermole, on the other. At the foot of the platform, a bright-silver long-haired cat prowled up and down, up and down, and it was there to protect the prosecutors from the despair that emanated from the dementors: That was for the accused to feel, not the accusers.

"Sit down," said Umbridge in her soft, silky voice.

Mrs. Cattermole stumbled to the single seat in the middle of the floor beneath the raised platform. The moment she had sat down, chains clinked out of the arms of the chair and bound her there.

"You are Mary Elizabeth Cattermole?" asked Umbridge.

Mrs. Cattermole gave a single, shaky nod.

"Married to Reginald Cattermole of the Magical Maintenance Department?"

Mrs. Cattermole burst into tears.

"I don't know where he is, he was supposed to meet me here!"

Umbridge ignored her.

"Mother to Maisie, Ellie, and Alfred Cattermole?"

Mrs. Cattermole sobbed harder than ever.

"They're frightened; they think I might not come home-"

"Spare us," spat Yaxley. "The brats of Mudbloods do not stir our sympathies."

"A wand was taken from you upon your arrival at the Ministry today, Mrs. Cattermole," Umbridge was saying. "Eight-and-three quarter inches, cherry, unicorn-hair core. Do you recognize that description?"

Mrs. Cattermole nodded, mopping her eyes with her sleeve.

"Could you please tell us from which witch or wizard you took that wand?"

"T-took?" sobbed Mrs. Cattermole. "I didn't t-take it from anybody. I b-bought it when I was eleven years old. It-it-it- chose me."

She cried harder than ever.

Umbridge laughed a soft girlish laugh. She leaned forward over the barrier, the better to observe her victim, and something gold swung forward too, and dangled over the void: the locket.

Hermione had seen it; she let out a little squeak, but Umbridge and Yaxley, still intent upon their prey, were deaf to everything else.

"No," said Umbridge, "no, I don't think so, Mrs. Cattermole. Wands only choose witches or wizards. You are not a witch. I have your responses to the questionnaire that was sent to you here- Mafalda, pass them to me."

Umbridge held out a small hand; She looked so toadlike at that moment. Mafalda-Hermione's hands were shaking with shock. She fumbled in a pile of documents balanced on the chair beside her, finally withdrawing a sheaf of parchment with Mrs. Cattermole's name on it.

"That's- that's pretty, Dolores," she said, pointing at the pendant gleaming in the ruffled folds of Umbridge's blouse.

"What?" snapped Umbridge, glancing down. "Oh yes- an old family heirloom," she said, patting the locket lying on her large bosom. "The S stands for Selwyn... I am related to the Selwyns... Indeed, there are few pure-blood families to whom I am not related. ... A pity," she continued in a louder voice, flicking through Mrs. Cattermole's questionnaire, "that the same cannot be said for you. 'Parents' professions: greengrocers.'"

Yaxley laughed jeeringly. Below, the fluffy silver cat patrolled up and down, and the dementors stood waiting in the corners.

Hermione deliberately ended her memory there, not wanting to confuse or frighten her parent's any further. By the looks of their faces, she could tell they weren't clear on her intent of showing it when she was nowhere to be seen in the first place. The only ones who understood were Harry and Ron, who were there when it happened. Even Kingsley gave her a curious look, as if silently asking her how she witnessed all this.

With her wand, she prodded the tip of her memory, until a few visible shapes emerged. She bit her lip in frustration when Yaxley came into view, and she furiously poked at him until he disintegrated. When Mafalda Hopkirk finally appeared, Hermione cleared her throat to receive everyone's undivided attention.

"This," Hermione began in a businesslike voice, "is me."

Mr. and Mrs. Granger exchanged confused looks as they recalled the squeaky-voiced witch. Only Kingsley caught on.

"We used something called the 'Polyjuice Potion'. It takes about a month to brew, and you need to add the hairs of the person you want to transform into. When you drink it, you become that person for a certain amount of time. Ron, Harry, and I needed to sneak into the Ministry to get something, and the only way we could do it was by transforming into three random Ministry workers."

"Why did you have to sneak in?" Mr. Granger asked, still looking awed.

"We all had to go into hiding that year," Harry said. "We couldn't return to school, and we were wanted for different reasons. Voldemort was looking for me, and Ron's family was in danger too. He had to pretend he had some rare disease."

"And as for me," said Hermione said glumly, "I hadn't shown up for my Ministry questioning. That woman you just saw, Mrs., Cattermole, was just like me. Practically no one in her immediate family was a witch or a wizard. After Voldemort took over the Ministry, the Improper Use of Magic Office questioned Muggle-borns about how they had accumulated wands, and accused them for stealing magic. It was all part of the regime." She poked at the Pensieve once more, until Umbridge appeared. "This vile woman, Dolores Umbridge, took great pleasure in conducting these trials."

"What happened to that poor woman?" asked Mrs. Granger, who looked as if on the verge of tears.

"Mrs. Cattermole?" Hermione asked. "Harry and I helped her get out of the Ministry with her husband. I suppose she left the country with her family like we told her too. Truthfully, these last few weeks have been so hectic. We haven't heard from a lot of people."

"Oh Hermione!" Mrs. Granger exclaimed hysterically, rushing forward to hug the life out of her daughter. "And to think... this could have happened to you. This could have happened to us, Jack." She turned to face her husband. "We could have been like that poor family dead, or the Cattermole's..." A sensation took over her body as she slipped out of focus and crumpled to the floor, the blurry images in front of her fading away.

Hermione shrieked at the sight of her mother on the floor; Jack immediately dropped besides her, shaking her gently, though his voice became more and more hoarse. Harry and Ron stood there, horrified, glancing at Kingsley and unsure of what to do. Only he remained calm during the commotion, conjuring a glass of water as he knelt beside Mrs. Granger. Her steady breathing indicated that she was still alive, just unconscious.

"We should get her off the ground," Kingsley said softly, startling Hermione and her father, who were not aware of him kneeling next to them. He was about to flick his wand, but put it away when Mr. Granger gingerly lifted his wife. His hands cradled the crook underneath her knees and her neck, and he carried her towards the biggest sofa. After setting her down, he once again kneeled beside her, rubbing a lock of her hair between his fingers.

"What do we do now?" He croaked, looking a little faint himself. "Can't you revive her? I think I read it somewhere in one of Hermione's schoolbooks..." He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, looking at his still wife once more.

"Rennervate," Kingsley answered calmly, while simultaneously trying to hide his surprise at the abundant knowledge of the Grangers, who seemed to know a lot about the Wizarding World. "I'm afraid it won't work with Jean. You see, she hasn't been stunned. She is unconscious, but not seriously, and definitely not by means of a Wizard's doing. I think the shock of this situation has just finally gotten to her. I suggest we leave her be, and wait for her to walk up. In the meantime..." He gestured towards the Pensieve, as if asking if Jack desired to continue.

"No more," Jack said tiredly, still looking at his wife out of the corner of his eye. "I've seen enough. And I don't regret Hermione doing this at all. I'm very sorry, er, you know, for my behavior earlier."

Kingsley held up a large hand. "Don't worry, Mr. Granger. It's nothing compared to the potted plant I got thrown at my head after being called a nutter two weeks ago."

Harry snorted, and even Ron managed a feeble smile.

Jack merely smiled, but used the diversion to survey everyone around the room. His eyes immediately settled on Ron, the tall, lanky redhead Hermione would always mention. He seemed unusually quiet, and Jack was sure it had nothing to do with the fact that he was meeting Hermione's family for the first time. There was apprehension in the room, and he could sense it as Hermione's eyes flickered back to Ron every now and then. Jack had, to bluntly put it, screwed up for the better part of the day, and decided to make things right the only way he knew how.

"Kingsley?" He asked tentatively. "Could you come upstairs with me for a moment? There's actually a broken window in the guest room upstairs. Jean and I have been meaning to get it fixed, but I was wondering if you could help me get it out of the way." Desperately trying to think of a way to busy the Minister, he added as an afterthought, "Oh, and would you like something to drink?"

Kingsley nodded, standing up. "Certainly. We can tackle that window in no time. As for the drink, I can take care of that. Can it wait, though, until your wife wakes up?" He glanced towards Jean, who was lying on the sofa serenely.

"Not a problem. Hermione, Harry, and Ron can watch her," Jack responded.

"Alright, then. Hermione, make sure your mother drinks that glass of water when she wakes up." With that, he followed Jack up the stairs, completely understanding what he was intending to do.